A/N: Trigger warning for graphic descriptions of violence, torture, forced prostitution, and sexual assault.


Katniss

The first time Snow's guards took me to be tortured without the pretense of being interrogated, I thought perhaps they were finally going to execute me. I was given no warning or explanation for the change in routine. I was weak with hunger and befuddled with dehydration, and when they shackled my hands above my head, I honestly thought I was meeting my end. I imagined I was going to be shot, or maybe my neck would be snapped, something quick and requiring minimal clean-up. I thought perhaps I could negotiate with Snow to draw it out, to make it last longer - because I knew I wasn't yet ready to die. For all the times I had faced off with death – the Games, the Quell, starvation during my youth, Capitol imprisonment – I had always thought I would prefer to die quickly. Get it over with, so no one would be made to suffer along with me; my pain had always been mine alone, so why would my death be any different? But in that moment, when I was facing my demise once again, I realized that all I wanted was a little more time. I was ready to dig my brittle nails in and hold on to my wretched life with all my might and damn the Capitol and Snow and everyone else for making me change my mind when I believed I already had everything sorted out.

They didn't kill me, obviously. They cut the skin on my back with a whip and played a recording of Gale calling out for me. I wept for him then, and for me.

Then I heard his voice - Peeta's voice - just beyond Gale's screams. I could hear Peeta speaking to me softly, like he would when we shared a bed. In those soft hazy morning hours between sleep and awake, we'd whisper about our dreams and our nightmares, we would tell each other all the little stories from our childhoods. I understand now why we did this; both of us expected to die in the Quell, and we each wanted the other to carry a bit of who we were. I hoped Peeta would cherish those memories of me as much as I did. Eventually his voice got clearer, as though he stepped closer to me so he could speak directly in my ear.

Katniss, Katniss be strong, he told me. I am here with you, and you are stronger than this moment. It will pass, and you will live on.

He was right. And when I was returned to my cell, I realized that before I heard Peeta's voice, I had felt myself giving up. My body ached; I was in every sort of agony. But most importantly, I had made peace with the fact that Prim would live, and I would never see her again. In a way, I had said goodbye to her so many times already that it wasn't going to be hard to do it again. But I wasn't ready to say goodbye to Peeta; I just couldn't force myself to do it. He grounded me, even if it was only an echo of him, buried deep down in my warped mind.

After that, he was with me every time I was taken by the Peacekeepers. He always told me I would get through it. Eventually I grasped what my mind was trying to tell me; it took being imprisoned to get it through my thick skull, but you see, there is an awful lot of time for soul-searching while you're waiting to die.

I loved him, truly.

What's more, I knew I needed him to hear it before I would be ready to hand my life over to Snow. It may have been selfish, but the idea of him living his life and never knowing how I felt about him made me sick to my stomach.

So now, in this moment I've been holding out for – fighting against death for – I am once again hampered by my inability to put words to my feelings. I have never been more frustrated with myself than I am in this moment, when I finally tell Peeta what I've been holding on to for months. I don't know why I can't just say it, why I can't just use my voice and tell him I love him – but my kind boy with the bread is gifted with eternal understanding and forgiveness of my faults, and he allows me to tell him in a way that at least gets my point across. I love him, and I believe he loves me.

One day, maybe I will be able to say things as skillfully as Peeta does. I just hope the scraps I'm able to give him today are enough for now.


Peeta lets me kiss him over and over until the nurse comes in to check on me; evidently my heart rate has been going up and now all the hospital staff will know why. I bury my face in his chest, reveling in the broad expanse of solid muscle. The physical training they've put him through here in 13 has obviously restored any muscle mass he lost in the Quell, and then some. I'm tracing the line of his chest when I hear the machine beeping with more frequency; he laughs, and I'm blushing and now my feelings are on display for everyone to see.

Peeta stays next to me, which is fortunate because I refuse to loosen the grip I have on him. Time passes, and I worry he'll have to go when it gets close to dinner, but Peeta manages to sweet-talk the nurses into arranging for his meal to be served here alongside mine.

"I've spent a lot of time here," he tells me, by way of explanation. "Before you got here, Finn was in the infirmary for a while, and I'd visit him often."

"Why was he here?" I ask. "Did he get hurt at the end of the Quell?"

"No…. He, um…well, he had a really hard time being here without Annie. He was consumed with a lot of guilt when she was taken, and he had trouble functioning without a plan in place to get you all out of there. When I made the deal with Coin, it really helped him get it together. Gave him a reason to get better." As he's talking, he's running his thumb back and forth across my hand that's grasped in his. It's a small gesture, but it feels so nice it's starting to drive me to distraction. I try to slow my breathing in an attempt to keep the stupid heart rate machine from giving me away once again.

"How did you deal with things when you got here?" I wonder aloud. He furrows his brow in confusion. "It sounds like Haymitch was put away to get sober, Beetee was thrown into service, and Finnick was hospitalized. What did you do?"

"Oh, well, nothing terribly dramatic," he smirks. "I tried to stick to the schedule they gave me, because I hoped that if they saw I was being a good little soldier and following orders, then maybe they'd actually start listening to me and mount a rescue mission. When that didn't amount to anything, I began exploring the forgotten places in the district. It was really the only way I could be by myself. There are some fairly good hiding places if you know where to look."

"Oh yeah?" I grin up at him. His actions sound like something I would do if I had been brought to 13 without any news or plans to rescue him. "Like where?"

Peeta pauses and looks pointedly around the room. The two of us and Haymitch used to do this whenever we wanted to discuss something but were prevented from talking in our homes in Victor's Village by the microphones. "I'll show you sometime," he murmurs, making sure to keep his voice low.

I wait until he meets my eyes and mouth the word, Bugs?

He nods.

Excellent, I think derisively and end up rolling my eyes.

I worry that I'll never really be free of this game that we've been pulled into against our will. It doesn't matter which side we're on, there's always going to be someone watching, someone listening for the moment when they can use our words or actions against us. They'll hurt Prim; they'll kill Peeta. I'm beginning to spiral into the dark thoughts that brought on my last 'panic attack', when Peeta leans in. He brushes his rough cheek against mine and I feel a shiver run down my back that has nothing do with the cold and everything to do with how soft and heated his skin is against my own.

He touches his mouth at my ear and whispers, "I don't think it's as bad as before. I just don't want them to know all my secrets."

And just like that, I feel myself calming. Peeta is here. We are safe. My sister is somewhere close by. The dark clouds of anxiety break apart and Peeta is all I see.

He places a quick kiss on my earlobe before he pulls back and quirks a small smile at me. I can't help but chuckle at his playfulness. This lightness in my chest is new, and I wonder if it always be this way between us. We have existed continuously under scrutiny, and now I feel so swept up in the freedom of being with him in this way, where it is just he and I and our joy.

"Katniss!" Annie's melodic voice interrupts the moment between us but seeing her improved condition softens any annoyance at the loss of our privacy. Annie is clean and smiling, and there is a light in her eyes that was missing the last time I remember being with her. She's still thin, but she no longer looks unhealthy. She comes right up to my bed and gently cups my face between both of her hands. Her touch is warm and cautious, as though both of us are wary of this bit of physical contact. She leans in and rests her forehead lightly against mine. "They rescued us Katniss. They came for us and now the screaming has finally stopped," she whispers. I feel my eyes fill with tears, and I draw in a few uneven breaths. Annie is free. I am free. We are out of Snow's grasp, and this moment is real. I reach up and squeeze her wrist in acknowledgement, because I know I won't be able to say anything that makes much sense.

