A/N. So there's sex ahead. Nothing too graphic, but it's not exactly kiss then fade to black either. I'd meant for it to be skippable, but some plot snuck in. Still if you want to skip the first section, nothing too earth-shattering happens (no pun intended). I'm not planning to go up to M…yet, anyway.
Effie was caught completely off-guard by the kiss, which had been Haymitch's intention. He began to back her up until her back was against the elevator wall. She finally responded, throwing all her confused emotions back at him. His tongue wrestled with hers, and it took him a moment to remember why he'd begun kissing her in the first place.
He broke it off, and began to kiss her jaw, softly. He whispered when he made it to her ear, "Not here. It's not safe."
Before she could ask a question, he reattached their lips. Vaguely, his brain thought if there were cameras and not just listening devices in here, someone might be getting one hell of a show. He worried about him and his escort being on a cover of some tabloid in the future.
He pushed these worries aside, focusing on Effie. He wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding against her, forcing a gasp from her lips.
He hated the taste of lipstick. He endeavored to rid her of all of hers.
The task went unfinished as the doors dinged, opening to their rooms. He grabbed her ass, not bothering to let her walk.
He was getting older, he noticed. His low back was immediately in pain from Effie's rather insubstantial weight. Still he made it to their door, pushing against it. He wasn't sure if their rooms were any safer, but he didn't really want to talk with her anyway.
He opened the door, spilling them both into the familiar penthouse. Their lips were still attacking each other. With a heeled foot, Effie slammed the door shut.
The caught their breaths for a moment on the floor. Effie played with a few strands of Haymitch's hair. Eventually, she grabbed a handful of it to force him back to her mouth. His mind tried to reach him through the haze of booze and lust, tried to remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.
But his mind was overruled by the rest of his body. It had been too long since he'd had a willing body beneath him. They made out like teenagers for either a moment or hours before he realized that a bed would be better. He broke away, standing up.
Effie first tried to grab him, force him back to her, but even as her lips tried to follow his, she realized he was standing. He held a hand out, knowing she liked that gentleman crap. She took it, but now it seemed her mind had caught up to the rest of her body.
She glanced over at the screen in the corner. It was always on, and right now it was focused on sleeping tributes. Tributes that no longer included District 12.
Rather than crying, she recaptured Haymitch's lips. He'd been following her thoughts; he knew they should stop, but then he heard her whisper, "Help me to forget."
He wondered if this was what she used to cope with her role in killing children. If sex was her booze. He didn't want to ask. Didn't want to know if she'd dragged men to her bed after previous games.
He'd never admit that the thought made him jealous.
He picked her up again, intending to bring her to one of their bedrooms, but age really was catching up with him, and he could feel his arms giving out. Rather than killing the mood by dropping her, he put her atop the table, acting like it was his lust that couldn't wait.
It was a beautiful mahogany, not that he noticed.
He began to undress her. He thought most of what she wore was stupid and this plaid number was no different, so there was no finesse. He ripped it away, tearing fabric and sending buttons flying.
She should have lectured him. No Capitol man would have acted this savagely, but she didn't care. She was more careful with his clothes, but when he assisted her, he wasn't. She tried to unbutton his shirt properly, but she found her hands were shaking too much, so he just ripped it off.
The failure reminded her of Ash Martin. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks.
The sight seemed to slow Haymitch. He kissed her cheek, licking away her tears, "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"I failed him, Haymitch. And I killed that boy. I killed him."
"You didn't."
"I drew his name." She thought of the other children over the years. "I killed them all, didn't I? I draw the names."
"If you didn't do it someone else would." Haymitch forced her eyes to look into his. "Effie, you at least care. You try to save them. It's better than most." He wanted to tell her more. Tell her how she was the only escort he'd liked. How he didn't want her to leave.
"But I never save them. It's so hard, Haymitch."
"I know. I wish I could tell you it gets easier." It had been awhile for Haymitch, but dead children were not his usual pillow talk. He wondered if the mood was gone. His erection wasn't quite gone, but it was nothing he couldn't handle himself if she wanted to stop.
Effie hadn't shed anymore tears, but her eyes shined with unshed ones. "That's why you drink, isn't it?"
Mostly, he wanted to tell her. But he wasn't sure he was ready to tell her everything. He doubted they were completely safe here. He didn't really care if Snow found out him and Effie had sex, it wasn't that uncommon, especially since they'd worked together a few years. But if he told her secrets? The President might mistake that for feelings, might think Haymitch cared about her.
Haymitch had learned the lesson of what happened to people he cared about well.
He went back to being gruff. "Listen, Trinket. Did you want to fuck or not?"
He'd expected her to throw him off her for rudeness and try to recover herself with her ripped dress. But she looked thoughtful, like she didn't know the answer.
Haymitch stood, waiting for her response.
