Changed

Chapter One

The tea was bitter.

Cato stared at the teacup with a fixated stare. He flicked the porcelin cup with his finger, making the watery green liquid jiggle inside it, splashing over the lip of the cup and pooling in the saucer. What sort of tea was green anyways? He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, listening to the contiunous beeping of the heart rate moniter.

District 13 was the basic equalivant of a military establishment. Cato had been used to tough routines, being raised as a career and all that, but 13 was strict. Every rule had to be followed to the letter, no interupretations, no slacking. The President, Alma Coin, had a no tolerance attitude toward anyone who broke the rules or didn't follow their schedule. Which Cato supposed meant he should have been worried, since he hadn't been following his schedule since the day he arrived two weeks ago. He just spent his time in the hospital ward. Just . . . sitting there. Doing nothing.

Rye was stable. In fact, he almost looked like he was sleeping. Harold had said that that was how it worked when someone was in a coma. It looks like they're sleeping, like you could shake their arm and they would wake up, but it's something much deeper. Apparently, you still dream when in a coma. Sometimes Cato wondered what Rye was dreaming about. Life back in 12? His family? Or was he having a nightmare? The least Cato felt he could do was stay by the boy's side in his brother's absence.

Sometimes Mr Mellark would sit with them as well but, because of his current condition, he found it dificult to stay awake too long. It was as if the entire Mellark clan was falling to pieces and Cato was desperately trying to keep them together with duct tape and super glue.

The ward were Rye and Mr Mellark were being treated in also had other members of 12 in it. Cato was surprised by the amount of people who actually got out. The boy who lead everyone to safety-Rory Hawthorne-had ran around the District as soon as the arena blew up, convinced that the Capitol were going to act almost immediately and gathering as many people who were willing to follow him. Apparently he also ran right through the Seam and Merchant area to alert the Mellarks about it, even though the bakery lay on the other of the District.

People Cato didn't recognize were being treated for serious injuries. A blonde girl he recognized from the Victory Tour party in 12 sat in the bed across from Rye. She had been with the Mellarks when the explosion that attacked them occured. A giant chunk of rock-debris from the explosion-hit her head and knocked the sense clean out of her. She was now left with half her memory intact and hallcunations that kept her screaming all night.

Sometimes, if he listened hard enough, Cato could hear her from his room.

District 12 wasn't the only District affected. Citizens from all over Panem were being treated for injuries caused by the aftermath of the Quarter Quell bombing. The lucky ones managed to find their way to 13. The unlucky ones . . . Well, the unlucky ones were either killed or taken prisoner by the Capitol.

Currently, they were at a stalemate. Neither sides wanted to make the first move. 13 didn't have the numbers to attack the Capitol but since the Capitol didn't know this it didn't have the gall to attack 13. There were still battles being fought from one to eleven, rebels fighting loyalists and loyalists fighting rebels. As far as Cato was aware, his home District were on the loyalist's side. Which made glad for the fact that neither him, nor his family, were no longer there.

Over the past fourteen days, there had been times where he just wanted to stop. Where everything would crash in him like a brick dropped onto his conscious. The weight of the current situation, the weight of what was currently happening crippling him to the point where he didn't feel like he was capable of anything other than doing nothing. Cato had to keep reminding himself that doing nothing wasn't going to help anyone, never mind the people he knew he had to save.

"How is he?"

Cato shrugged. He gave the teacup another flick, making more of it spill out. "Same as usual. Regular heartbeat, brain activity normal, ectera, ectera." He brushed his hand along the steel table beside Rye's bed, ridding it of the dust and making it fly around them.

Harold stepped into the room, kitted out completely in military uniform. The Mockingjay emblem was sewn into the breastpocket of his jacket, the mere sight of the bird making Cato scowl. The trouble that damn bird had caused. "Not bothering to ask if there's any news anymore?" Harold asked.

"Why should I?" Cato sighed. "There never is. You say the same thing everytime. 'If there's any news, you'd be the first person I'd tell.'"

"Well, you are," Harold pointed out. Cato couldn't help noticing with a twinge of concern that the man was carrying a gun. Not that he didn't trust Harold to use the weapon properly but the whole idea of a gun unnerved him. Imagine having a weapon that didn't need you to slash at your opponent, that didn't need close range or struggle to kill. Just the push of a trigger and a bullet that-if the shot is clean enough-can kill instantly.

