Part 1- Mrs. Mellark

Part 2-Mrs. Everdeen

Part 3-Mr. Mellark

Part 4- Rye Mellark

Peeta was dead.

Well, not yet, but he would be. He was going into the Hunger Games and he was no match for the strong and prepared tributes of the career districts. There was no point in having any hopes or consuming myself with grief. Peeta was going to die. That was just they way it was.

I had never had time for such nonsense like crying for things that I couldn't possibly change. So as I watched him saunter up to the stage, his chin crinkled in determination to not cry, I closed my eyes briefly and took a breath. When I reopened them, I watched with a clear head and my bearings gathered. The words Effie said brushed past me, and could have been about something trivial like the weather for the effect it had on me.

The next few minutes passed rather quickly, with Effie asking for volunteers, for which there were none, and announcing Peeta as the male tribute for the 74th Hunger Games. During this, my husband had clasped my hand, squeezing it tightly. His breathing hitched and fluctuated, indicating that he was crying. He was too sensitive by far.

Sometimes I thought that all we had in common these days was our children. But when we first dated we couldn't get through a sentence without the other completing it. I would've sworn that he was my other half. Nowadays, it was a struggle to even keep up with the task.

The little things I barely noticed at the beginning of our relationship were suddenly blatant and bothersome. The way he showed every emotion on his face, so that nothing was kept hidden, kept sacred. His weakness and inability to say no. Some called it kindness. I called it being soft. And the way he felt it necessary to touch those little displays of affection no matter where we were.

He held my hand now as a way to derive comfort and strength. But I didn't want to be his, or anyone's, safety net. I didn't want to be leaned on or relied on. For once, I wished that Balthar could be his own consoler. But I allowed him to hold my hand, because, I suppose, it was my duty as his wife.

My frustration at my husband's softness was coupled by the sight of that girl on the stage. I wouldn't be surprised if he was more upset by her imminent death than our own son's, the way he liked to take care of her even if it implicated our own family. As long as he pleased that woman, even though I was his wife and not she.

But the more I thought about it, the less inevitable that girl, Katniss', death became. I remember when Haymitch had won the Hunger Games, and in a way they seemed to emit the same energy of danger that was necessary to win. Who knew what that girl got up to in those woods she was probably just as bad as those careers. She, I could say with some confidence, had a chance, not like Peeta. My son was too good to ever win those abhorred games.

At the conclusion of Effie's speech, Peeta was toted away by some peacekeepers to the Justice Building, as was custom. Balthar and I silently headed in that direction, ignoring, pointedly in my case, the pitying stares of those around us. They quickly moved out of our path, and a few even patted my back in what was supposed to be comfort, but were just annoyances.

"I…I can't believe this," Balthar mumbled, thickly. "Peeta…" he moaned. I didn't respond. Balthar wiped at his eyes, and sniffled. It was embarrassing, as everyone continued to stare at us.

The bakery was on the way to the Justice Building, but I was surprised when Balthar stopped me and went in. He was only in there for a moment, and came out without any perceptible difference. I didn't have much care to ask him the reason behind the stop, so I didn't.

When we arrived, we headed directly for the door that was indicated for the male tribute by a plaque on the door. The edifice was awe striking with looming ceilings covered with red curtains, soft-carpeted floors, and ornate golden designs. It was tasteful and expensive, fitting for a building in the name of the capitol.

The peacekeeper let us in without any fight or hindrance. The room, like the rest of the building, was composed of decorative and impressive furniture. The couches were velvet and plush, in colors ranging from deep mauves to vibrant reds. The walls held elaborate paintings of various scenes and people.

Peeta sat on one of the couches sitting against the wall, his head buried in his hands and his body shaking with tears. He looked up as we closed the door behind us, his face tear-stained and ridden with desperation. There was a slight flicker in my resolve, as I saw my boy, my youngest son, so miserable. I closed my eyes again, trying to steady the quivers in my breath, and fight back the tears.

I can do this, I told myself. I opened my eyes and looked back at my son. I took two strides to where he sat and wrapped my arms around him. He leaned onto my chest and continued to cry silently.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I said, trying to stay impartial, trying not to let it get to me. Focus on anything but Peeta, I instructed myself. "Maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner this year. She's a survivor, that one."

"Yeah," Peeta said, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself and removing himself from my embrace. "Maybe."

Balthar walked over to him then, and Peeta stood to meet his embrace. I watched them hug and cry with each other, struggling to remain aloof and detached. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly in and out. The pressure in the room was increasing, and I felt myself developing claustrophobia.

