#everlark ff

The Rebellion: Wake Up – Katniss and Ivy

 “Truth is like blood underneath your fingernails And you don't wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself Looking too closely”

-          Looking Too Closely – Fink

 Katniss –

I lean back against the cold, metal wall of Beetee’s lab, the chill running up my spine. I think I’m going to throw up. The world around me spins and blurs, my insides twist up into knots while my head pounds. I blink but nothing rights itself. The world doesn’t get clearer or calmer. I just feel numb, less real, like I’m fading, like I’m not really here. Everything is muted, the colors blanched and lifeless, the voices of the people around me buzzing but I can’t find any words to cling to, to bring things into focus.

I blink again and again until I find one clear thing in the void, one person to focus on.

Peeta.

He keeps his arms crossed over his chest as he paces. His fingers digging into his skin so hard his forearm turns red from the pressure, he’ll have bruises tomorrow. He moves too fast, his fingers gripping tight, his eyes glued to the floor, thoughts far away in a room we aren’t allowed in.

Haymitch lays a hand on Peeta’s shoulder and he stops pacing. Peeta’s fingers loosen from his wrist as he sinks against the wall opposite me, hands rubbing at his eyes and tearing at his hair before returning to their place covering his arms.

I blink once more. The voices around me come into focus, but still, nothing feels right. It feels shifted to the left by one inch, just wrong enough to feel off even when everything still looks the same.

“We have to run more tests but it seems that President Snow, both of them, used a synthetic type of tracker jacker venom to erase and rewrite her memories,” Beetee says as he cleans his glasses, unable to look at us as he delivers the news.

“What does that mean?” Peeta asks, his voice shaky and quivering.

“They reprogrammed her, for lack of a better word, convinced her that she was someone else.”

“That Reagan was her mother,” I say, lifeless. I want to kill her. I want to rip out her throat, put an arrow in her heart and watch her bleed. I want to watch her die slowly. I could have. She would be dead by now if Peeta hadn’t stopped me.

I would be dead too. I should be dead too.

I can’t help but feel like I deserve this. That after years of trying to keep Ivy at a distance, of making her think I didn’t love her, this is my reward, my just desserts.

“How do we fix her?” Peeta asks, his voice shaking.

Beetee glances from Peeta to me, “I’m working on figuring it out.”

“Work faster.” My voice is dark and commanding, the anger in my heart spilling over to anyone it can reach.

“He will, Katniss, give him time.” Haymitch breathes on his hands and rubs them together to keep them warm. His voice creaks and wavers. My rage dissipates and all I have left is sorrow.

“We don’t have time, any day the Capitol can come knocking on our door, any day they can win. And what happens then?” I ask.

“She might know something, whether she’s aware of it or not,” Beetee starts but Peeta shakes his head.

“We’re not even going there,” Peeta commands.

“But if she does know something, something that could help,” Beetee tries again.

“So you want to what? Treat her like a criminal? Prove whatever lie she believes about us true, that we’re going to hurt her.”

“I didn’t say that, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.” Beetee rubs at his glasses again.

“I won’t allow it.”

“It’s not up to you,” Beetee states flatly, “Sooner or later Coin will see that she might know something or Gale, and they’ll make a decision on what to do, whether to treat or interrogate.”

Peeta steps closer to Beetee, his hands balled into fists, “Let them try, see what happens.”

“Enough,” I start quietly my voice growing as they continue to argue, “Enough!” They all stop and turn to look at me. My voice cracks. “She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know us.” And it’s all I can choke out before everything comes to a standstill. It feels like I’m fading, like I’m falling into pieces and I don’t want anyone to pick them back up.

The door opens and Finnick walks in. He looks around the room, noticing the grim faces and solemn, cold, atmosphere, “How bad is she?” He asks and I wonder how many people know by now. If all of Thirteen knows she’s here and she believes she belongs back in the Capitol, if they’ll look at her and think she’s more of a traitor than ever before and if what Beetee says could come true, if Coin and even Gale could come for her because they believe she has information they need.

My throat dries. I can’t go over it with Finnick, I can’t even think about all of it anymore. Peeta takes a steadying breath and shares the details, as much as he’s able to before his own voice gives out.

“She doesn’t know anyone. She doesn’t remember anyone,” Peeta finishes in a whisper and Finnick sighs deeply and heavily. A part of me knows that his concern lies with how it’s going to affect his son, how he’s going to tell Beck this news, and I’m angry at him for it. I’m angry that he has his family, that they’re here safe and sound. A part of me hates that he’s here.

“I’m going to run my tests, find the best course of treatment,” Beetee shares. I find myself back against the wall, barely listening, the buzz of the world around me shifting and filling my head with white noise.

“And what are we supposed to do until then?” Peeta asks, voice monotone, solemn with an underlying threat. The argument and threat from before unforgotten. I can’t even focus on the danger anymore, I have nothing left to give, no emotion left to feel.

“Convince her?” Finnick offers, “Talk to her?”

Peeta takes in his words but my head is fuzzy, my heart is broken, and I don’t think she’ll let me near enough to even say hello.

“She screamed when she saw me,” I state, “She doesn’t trust me or believe that I…how can I be her mother when she doesn’t know who I am?” I blink back tears, my voice failing as the pain becomes overwhelming.

“Katniss,” Peeta starts but I shake my head and find my way to the door.

“I need quiet…I just need to be away…” And then I’m gone.

I ignore the stares as I make my way back to my room. The world still spins, still buzzes with too much noise and all I want to do is scream. It keeps building from my stomach to my throat, ready to unleash all the pain I feel, all my rage.

When I’m safely back in the living unit, away from the noise, I ball my fists and let it go, screaming and screaming my voice raw. I hear the door open and close behind me but it’s too late, the screaming won’t stop no matter how hard I try to bottle it back up.

I keep screaming long after Peeta’s strong arms wrap around me and hold me close, my back to his chest, his heartbeat in tandem with mine. I keep screaming even as he tells me it’s okay over and over. I keep screaming even when I can’t breathe, even when my throat feels like its bleeding. I can’t stop.

I see the memories they’ve ripped from her, memories I have that she doesn’t. I see her first steps. Her first reaping at twelve, the fear that came with it and the relief when her name wasn’t called. I see her sitting in her favorite tree in our woods. I see her crawling into bed with me after she had a nightmare of her own and Peeta had left for the bakery early. I hear her laugh, I hear her learning to read and sounding out the words with uncertainty as Peeta tells her she’s doing great.

I hear her first word.

“Mama.”

I scream over these memories as they flash before me like a hammer being taken to my already broken heart and all the while Peeta holds me through it, securing me here in this moment so I don’t get lost.

When it’s over, when the pain fades enough to become a dull ache and my voice no longer works, Peeta talks, his arms still wrapped around me tightly.

“We can’t abandon her,” he says quietly, his voice vibrating through my body as he holds me. And I’m reminded of us so long ago when we were on top of a building in the Capitol, about to go fight for our lives, neither one of us knowing how it would all turn out.

“We won’t,” I croak out through my damaged voice, “I won’t.” And I remember after my father died, I remember what it felt like to be abandoned, to watch someone disappear on me. I can’t let that happen to Ivy. I won’t let it happen to her. I can’t build another wall. I can’t hide away from this, not again.

I have to be there for her in a way I wasn’t before. She has to know how much she’s loved, how much she means. She has to remember. I have to help her remember.

We have to help her remember.

Ivy –

“Is anyone there?” I shout to the mirror, to my own reflection staring back at me. I know it’s a window. I know they’re watching. “Hello?! Are you planning on sharing your terms with your hostage?”

I pull against the restraints, my limbs are still heavy from the drugs they stuck me with before and my mouth tastes like cotton, but my strength is coming back. I can’t let them see that I’m afraid. They’ll use it against me. They’ll use it against Mother back in the Capitol. I have to stay strong. The rebels can’t win.

Katniss Everdeen, the monster, can’t win.

I think of my room in the mansion, the comfort of my bed. How did this happen? How did they find me? I was supposed to be protected. I was protected. They must have had an inside source. I hope Mother figures it out. I hope she makes them pay.

I pull harder at the restraints despite the pain and chafing on my wrist. I don’t care. I want out. I have to get out.

I stare at my reflection. I look tired, but I suppose that’s to be expected. I haven’t been hurt, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be.

I look around waiting for someone to come, for them to ask me questions, but they don’t. Maybe they’re starving me out first, trying to get me weak before they do the real damage, before they try to turn me to their cause.

Mother warned me about this. After Great-Grandfather’s funeral, she warned me that the rebels might try something. She said they might make up stories, try to convince me that what I knew wasn’t real. She told me they were liars and they would do anything to get their way, to win.

Katniss Everdeen will try to win, but she will fail, like she did years before.

I’ll kill her if I get the chance. I’ll save the Capitol. I’ll have a day named after me. Ivy Snow Day. Panem will celebrate it.

A wave of unease and nausea comes over me at the thought but I bury it down. It’s just the drugs they gave me. Nothing more.

I keep pulling at the restraints, trying to force them to break. I start to hear ringing in my head as I do, a sharp, painful tone that radiates from my head along my muscles. I close my eyes as the pain burns behind my eyes, a throbbing that feels like my head is going to split in half, but I keep trying to force the restraints.

The door opens and I let my hands drop, the ringing fades, disappearing altogether in an instant. I sit back in my bed as a nurse with blonde hair braided down the side brings in food on a tray. It’s in a bowl with some gray bread on the side of it. I glance at the bowl to see some kind of watery mess with pieces of green in it. I grimace at the smell. Whatever that is, it’s not edible, and I won’t eat it.

I look away despite the growl in my stomach. I’ll starve before I accept anything from them, even food. Mother would be proud of that too. She would be glad I died fighting the rebels, she would be glad I died defending the Capitol.

The nurse swallows thickly, her eyes trying to hide some glassy emotion. I stare at her, recognizing her from the footage. She’s older, but her hair’s the same color, she has the same fear she did at her reaping.

“You’re Primrose,” I say, “Primrose Everdeen.”

“Hawthorne now,” she says.

I shrug, I don’t really care. She’ll always be Primrose Everdeen, the sister of Katniss Everdeen, who volunteered for her in the 74th Hunger Games. “Guess you followed Katniss here, huh? Makes sense.”

Prim holds the bread out but I shake my head.

“I don’t want your food.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I’ll eat when I’m back home,” I say defiantly and there’s a larger pain that crosses behind Prim’s eyes.

“And if no one comes for you?” She asks with a confidence that says her mind’s made up on the matter.

“They’ll come. They won’t let President Snow’s daughter die at the hands of the rebels.” I look at the mirror in front of me, knowing full well that someone is behind the glass watching now, knowing who it is.

“You won’t win, Katniss,” I say to the mirror, to her. Then I look at Prim, “She’s a monster, you know. She only gets people killed. She needs to die.”

“You could do it,” I taunt, “No one would see it coming and I promise you, the Capitol will pay you very well for that and for my safe return.”

Prim shakes her head, the same sad look in her eyes.

I pull at the restraints again, “You know she needs to die!” I start kicking, trying to escape somehow, until I feel a needle stick into my arm. Prim stares at me as the heaviness of the drugs and sleep pushes against me.

“When you die, when all this falls, it’s her fault and yours,” I whisper before fading.

The world comes and goes in a haze. I wake up to see someone taking blood and then they put me asleep again. I hear voices and beeping as machines take scans. I’m not in the white room and then I’m back in it. I wake with an IV in my arm to keep me hydrated and alive. They won’t let me starve.

“Does she really need to say asleep?” I hear a male voice ask, full of sadness and pain, and a part of me recognizes the voice, the tone, but I can’t open my eyes to look at them. I’m lost in the ether of the drugs.

“We can’t have her escaping and hurting someone,” a woman’s voice states, cold and stern. President Coin, I assume. Mother spoke of her, of her wanting to overthrow and kill us, of her wanting to take control of Panem.

“She wouldn’t do that,” the man’s voice says.

“Peeta, we don’t know what she would do. We don’t know what they made her think and we don’t know if someone here would be willing to harm her if they think she’s a traitor,” Coin’s voice states coldly.

Peeta Mellark is here. Of course he is, wherever Katniss goes, he follows. Mother said he’s her weakness and she’s his. The way to destroy them is through each other.

He sounds sad, sympathetic. Maybe he could let me go. He’s the more rational one. Or so it seemed from the footage of their Games. I remember watching it. I remember thinking even if he loved her, she didn’t love him back. He’d be better off without her. He’ll let me go if I ask.

I try to open my eyes but I can’t against the darkness, against the heaviness of the drugs. It’s like a chain wrapped tight around me, pulling me down into an ocean of drug induced sleep. I can’t swim out. The voices disappear and I’m back under, trying to swim up again but unable to find the surface anymore.

They wake me up to ask if I’m ready to talk, to eat, to comply, and every time they ask I stay silent and wait for them to put me back under.

It feels like I’ve been here before, that I’ve always been here, different voices, different rooms, but always the same. I’m asleep. I’m awake. I’m asked if I’m ready to cooperate and when I say no I’m asleep again. It’s like a clock that keeps going round and round and round. I can’t escape it.

I push to the surface again, breaking through enough to open my eyes this time. I’m still in the white room, bright and unyielding. But everything starts to fade as I struggle to stay awake.

“This should counteract the effects, or rather help her notice the effects,” the steady voice of Beetee Latier says from behind me. I know it from the museum, from footage and history. He did a lot for the Capitol back before he betrayed it.

There’s a hand brushing through my hair, it’s calloused and rough, but gentle at the same time. It feels familiar in a way that I can’t figure out. It lulls me back beneath the surface of waking and into the ocean of sleep. Only this time, there’s a feeling of peace in it.

“Is it safe?” The sound of the question radiates through the hand in my hair and the peace shatters. I push against the surface, harder than before trying to break through as the light blinds me. I blink, trying to focus on Katniss Everdeen. I want her to see that I’m awake. That I’m not afraid of her.

I want her to see that I’m going to be the one who kills her.

My breathing is unsteady as I fight the drugs to sit up, to get to her. She’s my way out. If I kill her, I’ll die here, but the Capitol will win. Her hand is gone from my head when I force myself to move, when I pull my arm I find there’s no restraint, that it hangs from the side of the bed like it’s been forgotten.

Their mistake is my only chance.

“I’ll kill you,” I mumble out, “I’ll kill you,” I keep repeating until I’m standing on unsteady feet, pushing forward. I try to hit her, scratch her, do anything to take her out. But I’m too weak, the drugs too strong and too saturated in my system. I stumble forward, falling towards the floor in an ungraceful dive.

She catches me before I hit the ground. She catches me and she steadies me even as I try to push against her. I can’t will my heavy limbs to move or fight anymore and she does nothing to restrain me, to hurt me back. She guides me back to the bed, much too gently for someone who thinks their life is in danger, her eyes bordering on tears as she does.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” her voice is too calm, too…motherly. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit the narrative, what I’ve always known about her. A ringing overshadows her voice as she keeps talking, “I’m sorry. Please, Ivy, let us help. Sleep.” I hear boots enter the room and the click of restraints being re-attached as the pressure on my wrists returns.

“Is that really necessary?” Katniss asks.

