Author's Note: As much I imagine myself in my own fantasy dream land where I frolic around a bed of flowers with the books over my head, swimming in the cash flow that Suzanne Collins is sure to have coming in, I don't own anything associated with the Hunger Games. Especially Peeta Mellark too, sadly. So, please don't let the FBI come down on me and destroy me for stealing.

With that out of the way, let me explain a little bit about this chapter. Coming up with the doctor has been, in a word, a bitch. I had a completely different vision at first, didn't like it, tried to rewrite it, threw it all out, and started over with a different doctor. But this one seems to be working. And unfortunately for Ryan, one of the readers, his name will not be Pond, Smith, Tennent, or Who. But it seems to have worked, and I have a workable character now. I hope you guys like this and hopefully, the next chapter will come along very quickly. Enjoy!

II.

My whole body feels heavy, like I can't move at all. I try my hardest to lift my head, but it's just weighed down. So, I lay there, sprawled out on the bed. I don't know how long I've been here. I've lost track of the days. I'm pretty sure I'm going crazy, and the only person that I have left to rely on is gone, probably being tortured more. The silence is going to drive me crazy.

Suddenly, a light flashes by the high slit of a window, running across the wall from one side to the other. Before I know it, it's gone, but once it disappears, I hear speaking. Is it coming from Johanna? I try to listen to the vent under my bed. It's normally how Johanna and I communicate, and it carries our voices back and forth to each other. But the voice I'm hearing, it is not the same as her's. If it was Johanna, there would be some sharp sarcasm in the voice. More importantly, she would speak up and made sure she caught my attention, not mutter.

I try to lean in, but still the weight is too much. However, I can listen, and that's exactly what I did. I tried my hardest to push my hearing to the max, to pick up every word. It's hard though. All their words are muddled, running together, speaking in a low tone. Another flash of light goes across the wall, and I swear the voice gets a little louder. No…it's not talking. It is humming. Singing? In the Capitol? Can such a thing even exist? Thinking perhaps it really is Johanna, I attempt to call out to her, but my mouth feels dry and won't work.

The light seems to pick up speed, flashing across the wall a little fast, and with each pass, the humming gets louder, for a while changing tones, until it finds one pitch, high and straining that stabs my ears.

The light crosses the wall, the volume goes up.

The light crosses the wall again and the sound gets higher.

Cross, higher, cross, louder.

Cross.

Louder.

It is piercing my ears now.

Cross.

Louder.

I swear, any minute my ear drums are going to break.

Cross.

Louder.

Please, just make it stop already.

Then… I wake up.

I remember what I was doing before I realize what is going on. I was trying to break free. I had been struggling all through the night, or at least I was assuming it was night, since they dimmed the lights in my room, and had almost had my right hand free, when the lights had come back on and a nurse rushed in with Dr. Lawson right behind. I must have done some serious damage to my wrist, because now as I slowly regain feeling back in my body, as faint as it is, I can feel a soft cushion around my wrist.

They had knocked me out again. Both had rushed in, the nurse handed over a syringe filled with a clear fluid, and it had knocked me out in seconds flat. I don't know how long I have been out, what time or day it is, or even where I am, because in an instant, I know that I am definitely not in my room anymore.

I slowly open my eyes. However, a light flashes over me, blindingly bright, and I have to close my eyes again. Of course, I am still strapped down, but now, even my head is held in place by some sort of clamp. I can't turn away from the light as it comes around again. This was what I was seeing in my dream. The sound is the machine humming, changing its pitches and tones while working around me. Immediately, I start breathing a little harder, unsure of just what is going on. The light keeps passing over me, working its way up to dizzying speeds, and I've determined that I have had enough.

I start struggling once again, though it is considerably harder now with the bandage on my wrist cutting off all the extra space I had before and my head being strapped down as well. I cannot see what I am doing now. Still, I pull and push, twist and turn, squirming ever way that I can think to pull my hand out of these restraints.

There's a click and suddenly, a voice springs to life out of nowhere. "Peeta, please. I know this is frightening, but you need to stay still. Don't move. We're almost done," it says before clicking off again.

"I don't care! Get me out of here!" I shouted back over the humming.

"Just a few more minutes. Please, Peeta. It's all we ask. Just stay still," the voice said before clicking off again.

I groan, closing my eyes once more as the light flashes brightly in my eyes. I have to swallow the rising anxiety in my throat and calm my breathing as I rest there and try to wait for it to all be over. The moments drag on, as the machine still hums. Every once in a while, the voice clicks on, telling me that I'm doing so well and that it's just a few more moments, like I'm an impatient pet. I just want it over with.

"And we're done," the voice says, as finally the humming drops from its high pitch and the light slows down its spinning. Eventually it all comes to a halt and everything is silent, before the voice clicks on again. "Okay, we're going to get you out of there. Just stay with us."

