Hunger Games 1. Chapter 1

1

Real.

I said real.

I inadvertently told him I loved him.

Yet, here I am, under the blankets, the sun's dying light bleeding through the shades confirming that I have spent the entire day in bed. I'm surprised no one's come to usher me out of my room and make me eat. Greasy Sae must be tired of putting up with me. Maybe she's telling me that if I want to be fed, I'll have to get up and feed myself.

My stomach rumbles, my hunger making me feel hollow and weak. My lips are so dry from dehydration that they stick together. I have a flashback to my first Games, when I was so desperate for water. I even smell the mud that clued my foggy, dying mind to where the pond was.

_Stop._ I can't have these thoughts. They'll just escalate into nightmares.

I'll have to get up sometime.

Sometime.

"Meoooooow," Buttercup insists at the foot of the bed.

"Go away." I croak. "Go murder a rat or two. It's your job."

He meows even more pitifully in response. The only feelings I had toward this cat was that it comforted Prim. I recall the evening that I yelled at him, telling him that Prim wasn't here anymore. And I cried and he whined with me all afternoon.

I guess we were at an impasse. Misery loves company, right?

I groan and flip back my covers. Time to feed both of us, I guess.

I go down the stairs. Even though the windows are open, there's an eerily silence throughout the house and the outside. Haymitch is, no doubt, passed out drunk. I don't even hear the honking of his geese. Peeta…

I flush at the thought of Peeta. Surely, he would have checked in on me. Maybe he was having an episode.

Suddenly, a door slams. I start, jumping a foot in the air. I accidentally trod on Buttercup's tail. He hisses at me and runs from the kitchen.

"Sorry!" I call after the cat, feeling stupid.

A frantic knocking ensues at my door. Through the door's window, I see tuffs of blonde hair. I'm hesitant, feeling embarrassingly nervous, like a schoolgirl. I go to open the door and there's Peeta in uncharacteristically disheveled clothes and dark circles under his eyes. The whites of his eyes are pink, like he's been crying.

"Peeta?" I say, my voice rising like a question.

"Hazel…died this morning." he responds.

My jaw falls open in surprise and I'm quickly choked by grief. I knew Gale's mother as much as the other Hawthornes.

"How?" I ask, my vision blurry from tears.

"Greasy Sae's thinking she had a stroke. We haven't been able to reach Gale. We were wondering if you…had contact with him recently." Peeta looks down at his feet, like it would disappoint him if I said yes.

"No, Peeta. I haven't heard from him since…you know."

The war. Prim's death. President Coin's assassination.

Peeta sighs. It sounds like a breath of relief. But then his face scrunches up, like he's ashamed.

"When's the funeral?" I ask.

"Well, there hasn't been a time set. Normally, the eldest son arranges the funeral. And, well…" Peeta trails off.

"I'll see if I can get in touch with him. He might be busy with work."

Several images flash through my mind. War. Children. Parachutes. Prim's golden braid. Gale and Beetee's bombs.

Peeta must know my thought train, because he says, "It's not his fault, Katniss. It's Coin's for even letting Prim be there. You know that."

I stare at him. We haven't had a conversation so emotional like this he stopped me from eating the nightlock pill.

"Want to…come in for a bit? I haven't eaten all day. I guess Greasy Sae was busy with…that."

He nods and steps over the threshold. He acknowledges Buttercup, who makes a reappearance suddenly, with a few scratches on his ugly little head.

"Have any game left? I could…fix a quick stew or something." he offers, straightening himself to look at me.

I blush. I haven't been hunting in forever, which is very out of character for me.

"Um…Effie sent me a package of food from the Capitol actually. But…I…can't. I just can't."

"It's okay, Katniss…I get it. One taste of Capitol food would probably have me…having an episode." he grimaced. "Everything's a fucking trigger for me."

I raise my eyebrows. Normally, Peeta doesn't swear unless he's really upset, like when he has hallucinations.

"I do have some cheese buns left." I say suddenly, going over to the fridge. Actually, I have tubs upon tubs of cheese buns because I haven't been able to eat them without crying recently. The taste of them just reminds how wonderful Peeta is and how much I don't deserve him. I take out a tub of them and put a few on a plate to heat up. I have enough distraction to eat them without falling apart today.

The smell of them makes my mouth water, reminding me how hungry I am. Buttercup meows at my feet.

"Why are you depending on me for food? Go hunt down a squirrel or a bird or something."