“You heard her,” a man’s voice I don’t recognize answers, “She said she’d kill you.”

“Gale, she won’t,” Katniss argues.

There’s the distinct sound of a frustrated exhale before, “She’s President Snow’s daughter now, right? Why wouldn’t she try to kill you? Why wouldn’t she help them?” the man called Gale asks in a tone that’s harsh and unyielding.

“What are you saying? Give up?”

“It’s been two weeks with no change. It might be time for a different approach, for her to tell us something,” he states.

“Get out,” Katniss orders and there’s another frustrated breath before the heavy boots march out of the room.

I feel the prick of another needle and the ringing stops as the chain pulls me down into the ocean again and the world disappears.

I lose track of the days as I’m woken up and put back under. Prim comes and goes, always with food, always trying to get me to eat but every time I refuse and the IV stays in. I never see anyone else. I never see Katniss Everdeen again but I know she’s watching. I can feel her watching and there are times when I don’t find it unwelcome to know she’s there.

Sometimes my head pounds, sometimes I feel pain that isn’t there. Sometimes there’s a ringing and sometimes there’s silence. Sometimes I feel like screaming and sometimes I feel like crying but I don’t know why.

I know and I’ve accepted I’m never getting out of here. There’s a part of me that’s afraid to admit that I feel relieved when I think about that fact. When I open my eyes to the white room, I feel safe and I can’t explain why.

Most times I’m asleep I dream of home. The mansion. The Capitol. I see the bright, clean streets and the colorful people. There are dreams where I see caring, green eyes and I feel calm. There’s the taste of pastries I can’t remember the name of. The sight of Mother planning to fight, to win this war. There are maps on the walls and on her desk, a group of advisors around her and the plans can’t fail, they won’t fail.

I dream of Mother rescuing me, but her face changes and the room isn’t white it’s a dark red and there’s a screaming that never ends. There are dreams where I see the mansion and it doesn’t feel like home at all. There’s a yellow-green haze around it, like a halo that doesn’t quite fit, it feels wrong to look at the mansion when it’s like that and those memories burn.

There’s a cool cloth on my head that soothes and then it’s gone. There are wires attached to me that connect to machines and the room is red and then there’s only the IV and the room is white. The restraints are made of metal and they’re made of leather. There’s electricity coursing through my veins and no pain at all. There’s the yellow-green haze and the sound of Mother’s voice and there’s a green plant with flowers that tastes bitter and the sound of someone singing.

I see the rose garden Great-Grandfather spent his time in. I walk past the too brightly colored roses and the smell is overwhelming. It stays with me as I open my eyes and a wave of nausea follows. A lot of those memories seem to make me nauseous.

I blame the drugs.

I hear laughter, sarcastic but warm, like it can’t believe what it’s seeing in me and yet wants me to know that it still cares. It’s far away, too far away to be real. It must still be the drugs.

Once I dream of a meadow. It’s bright with tall grass that I run through. There are three shadows with me, their faces unclear, not fully formed. Still, I feel safe, even as I chase the smaller shadow in front of me, I smile. There’s no yellow-green haze here, just the sun.

I hear thunder and rain and I wake up with tears running down my face, though I don’t know why. I don’t feel sick after this dream. I just feel sad.

I wait for Prim to bring me the next dose, to put me back under, but she never shows up. The haze of the drugs wears off and for the first time the world focuses. I find that I’m starving. I want real food. I want to be out of this room. I just want to see the sun.

“Are you there?” I ask, my voice hoarse from disuse, “I’m done. I’ll eat, I’ll tell you whatever. Just get this IV out, please, don’t put me back to sleep.”

I feel like I’m betraying Mother but I’m too hungry and too tired of fighting to care.

Prim comes in and removes the IV a moment later but she doesn’t have any food with her. She doesn’t even stay. She just smiles as she pulls the needle from my arm and puts a bandage over it. Then, she leaves and I’m alone in the white room, looking at myself in the mirror.

I look horrible. I’m thinner than I was when I got here. My eyes are sunken, almost bruised looking. I look worn out, tired, even though I’ve done nothing but sleep. My limbs are heavy from not being used and all I want to do is get out of this bed. All I want is to walk around and eat something that wasn’t given to me through a tube in my arm.

About a minute later Katniss Everdeen comes through the door and I feel the same weight I always felt when I knew she was staring at me through the window. She’s carrying a few pieces of bread and I no longer care about the gray color of it. Of course they’d make me take this peace offering from her. Of course Thirteen would do this to me, test my will, break me down, accept their Mockingjay.

I wonder what comes next, what questions will be asked, what the next torture will be. I shake my head because somehow that feels wrong. It doesn’t feel like torture, it’s not the right word for it. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know this isn’t the true definition of torture, that this isn’t the right use of the word, but I can’t find the place where I know it.

Katniss sucks in a breath at the sight of me and I want to pull on the restraints, I want to run, but I don’t. I know they’ll just put me back under if I do. There’s a dull ringing in the back of my head that I try to ignore, even as it radiates and grows.

“Hello, Ivy,” she greets, her voice tepid, measured, controlled.

She glances from me to the restraints and there’s a deep sadness that burns through her eyes, even more than the look I received from Prim. It’s pained, the sight of a wounded animal that’s still fighting, and there’s love in that look too, a mixture I can’t quite put together but something I’m entirely unfamiliar with. The only description of it is a mother’s look, but I’ve never seen that look from Mother back home.

Why do you think that is?

The voice is a whisper in the back of my head, new, yet familiar. I can hear the same laughter in it that I thought I heard before, the same sarcasm and resolve.

I look around for the source but there’s no one else in the room besides Katniss and myself. For some reason I find myself staring at Katniss’ eyes, like the whisper came from them, but I know they didn’t. I shake my head, willing the voice and the laughter to go away. It’s just side effects from the drugs. That or I’m going crazy, which wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility down here.

No, Mother wouldn’t allow them to drive me to this. I won’t allow it. I focus on the Victor in front of me. The Mockingjay. The reason for this rebellion. The source of Mother’s hatred and my current predicament. I try to find the hatred, to let it build and focus on her, but it’s like there’s a block like I’m numb.

Still, I don’t say anything. I just stare. She seems hurt by the look I give her, a hurt she covers up, and I hope Mother would be proud. I blink trying to ignore the throb that starts behind my eyes as the ringing gets louder.

She loosens the restraints and hands me the bread. I bite into it, not caring that it tastes like cardboard or that the crumbs land on the blanket covering my lap. I’m starving. It doesn’t matter how it tastes or how it looks.

I half expect to hear the whisper again, making some comment about how I said I’d never accept food from anyone here. But there’s no voice, no laughter, there’s only the ringing in my head. The bread settles and I feel stronger, more awake.

Katniss watches me, arms crossed over her chest like she’s waiting for me to do something, try something.

“What do you want?” I croak out, my voice still dry and cracked.

“I want to help you,” the words are awkward and heavy, like she isn’t sure as she says them, like she’d rather be saying something else.

“Help?” I laugh. “If you wanted to help I wouldn’t be stuck in here. You would send me home.”

“I know you don’t want to believe it, but this is home, at least for now.” There’s a deep sadness that surrounds her at the mention of home and I remember seeing footage of a destroyed District, of fire and ash. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel about it, satisfied, disappointed, instead I feel nothing.

She looks at me again, “I don’t want you in here anymore than you want to be in here but you’re not yourself. I’m trying to get you out. Your father, Peeta, is too.”

“He’s not my father and you’re not my mother,” I tell her, angry, the pain behind my eyes getting worse the more this goes on, fracturing across my skull like lightning, “You’re just lying to try to get me on your side or fighting for you. It won’t work.”

“I’m not lying. I love you, Ivy. I know I never said it, not enough, not as much as you deserved but it’s true and I’m going to prove it to you.”

The ringing reaches a crescendo I can no longer bear. I close my eyes against the pain. My head feels like it’s breaking in half. The rebels must have done this to me. Beetee and Katniss did this. They’re making this happen, this torture.

And this time I feel like the word torture is right, that this is the first sentence of the definition of a word I should know well, though I still can’t find why, or understand my certainty in it.

“Stop!” I scream against the ringing, “Please, stop! Why are you doing this?!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Katniss says, her voice pitched and full of fear.

“It hurts,” I shout, “Stop! It hurts!” Tears fall from my eyes as my head falls forward and the world burns. Two hands catch me, the same hands that caught me before, the same rough, calloused but gentle hands that brushed through my hair. A thumb rubs against my cheek and I keep my eyes closed as pain fractures from my head through every muscle in my body.

“Ivy,” Katniss says, repeating my name over and over but all it does is make me hurt more.

“Get away from me!” I thrash, pushing her away from me. It feels like I’m being electrocuted over and over, my skin ripping and tearing, my entire body flayed open. I start to scream, I can’t feel anything but pain.

I see a flash of something I’m not quite sure is real. A house that’s not in the Capitol, but somewhere else, somewhere that should be surrounded by ash but isn’t. It feels warm there, it feels safe. I see Katniss at the door of the house and she smiles.

When I blink back into reality I look at her and I feel something familiar, a whisper of something true, but then all I feel is pain.

Prim rushes in with Beetee wheeling in behind her. A man dressed in the black of the rebel soldiers follows and pushes me down.

“Gale,” Katniss tries, pushing against the soldier. I stare into his eyes as the needle pierces my arm but he can’t look at me. The pain subsides and the world begins to fade as I hear the click of the restraints put securely back in place.

“She recognized me,” Katniss says, her voice wavering, “She looked at me before and she…it was her…what happened?”

“A counter measure. Conditioning,” Beetee says as my eyes grow heavy and close.

“Against what?” Katniss asks.

“Against you.”

I smell roses and hear Mother laughing and it’s not the same laugh I heard from the whisper before, this one isn’t warm this one is cold and ruthless. It scares me in a way it never did before.

Believe her…

The kind whisper returns and it’s the last thing I hear before I’m pulled under by the drugs once again.

Katniss –

“What happened?” I ask Beetee as he looks over his data culled from Ivy’s blood and the scans of her brain done while she was asleep.

“Something good.”

“How is it good?”

“Because if she reacted that badly, that means they couldn’t make her forget you completely so they had to put in conditioning to counteract it. If she gets too close to something real, there’s a pain response. Memories of you cause her pain because she’s not allowed to remember them. We just have to get her to push through the pain and find the truth underneath, then she’ll be able to build her memories again.” Beetee writes in a chart.

It’s been almost a month since Ivy was rescued. A month of fighting in Two with nothing changing, a month of Peeta and I taking shifts to watch Ivy from behind the glass while she sleeps in a drug induced coma and they run tests. Every time I look at her my heart breaks and heals all the same. She’s alive. She’s here. She’s safe, even if she doesn’t believe it, even if I’m not quite sure she’ll ever be herself again. She’s alive and she’s safe.

But sometimes I look at Gale and I wonder how safe she will be for long, if they truly will jump to questioning her, like they have been with Cain. I’m not allowed to watch those interrogations but I see Gale return with bruises on his knuckles and blood that isn’t his on his shirt and I wish I could.

Peeta spends hours training with Gloss or painting. I train too, trying to keep my mind off of what’s happening with Ivy. Coin lets me go outside to hunt and I bring back food on occasion. Gale went with me once, and it felt like when we were younger, silent and alone out in the woods, but since he started questioning Cain, since he started inching around the subject of questioning Ivy, the distance has grown again. I usually go by myself, the isolation better for me.

I encounter Beck and Finnick throwing tridents at targets one day in the training field. Beck seems to be healing more each day, throwing with ease. He watches me, looking for any sign that something’s changed with Ivy, but he never asks. I think Finnick has told him not to and he’s respecting that request.

The tests have only proven what Beetee already suspected, but today was different. Today Beetee told me to try to talk to her, that she might be able to tell that some of her memories are fake after giving his serum a chance to work. That’s what the new tests showed apparently. I wish I hadn’t tried. I caused her pain. I’m causing it to be worse.

Peeta comes into the lab a second later. “Gale told me you woke her up,” he says, “Why didn’t you come get me?”

I shake my head, “I don’t know. It happened fast.”

He puts a hand on my cheek, “Are you okay?” I nod even though I’m not.

“I’m hurting her, whatever they did, I’m part of it. I can’t be around her,” I say.

“No, Katniss,” Beetee tells me, “The Capitol is hurting her. It’s not on you.” Beetee adjusts his glasses and stares at the data again, there’s a solemn weight to him. He hasn’t brought up interrogation, if anything he’s fighting Gale on it more each day. Whatever he tells Coin about Ivy, she hasn’t ordered anything different to be done.

“All of this. It’s on me,” he admits. He takes a heavy breath, dropping the papers around him.

“What do you mean?” Peeta asks, taking a step forward.

“I came up with the theory back when I…when I worked for them. They wanted to know if there was a way to make people more compliant, loyal. I knew what saying no meant, so I did it.” His hands grip the side of his chair, “I collected data. I had test subjects, volunteers who didn’t know what they were volunteering for because the Capitol forced them into it. I figured out how to attack the fear response. I invented it. I created the serum made from tracker jacker venom.”

Beetee swallows the thickness in his throat, his eyes focused on his desk, unable to look at me or Peeta. “When it came time to present the results, I told them it was a failure, that attachment and false loyalty could always be overwritten no matter how much fear and pain they put the subjects through. And in that I wasn’t lying, I erased my research, gave them fragments but…I gave them enough, a blueprint that they were able to improve on. It was my research that gave them the tools to harm your daughter.” He finally turns to look at Peeta and me. “I will fix this, I will make it right. I promise.”

There’s a long silence before Peeta places a hand on Beetee’s shoulder, “It’s like you said, you had to. You couldn’t say no. You weren’t the one who put her through the process, you weren’t the one who did this to her, you were just a tool they used like all of us.”

“I created the tool they used.”

“No,” I add, knowing full well the Capitol’s hold over all of its Victors, “If you hadn’t they would have gotten someone else and they would have just killed you or someone you cared about.”

“But you know what they worked from,” Peeta says with a nod of reassurance, “So you can fix her.”

Beetee nods, “I think I might have a way to overwrite the override. But it could go bad and I don’t know that it’ll work or that you’ll want to put her through it.” He takes a breath, the cloud of guilt around him evaporating the more he talks.

“What is it?” Peeta asks. My heart pounds in my throat like it’s anticipating something horrible, something worse than what we’ve already seen.

“We have to put her in a situation that mimics the fear they created, but that also has an emotional connection for her to attach to. One she can’t ignore or fight against.” Beetee turns towards one of the lab computers and pulls up an image on the screen. I hold my breath as my heart plummets from my throat to my stomach. I recognize it from my nightmares and the reality with which those nightmares were born from.

Her Arena.

“No, no, she’s not going back there,” Peeta argues, his voice high and his hands clenched at his sides. “We’re not doing that to her.”

“The Arena is the last place she truly feared for her life aside from the Capitol and it’s not like we can send her there.”

“What about here?” I ask, “She’s afraid here.”

“She can’t break the conditioning here. She knows inherently that you won’t hurt her, that she’s safe here unless Coin and Gale were to change that and finally start questioning, which they won’t unless I tell them to and I won’t tell them to. No, we need to attack the fear response directly.”

