Prompt: post-mj, Effie wants to go out on a real date with Haymitch and says she won't have sex with him until he takes her out, haymitch caves, and the night gets steamyyy

The Certainty Of Us

Haymitch tugged on the tie strangling him, rolling his eyes when he glimpsed Effie's pout.

"Don't even try to start nagging." he grumbled. "You wanted a date, you got a date. Don't rant on me 'cause you know I hate those things."

The pout deepened and Effie sighed, stabbing a piece of carrot with her fork. Delicately, of course. It couldn't be said that Effie Trinket lacked manners. He looked around, studying the people sitting at the nearby tables. All couples. It wouldn't have been like that if they had just gone to Sae's like he had first intended. But no. Effie had wanted to try out the new restaurant in town, the romantic one. And now it was all candles and soft music and waiters and overpriced food. People were dressed up – as dressed up as it got in Twelve, at least – and Haymitch was uncomfortable.

Effie had been ranting about going out for months and Haymitch had resisted with all he had worth because… what was the point of going on dates when they had been living together for three years? To keep the romance alive, apparently. As if they had ever been about the romance.

She had finally roped him into agreeing by refusing to have sex with him. Oh, he had held on for as long as he had been able to… But in the end, he had been forced to cave.

So the deal was the deal. He took her on a real proper date – and not just for dinner at Sae's – and he would get lucky.

It had brought back memories to watch her get ready, putting on more make-up than usual, struggling to fit in a tight red dress that she hadn't worn in years…

She had been so breathtaking when she had walked down the stairs that the whole thing had almost seemed worth it.

At least until they had gotten within sight of the restaurant and he had started to feel completely ridiculous. She had even cleared her throat pointedly when he had plopped down on his chair without drawing hers back for her. Never happy, that woman.

Her menu didn't have prices on it and, maybe if it had, she wouldn't have gone for the lobster – which was easily the most expensive thing on offer – loudly exclaiming that she hadn't had any since she had left the Capitol. She had insisted on the full meal too, with starters and dessert. And wine and champagne.

It wasn't like they were short of money, not really, but adding everything together… It seemed a waste when he could have filled the fridge and the pantry three times for the same amount.

He had eaten in an annoyed silence, barely paying attention to her happy chatter until it had died down. Now she was silent too but it was more a sort of morose quiet that didn't suit her at all. She looked sad and disappointed and he wasn't enough of an idiot not to realize it had to do with him and his behavior.

But he really hadn't wanted to do this and…

"Let's go home." Effie said.

"We haven't had dessert yet." he frowned.

She had been looking forward to that chocolate mousse.

"I am no hungry anymore." she dismissed, crossing her cutlery on the still half full plate and folding her napkin. She hadn't even finished her lobster. She stood up before he could tell her off about that and strode away, causing heads to turn because… Well. She was gorgeous.

By the time he had paid the bill, she had gotten her wrap and clutch back from the cloakroom and she was waiting outside. She didn't say anything at all when they started walking in the direction of the Village and he didn't dare ask if the aborted date meant she would go on with the sex strike.

Given the deadly silence all the way home and the way she slammed the front door shut behind them, he suspected that was a big fat yes to the sex strike question. A part of him wanted to get angry and have it out with her because it was how they resolved their problems: screaming matches that often ended up in bed but reminded them of the important thing: what they meant to each other.

"You're gonna sulk all night?" he challenged, half hoping for a fight.

She clearly wasn't in a fighting mood because she simply looked sad and she didn't even glance back on her way up the stairs. "We are not doing this. I am tired."

He rolled his eyes at her departing back, more and more ill-at-ease by the second. She had just wanted a nice evening out. It had been three years. Maybe it wasn't such an impossible thing to request coming from a woman he shared his life with. He wasn't, after all, known for his romantic skills and she adored romance.

He headed to the kitchen, automatically putting some water to boil, knowing she would probably like some tea before going to bed – and he poured a generous amount of moonshine in his own mug because she would be none the wiser.

The jacket, waistcoat and tie were discarded on the back of a kitchen chair and he rolled up his sleeves, waiting for the kettle to whistle. He heard her come back downstairs just as he was taking the tea bags out of the mugs. She wasn't making much noise, only the squeaking stairs betrayed her, so he figured she had taken off her heels and probably changed for the night.

The front door opened and closed quietly and, with a sigh, Haymitch grabbed the mugs and headed out too. She looked up at him when he stepped out, clearly not very happy with his presence.

She had sat on the padded bench next to the door, the red dress having been exchanged for pink shorts and a white camisole –not the pajamas she wore when she wanted to seduce him – and she was fiddling with her old silver lighter.

"You're ever gonna quit for good one day?" he grumbled, nodding at the battered packet of cigarettes on her lap. If she thought he didn't know about the occasional smoke she took behind his back, she should have known better. Then again, he usually kept his peace about it because as far as he knew it wasn't a regular thing. Just an old habit she couldn't resist when she was upset.

"Are you ever going to quit drinking?" she retorted, wedging the cigarette between her lips and lighting it up almost as a challenge.

He shrugged. "Not likely."

She didn't make any attempt to take her mug from him so he placed it on the seat next to her and leaned against the wooden balustrade instead of trying to join her.

"You can take it back." she declared. "I want yours."

He frowned. "Why? That one's strawberry…"

"Yes, but yours is spiked." she snorted, drawing a long drag of her cigarette. "Do you truly think you are the only one aware of the other's guilty pleasures?"

He mulled that over for a second, gave a look of yearning to his tea and then exchanged the two mugs with a sigh, kissing his herbal tea goodbye. He didn't even like her strawberry shit.

