Hi I have a promt for you, I like to read something about Effie having really, really bad dreams, nightmares about the time she spent in prison and Haymitch being there to wake her up and support her. Thank you ! I love everything that you write ;)

I'm baaaaack and I missed you all! Quick note before today's prompt, this one isn't betaed so any mistake is on me. =)

Bad Dreams

He wasn't sure what woke him up. He rarely slept but when he did, he tended to crash and remain dead to the world. Perhaps he had developed a strange sixth sense where she was concerned. He wasn't used to sharing a bed either before the war but now it was a common occurrence for her to seek shelter between his sheets when she had a nightmare.

"You're okay?" he mumbled, still half asleep, as she slipped under the blankets.

He didn't know why she insisted on starting the night in the guest room when she always somehow ended up in his bed or with her head pillowed on his lap on the couch when he was in a mood to spend the night drinking to keep the ghosts away. It would be easier for her to simply give up and go to sleep next to him, that way he would wake her up before the night terrors became too brutal.

But there were still boundaries or so she claimed. It wouldn't have been proper because they were nothing more than former-lovers-slash-friends and aside for a few stolen kisses here and there nothing much had happened between them ever since the war. He wasn't sure what the boundaries were for – she had showed up at his house a year after the rebellion with pink cases and boxes upon boxes overflowing with dresses that she never wore anymore and had asked him if she could stay for awhile; awhile turned to months and the unused dresses had found their way to the attic – but he respected her wishes. He thought she wanted some measure of control. She was desperate for control now, even more than before : she had tight schedules she followed to the second and it always left her upset to the point of having a panic attack when she failed them, she was extremely nervous in unfamiliar settings or in presence of strangers, she checked three times that all windows and doors were locked before going to bed…

"Bad dream?" he asked again.

She didn't answer his question at once, snuggling against his side and resting her head on his shoulder, hooking a leg over his and forcefully draping his arm around her shoulders. She didn't let go of his hand afterwards, clinging to it as she was scared he would disappear.

"Nightmare." she corrected quietly, her voice rough from abuse.

He wondered if he had slept through her screaming. It wouldn't be the first time. As horrible as it sounded, between hers and Katniss', he had gotten used to yells in the middle of the night. Not to mention it was sometimes difficult to differentiate what was happening in his own tormented head and in the real world.

She was shivering. He didn't think it was from cold, the room was warm, winter was still a long time in coming, but, still, he arranged the blankets around her and drew her even closer so he could wrap both arms around her. Once she was sprawled on his chest, in a parody of a lover embrace, she relaxed but not completely. She was crushing him and it wasn't entirely comfortable but he didn't complain.

He tugged on the hair tie until the messy braid fell apart and he could run his fingers through her blond curls. His thumb drew nonsensical figures on the small of her back, over the silky fabric of her nightgown.

It took a long time for the tension to leave her body and when it finally happened, it was gradual. The legs first, then the shoulders and when he was certain she wouldn't bolt – that had happened before – he let the hand that was in her hair trail down until it could coil around her nape and gently massage the knots in her shoulders. She breathed out a contented sigh.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

She might talk to Peeta the next day or to Johanna if she managed to get a hold on the other victor on the phone under the pretense of checking up on Annie, but she wouldn't talk to Katniss or to him about her time in prison and consequent nightmares. They hadn't been there and, therefore, they couldn't understand. Besides, he and Katniss had a tendency to bottle up their feelings when Effie and Peeta needed to express them in order to heal.

As expected, she shook her head. Her fingers clenched on his chest and he figured that if he had been wearing a shirt, she would have bundled it in her fist.

"I'm sorry for waking you up." she whispered like she did most nights. She was genuinely sorry, he knew. He wasn't. He would rather she woke him up than stay in her room, on her own, shaking and terrified by her nightmares.

"It's okay." he shrugged. "Want to try and sleep some more?"

The lack of answer was one in itself.

He knew what it felt like to wake up from dreams so real that you couldn't tell where was the limit between nightmares and reality.

"I couldn't wake up." she said, in way of an apology. "I knew it was all a dream but I couldn't wake up. Each time I tried, I woke up in my bed but it was just another nightmare."

Embedded nightmares, he thought not without irony, his favorites.

"Well, you're awake now." he promised.

"Are you sure?" she murmured, pressing her forehead against his chin. She was looking for the rough feel of the stubble against her skin, he figured, looking for proof this was real.

"Very sure, sweetheart." he sighed, turning his head to check the clock on the bedside table. He had to rummage around to find it, bottles and discarded clothes had knocked it off. It was four in the morning – and he internally cringed at that. "We can go downstairs and make breakfast."

"It's not time yet." she argued quietly.

"Ah yeah, your schedule…" He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "So what's the plan for today? What are you going to do?"

She could probably tell he wasn't really interested but she prattled about it all the same, telling him all about her meticulous schedule that dictated her life – and his most of the time. He drifted off at some point, lulled to sleep by the sound of her voice, but she seemed alright with it since she kept on talking.

When he woke up again, she was still on his chest, safely wrapped in his arms, sound asleep. He brushed the hair away from her face and tried to fall back asleep himself.

It wasn't perfect what they had.

But it worked.