A/N: Sorry for the delay, it's been a busy few months at chez JMI. Glad I could at least get this posted before Christmas. Happy holidays, everyone!

Slumped back against a pile of supply crates, I let the cold hangar floor sap the heat from my ass while I fiddle with a length of rope. Tying knots, untying them, tying some more. Finnick gave it to me a couple days ago when he and Annie were over for a visit at the compartment I share with Scar. He showed me a few sailing knots and claimed it was a great way to get my mind off things. I was skeptical at first, but it's proven more useful than any of my therapy sessions with Dr. Boyd. Not that that's saying much.

My eyes flick up to the crowd of people milling about the loading dock, waiting for the okay to board the hovercrafts bound for District 12. A slew of medics, a dozen soldiers, the evacuated families, a film crew. Yesterday's mission to liberate Twelve was a success, and our first wave of propos was so effective in boosting morale that Coin and the other higher ups have deployed a mission to document the recovery process. They're hoping seeing life outside of Capitol control will motivate even more district citizens to join the rebels. Not all the districts who have driven the Peacekeepers out are doing so well, seeing as Thirteen only has so many resources to go around, but of course they're not advertising that fact. Propaganda is all about selective information.

As much as I try to block it out, the chatter of the crowd continues to pound against my eardrums and echo in my head. The conversations swirl together and lose meaning.

"Secure those guns, will you?"

"We need more O neg blood packs!"

"Posy, get your finger out of your nose."

Wincing against the barrage of noise, I cinch the rope tighter, letting it chafe my fingers and clear my mind. It's my birthday today, but I'm feeling anything but festive. Not only do I have my health problems to contend with, now I have to deal with Katniss too. As her love interest and one of the 'faces of the revolution,' I've been handpicked to accompany her on the mission, along with Peeta. Obviously, I'm thrilled by the prospect. I wish I had Scar with me as a buffer, but she has no connection to Twelve, no reason to come. Besides, she's elected to stay off camera to protect her family still stuck in District Two. At least someone's learning from my mistakes.

The cacophony of voices quiets slightly and I glance up, immediately greeted by the sight of Katniss entering the loading dock in some dumb outfit that's supposed to resemble a mockingjay. Peeta has a similar suit of armor he's been wearing in the propos, but it's less ostentatious. And less tactless, considering he never sided with the Capitol. Katniss even has a special bow with some high tech arrows, according to Finnick. Glaring at the rope, I yank it into one of the fancy knots he taught me. As much as I defended Katniss to Coin in our first meeting, I appreciated that she at least was put off by Katniss's flip flopping loyalties. No one else seems to care much. Her attempts at propos have been extremely lacklustre, though, and none have made it onto the airwaves. I suspect that's another reason they're doing this, to try to get something authentic out of her.

Katniss quickly finds her mother and sister, who are toting backpacks and a very grumpy Buttercup. Rather predictably, she immediately starts some kind of argument. After a moment she sighs in frustration and looks away, and her face changes slightly as she spots me. My eyes flick back down to the rope, but I can sense her approaching. Tugging my knot tighter, I pointedly ignore her. We've only spoken a few times since that first conversation in Thirteen, and it's never gone well. I can't imagine this will turn out any better, with both of us already in bad moods.

Katniss, true to form, doesn't take the hint. Lowering herself to the floor, she settles a couple feet away with crossed legs and a weak smile. "Hey, Johanna. Happy birthday."

"You remembered," I remark dryly.

She raises an eyebrow. "I'd be a pretty shitty girlfriend if I didn't."

I grunt, eyes raking sourly over her ensemble. "Coin actually let you have weapons? Scar barely got her tracker off a week ago."

"It's part of the outfit," she says in her defense, but she can't look me in the eye.

"Right," I draw out sardonically. "The rebel leader, the Mockingjay in the flesh."

Katniss frowns at her hands fidgeting in her lap. After a moment she catches my eye, an almost desperate expression on her face. "Are we broken up, or just fighting?"

Even with all the anger I hold towards her, the sight of Katniss in distress makes a knot form in the pit of my stomach. I don't let it show. "Depends. Are you done being a traitor?"

She scowls, eyes falling once again. "I'm not a traitor."

I scoff. "Are you shitting me? You betrayed every person in the districts."

"No, I disappointed the rebels, who I was never allied with in the first place," she stresses. "The same people who left us in the arena to die."

"The same people who were counting on you."

"No, they clearly weren't," she snaps. "They chose Peeta, and I don't blame them. But when they did that, they forced me to say what I did in order to protect you. They didn't have our backs, why should I have sacrificed you for them?"

"Because it was the right thing to do," I tell her. Katniss just stares at me like an idiot. Dragging fingers through my hair, I push out a frustrated sigh. "It's like arguing with a brick wall. You care about all the wrong things."

"Me?" balks Katniss. "What kind of monster lets her family die to make a statement?"

"Someone with a shitty family."

"Okay, well there you go. You're not shitty. Most of the time." She tips her head. "I cared about you enough to protect you, shouldn't that say something?"

My eyes roll hard. "Katniss, do you even understand what you did? You could have cost the rebels the war."

She snorts humorlessly. "You sound like Gale."

"Gale's a tool, but he's not always wrong," I say. "You gotta be able to look at the bigger picture."

Her shoulders slump. "What good is winning the war if I lose everyone I love along the way?"

Shaking my head, I give her an ironic chuckle. "That's the thing, Katniss. It's not about you." Getting to my feet, I toe her quiver on the way by. "If you were really a soldier, you'd understand that."

Mrs. Everdeen gives me a thoroughly unimpressed look that I ignore as I pass her on my way to meet the film crew. I've been meaning to introduce myself, but until Katniss invaded my space I had no motivation to get off my ass. The whole crew is from the Capitol, I can tell by their haircuts and the hints of the telltale accent in their voices. It's much more subdued than Effie or Caesar, which I've parsed out is typical of the poorer people from the city. Many of the Peacekeepers in the Training Center had a similar vocal inflection.

The group is sharing a laugh when I sneak up behind the lone female and give her shoulder a tap. When she turns, I offer a smile and a handshake. "Hi, I'm Johanna."

The woman squints briefly before clasping my hand in a firm shake. "Cressida."

How pretty she is catches me off guard. Most of the Capitol folks I know have dyed their hair or skin weird colors and wear ridiculous amounts of makeup, and it's hard to tell what they actually look like. Cressida has a few tattoos but they don't obscure her face, and I can see why. It takes me a couple seconds to craft something remotely witty to say. "So, are you the one calling the shots?" She's holding a clipboard, and in my experience clipboards denote head bitches in charge.

"That's right, I'm the director." Cressida gestures at the young and heavily pierced guy beside her. "This is my assistant, Messalla."

He gives me a shy nod. "Hey."

