prompt : while helping effiie lift something haymitch pulls a muscle ( back or groin or something painfull) hes a little embarrassed and doesnt want effie to know, effie finds out and and tells him that he doesnt have to be all macho all the time and she takes care of him.

Housework Accident

For all her accusations that Haymitch was lazy, Effie had never really meant it, mainly because it wasn't as much about laziness as about taking the easy way out. True, he tended to get up late in the morning but that was because he didn't sleep well and usually only caved and went up to bed when he couldn't bear staying awake anymore – and since her own nightmares and night terrors kept her up nowadays, he wasn't the only one keeping weird hours.

She had, however, never found Haymitch back in bed in the middle of the afternoon without a good reason, which was why she immediately frowned at him.

She had been pleased, when she had come back from helping Peeta at the bakery, to find he had done what she had asked and finally hauled the boxes full of knick-knacks she had cleaned from the study up to the attic. She had been less pleased to see he was nowhere to be found in the house.

At least, until she had checked the bedroom and found him lying on the bed, on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands crossed on his stomach.

"What is wrong?" she immediately worried.

He was still dressed, his shoes still on – and she winced at that because she had a rule about shoes on their white comforter – and he barely turned his head toward her when she came in.

"Nothing." he mumbled.

His jaw clenched when she perched on the edge of the mattress but he kept staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, not certain of what was going on. They hadn't fought that day. They had had a nice morning and, of course, they had bickered over lunch but they had kissed before she left and it had been… normal.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, a little defensively.

She knew he hadn't exactly liked the fact she had decided to clean out the clutter in the study but it had been full of ugly vases, sculptures and books neither of them would ever read – and given how much of a reader Haymitch was, that said it all about how awful those were – and she wanted the space for herself since he wasn't using it. She needed a room to set up a sewing machine and perhaps a mannequin. There were very few shops in Twelve she liked and she had developed a habit of making her own clothes. It wasn't that he cared a lot about what was inside the study since he hardly ever went in there but he was always reluctant to accept the changes in the house.

It always puzzled her how much he claimed to hate that house but dragged his feet when it came to improving it.

His grey eyes darted to her and the tension briefly left his body. She felt it under her hand.

"Nah." he said slowly, his features softening. "Just tired, sweetheart."

He wasn't as smooth a liar as she was and her frown deepened, studying him. She shifted a little to face him and it made the mattress dip. He immediately tensed again, shutting his eyes tight.

"You are hurt." she deduced easily. She sounded reproachful to her own ears but that was all he deserved for trying to keep it from her. "What happened? Is it terribly bad? What did you do? Do you need a doctor?"

"It's nothing." he gritted through clenched teeth. "Don't you have something to do downstairs instead of pestering me?"

She pursed her lips. "Where does it hurt?"

He glared at her.

She glared right back.

After a couple of second, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Something pinched in my back when I dropped the last box in the attic." he finally admitted with a grunt.

"Oh." she winced. "Can you move?"

"Got back down here, didn't I?" he snapped, a scowl firmly in place on his face.

She wasn't impressed. A hurt Haymitch was a hostile Haymitch. She had learned that long ago.

"How bad is the pain?" she insisted.

"It's gonna be fine." he grumbled. "Just gonna lie here for a while."

"And pray it goes away on its own?" she huffed. "You need painkillers. How much have you had to drink today?"

If possible, the glaring only increased. She didn't even blink, simply waited for him to cave.

And he did.

"I'm at my second glass." he grumbled, his cheek flushing a little.

They had been trying to keep him at three glasses a day for a couple of months and, so far, it was more or less working out. The ultimate goal was to get him to cut out but… Baby steps.

She bit down on her bottom lip and then shrugged. "I do not think it will hurt for you to take a pill."

"It ain't that bad." he scoffed. "Stop fussing. That's exactly why I didn't want to tell you in the first place. I don't need to be coddled."

"Tough luck." she replied. "I am your…" She faltered because they had never actually put a name on what she was to him. Their relationship exceeded definition. She cleared her throat and jutted her chin in the air, determined. "If I wish to coddle you, you will be coddled. What is it with men and your need to pretend you are not hurt when you are? All that posturing must be exhausting. Now… Painkillers first, massage next."

"Massage?" he asked, perking up a little.

She stood up and smoothed her dress, watching him with amusement. "If you can get that shirt off. And, if the pain is not that bad, like you claim, I trust you can also toe those shoes off. They do not belong on my bed."

"Our bed." She heard him mutter on her way to the bathroom.

It took some time to find what she wanted and she promised herself she would reorganize the medicine cabinet as soon as possible. After a few minutes, she came back in the bedroom with a glass full of water, a small bottle of strong painkillers that had originally been prescribed for her shoulder – the one that had been pulled out of its socket during her stay in the Capitol cells and still ached when she used it too much – and a half empty pot of a smelly salve that must have been prepared by Aster Everdeen well before the war if she recognized the handwriting correctly.

Haymitch had managed to get rid of the shoes and the shirt but it seemed to have left him short of breath.

"Are you certain you do not want me to call a doctor?" she asked, her voice wavering.

He shook his head no and reached for the glass of water. After a moment of deliberation, she placed two pills in his hand. He swallowed one and gave the other back.

At her reproachful look, he made a face. "They make me fuzzy. I hate that."

And since she did too and it was the main reason she had never really taken them except on very bad days, she let it pass with a sigh.

"Roll on your stomach." she instructed. He did but it clearly hurt him. He held his breath the whole time and let out a pitiful groan when he finally found a somehow comfortable position. She brushed a light hand along his spine, sorry to see him in so much in pain. "Where does it hurt, darling?"

"Lower back." he mumbled against the pillow, his hand vaguely coming to rest on the painful spot.

After a moment of consideration, she straddled his thighs, making sure not to rest her whole weight on him just in case it made it worse, and started rubbing the salve into his skin. After a few seconds, he groaned again but this time it was more relief than pain.

"Is this alright?" she hummed, carefully feeling around the tender area.

She didn't think he was badly injured, she couldn't feel anything out of sort. He had probably just pinched something, a nerve or a muscle.

"Fuck, yeah…" he whispered. "Can you put more pressure?"

She did as requested, a smile stretching her lips when she heard him grunt in bliss. After a minute, she let her hands wander higher, seeking other knots she could relieve. Her eyes lingered on the faint, almost gone pale lines on his skin, always surprised by how similar their respective scars were.

She was good at massages and she gradually felt him relax under her until he was completely limp. Added to the painkillers, she knew he would most likely than not fall asleep.

"You should nap." she said because she also knew he was fighting to keep his eyes open. "I will take care of dinner."

"You're gonna burn the house…" he mumbled sleepily.

Once. She had accidentally started a fire once. One would think they would all get over it.

"Please." she scoffed. "I was not suggesting cooking. I will simply call Sae's restaurant to place an order and have Peeta pick it up on his way back home." His chuckles were muffled but she pursed her lips all the same, more amused than vexed. "I am craving some good lasagna."

Lasagna was one of his favorite dishes and he could never get enough of it.

"I'm gonna say it and blame it on the painkillers…" he snorted. "But you're the best, sweetheart."

"Don't I know it…" She let out a theatrical sigh. "Don't you go forgetting it either."

"No chance." he promised, reaching behind him for her.

She wrapped her fingers around his hand and held it until he fell asleep.

He was such an idiot sometimes.

Oh, but how she loved him for it…