"If there isn't any news, why are you even here?"

"Because," Harold said, sitting down on the spare chair beside Rye's bed, "I've been told to inform you that you've been walking on thin ice . . . what with your blatant refusal to follow your schedule."

"I have no reason to follow a stupid schedule," Cato simply answered. He couldn't help staring intensely at the boy lying on the hospital bed. Rye looked so much like his brother it was terrifying. Of course, they had distinct differences, the small idiosyncrasies that defined them as their own people, but after being separated for so long, Cato was seeing the similarities more than the differences, just out of desperation to see him in some form again.

"It may seem stupid to you but how this whole thing works," Harold explained. "13 works like a well-oiled machine. One rusty cog and the whole thing falls apart."

"I doubt I'm even much of a cog."

"Cato, you're the image for this rebellion," Harold said. "People are looking at you to see how they should be reacting to this big change. If they see that you're not following Coin's orders then they'll do the same. He was strong enough to make this Mockingjay thing happen, you have to be strong enough to keep it alive in his absence."

"Who's 'he'?" Cato asked. "Are we not going to bother even saying his name anymore? Is that how it works now?"

"You're not the only one hurting, have you even considered that maybe I can't bear to say his name?" Harold asked back. "I know what they do to traitors in the Capitol, I know what they're doing right now, do you know how hard a burden that is to bear?"

"Maybe you should tell me then and the burden wouldn't be as hard to bear." Cato had been trying to get Harold to tell him what he knew about Capitol punishment, just for the smallest of ideas of what was happening the traitors inside the city. But every time Harold refused to divulge that information.

"No," he said, right on que. After that, they sat in silence, unsure about what else they could say to each other. Even if they both weren't the best of friends, one common thread binded them together no matter what, and that thread helped them understand and sympathise with each other. But their lack of friendship was what tripped them up nearly every single time.

Harold's watch bleeped and Cato glanced over at the corner of his eye, watching him as he pulled out the orange container that held his pills. Harold threw it into his mouth and swallowed without anything to wash it down. Maybe he had gotten used to swallowing dry after taking the tablets for so long. The medication was a godsend, really. They had turned Harold into a much better person, someone who Cato didn't dispise the sight of. Even if there would always be a part of him that wouldn't be able to look at him without remembering the horrible thing he had done in the past.

"We should go," Cato said, swallowing the rest of the bitter tea and standing up. "Mr Mellark will be coming shortly and he likes to have some time alone with Rye."

Harold nodded and stood up too. He slipped his pills into the special pocket in his uniform and followed Cato as he headed to the door at the end of the ward. They were nearly at the door when a baby started crying. The alien sound made them both pause. "Is that a baby?" Harold hissed.

"No, it's a mutt," Cato replied sarcastically, turning on his heel and scanning the ward for the source of the sound. Beside the bed which Vick Hawthorne-Rory's brother-was kept in for that one night for observations, was a cot with the youngest of the Hawthornes crying inside it. He looked around for any signs of a nurse or doctor but no one came. "For god's sake, do they believe in tough love or something?"

Leaving Harold at the door, he went to the baby girl's cot and peered inside carefully. He couldn't help thinking if he touched her, she'd explode or something. He was half tempted to leave her to cry but he knew that wouldn't be the right thing to do. What would he do if he was here? He wouldn't leave her to cry. The sign at the end of the bed said, 'Posy Hawthorne'. Okay, so she was definitely a girl.

"Are you trying to play daddy now?" Harold asked, sounding exasperated.

"We can't just leave her to cry!" Cato replied. He carefully lifted Posy out of her cot and held her against his chest, the way he used to hold Kayla when she cried as a baby.

"Oh well this is a confusing sight," Harold said. "Scary career holding a gentle baby? Do you know how weird that looks right now?"

"We have children you know," Cato said acidly.

"Yeah, but you don't seem like the sort who'd know how to care for one. I always thought . . . if you had kids, he'd be the one who looked after them more than you would," Harold explained. "Well, I also thought he'd spoil them as well, you'd be the one to stop him from going too far."

Cato sighed and turned around to face Harold, Posy still sniffling in his arms. "Okay, I'm not going to act like I haven't done it either but you know the whole 'he' and 'his' thing, we have to stop it. He has a name and we have to use it."

