**Trigger warning: This chapter may contain themes of torture, psycological abuse, sexual harassment/assault, and/or suicdial thoughts or actions**

Immediately following the Caesar Flickerman Interview

Katniss

I hear the shot ring out as they drag me kicking and screaming down the staircase. I bite down hard on the fleshy part of one of the guard's hands and he backhands me so hard with his other hand I go flying. I hit the wall and slump down in a dazed heap.

Commander Thread's voice lashes out.

"The President wants her intact! You know you're damn orders! What are you a fucking rookie you don't know how to him 'em where the marks won't show?!" He screams, spittle flying in rage filled tirade in the face of the guard that hit me.

It would be comical, my head torturer admonishing one of my guards for leaving a mark on my face, if the entire world wasn't upside down and inside out, literally and figuratively. I tried to blink away stars. But they only faded a little, to the edges of my vision.

She was dead. I thought numbly. The red headed avox girl. She was dead because of me. Because I had refused to sing a song.

What a reason to die.

What a waste.

I never even found out her name….

I bit back tears, because I couldn't cry right now in front of these….creatures. They were like predators. Once they smelled blood, they'd get called into the hunt. I shivered, and forced myself to get up.

I told myself to walk, as carefully and as well as I could, because that was two people I had gotten killed in a matter of days. And there were more people, I was learning that now. There would always be more innocents to slaughter, more blood to spill to force me into cooperation.

I just had to cooperate long enough to find my swift end. Just a little bit longer.

Thread personally takes charge of walking me down to the elevator. We were still somewhere in the tribute center. Since it was the off season for the Games, it was completely empty. So Caesar Flickerman and his entire crew had been able to set up their cameras and equipment a few floors right about my cell.

When they escort me back to my cell, they tell me to put my prison clothes back on. But now that Thread is here, the other guards turn around while I undress and Thread does too. I barely notice this, I feel so….numb.

Whatever they shot into my arm, I am having trouble fighting it when my adrenaline isn't pumping through me 100 miles a minute. And then after I toss the clothes on the floor by the door, the guard that hit me reaches in to pick them up quickly before the door closes and they lock me in for the night. I stand in the middle of my cell for a moment, listening for their receding footsteps. When they are gone, I hear Seeder's voice.

"Katniss? You ok?"

"Still intact, well mostly." I tell her in a weary voice and she doesn't respond. It's been a hell of a couple of days. With the other victors being dragged out at odd hours for questioning and torture. But we'd taken to asking after each other whenever someone came back. Not that any of us were really ok. It was just something...human to do for each other. And that I guess was the point.

Finnick asks what happened, and I tell him about the interview, the injections they gave me, and the girl who died.

There's a quiet note of dread that rings out when I tell them about Caesar Flickerman's ominous promise about the continued coverage on the 'Trials of the Victors'.

I had no idea what that entailed. I only knew that they had sat me down in the morning and forced me to sign a document admitting to my own guilt, and treason. It had outlined the manner of my death (firing squad, contingent upon good behavior), and also the terms of my imprisonment. I was to spend whatever time I had left in my short life, whatever the Capitol deemed fit in days or hours, in providing entertainment and recompense for the damage I had done to public security and peace.

That meant interviews, and singing I guess, and maybe tap dancing, who knew? It was just another sick way Snow could break me down, and turn me into a puppet again, after I had mouthed off to him about never obeying him again. That night in the penthouse, as they cut Darius into little pieces right before my eyes, I had learned that I would obey. I would be the puppet again...if it meant never having to witness atrocities like what they had done to my friend.

A hot tear leaked out of the corner of my eye. But I brushed it away. I could only afford to feel so much about the things that had already happened that I couldn't change. The only thing I could do now was try to prevent more people's deaths...before I figured out how to end my own.

