Thrice.

All Characters belong to Suzanne Collins. ©

So, this started out as a headcanon. Then it was almost a THG confession. I decided to make it a fic, I don't particularly like Mrs Everdeen, but I wanted to understand why she shut down all those times. And, uh the song Mr Everdeen sings is Baby Blue Eyes by Rocket to the Moon. Honestly the only song I could think of. Dreams/Memories start and end with ...

I hope you like it. :3


Maysilee. Hunter. Prim.

Dr Fairweather said I had to write about how I felt. I don't feel anything, though. I'm numb.

Maysilee. Hunter. Prim.

Apparently I could've become violent. That's not in my nature.

Maysilee. Hunter. Prim.

Imagine finding out that your best friend is going into battle when she wouldn't hurt a fly.

Imagine being told your husband's been crushed underground when all he loved was the sky.

Imagine learning your baby wasn't alive anymore. Imagine that she died.

Maysilee. Hunter. Prim.

I hate the Capitol.

I'm not even writing anymore. Somewhere between where I'd sat down to write the first three names and the rhyme that makes me plain depressed, I'd started stabbing the paper. I'm holding the pen and pushing it so far into the notebook that the page rips. I'm not starting again, though. The therapist wanted me to write about my feelings and the torn page covered in black ink and sharp words is a good representative of how I feel.

My bed is also covered in black ink. I scowl at the marks; I don't want to bother the landlady again. She's already letting me stay here for free, up until I'm well enough to get a job, anyway. She'd gone on and on how glad she was to help the Mockingjay's mother. She said it would be thievery to accept money from me, seeing as I'd raised the one who gave her freedom.

At the time, the words were painful to my ears. She could've pierced my skin with white-hot iron and the pain wouldn't have been as bad. I hadn't raised the Mockingjay. Any parental guidance she got was from her father. She took care of herself fine.

Even I notice that I can't use their names. It jab's at my heart to use their names in anything other than angry text. I can't even use the Mockingjay's name. I don't know when I realised this, but I figured that if I didn't say her name, if I didn't say anyone's name out loud, they were safe from the Capitol. I don't think my mind has registered that the Capitol is gone. They won't know who you love as long as you don't use their names. Names are too powerful. You must fight to protect them.

I realise I'd been pushing the pen further and further into the duvet covers. I seemed to have snapped the pen and released the ink, making sure there is a large blotch the size of my fist and growing on the fabric.

Maybe I am a little violent.


"Heather, you don't seem to have written much in your diary." I don't like Dr Fairweather very much. She's all blonde and pointy. She reminds me too much of an old aunt of mine.

I don't want to acknowledge her; I'm currently staring at the window behind her. There are birds outside. I look away before it becomes too painful. Your family are birds. It sounds strange, even to my mind. But it's very true.

"Heather, I can't help you unless you talk to me. And we both know you don't want to do that."

I grunt.

"So, by our next appointment, I'd like you to have written something more in this diary." She waves the green notebook in front of my face until I take it.

I open the book slowly, expecting something to have changed since I'd handed it to Dr Fairweather. The funny thing is, I have written in the diary. What language am I writing in?

I can tell she'd going to say something else, so I leave the stuffy office before she gets the chance. The lift is too small, I can't breathe in there. Instead, I take the stairs. I don't mind the number of steps; it makes me feel rather alive to run.

When I reach ground floor, I hear Dr Fairweather's voice on the intercom, talking to the reception lady. I take a step back and freeze on the last step, wanting to hear what she says about me.

'You'd think she was a teenager, the way she acts.'

The receptionist, someone I'd thought kind up until now replies, "You just had the Mockingjay's mother?"

'Heather Everdeen, yeah.'

"I guess it runs in the family, then." I can just see the receptionist's hand twirling a piece of hair in her fingers. I try to figure out what she means.

'Hm?'

"Dr Aurelius says he's having a hard time with Katniss-"

I gasp. I can't handle that name just yet. I blow my cover by running out the door. It's not far by any measure, but the receptionist has probably guessed I was eavesdropping. I don't even care by this point; I'm too close to breaking down and screaming for the people I love. I'm not far from the bedsit; my only hope is making it to my room before I start screaming.