His eyes almost regard me like he's asking, "_Because that's what you usually do_."

I feel something akin to guilt. I open the fridge and take out the pitcher of milk. I grab two glasses for Peeta and I and then a small bowl. I fill the bowl with milk and set it on the floor. Buttercup sniffs it briefly and begins to lap it up.

"That's the friendliest I've seen you be with that cat…" Peeta comments.

"Well, I guess we're family."

I feel the ice shards in my heart crack. My chest physically hurts thinking of the family I've lost. I lost Mom to her depression. She came back briefly to help with Prim and me during the time before the Quarter Quell and during the Rebellion. But we've stopped our communication since the war ended. She couldn't handle coming back here. I feel anger towards her, for repressing her sadness and becoming a statue after Dad died. No telling what she's like now.

Peeta and I eat the cheese buns quickly. We keep a polite banter going so I don't get too involved in the cheese bun's taste. I know it sounds corny, but he imbibes his personality into his baking. His love. His kindness. I can't take it.

Because I don't deserve it.

My eyes betray me, becoming misty. Luckily, I think Peeta will equate it to Hazel's death.


	2. Chapter 2

2

After our brisk lunch, I go into the living room to retrieve three letters off the high shelf. Peeta follows me and settles him into a chair by the fireplace.

"What are those?" he asks.

I pause. I stare at the addresses on the envelopes.

"Gale wrote to me. I haven't opened them. I'm just wondering if he included a phone number in here."

"Oh. Okay. Should I…leave?" he wonders.

"No!" I say too fast. "I…I'll just skim them."

I open the first one, dreading what it says. I just hope they don't declare his love for me. I shake my head, shaming myself for being so cocky. I swallow hard, just seeing his untidy handwriting.

"Dear Catnip,

I don't know what to say, honestly. I know you've moved back to District 12. And that you probably hate me now. I just want you to know that I never meant for your sister to die. Coin was the one that arranged the attack on the children. She was also the one that authorized Prim to go to the Capitol. Your mother and I were against it, you have to believe me. I tried to talk Coin out of it, but she had already sent them away. I knew that she was going to use those bombs, but I never knew it was for something so cruel. Capitol children or not…

I'm okay in District 2. I'm still working with Beetee. He sends his regards and apologies. I'm currently working with him on a few projects like helping the nation recover and rebuilding the Districts.

I hope you're well. And Peeta.

-Gale

PS. If you want to contact me, my number is 349-0934. Hope you call."

I hide my face from Peeta because I'm crying so profusely I can't breathe. He can't be fooled. He takes the letter and reads it for himself.

"You want me to call him?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Just give me a minute."

I took about ten minutes for the initial breakdown to stop suffocating me. Then I take the phone off the end table next to me. Peeta hands the letter back to me and dial the number.

_Ring._

_Ring._

_Ring._

"Soldier Gale Hawthorne speaking."

"Gale," I say through new tears.

"Katniss! What's wrong?" he asks. Peeta's hand grips my shoulder lightly.

"I have some bad news." I respond.

There's a long pause.

"…it's Mom isn't it?" he deadpans a very low voice.

My throat tightens and I sniff loudly. "Gale. I'm so sorry. She died this morning."

Very long pause.

Then a click.

_Beep-beep-beep-beep._

"Did he hang up?" Peeta asks.

"Yeah. It's…Gale. He doesn't want to be emotional with me listening, I guess."

Silence.

"Hey, you cozy lovebirds! 'Bout damn time! How about some grub?"

I roll my eyes. Haymitch in his usual drunken candor.

"He doesn't know, does he?" I ask Peeta.

"No. He's been dead to the world. You know how he is." Peeta replies. He gets up to answer the door. Haymitch's clothes are their usual unkempt state. His signature bottle of drink swings at his side as he saunters forward.

"What's with you, sweetheart? Trouble in paradise?"

"Fuck off…" I snap.

"Oooh, fiery response. I guess Lover's Lane is not so loving tonight, eh?"

"Haymitch, we have some bad news." Peeta starts. "Might want to…slump in a chair."

"You know me too well. Bad news, eh? Can't be worse than Gemmy Idlewise making to the top ten."

He's joking about Plutarch Heavensbee's new singing show. I don't bother with it because Plutarch's face brings up too many memories.

"Hazel Hawthorne died." Peeta says.

Haymitch lowers his bottle from his lips. A first. His eyes flash from me and to Peeta.

