So this fic is centred around Johanna and her time spent in the Capitol following the 3rd Quarter Quell. It is fairly dark so here is my warning now.

This is actually my procrastination as I struggle to get past some writer's block for my Agent's of S.H.I.E.L.D fic.

I do spin the plot slightly to my benefit so some of it may not be exactly true and for that I will chuck in a disclaimer of some sort I suppose.

Disclaimed.

Enjoy and leave a review!

She was wet. She always seemed to return wet. It created a contradiction to the smell of singed flesh that also came with her reappearance. Peeta watched as Johanna was flung back into her cell, her protruding spine creating a hill top, crashing against the cool concrete. His eyes were fixated on the splash mark it left. Traces of red tingling on the outside of the darker patch, a stark contrast to the near blinding white of the wall. A slight tug of guilt ran through him as he stood from his spot in the slightly cooler, far back corner, moving to sit facing Johanna, his knees just grazing the metal bars. He hadn't been touched.

Well barely at least, sometimes he would wake, convinced in his dreams he had been elsewhere. Things would be just different enough for him to notice, but not enough for him to know why. It was as if the recurring dream of him begging Katniss to call for a cease fire was actually happening. Peeta had tried to ask Johanna, but didn't know how. She was returning daily, soaking wet, bloody, with small spots of blackened, burnt skin all over her. Her weight was dropping fast, she wasn't being fed, Peeta having to give her most of his three meals a day, there were deep lacerations around her wrists and ankles, the bags under her eyes seemed to illuminate her hollow, once vibrant orbs. Now that they had shaved her thick, ebony hair to a thin stubble, the water no longer stuck her her, instead running down her face, pooling in her collar bones.

Yet Peeta barely looked different from the Second Reaping. Sure, he had lost a little weight due to muscle mass loss, but other than that and the tiredness he always felt, almost as if he was never sleeping, he looked the same. He knew though that he was sleeping, well he was waking up, Peeta just had no memory of him actually falling asleep. His dreams were a mix of the Games, Katniss becoming a monster and of course, bread. He was graced with the occasion good dream, his favourite was that he was young again, crossing paths with Delly, who would grin, dimples echoing from her beaming smile.

His attention was drawn back to Johanna as she stirred. She was always passed out when she returned and often took up to an hour to wake. Her head loped to one side, looking up at Peeta. She was lying on her stomach, her right arm above her head, the left was straight at her side, her legs both bent. Johanna stared at Peeta for a few long moment in silence, before opening her mouth slightly.

"Well you look like shit," She bluntly stated, eyebrows raised in sarcasm.

Peeta smirked, "Yeah? Well you just look, dashing," He decided to amuse her and play along. His hand trailed through the gaps in the bars, finding her right hand, wrapping them around her's in an attempt to warm them up.

Johanna briefly squeezed Peeta's hand back, before letting her's go limp, "You got any food?"

"A crust of bread, want it?" The answer was obvious, but Peeta asked anyway, wanting to give Johanna the allusion of a choice. He would have made her eat if she had refused anyway, she was too weak to not take anything she could get. He didn't hear or see a reply but either way reached over to a small shelf just off from his left shoulder and grabbed the crust of bread. It weighed next to nothing and was the size of his open palm but Peeta knew it would help somehow. He methodically broke off a small bite sized piece for Johanna, handing it to her. She rolled onto her right shoulder, lying on her side she faced Peeta and accepted his offering.

Johanna had always been a proud person. Proud of her life, of her own grit, of her attitude, of her appearance, of her fire. In some regards that was what she had disliked about Katniss, that the put so much effort into stoking a tiny flare when Johanna was there, her coals ablaze and ready to fight. To have her whole being whittled down to a mere hollow shell was an offence itself. Mind trailing far from reality Johanna's eyes glazed over, partially rolling to the back of her head.

