The Rebellion: Burial – Katniss and Beck

Most nights I dream of the Arena. I dream of thousands of faces calling my name then tearing me apart. I feel myself dying in fire or buried under earth. I see Mutts with eyes I used to know. I hear screams as Tracker Jackers destroy the Careers I've set them on. I hear cannons and Caesar Flickerman declaring me the Girl on Fire.

When I don't suffer those dreams, when I don't hear people screaming for help or telling me I've failed them as bodies pile up and blood drowns me, I see my family. I hear Peeta tell me he hates me. That he should have won alone. I see Bas running through the meadow, sun shining on his hair until he falls on toddler legs and stands tall at fourteen with a sword through his stomach. Ivy twirls in the same meadow, picking up dandelions and wearing a dress my mother made with shoes Effie bought her lying forgotten on the ground. She laughs and smiles and waves to me until the rain comes and then her hands are wrapped around my throat as she screams it's my fault over and over. Some nights I'm the one who holds the sword and I drive it through Bas myself and even worse then I fire an arrow into Ivy and destroy her too.

All of them remind me of the guilt that I drag around like a noose, choking me from the inside.

Tonight my nightmare starts in an empty white room with roses falling around us, the stench of blood so strong in the air I think I'm going to throw up. Ivy stands before me, smiling, with one arm outstretched. She's small, no older than five, wearing the same dress from the meadow as she holds Bas' hand as he stands on chubby legs that he still can't quite manage to use to keep himself upright.

"Mama," Bas calls and I take a step forward. My shoes echo, like rocks being thrown into water and landing in the darkness somewhere far below us. Everything sounds muffled, off, like my ears need to pop but won't.

I take another step but I'm no closer to them. Ivy's smile falls, her arm drops and she and Bas grow up before me. They stand, dressed in white like the room around them, no smiles, no arms outstretched, that youthful light in their eyes extinguished.

And then Bas disappears leaving nothing but empty space where he once stood.

But Ivy stays where she is, staring at me, waiting for me. I start to run but the distance never changes no matter how fast I push myself to go.

"Mom," she calls and it's the same way she said it in her interview, with the same desperation and confusion.

"On the one-hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them can't always protect those they love from their past actions, this year's male and female tributes will be reaped from the children of previous victors," President Snow's voice booms.

Reagan Snow stands behind Ivy, a wicked smile creeping along her features as her nails dig into Ivy's shoulders so hard they draw blood. It stains the white dress in drops. I keep running but I get no closer to getting my daughter back.

The nails turn to hooks as President Snow's laugh echoes throughout the room and the drops of blood become streams that stain the dress in streaks. His laugh stops to be replaced by the choking cough as he hacks and wretches until there's nothing but silence. Then Reagan is the one laughing.

"As a reminder to Katniss Everdeen that her children were never hers," Reagan says and the hooks dig deeper into Ivy as she's dragged away. "The Capitol claims back their property."

Peacekeepers surround me, tying my hands and my legs with rope before wrapping a bag over my head that I choke on. I pull against the ropes as they dig into my skin, burning while they cut off the circulation. I'm hit from behind and dragged away from Ivy. I hear the sounds of bars being closed, of my daughter crying, and then there's nothing but darkness and the feel of my breath warming the bag and making sweat run down my nose.

The ropes and bag disappear and I take a breath to find I'm in a cage, surrounded by darkness and steel bars with no chance of escape. I run to the bars, punching and pounding until my knuckles bleed and then I punch some more. But I can't escape.

When I wake screaming only to bury the demons of the night before, I face a reality that's much worse.

I've never heard Thirteen so silent. No one is sure of how to react to the news that President Snow is dead. No one knows what it means exactly. The Capitol isn't in chaos. The war still goes on. There isn't a winner. It's just the same with more confusion piled on top of it.

There's barely anywhere to move with the amount of people packed in one room watching the screens. I'm alone in the crowd, pushing my way through so I can get to the screen. I need to see. I need to know where Ivy is, if she's even there.

I need to know that she's still alive after all of this.

When we came back to Thirteen from Twelve, no one talked much. There was nothing anyone could think to say, even Peeta. We were met by Effie, Haymitch, and Finnick as Coin pulled all of us into the meeting room.

Plutarch talked about the possibilities of what would come next. There would be a new President. They could be good for the Rebels or they could be bad. There might be more problems in the Capitol that the Rebels could just sweep in and take the city, but there was no way to act without knowing what the outcome was going to be or who might take control.

The new President might decide on a truce or they might continue the war. They could be worse than the former or they could be kinder. But the only thing that was clear, it wasn't an election process. The position would fall to whoever was willing and able to take and keep it.

