Prompt: I was wondering if you'd do a prompt about Haymitch losing his cool post MJ? Like he's held everything together for so long without Effie and alcohol, and suddenly someone jostles Katniss and she cries out or a customer yells at Peeta or a car backfires and Haymitch just completely overreacts. He has a full fledged freak out and maybe Effie helps him to calm down? Basically I want to see him crack a little under the pressure of the events of MJ.

Breakdown

Effie was waiting for the impending disaster.

She knew Haymitch. She knew Haymitch like the back of her hand. She knew when he was putting up a front and she knew the situation was dire if he wasn't even bothering to do that.

The demons that had haunted him since his Games hadn't gone away just because Panem was now at peace. They still struck sometimes, when he was least expecting it. If anything it might have been worse now because he was gradually getting used to a life where Reapings never loomed ahead and where children were not sentenced to a certain death just because they were born in the wrong place. His PTSD reared its ugly head when he least expected it and Effie was powerless to do anything about it.

So she watched and she stood by and she got ready to pick up the pieces when he would finally fall apart.

Falling apart was part of the process, she knew, it was inevitable.

She had done her fair share of that over the last year and a half since her rescue.

Haymitch hadn't been sleeping for at least four days – she knew that for certain because she had spent most of her nights listening to his relentless pacing downstairs. It could have been longer. The bags on his face were dark, his grey eyes were bloodshot, the tremors in his hands didn't disappear no matter how many glasses he downed… He was aggressive and defensive all at once, snapping at her for the smallest offense and seeking loneliness to lick his wounds in peace.

She allowed him his space.

It hurt her to know she could do nothing to soothe his anxiety but she knew that they were heading toward a point where it would have been dangerous for her to insist. As long as he hadn't reached his breaking point and either raged or collapsed, he would keep bottling everything up. It meant he was prone to lash out and he might get physical if she pushed too much.

She wasn't scared of Haymitch, not really. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. He had never hurt her even if the midst of a drunken fit of fury. But she also knew it could mean she would end up pinned to the closest wall, hurtful words spat directly in her face, and hands eventually probing under her clothes. She wasn't against that either. She was simply wary of triggering her own demons. It would only add to his anguish.

So she simply waited for the impending disaster, all smiles, brightly convincing the children to let go of their questions and clumsy attempts at comforting him.

She knew she should have protested when he declared he was going with her to the bakery that morning but she found staying silent was the best way not to poke the bear – and when he was in this sort of mood, she would rather not poke the bear.

He grumbled all the way to town and she took deep breaths not to let her temper get the better of her. Even when he kicked pebbles and dragged his feet like a five years old.

They were almost there when she spotted Katniss talking with Delly in the middle of the street. Effie smiled and waved, the girl distractedly waved back.

The guy came out of nowhere.

Bulky, young… More muscles than brain, clearly. He walked straight into the girls, knocking both of them. Katniss stumbled back, tripped over a rock and fell on her behind. The guy went on his merry way without even looking back.

"Hey!"

Haymitch was gone from her side before she could do anything to hold him back. Her instinctive reaction to help the girl back up was forgotten. She ran after Haymitch, trying to stop him. Too late though, he had already grabbed the man's shoulder.

The guy shrugged him off and turned around to face him with a scowl. "What's your problem?"

"My problem?" Haymitch growled. "You knocked my kid off."

"Maybe you should teach your kid to get out of the way." the man spat and then his eyes widened almost comically and Effie could tell, very clearly, the moment it registered who they were. There was something very scary in finding yourself face to face with a victor famous for having survived the double of opponents and who had then proceeded to become a key player in the rebellion. Haymitch was as much a legend as Katniss was by that point. "Look…" the man winced.

Haymitch was already rearing his arm back to punch and it was all Effie could do to jump in the middle and grab his forearm.

"Enough." she pleaded. "Haymitch, enough. He is not your enemy. He is not…"

"Get off me." he ordered, trying to get rid of her. He was strong but she was stubborn. She clung to his arm, too aware they were causing a scene. People were staring. "Get off me, for fuck's sake, Trinket!"

Inwardly, she sighed. If he was back to calling her by her surname it was bad indeed.

"I'm fine." Katniss said suddenly, appearing at his other side and grabbing his free arm. "He's just an asshole. Let's get out of here, Haymitch."

"Home." Effie stated firmly. "We are going home."

"You're both going to let me go or so help me…" he snarled.

"You are going to stop this right now." she snapped. "We are going home."

"Or what?" he sneered.

"Or I am moving out." she threatened.

"Move out then. You think I care?" he scorned.

She pursed her lips, let go of his arm and smoothed any possible crease from her jacket and skirt. She addressed the stranger who was still standing there dumbfounded. "You, sir, are a very rude person." And then turned to Katniss. "If it is all the same to you, I will be using your guestroom up until I can catch a train."

