Warning: Angsty Haymitch and crazy Effie. A bit of arguing, could be labeled as a baby fic.
AN: Shoutout to Woodspurge for the prompt. They write fucking fantastic Haymitch - check them out for me, yeah?
Shopping
"Up, up, up, it's going to be a big, big, big day!" I trill, shaking my husband's shoulder. He doesn't move at first, and I believe he might be dead to the world, but then he mutters something that I don't quite catch. "What was that dear?"
"I said, if you don't stop all that yapping, there's going to be a big, big, big foot up your ass," he snarls. Ah, my dear husband. Never the morning person, not even when the matters are pressing. I would go alone and let him sleep - heaven knows he needs the rest - but this is a very important part of our lives and I want him there with me. Besides, whatever I buy for the house that we don't agree on, he shoots down and degrades it constantly. I won't have him doing that on a matter as important as this.
"That's no way to talk to the woman of your dreams," I sigh, sitting next to him. He faces me, his eyes squeezed shut against the light from the blinds. I know he's resisting waking up, mostly to irritate me at this point. "Please, love, get up. Please? You promised me that we could go shopping for the baby today! You can't break a promise, Haymitch. It just isn't right."
"Shopping? Thirteens smoking ashes, Effie, is that why you woke me up? Can't that shit wait?" he hisses, finally sitting up. I smile at him, softly, before painting my scowl back on.
"No, it cannot wait. I'm seven months in and all we have is the crib and the walls painted. We need to get something done, please love? Peeta and Katniss have done enough helping, we're the parents of this child, we need to do all we can! Obviously!"
"Okay, enough," he murmurs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I'm coming. Don't get your knickers in a twist... actually, I very much want you to get them in a twist. That much harder to get them off with my teeth." He finishes the sentence by being barring his teeth - not quite straight, but glamorous all the same. It forces me into laughter, and he smirks crookedly at me.
"I'm pregnant," I remind, when the laughter subsides. "Sex is... no, Haymitch."
"Sex will be difficult, but not impossible," he recites. "I know, darling. So, are we going to go shopping or sit here and talk about our sex life, or rather, lack thereof." I roll my eyes and slap him playfully on the arm, ignoring the sarcastic snort of 'ow, that hurts so much, honey'.
"Get showered, get dressed. I made cinnamon rolls for breakfast, and Irish coffee, your favorite," I hum, watches his back as he stands and makes his way towards the shower. Scars criss-cross his back, from his Games and the war, from escapades in the Capitol. The stories that are laced into each of those scars are awful ones, painful and terrible memories that I know he'd rather push into the back of his mind. But when they come to together, they form him. And despite the misery that those scars tell, I wouldn't have him any other way.
While he showers, I make my way down the stairs of our cozy little home. I manage to busy myself with fixing him a plate of cinnamon rolls - the only food that both of our nostrils can tolerate right now. Well, mostly it's because of me that we can't have certain things, but Haymitch puts up with me with patience that I didn't know he had.
I'm licking the glaze of the rolls off my fingers when arms encircle my waist, still moist from the shower, apparently. I lean into his chest, placing a roll over by shoulder for him to bite into.
"Mmm, you smell good," I note. He laughs around the bite of roll, the sound deep and throaty. I've always loved his laugh, somehow soothingly masculine. Like the sound of a coming storm, full of anticipation and bark - but no bite.
"I used that new body spray you bought me," he says when he's finished off the roll, pressing a sticky kiss right below my ear. I roll my eyes, swiping at the glaze in minor annoyance. "Ready?"
"Mhm. Done eating?"
"All I'll eat for now," he sighs. I wash my hands of the stickiness on my fingers and allow him to place my coat on my shoulders. He usually isn't such the gentleman, but the pregnancy has brought on a newer, softer side of my husband. It's pleasant, even though I miss the slightly more barbaric side of him.
"Alright, let's partake on our journey!"
