UNSELFISH
Rated M
There were several occasions that made Effie realize that Haymitch could win an Oscar or two. She had seen it, casually, over the years, picking up on the tiniest details. She grew to know him, so by the time she saw the Mentor who cunningly got them two Victors, she wasn't even all that surprised.
She knew him.
As hard as he tried, Haymitch wasn't a bad person. He could be kind, he could be honest, brutally honest, really, and he could be human.
He was so much more than the drunkard bastard he often pretended to be. He pretended to be a lot of things, a lot of the time: unaware, carefree, rude, cruel, and selfish.
He was none of those things, really, especially selfish.
She had figured out the rest by herself, but if he had ever proven anything to her, it was that he was anything but selfish.
XxXxXx
The first time she realized he wasn't selfish was during her fifth year as Escort. The 60th Hunger Games. The ten-year anniversary of his Victory. She'd already been much less composed than usual. They had been airing his Games all week, nonstop, as if picking children's names and sentencing them to their death's (which she had learned is what her job really was in year one, when she picked Neem and Allio only to watch them die within three seconds of the Games starting) wasn't tormenting enough. Now, this year, she got to watch her Mentor kill eight people and barely survive his Quarter Quell.
It changed you, seeing someone you know, someone you work with, go through that.
No wonder the contract she signed made it clear Escorts should not get attached.
By the time the Games had started she was sick to her stomach, so it was no surprise that when their Tributes were killed that she ran to the kitchen sink and emptied out her stomach—not that there was anything to empty. She hadn't been able to keep anything down all week.
Effie could feel Haymitch looking at her, but she didn't care. He'd made it quite clear at that point he wouldn't pity her, and she wouldn't want his pity. Maybe his understanding, his empathy, but after seeing his Games, she got it. She understood.
She was surprised, though, when she made her way back towards him, intent on passing him to go to her room, when he outstretched his arm and handed her a glass.
She stared at him for a moment before taking it.
"Does it ever get easier?" she whispered.
He didn't meet her eyes, and Effie thought he wouldn't answer, until he said, "No," very quietly, very surely.
She learned he wasn't a liar, either.
From that moment on they always shared a glass together when their Tributes died.
XxXxXx
The second time she realized Haymitch wasn't selfish had been at one of the Capitol's many gatherings. Haymitch was hardly ever present, but for some reason he had come to her room earlier that night, dressed impeccably, asking her if she could tie his tie.
When she was finished he asked, "Are you almost ready? I don't wanna be late."
She blinked at him. "Who are you?"
He snorted and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Never mind. I'll just see you there."
Effie had turned to her vanity mirror, overlooking herself. "No, I'm ready," she said, smoothing out a crease in her skirt. They made their way to the party, and quickly went their separate ways.
She wasn't sure where he had gone, but she quickly forgot his entire existence once Coral Axelwood came up to her. Normally it wasn't a problem. She knew how to handle Coral. They had been enemies for years now, and Effie normally saw her coming. Who could ever miss Coral? It's when Effie was caught off guard, like now, that Coral could get under skin.
Coral was taunting Effie, and Effie found herself quite annoyed. No one could quite get under her skin like Coral, and it didn't take long before they were causing a scene.
"At least I have a respectable Mentor," hissed out Coral, and Effie stilled.
"Coral," Effie warned her former best friend, "you can say what you want about me. But do not insult my Mentor. Ever."
Coral's eyes widened, and then she smiled darkly. "Don't tell me you're defending that drunk?" Coral fixed her hazel eyes on Effie. "Are you screwing him? I bet you are. You always had a thing for Haymitch, ever since we were kids."
Effie blanched and backed up. "That is a horrible thing to say."
"What? It's true. You're a whore, Effie."
Before Effie could defend herself against the lie Haymitch was there. He tapped Coral on her shoulder and she spun around, her eyes surprised.
"Say what the fuck you want about me, but no one calls my Escort out of her name." He grabbed Effie and brought her to the dance floor, where he pulled her into him. "Are you calm?" he asked.
Calm? No, not exactly, not when he was holding her like this, and dancing so well.
"You're surprised," and his eyes were twinkling.
"I just thought you'd be passed out drunk by now, is all. And who knew you were light on your feet?"
"I had an Escort once, years ago. Bloody hated her."
"You? That's hard to believe."
"I don't hate you," he smiled, and she arched an eyebrow. "Okay, I don't hate you all the time."
"It doesn't count when you're asleep."
Haymitch laughed—she was pretty sure it was his first laugh around her—and Effie was just starting to relax when some orange haired man approached her.
"May I dance with Ms. Trinket?" asked the man.
"Of course," Haymitch said in his fake Capitol accent that had Effie frowning—that was certainly rude—on the outside, but biting her cheek to keep from laughing.
As Haymitch stalked off she wished he were a little more selfish, and kept her to himself.
XxXxXx
The final time Effie realized Haymitch wasn't selfish was when he finally pinned her against the kitchen counter, and this kiss was different than the other ones. They'd been kissing for years by now, to stop the insults, because sometimes the words they said to each other were just too much.
The kisses were never discussed; even when they found themselves starting arguments on purpose just so they could feel the thrill of their lips on each other.
This fight hadn't been purposeful, though. They literally were having one of the worst ones to date. She'd already slapped him twice, and that second time something ignited inside of him, so by the third time she lifted her hand he grabbed her and pinned her against the kitchen counter—why they were fighting in the kitchen was beyond them—and his lips crashed into hers.
She moaned almost immediately, proving what he already suspected: that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. Neither of them knew when it had come to this, they just knew it would come to this, at some point.
He entered her roughly, slamming her down onto the counter, and he was rough and relentless, and ruthless and rude, but she took it, and she liked it.
He liked that she liked it.
Even as he hated her.
She watched him with heavily lidded eyes as he pounded into her, and somehow she snaked her hands underneath his shirt, digging those long nails into his back, making sounds he hadn't heard a woman make in years.
He let her finish before emptying himself into her, grunting out his pleasure with a string of curses.
She hated herself afterwards, mainly because she'd been more than satisfied.
And no matter how often they argued, how much they fought, he never changed. He let her finish, and when her whimpers started to change to whispers of his name, and when he started grunting out her name instead of curses, they still never discussed it.
There was nothing to discuss.
But she tucked these little clues away as the years passed, until she understood that underneath the hardened exterior was a complicated man who was afraid to get hurt again.
He'd lost everyone once, and sometimes it was easier to shut people out than risk hurting again.
But she knew him.
She knew his real smile from his fake one. She knew that when he was being especially cruel it was because he remembered how much he cared about her, and the drink wasn't doing its of job of making him forget. She knew that when he made fun of her and hurt her feelings in front of others he'd make up for it when they were alone and he came to her room.
And as time passed, and Haymitch would watch Effie dancing with some random Capitol man at a random Capitol party, he'd started coming up to them and interrupting.
He wasn't very good at sharing, he'd told her one night while he was inside of her, and he wasn't exactly being gentle. She knew why. Tonight a man had tried to kiss her, and Haymitch hadn't taken it lightly.
But Effie disagreed.
He was very unselfish, her Haymitch.
What he was, was possessive.
That she didn't mind, in the least.
