Yes. I know. I'm terrible. But I have good news...I just got back from a two-week long trip that included two weddings (not my own), so I am now able to update hopefully more often. I'm doing my best, and I appreciate your patience. I hope this makes up for it.

I want to take a moment to thank all my readers. You guys, I reached my dream. 100 reviews. But then, because of your unlimited awesomeness, you not only help me receive 100 reviews, you gave me 107, along with 119 follows, and 67 favorites. So thank you. You guys make me smile every day. You're all beautiful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy this chapter...;)

I don't own the Hunger Games...But I do have some arguably gorgeous readers. So I might as well.

Plus, I own a rather fabulous "I Heart Peeta" T-shirt that I am currently wearing (the heart is the mockingjay symbol in the shape of a heart. How utterly fantastic is that?). My life seriously can't get any better. Unless, perhaps...I got a few reviews?

"Soldier Everdeen, your squad is scheduled to leave in less then two days. There is no possibility of this happening."

I scowl at Plutarch stubbornly. "I won't go with them. Not unless you give me what you promised."

"We never promised you anything," says Coin.

"You did." I sneak a pleading glance at Haymitch, who sits, passive, in a corner. He shakes his head ever so slightly.

I groan inwardly. I've been here in Command for almost an hour. Arguing back and forth with Coin and Plutarch about our trip while Haymitch sits back and does nothing whatsoever.

Our trip. Peeta and I's.

Except they aren't letting me go. Well, Coin isn't.

"You said that Peeta and I were 'allowed to visit our District's remains'." I state angrily.

"We did. But you lost your chance."

"How did I lose my chance?"

"You—how shall I put this? You simply…procrastinated too long."

I glare at her. "Procrastinated?"

How dare she. Coin knows perfectly well that I've been training, as well as taking care of Peeta. She is well aware of his condition.

President Alma Coin knows that she made a promise. And now, she is trying to find all the right loopholes to somehow keep that promise from being fulfilled.

So she decides to blame "procrastination" that never even existed.

I look her straight in the eye. "I never procrastinate. You promised me a trip to District 12."

Haymitch sighs. "Katniss—"

I cut across him, glaring at Coin. "Do you mean to tell me that because Peeta turned out to be hijacked, your promise is no longer valid?"

"Soldier Everdeen—"

"You can deny that this promise ever existed all you like, President Coin, but rest assured that until you fulfill it, I will not be leaving for any sort of battle. And neither will Peeta."

Silence follows as Coin and I glare at each other, our gazes unwavering. Every time I make eye contact, I know she's planning something.

I can tell by the gleam in her eyes.

I open the door to Peeta's compartment.

"We're leaving," I state curtly.

"So they're actually letting us go?" asks Peeta hoarsely from his table. His voice always has a slight break in it. I assume that it's some sort of side-effect from his torture. It's only a slight crack in his voice, so it's not entirely noticeable unless you know Peeta like I do.

Like when he was seemingly non-hijacked, Peeta had asked if there was a possibility of revisiting our District. I said yes, assuming that President Coin was planning on actually keeping her promise, which, evidently, she wasn't.

"No," I respond.

He tips his chair backwards, eyebrows creased disappointedly. "You didn't convince them," he says, for confirmation.

"No," I say again, "But we're leaving anyway. I know where the hovercrafts are. We can sneak in."

Peeta stands. "Katniss, no. We can't steal a hovercraft. That'll just make things worse. They'd notice, because your liftoff needs to be cleared, which can only be done if President Coin allows it."

He sighs. "Besides, it doesn't matter-"

"But it does," I protest. "We have to go. We need to. Both of us." Before he can speak, I open the door, only to find Haymitch standing there.

"We're leaving," I state matter-of-factly.

He rolls his eyes. "That's a surprise."

"Why are you here?"

"To inform you that you may, in fact, leave. Our esteemed President has granted you permission and wishes you a safe journey."

I raise an eyebrow. "So she's actually letting us go? About time, she's-"

He clamps a hand over my mouth and pushes me into the room, shutting the door. "Insulting the President isn't going to help in your case, Sweetheart," He hisses.

"What do you mean, in her case?" asks Peeta, while I glare at Haymitch.

"I mean that Coin has something fishy up her sleeve, as you've probably already guessed."

