Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games/Catching Fire/Mockingjay.

A/N: I so appreciate everyone who has taken the time to review. Thank you!

Something like spring sunlight shines through my window, and I know I can't delay. I'm barely dressed when my escort arrives, and I'm sure my surprise shows when I look at her. She's just not what I would have expected for my escort. Petite. Delicate. Could be easily overpowered. A testimony to how improved the doctors must consider my condition.

"It's really exciting, really, to get to meet you and all," she tells me enthusiastically, a giddy smile playing all over her face. "Of course I was always rooting for you in the Games. You and…." She's obviously afraid to say the name. I just nod, give a scant close-lipped smile and hope that's the end of that topic.

She says her name is Maya, and she's clearly a Capitol girl, from the iridescent cloud tattoos on her face to the impression of raindrops rolling down her arms. Nice smile, though, and it's funny when I realize I'm more worried about my appearance troubling her than the other way around.

I ask Maya to just give me a moment to grab something, and I sneak the pearl into my pocket. I consider the painting too, but it's quite large and impossible to ignore. Basically, it would be a distraction. I sigh as I consider my ache for that distraction.

Maya then leads me down several identical white hallways and corridors to a small room. Actually, a little square hellhole of a room. From just outside the doorway I take note of the white padded walls, some kind of white spongy floor covering, no windows. It makes me wonder what kind of condition a person would have to be in to warrant being thrown into a room like this, given that even in my most monstrous moments I was never put here.

"So, you really want to be here?" Maya asks, the corners of her mouth forming a pout. She's got that look like when someone says something is "icky." I just shrug. I can't very well say "yes", since I don't want to be, and I have no desire to explain to her that it's more a need and an unwanted one at that.

"Okay, then!" she chirps, and she waits for me to enter.

"You don't have to stick around," I tell her, feeling like this is too weird for anyone else to witness, my entrance into self-imposed solitary confinement.

"Um, well, someone's got to lock you in," she says, her voice lilting in the way that means she thinks I'm a little short on brain power.

"Right. Okay, then. Well, Maya, thanks." I give her a half-hearted wave, and just as she's closing the door, I hear her say, "I'll always be rooting for you!"

Then a slam. Click. A couple more clicks. I'm locked in.

I take in the space around me. Sadly, I can tell it fits my needs perfectly. Great care has been take to make sure a person could not possibly harm themselves in this room. All lighting is built into the ceiling. No wires, sharp instruments, electrical dangers, and, luckily for me, no mirrors. There's a strange wall unit that takes me a minute to figure out - my toilet. A little cabinet holds a supply of water and foods, like ready-to-eat meal pouches, breads, things that won't spoil. Good, I think, since I have no idea how long this will take.

I spot the red buzzer that Dr. Aurelius told me about. My lifeline. When I've done all I need to do here, I just press it, and someone will free me. Of course, I can always press it sooner if needed. That gives me some comfort at least.

I also spot the one thing I fought Aurelius on. Built into the wall near the ceiling is a little camera. This was a condition of Dr Aurelius's; as my doctor who's "concerned for my safety" it was not negotiable. So, he can listen to me, watch me, and subsequently come racing in here if he feels he needs to. He has sworn on the life of his mother, who I'm not sure is actually alive anymore, that he will not allow anyone else to watch or listen, and will only come in if it's an absolute emergency. I don't believe him for a minute, but I'm out of options so I live with it.

So, there's my out, the buzzer. Plus Aurelius's safety net, the camera. There is only one other way in which I might get sprung early. My agreement with Haymitch. The man has been a cheat, a liar, and a manipulator enough times, but I know this is the one thing I can trust him with.

I take a minute to just breathe, work out the tension in my shoulders, and give myself some reassurance. You can do this. You have to. To get your life back. To help her get hers back later. So, I turn the lights off, and I begin.

Alone, in the dark, with no one to see me, to hear me, well, except for that damn camera of Aurelius's, I try to figure out how to grieve. Where to begin? There are so many obvious choices, but as I'm just learning, I decide to start with the easiest ones first.

I choose Boggs. Didn't know him well, but seemed like a decent guy. I don't think he cared for me much, but he was honest with me in the real/not real game. Was there for Katniss, an ally to her. I just sit and think about him, recalling any interactions we had, which were few. I'm trying to think only good things, but I find I've got anger towards him too. Is this okay? I have no idea if I'm doing this right, so I just hold my thoughts of him a minute longer. Never losing my awareness of the camera in the room, such a sickeningly familiar feeling after two Hunger Games, I quietly say his name outloud, softly curse him for dying, gently thank him for helping Katniss, then release him. Goodbye, Boggs.

Okay, one down, about a million to go. Who's next? Thresh, of all people, comes to mind. Again, I feel I didn't even know the guy while he lived and breathed, but his death meant something to me. My mind scans through memories, although these are harder because of the hijacking. I sort through the confusion and focus really on two main points: one, he was a teammate of Rue's, and two, he spared Katniss' life. Thresh, who didn't join up with the Careers, who Katniss said would have been our friend in District 12. If Cato hadn't killed him, well, it's unlikely I'd be here now. So, I thank him for his sacrifice, say his name, a little bolder this time, and let him go. Goodbye, Thresh.

