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The first time Haymitch met her was during one of those obnoxious parties in the Capitol.
She was even more obnoxious though.
The first thing he thought about then was that no reasonable person should be this colorful. Capitol citizens never claimed to be reasonable though. Or they did, but that didn’t mean that was one bit true.
Effie Trinket, as the woman introduced herself, hurt his eyes and his mind. She wore a neon glittery dress covered with some sort of glass? Mirrors? Some sort of stuff that shone in the lights of the room and deflected it right into Haymitch’s eyes.
Her voice was high and grating, heavy with a Capitol accent. She rolled her r’s and her th’s somehow sounded as ‘ze’ and half the vowels turned into prolonged aah’s.
“I hope we’d be friends,” she said, her smile showing her unnaturally white teeth. “I’d very much like that.”
“Not gonna happen, princess,” Haymitch slurred, well into his third bottle of liquor. “Have no plan to befriend dumb bitches like you. The other activities though,” he trailed off suggestively.
She looked absolutely appalled. “Mr. Abernathy,” she lowered her voice, coming closer so that only he could hear her, “You’d be happy if any woman comes closer than three meters to you,” she said before whirling around, her heels clicking as she moved to the other side of the room.
“As if I’d even give you a chance,” Haymitch shouted to her back. He would actually. Her ass looked damn good in that ridiculous dress.
She did end up coming closer than three meters to him. The scene of Twelve is small like that and they were supposed to stand side by side at the opening.
She reaped two older kids, it might as well have been their last year. They could even have had a chance, but Twelve never does. The kids knew it as well as he did, if the resigned look on their faces was anything to go by.
And the escort didn’t. She was painfully cheerful, fussing over the three of them, lecturing the kids on manners and chattering about all the oh-so-fascinating things they would see in the Capitol.
“Slow down, dear,” she chastised the girl. “You’ll make yourself sick. Or you’ll get bloated and we don’t want that for our looks, do we?”
“Let her eat,” Haymitch scowled. “It might as well be the first time they see so much food.”
“It’s no reason for forgetting the manners,” she pursed her lips.
“It might also be the first time they get to eat something in a long time,” Haymitch growled. They were clearly Seam kids, and those were poor even for Twelve standards. “Let. Them. Eat.”
Effie looked away and didn’t answer to that,
“Not the first time,” the girl said after some time of sitting in a heavy silence. “We got tesserae.”
Haymitch scoffed. That was barely food. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Yeah,” she looked down. “Two brothers and a sister. She’s just turned two.”
That meant she probably didn’t get a lot even from that.
“Eat.”
The kids died.
Trinket looked shocked, they didn’t even manage to get from the Cornucopia. She started talking about how that wasn’t fair. She seemed to like the kids, which made her better than last year’s escort at least.
Not by much though. She was still a Capitol girl, interested in looking fake more than she was in kids dying.
They were all the same.
“Haymitch, stand up!”
It was never fun to wake up from a shriek, and Haymitch jumped up, the knife he kept under his pillow in his hand, only to find the familiar woman in a huge purple wig and matching dress right in his living room and next to the couch he fell asleep on.
"That's you," he muttered, falling back down. "Fucking scared me."
"Well, I needed you to wake up." She folded her hands on her chest.
"I am awake now," he groaned, the headache he didn't notice at first taking a toll on him. "Wanna do something about it?"
"What I want to do is to get you presentable and prepared for the Reaping."
"You could get me prepared for something far more enjoyable, sweetheart," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows even if it only intensified his headache.
“You massive-”
“Interested in my prick, sweetheart? You should have said so.”
"Idiot," she huffed. "You massive idiot."
Haymitch hummed, stretching his arms behind his head. "A massive idiot with a massive prick."
"Get ready to do your job." She turned around and left his house. Well, maybe next time.
"Why is it so small?" He groaned.
"That's what she said," came the cheeky answer.
Haymitch looked up, still trying to button the shirt his escort gave him, the one that was too tight on his shoulders and barely closed on his chest. "Really, Effie?"
She seemed repulsed by his comments in the beginning, but now the innuendos slipped past her lips alongside the usual jabs.
The woman shrugged. "I'm pretty sure there are a lot of women talking about the clothes being too small, you know."
"That's," he spluttered, "that is not what it means."
"I'll go look for a tie," she winked.
Fucking winked!
"I need to finish this," she claimed, standing in front of the mirror for what felt like an hour, having come there just to 'clean this little mascara dot off'.
