prompt tiiiime, bc it's in my head and I can't write it lol. Effie and haymitch wake up with a hangover and rings on their fingers ;)

I think I wrote this pre-movie so even though it takes place in movie!verse with Effie having been in Thirteen during the war, it mostly follows the books for what happens during MJ.

Also : crack

Do It Vegas Style

Effie was warm.

That was the first thing she noticed when she woke up. She was warm. It was certainly a novelty because she had spent months freezing in the ice box that was her compartment in Thirteen, no amount of blankets or sweaters could keep the chill of the night at bay. But right then, she was comfortable. It was even almost a little too hot but she would take hot over cold any day so she burrowed into the source of warmth at her back.

Naked skin pleasantly rubbed on naked skin. An arm tightened around her waist, bringing her closer. There was a sleepy groan against her ear as a nose nuzzled her neck, stubble rubbing roughly against her flesh.

She wasn't alone.

The thought was startling enough that her eyes opened wide – something she immediately regretted when the light assaulted her eyes, making her whimper in pain. She grabbed her head, disturbing the arm around her waist, and sat up – that was a mistake too because the room started to spin and she had to breathe through her mouth for a few minutes to make sure she wouldn't be sick.

"What the fuck…" the man mumbled in a particularly familiar voice.

That prompted another whine out of her. Inwardly, she kept a regular chanting of : no, no, no, no, this can't be happening, this can't have happened, no, no, no… And yet there were clues that she couldn't mistake. She was naked and sore in places she hadn't been sore in longer than she cared to admit and there was an used condom tossed carelessly on the floor of a room that was too messy to belong to her.

"Go back to sleep." she begged in a whisper, mindful of her own headache and half-hoping she could escape unnoticed. "This is all a dream. Go back to sleep, Haymitch."

She wasn't ready to do a walk of shame right in front of him. She didn't let herself analyze her feelings about finally having sex with him when they had resisted for so long. She didn't try to recall the specifics either. They had been drunk, that much was obvious. The pounding behind her eyes and the fuzziness in her mouth were characteristic of her worst hangovers. She had drunk a bottle of tequila all by herself if she remembered correctly and he had emptied a decanter of whiskey.

They had been celebrating the rebels' victory or finally allowing themselves to mourn the dead two months late, she thought. Katniss' trial would end soon and he would likely have to bring the girl back to Twelve, something he wasn't ready for and truly didn't want to do. They had been drinking to that, she mused, drinking to Effie getting rid of him at last… They had laughed a lot in their inebriation… They…

"Trinket, what are you doing in my bed?"

She passed a hand over her face, clutching the sheets to her chest. Given the fact that his eyes were riveted to the small of her back, it mustn't have done a good job at hiding everything.

"Why are you naked?" Haymitch insisted.

She could see him fighting against the remnants of sleep and alcohol and knew it wouldn't be long before he got his wits about him. Haymitch had too much practice at hangovers. He would certainly remember everything she was still trying to piece together and she found she truly didn't want to be at a disadvantage.

"Where are my clothes?" she muttered, sliding a leg out of bed, dragging the sheets with her and wrapping them more securely around her torso. Her dress was nowhere in sight but it would have been difficult to find in the clutter of dirty clothes, empty bottles and various garbage he always managed to leave behind him anyway. Her eyes fell on the used condom again and she swallowed with some difficulties. At least they hadn't been that careless, she thought.

Haymitch scrambled in a sitting position and grabbed her arm before she could actually stand up and leave the bed. He didn't seem bothered by the fact everything he had to show was right in the open and she tried to resist looking but she found that she couldn't. And she flushed red when she remembered just what exactly she had done the night before. Her mouth had been down there. When was the last time he had showered? What had she been thinking?

"We were wasted. How much do you remember?" he frowned.

"Not much." she admitted, gently but firmly freeing herself from his grip. "Perhaps it is not a bad thing. I should go, Haymitch."

"Wait." he insisted, tugging on the sheet to hold her back.

And that was when she noticed the ring. It was her ring, the large silver one she wore on her thumb. She was certain because she recognized the carvings. And he was wearing it on his ring finger. On the left hand.

