Katniss

I swear I hear his voice. I call out to him, hoping he will come closer, that he'll find a way to be with me at the end.

Peeta. Peeta, please.

I hear other voices as well – Annie, Johanna, even Gale at one point. But it always comes back to Peeta. He always comes back for me. I try to answer them, but everything blurs and hurts and then it is dark again.

I'm fading away. I can feel myself pulling back, drifting further and further away from the feelings of pain until it doesn't really hurt anymore. Until I'm just…nothing.

I'm so tired, I don't want to fight it anymore. I don't know if I even can, because whenever I struggle to come back, all I'm met with is agony.

No more, please no more.

Peeta has to understand. He'll understand that I can't hold on anymore. He has to.

I hope he'll be there at the end.


Everything is quiet for so long that I've just about settled into it - it's warm and dark, the silence wrapping itself around me like a thick quilt. There is no more pain.

If this is death, I think I may just welcome it with open arms. It is certainly better than the hell I've gone through day after day after day in the Capitol.

Then suddenly, there is a beep. It's loud and shrill...grating.

And another. Another follows.

How irritating.

The beeping sound does not stop, and then I can feel pressure on my arm. A light dragging down the length of it, leaving a cold bite behind in its absence. What was once my skin both cringes at the discomforting contact and cries out for whatever it is to please just keep touching me.

It has been so long since I was touched like this. It feels gentle...delicate, like I'm something precious and breakable - they treat my skin like fragile glass.

I want to tell whoever is doing this to please just stop or to never go away – I can't decide which, the Capitol has made sure that I will never experience touch the same way again – but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a groan. There's something in my mouth – in my throat. The Capitol must be forcing something down my throat; is it food? Is it poison?

Whatever is in my throat is definitely solid, but I cannot find the strength to lift my hands and pull it out. I try to force it out with my tongue and feel a sharp pull on the skin around my mouth, but I can't remove it. I begin to panic. I can't dislodge this thing in my mouth and now everything hurts.

There's beeping and pain and it hurts and I just need it to stop! I'll go back! I'll go back to the pain and the nothing and the dark if all of this would please please please just stop –

"Sweetheart?"

I know that voice. Oh Odds. I force another moan out of my throat. This one is accompanied by the impulse to roll my eyes…. Curious, that.

The voice chuckles, likely at my expense. "There she is," it says. "Always disagreeable when it comes to Old Haymitch, huh?"

Haymitch. A name to go with the familiar voice.

The feelings that arise in me when I hear this taunting tone are ones of automatic defiance. I want to argue with this man, show him that he doesn't know everything. So, I throw every shred of energy I can towards responding to him. And ever-so-slowly, I work at cracking open my eyelids. They feel as though they weigh hundreds of pounds, and I'm losing ground every moment I'm not successful.

The sharp light of the room feels like a miner's pick being driven directly into my brain and I let out a noise that reminds me of those wounded animals from my early messy kills in the forest; there's a burning agony that lances through my eyes the second I open them, and I slam them closed immediately, losing all the progress that I've made.

It seems there is only more pain, no matter what I do. I feel a few tears slip down my cheeks. The beeping still goes on.

"It hurts - I know, I know. I'm sorry Sweetheart," Haymitch murmurs quietly, his tone changing in an attempt to soothe me, and his cool hands gently wipe the moisture from my face. "Keep your eyes closed if you need to, Girl. It's alright. Hold on."

I hear him stand up and move away from me. There's a clicking noise. And the beeps…they haven't stopped.

"I turned the lights off," he explains. "Do you want to try again?"

This time, it feels twice as hard to gain any ground as I try to work the muscles in my eyelids. If it didn't hurt so Odds-damned much to breathe, I'd be panting with the effort it is taking me to try and do this. But deep in my bones I know I'm always supposed to do what Haymitch says, even if I can't really put my finger on why.

Haymitch. Haymitch.

A thousand images and memories shoot through my mind as I echo the name repeatedly to myself. Haymitch – the district drunk; victor; mentor; neighbor; ally; caretaker – Haymitch.

Somehow, I am able to force open my eyes. The light hurts less this time; my head is still sore, but the ache is not as sharp as before. My eyes have become used to the dark, so I have no trouble seeing the man who sits in front of me, even with his face painted in shadows and my eyes only open a slit. He is familiar and the sight of him should fill me with joy and relief in equal measure, but I cannot allow myself to indulge in those feelings even though I know I should. I can't help but fear, Is this even real? I heard Haymitch's voice so often during my torture, but it was never really him.