"You don't need to finish-"
"Famous last words," Effie zipped her pouch, turning away from the mirror.
"Really," Haymitch smirked. "I like this side of you, you know.
She didn't answer, going to the door, her heels clicking.
"And just so you know," Haymitch added. " Everyone finishes when I-"
"Not interested!" She said, going out the door.
Playing hard to get. Haymitch will find a way to crack her.
Years went by like that. He continued drinking and pissing her off, she continued coming once a year to choose the kids who were to die and annoy him.
She still looked hot and still like a parrot. Well, it was like imagining a parrot with a pair of tits. The tits might be nice but overall… Ergh.
Not that he actually had a good look at them. Or he had quite a look when the cleavage of her dresses was low enough, but any other advances were met with words of propriety, even if she was teasing back and her innuendos could very well rival his, and scoffs so dismissing they were not at all flattering for his self-esteem.
Good thing he did not care about that, not since his own Games, not since he came home to find the only people he cared about dead.
He was a district drunk, a Quarter Quell Champion who has fallen into the slumber of addiction and self pity.
What was one more person’s opinion added to that?
“He looks like he has a small dick.”
He was leaning on the wall near the corner of this huge room where the Victory party was held, Effie next to him, a flute of champagne in her hand, decidedly not leaning on the wall, that was too improper for her. They found themselves in this position more and more frequently, somewhere close to fight or tease, or, as in this case, to discuss those they saw in a room. She provided trivia and all the unnecessary information about their lives he most certainly didn’t need, and he provided a pair of ears to talk off and sarcastic remarks.
“Oh he does,” Effie hummed, looking at the man he pointed out.
“Really?” He felt his eyebrows rising and he did a double take at the said man. “So that’s your type?”
He couldn’t believe the man could be anyone’s type. He was old, and it didn’t suit him. Haymitch didn’t know if he was too wealthy to care, or if he wasn’t rich enough, but he didn’t look like most people in this room. The Capitols mostly liked to keep in track their appearances, whether that meant cutting off their fat, getting fillers in all the places that weren’t supposed to be filled and following whatever the whiff of the latest fashion was.
In the few hours they have spent here Haymitch saw the man drinking Vomitorium half a dozen times, falling down into a pool in a drunk slumber after one too much glass of whatever the fuck he was drinking and kissing Effie in the greeting which left her usually impeccable fake smile looking even faker.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Effie snorted. “Portia told me that Fulvia told her that Germania told her that his secretary told her that. And he plays for the other team anyway. The secretary just walked in on him having fun with someone, she didn’t recognise who though.” She hummed. “On the other hand, she was also fired lately and I’m not sure if she started the rumor because of that, or if she was fired because of starting the rumor.”
“Oh.” Haymitch pondered what he wanted to ask for a minute. “So what's it then?”
Effie humed questioningly, turning her head to look at him.
“Your type, I mean.”
She smirked, "You guess." There was a glint in her eyes.
"I don't know," he shrugged, looking back at the crowd. "So, not old?"
She hummed negatively.
"Not short and disgusting?"
"I guess that depends on how you define disgusting," she laughed.
He raised his eyebrows to look at her, but she didn't look back.
"I'm out of the guesses, princess."
Effie looked at him silently, but there was certainly something teasing in her eyes. She still didn't say anything.
"So, who has a privilege to come into your bed?"
She pondered over her words for a minute.
"Soft skin," she took a sip of her champagne. "I also like lo-ot's of, hmm, inscriptions on them. You know, I like tracing my fingers over them, and it’s overall rather aesthetically appealing."
Typical Capitols. Tattoos weren't the most eccentric of their fashion, but it was still not something people in Districts did. Especially not in Twelve.
"The thicker the better, if you know what I mean," she smirked into her flute. "Would spend the whole day in bed."
He could imagine her being insatiable.
"Tells great stories."
Haymitch hummed.
"I'm not really into contemporary stuff, but classics are nice. So maybe old is my type after all."
"What?" Haymitch felt like he lost the line of her thoughts.
"I'm talking about books, Haymitch," she laughed, her eyes full of mirth.
"You read?"
And why was she talking about books anyway?
"You don't have to sound that surprised. How do you think I spend the rest of the year, when there are no Games?"
"Parties?"
He didn't think a lot about what she did outside of the Games. Or that was a lie, sometimes he did do that.
Somehow reading wasn't in any of those thoughts.
"Give me some credit, yeah?"
He noticed that she still didn't answer his question.
