prompt: could you do a fic where haymitch really upsets Effie ( Like embarrasses her or something ) and he has to do something really cute or sweet to make her forgive him because sex simply wont do

Actions & Words

The problem with him was that he tended to say things he didn't really mean when he was angry. Or things that he had meant once upon a time but hadn't in a very long time – which was how he had ended up sitting on the back porch, staring at the geese wandering around his backyard, a bottle of liquor clutched in his hand. He hadn't drunk a single drop yet.

The argument wasn't sitting well with him.

He had been in a bad mood that morning, sleep deprived and still shaky from his latest nightmare. He had only managed to fall asleep around five a.m. and hadn't taken too well to being waken up by her violin despite the fact it had already been mid-morning. She didn't play often, any dexterity she might had had once upon a time had been destroyed by the months she had spent in a cell and she didn't like hearing herself play anymore. The violin had belonged to her grandfather – as far as he could tell, the only member of her family who had had a positive influence on her – and she only took it out of its case on bad days, when she wanted to fight back the odd melancholia.

She was struggling. She had been struggling ever since she had showed up in Twelve five months earlier, claiming she was simply visiting.

He had been vicious when he had stomped downstairs to tell her to stop her racket, he had been mean and he had been nasty and, now that he felt a bit more awake and calm, he felt guilty because she had done nothing to warrant the rage he had shown.

She had been tiptoeing around him for most of those five months, careful to never impose, hiding from the rest of the world and, probably, from her own demons… He had been nervous about expectations at first. He had opened her door to her without hesitation or reserve but actually accepting to let her in his life? It had been scary. She hadn't moved into his room though, she had stuck to the guest room, had stuck to their strange status quo of friends who occasionally slipped and slept together…

She had felt so fragile, the first time… She had been trembling under his hands, more nervous and insecure than he had ever seen her… It had made him feel… It had made him feel humble. Humble that she would trust him with her body when it had been abused so badly…

Nobody should ever trust him with anything.

He pushed the bottle away with annoyance, startling one of the goose that honked in rebuke. What had he cared about that fucking violin? The words had poured out of his mouth: how he was sick of her always making noises, how he was tired of having her underfoot, how he hated the way she always cleaned the house like she had any right to tell him how to live, how he just wanted her out of his sight…

She had stood there, violin dangling from her fingers, and she had taken the verbal downpour without a word or a flinch. It had made him feel uneasy. He had wanted her to fight back like always, he had wanted to goad her into hurting him because then they would have been even.

But she hadn't.

She had just stood there and taken it until she had calmly but politely asked him to excuse her. She had run upstairs and it had been his turn to stand in the living-room like an idiot.

Until he had eventually wandered to the back porch with a bottle.

There was a crashing noise inside the house and he bolted to his feet without a second thought, scared she had fallen or hurt herself.

"Effie?" he called from the kitchen but there was no answer.

He climbed the stairs two steps at a time and rushed to her bedroom. His racing heart calmed down when he spotted her, upright and apparently unhurt, although barefoot in the middle of a mess of broken glass.

It didn't take a genius to understand what had happened. Her suitcase was open on the bed with a few folded clothes already inside, her vanity was propped next to it, and her dresser was free of the bottles of perfume, pots of creams and whatever stuff she kept there. Her cheeks were wet with tears but also flushed with anger and he figured she had swept the whole thing off with her arm.

"Don't move." he told her, trying to find a solution.

There were shards of glass everywhere and he was barefoot too, having never taken the time to pull off his sweatpants to slip on proper clothes. He didn't trust her to stay put and not hurt herself long enough for him to fetch his slippers though, so he decided if one of them was going to get hurt, it would be him. He carefully took a step forward, trying to avoid the mess, but she took a step back.

"Do not touch me." she snapped.

He lifted both hands in a peaceful gesture. "You're gonna cut yourself."

"I will be fine." she hissed.

"You won't be fine if I need to get you to the clinic, yeah?" he retorted. "'Cause we all know how well you've been dealing with hospitals lately."

"I do apologize for being such a burden to you, Haymitch." she shot back. "Do not fret. You will get rid of me soon enough."

"Don't be stupid." he scoffed, backing away toward the door. "And don't fucking move."

It didn't take him long to fetch his slippers from his room and come back. She hadn't moved but she wasn't pleased about it. Her arms were folded across her chest as if she was half-sulking and half-hugging herself. She didn't look angry anymore. Just… upset.

She tensed when he wrapped his arms around her and she didn't make much of an effort to help, so he just scooped her up and placed her down at a safe distance from the broken mess. She immediately disappeared in her bathroom where she started emptying the cabinet over the sink. He closed it before she could take too much out, plastering his chest to her back.

"Stop." he requested in a grumble.

"Do not…" she started.

"I'm sorry." he mumbled pitifully, cutting her off.

There was a long silence.

He never apologized. Or almost never, in any case.

"I didn't mean any of it, sweetheart…" he winced. "It just… It was a bad night, yeah? And…"

"You were right." she interrupted him in a whisper, not meeting his eyes in the mirror. "I imposed. I came here without being invited and I abused your hospitality."

"I don't mind having you here." he frowned, sneaking an arm around her waist. "Come on, Effie… You know, I don't." He pressed a kiss against her neck, spreading her hand on her stomach. "I'll make it up to you." She dropped her head on his shoulder, giving him free access to her throat but she wasn't really responsive to his kisses or to his touch. He frowned, irritated with himself for being such an idiot. She was upset. Really upset. Upset enough that she wasn't being dramatic about it – which told him just how serious it was. "You're not leaving." he muttered against her skin.

"Perhaps I should." she countered. "Perhaps…"

"No." he growled, turning her around so her back was to the sink and he could look at her in the eyes. "You're not leaving. You're staying. End of that fucking discussion."

She licked her lips and dropped her eyes. "I know you feel guilty about what you said but you have been a good friend to me. The best friend one could ask for, really, and…"

"I'm a fucking asshole." he interrupted her. "You knew that already. What's new? I don't want you to go."

She breathed out a long sigh. "Haymitch…"

"Move in with me." Again, the words tumbled out without his consent. Those, though, he didn't quite regret.

"I believe I already did." she snorted. "And in the rudest fashion, with that."

"No." he scowled, awkwardly shuffling on his feet. He gently grabbed her chin and nudged it up so she would look at him. "Move in with me. In my room. Like… We aren't friends, sweetheart. We've never been friends. Let's stop pretending, let's do it for real."

She stared at him, uncertainty and hope battling on her face. "Are you simply saying this because you are worried you hurt my feelings?"

"I'm saying this 'cause I want it." he mumbled, his face burning crimson. "You. Us." He leaned in and pressed a kiss against her forehead. "I really fucking want it."

"Language." she chided him mechanically. "You do not ask a lady to move in with that sort of language."

He ignored that. "Come on, Effie… I…"

"Yes." she said. "If you are certain it is what you want, then… Yes."

Instead of answering, he kissed her.

He had always been more at ease with actions than words anyway.