We nod. "And from what I've heard, she's planning something big, something to harm you both. So I'd keep your mouth shut and behave."

I make a face. He continues. "I don't know when or where, but Coin's going to hurt you, then probably cover it up-"

"-And most likely make it look like an accident," says Peeta.

I laugh bitterly. I knew it. There is a reason behind her calmness. A plan. For everything. "So you're here to give us a warning," I say.

"Yes. I think that to Coin, you much more useful dead than you are alive.

I turn to Peeta. "Well then, let's go."

We land somewhere in the outskirts of Town. Our pilot, a Thirteen native named Yarrow, lowers the rope ladder.

After our decent, I turn to Peeta, whose face has suddenly gone ashen.

"Where do you want to go first?" I ask softly.

"Katniss…." He whispers. He looks at his boots. "I don't think I can do it."

"Yes, you can. I'll be right here."

He nods. "Where do you want to go, Peeta?"

"I—The Bakery…" He says weakly.

I take his hand and squeeze it tightly. "Okay," I say. "Let's go."

We walk in silence. I've never seen Peeta this terrified and pale. It bothers me so much to see him in pain. I wish…I wish I could make it better, but what could I do? Nothing. I'm basically helpless. I can't bring his brother back, or erase his torture. But that's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.

I feel Peeta's grip tighten and hear his breath hitch. That's when I know we're here. I force my gaze up.

Dust. That's the first thing I notice. The ugly, black dust that has always covered everything. It covers the ground, the rubble—even what's left of the plants. I hate it.

I let my eyes roam over the rubble of Peeta's old home. There's hardly anything left. The basic structure is there, so you still can tell how it was built, but everything else, the ovens, the rooms—all of it is either disintegrated or lost in the rubble.

I hear a sob. I turn, only to find Peeta, knelt on the ground, brushing black dust off a fallen, faded sign.

Bakery.

Peeta trembles, tears streaming down his face. I cry with him, trying desperately to comfort him, but I soon realize that he wants to be alone.

"I'll leave you here," I whisper. "I'll—I'll go and see if I can find anything..."

He doesn't respond. I caress nape of his neck for a moment, then set off through the wreckage. I shift through the rubble, not finding anything. It's only after about fifteen minutes that I find a Mellark engraved rolling pin. I tuck it into my pack for safekeeping and keep searching.

I'm about to pass through and go back when a face catches my eye.

The baker. Mr. Mellark.

I brush off some rubble and find that it's a small portrait of the Mellark family, no more than half a foot tall. It's an actual photograph, in color. I don't think I've ever seen one that wasn't black and white.

Colored photos were extremely expensive, so nobody could afford one, if any, at all. That's why most of the photographs in Twelve are black and white. It's because they were cheap.

I'm struck by how much the Mellark boys resemble their father. They each have the same strong jaw, carefree grin, and blonde hair. Even though he can't be more than fourteen in the photograph, Peeta is the spitting image of his father.

But the eyes must've been inherited from the mother. Mr. Mellark's eyes are more of a warm, cloudy blue, but Mrs. Mellark's eyes are a piercing, deep cobalt. Even so, Peeta's eyes are much warmer than hers.

I can tell that Peeta would treasure this picture very much. I place it inside a pack I brought along.

I walk back through the rubble. I find Peeta standing under a tree near the Bakery.

"Do you remember this tree?" He asks me softly.

Do I? I look closely. It's covered in dust. Its branches are slightly charred. But it'd be impossible not to recognize the tree where Peeta first saved my life.

"Yes," I say, joining him under the tree.

"You were so beautiful that day. Even starved and wet, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen." Peeta says, looking at me.

"I couldn't just stand there and let you die. So I burnt two loaves of our best bread. Not too much, but just enough so we couldn't sell it." He draws closer.

"My mother hit me, yelling at me to feed them to the pigs. But instead, I threw it to you. I loved the way your eyes lit up." He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

My breathing feels heavy. "The next day, I tried to find the courage to talk to you. But you were too intimidating." His voice becomes quieter.

"You picked a dandelion. I think it gave you hope." He looks down, and I follow his gaze. Growing through the dusty ground is a small patch of dandelions.

Hope. The promise that life can be good again.

He lightly plucks one from its root, and presents it to me. I take it from him, unable to tear my gaze away from his.

