Prompt : Hello. This was great! After reading this I have prompt for you, if you don't mind. Could you do one where Plutarch and Effie are involved at the end of CF and the beginning of CF? And Haymitch doesn't like it. At all. Yes. Thank you. Bye.

This evolved into crack pretty quickly.

5 times Plutarch hit on Effie and one time Haymitch almost hit him in the face instead

1

The dinner hall was packed and noisy. The loud conversations were quickly giving Haymitch an headache so he kept his head low, focused on stabbing his vegetables despite his lack of appetite and let the easy discussion between Trinket and Plutarch flow over him.

Withdrawal was a nightmare but the aftermath wasn't much better.

When he was certain he would only throw up if he ate anymore of his portion, he pushed his tray in Trinket's direction without another word. The misconception that she must have been eating like a bird to keep her figure was a common one but it was also a stupid idea. She didn't even ask if he was sure or try to convince him to eat more, she jumped on the leftover food and slid her own empty tray in front of him before attacking what was left of his portion.

He folded his arms on the table and rested his cheek on them, ready to take a nap right there and then.

"Manners, Haymitch." Trinket snapped.

Right at that moment, a group of kids passed by the table and started laughing hysterically, pointing at them – or rather at her – with mocking faces. Trinket bristled, huffed and then went back to her meticulous cutting of a green bean.

"You know why they laugh at you?" he spat, seeing a chance to get even and seizing it. "'Cause you look ridiculous."

"Of course I look ridiculous, Haymitch." she replied. "I'm wearing a grey monstrosity."

"Not what I meant and you know it." he scoffed, staring pointedly at the headscarf jutting high on her head and at the weird cape-thing she had made with her spare uniform.

"Accessorizing is important." she huffed. "I might be wearing rags but I will wear them with style."

"Style." he snorted.

"Style." she repeated firmly, swaying her fork in the air to make her point. There was a warning in her blue eyes.

"The bleached eyebrows aren't very stylish." he retorted. "You look like a thing from outer-space."

She had nothing to reply to that. She dropped her eyes and rummage the vegetables around her plate in an uncharacteristic show of nervousness – she wasn't one to play with her food. Perhaps, he mused, that was a step too far.

"Well…" Plutarch cleared his throat. Haymitch almost startled, having forgotten the Gamemaker's presence in the banter. "I think you look divine, Effie."

Haymitch chuckled, thinking it must have been a joke – the chuckles died quickly when he realized Plutarch was serious. Trinket granted him a soft genuine smile. It was one of the rare kind, one she usually only gave him, Finnick, or the kids.

"You're certainly the loveliest woman in this room." Plutarch went on, with a smile of his own.

A small blush graced her cheeks and Haymitch frowned.

"That's very kind of you to say, Plutarch." Trinket offered.

The conversation, to Haymitch's relief, went back to more neutral topics. Trinket was the first to leave the table, excusing herself to go prep Katniss for propos, leaving the two men staring after her.

"Divine? Are you blind?" Haymitch scoffed angrily. He didn't know why he felt angry or why he was bringing that back.

"She is." Plutarch shrugged, standing up and gathering their trays. "You're the blind one, I think."

Haymitch had nothing to reply to that.

He wasn't blind.

And Trinket was anything but divine.

2

"Excellent work, everyone!" Plutarch exclaimed. "Excellent work!"

Haymitch shook his head at the trademark Capitol exuberance of the Gamemaker, watching as he clapped departing technicians on the shoulders and congratulated others for their performances. Soon enough, the shooting studio was empty saved for himself still sitting in a corner, Trinket who was busy watching the finished propo for a third time and Plutarch who looked overjoyed.

Haymitch was pretty smug himself. He had said Katniss would be better in a real setting and he had been right. The propo in Eight was a smash – if they put aside the girl's recklessness and her general stupidity in the face of danger but he had already lectured her about that at length.

"And you…" Plutarch beamed at Trinket, coming to stand right behind her chair. "You did a wonderful job. I could kiss you."

