Prompt: Some time before the 74th Hunger Games, Effie and Haymitch talking about how they'd like their future to be? Dreams and hopes and all this? Maybe a dream wedding for Effie and something akin to peace for Haymitch and them somehow realizing that they can't imagine a future without the other one in whatever way? Once you are back, could you add this to your long lists of prompts? I think you haven't done it before.

His Reason To Fight

Dread wasn't something Haymitch dealt well with. He was practiced at it but it was still slowly killing him to wait for the big disaster looming ahead.

Training always meant long days for Effie and him. The kids were locked downstairs while they were sentenced to do interviews, to parade around, to try attracting sponsors… The whole awful game of being seen… Joking with other victors and, occasionally, escorts usually made it a little more bearable.

Not this year.

The Quell was a monstrosity.

Even the Capitol wasn't that excited about it. Capitols loved their victors, that was the flaw in Snow's plan. And most sponsors had yet to get themselves in the Games. None of them would pledge themselves to Twelve no matter how popular their star-crossed lovers were though. He figured orders had been given. He also figured that it didn't make much of a difference. The rebels would cover the expenses.

Effie hadn't been happy about his insistence they should go back to bed that morning, after sending the kids to train and try to pick out allies, but he had found arguments that had convinced her.

"We really should go out." she sighed but didn't attempt to move.

They were too comfortable in their cocoon of blankets, naked skin pressed tight, her back on his chest, her body trapped between his legs, his left arm around her waist and his other hand slowly running up and down from her shoulder to her elbow…

They had been staring at the ceiling since they had been done. He had only intended for this to be a quickie, not a cuddling session, but that happened more and more lately. Dread, he decided. It was a powerful thing.

He was dreading so many things lately. The Quell, first and foremost, that would come before they would be completely ready… Anything going wrong with the plan and resulting in his kids' death… The friends he knew wouldn't survive because it was unrealistic to expect them all to come out unscathed… Getting Effie to Thirteen by all means necessary wasn't something he looked forward to either because she would either follow willingly without question or he would need to have her kidnapped… Thirteen itself with its rebel president and its prohibition act…

Before that he had been dreading the Reaping and its result… What he would have had to do if…

"I don't know what I would have done if…" Effie whispered, always so attune to his own thoughts, he sometimes feared she could read his mind.

"It didn't happen." he said firmly for her benefits as well as his own. The nightmares had been bad since the announcement, recurrent and not helped by the ban on liquor Peeta had enacted. Cutting down in those conditions had been hell, sticking to it now was torture… Nightmares came every night. Always the same thing or a variation of it. An arena and him, unleashing the monster trapped within – because he knew himself, he was a survivor, he would never wait for death lying down, no matter who would have stood in front of him. "You would have managed. Peeta's a good kid. He would have listened to you."

"But it would have been all about Katniss." she breathed out. "He would have sacrificed you."

"It's always all about Katniss." he sighed. "It has to be, sweetheart." Hopefully, it would be about Peeta too, this time. He had imposed his conditions. The fingers he had been trailing up and down her arm stilled. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. We're taking a morning off."

"We cannot really afford it." she reminded him.

"Fuck it, Effie. We're in the eye of a bloody hurricane. Just enjoy the quiet while it lasts." he chuckled without any amusement.

She reached for the hand that was resting on her shoulder and tugged until he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her impossibly tight.

She was afraid, he knew she was. All of them were afraid, with the possible exception of Cinna who was too eager to give everything to this cause. He knew the type. He didn't foresee the stylist surviving this war. He would burn for the rebellion one way or another. He was too desperate to play the martyr.

Haymitch wasn't as eager to die for an ideal. For his kids, yeah. For an ideal? Not so much. It would be too pointless. He wasn't a noble soul.

"They want us to lose." she said quietly. "The children… Some of the other victors… This is just a way to get rid of them, isn't it?"

He squeezed her waist once with his arms. A warning. There were bugs everywhere. Cameras too probably. He hoped they had enjoyed the show. The end of the world was too close around the corner for him to worry about who had seen what. His affair with Effie was old news anyway, he had no hope of hiding that from Snow.

"Doesn't matter." he mumbled.

"Yes, it does, because I have the awful suspicion you will have an accident after the Games are over." she retorted, too loud in the silent room.

She knew they were being listened to. He didn't understand what she was playing at.

