Hello everyone :) Effie and Haymitch slowly started to grow on me a few weeks ago, and I can't help but picture them as a couple. Well, they are not together in this fic, but I guess there might be a little something between them.

This is my very first fic + English is not my native language, so forgive me for all the mistakes. Oh, and reviews are very welcomed :) It might be a multi-chapters if you guys find it interesting enough ! Thank you you wonderful people ! 3

Chapter 1 : The inhuman robot and bad mannered man.

The 73rd Hunger Games, day 1.

"Haymitch Abernathy."

An angry pair of high heels suddenly breaks his bubble of silence and he groans. Clap clap. Damn woman.

"Haymitch, how much of a prat can you be? Your case is so desesperate it makes me want to vomit."

"Get lost, Trinket" he replies in an angry yet sleepy voice. Covering his eyes with his left hand, he tightens his grip on his bottle with the other, almost wishing he could bury it into his chest to secure it from the woman standing before him.

"Look at me, Haymitch", Effie Trinket demands. Her voice is slightly shaking with anger and hatred, and something in it pushes Haymitch to obey. With a wince he removes his hand from his eyes and look up at her. She stands ten inches away from him, her hands on her hips, looking – as usual – incredibly stupid in those pink, Capitol clothes. Her orange wig and bright makeup are on, too.

"What do you want, Trinket?" Haymitch asks. He tries to stand up, not liking the way he has to raise his eyes to look at her, but the alcohol in his veins takes the better of him and he falls back on the carpet.

"Look at how pathetic you are," says Effie, rolling her eyes. "Don't you know you are supposed to be with the tributes right now? They are waiting for you to tell them how they can manage to stay alive, remember?" With a disgusted wince she bends over and grabs him by the shoulder. "Come on, get up."

"Leave me off", he replies angrily, jerking away from her touch. "I don't want you to come and baby sit me"

"Believe me Haymitch, if it was up to me I wouldn't even talk to you."

"Nobody told you to do so," he says. He was naturally stronger than her, and he easily manages to get away from her grip. With an angry face he stands up before her, staggering a little and, looking straight into his eyes, he takes a glup of alcohol.

"Give me this bottle," she orders, holding out her hand. He gives her a nasty look.

"I'm not listening to you any more,'' he replies, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You are a stupid and cold-hearted woman from the Capitol. I only take orders from intelligent and human people." She flinches at his comment and for one second he's glad to see hurt reflecting on her face. But she quickly puts herself together.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Haymitch" she snaps back, pointing a finger at him. "You know you are the only chance for those kids to stay alive. You can't let them..."

"Oh oh," he sniggers "here, are you actually showing out some feelings? Do you actually care for those kids?" She simply stares at him, slightly taken aback. "I didn't know you were able to care for anyone, Trinket. You're showing some improvement here."

Effie's brows join in an angry frown as she snaps back "I wish you drown in your own vomit, Haymitch!" And then, she angrily steps away from him. "I'm done with you," she hisses. "Do whatever you want, it's none of my buisness anymore. I just hope you are proud of yourself."

He laughs as he watchs her clear the room, her hands angrily clenched in two solid fists. "Manners, Haymitch, manners!" he laughs, mimicing her Capitol accent. She doesn't answer.

When she gets back to the room where the tributes await, she finds them in the same position as they were before she leaves. The boy, a thin, dark-haired fourteen boy from the Seam nervously plays with his fork. The girl, one year older, her hair cut short and her eyes vacant, sits on a chair next to the window and seems lost in the contemplation of the landscape. Both are silent and still.

"I'm sorry," says Effie, making the girl jump, "but I'm afraid your mentor won't talk to you today." She doesn't give further explanations, guessing they probably don't want them anyway. The boy doesn't seem to be able to look at Effie, but the girl slowly turns her head and stares at her, a frigthened, cold glance full of fear and hatred. Damn you, Haymitch, Effie tells to herself. You can say the man was the girl's last hope.

"Will he come and see us tomorrow ?" asks the girl. "Or will he shut himself in his wagon for the whole journey?" Her voice is almost agressive.

"Well, you still can go and try to make him leave his bottle," answers Effie. She doesn't like the tone of the girl. As if she actually blames her for Haymitch's lame condition.

"That's not my job." says the girl before turning her head and leaning it against the windowpane. Effie feels a wave of anger take over her. First Haymitch, now the girl are showing a lack of respect towards her. And she can't help herself but not tolerate it.

