Prompt: After getting married in D13, haymitch must declare his love for Mrs Abernathy (Trinket), but he has so much troubles trying to say it in front of a crowd

Toasting

Effie was unhappy.

It didn't come as a huge surprise for Haymitch, Twelve wasn't exactly made for her and she wasn't exactly made for Twelve. She had found a way to fit in though, she had made a few friends, she had found a job at the new Justice Building, she loved taking care of the kids… Yet she still wasn't as happy as Haymitch had seen her in the Capitol.

Perhaps she couldn't anymore.

Perhaps the torture had broken her beyond repair and contentment was the most she could settle for. Haymitch doubted that was true. He was the problem, liquor hadn't made him dumb enough yet not to see that.

He had married her in Thirteen, on Plutarch's advice, to save her life. It had been a hurried decision and an even more hurried affair : two signatures at the bottom of a piece of paper in her hospital room, no vows, no rings, no love.

Sometimes he thought they would have ended up right there even if they had found another way to spare her a trial and an execution : Haymitch drinking on the couch and Effie sitting on the windowpane seat, her brow pressed against the cold glass of the window, watching the geese in the yard without seeing any of them. She was slowly healing but she was still in pieces inside.

She would have never been able to put herself back together in the Capitol where everything would have been a constant reminder, just like he would never be able to put himself back together in Twelve where everything was a constant reminder.

He would have left if he had been allowed, to another District, start anew, he didn't think Effie would have minded that, but there were the kids to think about so they were staying. The subject had never even been discussed.

Still, he found himself with an unhappy wife and it bothered him.

He never thought he would ever marry. Given the choice, he probably would have never wedded her either. He didn't believe in rings or love promises anymore but perhaps she still did.

She thought the whole thing was a sham and it was on more than one level but his feelings… His feelings for her had always been very complicated. Sex had been just sex for a while but it had changed, morphed into something different and frightening that had made him bury his head in the sand during the last few years. Did he love her? He was usually happy to let the question rest unanswered. He certainly hadn't thought twice before offering her the wedding papers, simply relieved to be able to save her life and give her a chance at a future.

Nobody would touch a victor's wife, not when there were so few victors left. They were still heroes. People had swallowed his and Effie's secret love story hook, line and sinker. A few interviews here and there, a few 'stolen' pictures of them, a rumor or two and the story had taken a life of its own. A fairytale they called it.

Watching Effie curled up in front of the window right then, it didn't look like a fairytale or, if it was, it was the sad kind.

They managed well enough on a day to day basis. They bickered all the time, they had sex when the mood struck them, they argued over the smallest issue but she was leaving his drinking alone for now – as long as he didn't get wasted to the point of passing out – and he helped when the nightmares and the flashbacks made her paralyzed with fear. It wasn't ideal but it was working.

They could work, as broken as they were, he knew that. Their marriage wasn't exactly a choice but saying he minded spending the rest of his life with her would be a lie. He would have tried to keep her with him anyway.

Problem was, she didn't believe that.

She hadn't taken over the house like he had feared she would, she hadn't tried to redecorate or do more than cleaning the main parts; when she had hung curtains in their bedroom – because she hated to be woken by the sunlight in the morning – she had asked him first… She was behaving like a guest – a very irritating guest but a guest nonetheless. He had told her she could do whatever she bloody wanted but she hadn't taken it seriously.

He didn't know how to make her understand he hadn't been forced into anything. And then an idea came out of nowhere and he put his glass of whiskey down on the coffee table. "Hey, sweetheart…"

She turned startled eyes his way, blinking slowly as if to chase the memories plaguing her mind. She looked lost in his old large navy blue sweater - hiding the purple dress that wasn't suited for Twelve's harsh winter - and the big woolen socks passed over the thin stockings. Her blond hair was tied on the top of her head in a hasty bun that let strands free to float around her face. Her blue eyes were clouded but interrogative. She was beautiful. And he didn't want to lose her or see her so unhappy.

He couldn't say the words she needed to hear. Expressions of love remained stuck in his throat no matter how hard he tried to get them out. But there was another thing he could say, something he could do for her.

"Let's get hitched." he proposed, getting off the couch to stroke the fire that was starting to die. He added a log and got it roaring in no time at all.

"We are already married." she frowned.

"Not properly." he argued. "We didn't do the toasting."

He watched as she worked the word over in her mind, probably trying to figure out what he meant by that. Her eyes lighted up in understanding after a few seconds but she quickly turned her head away to look through the window again.

"We don't need to do that." she objected.

"Sure, we do." he insisted. "Nobody in Twelve is properly married without a toasting."

"Since when do you care about propriety?" she asked, her voice flat.

"I care when it's about you." he shrugged, averting his eyes when she looked at him in surprise. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get married." He walked closer and outstretched his hand. "For real this time."

She hesitated for a second before taking his hand and leaving the window. "How does it work?"

The working of a toasting was simple enough, there were no specific rules. He spread one of the blanket in front of the fireplace and told her to sit down while he retrieved the bread from the kitchen.

"Shouldn't we invite the children?" she asked when he sat down next to her.

The idea of trying to express what he wanted to tell her in front of an audience – even the kids – was making him sick to the stomach.

"We will bring them some of the bread after." he replied. "They will understand."

She watched curiously as he stabbed the bread with his knife and placed it over the fire, trying not to get burned in the process. There were other ways to do that but he wasn't in the mood to search the District for the appropriate material. When the bread started smoking, he took it out and shook it to cool it and then held it out to her.

"Take a bite." he instructed her.

She did, making sure no crumbs were stuck on her lipstick immediately afterwards. He handed her the knife and another piece of bread, guiding her hand over the fire, careful not to let her do a wrong move that would end up with them running to the nearest healer.

After a few minutes, she held the bread out to him. He tore half of the piece with his teeth, savoring the taste of toasted bread. Then he leaned in and kissed her deep.

"Now we're married." he whispered against her lips.

"For real?" she asked uncertainly.

"For real." he promised.

A small smile played on her mouth. "Does that mean I can get rid of those awful pieces of furniture and order modern ones?"

He didn't even try to suppress his smirk.