So if you follow me on tumblr, you might have seen this crack idea I had about tattoos and such and... Well I wrote it. The drawing of the tattoo can be found on my tumblr ;) This one is very long and I don't have as much time for prompts as I would like so this will count for today and tomorrow ;) Enjoy!

6 times people found out about Haymitch's tattoo and one time he finds out about someone else's instead

Effie

Haymitch woke up to the annoying sound of a spoon clicking against faience.

He forced an eye open – happy already not to have startled awake for once – his head pounding with a particularly nasty headache. He wasn't exactly surprised to find his escort sitting in an armchair, stirring her coffee, a glossy magazine on her lap.

"Good night, was it?" she hummed.

She aimed for detachment but it came out annoyed and the way she turned the page was more angry than uncaring.

"You've got the worst voice in all Panem." he grumbled. His mouth felt furry and he smacked his lips open and closed a few time, wishing he had a glass of water on hand. No such luck in the living-room. He didn't remember how he had ended up on the penthouse couch. He didn't remember how much he had to drink either. It must have been a good night indeed because the last thing he remembered was Chaff telling Finnick to lay off a bit on the whiskey. "Seriously, how do you speak so high? You're on a fucking dog frequency."

"Aren't you charming." she scoffed, wrinkling her nose in disapproval. "Now that you are awake, would you kindly get dressed. I have seen enough horrors for the day."

He blinked at that and looked down at himself. He had fallen asleep on his back and there was a blanket on top of him – which was probably her doing although he wasn't about to thank her for it – but, clearly, clothes had been overrated last night. He was naked like the day he was born.

He froze, immediately trying to think back, lifting the covers, hoping to get a clue about what had happened – hickey, condom, dry semen... he wasn't difficult about the type of clues – but he couldn't find anything hinting at him having sex.

"Haymitch, please." she groaned, making a disgusted face. "I am trying to have breakfast here."

He spared her an annoyed glance and then rubbed his eyes, wishing the pounding would go away. "Did we fuck?"

It wouldn't have been the first time.

She could act prissy and disgusted all she wanted, it happened often enough lately. Always in the middle of a fight, always against the nearest flat surface and always with an urgency to finish and deny the whole thing.

They never talked about it, true.

They pretended it never happened, true.

But her little Miss Proper act was a bit over the top. If she could put her mouth on it, there was no reason to look that horror-struck by his penis.

"Absolutely not." she said. "There is no tramp on the loose in the penthouse either. I checked."

"Don't get jealous on me." he scowled.

"Jealous?" she laughed. "Jealous of what exactly? I don't see anything appealing enough to be jealous about. Now, please, go get dressed. I left a new aspirin bottle in your bathroom. It's only the third this season."

Irony was high but he didn't fancy discussing his drinking habits first thing in the morning and certainly not with her.

"You're sure there was no woman?" he insisted through gritted teeth.

It could have happened. He could have picked someone up goaded by Chaff or let himself be picked… He didn't usually bring them back to the Training Center – too difficult to get rid of them once he was spent – but with the state he was in, it had clearly been a night where he hadn't been thinking clearly.

And if he hadn't been thinking clearly and he had picked up a woman… Who was to say he thought about basic things like contraception and protection?

"Not that I can tell." she sighed. "I have already scheduled a doctor appointment for later this afternoon anyway. You are getting tested. It would be just like you to infect me with something."

With a groan, he kicked the blanket completely off his legs. "Why are you such a bitch this morning?"

"Finding you passed out naked on the couch I sit on everyday isn't enough reason for me to be in a bad mood?" she retorted.

"You're jealous." he accused. And he wasn't sure he liked it or not. Chaff and Finnick could tease him all he wanted, this was just about sex. He wasn't smitten and he certainly didn't have feelings. Even when she was looking at him with those pursed lips, disapproving eyes and tilted head. "I need to piss."

"Manners." she screeched, making him wince.

He rolled his eyes and swung his legs off the couch before stretching his arms over his head.

And that was when he groaned, the pain sharp and acute enough that he had to bend over.

"What's wrong?" she frowned. "Do not be sick on the carpet, Haymitch."

The nausea wasn't worse than one would expect after a night of binge drinking and he had that under control. The pain in his lower back now… His skin felt raw and it burnt and itched. He tried to strain his neck to have a look but all the twisting only made it worse.

