Soli Deo gloria

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Hunger Games. Things shall take interesting turns. XD

A blackout. An air raid. We've got to get out of here. I don't know if Effie and Haymitch know what to do. But I do.

I rush through the house, Gale following me, shouting my name. The children. We need to get the children out of here, to a shelter. But there's no time. No time. The shelter is in the village. We will have to move everyone down to the root cellar.

Effie is looking around, bewildered, in Haymitch's study as I come storming in. Haymitch stares at me and says, "I know what that sound means, Katniss. Get the kids."

Gale is too far behind me. He can't hear. "What about Peeta?" I ask, my hands holding the doorway of the study. I can feel the vibrations of the blaring alarm in the building. Feel it beneath my fingertips. I will never forget this feeling, this feeling of helplessness.

Haymitch stands up and douses his light. "Get the kids downstairs and then I'll get him down."

I nod and turn and am about to go into the children's room when I hear, "Katniss. I need help."

I am suddenly in the doorway of Madge's mother's room. Madge is kneeling beside her mother's bed, wiping at her mother's head with a cool cloth. But Mrs. Undersee looks pale, wrinkly, frail. So small, so thin and pale against the white sheets. Barely breathing. Looking worse than usual.

I stand frozen, unable to move. Suddenly Gale is beside me, asking in a harsh voice, "Get out of here, Madge!"

"I CAN'T, Gale," Madge says. Her hand is more patient than her mouth. It wipes at the cold forehead, her mother barely stirring as she groans. "My mother can't walk downstairs. I am staying with her."

"That's idiotic," Gale says angrily.

"Yes, and I'm doing it, and it is none of your concern what I do with my own mother!" Madge says, standing straight, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. "So unless the air raid truly is true and I burn in a bombing, I won't be moved from my mother's side!"

Gale reaches out and grabs her arm, making her twist angrily at him. "I'm done with seeing innocent lives being thrown away right before my eyes," he says, and he pulls Madge, his strength better than hers, stronger than hers, out of the room. She scowls and yells at him, in her plain voice with no real malice but with annoyance, authority. But Gale barely hears her, leaving me alone in the room with Mrs. Undersee.

I will not be forgiven by Madge if I leave her mother here when everyone is downstairs. That's when Haymitch appears in the door and says, "Get out of the way, sweetheart. Get all the curtains, douse all the lights. This house doesn't exist. Not on that German radar. Hurry!"

The curtains are pulled together; Haymitch has Mrs. Undersee in his arms, her blankets nearly swallowing her from sight as he swiftly takes her out of the room.

I run out of the room, shove the children in their pajamas to the stairs. I can hear the planes. The sound of the alarm. All pounding in my ears, forever to be there. I see Peeta's door is swinging open in the dwindling light. Perhaps he is already in the root cellar, hidden in the shadows from Gale's all-seeing eyes. Hopefully. I can only pray that as I run from room to room, the doors slamming and waving in the wind I create as the curtains are drawn, breaths pulled and pushed onto the candles to extinguish their flame. No color in the house. Everything black. Black. Dark.

Effie is the last one in the root cellar besides me. Her hair is in curlers, her eyes big and wide. She is quiet as she nods and I close the curtains. I take one last look outside. This countryside may be like this for a few moments longer.

Then I hear the airplanes.

The radio is quiet as I snatch it and race down to the root cellar.

Now, the root cellar is big. Much too big for Effie and Haymitch and Finnick and Annie, but big enough for Haymitch and Effie and myself and Prim and the Hawthornes and Undersees and Peeta to fit into. I don't see Peeta as I go down, my eyes taking in the shelves full of vegetables and the people. But a moment of eye contact with Haymitch and a slight nod is signal enough. He is safe. I am filled with relief. Peeta's safety is a priority.

Mrs. Undersee is lying on a pallet made of blankets. Prim has a cloth, though it is not cool. She uses it to soak up the sweat the poor woman is giving off. Madge has wrenched herself from Gale, who looks on with a stricken, blank look, as if the mere sight of Mrs. Undersee has made him frozen, unable to move. Madge kneels next to her mother. She utters no soothing words. No words of wisdom or asking about her pain. She knows her pain. Everyone can hear her voice her pain.

The children huddle in a corner, sharing a blanket. Effie has a candle, casting a tiny light over the entire space. She tucks it into a lantern, brightening the place. This place is so far into the country there is no stray light bulb hanging from the ceiling down here. But that's all right. We're all in the same space, can see each other's faces. All except Peeta's.