We stay like this for a few heavy seconds until Finnick tumbles into the room, panting and trying to catch his breath. "Odds Annie, I leave the room for one minute and you take off! I'd be offended if I wasn't so impressed," he coughs out an affectionate laugh as he takes us in.

"I had to come and see Katniss! She's awake, Finn!" she chirps, bestowing Finnick with a tender smile.

"I can see that," he replies, one side of his mouth curling up into a grin. "Long time, no see, Girl on Fire." He comes closer to me but stops behind Annie and wraps one of his arms around her waist. "I'm told you and the others helped take care of my girl during your stay in the Capitol; thank you, Katniss…. And I'm sorry." His smile drops to a grimace. "I'm sorry we didn't get you out of the arena."

"We all took care of each other, Finnick. Remember who the real enemy is, right?" I'm supremely uncomfortable with taking any amount of praise about my time spent in the Capitol. We all had our moments of strength and weakness, there's no reason for me to be singled out.

"Right," he chuckles. It's obvious he disagrees with me but is being kind and letting it go, for now. Finnick sits down in one of the empty chairs near my bed, and gently tugs on Annie's hip to pull her into his lap.

"Are we late to the party?" Enobaria's rough voice cuts through the cozy atmosphere of the room. Once, the dynamic between us would have swiftly altered into something tense and charged; but it hasn't. The former animosity between Career and outer districts is nothing here; we're all just victors, scarred and beaten down by Snow, licking our wounds in a hospital room deep underground in a rebellious district we all believed to be extinct. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed it was possible.

"Who are you kidding, Bar-Bar? There's no party without us!" Johanna's high-pitched voice manages to always be booming, but somehow, she doesn't startle us, even though this group is comprised exclusively of people who are normally totally on-edge.

Both women almost glide into my room on silent feet, their graceful light-footedness punching me hard in the chest with such strong affection that I want to laugh and cry all at once. After everything that has torn them apart, they are still the victors I trained beside before the Quell - they are still strong and agile and terrifying. Which means that maybe, just maybe, someday I will be too.

"Excuse the both of you," Finnick scoffs. "I am clearly the best looking one in this room. I also have been to the most parties. Therefore, I believe you are incorrect, Jo! I am a one-man party all on my own. You all just add to it – you're decoration, at most."

"I've been a victor much longer than you, Odair," Enobaria points out as she leans against a wall by the foot of my bed. "Logic says that I've been to more parties than you."

"True, but I'm more charming than you," Finnick counters, putting his Capitol-grade charismatic smile on display.

"I won't argue with that, it just means that Snow only brought me out for special occasions," she grumbles quietly. But we all hear her, and a silence descends over the room. I don't fully understand what's going on, but I am sure there's something I'm missing.

I'm about to start in on questioning the people around me, when one slips out of my mouth that I hadn't even been thinking about. "How do you all know where my hospital room is?"

Five pairs of eyes look at me with various degrees of amusement.

"The world didn't stop just because you were passed out, Brainless," Johanna sneers at me.

It's Peeta who takes pity on me and puts an end to my confusion. "I told you, you're popular. Your room has been the site of many a late-night sleepover," he explains, a teasing smile on his face.

"What?" I ask dumbly. Now I'm only more confused.

"I don't know to what you are referring," Enobaria states, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

"Sure you do, Brass," Finnick ribs her, his own genuine smile lighting up his face. "It's not something to be embarrassed about. I think it's rather normal, in fact; Peet and I have practically lived in your hospital rooms for the last month." After a beat he adds, "Before that, we could only hope we'd get the chance to."

I look around at this group of fighters. We're some of the most feared warriors in Panem, and we all fit in one hospital room. We tease and joke, we get embarrassed. We hurt and bleed and cry a lot more than we'd like. Snow has tortured us, and I have a feeling that he's damaged some of the people in this room so much more than I'm even aware of…. I never would have met them without him. While I hate everything about the Hunger Games, I am thankful for these people.

These victors.

"Katniss," Annie entreats quietly. "Can you sing for us? Like you used to?"

I'm frozen for a moment, immediately back in my prison cell. This same group of people asking me to sing for them, to comfort them. The cold seeping into my bones. The painful hunger. My hoarse, dry throat. No faith, no hope. No one's coming for us….

Peeta grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. "I'd like to hear you sing; if you're up for it."

I'm not in the Capitol anymore. I'm in 13. Real. Real. Real.

"Alright," I croak, and clear my throat, testing to see if I even can sing.

It feels fine; but even if I couldn't, the warm excitement on Annie's face would make it difficult to deny her. At my agreement, she settles back into Finnick, who buries his face in her neck and breathes her in with a contented smile that completely alters his face. He is no longer the Finnick Odair I once met – the playboy of the Capitol with as many lovers as he can make time for; he's Finn – as Peeta has taken to calling him – a boy from District 4 who gets to wrap his arms around the girl he loves.

Enobaria hesitantly creeps towards my bed and curls up to sit at my feet. Johanna follows her lead and leans her head on the other woman's shoulder. They both watch me expectantly, like the way Prim used to when she was a young child and I'd tell her a story.

Peeta just beams around my fingers, which still rest against his mouth. He looks like he's getting ready to receive a gift; and I realize that perhaps he is. Peeta has not heard me sing in person since we were little children. He's heard recordings of when I sang to Rue during our Games, but ever since then, I have always refused to sing whenever prompted by Capitolites and district-folk alike. I haven't had reason to sing for anyone, not until my imprisonment.

I can do this. I can give this one thing to these people. They may not be my friends, but they are certainly the people I feel closest to in this world of mine. I take a deep breath, and then open my mouth to sing.

I'll fly away, oh glory
I'll fly away, in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah by and by
I'll fly away

When the shadows of this life have gone
I'll fly away
Like a bird from these prison walls I'll fly
I'll fly away

I'll fly away, fly away, oh glory
I'll fly away, in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah by and by
I'll fly away

Oh, how glad and happy when we meet
I'll fly away
No more cold iron shackles on my feet
I'll fly away

I'll fly away, oh glory
I'll fly away, in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah by and by
I'll fly away

I'll fly away, oh glory
I'll fly away, in the morning
When I die, Hallelujah by and by
I'll fly away

Just a few more weary days and then
I'll fly away
To a land where joys will never end
I'll fly away

I remember this song from my childhood, when my father would sing us to sleep. When he would sing to the mockingjays in the forest. When he would sing to my mother while they danced together in front of the fire when they thought Prim and I had fallen asleep. When he would sing to our people during the Harvest Festival. I sing this song long and slow, hoping my voice doesn't disturb anyone outside this room.

Everyone in my room visibly relaxes the longer I sing. At some point, Annie's closes her eyes, although I know she is not asleep. Peeta's grin has taken over his face, and he looks like he may be trying to catch his breath.

And just as I come to the end of my song, I catch sight of Gale turning from my door to walk away.


Peeta doesn't leave my room all through the night. Nor the next two.

Sometime after midnight on the third night, as he's trying to rest in his chair, and when I'm tired of watching his head droop and snap back up every few seconds, I manage to convince him to climb into bed with me. He resists, but after I point out that everyone else seems to have jumped up next to me except him, he finally gives in. He protests that because he got shot, his shoulder may twinge without his control if it gets too stiff. I argue back that getting shot is all the more reason for him to rest in an actual bed.

He was shot. Shot. This boy - no, this man - has given up so much for me. He fought to get me back and spilled his blood to do so. When I start to get upset at this revelation, he relents and tells me it was healed weeks ago, assuring me he is truly fine.

