Prompt : Could you expand on Effie having a sleeping pill problem? Maybe she won't wake up and it scares haymitch. Some time during the games thanks!

Sleep Syrup

Haymitch was always the last one up so it didn't come as a huge surprise to find everyone already sitting at the breakfast table when he walked in. He had made an effort to get dressed before showing up in the dining car too, since apparently watching him wander around the train in his tattered dressing gown and loose sweatpants was an offense to the fashion gods that were Cinna and Portia.

"Morning." he mumbled, making a beeline for the coffee pot. A chorus of good morning answered his greeting and he dropped on his chair at the head of the table, not making any attempt to partake in any of the conversations. Whatever Cinna and Katniss were talking about it sounded boring – something about the outfits she had officially designed to show as her talent – Peeta and Portia were chatting about whatever famous Capitol painter the boy was interested in meeting and Haymitch really wished they would all shut up and eat quietly because he liked his peace in the morning.

He slid the plate full of muffins closer to him and sulked when he realized there were only chocolate ones left.

"No blueberry?" he frowned. There was always at least one blueberry muffin for him. Effie always made sure.

"I ate the last one." Peeta said. "Sorry."

He waved the apology away but didn't take a chocolate one, snatching a toast and some jam instead. He glanced at the window, trying to figure out where they were… He wasn't sure how Four was going to go. It was a Career District, chances were that unrest would be low… He could do with a day without any execution.

"We're behind schedule or what?" he asked after a couple of minutes. "Where's Effie?"

Her absence was a bit conspicuous and he hoped it was just a problem of schedule. She always went ballistic when they were late and harassed the train attendants until they either remediate the problem or were so sick and tired of her nagging that they swore there was nothing they could do short of gluing wings to the train.

"I don't think she's up yet." Katniss answered distractedly. "I haven't seen her."

"I was about to check on her actually." Portia piped in. "It isn't like her to miss breakfast."

It wasn't like her at all. Haymitch snorted, amused that Miss Punctuality had overslept. To be fair though, she had still been reviewing speeches when he had given up and gone to bed and that had been well after two a.m. She had promised she wouldn't be long but by the time he had fallen asleep she hadn't joined him in bed.

He checked his watch, wondering if they could give her a few more minutes because she had been working herself to death during the Tour – as had he, for that matter – but he wasn't quite sure what the schedule was and he really wasn't in the mood to search for one of the color coded manila folders she had passed around on the first day. She was the only one who understood them anyway.

"Tell her it's an emergency. Peeta ate all the muffins." he joked when Portia stood up.

"You need glasses?" the girl huffed. "They're right there."

The following bickering lasted a couple of minutes, enough time for Portia to come back without their escort.

"Effie is feeling a little under the weather. She will join us later." she announced with a strained smile. "Haymitch, can I talk to you outside for a second?"

Feeling under the weather had never been reason enough for Effie to miss out on her duties and there was something he didn't like on the stylist's face. A look passed between her and Cinna but instead of following them outside the Capitol clearly aimed at distracting the kids. Haymitch was downright apprehensive by the time he had slid the door close behind him.

"What's wrong with her?" he attacked immediately, already striding down the corridor, forcing Portia to follow him.

"I can't wake her up." the stylist said, worry and panic clear in her voice. "I shook her and she's… She's breathing but…"

It was as if his lungs weren't working properly. Suddenly, there wasn't enough air.

What had they done to her? They must have done something. The Tour was a disaster, a message needed to be sent and the best way to do that…

Poison, he thought as he stopped walking to break into a run, so certain already that he was going to find her half-dead and all because he couldn't be bothered to wait for her before going to bed. He ignored Portia's calls of his name. She was struggling to keep up with her high heels.

He barged in Effie's bedroom and went straight for the bed, noticing the small things like how she was sleeping on her stomach and her blond hair was spread over her pillow, the pink wig from the previous day was abandoned on the other pillow, she hadn't taken her make-up off and she was still wearing the green dress she had on the previous night. The silk was all creased.

"Effie." he called – almost shouted really. He wasn't gentle when he pulled her up in a sitting position, pushing her blond hair out of her face so he could see…

She groaned in her sleep, her eyelids fluttered…

"You didn't let me finish!" Portia accused, out of breath, as she appeared on the threshold. She carefully shut the door behind her. "I think she took too much."