Peeta shakes his head, “After you just tried to apologize for creating it, you want to repeat your experiment?”

Beetee continues, “Yes. She’ll attach to the memories she can’t run from and she’ll be able to notice the differences between the artificial and the real, definitively without pain.”

“Or she’ll end up worse,” Peeta says, “You inject her with more of the same crap and she’ll just be more terrified of the same things. She won’t come back. She’ll never learn to trust us. What if she dies in there? Or she tries to kill someone or herself? What then? Coin won’t let her back out. They will question her and she’ll be stuck in that room for the rest of her life.”

“It’s a risk but it’s the only risk you have. She can’t and she won’t find the memories here, especially with the aversion they put in against Katniss. She’ll never come back in Thirteen. I have to run a few more tests with her awake but from the scans while she was dreaming, the only way is fear. True fear and pain. You saw it today,” Beetee points to me, “She was afraid and she was in pain and she looked at you, and she saw you.”

“I don’t know what she saw,” I reply, my thoughts back in her Arena, in watching her survive, in being helpless to do anything for her or Bas. “You want her to relive Bas’ death. That’s who she can’t find here.”

“When we first did the experiments, emotional pain, it always beat the serum. Love forced the subject to fight harder against what we were doing. The Capitol wouldn’t have been able to get rid of Bas any more than they could get rid of you. My theory is they didn’t need to add anything with him because there was no need to condition against him. Not when he’s no longer a threat.”

Peeta takes a heavy breath. I look at him as he works to understand but he knows, like I know, this is the only way. This is the only chance. Beetee’s right. He created it, he knows the weaknesses, what he says is true.

“It’ll be safe, as safe as I can make it. It’ll feel like she’s dreaming…”

“It’ll feel like a nightmare. This isn’t the way,” Peeta says to me, pointing at the Arena on the screen, “I won’t force her back into that Hell.”

“Then we ask her and she chooses for herself,” I say.

“What?” Peeta asks.

“Katniss, she doesn’t know who you are, she can’t choose between you and the Capitol if she only knows what they’ve taught her,” Beetee tells me.

“Then figure out a way to keep her from being in pain whenever she sees me and let Peeta and I take her out of that room, show her where we live, get her used to Thirteen. Because I saw it and I know she saw it too, saw me. I’m not going to throw her in an Arena with the hope that she’ll come out of it okay. Not unless she knows what she’s going in there for. She didn’t have a choice the first time, she should now,” I argue, my voice strong and certain, my heart more sure in this moment than it has been about anything before.

Beetee’s silent for a long time after that until he asks, “And if she does decide to go?”

“Then she goes,” Peeta answers, “Can you do it?”

“I think so. But it’s not my decision whether or not she’s allowed out.” Beetee reaches for notes, looking through formulas and photographs, lost in thought.

“I’ll talk to Coin,” I tell Peeta, marching out of the lab, carrying the weight of this moment on my back far better than any weight before. I know where she’ll be. I know where she’s always been. In meetings, strategizing, making her case for whatever the next step is when it comes to District Two.

It’s been a back and forth, gaining small ground only to be pushed back again. Two is far more formidable and with a stronghold even better than the Capitol. I think of what to say, of where to push, what information to bring up and use.

I’m the Mockingjay but that only holds so much weight. I have to give Coin something more, something she’s been thinking about since Ivy came here.

I find Coin in a meeting with Plutarch and Gale, exactly where I knew she’d be. There’s an image of District Two up on the screen.

“Katniss,” Plutarch greets, but I ignore him.

“Ivy needs to be allowed out,” I say.

“We can’t trust her,” Coin argues, “She could escape. She could reveal our location to the Capitol. She could do any number of things.”

“Not if she trusts us.”

“And why do you think she would?”

I swallow hard, uncertain on my argument. Peeta should have done this but I was so determined, so in a rush to do it, this was a mistake.

“Because you let her out and she learns to trust you,” Plutarch offers. “Right, Katniss?”

I nod, “We have a plan. Beetee has a plan to help her.”

“It’s a mistake,” Gale speaks up, his voice firm. I stare at him, of all people, to go against me, to go against Ivy. He continues, “She had an episode when she woke up. She saw Katniss and she tried to kill her. Whatever your plan is, it won’t work. I think you need to accept that she might be gone.”

I shake my head, of all people to talk about accepting others who are gone, to talk about people not coming back, “I saw her. The real her. She’s not gone. She’s not,” My eyes find Coin, “Talk to Beetee. Find out for yourself.”

“And what happens if my decision stands?” Coin asks.

“Find yourself another Mockingjay.”

“Ultimatums only work when you have leverage. Rescue her or no Mockingjay. Help her or no Mockingjay. You’ve done your job, I don’t think we need a Mockingjay when we’re close to winning now,” Coin states, coolly.

I glance at the screen, symbols that indicate our side and symbols that indicate the loyalists, it’s even, always even.

“And yet,” Haymitch clears his throat, “Madam President, it would appear that District Two does need the Mockingjay.”

Coin looks between Haymitch and me.

“And you need a team of advisors, which I’m sure you had before we got here. I mean, after all, twenty five years got you pretty far, didn’t it?” Haymitch asks with a smirk in his eyes.

“It still doesn’t mean anything, I put my neck on the line it has to be for some purpose. The people around here were distrustful of you, they kept asking why now, but your actions put that aside, but now if they see Ivy running around, your daughter, a traitor to them, regardless of the circumstances, what will they say?”

“She warned us of the attack.”

“After she stood with Reagan Snow at the funeral. Regardless of her warning, that image doesn’t fade in their minds. I am trying to win in Two, I need my people to trust me, to believe in me and this mission. How can I do that? How can I ask them to trust me if I do that?”

“You tell them she’ll tell you what she’s seen, what she knows from being held prisoner in the Capitol and she’ll do it willingly.”

Plutarch leans back in his chair, a look of admiration on his face, “She would have seen their plans, especially if Reagan was keeping her as close to her as possible.”

There’s a long silence as Coin weighs the options, she glances back to the map, of the dead even fight still waging in Two.

Finally she clears her throat, making the decision, “If Beetee confirms that the threat she poses can be contained, I’ll allow her out. But she’ll be monitored at all times, her location always known and someone always with her, no exceptions.”

I nod in agreement, “Thank you,” I say before leaving. Gale’s hard stare follows me out. I don’t look back. He can believe what he wants. It’s not true and he’ll see it along with everyone else.

I have hope. For the first time in a month, I have something real and tangible to hold onto. I saw how she looked at me, for a moment it was the old her, whether she was aware of it or not, she was there.

I have to bring her back. I can bring her back.

I find Peeta in our living unit and the second I get in the room I wrap my arms around him in a tight hug.

“How’d it go?” He asks.

“Coin agreed, well she’s going to talk to Beetee, but she’ll let Ivy out.” I take a breath, my first real breath since Ivy has been gone, and I feel lighter even with the weight that’s now bearing down on me to fix my daughter.

“Just like that?” He asks and I swallow hard, afraid to tell him but knowing keeping the secret would be far worse in the end.

“Once Ivy’s better, Coin wants to talk to her.”

“You mean interrogate her,” Peeta argues, anger rising. I put my hands on his chest keeping him in place.

“No. Ivy will want to tell her, she’ll want to help. Think about it. She’s seen the Capitol and it’s plans, she’ll want to help us win. We can have her back, Peeta. All she has to do is tell Coin what she saw.”

“But what if she doesn’t know anything? What if that’s not all Coin wants?” He asks.

I swallow hard, “Then we deal with it then. But for now. We can have her back.”

“We can have her back,” Peeta repeats, the grim air around him fading as he breaks into a smile despite the fear. He glows when he smiles, when it’s genuine and bright, it’s like the sun and I can’t help but stare. And this doesn’t feel like a moment worth smiling about, not with all the pain and suffering that has led up to it, not with all the damage that’s sure to follow. But it’s a small victory and if it can elicit that smile from him, I don’t care how small the victory, it’s been too long since I’ve seen that smile and I’ll take the moment.

He grips my hand in his own and then my mouth finds him, trying to find that light, that smile, the dandelion in the spring. There’s a hunger deep and pained building in my stomach as I guide him to the bed and he lets me. He returns my kisses with a fever of his own as the heat builds between us.

This moment feels right, it feels like finding a light in the darkness, it feels like finding home.

“And I feel life for the very first time Love in my arms and the sun in my eyes I feel safe in the 5am light You carry my fears as the heavens set fire”

The Rebellion: Return – Katniss

I stumble around a corner, charging at a breakneck speed to find Peeta. By now the residents of Thirteen should be used to seeing me like this. Running, eyes wide, breathless, shouting for Peeta or Prim, it feels like that’s almost all I’ve done aside from passing through like a ghost in my quieter moments.

I push past two women, one hits the wall in her effort to avoid me but I don’t stop. This is too important. I can’t stop.

No one in Thirteen seems to understand the world has stopped spinning. It’s no longer moving and it won’t move again until the end, until Ivy is back here with me.

And Peeta needs to know. Coin is living up to her word and they’re bringing our daughter home.

I see Effie in my frantic search, she puts her arms on mine, trying to calm me down while I catch my breath in an effort to form words.

“What’s happening?” She asks, cutting through any pleasantries and greetings, her words with an edge, like she knows it’s something about Ivy and she’s afraid of what the message is going to be.

“Peeta…needs to know…they’re…Ivy…rescuing her…where’s Peeta?” I choke out through my ragged breaths. Effie straightens, her eyes widening, fingers twitching as she comprehends my words.

She opens and closes her mouth as she thinks, “This way.” She grips my arm a little tighter as she leads, maintaining her poise and walking with such force and purpose that any crowd we encounter parts much quicker than they ever did while I was running.

Effie guides me through two double doors into a room with mats and dummies set up throughout. A few soldiers flip each other over or practice shooting targets in a gun range that’s silenced by glass doors. I look around, wondering why Peeta would be here and if Effie is as lost to his whereabouts as I am, but then I see him.

“You can pack power in your punches but your speed isn’t as high so when I come at you block and then bam…” Gloss demonstrates, tapping Peeta in the side with a gloved hand. Peeta nods in understanding, mimicking the motion, hitting Gloss with more force.

“Good,” Gloss says, “Get the upper hand.” He punches at Peeta, who blocks each and every one like they’ve done this a thousand times. Peeta dodges and parries until he finds his opening and lands a solid punch to Gloss’ stomach.

“How long have…” I mumble out and Effie just shrugs her shoulders.

“After you left. It seems to be helping both of them.” She clears her throat loudly and I blink, remembering why I’m here. They stop their sparring and Gloss removes his gloves quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed, and scratches at his growing beard. Effie’s right, there seems to be more light in his eyes, less redness, less despair.

Peeta straightens at the sight of me. Maybe he thinks I’m going to be angry but I have nothing to be angry about. We never spoke to Gloss much in the years we saw him or Cashmere during the Games, and One has never been kind to Twelve, but there’s no hatred for him. I’m understanding that the Careers are just pieces too, like all of us, and even if the whispers in Thirteen think he’s going to be a traitor just like me, I know he’s been broken by Snow too.

“Katniss, are you okay?” Peeta asks. “I thought you wanted to be alone after the…I’ve been training, trying to…”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it,” I say and Effie clears her throat again much louder this time.

“Remember why you’re here,” Effie reminds under her breath like she used to so many years ago on the Tour and through interviews. I swallow hard, my throat dry and my heart pounding. If I tell him this it’s real, it becomes something real and much more terrifying. What if it goes wrong? What if they don’t get her? What if it destroys us both? But I can’t keep it from him, he has to know just as I had to know. And God knows I can’t face this alone.

“Katniss,” Peeta asks, watching me in worry.

“They’re rescuing her, Peeta, there’s a team and they’re in the Capitol and they’re rescuing her.” The breath escapes Peeta in one fell swoop as he takes in my words.

“What about Cashmere?” Gloss asks, color in his face, life back in his posture, for the first time he looks like he used to, even with the longer hair and beard. He looks like the Victor he once was.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly and he nods, his mouth forming a thin line as he looks down like he’s praying.

“We have to find Coin. She has to be monitoring, right? We have to see it, whatever she’s seeing. We need to be there,” Peeta says, his mind going a mile a minute and his words spilling like water, unstoppable and fast.

“We’ll go right now,” I tell him and look to Gloss. “I’m sure they’ll tell you if…”

He shakes his head, “No. I have to find Emery. Prepare for the outcome, whatever it is.” He keeps watching the ground as Peeta and I leave with Effie.

I follow the path to the war room, throwing open the doors to find a wall lined with computers and Beetee hard at work with Springer, the two of them monitoring lines of code while Coin watches a larger screen where names and vital signs blink and move across.

I glance to one of the monitors and see Gale on the screen. He clicks a headset beside his throat.

“Approaching the Capitol,” he announces as Coin spares me a glance before turning back to the larger screen.

“Miss Everdeen,” she greets, “Mr. Mellark and Miss Trinket, nice of you to join us.”

“What can we do?” I ask, watching, afraid to breathe, afraid to move a muscle as Springer bows his head like he can’t look at me in case of failure.

“What happened?” Peeta asks, his voice steady and insistent, “Why now?”

“We managed to get the power out in the Capitol,” Coin states, “According to Plutarch’s spies, Reagan Snow is holed up in her mansion, hasn’t come out for days. They moved Ivy to the Training Center.”

“Why?” Peeta asks.

“To set an example after her outburst? I don’t know, but it’s our opportunity,” Coin says matter of fact, pressing a button on the microphone.

“Cleared for exfiltration. Radio silence from this point forward.”

“Copy,” Gale voice crackles through the radio before silence follows.

“What can we do?” I repeat, looking around the room at still bodies, uncertain and unsure.

“Wait,” Coin says, “It’s going to be a long night, Miss Everdeen. We just have to wait and hope it’s successful.”

“That’s bullshit,” I half-shout, shocked at the volume of my voice. Coin turns to me, her face still passive, but a cold shock radiating from her.

“I’m sorry, Madam President, but there has to be something. I can’t just sit around and wait.”

“You can keep her eyes on you,” Beetee announces then clears his throat as Coin’s eyes fall to him, “make sure she doesn’t see the rescue coming. By now she’s surely suspicious, the power’s out, that doesn’t happen and you would be her biggest distraction. You’re the final piece of her legacy, if she kills you, or gets to you, that’s more than her grandfather was able to accomplish.” He clears his throat again, uncomfortable by the stares of those around him.

“Do you think that’ll work?” Peeta asks, his fingers absently tapping against his leg.

“It won’t hurt,” Beetee responds.

“Oh, it might,” Effie says more to herself than anyone else as Haymitch enters, finding a corner to sit in and never taking his eyes off the screen.

No one talks for a while, the only sound the clicking of computer keys and the static from the screens as it jumps and changes with the movement of helmet cameras. Peeta glances between me and the screens and the thoughts run around. Beetee’s right. I would be distracting to Reagan Snow, I would give Ivy the best chance to be rescued, and I would be giving the rescuers more time, no matter what happens, no matter what Reagan says or does. She would talk to me and her threats don’t matter, seeing her doesn’t matter, because it’ll help bring Ivy home.

