May I prompt? 3/4/5 (whatever you prefer) times Haymitch called Effie his wife (accidentally or not, your choise ) and one where she calls him her husband instead (or vice versa). Thanks if you do this
5 Times Haymitch Calls Effie His Wife & 1 Time She Calls Him Her Husband
1.
Haymitch closed his eyes and silently prayed whoever was listening for patience.
Patience.
"Truly." his escort huffed, smoothing imaginary creases from his jacket. "How difficult is it to dress properly? You are thirty-eight, Haymitch. One would expect a thirty-eight year old man to know how to put on a suit without crumpling it."
Every person who passed them by tossed them looks ranking from amused to sympathetic.
He didn't know why she was making such a fuss anyway. They were backstage, waiting for Caesar to call them on set of his morning talk-show for the interviews of the losing Districts. Given that their tributes had lasted a good total of fifteen minutes – a record maybe but not enough to escape the Bloodbath at the Cornucopia – they would probably spend five minutes on the Games and the next twenty-five on whatever rumors and gossips had caught the attention of the public that year. They would come back on his drunken stunts, on their volatile working relationship, on whatever affairs they were supposed to be having with rich people or other victors…
In short, it would be unbearable.
But nobody would care.
Twelve's team interested no one.
He highly doubted the press would lead with Haymitch Abernathy's suit was creased on a TV show the following day – although it was the Capitol, you never knew.
"It reflects badly on me when you look less than your best." she kept on ranting, moving from adjusting the waistcoat and jacket to undoing the tie's knot to do it again. "You know this."
He knew and he didn't particularly care.
But he preferred to keep his peace. If he got angry now, they would fight. If they fought, Caesar would pick up on it and it would be even worse.
He didn't want to deal with twenty-five minutes of what usually felt like therapy in front of an audience. Why do you feel Effie is being overbearing, Haymitch? Do you understand where he comes from, Effie? Would you say you work better together or alone? Caesar had a real talent for bullshit.
When she reached for his hair, he couldn't help it though. He snapped. "You're done fussing like a fucking annoying wife?"
She pursed her yellow painted lips tight, narrowed her eyes and tilted her head a little to the side. "You would be lucky to have me for a wife, Haymitch."
"So lucky I would hang myself." he scoffed.
"Miss Trinket, Mr Abernathy." Caesar's assistant called, his blue wig dangerously swaying left and right. "You're on."
They walked on stage under the applauses, smiling and waving like the game demanded.
Haymitch hated every second of it.
The moment they sat down – far enough from each other that they wouldn't have to brush against the other – he felt Caesar's calculating gaze and silently rolled his eyes, which warranted him a small warning glare from his escort.
"Haymitch, Effie… I cannot help but feel a tension…" the host opened with a smile inviting to confidence. "Are you having a disagreement again?"
Haymitch didn't even try to hide his groan.
2.
Those Games would be the death of him.
Katniss and Peeta were safe for the moment – as safe as could be in an arena full of people who wanted their heads anyway – and he had collapsed on the penthouse's couch. Ten minutes, he had told Portia, who had been fluttering around, watching the feed with him, while Effie had been out chasing sponsors with Cinna.
Ten minutes of rest.
He didn't remember the last time he had lied down, never mind slept.
He drifted off for more than ten minutes but couldn't quite fall into slumber. He had passed an arm over his eyes but he was acutely aware of Portia sitting on the armchair, distractedly sketching suits. He wouldn't sleep with a stranger in the room – even if the stylist had been nothing but a help and a friend since the beginning, it wasn't personal, he simply didn't trust her yet. Still, he let his mind wander and his body rest, needing the surplus of energy.
He heard the chime of the elevator in the silence but didn't get up.
It would be Cinna or Effie. The clicking of heels answered that.
The smell hit him next. Not the musky arousing perfume she often wore but the rich smell of tomato sauce.
"Is that…" Portia whispered.
"Lasagnas from Alicotts. Yes." Effie answered in a low voice, clearly having spotted him on the couch. "I had lunch with Evan Livers. He signed a sponsoring pledge."
Alicotts was a restaurant… Or at least he thought so. A big fancy one. She had dragged him there for a meeting with sponsors once or twice. The food had been awesome, the setting had made him uncomfortable.
But the smell… His stomach rumbled but he didn't move just yet. His body was heavy and he was too tired to deal with the small talk the women were exchanging.
"I didn't know they did take-out." Portia remarked.
"They do not." Effie replied and he heard the pleased grin in her voice. "Haymitch loves their lasagnas and I am persuasive. He worked so hard… I think he deserves a treat."
"You worked hard too." Portia pointed out.
