Prompt: Can I give you the totally crack prompt of playing 'never have I ever' in the penthouse? Also I'm so in love with fire and ice, I can't wait for more

His Token Of Choice

Effie wasn't sure how they had all ended up in Haymitch's room.

The Presidential Mansion was a huge place and she was certain they all had better things to do than sit around in the living-room part of the suite, staring gloomily at the fire roaring in the fireplace, various bottles scattered around them – well… she certainly had nothing else to do, she had gone straight from her cell to her hospital room and from her hospital room to Haymitch's suite, she was not really free yet from what she understood and she was scared to death of putting a toe out of his room in fear soldiers would grab her and toss her in another cell.

Katniss had finally been released from the hospital that day, after weeks in emergency care. It should have been a happy celebration but Annie was still lying in a hospital bed somewhere and their Mockingjay didn't talk anymore. She lurked around the corridors like a small frightened animal, from what Haymitch had told her.

She wasn't certain it was good for Peeta to be there. The boy had made tremendous progress – that was what she had been told and what the boy claimed when he visited her, and credits needed to be given because he did so every two days – but he still wasn't one hundred percent himself. Slowly sipping from a glass of tequila couldn't be good for him in his state – she had said so at first but nobody had listened to her.

Peeta was sitting on the rug next to the fireplace, shadows dancing on his face. Johanna was slumped in an armchair, hogging a bottle of tequila all to herself, her eyes lost in the distance. Beetee's eyes were closed but he wasn't sleeping, guilt was written on his every feature. Plutarch didn't look guilty or haunted, he looked distracted, staring at the bottom of his glass in the second armchair but that hardly meant anything on a high profile Capitol's face. Hummingbird Operation, she made an effort to remember. Haymitch had told her about it, he had told her about everything, as if confessing his every fear and failure would somehow balance out the fact that she had been left behind.

Not on purpose…

He had been clear about that – had tried to be at least. Was she angry? Yes. Furious even. But she didn't have the energy to let it out. She wanted to scream at him and claw and slap and fight… And yet clinging to him, feeling his arms holding her tight, was the only way she could get some sleep. His hesitant kisses, the way his hands worshipped her battered and broken body, the tenderness he was more open to showing… She craved that more than she craved accusations and a fight.

She could feel his eyes on her, watching her as he regularly took sips from his whiskey. He was sitting right next to her on the couch and she knew he would reach out soon, audience or not, because he had been constantly touching her since she had woken up in that hospital room, constantly needing to remind himself she was real.

She looked at everyone in turn and decided they were a sad pathetic little bunch and it was her job to cheer the party up. Used to be her job.

She tried to muster a smile but it looked more like a wince. Predictably, Haymitch's hand ended on her thigh, she could feel the warmth of his palm through the light blue fabric of her dress. It was a comfort, however brief the contact lasted. He took it back before anyone had a chance to notice.

Of course, when she looked up, she met Johanna's judgmental eyes. The sneer on Seven's victor's lips was just as disgusted as usual if a little less hateful. Effie stared back, unwilling to be apologetic about this. After a few seconds, Johanna rolled her eyes and shrugged.

She wouldn't say they were friends but they had certainly found a new understanding down there, in the Capitol's cells. They went beyond friendship, bound by blood, terror and pain. They didn't have to like each other, the link that had been forged was too deep to be shaken by something like mere loathing.

"Never have I ever seen a more pathetic group of people." Johanna declared suddenly, a note of mischief in her voice. Then she took a long mouthful of her tequila.

It was a ridiculous game and Effie and Plutarch both snorted, toasting her before taking a sip. Beetee, Haymitch and Peeta just looked confused.

"It's a game we play in the Capitol." the former Head Gamemaker took on himself to explain. "You have to drink if you did the thing. It's been years since I played that."

"I'm not fond of Capitol games." Haymitch spat.

Effie nudged him with her leg – and if anyone had noticed they were sitting much too close given how spacious the couch was, nobody had remarked on it yet. "It is just a fun drinking game."

