Prompt : Yay you're back! We missed you :D if youre still taking prompts could you please do a fic about Haymitch not noticing how bad effie's scars After the war are because she does little things to hide them (like maybe getting a fringe to hide a huge cut on her forehead and stuff like that) and then one day he sees them all

Ok, so… This one got away from me. My usual hc for her time is prison isn't usually so heavy but… Well… It got away from me. There's nothing graphic but there's mention of torture.

Unseen And Unvoiced

Effie Trinket was the same but different.

She was still a whirlwind of colors and unchecked energy who couldn't hold still for more than five minutes, she was still bossy and annoying, and kept even stricter schedules than before in a desperate attempt at bringing back some sort of order to her life. She lived in his guestroom and colonized the master bathroom on the first floor with her beauty products, her numerous bottles of perfume and what looked like torture instruments – but that, he had been told, were used to curl or straighten hair, don't touch it when it's hot you will get burned, Haymitch!. She was supposedly visiting but the visit had been three months long by then and Haymitch figured they might as well consider she had moved in. He had made his peace with that even though she seemed intent on revolutionizing his whole life by cleaning and redecorating his house from cellar to attic. He was mostly alright with that too as long as she didn't use pink and stayed out of his way. They fought a lot but he supposed that was expected.

She was the same.

But different.

She still wore bright colorful clothes but they weren't as eccentric as they used to be – fashion had changed, she told him. She wore long sleeves at all time because it was supposedly cold in Twelve, she never went anywhere without a scarf – and she had a lot of those : wool, silk, cotton and in all the colors of the rainbow – and her make-up those days was minimal, even though she regularly checked and rechecked her pocket mirror to make sure her foundation still completely covered the small scar over her eyebrow. She used to be a very tactile person but now she flinched every time people brushed against her unaware, she hardly ever reached out to anyone and she hated small enclosed spaces just as much as she hated the dark. She had nightmares, he knew, but she would never let him in her room when she screamed herself awake. Panic attacks were dealt in the same fashion, she crawled to whatever room was closer, out of sight, and only walked out when she was sure she had it under control.

All in all, he thought she was doing well.

She was a little fucked up but so were they all and she was functioning, which was the main thing.

"What are you thinking about?" she hummed, wiping her hands on the dish towel.

He blinked and stopped staring at this cold mug of tea to look at her. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, the now clean dishes drying on the rack next to her.

"You." he answered without thinking twice about it.

She lifted her eyebrows, clearly surprised by that. "Are those interesting thoughts, I wonder?"

There was a hint of teasing in there, a hint of flirting, and he let his eyes travel from her heeled boots to the top of her head, thinking he liked the dark woolen tights and the rust-colored sweater that fell to her mid-thighs but hugged her body in all the right places even though it had a turtleneck. Her new look barely ever showed any skin but it was still sexy and he sort of loved it – or maybe he was just desperate because it had now been almost a year and half since the last time he had gotten laid and his right hand was no substitute for her.

"I'm thinking you're hot." he shrugged, leaning back in his chair to watch her. "Nothing new."

A pleased smile blossomed on her lips and she sauntered closer to plant a kiss on his lips. It was chaste, barely more than a peck and he chased after her lips, his hand coiling around the back of her thigh. She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and he tapped her leg with his thumb. It wasn't a command or anything. He knew she would get what he wanted but he also knew she would ignore it if she wasn't comfortable enough doing it.

Intimacy wasn't something they shared much nowadays despite the fact that they were sharing a house. In the three months she had been there, they had kissed a few times but that had been the extent of it. He still took pride in the knowledge that he was the only one she accepted small touches and hugs from. Even with the kids, she tensed and tended to cut the effusions short.

She searched his eyes for a second and then straddled his lap carefully. His hand immediately shot up from her thigh to the small of her back and he leaned in to steal another kiss, one that was less chaste. She didn't protest so he deepened it, moaning in her mouth when one of her hands left his shoulder to run in his hair, tugging a little on the tangled strands.

"You need a haircut." she whispered against his lips. "I will cut your hair tomorrow."

