Prompt : Oh my days! 'Of Forever' was lovely! Could you do a follow up or separate story where Effie actually makes an appointment for plastic surgery and Haymitch finds out?

AND

Prompt : Effie wants to get surgical enhancements, but Haymitch convinces her not to. Post-Mockingjay please. Thanks. :)

Heart & Plastic

Haymitch was just hanging up the phone when the backdoor opened and closed on Effie, her arms full of groceries.

"I'm back." she sang-song unnecessarily with a cheerful smile. "There was such a crowd at the market!"

He didn't really listen to her usual babbling. He watched as she placed down the bags on the kitchen table and started emptying them, all the while wondering what could be wrong with her. She didn't seem in pain, she didn't look ill… She looked perfectly normal, her white blouse and her high-cut purple skirt, her blond curls pinned here and there with ridiculous glittering hair clips… And yet, she had scheduled an appointment with a doctor in the Capitol two weeks later – an appointment that a helpful secretary just confirmed to him through the phone thinking he was her husband – without telling him about it. It was either very bad or very, very bad if she hadn't warned him first so he wouldn't worry…

"Who's Doctor Falacius?" he asked at last, too concerned to care about her startled – and maybe slightly guilty – behavior. She froze, a hand in the grocery bag, the other one holding a bunch of carrots in the air. It was ridiculous.

She recovered quickly enough and emptied the bags slower, carefully keeping her eyes averted from him. "Have you been snooping in my planner?"

"They just called." he frowned defensively. "What's wrong with you? Why do you need a Capitol doctor? Did you go to the hospital without telling me? Are you sick?" He realized it was an outpour of questions she didn't have a chance to answer but such terrible scenarios had danced in his mind ever since the call, he was feeling almost sick with worry himself. "Why didn't you tell me if you were ill, sweetheart?"

She looked at him then and more guilt flickered in her eyes. She reached for his hand and squeezed softly. "I'm not ill, Haymitch, I promise. I'm in perfect health."

He hadn't quite meant to sigh with relief but the air left his lung in a whoosh all the same. He felt around for his bottle and took a grateful swallow that did nothing to wash away the taste of anxiety the phone call had left.

"What do you need a doctor in the Capitol for, then?" he asked, taking the canned goods she handed him and putting them obediently in the proper cupboard. He had grown used to having an organized kitchen ever since she had moved in a few months earlier. She had come back one day with her luggage and nowhere else to go and she had stayed.

She didn't answer right away but since she was busy stocking the fridge, he didn't think it odd – until she cleared her throat. "Doctor Falacius is a plastic surgeon."

His mind reeled to a stop and he did a double take while she closed the fridge, a bag of potatoes forgotten in his hand – clearly it was his turn to look ridiculous. "What?"

"I made an appointment for a full body polish." she explained in a matter of fact sort of voice that rang false.

"For your scars." he guessed at once. "You want them gone."

She took the potatoes from him and finished tidying the rest.

"Yes." she said at last like it was a struggle, the rest she rushed out because she knew how he would react. "And… a face-lift and probably breast implants."

He sank on a chair and grabbed his bottle, sensing it was a discussion that would require a lot of alcohol. "Why?"

Clearly, she had been expecting immediate shouting because she looked taken aback. "Well… Because I want to be beautiful."

"You are beautiful, sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you?" He rolled his eyes. She had been overconfident before the rebellion and it had been annoying but now she was constantly swaying between confidence and self-doubt and it was just as annoying. "You want the scars gone, okay, I get it." He didn't really but he shrugged all the same. She hated the scars, it was a constant reminder. If it helped her to have them removed then it was alright, he supposed, but… "I don't see why you need the rest."

She didn't look him in the eye. She fussed around the kitchen, putting the grocery bags away, making sure everything was where it should have been. "I'm getting old, Haymitch, it's starting to show."

"And?" he shrugged again. "Who cares?"

"I do." she snapped. "Other people do. I don't want men overlooking me because I am old."

"Men?" he snorted, bringing the bottle to his lips. She was a natural temptress, he knew that, she loved to seduce, she loved to be at the center of attention, she loved to be admired and worshipped… He was used to it, he couldn't say he liked it but it didn't bother him much as long as he was the one she bantered with, kissed and took to her bed… However, there was something in the manner she said it that made his stomach churn in a lot of unpleasant ways.

"Believe it or not, men do not tend to be attracted to women covered in scars with lines on their faces and small breasts." she replied, missing the point completely.

"So, what?" He turned the bottle left and right, staring at the liquor rather than at her. "You want to get pumped with plastic so you can run around to find men to sleep with?"

His free hand was a fist under the table, out of sight. He didn't allow the pain and betrayal to show on his face. He didn't want her to see it.

They had never promised each other anything after all. Before the rebellion, their relationship had been casual, a no-strings attached sort of friends with benefits arrangement, and after she had been rescued from her Capitol prison… Well… She had come back to Twelve after a few months, had come back to him and he had thought…

"Am I supposed to remain celibate for the rest of my life once you've kicked me out?" she accused with so much anger he didn't know where it came from.

"What?" he frowned, looking up in confusion.

"Oh, please, Haymitch…" she sighed. "We're having sex less and less…"

"So what?" he scowled defensively. "You're not always good either, sweetheart. You see me planning on finding one-night-stands?"

