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They were fighting again. It happened every year, of course, but Effie couldn’t help her disappointment anyway. This time they had barely made it onto the train. Usually their fights started after the tributes had entered the arena—when he chose drinking with his victor friends instead of accompanying her to sponsor events. This was a new record for them.
“Haymitch please, if you’d just talk to them!” Effie begged, trailing behind Haymitch as he made his way to the bar cart.
“They’re a lost cause, princess,” he said dismissively, “two scared twelve-year-olds don’t stand a chance against any of the kids from One or Two.”
“But maybe we can get people to pity them and they’ll—“
“It won’t matter!” Haymitch raised his voice as he poured himself a drink. He turned to face Effie, “it won’t matter because they won’t win and I’m not going to give them false hope. Even they know this is a death sentence for them.”
Effie fell silent. Haymitch was often blunt and unforgiving, but she felt he was being unnecessarily cruel this year. All tributes deserved a fighting chance, no matter how young and timid. She felt tears well up in the corners of her eyes.
“Oh, come on,” Haymitch scoffed, “you of all people can’t start crying over this. You reaped them.”
That was too much for Effie. Tears spilled over and streaked down her face. She wiped at her cheeks furiously, feeling her makeup smudge. She could only imagine what the mascara she had painstakingly applied looked like now. She sniffed, trying to keep her lips from trembling and more tears from falling. Haymitch stood silently and watched her attempt to collect herself. She thought remorse flickered across in his face, but she could never be sure with him.
“Haymitch Abernathy, that was incredibly rude,” Effie scolded after seconds that passed like hours. Her voice still wavered despite her best effort to keep it steady.
“I know, sweetheart,” he said. The earlier bite from his tone was gone. He sounded defeated, almost hollow, “but I’m not gonna apologize. You can’t tell me I’m wrong.”
Effie bristled, raising her voice at him. "It’s the proper thing to do, apologizing when you know you’ve hurt someone’s feelings! Well I—“
“Here,” he cut her off and moved to the dining table. From the centerpiece arrangement he pulled a beautiful red flower and presented it to her with exaggerated flourish, “a rose for you. My peace offering.”
Effie’s eyes shifted from him to the flower wearily. “Nice try, Haymitch. That’s a carnation.”
She took the flower anyway, ending her argument with him. He brushed his knuckle over her cheek, wiping away her tears, before disappearing down the hallway.
--
The next time she saw Haymitch was at dinner. He was significantly more intoxicated than before, Effie noticed immediately. There was an unevenness to his steps that gave him away as he entered the dining car.
“Haymitch! So wonderful of you to join us!” She gushed, keeping up her peppy escort appearance in front of the tributes. Underneath it all, she was annoyed with Haymitch for arriving so late. Dinner had been served already and a full plate sat in front of an empty seat. “I had an Avox make you a plate for when you finally decided to show up.”
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest,” Haymitch quipped, his words oozing with sarcasm.
Fighting against her anger, Effie kept her composure and ignored his comment. “The food is just wonderful this evening. I was telling Cole and Avery how the food is always exquisite in the Capitol.”
The two children nodded nervously in agreement, both still chewing. Effie was relieved they at least had the decency not to speak with their mouths full.
Haymitch shuffled over to the bar cart and poured himself a glass of what Effie knew to be whiskey; his drink of choice. She much preferred wine or a cocktail that complimented the meal. That evening, it was a full-bodied wine that went perfectly with the lamb they had been served. She didn’t expect Haymitch to understand—or care about—the importance of a proper wine pairing.
When his glass was filled to his liking he stumbled over to his seat. In his drunken state he miscalculated his steps, bumping squarely into the table. Effie gasped as glasses spilled, hers included. Wine splashed onto her lap and she watched in horror as a deep maroon stain darkened her crimson dress.
“Haymitch. Abernathy.” She wanted to scream, but somehow she kept her voice level and stern. The tributes didn’t need to see her yelling at their mentor in case they lost what little respect for him they might still be clinging to.
“Ah shit, m’sorry, your majesty,” Haymitch’s apology didn’t sound sincere and Effie glared at him.
Avoxes immediately swarmed with table with damp cloths, cleaning up where other things had spilled. One of them handed Effie a cloth. She thanked them and dabbed at the stain. “Let’s just try to get through dinner without any more hiccups, shall we?”
The tributes remained silent, nodding and continuing to eat as if nothing had happened. Haymitch only grunted in response. Effie rolled her eyes and continued to clean the wine off her dress, her meal forgotten.
