**Mockingjay spoilers**

Putting the tag mainly for my Dark on Fire beta, Martienne. She still hasn't read Mockingjay yet. Generally, you can tell my mood by what I'm writing, and this is just one of those days.

Song for this chapter is Sin with a Grin, by Shinedown. Mucho thanks to Doc for introducing me to this song as the lyrics suit this piece well.

Prompt is "beauty".

"I want to talk to her," I say to Haymitch.

His eyes are bloodshot, his forehead in his hands. After three hours of talking (well, two of those were spent with me yelling at him) I think he's finally run out of words. He looks over to the team of doctors; as always, they are listening to our every word. They murmur amongst themselves, and Haymitch's earpiece crackles.

"They said yes," he croaks, licking his lips. "Midnight."

There is nothing more I can say to him, and he knows that. So I merely nod, and wait.

When I hear the door open, my muscles lock so painfully I have to bite my lower lip to keep from crying out. I can't show weakness in front of the mutt. If she is still a mutt. I have no idea what will be on the other side of that plain wooden door, and it seems ridiculous that I'm the one strapped to the bed in three different places.

But the girl standing in front of my bed doesn't look like the mutt I've grown to cringe from. She's petite, and average looking at best. Maybe she'd be a bit more attractive if she wiped the miserable scowl off her face and left her arms hanging at her sides instead of crossed over her chest, but for now all I see is an unhappy seventeen year old. The only light I see within in her is in her eyes, which are a misty shade of grey. But even then they are wary, and she regards me with suspicion.

Watching her, I have no idea what the old me saw in this girl. In the videos I've seen, that Peeta looked at her like she was the most exquisite creature on Earth. When she walked into the room, as far as he was concerned, no one else existed. But now, I'm sure if I walked into a room of a million girls, she'd be the last I'd pick from.

It seems like forever before she speaks, and when she does, her voice is shaking. Nerves, maybe? I'm not sure, but it feels empowering, to be able to make her tremble. Like I'm strong, when before I was so helpless over the things I saw, the ways she hurt me in varying degrees of agony. It makes me dizzy, but in a good way, the fear I had felt before beginning to drain from my body.

"Haymitch says you wanted to talk to me," she says.

I keep my voice rough. I won't let her creep in on me; it would only lead to her taking advantage of me. "Look at you, for one. You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?"

"Well, you've looked better," she snaps back, and the pain that flickers across her face is palpable.

This goes on for a while, and I feel the rage inside me come close to boiling over. My hands begin to shake. How dare she, on top of all the other hurt she's inflicted on me? So I say the thing that I know will make her feel guilty. Make her hurt just as badly as I have.

"And not even nice. To say that to me, after everything I've been through." My laugh is harsh, and cruel.

Sure enough, she winces as though I've slapped her. And I know I've triumphed, as she makes a motion to leave, mumbling an excuse about how she doesn't feel well. I should feel good, about hurting her that way. I've overcome the mutt; I've made her sink into the floor.

But instead, all I feel is empty, and by the time our heated exchange is over and she leaves properly, I want to curl up into a ball and sleep forever.

I don't notice the team of doctors leave and barely register Haymitch's presence until he is right in front of me. He doesn't offer any words of comfort, though I know by now that is far from his style. Instead, his parting words haunt me, uncharacteristic of his usual sarcastic, blunt style.

"She loves you, you know. Even if she won't admit it."