"It'll be Reagan Snow," I had said.

"She might not be-" Plutarch had started.

"She's been taking care of her grandfather," Finnick stated matter of fact, "Staying close to him. I'm sure she's learned from him. They'd want to keep that power in the family. Keep the legacy alive."

"And then what?" Peeta asked, his voice on the verge of shaking, his bruised hand falling from its perch over his mouth. "What about Ivy?" He glanced to me, a memory of our previous agreement reminding me of the plan. No more propos until Ivy was safe. But now there was no way of knowing if she would be kept alive, if Reagan would see any use for her.

No one could answer him, because nobody knew what was going to happen.

At the end of the meeting Peeta and I went our separate ways without much conversation. I watched him walk ahead of me, broad shoulders raised and tight, bearing more weight than anyone could or should carry alone. My fingers twisted around where my wedding band used to be, the skin no longer lighter than the rest of my hand from where it used to reside, like it wasn't even there.

Peeta moved to a single unit while I was gone. One he went back to after we parted from the meeting while I went to our old unit alone. And I sat in that unit waiting for him to come back, possessions in hand, standing at the door coming home, to me. But he didn't. And I didn't find him to ask him to come back even if that was what I wanted to do.

And now I stand alone in a crowd, thoughts running wild, my nightmare repeating, threatening to come to life. What if Reagan killed Ivy? What if someone else took power and they did something worse? What if Ivy's dead and everything I've done, everything I've had to do, was all for nothing?

I struggle to catch my breath, the faces around me swimming into a blur as my fingers twitch and tremble. What if I'm about to see my daughter's dead body on the screen? My legs almost buckle at the thought as everything spins and feels like it's colliding onto me like chains dragging me underground.

I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't even repeat my mantra until a calloused hand finds mine.

"Follow me," Peeta says, wrapping his fingers tightly around mine, securing me to the moment. He leads me away from the crowd and I find I can breathe for the first time since I woke up.

We pass through the throngs of people still silently working their way into the large gathering room. Coin stands on a balcony with Plutarch, Effie and Haymitch. They're all deep in some kind of discussion, their faces fracturing into varying levels of concern and worry. Effie masks her fear the best, but there's something frazzled in the way Haymitch's hands move as he talks to Coin.

Gale steps up to join them a moment later and I turn to watch the back of Peeta's head as he guides me down an empty hallway and towards stairs. There's grey in the blonde, more now than there was before and it feels like the first time I've truly noticed.

"It's an old office but there's a screen," he explains as he opens the door and I let go of his hand to step inside.

"I found it when I was…it doesn't matter." He shrugs, "I figured you wouldn't want the looks. That it would be…not easier but…I just thought you'd rather not have to see anyone."

"Thank you," I say giving him a small smile, my voice thick with emotion.

He makes to leave but I grab the sleeve of his shirt. My fingers tightening around the fabric and keeping him in place as the anthem starts to play. He turns to look at me and I don't need to ask, I don't need to beg, he knows he can't leave, that neither one of us can watch this alone.

He closes the door and I let go of his sleeve as he moves to slide a chair from behind a desk for me to sit on. I do as he props himself up on the desk, his knee grazing against mine while Caesar Flickerman's solemn face appears.

"What do you think's going to happen to her?" I ask but he doesn't need to answer.

Ivy is the first thing we see as Caesar remarks about solidarity in shared grief. She stands with Reagan Snow both dressed in black as they stand above the gathered crowd in the training center. There are flashes of Victors sitting in one of the first rows, Cashmere included, though her eyes seem to watch Ivy more than anyone else.

Every seat is filled in the stands, with the open area usually reserved for the arrival of the Chariots swarmed with people as well. Wailing and crying can be heard throughout as handkerchiefs wave around in an overly dramatic display, even Caesar takes his moment to tear up and fan his face.

The crowd parts as music plays and a white casket is wheeled in on it's own set of Chariots. Four horses pulling it like they would a king. Laurels of roses cover the casket in shades of red, blue, and yellow, built up like a mountain of love and devotion.

Petals are thrown from the crowd as the casket wheels past, raining down from the stands. Reagan and Ivy remain standing in place, watching the proceedings with controlled expressions. There are Peacekeepers securely behind them, surrounding the front of the parapet and covering every entrance and exit, in case anyone would dare make a move against the new President. Against Reagan.

It's clear this is as much a coronation as it is a farewell.

The casket stops before a large pyre of wood. Avoxes lift the casket the pyre, securing it in place as the crowd falls silent. They turn towards the microphone on the parapet above them as Reagan steps up to speak. She feigns deep grief, choking on a sob that would make even Finnick Odair look like a bad actor.

