Prompt: Super long prompt, sorry, so I'll put it in two asks. Read a headcanon somewhere (yours?) that Haymitch wouldn't let Effie sell herself in order to get sponsors but if it came to it he would sell himself. What if, during the 74th Games Hayffie are getting sponsor money for Katniss burn medicine but still don't have enough to buy it. Then Haymitch lingers and talk with someone and then when they meet up he says he fixed it but he doesn't tell Effie how. Katniss gets the medicine and that night Haymitch doesn't return to the penthouse. Effie's worried and later she sees him come in and go right for his bed. She follows and he's hurt somehow, maybe cuts on his body cause he sold himself to a rich male sponsors some sick SOB who played doctor and Effie's furious and devastated and she cares for him cause even though he's all I'd do it again cause it's for Katniss he's gone through hell and maybe Effie apologize for yelling at him when drunk that he didn't do enough for their tributes

The prompt comes with its own warning ;)

Of Fixing And Reminding

Effie had been pacing in circles for the last half hour in the penthouse's living-room, an eye glued to the tributes' monitor on the coffee table where Katniss was strapping herself to a tree for the night, her leg badly burned, and Peeta was mingling with the Careers. The TV was on too but it displayed the boy from Eleven she had next to none interest in for now.

The Gamemakers were out for Katniss, that much was clear. The fire was revenge for what she had done during the talent demonstration.

She had dispatched Cinna and Portia out to advertize for their team a little after Haymitch had disappeared and she should have probably gone out herself, to hunt for some sponsors, but something about Haymitch storming out hadn't felt right and someone needed to guard the fort, to keep an eye on the monitors. One of them usually remained there to answer the phone.

She watched Katniss receive her sponsor's gift with a growing feeling of unease. They had some funds, yes, but not enough for that sort of medicine. That salve was expensive – a lot more than what they currently had at their disposal.

When the elevator chimed, she was torn because Katniss was in danger, stuck in her tree, but on the other hand…

He didn't come to the living-room, she heard his footsteps recede toward his bedroom and it told her everything she needed to know. He would have checked on the children first thing otherwise.

With a last glance at the TV where everyone seemed to have settled down for the night, she crept down the corridor as silently as her heels would allow her.

The door was ajar so she stepped inside and watched, for a moment, as he peeled jacket, waistcoat and shirt from his skin, already barefoot. His back was a mess. Scratches and bruises and bite marks that made her eyes fill to the brim with tears.

"You said we weren't doing that." she whispered.

He didn't startle which told her he had known she was there all along. Maybe he had left the door open on purpose. Maybe it had been a way of telling her what had happened without actually telling her. They didn't have a relationship, not really, and this didn't count as cheating, but she hadn't been with anyone else in a long time and she suspected he hadn't either. So maybe leaving the door open had been his way of coming clean.

He didn't turn to face her, he kept his back on her as he dropped his pants and underwear.

"She needed meds and we didn't have enough money." he stated. It was cold and curt, almost defiant. Was he waiting for her to judge?

"We never have enough money." she retorted.

"It's different this time." he argued. "She's victor material. We can get her back."

Her. Not Peeta.

It was breaking her heart to think about the sweet boy they wouldn't be prioritizing.

"Haymitch…" she breathed out.

"Don't." he spat, storming past her and to the bathroom.

After a minute, she heard the shower and she followed the sound in a daze. He was slumped against the wall, both arms propped against the tiles and his head bowed. She watched the water trickle down his abused spine all the way to his backside, and kicked her heels. He moved when he heard the rustling of her clothes, turning to rest his back against the wall to look at her. His eyes slowly swept across her naked body when she pushed the pool of fabric at her feet out of the way.

His chest wasn't in a better state than his back.

"Who was it?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter." he shrugged with a bitter twitch of his lips. "A freak who liked her riding crop." She started taking pins out of her pink wig but he growled. "Keep it." That was an unusual request but not unprecedented. She obediently stopped trying to remove it and stepped in the shower instead, his grey eyes tracked her every move. His voice was harsh, full of anger and hatred. "She tied me up, hit me and rode me like a pony. You Capitols are fucked up."

Her jaw clenched but she forced herself not to flinch. She flicked the wet synthetic pink hair over her shoulder. "You should have told me. I would have done it."

