Prompt : Could you do a fic where Effie's being threatened by a gang that have a large amount of money on a bet that a certain tribute will win, and to make sure their tribute wins, they threaten the escorts into not getting funding. Haymitch comes in and obviously beats the shit out of them for even touching her and idk Effie's never seen that side of him since he was in the games himself? Idk

Not Much At All

Haymitch walked out of the elevator and back into the penthouse with suppressed fury. He needed to tell Effie about their tribute and then he needed a drink – probably not in this particular order. He hated losing a tribute, all the more so when they managed to survive long enough for him to start hoping, it made him helpless, useless… He would have gone straight to Effie's room since she had excused herself earlier under the pretense of switching dresses and that always took her at least two hours but a crash in the living-room and a small yelp made his blood run cold.

He barged in without even thinking about it. Effie was sitting on the couch – or rather, she had fallen on the couch given the disarray of her dress and the panicked look on her face – and a man was hovering over her. Haymitch took in the pieces of glass on the floor, no doubt from the wine glasses Effie liked so much, the doe-caught-in-headlights expression on the woman's face, the hand she was pressing against her cheek, the sneer of the young man… It didn't take a genius to figure it out and his first impulse was to punch the man because Haymitch couldn't abhor men who hit women. Yet he did nothing but glare at the Capitol man; he might know nothing about fashion but he knew enough to recognize expensive and everything about the guy screamed expensive : from the blue wig to the press-tailored suit.

"Haymitch." Effie breathed out. She was usually so collected, it was deeply disturbing to hear her sound so terrified. Worse, he couldn't tell what was frightening her so much : the stranger or his own reaction.

"Come here, sweetheart." he requested, keeping his voice as level as he could. It wouldn't do to start shouting before he knew exactly what was going on.

She bolted to her feet as if she had only been waiting for an excuse but the guy grabbed her arm and held her back before she could take two steps.

Boyfriend? Unlikely, Haymitch decided, while he obviously had the overflowing wallet she deemed compulsory, Haymitch had worked with Effie long enough to know she liked her men older and with power. The guy was much too young, he couldn't be much more than twenty-something and if he had been important, Haymitch would have known his face. He wasn't working for Snow either. Snow was subtler and employed smarter men.

Rich, young and too cocky for his own good, Haymitch knew the type and it wasn't hard to guess what was going on. It wouldn't have been the first time after all.

"I'm guessing Twelve wasn't your outsider of choice?" he asked. Those young Capitol people with no position to speak of always wanted something, usually money their rich daddy wasn't kind enough to give. The Games had a betting system and there was always a stupid guy to think he could rig it.

"Well, well…" The man smiled, shaking Effie's arm a bit. She winced but otherwise remained silent, watching Haymitch with wide eyes. "Perhaps, I talked to the wrong person. Miss Trinket and I had an agreement but she seems to have forgotten all about it in her enthusiasm to see your tribute win."

"A pity." he spat. "Let her go."

The guy seemed to hesitate but then he shoved her forward. "She's perfectly fine, I assure you."

Effie stumbled closer to Haymitch, he placed a hand under her chin and tilted her head to study her cheek. He could still see the mark of a hand under the white powder covering her face. And he could feel her racing heart when the tip of his fingers brushed her pulse point. "So how does it work?" he snorted. "You threaten escorts into not getting sponsors?"

Guys like him always did, that was how they always got caught. How utterly stupid. Escorts couldn't close deals anyway, it was the mentors they ought to target but threatening a victor? They weren't that stupid.

"Threaten is a strong word." the guy flashed another arrogant grin.

"Yeah?" he scowled, nudging Effie behind him. "How about assaulting? And how about I give you a taste of your own medicine?"

Effie immediately gripped his wrist with both of her hands. "You can't." she whispered. "Tell him to go. You can't touch him. You can't."

"You should listen to her." the guy shrugged. "I'm untouchable."

"No one is untouchable." he replied.

"And everyone has a price." The man was looking at him with a calculating glint in his eyes. "What's yours? I need Twelve out of the Games."

"We've been out for over an hour. You would know if you hadn't been so busy punching my escort." he retorted.

"I didn't punch her." The young man lied with a guilty expression. "She fell."

"Before or after you slapped her?" Haymitch growled and Effie's hand gripped harder.

"It doesn't matter." she said quietly. "It's over."

"Oh, it matters." Haymitch objected, untangling her hands from his wrist despite her pleading face. "It matter because I don't want people thinking they can hit you to get to me. Nothing personal, sweetheart."

That was a lie and it didn't convince her but the stranger didn't need to know he didn't like people threatening his friends. People he cared about being in danger tended to make him go crazy.

The guy was starting to get nervous, all the more so when Haymitch walked closer, ignoring Effie's warnings. To be honest, he hadn't planned on doing anything too awful. Roughen him up to the elevator and make sure the man would think twice about trying to coerce his escort into rigging the Games, perhaps. Nothing too dire until the guy committed a mistake.

"Don't you touch me!" the man warned him, stepping back quickly. "Don't you touch me or I will get the whore fired!"

