4.

The car slowing to a stop woke Effie up. A few days of that on-the-run life had been enough to make her body accustomed to the slightest change in their pace. She had grown used to falling asleep with the purring of the engine in her ears and the sensation of speed pinning her body to the seat.

"What's going on?" she asked, blinking away the last remnants of sleep.

It was still dark outside, she couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours. Haymitch didn't mind sleeping during the day – he drank himself to sleep anyway – but she disliked it so they had come to the perfect agreement. She drove by day and he drove by night. It was probably better anyway, he drank less when it was starting to get dark and the roads treacherous.

"People." Haymitch spat.

People? That was a first. They must have crossed two states already and they had seen no one. Burned house carcasses, highways cluttered up with abandoned cars she had learned to siphon the gas off, lots and lots of zombies staggering or crawling around that they avoided at all costs, the occasional dog and cat but no living breathing person.

She scrambled up from where she had slid down the bench seat while she was sleeping and peered through the windshield. The road was blocked by what appeared to be a campfire and there were indeed two men standing on each side of the flames, both holding rifles. They were looking at them and didn't appear to be very welcoming.

First group of people we meet, you're out of my truck, Haymitch had said. Well… She hoped he wouldn't mind her passing on that offer. She didn't like the way they looked.

"Go into reverse." she suggested. There was no way they would be able to drive around the big campfire in the middle of the road. But they could back out and do a U-turn further down.

"They might shoot the car." he replied, apparently coming to a decision. He grabbed the handgun he was more or less always carrying around – he said he felt naked without that or the knife he religiously kept in the glove compartment – and made sure it was loaded which, even Effie could tell, it always was. It didn't take more than a few seconds and he kept his hands under the wheel so the men wouldn't see.

"They might not." she argued.

"Yeah, a word of advice, sweetheart." he snorted. "A zombie apocalypse tends to bring the worst out of people." He opened the door and glanced back at her, his grey eyes wandering to her chest. The blue tank top – one she had found during their first shopping outing, that would have been a crime to let such a cute thing left to rot in a store full of zombies – was rather generous with her cleavage, he winced. "Zip up your jacket and stay in the car."

She did pull up the zipper of her red leather jacket but she didn't stay in the car. She hastily grabbed a gun from the back seat – no one was paying attention to her anyway, they were all looking at Haymitch – and she hopped out of the truck. They were all glaring stonily at each other but Haymitch spared her an annoyed glance that, she was sure, would guarantee a lecture about her inability to follow simple instructions.

He always acted like he knew everything there was to know about a zombie apocalypse and, usually, she was happy to let him lead – even though she often had to draw a line at some point otherwise he quickly became insufferable – because he was obviously clever. She admittedly wouldn't have known how to siphon a car or use the back roads instead of the highways without him. She probably would have figured out that newly infected zombies were quicker and stronger than older ones although maybe not in time to save her life. She had learned a lot with Haymitch in only a few days and he was… an interesting companion to say the least. Irritating, maddening and all the synonyms anyone could come up with, but she was glad their paths had crossed despite his patent alcoholism and grouchy personality.

"Hi!" she said brightly, forcing herself to smile. It wasn't difficult, she had been forcing herself to smile for years.

The two men stopped glaring at Haymitch to look at her but Haymitch never glanced away from them. Perhaps, everything would go for the best, she thought. Haymitch didn't look very friendly either with this awful beanie tugged low on his forehead – small concession to the clothes he had finally accepted to discard in favor of the jeans and sweaters she had found him, not fashion-worthy but still better than his old stained pants and tee-shirt.

"Hi." one of the man answered, he sounded amused. "What's up?"

She shot a triumphant glance at Haymitch and relaxed, putting the gun back in the small of her back. "We would appreciate it if you didn't shoot us while we drive away."

The man who had spoken first pointed the rifle down and smiled at her. The other one was checking her out so very obviously it wasn't even subtle. He shifted closer to the fire and she realized he was younger than she had first thought. Not much than a boy really.