He didn't know how they got there. They were arguing about one thing or the other, the shirt he didn't want to wear, the party she insisted he had to attend, her heels that looked more like scaffolds.
And suddenly here he was, pressing her to the wall, her body a line of heat against him, her hands tangled in his hair.
"Effie," he half groaned, lowering his hands from her back to her ass, rutting against her like a teenager. "Do you-"
"No," she suddenly broke away. He could have sworn she wasn't so against what was going on a minute ago. "No. I told you that a hundred of times, no." And with that she was gone.
"Tease," he shouted, not sure if she could still hear him.
That was okay. He'd win her over. No one could resist him for too long.
In the 67th Games Hannah was reaped.
She has shaken both Effie, who still hurt for each of their tributes while pretending she didn't, and Haymitch, who closed his heart off of kids dying on his watch a long time ago.
Apparently they weren't ready to see the girl who looked so small and so young to be reaped. She barely looked 10 years old, too young to participate in the reapings, let alone the games.
"It's my birthday today," she said as the train moved out from Twelve.
The games weren't fair, but they weren't often this bad.
She was from the town. Two blond braids and a pretty blue dress. The chances of her getting reaped under these circumstances were close to none.
In this case this was enough.
"Sweetheart."
She was curled in the corner of the coach in one of his rooms, her shoes off, arms wrapping her knees.
She looked up at him with her eyes full of tears. No words were needed.
They both knew what happened.
Against all the odds Hannah and the boy, Mike, lasted for a week. She was good at hiding and easy to overlook and he was sly and quick enough to get them some weapons.
Both of them were killed by a Career today.
Haymitch wrapped his hands around her, sitting close on a couch. The wig felt strange under his touch and he wanted desperately to look under it, to be let in under the mask.
She wrapped her hands around his hands and they sat there, holding each other, mourning the kids that had died and that would die.
After some time, maybe ten minutes or maybe an hour, her sobbs quietened. She looked up at him and it was like he could see the whole world in her eyes. There was sorrow, and grief, and hope, and something else, something he couldn't name.
"Haymitch," she breathed and he suddenly noticed how close they were to each other, closer than they've been in the years they worked together. Their arms were still wrapped around each other, legs pressed together, and now there was just a small breach between his face and hers.
Her eyes were wide and so very green, with specks of yellow and blue, with brown circles next to the edge.
Her lips looked soft and pink.
He could feel the warmth of her breath.
He leaned closer, half an inch between their lips.
It wasn't his usual style. He came and he took what he wanted, simple knowledge that his partner was willing enough for him to proceed.
His kisses were rough, his hands searching, his tumbles quick and never ever were there any strings attached.
But this was Effie.
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then her lips were on his, a quick peck and they were apart again.
He smiled at her, his genuine smile, leaning down again for another kiss, soft and closed-lipped.
It still felt electric.
He loved the soft noises she let out, he loved how one of her hands traveled to the nape of his head, the other resting on his cheek, tugging him closer.
This moment was everything, all the emotions of the day, of the week, of last year and last decade culminating in a few seconds. All the longing and pining, all the feelings he tried to repress, all the feelings he didn't try to repress but didn't get a chance to play on either, all of this made him lean even closer, made him kiss even hotter.
Her lips parted and he slipped his tongue in her mouth, pressing it to the line of her teeth, caressing her tongue with his own.
She moaned when he bit her lower lip and he groaned, letting his hands wander along her ribs and to her hips.
"Do you-" he started, managing to reap himself from her lips, fully attending to claim them again the moment she gave him a green light.
Only she tensed in his arms, fear and determination fleeing through her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, disentangling herself from his embrace and standing up, adjusting her dress and trying to wipe smudges under her eyes. "That was very impoper of me."
"Effie-"
"I needed to go. See you tomorrow."
And with that she was gone, her red shoes still next to his couch.
Oh well, maybe she meant it all this time.
"Hay-ymiiitch."
"Effie?" The man looked up from the bottle he was nursing to the door, where indeed his escort stood.
"Yep," she hiccuped. "That's me." She singsonged, half-falling through the door frame.
Haymitch stood up, coming closer to her. "Sweetheart, are you," he took a look at her askew wig, her less than perfect make up and an unusual sway in her steps, "drunk?"
"I'm not drunk," she drawled. "Maybe just a tiny bit tipsy," she laughed, stumbling and falling on Haymitch.
"Alright," he said amused. In all the years they knew each other he had never seen her like this. "Let's get you to bed then."
"No!" She pouted, stomping her feet. "I came, I came here on a mission," she giggled.
