You know, I've read quite a few Hayffie fan fics and let me tell you: they are TRAGIC and DEPRESSING! Like SERIOUSLY can a girl get a little happily ever after? Like WTF! What is WRONG with you people?! I can't take it. Honestly. I'm gonna keep writing good ones, just for MY peace of mind.

I'm not Suzanne. JK Rowling's much better. Well, at least her ghost writer is.

-thamockingjayandpeeta

A knock on his door around sunset interrupted his near peaceful catnap. He opened his eyes, scowling, as the persistent knocking nearly caused his head to split open.

Got damn those blasted kids. How many times did he have to tell him they didn't need to knock? Yes, he had to knock on their door now that the two of them were living together, but there was no one here with him in this house, so for fuck's sake why couldn't they just walk in?

"Fucking shit come in already," he yelled, and he was quite sure his head was about to detach from his body.

"Honestly Haymitch."

Haymitch too a deep breath. "Sweetheart that was absolutely the worst impersonation of Effie I've ever heard," Haymitch said, slowly raising himself up, his head pounding as he did. "Effie would have said that with a lot more hate in her voice."

When he stood up to face Katniss he stood there blinking for several moments.

Because it wasn't Katniss who was slowly walking towards him.

Sighing, Haymitch briefly fluttered his eyes closed and said softly, "How many times are you going to invade my dreams, Princess?"

She faltered and blinked back at him. "Do I… invade them often?"

"Only when I'm not drunk enough. It makes sobriety damn near impossible."

"Are you trying to get sober?"

"Damn near succeeded, up until about six months ago. It's funny how much hasn't changed since the Rebellion. I still get nightmares. Still sleep with a knife. Still scared of the dark. But I recon I coulda dealt with that. The dreams of you, though?" Haymitch shook his long hair, matted and gray, and gave Dream Effie a grimace. "You never looked like this before, though. Normally you're bruised and broken, like when I found you. Sometimes you have on your stupid wig and excess cake along with a big, extravagant, over the top dress. But never like this. Never just… Effie."

She slowly walked up to him and said, "Maybe it's because I'm not a dream."

Haymitch screwed up his face, squinting to try and get a better look at her. She was beautiful. Sunflower gold locks fells to her neck, soft and luscious. She wore minimal makeup: just some eye junk in some light shade of purple—he had no idea what, maybe lavender or lilac or some shit. She wore muted pink of her lips to complete the ensemble. The dress was bold for 12's standards, but for Effie Trinkett it was quite tame: it was an off the shoulder knee-length white dress with large purple flowers to match her eye shadow. She wore simple white heels and the look was finished.

Quite honestly she looked perfect.

How many times had he seen her there, in that spot? Not just in his dreams, but in real life? How many times had she shown up on his doorstep the morning of the Reaping, to make sure he was decent? Nineteen years in a row she came here, to Victor's Village, and forced him to shower and to wear something smart so he'd look presentable.

The last time she'd been here, for the 74th Hunger Game (because at the 75th, Peacekeepers had greeted him instead), he'd gotten a little rough with her after she'd thrown water on his face to wake him. He'd cursed her name and she'd called him an ungrateful git. How many times had she attempted to do right by him, and he not appreciate it?

He hadn't liked her words, so when she left, earlier than usual, he got drunker than usual, and by the time he'd made his way to that stage all he wanted to do was apologize to her.

How it turned into a hug and how he ended up face down off the stage was beyond him.

A lot had transpired between them since then, but just like back then, he was surprised to see her. He had, after all, run her away from him.

Again.

"Effie?" he asked quietly.

She smiled at him, brightening up her pretty face. "Hello, Haymitch."

Suddenly he wished he were clean. He tried to remember the last time he changed clothes. Hell, he tried to remember the last time he had bathed.

As if reading his mind she walked up to him, running her fingers his hair, and said, "You need a haircut."

Surprised that he didn't jerk at the contact Haymitch said the only thing that came to mind: "What are you doin' here?"

"You always were a man a few words," sighed Effie, and she lowered her hand from his head. "I don't really know what I'm doing here, Haymitch. All I know is the past year has been…." Her voice trailed off and a far away look appeared in her eyes.

"It ain't been that bad, Princes. News of your engagement found its way to 12. Didn't even get an invite, did I?"

"How would you know? There's a pile of unopened mail on your dining room table." Haymitch glanced at his table and saw that she was right.

"Oh," was all he said.

"I don't think I'm engaged anymore."

"You don't… wait… what? I'm drunk yet I know that ain't right."

"Isn't, Haymitch." He scowled, but without heat. It's just what they did. She corrected him, he made a face, and then they moved on. "Are you going to offer me a seat?"

"You could of been sat down," muttered Haymitch.

"Perhaps. But I'm a lady and deserve to be offered a seat."