"Goddamnit." he groans. "Goddamnit to hell."

He takes three large gulps from his bottle. Some spills down his shirt.

"I knew Hazel. One of the prettiest girls in our year at the school. I dreaded Reapings when she was eligible because if she took the stage, I would have killed myself. Her brother was reaped though. Twelve-years-old."

Peeta and I looked at one another. We didn't know this.

"I did my damndest to get that boy through his Games. Didn't survive three days. Froze to death."

All I'm able to say is, "God. Poor Hazel."

"Came to me crying, saying she should've volunteered. I couldn't answer."

He starts slurring, drinking more and more over the hour. Soon he falls silent. I look at his face and I'm surprised to see his bloodshot eyes spilling tears.

"Hope Gale didn't do anything drastic…" Peeta wonders aloud.

"Probably trying to get clearance to come out here. I don't know, maybe he'll call back." I murmur.

"Maybe." Peeta agrees.

"You still want something to eat, Haymitch?" I ask him.

"No, no. It's fine. Let me know when the funeral is. I'll try to be sober." he says, before attempting to get up. He fails twice trying to get out his seat and nearly falls as he wobbles.

"Need help?" Peeta wonders, getting up.

"No, no. I'm good. Need to shower anyway."

Peeta's eyebrows disappear into his hair. I know his train of thought. Haymitch Abernathy, taking an interest in hygiene?

Haymitch stumbles out of the door and I go to the window to make sure he doesn't fall on his face on his journey back home. He takes a moment to vomit in his garden and then he's out of sight.

"Well, he'll be in liver failure by morning." Peeta jokes darkly. It wasn't to liven the mood; more or less to distract us both from reality.

I stay silent and wondering over next to the telephone. There's doubt that Gale will call back, but I still want to be near the phone if he does. Even though I half-blame him for Prim's death, I couldn't lead my stubbornness overshadow this.

"How are the other kids?" I ask Peeta.

"They took it better than I thought. It was like they were…expecting it."

"Gale was like that too. He said, 'It's Mom, isn't it?'." I told him.

We both mulled this over in silence. Many residents of District 12 eventually caught disease. The coal mines always presented danger from the dust—many working men had emphysema or some breathing disorder. We were more susceptible to disease since we couldn't afford to be "Capitol clean". The flu was always a certainty in the winter months because we didn't receive vaccinations. In many cases, influenza progressed to pneumonia, which was a death sentence. I was lucky to have Mom growing up. She taught me about foodborne illness and how to prepare foods properly. She and Prim were healers, after all. Dad was very stringent in teaching me which plants were not safe to eat. He taught me that I should always cook the meat off animals whenever possible.

Though I don't think Haymitch has had to worry. His liquid diet of alcohol kills bacteria as well as his memories.

There were times I considered drinking to curb the thoughts and nightmares.

_No_. I think of Prim, what she would say.

Of course, if Prim were alive and here right now, I wouldn't need a reason to drink.

I study Peeta, who's looking out the window, lost in thought.

"Getting late." he says calmly. "I should go."

"No!" The word left me without permission.

He turns back to stare at me. His fierce blue eyes lock onto mine as I stand up. As though in slow motion, I walk toward him. Every step is careful, like I'm walking on a mined floor. When I'm finally a hair's breadth away from him, I wrap my arms around his neck, closing the gap between our bodies. It takes him a moment for his body to respond. His wraps his arms around my back, hugging me to him. His lips find my neck, placing a slow kiss, leaving the skin burning like coal embers.

"Don't leave." I mumble, voice muffled by his shirt.

"I won't." he whispers. "I won't."


	3. Chapter 3

**I should clarify that this is rated M for language, though I wouldn't count out the possibility of some sexual relationships developing. Because I'm a sleazebag. Reviews would be greatly appreciated! I try to keep to the style of the books, but obviously I'm going to branch out because this is rated M. -pearl**

3

"Katniss."

I open my eyes and see blue sky. I'm lying on the groud, outside. I feel a warm body beside me.

"Katniss."

I look beside of me and see Prim. Her golden hair is shimmering in the sunlight, grey eyes twinkling.

"Prim. You're here." I say, reaching out to touch her face. My hand goes through her skin, like it would a hologram.

"Not exactly." she murmurs.

I glance around my surroundings. We're in a meadow, under a towering...

