Hayffie prompt: Effie wakes up one morning mad at Haymitch... for something he did in a dream.

A Torrid Night With Viola

Haymitch hated being startled awake but, in the last couple of years, his night terrors had abated enough that his first impulse on being abruptly awoken wasn't to try to kill the potential threat anymore.

Which was lucky because, that night, he was woken up by a pillow violently assaulting his face.

He sat up, confused and slightly sleepy, sputtering. "What the…"

"How could you?" Effie screeched and, next thing he knew, the pillow was slammed into his face again.

The pillow came down again and again until he managed to snatch it away.

He easily located her sitting at the foot of their bed, a mess of blankets and sheets tangled around her legs and waist as if she had trapped herself by twisting and turning. He glared at her, ready to read her the riot act – because he wasn't against pillow fights per se, they had had quite a few fun ones over the years, but this was taking it a step too far – when he noticed that her face was bathed with tears and that she seemed genuinely upset.

His anger melted like snow in the sun.

He had seen her cry enough for the rest of their lives after the war. He couldn't bear it anymore.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but still rough from sleep. "You had a nightmare?"

It was rare now but it still happened.

And her eyes were a little glassy so…

"A nightmare?" she repeated in a shrill shriek. "It's a nightmare, alright! How could do this, Haymitch! How could you!"

And with that very pertinent question, she stole the pillow back from his hands and started hitting him again, shouting at him between two strikes and calling him colorful names that would have made the children gape if they had heard her.

"Effie!" he snapped, eventually winning the struggle for the pillow. "The fuck are you on about?! The fuck did I do?"

They had been fine when she had gone up to bed.

Granted, he had lingered in the living-room to finish his book so it was possible he had done something to piss her off between then and now but she had kissed him goodnight before going up and she had sleepily snuggled into his chest when he had finally joined her in bed…

They had been fine.

"As if you don't know…" she hissed.

She seemed to give up entirely on the pillow and lunged at him. Her palm connected with his arm exactly once before he caught up and trapped her wrists in his hands. He didn't really like restraining her – not anymore – but he didn't stop until he had rolled her under him, wrists still locked over her head, hips pinned down by his weight.

They had been in that very position often enough but never quite like that.

She had never seemed serious about hurting him before but, right then, he thought that if he let she would joyfully – and literally – claw his face off.

"Let me go!" she demanded, twisting under him.

He ignored the part of him that was quite enjoying it, a bit worried now. "Can't. Not until you calm down. Sweetheart, you're hysterical."

"Hysterical?" she growled, glaring at him through the tears that were still rolling down her cheeks. "You cheated on me! I am allowed to be hysterical because you cheated on me, you bastard!"

He was so surprised, he froze. "I… What?"

"You cheated on me!" she said again, a mix of accusation and pain. And then she started sobbing in earnest and it was all he could do to get off her and lift her onto his lap so he could properly hold her. She tried to resist but eventually slumped against his chest when he started playing with her hair. "You cheated on me…"

It was quiet this time. Desperate.

"You had a bad dream." he scoffed, not quite amused yet, not when she was this upset.

"I saw you!" she snapped, drawing her head back to glare daggers at him. "In our bed. How could you…"

"Oh, in our bed, no less…" He snorted. "So you saw me fuck another woman in our bed, yeah? The bed you were sleeping in? I know I ain't the brightest, princess, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be that dumb."

She pursued her lips, her eyebrows furrowing in sudden uncertainty. Her blue eyes were a little less glassy but she was still crying… "I saw you. I saw you and Viola…"

He couldn't help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. "Could have chosen me a better imaginary mistress." He leaned in, bumped his nose against hers. "So, in that imaginary world of yours… She's alive to be able to fuck me? Cause I'm telling you, princess, dead bodies never did it for me…"

"I saw…" she insisted but she sounded unsure enough now that he risked pecking her lips.

She didn't try to hit him again.

Progress.

"Must have been some dream." he teased. "Was it hot? Cause…"

"She's dead." Effie whispered. Her relief was so potent that she leaned back against him, dropping her head on his shoulder. "You never slept with her."

"Wouldn't have slept with her if you had paid me." he grumbled. Eleven's escort had been a pain. He coiled a hand at the back of her neck, squeezing a little. "You know you're the only woman I ever fucked in this bed…" He nuzzled the soft skin under her ear. "You're the last woman I'm ever gonna fuck in it too…"

She breathed out slowly. "Haymitch…"

All this talking of fucking had him a little hot and bothered and he started kissing a slow path from beneath her ear to her throat…

She pushed him away. Gently but firmly. "I am still angry."

He blinked, doing a double take. "The fuck did I do?"

She licked her lips and slid off his lap, focusing on fixing the mess she had made of the bed. "I know but I cannot stop picturing it and…"

She let her voice trail off but he heard the irritation plain and simple. He rolled his eyes. "So what? You want me to go sleep on the couch cause your brain decided I cheated on you with a dead woman in your sleep?"

She shot him a dangerous look.

"Of course not." she huffed. "I want you where I can see you."

He didn't even know what to answer to that.

"You're crazy." he pointed out. "Funny, yeah? I think I'm used to it and something like this happens and I remember all that hairspray you used to sniff…"

She whacked his arm. It was playful this time but it still stung and he rubbed the tender spot with a sulk.

"You are mine and mine alone and nobody is allowed to touch you." she growled, climbing on top of him under the covers.

His faint hope that she had reconsidered having sex faded when it became obvious she was making herself comfortable for the night. Her genius plan against imaginary mistresses was apparently to bodily crush him.

"Okay." he mocked, not bothering to hide his fondness. "You tell them, sweetheart."

"Oh, I will!" she vowed, her voice fading off a little despite the indignation.

She was drifting off already.

He was ready to bet she wouldn't even remember the incident the next day or, if she did, it would only be a vague recollection. He wasn't too mad, truth be told, he mused, wrapping his arms around her and making himself as comfortable as he was ever going to get with her dead weight on top of him.

He would be able to make fun of her all day.

His crazy jealous possessive girl…

He wouldn't have her any other way.