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Haymitch was scowling down at a cup of tea. Effie had placed it in front of him in an attempt to ease the hangover he had woken up with, but the sharp zing of ginger hit his nostrils, and he had to push it away before it made his stomach revolt.
Just a few more hours on this train, and he would be free of anything Capitol-related for another year. This year's Hunger Games had been particularly brutal: it had been a desert arena which alternated between blazing hot during the day, and plummeting below freezing at night. There had been little in the way of protection for any of the tributes to seek shelter in, and tents had been a high-priced commodity that neither he nor Effie had managed to gain enough sponsor money for. The tributes from District 12 had done better than he had anticipated, given the circumstances, but it could have been due to the fact that that the odds were against every tribute that year. Even the Careers had struggled. The games had been labeled a public failure, and were criticized by Capitol and District alike for being incredibly boring, and a waste of time. Haymitch guessed there had been firings (or worse) among the gamemakers, and he suspected Seneca Crane would finally receive the position of Head Gamemaker, which he had been campaigning several years for.
The only upside to the dismal games this year, was that Haymitch wouldn't be so judged by the rest of District 12 for his neglect, because no mentor had been very successful that year. The winner had been horribly sun-poisoned and weak, dehydrated despite having a high number of sponsors, and had taken quite a long time to recoup and upon arrival at the Capitol. The victory party needed to be delayed until their sunburn had faded from Lobster Red to Acceptable Tan.
"Do you have plans for the rest of your summer?" Effie asked, depositing a chocolate chip muffin in front of Haymitch.
"What kind of a question is that?" He grumbled, picking at the fussy paper around the bottom of the muffin, ripping the design apart.
"I'm just trying to make polite conversation."
"How about we enjoy the silence? Is that something you're capable of?" The thumping in his head was agony, agitated by Effie's voice and boisterous energy. He longed to retreat to his bed, but he knew Effie would continue to take care of him if he stayed near her. Having someone to fuss over him was comforting, and no one besides Effie had taken care of him since he was sixteen. Well, fifteen, really, as he had only spent a few hours of that year with his mother before he was sent to the Capitol. He knew if he complained enough, Effie would coddle him in her way; he would lap it up while grumbling endlessly, never admitting he craved it. It was their dance, and they had been doing it for eighteen years.
"Fine," she flipped open the cover of a glossy Capitol magazine that he knew she would give him before he departed the train.
There was a brief but luxurious silence between them when Haymitch swallowed several painkillers he had found next to the muffin. He let his head loll back against the back of the chair, thinking a nap might be in order, when there was a sudden screeching of metal, a blaring alarm, and then he and Effie were thrown to the ground.
It took a moment's adjustment to adjust to the scene. The lights were flickering, and the floor was littered with tableware, food, and overturned furniture.
"Haymitch? Are you alright?" Effie was hastily pushing herself up and crawling towards him, careful to avoid a broken glass. She took his chin in her hand and looked down into his face to assess any immediate injury. Her wig was askew.
"I think so. What the hell happened?" He sat up, thankful the table was bolted to the floor so he could pull himself up with it, then offered Effie his hand.
"I'm not sure." She went to the window, and looked out past the curling white smoke floating past. "It looks like we're still in District 3. We must have hit something."
Haymitch was righting their chairs when the door to the train car was pushed open by one of the peacekeepers.
"Are you hurt, Miss Trinket?"
"No. I'm perfectly fine, thank you."
The peacekeeper then looked at Haymitch, "Alright, Haymitch?"
Haymitch massaged his shoulder, which had hit the floor with blinding painful force, and nodded.
"There was an automobile on the tracks, and we didn't see it in time," the peacekeeper explained.
"Oh, goodness. Was anyone inside?" Effie asked.
"Unsure. We need to evacuate the train and perform a maintenance check."
Effie and Haymitch stood together with several crew members a safe distance from the train while the peacekeepers got in touch with the Capitol.
"It's a good thing we broke down close enough to civilization, isn't it?" One of the women, whom Haymitch discovered had made the pastries, said. Haymitch hated to agree; among their contributions to the Capitol was maintaining transportation. "I can't imagine what would happen if we had been in a more remote area!"
Effie nodded in agreement, fanning herself with her hand. "I wish I had thought to take a parasol."
