Haymitch_

We're sitting outside District 13's hospital ward, waiting for the doctors to come and tell us whether or not there is any residual damage left from the time Katniss spent in the arena. It's been a month since we picked her up, unconscious and bleeding, from beside the lightning tree, a month since we gave her the sedative that knocked her out, ending her raving about the fact that we had left Peeta in the arena, only for him to be captured and dragged out by the Capitol. After we arrived in 13, the doctors decided to leave her under sedation for a few more weeks, hoping that it would give her body, if not her mind, the time it needed to heal.

I run my fingers over the fresh scratches on my cheek, the result of Katniss raking her fingernails across my face in her anger over Peeta's capture. I sigh inwardly, knowing that I can't blame her in the least. Leaving the boy behind wasn't part of the plan, but there just wasn't enough time. If we'd stayed and tried to rescue him and Johanna (I couldn't care less about the fate of Enobaria), we would have all been in danger. If we'd been captured and caught, the entire rebellion would have been put down. I've told myself this dozens of times since Katniss woke up on the Hovercraft, wanting only to know where the boy was, but it doesn't lessen the guilt of not being able to save him.

I glance around the waiting room, studying the faces of my companions. Mrs. Everdeen is sitting directly across from me, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her head held high, chin pointed up at the ceiling. Next to her is Prim, legs crossed, one elbow balanced on her knee, cradling her cheek with her hand. On my left sits the Hawthorne boy, legs spread, elbows balanced on his knees, his head in his hands, staring directly at the floor. He hasn't said a word since we gave Katniss the second sedative after she awoke from the first and, following Hawthorne's revelation about the bombing of District 12, flew into another rage, screaming that her home was destroyed, her people dead and it was all her fault. It wasn't her fault. But I understood.

I know what it's like to have the price of your actions paid in the blood of the people you love.

I glance at the clock on the wall, noting irritably that we've been sitting here for almost two hours and the doctors have yet to tell us anything. They asked us to come here this morning, telling us that they were going to give Katniss a final check over and then ease up her sedation. She has been out of commission nearly a month and though I would never admit it to anyone, I'm worried about the kid, worried about the effects of being under sedation for so long, worried about whether or not she is healed, worried that when she wakes up she will not be the same Katniss Everdeen that I sent into the Quarter Quell, the lioness ready to fight anyone and anything that got in her way. I think of the fire I saw in her eyes when we said goodbye before the Quell, the fire that let me know that she would do everything in her power to save Peeta and I had better keep my promises too.

Stay alive. Remember who the real enemy is. These are the only pieces of advice that I gave them before I sent them into that arena, knowing that there was a plot that they knew nothing of. I knew that it wasn't going to be a typical Hunger Games, regardless of whether or not it was a Quarter Quell. And still, I sent them in there with nothing.

"Ahem."

I'm yanked from my thoughts by a polite cough and look up to see a man standing in the doorway, dressed in the drab doctor's uniform of 13. I know immediately that this man has come to give us news of Katniss and at once we are all on our feet, opening our mouths at once.

"How is she?"

"Is she okay?"

"Is she completely healed?"

"Can we see her?"

The doctor holds up his hand, silencing us with one look. Like the rest of the people I've met in 13, he seems to be almost robotic in his movements, his face blank of emotion, no sign of empathy for the patient's worried family and friends. I feel like punching him, just to get a reaction out of him.

"Patient Everdeen is awake from her sedation. You may see her, although I must caution you to be careful and not overwhelm her. From what we can see, she has not sustained any lasting injuries from the events surrounding the Quarter Quell and her rescue. She did have some slight blood loss from the tracker being cut out of her arm, we gave her a transfusion and that's no longer a worry. She also had a mild concussion, but luckily it was able to heal while she was under sedation. The only concern our medical team has is for the baby's survival. If we'd known she was pregnant, we would have possibly taken a different track in her care. However, for right now, the baby's stable and seems to be growing on track. We'll need to monitor her carefully throughout her pregnancy, of course, to make sure that both she and the baby remain stable."

The doctor looks at us expectantly, presumably waiting for us to hit him with our barrage of questions. You could hear a pin drop, not even our breaths make noise as we all stare, wide eyed at the doctor. No one speaks, because what is there to say? This must be a mistake, Katniss is not pregnant, it was a lie that Peeta made up to try and stop the Quarter Quell, nothing more, nothing less.

"Did you say pregnant?" I'm as surprised as anyone when my voice breaks the silence, I thought for sure I had gone mute for a minute. Even to my own ears, my voice sounds abnormal, it scratchy and high pitched. I shake my head, hoping to clear it, although I'm not sure what there is to be clear of. I haven't had alcohol once since I came to this godforsaken district, this is the longest I've gone without drinking since I was 17.

The doctor looks at me strangely, glancing around at the other faces next to me. I glance at them as well, knowing that I'm seeing my own surprise and shock etched on their faces.

"Yes, Patient Everdeen is a little over three months pregnant." He says this slowly, drawing out every word, as if he's talking to a group of toddlers. I can only imagine what he makes of us, standing frozen, acting as if we'd never heard the word pregnant before.

"Katniss can't be pregnant. She can't. Are you sure?" This comes, not from Mrs. Everdeen as I would have expected, but from the normally shy and quiet Prim. She looks at the doctor almost pleadingly, begging him to tell her it's a mistake.

"Ma'am, there is no doubt. It was confirmed with a blood test and an ultrasound. The baby appears to be healthy, maybe a little on the small side, but otherwise healthy."

