A/N: Just a trigger warning - this chapter contains descriptions of graphic violence and torture.


Katniss

"Katniss, can you sing?" Annie's voice reaches out to me through the dark. This is the first time she's talked to me directly; the first time she's said my name.

When I don't answer her for a few moments, she continues. "I remember in your Games, you sang to that little girl."

"Rue," I croak. My voice is cracking from the lack of water and the hours I've spent screaming over the last couple of days.

"You sang to Rue…. It helped her," Annie states, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I think…I think it would help me to keep the screams away - if you sang," she whispers this last part, a small smirk dancing on the edges of her lips.

I know I must be looking at her with an expression of astonishment, because she admits, "I'm crazy, not stupid. I know the screams aren't real, but sometimes it's easier to give into them than it is to fight them off." She looks down at her lap, where her fingers are tangled together. "Usually Finn helps me, but it's so much harder when he's not around."

This wrenches something in my chest, and I know without checking that Jo is probably frowning at Annie. They both lost Finnick; he is Annie's love and Johanna's best friend. But when it came down to it, I'm the one he got a message to. I know that Jo resents me for that, and up until this moment I believed it was possible Annie did as well. And now…now she wants my help. Finnick didn't hesitate to chase after me, racing into the jungle when the Jabberjay screams tormented me in the Quell; now it's time to repay that debt. It's up to me, in his absence, to take care of the mad girl he loves.

"Alright," I acquiesce. I manage to pull myself along the filthy floor of my cell until I reach the front and use the bars to drag my broken body up into a seated position. It takes me a few minutes of deep breathing to get the pain under control. No one questions the delay following my agreement; they don't need to – we all suffer the same agonies.

I'm sure all the ribs on my right side are cracked, and there's a sharp lingering ache in my left ankle that hints at a muscle tear of some kind. Every inch of my skin throbs, and I think I would rather do anything instead of sing for Annie Cresta.

But Finnick Odair saved my life and kept Peeta alive for me when I ultimately could not do the same; if Peeta had stayed with me, under my protection, I have no doubt that Snow would have killed him by now to hurt me further. So, I will do this for Finnick; I will sing for the one person he loves more than anything.

The words of an old, old song from 12 come to my mind. It is sad and it is beautiful, just like the girl who sits across from me in this hellhole. It's not perfect, but Prim used to sing it to Lady when she was milking the little goat in the cold mornings before dawn. I clear my prickly dry throat and let my raspy voice wrap around the words, pouring my mournful longing for everything I've lost into the tune for Annie.

Oh my darling, oh my darling
Oh my darling, Clementine
You were lost and gone forever
Dreadful sorrow, Clementine

In a cavern, in a canyon
Excavating for a mine
Dwelt a miner forty-niner
And his daughter, Clementine

Yes I loved her, how I loved her
Though her shoes were number nine
Herring boxes, without topses
Sandals were for Clementine

Oh my darling, oh my darling
Oh my darling, Clementine
You were lost and gone forever
Dreadful sorrow, Clementine

Drove the horses to the water
Every morning just at nine
Hit her foot against a splinter
Fell into the foaming brine

Ruby lips above the water
Blowing bubbles soft and fine
But alas, I was no swimmer
So I lost my Clementine

Oh my darling, oh my darling
Oh my darling, Clementine
You were lost and gone forever
Dreadful sorrow, Clementine

You are lost and gone forever
Dreadful sorrow, Clementine

Sometime during my song, I reached my arm out through the bars of my cell towards Annie. She did the same, meeting me in the middle and just managing to grasp my fingers in hers. Somehow, I know she understands what I was trying to tell her with this melancholic air: I'm so sorry I lost Finnick for you. I'm so sorry I lost Peeta for me. I wish all this was different for us.

Annie Cresta smiles kindly and simply says, "Thank you, Katniss."


My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. I am from District 12. There is no District 12. Everyone I love is safe in District 13. I am going to die in the Capitol.

These are the things I know.


The days pass in a blur of anguish and desperate craving and thirst and starvation. The minutes are made to feel like hours as I struggle to stay conscious against the lack of food and water, my body aching to just give in. But it doesn't, and I have no idea why.

Every couple of days we are given small rations of dirty water and every few days we are gifted with our moldy bread. Bread saved my life when I was eleven, just as it seems to prolong it now; I don't want it – this life. I want to let it go because this isn't a life anymore; so I try and I try to fight against the all-consuming hunger and I tell them no no no. But it doesn't matter; they only force it down my throat when I refuse to eat.

Sometimes during this cycle of illness and starvation, we are taken out one at a time and brought to rooms where they harm us. The guards call it interrogation, but Snow realized long ago that we didn't have enough information to give him an advantage in his war against the Rebels. After the first couple of weeks, they gave up all pretense of asking us questions before they began tearing us apart.

