For the last day of the year, I give you not a prompt but something that I was thinking about for some times. I wish you all a Happy New Year! Lots of love!
Belief
The tip of his fingers slowly retraced the line from her brow to the tip of her nose before going up again to run down her temple, draw the arc of her cheekbone and finally end its course on her lips.
In another time, Effie would have bitten them playfully but she sensed now wasn't the time to be playful. It wasn't what Haymitch was after.
She watched him, in part confused, in part almost awed, as he caressed her features again and again.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, at last.
She was afraid to break the spell but, at the same time, was painfully aware they shouldn't have been in her apartment in the first place, certainly not in the bedroom where there was no TV screen to check on the children's progress. She didn't think the Quell would last much longer. Beetee's plan – or what she had understood of it – was a sound one and would leave the children to face their last enemies. Their escort and mentor shouldn't be lying in bed, in tangled sheets, with sweaty skins. They ought to have been out there, in the streets, courting sponsors – as difficult as it was with Peacekeepers shadowing their every moves.
"Committing to memory." he replied without looking away from her lips. He was propped on his elbow, on his side, and was busy retracing the shape of her mouth with his free hand. His voice sounded rough, almost grating like sandpaper. It was the result of the thirst, she knew, the steadfast thirst that made his eyes look bloodshot and gave a slightly yellow tinge to his skin. He hadn't totally stopped drinking, she knew that too. He could fool the children into thinking he had yet he couldn't fool her – he hadn't even tried truthfully – but he had reduced his consumption to even less than what she had expected. A mouthful here, a swallow there… That was all. She was proud and moved and awed by what he was doing for their victors.
"What is there to commit? You know my face." she objected.
He snorted and then shrugged absent-mindedly. "It changes with your make-up."
"Oh." She didn't know why she was surprised. He was right of course. Make-up always had an intent, be it making her look prettier, skinnier or more mysterious… Make-up did miracles on a person's face when you knew how to apply it. And she was an expert in the field. Perhaps she simply hadn't expected him to pay a close enough attention to notice.
"Why do you need to commit it to memory?" she asked, keeping her voice so low it was barely a murmur.
She was wary of bugs, even in her own apartment, even in a place where she was supposed to feel the safest on earth. People had been following her ever since Twelve won, it had only gotten worse after Victory Tour. She hadn't told Haymitch. She wasn't sure he would care. She was afraid he would.
"Why not?" he shrugged again.
His fingers left her face, ran down her neck, paused at the hollow of her throat… He was gentle, so gentle it unsettled her. She wasn't used to that side of him, she wasn't used to the tenderness he had been displaying lately.
Haymitch was a rough man, he was rough when he kissed her, he was rough when he pushed her against a wall or on the bed, he was rough when he had his way with her… And she enjoyed it. She enjoyed it because it was so different from the disgustingly sweet attention her Capitol playboys poured on her. Haymitch's attention was always hard-earned, it was never granted, it was never secured… Haymitch wasn't an easy man. It was why she was so helplessly hooked on him, she knew. With him, she felt as if she was playing with fire. She was always on her toes, always pushing boundaries, always waiting for something to snap…
She didn't dare ask him what the change in behavior meant.
Rough was true. When he pushed and bit and clawed, it was unrestrained, it wasn't fake or forced or simply motivated by how famous or beautiful she was. Haymitch never cared about that. He said she looked ugly when she was at her most radiant and sometimes called her gorgeous when she was wearing neither wig nor haute-couture.
By Capitol standards, he made no sense.
She was confused by his sudden worshiping of her body. Before Victory Tour, they never took their time with each other. Sex had always been a quick affair, almost hurried, it was all about release. But now… Now he took it slow and whispered nonsense in her neck and held her long after they were spent… She loved it – oh, it was dangerous how much she loved it, her heart was on the line – but she was confused. It reminded her too much of Capitol lovers and their feather-like touches that were nothing compared to the possessive way his hands fondled, caressed and made her his.
The tip of his fingers went back to their exploration, running down the flat line in the middle of her chest, going back up to follow the small curve of her breast…
"Are you getting bored with me?" she heard herself ask, almost dejectedly.
"Bored?" he frowned, finally looking her in the eye. His hand went to her side and spread over the jutting bone of her hip, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
His eyes were one of her favorite features. The sky was never grey in the Capitol, it was always bright blue and sunny, but she had seen it in Twelve some days were the rain was terrible and left her soaked to the bones. His eyes were grey like the sky during a storm. She was scared out of her wits the rare times she had experienced one. She was scared out of her wits by his eyes too.
"Men always get bored." she replied, trying hard not to sound bitter. He had made no promises after all, what was happening between them was nothing more than a mutual satisfying of needs. A way to blow some steam. Convenient. She hated the feeling. She looked away and swallowed back her resentment.
He laughed.
It surprised her and she glanced at him, puzzled by the lack of his usual mocking chuckles that had been replaced by this low rumble of a laugh. It was so genuine it was probably more cutting than any taunt he could have mustered.
"You don't need to be so…" Her sentence trailed off and she waved it away, rolling on her other side so her back would be to him. "You could just have said you weren't interested anymore." She closed her eyes and pretended it was because she was exhausted and not because she wanted to prevent tears from falling. She had no right to cry when Katniss and Peeta were currently in danger. Truth be told, she had no right to lounge in a bed either.