"Alright, quit your bitchin'. Have a seat." Effie frowned at him but nonetheless sat on the very couch he'd just vacated. He sat across from her on top of his table, wishing to God he had a drink.

"I say I don't think I'm engaged anymore because I told Blaize that I was going to the store and would be back in a minute. That was two days ago. Instead of arriving at the store… I ended up here."

He didn't say anything. His silence unnerved her, and she started playing with her hair from nerves. When he didn't respond she stood up.

"Maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn't have come. It was rude of me to barge in on you like this."

She was halfway out the door when he realized that all he'd wanted for the past year was for Effie Trinkett to show up on his doorstep. He stood up suddenly, tripping on air in his drunkenness, and cursing, limped his way to the door.

"Effie!" Haymitch yelled, expecting her to be halfway out of Victor's Village.

"You don't have to shout, Haymitch, I'm right here," said Effie, and he could hear the amusement in her voice.

Haymitch stared at her. "I thought you were leavin'."

"Well I thought I'd give you a few moments to come to your senses."

He was utterly relieved, but he'd be damned if he showed it.

Mistaking his silence Effie said, "If you really want me to go, I'll go Haymitch."

"What I really want is for you to tell me why you're here. Last time I saw you, you said you never wanted to see me again."

"Katniss needed you, Haymitch. I couldn't have you worried about me and trying to help her too. With Peeta staying in the Capitol she needed you way more than I did. Besides, I needed time to heal."

"And Blaize helped you heal, did he?" Fucking shit. Was that jealousy? Still, he stared into Effie's blue eyes, loving that he wasn't distracted by jewelry or butterfly wings or lashes, waiting for a response.

"No, Haymitch," she said sadly, looking away from him. "He was a distraction. Someone to pass the time."

Haymitch followed suit and looked ahead. He could hear his geese in the back making noise.

"Do you know what today is?"

Haymitch sucked in a breath. "The day of the Reaping," he said without looking at her.

"The day of the Reaping," she whispered back to him. "And for the first time, I don't have to send children to their deaths. For the first time I didn't need to be in 12, but here I am. Doesn't that count for something?"

Now he looked at her. "It counts for everything, Princess."

And what could have been a tender moment was ruined when Haymitch bent over the rail and emptied out the alcohol from the day.

He expected her to scold him, and he'd deserve it, really. Instead she sighed softly, gently touching the small of his back. "Come on," she whispered. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She made him shower, which was a good thing, because he had no idea how long it'd been since he had had one. He peeled off his sticky clothes and left them in a pile on the floor. He showered, the scalding heat from the water calming his broken and shaken nerves.

He leaned his head against the tile wall, letting the water pound into his head. He took deep breaths as the panic attack hit him full on.

Breathe, he told himself as he gasped for air. Just fucking breathe. He chanted that over and over again until he finally started to calm down. When he finally had the strength he climbed shakily out of the shower and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that Effie had laid out some clothes for him and put them on the bed.

She used to always do shit like that. He remembered the first time she did this, during their very first Game together, and his reaction had been quite similar: he'd gotten out the shower, stopped in shock, and stared. Then he looked around, at the time feeling violated that she'd been in his room, even if it were to lay out presentable clothes so that he would look decent to their Tributes. Now he looked around in shame. His room was a mess, his sheets stained, clutter all over the floor.

Yet he couldn't find it in himself to really care. He was mentally drained.

So he did the only thing he could do: got dressed and climbed into bed. He was asleep in seconds.

XxXxXx

A strangled, familiar cry woke him up out of his slumber. He sat up, his hand slashing the dark, cool air with his knife, until he realized he was alone, and that the sound wasn't coming from his bedroom, but downstairs.

Downstairs.

Effie.

He scrambled out of bed, tripping on one of his many bottles and stubbing his big toe in his haste. Cursing he made his way downstairs only to find Effie, on top of his couch, barefoot but still in her dress, without cover, the lights on. She was tossing and turning and her skin was clammy

She flinched, and then moaned, and his heart broke.

Ah, fuck.

She was having a nightmare.

He knew to be gentle, because if he shook her awake he'd frighten her to death. So he gingerly sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. "Effie," he whispered. She moaned, her face screwed up. "Effie, wake up now, okay?" He had to bite back the panic and force himself to keep calm. "You're okay. It's not real. It's not real."

When she didn't wake he started to calmly shake her.

"Please," she pleaded, her voice filled with fright. "Please don't hurt me."

"Jesus, Effie, fucking wake up," snapped out Haymitch, shaking her even harder, and finally she did, a scream on her lips. "It's okay, Princess," and he had already scooped her in his arms, and his anger at the Capitol was tenfold as she trembled. "It was a just a nightmare. You're safe."

