A/N: This is a fanfic that takes place after Catching Fire, my take on Mockingjay you may say. It starts out I District 13, where revolution is being planned. Katniss is in the middle of it and she wants to save the people captured. She aches over Peeta and feels guilty, trapped. Also, my take on the Peeta/Katniss/Gale triangle. Please read and review and mind my English since it's not my native language. Enjoy and Happy Hunger Games!

I thought I knew nightmares. I have been inside of several; death snapping at my ankles, their saliva leaving traces and their teeth tearing future scars. My father's death. Our near-starvation. Prim's prominent bone cage that was her chest. My mother's depression. The reaping. The games. The time after. The time up until now. A time of fear and anger and disappointments.

Yes, I thought I knew nightmares. But now I realize what they truly are, how horrifying they can get. Standing in the woods with unbearable memories stitched into my mind. Standing in the shadows of dictatorship, of human hatred. A tree trunk supports my soul and heavy heart; my palms digging into the branches with the pain reminding me to breathe. I inhale smoke. I inhale death. I inhale the remains of the only wrecked home I ever knew, District 12. It's gone. The skeleton houses are black and empty with fire's aftertaste and everything, ev-er-y-thing is destroyed. Gone. I spot our first - our real - home. There's nothing left. Not even a trace of life that was once lived there, however depressing that life sometimes was. Beyond that I see the remains of Gale's house. My chest starts to sting. Before I can stop myself my gaze goes further beyond the ashes that were once houses, Victor's village, my new house, Haymitch's house. Peeta's house. My eyes dart between them until I am dizzy and my heart hurts. They're all gone, too, the ground bare and black. Wiped clean. A message, perhaps. We who caused – who started – the trouble. Destroyed. I see the town square. Memories swirl within me, flashes of the reaping creeping up from my sub-conscious; memories I desperately try to suffocate; memories that wake me with twisted sheets and a 2 a.m. body bathing in sweat. But they are out in the open now, and swirl together with the smoke.

'Primrose Everdeen!'

No, no …

'I volunteer, I volunteer as tribute!'

'Up you go, Catnip.'

'Peeta Mellark!'

Peeta …Where it all began. Where Gale was tortured. I shudder, every movement causing sharp pain to cut through my body and soul. I am not sad to see it gone. No, I am not sad. I allow myself a moment to curl into myself, breathe the pain and choke on the cries I hold inside. I will not cry. I will not be weak. So many lives have been lost and mine was barely spared. I will not be weak. My hand curls into a fist and fresh leaves crumple under my flawless Capitol fingers. I let them go and see them go with the wind. Then I exhale and straighten my spine and cast one last look over District 12, my home. Correction: my former home. The sky is clear and blue, the smoke not quite being able to cover it. That gives me hope. A shard of hope in this wasteland of pain and loss.

I turn around and find Gale watching me, just standing there next to the tree trunk. His eyes are quiet, serious. A gray mess of no emotions, never giving anything away. I stare back, our quietness breathing our pain and our loss loudly. This is not a time for hugging. This is not a time for comforting words and soft shoulders to absorb tears. This is bigger, greater than that. We both know it. His gaze shift and his eyes take in the destruction of District 12. The ruins. I see his mask falter, his emotions trying to claw their way out that stone face. I know exactly what he's feeling. Well, I almost do.

Gale lost his baby sister in the bombing of District 12. Many people lost people they loved. More than two thirds of our district died. I heard it was chaos. Fiery, burning chaos engulfing people and lives. Sparing no one. Gale saved my tiny family's life. I owe him everything for that. He told me I owed him nothing, stubborn as usual.

I see him swallow and then he looks at me again. We're in the clearing where we have met a million times in the past. Mellow Sundays, sunrise to sunset. In the summer our limbs were brown and sun-stained and our bellies were full of fresh game and late-summer berries. The dirt stained our nails and the blueberries our cheeks and the Capitol our dreams. The future always seemed brighter on Sunday nights back then. We were hopeful children, the reaping a once-a-year black cloud we had to worry about. The Games lingering in our minds but we never knew. We never knew loss like this.

He starts to say something but a noise cuts through his words and they are lost to the still, loud wind. We automatically turn our faces skyward and see a black shape, melting into the smoke. A hovercraft. Not making much of a noise, but enough to make us aware of its presence. I close my eyes and smell pine trees and home. It's time for us to leave. I don't know whether or not we will return. I touch the back of Gale's hand with three fingers and take cold comfort there. He clasps my hand and together, wordlessly we say goodbye to a place that was well loved by us. Perhaps it is the wind or perhaps it is sweet sorrow; but my eyes sting and my cheeks are damp. Then the ground disappears under my feet and together we leave our home behind.