It was almost relieving when the peacekeeper came to inform us that our time was up. Balthar and I each hugged Peeta one final time, told him that we loved him and goodbye, before exiting the room.

We met Rye, Thalia, and Terra on our way out, and had a brief encounter before they went in to Peeta. I just wanted to get out of this place, and immediately headed for the door out of here.

I wasn't all that shocked when Balthar veered to the right, where the female tribute's room was. I knew, I just knew, that he couldn't wait to comfort that girl that he barely knew. Maybe, while he was there, he would be that shoulder for Vera. Forget his wife, and the rest of his family, he needed to comfort VERA!

I tried to talk him out of it, ignoring the stares of Peeta's friends who marveled at the altercation. But he disregarded my wishes, calling me the selfish one, telling me that I didn't understand. I stormed out of there, angry and betrayed.

I got down to the fifth stair before I couldn't take it any longer and collapsed into a seated position. A single tear escaped from my reign of strength and I hurriedly wiped it away. I couldn't help but feel that I wasn't losing only my son, but my husband too.

-HG-

My daughter was going into the Hunger Games. I still couldn't fathom it, or even make sense of it. She was only sixteen! She was far too young to lose her life. And to have it end in such a public, cruel, and humiliating way, was just unbearable to think about.

Prim and I ascended the stairs to the Justice Building, a seemingly isolated building as I saw no one else entering or milling about. I held her in my arms as she quietly wept onto my shoulder. I hadn't held her like this in years, though she was still small enough to be lifted. It was even more unfathomable that it had been her name that had been called to go into the Hunger Games.

How could we live in a world where someone so little and innocent and unassuming could be herded to be killed for millions of Panem citizens to watch. I was so thankful that I had Katniss had been there to prevent that from occurring.

Even thinking that made me feel wrong. It wasn't like I loved Katniss any less than I loved Prim. Mothers liked to tell their children that they loved them equally, and though that tended to be true, because of the differences and individuality of those children, the love was different and therefore unequal.

I wasn't sure that I'd be able to live, to breathe, if it was Prim going into the Hunger Games. I didn't want Katniss to be in it either, and I would mourn and cry every day, probably, until she came back, that is, if she did. But there was something reassuring as I remembered her strength and determination to survive. Prim was too kind to ever try to win the Hunger Games, but Katniss did, and that did not necessarily mean she was cruel. It meant that there was a possibility, a hope, that I would see my daughter again and I held onto that with dear life.

I entered the building and took no more notice of the grandeur structure than I would a paper bag tumbling down the road. I made a beeline for the door labeled 'female tribute' and walked past the peacekeeper and into the room.

When we entered the room, Katniss looked as in control as she always did. Her face was devoid of tears, but she sat Prim on her lap and held her for comfort. I couldn't think of anything to say, but evidently neither did she. We sat there for a few minutes in silence, not talking about what was going to happen. Not talking about the fact that this was most likely the last time I would see my daughter.

"Don't take out tesserae, Prim," she said finally, her voice hoarse.

"I want to help " Prim started to protest, but Katniss stopped her.

"You don't have to. If you're careful, you guys can make it without it, selling goat milk and cheese and with the apothecary business. If you need herbs, tell Gale, he'll get it for you, but you'll have to describe them clearly because he isn't as familiar with them. He'll also bring you game and anything else you need. He won't ask for anything in return, but you should probably give him milk or medicine or something."

"And Prim," she pleaded. "Stay in school, please. Don't think you need to do any more than you can handle, there will be people to help you."

Suddenly, Katniss grabbed my arm and fixed me with a derisive glare. "Listen to me," she said in a hard tone, "Are you listening to me? You can't leave again."

I looked down in shame, remembering what had happened to me the last time tragedy impaled my life. Just thinking about going back to that hole, into that dark, cold, unforgiving place, gave me the chills. "I know," I told her. "I won't. I couldn't help what " I tried to explain, but she cut me off.

"Well, you have to help it this time. You can't clock out and leave Prim on her own. There's no me now to keep you both alive. It doesn't matter what happens. Whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!" She was near hysterics with the adamancy of her argument. Her tone was intense and unforgiving, and frankly it scared me how angry she was, still, after all these years. The distrust was hidden in all of her words.

But I was the mother, and I would not sit back here and let her talk to me. I couldn't help but let my own anger come out when I said, "I was ill. I could've treated myself if I'd had the medicine I have now."

"Then take it!" she continued. "And take care of her!"

