AN: After seeing Mockingjay pt 2 I had a thought for this Plotbunny and it wouldn't leave me alone. I've loved Finnick since Catching Fire and shipped him with Katniss since seeing that movie. I've only read the first book so I'm sure there will be inaccuracies but hopefully you still enjoy this.

I own nothing.

Everyone has nightmares, sometimes people have them more often then others. It's not usually a big deal. They wake up, shake off that fear, that helplessness and can usually fall back to sleep. But not me. I close my eyes and every night it's the same horrific visions over and over. And I know I'm dreaming but that knowledge does me no good because I also know these images will refuse to release me until they have finished their grizzly play, until I am reduced to a sobbing broken shell with a scream crawling at my throat begging to be released as a confirmation of my weakness.

I see Rue, her small body lifeless at my feet, her warm eyes now cold and unblinking. Then suddenly I'm face to face with Peeta, the both of us holding a handful of Nightlock berries to our lips. We stand so close I can see my reflection in the sky blue of his eyes. His eyes hold no hesitation, no doubt and that makes our bluff, our daring defiance stab so much deeper into my pounding heart. But then it's Peeta who gets stabbed in the heart. Cato, who we had assumed dead had found the strength to pull himself upright and stab Peeta in the back with his sword. Watching them sink to the ground I let out a shriek of disparity and rage grabbing one of my arrows, I stab Cato's already lifeless body until the shaft of my arrow snaps in half in my hand, slicing my palm open.

I would later be told I stabbed him almost 20 times but it matters little at 3:00 am when I'm covered in cold sweat and tangled in my sheets so tight they're like a vice. Knowing there's no hope of falling back to sleep I quietly slip from my bed and creep across the hall to my sister's room and peek in to gaze at her sleeping form. Prim is 21 now, and so incredibly beautiful both inside and out it hurts to look at her sometimes, to see that kind of compassion and devotion she shares with everyone so easily. Tiptoeing down the hall further I come to the bathroom and flick on the light.

I use the toilet and wash my hands quickly, the knobs letting out a soft squeal of protest as I turn them. Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror I take a moment to catalog what is presented. Plain grey eyes, no, according to gossip and celebrity magazines in the Capital they vibrant silver. Ordinary plain brown hair, but again the Capital calls it ebony, some sort of dark, incredibly rare and expensive wood. A round, "cherub" face with "full pouty" lips are also reflected in the dim light. I notice, with a small bit of twisted satisfaction that there are dark colored bags under my eyes. No doubt Effie will have plenty to say about them when she arrives in a few hours. But thoughts of Effie inevitably lead to thoughts of the Capital so I quickly turn off the light and head back to my room. Pulling on warm clothes and slipping on my father's hunting jacket I soon make my way into the woods, my bow in hand.

The forest is quiet, I pick my way through the sparse undergrowth and sit under the protective overhang of a tree to wait for sunrise. Eventually the sky lightens enough that I can see the surrounding trees and shrubs, and it doesn't take long for the chatter of birds and squirrels to break the stillness. Soon after a chubby young groundhog wonders into my path, I shoot it through the eye to not waist any meat.

While I'm gutting the large rodent I hear footsteps in the dry leaves behind me. I recognize them as Gale's as they purposely become heavier as he gets closer and closer. It took him six months and nearly three arrows pointed at his heart for him to pick up the habit.

"Your up early. Couldn't sleep?" He asks coming to stand just beyond my shoulder.

Not looking up I replied, "The Reaping is today. By tomorrow I'll be in the Capital with the Tributes. I figured one more outing would do me good."

I can hear the clench in his jaw. "Why do they keep dragging you back? They've already got Haymitch."

The unspoken accusation that I willingly go back year after year hangs heavy between us. Even after 9 years Gale still doesn't get that there are no Victors in The Games, only survivors. And most days I'm barely surviving. Knowing that by sunset today there will be two new victims sent to the arena from my district, kids dependent on me to prepare them, it fills me with overwhelming and sickening dread. Standing up I wipe my hands on my pants, the red of the groundhog's blood staining the dark blue. Brushing past him I remain silent but he grabs my arm and spins me back around.

"Please Catnip, don't go this year." He pleads.

Sighing through my nose I look into his eyes. He's so much taller than me, and what many women in the Capital would call "ruggedly handsome " with his chiseled features and broad strong build. But I've never had any feelings for Gale beyond friendship. Two years after The Games he tried to express his feelings but I tried to explain the girl he loved no longer existed.