"Take off your jacket," Haymitch grumbled, "then you won't be so hot."
The pastry chef and the dinner chef snapped their attention to Haymitch. They were not used to a district man, regardless of status as a victor, speaking to a Capitol woman so gruffly.
"Haymitch, it's noon—I will burn," Effie bit back.
"Better than heat stroke," he thought bitterly about this year's arena.
"I'm sure we'll be back on the way soon," she said, in her most optimistic voice.
Haymitch pushed a strand of damp, sweaty hair out of his eye. "Have you seen the state of the train? We're not going anywhere soon, so you may as well get comfortable." It was lucky that the front two cars comprised of machinery, or the conductors would have been trapped inside the first car, or worse. The impact from whatever they hit had done significant damage.
"Excuse me," the dinner chef snapped at Haymitch, "do not speak to her like that."
"He's alright," Effie reassured him before Haymitch could throw back a sharp retort to mind his own business. "You know how they can be in the districts," she murmured wisely, and the head chef nodded, letting out a harsh bark of laughter in agreement. Once her back was turned to the other man, Effie gave Haymitch an apologetic wince at her need to keep up appearances.
Haymitch rolled his eyes at her in response.
It took over an hour before help came, and the Capitolites were wilting in the sun. Haymitch had taken off his button-down and was holding it over Effie to keep her shaded while she sat on a rock, blazer draped across her lap. This act of chivalry seemed to earn him a little more respect from the chefs, who kept eyeing him warily, lest he turn barbaric in the heat and harm his escort. How different they would feel if they knew Effie was so much stronger than she looked; she could run farther and faster in towering heels than he could run sober, and in all the proper attire, she had physically heaved him into countless cabs, and on one memorable occasion, wrestled him to the ground to remove a booze bottle from his grip when he had mouthed off one too many times. It had taken him weeks after that event to shake some rather conflicting feelings about the strength of her thighs wrapped around his waist.
Two vans and three trucks arrived, bringing Peacekeepers and district workers.
"You all will be going to the Mayor's house while we wait for word on accommodations," the head peacekeeper for the district told the stranded group.
"Accommodations?" Effie asked, getting to her feet.
"I'm afraid we have to tow this train back to the Capitol, ma'am. They won't be able to get another out today, so you'll stay overnight in 3."
"What about the tributes?" Haymitch asked.
"The corpses," the man sneered, "will stay here, then be transferred to the next train when it arrives." It was amazing how their tone always changed when addressing Capitolites, versus District. Haymitch wondered if that was part of their training.
"Then I'm going with them back to the Capitol." Fear prickled up his spine at the thought of their coffins unaccompanied now that they were back in his care.
"Don't be ridiculous," the head peacekeeper said.
"It's my job to ensure that they get back home to their families," Haymitch drew himself up to his fullest height, which gave him a few inches over the peacekeeper.
"Really? I thought your job was kicking back in the house the Capitol gave you, with your monthly wages fueling your drinking habit, and letting your tributes flounder each year, Mr. Abernathy."
"Peacekeeper Hajo!" Effie's voice cut through the humid air like a knife, and both men turned to look at her. "That is uncalled for! I agree with Haymitch. The tributes must not be transferred without one or both of us present. This is the final part of our duty to the games. You understand, I am sure."
It was too hot, he was too hungover, and too livid to appreciate Effie coming to his defense in that moment. He made a mental note to thank her later.
It took several moments of back-and-forth before it was decided that the Capitolites, and Haymitch would travel in one of the peacekeeper vans, while the coffins would be loaded into another. Both would go to the mayor's house while the train was seen to.
It was a longer journey than they anticipated, lasting close to two hours. Haymitch hadn't been to 3's district center since his victory tour. He remembered little of the trip, but he had flashes of memory of Plutarch dousing him in cold water to try to sober him up, collapsing in ugly sobs of guilt when he saw Beetee, and throwing up on Effie's shoes. All in all, not fond memories.
He wondered, briefl, if they would join Beetee in the Victors Village that night, but were quickly informed that they were being put up in the Mayor's home. It was closer, they were assured, than Victors' Village, and would be easier for them to be brought to the train station the next morning.