"I'll be all right, Katniss," Prim said, trying to diffuse the tension. She put her hands on both sides of Katniss' face and said, "But you have to take care, too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can win."

I silently agreed with Prim, but it is clear that Katniss didn't believe it herself. I could see past the solid mask on her face to the vulnerability and hopelessness underneath. She really had no idea how able and talented she really was.

"Maybe," Katniss said, just to appease Prim. "Then we'd be as rich as Haymitch."

"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home. You will try, won't you? Really, really try?"

"Really, really try. I swear it," Katniss replied, and I knew that, if only for Prim, she would try. But she still didn't believe she would win.

The door swung open and the peacekeeper alerted us that our time was up. We all gathered into a hug, declaring our love and saying our final goodbyes. Tears flowed freely out of my eyes as I looked at my daughter for what I hoped wasn't the last time.

-HG-

Saying goodbye to my son was the hardest thing that I'd had to go through in my 45 years. Watching Peeta stand there with utter distraught and hopelessness on his face tore at my soul and ripped my heart apart. Not having the words to say to make this all disappear, to keep son alive, and having nothing else to do but hold him and tell him that I love him.

The idea that my son would die before me was simply ludicrous to me. I was the old man, and he the young. The sons were supposed to bury the fathers, not the other way around. But we lived in a world where the Hunger Games existed and took away childhood and youth far before they should be stripped.

I had known pain and sorrow in my life. I remembered acutely when my father died when I was twenty-seven and my mother only five years later. But while there was a sadness to their passing, there was also a peace. It had been their time, and there had been no horror associated with it. But losing my son in this heartless and cruel manner would have no peace.

I kissed his forehead one last time, now, and looked into his face. The kindness in his features and the honesty in his eyes. The innocence in the tears that fell from his eyes. This should not be the last time I saw him. Should not be the last time held him. But the peacekeeper came, stone-faced and unrelenting, to remove us from the room. I caught one final fleeting glimpse of Peeta before the door closed behind us.

Waiting outside the door was Rye, Thalia, and Terra, all tear-stained and bearing solemn expressions. I placed my hand on Rye's shoulder, the only form of condolence I could offer at the moment. He closed his eyes and nodded in acknowledgement. I was surprised to see that Bran was not with him.

I questioned his absence quietly to Rye, but he merely lifted his shoulders unknowingly before the peacekeeper told them to enter. A few of Peeta's friends stood off to the side, patiently waiting their turn, and I acknowledged their presence with a nod. A couple of them waved back, the others seemed not to bare notice.

I thought back to the absence of my other son, and thought about going to find him. If I knew anything about him, he was probably blaming himself for not volunteering. He had a good heart and like any older child, took the responsibility of the younger. Someone needed to tell him that this wasn't his fault, and that no one expected anything of him. I would, but first I needed to do something.

I took only one step in the direction of the room designated for the female tribute before I was stopped. Merope placed her hand on my arm and looked at me critically. "What are you doing Balthar?"

"Merope…" I cautioned.

"Balthar, don't do this. You have no business going over to that girl."

"I just want to say goodbye to her, Merope. We have associated for years, and it only seems right. And that little girl…"

"Is none of you business," Merope finished. "Don't do this! We both know you're doing this for Her and that's it!"

"How could you accuse me of such a thing at this time Merope," I asked, pleadingly. "This is about doing what is right! Peeta would want me to do this!"

She simply shook her head uncaringly, stiffly turned around, and walked out of the building. In all the time I have known her, I have never understood how she dealt with crises and loss. She never mourned, to this day I have never seen her cry, and she remained cold. She seemed to push pass all and pretend that nothing was happening. Some may say it was strength. But it was callous, I could not think of it in any other light.

The news that her son was dying did not faze her. She hugged him as if she was just sending him off to school like every other day. She didn't act like she would never see him again and didn't act the way a mother should when losing their son. I could not understand that.

It made me wonder whom I had married.

I stood waiting outside of the door for only a few seconds, before the peacekeeper went in and brought out Vera and Prim. Vera looked down morosely, tears falling, as she walked and Prim's nose was red, her eyes puffy. Prim was the first one to notice me and she shyly said, "Hi, Mr. Mellark." Her voice was thick with tears.

I patted her on the head and said, "Hi, sweetheart." My mind was still reeling at the fact that she had almost been the one at the Hunger Games. It was just…wrong. So wrong.

She sniffled before walking away and outside of the building. I could only guess that she wanted to remove herself from these freshly formed memories of bittersweet goodbyes, if only for this moment. I looked up to see Vera looking at me with shock and surprise.

