…

The walls were strong. Four years of daily training would do that. Besides, she didn't want to bring them down again. Whenever she did, bad things happened. She was dragged to the Mansion. She was tortured. She had to deal with vats of acid and blood-filled bathtubs and flecks of foreign flesh under her nails.

The walls created a fort for her mind. She was queen of the castle in there. It was dark and lonely, but it was better than serving her weaknesses up on a silver platter. No-one would hurt her again. They could arrest her, torture her, but her mind would remain free, kept jealously to herself like a caged bird. Not quite like a Mockingjay, though- that was the other Katniss, the wall-less Katniss, the Katniss who spat fire and who wasn't half as damaged as this.

The coal miners brought birds down to the mines. Canaries. They treated them like little pets, but the birds ensured their survival. When danger came, when deadly gas filled the mines, the canaries stopped singing, allowing the workers to evacuate safely.

Her thoughts were a canary in the cage of the walls she set up. She knew that one day, the canary would stop singing. That she'd suffer even more. But this was survival. It was instinctive. It couldn't be helped.

She ghosted through the Hall for three days after her return from the Mansion. During that time, she'd drained the most of the corpses and poured the remaining acid onto the last pieces of human waste. Then she'd evacuated that, too.

It quickly became clear that her fellow Victors were right in assuming that they wouldn't be suspected in the Peacekeepers' deaths. If an investigation was ongoing, no-one bothered knocking at their door. Still, that wasn't what Katniss feared the most.

She feared herself the most. She was her greatest enemy. She would conjure images at night, images of Rue and Prim and Peeta and Gale and her mother and the fallen tributes and the Peacekeepers, and her mind would torture her into remembering her pain and fear, as well as inventing situations that had never happened. She didn't need this. Her clients were torture enough. She needn't remember the sensation of the knife picking off her nails, or Prim's screams, or Glimmer's swollen corpse. But she did.

Behind the walls, though, during the day, it was dark, and that meant that the monsters couldn't find her either.

The walls were strong enough that she couldn't taste the food she ate, that she couldn't feel the cold against her skin when she visited the rooftop. She thought about death. Thought about the peaceful look on little Rue's face, thought about the speed at which her mother had disappeared from the face of the earth. If that was death, if it was quick and peaceful, she'd rather go down that final road than stare into the darkness at night, chest heaving, as the memory of Cato's whimpers as the mutts ripped his skin away haunted her ears, clear as day. But, just like so many deaths she'd witnessed, Cato's wasn't painless. It wasn't peaceful. Death could be a torture in itself, one so strong that she wondered if the pain carried on long after the soul had departed the body, after the heart had stopped beating and the brain no longer communicated with oneself.

What would her death be like? Would it be preferable to what she was living? Would she find peace?

Peeta should have given the bread to the pig. She should have died years ago, had she known what her fate was to be. But then, little Primrose would be dead, too.

There was no use thinking of such matters now, but death and her memories was all that remained, trapped inside the walls she'd put up. She wouldn't let them down again, not even to let the pain escape.

She barely noticed the other Victors, couldn't care for their plotting anymore. Let them plot, if it helped them get through their daily hell, in the same way her walls helped her. She did see the occasional worried glance, as though they feared her...or feared for her? She didn't know. She'd never been good at reading others. Annie, Enobaria and Finnick asked her occasionnally how she felt. She'd shrug them off. Did it matter? She felt numb. She felt empty, with only her suicidal thoughts for company.

She didn't know what to make of the fact that she didn't go through with it. It wasn't cowardice, she knew as much. It would be easy to take a kitchen knife, slit her wrists, and fall asleep, sitting in a warm bath that would quickly dull the pain. It just seemed like such an effort, though. Each step she took was painful, each time she swallowed tired her- she put the minimum effort into going through the motions. She was too tired. She'd rather lie on her bed, eyes closed, mind wandering between District 12 and her father.

Haymitch called. She watched as his photo lit up the wall. She might have answered, had she been closer to the holophone. She couldn't be bothered to get up, though, so she simply stared until the call stopped. This was different from what she'd spent four years being used to.