His hair reached his shoulders and it was admittedly a bother so he simply pecked her lips in agreement. Then he pecked them again, just because he could and they soon were kissing properly again, dirty in all the right ways. It had been a while since they had kissed like that.

Eventually, he deserted her mouth to retrace the line of her jaw with small kisses. When he reached the spot under her ear, he nudged the turtleneck aside with his nose to go on kissing her throat until she drew back abruptly.

"No."

It was firm and definitive and he lifted his hands from the small of her back in a gesture of peace to show her he understood. He was a little scared he had triggered a flashback or a panic attack but she looked alright, if only a little flustered. She didn't get off his lap so he slowly placed his hands on her thighs – nearer to her knees than her waist because he didn't want to spook her again.

"You're okay?" he frowned. "Sorry, sweetheart, got carried away."

"It's alright." she offered quietly, locking her arms around his neck and scooting even closer to him, wedging her head between her arm and his chin.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss on her hair, desperately trying to cool his thoughts because she was pressed tight against him, it had been a lot time, and certain parts of him were a little too pleased to see her. He knew she could feel his arousal. He tried to angle his hips away but with her straddling his lap… "Shit, sorry. Effie…" He was angry with himself, he didn't want her to feel pressured or…

"It's not that I don't want to, Haymitch…" she whispered.

"You don't have to explain." he growled. "It's fine. I'm the asshole who can't keep it down." He snorted self deprecatingly. "Shouldn't be surprised. Never could when you were concerned, though."

She lifted her head and pressed a long kiss on his lips.

"I loved it." she confessed. "I loved that you always wanted me even when you hated the way I dressed. I loved that you desired my body against everything your instinct told you. I loved that you liked me best when I looked plain. I love that you still want me now, even after everything but Haymitch…"

"You're not ready." he finished for her, pressing a kiss of his own on her cheek. "It's okay."

"No, it's not… It's not that I am not ready…" She let the end of that sentence trail off and looked down. "I wouldn't mind us making love." The choice of words made a chill trail down his spine – it was a good chill though and even though he was immediately alarmed at the formulation he pushed it down because too much had happened for them to go back to how it was before, it could never be just sex again. "I am not scared of that. Not with you, never with you…"

"But you're scared of something." he guessed.

He brushed her hair back gently and let his hand trail down to her chin, nudging it up so she would look at him again. Her eyes remained averted for the longest time before she met his gaze. She licked her lips nervously and rested her forehead against his with a soft sigh.

"I am scared of…" she started only to stop again. The words were clearly difficult to utter and he drew soothing circles on her back. "I know you are not shallow enough to cast me aside because of how I look now. I know because you liked me best when I was without make-up or wigs or… I know you won't mind that I lost weight or…" She took a deep breath and he knew she was trying not to cry. She was Effie Trinket and Effie Trinket never cried if she could help it, after all. "I feel ugly. I really, really feel ugly. And I don't want you to see me naked because it would kill me if you didn't desire me anymore. I know it wouldn't change how you feel about me but you might not be as attracted to me anymore and that…"

"What the fuck are you on about now?" he chided her without any heat. "You're not ugly. You're the same as ever. You…"

"My body is ugly." she cut him off, burying her face in the crook of her elbow once more. "You haven't seen. You don't know."

He propped his chin on her head with a small frown. "Sweetheart, you've lost some weight… Big deal."

"My breasts are even smaller than before." she countered. "I lost a cup."

He rolled his eyes. "Your breasts are perfect. They're yours. Smaller, bigger… It's all good to me, Effie." She was trembling and he wondered how long exactly she had been mulling that over. He tightened his grip on her, pressing kisses against her hair. "Effie…" he insisted, trying to break her out of that state. "Come on, Princess…" he sighed softly, coiling a hand around her nape, over the turtleneck. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, but you should know I don't care."