District 13 is different. There are ruins here, too, so most of the district is in the woods and underground. Force fields protect them – us – from the Capitol. Blink and you will miss the mass of people huddling underground and in cabins in the woods, living their lives with a determination I wish I possessed. The men in the woods hunt and gather in the day and guard at night. Most women are underground, tending to the lives of what's left of their shattered families. Everyone is trying to build a new community. Behind closed doors of steel are people I have yet to meet, important people. The core of the undercover group, the core of the revolution. Mockingjay symbols are everywhere and wherever I walk people hush and stare. I am a celebrity as I was a celebrity in District 12. I do not wish to be one and shrink away from their awed gazes and admiring whispers. I do not deserve this. I do not deserve to give them hope; soaring high in the smoky sky. Some approach me at times, hesitantly grazing my sleeve as I walk by as to make sure I am real. I wonder if I disappoint them when I don't grow black and white feathers and sing of a future I know we – I – will never have?

No one tells me anything. I am lost here, no freedom to speak of. It is as if electric fences with no holes are around me, growing up into the heavens, impossible to climb over or to tear down with my bare hands. Gale and mostly I had to stubbornly whine and I screamed foul names at Haymitch, trying to rip his skin off with my already torn fingernails until they let us go to district 12. I haven't seen him since, blood streaming down is haggard face – making new scars in the old ones and made so many weeks ago. He looked like he wanted to claw me right back. I couldn't care less. I don't care a lot these days. When I was released from the hospital wing I was put underground in a tiny room. My mother and Prim live next door and Gale is stuck up in the woods in a cabin. He's on guard duty. He also gets to hunt, putting his skills to good use. I want to hunt, too, but they will not let me. They will not let me do anything. They will not tell me anything. I once again feel like a paw in their game. Peeta. No, I will not think of him. His name only brings me pain that sends shockwaves through my body and I have enough of that these days. I am tired to crouch like a wounded animal; a bird with an arrow buried deeply into the fragile flesh of her wing.

After we get back from District 12 I am ushered into "protection" within minutes, two men from District 13 escorting me. I don't even have time to say goodbye to Gale. I have not said one word to him since he told me District 12 literally had gone up in smoke. There is so much to say and I don't know how to say it. They look a lot like us – District 13 - except their eyes are a bright green. It's easy to separate them from us, even though we're supposed to be "one". One united force against the Capitol, one united mass of rebellion-thirsty people. We're a big mix of people from different districts, our hope and faith holding us together by strong vines, never snapping, never bending, never breaking. Yet I search the masses for a boy with blue eyes and blonde waves and every day I find none.

It's twilight out, the sky a massive sheet of purple and I greedily inhale the fresh air and dig my heels into the damp earth until they almost pull my arms out of their sockets forcing me down in under. We enter through a well-camouflaged door in the ground. Inside it's damp and smells of spring-dirt. It is daylight down here but I have yet to figure out how they manage that. I know my way down here by now. I know what hides in the corners, what rooms are locked and the useless ones that are not. The first days I lay in my bed doing nothing, feeling nothing. District 12 gone. Peeta gone. Cinna gone. Probably dead, all of them. Gale was doing God knows what and my mother was constantly busy with her new job. Haymitch refused to see me since I only spat in his face for answers. What was the point of even getting up? But Prim – sweet, sweet Prim with her broken arm - crawled up next to me whenever she got a chance and placed pleading whispers in my reluctant ears. She braided my hair with her small, soft fingers and tended to me like my mother tends to the wounded people in the hospital wing. She was like an annoying mosquito and her begging finally got me up one day; I took a bath, explored the place until I figured out there was no exit I could pass through and then yelled until my throat got covered in blisters. I demanded action. I demanded to see Haymitch. I demanded to see Gale. I demanded for action to be taken. I demanded to do something useful. My efforts were totally pointless. They just ended up locking my door, causing Prim to cry and me to lose my voice and get fists numb from pounding. Then I just quietly demanded to see the people I missed so much my sticky insides ached. Peeta. I had failed in protecting him. I had failed to bring him home.

Since then I have walked around – underground - where I am allowed, trying – desperately – to find whatever scraps of information that I can gather with my greedy fingers and mind and ears. Trying to find a way out. Perhaps I am foolish and immature but I can't just sit around doing nothing. Hopelessness was an everyday feeling in District 12 and even more so in the arena. But now I know that there is a way out, there is a way to get out there and take action. But now they will not let me. They will not even let me into the woods I cherish with my entire being; where I transform into a living creature that breathes properly. Being to District 12 was the first time I got fresh air since the Games and the first time I saw Gale since he visited me in the hospital wing. It was the most fun I'd had in weeks; at least the most sense of freedom I have had in a while. We were heavily guarded obviously. Capitol people were still everywhere, looming in our woods, our blackberry bushes and destructed home. According to our guards. I didn't really believe that, though. The Capitol had thrown firebombs. They had seen the bodies. Their dirty work there was done. The mess left was of no importance. They had uprisings in a few districts to take care of; even though the rebellions have decreased greatly since district 12 imploded. The Capitol is slowly restoring power. Meanwhile we are doing something I am not sure of. Building an army, perhaps. I am of no use, that much I know. I do know, however, that the Capitol will use Peeta as bait. To get me running, so fast my feet will break.

