A/N: Anyone familiar with the story could probably guess this, but this chapter contains (non-graphic) depictions of violence and torture.

A soft bed. Silken sheets and fluffy pillows. Expensive artwork hanging on the walls. These are not the things I expected to find when I woke from my drug-induced slumber. The Capitol is keeping me in the lap of luxury while they decide what to do with me. Surely they will expect me to be grateful for their mercy and hospitality, but it's incredibly unnerving. I'm still a prisoner. The door is locked from the outside. All the lights are embedded in the walls and the vase containing the fake flowers is made of plastic.

I've been here for two days. Two miserable days reliving the events of the two horrific days in the arena. The last two hours, in particular. When I sleep, I feel the knife in my hand digging into Katniss's flesh again and again. When I wake, I'm plagued with guilt for the choice that got us to that point. If only I had convinced Katniss to stay with the others, she'd be safe in hiding somewhere. But no, she insisted she was well enough to help me and I didn't trust anyone else to protect her. Her stubbornness and my pride. Our worst qualities were what got her killed.

At times my raw nerves have driven me to exercise, and at other times the weight of my conscience has pinned me down on the bed for hours. Now is one of those latter times. A tray of breakfast appeared when I woke a couple hours ago, but I haven't made any move toward it. My stomach growls but I can't muster the energy to move. Besides, in my current state even the most decadent Capitol food tastes like paper and sits like rocks in my stomach.

Despite my lethargy, when I hear the distinct sound of a lock clicking I startle into an upright position. A stern Peacekeeper meets my wary gaze from the doorway, gesturing into the hall. "Mason. This way."

Though my heart pounds against my ribcage and all my muscles tense, I throw back the covers and follow without delay. I'm even more restless than I am terrified, and whatever this is I want to get it over with. The man leads me through a series of corridors, finally stopping in front of a pair of heavy oak doors. He knocks as I step up beside him, then motions me inside. The doors squeak lightly on their hinges as I tentatively push them open, revealing a dining table topped with a variety of platters. And an old man sitting behind it. An old man I have seen on television all my life.

My jaw tightens and skin prickles with goosebumps as President Snow looks up from his breakfast and smiles. "Good morning. Thank you for coming." As if I had a choice. The doors close behind me and he waves me toward the chair across from him. "Have a seat, Agent Mason."

Swallowing down my fear, I retort, "Don't call me that. I'm not one of your toy soldiers anymore."

The creases around his eyes crinkle as he enjoys an inward chuckle at my expense. Gesturing at the chair once again, he says, "Please." Approaching tentatively, I find a full place setting arranged for me on the table. Plastic dishes and cutlery, of course. Nothing I could kill either of us with. As I ease myself down into the seat, he urges me, "Help yourself. You must be hungry. You haven't eaten since last night."

"I've lost my appetite."

Snow raises an eyebrow. "I suggest you take this opportunity now. Depending on how our conversation goes, it may be your last for a while." That statement does nothing to help my appetite, but he does have a point. The smell of the eggs isn't helping my queasy stomach, but I scoop myself a small bowl of fruit salad and take a few strips of bacon to munch on. "There's coffee as well," he tells me as I take my first bite, nodding at a silver urn to my left. "Black with two sugar, no?"

"I see you've done your homework," I deadpan.

"Indeed. I've had my eye on you for quite some time, Agent Mason." When my eyes narrow, he asks, "Or would you rather I call you Johanna?"

"I'd rather you not call me anything," I reply flatly. "And I know you have. Katniss told me you threatened to kill me if she couldn't convince the districts she was in love with Peeta."

"I never threatened to kill you," he clarifies. "I threatened to get rid of you. Which I did."

"And yet you gave me the opportunity to volunteer into the Quell. Interesting change in strategy." Leaning back in my chair, I cock an eyebrow. "How did that work out for you? Did our involvement turn the districts against Katniss, dampen support for the rebels?"

"Apparently it dampened it enough for them to prioritize extracting Peeta in her stead," remarks Snow. That's a gut punch, and I can't hide it. Seeing my face fall, he gives me an ironic grin. "Quite a mess we've all made, isn't it?"

Resetting my expression to neutral, I answer tonelessly. "You could say so."

Pushing his plate aside, Snow dabs at his mouth with a napkin. "How would you like a chance to set things right?"

I scoff. "You really think I have any motivation whatsoever to help you?"

"I thought that with Miss Everdeen out of the way, you may come back to rational thinking and see what is best for this country. Like avoiding a civil war." Pulling a small wooden box from his jacket pocket, Snow slides it forward on the table. "I think these belong to you."

My stomach cramps painfully as I reach out to flip open the top, because I know what's inside. Still, the sight of my blood-coated dog tags knocks the breath from my lungs. Torn between anguish and relief at this reminder that she's gone, I numbly trace my fingers over the engraved letters. Flecks of blood rub off and stick to my fingertips, speckling them crimson. My voice is barely a whisper as I ask, "And my token?"

"The pin is on its way to District Twelve," he informs me. "I thought it might be of some comfort to Miss Everdeen's family in this difficult time."

"How considerate of you," I mumble through gritted teeth.

"You'll be happy to know that she died quickly." As my eyes flick up, Snow's expression darkens slightly. "If you refuse to help us, you won't be so lucky. Consider that motivation."

Winding the ball chain in my fist, I give him a weary sigh. "Look, even if I wanted to, I don't know anything about the rebel plot. I don't know who broke them out or where they were taking them. All I knew was that they were gonna try to get us out and Finnick and the Threes were involved. You already know all that."

"That's not what I had in mind," says Snow. At my curious expression, he elucidates, "In light of your behavior during and leading up to the Quarter Quell, desertions from our ranks have been skyrocketing. In particular, your remarks about feeling you were on the wrong side seem to have resonated with some of the troops." He gives me a tight smile. "We need to stop the bleeding, so to speak. If you recant your words publicly, say you were blinded by love and you didn't mean any of it, the Corps is willing to take you back."

