Prompt for HADS: Haymitch catching some guy peeping on Effie while shes in a room changing her clothes and he gets super angry and beats him up or something for looking at his girl
The Intruder
The backdoor wasn't shut properly and Haymitch pushed it open all the way with his foot, his arms full of the plastic containers Greasy Sae had thrust on him when she had seen him walking past her shop window. The old woman knew Effie liked her cooking. Hell, she knew everyone at the Village loved her cooking, they certainly ate at her restaurant often enough.
He didn't bother closing the door all the way either. It was a hot day, the kids would be coming around for dinner soon and since nobody really used the front door it was more convenient to leave it that way.
He put everything away in the fridge, trying not to mess up Effie's borderline obsessive organization too much to avoid a pointless fight later, listening to the odd but familiar clicking and clanging of pipes that meant someone was taking a shower. The boiler was making a racket again every time they used the hot water and he knew she had a point when she nagged him to either fix it or hire someone to do it – and she was leaning firmly toward that last option.
He should, he knew, she was right. It was better to have it looked at now rather than wait until it blew up – which was definitely what he would have done eight months earlier, before she had showed up on his doorstep. He was too stuck in his ways. It was hard to remember he wasn't living alone anymore and that she wasn't used to the same level of comfort he was, hard to remember he had made the conscious decision of telling her to stay, of choosing to share his house – and his life – and that it meant he couldn't keep putting everything off until the problems became unmanageable.
She didn't deal well with unmanageable problems.
She put up a good front and the kids had stopped worrying about her falling apart every second of the day but Haymitch knew better than to believe she had completely recover from her ordeal during the war.
She was keeping afloat, she was doing much better than she had when she had first come to Twelve, but she still was a long way from being okay.
They were getting there though. Together, they were getting there.
But that implied not messing up the way she organized the fridge – or the cupboards – no matter how crazy it made him because the whole thing was stupid and it also implied getting that fucking boiler checked.
He promised himself he would ask the boy for the name of the plumber he had used at the bakery. That guy was good and his price was fair.
He heard a noise upstairs, the floorboard creaking in the guest room but it was weird because the pipes were still clinging and the boiler was still going. He glanced at the gaggle of geese through the open window over the sink but couldn't quite tell if they were all there and accounted for.
Effie would kill him if a goose had wandered upstairs again. Sneaky little things. He wasn't even sure how they managed to climb the stairs.
She was still mad about the one that had ravaged the living-room the other day.
He checked the study on his way to the stairs, letting his lips stretch into a small content smile when he spotted the abandoned cans of paint in a corner of the empty room. She had finished applying the second layer of painting while he was out and he had to admit it looked really good.
It was her latest project: turning the study into a room they would actually used. She was planning to sew in there, he thought, and put more bookshelves up so he could put away the books that were piling everywhere else… It would be nice. Cozy.
He grumbled a lot about it but he actually liked that she was changing everything around the house. Every time she touched a room it stopped being gloomy and just became… homey. The whole house felt more like a home since she had moved in. He had forgotten what that felt like…
The smile turned into a smirk as he started climbing the stairs.
No wonder she was taking a shower at this time of day. If previous experiences served, there was one thing Effie Trinket wasn't very good at and it was painting a room without getting splashed all over.
He found that irresistibly cute.
Not that he had told her.
There were more noises, floorboards creaking as if someone was moving around and that made him frown because that was far too heavy for a goose.
The shower was still going.
Had she left the water running while she dashed around to fetch something or other? She was always so meticulously organized he couldn't believe it and he hurried along, moved by a bad feeling.
He strode to their bedroom, hoping to find her there, ready to rant about whatever had forced her to abandon her shower halfway through…
What he had hoped not to find was something amiss.
Like the guy who was standing right there, halfway between him and the bathroom's open door.
It didn't even occur to him to suspect her of anything or to be jealous and, even if it had, his brain almost immediately registered the fact that the guy was dressed, very obviously Capitol, what with his raspberry pink dyed hair, and had one of those fancy cameras that paparazzis always used in his hands.
The man's eyes widened when they spotted him and he glanced back at the open door as if he might still chance it.
Haymitch's sight turned red.
He could hear Effie humming to herself, completely oblivious to the danger lurking so close…
She so didn't need that.
She was finally doing better, finally getting some proper rest at night because the nightmares had decreased…
She really didn't need that.
