Author's Note: This is potentially triggering for victims of sexual abuse, so please mark the M-rating.

Enjoy! :)

Stumbling home drunk from the Capitol bars, he'd encountered a lot of things. Many of them still unexplainable and hazy in his memory. Though this proved to be one of the most surprising things he could find. She sat still, her eyes not focused on anything but the dust in front of them, hanging lifeless in the air. The bench was empty beside her. Haymitch had seen the escort in some pretty weird situations. Angry. Happy. Sad. Naked. Wigless. He'd touched her too. He knew her. Nothing wrong with that. But he'd never ever seen her with this much defeat in her eyes. It was cold out. Even he felt the chilly wind through his haze of alcohol and his brown suit jacket, but she seemed to be barely dressed, with only an ornamental lace shawl covering her shoulders. He couldn't tell if the blue lips were from lipstick or the cold. Something was wrong, all wrong.

"Princess?" Haymitch walked nearer, fighting to regain control of his mind. She didn't look up, until he touched her shoulder and she violently pulled away from him. She was on her feet in two seconds, now running away, but she didn't make it long before her fashion-sense stopped her and she tripped on her tall heels. Haymitch didn't even have to start a pursuit, but could simply walk over to her and gently help her up the best he could in his intoxicated state. Every time he touched her, she recoiled and tried to avoid him, but he took the hits and squirms and embraced her for a moment before taking of the brown jacket and putting it around her shaking shoulders. She was crying. He hated seeing her crying. Even back when he hated her more than the plague he couldn't stand to see her crying. It was where she was most human and back then… He didn't want to see her as a human. He kissed her forehead just below her hairline before asking further questions.

"Effs, what's going on? Why are you out? Where's your clothes?" he asked looking at her thoroughly. Her dress hung from her frame, didn't even look like her dress. She wasn't wearing a wig, which was strange for Effie.

"I-I-I-I co-couldn't find m-my way b-b-back," she said with a voice shaking so terribly from the cold he could barely make out what she was trying to tell him.

"Back from where? What happened, no wait, let me just … Let's get you home, I'll call a cab," He usually walked home, but he couldn't see himself walking halfway through the city streets with a cold, disoriented escort, who was probably already sporting some sort of pneumonia from staying out here.

"No!" she suddenly looked frightened, "No, no, no d-d-don't let them s-see me like thi-this," she begged him.

"You can't walk all the way home, sweetheart, there's a long way," Haymitch convinced her softly. He led her towards a busier road than the one they were standing on, his hand never leaving her shoulder. She followed him reluctantly and hid her face as he flagged down a limegreen cab for them. He gave the avox-driver the address and caressed Effie's arm slightly with his thumb. She continuously tried hiding her identity, like she didn't want him to see who she was.

"Do you want to talk?" Haymitch asked. It wasn't as much of a question as it was a command. He'd placed her, still wearing his brown jacket, on the couch of their living quarters.

"No," she replied, not looking at him.

"You really need a shower," Haymitch noted and stroked her hair.

"Yes,"

"Where have you been?"

"Porcius," she replied. Haymitch visualized the man. Effie and him had met him at the Victory Ball. Short, ugly creature was he. Haymitch hadn't liked him and he knew Effie didn't either. Porcius had spent the entire party trying to flirt with Effie, sending her suggestive looks. She agreed to dance with him at some point, but had to abandon the idea when he couldn't keep his hand to her waist.

"Were you at Porcius'?" he asked surprised. Why would she? She shook her head.

"Effie please talk to me, you look like someone who's been-" He didn't finish his sentence when he realized what he was about to say, might be the truth and in that case he wasn't really sure if he wanted to hear it. The painful, guilty look she shot him told him he was at least on the right track.

"Did Porcius hurt you?" He felt anger building inside him.

"Haymitch, d-don't … don't hate me," she said and lifted her hand to touch the stubble on his cheek.

