Prompt: I know you have probably 100 prompts on your list but I can't help it. Effie is being called Mrs Abernathy for the first time in public and Haymitch's reaction to it. Please make it awkward. Thank you so much.

It begged for a five + one time thing )

Five Times Someone Assumes They're Married & One Time They Forget They're Not

1.

"Why is there a boy mowing the lawn?" Haymitch frowned, dropping his coat on an armchair despite her pointed glare. Coats went on the rack, Haymitch, not on furniture – her favorite lecture.

"Because you wouldn't do it and it was starting to look like a jungle." she replied, carefully applying a new layer of nail polish on her thumb. It was a deep shade of green.

"Could have done it." he insisted, dropping on the armchair, half sitting on his coat.

"You could have." she snorted. "But would youhave?"

He stared at her for a while, trying to figure out if he wanted to get annoyed over this, and then he shrugged. "Point taken."

At least now she wouldn't badger him about the state of the front yard. He didn't see why she cared. His front yard had always been overgrown with weeds and grass but she wanted everything neat, she had wanted flowers and what not, maybe not understanding it would require constant attention. For the most part, he didn't care. He had accepted that his house would be turned upside down when she had moved in two years earlier. But if she wanted a garden, she could take care of it herself – or ask Peeta to do it for her.

It didn't take long for the boy to wander inside, all arrogant toothy grin, disheveled red hair and cocky self-confidence. Not many kids were willing to approach Effie. He figured this one would brag about it for days to his friends.

"Are you done? Thank you, Nathan." Effie beamed at him, shaking her hand to make the nail polish dry faster, already standing up to get money from her purse. "I will be sure to ask you again if I need any more handwork around the house."

"Sure thing." the boy answered, downright flirty – or what passed for flirty when you were fifteen – before pocketing the money she handed him. "Thanks, Mrs A."

"You are very welcome." she grinned, walking him back to the door.

Any idea of mocking her for having a teenage suitor fled from his mind and he found himself frowning when she walked back inside. "Mrs A.?"

"You cannot blame children for assuming." Effie declared, waving that away. "Almost every couple living together in Twelve are married."

It was a reasonable explanation.

And truth be told, he was happy to let the matter drop.

2.

Doing groceries with Effie was exhausting.

She had a list. She always made a list. And they always went off script at the market when a booth or another caught her eyes.

Right now they had all the food they needed – food he was carrying in heavy bags – but she was examining some fabric at a stall, discussing the merits of silk over whatever the other shiny thing was and he was quickly losing patience.

"Just buy both and be done with it." he snapped.

She shot him an irritated glance but did tell the young woman to wrap both for her.

"Here you go, Mrs Abernathy!" the woman joyfully said, handing her the bag.

Haymitch's head turned so fast something snapped in his neck. Effie, on the other hand, didn't miss a beat. She thanked the woman, paid her and started walking as if it was a perfectly normal exchange.

He was dying to make a comment but he swallowed it back.

It was of the idea that if he ignored it, it would go away.

Acknowledging it would be worse.

3.

The knocks on the door weren't welcomed and Haymitch opened it with brutality, well into his fifth glass. Today wasn't a good day.

The postman flinched and took a step back, holding a box in front of him like a shield.

"Delivery for Mrs Abernathy." he squeaked.

It was the wrong thing to say that day.

"My mother died thirty years ago." he growled.

The man blinked and cleared his throat.

"Mrs Effie Abernathy." he clarified.

"No such thing." he retorted, snatching the package from the man's hands and slamming the door behind him. He checked the name on the box and, sure enough, there was no Mrs Abernathy nonsense, just an Effie Trinket.

He tossed the box on the couch and went back to his drinking.

He was drunk by the time she came home and she wasn't pleased about finding him slopped on the armchair, on the verge of passing out. She ranted and ranted but he didn't register a single word. Only when she stopped talking and crouched in front of him to brush his hair back with a sigh did he made an effort to talk.

