A/N: A little exploration into the relationship between Haymitch and Effie using the song 'Next To Me' by Emelie Sande. I can't help thinking of these two when I'm listening to the song. I am most definitely a shipper, so be warned for a few tufts of fluff here and there in the later chapters! I am only a casual writer, so please don't be too harsh if you feel like leaving a review! All mistakes are my own, however 'The Hunger Games' and its characters belong to Suzanne Collins. :)

You won't find him drinkin' at the tables

Rolling dice and staying out 'til three

You won't ever find him being unfaithful

You will find him, you'll find him next to me

The sofa cushions encased her, their fabric soft and sweet and delectable against her skin. Only the Capitol's finest for the tributes, their escort and mentors. Only in this case there was just one mentor. A mentor who drank himself silly and made a fool out of himself.

Of his tributes and of her.

She shifted against the cushions, the uncomfortable feeling still residing within as she watched her tributes either running for their lives or tending to their open, gushing wounds.

She shifted again absent-mindedly when Katniss shifted Peeta's weight as she struggled to keep his injured body upright, trying to get them to safety. Suddenly a voice cut through the air, unusually without the scent of alcohol wafting around her that told her he was about to approach, making her jump.

"It's not the cushions, Effie."

She scowled at him, not understanding what he meant and not wanting to take her eyes off the screen, willing her tributes to get a move on before they were found by those hideous District 1 careers.

"We need to do something, Haymitch." She tried to keep the plea out of her voice, but he knew her too well to not miss it.

"And what do you suppose we do?" His weight on the sofa nearly startled her as she looked at him.

"I'm just the escort. You're their mentor. Think of something! Or do I have to do all the thinking for you!"

He tries to keep his anger at bay. He doesn't want to feel angry at Effie, but he can't understand how she could let herself be ensnared by the pretty colours and sparkles of the Capitol when there is so much dirt underneath that she doesn't see - or can't bring herself to look at.

"Sweetheart, I'm doing the best I can. Those tiny pots of ointment aren't bloody cheap you know. I haven't got enough sponsors for another one."

"But Peeta needs it!" She almost cries, not letting him finish and he can't keep his anger at bay this time.

"I tell you what, why don't you go out and get some sponsors rather than sitting here worrying. You're the one that wrote me that list of names. You know who they are! I'm sure you can use your girlish charm to get some sponsorship out of them!" A sharp, hot pain seared through his cheek as Effie's hand made contact. His reflexes were quicker than usual, not having cracked open that bottle of spirit yet, and he grabbed her wrist, maybe a bit too tightly.

"I'm sorry." She whimpered, not making eye contact with him. Of course, she had slapped him many times before so the feeling wasn't a stranger to him. However, the last slap from a few years before had ended up with them in a rather passionate clinch and that is something he would rather like to avoid, if at all possible. "I know you have been trying, Haymitch. It's just, we're so close now. Katniss and Peeta have been amazing and they need our help." Her eyes drifted back to the screen where their tributes had found a new hiding place in a cave. It wasn't the best, but she drew some comfort knowing they were safe, even just for a little while. She relaxed and her mind wandered to Haymitch. The unfamiliar presence of him sitting next to her as she watched their tributes fight for their lives, no alcohol lingering in the air reminding her that he was, in fact, sober for a change. She knew he was trying this time and she had no reason to slap him, even when he had suggested she use her body to get sponsors. He was always the one with the charm, even when drunk, the little it did for their tributes. He used to try, but after a while he didn't bother and instead of watching the games with Effie, he would usually stagger in at unimaginable times of the morning, maybe with a pretty girl in tow having been 'out on the town.' It was always Effie who weighed herself down with how to deliver their tributes' bodies back to their families. She would tell them how proud she was of them, how they fought valiantly and with purpose. Even though she would say the words with viction, somehow they still felt empty, especially since Haymitch always disappeared and let her get on with it.

Yet this time it felt different.

She could just see the tiniest glimmer of hope behind his grey eyes.

"There's nothing I can do tonight. I will try again in the morning."

"Thank you." Effie sighed, expecting him to head down to the bar to drown his sorrows. But he stayed next to her, watching their tributes fall asleep together, waiting for the hell that tomorrow would bring.