Prompt: (Hah you probably aren't gonna do this but its worth a shot because your work is amazing and I'm desperate enough to try. )4-5 times effie wants to say 'I love you' to haymitch but he stops her everytime because he tells her its not safe and it isn't until after mockingjay when they reunite in district 12 where they hug tightly and both finally say it to each other. (I just really love your writing, so I wanted to suggest something :D )
Better Than Liquor
1.
At the end of the 71st Hunger Games victory party, Effie was almost in tears by the time she and Haymitch regained the penthouse. Effie couldn't remember when she had last laughed that much – or seen Haymitch actually smirk so hard – that her sides hurt.
"Did you see her face?" Effie cackled, recalling again the look of pure horror on Viola's face when he had not so accidentally spilled his tall glass of whiskey on her dress. It served her right, she had spent the night demining Twelve, its mentor and its escort. Of course, the best part had been Chaff's leg stretched out not so accidentally either when Viola had tried to rush out of the room to save her dress. Effie shouldn't have been laughing at her fall, it wasn't nice at all and the whole thing was very immature. And yet she was still in stitches.
"Anything for you, Princess." Haymitch joked. "For the record, I like you better when you're wasted."
"I'm not wasted." She was quick to protest. She wasn't drunk certainly. She might have been a little tipsy. But not drunk.
"Could have fooled me." he snorted, leaning against the wall, arms folded, to look at her. The knowing smirk was infuriating.
She strutted seductively to him – or at least she hoped it was seductive because his smirk turned mocking and she realized she was perhaps a bit more intoxicated than she had realized – and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.
"I think you are a very sweet man underneath the rough exterior." she said completely out of the blue.
"Tends to prove you're wasted." he replied, refusing to unfold his arms. He was looking at her with amusement.
"Why aren't you drunk?" she asked, forgetting to defend herself on her state of intoxication. She knew he wasn't drunk. He had drunk his fair share but it took a lot to actually affect him nowadays and he had slowed down when he had noticed she was tipsy. "See?" she grinned when he was too slow to invent an excuse. "You are sweet."
"And you're deluded." he shrugged.
The movement made her lose her balance for a second and his hands immediately shot to her waist to steady her. It warmed her to the core for some reason. It also helped her step even more closer to him. She liked it when he held her. He gave the best hugs, better than any other man she had ever been with. He embraced completely without restraint or any worry about propriety, he held tight and close to his chest and for a wonderful second, Effie would feel perfectly safe.
The warm spread inside her, prompting her face to flush.
"It's bedtime for you." He rolled his eyes. "You're such a light weight, Trinket…"
She didn't listen. She brushed a hand against his cheek, lingering on the familiar sensation of his ever-present stubble scrapping under her fake nails.
"You're unkempt, you have no sense of style whatsoever and you really need better hair care products." she told him seriously. "You are rude, sometimes you are very nasty when you're drunk, and I often think you are barely civilized."
His eyes widened confronted with that unprompted enumeration. "Do I get to make a list too, sweetheart?"
"You are also very good in bed – well, now you are, you just needed a little training." she mused. "And you have very beautiful eyes, they're my favorite part. You are caring sometimes, I like it when you take care of me. I like being with you even when you're infuriating me." Her mouth was running without her brain's authorization. Her brain was actively telling her to stop while she could but the buzz of alcohol prevented her from understanding why she should. "Do you want to know what I think? I think love makes fools of the most sensible person. Haymitch, I think I l…"
The hand he clamped on her mouth so brutally she almost bit her upper lip came as a surprise. Less, though, than the grim, almost angry, expression on his face.
"Never ever say that, you hear me, Trinket?" he growled. "Don't even think about it."
She nodded dutifully, not really grasping where the problem was. On the other hand, she wasn't sure she would remember everything about that night.
Haymitch must have reached the same conclusion because he sighed.
"You're wasted." he spat. "Go to bed. This conversation never happened."
2.
"Haymitch!" she called almost before the elevator doors were properly open.
She rushed to the living-room, carelessly tossing her purse on the couch. "Haymitch!"