I turn my attention to the hulking camera men as Cressida introduces them as Castor and Pollux. They're clearly twins, but I can tell them apart because one has sort of a weird smile. The other one, Castor, gives me a friendly hello, while his brother follows up with a genial nod. It's difficult not to stare, there's something about him that seems a little off. After a few seconds it hits me, and I feel my face going pale as the blood rushes from my head. Pollux's eyes flit away and he swallows.

Quickly wiping my face of emotion, I turn back to Cressida. "Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. Nice to meet you guys." Then I leave before anyone can notice my fidgety hands and shallow breaths. I catch Katniss looking on sourly as I flee the scene, though her face changes as she picks up on my distress. I duck my head and speed up as I pass, and this time she does take the hint. She doesn't follow as I round the stack of crates to recover my wits in private. Squeezing a fist in my hair, I struggle to get my breathing under control.

Dr. Boyd once gave me some advice for when I get panicked or confused about where I am: List off things I know to be true, starting with the most simple and moving toward the more complicated. Taking any advice from him wounds my pride, but I have more important things to worry about right now. Like not having a panic attack in public right before heading into a warzone. Closing my eyes, I begin reciting the calming mantra in my head. My name is Johanna Mason. I'm nineteen years old. No, twenty. It's twenty now. My home is District 2. I was captured and tortured after the Quarter Quell. I almost had my tongue cut out. But I didn't. I roll my tongue around in my mouth several times, reminding myself of that fact.

Breaths deeper but still shaky, I lean back against the crates. One of our film crew is an Avox. I'm going to have to work with the guy, I can't avoid him. I'm just going to have to deal with it. Somehow. Guilt creeps up in my conscience because, really, he's the one I should feel bad for. And I do feel bad for him, but I can't look at him without remembering Pratt and those pruning shears. And Katniss stopping him. Scowling down at the floor, I scuff the concrete with my toe. I don't want to be grateful that she stopped him. It's extremely hypocritical.

The order to board sounds over the intercom, and I quickly pop a morphling tablet from my pill bottle. It should help keep me calm. Downing it with a swig of water, I give my head a shake before stepping back into the open. Thankfully no one is paying any attention to me, too preoccupied with loading the four hovercrafts with medical supplies, camera equipment, weapons and ammunition. The families from Twelve carry the few personal items they managed to grab on their way out of the district. Coin insisted us faces of the revolution return to Thirteen after the mission so we're better protected, but the rest of the evacuees have their reasons to move back permanently. Peeta's parents and brothers have a business to run. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen are part of the medical team assigned to the district. The Hawthornes simply want to go home, even if things are a bit chaotic right now. Only the Undersees have chosen to remain in Thirteen. If I understand correctly, the former mayor is afraid of being attacked because he was on the Capitol's payroll. He's treated with a measure of suspicion in Thirteen, but at least there are no angry mobs calling for his head.

It's a similar brand of organized chaos when we touch down in the Square after the short ride to Twelve. Soldiers mill about, unloading crate after crate of weapons. Peeta heads to the bakery with his family, calling over his shoulder to the film crew to grab him when they need him. Meanwhile, Prim and Mrs. Everdeen set to work with the other medics erecting a medical tent in front of the Justice Building. Pretty quickly Cressida pulls Prim aside to narrate what they're doing for the camera, display the goodwill of the rebels and District 13. Cressida smudges a little dirt on Prim's forehead before they start filming, which makes me chuckle and Katniss frown. We don't interact, despite being bored and in close proximity. Our stony silence and rigid postures say enough.

Pollux takes a few sweeping shots of the Square and the tent while his brother records the interview. After a few minutes he stops filming and plays back the footage for Messalla, who seems pleased. As the two split up, I take a deep breath and stride over to Pollux. He startles a little when he looks up and sees me coming, and I raise my hands in a gesture of peace. "Hey, man, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," I say sheepishly. "It almost happened to me and I had… a moment, I guess."

Sympathy fills Pollux's crystal blue eyes. He pats my shoulder and touches his thumb and forefinger together in the 'ok' symbol. "Thanks," I mutter. He squints in thought, then holds one hand in a circle and uses a finger from the other hand to mimic the ticking of a clock. I understand immediately. "Yeah, it was after the Quell." Pollux nods. A quiet moment passes and he gives my shoulder a light punch and taps under my chin, urging me to lift it. I chuckle. "Okay, I'll try." Returning my smile, Pollux gestures to the camera bags at his feet and picks one up. "Yeah, sure." I'm not yet cleared to lift anything over ten pounds because it will sometimes trigger my headaches, but I'm itching to feel useful. Turns out it's not too heavy anyway, just bulky. The camera packs they wear on their backs are huge.

We're just stashing the bags in the hovercraft when a ruckus pulls my attention back into the Square. A round of cheering that sounds ominously like a battlecry. Jogging to the edge of the loading ramp, I shield my eyes and squint out at the group of miners marching in toting pickaxes and machine guns. My lips fall into a frown when I see who's leading the charge.

Maybe Gale shouldn't make me uncomfortable. He's one person whose loyalties I don't have to question, a rebel through and through. We spent several days working together closely to plan the invasion, and the two of us have largely been credited with its success. Thirteen supplied the manpower and weapons, but we supplied the intel and devised the strategy. Our goal was to take District 12 with no damage to the infrastructure, so we planned a sneak attack in the wee hours of the morning. We agreed on an approach that involved knockout darts and devices to scramble radio signals and crack electronic locks. We agreed the armory was important, but the barracks was the most crucial target. The conflict came when discussing what to do after we took it. When I said all their weapons would be in lockup and the sleeping Peacekeepers would have no choice but to surrender, Gale said we shouldn't even give them the chance.

"Let them die begging on their knees," he spouted when I looked at him like the horrible person he is sometimes. "They've been mowing down peaceful protesters in other districts, they don't deserve any better."

"Other districts," I stressed.

"The ones that replaced you guys aren't any better," he said. "They made our lives hell."

"They had Thread as a Commander, what did you expect?" Gale squinted suspiciously at that flippant response, and I quickly assumed a defensive posture. "Look, I'll kill them in battle. They're fighting for the wrong side. But I can't get behind murdering every soldier who surrenders. We don't know why they enlisted, or whether they agree with Snow's agenda."

"It doesn't matter. Anyone who still works for him has it coming."

Tipping my head, I asked him, "Can you really blame people for hesitating to leave after what he did to my parents? That stunt was staged specifically to scare them."

"I don't care!" snapped Gale, his voice booming loud and making me wince. Thankfully he regained a bit of composure and brought the volume down as he leaned across the conference table, closing the gap between us. "How can you not hate Peacekeepers after what they did to Katniss? After what they did to you?"

"I do hate them, as a group," I stated. "But not all of them are bad. I'm proof enough of that."

He snorted. "Debatable."

My mouth dropped open with a scoff. "Wow, tell me how you really feel."

"That's enough, Soldiers," Coin silenced us with a hand wave. I could tell she was tired of dealing with Gale's angry rants, but she made an effort to appear empathetic as she spelled out, "Gale, we can't kill prisoners of war who've surrendered. It's unethical, and we can't do that if we want anyone to see us as better than the Capitol."

