Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May the odds be ever in your favor.

I bite back the urge to shout it out as panic overwhelms the citizens of the Capitol. These preened peacocks with their tinted skin and hair, these bloodthirsty savages who year after year celebrated the sacrificial slaughter of district kids are finally getting a taste of what it is to fear for their lives and the lives of their children.  

I should hate them - but I don’t. I can’t without thinking of Cinna, of Effie, of Cressida and Tigris. Decent people who, through no fault of their own, were born and raised here. I see small children in the crowd, fearfully holding onto their mothers and fathers as their world comes apart. How are they any different, really, than the kids from the Seam? Before the hovercrafts came and turned them all into ash? 

Snow was right about one thing - War is terrible, even more so for those who have nothing to do with the fight. These kids - the kids of 12 - what did they do to deserve bullets and bloodshed? Absolutely nothing - yet year after year district kids were punished for what others had done long before they were even born.

Will it happen again, I wonder. When the fighting stops and the Capitol is nothing more than a pile of rubble…will a new Hunger Games rise from its ashes or will something else, something more terrible take its place? 

I realize I probably won’t be around to see it. I’m on a one-way mission to assassinate Snow and even if I do, somehow miraculously survive that, I’m a threat to Coin, a threat to the Capitol…hell, I’m even a threat to Peeta now. He’ll never be the same, never see me like he once did and it’s all because of Snow. I absentmindedly touch the secret pocket that hides my nightlock pill…my last gift from Cinna.  I’m still counting on you girl on fire, he said and well, I can’t let him down. Not now. Not after everything.  Snow needs to pay and I’m going to be the one to see that he does. 

Even if it kills me.  

The crowd is pressing harder the closer we get to the presidential palace. I clamber onto an overturned truck and see the reason for the bottleneck - Peacekeepers - a dozen or more - holding back the pressing mob of refugees seeking a safe haven from the battle. They’re calling for children first and I watch as desperate mothers and fathers lift them over the heads of the crowd towards the gates of Snow's mansion. Behind me, rebel troops are pressing forward, fighting their way to this very spot and I suddenly understand Snow’s motivations here. 

They’re his last line of defense - these innocent kids. Stockpiled around the entrance to his palatial estate. They’re the only thing left between him and certain death. It’s a sick, twisted strategy, but a strategy nonetheless - one that is completely lost on the Capitol parents who foolishly believe Snow has their best interests at heart.  

I know better. I think of how Cato tried to use Peeta in the first arena against me. In those awful last moments of the Games with those mutts stalking us around the Cornucopia. Cato, outnumbered and desperate, took hold of Peeta to keep my arrow from flying. 

It didn’t work, of course, but it was his last ditch effort to survive. Snow, using these kids, is no different. 

The entrance to the palace, however, remains closed even as more and more children fill in the small space just outside the gate. I wonder why none of the Capitol parents see this for what it is when I hear it - a sound that meant salvation in the games.  

Parachutes. At least fifty of them - gracefully descending towards the crowd assembled outside of Snow’s home. But why? I think. The palace is surely stocked with enough supplies? And that’s when I think maybe this isn’t salvation at all  - that maybe this is something a little more sinister. 

Even though my suspicion has been raised, I’m hardly prepared for the blasts that follow. The screams of the dying, the anguished cries from parents who just witnessed the unthinkable cut into me like a knife. Its carnage of the worst kind with countless little ones, some no older than two, lying in mangled heaps before the once pristine palace grounds. 

The Capitol citizens do what any parent would do at such a time - rush forward in a desperate attempt to find their sons and daughters, and for many, I know, it will be too late. I think that now is my chance - my chance to get past the Peacekeepers and through the gates when another thought holds me back, almost paralyzing me to the spot. 

It’s a trap. 

Back in District 13, Gale and Beetee talked to me about their new arsenal of weapons which focused less on the mechanics of the weapons and more on the psychology behind them. In one such case, a bomb would detonate in an area that was say...full of children...drawing in the intended targets - their parents, who would naturally come to their aid.

As I watch parents and medics rushing in towards the blast area, I can't help but remember Gale's hostile and unrepentant reaction when I told him this was crossing a line, that it was unacceptable to do something so callous and cruel to another human being.  Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he hijacked Peeta. 

As much as I hate what Snow has done to Peeta, I could never condone this. We're supposed to be better than this, Better than Snow - not the same. And Peeta, I know, would agree with me. 

More and more parents and medics are rushing into help - heedless of any impending danger - and soon the entire pen is refilling with people. 

More victims.

I want to cry out a warning, to alert them all to the danger when I see her, Prim, standing among the wounded, doing her best to save lives I now know are already lost. I manage to scream out her name once when the second blast hits. 

I am aware of nothing except the flames that have engulfed me, shrouding me in an orange and yellow cocoon of death and destruction. Katniss Everdeen - the girl on fire - literally. It licks at my skin, burning me, consuming me, leaving nothing behind but a growing emptiness within knowing that she is undoubtedly gone. I cry out in anguish not just for the physical pain but for the loss of Prim, the only thing left in this world that was keeping me sane. 

A tear escapes, one solitary tear to mourn the life that once was my sister before my vision begins to cloud away. Yes , I think. Let me die. Let me finally leave this damned arena . I’ve lost too much. Everything, really. Now the only thing left to lose is a life that hasn’t really ever been mine.  Not since the death of my father. Not since the Reaping. Not since the Games. 

 I let out a shuddering breath and allow my eyes to flutter closed, feeling oblivion descend upon me. I’m drifting…drifting… and then I hear him howling my name.  

It’s hot -  oppressively hot and my mouth feels as dry and rough as sandpaper. My arm aches with a dull, throbbing kind of pain and yet I stumble through the jungle underbrush, desperate and scared. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

A cannon sounds somewhere far off in the distance and a surge of panic races through me. 

“Peeta!” I scream, careless of who else might hear. I’m not the one who is supposed to survive this, after all. It’s supposed to be him. Him. Not me. Never me.  

My aching and bleeding head disorients my senses. I can’t see through the thick jungle of the arena. It’s dark and unfamiliar and tendrils of poisonous fog twist and turn towards me, obscuring my view and lighting my skin on fire. I scream out in pain, but no one hears. I trip, tangled in the vines that now hold me down and tear into my raw and blistering flesh. I struggle to free myself but hear Johanna’s ragged voice sound in my ear.

“Stay down.”

Yes. I should. I should stay down and let the fog take me as it took Mags. A quick death. A merciful death. That’s what I want.

But it doesn’t come. 

Instead, I’m suffering. Mutts, twisted and vile, encircle me with colorless eyes and dripping fangs before they lunge and begin their grim work. They are slow, methodical and calculating in their deadly task. Inflicting bone-deep paralyzing pain with surgical precision. My breath hitches and my chest tightens. I try to fight, to break free of the horde, but there are too many of them.

And I’m so tired.  

Please, I plead, begging for a merciful end. I’m fairly certain I cannot take much more but still, the torture continues and I'm still lingering -it’s going to be a slow, excruciating death. Since the moment I first volunteered at the Reaping, my brutal and messy end was all but assured, but somehow I never imagined it would be this agonizing - this unbelievably painful.

I feel as though my skin is being peeled away from my body - inch by inch - like I’m being slowly ripped apart. I can even hear it - the tears of my skin, the squelch of my blood splattering against the ground. I hear my own screams…and I just want it to stop. I want it to end. I don’t want to hear, see, or feel anything ever again, 

But I do hear…the Mockingjay song Rue taught me in the first arena. It’s faint at first, a barely there whisper of a tune that stills me for a moment - gives me something that feels a little bit like hope.  I seek it out, searching the skies until I see them fluttering against an orange-streaked sunset. That tune, that four note melody, swells and crescendos around me and though I’m still suffering, I’m suddenly at peace. 

“Katniss?”

It’s Rue, all decked out in flowers making her way through the clearing. I look for the ugly, gaping hole in her stomach and find that it’s missing. I don’t question why that is even as she kneels down beside me and gently brushes the hair from my face. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers, and I nod gratefully and take her hand. 

I’m unsteady on my feet -tired and weak - but soon, Finnick is at my elbow, helping me along. “Good thing we’re allies, right?” He jokes and I can’t help but laugh at the memory. I want to apologize, tell him how sorry I am, but he merely nods, directing my attention to the path in front of me where Prim, sweet Prim, is skipping along ahead, her little shirt tail poking out of her skirt as it did the day of the Reaping. I call to her to wait and tuck it back in, smiling at her. 

“Come on, Katniss”, she says and waves for me to follow. 

“Let’s go, little duck” I say and she meets my smile with one of her own. 

I move forward, my hand tightly gripping Rue’s when my foot suddenly catches on another vine and I stumble slightly. Prim takes my other hand and urges me to try, but I can’t.  Then it’s Finnick, offering me his hand…but still, I struggle. 

“C’mon Katniss,” he says “we’ve got to go now.”

“I’m trying,” I grit out, but I’m caught, tethered somehow to the arena.  Another cannon sounds in the distance and I hear him - Peeta - screaming for me again. 

It’s a reminder. He’s supposed to live - not me. I can’t go - not yet. Not until I know Peeta can survive. 

“The careers,” I tell Finnick, “we have to stop the careers first.” He looks at me like he thinks I’m joking when I spy the lightning tree. 

I know what I have to do. 

I release Prim’s hand and quickly affix Beetee’s wire to my arrow. 

“Katniss, get away from that tree,” Finnick warns. But I don’t listen. I hear the rumble of thunder, I see the careers closing in….and I let my arrow fly. 

I awake with a jolt, Peeta’s name a whisper on my lips…but it’s not Peeta’s face that swims into focus over mine. 

It’s Haymitch’s. 

He looks more sullen and gruff than usual. He murmurs something to me that I can’t quite catch and takes hold of the hand Rue had been holding…at least, I think he does because a warm sensation soon overtakes me and my eyelids close fast. 

I’m floating, somewhere between sleep and reality. My pain is gone, but all around me are nightmares. Nightmares that I can’t escape. 

I see my father’s splintered body in a dark and endless mine shaft. I’m caught up in a net in the arena as Cato, Clove and Marvel slowly mutilate my body. I find Peeta at the riverbank, but I’m too late - he’s dead. I’m swarmed by tracker jackers as I try to outrun the Careers. I’m in the sewers watching Finnick die at the hands of those twisted mutts before they tackle me and rip me limb from limb.  

They melt into each other, pulling me along in some gruesome dance, each turn more horrible than the last. It’s the arena of the Quarter Quell, however, that never seems to melt away. I’m trapped there, seemingly alone, unable to escape, living out each and every Capitol-engineered terror. The deadly fog, the JabberJays, the wave of blood, the beastly mutts with their sharp fangs and powerful arms, holding me fast as they rip out my throat - over and over again I die a slow, agonizing death as I desperately trip through the jungle searching…searching for Peeta before the Capitol finds him.

Eventually, the nightmares subside but in their place is pain - excruciating, horrible pain as I drift back into reality. 

“Don’t sit up,” I hear, though I didn’t realize I was even trying.  My arms feel like they’re made of lead, so do my eyelids. I groan from the effort it takes to even lift a finger. The overwhelming stench of antiseptic stings my nostrils and I’m vaguely aware of a rhythmic beeping somewhere to my left.  

I’m in a hospital. 

At first, I’m confused but as my mind begins to work out the puzzle before me, flashes of how I got here settle into place. The sewers. Tigris’ shop. The city circle. The bombs. Prim. 

Her death replays over and over in my mind's eye and I’m left gut-wrenched and sobbing until I’m nothing more than a hollow shell. I don’t know how long I lay there, semi-conscious. Days, weeks? I don’t know and I don’t care - I just know I shouldn’t be here - I should be dead.

Nurses come and go, only managing to dull the pain I feel with each dose of medicine administered, but I know this pain will never go away. 

It hurts too much. 

I’m visited by doctors, one who goes by Dr. Aurelius, but I don’t answer their questions. I somehow have lost the ability to speak, even though physically, there’s not a thing wrong with my vocal chords. I’ve become a sort of Avox because of my trauma, Dr, Aurelius tells me, but I hardly care. I just lie there, day in and day out, not speaking, not seeing, not caring.  

My bandages are changed, my wounds cleaned, my skin is puckered and pink where the flames have licked my skin.  A flurry of nurses and visitors come and go but I’m hardly aware of any of them until one day I’m pulled out of myself by a familiar voice. 