There was a small silence only disturbed by the ruffling of fabric as his escort walked around. He heard the sound of a paper bag being placed down on the coffee table and then he felt the blanket he had dragged from the bedroom a few days earlier, when they had spent the night waiting to see if Katniss would survive, being carefully placed on his body.
"You know, Effie… It is funny…" the stylist hummed after a few seconds. "You hear all those things… Everyone thinks you two hate each other…"
"We do, most days." Effie joked.
"You look more like an old married couple to me." Portia countered. "You aggravate each other, that's true, but nobody can deny there is a deep affection there."
"Oh, I think we can all deny that pretty easily, on the contrary…" his escort chuckled. More rustling of fabric. "Oh, do not feel forced to leave… There is more than enough for both of you."
"As hard as it is to say no to lasagnas from Alicotts… I should go find Cinna." Portia sighed. "I have to make sure he gets some food and some rest." The stylist laughed. "Look at us being wives of the year."
"I am not…" Effie protested but Portia was a whirlwind herself and she was gone before Effie could properly argue her point.
He waited until he was sure the elevator's doors were closed before moving his arm away from his face, studying her. She looked exhausted despite the heavy layers of make-up. She was taking out the plastic containers from a paper bag.
"Staring is rude." she rebuked without even glancing up from what she was doing.
He pulled the blanket to his chin and kept on watching as she fetched plates, forks and knives.
"You should have pretended to have cooked it yourself." he mocked when she handed him a plate loaded with a generous portion of still steaming food. He thought he glimpsed dessert waiting in the bag.
He pulled up his legs long enough for her to sit down and then placed them on her lap, despite the brief glare she tossed him. She rearranged the blanket though, making sure his feet were tucked in.
The lasagnas were delicious.
"As if you would have believed that." she scoffed. "My cooking abilities are limited to finding excellent restaurants and ordering take-out, I am afraid. Simply be grateful I remembered to feed you."
He smirked around the next mouthful. "What a perfect little wife I have…"
"Chew and then talk, Haymitch. Nobody wants to see what is inside your mouth." she berated him, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She soon picked at a loose thread on the blanket and cleared her throat, a hint of a blush on her cheeks under the make-up. "Did you hear that? Portia was just teasing…"
Grey eyes twinkling in amusement, he winked. "It's alright, sweetheart… I'm a catch."
She huffed. "Hardly."
And yet she kept her gaze averted and patted his shin distractedly.
He thought there might have been a touch of seriousness to her stance.
And suddenly the joke wasn't that funny anymore.
3.
She had always been sensitive to the cold but it was worse than that nowadays.
No matter how many blankets, he piled on her, no matter what he tried, her skin remained freezing to the touch. Even then, with a couple of woolen blankets on top of her, with her neatly tucked against his side as they huddled together on the narrow hospital bed, she remained cold. He was sweating from the heating and her warmth combined but she still shivered from time to time.
Sometimes he wondered if the chills of the cell she had stayed in for months would ever fade away.
He was petting her short hair, the blond locks a little more than peach fuzz now, distractedly letting his fingers drum on the side of her neck from time to time.
He was tired of hospital rooms, of sickening white walls and blinding neon lights.
Since the surrender, he had been spending too much time in hospitals.
Effie was better now. Less aloof, more grounded… On the road to complete recovery or so the doctors claimed.
He thought they would have released her a couple of weeks earlier if he and Plutarch hadn't been pulling strings to avoid that – they certainly needed the bed. Having her released from hospital care posed a conundrum though because there were soldiers at the door eager to grab her and he still didn't have a solution for that.
And he was tired.
So very tired.
Tired of the insidious war with Coin, tired of losing loved ones, tired of struggling with the thirst for liquor, tired of fighting…
"Perhaps, you should just let them do as they pleased." Effie suggested in a whisper, nuzzling his shoulder a little. "Let them put me on trial."
"And then what?" he scoffed. "We hire a lawyer and we pray for a miracle? You think they'll make an exception for you? That Effie Trinket will go down in history as the only escort not getting sentenced to death?"
"Oh, no use in wasting money…" she chuckled. "We both know there is no way I will walk out of the courthouse a free woman. But perhaps… Perhaps that is how it should be, Haymitch. Effie Trinket is never going to be anything else than Twelve's escort. Even if you find a way to get me pardoned…"
She was right, of course, and it angered him.
He wasn't going to give up on her.
He wasn't going to let them kill her.
Over his dead body.
"Effie Trinket's a liability." he agreed with a deep long sigh before licking his lips. There was something he had been thinking about. It was a long shot. A Hail Mary she might not like, but… Desperate times called for desperate measures… "Effie Abernathy wouldn't be."