Haymitch, uncharacteristically sober, a phone glued to his ear, lifted a hand to indicate she should stop talking. She watched as he toured the room, playing with knickknacks, rolling his eyes and making faces at whatever the caller was saying. He laughed at times – the fake laugh he used on cameras when he was trying to be charming – joking at others…
Probably a potential sponsor, she mused. They were calling left and right ever since the interviews but Haymitch had been playing it hard to get. He had even refused some offers – and the fight that had followed had been the ugliest they ever had – because he said they needed to make sure people wanted to sponsor them not simply jump on the wagon. They were planning to last the whole Games, they had a shot that year. People were crazy for Katniss and Peeta.
Finally, Haymitch ended the call on another promise to consider the sponsoring offer.
"What?" he asked her, tossing the phone on the armchair.
Her grin was starting to hurt but she couldn't stop if she tried. She was almost bouncing with glee.
"The Medowes." she said. "Do you know who they are?"
He rolled his eyes. "Do I know the two most influential sponsors the Games ever had? Yeah, sweetheart. I haven't been that drunk the last few years. Gloss has them in his pocket."
"We have them." she sprouted, unable to keep it to herself any longer. The Medowes were usually a very good hint at who would win the Games. When they pledged their sponsoring, the bets changed in favor of the District they had chosen. They generally chose Two.
Haymitch looked stunned. "The Medowes hate Twelve."
"Not anymore!" she chipped. "We have them. I secured the deal." She rummaged in her purse until she found the papers. She handed them to him. "The promise of sponsoring is already signed, all that is missing is your signature. We have the Medowes."
She would have clapped in delight if it hadn't been so unrefined.
He looked from the papers to her and to the paper again. "How did you manage that?"
"I used the daughter." she explained. "An awful romantic, she is. I sold her your love story, she convinced her parents and… It was done."
"We have the Medowes." he repeated, a smirk quickly growing on his lips.
Now they had a true chance. They would have money and more than enough if they were careful. Of course, it wasn't always a guarantee of winning but it would certainly help a lot.
She wasn't expecting the arms than sneaked around her waist and pulled her to his chest but she responded to the kiss eagerly.
"Well played." he whispered, obviously impressed.
She felt so proud…
They stared at each other longer than strictly necessary and her smile faltered. The mood changed somehow and she didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing. She brushed her lips against his tentatively, almost surprised when he kissed back.
They never kissed like that. They never did anything like that.
Sex was always a passionate affair, rough more often than not, and kisses were only a mean to get there or to shut the other up in an argument.
They had never kissed with that note of… tenderness. That was new. New and welcomed.
"Haymitch…" she breathed out when his lips left her mouth for her jaw. "I…"
His hands ran up and down her back slowly but it felt like a warning.
"Don't say anything stupid, sweetheart." he requested. "Don't spoil it."
She wasn't sure what she had been about to say. Confessions of feelings weren't desired nor necessary. It was a business-like arrangement, she kept telling herself, nothing more.
And yet, the words wouldn't leave her mind.
3.
"I'm scared." she confessed.
If she had expected comfort, she had been deluding herself.
The hand that was absent-mindedly drawing circles on her bare back didn't stop but Haymitch wasn't one for sweet lies.
"You should be." he said.
She pressed further against his naked body, hooking a leg over his, her hand spread over the large scar on his side. Her long fingers couldn't even cover it.
The train rocked suddenly as it had tended to do ever since they had entered District Seven's area. Mountains and rocky landscapes made the ride unpleasant despite the advanced technology. Sometimes, Effie thought this Victory Tour would never end. Each time they entered a new District, the situation seemed direr and direr : the children weren't convincing, the restlessness of the population was obvious, the ranks of Peacekeepers only grew as did the number of guns Effie could feel pointed at their back each time they took a step out of the train. Neither her Capitol citizenship nor her name were enough protection nowadays.
"A rebellion would be madness." she whispered in the dead of night. "Surely the Districts must know that."
"They know." Haymitch shrugged. "I'm not sure they care."
"And the children…" she continued. "Katniss and Peeta… If President Snow…"
The circles on her back stopped and his hand coiled around her neck – possessively or protectively, she wasn't sure.