I kiss away his fears, brushing his lips with mine until he stops arguing. He kisses away mine in return, telling me over and over again that he is here with me.

He's afraid to touch me, as though I'll break apart at the slightest jostling movement. I know my body - more now than I ever did before the Capitol. I tell him that I will know if I am faltering, and right now all I need is for him to hold me. I want to rest, and his arms have always kept me safe while I sleep. He lets out a begrudging sigh against my face, and I can taste a hint of him in the air between us. He is my tether. My love. I know he will let me win tonight, and he does. He pulls me to rest my head against his chest, and I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat in my ear.

My dreams are of 12. Peeta, Prim, and I are in the meadow. He and I are sitting together in the field, watching Prim giggle as she chases her goat. It must be spring, because the wildflowers and dandelions are in full bloom, forming a colorful wave as they dance in the wind. Everything is beautiful and familiar; it feels like home.

Then the firebombs come. We watch the homes of the merchants in the town square explode, followed quickly by the Seam. The screams of the dying are carried on the wind to Victor's Village. I call out to my sister, but it is in vain – no sound is coming out. I watch the bombs come closer; they look like the sponsor gifts in the Games, floating down towards the meadow on silver parachutes. I scream for Prim. Tell her to run, to come to me. If she just gets to me, I know I can protect her. She continues to play with Lady, ignoring my flailing arms and silent cries. For just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name. That's when the rest of the parachutes go off; and I watch my baby sister go up in flames.

When I wake, it is not with a scream, but with a whimper. Peeta's arms are there to comfort me, pulling me in tight and away from my nightmares. He lets me cry into his chest, all the while speaking softly as he tells me stories about his childhood with his brothers, regaling me with the boring things he's learned during training here in 13, whispering what he felt in his heart when he heard me sing earlier. Eventually, I feel myself begin to relax enough to loosen my grasp on Peeta's shirtfront, my breaths begin to deepen, and I am finally able to drift back to sleep.


The sound of a throat clearing wakes me. In the space before I fully come to awareness, I reach out and feel the hard warmth of a person pressed up against me. His heartbeat against my fingers, the scruff on his chin catching in my hair, his hand rubbing low on my hip. It has been so long since I've gotten to wake up next to Peeta, and it feels like one more step towards reclaiming the person I used to be. The corners of my mouth lift in a loose smile as I look up into his face.

His hair is disheveled from the chaos of sharing a bed with me and his eyes are bleary with exhaustion, but he is grinning back at me. The arm that is not trapped underneath me is folded up under his head and he looks more relaxed than I can ever remember seeing him.

"Sleep ok?" he murmurs, his voice rough from slumber.

The sound of it sends a tingling warmth across my chest. I'm sure I'm blushing, but I try to push past it to answer his question.

"Yes," I reassure him. My own voice is scratchy from crying throughout the night. "You helped, so much. Thank you for staying."

"Always," he answers in a whisper.

While I'm looking into Peeta's kind blue eyes I hear a throat clear again, followed by a gruff cough. I assumed it had been Peeta doing so previously, and now that it's become obvious that it wasn't him, I jolt so severely in fright it's as though I have been shocked with electricity. I snap my head around and realize Gale is standing against the wall beyond the end of my bed. His arms are crossed tightly in front of him and he's frowning at Peeta and I. I can't turn back to look at Peeta, I feel trapped in Gale's gaze. His eyes are hard bits of coal, and I can practically hear him grinding his teeth from across the room. He looks miserable, and irritated – betrayed. I have done this to him, made him feel all of these things just by being with Peeta.

"Morning Gale," Peeta offers, polite as ever.

"Fuck you, Mellark," Gale mutters back, not even bothering to make eye contact with him.

"Gale!" I admonish immediately. Whatever is brewing here, it is between Gale and I, not the three of us. "Peeta, can you…?"

"Of course," he agrees quickly. He unwinds himself from my body and rises from my bed. He runs a hand through his curls, fluffing them up from where they were pressed flat against the back of his head. Peeta slips on his shoes and presses a firm kiss to my forehead before loping out of the room without another word.

There's nowhere for me to hide now, no way to dodge the flinty stare Gale is aiming directly at me. "Gale -" I start to say.

"Him? Him?! Katniss are you fucking kidding me?!" he erupts, throwing his arms out to the sides.

"Gale…," I try again.

"You're not under Snow's thumb anymore! You don't need to be with him!" He's started huffing and pacing back and forth across the width of my room.

"Yes, I do!" I argue. I'm trying to explain that it's not like that, but Gale just continues to interrupt me.

"Who says that?! Him? Heavensbee? Haymitch? Bullshit! Fuck all of them!"

I swear, it's like he can't even hear me.

"You're free Katniss. Free! You can be with anyone you want!" A little voice in the back of my mind tells me, he means you can be with him. "You aren't stuck with Peeta Mellark anymore! You don't have to protect him, there isn't anything left to be scared of!"

Or he doesn't want to hear me. Alright then, I'm done with this nonsense.

"GALE HAWTHORNE! Stop yelling at me!" I shriek back at him, smacking my hands down on the hospital bed in frustration.

He stops short and whips his head up at me. I've never screamed at him like this before. There was never a call for it in the woods - we always needed to be discreet. All that is abandoned now; I will holler at this stubborn man until they cut my vocal cords if that is what's needed to get this point through his stupid head.

"Please, just stop! I can't…I can't…deal with that anymore," I attempt to explain to him. "The yelling, it hurts…in here," I point to my chest and press my palm flat across my heart. "It's…it's too much."

He has the decency to look chagrined at his outburst.

"Fine," he bites out, coming to a stop at the end of my bed. He leans forward, resting his weight on my footboard.

I know I owe him…something - an explanation, of sorts. There was a time when I made him believe I was choosing to love him over Peeta, and I believed what I was saying right along with him. But now…. Odds, everything has changed so much….

"I need to know what's going on Katniss. I can't…not know anymore," his voice is calmer, but I can still hear the edge to it - the pleading. I have to be brave and give him this little bit of honesty.

"I…. I'm sorry, Gale." I try to steady my breathing, deeply taking in air both to buy myself some time and to calm my rising panic. I raise one finger to let him know I'm going to continue; I just need a moment to get there.

A year ago, I would have run from this confrontation – straight on to the hills and the forest and simply hoped that if I ignored it long enough, everyone would just forget about it. No longer though. I can't. Neither Gale nor Peeta deserves the pain that would result from my further indecision; and honestly, I don't believe I do either.

I twist my fingers together in my lap, so I'm not tempted to reach for him. My first inclination is always to comfort Gale, never to hurt him. But in the long run, I know if I was not brutally honest him in an effort to spare his feelings, it would only end up confusing him more. "A year ago, things were different. I was different," I begin again. "We were…. I was yours and you were mine, anything else was unthinkable to me. When I said I would stay – that I was choosing to stay with you – I mean it. I did, truly. But then the Quell...and the Capitol. And Peeta was…. If neither had happened, then maybe things would have turned out another way. Maybe what I would have needed then would have been your fire. But after the Quell, after what was done to me in the Capitol…. I have plenty of fire myself, I think we both know that. What I need now is hope. Peeta…he's my hope. He snuck up on me, Gale. He's my dandelion in the spring – he's the bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. He's the promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That things can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that." I know I'm rambling, but I just want to make him understand.

Gale must grasp what I'm trying to say though, because he looks completely devastated. There are tears coating his cheeks that could be from anguish or frustration or anger, but whatever the emotion is, I will have to live with the fact that I did this to my best friend, for the rest of my life.

