Author's note: Please, please review if you like this (or even if you don't)! I could use some comments to keep me going.

"Morning, Katniss," says Beetee when I enter the kitchen the next morning. He offers me a steaming mug of dark brown liquid. "Coffee?"

"No thanks, Beetee," I reply, remembering the distracting buzz I had gotten last time I introduced caffeine into my system. I am jumpy enough as it is without an added stimulant.

Johanna and Beetee are poring over the map of the Outerlands at the kitchen table and Haymitch is picking at a plate of eggs. The clock tells me that it is 7 am.

"Don't suppose you're thinking of taking up baking?" he says to me by way of morning greeting. "All the breads gone stale."

"Good morning to you, too, Haymitch," I reply with a scowl, plopping myself down next to Johanna. "Any progress?"

She sighs. "Not much. Right now we're just trying figure out the best route to take into the mountains. The Lords have been operating without discovery for nearly 50 years, which means they're smart. Our intelligence also indicates that they are immensely technically advanced. They're sure to be watching all the typical entrances to their stronghold, so we have to be careful about how we approach it." She pulls a plate of eggs toward herself and spoons some onto a plate for me, but I don't touch them. I've lost my appetite.

"Right now we think that our best bet is approaching it from underground. Some early sources suggest that there may be an abandoned mine shaft that runs underneath their facilities," says Beetee, gesturing towards a pile of very old looking documents and history books. "But we can't be sure until we get closer."

I nod my head, but I can't focus well enough to make any useful comment, so I stay silent. I'm still reeling a bit from last night's conversation with Gale. Since the end of the war 5 years ago I have only seen him once, when he came to apologize and to tell me that he's planning to devote the rest of his life to making amends his mistakes during the war. As far as I can tell he's been doing just that. He's risen quickly in the ranks of Paylor's new army—no surprises there—thinking strategically comes naturally to Gale; add that to his innate courage, sense of loyalty, and skill with a bow and you've got yourself an excellent soldier. I've seen him on television from time to time and he is quite outspoken on the issue of nuclear disarmament and calls for legislation that will end the use of any and all forms of torture.

I don't blame Gale for her death anymore. On my bad days, the days that I can't even get out of bed, I remember that if anyone is to blame for what happened it's me. If I hadn't pulled out those berries, hadn't extended that hand to Chaff at the interviews, hadn't become the Mockingjay, the symbol of the Rebellion, perhaps she would still be here today. As kind and sweet as she was, I feel certain that Prim deserves to walk this earth far more than I do, especially considering my short-temper, defensiveness and extraordinary talent for pushing away the people who love me the most. It took me years to really let Peeta in, despite his nearly flawless track record of honesty, loyalty, and unconditional love. And they were difficult years, too. I can't say exactly how many hours Peeta spent coaxing me out of broom cupboards or rocking me back to sleep after I woke up screaming from a particularly horrifying nightmare…only to become the victim of my misplaced rage and frustration the next day.

A sharp knock at the door shakes me from my reverie. It's him. Wait! I think frantically. I'm not ready! But Johanna has already opened the door and Gale is standing on the threshold. He looks good, I can't help but thinking. It must be sunnier in District 2 because his already olive skin looks tan and his dark hair is flecked with gold. I immediately hate myself for noticing because even the thought somehow feels like a betrayal of Peeta under these terrible circumstances.

The tension in the room is growing palpable and I know I should say something, but my tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of my mouth. It's Johanna who finally breaks the silence and I feel a rush of gratitude toward her for it.

"Hey there, gorgeous," she coos with mock seductiveness. "Bet you're happy to see me!"

Gale laughs and gives her a hug and then moves on to shake hands with Haymitch and Beetee. When he gets to me he pauses for a fraction of a section and I feel like he's reading me, trying to figure out what I expect from him. He decides on a handshake, but I find myself pulling him into a short embrace. His eyes widen a bit in surprise and then soften as he smiles. I'm surprised by my action too, because just a split second before I was seriously considering absconding to my bedroom and refusing to come out ever again.

