A/N Thanks all for following and reviewing! :)


Six days after the attack, the doctors sign off to let me return to my living quarters. I leave with a soft cervical collar they insist I wear for another day and while sleeping. I suspect they kept me here so long to make sure I actually complied with orders, something I'm not particularly known for. Once they determine I can continue on with a routine without making the injury worse, they are happy to let me leave; they already have their hands full enough as it is with Johanna. She seems to be having a hard time adjusting to this bunker and in addition to refusing to be touched, her nasty attitude isn't well received by any of the attendants in 13. The few times I left the room since I saw Peeta tied to his bed, she was always making some snarky comment as I walked by. Today is no exception.

Johanna cackles at my appearance as I'm leaving. "That thing looks even more stupid than the last one you were wearing," she says, gesturing to the collar. "It's like some wrapped a pillow around your neck. Ouch, watch it, asshole. Have you ever even done this before?" She snaps at the attendant changing dressings on her arm. Blood from the now exposed gash starts dripping down her arm. The attendant hesitates slightly before putting gauze on the wound and Johanna snaps at her, as if it were her fault. I don't want to know how she got this injury. "Squeamish? Ha, then I guess it's a good thing it wasn't you tortured by the Capitol, huh?"

"Shut up, at least you still have your sanity and you memories." It sounds pathetic in the soft whisper I'm able to speak but she seems to appreciate someone putting up a little fight to her remarks. She probably hasn't had good banter in a long time. Or even conversation; I haven't seen Finnick anywhere near here since Annie was released and everyone else is either too afraid or annoyed to talk to her.

"Enjoy your freedom," she calls to my back, bitter that I'm leaving.

"What freedom?" I respond but no one can hear me.


I make my way down to see Beetee, who sent me a message to come as soon as I was discharged. He's bent over a series of machines and types viciously while various lights and messages appear on the screens. I recognize radio waves and the occasion word but mostly it's all foreign to me and I don't care to learn. "Beetee?" He turns and smiles.

"Katniss. You are looking well. Recovering?" I nod. "I'm sure you'll feel as good as new in no time at all. And with your mother and sister, I'm sure you are in excellent hands." I nod again. I'm not interested in my recovery. There are more important matters to worry about here. He catches the anxious fidgeting and grabs a file from the desk. It's impossibly thick for a medical record of someone that hasn't been here for a week.

"I wanted to speak with you more about Peeta. Plutarch said he gave you the gist of it but I fear that he might be a little too soft when it comes to possible prognosis and recovery." No surprise. " Over the last few days, the people of 13 have gathered a team and tried to work with Peeta to understand what he is experiencing and what was done to him. Every time your name was mentioned, or even something related to you, he became tachycardic and entered a dissociative state ruled by fear. The sympathic nervous system is particularly complex and rooted in our basic instincts of fear and survival; it cannot be easily challenged. The Capitol's methods were brutal and they attempted to remove every positive association with you that existed. The venom has been difficult to remove but even with most of it gone, his condition remains the same." He fusses with his glasses for a minute. "I'm not confident he'll ever be the boy he was before."

I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to respond; his words are choking me. I can barely begin to process anything before he continues. "Two of the people assigned to his case said that you went to visit him a few days ago?" I nod, frowning at the memory of his flailing body. "They were particularly concerned by his attempt to break away from them at the sight of you. They said he had to be restrained and sedated in order to avoid another attack. It was risky and not in your best interest. I urge you to stay away from him until given permission from his team, in order to prevent further harm on you or him. You'll just make it worse for him, Katniss."

That didn't make any sense; Peeta made no attempt to attack me on sight. Sure, he was thrashing like crazy but he hadn't even seen me beforehand and was already struggling under the restraint. He wasn't terrified or brought into anger by me; that was the work of whoever those caretakers were. I'm about to voice that when his last statements register. "Wait, you're saying I can't see him?" My voice is hoarse but the frustration is crisp. "How are we supposed to make him remember me, our memories, if I'm not even allowed to be a part of this? None of you know him like I do." Beetee tries to calm me and reminds me to be gentle on my voice but I have no desire to listen to him after what he just told me. Especially about the lies from those people pretending to help Peeta when they are treating him like a criminal, restrained and censored.

