14.

Two weeks after Nationals, Effie was woken up in the middle of the night by frantic knocking on her door.

Frantic knocking at two a.m. never bode well and it took her a few seconds of blinking to establish she was in her bedroom in Aspen and that it could only mean an emergency. Immediately coming to the conclusion one of the children was ill and was seeking help, she bolted out of bed and opened the door, barely taking the time to slip on her dressing gown.

He must have been leaning against the door because his whole weight fell on her when she opened it and she staggered back, instinctively fighting to keep Haymitch upright. Her first thought was that he was drunk. But then he started clinging to her, hugging her so tight she could hardly breathe and whispering in her ear again and again. "I'm dying. Effie, I'm dying." He was shivering despite the two sweaters he had on and his voice was breaking with every word. "Don't wanna die alone. You stay with me, sweetheart. You stay with me."

"You are burning up!" she gasped. The heat coming from his body was unbearable. She pushed him back enough to place her hand on his forehead and bit her bottom lip. "You need a doctor."

"No!" he shouted. "No! No! No hospital. I don't wanna die in a hospital."

"Will you stop?" she hissed. "You are not dying, you stupid man. Certainly not on my watch."

She helped him to her bed and looked around for her phone, trying to remember where she had left it, but he was stubborn in his clinging.

"I'm cold." he mumbled "I'm so cold…"

He had a fever, that was quite obvious. She sat on the edge of the bed, at a loss for what to do. He hadn't been well those past few days but with Katniss and Peeta trying to come to terms with their now tensed relationship, the house had been a battlefield. Everyone was fighting with everyone and it fell on her to try and put back some semblance of order.

It didn't look like the flu though. His eyes were bloodshot, he was sweating, his fingers were badly quivering and his skin looked slightly yellow.

"When was the last time you had a drink, Haymitch?" she whispered.

He shook his head, making an attempt at grabbing the comforter but she kicked it further away from him. She didn't think it was a good idea to cover him, he already had enough layers and the fever was high enough as it was.

He stared at her, his teeth shattering, then he curled up on his side and pressed his forehead against her leg. "Three days."

"You are in withdrawals." she deduced. "You need a doctor, Haymitch."

He shook his head again, looking at her with shiny eyes. "They'll send me to rehab. Don't send me there, Effie. Don't."

She sighed and brushed her fingers through his hair. "Haymitch, this is dangerous. You need medical attention. I don't know what to do…"

"Just stay with me." he mumbled, pressing his forehead against her leg again. "Dying's not so bad if you're here."

"You are not dying." she growled. "You are forbidden to die. Do you hear me?"

"No doctor." he mumbled.

She let out a deep breath. "If your fever gets worse, I will call for a doctor, are we clear?" She kept petting his hair, watching him with dread.

After half a hour, he started muttering, fighting off nightmare induced monsters. He only calmed down a little when he heard her voice so she combed his hair with her fingers and talked about everything and nothing.

"What if we don't get the waltz right?" he muttered after a while, sneaking an arm around her waist and shifting until his upper body rested on her legs. She had leaned against the headboard at some point, tired of sitting up. "Mags says it's key but I'm shit at that waltz…"

The waltz… She had almost forgotten about that. The waltz had been their first short program. The one from 1997.

"We were fabulous in the waltz." she hummed. "Don't you remember? We ranked second at Nationals with it, darling. And we ranked first at the World Championships."

"Red dress." he mumbled.

"Yes." she smiled. "My dress was red."

He closed his eyes and nuzzled her stomach, looking for comfort or contact, she wasn't sure. "I love you in red."

"Yes, you do." she humored him.

"Don't leave me again." he suddenly begged, curling up further against her. "Please, sweetheart, don't leave me again…" She was about to answer that she hadn't been the one doing the leaving when he cut her off. "I love you… Don't leave me. I won't drink again. I'll stop. I don't care about gold. I don't care. I don't care if it's more important. I want you. I love you. Effie… Effie…"

"Shhh…" she whispered softly despite the lump in her throat. "I am right here. I won't go anywhere, I promise. I will stay right here."

"I love you." he repeated in his fever induced delirium.

He had never said it so plainly. He had always found ways of telling her without saying it, ways of making her understand without actually wording it.