It doesn't take long for Beetee and the others to get Gale up to date with what has happened and our plans so far. Apparently he has been monitoring the various terrorist cells in this area for some time now, so not much is new to him. I spend the majority of the day making up for my initial warmth toward Gale by avoiding any situation where I might have to speak to him one on one and tensing up every time our elbows brush at the strategy table. It's not that I'm trying to freeze him out, it's more that my nerves feel so frayed that I'm worried dealing with all the emotional baggage here is going to send me toppling over the edge. I've spent enough time wandering around this house feeling dead inside, haunted by the ghosts of my past. I can't afford another mental breakdown while Peeta's life is in such grave danger.

After the second day of planning I am beginning to feel like a caged animal. Part of me just wants to slip out of the house in the dead of night and track down Peeta on my own, but the rational side of my brain has somehow managed to wrestle this impulse down thus far. I think I know deep down that Haymitch is right and that it would be completely futile to go this alone, but I just feel so trapped and useless. I am far too restless and on edge to be of any real use at the planning table.

I keep telling them that I want to go hunting, to make myself useful or at least to distract myself for a while, and eventually I annoy everyone so much with my constant pacing that they give in. We need to stock up on supplies for the journey anyway—dried meat and berries, medicinal plants, nuts. The only condition is that Gale goes with me. ("Because you're not nearly as agreeable as Peeta, so if anything happens out there I'd be able never convince anyone to come after you," explains a snarky Haymitch).

I was opposed to this arrangement at first, feeling anxious about spending time alone with Gale, but after considering the prospect of spending another day huddled around that map, with nothing to distract me from imagining the horrible ways that they could be torturing Peeta, I give in. I put on my father's old hunting jacket, burying my nose in the leather and inhaling deeply as I always do. Sometimes it feels like I can smell him still—a combination of fire and pine trees and fresh earth that is so very alive. I reach for the new bow that Beetee designed for me, which seems to be almost vibrating, ready to spring into action, but on second thought I grab my father's old bow out of nostalgia. I also take the plant book that Peeta and I made after the Quarter Quell thinking that it may come in handy for restocking our medical supplies.

Gale and I are silent as we hike unimpeded into the forest. It still feels strange to do this without pausing to listen for that tell-tale humming of the electrified fence and then slipping underneath it. We stalk our prey deep into the woods, slowly falling back into our hunting rhythm, and we catch a lot. Gale sets snares with his long, dexterous fingers and I bag a fat wild turkey and several squirrels. I'm amazed at how easy it is, being with him like this. For a while I almost forget all the tension brought on by the Games and the Rebellion and Prim's death and, well, hormones.

It is late afternoon now and we take a rest at our old lookout spot, feeling satisfied with our haul and pleasantly tired with the day's exertion. The forest is stretched out below us like a plush green carpet and the sun is sinking low in the sky. Orange, I think, Peeta's favorite color. Gale pops a few berries into his mouth and passes me a handful. I decide to try making amends for my coldness toward him the last two days.

"Soldier Hawthorne!" I bark in imitation of an officer from District 13, "Is that berry ration approved?"

"Absolutely not," he replies with a grin.

I smile back, but my heart is starting to get heavy again as my anxiety for Peeta, somewhat muted during the hunt, returns to me in full force. I take out Peeta's and my book and open it to a sketch of ginseng, tracing my fingers lightly over the lines and imagining Peeta's strong, sure hand skimming across the page. I let out an involuntary sigh of frustration. Where are you Peeta?

I feel Gale's eyes on me and I look up.

"Katniss?" He says hesitantly.

"Yeah," I say faintly, returning my gaze to the book.

"Were you happy then?"

"Hmm?" I intone, confused. It wasn't a question I was expecting and I'm not entirely sure what he means.

"I mean… with Peeta… before they took him," he chokes out, flushing slightly and looking deliberately away from me. "Were you happy?"