…_willow tree._

Prim strums her hand along a row of daisies, humming the lullaby I sang to her so many years ago. Suddenly, a rustling in the trees. Instinctively, I reach for my quiver of arrows, but I don't have one. I don't have a bow either.

"Relax. That's just Rue." Prim says before returning to her song.

The rustling ceases. A girl then emerges from the woods. Hot tears flood my eyes at the sight of Rue, wearing her gossamer gown and the flowers I once tucked into her hair after she died.

"Found something in the trees." Rue says, holding out a silver parachute.

My heart catches in my throat.

"_No! Don't open—_"

A cascade of explosions rock the meadow as Prim, Rue, and I are sent flying, burning, and dying into the air…

"NO! NO! PRIM! RUE!"

"Katniss!"

Someone's slapping my charred skin. I can feel my feathers molting away.

"PRIM!"

My wings are too broken to take flight after them. I can't save them…_I can't…save…_

"KATNISS!"

My eyes open and I see Peeta above me. I wrestle and kick against the sheets confining me. Sweat pours down my face. I look at my hands in the dark.

Hands. Arms. Not wings.

Not real.

"Peeta…" I cry, feeling my damaged heart break once more. "I couldn't save them."

"Katniss, it's not your fault!" he screams.

He's shaking. He's very near a relapse, I can tell. The veins are very noticeable in his arms. His hands are clenching.

"I need to leave. I'm sorry." he says through gritted teeth.

I nod, staring at the hands that nearly almost killed me.

After he leaves, I don't want to sleep. I can't go back there again. I need to find a distraction.

Buttercup suddenly bounds up on the bed.

"You were not was I looking for," I hiss at him.

He must have heard me yelling Prim's name. He lies down where Peeta was.

"I'm not snuggling with you, you ugly beast."

For a moment, I think he's growling. No, he's purring.

Purring. Is he…comforting me?

"Thanks, I guess. God, you need a bath."

Terrible things would happen if I submerged him in water. I tried him to drown him as a kitten, after all.

"Five am. Too early to hunt." I say to no one. I know Haymitch asked for squirrel stew. Maybe Peeta's hallucinations won't be drawn out.

I wonder if Gale caught a red-eye to District 12. Most of the hovercrafts were destroyed in the war, but a spare few were used for his fancy job in District 2. _District 2_, why the hell did he move _there_ of all places?

I think about the Hawthorne house now, where they had possibly placed Hazel's body. A morgue had been set up to preserve bodies for burials. We never used caskets before the Rebellion, usually just linen sheets and a sturdy pine box. Gale would need to identify the body. We now had choices of different caskets, wood, steel. I heard of some Capitol dignitaries being buried in gold. Just because they can. My stomach churns with anger at the Capitol, shoving it in the face of the poor.

A gold casket to hold some shiny, weird-colored freak of the Capitol, to be preserved in the Dome of the Honored, a special mortuary for "outstanding citizens of Panem".

Prim was an outstanding citizen of Panem. All she got was a marble grave.

I think of my own mother, what I would do if saw her on a cold slab of metal, dead. Then again, she was nearly dead after Dad died. I try for the sake of our mother/daughter relationship to form some sympathy, but I…can't. I thought I would have forgiven her by now. She was friends with Hazel. I wonder she would come back to District 12 for the funeral. I doubt she'd swing by the house. It still holds Prim's old room, closed off and locked still. Only Greasy Sae goes into clean the dust from it.

Buttercup makes a habit of scratching on Prim's door, his stupid cat memory forgetting that Prim is gone. I've attempted cutting his nails in the past, but all it got me was deep scratches on my arms, funnily enough.

A commotion occurs outside. I look out my window, seeing the lights flicker on in the Hawthorne house. Then I see the unmistakable height of my old hunting partner.

He's here, then. I pull my eyes away from the window.

Maybe I will go hunting.

I stare at the gate that blocks us from the woods. I'm afraid. Not of the woods, of the memories. This was mine and Gale's place. Our old stomping grounds. Nevertheless, I crouch low under the gate and go into the lightening forest. The sun is slowly coming up, bathing the canopies in orange glow. Peeta's favorite color. I jump at the sudden breaking of twigs. Just a raccoon. I'm suddenly thinking that pelt would make a nice hat.

I take an arrow from my quiver and position it on the bow. I take steady aim.

"Catnip."

The arrow leaves the nock and fumbles to the ground. The raccoon scurries away into the woods.

Gale is before me in the rosy haze of the morning, holding his own forage bag.

