Prompt: After the films/books Effie stays in the Capitol and has to turn to desperate measures to make ends meet and maybe Haymitch finds out she's a rostitute or something and she denies it so he tricks her by arranging an appointment under a fake name and when they come face to face angst angst angstttttt

Surrender

The bar was as shady as it could get and Effie mused that it was probably the only reason nobody had called her out on her smocking yet. At any nicer place in town, a bartender would already have asked her to put her cigarette out by now – not to inconvenience any other customer – but not in there, of course. In there, people smelled, glasses were stained and alcohol tasted like dust. And there were women like her, in short dresses that showed their cleavage, sitting in different spots and regularly making eye contact with lonely men.

She took a sip of her whiskey and washed the taste down with a drag of her cigarette.

She wished she hadn't ordered whiskey that night.

She also wished he would hurry and make up his mind.

She shifted on the stool, uncrossing her legs and turning her back to the room, staring at the fingers that held her cigarette. Her nail polish was chipped and the Effie Trinket from before the war would have probably been horrified at her appearance. No fake nails, no wig, no designer dress or shoes… She should stop wasting money on cigarettes, really. She struggled to keep a roof over her head as it was – and the phrase was a lucky one because her apartment was barely more than that: a roof – and only ate a couple of times a week when she really couldn't put it off any longer. Cigarettes were a luxury. However it was her last guilty pleasure and she clung to it with all her might.

She fingered the scratched silver lighter Finnick had once gifted her with, wondering how long she would be able to keep it. The problem was, even if she went to a pawnbroker… So many people were parting with their belongings nowadays it was hard to get a good price for what used to be expensive. The lighter might be enough for a month or two of rent. Although she might come to other arrangements with the landlord if it came down to that… What was one more humiliation?

She felt the air shift to her right, she heard the screeching of the stool being dragged away from the bar. She didn't look up. She calmly placed her lighter down and brought the cigarette to her lips. The cheap distasteful red lipstick had left a mark on the bud.

She waited for him to speak first.

Was she supposed to be surprised? Was she supposed to pretend she hadn't seen him sneaking in twenty minutes ago and settling at a table in a corner? Was she supposed to pretend she hadn't been aware of his staring all that time? She had known the moment he had stepped inside the bar. It was like a tingle at the back of her nape. Something too familiar and too intimate for her not to recognize it at once.

She waited and waited but he never said a word. After a few minutes, he signaled the barman he wanted a refill and she grew bored with his game. Her cigarette was almost all gone and she crushed what was left of it in the ashtray the barman had provided with a frown earlier before it could burn her fingers. She took a sip of her whiskey and cast a glance around, annoyed because with him there no other man would approach her that night. She had been making that drink last for over two hours and all for nothing.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

She had never been good at the silent game anyway.

Haymitch shifted to face her, drumming his fingers against the rim of his glass. "Thought that would be my line."

Then he should have hurried up and delivered it.

"Don't make me ask again." she spat.

The last time she had seen him, he had been leaving for Twelve and had asked her to go with him. As if he hadn't spent years denying having anything resembling feelings for her. As if the Capitol hadn't snatched her up and tortured her for months. As if she hadn't been left behind by the rebels when they had freed the victors. As if she was obliged to pack up and leave the only place she had ever called home behind simply to attenuate his guilt. As if she would have had the strength of going back to being the warm body he crawled to when he had an itch to scratch.

They hadn't parted on the best terms.

She had never been stupid enough to think that meant they would never see each other again. They couldn't help themselves. They always gravitated back to each other. To hurt. To fuck. To crumble.

In her wildest dreams, it was him who came groveling back, begging for her forgiveness.

In her most lucid moments, she knew when it happened it would most likely be her showing up on his doorstep, expecting him to clean up after her messes just like she had been cleaning after his for years.

The fact that he could show up here had never occurred to her. It wasn't something she would have revealed to him given the chance.

"Plutarch called me." he shrugged, sounding dejected. As if he was the one sitting there out of necessity.

"Keeping tabs on me, are we?" she snorted, not surprised but still irritated.

"Effie…" he said softly, far too seriously.

"So." she cut him off before he could say something stupid. "Are you here for the dashing rescue? You are taking a liking to playing the knight in shiny armor, I see."

