A/N: Thank you all for the glorious reviews! They made my night/day, and actually inspired me to change how I originally ended it a bit. We'll probably even get a few extra chapters out of it. So thank you for letting me hear from you, and I hope you enjoy this next installment!

Oh, and I don't own the hunger games or any of the characters, I just enjoy toying with their emotions.

The following night I find myself weighed down by the over whelming Capitol gown which Cinna designed. It's beautiful, but it isn't me, and he knows that. This was what the president wanted, not me or Cinna.

"It's beautiful," I tell him, but he just frowns.

"It's a work of art, but it isn't yours. You deserve more, so much more than what you are being forced into. It's perfection—but it isn't the dress of the girl on fire." He continues to fluff fabric and straighten silk, but he is obviously unhappy. He doesn't like being used for their games any more than I do.

I hear her voice before I see her, "A wedding dress? Really?"

Something in her voice sends my emotions surging forward, but I push back the bile in my throat and the tears in my eyes—she can't know, no one can know how much this is killing me. "It's out of our hands; the president's orders."

I can see the disgust on her face as she looks over the garment, "Make him pay," she whispers frigidly, walking away quickly, her own lace gown trailing behind her. As Cinna finishes, I watch the other victor's speak. I'm surprised to see how many of them are openly defying the capitol—it looks like Johanna was right, I'm not the only one being punished. It seems like we've all be causing our share of trouble.

When Johanna walks on stage, the audience seems about ready to explode. 12 Tributes have already broken their hearts and riled them up, and now the most controversial of all is taking the stage, looking like an Angel of death.

Dark brown lace covers her entire body, gracefully trailing behind her. I don't doubt that her stylist was attempting to make her look like a tree again, but she has obviously added her own touches—her short dark hair is spiked ominously and her eyes are lined with think ebony makeup. She looks severe, threatening, and—dare I say it—sexual.

"Johanna!" Ceaser greets, and she smiles politely at him, "It's lovely to see you again, though under such terrible circumstances. How are you feeling about this year's games, confident? Worried?"

She grins frighteningly, "I would say I'm fairly confident in my abilities, and I'm excited that I don't have to pretend to be anything other than myself this year—no surprise twist, I'm just me, and I'm ready to fight."

Ceaser smiles dazzlingly, relieved to finally have another victor who is responding in the acceptable way. "Now tell me Johanna, you and Katniss Everdeen are the only tributes from Districts with only one female victor—how did you feel when you watched the Quarter Quell announcement—when you knew that you would be coming back into the arena?"

"Well, I was horrified at first," she admits, showing a rare moment of vulnerability. "Here is this place that I've tried to keep firmly in my nightmares—that I've spent years trying to convince myself can't hurt me anymore—and apparently that was all a lie. I'm being dragged back into my most horrifying of nightmares, and it's not a pleasant feeling," she explains, but then she grins a bit again.

"But then did what I usually do, I got angry—I got really fucking pissed, Ceaser. When I won my games, I was guaranteed safety, and security. That was my reward for killing all of those children—my reward for the daily torment which I experience. I was supposed to grow old and fat in my cushy home. But now I'm not. The Capitol is frightened of what's happening, and so they're dragging all of us back into that god forsaken arena—and they are going to pay for that mistake, Ceaser. They are going to pay.

"If they think they can just mess with people's lives, people's fucking families, they've got another thing coming, Ceaser. This is all going to bite them firmly in the ass, and I just hope that I win these games, so I can watch it all burn."

By that point Ceaser had been desperately trying to interrupt Johanna, but her voice was strong and unwavering—it held the whole Capitol entranced and Ceaser couldn't manage to interrupt. When she finally stopped he just clapped his hands, "Alright! Johanna Mason everyone, our ever feisty, ever unpredictable, Victor-Tribute from District 7!"

Johanna gives a sweeping bow as she exits and the crowd is eerily silent. As usual, they don't quite know what to make of the Victor who is so incredibly different from them.

The rest of the victors aren't nearly as memorable, and if it wasn't for this ridiculous dress, I doubt I would be either. Johanna has, without question, stolen the show. Luckily—I've got Cinna in my corner. Effie and my beauty team are already in tears over my dress and, 'What a beautiful bride I would have made.' I'm just trying not to puke.