I think of Peeta's laugh, his warm, safe arms, his kind blue eyes. I see us planting our vegetable garden in the back of the house, laughing because he has planted a row of onions upside down before I realized it. I see us swimming at my father's lake and getting covered head to toe in flour during my first disastrous baking lesson and laying flowers on Prim's grave. I see us doing our toasting in front of the fire, just the two of us, whispering vows into the night, making love for the first time…

"Yeah," I say finally and force myself to look Gale in the eye. "Yeah, I really was."

"Good," he says softly. I can tell that he means it, but there is a hint of something else too, something like sadness. "We're going to get him back, Katniss," continues Gale, his voice growing stronger and his fingers tightening on his bow. "We'll get him back and you'll be happy again."

I don't know what to say. I know there is no way I can repay Gale for what he's doing for me, and I hate feeling indebted to anyone. This is, after all, the second time he's volunteered without hesitation to rescue the man who has beaten him out for my affections.

"Gale," I say, swallowing hard. "Just because I chose Peeta…doesn't mean I wanted… to lose you." This pronouncement leaves a bad taste in my mouth because it feels hopelessly selfish. I know I can never give Gale what he wants…or wanted, I guess, because after all these years how do I really know what he wants anymore. I'm not sure if I even know what I want. I try to think back to before Peeta's kidnapping, but although it's been barely two days, it seems like ages ago. Did I want Gale gone from my life forever? Certainly not. But how can I ask him to stick around while I build my life with Peeta, a decision I no longer have any doubts about? I have no right to ask this of Gale.

I brace myself for Gale's anger. I almost want him to yell and scream at me, to put me in my place the way he always used to do when my pigheadedness got the best of me. But he doesn't look mad at all, just pensive, like he's trying to make up his mind about something.

"I didn't want to lose you either," he says slowly as if this has only just dawned on him. "I think I just spent so much time feeling guilty about… my actions…during the war…" He squirms a little. "About Prim… And after that it was jealousy, knowing that Peeta was the better man, that he won, fair and square." Gale sighs heavily. "Not that you're something to be won!" he puts in hurriedly, holding up his hands in apology. "I guess it just felt like there was no going back. But maybe…maybe I was wrong."

He is looking at me now with such a shine of hope in his eyes that I am completely overcome with emotion—a state I prefer to never find myself in. Without thinking I draw him into a swift hug, holding him so tightly that I'm sure I must be breaking his bones. We stay like that for a long time and when we finally break apart I say to him with a smirk, "Wouldn't be the first time you were wrong, would it?"

I see just a shadow of that cocky, self-satisfied smile that used to be so prominent on Gale's face when we were together. "You'd better check your records, Catnip," he says playfully, the use my old nickname seeming to officially seal the reconciliation between us, "I'm pretty sure this is the first time it's ever happened."

When we return to the house that evening I'm sure that the others notice the fact that something has passed between Gale and I. The tension that was gripping the room like a vice for the past 48 hours has been released and we're all in better spirits because of it. After Haymitch witnesses me and Gale conversing amiably over dinner, he stops suggesting that the air-conditioning must be in overdrive and is now complaining that the polar ice caps are in danger of melting.

The next morning, after another fitful night of sleep filled with Peeta's anguished screams, we are putting the final touches on our rescue plan.

Gale is giving us the rundown. "The key to this mission is going to be stealth. Of course, the Lord's are probably already expecting some sort of retaliation on our part, but they may not expect us to know so much about the location of their stronghold. Our main asset may be the element of surprise."

"Has anyone from town gotten suspicious yet?" I ask, looking warily out the window.

"Nah," says Haymitch. "We fed Greasy Sae some story about how Beetee had to come to 12 to fix the wiring at the bakery and that's why the grand opening had to be postponed. We told her his hovercraft malfunctioned and that's what made all that noise. Considering she's the biggest gossip in town, I'm assuming everyone has swallowed the story by now. Oh, and we paid off those reporters to keep quiet—a hefty sum, mind you. You can add that onto the tab of things you owe me. Right under your life."

