Doing a bit better now. I have hyperesmia gravardium (sp?) and wound up having to go to the hospital to get fluids and stay for two nights. 10 Weeks tomorrow!

Next update should be Wed-Sat, it's already written 3

All bolded passages in the story are taken directly from the books and are not mine. I am not Suzanne Collins, to my everlasting shame. To explain further, the passages are used to show how this story is similar to the books but different. The passages often appear in places where they were not used in the books and at odd times to show the different contexts the passages can be taken in. In the end though, they're there to say something that I could not paraphrase as well.

It is a long time before I'll be able to fall asleep, though Finnick dozes off rather quickly. Haymitch, who is more like me than I like to admit, seems awake for the foreseeable future.

"How did you find this?" He holds up the book.

"The stair sounded hollow when Gale and I stepped on it. We pried it up and...there it was." I pause for a moment as Finnick mumbles in his sleep, my hand stroking his temple to soothe him. "Tell me about Emera Dayton, Haymitch. She was the first of us all."

"You have a right to know," he says. He sounds tired and old, much older than he is. "She was the first Victor of the Games and she was the one that caused what happened to District 12." Haymitch runs his finger of the cover of the book, stroking the soft leather. "She was a lot like you. She was proud, she volunteered for a girl that she loved like a sister. She was strong and respected. She was a Captain in the Rebellion when she was your age, younger. She had black hair and seam grey eyes. She had whip marks across her back for her defiance. But you're different too. She had ice in her veins, a natural born killer when she had to be. Because it was war and she couldn't be nice or kind, even if it chipped away edges of her soul. That's where you're different than her. There are things that she did that I don't think that you can or would do. And that's not bad, it's not Katniss. But maybe you'll have to do terrible things, I hope you won't. I hoped it would never come to this."

"Tell me," I say. "Tell me about her, let me know what she did and see...the cost." Because the cost will be the same in the end if I don't win. She didn't win, I know that.

So he tells me.

He tells me about her early life. The rape of her friend Victoria and the birth of Victoria's child. About the siblings she lost early in life, about the first time she was beaten in the town square. And he tells me about Alaric, her best friend who went into the very first games with her. He tells me how the President promised that two could win, how everyone in the Games knew each other from the Rebellion. The interviews where she showed off her scars, were she was beaten afterwards. The training scores. Her plans with Alaric. How eventually when she made her speech in the arena, Hannah had been the one to reach out to her and what it had cost her. About her cousin Tristan, about the friends that died at her and Alaric's hands. About the soul crushing despair she felt all the while planning that something would change in the games, and then there could be only one.

He tells about how the rest of the others, except one pair, turned on each other and about who it came down to. He tells me how she won without meaning to, how she tried to make sure that no one won. Then he tells about her family, what they did to our district and what it was like before it all happened. The tour and how she tried to rally the Districts, only no one ever came. Twelve waited with no food and no water, waited for death because their allies did not come. He told about the pact between Emera and Cristoff, about the songs he sang to rally the men and women. How they made Emera an Avox. How she lived to be old only because it took so long for there to be another Victor she could tell. He tells me the things she told him about his grandfather, about what he needed to do. He tells me how she got her final revenge.

When he is done, I feel hollow. She did everything she should have done-maybe not exactly how I would have done it...but I can understand her reasons. She did it for all the reasons that I'm doing things, and she lost so much for it in the end. My chest throbs as I wonder if this is somehow a warning to me.

"She was a good woman, a hard one though. Katniss, if you're going to bring that boy home…." He doesn't finish it, because we both understand. There may be choices that I have to make that I don't want to. How much of myself am I willing to lose to get back what I love?

"I only wanted to save her, that's all I ever wanted," I say.

"So did Emera."

There's so much more that I want to ask him, but our talk has taken up most of the night. So much has happened in such a short time since I've woken up….Not even a full day and I'm being forced to make decisions about the good of the people I love-and the rest of Panem. Not for the first time, I'm terrified that what I've done and what I'm willing to do won't be enough to save Prim.

I shower and get dressed, trying to compose myself for what's to come. By the time I've come out, Haymitch is dressed and eating while Finnick is staring blankly at the wall. I eat some eggs, sip on some water until Gale and the others show up. Beetee is still in his wheelchair, he tells us it's likely permanent. Gloss is pale and very thin, but he looks as good as can be expected. It's decided that only us Victors will go to the meeting. I want to protect Prim even though there can't be much more to protect her from anymore. She has suffered and seen more than I had by her age.

My mouth is dry and my heart races as we make our way to my-our meeting with Coin. When we enter a few minutes later with Boggs, I see that the table is full of people I don't know along with Coin and Plutrarch.

"What's this?" Coin asks, her hands folded in front of her.

"We've come to present our terms of cooperation," I say.

Coin moves a paper out from in front of her. "We're not interested, Katniss. After all we've done to save you, after all the things you've done to help Panem in this Rebellion, now you want to give us terms or else you won't help? You want to leave the people of Panem high and dry in a mess you made?"

"Snow made that mess. We weren't the cowards who hid for seventy-five years while the other Districts suffered! I did what I did for Prim! I didn't want a Rebellion, all I've ever wanted was her safety."