Gale's eyes narrowed. "We are better than the Capitol. They make children fight to the death every year. How can you even say that?"

"I understand your anger," she replied calmly. "But if we want the country to move forward peacefully after we win this war, we can't set this kind of precedent."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. I thought he was going to punch her right then and there. "With all due respect, President Coin, you haven't lived under Capitol rule," he said, voice straining with barely suppressed anger. "That's not your choice to make."

"If you want our help, you will play by our rules," she said. "Furthermore, you are a member of this district's military and I am your Commander in Chief. I suggest you stand down now, Soldier Hawthorne."

I decided right then that I officially like Coin. I like any assertive woman who can shut down an angry guy, to be fair, but her ability to see the big picture was what I really appreciated. Just like a certain someone I know, Gale has a hard time conceptualizing the larger consequences of his actions. There was only one person Coin agreed should die even if he did surrender: Romulus Thread. She justified it by saying even if it was technically a war crime, he would surely be sentenced to death at a formal tribunal anyway. Later she confided in me that she hoped letting the district's citizens hang Thread from his own gallows would satisfy the bloodlust of Gale and others like him.

It looks like maybe she was wrong.

As I walk down the ramp, I notice something else. Gale isn't wearing his uniform from Thirteen, unlike the other soldiers who remained in the district after the raid. Many of the troops from Thirteen have returned already, but Gale elected to stay in Twelve and help set up their defenses. If his clothes are any indication, he's here to stay.

Katniss is already halfway across the Square, and she gets to him a few feet ahead of me. I can barely hear her greet him over the din of the crowd. "Gale."

"Katniss," he reciprocates stiffly as I step up beside her.

"What's going on?" she asks, scanning the scene uneasily.

"We've come to reclaim the Square," he declares, prompting a few nearby miners to hoot gleefully.

Her forehead scrunches up. "Huh?"

Gale rolls his eyes and gestures at the instruments of death and torture behind her. "We're removing Thread's additions."

"Oh, thank god," I say. Gale gives me a look and I elaborate, "You guys look like a lynch mob. I was worried the gallows was about to see some more action."

Gale looks off with a dismissive little scoff. "Don't worry, Agent, your friends are safe in the armory."

My brain and body buzz with a burst of anger and I shove him hard. "Don't call me that, you piece of shit."

Regaining his balance, Gale steps up with a reddened face and cocked fist. I'm waiting for him to take a swing so I can dodge it and tackle him, but before he can throw a punch Katniss grabs his arm. "Okay, break it up!" she orders us. Turning to a fuming Gale, she adds, "She can't take another hit to the head." He jerks his arm from her grip and turns away with a scowl.

As he retreats into the crowd, I grab Katniss's shoulder and spin her to face me. "I don't need your fucking help. You know I'm amazing at hand-to-hand."

"When you're in peak condition," she counters. "Besides, one punch to the face and you'd be right back where you started. You're welcome."

Turning my glare from her face to Gale's back, I shake my clenched fists loose. "Why is he such an asshole?"

"Cut Gale some slack. His family almost starved after the fence got fixed, and he couldn't do anything about it." Glancing over, I find Katniss nibbling the inside of her cheek. "Rory got thrown in the stocks once for talking back to a Peacekeeper. He's lucky that's all he got, but still…" Her eyes meet mine and I swallow. If it were Prim, I can only imagine how she would've reacted.

"I didn't know that," I mutter.

Katniss shrugs. "You never asked."

Frowning down at the cobblestones, I say, "It still doesn't mean we have the right to murder every Peacekeeper in our custody."

Her eyes go wide. "Did he say that?" My ensuing nod makes her cringe. "Yikes."

My mouth twitches and I shove my hands in my pockets with a small shrug. "He's angry."

"Yeah," she says flatly. "We're all angry."

The reclamation of the Square becomes the new focus of our film crew for the next little while. The medical tent is great and all, but anger sells tickets, Cressida tells me. That's a weird way to phrase it, but I get the idea. Watching a raucous crowd cheer as they tear down the symbols of oppression is rather moving. It would be easier to use the right tools to dismantle them, but the crowd is much happier to hack them to bits with pickaxes and light the flammable bits on fire. It may be impractical, but it will make great propo material. Plutarch will love this shit.

As the miners cart away the shredded pieces of metal and the crowd thins out, Katniss wanders away too. I watch out of the corner of my eye as she rests her hand on a post supporting an awning outside one of the shops, thumb brushing the wood absent-mindedly as she looks up at it. It takes me a moment to make the connection, then I get this sinking light-headed feeling. Before I know it, I'm behind her. "Should we burn it?"

Her head jerks up and she meets my gaze with surprise. She considers this a moment, then shakes her head. "It belongs to a shopkeeper, not the Capitol."

"Everything belongs to the Capitol," I say.

"Not anymore."

Without thinking, I lift a hand and give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. Seeing her eyes flick to my hand, I look away before she can catch my eye again. My gaze lands on Cressida, who's been interviewing Gale by the smoldering remains of the gallows. She's watching us curiously, and Gale leans in and whispers something in her ear. Jaw clenching, she makes some hand signals to the twins and cautiously follows us across the cobblestones.

As they close in, she asks, "Katniss? Are you comfortable talking about what happened to you here?" Katniss nods but hesitates. After a moment she starts to open her mouth, but no words come out.

"That was the day Commander Thread took over," says Gale. The cameras and attention swing his way and Katniss visibly relaxes. "The Peacekeepers were shaking down the district all day. Raiding houses, searching people in the streets. When they caught Katniss with that turkey, they dragged her into the Square here, put her on trial in front of hundreds of people. She said she killed the bird within the district but Thread still…" Gale swallows. "He wanted to make an example of her. And who better, right? If this is what we do to your pretty little victor, imagine what we'll do to you." Briefly catching my eye, he continues, "Then Johanna showed up. She tried to talk him out of it, but she couldn't. And Thread didn't stop… he didn't stop when Katniss started screaming, or when she passed out, I didn't know if he was going to stop at all. If Haymitch hadn't shown up when he did, she might've died that night."

Cressida is stony-faced, but I can see anger lurking behind her eyes. "How many times did he whip her?"

Gale shakes his head with a shrug. I made a point of not counting, so I can't answer either. Cressida's opening her mouth to ask him something else when Katniss quietly says, "Twenty-three." Her eyes are on her hand as she drags her thumbnail back and forth through the wood grain. "Before I passed out, anyway."

"Twenty-five, then," I chime in robotically. I relive those moments of panic in my sleep all the time, and can clearly recall both whistles and cracks.

Cressida turns to me. "What was it like, Johanna? Working for someone like that?"

