Author's Note: I apologize to you all for the long wait, but between a death in the family and my finals being tomorrow and Monday, I haven't had much time to write. I'm doing the best I can to finish up this story, but please be patient with me. I'll do the best I can to make you all proud. Thank you all for being so patient. I really appreciate it. Part of this chapter is directly from the book.
Each day Peeta gets a little bit stronger, but getting better is an uphill battle, and on occasion we lost. Even after his leg heals, he'll have a pretty nasty limp. Doctor Campbell assures me that he'll make a complete recovery. My stomach is now prominent, and my hands often cradle it unconsciously now, as if I can protect it from the dangers of the outside world. I've found many maternity dresses and shirts that have worked their way into my closet. Peeta is always close to me, scared to leave my side. He treats me as if I'm going to have the baby any second. I don't understand why exactly, but somehow it was incredibly reassuring.
Peeta slings his arm around me this spring morning, and I put my arm under his armpit as I try and prop him up.
Together, we make our way to the mess hall. I sit Peeta down at our usual table before getting our breakfast. Every time Peeta stands up I have this horrible fear that he won't be up for more than a second before falling. The irony of it is that he wants to do the same things for me because of my pregnancy. Being as stubborn as I am, I won't let him do anything until his leg gets better. He'll pull the same thing when I'm near the end of my pregnancy, but until then he's not doing anything or going anywhere unless I know about it. Maybe I'm being a little overprotective, but after all the crap he's put me through I think I deserve that much.
I take Peeta his bowl of what I assume is oatmeal, and sit beside him. I want to hold his hand, but both are being used- one for eating, and the other is in a cast. I kiss his cheek before I begin eating myself. Peeta looks at me with a smile before eating. Our table is overtly silent. Peeta and I continually exchange glances throughout our meal, and it's an entire conversation without any words needed. With the massive headaches Peeta has been getting, he hates noise, and has trouble speaking at times. I can always tell when he's having problems with that. His face becomes twisted and working, and actually turns a light shade of red as he tries to find or express a word that has slipped away from him. When he finally latches onto it, his teeth clench as he works to finally get it out. The word comes out in parts the first time, and he has to say it a few times before it comes out correctly.
Peeta's psychologist spoke with me, and told me that it's vital that I be extremely patient with him. He gets so frustrated with himself, and it's physically painful to watch.
I hold his hand as he goes through physical therapy, getting stronger with time and work. As the weeks go on, Peeta's improvement skyrockets. As my due date becomes closer, I can see Peeta working harder and harder to get better. By the time I am six and a half months along, Peeta is back in near perfect health.
Today is the day that a team is being dispatched to try and kill Snow. The morning begins like any other. Finnick, of course is on the team. I can recall perfectly how he kissed Annie that morning, revealing to us that Annie is expecting. Everyone at the table is overjoyed for them, especially me. After Finnick leaves for deployment, I squeeze Annie's hand and tell her she'll be a wonderful mother. She gives me a grateful look and we begin to chat about pregnancy, names, and other unimportant things. The next day Peeta and I were scheduled to go to the Capitol for one last Propo. As we spend what is likely our last day of rebellion in District 13, the news comes back that evening that Finnick has passed away. The news takes my breath away, as well as Peeta's. All I can think about now is poor Annie. I can't imagine what she must be feeling. I hear an agonized scream, and I'm certain it's Annie. I want to go and comfort her, but before I know it Peeta is dragging me to bed. I know sleep will not come to me tonight. If it does, it will only be nightmares.
We board the train that morning to film the last Propo. It is a somber goodbye for me as Peeta and I leave for the last shoot. Peeta is quiet, only moving to steal glances at me and to place a hand on my growing stomach. As we arrive in the Capitol, I find myself in a state of unrest. Something is going to happen today, something big. We start shooting and I contort my face into whatever expression they ask of me. Just as everything is winding down, Commander Boggs is killed. It's the final straw for me. Finnick and some of the other rebels had already paved the way by going after Snow, and I know just what I have to do. I grab Peeta's hand, and yank him toward President Snow's mansion. It is surrounded by Capitol children, and it makes me nauseous. Peeta squeezes my hand as we go to the mansion.
Suddenly, I'm watching everything from outside of my body.
A hovercraft marked with the Capitol's seal materializes directly over the barricaded children. Scores of silver parachutes rain down on them. Even in this chaos, the children know what silver parachutes contain. Food. Medicine. Gifts. They eagerly scoop them up, frozen fingers struggling with the strings. The hovercraft vanishes, five seconds pass, and then about twenty parachutes simultaneously explode.
A wail rises from the crowd. The snow's red and littered with undersized body parts. Many of the children die immediately, but others lie in agony on the ground. Some stagger around mutely, staring at the remaining silver parachutes in their hands, as if they still might have something precious inside. I can tell the Peacekeepers didn't know this was coming by the way they are yanking away the barricades, making a path to the children. Another flock of white uniforms sweeps into the opening. But these aren't Peacekeepers. They're medics. Rebel medics. I'd know the uniforms anywhere. They swarm in among the children, wielding medical kits.
First I get a glimpse of the blond braid down her back. Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child, I notice the duck tail formed by her untucked shirt. I have the same reaction I did the day Effie Trinket called her name at the reaping. At least, I must go limp, because I find myself at the base of the flagpole, unable to account for the last few seconds. Then I am pushing through the crowd, just as I did before. Trying to shout her name above the roar. I'm almost there, almost to the barricade, when I think she hears me. Because for just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name.
And that's when the rest of the parachutes go off.