"Sweetheart, I need you to take a look." he said, with enough concern that she put down her cup of coffee and marched over to him. "Did I get stabbed?"

There was a stain on the white couch, some speckle of blood and a yellowish whitish thing. He stood up and turned his back on her so she could have a proper look.

"There is a bandage." she declared. He could hear the frown and the worry in her voice. "It is dirty. Should we call a doctor?"

"Take it off." he urged.

What had happened last night?

It took almost five minutes before he convinced her to touch the bandage and she did so only with the very tip of her fake nails. She peeled it off quickly and gasped.

"What?" he asked, still trying to strain his neck to get a look. "What is it? How bad is it?"

If he had been stabbed, it couldn't be that deep. It hurt but it felt more like a rash than a wound. Maybe a scratch. His skin on his lower back felt hot and irritated.

"Well, it depends." she replied, more calmly. "How bad would you rank an ugly infected tattoo?"

"What?" he shouted.

He didn't leave her time to explain, he sidestepped the heap of clothes on the floor and rushed to his bathroom as fast as his legs would carry him. He remembered about that now. Waking up on the couch, still drowsy, feeling hot and uncomfortable with the fabric of his clothes rubbing at his lower back and deciding the best option was to get naked…

Effie followed, her lips pursed as much in disapproval as in amusement.

"I must admit I am flattered." she said, leaning against the bathroom doorframe while he craned his neck to get a look over his shoulder at the mirror. And there it was, the ugliest tattoo that ever lived. "Branding my name on your skin like that… Why, Haymitch, I didn't know you care!" she taunted. "If you weren't so dirty I might have been tempted to do something about it, even. I will confess I am puzzled though. Why the set of lungs? You should have gone for a liver. At the rate you are destroying yours, a spare one wouldn't go amiss."

He stared at the huge thing on his lower back, feeling horrified, angry and stupid all rolled into one. Her name was there alright. Front and center. Wedged in between two bright pink things that weren't symmetrical, looked like they had been drawn by a five years old and, admittedly, looked a little like a pair of lungs. And the icing on the cake was that it was reddish and oozing lymph.

"It's a butterfly." he mumbled, his memory starting to trickle back. "And I'm going to kill that boy."

"A butterfly." she repeated, her voice softening. "You… You got a butterfly with my name on it tattooed on you?"

"Finnick got a butterfly with your name on it tattooed on me." he growled. "And he is a dead man."

His memory was still fuzzy but he remembered now. He and Chaff had been pissed drunk, Finnick was the most sober one. They had been walking around the downtown parts of the Capitol looking for a quiet bar and trying to avoid fans when the boy had spotted a tattoo parlor and he had thought it would be hilarious to get tattooed.

He and Chaff had been entirely too far gone to see what the problem with that would be. There had been a great deal of discussion about who should get what. They had teased him mercilessly about getting a heart with Effie's name on it and he had gotten annoyed and had shoved someone, probably Chaff… He had been too drunk to settle on something in the end and Finnick had taken charge.

The little shit.

He would have pushed past her and directly to Four's floor, still in the nude, if she hadn't blocked his path.

"First, you are not killing Finnick." she countered. "Second, we really need to get you to a doctor first thing. It is infected."

He surrendered to her arguments. If only because it was actually painful. Getting dressed was a bitch, the constant rubbing of the fabric on his skin was torture and he only kept his clothes for as long as it took to go to the Games clinic, getting seen to, and back. The second they stepped back in the penthouse he stripped again.

He waited for her to complain but she didn't. Her eyes kept darting to his lower back with something akin to possessiveness.

It took two days for the tattoo to heal enough for him to bear wearing clothes – to her utter relief because him walking around the penthouse naked was getting old according to her – and four for her to be comfortable enough to touch it. Not that she asked to touch it. They argued, as usual it escalated and they tumbled on the closest bed which happened to be his. Except instead of leaving in a huff once they were done, she pushed him on his stomach and straddled his bum to have a proper look.

He would have protested but he was entirely too spent and comfortable.

Her fingers ghosted over the tattoo. It was an odd feeling, the skin was still sensitive.

"I'm going to have it removed." he mumbled against the mattress.

