This isn't a prompt but I wrote this like… MONTHS ago and I just found it back because it had gotten lost somewhere so… Have some crack.

Shaving Habits

The problem with helping to lead a rebellion without liquor was that you were exhausted all the time, Haymitch had decided early enough. Few hours of sleep – which actually suited him – hours spent thinking and trying to solve problems, hours spent worrying about the kids, not enough food, impossible hours, not enough sex…

Not that he was in any real shape to have sex, to begin with.

He collapsed on the bed in his compartment, surprised to notice it was actually a normal hour to go to sleep for once. Night and day had little meaning in Thirteen. He slept when he could, ate when he could and lived to an inner rhythm rather than following the nonexistent sun.

Beetee wasn't there but Beetee tended to spend his nights in his workshop like Haymitch spent his in Command.

He didn't have enough force of will left to strip or get under the covers. He remained on his stomach, his face half buried in the pillow and closed his eyes.

He was drifting off when the door was slid open without warning and he startled.

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry!" Effie gasped. "I thought you were still in Command."

"Just got out." he mumbled, automatically rolling on his side to leave enough space for her to lie down with him. He frowned a little though. "What did you come here for if you thought I was in Command? Got a secret affair with Beetee running behind my back?"

"Obviously. He is a gentleman, unlike you, and you know I cannot resist a gentleman." she deadpanned but she avoided his eyes and shuffled awkwardly on her feet. "I was actually looking for the speeches? For Katniss? You said you would review them but I never saw them again."

He groaned and rubbed his face, having completely forgotten about that. "They're somewhere on the table."

She pursed her lips and started snooping around, making faces and muttering under her breath about men who couldn't keep their living areas clean. Haymitch doze off again, lulled to sleep by her familiar rebukes.

"Come to bed." he groaned.

"I… No." she refused. She was rummaging in the bathroom. What for, that was anyone's guess. He was pretty sure the speeches weren't in the bathroom.

He forced his eyes open again, his frown deepening. "You don't really screw Beetee behind my back, right?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She stepped out of the bathroom and cleared her throat. "I don't want to… I can't do anything tonight."

It took him a few seconds to catch up. Time of the month. He had hardly ever been around her long enough for that to really be an issue between them before. He shrugged. "I'm saying let's sleep, not let's have monkey sex, sweetheart."

It wouldn't have been the first time she had ended in his bed without them having sex. Thirteen had awoken a side of them he wasn't sure what to do with, although he was enjoying it. Sort of. He slept better when she was with him. He wasn't allowed his knife or liquor… She was the last of addictions.

She pursed her lips and he could tell she wasn't completely happy with the prospect. Something was fishy but he was too tired to try to figure out what. She came to bed anyway, taking off her boots and lining them properly before snuggling up to him. She tensed when he slipped his hand under her shirt and tank top but she relaxed once she realized he simply wanted skin on skin contact and was content with resting his palm on her stomach. Still, it wasn't like her to tense like this.

"You're okay?" he asked, growing slightly worried.

"Yes." she hummed, nuzzling his neck with her nose. "I am just not in the mood for… more."

It wasn't like her to not be in the mood either but he let it pass.

He fell asleep quickly with her in his arms and he slept hard. The only reason he woke up a few hours later was the quiet noises coming from the bathroom. He felt around the bed for her, thinking maybe Beetee had come back, but she wasn't there anymore. The sheets were cold on what had come to be her side. He waited for a while, thinking she might just have needed the bathroom but when she didn't come back and quiet noises kept filtering through the closed door, he grew worried. She had been weird earlier and now she was locked in his bathroom in the middle of the night… Maybe she was sick.

He got out of bed and crept closer to the bathroom, trying to listen for telltale noises like retching or… something. He heard nothing. Just the regular clicking of something against the sink in between bouts of silence.

With a frown on his face, he knocked – or, really, he hammered his fist against the door. "You're okay in there, Effie?"

There was a pained yelp and then things hitting the floor and some cursing. He pushed the handle down and it turned easily.

"Haymitch!" she squealed. "You don't barge in a bathroom when a lady is inside !"

He didn't know what he had been expecting but it hadn't been to find her topless, one of her arm in the air, shaving cream and razor at her feet, blood dripping from her armpit. Somehow, he wasn't even surprised. He grabbed his towel and pressed it against the cut, ignoring her feeble attempts at pushing him out of the bathroom.

"You startled me." she grumbled.

"Yeah, well… Should have said you came here to play with razors." he snorted. "Can't do that in your own bathroom?"

"Shaving isn't considered a necessity or a priority for women around here, it seems." she retorted, clearly embarassed. "We are not provided with proper equipment. And it is not like you are using your razor so…"

"So you thought you could come and steal it." he snorted. "That's what the sneaking around was for?" He rolled his eyes, a smirk slowly stretching his lips. "So… You've got hairs."

She flushed crimson. "This is not a suitable topic of discussion."

He cautiously took the towel away but it looked like a shallow cut – and it also looked like she had been done with her armpits before he came in. She snatched her tank top from the corner of the sink and slipped it back on. He was a bit sorry about it. He liked the view.