"But I do." she spat. "I do. The scars…"

"You barely got any." he scoffed. "You've got… what? One over your eyebrow, one on your wrist and what? You got surgery for your shoulder… You got a scar there? It's fine, sweetheart, I got my share of hasty surgeries scars." He had only seen her after they had patched her up after her rescue, he only had a vague idea of how bad it had been from what the doctor had said. A shoulder that had remained dislocated a little too long, that had necessitated surgery and a lot of physical therapy and that still bothered her now from time to time. That had been the worst of it. He had been told there were other minor wounds, some infected, but the more serious problems had been the shoulder, the dehydration and the starvation so he had only focused on that. "You've got any other very bad ones?"

She lifted her head and stared at him hard. There was some fury in her eyes, some bitterness too. Slowly, she grabbed the turtleneck and pulled it down at the place he had been kissing when she had stopped him, tangling her hair around her other hand and lifting it up so he could get a good look at her nape.

The reason for all the scarves and high neck clothes soon became obvious.

The scar was swollen and still reddish. It ran down her nape and curled slightly at the base of her shoulder as if she had tried to escape the blade. She flinched when he brushed his thumb against it and he felt stupid for assuming she only had the scars he knew about.

"That's a bad one." he granted. "Must have hurt."

"I don't mind that one. I was trying to shield Peeta." she said flatly, averting her eyes. "At least it is something I spared him."

His jaw clenched. It might have been over a year since the months spent in Thirteen waiting for news of the other half of his team but he could still feel the helplessness, the dread and the despair at the knowledge they were being cut to pieces while he was safe and sound in an underground bunker. He would have taken their place in a heartbeat but that didn't change the fact that at the end of the day they were the ones who had suffered for his failures.

"Then why do you expect me to hate it?" he replied, leaning in to kiss it. "It just shows you're a fighter. You should be proud of it."

"That one, maybe." she scowled, replacing her turtleneck and letting go of her hair. "But what about the others? Every other scar on my body I got screaming and begging for them to stop, begging for them to do anything else but hurt me… You don't know… You don't know."

He felt sick to the stomach but he didn't let it show. "Tell me, then."

She shook her head no but the words tumbled out of her mouth anyway, as if she couldn't quite make up her mind. "They had games. Sometimes they would ask me if I wanted to take Johanna's place, give her a break… I was so tired, Haymitch, so weak… And it hurt so much… I did it for Peeta. I did it for Peeta every time but Johanna… I failed Johanna a lot…"

"It wasn't your job to protect them." he said. "You did good. You did the best you could. Nobody's blaming you for anything that happened back there. I know the kids don't."

"I do." she confessed, her voice breaking. A few tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. He caught them with his thumbs, framing her face. "Gosh, I do. I should have kept them all safe. I am the adult and Johanna…"

"Jo could and can handle herself, sweetheart…" he interrupted. "You weren't responsible for her."

"But she is one of ours, isn't she?" she snapped. "Her and Finnick… They were ours long before Katniss and Peeta arrived… Granted, Johanna is more yours than she was ever mine but…"

"Effie…" he sighed.

"I should have done more." she growled. "I was weak. That's all I can remember when I see the scars. I was weak and now I am ugly. That's my punishment. That's the price I have to pay."

She pressed the crook of her elbow against her eyes for a second, taking a few deep breaths.

"That's bullshit." he scoffed, meeting her glare when she dropped her arm. He shrugged. "I'm sorry but it is, sweetheart. That's pure bullshit. The scars are no punishment. You didn't deserve any of this. If anyone deserves punishment it's me, okay? I failed you, I failed the kids. You got hurt because of me. All of you got hurt because of me. You have done nothing wrong, alright?"

"Did you forget the thirteen years of reaping innocent children?" she hissed.

"That's a different problem." he deflected. "And you still didn't deserve this. You shouldn't be ashamed of your scars, Effie. Maybe they're ugly, maybe not but they're not a sign of weakness. If anything, they're a sign of strength. You went through hell and you came back."

"Did I really?" she snorted bitterly.

"Show me." he requested softy.

Her lips were wobbling badly when she rose to her feet and locked the backdoor before pulling the curtains of the window over the sink closed. It wasn't a necessary precaution, it was well after dinner, too late for even the kids to drop by. They could have gone up to one of their bedrooms but he thought she wanted to do that before she lost her nerves. She unzipped her boots and slipped off the woolen thighs and stood there in front of him, her eyes riveted on the tiles, her toes clenched in fear.