"It was a nightmare. That whole day…" Swallowing hard, I attempt to put it into words. "It was awful. I'd made a home here, you know? I knew these people and they knew me, and to be forced into behaving that way was just…" Eyes falling, I shake my head. "After that day, I couldn't pretend anymore that what I was doing was okay. That the people I was working for had any good motives."

"But you stayed for seven more months," she says. Not accusingly, but in a way that prompts me to explain myself. A very Caesar technique.

"Leaving isn't easy." My eyes flit to Pollux. "You know what they do to traitors." Toeing the cobblestones, I add, "Besides, I was so depressed I wasn't much thinking about what I was doing as a job. Things weren't bad in Seven at that point, I only saw a few more floggings before I volunteered. And I planned to get out by volunteering as soon as they drew the card." A resigned sigh passes my lips. "I couldn't let Katniss die without doing something to protect her, or at least be there for her. Not after that."

Cressida seems wise to our drained emotional states and proposes a short break. Releasing Gale to go be with his family, she suggests Katniss and me and the crew should walk to the barracks and shoot a bit there. As we begin our slow walk that way, Katniss brushes by me and mumbles, "And you wanted me to not protect you."

***o***

It's strange being back in room M7. This was technically my home for over a year, and it's where much of my early romance with Katniss took place. But I feel so far removed from my life as a Peacekeeper and from those easy and happy days with her that the place feels completely foreign. Katniss sank into the desk chair on our arrival but Cressida made her sit beside me for this latest interview. It's weird having this conversation here, on the bed where I took Katniss's virginity. Apparently Cressida has no concept of privacy, just like everyone else from the Capitol.

"And you'd come in this way?" she asks Katniss, gesturing at the window.

"Yeah. Every time after the first."

Cressida raises an intrigued eyebrow. "How did you come in the first time?"

"Through the back door." Katniss glances my way with a mischievous smile, one I can't help returning. Even counting all the sex, that's one of my fonder memories of the barracks. "That was a long time ago," she continues with a lame shrug. "We were in the woods and there was this crazy hailstorm, so Johanna brought me inside. Thankfully we didn't get caught, then or any other time. We were probably lucky."

"What would have happened if you did get caught?"

Katniss exhales sharply. "If I was lucky, what happened after they caught me with a turkey. If I wasn't, I'd be dead."

Cressida looks downright impressed. "And you risked all that."

"I just needed to spend time with the woman I loved. Love." Our eyes find each other with those words. There's an intensity in her gaze that I recognize, a quiet and melancholy kind of determination. Turning back to the camera with a swallow, she explains, "That's why I said what I did in the Capitol. It's true, I wasn't sure if the war was worth all the suffering it would cause. But the only reason I said what I did was to protect Johanna. I'm sorry, and I hope the people out there can try to understand why I did it. And maybe even forgive me." I feel her eyes on me during that last sentence, but I can't bring myself to look at her.

Cressida calls cut and says that's enough for now. She still has to shoot some footage with Peeta at the bakery, then she'll meet all of us in the Village. As the crew files down the hall toward the main entrance, Katniss lingers in the doorway. Nodding to the aforementioned back door, she asks, "You coming?"

"I'll catch up," I say. I barely got a passing look at the place on the way to my old quarters, and I feel the need to explore a little. There are a few district citizens around clearing possessions out of rooms so they can house their own people here, but they know better than to bother me. My first stop is Darius's old room, where I sit on his desk chair and slowly turn back and forth on repeat, waiting to feel something. Eventually I give up and wander down to the common area. I tour the Commune, pop into the briefing room and gear lockup. Finally I fulfill a lasting impulse of mine and climb the ladder to the skylight in Purnia's old quarters. Standing on the roof is not as satisfying as I'd thought it would be. Climbing back down, the only emotion I can muster is concern that she and Darius are safe.

I'm completely exhausted by the time I make it to the Village. The oppressive late summer heat is sapping my energy, but I think the emotional gauntlet Cressida put us through is mostly to blame. And it's not over yet. Trudging from the back door to the nearest chair, I plop down and bury my face in my hands. When the buzzing in my ears has eased enough for me to focus on anything else, I hear Katniss moving around upstairs.

Eyes falling from the squeaking ceiling, my heart drops as I take in the entire kitchen and remember the last time I was in this room. In this house. In this chair. The phantom stench of blood fills my nostrils, images of gore flashing before my eyes. I can almost feel my fingers going numb as Katniss squeezed the life out of them in her haze of agony and terror. My throat is swelling up when I hear her footsteps on the stairs. My first instinct is to straighten up and swallow the lump, blink the burning sensation from my eyes. But maybe I'm tired of pretending to be okay, or tired of holding her at a distance, or just plain tired, because I don't. I stay slumped with my cheek resting in my palm and let her see me this way when she rounds the corner.

Katniss slows to a stop as she takes me in, her otherwise blank face forming an ironic smile. "No place like home, huh?" Fiddling with the strap of her game bag slung over her shoulder, she closes the gap and places it on the table in front of me. "I have something for you." Briefly rummaging through its contents, she digs out my throwing axes. I can't help the way my face lights up at the sight. Her smile reflects mine as I take them from her. "I have the knives too," she says, patting the bag. "The battle axe is still in the woods, though. Couldn't risk getting caught bringing it in."

"That was wise," I say. "Weapons are much worse than a turkey." Diverting all my attention to the axes, I focus on feeling the smooth curve of the handles in my palms, twirling them between my fingers, testing the familiar weight as though not a day has passed. It's soothing, good for the soul. But the fact is, many days have passed. I'm not the same and neither is the district. Certainly not Katniss.

"I'm going to ask Gale to grab my dad's bows and arrows when he has a chance," she says. "Might as well keep them in the district now. I'll get him to grab your axe too."

Eyes still on the twirling hatchets, I snort hard. "Good luck with that. He hates me."

"He doesn't hate me."

"He's mad at you, though." Nabbing both axes in one hand, I meet her gaze again. "He feels the same way as I do, doesn't he? About your interview?"

Katniss's jaw twitches. "Gale's very opinionated."

"No shit," I mutter, rubbing my eyes with a sigh. Her eyebrows lift a little and I blink down to the table. "Today was hard."

Nodding thoughtfully, Katniss hoists herself onto the corner of the table, staring at the wall as her legs dangle and sway. "Yeah, it was." When I give her a glum nod in return, she squeezes my forearm where it rests beside her hip. The contact is comforting, but it also makes my eyes burn and chest swell with pressure begging to be released. I can only hold out a couple seconds before giving in. Dropping my head to rest on her thigh, I let the tears leak out of my eyes.

Saying nothing, Katniss lets her fingers drag up my arm and then through my hair. It's gotten long since my last cut before the Reaping, plenty for her fingers to wind in and tug gently. I let her stroke my hair for several moments while I try to collect myself, whimpering quietly whenever her nails lightly scratch my scalp. I'm just getting my shit together when her hand slides down my cheek and under my chin. Tipping it up, she determinedly dips her head and kisses me square on the lips.

