Archive of Our Own ^beta

Baby love, I think I’ve been a little too kind

Didn’t notice you walking all over my peace of mind

[…]

And by the way, I’m going out tonight

When Effie Trinket showed up on his front steps a year after the war, a suitcase at her feet and a smile bathed in dim porch light, Haymitch didn’t know what to expect.

If you had asked him then, he definitely woulda said without a single doubt that Effie was not built to be a district girl. Not one bit. She was Effie fucking Trinket, and he could never imagine her wearing loose brown skirts that fell below her knees. Wearing her hair in tight braids, picking through bins at the Hob, becoming one of those district women with knobby hands, pinched expressions, and a small amount of dirt under each fingernail.

But, of course, that isn’t what happened. Not by a long fucking shot.

The first hint of it all was the nail polish, which came about three weeks into her keeping her clothes in his closet, curling up on his couch, eating her meals at his table, and sleeping in his bed. Three weeks of Effie Trinket, tentatively fitting herself into his life.

“How would you feel about being my test subject?” she asked randomly one day.

He was sitting on the couch in his living room. Was it their living room now? Did she want it to be? She was standing in the archway, a tiny pink bottle of something held between her fiddly fingers. The brightness of the pink looked weird and out of place. His house certainly ain’t nothing to look at, and the only reason it was clean was thanks to Greasy Sae, who’d been coming in since the war ended no matter how many times he told her to mind her own damn business.

She’d stopped coming now.

Now that Effie was here.

Now that it was Effie who swept and dusted and apparently got her hands on tiny pink bottles of fuck knows what. Where had she even gotten the damn thing? Not at any shop in Twelve, that’s for sure.

“What?”

“My test subject.”

She smiled a little as she said it. Shuffled her feet. Like the old Effie was threatening to burst out from behind the careful and polite mask she’d been wearing since she arrived on his doorstep.

“Yeah.” he said back. “For what?”

“Well, I’ve never painted my own nails before,” she explained as she came over and sat on the opposite end of the couch. “Obviously, I need someone to practice on before I do my own nails.”

“Obviously.” he said, mimicking her tone in that way which she always claimed to hate.

He liked how it made her smile.

Truth of it was, he didn’t really wanna say yes. He didn’t like that kinda shit. The Capitol prettying. A lot of men in the Capitol had had their nails painted, but Haymitch didn’t like the feeling it gave him in the bottom of his stomach. How it reminded him of a lifetime ago, when his old escort used to pretty him up and send him up to hotel rooms on the President’s request.

“Please?” Effie pouted a little when she saw his hesitation. “You can take it off the moment I’m done, I swear.”

Then again, that had been a lifetime ago…

He was safe now. They were all safe, protected in this new life of warmth and lazy afternoons. Plus, he’d never been very good at saying no to her. Especially when she got all pouty and started blinking those big blue eyes of hers.

“Fuckin’… Whatta I care? Go for it, sweetheart.”

She beamed at her victory, cris-crossing her legs in front of her and scooting a little closer to where he sat. “You can keep reading,” she promised, giving the bottle a shake. “I only need one hand. Just hold still, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it…”

Careful and delicate, like he was made of fucking glass or something, Effie rested his right hand in her lap and began to paint.

He tried to keep reading. He really did. But the attention was overwhelming. The way she was holding his larger hand so carefully with her much smaller ones, the precise strokes of the little brush. It made him sweat. She was pretty damn good for someone who’d never done it herself before. She didn’t get a single drop of it on his skin or on the faded fabric of the couch.

At some point around the third finger Haymitch resigned himself to staring at the same page until she was done. Staring at the same word, reading it over and over again…

“Goodness, that must be a terribly interesting page.” she said softly as she worked.

“Why d’you say that?”

A little smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve been staring at it for ages, darling.”

He grunted and she smiled some more.

Now, that was the first time Haymitch was the test subject for a bottle of nail polish, but it certainly wasn’t the fucking last. It didn’t take long for more little coloured bottles to show up all around the house. Their house? Tiny bright bottles in the bathroom, on the dresser, in the living room. Once he found one on the window sill in the kitchen, which he still didn’t really understand.

And he never complained about being the test subject.

I mean, who in their right mind would complain about fifteen minutes of undivided Effie Trinket attention? Especially the kind where she held his hand and leaned down so close he could feel her tiny puffs of breath against his knuckles.

“I can’t just put it on myself right away, the colours don’t always come out the way the bottles show!” was Effie’s explanation for the whole thing.

But he was pretty sure a part of her just liked it as much as he did.

“Hey, will ya look at that,” he said as she finished up.

Today she had wanted to try doing designs. She’d used a light blue and put a little white flowers right in the middle of each nail. Except his thumb. She’d put a smiley face on his thumb for no reason other than to make them both laugh.

“Trinket manicures over here with the steady hand.”

“Why thank you.” she giggled as she screwed the top back on the blue bottle. “Do be sure to leave me a nice review.”

“Oh yeah.” he said, imitating the way he’d seen her delicately blow on her own nails. “Five fuckin’ stars. Hundred dollar tip.”

“You’re a very generous customer, Mr. Abernathy.”  

“It’s not ‘cause of the nails though.”

“Oh no?”

“Nah,” he smirked. “The manicurist was pretty hot though, was kinda hopin’ she’d come home with me.”

Effie laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” He caught her arm as she went to stand up, probably to put her nail shit away. All that could wait though. Instead he pulled her down into his lap. “Ain’t never stopped you before.”

She hummed in what he decided was agreement as he kissed her.

He was about to pull her closer, kiss her a little deeper, maybe find a way to get his hand up her skirt at three in the afternoon because they were basically retired now and who gives a fuck. But, to his disappointment, she pulled away when she felt his hands on her waist.

“They’re still wet, Haymitch! You’ll ruin them!”

“Was just gonna take it off anyway.” he grumbled, not seeing what all the fuss was about.

“And I am not getting nail polish stains on my clothes,” she whispered in that prim little way of hers. “Scoot.”

He made a big show of grumbling as she slid off his lap and he pushed himself up. Haymitch immediately went off to the bathroom, determined to find that big bottle of weird smelling purple stuff that Effie used to clean her own nails every week. He immediately missed the warmth of her body, the feeling of her lips against his…

Luckily he didn’t have to wait long.

As soon as his hands were clean and nail polish free Effie rewarded him with a long kiss in the middle of the kitchen. A kitchen where her favourite tea now lived, where her favourite plates were kept in the lowest cupboards so she could reach them, where she had placed a vase of wildflowers in the middle of the table.

Maybe it was their kitchen.

The kiss woulda turned into more right then and there against the counter if Katniss hadn’t barged in, asking if they had any yogurt.

“What? Is she incapable of buyin’ her own fuckin’ yogurt?” he mumbled under his breath for only Effie to hear as they stood at the counter. She was chopping fruit for the girl, who was wolfing down a bowl of pink strawberry yogurt a few feet away at their kitchen table.

“Hush,” she whispered back. She gave his arm an affectionate scratch as she passed, plate of diced fruit in hand. “Later, darling.”

This was an old Effie habit, an action which tugged a thousand memories to the forefront of his brain. The long claw-like things she used to wear, warmly raked across his arm or shoulder. Long and pointy, he had seen them in a million different colours over those long years, often with elaborate designs traced over their surface, covered with little gemstones or sparkles.

The nails these days were nothing like that.

They were short, one might even say practical, which was a damn miracle in the realm of Effie. Most afternoons he could find her curled up on the couch, absentmindedly filing them while she watched some ridiculous tv show.

But none of that took away from the effect of the action.

It made him feel like his skin was on fire. Like he might actually keel over and fucking die if Katniss didn’t get out of their house right now. He needed to feel her fingers in his hair, on his skin, those nails, short as they were and painted a peachy orange, dragging across his bare back.

“What’s the colour this week, princess?”

That’s what he would always ask on Sundays, when he joined her on the couch.

The Sunday news played in the morning, and she would file her nails then. But by the time he woke up and joined her it would change into some mindless morning talk show where middle aged women gossiped about nothing. It was at that point that Effie would put down the nail file and carefully select a little coloured bottle from her basket.

“I was thinking perhaps a green and pink, alternating on each finger.” she hummed. “You know, for summer.”

“Obviously. For summer.”

She smacked him on the shoulder for it. Lucky for him, she also did a pretty shit job of hiding the smile it put on her lips.

Watching her while she painted her nails was equally as erotic as having her paint his own nails. Maybe even more so. Haymitch knew it was probably stupid, but he didn’t care. Not these days. He watched as she waved her hands in front of her face, delicately blowing on the tips of her fingers. The way she held the cap and brush between her teeth as she ran one nail around her cuticles on the other hands, making sure each edge was perfect in that most Effie Trinket way.

It was stupid really. It was hot.

“What?” she hummed, still looking at her cuticles. Even when her eyes were focused elsewhere, she could always tell when he was staring.

“Nothin’.”

He saw her smirk a little at that. “Uh-huh.”

When she was done he watched her screw the tops back on her various bottles. Then she picked up the whole basket and padded out of the room, her bare feet against hardwood floors, taking the whole lot back to the bathroom before coming back to settle on the couch.

It’s like she can read his damn mind when she curls up next to him. When he feels her lips brush gently against his cheek before her head comes to rest on his shoulder.

What did he do to deserve this?

Haymitch asked himself that question all the time. How could he not? After all the shit they had survived, all the shitty years, all the war, all the crazy horrible bullshit… How was it that they now just had this? The world had cut them open and bled them both fucking dry. But now the days were warm and long, Sundays were for painting nails, and Effie’s head always came to rest on his shoulder.

And he loved her.

He knew he did, even if he hadn’t always been willing to admit it.

And he wanted to tell her, she deserved to hear it. She was here, and she was safe, and they had survived so much, didn’t she deserve to have this last wound of theirs healed? He could say it. Nothing would happen if he did. The sky wouldn’t collapse over their head, a bomb wouldn’t drop on their house, a little red dot wouldn’t appear on her forehead just because he said three stupid words.

He loved her, with her silly rainbow nails and all the rest of it.

And in the quiet of that warm Sunday morning, the sun streaming in through the windows, splashing slanted pools of gold across the soft worn carpet. The house was quiet, the world was quiet, and she was curled up beside him, the steady sound of her breathing in and out…

“Effie?”

It was only when no answer came that he glanced down at her.

Her eyes were closed. Her pretty pink lips parted ever so slightly, that steady rise and fall of her chest which he had been obsessing over should have been a clear hint that she had fallen asleep.

Haymitch grinned in spite of himself.

He kissed her forehead as gently as he could manage and resigned himself to spending a few hours trapped as her nap pillow. He still didn’t know what he had done to deserve having her here with him. In their house, in their bed, curled up on his shoulder.

But he did know that he never ever wanted her to leave.  

Best believe I’m still bejeweled

When I walk in the room

I can still make the whole place shimmer

“What?” Haymitch barked.

The nervous looking boy who was standing on his front steps, a dirty flat cap in his hands and a slightly bent out of shape box at his feet, looked a little scared by the way Haymitch had answered the door. But what the fuck did he expect, banging on people’s doors so damn early in the morning?

“This, uh, package came on the train last night, Mr. Abernathy, sir.”

“I didn’t order anythin’.”

The kid shuffled his feet some more. “Ain’t for you, sir. Station master said it was for, uh…”

Then he tilted his head, like he was tryna look past Haymitch and into the house. Trying to catch a glimpse of the not-so-mystery woman who had moved into his house under what the rest of the district seemed to think were mysterious circumstances.

Of course the package was for Effie.

“Right. Got it. Thanks.”

He grabbed the thing and lugged it inside, slamming the door before the station boy could say another word. He stumbled a little in the hall at the unexpected weight of the thing.

What the fuck are you ordering to our house, sweetheart, he thought with an eyeroll.

He managed to make it all the way back to the kitchen and lifted the thing on the table, examining the plain carboard exterior for some clue as to what might be inside that weighed so fucking much.

As if on cue, Effie breezed into the kitchen.

She’d clearly also been woken up by the banging at their door after he had already left to see what it was. She had a half-asleep look to her, wrapped in a pink cotton robe and a halo of messy curls floating around her head. Even though she went straight for the coffee machine, she did spare a little glance of confusion at the box as she passed the table.

“What did you order?” she asked, pulling a mug down from the shelf.

“Fuck if I know,” he shrugged, still examining the thing. “Pretty sure it’s yours, princess.”

“Really?”

She immediately abandoned her coffee making and went straight for the package, apparently feeling much more awake than she had thirty seconds ago. She held out her hand as she came up beside him, wordlessly asking for his pocket knife. Haymitch smirked. Did she think he carried the damn thing in his pajama pants?

Haymitch hadn’t slept with or near a knife in a long ass time thanks to her.

He handed her a nearby kitchen knife instead and watched with a smirk as she began gingerly cutting through the tape.

“What the hell are you orderin’ that weighs a thousand pounds?” he asked when she finally lifted the top. His answer came in the form of a big white sewing machine being plopped down on the table with a clunk.

“Ta-da!” Effie beamed, first at the machine and then up at him. “Isn’t she marvelous?”