I catch my breath. "I thought you had family business to attend to." I say, a little too harshly.

"It's six am, Katniss." he deadpans.

"So? You need to be with family."

"You are my family. We're cousins, after all, right?"

I look him dead in the face, my cheeks flushing with anger. "Oh, don't start that shit again."

"You're the one that started it!" he retorts.

"To save your goddamn life! Sorry, I was a bit preoccupied with the whole death arena thing! But if I ever have a moment between the nightmares to spare your feelings, I'll get right on that."

My sarcasm seems to soften him slightly.

"Nice to see you haven't changed." he jokes.

"Go fuck yourself." I say, heading into the woods.

He chuckles, following me in.

"Are we going to hunt or you just going keep busting my balls?"

"I have a bow and arrows, I can do a lot worse to your balls."

"Ouch. That'd be quite something to sell at the Hob. Or you could keep them as a souvenir, you know."

I don't know whether we're arguing or just shooting the shit. I smile despite my anger.

"Did I make the fierce, no-bullshit Mockingjay smile?" he teases.

"Shut up before you become Greasy Sae's stew."

And we're laughing. Laughing more than we ever had. We're scaring off the wildlife with our laughter.

"What the fuck am I doing?" Gale cuts off. His face is somber again.

I don't have to guess what he means. He's thinking he should be depressed because his mother's dead.

"You're distracting yourself." I tell him. "Works for a bit, you know."

"Then what happens?" he asks.

I think for a moment. "Reality."


	4. Chapter 4

4

The hunt is fruitful, at least, even we do fall quiet after our discussion. It's better that way, we needed to concentrate anyway. I manage to bag three fat rabbits and five squirrels. We did try to find bigger game, but I guess it was just a quiet day. I'm thinking of a big stew that Sae will no doubt want to prepare. The funerals are very subdued events and it's customary to bring over something for the grieving family. It doesn't have to be food (or it can't be food, because it was so scarce back then). Some families will bring over knitted throws or firewood. I know Peeta will bring over some bread, no doubt. Maybe even a cake.

I give Gale most of my kills, filling his forage bag. He gives me a look.

"Catnip…" he starts.

"Don't. It's my gift. I know Posy loves rabbit stew." I argue.

"You need to eat, too, Katniss."

"I have Peeta, I'll be fine."

"Yeah."

The twinge of doubt in his voice makes me roll my eyes.

"He's been lots of good to you. Gave you a nice little necklace, last time I remember."

He's referring the bruises caused by him nearly strangling me to death in his early Hijacked state. Fury ignites in my stomach for even bringing it up.

"Gale, he can't help it."

"Exactly! Which means he's even more dangerous! I know I'm damn well not planning your funeral!"

His raised voice scares off the birds.

"Peeta would never kill me." I mumble.

"He tried to."

"He wasn't himself. He's getting better."

"And where is he this morning? Hmm?"

I think back to his borderline episode in the early morning.

"He's broken. I am, too. And now you are, too. Congratulations, I'll mail you your fucking membership card." I say, leaving the forest.

"Katniss!"

"_Save it_!"

He tries to catch up with me, but I'm much faster. I'm out of the forest and into my house. Buttercup greets me, no doubt wanting my remaining squirrels.

"Shut up." I snap, slamming down my bag.

I'm so angry, I know I shouldn't be holding a knife. But I begin skinning the squirrels carelessly. I'm so practiced at this, I'm not as attentive I should be. Before long, I slice open my hand.

"Shit…" I swear, searching for a rag. I wrap up my hand. I try to staunch the bleeding, but it's no use. I'll have to see a medic. The nearest one is all the way in town.

I run to the door, smacking into the one person I don't want to see.

"Katniss I—what'd you do?"

"I had a fucking tea party, what do you think I did? I need to go to the medic…" I say, brushing past him.

"Should I go with you?" he asks.

"If you must, I just need to go before I bleed to death."

We set off down the road. The rag becomes more and more stained.

"Did you shove the knife in your hand?" Gale tells me after he makes me stop to check the wound.

"I was skinning squirrels and the knife slipped."

"Did you miss your wrists?" he murmurs darkly.

"_Honestly_? Do I need this?" I shout, alarming people near me. I set off again to the medic, leaving him behind. He catches up.

"Sorry…I just…" he begins.

"Shut up. You just keep digging the knife in farther every time you talk. Handle your shitty life, and I'll handle mine."