She hadn't been this tired before. She hadn't been this numb. She'd been cold and withdrawn, keeping up the pretense, but now, the walls remained on their own, without any help on her part.

Then, on the fourth day, she shattered, and she knew she was truly fucked.

She was walking to the kitchen, wanting to grab a bottle of water- she didn't eat much these days. It was too great an effort- when Gloss appeared in front of her, Cashmere sidling along behind him. Gloss looked at her through narrowed eyes, a slight frown marring his handsome features, and she stopped in front of him, not even energic enough to ask him to move aside and let her pass.

Then suddenly, Gloss' arms were around her middle and he pulled her to him in a bone-crushing hug. Katniss' eyes widened and she tried to pull away, but his grip on her only tightened, and she gave in suddenly, feeling the fight go out of her.

The walls crashed down, and to her everlasting shock, she felt her eyes brim with tears.

"Wherever you are, Katniss," he whispered in her ear, "come back to us."

And just like that, she broke down sobbing. She felt Gloss pick her up bridal-style, and he set her down on the sofa in the District Room- not that she was truly aware of her environment- and he never let go, sitting beside her, hugging her, as she held onto him as though he was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

She felt the sofa dip as Cashmere sat down on the other side, and then the blonde woman's arms were around her back, her hands wrapping around her middle, and it felt strangely right, and safe, sandwiched between the two of them.

She cried relentlessly, body wracked by soul-searing sobs, sometimes choking on the lack of air provoked by her current state of upset. It was painful. It was terrifying, and she didn't know how to make it stop. She felt Cashmere hum gently, caressing her hair, and she cried and cried and cried.

The walls remained in the dust they'd created. There was no building them again. She felt fear and pain run through her veins, through her head. She felt regret at everything she'd become, at everything the Capitol had made her do. She felt renewed hatred for President Snow pulse throughout her, giving her a purpose. It was violent. It was shocking.

But after some time, the pain and the fear and the violence ebbed away, and she felt new feelings slip around her mind, mingling with the horror, cleansing it, replacing it. She felt grateful for Cashmere and Gloss' interference. She felt loved. She felt valued. If she wasn't, they wouldn't have helped her. She remembered Annie's shy smile and Johanna's fierce scowl and Enobaria's dark eyes glittering with mirth. She thought of the way Finnick's cheeky disposition could make her laugh at the strangest of times, even when she was meant to ignore him. She remembered the way Peeta used to look at her, as though she was the very reason his heart was beating. She thought of her mother's soothing touch and Gale's belts of laughter and Prim's sweet smile. She remembered Rue flying through the trees and the way Peeta and her would joke about Effie's annoying catchphrases and that one time, now hilarious, when Haymitch rolled offstage at the Reaping. She remembered Cinna's eyes narrow in pride at her and her obnoxious but harmless prep team fussing over her. She remembered her father singing and the cookies Peeta's dad had offered her at the Reaping, although she was to be his son's enemy.

It was as if she was warring with herself- the good and the bad, the love and the hatred, the happiness and the sorrow, and for a while, as she clutched onto Gloss, crying her heart out, she wondered which side would win.

Her tears dried up slowly as her eyes began itching. She was tired, but this was healthy, more so than she'd felt in days. She'd reached a stalemate- but a stalemate was better than wherever she'd been a few hours ago.

She rubbed her eyes, slightly embarrassed, and felt Gloss relinquish his hold on her somewhat. Cashmere still petted her hair, and she felt herself relax into the feeling. They didn't speak for a long time, content with just holding each other, and Katniss suddenly realized that this was what she'd been missing for years.

They were her. She was them. And maybe that wasn't entirely a bad thing.

"Thank you," she whispered, glancing at Gloss, and his eyes were shining with understanding. She needn't develop- for that she was glad.

"We're a family," he returned, voice calm.

"And we don't let our family hurt," Cashmere added, her hand brushing her brother's.

Katniss nodded. She had a headache now, but she needed to say something to make them understand just how grateful she was, although she still felt lost and worried.

"Just don't force me to call Finnick my brother," she joked softly, and both siblings burst out laughing.