The girl opened and closed her mouth but Effie didn't give her time to answer that, she turned on her heels and stormed away. Truth be told, even though she was angry she wasn't surprised. Haymitch had a tendency to speak without thinking when he was in this sort of state. Deep down, she knew he didn't mean any of it. It didn't make it any less painful.

She had reached the town's outskirt and the slope that would take her back to the Village when she felt her arm being grabbed and she was abruptly turned around. His mouth was on hers before she could tell him to leave her alone, strong and harsh and almost punishing. She wanted to push him away but, naturally, she found herself bundling the fabric of his coat in her fists, pressing herself closer.

"Did you punch him?" she asked when she forcefully drew back to take a breath.

"No." he grumbled. "You're not moving out."

It wasn't a question but it wasn't completely confident either and she snorted, untangling herself from him and continuing on her way to the house. "I am still debating on that."

"Effie…" he winced.

"Oh, am I Effie again now?" she retorted.

"Sweetheart…" he tried again.

"Even better." she cut him off with a huff.

He seemed to take the hint and remained silent all the way back to the house. She could feel his anger and exhaustion shimmering though. This wasn't over yet.

"Sit." she ordered him as soon as they were back in the kitchen. He mumbled something she didn't quite catch about ordering him around in his own fucking house. Since he did sit down at the kitchen table, she chose not to comment, focusing on making some tea instead. It was mostly to keep her hands busy. "We need to talk about this."

"You know I didn't mean it." he snapped. "If you think I'm going to say sorry or some shit…"

"I do not mean your appealing behavior of today." she cut him off. "I mean whatever is bothering you. We need to talk about it."

Grey eyes darted up to her and away, almost in fright.

"No." he spat. He stood up but she preemptively placed her hand flat on the cupboard they kept the liquor in. The ever present anger briefly morphed into genuine amusement. "You think that's going to stop me from getting some booze?"

"I think you had enough for now." she retorted. She didn't think he was drunk but she was sure he was far from being sober. She took a breath and slowly took her hand away, when he didn't rush to the cupboard, she turned around to take the kettle off the stove and fix their tea. "You haven't been sleeping."

"I don't need you to play shrink." he growled in warning.

"I am not trying to be your therapist, I am trying to be your…" She cut herself off at the last possible moment. She wasn't sure what word to use. She wasn't sure what to call herself in regard to their relationship. "You haven't been sleeping. You are on the edge of having a meltdown."

"I'm not. Shut up." he muttered.

"You need to sleep." she insisted, placing a steaming mug in front of him and retreating to lean against the counter, cradling her own mug in her hands. "You are exhausted."

"I'm fine." he snarled.

"Of course, you are not." she sighed. "What is it you need to get it off your chest? You need an outlet. You always do." She took a sip of her tea to gain time, burning her tongue in the process. "Do you need to fuck me? Submit me? Do you need me to go doll myself up like a proper Capitol so you can feel like you are screwing them again?" She was being deliberately vulgar, knowing if he was in the mood, it would turn him on. And if he wasn't, it would shock him enough that he would listen. "Or do you need something else? Someone to punch? Someone to hurt?"

"I would never hurt you." he said quietly. "If you think that…"

"I know you wouldn't." she interrupted him. "It doesn't change the fact that you need something, Haymitch, a release your liquor isn't providing. You are about to snap. I am just stating a fact. If you want to use me, you can. We did it before, use each other, we can do it again."

But it was different now. She wasn't his escort anymore. She wasn't an easy fantasy of fucking the Capitol. She wasn't even that much Capitol anymore. She was his. His to protect and his to keep.

He wordlessly shook his head.

"Then what?" she prompted. "What do you need?"

His mug flew in the air without warning. It crashed against the wall and shattered in a thousand fragments, spilling tea everywhere.

He looked at her, panting a little, almost inquisitive. Seeking permission perhaps.

She granted it with a blink and a small nod.

With a helpless cry he stood up and knocked the table off next, sending the vase and the fresh flowers flying. That too shattered on the floor, the table now lying sideway. A chair was next. It was hurled at the wall, knocking down a framed painting Peeta had gifted them with. The glass smashed. The chair wasn't broken though and he grabbed it and hit the wall with it until it crumbled in his hands. The paint was damaged and Effie mentally started a list of everything they would need to buy.

She remained out of the way and he was careful to never come near her in his destructive path. He knocked all the knickknacks from the sideboard, threw a few plates and glasses on the floor. Everything he found was methodically smashed.

It lasted for a good fifteen minutes up until he twisted his ankle on a broken piece of wood and collapsed in the middle of the kitchen. She waited until she was sure he was done and only approached when he pressed his hands against his face, panting for breath.

She crouched next to him and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. He didn't flinch, she took it as a good sign.

"Better?" she whispered.