I turn and leave, taking random turns and climbing stairs blindly until I grow exhausted and turn into an empty storage room, filled with broken technology and stacks of grey jumpsuits. I want to tear the ugly clothes to pieces and use them as kindling in a fire. But I find myself clenching my fists and punching at the wall until my knuckles are screaming with rage and I can't feel any pain from my neck. I rip off the collar and toss it in the corner of the room. A wave of relief washes over me, feeling like me again.

Peeta is the victim here, not me. Haymitch was right, as annoyed as I am to admit it; I have to just suck up my feelings and do this for him. I refuse to let them make me the reason Peeta is stuck like this.


The year my father died was probably the most difficult of my life. I watched my mother disappear and Prim shrink before my eyes. We went to bed hungry every night and Prim and I still awoke early each morning to go to school to learn about something that didn't matter compared to the way our bodies began to eat their own muscles away in order to keep breathing.

There was a mix of people in our class, from those in town to us in the Seam. The other kids from the Seam, despite not necessarily caring about our situation, understood well: fighting to make it to the next day or the next meal. The kids from town did not and could not. They were not yet of age to be reaped for the Hunger Games and typically had enough food to remain full bodied and healthy; their lives had little conflict that I could see. I remember a few girls even having full, rosy cheeks with big grins and bodies that held extra weight. Had I literally any energy to spare, I would have hated them. On the fateful day where the boy from town threw bread to the dying girl from the Seam, I was halfway to my grave.

Now, looking at one of the few survivors from town to make it out of Twelve, I feel an ache that I can't quite place. But you wouldn't be able to tell that Delly had lost her parents in the bombings by the wide smile she wears when she speaks. It's as if nothing could make her face dip down into a frown. Even on my better days, it's difficult to make me smile in a genuine way. She greets me like we are old friends and I politely make conversation. She soon talks about me like I'm exceptional, brilliant whereas I'm mediocre at best, not even factoring in my personality or demeanor. I think of the way Peeta idealized me before, when he saw whatever I did as something worthy of his awe. Maybe it's something about being raised in town; glossing over the reality and trying to see a glimpse of the sun where it's black as coal.

When she leaves us outside the observation room, I glance over at Haymitch with a question on the corner of my lips. He nods in response and I take a deep breath to prepare myself.

After my conversation with Beetee, I sought out Haymitch and told him about the request for me to stay away. He didn't hide his preference for my safety but I quickly shot that down, reminding him that my safety wasn't supposed to be more important than Peeta's. We soon decided to formulate a plan of our own for assisting this recovery process. Plutarch had invited Haymitch to the meetings with Peeta's hospital team and shared the details with me. It did not appear to be promising. Thirteen was full of experts of their world underground, which meant very little to us; their psychologists had decent qualities that suited their people but in no way could they understand the trauma that comes from being a child in the Hunger Games, not to mention combat the psychological torture done in the Capitol. Their tactics had less to do with the mind and more to do with the body and Peeta's issues were had a combination of both.

While tossing out ideas, Haymitch was the one to suggest getting an understanding of what memories remained intact from his childhood. This meant someone from 12 but they couldn't be associated with me and that meant someone from town. Then came Delly.

We walk into the room adjacent to Peetas' we are meet with stares of those assigned to his case. I wouldn't be allowed in here if Haymitch hadn't insisted. The team, including the two people that I saw drag him through the hall the other day, wait anxiously with pens and clipboards. I'm tempted to knock one of the clipboards to the floor, frustrated by the fact that they see this damaged human being as some broken toy that they can mess and experiment with until they are bored and toss him aside. I detest this whole place.

