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Haymitch blamed Maysilee Donner.
Maysilee blamed it on the Hennessy.
It was the liquor that gave them the genius plan to apply to every law school in the country in order to convince his beloved Leonore Dove that he wasn’t an unambitious hick that was going nowhere in life. He wasn’t even sure how they’d managed to do it - drunk as they were - but somehow he’d gotten accepted into Duke Law and now sober!Haymitch was having to follow-through on drunk!Haymitch’s scheme.
“You didn’t actually have to go to law school,” Maysilee would remind him whenever he complained about the long nights studying and the assholes that he was forced to spend every day with.
That wasn’t the point. The point was that if Maysilee hadn’t gassed him up about being just as smart as his Oxbridge-bound ex none of this would have happened.
For one thing he wouldn’t be one more bad grade away from flunking Criminal Law. It was admittedly his worst class. There was a certain logic to Contract Law and Torts - none of which was present in Criminal Law.
It also didn’t help that every time that Drusilla Sickle started droning on about mens rea and prima facie doctrine he would get distracted by the way the artificial light made the teaching assistant’s hair look like liquid honey. Or the way that those little pencil skirts hugged her thighs as she crossed and uncrossed her legs during class. It really wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t pay attention to such boring material when Effie Trinket - associate at Snow, Heavensbee & Coin and teaching assistant to the worst lecturer in the history of Duke Law School - was sitting there looking like the hot librarian fantasy brought to life.
He tried not to be too obvious as he tracked her progress around the room, watching the sway of her hips as she walked from row to row passing out papers. If anyone noticed he could blame it on anxiety to get his grade back and not a ridiculous crush that was frankly embarrassing at twenty-two years of age.
Haymitch grimaced as he was handed back their latest assignment - the words See me after class simply written at the top of the page in pink ink. This did not bode well for him.
The time seemed to drag, like it often did in these lecturers. And, as if his day couldn't get any worse, his usual trick of willing away the hours by drawing imaginary lines between the freckles on her skin had been thwarted by a high collared shirt that covered all of his favourite constellations.
As soon as their allotted time was up Drusilla Sickle was out the door. Most of the other students dissipated just as quickly, but there was a small line forming around the desk where Effie was holding court. She lifted her gaze briefly from the student she was talking to, catching Haymitch’s eye as if to remind him to stay put.
When eventually the last of the other students left he made his way down to the front of the room.
“So …,” Haymitch asked uncomfortably, bracing himself for the bad news. He’d scraped by with a B on the last two assignments and wasn’t looking forward to hearing that he was official failing the class.
“Do you want to get a coffee?” Effie suggested. “My brain’s always a little fried after listening to Drusilla go on like that.”
Taken aback as he was, he managed to nod his head and utter an awkward assent. “My treat,” he added because if he needed to beg her for some sort of extra credit assignment then supplying her with caffeine might be a good start. Her lips curved into a small smile and he thought he might actually have forgotten how to breath.
He let her lead the way to the Staff cafeteria and ordered their drinks - black coffee with just a dash of creamer for her and Earl Grey tea for himself - before they settled on a table in a quiet part of the cafe. A part of Haymitch thought he ought to take the opportunity to get to know Effie Trinket while he had the chance, what with him about to flunk out of law school and never see her again. But he was too impatient to waste time on small talk when his entire future might be on the line.
“How bad is it?” he asked her with a pained grimace.
“You are a very pessimistic person,” Effie noted with a thoughtful look.
“I’m realistic,” he countered. “In my experience TAs don’t usually ask you to come see them because they think you’re cute.”
“That I find surprising,” she replied, her voice coming out in a low purr. If the startled look she gave him was anything to go by, she definitely hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
The arrival of their drinks saved him from having to come up with some witty retort. Effie pounced on her drink with a mutter of, “oh thank god”. She probably burned her tongue in her rush to get the caffeine into her system.
“So my essay …?” he prompted when she settled back in her chair. “How badly am I failing?”
“You’re not failing,” she answered. “You actually did really well on that last essay - top of the class.”
“I didn’t cheat,” Haymitch protested, not needing to guess at where this would go next. It wasn’t the first time that some teacher had underestimated him and jumped to the same conclusion - that sort of thing happened a lot when people knew you were a rez kid.
“I admit that was my first thought,” she said, though the look she sent him was apologetic rather accusatory. “But I talked to the other lecturers and they all say you’re acing their courses. Professor Lattier said you’re one of his best students and the other Teaching Assistants had nothing but praises for your class participation.