The mantra beats in my mind, a name yelling in my brain every time my feet slap the floor. Maysilee. Hunter. Prim. Maysilee. Hunter. Prim. A new one joins in. Maysilee. Hunter. Prim. Katniss.


That's it. I thought. I'm crazy. I'm a crazy woman who screams for three of her lost love ones and another who I can't bare to look at as she reminds me too much of the second two.

She wouldn't speak to you even if you could stand to see her. You've abandoned her too many times for her to let you back in. I can't stand that voice. I tell the cynic to go away.

You won't be allowed to work in hospitals until you're well yourself. I don't like the realist very much either.

My bed's been cleaned since last night but I don't remember doing it. I figure it was the landlady, again. I tell myself to give her half any wages I get for a month the moment I get my hands on a job.

I sink down onto the bed as I realise how much I want a job. I miss healing. I want to help. But until I'm 'better,' I have to sit around in a bedsit, my only journeys being to and from the hospital for my appointments. For the four days, my only human contact has been with the landlady, the receptionist, Dr Fairweather and a few bystanders I run past after nearly every appointment.

Said appointments are once every two days. I've had two appointments. I've been in district four for a week. A week and a half ago I lost my youngest daughter. The same time ago, I saw the Mockingjay in hospital. I held her hand and cried. Then I cried because the other daughter I wanted to visit didn't have a hand to hold. I'm crying now without realising it. Loud sobs shake my body and I grab my pillow just to have something to hold. I pretend it's my youngest daughter.

This is all Snow's fault. It's a sin that he's still alive. His death date is a few days after the Mockingjay is out of her morphling-induced coma. I remember she was refusing to talk to her therapist, Dr Aurey-something, which meant she was awake.

I wonder why I'm not by her side.

I figure she wouldn't want to see me anyway.

My mind makes me tired too quickly than is healthy. I know that. I want so badly to sleep right now, even though it's still quite light outside. I remember that Dr Fairweather gave me morphling. She said only to use it in emergencies.

I don't think it's an emergency right now. I'm not in serious pain and I can't see anyone who is. But all these distractions hurt my head. I rummage in a drawer opposite my bed to find the pack and as I take two pills with a glass of water the landlady always seems to leave out for me, I figure Madeline wasn't half wrong with her headache cure. As I drift off to sleep, I realise Maysilee wouldn't be happy with her best friend and her sister for what they use to dispel their problems. But ghosts can't stop the living.


My dream is so vivid that I wake up at two in the morning just to take a breather. I remember to keep in mind that, if I wanted a dream like that again, I had to take Morphling before bed. It was almost funny, the drug was meant to make you numb, not extra sensitive. I feel around the bedside table to find my glass of water which is probably on the border of being stale right now.

My fingers touch the notebook given to me my Dr Fairweather and I realise that she'd probably want me to record my dream. I don't particularly want to relive it, but my thoughts of getting better and getting a job reach me and I figure that getting on my way to being sane may be helped if I started coordinating with my therapist.

I forget about my water, switch on the bedside lamp and start scribbling.

Dr Fairweather, look I'm writing! I smile a little before knitting my eyebrows together as I try to remember the start of my dream.


Imagine finding out that your best friend is going into battle when she wouldn't hurt a fly.


...

I was nervous. Of course I was, it was reaping day. I only had one extra tesserae out this year. My family were doing well. We were glad, only one more year after this where we would have to worry about my almost guaranteed fate if I went into the arena. I couldn't fight. I don't think anyone not from the Seam could.

I was meeting Madeline and Maysilee down in the town square. Now, like every other year, my parents wanted to speak to me. I stepped into the kitchen to see my mother sitting at the table. She looked worried. Even more so than I was. I had to remember that my name wasn't entered many times this year, I probably wouldn't be chosen. Probably.

The moment she looked up at me, I could tell she'd been crying. Her eyes were red. Without a word, she opened her arms. When she realised I wasn't running to her embrace at top speed, she said, "Don't tell me you're too old to hug your mother."

My lips curled a little as I kneeled next to my mother's chair so she could wrap her arms around me. I was ready for the fevered whispering this time. I'd gotten used to it over the years.

"Heather, if you're picked-"

"You know I won't be, I'll be fine. I've only got a few slips in there."

That still didn't calm her, though. The rule for this year was horrifying. More children were being entered this year, I had more of a chance.

My mother looked at me sadly, more tears starting to gather, "But the odds aren't in your favour, darling."