"Do you love him?" he asks me, the question barely louder than a whisper.

"I do," I simply say. There is nothing else I can add to make this better or worse.

He nods, but only manages to get out, "I…I can't," before lurching out of the room.

I try to rise to follow him out of instinct, but the tubes and needles in my arms hold me back. Unless I plan on changing my mind, it won't help Gale for me to chase after him.

So, I let him go, and I weep. I mourn the loss of my best friend, my other half… because I know it's very possible we have just said our goodbyes.


A while later, Peeta reenters my room. I'm curled up in my bed and my ragged hair has fallen in forward in front of my face; I know my eyes are swollen from sobbing, and my chest is being shot through with sharp pain as I try to catch my breath. All of it only makes me cry harder.

Rather than resuming his place lying beside me, Peeta begins to lower himself into the chair next to my bed. The distance between he and I fills me with a terror so sudden and intense that I begin to whimper. I reach out for him and he quickly walks around the bed, pulling himself up and reclining behind me. He takes a moment to arrange himself, finally pressing his body against the length of mine.

"I told Gale," I croak out through my sobs.

"Do you regret it?" he asks, his voice low and unsure.

It always seems I manage to hurt the people I love. No matter the love and support they give me, no matter how much I try, I always do something to hurt them. My honesty with Gale and my past indifference to Peeta – they both have suffered by loving me. They still do. I feel like a mutt – a creature made to cause pain and destroy.

"No," I tell him, putting all my strength and love into this one word. He needs to know I mean it. "I only regret how much I hurt him. He's never going to forgive me."

"He will," he assures me as he runs his fingers along my bony hip.

"You think so?" I sniffle pathetically. I can't bear to look at him when I ask this, but I also can't help but ask.

"I do. He cares about you, and he did long before he fell in love with you. He just needs time."

I nod and take measured breaths to try and calm myself down. After a few moments, Peeta clears his throat and admits, "I…um…. I heard what you said to Gale."

I shouldn't be embarrassed, honestly. Everything I said to Gale was true, and Peeta deserves to hear all the things I feel about him, even indirectly, since I am so rarely able to put my emotions into words. Regardless, I still feel my cheeks heat with mortification.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"No!" I cut in quickly. "It's…um…. It's ok. Really."

"Did you mean it? What you said to him?" he questions, his voice hesitant.

"Yes. I'm sorry I'm not good at…any of this. The words…. You should know…. I do though. I meant what I said," I tell him clumsily. "You're what I want, who I need, Peeta."

I don't know how I know, but I can tell Peeta's smiling. Even though I'm bruised, both inside and out, I smile too.

"Rest now Katniss," he whispers. "I love you too."


"You're safe now."

Johanna warned me that this was the favored phrase of the head doctor here in 13. He's been assigned to all of us, to help us work through what happened to us in the Capitol. Finn said he worked with him as well, while he was waiting for Annie. I wouldn't be surprised if the others have also had appointments with him. We're all a bit mentally disoriented, we victors.

But it isn't true - we're not safe. We never have been, and we certainly never will be as long as Snow is in power. I don't plan on even mentioning my worries over President Coin with this guy either.

"Katniss, you rolled your eyes when I said that just now. Can you tell me why?"

Damn it. I've never been a good liar. Haymitch claims that's why he never let me in on his plan to break us out of the Quell.

Instead of answering directly, I ask, "Did you grow up in 13?"

"No, I did not."

"Where then?"

"I'm from the Capitol." He pauses, letting that fact sink in. I can feel all my walls rapidly rebuilding themselves without my consciously deciding to do so. "I can see you shutting down right in front of me Katniss," he tries again. "Tell me why?"

I'm pretty sure the look I give him falls somewhere between scandalized and incredulous.

But he just laughs. It's warm though, without any trace of mocking.

Finn told me I should give this guy a chance, while Johanna reportedly told the good doctor to "suck a bag of dicks". Peeta…. Well, he told me to trust my gut.

Fine. A tentative chance it is.

I let out a sigh that I can feel down in my toes. "You just don't know," I endeavor to explain. "The fear we grew up with in the districts. I spent every day of my childhood scared that I was going to die, either from starvation or the Peacekeepers or the Games. And then, I was proven right! I ended up in the Games - twice! I was captured and tortured – almost to death, mind you. I have never been safe."

It's his turn to process what's just been said. Then, "You're right."

"I…. What?" I ask, stupefied. I was gearing up for a fight, but now I can feel myself lowering my hackles.

"You're right," he repeats. "You've never been safe. There's no reason for you to believe that anything has changed."

I nod in agreement. Should I ask if we're done here?

"So, what does make you feel safe Katniss?"

I think I'm probably looking at him the way I did the first time I saw Effie Trinket: bewildered astonishment.

"A person cannot survive without some sort of respite from their fear. The human body just will not survive in a state of terror all the time. So, we find ways to cope. What helps you to do that?" he inquires. His eyes remain thoughtful and patient, even though I'm feeling more and more awkward and confused with each passing minute of this appointment.

I think about it for a moment. What do I do that calms me down?

"The woods," I reply. "My father used to take me hunting, and then I would spend my mornings there with Gale when we were older. It's how we fed our families."

He makes a note on the pad of paper in his lap. "And Gale is?"

I let out a shuddering breath that manages to only tear apart half my heart today. "My best friend," I whisper. "Or he was. He…hates me now."

"Why's that?"

"He…I…." Ugh why is this so hard? "I chose Peeta," I finally murmur. The guilt feels like glass shredding my chest.

"Mmmm," is the only reaction I get out of him.

"I… Peeta and I… we just…. I hurt Gale, with my choice. I don't know if he'll ever forgive me," I stammer.

"Perhaps he won't," he agrees. "But do you regret the choice you made? Was it the right one for you?"

"I don't regret it," I answer immediately, my voice stronger now. I refuse to let anyone believe for one second that Peeta Mellark isn't deserving of my devotion.

"Then it is out of your control, Katniss. You have experienced trauma, a great deal of it. What you need to focus on is healing yourself. Everyone else is responsible for themselves – Gale included," he explains gently. "Besides Gale, is there anyone else that you associate with benign memories?"

"Peeta," is my instantaneous reply. "Prim – my sister," I add as well. I think about the Games and the Quell. "Haymitch," I grumble, however reluctantly. The old goat may be a pain in my ass, but I know he's always in my corner. I think about the Capitol, remembering how I got through the pain day after day after day. "Annie…Jo and Enobaria. Finnick…. I feel safe with them."

"That's a good list. You have many people who make you feel secure. And you're with all of them here. So, while you may not feel safe in 13 because of what it is, perhaps you can begin to feel safe because of who is here with you."

I feel the corner of my mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smile. "Yeah, ok," I murmur quietly.

Damn the Odds, Finn was right.


I'm to meet President Alma Coin on the first day I'm allowed to leave my bed. My legs are wobbly like a newborn deer, it still hurts to take a deep breath, and there is a tube coming out of me to make it easier for me to urinate; I can only imagine the picture I make as the Mockingjay, looking the way I do.

Prim has hand-washed my chopped hair and used a rubber band to tie it back from my face; she promises that once I can sit up for a longer time, she will allow Plutarch's prep teams to come in and fix the cut. I shrug and tell her I don't particularly care about how I look, but the truth is that I do, a little. I want to be me again - healthy and clear-skinned, able to walk and run, scale trees like I was born in them, draw a bowstring without losing my breath. Perhaps a haircut will be a first step, maybe I won't look so much like the girl who was assaulted and humiliated by Peacekeepers and I'll be one step closer to the old me. But it still feels shallow and petty in the face of everything else, so I try hard not to dwell on it.

