Author Notes: Trigger warning as in previous chapters. Also, I know my work schedule doesn't allow frequent updating, so thank you to everyone sticking around for this story. I know the scenes in the past few chapters and for a little while longer are difficult, but I hope you will all hang on for the ride.

CH 12: Altered Reality

They didn't mince words in District 13. There was no colorful language, no flowery name designed to make her new dwelling place sound like more than it was. Compartment 825. By comparison it made her efficiency apartment back in District 8 look like one of the Victor's mansions. Cattle cars in District 9 were probably larger. But, it wasn't the infirmary at least. There would be no more revolving door of doctors and nurses at all hours; she didn't have to let anyone in if she didn't want to. Compartment 825. It was hers. In the wake of having seemingly lost everything, having a place of her own, where she could be alone gave her at least a minute amount of consolation.

Jane set Jo Friday down and closed the door. What passed for beds, but in reality were more like cots, were situated in the left and right corners separated by a small dresser wedged in between. Drab and rough linens sat folded at the foot of each. Maura would hate the large weave, the coarseness, the way it would probably itch on their naked skin. Jane tried to shake the thought free. It took only four strides to cross the entire compartment where the real feature sat above the dresser. A window. A slit really. Six inches by twelve, she guessed. But, it allowed in some natural light, a view of something more than the claustrophobic monotony of grey walls and ceilings. And it opened. Jane pulled the small handle and cracked the window, holding her hand to the space as a slight breeze rolled across her palm.

"When we get her back…" Jane whispered to herself, "…Maura will be happy we have a window."

She had to say it out loud. Inside her mind it was all darkness and horror. If she made herself say it out loud, she felt a flicker of belief that Maura was alive. That she would see her again, hold her in her arms and kiss her. A light tap on her door washed the daydream away, rippling through the reflection until nothing recognizable remained.

Jane smiled as she opened the door, "Hey, little brother." She reached out and ruffled her hand through thickening hair. The meals in District 13 were perfectly calculated for the exact caloric intake to get a person through the day; yet, they were obviously more than Tommy had been afforded all those years in the Capitol as an avox. Jane almost hadn't recognized him again when he first came to visit her in the infirmary. "You look better each day."

You too. He signed. Reaching behind, Jane watched as a delicate hand filled her brother's and emerged into the doorway. Her eyes traveled from Tommy's hand, to the woman's, up her arm to bright blue eyes and a fresh face ringed by blonde curls.

"You must be Lydia," Jane extended her hand in greeting, "I've heard a lot about you."

"It's nice to meet you finally," the young woman giggled and moved closer into Tommy's side.

Jane clipped the makeshift leash to Jo Friday's collar and handed it over to Tommy.

Join us? He asked.

"Not today," Jane shook her head and cleared her throat as memories of walking the little dog with Maura flooded her memory.

With her compartment empty, Jane settled onto one of the beds, her hand hovering in the air over where Maura would have been. She ran her fingertips over the rough sheet where a warm body should have been curled up next to her. "When you're back," she murmured, "I'll wrap my arms around you and hold you so close you'll forget we were ever apart…"

Jane rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, her fingers drumming on her abdomen…like how Maura had done one morning when she'd awakened early. Tap. Tap. Tap. Until Jane slowly drifted into consciousness.

I had a dream about you, Maura whispered, her fingers splaying across Jane's stomach and kneading the skin as she dipped her head to take one of Jane's nipples between her lips.

"I dream about you every night," Jane groaned as she pushed her hand past the waistband of her pants and between her legs to find herself wet and craving touch. Her eyes fluttered and her breathing quickened and trembled as she stroked her arousal to memories of Maura inside her. "Come back to me."


Maura sat naked on the edge of the bed, arms limp, hands resting on the tops of her thighs. Her eyes stared blankly ahead and in her mind she tried to force her brain to place names to images. Wall. Door. Recognition came slowly and with difficulty and even as she said the words to herself she didn't believe them. It was a door, except it wasn't. A mouth, maybe? A cave. No…a door. She licked her lips; they were rough, cracked, and as she swallowed her throat burned. The sensation traveled with the saliva all the way down into the pit of her stomach where it settled heavily and painfully and made her nauseous.

"D…oor," she whispered as it opened. Yes, door. Her arm throbbed where the needle had invaded her vein, her body dredging up the horrendous pain that had consumed her not so long ago as he walked towards her.

"My, my, that Tracker Jacker venom is quite potent isn't it?" Hoyt came into focus in front of her, placed a hand on each of her knees and spread her legs so he could stand in between them, as close to her as possible.

Maura didn't resist, didn't flinch, as he grasped her by the chin and lifted her gaze to meet his.