"I think you should take a step back, sweetheart." He squeezed her neck gently, just enough to make her understand he meant it. "Take your distances with the kids. Safer for you that way."
She frowned, almost insulted, and propped herself on his chest to glare at him. "You would never abandon them, don't bother denying it because I know you. What make you think I would? They are mine too, I will have you know."
A flicker of annoyance flashed in his grey eyes. "Why do you always have to be difficult?"
She rolled her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder again. "You wouldn't want me any other way."
"I want you in a lot of ways." he snorted. "I had you in a lot of ways."
"Must you be so crass?" She whacked his side playfully, watching with amusement the way his stomach contracted to avoid the slap. There were not much muscles there to contract. "You are letting yourself go." she teased, running her hand over the small bulge of fat at his waist. That was the drinking, certainly not the little he ate although she had noticed the three victors had gained weight since the beginning of the tour. She didn't mind the pouch so much. It was better than when he was all bones and looking like he was starving despite the monthly income.
"Yeah." he plainly admitted. "Soon you will need to find a pretty new victor to play with."
"Don't be daft." She pressed a kiss against his neck. "I don't want anyone else."
He was silent for a while. His hands left her neck, ran down her back and up again, latched on her shoulder…
"That's a problem." he commented at last.
"Is it?" she hummed. "Because I don't see you accepting one night stands from anyone else anymore."
"That's a problem too." he said, his tone guarded. "We should stop. For a while at least. Until it all calms down and we can get this thing between us back under control."
"No, we shouldn't." She left no room for arguments. She lifted her head again to stare at him. "Don't do this to me, Haymitch."
"I'm trying to protect you, sweetheart." he retorted, irritation all over his face.
"I can protect myself." she hissed, angry at him for even implying otherwise.
"Obviously, you can't." he sneered. "Or you wouldn't be looking at me like you…"
"Like I lo…" she started only to be interrupted by a violent kiss.
Her lips would be bruised, she mused.
"Don't." he growled.
She didn't.
4.
Twelve's sky looked grim on the 75th Hunger Games' Reaping Day but it certainly looked less gloom than Effie.
She hurried along the street to the Justice Building, angry and terrified and so, so desperate. She was trailed by the Peacekeepers who had forbidden her to climb off the train before the start of the actual Reaping, refusing her requests to check on her victors – and more particularly Haymitch – as was her habit every year. She felt like a prisoner.
Watching her three victors being escorted by what almost looked like an execution squad to the waiting areas on either side of the stage was terrible. She couldn't reach out to them, she couldn't reassure them or try to comfort them… It was hell.
Her breathing was quick and her voice caught every few words. She could feel Haymitch staring at her, silently pleading for her to collect herself, warning her that what she was doing was dangerous… Now wasn't the time to slip. Yet, when she called Katniss' name, she couldn't quite help a tear.
Of course, it was nothing to when she actually drew Haymitch's name.
Her first stupid instinctive reaction was relief that it wasn't Peeta but then it sank in. In the brief second it took Peeta to volunteer, she saw it all : Haymitch in the tribute parade, mocked and ridiculed, Haymitch during the interviews, half drunk and trying to outsmart Caesar, Haymitch in the arena, dying in Katniss' arms…
The images were too vivid, she remained stunned when Peeta joined her on stage, when the whole District did the traditional salute, when the Peacekeepers grabbed the children… She tried to protest then, to argue their right to a goodbye but one of the men in a white uniform waved his gun right in front of her face and, suddenly, Haymitch was there, stepping in front of her, steering her to the car waiting to take them to the station.
They were pushed on the train without any sort of gentleness. The children weren't there yet so Effie turned around and threw herself at Haymitch, not caring at all about what he would think. He embraced her back and buried his face in her neck. His whole body was shaking. Or perhaps it was hers, it was hard to say.
"I…" She was shocked to hear the sobs in her voice but she needed to say it, she needed to let him know. "Haymitch, I…"
"No." he cut her off harshly. Then he pressed a quivering kiss right below her ear, whispering low enough that she had trouble hearing him at all. "Everywhere will be bugged. Don't even think we have privacy anymore. No, Effie. They can't know."
