Author Note:

This is my first time writing so all your reviews and comments will be especially appreciated. The issues covered in this story are incredibly close to my heart and are relevant the world over, although I have chosen to set my story in London as this is what I know.

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games characters belong to Suzanne Collins, I am just privileged to be able to use them in my story.

An incredibly big thank you to my beta ct522, without her encouragement I probably never would have posted! Also thanks to Abagail Snow and alatariel-gildaen for their comments and prereading the story.

I hope you enjoy my writing!

Prologue

London 1991

Portia Clements sits in anticipation in the waiting room to the special care baby room in St Mary's Hospital, Paddington. She is awaiting permission to take a peek at her very first client. It is also her first day as a duty worker in the St Mary's Hospital Social Work Team, specialising in paediatrics. She hopes she isn't going to make a mess of it.

She scans the limited notes about the patient again as they rest on her lap. The information about the very little young man she is about to see is understandably brief and to the point.

Baby aged 2 months was admitted last night with a minor head injury and a fracture in his arm likely to have been caused by being hit against a wall. Mother claims to have shaken him when he would not stop crying. However there is no evidence of retinal haemorrhaging or swelling of the brain. Baby has been vomiting and did lose consciousness. He was brought in to A&E by mother who claimed she could not cope with him. Normal symptoms of colic were described. When non accidental injury was discovered, mother became very violent and had to be escorted away by security pending arrival of police. Emergency Police Protection Order is being granted and NO CONTACT is to be allowed under any circumstances. A multi-agency check on mother reveals there have been adoption orders made on 2 previous babies. Baby is believed to be of Lithuanian origin and was living in a refuge in Ladbroke Grove. Immigration status is unclear. There was no mention of other family in the UK. He appears to have stabilised although his prognosis is unknown. His name is Peeta.

"Ms Clements?"

Portia is startled by the appearance of a nurse's head around the door closest to her chair. She looks very young and Portia immediately feels relaxed in her presence. It is nice to see a friendly face before the anticipation of her work becomes overwhelming.

"Hello, my name is Rue and I'm monitoring Peeta this afternoon. Are you ready to come and see him?" She smiles sweetly and props open the door.

"Yes of course, how is he doing?" Portia asks trying to sound more confident and professional than she feels.

Rue's face lights up in a huge beam and it becomes instantly obvious to Portia that she loves her job and becomes easily attached to the babies she cares for.

"Oh I can already see he's a fighter" she gushes "He's a tiny miracle really; he seems to be functioning near normal and bouncing back very quickly. I think he will be out of here very soon. He is surprisingly contented as well, taking into account the fact that he must still be in some pain from the bruising on his head and his broken arm, especially as he is such a young baby. He is my newest brave little soldier."

She smiles again encouragingly and gestures for Portia to stand by the clear sided crib in the centre of the room.

"He has been sleeping for four hours, which is exactly what he needs at the moment, but he may wake up soon."

Portia takes her first look at the baby and despite her mental preparations; she knows that nothing would take away how upsetting it is to see such a small baby with such a large bruise on the side of his face. She's seen premature babies before, but something about the medicalization of his tiny body seems worse. She hastily tries to push back the growing lump in her throat and squeeze away the tear threatening to fall from her eye.

Then she remembers what Rue had said about him and she looks again to see the baby underneath

He is adorable.

There is a smattering of blonde hair on his tiny head and his non broken arm has been laid out above his head, making him look like he shouldn't have a care in the world. His other arm is tightly supported in a cast. His skin is very pale almost translucent, giving him an angelic appearance. This makes her remember what it said in his notes and she wonders what he will present Rue with this evening. At the moment it looks like his mother made it all up, perhaps she had. He is naked except for a nappy and a loose baby blanket covering his legs, his little tummy rises and falls rapidly, as if to say defiantly 'I am alive and I am most definitely here to stay.'

Portia looks up and sees that Rue has been observing them quietly this whole time. She inwardly chastises herself by remembering that she isn't always going to be able to fall into a reverie, especially as most of her clients are likely to be much more challenging than little Peeta. She is going to need to be very observant and one step ahead of everyone else in her new job.

Rue however, seems unsurprised by her reaction and she merely whispers

"It's your first day isn't it? Don't worry you'll get used to it."

She considers something for a moment and then adds.

"It's not really my place to say and I'm sure you know what you're doing and all that, but I think this one is going to be relinquished. I couldn't help seeing the disturbance when I had to help fetch him from A&E yesterday. I've seen quite a lot here already, but I've never seen a mum react like that. She kept screaming that she was innocent and he was like the devil's child. She couldn't wait to get him out of her sight. She attacked the doctors when they suggested he was a normal baby and she might have made him more distressed."

Portia frowns

"Well from a social work point of view, it's a little early to say if he will be relinquished or not. People say all kinds of things under stress. I'm going to attempt to speak to mum this afternoon; I believe she might have been sectioned and still be in the hospital. My priority is to get as many details as possible so I can start liaising with Kensington and Chelsea Fostering Team. Peeta needs to have an identified foster placement as soon as possible so that a foster carer can start coming to visit him and getting to know him."

