DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hunger Games. Really. I borrowed the books.

Katniss is finally part of the club – the rebel club. For the supposed inspiration that kicked this thing off, I've let her be out of the loop an awful lot. But there's a reason for everything!

"Who is it?" a loud voice booms behind the only square door in all of District 13.

"Peeta and Katniss," Peeta replies.

A heavy lock clanks and creeks and the door opens wide. A large pair of hands immediately reach out, latching on to Peeta's shirt and my arm as they rush us in to a high, circular room. The door bangs behind us and I'm admittedly a little intimidated. I've never been in here before but Peeta seems to know his way around. He makes his way to a large counter littered with papers and gadgets on the far side of the door where a few men are hunched, whispering over a map.

"See how easy that was?" Peeta looks pointedly at Haymitch. "Knocking. You should try it out."

Haymitch shrugs. "Nothing secret is happening in your room."

"Not to you," I snipe, but the look he returns makes me cower.

"Not to anyone."

I clench my jaw. Haymitch is about to receive a punch in the mouth and boy does he deserve it. I feel Peeta squeeze my hand and I relax my face.

Not now, but soon, I think. Man, I hope he's wrong…

"Plutarch," Peeta exclaims as the former Head Game Maker lifts his head from the map and walks our way.

"Hey, ol' boy! Good to see you again. I see you made it to your other half." Plutarch smiles at me and it feels genuine.

Peeta proudly wraps his arm around my shoulders.

"Sure did, Plutarch. Thanks."

"And then some," Haymitch mumbles under his breath, intending for just us to hear but including poor Plutarch in the matter anyway.

I give him a serious scowl, practically sticking out my tongue like a child at him. What is he on about? Why is he being so incessant? I feel my free hand ball into a fist. One more comment and its coming straight at his worn, fat cheek.

Frustratingly Peeta doesn't even react. He looks away for just a second before turning back to the subject at hand. The more important subject, I should say.

"How much time are we looking at, Plutarch? A week? Two weeks?"

Plutarch shakes his head subtly, trying to recover from thoughts I'm certain neither of us want him having.

"Oh, yes. Um. Two or three more likely. Depends on Mason and how long they linger in Five. Pretty solid set-up we've got, though, right?"

Instantly Plutarch looks ready to nudge Peeta in the ribs, proud of something I have no idea about.

"Oh, uh…" Peeta pulls the blue envelope out of his back pocket, still unopened. "I haven't actually gotten to it yet."

I hear Haymitch scoff and Plutarch looks away bashfully.

"Oh, of course, of course." He flashes a bright, knowing smile. "Busy, no doubt, what with reunions and sleep and all."

Haymitch lets one more creeping comment out. "Sleep, ha!"

That's it. I pull away from Peeta and storm the few missing feet between Haymitch and me.

"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!" I demand loudly. Haymitch looks wobbly, but obstinate. The liquor the Thirteeners have concocted down here is a strange, less malodorous drink than what we'd had in Twelve, and he has been drinking lots of it. They tell me it's not as potent, but the way he's been acting the past few days I doubt it.

"Maybe I'm just trying to keep you honest!" He replies, fierceness rebuilding.

"ME?" I huff. "Are you serious? Who's saying stupid things now, you filthy jerk!"

I try to ignore it, but Haymitch almost looks like he's pouting. It's subtle, barely noticeable, and if I didn't know him so well I likely would have missed it all together. Peeta hasn't moved and is standing, tense, with the other men in the room. I choose to ignore the expressions of everyone circled around us for fear I'll lose my nerve.

"What the two of you do DOES affect this plan, do you understand that?"

"Haymitch –" Peeta tries. No luck.

"No. I know what you're going to say and it's no good, Peeta. She's a stubborn mule of a woman sometimes and I think –"

There's no time for him to finish the sentence. My solid fist collides with the left side of his face, solid between his cheek and jaw. I hear a few gasps and exhale loudly, letting my shoulders drop with the motion. There's even a slight chuckle of amazement from Finnick who will, undoubtedly, agree with my decision. I only wish I had a bigger hand to cover more of Haymitch's skin.

"Katniss," Peeta says almost scoldingly, "we're not fighting each other. Remember who the bad guys are."

Haymitch is holding his face in shock. I don't know if he wants to react sadly or angrily or even at all. Surely he knows he deserved that. I don't reply, I don't move. I just watch Haymitch's eyes search the ground, and then me. Slowly he drops his protective hand and looks at Peeta.

