This story is set near the end of Mockingjay but before the epilogue. It's my take on hijacked Peeta. Enjoy!


Chapter 1: Beginning of the End

I force my eyes open to greet the day, wanting nothing more than to stay in bed. As my vision begins to focus I see Peeta's chest rise and fall as he sleeps. His arm is curled around me and he looks so peaceful. It's a shame I have to wake him. We have somewhere to be today, and Haymitch won't wait around forever.

"Peeta," I whisper into his ear. He cuddles closer to me until he is practically on top of me. His head is pressed against mine so that our noses touch. This isn't working. His warmth is making my eyelids heavy. I need to try a different tactic. "Peeta, you're crushing me."

That gets his attention. His eyes snap open and he rolls away from me, alarmed. "I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?"

I bite my lip. Why did I say that? Now he is going to think that he hurt me. I only meant to wake him, not make him worry. "You would never hurt me."

Peeta gives me a hard look. "I wouldn't hurt you, but he might."

He is referring to hijacked Peeta, the tortured soul that still dwells within him, threatening to take over. Every now and then the real him is swallowed up by the other Peeta. The one who hates me. I have accepted that he will never truly be normal again. He will always be fighting an internal battle for control over himself, and there is nothing I can say or do to help him.

"Katniss..."

I can see the pain in his eyes. I caused this. I hurt him with my words just like I always do. He would be better off with someone who will protect him, not someone who was ready to kill him during the rebellion. I am the source of all his love and all his anguish.

"We need to get going," I say, changing the subject. "Haymitch is waiting."

We have to attend a party in celebration of our victory over the Capitol. I've been dreading this for days. Going will only be a reminder of all the rebellion has taken from me: Prim, Finnick, even a part of Peeta is gone. Haymitch tried to get us out of it, but Plutarch wouldn't take no for an answer. He insisted we at least make an appearance. I had been the face of the rebellion, after all.

I crawl out of bed and head toward the dresser, trying to decide what to wear. Something that isn't too showy but isn't too casual. Some kind of plain dress. I dig through the dresser until I pull out a green one. That will do. It's emerald green and goes down to my knees. I think it's elegant without being too fancy.

Peeta picks out a nice collared shirt and plain black pants for himself. He hands me my mockingjay pin. "They'll be expecting you to wear it." I let him pin it to my dress strap.

We walk hand-in-hand out the door of our hotel room and into the crisp Capitol air. The sun shines brightly overhead as we walk toward Haymitch's room. "I hope he's not drunk."

"It's Haymitch," Peeta replies with a small smile. "He probably is."

I knock on the door repeatedly until a gruff voice calls out to me. "What do you want?" He's drunk. I sigh in frustration when he doesn't come out.

"Let's go. I want to get this thing over with," I say through the door. I can hear a glass bottle shatter against the floor. "You weren't supposed to be drinking."

The door swings open seconds later, revealing a half-naked Haymitch. "I got tired of waiting."

I turn my head away in shock. "Where are your pants?" Peeta is laughing beside me, but I squeeze his hand tightly to shut him up.

Haymitch mumbles about how he knew he was forgetting something and disappears into the dark room. A stream of curse words and the sound of things being tossed around can be heard throughout the hotel. I try to avoid the annoyed stares of other guests as we wait for Haymitch. Why does he have to be so embarrassing?

He reappears fully clothed after what seems like hours. "How long are we staying?"

"Not long," I reply automatically.

We walk the short mile from our hotel to the celebration venue. The building is black with neon pink stripes, making it stand out against the plain-looking living quarters that surround it. I have to wonder why they built it in a regular neighborhood.

Peeta holds the door open for us as we walk inside. He is the last to enter but the first to comment on the venue. "It certainly is pink in here."

That is an understatement. The floor, the walls, everything but the lights is painted the same neon pink as the outside of the building. It looks as if the color itself vomited its very essence into the room.

I have the sudden urge to flee back outside, but Peeta grabs my hand again and holds me to the spot. The look on his face says that he shares my desire to run. I don't trust my legs so I let Peeta lead me to the table of refreshments. I pop some kind of pastry into my mouth. It's sticky and tastes like blackberries, but I don't like it. It's amateur at best compared to what Peeta can make.

People swarm around us, making me feel claustrophobic. Everyone wants to speak to me, but I can barely hear them above the pounding of my heart. I feel like a caged animal about to be slaughtered.

Peeta notices my discomfort and speaks up. "Please," he says loudly. "If you could kindly give her some space, I'm sure she will be glad to answer any questions." The crowd backs up almost immediately. "Thank you."

I spend the next hour answering questions and casually chatting with what seems like a horde of people. I swear I'll snap if one more person asks how I felt when Peeta was captured. It's none of their business, and I don't want to relive the pain right now.

The horde of people is never ending. I sign autographs, pose for photos, and continue to answer question. They must have me confused with a celebrity. I didn't do anything special and I wish they would stop acting like I did. The rebels won the war, not me.

I decide I can't take this anymore and begin pushing through the crowd, searching for Haymitch or Peeta. I lost Peeta somewhere between the questions and the photos. I find Haymitch talking to Plutarch by the bar and I shove my way to him. "Haymitch, have you seen Peeta?"

He looks up at me and shakes his head. "I thought he was with you."

I open my mouth to say something but am silenced by Plutarch. "I'm so glad you could make it. I have a special surprise in store for you."

I don't like the sound of that. "Oh. We were about to leave."

"It won't take too long," he promises.

I reluctantly agree to stay and take a seat beside Haymitch, who is even more intoxicated than before. He pushes a glass of white liquor in my direction. "You look stressed, sweetheart. Have a drink."

I decline the offer and pass it back to him. It will be impossible to fight my way through the crowd while drunk.

Plutarch's voice can be heard over the roar of the crowd. "We are here to celebrate our victory against the Capitol. Let us promise to never forget those we've lost and those we've killed." I see his face on a big screen hanging from the far wall. He turns to look at me. "And we are here to honor our mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen."

His face disappears from the screen and is replaced with an animated clip of my mockingjay pin. Then, to my horror, Plutarch begins playing propaganda from the rebels and the Capitol. Peeta! I've got to find him before the video upsets him.

"What the hell?" Haymitch mutters, stumbling to his feet. "I'm going to have a word with that idiot."

I rush through the crowd, occasionally knocking people down. I ignore their shouts and continue on my quest to find Peeta. He has to be around here somewhere. I trip over my own feet and fall to the floor, covering my head so it doesn't get trampled. A few minutes pass before there is enough room for me to stand. Sweat is dripping down my face as I dive back into the sea of people. I panic at the thought of not being able to find him in the crowd.

"Peeta!" I shout at the top of my lungs. "Where are you?"

That's when I see him standing by the door, eyes wide and a frightened look on his face. His hands are clenched and he is grinding his teeth. I knew he would be upset by the video. I slow to a stop as I reach him, but he doesn't acknowledge me. Instead, Peeta turns away from me and violently pushes open the door, walking out of the party hall. I follow him onto the sidewalk. "Peeta..."

He stands on the hard pavement with his back to me, head down as if he's looking at something. "He's not coming back," he whispers.

I quickly realize that this is hijacked Peeta. Is he referring to his normal self? "What do you mean, he's not coming back?" I ask, despair evident in my voice.

He gives me a cold, hard look. "The Peeta who loves you is gone. All that's left here is me."