“How’s it feel to be the girl on fire now?” 

I stare at Haymitch, wondering how long he’s been here. I want to spit in his face, take out my anger on him…but instead I give a slight shake of my head and offer up a painfully honest reply - my first uttered words in ages, “I never wanted to be her.”

He looks initially startled by my response, but then offers me a heavy sigh, “Nobody wants any shitty thing that happens to them in this life, Katniss.” He takes a long drink from his flask. I turn, not able to bear looking at him, when he adds, “We just learn to cope with it in our own little ways.” 

I don’t want to cope. I just want to die- and I’m angry that I didn’t. He seems to understand this. “It gets better,” he says, though he doesn’t seem entirely convinced by his own statement.  

I think of how he copes - drowning himself in alcohol in an attempt to forget. How many tributes has he mentored to their deaths?  You never get off this train. He tried to tell us both, once - a lifetime ago. He tells me so again with a thoughtful frown, “No one ever wins these games, Katniss. There’s victors, sure…but there are no winners. It costs everything you have.”

I think of Peeta and what he said to me on the roof of the Tribute Center so long ago. How he didn’t want to be a piece in the Capitol’s Games, that he wanted to retain his sense of self…and even that, the Capitol managed to steal from him. I think of how much it has cost me. These Games. These horrible, twisted fights just to be afforded a chance to live. Taking out tesserae, volunteering for Prim, killing to survive, becoming a victor…and for what? What did any of it matter? 

Haymitch frowns as hot, wet tears flow silently down my cheeks. “You'll get through this, Katniss," he says. 

“Or I'll just stop caring,” I mutter back and Haymitch raises his eyebrows in apparent agreement as he takes another drink from his flask. 

After my fathers death, I thought I had stopped caring. I closed myself off, refused to think beyond the next few months, threw myself into foraging, hunting…surviving. I didn’t have time for sentiment. 

Except when it came to Prim. 

Tears spill out of my eyes again as I relive those last horrible moments of her life. Everything I did was for her…to keep her safe…to keep her from having to scrape by like I did.  And in the end, nothing I did made any difference. I still lost her. The injustice of it all is a bitter pill that has poisoned my veins, filling me with a hatred I have never felt before. Not even when Snow destroyed District 12. 

Haymitch, to his credit, doesn’t say anything even though I’m prostrate with grief. He lets me cry and tear at my hair and throw things without judgment. Of course he knows somewhat of what I’m going through. 

Being a victor and all.  

“It was supposed to be me!” I gasp out, finally, choking on the tears, “I was supposed to die, not Prim!” 

“You think you ever had control of that?” Haymitch replies quietly with a scoff. “You just delayed the inevitable, sweetheart. Not one of us were guaranteed to get out of this mess alive.”

It’s true. I know it’s true. After being personally threatened by President Snow, it wasn’ t just me who had a target painted on their back, it was everyone associated with me. Including Haymitch. 

Still, I’m angry. Angry that she was put in harm’s way. Angry that I didn’t get there in time. Angry that I didn't recognize those bombs sooner. Angry that nothing I did mattered. 

“All I ever wanted to do was protect my sister.” I say in a voice too small to be my own. Haymitch doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. For all his gruffness, I can see there’s a sadness in his eyes that he quickly washes away with another long draught of liquor.

“You helped overthrow Snow,” Haymitch offers later with a frown, “You gave people hope. That’s not nothing.”  

“I should’ve eaten the berries when I had the chance,” I reply. 

Haymitch laughs, but his voice is gentle. “You really think the boy would have let you do that?” he asks. 

No. Peeta would never have let me eat those berries - at least the old Peeta wouldn't have. I mention this to Haymitch, reminding him that Peeta is just as lost to me as Prim is. “Snow did what he promised he would,” I say, without trying to disguise my bitterness. “He won.”

“You never appreciated that boy,” Haymitch observes and I want to scratch his eyes out. Regrets about Peeta are not something I need to sort through right now. I pick up the thing closest to me, a roll of bandages and I chuck them at him. Haymitch merely snorts out a laugh when they bounce off of his arm. 

“Get out,” I say. 

Smirking, Haymitch gets to his feet, “You know, I had it wrong. I always thought you were the fighter. Turns out, it’s him.” 

I narrow my eyes at him, unsure of what he means. 

“I’m just saying, don’t give up on the boy.” Haymitch offers. “He wouldn’t give up on you.”

Chapter Text

“Well, you look like hell.”

I pause my pacing as Johanna sidles up next to me, looping her arm through mine. We’re not friends, but we’re not enemies either. Being tortured, as we both were by the Capitol, has linked us together in some kind of strange, morbid way. I wonder if it’s any different, really, to why I feel so linked to Katniss. How I want to be rid of her, of these Games, of the Capitol…but can’t seem to let her or any of it go.

I ignore the way Johanna is studying my face. I hate that it’s such a normal thing for people to do with me these days. As if looking for the me they think they know or to see if the mutt created by the Capitol is the one holding the reins.

As it is, I’m not sure what or who I am anymore - which is part of the reason I’m here, pacing the halls of Dr. Aurelius’ office. 

“When did you get out of the hospital?” Johanna asks after a beat, now studying my bandaged hands. 

“Yesterday,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders with a sigh. I don’t want to talk about what put me in there. In fact, I’ve been working really hard to avoid thinking about it, but Johanna keeps digging. 

“Three weeks in the burn unit and you still have scars? What, they couldn’t polish you up for old time’s sake?”

“Lots of burn victims,” I answer, shrugging it off. “Supply lines are choked off…”

“And a lot of their resources went into fixing up their Mockingjay,” she studies me again as I flinch. “You know, there’s a rumor going around about how you got these burns,” she starts, conspiratorially. I don’t answer, but I do glance at her warily, a silent plea to stop talking. 

Johanna, though, is determined to get a rise out of me, to push me into a place of pain. “I mean, it’s none of my business,” she continues, “but from everything I’ve seen and heard, your fiancée really was the girl on fire -  she was right in the thick of it all wasn’t she?”

I feel a flush of anger rise within me and clench my hands at my sides, “She’s not my fiancé.”

Johanna laughs. “Whatever you say, lover boy,” she says after a beat. 

I wince at the nickname, but Johanna doesn’t seem to notice or care. Instead, she presses, “They’ve been showing footage from the explosion, you know. Shows her getting hit with that fireball. She was completely engulfed in flames..and yet, she somehow made it to the hospital. Alive.”  

I grit my teeth and close my eyes as Johanna laughs. “So it is true.” She shakes her head at me in disbelief, “And here I thought it was just another star-crossed lovers bit from the overly romantic idiots in the Capitol.”

I feel heat rise to my face as I bite back the urge to lash out. “Star-crossed lovers” is one of my triggers..or so Dr. Aurelius says. I’m practically glowering now as I breathe through it, inwardly reminding myself of who I am, where I’m from - the tangible, non-threatening things that are real.  

I know Johanna is eyeing me, but I don’t take my eyes off of the floor. My hands are shaking now as I remember the horror of it all. The explosion, the screams, the fire.

Katniss told me not to follow, to lay low, keep hidden, stay alive…but the minute she and Gale disappeared into the mob of refugees marching past the shop window, I slipped away. 

I wasn’t sure what I planned to do, create a diversion to help her get inside? Catch the Peacekeepers attention and lead them away from her? I watched her and Gale make their way towards the palace, saw Gale get dragged away by Peacekeepers, and then…well, then all hell broke loose. 

The first explosion set me off, incapacitated me, left me fighting against my own demons instead of the ones all around me. I promised that in the event I went mutt, I would try to make my way back to a safehouse. At least until I calmed down. In that chaos, though? My ears buzzed, my vision blurred and in my head only one thing dominated my thoughts - Find Katniss.  

It commanded me in a hiss, blindly pulling me along the Capitol streets until I found myself staring at her from across the square. She was running towards the blast site, screaming for her sister Prim, when…

“They say it’s lucky you got to her so quickly,” Johanna says matter-of-factly. “She was already in shock by the time she got to the hospital. Thought they even lost her at one point.”

My hands shake again, but this time it’s not the sinister hiss of the tracker jacker venom in my ear, urging me to forget myself.  It’s a memory- something I’ve tucked away and refuse to look at properly.  “I don’t remember,” I tell her, though it’s partly a lie. I remember the heat from the fire and Katniss’ screams. I remember fighting against the nurses. I remember being held down. Nothing else sticks though. 

“Well, that’s understandable- you were in shock too, ya know,” Johanna says with a nod, releasing my hand and now re-examining my face. 

“That’s what they tell me,” I reply with a shrug.  

Of course, they didn’t tell me that until after I came to. I was knocked out, sedated after apparently tossing a nurse into a wall only to find myself in the burn unit with my face and hands bandaged and my arms restrained.  They didn’t have enough medicine to treat me properly - not the way the Capitol used to. Instead, they had to rely on the more primitive medicines from 13 and the practices used by the Districts for ages.  

I look back down at my still bandaged hands and suddenly I’m back in that bed - isolated and restrained, Haymitch’s face swimming over mine. “Thought I had graduated from the padded cell?” I asked him groggily. 

He was sitting by my bedside, fiddling with the golden band Effie bought him as a token.  My voice visibly startled him, “Trying to avoid the cameras,” he explained tensely.  

Cameras. I remember watching the Capitol footage showing me go full mutt on Mitchell after he stopped me from bashing in Katniss’ head with a rifle. I can’t help but wonder what I did this time - though I have a pretty good idea. 

“I tried to kill her again, didn’t I?” I asked, but Haymitch merely frowned. I let my head fall back onto the pillow, a horrible, sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, “Is she still alive?”

“She’s still alive,” Haymitch replied before adding slowly, “You both got burned up pretty badly in the explosion, don’t you remember?” 

I don’t remember..even now, I can’t quite separate myth from reality. In my nightmares I see the ball of flame hit her, knocking her to the ground and then it’s just screams…horrible, ear-piercing screams that jolt me awake. Other times, I’m choking her, ignoring the flames that have consumed both of us until Gale shoots me through the heart with a crossbow. 

Haymitch’s refusal to elaborate on the details of what happened all but convinced me I had attacked her again, tried to finish her off before the flames did.  Yet when I mentioned this to Haymitch, he sort of laughed at me and asked me if I really believed Katniss would still be alive if that were the case. 

I told him honestly I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not real and I can’t trust myself enough to not believe the worst. I’ve proved I’m more than capable of the worst when it comes to Katniss, after all. 

“Why don’t you go see her?” Johanna asks, nudging me in the ribs. “She’s awake, I hear…though I’m pretty sure she’s far from fine.” 

I look away from my bandaged hands, hands that almost choked the life out of her, hands that killed Mitchell, hands that can no longer be trusted and shake my head, “No, she won’t want to see me.”

Johanna laughs, but thankfully seems to drop the subject. 

“You know they’ve got Snow under house arrest? I’d love to pay him a visit, wouldn’t you? Stick tracker jacker venom in his arm and watch him scream,” she offers.  

As much as I want to see Snow suffer in the same way we’ve all suffered, I can’t delight in it the way Johanna seems to. It’s not that I don’t understand why she is - I do. I just can’t allow myself to go down that path of revenge...not now that I’m beginning to remember who I once was. 

At least I think I am. 

Johanna is still smiling at me, studying me - not out of fear, like so many people do these days- but out of pure interest. “You were always the noble one,” she observes. 

I scoff.  “They don’t restrain you and stick you in an isolation unit for being noble.”

“No but they can torture the hell out of you in the Capitol for it,” she says meaningfully. “If you weren’t who you were, Snow wouldn’t have bothered torturing you the way he did - he would have just killed you.” I look at her, an unspoken question on my lips, but she answers it before I even have a chance to ask, “It was a bigger punishment to keep me alive. Snow wouldn’t let me off the hook so easily.”

I feel a tug of sympathy for Johanna, knowing as I do what hell she suffered in those months after the Quell. What we both suffered. Death would have been a welcome release from the living nightmare of those cells. The daily beatings, the shock therapy, being forced to watch people you knew slowly mutilated to death in front of you? They’d beat us and torture us to the point of death, then patch us up, let us recuperiate…and do it all over again.