It's as though he can read my thoughts when he whispers, "Sweetheart, I'm going to tell you what's going on; hopefully, it will clear things up a bit for you." He places his hand underneath my own, and I moan at the intensity of the pain I feel from this simple contact with my skin. It hurts and I'm frightened. I want to weep and scream and run away because no one other than Annie has touched me in so long, and I'm terrified because the only touches I can remember now are those caused by malice and fury.

"I'm so sorry Sweetheart," he gently apologizes, but does not pull away from me. "I just need to know you understand what I'm telling you, and I won't make you try to blink to communicate with me." He scoffs a little, "I get the feeling it's too much work for you to do that more than once. So squeeze my hand, or tap it, if that's easier. After that, I promise I'll leave you be, alright?" He looks pointedly down at our joined hands. I shift one of my fingers, letting him know that I understand.

"Good," he nods. "You're in District 13. Peeta, Finnick, and the Hawthorne boy were on a team that rescued you from the Capitol. Johanna, Annie, and Enobaria made it out as well. Do you remember being in the Capitol?" I tap my pointer finger on his hand one time. My bruised and broken heart leaps with each name he tells me. They came for me, they're all here. "You're alive. I don't really know how, but you are. I have a feeling you out-stubborned Snow purely out of spite," he huffs a laugh, before letting his grin slide slowly off his face. "You're badly hurt though, Sweetheart. You're in the infirmary. The thing in your throat is helping you breathe, so don't go trying to pull it out, alright?" I hesitate this time, hating the feeling of the plastic in my mouth and throat. Finally, I give in. Another tap. I'm profoundly disappointed at this last bit of news. I want this thing out of my body before I go insane. Haymitch chuckles. "Since you're now gracing us with your presence, I'll see if I can get the doctors to take it out soon."

This time, the whimper I release is one of genuine relief.

"Ha! Always predictable, girl," he teases me, a fond smile on his face. This expression doesn't seem familiar to me, but it looks nice on him. Have I ever seen it before? I can't recall. "Rest now; I'll be here when you wake up."

Before he can pull away, I gather my strength and squeeze his hand. It pains me significantly; I feel the ache all through my skin, my muscles, my bones, my heart. But I need him to know I hear him, and I'm thankful.

He must know my mind again, because all he says is, "I know Katniss," before I let go and slip into the darkness once again.


That grating beeping sound is dragging me by my brain towards consciousness again, except this time I'm kicking and screaming. I don't want to wake up, I think I did it once already – who knows, it may have been a dream – and it was Odds-damned terrible. Too bright, too painful, too difficult.

Too much.

My hand spasms out of my control and a lightning bolt of miserable throbbing pain shoots down my arm. I whine through clenched teeth at the feeling, which sets off another wave of agony in my throat and chest. But then I realize whatever piece of hard plastic that was in my mouth is gone, and I send up silent thanks to whoever finally got rid of it. It was...Haymitch. That's who told me not to tear it out of my mouth because it was helping me. It's hard to trust that there is anyone or anything left in my life that remains helpful…it's hard to remember a time when that was the case.

"Katniss?"

That voice. I've heard it over and over again in my dreams and my nightmares and whispering in my ear every hour of every day since we were separated at the lightning tree.

I used to fall asleep listening to him murmur comforting words after I'd wake up screaming from night terrors. I remember him calling my name, piercing through the fog of tracker jacker venom in the arena, telling me to Run, Katniss run! He used to ask me questions in a gentle tone when we would work on my father's plant book, tease me about my love for the cheese buns he'd bake for me on cold winter afternoons, laugh with Prim when Buttercup would steal squirrels from my bag. That voice is a part of my life...a part of me.

Peeta.

My boy with the bread.

"Katniss, it's alright, it's alright - please don't push yourself," his voice entreats me. "Can you squeeze my hand or something? Let me know you can hear me?"

With all my might, I force my muscles to obey me. While it's still unbelievably difficult, it feels just the slightest bit easier to get my body to do what I want it to. This realization is heartening, perhaps I am getting better. Maybe one day this horrible pain will end.

I move my fingers tentatively, wrapping them around a familiar hand. His palm is covered in calluses from the bakery – I remember them from the first time we touched, when we shook hands on stage at the first reaping. He told me once that the Capitol tried to get rid of them after the Games, but he refused; he told me he wanted to remember who he was, where he came from, no matter what happened to us. I feel them now, and I remember the harsh warmth that would radiate out of his family's bakery whenever I would go to trade at the back door. I remember the scent of cinnamon and dill that Peeta always carried on his skin. I remember everything.