"I love you too." she offered slowly. I love you still would have been righter. I love you despite everything, she could have said. I love you always. I love you to the point it's ridiculous. "I love you, Haymitch."

The fever broke a little after dawn and he finally fell asleep. He was plagued by nightmares though and she spent the remaining of the night alternatively fetching him water and whispering reassuring words in his ear. Every time he woke up he would burrow against her side and refuse to move until he fell back asleep.

When her alarm clock started beeping, she immediately hit the off button but too late. Grey stormy eyes looked up at her from where his head was cushioned on her stomach. He looked terrible. And if the fever had broken, he was however still shaking. She covered him with the comforter, noting the sweaters were damp from sweat under his armpits and on his back.

"Do you want a bath?" she asked. "I could run one for you." He shook his head pitifully. "Alright… Then I will fetch you some clean clothes." He didn't outright protest but he tightened his hold on her waist. "Don't be difficult." she chided him. "You need to change, you will catch a cold. And I am still unconvinced we shouldn't call a doctor… At least to examine you and make certain you are alright. There might be medicine that could relieve you some…"

"I'm drying out." he grumbled. "Was bound to happen one day or another. That's what you wanted."

There was hostility and resentment in his voice. He turned away from her, showing her his back, and brought the comforter to his chin.

"You are impossible." she sighed. "And unfair too. I liked it better when you were professing your love for me."

He didn't gratify that with an answer and she left after making sure he had a glass of water readily accessible. She took the shortest shower and quickly slipped on a pink dress, barely taking the time to put some make-up on before coming back to check on him. He was sleeping so she let him be and walked to the other side of the house, to his room, not surprised to find it in total disarray. There were clothes everywhere – dirty or clean, that was anyone's guess – books and papers scattered around, half the sheets were on the floor probably from his thrashing around in bed… It took her ten minutes to locate a clean pair of sweatpants, balled green flannel socks, and a long sleeve shirt he would be comfortable sleeping in.

She was on her way back to her bedroom, her arms full of clothes when Peeta found her.

"Good morning, dear…" She faked a cheerful smile. "I am afraid Haymitch is feeling under the weather this morning. You and Katniss will have to train by yourself. A jog to start with, as usual, and then maybe some time in the gym?"

"Is he alright?" the boy frowned. "There are people at the gates. I think it's the camera crew? We're not sure how to open them…"

People at the gates… Camera crew…

The documentary.

She had completely forgotten about that. She had agreed to a team shadowing them all for a day. There were supposed to film training and then there would be sitting interviews and a photoshoot for their blog…

"I can take that to Haymitch if you want to go meet them?" Peeta suggested, reaching out for the clothes.

"I… Yes, perhaps, that would be best." she agreed, handing them over. "He is in my room." She didn't let herself stutter or blush when she said that. She was the adult there and she didn't owe anyone any explanations. And yet she still found herself clearing her throat. "He came there last night when he was unwell. He had a fever, you see, and…"

"None of my business, Effie." the boy offered nicely. "Don't worry."

Her strained smile faded to a genuine one. "Thank you. You are a dear. If he doesn't want to change or if he can't on his own, tell him I will be there soon."

"I'll help him." he said. "Don't worry, I've got this."

He departed for her room cheerfully and she shook her head, knowing a sick Haymitch was a grumpy Haymitch and that the boy would probably lose his smile very soon.

She hurried to the gates monitor, dreading to let their guests waiting any longer because it was not only rude but unprofessional and berated Katniss during the whole fifteen minutes it took their van to line up in front of the house. They needed the girl to stop sulking and to play the part. Nobody was asking her to fall in love with Peeta but a few smiles and some hand holding wouldn't have gone amiss – sell the dream people wanted to see.

The boy joined them on the porch just as the car was approaching in the distance.

"He's showered and in clean clothes." Peeta reported dutifully, eyes shining with mirth. "I may have threatened to dose his glass of water with sleeping drops and give him a sponge bath if he didn't cooperate."

"Haymitch's sick?" Katniss frowned.

"Do not worry. Everything will be fine. Focus on the camera crew." she ordered.