He was surprised by it. She slipped off of the table, but instead of going to her room like he expected, she went down on her knees. While his shirt had provided her with problems, his pants were a different story.
Haymitch's head rolled back, and he had to grab onto the table to ensure his legs didn't give out. He'd wondered about Effie, she could be such a prude sometimes, he wondered how experienced she actually was.
Very, it turned out. It shouldn't surprise him, he knew. The Capitol was known for having loose morals and orgies were an actual thing here, not just some fictional fantasy.
She really was just another Capitol. Sex probably meant as little to her as it did to any of the other women he'd bedded here. Just something to do to pass the time, something to keep the real feelings at bay.
He pushed her off him, forcing her up. She tried for a kiss, but instead he forced her face to the table. Pushing her skirt up and bringing her panties down, he stepped behind her.
He thought of how much he hated the Capitol and, despite her tears, how Capitol Effie Trinket was.
It was not gentle. It was not comforting. It left her with bruises and him with sore muscles. It was far from perfect. She screeched in his ear, leaving it ringing, when he hit a sensitive spot. He didn't last as long as he should have.
Yet, it felt like heaven. And even as he softened and stifled a joke at her melted clown make up and eschewed wig, he knew he wanted more.
Her forcing her tongue back into his mouth told him that she was on the same page, so he gathered her into his arms and carried her back to his room.
Effie Trinket had never understood people's obsession with wanting to sleep with a Victor. True, everyone had had a crush and a fantasy about at least one Victor at one time. And yes, there were means to make fantasy reality, but the idea had never held much appeal to Effie.
She once wondered if it was because she was too close to the real side of the Games. She knew how crass most of the Victors really were, how filthy the Districts could be. And even the fantasies of an eight year old girl couldn't survive cleaning up the puke of the handsome 16 year old you once dreamed about.
Effie had a few friends she knew would have sponsored 12 for a particular piece of its Victor; even with him past his prime, just for the bragging rights. She had never mentioned it to Haymitch. He had once told her he hated the idea of her whoring herself out for sponsors, so she figured he wouldn't be too keen to do it himself.
She didn't know why anyone would want to sleep with a Victor, couldn't understand the obsession at all.
And still, she woke up to find herself in a Victor's bed.
At least she hadn't paid for the privilege.
A pounding in her head, her oncoming hangover, proved that statement to be false.
Everything hurt, the light was too bright, the room too cold but the sheets too warm. She shifted on the bed, disrupting her partner's sleep.
Haymitch's groan next to her might as well have been a trumpet blast. "Shh." She swatted at him without looking.
Part of her knew that she should be disgusted with herself and surprised to find herself in this situation. She should knew better than to be interested in her Victor; she had scoffed during her training when they warned against Escorts getting into physical relationships with their Victors. She had guessed only those with the loosest of morals would have such vulgar problems.
Effie Trinket would never stoop so low.
She stumbled out of the bed, gathering her clothes as quickly as possible. If she wasn't found in his room, it didn't happen. If he tried to talk to her about it, she would insist it was just a drunken dream.
It had never happened.
That was her mantra as she gathered clothes and ran to her room.
It had never happened. A moment of weakness and nothing more.
She hadn't noticed that she'd left her wig behind.
Effie wasn't in the penthouse when Haymitch woke up. He took that as a sign that she considered last night a mistake. He couldn't disagree with her on that, so he didn't bother trying to find her.
Haymitch wanted to get away from her too, wanted to go home, but that's not how the Games worked. Even when both of your tributes were dead and you had no reason to stay, all Mentors had to stay until the Games finished. Haymitch usually spent this time getting drunk with Chaff. It was how they'd become friends in the first place.
Chaff had won the 45th Hunger Games and had taken Haymitch under his drunken wing. He'd taught him how to have fun and distract himself from the misery of the Games. He'd been a true friend, showing him how to live on year after year. Haymitch sometimes wondered what would have happened to him without Chaff's guidance and friendship. Such thoughts weren't dwelled upon because Haymitch didn't really want to think about his life being even more miserable.
Haymitch had found his way to 11's room (only a floor below his) and found Chaff sneaking out of his room. Haymitch smiled as Chaff ran to the elevator. He was surprised when Chaff pushed the floor for 7 so they could gather up Johanna before heading out to get drunk.
District 11 had a record that was almost as bad as 12's so they were both out of the race pretty early. This year, 7's tributes were dead as well, but the boy from 4 was still in the Games, meaning that Finnick wasn't around to entertain her.
She was quieter now than Haymitch remembered, but the anger was still present, radiating off her in waves. He hoped some booze would wash some of it away, but he remembered the feeling of losing everything. He knew it wouldn't be so easy to let go.
Haymitch just wanted to get to the bar. Just wanted to drink away everything. Drink away dead tributes. Drink away what Snow had done to him and his family.