"My…P…tah," I manage to croak. The effort tears at the tender abused skin of my throat, and I'm surprised I'm not swallowing back the taste of blood.

"There you are," he whispers. I can practically hear the tears in his voice. I feel the light touch of fingertips on my cheek, tracing down the line of my jaw to the point of my chin. "I was…Odds Katniss, I was so afraid you weren't going to wake up."

I want more than anything to see him with my own eyes, but I can't seem to get my body to grant me this. My eyelids will not move, so I'm stuck relying on faith that he is truly here next to me.

"Real?" I force myself to ask. I need to know even though I'm terrified I'll be disappointed. I heard Peeta's voice so often while Snow was tearing my body apart. I wanted him to be real; even though I was thankful every single day that he got away from the Capitol, in my lowest moments I would wish for him to be there with me. I guess I can be thankful to Snow for this; he gave me a piece of Peeta when I had nothing else to hold on to, even if it was only in my own mind. Now my whole world is different, and I need to know if I really get to keep Peeta Mellark this time.

"Yes, yes it's real," Peeta assures me. This is different from the Capitol, Peeta's voice would only repeat my name and echo my tortured screams back to me. He never really answered me before.

"Tell…me. Tell me…what is…real," I plead, feeling a tear run down my cheek and drip down onto my neck. I'm so close to believing him, to accepting that I'm safe…that this is real.

"Tell you what's real?" he confirms.

I put pressure on his hand again. It hurts, but I'm flying higher and higher with hope. I won't let myself care about the pain right now.

"Okay...Okay, okay," he mumbles to himself. I hear him clear his throat and feel him run his fingers along my scalp. He's gathering himself, trying to be there for me as best he can. He's here - my kind, beautiful golden boy. "Your name is Katniss Everdeen, and I'm Peeta Mellark. We grew up in District 12, and I fell in love with you when we were five years old. I threw you two loaves of burnt bread when we were eleven because you were starving and you were out in the rain under my family's apple tree and I couldn't not, Katniss. But the first time I really spoke to you was when we were on the train headed to the Capitol. You wanted nothing to do with me," he huffs out a broken laugh at the memory. "We won the 74th Hunger Games. Your favorite color is green. You love your little sister Prim more than anyone in the world. You can shoot a bow and arrow better than anyone I've ever met; you always get your target right through the eye. You're so so stubborn, Katniss," he tells me, and I'm basking in the warmth that fills his voice. I feel more tears slip down my face, and I am hard-pressed to tell if they belong to me or him. "We were reaped for the third Quarter Quell, and we survived. We got separated, and I've wanted you back since the moment you walked away with Johanna towards the beach. I only got to see your face when Caesar interviewed you, but you were here with me every moment we were apart. You were in the Capitol, but now you're in District 13, with me. Your mom, Prim, Gale, Haymitch, Finnick… we're all here."

By the time he's finished I'm crying freely. I want to laugh and wail and cleanse myself of every single awful thing that's been done to me because it's real.

Peeta is real and I am real…. This is real. It's over…. I'm free from the Capitol, and I'm free from Snow.


I must have fallen back into unconsciousness not long after my interaction with Peeta; my memory drops off into darkness, my uncharacteristic display of emotion being the last thing I recall.

This time when I wake, it is all at once, rather than in small increments. My eyes open without too much effort, and I'm able to make out the patterns on the ceiling above me. The lights are turned down low, so the transition from asleep to awake is not too jarring. I shift my gaze over to my right and find the source of the beeping that never seems to stop – a machine that I'm sure is measuring something on my body, but I'm not sure what it would be. Maybe I can convince Haymitch to get me unhooked from this horrible contraption as well. When I turn to my other side, I feel my heart start to race, and the beeping of the machine matches it, beat for beat. Mystery solved then.

I see blonde curls, ruffled like he's been repeatedly running his hands through them. I remember he does that when he's anxious.

Peeta.

His head is resting against his folded arms beside me on the bed. I can feel the puffs of his hot breath against my arm, reminding me of the times we would share a bed and I'd wake to him curled up behind me, his lips brushing against the nape of my neck, his exhalations dancing across my shoulders. It always made me feel hungry, made me want more – but I would never let myself give in to it, not until the Quell, when I kissed Peeta on the beach. At that point, I thought I had nothing left to lose. How could I have known what was coming for me? Now I know, there is also more that can be taken away from you.

Being in the Capitol and away from him for so long has made me crave this feeling, this need for Peeta Mellark. I want to feel it again, and Peeta's closeness reminds me of this.