By the time my name is called I feel as if I'm going to faint, but Peeta squeezes my hand and I see the slight smile of Johanna being sent my way, I force my feet to move towards the stage.

"Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire!" Ceaser shouts as I attempt to gracefully cross the stage. The audience gasps as they see the gown, several of them are openly crying for me.

"Katniss, you look absolutely stunning," Ceaser tells me, "If I may, is this the dress which you would have been wearing had you been able to marry Peeta, as planned?"

I nod tearfully, "Yes, Ceaser. This was going to be my wedding gown—until this whole tragedy began." He pats my hand comfortingly.

"Now tell us Katniss, how did you feel when you found out about the games? Like, Miss Mason, you were the only tribute for your district—what was your reaction?"

"I was horrified," I tell him honestly. "I had thought I was safe, that my family was safe—that Peeta was safe. To have this happen, is the worst nightmare I could imagine. I'm heartbroken, and angry."

"As are we, Katniss—and to have you back in the arena with Peeta again…"

I sigh heavily, "Peeta Is my best friend. Above all else, that's true. We've experienced something which only a handful of people can understand. To lose him would destroy me. He doesn't deserve this sort of ending. He deserved a life, and a family. Everything he's dreamed of."

"And what about your family, Katniss? How are they coping," he asks carefully. It seems that the capitol cares less about my game this time, and more about my family—well that makes my answers all the more simple. I don't have to lie.

"I wouldn't know," I say, my whole persona freezing over. Ceaser takes a step back, feeling the chill which has engulfed me.

"Excuse me?" He asks, searching for clarification.

"I wasn't allowed to say goodbye to them—to my mother, or my little sister Prim. I wanted to tell them I love them, to make sure that Prim doesn't feel guilty about everything I've gone through—make sure she knows it isn't her fault. But the Capitol denied me that final good bye, those final moments with the people I love. They seem to be denying me a lot lately—my life not being the worst of it all."

Ceaser interrupts, and I allow him—I almost feel bad for him, trying to help us and simultaneously keep himself alive. "That is tragic, Katniss. But who knows, maybe you'll be coming back! There's always a bit of hope."

I look at my feet, and then back towards the cameras. "I'm afraid not, Ceaser. This is goodbye for me. Peeta will be coming home when this is all over, and I will kill anyone who may stop that from happening—myself included."

The crowds gasps, and desperate cries are being heard as my closing music sounds. "Well—I know that we all hope that isn't the case, Miss. Everdeen," He desperately grasps at the hope that he can take control of this interview again, "If I may, Katniss, could we beg one last twirl from you? Just to see the full effect of the gown?"

I smile again, showing the strength that Ceaser is hoping for, "Of course Ceaser, I thought you'd never ask!"

Then I do as he asks, I turn for them. I turn for them as I have every other time on this stage, and just as I have every other time, I'm in flames again. Yet these aren't the same tame little flames that I've encountered so many times before. These are new, and Cinna has out done himself this time. As quickly as it began the flames extinguish themselves, and I'm left standing before the crowd, my wedding gown gone, and in its place a sleek black gown, adorned with feathers and intricate beading—but most magnificent of all, are the two glorious black wings, extended out across the full length of my arms.

Cinna has turned me into a Mockingjay.

Ceaser knows immediately that this will not be popular with the president, and he is stumbling over his words, "Thank—Thank you, Katniss Everdeen! Our District 12 Victor-Tribute, and the Girl on Fire!"

I make my way off stage and Haymitch is shaking his head at me, "Very risky, sweet heart."

"And to think, I've only just begun," I grin.

It's much later when I find myself on the roof again, armed with several of Haymitch's bottles of liquor. I don't know what I'm drinking, but I know that I've drank enough that the taste no longer bothers me.

"If it wasn't for the baby."

I gulp down another swig of the liquor as the words pound in my head. A baby. That was Peeta's big plan—a baby?!

Now everyone thinks I'm pregnant. They think I'm married and pregnant. My mother, my sister, Gale—they'll all think that I'm pregnant. Maybe not Prim—she may know better. But my mother won't, she'll believe every word, and Gale—Gale will be furious.

"Please tell me you're not really sitting up here—drinking Haymitch's liquor?"

I jump when I hear her voice, the liquor seems to have numbed my senses and I don't know when she arrived. "I am, and I have more than enough to share, have a bottle!"