"Why would I ever want to go back?"

"Because you have a place there." He looks down on me condescendingly. "And where else would you go? Do you really think the Everdeens would take you back after you killed their daughter, their sister? Do you think your father, a proud veteran of the Peacekeeping Corps, would allow you to show your face in your hometown after your treacherous actions? More than likely, he'd kill you himself."

"I'm not interested in having a place in the world that requires me to kill innocent people," I declare steadfastly.

"Such a change of heart from a few short years ago," he remarks. "It's a shame what happened with your friend from the Academy. You're one of the best tributes District Two has ever produced." My jaw clenches, ears burning red as Snow pauses for effect. "Nonetheless, the Peacekeepers were lucky to have you. You're an inspiring figure, I'll have you know. And you can use your influence to reach your peers. I can't convince them to continue fighting for peace and order, only you can."

Leaning in, I hold his gaze as I calmly state, "President Snow, I just killed the love of my life. And now you're asking me to betray her, to dishonor her memory by undoing the good she did in this world."

"You've understood everything but one small detail," Snow tells me. "I'm not asking." His ensuing smile has a distinct threat behind it.

"Asking or not, the answer is no," I assert. "Do whatever you want to me. I have nothing left to lose."

Snow nods as though he is considering this. "We'll see about that." He presses a buzzer and the Peacekeeper from earlier enters the room with a couple of reinforcements. "Agent Pratt, take Agent Mason to the facility," Snow orders him. "Let her comrades do as they see fit with her. But keep her alive and intact. For now."

"Absolutely, sir," says Pratt. As he approaches on my left, I scan his waist for a gun. All I need is a second to grab it and turn it on myself, but it's on his left hip. Not within reach. Noticing where my eyes have landed, he scowls, "Try it, you lose an eye." When I say nothing, he orders me, "Get up." My mute blink makes his eyes narrow, and in a flash he's thrown a left hook that catches me on the jaw. One of the others whips the chair out from under me and I land on my ass on the carpet.

There's no way I'm fighting off three sizeable guys, and if I try to run they'll just shoot me non-lethally and drag me back. The best thing I can do is feign indifference, give them no satisfaction. So I don't resist when they lift me up and place me back on my feet. But when they pull out a pair of handcuffs and cinch them around my wrists, I can't help the tiny tremor in my hands. Nor the panic rising in my chest or the way my breathing quickens.

"Last chance, Agent Mason," says Snow. His eyebrow is cocked expectantly, but there's a certain amusement in his expression. He can see my fear. He's enjoying it.

"Suck my dick."

His mouth turns up with a small chuckle and he gives a dismissive wave of his hand. That's when they pull a bag over my head and drag me from the room.

As they march me to my fate, whatever it is, I squeeze my last memento of Katniss clutched in my fist. I try to be brave, as she was in her last moments. The difference is, she knew her pain was about to end. Mine is only beginning.

***o***

Underground. Literally a dungeon. Not far from the mansion. These are the facts I've gathered about this 'facility' on my way here. We've walked fifteen minutes at most, ridden down a few elevators. The bag is still blinding me but my other senses tell me we've arrived. The hum of fluorescent lights, the sharp tang of antiseptic. A lot of locked, heavy-sounding doors. My pulse is racing but my steps are calm as I traverse the hard tiles under my feet.

We move through yet another door and the hands on each of my arms pull me to a stop. Something slips around my neck and terror grips me for a split second, until I remember being hanged would be a blessing at this point. No such luck, unfortunately. Snow said to keep me alive, and they will. No one in their right mind would defy him.

Leather collar secured snugly, my captors whip the bag off my head. I can't help wincing in the bright light, but my eyes are open just enough to make out Pratt's face staring me down. Unlocking the handcuffs, he twirls his finger once and the other two turn me around. Then they lift my arms, immediately reshackling me to chains hanging from the ceiling. Eyes darting about, I'm relieved to find no obvious instruments of torture in the room. Just a bed with a rusty frame and a dented metal toilet. The walls and floor are white, though, good for displaying blood. Perhaps most ominous is the drain conveniently located in the floor a few feet away.

Circling back around, Pratt eyes up my clenched right fist. "What do you have here?" Prying my fingers open, he wrests the bloody ID tags from my grip. I try not to let my panic show, but he's too busy squinting at them to notice either way. "Yes, how perfect," he muses. Then he drops them around my neck and steps back, taking in the scene with satisfaction. Eyeing him warily, I set my jaw but don't say a word.

"Well?" asks one of the other two, speaking my thoughts aloud. A sick smile graces Pratt's lips and he finally takes his second swing at me, this one a hard blow to the stomach that knocks the breath from my lungs. While I'm hunched over coughing, he punches my face twice more. Then he nods at the others and they descend upon me. Both are strong, and neither holds back with his fists.

The electronic lock buzzes and clicks, then the door swings open and a new Peacekeeper strides in. He's a bit shorter than the other three but his confident, formal posture gives him an intimidating air nonetheless. I can tell he's an officer even before he opens his mouth. "Okay, that's quite enough," he orders the three Agents. They back away immediately and he approaches wearing a calculated smile. "Agent Mason, I'm Lieutenant Yao. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Wish I could say the same." Rolling my eyes over to Pratt and back, I conclude, "So you're the good cop?"

"Consider me your new Capitol escort for the time being," he replies. "I make sure you get to anywhere you need to be on time, and I do my best to improve your performance."

The way he says those last few words makes me shiver involuntarily, but I flash a conspiratory smile. "Just promise not to put me in any humiliating tree costumes."

He raises his eyebrows. "Would that motivate you to accept President Snow's terms?"

"No," I state plainly.

"What would?"

"Nothing."