"Yeah?" It was all far too amusing. "And what's that?"
She slid her hand to the back of his head and tugged him closer, so that she could whisper in his ear. "I came here for you…"
"For me-" Haymitch repeated, copying her intonation.
"For you to fuck me!"
He didn't know why he froze, if it was because of the proposition itself, or because he had never heard her cursing.
"Come on! I know you want me! You say it all the time. And you-" she giggled again, "you oggle me. When you think I don't see it, and when you know I do, and it's just so rude and I-, come on fuck me."
"Sweetheart, I don't know what got into you, he started, trying to find the right words, "but I'm not having sex with you when you are drunk."
"But Haymitch," she whined, letting go of him and stumbling right away.
"Not gonna happen." He tried leading her to the chair, but she was set on not going anywhere but the bedroom. In the end of the day it wasn't such a bad option either. He can carry her to her own room from there too.
It wasn't how he imagined getting her in his bed.
"Haymitch," she whispered as he landed her on the bed, tugging him closer.
"Effie, no," he said hardly, trying to untangle her hand from his shirt.
"But you want it," she pouted.
Haymitch sighed. "Why haven't you said anything while sober?"
"Don't wanna have sex with you while sober." She shrugged, even if it came out a little lopsided.
Haymitch felt like he was punched in a gut. He'd never thought he would be her last resort, just a warm body when no one else was there.
"Don't wanna anyone to fuck me while sober," she continued, seemingly unperturbed by his feelings.
That got him to stop.
"You… don't wanna anyone to fuck you?"
"No-o," she said, falling back on the bed.
"So are you… are you into girls?" He didn't see this coming, but maybe he should have been more open-minded.
"No. I'm not into people."
Huh.
"I’m not sure I understand," Haymitch said carefully. What the fuck did that even mean?
"It's alright," Effie said, her voice a little higher than it was a minute ago. "No one ever does."
"Sweetheart." He didn't know what to say.
"No, don't you sweetheart me!" she said, sitting up. "It's like everyone out there is some sort of a secret, and are just playing a joke on me. Oh yeah, let's take this disgusting thing and pretend that we like it! Let's make all these crude comments that make her stomach curl, let's pretend we like sticking one's body parts into the other's and enjoy all this mess of fluids, let's just- why would anyone do that?"
"People like that, sweetheart," he said softly.
"Well, they could like what they want, but do they have to look at me like I'm a prey, press to me, try to pressure me, say those things ."
Has he ever made Effie feel like that?
He never pressured her, but the whole looking and saying thing? There and there.
And it wasn't like Effie never stopped him. She was talking about how rude and improper he had been since the moment he met her, but he dismissed it, thinking it was just an image, like her wig, her make up or her stage voice.
He hasn’t had a chance to see her not like that, to see the real her, but sometimes he wished he had.
He thought she was playing hard to get. He thought she was playing an ice queen. He thought she was playing innocent and prudent.
He thought she didn't want him.
And it seems like she really didn't.
And it seems it wasn't even personal.
"Sweetheart," he started, scared of what he was about to ask. But he needed to ask it, even if it'll break his heart. "Did anyone do something to you? Maybe when you were young-"
"No," she said forcefully. "There was no such thing. I just don't like it."
Honestly it wasn't such a weird thing to think. Maybe he should have had that though much earlier. The Capitol wasn't known for respecting consent. The Capitol was known for throwing children to their death and leading those who lived through a new circle of hell. Selling your body wasn't the worst thing one could do. And considering how escorts and mentors were used to getting sponsors…
"You don't believe me." She said suddenly, irritated. "I didn't ask to be like that. I just wanted to be normal."
She sobbed and he just sat closer, wrapping his hands around her and rocking her slightly.
"I never got it," she said quietly. "When girls in school were all giggling and talking about the heat in their belly and all the tingling when I just felt dirty, felt less like a human. Being an escort only made it all worse."
Haymitch held her, thinking back to the years he knew her, and how all the new information filled missing pieces.
"I thought it would be different when I am in love with someone, you know," Effie said quietly. "But I didn't even get that at first. Everyone was talking about crushes and stuff, but that was never a thing for me. It was alright, I had my studies to concentrate on, and then modeling, and my career."
"And then I fell in love." There was a forlorn look on her face. "They were my colleague and my friend. They were smart and funny and kind. And I-, I still couldn't bring myself to want what everyone around me did. And what I could do wasn't enough. I wasn't enough."