She wrapped her hand around the warm ceramic and folded her long legs under her, letting her eyes wander past him and to the sky. There weren't many stars out tonight, it was a little cloudy.

He cleared his throat. "Look…"

"Don't." she snapped.

"But…" he argued, irritated that she wouldn't let him plead his case.

"I do not need you to explain, I know all our excuses." she interrupted him again. "You hate dates. You hate putting on a suit, never mind a tie. You hate acting like a gentleman. You hate making an effort."

"Now, that's unfair…" he spat. "I never…"

"Shall we review the list of things I hate?" she continued. "I hate having to clean up after you just because you can't be bothered to realize you aren't living alone anymore, as if I was your maid instead of the woman who shares your life. I hate the fact that I live in a place without decent shops or latest technology despite the fact that we could now choose to move anywhere we please. I hate your filthy birds, particularly when you forget yet again to close both the pen and the back door and they invade my house."

"Didn't know it was such a hardship to live here with me." he sneered "If it's so difficult why don't you…"

But before he had time to say something he could regret, she went on.

"I hate the fact that you correct people when they refer to me as your wife." she hissed, her eyes filling with tears. "I hate the fact that I feel ashamed when you do that because it feels like you are publicly rejecting me."

That stunned him into silence.

She stared at him hard for a long moment and, when he said nothing, she simply looked away and took another drag of her cigarette.

"I hate the fact that you take me for granted." she whispered. "I hate the fact that I know you are right in that regard because I never left despite everything." She shook her head. "I hate all that and yet I am still here. And I won't leave. Because I love you too much for that and I understand a relationship is about efforts and compromises. And I understand you do some too, I understand I am not easy to live with either, I do, but sometimes… Sometimes I would just like to feel like you actually desire me enough to go the extra-length for me. And not just because you want me to have sex with you but because… Because life without me would be unbearable to you." She chuckled and took a sip of her tea. "Stupid fancy."

Something nasty was coiling in his belly. Dread. He hadn't realized and…

He did take her for granted. He always had.

And if she were to leave…

"Not stupid." he admitted, rubbing his neck. He winced and placed the mug of tea on the balustrade. "I am an ass."

"Language." she muttered.

"You like jerk better?" he teased with a hesitant smirk.

She glanced at him, amusement flickering in her eyes beneath the hurt. "You always were anyway. It is my own fault for having expectations."

"You should have expectations." he shrugged awkwardly. "This isn't… It's not like before. I'm… I'm serious about you and me, you know that, yeah? Didn't wake up after the war with a sudden desire to play house with someone. It was you. I just…"

"I know." she said quietly. "I know what you feel for me but my point still stands." She angrily flicked some ash off and took another draft. "I just wanted a nice night out, that was all. We are… We are so set in our routine, Haymitch."

"You like routine." he protested defensively. She was the one insisting on keeping to her schedules, insisting it gave her a stability she desperately needed after the war.

"Yes, I do." she admitted. "But when it comes to our love life… Aren't you afraid the flame will die if we do not try to keep it alive? Aren't you afraid to wake up one morning and realize you do not love me anymore? That you just love the certainty of our routine?"

"No." he said without any moment of hesitation. "If there's one thing I never doubt, it's that. You." He shrugged. "Maybe that's taking you for granted too but I know what I feel. I know it's not the kind of stuff that fades away just like that."

Her face softened. "So sure of us…"

"What's there not to be sure about?" he retorted. "Sweetheart, we lasted thirteen years of Games, a year of war and four years of peace… I'm pretty confident the next decades should be easy compared to that." He sighed. "Now, you want a night out, you can get a night out and I can try not to be an ass about it."

She pouted but it was less sad than amused now. "I did so want to taste that chocolate mousse…"

He waved his hand magnanimously. "You can have the mousse. And the lobster."

"And you won't complain about the bill?" she asked sweetly, lifting her eyebrows up in mock surprise.

"Tell you what…" he smirked. "How about I don't complain about the bill and you forget about forcing a tie around my neck? How does that sound?"

"Acceptable." she agreed, taking a last drag of her cigarette before crushing it against the floor. Since it was wood and he didn't want to risk a fire, he quickly stomped on it. "I will try to refrain from complaining about your geese."

"And I'll stop correcting people when they think you're my wife." he added as an afterthought, not meeting her eyes. "Don't really do it on purpose. It's just… Any wife of mine…" He shook his head. "That's in the past. You've got a point."

"Are you asking me to marry you?" she perked up.

"Now, you're jumping the gun." He made a face.

"Oh, yes, I truly am." she scoffed. "How did you put it again? Thirteen years of Games, one year of war, four years of peace… I really am jumping the gun, aren't I?"

He watched her for a second and then rubbed his face. "Are you messing with me? 'Cause you were upset and now I can't tell if you're meaning it or just mocking me."

He was too old for proposals and weddings and the whole shebang she would no doubt insist on.

"Mostly." she teased. "Although you missed a golden opportunity to save the romance tonight was supposed to be about."

"How about I say I'm gonna think about it?" he winced.

"As long as you are aware I am going to expect an engagement ring on my lobster…" she hummed.

"Now you're messing with me." he snorted.

She took a long mouthful of her spiked tea, nudging his leg with her bare foot. "I will have you know in some restaurants when a man proposes to a woman, the meal is free. Think about it as an insensitive."

He kissed her to make her shut up, pleased when she responded to it instead of pushing him away.

He was sure she was going to tease him about this for a while to come still.