Bobbing his head, he turns for the door. "Very well. Pratt." The goon gladly resumes his earlier task of pummeling me as his CO exits, tenderizing my right side to compensate for his right-handed comrades. Yao's quick exit puzzles me until he returns a minute later bearing a glass of water. Calling Pratt off for a second time, he offers it to me with a condescending head tilt. "I'm trying to help you, you know."

Rolling my dry tongue around in my mouth, I squint at the glass. Apparently sensing the reason for my hesitance, Yao takes a gulp of the water himself then extends it to me once again. Eyes still narrowed, I tell him, "Turn the glass."

Yao chuckles. "There's no need to be paranoid, Mason. You're far too valuable to kill."

"Not all poisons kill. Some just make you suffer. And you are obviously not opposed to that."

He humors me and turns the glass before holding it to my lips again. "You can end this, you know," he says as I eagerly slurp the cool liquid. "All you have to do is take back the things you said, reaffirm your allegiance to the Capitol."

"Somehow I doubt the troops will believe I'm being sincere if my face is covered in bruises," I retort.

"Good point," agrees Pratt, stepping up on my left. "Maybe we should leave your face alone." Before I can grasp what's about to happen and steel myself, he grabs me by the wrist and breaks my middle finger. I yelp and then bite my lips, muffling the guttural moan that follows.

"The alternative is being used as an example," Yao informs me. "If you'd prefer that."

Pratt wiggles my ring finger. "Hm?"

My eyes squeeze shut in anticipation and fear. I will not give this asshole any satisfaction by begging for his mercy, but I still end up protesting under my breath. "No. No." The finger snaps and my face twists in pain. "Fuck!"

"We'll let you think about it," states Yao. Nodding at the other two, he orders them, "Let her down." On his way out the door, he tells me, "We'll talk again soon."

Though still struggling to breathe without moaning, I call after him, "Looking forward to it!"

The Agents unchain me and I wince as the blood returns to my arms. Just when I think they're about to leave, a jolt of electricity shoots through the collar and down my limbs. All my muscles seize and I fall to the floor. The three of them laugh as the current continues, watching me convulse on the tiles. After several seconds it stops and I can breathe again. Looking up, I see Pratt's holding a remote of some kind and wearing a rather satisfied smirk. The other two leave but he hangs back in the doorway, still watching me with cruel eyes.

Grunting as I push myself to my knees, I cradle my injured hand and glare right back at him. "What's your stake in this, Pratt?" I demand. "Did I do something to personally offend you, or are you just a sadist?"

His face is unreadable for a moment. But when he closes the door and crouches in front of me, I see a kind of pain in his expression too. "I had to shoot one of my best friends. Caught her trying to desert." His mouth twists into a scowl. "She looked up to you."

Blinking vacantly, I say, "God bless her soul."

Pratt grabs me by the collar and cocks his fist, then remembers his new strategy and chuckles. "Nice try." He delivers the punch to my already tender ribs instead.

Struggling to regain my breath, I tell him, "It doesn't matter how I look, I'm not saying shit."

"Really, Mason?" Cocking his head, he snarks, "Seems to me you always have a lot to say." Abruptly he stuffs his fingers in my mouth and latches onto my tongue. "You're lucky the President said to leave you intact," he growls. Rolling on top of me, he pins down one wrist and pulls harder and harder as I struggle and whimper. Biting down hard to no avail, I thrash my free arm and claw at his face. Finally I manage to get a knee up into his groin and he yelps, rolling off of me and clutching his junk. As I scramble backwards, panting hard, he narrows his eyes. "Motherfucker."

He stands and I shakily do the same, assuming a defensive stance. No sooner am I on my feet than the collar shocks me again and I collapse back to the tiles. Pratt leaves the current on for several seconds before delivering a series of kicks to my ribs and stomach that I barely have the strength to attempt to block. I'm left wheezing in the fetal position, trying to coax air back into my lungs.

"Fight back again and you'll get it much worse," Pratt assures me. "Understand?" I nod and he shocks me again. "Do you understand, Mason?" he repeats pointedly.

"Yes," I manage to squeak. "I understand." Finally he leaves and I have a minute to catch my breath in peace. Crawling over to the bed, I drag myself up onto the mattress with a wince as pain shoots through my hand and torso.

Surprisingly, it's my neck that ends up bothering me most as the day progresses. There's burns on either side of my throat where the electrodes contact my skin and they itch like a motherfucker. I try to shift the collar around to give the wounds some air, but it shocks me again and that's the end of that. Instead I settle for resetting my broken fingers, a tricky task that involves a lot of tears and cursing but no electric shocks.

I suffer through several more attempts at persuasion at the hands of Pratt and Yao over the next couple of days. They have a different backup squad each time, but all of the Peacekeepers seem equally eager to participate. When the electronic lock buzzes on the third afternoon, I roll my eyes and stay lying on the bed. Even if I get up willingly they'll manhandle me as much as possible on the way to lock me up. To my surprise, this time they are a little more reserved and businesslike, quietly peeling me off the bed and chaining me to the ceiling. I'm confused but grateful until they leave and this ominous feeling rises in my gut. It's several moments before the door buzzes once again, and the vague dread I feel is displaced by irritation when President Snow enters my cell. I feel weaker than ever after being starved and tortured for days on end, but I stand up straight and scowl at his smug fucking face.

"Good day, Agent Mason," he greets me with a smile. "How have you found your stay here so far?"

"Three stars, at best," I deadpan. "The food sucks. Bed could be nicer. Hosts are a bit on the violent side."

"Always with the jokes."

"I'll be here all week," I crack.

If I'm not mistaken, it's a genuine chuckle I hear vibrating in Snow's throat as he steps closer. But he's all business when he replies, "Need I remind you, you don't have to be."

"You're here to change my mind." Cocking my head, I deduce, "Things aren't going well on the war front, I take it?"

