Chapter Text
Haymitch never was able to know what time it was. He was too drunk, too untrusting of the sun's position in the sky, and perhaps too hopeful that the next day would never come. Still, he was fairly certain that tomorrow was his birthday—the worst day of the year. After ten years as a mentor he had figured out that July 3rd was the day where people would throw in an extra bottle of licquor with his purchase, as long as their children had aged out of the reaping. The people of District 12 generally avoided their feral victor, except to show him pity or plead with him for mercy on their children. He would take the first, no pride left in him to reject it, and the latter he would shrug off, drink the memory of their begging away, and hope that he wouldn't remember the kid's face. The pity helped that, for the most part.
With a bottle in each hand, slumped into his leather arm chair, he was fairly certain it was July 3rd, and also fairly certain that it was night. The sun had been setting when the storm had started, fierce rain ricocheting off his roof, and wind making tree branches tap agressively against the window. The room wasn't quite spinning yet, so surely it hadn't been that long since he had opened the bottle he was drinking.
Yet there must have been something wrong with his understanding of time, because suddenly the door swung open and there was Effie Trinket in the doorway, holding a broken umbrella. She was absolutely drenched, looking like a wet poodle with her frizzy lavender curls now sticking to her forehead and cheeks. Streams of pink and blue makeup were slowly making their way down her face. Not even the water proof products of the Capitol could withstand the storm outside. Whatever ruffled monstrosity she was wearing was now firmly flattened, showing the full shape of her figure as it clung to her. On her feet she wore the only semi-practical piece of clothing he had ever seen her in—thigh high galoshes—which were now firmly caked in mud.
"Haymitch!" she said, sounding surprised, "You're usually in bed. I suppose I'm the one that's early but, well, you're always in bed when I get here. I didn't know you could be anywhere else."
She pushed the door close behind her with a little bit of effort, the wind apparently wanting to keep it agape. A small puddle was forming underneath her.
"Is it my birthday?" This was all Haymitch could think to ask. Almost nothing surprised him anymore, but seeing Effie disheveled was throwing him off. She was always pristine, a convenient puff ball of purple or pink or whatever color she chose that year. It made her easy to spot in a crowd, no matter how drunk he may be. It was strange then, to see her so… unkempt. Maybe it wasn't her, but another trick of the Capitol's. He reached for the knife instinctively.
"Tomorrow," Maybe-Effie said as she headed to the kitchen, coming back a moment later with hand towel. She began scrunching it into her hair, the rest of her continuing to drip as she reentered the living room. "The storm was coming so he sent me early, just in case you decided to do anything stupid. I was supposed to get here before the downpour started, but—" she looked down at the knife and rolled her eyes, "It's me Haymitch. I've used up most of my positive attitude walking all the way down here in the storm, and I'd really rather not have to stop you from stabbing me."
Haymitch was only mildly convinced, taking a swig of his drink as he let go of the knife. He kept it close, but didn't see the need to hold it. The worst Maybe-Effie could do, if she really were some Capitol double, was kill him.
"What were you sayin'?" he asked, "'Bout being here early?" He hadn't really been listening, more focused on finding some definitive proof that it was truly Effie. The problem was, of course, that with all the Capitol tuning, people were wiped clean. No scars told their stories, or moles told them apart. Unless someone had cat ears or another such extreme surgery, they could easily be replaced by somebody else. Still, Haymitch figured, Effie had that twinkle in her voice, like a tiny bell ringing when she spoke, that he supposed would be hard to mimic. Keep her talking, and maybe he could be assured. It wouldn't be hard to do.
She huffed, starting back from the beginning, "There was a storm coming, so he—"
"Snow." Haymitch had always wondered why she refused to use Snow's name. The first time it happened, all those years ago as she pinned a rose into Haymitch's lapel, he had thought it was meant to be a secret to the rest of the people they were with. A warning meant only for Haymitch. Yet, in all these years together, he almost never heard her say the man's name again. Clearly there were occasions when she accepted orders from Snow, and she seemed to have no problem with Haymitch knowing this, but his name was always far from her lips. Reverence, Haymitch had thought at first. Later, fear? Perhaps one day he would care enough to ask.
"Yes, obviously," she answered, "Apparently he was afraid that, being the rascal you are, you might try to run or get yourself struck by lightning, so I was sent early to make sure you follow your usual routine of drinking yourself to sleep."
Her usual cheery demeanor was truly running out, thanks to the rain. Even as she tried to turn her nose up at his alcoholic behavior, she just ended up looking silly. A stray droplet, stained a greyish purple from the mixing makeup, fell from the tip of that nose. He couldn't hold back a snort of a laugh.
"C'mere," he said, gesturing her towards him.
She put her hands on her hips in response. "Are you going to stab me?"
"Not yet," he said with a shrug.
The hand that had been holding the knife now reached for the wash cloth she had procured instead. With a wary look, she handed it over, stepping forward and crouching beside the armchair. His hands were surprisingly stable as he pressed the cloth to her face, gingerly wiping away streaks of color. His other hand still held his bottle as he pressed it to her cheek, keeping her head steady with warm touch and cool glass as he cleaned her skin.
"Why are you all wet though?" Haymitch asked. She scrunched up her nose as she always did when his breath, reeking of alcohol, got too close to her.
"I was supposed to get here before the storm started."
"Well clearly that didn't happen," he replied, "No Peacekeepers able to give you a lift?"
"No female ones."
She needed no further explanation. Effie may be Capitol, but the protection that brought only really worked in the presence of a crowd. A lone Peacekeeper on a stormy night in a vehicle no one could see into? No one would be safe in that situation, not even Effie.
"Didn't think to bring a change of clothes?" Haymitch asked. The puddle on his floor was getting bigger. He was used to seeing Effie with some sort of rolling bag or caboodle on her, but it seemed that all she brought was that broken umbrella.
"I left it on the train so everything would be dry when I went back for it tomorrow. I was hoping…" she glanced away, and when Haymitch lowered the wash cloth he could see that she was blushing.
