This is an umprompted one shot. I got the line from a post reblogged on the hayffiepenthouse: "You know, maybe if you actually tried then we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Debriefing

Effie's every move was always graceful and poised – a childhood full of strict governesses and etiquette lessons had seen to that much – but she had refined passive-aggressive to an art form and while there was nothing outwardly aggressive to the way she was sipping her cocktail, she was fairly certain Haymitch could perfectly read just how furious she was.

He liked to act dumb and blind but she knew him better than that.

The same way he knew she wasn't just a pretty face.

"Will you relax already?" he grumbled, having the grace to sound just a tiny bit ill-at-ease. He took a big gulp of his whiskey, kept it in his mouth for a second like the ruffian he was and then swallowed it hard, slouching a little more down the couch.

If Katniss and Peeta hadn't retreated to their bedrooms and Cinna and Portia weren't somewhere on the floor doing who knew what – she liked the stylists, she did, it was perhaps the first year they had ever gotten competent ones, and Cinna was a rising name in the fashion field so she was all very determined to butter him up to secure herself a spot in his next runaway regardless of his talent, but it was unnerving to have stylists actually behaving like they were part of the team instead of suffering the indignity of working for Twelve – she might have just started shouting and be done with it.

Ladies didn't shout, of course, but Haymitch always had a gift to make her forget about the strict governesses, the etiquette lessons and her mother's disapproving looks every time she uttered one word higher than the next.

Shouting at him wasn't exactly unprecedented.

But this wouldn't be the fun kind of shouting either.

This wouldn't end up with them pressed against a wall, his heavy breath in her ear and his hands under her dress.

And not just because there were other people somewhere in the penthouse but because this was serious.

"She shot at the Gamemakers." she stated, curbing her voice into something flat, something… normal.

And then she started pacing the length of the living-room again because while she would never do something as plebeian as bite her nails, she needed an outlet for that anxiety that was making her stomach churn. How she was supposed to eat dinner in fifteen minutes – a celebratory dinner to congratulate the children on their surprising high scores, no less – she wasn't sure.

"She shot a roasted boar." Haymitch nuanced. "Cause they weren't paying attention. It showed punk. They liked it. Move on already."

"They liked it?" she huffed, pausing in her pacing to stare at him, her glass forgotten in her hand. "If they had liked it, as you say, Seneca wouldn't have felt the need to tug me into an empty room to warn me I needed to keep a better watch on my tribute."

"Like it's the first time Crane tugs you in an empty room… Bet you liked it. You were disappointed when he just wanted to talk about the girl?" he scoffed. They glared at each other. She wasn't in the right mood for his possessive display or his jealous streak though and it must have been perfectly written on her face because his glare slowly but surely faded into annoyance and he averted his eyes. "It's all fine, Effie."

"Fine." she repeated, half-choking on the word. "Are you being stupid on purpose? Can't you see…"

"What I can see…" he cut her off firmly, harshly. "… is that we have a shot this year."

She pursed her lips, unable to deny the point. They had a shot. Even she could see it. Katniss was victor material through and through. And Peeta… Peeta was sweet and strong and had a fairer chance than most of Twelve's tributes but she wasn't entirely certain he had what it took to become a survivor. It demanded some ruthlessness that the boy severely lacked. Still, though, he had a shot too. Both of their tributes did.

"That does not justify this kind of display." she argued. "Shooting at Gamemakers… What is next, Haymitch?"

She stopped short of her very sarcastic shooting at President Snow? Even as a joke, this wasn't the sort of things you wanted to say where bugs could pick it up.

"It's done. They gave her an eleven." he snapped, finishing his drink in one go before hauling himself off the couch. "You know what kind of sponsoring offers we can get with an eleven? She did good, sweetheart. Let it go."

But she couldn't let it go.

There were alarm bells ringing all over her mind.

Seneca hadn't actually said much but it was in all he hadn't said that she had seen the danger. Shooting at Gamemakers… From a girl who had volunteered. In Twelve. It was dangerous. It could either become a good story or… Katniss had no clue how to manage her image, she had no clue about the impact she could have…

"You are her mentor." she reminded him. "You need to tell her to be more careful. You need to explain…"

"Explain what?" he cut her off again, properly annoyed now. He poured himself another drink, tossed chunks of ice that made whiskey splash everywhere and finally turned to face her. "They're shipping her in an arena. Chances are she's probably gonna die. What do you want me to explain to her, Effie?"

There were a lot of things she wanted to say, none of which she could say out loud in the living-room. If they had been on the roof, it would have been a very different matter. But right then… She glanced up in reflex, because that was always what she did when she was over conscious their every word was being recorded.

"You know, if you actually tried maybe we would not be in this mess." she accused in a hiss even if it was unfair.

He had been trying that year. He had been cutting down on his liquor, he had actually given the children advices, he hadn't complained when she had dragged him to sponsor meetings and he had actually bothered to turn on the charm when it came to asking for money.

Far from being offended though, he lifted his eyebrows, a mocking expression on his face. Probably because he knew she was being petty on purpose. She pursed her lips and turned her head aside, irritated by him, by herself, by Katniss' impulsiveness…

She heard him come closer but she stood her ground, too annoyed to retreat. He brushed his free hand against her jaw, a ghost of a caress, and then coiled it around her nape, wedging it partially under the pink wig. It took a lot of silent kneading on his part for her to finally relax a fraction. She met his eyes again, not hiding how wary she felt about this whole situation – how scared.

"Anything like that happens again, it's on me." he promised.

Anything like that happened again and there would be in a lot more troubles than a stern warning in an empty room by her best friend.

"But it is not." She sighed. "It is on both of us." She tilted her head a little, briefly resting it on his wrist. "As it should be. We are a team, aren't we?"

He squeezed her nape one last time, his lips stretching into a small smirk. "Always, sweetheart."

He dropped his hand just as the sound of voices announced the stylists' return to the living-room. She forced a bright cheerful smile on her lips and it was as if nothing had happened at all even though she didn't feel any calmer.

But Haymitch was in her corner so she supposed it was already something…

You won't let me believe Effie didn't see the danger in that move haha! I hope you liked this! Let me know!