Ok, Chapter Four, the Capitol decides to try a new form of torture. Now, at this point in the story I'm getting to close a place where I'm not really sure what will happen. I am, as probably, many of you are, wondering - What will happen to Peeta? Will Katniss be able to rescue him? Will he survive? and- perhaps more importantly - what sort of state will he be in when/if Katniss finds him?

Personally, I have several theories, but I want to hear YOUR thoughts. Send in your thoughts/votes about WHAT HAPPENS TO PEETA? Does Katniss arrive in time? What sort of Peeta would be left for her if she does? PLEASE send me your thoughts, and I'll incorporate them in the story! Either via review or PM!

Just a reminder: This story is rated M, for torture, non-consensual sexuality, angst, and blood. This is another DARK chapter. Be warned.

Please Review!

Enjoy

~TLD

Chapter Four: What Dreams May Come

It was hot, much too hot, but he ran still, fatigue and dehydration pressing down on him like a lead weight. His damaged leg limped clumsily behind him, each movement causing a new gush of blood to seep from his wound. He grit his teeth against the pain, knowing that he had to keep moving. Katniss was at the Cornucopia. He knew she was. She'd knocked him out to keep him from following her, but dammit if he was going to let her die on his account.

Don't die, Katniss, the chant was a mantra in his mind. He was crashing through the trees, but he didn't care. He didn't know who would be about to hear him, who to expect to coming running to kill him, but he couldn't care. Anyone coming after him would be one less person after Katniss.

A sudden lightness filtered through the trees, and he knew he was at the edge of the clearing surrounding the Cornucopia. He paused, catching his breath, taking in the sight before him.

There were bodies strewn about the clearing. Peeta's stomach contracted.

Limbs, he corrected himself. There were limbs, and organs, and Oh God so much blood strewn about the clearing. So many pieces he struggled to count.

How many? How many dead? He forced his mind to focus even though his body wanted to vomit. He breathed heavily, knowing deep down that he'd have to walk among the carnage in order to know for sure who died and who did not. He swallowed reflexively, forcing back the thought that Katniss could be among the dead.

What if she's lying out there injured? he scolded himself. You're wasting time! Peeta took another strengthening breath and strode out into the field, a lone knife gripped in his fist, his only weapon.

Clove, he thought, wincing, as he passed by her mangled body. Her dead eyes stared unseeing into the burning sun. Thresh, Cato, Foxface… Peeta's breathing hitched. Four dead? Where's Katniss? he still hadn't seen her. She hadn't come back for him. She must be out here somewhere. Oh God, he thought, Let her still be alive!

"Katniss!" he screamed, unable to keep his panic under control. He started running, circling the Cornucopia. "Katniss!" he shrieked her name. He rounded the corner.

And then stopped dead.

Just around the corner of the Cornucopia she lay - her thin form splayed on the ground facing away from him, her dark hair waving like a flag in the slight breeze. Her hand was still gripped around her bow. He ran to her, scanning her body for any sign of breathing.

"Katniss!" he shouted, falling to his knees at her back. He gripped her shoulder. "Katniss?" She didn't move.

"Katniss?" he cried, rolling her body onto his lap so he could see her face. With a soft hand, he brushed her hair out of her face.

And then, he screamed.

Her face was stained and marred with bloodstains flooding down her cheeks from the gaping holes where her eyes used to be. He screamed, dropping her body from his lap in shock.

"Peeta?" she stirred.

Peeta was choking, sobbing, gasping for air. Her lifeless body was now stirring, her gaping eye sockets turning toward him. He clenched his teeth against the urge to vomit.

"Katniss!" he cried, mastering his revulsion. But even as he brought his hand to touch her, she shuddered and breathed her last.

"No!" he screamed, cursing himself for wasting the last precious seconds of his beloved's life in revulsion. He curled over her, wrapping her mangled body in his arms. "Katniss, No!" he murmured, rocking her, "Katniss, don't leave me!"

Just then a loud BOOM rent the air, and Peeta knew the final canon had sounded, signaling the final death of the Hunger Games. He clutched her tighter to himself, refusing to be parted with her. Wherever they took the dead bodies, that was where he wanted to go – just toss him in the grave with the rest of him – he wasn't leaving Katniss' side.