"Don't go around using my mother's name." he slurred. "I ain't marrying you. Ever. Not your name to use."

He pretended he was too drunk to notice the pain on her face.

4.

"You should bring your wife around more, boy." Greasy Sae rebuked him as she cleared their table. "The poor woman deserves more treats taking care of you."

They had had a pleasant dinner. There had been soft laughter and some foot playing under the table, she had been eyeing him in a way that told him he might just get lucky when they came back home… It had been a pleasant evening.

And, in a second, it was ruined.

Effie looked down at her nails, suddenly fascinated by her nail polish, the smile on her lips becoming strained.

"Not my wife." he muttered.

And to add insult to injury that was the moment a young couple passed by their table, waving at Effie. "Goodnight, Mrs Abernathy!"

Sae snorted, tossing him a pointed glance. "Could have fooled me."

Effie waited until she was gone to reach out and cover his hand on the table. It took all he had not to recoil.

"Please, I never told them to call me by that name." she whispered. "I do not introduce myself as your wife. They just… They assume, Haymitch. It is not my fault. Don't be cross with me."

He hated the genuine anguish and fear of rejection he could read on her face. It made him feel disgusted. With himself.

She had moved in with him, she lived in his house – their house – they had stopped denying they were a couple years ago. And yet he still was commitment phobic. The idea of saying out loud what she was to him… It terrified him. He was terrified she would get hurt because of it.

"Let's go home." he said.

She only perked up when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders on the way back to the Village. She burrowed into his side and finally relaxed.

"I am sorry." she offered. "I corrected them at first but it spread, and now it does not matter what I say."

"Not your fault." he shrugged. "I just don't like it."

Again, he tried not to see the hurt that flashed on her face.

5.

In retrospect, he was surprised it took so long for that trend to reach the kids but once they picked up on the fact the whole District seemed certain they were married, there was no distracting them from it.

"Can you pass me the salad bowl, Mrs Abernathy?" Peeta grinned.

"Hey, Mrs Abernathy, can you give me the wine." Katniss teased.

And it went on and on all night, despite her repeated requests for them to stop and his gradually darkening mood. She kept glancing at him with increasing uneasiness while he forced himself not to react to the taunts coming from the kids. They were just being kids – that didn't happen often enough for to put a stop to it. So he glowered instead while she stuttered and grew wary and, maybe, angry.

It went on and on and on…

It was only when she slammed her glass of water down on the table and stormed out of the kitchen that the kids stopped laughing.

"What's wrong?" Katniss asked.

"Dinner's over." Haymitch retorted, standing up too. "Thanks for being little shits."

It wasn't hard to hunt her down, she had gone straight to their bedroom. It was obvious she was upset. She was curled up on the bed on her side, teeth digging deep in her bottom lip. He walked around the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress so the small of his back was pressed to her stomach.

She took a deep breath, keeping her eyes on the wardrobe rather than on him. "Perhaps I should go back to the Capitol for a while."

"No way." he scoffed. "They'll get over it."

"Will you?" she whispered sadly. "It appears obvious the idea of being married to me is awful to you."

"I'm not getting married." he spat. "You knew that moving in."

"I am not asking you to marry me." she retorted, irritated. "But in practice, what is the difference? I live with you. I will grow old with you. I love you. This is what marriage stands for and if you cannot bear the thought of anyone thinking this is what we are… What am I doing here? Why are you with me?"

"It's got nothing to do with us." he snarled.

"Doesn't it?" she snapped. "They call me Mrs Abernathy and you flinch. Every time. And I understand you are thinking about your mother. I understand you do not think I deserve to fill her shoes by wearing that name. I understand…"

"Don't put words in my mouth." he cut her off. "It's my mother's name, true. I don't like hearing it, true. But I never said it was about you not being good enough."

"What is it about then?" she hissed, sitting up, folding her legs under her. "Because, to me, it looks as if you would rather die than call me your anything."