Home. The smells wafted around her, filling her soul, breaking through the heavy walls constructed to keep everything at bay. It had been argued that out of the other Victors, Johanna was one of the more, changed, individuals. She had entered the Games as a carefully hidden innocent, sweet, child, proving herself immediately to know how to kill, and do well at it. She had one of the highest kill rates for a female Victor her age. She had returned angry. A constant fire raged in her, ready to spill over at any given moment. The tipping point came just before her first Games as a mentor, when she received notice that she was to meet with Darius Mulan, realising that this was meant to be the start of her prostituting under the watch of Snow.

Simply put she refused. Also simply put she returned back to 7 an orphan, her father having perished in a forest fire along with her two older brothers, her mother having already succumb to a blood infection years ago. It was a publicised tragedy, tributes were sent in by the hundreds from the Capitol by Johanna's 'fans', every single one was burnt in the small fireplace in her new home in the Victor's Village. She barely ate, never slept, just stared at the wall, hatchet in hand, tracing the small dents in the metal.

But even now, lying on the concrete floor in the Capitol's underbelly, eyes glazed over, mouth open just enough to allow a thin trail of saliva to trickle down, Johanna was still winning. Competitive to a fault, she hadn't spoken anything to the employees in the Lab, glaring deep into them every time they came near her. When her strength to fight was sapped, she purely refused to follow their commands, having to be manipulated physically to do what they wanted.

As Katniss Everdeen careened down the corridor in search of Peeta her throat had all but closed over in nerves. Her bruised and aching throat. There were still deep purple welts on her neck from where Peeta had attacked her a few days ago.

'No, that wasn't him,' She reminded herself, intent on not laying any blame on him for what the Capitol had turned him into.

The Victor continued on shaky legs, approaching the one way glass window with caution. There he was. The calm, controlled and rational boy from 12 was gone, he may as well have been burnt along with the remains of their District. For the thing Katniss was watching was certainly not him. Fighting against the restraints that strapped him to the medical table, by his wrists, ankles and waist, as if there was acid laced on them, mild shrieks escaping from him, they sounded almost non human. For a moment he opened his swollen eyes, the only emotion shown being fear. He truly believed he was in grave danger. The thought sending a sharp dagger deep into Katniss.

Slowly she stepped away from the window, unable to fathom exactly what had transpired in those cells to create that. Able to feel the resonating thumping in her chest that always came before a panic attack Katniss had to get away. Her feet choosing a random pathway through the hospital wing, knowing that the only rooms that would be used would be for Annie, Finnick, Johanna, Peeta and herself of course she went the full distance of the corridor, then turned a sharp left, hand trailing down the cold wall, taking comfort in the smooth surface, Katniss leant on a random door handle, letting her body weight bring her inside the dimly lit room. Her breathing was barely making a difference, her heart was trying to clamber out of her mouth, her ears were screaming, there was something blurry blocking her vision, somehow she made it into a corner, kneeling to face it. Hands were squeezed against her cheeks, trying to squeeze out the pain.

Slowly everything reverted to normal. Well as normal as it would be, her heart rate relaxed, as did her breathing, she wiped the flecks of tears from her eyes. The area around her came into focus, behind her a red light was blinking, illuminating her huddled silhouette against the wall, her hair was a manic mess against the dark concrete. Turning slowly Katniss glanced at the source of the light. It was a monster of a machine, hooked up to a shrouded, sedated figure.

Katniss froze at the realisation she wasn't alone. Standing slowly, muscles aching from being tense so long, she made her way to the bed. In the dim light everything looked grey. There was distinctive cheek bones, bruises everywhere and scabs marred the shaved head, everywhere that should hold muscle or fat was empty, cracked dehydrated lips filled the centre.

Johanna Mason. She was being held together by a mixture of IV drips, oxygen tubes, and other items Katniss didn't recognise. A hand reached out to trace a dark, burnt patch of skin, then the silence shattered.

Johanna jerked, a sharp intake of breath and wide eyed she launched herself at Katniss, who, with no time to react didn't get out of the way. In moments she was being held in some sort of head lock, an arm around her neck, her arms pinned behind her back by another body part. Her attempt at struggling was futile, not due to Johanna being stronger than her, but that she was unmatched in fighting skill.