--
After dinner, Effie was finally able to retire to her room. Looking in the mirror she was met with a worn out version of herself, makeup still smudged from earlier despite her best efforts to fix it. That wouldn’t do. She began to wipe away the dark hues of the eyeshadow and pasty white of the foundation. She had almost gotten it all, when a knock on her compartment door made her freeze.
“It’s me,” came a familiar gruff voice from the other side.
“What do you want, Haymitch?” she asked shortly, “if you’re here to upset me again I’d prefer if you just left.”
“About that,” Haymitch began tentatively. This caught Effie’s attention. The man was hardly ever cautious with his words. This had better be good. He continued, “I didn’t mean to make you so upset. If you let me in, I want to apologize.’
Standing from her place in front of the mirror, Effie went to open the door. She was greeted by Haymitch running a hand through his hair and wearing an expression she couldn’t quite read. In his other hand, he held onto what Effie assumed was wine. He looked more sober than she had ever seen him.
“Brought this for ya,” he said, holding a bottle of rosé toward her, “I know you usually like this sweet crap, maybe we could have a glass and talk?”
In the four years that Effie and Haymitch had been working together this had never happened. They had slept with each other six times, if Effie remembered correctly. None of them started with wine and conversation—that much she knew for sure. She considered for a moment before deciding to give him a chance. She stood aside and Haymitch took the unspoken invitation to enter her quarters.
A few seconds of silence stretched between them before Effie spoke, “Did you bring glasses?”
Haymitch laughed and shook his head negatively. “Guess we’ll have to drink from the bottle.”
“How awfully unsanitary,” Effie complained.
“As if we haven’t swapped spit before,” Haymitch taunted, sending a smirk Effie’s way before sitting down on the end of her bed.
“Don’t be crass,” she snapped instinctively, but there was no venom behind her words. She caught herself almost smiling back before remembering she was frustrated with him.
He laughed.
“Did you at least think of bringing a corkscrew?” She asked, crossing her arms.
“Don’t need one. It’s a screw-off.”
Effie narrowed her eyes at him. “You mean a screw-top .”
“I said what I said,” Haymitch responded coyly.
Effie huffed and rolled her eyes. Haymitch chuckled at her while he twisted the bottle. The seal broke with a crack and he took a long swig before offering it to her.
“And you couldn’t even offer me the first sip? Honestly.” Effie said exasperatedly. She took the bottle from his outstretched arm and brought it to her lips anyway. Like most things with him, she often found herself doing things she would never do on her own.
Haymitch just chuckled softly and patted the empty space on the bed next to him. He was inviting her to sit on her own bed, what a gentleman. Effie took another pull of the wine before settling next to him.
“Don’t spill it on me this time,” she hissed as he grabbed this bottle from her hands.
“Do you want an apology or not?” Haymitch took another sip of wine. She nodded and he continued. “I’m sorry about uhh…about what I said earlier,”
Effie’s eyes met his. They had neither the glazed-over sheen when he was drunk or the sharpness when he was sober. Instead, his cool gray eyes were soft. This apology felt genuine.
“I forgive you,” Effie said, “perhaps I overreacted a tad.”
Haymitch was quick to agree with her, but she stopped him with a glare.
A comfortable silence fell over them as they took turns drinking until the bottle was empty. It was a much cheaper rosé than Effie would ever buy, but it went down easy. Soon, her head felt pleasantly fuzzy. Sitting on the end of her bed wasn’t comfortable enough, so she slid unceremoniously onto the floor.
Sprawling out across the carpet, she looked up at the man sitting on her bed. “Haymitch, you bring out the worst in me.”
Haymitch laughed, a warm sound unlike his typical sarcastic chuckle. “Care to elaborate, sweetheart?”
Usually, the pet names he used for her felt condescending and she despised them. This time sounded different. Affectionate, even. She shivered involuntarily. It was probably just the wine making it appear that way.
“Look at me! I am lying on the floor! I drank straight from the bottle!”
“Maybe too much,” Haymitch said with a chuckle as he stared down at her. She knew she must look insane–her sparkly ruby wig felt askew and her dress was likely wrinkled. His eyes shining with amusement, he joined Effie on the floor.
“That wig has to be uncomfortable,” he said, gesturing to her head, “why don’t you take it off?”
“Haymitch, if you’re trying to get me naked!”
“I’m not saying I’m not, but let’s just start with the wig. I like your hair.”
Laughing at his words, Effie couldn’t find the strength to scold him for his lewdness. Especially when a warmth settled in her abdomen. Her natural hair was not something she showed to simply anyone. Those who saw it in the past often preferred her in wigs anyway. She reached her hands under the hairpiece and clumsily removed the pins keeping it in place. Haymitch’s eyes watched her movements until each one had been discarded on the floor next to her head. With the wig gone, she slipped off the netting and shook out her hair. Blonde waves fell in a halo around her head.
