Hey, I have a prompt for you (it's kinda dark btw, so sorry haha) Haymitch finds out that during the games one year, Effie was soliciting herself to gamemakers etc. because she thought it might help twelve win. Thank you if you do this!

One for the team

Haymitch was banging cupboards open and close in the dining room in a desperate search for alcohol. The liquor cart had been moved from the living-room and he couldn't find a single bottle anywhere. He was almost relieved to hear the elevator chime and the familiar clicking sound of high heels.

"I found us a sponsor." Effie's voice rang out from the threshold of the room. "You need to sign this and…"

"You shouldn't have bothered." Haymitch cut her off, still rummaging through the cupboard. "We're out."

And it had been stupid to hope staying in the Games in the first place. The twelve years old had been clever, cleverer than most tributes he had been forced to mentor over the years, she had escaped the bloodbath and she had managed to hold on for two more days but…

"She's dead." Effie deduced, sounding dejected. He heard the sound of a pile of papers being thrown on a hard surface – the dining room table probably – but still he didn't turn around.

"Killed by the Careers pack." he confirmed before slamming another door close. "For Heaven's sake, Effie, where did you put the liquor?!" He opened the last cupboard but still didn't turn around to face her.

"I didn't touch it." She denied. "Ask an Avox. I am going to bed."

He turned around then, intended to tell her exactly how much he didn't believe her, but he stopped short. "What happened to you?" He crossed the room in three long strides and stood in front her, not daring to touch her but feeling very concerned. Her wig was crooked, her dress was riding higher on her thighs than usual and her make-up was slightly smudged. And that without mentioning the reddish marks in shape of fingers on her arms. "Sweetheart?" Fear and fury like he hadn't known in a long time swirled inside of him. "Did someone…"

"You had to choose tonight of all nights to be sober, didn't you?" she sighed with annoyance before heading out of the room.

He stepped into her path easily, a concerned frown on his face. "Effie, if anyone did anything…" He would stab them with his knife and make sure they die a long and painful death.

"Haymitch, nobody did anything I didn't consented to. I am fine." Effie hissed. "Now, please, step aside so I can go take a shower and forget any of this ever happened."

He didn't move, trying to puzzle everything together. He was always a fast thinker and when his eyes fell on the scattered papers on the table – promise of sponsoring – he got it. "You slept with a sponsor for money."

She turned her head away exactly like he had slapped her. "You don't speak like that to a lady, Haymitch. Where are your manners?"

"Ladies don't sell themselves like prostitutes." he snapped back, feeling angry and betrayed and not exactly knowing why.

Her eyes filled with tears but she refused to shed them. She lifted her chin and scorned at him. "And mentors aren't usually that thick." she retorted. "You might very well be the only one who doesn't know what being an escort entails. Did you ever wonder why we were called thus? Never heard of synonyms?"

She side-stepped him but he grabbed her arms and forced her to face him. "What do you mean?" He felt sick. He had missed something. Somewhere, somehow, he had missed something.

"I mean I am a fucking escort, Haymitch!" That language coming from her was enough of a shock that he let go of her. "And literally at that."

She turned on her heels and disappeared down the hall. She didn't slam her bedroom door shut, of course she didn't. But he would have preferred it if she had because… the silence was deafening. He blindly searched for a chair and collapsed on it before running a hand over his face. What the hell? What the bloody hell ? It was unfair. Unfair and terrible and… And he had just called her a prostitute to her face.

He was so angry he flung the papers in front of him to the other side of the room. He was tempted to look up the name of the sponsor and get down to the sponsor lounge to explain to him exactly why he would never sponsor Twelve again – why none of them would ever sponsor Twelve again – but he knew this would end badly for Effie and him. He wasn't that much concerned about himself but Effie…

He should apologize, he supposed. He had insulted her and… But he never wanted to see her compelled to do something like that ever again. She shouldn't have to.

Liquor still eluded him when he went back to his quest for drinks but he did find her tea so he filled a cup awkwardly. He couldn't remember having drunk tea in his whole life, never mind making some. How long did you leave the tea bag? How hot should the water be? All in all, when he found himself in front of her door, a mug of scathing tea that didn't look as dark as it should be in his hand, he felt stupid .

He thought she would send him away but the door opened after he knocked. She was wearing satiny pajamas pants and an old tee-shirt – not something he would have ever pictured her with but it was a night of discoveries, it seemed – her face was bare of make-up, her eyes were reddish which made him think she had cried, and her hair was loose on her shoulder. She looked so human without her armor of colors and make-up he gaped a little.

"Have you come to insult me further?" she inquired, in a polite tone that barely hid her irritation.

He held out the mug to her. "Apologize, actually."

She eyed the tea suspiciously and then studied him for a few seconds before relaxing slightly and accepting the mug. "You, sober and apologizing." She let out a chuckle that sounded bitter to his ears. "Must be Christmas."

She went back into her room and sat cross-legged on her bed, careful not to spill her tea. She left the door open so he took that as an invitation and sat at the foot of her bed. He stared at the wardrobe in front of him because meeting her eyes, when she looked like that, would be too hard. "Only sponsors?" Because victors weren't sold only to sponsors even if money was the prime argument in this kind of business. There were politicians too, people who wanted a piece of fame, and Effie, despite being the escort of the poorer District, was very much famous. There were only twelve escorts after all.

"Gamemakers too." she sighed. "Everybody knows, Haymitch. That's how the Games are played every year."

"Victors don't know." he denied. Not all of them at least. Chaff and Mags would have told him. He couldn't imagine them condoning this much more than he was.

"I can assure you victors from One to Three know." she countered. "They're usually the ones arranging appointments for their escorts."

He grated his teeth. He wasn't surprised by that. Career Districts had their way and it wasn't the same than the rest of them. "Did anyone force you to do anything you didn't want to?" He could feel her eyes burning a hole in his neck with the strength of her staring but, still, he didn't look at her.

"It's my job." she replied softly. "I knew what I was signing for, if that's your question."

Then why sign at all? Did she enjoy it? Being sold to strangers for the night in exchange for a little money ? Was she that desperate to be rich? To be the escort of the winning District? Because he sure as hell hadn't enjoyed it when they had tried to force him to do that and Finnick was sure as hell not enjoying it now.

"Can you say no?" he asked. "If you don't want to sleep with them, can you say no?" Or would it mean unpleasant consequences like it would for a reluctant victor?

"I think so, yes." She seemed uncertain. "But that's not how the Games are played, Haymitch."

"Screw their Games!" he slammed his fist on the bed and met her eyes for the first time since he had entered her room. She looked pained and fragile and… "Screw their Games." he repeated, more softly. "You don't need to do that. I don't want you to do that."

"We will never get any sponsors." she whispered. "We will never get any favor. We will never win."

"We won't ever win anyway, sweetheart." he stated. "There's no winning with the Capitol."

She looked scared and her eyes darted from left to right, as if she was waiting for a squadron of Peacekeepers to swarm in. "Haymitch…"

"You don't do that anymore." he said again. "We have no chance to win. Every year, those kids… They're not fighters. We won't win. You doing that, it's pointless and I don't want you hurt for nothing." He held out his hand to her hesitantly but she took it. "You said victors from One, Two and Three dealt with their escorts, well… Let people know I'm in charge now. I will take the fall for you if people complain."

"You don't have to do that." Her voice cracked a little but she cleared her throat and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back. "I very much do. We're a team, aren't we?" He couldn't help but snort. "A team of two is a little ridiculous, I grant you, but… we're a team, right?"

"Yes." She forced a smile on her lips. "We are a team."