Author's Note: This is definitely an AU fic. For my purposes, it wasn't Peeta who was reaped with Katniss, but another character of my own creation named Tam. He was killed in the bloodbath and is not very relevant to the plot, other than the fact that he's dead. Also, there is no rebellion after the Quarter Quell.
Warnings: This deals with mentioned forced prostitution. While it is not descriptive, if the idea disturbs you, you might not want to read. It is also incredibly angsty, and focuses on people attempting to cope with their assorted psychological issues.
Katniss hadn't realized that the ones who died were the lucky ones.
She remembered everyone she saw die. Glimmer from District 1, once lovely, was swollen and disfigured in death. She hadn't actually seen what had happened to the girl from District 4, but she assumed that she'd mirrored Glimmer. The boy from District 1, Marvel or something, with an arrow in his throat. Clove with her skull bashed in. Cato torn apart by mutts. Rue with a spear lodged in her stomach and covered in flowers. The broken way the boy from District 3 had fallen to the ground after Cato snapped his neck.
And those are only the ones from her games that she actually saw. Seven out of twenty-three. What other horrors had been shown to sate the people screaming for their blood? She hadn't seen Tam die, but his appearance in the sky the night of the first day and the fact that the number of faces coordinated with the number of cannons directly after the bloodbath told her that he hadn't listened to Haymitch's advice. Just like she nearly hadn't.
She'd survived her games, done her victory tour, but it all felt... stale. Her house in Victor's Village, while occupied by both herself and her mother and sister, had an emptiness she couldn't identify. Even hunting with Gale was no longer a pleasure. Her first time back in the woods had given her a flashback to the arena; the Careers at the foot of her tree, then to Rue's death. Gale had not quite expected it, but had handled it remarkably well, all things considered. He'd somehow gotten her back to her house and tucked into bed while her mother and Prim fussed over her.
Eventually, she settled into a new normal. She'd wake up, bid Prim farewell before she went to school, and walk around for most of the day, either through the district or in the woods. She'd sometimes visit the Hob; they still seemed to accept her at least in part, while most of the rest of the district looked at her like the murderer she was.
It wasn't until a few months after her return from the victory tour that the first invitation came. President Snow claimed that the 'Girl-On-Fire' was extremely popular with the Capitol citizens, that they craved her presence. There were some in particular who were dying to meet her. Privately.
The words, so innocent on the page, froze Katniss' heart. She could read the subtle cues in the invitation itself, and her fears were confirmed when she showed it to Haymitch. He was only slightly tipsy at that point, and the look full of pity he gave her had made her feel ill.
"I don't think I can do it," she confessed, hating how weak her voice sounded.
"I know, sweetheart. And I hate saying it, but if you don't, then he'll make you."
Her acceptance went out the next day. The train came within a week. Somehow Haymitch had wormed his way into coming, but he spent all of the trip either drunk or hungover, and the few times he was even remotely sober he'd looked at her like she was about to die. She'd thoroughly trashed her room, breaking down completely in a sobbing wreck on the floor because this just wasn't how it was supposed to be, not in any way, shape or form.
Her arrival in the Capitol was met with cheers from its ecstatic populace. Their girl-on-fire had returned to them. Just like she had in her interview, as she had on her tour, she smiled as best she could despite the emptiness in her heart and the soreness of her eyes. Katniss Everdeen was never been able to be much besides sullen and silent; it nearly killed her to smile when she felt so empty.
President Snow had arranged for her to stay in the Capitol's finest hotel, with instructions to appear at a party that night. He'd even sent over something for her to wear. One look and she'd known it had been designed by Cinna. It was obviously intended to show off her assets, but under Cinna's masterful eye, it had accomplished that purpose while also preserving her dignity – at least until the time came. She didn't see Cinna, and despite her fondness for him, she was glad. Katniss didn't think she could bear if he saw her, knowing what she was about to do.
The party was nigh on unbearable, a parade of terrifying Capitol people all around her. It quickly became obvious which one Snow had intended her for. She detached herself mentally for the rest of the night so she could try to forget the feeling of being pinned under someone, their hot breath on her neck, and left as soon as she was able, throwing herself in the shower and removing about a layer of skin in her attempts to scrub herself clean. She eventually fell into an exhausted mess on the floor, water falling on her naked form while she sobbed.
It had taken her hours to muster the ability to get up, dry herself off and get dressed. Haymitch had been sitting in the living-room, disgustingly, alarmingly sober. One look at him was all it took for Katniss to break down again. Haymitch had held her as she cried, silently rubbing her back.
"I miss my dad," she'd croaked out, much to her surprise. On the other hand, Haymitch hadn't seemed fazed.
"I know."
The rest of the week followed much the same pattern. Her days were her own, but her nights belonged to whoever Snow told her. Every night was a new one and by the end they all blurred together to form a terrifying face that haunted her sleep. When she was finally allowed to go home, she heard that the girl-on-fire was the Capitol's latest tease, that everyone wanted a piece of her. She couldn't help feeling that the girl-on-fire had been the one burned as she threw up in her room on the train.