"Why a butterfly?" she asked. "Was it random or…"

"Cause you're a bit like a butterfly." he grumbled. "Ask Finnick, he's the one full of poetic shit."

He had chosen the butterfly, he thought. Finnick had asked him what she reminded him of and it had come out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He blamed the liquor.

She retraced her name. He felt the tip of her finger drawing every letter. Her name was the only thing that wasn't absolutely ugly. How ironical was that? The letters were clear, the font pretty… Clearly, the tattoo artist should have stuck with writing and given up drawing.

"It is very ugly and it does look like a pair of lungs." she agreed. "And the pink color is atrocious."

She laid down on him, wedging her head between his shoulder blades and he groaned, crushed to the mattress by her dead weight but not really minding. There were alarm bells ringing in his head because they didn't do this. This felt too much like cuddling to him and they weren't cuddlers, they weren't even really lovers, just fuck buddies.

And yet her name was branded on his skin.

"Is it very bad that I sort of like it?" she whispered. She sounded a little lost, almost confused, as if she didn't know what to do with her own feelings.

Haymitch couldn't help her, his own were just as confusing.

"Maybe we should get you a matching one then, sweetheart." he snorted.

The date he had set to remove it rolled around.

He didn't go.

He told himself he was too lazy and it had nothing to do with the way she would purr everything she glimpsed sight of the tattoo.

Chaff

Nobody greeted him at the elevator on Eleven's floor so Haymitch made his own way to the living-room, thanking the heavens Claff's absolute bitch of an escort was nowhere to be seen. Chaff was sitting on the couch, a glass of whiskey forgotten on the arm rest, a book in his lap – sitting on a plushy looking cushion…

"Haymitch!" his friend greeted him with genuine pleasure. "Long time no see, man."

Certainly longer than usually passed when they were both out of the Games. Haymitch had stuck to the penthouse until the tattoo was mostly healed.

"On your ass?" he snorted, nodding to the cushion before flopping down on an armchair. "Really?"

There was no other explanation to the cushion.

He could see Chaff wavering between lying through his teeth and accepting the truth. In the end, Eleven's victor rolled his eyes and laughed. "What did you wake up with?"

"What did you wake up with?" Haymitch deflected.

Chaff made a face. "A green apple. On my ass. What am I? A fucking poney ? I'm gonna kill that boy."

"Get in line." he grumbled. "I have a fucking butterfly above my ass. It's pink."

"Oh, now, that I have to see." his friend chuckled, getting up. "Come on, don't be shy. I'll show you my apple."

Haymitch lifted his eyebrows but didn't move. "Nice offer but no thanks. I can live without knowing what the apple on your ass looks like."

Chaff rolled his eyes and sat back down. "Did yours get infected too? I had to ask bloody Viola for a medical appointment."

"Yeah." he scoffed. "Lucky we didn't catch worse, I guess."

"Did Trinket like the butterfly?" Chaff taunted. "I bet she was fucking thrilled. You could get a unicorn to go with. Throw in some glitters…"

Haymitch clicked his tongue with annoyance and walked up to the cupboard where they kept the liquor on that floor. He didn't pay attention to Chaff moving his way, thinking he just wanted a refill.

Eleven's victor was fast for a forty year old man with a stump. Before Haymitch could react, his shirt was out of his pants and yanked up his back and Chaff was laughing so hard he had to grasp his stomach.

"That's the best joke ever!" his friend laughed and laughed. "You've got her name tattooed on you? What's next, Haymitch? You're going to go down on one knee and ask her to marry you?"

"Shut up." he grumbled. "You've got an apple on your ass. Like you've got room for talking."

"An apple, not my escort's name." Chaff panted, wiping tears off his eyes. "And that's not a butterfly, man, that's a pair of lungs."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he snapped. "I'm going to kill that boy!"

Johanna

Nights when the victors ended up in the penthouse always went a little wild on the alcoholic side of things, Haymitch mused, watching Johanna cackling in utter hysterics at something Effie had said. It hadn't been meant to be funny and his escort was vexed, huffing and puffing, all the while accusing Seven's victor of having no proper manners. For the third time, Effie told her to sit on a couch or an armchair like a civilized person instead of sitting on the floor and showing her panties to the whole room. Her dress was short and too tight and Jo hated to be restricted by the clothes her escort chose for her.