I'm able to lift my hand now, so I bring it across my body and reach out for Peeta. I pause once I catch sight of my own skin, its bruised and torn appearance startling me into halting my progress. I became so disconnected from my own body while I was in the Capitol, it was the only way to cope with the torture and destruction done to this husk of bone, muscle, and skin. My body had served me well-enough for seventeen years, but in the Capitol I was forced to give it up because, in truth, it no longer belonged to me.

Seeing my skin in the light of this new place, I'm suddenly struck dumb with the memory of everything that was done to me over the endless hours and days and weeks and months and years that I was gone. The broken bones, the torn muscles, the skin ripped apart. It's too much pain, Odds it was so much - too much…. I...I can't….

I take a shallow breath and push it back out. Not now. I cannot think about it now. Not when I've waited so long to have Peeta back by my side.

I force my hand to start moving again and rest it on the crown of my companion's head. He startles and raises his face to me, and I meet the wide blue eyes of Peeta Mellark for the first time since I walked away from him in the Quell. I hear his breath catch, and he lets out a sound that's a mix between a sob and a laugh.

"Hey Katniss," he whispers, a smile taking over his face even as his eyes threaten to overflow with tears.

"Peeta," I rasp out, and run my fingers through his hair.

His eyes close at my touch and he coughs out a small chuckle. After a few silent moments he lifts my hand and brings my fingers to rest against his lips. "I never thought I'd see your eyes again, or hear you speak," he tells me.

"Didn't speak much…to begin with," I mumble, the corner of my mouth lifting in a smirk.

He barks out another laugh. "True," he agrees, grinning widely. "That just makes it all the more special now."

We sit for a while, just taking one another in. My sweet, golden boy.

Up until now, I have only ever felt this possessive shielding kind of love for Prim and Gale; and to feel it rear up inside of me at the sight of this man…it fills me with a peace – a certainty. I would slay a thousand Peacekeepers and endure every cruelty of my captivity all over again to ensure his safety. I've never been surer of that than I am at this moment. I love him. It is simple and pure, and I feel all the more stupid for not realizing it until it was almost too late. I've been pushing against these feelings for so long so as to protect my heart from pain…. But Snow made sure the pain found me anyway, and it served to sharpen my understanding of everything. The endless excruciating suffering gave me something real to fear, instead of living in the shadow of possibilities and threats. Everything I was feeling in my heart for Peeta just became undeniable. My love for him exists, and I don't think I'll be scared of it anymore.

"I'm sorry," I tell him quickly. At his look of confusion, I try to clarify. "For what I said, in the beginning. Snow – he told me you were dead, and that Prim was in 12. I wanted to protect them."

"Shhh," he replies, shaking his head at my words. "I know Katniss, Finn and I figured it out. That's why we went to 12, to show you what Snow did to our home, and to let you know that we were alive. I've been here, and I've been fighting to get you back ever since I realized you didn't make it out of the arena."

I want to apologize more, have him bear witness to all my regrets, but I know he won't let me take on any of the blame right now. I decide to leave it, so I change tack and tease him instead. "You've been fighting, Peeta? Weren't we supposed to leave that behavior behind in the arena?"

He smirks and says, "Well, technically I think we were still over the arena in the hovercraft when I was physically fighting with them. Ask Haymitch - it took him a while to forgive me for the broken nose I gifted him."

I tut my disapproval at him, "I'm glad he kept his promise to me…to keep you safe. I'll have to thank him." Now that my voice is warming up, I feel like my words are coming out more smoothly. I feel…better.

"Don't even get me started," he says, rolling his eyes. He taps his finger thoughtfully against my hand as his eyes wander over my face. I'm sure I look absolutely terrible, because I notice his breathing stutter. He confirms it with his next words, breaking my heart in the process. "Katniss, I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for how long it took us to get you out of the Capitol. I feel like we wasted so much time…if we had gotten there even a couple of hours later, I don't know if you…."

"Peeta," I interrupt him before he can drift too far from me. I need him to stay by my side, in the here and now. "You just finished saying that you fought for me. Was that true?"

"Of course!" he answers, his eyes wide. "But…."

"Then it isn't your fault," I tell him; I try to make sure my tone leaves no room for argument. "And you did get me out. I'm alive, I'm really here." I clutch his hand as tightly as I can to emphasize my point.

He nods, but argues, "You don't need to protect me, Katniss. I know you always think you do, but it's ok for me to feel badly about what happened to you – to feel responsible."

I stretch my lips into a wan smile, "But that's what you and I do, isn't it? We protect each other?"

He answers with a reluctant grin of his own and assures me, "Always. So, let me protect you back a little."