In those early days, I was still me though. Despite the beatings and the torture…I still knew who I was. They might have broken my body but my mind was still mine. Now?  

“I wish he would have just killed me,” I say, miserably. “It would have been better if he had.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Johanna sighs, “Snow’s already done enough of that to the both of us, don’t you think?”  

“I can’t help it,” I say, my frustration mounting. “Do you know I was stupid enough to think that I was maybe getting a handle on this? That those games Finnick had me playing were doing me some good?” I sink down onto a bench and hold my head in my hands, “I’m a danger to everybody.”

Johanna crouches down beside me, a smile tugging at her lips. “Hate to break it to you, lover boy…but as a victor that just comes with the territory.” I glance up at her and she frowns at the tears pooling in my eyes, “C’mon,” she urges, pulling me to my feet, “it’s not doing you any favors to sit here and feel sorry for yourself. Especially,” she adds with a nod towards a broadcast on the wall, “when we’ve got so much to look forward to.”

Snow’s execution. The coverage of his impending demise has been never-ending. Citizens who were once rabid supporters of his regime suddenly and loudly denouncing him as a tyrant. Some commentators have speculated on the method of his execution - a public hanging, a firing squad, a quiet administration of nightlock serum, but Johanna scoffs at them all. 

“He should be drawn and quartered and made to watch as he’s slowly disemboweled…”

“Maybe you should sign up to do the honors,” I suggest. 

“Maybe we all should,” Johanna counters. “An alliance of victors…doing what we do best…kill.”

I blanch as I remember my sword in Brutus’ gut. I can still see the pain in his eyes, the terror in his face. “No,” I shake my head, “Count me out. I don’t want to kill for anybody anymore. It’s bad enough I’ve already done it.” 

“It wasn’t like any of us had much of a choice,” Johanna says. 

“No,” I nod, “You’re right. In the arena, we did what we needed to survive, but I…I’ve been programmed to kill. People have been hurt and killed because of what Snow did to me - how he changed me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be who I was before..”

Johanna studies my face again and frowns, “You didn’t have a choice there either, Peeta.”

“No?” I frown, “ I guess I didn’t…but don’t you see? I don’t want to be what they made me. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense, but…if I keep hurting people and taking lives it’s like I never stop being a piece in their games.”

“Well, like I said, you were always the noble one…and from what I hear, you’re doing much better,” Johanna offers brightly. 

I scoff. 

“Oh come on, Peeta,” Johanna sighs out in exasperation, “you just saved Katniss’ life.”

I flinch. Did I?  Because all I remember is the buzzing in my ears, the screams, the fire, the pain. I don’t want to talk about Katniss, though. So instead, I remind Johanna, “I put a nurse in the hospital.”

“I might have heard something about that. Broke her ribs?” She shakes her head, “You were in shock, Peeta. A traumatic injury like this?” Johanna offers, holding up my hands again, “it can affect your mental state.”

“So does tracker jacker venom…”

“Is that what you think this was?” Johanna exclaims, with a roll of her eyes. I shoot her a warning glance, but she deflects it with a wave of her hand, “You really think you got these burns because you were following Snow’s kill orders?”

I stay silent, hoping that will be enough to convince Johanna to leave me alone. 

It’s not. 

“So, what? You think you were so hellbent on seeing her dead you tried to kill yourself in the process?”

Again, I keep silent…because I can’t remember anything after that first explosion. Nothing but the insistent, viper-like hiss of the mutt inside urging me to Find Katniss.  And I did, didn’t I? The burns are proof enough of that.  Haymitch all but confirmed I was responsible for at least some of Katniss’ condition.  

I just can’t remember…and I’m not sure I want to. 

Dr. Aurelius came to see me, shortly after Haymitch left, asking me what I did remember from the explosion, how I felt emotionally, what was I feeling? His questions were so much like the questions I got after I almost killed Katniss in 13 that I knew I had done something awful. 

“What did I do?” I asked. 

“Nothing you need to worry yourself over…”

“What did I do?” I asked more forcefully. “You wouldn’t have me restrained for nothing.”

Dr. Aurelius frowned at me, “These are just precautionary measures…”

“Precautionary because I did something, didn’t I?” I pressed. “Didn’t I?” 

“Peeta, the stress of the situation…you were understandably upset and in shock…”

“What did I do?”

Dr. Aurelius sighed and explained that medics had come upon me and Katnniss in the city square, both of us badly burned and in terrible pain. When the medics attempted to extricate my hands from Katniss’ body, however, I refused -  so they put us both in the truck together. At the hospital, when it was clear Katniss was dying and I still refused to comply, things got violent. 

Since then, I have been agonizing over my motivations. What if that mutt part of me didn’t want Katniss to survive? What if the mutt inside of me was really trying to finish her off? 

“Do you really believe that?” Johanna scoffs and I realize I said all of that out loud. “Listen,” she presses, “I’m not going to pretend you aren’t a complete and total basket case, but you’re not a killer.” She pauses and then smiles, “Not a cold-blooded one, anyway.” 

“Johanna,”

“You may think that you’re condemned to be whatever the hell Snow tried to make you out to be, but here’s the thing, you’ve already proved you’re not a mindless killing machine,” she continues. 

“Really?” I snap, my anger rising. “I nearly killed her when they pulled me out of the Capitol. I strangled her…and then, then out there,” I yell, pointing to the Capitol street outside, “I tried to bash her head in with the butt of a rifle…And when Mitchell tried to stop me,” I pull away from her, hating myself, hating this monster that I’ve become.  “A man is dead because of me, because of what I tried to do, because of what I am.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Johanna asks, with a shrug. 

I stare at her, “How do you think it makes me feel?” I roughly pull back my sleeves and show her my wrists, broken and raw. “Do you see what I have to do to keep myself sane? To keep me from going berserk again?”

Johanna smirks as she traces my chafed wrists with her fingers, “Do you think a mindless killing machine would care as much as you do?”

I don’t dare reply, and Johanna’s smirk turns into a wide, self-satisfied grin. “If you were really one of Snow’s mutts, you wouldn’t be out here day in and day out wearing out the carpet,” she tells me, before adding with a meaningful nod, “you would have just let her burn.”

“They’re moving her into the mansion,” Haymitch tells me. 

I’m surprised…and a little confused. “Isn’t that where they’re keeping Snow? Under house arrest?”

Haymitch shrugs unconcerned, “Big place, probably won’t cross paths.”

“But what if they do? Cross paths?” I ask. I can feel my heart rate rising, remembering the days I spent there after I was “rescued” from the arena. That was when Snow asked…no told me I needed to be his voice of reason. People trust you, he said. People like you. I scoff at the memory.  I’m not even able to trust myself these days.

“Why do you care?” Haymitch presses, a curious glint in his eye. 

He’s right. I shouldn’t care. Whatever tenuous relationship I once had with Katniss as a partner, ally, enemy, friend and whatever else we were, is all but finished now that the Capitol has fallen. There’s no need to pretend for cameras anymore, no reason to continue a charade cooked up for survival. Despite what Gale Hawthorne tried to convince me of in those sewers, Katniss clearly loves him. They’ve been together for years…and he never tried to kill her.  

“Snow is dangerous,” I say. “That’s all.”

“So is Katniss,” Haymitch chuckles, “ especially now that her sister is dead.” He doesn’t say anything else for a while, looks like he’s measuring his words before he adds, “Kinda stupid on Snow’s part, sending those bombs into that group of Capitol kids. Turned the whole damn country against him.”

I furrow my brow, “You don’t think he ordered it?”

Haymitch shrugs and takes a long swig of his flask, “Doesn’t matter what I think.” But I can see the wheels turning in his head and I wonder what’s in there…not that he’d let me in. I was never his confidant, not in any way that really mattered.

Our relationship was always centered on one thing - keeping Katniss alive. I told him so that first day on the train while cleaning him up after he vomited all over the dining car. 

“I need you to pull it together, Haymitch.” I told him after throwing him, clothes and all, into the bathtub. “She’s got a family counting on you to get her through this alive.”

He barked a laugh at me, “And you don’t?”

I had a family, that was true, but the second my name got pulled in the Reaping, they had written me off. One less mouth to feed. One less son to worry over. Katniss was different. Her sister, her mother…they depended on her. Losing her would leave a gaping hole no one else could fill. She kept them fed, kept them safe. Who would look after them the same way if she died?

“Look, she’s a survivor, okay? She has an actual shot at this. I…I don’t.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid.” Haymitch replied with a chuckle, “You both don’t have much of a shot.”

“You think that’s funny?” I snapped, “Because I don’t. She has to win. We have to keep her alive.”

“Oh my God,” Haymitch slurred as he looked at me with glassy eyes, “You’re sweet on her, aren’t you?”

“No,” I protested, though I could feel treacherous heat rising in my cheeks, something Haymitch, for all his drunkenness, didn’t fail to notice. 

He barked out another laugh, “Well,  I’ll be damned. You are.” He eyed me with new interest, “Your noble sacrifice is touching, boy…it really is, but I can’t save you or your girlfriend, okay?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I explained before I lowered my voice, “she’s…she doesn’t know, okay? I’m not sure she even knows who I am”

“Well, she does now,” Haymitch replied, laughing again, “not that it does you any favors.” 

“I don’t want any favors. I just…I just want to do everything I can to help her out there, okay? Starting with you. As our mentor, do you think you could just try…? Please?”

Haymitch considered me a long while before rubbing a rough hand across his face, “Well, well…I got a damn volunteer and a martyr…must be my lucky day.” He cursed as he stumbled his way out of the bathtub, landing face down on the carpet of his sleeping car. Rolling onto his back, he nodded and he pushed the hair out of his eyes,  “Alright boy, let me sleep on it..and if I feel up to it in the morning, I’ll think about helping you. I’m not making any promises though.”

This memory is just one of many others that are beginning to fall into their rightful place in my severed mind. Dr. Aurelius has been so helpful in getting me to unscramble my thoughts and distinguish reality from fiction. It’s not been easy, but the daily exercises and sessions are worth it to try to gain some semblance of who I once was. 

I realize now, maybe for the first time, that Haymitch kept his promise to me. He didn’t just keep Katniss alive, he kept me alive too. Twice. Even now, when he could be anywhere - he’s here, looking after us, trying to put the pieces of our lives back together in his own unorthodox way.  

He’s still our mentor. 

“Do you want to see her?”

His question takes me aback - makes me feel like I’ve missed a step. Haymitch is frowning at me, studying me carefully.

I can’t deny that I want to see her - if anything but to gauge my own level of self-control. Dr. Aurelius says I’m making great progress, but I’m not as confident as he is. 

I dread closing my eyes every night, knowing that she will be there waiting for me - red eyed and viscous, on the verge of ripping out my throat. If not her, then it’s a hospital room, cold and dank, devoid of everything but her lifeless body. My waking hours are no better. I never know what will set me off - a phrase, a sound, a smell - before the ominous buzzing of tracker jacker venom sounds in my ear, urging me to lose the fragile grip I have on reality.  

Seeing Katniss burned,broken, vulnerable? What would that do to me? To the mutt lying in wait within me? I don’t want to think about what I have done...it’s even worse to worry over what I might do. 

Then there’s Katniss herself.After losing Prim, she will be needing the people she really loves for support - her mother and Gale, they’re who she needs right now -not someone programmed to kill her.  

“I can’t,” I say, not meeting Haymitch’s eye. “I don’t want to risk anything.” 

“Yeah, probably not the best idea to put you two together just yet,” Haymitch agrees with a frown, nodding towards a clamoring horde of reporters with cameras making a beeline for us. 

It’s been this way for a while now. With the toppling of President Snow’s regime, both seasoned and amateur journalists have taken to the streets, each trying to get a name for themselves by detailing the horrors of the last days of the war with eyewitness accounts and exclusive interviews. No one, it seems, is more exclusive than Katniss or myself, though neither one of us have given so much as a hint that we want anything to do with the media. Still, everyday I find it necessary to avoid certain paths, hide under hooded cloaks, slink into darkened hallways just to avoid the onslaught of rabid correspondents and photographers who have seemed to make it their life’s work to snap a picture of me.

Here, in the all but abandoned Tribute Center, I let my guard down and am now paying the price. Haymitch grips my arm, but it’s too late. The press crowd around us, hitting us both with a flurry of questions about me, about Katniss, about Prim and I’m desperately searching for a way out. Once, I’m told, I was the one Katniss and Haymitch relied on in these situations, the smooth talker. Now, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to do anything but escape, but I’m trapped, cornered like a wild animal. 