"You do it first," Harold said.

Cato paused, swaying from side to side to soothe Posy and rock her back to sleep. It was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't quite get it out. "I can't," he finally admitted. "Can't you try first?"

"God, you'd think we were trying to recite the treaty of treason or something," Harold admitted. "Why are we so weak?"

Posy clutched Cato's shirt in her small fists, yawning sleepily and nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck. Cato cupped the back of her head, enjoying the feeling of having her in his arms. Babies were something that had always fascinated him. They were always something he wanted someday. Children to love and care for. "We're not weak," he muttered.

"Yes we are," Harold replied. "You just can't admit it. We can't say a name."

"It's not any old name. It's his."

"Which we should be saying over and over again because we don't know how much longer we'll be able to say it," Harold pointed out.

Cato scowled. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh thank god! You got her!" Kayla came through the door, making Harold jump out of his skin. She had her Trainee Medic badge clipped to her shirt, badge a blue cross with two snakes wrapped around it. She took Posy out of Cato's arms and bounced the small child up and down a bit, making her laugh. "She's been plagued with the cold, poor mite."

"She was just crying," Cato told his sister.

Kayla nodded. "I don't blame her," she said. "They say when children's parents die-whether it be the mother or the father-their children can sense it."

"It's true."

Harold jumped again as Primrose Everdeen bumped open the same door Kayla came through with her hip as she entered, a Medic badge clipped to her jacket. Primrose was mentoring Kayla through her medic course. Since she had previous experience aiding her mother as the healer in 12, Primrose was qualified to be a full medic whereas since Kayla had no past experience, she had to start from scratch. It had actually surpsied Cato when his sister told him she wanted to be a medic.

"Posy-coupled with the cold-can probably feel that her mother is dead," Primrose explained.

"Did you feel the same? With your dad?" Kayla asked.

Primrose nodded. "Yeah, I guess," she said. "But when the mine exploded . . . I think both myself and Katniss just sort of . . . knew." Upon hearing Katniss' name, Cato couldn't help feeling wrong standing in the same room as Primrose as if he hadn't killed her sister. However, the little girl didn't seem to hold any hostility towards him. Maybe she understood why her sister did what she did. Cato hadn't wanted to kill her, Katniss had asked him to.

"I bet Peeta felt the same, when his mother died," Kayla said, laying Posy back into her cot.

Cato and Harold both exchanged a startled look. There it was. The name that had been struggling to say out of reluctance to experience the pain that came with it. But now that Kayla had said it so easily, it made Cato feel so foolish for being so closed off about it the entire time.

As if sensing her brother's reaction, Kayla glanced at Cato. "You do realize that hiding from the truth isn't going to make it any easier to accept, don't you?" she asked.

"I'm not hiding from anything," Cato answered, feeling defensive about it.

"Say the name then," his sister responded.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't."

"What's his name Cato?"

"You just said it, you don't need me to answer that."

Kayla rolled her eyes and left a paper themometer in Posy's cot. Primrose adjusted the themometer so it was closer to the baby and carefully brushed the hair from the infant's forehead. Posy was still slightly restless, squirming around in her cot. "I hate it when they're like this," Primrose said quietly. "Because there isn't much we can do."

"Come on Cato, we've got things to do," Harold said, heading to the door again. Cato nodded and turned to leave again.

"Little child, be not afraid, though rain pounds harshly against the glass, like an unwanted stranger, there is no danger, I am here tonight."

Cato paused and glanced over his shoulder. Kayla was crouched beside Posy's cot, gently singing to her the lullaby he sang to her when the tree branches used to scape her window during storms, frightening her to the point of tears. She had only been a toddle then, he didn't think she remembered it at all.

"Little child, be not afraid, though thunder explodes and lightening flash, illuminates, your tear stained face, I am here tonight," his sister gently sang. Posy seemed enamoured, listening to her intently. "And someday you'll know, that nature is so, the same rain that draws you near me, falls on river and land, and forest and sand, it's what makes the beautiful world we see in the morning."

Primrose picked the paper themometer out and copied out the results with a small smile. Maybe she was remembering a lullaby she used to hear when she was little. Maybe it was the same lullaby Katniss sung to the little girl Rue as she died in her arms?