She sagged against him but nodded her understanding.
5.
The light weight of the blanket Haymitch was pulling on her was enough to wake her from her slumber. The penthouse living-room was dark, the only source of light was the huge TV-screen on which Finnick was standing watch for the night. Effie blinked, stretching on the couch and humming her discomfort. She hadn't intended to fall asleep.
"Go back to sleep, sweetheart." Haymitch whispered. The tips of his fingers ghosted on her cheek. "I'm going out for a while."
"In the middle of the night?" she muttered, not entirely awake yet.
"Sponsor meeting." he told her.
"In the middle of the night?" she repeated with a frown, more awake now.
He sighed and crouched next to the couch so their eyes would be at the same level. "It will help the kids."
He leaned in and kissed her. It was slow, deeper than the situation required, and he didn't seem to be able to stop.
It felt wrong.
"That's a goodbye kiss." she murmured.
"Go back to sleep." he said again.
But there was no going back to sleep now. Her heart was hammering in her chest, she clasped the quivering hand resting on her shoulder.
"Haymitch, if you're leaving…" she whispered, low enough that she hoped the bugs wouldn't pick it up. "You should know I…"
He kissed the end of that sentence away.
"Next time, I will let you say it." he promised.
6.
There was no next time.
Only pain, terror and more pain followed by a crushing sense of loneliness when Peeta, Annie and Johanna were rescued but she was left behind. They stopped torturing answers out of her then but the lack of pain wasn't better, the betrayal ran too deep. Being abandoned twice succeeded where the tortures hadn't : it broke her.
When the rebels came and took her out of her cell, they were sympathetic and attentive until they learned her name. Then she turned into the monster again, the escort.
She had been in a hospital ward for two days when Haymitch finally found time to visit her. She watched, almost detached, as he raged on the nurses, doctors and the two soldiers standing guard at her doors about the handcuffs binding her to the bed. She had no words for him. No feelings.
She remained silent.
He came back the following day and the one after that, still she refused to talk. She didn't answer anyone else's questions either, she didn't see the point. They brought what Haymitch had dubbed a 'head doctor' and who really was a psychologist; he, at least, didn't seem to mind her silence. It allowed him to take naps.
She hadn't been in the hospital for a week when new soldiers came, dressed all in grey, and took her to a new cell, not nicer than the one she had lived in for month. She saw familiar faces as she passed the ward : escorts, Gamemakers, some stylists… Some of them were screaming, trying to protest, to flee… Effie surrendered. She had learned long ago that struggling was a sure way to make everything worse, she had learned how to keep herself detached. The silver lining was that they didn't practice torture at that new prison. Or if they did, she never learned about it.
Soldiers never talked to her, she was left alone in her cell. It was lonely but it was also familiar. In a twisted way, it was almost comforting.
She heard rumors, of course. People were being taken for trials and never came back. She didn't need to use her imagination to know what was happening to them. She simply waited for her turn.
One day, the door to her cell opened on someone who wasn't a soldier. Haymitch's figure looked dark against the light spilling from the corridor. She wondered if it was meant to impress her, to make her see him as her savior in shining armor.
He tossed a bag in front of her.
"Dress up." he told her. "I'm taking you out of here."
She wasn't sure she wanted to leave because she might have been a prisoner but her mind also told her she was safe in there. Nevertheless, she was also certain she had no choice.
There was a guard behind Haymitch and he kept his eyes on her while she took out underwear, a dress – one of her dresses which meant her apartment was still standing somewhere – shoes, a wig and her make-up case.
"Do you mind?" Haymitch growled at the guard when she started undressing and he didn't avert his eyes.
"I'm responsible for the prisoner until…" the soldier tried to argue but Haymitch's face could have stopped an army.
"She's under my responsibility now. Get lost." he spat.
The soldier left and Haymitch looked back at her as if he was expecting a thank you for protecting her non-existent virtue. She had been living in prison for months. There was no privacy to be had. She had lost the last shreds of her dignity a long time ago.