"I want to thank you all for coming today to celebrate the life of my grandfather. He was a great man, an honorable and generous President. Despite the lies these Rebels are trying to feed you, he kept us safe and strong, he made us a better Panem. I only hope to make his legacy proud." There's applause, polite and measured before Reagan nods to the Peacekeepers. They step forward, a proud line below the parapet and they fire guns into the air, saluting the fallen President.

And in one fell swoop Reagan's secured her place as President. Everyone in the crowd knows it. Her words are a challenge, try to take it from me, see what happens. Her hand grips Ivy's shoulder and I see the hooks again, digging deep and stealing my daughter away.

Reagan gives Ivy a sharp smile and small nod and it looks like Ivy could collapse under the weight. She looks small and fragile, her hands shaking, her skin so pale she might as well blend into the walls around her. Her wide eyes glance to the casket like a frightened child before they fall to the ground, a slight twitch from pain as Reagan's grip tightens. I catch it, but to everyone else, to Caesar, who remarks on what a nice sight it is to see Victors uniting in grief, she just looks sad like everyone else.

The drums start, rolling and rumbling, picking up in volume as someone makes the long walk from the end of the training center towards the pyre. They carry a torch that burns brightly against the sea of people dressed in black.

I see the face of the carrier and find that it's Cain, the tribute who killed my son. I straighten at the sight of him, like if I could I would reach through the screen and kill him where he stands. He keeps his face passive as his hands grip the torch like he's in pain. His steps are mechanical, like he's trying not to think. He keeps his eyes forward, staring at the pyre, at the blank wall behind it and nowhere else, like he can't look anywhere else.

In Two when you burn the dead it's to honor them. It means they died a warrior, with dignity and valor. It means they earned their place in memory and in the afterlife. It means they're worthy of history. On my Victory Tour Peeta and I had to witness the burning of Cato and Clove.

Almost all of Two's Tributes are burned. The Arena is the highest honor they can receive, a chance to win or die well. The ones who aren't burned, the ones who run from the fight or who fight like cowards, they're buried and given graves with names for everyone to walk by and see, to know that the person lying underneath wasn't worthy.

And Cain is the one who has to give President Snow the honor of fire.

I notice a deep welt over Cain's eye as he keeps the torch upright and marches towards the casket. And for the first time I feel pity for the tribute who killed my son. For the first time I find I have no hate in my heart for the Career from Two.

The drums stop as Cain lowers the torch and sets the pyre ablaze, joining the Peacekeepers before the parapet.

Reagan pushes Ivy forward forcing her to stand before the microphone.

"In Twelve we have a tradition," she says, her voice small and shaking, her eyes flicking from person to person in the crowd. She looks like a mouse caught in a trap. "To…to s-say goodbye to someone who means…to say goodbye," she repeats, struggling on the words.

"No," Peeta whispers. I glance from him back to the screen wondering what fresh worry he's seen in this Hell of watching our daughter deteriorate and support the Capitol on live television.

Ivy's eyes close and she takes a deep breath, lifting her three middle fingers to her lips before raising them above her head.

It feels like I've been punched right in the gut.

The breath leaves my lungs. Peeta's mouth forms a hard line while his hand finds mine on instinct, neither one of us able to tear our eyes from the screen. Reagan wears a satisfied smile behind Ivy, no longer keeping up the appearance of grief.

The fire burns bright as the flames catch on the casket, smoke filling the air. Cain watches the fire. Ivy watches the ground. Both unable to look anywhere else as Capitol citizens begin to follow her lead, lifting their hands, cheering and mocking me from where I sit in Thirteen.

I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Ivy drops her hand, standing a little straighter and shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. She looks at the hands before her as the drums pick up in a frenzy of volume and speed while the flames rise up and devour the casket as Capitol citizens shout and cheer and chant.

"Snow! Snow! Snow!"

And the chanting isn't just for their former President, but their new one.

"Snow! Snow! Snow!"

Ivy blinks and looks at Reagan, a slow method in her movement, like she's waiting. Reagan is lost in the crowds cheering, waving and accepting her new role with a measured poise.

"Snow! Snow! Snow!"

Ivy runs for the microphone, grabbing it before the Peacekeepers have a chance to react. She starts shouting her words lost in the drumming and the chanting. But the crowd freezes, hands half in the air, half fallen as the drums cut off completely.

She looks around, eyes wide and clear as she repeats, "They're coming. They know where you are! They're going to attack you! Mom! Dad! They're going to attack Thirteen!" Her eyes find the camera, "Run!"

