Prompt: Could you please do something during the games where ealize and Effie sleep in the same bed but don't have sex because Effie is on her period and they ealize how domestic it is?

A Trial Run In Domesticity

There were papers everywhere. Schedules, speeches, to-do lists, piles of notes concerning mayors' names, possible safe topics of conversations for the children to start during the various dinners… Effie's bed was covered with them, so were the floor around it and both her nightstands. She and Haymitch were sitting with their backs to the headboard, trying to make sure the next District stop would run smoothly.

It was late, Effie's eyes were burning and the light rocking of the train, as it rushed into the night to District Eight, wasn't helping her sudden bout of sleepiness. She shifted for the third time in as many minutes, trying to relieve the latent pain in her lower back. She could have taken a pill but the bottle was on her dressing table, too far away for her to reach – besides, moving would disrupt the system they had going and she wasn't about to do that until they were ready to tidy up and go to bed. It was a pain to organize.

"What's wrong?" Haymitch grumbled, not looking up from the speech she had prepared for Peeta. He was adding notes in the margins here and there. She would need to rewrite it. And then copy it on cards. In the morning, she decided. After a few hours of sleep.

"Nothing, why?" she hummed, snatching her personal schedule from the nightstand to add writing cards on it. She would need to get up earlier but she could squeeze it before breakfast.

"You're squirming." he replied, distracted. "It's annoying."

She rolled her eyes but didn't rise to the bait. Annoying was the now empty glass of whiskey that he had placed on her nightstand despite her rule about him never bringing liquor into her bedroom. She could smell it from where she was sitting. The only reason she hadn't really argued was because he had brought her some of her favorite tea along with it.

The tea was long gone too now…

She shifted again, wishing she could have another mug of it. Or perhaps coffee. If they were going to continue working through the night, she would need coffee.

He shot her an irritated glance, probably because she had moved once more.

"My apologies but I am tired and uncomfortable." she snapped. "We should have stuck to the living-room car."

The living-room car had couches that would have been easier on her back than the wooden headboard. Better yet, they could have remained in the dining-room car where there were chairs, a table and beverages easily accessible.

"It's you who claimed the kids keep wandering at night and that they would walk in and mess with everything." he pointed out. "So calm your tits, sweetheart."

"Language." she huffed, slamming her schedule back on her nightstand.

"Nobody said you couldn't get comfortable." he scowled. "It's two a.m. Who fucking cares if you get in your pajamas."

She pursed her lips at him because he certainly had no problem making himself at home in her room. He had toed off his shoes long ago, his waistcoat and his jacket had been tossed on her dressing table's stool, his shirt was half unbuttoned, and his sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows – which she actually quite enjoyed because there were worse sights than his muscular forearms.

"How long does it take to read a speech?" she sighed. "And honestly couldn't you be neater? How do you expect me to read those scribbles of yours?"

His handwriting was atrocious. She had painfully grown used to it with the years and she could decipher it easily enough nowadays but it still took efforts. She usually didn't comment on it because it was a sensitive subject. He had quitted school at sixteen and his attendance before that hadn't been stellar from what she had gathered – feeding his family had been a more pressing concern than going to school. He wasn't really proud of his butchered education. He had a curious mind and he might have been the smartest person she knew though, he had compensated for it by himself through books – and he had done an impressive job of it, in her opinion, he was more well-learned than a lot of Capitols she knew. But there were things that betrayed him and the handwriting he rarely had use for was one of them.

She regretted the gibe as soon as it had slipped past her lips.

"Sorry." she offered immediately, before he could retaliate. "I am tired."

His offended scowl slowly turned into a sulk. "You're cranky."

"I suppose I am, yes." she admitted, patting her orange wig. Her scalp was starting to itch and she threw caution to the wind and started removing pins.

The look he tossed her probably meant she should have done that earlier – and he might have had a point. After all, it wasn't like he had never seen her without a wig on. But it wasn't natural to her to work with someone – even him – without a wig or proper clothes. They worked together and they had sex together, those were two very separate things in her mind.

"I'm almost done with this one." he said. "I wanna check Katniss' again but you can start packing that up if you want. We're done with schedules and notes."

Schedules and notes were more her specialty anyway. He only listened to what she had to say because the Tour was going to hell. He had never bothered before.

She slipped her wig off and tousled her blond crumpled hair, then she gathered everything in the right order. Once there weren't papers everywhere – saved from the speeches he was still reviewing – she got off the bed and to her dressing table. She took her make-up off, noticing his grey eyes were tracking her every move instead of focusing on the notepad in his hand.

"Haymitch." she reminded him, pursing her lips at him in the mirror.

He smirked and gave her a small shrug. "All work and no play…"

"Nothing is happening tonight." she said very firmly. "Do not give yourself any idea."

She stood up and walked to the wardrobe, rummaging inside until she found the blue dress she was planning on wearing in Eight the following day. She carefully hung it at the front of the rack, pulling out the matching heels and placing them in easy reach. It would be a gain of time.

"Always helps you to sleep when you're tired…" he insisted, his gaze roaming over her body.

"Even so." she retorted, fishing silky green shorts and their matching lacy top from a drawer. "Tonight is not a good time."

He grabbed her wrist when she passed by the bed in the direction of the bathroom, tugging a little. "You're angry at me, sweetheart?"