I'm dressed in a hospital gown that is three sizes too large for me, and Prim won't let me wear any underwear because of the uncomfortable tube thing. I feel incredibly exposed, my skin feels too tight, and I worry that I'll end up lashing out like a wounded animal before the afternoon is out. In my hospital room I have blankets to cover myself with and a door to shut. As Prim pushes me through the winding hallways of District 13 in a wheelchair, I feel countless eyes follow me. Eyes of strangers from 13, the stares of my neighbors for the Seam, they all find me, laying bare my vulnerabilities and weaknesses that have thus far been kept hidden from the masses. I am not the strong lethal victor they have come to expect - I am a broken and mangled teenager, and a rather small one at that. Nothing more.

This display of the state of my body reminds me of the Tribute Parades in the Capitol and does nothing to endear me to this district's president. Doesn't she know my body has not been my own since I volunteered to save my sister, and that I only just now have it back? Does showing my battered form serve some purpose for her? Is she ignorant or cunning? These thoughts run unchecked through my head as we approach the door to President Coin's meeting room, and I am still distracted by them when we cross the threshold into the chamber.

I look up and meet the assessing stare of Alma Coin, President of District 13 and Leader of the Rebellion.

Cunning, it is then.

She knows what she is doing. I can also immediately tell that I have been found lacking in her mind's eye.

Wonderful.

President Coin stands and extends her hand to grasp mine but does not move towards me to close the space between us. I frown and begin to shift in my seat as if to rise, but Prim puts a stop to this and moves me forward in my chair.

"Miss Everdeen, it is an honor to make your acquaintance. I've heard so much about you from so many people; you're an incredibly brave young woman," she says all of this without an ounce of inflection, as though she's been rehearsing her lines all morning.

"Thank you," I murmur. The exposure and the power plays are making my skin itch. I want nothing more than to return to my room and curl my body around Peeta.

Speaking of Peeta – I let my eyes wander the room to take in who is here with me. Around the large table sit the people who care about me; whether they care about me because of who I am, or because of what I can do for them is yet to be seen. Peeta and Haymitch sit with Finnick and Annie, all of whom appeared to have been tucked together in conversation before I entered the room. Johanna and Enobaria sit together, their heads nearly touching as they whisper to one another. Plutarch Heavensbee was leaning into a tall, dark-skinned man in a military uniform when I was rolled in, but now is smiling at me as though I've just complimented his jumpsuit. Gale sits alone. The anger he still feels towards me is obvious; it seems I continue to hurt the people I care about no matter how hard I try to do the right thing.

Prim positions my chair amongst the group seated with Peeta, and I reach up to grip her hand in gratitude. She whispers in my ear that she must return to her shift at the hospital, and Peeta assures her that he'll get me back there safely after the meeting. I may love the both of them, but I wish they would stop talking about me as if I wasn't here.

This thought must show on my face, because Peeta murmurs a quick, "sorry" to me and shoots me a rueful smile. I shake my head and manage a small grin of my own; I forgive him of course, he is always the easiest person in the world to absolve of any wrongdoing.

"Miss Everdeen," President Coin begins. "I'd like for you to tell us about what happened to you in the Capitol."

I can't help my quick intake of breath that seems to echo throughout the room. She is not wasting time with small talk, it seems. On an intellectual level, I respect this bit of the President's personality; I too am bad at conversation. But the practical part of me simply wants to vomit. Perhaps on her. I told Haymitch I didn't want to talk about this - not with President Coin and not with the doctors.

"Absolutely not!" Peeta answers for me. And thank the Odds for that, because I can't seem to string words together at the moment.

"It's not up to you, Soldier Mellark," Coin replies, turning her flat gray eyes to him. My first reaction is to move his body behind mine to keep him out of her sights, but… Peeta has been facing off with this woman for months without me. He is brave, and strong – more so than I ever give him credit for. He can fight his own battles, my boy with the bread.

"She's still recovering! This isn't the time – this is ludicrous!" Peeta is starting to lose control of his temper. It's rare to see him so out of control of his emotions, but Prim has confided to me that he has often been like this while since arriving in 13.

"While it may be true that she is still healing, there is no right time for these things. This is war, Soldier Mellark. We need this information to help sway pockets of Capitol support! It was inappropriate to display the physical condition that the victors were in during their rescue, but these treacherous acts done by President Snow need to be brought to light! This is the time. The rebels need this boost to continue fighting." As Coin speaks, I observe how she scrutinizes Peeta. It's almost predatory, but I can detect the ugly resentment simmering beneath. I hate it; it sends a shiver down my spine and triggers my gag reflex. Perhaps I was wrong – maybe Peeta does still need me to protect him, especially from her. My instinct to keep him safe kicks in without any further thought from me, and just as he is about to argue back at her, I break in –

"You're going to film it?" My voice is barely more than a whisper, but everyone in the room turns their attention to me.

Without missing a beat, Plutarch answers, "We'd like to, Katniss."

"Will it help? It will help bring down Snow?" I gasp. I can already feel my heartbeat speeding up. I want to get up from this horrible meeting, run and hide somewhere where no one in this awful underground district will ever find me.

"I truly do," he quietly assures me.

I nod, only once. It's all I can manage. "Fine. I'll tell you what happened. But only once. I can only do it one time. And... I don't want to be alone." I hate this show of weakness, but the idea of recounting my torture on my own is so overwhelming I can't help myself.

Plutarch immediately and vigorously agrees to my conditions. "We'll have all of you tell your stories. All the captives, so we get the full account."

"Swell," Johanna grumbles, crossing her arms in front of her. "When?"

While I feel guilty that everyone else will have to testify to what was done to them, it's not worth it to go back on my request; there just isn't enough bravery left in me to try and persuade Plutarch to change his mind. I just…I need these people with me.

I'm touched that no one argues either. Not a one owes me this, and yet they have silently agreed to stay by my side to see me through this.

Plutarch looks down at the notebooks he's got laid out in front of him on the table and taps his pen against the surface twice. "Would today be too soon?"

"It's fine," I say quickly, before I can change my mind. My next words come out in a mumble though; "Better to get it over with."

Enobaria snorts in response to my comment.

A time and place are decided on, and just as I'm about to lose my patience because this meeting has devolved into planning another television program, Peeta leans into me and quietly asks, "Can I speak with you?"

I allow it, and he takes hold of my wheelchair, brushing off Plutarch's concerns over where we're going with a quick assurance that we'll be on time for prep. He pushes me out of the meeting room and down the hallway but pauses at an alcove that takes us out of the busy flow of traffic. He comes around in front of me and crouches down so he's at my eye level.

"Can I carry you?" he asks.

I'm confused for a moment and tilt my head in question.

"We can lose them easier if you let me carry you," he explains. Then he gives me a smile so full of mischievous delight and adds, "I'll show you one of my hiding spots."

I actually giggle at his manner and words. I've so rarely had the chance to embrace this playful side of Peeta that it takes me by surprise. I breathlessly agree, and he scoops me up easily and tenderly arranges my body in his arms, so I won't jostle too drastically as we take off down the hallway. He holds me securely against his chest as he jogs through the labyrinth of corridors, and I'm momentarily lifted out of our circumstances to enjoy the purity of this moment. I am wrapped in the arms of the man I love; we are laughing like children, and the elation of our impulsive actions is overwhelming perfect.

We are not in an underground district; we are not soldiers in a war. We are seventeen; we are in love.