"Too much of what?" he snapped, still shaking Effie. "Come on, sweetheart. Open your eyes. Open your eyes for me." She was so out of it her head was rolling on her chest. He cupped her cheek, forced her to look up. "Effie, I fucking swear if you die on me…"

"She took too much sleeping syrup." Portia insisted, hovering next to the bed, worrying her hands in front of her.

The words made him freeze. "What?"

The stylist pointed to a small green glass bottle on the nightstand.

Worry and fear turned to anger awfully fast and he forgot to be gentle when he shook Effie next. "You're taking that shit again? Thought we were done with that crap, Trinket. So what, you upgraded from pills to syrup?" Her eyelids were drooping but her eyes were open now and he shook his head at her. "Look through the drawers, she probably has the pills version somewhere." he ordered Portia before roughly gathering Effie in his arms and lifting her up. Time for some radical measures.

"I don't think she does… I… It's my syrup." the stylist hesitated. "I gave it to her for Katniss… Because of the nightmares… But Katniss didn't want it and…"

The glare he shot her shut her up fast. For a moment he stood there, on the bathroom's threshold, seething with fury. He made a huge effort to remember Portia had no way of knowing that sleeping pills were a bit of a problem for Effie and that it was his escort who had taken the syrup in the first place.

Still, it meant that he wasn't exactly nice when he dropped Effie in the shower despite both of the women's more or less well articulated complains. He didn't hesitate one second before turning on the cold water. It splashed everywhere in the bathroom – and on the fucking suit he had taken pain to put on first thing that morning to avoid lectures too.

Effie let out a small cry but she still wasn't responsive enough for his tastes.

"What's the brilliant plan?" he spat at her, forcing her head up so the stream of water would hit her right on the face. It didn't do marvels for her already smudged make-up. "You wanna overdose on sleeping syrup, is that it? Or maybe you wanna get addicted to the shit again, yeah? 'Cause it was so fun with the pills the last time, why not try with the liquid version?" He gave her a rough shake. "Fucking answer me!"

"Haymitch, you are taking this too far." Portia snapped, clearly a little bit scared. "I am sure she did not do it on purpose. It was not…"

"When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it." he snarled.

"I'm sorry." Effie whispered, looking up at him with eyes filled with tears. She was scared too, that was plain to see.

And he couldn't help but think that it was good. She ought to be.

"You're sorry?" he sneered. "That's the explanation?"

She made an effort to try and stand. She looked pitiful, soaked to the bones, her teeth chattering but still not quite lucid enough to be able to keep her balance. He turned the water off but only because he was freezing too now that his clothes were damp. He grabbed her arm to steady her when she stepped out of the shower. She took the towel Portia offered with a grateful look for her friend.

She was still out of it though.

That was obvious to him.

"I am sorry. I'm not accust… accust…" she slurred and then shook her head because accustomed was too difficult a word for her sleep addled brain. "… used to the syrup. I must have taken too many drops. I…"

"Why did you take that shit in the first place?" he growled.

Effie looked from him to Portia almost imploringly. "I was so tired. I…"

"How long has this been going on?" he insisted.

"Haymitch." Portia cut in, in that tone of voice all Capitols took when they thought a District person was getting above themselves. "Perhaps this can wait until…"

"You stay out of this." he warned with an accusative finger pointed straight at her chest. "It's between me and Effie, you hear?" He turned back to his escort and glared harder, almost shaking with rage. "How long?"

Effie hesitated and it was enough for his hopes that it had been a onetime thing to fly away.

"Just a couple of times." she promised. "I… I am in complete control."

"Yeah, I can see that." he taunted.

"I just wanted to sleep!" she exploded, shrugging his grip off her arm – or attempting to at least, he wasn't confident enough she could stay on her feet without his help to let go. "I am sick and tired of watching people getting killed! I am sick and tired of dreaming about it! When I manage to fall asleep at all!"

They had been sharing a bed for the best part of the Tour and he wasn't sure how he had missed that. He wasn't exactly sleeping through the night either. If she had had nightmares, she could just have…

"And that's reason enough to go back to that shit?" he scoffed. "Need me to remind you what happened last time?"