Father chose that moment to walk in, you could see he hadn't slept yet; his sleeves were covered in green and brown smudges. My only guess what that he'd tried to make something for the shop. He looked at my mother and me and spoke with a small smile, "When have the odds ever been our favour?"

I laughed a little. My father usually managed to keep our spirits up.

"You look nice," he commented.

"Thanks," everyone dressed up for reaping day. Knowing our peacekeepers, it was probably a recorded crime not to.

"So when're you going to the square?" he asked, sitting down at the table.

I didn't get a chance to answer, though. Someone was knocking on the door. I knew who it was before answering; Rye came at this time every morning.

I undid the latch, realising that if I was reaped, this would probably be the last time I got the chance to. I rearranged my expression when I saw the bread; I figured Rye Mellark wouldn't want to see my version of bitterness so early in the morning.

I smile as he hands me the bread, "Hello, Rye." I step back to let him in. He hasn't said a word yet, but the blush rising on his cheeks meant more. He was nineteen, I was sure he'd get over the embarrassment of standing near a girl soon.

He squeaked, "Hi, Heather. Uh… How're you feeling?"

"Lucky." My mother walks into the hallway before I can say anything more. She eyes the bread in my hands as she tells Rye not to move. She was going to go get the money now.

"So," I start.

He laughs, still a little pink.

We don't have to endure the awkwardness for much longer, my mother passed by me, handing a few coins to Rye for the bread. He looks almost sad. "Well, bye Heather."

"Buh-bye, Rye." I reply.

He was gone, tripping on the step.

My mother laughs a little before putting her arm around my shoulders, being quite obvious about wanting to spend time with me. I don't mind so much, the reaping will start later. I have a while to spend with family before going to meet my friends.

.

Like every other year, I'm practically escorted to the town square by my father. I tell him to go as I go to the desk that's bang in the middle of everything. The Capitol man that records my name looks almost gleeful as he looks at me. Or it was just his make up. I couldn't tell.

I didn't have time to figure out either as I caught sight of the Donner twins, right up near the fence at the far left of our little pen, their heads close together. I loved these girls like they were my sisters and, the moment I saw them, I felt tears brimming. A Seam girl standing near me seemed a little worried by my sudden emotion. I doubt she'd help me, but she asked if I was alright anyway. I tell her I'm fine as I rush to my friends.

I almost scare them by drooping an arm over each of their shoulders. "Heath, you scared me."

"'Course I did, Maysie." I smile a little; the day was too morbid for grins. "Like anything could scare you."

We spoke for a few minutes about anything but the reaping. As far as I knew, they'd both entered their names the same amount as me. I was silently praying that we'd all be safe.

An older lady from the Capitol on the stage cleared her voice and everyone was silent. She didn't look as drastic as anyone I'd seen. The only things letting us know she was from the Capitol were her purple eyes and the pink make up surrounding them. She announced herself as Linda Harrolbie.

"Fifty years ago today marked the first Hunger Games. The Hunger Games were introduced as a reminder from to the districts that the Capitol is in control. Every year…" She continued reading in a loud steady voice, everyone enthralled by it even though we'd heard it all before. When she reached the part about the quarter quells, I started listening again.

"Of course, every twenty-five years, we must celebrate the peace by having a Quarter Quell. This is the second Quarter Quell and these games are special because the amount of tributes has been doubled. This means, an extra two lucky people will get the chance to perform in the Hunger Games." She said it as if it were a great honour to die for entertainment.

She looked down at her watch before saying, "Alas, we must begin the reaping. May the odds be ever in your favour."

The two bowls sitting at the front of the stage would kill at least three children in our audience. It hurt to think that things that looked so harmless could be weapons of death. When Linda rolled up her sleeve, I noticed red tattoos swirling up her arms in fiery patterns. She wasn't as normal as I thought. I held my breath along with the others of my district.

When she finally chose a slip of paper, she read out the name, "Hailey Kanya."

I saw the girl who had asked me if I were alright clench her fists. It was her. Linda read the name again before Hailey started to walk. She only looked about fourteen. She didn't stand a chance. No one in our section seemed to notice her leaving, so I stood forward to place my hand on her shoulder. She tensed up, but relaxed when she saw whose hand it was. We didn't know each other, but I gave her what I wanted to be a reassuring smile as she walked.