All I have been doing is 'staying with them,' giving them what little patience I could while I received nothing back. There is a strange rattling sound down by my feet and then, like a door, the whole bottom wall is swings out. The long bed I am laying on rolls out into the harsh electrical light. Several nurses are waiting around, probably just waiting to stick me full of drugs again, but none of them moves.

As I lay there, wondering not if, but when they are going to pump me full of drugs again, I can't help but linger on my dream, going back to the Capitol. I still have no idea of how much time I actually was there. I only was able to keep track for the first couple of weeks, then after that, time all blended together. Especially when they started a routine, it all sank in and molded together.

As the nurses move in, I wonder if there is some sort of routine here and I will eventually sink into that one too. So far, it seems their only routine is drugs. I am expecting Dr. Lawson to hurry in and give me his usual worried glances, but instead, the nurses each take a place, two by my head and two by my feet. The two by my feet stand there, while the two by my head free me of the restraints around my forehead. Then all together with precision, they lift up the slab I am on and set it down onto a table with wheels, and then guide me out of the room. They push the table out a set of double doors and down a long white hall, with more lights passing over me from above, this time going from top to bottom, not left to right.

The more I am here, the more I being to wonder, have I really left the Capitol? It's starting to seem like I haven't. The only difference is these people are quiet here. No bossy guards outside my door, just an intercom that only turns on to tell me that I need to calm down or stay still or someone is coming to help me. Other than that, it seems the same.

This is your punishment. You knew it was coming. You even told yourself it was coming, a voice says suddenly chimes up in the back of my head. Either the drugs have destroyed my sanity or I really have cracked on my own, but I swear, somewhere in the back of my head, this odd voice is a voice I recognize, a voice I know. It does not snap, nor is it judgmental. It just speaks calmly. And I cannot ignore it.

"Punishment? For what? I didn't do anything. I was only there when everything happened. What could I possibly be punished for?" I mumble back under my breath.

You know why.

"No, I don't know why," I mumble back.

You'll find out eventually. You just have to remember.

"I don't understand."

You will. You did before, and you will again.

"Why can't you just tell me now? Explain it to me."

But the voice doesn't answer. I lay there, waiting for it to speak, but it has gone mute, and I am left hanging there on a string. I notice the nurse to my right is looking at me worriedly, and I can't bear to see that horrible look of sympathy and pity, so I look away.

We pass by several white doors, before the wall stops and turns down a hallway. It takes me a moment, but things seem to slow down as we pass by. Standing there in the hallway are three men, two of which I recognize. One is a huge man, taller than the other two by a head and built, but he wears a white coat, suggesting he is one of the doctors. He is not that important to me, but standing beside him, checking his watch is Plutarch Heavensbee, someone I do recognize and just on his other side is the one person that possible could really help me. Even if it is a long shot, he would listen. I do not have enough time to get a great look at him, but I recognize him, and that's enough. "Haymitch."

Immediately, I thrash on the table, calling back to him. "HAYMITCH! DON'T LISTEN TO THEM! YOU HAVE TO GET ME OFF THIS TABLE! PLEASE, HAYMITCH! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! PLEASE! JUST HELP ME!" I scream back, but the nurse move faster and soon are pushing me through another set of double doors. Even though I keep screaming, no one comes after me. Quickly, I am wheeled back into my tiny room and all the nurses rush from the room, leaving just me and the echoes from my yelling and screaming.

While the last traces of my voice dies off, I am left even more confused than before. Back in the Capitol, Johanna and I had determined that Haymitch was not being held by the Capitol. That he has somehow escaped and was safe in hiding, possibly in District Thirteen as Johanna kept claiming everyone was supposed to go. If he had been there in the Capitol and under their control, they would have left us know it and shoved it in our faces as they killed him. That was exactly what they had done with others.

But Plutarch Heavensbee? He was part of the Capitol. Why would he be in District Thirteen? None of it makes sense, and yet somehow…

It does. It does make sense. You're just not thinking clearly, the voice chimes in again, this time speaking in almost a whisper.

"Then how does it make sense? Just tell me that," I whisper back to him.

You know I can't.

"Yes, you can. Now tell me."

I told you. I can't. But you can remember. What do you remember about Plutarch Heavensbee?

I have to stop and think about this again. He was so attached to the Games that it is hard to pick up on anything else. However, one small flicker of a memory comes to mind suddenly. The Victory Tour. He was there. And he was…dancing. With her.

And just like that, the hissing of her name starts up again, almost on cue. Only this time I notice something…different. It is not the walls or the speakers saying her name. It is actually nothing in this room saying it. I am hearing it, but it is all in my head.