"Shit, Effie, you'd dare to borrow something?" Haymitch asked, "And from me no less?"
"No!" She protested, standing to her feet once more. Even in the low light he could tell the blush was growing, almost like he hadn't just cleaned all that pink make up off her face. There were many ways that he would normally describe Effie's look—garish, loud, feminine, fluffy—but this was the first time his mind came up with "cute". Perhaps he had had too much to drink already.
"Then what?"
"A towel," she said, taking a breath, "A real sized one."
"You want to walk around my house wearing nothing but a towel?" Haymitch asked, letting out a low whistle, "Well shoot Effie, I know we've known each other quite some time, by I don't know if we know each other like that yet."
She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, exasperated. "I could dry off my clothes with a towel. Why do you always have to mess with me?"
"You make it too easy," he replied, grinning. Teasing Effie was perhaps the only thing that still brought him joy. "And I'm going to be honest with you, I don't think you're getting dry wearing that, towel or no. You know where the closet it, just go grab something."
Effie looked down at her dress, then sighed. Her galoshes squeaked, leaving a trail of mud as she made her way up the stairs. Perhaps this wasn't really Effie, if she willing to wear non-Capitol clothing, but whatever weird version of her this was, Haymitch didn't mind. She was just as spritely as his Effie, just as easily agitated, but whoever this was seemed less able to hide her frustrations. This Effie seemed more fun, anyhow.
"Why don't you own a hair dryer!?" Effie shouted from somewhere upstairs.
"Why would I?" he called back after taking another drink.
"You have hair!"
"Not enough to worry about drying it," he said back, finally moving from his chair. He kept the knife in his belt, a drink in his hand, and made his way upstairs. The light was on in his bedroom, the sound of Effie's shoes squeaking as she moved about, clearly looking for something. He rolled his eyes, grabbing a large towel from the hall closet before stepping into his room. "Just wrap your hair in—"
He was cut off by Effie's squeal as she realized he had entered the room. At first he didn't realize what had frightened her so much. She was still fully clothed—he knew as much from those shoe squeaks—but it took him a second to realize that those curly purple tendrils were no longer on her head, but rather sitting on his dresser. Instead, Effie's head was almost bare, just short stubble sticking out. She held her arms over her head, as if they could shield her buzz cut.
Haymitch supposed that he must have always known that her hair was a wig, the way it changed colors so frequently, but he had always thought that under those wigs would be, well, more of the same. It had never occured to him that beneath Effie's wild colors and frills would be something so normal.
He threw the towel towards her. She caught it, draping it around her head.
"I can't believe you just came in here! I could have been—"
"Oh you know I wouldn't have come in if I thought you weren't decent," he said, moving to the dresser and rifling through it, "If you didn't you wouldn't be alone with me, just like those Peacekeepers." From his drawer be procured a black beanie. He passed that to her, along with the bottle in his hand. There was another one downstairs anyway, and it seemed Effie would need it with the night she was having.
She sighed, looking skeptically at the bottle before finally taking a drink. Her eyes scruched and her lips pursed. Haymitch had offered Effie a drink a number of times over the years, but this was the first time she had accepted. Without the makeup, without the hair, it was like peeling back all the facades that Effie was constantly performing. Still prissy, but not too good to accept some shit licquor on a shit day.
Haymitch gave a nod before turning and leaving the room. He had to grip the railing as he headed back down the stairs, wary of his drunken steps and the slippery path Effie had left.
This was Effie then, he decided as he settled back into his chair with the bottle he had left behind. She had all the right trills to her voice, all the ridiculously misaligned priorities, and most of all she had that perfect nose scrunch that always came with her annoyance at Haymitch. A body double might be able to copy the gesture, but Haymitch knew each of those tiny wrinkles after spending 11 years together. The only times he was at all lucid was with Effie, which made her his only friendly memory for the last decade.
The problem with Effie, of course, was that she brought death in her wake. She was all smiles and positive attitude, yet seeing her face meant being heralded into the next Games. He knew that she wore that cheery face for the kids' sakes, and some years when they had younger victors it even worked to calm their nerves for a day or two, yet still, for most that smile brought disaster. The first year or two they were together Haymitch had worked so earnestly to chip away at her smiles, tearing her down at every opportunity, reminding her constantly of the horrors that were to face their tributes. Eventually, he realized, that even as she parroted the Capitol propoganda, it was not for the sake of promoting the Games. What had seemed like it lacked reverance for the gravity of the situation was really a form of protection, both for herself, and extending to those tributes. That cheery attitutde was at least treating the tributes like human beings, making sure they ate, helping to figure out a way to not embarass themselves during their interviews, somehow scrounging up enough sponsorships to send a bit of water or a blanket, so at least they wouldn't suffer too bad before they went on to the old hereafter. He chose to stop seeing her as the angel of death—to forgive her of those same atrocities that he was guilty of every year—and just let her be his Effie. Not friend, but perhaps ally.
"Don't laugh," she finally called out as she came down the stairs.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, despite his many years spent making fun of her.
She wore the black beanie down low over her forehead. Somehow she had managed to take one of Haymitch's flannels and made it into a passable dress, fashioned at her waist with an old leather belt that he didn't remember having, the sleeves rolled high so it didn't look quite so disporportionate. A pair of his nice wool socks completed the ensemble.
"Better than anything Magno's done in years. Honestly we should remember this for the next time he doesn't show up."
Effie took a small sip from her bottle, hiding her smile. "He'll get replaced soon, I hope. Or die."
Haymitch faked a gasp. "Now Effie, I'm surprised at you. You're really showing off your true Capitol nature by wishing death on someone."
"I'm merely saying that he's getting old," she replied, rolling her eyes, "And that he's partaking in too many substances."
"Sure, sure."