"Where do you have them?" he insisted, his hands automatically going for her pants. He had never seen her anything but perfectly waxed. All smooth. Not one single hair out of place to prove she was really blond. Capitols did that, he knew, women and men alike. It was one of the first things they did to tributes before the Opening Ceremony: get rid of unnecessary hairs. They had waxed him and it had hurt like hell. He wouldn't lie, he liked her smooth legs but he winced every time he thought about how painful it must have been to get rid of everything down there.

She batted his hands away. "No."

"Come on…" he almost whined. "Can't be that bad. We've fucked two weeks ago."

"Three and it was already starting to grow out of hand at the time." she retorted. "Not that you noticed, of course. Caveman."

She pouted and he snorted, leaning to steal a kiss just because she was ridiculous and only her could have made him have a discussion about shaving habits at three in the morning in a bathroom.

"'Cause I don't mind." he shrugged.

"Of course, you don't." she commented, not sounding very impressed.

"Let me see." he requested.

"No." she growled. "You are not seeing me naked until I am groomed."

"Maybe I'll like you not groomed." he argued.

"Oh, that would be just like you." she snapped, jutting an accusing finger in the center of his chest. "But I refuse to hear it. I like you plain and ugly, Effie… You look better without make-up and wigs, Effie… Look where it got me!"

She waved at herself, looking all furious. He pursed his lips to hide his amusement because he was pretty sure if he had burst out laughing at that second, she would have murdered him with the razor. Admittedly, he could see her point. It had led her to sneak in her whatever-he-was-to-her's bathroom in search of blades at three a.m, half naked, with unwanted hairs on her body, in a District where people didn't care about beauty, colors or fashion and where people did – also admittedly – treat her like crap. Thirteen was hell for her. Sure, it had also saved her life but it was hell for her and he knew it. But, really, the problem she was choosing to make a scene about was ridiculous. Just like her.

"Be fair, Princess. Pretty sure I never said plain and ugly. That's you." he mocked, tugging on the waistband of her pants again so she would stumble against him and he could kiss her properly.

She let herself be coaxed into it but, eventually, she grabbed his nape and forced him to draw back a little.

"I am not letting you turn this into a thing." she growled. "I don't wear wigs for you and I take off my make-up for you but this is where I draw a line. I do not care what your District women do. I do not care if it is about keeping body heat or because they do not care for their own aesthetics. They are free to choose what to do with their body but I have been raised a certain way and I might not be much of a lady in your eyes but…"

"Okay." he cut her off with a shrug. "Don't get your knickers into a twist. I don't care. That's all I was saying. Hairy, not hairy… I don't care."

"I do." she huffed. "So you would leave me alone so I can take care of the rest of me?"

"You can do it in the morning." he snorted. "Or does it have to be done in the dead of night so no one knows you're secretly human like the rest of us?"

She wasn't amused. She pursed her lips. "See it this way: the sooner I am groomed, the sooner you will get to take my pants off me."

"Point taken." he surrendered, just as the door to the compartment slid open.

Beetee wheeled himself in and paused when he caught sight of them in the bathroom. Suddenly, Haymitch was glad she had put her top back up.

"What are you doing with Effie in the bathroom at three a.m.?" Beetee frowned, looking half asleep on his chair. He rubbed his face. "And why am I asking questions I probably don't want to hear the answer to? Just keep it down, kids. I need some sleep."

"Kids." Haymitch repeated, rolling his eyes. Beetee didn't even seem fazed by the thought he and Effie might have been up to things in their bathroom, he seemed to think it was perfectly normal – and maybe they had become something of an open secret now but still. He lifted his eyebrows at Effie, his smirk deepening. "Need any shaving tips? We can ask the old man's input." He chuckled, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry.

She pushed him out of his bathroom mercilessly and he eventually gave up, going back to collapse on his bed. She could knock herself out spending her nights taking care of her image, he needed his sleep.

"That was fast." Beetee teased from his own bed.

"And here people go and say you're a gentleman…" Haymitch replied, more amused than annoyed.

"Only with ladies." his friend answered. "Last time I checked, you weren't a lady."

"Cause you check me out often?" he joked.

Beetee mumbled something that was probably polite but not so nice and turned his back on Haymitch. It was at least half an hour before Effie came out of the bathroom and she hesitated near the living area.

"Come on." he whispered. "He's asleep." More than that, Beetee was snoring – loud enough to keep the whole sector awake probably. She hesitated a few more seconds and then climbed into bed with him, wriggling until she was comfortable – occupying almost all the bed and hogging the blankets. He pressed a kiss under her ear, his hand wandering under her top once more to rest flat on her stomach. "Are you all smooth everywhere now?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." she purred. "Sleep now. I don't do this with an audience."

"He's asleep." he argued for the sake of it.

"Sleep, Haymitch." she declared.

He rolled his eyes but settled down around her like a very content cat.

"For the record…" he mumbled against her hair. "I mean it. Hairy, fat, wig, no wig… I'll take anything. I'd want you anyway."

"It is a very kind sentiment." she answered, patting his hand. He could practically hear the clogs turning in her brain for the next five minutes. It amazed him she lasted five minutes. "What do you mean fat? Do you think I am fat?"

He buried his face in her hair in an attempt at muffling his chuckles, his shoulders shaking with the strength of his hilarity.

She was impossible.