"Oh, they are," Snow assures me. "We retain control of all the districts, despite rampant unrest. But desertions are still occuring at much too high a rate. We have to send a message to those soldiers considering defecting to the rebels."

My gut tightens and it takes all my willpower to suppress a gulp. "You need to make an example of me."

Snow nods with a smile. "Yes, quite."

"So what are you gonna do to me?" I demand defiantly. "Cut out my tongue and beat me to a pulp in the City Circle?"

"Tempting as that is, we have other plans for you, Agent Mason." I have only a few seconds to freak out about what those other plans may be before he continues, "When your parents so kindly agreed to an interview following your Reaping, they made themselves recognizable faces across Panem. If something were to happen to them, people would think twice about betraying the government that has provided for and protected them all their lives."

A dozen emotions well up in my chest, all vying for attention. I choose to lock in on the easiest one to deal with right now. Disbelief. "You're going to execute a couple of Capitol loyalists to spite their treasonous spawn? You're insane. Do you want all of District Two to turn on you?"

"Some are turning already. And not just Peacekeepers."

Squinting into his snake-like eyes, I remark, "Scaring District Two isn't your style. Usually you baby us. You must really be desperate."

"Your intuition serves you well, dear girl. Indeed, these are desperate times. But I would rather avoid such desperate measures." Snow tips his chin up slightly, looking down on me as he enunciates, "The offer is still open. Renounce your behavior and reaffirm your allegiance to the Capitol, and we can avoid this whole mess. You can resume your former life, and your parents can continue to live theirs."

"Joke's on you, Snow," I retort. "I don't even like my parents. You'd know that if you really did your homework."

"I do know that. And I understand why." Piercing me with his gaze, Snow takes deliberate steps my way. "You were the third child born to a poor mining family. An accident resented for your very existence. I can see why you joined the candidacy program in a desperate search for affection. Why you stooped so low looking for love."

Anger stirs in my gut, morphing my lips into a scowl and my eyes into slits. "You're lucky I'm chained up, old man," I growl.

With a satisfied smile, Snow clasps his hands behind his back and ambles to my left. "The point is, it doesn't matter how you feel about your parents," he says to the wall. "What matters is the effect the executions will have on the troops. The average soldier would be less likely than you to let their parents die to ease their conscience over misplaced loyalties."

He's right about that much, but I continue to argue. "You're full of shit. You would never risk the backlash in Two. Without us, you're fucked."

"Part of the complex calculation I've had to make," he says, turning back my way. "Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. Moral superiority is far down the list, I can assure you. People will do what they need to to ensure their own survival, and the survival of their loved ones." There's a mocking glint in his eye as he adds, "Except for you, of course."

"I killed Katniss to keep her from falling into your hands," I snap. Looking pointedly around the room, I declare, "I stand by my decision."

Snow raises an eyebrow. "Are you saying you'd rather be dead? Because that can be arranged."

"That would be lovely," I drawl.

His lips turn up slightly. "You're brave, Agent Mason, I'll give you that."

"That's not a compliment, is it?"

"On the contrary. I wish you would channel that admirable quality into fighting for peace and order in the districts, as you did before. Alas, since you have thrown your lot in with the rebels, I'm forced to resort to other methods to ensure this country does not descend into chaos." Dialing up the old man condescension, he articulates, "If we don't stop this war before it starts, your parents will be far from the only casualties. I am more than willing to sacrifice them to achieve these ends."

"You know what?" I retort. "Knock yourself out. I will never fight for you again. Nothing you say or do can change that."

Snow gives me a solemn nod. "I believe you. But I think in time you'll wish you had believed me."

***o***

Snow doesn't come to visit me again, and neither does Yao. Clearly the time for persuasion tactics is over.

I am misery. There's no shortage of Peacekeepers who want their turn with me. Their insults come as hard and fast as their fists. Traitor. Whore. Disgrace. Traitor. They don't avoid my face anymore, either. I guess whatever Snow's plans are for me, they don't include being his spokeswoman. The guards still aren't feeding me and I have a niggling fear that his only plan is to watch me starve to death for his own entertainment. The last Hunger Games was so short and anti-climactic, after all.

A couple weeks pass. Roughly, anyway. The days are all running together now and I'm woozy from too many blows to the head. I have a semi-constant headache and the hum of my cell's fluorescent lights isn't helping, but I haven't said anything because if I did I figure they'd keep them on at night too just to torment me. My neck is a whole other matter. They're using the shock collar for fun now more than to deter me from fighting back, and the repetitive reaggravation of the burn wounds has left them stinging and raw. I suspect they're infected.

The buzz of the electronic lock makes me tense up and shudder, like it does every time. But this time when the Peacekeepers rip me from my bed, they don't chain me to the ceiling. Instead they handcuff and bag me and drag me from the familiar discomfort of my cell. My heart races but my feet drag, all my strength and coordination gone. At one point I trip over my own feet and stumble forward, and though I manage to catch myself the Peacekeeper behind me shoves me and I sprawl on my stomach, cracking my chin on the hard tiles. I have only the energy to groan, my shaking body refusing to cooperate. The guards grumble amongst themselves and two of them scoop me off the floor and carry me farther down the hall.

We don't go far. It's maybe a minute's walk once they pick me up, and the ceaseless hum of the lights tells me we haven't left the facility. This time when the bag comes off it's Lieutanent Yao looking me in the eye. As his cronies shackle me to yet another ceiling I look away from his unsettling stare and survey the room. There's no bed or toilet in this one, just the familiar white walls and drain in the floor. But when Yao steps back I get a look at the wall behind him and notice a rectangle that looks vaguely like an opaque window. A two-way mirror.