"Katniss!" a voice screeches, interrupting the tenderness of the moment with Peeta. In response to the loud noise, I nearly throw myself off the bed and retreat into a corner to hide. My breathing escalates and my chest aches and I want to cry and cover my head.

Too much - it's too much. My brain is spinning and I can't calm down. Too much too much too - But then, I hear her soothing tones and I realize, it's just...it's Prim.

Prim must read the intensity of my reaction on my face before I'm able to hide it, because she winces and holds her hands up in front of her in supplication, as if she's dealing with a wounded animal. "It's just me, Katniss, it's Prim."

"I'm aware," I choke out. My heart is beating so fast and so hard, I feel like it may actually break through my ribs. The machine next to me announces my predicament to the room, and I catch Prim's gaze assessing the beeping racket nonsense before taking a halting step towards me.

She slowly scans my body with a healer's eye. "I want to hug you," she explains wearily. "I just don't want to hurt you…. How do you feel?"

"Like I was tortured," I respond flatly, without thinking through what I'm saying. Immediately I want to slap myself. My baby sister didn't mean anything by her question, she doesn't deserve my ire. "I'm sorry Prim," I tell her, striving to quickly make amends. "I think…. I'm just out of practice talking...to people. It's been - how long has it been? How long was I gone?"

Prim and Peeta look at one another, I'm sure they're trying to gauge how much to reveal to me about my own condition. Before I can snap at the two of them about their thick-as-thieves behavior, Peeta answers me. "You were in the Capitol for just over six months. You've been recovering in 13 for about a month."

It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room. So Snow has taken almost a year of my life from me. Two, if you count my first Games and everything that came after it. I let out a long breath as I process this information, but it catches, and I flinch at the sharp pain in my chest.

"What's wrong Katniss?" Prim entreats, taking another step towards me.

"Hurts," I huff out. I'm sure my tone is surly, but I just can't force myself to put on a kinder mask just now. I've never been good at hiding my feelings, and I know that both Peeta and Prim are familiar enough with me by now that they wouldn't believe me anyways if I tried to fake it.

Prim finally closes the space between us and asks, "Is the pain sharp? I need you to tell me where, ok?"

"Prim's on your medical team," Peeta hastens to explain.

"They'd be crazy not to include you," I assure her, smiling as much as I can to let her know I'm proud of her. I don't want to let go of Peeta's hand, but I untangle my fingers to gesture at my midsection. "It hurts around here. It's sharp…but it feels…crackly?" I try to describe the pain as accurately as possible, even if the differentiation doesn't mean much to me. Pain is pain is pain to me nowadays.

Prim nods as though what I clumsily attempted to say makes perfect sense to her. "It's probably your ribs. A few of them were broken when you got back to 13; we can't set them, so they're going to hurt while they're healing." She cocks her head at me, and I can see tears in her eyes now. "I'm going to hug you, ok?"

I'm glad she asked. Even though it's Prim, the thought of someone putting their arms around me without giving me time to prepare myself makes me nauseated. I want to be wrapped up in the arms of those that I love…but I can't. Not yet. It's too frightening, honestly. I can't do this - not freely or without hesitation, at least.

"Ok," I whisper, granting her permission even though I want to weep at the amount of fear that rapidly threatens to overwhelm me.

She must sense my hesitation, because she moves forward at a glacial pace, giving me plenty of time to stop her. I don't, but I also don't wrap my arms around her in return. I lean my head against hers, reveling in the familiar feeling of my little sister's body pressed against my own. I suddenly begin sobbing, and I allow it to take over. I turn my face into Prim's braid, letting her scent and her kind touch soothe my broken ragged parts.

I am here, and Prim is here. We are alive.

"I love you Katniss," she murmurs in my ear. "I'm so happy you're back."

"I love you too, Little Duck."


Prim stands next to my head, softly stroking my hair while she talks to Peeta who has reclaimed my hand on my other side. Normally I wouldn't appreciate the two of them not including me in their conversation, but my throat needs a rest and their touches let me know that I'm welcome to participate whenever I feel up to it. I watch the two of them, the two people I missed the most while I was in the Capitol, and I am filled with such joy that I have to fight back an emotional outburst when the feeling threatens to overwhelm me. I keep quiet, because I don't think I can communicate my feelings adequately enough and I'm sure I will just end up embarrassing myself.

Even though Prim and Peeta don't leave my room, news of my being awake spreads like Gamemakers' wildfire.