The axes hit the floor, narrowly missing my feet as I shoot up from the chair and move between her knees. One hand cups her jaw and the other plants itself behind her, taking my weight as I lean into the kiss. Teeth pull at lips, hands at clothing as we gasp into each other's mouths. Eager fingertips grazing my stomach is the only cue I need to peel off my uniform top and drop it on the floor. Her heels pull at the back of my thighs, drawing me in tighter as her hands roam my exposed ribs and back. I kiss her hard, desperately, as though I can pull something out of this darkness. Because as good as this feels, it can't drown out the melancholy still squeezing my ribs like a vice. I'm mourning the life we had here, mourning the distance between us, even though I put it there. How I've missed being close to her.

Katniss leaves a trail of kisses along my jawbone and down my neck, sending a thrill down my spine. It lands hard between my legs and I completely lose control. Taking her lips hard, I fumble with the buckles on her bulletproof vest. My shaky fingers are just starting to make some headway when a sharp pain shoots through my head, making my whole body cringe defensively. My eyes screw shut and hands clamp around my skull, squeezing hard as I cry out and then gasp in pain. I'm doubled over and Katniss's hand is on my back, she's saying something but my hands are blocking my ears and all I can hear is ringing anyway. As the pain finally begins to subside I slowly straighten up, fighting off a bout of dizziness. "Ow. Fuck."

Katniss is cupping my shoulder now, swollen lips parted with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just… too much excitement will do that." My temples throb and I wince, massaging them with my fingertips.

Her fingers cover mine and take over the task, gently rubbing away the tension. I sigh in relief and she curls a leg around my hips to draw me back in. "Hey, c'mere."

As the last ebbs fade and I relax she lets her hands slide down, fingers clasping loosely behind my neck. My eyes flick up and meet hers with a dejected sigh. "I'm sorry."

Her lips are trembling with unmet need but she pulls them into a reassuring smile. "It's okay. Some other time." She cradles me against her instead, fingers brushing over my bare skin. My hands slide under her vest in the back and grip the fabric of her costume. Nuzzling her neck, I relax into her and release a contented sigh. We stay that way awhile, in a peaceful yet heavy silence. I don't dare speak. As soon as I do, the moment will be over and I'll have to go back to thinking. Thinking sucks. Instead I busy myself tracing my fingers over the small of her back, listening to her still heavy heartbeat where it pounds against my lips.

A wailing siren in the distance makes me jump, and I glower in the direction of the sudden interruption. "Ah, fuck! What is that?"

Katniss's confused expression goes dark in a matter of seconds. "An air raid. Shit!" Jumping off the table, she begins fastening the loosened buckles on her vest. By the time I wrestle my shirt back on and gather my axes, she's got her bag slung over her shoulder and her bow armed. "Come on, let's go!"

We're barely out of the kitchen when the first explosions rock the house from afar, making me wince as they echo in my tender ears. Going outside doesn't make things any easier. On the road the screaming sirens and explosions mix in a cocktail that pounds against my temples as I try my best to keep up with Katniss, who's faster than me even on a good day. The vague nausea I've been fighting off for a couple days crescendos as the air and earth rumble around me, making my world spin. About halfway to the Square my stomach erupts and I fall to my knees, spilling my guts on the pavement.

"Hanna!" Katniss's voice reaches my ears as I continue to retch. She skids to a stop only inches away after slipping and nearly losing her balance in the pool of vomit. Bending down, she grips my shoulder tightly. "Hanna-"

"Go!" I tell her. She hesitates, but then another round of bombs starts to fall and her eyes flick back to the Square with worry. "Your sister's there, you idiot. Just go, it's okay! I'll catch up!" The reminder of Prim is all Katniss needs to be set straight. She gives me a quick nod and shoulder squeeze and takes off down the road, leaving me dry heaving on my knees. When the wave of nausea finally passes I sit back on my heels, watching the rising smoke and flames through stinging eyes. I'm fucking useless.

It seems the efforts to fortify Twelve were fairly successful, that's one piece of good news. Some of the explosions are bombs hitting the ground, but others are planes crashing and burning. After several waves the bombers stop coming and I shakily push myself to my feet, continuing toward the Square. The outskirts of town are teeming with people setting up hoses and extinguishing flames. One good thing about Twelve, they're well-equipped to deal with fires. If they weren't then one house fire could set the whole district blazing, what with all the coal dust around. The Capitol may not give a shit about the people here, but it knows how to protect its assets.

There are a few buildings on fire in the Square when I arrive. Locations I remember to be the locksmith, the butcher, and… fuck. Dodging bodies in the melee, I navigate my way to the flaming remains of the bakery. When I get close I spy Gale facing off with Katniss and Peeta, blocking their path into the building. Katniss is clearly agitated, struggling to get by him, but he keeps a strong hand braced against her collarbone. For once, I'm grateful for Gale. Mere seconds pass before I hear a bunch of loud cracks and pops, then the roof caves in. As it falls, Peeta sinks to his knees.

Messalla is standing nearby with an expression as numb as Peeta's. Stepping up beside him, I ask what I already know. "They didn't get out, did they?" He shakes his head.

Cressida is much more on top of her game, calmly directing the twins to their positions and closing in on Katniss and Peeta. "Peeta," she says, "President Snow just had them air the bombing live. Then he made an appearance to say that this was his way of sending a message to the rebels. What about you? Would you like to tell the rebels anything?" For once the wordsmith is speechless, shocked into silence. "Peeta, what do you want to say?"

"What is wrong with you?" Katniss fumes, getting up in Cressida's face. "He just watched his family die, for fuck's sakes! Why don't you back off?" She's just finished saying this when Peeta bursts into tears. His hands stay limp in his lap, tears flowing freely down his slack cheeks as he stares at the wreckage. Katniss gives Cressida one more glare and then crouches down beside Peeta, wrapping her arms around him. He cries into her shoulder and she gently rocks him back and forth, a determined look hardening on her face. Once he starts to quiet down she cups his cheeks and plants a firm kiss on his forehead, then stands and faces the camera.

"I asked the country why we were fighting," she says. "I had my reasons for saying it, but today I got my answer." She sweeps her hand around, indicating the chaos and carnage around the Square. "I was wrong. The war isn't the problem! There wouldn't be a war if the Capitol treated us fairly, but they don't, and they never will!" Anger sparks in her eyes as she zeroes in on Castor's camera. "President Snow says he's sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" She points across the Square at one of the downed planes. "Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!"

Time seems to stand still as Katniss glares into the camera, hard lines of rage set in her face. I wasn't sure if she'd even seen me standing here, but as the anger melts away and gives way to determination again, she finds me through the shadows and smoke. Holding my gaze, she gives me one resolute nod.

***o***

Duelling propos dominate the airwaves that evening. The Capitol counters Thirteen's segments about Twelve's liberation with replays of the bombing, and Thirteen comes back with footage of their soldiers shooting down the planes with their anti-aircraft guns and Twelve's citizens putting out the fires. The most popular propo in Thirteen, though, involves Katniss's angry rant intercut with shots of her taking down planes with her explosive arrows. The rebels finally have the hero they were looking for.