She froze. Her whole body tensed against his side and he kept his eyes riveted to the wall, his head turned away from her.
"What?" she asked in a small croaking voice that simply wasn't her.
"There's so few of us left… They won't touch a victor's wife." he explained. "They won't touch my wife. I've always hated the fame thing but, fuck, sweetheart, if it can help for once… We can spin the whole thing into a good story. We can…"
"No." she cut him off.
He closed his eyes, somehow he had known she would say that. "Wouldn't be that terrible."
"For you or for me?" she retorted, reaching out to cup his cheek and forcing him to look at her. "You do not want to get married, least of all to me. It will make you miserable, which, in turn, will make me miserable. It is not a price I am prepared to pay."
"Even for your life?" he sneered. "'Cause I am."
"I have always refused to be a trophy wife, Haymitch." she insisted. "Do not ask that of me."
"It would hardly be a trophy wife." he argued. "What would it change anyway? When everything's over and we can take off… We're going together, yeah? What's the fucking difference?"
She looked at him as if he was an idiot, as if the whole thing was very simple and he was missing the point entirely.
"If I am to be your wife, I want it to be real." she whispered.
He sighed but dropped it, not wanting her to get upset over it. When she got upset, she tended to have panic attacks.
He didn't quite get it though.
To him, it would have been real.
4.
"I'm fucking done with this conversation, Plutarch." he snapped, his hand strangling the phone. "I'm coming with Effie or not at all. Take your pick."
The Secretary of Communication sighed at the other end of the line but Haymitch didn't waver, he frowned harder instead, trying not to look at Effie, who was sitting at the kitchen table, flicking pages of her magazine and doing a bad job of pretending she wasn't listening. She had told him it didn't matter. She had told him to let it go. He wouldn't.
If the government wanted him to attend the rebellion's anniversary, they would accept her presence by his side – where she ought to be – or they could do without him. If possible, he was growing even more stubborn with age. He had never had any interest in playing their mind games and he was done with that life.
"You have to understand…" Plutarch argued. "She is who she is. I love Effie, you know I do, but she was an escort and…"
"And you used to be a Gamemaker." he cut him off. "Doesn't stop you from going, yeah?"
"I was a key player of…" Plutarch scoffed, offended.
"So was I." he growled. "She paid her dues. She was pardoned. I don't see what the big deal is."
Effie breathed out a soft sigh and stopped pretending she wasn't following the conversation. "I can still go with you to the Capitol, Haymitch… It is no bother… I simply won't attend and…"
"See?" Plutarch triumphed. "I knew one of you would be reasonable. Nobody is forbidding her from coming with you to the city, of course… But her presence at the events…"
"She's coming with me or I'm not going." he insisted. "Nobody's stopping you from bringing your wife, I won't be ordered not to bring mine. Last time I checked, I fought to make Panem a free country. Tell them that."
He hung up.
Effie pursed her lips, not happy with how rude it was probably. "Was that entirely necessary?"
"Fucking unbelievable." he grumbled, snatching a bottle from the counter to take a calming gulp.
"It is truly not that big a deal." she promised in a quiet voice. "I do not mind…"
"I do." he spat. "They expect me to act like I'm ashamed of you. Like… Fuck that, Effie. I'm proud you're with me. I'm proud."
A soft smile graced her lips. "So am I."
5.
The kids' wedding had been a long time in coming.
It had taken years for Peeta to propose again – really, this time – and for Katniss to accept.
Haymitch had been looking forward to it but couldn't help feeling a slight tinge of nostalgia. It was stupid because the kids were the kids, they would still come and go in and out of their house as they pleased without knocking, there would still be dinners and there would still be advices asked and given…
Marriage didn't change anything.
The four of them would still be a family.
But in a way it was like the final touch of their growing up, like they were finally becoming adults… The two of them settling down properly, committing to each other… It was something Haymitch had never had an opportunity to do for himself and something that had been nagging at him since Katniss had casually announced over dinner that they were engaged and that Effie could knock herself out with wedding plans – within reason.
"You are lost in thoughts." Effie hummed quietly as she tugged on the bow tie to knot it properly.
His lips stretched into a smirk as he looked at her, taking in the red dress and the graceful curve of her neck as she tilted her head to tame the recalcitrant bow tie.
"Just thinking I'm lucky 'cause my wife's gonna be the most gorgeous woman of the party." he shrugged.
The compliment pleased her, he could tell, but she laughed all the same. "I do believe Katniss is supposed to be the most gorgeous woman of the party, given that she is the bride." Her eyes twinkled with amusement and she pecked his mouth. "But since you do not, in fact, have a wife, I think she won't mind the comparison."
She adjusted the bow tie with a beaming smile and then turned away to head downstairs. He coiled his fingers around her wrist, stopping her retreat.