"You're lucky I even have panties on." Johanna snorted, throwing her head back to down the tequila she and Effie were sharing – tequila being superior to the whiskey the men preferred might have been the only thing they would ever agree on.

Chaff and Finnick weren't making the situation easier, encouraging the two of them to bicker at the smallest opportunity. He rolled his eyes and leaned in to grab the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.

"What's that on your back?" Johanna frowned and the whole room went deadly silent.

Haymitch immediately pulled on the shirt that had itched up, grumbling at his escort's incapacity to find clothes that would fit him properly regardless of fashion, and generally ignored the question.

Effie was suddenly fascinated by her margarita.

"You still have that?" Chaff asked, disbelieving.

"Have what?" Jo frowned. "What does he have?"

"Drop it." he grumbled.

"You seriously still have it?" Finnick grinned. "After the scene you made? I thought you were going to strangle me!"

"Still regretting not doing it." he growled. "It could be arranged."

"Come on, how do you still have that?" Chaff insisted "I had mine removed two years ago."

"If I have to ask one more time… " Jo growled.

"It's a tattoo." Finnick shrugged and then proceeded on telling the story of what Haymitch liked to dub the-prank-gone-wrong.

"Chaff has an apple on his ass." Johanna repeated before chortling in her tequila.

"Language." Effie clicked her tongue.

"I don't have it anymore." Eleven's victor countered. "Unlike some. So, Haymitch, spill. How come you still have that? You like having the missus' name on your back? Reminds you who you belong to?"

"Name? Whose name?" Johanna frowned, glancing from Chaff to Haymitch. "It's a pink blotch."

The mood had shifted though and the playful, almost mocking tone had turned accusatory.

"Nobody owns me." he spat, almost defensively.

"Yeah?" Chaff snorted. "Beg to differ. There's a Capitol's name branded on your back."

Seven's victor eyes widened in comprehension and she made a disgusted face. "You've got her name tattooed on you? What are you? Cattle?"

"Okay, enough." Finnick cut in. "It was just a prank. Haymitch didn't even know what he was doing. Using Effie's name was my idea."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain why he still has it." Chaff argued. "Maybe he likes it. You get a thrill out of being her slave? Do you have a nice leather collar lying around somewhere or…"

Haymitch was on his feet before Eleven's victor could even finish his sentence. Fortunately for his friend, Effie was swift and placed a restrictive hand on his chest.

"He had too much to drink." she said quickly. "You know Chaff can't hide how much he loves me when he is that drunk."

Her mouth was pursed tightly as it always was when she was using sarcasm.

"I'm no one's bitch." he growled.

"I know." she said. "Everyone in that room knows."

"This is disgusting." Johanna sneered. "He actually listens to the bitch…"

"I think it's time to call it a night." Finnick declared. "You and Chaff are both wasted. Come on."

He hauled Jo to her feet and pushed Chaff toward the elevator even though Eleven's victor was grumbling. He tossed a regretful glance at his best friend over his shoulder before leaving and Haymitch supposed he would get an apology tomorrow or as close to it as Chaff would be willing to give.

"You don't own me." he spat without looking at her.

She sighed and gathered the empty glasses simply to have something to do with her hands. "Oh, trust me, I am painfully aware our arrangement doesn't work in that way. If anyone acts like he owns the other, it is certainly not me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he retorted.

She never replied and he didn't press her for an answer.

He figured it had to do with his possessiveness and his reluctance to call them exclusive when he had a fit every time he caught a sponsor's hands wandering on her.

And, probably, to the dark and surely painful hickey he had left on her collarbone only two days earlier because she had been a little too friendly with another guy.

Peeta

Haymitch startled awake when water splattered on him.

He tried to stand up, to swing at invisible enemy but before he could do either he was forcefully pushed back, his nape hitting a hard edge not so gently.

"Easy." a familiar voice ordered. "Try not to give me a black eye today."

It took a few seconds for his brain to compute and his body to relax slightly with the knowledge that there was no immediate threat. He blinked the alcohol and sleep out of his eyes and realized he was in his bathroom in Twelve, in his own bathtub, and Peeta was kneeling on the cold hard tiles a washcloth in hand.