That made Haymitch stop. "Sorry?"

There was a victorious spark in the man's eyes. "I will get her fired. I can. Why do you think she kept her mouth shut all this time? I can get any escort fired if I want to. Trinket isn't any different."

"He's Head Gamemaker Garelo's son." Effie supplied quietly from behind him. "He complained about Livia and they issued an official warning to her."

"No." Haymitch waved her explanation away, not caring one bit about that piece of information. Being the son of the Head Gamemaker wouldn't help the man one bit when he'd officially report him. Snow didn't like people rigging his Games, it made him lose money. Effie's job was as safe as ever. "What did you call her?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, now is really not the time to act like a gentleman and defend my honor, Haymitch!" she hissed, trying to grab his arm again. He shrugged her off.

"What did you call her?" he growled, advancing on the man.

It probably would have happened differently if the man had been smart enough to apologize or at least pretend he hadn't insult her. With their tribute's death and the bruise on Effie's cheek fresh on his mind, Haymitch was more than eager to find a way to blow out some steam. The lack of alcohol in his body probably wasn't helping matters.

"I called her a whore." the idiot snickered. "That's all she is. She's a…"

The blow cut him mid-sentence, he didn't recover before the next one came. Effie's scream didn't even register, there was something raw, something primitive in beating up that guy that Haymitch welcomed and even relinquished. His vision went red but he couldn't have said if it was from the blood or the gleeful feeling of actually doing something for once. Oh, the guy didn't just take it… He punched back, scratched and tried to hurt him but Haymitch was better, even after all those years, and, really, he could have killed the Capitol man easily enough if something hadn't wrapped itself around his right arm, preventing him from punching again.

"Stop it." Effie was sobbing but she was holding his arm against her stomach, blocking him, with surprising strength. "Stop it, Haymitch, you're going to kill him. Stop it. Stop it."

There were some blood stains on her dress. He immediately let go of the guy who fell like a limbless puppet to look her over. She didn't seem hurt.

"Stop it." she pleaded again. "Please. Please."

He looked down at the man, there was blood everywhere but he was still alive, still looking at him with terror and disgust. He was looking at Haymitch just like you looked at a sickened animal that should have been put down long ago. Worse, Effie was looking at him the same way. He struggled to get free of her grip and grabbed the man by the collar despite her screams. He didn't listen, he just pushed the elevator button and then threw the guy in and away from him before he did something he would regret.

Not that he would get in trouble over beating the man… Gamemaker's son or not, Snow wouldn't like the rigging bets business and he probably would like people threatening his escorts even less. In the Capitol, Snow was the only one doing the threatening, he was peculiar that way.

Haymitch went back to the living-room, bypassing the mess he had made to go straight to the liquor cart. His heart was still racing with the thrill of the fight, he felt alive for the first time in forever, awake at last… Everything seemed brighter, louder… It was like being propelled in the middle of a life he didn't know how to live anymore because he had been too busy not feeling for too long : it was like being in the arena again. And he hated it.

He grabbed a glass and the bottle only to throw the glass at the wall in fury. It was strangely satisfying to hear the smashing of the glass but satisfaction didn't last long. A short intake of breath alerted him to Effie's presence and he turned around, gulping down some whiskey in the process.

She was staring at him, her blue eyes apprehensive and frightened. He didn't try to decipher the other emotions on her face. He didn't want to. At least, she had stopped crying, her smudged make-up was the only indication of tears.

"Don't look at me like that." he barked, swallowing down more liquor. He needed to calm down, to smother the fire in him before it consumed him. He wasn't a physically violent man, he had never been before the arena and he didn't want to be now even though it would be easier to give in to that pent up rage.

"Like what?" She sounded tentative, unsure. It made him so sick he turned his back on her again.

"Like everyone from Twelve do." he spat. "Like I'm some kind of monster or…"

"I don't think you're a monster." she cut in quietly. "But you're scaring me a little right now."

"I am scaring you?" he snorted, glancing at her. "You almost got beaten to death and I am the one you're scared of?"

"He was hardly going to beat me to death." she replied. "I don't think he even meant to slap me."

The words were so carelessly thrown about it made him mad all over again. He took a swing of whiskey but the liquor didn't help him stay grounded so he marched on her and grabbed her chin again. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist tightly as if she wanted to prevent further injuries, as if he would ever injure her.

"He shouldn't even have been there to slap you in the first place." he grumbled, tilting her head to get a better view. It wasn't as bad as he had first thought but that would still leave a bruise. "Something like this happens, you come straight to me, sweetheart. I didn't think it needed to be said."

She dropped her gaze and licked her lips nervously. "He isn't the only one. They are three, all with well-connected fathers. I told you, Livia threatened to expose them if they bothered her again and the next thing she knew, she had an official warning waiting for her and Gamemakers were interviewing new possible escorts. I… I was handling it."

"You were handling it badly." he scoffed, placing the bottle down to brush his fingers against the bruise. She winced. "And you need ice."