"'Cause you think I like the idea of you being tied up and beaten like a dog better?" he scoffed. "You think I would sleep any better if I sold you out like a whore to the highest bidder?"

She shook her head sadly. "I am used to it."

It wouldn't have been the first time she had slept with someone to obtain something in return. Money, position or power… It all fell in the same bag. She liked to pretend she had principles but she had never stopped at anything to get what she wanted and that included occasionally using her body to seduce someone into doing something. It wouldn't have been the first time either a Gamemaker or someone important in the government let her know they were interested and it would have been unwise to decline. To her, sex was sex. A mean to an end. Nothing more. She had learned long ago to compartmentalize. It was different for Haymitch.

"I told you no." he scowled. "All those years ago, I fucking promised you we wouldn't play it this way."

"And yet you did." she argued.

"'Cause it was my call, not yours." he retorted. "I'm not your pimp. I won't whore you out. We need money this bad, I do it." His featured were briefly distorted by disgust. "The kid better be worth it."

She reached for his arm but his muscles tensed and she dropped her hand. She so desperately wanted to hug him, to help him… But he wouldn't be interested in her tenderness right now and she didn't trust he wouldn't confuse it for pity.

"What do you need?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain even.

He had told her to keep the wig on, she knew what he wanted.

"Control." he said without a blink.

"Alright." she agreed, surrendering to that request easily.

"It's going to be bad." he warned.

"I trust you." she countered without the slightest trace of hesitation.

He didn't ask for a second confirmation. Suddenly she was slammed against the opposite wall, hard enough that the air was knocked out from her lungs, and his teeth sank in her shoulder while his hand wrapped around her throat. She instinctively grabbed his wrist, her turquoise nails digging into his flesh but he didn't move it, he squeezed instead and she stood very, very still, fighting against the panic that wanted to overwhelm her. He wouldn't choke her. He wouldn't.

But this was her weakness, he knew it, and he was going to abuse it. Because he needed to be in charge, he needed the power that the sponsor had stolen away from him, and that implied having her at his mercy.

He didn't squeeze hard enough that she couldn't breathe and for that she was glad. His other hand was rough when he kneaded her breasts and it was even rougher when he nudged her legs apart and cupped her. This wasn't for her pleasure but for his. He wasn't even looking at her, he was staring at the vibrant pink wig on her head.

It wasn't her he was about to fuck, it was the Capitol.

She didn't dare reach for him, she didn't dare stroke him to hardness like she usually would. She was always proactive in bed, fighting him for control every step of the way, but right then she stood very still and let him have his way. He was growing hard anyway, she could feel him against her stomach.

She gasped when he used his grip on her throat to push her down. Her knees hit the tiled floor hard and she briefly winced in pain. He let go of her throat and she barely had time to savor the relief of being able to breathe easily again when he tangled his fingers in the synthetic hair of her wig and forced her head toward his groin. There was no time for teasing or making this good, no time for any of the tricks he usually like. He forced everything in her mouth and she breathed through her nose, fighting her gag reflex but unable to stop the drool when he fucked her face without pause or consideration for her comfort. She had never allowed him to be so brutal with her when they did that but, this time, she let him. She followed his tugs and his pushing, she did her best to please him even when he kept a punishing pace that brought tears to her eyes. At some point, he went too deep, kept her with her face pushed against his lower belly too long and she started gagging for good. The panic was instinctive, the water slamming on them wasn't helping, and she couldn't breathe.

She scratched his calves, fighting his grip, and for a terrible second, she thought he would ignore her but then she was hauled back to her feet and pushed against the wall. He wiped the drool from her chin and mouth while she heaved for breath, his eyes clouded, the familiar self-loathing scowl on his face. He flinched when she cupped his cheek.

"I'm fine." she croaked out. "Go on. Take what you need."

He shook his head. "It's not you I want to hurt, sweetheart. I shouldn't have…"

"Then pretend it's me." She leaned in and pressed a kiss against his lips before turning around, bracing herself against the wall, feet firmly planted on the floor and head bowed so all he could see was the pink wig. "Remember what she did and pretend I'm her."

