Prompt I have a prompt for you. Forgive me if you've already written something like this: Haymitch talks to Effie about his mother and if she would have liked Effie. And it's a big step in their relationship because Haymitch normally doesn't speak much about his family. Merci!

Small heads up, I'm not sure if I will publish tomorrow since there will be a trailer. I will see. =)

Mothers' Opinions

"You shouldn't let it rattle you that much."

Effie huffed at the unwelcome advice and glanced in the mirror of her dressing table. Haymitch was sprawled on his back on the bed, already stripped down to sweatpants, ready for the night. She slid the numerous bangles off her wrist angrily and dropped them in her jewelry wooden box.

She knew he was right naturally. The war had been over for three years, she had been openly involved with Haymitch for two years and she had moved to Twelve a few months earlier, one would think she would be used to her mother drilling her opinion on both matter into her head. Phone calls with her always started well and always ended up with Effie wishing she could bang her head against the wall in sheer frustration. Elindra had a plethora of arguments to convince Effie to move back to the Capitol, never mind arguments to convince her to leave Haymitch – or, as she always referred to him : the drunk.

It always made her furious beyond measure.

"She insults you every chance she gets." she hissed, taking off her earrings and tossing them in the box without the care she would usually show.

"Let her." he shrugged. "I don't care."

"I do." she snapped.

"Well, you shouldn't." he insisted. "Look, you family think I'm not good enough for you…"

"You are good enough for me." she cut him off, standing up to unzip her dress. She tossed it in the clothes hamper with her underwear and slipped on her nightgown and her dressing gown before sitting back down to smear anti-aging cream all over her face. It wasn't as efficient as surgery would have been to remove her wrinkles – another thing her mother had plenty to say about – but it would have to do. "You are everything to me. You make me happy when you're not set on infuriating me." And even then, she liked the bickering and the banter, she liked it when he angrily pinned her to a wall in the middle of an argument. "They should be happy for me. And I do apologize if my being upset about this inconveniences you but this is not right." She huffed that part with irritation, glaring at him in the mirror for his lack of sympathy. "How would you react if your family was so dismissive of me, I wonder?"

She regretted the question as soon as it had passed her lips.

"We'll never know, right?" he scoffed. She expected him to become withdrawn immediately but he didn't stop watching her, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "My brother would have liked you."

"Really?" she breathed out, truly moved by that simple statement. Haymitch's family was a crucial part of who he was but he never talked about them, he carried their memory like a cross to bear.

"Yeah." he snorted. "He liked every girl I flirted with. He was still a baby though, just eleven…"

He stopped talking and looked away. She did the math quickly and concluded his brother would have been around her age.

"How about your mother?" she prompted softly. "Would she have liked me?"

He chuckled. It was bitter but not as much as she had feared.

"No." he said without any tact. "You're too loud, too annoying and too fussy."

"Why, thank you." she huffed, screwing the lid back on her pot of anti-aging cream and grabbing her hairbrush. It was an ingrained habit of hers : brushing her hair right before she went to bed, something her mother had taught her how to do properly as soon as she had been big enough to hold the hairbrush.

"You're an acquired taste, sweetheart." he taunted.

"And you are a ruffian." she countered, running the brush through her hair repeatedly until there was not a single knot left.

She shed her dressing gown at the foot of the bed and hurried under the blankets, still not used to Twelve's weather. How Haymitch could manage to sleep without a shirt was a complete mystery to her. She switched the lamp off and settled down, automatically placing her hand on Haymitch when he spooned her. He entwined their fingers and pressed his lips on her nape.

"She would have grown to love you, I think." he whispered. "She was… She was a strong woman and a great mother… She loved us something fierce but if she were here to see how better my life is with you in it, she would love you."

He buried his face in her hair and she knew he wouldn't say anymore on the subject or appreciate any question.

She squeezed his hand and burrowed further into him, letting his body wrap around hers in that octopus way of his.