The gibe was teasing but there was a steel underlying that he didn't miss. He licked his lips and took a long gulp of his whiskey. She wondered if his also tasted like dust or if the barman had recognized him and taken out the good stuff.

"Not even gonna deny it?" he challenged.

"Is there a point in me denying it?" she deadpanned. She was sitting in a shady bar with a dress that barely kept her decent at an ungodly hour of the night in a part of town that was known for exactly what she was doing there. "Are you looking to buy? Fifty for a blow job. A hundred for the whole thing. Any particular habits can be negotiated for a price. There's an ally next to the bar or a motel down the street but if you want a room, you are paying. Condoms are mandatory."

She wasn't sure why she said that. She knew he would never take her up on that offer and a part of her was sorry for it. It was the part who sometimes ordered whiskey in shady bars on days she felt sad just because the taste reminded her of him. She wanted to provoke him, to hurt him.

He barely flinched.

"Cheap." he commented.

And that hurt her. She never let it show though. She hid it behind the cheerful mask of the escort and if the veneer was cracked nobody had ever noticed before. He would naturally and he did but that was neither here nor there.

"That's me." she chuckled, taking a sip of her whiskey. He always used to taste like whiskey when they kissed.

Her fake cheerfulness annoyed him. "Do you hate me that much that you would prefer…" He faltered but soon made a face and soldiered on. "… whoring yourself out rather than call me for help?"

She lifted her eyebrows, an amused smile playing on her lips. "Are we truly going to pretend I never sold myself for money before?" She fished another cigarette from her packet and wedged it between her lips just to have something to do with her hands. She lit it with irritation because she tried to limit herself to one a day. She blew out the smoke directly in his face exactly like he hated. He coughed and she grinned. "At least now I get to keep the money."

"I would have helped." he insisted. "I will help. You just have to say the word."

She considered him for a moment. "I do not need nor want your guilt, Haymitch. Or worse… your pity."

"It's not guilt and it's not fucking pity." he protested, raising his voice only to lower it again when a few heads turned in their direction. "Effie, for fuck's sake… I…" He closed his mouth and opened it again like a fish. The words clearly wouldn't come out and she could only watch, detached, as he flushed with frustration. In the end, he downed his glass of whiskey and gestured for another. He waited until the barman had come and gone to speak again. "You know how I feel about you."

She accidentally swallowed the smoke of her cigarette and coughed, watching him with incredulity.

"Do I know how you feel about me?" she hissed. "You made that very clear enough times. You might care for my body but you certainly have never cared for me." Although that wasn't entirely true and she shook her head. "A friend." she amended before he could say anything. "I suppose you considered me a friend. A friend with benefit."

"That's not true." he scowled, staring at his whiskey. His fingers clenched the glass hard before slowly uncurling. "Well, yeah… I suppose that's how I put it before."

"Before people treated me like a dog to get back at you?" she asked flatly, hating the fact that her fingers were shaking.

"Before I spent months worried sick about you. Missing you." he countered. He reached out for her free hand but he didn't make contact. His fingers stayed there, hovering over hers… "Effie, come on. You've always known me better than I knew myself. You knew. You must have."

She turned her hand so that her palm would be up. Slowly, he lowered his. His skin was dried and calloused and she wondered what he had been up to in Twelve. Chopping wood, perhaps. It was that time of the year, she figured.

"Sweetheart…" he whispered, leaning into her space. He didn't try to kiss her and she was strangely disappointed about that, he simply stayed there, so close she could feel his warmth. Breathing her in. She breathed him in too. His smell. She closed her eyes. She dreamed about his smell sometimes. She conjured it after bad dreams, clung to the memory like a shield. She had done that in her cell too. "Why didn't you call me?"

There was so much pain in his voice…

"I would have eventually." she admitted. "I will. When I am drowning, I will."

"Cause you're not drowning now?" he scoffed bitterly, resting his forehead on her shoulder. "You don't need to do this shit."

"I need to pay the rent." she sighed, taking a drag of her cigarette.

He looked up, eyes pleading. "Come home with me."

"You would not like my home, Haymitch, I can assure you." she laughed, pretending not to understand. She had refused him once already. "It is small."

