Prompt: i have a prompt : I was wondering if you could write a one shot or if you have one already where Effie gets injured or something and Haymitch has to help her bath or wash her hair and she feels shy and he gets in with her ;) something like that ?

Bathing Help

"Look, there's no point beating around the bush. You need help." Haymitch sighed. "So you can bitch all you want but… We're going to end up right here."

He leaned against the sink of their bathroom, waiting for her to admit he was right.

"I can manage." she argued.

He lifted an eyebrow and waved at the bathtub, inviting her to proceed which she did with an annoyed huff. He humored her by grabbing his toothbrush and pressing toothpaste on it, letting her run herself bath. He watched in the mirror while brushing his teeth, making sure she didn't hurt herself.

She had fallen down the stairs two days earlier – and, truth be told, he had hardly ever been as scared in his whole life as when he had heard her scream followed by the noise of the crash and he had been in a fucking arena and through a fucking war. He would have happily blamed her heels but it was one of the wooden steps the culprit, it had been creaking for a while and it had simply given in under her weight. It could have been worse than it had been. The step wasn't so far from the bottom of the stairs and she had got out of it with a sprained ankle and a broken wrist.

It hadn't stopped Haymitch from panicking and going into a binge later on, once she had been seen by a doctor and she had been dosed with painkillers – he hadn't exactly liked the looks people had given him at the hospital either, falling down the stairs was code name for wife beater and Haymitch had hated every second of those people he didn't even know judging him. As if he would ever lift a finger against her.

The sprain wasn't really problematic, she was used to that and she resented the impossibility of wearing heels more than the slight pain, but the wrist… With most of her right forearm trapped in a cast, she was forced to rely on her left hand. And… that wasn't going so well.

Effie was an active person. She liked to bustle around and hardly ever sat still for five minutes during the day but with her left hand everything took longer and it was a source of constant frustration. He had stood by for two days watching her struggle and he had being shot down every time he had offered to help. It took her twice as long as usual to brush her teeth or to brush her hair, she couldn't put her make-up on properly – which made her grumpy – she couldn't knit or sew or sketch, all hobbies she used as much as coping mechanisms as ways to relax were now out of bonds… She was tensed and ready to snap, snarling at him every chance she got as if he was responsible for the step breaking – his stairs, she had argued, even though she had been living in this house for two years now.

"I don't need you here while I wash myself." she grumbled.

"Question is: can you wash yourself?" he retorted around a mouthful of toothpaste.

She made a disgusted face as he spat it in the sink and dabbed at his face with a towel to catch the leftover of toothpaste stuck in his beard. His facial hairs were a bit out of control, shaving the beard would please her and it would give him an excuse to linger in the bathroom – all bright points, he decided, grabbing the shaving cream. He smeared it generously on his face while she turned the tap off, checked the water temperature and started the tedious process of removing her clothes.

She had to wriggle to take her colorful striped woolen tights off and he kept an eye on her, ready to drop everything and catch her fall even as he brought the razor to his face with slightly shaking fingers. It went on for a few minutes: she awkwardly got rid of her clothes – muttering obscenities when the cast got caught in her sleeve – and he swished the blade on his cheeks upper lip, and chin. He only had two small cuts when he finished, he counted that as a victory.

Once she was finally naked – and, yeah, maybe his eyes roamed on her body but it didn't seem to matter that they had been sleeping together forever at this point, he still liked what he saw – she let out a small sigh and grabbed the edge of the bathtub with her good hand to steady herself. He almost reminded her she wasn't supposed to wet the cast and then wisely held his tongue. She managed to settle down without slipping and breaking her neck and she relaxed, leaning her head against the edge of the tub so her chin was right above the water line. She kept her bad arm out of the tub, propped against the white porcelain.

She glowered at him but he found more excuses to linger by tinkling with the products inside the cupboard, mumbling about needing to restock their pharmacy cabinet. She managed to wash herself just fine and he stopped pretending he was doing something else. He just watched. She wasn't making a show of it but there was something sexy about it all the same.

Her annoyance morphed into amusement. "Now if you had simply said you wanted to watch because you liked it… Is that why you are so bent on helping too? Do you like washing me, Haymitch?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't make this into one of your Capitol kinks. I'm just looking out for you."

"By ogling me in my bath." she hummed. "Yes, I do see the logic."

The problem came when she tried to wash her hair. Opening the shampoo bottle was already a struggle, but she didn't manage to squeeze any into her hand.

"Are you crying Uncle?" he mocked.

"Certainly not." she growled, placing the shampoo bottle back down on the flat surface between the tub and the wall. The space was small but covered with her beauty products – and there was almost as many in the shower stall, he didn't know why she needed so many of them but he had stopped asking after a few months and had accepted it as the inevitable consequence of having Effie Trinket in his house. She was pouting now, staring straight ahead, refusing to accept defeat.

"Come on." he smirked. "I'll be nice and I won't taunt."

"I am an independent woman and I can handle myself." she sulked.

"Sure, you can." he shrugged. "Never said you couldn't. No shame in asking for help when you're hurt, sweetheart. No shame in taking it from me either. Who am I? Next door neighbor?" He scoffed. "It's my job to help when you're hurt."

She pondered that for a moment and then the tension left her shoulders as she gave up on her defensive stance. "I suppose you are right and I am making a fuss out of nothing."

"I'm always right." he winked, pushing his sweatpants down and stepping out of them, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He discarded the long sleeve shirt he had been planning to sleep in too.

An amused grin stretched her lips. "I don't think helping me with my hair truly requires you to climb in."

"More fun this way, Princess." he declared. It took some shifting but the bathtub was large enough for the two of them and soon he was sitting behind her with her back against his chest. Washing her hair only took a few minutes and when that was done he pressed a kiss on her shoulder. "There. Not so bad, was it?"

She hummed, completely relaxed, and snatched the washing cloth that was floating around to hand it to him. "Perhaps you should wash the rest of me now." She waited until he had taken a hold on it with a snort to guide his hand between her legs. "Here. You should insist here."

"Who's into this now?" he teased.

"I came to see your point." she purred, relaxing further against him while he dropped the cloth to run his fingers on her. "You should be happy."

"I am." he answered.

And wasn't that the truth…