"Never had you down as the rebellious type, sweetheart." Haymitch was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed across his chest, one eyebrow arched expertly in a way that Effie herself had never been able to perfect. He gestured to her ankles, which were crossed underneath the table. She had been alone in the meeting room, working on a plan for Katniss' next propo clip which would be filmed the following day. "Non-standard footwear?" He 'tsked' disapprovingly.

Effie looked down at the pair of bright pink heels she'd been lucky enough to have been wearing the day she was kidnapped and brought to District Thirteen. "Well, I needed something to make myself look a little less like a... an escaped convict," she said, wrinkling her nose. "These jumpsuits commit so many crimes against fashion, you have no idea."

There was a small silence, broken only by the faint sound of engines which seemed to emanate from the floor, the walls, everything in Thirteen. Both of them stared at each other, seemingly unable to tear their eyes away.

"You sound ridiculous," Haymitch said finally.

Effie laughed – a short, haughty sound – and shook her head. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. That is, unless you happen to hoarding some liquor in those pretty shoes."

"You don't need alcohol. It's bad for you."

A scowl crossed his features, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his mouth. "And how would you know?" He was still leaning against the door.

"Because you've been a lot more likeable these last few weeks," Effie said briskly, "Surely you've noticed that people take more notice of you when you're not stumbling around drunk everywhere?"

He stepped down into the meeting room, and came to stand by the table. He flattened one of his hands against the table, his fingers just inches from the papers she'd been looking at.

"People?" he repeated. "Like who?" It sounded like a challenge. His gaze bore into hers for a long moment, intensely angry and yet... somehow... searching. Like he wanted a specific answer, and he was daring her to give it to him.

She dropped her gaze, her heart suddenly beating twice as fast against her ribcage. "Like everyone," she muttered, sounding flustered now. "Surely you already know that?"

"Maybe I don't want to make assumptions." Haymitch's voice was rough yet quiet. "Maybe I need to see the proof for myself. Maybe I need to be shown how people feel about me."

Effie's eyes flickered up briefly, and then fell back to her hands, folded in her lap. "Maybe people are too scared to tell you."

Haymitch heaved a sigh. "And why would that be, sweetheart?" There was a dangerous edge to his voice; a hint of impatience. Effie knew by now that only meant he was upset about something. He wasn't really angry.

"Because with you, people can never tell if you're being serious or not! Maybe they're scared to put themselves out there and be honest with you."

Haymitch didn't reply. Did he understand what she was trying to say? Or had she completely misunderstood what he had meant? It had seemed like they were talking about something more than just him being sober. They had been talking about both of them. Right?

She got to her feet, still not able to look up at him. "It's late," she said softly. "I should be getting back to my compartment."

Acutely aware of his presence beside her, she started shifting the array of papers into a single pile and then scooped them up into her arms. She turned to go – just as Haymitch stepped sideways and she collided with his chest. The papers slid out of her grasp and fell across the floor.

Both leaned down simultaneously to sort out the mess, and their hands met. Effie's heart stuttered and she retracted her hand, letting him gather up the pile and hand it to her once both had straightened up. "Didn't think you were the gentlemanly type," she said, inexplicably breathless.

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

Effie didn't know what to say to that. She hugged the papers to her chest and turned to the door.

He didn't speak again until Effie was halfway out of the room. "One more thing sweetheart," he called after her. "You don't need the heels." There was a pause. "You'd look good in anything."

Effie twisted and caught a glimpse of Haymitch looking right at her, expression strained. Their eyes met for a second, and then the doors slid shut between them.