This isn't a cell, it's an interrogation room. What they could possibly think I have to offer in terms of information is beyond me, and I'm too tired to ask. I just stare vacantly at the window as Yao addresses the investigators or whoever else is standing on the other side. "This is what happens when captives don't tell us what we want to hear," he says, then nods at the four Agents who collected me from my room.

As they close in on me, eyes full of hate, it dawns on me. This isn't an investigation, it's an exhibition. I'm being used as an example after all, just not publicly. To deter other prisoners from resisting, or maybe to showcase the Peacekeepers' cruelty to Snow or other Capitol officials. I don't have much of a chance to consider this further between all the blows I take in the next several moments. Sometimes the guards will pace themselves and draw out my torture sessions for what feels like hours, but this isn't being done for me. This is a display of brutality, hard and fast.

When Yao calls them off, I'm hanging limp from my chapped wrists, coughing up blood. I barely even feel their grip on my arms as they unchain me, all my consciousness caught up in the swirling in my head. But as dazed as I am, I know I need to do something to counteract their efforts. To inspire other prisoners being forced to watch, or to spite whoever might be watching for fun. No matter who the Peacekeepers are trying to scare or please, those observers need to know I'm more than some pawn in whatever game they're playing.

My whole world is spinning but I determinedly shuffle toward the window. My suspicion that Snow might be on the other side only grows as I close in. The chill of his presence is overwhelming. Rage overcomes me instantly, a hot sensation rising in my head and turning all my thoughts to mush. My scalp literally feels like it's on fire but the one thought my damaged brain can focus on is my need to spite the person responsible for all this.

My teeth grit and cheeks flare as I smack the glass several times in succession. Pressing the backs of my hands to the windowpane, I point my middle fingers to the ceiling. "Fuck you, Snow."

The shock collar engages and I fall to the floor with a piercing scream that rings through the room for several seconds before my voice cracks and goes silent. Even then, the current continues. I can almost smell the flesh sizzling on my neck and wonder if this is the time they will fry me to death. The thought shoots fear through my writhing body, even though I know I should be wishing for it at this point.

A rush of natural painkillers overcomes my senses, bringing with it a kind of contentedness. This is a terrible way to die, but at least it will be over. Besides, this is better than being pummeled for show. At least now I'm being punished for something I did. And after all that's been taken from me, a death on my own terms is all I could hope for. A final fuck you to this cruel world.

Just as I feel my consciousness starting to slip away, the collar turns off and the door slams. My head jerks up and I'm hit by a sudden wave of nausea. Half crawling, half dragging myself across the tiles, I make it only a few feet before my stomach erupts. There's not much to come up, just a thin and foul mixture of water, blood, and bile. I watch from prone on the floor as it seeps down the slight incline toward the drain, cutting putrid trails through the grout.

My throat burns but I can't work up enough saliva to rinse it, so I just lie there. I lie there for hours, not moving even when I hear the door opening again. All I do is grumble, "What did I do now?"

There's no answer. These Peacekeepers don't speak in words, only pain. Pratt tosses my emaciated body into a corner and they come at me with boots, belts, fists, open palms. One particularly vicious kick to the head echoes through my skull and sets the world spinning. The beating goes on longer than last time - a few solid minutes, or at least it feels like it. When they're done with me I'm left groaning and bleeding in the corner, unable to entertain any further thoughts of rebellion. If their aim was to shut me up, they've succeeded.

Were there anything left to come up, I'd be vomiting again. Instead I wretch while clutching my spinning head, as though I can somehow make the sickening sensation stop or relieve the pressure in my skull. It's got to be nighttime by now but the lights haven't gone off and the hum of the fluorescent tubes rings in my ears like a scream. I scream right back, clawing at my ears in vain. There's no way to mute the torturous sound. Tears squeeze out of my eyes along with a mix of sobs and moans as I curl up like a wounded animal awaiting death's sweet kiss.

That's no exaggeration. For the first time in my life, I truly wish I was dead.

***o***

Agony paired with boredom is unbearable. No one has come to take another pass at me, but I almost wish they would just to break up this monotony of suffering. I reckon it's been at least a day since that vicious beating, maybe two, though it's all but impossible to tell with neither meals nor changes in lighting to mark the passage of time. I'm slumped back against a wall, hands covering my eyes and thumbs plugging my ears. It can only block out so much, though. When the telltale buzz sounds in the room again, I hear it loud and clear.

My body shivers but I don't resist as two Peacekeepers take my arms and lift me from the floor. My hands instinctively stay close to my head to deflect any further blows, but they don't try to hit me. Nor do they chain me to the ceiling. Instead Yao and Pratt whip out the bag and handcuffs again and their lackeys carry me from the room.

My head is still swimming but I'm aware enough to track our path as they march on and on. A lot of twisting hallways. Two elevators, close together. A long passageway. By the time we reach the third elevator, I already know I'm going back to the mansion. What I don't know is why. Snow can watch me suffer in the facility anytime he chooses.

Just being back in the mansion is a relief for my ears and brain. It has quiet lights and soft carpets that are easy on the ears and knees. Sitting back on my calves, I take in my surroundings as the guards pull the bag from my head. There's a couple of plush chairs in the middle of the room and a camera pointing their way. I'm here for an interview, though what Snow could possibly want me to say at this point is beyond me. Clearly anything I say will be interpreted as coerced, in my state. Maybe he intends to torture me on national television. In a comfy chair.

My head turns as I hear voices and footsteps approaching from a door to my right. It swings open and out pops Caesar Flickerman, a characteristic pep in his step. He does a double take and stops on a dime, mouth falling open at the sight of me. His eyes flick back to President Snow, who entered on his heels, but Snow doesn't notice because he's still looking beyond the door.

"Come along, dear," Snow urges some unseen figure, motioning into the room. A few seconds later, she skulks through the doorway and my world spins off kilter once again. Heart racing, I stare slack-jawed at this woman who is impossibly but unmistakably Katniss Everdeen. Am I dreaming? Did they pump me full of hallucinogens? Am I just that out of it, that my brain is imagining what it wants to see?

