A/N: This started out as a practice for first-person writing. Then it took on a life of its own. A little problematic (to me) at some parts, so I'll be doing a review of it much later down the road. As posted on AO3. Oh yeah, I'm back on this site! Good to be back!

House Call

I shudder when the cold water hits my skin, spilling over my head and onto my shoulders. I shut my eyes tight as I take a reluctant shower, counting off in my head. The thumping in my chest is too fast, too loud, and I have to count verbally now. My hand falls on the shower tap, trembling so hard that I can't grip it properly and turn the shower off.

I know the water isn't hurting me but it doesn't do anything to stop the wild racing of my heart and my shortness of breath. I begin gasping, as if resurfacing from deep pools threatening to swallow me whole. There is not enough air. I grab my towel and wrap it around me – forget turning off the shower, I need to get out – and stumble out the bathroom.

The room is dry. A comforting change.

I hate that I still remember my stay at the Capitol. The rebellion, the fights, the bloodshed and torture – they all come back to me in the quiet of the night. They seize me like thieves out of shadows. It is only recently that my nightmares have chosen to follow me even into daylight.

It has been five – five weeks? Five months? I can't remember. Time is lost to me, irrelevant within the expanse of my home in District 7. I don't care much about counting the days; I just want to forget. I curl up against the bedframe, thinking about anything but the Capitol, the Mockingjay rebellion, President Snow, Katniss Everdeen.

The Girl on Fire owes me as much as I owe her. I remember the days just after the rebellion ended and the Capitol fell along with that snake Snow. I remember Katniss checking up on me in the hospital of District 13, like she checked up on everyone else like a worrying mother hen. I remember always seeing her first when I wake up from a nap, and I remember the faint shine of relief in her eyes when she sees that I am still breathing.

It was – is – strange to see – to feel – someone caring like Katniss Everdeen does. I grew to depend on that, depend on the fact that she would have to be the first person I see when I wake up. So I would remember that we won, even though it hadn't felt that way. It still doesn't feel that way, as I press myself against the bedframe further, steeling myself for the day ahead.

I hate this, I really do.

A knock captures my attention, pulling me out of a daze. I run a hand through my hair, untangling knots as I unravel my messy thoughts. I don't even think of changing into proper clothes as I reach for the doorknob; the Games are over. I am no longer one of those victors – I don't have to keep up appearances.

I immediately regret that thought when I open the door and find Katniss Everdeen standing on my front porch.

She has the same look that she had in the elevator, so many lifetimes ago.

"You need proper clothes," is the first thing Katniss says to me.

I almost snort. What am I supposed to tell her? That I was freaking out in the shower before this and forgot to put my clothes on?

I smooth my hair into place like I did my emotions. I flash her a smirk.

"Well, you need better-looking clothes."

The sitting room is quiet and dim – just the way I like it. The only thing that fills the silence is the clinking of spoon against glass as I get the tea out. There is nothing strange or awkward about Katniss being inside my house even though we have not seen each other since the day I recovered and left District 13; we fought side by side – I think there is no better intimacy than that.

I set down the tray and sit across Katniss, stretching like a cat. I am still in my towel, but she doesn't even seem to notice anymore. I frown a little – that's no fun. She seems to realize my unhappiness at the situation and clears her throat. "So," she says, "How have you been?"

I nearly choke on her words. How have you been? What kind of response is she expecting from me? Oh, me? You know me, Katniss. Independent. Alone. Snow killed off everyone I ever knew and cared about, so I don't have to worry about personal space. Really, Katniss. I'm having the time of my fucking life here. I stretch my mouth into a tight smile.

"Fine." It is all I can manage for now.

Katniss looks at me as if she is studying something foreign, something she doesn't recognize. I feel anger flare up within me; is she really judging me for my dishonesty? Barely able to hold my own tongue, I ask her the same in return. "What about you, Girl on Fire?"

The name has an effect on Katniss. Her blue eyes flash with remembrance, but more importantly they flash with anger. I smile wryly when her mouth curls into a frown.

We have not touched our tea yet.

"What's the matter with you, Johanna?"

I cock my head to the side, feigning ignorance. "What's the matter with me?" I parrot, taking in every minute detail of Katniss' descent into frustration. It is the only game I ever get to play, since she is the only visitor I ever get. "I'm perfectly fine, Katniss."

"No, you're not." Something hardens behind those pretty blue eyes. "You've been missing our calls – all of us."

Of course, by 'us' she means the usual band of misfits who survived the final stage of the rebellion. The baker boy, the brooding rebel Gale, Haymitch who reeks of alcohol, Effie, the woman who won't stop butting into our lives after we left the Capitol. I sink further into my chair, pretending not to care. I contemplate my toenails as I raise my feet and rest them on top of the coffee table between us.

"I'm sorry. I sleep with earmuffs," I say. My eyes turn up at the sight of Katniss' hands balling into tight fists. I hold back a smile. "Am I getting on your nerves, Katniss? I thought we were friends –"

"You're not acting like it, that's for sure," she snaps, and finally I can see it – she is just as tense as I am. She still carries the weight of the war on her shoulders. Her strong exterior crumbles ever so slightly and I allow myself to feel sorry for making her feel this way.

"I guess we have our ways of coping," I drawl. I put my feet back on the ground. "I lied. I don't sleep with earmuffs."

"I figured." Still, despite it all, her sense of humor prevails. Something to look forward to in our conversations, I suppose. Perhaps that's why I only entertain her presence – this is her second visit, now. I consider the first visit as the time she entered the ward I was resting in during my stay at the hospital. At the time, it seemed she never left my side.

I smile at her. "Alright. You have something for me?"

"Like I said, you've been missing our calls." Katniss brushes a strand of hair from her face. "Haymitch and Effie are getting together to invite us back for a reunion. Said something about…getting through this together."

"Like a perfect, happy family. Mom, Dad and my siblings." I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I let out a laugh. "This is everything I've ever wanted."

"You don't have to make fun of it. I know it's been hard on you –"

"Then why didn't you visit?" I yell, leaping to my feet. I am still clutching to the towel wrapped around my body as I walk around the table to reach Katniss. I seize her by the collar with a shaking hand and pull her up. "I've spent – I don't know how long – spent all this time alone, trying to get over what happened and you think – all of you think – a fucking phone call is going to make me feel better –"

I am livid. Then I am relieved she is here. I am a whirl of emotions and Katniss braves that storm, pulling me into her arms. Then I am sobbing, uncorking the bottle of everything I've kept inside since the day I came back to an empty house and a head full of bad memories and nightmares. I clutch at Katniss' arms, holding on too tight but too afraid to let go.

"I've got you," I hear her whisper into my ear. Then warm lips touch my hair, then the side of my face. She is my friend. I cry harder at the thought. "I've got you now, you're gonna be okay."

She continues to talk, promising me all these things, until I fall asleep. And for the first time, I dream of nothing.