The last time she had started relying on pills to get some rest at night she had eventually ran short and realized with a sickening panic that she couldn't go without. It hadn't been a nice few days and he had spent more than one night playing cards with her in the penthouse's living-room just to pass time while she rode out the restless energy that had come with something she had refused to call withdrawals. And then, later on, once her body had finally crashed he had been the one making sure she didn't kick the bucket.

No doctor could be involved, of course. She certainly wouldn't have been the first escort to get addicted to something but that was fine as long as it was behind closed doors. The moment a hint of that had hit the Gamemakers, she would have been replaced.

"No." she whispered, looking down at her feet.

She looked like a drown rat, she had no fight left in her and he just hated the sight.

"I can't deal with you when you're like this. You're pathetic." he spat, before shoving her toward Portia. "Make sure she's presentable before we get to Four."

It seemed like the stylist had a few chosen words for him but the woman was smart enough to keep them to herself for now. He heard Effie burst into tears well before he reached the door of her compartment. He didn't let himself be swayed.

They couldn't afford her breaking down.

Not now.

He went straight to his bedroom, downed three long mouthfuls of the bottle of liquor he kept on his nightstand and found another suit in his wardrobe. He had already worn it in Seven and he was sure his escort would usually have something to say about that – like the fact you didn't go to two events with the same outfit – but given the circumstances he didn't think she would even notice. She would be hangovered all day.

The next thing he did was hunt for the color coded folder he had apparently tossed under the bed at some point. He made sure the kids were ready on time and ignored every of Cinna's questions about what was really going on. When Effie eventually showed up with pink sunglasses on her nose that the District's sunny weather could easily explain, he played along with the headache charade.

The kids, at least, didn't seem to suspect anything was out of the ordinary.

The fact that he refused to address Effie at all, even when she openly asked him a question, wasn't lost on anyone but it wasn't unusual enough that anyone worried about it.

She was slowly but surely growing angry with him by the time they were done with the whole day and were escorted back to the train by stern-looking Peacekeepers.

The kids immediately scattered to their bedrooms and Haymitch accepted Cinna's offer for a game of chess before Effie could try and rope him into giving her two seconds of his time. Not that she seemed inclined to do that at the moment. She departed with a huff, followed closely by Portia. It might have been more impressive if the make-up hadn't done such a poor job of hiding the dark bags under her eyes and the pale complexion of her skin.

Fortunately, Cinna didn't try to question him – either because Portia had finally briefed him or because he respected his wish not to talk about it. They played chess in silence, Haymitch kicked his ass and Cinna eventually retired for the night, leaving him to sigh and go in search of his escort.

He was a little bit calmer now than he had been that morning – then again, he believed he was entitled to some freaking out after not being able to wake her up – he had had enough to drink throughout the day that he was buzzed without being too drunk. It was the best frame of mind for him to address serious issues with her.

She wasn't in her bedroom and she wasn't in his – not that he would have let her off the hoof if she had tried to seduce him but he might have given in a little quicker. He had to go through the whole train to find her in the very last car that passed as a smaller living-room of sort. There were armchairs, sofas, a pool table and a stereo the girls had obviously taken advantage of since he could hear music from a few feet away.

He didn't let himself hesitate before walking inside, aware that he might have gone a bit too far that morning but also certain he had been in his right.

The first thing he noticed was the breathtaking view. That was his favorite thing about this car, the bay window that formed a sort of bubble and afforded a clear view on all sides of the landscape they were rushing through.

The second thing he noticed was the smell and how quickly Effie handed the cigarette back to Portia. The two of them were sitting on the padded seat that lined the bay window.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, anger bubbling up once more. "Tell me you're not smocking what I think you're smocking."

It certainly didn't smell like tobacco.

"Don't start yelling at us again." Portia sighed. "This is light and…"

"I'm really not in the mood for a lecture on Capitol's recreational drugs." he growled, glaring at the stylist. "So, first you slip her sleep syrup, now you're getting her to smoke weed… What's next, sweetheart? You're just an awesome influence, ain't you?"

"Would you stop being so rude?" Effie snapped. "It is light and…"

"You, shut up." he commanded. "I don't know what's up with you today but you're smarter than this."