Upon hearing these words, an animal like groan echoes through the rom and I turn to the source of the sound, perhaps expecting Mrs. Everdeen or Prim to have collapsed, but to my utter surprise, it's Gale who is slumped in his seat, the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, shaking his head wildly from side to side and muttering, "No…no…no," underneath his breath. I glance at the women standing next to me. Mrs. Everdeen has a resigned look on her face, while Prim has one hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide, as if she cannot reconcile this shaking, sobbing man with the burly, hulking hunter she grew up with. It's while I'm staring at Hawthorne, watching as the dry sobs rack his body, that it suddenly occurs to me that Katniss did not make this baby alone. And judging by Hawthorne's reaction, he is most definitely not the father. Which can mean only one thing...Peeta.

Peeta is the father. Katniss is carrying Peeta Mellark's child and he's trapped in the Capitol, having God only knows what done to him.

I am suddenly furiously angry at them. How dare they not tell me this, how dare they be so damned stupid as to risk this, how dare they think they can keep this baby at this point in their lives, how dare they consider bringing a child into this cold, cruel world. If we don't win…if this rebellion fails…they have not only guaranteed their child a slip of paper in the Reaping Ball, but have almost certainly condemned it to a bloody death that will end in the sound of cannon fire.

"Would you like to see Patient Everdeen now?" The doctor asks, creeping towards the doorway, clearly desperate to make his exit. We have no doubt given him a delightful impression of the people from District 12, that he can carry back to his colleagues and they can spread it to their families and then we'll be outsiders, even more so than we already are.

Mrs. Everdeen, Prim, and I all follow the doctor, leaving Gale sitting there, shrunken in his chair, as if knowing that the girl he loves is carrying the baby of another man has taken his literal strength from him, leaving him reduced in size.

The doctor leads us down a long white corridor that smells strongly of antiseptic, but underneath there is a very faint smell of sickness and death, as if all the antiseptic in the world cannot cover up the scent of what really happens here. The doctor stops in front of a door with no handle and scans his badge under a black box mounted on the side of the door with three green blinking lights. After emitting three beeps, the door slides open, revealing a pristine white room. In the middle of the room sits a steel bed and in that steel bed, tucked under crisp white sheets, slightly sitting up, her head resting on the elevated pillows behind her, raven hair spread out, gray eyes blinking sleepily.

The sound of the door sliding back into the wall lets us know that the doctor has quietly slipped away and now it is up to us to confront Katniss about her lies, time to confront her about where we go from here.

We gather around the bed, Mrs. Everdeen and Prim on either side, while I stand at the foot of the bed, hands in the pocket of my slacks, wishing with everything in me that one of those pockets held a flask of white liquor. I could use some liquid courage right now.

"Haymitch…Mom…Prim…how long have I been out?" Katniss asks, her voice dry and hoarse. She struggles to sit up further and I notice how pale her normally olive skin is. She is still weak, no matter what the doctor says.

"You've been under sedation for about a month, Katniss." Prim says, her eyes gentle on her sister. "We wanted to give your body a chance to recover from the Games and from the…shocks…that you received after it." Prim chooses her words carefully, as if she afraid to plainly mention the bombing of District 12, as if Peeta Mellark's name is a weight that cannot afford to be dropped right now. I understand that it's Prim's way, to gently ease people into things, it can't be like that this time. As much as I would like to give Katniss time to adjust, there's no time to give. This baby will no doubt throw a wrench into the well ironed plans of Plutarch Heavensbee and our fearless leader President Alma Coin and the sooner it is dealt with the better.

"Why didn't you tell us? You should have told us before the Quell began!" I bark at her, clenching my hands into fists, wanting nothing more than to shake some sense into her. These fools…what have they done?

"Why didn't I tell you what, Haymitch? If I remember correctly, you're the one keeping secrets…that little thing called the rebellion that conveniently slipped your mind." She throws this in my face, no doubt expecting it to find its mark somewhere. But even that cannot distract me now. Looking Mrs. Everdeen and Prim, it's clear that they are not about to be the bearer of bad news. I grit my teeth, once again wishing for the sweet relief of liquor.

"You should have told us about the baby. You should have told us you were pregnant!" I'm yelling at this point, furious that they made this mistake, furious at myself for not watching over them better.

Katniss sits bolt upright, her gray eyes blazing. All at once, it's as if the color has returned to her face and the life to her eyes. The tops of her cheeks are red, her lips apart, teeth bared in a grimace.

"What are you talking about? I'm not pregnant…I can't be pregnant… that was just a lie that Peeta made up to try and stop the Quell."

Mrs. Everdeen, who I have not heard utter more than three words since we arrived in District 13, steps closer to Katniss's bed, gripping the steel railing of the bed with her hands so tight that her knuckles turn white.

"Katniss, the doctors confirmed it with a blood test and an ultrasound. You're a little over three months pregnant. The baby is healthy, it survived the explosion in the arena. You're both safe." She says this to Katniss, her eyes locked on her hands gripping that bed rail, as if she expects it to try and jump out of her grasp any minute. It's as if she cannot lift her eyes to her daughter, her pregnant, teenage daughter, the daughter who is supposed to be the symbol of the rebellion, the Mockingjay, the one who will free all of Panem from the dictatorship of the Capitol.

Katniss whips her head around to me, her eyes wide and frightened. Her face is frantic, her lips parted, as if open to deny the accusation. And then suddenly she stops, a frown forming on her face, her forehead crinkling into lines, as if whatever is running through her mind has taken her complete attention. I watch the gauntlet of emotion swing across her face, anger, embarrassment, something that could be described as longing, and finally dread. She looks up at me, one hand drifting subconsciously to her abdomen. The lights dim in her eyes and the next thing I know, her eyes have rolled back in her head, only the whites showing as she collapses in a faint against her pillows.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim rush towards her but I'm standing frozen at the foot of the bed, with only one thought running through my head.

She didn't know…