To be honest, he had no fucking idea whether it was marvelous or not. His mother had had a sewing machine back in the day, but it had looked a lot different than this one. Ma’s had been black, built into a table with a big black push peddle and a wheel that always had to be held still or spun quickly.

But this sewing machine looked a lot different.

It seemed more modern, more sleek. Made of white plastic and shiny metal bits, rather than black iron and sharpened bronze.

“Oh, I’m so glad it’s finally here,” she continued. “I was ever so worried it wouldn’t get here in time.”

Haymitch frowned. “In time for what?”

“My fall sewing projects, silly.”

Ah. Right.

The sewing projects.

If anyone had asked Haymitch before the war, he woulda told them in all certainty that Effie’s insane amount of Capitol clothes had been purely a Capitol thing. That there was no way any person who lived literally anywhere else in the world could accumulate that much fucking clothing.

Except, apparently, Effie.

Effie needed that much clothing.

It had started with a few skirts she had made herself. Apparently the brown and gray skirts they sold in District Twelve didn’t measure up to her ever-exacting standards, so her solution had been to buy her own fabric and start making her own skirts. Pretty skirts. Effie skirts that were patterned with little flowers and had lace edges.

The sewing obsession had only escalated from there.

The dresses took forever for her to sew by hand, but she always said they were worth it in the end. Haymitch had to agree. He liked the way she smiled whenever she finished one, how she would try them on and spin in a circle just to see how the skirt fanned out around her. The way her boobs looked in his favourite dress (the pink one with the white lace) was just an added bonus.

After the sewing came the knitting. Sweaters, socks, coloured scarves, little fingerless gloves which didn’t seem to be for anything but decoration. At this point, Haymitch was pretty sure Effie had sewn more clothes than any single person was even capable of wearing in one lifetime. White blouses with little puff sleeves, sprigged skirts, ruffly white things that apparently weren’t skirts but looked like skirts and which she only ever wore underneath her real skirts.

How many fucking pinafores could one woman possibly own?

Now, part of Haymitch was inclined to think that maybe the whole situation was kinda getting outta control. But the other half of him ended up making a project out of secretly cleaning out the spare bedroom so that he could offer it to her as a sort of clothing room. It was pretty shit compared to the fancy walk-in closets she used to have in the Capitol, with their big mirrors and the huge racks of colour coded get-ups.

But it was something.

A small something he could give her to help her fit her life into his a little better.

“I had the most marvelous idea for a fall apron.” she continued as she examined the machine excitedly, still beaming as she did.

“What do ya need an apron for?” he asked. “You don’t even cook, sweetheart.”

“Well that doesn’t mean I can’t wear an adorable pumpkin apron, now does it?”

Haymitch blinked.

“A what?”

She sighed and finally sat back down, a sure sign that she was about to launch into a rambling and probably ridiculous story.

“So, you know how it’s finally fall,” she began with a straight-up adorable tone of earnesty.

Haymitch smirked. “I was, in fact, aware of that.”

“And you know how Peeta went down to Mr. Downey’s farm and collected those adorable little pumpkins to put on our porches,” 

“Uh-huh.”

Effie loved the pumpkins and had spent that entire afternoon gushing over what an angel Peeta was for ‘understanding the importance of seasonal decorations’. But Haymitch was pretty sure all the fuss was just because she’d never seen one that wasn’t plastic and fluorescent before.

“So,” she continued. “Along with the changing leaves, the crisp autumn air— Oh! And when Peeta made those lovely cinnamon cookies the other day,”

“Is there a point or are we just namin’ off things we like about fall?”

She ignored him, which only made Haymitch grin harder.

“Well, I was feeling terribly inspired by the delights of this fall season so I thought I should make myself a seasonal apron based on those adorable little pumpkins!”

She drummed her fingers excitedly on the surface of the table, smiling proudly. Like she had just cracked the secret to the universe, right there in their kitchen. It was so stupidly simple. Fuck him. Fuck everything, honestly. Everything that wasn’t Effie wiggling in her chair and smiling because she was gonna sew an orange apron to match the pumpkins on their porch.  

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the mountain of orange fabric that’s been sitting in our living room for like a week, would it?” he asked.

“In fact, it would!” she trilled. “And now that my machine is here, I can finally get started!”

Now, Haymitch didn’t have a damn clue what a pumpkin apron was. Or what the thing would even look like. Pumpkins were round. Was she gonna make a round apron? How the fuck would that even work?

He decided it would be easier to just sit and let her do her thing rather than asking a million questions.

Though, that didn’t end up giving him many answers either.

After breakfast Haymitch helped Effie move all her shit into the living room before he picked his spot on the couch, book in hand. She turned the radio on before she got to work, old district music playing quietly from the tinny box while she clipped her hair back. He smiled down into his book when a few blonde curls immediately escaped the amber clip. It was funny how she never noticed. Especially when her glasses were sitting on top of her head like they were right now. They were kinda like a little, pink-rimmed headband, there specifically to catch wayward curls.

If Haymitch had learned anything over the past few months, it was that there didn’t seem to be a lot of actual sewing in the first few hours of sewing projects.

In fact, the first few hours and sometimes days, Effie would spend just sitting on the floor cutting out various weird looking pre-outlined shapes out of brown tissue paper, pouring over instructions with a print-type so small that sometimes she couldn’t even read it with her glasses down on her nose, and an expression on her face which Haymitch could only describe as an ‘I hate my life’ expression.

Weirdly, it reminded him a lot of when she used to do the schedules for games season. It was the same frowny look of concentration, the one where she bit the inside of her lip and narrowed her eyes in a way that was kinda hot.

It was the only time Effie was ever really still. The only time she was ever really quiet.

He was always most entertained by the point in the sewing project where she just stood up and stared at the various pieces of paper which she had arranged across the floor. She would just… stand. And stare. For a long ass time too. A millennium as far as Effie standing still and staring at something in silence went.

Haymitch was finally about to ask her what was up when she suddenly turned on her heel.

“Do you think the children have craft paper in their house?”

“Uh. Probably? I mean, the boy might.”

She slipped on his boots because they were the only shoes sitting by the front door and left without another word. She was back two minutes later with a big ass roll of brown paper, no doubt stolen from Peeta’s painting room.

“What’s the paper for, sweetheart?” he asked as he turned a page.

“Mhm? Oh, I’m going to remake the apron bib pattern,” she replied softly, absentmindedly. “This one isn’t as pumpkin-y as I’d like it to be.”

Haymitch snorted. “Fair ‘nough.”

Katniss came over at some point, like she always did when Peeta was down helping with the bakery rebuild. Haymitch joined her in the kitchen while Effie kept tracing her pumpkin pattern thing. He made the girl eggs and then he sat in silence with her while she ate. Haymitch sipped his tea.

“What’s Effie doing?” Katniss asked, shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth.

“Makin’ an apron.”

The girl frowned. “Like… for cooking?”

“I think it’s more of a fashion apron.”

She snorted and Haymitch flicked her shoulder for it before taking her empty plate and dumping it in the sink. “You ain’t allowed to laugh at her ‘bout it,” he said firmly. “She spent all fuckin’ mornin’ sitting on the floor and cuttin’ out those lil bits o’ paper. So,” He ruffled her hair as he passed her again. “Don’t be an ass.”

She ducked his hand. “I wasn’t gonna be!”

“Uh-huh.”

Katniss swung a half-hearted punch at his shoulder before following him into the living room.

“Hey, Effie.”

“Good morning, dear.” she smiled, only looking up for a second.

“Afternoon now, sweetheart.” Haymitch said as he went back to his spot on the couch. Katniss, who’s spot on the floor was currently stolen by the pieces of brown paper, sat in the armchair.

“Is it?” she hummed, still not looking up.

By this point, Effie seemed to have moved on beyond cutting out weird shapes from the brown paper. Now, she had a shit ton of the orange fabric laid out and was doing the second cutting part. The part where she put the brown paper shapes overtop of the fabric and started cutting that out, using random shit from around the living room to hold it down while she did.

Today it was the candles from off the mantle.

Haymitch shoulda known that the pumpkin apron woulda turned out to be an all-day thing.

Katniss stayed for a few more hours. Peeta eventually came, fresh bread rolls in hand. The girl nibbled on one and watched while he and the boy played a few rounds of chess. When it started to get late the kids went back to their own house for dinner. Haymitch went back to the kitchen, putting in the chicken from last night to heat up before he got started on roasting some vegetables for their own dinner.

And the whole fucking time Effie stayed in the living room, eyes glued to her sewing.

There she was just, sitting on the floor with her legs crisscrossed, cutting and pinning together what seemed like a million pieces of orange and green fabric. Measuring and drawing lines in a light pencil. There were special pin cushions for each season. Colour coded pins too. That was another perfectly Effie thing that didn’t seem like it should fit into district life, but somehow it did. Perfectly. The summer pin cushion, which looked like a green garden with flowers, had only recently been swapped for the fall pin cushion, which was, believe it or not, a pumpkin.

When he came back into the living room she finally had the sewing machine up and running, feeding what musta been ten million feet of green fabric into the needle.

“Thought it was gonna be orange?” he asked, resting a hand on her shoulder as he came up behind her.

“These are the ruffles,” she answered. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” He watched her work for another minute, how pretty her pale hands looked against the green. “Does it really need ruffles if it’s an apron? I mean, aren’t ya just gonna wipe your dirty hands on it and shit?”

“I like ruffles,” she deadpanned, still carefully feeding the fabric into the stabbing needle. “They’re pretty. And whimsical.”

Haymitch smirked and rolled his eyes.

“Well, dinner’s on the table when you’re done bein’ whimsical.”

Soon enough he heard the machine stop and she joined him at the table with a smile. Haymitch barely managed to hide his grin as he tore off a piece of his warm dinner roll, while Effie started to chatter on about anything and everything. How good Peeta’s bread was, how annoying it was to sew ruffles, how loud his geese were, her favourite soap opera on tv right now, the fucking weather. Haymitch was pretty sure Effie could talk about anything for hours if she had to. He had long accepted his role as her designated listener.

She was done eating in record time, and she immediately headed back to the living room. It wasn’t long before he could hear that damn machine whirring away again.

And the noise carried on well into the evening.

Eventually she abandoned the machine and it’s mass of orange fabric. He only noticed because he felt the couch shift as she crawled towards him. Without a word she pushed his book out of his lap and laid her head down in that same spot with a sigh.

“You finish it, sweetheart?” he asked.

“No,” she mumbled into his thigh. “But I do think it rather finished me.”

Haymitch chuckled a little.

He put his book aside and rested a hand in her hair. She smelled pretty good for someone who’d spent most of the day crawling around on the floor like a fucking monkey. Like the berry perfume, one of the many little glass bottles which inhabited the surface of their dresser. She curled up closer. Haymitch started curling one of her many ringlets around his fingers, pulling at it just to watch it bounce back into place.

“I’ll finish it tomorrow,” she said through a yawn.

“Uh-huh.”

At that point, Haymitch had kinda expected that the pumpkin apron would never see the light of day. He shoulda known better. There wasn’t an Effie Trinket project in the world that had ever been left unfinished. So, when he woke up the next morning facing her empty side of the bed, he shoulda known that the pumpkin apron was responsible.

“Good morning!” Effie smiled as he wandered into the kitchen, way too enthusiastic for so early in the fucking morning.

She was sitting at the table, her knees tucked between it and her chest, a cup of coffee and a mess of orange fabric spread out in front of her. Needle in hand, she seemed to be sticking a brown thread through the orange fabric by hand.

Haymitch grumbled something that maybe passed for a reply and dropped a kiss on her head as he passed on the way to the kettle.

“What happened to the machine?” he asked as he sat down.

“It’s for sewing,” she explained lightly. “What I’m doing right now is embroidery.”

“Hm. Gotcha.”

Like it wasn’t all just a bunch of thread and needle shit. He drank his tea instead of bugging her about what made the two different.

“I wanted it to have ridges. You know, like a pumpkin,” she continued as she pulled her needle through. “I tried sewing them down the front but they didn’t show up very well. It looked rather like a carrot apron instead of a pumpkin.” Haymitch snorted into his coffee. “But the embroidery seems to be showing up very nicely.”

“Smart stuff.”

She beamed a little at that. “Thank you.”

Once his cup was drained Haymitch dragged himself up and went outside to feed the geese. They honked and danced at his feet as he refilled their grain, checked to see that the little buggers hadn’t tipped over their water. They were nasty little creatures. Mean and hard to take care of. It was almost like they didn’t want anyone to like them.

But Haymitch did all the same.

When he got back inside the house Effie had moved to the living room and the machine was going again. She seemed to be feeding the green and the orange fabric into the needle at the same time. Haymitch turned on the tv and settled on the couch.

The calm silence of the living room was only broken about an hour later by Effie’s gasp.

“What is it?”

“I think I’m done…” she said, kinda like she was surprised by the fact.

“And do I get a lil fashion show?” he asked with a smirk.

“You most certainly do!” She snipped the final thread with a flourish, pulling the allegedly finished apron from the machine before skipping towards the stairs.

“Where you goin’?”