“Peeta! Peeta!” I hear my name being called from every direction, flashes of light startle my vision and in my ears I hear it…a menacing drone that is growing louder and louder with each shouted question, desperate plea and urgent request.  As my head begins to pound, I grit my teeth and breathe, inwardly repeating my name, where I’m from, what my favorite color is - the checklist Dr. Aurelius suggested I use to keep myself grounded, present. 

I hear Haymitch arguing with the reporters, telling them to back off, but they keep calling my name, drawing my attention away from the exercise and onto their questions. How did I get burned? Is it true that I nearly killed Katniss? Did the doctors have to revive her? Have I spoken to her? How is she handling the death of her sister? 

I feel myself sinking to my knees, my head in my hands as I try to block out the noise. It’s everywhere, though and I’m beginning to feel myself slip. “ Stop!” I grit out, angrily, desperately banging my hands against my head to keep the mutt inside me subdued. 

Haymitch is doing his best to disperse the crowd, but my breakdown is causing somewhat of a frenzy. I hear the camera clicks, I hear the whirring of the lenses and just below it all, the ominous droning sound of tracker jackers. “Peeta! Peeta!” The reporters yell and it sounds far away…like I’ve retreated into some sort of tunnel even though I can feel that I’m completely surrounded. 

“I’m losing it, I’m losing it,” I mutter and I know that Haymitch must be livid, because I can hear his voice now over it all - the droning, the camera clicks, the shouted questions - he’s screaming obscenities and roughly pushing the more determined of the reporters away.

It’s in this chaos, with Haymitch taking a majority of the attention from me, that a new request is put to me. Quiet, pleading…to comment on footage they’ve obtained from the bombing and I know - I know - it’s got to be me choking the life out of a burning Katniss. I shake my head, willing them to just leave me the hell alone when I hear it, the sounds that have invaded my nightmares for weeks. A frantic beeping, anguished screams that suddenly die out, and then one long steady, dreadful tone as my voice cries out in horror. My eyes shoot open and there in front of me on a small camera screen is the room I’ve seen every night in my fitful dreams; A dank and cold hospital room - though this one is anything but empty. It’s filled to the brim with nurses, doctors…and me. I’m there - blistered and burned and fighting a team of half a dozen nurses, sending one careening against the wall as I scramble off a gurney and dive towards Katniss. 

I halfway expect my hands to encircle her throat like they did in District 13, to see myself tossing her around the room like a rag doll but it doesn’t happen. Instead, I’m grasping at her hands, calling out her name even as the doctors are saying they’ve lost her, she’s gone. It’s that devastating statement that sets me off, but I’m not attacking Katniss, I’m lunging for the doctors when a nurse hits me with a sedative. As I watch my other self slip away into oblivion, I see the doctors scrambling to bring Katniss back, jolting her body with a current that has her arching up off the bed. It’s then that Haymitch appears in front of the cameras and physically tosses them from the window outside of her hospital room. 

“What was going through your mind, Peeta, when you saw Katniss die?” 

I don’t answer, I’m too dumbfounded to speak. For weeks I have been telling myself that when I lost my mind in the Capitol that day, I had contributed to Katniss’ condition.  But maybe Johanna was right. Maybe seeing Katniss in trouble triggered something else in me, something deeper…something the Capitol couldn’t touch.  

I feel Haymitch’s hand on my shoulder and realize I’m crying. “Like I told you folks,” he growls out, “leave them the hell alone - haven’t they given you enough of a show?”

A flurry of arguments answer him, but Haymitch ignores every one of them, grabbing the camera still in my hands and throwing it against the wall. “Get out of here, all of you!” He yells, positioning himself in front of me until the last reporter disappears down the hall. Reaching for my shoulders, he spins me towards the elevators and remarks gruffly, “C’mon boy. let’s get out of here”

Chapter Text

“ Ms Everdeen, I thought you and I agreed never to lie to one another?” 

President Snow’s words echo around my pounding head as I wander aimlessly through his former home. Part of me wants to march right back to the greenhouse and fire my arrow straight into his lying heart. For Prim, for Peeta, for Finnick, for Rue. Another part…the part that is barely clinging to sanity…believes him. I suspected as much myself, didn’t I? Those chutes, those bombs, the delayed explosion? It didn’t seem like something Snow would do. Not to his own people.

No, it seemed like something Gale would do. 

Of course, Gale would have never intentionally hurt Prim, but he had already showed he wasn’t above killing innocent people so long as the desired objective was met, hadn’t he? How many times had we discussed it? Argued over it? Even back in District 12? 

It’s just hunting, Katiniss , he told me as I prepared for my first Games. Somehow the fact that I would be hunting people failed to register with him. Or maybe it did. Maybe he’s just that much more of a survivor than I am - willing to do whatever it takes and then some to stay alive. I thought maybe I could be the same, that I could kill without a second thought. For Prim…for my own survival - to keep my promise.   

But I remember every life I took…and every life I failed to save.

And for what? The Capitol’s entertainment . 

Like Haymitch has said so many times - there are victors but there are no winners in these Games. That’s something Gale never understood; how winning those Games, taking those lives, becoming a victor - costs you everything you are. 

This isn’t a game to Gale, though. It’s war - and in District 2, he made no secret of his desire to inflict as much damage as possible on The Nut in order to loosen the Capitol’s griphold. It didn’t matter that innocent people were in there or that people sympathetic to the Rebel cause were in their midst. No, he wanted to bring down the mountain, cause an avalanche and kill them all. 

It didn’t matter to him that they were innocent. It didn’t matter that it was likely they would slowly suffocate because of his death trap. No. He almost seemed offended that we objected to his plan on those grounds - that instead of being blown to bits in one awful, devastating blow these people would live out their last few hours of life knowing they were trapped and dying.  

It was our conversation in District 13, however, that continues to haunt me as I walk these gilded hallways. The trap. The bomb that was designed to lure in more victims - in this case, parents, to make the blast all the more devastating. Gale claimed he and Beetee were just following Snow’s playbook, but even Snow saw that particular attack as nothing more than wasteful and cruel. 

I don’t want to think badly of Gale -he’s my oldest friend but if Snow is right, and it was their bomb, Gale killed my sister and nearly killed me…at least, his bomb, his strategy was instrumental in bringing it about. I try to think of a way to spin it, to make it not as awful as it is, but that’s just it. It is awful. Children are dead. Prim is dead. Because of their bomb. Their trap. Their attempt to deliver the fatal blow to Snow’s power for Coin. 

I can’t think about it anymore. It’s making me physically ill…because if I really think about it, I know that I’m almost as guilty as Gale is.

 I’m the Mockingjay after all. I’m the face of this rebellion. 

I find a place to hide within a wardrobe in the Presidential mansion to brood until I’m discovered and summoned to a meeting with Coin. 

It’s both something I am dreading and something I’m anxiously anticipating. I want to look in her eyes and see the guilt there. I want her to face me, to see that I now know how fully she’s used me. But then again, I’m well aware that she holds all the cards and I’ve got to play my hand just right. 

I can’t let her see the distrust in my eyes. As the new de facto leader of Panem, staying on her good side is important if I want her to abide by her promise to let me kill Snow. It’s the only thing keeping me going - the only thing worth living for - to destroy the man who so completely destroyed me.  

I enter the room and find myself surrounded by the last remaining victors of the Hunger Games. There are only seven of us: Enobaria, Annie, Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Peeta and me. “We’re all that’s left?” I ask as I take a seat next to Haymitch. 

“The Capitol rounded up and killed victors they believed were sympathetic to the rebel cause and the rebels did the same thing with victors they believed were loyal to the Capitol,” Beetee explains grimly.

 “Guess we’re the lucky ones,” Haymitch replies.

My eyes flick to Peeta, whose blue eyes meet mine for only a moment before they return to his bandaged hands. I see the burn scars on his face and realize that he must have also been caught up in the blast that killed Prim. Where else would have gotten those scars? 

I can’t think through the how or why of Peeta’s condition because Coin enters the room and begins to welcome us all to her little summit. She’s not one for wasting time or mincing words so it doesn’t surprise me when she gets right to the point. 

Because of the war, an election to determine a new president cannot be held, she explains, and as such, she is declaring herself the interim president of Panem for an undetermined amount of time. I fight to keep my composure as I recall President Snow’s pointed observation of Coin’s intentions, but it’s her next statement that really tests my restraint. 

As the last living victors she’s leaving it up to us to decide how best to satisfy the thirst for revenge from the Districts. Should the officials who managed the horrors of the Hunger Games be publicly executed along with Snow or should the new government of Panem hold one, last symbolic Hunger Games with children reaped from the families of the most prominent families in the Capitol? 

My stomach flips, my heart drops as I realize Snow was right. Coin has propped herself as the Savior of Panem, ensured that no one could challenge her bid for power and now, now that it’s all said and done, she’s no different than Snow. 

In fact, she’s worse. 

Everyone knew Snow wasn’t above killing children or murdering his enemies and rivals to hold onto his power. Even in the Capitol, it was understood - you didn’t cross Snow. Coin is different. Coin doesn’t make direct threats, she doesn’t get her own hands dirty…instead, she manipulates situations in order to get what she wants.  

Seeing me as a threat to her power had her put a hijacked Peeta on Squad 451, knowing full-well he was a risk. Though the Capitol’s defenses were down and the rebels had Snow backed into a corner, she used the opportunity to cement her victory, murdering innocent children and framing Snow for the deed. I’m halfway convinced she sent Prim into that trap on purpose, knowing what was coming, yet even now, she sits here projecting sympathy and sorrow for my devastating loss.  

I want to murder her where she sits, channel all my anger and rage into one fatal blow… but I can’t. Not yet. Not now that I know how she operates. I stare at her, hardly listening as my fellow victors argue for or against the games.  I don’t want them, but I know that Coin does - she wouldn’t have offered it as an option otherwise.  No, I know right now she is taking stock of who she can trust and who she can’t.  She’s gauging which victors are as vengeful as she is and which victors might “accidentally” find themselves on the other side of one of her death traps.   

Johanna and Enobaria, full of anger and rage, vote yes. Snow has a granddaughter, Johanna reveals. She wants him to die knowing that she’ll be reaped. Annie, Peeta and Beetee vote no, with Annie declaring that Finnick would also vote no if he were here.  

I don’t doubt that. Finnick was one of the best of us…but he’s gone. Dead. Murdered like so many other victors before him. 

It’s down to me and Haymitch. I know he doesn’t want a new Hunger Games any more than I do, but I also know that Haymitch is savvy in a way I’m just catching on to. He’s no drunken fool - well, he is , but he’s also proven to be quite the strategist.  

For years, Haymitch has treaded the thin line between rebellion and compliance, knowing when to please and when to keep his mouth shut. If he did offend, it was largely chocked up to his inebriated state. He was a joke, a clown…anything and everything except a threat.  While he was plotting and scheming to save our skins in that arena, the Capitol laughed at him as nothing more than an alcoholic has-been.  

I just hope right now he understands that I have got to play Coin’s game...just a little bit longer.  

“I get to kill Snow,” I say, keeping my eyes trained on her “And I vote yes, for Prim,” I continue and I can feel Peeta’s eyes on me as I say it. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking about me right now, I’ve probably just confirmed every hateful thing about me that’s been planted in his brain but I don’t care. I will end this if it’s the last thing I do. 

And it probably will be the last thing I do. 

I glance over to Haymitch and meet his eye, hoping beyond hope that he gets that I’m back in the arena and I need his help. 

Our relationship may not always have been the most friendly, but our understanding…our ability to communicate without a word being spoken between us has always been our strength. He looks at me and I can tell he knows I’ve got a plan…and for him, that’s enough. 

“I’m with the Mockingjay,” Haymitch answers, his eyes never leaving mine.  

The decision to support Coon’s call for a new Hunger Games is met with disgust from Annie and Peeta especially. I hear the horror in their voices, I see it in their eyes, but I can’t break, not now…so I leave and hide myself away again in a small wardrobe in Snow’s mansion preparing myself for my final role as the Mockingjay. 

“You didn’t visit me in the hospital.”

Gale’s reflection looks back at mine as he stands several feet behind me. His face flushes with shame but his gaze never wavers. In his outstretched hand he holds the arrow that will end Snow, but I refuse to turn and take it from him.