The young woman who stepped out of the car looked energetic but Effie had to hide an instinctive pout of disapproval at her appearance. Half of her head was shaved and she was sporting an ivy green tattoo running down her skull to her neck. She had piercings everywhere and was clearly aiming for a grunge look that had been out of fashion for years. She immediately outstretched her hand with a professional smile. "Hello, I am Cressida. This is Messala, my assistant and photographer." A man equally pierced extended his hand too. "Those two are Castor and Pollux, my cameramen. And we have Octavia who is responsible for hair and make-up. We will shadow you today."

"How wonderful." Effie beamed, clasping her hands and surveying the band of… hooligans with some mistrust. The two cameramen didn't have any piercings but they seemed very amused at her obvious disapproval of Cressida's style. As for the Octavia woman, her hair was dyed green. Green. "We are all very excited. Well, if you want to begin with training, I think it is time for the both of you to go for a run, Katniss, Peeta…" She hesitated. "Or maybe you would like to film them on the rink?"

"Don't worry about us." Cressida promised. "We can follow and we won't get in the way. I would like the documentary to be as natural as possible so… Just do as you would do on any other day." The young woman bit on her bottom lip while she thought. "Actually… Maybe Castor should go with Katniss and Peeta, and we can start with yours and Mr Abernathy's interviews, Miss Trinket. I heard you have a trophy room. It would be the perfect place for it. And perhaps if you are agreeable, a few pictures of the two of you on the ice…"

The children looked at her, waiting for her instructions and she flashed them a reassuring smile. "That seems to be a good plan. Unfortunately, Haymitch is feeling out of sort today. We shall have to do without him."

"Really?" Cressida frowned. "That's a shame. We really wanted a joined interview."

Effie's smile became strained. "We shall see if he feels better in an hour or so. Children, you should go. You know what to do after you're done jogging, I trust."

Katniss and Peeta both nodded – Katniss even remembered to smile – and Effie was left with the daunting task of leading the crew inside the house, chatting all the while with a fake bubbly cheer in her voice. She was apprehensive when Octavia sat her down to style her hair and make her camera-ready but, despite her extravagant hairstyle, the young woman was clearly good at her job and she was bubbly. Effie soon found herself laughing and chatting with her as if they were old friends. Meanwhile, Cressida directed Pollux to film every possible angle of the trophy room. She was puzzled by all the silent gesturing going on until Octavia explained that Pollux was mute.

Cressida begged her to check if Haymitch wouldn't come down for the interview once she was ready so Effie left them to film more of her medals and went upstairs. Her bedroom was empty and, for a second, she was scared. People in withdrawals were unpredictable, who knew what he would do? He might hurt himself…Then she heard noises coming from her bathroom and she crept toward the open door warily. Her hand automatically knocked but there was no real need.

Haymitch was sitting on the floor, slumped over the toilets, his head cushioned on his arms. It was as unhygienic as it got. And also a little pitiful. Her heart broke when he looked up at her. The bags under his eyes were very dark and he looked ready to keel over and die.

"At least one of us looks fancy." he mumbled.

She checked her reflection in the mirror, deciding Octavia had indeed made a fine job. It didn't stop her from reaching in the cabinet under the sink for a towel. She made sure the water was lukewarm when she wetted it. She dabbed at his face with it, first the forehead, then the back of his neck and finally she wiped his mouth and chin.

It was disgusting.

And she wouldn't have done it for anyone else.

"Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor?" she insisted, flushing the toilets. "I still think you might need medicine…"

"I need booze." he scoffed. "You want to help me, you get it for me. Get me some booze, sweetheart… Please…"

He wasn't all there, that was plain to see. She placed her hand on his forehead, not surprised that the fever was back. It was nowhere near as bad as the previous night but it was unmistakable.

"Let's get you back to bed." she sighed.

He shook his head and grabbed the toilet seat in a strong grip. "Will be sick again."

"I will get you a bucket." she replied. "Come on, Haymitch, don't be difficult. It won't do you any good to sit on a cold floor. You need rest."

It took more coaxing – and more begging on his part for her to give him something to drink – but she managed to get him back into her bed. She left a bucket at his side and a glass of water on the nightstand and promised she would come back to check on him as soon as she could.