I look through the window and see Peeta, awake but restrained in his bed. He looks aimlessly around the room and I fear he catches my eye when he looks our way. But his expression doesn't change, the window appearing nonexistent from his room. He looks only slightly fuller than when I first saw him two weeks ago following the rescue. Some bruises are peeking from under the hospital gown but I'm most concerned about the slight hesitation and jerkiness in his movements. I long to see his clear blue eyes but they still have a clouded quality that prevent me from calling them his.

When Delly walks into his room, Peeta first flinches but then relaxes and smiles for the first time I've seen in far too long. I want to curl up in this smile, longing to see it again up close. Longing for a smile that is meant for me. He looks confused but relieved to see someone he actually knows. "Delly, it's good to see you."

"Oh and you too! How are you feeling?"

"Okay?" He looks confused again, like he doesn't trust his voice. "Where are we?"

She explains they are in District Thirteen and remains vague regarding his questions of home, referring to an "accident". She manages well until he asks why is family hasn't come to see him. She stumbles, likely recalling her own struggle to escape and losing her parents. "T-they can't. A lot of people didn't make it out of Twelve." She tries to distract him with memories of their childhood but his body becomes ridge and eyes darken.

"There was a fire. It was because of her. Because of Katniss." My name comes out like a hiss and I shudder. My name used to emit warmth from his mouth and now it's being spat out like poison. His body begins to shake and fight his restraints. Delly tries to calm and reassure him but he starts screaming. "She's a mutt! A mutt from the Capitol that is going to kill us, kill us like she killed everyone in Twelve! Don't trust a word she says!" They pull Delly out as Peeta thrashes around, hysterical and wide eyed. I can't watch anymore.

The hallway is too bright, blinding. Forget the choking, Peeta has cut into my chest and pulled out my heart with his bare hands. Even outside the room, Peeta's screams continue to seek me out, determined to burn into my brain. I don't think I'm strong enough for his. My breath comes out shaky and shallow, struggling to get enough air. My limbs feel heavy and foreign on my body and I think I'm shaking because Haymitch looks at me, concerned. I open my mouth to reassure him that I'm okay but nothing comes out and the world feels like it's spinning. He guides me somewhere and they stick me with a needle and I'm out.

I wake up in one of the hospital beds, an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. My mother is there and offers words of comfort and I pull the mask off to ask what happened. She assures me that I just had an anxiety attack and they gave me something to calm me down. She tells me I can leave whenever I'm feeling ready but encourages some time to rest. I take her up on it and she leaves. As soon as she's gone, the curtain to my left slides open and Johanna stares at me with an expression of disbelief on her face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She stands over me looking disgusted. "How does anyone see you are a threat? You're pathetic." I'm still a little fuzzy but I sit up and ready myself for a fight.

"Screw you, Johanna. You didn't see him, you didn't hear what he said. See his body shaking like he was about to explode!"

"No, I just listened to him scream for months while you sat here looking pretty. You don't deserve how hard he fought for you. I wish they had just killed him, then he would have to come back to you, someone too worried about herself to even give a shit about what he has been through." She scoffs. "I can't believe I risked my life for you."

I want to spit in her face, fight her to the ground and punch her until she takes it all back. But she's right. Have I been thinking about Peeta or myself? I've certainly been concerned about his state and worried about how he sees me but is that because I miss how he made me feel? Am I not actually worried about him and the desire to help him remember who he is, for him? So he can have his life back, not just be a part of mine. I am pathetic. "I don't know what I can do. He's not Peeta anymore."

She rolls her eyes. "Do you really believe anyone can remove the core pieces of someone in a matter of weeks? That shit takes year to build and create who you are. If he's loved you for most of his life, which I personally can't understand why he would even like you, then that's a piece of him that can't be taken away, not really. Get it? Maybe I'll try something your little brain can understand. You can use a bow, yes? If the Capitol tried to destroy your memories of ever using a bow, does that mean all is lost? No, that memory is deep within you and your body will never forget how shoot. Peeta isn't just going to forget how to love you; it's instinct, automatic." She punches my arm. "Fight for him, dumbass." She offers the hint of a smile before she turns and slides the curtain closed.