She's thrown to the ground by Peacekeepers as the crowd starts shouting and standing in confusion. Angered and horrified by the outburst of their princess as more Peacekeepers descend into the crowd to remove the Victors and maintain order. Reagan rips the microphone from Ivy's hand as the screens cut out.

The alarms blare a second later.

We move with the crowd, rushing towards the designated barrack underground that's designed to keep everyone safe. Soldiers guide and yell over the alarms with a voice repeating the time on when the doors will close.

"One minute," the voice announces and everyone moves a little faster.

I look around trying to find a sign of Prim or Rory in the fray.

"Prim!" I call over the alarms, scanning each frightened face for my sister but I can't find her. We are inside the shelter a moment later as the voice announces, "Forty five seconds," and I still don't see my sister in the crowd.

Citizens from Thirteen and then the patients from medical pile in but still Prim isn't there. I see Rory and baby Oliver a moment later standing with Posy but no Prim.

I look from them to the doors and as the voice announces "Thirty seconds," I run back out.

"Katniss," Peeta yells behind me, much too close to still be in the shelter.

"I have to find Prim," I tell him, "Wait here." I start running, heading up the stairs as the alarms continue and into an empty hallway.

"No, I'm going with you," Peeta says and I stop in my tracks.

I want to argue. I want to tell him to stay behind. I can't worry about both him and Prim. But there isn't much time and truth be told I've missed him by my side even as broken as he was, as we both were. Some of the light is back in his eyes, despite everything, and the determination with it. There's no room for argument.

"Fine," I say as I run to find my sister with Peeta's heavy footsteps following.

I turn the corner to see Gloss with two small children no older than three or four. Snot and tears run down their faces as he holds one over each shoulder, carrying them with ease. He looks like a giant compared to them.

"Excuse us," Gloss says with a curt smile as he carries them towards the end of the hallway. Emery follows, dragging a four year old with her by the hand.

"Kid, do you want to die?" she barks as she drags him along, "Work with me here."

I shout for Prim as we collide with straggling denizens of Thirteen. A small crowd of them lost in blind panic. I'm thrown to the ground as four of them run over me while the alarms continue on. I cover my head, protecting myself as much as I can, hearing Peeta yell and shove people aside.

Peeta pulls me up a second later but I can feel the pain starting in my legs. I'll be bruised. His hands grab my face as his eyes check to see that I'm okay, the worry bleeding through from his soul to mine.

"I'm okay," I croak out. I nod to him reassuring and he drops his hands. When we turn Prim rounds the corner, holding a stuffed bear with a missing eye.

"Oliver can't sleep without it."

I grab her arm, ignoring the ache in my side as I do so and run back down the hall with her in tow. I don't need to make sure Peeta is following, it's just like the Arena, I know he's there. I know that wherever I go, he does too.

"Ten seconds," the voice announces and the walls shake with the blast of a dropped bomb.

We keep running, the voice counting down as we hurry down the stairs.

"Three."

We're at the final landing.

"Two."

The doors are closing in front of us. I shove Prim through while Peeta and I crash in behind her.

"One."

The doors seal shut behind us.

The night drags on as bombs keep falling, first in quick succession and then slower, by what I can only assume is after midnight one falls with long silences in between before another and then nothing after.

Still, I don't sleep. I just watch the ceiling, wondering if it's going to come down on us. If no matter what happens, no matter how protected we think we are, it won't matter.

I keep imagining Ivy being thrown onto the stage, raising her hand above the crowd, celebrating President Snow.

"If she hadn't warned us, a lot of people wouldn't have made it in here," Peeta says as he looks around at the families huddled together, most of them asleep by now, including Prim, Rory and Oliver, the stuffed bear nestled beside him.

We sit next to each other on the bottom bunk of our barrack. Peeta hasn't moved from my side since all this began and I don't think he means to ever again.

My eyes find Gloss standing beside a sleeping Emery. She turns in the top bunk as he pulls a blanket over her, chewing on his nails and sitting on the bottom. The kids they helped drag in here sit in the bunks across from them, their parents holding them as they watch the giant Victor who saved them with wide eyes.

"Go to sleep," he tells them and they laugh as he ruffles their hair and do as he says.

Emery sits up and leans over the railing to pat her father's shoulder. He half smiles before lying down and closing his eyes. She keeps watching him, rubbing her own tired eyes, half drifting as another bomb falls and he sits up again.

"But they're still going to look at her like she's a traitor."

"Maybe not. She saved them."

"At least someone in this family managed to help," I say bitterly.

I hear someone cough further down the aisle and two kids laugh as they shine flashlights at each other.

