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He couldn’t say he hadn't thought about it. Hell, there were some nights he couldn't stop thinking about it. Nights when the dawn bled grey-pink through the thin curtains as he finally relented, slipping a rough hand down his stomach until he'd driven any rational thoughts from his head.
It would be almost ridiculously easy, too. A few compliments, a few brushes of fingertips against skin, watching the goosebumps break out and rush down a pale arm, that half smile he knew she couldn't resist, no matter how often she rolled her eyes.
But Haymitch may be a sleaze and a drunk and the myriad of other things people muttered about him, but he wasn't going to do that. Not to Effie. Not when he couldn't treat her like any of the other brainless Capitol dolls he typically took for a tumble. She may be a little flighty, a little too Capitol, even now, but over the past few years, a grudging respect had grown between them that had somehow, when neither of them were looking, grown into a quiet and steady friendship. No matter what happened she'd be there in the morning and Haymitch wasn't ready for that, for the look of disappointment and disgust in her eyes as she woke up in bed with him.
Because really, who'd want to wake up in bed with him?
But there was one huge, glaring downside to Haymitch's decision to keep his hands off Effie and honestly, Haymitch hadn't seen it coming at all.
"And I said, you know, I said to her, I said 'Jocel, listen, sweetie, I don't care how good it looks against your skin, but the pastel rouge is so from last season and you just can't be seen in it!'"
Her name (this time) was Leela, and she was dressed head to toe in bright purple feathers and Haymitch was, once again, questioning his entire life and all his choices.
"Fascinating." He said dryly, fingers twitching towards his glass of water.
Effie had assured him that this time, this time she'd found a good one. Lonely, she'd called him, hands on her hips. You're lonely, Haymitch. You don't do anything, you don't see anyone...
His protests that he saw her, and he saw Katniss and Peeta fell on deaf ears. Apparently, that wasn't good enough. He needed to get out, needed to meet people, and no, Haymitch, that doesn't mean people you've seen covered in blood.
She'd faltered at that point, fingers going to her hip, to one of the numerous scars Haymitch knew still bothered her, and he'd just blurted out his agreement before he could think about it.
Now he was on yet another blind date with yet another woman he didn't particularly like, and they hadn't even ordered food yet.
He wondered, the thought crossing his mind as Leela chattered on and on about her friend, what Effie would talk about on these things. Probably the same - fashion trends, people she disliked... But maybe not, with him. They always managed to find other things to talk about, safe topics of conversation that at least vaguely interested them both.
But that would imply that she'd actually want to date him, to go and share a meal somewhere, to talk and dine and laugh. They'd probably make fun of the waiter, he sarcastic and Effie highly disapproving, but with that sparkle in her eyes that meant she was trying not to laugh. He'd prod and poke and she'd finally give in and make a comment on the horrid fabric of the dress on that woman three tables over and they'd stay far too late, bickering good-naturedly until someone came to kick them out.
It was... startlingly easy to picture.
Haymitch drained his glass of water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah." He said, even though he had no idea what Leela had been talking about.
She leaned across the table. "I'm so glad you agree." She reached over, resting gloved fingertips on the back of his hand, and gave him a sultry little smile and bingo, Haymitch was in. The thought, oddly enough, didn't interest him quite as much as it had a second ago. "What do you say we get out of here?"
Haymitch examined her for a moment, at her thin lips and plucked brows and the way she shoved her chest together as she leaned towards him, and detangled their hands.
"Actually, I gotta go. It's been fun." He said, robotic, and tossed a few bills onto the table.
He ignored her startled protest, already halfway out the door. But instead of heading for the train station to catch a train back home, he made a split second decision, turning right instead of left, and made his way up a darkened street. The buildings leaned crookedly, all smushed together like a disjointed jigsaw puzzle, and he walked up the sidewalk, checking the glistening building plates for the address.
She lived in an apartment halfway up a building with gleaming golden railings and a door buzzer, and Haymitch pressed the button, hunching his shoulders in from the cold.
"Yes, hello?"
"It's me.”
There was a surprised silence for a few stretched seconds before the door swung open with a click.
The carpeting on the stairs was plush and swallowed any noise his footsteps would have made as he clumped up the three flights to Effie’s apartment.
He just barely had time to question himself as he knocked, twice, on the closed door, before it swung open and he nearly forgot to breathe.
It wasn’t often she toned down on anything, least of all her appearance (especially after the war when her appearance meant everything) but there she was, face defiant, just daring him to say something when he couldn’t think of anything past her little bare toes curling into the fluffy carpet.
It hit him then, in a single gut-wrenching twist, and all of a sudden he understood. His life, every breath, every blink, was thrown into startlingly vivid technicolor clarity and how had he missed this?
“I thought you had a date.” Effie said, narrowing her eyes at him. “You didn’t just leave her there, did you?”
“Can I come in?” There must have been something in his voice that betrayed him, because she stepped aside wordlessly and he entered her apartment.
“Haymitch. Shoes.”
He froze, one foot up in the air, and examined her, the way her hands braced her hips as she looked pointedly at his shoes, and carefully lowered his foot.
Haymitch worked his shoes off in silence, and followed Effie, padding down the hall in his sock feet. He looked at her hair, shorn short and wispy thin, and followed the line down her body, down to those damn feet, bare and tiny and pale against the rich red of the carpeting.