"Grab her. We're getting ice."

I still avoid looking around the room and briefly feel embarrassed for Plutarch playing witness to this dissension. He's an essentially kind man. Slightly diabolical, but then, you have to be to plan a revolution like this. I'll apologize later.

The door makes less sound as we leave and I try to keep a couple steps behind. Peeta reaches back for my hand, but I don't accept. I'm too embarrassed, too furious. I don't want any sort of affection other than his agreement that I was justified to sock Haymitch the way I had. Surely Peeta was as irritated as me with the comments and interruptions and total disregard for our privacy.

Right?

We continue walking until the wide door to the dining hall comes into view. Haymitch shoots his arms out in front of him, pushing the slightly ajar door completely open. It moves slowly and his foot kicks against the bottom for more speed. He is angry. Just like me.

Peeta is caught between us, the only one that seems to have any sort of calm demeanor. This was always the case, though. When the Quell was announced, Haymitch and I went straight for the bottle, but Peeta went straight for strategy. If it hadn't been for his forced training, we might have had to watch more victors die for our survival in the arena.

The kitchen doors are not heavy like the rest of the doors down here. They're thin metal plates that swing open and closed easily. Haymitch treats them more carefully as a result and barges straight for the freezer in the back of the narrow space as soon as he's past. Peeta stops against the edge of the center counter and watches Haymitch disappear behind a row of shelves. I hear something creaking. Then chipping. There's a bit of grunting and finally something cracks loudly and slams to the floor.

When Haymitch walks back into view, he's carrying a large chunk of bright blue ice. Peeta grabs a small towel that hangs above a stove, hands it over, steps back to my side and I brace myself for a lashing. Haymitch sighs with relief as the cloth-wrapped coolant touches his face.

"You can't punish her for what she doesn't know, Haymitch," Peeta finally says.

"What don't I know this time?" I ask bitterly.

"I think, and correct me if I'm wrong Haymitch, but I think what he's been trying to get at is that maybe our privacy isn't the most important thing right now."

Haymitch huffs.

"Okay," Peeta adds, "maybe it's more harmful than good."

"They already know what you're doing," Haymitch jumps in, "but you exclude everyone so completely they're feeling like they don't matter to you anymore."

"What? Who? What are you talking about?" Sometimes I think my life would be easier if I just ran a metal bar through my skull.

"Them!" Haymitch motions his hand out as if there is a massive crowd behind us. I instinctively look back, but we're totally alone.

I look to Peeta for help. This is a common expression these days.

"He's talking about everyone down here, the Thirteeners, the survivors, the rebels. At least, the ones that aren't privy to live viewings of what's happening in our room."

My mouth drops open, appalled.

"If you're implying for one second that we should broadcast our…sex life…to strangers…"

"They're not strangers, Katniss," Haymitch says with a wince as he moves the ice. "They're here because they follow you. Because you rebelled first. Because you are bold and brave and do things they didn't have the courage to do on their own. They're not random people, they're your army. If you say jump, they will. You just haven't known to say it."

"What does that have to do with Peeta and me?"

"Everything!" Haymitch says, exasperated. "Almost everything you did during the Games was because of your relationship with Peeta. We all saw it then, you've just realized it now. So, when they follow you, they're following your relationship as well. It's just as much a part of this rebellion as you are. Do you think they know it was all a lie?"

Peeta winces this time. I don't think he likes being reminded of my lack of affection at the start of this whole journey.

"Was," I emphasize, looking at my husband.

My husband. Wait. So this means everyone has thought we were married this whole time? If they believed it when Peeta announced our fake toasting, does that mean…no…surely they don't believe the story about the baby. How could they? I should be showing by now, somewhat significantly. I mean, I won't be clogging any hallways at four or five months, but I certainly could not wear the t-shirts I do and still have a flat stomach.

"If they think our relationship was always genuine, that means they think the baby was, too? How do you explain that?"

Peeta shifts so that he is facing me square on. He stops Haymitch with a gentle shrug and answers.

"There are a lot of people that only know what they're supposed to do as it happens. But at least half of the people down here are not just random survivors. They're rebels, too. Intelligent, ready fighters. We can't give away the details of our finite plans to all of them, of course, but they know enough." He pauses. "When you got down here after the Quell, part of the sorrow in your walk and sallow color of your cheeks was because you lost me…and because you lost our baby."

I feel my heart slam against my ribs. Not just because of what these men and women have been told, but because the thought of having a baby inside of me that belongs to Peeta, and then losing that baby, is a devastating idea.

