prompt : Maybe a one-shot set very recently after the rebellion, and very very shortly after Effie was rescued, where Effie is so shaken and so tormented (largely in her mind; maybe even having had trackerjacker venom or something of the sort) that Haymitch gets frustrated, wishing so hard for her to get better that he accidentally takes it out on her, getting angry at her unresponsive answers and whatever the venom did (although of course, it is only because he cares and wishes so much)? Just an idea x

Come Back To Me

Her bedroom, at first sight, looked empty but Haymitch didn't let that fool him. He knew she was there, she couldn't leave if no one let her out and no one would let her out in the state she was in. Hospitals were overflowing with injured people and physically she was fine so he and Plutarch had arranged for her to stay at Snow's Mansion with them, it worked better that way because Aurelius could treat her at the same time he treated Peeta.

"Effie?" he called out. He let the door slid shut behind him with a wariness he was slightly ashamed of. He never knew what he was in for with her those days. Sometimes she was perfectly fine but most often she was… "Sweetheart?"

She let out a whimper that made him spin on his heels. She was huddled in the right corner by the door, her face pressed against her knees, her reddish blond hair all spiky. Bad day, then. It always was when she was looking that disheveled.

"Effie?" He stepped closer but didn't make the mistake of coming at arm range. He had taken a leaf out of Katniss and Peeta's book, distance was sometimes best - as hard as it was to keep his distance.

"Go away, go away, go away." she kept chanting. "Go away, go away, go away."

Really bad day. Aurelius had said she was getting better… He couldn't wait to get his hand on that clown.

"Sweetheart, calm down. Try to breathe." It was futile, he knew. The best thing he could do was leave while she was still mostly coherent and he was still mostly unhurt by her rejection. It had gotten ugly right after they had rescued her, she had tried to attack him, she had shouted things at his face without even flinching, accusing him of such things…

Aurelius thought they had tried the tracker jacker on her before they injected it to Peeta. Except it wasn't Katniss they had trained her to hate.

He should leave her to the doctors and not come back until she expressed the wish to see him, he supposed, but… Haymitch was selfish and he missed his friend. Katniss was still in intensive care after the bombings of the Capitol that had cost Prim's life, her mother had left for four, Finnick was dead, Annie was pregnant and grieving, Johanna was even more lost than he was and Peeta was secluded somewhere, working hard with Aurelius to get better. He had only Plutarch left and Plutarch was with Coin more often than not those days, trying to appease and counterbalance her aggressive tendencies. Haymitch had fallen back on his best friend called liquor but it wasn't the same thing as human companionship and Effie had always been good at that even back when he couldn't really stand her. They were friends and he missed her.

The venom they had used on her wasn't as potent as the one they injected Peeta with according to the doctors, she wasn't having any hallucination per se but she had trouble distinguishing between what was really happening around her and what was happening inside her head – not mentioning the false memories they had implanted. She was withdrawn and when she got worked up about something, no one could get to her.

It was made worse by the fact that some days, she was actually very much like the Effie he remembered. Or she acted like her old self, he wouldn't put that past her. She was always distinctly uncomfortable in his presence at any rate.

"Sweetheart." He tried again, more firmly.

He was tired of all that crap. Katniss had almost burned alive and he wasn't impatient for her to wake up and remember what happened to Prim, Peeta was battling with his demons, Finnick was dead as were so many others… He was tired of all that crap and he was too sober to deal with it that day.

"Go away." she shook her head. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." She dug her nails in her own arm and clawed at it, probably in a desperate attempts to wake up.

There was no waking up from this nightmare. Haymitch had tried.

Throwing caution to the wind, he crouched in front of her and clasped the hand butchering her own skin. She lifted her head then and stared at him with such despair and loathing and affection, it physically pained him to see how hurt, how conflicted she was. Something was missing in her eyes. They had broken her in so many pieces he was afraid some had been lost and could never been retrieved again.

He held her eyes for a long time, long enough that her quick breathing slowed down to something more regular.

"Don't do that." he chided her softly, moving her hand away from her bleeding arm. It was just scratches but… he had seen enough blood for a lifetime. He looked around but couldn't see anything to treat her arm with. Her room was furnished with the bare minimum: a bed and one block furniture that couldn't be broken or used as weapon, the bathroom was in the same state of bareness. There wasn't even a mirror. It wasn't quite a suicide watch but it was close. The doctors were afraid she would hurt herself during one of her episode. "Always said your nails were bloody dangerous." He wiped the small traces of blood away with his sleeve. Not perfect but better.

