AN: Hey! This is my first shot at writing Fanfic, so I love reviews! Anyway, this is my interpretation of what should have happened in District 8, just after Katniss gave her "if we burn, you burn with us" speech, particularly after she fell to her knees in front of the hospital during the movie, but THIS IS NOT A MOVIE FIC. Just a plot bunny I wanted to write with my own touches, incorporating the novel and film.

~Cressida POV, but a little OOC, cause I wanted her to have more of the movie's Natalie Dormer baddassery.

~No pairings, you could argue for Cressida/Boggs, but not intended or recommended.

~Multi-chapter oneshot.

~ Disclaimer: Mama Collins owns it all.

Katniss pov

"Yes," I say more forcefully. Everyone is drawing away from me-Gale, Cressida, the insects-giving me the stage. But I stay focused on the red light. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors."

The shock I've been feeling begins to give way to fury. "I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." My hands go out automatically, as if to indicate the whole horror around me. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!"

I'm moving in toward the camera now, carried forward by my rage. "President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" One of the cameras follows as I point to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from us. The Capitol seal on a wing glows clearly through the flames. "Fire is catching!" I am shouting now, determined that he will not miss a word. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"

Cressida pov

Her words hang in the air, suspended in time by the wreckage and the heavy breathing of our squad.

All motion stilled. Those sentences taunting us from the sky.

The entire group remains silent for a long and punishing moment, not quite sure if she's finished with her speech. I'm only satisfied that Katniss is genuinely done when she turns herself away from the camera, facing the steaming lump and carnage that was once the District 8 hospital, and falls to her knees in an act that I can only liken to anguish. Like all the fight has drained from her.

It's the same look she got when Rue died in her arms during her first games, when I was only a film producer in the Capital. I saw Katniss appearing just as she does now, on one of those massive screens that penetrated about every foot of the city during that time of year. Even the Capital citizens took pause.

So much blood. So many flowers.

Religion doesn't exist in Panem; it was all banned and wiped out during the Dark Days. But I swear in that moment two years ago, every last person with an available screen might have been praying in absolute silence

None of us wanted to see Katniss morning like that, for a girl, only a child, with a spear lodged in her stomach cavity. It was too private; too painful.

She has an effect, I'll give her that.

But this is not something that we should be filming.

"Cut. That's a wrap." I utter so silently I'm sure they didn't hear it.

I pivot and point to Castor and Pollux, repeating myself in a louder tone and addressing the whole group. "Turn it off. We're done. I want us all packed up and out of here soon. Boggs, is there any way to call into 13 for a rescue hovercraft? I know those Capital bombers likely won't continue shooting, but-"

"We don't want to be so exposed," Boggs picks up my thought sternly, "not here; not like this," he says, gesturing his eyes slightly to Katniss, who's back is still to us and appears to remain in a trance by the smoldering remains, "I'll request for one immediately," he finishes, and goes off to make a call.

When he leaves, Castor and Pollux begin to pack up the cameras, while Gale and Messala have a word with Commander Paylor – I assume about bringing in District 13 rescue teams for the hospital. They won't need to, I think. Don't they already know what they might find? Katniss was probably right, when she said that there "would be no survivors." Severely injured bodies can't survive beneath so much concrete and brick; and as far as I could see, everyone in the building was severely injured.

Or dead, of course.

Noticing that I'm the only one not preoccupied, I take it upon myself to see what can be done about our Mockingjay. Try to comfort her a little, I guess, considering how much pain she must be in now. Although I'm not sure what I could say.

I'm not good with words. They make me uneasy. I'm better at setting scenes that other people can put words into.

And, though it's selfish, I feel slightly on edge about being alone with Katniss Everdeen. I always knew that she was stubborn, unpredictable, and occasionally violent (the claw marks on Haymitch's face were a constant reminder), but in these last few months, she's also been dangerously unstable. Everyone who I've spoken to in the District 13 hospital think she's going mad.

But brushing the tattooed vines against my scalp, running my fingers through the portion of my hair that isn't shaved, I accept that there's no point in quarreling with myself, and begin to walk over to her.

Katniss seems unfazed by what anybody else is doing, or at least based on what I can see from the back of her. I can only wonder if this trip might have done some damage to her brain, more so than what there had been already. I'd seen how she received a concussion during the Quarter Quell (Johanna's work), but I'd also been told that she was deteriorating long before she was handed that mentally disoriented bracelet on her wrist, even before the Quell was announced.

Prim and her mother depicted the ravenous nightmares she endured every night, and Gale explained that there were often times when they were hunting in the woods, and she'd mistake shooting down a turkey to murdering a fellow tribute; Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, and she'd go completely insane and scream until he could calm her down.

Haymitch told me how mentally and physically sick she was during the Victory Tour. "She had to take these pills from Effie- can you imagine that? I mean, a girl as stubborn as Katniss? Accepting anything from anybody? That was a big deal, right there. We all knew that the sweetheart had to be pretty run-down then" he had told me once while under a drunken and mumbling stupor.

Even Cinna, when he was alive and when we were in correspondence as a part of the underground Capital rebels, described taking in her dresses at the waist and layering makeup to hide the shadows under her eyes that signified lack of sleep, during those weeks traveling through the districts by train.

I trip like this, I realize, could push her completely over the edge.

She's practically Annie Cresta, I think, but take it back immediately. I've seen victors. Almost all of them have been damaged. And I know that it isn't their fault.

When I'm about halfway to where Katniss kneels, I can finally inhale the sight of her.

From the distance, about 30 or 35 yards away, the first thing I take notice of is how faintly she's breathing. Her shoulders rise to indicate an intake of air almost inconceivably. She also appears to have positioned herself in a quizzical, swaying motion; it's as if her body is genuinely careening from side to side, unable to control herself, about to fall over any second.