Katniss…Katniss…Katniss…

Plutarch is there, dancing with her. She bares these sharp, long teeth that are just dripping with green venom. Her hand forms this dark claw that is just digging into Plutarch's shoulder, turning everything it touches into tar. The deeper her claws sink, the more he begins to fall apart, nothing more than a sticky, black, grinning mess.

Katniss…Katniss…Katniss…

Then she's whispering something to me about him, but I do not care to hear or even look at her. Those teeth are still there and I am certain they are going to close in around my neck if her tar hand does not close on it first.

KATNISS…KATNISS…KATNISS…

"Stop it. Now," I hiss back.

You're not remembering correctly, the voice says.

"Remembering is not the problem. I just don't WANT to remember it."

You have to. If you ever want to get out, you have to remember.

"Get out of where? Get out of this place?"

KATNISS…KATNISS…KATNISS…

"Shut up!"

You have to get out. Otherwise if you don't, you might as well have stayed in the Capitol.

"Stayed in the Capitol? But I don't understand!"

KATNISS! KATNISS! KATNISS!

"STOP IT!"

All at once, all the voices, they all fall silent, leaving my ears ringing, a terrible pain piercing through my head, and my chest heaving up and down as if I have just run a mile. My eyes start to cloud with tears from the pain. More and more, I'm just confused and lost.

Then the intercom snaps on. "Peeta? Are you all right?"

I cannot even be bothered to lie. "No…no, I'm not."

It takes a moment or two, but eventually I blink the mist from my eyes, the intercom snaps off and the doors to the room open up. I am expecting a nurse, but instead, it is a doctor, who walks in and over to my bedside. I can tell immediately it is the same man I saw in the hallway with Plutarch and Haymitch. He is huge. Even compared to me, he's big. His shoulders are wide and thick, extending into arms about as big around as my head. He would make anyone feel small, but being tied down to a table only seemed to increase that feeling for me. But it's not just his size either that impresses. His eyes, though dull brown, seem to be studying everything.

"You were talking with Haymitch and Plutarch," I say, staring up at him.

"Yes, I was. You managed to interrupt our conversation," he answers back, crossing his arms. It only makes him seem thicker. The way he talks, it in a low growling sound, but not one that sounds angry. Just a low rumble like thunder far away.

"I wanted to talk to Haymitch," I answer back.

"Never would have guessed." He sighs and eventually drops his arms. "Who were you talking to just now?"

I pause for a moment, before letting out a long exhale and turning away from him. "No one, apparently." I try to ignore the pain in my head and the thought of those voices, especially the hissing one. So, I don't pay much attention when he leans down by my bandaged wrist. There is no point in checking it. I know, without being looking at it that my struggles when I called for Haymitch had cut it open again. A line of blood was probably already forming underneath the bandages..

However, that is not what he is doing. There is a snap and immediately the restraint on my wrist zips off. I look down in shock, as the doctor leans over me and undoes the other one. He moves down to my stomach as I move my arms, twist my wrists, stretch out my aching and locked up joints. The strap comes off my torso and I am able to sit up. He finishes with my ankles and I swing my feet off the bed, standing up apprehensively, unsure of what the doctor would do. However, he just simply steps back and allows me to stretch out my joints.

"Better?" he asks.

I eye him, still unsure, but nod. "Yeah."

"I can't guarantee that you are free from them forever, but for now, I figured you'd appreciate it. Besides, you're not going to hurt me, are you?"

I can't help but think that even if I wanted to, I never would be able to do anything or inflict any kind of harm, but I just keep silent and shake my head no.

"Good. I figured you wouldn't, but it's still nice to know," he answers.

I sigh and sink down on the bed. So, that's what this is about. They assume I am just going to hurt anyone I come in contact with. At least it explains the straps I have to wear. Still, I can't help but find it ridiculous. I'm not out to hurt anyone. At least not anyone in general. I just take a long moment, rubbing my wrists where the bandages are.

"By the way," the large man says, cutting the silence and putting a hand out, "I'm Doctor Berend. I'm going to be the doctor you see for a while. So you might want to get used to me now."

I look up at him and his gruff, hard face with dark, hard eyes. There are lines that cross back and forth on his face and a few streaks of grey in his hair, making him appear older than he probably is. Then, I look at his hand. On the back of it, I can see a faint scar across the back of his wrist, radiating out into for different lines almost like a spider web that reached up to his fingers. Surgical scars. They have to be. They look too much like the ones I have on my left leg. Eventually, I just bite the bullet and take his hand. He squeezes mine firmly as we shake, getting properly introduced.

"No more Doctor Lawson?" I ask as our hands fall apart.

"Nope. Just me. I'm going to be your doctor now."

As I look up into those dark eyes, only two words come to my mind, but they seem to fit the best for the situation. So, I simply give them to him.

"Good luck."