Only two down, and relatively easy ones at that, and I'm already finding my emotional reserves getting depleted. I find my eyes drifting over in the direction of the buzzer. I could end this thing right now, call off this stupid masochistic exercise and get back to my soft bed. Just a few more, I tell myself. Try a few more, then I can consider the buzzer.

It's sickening, the number of people I have to grieve. Mitchell. Darius. Wiress. Chaff. It's like withdrawal. I sit huddled on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest. The more I grieve, the more I forget about the buzzer, forget about the camera. Soon I am talking, yelling, shouting at nobody but the ghosts filling this room with me, remembering the good of each, the bad of each. I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I have so much anger, I can't ignore it.

Mags The Morphlings from 6. Castor. Rue. I no longer even think about Aurelius watching me. I don't care about anyone but these people. Their faces writhe before me, showing themselves to me in their moment of death. I fight to see them alive, but often they win.

I enter territory that brings on new horrifying waves of torture. Finnick. It feels like my body is being absolutely ripped open. Prim. I never thought anything could rival the torture the Capitol brought on me, but this does.

Then, my family.

All this time, I've been trying to sort out real and unreal, trying to get my head on straight, but I never took time to really consider the enormity of losing my entire family. It is killing me, destroying, mutilating every part of me, but I have to do it. I take each of my family members in turn, loving them for their strengths, hating them for their weaknesses, holding my memories so gingerly, handling them with the utmost care, screaming out for the loss of their love.

My brother Davon, just a year older than me. His teasing, the constant laughing smile across his face. Fooled our parents by playing the child who could do no wrong, but didn't fool me. Confidence oozing out of him, his easy way with people, girls especially. Man, he was a strong kid. If he couldn't make it out from the fire, well, I'm not surprised hardly anyone else did.

Chesley, my oldest brother. More withdrawn, pale, often sick. Too often. Worked like a dog in the bakery, though, without complaint. Even if District 12 hadn't been destroyed, I'm sure he wanted more from life than could have ever been his fate. He sure deserved more.

My dad. Where do I even begin with him? Devoted husband and father. So appreciative of the simple things in life. Knowing that his life was what he made of it, not some expectation of what should rightly be his. Kind. Always kind. In simple terms: the model of the man I always wanted to be.

That leaves my mom. I know what people say about her, she's a witch. But, she wasn't really, and wasn't always like that. I think at first she loved my dad. I mean, who wouldn't? Then the kids started coming, but she never got what she really wanted – a daughter. She had high hopes when she was pregnant with me, was sure that would be the time. So, I was always a disappointment to her.

A memory flicks into my brain. A memory of telling Katniss a half-truth, talking in the Training Center when we barely knew each other. Telling her that my dad wished he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys. When it was really my mom that was desperate for a daughter. And I realize I never even told Katniss the rest of the story, that she doesn't know. She doesn't know that my mom's wish did come true. She did have a baby, when I was five, a baby girl. A daughter. Finally, she had what she wanted, and she was able to love all of us. She was happy.

Until the cold morning my mom found her little baby girl dead in her crib. My mother was never the same after that. I guess none of us were. Maybe that's why I liked Prim so much, she reminded me of that little girl I barely knew. So I go ahead and grieve over that too. Grieve over what we could have had – a mom that was happy, who loved us, a little sister. What could have been. Just like with Katniss. What could have been.

And I know then, that she is the next and final person on my list. Katniss. Because I still don't see how she'll get out of this situation. So I think about Katniss in the Training Center, waiting for her verdict all alone. We're both suffering alone at this very moment. A strange parallel in our lives that I don't think we'll ever get to talk about. Not that we'd want to.

I was very firm with Haymitch, that I did not want to know anything about the trial. Well, that was after I begged to be a character witness and was denied. I suppose they were smart to refuse my offer, considering I thought she was a mutt and attempted to murder her, more than once.

There is only one thing about the trial I want to know. The verdict. That's my deal with Haymitch, the one thing I know I can trust him on. He's only to interrupt me in here if the verdict comes in. But, no interruption yet, so I keep doing what I've got to do. This is my time to remember, to cherish, to yell, to cry, to wrap my heart around Katniss and then let her go.

Only, I find I can't do it. I remember Coin's assassination, how Katniss yelled at me to let her go, and how I said I couldn't. That was real. I've got the pearl, the painting, and I guess I must still have that little drop of hope, because I find I just can't grieve her. Not yet.

I don't even realize my eyes are closed. Despite the unfinished business of grieving Katniss, I open my eyes. Totally disoriented. It takes me a few moments to get my bearings, realizing I'm in a corner of the room tucked in a fetal position. I am completely drained of emotion, of energy, of caring. Katniss's pearl is held tightly in my fist. But I also notice something else. My mind is starting to clear out, to feel less tangled and twisted than it has in some time. My heart is slowing, getting closer to what would be considered normal. I slowly hold my hands out in front of me. The shaking is subsiding. It's not like I'm suddenly back to normal, perfect, whole. No, not anything like that. But I do feel something like peace washing through me. I float in it, let it ripple and swell inside of me.

Several clicks, a door opening, and the harsh voice of Haymitch bring that ripple to a screeching halt, floods away every bit of the peace. "You better come out here now, Peeta. They've got a verdict."