She was the only one he could have sympathy for. Katniss had known what was at stake. He'd warned her, hadn't he? And Peeta? Well, Peeta was stronger than anybody Haymitch knew. But Effie? Effie was innocent in all of this. Her information had been very limited, though she was brilliant, and had never let on that she understood more than they thought.

The Capitol had had no business taking her, but they had, and they had destroyed her.

Or at least tried to. She was frail on the outside, but deep down there was a fighter in Effie Trinkett, which is why she didn't shed a single tear, even if she was shaking like a leaf.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" he asked her, a little more roughly than he'd intended.

"You were sleep, Haymitch, and it'd be rude to just impose."

Haymitch let out an annoyed sigh and bit the inside of his jaw. "You'll freeze to death down here." He helped her up and led her upstairs to one of the many guest bedrooms. The door squeaked as he opened it. He walked into the spare bedroom, proud of himself at how clean it was. Well of course it was clean. He never came in here. "I'll be right back," he told her.

"Don't leave me, Haymitch," she said softly, and he froze.

"I'm just going to my room to get you a change a clothes and a drink."

"I don't need a drink."

"Well I fucking do," said Haymitch with malice. "You think it's easy seeing you like this, all frail, broken, and bruised? I hate it. I really fucking hate it, Effie. Do you know what it's like?"

"Probably the same as seeing you passed out drunk every day for twenty years, not knowing if this was the day alcohol poisoning was going to kill you." She'd said it so calmly, but it felt like a knife in his throat. He opened his mouth to retaliate but Effie interrupted him. "Oh shut up, Haymitch, and just come to bed. It's late."

He stared at her for several moments, and then finally said, "Should I keep the light on?"

"No," she said quietly. "I know I'm safe with you."

He turned off the light and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He walked over to the other side of the bed and lay on top of it. A few seconds later Effie stood up. He could only make out her silhouette but it didn't take long for him to realize what she was doing.

The sound of her unzipping her dress was magnified in the quiet of the night. He kept his eyes on the ceiling when he realized she had taken off her underwear, and then held his breath when he heard her unclasp her bra.

By the time she crawled into bed and climbed on top of him, blood was pounding in his ear.

"Princess," was the only thing he was able to get out before her lips met his.

She tasted just like he remembered: like strawberries and vanilla. He allowed himself to get lost in the kiss, until he tasted salt from her tears.

He gently pushed her back. "Effie, are you sure? You're pretty fucked up right now."

"I'm much better now than I was our first time, Haymitch."

And that was enough for him.

His clothes were gone. They couldn't get them off fast enough, and he vowed he'd never wear clothes again, because he needed to get to her, get to this exquisite creature, and quickly.

It wasn't fragile like the first time, but frenzied and desperate, and a little rough. Nails dug into skin, teeth bit into flesh, and lips were red and swollen.

When she sunk down on him he temporarily went blind. He also forgot how to speak, because the only sound he could make was a low moan as his back arched up off of the bed.

"Jesus fucking Christ woman," Haymitch was finally able to say.

"Langauge, Haymitch," murmured Effie, and he arched an eyebrow. Oh, he'd teach her a thing or two about language.

She rocked back and forth for several moments, achingly slow, before Haymitch had had enough of her teasing. Using his strength he flipped their positions. Effie squealed, tightening her legs around his waist.

"Too slow," he grunted, and planted her flat on her back before changing the rhythm. He entered her deeply, and swiftly, burying his face in her neck.

She smelled heavenly.

"Oh, God, Haymitch," she groaned, clawing at his back. He felt her slide her legs even tighter around his waist, and he slid in even deeper, causing her back to arch.

He felt the animal instinct as the pleasure took over, and he found himself pounding even faster, and a little harder. He heard her gasp, and then moan, and he changed positions so he could see her.

Their eyes locked, their bodies moving together as she met him, thrust for thrust. After a while he took her hands and lifted them above her head.

She squirmed for a while, her breath quickening.

"Let me touch you," she whispered into the night, but he ignored her. "Haymitch, I want to touch you."

As if he couldn't hear her he tightened his grip on her hands and brought his lips to her neck. She sucked in a sharp breath and allowed the pleasure to overtake her. Pretty soon her hips were actually lifting up off of the bed in order to meet his own thrusts.

"Cum for me, Effie," said Haymitch darkly. "Can you cum for me?"

"Yes," she panted. "God yes." He went in deeper and faster, and she moaned loudly, and then, for a few moments, all that could be heard was the slapping of their flesh and the headboard hitting the wall. "Haymitch," she moaned. "Yes. Oh God. Fuck. Fuck. Shit."

She released and he quickly followed, spilling all of himself into her. He continued to thrust into her until every single drop had found its way inside of her. He dropped on top of her, knowing he was dead weight, but he was unable to care for fear that he was having a heart attack.