For years I watched Reagan stand beside her grandfather, I watched the coldness in her eyes mirror his and the pits become something much darker. She asked about Ivy much more often than her grandfather, something covetous in her tone whenever I saw her in the Capitol. She had the idea for the museum and there’s a shudder that runs the length of my spine that knows it was her idea to have Ivy crowned a Victor.

“Okay,” I say.

“Katniss, are you sure? You’ll be talking to Reagan. You don’t know what she’s done, she could tell you anything that she’s done whether or not it’s true and if you believe it, she wins,” Peeta states, rubbing his knuckles, fingers grazing over the bruises.

“I know,” I tell him, my voice dropping, an edge forming in it like I wish it could stab the very heart of Reagan Snow. “For Ivy,” I state and his eyes drop to the ground as Springer programs then hands me one of the radio microphones. He points to a button.

Springer rocks in his chair, rubbing his hands together as he watches a screen with frequencies fluctuating. He shakes his head.

“Needs to hold,” he mutters as he tugs at his hair, “hold, hold, hold,” he repeats like a prayer. Beetee pats Springer’s shoulder.

“It’ll hold,” he states, before glancing between me and the microphone, “Whenever you’re ready, Katniss.”

I notice a camera in front of me and look to Beetee, “Will she?”

“Yes, she’ll see you,” he answers. Peeta paces behind me, his loud footsteps matching the sporadic, racing beats of my heart. I take a step forward and press the button, hearing a click and fizzle of static before I start speaking.

“Reagan Snow,” I announce, my voice much stronger than I anticipated it being, “It’s Katniss Everdeen, I know you can hear me. I want to talk.”

The static remains so I repeat my message with more insistence but still I get nothing. By the fifth time of repeating my message the screen blinks and I see Reagan’s face on the monitor. Her hair is twisted up in a knot and she wears a white suit with a high collar raised making her look even more angled and sharpened.

“You sound desperate,” Reagan starts, taking a sip from a crystal glass with some kind of golden amber liquid swirling inside, “That’s bad form. You should never negotiate out of desperation. Grandfather taught me that.” She smirks and takes another sip from her glass, controlled and regal, everything Snow taught her to be.

“I’m not here to negotiate,” I say, my voice calm despite my shaking hands. What if this goes bad? What if she knows? She could do so much worse.

“No you’re right, the time for making an honorable sacrifice has passed,” she states with a toothy smile that’s all her own and that lacks any semblance of warmth, “As have any hopes for compromise or demands.” She leans in closer to her screen, looking behind me. “Is that Thirteen? It’s much, grimier than I pictured. I almost feel bad for you. Almost.” She takes another sip from her drink, leaning back in her chair, the gleaming office of her Grandfather’s mansion behind her. She looks at home. She looks almost happy in the only way Reagan Snow can look happy, with a cold smile and a glass of something expensive.

Her castle. Her kingdom. That’s all I can think.

“I did feel bad for you, once,” I say and I truly did, she was trapped in the mansion, she was trapped in her family and there was a moment when I saw a little girl who didn’t want to be there, but she became a woman who did, who thrived in it. And I didn’t feel bad for her anymore.

“You don’t have any right to feel bad for me,” she snaps and for a moment I think she might crush the glass, “You won the Games but that wasn’t enough was it? You had to ruin my grandfather with berries and your talk of together and loving each other. Where is Peeta by the way, hovering in your shadow? That’s where he always is, isn’t he? Right in the background, there to make you look less like a monster, just like your children, oh I’m sorry, child.” Reagan takes a breath, straightening her shoulder, putting back on the air of diplomacy.

I see Peeta in my peripherals as he turns away, retreating before he hits the screen and ruins this moment. Coin waves her hand, telling me to keep going while Beetee points to the small dots as they hit the training center, coming to a stop. They’re close, the screen showing the helmet cams shake and move as the team propels down the side of the building, windows and walls blurring past them.

“I used to admire you, you know?” Reagan says to me, taking a long drink from her glass, “Used to wear my hair just like you, I even wanted to be in the Games like you, before I really understood my place, what I was meant to do and then it was easy to hate you.”

“You don’t have to be this, Reagan. You can be better than your Grandfather, you can end this war, make it right.”

“Oh please,” she laughs, cold and heartless and it’s chilling, it sounds like her Grandfather’s, humorless and dangerous. “Don’t attempt to appeal to my better angels I have none. My grandfather was weak because of you. He played games, long ones, with patience and ambition but no imagination. And this isn’t a game to me, this is my birthright.”

She stares me down and I see the years pass before me. I see the little girl watch her grandfather and understand far too much and far too easily, her place and what she’s capable of. I watch the light of childhood leave her eyes too quickly and the chill returns. I remember leaving the Capitol after one Games and watched Reagan Snow wave and the next year she wasn’t waving anymore, she watched, like her Grandfather watched.

“Poison is so easy and quick, but Grandfather loved it. I tried it once, it wasn’t satisfying. He destroyed families to keep his Victor’s in line, but if they have nothing to lose, what’s the point? It was too simple, not as well thought out. It makes a statement but it’s nothing in the long run, it just sews the seeds for resentment. I’m not simple. I think things through, know where to push and what will hurt the most, cause waves of pain and suffering so you can’t focus on anything else. Please feel free to stay in Thirteen, my country will go on without you just like it did before.” She smiles again.

“It’s not going to be like before,” I argue and Reagan holds a finger up, taking the final sip from her glass like she’d been expecting me to say something.

“Oh I should think not. Enjoy the gift I left for you and your friends in the Training Center. Remember, there’s no return policy, Miss Everdeen,” Reagan watches and waits for any semblance of a reaction but I hold it together long enough for the screen to go black as my heart sinks.

“We’re in the training cent--,” Gale starts and then we hear gunshots and the helmet cameras cut out and there’s nothing but static.

“What’s happening? Captain?” Coin shouts into the radio but there’s no response. Beetee and Springer move and type and hurry but I can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in my ears.

“What did she do?!” Peeta shouts, marching towards Coin, “What’s happening?”

I take steps back and can barely feel the movement. I bump into Effie who doesn’t seem to notice, she’s too busy watching the black screen, just like me. And I feel it, the unmistakable tearing as another notch of failure is scratched into my soul.

“I-Ivy?” I whisper and Peeta turns to look at me, his eyes searching, hearing me over the commotion. His hands clench and unclench and he’s hanging on by a thread. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak. Did I lose Gale again? Did Peeta and I just lose our daughter too?

The world spins, the clicking of keyboards and static of the screens cutting through to my bones, splintering and fracturing through my bloodstream until it’s the only thing I hear and feel like a message repeating, she’s gone, she’s gone, she’s gone.

No.

Ivy can’t be gone. She won’t be gone. I won’t let it happen. I won’t let any of this happen. And if she is…

Reagan Snow will die tonight.

I blink back tears and straighten, my final mission coming to mind before I can really focus on the details. I know what I have to do.

I brush past Haymitch barely hearing him ask me if I’m alright. I push by two soldiers whose names I don’t know and Peeta, not even feeling them as I do. When the doors close behind me I find myself in total silence with no one around and no eyes watching me.

I keep walking, knowing what I have to do and finding the strength to do it. Don’t let them win, that’s what I had told Ivy and I won’t let them win, I can’t let Reagan win. Not anymore, not this time, this time she has to pay.

I push my way through the night crew going about their jobs, there are few of them and they’re far between but the ones I do move past don’t even bother to stop me. I catch Beck wandering the halls, glancing behind doors, trying to find the room I was just in I’m sure. How did he even know the rescue was underway?

I almost want to laugh at the word rescue, how is it a rescue if the Capitol, if Reagan, knew they were there, if she laid a trap, if she killed…I don’t know for sure if Reagan did, but there’s no other meaning to her words, no other reason that Ivy would have been moved if not for us to find her…and I can’t think the thought, I can’t finish with the word that I fear to be true.

Beck looks at me and steps forward like he’s going to stop me and ask but I shake my head and he shrinks back, like he knows it went bad, like he can’t bear to hear the response.

I don’t even think I can bear saying it aloud.

My footsteps echo as I descend the metal staircase, mapping out my plan as I go. This has to be done alone, it’ll be safer alone.

I find the Mockingjay suit in its glass case along with my bow down in Beetee’s lab. I put on every piece imagining every smile and every laugh I’ve ever heard or seen from Ivy. I see the claws from my nightmare again and I hear Reagan telling me of the gift she left, saying she used to admire me as I imagine the smell of alcohol and blood surrounding her.

I throw a large jacket over my suit, pulling the hood over and praying no one sees me go. I don’t plan on coming back, not unless I have Ivy with me.

I feel almost mechanical in my motions, knocking on the door to the unit Prim shares with Rory and Oliver. It opens and I see a tired Prim, wearing her pajamas, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Katniss? What’s wrong?” She asks, her voice scratchy with sleep.

I make to speak but find I can’t form the words. Instead all I do is hug her, holding her tight, saying goodbye in the only way I know how.

“Is it Ivy?” Prim asks in a terrified whisper. I feel the sting in my heart at the thought of her, dying in the Capitol, gone in gunfire and destruction, at the orders of Reagan Snow with no one she knows or loves there to comfort her or tell her goodbye. At least Bas had Ivy with him at the end.

I still can’t speak and as I turn to leave I hear Prim calling my name behind me, but I can’t turn around to look at her. If I do, I’m lost and I may never go through with this, but I know I have to, I know I can’t stop. I can feel it pressing on me like the weight of destiny, calling me to kill Reagan Snow, to end all of this, to finish what I started years ago.

I have nothing left to lose now.

I sneak into the bay passing by hovercraft after hovercraft before landing on one whose course is set for District Two. I can find a way to get to the Capitol from there, it’ll be much easier than walking from Thirteen and I can’t fly a hovercraft on my own.

I wait for my opportunity. Two mechanics check the hovercraft while another wheels crates onto the back. By the time it’s almost finished loading the two mechanics leave and I see my opening.

I make to move but feel strong arms pull me back by the shoulders. I push back, finding Peeta standing before me, watching me, expressionless. We stand at odds, the mechanics continuing their work, the two of us going unnoticed as we stand behind large crates.

“Don’t,” I start, my voice shaking, dangling by a thread, ready to be shredded apart, “Don’t try to stop me.”

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice barely audible above all the noise in the hangar.

“I have to kill her…she…I have to make her pay.” I take a heavy breath, trying to focus, to find my strength, to bury Ivy and Bas in the back of my mind until it’s done, so I can finish it.

He runs a hand through his hair, his bruised knuckles freshly broken open and bleeding, like he’s been hitting walls again. “Were you even going to say goodbye?” His voice cracks.

“Isn’t that a little repetitive,” I say and he shakes his head, “I can’t live with this, Peeta,” I break and the tears start, “I can’t live without her and Bas and I can’t keep going if she’s gone too. I have nothing left.”

“You have Prim, Haymitch, Effie…and me.”

“She takes and takes, her whole family has and will keep doing it. They destroyed us. She has to pay,” I repeat, sounding like a broken record, but it’s my only excuse, the only excuse I need. Reagan killed our daughter, her grandfather killed our son when he sent him to the Games and kept us under his control for years. I can’t kill Coriolanus Snow but I can kill Reagan, I can take some satisfaction in that.

He smacks his hands against the crate and I glance to the mechanics, both of whom are now looking this way. “And that means dying yourself?! I’m here. I’m here. Katniss, you are all I have left. Please don’t do this. Don’t be this reckless and stupid.

“Reagan Snow will pay. Trust me, she will. But we don’t know what happened, we don’t know if Ivy…and you can’t just go in there with no plan, no backup, nothing…you won’t come back.”

He chokes, wiping at tears and I glance around the crates to see the bay doors of the hovercraft start to close. This is my last chance. The mechanics seem to be calling over the radio to someone but I can make it to the hovercraft in time, they won’t stop me. Peeta won’t stop me.

“I don’t want to come back. Not if…” I take a harsh breath, standing tall, I need to get to the hovercraft. “Get out of my way, Peeta. Reagan Snow dies tonight.”

I go for it but he blocks my path. I push and kick but his arms wrap around me, holding me tight as I shove and punch, his grip only tightening with each attack, each attempt at escape. He really is strong. I keep punching and yelling, watching as the bay doors close and the mechanics run over to help Peeta. He shakes his head and they back up, afraid of the broken Victor from Twelve. The former Girl on Fire. The sad excuse for the Mockingjay.

He takes each hit. He takes the pain, never backing down.

“Ivy wouldn’t want this. Bas wouldn’t want this,” he repeats, “Please. Stop.” And the flood gates open and the Earth shatters around me as I break. My head falls against Peeta’s chest as I sob, broken and empty. We collapse to the floor and I curl into him further, the sobs continuing to wrack through my body, my throat aching with each breath I take.

When the exhaustion has finally crept in and I can no longer cry, Peeta guides me back to our unit. My unit. There hasn’t exactly been time for him to move his things back and if Ivy’s gone, when we learn she’s truly gone, I don’t know that he’ll be able to, that I’ll be able to just go on.

In the end President Snow, both Snow’s, will win. They’ll get what they wanted. Me, broken, begging to die.

He helps me take off the Mockingjay uniform and put my bow and arrows to the side, careful and precise as he does. He pulls a large shirt over my head and lays me down in bed, sliding in next to me and keeping his arms around me.

“I’m here,” he says and I know if I close my eyes he will stay, he won’t run again, I won’t run again. Neither one of us would survive it.

But no matter how safe he tries to make me feel or how tired I am, I can’t fall asleep. I can just stare at the wall, imagining all the times that used to be and the memories I wish I could live in forever.

“Do you remember when Bas hated his shoes so he wouldn’t go to school?” I ask to the darkness and Peeta laughs into my shoulder.

“And Ivy told him if he hated them so much he shouldn’t wear them,” Peeta adds.

“So he walked with her to school and threw them out and the teacher called…”

“And asked why we were sending our son to school without shoes because Ivy told her he didn’t have any.” We both break and start laughing quietly despite the pain. I turn to face him and run a hand down his cheek.

“Do you think we gave them a good life?” I ask, “After everything. Did they know how much I…”

“They knew.”

“What are we going to do about Reagan Snow?” I ask, my voice darkening.

“See what Coin has planned, if she has anything planned, we can’t go in reckless, we have to know where to go and have people with us.”

“I get to kill her,” I say and Peeta nods.

“I’ll keep her in place, give you a still target.” His eyes stare at the wall behind me and he blinks, looking at me, back in the moment.

There’s a sharp and insistent pounding on the door that makes Peeta and I jump. He sits up and heads to the door as I follow, my stomach sinking. Is this the official news then? Is this where it ends?

He opens the door and I half expect to find Coin but it’s Haymitch bursting in, breathless, wringing his hat in his hands, half shaking. Of course it’s him, he saw us through the worst moments and the best moments of our lives, why not add one more? I close my eyes, expecting him to tell us the news, to just spit it out without any pomp and circumstance, no run arounds, as he always does.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he blurts out, “They’re back. The team…they’re back,” he says it like he can’t believe it himself. My heart pounds and I feel the air rush into my lungs like life coming back to me.

“They made it?” Peeta asks like he’s afraid his words will shatter this illusion.

“They’re back,” Haymitch says again like it’s the only words he remembers.