He waited, but the hovercraft never arrived. Finally, the voice sounded through the arena. "Congratulations, Tribute from District 12, you have out-survived all of your competitors! However, the 74th Hunger Games are not yet over! May the odds be never in your favor!"

Even as the voice faded into the distance, Peeta heard a strange rumbling sound closing in on him. The sound of clawed feet pawing the ground filled the silence and suddenly Peeta knew what was coming for him. In that same instant, a large black wolf – a mutt – Peeta corrected himself, jumped out from behind the Cornucopia. Thick black fur, and strong, lean muscles rippled across its body as its muzzle curled up in a blood-curling snarl.

Peeta felt himself backing up slowly, pushing himself along the ground, until his back bumped into the Cornucopia. I have to climb up, he thought dimly.

But then, all thought was erased from his mind.

As the black mutt stalked him, he suddenly caught its eye.

Her eye, he thought, his heart dropping into his stomach. Oh God, he thought, It has Katniss' eyes.

He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even think of escaping.

"Katniss?" he whispered.

Katniss' eyes seemed to narrow, focusing in on the prey too weak to fight back. For one wild second, Peeta thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in those eyes, as if the creature remembered him, but then-

The beast lunged. And as its razor claws raked across his flesh, as its horrible fangs pierced his throat, as it slowly ripped and shredded him apart, Peeta could do nothing but scream.

"Ahh!" Peeta screamed, jolted awake by the horrible nightmare. He sat bolt upright in bed, the covers falling from his exposed chest. He struggled violently with his breathing, forcing his heart to slow down and his breath to cease whooshing out of him in wailing gasps.

As his breathing slowed, his eyes roamed the room. He was in Katniss' room in the Capitol. He recognized the bed, the furnishings… Slowly, he turned to his right.

And, yes, there she was, sound asleep in her bed. He smiled. She was safe.

He took a deep breath, trying to dispel the final remnants of his nightmare, and reclined back in the bed. He curled around her, taking her soft, warm body in his arms. He didn't want to wake her, but seeing her like that, her stern face softened in sleep, he couldn't help but stroke a tiny caress across her cheek. She didn't stir, so he leaned down to put a light kiss on her forehead. Her skin was exceedingly soft beneath his lips, and he breathed her in deeply, savoring the scent and feel of her.

She smelled like, Roses, he thought. And then… blood?

Peeta pulled back, concern etched across his face.

"Katniss?" he murmured, wondering if she was hurt. He couldn't see blood, but...

She didn't answer.

"Katniss?" he called, a little louder. Roses and blood, Peeta thought, trying to puzzle it out. And then –

"No, Peeta," she said.

It was that voice.

Not the rough, earthy tone of Katniss' voice.

It was her voice. Frilly and feminine and… sickening.

And suddenly, awareness hit Peeta like a battering ram.

He jumped up, pulling away from Not-Katniss, and stared back with appalled eyes.

In her place, exactly where he'd been holding Katniss, the forehead he'd kissed, the cheek he'd nuzzled, she was there. The doctor sat up, her putrid purple-red lips smirking at him.

He saw her face clearly for the first time – sky-blue eyes, with flecks of gold dancing in them, flowing golden locks, streaks of oranges and reds making her hair look like the flame of a candle.

"Oh Peeta," she chimed, "This is nice, isn't it?"

Peeta felt the urge to vomit again, his muscles tensing as if preparing for a fight. He wanted to get up, to run away, to get as far from this woman as possible, but he found he couldn't move.

But even as the realization sunk in, she was leaning toward him.

Panicking, he spoke, "What is this? What's going on? Where am I?" The questions poured out.

To his immense pleasure, the questions distracted her from whatever advance she was making, and she stopped, and, smiling, answered him.

"Oh Peeta," she cried, her voice seeming to break with joy, "How nice it is to hear your voice!" She smiled, "And having a nice, civil conversation to boot! I knew you could be reasonable."

Peeta waited. He tried to move his legs, his arms, his head. His breathing hitched when he realized he couldn't move any of them. She still didn't answer his questions.

He glared at her. "Where am I?" he spat through his teeth.

