.The Trackjacker & The Mockingjay (Katniss Everdeen X F.OC).

-Spaced Out-

(Second chapter at 10:30 today since this and the next one are going to be shorter than per usual.)

It was a while before Percy could gather her mind into one spot instead of snapshots of what was going on around her.

The panic, or whatever that was, had sent her in such a spiral that she hadn't ever felt this much like a spectator in her life than at this moment.

It was like she was watching her body act on its own as Peeta dragged her away, as Jackson or whoever her name is demanded the holo from Katniss, as they agreed to sacrifice the twin sister soldiers so they could go hide somewhere else, how they talked about sewer plans, how Gale lost his cool and got in her face, requiring Peeta and Finnick yelling back to make him leave her alone and now looking at her own face displayed on the TV like a dead tribute.

It took her waking up from the dream she saw as her life to even be able to understand what all of that was; it truly felt like she was watching a movie and suddenly got dragged through the screen and thrust into it.

Like a cold bucket dumped over her head.

And even now, her consciousness was fragile; honestly, stress was not helping her at all.

Toying with both rings in tandem, trying to focus on them, and ground herself, and ignore the planning going on around her

But she can't help it, her head feels like it's spinning, like a buffering interface where the mistake couldn't be found in a part that could be changed out, like a motherboard dunked into water to be cleaned off.

In and out, breathe in and out, Percy, you are not a monster, and even if you are, even monsters have self-control.

But... This pounding in her chest, the voices around her muffling, her ears ringing... She hates this, it hurts, make it stop.

It all felt too much.

She jerked back at the hands that grabbed hers, gasping at what it felt like the first breath in a long while, but she still... Still couldn't...

It felt like static in her veins, like a swarm of bugs had made its nest in her chest and was now flooding her veins and flesh with drone clawing their way around on the inside. It felt like she couldn't breathe; her lungs filled with squirming larvae, eyes covered by webs, ears plugged with their skittering.

Had she just not noticed when she was helped up and out of the room, or was that just another lie her mind was making up to make up for it, destroying itself?

But the bright flashing light of the screen was gone... So was the buzzing surrounding, the incessant, overlapping voices melding into a mush.

And the hive, her... Heart... Seemed to ease up, no longer feeling like it was running itself off a cliff and dragging her with it, like it was fighting for survival against an unseen enemy.

How long has she been staring at a wall? How long before she finally released her tense muscles? How long since she took a deep breath?

Unclasping her hands, own fingers marking her skin deeply.

Stress is what is going to kill her.

Sooner or later, if not sooner.