He studied her for a few seconds, his grey eyes so full of intent they seemed to bore right into her soul.

"Never have I ever seen something as disgusting as those two making eyes at each other." Johanna added before taking a sip.

She was the only one to do so. Effie pursed her lips in annoyance, glaring at the younger victor. "Never have I ever been mean just for the sake of it."

Johanna lifted a challenging eyebrow as she took a long mouthful from her bottle, silently making a point.

Effie rolled her eyes and surrendered by taking a sip of her own drink.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to play a drinking game?" Peeta cut in, always the voice of reason even in his half sane state.

"I'm short of good ideas." Jo shrugged. "Come on, lover boy, your turn. Make it a good one."

Peeta stared at her and then looked down at his glass. "Never have I ever missed someone so bad it hurts."

He took a careful sip.

Everyone followed suit.

"Fun game, yeah." Haymitch scorned.

"Your turn, old man." Johanna goaded him.

"I'm not doing the talking part." he grumbled. "Just drinking."

"You have to say something if you are playing." Effie nudged him with her leg again. "Those are the rules."

"Fine." he scowled with obvious irritation. "Never have I ever seen a more annoying pain in the ass than you."

It shouldn't have hurt. It certainly wasn't the worse he had thrown at her over the years. And yet she still recoiled a little, her lips pursed. She was quick to cover it with an indifferent expression but she was sure they all saw. All the people in that living-room were observant after all.

Peeta took a defiant sip and so did Plutarch and Beetee. Effie didn't bother.

"Never have I ever felt so betrayed." Beetee offered. It was a generic statement and not one he explained but the look he threw Plutarch seemed to convey his feelings perfectly.

"Oh, come on." Haymitch scoffed. "You built that trap. You and Hawthorne. So they used it, sure, but you built it. Join effort, wasn't it? You don't get to put everything on Plutarch. Own it, Beetee."

Johanna and Peeta exchanged a look and then frowned.

"What are you talking about?" Seven's victor asked. "What are you fucking hiding from us now?"

Effie sighed and curled up a little against the armrest, folding her legs underneath her, not quite caring if it wasn't the most ladylike bearing.

"We did what was needed to…" Plutarch started.

Haymitch didn't let him finish. "Don't fucking finish this sentence or I'm going to punch you."

"What the fuck is going on?" Johanna growled.

"Never have I ever been more nervous in hostile environments than nowadays." Effie cut in suddenly, downing the rest of her glass.

She immediately poured herself another, watching as Peeta gave the room a distrustful glance before taking a sip of his. Johanna's gaze was focused straight on her and Effie knew she would be cornered sooner than later and would have to explain what Haymitch had confided about the City Circle's bombing. Later though, not now. She glanced at the young woman, hoping to convey as much.

Johanna didn't look pleased but she swallowed some tequila.

They were the only three people to do so.

Plutarch was watching them with pity, Beetee with understanding and Haymitch with obvious guilt.

She appreciated none of them. Given her look, neither did Jo.

"Never have I ever been in love to the point of starting a revolution." Plutarch joked, probably trying to lighten the mood.

It wasn't a very good joke.

Peeta frowned and stared at his glass, obviously not quite sure if he ought to drink or not. It was too close to his blurry memories.

Haymitch drank.

And everyone stared but he refused to meet everyone's eyes.

It was honestly like being stabbed straight in the heart. She clenched her jaw and tried not to mind, tried not to think about what that girlfriend of his must have been like for him to still love her twenty-five years later. Mabel. She had come to hate the name just as much as she hated the frayed pink ribbon he carried around everywhere. Mabel's token of love. His token of choice.

She supposed the statement was a figure of speech, starting a revolution a mere hyperbole for incredible love. And yet he had started a revolution in the hopes of getting rid of Snow – to save the children first and foremost, yes but also in the hopes it would end with the President's death – to avenge his family's murder. And his girl's.

She lifted the glass to her lips because, after all, he wasn't the only one who could love so much. The fact that it was unrequited was her own problem and one ought to be truthful when playing Have I ever, it was part of the fun.