Beetee gets another rerun of that propo on the air while I'm eating lunch the next day, tucked away in a quiet corner of the dining hall. Katniss and Peeta are also in the room, and the people around them give her a modest amount of applause that she awkwardly acknowledges, shrinking into her seat. Plenty of people aren't clapping, though, evidently still not over how she helped the Capitol in the first place. It's nice to see I'm not alone.

I'm peering at her through a haze of mixed emotions when Scar plops down across from me. After a couple seconds she nudges her tray forward, bumping it into mine. My water sloshes and my eyes irritably flash her way. She looks vaguely amused. "You're pathetic."

I blink. "What?"

"Sitting there pining like that. Why don't you just go kiss her?"

Jaw twitching, I stab at a small cube of chicken on my plate. "I did."

"Awesome," Scar says as I take a bite. I continue to avoid eye contact as I chew and she presses, "Right?"

Swallowing it down, I shake my head. "I don't think I should have."

Her eyes roll hard. "Oh my god, Jo. Why can't you just let it go? If she hadn't done what she did, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. I know you told her not to, but come on. It was for your own good."

"It's not just that," I argue. "Scar, you know how bad the Capitol is. You know it even more than I do. And Katniss was willing to help them, when they've hurt so many people. She doesn't care about that, though. Never has. All she cares about is protecting the people she loves." Pushing some peas around my plate, I mutter, "I used to admire that about her, but now… god, she's just so short-sighted sometimes, it's infuriating."

Scar's nose wrinkles as she thinks this through. "Well, you're on the same team now. She made that speech. She took down those planes."

"Of course she reacted that way when her home was attacked. Everything has to be personal with Katniss or it doesn't register." Eyes falling, I shake my head. "I dunno, I don't feel like she's truly committed. Or like she gets all that's at stake. I don't think she'd care, even if she did."

Scar raises an eyebrow. "That's kind of a harsh judgement, don't you think?"

"No, I really don't." When her expression doesn't change, I protest, "Look, you don't know her like I do."

"What don't I know?" asks Scar, irritation rising in her tone. "That she loves you so much she'd let the world burn to save you?" Swallowing faintly, she blinks away. "Anyone should be grateful to have that."

"It's overrated," I assure her.

Scar's head snaps up, mouth set in a firm line. "Get your head out of your ass, Jo. I know you've had it rough, especially lately, but you don't have to be such an ungrateful twat."

My mouth falls open. "You know, you're my friend. You're supposed to be on my side."

"She says to the Career who joined the rebel squad."

Scoffing hard, I tuck my tongue in my cheek as my arms cross over my chest. "Look, I know you have a boner for Katniss, but that doesn't make her infallible."

"Would you listen to yourself?" Scar stares at me in equal parts anger and disbelief. "Nothing is ever your fault, is it?"

"It's not my fault we're fighting, no," I snap. "She betrayed me. She's the one who changes sides every time someone she loves is threatened. Katniss doesn't give a rat's ass about the larger consequences of the war." Scar is unmoved. "Look," I insist, "they cut this out for obvious reasons, but before she made that speech she gave our director hell for trying to get Peeta to react to Snow's broadcast of the bombing. And like, I get why, but there were more important things going on."

"In your opinion," Scar states flatly.

I huff, arms crossing once again. "Don't tell me you can't see the big picture either."

Though Scar's still scowling, her voice is earnest when she says, "The big picture means nothing if we have nothing to fight for."

My eyebrows shoot up. "So the suffering of others means nothing to you? That's selfish."

"Easy for you to say. You already lost everything." Those words jar me, my jaw slipping open while a dull pain fills my lungs. Scar's expression softens slightly. "You're being unreasonable, Johanna. Why can't you just forgive her?"

Shaking my head, I wave her off. "Forget it. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"That's a cop out," she says.

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore," I assert. "Now can we eat lunch or what?"

Scar snorts and turns her attention to her food. "Whatever, dude."

Not keen on any more chatter, I finish my meal quickly and head back to the hospital. I spent the night there under observation because I started vomiting again on the way back from Twelve and they were worried about the state of my brain. The awful migraine I had for the rest of the day and night is fading but I'm back to the low-grade nausea and headache I've been experiencing for several days. It's worrisome, to say the least. I'm loathe to bring it up and maybe set back my training, but it's hard to get the motivation to train anyway when I feel so shitty all the time.

When I manage to track down one of my doctors and tell him about the symptoms that have started to come back, he frowns and pulls me into an examination room. Once the door is closed, he reiterates, "You say it started three days ago?"

"Yeah, the day after you gave me this latest batch of pills. They aren't helping at all and I think they might be what's making me feel sick. Are you sure you even gave me the right ones?"

"I'm sure we didn't," he says. My brow furrows and he explains, "We gave you a placebo, or a pill that appeared to be morphling but wasn't, to see what the effect on you would be."

"Why the hell would you do that?" I demand.

"Because you'd started increasing your doses in order to keep up with the headaches. We were concerned that you might have become dependent on it, so we decided to investigate."

My mouth slips open. "Dependent? Like, addicted?"

"Not quite. Your body has developed a tolerance for it, so you're needing to take more to feel any effect, and you're seeing withdrawal symptoms if you don't take any," explains the doctor. "As for psychological addiction, that remains to be seen. Thinking you were taking the drugs didn't make you feel any better, so it may be a purely physical phenomenon."

"Of course it is." Pasting on a smirk, I joke, "I'm not addicted. I don't need the drugs, I just like them."

The doctor nods, though he doesn't seem convinced. "We'll get you back on the morphling to alleviate the symptoms, then try weaning you off of it again. We'll give you a non-opioid painkiller and anti-anxiety meds, you can take those at your discretion as we reduce your dosage."

"Fine, whatever," I grumble. "Can I have some now?"

"Yes. But from now on, you'll have to take every dose at the hospital."

That's a slap to the face. My voice sounds embarrassingly petulant when I protest, "You don't trust me?"

"It's not a matter of trust, Soldier Mason," he tells me. "Opioid withdrawal is no joke, as you now know. We need to closely monitor your dosage and symptoms."

I agree to the rationing plan, if only because it's that or get no morphling at all. My initial relief at having the drug back in my system quickly wears off. They're already giving me less than I was using before, barely enough to take the edge off the headache and quiet my stomach a little. Add to that the betrayal of the doctors going behind my back again and the hit to my ego of being fucking addicted to something, and I'm fucking miserable.

You'd think Katniss would know me well enough by now to know when to steer clear. Maybe she does know better but can't control herself. I can't really say shit to that. I'm stewing at my secluded table at lunchtime the next day, poking at food I don't care to eat when I feel eyes on me and look up. There she is, watching me from the other side of the table. One finger taps out a nervous rhythm on the bottom of her tray as she asks, "Can I sit with you?"

