#thg ff

Two Strangers

Gale kept his eyes locked on the soft brown hair that was, of course, resembling a bird’s nest on top of his son's head; the silky black hair of his oldest daughter the hung down her back loosely; and the flame red hair of his youngest daughter that was pulled into a side braid.

It had been years since he felt that familiar tug of pain in his chest, but he did in that moment. He blamed it on the fact he was back in the Capitol. After so many years of trying to run from his past – of pushing his feelings and inner demons away – they seemed so close to the surface now that he was back in this cursed city.

Almost as if his wife could sense his unease, her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, bringing him back to the present. That was one thing he loved about Penelope; she always knew what he was thinking, most times before he knew it himself.

He glanced away from his children, pulling his gaze towards the woman by his side. She was staring up at him, her forehead creased with worry. He knew what she was thinking in that moment. She was worried for him.

He moved forward, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead, trying to sooth away her worries. He shouldn’t have been worried. The war was over. Panem was in a time of peace. People were happy. He was happy.

Still, walking the streets of the Capitol brought a chill over him. The last time he walked the streets, he had been fighting for his life. He doubted those sounds would ever leave him. It was a lifetime ago, yet he could recall it all with perfect clarity.

He tried to pull his mind away from those days he spent in the Capitol by capturing his wife’s hand with his. He didn’t want to think about Finnick. He didn’t want to think about his throat burning from the sheer volume of his screams He didn’t want to think about Katniss’ look of betrayal when she realized what he did.

He didn’t want to think about what he did.

He didn’t want to think about her.

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”