Cressida was disappointed Haymitch still wouldn't come down and Effie thought she only grew more disappointed after the actual interview. Effie was distracted, worried about Haymitch and even though her public persona automatically rose up the challenge and she was cheerful, optimistic and all smiles… She knew the interview was lacking.

Was she anxious about Katniss and Peeta going against Marvel and Glimmer, the favorite Russian skaters? No, why would she be? Did she think there would be a sort of double competition given that Cashmere and Gloss who had beaten them at the Olympic Games of 98 were coaching Marvel and Glimmer? No more than there was any personal competition between them and Enobaria and Brutus. How did it feel transitioning from being the champion on the ice to the trainer in the stands? It was a wonderful opportunity and she and Haymitch were really excited by the change of perspective. Would they ever see Fire and Ice perform again at a gala or a charity like so many former competitors did? It wasn't in the plans for now but she didn't exclude anything. Was Haymitch's illness serious? Simply a stomach bug. Nothing to worry about. Did he otherwise always attend Katniss and Peeta's training? They trained the children together, as a team. Were the rumors about his alcoholism as far-stretched as Effie made them sound to be? She didn't see how it was related to the object of the interview and would thank Cressida to stay on track. They didn't make a habit of crediting rumors with serious answers. Were they only back together to train Katniss and Peeta or were they back together in a more private setting as well? No comment.

She was relieved to be allowed to escape when Castor came back to signal the children were in the gym. She showed Cressida and her team to the room, made sure Katniss and Peeta were comfortable – Peeta was a natural but Katniss' fake smile still needed some work – and promised to come back in a minute.

It took her a lot more than a minute. Haymitch didn't seem to be able to keep anything down, not even water, and she was afraid he would get dehydrated. He was curled up on his side, his eyes bright with fever induced tears, and alternated between pushing her away, ordering her to leave until she got him some whiskey, and clinging to her, begging her to stay with him.

She was exhausted.

She hadn't slept enough the previous night, she hadn't had time to eat anything all day, and she spent her time running from the children to Haymitch, too aware that the cameras were following her smallest move.

She was relieved when Cressida declared she had enough material for the documentary and they could move on to the photoshoot. The photoshoot would be the last item on the list, then they would leave and Effie would be able to breathe.

"We don't need you for that." Peeta whispered, touching her arm. "Go be with him."

"Are you certain?" she hesitated. "You never did any of that before…"

"We'll handle it." Katniss cut in. "And eat something. You look about to faint."

The tone was curt and Effie clicked her tongue in disapproval but didn't otherwise chid her, identifying the concern for what it was.

Haymitch was still curled up in her bed, the covers kicked at his feet, his socks and shirt discarded.

"I'm hot." he muttered when she frowned. The fever seemed to have abated again and he had gone back to his usual grumpy self.

"It needs to be said you are impossible when you are sick." she declared. "You are a stubborn old mule."

"Like you've got room to talk." he mumbled.

°o°

Haymitch wasn't an early bird. Given the choice he would go to sleep late in the night and get out of bed only around noon. Mags and Effie had a different opinion of what constituted an acceptable hour to get up though and thus everyday he dragged his body out of bed at six thirty, took a shower, staggered to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee out of Sae, stole a pastry Effie wouldn't have approved of him eating, and then wandered to the hall where Effie was waiting for him at seven thirty sharp so they could go for a run. Depending on the thickness of the coat of snow outside, they either went to the woods surrounding the property where a clean path circled back all around the estate or they used the treadmill. Given the choice, Haymitch would also pick going outside every time.

That morning, for the first time in four months of training, Effie was late.

He waited fifteen minutes, sitting on the steps of the huge staircase, already thinking about the taunts he would be able to throw her way because when he was late he never heard the end of it until the end of the day. At a quarter to eight he frowned and climbed the stairs all the way to her room. Their training program was scheduled down to the minute, any lateness on their part would throw the whole day off and Mags would probably lecture them for hours about being responsible young adults instead of acting like bickering teenagers.

He didn't bother knocking on her door and simply stepped in, a taunt already on his lips. "You're coming or…" He stopped when he spotted her in her bed, buried under the pink comforter. He had expected to find her running around getting ready, not still lying down. His amusement turned to worry. "You're sick, sweetheart?"