It was my new found obsession, figuring out how to commit suicide. It was darkly morbid, and a little frightening, but after what happened to Darius, I didn't want to chance it that I could meet a similar end. So I occupied myself with the logistics of it, trying usually in vain, to come up with a solution. I pace around my cell, as Finnick tries to talk to me, but I ignore him. He'll want to talk about the interview more, and I really don't want to discuss it. Plus...it's all seemingly a little bit fuzzy right now...like sand slipping through my fingers on a hot day…

I'm just about to finish my fourth lap, when the intercom comes on.

"Evening rebel shitbags. Tonight for your listening pleasure, we bring you the sounds from Peeta Mellark's bathroom...and bedroom." The voice says with an evil laugh at the end...and I freeze.

NO.

The tape plays….but not just the song. They start almost at the beginning when I'm humming and playing around with the notes, and I find myself looking for a place to hide, a way to break down the glass door, for something, anything to get me out of this.

My voice starts singing over the intercom, and I glance up at Finnick. He's listening with a confused look on his face, and he peers back down at me.

"What's wrong?" He mouths the words, and I shake my head frantically, even though the movement hurts. I probably have a slight concussion from being thrown into the wall earlier.

I mouth to him the words, don't listen, and cover my ears, but he's not looking at me anymore. He's listening to the song, and he's smiling a little bit. I groan. He thinks it's nice, something innocuous, me singing in the shower. He doesn't understand, none of them do, that this is one of the most humiliating things a person can do to another. To expose their private moments, their...intimate lives….

I feel like my heart is going to pound out of my chest. And then I hear Peeta and I having the conversation from that night. And I hear myself asking Peeta if we can try…

And Finnick's eyes dart back to me, but I look away and cover my face. I peek through my fingers and he looks a little embarrassed, and sad, and all sorts of other things...but it doesn't matter. Everyone is hearing this right now. All the victors here with me. And whoever is playing it on the intercom, and who knows how many other people are hearing me tell Peeta that I love his shoulders, and freckles, and hands, and eyes, and lips…..and when we stop talking it's worse, infinitely worse.

Finnick puts his hands over his ears, but it's no use. They've cranked the volume up to unbearably loud levels.

I never thought I'd live to hear myself having sex in surround sound. The thought is distantly disturbing. And right after I hear the tell tale unzipping of Peeta's pants, I make it to the toilet and vomit my guts out.

I dry heave, until I hear the unmistakable groan that Peeta makes and my subsequent gasp….when he entered me that night.

And the shame, the utter humiliation of it all….just became unavoidable, and unbearable. I collapsed next to the toilet, and tucked myself into a ball.

I start sweating, and shivering, I think from the medicine and the interview, and the sound of the gunshot ringing in my ears along with the sound of Peeta and I's breathless love making. And it's all horrible, horrible.

I feel my mind splintering and twisting in horrible directions. But the sound of Peeta and I is playing in the background...an unavoidable soundtrack to the destruction of my mind...

Then Peeta's voice:

"Let me show you...let me...you're so beautiful. I still dream about you. Katniss I fantasize about you, even after all this. You're the only one I want to make come….the only one I want to make me come...oh, god, Kantiss...you're so fucking beautiful when you come for me…." Then the sound of an increased rhythm...

And then I hear my own voice, my breath hitching, and gasping, and then….higher, in a much too high note, I call out Peeta's name...once, twice, three times….

And he's telling me he loves me…

And I think I'm crying...not on the tape, but there beside the toilet in my tiny cell.

Because of all the times Peeta and I were together they just had to capture this night...the one night we had forgotten the scrambler in our haste...one of a handful of nights that had been about more than sex, at least for me…

And I hear us switching positions on the tape, him telling me to climb on top of him…

And he moans when I make love to him, and I remember the way he looked up at me...our hearts in both our eyes...our bodies just vessels for the feelings that swept us away into that ocean of endlessness.

"Katniss, I'm right there." He says in a pleading voice after a few minutes… and I remember leaning down to kiss him. That perfect moment where we were suspended in pleasure and love and unity...and I had felt him shudder inside of me...truly very close….