Even though she had aged considerably, she was still as beautiful as the day I met her. I flashbacked to the past, a time where we were both young and in love. Her blonder hair was shiny and bouncy, her skin smooth, and her smile effervescent. Though her hair was duller, and her skin pierced by wrinkles, she was still beautiful, just a mature beautiful.

She smiled sadly at me, tears still falling, and said, "Hi, Balthy," using my old nickname.

"Hi, Veer," I said, using mine for her.

Then, wordlessly we embraced. I ran my fingers through her hair and tried to comfort her. "I'm sorry," I said, knowing that those words alone meant nothing.

"Me too," she repeated, hoarsely in my ear. "How's Peeta?"

"As to be expected," I replied. "I suppose Katniss is the same, but I'll see in just a few minutes."

"Thank you," she said, immensely. We let go and bid each other goodbye. The peacekeeper opened the door to let me in.

When I walked in, Katniss' head was buried in the pillows, as though she was trying to block everything that was happening. When she realized someone was in the room with her, she looked up. Though I could tell she had cried no tears and her face remained a mask, I could see the rawness of sadness and pain on her face. When she saw that it was I, she looked surprised, but thankful nonetheless.

I sat in one of the chairs near to the couch she sat in. Though they were plush and velvet, I could not find any comfort in it. I pulled the package of cookies I had brought from the bakery and handed it to her.

She grabbed it and looked at the cookies wistfully. They were the best the bakery had, and probably something she'd never tasted before. It was awful that it took this occurrence to bring her this sweetness.

"Thank you," she said, bringing one to her mouth and taking a tentative bite.

"I had some of your bread this morning," she continues casually. "My friend Gale gave you a squirrel for it. Not your best trade."

I shrugged. It wasn't about worth or value, the reasons why I traded with her and her friend. It was a matter of doing what was right and helping those in need. Besides, I actually did like squirrel.

No other words were spoken between us, because, well there was nothing for us to say. Again, I had no words to console, to alleviate pain, or takeaway hardship. But there was something in the silence that, in a way, was what we both needed.

When the peacekeeper came to tell me that it was time to go, I stood up and coughed. "I'll keep an eye on the little girl. Make sure she's eating."

I knew as soon as I said it that it was true. I would do it if only because it would be cruel to let the little girl starve. But by the small smile Katniss gave me, I knew that it might be the only thing I could do to help her.

-HG-

From the moment Peeta's name escaped Effie's lips, numbness swept through me and dulled my senses. The scene in front of me turned black and white, as if I was watching a television with bad reception. Effie's manic voice came to me as though I was under water. A chill seemed to fill me and I couldn't understand why. Why was this happening?

By the time I snapped out of it, Peeta was already being led away from the stage. The thing that broke my trance was the sound of the heart-wrenching sob I heard emitted beside me. My wife was looking up at me, water pooling at the bottom of her clear blue eyes, her face contorting in sadness.

She quickly reached up to embrace me, squeezing my neck tightly all the while shaking. "I'm sorry, Rye," she said, breathily. "I'm so sorry, Rye."

I wrapped my arms around her waist and we went on crying into each other. The extent to which Thalia was crying was unexpected. Sure, Peeta was technically a part of her family and they had shared meals and laughs. But they had known each other for little over a year. Crying was expected, not sobbing, like Thalia was doing now.

I knew that those tears were not her own, but mine. They were the pain that I felt, that Thalia felt for me. They were the pain that one could only feel when you loved someone so much and they were hurting. She knew that losing Peeta would be hard for me that I would hurt and I would mourn and I had no idea how I would possibly get through it.

At the moment, it was hard to feel any loss at all. Peeta was standing right there, only minutes ago. He looked perfectly fine, perfectly healthy. I knew what the Hunger Games meant, and what they could do to people who were whole and healthy. But it was just so hard imagining a world in which Peeta did not exist.

And why should I have to imagine it? This didn't have to be the end. Sure, the odds didn't look good, but Peeta could defeat the odds if he wanted. If he tried and if luck was in his favor, he could win. It was slim and unlikely, but I'd rather imagine that, have some hope, than giving up from the start. There was just no point in giving up.

Gathering the courage and optimism that I had somehow found, I gave Thalia one last squeeze before letting her go. She looked at me with an expression full of sadness, pity, and confusion. I kissed her briefly on the mouth before pulling her into my side.

"C'mon," I said, my voice unrecognizable. "Let's go see him."

