Prompt : Hiii! Since you're taking hayffie prompts, can i have one with nervous haymitch and badass wingman!plutarch? The rest is up to you:) ps you're a great writer. thank you

Reconciliation

"Staring at women from a dark corner could come out as slightly creepy, Haymitch." Plutarch taunted, appearing at his side suddenly.

Or maybe it wasn't that sudden and Haymitch had been too busy staring creepily to notice – the former Gamemaker might have had a point there. He took a sip of whiskey and shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Plutarch should have been happy he was there at all. Peeta had dragged him all the way to the train station and had left him no choice in the matter – how lucky for the kids that Katniss was still forbidden on Capitol soil and couldn't go to the two years celebration of the rebels victory; while they were both safely at home enjoying themselves, Haymitch had been subjected to a grooming by the girl's old prep team, interviews and, icing on the cake, that awful ball. He couldn't wait to get back on the train and disappear from the public eye again.

"Come on, now…" Plutarch nudged him with his elbow. "Have you talked to her?"

"To whom?" He made an effort to sound detached, downing the rest of his glass in one go. He wasn't drunk yet and that was a shame. He would have enjoyed himself a lot more if he were. He reached for a new glass from the tray of a passing waiter but Plutarch grabbed his wrist.

"I made sure she was on the list." the Gamemaker rolled his eyes. "A lot of important people frowned about that, you know. I went to all that trouble for you, so, go and talk to her."

Haymitch's eyes rested on Effie's again. She was hard to miss : she was wearing a long flowing dress with long sleeves covered in rhinestones. She was sparkling from head to toes. Her blond hair was pinned up in a complicated bun that left some strands curling freely around her face. She was beautiful.

He had trouble swallowing. His mouth was dry.

"She doesn't want to talk to me." he replied. "She made that very clear."

After the rebellion, after she had been rescued… He had tried to mend ways. He had tried to apologize. He had tried to offer his help. He had tried to…

The memory of the kiss he had almost forced on her lips was both a source of shame and unease.

He hadn't known how else to say it but showing her. She hadn't reacted well to that.

"It was over two years ago." Plutarch sighed. "Don't be a coward, Haymitch. Why do you think she even came?"

"Because you invited her." he scowled.

"She's been all alone all night." the former Gamemaker pointed out. "Life isn't easy for her right now, people are still resentful. She doesn't need the public exposure, yet there she is…"

True to Plutarch's word, Effie had been rather lonesome. She didn't hide in a corner like Haymitch but she stood at the edge of the dance floor and watched the dancers wistfully, sipping from her flute of champagne from time to time. In all the time he had been watching, nobody had tried to talk to her and she hadn't engaged anyone saved Plutarch and Fulvia. People seemed to avoid her.

She had her cheerful mask on but, underneath, she looked sad and lonely.

Haymitch snatched Plutarch's glass from his hand and downed it. It made him frown. Bloody Capitol cocktails.

He marched to the other side of the ballroom before he could think twice about it. He could always convince himself he was wasted later, he told himself – or actually get wasted enough that the memory would be blurred and buried with the rest of his nightmares.

"Haymitch." she breathed out when he stopped right in front of her. He didn't try to decipher the complex emotions flashing in her blue eyes. He pried the flute from her fingers, downed that one too for good measure and handed it to a flabbergasted woman who was walking by, then he grabbed Effie's hand and tugged her on the dance floor just as a new song started playing. Timing, he thought because it was a slow song, and he froze, a hand hovering over her waist, not sure she would welcome such intimate a touch.

"Will you ever be able to do something properly?" she sighed but it was amused rather than irritated. "You should ask first."

She guided his hands to the small of her back and tentatively wrapped her arms around his neck, she made sure to keep her hold loose enough that she could flee at the slightest wrong move on his part. Her eyes were wary and he pressed a little on her back so she would step closer, holding her tight. She relaxed.

They swayed to the music for a while – it had nothing to do with the elaborate dancing most of the couple were doing but she seemed content enough anyway – before she cleared her throat.

"Aren't you going to speak at all?" she asked. He could hear the irritation in her voice this time.

"Weird dress choice." It was the first thing that popped through his head. He wasn't used to seeing her with long sleeves and long dresses, it seemed very conservative for her.

"It covers the scars." she replied.

Haymitch froze. They stopped swaying.

And there it was again: the elephant waltzing in the room.

Her imprisonment.

His failure.

She looked down and he almost expected her to let go of him and run away. She started moving again instead, prompting him to do the same. He held her closer. He didn't know if that was the right thing to do but he didn't think he could have stepped back even if he had tried.

"At this point you are supposed to say you are sorry." she commented with deliberate casualness.

"Would it change anything?" he replied.

"No." she offered truthfully. "But then I could tell you I forgive you."

He stopped breathing. "Yeah?"

She nodded, her eyes still downcast. "I was angry after… But I forgave you a long time ago, Haymitch."

"Why didn't you say?" he asked.

The music came to a stop but he barely registered it. They kept dancing anyway.

"Well, you don't have a phone, to begin with. You aren't an easy man to contact." she explained, staring at the lapel of his suit. "I tried to write but… It was hard to put everything on paper."

"You could have come." he pointed out.

"After the way I treated you, I wasn't sure I would be welcome." she whispered. It was barely audible over the music.

She was still not looking at him and it bothered him. He brushed a hand against her cheek, retraced the line of her jaw with his fingers and lifted her chin gently until she met his eyes.

"You're always welcome." he shrugged.

The arms wrapped around his neck tightened their hold. He wasn't sure if she stepped closer or if he nudged her closer but their bodies were pressed against each other. The singer launched in a soppy love song. It was all very cheesy and ridiculous, yet Haymitch couldn't quite repress the smirk on his lips. They stared at each other, swaying to the absurd lyrics.

Effie licked her lips just as the song was ending, her eyes darting to his mouth. "Are you ever going to kiss me?"

"I kissed you the last time. It's your turn." he countered.

"That wasn't a kiss." she huffed. "I don't even know what it was."

He rolled his eyes. Trust her to be difficult even about this. Haymitch wouldn't take the risk of being rejected again.

"Your turn." he challenged.

"Always the romantic, are you?" she scowled but there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. "Very well. I will oblige."

Her heels brought them at roughly the same height, she didn't have to do anything else but lean in. She stopped a hair short of his lips. Their breath mingled for a second and despite his good resolutions he was the one who broke the distance, brushing his lips against her teasingly. It was enough for a spark of desire to shot through his body.

Her blue eyes darkened and there was nothing teasing in the way she captured his lips next. It was demanding, almost a plea – he wasn't sure for what, to never stop kissing her maybe or perhaps to never let go of her again. He was alright with both.

Somehow, he sensed he wouldn't be going back to Twelve the next day.

Not if she wasn't willing to go with him.