I take to looking for him when everyone is occupied with each other. Gale is at the entrance to the cellar, listening in. I can hear the wind above him as I move hesitantly away, then sprint to look around the shelves, the boxes, barrels.

I step on a foot. I fall to my feet, my hand reaching out and touching skin. Soft skin. My fingers slid up. A face. Peeta's face.

"Peeta." My voice cracks.

"Hey, Katniss," he says. His voice is surprised. "That's the air raid?"

I place his hand against my cheek so he can feel my nod. "Yes. Did anyone notice you coming down here?"

He shakes his head. "Haymitch made sure I was the first one down here. He unlocked the door, I think he has his own copy of the key. He told me what the noise meant. Then I followed him downstairs and out the door. I looked out at the sky as he opened the doors. I didn't see any airplanes."

"That's because our government has a system where they catch them in sight before they get so close that we can't do anything," I explain.

Peeta nods, making a voice of agreement in his throat.

"How long are we going to stay down here?" he asks, looking around.

"I don't know. Until the alarm stops screaming," I say, frowning. I deplore that sound. But it has saved our lives more than once, so I have no reason to complain. So I clamp my mouth shut and pat Peeta on the shoulder before he notices the amount of time we have to spend together and decides to bring up earlier today. I'd rather not. I am not one that is good in confrontations. Gale and I and our arguments before the war about the smallest things are a testament to that. We have similar temperaments, always rising to the chance of defending ourselves. Peeta is much like my mother, like Prim. Calm, not wanting to cause trouble. But not all questions can be hidden forever.

At the side of Mrs. Undersee, I discover that she is doing worse. Even though I am no medical professional, even I can tell the telltale signs of a worsening sickness. The sick wheeze of her breath as she pulls it out of her body. The warm body heat she gives off to the entire cellar. The frailness of her hands, like Mags's rather than that of a middle-aged mother's. Madge holds her hand and looks worried. I know Madge doesn't know what to do. All she can do is catch at her hand.

Gale watches from the sidelines, not saying a word at all. He doesn't know what to say to this at all. Prim is busy, employing the older experiences of Haymitch to help her. He has a bottle in hand. He tips it into the woman's mouth instead of his own. I stand back and watch. Posy has one hand in Gale's, her other in mine. She looks up and says, "Katniss, how much longer?"

If there is something I can do, it is taking care of little girls. Make them comfortable. Brush their hair from their face. Rub their backs until they fall asleep against my chest. I braid Posy's hair as I sing her a little lullaby, willing my voice is be louder, stronger than it is, to override the air raid alarm.

Gale sits next to me after a while. The boys lean against the wall, poking each other out of boredom after a while. Gale throws them a look, an almost paternal one, and they fall silent. Gale leans his head back next to mine and sighs, his eyes closed. I lean my head against his as Posy's heartbeat hits the same pace as mine.

"What a day," he says.

"Have a good time on the train?" I ask, hoping at least one part of his day went well.

He lets out a rueful laugh. "Catnip, since when does anyone have fun on a smoky, crowded train full of soldiers covered in injuries? It's a painful reminder, Katniss."

"How is your arm?" And then I back my head away from his, remembering the bandage there.

"Put your head back, Catnip," he says.

I do so. He sighs again. I can feel his chest move up and down side by side with mine. Gale has a steady, reassuring heartbeat. I can feel it against my own head, his pulse in his neck. Calm. There. Always.

"You can tell me," he says suddenly.

"What?" I say, too abrupt and startled to say much. My eyes circle around the cellar. Peeta is behind a shelf. I cannot see him. But did Gale, from his bird's eye view at the cellar doors, where he can see almost anything, did he see him? Are our chances at having a civil two weeks in gone?

"About everything," he says. He laughs again. A softer laugh this time. Gale's laugh. "Everything in the past year that you couldn't say in a letter, afraid of the post workers cutting out anything. Afraid of running out of ink. Talk to me, Katniss. Please. We have all the time in the world."

He's right. Between Gale and I, we have all the time in the world. We're stuck in a limbo, a holding cell, awaiting our fate. Will the bomb fall on the house, destroying it and burying us in its ruins? Will its remains be the dirt atop our grave? Or do we need to merely pass the time? Either way, I begin to talk. About my father's death (Gale knew that), my mother and how she has come back, but only somewhat. Of the days waiting out the bombs to pass by. How this is almost normal. I can wait forever. Of the news off the radio, how the London Blitz had been getting worse. How Mother and Hazelle had organized with the war office our departure from London. Effie. Haymitch. Johanna. Finnick. Annie. Mags. Even the two Jews Johanna and I saw. He tenses against me at that. But my soft voice lulls him into a less tense state.