"Well, the price was worth it if that means we can stave off the media maelstrom until we can get out of here. I don't want the world's eye on us right now," remarks Beetee. "So, moving on. We'll take a hovercraft to 13, but after that we're on foot, so pack lightly…"

I'm trying hard to concentrate on what Beetee is saying, but there is large black fly buzzing overhead and it has been annoying me all morning. I swat at it absently. For some reason this action catches Haymitch's eye, and I see him nudge Beetee, pointing up at the fly. A second later I see Haymitch's hand dart out and smash the fly to the table. I am completely baffled when I hear a faint metallic crunch.

"Damn!" whispers Haymitch as we all lean our heads in to get a look. "A bug."

There is a sudden flurry of activity as Beetee, Johanna, and Gale dart about pulling the heavy drapes shut, overturning couch cushions, scrutinizing the potted plants, unscrewing lightbulbs…

"What the hell is going on!" I shout, feeling as if the whole lot of them have gone insane. Bewildered, I look closer at the fly on the table and realize with a jolt what Haymitch meant when he said "a bug." This is no ordinary insect, but rather a miniscule recording device. Someone has been listening in on our conversation—but for how long? And how much have they learned about our plans? I feel like the room is spinning and I think I might be sick. I see Beetee frantically rolling up the map and stuffing it into a knapsack.

"Well don't just stand there, Katniss!" shouts Johanna. "Get your shit together, we've got to get out of here! Now!"

I don't need to be told twice. I bound up the stairs to my bedroom and begin throwing things into my rucksack. It doesn't take me long since I've been prepared to leave at the drop of a hat since the kidnapping. I hurtle to the door with the essentials—clothes, flashlight, sleeping bag, knife— but I suddenly remember something else and turn around to wrench open my dresser drawer. I extract the pearl that Peeta gave me at the Quell, which he recently had mounted on to a necklace, and press it quickly to my lips before shoving it into my pocket and flying down the stairs.

Johanna is just finishing stuffing some rations into a bag and Beetee, Gale and Haymitch are waiting at the back door.

"Let's go!" yells Gale as I sling Beetee's bow and a sheath of arrows over my shoulder. The four of us tear across the backyard and it's a moment before I realize I have no idea where we are going. Didn't Beetee say something about taking a hovercraft to the edge of 13? I scan the sky, but I there's nothing in sight.

Haymitch has taken the lead now, running at an impressive pace for a professional drunk, and he veers off toward the shed where he has been keeping his flock of geese. Are we seriously hiding in a shed? That's the plan? But as Haymitch lifts the latch and we all pile inside, I can't help but gasp at what I see before me.

"What?" asks Haymitch indignantly, clutching a stich in his side. "You didn't seriously think I was raising geese for the fun of it, did you?"

Sure enough, his flock is huddled in the corner, looking extremely disgruntled to have been disturbed by this loud group of intruders, but beyond them, looming large above our heads, is the most high-tech-looking hovercraft I've ever seen. My mouth drops open, but I don't have time to marvel over the fantastic secret that Haymitch has been hiding in his goose shed (or be angry that he's kept it from me) because a few seconds later we're clambering aboard and strapping ourselves in to high-backed leather seats. Beetee takes the controls and Gale slides into the seat next to him as co-pilot. He pushes a button and the roof of the shed folds open.

Gale turns around to look at us, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. "You all strapped in? This thing goes fast."

The words have barely escaped his lips when two events seem to happen simultaneously. I hear the roar of the hovercraft's engine and the far off screaming of missile. As we shoot up from the ground and jet away from the Victor's Village, I whip around just in time see the bomb hit. The sky explodes in a spray of smoke and debris and feathers, and then I see nothing because I have been slammed back into my seat by a tremendous burst of speed. The landscape outside the window becomes a colorful blur as we hurtle through space at the speed of light.

Peeta, I think, closing my eyes tightly and digging my nails into the armrests, We're on our way!