Annie was frail and spindly already, but now her limbs look as though they'll break if she puts up too much of a struggle. I know the Peacekeepers do things to her from the bruises I see on her arms and legs, but she won't respond when I question what they did. She hums a lot now, often the tunes of old District 12 songs she gets me to sing when I have enough strength to do so. I hold her hand through the bars when she is returned to us, if only to reassure myself that she's still here with me.

Enobaria ripped out the throat of a guard during her first interrogation. She told the poor idiot that she had information for him, luring him close so as to hear her whispered pleas for mercy. Jokes on him – Enobaria would never beg for mercy. She said she told him so as he lay bleeding out at her feet. After that, they started pulling her sharp teeth out.

They shaved Johanna's head. They do something to her with water and electricity, I think. She's always soaking wet when she comes back to us, her body jerking the way Peeta's did after he hit the forcefield, as though the shocks are still moving through her body with no place to go. With the constant dampness of our prison cells, she's developed an awful choking cough that wracks her tiny frame at all hours.

I am always blindfolded when they take me. I'm hung from the ceiling by chains or secured to a wall in the same way Gale was lashed to the whipping post. Each day they beat me while playing recordings like the Jabberjay torture in the Quell. My bones are broken as I hear Prim cry out for me; my muscles are stretched and torn while Gale calls my name; I am cut with knives to Haymitch's mournful pleas; my skin is torn apart with a whip to the sounds of Peeta screaming for me. They haven't shaved my head yet, but about two weeks into this new routine one of the overenthusiastic guards cut off the long length of my braid as a trophy, wagging it in front of my face as I failed to catch my breath while my mouth filled with hot sticky blood. The guard disappeared after that day; Snow was angry that he made it so I am no longer camera-ready.

One night, after she has been brought back to the cells, Johanna breaks her persistent silent treatment towards me and asks me to sing to her. I sang to Annie again last night, and haven't been given any water today, so my throat feels like rough tree bark. I must make some disagreeable noise because Johanna does something even more unexpected and chokes out a quiet, "Please, Brainless."

"Why?" I ask stubbornly. She hasn't spoken to me in weeks, and sneers at me whenever I give in to Annie's requests.

I can hear her exhale a heavy gurgled breath before her cough takes over. "Because Kitty-Kat," she starts, her voice a sarcastic parody of cheeriness. "It has been made abundantly clear to me that I am going to die here, without every seeing the sun again. I am going to die in this hole, with you bitches, and I will never get to breathe fresh air again before I do so. I find this realization rather distressing, and one of the few comforts I have is listening to your stupid voice. So please, be a dear and sing me something."

Though her words are cutting and her delivery of them unkind, I understand Johanna. When I relayed the news of the Rebel broadcast breaking through my interview, it gave us hope for a while; the boys' gallant messages were heavy with implication of rescue, and it bolstered our resistance for weeks…. But that flicker of optimism died out a long time ago.

I don't bother trying to come up with anything to say to Jo, there isn't a need, nor do I really have the energy. Instead, I sing to her.

Tonight I'm sad, my heart is lonesome
For the only one I love
When shall I see her? Oh no, never
Till we meet in heaven above

So bury me beneath the willow
Under the weepin' willow tree
So she will know where I am sleepin'
And perhaps she'll weep for me

She told me that she dearly loved me
How could I believe it untrue?
Until an angel softly whispered
She could never care for you

So bury me beneath the willow
Under the weepin' willow tree
So she will know where I am sleepin'
And perhaps she'll weep for me

Tomorrow was to be our wedding
Oh god, oh god, where can she be?
She's gone a-courtin' with another
And no longer cares for me

So bury me beneath the willow
Under the weepin' willow tree
So she will know where I am sleepin'
And perhaps she'll weep for me

So she will know where I am sleepin'
And perhaps she'll weep for me

Johanna sniffles quietly as I finish another tune my father used to perform during past Harvest Festivals in 12; it feels like a fitting song for our collective impending demise. Johanna knows that when we do die down here in the dark, we will remember her. I can only hope she will do the same for me.


The first time I pass out during an interrogation, it's a surprise to everyone; we've been doing this for so long, and it hasn't ever happened before. But the guards are not expecting it, and in their ignorance, they slip up.

I come to before they realize it.

My torturers are gossiping like the merchant wives in 12. I can't open my eyes, more from fatigue than anything, but they have no idea I'm conscious. So, they talk. And talk and talk and talk.

And eventually they say something I'm actually interested in – they mention District 13.