"How many concussions did you get in the Capitol, Sweetheart? Must have been a fair few, I've never seen you smile so much," Haymitch's gruff voice startles all three of us and I watch Peeta's jaw clench immediately in response to our mentor's jeer.

"It's alright," I assure him, squeezing his hand in emphasis. I direct my scrutiny over to Haymitch and narrow my eyes. "You're just jealous I'm happier to see them than you," I tell him, the hint of a smirk lifting my words.

"There's the charm," he shoots back at me. His own grimace overturns a bit when he hears my voice, and I know my mentor is pleased with my progress. However offensive he is, Haymitch's words ring of truth – I'm smiling, and I feel lighter and more hopeful than I have in a long time.

The next person to arrive at my room is Johanna.

"Brainless! She lives!" she hollers as soon as she sees me, throwing her skinny arms in the air in celebration. She looks so much better than the last time I saw her in the Capitol – her burns are healing, and she's lost that gaunt look of the dying that all of us were sporting towards the end of our time there.

"Johanna be nice! Katniss is still adjusting," Prim admonishes the intimidating victor from District 7 with all the confidence of someone three times her age.

"You're right, Baby Brainless," Jo cackles in response, patting my sister's head as she pushes past her. I'm about to step in to defend Prim when I realize she isn't offended at Jo's teasing; in fact, she's smiling. I recall that Peeta told me I'd been unconscious for a month here in 13, and I wonder what else I'll encounter that I am not expecting. It's been so long…. My worlds that I once worked so hard to keep separated have converged, and of course people were going to get to know one another while I was out of it. I try not to let the jealousy that rears its ugly head take over me as I observe the easy way my sister interacts with Johanna; Prim doesn't love me less just because she has had to lean on others while I've been gone.

I settle on glaring at Jo to serve as a warning of my disapproval of this particular nickname she's bestowed on Prim. "Oh calm down Kitty Kat," Jo scolds as she climbs up onto the bed next to me and pushes me to move over with her sharp hip. I grunt in response to her shoving as I try to adjust.

"Jo!" Peeta scolds, watching her actions in horror. The jostling from Johanna does hurt, but I'd rather not be treated like an invalid. I can take a little bit of pain if it allows for a moment of normalcy. And this is normal, because Johanna will always be obnoxious, no matter the situation we find ourselves in. I'm about to snap at all of them to stop fussing over me, when Johanna responds on my behalf.

"She's fine," she swiftly proclaims, waving away his concern. I nod quickly to reassure him, because he certainly did not look convinced by her words alone. "Look, I'm glad you're awake and everything Brainless, but I was enjoying borrowing your morphling while you were getting your beauty sleep. The doctors here are convinced I need to be taken off it by now, which is the dumbest shit I've ever heard. I figure since you weren't even conscious to appreciate it, you wouldn't mind doing your fellow victor a favor. Especially since, you know, they'll give you whatever you want since you're the Mockingjay and everything, which probably includes unlimited access to the drugs." As she's been explaining this, she's gone about unscrewing my morphling pump from my arm and attaching it to her own. Prim is gifting her with an indulgent smile, while Haymitch and Peeta are gaping at her.

"I'm sorry, I'm the what?" I ask, looking around the room at everyone in confusion.

"Thank you, Johanna Mason," Haymitch groans, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes in exasperation.

"What?" she asks airily, letting out a loud sigh of relief as the medicine makes its way into her veins.

"She literally just woke up Jo, we haven't talked to her about all of that yet!" Peeta answers her, gripping my hand tightly.

"What are you talking about?" I try again.

"Well, that's not my fault, is it Mellark?" she spits out at him.

"You also shouldn't be in her bed, she's still healing!" he adds in rejoinder.

Alright, I'm getting tired of being ignored. "Excuse me!" I call out as loudly as I can. Which truthfully, isn't very loud at all, but it still manages to get their attention. "What is everyone talking about?"

I'm met with a wall of silence that could not be more irritating.

Haymitch exhales loudly and brings his hands together in a loud clap in front of him. "Here's the deal, Sweetheart. You and Peeta are the symbols of this revolution." Seems I can still trust my former mentor to not mince words. He continues after a beat, "We were always intending to rescue the both of you…."

"But you didn't," Johanna interrupts as she examines her fingernails with careful nonchalance.

Haymitch narrows his eyes at her and resumes his explanation, "But we didn't. You were going to be the symbol, the Mockingjay – someone to rally behind in the fight against the Capitol. But we could only grab a few of the tributes before the Capitol swooped in and we had to bail. When you got taken, Peeta here stepped in to take over. They've made him The Guardian – someone to protect the people until you were rescued."