"Why would I? Should I?" He covered her hand with his. She was still ice cold from the weather outside.

"I was a-at Martina's pa-party," she started obviously having a hard time getting the words to float, "I don't know w-w-what happened. P-Porcius was there and then I-I got this weird d-drink and I wake to-to him…" She trailed off, though no further explanation was needed.

"He drugged you? Effs, we need to call the peacekeepers," To his horror she just shook her head again.

"Princess listen, you were … you were raped," Haymitch said to her. The anger flaming in his chest physically hurt him.

"Don't hate m-me," she repeated, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Why would I hate you, Effie?" Haymitch asked and pulled her in for an embrace, though she resisted him at first.

"Because… I-I-I was supposed to be y-yours," Effie said with a voice that broke his heart into tiny shatters of hopelessness.

"Now I'm n-no better than a c-c-cheating whore," He could feel tears against his chest as she buried her face in his shirt. She was shaking so much he could feel himself resonating with her.

"No. No, Effie, no!" Haymitch corrected her in disbelief, "you… You're not a whore, no! No, not even close,"

"I'm so s-sorry,"

"You have nothing to be sorry about," He stroked her back, wishing for her to calm down. She felt guilty. Not because of the rape, but because of the, well the sexual act, that was the rape. I was supposed to be yours. They'd committed to each other for several years. He loved her, but a part of him felt disappointed that she thought he'd consider a fucking rape cheating on her part. His disappointment was empty though, he simply couldn't be irritated with her as long as she was in this humiliatingly frail state. He sat with her for a long time, just kissing her forehead and cheeks, smelling her hair, though it had smelled a lot better than the alcoholic, burned smell which clung to the light blonde waves. She got warm, so he relieved her of his jacket. He wished he hadn't. The bruises trailing their way down her arms, obviously from her being restrained. In the light he could see that her dress was actually on backwards and the back, which had been a low drop revealed so much of her chest, that he felt he should put the jacket back on her. She didn't seem to notice.

"You're not bleeding anywhere, are you?" he asked. Closing her eyes after looking down with a tell-tale look, she grabbed onto his arm. She obviously didn't want him looking.

"Effie, I'm going to go call a medic," he said as calmly as he could when he saw the blood seeping through the light green fabric of her surely expensive dress. What had they done to her? Once again she struck her eyes open and shook her head violently. No. No medics. No taxis. No peacekeepers.

"Sweetheart, you're hurt, you're bleeding, and you need to be taken care of,"

"Y-You," she simply said and Haymitch felt his stomach scream in agony. He didn't want to see this or do this, but he owed her. At least that was what he kept telling himself, when he half carried, half pushed her towards the bathroom. She'd done this for him before without complaining.

"Promise me, if I let you off tonight," he said, while placing her in the tub, "that you'll go to the peacekeepers tomorrow,"

"I-I-Interviews tomorrow," she said.

"Everdeen and Mellark can take care of themselves, they've been through interviews before," Haymitch said conclusively. He couldn't care less about how those tribute interviews went. There was a plan for all of that and the interviews really didn't matter to him. She never replied to him.

"I'm sorry about this," He kissed her before removing the lace shawl and dress. He'd made her take of her heels a long time ago. Underneath her clothes more bruises stood clearly against her pearly white skin. Panties and bra nowhere to be found. That Porcius-jerk had been more than rough with her. Haymitch had to turn around to the toilet several times to vomit, but he did manage to start hosing her down with the showerhead. He tried not to touch her for her own sake, but she seemed completely unable to do anything.

"Effie what the hell did he-" he muttered under his breath as Effie winced when he tried spreading her legs in the most casual way possible. This was too intimate for him. He couldn't. There was too much blood here. He didn't like blood and for a simple rape there was way too much of it.

"Knife," she said with grim clearness. Haymitch looked at her. He felt dizzy. The warm water mixing with the considerable large amount of blood made a foul smell disperse trough the room.