"You don't talk about it," Peeta says quietly. "Sometimes you start to, but when we were married—"

"We're still married."

"You know what I mean. You don't talk about what it's like, what it's been like. You haven't been honest about it, not with me. You can lie to them but please, don't lie to me."

"What am I supposed to say?" I ask him, keeping my voice measured and low so the sleeping people around us don't wake up. "Do you think knowing is going to make anything better?"

"I think we've been keeping things to ourselves more than enough and maybe the truth is what we need now, to move forward."

I swallow and feel my eyes sting at the words. There are private Hells we go through and there's the shared one we've been in. Being forced to get married, becoming a symbol, there are things we don't talk about, that I haven't talked about in a while if ever. Not to him. Not to anyone.

"I never wanted to be the Mockingjay, Peeta. I didn't want people looking up to me or expecting me to be their hero, I just wanted to survive the Games. I wanted to come home. I wanted to keep Prim and you alive. I didn't want any of this. But you already knew that. Everyone knew that. Especially when I…"

"Katniss no one can blame a seventeen year old girl for being afraid and wanting to live."

"But that's not what happened. I stopped being a kid the day my dad died and when we went into that Arena. And after…"

He watches me, waiting for me to get to the real truth, the things we started to discuss but never really scratched the surface of.

"It's okay," he reassures. "It's okay."

"I didn't want to be married. I didn't want to have kids. Ever. With the Games especially after we won I knew what was going to happen to them. And Snow sent us the letter and I knew he wasn't going to stop. He would do something to Prim or my mom and that was the excuse I gave to myself at first but…"

He watches me and the confession pours out, "There was this moment. We got the message and you were so mad you just ripped it up. You had the lie all ready to go like you knew it was coming, like you had been waiting for it, so you could keep me safe just like you did in the Arena just like you did when I was starving. You were ready to protect me and us. I remembered before the wedding how you told me to just look at you. Forget the cameras, forget the people, and just see you. So that's what I did. I let myself imagine what it would be like to have your child and I wanted it. I forgot that we weren't just two people who loved each other and got married and I wanted that life with you."

I feel the tears threaten and I've never admitted it to anyone before, why I just let it happen. It wasn't an accident, it wasn't just because of a threat. I wanted them with him.

"And I know it was selfish when I knew what the Capitol would always do. But I wanted them. I wanted to have them with you. And I can't hate myself for it anymore. I'm so tired of hating myself for it. I wish I hadn't pushed them away for as long as I did because I wanted them and I was afraid of how much I did. I didn't want to lose them, but I still did."

And then the tears begin and Peeta's arms close around me to give me warmth and light despite the darkness closing in.

"It wasn't wrong of you to want them. It wasn't wrong to want to be happy. We were happy."

I sink further into his embrace, "I wanted to be the one to kill him. I should have been. I tried to do the right thing. I tried to keep people safe. But it didn't matter. The Games just go on and now I'm the Mockingjay and he's dead but Reagan's in charge. It just goes on and on. None of it mattered."

"Yes, it did." He wipes the tears from my eyes, keeping his palm there, and I nod. "War doesn't last forever. We're going to be okay. You're going to be okay and so will Ivy. You'll be happy again. I promise you that."

"How?"

"Coin will get Ivy back. She'll have to. And when she does you take Ivy and run. No matter what, no matter how all this ends, you run and you get away from everything. You're smart you can hide out in the woods and they will never find you."

"What about you?" I ask, afraid of what the plan is for himself. I remember the conversation I had with Bas, the dream or the hallucination version of him, whatever it was.

He half-smiles, "I managed in the Arena pretty okay without you before, I can do it again."

"You think the Rebels are going to lose," I say, realizing the finality in his words, he doesn't mean to go it alone, he means to die to make sure Ivy and I get away.

"Two is still working with the Capitol. One is following their lead. Eventually under Reagan they will overrun the smaller districts or just bomb them out," He takes a deep breath, shaking his head, "I don't know what's going to happen, but it helps to have a plan."

"And what if we don't get Ivy back?" I ask, my voice falling.

"Then I'll destroy the Capitol, every last brick," he says in a low hardened voice.

"We'll destroy it," I say, my eyes finding his as they burn into me.

"Together," he says and it feels like the train, it feels like every moment since. The two of us facing the world together, facing the uncertainty and the pain.

"Always," I tell him, remembering that night I asked him to stay on the train. And I'll ask him to stay a thousand and one times, every day and every night, I can't push him away anymore. We're in this together. Always, together.