I barely register getting dressed or the movements that carry me to Medical but once I’m there it’s like all my senses have returned in a rush. I see some of Gale’s team receiving oxygen and treatment for minor injuries but no one is dead or seriously harmed.

I look around expecting more chaos where there is none. Cashmere sits up in bed, rail thin, pale as she’s poked with needles and a mask is placed over her face. She watches me, a shadow in her features and she looks away. I hear a commotion behind me as Gloss runs in with Emery and I watch the reunion unfold.

He runs to her, checking over her like he’s afraid to believe she’s real. His hand lands on her shoulder and he starts to cry, I see a tear escape her too. Emery hangs back, watching and despite the mask attached to her face, Cashmere smiles to her niece. She holds a thin, bony, hand up and Emery takes it, glaring at anyone who dares look at the tender moment before she pulls a curtain closed. She’s too used to keeping up appearances, even here, she can’t let that last defense fade.

And then I pass another bed where Cain lies, still unconscious, looking as healthy as he can. He’s bruised up, beaten with scars lining his face, but he’s alive. I freeze at the foot of his bed, afraid to linger, afraid to hear his heartbeat. They rescued him too?

Peeta urges me forward barely sparing a glance but I feel his fingers tighten on my shoulder as we pass.

“I have to see her,” Beck yells as Finnick pulls him away from a large metal door marked isolation. Gale keeps watch at the door, his eyes watching the room around him. He’s dirty with a scratch over his eyebrow but otherwise he seems fine.

“Later,” Finnick tells him, “There’s time.” But there’s something in the look Finnick gives me, some other reason he won’t let Beck in, something that I’m terrified to learn. I see the same look in Gale’s eyes, like there’s some secret I can’t know, that they’re afraid to tell me.

“What happened?” I ask Gale, “After the radio went out.”

“There were some guards waiting, but it was like they didn’t even try, they wanted us to get out and then we did and it’s like they let us go,” His eyes find the floor, his mouth forming a thin line that deepens the wrinkles on his face.

“Gale, what is it?” I ask and he shakes his head. “Is she…?”

“She’s alive,” he says, “She’s in there. She…she was screaming…” He blinks back the memory, like it’s something he’ll never forget.

I can’t ask why a part of me never wants to know why. My fingers tremble as I pull open the door, walking into the isolation room. I feel a chill pass over me as my eyes follow the white wall to the bed where Ivy lays, her arms strapped down at her sides. And it doesn’t make sense, none of it, she’s locked in like she’s a prisoner. She stares at the wall, blinking back tears but alive. Her eyes are sunken, like she hasn’t slept in weeks but she looks otherwise healthy, cared for.

I take another uneasy step, my eyes trained on her breathing, memorizing every detail of her like I’m afraid she’ll disappear right in front of me. I feel Peeta right behind me, his breath catching as his eyes fall on our daughter.

She stares at the wall, hard, closing her eyes as more tears fall.

When I reach the bed my shaking hand brushes her hair out of her eyes. “Ivy?” I ask, my voice catching like saying her name will break her.

“Ivy…Ivy…” I repeat her name as my hands find her hair, her face. I need to make sure she’s okay, that she’s real, that she’s alive. And she is, she’s warm and breathing and here. I wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“I missed you,” I choke out, feeling my own tears fall as I drop to my knees beside her, able to look at her face fully. She blinks away from the wall, her eyes landing on mine.

There’s a moment of silence as she registers who I am.

And then she starts screaming.

She pulls on the restraints, the fear in her eyes echoing with each shout and cry. She kicks and moves her head like my touch burned her and I stand up, backing away.

I hear the door burst open and I see a nurse and Haymitch run in. The nurse whips out a sedative and injects Ivy with it even as she fights. Peeta tries to get to Ivy but Haymitch pulls him back.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, “What’s happening?”

My back crashes into the wall as my hands shake with fear and pain.

Ivy fights against the drugs, crying, her voice heavy, “Please. I want to go home. I want my family. I want my mother.”

“I’m right here,” I tell her, coming closer as Haymitch grabs my arm to stop me from touching her.

And she looks at me, her eyes drifting in and out of focus. She looks at me but she doesn’t see me, it’s like she’s looking through me, like I’m a ghost. She doesn’t know me. She’s afraid of me.

“No. You’re the Mockingjay. You had a son but he died in the Arena, no one else.”

I shake my head and I feel sick. That’s wrong. It’s all wrong. “No, that was your brother. Bas. I’m your mother too.”

She shakes her head furiously, blinking as she tries to understand what I’ve said to her. She shakes her head harder, her breath coming in huffs, “No. No.”

And then the drugs take effect and calm falls over her. She blinks slowly, finding her words through even breathing, “President Snow. My mother is President Snow. Not you.”

“Little soldier, little insect You know war it has no heart It will kill you in the sunshine Or happily in the dark”

But thanks to her appointment at the Arena, and at nine-fucking-AM no less, Katniss was stuck in the subway, on the rush hour. And she still had three stops to go. She tried to move her numb arm from its position – currently stuck between the whitish wall and her body but soon realized it was impossible as long as the woman next to her continued to lean on her. The straps from her sports bag were cutting deep inside her palm, and she blamed, not for the first time the shoes she was carrying inside.

It took Katniss a lot of time yesterday – at least according to her own standards – to find a pair of shoes comfortable enough to dance in. Even if she had been dancing for years on her pointes, she wasn't that accustomed to wearing heels and could really not imagine what it would be like to dance in them. And she had no clue as to why she would need them. She finally borrowed a pair after begging Madge to let her look at the supply of shoes the ballet had.

"Millers's Crossing. Mind the gap."Just a note to say that I have been editing a fic by thegirlfromoverthebond that based on a ballet called, you named it, Firebird. So when you see it, just note it is not a plagiarism. And it's, ahem, better :).

Two more stops. She could do it. Really. She would show up, on time, perform whatever they wanted her to dance, and go back to her routine, her life. Period. No more look-alike god turned man to come her way. She would go back to her schedule that fitted her well, thank you very much. She didn't have time for this, and wasn't even sure she needed whatever this Finnick guy or Haymitch were talking about. She was a good dancer – a perfectionist, and would achieve her goal. She promised Prim a long time ago, and she intended to keep her word.

"Snow Tower. Mind the gap."

Katniss started to gather and check her belongings, making sure she didn't forget anything. She silently thanked her thin dancer frame as she tried to get as close as possible to the doors of the subway to be able to exit quickly and find her way towards the Arena.

"Arena. Mind the gap."

The door opened with a swoosh, letting the thin flow of person out of the subway car, taking Katniss with them.

She found herself half dragged, half carried onto the platform, searching for directions. Based on the fact that the station was named after the theater, she guessed pretty much every exit would guarantee she would find the Arena. Only she wasn't about to go into it through the front glass door, but rather by the artist's entry where she was supposed to meet Finnick. She decided on a whim, to follow the green exit signs – and no, it had nothing to do with green being her favorite color.

Katniss soon realized this was a mistake, as the green exit took her on the other side of the street, just in front of the main gates of the Arena. Even from a short distance, the building was impressive, all covered in shining glasses which reflected ight in every single direction.

She had never danced there, the Panem Ballet motsly performing on the stage of their opera, or when they were on tour, on some of the most known stages around the world.

She sighed as she took in the very busy street in front of her, waiting for the street lights to turn red so she could cross it. She was still wondering why she didn't think of putting her earbuds to listen to music while making the trip here, when she felt her hand on her shoulder. She immediately tensed at the contact, surprised.

"Katniss?" the voice was incredulous, with a hint of wonder."Yes, it's you, but, what are you doing here? The Opera is on the other side of Panem!"

Don't I know it...

"Delly!"Katniss took a step back, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the perky blonde bear hug. "You're crushing me!"

"Sorry! Oh god, I didn't hurt you right? I'm sorry, I'm such a hugger"

"No, it's okay, I'm okay." Katniss took a deep breath, making sure her lungs were still working properly . How could people be so affectionate?

"But, Katniss... what are you doing here? I mean, it's not that I don't want to see you, or that you can't be here, but .. I'm surprised, right ? I didn't expect to see you, that's all!"

"I have an appointment with a Finnick Odair Does his name sound familiar?"Katniss asked, looking at the light signaling she could cross the street – and not worth trying in the early morning rush. This all was stupid. She wasn't even sure she remembered the name correctly, and still wondered what she would be learning. Wearing heels. As if dancing with another pair of shoes could change a thing.

"Finnick Odair? Sure, everybody knows him ! I'll come with you! Don't you dare take him away from us, okay ?"

"Why would I try? I'm not here to steal him from you, don't worry. I just need a few words with him and then I'll be done."

"I was kidding, Katniss. Come now, I'll show you in."

Delly took hold of Katniss' arm – much to her dismay – chatting about everything that seemed to cross her mind, from the dreadful weather to the name of the next royal baby, and all this in the few seconds it took them to cross the street and head towards the stage door of the Arena.

"Let me have just two minutes, and I'll take you to Finn's room, if you want?"

Katniss nodded her agreement, glad someone could guide her in the maze that was every largetheater's backstage. She took off her coat, and carefully looked around. The whole building was breathing in its novelty, and hadn't gotten yet that touch of use the older places had. Everything was almost shining, from the white walls to the simple, practical lamps hanging from the ceilings. The corridor in front of her, clearly lit, had indications written everywhere, directing people towards the lockers, the rehearsal rooms, and the technical places. But, despite the newness, there was also this unmistakable feeling of work. Smells of sweat and fabrics, sounds of shoes and the mechanics being used, the rushing of people passing by. It was as much as the opera, a place where hard work and perfection were required.

"You ready? You need to change, maybe?" Delly asked, making Katniss jump at the sound of her voice.

"No, why would I change?"

"Well, usually the women that come to see Finnick do wear a lot less clothes."

What the hell am I doing here? Was the first thing that came to Katniss' mind, her eyes becoming round at the implication of what Delly told. The blond woman must have noticed her face blushing and her eyes threatening to jump out of their orbits.

"NO!No, I didn't mean it like that! Oh god? I'm such a klutz with words! No, Katniss... sorry, it's not what I meant!" Delly was bright red, moving her hands in front of her mouth, as if to stop the rambling of words.

Katniss put her coat back on, deciding she didn't need any more humiliation, but Delly was too fast for her, and took her arm.

"Listen, Katniss. What I meant was that when Finnick teaches classes, usually he makes the women wear dresses, or at least a skirt, so it's easier for them to move around. That's all. Oh, my, Annie would kill me !"

Still on her guard, Katniss lowered her coat onto her arm.

"Well, he didn't tell me to come wearing a skirt, or a dress. And who is Annie?"

"Finnick's wife. Can I show you to the room? I have a rehearsal in a few minutes, and I stillneed to get ready..."

"Sure. Thank you for showing me, Delly."

"Not a problem. It's not far away from where I go." She grabbed her bag, and showed Katniss the corridor in front of them, before turning on the right. At another fork – this place was definitely a maze, thought Katniss – Delly showed her a door.

"Finnick is in Cherry room." Seeing Katniss turn, a sign of surprise on her face, she quickly added "Don't ask. Every room as a fruit name. We don't know why, maybe the architect was a fruitarian? I have to go,, hope we'll meet again soon!" Waving, she started walking quickly in the other direction towards the "Stage – Lemon – Cranberry" places.

Katniss stared at the door, marked with a "CHERRY" sign on it and took a deep breath to settle her now beating too fast heart, and gathering all the courage she could manage. She still had no clue as to what she was supposed to be doing with this Finnick guy, and how long it would take. She hoped it wouldn't be too long, as she had a rehearsal this afternoon with a group of dancers.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door before making her way into the room.

Skin. Lots of skin. That's what came straight to her mind as she pulled up short, still holding the doorknob in her left hand, her breath catching.

And Muscles. Lots of muscles. Lean, neat lines outlined the ridges of the muscles on two backs, moving side by side in complex moves. One was the color of bronze, the drops of sweat making the muscles shine with each passing movement of the arm. And on the right the fair skin of the other man, shoulders seemingly fixed while the man's torso was swaying, highlighting the man's dorsals.

They were dancing in sync, their left arms bent at the elbow in front of them while their other arm was in crown above their head. But the real piece of work of the choreography their feet, moving at the exact same speed and with a precision only gained by hours of work.

Working in a ballet company, Katniss was used to seeing shirtless men on a regular basis, even on stage. But this was a sight of its own. Two handsome men, moving side by side in sync, to a sexy latino music, oblivious to the rest of the world, lost in their routine.

"Yes, like that, and then the girls come in. What'ya think?" the bronze guy – Finnick, Katniss remembered – asked. She hadn't even noticed the music had stopped.

"Maybe change something before the banderillas, you know? Make it more … torero ? And we should get rid of the flamenco taps, seriously. It makes no sense with only the two of us." Peeta had a deep warm voice, and Katniss realized it was the first time she had heard him say more than two words. Apparently he could make sentences.

"Not so sure about that, bro."

"Yeah, I know you like your flamenco, but seriously ? Maybe with the girls, in the second part? "

"Or in both parts?"

"Finn …."

"Yeah, okay, but let's try this in costume, and have Octavia film us, then we'll see." Finnick walked towards the stereo, grabbing a bottle on his way, catching sight of Katniss.

"But we have company! Come here, Sugar! You're right on time"

Katniss had finally stepped inside, walking silently towards one of the benches at the deep end of the room, putting down her coat and sports bag.

"Well, hello to you too. Shall we start ?"

"Eager, much?" his answer was immediate, complete with a smirk that showed dimples Katniss was sure women fawned over. But she had seen so much of perfect male bodies to let it impress her, and turned to the bench nearby, only noticing the other man – Peeta, was already putting on an undershirt while Finnick remained shirtless, drinking from his blue Tupperware bottle.

After unlacing her leather boots, she started getting rid of the layers of clothes she had put on in the morning, to find herself in her leotard and grey short dance shirt, her dance trousers turned at the waist, as they should be. She was taking one of her pairs of demi-pointes out of her bag when a hand on her arm stopped her.

"I hope you brought your heels, Dearie. We won't be using your kind of things here. And next time, bring a dress!"

"You're awfully confident there will be a next time!"

"There will be several next times, Everdeen. Until Haymitch agrees that you have improved, you're to come here twice a week. Didn't he tell you?" Finnick's eyes were shining with the joy of catching her off guard. "Well, he must have forgotten to forward you the memo, then. Anyway. Put your heels on, and we'll start. You're mine," he turned on himself, arms extended, as if he was giving her a complete tour of the dance room, "well, ours every Tuesday and Thusdays from nine to twelve. Make sure to clear your schedule!"

"Yours? Twice a week? Are you kidding me ? I have betterthings to do than shake my ass on your crazy music! I didn't sign up for this!"

"Well, I signed for you, sweetheart."

Haymitch's voice broke Katniss out of her rant, and she turned to find her mentor leaning against the doorjamb of the room, watching the exchange in front of him, a smirk on his face.

"And -"

Haymitch was near her and taking her arm in the span of an instant. He lead her to the corner of the room, away from the ears of the two men, who were staring at them.