I go on, leaving out Peeta. Only Peeta. Even though he is hiding out in this room, same as us. Maybe he can hear me. Maybe.

Soon I am out of words. My throat burns. I need water. But there is no water down here, mostly because we did not anticipate an alarm like this. But I expect we will be out of here within the hour. The prospect of staying down here the entire night is daunting. And dangerous. For Madge's mother's cough is rattling through the cellar like a bad omen, reminding us all of the fragility of the situation, and how we cannot treat this as something that will simply pass over. We need someone besides the old village physician with his expensive medicines. We need my mother, or someone who has the skills to verify our heavy payment.

But the alarm never stops blaring. Time passes in silence, save for the coughing and blaring. Then we feel it. Beneath our fingers, the vibrations of the bombs are felt. I don't know how many bombs it is. Maybe just one. Maybe a dozen. But I keep petting Posy's hair and whispering a lullaby to her, the only thing I can do now.

I used to do this with Prim. But she is straight-backed and working over Mrs. Undersee. She barely notices the messages everything outside is showing us as she takes care of the woman. And never have I felt so unneeded or proud.

The alarm suddenly goes off, after a while. Gale, so used to going out in dangerous situations, is the one checking outside the cellar. Haymitch stands behind him, and then Madge, ready to get her mother back to a space without such damp air.

Gale sticks his head back in. "It's safe. The house is still standing. Let's get everyone back up."

Haymitch carries Mrs. Undersee back upstairs. Effie follows him with Madge, speaking in eager but frightened tones. She is so relieved.

Gale bends next to me, rousing up his younger brothers to get up and get to bed. They do so numbly, passing him as he squats next to me. I can see the anxiety and determination in his eyes as he says, "Want me to take Posy?"

I nod. I need to get him out of the cellar so I can sneak Peeta back in before Gale notices him. That's my plan as I stand up and carefully hand off the little sleeping girl to Gale's one good arm. He shifts his arm and catches her against his side and then asks me, "Does that happen often?"

"The alarm? No. The first we've had," I say.

"Good. Or else the country would not be as safe as I had put faith in it to being," Gale says. He nods and heads up to the surface, Posy snoring at his side.

That's when I run to Peeta. I feel his hand in the darkness, catching mine. For reassurance, I grip his, tightening my fingers between the notches in his hands. "Let's go," I say. There's no time to waste. Peeta's room is so near the girls'. Gale is encumbered by Posy's weight and also his injury. But Peeta has one loud leg.

"Wait, Katniss," he says, and I throw him such a look in the moonlight that he should get the message. That we have no time. But his eyes are innocent and gentle and calm and everything that I am not as he says, "That was beautiful singing. The lullaby."

"You heard me?" I ask. My tone is sharp.

He nods.

I do not know what to say. Every song, every lyric, every note I know, reminds me of my father. How he would sing Prim and I to sleep. How he would teach me songs by the crackling fire. How he would sing to my mother and I would think it was the most sincere sign of love he could give her. But his memory reminds me of my mother's withdrawal, and that fills me with anger. Rage. Unspeakable emotions. And so I am rough as I drag Peeta up the steps. I should not be rough. It was a compliment he gave me, one I do not deserve when I treat him like this.

Effie is lighting the house slightly, still peering out the windows as she takes down the black curtains. She and I meet eyes as Peeta and I hurry through the kitchen. Her eyes scream hurry. Effie always wants us to hurry, to get things done in time. For once, I agree with her.

The stairs are dark. Out the window I can see no damage. Just little houses with their lights slowly being revealed as people take down their black curtains. I wait at the landing for Peeta. My hand had slipped out of his at the bottom.

"Katniss, slow down," he says. But he comes up to me, his height taller than mine, and I turn swiftly and head into his room. I hold the door while he comes in and then I shut it so abruptly that the paints on his dresser shake.

"Katniss." His voice is strange. Imploring. Puzzled. I turn to him.

"Yes, Peeta?" My voice is even. I have learned to keep my voice even. I am not a patient person. This is all I have to remain calm.

"Are you okay? You don't look good at all," Peeta says. He comes up to me, his eyes studying my face.

I look away, turning my entire head, and say, "Good night, Peeta."

But he catches my hand. His strength and boldness surprises me, and I turn, a little shocked, to see the calm expression on his face. "Katniss. Please. I need to talk to you."