When Hailey was standing quite uncomfortably on the stage, Linda crossed to the boy's bowl. It seemed that they were reading out a girl's name, a boy's name and then repeating the action. I wish they hadn't. It only gave my friends and I more time to be nervous.

"Haymitch Abernathy." The boy didn't exactly look thrilled to be chosen, but he didn't look as nervous as Hailey. Before he had the chance to walk forward, another Seam boy tried to shake his hand. Haymitch wouldn't accept it. It seemed he didn't want to say goodbye.

Linda smiled as she saw who Haymitch was. He looked like he could survive. I hoped he wouldn't have to kill Hailey. Our representative crossed over to the bowl filled with girl's names once more. I held Madeline's hand and I looked to see her hold Maysilee's. I prayed it wasn't one of us.

It seems the odds weren't with us.

"Maysilee Donner."

My heart dropped. Madeline and some other girl screamed. I realised it was me. But Maysilee, lovely Maysie said nothing. She kissed us both on the cheek and untangled herself from her twin. She walked.

I didn't hear the name of the last boy. I think he was a Seam boy who was only on his first year of being entered. It seemed cruel to reap him. It seemed worse to take my friend.

Madeline and I went to say goodbye to her together. I felt almost selfish to not give the twins time alone, but Maddie told me it wouldn't be right to say goodbye without their third sister.

So there we sat for almost twenty minutes. Crying and Hugging. When Maddie and I had to leave, we kissed our friend on the cheek and hoped for the best.

I made it just outside the door before I passed out.

...


"And how did you feel about your best friend being reaped?"

I scrunch my eyes and ball my fists. What does she want me to say? "It hurt, but Maddie was worse. I cried for weeks before the games but Maddie had headaches causing her to pass out. We watched Maysie fight together, at one point we even thought she was going to win. I still can't look at Haymitch without feeling sad, knowing her was the last person to show kindness towards my best friend." I paused for a moment. "I would recommend you talk to Madeline. But-" I stopped again. Ghosts can't talk either.

Dr Fairweather nodded and scribbled something down in her book. "We've made progress this time, Heather. You see how far we get when we work together?"

I nodded, stiffly.

She pursed her lips and added, "If you have anymore dreams like the last one, I want you to record it."

I nod again.

"Until next time, Mrs Everdeen." She handed me my notebook and I leave. I never usually talk so much in a session, I've poured too much of my heart out into that office and now I feel empty. I make a mental note to not take morphling before the next session, I'd thought I'd need it for an hour with her this morning.

I pause on the last step like after the last session; I want to hear what Dr Fairweather has to say about me.

But she and the receptionist aren't talking about me this time. "I think it's cruel."

'What?'

"Making a seventeen year old girl carry out a death sentence. They could've had anyone kill Snow yet they make her do it. She's gone through so much already."

I know who they're talking about, but I promise myself to stay until I hear the name.

'I reckon she's making them give her the job. I think she'd want revenge.'

"But still."

Dr Fairweather sighed, 'I know what you mean. When's it happening, then?'

"Oh, the execution?" I hear a few papers crinkle and the receptionist reads out a date. Its three days away.

I try to compose myself and make my legs walk as normal as possible. I feel the receptionist's eyes on me, but I leave the foyer without looking at anyone.

That night, I hear noises coming from the room next to me. All I 'rent' is a room large enough for a bed and some drawers. There's a window next to the head of my bed and when I look outside, I'm reminded that I'm not the only one alive. I'd not had a neighbour before today and I jump when I hear music.

It's not loud and electronic like most Capitol made music. It's soft and waves through the walls. I suppose anyone else would complain about the noise, I was on my way to do just that when I decided not to. A man's voice stopped me. In the song, he sang quiet and full of sadness. The voice reminded me of another and, instead of complaining, I lie down on my bed and squeeze myself as close as possible to the wall.

I can hear scuffling and creaks made by floorboard, but all I want to hear is that voice. The voice it reminded me of never sang like that. My husband only ever sang loud and happy. But I hadn't heard a man sing in many years. It felt good to pretend. I'm lulled to sleep by the soft, rueful voice and I dream about him.


Imagine being told your husband's been crushed underground when all he loved was the sky.


...