"Come with me." He breathed out, a request, a command, and I remembered what I had done...to fulfil his desires. I had lifted up, almost completely, and in one quick motion had sheathed him, inside me, and it had sent us both flying, far and fast as that new thing we had freed between us took wing. Our simultaneous exclamations of pleasure ring out through the cells.

But my eyes are shut so tight, and I just try to breathe past the moment. But that night is all around me….

I could almost recall the precise second I knew that it had been unavoidable...how much I needed him. How much I truly loved him.

And it had been beautiful then, and wonderful, but now...it felt so...broken.

I was here, in the dark, as my torturers laughed and mocked us. And he was somewhere far away...safe but so distant from me. And we would never ever do anything like that again. It was beyond cruel...beyond humiliating.

And I can't stop crying.

Then, after a long while, Peeta and I spoke again.

"That was….I don't think there are words for it." He said in a deeply peaceful voice.

"Pretty scary huh?"I asked in an amused tone.

"But also completely worth it." He murmured back.

There's the sound of shifting, us getting comfortable.

"Well, now we can say we made love." I tell him and he huffs out a little laugh. And I can almost remember the exact shape of his smile...I can almost see it through the tears in my eyes.

"Yes, we definitely can." Is his reply, before a telltale click of him turning out the light.

Then, mercifully, the tape ends. But my sobs continue for a good while. As well as the jeers from the guards on the intercom. Until finally my tears run dry and are replaced by a dry, burning heat. A heavy anger...like a wave of fire courses through me and I think about how hard it would be to bite through the flesh of my wrist…

"Katniss, hey Katniss, look at me! Katniss!" Finnick's voice calls out, underneath the sound of the guards laughter and I close my eyes shut because I just want to disappear.

But he doesn't let up, and when I look up, he's fogging up the glass and drawing something….

It looks like the outline of my district token. It's a mockingjay, with an arrow in its beak.

"You're more than what they're trying to break you down into. Don't give them the damn satisfaction." He tells me, with a deadly serious stare. And there's something in it...something that reminds me of the arena, and that warrior side of him that was probably the only thing I admired about him before we became cellmates. Maybe it's that warrior-like spirit that's helped him survive all these years in the Capitol. 12 years...At least ten of those years he had been publicly linked with one Capitol socialite after another. That kind of shame and humiliation must make mine look like a damn Sunday picnic.

His sea green eyes hold mine, and I force myself to sit up, and wipe my nose.

He nods at me, and wipes the mark away from the glass. Coughs lightly and then says really loudly.

"Thought that was funny assholes? I guess the only way peacekeepers can get their rocks off these days is by listening to two teenagers, you all should be ashamed of yourselves! What would President Snow think if he caught you all with your hands down your pants on the job? Pathetic!" He chastises them-and they retaliate by turning on the sprinklers in his cell...for 30 minutes straight.

I start to worry about him after the first 10 minutes of continuous water spraying everything, but he just smiles over at me good naturedly, and mouths the words, "I love this!" And he lifts his mouth up to catch the water, and then squirts it up in a playful way.

I shake my head, but feel myself a little more present than before. And after they turn the water off, they turn the lights off too.

And everything goes quiet.

"Katniss, you ok?" Seeder's voice again, in the dark. And I almost start crying all over again. But then I take a deep, shuddering breath, and calm myself.

"Yeah...I guess...sorry about that-" I say lamely, but she interrupts me almost immediately.

"They've got tapes of pretty much all of us, in one way or another." She says, and I feel some kind of brittle shiver run through my bones.

"Oh, Seeder," I say, in a sad voice.

"It's alright Katniss. The first time they play it is the hardest. You'll tune it out after a while." She says quietly, and I nod. But then I remember she can't see me, we're two cells away from each other.

"Thanks, for telling me."

