A/N: Credits to Estoma for betaing!

A throbbing pain pounds against my stomach and I retch myself awake. In my agony, my hands attempt to clutch at my waist, but all I hear is the clanging of wrist restraints.

"What the-" I mutter, screwing my eyes shut at the searing brightness.

My attempts to sit upright are met with a ferocious pain ripping through my leg, followed by the crash of metal. I jerk my head to a pretty nurse clutching a hand to her mouth and staggering backwards. She trips over the tray she had dropped, before stumbling out of the room with eyes fixed on me the whole time.

"Cunt!" I scream, yanking hard against the straps and feeling the leather chafe my skin, "Let me go, you bitch!"

The implication of my cold, sterile surroundings sinks in and I slump back into the bed.

I murdered President Snow, and survived. The Capitol captured me and my last days will be filled with agonizing interrogation and torture.

I dig my nails into my palms and try to blot out the next bit of truth from seeping into my mind, but I fail, like everything else I've tried to do.

Cato is dead. The boy I fought to protect is dead, and he died trying to protect me. He's gone.

My lungs empty out in one long gasp and tears spring from my eyes. No, he can't be, we were supposed to die together. I bite into my shoulder to try and distract myself from the thoughts, but a horrifying pain tears through my heart as the last glimpses of his blood spurting between my fingers floods back into my brain. All of a sudden, I wish I'm dead. The Capitol can torture me, break my body – but nothing could be worse than this. I've lost him.

In between the sobs tearing through my body, I catch a glimpse of my knives, strapped in a leather pouch and hanging beneath a portrait of President Coin. I ignore the ripping sensation tearing through my stomach and start jerking my hands at the restraints, dying to put an end to my miserable existence. I'm so engrossed with my new-found goal at self-destruction that I don't notice Enobaria slamming open the door and running towards me.

She throws her arms around me and gasps, "You're alive! We didn't think you'd make it when we pulled you-"

"You fuck!" I scream, making feeble attempts to punch at her body, "why didn't you fucking kill me?"

"Shh, it's ok," she whispers, "you're safe now, 13 will look after you."

"Cato…" I whimper, giving up my pathetic efforts at hurting her and grabbing at her clothes, "he's dead isn't he?"

"No," she whispers, and my heart leaps out of my chest before plummeting at her next words.

"They're trying their best to save him."

"B-but, h-he's alive?" I stammer.

"Barely," she replies, and unfastens my restraints. My throat chokes back a sob as I think of Cato, bloodied and bruised, lying on an operating table while doctors struggle to remove the bullets in his body. I bury my face into Enobaria's chest as the memory of how he covered me with his own body in those last moments on the lawn flash through my mind.

"I t-tried," I whimper, "I tried my best and…"

"It's alright, Clove," she whispers, stroking my hair, "he's going to be ok."

"Snow's dead then?" I ask, looking up into her reddened eyes.

"Of course, well – what did you expect? Cato chopped his fucking head off."

"So it's over?"

"Not quite, there's a war going on. Most of the Districts have chosen the rebellion, but there…"

I turn away from her and bury my face into the pillow, not wanting to hear another word. In my reckless pursuit to free Cato and myself from Snow's clutches, I've thrown all caution to the wind and forgotten about the sheer magnitude of it all.

"Clove," she says, tugging at my shoulders, "we need you."

"I fucked up," I whisper, sitting up and burying my face in my hands, "I didn't want a war. I didn't want anyone to die. I just wanted me and him to be free to live our lives in peace and not worry about each other dying. Please, Enobaria; I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"It had to be done, there was no other way," she whispers, before repeating her ominous words, "we need you."

"For what?"

I gasp when she presses a knife into my wet and shaking hand; in my current mental state such an act can only be interpreted as complete trust or utter lunacy.

"You've become far bigger than just another Victor, President Coin will talk to you when you're well enough to walk again."

Nausea overwhelms me; together with the pounding in my stomach, it forces bile into my mouth and onto the sheets. In between the dry retching, I shove Enobaria away, yelling, "I don't want any of this!"

My eyes flutter shut as unconsciousness floods into my brain, but in the darkness I hear Enobaria's voice yelling back-

"You don't have a goddamned choice!"