Prompt: could you please do a fic where post-mj, haymitch and effie somehow end up back in touch after she wanted nothing to do with him after the rebelllion and he finds out that she's in a relationship with someone else? (totally stolen from that vodka quote you reblogged about loving someone else)

AND

Prompt: hi! First, your writing is excellent, I love all your stories! Second, could you write something about Haymitch finding out that Effie is getting married with some capitol man and he asks Peeta and Katniss to help him stop her wedding. (post rebellion) Thank you

Maybe

Haymitch was sitting in the corner of the kids' kitchen, nursing a glass he hadn't brought to his mouth in at least fifteen minutes, watching the madness unfold and feeling very much like he was invisible. He didn't even know what he was doing there, really. Katniss had dragged him all the way across to her house, insisting she had a surprise…

He hadn't counted on the surprise being Effie Trinket. He hadn't counted on the hurricane of colors and energy, devoid of wig but with a thick layer of make-up on. He hadn't counted on the kiss his former escort had firmly planted on his cheek with a joyful hello as if the last time they had seen each other she hadn't kicked him out the door with a series of colorful obscenities and a vow to never lower her eyes on him again. He hadn't counted on the huge shiny rock on her finger or on how the conversation would revolve exclusively around weddings and parties and dresses.

The kids were excited to see her and indulged her with questions and fake impressed exclamations. Haymitch just… sat there and stared.

Dinner went on in the same fashion. She talked and talked, cheerful voice, happy face, hands flying around in her enthusiasm. Her plate, he noticed despite himself, remained full but she was so boisterous the kids didn't pay attention. Her glass, on the other hand, was emptied and refilled a few times.

She declared she wanted to take a walk after dessert, while Haymitch had been forced to the sink to do the dishes by Katniss, and disappeared before anyone could tell her to be careful because Twelve wasn't the Capitol and the ground was treacherous at night. The kids were happy, clearing the table and chatting between themselves about how well she was and how good it was to see her in such high spirits.

"Did she say how long she's staying?" he asked.

"No…" Peeta shrugged. "A couple of days, I guess."

"Don't go and make her uncomfortable, Haymitch." Katniss snapped.

He rolled his eyes, wiped his hands on the dishtowel and left them to their warm kitchen to walk to his cold empty house.

At least that was what he told himself he would do.

Instead, he wandered around until he spotted the red glowing dot of her cigarette in the night. She was sitting on the edge of the big fountain at the entrance of the Village, the one that he couldn't ever remember working. She didn't startle when he walked closer, she looked almost languid, sitting there, her shoulders completely relaxed, her eyes turned to the sky as she regularly brought her cigarette to her mouth. He spotted her purse next to her on the dusty stone covered with creeping plants, there was a packet of cigarettes, a familiar silver lighter and a closed small metallic box with butterflies prints next to it.

He didn't like what he saw.

He didn't like that her plate had remained full, he didn't like that she had drunk so much in front of the kids, he didn't like that she was now smoking in the open even thought Peeta or Katniss could easily stumble upon her, he didn't like the glassy look in her eyes and her relaxed stance. None of it was Effie Trinket.

He didn't call her out on it at once.

He sat next to her, the purse safely between them as a buffer, and grabbed the lighter, his thumb briefly retracing her initials, his heart aching at the memory of Finnick's wolfish grin.

"How old is he?" he asked.

There had been a lot of information tossed around earlier about what sort of dress she would wear, the cake, the venue, the guests… There had been a lot of descriptions of his house on top of the hill – now the most fashionable district – about the maids and the butler and what sort of furniture they had… There had been a lot of useless information.

And neither of the kids had asked the right questions.

"Seventy-three." she replied without batting an eyelash, taking a drag of her cigarette and slowly blowing out the smoke.

"Your mother would be proud." he scoffed.

"He is rich, old and head over heels for me." she hummed. "I rather think she would, yes."

"Don't need to ask if you love him." he snorted bitterly.

"What does love have to do with marriage?" she laughed as if it was the best joke of the century. "I was broke, Haymitch. He was an old admirer that my peculiar situation had miraculously not put off. I met him by chance. He is kind. He covered me with gifts. I had no money left, no real place to live…"

"So you whored yourself out." he accused.

He waited for her to grow angry, to yell and maybe try to slap him but she barely reacted. The fingers that held the cigarette were shaking a little but he didn't think it was a betrayal of her state of mind.

"Women do what women must." she breathed out cryptically, a bright smile creeping on her lips. "And what about you? Did you find someone? You should find someone, Haymitch. The children tell me you are lonely. That won't do."

He almost bought it. Almost.

"Is that why you came here?" he challenged. "To find out if there's room for you?"

She averted her eyes and flicked ashes to the ground. "I just came for the children. I was overdue for a visit."

"Please." he scorned. "You came 'cause you're in too deep and you need help."

"You always say the most strangest things." she mocked. "I am perfectly fine. In two months I will be married and rich. Safe."

"You don't need to marry an old pervert to be safe." he snapped.

"He is not a pervert." she denied, a touch of irritation in her voice. "I told you. He is kind."

"Sorry, does he say please before asking you to spread your legs?" he sneered. "He's buying himself a hot wife. I call that a pervert, sweetheart."

Of all the things she could have objected on, she chose the most trivial on. "I am not hot anymore."

"Bullshit." he scowled, finally tossing her lighter back on her purse and reaching for the small box. She grabbed his hand before he could pick it up. He didn't insist. He took his hand back and let her place the box back in her purse, his scowl deepening. "Want to tell me what you're hooked on those days? 'Cause sleeping pills were bad but I'm guessing those aren't sleeping pills."

"Given that I couldn't help but notice you still always have a glass glued to your hand, do you truly think you have room to lecture me on addictions?" she hissed. "I am fine. It is just occasional."

"You don't eat, you drink, you smoke and you take drugs." he summed up with a falsely impressed whistle. "You know I'm never going to let you go back in that state, right?"

"It is not your choice to make." she said petulantly. "You are nothing to me anymore."

He didn't let her words hurt him. It was a lie, it was written all over her face and he could see it plain as day.

"You already made the choice when you came here." he accused. "You don't want my help? Fine. I'll just tell the kids and watch them fuss. 'Cause once they're up to speed, they won't let you go. Hell, maybe I'll be really nice and call Jo and Annie too. I'm sure they'll love it."

"You wouldn't." she growled.

"Try me." he dared. "Fucking try me."

She glared at him. "I didn't come here so you could keep me prisoner."

"Why did you come then?" he scoffed. "And don't say it's for the kids 'cause we both know it's not all of it. You're about to get married and you come here? You're fucking high right now and you can't even convince yourself. You're looking for help, Effie."

She tossed what was left of her cigarette on the ground and crushed it under her heel. "You were never good at helping me. Why would I come to you for help ?"

"Dumbest reason in the world." he shrugged. "You're scared. And I'm home."

It was a shot in the dark more than a certainty but instead of denying, she moved her purse to her other side and shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I am not scared." she said quietly. "I am empty."

"You're high." he snorted.

"High and empty." she amended in a mumble.

"Yeah, well… High's not an option for you." he chided her. "You're not like me, sweetheart. You're not beyond hope. We'll get you off that shit."

"Will that make me feel less empty, do you think?" she chuckled bitterly. "Or will it make me regret I did not die in those cells just a little bit more?"

He grabbed her hand instinctively, alarmed that she could have such thoughts in her head.

"I don't know." he said honestly. "But maybe the kids can help with that. They're good at making you want to live. I'd know."

She turned her palm and entwined their fingers.

"Maybe." she offered.

There was some hope in her voice.

He hoped it would be enough.