All too quickly the moment ends as Peeta slides us into a closet full of old chairs. He kicks the door shut behind us but doesn't put me down. He drops to the ground and settles me in his lap, keeping his body between my bare legs and the cold concrete floor. I'm beyond thankful he thinks to do this before I can even ask; imagining the harsh contact between the icy stone and my exposed skin makes my breath catch with the threat of a flashback to my imprisonment. Peeta presses his forehead to mine and whispers sadly, "Katniss…you don't have to do this. We'll find another way."

I shake my head but don't pull away from him. I place my hands on his shoulders and grip them tight. I need him to be with me for this, even though every instinct in my body is telling me to keep him away from the ugliness of what I experienced in the Capitol. "It will help…. Plutarch said -"

"I don't care what he said!" he interrupts. "I want you safe, and healthy. You don't need to do this! You've suffered enough, Katniss."

"I can do this!" I argue with him. I can't let him keep seeing me as this weakling. I'm getting better, I know it.

"I know you can, Katniss," he murmurs, his voice soothing. He runs his hands lightly up and down my arms. He's gotten more confident with touching me, but he's still terrified of causing me physical pain as I heal. "But you shouldn't have to."

I take a few moments and allow the memories wash over me, the ones I've worked so hard to push away. It's like sinking into a lake, but one that's black and rough with storm winds. My skin goes cold, and I start to shake. I let myself remember the terrible pain, the devastating neglect, the sharp hunger. But Peeta's touch tethers me to reality. I'm here, with Peeta Mellark. We're sitting in a closet; and when we leave here, I will tell the country what President Snow did to me; and when I'm done, he and I will leave, and he will hold me as I fall asleep.

That is what's real. And that is what will get me through this.

Just like the head doctor said – embrace the people that make me feel safe.

I feel my eyes begin to get heavy with exhaustion, and Peeta adjusts my body to rest more fully against his.

"Sleep, beautiful girl," he softly bids me. I tuck my face into the curve of his neck and give myself over to rest, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and dill on Peeta's skin, somehow still intact long after our homes are gone.


Eventually Peeta shifts his body and wakes me by running his fingers through the pieces of my hair that have come loose from the band Prim fastened earlier. "Time to go," he murmurs against the crown of my head.

He rises to his feet, barely shifting me. Peeta's physical strength never fails to impress me; even with a prosthetic leg he moves with the grace of an athlete. He never believes it, and often comments that his noisy tread is just one more thing that sets him apart from the rest of the victors, but I don't agree. He is strong and moves his muscled body with confidence; besides, I can be quiet enough for the both of us.

He carries me back towards Command so that we may get ready for the propos. My wheelchair is missing from the alcove where we abandoned it earlier, but Peeta insists he can manage me without it. When I press that we can call for another, he rolls his eyes and simply continues us on our way without even bothering to answer me.

A few corridors over from Command is a suite of rooms that have been set aside for filming propaganda. When we arrive, a prep team is already in place; they are not mine, and I'm struck with a curious sadness at the loss of them. While they were not anything like Peeta or I, they did love us in their own way. I have no idea what their fates were, but I can only imagine their connection to me did not bode well for them after the Quell, the same way it did not for talented, kind Cinna.

I am fitted with a comfortable set of hospital scrubs – this time with pants, thank the Odds; they're loose enough to allow for the tubes I still have hanging out of me, but form-fitting enough to show off how much I have physically changed. My hair is styled into a low ponytail; there still isn't enough to braid. No makeup either, much to my relief.

Peeta picks me up when the prep team completes their work and carries me to another room where the main filming set is located. Three long couches are set up to loosely face one another –a play at encouraging casual conversation – as though all us victors just so happened to gather together to discuss our trauma on a Sunday afternoon. Our names are scrawled on pieces of paper taped to the floor in front of the seats – assignments for where Plutarch wants us to sit so he'll get the best footage. Peeta places me in my spot and settles in next to me; he's a better sport than me, I would have just kicked my name under the couch and hoped for the best.

One by one the other victors arrive, and true to form no one else seems to care about our seating assignments. I was right when I told Haymitch that Peeta may be the only good person to win the Games; though he is different, he truly is the best of us.

Jo and Enobaria drop on to the couch to my left, while Annie and Finnick sit beside us leaving a small space between them and Peeta. Beetee arrives in a wheelchair and pushes himself out of it to sit on the remaining sofa, leaving a space for Haymitch, who dramatically throws himself into it once he makes his entrance. Everyone is chatting quietly with each other, when we're interrupted by Plutarch and the woman I saw interviewing Gale back in 12. She introduces herself as Cressida, a filmmaker who fled the Capitol to fight for the rebels.

Cressida's team sets up the cameras, and Plutarch positions two seats to face the rest of us. Just as he settles into his chair and opens his mouth to begin the interview, Johanna leans forward.

"If you so much as give one hint that you're trying to set any of us off so to get us sent back to the padded rooms down in crazy town because it will get more audience response or sympathy or whatever your slimy ass is looking for Plutarch, I swear on all the Odds I will personally cut your balls off and use them to dress up the Odds-awful shit-for-food they serve in this ass-backwards district. Do you understand me?" she threatens, her tone somehow walking the edge of menacing without totally abandoning its high-pitched girlishness.

Plutarch merely chuckles at her colorful warning but he is uncharacteristically serious when he answers. "I swear to you all, I am not here to antagonize. Cressida will be asking most of the questions; I am simply here to fill in any gaps in her knowledge."

Johanna nods once and leans back in her seat. She doesn't believe him, none of us really do. But what choice do we really have? If we don't talk now, will they ever leave us alone?

They lower the lights so that we cannot be distracted by anyone standing in the periphery of the room. We can only see who is next to us, in front of us; we exist only in this moment. I'm thankful for it, I think. I'm so anxious and feel so out of control of my emotions, that I have no doubt my attention would easily stray to any hangers-on who just want the unedited dirt on the victors before it airs.

Cressida does a countdown with her fingers; I try to match my breathing to each of her fingers falling to curl against her palm. It doesn't help much, but it does give me something to focus on in lieu of giving myself over to the tendrils of fear I can feel creeping through my chest. Peeta reaches over just as her last digit falls, taking hold of my hand and interlocking his fingers with mine. Together, we're in this together.

"Today I want to talk about you," she begins, her voice gentle but strong. "Panem knows the versions of you that President Snow created – the Victors of the Hunger Games. I've had the privilege of getting to know some of you since coming to District 13; and if not you personally, I have gotten to know the people who love you and know you in your real lives." She pauses for the length of one complete breath. "I think it is important that Panem gets to know you now, and in turn learns the truth of what President Snow has done to your lives."

Cressida is genuine, I realize. Unlike Plutarch, who knows how to work a crowd and use his insider knowledge to manipulate a situation, Cressida really believes what she says. I suddenly feel much safer speaking to her about the most hellish chapters of my life; she may know how to do some actual good with what we say here today.

She turns to Haymitch, asking him to speak about the Second Quarter Quell – how he won, what Snow took from him after he returned home. These were bits of himself that he only ever alluded to with Peeta and I; but without the smokescreen of alcohol he usually hides behind, he can't run from the deeper bits of pain he's experienced in his lifetime. He explains that he turned to drinking to numb the loss of his family and his love, who were taken away from him by Snow after he won his Games. Snow was angry at being outwitted – the arena had never been used as a weapon before, and a poor boy from the Seam was never supposed to outsmart the Gamemakers. So, he executed them - and Haymitch arrived home to an empty house and a crate of white liquor. I was the example, he tells Cressida. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johannas and Cashmeres. Of what could happen to a victor who caused problems. He lost himself in the booze, but he also stuck with this vice because it protected him from Snow's attentions. No one wants to pay to spend time with drunk victor.

