Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the story. The characters belong to Suzanne Collins and she writes them more beautifully than I ever could. I'm not making any profit on this story, I'm just doing it because I love it and because Katniss won't leave me alone.

A/N: For the time frame, it's been a little over two years since the end of Catching Fire.

"Katniss." Someone's calling me from far away, pulling me out of my dream.

"No!" I mumble and lean forward towards the hand that's outreached towards me. "Wait," I say, but he's fading from me. "Don't leave me."

"Katniss, wake up!" Whoever was shaking me shakes harder and the hand disappears forever.

For a few seconds, I lay awake with my eyes closed. I concentrate on my breathing and try to bring myself out of the sleepy stupor. From above me, I hear Gale's sigh. Through squinted eyes, I watch him bring his fingers up to carefully brush under my eyes. There's a mixture of sweat and salt slipping down my cheeks.

"Again?" He asks me.

Sweat cling to my nightshirt. My bare legs feel soaked and I can feel my hair matted down. I'm a mess, but I know Gale's looking at me for some sort of confirmation. "Yea," I mutter and struggle to sit up in bed. I bring my hand to my eyes and wipe away any sort of relaxation from my mind. "What's the matter?"

Gale had been up late. I didn't feel him come in next to me last night and definitely didn't feel him when he got up in the morning. They had tried to explain it to me—the mission to the Capitol, the escape back and the repercussions of it all… the Plan. I pretended to understand it, pretended to care, but I had been too tired to fake it.

It'd been two weeks since they started airing Peeta's torture sessions on the national station. When they started, I broke three windows, the mess hall's table and Haymitch's arm. I went a little crazy when I saw Peeta's silent compliance, no resistance, as the Capitol's henchmen tried hard to coerce screams from him. Gale had the televisions removed, thinking that watching the sessions would only upset me. After I threatened to break Haymitch's other arm, they were returned. Gale tried to stop me a few times. He said they wanted me to get upset. Maybe Gale was right, but I needed to watch it.

In truth, seeing Peeta's broken body killed me. I spend every waking moment in front of the television, memorizing new scratches and new scars. I swear under my breath to put the same exact marks on Snow's body in retaliation. My free will fell apart. I did not want to go with Gale on the missions to take down the Capitol, I wanted to stay in front of the TV. Every session I saw gave me hope. Peeta was still alive and I had a reason to stay on here fighting.

But I was hopeless. I spent hours pouring over a map with our strategists, but the Capitol had anticipated that. Every session was held in a bright room without windows. The sessions were broadcasts by tape from a different location. We couldn't even track the television waves. We could not find Peeta. For a while, I went on the missions because I thought Peeta would be hiding there or maybe we could find someone we could torture for the location. No one knows, they would say, no one except Snow. Exasperated, I spent my nights watching the sessions. At least then I felt close to Peeta.

I clear my throat, "What is it?" Gale's at the foot of my bed, picking out clothes and flinging them on my bed. I pull off my shirt and yank the one he's picked out for me over my head. From underneath the covers, I shimmy into the pants. I try to go quickly—it's rare that Gale shows urgency.

"Gale?" I press.

"We've got him." I notice his new cut down the center of his forehead and a new bandage covering his forearm. A sick feeling washes over me and I feel guilty. I've been so concerned with what I see on TV that I forget about what's going on right in front of me. I bring my hand up to touch the bandage. Gale looks at me wondrously. "Did you hear what I just said?" He asks.

"Got who?" The bandage had a tinge of blood, betraying the depth of the cut. His skin under the bandage was slimy with pus.

Gale yanks his arm from me. He pulls me closer to him.

"Snow," he whispers. "We got Snow." I suppose I expected something else, something less… monumental. I did feel Gale besides me, smiling like he'd got the world delivered to him on a platter.

"Snow! Can you believe it? After all this time, we've finally got him!" He pulls me in for a quick kiss, still holding his elated smile, and holds me tight. "This is the end," he breathes, "It's finished."

"Bring me to him," I say.