"Why is my ring on your finger?" she asked in a whisper.

"Wait, sweetheart." he repeated. "Don't freak out…"

But she was panicking. She looked down at her left hand. Her heart started racing when she realized there was a ring that didn't belong to her on the fourth finger. It was plain, a little battered and made of a strange metal she didn't quite recognize.

"Oh, fuck." she spat with unusual crudeness, her panic rising in time with the pounding of her heart. "Of, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"Stop fucking freaking out." he grumbled. "It's no big deal…"

"No big deal?" she shrieked, placing her hand right under his nose so he would have a better view. "We got married, Haymitch!"

He whacked her hand away but grabbed her wrist and didn't let go.

"We had a toasting." he muttered, not looking at her. "Private. No witnesses. Nobody knows what we did. It's fine."

Toasting. Twelve's wedding ceremony. Which wasn't legally binding unless you signed papers at the nearest Justice Building.

She breathed a little easier. "We didn't sign anything? Are you sure?"

"Yes." he confirmed, grabbing her hand to run a thumb on the battered ring.

She didn't know where that came from – both the tenderness of his touch and the ring.

"So we're not married." she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well…" he winced. "We did have a toasting and we did consummate it."

"Without witnesses and legal documents." she countered. "It is not binding."

He huffed, almost offended. "It is pretty much binding to anyone from Twelve, sweetheart."

She rolled her eyes. "Please, don't pretend to be a gentleman now of all times. It's not like you want to be married to me."

He was silent for a long moment, long enough that she started panicking again. She slipped her hand from his, she stood up, careful to keep the sheet in place, and went in search of her clothes.

"That's my mother's ring." he said, as soon as her back was turned.

She froze.

Against her will, her eyes fell back on the ring on her finger. It certainly explained the strange metal as well as why it was so battered.

"That's the only thing I have left of her." Haymitch continued, in a detached voice that didn't fool her. "It was meant for my wife."

The proper answer to that was probably I will give it back as soon as it's off my finger – which, she could tell, would take some work because the ring was on the small side and her finger had swollen a little but if she could only find soap and hot water… – except instead of giving that very logical, very down to earth answer, she found herself turning back to face him. She understood what he really meant. They had worked together for so long, had been reluctant friends for too many years for her not to understand. "Haymitch, you are not being serious."

"Why not?" he shrugged. "We had fun last night."

"I don't remember last night." she said and then immediately blushed because it was a lie. She was remembering more and more bits and pieces and, from what she could recall, yes, it had been fun. "Haymitch… You hate me on a good day!"

"I don't hate you." he scoffed. "You're annoying and you're a pain."

"This is not a good way to talk about any potential wife of yours and it proves my point." she triumphed.

"Actually, most men talk about their wives that way, Princess." he mocked. "And maybe I like you like that anyway."

She pursed her lips and rubbed her head, wishing the headache would go away and he would stop antagonizing her for the fun of it. "You are playing a joke at my expense."

"Look, we had a toasting, you've got my mother's ring on your finger, we had sex." he snapped. "Like it or not, in my District, that means we're married."

"I am not from your District." she retorted. "And that is very much not the point."

"It kind of is." he scowled. "We're married."

"No, we are not." she hissed. "We spent thirteen years at each other's throat. We spent thirteen years arguing and fighting and…"

"Trying not to jump on each other." he pointed out.

"Even so." she shouted. They both winced at the same time because it was too loud and way too high. She lowered her voice. "We are in disagreement about everything and we had sex once. It is in no way a good basis for a marriage." And the fact that she had to spell it out loud was baffling. "I don't understand you, Haymitch. You are commitment phobic, you…"

"You convinced me." he cut her off with a shrug.

"What do you mean I convinced you. This wasn't my idea. This…" She stopped talking suddenly as her memory chose that very inconvenient moment to come knocking back. "Oh my, it was my idea, wasn't it?"

They had been talking about him leaving for good and about Effie finally getting free from her escort duty and they had recalled some of their most memorable fights over the years and they had laughed a little and she had said she was happy to be rid of him. And then she had burst into tears – something she would never have done without alcohol – and confessed she didn't want him to go and that she would miss him. He had immediately told her to leave with him and the children when the moment would come, it had been so quick and spontaneous it couldn't have been a spur of the moment thing.