“That’s better,” Haymitch said resolutely.
She felt him shift closer to her so their shoulders and arms brushed. Silence fell over them again, but Effie could still feel gray eyes studying her features. Without her makeup and wig she felt bare, as if she was already naked. They were her facade—her barrier against the world.
Staring at the ceiling, Effie spoke “What next?” She wanted to sound sultry, but her words came out as a whisper.
“This.” The fabric of her dress ruffled with his reply as he tugged gently on it.
Wordlessly, she stood up. He remained seated on the floor in front of her. Her dress was held together by an ornate sash around her waist and two clasps in the back. Reaching her hands behind her head, she fumbled with the clasps before they snapped open. She tried to steady her hands as they traveled toward the sash. The way his eyes watched her every move made her shake with anticipation.
Her dress slipped from her shoulders and made its way down her body. Haymitch’s eyes trailed behind it. When it ended in a scarlet pool at her feet, he met her eyes again. She was left standing in her undergarments—lacy pieces that matched her dress. His eyes contained a hunger that she’d not seen before. The mood shifted. Things she could say to ease the tension raced through her mind, but no words passed through her lips. Instead she lowered herself to the floor again, sitting down on her knees and facing the man before her.
As soon as she settled he reached out and cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She almost gasped at the tenderness of it all.
“You’re really fuckin’ pretty under all that stuff,” he said softly.
She felt like she was melting under his touch. No one had ever treated her like this before. No one had ever looked at her in such a vulnerable state and wanted more. The last person she had ever expected to do so was Haymitch Abernathy. They slept together but it was never soft, instead always the result of building tension and heated arguments. Reaching for her waist to bring her closer, she let him pull her into his lap. Their lips met softly, slowly. He held onto her gently as she trailed tender kisses down his jawline. She felt him shiver against her lips.
Suddenly, his grip tightened around her. She froze, lips on his neck. Guiding her backwards until she was pressed against the floor, he held himself over her.
“This okay?” He asked her.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Good,” he husked.
He kissed her lips again before moving down to graze his teeth along her neck. That is going to leave a mark, she thought, but didn’t have the resolve to stop him. His mouth moved lower and she shivered with excitement. She threaded her hands through his hair, sighed, and closed her eyes.
--
She woke up in her bed. At some point, they had moved off the floor but her memory was hazy. He was still there, which deviated from their normal routine of leaving before the other would notice. His arm was thrown across her, holding her loosely. It was comfortable, but time was already ticking and she needed to get up. The new day was upon them and that meant getting the tributes ready to see the Capitol for the first time.
She shifted carefully out from under his arm and sat up against the headboard. Looking down at Haymitch’s sleeping form, she noticed scarlet marks down his neck in the shape of her lips. The lipstick she had forgotten to take off. She was surprised by how attractive she found seeing a part of her left on his skin. She felt a pang of satisfaction that she was able to leave marks, albeit temporary ones. Flashes of their night raced through her mind and she flushed subconsciously.
Getting up gingerly, Effie threw on a robe and made her way to the small attached bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face to get the last bit of sleep from her system. When she finally looked up at the mirror, she was a sight to behold. Her hair was disheveled and teased, sticking up where his hands had coursed through it. What little makeup she hadn't removed last night was smudged around her lips and under her eyes. Worst of all, were the deep burgundy bruises on her neck and shoulders. She brushed her fingers lightly over a particularly large one above her collarbone and shivered when she remembered how she got it.
“I really got ya good, princess,” his voice from the bathroom doorway startled her. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of pride in his voice.
She looked over to see him leaning against the doorframe with a satisfied smirk, his shirt thrown on haphazardly. “I didn’t hear you get up.”
“Figured I’d better go back to my room and shower,” he shrugged, “I gotta get all your lipstick off me.” He wiped at his neck but only succeeded in smearing the rosy makeup around.
“Right, yes,” she agreed, “it’s best we start getting ready for the day. It’s certainly going to be a busy one. Especially now that you’ve added extra work to my makeup routine.”
He could only grin at her. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”
She flushed again and turned back toward the mirror, “I’ll see you at breakfast, Haymitch.”
“See ya then,” He made to leave her quarters but stopped. “Hey, Effie?”
The use of her name caught her off guard. “Yes?”
“Same time tonight?” He asked playfully.
“You and your one-track mind, Haymitch Abernathy!” She tried to chastise him, but couldn’t hide the smile that danced across her lips. “You know where to find me.”
“Sure do, sweetheart, I sure do.”