"It wasn't as noble as he makes it sound," Peeta interjects, his tone sullen and self-conscious. He keeps his eyes on the floor and I can see a faint blush creeping up his neck. I look at the boy holding my hand. My district partner. My friend. My savior. My love. He's always stepping in to help me. Odds, even I'm a bit embarrassed by my starry-eyed thoughts. Maybe Haymitch was onto something with that comment about brain damage….

"Doesn't matter," Haymitch counters. "What does matter, is now that you're awake, President Coin is going to want you to be involved."

"Involved how?" I croak out, panic threatening to choke me. "Will I have to fight?"

"I doubt it," he tells me."Likely shoot some propaganda. Maybe talk about the Games, the Quell…and probably about your time in the Capitol,"

"Oh," is all I can manage to utter. And suddenly, I can feel it closing in - everything that has happened to me. All the deaths, the fear, the agonizing pain… They're all dead, because of me - Rue, Cato, Clove, Thresh, Mags, Wiress. The starvation, the torture, the terror…. How am I supposed to talk about that with anyone? Let alone to cameras?! And now I'm supposed to be inspiring enough to make a difference...in a war, for Odds' sake?

"Tell them no!" Johanna asserts suddenly, causing everyone to turn to look at her. "What?" she snarls in response. Even though she keeps her eyes on Haymitch, I get the feeling she's actually talking directly to me. Whatever bad feelings existed between us,I know that Jo wants to keep me safe. I understand her - Johanna is broken like I am, and sometimes it's easier to convince yourself you don't care for the people around you. Right now, it's easier for her to have this conversation with Haymitch than with me. "I told them no, so did Enobaria! I heard Coin wanted to start filming us the second we got off the hovercraft – to use our rescue to further the cause. I'm all for bringing down Snow, but that's just sick."

"You did refuse," Haymitch concedes. "But that's only bought you all a little bit of time. She did want the footage of the rescue and recovery to be televised, but we talked her down. Coin is stubborn though; she's going to make you participate, we're just lucky she's waited this long. She'll find a way to get you all to agree."

My next visitor arrives on the heels of this revelation.

"Catnip!" Gale interrupts. His exuberance at seeing me is marred slightly as he takes in the group that has crowded around my bed, and his smile visibly wilts as he casts an eye around the room.

"There's too many people in here," Prim scolds as she types something on a screen mounted to the wall just beyond the host of machines monitoring my body.

"Victors only, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome," Jo smirks at my best friend. He blushes at her words, and I add this to the list of things to ask about from the goings-on of the last month.

Gale frowns and replies a bit petulantly, "Prim's in here."

"Yeah, but we like her," Jo smiles with all the predatory charm of a shark.

Prim giggles at this, and I realize that perhaps my baby sister has spent far too much time around unstable victors.

"Jo, behave," Peeta chides. He turns to Gale, who is now scowling openly at the girl sharing my bed. "We'll give you some time," he tells him, before returning his gaze to me. "I'll be back soon, alright?" he murmurs, his voice quiet and soothing.

I nod and squeeze his hand in mine.

"You're all no fun!" Johanna pouts, and goes about the process of reattaching my morphling pump. She jumps out of my bed and spins around to lightly pat my cheek. "I'm glad you're awake, Brainless. I'm going a little mad with only Bar-Bar to talk to around here."

"Me too," I tell her, and reach up to cover her hand with mine. We share a heavy moment of silent communication. Look at us. They messed us up pretty good, didn't they?

After one final pat, she slips out of the room, followed by Haymitch and Prim. Peeta pauses at the door and turns back to look at me. "I'll be here," I reassure him, a small smile playing on my lips.

He chuckles softly, looking down at his shoes quickly before finding me once again. "I know," he says quietly. "I'll hold you to that."

Gale hasn't turned around, so I catch him rolling his eyes at Peeta's words before he follows the others out of my room. As soon as the door clicks closed behind him, Gale closes the distance between the two of us, coming to my bedside and throwing his arms around me. I can't help it - I pull in a loud yelping breath and flinch violently at the sudden contact. Gale quickly releases his hold on me and looks down at my face with a questioning grimace. I can see the hurt there caused by my reaction – my rejection of his touch. I hate that I'm upsetting my best friend, but I just wish he had asked if he could touch me.

"Sorry," I mutter awkwardly. I have trouble meeting his eyes, and busy myself with fixing the sheet that covers my lap.

"It's ok," he hurriedly replies. His tone says otherwise though. He clears his throat and pulls a chair up so he can remain close to me while we speak. Once he has settled in, he tells me, "I've been coming to see you as often as I can. They told me you woke up a couple of times, I was so mad I missed it!"