"I have to Gale." I say, "If I don't they'll go after Prim and you."

"Then let's run away." He implores.

Shaking my head I laugh bitterly. "And go where? Beyond the fence? There is no beyond the fence it was just a story we told ourselves as children. And even if we do disappear what about everyone else in 12? The same thing that happened to 13 will happen here. Don't you get it? The Capital will never be done with me! Every year for the rest of my life I will have to relive The Games, relive Peeta's death."

Feelings tears prickling the back of my eyes I quickly turn back and race home, my quarry for the day clutched tight in my hand by the tail.

Sprinting through the entrance of The Victor's Village I make my way around the back of the house and enter through the kitchen. Coming into the room I see Prim drying herbs she and my mother will use to treat the sick. I also spy Haymitch Abernathy, my former mentor, a glass of amber liquid in front of him on the table.

"And so The Capital Darling graces us with her presence. Where have you been sweetheart? Effie's all in a tizzy cuz your nowhere to be found. Gotta pack and prepare for The Reaping. Gotta look our best right?" He gestures to his disheveled three piece suit.

I roll my eyes at his gruffness. Haymitch may be crass and unpleasant, but once he started to care, he cared deeply. After winning my Games at 14 I could barely deal with day to day life. Then at 16 President Snow decided that people paying for my company in public, at parties and functions wasn't enough and he began to sell the "pleasure" of my private company. Disgusted, betrayed and helpless I turned to Haymitch for a way out. And he introduced me to drinking. And I took to it, perhaps a little too well. Every day I would wake up and chase that numbness down a bottle hoping to find absolution at the bottom.

It wasn't until I woke up one morning to Prim violently shaking me awake, tears staining her cheeks and eyes puffy and swollen that I stopped. I had passed out on the living room floor and cut myself on the bottle that I smashed. Prim had found me in a puddle of blood booze and broken glass and had assumed the worst. I vowed to never put my sister through that pain again and hadn't touched a drop since.

Then as if on cue Effie stepped into the kitchen, my prep team hot on her lime green heels. She took one look at my appearance and let out a short exasperated sigh.

"Katniss dear, why must you vex me so? We have exactly three hours until The Reaping and you sweet child are not fit to be seen."

"Isn't that what your here for gorgeous, to make us fit for polite society?" Haymitch questioned looking up from his now empty glass.

Effie doesn't reply but she gives him a fierce, exasperated glare. Turning her attention back to me she says, "Come, come we must prepare you. Hair, nails and makeup. Then Cinna sent along a whole new wardrobe for this season." She gushed.

At the mention of the designer's name I couldn't help but smile. Cinna had always been so kind and generous, never expecting anything in return, a quality in short supply within the Capital.

Once upstairs I was primped within an inch of my life. I was scrubbed head to toe in a vanilla scented body scrub, my nails cleaned, filed and painted white along the tips. I was dressed in a hunter green cardigan sweater with a brown leather belt about my middle. This I wore over a cream colored v-neck shirt with form fitting navy jeans tucked into calf high brown swede boots. My hair was plaited into the signature side-braide I was known for. As a finishing touch Effie herself pinned my mockingjay pin under my sweater just above my heart.

Declaring me presentable Effie led the way out of my house and to the town square. As we made our way though Effie's carefully constructed mask of excitement slipped and her eyes began to water, no doubt thinking of the possible fates of those about to be Reaped. Peeta and I were Effie's first tributes and getting to know and love us like she had, had shattered her perceptions of The Games she had formed growing up in the Capital. After I had won my games and became a Mentor at 18 many expected Haymish and I to create a dynasty of sorts full of District 12 Victors. We hadn't had one tribute make it to the final 5 yet.

Taking her hand and giving it a small squeeze before letting go, Effie grants me a tiny appreciative smile. And then her mask is back in place as we step onto the stage set up. I stand to one side wondering once more why I'm the one who has to stand here and watch while Haymitch waits on the train. But then Effie begins her speech and The Reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games begins.

Since I lowered Katniss' age to 14 during her games but wanted to keep the aspect of volunteering for Prim I kept her age at the time to 12, so they're closer in age. I upped Finnick's age to make him closer to Katniss' "current"age of 23

Read and Review!