"I would have warned you, only, I had no idea...I'm sorry dear. I didn't know they had anything on you." Her weary voice says. And I can almost hear her shifting on the uncomfortable concrete slab that made up our beds.

"They never did...until recently." I replied quietly, almost sure that no one heard me. But then Joanna's voice rings out in the dark.

"I think it's about damn time you and Loverboy got it out of the way. You two were worse than puppies before, always mooning and making eyes at each other. At least it sounded like you had fun, Brainless. Which is a lot more than I can say for some of our tapes. Just forewarning you." She says in a dry, matter of fact tone. And I feel myself shiver.

Oh no….not only would they be forced to listen to Peeta and I, but I would also be forced to listen to...who knew what? Haymitch said many of the victors had been forced into...well prostiution for the Capitol.

I close my eyes...glad and not glad at the same time that Joanna warned me. At least I knew what to expect. But now...I didn't think I could sleep with those thoughts running through my mind.

It was all too horrible, too dark, and too painful to contemplate.

So I closed my eyes. And even though it hurt, I remembered the love in Peeta's voice. The gentleness. And I blinked back tears...because even though it had been absolute agony and humiliation, there was a part of me that had been glad to hear his voice, and to hear him say he loved me...one last time.

The next day is filled with a grey, listless dread. I had been up more than half the night unable to sleep. And when exhaustion had finally taken over, I had nightmares about Darius's death, and the red headed avox girl's murder on live television. The dreams twisted into something perverse and disgusting, as the audio tape from last night made an appearance while they cut up Darius little by little, and then again as I dreamed of the staff cleaning the red headed girl's brains off the marble floor while they all laughed and made comments while the tape played in the background.

And I knew it was just my mind twisting these horrible events together. I knew that they hadn't actually played the tape while Darius was dying, or the girl. But In the morning I felt...disgusting in my own skin. And the memory of Peeta and I's perfect night before our fake wedding became tainted.

They sent some guards to collect me at 7am. At first I thought I was going for a torture session, but surprisingly they lead me to a room medium sized, with high celiengs, that looked like it had been converted from an observation deck into a sitting room. Inside the room there were musical instruments of every kind. A giant grand piano, bass, cello, trumpets, wind instruments, stringed instruments, fiddles and guitars, and many more I didn't recognize immediately. There were people in the room too, a surprising amount of people. A man who looked to be in his late 50s stood at the head of the room, with serious almond shaped eyes and a very strict and formal manner.

And there were three people I knew very very well...I had to keep myself from collapsing to the floor in heartbroken horror.

Flavius, Venia, and Octavia. Handcuffed and shackled.

They look absolutely terrified. And completely bedraggled. Hair out of place, clothes wrinkled like they slept in them, and Flavius is sporting the beginnings of a spectacular looking black eye. When they see me, they flinch and I fight the urge to sob.

Commander Thread, the new bane of my existence, drags me over to them and unceremoniously drops me in a heap in the middle of the floor.

"From now on, until your execution, you'll work everyday on your new 'victor's talent'. You will learn to play an instrument, or two, learn about music, entertaining, and you will perform whenever required. If you do not meet these expectations, these people," He says in a disgusted tone as he motions towards my preps with his hand, "will be tortured and executed." He says with an air of finality. Flavius, Venia, and Octavia shriek in terror at his words, and cling to one another while they cry.

Tears make silent tracks down my face.

Thread orders the other guards to drag my preps away. And I shoot up, fast, and take Octavia's hand in mine and sob out the word 'sorry', over and over, before Thread's fist slams into my back, and I barely have time to throw my hands in front of me to catch my fall.

My preps are led from the hall with a cacophony of shrieks and wails, and when the door closes behind them I feel again like a puppet who's had its strings cut.

There is such an overwhelming sense of hopelessness in me at the futility of it all. I just want to curl up on the floor and die.

But they won't let me.

They won't let me just die!

