Not a prompt but I couldn't help myself after the news that Effie would be in Thirteen during Mockingjay. Also, I now have a new ship : the haynie. The haynie is born from the colliding of two ships, hayffie and Haymitch + his beanie (because seriously have you seen this picture? Beanie of lust and beard of sex as they have been dubbed on Tumblr).

There wasn't much to say for Thirteen. It was grey, grey, grey and… Yes, grey. And cold too. Did she mention the cold? Obviously those people had never heard of the terms central heating.

"You know you can't stay here all day, do you, sweetheart?"

She peeked out from under the – too thin – blankets just to glare at him. He was smirking, eyes twinkling with amusement at her misfortune. He was waiting for something, probably for her actually but she elected to ignore that small detail. She scowled at his neglected looks, even in a military compound like the one they were in, even in a standard grey uniform, he managed to stand out. There was an awfully plain hat thrust deep on his head, so deep the rim almost reached his eyebrows and he was wearing a heavy black woolen sweater on top of his grey shirt. The beard, she didn't want to talk about. The beard was doing strange things to her insides. She sank back under the blankets without a single comment. She hadn't asked to be brought there, she hadn't asked to be forced to follow a schedule she hadn't designed in the first place, she hadn't asked anything really.

"Oh, come on!" He grabbed the blankets and pulled them away from her despite her best attempts at keeping them in place. Icy air immediately attacked her. Really who thought it was alright to turn off the heater in the middle of winter and forbid people from wearing anything but cotton uniforms? "What are you?" He made a face when she scratched him in her desperate quest for the blankets. "Five?"

"I am cold!" she replied, teeth already chattering.

That made him stop but he didn't relinquish his hold on the blankets which made her pout. Unfortunately, he was well immune to her pouting.

"Why didn't you say so before?" he said. "I would have find you more clothes."

"I have plenty of clothes already." She hugged herself, hoping keep warm. "They're all grey and depressing and not warm enough." She was miserable in Thirteen. It wasn't exactly a secret.

Haymitch's face softened. "You're such a pain in the ass, Princess." His voice was fond enough but she still clucked her tongue.

"Language." she chided him automatically.

He rolled his eyes but shed off his woolen sweater and threw it at her face. "There."

For a second, she was tempted to refuse it just to spite him. It was very cold however and the sweater smelt like Haymitch which, for some reason, brought immediate comfort. She quickly put it on.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better is not perfect." she sniffed.

He sighed, pulled the hat off his head – he called it a beanie but, really, it was too awful to be named in her humble opinion – and put it on hers, crushing her dark blond curls. She almost took it off at once because in Thirteen or not, Effie wouldn't be caught dead wearing something so… pedestrian but it was so warm…

"Thank you." she said softly.

His smirk morphed into a small smile. "You're welcome. Now can we go to work?"

She accepted the hand to help her out of bed and didn't let it go before they were already in the corridor. Once there, they walked at a respectable distance from each other, their steps easily falling into the same pace after so many years working together. They were almost at what Plutarch was using as an office when she realized Haymitch looked very pleased and people were glancing back at her as if to do a double-check.

"What's going on?" she asked in a low voice. She had learned to be weary of that kind of behavior.

"Nothing." Haymitch looked her up and down very slowly, a smirk on his lips. "You're rocking my clothes, sweetheart."

It dawned on her what all those people must be thinking… That she and Haymitch… That they…

"Was it your plan all along?" she stuttered, annoyed and amused at the same time. Let's be honest, that wasn't the worst stunt he had pulled on her.

"Maybe." he teased. "Some of them are beginning to be a bit too friendly with you for my tastes."

She stopped walking. "Are you jealous?" she frowned, puzzled.

"Why would I be jealous?" he snorted, he tugged the beanie lower on her brow. She was sure she looked ridiculous. "You're wearing my clothes not theirs."

"You are a strange man, Haymitch." She smiled with undisguised affection. "A strange man indeed."

There wasn't much to say for Thirteen. But there was Haymitch and that made the whole thing almost worth it.