For a little while, they sat in silence. Haymitch finished off his bottle and went to dig up another. Effie barely sipped on hers. He always wondered how she got through the games without drinking. Sure, he was the obvious alcoholic amongst the mentors and tribute escorts, but that didn't mean he didn't notice all the others partaking in some vice or other throughout the games. Even those cold-blooded Career district advisors could be caught with a hangover at some point during the run of the Games. For a while Haymitch had presumed she was partaking in secret, and was just somehow a better actor than the rest of them, but with how much time they had spent together over the years, that was getting less and less likely.
Haymitch had just settled back into his chair when a flash of white light came through the curtains, followed closely by deafening roar of thunder. Effie squealed, pulling her knees up to her chest.
"Calm down, it's just the—"
Before Haymitch could finish, the lights flickered, then went out completely. Without the low hum of the appliances, the only noises were rain beating down on the house, and more rumblings of thunder in the distance. It was pitch black without the lights.
"Don't happen to have a match, do ya'?" Haymitch asked, "Or a spare potato and some Zinc would do fine."
In the dark, Haymitch couldn't see the look of confusion that flashed across Effie's face. It wasn't that she didn't understand the joke, just that she hadn't heard Haymitch talk about his games before.
"Oh! I have a lighter!" Effie declared, once she had recovered from surprise. Suddenly the dark room now had a tiny flame, lighting up Effie's grin. "You can build us a fire. Or, um, I can try, if you'd prefer."
The fire place in Haymitch's house had never been used before. It was cleaned regularly, as a part of his yearly spruce up, just in case they needed B-roll from his house. He just couldn't bring himself to use it, even in the harsh of winter when the central heating wasn't enough to block out the cold. Still, he knew Effie would not hold up well in the dark for long, and if he wanted her to be her cheery self tomorrow to counteract his own incoming angst, a fire would have to be made.
"In that gettup, I almost believe that you could," he said, standing up from his chair and moving to grab the small lighter, "But I won't make you get those manicured hands dirty."
He made quick work of the fire, as if it were second nature. The lighter certainly helped as well, and he began to wonder how much one of those would be as a sponser gift. In the Capitol he was sure it wouldn't cost almost anything, but to someone in the districts, a lighter was as good as a gold. Of course, people knew better than to waste their money on something that'd run out of fuel eventually, but the luxury of saving time with matches or flint was still appealing.
Haymitch didn't bother returning to his chair, instead choosing to stare into the flame, his back against his mahogany coffee table. Eventually Effie moved to sit beside him.
"This is why he sent me down early," she said quietly, "No power means no cameras. I'm the only eyes on you they have right now."
Haymitch's eyebrows scrunched together. "You tellin' me they've got you bugged?"
Effie laughed. "No. I don't think they care much about your drunken ramblings. They just don't want you running away when they don't know you're doing it." She paused. "So please don't try to run. I really don't want to go back into the storm."
"Wasn't planning on it," Haymitch said, taking a long drink from the bottle.
Effie's shoulders seemed to relax as she breathed out a sigh. The firelight suited her more than glaring bulbs in the Capitol. Without all the makeup, her features look softened. With the beanie and the flannel, she almost could have been from 12. Not from the Seam, of course, but still, she looked like a human for the first time.
"No one's listening then?" Haymitch continued, "You'll have to tell me all those deep dark secrets you usually have hidden under all the purple."
"No secrets," she replied, "I'm an open book, like you."
Haymitch laughed. "Like me?"
"Well, I suppose it's not by choice for you. I mean, I watched the most important thing that happened in your life on TV. Still, it's easy to figure out what you're thinking."
The most important thing that happened. Is that really what the games were? He shivered at the thought. His life wasn't that exciting before, but surely it was important. Laughing with Sid, doing chores with Ma, listening to Lenore Dove sing… surely those were the important moments. How could Effie know anything about him without knowing those? The games were barely even a speck on his nightmares.
"You didn't even see everything they filmed," Haymitch countered instead.
Effie turned to him, her face puzzled, "That's not true. Drusilla introduced me to Plutarch, and he let me in the monitor room with the other mentors and escourts. I saw everything, Haymitch."
Oh. That was certainly new information. For years he figured that Effie only remembered the twisted version of the Games that the Capitol produced, overly edited to make him truly a rascal. If she was in the monitor room she would have seen every moment, at every angle. Effie knew how set he had been on destroying the arena. She knew that he watched every ally he had die one after another. She saw every bit of caringness that hadn't come back since those games ended.
"I'm sorry, I don't know why I thought you knew that," she continued, "Here's my secret. I made sure they aired you dropping the chocolate. They wanted to find some way to cut away, but I insisted that no matter who won, that moment would drive the viewers wild." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and setting her chin in the crevice between kneecaps. "That's why I got Drusilla's job. That's the real secret part, I guess. After the Games I got invited back to Plutarch's house. I was so naieve back then that when they told me they wanted to make sure they profiled the real stylist behind 12, I believed them. I should've known better. I did know better. I was just so happy you actually won, I let my guard down."
"Snow was there?"
Effie nodded, eyes glossing over slightly as she stared into the flame. It was all making sense to Haymitch now. He was too drunk for the 51st Games to be surprised that Effie had replaced Drusilla, but with Magno still working it now seemed odd. Drusilla hadn't died under mysterious food poinsoning related circumstances, so Haymitch had never bothered to give it much thought. He was glad, of course, that Effie was the one to pull him out of his drunken stupors, but guilt started to creep into him for pulling her into this mess.
Escourting the tributes of 12 was never the job Effie wanted. For all he knew, she had never wanted to be any part of the Games. Just like him, just like their two kids every year, she was here by force.
"Prosperina okay?" He finally asked. Haymitch hadn't seen Effie's sister since his own Games. The fact that he had never thought to ask after her perturbed him. Perhaps Haymitch was easier to read than Effie afterall.
"She's good," Effie said, taking a determined gulp from her bottle, "I make sure she stays far from the Games. She's engaged now, actually. I have to plan the wedding."
"Need a date? I could borrow Uncle Silius's jacket again." Haymitch nudged her shoulder playfully, trying to get her smile to return.