“I know,” he says with a frown, “I thought it would just be easier.”

He doesn’t give any more explanation to his meaning. What would be easier? His conscience? My recovery? The undeniable wedge that has now formed between us? He’s not choosing to continue so I just come right out and ask the question that has been weighing on my mind. “Was it your bomb?” 

His gaze drops from mine and I know the answer, though I feel oddly numb as I stare at his downturned face. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Does it matter? You’ll always be wondering.”

He’s right on that count. I haven’t stopped thinking about it in the days since Prim’s death. The savagery of it all, the inhumanity that led all of those kids to their deaths. How many times had we argued over his lack of empathy? How many times could I not help but compare him with Peeta? How many times had he dismissed compassion as weakness? 

I always thought that Gale and I were made of tougher stuff. Both of us crafted in the devastating explosion that killed both of our fathers, we were molded into survivors by circumstance. Breaking the rules, risking our necks to feed our families - it’s what we did. We relied on each other, helped each other, looked out for one another’s families. If there was anyone in District 12 I trusted more with my life - it was Gale. And now, now at the end of it all - it was his bomb, his hate, that killed Prim. 

Gale is still standing behind me, unmoving and stoic as ever as he sighs in resignation, “That was the only thing going for me. Keeping your family safe.”

I want to scratch his eyes out for that. It’s insulting given everything we’ve been through together, everything that we’ve suffered, every hour we spent together in the woods confiding with one another and supporting one another that he could dismiss my regard for him as nothing more than an insurance policy to protect my family. 

I’m suddenly reminded of his conversation with Peeta in those sewers. Katniss will choose whoever she thinks she can’t live without .  Just the memory of it makes me angry. Gale was my friend. My oldest friend. Maybe I couldn’t love him the way he loved me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care.

In that one conversation he dismissed my feelings as nothing more than a shallow need for survival. And now, after killing my sister, he stands here and doubles down on that cold-hearted observation?    

There’s no apology from him, no explanation, no begging me to understand the circumstances of the bomb and the war…hell, there’s not even a hint of regret over Prim’s death. No. The regret he feels in the aftermath of so much death and pain is…for himself.  That now, because of Prim, I won’t choose him like he was some prize in a contest.  

I guess he knows it’s no use. I could never forgive him.  Even now as I look at him, the old feelings of friendship and trust are gone. He was so hellbent on destroying Snow, he never stopped for one minute to think what his actions might mean for anybody else. 

I check myself as I think of Finnick, of Boggs, of Castor, of Jackson - all of them dead because of me, because of my lie…except that owned up to it. I took responsibility for it. 

Gale should be begging for my forgiveness, telling me how sorry he is…but instead, he’s done nothing but leave me alone in my misery, too cowardly to even admit he was wrong.

Which I think means he doesn’t see that he’s done anything wrong at all. Prim was just collateral damage in the face of a greater objective. Gale might be sorry for her loss, because of what it cost, but he stands by his decision to use those questionable methods of war - those bombs that killed countless innocent children and their parents. 

And for what? For Snow’s quick surrender.  

“Goodbye Gale,” I say without a hint of regret.  I should hate him, but I don’t. We have too much history between us for hate. I’m just disappointed. I wonder vaguely as I watch him go what would have happened to us if Prim's name had never been drawn. If I had never set foot in the arena. If I had never saved Peeta. Would we have gotten married? Would we have run away from District 12? Would either of us have been happy?  Or would the fires of rage within the two of us continue to carve a path of destruction in our wake? 

He leaves, but not before setting the arrow down on a nearby table, assuring me that he knows  I won’t miss. As soon as the door closes behind him, I pick up the solitary arrow and run it through my fingers. 

Once upon a time I was just a teenage girl, trying to keep her family fed and safe. Now, I’m a killer, a rebel, an assassin, a revolutionary, a victor - and soon to be executioner. I don’t even recognize who I am anymore. 

I think back to that final night of my innocence, that night before my first Games. There, looking over the Capitol on that darkened roof, Peeta told me his biggest fear was not the bloodbath that awaited us, not the knowledge that he would most likely be coming home in a wooden box…but being able to stay true to who he was - to not become a piece in the Capitol’s Games.

I didn’t understand what he meant then, but I do now. Girl on Fire, Star- crossed lover, Mockingjay. I didn’t sign up for any of it…and yet, I did. I volunteered to save Prim. I became a star-crossed lover to save Peeta. Cinna made me the Mockingjay. I played their games to survive. But then, I allowed myself to be used not just by the Capitol, by Snow…but by District 13. Without realizing, I became a piece in their games - we all did - and we’ve all paid the price.  

“I should have just eaten the berries,” I murmur to no one but myself. 

The berries. My hand goes instinctively to my secret pocket on my Mockingjay suit. I feel it there, Cinna’s gift, a small, yet significant capsule that will offer me a way out of this arena for good. 

“Are you ready for your big big day?” 

Effie’s face appears where Gale’s had been. I let my fingers relax over the pocket holding my nightlock capsule and manage a small smirk, though it feels foreign on my face.

She hugs my shoulders and tells me how proud she is to know me, tells me how brave I’ve been - but none of it has any effect on me. I’m past the point of feeling. In an hour, just an hour - I will perform one last act for the citizens of Panem and then I’ll be dead. 

I can only hope that somehow, someday my death will mean something. 

I soon find myself in the familiar bowels of the training center. There are no elaborate costumes now, no horse-drawn chariots, no screaming crowds. There’s me, what remains of my prep team and a crowd of angry district citizens who will follow my long, lonely walk as executioner. 

The sounds of drums signal my march and I step forward, solemnly and resolutely towards the city circle where Snow is waiting for me.  Though the stands are bursting with crowds, no one makes a sound - a far cry from my two previous experiences on this avenue.  I see Snow as I approach, not cowering away, but staring at me with a bemused smile on his face as if daring me to actually fire my arrow.

As I reach my position, I notice I’m flanked by my fellow surviving victors. It’s fitting - all of us here -witnessing the end of a man who introduced so much horror into our lives. I can feel their eyes on me, but I don’t look at them, I keep my eyes trained on Snow even as President Coin addresses the gathered crowd. 

I fit my arrow to my bow and draw it back, my mind focused on Prim, on Rue, on Finnick, on Mags, on Wiress, Castor and Boggs, on Marvel, and Cato….I want Snow to pay, but he’s already dead. My arrow will not change the fact that he is almost universally despised by the people of Panem. No, the real threat is Coin - the self appointed overseer of a new era of horror. 

Unless I stop it. 

It happens in an instant, a quick change of trajectory and my arrow flies, not at Snow but at Coin who collapses in a heap after my arrow strikes her through her heart. The stunned silence that follows is broken by Snow’s maniacal laughter, but I don’t care. My final act has been performed with deadly precision and now there’s nothing left to do but exit the arena. 

I hear the angry crowd erupt behind me and I know justice will come for Snow, even though I won’t live to see it. 

I lift my arm to my mouth and rip away the fabric there with my teeth, revealing the nightlock pill Cinna left me. I close my eyes and bite into it, anxious and ready for death only my teeth don’t sink into the capsule - they’ve punctured skin. I open my eyes and find myself face to face with Peeta who has placed his hand protectively over my wrist and is staring at me in horror. 

“Let me go!” I demand, but Peeta, unmoving, refuses. 

“I can’t,” he says, his hand still clutched protectively over my wrist.

I hold his gaze even as I feel several pairs of hands grip roughly onto my shoulders and arms. As they begin to drag me away, I am furious that he has robbed me of my chance to escape this miserable life. My chance to go out on my terms. I fight against the arms that are now hoisting me up and over the pressing crowd, desperate for someone to strike me down dead now before I’m tossed into one of the Capitol’s torture chambers. I’m sure they mean to kill me, but it won’t be quick and painless. No, I’m sure I'll be left to suffer an excruciatingly slow and painful death on camera for all of Panem to see. 

And it’s because Peeta refused to let me go.

Chapter Text

In a shocking turn of events, Katniss Everdeen, rebel leader and former tribute for the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, has assassinated Interim Panem President Alma Coin while standing as executioner for former President of Panem Coriolanus Snow. While we have been unable to get a statement from Ms. Everdeen, associates of the former Capitol favorite have described her condition as mentally unstable. Mr. Heavensbee, what more can you tell us about her fragile state of mind?

Thank you for having me. As I said earlier, Ms. Everdeen’s mental state has been a subject of discussion for quite some time.  I wouldn’t go so far to call her a raving lunatic, but after the death of her sister…

“Oh turn him off,” Johanna spits out, plopping herself down on the sofa next to a highly distraught Annie. 

Following Coin’s assassination, the last remaining victors and surviving members of Squad 451 were rounded up and arrested by the interim government of Panem, each of us held in individual rooms and questioned before being confined together in a wing of the Presidential mansion.  

I don’t like being here - there are too many painful memories for me in this place. This room, for instance, is where Snow coerced me into being his mouthpiece against the rebellion. The room just across the hall? Where I was beaten for warning Katniss and the citizens of District 13 about the impending bombings. The hallway just outside of this door? The last place I saw a beaten and terrified Portia before she was led to the square and publicly executed.

But there are other memories here. Memories just as painful -  of food and dancing…and Katniss.

“Will they kill her?”

Haymitch looks at me with bloodshot eyes and takes a long drink from his flask, “I’m not sure, boy.”

His answer doesn’t give me any comfort, so I resume pacing. Instinctively, I glance down at my hand to where Katniss’ teeth marks punctured my skin and think of my interview with Dr. Aurelius and Commander Paylor after my arrest.

You were seen with Katniss in the moments after Coin’s death - what were you doing? 

I saw that she was about to take her nightlock pill. I…I stopped her. 

You stopped her? Why? 

Even now, the question haunts me. Like everyone else I was stunned by Coin’s assassination but when I saw Katniss rip away that secret pocket, I was in front of her before I even knew what I was doing, my hand automatically blocking her access to the poison.

In that one horrifying moment, Katniss embodied the mutt of my nightmares - fangs dripping with blood, feasting on me, preparing to rip me limb from limb. But almost as immediately as that Katniss materialized before me, she was replaced by someone else - a girl - cold and shivering in the rain, too weak to even stand on her own two feet. 

I wasn’t afraid of her. I didn’t lose control. I… cared . 

Commander Paylor called it evidence of our “true camaraderie”. I don’t know if I want to label what  it was that drove me to stop her from committing suicide. I just know that I couldn’t let it happen. 

Dr. Aurelius asked me to recount the story of the bread, how I burned it to feed her all those years ago. He then asked me about my strategies in the Games - all aimed at helping her survive. Then he asked me about those dark days in 13, when just the sight of her would send me into a violent panic. I told him what I could remember, he scribbled down a few things as he listened.  

“It seems to me you have very protective instincts when it comes to Ms. Everdeen, Peeta,” Dr. Aurelius explained. “That is to say, the Capitol may have manipulated your memories of her, but as you’ve been able to better distinguish the false memories from the real, your natural sympathies, once paralyzed by fear, have been able to shine forth…whether you are aware of it or not.” 

“In other words,” Commander Paylor said with a slight smile, “you’re a good wingman, someone I definitely wouldn’t mind in my own corner.”

“Wingman?” 

“You care about her,” Commander Paylor explained. “More so than yourself, it seems,” as she took a roll of gauze and began wrapping my hand. “I’ll call in a medic to have this treated…”

I toy with the edge of the flesh-colored bandage now gracing my hand and sigh heavily.  A lot of good caring about Katniss will do me if I’ve done nothing more than delay the inevitable. What will it be, I wonder? Firing squad? Hanging? Death by mutts?

As if reading my mind, Haymitch nods towards a silent broadcast still playing on the other side of the room, “At least they care enough to keep eyes on her.”

My eyes rest on the live footage of Katniss, broken and small, wearing nothing but a paper thin robe and curled up on a bed completely stripped of its linens. It doesn’t take much imagination to wonder why that is but Johanna fills in the blanks bluntly, “I guess the entire country is on Mockingjay suicide watch.”  

“Well, if she wants to die they should just kill her and leave the rest of us the hell alone,” Enobaria spits out. 