Cato looked at Primrose. Properly. She was a thirteen year old girl-not old enough to even handle a gun or go to weapons training-who had suffered two bereavements within her family and still had the strength to stand in the same room as the man who killed her sister without even flinching. She still had the courage to smile, to work, to do what she loved, even though her family was in tatters. She was able to say Katniss' name. Without a problem. And Cato knew without a doubt that she could say her father's name as well.

So why couldn't he say his?

"His name," he murmured. Kayla looked up from Posy's cot, her eyebrows lifting to her hairline. Primrose paused nd looked up as well. He even felt Harold stiffen beside him. "It's Peeta. His name's Peeta."

Kayla's fact lit up, a small breaking out across her face. "Yes it is," she replied. "And it's about time you stopped acting like he's dead."

"Because he's not," Primrose said. "Trust me, if he was, we'd know."

"You can say it too, Harold," Kayla encouraged. Cato looked at Harold but the Capitol man shook his head, throwing the door open and disappearing from the room. Kayla sighed. "Hopefully he'll come around."

"If you don't mind my asking, why couldn't you say the name in the first place?" Primrose asked.

"Because sometimes these things are too hard to bear. When Cato thinks something is his fault, the guilt will be so strong he'll find it difficult to actknowledge the person or their title," Kayla explained for him. "He could say Clove's name for months after she died. He can now, can't you, Cato?"

"Yeah," Cato answerd. He wasn't able to say Clove's name for ages, the guilt that riddled him at the mere thought of her death being too hard to think of. It was his fault Peeta was captured and that was what had held him back from saying his name for so long. Because he was scared that saying it would be like admitting that it was all his fault. And, even though it was all his fault, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle taking the blame for it all. But that wasn't what happened. In fact, it felt good saying Peeta's name again.

Two weeks might as well have been two centuries.

"Cato!" Harold barked, suddenly irritable. "Coin wants to talk to you!"

"What? She does?" Cato pivoted on his heel and left the room, waving goodbye to Kayla and Primrose at the door.

What did Coin want with him anyway?

~xXx~

The best place to cry is on a mother's arms.

Peeta sat on the floor of the sitting room, his legs crossed underneath him. President Snow was seated in a massive chair that was located in the corner, almost like a throne that domainted the entire room. And, of course, his mother was on the sofa right in front of him, the smile he remembered from the old days burned on his face.

"You're going to do as we tell you to, aren't you?" Semira asked him, acting as if she hadn't done anything to him. As if she had always been there for him, like any mother should be.

"Depends on what it is you tell me to do," Peeta muttered.

"You could at least look at me when you speak," Semira pointed out.

Peeta lifted his eyes to look his mother in the eyes, feeling like a scolded child. "Depends on what it is you tell me to do," he repeated, holding eye contact. Semira laughed, as if his answer amused her. He resisted the urge to scowl at her.

"The question was only for the benefit of yourself. I was hoping you'd just say yes," she chuckled. "I mean, we are your parents and you will do as we tell you."

"He's not my dad!" Peeta blurted out, pointing at Snow accusingly.

"He's a better father than your good-for-nothing dad ever was!" Semira snapped. She grabbed the front of Peeta's shirt and smacked him, the familiar burn making him wince in pain. It only took him about five minutes to actually realize that his mother hadn't changed one bit. Apart from some comestic surgery to make her look younger, of course.

It turned out that President Snow and Semira staged her death as the Capitol was not happy with her angry, pessemistic attitude. She was a shadow of darkness across the bright, candy coloured Capitol and no one liked her because of this. Since President Snow had always put the Capitol before anyone else but still loved Semira, they staged the death to keep them sated and she has been in hiding ever since. Sort of grim, if you think about it.

"I promise I'll treat you like you were my real son," President Snow said, his whole voice dripping in condescention.

"A real father wouldn't have forced his son into a ridiculous love triangle, black mailing him that if he didn't do it, he'd kill the man he loved," Peeta retorted acidly. "Or forced him to lose his virginity! Or to take nude photos of himself just for the giggles!"

"Please don't tell me that Mya was such a horrible host that she turned you gay?" Semira asked, her face a picture of perfect shock, the realization of her theory just dawning on her.

"No!" Peeta exclaimed. "That's not how it works!"