"Now you listen to me sweetheart! You can scowl at me all you want, but you'll listen. You'll come here for as long as you need until you can actually dance with your guts. Until you can feel. FEEL. FEEL, Katniss. You can't stay in your ivory tower forever and pretend the world doesn't touch you. Or you're going to end up completely alone. I'm here and you're here because I believe in you. I saw something in you, and I know you can go far beyond the Panem Ballet – if you just let yourself go. So you'll come here and practice with Finn and Peeta for as long as it takes to crack that nut open. If you don't, I'll make sure you'll find no position in any company in this country. Understood?"

"You ... you can't do that!" she whispered, fire and desdain in her voice.

"I can, and I will. You don't realize the potential you have, Katniss. I do. And it kills me to see you waste it. So for once, you'll dance, and have fun dancing. It changes everything. And don't worry about your schedule, I cleared it with Effie. I swear it will do you good. And in the end, you'll have learnt the salsa. Always useful in a nightclub to wiggle that ass of yours! "

"Haymitch! "

"What? I've been young too, I remember what it's like!" He carefully removed his hands. "Now take off your shoes, grab your heels, and go dancing. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"You'd better, Haymitch."

The older man winked at her, letting his hand drop to his side, and turned to the two men on the other side of the room. They both had put their t-shirts back on, and were watching the pair curiously.

"You ready, Everdeen?"

"No. But do I have a choice?"

She got rid of her demi-pointes shoes, grabbed her bag and began searching through it for the pair of heels that were inside, before finally extracting them.

"You're going to dance with that?" Finnick's voice made her jump. He was right next to her, and took hold of the shoes she had in her hands. "That will do for today. But you'll have to invest in a real pair of dancing shoes, okay? You need to have your feet correctly strapped, just like with your lovely pink slippers and ribbons. We don't want you to sprain your ankle or anything, right?" His voice was pure honey, but she could hear the kindness and concern behind. "You'll go to Vanlort this afternoon, I'll give them a call. It's like the Ollivander shop for dancers like us."

She nodded, still reliving her talk with Haymitch. He was believing in her. This was an opportunity for her to get better, not the other way around. But letting her walls fall and letting people see the true Katniss... that was scary as hell. The sound of the door slamming took her out of her reverie. Haymitch had left the room.

"So Katniss, what's your poison?"

She turned to Finnick, startled at his question. Poison? What was she drinking? She will not have to drink, right?

"Oh, the scowl's back ! No, Sugar, I didn't mean that kind of poison. What music do you listen to when you're not doing your entrechats and girly thingies? When you go clubbing? Which concerts do you go to?"

Oh. Clubbing.

Going to clubs. Like going out to dance again, after a whole day of dancing? Nope, not happening. It hadn't happened in a long time.

Going out usually meant a walk in the park, a coffee and meal at Sae's. Or going to this tiny bookshop on the corner of Elm and Green.

"I don't do clubbing. I dance enough during the day. And as for what I like, whatever's on the radio, I guess."

Peeta and Finnick shared an incredulous look. "You don't go dancing for fun?" the blonde man asked.

Katniss shrugged. "No, what the use? I spend my days on my feet, dancing and dancing, the last thing I want in the evening or on my days off is to dance again."

"There is no use, really ..."

She cut Finnick short." You see. My point. NO use at all."

"It's about being free. It's about doing what you love. It's about breaking the rules for an evening, and having fun doing so. It's about losing yourself to the music alone or with others, it's about just living in the moment without caring what will happen tomorrow, or what happened today. It's about making any move you want, from the smartest to the goofiest. It's about being free, Katniss. That's the use of music, of dance. Of any kind of art. Losing yourself into it. That's what it's about."

Peeta's words cut through Katniss, stopping her short. Losing herself to the music? Feeling?

"You rehearsed your speech with Haymitch or what?" she snapped.

"What do you mean?" he looked like in surprise.

"He gave me the same sort of speech not ten minutes ago! What is this crap about feeling? Really? You think I'm an ice-queen?"

She turned, her cheeks red from her anger, and made her way to the corner of her room where her equipment was resting and started packing everything. Grabbing the handles of her sports bag, she made her way to the door.

"You know what? I have feelings. But did it occur to you I don't want to share them with you? I knew I shouldn't have come!"

The Rebellion: Burial – Katniss and Beck

Most nights I dream of the Arena. I dream of thousands of faces calling my name then tearing me apart. I feel myself dying in fire or buried under earth. I see Mutts with eyes I used to know. I hear screams as Tracker Jackers destroy the Careers I’ve set them on. I hear cannons and Caesar Flickerman declaring me the Girl on Fire.

When I don’t suffer those dreams, when I don’t hear people screaming for help or telling me I’ve failed them as bodies pile up and blood drowns me, I see my family. I hear Peeta tell me he hates me. That he should have won alone. I see Bas running through the meadow, sun shining on his hair until he falls on toddler legs and stands tall at fourteen with a sword through his stomach. Ivy twirls in the same meadow, picking up dandelions and wearing a dress my mother made with shoes Effie bought her lying forgotten on the ground. She laughs and smiles and waves to me until the rain comes and then her hands are wrapped around my throat as she screams it’s my fault over and over. Some nights I’m the one who holds the sword and I drive it through Bas myself and even worse then I fire an arrow into Ivy and destroy her too.

All of them remind me of the guilt that I drag around like a noose, choking me from the inside.

Tonight my nightmare starts in an empty white room with roses falling around us, the stench of blood so strong in the air I think I’m going to throw up. Ivy stands before me, smiling, with one arm outstretched. She’s small, no older than five, wearing the same dress from the meadow as she holds Bas’ hand as he stands on chubby legs that he still can’t quite manage to use to keep himself upright.

“Mama,” Bas calls and I take a step forward. My shoes echo, like rocks being thrown into water and landing in the darkness somewhere far below us. Everything sounds muffled, off, like my ears need to pop but won’t.

I take another step but I’m no closer to them. Ivy’s smile falls, her arm drops and she and Bas grow up before me. They stand, dressed in white like the room around them, no smiles, no arms outstretched, that youthful light in their eyes extinguished.

And then Bas disappears leaving nothing but empty space where he once stood.

But Ivy stays where she is, staring at me, waiting for me. I start to run but the distance never changes no matter how fast I push myself to go.

“Mom,” she calls and it’s the same way she said it in her interview, with the same desperation and confusion.

“On the one-hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them can’t always protect those they love from their past actions, this year’s male and female tributes will be reaped from the children of previous victors,” President Snow’s voice booms.

Reagan Snow stands behind Ivy, a wicked smile creeping along her features as her nails dig into Ivy’s shoulders so hard they draw blood. It stains the white dress in drops. I keep running but I get no closer to getting my daughter back.

The nails turn to hooks as President Snow’s laugh echoes throughout the room and the drops of blood become streams that stain the dress in streaks. His laugh stops to be replaced by the choking cough as he hacks and wretches until there’s nothing but silence. Then Reagan is the one laughing.

“As a reminder to Katniss Everdeen that her children were never hers,” Reagan says and the hooks dig deeper into Ivy as she’s dragged away. “The Capitol claims back their property.”

Peacekeepers surround me, tying my hands and my legs with rope before wrapping a bag over my head that I choke on. I pull against the ropes as they dig into my skin, burning while they cut off the circulation. I’m hit from behind and dragged away from Ivy. I hear the sounds of bars being closed, of my daughter crying, and then there’s nothing but darkness and the feel of my breath warming the bag and making sweat run down my nose.

The ropes and bag disappear and I take a breath to find I’m in a cage, surrounded by darkness and steel bars with no chance of escape. I run to the bars, punching and pounding until my knuckles bleed and then I punch some more. But I can’t escape.

When I wake screaming only to bury the demons of the night before, I face a reality that’s much worse.

I’ve never heard Thirteen so silent. No one is sure of how to react to the news that President Snow is dead. No one knows what it means exactly. The Capitol isn’t in chaos. The war still goes on. There isn’t a winner. It’s just the same with more confusion piled on top of it.

There’s barely anywhere to move with the amount of people packed in one room watching the screens. I’m alone in the crowd, pushing my way through so I can get to the screen. I need to see. I need to know where Ivy is, if she’s even there.

I need to know that she’s still alive after all of this.

When we came back to Thirteen from Twelve, no one talked much. There was nothing anyone could think to say, even Peeta. We were met by Effie, Haymitch, and Finnick as Coin pulled all of us into the meeting room.

Plutarch talked about the possibilities of what would come next. There would be a new President. They could be good for the Rebels or they could be bad. There might be more problems in the Capitol that the Rebels could just sweep in and take the city, but there was no way to act without knowing what the outcome was going to be or who might take control.

The new President might decide on a truce or they might continue the war. They could be worse than the former or they could be kinder. But the only thing that was clear, it wasn’t an election process. The position would fall to whoever was willing and able to take and keep it.

“It’ll be Reagan Snow,” I had said.

“She might not be--” Plutarch had started.

“She’s been taking care of her grandfather,” Finnick stated matter of fact, “Staying close to him. I’m sure she’s learned from him. They’d want to keep that power in the family. Keep the legacy alive.”

“And then what?” Peeta asked, his voice on the verge of shaking, his bruised hand falling from its perch over his mouth. “What about Ivy?” He glanced to me, a memory of our previous agreement reminding me of the plan. No more propos until Ivy was safe. But now there was no way of knowing if she would be kept alive, if Reagan would see any use for her.

No one could answer him, because nobody knew what was going to happen.

At the end of the meeting Peeta and I went our separate ways without much conversation. I watched him walk ahead of me, broad shoulders raised and tight, bearing more weight than anyone could or should carry alone. My fingers twisted around where my wedding band used to be, the skin no longer lighter than the rest of my hand from where it used to reside, like it wasn’t even there.

Peeta moved to a single unit while I was gone. One he went back to after we parted from the meeting while I went to our old unit alone. And I sat in that unit waiting for him to come back, possessions in hand, standing at the door coming home, to me. But he didn’t. And I didn’t find him to ask him to come back even if that was what I wanted to do.

And now I stand alone in a crowd, thoughts running wild, my nightmare repeating, threatening to come to life. What if Reagan killed Ivy? What if someone else took power and they did something worse? What if Ivy’s dead and everything I’ve done, everything I’ve had to do, was all for nothing?

I struggle to catch my breath, the faces around me swimming into a blur as my fingers twitch and tremble. What if I’m about to see my daughter’s dead body on the screen? My legs almost buckle at the thought as everything spins and feels like it’s colliding onto me like chains dragging me underground.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t even repeat my mantra until a calloused hand finds mine.

“Follow me,” Peeta says, wrapping his fingers tightly around mine, securing me to the moment. He leads me away from the crowd and I find I can breathe for the first time since I woke up.

We pass through the throngs of people still silently working their way into the large gathering room. Coin stands on a balcony with Plutarch, Effie and Haymitch. They’re all deep in some kind of discussion, their faces fracturing into varying levels of concern and worry. Effie masks her fear the best, but there’s something frazzled in the way Haymitch’s hands move as he talks to Coin.

Gale steps up to join them a moment later and I turn to watch the back of Peeta’s head as he guides me down an empty hallway and towards stairs. There’s grey in the blonde, more now than there was before and it feels like the first time I’ve truly noticed.

“It’s an old office but there’s a screen,” he explains as he opens the door and I let go of his hand to step inside.

“I found it when I was…it doesn’t matter.” He shrugs, “I figured you wouldn’t want the looks. That it would be…not easier but…I just thought you’d rather not have to see anyone.”

“Thank you,” I say giving him a small smile, my voice thick with emotion.

He makes to leave but I grab the sleeve of his shirt. My fingers tightening around the fabric and keeping him in place as the anthem starts to play. He turns to look at me and I don’t need to ask, I don’t need to beg, he knows he can’t leave, that neither one of us can watch this alone.

He closes the door and I let go of his sleeve as he moves to slide a chair from behind a desk for me to sit on. I do as he props himself up on the desk, his knee grazing against mine while Caesar Flickerman’s solemn face appears.

“What do you think’s going to happen to her?” I ask but he doesn’t need to answer.

Ivy is the first thing we see as Caesar remarks about solidarity in shared grief. She stands with Reagan Snow both dressed in black as they stand above the gathered crowd in the training center. There are flashes of Victors sitting in one of the first rows, Cashmere included, though her eyes seem to watch Ivy more than anyone else.

Every seat is filled in the stands, with the open area usually reserved for the arrival of the Chariots swarmed with people as well. Wailing and crying can be heard throughout as handkerchiefs wave around in an overly dramatic display, even Caesar takes his moment to tear up and fan his face.

The crowd parts as music plays and a white casket is wheeled in on it’s own set of Chariots. Four horses pulling it like they would a king. Laurels of roses cover the casket in shades of red, blue, and yellow, built up like a mountain of love and devotion.

Petals are thrown from the crowd as the casket wheels past, raining down from the stands. Reagan and Ivy remain standing in place, watching the proceedings with controlled expressions. There are Peacekeepers securely behind them, surrounding the front of the parapet and covering every entrance and exit, in case anyone would dare make a move against the new President. Against Reagan.

It’s clear this is as much a coronation as it is a farewell.

The casket stops before a large pyre of wood. Avoxes lift the casket the pyre, securing it in place as the crowd falls silent. They turn towards the microphone on the parapet above them as Reagan steps up to speak. She feigns deep grief, choking on a sob that would make even Finnick Odair look like a bad actor.

“I want to thank you all for coming today to celebrate the life of my grandfather. He was a great man, an honorable and generous President. Despite the lies these Rebels are trying to feed you, he kept us safe and strong, he made us a better Panem. I only hope to make his legacy proud.” There’s applause, polite and measured before Reagan nods to the Peacekeepers. They step forward, a proud line below the parapet and they fire guns into the air, saluting the fallen President.

And in one fell swoop Reagan’s secured her place as President. Everyone in the crowd knows it. Her words are a challenge, try to take it from me, see what happens. Her hand grips Ivy’s shoulder and I see the hooks again, digging deep and stealing my daughter away.

Reagan gives Ivy a sharp smile and small nod and it looks like Ivy could collapse under the weight. She looks small and fragile, her hands shaking, her skin so pale she might as well blend into the walls around her. Her wide eyes glance to the casket like a frightened child before they fall to the ground, a slight twitch from pain as Reagan’s grip tightens. I catch it, but to everyone else, to Caesar, who remarks on what a nice sight it is to see Victors uniting in grief, she just looks sad like everyone else.

The drums start, rolling and rumbling, picking up in volume as someone makes the long walk from the end of the training center towards the pyre. They carry a torch that burns brightly against the sea of people dressed in black.

I see the face of the carrier and find that it’s Cain, the tribute who killed my son. I straighten at the sight of him, like if I could I would reach through the screen and kill him where he stands. He keeps his face passive as his hands grip the torch like he’s in pain. His steps are mechanical, like he’s trying not to think. He keeps his eyes forward, staring at the pyre, at the blank wall behind it and nowhere else, like he can’t look anywhere else.

In Two when you burn the dead it’s to honor them. It means they died a warrior, with dignity and valor. It means they earned their place in memory and in the afterlife. It means they’re worthy of history. On my Victory Tour Peeta and I had to witness the burning of Cato and Clove.