"I am fine." she grumbled. "You shouldn't barge into people's bedrooms, Haymitch. It's rude."

He dropped on her bed, studying her. "Are we skipping running, today? Can think of other kinds of training I would like to do…" He winked at her with a smirk, tugging the comforter down. They had had sex four times and every time had been better than the last. He would have been lying if he had said he wasn't eager for a repeat.

She batted his hand away and sat up with a sigh. "No, we can't afford to lose time. I am sorry I was late. We should go. Were you planning on going to the woods today or did you want to stay in?"

She was already dressed, he realized as he watched her carefully extracting herself from the bed. She had her training outfit on. Why had she gotten ready and then decided to go back to bed? That wasn't like her…

"Your butler says the path in the woods is clear so I was thinking out." It was plain odd to say things like 'your butler' and Haymitch would never grow used to it. "But we can stick to the mills if you're not feeling great."

"No." she replied, putting on her running shoes. "I am fine. Let's go."

She was clearly not fine. She was limping.

He didn't rise from the bed when she made her way to the door.

"Your knee's bothering you." he observed. "Told you you were pushing too hard yesterday."

"My knee is perfectly fine. So am I." she hissed. "And we are not pushing hard enough. The competition is in two months. The waltz isn't clean. The free program is nowhere near finished…"

"You're ten minutes away from a breakdown…" he added in a bored voice. "Look, if you're hurt, you're hurt. We can keep it easy today and see if you're better tomorrow. Pushing on that injury isn't going to help us make any progress, Effie."

"We don't have the luxury of taking it easy as you say." she retorted.

"No? Then what were you staying in bed for, then?" he mocked.

She didn't gratify that with an answer but he got it anyway. She was playing down the limping, he realized as they were reaching the start of the trail through the woods. Her face was blank but her lips kept twitching with every step and every time she put her foot down she did it purposefully as if challenging her own body to betray her.

"Effie." he growled in warning.

She started running – if the odd hopping-waddling could be called running – without looking back at him once.

"Fuck it." he spat under his breath, taking off after her. He caught up easily and he glared. "What happened to that 'we can rely on each other' speech, sweetheart?"

"I don't need to rely on you right now. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." she retorted.

She tried to pick up the pace, leave him behind like she often easily did, but it didn't quite work out. She gradually slowed down instead and, to her obvious annoyance, he stuck close to her, ready to break a fall if it came to that. They were near the loop that would take them back to the house when she stopped abruptly and leaned against the nearest tree, her lips pursed tight and looking very white.

"You're done playing the hero?" he asked calmly.

She bit on her bottom lip and averted her eyes. "It is bad manners to mock a lady in distress."

"I've been in bed with you. You're no lady." he taunted. She flushed red but for different reasons. He walked closer, placing a hand on her waist. "You can walk or you need help?"

She hesitated and for a second he thought she would insist on walking but then she shook her head, her eyes filling to the brim with tears she didn't shed. "It's been hurting since last night. It's throbbing. I… I don't think I can walk back."

"Okay." was all he said. He wrapped his arm around her waist and waited until she had locked her arms around his neck to pick her up in a practiced move. "Just for the record, sweetheart… You're fucking stubborn."

"I am not stubborn I am just determined." she argued, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Potato, Po-tah-to, Princess." he snorted.

It took twice as long as it would usually have taken them to reach the house. Mags was waiting on the porch, her arms crossed, obviously either annoyed or worried by the delay. Any trace of irritation disappeared when she spotted them though and she hurried to meet them.

"I am fine." Effie said preemptively. "My knee is simply bothering me a little today. I am sure I'll be fine in an hour or two."

"She needs ice and painkillers." Haymitch told Mags firmly. "And she's staying off that leg today."

"You're her doctor now, boy?" the old women teased only to immediately nod. "Day off."

"We can't afford…" Effie started.

"Shut up." he snapped. "You're hurt, so you're resting before you get more hurt. End of discussion."

He placed her on the couch in the living-room and warned her in a gruff voice that she better stay there. He was happy to escape in search of a blanket, ice and ibuprofen for her because the fight she and Mags got into was nasty.