Beetee tells how his genius impressed Snow, and how this ingenuity painted a target on his back. At first, he was simply excited to have access to materials and resources so he could invent anything and everything he had ever dreamed of. But once he saw what being done with his ideas – the deaths Snow rained down on future tributes in the Games and the torture imparted on secret prisoners of state – he tried to step back. Snow killed his sister, still too young to be reaped for the Games, but old enough to send Beetee a clear message: Do what I ask, or else.

Enobaria talks about how she felt proud of the glory she was bringing to District 2 when she won her Games. Her family finally had enough money to stop breaking their bodies in the stone quarries and she took up work in the Tribute Training Academy to help raise the next generation of Career volunteers. Her reputation for fierceness caught up with her after her Victory Tour though; a Capitol citizen who appreciated her sharp teeth and intimidating demeanor paid top dollar for her company, and Snow finally had a victor he could sell to a niche market. While she wasn't in the Capitol as often as Finnick or Cashmere had been, she often went home with more injuries.

Johanna grips her hand through her story, making me believe this isn't the first time she's heard it. What other victor gossip would I have been privy to if the Rebellion hadn't been jump-started?

Finnick won his Games at fourteen years old – the youngest in Hunger Games history. He explains that he barely knew what sex really was, the first time he was sold in the Capitol. He was bought by women and men and groups, used both for public stature and private pleasure. A couple of years into his slavery, he grew exhausted…indifferent. Finnick says that he didn't really know what was at stake, until Snow had his entire family murdered to pay for his lack of enthusiasm while with his Capitol clientele. After that, he gave himself over fully to the charade of Snow's demands.

Annie was what changed things for him. She was the long-shot; her odds to win the Games were impossibly low. The sweet girl from District 4 survived because she could swim. Her sanity was the cost she paid for keeping her life. Even less expected was the love she shared with Finnick. He was the one person who could keep her from reliving the trauma of her ally's murder day-in and day-out, and she kept him bound to the person he was before Snow took everything away. When Snow realized the depth of their affection for one another, he had Annie's grandmother killed. After that, her brothers distanced themselves from her, and to protect them, she let them go. Finnick and Annie's love was the best-kept secret in Panem, because if it became common knowledge, they knew one of them would disappear. They both knew whose death would be the more inconspicuous of the two of them.

Annie remains lucid and articulate throughout her interview, and I am so relieved that Panem will finally get the chance to see this remarkable girl that the rest of us have gotten to know. Finnick's smile shows the depth of his pride in his lover, and I know that if anyone sees this footage, they won't be able to deny how beautiful their love is.

Johanna wanted nothing more than to return to the forests of 7 after she won the 71st Hunger Games. Just before she left the Capitol, Snow brokered a deal with a Capitolite for her body. Johanna wasn't even given the opportunity to choose to refuse or comply, but when she realized what was happening, she cut the man's thumbs off with a knife she'd stolen from Snow's own dinner table. When she arrived back home, it was only to discover that Peacekeepers had blatantly executed her parents, her brother, her sister-in-law, her two year old niece, and her six month old nephew. Johanna was right when she spoke in the Quell - there was no one left that she loved.

While everyone is telling their stories, I realize how lucky I am to have Peeta. Not only for who he is, but for winning the Games with me. How quickly would Snow have sold me off if I had won on my own? Would I be like Enobaria – forced to entertain the dark desires of the highest bidder? Or would I have refused like Jo, and probably caused the deaths of everyone I have continually fought hard to protect? Peeta and I have always been a set – would Snow have capitalized on this fact, and sold us off together? The thought makes me nauseated, and I tighten my hold on Peeta's hand to steady myself.

What will we say about our story? Do we reveal that our romance was faked? Will that topple the faith that Panem has in the Mockingjay and the Guardian? I look to Peeta, and hope he understands that I am leaving the choice up to him. I don't know this war game like he does, and I certainly can't use effectively use my words to illustrate what has happened to us since the 74th reaping. He gives me a subtle nod, and I have faith that he will take charge of this; he will protect us…me...through this just like he always has.

Peeta speaks for us now, telling our story. He explains how we faked our romance to save both our lives during the Games. I'm terrified of how much people will hate us for this fact, but Peeta continues to portray me as something brave and fierce. He saved my life, fighting off Cato so I could escape, and in turn I could not let him die from his wounds. He loved me since we were children, but it would just take me a little bit longer to find my way. He tells Cressida that President Snow threatened to kill my sister, my mother, and my best friend if I did not continue our romance after the Games; and Peeta explains that after I agreed to Snow's terms, we witnessed the deaths of rebellious citizens throughout our Victory Tour. We were allies, all the way through to the end. The Quell was designed to eliminate us – the symbols of the rebellion. He tells her confidently that the Quell was rigged, but Plutarch stays silent. I know he will not reveal his part in it, not to districts who lost their own victors to his arena. Peeta doesn't say that the baby was fake, and Cressida doesn't ask. Hopefully it won't be what people choose to focus on when they hear out tale.

When Cressida points out that for two people who had been forced together by President Snow, we seem especially close now, I finally find the strength to speak up.

"I love Peeta," I say simply. "I think everyone in Panem knew it before I did, but I do. However our story started, this is how it ends – with love."

Johanna snorts, and I shoot her a glare.

"Sorry, sorry," she chuckles, lifting her hands in supplication. "They're just gross," she clarifies to Cressida, who smiles kindly at us.

"After the Quell, Snow destroyed District 12," Peeta continues. "He dropped firebombs, killing over nine thousand innocent civilians. He murdered men, women, children, babies…all while they ran for their lives. They weren't fighting him; they were watching the Games; they were watching us. They followed the rules and complied with the Peacekeepers, they went home when the power went out after the arena was destroyed. Snow dropped bombs on the town, where my family lived. I lost my father, mother, two brothers, and my sister-in-law. I have no idea where their bodies are, or if they knew what was coming. He dropped bombs on the Seam, where Katniss is from, and it lit up like a coal fire. No one had a chance. Her best friend was able to lead people to safety in the woods. But only eight hundred people out of ten thousand from District 12 made it out…. And for what? There is nothing that President Snow gains from murdering that many people. He did it to punish us; he did it to get back at two seventeen year old kids who were fighting for their lives, for not dying the way he wanted us to."

I understand something so very suddenly that it feels like a slap in the face. Peeta's family never made it to 13. I wasn't surprised when I never saw them in the hospital; none of them were particularly fond of me, save Peeta's father. But I realize now that Peeta has never mentioned them, not once, since I regained consciousness. They're gone – dust, just like the rest of our home.

I look over at him, my brave, solid Peeta. I'm sure there are tears in my eyes when I whisper, "I'm so sorry," and I'm sure he understands my meaning. If I had just died in the first Games, maybe his family would still be alive – maybe all of 12 would be. He's so strong and has lost so much to this war. All I wanted was to save him, to keep him alive. In doing so, he seems to just lose more and more. He answers me with a slight shake of his head, as if to say it's nothing. But it's not, it will never be nothing.

"Thank you all, for entrusting me with your stories. I'm sure none of that was easy to talk about," Cressida says to us, her voice not unaffected by what she's heard. "I also want to take some time and learn what happened during your imprisonment in the Capitol. I know this will be a distressing conversation, and if anyone needs some time, please just say so."

We sit in silence, none of us willing to be the first to speak about what happened.

