Prompt: OMG you have to write this au with the flowers and the graveyard. Please please pease please.

Flowers For A Ghost

"I hope she is pretty."

Haymitch didn't startle – you didn't startle easily after years spent being the secret butcher of a corrupted government, that was Special Forces for you – but he almost dropped the flowers he had gathered in surprise. He wasn't used to people addressing him.

In the Seam, a little town near Richmond where he had grown up, people tended to give the crazy vet a wild berth.

He straightened up and faced the woman who had confronted him with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. She was blond, wearing running clothes that stuck to her body like a second skin – and made quite a few inappropriate ideas flash through his head – and she certainly was very pretty. A classy sort of beauty nobody would have expected to find around here. Her features, her bearings… He knew her kind, they lived in the city, surrounded by luxury.

Her eyes though…

As blue as the sky over their heads.

For a moment, they stood there, in the small deserted street, in front of the cheerful looking little house with the garden swarming with bright flowers, and they studied each other. Like enemies on the battlefield, he couldn't help but think.

She didn't really look hostile though. Maybe a bit annoyed. Mostly amused.

"Beg your pardon, sweetheart?" he asked, deciding they would be standing there all day if he didn't say anything.

She placed her hands on her hips and stared, her lips pursed as if to prevent a smile.

"The girl." she clarified.

"The girl." he repeated slowly. Maybe that woman didn't have all her marbles. Why else would someone of her social class come bury herself in a small town where nothing ever happened? Either she was crazy or in hiding. And Haymitch wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

"The girl." she insisted, her accent making it a bit disdainful, as if he was wasting her time by being obtuse. She gestured at the flowers hanging limply in his hand. "The one you have been plundering my garden for? It is the fourth time in a row, I believe." Fifth, actually, but he wasn't going to admit that. "I thought it was some prank at first or perhaps a teenage romance. You can imagine my surprise at finding a grown man picking flowers from my garden."

She was talking fast and in such a high-pitched voice that it might have been more audible to dogs than to humans.

"You ever breathe or…?" he mocked. Her amusement turned to disapproval. It seemed stealing flowers was mostly alright because she thought it served a romantic purpose but teasing her was a no-go. She was definitely the crazy sort. "So you live here?"

He nodded at the house with the turquoise blinds. It stood out like a sore thumb between the more shabby looking buildings in the street. He was pretty sure Mrs Lee, two numbers over, had a huge hole in her roof – mainly because he had been in a habit of patching it up for her when he was a kid. And nobody bothered with refreshing the coats of paint on the outer walls. It was the Seam and the Seam was poor. With coal dust from the mine dancing in the air every time the wind turned, there was no point trying to keep anything clean.

The woman's house, on the other hand, looked pristine. Bright blue blinds and door, creamy white walls that she would regret when the first windstorm of the year covered them in coal dust, the almost jungle-like garden that reminded him of past missions in hostile environments…

"I certainly do." she grinned, holding out her hand. "My name is Effie Trinket. I moved in about a month and a half ago. I haven't met a lot of people yet, I am afraid. People tend to be wary of strangers around here, do they not? Anyway, it is a pleasure to meet you. Even if you are a thief."

He couldn't help it. He smirked.

"Do you always talk so much?" he asked, ignoring the hand to her obvious dismay.

"Are you always so rude?" she retorted, a hint of steel under her cheerful tone. She dropped her arm but it seemed she couldn't stand still, her hands kept dancing in the air as she talked. "Tell me, have you never heard of something that really comes in handy sometimes… It is called a flower shop. You go in, order flowers and go out with a very nice bouquet for your beloved."

"You don't say." he deadpanned, fighting to keep the amusement off his face.

"I assure you it is nothing but the truth." she taunted, folding her arms across her chest. "Why, I even heard it said it avoids honest people having their nice garden ripped to shreds."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, now." he chuckled. "I too,k what… A couple of flowers…"

"You did not use the proper equipment and made a mess of the stems." She clucked her tongue. "I would rather have you ring the doorbell and ask like a civilized human being."

He rolled his eyes. "You're a drama queen, ain't you?"

