Prompt: So I know when ealize is talking about his dead girlfriend (even in front of Effie) he always refers to her as 'my girl'. Could you do a fic where at some point post mj ealize says my girl and everyone thinks he means her until they ealize he's talking about Effie?

White Lies & Brutal Truths

"I just don't get why she can't just say she wants to be alone." Peeta sighed with annoyance.

Haymitch rolled his eyes, preferring to stand up and start washing the strawberries for Finn, who was eyeing them with less and less patience, rather than listening to the boy asking Johanna for relationship advices. He peered through the window over the sink but, although the floor plan identical, the kids' house wasn't oriented the same way his was and he couldn't see anything interesting outside aside for the vegetable and fruit garden Peeta religiously kept. He tried to estimate how long it would take Annie and Effie to come back from the market and drew a blank. They would probably linger. Market day was Effie's guilty pleasure because there were always stands with new fabrics, jewelries or clothes that she couldn't otherwise find around Twelve and she often over-indulged. Plus, Annie was with her and he was sure they would take their time if only because Finn was always full of energy and she might enjoy the respite. They were on holiday after all.

"She's going to the woods. It's not like she's meeting someone there." Jo mocked, leaning back in her chair, balancing it on two legs and propping her feet on the table in a very dangerous way. The four years old looked a bit too interested and she tossed him a mild glare. "Don't you dare try. Only grown-ups are allowed."

Finn pouted and climbed off his own chair to approach Haymitch, grabbing the edge of the sink and rising on tiptoes to watch what he was doing. Without thinking twice about it, he lifted him up and sat him on the counter. He fed him one out of three strawberries he was cutting into a bowl for that lunch's dessert.

"You're the bestest." Finn whispered with a thumb-up and that grin that reminded him so much of his father, it hurt.

"Don't tell your mom." he winked. If the kid didn't eat anything at lunch, it would be his fault, no doubt. "Or your aunt. Any of them."

The boy giggled like it was a good joke and went on gulping down the fruits Haymitch covertly handed him. Not that Jo was paying attention anyway.

"Yes, but why can't she say: 'Peeta, I need to be alone for a little while, I'm going to the woods' instead of 'we're going to need meat'." Peeta insisted.

"We are going to need meat." Haymitch cut in, tired of hearing him obsessing over what Katniss said and didn't say. "You're blowing this out of proportions. She hunts every day. What's the big deal? You bake. You garden. Same fucking thing. Can't be joined at the hip every second of the day, kid, doesn't work that way."

"Look at the expert talking." Johanna snickered.

"You said a bad word, Uncle Mitch." Finn commented, sounding nonplussed by his vulgarity. "Mommy makes Auntie put money in a jar at home."

"Yeah, well, there's no jar here and your other uncle is being stupid." he shrugged.

"I know." Peeta pouted. "I understand. I'm not annoyed because she goes hunting, of course not. It's who she is. I'm just annoyed because she keeps… lying about little things I wouldn't even care about."

"It's a woman thing." Jo snorted, matter-of-factly. "All women lie to their boyfriends about little things."

Haymitch rolled his eyes again.

"Not my girl." he mumbled, distracted by Finn's grabby paw reaching for another strawberry.

Johanna's laughter was cruel and unwelcomed. "Yeah, sorry, we forgot your girl was a saint. Never lied, never did a thing wrong in her life, so sweet and pretty and bad ass… Can't even say if she was real anymore."

His face hardened, his fingers clenched on the handle of the knife he was using to cut the strawberries and he felt the need for a drink. There was no liquor in the kids' house though. A bottle of wine for lunch somewhere maybe, but not much more.

Every time he had talked about Mabel in front of Jo, Finnick and Chaff, he had been beyond wasted. It had been less about Mabel herself than about the injustice of an old wound that had scarred but festered. They had all had them and they had all taken them out of their respective boxes sometimes.

He had usually regretted it soon enough.

Peeta cleared his throat. "I don't think that's who he meant."

Damn the kid and his perceptiveness.

"Trinket?" Johanna almost choked on her laughter. "You think Trinket doesn't lie to you on a daily basis? Trinket?"

"You can say her name as many times as you like. Effie doesn't lie to me." he grumbled.

"Trinket's the biggest liar ever." Jo countered.

"That's not fair." Peeta frowned. "And it's not true. She's…"

"The biggest liar ever." he finished with a snort of his own, because Effie was an excellent actress and the face she offered the world wasn't always the true one. Years of conditioning didn't go away in a moment. She had relaxed a lot since she had moved to Twelve but four years of peace hadn't convinced her of being vulnerable or honest with everyone yet. Her masks were her defenses and he understood that better than anyone. "But not with me. She can't. I always know."

"It's sweet you think that." Johanna chuckled. "Newsflash, Haymitch. Maybe she doesn't lie to you about the big things but she still gives you white lies."

"No." he insisted, tossing the last strawberry in the bowl and putting it in the fridge before Finn could eat the rest of the fruits and make himself sick.