"That's why I woke you up." He smiles. So definite. Gale has always known what he's supposed to do.

Of course. He had to come get me, it was the law. A year after I was "rescued" from the second Hunger Games arena, District 13 created a law—no one could kill President Snow, no one except me. It was my right, they'd said. It was my duty as the mockingjay. I was the face of the revolution, it was only fair that I'd be the one who would destroy the face of who we're rebelling against. It was Haymitch's idea—a way of ensuring I'd stay alive and I'd get my revenge.

I hated the damn law. They assumed I wanted to murder, wanted blood on my hands. I didn't want anything to do with the revolution. I went on the missions only because I wanted to save Peeta. I had killed only because I believed it would lead me closer to him.

Gale lets me go and presses something hard, cold and heavy into my palms.

"You're gonna need this." A quick kiss, then, " I love you." I open my mouth to say something, but Gale just gives me a smile and leaves the room. I was glad.

I look down to what he's given me—a gun. Deep breaths. I concentrate on deep breaths. I know I'm supposed to walk to the holding tank and I do. I'm in such a rush I forget to pull on the socks and shoes Gale laid out for me, but the floor tile feels refreshing. I can feel my flush face burning tear streaks away. Doors open around me and people clamorto stand in their doorways. I am met with that look—the same look the district gave me when I stood up to volunteer for Prim, the same look they gave me when it was revealed I would be going back to the Hunger Games arena. The look is a mixture of pity, disgust and hope. Kill him, their eyes say, Make him feel our pain. How was it that everyone else knew Snow was captured and it took Gale the entire morning to tell me? Inside a voice answers my question: I had been too busy watching Peeta's torture. I try my best to ignore it.

The gun is unnatural in my hand. Ever since we landed in District 13, Gale has been eager to get me used to one. You're not always going to have a bow and arrow, he said. I don't like the weapon. The bullets didn't kill as clean and I realized that I hate the sight of blood. But it's quick and when you're fighting for your life while twenty peacekeepers converge around you, you need something quick.

What we call the Situation Room (although I believe the commanders just call it Mission Control) is located at the end of the hall. I take short steps, hoping to delay any time of confrontation because I know how it will end. Bloody. There's no excuse for it. I've known that this was the right thing to do for some time. After all he did, I should be happy to kill him. I've fantasized about this exact moment. But there's a feeling deep down inside me that I can only identify as disappointment. Despite the thousands of people who want me to murder Snow, there's one person who would hate me. Even though he's just one person, his opinion of me weighs more than those thousands' do.

When I get to the door, I know I can't hesitate any longer. At least ten minutes have passed since Gale came to get me and I know I should be in the room by now. If I take any longer, Snow could see my delay as a weakness. I try not to notice my hand trembling as I push into the room. Five seconds. I allow myself five seconds for my emotions to overtake me and after, I will be calm and collected.

One.

I survey the room, which looks how it always does. The TV screens in the front of the room are flashing quickly. Some show the control stations of other hovercrafts, some the National Television Channel and others show the prison cells which were buried deep in the heart of District 13.

Two.

I notice that one of the light bulbs is out overhead. The lighting casts a funny dark glow onto the spot below, the one with the gigantic blackboard. I had spent so many hours of my life wasting away in front of that blackboard while Gale and the Captain drew pictures and strategies and plans. I almost giggle because I suddenly realize I'm not into the Capitol revolt and I never have been. The only reason I'm here and standing barefoot in the center of the revolution is a boy.

Three.

There's no other place to look. My eyes shift to the back of the room where the soldiers are clutching their weapons so tight I think they're going to break them. The Captain is straight with his hands on his hips. His gun is cast aside. Gale stands with clenched fists, has his legs spread far apart and leans towards the man in the chair. He shifts to his other leg, giving me enough room to spot our prisoner.

Four.

President—or should I say ex-President—Snow sits in the chair, surrounded by the men. His head is bent over his chest and I can only see his pure white hair. The smell tells me he's real—the sickening mixture of blood and roses. I feel my stomach rise and for a moment, I'm tempted to throw up my dinner. But I can't show weakness.