Mayor Danbridge had several children who were made to bunk up for the night, but they were still short on rooms. Haymitch didn't know how it happened, or how they were meant to avoid scandal (if anyone even cared), but he and Effie found themselves assigned to the same room with one bed.
"I'll sleep on the floor," Haymitch said. Hell, he'd sleep outside if he had to.
"Don't be silly, Haymitch. You probably need sleep more than I do, considering you were up so late last night and felt so ill this morning."
"And you're going to do what, sleep standing up?"
"Oh, no, I'm sleeping in a bed, but we can surely share?"
"We -share?" The bed would be cramped for two adults, unless they were intimately close with each other. Haymitch felt a clenching in his lower belly, but could not understand why. He had been unconscious around Effie countless times. He had slept next to her on the couch while the games were on. Surely this wasn't too different.
"Of course. We'll go tops-to-tails; I did it plenty of times at sleepovers with friends when I was a girl."
"We'll what now?"
"One of us will lie the proper way, and one of us will lie opposite."
"You want my feet in your face?"
"Not particularly, but do you have a better suggestion? I would say a pillow divider, but we don't seem to have the luxury of extras."
As his thoughts swirled, the idea of sleeping on the floor began to sound hideous, and his back ached at the thought. He jerked his head in agreement, knowing Effie would politely insist until he gave in.
They were given dinner, and the mayor pretended he and his wife weren't being put out by the peacekeepers' decision to dump these strangers on them. Haymitch drained his wine glass then Effie's, ate his meal, and tried not to think of bedtime and his bedfellow.
He and Effie were offered pajamas from the family, and Haymitch cracked the window, knowing he would boil in the room without air conditioning, and he guessed Effie wouldn't appreciate it if he sweat the bed. He climbed under the light blanket, testing the limits of the boundary with which he could stretch and move in the night without impeding on her half of the bed.
Effie returned from the bathroom in a nightgown that made her look alarmingly matronly.
"Not winning any fashion awards in that one, Eff," he chuckled.
"Hush," she tutted, but smiled as she took off her jewellery and placed the adornments on the small dresser. She inspected the small stuffed animals lined up. "Oh, these are darling. The mayor's daughters are very cute, aren't they?"
Haymitch had barely taken them in at the table and was surprised that Effie had managed to, as she had been chatting the mayor's ear off.
"Are we going to sleep with the window open?" She asked.
"It's that or sweat to death."
Effie sat on the bed, looking warily at the curtains fluttering in the night breeze.
"What's wrong? Worried someone will climb in and steal you while you sleep?"
"No," she said quickly. "I'm more worried about bugs."
"What do you think the screens are for?"
Effie glared at him now, swung her legs up, and sat back against the headboard. "I just don't want to wake up to anything buzzing around the room."
"And you won't because there are screens." He watched her gaze at the small shelf with several children's picture books, puzzles, and several stuffed animals. "Gonna sleep in your wig? Or were you going to wait until I fell asleep to continue the illusion that that cotton candy fluff is your hair?"
"I don't have my makeup with me, so I'm going to try to keep it all intact." She fluffed the pillow and gingerly arranged herself in a way that didn't mess up her appearance.
"You have got to be kidding me." Haymitch rolled over. He couldn't imagine trying to sleep upright for the sake of appearances. "Will you get the light?"
The room sank into blissful darkness, and Haymitch rubbed his face against the pillow, grateful to let his body rest.
"Just so you know, if you snore, I will wake you up," Effie said.
"Same back at you."
"I do not snore."
"Yeah? Ever stayed awake long enough to confirm this?"
"No, but I have asked people, and they've said I don't."
Haymitch lifted his head and squinted at where he knew she was in the darkness. "People?" he asked with a lift of intrigue.
"I have shared beds with other people before tonight, you know."
"Is there someone in the Capitol who is going to be outraged that you and I are in this compromising situation?" How she found him in the dark to give his arm a smack was beyond him. "What? It's just a question."
"A cheeky one!"
"So there's no one back home who is going to hold a vendetta against me, got it."
"Not right now."
He must have fallen asleep, because a soft noise from somewhere in the mayor's house woke him. It was one of the children crying. Haymitch wondered what time it was and how long the tears would last. Moonlight was peeking through the window of the room he and Effie were sharing. He turned his head, wondering if the noise had woken her, too.
