Haymitch could barely utter an eulogy in District 11. He was too drunk or broken to feel guilty as he did it, he even stormed offstage early in District 6. Effie's most embarrassing moment was likely when he vomited on stage in District 7. After learning that he hurt her, he'd done a very good job of speaking the bare minimum to her, apart from the night after District 6. They had no time to restock the train, as Haymitch had managed to drink it dry. Tonight, he had to go without.
As night fell, Effie heard a crash in his room, followed by a loud groan of pain. She got up, dressed in a lace nightgown, covered by a silk robe. Effie was greeted with the sight of blood as she opened his door. He seemed to have slipped whilst holding a knife, and managed to cut his arm. He was drenched in sweat, panting, obviously recovering from a nightmare.
Though everything about the scene reminded her of her mother, Effie helped him up, staining her nightgown in the process. She dragged him to his en suite, drying his arm off first and taking the supplied first aid kid. She wiped his arm down, sterilising it. After what happened to her mother, she was not above this. Haymitch was obviously still in a hazy state, and he was confused as to why he was loosing blood. As Effie sewed the wound up, Haymitch seemed to come around a little.
He murmured a thanks, to which Effie replied. "You sleep with a knife?" She asked, putting a bandage over the gash and helping him to take off his stained shirt. She was a little surprised that he still did, after all, the games were over, what else did he need to protect himself from?
"Nightmares. It's comforting to sleep with. I don't usually get them when I drink. Numbs it a little." Haymitch said, throat raw from shouting, hands shaking a little from blood loss and withdrawal from alcohol. He didn't expect Effie to understand, but he was grateful for her fixing him. He put his arms through a clean shirt she gave him, and closed his eyes as she kissed his head. "Why do you always do that?" He asked, referring to the kiss.
"Kissing you? I don't know. I find comfort in it." She said, shrugging a little and sitting herself down in his lap. "I think you like it too." Effie whispered, resting her head against his. He hadn't missed that she wore wigs every day now, and she painted her face extravagantly, but right now, her face was free of Capitol paint.
"How do you get your hair into those wigs?" Haymitch asked, wanting to get off the topic. He touched her candy pink hair, wondering why she slept with it on.
"I don't." The escort whispered, biting her lip. Conventional Capitol beauty didn't matter to Haymitch, and had nothing to hide from him. She was raw with him, and only him. Effie carefully put her hands under her wig, taking it off and looking at him. Since she'd become and escort, she would always wear wigs, and her hair was an obstacle to getting them on properly.
Haymitch ran his hand up the back of her head, touching her bare scalp, and the short stubbly hair there. Something about seeing her like this made her beautiful to him. He leaned in close, the most sober he'd been in months. "You're gorgeous, princess." He whispered fondly.
Effie couldn't smell liquor on his breath, and he used the nickname which had become somewhat affectionate. These factors, combined with his kind words, compelled her to his kiss his lips. Never mind what her mother had taught her, she did love him. Haymitch's hands cupped her cheeks as he reciprocated wholly.
After they pulled away, Effie stayed in his embrace for a few minutes. "Get some rest." She said, standing carefully and taking him to his bed. She dropped his hand once he sat down. "Goodnight, Haymitch." She whispered, leaving his room swiftly.