“I have to change, Haymitch!” she called as if it were obvious. “I have a whole ensemble in mind, just wait a moment!”

“Alright, alright…”

What was wrong with the outfit she was wearing? He had no idea. And if he had to guess, he woulda bet money that the outfit she was gonna come down the stairs in wasn’t gonna be all that different than the one she’d been wearing two minutes ago. But there was no stopping Effie when she had an ensemble in mind.

His suspicions were confirmed when she came downstairs.

Effie had swapped her blue skirt for a cream one with little flowers patterned across it. Sprigged. That’s what she always called it. Sprigged fabric. Because of the flowers. She was wearing her favourite white top, the one with the short, puffed sleeves and a little bow tied at the collar. The star of the show was the apron though…

Haymitch couldn’t help but grin.

It was definitely a pumpkin apron, that’s for fucking sure.

Not only was the thing orange as orange could be, but there were carefully embroidered ridges along the bib and front. The bib was rounded at the top, exactly like a pumpkin. The bottom was decorated with green ruffles and it was tied across her back with two lengths of that same green fabric, all of it held together with a big green bow at the small of her waist.

Effie turned on her toes with a giggle, making the thing fan out along with her skirt.

In the warm mid-day light, spinning in the archway, giggling with her sock feet against hardwood floors, she looked so... beautiful. Her socks were orange. Not just orange, though. The identical shade of orange that the apron was, matched with an Effie Trinket level of exactness.

She was beautiful.

“Well?” she asked, holding her arms out and giving him one last spin.

“You, uh…it looks… good.” The words came out strangled, never quite right, never as good as he means them to be. “What did you call it? Whimsical?”

“Yes…”

She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze, probably sensing his teases when they were still a mile away. This was easier.

Easier than the earnest words which always got caught in his throat.

“It’s definitely that.”

She rolled her eyes as she came closer, taking the book from his hand and tossing it carelessly over her shoulder so that she could climb into his lap. His hands found their place at her waist almost instantly, to the green tie and bow. He caressed the soft curve of her waist, up and down her hips and thighs.

“But you like it?” she whispered, breathy and soft against his cheek.

He felt his dick twitch.

She could be a damn right minx when she wanted to be.

“I like it very much, sweetheart.” he managed quietly. He decided to concentrate on the warm weight of her in his lap, the feeling of her fingers at the nape of his neck.  All of that was a great deal fucking nicer than the tightness of his throat.

Her smile made his words worth it though.

“Oh good,” she hummed. “Because I did have plans to wear it for the entirety of fall either way, so I suppose it’s better for you if you like it.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you, indeed.”

He couldn’t put off kissing her for another fucking second.

“It’s actually quite fun, you know,” she said softly when they broke apart. “Making one’s own clothes, I mean. I know I only started because all the clothing in this district is tragically drab, but—”

“But?” he mimicked, squeezing her waist.

“I quite enjoy it I think. Now,” she patted his chest and hopped off his lap. “What sort of apron should I make for the winter?”

But the absence of her weight and warmth was too much. Haymitch pulled her back down into his lap by her hand, kissing her soundly again. She wiggled closer to him in response, taking his hand between her warm little needle-worn hands. Fuck him, fuck the world, fuck everything. He would never be without her weight and warmth again.

“One season at a time, princess,” he murmured, his hands already beginning to search underneath the orange fabric. “One season at a damn time.”

Baby boy, I think I’ve been too good of a girl

Did all the extra credit, then got graded on a curve

I think it’s time to teach some lessons

“Downey! Where did Downey go?” the stationmaster called.

“Ritstone! Come get it, Ritstone!”

“Mellark!”

“I’ll take it, Clay!” Haymitch called, moving forward in the small crowd.

It was train day in Twelve, which meant they were all standing around the platform steps, waiting for the stationmaster to call out their name on one of the many supply boxes. It was winter, which meant it was cold as shit outside and there was a thick blanket of snow covering the entire district. It was the kinda cold that knocked the air outta your lungs, so it was a damn miracle Effie had come with him. Granted, she was more bundled up than any person he’d ever seen in his fucking life. Half of her face was obscured by a pink scarf and she was wearing about a hundred layers of leggings and tall wool socks under her thickest skirts.

Because not even four feet of snow could make Effie wear pants.

“It’s not very big,” she commented as he returned to her side, Peeta and Katniss’ supply box tucked under his arm.

Haymitch shrugged. “Kids didn’t order a lot I guess. I think Katniss just wanted some more pens and shit for her memory book.”

“It’s because they know we order all the important things,” she chuckled softly.

He shrugged again, this time with a smirk. “Kids.”

“Abernathy!”

Haymitch passed her the smaller box so that he could go up and grab their own, much larger, box.

“Thank you, Clay!” Effie called kindly.

Together they loaded it onto Sae’s wooden sled. Effie found the idea of moving things around with sleds ‘adorable and quaint’, something which she had said every single time they borrowed the damn thing. To Haymitch, this was just the reality of tryna get anything done in all this fucking snow.

They started on the path, with him at the front pulling and Effie at the back. She pretended to push but he knew she mostly just made sure their boxes didn’t fall off into the road. They made good time back to Victors Village. Effie quickly dropped the kid’s package off in their mudroom before they retreated to the warmth of their own house.

“Goodness,” he heard her huff as she pulled her giant pink scarf down off her head and away from her face. “Can you start a fire in the living room, please?”

“What?” He smirked as he lifted their box up onto the kitchen table. “Central heating ain’t enough for that thin Capitol blood, sweetheart?”

She came into the kitchen, bootless and coatless, and held out her hand, wordlessly asking for his pocket knife. He slipped it out of his pocket and handed it over.

“Don’t tease,” she hummed.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He patted her ass and pressed a kiss to the back of her head on his way to the next room.

By the time he got back into the kitchen, leaving the fire roaring in the living room, she already had the box open and most of their shit spread out across the table, organized into very Effie-ish piles. Bathroom stuff had to go upstairs; soap, razors, medical patches. Shit like that. Matches were for the living room. The thread and wax too. Most of it was kitchen stuff though, which Effie was methodically loading into their cupboards. Cans of beans and corn, dry noodles, that sorta thing.

Before she had moved in he used to leave all his shit in the box all month and dig through it whenever he needed anything.

Effie’s way made more sense. Actually, now that he was thinking about it, Effie’s way with most things made more sense. He was pretty used to her various routines and ways by now.

Although, there was a weird pile of shit sitting on the table that he didn’t recognize.

“What’s this?”

He picked one of the things up. It was some kind of weird, spherical tube.

“Mhm?” Effie glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s mine.”

“I figured. What is it?”

She frowned at him like he was being stupid. But he wasn’t being stupid. How the fuck was he supposed to know what the weird little tube was?

“It’s mascara, Haymitch, honestly.” She was in the middle of putting away small bags of flour, setting a few of them aside. No doubt for Peeta. “You watched me carry one around in my purse for nearly twenty years, I should think you know what it looks like.”

Oh. A makeup thing.

He frowned down at the tube in his hand. Then at the other stuff on the table too. A tiny brown tube, a fatter beige tube, a circle full of pink stuff. Haymitch had no idea what any of it was. It couldn’t all be makeup stuff… could it?

Effie seemed totally preoccupied with putting the food stuff away, not noticing Haymitch’s confusion in the slightest.

“You… visiting the Capitol or somethin’?”

That got her attention. She frowned at him, looking even more confused than he felt.

“No?”

“Oh.”

For a minute they just stared at eachother in silence. Haymitch had no idea what to say. But he couldn’t think of any other reason, besides visiting the Capitol, which would inspire Effie to wear makeup. He hadn’t seen her wear makeup since the end of the war. And even if it was kinda selfish, he liked looking at her face without makeup. Who wouldn’t? He was too fond of the subtle dusting of freckles on her cheeks, of her plain pink lips and her pretty eyes.

But then a smile slowly crept onto Effie’s face.

“Haymitch, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer very honestly.”

He felt his frown deepen. “Okay?”

“Do you think I’m not wearing makeup right now?”

He blinked. What the fuck kinda question was that? There was no white powder, no big colourful eyelashes, no crazy rainbow colours on her eyelids, no sparkles or jewels glued to her cheeks…

“Is that… the wrong thing to think?”

Effie laughed, a wide smile on her face. “Oh, you cannot be serious,”

“What?” he demanded.

“You genuinely believe that this is what my face looks like with nothing on it? All these months, you haven’t noticed that my face looks ever so slightly different at times? Quite literally anytime it’s not just the pair of us alone?”

Haymitch blinked again. “Uh, no.”

At least she seemed to find it funny. Worth abandoning her putting away groceries to lean back against the counter in a fit of giggles.

“So, you’re… wearing shit right now?” He gestured in the direction of her face.

“I am.” Effie replied, smiling like a cat with the fucking cream.

“The mascara?” he asked.

“Brown mascara,” she said. “It’s more subtle.”

“The eyeshadow shit?”

“No eyeshadow. Just a small touch of brown eyeliner in the corners.”

“Anything else?”

Effie shrugged, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against the counter. “A bit of clear mascara in my eyebrows, a hint of blush, perhaps a little concealer if I look particularly tired one day.” She stepped closer to him then. Leaning forward, touching his arm, his chest. “Why?” she pretended to pout. “Disappointed?”

“Never.” he said, gruff and without a thought.

He knows she’s joking but he pulls her into his arms anyway. He likes her close. Effie rested her chin on his chest, blinking up at him with those big blue eyes of hers. Haymitch still couldn’t see it. The makeup she was supposedly wearing. She just looked pretty, same as she always did.

“Men,” she teased. “It’s a wonder you ever notice anything at all.”

“Alright, alright…”

But he couldn’t help but worry a little.

It had been rough after the war, getting Effie to where she was now. The Effie who went out with her hair down without feeling like she was half naked, who went out without her white face paint and corsets, the Effie who wasn’t firmly convinced her face looked wrong without it all.

Not different. Not even ugly.

Just… wrong.

Haymitch wouldn’t say he was the main reason she’d changed her mind about all that. But he had definitely spent weeks doing whatever he could to help her along. There had been many long nights, too many mornings, filled with tears and whispered reassurances to prove it. And he didn’t want anything to push her back in the wrong direction.

“It’s not like a… thing, is it?” he asked lowly. “The makeup or whatever? It’s not a face thing?”

“Not a thing,” she whispered, leaning into him. “I promise.”

He kissed her soundly anyway. Just in case.

“Still don’t see a difference,” he grumbled when they broke apart. She laughed at that and it was the best sound in the whole damn world.

“Whatever you say, darling.”

“You know, I’m kinda convinced you’re playin’ a trick on me actually.” he smirked, squeezing her waist. “You tryna pull one over on me, princess? Ya doin’ a funny bit?”

“And I think you need to get your eyes checked,” she teased back.

“Oh, so you’re callin’ me old?”

“Me? Never.”

“Maybe I’ll hide you’re mascara shit.” he threatened without a bit of malice. “You’d never find it.”

“Haymitch, I swear to—”

They kept up their playful arguing for the better part of an hour as they finished putting away their supplies. It was cold outside. Cold enough to freeze the fucking balls off a pig. But it was warm inside the walls of their house. And it would continue to be warm as long as Haymitch lit the fires and Effie filled his once cold and empty rooms with her laughter.

I made you my world, have you heard?

I can reclaim the land

And I miss you

But I miss sparkling!

It was a few springs later when they actually did visit the Capitol.

The occasion this time was Effie’s mother’s birthday, a trip which had only been agreed to after a legendary number of pestering phone calls, long arguments, and a lot of guilt tripping on ol’ Mrs. Trinket’s part.

The actual party had been, thankfully, quick and relatively painless.

It was over now but their train back to Twelve wasn’t until tomorrow. Effie had suggested they get a quick midnoon snack in some restaurant she used to go to back in the day, something to ‘tide them over’ until the late hotel dinner. Especially seeing as the food at her mother’s had been shit and basically nonexistent. Did it even count as lunch if they had just been eating a bunch of rich people picky bits?

Either way, Haymitch was glad to have an actual human sized sandwich in front of him. You know, one with real bread and cheese.

And he was more than happy to sit across from Effie, watching her sip her fancy coffee and nibble at her salad. She fit into her surroundings so well, it was kinda impressive. Impressive and also a little scary, how easily she just slipped back into the Capitol shit.

She was dressed nothing like how she dressed in Twelve.

What did she always call it? This little collection of expensive tailored clothes that she only ever wore to her parent’s house. Something about the ‘new-Capitol look’. All Haymitch knew was that it was different than how she normally dressed, but it also didn’t look anything like how she had dressed before the war.

The hemline went down to just below her knees, but that was where any similarity to her district clothes ended. The dress was baby pink, a colour which Haymitch could only describe as insane and impractical. The skirt of it was tight and tapered, hugging her ass and hips in a way which reminded him of her dresses in the old days. The tight upper-part of it had a matching little stiff cropped jacket dealio, which also did nothing to hide the shape of her body, with its exaggerated shoulders and sleeves stopping at what Effie called ‘an elegant three-quarters’.

