Prompt time ;) We know that the Captiol's showers have different smell-settings and Effie usually smells fruity, which Haymitch would never admit aloud but he likes it. Only one night when he joins her in bed, the usual scent is not there, instead she smells of roses. And that sends Haymitch into a panic attack; he's convinced Snow has killed Effie, due to the scent that is so very characteristic to the president. It would be amazing, if you could write something along the lines. Have fun ;P
No prompt tomorrow, kids, I won't be around until late evening unfortunately.
The Smell Of White Roses
Haymitch wasn't having a good night.
The plan was in place, every inch of it had been reviewed again and again but it didn't make him feel any more confident... Hunger Games were rarely predictable, even for Head Gamemakers, never mind Quarter Quells... The fact that a lot of the people involved in the rescue plan were under heavy surveillance wasn't helping matters at all.
Haymitch had struggled to lose his Peacekeepers tail that night. And the reunion had done nothing to assuage his worries. The kids would be in training for two more days and if what he was hearing was right – and since it came from Chaff, it was right – Katniss would be a problem. She didn't want allies.
That girl was impossible.
He was almost relieved, when he walked back in the penthouse, to find it dark and silent. It was late enough that the kids had gone to bed and a quick sweep in the living-room – where he regretfully left the booze alone despite the overwhelming temptation to just... down a bottle – confirmed Effie hadn't waited for him.
He hesitated on the way to his room, already shedding his jacket and tugging on the tie Portia had forced around his neck earlier. He paused in front of Effie's door, torn between stepping inside and continuing on his way. Now wasn't the right time for what they were doing. They had managed to keep their affair strictly sexual for years but nowadays...
Nowadays he wanted to sleep next to her at night. Nowadays he wanted to kiss her without having to start a fight first. Nowadays he felt things stirring in his heart that should have remained dormant for everyone's safety. It was an open secret they were sleeping together. Rumors rose and fell but they were constant.
And he had to make sure people didn't think she was anything else than a good fuck. Or she would be in danger.
His hand fell on the door's handle anyway.
Giving up one addiction was bad enough.
He had cut down on liquor. He couldn't cut down on her.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside quietly. He dropped his jacket and waistcoat on the dressing table and accidentally knocked down a few bottles. He was surprised she didn't stir because she wasn't a deep sleeper and she had promised him not to use sleeping pills again. She had a problem with that. And she had been indulging a little too much during the Tour.
He toed of his shoes, dropped his pants and took off his socks before slipping his shirt off. She would make a fuss about the mess probably and he was already smirking about it. There was nothing he liked more than watching her getting worked up over stupid things right after he had fucked the brains out of her. It was always a sight sure to make him hard in a matter of seconds.
He sneaked between the sheets without bothering to turn on the light and reached for her.
The smell hit him before his hand could make contact with her shoulder.
Roses.
White roses.
It was the same smell as the one in his kitchen when he had taken possession of his house after his Games. It was the same smell as in the cemetery.
It was the smell of the white roses Snow had sent to him and to his family's graves.
It was the smell of the flowers the tyrant wore on his lapel.
It was the smell of death.
"No." he breathed out. "No. No. No. No..."
His stomach churned and it took all he had not to be sick. His fingers were trembling, his whole body was trembling...
How did Snow know? When... How... The kids. Were the kids covered in white flowers too? Would there be corpses everywhere for him to find?
He switched on the lights because he needed to see. He needed to know. How did Snow have her killed? Had she suffered? Because Haymitch had dared getting attached?
There were no flowers but the smell was so overwhelming he barely noticed. He couldn't help but think back. Going home to find a good portion of the Seam burned. Three freshly dug graves. Resentment and accusation on the faces of a lot of people because his brother and his mother hadn't been the only collateral damages.
Effie looked almost peaceful. No blood. No traces of puke. Poison, then. A sweet one.
He didn't find any comfort in that.
His hand hovered over her shoulder before it finally made contact. Her skin was still warm.
"I'm sorry." The words slipped past his lips before he could hold them back. "I'm so fucking sorry..."
For having gotten her killed. For having been selfish. For not doing the right thing and staying away.
