riggie:fantastic one-shots! If ya still taking prompts, could ya write one whereby Hayffie sits on the balcony reminiscing and thinking of what ifs while Katniss and Peeta are hosting their wedding dinner with the other revolutionists. Effie talks about wanting to live her dream like Belle and the Prince in Beauty and the Beast. Thanks. I'm quite certain ya gonna be making it smashing! Looking forward ya, thanks a million!

Tale As Old As Time

"You're a hard woman to find."

Effie startled and tore her gaze away from the party raging on below the large balcony to look at the newcomer. Haymitch looked good, she mused, thanks to Portia's hard work. She noticed the gold trimming along the line of his navy suit, the very same gold as her long ball gown and she wondered if that was another of her stylist friend's many hints. They were matching.

"Where are the children?" she asked, watching as he walked closer to the stone balustrade against which she was leaning. He was carrying a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

"Somewhere with Cinna." he shrugged.

She frowned and tried to spy them in the mass of colorful dress far below but it was to no avail. The engagement party was a blast and it was packed, she couldn't even start to imagine what the Victory Tour final party at the President Mansion would be like. People would fight to be there. People had already fought to get invites to this party, she had been told, Peeta and Katniss' engagement, nobody in the Capitol would have missed it.

"They did wonders with the fairytale theme, did they not?" she mused. Everything was exquisite, from the small old-fashioned lanterns that gave a soft lighting to the melodious music trickling from the orchestra hidden behind the bushes, the dress code had been respected too: long dresses for women and antique tailcoats for men. Every woman at the party probably felt like a princess.

For some reason, Effie couldn't seem to get in the right mood.

Her dress was beautiful as Portia's work always was. It was a rich gold, it floated around her each time she took a step but the bodice hugged her waist and her breasts the way she liked it best. Her wig was a dark blue that almost was the same color as Haymitch's tailcoat. She wondered if Portia had planned that as well.

"Not really my scene." He struggled with the bottle of champagne until the cork finally sprung free. He poured a generous amount in the flutes.

"What are we drinking at?" she asked, accepting the glass he was handing her.

"Do we need a reason?" he snorted, glancing below. She wondered if he felt the same constant urge to flee as she did nowadays. She felt trapped ever since the berries, on edge, as if eyes were following her more than usual, as if the slightest mistake would be her last.

"I think you're confusing me with Chaff again." she joked, taking a sip of champagne. It fizzed on her tongue.

"No way, sweetheart, you're not as ugly as he is." His grey eyes were sparkling with amusement and there was a smirk on his lips.

"You could have said I was more pretty than him." she retorted, watching him watching her. There it was… The easy banter. The flirting. Or, as Portia had taken to calling it : the unbearable sexual tension of death.

It had always been there, of course. From the very, very beginning. The second she had outstretched her hand and he had ignored it to sneer at her outfit, she had known Haymitch Abernathy would live to make her life difficult – and he did. But he could also be charming when he wanted to be and strong and protective. Effie wasn't so sure it was about sexual tension lately. It hadn't been for a few years, she figured, she missed him when the Games weren't in session. She even missed the snarky alcoholic side of him. She didn't need Portia's hints to understand what was going on. Effie was very good at lying but she wasn't so talented as to lie to herself.

"Now, where would be the fun in that?" he teased.

She placed her flute back down on the stone balustrade, next to the bottle of champagne, and outstretched a hand. "Dance with me."

It wasn't a request as much as an order, she rarely bothered with requests when he was concerned. He simply lifted his eyebrow in mock surprise. "Is that the proper way to do things, Princess? I thought men should invite women to dance."

"Since when do you care about propriety?" she retorted, but she let her hand fall back to her side, feeling foolish. Haymitch didn't dance if he could help it – and he generally could help it by getting too drunk to fulfill his obligations.

"I don't." He was staring at her and it made her blush. It was all so very stupid… The timing wasn't right for growing feelings, never mind feelings that would never be reciprocated. The worst thing was that he was aware of it, she was sure, Haymitch was too observant to miss the telltale signs on her part. "If you want to dance, why did you leave the party?"

Her eyes wandered to the dance floor, far below and on her right where couples turning and waltzing, pretending to be the heroes of their own little fairytale. She envied them their obliviousness.

"It's a different world out there, isn't it?" she whispered. Watching the Capitol citizens at their most extravagant was a sharp contrast with the poverty she had just witnessed during Victory Tour. She had always known Twelve was poor, of course, but Twelve had been the laughing stock of Panem for as long as she could remember. She hadn't realized the other Districts were just as miserable. "It all seems so… shallow now."

She had made a quick calculation. What she usually spent on clothes in a month could probably have fed a District family for half a year.

"It's a different world." He sounded so serious she realized a heartbeat too late he was actually sober – or, more likely, he wasn't drunk. "It doesn't mean you belong to this one." He nodded to the mass of faceless colorful clothes below. "You're better than that."

"Am I?" she sighed.

Instead of answering, he put down his glass and grabbed her hand. It should have been awkward but it wasn't. "Dance with me." It wasn't a request coming from his lips either.

They could barely hear the music, the only clear sound was the lament of a violin somewhere. He placed a hand on her waist so she put hers on his shoulder, their free hands remained pressed tight as he outstretched their arms on the side. It was a waltz position but she knew instinctively he wouldn't lead her in a waltz and, sure enough, after only two steps back, he brought her closer until their bodies were flushed against each other. Their entwined hands ended up trapped between them.

"This isn't a very fairytale-like sort of dance." she pointed out. They were swaying and moving slowly and she was content to let him lead but that had nothing to do with proper dancing.

"This isn't a fairytale." he replied harshly. "There won't be any magical happy ending here, Effie."