They remained that way for a long time, Gloss and Cashmere hugging her between them, and she wondered at the fact that the siblings, of all people, would help her in her time of need. Not that she actually knew that much about them, anyway- a fact that made her curious now. She'd expected Finnick or Annie to try to coax her out of her shell, but they weren't here now, and the siblings were. It went to show that she'd sorely misjudged Cashmere and Gloss- she'd have pegged them as the cold, calculating, disdainful kind. And they weren't.

She'd missed out on so much whilst withdrawn from the group, and she suddenly realized what Haymitch had meant when he'd said she'd suffer less if they'd suffer together- it meant she worried for a greater number of people, but it also meant that a greater number of people cared about her. She could get used to this- maybe not the physical part of it, because she doubted she'd be able to go around hugging people in such a manner- but having support. Their support. There was strength in that, and strength was power. It gave her wings. It meant that she could go through her job, go through the nightmares, and she could understand and be understood.

They were her and she was them.

Her shell was cracked. Best make the most of the situation- and it wasn't all a calculated measure to help herself- her heart thudded against her chest when she remembered the way Finnick had opposed the Peacekeepers, when she remembered the way Annie would always set the table for eight, when she remembered how Johanna had pulled Peeta out of harm's way when she'd been arrested. These people cared about each other, and despite the way she'd behaved towards them, they considered her to be one of their own. No questions asked. They may have excluded her from their meetings and their plans, but they still watched out for her.

She owed them- she hated owing people. But she couldn't bring herself to care right now- she just had to show them how grateful she was for their help. Just like Gale had helped her survive years ago by teaching her how to trap and hunt, the Victors had helped her survive by reminding her that she was never alone, no matter how hard she tried to be. Had they not been there, maybe she'd have gone mad years ago.

So she simply raised her head after a while, turning around, and she hesitantly kissed Cashmere on the cheek. The blonde woman raised her eyebrows in surprise, and Katniss said,

"Thank you."

Thank you, not just for this, but for everything. Thank you for being my shadow, for warding the pain away and protecting me when I didn't realize you were doing so. Thank you for making this easy on me when I don't actually deserve it. So many things she wanted to say and didn't know how to word- but when Cashmere smiled at her, she knew that her fellow Victor understood.

Glad she was doing it right, she then turned to Gloss and kissed his cheek as well.

"Say, Cash, do you know where- oh."

Katniss jumped in her skin, turning toward the door, eyes wide open. Peeta was standing there, glancing between her and Gloss, and she suddenly felt slightly guilty under his gaze. Which was ridiculous. She was having a heartfelt moment here, not- she suddenly realized he'd seen her peck Gloss' cheek. It must come across as weird, maybe even insulting to him, she thought- that she'd spent years ignoring him and then he stumbled upon her in a group hug with the siblings. And kissing Gloss.

"Nevermind," he muttered, turning to the door.

"Peeta," Gloss' voice rang out. "I'm not."

Whatever he meant by that, Peeta seemed to understand, because he glanced at Gloss and replied somewhat coldly,

"Whatever, man."

Then he was out of the door, and Katniss couldn't stand it. She was sick and tired of this. Whatever she'd done in the past, she was hellbent on befriending the Victors now- and Peeta was a Victor. They would have that conversation, whether he liked it or not.

She shot out of the District Room, catching up to him in the corridor as he reached his room, and stopped him by tugging his sleeve. He glanced down at her fingers, then up into her face.

"Peeta," she whispered. "Please. I don't know...I don't care what Haymitch said. I'm not doing this for him."

She was doing it for her. For them. He needed to understand that. He closed his eyes and she didn't miss the pain that ignited them when he opened them again. Gently, he reached down and pried her fingers from his arm. Her hand lingered in his for a moment before she withdrew it slowly, and he sighed, opening the door to his room.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he replied earnestly, voice soft. "I can't do this. I can't..."

Then he disappeared into his bedroom, leaving her alone, and she hesitated as the door shut softly. She felt empty- abandoned, and she suddenly realized that this is what Peeta had probably felt for years. So she nodded to herself, respecting his decision- if he needed time, she'd give that to him. He deserved as much. Even if it took months, years- as long as it wasn't forever.