"We'll start at the Quell," Cressida continues, taking the reins of the conversation. "Katniss, you took out the forcefield surrounding the arena, and then the televised footage cut out. The public doesn't know what happened after that."

I clear my throat and mutter, "I don't really know either. I think the electricity knocked me unconscious." I'm blushing now, already doing a poor job of retelling our story to the world.

"We were all on our own, the three of us," Enobaria explains. "The Capitol hovercrafts came in and picked each of us up separately."

"I don't think Katniss woke up until we were back in the Capitol," Jo adds.

At least she refrains from calling me "Brainless" on national television.

Finnick clarifies that he and Peeta were able to scoop up Beetee and were extracted by the rebels, but that the Capitol forces swooped in before they could do a thorough search for us.

"I was taken from Four, not long after the feed was cut," Annie murmurs. "They didn't bother to blindfold me, just brought me down to the basement of the Tribute Center."

"It's where we were kept," Jo states.

"In cages," Annie continues, her eyes taking on a far-off expression. "It was dark, down in the prison. It never got brighter than the light at dusk. It was cold, and we didn't have blankets or clothing other than what we arrived in."

"They wanted information about the Rebellion. I was the only one who had any, but I don't think that really mattered to them," Jo says quietly.

"Snow told us the other victors in the Quell were dead. Peeta…Finnick…Beetee…that you all were dead," I tell them, looking at each of these men in turn. "He told me Prim was in 12, and I could protect her by doing what he wanted. I thought all of you were gone, and it was my fault…. I'm so sorry I said those things, I needed to protect the only person I had left."

"It's alright Katniss," Finnick assures me, reaching over and placing a hand on my shoulder. "We saw your interview; it wasn't difficult to see you were being coerced."

I don't know how true that is, because from what Peeta said, only he, Finnick, and Haymitch were my champions after my first interview. I'm told Coin viewed me as traitorous; it's why Peeta was forced into taking up the mantle of the Guardian for the Rebellion – to protect me. Regardless, I appreciate Finnick's words. At the very least, they are a comfort to me; at the most, they may go a long way to convince the citizens of Panem that Snow's manipulation should have been obvious, that I'm not a traitor to the cause.

"We were starved," Enobaria refocuses the conversation. "They brought us spoiled food and polluted water. We only received rations every few days, and totally randomly, so we couldn't get used to any type of schedule. We all got extremely sick."

"They wanted to make us physically weak, and mentally confused," Johanna says.

"After that first interview with Caesar…that's when the torture started," I say. "They called it interrogation, but it wasn't. They eventually stopped even asking us questions before they hurt us."

"Can you tell me what happened to each of you?" Cressida leans forward, her hands resting on her knees. She's uncomfortable, but not with the questions. I think she knows that this won't be pleasant to listen to, almost as much as it won't be nice to speak about.

The four of us look to one another; perhaps drawing strength from our shared pain, perhaps deciding who will go first.

"I'm going to read out the report that was made at the time of your intake," Plutarch suggests to us. Cressida frowns, but does not object. "It details the injuries that each of you suffered at the time of your arrival in District 13. I think…I think it is important for Panem to know what the result of President Snow's torture was, and then perhaps you can each tell us how it happened."

Plutarch reads out a list of atrocities, painting a picture of total destruction taken out on our bodies. He is the most subdued I've ever seen him, speaking in a way that makes me wonder if he is indeed human after all.

We sit in silence for a full minute when he is finished. I count each second as it goes by.

"Mine was probably the…least awful," Annie starts. Finnick looks like he's about to cut in, disagree with her assessment of her experience, remind her that what happened to her certainly was terrible. But she waves him off - she doesn't need this assurance; she won't forget what was done to her. "It wasn't good, don't get me wrong," she continues with a small dark laugh. "They would bring me to a room by myself, and that would confuse me before they even began to hurt me. I know I'm not right in the head. I need…someone to keep me grounded. In the Capitol, I didn't have Finn. I relied on Katniss and Johanna and Enobaria to keep me there. So, when they took me away, I would get swept up in the screams in my head. Then they would play footage from my Games. They'd make me watch it over and over again and if I turned away, they would beat me and break my bones so that I stopped even trying. They wanted me mad."

"Once they stopped asking me questions, I realized they weren't going to let me go," Enobaria picks up the story. "I decided I had to fight back, so I told a guard I had information for him. It got him to come close enough to me."

"For what?" Cressida asks.

"To rip out his throat," Enobaria bares the remains of her sharp teeth. "After that, they started pulling my teeth out one by one, without medicine, to punish me. Because we were already sick from the food and the conditions we were kept in, we were never able to heal from our injuries. They hurt me to keep me weak enough that I wouldn't be able to fight back ever again."

"They knew I was a part of the Rebellion," Johanna starts, her eyes flicking over to Finnick. "So, they kept up their questions the longest with me. At first, they just beat on me; broke my bones and split my skin open with their fists. With how little they were feeding us, we never really recovered. Everything hurt for longer. Once they realized I wasn't going to tell them anything, they switched to the water." Jo shivers, and Enobaria wraps her arm around her shoulders. "They…they would strap me to this table, and pour water on me, so that I was soaking wet. They'd put a cloth over my face and just keep pouring water on to it…. It felt like I was drowning. I couldn't catch my breath. And if I did, they'd bring out the wires. They'd burn me with electricity…. I don't know if the scars will ever go away."

It's my turn. Odds.

I can feel everyone's attention shift to me. I take a deep breath. Two. A third.

"They hated me," I croak. I swallow down the ball of emotion that's fighting its way up my throat, that's trying to pour out my eyes. "They would chain me…hang me from the ceiling by my wrists. Or lash me to something so that my back was exposed. I couldn't fight back. I was always blindfolded…. I think it made everything feel more real. They would taunt me, tell me how it was all my fault that everyone was dead. My family, the rebels, tributes…everything led back to my trick with the berries in the Games. In the Quell, they had the hour where they tortured us with Jabberjays – we'd hear the voices of the people we loved screaming out for us to save them. They did that in the Capitol while they hurt me. The Peacekeepers would play the voices of my sister, my mother, my best friend, Haymitch, and Peeta; they would all be calling out to me. While they played the recordings, I would be whipped, like my best friend was for poaching. Or they would break my bones with metal pipes, tear apart my muscles with machines, flay my skin open with knives…. It just never ended. They did this to me - to us - almost every single day for months and months. They tore my body apart…. They wanted to break me in every possible way."

"Did it work?" Cressida asks.

"Sometimes, yes," I answer truthfully. "Knowing that Peeta and Finn and the others were alive and trying to rescue us helped. Other times…we had to save each other."

Annie has tears running down her cheeks, but she smiles through her sadness and practically climbs across Finn and Peeta to run her hand down my arm in comfort.

Enobaria reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. Johanna nods at me in solidarity. Haymitch is frowning at the floor, and Beetee is giving me a sad, commiserating half-smile. Finnick reaches around Peeta and scratches my head, much like I've done to Prim whenever she's needing affection. Peeta draws me close and kisses me on the temple.

"You're so strong," he murmurs against my skin.

"You all are," Cressida agrees. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. You're all incredibly brave for sharing with me, for sharing with the people of Panem. You are our victors, and I think I speak for many people out there when I tell you that I hope you can finally get the peace you all deserve. Thank you."

It's quiet for a moment – peaceful and warm, even though we just cut our insides open and spilled our souls, our darkest secrets staining the floor in front of us.

"That's a wrap!" Plutarch yells.

And the moment is over.


A/N: The song used in this chapter is "I'll Fly Away" by Albert Brumley.

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