While the drive to the main Shopping Center is a long and uncomfortable one, but it's all worth it when we arrive in the baby shoppe. The tinkling sounds of the mobiles spinning on the ceiling soothe me, and beside me Haymitch shuffles awkwardly. Looking around, I notice the various couples - mostly District born, with the odd tatoo or alteration that says Capitol blood - shopping around, even a few idle men staring in confusion at the pampers and and other baby items. A feeling of delight shoots through me when I realize that I am here, shopping for baby things, with the man I never thought I could have. It's all suddenly so surreal.
"Maybe I should let you..." Haymitch begins, slicing through my moment of euphoria. I turn to look at him and notice how pale he's gotten, how tense he is. At any moment, Haymitch could bolt and leave me here to handle this alone. And I won't have that when I need him most.
"No," I say firmly, grasping onto his hand tightly and pulling him closer into my side. "You're not leaving me again, Haymitch. I need you right now, in this moment." He flinches at the word 'again' and I give him a reassuring smile. Maybe my choice of words weren't the kindest, but I can't always be gentle with him.
We walk down the aisles, briefly looking at different outfits for girls. I am giddy to stare at the miniature frills and sparkles on the dress, having never gone shopping for something as serious as a child before. It's overwhelmingly pleasant. I stop at a small onesie with the words 'Daddy's girl' dusted on the front in sky blue sparkles. The onesie in itself it simple - besides the small title, it's pure white with a small little flowery headband that comes with it. Haymitch actually chuckles at it, brushing his hair from his eyes from amusement. I marvel at his genuine smile, remembering a time when it was hard to even get his condescending snarky grin.
"I like this one," he grins, like a child in a candy shop.
"Then we'll get it, dear," I say, hooking it over the cart and continuing down the aisle. I mostly let him pick the rest of the clothes himself, frowning only when he ventures to close to the darker hues. I'd prefer my princess in light colors, the dark ones reminding me too much of a dark past. But since the clothes are for babies, they're mostly bright and happy.
"Oh, it's like they made this one for you, honey," Haymitch says suddenly, his voice laced with sarcastic amusement.
"What's that?" I ask, turning to look at him. It's another onesie, but of an eggshell color this time. It's plain, mostly like the first one, except for the pink cursive lettering across the chest that reads 'feeding time, Mommy!' and has a tiny clock beneath it with little bottles replacing the numbers.
"Oh, that's precious," I grin. "Absolutely precious." Haymitch gives a grunt and tosses it in the basket, but I don't miss the small smile that tugs upwards at the corners of his lips. He was right - it is like the article of clothing is made for me. But it's cute.
At some point, I pick up a frilly tutu dress, with pink sparkles everywhere and the words 'I Love Auntie' on the front, the 'love' replaced with a giant purple heart. Haymitch wrinkles his nose.
"No, Efffie," he says, taking it from my fingers. "Katniss and Johanna would have a field day with that."
"Honestly, I think we both know the favorite aunt," I hum, snatching the dress just out of his reach when he makes a grab for it. Haymitch stares at me in mild amusement, his hands settling deep into his pockets.
"Yup."
"Annie," we say it at the same time, and I burst into laughter. Around us, shoppers give us either dark glares or amused smiles, depending on the age of the couple. I hide my smile behind my hand - a habit of mine Haymitch is constantly trying to break because he thinks my smile is pretty.
"I think Annie will be the favorite everything. She doesn't give anybody a hard time, and she's extremely helpful. Doesn't run around causing trouble like the other three. She's just a female version of Peeta minus the eccentricity," Haymitch sighs. "But on a serious note. No, that dress is too Capitol." I try to ignore the pang of hurt that pierces my chest at the words. A long time ago, it would have been just another insult. But it hurts now more because the term 'too Capitol' will always reference to me in some way.
"I'm Capitol," I remind, clearing my throat and lowering my eyes. Haymitch falters before giving a grunt of annoyance and rolling his eyes, most likely preparing the 'there's nothing for you to worry about, Effie' speech.
"You're different."