"Isn't it?" He asked again, smiling victoriously as she nodded in agreement. Turning her head from side to side, he inspected her, running his fingers down the veins in her neck and over purpling contusions. Her eyes followed his hands as he moved them to her shoulders, stroking across them and down her arms.

Maura took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Ah," Hoyt let the word slip out slowly and linger as he moved his mouth to her ear, caressing and cupping her breasts as he spoke, "My hand cream. Amber oil and lavender. Do you like it?"

"Yes," Maura nodded, continuing to watch as his hands traveled over every inch of her skin, down over her hips and then over her stomach. The pain had made everything so clear, made the truth so apparent she didn't know how she had failed to see it on her own.

His inventory complete, he again lifted her chin towards him. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"I knew we could come to an understanding," Hoyt smiled, his close-cropped nails dragging down the outside of her thighs as he stepped back and turned to the pair of attendants in the room. "Have her cleaned up, fed, and clothed. I want her on the air this evening."


The dining hall reminded her of the cafeteria at the school back in District 8. Except, as she thought about, she realized that there was probably very little of the school left…if anything at all. Rubble. Burned bricks and pulverized chunks of rock; that was probably all that remained. Maybe a few pipes from deep down in the boiler room would still be salvageable. Jane ran through her mind the last time she had been in the school: maintenance on the old furnace in preparation for winter. She closed her eyes and heard the clank of her wrench on the pipes, felt the hot steam against her already sweaty skin, and heard the old custodian Jerry Fritz laugh and slap his knee when the old metal beast kicked back on.

Jane opened her eyes. Jerry Fritz wasn't in District 13. He was probably dead. His school probably bombed into oblivion. If she knew Jerry, he'd probably refused to leave. That school and the kids it housed had been his life. "We'll rebuild it…" Jane mumbled as she repetitively dipped a hard chunk of bread over and over again in the bowl of brown stew. She looked up to see Tommy and Lydia staring back at her questioningly. Forcing a smile, she shook her head and took a tentative bite.

"Jane!" Korsak called out to her from the dining hall doorway, motioning for her. "They need you in Command. Now!"

Maura. Pushing her tray aside and leaving a slop of greasy broth in its wake, she leapt to her feet and bounded towards him. Maura. Her hands trembled as she reached the threshold, but her old mentor and friend stilled them with his own touch as he led her from the hall.

Overwhelmed by fear and the haunting feeling of wrong that was constricting her chest, Jane clung tighter and tighter to Korsak, completely dependent on his quick yet steady steps to lead her through the maze to the Command Center as her awareness of the area around her faded in and out.

The other victors, Doyle, Constance, The Capitol defectors, the District 13 military commanders, and President Alma Tamaro all stood gathered around the central television that aired the Capitol broadcasts. Only Constance seemed to notice their entrance, hurrying towards them and taking one of Jane's hands from Korsak to pull her into the rapt group huddled in front of the screen.

Jane tried to fight the sense of urgent terror that was bubbling inside her; tried to tell herself it would just be more war footage, a huge victory for one side or the other, some staged and colorful propaganda, or maybe a Presidential address from Hoyt. She cocked her head, brow furrowed, as it was Caesar Flickerman who appeared on the screen instead. He was wearing his familiar blue; in fact, Jane thought it might be the same blue suit he had worn at the Quarter Quell interviews. "Why did you bring me to see this…?"

She was falling. An eternal plummet that didn't seem to end until Korsak caught her in his arms, easing her down to the floor on her knees as the camera panned out to reveal Caesar Flickerman's guest.

"Maura…" The name came out strangled and propelled by tears as Jane reached towards the screen.


Maura ran her hands down the dress she had been outfitted in. It was blue. Jane's favorite color. The feeling of the fabric on her body made her skin crawl…Jane's favorite color…she scratched her nails into the silk of the skirt and wished she could tear the garment into shreds. She looked at Caesar, that smile he always had when he was trying to lure a guest into a sense of security right before he delivered a question that sliced through flesh as if it was no barrier at all. Clasping her hands together, Maura waited, twisting nervously at an invisible something on her left ring finger. She glanced down at her hand for a moment and tried to think of what was supposed to be there, but she couldn't remember. The buried memory made the digit ache, and she stopped fidgeting with it, coming to the conclusion that whatever had once been there was probably better off gone.

And then the questions came. Questions about the discovery of District 13, how Patrick Doyle and Jane's avox brother had escaped the Capitol, the messages sent to the other districts, the subtle pledges on the Victory Tour from some of the districts' leadership of joining them in rebellion, that Jane's father was still alive.

