The screens across flickered to life across Panem. Every district was brought to a standstill, and the fighting ceased.

Confusion rippled through the crowds, both residents and guards alike, as they gazed up at the static broke across the speakers and feedback flowed through their ever-sensitive ears. Every head cocked up toward the sky, weapons were dropped or shouldered and they awaited the announcement. It was bound to be important.

The screens only ever ran during the Games, and The Quarter Quell had ended two months ago.

The Games were over, but the war was just beginning.

* * *

I sat on the coach in the dining room of the airship. We floated past the mountains of District 13, coasting through the blue sky and sailing through wisp-like clouds.

I sat, clutching my knees to my chest, with a pillow acting as a buffer between them. My fists were bunched up in the soft silk of the pillow, tearing holes in the fabric with my newly-chewed nails. Grabbing the pillow fiercely, I threw it at the wall, and it fell with a soft thus to the ground. I watched the screen, and snatched another cushion from my seat, stuffed it in my mouth and muffled my screams.

And all because of those blue, blue eyes.

Thwack.

Another slap hit Peeta; his head was thrown back from the force of the blow. My chest felt like it would explode, and every blow seemed to leave a mark that no one could see but me.

"Say it!" A man appeared, his dark hair hanging in curtains and hiding his face from the camera. His voice was gruff, and every word he uttered caused a flare of fury to well up in my chest. I bit into the pillow, my teeth sinking in and tearing it to pieces.

Peeta's face was bruise and broken. The green and yellow patches from old injuries were covered by fresh purple bruises from new ones. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, collecting at his chin and falling in droplets onto the lapel of his black shirt. I stared in wonder at him, bound by ropes to a chair; he looked like an avenging Angel. His blue eyes blazed in rage, and he stared reproachfully at his attacker.

"Say it!" the man repeated, pulling a gun from his belt and cocking it. Peeta pursed his lips, and spat a chunk of blood at his attacker. The man recoiled as it dribbled down his cheek. He swept it away with one hand, and pistol whipped Peeta with the other.

The camera focused on Peeta. He tried to remain calm, but his eyes welled with tears from the last attack. A cry broke from my mouth, and I didn't even try to stifle it.

Haymitch entered the room, breath laboured from running.

"Are you okay?" he wheezed, grabbing onto the door frame for support. He drew in long, laboured breaths, his shoulders quaking.

I never uttered a word. I just stared in agony at the screen.

A tear rolled down Peeta's cheek, and he shook his head to hide it. But the whole of Panem had seen it. The women cried in agony as they watched him, the young girls in floods of tears as their hero was reduced to a bettered mess. The men watched stoically, watching him receive blow by blow, refusing to say a word. An air of admiration hung in the air for the lost hero, held captive by the Capitol.

"Please," Peeta mumbled, his speech slurred by the pain and swelling in his cheek.

"Do it, now." the man said.

Peeta's eyes hit the floor, and his long, long eyelashes were dotted with tears. When he looked up again, his face was filled with again, and every heart in Panem broke when he muttered one word in a reverent tone, like a prayer: "Katniss."

Haymitch stood behind me, hovering. I had finally stopped sobbing, through sheer force of will. Crying wouldn't solve anything. It made me vulnerable. It made me weak. And I refuse to be weak.

I stared at those eyes; the ones that had haunted my dreams and my days since I had woken after the Quell. But I am not awake; I'm just going through the motions. I am sleepwalking through my days, and no one seems to notice.

And I don't know whether it's from guilt, or from something else.

It must be guilt. What else could it be? I left him alone, and the Capitol captured him. Every mark on his skin is because of my incompetence. I feel responsible because I am responsible.

Haymitch laid a gnarled, withered hand on my shoulder, and I immediately tensed under the touch, like I had been electrocuted. My gaze flickered to his hand, then to his face, focusing on the scars I had left months ago. Haymitch wilted under my gaze, and I shrugged his hand away.

I refused to acknowledge him. I concentrated on Peeta.

Peeta swallowed and his eyes closed as he struggled to say the words his captors desperately wanted him to say.

"Kat-" he choked. "Katniss Everdeen is dead."

I stared at the screen, and the turned to Haymitch, who had a fiercer than usual expression in his face.

"What?" My voice was a monotone, emotionless.

"Watch his face."

What else can I do? I thought, but watched him even more intently. I watched Peeta's eyes drift infinitesimally back and forth, following a pattern as he spoke.

"Katniss was captured, and decided to end her own life than see reason. I have been left to tell you the news….."

"He's reading a script." I said. Haymitch nodded.

"And?!" the man on screen spoke.

"And," Peeta sighed, more blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "She took the life of our unborn child, which I can not forgive. Katniss is not to be admired…."

Peeta fell silent, staring intently at the camera. I could see the torrent of emotion in his eyes. His emotions conflicted with one another. The corner of his lips curled up, and a smile played in his eyes.

"Katniss is alive." Peeta said. I sucked in my breath, as the man repeatedly beat him. But Peeta took each blow without flinching.

"Katniss is alive," he repeated, his voice growing louder and firmer. Peeta relaxed against the bonds of his chair. I didn't like it. Something was wrong. He was………

And it struck me.

"No!" I screamed, leaping off the coach and falling to my knees in front of the television screen.

He was giving up. He was giving up for me.

"God," Haymitch groaned, flinching at every blow Peeta received.

"Fight the Capitol. Don't let Katniss down, and don't let me die in vain."

The man with the dark hair cocked the gun and held it toward Peeta's head. Peeta heaved one heavy sigh and closed his eyes, his face relaxed. He knew the end was coming. The whole of Panem drew in a collective breath, and silence shook it's very foundations.

Peeta opened his eyes. They were filled with love and happiness.

"Katniss, I love you."

The screen went blank. Static took over. And the whole of Panem shook as the sound reverberated through them from the static filled speakers.

Bang.

And I finally woke.