Prompt: Can you do one post mj in which Effie keeps sneaking in Haymitch's bedroom and Haymitch gets sick of it so she has to explain she can't really sleep unless Haymitch is there?

What Best Friends Are For

Like every night, Haymitch startled awake at the sound of her footsteps and, like every night, he mumbled a curse in his pillow and tried to get his breathing back under control. By the time he had managed to convince himself there was no immediate danger, she had sneaked into his bed, under the covers, and curled up on the opposite side of the mattress, so far from him she might as well not be there. It was only a matter of time before she snuggled up to him, though, she was waiting to be sure he was completely asleep. Usually, she was gone in the morning but he sometimes woke up at random times and she was always pressed against him.

He had nothing against her sneaking into his bed – there were worse things than having a woman sneaking into his bed even if it was just to sleep – but there was something to be said about the clandestinely of it, the way she pretended it never happened come morning light. He had always gone with her little charade, humoring her in an attempt at not upsetting her even more than she already was, but it couldn't go on like this.

She had arrived in Twelve with Peeta, declaring she was fulfilling the last of her escort's duties, and she had never left. She had commandeered the use of his guest room 'until the children were better since he couldn't be trusted to properly take care of them'. It had seemed like a hassle to complain when they both knew she would always get her way in the end. They had been on friendlier terms than usual before the war but not friendly enough that they would have shared a bed platonically or not – certainly not platonically, they had always remained on the right side of the line but they had flirted with crossing it enough times over the years, the two of them in a bed would never have been platonic – or so he had thought until the first time she had crawled into his bed in the middle of the night like a frightened child.

Aside for that and some short bouts of melancholia during the day, she looked fine, she looked the same as ever : bright, cheerful, annoying. However, he knew not to underestimate her acting abilities. She was good at smiling on command, good at pretending to be enthusiastic about something she hated, good at playing dumb. Her escort years had made her an expert at all three.

He had been happy to leave her to her little act, actually relieved to have her around to keep an eye on the kids because he sucked at being the responsible adult – the months in Thirteen without her had proved that – and not certain he wanted to disturb the status quo by calling her on that new quirk of her. It didn't hurt anyone really, aside for his already screwed-up sleeping habits. He wished she didn't have to wake him up every night when it was already so hard to fall asleep though. If it had been around the same time, his mind could have probably wrapped itself around it and ignored it, but it was always random, sometimes right after he fell asleep, sometimes a couple of hours before dawn.

He was tired of her sneaking in and out.

"You could just stop using the guest room." he muttered in his pillow. "'Would save time."

She tensed so badly he felt it even through the chiasm she had left between their bodies. He hauled himself off his stomach and on his side, watching her in the semi-darkness. The curtains were open wide, like always, because he didn't like sleeping in the dark, and the moonlight was light enough to see properly. She was curled up under the blankets, her blond hair spread like a halo under her head on the pillow he never used but that had come to smell like her shampoo lately, her eyes so bright they looked almost feverish, her face was apprehensive.

"Relax, sweetheart." he mumbled, regretting saying anything at all. "I'm not going to kick you out."

"I'm sorry." she breathed out.

"Don't be sorry." he frowned. "Just stop…"

"Yes." she nodded, her voice tight. "Yes, naturally. I do apologize. I didn't mean…"

She shook her head, pushed the covers away and it occurred to him as she slipped her bare legs out of the bed that they weren't understanding each other. He reached out instinctively, grabbing her arm. She froze.

"I mean stop sneaking in and out." he clarified. "I don't mind sharing my bed, Princess, but I mind being waken up every night. Just come to bed here. I mean… Yeah, it's weird but it's less weird than you pretending it's not happening anyway." He was making a mess of this, he figured, but it was three a.m. he was bloody tired, too sober to deal with something like this and he absolutely hated the spark of fear he could glimpse in her eyes. With a loud sigh, he let go of her and opened his arm in an invitation for a hug. "Come here, go to sleep."