Maura had no sense of the passage of time, only that Caesar asked and she answered until he paused, his brows knitted together with concern as he reached for her clammy and trembling hand. "I was going to ask you your thoughts about the rebellion…about this war that has consumed our nation, but I can see it takes a great toll on you. Perhaps, we shouldn't…"

"No," Maura shook her head and looked Caesar in the eyes. "No, I want to talk about it. Everyone…" she looked towards the camera. "Everyone out there needs to stop and think, to seriously consider the precipice we could shortly find ourselves on. Human kind was almost eradicated during the Dark Days. An entire civilization gone. That is the game the rebels are playing now; and it is a terrible, terrible game with grave consequences."

"Maura," Caesar scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned towards her. "I want to be sure I'm clear on what you're saying. It sounds as if you're imploring the rebels to consider a ceasefire?"

"Yes," Maura nodded. "Yes. A ceasefire. President Hoyt in his exceptional magnanimity has offered full amnesty for the rebelling districts. Peace. All they have to do is lay down their arms."

"Is that all?" Caesar prodded.

Maura's gaze shifted slowly from his and towards the camera, the broadcast zooming in to fill the field of view with only her face. "And turn over the rebel leader Jane Rizzoli to the Capitol for High Treason and War Crimes."


Jane was on her feet, lurching towards the screen, reaching, clawing, and trying to hold onto the image of Maura that was now black. Behind her she could hear muffled discussion amongst the District 13 commanders and President Tamaro grow louder and become increasingly accusatory. Traitor. Liar. Enemy.

"SHUT UP!" Jane screamed, hands flying to cover her ears as she spun to face them. "To hell with all of you!" she snarled as she pushed past them and towards the door.

"Jane Rizzoli! You are NOT dismissed," President Alma Tamaro's voice froze her at the door, her hard, steely frame already having closed the distance on Jane as she turned.

"He made her say those things," Jane growled. "He's tortured her and he's made her say those things! Can't you see that!? She would never betray the rebellion…" she paused as hot tears streaked her face. "…Me."

"And yet," the older woman with nary a flicker of genuine emotion reached into her suit pocket and produced a handkerchief, dabbing lightly at the wet trails on Jane's cheeks, "the damage is done."

With a deep breath, Jane squared her shoulders and brushed President Tamaro's hand and hollow gesture away. "Rescue her. Get her out of there. And I'll do anything you want." Her brown eyes smoldered as she spoke, "Anything. I'll be your Mockingjay."


Maura walked slowly around the perimeter of the hospital room. She counted her steps, listening to her bare feet press and peel off the tile floor. They had taken her shoes but left her in the dress. Reaching behind her, she fingered the zipper and considered ripping the garment off, but she knew doing so without permission might make him angry. She continued to pace, counting each step until the door opened. The count was lost then by the interruption, but she continued her movement around the room's edge, watching him as he watched her.

Dramatically, he clapped with purposeful slowness, letting the sound of his cupped, meeting palms break the silence. "Bravo." Clap. Clap. Clap. "Bravo. You have been…" he moved towards her, catching her by the arm and pulling her towards him, "…everything I had hoped for."

Hoyt gruffly turned her around and reached for the zipper of the dress, dragging it down centimeter by calculated centimeter until he could push the front forward and guided each of Maura's arms out of the sheath-like three quarter sleeves. Arms wrapped around her from behind, hands roaming across her bare stomach and chest he maneuvered her towards the tray next to the bed, pulled the thin cloth covering back and revealed a green, liquid-filled syringe.

Maura whimpered and weakly tried to pull away but his hug tightened and pinned her between himself and the bed as he lifted the syringe, pulled her left arm free from her side and jabbed the needle into the visible tract mark from the last dose. Trembles turned into convulsions as Hoyt's arms around her were the only thing that kept her standing, and in her blood…liquid flames scorching her vein by vein, extremity by extremity as her heart pumped the venom throughout her body. I told you everything, she thought, as the pain consumed her once again…everything.

"Can you imagine," he whispered in her ear as the convulsions began to subside, "what the venom would feel like if it weren't diluted? I'd imagine what you're feeling now…times one thousand," Hoyt smiled grimly at the thought, "maybe more."

She could hear a voice, echoing in her ear, each word the same word three times. What, what, what, the, the, the, venom, venom, venom… But, she didn't know whose voice it was until hands began to slide up the inside of her thighs to the hem of the skirt she was still wearing.

"I do so love you in the color blue," the voice whispered, lips and tongue caressing her ear as it spoke.

Jane. "NO!" Maura screamed, fighting against the arms that immobilized her, pushing, clawing at the vice around her body; thrashing to no avail.

