Her first reaping is one of terror and despair.
A slip with her name, the only one in thousands, is pulled out by the garishly dressed Capitol Escort and read before the whole district. The odds had been entirely in her favour. But it hadn't mattered. The crowd murmur unhappily, as they always do when a twelve year old is chosen. This year, it's a twelve year old with one slip. The blood drains from her face at her sudden horror of what she is to face. She almost reaches the stage, her hands clenched in fists at her side, before she hears the words that, second to her name, she had dreaded.
"Prim! PRIM! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"
Her sister reaches her just as she is about to mount the steps and shields her from the stage. It takes her a second to realise what's happening, she's so dazed from shock and worry. It dawns on her what her sister has just done. What is probably going to happen to her, the person she loves most in the whole world.
Screaming hysterically, she wraps her arms around her sister, as if to trap her so that she can't go on stage and be taken by the Capitol people and the peacekeepers. Her skinny arms look so fragile, encircling the older girl.
"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"
"Prim, let go. Let go!" and she's pulled back by one of her sister's friends. Gale. Her sister's only friend. She screams and wails but the reaping continues, and ends with her sister and the bakery boy up for slaughter.
The last thing she registers before her mind goes numb is ever member of the crowd touching the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holding it out to her sister. Her sister has become something precious, and the gesture means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love. And because that's the exact situation she's in, she touches her shaky fingers to her lips and holds them out to the one person she would do anything for. The one person who had kept her alive for half her life. The one person who would stop at nothing to protect her.
_000_
When she visits her sister in the richly decorated room in the district building, she climbs up onto her lap just like she used to do when she was little. Their mother's arms surround them and for a while they sit like that. Mourning their old lives, when they barely scraped by, but they stayed together. After a while, the frantic murmured instructions to her mother turn into yells as her sister lets the hurt and betrayal she feels after the past years of neglect out, finally.
She just sits against her sister, trying to memorise every heartbeat, every scar on the hands that hold her tight. Clasping her sister's face in hers, calming her down, she dares to hope.
"But you have to take care too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win."
"Maybe," Her sister is doubtful, but tries to stay confident for their mother's sake. "Then we'd be as rich as Haymitch."
"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home. You will try, won't you? Really, really try?" She makes her sister promise.
And then the peacekeeper is at the door, at their last time together is over. They hug, so tight it hurts, and all they get to say is "I love you," before she and her mother are being rushed out of the room.
They walk home, hand in hand; numb from the pain and loss they both feel.
_000_
The next time she sees her sister, she's on fire.
As the tributes ride out in their chariots, she registers with surprise that her sister is holding hands with the bakery boy, Peeta Mellark. Katniss, who is so cautious and distrustful, who lets so few people into her heart, is holding onto the boy's hand for dear life. That's an interesting development, she thinks. But, then again, the games change people. She only needs to look at the past victors for that.
Her sister scores an eleven in training, and she's immensely proud. If there's anything Katniss can do better than anyone else, its shoot an arrow. She looks at the headshots of the other district's tributes, and most she forgets. Three stick in her mind, though: the hulking giant from District 2, the sly redhead from District 5, and the little girl, even smaller than herself, from District 11. These are the kind of people her sister will have to kill to get home. She feels slightly sick.
The interviews come on and there she is, her sister looking as radiant as the sun in a fiery dress. She can see her nervousness, the way she tries to wipe her sweaty palms on the jewelled fabric subtly, without anyone noticing. She watches as her sister cites her preference for the Capitol's lamb stew, her fear of being burned alive during the opening ceremony, and twirls for the audience and the cameras. When talk turns to her, her breath catches in her throat.
"Let's go back, then, to the moment they called your sister's name at the reaping. And you volunteered. Can you tell us about her?"
"Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything."
"What did she say to you? After the reaping?"
"She asked me to try really hard to win."
"And what did you say?"
"I swore I would."
"I bet you did."
At that, she gives a sob, and runs from the square where she had been watching the screens with her mother and the Hawthornes, and the rest of District 12. No one stops her. She flees until she reaches the meadow and then collapses, and lets the irrepressible sobs wrack her body. Her sister was going to die. And she would have to watch.