"Baby, baby blue eyes, stay with me by my side/ 'Til the morning through the night/ Well baby, stand here holding my sides/ Close your baby blue eyes-"

I walked into the bedroom to see my husband lying on the floor, looking up at our youngest daughter, singing. When Prim saw me, she closed her eyes and clapped her hands over them, sure that I'd be angry for her still being awake. "Oh go away, Hunter, she's sleeping." Prim giggles, thinking I've been tricked.

I smile to show my husband that I'm only joking. "But seriously, go show your other daughter some love."

"Sure, sure." He winks at me, his grey eyes always reminding me I married a man from the Seam. I think he's waiting for me to regret it, but I don't think I could. I squeeze myself against the door to let him past me, but he bends down and kisses me anyway.

I make our bed even though we'll be climbing into it soon enough. In the other room, I hear Katniss' high voice, "Why don't you sing that song to me, Daddy?"

"Baby blue eyes?" Hunter asks incredulously. "How on earth could I do that when you have beautiful grey eyes?"

Katniss giggles and I'm almost certain that he's tickling her. I roll my eyes and stroke Prim's hair. I laugh under my breath; it's not taken her long to fall asleep.

.

I smile and try to hide it as Hunter kisses my cheek. He does this every morning without fail. I know he's trying not to wake anyone up, but as he gets dressed, he hums under his breath.

He'll be off to the coal mines now. It hurts to know where he goes everyday when he loves being outside. But I couldn't worry too much about that now, my children needed to be awake if they weren't going to be late. It'd already happened twice this month, Katniss always complained after school when she had to walk into class with everyone's eye on her.

I paused, watching the girls sleep. Katniss' mouth was open and lopsided, snoring quietly. She was a lot like her father; he wouldn't want to be the centre of attention either. Prim on the other hand was curled into a ball next to her sister. She wouldn't complain, but she didn't like having too many eyes on her either. I belonged to a family of introverts in their different shapes. As I tried to wake my children, I couldn't think of a problem with that.

.

I didn't notice anything different until later. I had patients coming into my kitchen like every other day. It wasn't exactly a steady stream of them, but I wasn't complaining. I wouldn't wish for people to be injured. It wasn't until around lunch time, when I had three people covered in soot come to my door at the same time, did I know anything wrong had happened.

Coughing, and finding it hard to breath, Joe Kracken told me there'd been an accident in the mines. The alarm still hadn't been rung, so only the mine workers knew. I did try to help the three men, but Joe saw my hands shaking as I held handed out glasses of water.

"Go," I looked over at Bill, Joe's co-worker and tried to stutter that they needed help. He wouldn't take no for an answer. "We'll be fine."

I didn't stay for much longer, only to thank the three men and tell them to use whatever they wanted. It probably wasn't smart, but these men worked with Hunter. They wouldn't take anything they didn't need.

The moment I stood outside the door, the alarm blared. I ran. I could feel it pulsating in my skull and each step seemed to bring me further away from the mines. I'd reached the square now, the people surrounding me moved slowly. Like cattle. I weaved between the crowds and parked myself behind the one barrier separating me from running into the mines and finding Hunter myself.

Later, I felt Katniss and Prim tug on my arms. They asked me if I was alright. They kept asking where Daddy was. It took all I had to stop myself from yelling at them. Everyone was too loud for me to cope. Didn't they understand? Someone could've been yelling for help and no one would hear them because we were too loud. The only person I accepted companionship from then was Hazelle Hawthorne. We didn't know each other very well, but I knew her husband worked with mine. They'd be down there together. I couldn't hug her properly, her stomach was too large. I almost cried just looking at it. I squeezed her hand.

My children, as much as I loved them didn't understand what was going on. I couldn't explain it to them. I didn't want to. I'd leave that to someone else. Later.

.

Hazelle and I didn't know where our children were. It wasn't dark yet, but that didn't mean much. It was summer; it could've been nine o'clock for all I knew. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice told me I needed to feed my children. I needed to care for them. Hazelle must've thought the same thing because she started to get restless. She didn't want to stand near the smoky entrance to hell much longer. I made her stay with me. I couldn't feel guilty, though. Hunter was down there, I needed to be close to him.

.

I didn't give up hope until a tall man from the Seam came out from the smoke, looking directly at Hazelle and me. My insides because cold almost instantly. His expression scared me.