"Johanna," Katniss managed to get out, barely getting in another full breath before her bruised windpipe was obstructed once again, "It's Katniss."

The voice that replied only just slipped out, weak and defeated, yet strong and angry, "You know I hate you right?"

Then everything was released, the younger woman slid off the bed into a heap on the floor, Johanna's monitor was blearing out a loud beeping tune, Johanna herself, was holding her ribs, trying to get a breath out, obviously in pain.

Katniss felt rigid, unable to move herself properly, "I should go," She mumbled, more to herself than anyone else. Without taking her eyes off Johanna, who had started coughing up phlegm, she fumbled with the door handle and retreated back to her own room.

"She was just so angry, it was like she blames me for everything," Katniss told Finnick, who sat opposite her at the dining table. They were eating, what looked like grey sludge, but they were told was a mixture of root vegetables made into a mash and served lukewarm.

Finnick paused, eyes fixated on a blemish in the table, "In her warped mind though, that makes sense, she can work that out to put you on the other side."

It wasn't what Katniss wanted to hear, but that was why she would confide in Finnick, he would give her his opinion and be truthful about it. Running her hands through her hair in an attempt to sweep it off her face she took a deep breath, inhaling the muddy fumes of their meal.

"But seriously, what did I do to her?" Katniss stated, exasperated.

Giving her a look Finnick replied, "It's not what you did, it's what they did to her because of what you did to them," He made a circular motion with his right hand, "It turns in a circle, everyone killing each other because they are being killed by each other."

There was a small whimper from Annie, who had sat in silence for the entire meal. She was cleared from the hospital that morning, after they had assessed her fluid intake and made sure she wasn't injured in any way. Not focussing on the conversation the whole time she had obviously heard 'killing' and it had struck a chord with her. Anything related to pain, torture, The Games, anything negative really, it all seemed to have an affect. Thankfully Finnick knew how to bring her back to wherever it was she went when her eyes clouded over and her chin tucked down into her chest in fear.

Placing emphasis on his first word Finnick changed the subject, "Thankfully," He wrapped an arm around Annie, who made a faint smile, "We are safe here."

"You're safe here Johanna, you know that right?" It was District 13's Head of Psychology, Dr Tema Quián, who had been instructed to talk to Johanna, Peeta and Annie following their rescue from the Capitol. This was an informal meeting, and he was sitting across the hospital room, leaning back on his seat, right leg crossed over leg, scribbling into a notebook. He had a larger build, both with height and weight, a round face, thin glasses, was unshaven with a small area of stubble on his cheeks and chin, and there was a large balding patch that sat between short dark hair.

Johanna had fallen into a headspace of silence. She was lying flat on her bed, slightly propped up by the lifting mechanism. Eyes fixated on a blemish in the concrete on the opposite wall she hadn't barely moved since Quián had entered. Everything he said she responded to, mentally, but still laced with her usual sarcasm and dryness.

"You're safe."

"Bullshit."

"I'm not going to make you talk."

"Then stop talking to me."

"I'm also not going to be able to help me unless you help yourself."

"I don't need your help for anything."

This went on for about 30 minutes before Quián decided to give it a rest for now, he stood and moved over to Johanna, palm outstretched for a hand shake. Without looking at him a shaven head merely shook vaguely, indicating that she was not going to make this easy for him. Sighing the doctor left, leaving the door open in the process.

Grinding her teeth Johanna sat upright, ignoring the screams of protest from her still aching body. She unattached herself from the many machines hooked into her. Swinging her bare feet over the side of the bed and slowing lowering herself to touch the cool floor. Her head spun slightly but rapid blinking brought everything back into focus. Leaning on the wall for support Johanna moved the four step distance to swing the door shut. Determined to go the way back without the wall she did so, settling back under the thin white sheet she smirked.

"See? I can take care of myself."

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