Except she suddenly couldn't see where the fun was in being humiliated in front of people she would call friends if she wasn't so unsure she had any of that left.

She placed the glass down on the coffee table, letting out a string of fake chuckles. "I do apologize I think I had enough for tonight. I should go to bed." There were murmurs from Plutarch, Beetee and Peeta about going back to their own room but she waved that away. "Do not trouble yourself on my account."

Haymitch tried to grab her wrist as she walked past but she swiftly avoided it. She wouldn't meet his eyes either.

Closing the bedroom door behind her was a relief, mainly because the voices were completely cut off. She had never liked silence but since her cell it was worse, and yet at that moment she welcomed it.

Some tears spilled on her cheeks but she swallowed the rest of them back despite the lump in her throat. It was no use crying over something she had known for years.

The door opened and closed behind her as she was rummaging in the drawer for some clean pajamas – she didn't have a lot of clothes, only the few Fulvia had brought her in the hospital on Plutarch's orders and the woman's taste was doubtful, she hated sleeping with pants even silk pants and so, more often than not, she simply stole a shirt from Haymitch and used it as a shapeless nightgown.

She didn't turn around.

"Please, go back to your friends. I am fine, simply tired." she stated, as calmly as possible. He had a tendency to be overprotective since her rescue. She found it both endearing and infuriating.

"Like anyone's going to believe that." Jo snorted. Effie spun around right in time to see the victor flop down on the bed. The young woman lied on her back and watched her. "I don't get you."

"Shocking reveal, I am sure." Effie huffed, kicking off her heels. "What can I do for you, Johanna?"

"I've had to listen to you moan about him for weeks." Jo scoffed. "Oh, Haymitch will come. Haymitch will save us. Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch… And now… What? Is it 'cause they didn't get you out with us?"

She rolled her eyes, unzipping the dress and carefully laying it out on the chair in the corner so it wouldn't get creased. She felt Jo's eyes on her but she wasn't self-conscious about the scars. Johanna had been there when most of them had been done, she had patched most of them up. They had seen each other naked often enough by that point. "I understand why I was not rescued with you three. I was not in the same cells and they had no idea where I was. It is not…" She took a deep breath and grabbed one of Haymitch's shirt, slipping it over her head before struggling to unclasp her bra under the fabric. "You think I am a foolish person. You think he is a traitor for having sex with me. Why are you even concerned about this? Shouldn't you be happy to know he will never love me?"

The words were difficult to utter but nothing she hadn't admitted to herself a thousand times before. There was a reason she had always mouthed those three words against his skin late at night when she was sure he would never feel them. There was a reason she had never ever made the mistake of saying them out loud.

She didn't want to see the pity on his face when he would be forced to answer he didn't.

Johanna propped herself on her elbows, studying her. "That's what you got out of what just happened?"

"You would not understand." she laughed and it was bitter. "There is no competing with a ghost."

"There's no competing with a mad woman either, Trinket." Johanna snapped. "Don't tell me what I can and cannot understand."

Effie looked up in shock, not quite ready for that kind of revelation. Jo wasn't looking at her anymore. She was glaring at the wall, looking positively thunderous.

"Finnick was…" she tried carefully.

"We're so not going there." Seven's victor warned in a growl that told her she would break every of her bones if she even tried.

She allowed her her privacy because Johanna was worse than Haymitch when it came to feelings. She walked to the window, watching the gardens below with some wistfulness. It was a nice view. It had been untouched by the war.

"My mother disapproves of love." she confessed in a soft voice. "She thinks it to be a hinder to one's ambitions. Love is for children and weak people, that is what she always says."

"Sounds nice." Jo snorted. "I can definitely see why you're so crazy."

Effie pursed her lips and tossed her a chiding glance over her shoulder before going back to looking at the grounds. "Sometimes I think she is right. I love and I get hurt. This is a pattern. And yet I cannot help myself."

"Love's not a children game, it's a disease, Trinket." Jo sneered. "Makes people stupid. Like you, right now."

"Pain makes people stupid too." she hummed. "But, then again, love and pain are often siblings."