"No," I whispered.

Hazelle just looked at me; she hadn't noticed the man yet.

I spoke a little louder now, "No."

The man closed in on us and quietly and quickly. "Mrs Everdeen? Mrs Hawthorne? I'm sorry-"

I didn't hear much else. I'd started screeching. It mustn't have been a pretty sight. It took four people to drag my away from the barriers. Hazelle went quieter than I did. She accepted it almost instantly. She went back home to her children. She cherished what she had.

I, on the other hand, caught the eye of someone I knew. He was helping the men drag me away from the barrier. I shouted at him, "NO!"

Almost too quietly, Rye spoke. "Yes."

...


I didn't stop to think about what I'd dreamt when I woke up. The soft voice was still wafting through the walls. My new neighbour was either playing the same song over and over on repeat, or I'd been asleep for a shorter time than I'd thought.

But, as I said, I don't think. I only write.

Turns out I slept the whole night. It took me longer than most to figure that out, though. Only when I saw people in the street, opening up the few remaining shops did I know. After the last dream I'd had, the one about my friend's reaping (I noticed how I still couldn't use their names), I simply sat around, flicking through the only reading material I had; my green notebook.

This time, I decided to do something. My appointment with Dr Fairweather wasn't until tomorrow. I wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but I figured that what I'd written down might help my cause of 'trying very hard not to be crazy'.

It didn't make sense to me either.

The landlady came at her usual time. It seemed to be her job to feed me as well as house me. It didn't seem fair, though. I didn't even know her name. Normally, I stayed silent as she handed me a plate of something warm and a plastic fork. I must've scared her when I spoke.

"What's your name?"

The landlady eyed me for a while and I was almost sure that she wasn't going to answer me when she said, "Penny Cresta."

I nodded. The name seemed familiar. I didn't realise she must've been related to Annie until later. I froze almost instantly; I was in district four, wasn't I? Didn't that mean Annie was around here somewhere? I keep it in mind and plan on asking Dr Fairweather about her during my next session.

I was sitting with Annie when she found out about Finnick. She wasn't very easy to console, but neither was I when I found out about Hunter. It didn't seem right that she should lose him when… I remember that Annie was pregnant.

Oh gosh, she's going to have to raise her child alone. It takes that sentence to bring me to tears. I must be quite loud, because it doesn't take long for Penny to run back into my room. She looks at me with wide eyes and I realise she's never seen me cry. But when so many people have, I can't bring myself to care.

"What's wrong?" She asks. She must've gotten over her surprise quickly because she was now sitting next to me on the bed, pushing the food onto the bedside table to make sure I don't empty the plate all over me.

"Annie… Finnick… Baby… Alone." I can't say much between the sobs. My words don't make sense to me, but Penny seems to understand straight away.

"I know, I know. Annie's my cousin, don't worry. I'll look after her. I'm pretty sure Johanna will be helping as well. She wouldn't leave that woman or that child alone for the world." Penny has an arm around me and I notice she's also crying. The news about Annie not being alone helps subside my sobs, but the tears don't stop.

.

Have you ever noticed how much tears help you sleep? I feel so empty thinking that, but it was true. Penney had had to leave, saying something about needing to contact family, so I was left alone. The food had gone cold, but I wasn't hungry. I'd nothing better to do but sleep.

It wasn't dreamless. But this dream gave me a little more closure than the other two. It seemed wrong that such a morbid dream did it, but not much was right about my life. I did my best to record it, but some things were probably best left alone, inside my mind. Instead, I started writing a letter.

Dear Haymitch,

But I couldn't help relive the dream as I wrote.


Imagine learning your baby wasn't alive anymore. Imagine that she died.


...

I was almost sure Katniss was dead. I wasn't very good with inclinations like that. I didn't know Hunter was gone until someone actually told me. Haymitch had sat Prim and I down and tried to break the news. Prim wouldn't accept it though.

"I said I'd feel it in my bones if that had happened!" My youngest daughter, one who wasn't capable of hurting anyone, was full on shouting at her sister's mentor. "She's alive, I know it!"

Haymitch didn't look so sure, but at least he tried to humour her. "Well, y'know… we haven't found a body. Maybe she's still alive. Cockroaches always jump up and walk away even if you think you've killed him."