His lips find him as he kisses me. It's chaste and sweet and it reminds me of when we were younger. I savor it as it deepens and warmth floods from my stomach to my heart and my breath is stolen away. I return the kiss with hunger. I've missed this. I've missed his hands, his smell, everything about him.

"I missed you," I tell him my forehead resting on his as we catch our breath.

"Me too." He smiles despite everything. Despite the pain, the tears, the heartbreak. I know it's still tearing him apart, Ivy not here, Bas gone, but there's something else beneath that, there's hope. And I have it too.

The dandelion in the spring. He carries it in him.

Beck –

"Anyone watching?" Springer asks as I peer around the corner of the barracks. Most of the people around us are asleep and those that aren't are more concerned with watching a crack that formed on the ceiling. A bomb hasn't fallen in a while but still they're afraid the ceiling is going to collapse.

I shake my head and Springer digs a screwdriver into the tracking bracelet on my wrist. He opens a small clasp and attaches some wires from a small handheld device. He types and rips a piece of metal from the bracelet.

"Stupid," he says to himself as he glances to the cracked ceiling. "The support is holding. Scared for nothing."

"Well, they don't know that it'll hold. Maybe you should tell them."

"They won't listen to me."

"Why not?"

"Because no one listens to me. My aunt listened. She understood. She's gone now."

I haven't heard him talk about Wiress well, ever, but I suppose if there was ever a time to bring her up, it was now. Beetee takes care of him, cares for him just as he cared for Wiress, just as he cares for a lot of people.

"Beetee listens to you," I tell Springer as he closes the clasp. He rubs the screwdriver between his hands, digging it into the floor to no effect.

"He does," Springer admits, "He's scared too. For me. Afraid I'm going to die. They're all afraid of dying."

"You're not?"

He shrugs, "Dying will happen whether I'm afraid of it or not. That will work now. I can change the time and location from here." He waves the handheld device. "Built it myself. Networked it and everything."

"Thank you."

"Wish I could get back to work. I need to get the box, stop the signal, get inside. Beetee and I have all the tools just have to work the problem." He taps the screwdriver on the ground. "Frequencies…too many…too protected but in between…too much power…in between…disrupt the signal…lights out!" Springer claps his hands as he jumps up, his eyes wide, "No power. Get inside. Find the signal, own the signal, power disruption…no signal." He runs towards the door but he's stopped by a guard.

"You can't leave until morning," The Guard says.

"The bombs are done. They don't see us, I have to work, let me leave."

"Not until morning," The Guard pushes Springer back.

"Do you want to get her killed?!" Springer shoves the Guard only to be punched in the face.

"Hey," I interrupt, stepping in between Springer and the Guard.

"He…"

"He was in the Arena," I say as if that will explain everything. There's a certain amount of sympathy the people in Thirteen give the Tributes and Victors, like we've been attacked by some unspeakable evil that they give us a lot of pitied looks for. If I have to endure the looks I might as well use it to my advantage. And Springer's.

"I'm sorry. Just…it's only a few more hours until dawn, then he can go right back to the shop. It's for his safety. Please remind him of that."

I give the guard my best smile as I wrap an arm around Springer, "Thank you for protecting us."

I guide Springer back to the corner, my smile falling, "Just wait it out."

"The signal. They don't understand."

"They will. It's only a little longer."

"Every second matters, you saw the funeral too…they're doing something…she didn't look the same."

"No, she didn't," I admit and I remember the flick of Ivy's eyes, the fear, the blanched skin and shaking demeanor. Whatever is happening is only going to get worse now that she warned everyone. There was a small amount of pride that emerged when she ran for that microphone, hope that she was still fighting. That no matter what they were doing she was still there, but that hope faded with each bomb and each new thought of what price she was paying for her bravery.

I scratch at the scar from the IV needle. They took it out earlier this morning which was a nice reprieve and gave me another fifteen minutes of time, not that it matters now. Since I've been allowed out I've been spending more time with Springer, watching him work to save Ivy, to save everyone really.

Everything he builds or tries to build is all designed to end the war, to isolate, to win. He's been obsessing with destroying the Capitol's signal, with stopping them from being able to deliver broadcasts. Cutting them off from everyone else, even when we can own the signal for a short time, destroys their ability to continue with messages of support and pretending like they're winning.

Stopping their communication would isolate Two and by destroying Two, One would follow, the Capitol would be entirely cut off and it would just be a matter of taking it.

Sometimes I let myself drift to the idea of after the war, of winning the war and letting myself be happy. But I don't know if that could ever truly happen, if I could ever be free and at peace. My thoughts wander to that dream of Ivy and I on a boat, safe and sound, with nothing chasing us, nothing threatening us, just us, together and happy.