"That name's a death sentence." he sneered coldly. "You get that, right? Abernathy's a death sentence."

She stared at him for a moment, studying him. Her anger and resentment gradually morphed into sorrow. "Not anymore, Haymitch."

"Always." he countered in a snarl. "I can't claim you like that. It's fucking tempting fate, Princess." Her eyes filled with tears and he let out a deep sigh, brushing his hand against her cheek. "It's not that I don't want you or that I'm ashamed of you. 'Though, now that we're on that subject, you deserve better than an old drunkard for a husband."

"I happen to love that old drunkard." she retorted. The words were easier to hear now, they were soothing almost. He cradled the back of her head in his hand and guided her in for a kiss. It turned messy and he would have nudged her down and settled that argument in their old fashioned way if she hadn't broken the kiss, resting her forehead against his, her thumb running up and down his neck. "Trinket is a more dangerous name than Abernathy nowadays. I cannot promise nobody will call me by your name again but perhaps… Perhaps think about that next time. I am no more in danger when I carry your name than when I carry mine. We are who we are. Our names matter little in regard of what we did." She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead harder against his. "I do not need you to marry me. I do not need a ring or a dress. But I cannot deny I like the idea of belonging to you in some way. I like it when they call me Mrs Abernathy. I feel like someone else, I feel like who I am now. Not Effie Trinket the escort but… Yours. A part of our family."

He sighed and captured her lips again in a hard kiss. She had a point maybe. But it wasn't about rational arguments. It was about twenty five years spent certain that anything or anyone he loved would be reaped away from him.

"You're mine." he vowed against her lips. "And I'm yours. No question asked."

6.

Journalists and paparazzi looking for some juicy gossip to write in their rags weren't unheard of in Twelve. They were forbidden access to the Village but were free to roam in the District itself although they were usually clever enough to keep away from Katniss and Peeta – stolen pictures, yeah, actually talking to the Mockingjay who killed a President in front of all Panem and her unstable husband, no. Effie and Haymitch weren't granted the same courtesy. Haymitch was scary and thus the journalists never insisted much but Effie, when she was alone, was an easy prey.

They were at the new Hob, he was buying more bottles because he was out and she was a few feet away, talking with a woman from Six she had befriended when her family had moved in.

He saw it from afar. The guy who approached her, her friend suddenly hurrying away, Effie's shoulders tensing… He saw her making her excuse and trying to leave, he saw the guy grabbing her arm…

He was next to them in a flash, towering behind her shoulder, threatening.

"Let her go." he warned in a low voice.

"Haymitch, do not cause a scene." Effie begged, discreetly trying to shrug the hand around her arm off.

Too late though, people were staring.

"I just have a few questions, Miss Trinket." the guy insisted, still not letting go of her arm. "Do you…"

The rest of that sentence ended in a yelp when Haymitch pushed him away from her, stepping in front of her in a protective stance, fighting the urge to reach for his knife. "I said paws off my wife!"

There was a huge silence around them.

It was Effie who dragged him away, ranting all the while about him always having to start brawls and bring attention to them in unpleasant fashion. She babbled and babbled nonstop all the way back to their house, avoiding the main issue he was too much of a coward to raise, and when he slammed the front door behind him, expecting more berating and wondering if he could sneak in some liquor without her noticing, he found himself pushed firmly against the wood panel.

She pinned him to that door with a strength he didn't know she had, kissing him for all she had worth. Clothes flew left and right but it was only when she dropped to her knees that he decided he could get used to that word after all.

That word wasn't as terrifying as he had thought it was.

He couldn't help the pinch of dread when he read Panem Times' headlines the next morning though – Abernathy and Trinket tied the knot – but it was soon assuaged by her arms wrapping around his waist and her raising on tiptoes to nibble on his earlobe.

"Husband." she whispered in his ear, making the word sound like some sort of crude dirty thing.

"Mrs Abernathy." he snorted, aiming for sarcastic but only managing to sound fond.

He could learn to like it.