Trinket laughed it off with a quick comeback Haymitch didn't pay attention to, her blue eyes were riveted on the screen and it was clear she was more interested in the propo than the Gamemaker. Until the man placed his hands on her shoulders very deliberately.

Something dark and ugly twisted in Haymitch's guts. He had to fight the urge to rip those hands away from her but he didn't understand where that was coming from or even why he felt that way.

Trinket glanced at Plutarch over her shoulder but the Gamemaker was staring at the screen and never once looked at her.

Haymitch didn't miss the way his fingers started rubbing her shoulders after a few seconds.

Worse was the fact that Trinket seemed to relax at the touch.

"Trinket." Haymitch snapped. "I need you to check on Katniss."

Plutarch's hands slowly slid off her shoulders. Haymitch's escort clearly didn't like the tone he was using but she huffed her irritation and departed without acknowledging him.

"You could be nicer with her, you know." the Gamemaker said, once she was gone. "It's not easy for a Capitol to…"

"Mind your own business." Haymitch advised, with half a mind to tell him to also keep his hands to himself.

In the end, he didn't.

What did he care what Plutarch and Trinket were doing?

3

"It will be just fine, you will see."

The whispers carried from her compartment's open door and Haymitch forego knocking to directly step inside. What was Plutarch even doing in her compartment at that time of night?

He didn't like what he saw.

Trinket was sitting on her bed, elbows on her knees and face hidden in her hands, and Plutarch was right next to her, a hand at the small of her back, obviously trying to comfort her. It wasn't Plutarch's place to comfort her, a voice murmured at the back of Haymitch's mind, it was his.

"What's going on?" he growled.

Trinket startled at the sound of his voice and quickly jumped to her feet, wiping away the tears on her face so fast he almost doubted seeing them in the first place. She looked at him with her escort mask next, cheerful smile, bright eyes…

Since when did she give him the escort mask and let Plutarch saw her vulnerable?

He didn't know what was happening but he didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

"How is Katniss?" Trinket asked at once.

"Sedated." he replied. After the bombings and her subsequent epiphany that Snow was using Peeta to punish her, that had been a necessity. "There's a meeting in Command. We're finally talking about a rescue mission."

"Oh, finally!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands against her chest. "Do you think Peeta…"

"I'm sure he's alright." Plutarch rushed to reassure her. "If he was dead, President Snow would have already let us know."

The Gamemaker placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed and Haymitch couldn't take it anymore. He stepped closer, coiling his finger around her wrist.

Trinket looked up at him, puzzled.

"Coin wants you in Command." he told Plutarch. There was a warning in his voice.

"Alright…" Plutarch hesitated, clearly not understanding where the sudden tension was coming from. Haymitch wasn't sure either to be honest. "Effie, will you be…"

"She will be fine." Haymitch interrupted him. "She's with me."

The Gamemaker wasn't totally convinced, it was plain to see. He turned to Trinket but she waved him off.

"That was rude." she told him when Plutarch had left. "If you wanted to speak to me privately, all you had to do was politely request a word. Plutarch would have understood, you know, he wasn't raised by wolves." The fingers tightened their hold on her wrist. It made her frown. "What's wrong, Haymitch?"

"What's going on here?" he asked, his voice carefully detached. Not that he wasn't detached. Because he didn't care about what was going on. Not one bit. He just wanted to know in case it affected their work. Or Katniss. But he didn't care.

"Here… Where?" She gently pried his fingers away from her arm. It occurred to him he might have been hurting her. It also occurred to him that Plutarch's touch had been gentle earlier while his definitely wasn't. He didn't know why he felt compelled to do the comparison.

"Don't play dumb." he grumbled. "You're fucking him?"

She blinked twice and then pursed her lips in a very, very displeased pout.

"One, language. Two, that is none of your business. Three, are you even seriously asking me this?" she enumerated calmly. The calm was only for show though because he could see the annoyed spark in her blue eyes.

"He wants to get in your pants." he growled.