"Don't make offers you won't keep Haymitch."
"Nah, I'm sure you don't need a date anyway. You must have some pretty Capitol boy following you around. Someone to match ruffly outfits with."
"Nope," she took another drink, "Not risking it. I've been around the Games enough to know better than to add anyone to the list of people I care about."
"Smart girl," he replied, taking his own long drink.
Silence returned, save for the pattering rain and crackling fire. Effie stared into the flames, her eyes reflecting the golden hues. Haymitch, on the other hand, couldn't stop staring at Effie. The new information reoriented his whole view on her. For years he thought she was generally kind, despite being from the Capitol, but overall foolish for constantly spouting the same propoganda every year. It had always seemed to him that there must have been some brainwashing done to her to make her say those things, despite shedding tears over their tributes every year. Knowing now that she was in the same situation as the rest of the victors, trapped between freedom and chains, his entire perspective changed. Sure, there was still something missing from her understanding—even most of the Career victors weren't as brazen in their love of the Capitol as Effie Trinket was, but perhaps she at least wasn't stupid.
His eyes traced over her new look, imagining how she would have been if she grew up in 12. She would have worked in the candy shop, like Maysilee. Effie still wouldn't be Effie if she weren't surrounded by color, so the job would have suited her. On reaping day she would have made sure all the girls' hair was braided perfect. There would have been a year when one of her friends, or even Prosperina, had had their name called, and she would have learned then what it was like to mourn and move on. Although, perhaps that wasn't a skill just for District 12-Effie, as the real Effie went through something similar every year.
Seeing her in the flannel it was easy to imagine her marrying beneath her, some strong coal miner that she had to remind to wash their face every day. She would be good in love—he had 11 years of experience being taken care of by Effie Trinket to know that that was true. Away from the Capitol she wouldn't have to worry about Snow or being positive all the time. Her husband could know what it was like to see Effie angry, or devestated.
The wool socks seemed to suit her too. Effie was used to the luxuries, of course, but if she had never known them perhaps she would have known what it was to love the practical little treasures of 12. A really nice pair of socks, cake on New Year's, nice licquor on a bad day. In the Capitol, all the joy of such things were washed out by everything shiny and new.
There was one part of Effie's outfit that he hadn't noticed before, and was perhaps a bit embarassed to be taking stock of now. Around each thigh, now exposed by the way she had her legs bent, was a leather garter. They weren't frilly like the ones he had seen in the Capitol's Adult Films he sometimes watched on particularly depressing nights. These looked practical, with straps and pockets for little items. He realized now that the lighter must have come from one of them. He knew he should look away, but curiosity got the better of him as he tried to make out what other items Effie Trinket decided she needed to keep on hand.
The leg closest to him sported a small pair of scissors, a minature spool of thread, and a few small sewing needles bobbing in and out of the leather. This made sense for Effie, always prepared for a fashion emergency. These were fairly commonplace for District 12, and he had wondered how he had never noticed her pulling out these objects before. The other leg had more small pouches, but the hilt of a small dagger was clearly visible.
Effie, as was just Haymitch's luck, chose that moment to look over at him. He averted his eyes to the fire, knowing he had been caught. For the first time in years, he felt himself blushing.
Next to him, Effie readjusted herself, covering her legs properly. The silence was apparently too uncomfortable for her, as she finally started her explanation.
"It's my Escourt's Arsenal. It was our 3rd Games together when I realized just how underprepared I always was. Now I've got something for everything. I can't do much to protect our kids in the Games, but they'll always be safe with me from the second their name is called, to our last goodbyes."
"Oh?" Haymitch asked, his curiousity getting the better of him, "The sewing kit makes sense, even the dagger I get. What else could you possibly need?" It struck him that Effie was walking around like this constantly. It must have been uncomfortable to conceal such things for so long.
She let out a sigh. "You're not going to be happy."
"I'm never happy, what's the difference?" They did the Games together, what could possibly make him more upset than those did?
"If you insist," she said, pulling up the hem of her flannel and pointing to each item as she went, "Scissors, needle, thread, of course, then nausea medicine, sometimes for the tributes, sometimes for you. I have a small hanky folded up in that pocket," she moved to the other leg, "That's where the lighter goes, you can see the dagger, and then in these two pockets I have abortion pills and charcoal tablets."
She saved the most dramatic for last, as was her style, before returning the flannel to its place over her legs again. He found himself slightly sickened by the thought of the pills, so he focused on the tablets instead.
"Are they for you?" he asked, "The charcoal tablets I mean."
Effie shrugged. "For anyone that needs them."
"Well aren't you the rebel," Haymitch replied, finishing his drink off. They both knew what it meant, if you were saving someone from poison.
He began to stand, but Effie was up first, lighter in hand. "I'll get the drinks. I don't trust you wobbling around in the dark."
When she came back, she had a bottle in each hand. Apparently at some point she had finished her's. Of course, her's hadn't been full when he had given it to her, but it was nice to know that he wasn't the only one drinking his fears away with this storm.
"How does Snow not know about your arsenals?" he asked absentmindedly, clinking his bottle to Effie's before taking a swig.
She took a drink, punctuated with a little cough before answering. "He probably does," she replied, "A lot of it at least. The charcoal tablets I get from Plutarch. He told me his house isn't bugged, and I believe him. It's easy enough to arrange a meeting or two in the off season, old friends catching up and all."
Haymitch gave a snort, unable to stop himself from imagining Plutarch and Effie in the green house, having tea parties and exchanging contraband. It made sense now, with his new image of Effie, that those two might get along. Capitol citizens, generally unaffected by the Games except through sorrow.
"Sure you don't have a boyfriend?"
Effie's face turned pink once again. "Didn't work out."
"Oh." He hadn't thought his joke would land anywhere near the truth. There was a strange feeling begining to bubble in his stomach. It was unclear whether it was a sense of protectiveness, or just too much alcohol. "Why's that?"
She nudged his shoulder with her own, taking another drink. Haymitch was beginning to wonder what a reaping would look like with Effie hungover.