"So she never lies. Ever, ever?" Jo taunted. "Even about embarrassing things? Because Trinket would so lie about embarrassing things."

"Like what?" he scoffed, helping Finn washing his hands.

"Like farts." The four years old helpfully added his piece and, really, should the kid even been following this conversation? "You have to say sorry when you fart."

"Good example, kid." Johanna praised him. "So? Does Trinket own up to her farts? Let's say it happens in bed. She's going to confess or she's going to blame a strange noise or ask about strange smells."

He lifted the boy and put him back on the floor, wondering how exactly he had ended up trapped into that discussion.

"You live with a four years old and it shows." Haymitch accused. "Since you want to know, the only times I ever heard her fart were in her sleep so she never had to make excuses."

"Oh, come on…" Jo scowled.

"She's classy." he shrugged. "She leaves a room. She puts on music. What the hell do I know! Now can we move on?"

"Yes, please." Peeta winced, rubbing his face. "This is like preschool."

Jo rolled her eyes. "I still say she must lie about some things."

"Maybe." he granted, if only to cut that conversation short. He was on edge and he didn't like it. She was putting him on the spot, trying to get him to talk shit about Effie, harassing him about parts of their relationship he had never questioned before… And there was no liquor to help him keep his cool. "But I can tell when she lies just like she can tell when I lie. So we know the other knows when we're making excuses. Maybe we pretend to believe them 'cause it's easier for them. Doesn't count anyway. You're done now?"

"Sure." she conceded with a dangerous smirk. "I'm curious though… Since when is she your girl anyway? 'Cause I thought that title was claimed forever. Didn't you say…"

"Since I love her." he snapped, the words escaping his mouth before he could think them or hold them back. He found himself panting hard, dizzy for not good reason, a breath away from a panic attack because those words, those words… He hadn't planned them, hadn't uttered them in three decades…

The resulting silence was deafening. Even Finn was looking at all of them with a small frown on his face, not sure where the sudden tension was coming from.

And, of course, because he was the luckiest man in Panem, it was the moment the backdoor swung open and Annie and Effie came back with two full baskets. They were laughing but that died out quickly when they stepped inside. Haymitch was standing at one end of the kitchen, hands clenched into fists and still trying to catch his breath, the other two were sitting at the table, and Finn was in the middle looking uncertain.

"What is going on?" Effie frowned.

Silence stretched for a few seconds longer and then Johanna sneered. "Well, apparently you're Haymitch's girl now because he loves you."

She made it sound completely ridiculous.

And it was.

He was forty-five, almost forty-six, not fifteen or sixteen.

He couldn't even look at Effie in the eyes. So he did what he excelled at. He fled. She was blocking his path to the backdoor so he simply escaped to the corridor and hurried toward the front door. He would go back home, he would drink himself in a stupor and, hopefully, when she would be back after spending the day with the others, she would have forgotten all about it – fat chances of that happening though.

"Haymitch!" she called after him because, of course, she wouldn't let him leave like that. "Haymitch, wait."

He paused with his fingers around the handle of the front door.

"Drop it, Effie." he warned with a growl.

"I wasn't about to confront you about it. Give me some credit, I know you better than that." she huffed, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face between his shoulder blades. He felt the kiss she dropped there through the thin fabric of his cotton shirt. "Do not let Johanna upset you."

"I'm not upset." he lied – which was idiotic because she could obviously tell.

"Good, then." she declared cheerfully, pretending to believe him for the same reason he didn't call her out on the fake joy in her voice. "Now… Which one of you fed the strawberries to Finn? Do not lie. His face is half covered in sticky juice." He couldn't help a snort at her scolding tone and turned around, a smirk on his mouth, tension slowly leaving his shoulders. She pursed her lips into a pout and tilted her head to the side. "I knew it was you."

"Sure, you did." he shrugged. "Can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"No." she confirmed with a grin, pecking his lips. "But is that truly so terrible?"

"Nah." he snorted, giving her a kiss of his own. It was a lot less innocent. They didn't usually kiss that hard or that long outside of the privacy of their home – all the more so at the kids'. He framed her face with his hands, his thumb idly retracing the line of her cheekbone, and drew back to watch her. Her eyelids fluttered open, her eyes were bright blue and twinkling with open happiness, her lips stretched into a smile… "You're my girl." he said. The words were hardly more than a whisper and he wished he had the guts to tell her something else, something more, but those words he had blurted out in the kitchen were still synonymous with a death sentence in his mind. "You're my girl."

"You do not have to say it as if it is a novelty." she replied, still grinning. "I know I am your girl. I know you love me, too. It would be nice, but I do not need to hear you say it to know that."

"I do." he breathed out, pressing his lips against her forehead. He didn't clarify what he did. She knew. "I'm gonna go for a while, yeah? I'll be back for lunch."

"Time enough for me to terrorize Johanna into never mentioning this again?" she chuckled. "Do not worry, darling, I have your back." Her amusement died a little. "But do not drink too much, please."

He nodded his agreement and stole a last kiss before leaving the house.

They were kind of an old couple, he figured, but there were worse things to be.