They could talk in the morning, he guessed, once he would be drunk enough and she would be back to acting like her cheerful self.

She hesitated but slipped back under the covers and they settled with him on his back and her snuggled close against his side, her head on his shoulder and one of her legs hooked over his. It was intimate, too intimate for their odd relationship, but it didn't have anything to do with seduction and everything to do with her needing to feel protected. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He closed his eyes, hoping he was right not to be concerned about hurting her in his sleep. Even in his nightmares, his subconscious seemed to recognize she wasn't a threat. She knew how to deal with it anyway, she had spent too many years as his escort not to, she knew to get away from him if he started thrashing too violently. The knife was locked in the drawer. He hadn't kept it in the bed since she had started sleeping there.

"I don't sleep." she confessed softly.

"What?" he frowned, making an effort to open his eyes again.

"I don't sleep." she repeated. "When I'm here, I don't sleep. I just… wait."

She wasn't making any sense. "Wait for what?"

"Sunrise?" She sounded uncertain. "It's easier during the day."

"But you do sleep sometimes, yeah?" he insisted. He had seen too many victors trying to simply forego sleep – he had tried to go without sleep for days on end, still did sometimes. That never ended well. When exhaustion caught up with you and you crashed, you crashed hard.

"I try and then the nightmares… I can't go back to sleep after the nightmares, Haymitch, I can't." she explained. "But I can't be alone either. I was all alone there, I can't…" She turned her head slightly so her face was pressed against his shoulder. He almost expected a gibe about his less than stellar hygiene and the urgent need for him to take a shower but, if anything, she pressed herself closer to him. "I just don't want to be alone. I know it's ridiculous, I'm sorry for acting like a child."

"It's fine." he mumbled. "I get it."

"Do you, really?" she wondered out loud, sounding dejected. "I've never seen you run to my room in the middle of the night because you were afraid…"

"No, but you've seen me run to the closest bottle of liquor." he scoffed. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Effie. You went through something…" He looked for the right words and found none. "You went through a lot of shit, you have nightmares, you're scared when you're alone and you want company, that's all fine. It's better than getting wasted."

"Doesn't it bother you?" she hesitated. "I couldn't stop myself. I can never stop myself. The fear is irrational, Haymitch, I need… I need a connection. I need to know this is real and not the dream. I am not as afraid when you're with me, I know you will protect me."

That was a weird notion. Him protecting her… He had done a great job of that during the rebellion… He had not fucked it up at all…

"Just go to sleep in my bed." he said. He gave in to a temptation that had been taunting him for a while and ran his fingers through her golden curls. Ever since she had appeared on his porch, Peeta in tow, without a wig, he had wanted to touch her hair. She didn't seem to mind so he did it again, marveling at the softness, at the way the curls bounced back into place.

"But the nightmares…" she argued. "I thrash a lot in my sleep. I don't think it would be comfortable for you…"

"You're waking me up every night anyway." he shrugged. "I'd rather you wake me up with your nightmares so I can comfort you than sneak in and out of my bed like a thief in the night."

"You made it sound very improper." she commented. "Although I suppose it is very improper."

He rolled his eyes, coiling a strand of hair around his finger. "Fuck propriety, Princess. You need what you need. If that's me then I'm here."

She remained silent for a little while and he kept on petting her hair, slowly but surely drifting off to seep.

"You are a good man." she eventually whispered.

"Hardly." he snorted.

"Yes, you are." she argued, bundling the fabric of his shirt in her hand to make a point. "You are a good friend too, the best I could ask for."

"Friend, yeah." he repeated, trying not to sound too bitter and failing miserably at it. That was a can of worms he wasn't sure he wanted to open but if he was certain of anything it was that they weren't friends.

"Give me time." she requested softly.

Time was something he had plenty off. Too much, some would say.

"Yeah." he granted easily. "Try to sleep now, sweetheart. I'm here if you get scared."

She squeezed his arm in answer and he closed his eyes again.

He could get used to her warm weight against his side at night.