My guards drop me off outside my room. I ignore them both, knowing they have nothing but disappointment to give me. I have already begged and searched and tried to steal. I turn my back to them.

'Hold on,' the tallest one of them says. I lift my gaze to him. 'We've received instructions to bring you to the Center.' I just stare at him.

'The Center,' he repeats; pronouncing the word with an accent I have gotten used to, pronouncing it with the sort of voice you use when you speak to a child, as if I am slow. 'Haymitch wants to talk to you.'

I grasp the words and hold onto them so tightly my fingers start to ache. Finally.

The Center is big and has the form of a circle. It hides in the depths of the underground behind doors of steel. More doors are behind those doors but I suspect I am in the main room. A round table is placed in the middle and a huge television is on the left wall. It is bright and in it there are a lot of people I have never seen. They rush about, the sound of their feet echoing. To my surprise I see Mayor Undersee, though I am not sure what his title is now that District 12 is no longer. My chest tightens and my kneecaps turn to jelly. Don't think about it. I wonder where Madge is – I haven't seen her since before the Games either. I hope she is all right and wonder if I should ask him. Perhaps not. I realize I have to make a list soon; paper-and-ink names of people I hope are alive. Peeta. I cringe. Don't. Think. About. It.

'Sweetheart.'

Haymicth appears before me, band-aids covering his face. That brings me extreme satisfaction. He only smells faintly of spirits and grease, which – I have to admit - is an immense improvement from when I first got in close contact with him. Yet I feel more disgust than I ever did back then. I feel hatred toward this man who is the cause Peeta is not here. He used me as bait.

He smiles slightly, arrogance curling the corners of his mouth. He senses my disgust, I am sure.

'The girl who was on fire. I need to talk to you.'

I stand still, forcing myself not to utter one single word even though there are a hundred clawing up my throat, aching to spill out all over this loud floor. If he wants an answer he will not get any. He notices my stubbornness and smiles wider.

'You probably have a lot of … questions. Which will all be answered when the time is right. Until then you will get assigned a few tasks to keep you occupied.'

I can't stop myself.

'I can hunt?'

He raises his chin, his smile craters getting deeper. He knew I was going to ask and I already know what the answer will be. 'No, that's too dangerous.'

'I am not afraid of danger.'

He must hear the way my voice goes up an octave, anger making my vowels shiver.

'I know you're not, don't you think you've proved your courage again and again in the arena?' He shakes his head slightly. 'You cannot hunt because the Capitol is out searching for you, for me and for the rest of the game's survivors. Perhaps later. But not now.'

He is making sense and I know it. I have to swallow my anger and frustration and it taste bitter.

'So what can I do?'

He grins. 'Teach.'

I am taken aback. I can't teach anything, I have no knowledge.

'Teach? Teach who what?' Images of small children and a classroom flash before me.

'Teach some of the people here about surviving. About living when your life is almost lost.'

I stay quiet, pondering his words.

'You can't put that into words. Besides, why should they listen to me?'

'Then show them. Show them how to do snares, how to think, what not to do when you are alone in the forest. That you know a lot about, don't you, sweetheart?' Haymitch replies in a harsher tone; barbed wired words that do not make me wince. This is the Haymitch I got to know. This is my mentor.

'Show them how to camouflage yourself from the enemy.' That was Peeta's specialty. 'And how to fight off your enemy.' Again, Peeta's specialty.

'Katniss, you need to teach them. They have to know this – there will come a time – a time soon, where that knowledge will be crucial.'

'And,' he adds in a softer tone; 'they will listen to you. They worship you, Katniss, You are their Mockingjay, their hope covered in flesh and bones. You are breathing, living thing that survived the Capitol. That's all they want, too. Just look around.'

I lift my gaze toward the people, who are behind us, the sound of their feet never stopping. They are running around all right, but some of them slow their step and look me over curiously. I stare back and see bodies that are tawny after years of starvation, of hard work. Bony faces with hard edges and eyes that store hope.

I sigh.

'Alright,' I say, looking at Haymitch again who's got this superior look on his face. 'I'll do it.'

'Great,' he says, non-surprised. Then he reaches for his bottle with clear liquid and a crumbled label. 'First class starts tomorrow.'

The two guard dogs from district 13 magically appear by my side, ready to escort me out.

'I can walk on my own,' I snarl. Haymitch laughs and waves his hand.

'Let her go by herself. It's not like she can go anywhere. Right, sweetheart?'

I just smile sweetly. I'm going to prove he's wrong. I am going to get out and the first person I'll see will be Gale.

Please review and thank you for reading! More to come.