He nodded and dropped his hands. His face contorted in a series of nervous ticks and she knew he was trying to get a lid on his feelings. His eyes were shiny and the way he swallowed again and again told her he was fighting tears. He pressed his forehead against her collarbone and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"I keep dreaming about the kids." he mumbled. "The one from the City Circle. I kept remembering…"

She closed her eyes. She had seen the images. She had still been locked in her cell when it had happened but the bombing had been aired live and the images had been unavoidable for a long time after the surrender. She pressed a kiss against the top of his head. "There was nothing you could have done, Haymitch."

"Don't say that. Should have found out. Should have stopped them." he snarled. "It happened right under my nose. They were five feet from me when that bitch gave the get go."

"You didn't know." she repeated. "Haymitch… Those deaths are not on you. It was Coin." And Plutarch but she would leave the former Gamemaker to deal with his own conscience. She already knew Beetee and Gale Hawthorne had trouble living with theirs. "Listen to me… I will never dispute the fact we failed our tributes. I understand feeling guilty about them. I understand feeling guilty about what happened in your Games. But this… This wasn't on you. This is not your guilt to carry."

"They're still dead." he said and his voice was flat, hollow. "Prim's still dead. Finnick's still dead. They're all dead. And I live. Why? Why do I live, sweetheart?"

There was so much self-loathing in there…

It made her heart ache.

"I don't know." she answered truthfully. "But I do know the children need you."

"The kids would be fine without me. You'd be here." he countered.

"Would I be?" she hummed. "Without you?" She pondered the question for a moment and then closed her eyes, not quite happy with the conclusion she reached. "Perhaps I would be. Probably drugged out of my mind with every painkillers and sleeping pills I could get my hands on, yes, but here." He scoffed but she didn't let him protest. "I do need you too. I cannot pretend to know why we survived when so many more deserving and innocent people died… But… I am glad we survived together. Living without you would be too dull and too difficult."

He reached out then, wrapping a hand around her nape and squeezing before guiding her in a kiss.

"I could fuck you now." he joked.

"You need sleep now." she rebuked.

She knew the outburst had been exactly what he had needed because he rubbed his face and didn't protest when she steered him to their bedroom. He was like a child, too exhausted to do anything but watch her with sleepy eyes when she took his shoes and pants off and forced the sweater over his head. She tucked him in and didn't resist when he tugged her down.

"Stay." he pleaded.

She did.

She ran her fingertips over his cheek and neck in a soothing manner until his eyelids finally dropped. Once he started snoring and she was sure he wouldn't wake up, she carefully escaped his hold and went back downstairs.

She planted herself on the kitchen's threshold, put her hands on her hips and surveyed the chaos with a sigh.

Then she grabbed a broom and set up to work.

Katniss barged in after she had swept away the broken dishes and glass but before she could attempt to fix the rest. The girl's eyes opened wide and she made a beeline for Effie, grabbing her arms in a tight grip, glancing around warily. Katniss looked almost scared to her – of what had happened more than of the man who had caused the mess.

"Did he hurt you?" the girl asked in a horror-struck voice.

"No." Effie was quick in answering, gently untangling Katniss' hands from her arms. "Of course not. How can you even…"

"He wasn't himself." Katniss cut her off rather rudely, her face closing off. "Sometimes you do thing you don't mean to do when you're not yourself."

She meant Peeta, Effie supposed. And herself to some extent.

"Haymitch knows his own limits." she offered. "He didn't hurt me. Truly. He would never hurt me."

Katniss studied her for a long time and then gave her a brief nod. "What happened then?"

"He needed to work it out somehow." Effie sighed. "It is fine. We were due for some redecorating anyway. Since you are here… Help me right the table, please."

She put Katniss to work but there was still a lot to do and when Haymitch wandered in the kitchen a few hours later – in boxers, socks, his undershirt and nothing else – there was still plenty left to clean up.

The girl took one look at his outfit – or lack thereof – and cringed. "I'm going now."

Haymitch rolled his eyes at her antics but the second Katniss was gone, his expression turned sheepish.

"I have been meaning to order new furniture." she hummed as if they weren't standing in half-destroyed kitchen but were contemplating a renovation project instead. She knew he wouldn't want to talk about what had happened. "And we will need to repaint. Something brighter than this ugly brown. Yellow or orange, I think. Or perhaps we could put on some tiles… They do lovely mosaics nowadays."

He crept closer while she kept rambling about the merits of tiles against paint and he pressed a kiss at the corner of her mouth, stealing the broom from her hand.

"Whatever you want." he grumbled, starting to sweep away the last traces of his outburst.

It was a plain apology as well as a display of gratefulness.

"You are all I want." she whispered before clearing her throat and taking up her monologue about what they could do with the kitchen.

He rolled his eyes a lot and muttered to himself but she didn't pay him any mind. She wasn't sorry about the surrounding chaos.

Furniture were replaceable.

He wasn't.