She catches the bottle I throw and just as quickly shatters it against the wall, causing me to shrink away. Her eyes are cold, and I have no idea what I've done to piss her off, but she looks about ready to kill. "What's your problem?" I say, trying (unsuccessfully) to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"My problem?" she snips, "My problem is that you were dumb enough to get yourself knocked up. Really, with everything else that is going on right now? Jesus Christ. And despite all that you are sitting here boozing yourself into oblivion when you know damn well what kind of effect that has on a kid! Your mom is a doctor, right? So you have to have seen those kids? What the fuck is your problem, Everdeen?"

My trembling has subsided and now I am caught somewhere between shocked, and amused. Shocked, because she seems to actually give a damn about what happens to me and to my supposed unborn child, and amused because she doesn't realize that it's all complete bollocks.

"Johanna," I start carefully, but it seems she isn't quite done ranting.

"Don't Johanna me, Everdeen! Just try and stop being so damned stupid."

"Johanna!" I yell, I'm no longer amused, now I'm just pissed off, and somehow mildly hurt. You shouldn't be able to be hurt by people who are planning on killing you in the next few days… "I'm not pregnant you dolt, and if you would have shut up for a moment I would have told you that."

I take another gulp of the liquid in my hand and I glance back at her, she looks mildly uncomfortable. "I'm, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed, I just—I saw red, I guess . Sorry."

I'm surprised, she can't be the type to apologize easily, and yet she's doing just that. "Johanna, you have to know that I'm smarter than that?"

She smiles unhappily and nods, "I know you are—I'm sorry. I officially suck. Now, hand me a bottle, kitten."

I grin and hand her a bottle, "Besides, how the hell would I have become pregnant—Peeta? I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole."

She snorts, and clutches her nose, "Ow that burns," she says with a giggle. "You mean to tell me that is a lie too? I mean—I knew that you two weren't nearly as in love as the Capitol made you out to be, but I assumed you were at least screwing."

I shiver; I don't think I knew just how much that idea disgusted me until right now. "No. Really no. No, no, no." I chant. "He's like—like a friend. Just a friend. Being with him, like that? Never. I'm queen of the virgins, and will happily stay so if that's my only option."

She laughs again, "Seriously, girl on fire? A virgin? That's just depressing."

I blush crimson, I hadn't meant to say that, "Hey, I'm only 18; it's not that unheard of. Besides, between the starving family, the hunger games, and being engaged to the bread boy—when was I supposed to be having sex?"

She smiles fully now, and just shakes her head drinking happily from her own bottle, "Well now you simply have to live, can't have you dying a virgin, now can we?"

That's when it actually hits me, for the first time fully. I am going to die a virgin. I'm never going to have sex, or get married, I'm never going to hunt again or braid Prim's hair. I'm never going to sing her to sleep again. I don't know when I started crying, and it's so uncharacteristic that even I'm surprised.

Johanna just stares at me for a moment, jaw slack, unsure of how to respond. She's apologizing quickly, and I suddenly find myself wrapped firmly in her arms as I sob uncontrollably. In the last several years I've only cried a handful of times, and I don't quite know where this came from, but I've suddenly realized how much I don't want to die. You would think that would be obvious to a person, but with everything going on, I've just been pretty numb to the whole thing.

I may not want to live—not in the circumstances that I'm currently strapped to, but I don't want to die either. I just want to wake up from this nightmare, to find that I'm back in the Seam with my parents and my little sister—I want my Dad to tell me it was all just a bad dream, but I know that isn't going to happen.

"It's alright, Katniss, you're going to be alright," Johanna is whispering in my ear, and I'm finding myself far too comforted by the young woman whose arms are currently trapping me. She smells like some strange mixture of lemon and pine, and is surprisingly warm for such a small person. Most of all, I'm surprised that she's doing this at all. She knows as well as I do that tomorrow morning begins the end. Even if we both make it to the end of the game—one of us won't go home. Yet here she is, holding me as if none of that matters, as if she cares.

"Why are you being so nice to me," I whisper, my voice cracking.

I feel her sigh as she gently brushes my hair with her fingertips, "Because I care about you."

"But tomorrow…"

She shakes her head, "I don't want to think about tomorrow. Everything else aside, I care about you and I don't want you to hurt anymore. You don't deserve that," I feel her breath gently tickling my ear as she whispers; "I wish I had met you so much sooner, Katniss."