Were they having sex less and less? He hadn't realized. They had been very active in that department when she first moved to Twelve but lust had always been the very foundation of their relationship… It was true that they had gone from an everyday shag to only three or four times a week and yet… He thought they had settled into something else and that it was… natural to be less about sex and more about… Well, tenderness. He had come to like the way she cuddled up to him on the couch or in bed just as much.

"Perhaps not for now but once you're totally bored with me, who knows?" Her voice was quivering with pain and anger.

Haymitch was truly confused and he put the bottle back down, knowing alcohol wouldn't help him understand what was going on – because it was clear that there was more to this conversation than her sudden decision to undergo plastic surgery when she had always been wary of it. "What are you going on about?"

"Oh, please, like you don't know." she spat. "What I feel for you has never been a secret, Haymitch, and you've always been very vocal about your lack of feelings for me. Sex is the only thing that keeps you with me and if you aren't attracted to me anymore, I can't imagine it will be long before you ask me to move out." She jutted her chin in the air, her lips wobbling slightly. Proud still, always proud. "I have no wish to finish my life alone so if you won't have me, I need someone else and, since you are probably the only man in Panem willing to overlook my physical imperfections, I will need surgical enhancements."

It was a lot to take in and he was left speechless.

She seemed to take his silence for an agreement because she looked down. "I have a headache. I will go lie down for a while. Please, let's not discuss this further until it is necessary."

She fled before he could come up with the words to tell her how stupid she was. It took him five mouthfuls of liquor before he could muster the courage to stand up and climb the stairs to their bedroom.

She was laying on the bed, her back to the door, not quite curled up but not totally relaxed either. He laid down behind her and propped himself on his elbow. She didn't move, she kept looking straight ahead but he could see the wet traces of tears she couldn't quite hold back on her cheeks.

"I'm not good with this kind of things, sweetheart, so maybe I wasn't clear." He placed his hand on her hip and, when she didn't shrug it off, slid it on her stomach. She rolled on her back without much prompting but her head remained stubbornly turned. "When I said you could stay, I meant you could stay. It's your house as much as mine now, I'm not going to kick you out."

She didn't answer but she shut her eyes tight.

He was at a loss of what to say and how to say it. They should have talked about that before, he figured, but he had been so aware of the change in their relationship he thought she had been too. He had realized when she went missing during the rebellion how much she really meant to him and he had thought… He had thought she already knew how he felt because she was usually so good at reading him.

"I don't want you to leave." It was a real struggle to put his feelings into words and yet they still seemed poor and inadequate in light of what he felt for her. "It's… It's different now." He wasn't doing a good job and he was quickly getting frustrated with himself. He hated seeing her in pain of any kind. "Seriously, Effie… I would have to be a masochist to keep you around only for a shag every now and then, you're too annoying." That wasn't much better… "Come on, why would I get so worked up over you wanting to find another man if I wasn't jealous…"

"It means you're possessive not that you're jealous." she finally muttered, her eyes still closed. "I learnt that years ago."

"I'm possessive because you're mine." he grumbled. "And I'm yours. End of the story."

She frowned and finally turned her head to look at him. "I don't understand."

He sighed, rubbing soothing circles on her stomach with his thumb. "You want to go get plastic surgery to feel better about yourself, fine. Go ahead. But don't do it because you think you will need to find another guy. You won't. Ever. Not while I'm alive. I don't want you with me because of sex – even though it doesn't hurt…" His smirk disappeared quickly when she didn't smile back. "I want you with me because… Because…" He couldn't say it. He cringed at his own stupidity and then shrugged. "I don't mind the scars and I don't mind the lines." He pressed a kiss to the corner of her eyes tentatively. She didn't push him away and he breathed a little bit easily. "And I love your breasts." He dropped another kiss on her chest. It was chaste as far as kisses went, quick and over the fabric of her blouse, but her breath still caught in her throat. "I wouldn't say there's a lack of feelings, sweetheart." he finished lamely.

She brushed a hand against his cheek, her nail scraping slightly against the stubble he couldn't be bothered to shave even though she had asked several times. "If there isn't a lack of feelings then what is there?"

He opened and closed his mouth, trying to talk his way out of this embarrassing question when he noticed the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Now, you're fishing…"

"Perhaps." Her smile was small and teasing but still a bit wary. "Do you love me?"

"Effie…" he sighed.

"I know you can't actually say it." she whispered urgently. "I'm not stupid, I know you have… issues with those words but… It is a straightforward question. Do you love me? Yes or no."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I wouldn't have made such a speech if it was no, would I?"

He wasn't quite prepared to be attacked. She almost tackled him to the bed in her hurry to kiss him – not that he was complaining – she sprawled on his chest and pinned him to the bed. A kiss turned into two and then three. She kissed her way down his neck and chest, popping buttons open for every kiss she dropped and he started laughing for some reason. She looked up, a bit startled.

"What is so funny?" she pouted, sitting back on his hips which was all kind of good and not good all at once. He had troubles thinking through the onslaught of sensations.

"You, thinking I would ever let you go." he chuckled, grabbing her waist and pulling until he could roll them over and finally free her – in his opinion, perfect – breasts from her blouse. "I will never let you go again." he snorted. Once had been enough. Once had resulted in months of endless tortures, wondering if he would ever see her again. "I learned my lesson."

He kissed her then, slow and sweet like he rarely did.

"Good." she whispered against his lips.

"Good." he smirked.

And it was.