"Yeah," I say. I lean my head back to rest on my pillow and clasp my hands in my lap so that Gale doesn't feel tempted to grab one of them. "I think… maybe I was with Haymitch the first time, although it's hard to remember the details. Peeta was here with me the second time, and then again today. I don't know how far apart all of those times were, but I think I could hear voices while I was out of it…. That feels like it was real."

Gale's still frowning, and I can almost watch the corners of his mouth pull down further the longer I talk. I feel compelled to steer our conversation away from any mention of Peeta and Haymitch to make him more comfortable. I don't want things to be so...cumbersome with my best friend.

"So, tell me about this place?" I request, steering the conversation in a new direction. "We're in District 13?"

The tension seems to drain from his face, and he gives me the boyish smile that used to be reserved for our time in the woods. "It's amazing, Catnip! We're right in the thick of it! After everything that happened in 12, President Coin appointed me to work closely with Commander Boggs in the army. They're teaching all of us to fight, and about history and warfare and so much more than we ever would have been taught back in 12! And Rory and Vick and Posy are all going to school and actually learning about things besides coal mining. It's so so great!" He's rambling, his words coming faster and faster as he gets more excited. "I'm learning a lot and getting to see some action. I've been helping out down in Special Weaponry with that guy from 3? Beetee?"

Presidents? Special Weaponry? An army? "All of that doesn't sound too different from the Capitol, Gale," I point out to him.

His reaction is swift and firm. "It's not the same at all!" he exclaims, his voice raised in agitation.

"What's this President Coin like?" I ask, refusing to let up. I don't trust the sound of this place, to be honest. No one gives out something for nothing, and I doubt that District 13 and its leader are any different. Haymitch's warning from earlier about forcing the victors to assist with propaganda rings loudly in my ears.

"She's strong," he argues. "Strong enough to fight Snow, that's for sure."

"If she's so strong, why did it take her so long to rescue me from Snow?" I question, my voice deadpan before I can check myself. I want to cover my mouth with my hands and apologize, but I recognize that it's a question I've been wondering since I came to.

Gale at least has the decency to look chagrined by my question.

"Did you see the interviews with Caesar?" I press on. "Did she see how bad I looked after the first one? I saw myself in a mirror while they were dressing me up, Gale. I know what I looked like!" I continue to throw words at him, barely pausing to take a breath. "I don't know if we should trust her," I add.

Gale pushes himself up from his chair, scoffing. He's getting defensive; I remember he did this when I tried to convince him to run away to the forest before the Quell. "You victors are the most paranoid bunch I've ever met!" he spits out and begins to pace.

"Well, we haven't really been given much reason to trust our leaders, have we?" I know I'm riling him up, but I just can't help myself.

"Just because Snow used people, doesn't mean Coin will," he asserts.

"So, this President Coin didn't want to exploit the treatment of the captured victors as propaganda for the rebels as soon as my carcass was pulled off that hovercraft?" I counter, my throat choked with unshed tears. I don't want to fight with Gale, but I can't let this go.

He stops pacing and turns to look at me. "Where did you hear that?"

This isn't the response I was expecting, but he doesn't deny it. "Does it matter?" I reply crisply, desperately trying to get my emotions under control. "Were you going to tell me?"

I know without him even saying anything more, that he wasn't. "It was Mellark wasn't it? Or that old drunk? Or was it that psycho victor from 7?"

The vitriol in his voice sends a shiver down my back. He used to talk like this about the Capitol – with this ugly seething hatred. Now he's talking like that about the people I love - about the people who are on his same side of this war.

I got used to the Peacekeepers speaking to me in this same tone when I was being interrogated in the Capitol. They'd call me names and spit on me in between the bouts of physical torture. I used to fight back, but…. They just hated me so much. And now Gale hates so much.

My heart rate begins to pick up, the beeping from the machine next to me is getting faster, filling the silence. My breathing is getting shallow; I feel like I can't get enough air in my lungs.

I can't focus.

I can't breathe.

I hear Gale's voice, "Catnip?"

Again, "Catnip!"

It's too much. The pain is sure to follow.

Footsteps pounding on the floor.

They're coming. They're coming for me.

To hurt me. I thought it was done!

Not again, please no!

My vision goes dark.

The beeping doesn't stop.


A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read One Need Not be a Chamber to be Haunted, and to those who have taken the time to follow, favorite, and review. While this story is already completed, knowing that people are enjoying it gives me so much encouragement and fills me with such joy.