Prompt : Hey, I have a prompt for you, maybe you want to consider it. In my hc the remaining victors and especially Effie as the last escort alive are still of a certain interest even after the war. So what if some reporters make their way to Twelve to write a story about their life now and Haymitch needs to protect Effie who hasn't really recovered from her time in prison yet? And she realizes all over again that she's safe with him? Could that work ?

A Visit From The Press

Effie used to think life was only worth living in a whirlwind of activities but after the war she had come to rethink that theory. She had been surprised, when she had first moved to Twelve, to realize there were ways to not be idle that didn't involve running from party to party, chain smoking cigarettes, downing drink after drink of non-alcoholic cocktails, fighting to get a photoshoot over someone else, or gossiping behind someone's back.

Life in Twelve was boring by Capitol standards and after the months in prison and the period that had followed, it had been a relief. She had come to relish the quiet routine. Her days were mostly the same without her having to scribble down a schedule – although she did sometimes, behind Haymitch's back, because it soothed her nerves to have a timetable written black on white – she would wake up early, have a shower, attempt to cook herself some breakfast if Haymitch wasn't yet up to do it for her, spend the morning at the bakery to help Peeta, have lunch at home with Haymitch, spend the afternoon doing something or other around the house, have dinner with the children either at home or at their house, share a mug of herbal tea on the porch with Haymitch if the weather was good, then they would go to bed and everything would start all over again.

It varied from day to day, of course. There were market days and mornings when Haymitch convinced her to linger in bed for so long she completely forgot to go help Peeta, days when Katniss required her attention, days when she felt like cleaning the whole house from floor to ceiling or redecorating… There was freedom. She was learning how to be herself far from the glamour and the cameras and she was enjoying it very much.

She hadn't known who she was anymore after her stay in the Capitol cells, but now she thought she was simply Effie Trinket and she was learning to love it.

She was sketching absentmindedly at the kitchen table, trying to find the perfect form for the dress she wanted to design for herself, when Haymitch walked in, his book in one hand and his empty glass in the other. It was the third one that day by her count but he might have sneaked a few mouthfuls behind her back – she pretended not to know about that, first because he was actually trying to keep a lid on his drinking and also because it made her feel better about the occasional cigarette she allowed herself when he wasn't looking.

He briefly coiled his hand around her nape as he walked past, brushing his thumb against the side of her neck, before going to the sink to discard the glass.

"I'm going to feed the geese." he told her, tossing his book on the counter and getting the grains from the cupboard.

"Alright." she hummed distractedly, focused on her sketching.

He was outside for a few minutes when she heard the knocks on the front door. The children never knocked and mostly used the back door but she didn't think twice about it when she went to answer, musing it might be Sae looking for Haymitch or one of the neighbors' boys looking for a job to earn some money – Haymitch said she was too soft because she kept paying the surrounding kids to do errands or mown the lawn even when it wasn't needed but they had more than enough money to spare and she liked seeing the children's face brightening when she gave them a few notes or coins.

She wasn't prepared to be assaulted by the flash of a camera as soon as she opened the door. She staggered back, blinking under the harsh flashes of lighting and raising a hand to protect her eyes.

"Miss Trinket!" a cheerful voice piped. " Just the person we wanted to see! Would you care for an interview with Capitol Gossip? We're doing a special page on you and it would be so much better if you would care to comment! First of all, what is the nature of yours and Haymitch Abernathy's relationship and what do you think about the rumors that the only reason you escaped the Purge was that you were his lover?"

She blinked harder, stumbling further back in the house, her heart pounding in her chest, her head spinning… That wasn't part of Twelve's routine. She had left that behind in the Capitol. She tried to close the door but the photographer blocked it with his foot, still taking picture after picture, and the woman boldly stepped inside, waving her recording device under her nose.

"Miss Trinket? How long have you been Haymitch Abernathy's lover? Is it true you were tortured during the war or was it just all claims to defuse the scandal you escaping the law because of your involvement with a key player of the rebellion would have caused?" the woman insisted.

Effie felt trapped and she would have run away if she hadn't walked back into something firm and strong. An arm immediately wrapped around her waist and she screeched, half-certain she was back in the Capitol prison.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Haymitch growled, sounding so angry she flinched. He pushed her behind him, snatched the recorder and grabbed the photographer by the collar of his shirt before the man could flee. "I said what the fuck is going on?"

"We're simply doing an interview with Miss Trinket." the woman answered quickly, looking nervous. "Kindly unhand Martous this instant. We did nothing wrong, we were invited in."

Effie was vaguely aware of Haymitch glancing at her over his shoulder. All she could do was shake her head.

"You're not allowed in the Victors' Village." he spat. "First thing I'm doing once I've kicked your friend's ass out of my house is calling Plutarch Heavensbee. You know who that is, right? You can kiss your job goodbye, sweetheart."

The woman huffed and puffed, clearly outraged to be talked to like that. "Press is not allowed to approach any of Twelve's victors. She is not one of Twelve's victors."

Haymitch grabbed the camera, tossed it on the floor and stomped on it three times for good measure.

"Get the fuck out of here before it gets ugly." he warned. "And if any of you snitches approaches her again, keep in mind I'm a drunk with a knife, Peeta's not quite right in the head, and Katniss is trigger happy. She's one of us. You go after her, you go after all of us. And, yeah, that's a quote you can use in your fucking rag."

Effie flinched again when the door slammed shut after the journalists and she startled when she heard the bolt turning. She stepped back when he came closer and it wasn't until his hands were on her shoulders – not to keep her still but to ground her – that she realized she was shaking.

"I didn't mean to let them in." she whispered, almost begging.

"I know." he sighed, tugging her closer. She melted into his embrace, closing her eyes and breathing in his familiar smell. It was comforting. That was part of Twelve's routine: hugs and kisses pressed on her neck. "I'll call Plutarch. Make sure that doesn't happen again."

"They are making a paper on me." she told him. "They say…" She stopped because she knew it didn't matter. Rags had been publishing articles about her before the Quell and they had gone on selling copies on her back after the war. Nothing had changed. It wasn't any different. She simply hated that Haymitch was dragged into it. "Never mind. I just hope they won't bother the children."

"They won't dare." he scoffed. "Shouldn't even have been in the Village in the first place."

"They would have simply ambushed me elsewhere." she replied, pragmatic. "At least, you were here."

"I'll always be here." he grumbled awkwardly, still ill-at-ease with feelings after all this time.

"I know." she promised.

And she did.