"Now, that's the stuff of nightmare." he scoffed. "No offense, boy, but if I have to get a sponge bath, I'd rather get the hot nurse that goes with it."

Peeta wrinkled his nose, absolutely not amused. "You passed out and then you were sick, Haymitch. Or you were sick and then you passed out. Point is one day you will drown in your own vomit."

He didn't try to hide his annoyance at the boy's recurrent lectures. Since the kids' victory, Haymitch had barely known a moment of peace. One of them was always coming around, either seeking advices or company or simply checking on him like he was a child or a very old man… He wasn't used to be a part of a family anymore. And he loved the kids, he really did, but it was starting to get overwhelming. He was almost impatient for the victory tour to start so they would forget to fuss over him.

"Can't come soon enough." he grumbled, snatching the washcloth from him. "Don't need help."

"Sure." Peeta humored him, folding his arms in front of his chest.

It turned out Haymitch did need help.

Washing the sick off his body was easy and he managed. He would have rather done it without the kid's watchful eyes riveted on him but at least Peeta had left him his underwear on so it wasn't as humiliating as it could have been. The problems came when he tried to stand up. His balance was hazardous and he almost broke his neck twice and suggested that he could take a nap in the bathtub – he would have, hadn't the boy insisted on helping him out and into dry warm clothes because winter was upon them and it was no time for walking around wet and half naked.

"You live a sorry life." Haymitch mocked but gratefully grabbed the towel Peeta tossed at him nonetheless.

The boy didn't offer to give him privacy, probably afraid he would slip and smash his skull open – which, admittedly, was a definite possibility at the moment. He was toweling his hair when he caught a glimpse, in the mirror, of the boy starring at his lower back.

"Katniss knows you like ogling guys?" he grumbled

Peeta immediately flushed red. "I'm not… I… I didn't know you had a tattoo."

He slipped on a shirt before the boy had time to get a closer look at it and then kicked off his damp boxers to put on some proper pants. Peeta averted his eyes this time but still looked ready to intervene in case of a fall.

"Why lungs?" the boy insisted when he didn't acknowledge that new piece of information.

Bloody tattoo, he cursed mentally. He should have had it removed. Every year he went to the Capitol thinking he would finally do it and every year it only took Effie retracing its ugly shape with her fingers or lips for him to forget about it.

"To remind me to breathe." he deadpanned, tired of explaining it wasn't a set of lungs. Confessing to having a butterfly on his back was worse than admitting to having lungs inked there anyway.

"Should have gotten a liver." Peeta snorted. "Maybe that would have reminded you to go easy on the one you've got."

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "You've got the same sense of humor as Effie Trinket and that's not a good thing, boy."

Peeta stared at him with innocent eyes, his mouth stretched in a grin, as he delivered the next blow. "Is that why you got her name tattooed on your skin? Because you hate her sense of humor?"

"You're annoying." Haymitch declared. "Anyone ever told you that?"

"You're not going to explain, are you?" Peeta chuckled.

"See, I knew you were bright." he mocked.

The boy accepted that with a good-natured shrug but the smile didn't quite disappear. "I'll keep the secret but, for what is worth… I think Effie is a good person even if she's an escort."

Haymitch averted his eyes and grabbed his toothbrush, if only to have an excuse to escape the conversation.

"She is." he said anyway, before squeezing toothpaste on the toothbrush. "She's a good friend too."

"Friend, yes." Peeta laughed. "I believe that."

Plutarch

Sharing a small compartment with a Capitol was a pain.

Sharing a small compartment with a Capitol who wasn't Effie Trinket – the only person he could probably learn how to tolerate sharing living space with – was almost more than he could take.

"Honestly, Haymitch…" Plutarch sighed from his bed, his eyes riveted to the dirty shirt Haymitch had just kicked in a corner. "There are no Avoxes to pick up after you here."

"Just be glad I'm changing clothes." he grumbled.

"Well, I do apologize but there are only so many ways one can hint at unwanted body odors." the Gamemaker mocked. "The showers are in working order, you know."

Haymitch rolled his eyes and turned his back to the man to grab his spare shirt. He didn't have time to take a shower. He barely had time to eat and catch a few hours of sleep here and there as it was. He had a rebellion to plan. So maybe he reeked of sweat, unwashed skin and dirty clothes but at least the rebels were making progress.