"A knife? Princess," he couldn't even find words. What would have happened if she hadn't by coincidence been sitting there on his way home? Would she still be there, would she have slept there? It was late.

"I-I'm sorry," she echoed herself reaching out for him, as he had swayed slightly away from the tub.

"Shut up," he told her and leaned back to kiss her gently in the corner of her mouth. He got up. The damage to her was more severe than he thought. Suddenly a nagging realization came to his mind. If he called a medic. Especially with her lying in the bathtub naked. They'd surely call the peacekeepers. And the peacekeepers wouldn't stop two seconds to think about anything. He was after all Haymitch Abernathy, the rebellious victor of the second quarter quell. The man the Capitol still wanted a reason to execute. This would be perfect for them. But he also had to call a medic. She was injured. That prick had actually seen it smart to push a knife up into her innermost chambers. Haymitch was known for his knife-fight skills. He sunk.

"Stay," she pleaded of him, but he couldn't. No matter the consequences, she needed medical care, having already avoided it for too long.

"Did you like our present, Abernathy?" A sleek voice sounded as he walked back from the place where he'd once again bid Katniss and Peeta goodbye. Letting them off into the arena. Effie had been bedridden as a cause of her injuries, so she couldn't join them. He turned around so fast he nearly slipped on the sparkling marble floor.

"You…" he whispered. Snow's cold eyes drilled into his and the man silently motioned for him to follow. He did. Not because he wanted to comply with the man's will, but because he wanted info.

"I heard your escort was in some dirt the other day," He laughed with his eerie laughter. Somewhere in that man there had to be a heart. It couldn't only be the thirst for power and control, there had to be something else. Otherwise he was more robot than man.

"I have a feeling you know very well, what happened to her," Haymitch said bitterly.

"Here's what I don't get, Abernathy," Snow said and bid him to sit down on the other side of the mahogany desk. Effie would have loved his office, her having some sort of kink for mahogany and other heavy woodwork.

"You don't seem to learn your lesson, I killed your family," Snow never said those words out loud before and Haymitch had spoken briefly with him dozens of times. To hear it being said made the memories come back full force. "I killed your girlfriend,"

Haymitch tried not letting his emotions show. He knew where Snow was going with this. It was no coincidence that Effie had been abused. No coincidence that he found her. Not even a coincidence that Porcius had used a knife to furtherly defile her. A sense of guilt overwhelmed him.

"And yet you have the nerve to still go against me, it's like you don't know me at all," He knew. For a second Haymitch panicked. Snow knew. Snow knew everything. The rebellion, tediously planned to the point of indifference. Plutarch. Cinna. But not Effie. He didn't know everything. He couldn't, not if he thought Effie was part of it.

"I hope you said goodbye to Firegirl and her Breadboy, you're not going to see them again, for if they get out of that arena, neither you nor your pretty little girlfriend is going to live," Snow poured Haymitch a glass of fine cognac. The mentor tried to ignore it, remembering what Effie had said about the 'weird drink' – and the fact that he didn't want to take anything from the man who could so easily take everything away from him.

"Don't hurt her," Haymitch muttered.

"Oh, but we already have, not beyond repair, though, I'd be sad to such a ray of sunshine just… disappear,"

"Are you done?"

"Depends: Do you understand our agreement?"

"I don't make agreements with killers,"

"Then you must have a hard time with yourself," Snow smiled calmly. Haymitch got up from the chair. The cognac in front of him was so tempting he could barely hold himself together. He needed a drink. Pictures flashed for his eyes when he blinked. His old girlfriend, dead. His mother, dead. His brother, dead. Effie Trinket, dead. Katniss and Peeta, dead. Everyone he even remotely cared about, gone, buried, cold.

"Abernathy. One last thing: I'd suggest you to stop seeing Plutarch as often," Haymitch was already at the door when he said it, his hands freezing on the platinum doorknob. He closed his eyes and kicked the door open, hoping to leave a scratch in the lacquer.