"What is the point of calling the doctor?" Effie retorted loudly to whatever their trainer said. "I know what he will say and you know what I will say. Truly, there is no need to waste anyone's time."

He came back, his arms full of stuff, just as Mags was leaving the room. He met her in the corridor and she shook her head. "Try to keep her off that leg, boy, will you?"

"Easier said than done." he grumbled, taking a deep breath before entering the room where she was pouting on the couch, her legs stretched on the leather to relieve her aching knee. He placed the ice pack on her leg first, ignoring her hissing, and then tossed the blanket on her lap before handing her the painkillers and the bottled water.

"This is ridiculous." she complained.

"You're ridiculous." he retorted. "Don't move from that couch."

Her pout deepened when he left but she looked pleasantly surprised when he came back ten minutes later even though she soon scowled at what he was carrying. "We can't eat that!"

"Sure, we can." he countered, setting down the plates with the still warm apple pie and the box of vanilla ice cream. "We're on holidays, sweetheart. You're allowed crap food on holidays."

"If Mother ever learns…" she argued and he rolled his eyes, cutting her off before she could finish that thought.

"The dragon's in Moscow." he reminded her. "She won't know if you have a slice of apple pie."

She let out a low tempted whine, staring at the piece of pie he was cutting with longing. "Without ice cream then."

That whine did things to him it shouldn't have and he carefully kept his eyes averted from her. Her, lying on the couch, whining or whimpering… That was enough for his imagination to go in overdrive.

"Apple pie isn't apple pie without ice cream." he declared, scooping a generous portion of it and placing it on her pastry. "Sae says you need to fill up."

"If I filled up any more you would never be able to lift me up." she replied, accepting the plate and the spoon with a small smile of gratitude. "I already gained weight since you came here. You are always trying to make me eat things that are not in my diet."

"You're thin as a toothpick, you can fill up a bit." he smirked. "So… What's your favorite movie, sweetheart?"

"Breakfast at Tiffany's. Why?" She moaned when she took her first mouthful of pie and, again, he tried to ignore it but it shot straight to certain parts of him who only wanted to stand to attention. "Do you know how long it has been since I had that?"

"Too long." he scoffed, standing to browse through the collection of video tapes on the shelves. He found what he was looking for and tinkered with the player until it worked. They had one of those new fancy dvd players too but that was still too new and experimental for him. He would stick to VHS. "Your life sucks."

"Language." she chided him. When the credits started to roll she gasped. "Oh, no, Haymitch! We do not have time to watch a movie! If we can't practice we should at least watch some tapes or…"

"Can you just shut up and relax for once?" he begged, grabbing his own plate and lifting her legs to place them back on his lap so he could sit down on the couch with her.

It seemed to be too hard of a request to follow for her. She managed to sit still through the first half of the movie, mainly because she was busy eating her pie but she fidgeted through the second half.

"You're in pain?" he asked after a while.

"No." she denied and when he lifted an eyebrow she sighed. "No. I think the swelling is reducing. And, yes, I now see the wisdom of staying off my leg. I just… I feel guilty. We should be practicing."

"You're allowed a day off once in a while." he declared. "We train nonstop seven days a week. Nobody's gonna die 'cause we took a day off. Just enjoy."

She sat up when he put a second movie. When he settled back on the couch, instead of placing her legs back on his lap, she leaned against his side. Somehow, without him truly understanding how, they ended up with him lying on the couch and her sprawled on him, her head neatly tucked under his chin, one of his hands under her sweater, palm flat against the smooth skin of her back, and the other playing with her hair.

"I am surprised you have not tried to get me naked yet." she confessed, sounding a little put off.

"Trust me, if there was any way to do it without putting strain on your knee I would already have you begging." he joked.

"Perhaps you are not creative enough." she purred, nuzzling his neck.

"I'm plenty creative." he snorted. "I just don't want to risk you getting hurt. Awkward to explain to Mags."

She breathed out slowly and he had the distinct impression she would soon take a nap. On him. Like it was a casual thing they did.

"You are secretly a softie." she decided.

He rolled his eyes but not amount of trying convinced her she was wrong.

We're halfway through! Do you still like it? :p Leeeet me know!