"What is that on your back? Is that a rash?" Plutarch gasped, the bed creaked and Haymitch supposed the Capitol man had leaned forward to get a better view. "Oh." the Gamemaker cleared his throat. "Peculiar choice of tattoo. What is it? It does look like a butterfly but…"

"Weren't you going to take a nap?" Haymitch snapped.

"I was but solving the mystery of the tattoo is more appealing right now." Plutarch chuckled. "There aren't so many distractions to be had around here. So… that question begs to be asked, if you wanted a tattoo why did you go to the worst tattoo artist in the whole Panem?"

"Because I didn't want a tattoo." he sighed, slipping on a new clean undershirt and buttoning up a grey shirt over it. He was sick of grey. "Ask Finnick. He thinks it's a funny story. Might even cheer him up."

"I see." the Gamemaker nodded. "And would he be able to tell me why Miss Trinket's first name is inked on your skin as well?"

It took everything he had in him to remain detached when he shrugged. "It was just a stupid joke."

He wouldn't get upset over this. He couldn't afford it. Not when Effie was missing. Not when he didn't know if she was alive or dead. Not when her name on his skin was perhaps the only thing he would have to remember her by.

The mood became tense suddenly and Plutarch picked up on it. Faced with his growing silence, the Gamemaker turned serious.

"We'll find her." the Capitol promised.

Haymitch had long ago learned never to trust Capitols.

Katniss

Haymitch was used to Katniss coming and going in his house. After the war and everything, after Peeta came back and they had all settled down in their lives again, she had started treating it like a second home. She brought food every few days and it wasn't unusual for him to find her curled up on his couch or sitting in his kitchen when she wanted time away from Peeta. She loved the boy, she had realized that much at last, but she still occasionally needed a space Haymitch was only too happy to grant.

He listened when she wanted to talk and was content to drink in silence when she wanted to brood.

So he wasn't exactly surprised to find her perched on the kitchen counter, sipping coffee from one of his mugs, when he finally found the will to roll out of bed that morning.

"Better be some of that left." he grumbled, scratching his stomach as he made his way to the coffee machine. He was dangerously low on grocery and he needed to go that day. He knew that and yet he also knew he would wait until the cupboards were empty and he was in actual danger of starving. The District was still in rebuilding and Haymitch was very much hiding from it and from the destruction still visible at every street corner. Happy to discover that there was indeed some coffee left, he poured himself a mug and rubbed his eyes, breathing in the smell of bad coffee and letting it wash away his exhaustion. He hadn't slept well the night before but what was new?

"Peeta says you have a tattoo." Katniss declared, watching him like a hawk.

He rolled his eyes, grabbed a bottle of moonshine from the cupboard and spiked his coffee – he resolutely ignored her disapproving gaze – and took a relieved sip before turning to her. "What if I do?"

"You do?" she frowned, clearly taken aback by that piece of information. "I told him it wasn't true…"

"Why is everyone so fucking fascinated with that thing?" Haymitch scoffed. "It's just a stupid joke. Finnick…" His throat closed up at the thought of the boy and he stopped. He shook his head and shrugged. "Just a joke."

Katniss had startled at the mention of Finnick but she forced herself out of the daze those memories always brought back and flashed him a tentative smile – an absolutely unconvinced tentative smile. "So you got lungs tattooed on you as a joke?"

He breathed out a long suffering sigh. "It's not lungs, it's a butterfly. People always make the mistake. It's ugly."

"Can I see it?" she asked curiously.

"No." he refused.

"Come on…" she insisted. "I promise I won't tease you about Effie's name being there somewhere…"

He glared, she scowled and, in the end, he rolled his eyes again, gulped down a long mouthful of coffee, turned around and lifted the back of his shirt just enough that she could get a glimpse. The tattoo had been ugly to begin with but now it was even worse. The colors had faded over the years and the vibrant pink was now the same color as the dry petals of a dead rose. He counted to three and let the tee-shirt fall before facing her again.

"Got what you wanted?" he challenged, waiting for the mocking that always followed everyone seeing it for the first time.

Katniss didn't laugh or taunt though. If anything, she looked sad.

"Why don't you call her?" she asked hesitantly. "I have her new number, you know. Peeta talks to her all the time. I talked to her once or twice."