"Sweetheart, why don't you let me handle the talking?" Haymitch growled.

He was glaring daggers at the silent boy who was leering at her. Effie almost rolled her eyes. Men. She was used to being stared at that way, it didn't bother her.

"Maybe we could do some trading before you leave." the other one suggested.

"We have nothing to trade." Haymitch replied suddenly sounding very calm. His hands, she couldn't help but notice, were very steady. That was odd. His fingers usually shook unless they were a little too close of zombies for comfort. Then adrenaline kicked in and she had yet to see him miss a shot. "Princess, get back in the car. Your turn to drive."

She frowned. It definitely was not. She had driven for hours that day.

"I think it's Effie Trinket." the boy told the other man, pointing at her quickly with the rifle. Given the way he was handling it she could tell he was new to it. "You know? The model?"

"I am." she confirmed with a smile. "Are you a fan?"

"You really got to stop asking everyone that, you know?" Haymitch snapped at her. "Back in the car. Now, Effie."

She startled at the use of her first name. He never called her Effie. It was always sweetheart or princess and she had stopped arguing about that days ago. She could count on one hand the number of times he had called her by her name and it had always been during some sort of emergency. She had taken two steps back towards the car when the man lifted his rifle again. Right at her. The boy took his clue from him and aimed at her too.

"Not so fast." the man said. "I really think we should trade."

"We have nothing to trade." Haymitch retorted. That wasn't true strictly speaking. They had quite a lot of guns, some clothes, and enough food and water to last a few days.

"You have a girl and a car." A voice boomed out from behind them. Effie turned around to see a huge man stepping out from between two trees, a gun that was clearly newer and more expensive than the others' rifles pointed right at Haymitch. "Worth your life, you think? Fair trade, in my humble opinion."

Effie's eyes widened at what he was implying. The strangers had no cars… It was no surprise they would try to steal theirs but her? No wonder, Haymitch had told her to zip up her jacket…

"I was wondering when you were going to show up." Haymitch replied, stepping aside so he could have all of them in his line of sight. "How's the ambushing people business these days?"

The newcomer looked amused. "It will be better when we have your car."

"Kill him already, Brutus." the man with the rifle said nervously.

"Effie, get in the car." Haymitch said again. "Now."

"She takes one step towards that car, she's dead." Brutus said, shifting his gun to aim at her. "Nothing personal. That's how the game is played nowadays."

"Too bad." Haymitch shrugged. "I can play that game too."

The first gunshot took her by surprise and she jumped out of her skin, sure she was dead. By the time the second gunshot rang in her ears, she realized two things : she was still alive and Haymitch was still standing. They were the only ones left near the car, the boy had dropped the rifle and had started running as fast as he could. Haymitch took aim without even blinking. She acted without thinking. She threw herself at his arm and the shot rang out in the night, the bullet lost somewhere in a nearby tree.

"He's just a boy." she whispered frantically. "He's just a boy. He's just a boy, Haymitch."

He looked at her like she had grown two heads. She started to shiver uncontrollably but it wasn't from the cold. She couldn't tear her eyes off the bodies. It was one thing to shoot at zombies and to watch them fall, they were already dead, it was quite another to see somebody be killed right in front of you.

"He's just a boy." she said again. "Don't hurt him. Don't…"

"Okay." Haymitch said and steered her gently to the car. She climbed back in and curled on the passenger side, relieved and glad to feel the worn-out leather under her hands, the smell of liquor wrapped around her like a familiar comforting cocoon. She took the bottle of whiskey he handed her and drank three long swallows before the trembling started to ease. Shock, she decided once she passed the bottle back to him, she was in shock.

Zombies and Portia dying in front of her hadn't made her go into shock but Haymitch, a man she didn't know that much all things considered, killing two people did. Something was seriously wrong with her.