"That's not mine either," she replies in an angry voice. "I'm here to escort you to the Capitol and then to the Games, not to take care of a drunkyard. He is your problem, not mine." She keeps silent after that, slightly ashamed of herself. The girl is no longer looking at her, nor talking. Actually, she looks like a weak ghost, trapped in its grave. Effies sighs, before walking away from them. For some reason, she can't stand staring at them. Poor, unfortunate kids. She had been wrong and mean with the girl. None of this was her fault. Damn you, Haymitch, she repeats to herself.

She used to be in an happy mood during the Games, or at least she succeded in pretending to be. Well, everybody could tell she was an excellent escort. Punctual, fashionable, talkative, ambitious, passionnate and funny, she had everything a tribute can wish for. But this was before she met Haymitch. Before meeting this drunk, once-upon-a-time victor from District 12. This man is a pain in the arse, she can't find other words to describe him.

She remembers the day they met. She had slept in the train and was feeling both excited and anxious at the idea of meeting the mentor of District 12. Her first sight of the place made her want to vomit : dirty streets in which were strolling dirty people with a nasty look on their face. Well, it was definitely not heaven here, and she couldn't understand – she still can't – how people can be that bad mannered. The houses in the Victor Village were – at least – clean, white and large, providing her a bit of relief. But she wasn't ready for the man sleeping inside.

Leaning on a table, his hair all messed up and wet, sweat stood out on his forehead, both of his hands were clutching a big bottle of a slightly brown liquid Effie identifies as liquor. She couldn't help but wince. The air inside was incredibly hot and muggy, damping her skin, but the worst was the smell. With each breath she took she wanted to throw up. Trying not to look at the mess around her, she took a few steps towards the man, not daring to shake his shoulder to make herself notice.

"Er, excuse me?" she tried, her voice hoarse. "Mister Abernathy," she said a little bit louder, "I'm sorry to bother you but..."

"Then don't." were his very first words to her. With a sigh he grabbed his bottle and lifted it to his mouth. She watched as drops of liquor fell on his face and rolled onto his neck.

"I'm sorry," she said again, "but you have to get ready. They are probalby all waiting for us, and I don't want to be late."

He looked at her with a somewhat deranged look, frowing as he was trying to recognize her. "Who are you?" he groaned.

"I'm Effie Trinket, the new escort. Nice to meet you." she held out a hand to him, which he stared at absently. "Now I really don't want to push you, but if you do not hurry we.."

"Leave me in peace, will you?" he said, but he stood up anyway. Well, he didn't stay on his feet for a long time because a second later he collapsed on the carpet with a loud boom. She desesperately looked at me, wondering what on earth she had done to deserve such a partner.

"Don't look at me like this," he says, rising up. "You can wait outside, I'll be ready in a minute."

Effie immediately walked to the door, longing for fresh air, but she suddenly stopped in her tracks, looking at the man with a doubtful glare. First, she was surprised he could remember which day it was, and which event they were going at, but she was also doubting he could take care of himself. She wasn't going to baby sit him anyway, so she just stood at the threshold, watching as he mumbled obsenities under his breath.

"I told you to get out, Madam Trinket," he said.

"Miss." she corrected. "I'm not that old."

"I don't know. I can't see your face beneath all that makeup."

"Maybe you could if you were not that drunk." she replied bitterly.

Both of the District 12 tributes came from the Seam. They both cried when they said their goodbyes, they both stayed silent as Effie informed them about their schedules, and they both looked lost and very small as they entered the train. But they both ate heartily, and despite Effie's orders they ignored the knifes and forks on the table. Haymitch, seated on a chair next to them, seemed absent, but Effie could swear he occasionally frowned at her.

She found out the girl from the Seam was really pretty. She had a tan skin, dark curls, and her eyes, although scared and uncertain, had something fascinating and charming about them. Her name was Lana. For a while, Effie managed to forget Haymitch, letting him alone in his room, supposing he had passed out somewhere when he wasn't attending a training. She spent most of her time with the tributes, trying to make them laugh, enjoying their compagny, trying to make Lana look more and more beautiful with each day passing.

Both tributes from District 12 died in the bloodbath of the first day, never making it to the Cornucopia. She cried for their death, seated on a couch next to Haymitch. She used to enjoy watching tributes die : it was such a good show. But this time, she had known them. She loved the girl. And watching her die was not entertainment but sheer horror. Haymitch turned off the TV and grabbed his bottle, letting her cry, her face buried in the couch pillow.

"Well, it's over now." he says numbly. "Your little dolls are out of the game."

She winces at his comment. "Haymitch..,can't you...be n-nice for once?" she let out between her sobs. Not that she wanted him to comfort her, but he could at least try to be kind.

