I've been taking request from angsty lines last night so here goes :

Angst one-liner

"Please come get me."

The phone ring echoed in the house.

Haymitch wavered a lot before hauling himself off the couch to the kitchen. Since the end of the war, he hated answering the phone even more. It was always Plutarch, always about something or other the brand new government was plotting, always seeking his opinion or advices… The phone rang and rang even as he stood there and stared at it. He only picked up around the tenth ring.

"What?" he barked.

There was silence at the other end of the line, the soft sound of someone breathing and then a sniff and he knew who it was without even having to ask. Not Plutarch.

"Effie." he whispered, almost not daring to believe it. She had said she never wanted to see him again, she had said she would never forgive him, she had said…

"Haymitch." she said, her voice broke in the middle of her name. "Haymitch, I'm scared…"

His blood ran cold. "What's wrong? Sweetheart, what happened?"

Something must have happened for her to call him of all people. Something must have happened for her to admit so readily she was scared.

"They took everything!" she sobbed. "They said it was punishment for my crimes. They said it was the same for everyone who escaped the trials. They froze my bank account, they changed the lock of my apartment, I don't even have clothes… I have nothing left. I have nothing left! I don't know where to sleep… I…"

"Okay, breathe. Sweetheart, I need you to breathe." he cut her off. She was quickly working herself into a frenzy.

"Come get me." she begged. "Please, come get me."

'Shh, c'mere'

The scream left her throat raw but she screamed again and again all the same, fighting off the hands that wanted to seize her, to hurt her. She kicked with her feet and slammed her fists against her enemy, snapping her jaw shut when hands flew too close to her face. She bit down on the fingers, wishing she had enough strength to chew them off.

"Damn it, Effie!"

It was her name, more than anything else that broke her out of the dream. They never used her name in that nightmarish place her mind could never escape at night. She was Trinket to them, or other names when they felt like humiliating her. Never Effie.

She stopped thrashing long enough for her to realize she was in her bed, in her room in Twelve – or Haymitch's guestroom rather but it had been her room for weeks now – and that she was safe. The lamp on the bedside table was still on – she would never sleep in the dark again – shedding the room with a soft glow. Half of her covers were on the floor, her nightgown and the sheets stuck to her skin, she was drenched in sweat and panting heavily. Haymitch was sitting on the edge of the bed, inspecting his fingers. He was bleeding. The sight of the blood was even worse than the nightmare.

"I hurt you." she whispered in horror.

He glanced at her and frowned. "It's fine, sweetheart, just a scratch."

"I hurt you." she repeated, tears already pooling in her eyes. She was freezing but she didn't think she was shaking because of the cold.

"Just a scratch." he insisted, showing her the wounded finger. "It's alright. I'm fine. You're fine. The kids are fine. Everyone's fine."

It took three long heartbeats for her to process that. "Promise?"

"Promise." he shrugged. The tears rolled down her cheeks, out of relief or terror she wasn't sure. He clicked his tongue once, and reached for her. "Shh, c'mere. It's alright. You're fine, safe."

She melted into his chest, crawling on his lap like a frightened child. She would be ashamed for that behavior the next day, she knew, but right then, in the dead of night, she needed it.

"I'm safe because you will protect me." she breathed out. It was always what he repeated when she woke up from a nightmare.

"Yeah." he swore, pressing a kiss against her temple. "I'll keep you safe. Nobody will ever hurt you again."

"Look at me - just breathe, okay?"

"Look at me. Effie… Effie, look at me – just breathe, okay?"

She wasn't looking at him and she wasn't breathing.

Haymitch shook her a little harder, gripping her shoulders so hard it would leave bruises. Now wasn't the time for a panic attack. Coin had just dropped dead and it was chaos. They needed to get somewhere safe and for that he needed her to stop panting like she was about to collapse any second.

"Sweetheart, if you don't get it together in the next five second I'm going to slap you." he warned, letting go of one of her shoulders to grab her chin.

"Don't you dare." she hissed, shrugging him off. "I will kill you."

He was weak and her legs were shaky but the fire was back in her eyes and he breathed a little easier.

"Good to know you're back to normal." he smirked. "For a second there, I was afraid I had lost you."

"don't fucking touch me"

"Don't fucking touch me." he growled, trying and failing to pick himself up from the floor on which he had just tripped. Her instinctive attempt to help him up annoyed him ever more than the perfect waste of liquor from the glass he had just spilled. "I don't want your Capitol paws on me."

"Fine." she snapped. "Suit yourself. Spend the night on the floor for all I care."

She stormed away and he could do nothing but watch.

