Prompt; Haymitch cuddling with Effie because he feels protective over her since her torture. (⌒‿⌒)

Can't split a team

Haymitch was startled awake by a piercing scream and half-shot out his bed, knife in hand, before he could properly remember where he was. The second it took him to remember was enough for the screaming to stop, but he ran a hand on his tired face and dropped the knife on the bed anyway before opening the door of his bedroom.

Plutarch opened his at the same time but Haymitch waved him back inside and his friend didn't even try to question him. The door closed and Plutarch was gone, probably back to sleep. After Coin's assassination and Katniss' subsequent long and painful trial they were still in the middle of, Plutarch had offered him his guestroom. Plutarch's house hadn't suffered in the Capitol bombings which was short of a miracle given the state of some of the other houses on the same street.

Haymitch walked to the third bedroom and opened the door without bothering to knock. Effie flinched when he stepped into the room but he didn't take it personally, she was probably still shaken by the nightmares and he doubted it was him she was afraid of. She was sitting in the middle of her bed, covers pooled in her lap, her head clasped in her hands. It made his heart ache for her.

It was him who had invited Effie to stay with them – which, as she had told him later, you really shouldn't do without asking the owner of the house first, not that Plutarch would have thrown her out – when he had found out that her apartment hadn't survived the Capitol bombings and that after she had been released from rebel custody she had had to live in a shelter that was neither fit nor recommended for someone who had just gone through something as traumatic as she did.

"You didn't take your pills, sweetheart." The again went unspoken.

"They make me dizzy." she said, like she always did. They were having that very conversation almost every night. She had had no problem with sleeping pills before her imprisonment but since her release, she hated them. Because of the other medicine she was taking, it made her nauseous and she resented the lack of control, it made her afraid of what could happen while she was out of it. Haymitch could understand that so he never really made a fuss about it. Plutarch, on the other hand, would very much have loved a night of undisturbed rest but he was never too vocal in his scolding.

"Scoot over." Haymitch instructed.

She did without much resistance and he climbed into bed. It only took a few minutes for them to get comfortable, they were used to this by now. He gathered her into his arms, her back pressed to his chest, her head cushioned on his left biceps but the rest of his arm gently curled around her head, his right arm wrapped around her waist – but careful of the wound on her hip, healed but still tender to the touch – his knees pressed against the back of her knees until they were spooning. She only felt safe that way at night, when he was practically draped over her like a human shield.

"Better?" he asked, fingers playing with the short strands of hair. She stiffened and he let go quickly, cursing himself for not remembering that. They had cropped her hair short in the Capitol prison, nearly shaved her head, it was starting to grow back but it was a slow process and she hated it. She still wore wigs even if that fashion had come and gone as far as Capitol citizens were concerned.

"Yes." she whispered nonetheless gripping the hand that rested on her stomach. "Thank you."

"No need for thanks." he grunted, like he did every night. "What was the nightmare about?"

He was careful not to treat her traumatic experience like he did his. They weren't cut out the same way. Burying everything deep down and pretending it didn't exist wouldn't be good for her. Frankly, it wasn't that good for him either and it was worse since he had to cut down on his daily consumption of alcohol.

Liquor wasn't easy to find nowadays and he had to pace himself or face the drastic possibility of finding himself with nothing but water to drink. So he busied himself. There was Katniss to take care of, Katniss' trials, Effie, and Twelve to represent until they could organize elections and sent someone who would care more than he did about petty questions like how many cart of wood were they allowed for reconstruction. His days were long and his nights were short, and he couldn't wait to go back to his house and forget everything. He had, at least, succeeded in sending Peeta back a few weeks ago, Katniss currently was his biggest problem. One gone, one to go.

"I was back there and I was alone." She shivered and he held her tighter. "I kept calling for help but nobody answered. I was alone."

"You're not alone." He sighed. "I'm here."

"I couldn't tell what was the nightmare and what was real." she confessed slowly. "I thought, maybe… This was the dream." She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

"Me in your bed, that's your dream, princess?" he teased. "You should have said that years ago."

She nudged him with her leg but that was it : no outraged retort, no scolding about manners, not even an ironic snort. He missed her. She was in his arms and yet, he missed her. Effie was a shell of what she once was. A fragile, vulnerable shell.

"Plutarch thinks they're finally going to agree to send Katniss back to Twelve." He had known for a few days, but hadn't told her before. He didn't know why. It just seemed… "It's going to move pretty quickly once they say yes."

"That's good." She sounded genuinely pleased. He knew she was worried about the girl but they didn't let Katniss have many visitors so Effie hadn't been able to contact her. He was one of the few non-medical members of staff allowed to see her.

"We made a deal with Paylor, though." Haymitch sighed, there was no good way to say this. "She will be released into my custody. I have to bring her back to Twelve and make sure she doesn't get into any troubles which means…"

"You're leaving." she finished for him. He could feel her body tensing by the second, she was clutching his hand so hard he was beginning to lose feelings in some of his fingers. "When?"