She tried not to shiver when she felt his lips on the back of her neck. She tried not to care when his mouth dropped kiss after kiss, following the line of her spine.
"How does your brain work, Princess?" he whispered, nudging her gently until she rolled on her stomach. Why she let him was anyone's guess. "I'm not bored." She felt his hand on her shoulder blade, touching, cataloguing… "Really not bored." he added.
"Then, what is this?" she insisted, only finding the courage to do so because she was facing away from him.
She waited for a long time but the answer never came. His hand still at the small of her back.
Effie had never been good at waiting. When she wanted something, she wanted it immediately. She propped herself on her own elbow and it was his turn to roll on his back, staring at the ceiling.
He looked old.
She was shocked by the realization. He had never looked old to her before. The Tour, the Quell and the restraints he put on his own cravings… Everything was too much for her so she couldn't even imagine how it was for him. It was aging him.
She brushed a hand against his cheek, relishing in the familiar itch of the stubble under her fingers. She was always raging about his shaving habits but she hated him clean-shaved. He wasn't a clean-shaved kind of man. She had come to love the stubble burns he left all over her body. That too felt truer than the smooth pampered skin of Capitol men.
His hair were limp on the pillow under his head, dirty too. She wouldn't have minded if he washed it and trimmed it more often although the scrubby look worked for him. Perhaps she simply had a thing for bad boys.
She was so focused on her own musings, she startled when he spoke again. It was low, barely a murmur. "How far would you go for me?"
How odd a question that was…
She lifted her eyebrows, an amused grin playing on her lips. "Are you asking me to commit a murder to prove my love?"
He froze.
It was funny how people could freeze when they were already lying still.
"Poor choice of words." she amended but it was too late. She could almost feel the panic he was exuding, the utter terror… "Haymitch…"
The look of a deer caught in the headlights stayed firmly in place for a few minutes. Probably the longest minutes of her life. Then, he finally relaxed, having apparently chosen to fight in his fight or flight instinctive response.
"Don't waste that on me." he scowled.
"Isn't that a bit hypocritical when you just asked me how far I would go for you?" she sighed, lying down on her back. She stared at the ceiling too since he was finding it so interesting. "What is going on?"
"Nothing." he mumbled, much too quickly.
She had her own suspicions, of course. Too many late reunions with victors who had become their enemies as soon as the Quell had been announced – regardless of years-long friendships – too many hushed discussions with Cinna in a corner of the room, too many things he didn't want her to worry about, too many desperate kisses as soon as they were alone…
"As far as I could." she whispered. "That's how far I would go."
He remained silent for a few seconds and then his hand found hers. He entwined their fingers. She hoped he couldn't tell her hands were shaking because she was scared now, really, really scared.
"Even if it's against everything you believe in?" he pressed.
"Haymitch." she said, very seriously. "The only thing I believe in is fashion. You should know that by now."
He chuckled and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. She was half-sprawled on his chest so it wasn't difficult for him to kiss her cheek and then her mouth in a swift move.
She decided it was their best kiss yet.
She wasn't sure who deepened it, if it was her or if it was him. She was very sure she didn't care.
"I need to go." he said against her mouth, before it could become so much more than heated kisses. "Sponsors."
The last mumble was a lie, she could practically taste it on his lips, but she kept that to herself. He kissed her one last time and tore himself away from her arms, hurrying to put his clothes on. His grey eyes kept darting to the clock on her night stand.
She watched him, following the lines of his body with her eyes in her own committing to memory. The bed was cold without him. Or perhaps, she was cold without him. He had a way to make her feel alive that nothing else did.
"Get dressed." he told her. "Everything will go quickly now. The Games will be over by midnight."He was still buttoning his shirt when he leaned in for one last kiss. She made that one last. It tasted like a farewell. He brushed a hand against her cheek. "Stay here, okay? I will… I will send someone, sweetheart."
He sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure she wouldn't change her mind. She nodded, not knowing what she was agreeing to but also very aware she didn't have a choice. Whatever he was involved in, it was about the children and she wanted to protect the children. She was dreaming of holding them in her arms again, safe and alive… And, of course, there was the matter of the lengths she was prepared to go to for him.
No, there was no choice.
She watched him leave, barely comforted by the absence of his usual advice when danger was involved. Stay alive. He hadn't said it.
Perhaps because he wasn't expecting her to be in any danger at all.
Foolish, she judged, when she heard the door of her apartment burst open. She had just finished adjusting her wig on her head. The timing was too perfect.
She wasn't surprised to see Peacekeepers standing there, guns trained on her as if she was about to run for it or to attack them.
She wondered if Portia and Cinna had been just as terrified as she felt.
She wondered if they had showed it.
Effie certainly wouldn't.
She jutted her chin high and regarded them all coldly, pretending she wasn't afraid.
Haymitch might send someone but it would be too late. Or perhaps, they hoped detaining her would be enough insensitive for Twelve's victor to surrender. If that was the case, it was stupid. She would go to the end of the Earth for him but he would never do the same for her.
"Euphemia Trinket." the Peacekeeper in charge said, his voice distorted by the protective helmet on his head. "You are under arrest."
"Yes, I surmised." she replied, picking up her handbag. "Shall we?"
She touched the synthetic golden locks on her head right before two soldiers rudely grabbed her arms and dragged her away.
She glanced back at the unmade bed before they took her out of the room, wondered if he knew she had lied.
There was only one thing she believed in.
Him.