"He is a well-educated, polite, nice man who misses his home, our home." She rolled her eyes. "Yes, he sometimes flirts but that's all it is." Her eyes turned suspicious. "And even if he was interested in something more, why would you care? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous!" he scoffed. "You're a real genius, aren't you, sweetheart? Jealous…" His sneer was perhaps over the top because she folded her arms and stared at him with a no-nonsense face. He snorted at her stupidity. "I'm not jealous. I'm concerned." Yes, that was it. He was concerned for a friend. Because Trinket was his friend, after all.

She wasn't convinced but she humored him.

"There is no need to be." she stated, placing a hand on his arm. "Be it over my well-being or over… your non-existent jealousy."

The teasing was paired with a kiss on his cheek as she walked past him to join the meeting in Command.

Haymitch grumbled for appearances' sakes but he couldn't deny that he felt a tinge better.

It annoyed him.

4

Nothing to be jealous over, she said. His ass.

He watched as the news of the rescue mission's success sent Command in an uproar. Beetee patted Haymitch's arm but he wasn't interested, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the way Plutarch was hugging his escort. Too tight, too long and certainly his hands should have been much, much higher than the very bottom of the small of her back. It was bordering on groping.

Not that Haymitch was jealous.

Obviously he wasn't.

Still, it pleased him greatly when Trinket detached herself from the Gamemaker with a very fake smile that did nothing to hide her frown. Perhaps she had finally realized that Plutarch's intentions were far from innocent.

The Gamemaker seemed a bit taken aback by her sudden distance but he was quickly distracted by President Coin, leaving Trinket to escape unnoticed.

Haymitch pretended not to hear Beetee's muffled laughter when she spotted him and almost trotted closer with a bright smile. She didn't pause or ask before locking her arms around his neck and he embraced her back, burying his face in her stupid headscarf and breathing in. The expensive heavy perfume was gone but she still smelt like Effie.

"Peeta is alive." she whispered in his ear. It was the first time he had heard her sound so happy since they actually won the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. "Peeta is alive! And he's coming home to us. Oh, we will take such good care of him… I won't let anything happen to these children again. Ever."

That was quite a statement given that they were still at war but Haymitch echoed the sentiment by holding her tighter.

And if the hug went on too long or that his hands drifted lower than propriety demanded, who cared?

She was his escort after all, he thought, glaring at Plutarch's back.

5

Trinket was sad again and trying very hard to conceal it.

Peeta's condition showed no sign of improving, Katniss being shot in Two was a shock as well as endless hours of anguish on their part, and the general happy mood of the other rebels who were getting ready to tackle the Capitol now that the rest of the Districts were freed was in total contrast with what their little team was going through.

They were forced to sit through unnecessary meetings that lasted much too long and consisted in a lot of talking over nothing. Haymitch was bored and when Coin called out a break, he almost collapsed on the table to take a quick nap.

The others lost no time in scrambling away in hope of snatching some tea or coffee – now that the Districts were on their side, food restriction had become lighter. Trinket was the only other one to remain in the room. She relaxed back in the leather chair next to him with a small sigh.

He nudged her foot under the table. "Come on, give me a smile."

In a flash, her cheerful mask was back. He wondered how she could do that : go from utter sorrow to joy in a second.

"A real one." he insisted, hooking his foot around her ankle and tugging gently.

She tried to free her leg but her attempts were unsuccessful and he watched, amused, as she wriggled this way and that to escape him. He never once moved from his slumped position over the table.

Finally, she relented and stopped struggling.

"You're insufferable." she scowled but there was a grin tugging at the left corner of her mouth and that was enough for him.

The grin and his fleeting contentment both disappeared when hands were pressed against Trinket's eyes.

"I have a surprise for you." Plutarch announced cheerfully.

Haymitch drummed his fingers on the table, wondering how much longer that break would be.

The Gamemaker took his hands away and presented her with a large royal blue square of fabric. She immediately squealed in delight, clutching the fabric to her chest.

"I thought it would do a nice headscarf." Plutarch told her. "Or whatever you can make of it. You're so clever with clothes…"

She thanked him at least a thousand times. Haymitch lost track.