"But they know Snow still thinks I'm pregnant."

"Yes."

"How many knew about you, Peeta?" I'm almost afraid to ask. Even more afraid of the answer.

"Not many. The Brain, of course, and a few others that we knew would be good to have around you. Gale. Your mother. Prim."

The list keeps getting worse. Maybe that's why my family hasn't been around the last day and a half. They were giving me space and time to reconnect with the love of my life. They knew he was coming all along.

The kitchen grows silent. Haymitch winces one more time and Peeta moves in closer to me until his hands meet my shoulders and pull me the rest of the way to his chest.

"Are you okay with all of this?" He whispers.

"I don't know how to answer that," I reply honestly.

"See," Haymitch suddenly yells at us, "that's what I'm talking about! That, right there. Be more public with that kind of intimacy. Remind them why they're right to follow your lead."

"Stay out of our room," Peeta barters.

"I'll stop trying to make a scene of your love life if you stop holing up in that dark space."

"I haven't even been with her for 24 hours, Haymitch. I hardly think you can say we're 'holing up' anywhere."

"Well, when you don't have much time 24 hours is a huge chunk."

I lay my head down against Peeta's chest. He wraps his arms tighter.

"Sorry about punching you," I say shyly, looking towards Haymitch. I suppose I have a habit of reacting before I know all the facts. Peeta's hands understand that all too well.

"Just do something that I tell you to for once," he replies. It's as good as an acceptance.

He begins to move forward and I feel Peeta moving with him, tucking me into his side. We exit the kitchen and mull towards the dining hall door.

"We made it official last night," Peeta says over my head. "Toasted it all into reality."

"I know," Haymitch snarks lowly, "I saw the crumbs all over your floor."

He doesn't say anything else until we get to the command center door. He raises his hand to knock but hesitates. He looks at the floor, then up to us, viewing the placement of Peeta's hand on my lower waist, my hand unconsciously on the top of his butt. And then the tiniest, but most sincere smile I have ever seen from Haymitch creeps onto his face.

"I'm glad," he says meaningfully, and raises his hand to knock three times against the metal.

"This is where the coal pile is laid out," Plutarch says pointing at one of the pictures from the blue envelope, "and this is where the arrow will come from. She'll have no problem with that, don't you think?"

Plutarch looks at me and smiles again. "Not after that stunt with the apple in the Games," he adds.

I look at Peeta for help.

"Oh, Plutarch," he says, laying a hand on the man's shoulder, "you'll have to forgive us but Katniss only learned about any of this yesterday. We told her some of the details that have led up to this point, but not much after."

"Oh! Sure. I'm sorry, Katniss. Let me start again…"

Plutarch begins to unfold a plan that leads Snow straight into our trap and I will agree it truly is a beautiful plan if it works out. Just as I'd been told yesterday, Snow is busy trying to find out our secret location. The pictures he'd seen were taken here in 13, but they look an awful lot more like one of a few other, earlier districts, and as far as we know he has been taking his time in each district along the way. Our spies on the ground have been leading Snow's spies along slowly, finding planted tracks and setting up clues that are slowly convincing them into the narrow path that leads straight into our snare.

That snare happens to fall in District 12 – under a large pile of unburned coal. Surprising that there was any, but the things you can find when you put your mind to it never ceases to amaze. In a few weeks the men will have made their way to the outlands of 12 and will set up surveillance to look for signs of a hidden rebel camp.

This is where Peeta comes back in. He is going to reveal himself, inadvertently as far as the Capitol spies are concerned, letting them believe they have uncovered exactly what they were looking for. Plutarch reveals something Peeta glossed over last night when he told me about how he found his mother's blanket. It wasn't a mistake he and Clem were rummaging through. They were looking for basements, forts, hideouts. Places that they could get away to for safety, as well as make the place look convincing as a refuge for large amounts of people. They were also putting the finishing touches on the bombing site. He and Clem hadn't been alone on that part of the project and Gale's name drops into the mix.

My best friend had failed to mention as much and I realize I'm far too tired of all this protect-Katniss-by-not-telling-her-anything crap.

Lastly, with an excited gleam in his eye, Plutarch explains his reference to my little stunt with an arrow, an apple and the total destruction of all the Career's food and supply stores during the 74th Hunger Games.