"So much poetic shit tonight." Seven's victor mocked. "For the record, he looked pretty humiliated back there."

"You are mistaken." she retorted. "If anyone was humiliated, it was certainly me."

"You're so fucking thick." Johanna scowled. "Look…"

Whatever the victor was going to say was interrupted by the door being pushed open. Haymitch didn't look in a good mood – not that he ever did. He glared at Jo who was still lying on the bed and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "Out."

Seven's victor sneered. "Try with a please."

"I'll try by kicking your ass if you don't get the fuck out right now." he threatened.

"Haymitch!" Effie snapped. "That is no way to treat guests. Manners!"

She didn't quite know what she was playing at. Acting like the old Effie would have, pretending nothing had happened and she was still that woman… Somehow it was easier than facing the fact she had no idea who she was now. A shattered broken shell of her former self, that much was obvious, but besides that…

"I'm serious." Haymitch growled, completely ignoring her.

"Fine." Jo spat, hauling herself to her feet. She tossed her one last look. "Try not to be a fucking idiot for a change, I know it's hard for you."

Effie glared at as she sauntered away. There was no noise coming from the other room and she figured the others had all left. She had hoped to have more time alone to prepare herself for this. She headed straight to the bathroom to take her make-up off, plastering an awful fake smile on her lips.

"Peeta seems to be doing tremendously better." she declared, reaching out for wipes. She hadn't been bothering with complete make-up. Some foundation powder, some eyeshadow and lipstick… That was all. It didn't take that long to clean it off and so she hastily started smearing cream on her face if only to appear busy. He was leaning against the threshold, watching her, and the whole situation felt awfully domestic. It unsettled her. She had never allowed any of her boyfriends to see her like that, doing this sort of stuff. Haymitch had seen her brush her teeth countless times. It wasn't a big deal to him but to her it was. She had never allowed herself to be as vulnerable with anyone else. "Now if only Katniss would recover too…"

"You want me to ask them to get you a room?" he asked. It took her aback and her eyes flew to his in the mirror. He looked calm, almost detached, his features schooled into a blank mask he often wore when playing poker or chess – or when he was planning a rebellion behind her back. "You've been crashing here for days. Not sure I gave you a choice about it."

The only idea of being left alone in one of those suites was terrifying. It would be another cell, it would feel like another cell – just like the hospital room – in a way Haymitch's suite didn't. The mess he left everywhere made the rooms lived-in, if she had a panic attack and he wasn't there, she could always crawl on the bed and bury her face in his pillow. She felt safer there because she knew he wouldn't let anyone hurt her. He would guard her with his life. He had told her so.

Would she be as safe in another room? She didn't think so. People could grab her there. Hurt her.

She was short of breath and she clenched the sides of the sink, trying not to make a fool of herself. "I…" Her sight was blurring, fingers prickling as if ants were crawling all over them.

Suddenly arms were around her. She startled at first, not sure where she was all of a sudden, not sure blows wouldn't start raining down just because it wasn't a good day and the guards were pissed.

"Breathe, sweetheart."

She stopped struggling and turned around, burying her face in his shoulder, letting his smell wrap around her, letting it chase away the stench of rot. It was her who had been rotting away, her own body bathing in its own filth, her wounds festering…

She forced herself not to think about that.

"I want to stay with you." She rushed the words out before she could regret them, fisting his shirt and clinging to him. She didn't care if it was unfair or if he wanted her gone. She didn't care because she wasn't ready to do this without him. She couldn't. She couldn't. "Please, don't send me away. I am sorry I made a scene. I am sorry." She was half sobbing in panic now. He shifted, stepped back maybe, but she refused to be pushed away. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he automatically tightened his embrace. "Don't leave me, Haymitch… Please, don't leave me…" Hopping wasn't a conscious decision but suddenly she had her legs locked around his waist and he was struggling to hold her up. "Please…"

"What the fuck, sweetheart?" he grumbled.