Following Caesar's shocked gaze, Katniss lays eyes on me, her face paling immediately. "What is she doing here?"

"I thought you may benefit from some extra motivation," Snow explains.

"I already told you I'd do it," protests Katniss.

"And that attitude will not do," says Snow. "We need to inspire more… sincerity, on your part." Eyes flicking between the two of them, the pieces come together in my muddled brain. It's not my interview. It's hers.

"Don't do it, Katniss!" I shout. "Whatever they want you to say, just don't. It's not worth it." My collar zaps me and I scream, body flopping sideways onto the carpet. Pratt stands over me, remote raised and head cocked as he watches me convulse.

"Stop!" Katniss rushes forward but my guards step up to meet her, blocking her path. Struggling wildly in an attempt to break through, she shrieks, "Stop it! You'll kill her!"

Pratt clearly doesn't want to stop, but killing me is not on the agenda right now so he grudgingly takes his finger off the trigger. I go still, a dazed cry of pain rising from my chest. Katniss shoves one of the guards aside and juts her chin out at Pratt. "Leave her alone, or I won't say a thing."

"Don't be foolish, Miss Everdeen. You are in no position to be making demands," Snow condescends, stepping up beside her. "This woman is a traitor, and I am very kindly giving you an opportunity to intervene and change her fate." He raises an eyebrow at Pratt before turning back to Katniss. "Did she ever tell you what happens to traitors?"

Before I know it, the guards are grabbing my feeble body and holding me upright. Pratt rips my mouth open and grabs onto my tongue like he did the day I met him, though this time he has the good sense to use tongs rather than his vulnerable hands. I nearly faint when I see what looks like pruning shears in his grip. He slowly, ominously puts them to my lips as he pulls my tongue harder and harder. Tears sting my eyes and I try not to whimper and moan, but I can't really help it.

"Your cooperation is all that's keeping your girlfriend from getting her just desserts, Miss Everdeen," says Snow. "Use your tongue, if you want her to keep hers."

Katniss's eyes grow wide, color draining from her cheeks. Seeing her resolve fading, I determine not to let my fear show. My strength will be hers. Straightening up, I make firm eye contact and attempt to repeat my orders not to do it. The words come out as a string of indistinct vowel sounds with my tongue unable to contribute, but she understands, I can tell from the ambivalence in her expression. Still, she blinks away and gives Snow a nod. "Let's get this over with," she says to Caesar.

Pratt lets my tongue go and I use it once more while I have the chance. "Stop! Katniss, don't!" He shocks me again and I yelp, but he can't stop me from glaring at Katniss and making my disapproval abundantly clear. He stuffs some kind of gag in my mouth as Katniss and Caesar take their seats, both looking rattled.

A film crew joins us in the room and makes some final preparations, adjusting lighting and makeup and doing sound checks. Within minutes the director is counting down, and as he points at Caesar the charismatic host forces a smile. "Katniss, thank you for joining me again."

"No, thank you for having me back so soon," she replies, though she can barely make eye contact.

"Of course, my dear," he assures her, giving her hand a gentle pat. "As I understand, you feel Panem didn't receive your message clearly the other night."

Katniss nods, her voice rusty as she elaborates, "I don't think the country believed me when I said that Johanna, Peeta, and I weren't part of any rebel plot."

"You have to admit, you willingly joining a large alliance seemed a little out of character. Suspicious, even."

"The thing is, Caesar, they're right," Katniss confesses. "I wasn't being entirely honest." Glancing up, I see Snow's brow creasing as he frowns. She's gone off script. "Johanna and I knew someone was going to try to break us out, but we didn't know anything else. It was clear Haymitch wanted us to ally with Finnick and the others, so we followed his implied orders in hopes of getting out. Can you blame us? We didn't want to die."

Caesar nods sympathetically. "That is understandable, you're right."

"We weren't trying to stir up rebellion," insists Katniss, "we just wanted to survive."

"So there were no wider motives for you in joining forces with the band of radicals?" presses Caesar.

"No!" Katniss drags a shaky hand through her loose bangs, face flushed in agitation. "Don't you understand? I never asked for this. I never asked to be in the Games. I never asked to be the Mockingjay. I just wanted to save my sister, and keep Peeta alive." She gestures off-camera with a huff. "Ask President Snow, he'll tell you. I never wanted a war. I never meant to start all this." Her voice cracks as she finishes that sentence and her eyes automatically drop. As she swallows they flick first to me, then the camera. "And now... people we love are in danger. Suffering. Dying. Why are we doing this?" Eyes brimming with tears, she barely rasps her final word as they spill over. "Why?"

Ever the gentleman, Caesar hands her a handkerchief from his pocket. She nods gratefully and dabs her eyes and cheeks. "Is that all you wanted to say?" he questions her gently.

Katniss sets her jaw, glaring at the floor with the hanky clenched in her fist. "Yeah."

Caesar turns to the camera. "So there you have it. Katniss Everdeen with the inside scoop on the Quarter Quell. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming."

"Cut!" calls the director, and Katniss is on her feet at once.

Snow is not even through saying "Well done, Miss Everdeen" before she's on her knees embracing me tightly. I'm too weak to hug back even if I wanted to, glazed eyes pointed unfocused at some point in the distance.

"Please let me stay with her," implores Katniss. "Please. I've earned that."

"You've earned nothing but a few more days of your life," growls Pratt.

"At least give her something to eat."

"Put them both in Miss Everdeen's cell," interjects Snow. I can just hear his smug smile as he says, "Cooperation has its rewards."

We're pried apart anyway so they can remove my gag and handcuff Katniss. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised by the restraints - Snow did say 'cell' - but she looks unharmed and about as healthy as one could expect given the circumstances. I kind of assumed she had accommodations similar to mine when I first got here. Given her cooperation and all.

