Prompt: So in 139 there's this part: "She was about to launch into an hysteric fit of epic proportions – the kind that generally ended with him kissing her silent or him dragging her to the shower to pour freezing water on her head, depending on his mood." Please write a piece where he does the latter. That's my prompt.

For Fits Of Hysterics…

"And I swear, I swear, if she disrespects me again I will… I will… Oh, I do not know yet but just wait and see, Haymitch, just wait and see! I hate this woman! She is cold and ugly and absolutely unpleasant and…"

Haymitch tuned the rest of Effie's rant out, dragging her through Thirteen corridors by the arm, snarling at everyone who stopped to stare at them, regularly snapping at her to shut her mouth.

"Do not talk to me so !" she raged. "I am not a child you can scold or… Oh! You are hurting me!"

He loosened his grip a little but not much, quickening his steps and forcing her to do the same, relieved to see her compartment ahead. He opened the door and pushed her inside without any gentleness, slamming the door shut behind him and grumbling under his breath when he had to close it properly because it had bounced right back open.

Fucking doors, fucking District, fucking everything.

Effie turned around, a hand on her hip and the other rubbing the arm he had been gripping with a small pout and a harsh glare.

Fuck that too, because her customized uniform was hanging loose on one very naked shoulder and the whole thing was more appealing than it ought to.

"How many times did I tell you to fucking stick to the rules?" he growled. "They're going to throw you in a cell if you go on this way."

"Your cow of a President has no right to decide what I should wear or not wear." she hissed. "Which side are you on?"

"Right now? Hers." he shrugged. "'Cause she's leading a rebellion and you're throwing a tantrum over fashion."

"It is not simply fashion." she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "It is my right to wear what I wish. No one can take this away from me."

He rolled his eyes. "She wants you to put on pants. It's not the end of the world, sweetheart."

She narrowed her eyes at him, head tilted to the side and he knew, he just knew this one would be the rant to end all rant.

"First it is pants and then it is individual liberties!" she shouted. "I cannot believe you would side with her over me! I am only your closest friend after all. But, by all means, choose the dictator."

"I'm not choosing her." he countered. "I'm saying on this matter, she's right and you're wrong. You're acting like a spoiled brat."

"A spoiled brat!" she huffed, marching on him to poke his chest with an accusing finger. "Even better! Do you know what you are? You are a traitor and I do believe I hate you right now! You promised we would be in this together, that we would be a team, and here you are, deserting me for a woman you only just met, who is not only nasty but absolutely dreadful to look at! I cannot believe this! I cannot!" She was out of air and she took another deep breath, probably to rant some more. He took the opportunity to roll his eyes again before leaning in, knowing there was only one way to shut her up when she got that worked up. She turned her head and pushed him away. "Oh, certainly not! Go see your President Coin! See if she is willing to kiss you and let you use her body as a derivative for alcohol! See if she is as understanding and generous as I am! See if…"

Boy, could she talk…

Well, he mused, he had tried the easy way.

She shrieked when he grabbed her around the waist and she struggled against his hold but she never once stopped talking, a steady string of reproaches and accusations spilling from her lips. He didn't think she realized where he was heading. He was ready to bet she was thinking he would drop her on the bed to have her way with her anyway – she might even have welcomed it – but he was fed up and not in the mood.

She only shut up when he put her back on her feet in the shower, her eyes growing wide as his intention became clear.

"Don't you dare!" she warned.

Too late.

He turned the tap and quickly stepped back when water streamed down her head. They were only allowed five minutes of hot water per day and you had to scan your wrist to access it, otherwise it was naturally icy cold water. Her clothes were drenched in seconds and her teeth started chattering while she fumbled with the taps, finally managing to turn it off.

When she turned to Haymitch, there was a manic murderous glint in her eyes.

"I am going to kill you." she warned.

"Promises, promises." he taunted. "Lost count of the number of times you said that. I'm still alive. Now, get some dry clothes. Pants or a jumpsuit, something nobody will frown upon, yeah?"

He was quick in fleeing her compartment before she could catch him and actually try to harm him. She wasn't a violent person but she had her moments and people could kill in a fit of passion. The two of them together had passion in spades.

He leaned against the wall outside her door and he waited.

It took her fifteen minutes to walk out in a jumpsuit, looking like a proper Thirteen's citizen. Her blond hair was braided back in a fancy style that, he could tell, she wasn't pleased with.

She glared at him when she saw him but she had clearly lost her fire in the shower.

"I am ugly." she complained.

"Long way to go to be ugly." he offered. "Nobody in this District holds a candle to you, sweetheart. Honest."

It was more than he would usually have said but he knew how insecure she could be about her bare self. Give her fancy clothes, make-up, and wigs and she would be the most arrogant woman in the world. Take that away and the confidence was gone.

Her lips twitched into a small smile but it didn't stick for very long. "I am cold now, thanks to you."

He wordlessly shrugged off his woolen sweater and handed it to her.

She accepted it immediately, looking pleased, and put it on, briefly sniffing the collar. He was about to make a joke about her giving it back if she was going to complain it smelt bad only to realize she simply enjoyed wearing his clothes. He swallowed his remark back and offered his arm in a reflex she had long trained into him.

"How gentlemanly." she purred. "It won't make me forget about what you just did though. No, it won't. You will have a lot of groveling to do before I decide to forgive you."

"I don't grovel." he snorted.

"You will learn to if you wish to be allowed back into my bed." she grinned, a new spring in her steps.

He didn't gratify that with an answer because they both knew if he really wanted back into her bed, he would find ways to weasel there whether she wanted him to work for it or not. However, it might distract her from Coin for a while and that, in his opinion, was a good thing.

"You're a pain." he sighed.

And he meant it too.

Too bad, he loved it.