I don't hear his footsteps as I continue on.

"Good Lord, child, what did you do?" Ama asks I rush into the small shack. The little hospital was built just after people started dwindling back into 12. Healers were given better supplies from the Capitol to deal with illness and injury. Ama Palette was from District 3, originally. She moved here to help with the poorer districts. District 3 made more than enough making electronics, so they weren't they bad off.

"Trying to skin game." I tell her.

"Well, let me see it."

She hisses when she sees how deep the cut is.

"Well, I need to clean it. Let me give you a local analgesic."

I see the syringe. My face blanches as I see the needle.

"Calm down, child. After a knife in your hand, a needle is nothing." she reprimands me. I see down, looking far away from the needle. I feel the prick and let out my breath. My hand is instantly numb. Ama takes down a bottle of alcohol. I think of Haymitch, wondering if he's drowned in his booze. Ama tends to the wound, dousing my hand with the alcohol and taking out another needle to stitch my hand together. I don't feel it though.

"Alright, I'm going to give you pain medicine to take as needed. I'm going to order some anti-infection ointment as well. Rest your hand, don't get it dirty." Ama says, handing me a little glass vial of blue pills. I hate taking pills. "I want to see you back in here in two weeks, to check how it's healing. I mean it, girl, the closest you stick to the instructions, the fastest your hand will heal."

"Right." I murmur stubbornly.

"The ointment should arrive in 3-5 business days. Change the wrappings every time you bathe."

She sends me out with a bag full of gauze, the pills, and little alcohol pads. I head back to Victor's Village, noticing the Hawthorne's house is buzzing with activity. Through the window, I see Gale at his kitchen table with his siblings and some man I don't recognize. Probably the guy that's going to see to the funeral arrangements.

I'm barely up the steps to my house when I see Haymitch nudging a group of goslings into a pen.

"Hey, sweetheart. Looking banged up, there, I see." he slurs. I can smell the spirits from here.

"You're one to talk." I snap.

"Gale said to tell you that Hazel's funeral is going to be Saturday at 9am. The Meadow." he says in a subdued voice.

"Got it."

I go in my house, slam the door, and lock it.

I stare at the blue pills before cradling them up to my mouth. I drink water and swallow them, almost gagging. We never had medicines like pills and capsules before the Rebellion. Usually, we drank concoctions of herbs. Those suffering from arthritis and other joint problems had homemade salves. I remember Prim sitting at the very table I sit right now, grinding up herbs with a mortar and pestle. Now there's just nothing but the swirling dust in the dying sunlight beams.

"Meooooooow…" Buttercup whines. His ugly face comes into focus.

"What?" I bark at him.

He meows more persistently. There's an alertness in his voice that's almost eerie. I get up and he rushes toward the door. I follow behind him. His agile, furry body jumps up and grabs the door handle. One little swing later, he's out the door.

The little shit knows how to open doors!

I shake off my agitation and follow alongside the cat. He's trotting along, passing Haymitch's house and going up to Peeta's.

I look up at Peeta's house. Something's off. I can smell something burning.


	5. Chapter 5

5

I try to turn the doorknob, but the door's locked.

"Shit!" I yell. I see smoke billowing from the windows. Maybe he accidentally left a stove on? That didn't seem like him, unless…

He must have had an episode.

"PEETA! PEETA!" I yell desperately, hoping he can hear my voice. Whether he's hearing me-Katniss or mutt-Katniss has to take a backseat because this is a crisis.

"Katniss? What are you screaming about?" Gale suddenly appears, holding his bow out, prepped to attack.

"Peeta's house is on fire and his door's locked and smoke is coming out the windows, he could be suffocating!" I say this all very fast and frantically and I can't help myself from going into hysterics. I hear a siren and see that the emergency squad has shown up. It's a jeep that's towing what looks like a tank. The rescue workers file out and a couple comes immediately toward us.

"No!" I yell as they try to rush me away. "Peeta's in there! You have to get Peeta!"

The rescue worker signals to the rest with a communicuff. "Civilian trapped in building. Sending in scopers."

Two workers struggle into huge fire-resistant suits and prepare to break down the door. My first sight inside the house nearly sends me into a spiral. Walls of fire. Wood burning. Peeta's living room is an inferno.

Peeta.

"Found him in the bathroom. Seems to be in shock." I hear one of the worker's communicuff's say. "It's too dangerous to lead him out of the front door, prepare to catch him below the north window."