We walked silently, finding comfort in the other's touch, and made our way out of the square. Though we were at the edge where the viewers stood, there was still quite a bit of crowd left lingering and exiting the area. But when they saw us, they gave us a wide berth, shooting sorrowful glances in our direction. We stared straight ahead, tears still lingering on our faces.

We made it almost to the justice building when someone called us from behind. "Thalia! Uncle Rye! Wait!" We turned to see Thalia's sister, Terra, running furiously in our direction. In her haste, her frilly pink dress had been ruffled and her blonde hair that had been pulled back was now askew. We paused allowing her to catch up.

When she reached us, she bent over to catch her breath before looking up. I was surprised to see silent tears falling down her face. "Can I…Can I say goodbye to Peeta, too?"

Thalia bent down to embrace her sister, and said, "Of course." She kissed her on the cheek, before standing back up, holding her sister's hand. Thalia held out her other hand to me and together we strode into the justice building.

Once we went through the door, we were in an ornate building with high ceilings, thick dark purple carpet, and walls accented with gold designs. There were countless doors and halls that led off this main room, however there were two doors being guarded by a peacekeeper each. One door was labeled Male Tribute and the other Female Tribute.

A few of the kids from town lingered awkwardly outside of Peeta's door, murmuring quietly. I suppose they were debating whether or not to go inside, and what they would say if they did. I had never been in the position where one of my friends were chosen to go into the Hunger Games, so I had no idea how they were feeling.

Sadly, there was no one in front of Katniss' door, though I suppose there was someone inside. The area was nearly quiet and very solemn. When we approached Peeta's door, we were told to wait outside, so I figured my parents were still inside saying goodbye.

Nothing was said as we waited. Only few minutes later, though, the peacekeeper opened the door and ushered my parents out. My father was wearily brushing the tears from his eyes, and my mother wore a blank expression, her face composed, but grave.

My father placed a hand on my shoulder, and whispered, "Where's Bran?" But before I could even shrug we were ushered into the room.

The room was, like the foyer, very richly decorated and lavish.

There were a few chairs and couches scattered about the room, one on which Peeta was sitting, unabashedly crying. Thalia was the first to break the chain and go up to him.

Peeta stood to meet her and they hugged silently for a few minutes. "I'm glad to have known you," Thalia said, through her tears that had evidently restarted. "You are a great person, I thought I should let you know. Good luck."

"Thank you, Thalia," he said, releasing her. She kissed his cheek and quickly hugged him once more, before backing away. She touched my arm briefly, before running out of the room, clearly consumed by her emotions.

Terra walked up shyly, and Peeta got down on his knees to be at her level. "It's okay, Terra," he said, kissing her forehead and pulling her into a hug. "It's okay."

She cried onto his shoulder for a while before saying thickly, "I'll miss you, Uncle Peeta," and ran out of the room following her sister.

As the door closed with a thud behind her, leaving me and Peeta alone, I knew this would be my only time tell him what he needed to hear. I had to make this count.

"Rye " Peeta said, his voice breaking.

"Listen Peeta," I said. "This doesn't have to be goodbye. You can still win."

He started shaking his head. "LISTEN TO ME!" I shouted, and then took a moment to calm myself down. "Peeta, don't give up. Don't doubt yourself. If you play it smart, play to your strengths, use common sense, do whatever the hell it takes, you can make it back!"

"As good as that sounds, as much as I want to come back, as much as I don't want to die, I don't see that happening."

"PEETA!" I yelled. I couldn't help but loose my control, I was losing my baby brother for God's sake. "DON'T GIVE UP! PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP! PLEASE!"

"Rye!" he said, placing a hand on my shoulder trying to calm me down. "This isn't about me giving up or not trying, it's it's just the way it has to be."

"NO!" I roared, and fell uncontrollably crying into Peeta's embrace. "No…this can't be it!"

Peeta and I cried for a while, until the peacekeeper came to the door and signaled it was time for me to go. I made a final plea for Peeta to understand. "Please, Peeta…this doesn't have to be the end. The odds can be in your favor."

A/N: Hey! So sorry that it's taken me so long for the next chapter but the past couple weeks have been hectic between the SAT, ACT, my senior research paper, and all my regents and finals. But i hoped you liked this chapter and didn't mind the overlaps and the shifts in time. The rest of the goodbyes will be next chapter which should be out soon. Reviews, suggestions, and criticisms are all accepted!

ThegoofybookwormThegoofybookworm- I know! My friend actually came up with that one! Thanks so much for reviewing!

Raissa- I wasn't planning on it, but i also wasn't planning on having anything in Mrs. Mellarks perspective...it's all subject to change, so i guess we'll see.