The dress was trimmed and lined with ‘a complimentary floral fabric, Haymitch’. The whole thing was accessorized in that ever-so-Effie-way with a delicate gold watch, matching day gloves (which he had learned a long time ago were different than evening gloves), a little purse, and matching shoes too. They were lower and the heels were skinnier than they had been before the war, but they were fancier and definitely more expensive than her brown district boots and her ever-growing collection of flats with bows. To top it all off was a round pink hat which reminded Haymitch of a cake, sitting amongst her blonde and heavily hairsprayed curls.

It was still weird, and he didn’t think he would ever get completely used to it no matter how many times they visited the Capitol.

Was the whole ensemble technically not as ridiculous as it used to be? Yeah. But that didn’t stop Haymitch from thinking it was weird. Like looking at a half-new-Effie half-old-Effie mirage. Her face was the only thing that could be relied upon to reassure Haymitch that he hadn’t accidentally fallen into a time traveling blackhole or something.

He probably woulda fucking died if she had pulled out a white powder compact. The only thing she had added to her face today was the cherry red lipstick, which was equal parts hot as it was jarring.

“How’s the salad?” he asked.

“Fine. Not quite as good as I remember, but…” she shrugged and waved off her own thoughts.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Haymitch was drinking an iced sweet tea, trying to ignore the buzzing desire in the back of his head which was telling him to flag down a waitress and ask for a drink menu. He would give anything for a proper fucking drink. He wondered if that niggling desire would ever go away.

But he flexed his fists under the table and ignored it.

After all, he’d made it this far. Not to mention that Effie wouldn’t like it. Effie, who despite her stiff outfit and her shitty salad, looked pretty happy to just be sitting there with him in this stupid restaurant, talking easily about nothing. He didn’t wanna ruin that.

“So what do ya think?” he asked casually. “Did your dad get hair plugs or is it a toupee?”

“Oh, it’s definitely a toupee.”

“Nice.” he grinned. “Mr. Trinket finally puttin’ that post-war boom money to work and gettin’ all wigged up.”

She giggled at that. “Fully wigged.”

“A good ol’ black and blue.”

They laughed, but Effie’s smile caught a little when she glanced out the front windows. Haymitch followed her eyeline. There had only been one or two photographers when they’d entered the restaurant, but a small crowd had grown steadily throughout their meal. It looked closer to a mob at this point, with their shouting and clamoring being heard through the windows. Haymitch felt an uncomfortable twist in the pit of his stomach.

They had been a pretty frequent Capitol headline directly after the war.

Bullshit like ‘The real reason the last living escort escaped trial’ and ‘Effie Trinket: what really happened?’. Stuff that didn’t matter as long as they stayed in the remote comforts of District Twelve. But even as the headlines had mellowed over the years, the Capitol still seemed to have a lingering fascination with them and their lives that they couldn’t quite shake.

And it was a fascination that kicked up every time they visited.

“We can back door if you want to.” he heard Effie offer quietly. He hadn’t even noticed the look of concern on her face.

“Ain’t any fuckin’ point,” he grumbled. “They’d only follow the car back to the hotel.”

She hummed, probably knowing that he was right.

Haymitch was too busy imagining the worst. Imagining cussing out all the staring cameras, imagining punching the photographers, imagining all the questions they were undoubtably gonna yell in their direction that made him feel like he was gonna throw up, that he didn’t even notice Effie gathering her gloves and purse.

He had survived this for so many years. Most of his life, actually. Was it such a fucking crime that he didn’t want to survive it anymore?

“Come along.” Effie said, leaving a hundred dollar bill on the table and pulling on her coat.

Haymitch blinked. “What? We’re just gonna go out there while they’re waitin’ for us? Just… lambs to the fuckin’ slaughter?”

“Don’t be silly,” she assured him. “Obviously I have a plan. Just come!”

Now, when it came to shit like paparazzi and nosy reporters, there wasn’t a person in the whole damn world he trusted more than Effie. He’d seen her work her magic for years. Televised interviews, candid shots, written interviews, official press releases; they were all putty in Effie’s hand. So, what else could he do but grab his jacket and follow her towards the door?

She made sure her long coat, also a matching baby pink, was pulled tightly around her before she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Cameras began to click the minute her heel touched pavement.

“Stay here in the doorway,” she hissed. “Don’t come out until I signal you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” he said dryly.

Effie shot him a joking glare over her shoulder before she did something absolutely insane; she walked directly towards the crowd. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought she was cracked, because he could hear the photographers losing their minds all the way from his shadowy hiding spot.

“Is she coming this way?”

“What the hell is she doing?”

“Just look at her go…”

By the time she reached the white barricade, they were practically drooling. Haymitch couldn’t help his grin. Like he said, putty in her hand.

“Hello boys!” she said with a dazzling Effie Trinket smile.

They all said hello back, all of them clicking their cameras, shouting questions, like a bunch of tiny little dogs, yapping and biting at her ankles for her attention.

“You enjoy your lunch, Effie?”

“You look so beautiful, Effie!”

“You doing well, Effie?”

He bristled at little from his hidden corner. Where the fuck did they get off calling her by her first name like that? They didn’t know her, they weren’t her damn friends. It was something they had always done. And Haymitch had always been annoyed by it.

“Yes,” she replied, her warm smile never faltering. He saw her tilt her head, blinking her eyes in that way that couldn’t help but pull people in. “We’re having a lovely time apart from you lot.”

“Come on, Effie, don’t be like that,”

“Yeah, don’t be like that,”

“Go on, you love us,”

“Really,” she insisted. “Will we have the pleasure of your company the entire evening?”

“I like your coat, by the way.” one of them said. “Who designed it?”

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t realize you were so interested in fashion, Emilo.”

Haymitch snorted.

Of course she knew their fucking names. There wasn’t one name in the whole world that Effie ever forgot once she was told it. It was insane. Her brain was like a steel trap of useless high society information, one which hadn’t rusted in the slightest since the end of the war. Watching her was like watching a gymnast bust out a splits after not doing it for years without even stretching first.

“You were wearing a dress inside. Did you wear the coat out here on purpose?”

“On purpose how?” she blinked, wide eyed and innocent.

The cameramen exchanged knowing grins, leering even, lapping up anything Effie put down without a second thought.

Any regular person would have lost their fucking mind. Especially after everything they had been through. Any other person woulda yelled at them all to go home, to get a real job, to mind their own fucking business.

But not Effie.

Effie fucking thrived on it. She always had.

Back in the day, when she was spinning inspirational tales out of scrawny seam kids destined for early graves, when she would spar with Ceaser in post-season interviews. Anytime she had bantered with paps guys, anytime she could recall the name and interests of any sponsor at the drop of the hat, anytime her patent smile and wink had resulted in a check being dropped in the Team Twelve account.

Haymitch had been amazed back then, and he was still amazed by it all now.

“You know how it all works, Effie.” one of the guys up front said. “Can’t get a wide shot of your legs if they’re hidden behind a table cloth or under a coat.”

“You know, I’m having trouble hearing you…” she faked without an ounce of shame.

They all laughed and Haymitch could hardly blame them.

“But I’ll tell you what,” she continued. “Leave Haymitch and I alone for the evening and I’ll give you all a nice little treat for being such good boys.”

That certainly got their attention.

“And what would that be?”

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

“Mhm, you’ll see.” Effie hummed, finally backing up off the barricade.

Haymitch watched as, smooth like fucking butter, Effie slipped her coat down her shoulders and all the way off, folding it elegantly over one arm before she turned her back to the wall of clicking cameras. She couldn’t have been more perfectly posed if it had been a damn magazine shoot, even Haymitch could see that. She took slow strutting steps away from the barricade, the cameras flashed like crazy, eating up every inch of her body in that tight pink dress, every subtle little look she threw over her shoulder.

“Get ‘er, boys.”

“Thanks for the visit, Effie!”

“That’s gonna sell real nice.”

“That’s perfect.”

“Enjoy your holiday, Effie!”

They would never fully escape it. But Haymitch wasn’t sure that she ever wanted to leave it behind. Not completely, anyway. After all, why the hell would she? When she looked like that?

She was fucking perfect.

She was Effie.

Her final trick was a delicate little wave to the cameras. Haymitch had spent enough years walking in her wake to know that this was his cue to come out of the shadows. The cameras definitely got a few good shots of him taking her coat from her, of him placing a hand on the small of her back as he walked her to the car. They kept up their yelling as he opened the door and handed her inside.

“Are you gonna marry him, Effie?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Are you already married?”

Truth be told, Haymitch didn’t think much about the whole thing after it was over. He was just glad when they got back to the hotel and found not a single person waiting for them with cameras poised at the ready. It was fucking bliss.

Besides that, why would he be thinking about that when he had Effie sitting across him at dinner, laughing and sipping her wine? When he had Effie leaning against him in the elevator up, Effie trapped between their suite door and his body while they kissed, Effie naked in bed, her lips leaving a hot trail of kisses downwards…

He only ever thought about the way the sun had looked golden on her curls when she had leaned on that white barricade. How she had smiled and sparkled like she was fucking born for it, how she had waved and blown kisses over her shoulder.

“Goodness,” Effie hummed. “That was quick.”

They were on the train home. Effie’s carefully packed luggage was stacked in the compartment overhead racks, Haymitch’s bag thrown a little more carelessly in the seat opposite them. She was curled up cozily in her seat, back to the window which showed the whizzing Panem landscape, her legs in his lap.

She tossed the magazine she had been reading towards him. Haymitch immediately saw the glossy print of one of yesterday’s pictures.

He smirked when he picked it up. “Well, your ass looks great, sweetheart.”

“When does it not?” she quipped back.

“True ‘nough.”

He flipped the page to see a picture of them, his hand on her waist, Effie climbing into the car. She was probably the only person in the fucking world who managed to photograph well while climbing into a car. Below the picture was a typed caption;

Notice how Haymitch stayed to the side, while still letting Effie know that he was there? How he let her take the spotlight instead of taking it for himself? Haymitch isn’t afraid to let Effie shine. He lets her bejeweled.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” he grumbled, throwing the magazine back to her.

She barely managed to get an answer out between giggles. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“I didn’t even finish school and I know that’s not a real fuckin’ sentence.”

That only made Effie laugh harder.

They didn’t go to the Capitol often. But when they did, Haymitch knew there was no avoiding the mob of peeping cameras which seemed intent on following them wherever they went. But as long as it always ended with a train ride home, with Effie curled up next to him, giggling over her stupid magazines. As long as she kept using her insane little tricks to get them a few small hours of privacy, he was more than happy to let her bejeweled.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And when I meet the band

They ask “Do you have a man?”

I can still say, “I don’t remember”

When Katniss and Peeta told them that they’d finally decided to get married it was enough to make Effie drop her cup on the floor as she hurried to engulf the kids in the biggest hug he’d ever seen. And even though she had to deal with the horror of a registry office wedding, it went without saying that Haymitch had never seen Effie so happy in her life.

Honestly, for a while there it seemed like she was more excited than Katniss about the whole thing.

Effie had talked loudly and extensively about bleaching their white curtains for the occasion, and she had forced him to shut up with a glare every time he had tried to ask why the fuck they needed to bleach their curtains for the kids wedding.

It wasn’t like the kids were getting married in their fucking living room.

But Haymitch eventually realized that it had all been a long con to give Katniss a chance to subtly slip one of her mom’s left over dresses, the cream one, into the bleach filled bathtub without everyone making a fuss.

Effie woulda bleached those fucking curtains a hundred times over if it meant the girl would be wearing a white dress on the big day.

She replaced all the buttons with ones from her own sewing kit, insisting that they all had to match. Katniss rejected all of Effie’s offers to tailor the dress to fit her more nicely, something which Haymitch endured many nights of complaining about. But it was probably a good thing that Effie never stopped offering no matter how many times the girl said no.

Exactly two nights before the wedding Katniss was banging on their door in the middle of the night, hyperventilating and in a puddle of tears, sobbing some nonsense about how Cinna never woulda let her get married in an ugly dress.

Haymitch didn’t see what all the fuss was about. As far as he could tell, Katniss never cared much what she looked like or how she dressed. Besides, they both knew that Peeta woulda married her in a damn potato sack and not cared a lick. But none of that stopped Effie from pulling her in for a hug and rubbing her back until she stopped crying. She made Katniss a one-in-the-morning cup of tea and spent the next twenty-four hours tailoring and altering the simple white dress for her.

Not altering it in an Effie way.

In a way which Haymitch knew woulda resulted in a shorter hem, a lower neckline, a tighter waist. All stuff which Katniss woulda hated.

She altered it in a different way. He sat with her in the living room for most of it, watching while she added a simple lace around the neckline. While she took in the waist the tiniest amount, added a few pleats to the skirt, sewed one of her own thin petticoats into the thing because she knew Katniss would never ask to wear one on her own.

It was weird, how it all turned out kinda perfect.

Haymitch could hardly believe that was his Katniss, standing in that echoey little room in the back of town hall, with her white dress and her dark hair curled around her shoulders (another thing they all had Effie to thank for), holding Peeta’s arm, smiling.

They weren’t kids anymore, with their fucking marriage certificate and their federal taxes. They had even started buying their own yogurt and fruit.