"Effie." he growled.

"This is my last year." she informed him.

"I know." he sighed. As far as age was concerned, she was pushing it. They had won the previous year and thus nobody could have requested her to resign but this time…

"I want to go to Twelve with you." she declared.

He hadn't been expecting that. He frowned, not quite sure he was following. "What?"

"If the children lose and they decide that you…" She stopped herself at the last moment but he could hear the pain in her voice all the same. "I want to be with you. I am tired of all this. I want to be with you."

She wanted to die with him.

"No." he spat at once.

"What else is there for me?" she scowled. She sounded sad and exhausted. "Should I marry the first potential husband my mother throws my way? Should I play the trophy wife for the rest of my life to a man who will only buy the famous escort package? Should I drink glass after glass, pop pill after pill and consume too many cigarettes just so I can be as shallow as the rest of them once more? Should I play a part until the day I die? Is that what you want me to do?"

"Shut up." he snarled. "You stay alive, that's what you do. Whatever happens, you…"

"We are different." she argued. "I do not see the point in…"

"Oh, please." he scoffed. "You're a drama queen, that's what you are. You're as much a survivor as I am." He believed that with all the fibers of his being. She wasn't the obvious all gun blazing kind of survivors, she was the sneaky one. Cunning. Patient. Good at hiding. There was no shame in hiding. Only the end result counted. "If it comes down to that, you'll get over me and you'll move on."

She was silent for a moment, then she let her head roll to the side, her cheek flat against his skin.

"You underestimate what I feel for you." she murmured, low enough that nothing would pick it up.

"This is just sex. Nothing more." he grumbled. He didn't know why he kept lying. In a desperate attempt to convince Snow and whoever needed to be convinced? He had been doing a bad job for a while now.

"For you, perhaps." she sighed.

He closed his eyes and mused they should get out of bed now, because this discussion was quickly becoming dangerous – had become dangerous a few minutes earlier, really – and the Capitol didn't need any more ammunition against him.

"Love doesn't kill you." he mumbled eventually. "That's a myth. Look at me. Still kicking."

"It destroyed you." she countered. "You spent years in a limbo."

The fact he had gotten a bit better was left unaddressed. The fact that he was terrified of loving again in fear of losing someone else was too.

"You won't die for me." he forbade. "Hear me?"

"Not for you." she argued. "With you. With the children. With my team where I belong."

"Effie…" he scorned very seriously.

"These violent delights have violent ends." she hummed.

"Don't quote dead poets to me." he hissed. "I'm serious."

"I am too." she retorted. "But fine. I will stop talking about it. Who says the decision is even in our hands anyway?"

That was an even scarier thought.

Nothing would happen though.

They would all get to Thirteen. The four of them.

He wasn't an optimist but he had to believe.

She was heavy on his chest and he committed the weight of her to memory. How it felt. It wasn't the most comfortable but he didn't want her to move. He liked it.

She bent a leg at the knee, wedging her foot under his calf. He watched the tent the blankets were forming and wondered what they were playing at… They had never been a couple. Why had they been acting so much like one since Victory Tour? Since before that, if he was honest…

"What did you dream about when you were a child?" she asked, sounding distracted. "What was your perfect future?"

"Not getting reaped would have been a good start." he snorted bitterly.

"Yes, I can imagine." she sighed.

He fell silent, hoping she would drop it, but she insisted by pressing her foot harder against his calf. He rolled his eyes, his thumb automatically drawing stupid patterns on her skin.

"I don't know." he shrugged. "It was too long ago." It was a lie though and when she poked him in the thigh he rolled his eyes again. "A farm, alright? My brother loved animals and it would have been better than the mines. So a farm. It would have been big enough so we could all live there, my brother, my mother, me and my girl eventually… She wanted kids so… Maybe one at some point." Although that had always been something he had been reluctant about. But it was a dreamed future… Maybe when he had been younger, it hadn't been such a frightening concept as it was now. "Just… Something peaceful, you know? Enough money to get by. Nobody starving."

"That sounds nice." she commented, managing not to wrinkle her nose despite the fact that a farm was so far out of the range of things she would find nice, it was laughable. "I wanted a big wedding. I would have been so famous, the coverage would have been huge. The wedding would have lasted three days, it would have been the party of the century. My husband would have been shamefully rich and very famous and we would have had one of those mansions in the hills… He would have adored me. We would have been happy. We would have had two or three children. Boys and girls."