When the middle aged looking man comes over to ask me if I'm ready to begin, I snarl at him and he retreats a few paces away. I only allow myself to wallow for a minute, just one, and then I get up. I dry my face and compose myself. My continued cooperation is the only thing keeping my preps alive now.

I wondered, desperately about Cinna and Portia, and Effie, even Peeta's preps.

I hoped beyond all reason that they had somehow made it out. But I knew it was more than likely a false hope. From what Finnick had told me, anyone who had been part of the escape operation had either fled the same night as me and Peeta and made it to 13 or had been captured or killed.

And if the Capitol had had Cinna to use against me, they would have done it by now. I had asked him to walk me down the aisle after all. He was the one I was closest to, truth be told, out of everyone here in the Capitol. He was either dead or in 13. Either way he was out of the hands of the Capitol now.

So I focused on that one comforting fact. As I got up and nodded over to the older man, who was obviously going to be instructing me in my new training.

"I am called Hymenaeus. You may call me that, or Hym, if you prefer. If you're ready to begin, I thought we could start with a demonstration of your vocal range. If you'll follow me over to the piano ..." He says and my mind is distantly aware of the things he's saying. And because innocent people's lives depend on it, I obey.

I work with him all through the morning, only taking a break to be escorted back to my cell to eat my meager prison rationed lunch. I speak quietly with Finnick and Joanna about my new punishment and they listen to the news in solemn silence.

"What is going on here? Why does Snow care about my singing?"

"He obviously doesn't. He's just trying to drive up the price." Joanna replies and I wrinkle my brow in confusion.

"Joanna…" Finnick says in a warning tone.

"You want to wait for her to find out the hard way? Like we did?" Joanna retorts, and Finnick bites his lip before looking away.

"What price?" I ask, growing increasingly disturbed by the coded conversation they are having.

"The price for the Girl On Fire. The Mockingjay. My guess is, since you have to be executed, he's going to try and give it a short time for buyers to outbid each other over the next few days or weeks. So at least you'll be safe as long as they're all drooling over themselves, and you're singing. My advice Brainless? Milk it for all its worth. The better you perform, the more they'll bid, the more they bid, the longer you stay alive."

I look over at Finnick. He's slumped down to the floor of his cell. His gaze is hollow. It looks like he's aged 10 years in the last 5 minutes.

I try to find it inside of me to be shocked, or outraged. But surprisingly all I feel is numb.

"How long do you think their bidding will last?" I ask them.

"Tough to predict. When I won my Games, they bid for months. But I was older at the time. When Finnick won his Games, they bid for two years, until he turned 16." Joanna says emotionlessly. And there is a part of me that feels deeply for her...and for Finnick.

But I know neither of them would appreciate me breaking down over their sad pasts. So I just bite my lip, and start pacing my cell.

"Is there anything I can do? Anything at all to prevent it?" I ask desperately.

"The only thing that could prevent it is if you figure out how to off yourself before they close the bidding." Joanna tells me wearily.

"That or, we all get rescued." Chaff pipes in from the other side of the room.

Joanna laughs humorlessly.

"Sure, and while the universe is taking impossible requests I'd like a giant bottle of champagne, and a diamond tiara." She exclaims.

"Katniss said Haymitch made it. If I know anything about my old drinking buddy, it's that he won't stop trying to get us out." Chaff insists.

Finnick purses his lips over in his cell.

"A rescue would be infinitely harder than an escape. Almost impossible to pull off, here in the Capitol." Finnick says after a moment.

"We have to keep up some kind of hope, right Katniss?" Seeder interjects.

I shake my head. Because I actually agree with Finnick. The idea of a rescue seems pointless.

"Seeder, to be honest, the only thing I've been hoping for ever since they brought me back, is to find the quickest and cleanest way to die." At this Joanna actually laughs.

"Not so brainless after all." She quips, and I think it's the most depressing and disturbing compliment I've ever received.