The body behind her pushed her forward and pinned her face down to the bed, one hand crawling higher and higher inside her leg. "Who am I?" The voice whispered in her ear, the hand slinking higher.

The first time I saw you, you were wearing a blue dress…She likes you in blue. "Jane!" Maura shrieked, flailing her arms and swinging her elbows trying to dislodge the body that held her down.

Hoyt smiled and pressed his lips and nose to the skin just under her ear as he inhaled the scent of lavender he'd had Maura bathed in. "Yessss," he hissed.


Everyday was excruciating. Every command meeting was the same. President Tamaro would already be sitting at the head of the long table in the Command Center when everyone else arrived, a hot cup of coffee steaming in front of her. Jane had taken to sitting at the far opposite end of the table. Every meeting she posed the same question, no one bothered to speak or try to initiate the day's business until she'd asked. When are you rescuing Maura? Now, two weeks since Jane had agreed to be her Mockingjay, even the rebel President waited for the question. Her answer, like the question never changed. Plans take time.

Time. No one seemed to understand that Maura didn't have the luxury of time. Every day in Hoyt's clutches…the thought still made her shiver and lodged in her throat. Jane was beginning to be ashamed of her own selfishness. She just wanted Maura back, in whatever shape she returned in, she just wanted her back. Do you think I'd let a weak person have me? She thought back to the words she had spoken to Maura that first night on the train to the Capitol after the Reaping. Maura was strong. Hoyt wouldn't break her. She told herself that over and over, out loud in the dark of night as she lay on the bed in her compartment. He won't break her. He can't break her. Whatever he does to her, I can put her back together. Like she did for me.

Jane ran her hands down the black battle uniform that covered her body. It was nearly seamless…flawless, and fit as if it had been made for her. She paused, fingers tracing the bottom of the breastplate, eyes wandering to the helmet at her side, sleek and gleaming. Of course, it occurred to her, it had been made for her. It had been sitting in some box of Plutarch Heavensbee's since he'd defected to District 13. Waiting. Waiting for her to be ready. She wondered how long they had all known. Plans put into motion during the Quell by all accounts. Anticipatory arrangements for a rebellion they had hoped would come. It barely made any sense at all to her, that these Capitol people had joined them to begin with, much less that they had been banking on a rebellion before the idea of it even occurred to her and Maura.

Slowly her eyes lifted and met the expectant look of the man who would have been the next Head Gamemaker if he hadn't decided to turn unlikely freedom fighter. "Recognize the craftsmanship?" he asked, the corner of his mouth drawing up in a pleased smile.

"Cinna," Jane answered. He nodded. "Where is he? What happened to him?"

At that question the portly Capitol citizen's smile faded. "We weren't able to get him out."

Cinna had poured his heart and soul into doing what he could to aid her in the Games and the immediate thereafter. He'd crafted garments that were more than clothes, they were hidden messages, fabric personas of who she needed to be and come across as at any given moment. And he'd planned for this garment too: for something deceptively complex yet outwardly utilitarian…for something heroic and symbolic. And she would never get to thank him. "He's dead," Jane murmured, averting her gaze to look out the window of the hovercraft as it settled in down in what remained of District 8.

Part of her had hoped it wouldn't be as bad as everyone said, as bad as the images she had seen in the Command Center made it appear. It was. Jane kicked through the rubble as Boggs and his small contingent of soldiers spread out and formed a perimeter. Inside, she stood with Finnick Odair, Riley Cooper, Patrick Doyle, and the film crew. Doyle beckoned her over where Lou Kifkin and his squad of rebels that had stayed behind in the district met them.

Kifkin kicked the fine dirt on the ground into a rudimentary strategy map. "If this is us," he made an x with his toe, "the Capitol ground troops are here…here…and here. They're still hitting us with hovercraft fire on occasion, but there's no seeming rhyme or reason. I think they've redeployed most of the air power elsewhere; they hit us when they happen to have one available I guess."

"What we need," Plutarch Heavensbee interrupted, "is some footage of the Mockingjay leading the rebels on an assault. Nothing too dangerous of course!"

Jane wrenched one of the automatic rifles from the hands of nearby District 13 soldier and popped a shot off in the air, "It's a war," she said, glaring at him. "There's no such thing as not too dangerous."

"Yes, yes, of course…it's just…" he stammered, "…you're very important to the cause. The Quell and everything since has made you the movement's sweetheart…you're…"

Jane turned and motioned for everyone to follow, sending the camera crew scrambling to gather their gear, "So everyone keeps saying," she yelled back. "And Plutarch…don't call me sweetheart."