On her second visit, she met Finnick Odair, one of the youngest ever victors. Katniss had always thought he was nothing but a playboy, lending his affections to anyone he desired. She now knew the truth; that he was just as trapped as she was.
Their first meeting consisted of her dry-heaving in the hallway outside her new apartment (provided by Snow). Haymitch had been forced to remain behind in 12 and she had never felt so alone. Finnick, with all his tanned glory, had crouched next to her and rubbed her back, then helped her into her apartment. He'd slept in her living-room that night and drank orange juice with her the next morning.
His advice was simple enough: Collect secrets. Take yourself away from it. Find someone to support you. Strangely, he helped her cope just as much as Haymitch did.
Every few months was the same: A return to the Capitol, a new parade of 'lovers' who took what they wanted without concerns for her. Her district thought of her as a whore, coming back at times looking like the Capitol's girl-on-fire and not Katniss Everdeen, the first victor District 12 had seen in twenty-three years.
She slowly began meeting other victors; the beautiful Gloss and Cashmere from District 1; Enobaria from District 2 who, while not one of the Capitol's 'whores', often had to visit for reasons she wouldn't name; other, relatively young victors in the same place she was. And she quickly learned that just because they did not necessarily agree, or even like each other, they all had a certain bond that no one else could quite match.
Few people still stood for Katniss when she was at home. Among those few were her family and Gale, Haymitch, Madge, and to Katniss' everlasting confusion, Peeta, the baker's son. Every time she purchased cheese bread, he greeted her with a smile and polite inquiries as to her family. Whenever she heard people's cruel words about her 'activities', she could be assured that Peeta would defend her.
The announcement of the Quarter Quell's theme brought back the point that Katniss would have to mentor the female tribute. She would be responsible for the girl's life – and her death, should it come to that. The theme itself made her feel ill.
"For the 75th annual Hunger Games, as a reminder that all the Capitol's citizens lost those they loved to the rebel's actions, each pair of district partners shall be siblings."
It took a moment for the thing to sink in to Katniss' mind. The girl and boy tributes would be brother and sister. She had no idea how the Capitol would be rigging that one up, but she felt sure they would find a way. While she felt sick, she could not help the gratitude that flooded her when she realized that Prim had no chance of going into the arena.
Two months before the Quell, almost all the living victors were 'invited' to the Capitol for a series of interviews, a sort of recap to the seventy-five years of games (although there was no chance anyone who had been in the games before the thirteenth was still alive). Katniss, as the most recent victor, was subjected to some of the more rigorous interviews and forced to relive parts of her games.
Haymitch, the only living Quarter Quell victor, was subjected to similar torture. Katniss learned the reasons behind his drunkenness, although she had been developing more of an idea as to why during her time as victor. To be reaped with twice as many tributes, for your only ally to die in your arms, for your family to be killed because you used the arena as a weapon; anyone would turn to something to numb the pain. The morphling addicts from 6, one of the male victors from 5 and Chaff from 11 who drank as much as Haymitch did; it was almost better than actually feeling what was going on.
Despite her busy schedule, Snow somehow made time for her to visit with her 'lovers'. Thanks to the mandatory viewing of the interviews and the complete coverage of the entire event, Katniss was frequently seen by her district with a different Capitol man every night; a piece of arm candy with a false smile plastered on her face. She wished she had no one to worry about. Then she would do what she wanted and never let anyone touch her again.
At one party, she finally met the infamous Johanna Mason. Johanna, who insulted whoever she liked whenever she liked and made fun of Katniss at every opportunity. Finnick, apparently great friends with the dark humored victor from District 7, assured Katniss that it was because she liked her. Katniss was not so sure.
It became evident that Finnick was right, however, when Johanna was waiting for Katniss backstage one night, and gave her an almost sisterly one-armed hug when she saw how blank Katniss' face was. They had recapped Rue's death, and by extension Marvel's, asking her how she'd felt and other such nonsense. From that day on, Johanna and Katniss commiserated over the lack of trees in the Capitol and a shared sense of dark humor.
The Quell was as bad as Katniss expected it to be. Her tribute, a thirteen year old town girl, was killed on the second day by the Career pack, the brother a day later. She and Haymitch no longer had to worry about sponsors, but that was the first night Katniss got so drunk she could not even go to her scheduled appointment with her 'lover'. When she woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a dry mouth, she received word that it would be her only warning; the next time she did not do as she was told, she would lose someone she loved. When Haymitch found her she was puking in her toilet and sobbing. He took one look at her and rubbed his face tiredly before coming to help her.
When evening fell she had to pretend that everything was fine and go to meet the man she was intended for the night before and deal with the sad looks Cinna and Haymitch gave her as she left. That night was almost as painful as the first time, as though he were taking revenge. Her drive back to the training center found her crying quietly in the backseat as her driver pretended not to notice.