She dressed mechanically, noticing for all his speeches he didn't avert his eyes, too busy mapping the scars on her body, and did her make-up in a daze. It was familiar despite the length of time that had passed since the last time she had done it. It was easy. Seeing her reflection was less easy. She was glad for the square pocket mirror that didn't allow her to see herself from head to toes, she didn't think she could have borne it. She wasn't the woman she used to be anymore.
"I made a deal with Coin." he explained in the car. "It took weeks to convince her to let you out of there, sweetheart. She wouldn't let me see you either." He took a swing from his flask and she carefully didn't think of the time he must have spent getting drunk instead of finding a way to get her out of prison. "Snow's execution happens today. You will prep Katniss. Play the escort one last time and then you're free." Her silence unnerved him. He took another mouthful of what she guessed to be whiskey. "You will need to talk at some point. I didn't spend all that time trying to save your ass for you to ruin it by playing the Avox."
She looked at him and all she felt was disgust.
"Am I supposed to say thank you?" she retorted, her voice rough from being unused so long.
"It's the polite thing to do when someone saves your life, isn't it?" he sneered.
"You didn't save me." she whispered, turning her head away. "You never saved me. I didn't matter."
"Don't be stupid, it doesn't suit you." he hissed.
"You left me behind twice." she replied. "I refuse to be grateful because you suddenly developed a conscience the third time."
She didn't listen to anything else he had to say. His excuses about believing she would have been safer in the Capitol than in Thirteen were feeble, the promises that he hadn't known she had been detained with the other victors were ridiculous. She refused to engage with him.
She didn't see him again after Snow's failed execution and Coin's murder.
There was nothing easy in gaining back her freedom of movements. She wasn't allowed to leave the Capitol for the two years following her release from prison, her bank accounts had been frozen and most of her belongings had been seized. Plutarch forced her to accept some money regardless of her objections or refusals – the worst was that she knew it wasn't coming from the former Gamemaker but from Haymitch – and offered her a job in the entertainment business she had no other choice but to take. She couldn't possibly become a host or a public figure after the war, people didn't need to be reminded of what they either perceived as her crimes or her betrayal depending on which side they had stood on during the rebellion, so she worked behind the scenes. Public Relations had always been her thing anyway, it wouldn't bring her any glory but she wasn't thirsty for fame anymore either way.
She started living her life again, following Katniss' trial on TV and pretending very hard it didn't hurt her when Haymitch took the girl back to Twelve without bothering to try and see her one last time. She visited Peeta a few times before he left too. The boy, at least, was happy to see her.
They stayed in touch over the next two years.
Try as she might, Effie couldn't move on. She couldn't forget. She couldn't forgive. And it was all made worse by the fact that she missed him.
It was a deep sort of craving, the kind that made the skin tingle and the heart beat faster. She sometimes heard him in the background when she phoned the children. She never asked about him but somehow, the children always ended up keeping her informed, she wondered if they did the same on the other end : keeping him appraised with the latest gossip about her life. She learned he had taken up to raising geese through Katniss but it was Peeta who told her he wasn't doing great.
She celebrated her all brand new permission to leave the Capitol by boarding a train to Twelve.
She didn't know why.
She changed her mind a thousand times during the trip, convincing herself she would get off at the following District only to stay put all the way to Twelve. The train went on to Thirteen now. She could have remained on board without anyone being the wiser. She hadn't told the children she was coming.
It was the reason why she was so surprised to see a familiar lone figure standing on the station platform. It was dawn, the sun was barely up, yet she would have known him everywhere.
They stared at each other for the longest time.
People started unloading supplies from the last carts of the train but Effie didn't even notice. He was all bones again – not eating properly at all if Peeta was to be believed – his hair was greasy and much too long, the thing on his face couldn't even have been called a beard, the clothes… She didn't want to think about how long they had been on his back.
"What you are doing here?" she asked at last. It should have been his line but he didn't seem intent to stick to the script. He never was.
"It's delivery day." he said, finally looking away to nod at the boxes workmen were unloading. "Liquor."
"I think you had enough of that for a lifetime." she commented. "If anyone cracked a match next to you the whole station would go up in flames." She was still a few feet away but the wind carried the smell well enough. "A shower wouldn't go amiss either now and then, you know – as a courtesy for other people, at the very least. And I'm not even speaking about the general appearance of you."