Almost all of Two’s Tributes are burned. The Arena is the highest honor they can receive, a chance to win or die well. The ones who aren’t burned, the ones who run from the fight or who fight like cowards, they’re buried and given graves with names for everyone to walk by and see, to know that the person lying underneath wasn’t worthy.

And Cain is the one who has to give President Snow the honor of fire.

I notice a deep welt over Cain’s eye as he keeps the torch upright and marches towards the casket. And for the first time I feel pity for the tribute who killed my son. For the first time I find I have no hate in my heart for the Career from Two.

The drums stop as Cain lowers the torch and sets the pyre ablaze, joining the Peacekeepers before the parapet.

Reagan pushes Ivy forward forcing her to stand before the microphone.

“In Twelve we have a tradition,” she says, her voice small and shaking, her eyes flicking from person to person in the crowd. She looks like a mouse caught in a trap. “To…to s-say goodbye to someone who means…to say goodbye,” she repeats, struggling on the words.

“No,” Peeta whispers. I glance from him back to the screen wondering what fresh worry he’s seen in this Hell of watching our daughter deteriorate and support the Capitol on live television.

Ivy’s eyes close and she takes a deep breath, lifting her three middle fingers to her lips before raising them above her head.

It feels like I’ve been punched right in the gut.

The breath leaves my lungs. Peeta’s mouth forms a hard line while his hand finds mine on instinct, neither one of us able to tear our eyes from the screen. Reagan wears a satisfied smile behind Ivy, no longer keeping up the appearance of grief.

The fire burns bright as the flames catch on the casket, smoke filling the air. Cain watches the fire. Ivy watches the ground. Both unable to look anywhere else as Capitol citizens begin to follow her lead, lifting their hands, cheering and mocking me from where I sit in Thirteen.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Ivy drops her hand, standing a little straighter and shaking her head like she’s trying to remember something. She looks at the hands before her as the drums pick up in a frenzy of volume and speed while the flames rise up and devour the casket as Capitol citizens shout and cheer and chant.

“Snow! Snow! Snow!”

And the chanting isn’t just for their former President, but their new one.

“Snow! Snow! Snow!”

Ivy blinks and looks at Reagan, a slow method in her movement, like she’s waiting. Reagan is lost in the crowds cheering, waving and accepting her new role with a measured poise.

“Snow! Snow! Snow!”

Ivy runs for the microphone, grabbing it before the Peacekeepers have a chance to react. She starts shouting her words lost in the drumming and the chanting. But the crowd freezes, hands half in the air, half fallen as the drums cut off completely.

She looks around, eyes wide and clear as she repeats, “They’re coming. They know where you are! They’re going to attack you! Mom! Dad! They’re going to attack Thirteen!” Her eyes find the camera, “Run!”

She’s thrown to the ground by Peacekeepers as the crowd starts shouting and standing in confusion. Angered and horrified by the outburst of their princess as more Peacekeepers descend into the crowd to remove the Victors and maintain order. Reagan rips the microphone from Ivy’s hand as the screens cut out.

The alarms blare a second later.

We move with the crowd, rushing towards the designated barrack underground that’s designed to keep everyone safe. Soldiers guide and yell over the alarms with a voice repeating the time on when the doors will close.

“One minute,” the voice announces and everyone moves a little faster.

I look around trying to find a sign of Prim or Rory in the fray.

“Prim!” I call over the alarms, scanning each frightened face for my sister but I can’t find her. We are inside the shelter a moment later as the voice announces, “Forty five seconds,” and I still don’t see my sister in the crowd.

Citizens from Thirteen and then the patients from medical pile in but still Prim isn’t there. I see Rory and baby Oliver a moment later standing with Posy but no Prim.

I look from them to the doors and as the voice announces “Thirty seconds,” I run back out.

“Katniss,” Peeta yells behind me, much too close to still be in the shelter.

“I have to find Prim,” I tell him, “Wait here.” I start running, heading up the stairs as the alarms continue and into an empty hallway.

“No, I’m going with you,” Peeta says and I stop in my tracks.

I want to argue. I want to tell him to stay behind. I can’t worry about both him and Prim. But there isn’t much time and truth be told I’ve missed him by my side even as broken as he was, as we both were. Some of the light is back in his eyes, despite everything, and the determination with it. There’s no room for argument.

“Fine,” I say as I run to find my sister with Peeta’s heavy footsteps following.

I turn the corner to see Gloss with two small children no older than three or four. Snot and tears run down their faces as he holds one over each shoulder, carrying them with ease. He looks like a giant compared to them.

“Excuse us,” Gloss says with a curt smile as he carries them towards the end of the hallway. Emery follows, dragging a four year old with her by the hand.

“Kid, do you want to die?” she barks as she drags him along, “Work with me here.”

I shout for Prim as we collide with straggling denizens of Thirteen. A small crowd of them lost in blind panic. I’m thrown to the ground as four of them run over me while the alarms continue on. I cover my head, protecting myself as much as I can, hearing Peeta yell and shove people aside.

Peeta pulls me up a second later but I can feel the pain starting in my legs. I’ll be bruised. His hands grab my face as his eyes check to see that I’m okay, the worry bleeding through from his soul to mine.

“I’m okay,” I croak out. I nod to him reassuring and he drops his hands. When we turn Prim rounds the corner, holding a stuffed bear with a missing eye.

“Oliver can’t sleep without it.”

I grab her arm, ignoring the ache in my side as I do so and run back down the hall with her in tow. I don’t need to make sure Peeta is following, it’s just like the Arena, I know he’s there. I know that wherever I go, he does too.

“Ten seconds,” the voice announces and the walls shake with the blast of a dropped bomb.

We keep running, the voice counting down as we hurry down the stairs.

“Three.”

We’re at the final landing.

“Two.”

The doors are closing in front of us. I shove Prim through while Peeta and I crash in behind her.

“One.”

The doors seal shut behind us.

The night drags on as bombs keep falling, first in quick succession and then slower, by what I can only assume is after midnight one falls with long silences in between before another and then nothing after.

Still, I don’t sleep. I just watch the ceiling, wondering if it’s going to come down on us. If no matter what happens, no matter how protected we think we are, it won’t matter.

I keep imagining Ivy being thrown onto the stage, raising her hand above the crowd, celebrating President Snow.

“If she hadn’t warned us, a lot of people wouldn’t have made it in here,” Peeta says as he looks around at the families huddled together, most of them asleep by now, including Prim, Rory and Oliver, the stuffed bear nestled beside him.

We sit next to each other on the bottom bunk of our barrack. Peeta hasn’t moved from my side since all this began and I don’t think he means to ever again.

My eyes find Gloss standing beside a sleeping Emery. She turns in the top bunk as he pulls a blanket over her, chewing on his nails and sitting on the bottom. The kids they helped drag in here sit in the bunks across from them, their parents holding them as they watch the giant Victor who saved them with wide eyes.

“Go to sleep,” he tells them and they laugh as he ruffles their hair and do as he says.

Emery sits up and leans over the railing to pat her father’s shoulder. He half smiles before lying down and closing his eyes. She keeps watching him, rubbing her own tired eyes, half drifting as another bomb falls and he sits up again.

“But they’re still going to look at her like she’s a traitor.”

“Maybe not. She saved them.”

“At least someone in this family managed to help,” I say bitterly.

I hear someone cough further down the aisle and two kids laugh as they shine flashlights at each other.

“You don’t talk about it,” Peeta says quietly. “Sometimes you start to, but when we were married—“

“We’re still married.”

“You know what I mean. You don’t talk about what it’s like, what it’s been like. You haven’t been honest about it, not with me. You can lie to them but please, don’t lie to me.”

“What am I supposed to say?” I ask him, keeping my voice measured and low so the sleeping people around us don’t wake up. “Do you think knowing is going to make anything better?”

“I think we’ve been keeping things to ourselves more than enough and maybe the truth is what we need now, to move forward.”

I swallow and feel my eyes sting at the words. There are private Hells we go through and there’s the shared one we’ve been in. Being forced to get married, becoming a symbol, there are things we don’t talk about, that I haven’t talked about in a while if ever. Not to him. Not to anyone.

“I never wanted to be the Mockingjay, Peeta. I didn’t want people looking up to me or expecting me to be their hero, I just wanted to survive the Games. I wanted to come home. I wanted to keep Prim and you alive. I didn’t want any of this. But you already knew that. Everyone knew that. Especially when I…”

“Katniss no one can blame a seventeen year old girl for being afraid and wanting to live.”

“But that’s not what happened. I stopped being a kid the day my dad died and when we went into that Arena. And after…”

He watches me, waiting for me to get to the real truth, the things we started to discuss but never really scratched the surface of.

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t want to be married. I didn’t want to have kids. Ever. With the Games especially after we won I knew what was going to happen to them. And Snow sent us the letter and I knew he wasn’t going to stop. He would do something to Prim or my mom and that was the excuse I gave to myself at first but…”

He watches me and the confession pours out, “There was this moment. We got the message and you were so mad you just ripped it up. You had the lie all ready to go like you knew it was coming, like you had been waiting for it, so you could keep me safe just like you did in the Arena just like you did when I was starving. You were ready to protect me and us. I remembered before the wedding how you told me to just look at you. Forget the cameras, forget the people, and just see you. So that’s what I did. I let myself imagine what it would be like to have your child and I wanted it. I forgot that we weren’t just two people who loved each other and got married and I wanted that life with you.”

I feel the tears threaten and I’ve never admitted it to anyone before, why I just let it happen. It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t just because of a threat. I wanted them with him.

“And I know it was selfish when I knew what the Capitol would always do. But I wanted them. I wanted to have them with you. And I can’t hate myself for it anymore. I’m so tired of hating myself for it. I wish I hadn’t pushed them away for as long as I did because I wanted them and I was afraid of how much I did. I didn’t want to lose them, but I still did.”

And then the tears begin and Peeta’s arms close around me to give me warmth and light despite the darkness closing in.

“It wasn’t wrong of you to want them. It wasn’t wrong to want to be happy. We were happy.”

I sink further into his embrace, “I wanted to be the one to kill him. I should have been. I tried to do the right thing. I tried to keep people safe. But it didn’t matter. The Games just go on and now I’m the Mockingjay and he’s dead but Reagan’s in charge. It just goes on and on. None of it mattered.”

“Yes, it did.” He wipes the tears from my eyes, keeping his palm there, and I nod. “War doesn’t last forever. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay and so will Ivy. You’ll be happy again. I promise you that.”

“How?”

“Coin will get Ivy back. She’ll have to. And when she does you take Ivy and run. No matter what, no matter how all this ends, you run and you get away from everything. You’re smart you can hide out in the woods and they will never find you.”

“What about you?” I ask, afraid of what the plan is for himself. I remember the conversation I had with Bas, the dream or the hallucination version of him, whatever it was.

He half-smiles, “I managed in the Arena pretty okay without you before, I can do it again.”

“You think the Rebels are going to lose,” I say, realizing the finality in his words, he doesn’t mean to go it alone, he means to die to make sure Ivy and I get away.

“Two is still working with the Capitol. One is following their lead. Eventually under Reagan they will overrun the smaller districts or just bomb them out,” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head, “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it helps to have a plan.”

“And what if we don’t get Ivy back?” I ask, my voice falling.

“Then I’ll destroy the Capitol, every last brick,” he says in a low hardened voice.

“We’ll destroy it,” I say, my eyes finding his as they burn into me.

“Together,” he says and it feels like the train, it feels like every moment since. The two of us facing the world together, facing the uncertainty and the pain.

“Always,” I tell him, remembering that night I asked him to stay on the train. And I’ll ask him to stay a thousand and one times, every day and every night, I can’t push him away anymore. We’re in this together. Always, together.

His lips find him as he kisses me. It’s chaste and sweet and it reminds me of when we were younger. I savor it as it deepens and warmth floods from my stomach to my heart and my breath is stolen away. I return the kiss with hunger. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed his hands, his smell, everything about him.

“I missed you,” I tell him my forehead resting on his as we catch our breath.

“Me too.” He smiles despite everything. Despite the pain, the tears, the heartbreak. I know it’s still tearing him apart, Ivy not here, Bas gone, but there’s something else beneath that, there’s hope. And I have it too.

The dandelion in the spring. He carries it in him.

Beck –

“Anyone watching?” Springer asks as I peer around the corner of the barracks. Most of the people around us are asleep and those that aren’t are more concerned with watching a crack that formed on the ceiling. A bomb hasn’t fallen in a while but still they’re afraid the ceiling is going to collapse.

I shake my head and Springer digs a screwdriver into the tracking bracelet on my wrist. He opens a small clasp and attaches some wires from a small handheld device. He types and rips a piece of metal from the bracelet.

“Stupid,” he says to himself as he glances to the cracked ceiling. “The support is holding. Scared for nothing.”

“Well, they don’t know that it’ll hold. Maybe you should tell them.”

“They won’t listen to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one listens to me. My aunt listened. She understood. She’s gone now.”

I haven’t heard him talk about Wiress well, ever, but I suppose if there was ever a time to bring her up, it was now. Beetee takes care of him, cares for him just as he cared for Wiress, just as he cares for a lot of people.

“Beetee listens to you,” I tell Springer as he closes the clasp. He rubs the screwdriver between his hands, digging it into the floor to no effect.

“He does,” Springer admits, “He’s scared too. For me. Afraid I’m going to die. They’re all afraid of dying.”

“You’re not?”

He shrugs, “Dying will happen whether I’m afraid of it or not. That will work now. I can change the time and location from here.” He waves the handheld device. “Built it myself. Networked it and everything.”

“Thank you.”

“Wish I could get back to work. I need to get the box, stop the signal, get inside. Beetee and I have all the tools just have to work the problem.” He taps the screwdriver on the ground. “Frequencies…too many…too protected but in between…too much power…in between…disrupt the signal…lights out!” Springer claps his hands as he jumps up, his eyes wide, “No power. Get inside. Find the signal, own the signal, power disruption…no signal.” He runs towards the door but he’s stopped by a guard.

“You can’t leave until morning,” The Guard says.

“The bombs are done. They don’t see us, I have to work, let me leave.”

“Not until morning,” The Guard pushes Springer back.

“Do you want to get her killed?!” Springer shoves the Guard only to be punched in the face.

“Hey,” I interrupt, stepping in between Springer and the Guard.

“He…”

“He was in the Arena,” I say as if that will explain everything. There’s a certain amount of sympathy the people in Thirteen give the Tributes and Victors, like we’ve been attacked by some unspeakable evil that they give us a lot of pitied looks for. If I have to endure the looks I might as well use it to my advantage. And Springer’s.

“I’m sorry. Just…it’s only a few more hours until dawn, then he can go right back to the shop. It’s for his safety. Please remind him of that.”

I give the guard my best smile as I wrap an arm around Springer, “Thank you for protecting us.”

I guide Springer back to the corner, my smile falling, “Just wait it out.”

“The signal. They don’t understand.”

“They will. It’s only a little longer.”

“Every second matters, you saw the funeral too…they’re doing something…she didn’t look the same.”