Drink away how Effie Trinket tasted.
Haymitch cursed his body for betraying him, reacting just to the thought of last night. He hoped neither of the Victors had noticed. His glance told him they hadn't.
They went out, away from the Games to a Capitol bar Haymitch knew Chaff was fond of. Mostly because they featured beers and liquors from every district, so that Chaff could have that swill his people called whiskey.
Haymitch ordered a double of his own hometown's brew. He then asked for a bottle since he had no desire to continue to order drinks. It was privilege of being a celebrity that he was allowed to have it. The three of them
It took a moment for Johanna to join them. Haymitch and Chaff were old men, their games happened ages ago. But Johanna was young, fresh and her Games in recent memory.
Haymitch scoffed. At least the pretty girl wouldn't have to pay for all of her own booze.
Three bottles of something from District 7 beat the Victor to the table. She smiled at the collection, even though it looked more predatory than grateful. Haymitch smirked, "You planning on sharing, Sweetheart?"
"You two can manage your own drinks," responded Johanna, who didn't bother with a glass. Instead she picked up a bottle and began downing most of the drink.
They all were lost in their own worlds for a moment. Haymitch didn't like the silence, for once. He kept thinking about Effie. Kept thinking about how she rolled her hips, kept thinking about how she mewed, kept thinking…
"You were right, old man." Johanna's words brought Haymitch brought him back to the present.
"Yeah," Haymitch wished he had something better to say. Wished he was better at consoling someone who lost everything.
"Did Snow…" Johanna bit her lip. "Did he ever…What did he ask from the two of you?"
Both men knew what she was really asking. Knew what Snow had asked from her. Chaff answered first, holding his stump of a right hand, "No one wants a cripple."
Haymitch took a deep drink, but could feel the young woman's eyes on him. He answered, "They didn't do that shit when I was younger and no one wants a fat drunk now."
"So you didn't…"
"Your escort arranged it. Didn't she?" Chaff asked.
"Yeah. I have an appointment tomorrow, but I don't want to…"
"Do it." Chaff said in a tone that didn't allow for argument. "It'll be easier than resisting."
Johanna's eyes looked to Haymitch, as if he could rescue her. As if he had any other advice to give her. He sighed, "Make it as terrible as possible and hopefully they'll forgot you in a few years."
Johanna reacted as though she'd been hit. "I know Finnick had to do it. He's too pretty…" She bit her lip again, as if stopping herself from saying too much. "I hoped there was some way to avoid it. I don't want to take everything from me. They've took enough already."
"It's never enough," Chaff said, raising his bottle to his lips. "For them, everything you have still isn't enough for them."
Johanna laughed, it was a bitter sound. "To our masters." She put up her bottle in toast.
Haymitch followed, but Chaff added, "May they all burn soon."
Haymitch worried that this wasn't the place for that kind of take, but then what would they do? No one at this table had anything to lose anymore.
He finished his bottle.
Going up to the bar, Haymitch was surprised when the man he pushed out of his way responded, "Haymitch?"
Haymitch glanced over. He recognized the man, but it took a moment for his alcohol soaked brain to supply a name.
Cianna.
"What are you doing here?"
"You know, I do live in the Capitol."
Haymitch signaled the bartender for another, but Cinna stopped the man, "Put that on my tab, Enrico."
Christ. Haymitch stood up from his position leaning over the bar, "You know I'm not interested in men."
"I just want five minutes of your time. You know what I really am."
Haymitch knew. A rebel. And while Haymitch understood Victors' reasons, he didn't understand why a Capitol would choose to rebel. His bottle arrived. For a moment Cinna's eyes bulged. Haymitch nearly chuckled though he didn't feel bad. Let the Capitol kid buy a bit more than he meant to.
Cinna escorted him to a back room. Haymitch wondered again if this would-be stylist wasn't looking for something more. "Seriously, not into that."
"I'm not asking for that. I just want privacy."
Haymitch hoped no one had seen it. He didn't want Effie to catch wind of this, he could imagine the screeching.
Then again, she'd probably be avoiding him for the rest of the Games.
Cinna took a deep breath. "I wanted to explain a little about me."
Haymitch took a seat and a drink. "Well, I'm not stopping you, guyliner."
Cinna frowned at the nickname, but continued on. "My mother is from the Capitol, but my father was a Victor. He was from 9. My mother…" Cinna hesitated. "…she paid for it."
Nothing about this story seemed unusual yet, but Haymith thought they usually had strong birth control deals when it came to those arrangements. But then he remember the man Cinna must be talking about. Haymitch couldn't remember the guy's name but he'd won a few games after his. He'd been the Finnick of his day. This bastard might be the reason there were strong birth controls in place now.
