A/N: Hi everyone. 'Tis I... obviously. Sorry but I won't post the make up scene yet after the last chapter. I think I'm gonna leave you all hanging for a bit. So here's a completely irrelevant chapter! It may not fit with some of the others, but unless they are named the same and in different parts (e.g. Elevator 1, 2 & 3), then please consider them "AU" from each other. So in the near future I will post "Reputations - Part 2" and you will know it's a follow up of the last chapter. This is just an idea I've been toying around with for a while. I hope you enjoy.

-Ellie.

It was the 74th Hunger Games when they first "had a moment". Haymitch had slumped down on the sofa, slamming his feet up onto the pristine, white coffee table. Within seconds he felt a quick, sharp slap on his leg. He turned his head to find the Escort glaring at him.

"Feet. Down. Now." He ignored her and went back to watching the TV. Yet again, another slap. His reaction was automatic. He lifted his hand and gave her a quick, sharp slap on her own leg. She gasped, and so began the fight. She hit him again, a tiny bit harder, daring him with her eyes to retaliate. And he did.

"Haymitch! Stop it!" Slap.

"You started it." Slap.

"Well then you stop it!" Slap.

"You stop it." Slap.

"You're being childish." Slap.

He turned to her suddenly, securing both of her small wrists in one hand and adding a little bit of his weight for good measure. She battled against him with all the strength she could muster, a smile finding its way onto her face.

"Stop it, Trinket." He tightened his grip on her wrists, bringing his other hand up to lightly hit her leg again. She allowed herself to giggle, still wrestling against him.

"Haymitch! Let go!" An involuntary grin appeared on his face at the sight of the tightly wound Escort actually taking part in a play-fight.

"No friggin' way, sweetheart." She struggled once more. "Promise you'll stop?"

She grinned mischievously up at him. "Never."

"So be it." He pushed his weight down on her a little more, pinning her small body to the back of the sofa and holding her there. He had turned his head back to watch the TV when he felt pressure, then a little sharp pain on his hand. He snapped his head back around to see Effie with her teeth digging into his skin. He released her immediately.

"Ouch! Damn it!" The Escort grinned smugly and pounced, throwing her small body at him with all her might and lightly hitting him wherever she could land a slap. He tried in vain to block them, most of them hitting her target. He had to give her credit, she may be small and it may not hurt much, but she's got some speed. He heard an almost-alien laugh escape his own lips. It stunned him for a few seconds. He laughed - a genuine laugh. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed without it being just a sarcastic or dark chuckle. His eyes found hers, all deep blue and sparkling with mischief, fun and… victory? Hell no. With as much strength as he could without hurting her, he lifted both his hands to grasp her wrists once more and pushed her down. She giggled as her back hit the sofa cushion underneath her. Haymitch had never seen her genuinely having this much fun. He's not stupid. He sees through the mask she wears at parties, and he can tell when a laugh or a smile doesn't reach someone's eyes. The laughing she was doing in this moment was fully genuine – red-faced, gasping, uncontrollable giggling.

He pinned her arms either side of her head, and smiled a smug grin down at her, waiting for her to control her breathing again.

"Done, Princess? Give up?" Her blue eyes opened and locked with his. It hit him full force as he looked down into her glistening, joyful eyes. He felt something stir within him. Her eyes looked human… So human – all reserve and control and falseness was just gone. He could see her. He noticed her smile fade a little and her eyes darken, almost at the same moment he was sure his had. He felt himself slowly inching closer to her, his tongue subconsciously darting out to wet his lips as he glanced down at hers. Her shaky voice snapped him back to reality.

"H-Haymitch…" They were just inches apart now, dangerously close to crossing a line they really shouldn't. Dangerously close to putting her in danger, he thought. He froze, eyes widening. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Do you give up?" She nodded up at him, only moving her head slightly, a bewildered look in her eyes – as if she had come to her senses too.

He immediately released her and sat up, running a hand over his face and through his hair. She followed suit, sitting in the proper posture and clearing her throat awkwardly.

"I'm… uh… sorry if I hurt you."

"No, no. It's fine."

Both avoided eye contact for the rest of the night.

It was just a few weeks later when they gave in to the growing tension between them.

They won - both of them - and the Escort and Mentor were ecstatic.

They returned to the penthouse after seeing the Victors to the medical center. The celebrations began immediately.

"A bottle of champagne for the Victors!" Cinna had proclaimed, pouring the alcohol into some crystal glasses. The team toasted and celebrated, but after a few drinks, the stylists had to retire to prepare the outfits for the Victors.

"Another drink, Princess?" Haymitch had offered, knowing they were both already a little tipsy.

"I shouldn't really…" Her words slurred slightly, and Haymitch raised an eyebrow at her, as if asking if she's sure. "But oh!" She suddenly squealed. "We won! We did it, Haymitch!" She picked up her glass and held it out to him. "Pour me another, darling!"

"Sure thing, darling." He mocked in an exaggerated Capitol accent, causing the tipsy Escort to giggle. She never could hold her alcohol very well.