She felt him walking around but she didn't let that disturb her. Her face was pressed against his neck and when he sat down on the bed, she stubbornly remained on his lap, clinging to him like a child or a monkey. His hand coiled around her nape in a familiar gesture of affection that made her relax a little.

"I am sorry." she whispered again.

"What for?" he frowned. "Fuck, Effie, I just asked 'cause I never actually did before, that's all… Wasn't kicking you out…"

Her head was fuzzy, she still felt on the edge of a panic attack or a flashback, and it was hard to understand what he meant.

"Don't ask again." she begged.

"Fine." he agreed at once. "Fucking fine with me. Just thought… 'Cause earlier…"

"I do not want to talk about that." she snapped, pressing her forehead harder against his neck. "It is fine. I can be second best. It is fine. But I need you. Do not leave me. I cannot… I cannot, Haymitch. I am sorry. It is unfair to you. But I cannot."

He gently squeezed her nape, trying to draw back to force her to look at him but she didn't let herself be shaken away. She didn't have a lot of strength left. She was hideously thin, ribs poking out so much they were easy to count and almost no muscle to speak of, but everything she had, she put in holding him, so much so that her limbs cramped.

"You're not making any sense." he accused. "What the fuck… I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving you ever again, sweetheart. Thought we had already made that clear." He had promised he wouldn't. He had told her again and again when she was in the hospital. But there was leaving and leaving. She wasn't certain she believed he wouldn't yet. He sighed and nuzzled her hair, his mouth finding her ear. "What's that shit about being second best?"

She answered with a small shrug and she spared a thought for her mother who would have been deadly ashamed by her current behavior. "The pink ribbon."

He tensed. His whole body tensed.

"Effie…" he hesitated.

"It is alright." she whispered. "I can understand how much you love her. I hate it. I hate it. But I can understand. Starting a revolution for her… I would have done the same for you, I think. I would do the same for you. I helped you do it, consciously or not, because of the foolish idea that perhaps…" She shook her head. "Foolish because you still carry that ribbon around in your pocket and you forever will. And that is alright. You can be the love of my life even if I am not the love of yours. You do love me a little. Perhaps not in the same way I do but you do love me a little. We are a team after all. I should learn to be happy with that and not to hope for more."

There was a long silence and then he rested his head on top of hers.

"In Thirteen… When they bombed us… Well, before they bombed us… Ran back to my compartment to grab my stuff before heading down to the bunker…" he said slowly, almost awkwardly. "First thing I looked for, only thing I looked for really, was already around my wrist." She heard him swallow as if he was nervous. "Mabel's token… It's been in my bag with other stuff for a while. Stuff I want to keep, yeah, but not stuff… Look, the only token I've been wearing is yours." He snorted. "And it's fucking ugly. You've got no idea how much people glared at me because of it in that place… Gold bangles aren't really trendy there, I guess."

Her heart was pounding in her chest and she knew he could probably feel it but she didn't quite care.

"Did you just use the word trendy?" she whispered.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling in disbelief. "That's what you got of what I just said?"

"I understood what you just said, I just don't understand why you have to use such convoluted ways of saying so." she retorted almost petulantly, drawing back to look at him this time, finally letting go of her death grip to hook her fingers around the bangle on his wrist. It was battered and scratched but it still shone. A bit like her maybe. "My token, then?"

He brushed her hair back, his grey eyes full of tenderness and… something she wouldn't have dared called love before now.

"I was an idiot, Effie." he admitted. "A fucking idiot. Suddenly you were gone and… It just… hit me."

She leaned in, brushing her mouth against his, tasting the whiskey he had been steadily drinking all night. "Well, I am back." she murmured, playfully nipping at his bottom lip. "And you are an idiot. But you are also mine which makes up for it in a lot of ways."

She wanted it to be a statement but it came out more uncertain than she would have liked.

He laid her down on her back and she kept her legs locked around his waist, forcing him to remain where she wanted him. There was nothing uncertain about the way he kissed her. It wasn't playful and it wasn't dirty.

It was a claim and a promise all at once.

Her fingers closed around the bangle again and something very primitive roared inside her chest because he had chosen.

Her token.