Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except the mistakes as this is un-beta'd.

Author's note: This idea won't seem to leave me alone so I've decided to extent this little AU one-shot into a series of little AU one-shots. I've got the next couple of chapters planned so we'll see how we go. Happy reading.

The Escort

Chapter Two:

Two years later…

The evening is beginning to have a disturbing sense of déjà vu for Haymitch and it is starting to make him feel sick. At least that is what he's telling himself, that it's the déjà vu that is making him sick and not the copious amounts of alcohol he is consuming. Another year, another Hunger Games, another two of his tributes dead and gone. The latest pair lasting an even shorter amount of time than usual – and that was usually short enough.

Haymitch stretches out on his bar stool, contemplating just how much more he will have to drink to achieve his goal of passing out, when he sees her come stumbling into the bar. He hasn't seen her since he found her stark naked in his bed two years ago and at first he doesn't recognise her. This time she is wearing an electric blue wig, long and straight, falling all the way down her back and her make-up is bolder and harsher than before, blue streaks framing her eyes, the same shade glittering her lips. Yet despite all of this she doesn't look at all glamourous.

He realises that the stumbling is in fact limping, that the glitter lipstick is hiding a swollen lip and that the extra streaks of blue on her cheeks are not intentional but caused by the tears silently falling from her eyes.

She makes slow progress across the bar to the lift on the far side of the room. The bar is quiet and no one, bar Haymitch, pays her any attention. He jumps out of his chair and is across the room in no time, moving much quicker than he would normally be capable of after drinking. He slips into the lift that she has placed herself in just as the doors are closing. She startles when she sees him but recognises him instantly and appears to relax a little bit. It is clear she does not see him as a threat.

"Haymitch Abernathy." She greets him and he smiles because apparently she can still only address him by his full name. There is a false brightness in her voice which he finds ridiculous as she is clearly still crying.

"Effie Trinket." He replies.

He is not ignorant about who she is like last time they met. He knows all about her now. Knows that she is one of the Capitol's most exclusive and sought after Escorts. Chosen and sold by Snow himself to a very selective club.

"What happened to you?" He asks seriously and she gives a nonchalant shrug which appears just as absurd as her tone of voice sounds.

"Interesting client."

"Interesting like he used you as a punch bag?" For some unknown reason Haymitch finds himself angered by her obvious mistreatment.

"Interesting like he wanted to ride me like a horse. A horse that was losing a very important race." It is only then that he notices the mark on her cheek that looks suspiciously like a riding crop imprint on her skin.

"Son a bitch!" Haymitch exclaims with genuine rage and Effie raises her eyebrows in response. "Why the hell would you let that bastard get away with something like that?"

She rolls her eyes at him.

"It's what he pays the very high price for the privilege of… whatever he wants to do to me."

"There isn't a price high enough in the world that means he gets to do that to you sweetheart." Haymitch replies before realising exactly what he has said. Sweetheart where the hell has that come from?

"Everyone has a price." Effie replies defiantly, seemingly ignoring the term of endearment that has just accidentally escaped his lips. "You're a Victor, surely you know that better than most."

Haymitch looks away, unable to meet her eye any longer. She's right, of course. He does understand that just about everyone can brought in some way or another. Snow owns them all – Capitol or District, Snow owns them all. Effie moves passed him to exit the lift as the doors open at her stop. Her arm brushes his and before he can stop himself he places his hand on it to stop her leaving. He doesn't understand why but he wants to keep talking to her, to help her. Besides which his tributes are dead and he has nothing else, bar booze, to fill his time with.

"Let me come back to the room with you. I'll help you get cleaned up." For the second time in so many minutes she raises her eyebrows at him. He gives a little chuckle but it sounds off and nervous. "Look I've had some experience cleaning up after a brawl, okay?"

"I'm going to go to bed Haymitch." This time it's his turn to raise his eyebrows as she finally addresses him by his first name only. "I'm not working anymore tonight."

There is a moment of silence as he tries to work out what she is saying. Following this there is a horrible moment in which he comprehends exactly what she means.

"No, I don't want to sleep with you, you daft tart!" He exclaims, the denial all but screaming in his voice. "I want to help you."

Effie pulls her arm free of his grasp in clear annoyance.

"Why? You don't know me."

"Maybe I'm just a sucker for helping a damsel in distress." Haymitch replies with a cocky smirk but he can tell straightaway that it is the wrong thing to say. Effie leans back in towards him, a sneer appearing on her face:

"And what about Esther?" All the air in the small lift feels as if it has been sucked out at the mention of his latest Tribute's name. "She looked like she was pretty distressed today. Where was your help then?"

Once again he moves before he can stop himself; the back of his hand collides with her cheek and mouth, splitting her already swollen lip and making it bleed. She retaliates in no way, she simply turns and walks out of the lift and down the corridor. There is no shock on her face. She had expected him to respond in such a way, had goaded him into. A stranger raising a fist to her is clearly something she is very used too. The sick feeling in Haymitch's stomach is fast growing into full blown nausea. He feels the shame burning on his own face.

"Wait!" He calls after her but she does not. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm sorry…"

He catches up with her easily and places his hand on her arm once more, trying to do it as delicately as possible but still needing to exert some force to get her to stop and face him. When she finally does she looks so resigned and over it that he finds himself wanting to cry with the guilt of it all. He cannot remember at all why he even followed her into the lift in the first place.

"Don't you have a stupor you should be drinking yourself into?" Effie asks after a few moments of silence. He doesn't answer. "Don't let me keep you from it." With this she yanks her arm free again and walks off down the corridor without a backward glance.