But I saw her at the funeral and I see myself in the mirror, the tired, sunken eyes and the scars. I don't know if happy is ever going to be a reality.

Springer taps his head and repeats equations and writes in the air with his finger. I know he'll be doing this for a while and there's no chance he'll run for the door again, so I decide to leave. I wonder why Springer is so committed to saving her, why he's more worried about Ivy than anything else. He mentioned seeing her brother in the Arena once, Bas had hid in one of his spaces and Springer warned him about the traps and Bas had shared his food.

But I don't see how that translates to Ivy, how saving her has anything to do with what happened in the Arena. But I don't pretend to know what's going on in Springer's head and I won't ask. I've learned that Springer will share what he wants to share when he wants to and asking only closes him off and buries him inside his head more. So I don't ask and he doesn't ask me about anything that I don't want to share.

We've spent time in silences as I hand him tool after tool and I don't need to think or feel anything. There's a peace I can't find in other spaces which I'm grateful for. I've been trying to practice throwing tridents as my side heals up, careful not to over exert as the monitor would warn medical. Now that Springer's fixed it I can train how I want to, I can prepare to go to war like I want to.

I pass down the aisle of beds to find where my parents and I were assigned. My father sits up tying knots while my mother sleeps, her hands covering her ears. When the bombs were going off she held it together as long as she could, longer than I thought she would, and eventually I had to put my hands over her ears to keep the noise out as well. When they stopped she calmed down, though she kept shaking until well into the night.

"I'm glad she's resting," I tell my father as I sit across from him. My mother's feet are propped up on his thighs even as she's curled into herself like she's reminding herself that he's there even as she sleeps.

He nods as he pulls the knot tight and then apart, starting again. He hasn't said much since the bombs ended, since my mother fell asleep.

"She told you I heard you both, didn't she?" I ask and I remember hearing my father talk about how he wanted to film a Propo, how he was going to make everyone see who President Snow really was, but he never got the chance before President Snow died and now I don't know if he's going to anymore. "About the Propo."

He nods, pulling the rope through a loop and wrapping it.

"Are you still…"

"I don't know." He puts the rope down. "I don't know if it's even going to matter now."

"It might. If people hear about what he did, what I'm sure Reagan Snow is going to continue, what the Capitol is really like. It'll make people see, people who don't know."

My father swallows hard as he picks the rope up again.

"You're afraid."

"Yes," he admits after a long silence, ripping the knot apart. "Yes, I'm afraid. For you. They'll know about you and they'll..."

"You knew it was going to happen when you were going to do it before. What's changed?"

"I knew what I was dealing with before. That I could protect you but now President Snow is dead. If we lose, if it means nothing…they'll take you like they took her and they'll…it'll be worse. I saw Reagan Snow year after year, I saw her idolize Katniss and then hate her and I watched her grandfather mold her into this ruthless calloused thing and she likes it. She's worse than he could have ever hoped to be. You saw the show she put on at the funeral, what she had Ivy do, and that's just the beginning. She's much more patient than he was and he waited two decades to hurt all the Victors he hated. What do you think she's going to accomplish with a war and after?" He takes a steadying breath, glancing to my mother to make sure she's still asleep. I watch my father's hand shake and it's not the first time I've ever seen him afraid but it is one of the few times he's admitted it to me, that I don't see him as just my father but as the person he is beneath the title.

"Dad," I place my hand on his, holding it there and taking the rope from him. "If her grandfather knew, she already knows too. I can handle a target on my back. I won't let them take me. Neither will you or mom. And you can hide and no one's going to blame you for doing that but you will blame yourself. You said it before, you owe it to yourself to get the truth out there."

We both fall silent.

"How are you so smart?"

"I'm not really, I'm just…an Odair and we're really good at talking." I smile and he returns it, pushing me slightly so I fall back onto my mattress.

"And making smart ass comments and not sleeping like we should be." He puts his hand over my eyes until I close them. "Goodnight."

"Yeah, right." I say as I open them again and sit up. He tosses me some rope and we sit in silence tying knots together and I find another kind of peace in this moment. My worries fade with each tie of the rope as I sit a thousand feet underground far away from my home.

Katniss –

There's rubble all around from the parts of Thirteen that were blown out, light peering in to the surface levels from all sides. The damage isn't too bad despite the amount of bombs, like they just hit every area they thought we were without really knowing. There were no casualties thanks to Ivy's warning, something that even the people of Thirteen who still whisper traitor can admit they're grateful for, just as Peeta said they would.