Grownup and happy in spite of all the bullshit that had happened… what more could they ask for?

It was just the four of them in that echoey backroom, along with Johanna, Annie, and Little Fin. The kid was bouncing on his mom’s lap, clearly more interested in the fruit snacks Effie had pulled out of her purse than whatever the townhall clerk was saying. Katniss hadn’t wanted anyone else. Not for the ceremony, anyway.

“Cryin’, sweetheart?” he teased quietly in Effie’s ear.

“Shut up.” she whispered back, tears tracking down her cheeks. She sniffed again and wiped them away in that delicate way of hers, with only her middle finger.

He put his hand on top of hers when it came back to rest in the crook of his elbow.

“I love weddings,” she said softly.

They both watched as Katniss and Peeta exchanged vows and rings. They would do the toasting later, when they were home and in the company of only eachother. Even Haymitch couldn’t deny that watching it all happen in front of him made his chest feel a little tight. His throat a little thick.

“Do you… I mean—” he stumbled.

“Haymitch,” She squeezed his arm, sensing his thoughts from a mile away. “Loving weddings and wanting to get married are not the same thing.”

That, however, didn’t stop him.

“Do you wanna get married though?”

She pursed her lips together, apparently considering his question right then and there. “Perhaps.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” he insisted quietly. “You’re telling me you don’t wanna be the center of attention at a big ass wedding?”

“Oh darling,” she smiled. “I don’t need to be the bride to be the center of attention.”

Peeta and Katniss kissed, quick and chaste. The girl’s ears turn red as she buried her face in Peeta’s chest while they all clapped.

Now, Katniss may have drawn a hard line about the ceremony. But the after party? None of the kids had had any say in that. The after party was all Effie’s doing.

They went down to the new Hob just as the sun was setting. Inside they found that all the tables had been cleared out and a bunch of wooden crates had been stacked into a makeshift stage. Any fucker with two working hands and a banjo got up there, strumming out district tunes, filling the air with music and song. Twelve had always been a close district. They were smaller than the rest of them, more concentrated. But since the war, since the Capitol had bombed almost everything they’d ever known away into dust, they’d become closer, tighter in the rebuilding.

The walls of the new Hob danced with oil lights and shadows, the music and laughter of what seemed to be the entire district filled the air. Their bellies were full of cake, which Peeta had made himself because of course he fucking had, and sweet berry wine, Greasy Sae’s old recipe.

Effie had even made sure there was a jar of plain berry juice just for him.

It was a night of dancing, drinking, and song, with Katniss and Peeta in the middle of it all, holding eachother and looking happier than Haymitch could ever remember them being.

Effie spent most of the night dancing too. The first few with Peeta, then with ol’ Mr. Downey. He’d liked her ever since she’d offered to drive the truck back and forth from the train station in those early months of the rebuilding. Who woulda fucking guessed? That all it would’ve taken for Effie to win over the district was a few charming smiles and her Capitol City driver’s license. And time.

It seemed to Haymitch that most wounds could be healed, if you only gave ‘em time.  

She danced with Katniss, Annie, and Johanna too. They did that thing that girls always did, at shitty school dances in the districts, at club nights in the Capitol. In every corner of the world, it seemed that girls loved to just stand in a circle and dance, laughing and holding on to one another, making it impossible for any men to step in on ‘em.

Not that Haymitch minded.

He’d never been much of a dancer. And if Effie wasn’t gonna complain about his lack of foot coordination, he sure as fuck wasn’t gonna complain in the opposite direction. She could do whatever she wanted out there on the dance floor. Whether it was the velvet couches along the edge of a Capitol club or a box crate against the wall of the new Hob, Haymitch was more than content to sit, sip, and watch.

“Hot out there?” he asked with a grin as she came over to where he was sitting, pink cheeked and fanning herself with her hand.

“Slightly,” she said, a little breathless. “Come down with me and you can see for yourself.”

“I’m good right where I am, princess.”

She huffed dramatically. “Really?”

“Really.” he replied. “I got my fuckin’ juice, I got my little stack of muffin cakes—”

“Cupcakes.” she corrected.

Haymitch ignored her. “I got a view of the whole damn party,” he continued, gesturing out to the crowd. “I’m good.”

Effie pretended to pout. “Are you telling me I cannot persuade you into one dance? One tiny, itty- bitty, little—”

But they were interrupted by another, much smaller, voice.

“Auntie Effie…” Little Fin Odair tugged at Effie’s skirts to get her attention. “Will you dance with me?” he asked, blinking up at her with big green eyes that were so like his father’s. Who in their right mind could say no to that?

“Look at that, sweetheart. Ya got the best lookin’ lad in the place to dance with.”

Haymitch winked and Fin grinned. One of his front teeth was missing.

“Of course I will, my darling!” Effie swept him up into her arms with a beaming smile. “But I will be returning later to collect my dance, Mr. Abernathy.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

He watched happily as Effie and Fin took over the dance floor. She held the kid up in her arms, making pretend like they were the same height, bouncing him around to the music, a beaming smile on her face. Effie loved little Fin. In fact, Effie loved anytime she could dote on a tiny human, pressing kisses to their little round cheeks and asking them overly earnest questions about their weird shit.

She’d never said it aloud, but Haymitch knew she wanted kids. Or, at least she had at some point.

In a different life it was her wearing the pretty white dress, dancing with a kid in her arms. A little blue-eyed kid with honey blonde curls…

Not a better life, cause if he was being honest this one hadn’t turned out so bad in the long run.

But a different life.

“Hey,”

Katniss sat down next to him on his crate bench with an unceremonious plop.  Her cheeks were red and her eyes were a little spaced out, and Haymitch suspected it had more to do with the jar of berry wine in her hand than it did the dancing.

“Enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart?” he smirked.

“I am, actually.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Asshole.”

The pair of them lapsed into silence. It was easy to be quiet with Katniss. It was something they both understood. Why would they talk when there was nothing to say? There was plenty good in just sitting next to one another, watching the party at a distance. The silence was only broken when Katniss did finally have something to say.

“I think… I’m really happy.”

She was looking out at Peeta, who was kneeled to the ground across the way, distributing muffin cakes amongst a group of cheering kids. Cupcakes, he corrected internally.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s good.” Haymitch nodded. “It’s good… Bein’ happy.”

He saw her smile out of the corner of his eye. Haymitch reached over to briefly pat her hand which was rested in her lap. It wasn’t much, but Katniss never needed much.

He knew she understood.

“Are you having fun?” she asked, looking over at him.

“Don’t I look like I’m havin’ fun?”

“Not really.” she deadpanned. “You look like you’re moping in the corner.”

“Plenty of excitin’ shit to do in the corner.”

“Like what?”

Haymitch didn’t answer her for a minute, choosing to take in a mouthful of his damn berry juice instead. He wished it was a proper drink but he was glad it wasn’t. Not that that made any fucking sense. “Well, for one, I get a real nice view of Effie’s ass—”

Katniss wrinkled her nose. “Okay, gross.”

“You asked.” he shrugged.

They went back to their silence.

“You could be down there with her though.” Katniss eventually said. “Being all gross and whatever with her, instead of hanging out over here.”

He snorted and shot her a skeptical look.

“What? You’re married for a few hours and suddenly you’re an expert?”

“I’m just saying…” she rolled her eyes.

Haymitch looked back to the dancefloor, expecting to find Effie, still dancing with Fin or politely indulging some young farmer. He frowned when he couldn’t spot her blonde head amongst the crowd.

“Where’d she go?”

Katniss craned her neck to look around before pointing. “There.”

Then he saw her. There was Effie, all blond curls falling down her back and smiles, leaning against the ramshackle stage and talking with one of the banjo players. She laughed at something the man said and Haymitch felt a twinge in his chest.

“Maybe he’ll dance with her.” Katniss said under her breath.

He glared at her as he got to his feet. “Shut up.”

In less than a minute he was across the room, through the crowd of sweaty idiots, coming up behind Effie just in time to hear the band player ask her the dumbest question on earth.

“You gotta man, honey?”

“She does.”

Effie didn’t jump when he spoke or when he placed a protective hand on her waist. He wondered vaguely if she had known he was coming. With her magic fucking eye on the back of her head or however else she seemed to know anything and everything.

“Haymitch!” she beamed. “Have you finally come to claim your dance?”

“I don’t get a dance, honey?” the man pipped up.

If he called her that one more time he was gonna lose his two front teeth. District sensibilities and Effie’s precious manners be damned.

But, of course, Effie was more than practiced when it came to fending ‘em off.

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” she lamented, sounding too sympathetic to actually mean it. “My next dance is spoken for. I’m sure you understand.”

“What ‘bout the next one?”

“I got ‘er promised on the next million dances.” Haymitch barked, before she could answer. “Take a fuckin’ hike.”

Without another word, he pulled her back onto the dance floor and into his arms. He wasn’t a very good dancer, even after all the years he’d spent in the Capitol. No matter how many times Effie had tried to teach him, he could never get his feet to move in those complicated patterns. But a district dance at the Hob was easier fare. He was more than capable of holding her in his arms, swaying her gently on the edge of the crowd.

“The next million, hm?” she hummed, looking up at him.

Her chin was propped up on his chest and he loved the way she blinked up at him and smiled. How her cheeks were a little flushed and there was a few stray curls that had escaped the hairpins she had hidden behind her ears. He’d watched her put them in this morning before the wedding. Only he knew they were there.

“That’s right.” he replied.

She giggled and shook her head in teasing disapproval. As if it was a joke. Did she know he was being serious? Serious like a heart attack, serious like fucking million dollar cancer.

“Effie?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you really not wanna get married?”

She looked up again, he watched her search his face. A part of him was scared. Scared of what she might find, of what she might say, of the way her expression shifted when she made her decision. A life altering choice, one which she apparently had no reservations about making right there in the dim light and hot air of the Hob.

“No.”

Fuck him.

What had he done to deserve this?

“No?” his voice sounded stupid even in his own ears. Strangled and uncertain. But like Effie so often did, she smiled and remained undeterred.

“No.” she said again.

And he wanted to believe her so fucking badly. He should believe her, she’d never done anything to make him not believe her, if he were a better man with better luck he might have believed her.

“You sure?” he couldn’t help but ask. “‘Cause if you really wanted to I’d… I dunno, I’d figure it out and—”

She easily shut him up by pressing a finger to his lips.

“I believe I have you promised to my next nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine dances, do I not?” she whispered sweetly.

All he could manage was a nod.

She then stood on her tiptoes and kissed him before saying the best sentence Haymitch had ever heard strung together in his entire wretched life.

“That’s more than enough of a commitment for me.”

Sapphire tears on my face

Sadness became my whole sky

But some guy said my aura’s moonstone

Just ‘cause he was high

Haymitch smirked when he saw the small blue plastic case sitting in the bottom of her suitcase. “Did you fuckin’ buy this in Four?”

They had just gotten back from a trip to the westmost district, doing their annual visit with Annie, Johanna, and Fin. And, of course, one of Effie’s most sacred rules was that their shit had to be unpacked the day they got home and no later. Now, if it were up to him, Haymitch’s bag woulda stayed sitting in the corner with all his shit in it for weeks. But he had long-since learned that there were absolutely no exceptions to this rule.

So, there they were, moving around their bedroom in Twelve. Effie, neatly sorting her dirty and clean clothes, folding and organizing, putting every little thing meticulously back in its assigned place. And Haymitch, who had dumped all his clothes in the laundry and decided they would be a next week problem, found himself boredly snooping through her bag.

He picked up the little case, only to have it immediately snatched out of his hand by a glaring Effie.

“I did.” she replied primly.

That only made him grin harder.

“Stop that.”

“I ain’t sayin’ shit, sweetheart?” He held his hands up in a fake gesture of surrender as he collapsed back onto the bed.

“I can see it happening behind your eyes, Haymitch Abernathy.” she scolded, folding the last of her tall wool stockings as she did. “It’s not funny.”

“Uh-huh.”

Even after she shoved the little blue container in the top of her nightstand, closing the drawer with what he would call an excessive amount of force, Haymitch couldn’t let it go.

“I thought you didn’t like drugs.”

“Good grief…”

“What?” he protested. “It’s a fair question.”

“You make it sound as if I’ve started smuggling pounds of cocaine across district boarders,” she said with an eye roll. “It’s marijuana, Haymitch, it’s not a drug.”

“That… sounds like Capitol bullshit to me.”

“Haymitch,” she groaned.

“What?”

“It’s legal,” she argued. “It’s from the government, it’s like alcohol!”

He snorted at that. “It is not like alcohol.”

“You can be so severe at times, do you know that?”

He watched as she put the last of her neatly folded clothes away. How she then crossed the room and climbed onto the bed, into his lap, a faux-innocent smile on her face. She was obviously trying to placate him on the issue. But he also wasn’t about to pass up the chance to have her in his lap, her body pressing against him, warm and fucking perfect.

“What?” she whispered. “You don’t want to get high with me?”

It wasn’t something he was necessarily dying to do. Haymitch had seen more than his share of drugs back in the day. Drugs that were smoked, drugs that were snorted, needle drugs, pill drugs, acid tabs, poppers, fucking horse tranquilizer, weird drugs that made people see prophetic visions before making them shit the bed.