"I—"

"Gale is not going to come looking for you. Not for two more minutes. Unless, of course, you want to spend more time with him. He is going to be here for only two more weeks, though," Peeta says. His grip on my arm slackens.

Something inside of him has deflated. Normally I'd walk away, too annoyed with him and the world to bother with good manners or hurt feelings. But the blue in his eyes is asking, coaxing me, to say, "Fine."

I take a seat on his bed. "What do you want to talk about?"

Peeta eases himself onto the bed next to me. My feet tap against the floor. I want to hurry through this. I don't have time for confronting my own feelings for him. They're too jumbled, in a pile that needs to be sorted. And I don't want to sort through them.

"I think it would be obvious, Katniss," Peeta says. His voice is firm. I am trapped. "You kissed me, and unless you have made it a habit of kissing men to convince them to stay hidden away from your other men, I'd like to know why you did it."

I take a deep breath. He is being gentle. Patient. So I will excuse the insult framing the phrase 'other men.' But I turn on him and say crisply, "There are no other men, Peeta. I only know that of you and Gale and previously Finnick." Before he died. Before he died so that they didn't even have a body to send back for the funeral. It was a depressing rainy day the morning we went out and stood beside the open plot as the preacher spoke aloud from the Good Book in his hands and Effie cried into her handkerchief. Annie hadn't been there. She was still in bed. She still is.

"Katniss." His tone then is pressing.

I inhale deeply. Exhale. I can't tell him because I don't know myself. I want to protect him. That was me merely protecting him. But I do not want to, after all he has gone through, with the war and the work camp and the loss of his family, crush his little hope in me.

I feel like burying my head in my hands. But the brush of his skin against my cheek had frozen me. I am still as he whispers in such a profound whisper that it sounds like he is telling me an important secret. "I remember that night, when you found me in the attic. I was so scared that you would turn me over to the policemen. But you didn't. And I've felt like you've saved my life, Katniss. More than once. Because every morning I have nightmares, ones that leave me in a pile of sweat, but ones that I don't remember as they fade away, like dreams normally do. But every morning I get to wake up to spend the day with you, Katniss. And you're the highlight of my day. Just being with you makes me feel like I can forget those nightmares, like I'm alive, Katniss. Like I'm not just surviving but living."

His finger twirls in a bit of stray hair from my braid. I can see his eyes, though he is not looking into mine but into my entire face. And I realize the sincerity of his voice, and wonder how much goodness he can see in me when I am the opposite of good. I am angry, hot-tempered, mean. He is my entire opposite. My entire other half.

And his mouth is hot on mine, his lips thick. I nick one of them, making him lean closer, his hand sliding around my neck. And I feel that ache again. That incredible ache that's half suffering and half living in bliss. Something stirs within me, hot and bothered and a mess and wonderful and I clutch him closer, my hands gripping him to me, like I'm taken over by a strange person moving my limbs instead of me being in control of myself. Except I am in control. I am exploding, intoxicated, burning brighter than the sun.

Finally, he pulls away, and his breath is soft and sighing, warm and relieved, against my ear. He leans his head against my hair. My braid swings next to his face, and I'm breathing heavily, excited, surprised. Because I never thought when I met Peeta he was going to be more than a person to hide.

But Peeta is mine to protect. A constant, a help in this life over the past few months. Through the events and tragedies sighted by the radio, through Johanna's anger and sarcasm, Annie's depression, Finnick's death, Effie's nervousness, Haymitch's drinking, Prim's fright and naivety, the Hawthorne children's little trials and tribulations that are associated with childhood, Peeta has been nothing but gracious. Helpful. And I need someone like that, someone to balance my fire with cool, soothing water.

I lose myself in him. My head fits against his solid shoulder, and he's laying down, and I fall asleep with my hand pressed against his heartbeat. It's steady, safe, under my hand. And I intend to keep it that way.

Madge comes knocking on the door that morning.

"Peeta?" she says.

Her voice echoes in my mind as I sit up. Peeta's hand slips off my head, and I throw him such a look that he turns serious. It's one that is resigning. One that says that he knows that I don't want Madge to know that we shared a bed last night.

I hide behind the door as he answers it. "Yes, Madge?"

"Have you seen Katniss? I need her help."

Peeta's voice is instantly concerned, seeing as Madge's sounds hurried, frantic. "What happened?"

"My mother is dying, and I need to send a message to my father. I need to send one now."

And I'm the only one who can send it.

I didn't expect that Peeta/Katniss to go that way, so excuse me if it's TOO FAST for you.

Thanks for reading! God bless you!