He and Effie hadn't parted on the best of terms. Her capture, his inability to prevent it, the rocky rescue that had only resulted into Coin wanting to put her on trial and her being forced to play the escort again as part of the deal he had struck on her behalf… None of that had made it easy for them to pick up where they had left off. Not that there was a lot to pick up in the first place except for wild sex and heaps of things left unsaid.

"Don't think she wants to hear from me." he muttered. He swallowed his coffee, wishing Katniss would hurry in getting out of his house. He wasn't in the mood to play mentor today. He wanted to drink, get wasted enough that he could try to sleep properly perhaps.

"I think she would." Katniss countered. "She asks about your every time."

"She does, doesn't she?" he snorted. Stubborn woman. "Manners probably."

He could almost taste the lie. She wouldn't ask simply for property's sake.

"Haymitch…" the girl sighed with annoyance.

"Got nothing to tell her." he barked. "You're done questioning me? What is this? A bloody interrogation?"

"You have her name tattooed on your skin." Katniss snapped. "And you dared say I was thick because of Peeta? You can't even sort your own feelings!"

"It was a joke!" he shouted, slamming the mug on the counter so hard the faience cracked. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Then why do you still have it?" Katniss retorted.

"Get out of my house." he growled. "Go play matchmaker elsewhere."

She rolled her eyes but hopped from the counter and left, slamming the door shut behind her.

He knew it wasn't the last he would hear about this. The kids were both pretty stubborn, once they had an idea, they saw it through and if they were fixated on reuniting him and his escort…

He brushed shaky fingers against the skin of his lower back, under the shirt.

A few years earlier, he couldn't have explained why he had kept the tattoo.

Now, he knew.

And it hurt.

Haymitch

The kids were both stubborn and after days of unsuccessful begging on their part, the sudden peace and quiet they granted him on the subject of their escort reeked of a ploy in motion.

Which was why he wasn't particularly surprised to find her on his doorstep one morning, a suitcase at her feet and an uncertain expression on her face. The nervousness was quickly brushed away and morphed into a confident smile that didn't reach her eyes.

For a few seconds, he could do nothing but stare. She was wearing a blue dress covered with lace and ribbons and all those ridiculous things Capitol liked, there were no more white powder or wigs but her hair was loose, unnaturally straight, and the make-up on her face was lighter than what she used to wear. It still contrasted with his bare feet, his bare chest and the old sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

Eventually, she looked away and cleared her throat, almost defensive. "I tried to call a few times, you never picked up. I thought you may have torn the phone from the wall again."

"It's always Plutarch. I don't answer anymore." he shrugged.

She pursed her lips, not entirely happy with that explanation he supposed. "May I come in or…"

"Yeah." he said quickly, stepping aside before she could go and flee all the way to the children's place. She entered his house almost wearily, wrinkling her nose at the smell that he had stopped noticing long ago. He was so happy to see her he even grabbed the suitcase handle from her and dragged it inside. "I was going to make breakfast. You want some?"

She shot him an amused glance over her shoulder and walked to the kitchen. "My, Haymitch… Have you finally learned some manners?"

He made a face at that.

"Fine. You can watch while I eat." he grumbled under his breath, heading straight for the stove where he had been about to make himself some eggs. He was hungry that morning. He thought he had forgotten to eat the day before.

"You still have it." she hummed, closer than he had thought she was. Fingers tentatively ghosted on his lower back. They were gone before he could properly register the contact.

The lies about not having found time to have it removed or about it being just a good joke were ready on his lips but he swallowed them back.

"Why are you here?" he asked instead.

"Katniss called me." she replied, taking some distance. "She said you could use a visit."

"Bloody kids." he mumbled, stirring the eggs. "Can't help but meddle."

"Well, they are our victors." she pointed out.

They ate the eggs in an awkward silence and Haymitch was relieved when Peeta showed up to enquire about something and actually squealed in delight when he saw Effie. Then there was a lot of hugging and chatting and Katniss being called over and Haymitch didn't have to worry about awkward stretches of silence because Effie and the kids made enough noise to cover his uneasiness.

It wasn't until later that night, once the kids were gone back to their house, that the awkwardness crept back.

"I should go to bed." she said.