He reached out for her thigh and ran his thumb over the thin line that marked her skin. The gash couldn't have been too deep but it must have hurt like hell.

"Knife." she said and left it at that.

She turned around and lifted her sweater a little and he swallowed the lump in his throat when he caught sight of the tell-tale lines crisscrossing on her upper thighs and disappearing under the fabric of her panties. He stood up and grabbed the sweater, already knowing what he would find on her back. "Can I?" he asked and at her shaky nod of agreement, he slipped the sweater over her head. Her back was a mess. The most glaring scar remained the one on her nape but the rest wasn't any prettier, the surgical scar on her injured shoulder was neat and precise and would probably fade in time. The ones crisscrossing on her back, that was another story. He had two of his own exactly like those. "They whipped you." And unlike the Peacekeeper who had given him his punishment at the time, they hadn't been lenient or careful to aim only for the back. The lines reached the small of her back and disappeared under the band of her underwear.

"To make Peeta talk." she explained. "Or to punish me when I disobeyed."

"Disobeyed how?" he asked.

"Giving another prisoner my food." she recited slowly. "Giving another prisoner my food is five lashes. Talking back to the guards or failing to call them sir is five lashes. Insisting Haymitch and Katniss are alive is ten lashes. Arguing I am not a traitor or a District whore is ten lashes. Failure to comply with orders is ten lashes."

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on her shoulder. She flinched.

"Was." he corrected firmly. "Tell me where you are."

"In Twelve. In your kitchen." she answered, his voice a little too hesitant for his liking. "Haymitch?"

"Yeah." He pressed a lingering kiss on her shoulder. "I've got you. You're safe." He didn't ask how many of those scars were due to the Insisting Haymitch and Katniss are alive rule. "I'll keep you safe. Nobody will hurt you again."

"You can't promise that." she argued.

"I'll kill them first." he growled.

She turned around slowly and he felt sick when he realized the back wasn't the whole extent of it. His eyes fell on her arms first.

"Cigarettes burns." she said. "I can't bear the smell of tobacco now even when I crave a smoke. Do you know I was so hungry my own skin smelt like roosted chicken to me? Johanna's too. It was sickening, really, but they left us the drags sometimes. Annie and Peeta wouldn't touch them but Johanna and I weren't as picky."

Her face was blank and she didn't protest when he passed his finger over the burn marks. There weren't many. Either the other ones weren't as deep as those or the Peacekeepers had grown bored with the game quickly enough.

There was a burned patch of skin over her hip and his fingers drifted there. He almost didn't dare touch…

"That was during the rescue." she said. "Mine, not the victors'. The rebels burst the prison open, there were flying debris everywhere…" She brought his hand to the short swollen scar underneath her bra. "That was a knife too. And this one." She guided his hand to her collarbone. "It got infected."

She let go of his hand so he wrapped it around her nape, his fingers bumping on the swollen scar, and pulled her into a kiss. It was a sweet kiss, not one meant to show desire but to show…

"You didn't deserve any of this." he mumbled against her lips. "You're not ugly. Your body is not ugly. I see the scars and all I can think is that you are so, so strong, sweetheart, and that's… You're just as attractive to me as you ever were, okay? Never doubt that. I want you. Always. I…" The words remained stuck in his throat so he kissed her again, hoping to convey everything he couldn't say. "You're alive. That's all that matters to me."

She was the one who kissed him this time, shivering a little. He picked up her sweater and helped her back into it, before cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss on her forehead. She wrapped her arms around his torso and rested her whole weight against his chest.

"Not tonight." she murmured, a little awkwardly.

"When you feel like it." he replied. "I can wait. I told you, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

She buried her face in his neck and mouthed three words against his skin. He didn't need the sound, he knew their shape, it wasn't the first time she used that method. I love you. He didn't know if she was aware he knew what her mouth was saying to his skin or not. It had started well before the quell, before victory tour even, he had always chosen to ignore it.

He tilted her head up and pressed his lips against hers and hoped she would understand what he couldn't voice.

Me too.