"You're dead." she whispered. "This isn't real."

Haymitch closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath through his nose to remain calm. Really, really bad day. He thought he preferred the ones when she accused him of horrible things to those when she couldn't say if she was really free or still in the Capitol prison. Because when she was like that she was sure he was dead during the bombings of Thirteen. They had planted the image of him dying in her brain and the doctors couldn't get it out no matter how much Haymitch told her he was alive and whole.

And it hurt.

It hurt so bloody much.

He could take her hating his guts, he hated himself more often than not, but when she thought he was dead, she was hurting and that he couldn't bear. According to reports they had found, it was his supposed death that had made her stubborn resistance crumble to dust, after that, they had destroyed him in her mind, painting him as a brute who hated her, insulted her and hurt her at every opportunity, someone who wanted her dead and who had left her behind to be killed. It wasn't that far from the truth either.

"Sweetheart, we went over this." he sighed. "I'm real, you're free. Nobody's dead."

She flinched at his clipped tone and he wondered if she would switch to aggressive mode and try to claw his eyes out like she had done the last time.

"I want to wake up." she whimpered, pressing her hands against her face.

She looked so frail, so… lost. Effie never looked like that. Effie was strong and confident and unfazed by everything, she wouldn't even blink when he threw a bottle at the wall and it shattered in a hundred pieces. Effie never wept like a child if she could help it, she bottled it up and let out everything at once when it was too much to bear or when he was sure she was alone. Effie wasn't helpless.

"Then do!" he yelled, slamming his fist against the ground because he needed the pain to clear his head. He wanted a drink, scratch that he wanted a liquor cart and he wanted to drown into alcohol until he couldn't remember his own name. He wanted to forget everything. He wanted to forget how much he was hurting because it was easier and above all… "Wake up. Snap out of this. I'm not dead, I'm right here, and bloody hell, Effie, I need you."

Because she was his rock in every storm. No matter how much he drank, she always made sure he wasn't going to die of alcohol poisoning. No matter how hurtful and disgusting he got, she always tried to soothe his anxiety away with a kind word and a kind hand. No matter how bad things got, she was always there, trying to keep their hope up and to cheer them up. Of course all of that was bloody irritating but it was also exactly what he needed and Haymitch was selfish. He wanted that small part of comfort for himself.

"Snap out of this!" he commanded again, but the fight left him when he saw her flinching away from him. Crouching wasn't good for his knees, so he sat down against the wall with a sigh, making sure there was enough space between them she wouldn't feel crowded. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes again and leaned his head against the wall. He didn't know how much longer he could keep doing that.

"You're dead." she whispered, her voice cracking in some places. "I saw you die."

"Did you?" he snorted. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he had gone straight to hell and that was what all this was : punishment. "Come back to me, sweetheart." he begged, not even ashamed.

"I tried to." she confessed. "They wouldn't let me."

He frowned and turned his head to study her, confused. "What?"

"I tried to die." Her eyebrows furrowed together, like she had trouble remembering – which was probably the case. "You were dead. They were using me to hurt Peeta. I tried to…" Her eyes filled with tears and he grabbed her hand. There was a lump in his throat, every time he though it couldn't get worse something like that happened. "I can't remember what's real." She pressed her free hand against her head. "I can't…"

"I'm real." he repeated for the thousandth time since they had gotten her out of her cell. "You're safe. We found you." He squeezed her fingers gently. "Why is that so difficult to believe?" It was unfair he knew, it wasn't her fault, it was the venom's. It confused her and she couldn't help it but…

"Because it looks like a dream." She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him but she clutched his hand. "You're dead. I saw you die. People don't come back from the dead, Haymitch."

But he was never dead in the first place!

"Effie, the venom…" he had done that speech so many times he knew it by heart.

"I know." she cut in. "It still feels wrong. Good things don't happen to us." She shook her head. "We're never that lucky."

He shrugged before pulling on her hand a little to make her look at him again. "We got lucky sometimes."

"But every time we win, we lose." she retorted. "I'm still in that cell and they're toying with me. It's so cold and lonely and I want you to save me so much, don't you understand?" He hated every one of the tears running down her hollow cheeks. "They want me to believe. They give me this perfect world and the second I believe in it they're going to take it back and I will lose you all over again and I can't, Haymitch. I can't."