"How?" I snap, before lowering my voice. "Not really, I'm not. I was just as frilly and overdone as the next person was. You said it yourself." He opens and closes his mouth, narrowing his eyes like he does when I'm frustrating him or when he's losing an argument. I can't tell which fits the script, they both seem pretty accurate right now.
"Nevermind that, Haymitch," I sigh, changing the subject quickly." This is supposed to be a good day, I don't want to fight you. Let's just... oh, we're forgetting bibs!" I chime, the thoughts of anger and hurt quickly draining from my mind. Well, not particularly quickly. They're just pushed away. They'll always linger, I just bring more prudent things to the forefront. Honestly, I've never been angry at Haymitch for more than a moment. But I can't always let him know that - he'll think he's always getting off the hook.
He follows me as I make my way towards the bibs section, where only two other couples look around. The bibs are all funny and amusing, all having cute little quotes or sayings on them that really make me crack a smile and momentarily forget the almost-argument I had with my husband.
I pick up one that reads 'if this is dirty, Daddy didn't do it right' and I can almost hear Haymitch rolling his eyes behind me. I turn to look at him and find his lips pursed into a line, his eyes narrowed at the bib like it had commited a personal offence.
"Daddy is trying kid," he mutters under his breath, like our child had actually said the words to him. I laugh again, placing the bib in the basket. I find a few more - 'are you sure that's formula?' and 'maybe we shouldn't let uncle do this' quickly becoming favorite - and even I must admit, doing something as small as this has certainly brightened my day. I even get so lost in the shopping, that I don't know Haymitch has disappeared until I ask his opinion on something and there's nothing but silence.
Immediately, I panic. Thoughts of his discomfort, the way he'd seemed so ready to escape in the beginning, push themselves to the forefront of my mind. Did he leave me? Go for a drink during this important sharing moment? Oh, I can just think of a list of bodily harms I'm going to cause him if he did! How dare he, leave me here alone. And how humiliating! I can't believe he would do this!
I'm just beginning to become outraged when I see a mess of blonde and black curls bobbing a few aisles over. Considering my short stature, I'm surprised I see anything. Huffing, I push the basket towards to wear he stands, trying not to be too angry. After all, he must've had good reason to just flee like that. And, I may or may not be overreacting - his favorite thing to do is blame my reactions on my pregnancy, and sometimes I feel as if he's right. But then again, I have every reason to be worried about him and his fight or flight urges.
I find him in the feeding aisle - bottles, formulas, baby food and all sorts of healthy and organic brands to keep a child happy and healthy. But that's not has me red in the face from embarrasment.
"Haymitch Abernathy! What. The. Hell," I snap, snatching the object from his fingers. "You put that down this instant... what even are you doing here?"
"I was gonna pick up some formula, or whatever," he says, his voice strained with laughter. I carefully place the object on the display stand, and then to look at him. "And I find... a machine that helps you breastfeed?"
"It's more like... helps a mother put milk in a bottle so she could feed her baby breast milk in public. It's... not for the likes of a father to go playing with!" I hiss. "Can we go anywhere without you wreaking havoc?"
"Nah," says Haymitch, his eyes glistening with an attractive mischief. The same glint that tells me he's either going to make me moan or make me growl in frustration. Either way, he's satisfied. "If I go around acting like a perfect gentlemen, who'll keep you on your toes then?"
"I have one child, not two," I remind, pushing the cart towards one of the long checkout lines. "You don't need to keep me on my toes."
It's obvious that Haymitch had grown bored - like a child, when left unamused, he gets into things. Like making me angry, starting wars and saving lives and such. Not that I really mind - at least when he's getting into things that have a small productive value. Or in some cases, large productive values.
After checking out - Haymitch teases me about blowing his pension on unnecessary items, but they're just words - I decide that I want to go fabric shopping.
Here in Seven, the colors are usually darker and more cooled. For Haymitch, it works. Cinna obsessed about how the cooler colors brought out his eyes, and I don't disagree. Seven folk like colors that blend with nature, make them nearly invisible when in the woods chopping for lumber but also easy to find when in peril. And they work for the people here, with their red and black plaids and their soft forest greens.