It hadn't. She was fast asleep on her back. Haymitch noticed with sleepy amusement that she had removed the wig, and her hair was fanned across her pillow in scrunched curls from the pins. He knew she wouldn't have been able to sleep with that silly monstrosity on her head.
The distant cries quieted, and Haymitch drifted back to sleep.
Until something was tickling his face.
Oh, dammit, he thought, the bugs did get in. He shook his head in a tired attempt to divert the insect. When it didn't get off, he brushed his hand over his nose.
It wasn't a bug, he realized; he had moved closer to Effie in sleep. She was lying on her side, back to him, and Haymitch had rolled towards her. He became aware of the softness of her stomach under his palm, and he carefully removed his arm from where he had draped it over her waist. The shock of embarrassment was replaced by gratitude that he had woken first. His hand burned where it had been resting against her warm body, and he was careful to reposition himself along the edge of the bed.
Guess her bedfellows were right—she doesn't snore, he thought before he nodded off again.
Pale morning light began to wash over the room, and Haymitch tried to roll over and bury his face in the pillow to ward off the offending brightness, but he was stuck under a warm weight. He blinked sleepily, groggy from whatever he had been dreaming about. It had been so long since he had anything but nightmares. A jolt of surprise hit him when he looked down at Effie's body against his.
Not just against him, he realized; her leg was slung over his, her arm across his torso. His own hand was resting on her hip, and an embarrassing tightness in his crotch was making itself known under the pressure of her thigh. He wasn't sure how to extract himself without waking her and making the situation incredibly awkward.
Perhaps he could go back to sleep, and when they both woke, they would have separated.
Luck was not with him when a knock on the door came, making him jump. "Morning!" The mayor's wife called gently. "There's breakfast downstairs. The train will be here in an hour."
Effie started with a little groan. Haymitch's breath caught when she tightened her arm and leg around him, nuzzling her face against his shirt, still half-asleep.
"Eff?" He tapped her shoulder with the pad of a finger, hoping to avoid startling her.
Slowly, she woke, and Haymitch waited without breathing for her to realize their position. Mercifully, she didn't scream, but she tensed from the top of her head down to her toes. A soft intake of air followed, and her leg shifted, pressing against his morning hardness, making Haymitch gasp. She flew off of him to the other side of the bed, reminding him of a cat.
"I—Effie, I-I didn't—I'm so-"
"Oh, Haymitch, I am so sorry!"
"You -what? You're -Effie, no—" what did she have to be sorry for? It had been Haymitch who had first sought her body in the night. He couldn't let himself think about how nice it had felt to be pressed against another person, warm and full of life.
Effie covered her face with her hands. "I should have asked for more pillows or rolled up a blanket so I didn't… violate you." She looked at his chest and grimaced. "And I got makeup all over the mayor's sleep shirt."
Haymitch looked down at the faint outline of her blush and eyeshadow. "I'll give him some money for a new one. Tell him I like it," he said while slowly covering his lap with the blanket to hide his body's vascular reaction to the early hour.
They looked at each other, and then Effie laughed. Then Haymitch was laughing. There was little they could do, really. A pleasant warmth which had nothing to do with the morning air filled the room with companionable and familiar energy.
Their journey to the train station was much faster than their drive the previous day. Haymitch watched the coffins precede the pair of them onto the train.
"Thank you for sticking up for me yesterday… regarding the tributes," he said.
"It was admirable of you to be so respectful to them even… even in death." Her lips lifted in a tight, sympathetic smile.
Haymitch noticed the freckles adorning her nose, peaking out from her worn-away makeup. A strong impulse to trace his fingers over the kisses from the sun struck him suddenly and fiercely. His hand flexed in response to his desire, but then he held it out to her in an offer of security and balance as she boarded the train.
"Can I ask you something?" He asked over the rim of his coffee cup as the train carried them away from 3. The burn of the added alcohol was helping to wash away the lingering shyness from their close encounter, and steadied the shakes that had already begun in response to the drastically reduced intake from the day before.
"Sure." Effie's makeup was back in place, her wig secured. Haymitch missed her freckles.
"Last night," he began, not entirely sure where his thoughts were going to land, "did I… snore?"
The choice worked, making Effie laugh her genuine laugh. The countryside flew past them in a blur, and they returned to their usual ease.