"You weren't there to keep me in line, sweetheart." he shrugged. There was a tentative smirk on his lips and his eyes were bright, almost shiny. It could have been the wind. It could have been something else. "Are you here to stay?"
That was an odd question. She looked down at the four pink cases she had been dragging around since the previous day. They were loaded with clothes and what small mementoes she still had from before the war. "I don't know."
He crossed the distance between them in three long strides and stopped too close to her. He was invading her personal space. From up close she could see the shirt was soiled with dark spots that could or couldn't be wine, the pants were much too baggy and the coat was frayed in places. He needed new clothes, she had to tell Peeta.
"You reek." she told him.
He ignored her. How unsurprising.
"Are you here for the kids?" he asked.
It would have been easy to lie and answer yes. It would have been easy. "I don't know."
"Are you here for me?" he tried.
"Haymitch, your shipment is ready!" someone called from behind her before she could answer. She glanced over her shoulder to see a man with a clipboard pilling three boxes of what she supposed to be bottles of liquor. It made her frown in discontent. A gentle hand on her chin prompted her to look at him again.
"Are you here for me?" he repeated. There was hope in his voice, something vulnerable that tugged at her heartstrings.
"Haymitch!" the man shouted again, obviously in a hurry to get rid of the boxes.
"I think your liquor is ready." she said.
"Never mind the bloody liquor." he snapped. His grey eyes hadn't wandered away from her face once, he grabbed her hand and squeezed. "I should have let you say it."
"Say what?" She played dumb. It was her defense mechanism : play dumb, smile and pretend nothing hurt her. It sometimes felt as if the escort would never leave her.
"You know what." His voice was low, between a whisper and a rumble.
"Haymitch!" the workman called for the third time with obvious annoyance.
"Fuck off, Gellert!" he shouted back. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
The other man laughed. "Yeah, as if you had any chance in hell with a lady her caliber. I'll be inside when you're done being an ass. Never mind him, Miss, he's not dangerous, he's just the District drunk."
It was playfully meant but she saw the slightest tinge of hurt in Haymitch's eyes. She saw him look at her light pink dress – not the finest on the market anymore but still elegant – her open black coat, her blond hair pinned in the latest fashionable bun, the black high heels… He had never cared about the way he looked before but she saw the moment in which he realized how ridiculous it must have seemed : a man looking like him with a woman like her.
The strange thing was, she didn't care.
"Would you have said it back?" she asked.
He hadn't let go of her hand. His thumb ran over her knuckles nervously.
"Not then." he answered honestly. The honesty was refreshing. He had done too much lying in the latest months of their relationship – if relationship was even the right word.
"What about now?" she insisted. "Would you say it back now?"
He swallowed with obvious difficulties. He clenched her hand once almost unconsciously. He was desperate for a drink, she knew without having to ask.
"I…" he tried but the words didn't come out. It obviously frustrated him. "Effie…"
"I love you." she said very plainly. It was almost a relief to get those words off her chest after all that time. Perhaps, she mused, that was the reason she had come : to finally be free. Except there was no freedom there because as much as she hated him for a lot of things, that had never stopped her from harboring romantic feelings either.
There was a genuine smile on his lips when he framed her face with his hands. She should have stopped him, she wanted to stop him but she couldn't. When his lips brushed hers, it felt like she was breathing again for the first time in years.
The kiss felt like coming home.
It was also very unpleasant.
"It's a good thing I brought a spare toothbrush." she mumbled against his mouth.
"Sorry." he winced. "I wasn't expecting you."
"You were waiting for liquor, I know." She shook her head. "Some things never change."
"You're better than liquor." he said between two kisses.
"My, be careful, Haymitch." she laughed. "It's almost an I love you coming from you."
He stopped kissing her, stared right at her in the eyes and she knew, right then, that she wouldn't be going back on that train for a while. It certainly wasn't perfect. It certainly would require work. But they could try, she thought. They could try…
"You're better than liquor." he repeated.
She heard what he didn't say anyway.