The hand that gripped her hip was hesitant but the way he thrust into her, without even checking she was ready, was not. She wasn't anywhere near ready and the initial pain made her whimper but it seemed to spur him on. He slammed into her harder, his fingers curled around her hipbone would leave bruises, the hand coiled around her neck would probably leave bruises too.

It wasn't really good for her. She was barely starting to feel some flutters of pleasure when he finished with a grunt.

The hands left her hip and her neck, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead between her shoulder blades. She shifted so she was propped on her elbows instead of her hands. She felt him blindly fumbling with her wig, his face still pressed against her back. Eventually it flopped on the floor, completely soaked.

He ran his fingers in her blond curls, pressed a kiss against her shoulder and tightened his hold on her waist.

"I'm sorry." he mumbled.

"Don't." she said, straightening up.

He slipped out of her and she was glad for the water streaming down on them when she glimpsed the reddish hues in the sticky mess that trailed down her legs. She kissed him before he could notice the small traces of blood. He hadn't hurt her badly and she didn't need him feeling guilty about it. Everything she had given, she had been happy to give.

She had expected the kiss to turn hungry as often with them but he kept it tamed, sweet almost. She figured it was an apology and a thank you all rolled into one.

"I have salves for the bruises in my room." she whispered against his lips.

He snorted, resting his head against hers. "The fucking bruises aren't the problem."

"I know." she sighed. "But those, I can treat. Let me help."

He let out an annoyed cluck of his tongue. "Effie…"

"I need to do something." she pleaded.

"You just did." he argued.

"That didn't fix you." she growled. "I want to make it right."

He remained silent but his silence was self explanatory. There would be no making it right and no fixing it. There was no magic remedy when you felt like shit because you had just sold your body for something. She knew that. But she was good at pretending, good at being the cheerful bubbly creature that nothing ever hurt… And she wanted to pretend she could somehow make him feel better. It was selfish really. When he was hurting so badly, it hurt her.

She covered him with soap and he let her. She washed his hair and regularly kissed the bruised patch of skin until she felt the tension leave his muscles at least a little.

He was compliant when she toweled him dry and guided him to her room so she could treat the bruises. They didn't bother getting dressed. She sat him down on her bed and started with his back, kneeling behind him still naked, carefully applying the salve on the ugly bruises.

"I really wish you would have let me do it." she confessed.

"I don't need you to protect me." he spat.

She rolled her eyes. "Isn't it your argument for doing this yourself? Protecting me?"

"I'm old-fashioned. That's how it works." he grumbled. "Guys protect girls."

"How chivalrous." she deadpanned, moving to his side so she could work on his chest. "Slightly sexist too because I can assure you I am more than capable of doing my own protecting but I suppose it is the thought that counts." She shook her head. "What am I supposed to do in this scenario? Simply stand by and watch while you get broken to pieces?"

His hand covered hers where it was resting on his chest. He tugged a little until she straddled his lap and brushed her hair back from her face. His features were schooled in detachment but his grey eyes were soft. "Fix me."

"How?" she frowned. Bruise salves and a rough fuck session in the shower wouldn't cut it, she knew that. Liquor might for a while and she was surprised he hadn't demanded some yet – but she figured he must have drunk in the car because his kisses had tasted like whiskey.

"Remind me." he shrugged, slowly lying down on his back. "Remind me it can be just good, sweetheart."

Love me, he didn't say.

That she could do.

His fingers dug in her flesh again but that wasn't unusual because he didn't like it when she was on top, didn't like not being in control, and he rarely allowed her the treat. This was a show of trust and she understood it as such.

She kissed and caressed and worshipped, shivering in pleasure every time he returned the favor. It took a while to get him hard again but she enjoyed every second of it and this time when she slid on him, she was more than ready for him.

They had better climaxes but it wasn't about that. It was good and painless, almost sweet.

She eventually slumped on his chest, out of breath, and he held her there, soothingly petting her hair. They hardly ever cuddled. It was a rare and treasured thing.

"We will win." she promised him. "You did what you did for a good reason. It will matter. We will win."

His hand came to rest on her nape, his thumb running up and down the side of her throat in a tender caress.

She pressed her lips against his collarbone. I love you, she mouthed against his skin in what had become a familiar pattern lately.

She didn't think he had ever noticed.

If he had, he had never let on before.

It didn't matter.

She would stand with him anyway, whatever the future brought.