It posed the problem of sleeping arrangements. Her suitcase was still in the hall and he didn't know where she intended to sleep. He still didn't know why she had come really, aside for the fact Katniss couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Guestroom's upstairs." he muttered, thinking it would be the safest choice.

He wondered if he imagined the flash of disappointment on her face.

He showed her the right room, ignored her obvious disgust at the state the place was in – if he had known she was coming he might have made an effort about that, a small one yeah, but one anyway – and found her some clean sheets from when Hazelle used to do the laundry.

He had settled back on the couch with a bottle and a book for about fifteen minutes when he heard her soft footsteps on the stairs. She was wearing slippers and a dressing gown but not much else.

"Effie…" he growled. He didn't know what she was after, he didn't know what she wanted, but this, this was cheating.

"I need to show you something." she declared and he clearly heard how nervous she was. "Please, don't laugh at me."

The last thing he wanted to do when she was standing right in front of him clad in a silk dressing gown was laugh. Her legs were endless, her neck slender… He felt the spark of desire long before she unknotted the belt and let the gown hang loose on her shoulders.

He didn't register much but the lilac bra and matching panties at first, then his eyes fell on the patch of burn skin above her right hip, by far the most glaring of her scars, and the pale white lines here and there.

The tattoo was the last thing he noticed.

His mouth felt parched.

"I was joking about the matching tattoo thing." he whispered, reaching out to touch but stopping himself at the last moment.

There was no comparing hers to his, of course. When his was ugly, hers was a work of art – but wasn't that actually representative of who they were? It was small, situated on the left side of her ribcage, right under the swell of her breast. Unlike his, the butterfly was elegant, the wings made out of curves and dark arabesques, with touches of pink here and there. His name wasn't on it but it didn't matter. She had gotten a butterfly tattoo, it meant… He didn't know what it meant but it meant a lot.

"Why?" he asked.

"To remind me." she offered with a half-shrug. She hardly ever shrug. It wasn't ladylike. "In prison, I forgot sometimes. I think I forgot right after I was rescued too. I was angry with you, angry with the rest of the world… I forgot."

"Forgot what?" he asked. His voice sounded rough, he didn't know why.

"That life is fragile." she breathed out, averting her eyes. "A touch is enough to kill a butterfly, did you know? You touch their wings and…"

"You're stronger than that." he cut her off. He had once compared her to a butterfly but he had been wrong. She wasn't a butterfly. She was a hurricane.

"Perhaps." she granted. "But I still needed the reminder that life is precious. It also reminds me of you and… The memories of us are precious too."

He hauled himself off the couch and on his feet, very much in her space. She glanced up and then stared ahead, her chin high and proud but her lips wobbling slightly with nerves.

"What do you want?" he asked softly, not certain to what everything amounted. The road they had traveled since that morning she had discovered his tattoo was a long and tortuous one. They had changed along the way.

"Isn't it obvious?" she scoffed, locking eyes with his. She brought his hand to her ribcage, pressing his palm against the pink butterfly. Her skin was still soft and smooth. "I want us. A proper us. I won't kid myself into thinking you would be agreeable to dating and I certainly don't expect love declarations but… Us would be nice. No more pretences. No more excuses. No more it doesn't mean anything." The words were tumbling out of her mouth and she didn't seem to be able to stop. "I have been in love with you for so long… I can't love you anymore if you don't… If it's only about using me for…"

"It hasn't been about that for a while, Effie." he interrupted in a low voice, trying not to panic about what she was saying. Feelings… Feelings were dangerous. Not anymore, a little voice reminded him. His fingers twitched against her skin. "I…" He wanted to say it but he couldn't bring himself to voice it. He cupped her cheek and drew her closer instead, pressing his lips against hers and hoping she would understand. She had always had a knack to understand him without him having to speak. The kiss was chaste enough, nothing compared to some they had shared in the past. "I kept the tattoo." His words were muffled by her mouth. "I kept the tattoo because I needed what it meant. You."

She kissed him next and there was nothing chaste about that one. It was hungry and almost violent.

A promise.

Tattoos lasted forever, after all.

Let's give back to Caesar what belongs to him, the joke about how Haymitch should have gotten a liver instead of lungs is Allonsysilvertongue's idea. I borrowed it with her permission.