"Oh, forget my cheek!" she sighed, squeezing his wrist in annoyance. "We are in trouble. When Garelo…"

"I will go to Snow." Haymitch shrugged. He didn't like it but he liked the idea of men threatening his escort even less. Some victors wouldn't like it much more. "It's not the first time something like this happens and it won't be the last. There's a no tolerance policy about that kind of things, Head Gamemaker's son or not. You should have told me straight away, you put yourself in danger over nothing." He finally released her chin and picked up his bottle. "Now go get some ice for your cheek and try not to get into more trouble."

He collapsed on the couch, stomping on the mess of broken glass. He would have felt sorry for the Avoxes if he hadn't been so… hollow. The rage was starting to settle again in this carefully enclosed box of raw emotions he usually sank deeply in an ocean of whiskey. He listened to the clicking of her heels as she wandered away without even trying to discuss the point further. It probably meant she trusted him to take care of the fallout but she should have trusted him in the first place. The whole situation was her fault, now he would need to actually request an audience with the man who had ordered his family slaughtered and get involved which was something he had never done before. It would raise questions he better be prepared to answer.

It wasn't long before the clicking of heels came back. He watched as she sat next to him on the couch with a small white box that smelt of disinfectant. She opened the first aid kit without a word, grabbed some antibacterial gel and then his hand, he winced when she started to spread it over his knuckles, he hadn't realized he had scratched his skin; when she was done, she wrapped some gauze around it. She repeated the operation with his other hand and then brushed the tip of her fingers against his forehead. It hurt and he drew back quickly, grabbing her wrist on pure instinct. She flinched and he felt disgust rose in his throat. She had never been afraid of him before.

"I wouldn't hurt you." he mumbled, averting his eyes and trying to swallow back the self-loathing.

"I know." she said, focusing on his forehead. "You are cut but it isn't really bleeding. He must have caught you with his ring. You're lucky it wasn't your eye."

He let her deal with his head, noticing her shaking hands despite all his attempts not to care. Her lips were pursed in a thin line and her eyebrows were drawn together. "Are you scared or angry, sweetheart?"

Her blue eyes flickered to his briefly and then went back to the cut on his forehead. "Angry, mostly."

He heaved out a breath that sounded like a broken laugh. Of course she would be angry… Of course. "He deserved it. You can't tell me he didn't deserve it."

"He probably deserved it, yes." she snapped, pressing a band-aid to his forehead so hard it hurt. "It doesn't mean you should have done it."

"He called you a whore. He hit you." he hissed. "Remember that part?"

"Vividly." she chuckled coldly, touching her cheek. He couldn't help himself, he placed his hand on hers, brushing against the developing bruise again. She intertwined their fingers, their hands fell into her lap and it occurred to him suddenly that they were sitting too close. "You could have gotten hurt."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. The day one of your little Capitol man can take out a victor hasn't come yet."

"You're overconfident." She shook her head dejectedly.

He squeezed her hand. "I'm being realistic, Princess."

"Alright." she sighed. "What would have happened if you had killed him then? Because from where I was standing, it looked like a distinct possibility."

Haymitch shrugged. "I don't know." Maybe they would have arrested him, maybe not. It had been a real conundrum to handle Twelve before he came along to play mentor : no one to parade around, no one to close deal with, no one to manage tributes beside the escort… Plus, he was Snow's living example of what happened to victors who disobeyed…

"And that doesn't bother you?" She sounded disbelieving. "You would kill someone and not think about it? You would…"

"It wouldn't exactly be my first murder, sweetheart, or have you forgotten the small matter of the Hunger Games?" he interrupted her. He tried to free his hand from hers but she held on, keeping it on her lap.

"I'm sorry." she gasped. "I… I forgot."

That made him freeze. He studied her with a frown. "What do you mean you forgot? How can you forget something like that?"

She bit her lower lip nervously. "It's just that you aren't… You aren't ruthless like Enobaria or… Or always looking for a fight like Gloss – not like that anyway. You aren't… You aren't usually violent, not physically at least."

"I can be." He didn't want to lie to her about that. He could be violent, he could be just as ruthless as Enobaria if he needed to, his Games had taught him that. "I can be a lot of things when people I care about get hurt."

She tilted her head to the side, staring at him with such intensity he started to feel ill-at-ease. They were too close, adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and, for some unfathomable reason, her mouth seemed to beg to be kissed. It was an incongruous thought, a stupid one too. There was a line and they had always been very careful to stay on either side of it.

"Do you care about me, then?" she asked softly. Her eyes darted to his lips and he knew he wasn't the only one entertaining stupid ideas.

"No." he lied but it wasn't convincing enough.

Their face seemed pulled toward one another as if gravity had shifted somehow. Their lips brushed, the tip of her fingers followed the line of his jaw barely touching the hard stubble to coil around his neck tentatively.

"This isn't smart, is it?" she whispered. It was so low he felt the words against his mouth rather than heard them.

"No." he said again. "We're smarter than that."

Were they?

Because if they really were smarter than that, why was he leaning in rather than walking away? Their noses bumped, he slightly tilted his head. It wouldn't take much, it wouldn't take much at all…