The beaming smile on her lips – a beaming smile he had failed to bring – was irritating him so much he finally snatched the foot away from her ankle. The smile wavered when she looked up at him but he didn't stay long enough to find out why, he pushed away from the table and headed out.

What did he care?

6

"You know where Trinket is?" he asked Johanna, raising his voice to be heard over the loud music.

The wedding was a smash but the raucous sounds did nothing for his ever present headache. He was yearning for a drink, something stronger than the poor excuse for cider they were given.

"Probably getting screwed by Heavensbee." Jo cackled with a shrug – her eyes weren't totally focused, Haymitch figured she had managed to find morphling somewhere. "They were dancing earlier. His hands were everywhere, that man is an octopus."

Something snapped in him.

Something very sharp and very hot that left him seeing red.

"Oh, don't be jealous, Haymitch…" Johanna chuckled. "I'm sure you will get a turn later. She's a slut."

His glare must have been very impressive because Seven's victor choke on her own laugher.

In the end, they weren't hard to find. One of the filming crew member was only too happy to help: they were in the studio, watching the wedding footage being recorded.

Or, at least, that was what they were supposed to do because Haymitch very much doubted watching footage involved pressing a woman against a control panel. Plutarch was leaning in for a kiss just when he arrived but before he could lose his temper and intervene – only to help Trinket, not because he was jealous – the escort was gently but firmly pushing him away with a hand on his chest.

"I'm very sorry if I mislead you, Plutarch, truly I am." she whispered.

She stepped away, prepared to flee, only to pause when she saw Haymitch standing there. He must have been a sight because she slowly started walking again, brushing her hand against his when she walked past him.

"Don't give him grief." she whispered.

Grief over what?, he mused.

Plutarch shrugged when he spotted him, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture.

"Minor setback." the Gamemaker declared. "I will try again another time."

Then he turned to the screens as if there was no problem at all with that statement.

"No, you won't." Haymitch heard himself saying. Plutarch glanced at him in open surprise and Haymitch licked his lips, annoyed at his own stupidity. "Look, Trinket is pretty straightforward. If she was interested, she would let you know. If she said no, it's no."

The Gamemaker rolled his eyes. "Don't take this the wrong way, Haymitch, but Capitol women are a little more complicated than District women. She says no for now, but if I woo her a little more…"

"No." Haymitch snapped. He stepped inside and closed the door. It slammed. He hadn't meant for that to happen but he realized his hands were shaking very badly, he needed a drink and, above all, he needed the Gamemaker to stop making passes at his escort. "She said no. Let it go."

Plutarch stared at him for a long moment then cleared his throat. "I apologize for the question, Haymitch, but… Did I step on any toes, here? Are you and Effie…"

"Don't be ridiculous." he cut him off. "I hate her."

"So you keep saying…" the Capitol man mused. "But that's not what I observed. You're very protective of her. I thought it was because you consider her a close friend but…"

"I'm just sick and tired of you harassing her." he spat.

"Harassing?" Plutarch laughed. The laughter died quickly when Haymitch took a threatening step closer, the man lifted his hands defensively. "I didn't harass her. We flirted, that's all. It's a way to pass time, that's it. Nothing serious. I realize it's different in the Districts, you're much more uptight about this kind of things, but in the Capitol…"

"I don't care what you want from her." Haymitch growled. "It's over. I need her focused on the kids."

The Gamemaker tilted his head with a teasing smile. Haymitch was certain that if he had known how close Haymitch was from actually punching him, he wouldn't have been smiling.

"On the kids or on you?" Plutarch asked and then shrugged. "I didn't know she was involved with someone else. That won't happen again."

"She's not involved." he grumbled. "We're not involved."

"Oh, I think you are…" the Gamemaker offered, good sport. "And I also think you should go and ask her to dance before someone else does."

He nodded at one of the screen. Trinket was standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching Finnick and Annie wistfully.

Haymitch decided it was in his best interest to step out of that room before he did give in his violent urges. If his feet took him to the dance floor and to Effie Trinket, well…

It wasn't his fault, was it?