Effie led him into the kitchen, making sure he settled himself at the table, before she moved to the cabinets. Within minutes, the air was heavy with the smell of brewing tea.
Finally, Effie turned around, folding her arms. “So. What is it? Did you destroy the restaurant? I can never go back there, can I?”
Haymitch huffed a laugh, looking at the dirt beneath his fingernails. “No, sweetcheeks, your reputation is fine.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Effie made what Haymitch assumed was her menacing face. It was difficult to take her seriously when she was just standing there, inches shorter without her heels on.
“Dunno.” He said finally, looking up from his hands. “Just didn’t really wanna be there.”
“Haymitch!” Effie looked scandalized. “I spent weeks setting you up with her!”
“Well, sorry.” Haymitch leaned back in his seat. “Not my type. Thought you knew me better than that.” He smirked and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
The tea kettle whistled insistently and she turned away, pulling it off the stovetop.
He watched as the nightgown slipped down her shoulder, revealing milky white skin, and had to look away.
She placed the tea in front of him and he sighed, glancing wistfully at her upper left cupboard, where she kept the wine.
Effie gave him a look and he curled roughened fingers around the delicate cup, bringing it to his lips.
“Careful, it’s—”
He choked, bending over the counter as hot tea slopped over the edge of the cup.
“Hot.” Effie finished with a pained sigh, eyebrows furrowed. She turned away and grabbed a towel.
“Let me.” Haymitch grabbed it from her, ignoring the raised eyebrow, and mopped up his spill. He took the sopping towel to the sink, ringing it out in silence. He could feel Effie’s eyes on him, like her gaze was burning into the short hairs prickling the back of his neck.
“Haymitch.” She said, finally, coming up behind him and taking the towel gently, twisting the damp fabric from his fingers. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
He was silent – did he really want to start working through this tonight? The thought that maybe, just maybe, this woman who’d stomped her way through his life dragging him after her, kicking and screaming, might want to spend more than just an evening with him?
But then, if he didn’t want to say something, why had he come here at all?
Maybe she just made him feel safe.
Ha. And wasn’t that a joke.
“Look, it’s nothin’.” He said finally. Effie was close, too close, and the heat from her skin was driving hot prickles of feeling up his arm. This was a bad idea. She was a bad idea.
Haymitch took a sharp step backwards, out of her personal space, and something flashed across her face. Something tired and a little resigned, and a lot annoyed.
“I’ll just get outta your hair.” He tossed the damp towel onto the counter, where it sat in a sad-looking lump. Effie tsked, grabbing it and folding it properly, draping it over the edge of the sink.
“Haymich, where are you going to go?” She put a hand on her hip, tilting her head to the side to frown at him. “The trains aren’t running again until the morning. And even you’re not going to just sleep in some alley somewhere. What if someone sees you?”
“I’ll take my chances.” He said, dryly, and headed for the hallway. Effie threw her hands up in exasperation and followed him to the front door.
“Haymitch.”
She watched him struggle to pull his shoes on without undoing any of the fastenings.
“Haymitch.”
“Hm.”
“You could just stay here.”
“What?”
Haymitch looked up at her, staring at the tight set of her jaw, one shoe on one shoe off, and tried to come up with something more intelligent to say. Effie tossed her hair, chin tilted proudly, and he took in the tight set of her jaw and the pinch around her eyes.
“Uh…” He slowly lowered his shoe and straightened up. “Here?”
“I do have more than one bedroom, Haymitch.”
“What? Why? Don’t you live alone?”
“It’s a two person sui—I don’t have to answer that! Just…” Effie crossed her arms over her chest, looking down and away, and Haymitch took the opportunity to examine the curve of her neck as it met her collarbone.
“Stay?” He asked, voice suddenly rasping half an octave below his usual. She gave a little half shrug.
Haymitch looked down at his shoe, still in his hand, then at Effie, who was determinedly not looking at him.
He thought again, how ridiculously easy it would be.
“Effie, I—”
He felt rather than saw her tense, leaning in to catch his words, and closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly.
“Thanks, sweetheart, but it’s a bad idea. I’ll catch a few winks at the station.”
“Haymitch—”
He opened his eyes, decision made, and pulled his shoe on the rest of the way. Effie reached for him, fingers skimming his knuckles before closing around his wrist.
“Haymitch Abernathy, you are absolutely not going to sleep in a train station of all places when I have a perfectly good—!”
He closed his hand around her wrist, gently but firmly detaching her hold on him and pulling her hand down and away, wrapping their fingers together. For a long, extended moment, they just looked at each other.
Then, Haymitch pulled her hand towards him and kissed her knuckles, just the barest brush of lips against skin, and she spluttered a half a noise, not even a full syllable, gaping at him as he dropped her hand like it was on fire.
“I’ll see you.” He ground the words out, hard and gruff, before staggering out of the apartment into the hallway. He was in the stairwell and halfway down the steps before he stopped, hand flat against the wall, breathing heavily.
“Shit.” He muttered, standing straight and running a shaking hand through his hair. “Shit.”
A brush of lips against knuckles and he was already half gone.
Haymitch kicked the wall, as hard as he could. The sound thudded through the stairs, bouncing off the walls, and Haymitch turned, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading down the stairs and out onto the street.
The night was dark, the moon full and bright, and he was so completely and utterly fucked.