I am the best shot, he says, and will especially not miss when it's Peeta's life on the line. I'll remind myself to thank them all for that later – for making a life and death situation loaded with even more pressure than it already is because if I miss it's more than just my own life that is at stake. It's Peeta's, and I want to save that more than anything else.

The area Snow's hovercraft will land is a small, open patch just along the fence. It's the only place large enough for the craft to land that is still far enough away from our supposed secret camp. We're fairly certain Snow won't drop individuals out of the ladder. He'll be forced to land the entire craft if he wants to keep his numerous protectors around him, therefore forced to this one spot. The coal lines are mixed with other flammable chemicals and powders for good measure and, once hit with a flaming arrow, will denonate with enough instant force to turn anything within a hundred yards to dust.

"Don't worry about yourself turning to dust, though," Plutarch chuckles. "We've got a few things up our sleeve, the least of which is an incredible flame and heat-protectant suit, proven to keep the wearer alive and functional in the most extreme situations."

"Oh, great," I mumble.

"You don't have to do it, Katniss," Peeta adds quickly. "Gale is a great shot, too."

"Oh, he'll already be down there with you," Haymitch says, stepping in from the background. "We can't risk all of this on one person, no matter how clean a shot they are."

Peeta shoots him a funny look.

"Page 14 if you'd read the damn thing," Haymitch says with a roll of his eyes.

"The shelter isn't very big, Haymitch. How many people are you planning on fitting in there?"

"Seven. You, Katniss, Gale, Jacob, Paul, Keplina and Johanna."

"What? Seven people?! Why Jacob and Johanna? Or Paul and Keplina? I didn't know any of them were good with a bow."

"They're not." Haymitch looks at me with a strange expression. "But they're good with hand-to-hand."

I understand. If we miss, or if something doesn't go off right, it becomes a classic sort of fight, man against man, sword against sword. A gory battle. Just the way Snow always liked it.

"It won't come to that," I state. "I won't miss. A hundred yards isn't that bad."

"Sure," Haymitch says lowly, "but what about 200 hundred yards, because that's more likely the distance you'll be aiming from.

I inhale slowly and let the breath move back out at equal speed. 200 hundred yards is nothing to scoff at, but if it's Peeta's life at stake, my arrow will hit nothing but the target.

"Get me a bow. I need to practice."

The next few weeks go by in a blur, spent up by exhausting long hours. When I'm not practicing my shooting with Gale or discussing details with the Brain, I'm assuring Prim and my mother that I'll be okay, sleeping, eating, or setting up a blockade for privacy in my room. Peeta and I have had little time together and we make the most of it when we do.

If only walls could talk.

On the evening before we're to head towards District 12, the final log from the Team lets us know everything is going according to plan. They'll arrive in 12 in the early evening, so we have to be set up before then. Bright and early, Haymitch had said making a gentle mock of Effie's voice. It was going to be a big, big, big day. Peeta and I made our way back to our room sleepily, slowly. Although we feel prepared, I also know we are both afraid.

I don't know that I can keep my body upright any longer and Peeta shoves the last piece of furniture into place. The door is quite possibly completely inoperable for all outsiders. Good.

I flop onto the bed in a heavy lump, one leg hanging precariously off the edge, one arm straight out over my head.

"This won't do," Peeta laughs as he picks my body up just off the bed, repositions me perfectly, and crawls right alongside.

"Mmm…thank you," I mumble as the thick, warm blanket falls over my legs.

"Katniss," Peeta says softly, "no matter what happens tomorrow or the next day, you know that I love you, right?"

My body is too heavy to feel motivated to move, but I force myself anyway. I roll onto my side and find Peeta is in the same position and we now lay face to face in the dark.

"Absolutely," I reply tenderly. "And you know that I love you?"

He nods.

"And no matter what happens, will you promise one thing," I add. "Promise me you won't try to be a hero. Just get in and get out. Do exactly as you're supposed to. No matter what."

Peeta looks at me for a second, deciding. Finally he nods again.

"All right. I promise. But the same has to go for you, too."

"Deal."

The fatigue sets in more strongly and I can feel myself drifting into sleep. I inch into Peeta's chest and he wraps his free arm around me. Before I fall completely away I make sure to add one thing, one statement for Peeta to sleep on, to dream about.

"If we get out of this, I promise I'll give you back the family you lost."

He doesn't move at first, but then I feel his hands search my face. He leans in and kisses me fiercely.

"You already have…Mrs. Mellark," he says so passionately I can almost feel him shake.

And then our bodies tangle one last time before we march into the fight.