We're bagged again for the journey back to the facility, but my ears are working just fine and I can't help noticing Katniss's labored breathing as she walks. Maybe I got a piece of her lung, too. Either way she doesn't try to talk, which suits me just fine. After the guards put me down they finally take off my collar, thank fucking god. Then they remove our cuffs and bags and I feel Katniss's eyes on me as they leave. Unable to bring myself to look at her, I sweep my eyes around the room instead. It's much less ominous than my cells were. Dark walls, dim lighting, no chains hanging from the ceiling. Lucky her.

Fearing I'll collapse to the floor any second, I'm about to make for the bed when I notice a rectangle of light in the wall across from it. It casts an eerie glow into the room and makes my gut tie itself in knots. Steeling myself, I shuffle to the window and confirm my suspicions. My blood still decorates the tiles in the adjacent room, spattered and smeared like a sloppy fingerpainting.

"It was you on the other side," I say to the window as Katniss silently joins me. She nods. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

"I tried. You couldn't hear me." She swallows, jaw twitching. "I could hear you, though."

Finally I look her in the eye, mouth slipping open in bewilderment. "How are you even alive?"

"Open-heart surgery."

My brow furrows. "Your heart stopped. I saw it."

"So I hear. One of the surgeons had to pump it for me or I would've ended up brain dead," she says. "They said if they'd found us even thirty seconds later they couldn't have brought me back. Still, I didn't really wake up until, like… a week ago, I guess." Her mouth quirks ironically. "They said I was lucky."

"Yes, so lucky." Eyes skimming over the vicinity of the knife wound, I twitch my mouth guiltily. "I'm sorry. I tried."

"No, I'm sorry." Katniss reaches out, brushing gentle fingers over the tender skin surrounding the burns on my neck. I flinch away and she draws her hand back a little, eyeing me hesitantly. Swallowing hard, she looks back into the other room. "This is all my fault."

Eyelids fluttering, I squint up at her. "What?"

Katniss sighs heavily and pulls my arm around her shoulder before I have the chance to object. Taking my weight, she helps me limp to the bed. "When I refused to go on TV the first time, that's when they brought you in," she explains as she eases us down onto the edge. "I'm sorry, I didn't know they were going to hurt you. I thought it would be me."

My eyebrows knit as I try to process this. "Then why did they come for me again later? If you did it?"

"Because I wasn't good enough," she mutters glumly. "You know me, I can't act worth shit."

Snorting inwardly, I give her a little side eye. "You had me worried, back in the first arena."

"I mean I can't fake emotion. I barely know how to express it even when I do feel it." Her eyes rake over me and then flick away. "That's why they brought you out this time, no doubt."

"I'm surprised you refused before," I remark with a deliberate edge. "Kinda seemed like you meant it."

"The most convincing lies are rooted in truth," mumbles Katniss.

"So you don't want the rebels to back down?"

She sighs. "Something needs to change. I just wish we could do that without all this bloodshed." Grazing a thumb over my shoulder, she adds, "Besides, I would've said just about anything to protect you."

Shaking my head, I brush her hand away. "Katniss, this is bigger than either of us. We have a chance to take down a corrupt, oppressive government."

"And that's not worth it to me if you get hurt in the process."

"So you only care about what happens to the people you love?" I demand. "That's fucking selfish. Snow threatened to execute my parents and I told him to knock himself out."

Katniss squints. "And you're proud of that?" When I don't deny it, she stares at me in disbelief. "Who are you?"

"A soldier. Someone who understands war." Straightening up, I recite, "There is no victory without sacrifice."

"And, what? Would you sacrifice me?" presses Katniss. When I hesitate to answer, she scoffs. "You are so full of shit, Johanna. You said in the arena that you'd protect me over anything else. Either you're a liar or a hypocrite."

"At least I'm not a coward," I shoot back.

She chuckles darkly. "You sound like Gale. When I told him about the uprising in Eight he wanted to fight back even if it got us all killed."

"It would have." At her look of confusion, I explain, "It's different now. There's rebellion brewing in at least half the districts. And our bravery can inspire them."

"Inspire them to be slaughtered in my name, for a cause I don't believe in?"

"Don't give me that. You do believe in it."

"It's not worth the risk," she insists. "I am not willing to lose everyone I love and let the whole country kill each other just to take down a corrupt government."

"It's not up to you!" I all but shout. I'm starting to feel dizzy, but I don't stop. "People are going to fight if they want to. You can't go around deciding for other people whether or not they're allowed to die for what they believe in!"

Katniss tips her head, eyeing me skeptically. "Did you really expect me to stand there and watch them cut out your tongue when I had the power to stop it?"

"I said no, Katniss!" Heat and pressure flare up in my head, prickling my scalp. Squeezing my eyes shut, I dig my fingertips into my forehead and temples. "I was willing to make that sacrifice!"

It's a few seconds before Katniss responds. "Hanna, calm down," she says in a measured tone, laying a gentle hand on my knee. "You're just gonna make it worse."

Jerking my leg away, I seethe, "Don't tell me to calm down!"

"Then lie down." Pressing firmly on my shoulders, she forces me to the mattress and holds me there. "Breathe." The overwhelming urge to punch her leaves me just as quickly as it comes. I'm so tired. "I understand why you're angry," she says once my breathing halfway evens out. "But I hope you can understand why I couldn't make that choice."

"So you chose for me," I sigh. "You took my choice away."

"You didn't give your parents a choice," she points out.

I shake my head, eyes on the ceiling. "Snow won't go through with it, it would cause too big a backlash. He was just trying to scare me into talking."

"It's not like you'd care even if he did," mumbles Katniss.

"That's not true," I argue lamely. Feeling her cynical gaze, I confess, "I wouldn't be completely devastated, but do you blame me?"