She lowered her eyes, focusing on the golden trim at his collar. The tie she had artfully knotted around his neck earlier had disappeared, she wasn't really surprised. "Most fairytales don't have a happy ending, you know. That's a myth. People change the stories so children won't get afraid but most are actually gruesome and hopeless."

"And how would a good little Capitol like yourself know that?" he taunted. It was softer, less aggressive, so she met his eyes again.

"Are the children enjoying the party?" She felt a switch of topic was in order.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah… They're living the dream."

Which probably meant Katniss was close to snapping and Peeta was gritting his teeth in a desperate attempt to keep her in line… "We should go back. They might need us." She tried to step away from his arms but he tightened his hold.

"Cinna's got it." he told her.

It wasn't professional at all and there were half a dozen objections on her tongue but in the end, she simply complied. The distant melody changed but they kept swaying as if they had their own inner music.

It all felt pretty magical, she mused, as the echoes from the party drifted further and further away. It seemed to her they were alone in the world and the moment would last forever. The world could crumble around them but nothing would touch that balcony or the moonlight over them. It was the kind of moment when you fall in love, she figured, and she probably would have if she hadn't already been.

They stopped dancing but she didn't realize it at once. They were still holding on to each other; it was natural to tilt her head when he leaned in. Their lips brushed tentatively and she felt the fluttering pull in her stomach, the thrilling sensation that a thousand butterflies were flapping their tiny wings all at once… She chased after his mouth but it evaded her.

"We can't."

And just like that, the spell was broken.

She blinked a few times, her delicate fake feather eyelashes caught his ever present stubble but he didn't seem to notice. He let go of her, stepped back and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

She felt cold.

"Fuck." he spat, turning his back on her and walking to the balustrade. He didn't bother with the glass, he grabbed the bottle and gulped down two long swallows. It didn't seem to help him because he put it aside and pass a hand over his face. "Fuck."

She tried to chide him over his language, tried to bring them back on a familiar ground, but the words were stuck in her throat.

It took him a long time to realize she hadn't left, longer to stop staring at her and actually say something. "It's not a fucking fairytale."

"Yes, thank you, I think I was aware of it." she hissed. "You aren't exactly Prince Charming material, Haymitch."

"Oh, 'cause you're the perfect princess, aren't you?" he sneered. "You're annoying, you're bitchy, you're stuck-up and I hate you."

There were a hundred things she could have retorted to that but she settled for shaking her head, gathering her long dress in her hand and heading for the large glass doors that would bring her back to the party.

She wasn't even close when he grabbed her arm, spun her around and crashed his mouth on hers. There was nothing magical or even romantic in that kiss, it was hard and demanding. It was probably meant to scare her away. She hooked a hand around his neck, gripped his hair with her other one and forced him to deepen the kiss. When he bit her lower lip, she bit his tongue, when his hands clenched her waist so tight she was sure she would have bruises in the shape of fingers, she clawed at his neck… It was messy and improper in all the right ways. Nobody had ever kissed her like that and she should have been appalled but her whole body seemed to be on fire instead.

"That's bloody stupid." he mumbled when they finally gasped for air. "That's bloody stupid, Effie."

She didn't give him leave to develop his point, she manhandled him into another kiss – not that he resisted much – and she ended up pinned to a wall. His hands roamed on the golden dress, on her warm skin and for a second, the world dissolved into frantic kisses that had been in the making for years. Then, gradually, the frenzy died down and the kissing turned slow, almost lazy.

"I hate you." he grumbled again but there wasn't any power behind the words. His hands were gentle on her waist, his lips left her mouth to run along her jaw…

"No, you don't." she breathed out.

He lifted his head to look at her and she was almost scared by what she saw in his grey eyes: desire, fondness, fear… Fear was the dominant emotion. He brushed a hand against her cheek, his thumb retraced the shape of her lower lip… "It doesn't matter."

"Of course, it does." she argued, nibbling on the pad of his thumb playfully. She wanted the moment to be playful and fun, not charged with that odd tension.

"There's going to be a war." he told her bluntly, saying out loud what everybody on the Tour had been thinking for weeks. The Districts were in uproar and they wouldn't calm down until they were pushed back to their supposedly rightful place by the Capitol. There would be a war and it would be bloody. Effie couldn't see what the point was, the Districts wouldn't win, the Capitol was too strong. "And when that war comes, I'm not sure we will be on the same side, sweetheart."

Yes, they would be. Of course they would be. And wasn't that a sobering thought… As far as she was concerned, she, Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta were a team. She would protect the children with anything she had. Her team was the side she would choose.

Perhaps they were in a fairy tale, after all, but of the grim kind, the ones in which heroes died to teach lessons to children and mermaid princesses melt into foam because they had wished for a different world than the one they belonged to…

"Dance with me again." she demanded.

He looked at her as if she was crazy and, for a second, she thought maybe she was but then he took her hand and guided her other one to his shoulder. It was painfully obvious that Haymitch didn't really know how to waltz even if he tried, he let her take the lead which was neither proper nor practical but that probably suited them best.

They glided left and right on that balcony for the longest time until the music finally stopped for good. They reluctantly let go of one another. Haymitch mocked her with a bow in what was probably an attempt at levity. "Princess."

She curtsied, as much because she didn't want awkwardness to creep in again as because she had been dying to ever since Portia had presented her with the dress. He snorted before walking back to the champagne, probably intending to finish the bottle before going back to the penthouse. She headed to the doors, planning to check on the children and apologize to Cinna for having left him babysitting almost all night.

She paused on the threshold though. She didn't look back. Looking was a sure way of losing the person behind you in every fairytale she ever read. "One day." It was a statement, not an expression of hope.

She waited, her heart racing in her chest but then, he replied: "One day."

And it was enough.