Three workers prepare a sheet and stretch it to act as a net. I see Peeta's body drop into the net, the rescue workers wrapping him up in the sheets. One of the workers gets out some fancy gadget. It produces a needle.

"NO!" I yell. "HE CAN'T TAKE NEEDLES!"

I swear, I see one of the rescue workers roll their eyes. I want to kill them. I make to grab Gale's bow. He easily takes it out of my grasp and holds it high where I can't reach, looking at me incredulously.

The rescue worker puts the needle into Peeta's arm. His reaction is what was to be expected. His arm reaches out, hands clenching, looking for a neck to snap.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH, GET THAT THING OUT OF ME! I'LL RIP OFF YOUR—"

His swear words are drowned out by the sounds of a second siren. The ambulance, presumably.

"Smoke inhalation was minimal," says the worker, cleaning the device and storing it away, "seems to be having a psychotic episode. Found drugs for psychosis in his system."

"So, then why is he psychotic?" another worker asked.

"Beats the hell out of me."

Oh, my God. I cannot take anymore of these people just acting like this is a regular occurrence.

"EXCUSE ME, dickheads, but are you going to do anything or shoot the shit all night?"

Haymitch comes stumbling into the scene, gin bottle slopping everywhere.

"Scouters are in trying to quell the flames. The fire depo should be here shortly. We should get him in the truck. Are either one of you kin to him?" the worker asks us.

"I'm his girlfriend." I answer.

Gale drops his bow. Haymitch's eyebrows disappear into his hair.

"Well, do you want to ride to the Capitol with him?"

"The Capitol?" Gale yells angrily. "Do you KNOW who this is?"

"Not now, Gale." I hiss.

They pile Peeta's now limp body onto a stretcher and transport him to the jeep. It's surprisingly roomier than I expected. I follow and am about to get into the car alongside the stretcher when Gale's hand grips my shoulder.

"He's not right in the head." he tells me as if I don't know this.

I give him an exasperated look. "Neither of us are right in the head. Fuck off."

And I slam the door closed.

The jeep only takes us to the trains. I have to tell myself over and over again that we are going to the hospital. There are no Hunger Games. We are not on a Victory Tour.

I'm jealous of Peeta. At least he's unconscious.

"I need a history. Won't take long." says the nonchalant worker. In my calming state of mind (well, calm_er_), I notice his features. His face looks like he had to normalize his appearance after the Rebellion. The new government warned against vivid unnatural colors and ostentatious outfits. There were holes on the sides of his face, where piercings or other bodily modifications would have fit. His hair was bleached blonde, though tinged with green. If I had to guess, I suppose he wasn't happy about the new change in government. And that made me hate him all the more.

"We both survived two consecutive Hunger Games. He had his leg chopped off after Number 1 and was nearly tortured to death by the Capitol after 2. He has…episodes of his torture. And of the Hunger Games. We all do." I tell him.

The worker scribbles down all this information on a tablet. I can tell he hates his job. He rather be in his over-stated condo eating expensive food all us District people have had to slave for over the years.

"Well, that could point to PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Sufferers usually develop this after traumatic events such as—"

"Murdering innocent people for the sake of entertainment. Or torture. Got it." I finish.

He gives me a look of displeasure. He goes back to his tablet.

Suddenly, all the rage of the evening fires through the veins like bullets. I unclench my hand and swing it sideways, knocking the damn tablet out of his hands.

"I don't know what kind of brainwashing you had as a Capitol person growing up in your world of make-believe where everything is happy and glamorous, but my boyfriend is ill. And I don't need some half-ass attendant to tell me what I already fucking know. So, in other words, you're fired."

He gives me a look of pure loathing, but I've made my point. He goes to re-collect his tablet and disappears into another room.

"Never heard you use language like that, Sweetheart."

I turn around so fast I almost crick my neck. "Peeta."

He regards me with heavy eyes.

"You're tired." I say. I smooth back his blonde curls from his ashen face. His eyes are so blue in his sickly white pallor, they're almost unnatural.

"I…don't know what happened. I was baking bread and…the house was on fire." he says, swallowing. "I'm so thirsty."

"I'll get you some water." I say. I turn to leave, but I pause. I reach up to plant a kiss on his forehead. Our eyes catch for an infinitesimal second, but it portrays my fears.

_I can't lose you. Not again. _


End file.

Hunger Games, Hurt-Comfort, Romance