"You know what I mean." he pressed, refusing to be deterred. His thumb brushed along hers in a tentative caress.

"You would have me exchanging a job as a prostitute for one of kept mistress." she stated.

"It wouldn't be like that." he growled, vexed she would think so and a bit flushed from embarrassment. "I ain't gonna force you to… I've got a guest room you can use and… We don't have to… It doesn't have to be like that."

She knew and had never suspected otherwise. Haymitch was a lot of things but he wasn't… that sort of man.

"I don't need you." she objected more gently than she intended, trying to soften the blow. "Not yet."

He rolled his eyes and squeezed her hand. "Cause you haven't drowned yet? Might be the fucking point, don't you think? Not to drown?" She took a long sip of her whiskey, noting with chagrin that her glass was almost empty. She didn't think she had enough on her to buy herself another one. Haymitch signaled the bartender to refill her glass before she could say anything. "Since when do you even like whiskey?"

"I don't." she whispered. "I only drink it when I miss you." The admission was difficult and by far too painful. She forced a smile on her lips and flicked ashes off her half consummated cigarette. "How are the children?"

"They're well enough." he dismissed and she supposed it was already something. There had been no guarantee that they would recover at all. "I've got a solution for all that missing me business, you know. Better than whiskey." He let go of her hand to play with a strand of her hair. "Come back with me, sweetheart. Please."

"You could always stay." she deadpanned, simply to be contradictory. She knew there was no hope of that ever happening.

"That's what it would take to convince you I mean that I…" He fell silent and let go of her hair to grab her lighter. He toyed with it, nervously making it turn between his fingers. "Ain't sure it's doable but it's been a year… Katniss is doing alright. Maybe I can talk to Paylor… Maybe…"

"You are serious." she said with some genuine surprise. "You would stay."

"Wouldn't have left without you in the first place if it hadn't been about the girl." he grumbled. "Told you at the time. I asked you to come with me. I'm asking you again."

"One would think you would take a hint." she retorted.

"One doesn't know you very well, yeah?" he snorted. "You like to make me beg. That's your stuff."

"You never beg." she scoffed. Or very rarely anyway. She had enjoyed making it happen, yes. He was never vocal in bed and she had made it her life goal to make him moan or plead for release.

"That's what you want? You want me to beg you to forgive me?" he asked and, again, he sounded a little too genuine. As if he would just drop to his knees right there if she requested it. As if he was that desperate.

She waved her hand, annoyed to realize her cigarette was almost gone and she hadn't really smoked it. She discarded it in the ashtray, keeping her eyes averted. "I forgive you. Is that what you want to hear? Does your conscience feel better now? I forgive you."

He studied her for a long time. "Then, come home."

"Home…" she repeated. "Twelve is not my home."

"The Capitol isn't either." he pointed out. "What do you have here?"

"What would I have there?" she joked.

"The kids." he shrugged. "Me. You wouldn't have to do anything for fifty miserable bucks. You could…"

"Stop being a destitute?" she finished.

"That's so bad?" he scowled. "You almost sound like you're enjoying this."

"I am not." she snapped, drinking half her glass in one go. "You think I like letting those men…" She turned her head away. "I was foolish enough to fall in love with you once. I do not think I ever stopped, truly, but pain has a way of dulling things, does it not? If I were to go back to Twelve with you… How long do you think before I fall for you again? How long before we go back to how things were? I cannot, Haymitch. It will kill me. Unrequited love is…"

"It ain't unrequited." he cut her off in a mutter. "How much plainer can I get?" It was a stupid question and he rolled his eyes. "Look… Just come with me… You can stay with the kids if you don't want to stay with me. You can stay like… a week… Tell them it's for a visit. Feel the water. They miss you."

"I hardly think Katniss misses me but it is kind of you to say." she chuckled.

"Come for a visit." he insisted. "See how it goes. Please, sweetheart. Just… Get out of here. Let me help."

He outstretched his hand and it was tempting, so tempting…

A part of her rebelled at the thought of accepting because she was an independent woman, she had always been independent and now…

But the biggest part was tired and she wanted to believe him when he said – or implied – he loved her…

Slowly, very slowly, she took his hand.

And she surrendered.