"Snow used us," Gloss says evenly, though his voice is hoarse. "Snow made us into symbols and emblems and puppets. We won't be puppets anymore. Katniss won't help you-none of us will-unless you agree to all of our terms.

Coin's eyes are cold as she focuses on me, "You'll never get that boy back alone."

I match her tone, "I'm not alone! I'll call on the districts on my own, we don't need you! Find yourself another Mockingjay!" I slam my hand down on the table hard, my eyes staring into Coin's in defiance. Neither of us blink or move until Plutrarch tries to bring us around.

"That is the very fire we need," Plutrarch says.

"We don't need her at all. Dismissed," Coin waves her hand at us. There's nothing more to say, so we turn to leave when it happens.

A screen comes on in the room and then a feed starts playing. Even without her wig, I'd recognize her anywhere. Effie Trinket.

Her face is paler than I've ever seen it. Even with the make-up she looks washed out. Her lips are bright red, and her head is wrapped up in a scarf.

"Tell us Ms. Trinkett, tell us about the Katniss Everdeen you knew. And how this could have possibly happened?" Caesar prods her.

Effie smiles brightly, a smile that I recognize as her fake one-I've seen it often enough. Her dress is deep purple and too big on her. There are lines under her eyes from lack of sleep.

"I was sh-shocked, of course! I don't believe that Haymitch or Katniss had any idea what was going to happen, they couldn't possibly. They'd have never agreed to such terms, I know that. I know them. They wouldn't have done this, they had to have tricked them." Her voice rises high.

I grip Haymitch's arm to steady him. I can already feel that wall of his going up, so I grip him harder trying to get beyond that wall before he shuts me out.

"I never for a moment thought either of them were in on it. But what about Peeta?" Caesar prompts.

"He wouldn't have done it either, he wouldn't."

"Not even to save Katniss' life? Maybe he made a deal and got in over his head?"

"Yes! That might have happened, he probably thought it was just sponsor money not this-this huge ordeal." Effie gestures widely. "I know them, they'd never have done this they had to have been tricked."

"If they could hear you, what would you say to them?"

Effie looks into the camera, her eyes big and bright with unshed tears. Her lip trembles as she looks fully into the camera. "Katniss, I know you didn't want this to happen. You….you just loved your sister. Don't let them use you for a symbol, don't become meaningless. You know how to end this, if the Districts keep fighting you know what will happen. So I beg of you to do the right thing. Haymitch," her voice chokes out for a moment. "Stay alive, okay? Take care of our girl on fire, bring her home."

The right thing. Tears streak down her face now, and I know what she means by the right thing. She wants me to fight, or maybe it's just what I think she means. Or what I want to hear.

"Cinna would be proud of you." The feed cuts.

Finnick is crying and Cato has his eyes shut.

"What about Peeta? Johanna? Annie?" I ask. "Why didn't they show them?"

"Because," Haymitch sighs. "They won't cooperate, they haven't broken them yet. When they've broken them, that's when we'll see them. Either that or they're already dead."

My head swims for a minute before my eyes focus in on Coin's face. She's practically gloating. I square my shoulders, "Let me know when you change your mind. I'll give you two weeks or we'll take the Capitol on our own if we have to."

We all exit together, Haymitch's words echoing in my mind and heart. Boggs takes me to a room that will be mine alone, a real room not a hospital room. He talks to me as we walk that way, but none of his words register.

They're not cooperating or they're dead. What have they done to them? What will they do to them? Are they alive? Are they dead? The words echo over and over in my mind until they ricochet so violently in my head that it throbs.

I shut the door behind me and stagger into the room, too numb to feel very much. It takes a few minutes for me to see it, in fact, I almost sit on it first. It's wrapped in brown parcel paper, torn here and there and tied together with string. There's a little card on top.

Sweetheart,

I hope I'm around to give this to you, if not, know that I regret nothing. He made me promise not to give this to you until you'd decided for yourself. He wanted that choice to be yours. He thought you were worth dying for, sweetheart, don't let him-or me-down.

Haymitch

I pull off the brown parcel paper to find a sketchbook. Even now it smells of him, like cloves and lemons. I flip through the pages, taking in all the designs in the book-all that is left of Cinna. He has designed me a suit for war. Everyone but Cinna has tried to persuade me one way or another-even Haymitch. But Cinna wanted me to decide for myself.

On the last page there's a charcoal drawing of my mockingjay pin, it reminds me of the coal dust at home and the wedding dress that turned me into a Mockingjay in my interviews. But it's the words beneath the drawing that strengthen my resolve, that helps me to know I have to stand firm on my terms.

"I'm still betting on you."

My tears fall down and splotch the paper, until it blurs beyond my ability to see. I can't melt down like this, I can't let go of myself. Now, more than ever, I have to be strong. I reach into my bag and pull out the one thing that I know will help me now.

My fingers touch the silky white petals as I pull out one of the roses from my bag. I can hear Snow in my head taunting me, so I silently tell him what I will do to him by crushing the rose in my hand until my own blood drips to the floor.