He was pretty sure Capitols woulda taken a damn bullet in the mouth if it made them feel high for more than twenty minutes.

Thankfully, Effie had always stayed on the very light side of that stuff.

He’d seen her take a hit off a joint being passed around in a club many times. More than once he had seen her pull her own joint from the hidden crevasses of her corset. Once, during the very early years, he’d been forced to deal with a very jittery Effie who’d been goaded by Seneca Crane into doing a few lines in a club bathroom.

But other than that, she had been pretty clean. A real fucking bore compared to most capitols. She’d never liked needles, she’d never liked the idea of hallucinations, and most of all she hated not being in control of her own body.

All of which Haymitch was kinda grateful for.

I mean, it wasn’t as if she was gonna start doing raver drugs in their fucking kitchen. If she wanted to smoke a little weed on their back porch, who was he to stop her?

But aside from that, he still wasn’t so sure about the idea of joining her.

“Isn’t it kinda…” He searched for the right word.

“What?” she asked.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Stupid? I mean, what are we? Seventeen-year-old Capitols? You wanna smoke weed in the bathroom and then gimme a hand job for my troubles?”

His glorious depiction of Capitol adolescence earned him an eye roll.

“Well, excuse me for offering,” she whispered, dripping in sarcasm. At least she was still in his lap, her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Now, I didn’t say—”

She cut him off with a kiss, warm and hard.

“You taste good,” he heard her murmur against his lips. “Like tea and cream.”

It made sense. They had had a cup of tea once they’d gotten home from the train station, right before they’d come up to do Effie’s precious unpacking.

“You taste like fuckin’… sunshine and rainbows.” he murmured back.

She giggled and tapped his knee, forcing them both to half-heartedly detangle themselves from one another. What did she have against ignoring all their responsibilities and staying trapped in bed forever?

“Finish unpacking your bag before dinner, please.” she said, patting his chest before getting up.

He missed the weight of her as soon as it was gone.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

The weed didn’t get brought up in conversation again until a few days later. It was late, well after they’d already eaten. The living room was lit solely by lamps because for some reason Effie considered it a capital sin to use the ceiling light after dark. The kids had long gone home, which Haymitch knew was the only reason she’d brought that little blue container downstairs without shame.

“You gonna smoke that inside?” he asked as she searched for a lighter.

“Put on a Capitol accent and do a bit more yelling,” she replied. “Then it’ll really feel like I’m living with my mother again.”

She sat down on the couch, joint held between her lips. Haymitch picked up the blue container and examined it as Effie clicked the stray lighter she had found.

“Do they all come pre-rolled like that?”

“No,” she hummed. “But I’m terribly lazy and not very good at it, so…”

“Mhm.”

She took a deep inhale before tilting her head back and exhaling in the vague direction of the open window, out towards warm summer air.

There was a weird comfort to it. Haymitch couldn’t deny that.

His living room used to be a fucking wreck. Broken furniture, rotting food, rat shit, dust and dirt covering just about every visible surface. He used to sit here, in this exact spot he was sitting now, and just wish he would die. Hope for it, even.

But it was so different now.

His world was inhabited by cushy throw pillows and colourful knit blankets. Coasters and little doily things. Warm lamps and summer air. Candles and care. Effie sitting next to him on the sofa, smelling like her sweet berry perfume and smoking a fucking joint like nothing had ever been bad. This was the life he lived in now. And it was a damn miracle he woke up every day to find it still here. To find that it’s not some sort of sick joke. A mocking dream.

“Alright, give it ‘ere,” He held out his  hand.

A very self-satisfied smile took over Effie’s expression as she passed the joint over.

“Can’t let you smoke the whole fuckin’ thing yourself,” he grumbled. “You’ll be high off your ass.”

“How very gentlemanly of you.”

He snorted and took a drag. It was different than he remembered. Sharp and heavy in the back of his throat. Haymitch couldn’t help it. He coughed. A fucking lot. Something which Effie seemed to find pretty fucking funny.

“Goodness,” she giggled. “How long has it been?”

“Definitely a while,” he managed to get out, passing it back to her.

“I’ll say.”

She took another hit.

“I think Chaff gave me one once.” he said, squinting as he tried to remember back. His memories of his best friend were blurrier than he would have liked them to be. “Musta been my… second year as a Victor?”

“And that was, what? A hundred years ago?”

“Fuck off.” he grinned.

“Were you there when they sewed the first Panem flag? Did you watch the first Hunger Games? Meet Casca Highbottom?”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you, Trinket,” he said, snatching the joint back.

They passed it back and forth a few more times, slowly wearing it down towards the white carboard of the filter. She was a very distracting smoker. The way she held it between her lips, between her elegant fingers, how her skin stretched across her collarbone when she inhaled, the way the smoke curled off her pink lips when she exhaled. It was stupid. He was stupid. Everything was fucking stupid.

“Your face is… fuckin’ crazy.” Haymitch said, accusingly pointing the joint at her.

“My face?” she giggled, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Who the fuck just has a face like that? It’s so… It’s pointy in all the right places, it’s round in all the right places, it’s… I mean, your fuckin’ teeth and your nose—”

“My teeth?!”

“I said nose too,”

“Oh no, we’re going back to teeth,” she insisted.

He waved her off. “I don’t wanna talk ‘bout that, c’mere,”

“Well, that is a shame because I—”

He cut her off with a kiss. A kiss in which Effie mostly giggled against his mouth, apparently really fucking amused about him climbing on top of her, pushing her down onto her back, against the soft throw pillows which decorated their couch.

For a few long minutes, the end of the joint was forgotten in the teacup saucer they had been using as an ashtray.

He woulda kissed her forever, until the fucking earth blew up, if she hadn’t broken it off. He saw that trademark Effie smile when he pulled away. That smug upturn of her lips. She reached over to the coffee table without moving and picked the joint back up. She took one last hit, delicately blowing the smoke back into his face. Hot, he thought. One single word which so perfectly summed her up.

Haymitch shifted his weight slightly off of her as she reached over to stub it out. Once again, in the teacup saucer.

“Do you think this is, uh… I dunno… goin’ well?”

He didn’t know why the question fell outta his mouth. But it did. And he couldn’t stop it after it hit the hazy warm air which surrounded them.

“Is what going well?”

He shrugged. “This? Us?”

She idly ran her nails across the plane of his back, over his shoulders, as she smiled. “Well, it has been nearly seven years now… No complaints.”

“No complaints?” he snorted.

“Yes alright, minor complaints.” she conceded. “But who cares about leaving dirty laundry on the floor or using hand towels as face  towels—”

“They’re all towels, why does it matter what part of my body I use ‘em for?”

She ignored him. “All that can be overlooked.”

And she sounded like she meant it.

“Yeah?”

“Obviously.”

It did make sense to a certain degree. There were things about Effie which he overlooked. Small concessions that he’d made so that she could neatly fit into his life in that way that she did. It was worth it for her. Haymitch had just never thought someone would ever consider him worth the trouble.

But there she fucking was.

Stretched out next to him, lounging on the sofa in a haze of smoke and smiles. She was still trailing her nails across his shoulder and it made his skin feel extra prickly for some reason.

“Because I love you.” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

As it turned out, the weed had made his tongue a little looser.

“I love you,” he whispered back. He kissed her like he was tryna suck the oxygen out of her pretty lungs. Could a person have pretty lungs? “So… fuckin’ much.”

She was smiling like she had a ray of sunshine beaming out of her asshole when he pulled away.

“Goodness, we should get high together more often.”

“Gave the liver a fuckin’ run for its money and she’s still pumpin’ along.” he said with a smirk. “Why not test out the ol’ lungs too?”

She gasped and smacked his arm a little.

“It was a joke, sweetheart!”

He laughed as Effie continued to attack him with feather light punches. Like a fucking hummingbird with a point to prove.

“I don’t like those jokes!” she pouted. “You’re supposed to tell funny jokes when you’re high, not terribly sad ones.” Then she gave up her attacked in lieu of burying her head in the crook of his neck and squeezing the life outta him. “I don’t like to think about anything bad happening to you…” she whispered, muffled against his skin.

“Alright, alright, my bad.” He dropped a kiss in her hair. “My next joke will be better.”

“It better be.”

She looked up and Haymitch didn’t waste a second kissing her again. Finding the warmth of her lips. What had he said that one time? Fucking sunshine and rainbows? That sounded about right. He stood firmly by his statement.

“Haymitch?” she hummed against him.

“Mhm?”

“Do you know what would make me love you even more?”

He pulled back, suspicious. She had one of those looks on her face. One of those Effie looks where he could tell there was some completely ridiculous statement brewing underneath those honey blonde curls.

“What?” he asked.

“If you went into the kitchen and brought back that tub of ice cream we have in the freezer along with two spoons,” She batted her eyelashes dramatically, pouting her slightly raw-kissed lip. “Please?”

Haymitch was happy to oblige.

They ended up absolutely demolishing the tub of vanilla ice cream. Effie had originally bought it to go with a pie Peeta had baked for tomorrow, and Haymitch was already planning in his head when he was gonna run to the store tomorrow and buy another so she didn’t freak out. He was already planning his reassurances about how one little tub of ice cream wasn’t gonna magically make her fat. About how it didn’t fucking matter, not in the slightest, because they now had a life where nothing mattered except what they were gonna eat for dinner and staying warm in the winters.

This life which he woulda never been able to imagine before the war. A life where he was dizzy with fucking sunshine and happiness and all that shit.

Maybe the weed has something to do with the dizziness, he thought as he stared up at the ceiling.

He felt like all his senses were dialed up to a hundred. She was laying on his chest, flipping through endless tv channels, and he could feel every part of her. He could see every strand of hair on her head, every eyelash. The little secret freckles which dusted her shoulders.

Nah, he thought. The dizziness was definitely because of her.

Because the truth was that everything in his stupid fucking life always came back to her.  

And you can try to change my mind

But you might have to wait in line

What’s a girl gonna do?

A diamonds gotta shine!

“Waitin’ for the wife?” Greasy Sae asked him. It was stick season then. The grounds of District Twelve were littered with brightly coloured leaves and the outdoor market had moved back inside the Hob like it did every year.  

“Ain’t gotta wife.”

“No?” the old woman cackled. “I thought that’s what ya called a woman who lived in yer house and used yer name.”

Effie had started using Mrs. Abernathy once a few years ago to place an order at the general store and hadn’t stopped since. And he certainly wasn’t gonna ask her to stop. Not when it made her so damn happy every time she got to introduce herself with it.

Haymitch grunted instead of answering.

To be fair, he was leaning back against the counter of Sae’s stall so maybe he was asking to be bothered by her. He was waiting for Effie, who was just across the way talking to the vegetable stand guy. And it was obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes that she was flirting with him. Unfortunately for Haymitch, despite being old as fuck, Sae’s eyes were working just fine.

“Might wanna marry her one o’ these days, boy.” she said.

“And why’s that?”

Greasy Sae shrugged. “Wouldn’t want someone else to do it ‘fore you.”

Even when their vegetables were paid for and they were walking back home, Haymitch couldn’t shake that. It pestered at his brain, eating away, even if it really shouldn’t have.

Because the thing was that Effie was just a flirt. Plain and simple. She almost couldn’t help it. For all those years Haymitch had stood there and watched while people hovered around her like moths to a gas light. And none of that had changed when she had moved to Twelve. Why would it?

Effie couldn’t help but be the prettiest, the most charismatic, most well-dressed. It sounded insane but Haymitch knew it to be true. No matter where she went, no matter where she lived, Effie was just… Effie.

He was so deep in thought that he barely heard her voice when she spoke.

“Huh?” he grunted.

“I said you’re very contemplative all of the sudden,” she replied. “Is anything the matter?”

“Nah,” He brushed her off with a shrug. “Just somethin’ Sae said.”

Effie chuckled and looped her arm through his as they continued to walk, apparently more than happy to take up his offer of gossiping rather than talking about his mood.

“Is she ever going to allow her granddaughter to take over her stall? I mean, she must be over a hundred by now.”

“Two hundred.” Haymitch deadpanned.

“One would imagine she’d be tired of it,” Effie continued with a hum. “That she would enjoy a bit of a rest.”

“Nah,” They walked through the old Victors Village gate. “The ol’ bat is gonna burry us all.”

Effie laughed as they walked towards the front steps of the house. If there was one sound in the whole fucking world which could make Haymitch forget his worries, it was that.

But the flirting never stops.

And honestly, he woulda have to have been thick in the fucking head to assume that it would. Flirting for Effie was like a hobby, on par with her sewing or her embroidery. Sometimes, he’s pretty sure she doesn’t even know the effect she has on people.

The rest of the time, he thinks she knows a little too well.

Effie helps Peeta out at the bakery a few days a week. It’s nothing serious. She can’t bake worth a damn but she can arrange the window displays, make change, and send people on their way with a smile, which is all Peeta needs.

On the days she does work, Haymitch always walks down from the house around noon with sandwiches for her and the boy. It’s less for Peeta and more because he knows Effie won’t eat a lunch if he doesn’t remind her to. But when he does come down to the bakery, he notices that noon seems to be prime time for the local rugrats to walk down from the school and hang around the bakery.