He started the engine and drove away, hands clenching the wheel so hard his knuckles were white. The silence was anything but comfortable.

It took an hour for him to say anything, his fingers were still strangling the wheel. She was expecting an explanation, a justification. Those men would have probably abused her and then killed her after they had murdered him first. There was nothing to explain really. Their life had been in danger, he had acted to protect them. Self-defense. It was the brutal and quick killing that had shocked her, not the motives behind it. He had saved her. Again.

"I will stop when we pass a good car." he said, eyes straight on the road. "You can have half of the food and water."

She was left speechless. His shoulders sagged a little. He snatched the beanie off his head angrily and threw it on the backseat. The truck made a swerve and almost hit a tree.

"Sorry." he mumbled, feeling around for the bottle of whiskey that had rolled on the floor. He uncapped it one-handed and began to gulp it down as if it held his solace.

"Stop the car." she requested softly.

He finally looked at her then. The truck took another unplanned turn in the direction of a tree before he pulled it back on the road. "No, I can… You shouldn't take off like that, sweetheart." His voice was strained. "Wait until we find a car."

"I don't want a car and I'm not leaving." she snapped. "Stop the truck before you kill us, Haymitch. You're in no state to drive."

It took a second before what she was saying registered in his mind but he pulled out on the side of the road without a fight. "You don't want to go?"

"Of course not." She uncurled and stole the bottle away from his grip. She hated whiskey but, still, she welcomed the burning sensation as she swallowed it down. "I've just never seen someone being shot before."

"They were kind of asking for it." Haymitch's hands were shaking very badly when he reached for the whiskey. Perhaps she wasn't the only one a bit disturbed by the whole thing. It felt surreal. Just as surreal as running away from zombies.

"Not the boy." she pointed out softly.

"He was an enemy, I couldn't tell the difference anymore." he said in a matter of fact sort of voice, before gulping down more whiskey. "Good thing you didn't let me shoot him."

She supposed that was a thank you.

She licked her lips nervously. "Were you really a CIA agent?" Because she really had thought he had been joking.

The bottle of whiskey froze on his way to his lips. "Once upon a time."

He was guarded and she sensed it was a treacherous topic but… She needed to know. "Is that… Is that why you have nightmares?"

She had never brought that up before but he must have known she was aware of his night terrors. It would have been hard not to given that they were sharing a car. Usually he was too drunk to dream but sometimes… Sometimes he would doze off or take a nap and… She might whimper in her sleep but he outright screamed. For help, for people he never talked about, for mercy… She had thought something bad involving zombies had happened to his family but…

"I don't talk about the people you left behind to die, you don't talk about my nightmares." he snarled in a threatening way. Except it wasn't that threatening to her. It was the snarl of a wounded animal who didn't want to let people come close in fear of being hurt all over again.

"That's unfair and uncalled for." She averted her eyes and snatched the whiskey back. He was right of course. She had left them behind to die. Portia and Cinna and all the people she had never bothered to learn the name of. Guilt felt raw and heavy. It tasted like whiskey.

"Life's unfair and uncalled for, sweetheart." he chuckled bitterly. "Look at me, having a drink with Miss Patriot…"

"How is that unfair?" she asked, passing the whiskey back. "Apart from you holding me up to something I did years ago when I needed money and was too young to know better, that is."

She met his grey eyes with poise. She liked his eyes. They were a very particular sort of grey, like a stormy sky right before lightning stroked. She liked the stubble covering his jaw even more even though she had convinced him to shave his beard – well, she said convinced, he said talk his ear off until he gave up. Her fingers itched with the need to touch but she didn't think that would be a good idea.

"It's not." He took a swing of whiskey but she thought it was an excuse to avert his eyes. "Look… I had to kill a lot of people. Some were bad, some were good, it wasn't my choice. When I tried to get out, I only got my family and my girl killed. End of that pathetic little story. Bottom line: piss off about the nightmares."