She had replied she would have nowhere to live in Twelve, he had offered to share his house and she had said it wouldn't be proper… Suit yourself, he had said, Stay behind all alone for all I care. She had admitted she didn't want to stay behind but she couldn't go live with him like that either, she was still a lady and had a reputation to uphold. That was when she had had the genius idea. Let's get married, she had told him. He had blinked, he had watched her for a few seconds and then he had said yes. Just yes. And they had done it. They were both drunk and they had almost set the whole room on fire when they had tossed the bread in the fireplace but afterwards, he had patiently taken pin after pin out of her wig and…

"Oh dear!" she gasped, pressing her hands against her head, feeling for a wig that wasn't there. "Oh dear, I'm hideous! Don't look at me! Don't look at me!"

Her natural strawberry blond hair was loose on her shoulders and that was certainly not something she would have let a lover see, and absolutely not their first time. She did the only thing she could do, she forsake her modesty for her beauty, giving up on the idea of covering her body to wrap the sheet around her head.

Unfortunately, it made him laugh so badly he had to hold his stomach.

"Don't laugh at me!" she complained. "Oh! This is your fault, you stupid man! Where did you put my wig? Where is it?"

"I burned it." he chuckled.

She let out a distressed whine and moved to the living-room en-suite to his room in the Presidential Mansion, hurrying to the fireplace. She did find her charred wig amongst half-eaten toasts and two liquor bottles.

He followed, still naked and apparently not caring about it.

"I hate you." she declared. "I should stay married to you out of spite if nothing else so when you are finally sober and you want to cancel this, you will be forced to go through a divorce procedure."

"You're finished being dramatic?" he snorted, tugging on the sheet. "No point hiding from your husband, Princess…"

"You are not my husband." she huffed.

They struggled for a while but in the end he prevailed, freeing her hair. She closed her eyes in mortification but he ran his fingers through the curls with something akin to awe. "I love your hair."

"You just admitted to loving something about me." she commented, gathering the sheet around her chest again.

His eyes flickered down and up again, a slow smirk stretching his lips. "There were a few things last night I loved, sweetheart."

"Ruffian." she accused but she didn't try to stop him when he tugged her closer and snatched the sheet from her hands. It pooled at her feet, leaving her naked and making her shiver. He licked his lips, abandoning all pretences to look at her in the eyes, letting the tip of his fingers run down the length of a breast. When he cupped it, she placed her hand on his, stopping his movement. He cocked his head to the side with a small frown, silently asking what else she wanted now. She couldn't look at him in the eyes either. "Were you serious?" she asked. "About asking me to come to Twelve with you."

It was madness, naturally, and she couldn't be thinking about it, could she?

"You're part of the team." he grumbled. "I don't like the idea of you alone in the Capitol. It's not the same world, Effie, and, like it or not, you are the rebel escort. Anything could happen to you."

"So you want me to come because I am a part of the team." she clarified, disappointed.

He leaned in to drop a kiss on her neck that turned into a nibbling session and she could feel the smirk against her skin where the stubble was rubbing. "Well, there's the sex too. Nice perk, that."

He guided her toward the couch, never taking his mouth off her neck. She would have a hickey, she probably already had hickeys all over her body.

"I asked you to marry me and you said yes." she whispered.

"And we got married so that's done, let's never talk about it again." he snorted, pushing her on the couch and looming over her, his face turned serious. "Look married or not, you can keep the ring. I know it's not the kind of stuff you like, but…" He shrugged "Whatever."

She brought her hand against her chest and covered it with the other one defensively. "I like it. It has sentiment value."

"Keep it then." he scoffed. "I'm never marrying anyone else anyway."

She stared at him, turning the wedding band around her finger. "This is ridiculous, Haymitch, you do realize, yes?"

"You're ridiculous." he reminded her. "And I'm a drunk. What's new?"

What was new ?

At least, she thought, pulling him over her, she would never be cold again.