"You are enough sweetheart," Haymitch mumbled, his face pressed to her hair. "More than enough. Everyone who thinks otherwise is a fucking fool."
She laughed bitterly and continued talking. "I tried to guard my heart but I didn't manage to do that. I didn't like anyone like that for a long time, which wasn't unusual and then, then I fell in love again."
Haymitch waited, but the rest of the story never came.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. I'm still not enough, I'm still broken. Why would anyone want to deal with it?"
"Effie. You are not broken, do you hear me?”
She just hummed.
“Effie,” the words got stuck in his throat, but he tried to squeeze some out. “You are… pretty. And quite smart. For an escort. And funny. Sometimes. And you are not broken.”
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Haymitch,” she whispered, but nothing else came.
“Okay,” he said after a couple of minutes. “It’s late. Let’s get you to bed.”
She let out a small whimper, pressing her head into his chest. “Don’t want to be alone.”
“Okay,” he drawled. “Then stay here.”
That got her looking back at him, her eyes big, vulnerable and terrified. “Haymitch, I told you, I can’t-”.
“Just to sleep, sweetheart,” he squeezed her shoulders, hoping to sound reassuring. “Just to sleep.”
She thought about that and the nodded and tried to stood up wobbling on her feet
“Alright, princess, where were you going?" Haymitch sneaked an arm to help her keep standing.
"My wig- and my makeup.” She sounded exhausted. “Can't sleep in it. Bad for my skin."
"Sweetheart, I don't want to upset you, but you are clearly in no state to do that." He snorted. The situation would truly be fun, if not for all the tears and all the revelations.
"Can't sleep like this," she said stubbornly, taking a step to the bathroom.
"I can do it for you.”
The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them. He had no idea where they were coming from. He never did anything like this and she never let him even touch her wig.
It was likely that he'd do a worse job than she even in her half-drunk, half-asleep state.
But he wanted to do this. He wanted to show that he cared.
He wanted-
Fuck.
She considered him for a moment, before falling back on the bed, nodding.
Okay then.
He left her laying and went into her room, looking it over. The living room was neat, mostly arranged in the same warm and bright colors. The bathroom though was far more messy with these and those products laying around.
He grabbed cotton pads from the counter, he was [pretty sure those were needed. Also something… wet? Probably not soap and water. He wouldn’t want to hurt her eyes.
There was something with a word remove on it so he took that as well, deciding these would have to do.
He didn't go through her clothes to find some sleepwear, that would be too much.
And she could always sleep in one of his shirts if she didn’t want to sleep in her dress. It would be just like a dress on her small frame too.
He went back and she raised her head to look at the stuff he brought before closing her eyes and laying it back down.
He decided to work on the wig first. It was a huge fluffy monstrosity, but he managed to find hairpins holding it all together.
Taking them all one by one took some time, and he needed to nudge Effie to turn at some point, and when he was finished she was snoring quitely, something he was sure she would never have allowed herself if not for her state.
Under the wig he found a mess of blonde curls.
He understood why she was hiding them, it was unlike the hairstyles of anyone else in the Capitol.
And still, he hoped she’d never hide her natural hair again.
He read the instructions on the bottle next. It all seemed simple enough, pour some and rub it over the face, what can be easier?
It didn’t seem that easy when the lipstick smudged over Effie’s whole chin as he was trying to take it off. What a fuck? Why did it do that and why did she apply that much in the first place?
Getting rid of the red and of whatever covered her face that made her skin almost white take a good half an hour. By the end of it he decided he was not going to wipe away whatever was on her eyes rather than risking pricking them out
Even so it felt intimate. Far too intimate. There was a reason she never showed herself without any makeup.
Hopefully she won't hate him come tomorrow.
Finally they were ready to sleep and he got her under the covers, lying on top of them next to her and turning off the light.
What he didn’t expect was for her to snuggle against his chest, to feel her warmth even through the blanket.
“Haymitch,” she said, a barely heard whisper.
He just hummed in response.
“That's you.”
He hummed again, encouraging her to continue.
“You are the one. The second person I’ve ever fallen for. The person I still love.”
Haymitch didn’t know what to say or think. It would be better to leave this, whatever this was for now. Hopefully she wouldn’t remember it come morning.
“Sleep” he kissed the line of her hair, wrapping an arm around her body and tugging her closer.
He didn’t expect to hear the words. Who were they anyway? Enemies? Barely friends?
He wouldn't say the words either. He wouldn’t say them now anyway.
They terrified him. Mostly because they rang the truth.