Thirteen years and she hadn't made one mistake except for that near miss with sleeping pills. She was too good to make mistakes. And now this? She didn't even drink more than two glasses when they were out because she insisted one of them ought to be sober – and he didn't think she even ever drank more than two glasses as a rule when she went to parties because she kept such a tight control on her public image.

"Effie is under a lot of pressure." Portia explained, defensive on behalf of her friend. "She needs to relax and…"

"Portia." he cut her off. "I actually like you so I'm gonna say this once: keep out of our business. And if I ever find out you've given her something again…"

"Don't you sound hypocritical to your own ears?" the stylist retorted, waving her special cigarette. "This is honestly nothing. It's…"

"Save it." he scoffed.

He knew all about the Capitols and their artificial paradises. He had been up there one time or two himself. And every time she had found out, Effie had cut him a new one for it.

And, yeah, he was being hypocritical. But he didn't care. Because at the end of the day, if he keeled over and died nobody would cry over him. Effie now…

"Would you give us a minute, Portia?" she requested.

The stylist didn't seem happy about it but she nodded and left the room.

"You're not that person." he said as soon as the door had closed behind her. "You're not that fucking person who says yes when her friends offer them something, Effie. I've been watching you say no to that shit for years."

"I wasn't… I only took a few drags." she sighed. "And it is light. I needed to relax, I felt like I was going to have a panic attack."

"Not the way to relax." he insisted.

"Would it be better for me to drink a whole bottle of tequila?" she shot back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I don't know, what do you think the kids would like best if they had to follow our stellar example: my booze or your drugs?" he deadpanned and then waved his hand. "You're a train wreck waiting to happen. You need to get a grip and you need to do it now."

"I am tired." she whispered.

"We're all tired." he snapped, raising his voice without really meaning to. "You think I enjoy watching those people get shot in the head? You think I enjoy dealing with Katniss when she's being so difficult I could knock her out? You think I like spending half my nights reviewing fucking terrible speeches?" He stared at her for a second and then ran his hand in his hair with a sigh, making an effort to lower his voice back down. "Fuck, Princess, it gets that hard you come to me."

"That would be a little difficult given that you spend most of your free time with Cinna." she answered calmly.

He could read between the lines clearly. She wasn't as fooled as he would like her to be by what was going on between him and their stylist. Or in the rest of Panem, for that matter.

"What's this, then? Kindergarten?" he snorted. "You're jealous 'cause I've got a new best friend?"

She studied him for a moment. They always had had a gift for understanding each other without actually talking.

"I simply mean you are busy." she clarified after a little while.

What she meant was that he was too busy launching a rebellion to take care of her.

"I'm never too busy for you, Princess. Should know that by now." he sighed and came to sit next to her, his arm on the back of the seat, his upper body twisted so he could watch her and the landscape they were leaving behind at the same time. He could guess at the ocean in the darkness, the water was gleaming under the stars. "The sleep syrup…"

"I know. It won't happen again." she promised, closing her eyes and relaxing a little. Her head came to rest on his forearm. He didn't move. "Last night… I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I haven't been sleeping for days…"

"You've been keeping it from me." he accused.

They had been sleeping in the same bed more often than not since the beginning of the Tour. There was no way he wouldn't have noticed her coming and going at night. Although to be fair, they had been going to bed pretty late and he did tend to sleep more deeply when she was there – not to mention she left him exhausted after they blew some steam…

"I am tired." she said again, as if it was an explanation to everything.

And maybe it was.

"It's gonna be over soon." he offered, curling his arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer to his chest. She went willingly enough, pressing her forehead against his neck.

"Will it?" she whispered.

The Tour would be. But the Tour… The Tour was only the tip of the iceberg.

He rested his head on top of hers but didn't answer. He didn't want to lie. "No more syrup, no more pills and no more weed."

"Am I allowed cigarettes?" she snorted, a touch mocking.

"Can I stop you?" he teased, brushing his thumb against her shoulder. "I'm serious though. I need you to keep your head in the game, Effie. We're a team, yeah?"

"Always." she hummed, curling up against him a little more. "I am sorry."

"Alright." he accepted. "Can't say I'm sorry I yelled but… You know."

"Alright." she echoed in a small voice.

He had a feeling she was about to fall asleep on him.

He didn't try to stop her.