He never told her. How could he? She still believed that Porcius was just the pig he was named for and that seemed to be all for the better. She got better, but never really recovered. She still flinched and jerked when he touched her and he could see the tiny fear in her eyes every time he broke her personal space by accident or well-knowing. He was accused of it, but Effie had made it very clear, that he was not the perpetrator. She never mentioned Porcius' name either, though Haymitch spend many of the dark hours of their nights together begging for her to turn that idiot in.

Plutarch had initially wanted Effie to be part of this rebellion, but Haymitch decided against it, saying she would be safer not knowing anything. He knew with bitter regret that when the revolt came around, he would probably never get to see her again. This fact was not making this last time with her any easier, as everything he wanted was to touch and savour the last remaining days of whatever they'd built up. Love, was a very strong word, but he found it oddly fitting here. Though he could never allow himself to speak it out loud to her. Better not get her hopes up for anything, since he was leaving her in less than two weeks.

"Haymitch?" her voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned his body halfway to see her standing in the bar, looking directly at him.

"What, princess?" he asked, trying to contain some unknown emotions.

"Could you… Maybe, stay with me… Tonight?" she asked blushing terribly. It looked sweet when she did. Still innocent and shy, though she and Haymitch had shared some more intimate moments than just lying in bed together.

"Of course sweetheart," He didn't want to know her reason. She didn't like sleeping in the same bed as him usually. Even when they did end up in either his or hers bed for intimate reasons, she'd kick him out or go to her own room to spend the rest of the night. The first time she asked him to leave, he'd been frightened, but he learned to accept that she wouldn't sleep at all sleeping next to someone. That only meant she wasn't planning on sleeping tonight. She'd done the same a few times before, inviting him to her bed. The usual scenario for such a night involved her tossing and turning, until he held her so tight, she wasn't able to move. She didn't sleep, though, not real sleep, but the kind of semi-sleep where the nightmares come each time you close your eyes. He'd slept like that for years upon years, leaving him without memory of a good night's sleep.

"Thank you," she sounded relieved and nodded at him, like he just granted her starving family a free supply of grain.

"Can I ask you something?" She didn't look at him, as she ran her fingers lightly over his bare chest, almost not touching.

"Yes,"

"Are you disappointed… In me?" The bomb she dropped exploded instantly and the hand, he'd been running up and down her back stopped stiff with his thoughts, which seemed frozen.

"Why would I be, princess?"

"I'm not exactly … everything," For once the chirpy escort couldn't find words to describe, what she wanted to say.

"What do you mean?" Haymitch propped himself up on his elbow.

"You've been so … distracted lately. It's not that I mind, I just –"

"I love you," he blurted out, ultimately silencing her for more than five minutes. Half of that time he was too stunned by himself to realize she was crying. The rest of the time, he spent crying himself.

"I'm sorry, Haymitch," she said desperately to break the silence.

"No, don't be, listen to me," Haymitch said. What would she even do if he told her about the rebellion occupying his mind? She was a Capitol citizen. She loved it here, she'd told him several times. But so was Plutarch.

"Some things are going to change," Haymitch said keeping it mysteriously "and I won't come back for a long time,"

"What?" she asked raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows. The sound of the tiny fear in her voice made him both happy and sad. Some sort of triumphantly feeling spread in his stomach. She was scared of losing him.

"I've chosen not to tell you, Effs,"

"Chosen?" she questioned him further.

"It's best if you don't know anything, for … They'll come for you, but just rest assure that you have no part in this, so they can't and won't hurt you," He was lying. Lying so badly. He had considered taking her to 13 after the victors broke out of the arena, but she would never be able to stay there. There was nothing for her to do. He wasn't even sure she agreed with the need for a rebellion, for he knew that some part of her still saw the games as bloody good entertainment. She was raised that way. It disgusted him. Sometimes she disgusted him, the way she talked about their tributes or the games in general. She had learned to talk of other things with him, but deep down he resented her feelings towards it. When he was drunk enough he told her. They would come after her, yes. But they wouldn't just let her go. Not after what Snow had implied at their meeting. Not after Snow knew he could use Effie against him.