"You don't care about my love life," she answered. In truth, Haymitch had forgotten that Effie had a life outside of their few days together a year. He certainly didn't have one, so why should she?
"No because now you've got me curious," Haymitch answered, "And it's a long night we've got ahead of us. You told me you're an open book, you're drinking my booze, so spill."
"We never really dated," Effie replied with a sigh, her blush not leaving her cheeks, "It was just a fling really, something to keep our mind off the Games, just a few nights here and there when we wound up at the same parties. I know I'm good at social gatherings, but there's only so many times someone can ask you 'Do I know you from somewhere?' and you have to tell them that your job is bringing two sacrifical lambs to the slaughter every year, before you get sick of people all together. Plutarch was a little breath of fresh air, where I could chat and look the part of Effie Trinket without having to put in quite so much work.
"I thought the two of us were having a good time. I'm ashamed to say it, but I enjoyed the fineries of spending time with a Heavensbee, while also liking being with someone that understood what it meant to question the Capitol. I didn't have to worry about the target on my back hurting him, because he was just as likely to do something that would get me killed as I would him.
"For a little while, it was nice, but the more serious things became the more I realized how stupid I was. He could go on for hours about all the books he read, the theories about government he had, how he hoped to end the Games one day so that no more children would suffer. And what did I have to give to that conversation? One time I let a crying child ruin one of my dresses with their snot? I helped a kid get over their stutter before sending them off to their doom? I'm just… I'm not smart enough for a guy like him."
A tear rolled down her face as she took another drink. Haymitch imagined it was more for insecurity than Plutarch himself. Sure, the man had money and wasn't totally terrible, but Effie was in another league when it came to the qualities that mattered in love. She had compassion, beauty, the ability to light up a room, and an unnerving tendancy to nag. All crucial in romance. He figured he was supposed to tell her all that, but he wasn't sure how to without sounding all mushy. His thoughts were starting to run together, and he feared saying something he regretted. He took another drink despite that.
"Fuck Plutarch," Haymitch said, "He's got nothin' compared to you. All theory, no practice. People can make all the plans they want, but there's 24 kids dying every year in the meantime, and someone's gotta look out for them. That person sure as hell isn't Plutarch, and I'm shit at it, so I'm glad it's you looking after 12 and not one of us."
Effie wiped her tears off on the flannel. "Thank you Haymitch. I don't know why I'm crying, I don't normally get upset like this…"
"Blame the licquor."
Effie nodded, taking another drink. She was still blushing, but perhaps now it was the alcohol hitting her and not embarassment. She was a light weight for sure, though Haymitch supposed everyone was compared to him. Every year he seemed to need to buy more and more alcohol to drown his memories. Sometimes he worried about when the time would come that he needed to switch to something stronger.
With a deep breath, Effie plastered her signature positive attitude smile back on. "We've talked enough about me for one night. Don't you have anything to share? Secret stories or at least some good gossip."
Haymitch shrugged in return. "I saw Maysilee's sister today, you know she was a twin, right?" Effie nodded. "Well she had this this little kid on her hip, couldn't have been older than two. I hadn't realized she had had one—I try to stay far away from them if I can help it, and apparently I had been succeeding. Saw my old friend Burdock's wife too, and she looks to be expectin' her second."
Effie's smile wavered. It seemed like good enough town gossip when Haymitch started, but half way through he knew what they would both be thinking. Only 10 years until Maysilee's neice would be up for the reaping. Burdock's daughter wasn't even out of the womb and yet somehow Haymitch was already terrified of having to see her in the line up in 13 years. Sometimes Haymitch wondered what kind of tribute it would take for him to really put in any effort to make sure the kid won.
"I know it's a horrible thought," Effie said, "But I don't really see why anyone in the districts has children."
"I reckon Snow would find a way to make us if we didn't. Add cameras into everyone's bedrooms, have a quota of times a couple needed to try."
She covered her mouth in response, hiding a giggle. "Honestly I wouldn't put it past him."
"The real reason they're still havin' kids I guess, is they don't have any of those fancy pills you've got, and fuckin's one of the only joys that free."
Were it a normal day with Effie, when she was all done up and had on her Capitol facade, no drink in hand, he was sure she would have been indignant. Tonight, however, he got the undone Effie, who didn't seem so preturbed by swearing and sex.
She raised her eyebrows at him. "What would you know of the joys of sex?"
"Huh?"
"You've never had sex. You wouldn't know if it's worth the consequences or not."
"You don't know that I haven't," Haymitch answered, turning away from her to take a drink and hopefully hide his blush.
"Yes I do," she said matter-of-factly, "I mean, I suppose you could have before you entered the Games, but I find it unlikely. Since then you've stayed away from everyone here in 12, and I've put in a lot of work telling everyone in the Capitol that you have syphilis."
"You WHAT?" he asked, mouth agape.
"That or a micropenis," she continued with a shrug and another sip from the bottle, "Whatever's needed really, to disuade the person's interest."
It took a moment for him to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. Haymitch remembered, of course, how the citizen's of the Capitol had eaten up his flirting at his interviews and how they all wanted to pose for pictures with him in his cage. He had heard the rumors of the destiny befalling the prettier victors, bought by the wealthy on a regular basis. Years had passed without him being sentenced to such a fate, and he had always assumed that he just wasn't that appealing, especially as he returned every year more and more inebriated. To think it was really Effie's hard work that had been keeping him safe all these years was astounding. Who knew she could weild such power while looking so fragile.
"I… Thank you Effie, for keeping me pure."
Effie snorted her laugh, and it was the most pleasant sound Haymitch had ever heard from her. In the fire light, in Haymitch's clothes, no make up, no cameras looming over them, Effie seemed more real than she had ever seen before. He was used to seeing her as his blurry fluff ball, yet now, even after all his drinking, she seemed more clear than ever.
"We don't have to keep talkin' if it's just going to lead to me gettin' embarrassed," Haymitch added, "I'm sure I've got cards around here or something."