She simply smiled larger and scooted her body even closer to his. He could feel her shoulder and her hip press against his. She half-turned, bringing her face even with his, and laid a hand on his bare shoulder.

He swallowed hard, his muscles bunching in a desperate attempt to break through whatever was keeping them still and remove her hand from his skin. He groaned with the effort, his face contorting in agony and disgust as she drew ever closer.

"Peeta," she murmured, and she pushed back on his shoulder, laying him back on the pillows once more.

This can't be happening, Peeta thought. We can't be here! Now that his memories had returned, he was fully aware that he was being held captive by the Capitol. But the room looked so real! The pillows felt so soft against his back. And her touch, that was certainly real.

It can't be real, he chanted, It can't be real.

But even as he chanted, she moved again. She loomed over his body, straddling his hips. He felt her weight on his stomach, her heat against his skin. He bit down, hard, a fury building in him he hadn't known he was capable of.

"Get. Off." He spat, his eyes shooting daggers.

Instead she lowered her body to rest against his chest, her elbows holding her head up so that her lips hung inches above his own.

He shuddered. He could feel the length of her body pressing into his, the delicate pressure of her breasts on his chest and the rougher weight of her hips against his. Had the whole situation not made him want to vomit, it might have been a turn-on. Certainly if it were Katniss' hips pressed against his, Katniss' breasts- But he stopped himself. That line of thinking was definitely not helping him.

He looked up again at the putrid purple lips dangling above his own. He kept his face blank, his eyes empty. Whatever game she think she's playing at, I'm not playing, he thought.

"Oh, but you will," she said, answering his thoughts. She propped herself up on him now, smiling at the look of shock that crossed his features.

"Tell me, Peeta..." she said, her voice taking on that slightly clinical tone she used for interrogations, "everything you know about Katniss Everdeen."

Well, and that was easily answered. Peeta scoffed.

The doctor smiled, a singularly sinister smile, before grinding her hips, hard, against him.

He locked his jaw, but even so, his breath rushed out in a throaty huff. He narrowed his eyes in disgust.

She started again, moving agonizingly slowly against him. "Where are the rebels hiding?" she crooned.

Peeta's paralyzed body threatened to betray him, her languid movements arousing nerves and awakening hungers that Peeta bit back only with a supreme effort of will. His body was straining in tightness, his muscles bunched, screaming to be free of their paralysis, dying to throw the monster off of him. His jaw ached with the pressure he was using to force it locked, but he refused to relent.

She pressed against him again, and a sharp gasp died in his throat. She smiled as she brought those sickening lips to his chest. His panicked eyes followed her, so when those lips pressed against his skin, and the sharp teeth within sliced into his flesh, he was prepared to silence the shout that crawled to his lips.

"Oh Peeta," she sighed, a truly delighted look crossing her face, "You aren't going to make me force the information out of you, are you?" Her eyes practically shone in her face when she caressed his chest on the word 'force.'

For the first time, he felt an inkling of true fear – he did NOT want this – did NOT want the hands, the lips, the body of his torturer on his. Pain was one thing, humiliation, degrading torture, death – all these he could withstand, but this – the threat of pleasure - even the word made his stomach contract - at the hands of that… He stared at her, momentarily overcome by her sadistic monstrosity. He swallowed down the fear that threatened to drown him, and spoke – though, he was only vaguely aware of the words that came to him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice breaking slightly under the strain.

She paused, silent.

And for a moment, Peeta thought she'd been appeased by his answer. But then,

"Tsk, tsk," she shook her head in mock sadness. "Peeta, lying simply will not do." Her wicked grin returned, and she brought those horrible lips to his ear.

"Now, it's my turn."

He felt her mouth close around the artery in his neck, her lips and teeth sucking and nipping. Her hands slid down the sides of his ribcage, meeting at his waist. And as they fumbled with his belt, he screamed, shouting and thrashing and -

He woke with a start. As his panting and gasping subsided, and his bleary eyes adjusted, he found himself curled up in a ball in the corner of his cell, alone. After a long moment, waiting for the axe to drop and another series of horrific events to unfold, Peeta let out a long breath, and then, burying his face into his knees, let the tears fall.