Fucking…
He must have let out a growl because the man squeaked.
"This isn't what it looks like." the Capitol said, lifting his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I knocked. I promise! There was no answer and…"
"And that's an acceptable reason to snoop around?" Haymitch snarled, taking a threatening step forward. The guy stepped back and Haymitch stopped because it only brought him closer to the bathroom and he didn't want him anywhere near a wet naked Effie. "The press isn't allowed in the Village."
"I know. I know." the guy said in a hurry. "But I'm doing a paper on Miss Trinket, she's the last living escort, you know, and her whole pardon was all mysterious and…"
"You are a dead man." Haymitch vowed.
The Capitol blanched. "Look, I don't mean any harm. But I'm a in dump career-wise and I thought…"
"Haymitch?" Effie called over the sound of the shower. "Are you talking to me?"
He heard her turn the water off, he saw the guy lift his camera as if by reflex…
"Stay where you are!" he barked at Effie and then winced because…
"What's the matter?" she asked, a slight tremor of panic in her voice. "Haymitch?"
"Nothing! All fine!" he answered. "Finish your shower."
He would get the man out of the house without her knowing. There was no need to alarm her over this. It was…
"Look…" the Capitol insisted, shooting that plan down. "If you could just answer a few questions for me…"
"Who are you talking to?" Effie asked. Her tone was controlled but he heard it anyway, it wasn't a slight case of nerves anymore, she was truly scared. And, predictably, a few seconds later she appeared on the threshold, wrapped in a pink towel, dripping water everywhere. She startled when she saw the guy and immediately took a step back, grabbing the edge of the door as if she was ready to slam it shut. "Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?" Then she spotted the camera and her features contorted with disgust. "Seriously? Did you… Did you take pictures of me in…"
Haymitch was quick when he wanted to be and he snatched the camera before the man could protest.
Then he smashed it on the floor, stomping on it for good measure.
He didn't think the Capitol had had time to reach the bathroom, he didn't think he had actually seen Effie before she had showed up on the threshold, but he was fairly certain he had taken pictures of the rest of the house. He had always been private. Even before the war he hadn't allowed Capitol cameras anywhere near his house if he could help it. When he had to do interviews at home, he always insisted on doing them on the porch or in the backyard and given the state his house had been in, nobody had ever protested. Anyway, now it only made possible stolen pictures more precious. Never mind the fact that it confirmed they were sharing a bedroom.
"Hey!" the man shrieked. "Do you know how much…"
There was another unmanly shriek as Haymitch grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of their bedroom, barely restraining himself from pushing him down the stairs. He didn't stop himself from shoving him on the floor once they had reached the hallway though.
"You stay the fuck away from my girl, you hear?" he scowled, bundling his hands into fists. Fuck, but he wanted to plummet that guy to death. "I see you again…"
"I just wanted to ask a few questions!" the man replied defensively.
It was too much.
Haymitch grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him up, slamming him against the wall so hard framed paintings rattled against the wall. He wrapped a hand around the man's throat.
"Listen to me and listen hard…" he murmured in the Capitol's ear. "The Village's forbidden to the press. That means you're fair game, you get that? I can kill you. I can set the Mockingjay off on you. Fuck, I can bury you in my backyard and nobody would fucking care 'cause we're still victors. We ain't people you want to mess around with." He tightened his grip on his throat even more, aware the man was quickly suffocating but not particularly caring. "You forget the paper. I don't give a fuck about your career. The Village's forbidden. So is she."
"Haymitch." Effie called quietly from the bottom of the stairs.
He was taking it too far.
He knew that.
But he still squeezed the air out of the man's lung a few seconds longer. Just to be sure the message was received.
Then he pushed him away and watched as the Capitol scrambled out the front door, running down the street and out of sight. Given the smell, he was pretty sure the man had pissed himself.
Haymitch slammed the door shut and turned the lock, whirling around to face her, still angry.
"Why didn't you close the door before going upstairs?" he spat.
"I did." she protested weakly, clutching that drenched towel to her chest. She had left drops of water behind her and a puddle was quickly forming at her feet.
"Yeah, well, clearly you didn't lock the doors, Effie." he snapped. His heart was racing and his stomach was churning at the thought of all that could have happened. If he hadn't come back at that precise moment… The guy would have pushed the door, he would have taken picture of her naked, he would have… Would he have stopped at the pictures or would he have…
"We never lock the doors during the day…" she replied, her voice flat.