There was a hundred things he could have replied to that. That she wasn't going to lose him ever again, that he should have taken her with him in the first place, that he shouldn't have entrusted her safety to Plutarch, that everything she was going through was his fault and that if he could have gone back in time he would have done things very differently…

"This world isn't perfect." he snapped. "In fact, it's a bloody mess." The doctors had forbidden him several times to upset her with news she wouldn't want to hear but what did they know? They didn't know her like he did. "Finnick's dead."

Her eyes widened but she didn't start sobbing like he had feared she would. "Who else?"

"Katniss' sister." For the first time since the Capitol was taken, he let his mask fall. He didn't have to pretend not to care because she knew he did. She had always known. He couldn't fool her. "The kid is a mess, Peeta isn't much better. Cinna and Portia are both dead." She was clinging to his hand but he didn't stop there. "Half of Panem is in ruins and I'm kind of afraid we've brought down a tyrant to put another in his place." He hadn't confided as much to Plutarch yet but Coin… He really wasn't sure about Coin at all. Something would have to be done and he didn't know who would do it. "Everything's a bloody mess, Effie." he said again. "You were supposed to be my silver lining. Is it a little more believable put out like that?"

His tone was mocking because he was sure she would snap back into one of her episode but she surprised him. She stared at him with less reservation, there was still that vacant spark in her eyes but it wasn't as predominant as it had been. "Yes, slightly, actually." Her free hand raised in the air slowly and hovered over his cheek. He held his breath. She had never initiated any contact before. He had tried to hug her once, just after they had gotten her back, and she had started to scream. "Haymitch?" It was a bit uncertain and he stayed perfectly still, leaving the decision up to her.

"Hello, sweetheart." he smirked, something warm uncoiled in his belly, something that felt like anxiety and despair.

"If you're not real and you disappear on me, it will kill me," she warned him. Tears were still rolling on her cheeks but she seemed unaware of them. "and I won't even care because I miss you so much…"

"I'm not about to disappear." He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who doesn't want to look at me." She lowered her hand, the tip of her fingers brushing against his jaw. His skin was prickling where she wasn't actually touching, it was… Good in a way, but it left him wanting more. "Effie, please…" he breathed out. "Come back to me." For good, this time.

"I'm trying to." She frowned before drawing back both of her hands quickly to pull on her hair. He moved to stop her from hurting herself but her eyes met his. "Don't." she commanded, leaving no place for arguments. "I don't want to hurt you." There was a scowl of pain on her face. "Those things inside my head… Those images… They're not real, are they?" The pain soon left place to distress. "You never hit me."

He shook his head. "Do you have to ask?"

"You never…" She breathed out slowly. "I feel like I should hate you."

He didn't know exactly what they had put inside her pretty head and he was afraid to find out. Did they make her believed he was the one torturing her? Did they…

"You should." he shrugged. "You were always supposed to hate me, sweetheart, but you never did." He made a face. "If you could try to like me a bit longer, I would appreciate it. I'm short on people who likes me, these days."

"Perhaps you should stop insulting them at every turn." she suggested, sounding tired.

"Perhaps." he smirked. "But where would be the fun in that?"

She smiled back. It was small and it didn't quite reach her eyes but it was also fond and he counted his victories where he could.

She reached out for his face again, slowly. Her fingers touched his cheek this time, her broken nails scraped against the eternal stubble covering his jaw and he swallowed hard because it was a big step. He knew it was. Her breath caught in her throat, he didn't quite know if it was a hiccup or a sob.

"You feel real." she whispered. Her hand slid to the back of his neck and she tugged gently. He leaned in, following her lead, until their forehead touched. "You smell real."

"I actually showered before coming here." he grumbled. "It can't be that bad." She was picky about that though.

"It's good." Her thumb traced small circles on his jaw and he relaxed. "You smell like liquor and… you. It's good."

She pulled back and clutched at his shirt, snuggling against him until he had no choice but to hug her so tight he wasn't sure she could breathe. She was almost sitting in his lap in her attempts to get as close as she could. Her head was neatly tucked under his chin.

"Don't leave me." she begged.

"I'm not." he vowed.

"If you leave me I'm afraid I'm going to forget." She held him closer. "Don't let me forget."

"Never." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Never, Effie."