He wouldn't look at her again. He was clutching the whiskey like it was the only thing keeping him alive. That was sad. How long had he been alone before he had found her? Or maybe she had found him. Maybe they were meant to meet and help each other not being as lonely. Effie's life before the apocalypse hadn't been a piece of cake either contrary to what people would expect. Being famous, rich and beautiful was rather a lonely life.

She took off her jacket and then pried the bottle away from his grip. She put the cap back on and dropped it on the floor.

"What are you doing?" he scowled, watching her with annoyance. "I was drinking that."

"Whiskey won't comfort you." she argued, stopping him when he tried to snatch the bottle back. She nudged it further away with her foot.

"Bad time to put an sobriety crap speech on me, sweetheart." he grumbled. He obviously gave up on that bottle and turned around to rummage on the back seat.

She seized his arm and forced him to sit properly not without much struggling on his part. But he didn't want to hurt her and, ultimately, that gave her the advantage. "I'm not saying stop drinking, although that wouldn't go amiss. I'm saying you drank enough for tonight. There are better way to get comforted."

"Oh." His eyebrows shot up. "Are you offering me pity sex?"

She pinched her mouth in a hard line and tilted her head in disapproval.

He smirked and winked. "Would you offer me pity sex if I made the story more pitiful?"

She rolled her eyes and slid back on the bench seat until she was pressed against his body.

"What are you doing?" he sounded alarmed.

She slipped her arm under his and snuggled up, resting her head on his shoulder. "This is called sharing a moment, Haymitch."

"I'd rather share pity sex." he snorted.

She elected to ignore his barbs. "You're supposed to hold me be back, you know. Friendship is a two-way street."

He sighed but after a few seconds of tensed muscles when she really thought she had done a mistake and should have kept on drinking, he freed the arm she had trapped between them and put it around her shoulders with an awkwardness that was kind of touching. When it was clear she had no intention of leaving him be, he settled a bit more comfortably against the door and stretched his legs so he was half-lying. She ended up curled up on his side, trapped between his body and the back of the leather seat. It wasn't bad. He made for a good pillow.

The unusual amount of whiskey and the backlash of their unpleasant encounter left her exhausted. It wasn't long before she started to nod off.

"Isn't it more comforting than liquor?" she mumbled when he started playing with her hair uncertainly. She burrowed deeper against him, almost purring in contentment. Nothing was equal to a good hug, she figured. It was the best thing in the whole world. Except, perhaps, for the satisfying glee of buying new shoes…

"No." he grunted. He was lying though, she could tell. He was completely relaxed now. "If we get killed by zombies because you wanted to take a nap in the middle of nowhere, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Language." She clucked her tongue. Her mother would have been appalled by what came out of his mouth. "If we get killed by zombies, my ass will be the least of your problems."

"It will be the last thing on my mind before I die." His hand left her hair to move south and she wacked it away before he could even think about trying to grope her. That made him laugh, a low rumbling sound that brought a smile to her lips. She didn't know why but his laugh made her think they would eventually be fine, both of them. "I think my first zombie act will be to bite your ass."

"Go ahead." she teased. "It's insured for two millions."

There was an astonished moment of silence on his part. That hadn't happened that often since she had met him, she treasured her small victory.

"You're joking." It wasn't a statement but it wasn't a question either. He sounded like he wasn't sure of how stupid famous people could be. Well…

"No." she lied.

He went back to petting her hair. "You should have gone for three."

After she had stopped giggling, she patted his chest. Her voice turned serious. "You're a good man, Haymitch."

"It's a bit more complicated than that, sweetheart." he replied.

Her eyelids felt heavy and she didn't fight it, she simply closed her eyes. "Not for me." she whispered. "I trust you."

"Bad decision." he warned her.

She didn't answer. His arms were around her and for the first time since that nightmare started, she felt safe. She held on to that feeling as she fell asleep. It was too fleeting nowadays.