He looks as if he's asleep. His hands are folded over each other and rest in his lap. His legs are firmly planted on the ground. This man sent me to my death—twice. With the gun in my hand, I have the power to finally end his. Yet, even though he is encircled by rebel forces, he looks peaceful and almost powerful. I feel my fingers lock and the conflict between fight and flight nearly cripples me. I'm suddenly glad for the cool tile because I can feel the sweat slowly dripping down my spine. My breath catches in my lungs. I struggle to get enough air. Gale looks at me because I think he heard my heart. I will him to be quiet, at least long enough to stop the hairs on my arms from standing. But others have seen Gale turn and they know I'm here.

Five.

I erupt into the Katniss I am supposed to be; the assertive, confident, cold-blooded killer. I become who I'd been in the games. I strut over to the circle, gripping the gun like I own it. I grit my teeth and curl my mouth into a contemptuous smile. Standing barefoot with unbrushed morning, I look like a feral warrior. I look as far from the innocent Capitol plaything as I could. I want Snow to look at me and cower. I want him to know that he will meet his death at my hands and that I will have no problems wiping his blood from under my fingernails-- blood I'm sure will smell like roses.

My eyes drill holes into the snowy hair and I feel strong. I feel powerful. I feel as if I can do this. Snow knows I'm here. I can see him grip his hands a little tighter. He must see the guns lower and the soldiers, out of respect for me, stand at attention. I walk until I stand in front of him. I square my shoulders and fold my arms behind my back. After two tantalizing moments, he raises his eyes to look at me.

And laughs.

Snows thick lips draw tight. He throws his head back and I can see his Adam's apple slide with the sounds. His laugh is raspy, but relentless. His eyes sparkle. He slaps one hand against his knee, and then reaches for his chest because he can't breathe. He's laughing too hard.

Gale catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. What's going on, he asks me. But I shake my head. I can't think of why Snow's having this reaction. He has fifteen guns pointed at various parts of his body. He's been captured by rebel forces and I'm the one who's going to ruthlessly blow his brains out. Just like I'd fantasized.

"Katniss," Snow manages to utter. His use of my real name shocks me and for a brief moment, surprise takes over my stone face. When he sees my look, he breaks into laughter again. "You're beautiful." A murmur rises from the crowd. Of all the things Snow could say, this was the last thing any of us expected. "My God look at you!" His chest rises and falls quickly, recovering from his amusement, "Look at what I've created."

A few moments pass before I'm able to register what he's saying. He sees me as a killer. The notion sinks into me before I realize the devastating effects it has on my psyche. My assertive stance sinks into one less sure. The gun's weight sneaks up on me and I almost drop it from my hands.

"You lie," I say. Snow laughs again. His broad lips draw back and I see so many teeth. They are all a perfect white.

"No. You want me to see you as my executioner. Well you look the part. You look half mad. Have you slept at all?" He runs his eyes up and down my body. I feel naked in front of him. Vulnerable. How did he know? "Though the gun doesn't look natural… should I request a bow and arrow?"

I start to falter. I can't do this. I'm not a killer. Remember your enemy. Gale steps forward and loops an arm around my waist. I try to feed off his energy, try to find comfort in his security. This is his element. He has been training for this day his entire life. While I was in the arena, playing into Snow's big vision, Gale was turning everything Snow worked for into dust. Gale will know what to do. I force my body to straighten again. I pretend a string was controlling me and once again, I square my shoulders.

"Ah," Snow brings his hand to his cheek. His smile turns cynical. I find this more dreadful than the laugh, "And here's the admirable cousin. Here to protect her are we? The delicate flower?"

It shouldn't be this way. He should not have power over me. I close my eyes, hoping to dissolve the fear I find building up. In my head, I see him at the desk in the Victory house. He was in complete control there and there, he threatened Gale. I have to protect Gale. Snow's hold must be broken. I try to find resolve and try to ignore the panic the rose-blood smell built underneath my nose.