He watched the swaying of her hips, the skin he could guess at through the lace at the back of her dress, and the legs that were just endless.

And he hated her.

He hated her for making him hate himself that little bit more.

He hated her for making him want her.

"You don't have to stay"

"You don't have to stay, you know." he mumbled, keeping his eyes on the drip they had hooked him to almost as soon as they had arrived in Thirteen. Supervised withdrawal, they called it.

"Don't be preposterous." Effie huffed, tugging on her uniform.

She looked out of place in it, it hang on her bony frame, unflattering to her figure and too big for her not to appear lost. Her hair had been tied back in a neat bun, giving her a serious look that didn't quite suit her. He barely recognized her to be honest, and as loathe as he was to admit it, he already missed the bright ridiculous clothes.

"Just saying." he shrugged. "I don't need you to hold my hand."

"You will need me to hold your hand when you start hallucinating." she commented, slipping her palm against his and entwining their fingers. "I will do my best to cheer you up."

"Which means you will annoy me until the hallucinations go away." he snorted.

"You are rude beyond belief." she sighed almost with disappointment. "Thirteen years of working with me didn't cure it, I'm afraid nothing will."

He rolled his eyes, grateful for her nonsense. He was scared and she knew it which was why she was right next to him instead of hiding in her newly assigned compartment.

He would have wanted no one else to hold his hand through this though.

You can trust me"

"You can trust me." she pleaded.

And he wanted to, he really wanted to, but… The Quarter Quell secrets weren't his to tell.

"I don't know what you're talking about." he lied. "Nothing's going on."

Her blue eyes flashed in anger. "You're leaving. Don't lie to me, I saw you grab the picture of your family from your suitcase."

"Maybe I just fancied carrying it on me." he snapped, annoyed that she knew him so damn well.

"Yes, and maybe I will just become the next President." she scoffed. "I thought we were friends."

"You're stupid then." he spat.

He didn't mean it. He was just trying to protect her, trying to keep her away… It hurt her all the same. He glimpsed the tears in her eyes before she stormed out, screaming at the top of her lungs that she hated him. That hurt him too. He was just better at hiding it.

Shit, are you bleeding?

"Haymitch, Haymitch, wake up."

Haymitch startled awake, instinctively batting at the hand shaking his shoulder.

"It's me." Effie said and he immediately relaxed even though it didn't last long. Her next words made him tense right back. "I think something's wrong. I… Haymitch…"

He blinked away the last remnant of sleep, alarmed by the distress he could hear in her voice. She had switched the lamp on and it was obvious why she was in such a state of panic.

"Shit, are you bleeding?" he cursed, taking in the stains on the white linens. Too much blood.

"I think I'm having a miscarriage." she whispered, her lips wobbling.

He froze, forcing himself not to overreact, not to panic… It wasn't an easy task. Not when there were blood stains on the sheets and Effie was talking about things he would rather not talk about.

"You can't, you're not pregnant." he replied – and he would be the first to admit it was a little stupid.

"I might be." she winced. "I wasn't sure. I didn't want to tell you in case it was nothing."

"Maybe it's your period." he argued, pushing the soiled sheets away. He had to swallow hard when he saw her nightgown. Too much blood.

"I don't think so." she sniffed. She was trying not to cry, he could tell, she was trying to remain strong and he…

"Okay." he said, getting out of bed and putting on his shoes. "Okay, sweetheart. We're going to the hospital. It's going to be fine."

"Promise me." she requested.

He didn't promise anything.

He wasn't in the habit of making false promises to her.

"What happened doesn't change anything.

The plate flew across the kitchen and Haymitch startled, his hands instinctively gripping his glass harder.

"What happened doesn't change anything!" Effie snapped, grabbing a mug from the side of the sink. It soon followed the same path as the plate and ended up in pieces against the wall. "Stop treating me like I'm going to break any minute, Haymitch! I can't bear it!"

"Fine!" he spat, irritated by her insistence that she wasn't changed by her months spent in a cell. "Fine! You want to know what I really think? I think you're an annoying harpy, you're a control freak and you can't get it into your thick skull that this is my own fucking house and that I don't have to clean it if I don't want to. You boss me around like you have a right to, you're unbearable to live with and you always leave your fucking boxes of tampons out in the open! I don't want to think about your period every time I got to the fucking bathroom, Effie!"

She pursed her lips. "Well, now, that's plain rude. I am still your guest. You shouldn't talk to me that way."

"And you can't make up your mind." he sneered. "You drive me batshit crazy, sweetheart."

Worst thing was : it was actually a good thing.