He didn't quite know what to answer to that so he chuckled. "See? Once I'm dead you can still have it."

She whacked his arm so hard it stung.

"Do not be ridiculous. I was a child. I was naïve and blind." she retorted. "This sounds unappealing now."

"Yeah." he concurred. "Can't quite say being a farmer would give me a kick nowadays."

"Thanks heaven." she deadpanned, sounding amused. "There are limits to how much rusticity I can bear."

"I'd like a house though." he offered. "One that's not in a graveyard, you know?"

"With a garden." she grinned. "A garden full of flowers."

"'Cause you have such a green thumb, sweetheart." he teased. "I can see you gardening. All the dirt on your clothes… Under your nails… You wouldn't freak out at all…"

"Do not be silly, we would have a gardener." she huffed. She didn't seem to realize the I had shifted to a we and he didn't call her out on it. "And a housekeeper. Not yours though. I do not like the way you look at her."

He rolled his eyes. "She's a friend."

"So you keep saying." she muttered. "But I know this kind of friends."

"You're being possessive." he complained.

"And we will pretend you are not turned on by it, darling, do not worry." she grinned. "Do you know what else I want? Colors. No beige walls for me. I will compromise for pastel tones and no pink but I want colors."

"What else is new?" he snorted. "I'd like a pet."

"A pet." she repeated, wrinkling her nose. "I like cats."

"Sure, you do. 'Cause I like dogs." he countered. He didn't mind cats terribly but cats were selfish independent creatures. "Maybe a bird or something."

"Birds are noisy." she protested. "How about a fish tank? With lovely exotic fishes? Silent, clean and pretty to look at."

"How about no?" he scoffed. "Can't have the house in the Capitol either."

"No." she agreed immediately, to his surprise. "If we are talking ideal future, I would like somewhere safer."

"Isolated enough that no one knows us." he added. "But close enough to the kids."

"Close to a big town too." she hummed. "I can live away from the Capitol but I cannot live like a savage."

"Fine." he compromised. "A big town but not too close. No coal dust, no mines and no starved children."

"No Reapings." she smiled, coiling her fingers around his wrists. "And we would be free to be together."

"If we wanted to be, which we don't." he grumbled.

He went ignored because who was he still trying to fool? A future without her would have been a grim and boring one. With her it would never be dull and he would never be bored. As scary a thought as it was.

"Would you marry me?" she asked with some hesitation. "If we could have the house and the freedom? Eventually… Would you…"

"I don't know." he scowled. "Not really the marrying type, sweetheart."

Not anymore, at least.

She brushed that off quickly. "No matter. It is of no importance."

The mood was shifting and he didn't like it.

"I would fuck you in every room of the house." he smirked, brushing his fingers from her belly to the apex of her thighs. "That would be fun."

"It would be." she laughed but her amusement was short-lived.

She wriggled until she could turn around and he tried not to wince she pressed on things that didn't need to pressed. Once she was flat on his chest again, on her stomach, with her face buried in his neck, he didn't complain though. He distracted himself by retracing the bumpy line of her spine. He could feel her sadness but didn't quite know what to say to comfort her.

"I do not want to lose you." she confessed against his neck. "You will say again I will survive you – and I probably can – but it does not mean I want to. I know it is foolish. I know it is everything we always said would not happen. I know you probably do not feel the same for me, at least not to the same degree, but… I cannot help the way I feel, Haymitch. And I cannot lose you. When I called out your name…"

"You won't lose me, Princess." he cut her off, almost reproachful. "Nothing will happen."

"That is a lie if I ever heard one." she hissed, directly in his ear and too low for the bugs to pick it up. "I am not blind and I am not dumb."

"I know you're not." he muttered, coiling his hand at the base of her nape. "But right now I need you to be, yeah?"

She searched his eyes for a moment.

"Are we still a team?" she asked softly.

Are you going to leave me behind?, she might as well have said.

"We'll always be a team." he answered sincerely.

He hoped she was getting what he wasn't saying, what he couldn't say.

As far he was concerned, they were in this together.

He didn't know if they would ever get the house and the safe life but… He figured they could do their damn best to try.

They weren't short of reasons to fight, but maybe they needed a selfish one.

One that wasn't about the kids but about them.

He could be hers.

And…

Well…

She could be his.