"What's going on, Haymitch?" She wasn't mad, but the irritation in her voice was clear.

"I'm not going to just sit here and let you deceive me like that, don't keep me in the dark!" she insisted.

"Please trust me," Haymitch begged. He realized how much he had been begging of her the last few days. She was too easy to convince. This time too. She sighed and kissed him.

"I do trust you. I just don't know what to make of you," Silence. Another long five minutes of it.

"You mean it, don't you?" she asked breaking the silence once again. Her body felt warm and tense against him, but she was still crying a bit.

"Mean what?"

"That you love me," she whispered so silently, he swore she didn't even say anything.

"I love you," Haymitch repeated. She relaxed. Closing her eyes softly. For the first time she fell asleep beside him. He was as uncomfortable as he had ever been, her head pressing down on his upper arm and her arm spread across his chest, but he couldn't find it in his heart to move. Through the numbing pain he felt great. He never did fall asleep that night.

"Don't leave me!" she said panicking, defeated, scared. He couldn't bear it, but there was no, absolutely no way he could save her by now. They could already hear the peacekeeper boots stomping from both sides as Haymitch stood on the emergency staircase to go to the roof of the building. He kissed her, then took his first step. Then changed his mind and grabbed her arm. No, she wouldn't be safe or happy in 13, but better unsafe and unhappy than dead.

"Then come with me," he asked and pulled her through the broken window. These emergency staircases were never meant to be used – tributes could escape from here! But it looked good to the public, that security was taken care of.

"Where to?" she asked and Haymitch flinched when she cut herself on the broken glass frame.

"I'll explain that later, alright, just … Just follow me," She couldn't run fast enough, he already knew. Effie was a lot of things, but athletic wasn't one of them and though she'd kicked of the heels and adrenaline was surely rushing through her, she still had to go up about three long flights of stairs to reach the roof, where running wouldn't even be enough to make it to the hovercraft. Only mindless sprinting, not caring what or who was stepped on in the process. She tried, though and Haymitch pushed her further and further. When they reached the end of the stairs, he had felt several tranquilizer bullets pass dangerously close to him from the peacekeepers behind them.

He heard her scream when he reached the hovercraft only a few metres in front of her. He closed his eyes as they took of. This wasn't happening. They were so close. Only a few more milliseconds and she would be safe here with him, just for a while. The world turned upside down and he feared he was about to faint when he looked through the still open door. Two peacekeepers were holding the manically fighting escort, whom he never knew could yell his name so loudly. So pleadingly. Come back. Don't leave me. Haymitch! Her screams echoed inside him, making it seem like someone was taking each of his internal organs and violently pushing them through a meat grinder.

…neither you nor your pretty little girlfriend is going to live. Her screams were replaced by the words of president Snow. They'd kill her for sure now. He'd failed. If he had only … told her about this. If he'd prepared her for the fight, she could have run ahead as soon as the arena exploded. And now where they'd seen her running with him, well, it was hard not to picture her as a rebel, though she wasn't. She was just scared and too easily manipulated by his words.

"What happened Haymitch?" Plutarch asked him and pulled him further into the craft, so the doors could be properly closed, ultimately shutting him of from the last ray of Capitol light.

"I left her…" Haymitch said too overwhelmed by the situation to cry or even show a single strand of emotion.

"I left her behind…"

Author's Note: This is yet another one of those oneshots that I could see going further, but I don't know if it'd just be to repetitive, since a lot of fics are about the whole "Effie-is-tortured-then-saved" deal. I've already written a few myself. Please let me know if you want me to write more, ideas and feedback are always appreciated.