This is my destiny. I am meant to do this.

But I've taken too long. Gale reacts.

"Shut up," he sneers, "You have no right to talk here. You have no power."

"I will always have power," Snow counters and then adds, "boy."

I can feel Gale, but he cannot feel himself. He turns into a ticking time bomb. I feel his gun click as he flicked off the safety mechanism. Pay attention, I tell myself. Do not let him break the law. If Gale does something stupid, he will be punished. He will ruin everything.

"Gale," I tug on his arm. "Stop." He tries to shake me off and I do my best to hold on.

"Yes Gale," Snow hisses, "Stop." He mimics my voice, high pitched and full of awe. I'm enthralled by it and loosen my grip. What is this hold he has on me?

But I can't control him. Gale shakes off my arm and leans close to Snow. Gale puts his face so close to Snow's that I'm sure he can smell that thick blood smell.

"You're going to die."

And it's so simple. Gale smiles like he's won, because he has. Snow will die and there's no way out. I think of Gale and how hard he's worked. I think of Peeta, sprawled out and bleeding like I've seen him so many times on TV. I will murder Snow for them. I have the courage now. I can do this.

But Snow ruins my resolve with a few short sentences.

"Tell me Gale," Snow says, closing whatever distance their faces have. Their noses are millimeters away from touching, "How's the sex?"

My entire body drains of any emotion. Cold seeps through my veins and freezes my heart. He cannot be doing this.

Gale's hand twitches. His arm starts to crawl upwards and takes the gun with it.

"What did you say?" It's challenge. Gale is giving Snow a chance to back down. The gun inches ever closer to Snow's head and I feel my heart begin to race a little bit more.

"She doesn't put out, does she?" Snow smirks. "I thought not. It's a shame—with her body, I bet it'd be amazing." Gale is red. The Captain looks at me and from his look, he wants to know if he should restrain Gale. I can't answer him. I don't know what to do. Snow is talking about something so intimate. He is taking any semblance of control away from me—even my sexual relationship is on the table. I feel like my body has been invaded. I can see Snow's eager hands prying away my pieces and presenting me naked to the men surrounding me. "You know why don't you?" Snow's voice turns deadly. "It's him."

Him. The word falls so deep within me I can feel it vibrate my bones. Him. Peeta. Confused, I look up.

Gale and I have tried. Coupled with my frustration at my failure to keep Peeta safe and the gaping hole in my chest Peeta used to fill, I needed something to make me feel close to another human being. We tried a few weeks after we found each other again. It had been hot and sticky and scary. I stopped it before we even got our undergarments off. We tried again later, but it always ended the same. I would end on the verge of tears and Gale would wonder what he was doing wrong. Was he hurting me? Wasn't this what I wanted? I never figured it out.

"Shut up."

"She's in love with him. Always has been."

"Shut up!" Gale's voice has more intensity in it. I've never seen him this upset, this aggressive. His hostility shakes me.

"And why? You've been perfect. You've held her when she cries, you've talked her to sleep. You took care of her family. Why didn't she pick you?" Snow does not take his eyes off of Gale, but Gale has shifted his focus. His eyes, his lips, his cheeks are turned towards me; exuding the pent up frustration he's been hiding from me for two years. "You know she dreams about him. At night, she'll call his name. She dreams about him wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight against his naked body. She wants him, emotionally and physically." Snow paused before he delivered the final blow. "She wants him inside her."

I do not move. Gale searches me for some kind of denial. He wants anything that will tell him Snow's lying. And I try to give it to him. I try to make my eyes refute his accusation; I try to shake my head. But I can't, because things have finally made sense now; why I cannot kiss Gale with the same passion he gives me, why everything ends in tears when we try to be intimate and why I can't tell Gale I love him.

Because I am in love with Peeta.

"Face it Cousin Gale," Snow jeers, "You're just not good enough."