"Well, it's stupid and we're starting right now!" he shouted.
She flinched. "The children…"
He waved her objections away. "We'll get them their own bloody keys."
She was shivering and he didn't think it was the cold. She made a noise that could have been a sob but she swallowed it down before it turned into…
"Please, do not shout at me." she whispered. "I am sorry. I…"
His anger melted away and he crossed the distance between them in a few strides. Her wet hair stuck to her neck and her cheeks, there was still traces of shampoo and flecks of paints in the blond strands… He framed her face, gently tilting her head up so she would look at him…
"No, fuck… I'm sorry." He sighed and leaned forward until he could rest his forehead against hers. "Shit, I got scared. It ain't your fault. I don't lock the doors either. I'm sorry. Didn't mean to shout. Just got scared."
She sagged forward and he wrapped his arms around her, not really caring that he was going to get soaked. He pressed a long kiss on her temple.
"It's okay, now." he promised. "He's gone. He won't come back. We're just gonna lock the doors from now on, yeah?"
He felt her nod against his shoulder, felt her fingers bundle his shirt at his shoulder blades…
"We should warn the children." she said.
"Yeah." he approved. "Yeah, we're gonna do just that. And I'm gonna call Plutarch so he can figure out who that fucker was and get him fired."
Or arrested.
Or possibly executed.
Haymitch doubted Paylor would go for that but…
"You're okay?" he asked, coiling a hand around her nape.
She was silent for a long moment and he knew she was just debating hiding behind a cheerful smile. They were doing better at communicating and being open but sometimes it was just easier to hide behind their respective masks.
"I am… a bit upset." she admitted. "But I do not feel like having a panic attack. You were there, you kept me safe…"
"Yeah." He tightened his embrace, dropping another long kiss on her wet hair. "I'm always gonna be there. I promised you I'd do a better job at keeping you safe this time around."
"I know." she whispered. She didn't say anything for a moment, then she drew her head back a little to study him, a hesitant smile playing on her lips. "You called me your girl."
Had he?
He didn't even remember.
He felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears reddening with embarrassment. He let go of her nape to rub his, feeling awkward all of a sudden. He shrugged. "Yeah, well… You kinda are, ain't you?"
Her lips twitched as she fought her grin. "You are such a romantic."
He snorted at her teasing, nudging her chin up with two fingers, watching her closely. "You're sure you're good?"
"I am not happy he was in our bedroom." she granted.
"I ain't happy he almost saw you naked." he snarled.
He could tell that her nudity bothered her less than the intrusion in what was a private, safe place.
"That's because you are a possessive caveman, darling." she joked in an obvious attempt to make light of the situation. She licked her lips and flashed him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I will be alright. Truly."
He had to believe her.
What was the alternative?
She would get frustrated and mad if he hovered too much. She would claim he suffocated her and she would run away to the kids' and he would be stuck alone in his house worrying about her.
"Okay." he reluctantly accepted. "I'm gonna go call Plutarch."
"I will go finish my shower." She raised on tip-toes to peck his lips, her face briefly turning into one of happiness. "I finish the study! Take a look at it after you are done. I quite like it! I told you a light mint green would be the best choice for the walls in that room!"
She had told him and she had been right but he wasn't going to admit that.
Contrary to what the kids liked to whisper behind his back, he wasn't whipped.
"I can tell." he mocked, gently tugging on a strand of wet hair. "You still have paint everywhere."
She rolled her eyes but pecked his mouth again. When he didn't respond, she did it again. And again. And again. Until he couldn't keep the game up and simply followed after her mouth to steal a real proper kiss – the kind that always made the kids scream in horror when they caught them because tongues! how gross! as if they weren't doing that themselves.
He swatted her butt when she turned to head back upstairs and she flashed him a glare over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed in disapproval.
He winked in answer.
She couldn't be that angry about it because she huffed but there was a spring to her steps as she hoped up the stairs.
He watched her until she disappeared from view.
He wouldn't tell her, of course, because she would know it freaked him out and she would worry about him, but he had the intimate conviction that if he had found that guy in the bathroom, he would have killed him without question or hesitation. He wouldn't even have thought about it. He hated that part of himself, the killer part, but there was zero doubt in his mind that, for her, he would kill an army.
But for now he would have to be content with just getting that man arrested so he turned away and headed to the kitchen to phone Plutarch…