I shrug, not meeting her gaze. "If you want."

Katniss hesitates a second before placing the tray on the table gently and stepping over the bench seat. Easing herself down, she attempts a sympathetic smile. "How're you feeling?"

My cheeks lose a little color as the feeling of betrayal washes over me again. "This shit's supposed to be confidential."

"What is?" she asks. I stare at her dumbly. Eyes flicking away, she scratches behind her ear. "I just… you seem really down lately."

I snort. "No shit, brainless."

Her mouth wavers a little but she doesn't let up. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Not really," I mutter to my food.

Her eyes stay on me in silence for several seconds, trying in vain to find some way in. Finally she huffs in frustration. "This has gone on long enough."

My eyes snap up in a warning glare. "You don't get to decide how long I'm allowed to be mad at you."

"No, but I get to decide how long I wait around for you to accept an apology for saving your fucking life."

"You didn't save my life, Peeta did." I snort under my breath. "That's gotta be a first."

Katniss is not amused. Eyes narrowing, she sits back with a scowl. "You did this after the Games, you did this after the Tour. It's not fair that I'm always the one waiting for you to decide you've punished me enough and let me back in."

"Aren't you forgetting how you reacted when you found out I was a Career, Katniss?" I say icily. "You're no better. Besides, I have a right to be mad."

"Maybe you do. But I have the right to stop taking your shit." She stands with finality, white-knuckling the edges of her tray as she leans on the table. "I'm not doing this anymore. I love you, but I'm done waiting around and sucking up to you. You can come to me when you're ready to be my girlfriend again. I have other people to worry about, people who actually appreciate me." Then she storms off in search of a new table. I think she chooses to sit with Madge just to spite me.

I'm supposed to be working on tactics homework after lunch, but instead I go down to the armory so I can practice throwing my axes. They and my knives were confiscated when we returned to the district, locked up down here with all the other weapons. My protests about their sentimental value fell on deaf ears. The fact that I've been classified as a mentally disoriented individual probably didn't help.

There's only a bit of rust for me to shake off. My siblings got me these babies for my thirteenth birthday and they've been my weapon of choice ever since. Gritting my teeth as I throw, I try to banish all traces of Josh and Jordan from my mind. It isn't that hard, since my thoughts keep circling back to Katniss anyway. The source of my frustration eludes me. Nothing much has changed, we were already in a holding pattern and barely talking. The only difference now is Katniss has agreed to it, which irks me but I don't know why.

Even once my arms are burning and I'm so tired I can barely walk, my mind unfortunately won't shut up. Leaving the armory, I decide on a more restful form of distraction. Buttercup is back in Thirteen now, along with the rest of Katniss's family. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen aren't cowards, so I have a feeling they agreed to come back because it caused Katniss too much anxiety to not have them protected. And no one can expect an anxious Mockingjay to perform, can they?

When I arrive at the Everdeens' compartment, Katniss is thankfully absent. That doesn't surprise me. Between Mockingjay bullshit and military training, Thirteen's keeping her busy. Mrs. Everdeen is here, though, playing some kind of card game at the table. Her eyes narrow slightly as she takes me in. "If you're here to apologize, Katniss isn't home," she remarks. I'm surprised Katniss has told her anything happened, but I roll with it.

"I'm not, and I know she isn't," I retort airily. "I'm here to see Buttercup. I don't know if you know this, but I'm his favorite snuggle buddy."

"He's been outside for hours," says Mrs. Everdeen, nodding at the open window behind her. "You'd have better luck checking the bushes."

"Oh, okay." She returns her attention to the cards and I shift awkwardly, jamming my hands in my pockets. "How've you been, Mrs. E?"

"Fine, thank you," she replies coolly, barely sparing me a glance.

"Good." Unsure what else to say, after a moment I conclude, "Okay, well, I'll come back later and see if my cuddly boy's back."

"Don't," she says. Time seems to freeze and so do I, suddenly paralyzed as I'm hit by a headrush. "You can't just show up here any time you like."

My words are sticking in my throat, but I manage to get out, "I thought you said we were family."

"That was contingent on you not breaking my daughter's heart, something you've done again and again," she tells me. "I'm disappointed in you, Johanna. With all your talk about how much you wanted to make this work, I really thought you would treat her better. Be better."

Crossing my arms, I inform her, "You know, Katniss is the one who broke up with me."

"Because you were keeping her dangling and she can't handle that. Not knowing where she stands makes her anxious."

I snort. "If she can't handle her girlfriend being mad at her, that's her problem."

Mrs. Everdeen's eyes narrow with a flash of irritation. "That's a load of crap, Johanna. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it's far from the first time. You know how to make Katniss feel insecure and you use it to manipulate her." Struck dumb, my mouth flaps uselessly in protest as she continues, "It makes her feel powerless, so of course she took that power back. In my opinion, it was long overdue."

That hurts. More than I thought it could. Mrs. Everdeen ignores my dismayed expression and returns to her card game, but I can't move or speak to try to defend myself again. Not just because the disapproval is devastating, but because I know she isn't entirely wrong. A moment passes and she looks back up, raising an eyebrow. "What are you still doing here?"

Anger swells in my chest and I inhale sharply, eyes flaming. Spinning on my heel, I slam the sliding door as hard as I can on the way out. My ears are ringing as I storm down the hall, breathing heavily and squinting against the bright lights. Burning pain sears my scalp and my heartbeat echoes in my head, prompting me to pull out my bottle of pain pills and chill pills. Do I have a headache? Yes. Do I need to calm down? Yes. I take two of each.

Continuing toward the hospital, I squeeze and relax my fists repeatedly, trying to still the tremor in my hands. I only get more out of breath the farther I go. By the time I arrive, I'm full on hyperventilating. A receptionist at the main desk calls for assistance the moment she sees me approaching, then speaks to me directly. I only catch a few words here and there. She's trying to get me to wait, I understand that much, but I can't stand still. I pace around the reception area, pulling at my hair and shaking.

Within moments, one of the doctors from my team appears. "Soldier Mason, do you need assistance?" I nod emphatically and she lays a gentle guiding hand on my back. "Come with me, we'll go somewhere quieter." She leads me away down a side hallway, but the setting doesn't improve as she promised. There's less voices, less people to stare at me like I'm a crazy person, but the lights are still loud and bright. I wince, trying to block them out as she stops beside a medical cart and asks, "Okay, what's going on?"

Lips trembling, I try to string together a coherent sentence through my rapid breaths. "I can't - stand -" Frustrated, I give up and push out the two most important words. "Need morphling."

"You're having a panic attack, but you're going to be fine," says the doctor. "Just breathe with me." She begins taking slow, deep breaths, and I try to follow her lead. It's not easy, but I manage to get a few deeper breaths in. As I get the breathing somewhat under control, she asks me, "Have you taken your anxiety meds?"