I lean back to look at her and I find that her eyes are filled with tears too. She doesn't seem like the type to show weakness, to show emotions, but I suppose if ever there was a time for emotions, it's now. I gently cup her face, wiping away a stray tear with my thumb. "Thank you," I whisper.

Without a moment to consider the consequences, I place my lips against hers—gently, carefully, and full of fear—I kiss her. I pull back almost immediately—unsure of myself, of her, of this world, but before I can fully take a breath I feel her own lips back on mine.

There's more confidence in her kiss, more experience, but I can tell that she's scared too. This isn't the alcohol, or the feeling two people have when they know it's their last day on earth—this is something else entirely. Something neither of us really know anything about.

Despite our fears we both quickly lose ourselves to the passion of our kiss, her tiny hands pull me ever closer and my fingers run through her short hair. I had been waiting for this moment for days, without even realizing it. Desperately counting down to the moment when I could touch her, feel her, smell her. Wishing for the moment when I could tell her exactly how I feel—show her.

When her hands move under my shirt I don't hesitate to lift my arms, and leave it crumpled on the floor. I'm not wearing a bra, having forgone it hours ago when I put on the pajamas, and she grins against my lips, her hands gracefully slide over the curve of my waist and her torturous fingers graze lightly over my breasts.

I moan loudly and she reacts by grinding her hips against my own. Bringing my hands to her thighs, I delight in the smooth expanse of skin which I find—she's opted for shorts this evening, and nothing else.

That knowledge, combined with the fact that her lips have suddenly found the pressure point on my neck, have me desperate to touch her—to feel her writhing and hear her moaning deliciously. Just as I allow one courageous finger to slide along the very edge of her folds the door to the roof opens and a whole string of profanities let loose in my mind.

Haymitch just stands, eyebrows raised and eyes wide—it seems I've finally managed to shock him.

"Sorry, kitten, it looks like we'll have to continue this another time," Johanna whispers, kissing me soundly on the mouth. "I'll see you tomorrow," she finishes, a note of sadness in her voice as she escapes past Haymitch and into the stairwell.

"Well then," Haymitch says finally. "I guess I found my booze…and the added bonus of why you suddenly decided to be allies."

I pull on my shirt quickly, only blushing slightly—the capitol has numbed me to such things. "This wasn't a thing until just now—thank you. It took me just as much by surprise as you."

"Somehow I doubt that, sweetheart."

"Fuck." I swear, the whole situation catching up with me quickly. I find the bottle I had pushed aside only minutes before and take a long drink as Haymitch continues to watch me. "Please stop looking at me like that," I snap.

He just shrugs, "I'll work on it, but that isn't going to be an image which quickly leaves my memory—and in comparison to most of the other mental images I have… can't say I'm complaining."

"You're disgusting."

"This is going to make things more difficult, you know that, right?" I sigh, he actually sounds concerned.

"Not really," I say honestly. "I had already realized I cared about her as a friend—I already didn't even want to consider the idea of her death. That hasn't changed. And I still have to save Peeta—that hasn't changed either."

"It's sure as hell going to make things more difficult for her," he sighs, "She doesn't open up to most people—and the way she's been lookin' at you… You should know, Peeta may not be the only person who's trying to keep you alive in there."

I swear under my breath, and he just continues to look at me. "I don't know how to do this, Haymitch." And it's true. I don't know how to kill these people, and I don't know how to die, and I certainly don't know how to watch her die. It only took half a moment for me to realize just how much I care about her. I can't even say I'm surprised, though I certainly should be. I just wish I had met her sooner—so much sooner. But that wish doesn't change anything.

We're not living in a fairytale; we're living in the Capitol. True love doesn't mean that the politics disappear and you're suddenly given a do-over. It just means that everything hurts more.

Luckily, Haymitch doesn't ask me to clarify. I think he knows, he understands. We've always been able to read each other like that.

"It'll be alright," he says after a moment; I know he doesn't believe that. And he knows that I know, but he also knows that I appreciate the gesture.

I just nod, "We should get to bed—I want to be bright and fresh in the morning. Wouldn't want to be tired when I go off to my death." He smirks slightly, and helps me stand up.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Let's get you to bed."

Thanks for reading and if you have a moment, please let me know what you think! I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, so I very much hope you enjoyed it!