Prompt: I think you should do one where Haymitch accidentally says 'I love you' and there's no way he can take it back... XD

Love Me Tender

Effie checked her reflection in the elevator's mirror, making sure the scarf hadn't slipped too low and was still hiding the marks on her neck. Powder hadn't been enough.

"A little less gusto on the nibbling next time, Haymitch." she complained for the hundredth time that day. She was maybe being a bit unfair, she was aware of that. After almost a year apart, they had been eager and rough the night before. The reaping had set them both on edge, like it always did, and they had started to argue even before their new tributes had excused themselves for the night. It had been a particularly ugly fight and it had led to particularly good sex as was the norm with them. From all her string of lovers that came with the territory of being an escort, Haymitch was the best. Perhaps because he was the only one she really wanted... Not that she would ever tell him that.

"Who says there's going to be a next time?" he grumbled. His hands were deep in his pockets, he was sporting a scorn since that morning and Effie was absolutely done with his sulking.

"Past experience." she snapped. "Although if you continue in that vein, it certainly won't happen again this year."

She hadn't been that unreasonable in asking for him to stay sober long enough for their arrival at the Training Center she thought and making that sobriety last until the end Opening Ceremony wasn't that much of a stretch either... But he had to be difficult, of course, and she had been given no other choice but to order the Avoxes on the train to hide all the alcohol. Haymitch hadn't taken to her initiative too kindly.

He had been a nuisance all day and a real pain during the whole Opening Ceremony. Their bickering had attracted too much attention and she was sure Caesar would probably have a blast later that evening. That would make the whole Capitol laugh like it did every year : Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy, the laughing stock of the Hunger Games.

It was all good, though. It was better than the alternative. She made sure her scarf was hiding every lovebite again. She didn't want their affair to hit the headlines. It would be a complete scandal, it wouldn't die down for weeks... It wouldn't be the first time victors got mixed up with Capitols of course, but the drunkard from Twelve and Effie Trinket? That would raise questions. Questions she didn't want to answer.

"Would you stop with that bloody scarf?" He grabbed her hand before she could adjust it again and held her down. In the mirror, it almost looked as if they were holding hands like a normal couple. Effie knew better. All her fretting was simply annoying him. "You've got enough of that white shit on your neck nobody will see."

"Wrong." She clucked her tongue once in irritation. "You can still glimpse them. What if someone sees?"

"What if someone sees?" he mimicked her. "Tell them you got laid and be done with it. Nobody out there will be dumb enough to think it was me." He rolled his eyes. "Why do I even bother with you?"

"Excellent question." she retorted, as the elevator doors opened on the ground level of the Training Center. "Why do you?"

She could see the confusion through the bay windows lining up the corridor they were in. It was chaos out there like it always was. Avoxes, escorts, mentors, stylists, tributes and security guards running everywhere... Not to mention the horses and the chariots in the middle of the small yard.

"We're late." she realized not without annoyance. Effie was never late anywhere, she despised people who didn't hold being punctual as the highest of virtues.

"Doesn't matter, people will be lining up at the elevators." he commented. "It will take forever."

"Think of it this way : the fastest we retrieve our tributes and bring them back to the penthouse, the fastest you can disappear in your room and die from alcohol poisoning." she advised him, she was really angry now. Making her late. Really.

"If only…" he sighed.

Tired of his complaining, she hastened her pace. They should have put doors instead of bay windows, the corridors were slithering and much like a maze. Fortunately she knew them by heart. She was afraid Haymitch would get lost sometimes but that was stupid of course, Haymitch never got lost in his life. He had a clever brain, even when it was swimming in alcohol.

They passed people already going for the elevator and Effie had no choice but nod and smile and hope the scarf was doing its job. Chaff's eyes, when they met him, fell to her neck and he smirked but didn't venture to comment which was for the best. There was no time for that kind of pointless chitchat anyway, as she reminded Haymitch when he started a conversation with his old friend. There would be time later, for now their tributes were alone and she didn't like it one bit.

She proved to be mistaken however. Their tributes weren't alone, they were with the girl's stylist, a woman with flaming orange hair that had made Haymitch cringe when she had come to introduce herself. Effie didn't frequent the same social circles and the woman seemed eager for that to change. Effie didn't like her – and that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the woman had implied her dress was ugly and her wig outdated. Nothing.

"What in…" Haymitch exclaimed as he took in the scene in front of them.

Effie didn't lose any time in exclamations or wondering. She acted. She stormed on the woman who was making a scene and had reduced their tributes to tears – the girl at least, only thirteen, the boy of fifteen seemed more inclined to strangle the stylist and be done with it as, no doubt, was Haymitch.

"Alysa, what is the meaning of this?" she asked as politely as she could, her bright smile in place. Every head in the yard was turned their way and she didn't want to cause a bigger scene, she didn't want their tributes to be mocked and chastised in public like unruly children. That wasn't how Twelve did things.

"Oh, Effie!" the woman shouted – shouted, really, where did she think she was? In a District? No manners at all! – with much more familiarity than Effie had ever allowed between them. "Those two savages ruined my work! Look at that! Look at that! They're unworthy of my outfits! Unworthy!"

Effie surveyed the ridiculous minors outfits and saw nothing wrong with it. Well apart for the fact that the children were covered in coal and weren't wearing much fabrics indeed. They looked like they were wearing rags.

"What's with all the shouting?" Haymitch growled, finally catching up with her.