"I don't know." He pressed a kiss to her head, hoping it would help soothe the anxiety she was so obviously feeling. "But soon."

"Alright." Her voice was shaky and her breathing was quick. He would bet there were tears in her eyes. "That's good. You hate it here. You should go home."

"I want you to come home with me." There. It was said. To the back of her head rather than to her face, granted, but it was said and he had agonized over how to ask her for days, now, so…

"With you? To Twelve?" she sounded disbelieving and a little shocked.

"You don't have anything here." He gave a one-shoulder shrug. No apartment, no family, and given that Coin had been there first when they had tried to sentence her to death with the rest of the Hunger Games staff, she had practically no money left. She couldn't work yet, and she wouldn't impose on Plutarch long after Haymitch left, so what was she going to do? "You're cleared of all charges. You're free to go. Start anew."

"In Twelve, where I reaped children every year and sent them to their death?" It was bitter and desperate. "They will never accept me."

"You didn't realize what you were doing until you were already an escort and then you were trapped like the rest of us. You tried to help." Haymitch sighed. That, too, was a conversation they had had numerous times in the last month. "I vouched for that. Plutarch vouched for that. Peeta spoke highly of you. Katniss put you on her list. I'm not saying everyone will welcome you with open arms but I don't think it will be much of an issue. We have your back. We wouldn't have your back if we weren't sure and people in Twelve know that. Beside…" he snorted. "If you stay here, who are you going to cuddle with every night?"

Not that he would ever admit to any cuddling. He wasn't the cuddly type. He had a reputation to maintain.

"Plutarch's next door, you know." she deadpanned.

It was so much something the old Effie could have said that it made him snicker more than it usually would. It was relief mixed with a tad of hysteria and perhaps some exhaustion. He lived for those signs that Effie was still herself, that she was just confused and wounded and hiding somewhere in that empty shell of her. Now if Katniss could just do the very same and crept out of her catatonic self…

"Yeah, somehow I don't see that happening." He kissed her shoulder lightly. That was all there was between them, small affectionate touches and cuddles in the night. He had never properly kissed her, he had never tried to push further, they were moving at her pace. She was the captain of their ship. She was too fragile and lost for that to be otherwise. But Plutarch had been there all along. He had seen how frantic Haymitch had been when they couldn't find her, how desperate to get to her, how worried, how… Plutarch knew more than he was saying. Sometimes, Haymitch thought Plutarch had guessed before he even suspected it. No way Plutarch would even think of climbing in her bed like he did every night.

"Haymitch…" Her voice trailed off and he felt her shift in his arms. He rolled on his back so she could turn around. She propped herself on her elbow to look at him properly but she stayed close enough that his arms were still wrapped around her. "You don't owe me anything. What happened to me wasn't your fault." It kind of was. He had thought she would be safe long enough for the rebels to retrieve her at the same time as Katniss' prep team. He had thought her Capitol citizenship would protect her. But it didn't. They were too late for her and he felt guilty about that, he felt responsible because it was on him, it was his miscalculation. She had forgiven him, though. He wasn't sure she would have if he hadn't come for her but he had, he had found her, he had gotten her out of her cell and he had protected her from Coin… "You don't owe me anything." she said again.

How wrong she was. He owed her all the nights she had spent looking after him when it wasn't her job to do so. He owed her all the times when she had made tense situations better with her silly nonsense. He owed her the kind and unreserved – though sometimes exasperated – friendship she had gifted him with. He owed her the Games she had somehow made manageable for him to go through. He owed her all that and a thousand more things.

"Okay." He brushed the tip of his fingers against her cheek. Her cheekbones were sharp and her cheeks were hollow like they had never been before. She had always been slim but now she was just downright skinny. Each time he put his arms around her, he could feel every bone in her body. "Truth is I'm a selfish bastard and I can barely bear having you out of my sight when you're a few blocks away so I don't think going to the other end of the country is going to help."

He hated leaving her behind at Plutarch's house every day. He couldn't help but think someone would come while he wasn't there to protect her and take her away again. That was a thought he couldn't fathom. He needed to be sure she was safe and the only way he could do that was by keeping her with him.

She studied him for some time in the darkness. There was enough dim light leaking through the curtains from the lampposts in the street that he could see her face. Her eyes were focused, that was good. She tended to have a vacant look sometimes, that meant she had retreated in herself. "Do you really want me to go with you?" Her question was soft and unsure.

"Yes." He didn't even hesitate, he didn't try to lie and say she should do what she wanted. He was selfish and she was fragile. She needed to get stronger, to built her life again, and he wanted to be there to make sure she would be fine. They couldn't do that in the Capitol, so Twelve it was. "I want you home with me and the kids. We're a team, aren't we? You can't split a team."

She blinked slowly and then laid back down on his chest. "We're not a team, we're a family." she mused. "I will come home with you."

He closed his eyes in relief, tightening his embrace. "Good."