I pick up my pace, knowing that this can't be right. The way she's moving is that of a very injured person- I'd seen this action in many of those who contracted head or limb injuries doing stunts when I still made movies- But I can't tell if the damage here was sustained in her mind or body; perhaps both.

Her swaying is increasing in magnitude now, like she's going to collapse entirely without warning. The moment I see her knees twist and fall to the left, my own legs give way into a sprint, and I'm suddenly pumping my arms and legs at a rapid speed simply to reach her.

I converge on Katniss's head and chest just in time to break her topple, resting her more gently in the rubble by breaking the fall. Bombs got her, I think. When I catch sight of the back of her left shin; I know that I am right. There's a pool of very scary blood forming beneath it, and a massive wound that I'm sure was caused by some kind of shrapnel.

I whip my head around and yell to the others, "She's hurt! Bad, I think! Boggs, Emergency hovercraft! And Medical! We need it now!"

When I catch their attention, the entire squad comes running toward us like a wave, and I leave Gale and Messala to collapse by Katniss's bleeding leg while Pollux and I take the responsibility of examining her head. Boggs stands above with Castor, doing all they can to break through to District 13 and scrounge up someone to take them back.

Pollux and I shift over, so that we can see Katniss's face, but with a single glance I can tell the situation is fruitless.

She's unresponsive, almost entirely. Aside from a strikingly pale skin pallor that I blame on blood-loss, She's not recognizing voices, or movement, even a flick on her cheek. Pollux takes her head into his lap and begins to comb her hair with his fingers, I think in a kind of calming action for Katniss's sake, while she stares out into space, focusing past us with an odd, slightly confused look. Dead to the world.

It's like none of us are truly there to her. She's looking through us with such intensity that I feel like a ghost myself. I keep looking behind me to see if someone might actually be there; a Capital bomber, a District 8 citizen crawling from the rubble of the hospital.

The air has gone stale and tense as everyone attempts to locate what is wrong with her; but none of us want to admit that her condition isn't surprising. We knew she was unstable, and we all had our doubts about her ability to perform.

"Katniss, can you hear us?" I ask her gently, even though I know there will be no answer, "Katniss, we're all here; do you... know where you are?" I tap her cheek and wave my hand in front of her eyes desperately.

Blinking. But still looking through us. No motion.

Despair settles on all of our faces.

"Boggs, she's unresponsive. How do we… approach this? What are we going to tell Coin when we come back with a shell shocked Mockingjay?"

"We tell her exactly what happened," replies Boggs, relatively unfazed by the predicament, although I know he's focused on getting us a hovercraft, "unexpected bomber attack. Caught us all by surprise."

"But she ran straight into the unexpected bomber attack! Gale practically broke your nose trying to help her escape!" I press, pointing at Gale.

"Leave that detail out, then," Boggs recovers swiftly, slightly probing his still-bleeding nose, "besides, it won't matter, what with the footage we got. Coin couldn't care less if she's injured, just that she performed. It's cruel, but we both know that's the case. Don't stress, Cressida. And, while she is still unresponsive, I suggest you look at that leg, try to wrap it up. Spare her the pain of being conscience.

Gale and Messala nod, and turn to probe the enflamed flesh surrounding the wound. However, the second a finger brushes her leg, I notice that Katniss's face has taken on a severe complexion. For a moment, she seems stymied, shifting her pupils this way and that, rapidly, as if she's confused. Her eyebrows furrow so intensely, I could swear they were tempted to leap from her forehead.

Then, she begins to scream.

A howling, endless scream, as her fingers tear at the rumble, cutting her hands, as if she's trying to dig something free. Only, she's not screaming from the pain, or her head, or her leg.

She's screaming for Peeta.

Her face is mutilated into one of complete terror, as she screams for him, his name over and over again as if it is her own. Screaming for Peeta to run from the tracker jackers, to climb the Cornucopia, to not leave her. Asking where he is, screaming that the fog is poison, to get to the beach and escape the monkeys, That the arena was a clock, that the Cornucopia is spinning, that the Jabberjays were attacking her and Finnick. Screaming for him to reach the lightning tree.

She's not here at all.

Physically, she might be, but her mind is gone, relieving the 74th and 75th Hunger Games, and Peeta seems to be completely caught in it all.

We abandon the hopes of healing her leg, but she still won't stop. She just keeps screaming. I'm not even sure that she breathes.

None of us can listen for very long. But it's not because of the noise.

Pollux continues to stroke her, and I do my best to wrap some cloth around her bleeding hands.

Boggs reports that the hovercraft is on its way, without emotion, while Messala and Castor prepare Katniss to be lifted and carried to the runway.

Gale just stares at her. Angry, but blank.

She has an effect, I'll give her that.

About 15 minutes in, her voice cuts off completely, gone hoarse, unable to scream any longer. But she continues to whisper Peeta's name.

Too private. Too painful.

And we wait.

It seems like years before the hovercraft arrives. We are all so worn and tired by then, completely exposed, that it takes both Gale and Boggs to carry Katniss to the landing strip. It's probably a good thing, too, because halfway to the craft she regains some consciousness, and her head tips forward just enough to vomit up whatever still remains in her stomach. And with them each holding one arm over their shoulders, puke didn't get on anyone.

Concussions, I think. Messing with everything.

Avoiding the puddle, Boggs and Gale set her down just long enough to allow Katniss to empty herself, gagging and groaning significantly, and then lift her again to continue making our way toward the hovercraft.

I dodge the mess she leaves on the concrete- a sickly mixture of blood and bile- and run my hand along the tattooed vines on my scalp again.

I guess it's a nervous tic.