After the all clear was issued Coin made sure to tell me that she would thank Ivy if she could, along with giving me an assignment, tell the people that we're alive and we're here, that they couldn't destroy us.

"Naturally," Peeta had said, watching her walk around to greet the people of Thirteen, Gale beside her speaking in hushed tones before she nodded and he ran off. I haven't seen him since but he made sure to check on Rory and Posy before he disappeared to wherever he's gone to.

"Where are you all off to?" Johanna had asked, catching up to us as we made our way to leave. "Filming another big hero speech. Get the troops motivated. Run into the line of fire. Die for me. That kind of thing?"

"No, not that kind of thing. They want to know we're alive, we have to give them hope," Peeta told her as I kept walking.

"Oh hope, well if it's about hope, I'd love to watch you tell the families of dead soldiers to have hope."

I stayed ahead, keeping my head up, walking towards the light as she followed, mocking hope all along the way.

Pollux pushes a rock out of the way as we step over a piece of wall into a bright clearing. My eyes adjust and all around me I see green leaves and vines that were dropped.

Ivy.

On top of the Ivy there are white roses covering the clearing, delivered just for me. I freeze up as Cressida starts rolling the cameras and I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me.

"Someone's sending a message," Johanna says in a grim voice and there's no sarcasm in it, no comments about hope to follow. She just stands behind me as I nod in agreement. Peeta picks up one of the roses and crushes it in his hand getting the message just as clearly as I do.

"Katniss whenever you're ready," Cressida says with a wave of her hand, "I'm alive, everyone's safe."

My eyes watch the mixture of green and white, the world around me fading and buzzing. Whatever I do Reagan will take it out on Ivy. And it'll go on and on until, instead of a message, she drops my daughter onto the ground of Thirteen, bloody and broken and dead. It doesn't matter what I do, what I say, Ivy will pay for it. And I knew it before but this is clear, this is I know you're watching, I know you see her, and you won't see her again if you keep this up.

"Katniss, I'm alive and everyone's safe."

"Would you shut it?!" Johanna shouts. "Don't you get what all this means?" She picks up a handful of ivy and roses and tosses it at Cressida, "Or do you just want your footage and to Hell with everyone else?"

"That's not…"

"Her daughter pays for everything she says and you keep asking her to say more. What's wrong with you?"

"It's the cost of war. We can't stop when we haven't won yet."

Johanna barks at that, shaking her head, "I can't believe you've been putting up with this," she says to me and for the first time there's genuine sympathy in her hardened voice and it inspires me to stand up a little straighter.

"It's a cost Ivy isn't paying anymore. I'm done. I won't say another word." I turn back inside.

"Neither will I," Peeta says as he follows me back down into Thirteen.

I break off from Peeta as I feel my breathing shorten and my hands tighten. I start to hear Ivy crying again and see Reagan smile while hooks claw into my daughter's skin. I feel the bite of the cold as I come upon Ivy laying down on the ground freezing to death. I keep running as I hear myself tell her to keep fighting, to not let them win. I see her standing with her fingers raised, with a dress covered in blood. I see her standing in the Arena as she fights to survive and I can't save her. I see her being crowned a Victor and standing before the museum all alone. And I can't do anything to help her. I did this to her. I can't save her.

I find a dark corner and I hide, trying to forget that it's my fault, trying to forget that I made her, that even if the message was given to me I had a choice to lie and I didn't. I had two children and I destroyed them and I destroyed Ivy more with each word that I said.

Everything that happens to her in the Capitol is because of me and my words.

"Hiding?" Haymitch asks in the darkness and I open my eyes as he sits in the small corner beside me. "Gotta say it is a bitch to find you around here but you always go to the same places." He smiles.

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice hollow. "I'm not doing any more Propos and you can't convince me."

"I didn't come here to convince you. I came here to…" There's regret that deepens the wrinkles on his face.

"You can apologize a thousand times but you still lied to me."

"I'm not going to apologize and that grudge looks real good on you, Sweetheart, but you can bury it now along with a few others because I've got news."

I stay silent waiting for him to continue.

"Capitol power grid is out. Springer built this…I don't know what the Hell it is but it was sent to Three they got it to the water turbines and knocked out the Capitol power."

"What does that mean?" I ask, my voice rising and my heart pounding.

"It's for a rescue mission. Led by your old pal."

"Gale." I stand up and start running, unsure of where and what's going to happen, but knowing that I need to see it. I need to know.

They're rescuing Ivy. They're bringing my daughter back to me.

"Bury me in armour
When I'm dead and hit the ground
My nerves are poles that unfroze

And if you love me, won't you let me know?

I don't want to be a soldier
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below."

Violet Hill – Coldplay