"Your parents are kinda shitty," she admits. "But at least you had the chance to save yours."

My eyes fall to Katniss, take in the way she's slumped forward with her elbows on her knees, staring at her hands. Despite the depths of anger and betrayal I feel, I manage a bit of tenderness in my tone when I tell her, "This has nothing to do with your father."

Katniss shakes her head with a heavy sigh, eyes still on her twiddling thumbs. "I can't… I can't lose another person. Especially not you." She swallows. "God, even if I could never hear your voice again. It would destroy me."

Even in my state, I can't resist a joke. "I guess my tongue is useful sometimes, huh?"

She snorts half-heartedly at the floor. "Yeah."

A pang of sympathy throbs in my chest. Before I can think about what I'm doing, I'm tugging her shirtsleeve. "Hey, come here."

Katniss gives in easily, burrowing into my side with no further prompting. I slip my arms around her back, cradling her against me as she tightly grips my shirt. She must feel the unabating tension in my muscles, though, because her mouth twitches against my chest. "You're still mad."

"I can hug you and be mad at you at the same time," I assure her.

Nuzzling my collarbone, she slings a leg over mine and settles in. It's several moments before she murmurs, "I care more about you than what happens to the rest of the country. I don't care if that makes me selfish." That pulls an empty sigh from my lungs but I don't bother replying. We're not going to agree.

Footsteps approach in the hall and Katniss snaps into an upright position, shielding me with her body. But no one enters the room. There's a squeak and a clunk, then a man's voice. "For the traitor. Compliments of President Snow." Another squeak and a slam that makes me wince.

Katniss glances down at me before getting up and padding to the door. She returns holding a cup with a screw cap and straw. My stomach growls, but when she holds it out to me I cock a saucy eyebrow. "Oh, he means me?"

"Don't," she snaps. Pulling me up into a sitting position, she grabs my hand and forcibly passes it off to me. "Drink up."

I'm in no position to refuse. My body is eating itself alive. Shakily putting my lips to the straw, I suck in my first sustenance in weeks. It tastes kind of like a subpar chocolate milkshake, but I'm not going to complain. I suck until the cup runs dry and the straw starts making awful noises that threaten to make my headache flare up again. It didn't take me long to get through the shake. Taking a suspect look at the small cup, I raise an eyebrow. "That's all?"

"When you haven't eaten in a while, it's best not to eat too much or start with solid food. It could make you throw up," Katniss informs me.

"I guess you'd know," I mutter.

"The longest I ever went was like three days," she shrugs. "And the first thing I ate was bread I fished out of the mud, so I'm not really one to talk."

"Peeta," I say to the mattress.

"Yeah."

My mouth twitches. "I wonder how he's doing."

Katniss scoffs under her breath and mutters, "Better than us, that's a sure bet."

"He's probably losing his shit, with you in here," I point out. "He still loves you. As a friend, if nothing else."

"I know," she mumbles, averting her eyes to the floor. Tapping her foot, she muses, "He wanted me to survive, all right, but I doubt this is what he had in mind." Her eyes track over with a droll smile, allowing me an ironic chuckle.

We aren't bothered for what could be hours or days. I'm not in the best state to judge time, fading in and out of consciousness, but if we're on a regular meal schedule I guess it's at least a day and a half. As much as I hate to admit it, Katniss's decision has made my existence infinitely more tolerable. Now I have food. A dark and quiet room. No one coming in to wail on me at all hours of the day and night. But I resent my improved treatment nonetheless, because I know it's contingent upon her continued cooperation.

What she has done is unforgivable, to be quite frank. I let her tend to my wounds with supplies the guards leave us because I'd rather not die of infection, but I refuse to humor any more attempts to explain herself. I'm reserved with affection and she doesn't push it, despite the obvious ache in her sad eyes and hunched posture. But our bodies always find each other in sleep, seeking any kind of comfort in this horrific place.

I'm reliving the pain and terror of the pruning shears incident, squirming around in my sleep when the sound of running footsteps jerks me into consciousness. There, I find only an empty bed and complete darkness. "Katniss?" My heart is in my throat as I sit up, frantically patting the mattress in search of her. "Katniss?"

"Hey," she answers calmly from the doorway. "It's okay, I'm over here."

I immediately regret my sigh of relief and attempt to play it off as exasperation. "What the hell are you doing, sneaking around in the dark?" I demand. "You almost gave me a fucking heart attack."

Her hunter's tread is barely audible as she approaches. "I was checking if the lock failed when the power went out." The bed dips as she eases herself down beside me. "It just cut out a minute ago."

"No such luck?" Feeling her dejected headshake beside me, I give her knee a little consolation squeeze. "I'm not in much shape to make a run for it anyway." Her hand finds mine and I thread our fingers together, clinging to her.

We stay that way in silence for a long time. It's at least half an hour before we hear heavy bootsteps approaching in the hall. My muscles tense and shudder involuntarily and Katniss squeezes my hand tighter. "I won't let them hurt you," she whispers. "I promise." That only makes me shiver more. For as much as she surely means it, it's a promise she can't keep.

The door buzzes and two tall figures burst into the cell wielding guns. Both of us automatically jump to our feet, ready to fight despite barely being able to see a thing. I can just make out their silhouettes in the faint red glow of their headlamps and laser sights, and as I squint I realize they're wearing gas masks. That explains why I'm feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

"Clear!" the intruder closest to me shouts, his voice somewhat muffled by the mask. "Targets one and two are in hand." As my body starts to go limp, he grabs my shirt and scoops me up into his arms. My eyelids are heavy but I keep them open long enough to see his counterpart steadying my woozy girlfriend as we turn for the door. Fading fast, I faintly register a garbled but familiar voice behind me as I slip away.

"Hey, Catnip."

A/N: Thanks again to the beta, D7P.