"Oh, you." Alysa spat, glancing away from Haymitch as if he wasn't even there. "Must you always take that drunk everywhere?" she asked Effie.

Haymitch took a step forward but Effie reacted quickly, she put a hand on his chest and warned him with a glare that there would be hell to pay later if he caused a bigger scene than this already was. "I will deal with this." she told him firmly.

"Effie, dear…" the escort from Six approached them uncertainly. "Do you want me to take your tributes to the elevators? We could wait for you and Haymitch there?"

Effie accepted the proposition gratefully, relieved to see most of the escorts and stylists were eyeing Alysa with nothing but contempt. The victors were more or less looking amused, some, she saw, were already exchanging bets, probably about how long Haymitch would last before he exploded.

"First of all, kindly refrain from any kind of name-calling in my presence, all the more so if they are directed at my tributes or my mentor." Effie hissed as soon as their tributes were out of earshot. "Second of all, please, I insist, tell me what you think gives you the right to reprimand – and I use that word loosely, here – my tributes in public in this manner."

She had lowered her voice enough that people, probably thinking the incident was over, were starting to go back to their own business. However, Alysa didn't seem to care about propriety or discretion. Effie suspected she wanted to be heard loud and clear.

"Those savages of yours – I am sorry, darling, but there is no other word for it – absolutely did nothing to promote my work!" the stylist claimed. "They slumped on their chariot like ruffian, they didn't even thank me, can you believe it?"

"Easily." Haymitch muttered behind Effie.

"Although, given the way they're supervised…" Alysa huffed so loud heads turned again. "Oh, I don't blame you, my dear… Dealing with that drunk excuse for a man is hard enough without throwing two smaller Twelve monkeys into the mix, I know, but…"

"There seems to have been a small misconception here. You are not here to discuss my escorting or Haymitch's mentoring skills. You are not here to be thanked by the tributes when you do such a poor job as a stylis,t it's a miracle you ever made it that far. And you are certainly not here to insult any of us." Effie shot back, surprising even herself with the violence of her verbal attack. "Henceforth, you are fired."

There was a murmur around the yard. That was unprecedented. Well…

"You can't fire me!" Alysa protested.

"Oh, I can and I am." Effie snapped, already having a small panic attack in the privacy of her own mind at how difficult it would be to find another stylist for the interviews in such a short time. "You!" she called the nearest security guard. "Please, escort her out of the building, she's not a part of my staff any longer."

"But you can't!" Alysa insisted.

Effie had had enough. She had remained polite and hadn't raised her voice – every bit the lady – but enough was enough. She thrust her chin in the air. "I am District Twelve escort, I am responsible for everything pertaining to District Twelve's representation in the Games. Everything fell under my jurisdiction, if I told you to strip right now in the middle of the yard and dance for everyone to see because it would be good for Twelve's image, you would be compelled to do it so I suggest you quietly follow the guard to the exit before I become more… vindictive, shall we say. And, don't misunderstand my meaning : insult my victor or my tributes again and I will destroy your reputation in the city. I have half a mind to do that already."

The stylist gaped at her and then turned on her heels with a huff, they could hear her complaining to the guard and her promises that justice would be done from afar. Effie was sure the story would circle the Capitol twice before midnight.

She sighed and turned around, almost shocked to run into Haymitch. He had been so strangely quiet, she had thought he was gone. He was looking at her with such awe and amusement, she frowned.

"What is it?" she asked, sure a jibe would follow.

"I love you." he sounded dumbfounded. She stayed rooted to the spot as he shook his head and cleared his throat. "I mean, that was hot and kind of a turn on. Who knew you had it in you, sweetheart?"

"You… what?" she asked, confused. "I'm sorry what did you say?" In the middle of the courtyard, where everyone was already a bit too interested in their conversation – her mind reminded her. People had turned away however, now that the stylist had disappeared.

"I said hot." he rolled his eyes. "For a clown"

He started to head back to the elevators and she hurried after him. "That wasn't what you said." she protested, stunned. "You said… you said…"

"I said nothing." he denied.

"Oh, but you did!" she argued, grabbing his arm to bring him to a stop. He spun around to face her. "We need to talk about this." Everything else was forgotten, their on-going fight, their now fired stylist…

"How about no?" he snorted.

She narrowed her eyes. "Why must you always be so difficult?"

"Because that's part of my charm, sweetheart." He left her behind again. "Come on, we're late."

"It doesn't matter!" she hissed, grabbing his arm again. The corridors were mostly empty now, they were alone.

"We're late and it doesn't matter?" His eyes widened. "Are you feeling alright?"

"You said you…" she whispered back urgently but she couldn't even say it. It was… It was… They had been sleeping together for years now, and, yes, of course she had entertained the thought of him having feelings for her but that was just a fantasy. Haymitch would never… It was her heart on the line, only hers, always had been, she had been well aware of that… "You…"

He sighed and dragged her into the first empty room he found, it happened to be a supplies closet and probably not a good idea in term of discretion but she was too astonished to protest, even when he kind of pinned her against the door.

"I said nothing." he lied. "It's safer for you. It's safer for me. I said nothing."

Safer. Safer was good.

Wasn't it the exact reason she had been so worried about her scarf covering the hickeys?

"But do you?" she insisted in a rushed murmur. "I need to know."

He didn't answer. He unknotted her scarf slowly and pressed a kiss on each of the three lovebites, probably smudging the powder in the process but it was so gentle and unlike them she didn't comment on it. Soft and tender wasn't their way.

But that answered her question.