"You're my dandelion, Katniss Everdeen," he says softly, cupping my jaw.

I return the gesture, running my fingers down the side of his face. And then his lips meet mine. They press together softly, sweetly, and his hands slide upward towards my hair. Then comes the spark. The spark that spreads quickly, like electricity.

I sigh, melting into his embrace, slipping my fingers into his blonde hair, the dandelion clutched between us. We fit together perfectly, effortlessly.

He breaks away, leaning his forehead against mine. He laces our fingers together. "Real or not real?" he says breathlessly.

"Real." I whisper.

He kisses me again. I drop all the pressure and problems of reality, and let myself enjoy it. For real.

Breaking apart, Peeta asks, "How much time do we have left?"

"A little more than an hour," I breathe, my eyes still shut. I lean into his chest. "We should probably walk back now."

"Okay."

Back on the hovercraft, I give Peeta the picture and the rolling pin.

"I found this." I don't really know what to say.

He smiles, sadly. "Thank you." Peeta runs his hand over the picture, wistfully. He takes the rolling pin, brushing dust off of it.

"You know," He says, "This rolling pin has been passed down for fifteen generations."

"Fifteen!?"

"Yeah. My father...he was going to give it to me. He said..." Peeta swallows hard. "He said I had earned it."

"He was right," I say, cupping his face and kissing his cheek.

He almost smiles, cheeks rather pink. "Thank you."

As we lift off, I look out the window, straining for one last glance of my home.

Upon arriving back in Thirteen, we're immediately ordered to report to Command, to assemble with our squad.

Boggs is waiting for us, among the rest of the squad. "Let's see it," he says to Peeta and I.

I'm confused until I realize he means the stamp I received after my simulation. I extend my hand.

"451. That's with me," He says, casting a glance at our intertwined hands. I flare somewhat angrily. He checks Peeta's hand and lets us go.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Johanna waves us over. I roll my eyes.

"I didn't know you were coming, Johanna," I say, as Peeta and I sit next to her. "I thought you were in the hospital."

"That run-down prison? Nope. I just panicked during my simulation, then they panicked and thought I was crazy, but I convinced them I was perfectly sane and they decided to let me go." She looks me, half-grinning. "Why? Disappointed?"

"No," I say defensively.

Peeta changes the subject. "Finnick, how's Annie doing?"

Finnick, who is sitting between Johanna and a silent Gale, grins. "Great. I have news," he says excitedly, like a child on Christmas. "Annie is pregnant!"

A wide smile stretches across my face. "Congratulations, Finnick. That's amazing."

"Do you know if it's a boy or girl?" asks Peeta.

"No, we want it to be a surprise."

"Well, good luck," says Johanna. "You'll need it."

That's when I notice their hair. Buzzed. A typical military haircut.

"Why did they shave your heads and not ours?" I say.

"Isn't it obvious?" says Gale. "You two were the sparks that created this rebellion. They want you to be recognizable on camera. Especially you, Katniss. You're the Mockingjay, after all."

Makes sense, I guess.

Boggs whistles to get our attention, standing over a wide table with a panel on it. He explains the nature of the Capitol, what we might encounter, what we need to be prepared for—It seems like a terrible presentation, until he projects a holographic image of a block of the Capitol in the air.

"This is the area surrounding one of the Peacekeeper barracks. Not unimportant, but not the most crucial of targets, and yet look." He enters a code, and lights flash across the image. They're an assortment of colors and blink at different speeds.

"Each light is called a pod. It represents a different obstacle, the nature of which could be anything, from a bomb to a bunch of mutts."

He looks at each of us. "Make no mistake, whatever it contains is designed to either trap or kill you. Some have been in place since the Dark Days, others developed over the years. This program, which one of our people absconded with when we left the Capitol, is our most recent information. They don't know we have it."

I hardly notice my feet moving towards the table. I cup a rapidly blinking light.

"Ladies and gentleman…" I hear Finnick say beside me.

I finish for him, my voice ringing throughout the room.

"Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin."

Did you like it? Did you did you did you? PLEASE TELL ME I AM SERIOUSLY GETTING ANXIOUS OVER HERE.

And for those who haven't really figured it out...The key to Peeta's hijacking is Katniss' singing. It's bringing him back. And what has Coin (or me) have in mind? Well...;).

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May the Odds be Always in Your favor,

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