When he was sure he could speak again he finally rolled off of her.

"Language, Effie," he told her with a smirk, and he got an elbow in the gut for his cheekiness.

He grinned, even as sleep washed over him. Effie cuddled up next to him and his arm automatically wrapped around her.

No nightmares would plague them tonight.

XxXxXx

When he woke up the next morning she was gone. He sat up, quickly, and looked around.

"Effie?" he called, but he was greeted with silence. There was absolutely no evidence that she'd ever even been here: no dress on the floor, no heels next to the bed. It didn't even smell like her.

Fucking dream. That's all it was. Must have been a damned good one too. He was completely naked.

He slipped on his boxers, not even bothering to look for his sweatpants and shirt. He made his way to his bedroom to find the nearest bottle he could. He had just taken a long sip when he heard a squeal.

He raced downstairs, his heart hammering, expecting to see Effie in the kitchen.

Except he was still alone.

He shook his head, as if to shake the dream from his brain, when his back door opened.

"You creatures are as insufferable and rude as the man who owns you," she said in her cool, clipped Capitol voice. With that she closed the door, noticing him for the first time.

She wore her hair clipped back. Her face was completely bare, and he thought she looked stunning. The mystery of where his sweatpants and crewneck had gone was now answered: she wore both, the shirt too large and dangling down to her knees, the sweatpants baggy and rolled several times over at the waist.

She'd never looked lovelier.

"I hate your geese, Haymitch," were her first words to him.

"They're a lot like me, so give them a chance to warm up to you, and they'll love you."

She smiled at him and they walked towards each other.

"What is it, Haymitch? You look worried."

"I… I thought you were gone. That last night was some dream."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry I didn't wait for you to wake but I wanted to get an early start on cleaning. I just came back from taking out the trash when your geese tried to eat me."

He pulled her into him, burying his face in her neck. He wanted to memorize this smell forever; the essence of Effie: strawberries and vanilla.

"I was only joking, Haymitch, I highly doubt geese eat humans." Haymitch snorted but didn't let her go, and, understanding, Effie hugged him back. "It's okay. I'm here now."

"For how long?" asked Haymitch, his lips on her forehead.

"For as long as you'll have me. But only on one condition." She pushed him back and looked him in the eye.

"I can give up the bottle, Princess. I can even cook a coupla nights out the week. I can pick up after myself. Whatever you want."

Effie blinked at him. "Right. Okay. Yes. But also… don't walk on eggshells around me, okay? I'm okay. I'm not glass."

"I recon you've proven that much to me."

"My train for the Capitol leaves tonight, but I'll only be gone a day and a half. I just need to pack a few things and return Blaize's engagement ring." He opened his mouth to retaliate but she kissed him. "Relax, Haymitch. A day and a half. Use the time to enjoy your bottles. When I come back, I'm getting rid of them all."

He didn't drink, though. Instead he spent that day and a half cleaning up the rest of the house, particularly his bedroom. He got rid of everything and started anew. When Katniss and Peeta watched him bringing in groceries and new linens from their bay window he smirked.

They'd find out soon enough.

He tried to keep the panic at bay when Effie wasn't back by the third day. Maybe she had changed her mind. That wasn't a bad thought. It was better than the alternative—that something had happened to her.

The fear was always there, always in the back of his mind, and probably always would be, but he'd give her a few more days before he made his way to Capitol. He'd search every nook and cranny for Effie Trinkett until he found her.

She found him painting and repairing the fence in the backyard to keep the geese in their proper place. He sensed her long before he saw her. It was a gust of wind, and it blew her scent to him.

His back stiffened and he slowly turned around.

Gray Seam eyes met blue Capitol eyes, opposites in so many ways, but alike in so many others. She looked stunning in a summery yellow dress, a gold zipper in the front, plain by Effie's standards, but so brilliant in 12. Her hair was down, her face plain, and she wore nude pumps.

He was relieved. Utterly and totally and completely relieved.

"What in the fuck took you so long?" She had told him not to walk on eggshells, so he didn't beat around the bush.

She arched an eyebrow. "Well if somebody had a working phone I could have called you to tell you I'd be late. Getting my affairs together took longer than I thought."

He gritted his teeth, debating between ignoring her and going back to painting his fence or running up and kissing her every place imaginable.

"You're upset," she said. "I wonder how I'll ever make it up to you." And then she turned around and walked back in the house, but not before unzipping her dress.

Haymitch dropped the paintbrush and made his way into the house, nearly tripping over Effie's suitcases as he tried to get up the stairs. In his haste to get to his bedroom he ended up passing her.

She was waiting for him in the hallway, so he took her right there, against the wall.

Afterwards they slid to the floor, exhausted.

"Welcome back, Princess."

"It's certainly good to be home," she said with a smile.