From where she stood naked before her mirror, viewing the bruises that marred most of her body, she could not help but wonder what would have happened to her if she had never volunteered for Prim. Chances were, her sister would be dead and Katniss just another sibling who lost one they loved. But she did volunteer, and she would never regret it, as long as Prim was alright. She just prayed that Prim would be alright.
The games ended with a victor from District 1, the oldest tribute who, at eighteen, had seen his sister be killed by the male tribute from District 4 before killing him. Johanna and Katniss stood with Finnick, who just shook his head sadly.
"Dear God, what do we tell their parents," was all Finnick managed to say tiredly, surprising Katniss. She'd expected he was used to it by this point. When she'd stated as much, he'd only shaken his head before Johanna snapped.
"You NEVER get used to it! You numb the pain or you put on a brave face, but it will never get any easier, and anyone who tells you differently is a liar." She had stormed off angrily at that point to go wherever she went when she was sad.
Her return to District 12 was about as pleasant as she expected it to be. She accompanied the coffins of the tributes to their parents, a hungover Haymitch at her side. She was not quite expecting the venom that came from the mother's mouth. She was referred to as a Capitol whore, more interested in her lovers than the lives of children, while Haymitch was a drunken slob. Katniss was too shocked to block the sharp slap directed to her face. As Haymitch pulled her away, the father returning the favor with his wife, Katniss wondered if this was how it would always be; the parents of the tributes she mentored taking out their desolation on her. Haymitch did not have to answer her when she asked and silently delivered her home to her family.
Katniss didn't have a chance to meet the newest victor until about six months later, when she was in the Capitol for one of her visits. They met in much the same way she met Finnick, although he was staring blankly at the wall rather than dry-heaving. Katniss, while not one for giving comfort, cautiously sat down next to him, leaving enough space that she could escape if need be. She was wearing another of Cinna's designs, but there was a gash in the side and her hair was falling loosely about her shoulders instead of elegantly coiffed.
He looked at her with red eyes, teeth barred angrily, raising a hand as though to hit her. Katniss stared back at him calmly, having grown used to people poised to hurt her.
"You! You killed both our tributes last year!"
"Yes," Katniss admitted quietly. He dropped his hand and buried his head in his arms. Katniss did not touch him, did not say anything else, but waited for him.
"I didn't know this is what it would be like," he eventually whispered brokenly. He didn't need to say what he meant; Katniss already knew.
"None of us did," she replied evenly. They didn't say anything else, but when Katniss patted his arm as they parted ways he gave her a curt nod.
Back in District 12, Katniss considered taking up drinking, or morphling, if she could afford to. Of course, she could literally pay for it, but she didn't think the after-effects were terribly desirable. If she wasted away to nothing, then Snow would hurt her family. If her 'lovers' were not satisfied with what they got and they complained, then Snow would hurt her family. If she died, then her family would be forced to return to the Seam and they would have no way to really provide for themselves. It was a horrible situation to be in, from any standpoint. So she avoided the white liquor that Haymitch practically breathed on all but the most unbearable of occasions, and never touched morphling if she could help it. Besides, Haymitch told her the alcohol only numbed the pain and didn't drive away the nightmares, with visions of Rue and Cato as they died flashing through her mind. Or if she was particularly unlucky, the feeling of being pinned down by the men who payed Snow for her company.
Most of her district thought she was a whore, and those who didn't couldn't truly understand. Madge, who was brave and good, could not see what would happen if Katniss refused. Gale spoke of revolution without knowing that every time Katniss sold herself, that even if who she was wasted away a little more, she was protecting everyone she cared about. Prim tried to, she really did, but Katniss didn't want her to. She didn't want her little sister to know just how painful something that was supposed to be good and fulfilling could be. She didn't want to her little sister to understand the things that someone with power over her loved one's lives has make her do. Her mother just held her when she had trouble sleeping because of the nightmares. And Peeta continued to treat her as though she were a regular person, not a victor of the Hunger Games, not the murderer she knew she was, or the whore she knew she wasn't.
The only ones who understood were other victors, and they had no power to do anything but support each other silently. The victors, who existed at the whim of Capitol people who could either love or revile them. Unfortunately, their love was so painful it hurt more than to be hated would. Their love could burn you until nothing remained of who you were; Katniss has seen it in the morphling addicts from 6, or in Annie Cresta, the crazy girl Finnick loves more than anything who went mad during her games while the Capitol begged for more. Their love could make you change yourself to fit their expectations, like an old victor from 9 who had been so surgically altered after her games that she rarely left her district now. No, their hate, their indifference, would be preferable to being loved by them.
Katniss envies the victors like Johanna and Haymitch who have no one left, or who like Cecelia have gotten past the adoration of the Capitol citizens. She aches for the newest victor who will be a hot commodity like she was, but who hasn't destroyed her popularity totally. She longs for the day when her visits will slow down to once a year when she goes to mentor, although she suspects that day is a long way off. She is young and hale, not even eighteen yet, and Finnick has been doing this for years.
She didn't know being a victor would be this painful. She didn't know that the lucky ones are the ones who die.