"Well, those stupid moles won't be around much longer will they? The next time this bitch goes on with Caesar Flickerman, Snow's going to blow them away! My wife said she'll be sad to see Finnick Odair go, but I told her…. I said, 'that water rat shouldn't have turned traitor!' Am I right?"

The other guard guffaws like a moron and agrees with him, and they move on to another subject, as though they didn't just change the game entirely. My mind is stuck firmly on their previous words - Snow's going to blow them away!

Once I'm dragged back to my cell, I'm left to curl up in a corner like usual, but my thoughts are racing. District 13 is in danger; President Snow is likely going to bomb them, and the explosion is going to be big enough that the whole underground district could be wiped out. While the immediate threat of an entire Rebel district would be eliminated, the dead would become martyrs to the cause. Would it be worth it?

Not to me, no. I've always been a selfish creature, and while Snow could ultimately be overthrown in a fit of vengeance from the districts, I would be sacrificing the lives of everyone I am sure that I love. Prim, my mother, Gale, and…Peeta. I used to be so scared and so confused about how I felt, but now…. Every moment that I'm here, every day without him, I realize how much I truly love Peeta Mellark.

And I now know I need to do something to save them. But what?


My answer comes in the effervescent form of Caesar Flickerman.

I am unceremoniously pulled from my cell and deposited in the same chair I've visited twice before to get prepped for an interview. There's little to be done for my hair, and I know I must look horrifying in the heavy makeup the prep team is forced to paint me with – not only on my face, but on the rest of me as well. My body is a battlefield, and I have no doubt I appear to be on the losing side. They dress me in a light orange gown, reminiscent of the dress from my first tribute interview. The prep team tells me it should give my skin a "healthier glow."

I am uncertain about that.

I meet with Caesar before we go on the air, and I watch him physically cringe as he takes in my appearance. His gaze catches on my shorn hair and raises an eyebrow. I shrug; I'm sure there's no explanation that he would want to hear…. Certainly not the truth by any means.

My brain is filled with a dense fog from the weeks of starvation, and I'm having trouble following our conversation. But then he says the one thing that catches my attention – we're going to be live Katniss dear, so try to follow my lead and we'll get through this.

Live. We're going to be live.

And suddenly, I know what I must do.

I am reminded of the afternoon I left District 12 for the Quell, expecting never to return; how right I ended up being. I wasn't able to say goodbye to my family, so I decided to let go of my short life while we sped away on the train towards the Capitol. I remember my personal mission then, my dying wish - keep Peeta alive. And it hasn't changed one bit.

The interview starts and I use every one of my remaining faculties to follow Caesar's talking prompts. We both know I'm a mess; my hands are shaking, and I can't catch my breath, I can feel myself wince when I shift and disturb my injuries, and my speech is almost slurred. About three quarters of the way through, the screen to Caesar's left distorts and I know what's coming. The Rebels. Images of Peeta and Finnick and Gale flash across the monitor, and I know someone is listening.

This is the moment.

"Katniss, is there anything else you'd like to say to the districts?" Caesar asks, pulling my attention away from the video of the boys in some district combat zone.

"Yes, Caesar," I croak out, and lick my lips to try and help me get out the words I need to say. I know I will never get another chance. "Consider this ceasefire. Think about it – how will this end? What will be left? No one can survive this; no one is safe now. Not here in the Capitol, not in the any of districts, not you in 13." I take a deep breath, and silently say goodbye to them all. "Peeta! They're coming Peeta! Everyone in District 13 – you'll be dead by morning!"

As soon as my warning - that also had to serve as a farewell to my Peeta - leaves my mouth, I am hit across the face with such force that I am knocked clear from my chair. Caesar screams, and I can only cry out pitifully as the Peacekeepers fall on me with a vengeance. I am beaten with fists and batons all around my head and down my body. It hurts – Odds it is agony – but eventually I am no longer connected to my body, my mind pulls away and I feel lighter than the air around me.

Maybe I will get to breathe in the fresh air again before I die. Maybe I am finally being released from this hell. I hope Jo and Enobaria and Annie will remember me; I wish for them to be saved soon. And Peeta – oh, my Peeta. I wish I'd realized it sooner; I wish I knew how much I needed him, how much I really loved him before it was too late – my dandelion in the spring, my hope for a better future. I can only trust that he knows me better than I know myself, and that perhaps he's figured it out somehow.

This hurts so much.

The last thing I see is a Peacekeeper's boot coming fast towards my face, and then it is only the empty, quiet dark.


A/N: The songs used in this chapter are "Oh My Darling, Clementine" by Percy Montrose and "Bury Me Beneath the Willow". I couldn't find any consistent record of who wrote this second song, but I listened to the rendition performed by Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris, and Linda Ronstadt while I was writing this chapter.

I hope people out there are enjoying this story, please comment and let me know!