“No, she didn’t,” I admit and I remember the flick of Ivy’s eyes, the fear, the blanched skin and shaking demeanor. Whatever is happening is only going to get worse now that she warned everyone. There was a small amount of pride that emerged when she ran for that microphone, hope that she was still fighting. That no matter what they were doing she was still there, but that hope faded with each bomb and each new thought of what price she was paying for her bravery.

I scratch at the scar from the IV needle. They took it out earlier this morning which was a nice reprieve and gave me another fifteen minutes of time, not that it matters now. Since I’ve been allowed out I’ve been spending more time with Springer, watching him work to save Ivy, to save everyone really.

Everything he builds or tries to build is all designed to end the war, to isolate, to win. He’s been obsessing with destroying the Capitol’s signal, with stopping them from being able to deliver broadcasts. Cutting them off from everyone else, even when we can own the signal for a short time, destroys their ability to continue with messages of support and pretending like they’re winning.

Stopping their communication would isolate Two and by destroying Two, One would follow, the Capitol would be entirely cut off and it would just be a matter of taking it.

Sometimes I let myself drift to the idea of after the war, of winning the war and letting myself be happy. But I don’t know if that could ever truly happen, if I could ever be free and at peace. My thoughts wander to that dream of Ivy and I on a boat, safe and sound, with nothing chasing us, nothing threatening us, just us, together and happy.

But I saw her at the funeral and I see myself in the mirror, the tired, sunken eyes and the scars. I don’t know if happy is ever going to be a reality.

Springer taps his head and repeats equations and writes in the air with his finger. I know he’ll be doing this for a while and there’s no chance he’ll run for the door again, so I decide to leave. I wonder why Springer is so committed to saving her, why he’s more worried about Ivy than anything else. He mentioned seeing her brother in the Arena once, Bas had hid in one of his spaces and Springer warned him about the traps and Bas had shared his food.

But I don’t see how that translates to Ivy, how saving her has anything to do with what happened in the Arena. But I don’t pretend to know what’s going on in Springer’s head and I won’t ask. I’ve learned that Springer will share what he wants to share when he wants to and asking only closes him off and buries him inside his head more. So I don’t ask and he doesn’t ask me about anything that I don’t want to share.

We’ve spent time in silences as I hand him tool after tool and I don’t need to think or feel anything. There’s a peace I can’t find in other spaces which I’m grateful for. I’ve been trying to practice throwing tridents as my side heals up, careful not to over exert as the monitor would warn medical. Now that Springer’s fixed it I can train how I want to, I can prepare to go to war like I want to.

I pass down the aisle of beds to find where my parents and I were assigned. My father sits up tying knots while my mother sleeps, her hands covering her ears. When the bombs were going off she held it together as long as she could, longer than I thought she would, and eventually I had to put my hands over her ears to keep the noise out as well. When they stopped she calmed down, though she kept shaking until well into the night.

“I’m glad she’s resting,” I tell my father as I sit across from him. My mother’s feet are propped up on his thighs even as she’s curled into herself like she’s reminding herself that he’s there even as she sleeps.

He nods as he pulls the knot tight and then apart, starting again. He hasn’t said much since the bombs ended, since my mother fell asleep.

“She told you I heard you both, didn’t she?” I ask and I remember hearing my father talk about how he wanted to film a Propo, how he was going to make everyone see who President Snow really was, but he never got the chance before President Snow died and now I don’t know if he’s going to anymore. “About the Propo.”

He nods, pulling the rope through a loop and wrapping it.

“Are you still…”

“I don’t know.” He puts the rope down. “I don’t know if it’s even going to matter now.”

“It might. If people hear about what he did, what I’m sure Reagan Snow is going to continue, what the Capitol is really like. It’ll make people see, people who don’t know.”

My father swallows hard as he picks the rope up again.

“You’re afraid.”

“Yes,” he admits after a long silence, ripping the knot apart. “Yes, I’m afraid. For you. They’ll know about you and they’ll...”

“You knew it was going to happen when you were going to do it before. What’s changed?”

“I knew what I was dealing with before. That I could protect you but now President Snow is dead. If we lose, if it means nothing…they’ll take you like they took her and they’ll…it’ll be worse. I saw Reagan Snow year after year, I saw her idolize Katniss and then hate her and I watched her grandfather mold her into this ruthless calloused thing and she likes it. She’s worse than he could have ever hoped to be. You saw the show she put on at the funeral, what she had Ivy do, and that’s just the beginning. She’s much more patient than he was and he waited two decades to hurt all the Victors he hated. What do you think she’s going to accomplish with a war and after?” He takes a steadying breath, glancing to my mother to make sure she’s still asleep. I watch my father’s hand shake and it’s not the first time I’ve ever seen him afraid but it is one of the few times he’s admitted it to me, that I don’t see him as just my father but as the person he is beneath the title.

“Dad,” I place my hand on his, holding it there and taking the rope from him. “If her grandfather knew, she already knows too. I can handle a target on my back. I won’t let them take me. Neither will you or mom. And you can hide and no one’s going to blame you for doing that but you will blame yourself. You said it before, you owe it to yourself to get the truth out there.”

We both fall silent.

“How are you so smart?”

“I’m not really, I’m just…an Odair and we’re really good at talking.” I smile and he returns it, pushing me slightly so I fall back onto my mattress.

“And making smart ass comments and not sleeping like we should be.” He puts his hand over my eyes until I close them. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah, right.” I say as I open them again and sit up. He tosses me some rope and we sit in silence tying knots together and I find another kind of peace in this moment. My worries fade with each tie of the rope as I sit a thousand feet underground far away from my home.

Katniss –

There’s rubble all around from the parts of Thirteen that were blown out, light peering in to the surface levels from all sides. The damage isn’t too bad despite the amount of bombs, like they just hit every area they thought we were without really knowing. There were no casualties thanks to Ivy’s warning, something that even the people of Thirteen who still whisper traitor can admit they’re grateful for, just as Peeta said they would.

After the all clear was issued Coin made sure to tell me that she would thank Ivy if she could, along with giving me an assignment, tell the people that we’re alive and we’re here, that they couldn’t destroy us.

“Naturally,” Peeta had said, watching her walk around to greet the people of Thirteen, Gale beside her speaking in hushed tones before she nodded and he ran off. I haven’t seen him since but he made sure to check on Rory and Posy before he disappeared to wherever he’s gone to.

“Where are you all off to?” Johanna had asked, catching up to us as we made our way to leave. “Filming another big hero speech. Get the troops motivated. Run into the line of fire. Die for me. That kind of thing?”

“No, not that kind of thing. They want to know we’re alive, we have to give them hope,” Peeta told her as I kept walking.

“Oh hope, well if it’s about hope, I’d love to watch you tell the families of dead soldiers to have hope.”

I stayed ahead, keeping my head up, walking towards the light as she followed, mocking hope all along the way.

Pollux pushes a rock out of the way as we step over a piece of wall into a bright clearing. My eyes adjust and all around me I see green leaves and vines that were dropped.

Ivy.

On top of the Ivy there are white roses covering the clearing, delivered just for me. I freeze up as Cressida starts rolling the cameras and I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me.

“Someone’s sending a message,” Johanna says in a grim voice and there’s no sarcasm in it, no comments about hope to follow. She just stands behind me as I nod in agreement. Peeta picks up one of the roses and crushes it in his hand getting the message just as clearly as I do.

“Katniss whenever you’re ready,” Cressida says with a wave of her hand, “I’m alive, everyone’s safe.”

My eyes watch the mixture of green and white, the world around me fading and buzzing. Whatever I do Reagan will take it out on Ivy. And it’ll go on and on until, instead of a message, she drops my daughter onto the ground of Thirteen, bloody and broken and dead. It doesn’t matter what I do, what I say, Ivy will pay for it. And I knew it before but this is clear, this is I know you’re watching, I know you see her, and you won’t see her again if you keep this up.

“Katniss, I’m alive and everyone’s safe.”

“Would you shut it?!” Johanna shouts. “Don’t you get what all this means?” She picks up a handful of ivy and roses and tosses it at Cressida, “Or do you just want your footage and to Hell with everyone else?”

“That’s not…”

“Her daughter pays for everything she says and you keep asking her to say more. What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s the cost of war. We can’t stop when we haven’t won yet.”

Johanna barks at that, shaking her head, “I can’t believe you’ve been putting up with this,” she says to me and for the first time there’s genuine sympathy in her hardened voice and it inspires me to stand up a little straighter.

“It’s a cost Ivy isn’t paying anymore. I’m done. I won’t say another word.” I turn back inside.

“Neither will I,” Peeta says as he follows me back down into Thirteen.

I break off from Peeta as I feel my breathing shorten and my hands tighten. I start to hear Ivy crying again and see Reagan smile while hooks claw into my daughter’s skin. I feel the bite of the cold as I come upon Ivy laying down on the ground freezing to death. I keep running as I hear myself tell her to keep fighting, to not let them win. I see her standing with her fingers raised, with a dress covered in blood. I see her standing in the Arena as she fights to survive and I can’t save her. I see her being crowned a Victor and standing before the museum all alone. And I can’t do anything to help her. I did this to her. I can’t save her.

I find a dark corner and I hide, trying to forget that it’s my fault, trying to forget that I made her, that even if the message was given to me I had a choice to lie and I didn’t. I had two children and I destroyed them and I destroyed Ivy more with each word that I said.

Everything that happens to her in the Capitol is because of me and my words.

“Hiding?” Haymitch asks in the darkness and I open my eyes as he sits in the small corner beside me. “Gotta say it is a bitch to find you around here but you always go to the same places.” He smiles.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice hollow. “I’m not doing any more Propos and you can’t convince me.”

“I didn’t come here to convince you. I came here to…” There’s regret that deepens the wrinkles on his face.

“You can apologize a thousand times but you still lied to me.”

“I’m not going to apologize and that grudge looks real good on you, Sweetheart, but you can bury it now along with a few others because I’ve got news.”

I stay silent waiting for him to continue.

“Capitol power grid is out. Springer built this…I don’t know what the Hell it is but it was sent to Three they got it to the water turbines and knocked out the Capitol power.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice rising and my heart pounding.

“It’s for a rescue mission. Led by your old pal.”

“Gale.” I stand up and start running, unsure of where and what’s going to happen, but knowing that I need to see it. I need to know.

They’re rescuing Ivy. They’re bringing my daughter back to me.

“Bury me in armour When I'm dead and hit the ground My nerves are poles that unfroze And if you love me, won't you let me know? I don't want to be a soldier Who the captain of some sinking ship Would stow, far below.”

The girls scowls and rolls her eyes (charming, he thinks to himself). “Yes, you’re the only one still in this classroom, aren’t you?”

He looks around and sure enough, they’re the only two left, with a few stragglers making their way out. “I guess I am,” he sighs. “What was your question?”

Her face softens and she points to her notebook. “This,” she begins, tapping her pencil against the page. “Aperture. I don’t get it.”

“Oh, yes,” he nods. “Aperture. Lets the light in.”

“Okay,” she says, standing up. “But, the number goes down for more light. Shouldn’t it go up?”

This makes him smile. “Yeah, I know, it’s weird. I guess you’ll just have to shift your way of thinking about the whole thing.”

“I guess,” she mumbles, shrugging as she puts her things away. “Photography is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Well, I can help if you want. My brother is actually a professional photographer, so I know a little bit about this stuff.”

“Would you?” she asks, her face lighting up. “I mean, I’m not an idiot, but I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m a horticulture major for crying out loud.”

Peeta chuckles, but then is immediately caught off guard by the fluttering in his chest. “Sure, uh, I can help. I actually don’t have anything after this period, so we can go to the student center after this class every week if you want.”

She nods excitedly (flutter) as her eyes widen. “That would be great – really, that would be so helpful, thank you so much. I’m Katniss.”

“Oh, uh, I’m Peeta,” he says, holding out his hand.

Katniss takes his hand into her own, and smiles. “Nice to meet you, Peeta.”

She smiled.

I’m a goner.

ii. ISO

“Your ISO is way too high for a sunny day like this,” Katniss says, examining Peeta’s camera. “Come on, Peeta. I thought you aced Photography last semester!”

“I did, I know,” he says, shaking his head. “I guess I’m not really thinking clearly today.”

Katniss plops herself down next to him on the picnic blanket, taking in the concerned look on his face. “Everything okay?”

“My parents are driving me crazy,” he grumbles, picking at the grass. “I’m sorry, I know I said we’d take some cool shots today.”

“Peeta, it’s no problem, really,” she says kindly, nudging his shoulder with her own. “We can just sit here and talk if you want? Come to think of it, I actually don’t know much about your family. You always seem to let me ramble on when we hang out.”

“Well, I like the sound of your voice,” he says, causing her to blush. “But…you really wouldn’t mind if I vented a little?”

She shakes her head, and tentatively places her hand on his shoulder. “Vent away.”

They stay on that blanket for hours, just talking, until the sun sets. And as the yellows and oranges make their way into the sky, Peeta can’t resist picking up his camera and snapping his first and only shot of the day – Katniss, on the blanket, staring at the sunset.

It’s the best picture he’s ever taken.

iii. shutter speed

“Hey, Katniss! What’s wrong?”

Peeta catches up to a speed-walking Katniss in the middle of the quad, and can tell right away that something is bothering her. “Is everything okay? Is it finals? You’re crying.”

“No, Peeta, it’s not,” she says, sniffling. “Remember my dad’s cabin near the lake? The one I told you about?”

He nods as he tries to keep up with her, knowing that he’ll be late for his class on the other side of campus. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, apparently the landowner is tearing it down tomorrow,” she says, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I found out this morning, and was planning to head out there today after classes to see it one last time, but I have to work and no one can pick up my shift.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible,” Peeta says, squeezing her hand. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

They stop in front of the lecture hall as Katniss shakes her head, obviously trying to fight back more tears. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get over it,” she says, shrugging. “I have to go.”

Peeta watches sadly as Katniss enters the hall, and pulls out his phone to check the time. He thinks about the accounting class he’s missing, and shakes his head. “Screw it,” he mumbles to himself.

He runs back to his apartment and grabs his camera, checking the battery and making sure there’s enough memory on the card. He makes twelve different phone calls until he finds the information he needs, then hops in his car and speeds out of town.

It takes over an hour, but he finally makes it. And as he looks out at the breathtaking view, at this beautiful cabin by the lake, he looks down at his camera, and takes a deep breath.

For Katniss.

iv. focus

It hangs above their bed – a big picture of the cabin.

Peeta surprised Katniss with the photos the very next day. She smiled, then she cried, then she smiled again.

Then she kissed him.

Right in the middle of the student center, Katniss Everdeen kissed Peeta Mellark. And it wouldn’t be their last.

What Peeta did for her…it made everything so clear for Katniss. It put everything into focus.

She loves this man. And he loves her, too.

The landowner didn’t end up tearing the cabin down, after all…and it ended up being their place, where so many wonderful things would happen.

The place where they made love for the first time.

The place where Peeta proposed with a lovely pearl ring. Where Katniss said “yes” and told Peeta the ring was “just perfect”.

The place where Katniss told him she was expecting their first child.

The place where that baby would take her first steps.

And the photos Peeta took – shots of the cabin, taken at every angle – they hang all around their house as a reminder. A reminder of how much she meant to him, even then. A reminder that he would do anything to make her happy, and how she would do the same.