His mother relaxed. "Thank god," she sighed. "That would have been weird."

"Weird?"

"Watch your tone," President Snow said, already sounding like a father figure. Peeta looked at him in horror. Was he being serious right now? Semira snickered and tapped arm of the President's throne.

"You forced him to lose his virginity?" she asked.

President Snow grinned and nodded.

"Oh my god, I love it!" Semira cackled.

Peeta stared at them both, unable to believe what was actually happening right now. If they were thinking about even trying to make this family work, they were way over their heads. It would be too dysfunctional and he just knew he would be constantly ganged up on and very probably smacked around. Not that he wanted a new family anyway. He already missed Wheat, Rye and his dad horribly.

"What do you two even want with me anyway?" he asked.

Semira sighed, brushing her blonde hair behind her ears. "Despite your incompetance, you somehow managed to become a image for this rebellion or whatever. You need to be hidden away from the rebels, to make the flame that sparked die away before it goes too far."

"So you're just going to, what? Hide me? Like you've been hiding yourself for the past two years?" Peeta asked.

"Basically, yes."

"You can't do that!"

"Actually we can. You can't go anywhere, the entire mansion is guarded. We have your friends captive and everytime you try to escape, we'll hurt them," President Snow explained.

"My friends?"

"Miss Mason, young Ava Green and Annie Cresta."

"Annie? I don't know an Annie."

Snow smirked. "You mightn't, but Mr Odair does. They were once very close, until Finnick got so . . . distracted with other things." Semira chuckled, like Snow had just referenced to an inside joke. Peeta didn't like the sound of it and, if there was a joke, he didn't want to hear it. But he wasn't going to let an innocent girl get hurt just because of his actions. He just couldn't do something like that.

"Now, if we're done flapping our jaws, I have to check on the baby," Semira said, heaving herself off the sofa.

Peeta's blood ran cold. "Baby?" he asked slowly.

"Oh yeah, about that, come with me," Semira answered. She grabbed Peeta's arm and hauled him to his feet as well, jerking her head for him to follow her. "Say goodbye to your father before you go."

Peeta gritted his teeth and stared at the wall. "Bye Snow."

His mother scowled and hit him upside the head. "Address him properly."

He reluctantly turned his head to look at President Snow, his eyebrows screwed up in a scowl. Snow was grinning like a chesire cat, amued by his annoyance and discomfort. "Bye . . . dad." The word tasted wrong on his tongue and Peeta pulled a face. Thankfully, it was enough for his mother.

Swallowing the worried lump in his throat, he followed her down the wide corridor that lead to a red velvet carpeted staircase. Peeta had to jog to keep up with her as she flew up the stairs, almost like a bird. The Snow mansion was like a labyrinth and they took countless twists that he lost track of before Semira finally came to a stop in front of a room with a rosa pink door. His heart felt like it was in his throat as they entered the room.

The entire space was painted pink, the walls a brighter shade than the slightly darker, raspberry carpet. Teddies and dollies seemed to stare at him as he awkwardly stood in the doorway, feeling like an intruder. There were some cartoons stickers on the walls, a wardrobe sitting in the corner. The thing that worried Peeta the most was the little fuchsia cot pushed against the far wall. A mobile of farm animals spun around in a never ending circuit, small spotlights lighting up the cot below it.

"Oh hello baby mommy's here," Semira cooed, scooping the baby out of the cot and holding it close. "Look who I brought." She turned around so Peeta could see the child properly. She had big brown eyes that stared right into his soul and a smile broke across her face as soon as she saw him.

"W-who is that?" Peeta asked.

"It's Emily, your baby sister," Semira said. "Well, half sister but that's a technicality. Here, hold her." She handed Peeta the baby before he could protest. He couldn't believe it. This little baby was his half sister. He had a half sister. Who had the same mother as him but . . . a different father.

So Semira had finally got what she wanted. The little girl she had always longed for.

"Now we're all a happy family, aren't we?" Semira said, kissing Peeta's forehead and tickling under Emily's chin to make her laugh. "And you're going to do what your father tells you, aren't you? For your baby sister?"

"What's he going to tell me to do?"

Semira smiled. "All in good time."

A/N: I apologize for any mistakes. I'm still not in best form right now but I did my best! :)

Please R&R! :D