Prim scowled at the man for comparing her sister to a cockroach, I'm sure. "She's not a cockroach. She's a Mockingjay and you know it."

The old mentor smiled a little before leaving us alone in the hall. It was strange to see it almost empty, every time I saw it; it was filled with hungry people. I though about Haymitch, he didn't seem so good with words. When he'd sat Prim and I down was the first time I'd heard him speak so much. I'd only seen him grunt.

I clenched and unclenched my fists, knowing I should be more upset at the loss of my eldest daughter. But, deep down, I must've believed Prim. You couldn't go through the hunger games twice and survive without learning how to stay alive.

.

Prim didn't stay with me much longer. She'd wondered off and left me to my own devices. I didn't have many. Not enough distractions to keep my mind off my daughters.

A soldier burst into the hall and shouted. I couldn't tell whether he was yelling at me or not. "Come on, come on. There's been an accident!"

I looked at him strangely. His accent put emphasis on the most random of words. I played what he said in my brain twice. It took the second time 'round to realise what he meant. Accidents usually meant people dying. For just a second, I was reminded of another time where I stood outside a smoky entrance squeezing the life out of a pregnant woman's hand. I rushed after him, expecting the worst.

Obviously I didn't have a large enough imagination because what I saw just outside the hall was hell. Children covered in burns, blown to pieces, soldiers injured beyond help and someone was screaming for their mother in a Capitol accent. I almost backed away into the hall; I didn't want to face this. I wasn't ready to help.

But I was a healer, so naturally I was thrust right into the middle of it.

.

For an hour, I didn't help anyone I recognised. I was almost glad, but the sea of blood and limbs didn't make me feel any better. I could've passed the remains of someone I knew without realising it. My stomach lurched, but I kept whatever was threatening to come up down. I was meant to be helping the patients, not becoming one.

Then I saw him.

"Gale. Gale, are you alright?" I ran to him. He was covered in blood and although he didn't look as badly burnt as the rest of the patients, it hurt to see someone I knew so well in pain.

He looked up at me with burning eyes. And asked, "Katniss?"

I was about to say I don't know, but a woman I didn't know came up behind me and said, "Oh the Mockingjay's alive. Badly burnt and covered in blood but she's alive." Obviously she didn't know who I was either because she carried on talking, "But her sister, oh gosh. I feel bad for the family."

I caught Gale's eye once more as the woman kept talking. "I mean, imagine going into the games just for your sister. Twice, even, just to keep her safe and then this happens."

I wanted to hurt the woman, but I tried to keep my voice level as I spoke, my insides were freezing at an alarming rate. "What happened to her sister?"

The woman looked at me, dead in the eye. Her pink contacts reminded me so much of Linda, but her arms were free of tattoos. I watched her green eyebrows turn up as she spoke, obviously surprised that someone didn't know. "Blown to pieces."

...


"Oh and one last thing," I shoved my hand into my pocket, looking for the one object in there.

"Yes?" Dr Fairweather looked surprised. I didn't normally stick around for longer than to be given my notebook. She had tears staining her cheeks because apparently my dreams, both the one I'd written and the one I'd explained where very sad. Apparently I was very strong.

I could think of a few people that would say otherwise and I did very well not to point out that if I were strong, I wouldn't have shut down when my children needed me most.

I held her the letter I'd written the night before. "Can you make sure this get's to Haymitch Abernathy, please?"

She nodded, "Of course. What is it?"

"Just a letter." I didn't wait much longer; I was already out the office before she could open the envelope. I didn't really mind her reading it, it wasn't much. Just a few words. I was asking a favour more than anything else. I didn't stop on the last step this time. I walked straight out the door.

The receptionist stared at me. I smiled a little; even I knew my step was a little light. I looked a little lighter. I wasn't exactly happy by all means, but I didn't feel crazy at the moment. Maybe I'd be allowed to get a job. Maybe I'd be able to pay back Penny.

Making my way up the stairs to my bedsit, I remembered the words of the letter.

Dear Haymitch,

Please look after her. I can't give her what she needs, but maybe you can. Just… make sure she doesn't get hurt. Please.

Heather Everdeen.

As I said, it wasn't much. Just a few words. I was asking a favour more than anything else. My only wish was that the odds would forever be with the Mockingjay.


So… thanks for reading this. Leave me a review? x

-Oujdagirl