"Sorry princess." he says sarcastically. "You better not cry though, it will only get worse with the years." And then he stood up and left the room. The next day he was on the train back to District 12, now useless in the Capitol.

As Haymitch said, the second year had been worst than the first. This time Effie tried not to pay too much attention to the tributes, knowing she will have to see them die, but she failed lamely. She started to understand why Haymitch drinks that much. It's his way to forget. She started to get attached to him. One night he was nowhere to be seen, she decided to look out for him. She found him dead drunk in a corridor, his liquor bottle still clenched in his hands. She still couldn't dare to touch him, so she called out an Avox and flew to her room. This year, the boy made it to the third day, but he died dehydrated for no sponsors would send him water. She blamed Haymitch for his death for days.

The third year she did touch him. To tell the truth, he was the one who made the move. He suddenly grabbed her hand as they were watching a fight between their tributes and another one. She tensed but didn't complain. He obviously was too drunk and too preoccupied by the fight to even realize he had reached for her. She didn't let go of his hand once the fight was over though, enjoying his warm fingers curled around hers, and when he fall asleep on the couch, she slowly got away from him, not daring to wake him up.

And now they are on their fourth year together, hating each other. He wondering why he is even here. She trying not to think too much, and loving the Capitol nevertheless. He can't understand her and thinks she's just a heartless, horrid, inhuman robot from the Capitol. She thinks he's a drunk, lost, stupid and bad mannered man from a creepy District.

When she checks on him by early evening, she finds him staring through the window, leaning on the hand-rail. He surprisingly looks sober.

"Haymitch." she calls him softly. He's quite long to react. Finally, with a sigh, he turns his head to look at her. He had always been good at hiding his feelings, so she's genuinely surprised to see hurt and worry reflecting on his eyes. He holds his gaze for a few minutes before lowering his head with another sigh.

"What do you want, princess?" Here again. The nickname he gave her is always pronounced with mockery and sarcacism. She hates it when he talks to her this way. As if she means nothing at all.

"The kids." she answers in a cold voice. "They need you Haymitch, and you are not with them." She leans on the hand-rail next to him as she continues. "Do you realize you are their only chance to survive ? If you do not stop drinking and let them on their own, they won't make it. They won't make it Haymitch, unless you help them."

"Come on Effie, do you think me teaching them how to survive will help? They will die anyway." he says bitterly.

"Well, I guess it'll give them hope. At least they'll be able to hope that they have a chance."

He considers what she's said in silence. "Whatever." he says, for one second allowing himself to meet her eyes. "That won't prevent them from dying in the end."

Why is he sounding so desesperate? wonders Effie. She doesn't allow herself to think he's sad - no, devastated, at the idea of losing another pair of tributes. Because she's an escort, and she must not think like that.

"You're being over dramatic Haymitch," she says in an annoyed tone.

"Oh yes, forgive me." he mocks. "I momentarily forgot that the very aim of the Games actually is their death. How could I forget ? Of course I have to be with them, teach them how to survive so they get stronger and can offer a better show!" Effie takes a step away from him. His cheeks are red with fury and he's looking at her in such a way that she feels suddenly scared. "You know Effie, I don't want to be a piece in the Games." he spits at her. "I don't want to teach them how to kill their fellow tributes. And, by the way, I trully wish they will die in the arena, so that they won't have to deal with all the hell that suddenly surrounds you once you've have won !"

His voice is so loud now that Effie fears the tributes may hear him. She raises her hands, telling him to calm down, when a cough both makes them jump. Here is the boy, standing right before them. Effie can feel Haymitch freeze beside her, and she easily can understand why. Even if he means what he said, he probably didn't want the tributes to hear it. But the only thing the boy says is "Will we be arriving soon?" They both are sightly taken aback by his question. The boy quietly stares at them, waiting.

"We'll enter the Capitol tomorrow by late morning." answers Effie in a soft voice. The boy stares at them for while, almost shyly, before turning on his heel and walking away. Effie turns over and pretends to be lost in the contemplation of the landscape, not willing to talk to Haymitch after his outburst. She can hear him getting his breath back.

"How long do you think he will last?" he asks.

"Oh please," she sighs, " I don't want to talk about it."

He slowly turns is head towards her. "What? I thought you loved that." he says in a soft, snappish, cruel voice that makes her blush. She wants to slap him for his comment, she really does, but something in his eyes dissaudes her from doing so. She doesn't know, really; it's a mix of anger, hurt, desesperation and hatred. But there's something nice and sweet about it too.