Grubby little district kids, young teenagers, with pimpled faces and messy hair. They hang around, shuffling their feet and jabbing eachother with their elbows when they order, whispering and ogling at Effie as she worked behind the counter.

Haymitch is pretty sure they only order dozens of donuts so that they can watch Effie stand on her tiptoes to get the boxes off the top shelf. It ain’t a bad view, he’ll admit that much. With her back to the rest of the bakery, her heels slip out of her little flats as she reaches, the bow of her apron strains at the small of her waist. It shoulda been illegal, the way her ass is the only one which filled out those long and loose district skirts.

It’s the spring apron. White linen and lace, embroidered with flowers and bumble bees. It had taken her forever to finish.

But what was he supposed to do?

Get mad at some fucking teenagers for eyeing her up?

It wasn’t like she flirted with them in return. This was very much one of those rare ‘Effie doesn’t realize what the fuck she’s doing’ cases. Besides, if someone as hot as Effie had worked in the bakery when Haymitch was in school, he woulda been hanging outside that window every damn day.

But, lucky for them, ol’ Mrs. Mellark hadn’t been much of a looker. No teenage boys had ever been looking to catch a glimpse of her pinched frowns. She woulda never smiled at ‘em the way Effie did, bright and warm.

So, Haymitch kept his mouth shut.

He dropped off her sandwiches, asked what time she would be home, and kissed her on the cheek when he left. Never saying a word.

But, of course, there were other times when Effie knew exactly what she was doing.

Many times.

“Hello, Mr. Garner!”

They were walking towards town when Effie stopped to wave at the youngest Garner boy, who was working at tilling in the adjacent field. He tipped his cap as they approached the fence.

“How do ya do, Miss Effie?”

“Oh, very well, thank you.” she smiled, leaning against the wooden rungs.

“Abernathy.” the young man nodded.

“Garner.” he nodded back.

There was no need to say anything more. They both knew that neither of them cared for the conversation beyond the woman who stood between them.

“How is your father doing?” she asked kindly. “Better, I hope.”

“He’s on the mend. But he’s gonna be right pleased that ya asked after ‘em though.”

“Please, your father knows very well that I adore him. I was positively distraught when Katniss came running and told us that he’d fallen from the tractor. Broken bones are a nasty business at any age, I can only imagine…”

“Aye,” he nodded. “Doctor says he outta heal right up, as long as he stays off his feet mind.”

“And in the meantime his strapping young sons are in charge of the fields?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Goodness, we all better watch our backs. You’ll have half the district positively swooning before noon…” she teased as she came back off the fence with a perfect Effie smile and a twinkle in her eye.

“As long as yer part o’ that half, Miss Effie.” Garner said, tipping his cap again.

“Oh, off with you,” she gasped, pretending to be shocked. She then looped her arm back through Haymitch’s as they started back for the road. “Don’t work too hard!”

“I never do!”

Haymitch smirked as she gave him one last wave, keeping it up as they continued towards town.

“What?” Effie asked when she noticed.

“Nothin’.” he said, still smirking. “You gonna suck his dick on the way back, sweetheart?” But there was no malice behind his jab, nor the smack to his arm which came swiftly after.

“Please,” She rolled her eyes. “I’m certainly old enough to be his mother.

“I can guarantee you that is not what he was thinkin’.” Haymitch assured her.

“Besides,” she continued, pretending to not hear him. “Everyone knows he’s been chasing young Lottie May’s skirts for months now.”

“I thought she was hangin’ ‘round the oldest Cunningham boy?”

“Not anymore…” she said, shooting him a look which told Haymitch she probably knew more about the situation than any other soul in the district.

He’d lived in Twelve his whole damn life, but he’d never known more about the lives of everyone else than he did now. Gossip was essential to Effie. It came to her as natural as breathing. “I’m participating in storytelling,” she would say. “I’m really an oral historian when you think about it.”

And Haymitch had never bothered to argue with that.

Not earnestly, anyway.

Because, honestly, it was entertaining.

Gossiping with Effie was the only way he had survived those long, boring as fuck, games season events. By spending the day shit-talking people with Effie. Making fun of people’s ugly outfits with Effie. Laughing at all the yucky details of Gamemaker’s lives with Effie. So it kinda made sense that these days he passed the walk to town listening to her break down every detail of Lottie May Forsyth’s love life.

And the flirting never stopped at just one.

When they did get to town, Effie flirted with whichever Downey boy was working the vegetable stand that day. They all looked the same to Haymitch. And there was too damn many of them for him to bother differentiating.

She smiled widely and waved when she saw the women at the fabric stall. Haymitch spent a long while standing to the side, waiting while she greeted them all.

“Hello, hello… Caroline, you look so beautiful, is that a new skirt?” she asked while simultaneously bending down to hug Maudie Taupe where she sat, petting the woman’s hair absentmindedly as she launched into all the details about her new sewing project.

That was just Effie.

Touchy, flirty, endlessly charming Effie.

With her weird and magic ability to make anyone blush, any stomach flip, any head turn, regardless of age or gender or whatever the fuck. It was kinda brilliant. Like watching an expert tradesman work his craft.

She paid for her fabrics, pretending to rebuff their offer of a few free yards. A gift for their best and favourite customer. Haymitch knew they’d load her up with the whole damn bolt if she’d let them, paid for with her charms rather than dollars.

Before they left the Hob she bought another ring, one for her thumb which looked to be made outta the end of a spoon. “Only if you think I should…” she said, batting her eyelashes, when the man at the stall asked if she wanted it.

They stopped at the bakery before heading back home. Haymitch saw how the school boys, who’d clearly been disappointed that their favourite bakery lady wasn’t working today, gasped and elbowed eachother when they walked in.

“We’re just taking a few,” Effie called back to Peeta as she breezed behind the counter. “Haymitch is leaving money in the jar!”

The kid always tried to refuse their money but Effie would never let him. Haymitch dropped a twenty in the tip jar while she made quick work of grabbing a few sticky pastries from the display case. She placed them carefully in a box, sucking the left over sugar paste off her pointer finger and thumb. It was enough to give anyone a boner, let alone a bunch of teenage boys, who would probably get hard if the fucking wind blew in the right direction.

Haymitch had no idea what the pastries were for until they stopped at the Garner house on their way back to Victors Village.

Effie chatted with Mrs. Garner, cooed over one of the baby nieces, and gave old man Garner a kiss on the cheek as she wished him a speedy recovery. She left the box of sweet treats on Mrs. Garner’s kitchen table before they left and headed home.

And he doesn’t mind.

People may never believe it, but it was the truth.

Familiarity breeds contempt

Don’t put me in the basement

When I want the penthouse of your heart

“This is why I never come to market with you guys.” Katniss grumbled.

Haymitch and the girl were both standing against the Hob wall, once again, waiting for Effie to be done with whatever she was buying.

“I mean, she takes forever,” the girl continued to complain. “Have you told her that? Does she know she takes forever?”

Haymitch shrugged.

He didn’t really see what the big deal was with waiting. It wasn’t as if they had anywhere else to be. They were all basically retired. Was there a wild turkey in the wood that was so fucking eager to get an arrow in its neck that it couldn’t wait twenty minutes?

“She’s not even buying anything, she’s just talking.”

“I got fuckin’ eyes, you know that right?” he snapped back.

“I’m just saying.” she mumbled under her breath.

They both looked back towards Effie, who was leaning against the candy stand and flirting with Mr. Wilks Granger. His wife, who was also present, didn’t seem that bothered in Haymitch’s opinion. Maybe because Effie was giving her an equal amount of attention and smiles.

“I mean, doesn’t it…”

“What?”

“I dunno, bother you?” Katniss shrugged. “Even just a little bit?”

“Like that girl at the grocer bothers you?” he smirked.

“She doesn’t bother me,” the girl grumbled. “I just think she’s overly friendly with Peeta for no reason.”

“Which is why Peeta never goes to the grocery store alone anymore.”

“Shut up.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say shit, sweetheart.”

“But really,” she said after a minute of silence. Apparently this wasn’t something the girl was just gonna let go. “You don’t mind? Not even a little bit?”

Why should he mind?

Haymitch wasn’t sure it was something Katniss could ever understand, even if he magically found the words to express the inside of his heart. Because, yeah, Effie spent a lot of time flirting with other people. Intentionally and unintentionally. But what did Katniss think happened when they were alone at home? That the flirting suddenly stopped?

It was kinda the opposite, actually.

If anything, Effie was cranked up to eleven when it was just them in the comfort of their own home.

There were little things. Tiny things she would do. Barely noticeable things which Haymitch always noticed because how could he fucking not?

Sometimes when he walked behind her she would arch her back as he passed.

Not every time. It wasn’t an automatic reflex.

But if she happened to notice him passing behind her out of the corner of her eye, behind her while she was standing at the sink or as she was laying out her sewing shit on the floor, she would add an extra little dip to her posture which made her ass impossible to miss. It was model Effie posture. Effie leaning over a Capitol bar while guys argued over which one of ‘em was gonna buy her a drink posture.

Only now it was Effie standing over their sink washing their breakfast dishes with the special soap she bought from the market specifically cause it was pink posture.

Just for him.

Always for him.  

How could he ever be mad about that?

And, of course, she had her less than subtle moments. There were too many to count off the top of his head. Every time she marched into the living room and snatched his book outta his hand. She would toss it carelessly over her shoulder and climb into his lap. There wasn’t a lot in the world Effie was careless about. But, somehow, he had always had the pleasure of being the exception to that rule.

“You’re gonna break somethin’ one of these days, you know that right?” he mumbled, barely managing to get any words in as she kissed him hard, as she breathed into his mouth.

“Haymitch,”

“Mhm?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Haymitch once made her promise that the day he says no to that request was the day that she had to put him down. Smother him with a pillow. Strangle him with her pretty little hands. Whatever. He didn’t fucking care. Because a life where he was too old to fuck Effie on their living room couch wasn’t a life worth living.

There was also the hair brushing.

The damn hair brushing.

See, Haymitch didn’t remember the exact first time he had seen Effie’s hair. It was so long ago, somewhere amongst the years which blurred together in his mind. But even if he didn’t remember the first, he sure did remember being a little breathless over it every single time.

He could stare at her hair for hours.

Honey curls which got all golden when the sunlight hit them just right. Ringlets which she tied back with lace and ribbon bows. Which she braided into little loops behind her ears. Which she held back with headbands and occasionally a kerchief when she didn’t want it to get in her way.  He liked when she would tuck a few locks behind her ears, only for them to come out of place of moment later. He liked when the rest of her hair was up but a few ringlets dangled against the back of her pale neck.

How the fuck had he survived all those years without seeing her hair?

But maybe it made these nights all the sweeter. Those late hours when Haymitch was lounging back in their bed, arm above his head, watching as she brushed and detangled. All shiny in the low lamplight.

“You are an evil, evil woman, you know that?”

“Am I?” she hummed, all faux-innocent. But she knew exactly what she was doing, Haymitch could tell. Effie always knew.  

“Get over here,” he grinned.

She abandoned her mirror and brush, climbing into his lap with a calculating smile.

Sometimes, a lot of the time, it didn’t even have to be proper flirting. Haymitch couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something about all the shit Effie did that drove him insane. Little shit. Completely fucking normal shit. Shit that if it was being done by anyone else he probably wouldn’t give a fuck but because it was her, and because she was her, Haymitch couldn’t look away. She would never know how much it used to make him wanna die. How these days it made him wanna live for-fucking-ever.

Every time she sat on top of the wooden fence and smoked a cigarette while he mucked out the goose coop. She didn’t like the smell and she hated how loud the geese were, but she sat there anyway. For what?

For nothing.

Just to talk and keep him company.

Every time she moved her sewing from the kitchen to the living room only to sit with him in silence. Sometimes she would gasp dramatically and follow it up with a classic Effie ‘Oh my goodness, I need to tell you’ and then she would proceed to tell him some piece of district gossip which was definitely not as important as her gasp had implied.

But it was mostly for the silence, which was fine. More than fine, actually.

Haymitch liked their silences.

Every time she rested her hand in the crook of his elbow when they walked. It was a weird Capitol thing she couldn’t quite shake. That a gentleman should always offer his arm to a lady. That a lady should never walk anywhere alone when a gentleman was present. Haymitch had heard her rant about fucking Capitol social whatevers enough to have them basically memorized. And he may not be a gentleman, but there was no denying that Effie was a lady.

And she was the only person in the whole world he ever offered his arm to.

Every time she used his shoulder as a pillow, whenever she absentmindedly raked her fingers through his hair. Her feet in his lap, her laugh, the one where she threw her head back and actually laughed, when the tip of her nose got pink in the cold winter air, when she was curled up on her side in bed, reading her trashy romance books at a weird sideways angle because she was too tired to actually sit up.

It wasn’t technically flirting. But wasn’t it kinda better than that?

Every single fucking Effie-ish thing she did to the house. Their house. Their house where they lived, and ate, and slept, and laughed, and fed the kids, and kissed, these old walls which had seen nothing but Haymitch’s worst for so many years…

But none of it mattered now.