"Yes! They're not working. I need… I need…" Hands squeezing in and out of fists, my eyes dart around wildly.

A hand on my shoulder grabs my attention and grounds me briefly. "Soldier Mason, I need you to keep taking deep breaths, okay?" I try, but they're coming faster again and I don't know if I can reign them back in. I'm teetering on the edge. It doesn't help when the doctor tells me, "Your new meds take a little longer to kick in. You need to be patient."

I shake my head sharply. "Then give me the morphling."

"It's not time for your next dose yet."

"Just give me the damn pills!" Something snaps inside of me, and before I know it both the doctor and the cart are on the ground. Broken glass and various medical supplies are strewn across the floor and the cart is lying half on top of the fallen doctor. The ruckus attracts immediate attention, people converging on the scene to investigate and stare at me in horror. Breaths coming faster and faster, I grab a fistful of hair as an orderly attempts to right the cart and another doctor checks on the one I attacked.

I feel the urge to apologize but can't get my thoughts in order, much less my words. Just as I try to take a step forward, I feel a jab in the back of my neck, followed by a sickening woozy sensation. My muscles fail me but a strong arm slides under my stomach and catches me as I start to fall forward. As I lose consciousness, all I can think is that I've made a mess of everything. Again.

***o***

The buzz of fluorescent lighting rings in my ears, pulling a groan from my lips. My eyes flutter open and scan my surroundings. A loud light above my head. White ceiling, white walls. Panic rises in my chest and I shoot up in bed, only to be pulled back down by my uncooperative wrists. Craning my neck, I sweep my eyes over my body and discover my hands and feet are strapped to the bed, a belt holding me down at the waist. Terror shoots through me and I scream bloody murder, jerking wildly as I try to pull my limbs free.

My panic spirals and intensifies until the door opens, making me drop and cower on the mattress. Then I recognize Boyd standing in the doorway. His presence brings on a wave of calm riddled with confusion. My temple throbs and I run the list in my head in an attempt to piece things together. My name is Johanna Mason. I'm twenty years old. My home is District Two. I was captured and tortured after the Quarter Quell. The rebels rescued me. I'm in District Thirteen. I'm not in the Facility.

Pushing myself up to rest on my elbows, I level a flaming glare at the young doctor. "Why the fuck am I tied up?"

"Don't you remember? You damaged equipment, assaulted a doctor. This is standard protocol for when a mentally disoriented patient turns violent." Boyd steps into the room, closing the door behind him. Once it clicks shut, he admits, "I was against it. I told them it would only make you freak out again, after what you went through in the Capitol."

My eyes narrow. "I don't need your pity, Boyd."

"My job isn't to feel sorry for you," he tells me. "My job is to help you get better. And reliving your trauma won't help with that."

"What happened happened," I mutter, scowling at my feet. "It's over."

Boyd chuckles. "You're so good at bullshitting, you can almost convince yourself." He crosses the floor slowly but confidently, ignoring my glower. Shifting the tray of food in his grasp, he continues, "Acting like nothing happened to you isn't going to help. It won't make it go away."

"Oh, joy," I drawl. "Just what I need, another lecture."

"I don't think of our meetings as lectures," he says. "They're supposed to be discussions. They would be, if you'd talk more."

Waving him off, I snark, "I have nothing to say to you."

"Ouch," he whines with an exaggerated grimace. "Careful, you're gonna hurt my teeny-weeny doctor feelings."

My lips turn up in spite of me. "Most men don't admit to being teeny-weeny." He sets the tray down on the bedside table and I narrow my eyes. "You're not gonna try to feed me, are you? I'll bite your smug fucking face off."

"No," he assures me, right before pulling a key from his pocket. He reaches across me to pop open one wrist restraint, and as he starts on the second I can't help staring in wonder.

"You're not afraid of me?"

Looking up from his work, Boyd flashes a grin. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

He releases the second cuff and I rub my wrists, glaring despite the gratefulness I wish I did not feel. "I don't like you."

"Duly noted." Boyd hands me the tray. "Here." As I place it on my lap and start wolfing down the food, he pulls up a chair and remarks, "I wasn't about to let you go hungry. The last thing you need is to lose any more weight. If you want to get back in shape, you'll need to eat properly."

I give him a look and swallow down a large mouthful of potato just to retort, "I'd need to be able to work out to do that."

"I know," he says. "In my opinion, your mental state could be greatly improved with some exercise, for multiple reasons. The potential benefit is so strong, in fact, that I told the team it outweighs the dangers presented by overworking you. It took some convincing, but they agreed to let you step up your physical training." My mouth freezes mid-chew and he raises a cautionary eyebrow. "Strictly dosed, and under supervision. Your violent reaction earlier today didn't help my case. But, yes. Starting tomorrow you'll be permitted to run and lift weights."

I stare at Boyd in disbelief as a grin overtakes my face. "I could kiss you, doc."

He chuckles inwardly. "I don't think Katniss would appreciate that." The smile slides right off my face and he raises an eyebrow. "Things are still going poorly in that department?"

"I think I fucked up. But, no, I didn't." I squeeze my eyes shut against the bright light, trying to get my thoughts straight. "I just wanted to make Katniss see that she was wrong. She chose me over the rebellion and everyone says I'm ungrateful and manipulative and shit but she was wrong. And it's like she doesn't even get why I'm angry. I'm the one who chose unselfishly and I'm the one everybody's shitting on."

"It doesn't have to be all or nothing, you know," says Boyd. "Most choices aren't black and white, fully right or fully wrong." At my impassive blink, he asks me, "Johanna, have you ever heard of the sunk cost fallacy?" I shake my head. "It's a phenomenon where one's commitment to a bad decision escalates the more they lose to it because if they give up, everything they lost was for nothing. Unfortunately, when it comes to gambling and investments of effort or money, it can lead to people making situations worse instead of recognizing when to cut their losses."

Squinting in confusion, I inquire, "What does that have to do with me? I'm not a gambler."

"You gambled with human lives," he says. That assertion knocks the wind out of me and I'm left to listen helplessly, barely able to glare in protest. "Is it possible you're refusing to consider that Katniss's decision to prioritize you over the rebellion may not have been entirely wrong, because in your head that means your decision to prioritize the rebellion over your parents was not entirely right?"

A flash of anger finally frees me from my paralysis. Fists and jaw clenching, I spit, "Fuck you, Boyd."

He doesn't even try to hide his smirk. "Is that a yes?"

"Fuck you, and fuck your mother, and fuck this whole entire district. You pretentious assholes think you know anything about life outside this cozy little bunker? You couldn't understand life or death choices if you tried."

Boyd doesn't react to the diatribe, just taps the edge of my tray as he stands to leave. "Think about it." Pausing at the door, he adds, "Forgive yourself, then maybe you can forgive her. But start with you."

A/N: Many thanks to D7P for helping with Johanna's characterization again. Writing Katniss has always been my strength, but she keeps me in line. :)