"You're gorgeous, sweetheart." he insisted.
"Hush, now." she chuckled, pressing another kiss on his lips. "Or your wife will be jealous."
"Will she?" he teased, lifting his eyebrows. "Maybe I should get a ring on her finger once and for all, then…"
She laughed some more but rolled her eyes. "Enough nonsense. I am supposed to go help Katniss with her dress and you are in charge of making sure Peeta doesn't run away."
"If anyone makes a run for it, you know it's gonna be the girl." he snorted, a bit chagrined.
He wished she would stop dismissing every of his hints as mere jokes.
6.
Effie was in a state of panic when she barged in the hospital and rushed to the information desk.
"I am looking for Haymitch Abernathy." The words rushed out of her mouth in a single weak breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest, she felt dizzy, sick with worry since she had gotten the phone call… She had been at the shop when Peeta had called, selling stupid clothes she had designed and sewed herself… "He was cleaning the gutters and he fell from the ladder? I was told he fell from the ladder…"
That was what Peeta had said, that he had fallen and knocked his head… That he was taking him to the hospital because Haymitch seemed a bit incoherent…
And all because she had made a fuss about him cleaning the gutters that morning…
It was her fault.
All her fault.
"Are you a relative?" the nurse behind the counter asked without even glancing up.
"A re…" Effie stammered only to scoff. "We live together. We have been living together for more than a decade."
"That's not being a relative, ma'am." the woman shrugged. "I'm sorry, it's hospital policy. Information about patients can only be given to family."
"But I am family." she snapped. "Did you even listen to me?" She raised her voice a little, her Capitol accent bursting forth with her annoyance. "Don't you know who I am?"
If that girl knew, she clearly didn't care. "If you're not married…"
"Married!" she snapped. "What does it have to do with anything! Haymitch is my husband, I shouldn't need a ring to prove that! Now, you will direct me to his room or to someone who can help me or I swear…"
"Don't swear, sweetheart, it's unladylike." a familiar voice mocked. "And don't shout. I've got a bloody headache."
"Haymitch…" she breathed out, abandoning the nurse to turn around. He was standing there, next to Peeta, looking a bit pale but otherwise in one piece. She didn't even hesitate before rushing into his arms, not minding the scene they were causing for one second. She only breathed more easily once she was safely in his embrace. "That simpleton wouldn't give me news." she complained. "Did you know about this ridiculous rule that only married people get news? I never had any problem before. Truly!"
"You were my escort before." he snorted against her hair, taking a step back.
"Yes, well." she huffed. Peeta ducked his head to hide a smile – she pretended not to see. "Quite unacceptable."
"Marry me then." he shrugged.
She pursed her lips and glanced at the boy. "Did he damage his brain? Did they, at least, do exams?"
"I'm right as rain." Haymitch grumbled before Peeta could open his mouth. "Just a bump."
"You just proposed." she scowled. "You will forgive me for wanting to make sure."
"I've been proposing for years." he retorted with a scowl of his own. "You're just too thick to get the hint. That's all the hairspray… It shrunk your small brain."
"You have been joking about it." she denied with a frown. "You were never serious."
He rolled his eyes. "How should I fucking do it? Down on one knee with a ring?"
"That might have made it clearer…" Peeta muttered between two bouts of coughing that suspiciously sounded like laughter.
"You were never serious." she repeated, a touch of doubt in her voice.
"Oh, wasn't I?" he scorned. "You know better than I do, clearly."
She narrowed her eyes at him but waved a dismissive hand. "No matter. We are getting married at the earliest opportunity in any case. I will not be turned away again because I am not officially your relative." She tossed a poisonous glare at the nurse over her shoulder but the woman wasn't paying her any attention. She reached out for Haymitch instead, cupping his cheek, trying to convince her heart to stop racing. "Falling from a ladder… Truly… You will be fifty-five next month, you are not a young man anymore…"
"You're the one who wanted me to clean the gutters." he countered with annoyance, covering her hand with his.
"Since when do you listen to me?" she scoffed. "What would I do if I… Haymitch, I cannot…"
"I'm fine, Princess. I'm here." he promised, his voice a little too knowing. "I ain't going anywhere."
"Except to the Justice Building to get married apparently." Peeta piped in with a grin. "Effie, can I give you away?"
"That will be utterly ridiculous." she chuckled. "But why not?"
"Nobody wants my opinion, then?" Haymitch mocked.
"We never want your opinion, darling, and it never stops you from giving it." she taunted right back, locking her arm with his. "Let's get you home."
Maybe she could get him to toast some bread in the fireplace before he realized what he had offered.
That would be neat.