“Fat chance.” Joanna snorts. “I’ll be amazed if they don’t put us all in front of a firing squad. They’ve killed most of us already…why not take out all the victors for being menaces to society? What?” She asks as I shoot her a pained look, “it’s true.”

Annie gives a little whimper and I feel compelled to say something reassuring, “They’re just asking us questions…to see if this was a planned coup.”

“And was it?” Gale asks forcefully. He’s not spoken a word since we were all brought in here four hours ago. I attributed his sullen silence to concern for Katniss, but there’s an anger in him that is boiling just underneath the surface that doesn’t quite seem to fit.  He glares at me and at Haymitch, “Did you plan this? Was this one of your schemes?”

I’m taken aback. It has been months since I could be considered Katniss’ confidant. Taken by the Capitol, hijacked, left to rot in a padded cell, I wasn’t exactly in any position to scheme anything…except maybe Katniss’ murder at my own hands.  I’m about to tell him so, remind him of the impossibility of it all when Haymitch drawls, “This was all the Mockingjay - we had nothing to do with it.”

Gale scoffs, “Yeah right, she wouldn't have just killed Coin. She’s talked about nothing but killing Snow for months.”

Katniss was determined to kill Snow, I know that much…but I can’t help but wonder if that’s entirely true. Anybody could see that losing her sister destroyed her…and yet, someone thought it was a good idea to hand her a weapon? It made about as much sense as Coin assigning me to Squad 451…

“Why?” I ask out loud. “Why did Coin even agree to let her execute Snow so soon after losing Prim?” 

“Because it was part of the Mockingjay Deal,” Gale barks out. “The same deal that had us risking our damn lives to get you and the rest of the tributes from the Quell out of the Capitol.”

I narrow my eyes in confusion. “What deal? What are you talking about?”

“Katniss only agreed to become the Mockingjay for Coin if a few demands were met,” Haymitch drawls. “One, we rescue you and every other tribute captured by the Capitol. Two, you were to be pardoned for treason…”

“Me?”

“Yeah, for the cowardly things you said against the rebellion,” Gale spits out, pure hatred on his face.

At that, Johanna barks out a dangerous laugh. She’s staring at Gale as though she’d love nothing more than to bury her axe in his face, so I move to diffuse the situation. “Look,” I say, “Snow made me say those things, alright? I was trying to protect innocent people…I was trying to protect Katniss.”

“You should have taken a bullet rather than be their mouthpiece,” Gale growls back.

“You think he had a choice?” Johanna demands, dropping her cards and rising from her chair. “When was the last time you were tortured by the Capitol, pretty boy?” 

“Johanna,” I begin, but she puts her hand on my shoulder, quieting me.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” she hisses at him. “Hearing the screams of your family while they’re hosing you down and prodding you with electric rods? Do you know what it’s like  to beg for death and instead they drag in someone you knew from home, some poor sap that has nothing to do with you and they kill them slowly in front of you instead?” Gale tries to turn away from her, but Johanna plants herself right in his line of sight, “You think they will let you take the bullet?  Take the easy way out? Believe me…I tried.  And now I have no one left.”  

I grasp onto the back of the chair in front of me, remembering Darius, Lavinia and Portia. The buzzing in my ears getting louder as Gale and Johanna continue to argue. It’s only when Haymitch intervenes that the room stops spinning.

“Enough,” he shouts, rising from his own chair. “Maybe you two don’t realize this, but we’re on the same side. This isn’t the arena,” he adds meaningfully to Johanna who casts one long last murderous glance towards Gale before resuming her place on the couch beside Annie.  

The entrance of Effie further diffuses the situation, sending Gale hulking into the farthest corner of the room. 

“Well, I never!” she exclaims as she stumbles into the room, looking affronted as the door slams behind her. Realizing she’s not alone, Effie straightens her wig and attempts to look a bit more dignified. 

“Welcome to the party,” Haymitch says in greeting, lifting his flask towards her momentarily before taking another swig. 

Effie glares at him, looking as if she would very much like to educate him on what constitutes an actual party, but resigns herself with a sigh as she takes a seat near the window. “Well, I don’t know how you can be in such a good mood. Everything is so terrible out there.” 

Johanna looks up from the card game she has started with Annie and makes a face. “Did they find what’s left of Snow?”

Effie purses her lips, “More or less. It wasn’t a pretty scene. And even now, it’s just chaos in the streets. No one knows who is in charge. Perfectly innocent people are being rounded up and treated like criminals.”

Gale looks very much like he wants to say something, but it’s Haymitch who responds, “Well, these things are to be expected in revolutions, aren’t they?” 

“And to think our brave girl could be executed as an assassin,” Effie trills out, leaning towards him. “After everything she’s been through.”

“Well technically,” Johanna starts, “she is…”

“She wasn’t in her right mind,” Effie sobs, dabbing her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “Anyone could see that. She just lost her sister…and who,” Effie grunts out in frustration as she crosses the room and points at the broadcast still showing nothing but Katniss in her miserable state, “who authorized this? To not even allow her a blanket or some decent clothes? They’re treating her like an animal!”

No one has the heart to tell Effie that Katniss’s room has been stripped for her own safety…but Haymitch does try to comfort Effie by informing her that her mother is staying in the room I once occupied as a Tribute. 

I recognize it now…the room, the bed….

I don’t want to be with anybody else in the arena. Just you.

I grip the back of the chair before me, startled by the memory…if it is a memory. I close my eyes to try to capture it - Katniss curled against me, my arms protectively wrapped around her, the feel of her heartbeat against my own…

“Peeta?” 

When? When did this happen? It wasn’t shiny, so it must be real…but when? As I try to remember, more images pop into my head. An orange sunset…the roof…the roof of the Tribute Center. Apples. The force field…and Katniss. Katniss lying on my lap as I practice tying knots in her hair. 

I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now and live it in it forever. 

Okay.

Then you’ll allow it? 

I’ll allow it. 

“Peeta?” 

“You okay, boy?” Haymitch asks warily. I realize that I’m trembling. 

“Yeah,” I breathe out, shakily.  “Yeah I’m sorry…I just…long day.”

“You poor dear,” Effie sniffs, as she totters over to me and pulls me into a hug. “This whole ordeal has been upsetting for all of us, but I can only imagine what it’s doing to you.” She offers me a sad smile, “You and Katniss deserved so much better.” 

I make it a point not to look at Gale as Effie continues to lament what might have been, especially after this latest episode. I don’t know where it came from…or why it suddenly manifested now…but it’s making me question everything I thought I knew about our fake relationship. 

“You’d think I would have been granted some kind of access, though,” Effie continues, still upset 

over the invasion of Katniss’ privacy. “Especially if they were planning on broadcasting her all over Panem. I can’t abide seeing her look so…so…”

“Real?” Haymitch supplies. “Good, maybe it will help send the message that she isn’t the Girl on Fire or the Mockingjay. She’s just a sad, broken teenage girl who has been through hell and back.”Haymitch tells Effie to relax, but I see something flit across his face - something that looks a lot like fear. I’ve learned in the two years that I’ve spent with Haymitch that he may act aloof and indifferent, but he actually cares and he absolutely cares about Katniss. 

“I just don’t know what was going through her head,” Effie continues. “How could she have made such a mistake?”

“Who says it was a mistake?” Johanna snorts, “Maybe she actually did mean to do her in.”

“Then why agree to a new Hunger Games?” I ask, unable to help myself. It’s been bothering me ever since that last meeting with Coin. I thought I was beginning to understand who Katniss was…who she really was rather than the fabricated vision the Capitol had created for me. She’s brave and fierce and a little more than terrifying, yes…but she’s also empathetic and kind and selfless. In the last few days before Prim’s death she risked everything to try to kill Snow…to stop him…the Games…all of it…only to vote yes to a new Games when it was all said and done?  

It made no sense. 

“What do you mean Katniss agreed to a new Games?” Gale demands. Though he’s still positioned in the far corner, the confusion he feels is evident on his face.  

“Coin was planning on setting up a new Games featuring the Capitol’s children. She left the deciding vote up to us,” Johanna explains with a huff. “It passed thanks to me, teeth over there,” she says pointing to a sullen-looking Enobaria, “and um…Katniss and Haymitch.”

Gale narrows his eyes, but doesn’t look shocked or even horrified by the revelation that Coin had all but authorized the sacrificial slaughter of the Capitol’s children. Instead, he looks even more confused as he turns to Haymitch, “You and Katniss agreed?”

Haymitch, who has only survived through the last 25 years of tributes because of alcohol, shrugs, “Like I said, I was just following the Mockingjay .” His eyes land on me with a meaningful pause and I’m struck by a sudden realization.

The Mockingjay . Not Katniss . The Mockingjay. A symbol of the rebellion. A symbol of hope, of freedom, of everything that stood against Snow, oppression and the Games. I think back to that meeting with Coin, when she announced that she would be taking on the mantle of President for an undetermined amount of time after Snow’s death…

And earlier, when Gale accused us of plotting some kind of coup to take down Coin, Haymitch replied that there was no plan, it was all Katniss. No, not Katniss , I think. The Mockingjay. I glance towards Haymitch and see that he still has his eyes set on me, as if willing me to read between the unwritten lines. Katniss wasn’t driven to this by lunacy, as Plutarch has suggested. 

This was intentional.  

But to admit that is dangerous, not only for her - but for all of us.

I turn my attention back to Gale. He’s glaring at me.  “She did it for Prim,” I tell him. “To punish Snow and the Capitol for what they did to her sister,” I say. But even as the words leave my mouth I’m remembering Haymitch’s words. Kinda stupid on Snow’s part, sending those bombs into that group of Capitol kids. Turned the whole damn country against him.

A strange expression steals over Gale’s face…one that looks a lot like guilt…and I’m wondering what on Earth he could possibly feel guilty about when he scoffs, “Then why kill Coin?”

I don’t know why, but I feel the need to cover for her…to explain away what is becoming more and more apparent to me as an intentional act against Coin. “Dr. Aurelius called it transference,” I say with a shrug. “Basically taking all of the anger and hate she felt for Snow and transferring it to Coin.”

Gale scoffs again, “So you’re telling me she killed Coin because she went crazy?” 

“That’s the general idea,” Haymitch drawls as he lifts his flask to his mouth. “Let’s just hope it’s enough to get her a pardon.”

Chapter Text

She’s not eating. 

I see her wasting away in that room day in and day out and everyday see tray after tray of uneaten meals come and go by her bedside. Death by starvation? Is that what she’s aiming for? 

Her deteriorating condition is broadcasted to all of Panem on the news and in the papers. The entire country is leaderless and struggling to maintain order, but the saga of Katniss Everdeen is enough to make the front page every single day. It’s even been said that people are placing bets on whether or not she’ll survive to the end of the trial. 

“Someone should go to see her,” I say. “Talk to her. Let her know she’s still got people who care about her.”

Dr. Aurelius studies me over the top of his glasses, “Who? You? Do you want to see her, Peeta? 

His pencil is poised, ready to furiously scribble down every word I say and what he thinks it might mean for me in my recovery. I hate being analyzed like this, but I know Dr. Aurelius means well. Out of every single person in the Capitol, he’s the one I trust the most…he’s the one who has helped piece me back together…and it’s that, more than anything that has me urging action on behalf of Katniss.

“I was hoping you would,” I say. “You could help her, I mean…like you’ve helped me.”

He offers me a sad smile, “If only it were that simple. She has to want treatment, Peeta. I cannot force her to talk to me, to open up to me anymore than I can force you. You’ve seen the footage, I’m sure,” he says, referring to the live feed, “she doesn’t even acknowledge anyone when they are in the room.” 

“They’re strangers,” I say. 

“She doesn’t even acknowledge her mother,” Dr. Aurelius reminds me. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, “You asked for my help. Katniss has rejected it…multiple times.” 

“So you’re just giving up on her?” 

“Of course not,” he replies, replacing his glasses to the tip of his nose.  “I’m doing my best to help her in any way that I can, but she has got to put forth some of the effort herself. There’s only so much I can do.” He leans forward, balancing his clipboard on his knee as he assesses me. “It’s interesting that you seem to care so much for her welfare, yet reject the notion that you could be the very person she needs to help her manage her grief.”

I was expecting this, but I’m not any less affected when Dr. Aurelius suggests it. Maybe once upon a time I would have jumped at the opportunity to be that person for Katniss. But now? I don’t know. In the time since I left the clutches of the Capitol I can count on two hands the interactions we’ve had and most of them have not been good.