But they don't really work well for me. And, I dealt with that at first. I'd march around in colors that drowned out my features and made my freckles more obvious, colors that didn't make me feel or look good, despite Haymitch's insistence that I was perfect. But then, Cinna taught me how to sew and design. He visited briefly in Seven from Eight and when I complained, he helped me fix my problem by first making me clothes and then showing me how to do it myself. Ever since, I've been making my own clothing. With Cinna's gentle color direction, the bright neons that I used to wear were replaced with soft pastels.
So after placing our bags in the backseat of our beaten up old truck, I drag Haymitch into the fabric store. He complains during the times that I do drag him along, about helping me choose colors and then being forced to listen to me go on about whether or not I'd look appropriate in certain textures. I'm used to it by now.
After saying hello to the cashier, a sweet old woman named Elvira who's always been more then helpful and generous with her prices, I head towards the softer fabric aisles. Cottons and satins that don't rub against my swollen stomach or make me uncomfortable.
I browse through them, looking at bright reds and soft blues, examining each and every one carefully before making a choice. Eventually I turn and hold up a light green one for Haymitch, my way of asking his opinion.
"You'd look like a tree," he deadpans, raising a condescending eyebrow. I roll my eyes, rolling the velvety fabric back on its spool. Leave it to him to ruin what I thought was a pretty color.
"Wow, you sure know how to woo a woman," I snark back. Behind me, he laughs.
"I know how to woo a woman, and I know how to be brutally honest."
"Yeah, I can see that... okay, how about pink?" I suggest, holding up what seems to be a cotton candy color. By the way he scrunches up his nose, I can see he doesn't like the color before he even says anything.
"I've seen you in enough pink to last a lifetime. Have you ever worn yellow?" Well at least he's trying to participate.
"I'm blonde, Haymitch. In my opinion, yellow and blonde don't go together," I sniff. He sighs, picking up a soft purple color, almost lavender. I actually do like the color, it's always been a favorite of mine. I take the fabric from his fingers, running my palms over the satiny feel of it. It's soft too.
"Ooh, this one is nice," I smile. "I like it. I think... maybe white jeans will go with this. But I don't know how to make jeans yet. I'll order some from the Capitol and-"
"I don't think jeans are a good idea. You have to piss every ten seconds and jeans can be a hassle. During your pregnancy, you've been wearing more dresses, have you not? Yeah, you could make a really pretty sundress that you could wear to the baby's shower, couldn't you?" He suggests, cutting me off mid-sentence. I let the impropriety slide and smile at him.
"Look at you, becoming educated in a woman's world," I smile, but then something he says stops me short. "The baby's shower. I don't like that. How about... Athena's shower? I prefer that. Athena is a pretty name, I read it in a book one. She was the goddess of strength, I think."
"Okay," Haymitch shrugs. "Her name is Athena. Athena Abernathy. AA... oh damn you, woman," he growls, the insinuation of our child's initials hitting him suddenly. I hadn't even done it on purpose, but even though his alcoholism isn't a joke, the initials and the association paired with it is amusing. I laugh, turning back to the fabrics and ignoring the glares he sends to the back of my head.
I've really got to take Haymitch shopping more often.
AN: I swear, this took a life of its own. While doing so, it took three days of my life. I'm sorry for anything that doesn't seem right. I also didn't know the name of the object. I saw it once on How I Met Your Mother - Lily was going to Barney's house to do the thing that pregnant women do with that object and she stole Ted's lunch bag to do it. I don't know the name, and I didn't get any titles when I tried to search it. So I just used the word 'object'. Sorry .-. If you know the name, leave it below and I'll come back to fix it.
I hope I did this justice, I don't know man. Whenever I write prompts I feel pressure and I work terribly under pressure. Sorry if it isn't good .-.
I hope you enjoyed c: R&R please, thanks for reading!