He was actually pouting, as if she would withdraw sex as a punishment for whatever crime he had committed – well… she had been known to do just that but it made her wonder what he had been up to behind her back that he felt she might have punished him for.

"Take a hint, Haymitch." she muttered. "It is not a good time."

It took a few seconds for understanding to dawn on his face. He let go of her wrist as if he had been burned, with a quiet ah.

"Explains why you're cranky, I guess." he shrugged.

She wasn't sure that particular situation had ever occurred before. Usually, she simply avoided his attentions for a few days when it was that time of the month, but living together in a penthouse during the Games and living together on a train were two different things. The Tour was a lot more close quarters than she would have liked. It had been less spontaneous sex lately and more sex at night behind closed doors. It felt like a shift in their – non-acknowledged – relationship.

They worked late and they didn't get a lot of rest, if they slept together after a work session, he tended to remain in her bed because it was only for a couple of hours and it seemed stupid for him to stroll the train's corridors in the middle of the night. He had been anxious about his night terrors at first but… She was used to them, she knew what to never do – touch him or remain close enough that he could hurt her – and what to actually do – call his name and toss things at him from a safe distance until he woke up. She had noticed he had less nightmares when he slept with her. It was Katniss' screams that were echoing through the night nowadays, not his.

Nevertheless, the situation felt awkward. She had never ever discussed this sort of things with a man before. Propriety made it almost a taboo subject. There were things you never talked about if you had the correct upbringing.

A Capitol man would never have made a joke like that. They would have perhaps acknowledged the hint with a discreet nod and switched topic because that was the proper thing to do. Not that Effie would have admitted as much to a Capitol man in the first place. Men tended to be disgusted by it and perfection was key in the city.

Haymitch didn't really look disgusted. Just a bit uncomfortable.

She ducked into the bathroom, choosing to flee rather than to face the oddness. She decided it was another example of the cultural differences that existed between the Districts and the Capitol.

She took her sweet time in the bathroom, hoping he would have been done with the speeches and, thus, would be gone by the time she walked out.

What she didn't expect was to find the speeches neatly piled on the nightstand, his pants, underwear and socks abandoned on the floor, and Haymitch himself in her bed, sprawled on his stomach, the sheets and blankets kicked to his knees.

She did take a few seconds to admire the glorious view – it was a masterpiece, as far as she was concerned: the lines of his back, the few faded scars, the butt that begged to be bitten, the strong thighs, the slightly hairy calves… Even the soles of his feet… She knew she was in too deep because there was nothing about his body she didn't find attractive.

She could definitely understand why the Capitol had gone crazy for the Quell's victor twenty-five years earlier. He was handsome still.

And he was hers.

All hers.

"You're staring." he mumbled, eyes closed, his face half buried in the pillow he had commandeered. "Get your pretty ass in bed, Effie."

She licked her lips, not quite sure he had understood her after all.

"Haymitch, I have my period." she clarified, too tired to beat around the bush.

He opened an eyelid to study her. "Yeah, got that."

"I am not having sex with you." she clarified.

"Also got that." he scoffed. "I ain't totally clueless, sweetheart."

"You are naked. In my bed." she deadpanned. "Excuse me for expressing some doubts."

She switched the lights off and climbed over him to get to what was quickly becoming her side.

"I like sleeping naked." he grumbled. "You know that."

Sleeping naked in the privacy of his own room was one thing. Sleeping naked in her room after they had sex was another thing. Stripping down and climbing in her bed when they weren't about to have sex was entirely something else.

"You are sleeping here." she stated out loud, for her benefit as well as his.

She was thankful for the semi-darkness because he suddenly tensed and turned his head so he could look at her.

"That's okay?" he asked, not sounding as confident as usual.

He liked to call her arrogant but he had his own particular brand of egotism. He rarely, if ever, asked for permission before doing things that concerned her and he tended to assume she would either agree or cave – like, apparently, deciding he could sleep in her bed without being invited to as if they were in a habit of doing so.

"I suppose." she answered carefully, not quite sure what it meant.

He rolled on his side and reached out for her just as carefully – if not awkwardly. They had never really done that. When they cuddled in bed it was because they had ended up tangled in the throes of passion. They never really purposefully reached out – it had happened before when he had been too drunk to care, but sober?

She let him spoon her, sighing in relief when his warm body plastered itself to her back. There was one good thing to having Haymitch Abernathy in her bed – well, there were several good things but that one was a nice bonus – he was a source of warmth. She loved that. And right then it was all her body needed.

His arm sneaked around her waist, squeezing a bit too tight for her comfort. She nudged it higher and he grumbled but adjusted as she saw fit.

It was comfortable.

And nice.

And, perhaps, a bit frightening in its casualty.

"Does this feel domestic to you?" she whispered after a few minutes spent staring at the wall, despite the fact that she was ready to drop of exhaustion.

"Please." he scoffed "We couldn't be domestic if we tried."

He didn't sound as convinced as he ought to be.

She had never let herself picture it, what a life together might be like. It was impossible and dangerous. Only pain lied that way.

"You are right." she lied.

"Sweetheart, I'm always right." he snorted, pressing a kiss against her nape. "Sleep."

She relaxed in his embrace, happy in the knowledge that she was as safe as could possibly be.

It was the best night she had on that train so far.