He walked away without much more ado, deciding it was best to get out of that conversation before she tried to convince him he had hurt her plants' feelings. She was the sort to believe plants had feelings, he was sure.

Of course, he didn't expect her to catch up with him. She walked next to him for a few minutes until it was clear it wasn't just a simple coincidence.

"The fuck you think you're doing, following me around?" he scoffed.

She flashed him a bright dazzling smile. "Well, I have been speculating about my flowers thief for weeks. I do intend to find out how the story plays out. And perhaps I will also explain to your friend how rude you are. You still haven't introduced yourself."

"You're not coming with me." he spat, stopping dead in his track.

They were almost at the end of the street and the discrete metal door lost in the stone wall was in sight.

"I certainly am." she huffed. "I have a right to know how my property is being used." His eyes darted from her to the flowers in his hand to the metal door. He thrust the crumpled bouquet toward her but she stepped aside, refusing to take it. "No, no, no. By all means. Proceed."

He glared at her. "Sweetheart, you're a bitch."

She let out a strangled shocked noise.

"How dare you?" she scoffed. She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. "If this is an attempt at convincing me to go home, it simply won't work. I am determined to see this mysterious woman. Or is it a man? And, please, my name is Effie, no need for tacky pet names."

He blinked. Crazy. He would be better off ignoring her. Otherwise, she might follow him home.

He started walking again, a nervous lump in his throat, like always at this part. He paused in front of the metal door, took a deep breath – to her obvious puzzlement – and pushed it open. He heard her small gasp but didn't pay her any attention, forcing his legs to go on.

The cemetery wasn't huge. Tombs were crammed close together in an effort to save space. He distractedly waved to Old Tom, the local gravedigger, who was busy trying to salvage a broken headstone, but he didn't stop.

"Peculiar place for a date." the woman commented in a soft voice.

He figured she had understood it wasn't exactly a date but was clinging to the idea because crashing someone else's date was less embarrassing than stalking them to a graveyard.

When he stopped in front of the familiar headstone, she remained a few steps behind him.

He stood there awkwardly, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other, never quite sure how he ought to act or what he ought to say. In the end, he simply brushed aside the dead flowers from the previous week aside and tossed the fresh ones there instead.

"She was." he heard himself say. "Pretty, I mean."

"I am so sorry." she whispered. "I would never… If I had known…"

"It's fine, sweetheart." he dismissed. "I did steal your flowers." He stood up from his crouch, knees creaking, and shrugged. "It always seems stupid to go to a flower shop, you know? They're dead. Not like they can enjoy the flowers… But, then, there's your garden on the way and…" He shrugged again, letting his voice trail off. He buried his hands in his pockets and faced her, stricken again by how blue her eyes were. "Name's Haymitch, by the way. Abernathy."

Effie's gaze slowly retraced Mabel's name in golden letters on the headstone before coming back to him.

"It is nice to meet you, Haymitch." she answered. "And I do apologize again. I was awfully rude and intruding. I simply… It has been lonely since I moved here, I simply wished to make new friends."

"Do you stalk all your friends?" he snorted.

"Only the ones I really like." she grinned but she sobered up quickly when her eyes fell on the headstone once more. He was waiting for the series of questions to begin but instead of interrogating him, she surprised him. "Would you like to get some coffee? When you are done here, of course, do not rush on my account."

He glanced in the direction of his mother's and brother's graves and decided he could come back later or the next day. It wasn't like he was an extremely busy man.

"Sure." he shrugged.

What was the worst that could happen?

Effie was weird and obsessed with manners but it didn't take him long to find out that if he pushed on the right buttons, she could also be feisty. He liked that side of her best so he took great pleasure in riling her up.

Still, she was nice.

The next week, when he passed by her house, she was waiting in her garden with a pretty colorful bouquet of freshly cut flowers tied together with a pink ribbon. He objected to the pink only not to have to admit he was touched and embarrassed by her thoughtfulness.

And he obviously accepted to come back to have coffee with her after he was done.

It became a thing.

He wasn't sure how coffee turned to dinner or how he ended up in her bed but…

He wasn't going to complain.