"You've got nothing to be embarassed about," Effie said, smiling, "But cards sounds lovely."
It wasn't the easiest thing, stumbling around his house with a lighter, looking in the places where someone might reasonably put a deck of cards. Haymitch thought he remembered seeing one somewhere, maybe left behind years ago by Burdock or Blair. It took several minutes, but eventually he came back to the living room triumphant after finding the deck in a drawer of junk in the kitchen. On his way he grabbed a pillow and a throw blanket from the couch and passed them to Effie. There was no way his Capitol girl wasn't getting uncomfortable on the floor. With a small thanks she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and moved the pillow underneath her.
Effie didn't seem to know any games, and the ones Haymitch knew had too many rules for the amount of alcohol they had drank, so eventually they settled on Go Fish. Effie kept accidentally flashing Haymitch her cards, then would accuse him of cheating. Each turn she seemed to get louder and louder in her insistance that he must not be following the rules. Eventually he started pointing out her failings, grabbing her wrists to pull her cards out of his sight whenever she would acidentally show them off. He wasn't rough with her, of course, but she didn't make it easy for him to stop her from losing. The drink was clearly getting to her, fits of giggles errupting at every touch. When they had finished their bottles, Haymitch made no move to replace either of them, realizing he'd have to be the more sober one for the night to take care of Effie for a change.
"Do you have any 8's?" Effie asked in the middle of the fifth game. She had now taken to holding her hand directly in front of her face, just her eyes visible between cards and beanie. When she would ask, it was with an overly serious tone, as if she thought she could somehow read Haymitch's mind.
"Go fish," he answered with a smirk. She huffed in returned, taking a card from the deck.
She had barely added the card to her hand when there was another loud roll of thunder. Effie jumped, her cards flying across the room, and her body lurching forward.
"Woah there," Haymitch said. He had caught her by her elbows, gripping them tight. One of her knees now rested on his outstretched leg, the other tucked just beside him. Her cheek was almost touching his, and he thought he could feel her breath on his skin. "Just a bit of thunder."
She sat back slightly, just far enought so that he could see her face again. Their legs still touched, and he didn't let go of her arms. Effie was still visibly jostled. Haymitch knew she didn't like storms. Each year the Games seemed to give her a new thing to be afraid of. Most the time it was things she wouldn't have to worry about, like new mutts or being stranded in the desert, but two years ago the arena was almost constantly thunderstorms. They had had to watch their kids huddle under a tarp, shivering, for 4 straight days. 4 days was a long time for a kid from 12 to live, but that year it was more because the storm was their biggest competitor, as all the tributes prioritized shelter over fighting. Haymitch remembered thinking he had wished they had died sooner, just so they wouldn't have to suffer so long.
"You all right?" Haymitch asked, his voice soft as he rubbed his thumbs over Effie's smooth skin.
"Yes," she replied, still not moving from her spot in Haymitch's arms, "I think I've ruined the game though."
Haymitch looked around, noticing just how many cards had been displaced. The cards that had been in Effie's hand had made it as far as the sofa, and the deck must have been kicked at some point, as those were now splayed out across the floor and headed towards the fire.
When he looked back at Effie, he could see that her shoulders had nearly relaxed and the color was coming back into her cheeks. The way the fire light was dancing across her eyes was captivating, and he couldn't seem to stop himself from staring. Was it the alcohol that made him so unabashed? He didn't feel particularly inebriated, at least for his usual standards. Normally Effie wouldn't make him look twice, even this close up, but normally she looked more like a puff ball than a person.
"What are you staring at?" Effie asked pointedly.
"The fire."
She raise an eyebrow at that response.
"It's reflecting in your eyes," he explained, "Looks nice."
"Yours too," she replied, "The fire reflecting I mean, not the looking nice."
Effie was smirking, an expression Haymitch wasn't used to seeing on her. Something strange was starting to happen in his stomach, like it had been filled with a swarm of electric butterflies. He gulped. Somehow Effie was making him nervous.
"Are you sweating? Don't tell me you're sick. I can't have you ill this week." As she spoke, she held up the back of her hand to his forehead. She let it sit there for a moment before dropping it onto his shoulder. "No fever. Are you feeling okay?"
Why wasn't she moving? Haymitch was painfully aware of every place that they touched. He almost felt like he should inform her that they were so close. Moving away on his own was out of the question.
"'m fine," was all he managed to get out.
At that she sighed, giving up on his mysterious ailment. She looked around and started to move away, her arms going in the direction of the cards. Haymitch's body acted on it's own, gripping her elbow tighter.
"Don't go yet," he heard himself mumbling.
"I was just going to clean up…" she said, her eyes searching for something in his, "How drunk are you?"
"Practically sober by my standards." The butterflies in his stomach started to move more frantically as he let himself ask: "Why?"
"You seem like… Well it almost seems as if…" she maintained eye contact, as if she would find the right phrasing in the reflection of the fire.
He let the electric feelings guide him, leaning in closer, his face barely a breath away from hers. "As if what?"
"It seems like you're about to kiss me."
"No cameras on. You wouldn't have to worry that someone might find out about you kissin' a District Boy."
"I wouldn't be worried about that."
Haymitch hesitated. Was that permission? He felt frozen in place. While his voice when he spoke seemed calm, almost smooth, inside he felt at a loss. The butterflies were lighting up his stomach, urging him forward. Before he had a chance to, however, Effie had already closed the gap.
Her lips were impossibly soft against his, like flower pedals. The kiss was slow, gentle, with Effie leading the movements. His arms wrapped around her waist on their own accord. He was unsure if they pulled her into his lap, or merely followed her there. The feeling of flannel was oddly comforting, as the only truly familiar sensation he was having.
"Still with me Haymitch?" Effie whispered. It was so strange, being able to feel her voice as well as hear it.