"Yes of course" acknowledges Rue. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted for a bit while I go and check on the other babies."

She has gone.

The room is quiet except for Peeta's slightly snuffled breathing and a rhythmic beeping coming from a machine nearby. Portia stands in silence for a moment and is just considering taking her leave when she hears a random cough followed by a small sneeze. She realises that a pair of fascinated blue eyes are trying to make contact with her own, searching for some sort of reaction. Inexplicable panic sets in for a moment, before she again remembers that this is not really a new situation.

He is still just a baby.

She rummages in her bag for the first suitable object she can find. Her hand alights on a new office security swipe card attached to a cord that can hang around her neck. It swings out above Peeta's face, his eyes follow it and he wiggles his mobile arm and legs, a little fist waving almost as if he is trying to catch it.

Portia can't help herself and she smiles in a way that Peeta seems to evoke in those around him.

"Well aren't you clever?" She coos and he smiles back delighted.

They are still delighted with each other when Rue comes back into the room with a tiny disposable formula bottle and packet of sterilized teats.

After leaving the room, the new social worker stops to reflect a little on what she has just seen. She resolves to do her utmost to help make sure Peeta's needs are met in the short time she will know him. She feels excited and grateful for the opportunity of supporting such inspiring and deserving children for many years to come.

London 2002

Portia Clements rakes her fingers through her rapidly greying hair and allows her eyes to once again drift to the all-powerful clock on the wall. Its five minutes to five on a Friday afternoon. That all important five minutes which is so close to the end of her shift, but in which anything can and usually does happen.

Of course the phone rings.

"Sorry it's a late one" apologises the rather breathless tone of Octavia, one of the nurses from Tiggywinkle ward.

"We've had two sisters brought in. Katniss Everdeen, an eleven year old came with a teacher from St Charles School. Three year old Primrose Everdeen was brought in by ambulance straight from home. It looks like severe neglect at the least. Both of them are extremely underweight and very unkempt in appearance. Katniss also has cuts all down the underside of her arms, some of which are infected. They are most likely self-inflicted. Primrose seems very poorly. She doesn't seem to have shown any emotional reaction to being here and she fell asleep as soon as she was settled in her bed.

I think the teacher and the police officer that attended their home address are still waiting to speak to you.

Can you go down?

Oh and by the way, be careful when you go and see the older one. She's quiet and on her own now, but she screamed blue murder and scratched like a wild cat when I suggested Primrose might be able to sleep better in a private room rather than in the main bay next to her."

Portia doesn't have the energy to correct Octavia's rather unprofessional assessment of Katniss behaviour, so she goes downstairs to investigate.

Two hours later, after an exhausting meeting which surprisingly includes both the mother and step father, Portia finally gets to see Katniss and Prim. She makes her way through Beatrix Potter illustrations until she reaches the last bay. It's busy, but the rather unique traits of the two girls she is now interested in make them easy to identify. Prim doesn't look like she will wake up for a long time, greasy blonde hair messily gathered into two lopsided plaits resting on her pillow. She turns her attention to Katniss, who appears to be facing down, equally oblivious, her black hair floating unevenly loose across the sheets, her hands above her head clutching the metal bedstead behind her. Portia however has seen this before, the silent language that says 'Leave me alone, I'm not yet ready.' She doesn't push it and goes to the nurse's desk to complete her final recordings.

Sure enough, two minutes later a school uniformed sylph raises up from the same bed, creeps across the floor and crouches in front of a corner bookshelf. She takes ownership of 'The Animals of Farthing Wood' and trips back to her bed.

It's nearly Christmas so it's already dark by the time Portia is leaving her office, the glare of city lights brightening her window. She looks down at the station far below, a giant canopy that alternately swallows and spits out unsuspecting travellers either into the crush of Praed Street or a rush hour intercity train.

Unknowingly spoilt children tug at their parent's sleeve for an extortionately priced miniature Paddington Bear. Upstairs, commuters hurry to jump on an awaiting tube carriage, because a two minute wait might mean missing another opportunity to increase the privileges they already take for granted. She wonders if they'll ever see what she sees. A hidden world that daily pushes some of its inhabitants through her office door and then drags them back out again, unfixed, forever bruised and chained by the deep seated urban decay that surrounds them.

Tourists gesture blindly at departure boards, trying to catch the darting electric words before giving up and accepting failure, a failure to understand what's really going on around them. The dirty secrets choked by the proverbial smog which they'll look for but never find.

She thinks some days that she can't take it anymore. This idea she has gradually found that sometimes she is powerless and at worst she might even be a puppet that perpetuates the very problems she once dreamt of solving.

Finally Portia moves away from the window and begins to lock away her files. A quick glance back to the ward beyond tells her that for the moment at least all is quiet and getting ready for the evening. Prim is still asleep and Katniss face is now out of sight behind her book.

Just before she turns out the light, she checks the flight tickets stashed in her bag.

Home

Tomorrow she flies to St Lucia, to the grandma who raised her. For six weeks she can pretend that St Mary's Hospital does not exist. When she returns Katniss and Prim will be long gone, just like so many more before them and the thousands more who are yet to come.