What happens next happens so quickly not even I anticipate it. Within seconds, Gale whips his gun up to Snow's eye level. His finger finds the trigger. Snow's eyes widen as he stares down the barrel, but his lips sneer. Gale will shoot him. The realization gives me courage and I have purpose again. I bring the hand holding the gun up and hold it steady, perpendicular to Snow's forehead. I hold the gun as if I've never been more certain about anything in my entire life. I cannot let Gale break the law. Though I can't love him, I can still protect him.

"Put the gun down, Gale," I say, my voice as steady as lead.

Gale's anger gets the best of him. He falters. I try to get him to look at me, but he won't. He tries to hard to avoid my gaze. I refuse to cry even though I can feel the tears forming. Gale is breaking ties with me. Snow's words have done their damage. They've driven an impossibly deep wedge between Gale and me. Gale has been so focused on this rebellion, on bringing down the Capitol. I didn't matter, I was just something he couldn't leave behind. Now that destruction was so close, he didn't need me anymore. Things were black and white for him, but I was still stuck in the grey. I needed him to make things clearer.

So I do my best to reconnect with him. I gently place my hand on his arm and pull the gun down. He does not resist, but he keeps his eyes locked on Snow's unwavering ones. I grip Gale's fingers and skin. I need to feel close to him again. I push the gun from his hands and it clinks to the floor.

"Shoot him, Katniss." Gale hisses.

It's up to me now. I have to destroy Snow.

Gale besides me is impatient. The others, the soldiers and the Captain, are too. This was the reason they had integrated me so deeply into their resistance. They had trained me to use a gun, trained me to remain calm and trained me to murder for this very purpose. And I know I'm supposed to do this, but Peeta's voice keeps popping into my head: "I don't want them to change me . . . Turn me into some monster that I'm not." The words chill me. Am I a monster?

"Katniss!" More urgent, "Shoot him! Do it now!"

I look at Snow. I hate him. I know I do. He turned me into this broken woman, the indecisive being. He took away everyone and everything I loved because he had the power. The gun I hold in my hands gives me the power now and more power than Snow. I look at Gale for help. I can't do this by myself.

"You can do it," Gale whispers. He brings a hand to my cheek. "Shoot him."
Gale's touch brings me confidence. Yes, I can.

"Yes Katniss," Snow says, ruining my concentration. "Shoot me." He looks at me and narrows those cunning eyes. I know he can see me inside and out and for once, I understand what he means when he says he created me. "Shoot me… and Peeta dies."

One.

Empty.

Two.

I feel empty.

Three.

Gale's moved away from me now. He knows I will not shoot Snow, not while he has Peeta. He moves to the part of the room with the televisions, leaving me alone with Snow.

The floor shakes beneath my feet. I can't tell whether it's anger or fear that's making me feel this way. The gun is no longer a comfort, but I hold it tight anyway. It's a barrier between me and Snow who is smiling so sickly I want to carve it off him.

Four.

"Katniss," Gale calls from behind me. I cannot break away from the eyes encroaching my boundaries. Snow's hold on me is tighter than ever because he is the one person that can bring me to Peeta. "Katniss, turn around."

Snow breaks contact and looks down at his folded hands. The spell broken, I turn around to face Gale and the TV screens.

And I see Peeta. He's strapped to a chair by thick leather bands. He's huddled over and has his arms tightly wound around himself, surrounded by a desert. His eyes have been covered—a new addition to his torture scars. Blood pools at his feet and from the struggled breaths, I can tell his nose has been broken. He's missing his leg. They've taken his artificial one and left the stump instead. Even looking like hell, Peeta is unbelievably breathtaking. I stride across the floor and came to a stop only when I am directly in front of the screens. He is so close. I raise my fingers and stroke the poor, broken body. That's when I notice the vest he's wearing: black, heavy and strapped with thirty sticks of dynamite. I turn back to Snow. I can kill him now.

But he's laughing again, his maniacal laugh. And in his folded fingers he holds a round, red detonation button.

Five.