Because now, Effie tied little lace bows around the rings of their shower curtain.

“What the fuck do we need a pretty shower for? Nobody even sees it.”

“I see it!” she had replied as if it were obvious. “And I want it to be pretty.”

She switched the bows out depending on the season. The snow had just melted, which meant the blue bows of late-winter (which were different than the red and green bows of early-winter) had recently gotten swapped out for spring yellow bows.

It didn’t matter because Effie filled their kitchen cupboards with various sets of dishes and cups despite the fact that they rarely had more than four people in their house at one time. Colourful dishes. Plates with little flowers along the edges, bowls which had little red hearts stamped around their rim. All of Haymitch’s old glasses, cracked and cloudy, got replaced with coloured glass cups of every colour. A fucking rainbow, right there in their dish rack.

And the mugs…

So many damn mugs which came with all sorts of designs. Mugs with stripes, mugs with flowers, mugs with pictures of cute little bunnies wearing people clothes, pink mugs, green mugs, mugs with fruit patterns, mugs with cats who had bows tied around their neck. Effie bought them cutlery that had pretty little designs on the handles, she bought various tea towels, all with pretty designs, and all of which got rotated on a seasonal basis.

It didn’t matter because every room, in their house and the kids, eventually had a quilt in it. A handstitched quilt which Effie had, of course, designed and made herself. When she ran out of rooms and beds to fill, she began selling them in town. Peeta was even trying to convince her to submit them for a ribbon in the District Twelve Fair this year.

She decorated every single surface in their house with framed pictures and little trinkets. She hung dried flowers in their kitchen and put vases of fresh flowers in their living room. Little vintage tins on every shelf, filled with various bits and bobs. Candles in pretty glass candle holders, ceramic statues of women in poofy dresses on their bookshelves, she hung a wind chime on their front porch and embroidered every pillow she could get her hands on.

Because of course she did.

He shoulda never expected anything different.

When she had first come to live in Twelve, Haymitch had worried that she would get bored. That she would hate it. It seemed stupid now, but it was true. After her exciting and sparkly Capitol life, how could she ever be happy in the drab and gray of the districts? How long would it take for her to pack her bags and run back to the city? Months? Weeks?

He didn’t worry about stupid shit like that anymore.

He didn’t worry if she smiled at the vegetable stand boys or if she got a little touchy with the fabric booth women. Because at the end of the day, Haymitch knew it was him. His shoulder she leaned on. His bed she slept in. His fucking shower she decorated with her colourful bows. In Haymitch’s opinion, they had all survived enough bullshit for a damn lifetime.

He knew that, in the end, it was only the real shit that really mattered.

Diamonds in my eyes

I polish up real, I polish up real nice!

And Effie was real.

In some strange, fucked up, roundabout way, she was the realest part of Haymitch’s life. And he got to have every single part of her.

There was so much joy to be found in winter Effie. At least from his perspective there was. With her layers of wool tights and tall socks, he would forever have the privilege of making fun of the fact that no matter how far the temperature fell she absolutely refused to wear pants. In those cold months, she would wrap herself up in her vast closet of bright knit sweaters, her brown miner’s style coat that she’d bought from the Hob and decorated with little bits of embroidery along the pockets and cuffs. Her fingerless gloves, which were more a fashion statement than a practicality. Katniss taught her how to wrap her pink scarf like a hood, over her head and over half her face.

An old district trick.

One which Effie wore every winter without fail, and Haymitch always got the pleasure of tucking the tails of her scarf into her coat when they dangled out.

When the snow melted and the grass grew he got to have summer Effie.

In her light cotton blouses, decorated with lace and frill. The puffed sleeves and the little bows. He liked watching the way her flower patterned skirts danced as she walked, just below her knees. When it came to teasing, his easiest target was the little ruffled socks and single strap shoes she was partial to. He always told her she looked like a mayor’s daughter on school picture day, and she always retorted by saying that Twelve was lucky to have such fashionable mayor’s daughters.

In the summer heat she piled her curls atop her head to keep them off her neck. Haymitch always let her know when a stray ringlet had escaped whatever colourful clip she was wearing that day. He did it by tugging at ‘em. It was funny to watch them uncoil and then jump back into place. Effie always smacked his hand away and called him a heathan but she was never very good at hiding the way she smiled.

She wore beaded bracelets and old rings from the Hob on nearly all her fingers. The summer sun gave her cheeks and the bridge of her nose a pinky tinge after too many hours in the garden. How could he not stare at the dusting of freckles which always cropped up on her soft shoulders?

Haymitch got the pleasure of seeing Effie when she dressed for the rest of the world.

Working-at-the-bakery Effie always wore one of her many aprons or pinafores. “I must look the part, mustn’t I?” she would say. If there was a part to dress for, you best believe Effie was gonna show up dressed for it. That was just common sense at this point. She would leave her rings at home those days because according to her it would be unsanitary to wear them while handling food. Although she made up for it by wearing something around her neck. A necklace or one of her many lockets.

Going-for-a-walk Effie had learned enough about district life by now to know that she needed to wear her short, round toed boots rather than her shoes. He’d taught her that the fields could be muddy, even if they didn’t look it.

Teaching-choir-at the-Twelve-school Effie was when she dressed her fanciest. Her Effie-est, he might say. She always wore her most colourful skirts and dresses because she liked it when the little kids told her that they liked her outfits. She paired them with embroidered cardigans and her little flat shoes that had bows on the toes. Haymitch was pretty sure that the day a kid told Effie that they’d joined choir just so that they could ‘see the pretty lady after school’ was actually the greatest day of her life.

He'd pretended to be offended.

“What? Am I starvin’ you for compliments, princess?”

“No, of course not! They’re just so much better when they come from children,” she had gushed. “That’s simply a rule of society, I’m afraid. Nothing can be done about it.”

Running-across-the-road-to-the-kids-house Effie or dropping-in-on-one-of-the-local-farms Effie, either to drop of a treat or just to say hello, would usually just throw Haymitch’s old coat on over whatever pretty floral dress she was wearing. It was an odd combination, but he liked it.

So perfectly district, and at the same time, so perfectly Effie.

Two things which should have been contradictory, but somehow weren’t.

Visiting-District-Four Effie was a whole different deal. Arms laden with gifts for little Fin, even though he wasn’t so little anymore, she would arrive on Annie and Johanna’s doorstep in what he knew was labeled in her closet room as ‘coastal wear’. It was light and breezy stuff, made for the warmer climates of Four. She wore large, brimmed hats to protect her cheeks from the sun and she always matched her sunglasses to her little three-inch heels.

Now, visiting-the-Capitol Effie…

Haymitch always secretly got a kick outta her calling it ‘visiting’. That place, with it’s skyscrapers and it’s bullshit, had been her home for so long, but it wasn’t anymore. And it hadn’t been for a long time. She dressed in the fashions, mostly to avoid her mother’s nagging. But Haymitch was pretty sure a small part of her still loved it a little bit.

That small part of her precious wardrobe where she kept her carefully tailored dresses, her few expensive wool coats, her matching heels and gloves, her little collection of tiny decorative hats. Her one pearl necklace and her gold cluster earrings. They so rarely made an appearance. Maybe twice a year, on the winter solstice and her mother’s birthday. But it was all worth the trouble of a train ride across the country and a lunch of bitchy insults being flung in his direction.

If he really thought about it, she was worth all the trouble in the damn world.

But, he also got all the Effie’s that the rest of the world didn’t see.

The hidden Effie’s. The ones who she protected from the rest of the world. The ones which she seemed to think were unacceptable for anyone to see. Anyone but him, that is.

There was still-half-asleep-morning-time Effie, who would wander downstairs in the early hours of sunlight, stifling yawns behind her hand and tucking her loose hair behind her ears. The shiny silk robes she used to wear all the time in the Capitol had long been swapped out for more practical ones. A thicker, warmer robe which would actually keep her warm in the cool morning air.

But it was, of course, still pink.

She would sit at the kitchen table, her knees pulled up to her chest and her feet balanced at the edge of the chair. Haymitch would put a cup of black coffee in front of her without a second thought while he sipped at his own tea.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she used to say. “I can get it myself.”

“It’s fine,” he would always shrug. “It’s no trouble.”

Eventually she stopped protesting and just accepted the fact that he would always have a cup of black coffee waiting for her in the morning.

The truth of it was that she rarely remembered to put on her glasses in the morning, and the idea of a sleepy and blurry-eyed Effie pouring her own coffee inspired an irrational fear of her burning herself in Haymitch’s chest. He never said that though. He never said a lot of things. He didn’t need to. The waiting cup of coffee was all Effie ever needed to know what he meant.

They’d drink mostly in silence, listening to the sounds of the wind chime and the geese outside. He loved watching her slowly begin to wake up because it was something he’d never thought he’d be able to do. All those breakfasts they had shared in the Twelve penthouse over the years, he had been eating across from an already awake Effie. An Effie who had her pristine mask of makeup already in place, already bright eyed and corseted, ready to take on the day.

He relished this Effie. It was the only time of day her hair was ever even a little bit messy. Stray curls poking in random directions. She would ask him lazy questions about his day and her voice would be a little lower than it normally was, a little rough around the edges.

And he was the only person in the whole damn world who ever saw it.

There was also late-at-night Effie. On the couch or curled up in an armchair, wrapped in what was often more than one blanket. She would have an embroidery hoop in her lap, or some fucking cheesy romance book with shirtless men on the cover, or she would do a puzzle on the coffee table while some ridiculous soap opera played in the background.

This was the time of day when contacts would get swapped out for pink rimmed glasses.

Her voice would get quieter, more tired. She would roll her wool stocking down and toss them aside. She would pull one of the many sweaters which she’d stolen from his closet on overtop of her dress. The ones whose sleeves fell over her hand.

“Edge piece,” he’d grunt and point. He never meant to do the puzzles over her shoulder, but he always managed to get himself roped in anyway. “Bottom left.”

“I was looking for that one,” she hummed. “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”

But the Effie outfits he loved most came at the very, very end of the day.

Past dinner, past their evenings, past everything. When it was very nearly midnight and they’d finally decided to drag themselves upstairs to bed.

Haymitch had seen his fair share of Effie nightgowns back in the day. Her Capitol nightgowns, short little things of expensive designer silk. Each of them intricately decorated and embroidered, with matching silk robes, matching fucking slippers which had actually just been short little heels with feathers on the toes. They had been so thin and light, Haymitch woulda swore a decent breeze could’ve blown them away.

It was all very different than what Effie slept in now.

They were still nightgowns. Obviously. Just longer, a little thicker. But because her legs would get cold, she would often wear the singular pair of soft flannel pants that she owned underneath said nightgowns.

Haymitch had bought them for her a few years back when she’d been sick in bed with a nasty flu and he’d insisted that she needed a real pair of pajamas. She’d only obliged to the pants because she had been too sick and tired to argue. And because they were pink. He’d been sure to buy the most Effie pair he could find.  

Haymitch was pretty sure she liked them more than she cared to admit.

She wore them nearly all through the fall and winter. Sure, underneath her nightgown in some sort of weird mishmash hybrid outfit that he was apparently too fashion-stupid to understand, but still.

He counted it as a victory.

She also had a specific set of sweaters which were just for sleeping. Thick knitted ones in all sorts of colours which she wore overtop of her white nightgowns. In the deep winter, it became two sweaters. Sometimes there would even be a cardigan layered overtop of that.

She would tie her hair back in a single braid down her back, some sort of half-hearted attempt to tame whatever messiness she knew awaited her in the morning. It hardly made a difference. No matter what she did, there was no keeping those curls in check. But she always did the braid anyway. Tied with one of her stray pieces of ribbon or white lace.

By the time she crawled into bed next to him she was a cozy mess of various knit sweaters, pastel pink flannel pants, the long skirt of her white linen nightgown peeking out from all of it. She would curl up next to him, tucking her cold little hands underneath his body.

How was it possible that someone’s hands could be so cold?

He felt her nose against his cheek as she weaseled over onto his pillow, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. His pillow was the first one she had ever embroidered when she’d first moved to Twelve. It had blue bells and wildflowers.

“Goodnight,” she would hum softly.

“‘Night.”

Then they would lean in for a quick kiss. Like they were fucking married people on an old tv show. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they had done it a million times before, and they would do it a million more times.

 It was disgusting and domestic. Soft and fucking perfect.

He would listen as her breathing slowly evened out. The rise and fall of her chest against his side. Each puff of breath as she exhaled into the crook of his neck.

“I… I fuckin’ love you, Effie.”

She never heard him.

The words never got permanently stuck in his craw these days. But she always seemed to be asleep by the time he actually worked them up from the bottom of his stomach, through his throat and onto his tongue.

She didn’t need to hear him.

Because in her very Effie way, she just knew. She always knew. She knew that he loved her, every single inch of her, from the ribbons and the dresses and the bullshit, down to the fucking marrow. Because it was all her. All of it. None of it was extra. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t some switch that had been flipped the day she was born in that shiny Capitol hospital.

It was just her.

And Haymitch loved her. More than useless fucking words could ever say.