Hell, my hands almost killed her - twice.  

I shake my head, “I can’t…you know I can’t.” 

“You say it’s been several weeks since you last had an episode…and even then you told me you showed a remarkable level of self-control. What is it that you are afraid of?”

Plenty of things, I think…namely, hurting her. But that’s only part of it. The media is a rabid animal around here, practically foaming at the mouth, hungry for any development surrounding her trial or her state of being. Add me to the mix, and it will be complete pandemonium. I know it and I don’t want to contribute to her continued exploitation. 

I explain this to Dr. Aurelius the best way I can, but he probes me further, searching for a deeper motivation behind my defense of Katniss. “You told me before that you had no interest in revisiting the relationship you had with Ms.Everdeen…has that changed?”

That’s not exactly true. I told him I wasn’t interested in keeping up the lie that Katniss and I were engaged or married or whatever it was. I know that was done for survival - for the Games. I don’t want to pretend to be anything I’m not - I don’t want to pretend, period.

But I can’t deny that lately…

“You said you were having some new memories…”

I nod, but I haven’t divulged the details of them yet and I don’t want to. These memories aren’t like the others I’ve spoken to Dr. Aurelius about. These are special…like they were only ever meant for me and Katniss and that’s how I want them to stay. 

Dr. Aurelius studies me over the top of his glasses, “Still don’t want to talk about them?”

“No,” I reply. “I don’t.”

“Are they happy memories?”

I frown as I think over his question. On the surface they seem happy…but there’s an underlying sadness about them I can’t quite articulate. Is it regret? Or is it something else?  “I’m not sure,” I tell him. “I think so…” 

“Do they involve you and Ms. Everdeen?” he asks, and I nod again, but don’t elaborate, even as Dr. Aurelius says, “I see….and this has changed your outlook about your relationship with her?” 

“No,” I reply. “It hasn’t changed anything, not really. I mean, I don’t see a future with Katniss, but I…I don’t know. I still want to see that she’s okay. We’ve been through a lot together and I…I don’t want to see her in any more pain.”

“And you think she is in pain?” he asks. 

I scoff at the ridiculousness of the question. “Of course she is. She’s…she’s….”

“Human?” Dr. Aurelius offers with a smile. At my nod, his smile broadens, “Well, that’s a far cry from mutt .” I flush in shame over the observation, something that does not go unnoticed. “So what you are saying is that you no longer consider Katniss a threat to you? She’s someone who is now worthy of care

Embarrassed, I keep my eyes trained on the floor before me, refusing to answer. It’s been a long time since I referred to Katniss that way and I don’t like being reminded of it - especially knowing that I am the actual mutt. 

“Forgive my teasing, Peeta,” Dr. Aurelius says, “but I think it shows remarkable progress beyond that of your protective instincts.  When we first met, you had an irrational level of fear when it came to Ms. Everdeen and now, now you’re expressing great empathy, kindness and compassion towards her.” 

I look down at the scars encircling my once-chafed wrists and can almost feel Katniss’ hands there. You have to keep these clean or they’ll get infected. I smile. “That’s what Katniss and I do,” I tell him. “Keep each other alive.”

“They want you to testify.”

It’s lunchtime and Haymitch and I are having a meal together in what was once President Snow’s sitting room. We had been talking over the latest developments of the trial and the strength of the prosecution’s case when he hit me with that bombshell. 

I stare back at Haymitch, blankly. “Who’s we?”

He shrugs and begins buttering his toast, tossing his hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head, “Her defense team…and just about every single person in the Capitol.”

“Why?” I ask, though I’m hardly ignorant of the answer.  

“Why do you think?” Haymitch guffaws. “Good television. You two are still the talk of the Capitol…probably now more than ever.” 

While this news hardly surprises me, it’s still frustrating. Katniss, for her part, hasn’t been able to avoid the cameras like I have. It’s highly probable she doesn’t even know she’s being broadcast all over Panem. I thought by trying to keep a low profile, avoiding the media and taking care to distance myself as much as possible from the court proceedings they’d lose interest in the star-crossed lovers angle.

But no. 

I never thought anyone seriously expected me to participate in the trial anyway, given the year I’ve had, but now I’m beginning to think that was pretty foolish of me. A lump forms in my throat and I’m forced to set my fork back down on my plate before I revisit what I’ve already managed to swallow. 

“I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?”

It’s already a feeding frenzy. Everyday they interview legal experts and psychologists, attempting to predict what the courts will decide and why. They comb through old Hunger Games footage to analyze every single facial expression, every uttered word, every move Katniss made. They’ve dug up random people on the street who claim to have known her-  people just looking for their 15 minutes of fame - in an attempt to fill the airways with more Mockingjay trial coverage. 

I didn’t think it was possible to exploit Katniss even more than she has been, but since the trial began it’s only gotten worse. Last night, for instance, they kept looping footage of her combing the floor of her room desperately searching for morphling. Experts were brought on to point out the tell-tale signs of withdrawal, leading some to suspect that she killed Coin in some drug-induced frenzy.

If I were suddenly added to the mix? It would be a chaos. Utter chaos…and I’m supposed to be avoiding chaos.  

Haymitch shrugs indifferently as he takes a bit of his toast, “Doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?”

I eye him warily before I admit with a frown,  “I think I’m not interested in performing for the Capitol.”

“It wouldn’t be performing,” Haymitch says matter-of-factly. “You would be testifying. Just like me.”

My eyes meet his and I see the same fear I saw fleetingly the day Coin was assassinated. “You’re still looking out for her,” I observe quietly. 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Haymitch shrugs as he lifts his flask to his lips. “I’m her mentor.” 

It’s not that I don’t want to testify - I want to help in any way that I can - but I’m afraid…afraid that my testimony will somehow work to condemn her rather than save her. It’s no secret anymore that I tried to kill her - that was broadcasted on airways throughout Panem, showing me go full mutt on Mitchell. That information in the hands of the prosecution? I can already hear it - Her own fiance considered her too dangerous to be kept alive. 

“Haymitch -”

“Dr. Aurelius will be testifying too,” he tells me, before adding, “and he thinks that you could provide some essential insight.”

“Insight?” I scoff, “How? I…I was hardly around her…I was here…or in a padded cell…or cuffed to a pipe in the sewers. I wasn’t exactly a trusted confidant of hers this past year.” I want to say “or ever” but I stop myself, not quite sure anymore if that’s true. 

“No,” Haymitch agrees with a frown. “But you knew her…better than these assholes,” he motions to the broadcast where a former District 13 resident is telling the media how demanding Katniss was while living there.   

“What about Gale?” I ask. “He was with her during most of this last year. They’ve been friends for longer than we…” but I know as soon as I say it why his words won’t make much of an impact on the jury or the citizens of Panem. Haymitch quietly observes me as I heave a heavy sigh, “But I’m supposed to know her better than anyone else.”

“You never get off this train,” Haymitch reminds me. “Besides,” he says after a beat, “Gale won’t be testifying anyway. He’s being shipped off to District 2.”

The revelation makes me start. “Before the trial is over? Why?” I ask, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer. The talk of Katniss’ probable execution has gotten louder the past few days as the prosecution has laid out their case, painting her as a revolutionary figure who wanted nothing more than to raze the Capitol and burn down the whole system. If Gale is heading out to District 2 now it’s either because he thinks she doesn’t stand a chance and he doesn’t want to be around to see the aftermath or…

“Rumor is he’s going to be heading up the new high security prison there,” Haymitch adds. 

Oh yes. The subterranean monstrosity that used to be called The Nut. When the media isn’t covering Katniss or the trial, it’s been this. The transformation of the former military training facility of District 2 into a high security prison for those deemed “enemies of Panem.” It was damaged badly during the war, but some engineering officials from 13 were able to go in and repair a lot of what had been destroyed. The decision to use the sprawling facility as a prison came after it was decided that each district should have some sort of military training site…to help reunite and reestablish peace across Panem. 

If Katniss is found guilty, she will most likely be one of the first inmates to be housed there…at least until her execution. The thought makes me a little sick, remembering how adversely she reacted whenever we would travel through the tunnels cutting through the mountains surrounding the Capitol.

 “He doesn’t think she’s going to get out of this, does he?” 

“Couldn’t tell you, boy,’ Haymitch replies. “All I know is that he is shipping out of here before the defense has a chance to make their case.” He continues eyeing me for a beat before pressing, “It’s okay if you don’t want to testify. Dr, Aurelius has already told them you can be exempted for psychological reasons…but he’s leaving the choice up to you.”

I look at the live footage of Katniss now playing on the screen and wonder what I could possibly say that would make any of this better. All of Panem saw her kill Coin. The prosecution is making their case that she bumped heads with Coin on more than one occassion. What could I possibly say to refute any of that? Tell them that she never wanted to bring down the government when she was literally the face of the rebellion? 

No one would believe me. 

Besides, I know that the minute I take the stand, our phony relationship will be at the center of the cross-examination. If I admit, under oath, that it was all a lie to gain sympathy - how will anything else I have to say make any difference in her favor? For as much as the Capitol has been invested in our star-crossed lovers routine, to have it refuted publicly, by me? It will probably lead to riots in the streets. The jury, the court, the public will turn against us…and that won’t help Katniss at all. 

“Do you really believe your entire relationship was a lie?” Haymitch asks me after I spill out every reason why I shouldn’t take the stand. 

“C’mon Haymitch,” I groan, “You know it was. You know how she feels about Gale.”

“Actually, I don’t,” Haymitch replies. “Did she ever tell you how she felt about him?”

“She didn’t have to,” I reply. “I just…I know.” 

“Uh-huh and what exactly do you know?” Haymitch presses.

I stop, because for the first time I realize Katniss never told me explicitly that she and Gale were anything but friends. Friends who kissed.  But that was only once she said…or did she? I can’t remember. In any case, it was pretty widely known that Katniss and Gale were something…and that something was not cousins. 

Haymitch smiles at me, “Problem with your memory, there?” 

Yes…and no. The Capitol worked overtime to manipulate my memories of Katniss, of our time together…but I’ve been able to sort some of it out. One thing I do remember was that Katniss  was always so guarded, so careful never to reveal too much of what she was feeling…except when she couldn’t help herself. And that’s when I remember…

“She defended him when he was tied up to that whipping post.”

“So did I, so did you,” Haymitch observes. “Next.”

I shake my head at him, willing him to see what I saw. “She stayed right by his side all night when her mother was healing his lashes.”

“Pretty damn sure she nursed you back to health in that first arena,” he replied, shoveling a spoonful of soup into his mouth. 

“We were allies,” I reply, dismissively. “That was different. It was part of the Games.” 

“You mean the Games where you’re supposed to fight to the death?” I glare at him, but he shrugs indifferently again. “She didn’t have to risk her neck to get you that medicine…in fact, pretty sure she had to knock you out to do it.”

The sleep syrup. In my corrupted memories, Katniss was trying to poison me…but I’m not sure the truth is much better. Tricking me into taking that syrup, forcing it down my throat when I realized what was happening…

Besides, everything that came after that was nothing but a lie. 

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I tell Haymitch as I toss my napkin onto my plate. I’m making my way out of the room when he stops me. 

“Would you like to know what she did to me when she found out we had left you behind in the Quell?” 

I throw my head back in exasperation, “Haymitch - “ 

“It wasn’t pretty, I’ll tell you that,” he barks out. “She moped all around 13 until we rescued you from the Capitol, refused to even work with Coin until you were safe.” Haymitch approaches me with a frown, “She made a lot of people mad, tying her role in the rebellion to her demands about you…including Coin.”

“The Mockingjay Deal?” I ask quietly, refusing to meet his eye. 

“She signed away her own chance to be left the hell alone to save you, and Johanna, and Annie.”

“And then I tried to kill her,” I mutter despondently.

“Yeah,” Haymitch says, adding, “Not that I didn’t completely sympathize - there are times when I’ve wanted to kill her too, but listen to me, Peeta,” he adds seriously, “When you attacked her? It gutted her. She tried to put on a big tough guy show, but anybody paying attention could see it. Losing you just about killed her.”

“What’s your point?” I say impatiently. 