_000_
Surprisingly, and amazingly, her sister comes home, the bakery boy in tow. Nothing can describe the relief and the happiness she feels, although her sister doesn't feel the same way. Her romance with Peeta kept them alive, but now he has realised that it was a ploy, a strategy, even though what he felt was real. They don't talk for months, though she can sense her sister misses him. Small things give it away - an extra slice of the warm bakery bread they can now afford is cut. The adjusting of the position of her shoulders, awaiting the arm to rest on them that never does. Sometimes, she can see her sister standing, looking out the window towards town, with a wistful look on her face.
The victory tour comes, and once again she watches her sister kiss and cuddle the bakery boy. When the engagement happens, it's no surprise to her, although their mother gasps. She can sense that there is something bigger going on, something much bigger than any of them. And there's a desperation in her sister's eyes that only years of knowing her would permit anyone to see. But she keeps her head down and works, selling her goat's milk at the market, making cheese, going to school, and helping her mother with the stream of injured citizens of District 12. She loves healing people, and knows that, just like her mother, it is her calling. Her life continues like this for some time, and she enjoys the feelings of peace and not being hungry.
When her sister arrives home, the wedding dresses arrive soon after. She is excited – she has never seen such pretty things before. The cameramen and stylists arrive, ready for the photo shoot that her sister grits her teeth through the entire time. Smile, she thinks. You're safe. The Capitol aren't going to kill you if they are paying large sums of money to host a wedding. At least, that's what she hopes.
The many photos are captured in one day. The next, there is a mandatory viewing scheduled for the whole country, and sure enough, it's the photos from the shoot. Pictures of her sister are broadcast all over Panem, of her looking stunning in white velvet, silk, and, everywhere, pearls. But then the reading of the card is announced and they find out that this year's Quarter Quell tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors. And District 12's living victors consist of two men and one woman.
The odds of her sister surviving two Hunger Games are not in her favour, and she knows it.
_000_
The last thing she remembers before the electricity cuts out is watching her sister fire an arrow into the force field that surrounds the arena. Then the drone of the engines of the hovercraft sound. And then she sees the plumes of fire as the bombs fall on her home district. She grabs her mother's hand and they run, fleeing with the hundreds of others trying to escape the fiery tongues now licking the buildings of the square. Gale finds them and pulls them towards the meadow, where he, his family, and a couple hundred remaining citizens of 12 stay for three days. She and her mother treat the wounded with what they can, but the fire has reduced everything to ash.
Then, miraculously, a hovercraft from District 13 arrives to evacuate them all to safety. District 13, the supposed deserted, smoking area the Capitol blew up 75 years ago. She learns that 13 is the head of the rebel movement, and that most of the districts are revolting against the Capitol. She also finds her sister, burned and bruised and broken, in the hospital, a 'mentally disorientated' tag around her wrist.
When her sister decides to agree to be the Mockingjay, the face of the rebellion, she helps her come up with a way to guarantee her bakery boy's freedom. She can see her sister loves him. She hears her screams for him in her sleep, her thrashing and slashing at the air until she wakes up and remembers the situation. But she's glad. Her sister needs to be loved, and needs to love in return. And she knows that Peeta will be alright, because Katniss never fails to fiercely protect those she loves. This makes her happy, because she has become genuinely fond of the bakery boy.
_000_
But when he does get back, twisted by the Capitol, she witnesses her sister falling apart, not being able to do anything about it. Her bakery boy has been changed – he doesn't see her sister for what she is, though this is what she convinces herself, as the guilt of failing him in that arena takes its toll. Katniss throws herself into her work, filming propos and training to go fight in the Capitol. Though she worries, she knows that the only way her sister will ever begin to find peace is to satisfy her hunger for revenge.
She begins training to be a doctor, and after her sister leaves for the Capitol, she too gets the call-up. Although only thirteen years old, she works as a medic, treating the injured rebels that fall in the fighting. When her team get the call to go to the front lines, she is surprised, but she doesn't question it. This is what she wants to do, all she ever remembers wanting to do – she wants to help people.
When the children in front of the President's Mansion are bombed, it's her team that are sent in to take care of the wounded. The square in front of the mansion is wrought with screams, moans, the sound of fighting and the smell of blood. While tending to a bloody child, somewhere she hears her name called and looks up to see her sister, bloody and beaten, metres away, shouting at her.
She is drawing breath to reply when she turns into a girl on fire, literally.
_XXX_