Her hand covered his and he almost jumped in fright, his heart was pounding so hard in his chest, he was dizzy.
"Did you have a nightmare?" she muttered, squeezing his fingers. "I can't…" That sentence ended in a yelp when he suddenly grabbed her and hauled her up. "Haymitch! What in Panem…"
He crushed her against his chest, his hand coming to protectively cradle the back of her head, feeling the familiar softness of her tousled blond hair. He buried his nose in her neck, tightening his embrace even more…
Alive, alive, alive…
The thought was a chant in his mind.
Fucking alive.
"You are shaking." He could hear the confusion and worry in her voice even as she awkwardly hugged him back. "What happened?" Her palms ran on his naked back, soothing. She pressed kisses on every patch of skin she could reach. "Did you drink? You did not drink, did you? You were doing so well… Oh, is that the matter? Do you need a doctor? Withdrawals can have nasty side effects, Haymitch, and…"
He shut her up with a kiss. A violent needy kiss that left them both gasping for breath.
For a second, he thought the smell was a trick of his mind, a consequence of too little sleep, not enough booze and too much stress. But it was still there. She reeked of white roses.
"What the fuck did you do?" he snarled. "Where's that fucking stench coming from?"
She pursed her lip with irritation, discreetly sniffing herself and clearly deciding he was being annoying on purpose.
"I took a shower." she retorted. "I know you are a stranger to the whole concept but that is what someone being clean smells like."
"You don't smell like that after a shower." he growled, holding her at arm's length now that he was certain she was still alive and kicking.
He would know, after all. He had ended up sharing a shower with her enough times. Plain water was never good enough for her, she needed fancy shit. She always chose fruity settings or wild flowers. Not white roses. Never white roses.
"The shower must be broken. I could not change the settings." she frowned, now watching with rapt attention. "What is it?"
He shook his head, crawling back on the bed and away from her. "That smell…"
"It is rather pungent." she admitted.
"I'm gonna be sick." he muttered, staggering to her bathroom. He carefully tested the sink, relieved when the water came out clean and not stinking of roses. He splashed some on his face and waited for the nausea to disappear, unable to do anything for his shaky fingers. Nothing would calm the tremors except some alcohol.
"Haymitch…" she called from the threshold, careful to stay away from him. "It smells like.."
"Yeah." he cut her off, afraid of what the bugs might pick up. She was good at playing the game but she had been slipping more and more lately. He didn't want them to have any reason to doubt her loyalties.
"Is that…" she hesitated.
"Yeah." he interrupted again.
She licked her lips nervously, folding her arms across her chest. "Does that mean…"
"Probably." he scowled.
It was a warning and a threat all rolled into one.
And a clear one at that.
He would need to talk with Plutarch. He didn't care what Coin thought about it, there was no way he was leaving her behind.
He closed his eyes and propped his elbows on the sink, fighting against another wave of nausea.
"I will go to your room and see if the shower works." she declared, sounding just as calm and cheerful as usual. "Why don't you go to bed? I will join you in a few minutes."
"I'm coming with you." he mumbled. "Your sheets reek of it."
She nodded her ascent and they made their way to his room with her ranting all the way about the clothes he had the bad habit of scattering all around her room. Then, she ranted about the mess he had made of his bedroom.
He dropped on his bed and watched her slip her nightgown over her head, all the while still berating him. It did wonders to distract him.
And it was probably her aim.
She didn't linger in the shower but he was still already half asleep on his back when she straddled his hips, her skin warm and pink from the hot water. He automatically rolled them over, not in any mood to fight his dominant instincts that night, and sucked on the tender area between her breasts.
She smelt like cherry and red berries.
She smelt delicious.
He pressed a kiss over her heart. "Don't die on me, Princess."
He kept his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry much further than her.
She ran her fingers in his hair more tenderly than he would usually have allowed her.
"I certainly do not plan to." she whispered.
I can't lose you…
He couldn't say the words.
They were too dangerous. For different reasons.
But he did mean them.
She had been keeping him sane for more than a decade and given what was to come, he could use a little bit of sanity .
He couldn't do it without her.
Not anymore.