"Why do you mock me all the time? You're just a big meany, aren't you?"

"A meany? How old are you?" He chuckled. She turned to him and jabbed him in the chest.

"You pick on me. Don't you like me? You like me don't you, Haymitch?"

"Yeah, sure. I like you, Princess." She turned to him and narrowed her eyes in thought.

"I like you, but you're confusing."

"Why am I confusing?"

"You mock me all the time. You pick on me, but then you call me Princess."

"So?"

"You don't call anyone else Princess." This startled him. She was right. It was her exclusive endearment, never used with anyone else.

"I guess you're right. Never thought about it."

Silence fell for a few moments, both sipping from their drinks. The silence lasted until Effie started giggling again.

"What the hell is wrong with you, woman?"

"We WON!" She squealed, suddenly extremely loud. Haymitch flinched in shock. She'd made him jump.

"Damn, sweetheart. Relax!"

"Noooo!" She all but sung, standing up to dance around the coffee table. He stood up, swaying on his feet slightly, to attempt to calm her down.

"Relax!" He caught her with a huff when she stumbled from the alcohol in her system. He held her up, gripping her arms gently, but firm all the same, and she giggled as she looked up into his eyes. "Steady there, Princess."

Out of nowhere, with a brave, determined look in her eyes, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a hard kiss on his lips. He pulled back, still a little more sober than her. "Whoa… sweetheart, you're drunk." She shook her head wildly.

"No! No. Not drunk. Not yet." She attempted to kiss him again, but he held her shoulders back firmly.

"No, Effie. You don't want this."

"I do. I do. I want this. I want you!"

"Not like this. You won't want me when you sober up, I promise."

"Oh come on. That time on the sofa - the scores - you wanted to kiss me. I know you did. I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you." He felt his resolve weakening as she flung herself at him again, lips attacking his eagerly. He tried not to respond – tried not to kiss her back. He tried so damn hard, but his efforts were in vain. After just a few short moments, his lips moved hungrily with hers, both of them simply acting out of a drunken stupor – celebrating. His hand reached up to push her askew wig away, allowing her blonde hair to cascade down just past her shoulders. He ran his hand through the soft, golden curls, enjoying the feel of her natural state. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers gently combed through her hair. She reached her own hand up to gently comb through his hair and down his torso; skillfully popping open his shirt buttons as she went. He growled when she ran her hands over his bare chest, fingernails lightly scraping across his skin, memorizing the feel of his toned muscles under her fingers.

She wanted to feel more of him – all of him.

"Fuck! Effie, wake up right now! Get up! Get the fuck up!"

"Haymitch. Be quiet. I'm sleeping."

"What? No! Get the fuck up!"

"Oh shut up. Go back to sleep. We don't need to be up yet."

"Do you even realize what's happened here?"

"Of course I do, you stupid man."

"Then why the fuck aren't you freaking out?"

"Because a) I'm tired, and b) This is not the first time I've woken up after a one night stand. Besides, it's only you. I'm pretty sure you've woken up with strange women in your bed before. At least it's just me this time. We've both seen it all before, as far as the other is concerned. So please, just come back to bed and sleep."

"What do you mean just you? How the fuck is it supposed to be better waking up next to you than some stranger? At least I don't have to face a stranger every day. Just get the fuck up, Effie! And stop being so calm."

"Oh really! Anyone would think you've never woken up next to a woman before."

"I'm just not exactly used to waking up next to annoying, peppy Capitol women who annoy the shit out of me. I think it's understandable that I don't need any more crap you can use against me."

"I don't use anything against you. And don't worry. This doesn't have to mean anything. We were just celebrating."

"A Victory fuck then?"

"Sure. A Victory fuck. A simple, drunken one night stand."

"Good. Don't see why anyone would want you for anything more anyway." He notices a flicker of hurt flash through her eyes as she looks up at him, utterly betrayed. "Sweetheart, I'm just kidding." She climbs out of bed and begins gathering up her clothes from last night, heading towards the bathroom and avoiding eye contact with him.

"Too late to go back on what you really think, Haymitch."

"I'm serious. I'm sure you'd make a good wife to… someone. Maybe."

"Oh well thank you!"

"It's not like my opinion matters to you, Princess. It shouldn't anyway."

"Well it does."

"Well it shouldn't." She turns to him for the first time since leaving the bed.

"I can't help liking you. Can't help caring about what you say to me. It hurts every time you make a little jibe at me, you know? Like you're sticking that knife of yours inside me over and over again. Every single fucking time!"

"Well I'm sorry."

"I have no self-esteem left! No real confidence in myself."

"Could've fooled me."

"Fuck you, Haymitch!" She storms towards the bathroom once more.

"You just did, sweetheart." The bathroom door slams shut with a loud thud. Through the thick wood, he hears her angry, muffled voice.

"Get the fuck out of my bedroom, Abernathy!"

"Sure thing, Trinket." He chuckles as he slips on his pants and leaves the room. She can keep the shirt - a nice little reminder that she's his.

Not that he wants her to be his…