He nodded, not wanting to waste any time before diving back into the kiss. Haymitch swore she was smiling against his lips, which only made him kiss harder. One of her hands moved to tangle in his hair, long nails scratching over his scalp. He hummed his approval. Any embarassment he had about his eagerness had evaporated, replaced with pure desire.
He found his lips moving away from hers, instead choosing to pepper kisses across her cheek, to her earlobe, and down her neck. She let out a small, twinkling gasp. The wonderful thing about kissing Effie was knowing that she had no problem telling him when he stepped out of line. As he began kissing harder at her neck, sucking at her skin, her little whine confimed her pleasure.
"Haymitch…" His name came out of her mouth more as a sigh than anything else. It was enchanting, making him eager to figure out how to get her to repeat it.
Her fingers came to rest under his chin, gently leading him back to her lips. He wanted more of her, he knew he did, but wasn't quite sure how to ask. The Effie he knew was untouchable, almost like one of those expensive dolls that he had seen in the Capitol, just for looking and not for playing. Seeing Effie all undone as she was only made him eager to muss her up more. The forbidden nature of playing with her made it all the more appealing.
"Effie I…" he said between kisses, trying desperately to get a thought together, "I'd like to…"
"Yes Haymitch?" she encouraged, even as her lips moved against his.
"More," he replied, breathless. It was the best he could come up with.
Effie giggled in response, taking his hands and guiding them to the front of her shirt. He was most certainly blushing, but luckily Effie was too preoccupied with his lips to notice.
The buttons on his flannel seemed foreign under his fingers, as if they had grown a size too big for the holes since the last time he had worn it. He fumbled with them, but managed to get a few undone, eventually reaching to where they met up with his belt. Instead of starting what would most certainly be a fruitless attempt at removing the accessory, he instead brought his hands up to her neck, letting them slide down under the shirt, feeling the soft skin beneath. Whatever lotion or body scrubs there were in the Capitol certainly worked. There seemed to be nothing softer than Effie's skin, save maybe her lips.
Her bra, apparently, had been discarded with the rest of her wet clothes, leaving his hands free to roam her breasts. Haymitch was unsure what he was meant to do with them, but found his hands cupping them, his thumbs gently gliding over her nipples. She gave a small jump at the sensation, but made no move to push him away.
"Your turn," she whispered after a moment, pulling just far enough away to grab at the hem of his shirt. His hands moved over his head, letting her pull it off of him. Haymitch found himself desperately trying to remember if he had bothered to shower that morning.
Shirt discarded, Effie took her turn to roam. Their foreheads pressed together, no longer kissing, as manicured nails traced over every inch of his chest. Almost every inch at least, as she deftly avoided his scar. She had seen him shirtless on more than one occasion, just from their constant close quarters, so he knew his body would be no surprise to her. Still, it felt nice to have her hands on him, without her bringing attention to his past, whether positive or negative.
Effie leaned back slightly, reaching behind her to grab the blanket that had fallen from her shoulders. It was only for a moment, but long enough that Haymitch could start to miss her closeness. Her presence returned, somehow managing to reach around him, splaying the blanket out behind him. Once it was properly spread out, she laid her fingertips to his chest again, gently pushing him backwards.
From his new spot laying beneath her, he could clearly see the small smile on her face, more sincere than Haymitch was used to seeing on her. He reached out, hoping to pull her back in for another kiss, but instead she busied herself with removing her belt.
Effie, he realized, was born to be lit by fire. Her gentle features gave such beautiful planes for the light to dance over. He found himself pressing his hand to her cheek, his fingers eager for that feeling of her skin beneath his again. Haymitch couldn't hold back a goofy smile as she leaned into the touch, letting his thumb caress her lips.
She grinned back at him, finally discarding the belt beside her. She made surprisingly short work of the remaining buttons on the flannel before finally leaning down to rejoin their lips.
More. More. As soon soon as they were kissing again, Haymitch lost all sense of dignity. His hands quickly slid underneath her shirt, finally pulling it off of her shoulders.
Effie shivered at the lack of fabric, leaving Haymitch to find a way to pull her in closer, his hands carding down her back. He was vaguely aware of how gruff he must look, in comparison to Effie's pristine nature, but something about being the person that would get to muss up the ever-perfect Effie Trinket excited him more.
She let out a moan, a low sound that seemed far from Effie's usual twinkling voice. Haymitch smiled in response, feeling like his wish had been granted. He deepend the kiss, letting his left hand move to sneak underneath her beanie. The scratch of short hair felt strange, yet comforting. Haymitch's insticts told him that he was the first person who had been allowed to feel her true tresses.
Effie shifted on top of him, letting the beanie fall to the floor. Her movement made him all too aware of just how hard he was. It was his turn to moan, the noise drawn out, his right hand digging into the spot between Effie's shoulder blades. The feelings were starting to be overwhelming—Effie's lips, her soft skin, her scruffy hair, her weight pressed against every inch of him. Haymitch was used to the world seeming a little blurry, but this was a whole new high for him. His heart beat quickly, and his thoughts seemed to have more color than meaning.
"Effie," he breathed, "I want…"
"Me too," she whispered, "I'll have to get off of you for a moment."
Haymitch whined. He didn't have enough pride left to be embarassed by it. Effie didn't seem to mind anyway, giggling in response. Haymitch wondered if in the morning he would have the same urge to make her happy that he was having now.
He managed to hold back the next noise that threatened to leave his mouth, biting his lip as Effie moved off of him. Her eyes directed him to his pants, and he made quick work of removing them and his boxers in one swoop. Effie, on the other hand, took her time unfastening her garters and placing them gently on the coffee table. He had never been as impatient as he was now, watching her slowly roll down her black underwear.
"Please Effie," Haymitch begged when she finally let her last piece of clothing fall to the floor. Back lit by the fire, she somehow looked more real, yet more divine than ever before. It wasn't the Capitol-bought perfection that made her so lovely, but more the little truths now revealed by their stormy night.
She smiled, gently lowering herself onto him, just under his hips.
