A/N: Wow, this came out a lot shorter than I'd thought. Word docs are deceiving. I hope you liked it anyway though. Also, I'd like to thank LiveLoveLaugh14 for title inspiration because I basically suck at titles. Cheers! - SK

Watching Katniss get dropped into the arena broke my heart a little.

I don't know how all the others do it. I really don't. Can you imagine watching the girl you've spent hours on end with for weeks at a time land in an arena where she's expected to fight to the death with 23 other people? I can. That doesn't mean I like it. That doesn't mean I want to watch. But I do anyway, holding my breath in as the countdown begins.

I guess all the others have experience. They've had to watch their tributes go into the arena and get slaughtered for years and years… Katniss was my first tribute. How can I be expected to watch her fight for survival without feeling an awful sense of guilt, as if I had been partly responsible for her fate…? The thought of people actually enjoying this, considering it to be entertainment is barbaric to me. Though I never admitted this to anyone, for fear of being called a coward or a wimp, I was never able to watch the Games when they came on. Oh, I'd watch for a second or to, just to keep track so that I could discuss it and pretend I'd actually watched and enjoyed it, but I always skipped the beginning, with the bloodbath, and learned the hard way that when there are about ten tributes left, that's when the "natural" disasters come in.

I can't watch. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, hoping that she'll make it out OK. The rest of the prep team is silent, then suddenly sighs of relief are heard, but I don't dare open my eyes. I'm pathetic, I know, but I was never able to handle gore well. I was always the one that would have to be taken out during science class when we dissected frogs' eyes or analyzed blood samples.

"It's alright, Cinna, look! Look at her run! Wow, she's speedy; I certainly could never run that fast."

I tentatively opened my eyes, just in time to see the camera cutting to Katniss sprinting away from the Cornucopia, and I breathe a sigh of relief, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. She was OK. She'd survived. She had a shot.

I'd really grown attached to Katniss. She was moody and difficult at times, but at least she wasn't fake, a refreshing change from most people in the Capitol. It was hard not to like her, quite honestly. I thought of her as a friend more than a client, despite the fact that we came from such different backgrounds and had such different interests.

President Snow was going to make things difficult for her, I knew, because I was sure she'd make things difficult for him. At first I thought I was partly responsible for this because of the stunt I pulled with the mockingjay dress, and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. But now that I see her in action, it's pretty clear that with or without my help, Katniss Everdeen is a rebel. With or without my help, Katniss Everdeen is the mockingjay.