"Well, I grew up thinking of my father as a hero. My mother pulled a few a strings, which allowed us to visit my father's home district. We were both shocked by what we found there. The poverty, the anger, it was all a complete shock to us.
"My mother didn't speak on the train ride back, but when she arrived at the Capitol, she began to petition for District rights. Not long after that, she was taken away by some Peacekeepers. I still don't know what happened to her."
Haymitch heard the tone of sadness in the other man's voice. It reminded him of when Effie told him about her dad's 'accident.' Maybe he did understand why some Capitols would rebel as well.
"I was actually a minor celebrity when born as most Victors didn't have Capitol children. I never really knew my dad growing up, but it's not like we could have had much a relationship anyway. I finally met him a couple of years ago, but he really hadn't been interested in getting to know me. Couldn't even properly hate him for that since it wasn't like he'd ever loved my mother. Never thought of her of anything but a client."
Yeah, Shaun was his name, that guy had always been a bit of a dick. Haymitch didn't really know the guy, except that 25 years ago, he was the prettiest Victor of them all, with his jade eyes that contrasted sharply with his otherwise dark features. The couple of times he'd met him, Shaun had seemed like a zombie. He walked around but didn't say much, and never showed any emotion. Never bothered to hide the fact that he was completely dead inside.
Haymitch wasn't sure if that made him weak or honest.
"I wanted to continue my mother's mission. Unfortunately, I found out, after many career changes, the only skill I had to back up my conviction was making pretty dresses, which is a great skill for a Capital, but doesn't really translate into rebellion."
"Rebel troops gotta wear something," Haymitch shrugged.
Cinna chuckled, "I suppose so. I've been petitioning to be District 9's stylist. Figured I could make a difference for my home, even if in a small way."
"Those two are pets of Snow's. You won't get in there until they die."
Cinna shrugged. "I need a partner anyway. That's what they told me. They'd rather two stylists than one."
Haymitch had nothing to say to that. He didn't really know about stylists and how they were selected. Effie might have better advice.
He needed to stop thinking about her.
Cinna said, thoughtfully, "Maybe if I asked for a different district."
Haymtich didn't like the look in the young stylist's eyes. "No one wins from 12."
"Maybe you're due."
Haymitch stood up. He'd heard enough. "I need to get back to my people."
"We're all on the same side, Haymitch. You know who the real enemy is."
He did. But what could he do?
The next morning, Effie waited for Haymitch to emerge. There were only three tributes left, so he'd probably be leaving today and she didn't want a repeat of last year. They would need to get past the awkwardness, need to keep in contact for strategy reason. She got up to rearrange the flowers on the table again.
Haymitch didn't come out of his room until 11. Effie was annoyed by this, but tried to push it down. She smiled, "Good morning."
Haymitch seemed surprised to find her here. "What's so good about it?" He walked over to the booze cart. Effie wanted to push a cup of coffee into his hands, but figured he wouldn't take it in his hungover state. She left him fill his own glass.
He plopped down across from her. Effie realized she couldn't really see him with the large floral arrangement in the middle of the table. She really should have noticed that in these past few hours.
"I wanted to talk about…" she hesitated. "Our working relationship."
"What about it?"
"I want us to be a team. I think the better we work together, the better our chances of producing a Victor."
"Jesus, Effie. Aren't you done with this yet?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I thought you'd stop caring. When are you going to just go numb like the rest of us?"
Effie struggled not to raise her voice. As if overcompensating, she nearly replied in a whisper, "I'm not giving up." Her voice got stronger. "I'm not going to give up. I may have a moment of weakness." That was the closest she'd ever get to admitting their previous night of passion, she decided. "But I will not give up. I will have a Victor, Haymitch."
Haymitch sighed, looking out the window at the artificial skyline. "You ever hear of a Cinna guy, sylist?"
Effie was confused by the topic change. "Of course, how would you know him?"
Haymitch's eyes flicked to the television. The Games were officially over. The boy from 2 had won. "He may be joining our team." He finished his drink in one gulp.
Effie was still confused. Why on earth would an up-and-coming designer join them? "That would be wonderful, if it was true."
Haymitch looked at her with burning eyes. Effie grew uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Haymitch threw his chair back and came to lean over her. Effie flinched back.
"What game are you playing, Effie?"
Effie jutted out her chin. "The one we've both been forced into, Haymitch. And I plan on winning."
"No one wins these games, sweetheart. They just survive them."
Effie could feel his breath on her. She knew she should tell him to step away from her, but flashes kept coming to her. Flashes that made her want him. "The way you do?"
"How do you survive, Effie?"
Effie backed away, getting out of her chair. "The Hunger Games are over, Haymitch. It's time for you to get on your train home.
He studied her as she walked away from him. For the first time, he wondered about her. Wanted to know more.
She was right, it was time for him to go home.