“Honestly, I was starting to think that I was doing something wrong - like I wasn’t engaging you enough in the tutorials or - “
“It’s not you,” Haymitch cut-in, quick to assure her that she wasn’t the problem. Her tutorials were the only thing that he looked forward to about Criminal Law. They were practically the highlight of his week.
“I just … I can’t seem to wrap my head around it,” he said weakly, flailing a little as he tried to explain his poor performance. “You’re brilliant - obviously. It’s not your fault I’m not gettin’ this.”
She flushed a little at his praise. “You don’t have to say that, Haymitch,” she said politely. “The fact that you are doing so well in the rest of your classes suggests the instruction is at least a little to blame.”
“Yeah but that’s because Sickle is a pompous old fart who can’t be bothered actually explaining anything,” he argued back, not bothering to watch his words or hide his disdain for the professor. Something about Effie Trinket made him feel comfortable enough that he often forgot himself, even in class where he was surrounded by uppercrust assholes.
“If you were teachin’ - “ He trailed off, not sure where he was going with that. If she was teaching he’d probably be just as distracted by her legs half the time, but he liked hearing her talk so much that he’d probably learn something every now and then just by accident.
“Be that as it may,” Effie said, not correcting his summation of Drusilla Sickle’s teaching prowess. “I realised that the problem is the problems.”
She looked so pleased by her explanation that he almost wanted to pretend that he understood exactly what she was saying just to see her beaming like that for a while longer. But she’d clearly caught his confused look and shook her head. “You don’t like defending criminals,” she surmised.
“Does anyone?” he asked. “It kinda seems like the shittiest part of the job.”
Effie leaned forward and he mirrored her posture automatically. He was close enough now to catch a waft of the sweet smelling perfume she always wore. The effect of it was practically Pavolovian at this point, the scent of vanilla alone was enough to make his mouth water.
“Drusilla loves it,” she said in a low voice, like she was imparting a secret. “Her favourite clients are the ones that definitely did it.”
He could see that about Drusilla Sickle. The woman clearly had some kind of god complex and liked to use the law as a weapon, for good or bad. If he hadn’t met her in real life he would have thought someone was talking about a made up caricature of the evil defence attorney.
Neither of them moved back even when Effie began speaking again at a normal volume. “Those other essays were all guilty people that you had to defend,” she said, returning to the topic of his essay. “When you were given an innocent party your defence strategy was so comprehensive there were things in there that I didn’t even think of when we wrote the problem.”
It was Haymitch’s turn to blush at the touch of awe in her voice. “So if I’m not failing and you don’t think I cheated, why did you want to see me?” he asked with an uncomfortable smile.
Effie leaned back in her chair and he had to suppress a frown at the loss of proximity. “Because I don’t think your current grades reflect your comprehension of the course material and I would like to give you the opportunity to correct that,” she said primly, though she was grinning again at her her own cleverness. “I want you to rewrite your previous essays from the perspective of the prosecution, anticipating potential defences and how you would argue against them. I will take an average of the two grades.”
“Really?” he asked in surprise and gratitude.
She nodded. “You’re brilliant - obviously,” she said, echoing his earlier praise. “I think your grades should reflect that.”
“Thank you,” he said in reverent whisper. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, you did buy me a coffee,” she pointed out with a playful grin. “Was that not you angling for some extra credit?”
He gave a hapless shrug. “Am I that obvious?”
“You are not the first student who has tried to flirt and flatter their way into a better grade, Haymitch Abernathy,” she said in a reproachful tone, though her eyes were alight with mischief so he knew she was only teasing him.
“Is the flirting still an option?” he asked, forgetting himself once again.
She shook her head at him, not taking his words to heart. “I expect your essays on Monday,” she said as she finished the last of her coffee, signalling the end of their meeting. His heart sunk a little, not ready to see her go just yet.
“Are you gonna be teaching anything next semester?” Haymitch asked before she could leave.
She frowned at the question. “This is my only class,” she said. “Why?”
It was risky, but taking stupid risks and putting himself out there had already gotten him this far. “You could give me your number,” he suggested hopefully. “In case I have trouble with the material next semester.”
“I’m sure you will have no problems, Haymitch,” she said genuinely and he wondered if she was deliberately ignoring the subtext.
“We could meet for coffee - just to make sure,” he pressed gently.
She blinked. “Are you asking me out?” she asked with obvious surprise.
“Well, yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Unless you - “
“No, I …” Effie began to say, a pretty blush coming to her cheeks again. “I can’t,” she said apologetically. “But if you ask me again - at the end of the semester - I might change my mind.”
“Might?” Haymitch said with a slow grin.
Effie smiled back at him, her eyes bright. “Almost certainly.”