A/N: I do know that this doesn't quite fit within the timeline of Mockingjay, but essentially this is established Hayffie, post-MJ, with Effie still recovering from whatever happened to her in the Capitol.
This was written at the tail-end of an all-nighter, so enjoy.
Bailey xx
He listens to her breathe when she falls asleep. Her limbs twitch and jerk as she tries to fight it, yet exhaustion always triumphs. Holding her against him, head tucked underneath his, he wonders if this is the place she feels safest. In Twelve, in his house, in his arms. She hasn't left his home in the week that she's been here, so it has to be true. Haymitch smiles, leaning forward to nuzzle her hair.
It's been quiet, this past week. She's been quiet, and it bothers him. He's so used to her fluttering around and nitpicking and worrying constantly that he's started to miss it. He watches her all day, hunched over a desk writing furiously. He doesn't ask what she's writing; he knows, really, and she never brings it up in the scarce conversations they've had so far.
The scars that cover her back are still bright pink and raised, and he finds that he can hardly look at them. The salve that was given to them by Katniss's mother is applied twice daily. Haymitch does it without protest; he knows she doesn't want anyone to see, even though everyone knows. Morning and night, his throat constricts as he gently dabs the pale green cream onto her wounds, watching her body go taut and shiver in pain. After twenty-five years of death and dying, of a life defined by it, nothing has upset him more than Effie's scars. Her initial reluctance to show them to him cut deep as well. He drinks more than he needs to, especially now that liquor is rationed and his stash will be out two weeks into the month.
She tells him it isn't his fault, he shouldn't beat himself up over the fact that he left her there in the Capitol. He left her there to die. They fight once over this, over who to blame, until Effie has tears in her eyes and she yells from across the room, "Is this not enough for you? I survived, Haymitch. I stayed alive for you. I am here for you."
Their days are simple. He wakes up to Effie's blue eyes staring right back at him. He applies her medicine, both straining for breath. He feeds his newly-bought geese and sits on his porch with a bottle of that clear liquor, and she sits in his study with the blinds drawn and writes till her fingertips are black with ink. They eat when they remember to do so. Their flaws, their incompatibility, are ignored when they come together at night, gentle and desperate and sublime. He watches her fall apart in his arms and swears to whichever higher power is listening that this is all he needs in the world to feel whole again.
He needs her, and she has claimed him body and soul ten times over.