Please. Haymitch wasn't sure if the words even escaped his lips, but apparently the pleading look in his eyes was enough, as she gently wrapped purple fingernails around his cock. He let out a breath, wondering how long he had been holding it in.
"You still with me, Haymitch?" Effie asked, looking up at Haymitch through her eyelashes.
"Yes," he sighed.
"Your eyes are telling a different story."
"Mmm," was all he could manage as her hand moved up and down over his length. It was utterly hypnotic.
She moved to lay beside him, her hand still stroking his cock, but her face now close enough to pepper kisses over his cheek. Even with his lip firmly tucked between his teeth, he couldn't keep the moans from escaping. Each movement, each kiss, was far too enticing, sending him closer and closer to a peak that he didn't want to come to yet.
"I… Effie… I…"
As if reading his mind, she paused, bring her hand up to trace over his lips instead. He tried desperately to recapture his breath, bringing himself down from the edge of desire.
"Yes Haymitch?" she asked, a whisper in his ear that caused him to shiver.
"I want to touch you," he managed to say.
Effie happily obliged, taking his hand and guiding it to her clit. Haymitch rubbed gentle circles against her skin, watching her eyes flutter shut as he did so. Somehow it felt just as exciting to watch her react to his touch as it had been feeling her hand on his cock.
She moaned. "Just like that." Haymitch had to fight off every instinct to go faster or rub harder to try to get her to make that beautiful noise again. Instead, he kept with his small circles, watching as she raised her hips, moving her body against his hand.
"Fuck, Haymitch, feels good," she purred.
"I've never heard you swear before," Haymitch said, smiling wider than he had in the past decade.
She almost completed an eyeroll before he reversed the direction of his circles, drawing out another moan from her lips. His cock twitched at the sound, all too eager to be touched again.
"Effie," he said, taking his turn to whisper in her ear, "I'd love to be inside of you."
She turned her head, taking a moment to kiss him properly before sitting up. Stradling him once again, she took his cock in one hand and lowered herself onto it. Haymitch tried to watch, but the feelings were all too much, his eyes closing despite himself. Thoughts melted away, sensations became all that he knew. Breath barely making it out of his lungs, heat from the fire, and most importantly, Effie wrapped around his cock.
Before he could even fully get his bearings, he felt Effie begin to rock against him, his dick slowly moving in and out of her. The push and pull was intoxicating. She moaned once more, the noise pulling Haymitch's eyes open.
The image couldn't have been more perfect. Effie was gorgeous, the only thing lit by the fire. Her head fell backwards, swollen lips still parted slightly from her moan. Her flawless skin was marked by where he had sucked on her neck what felt like ages ago, and her breasts moved in time with each roll of her hips. Her hand fell between her thighs, touching herself as she rode Haymitch.
"Beautiful." He didn't mean to say it out loud, but the praise certainly seemed to motivate Effie as she moved faster against him. Haymitch reached up, grabbing her waist to help steady her as she increased her pace. "You feel amazing," he said, testing out his praise theory.
She let out a whimper, folding herself down onto her elbows to kiss him even as she thrust herself against his cock. Every moan was now passed directly from one set of lips to the other.
Effie's pace was by no means unsatisfactory, but Haymitch still yearned for more. With his grip on her waist he was able to arch slightly, meeting her movements with his thrusts. She squealed, pressing her face into his neck.
"So close," she breathed. One of her hands clenched in his curls, the other his bicep, letting Haymitch's movements take over. Her moans grew, vibrating against his skin, until they were high pitched gasps.
The feeling of Effie's opening tightening around his cock was more electrifying than he had imagined. He kept a firm grip on her, letting the sounds of moans fill his ears as she rode out her orgasm. Each noise that fell from her lips, each flex of her walls around him, made him thrust harder, faster, until he finally let out a gasp, finishing inside of her.
The world around him slowly came back into view. Effie still laid on top of him, her shaved head rubbing against his cheek. Haymitch let go of her waist, instead choosing to rub the smooth skin of her back. He realized just how sweaty he was, and wondered how Effie could stand to be so close to him when he was like this.
"Effie," he said, his voice almost coming out sweet as he placed a kiss to her hair, "You gotta get off of me. It's far too hot."
She groaned, but rolled off of him all the same. Still, she didn't go far, choosing to snuggle into his side instead. Haymitch sighed running a hand over her hair, then down to her neck. He let his thumb rub over the bruise he had left on her.
"I hope you have a scarf you can wear tomorrow," Haymitch said, smirking.
Effie's eyes opened in horror. "You didn't!?"
"Didn't mean to," he replied, "But definitely did." Effie huffed, bringing her hand to trace over the brusie herself. "If it's any consolation, you really enjoyed it."
She hummed, apparently no longer concerned with the hickey as she nuzzled back into Haymitch's side. "I did," she answered, "I enjoyed all of that."
"Not bad for a first timer then?" Haymitch asked with a grin.
"Not at all," she said, finally moving to stand, "I'm sure it'll be even better next time."
Haymitch's mouth fell open slightly. Of course, he had been caught up in the moment, no next times on his mind when he started this, but now that the offer was on the table, his mind couldn't stop imagining all the things he'd love to do to Effie, all the ridiculous outfits he could tear off of her. Part of his mind told him that she probably wasn't serious—there were too many eyes on them most of the time to share a private moment, and Snow certainly wouldn't approve of his Capitol darling being in cohoots with the rascal from 12—but for tonight he would let his brain wander to all the ways he could have Effie.
He was so focused on the possibilities that he hadn't noticed Effie moving about the room until he heard the creak in the stairs. She was half way up, the flannel back around her shoulders.
"Where are you going?"
"To bed," she answered, "Big day in the morning, I have to get at least a bit of sleep. Make sure you put that fire out before you fall asleep."
Haymitch groaned, pulling himself off the floor to start his task. He could have easily fallen asleep then and there if it wasn't for Effie's nagging.
"Oh, and Haymitch," she said, stopping at the top of the stairs.
"Yeah?" he called back.
"Happy birthday."