“My point?” Haymitch scoffs. “My point is do you think Snow would have spent all of the time and resources he did on you if he thought for one minute that it wouldn’t absolutely destroy that girl?” He stares at me, “She may be the stubbornest person I have ever met, but I don’t believe for one second that she was as indifferent to you as you are trying to pretend she was. She cared enough about you to make Snow pay attention. To make Snow use you against her. And I think you need to remember that.”

Chapter Text

The collar of my suit is too tight as I shift uncomfortably in the witness stand. I don’t dare reach up to adjust it though for fear of what the commentators will say. The cameras are everywhere and the courtroom is standing room only, adding to my sense of unease. In the crowd, I find Haymitch and nod at him as the prosecutor approaches the witness stand. 

It goes about as well as I believed it would. The prosecutor, a severe-looking middle-aged woman with sleeked black hair, establishes Katniss as a volatile, angry young woman who was known to lash out violently. As evidence she presents the court with camera footage showing an irate Katniss shove me into an urn of flowers in the Tribute Center, causing my hands to bleed. The entire room gasps in horror. 

“This incident occurred prior to your first Games, didn’t it - Mr. Mellark?”

I look down at my hands and nod, “That’s correct.”  More gasps. 

“Can you tell the court about the circumstances that led to this altercation?”

This. This is why I didn’t want to do this. I knew somehow, somewhere somebody would let the prosecution in on that fact that Katniss and I were never the star-crossed lovers we proclaimed to be. Telling all of Panem the truth about that, however, would completely undermine anything else I had to say about Katniss…because they would see me as nothing more than a liar. 

I wish that I could become the Peeta Mellark I once was, the one who could easily sway a conversation. My hesitation is already causing some murmurs among the crowd. I take a deep breath and admit, “She was angry with me because of what I said in the interview with Caesar Flickerman.”

“Refresh the court’s memory…what did you say in that interview?”

I glance at Haymitch who, I’m surprised to see, is not avoiding my gaze as if I’ve crossed some point of no return. On the contrary, he’s nodding at me, encouraging me to go on. I take a deep breath and say, “I admitted that I had a crush on her…she didn’t know.”

“You admitted you had a crush on her - and she responds by injuring you the night before you were set to go into the arena? An arena in which you would need to be able to defend yourself?”

“You see why I never admitted to liking her before then?” My response is out of my mouth before I even realize I said it, but it completely diffuses the situation. The entire courtroom laughs, including the judge. I look to Haymitch and he is smiling.

“Look,” I say, more seriously, feeling a bit more relaxed, “you have to understand. We were about to be thrown into an arena to kill each other. Katniss, at that time, thought it was just a ploy to take sponsors from her. She thought I was manipulating the audience and manipulating her to get inside her head. Make her an easy target. She thought I did it to hurt her.”

“And was that correct? Were you just manipulating the audience and Ms. Everdeen?”

I think back to those harrowing hours before the Games. Katniss had just managed to score an 11 in her individual assessments making her the clear number one target for the careers. I had already told Haymitch my goal was to do whatever I could in the arena to protect her, to keep her alive, but that 11, he told me, would make me a target as well. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It was risky, he said…but based on what he had seen of Cato, he figured it just might work. 

Admit you like her, tell all of Panem…

Are you crazy? She’ll kill me! 

Exactly. It’ll take a lot of convincing for that girl to believe anybody likes her - hell, as cheery as she is, she’ll probably hate you for it. 

And how is this supposed to help me? 

You make it work to your advantage. You’ve bled your heart out to the girl you’ve loved all your life and she rejected it. That District 2 boy won’t be interested in anything but killing her…and that makes you, the jilted lover-boy, a very interesting asset. 

How?

Haven’t you stuck with her all through training? Don’t you think they’re going to want to know how she got that 11? Who do they think is gonna know how she managed to pull that off?

Me. 

Damn right you. 

It was sheer luck that Katniss reacted as badly as she did. Cato and Clove spied me stepping off the elevator with bloodied hands and followed me all the way to the medical bay with taunts. It was like pouring salt over an open wound, but when I found myself approached by the Career pack after the bloodbath at the Cornucopia the following day, it was all worth it to buy her some time. 

“I ask you again, Mr. Mellark,” the prosecutor huffed impatiently. “Did you do that to manipulate her?”

“No.” I reply quietly to a chorus of sighs throughout the captivated courtroom. “I meant what I said.”

“But she didn’t feel the same way, did she?”

This question brings an objection from the defense and I am grateful for it. These past few months I’ve been trying to sort out my own feelings for Katniss…hers are even more of a mystery to me.

The prosecutor looks more than a little annoyed after the judge sustains the objection, but her next question is less intrusive. “Was Ms. Everdeen your ally in those games?”

I shrug, “Sure…”

“Then, why did you ally yourself with people targeting Ms. Everdeen if you weren’t trying to manipulate her and the sponsors?”

“They approached me,” I remind her. “I just thought it was a good opportunity to buy us both some time.”

The prosecutor isn’t convinced, reminding the courtroom that I allied myself with Careers, practically leading them right to her in an effort to kill her. Of course, I hadn’t meant to do that. The Gamemaker’s fire had done that…but she isn’t interested in details, just appearances. I’m nervous, though, because I know where this is going. 

“You cornered her. You cornered your ally and when you did…”

No. I think, as a humming begins to sound in my ears. Not here. 

…”she responded in the cruelest way possible…”

I grip onto the sides of my chair, my vision blurring at the edges. My name is Peeta Mellark. I am from District 12. District 12 is gone - 

“...by dropping a tracker jacker nest on you - her ally - and your companions.”

—-- because Katniss Everdeen destroyed it. She killed my family. She is a dangerous mutt. 

I’m lying on the floor in the judge’s chambers as Dr. Aurelius takes my pulse. It’s been two hours since the court was adjourned for an emergency recess following my outburst. I have no idea what I’ve done, but I imagine it can’t be good. 

Haymitch is nowhere to be seen, which I think means he’s probably doing his best to spin the fallout the best way he can. A tall order since I know I’m probably being featured on every screen in Panem, going full mutt in the courtroom. 

“Take it easy, Peeta,” Dr. Aurelius warns. “Your heart rate is too high.”

He’s right. I can feel it pounding in my chest, throbbing in my throat, pulsing in my temples. I can’t seem to relax, though, no matter how hard I try. In my head, I keep seeing her, red-eyed and laughing cruelly. It does no good to know it’s not real, it feels real and that’s enough to convince me I’m nowhere close to figuring out this thing. 

I’m no help to Katniss, in fact, I’ve probably condemned her. Looking around, I’m surrounded by Peacemakers, their batons out and at the ready should I lose control again. What did I do?

Dr. Aurelius must see the concern on my face, because he quickly orders the room to be cleared. There’s some argument concerning his safety, but he produces a small syringe from his pocket, a sedative that he promises to administer should I begin to lose control again. “You will let me know, won’t you Peeta?” he asks. 

Anxious to be left alone, I readily agree, though I remain on the floor with my hands over my face even as the last Peacekeeper disappears from the oak-paneled room. “I apologize my boy, I should have intervened sooner,” Dr. Aurelius says with a sigh as he takes a seat on the floor beside me. 

“It’s not your fault,” I say flatly. “It’s mine. I should have never agreed to this.”

“Perhaps it was too soon, but I stand by what I said,” Dr. Aurelius tells me. “You’ve made great progress. Don’t let a little setback discourage you. You’ve come a long way…don’t forget that.” 

I can’t agree with his assessment that this was just a little setback…in fact, I’m terrified that this has huge ramifications not just for my recovery but for Katniss. Dr. Aurelius tells me not to worry about it, to trust the defenders to do their job but I can see it in his face - he’s just as worried as I am. 

Why did I agree to do this? Why? I knew there was a good chance I would lose control and yet, like an idiot, I let Haymitch convince me otherwise. More buzzing in my ears has me rolling over onto my knees, my hands clamped over my head as I desperately try to regain control. 

I hear Dr. Aurelius’ voice calling to me, but he sounds so far away and there’s someone else with him too…though I can’t quite make it out. They’re arguing, though…and it’s not doing me any favors. I’m slipping. I’m slipping…

And then…

It’s sooner than later that I’m six feet under. 
It’s sooner than later that you’ll be alone. 
So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder? 
For when the bell rings, lover, you’re on your own

Cause I am the one who looks out while you’re leaping. 
I am the one who knows how you were brave. 
And I am the one who heard what you said sleeping
I’ll take that and more when I go to my grave. 

“Katniss?” I gasp as a million different feelings and memories come flooding back as if a dam has suddenly burst in my mind. Every glance I once cherished, every slight touch in the hallway at school, every sweet note of her song fills every dark corner of my tortured mind until I’m aware of nothing but her. 

I stumble from my prostrate position on the floor towards the projection screen that is airing live footage from her room. She’s sitting with her head pressed against the window, tears rolling down her cheeks…and singing - singing in a way that I haven’t heard in what feels like a lifetime. 

“Peeta?” 

Dr. Aurelius is calling to me, but I don’t even acknowledge him. I’m awe-struck - just as I was at five years old, by Katniss Everdeen’s voice.  

“I told you this was worth the interruption, Aurelius.” I turn and see Plutarch Heavensbee standing just beside me near the screen, his hand on the controller. “It’s all anybody’s been talking about…well, besides your little outburst Peeta,” he says with a chuckle. “Good show, by the way, added just the right touch of drama to the trial.”

Dr. Aurelius begins to argue with Plutarch again, but he is now focused wholly on me. “You’ve just shown every citizen of Panem the full savagery of the Capitol…and now with our Mockingjay bursting into song, we’ve got the jury and public opinion right where we want them.” 

I force myself to tear my eyes from Katniss, “What do you mean?”

“Your outburst, my boy!” Plutarch laughs. “A bit violent, yes…but it gives me so much to work with. You see, I have already advised the defense to pull the surveillance footage from your first meeting with Katniss in 13.”

Every good feeling that had blossomed inside me in those short few moments has suddenly been dashed to pieces as I register exactly what Plutarch is telling me. “No,” I shout, horrified. “No, you can’t show them that…it will…it will…”

“It will show the jury how Katniss was driven to madness - not just from the loss of her sister, but you. Losing you when she had already lost her baby in the aftermath of the Quell…don’t you see? There’s no way we can lose.”

“Plutarch,” Dr. Aurelius argues, “I’ve told you - we have plenty of other resources we can use in her defense without having to resort to these highly personal and…”

“This boy and that girl are tragic figures in the eyes of the citizens of Panem, Aurelius,” Plutarch counters. “I’ve devoted my life to understanding what makes these people tick and I’m telling you - his descent into madness will play well alongside the defense’s argument that our Mockingjay was out of her mind with grief when she fired that arrow.” 

Beside us, the projection of the news broadcast cuts to me picking up my chair and hurling it out into the crowded courtroom. I’m yelling something, but it’s an unintelligible garble of words that come out in a half scream, half sob over the shouts and gasps of the curious onlookers packed into the courtroom. I’m lunging for the prosecutor looking almost rabid when I’m knocked out and carried out of the room by a half a dozen Peacemakers.  

It’s more horrible than anything I could have imagined - the worst possible thing I could have done, no matter how much Plutarch wants me to consider it otherwise. 

When he finally leaves the room twenty minutes later, Dr. Aurelius takes a seat next to me. “It’s been a very busy day for you,” he acknowledges. When I don’t reply, he presses, “As much as I hate to admit it, Plutarch is right - no one in the Capitol quite understands what happened to you - seeing it first-hand like this? It’s got their attention.”

“I don’t want their attention,” I say.  

“I know you don’t,” Dr. Aurelius concedes, “but unfortunately, you are - whether you like it or not - a public figure. People feel as if they know you.”

“I don’t even know me,” I scoff. 

“Be that as it may. You - and Ms. Everdeen - hold the public’s interest…and your outburst, while not ideal, has got people talking about what you suffered…what you both suffered at the hands of the Capitol.” 

“I don’t want to testify anymore,” I say. 

“No, I don’t think there’s any need for that,” Dr Aurelius replies soothingly. “Plutarch is going to make the most of this in his own testimony…and I will do my best to see to it that everyone understands the psychological ramifications you both endured by being participants in these Games. Either way,” he says after a beat, “you should rest easy - you did a good thing today.”

I let out a derisive laugh, hardly believing it. “Did I?”

“Yes, my boy,” Dr. Aurelius says as he pats my back, “Despite the outburst, I believe you did.”