Oh my god y'all. I'm excited! Like really, really excited! We've got five chapters left. Let me repeat that. There are only five chapters left! Yes, we are really, actually, finally in the home stretch. (There will be an epilogue, but I haven't decided yet whether to attach it with the final chapter or push it out as its own. That'll be decided with the last chapter.)

I've had a creative explosion and pushed out two chapters already. They're pretty massive. I've been building to these final chapters for what feels like forever. It has been over a year since I started this story so maybe that's not too far off. Anyways, I can't tell you how excited I am (have I mentioned that before?) to bring this all to a close that I hope will be ultimately equal parts satisfying, meaningful, powerful, explosive, and we can't forget heart wrenching, because uh hello, Hunger Games here. We are greatly diverging from canon here (as I'm sure you've already noticed). You will probably notice some parallels to Mockingjay, but ultimately they serve the story in very different ways, as you will see. So enough of my excited ramblings, please start reading!

This chapter goes out to all my dedicated reviewers, you know who you are! And if you don't then you should start leaving a review ;)

Part III: The Fire Consumes

"And thus I clothe my naked villainy

With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ;

And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."

-William Shakespeare (Richard III)

Ch. 21- District 13

Numb. Everything was numb.

Blank. Everything was blank.

Nothing felt real.

Something essential was missing. A part of him broke and was now lost. It was lost somewhere in the destruction of the Arena.

No, that wasn't true. It had happened before then. Something to do with… no that was a name he couldn't think—wouldn't think. Everything came back to that name, it always had, always will. He pushed it all down, cramming it with all his strength into the deepest, darkest corner where he could ignore it like everything else he'd been through. But in reality it just festered away, like an untreated wound until it fouled, turning on him and corrupting everything healthy and whole—darkening his spirit and polluting his heart.

Cato sat stalk still and blank faced. He was harnessed in to one of the seats of the hovercraft as it banked sharp to the right. It hurtled through the night sky at an unknown speed to an unknown location and he couldn't be bothered to care. They were alive. Well mostly. The Quarter Quell was over and he had escaped the Arena alive. But none of it meant anything. It hung meaningless in the vacant space of his mind like a lure dangling uselessly in the middle of a dead sea.

Lyme and Haymitch sat across from them, buckled in and involved in serious discussions. He'd never seen Lyme so lively. She was built for times like these. War. It brought her to life. People raced about the cargo space in a wild frenzy, prepping for imminent landing, shouting orders, arguing. There was that name again. Cato flinched and looked to his right. Prim was passed out in the seat next to him, her hand clutched to his thigh. She was crying in her sleep. Tear marks streaked down her face and shone in the dim light. Her face was pale and exhausted; hair tangled into knots. So young and so innocent looking despite the strength that he knew resided inside of her. Something inside Cato warmed at the sight of her. But then he was reminded all over again of everything he'd lost. That heavyset man's words began to play over again and he quickly shoved them aside, back in the festering corner. It was better not to feel—just to shut down. If he didn't feel then there was nothing more they could take from him. He had a flash memory back to that beach under the sea of stars: the engagement ring, heavy like a rock in his palm, lobbed at those glistening blue eyes, taking with it some essential piece of him.

The name he couldn't speak, couldn't think, and yet was always present. Peeta, the boy who started it all with one selfless act, to save a young child from the horrors of the Hunger Games, changed everything. He changed the course of history. He changed Cato's destiny. The first time he saw that tentative and inviting smile in the Opening Ceremony and it was all over. He knew a love like that would burn to hot and consume them both, but he hadn't cared. There had been a clock counting down on his life anyways. He was an idiot, but he thought it was worth the risk. Then the nation changed around them and everything became so much more…

More complicated, dangerous, duplicitous.

Light began to filter in through the porthole windows on the side of the hovercraft. The sun was beginning to rise in the east. Soon its yellow rays would settle across a scorched and barren landscape. Everything had changed over the course of one dark night. He couldn't keep the feelings at bay any longer. Everything began to filter back in and there was nothing he could do. His blank stare soon burned with tears he refused to shed because then it meant he accepted it. And he wouldn't, couldn't.

That heavyset man was a liar. There was no other explanation.

The bombs had dropped all around. He thought for sure they were all dead. He didn't quite understand what Peeta had done until the hovercrafts appeared, doing battle in the night sky. Peeta had destroyed the force field that held them all trapped in the Quarter Quell. He had given them an out, but also thrust them into the middle of war. Even after everything Peeta still strived to put others before himself. Why couldn't Cato do that? Instead he had pushed the only person he'd ever loved away until he ran into the arms of another. It was his fault. All of it, because he couldn't just trust that their love was strong enough. And in the end his doubts proved to be self-fulfilling.

But then Cato remembered the image—seared to the surface of his brain like a brand—of Peeta kissing Gale. It was desperate and needy and Cato couldn't remember the last time Peeta had looked at him with need like that. A fury coiled low in his belly. The darkness was spilling over from that dark corner. He wanted nothing more than to break every limb on Gale—feel the snapping of bone and hear his sharp cries of pain. For daring to touch what was his. He would break those hands that held his Peeta; he would beat that face until it was unrecognizable for thinking it could look on his Peeta with out consequence.

Cato had to stop. He had to cleanse his mind. These were paths that only lead him back to where it all began, when he started to lose Peeta. Fuck!

The armrest of his seat cracked as he slammed his fist against it. Prim hiccupped and twisted in her seat, sleeping fretfully. Cato had to calm. He needed to find peace…

It was an information overload. The hovercraft belonged to District 13? Impossible. They had been destroyed. The district was uninhabitable, toxic. And yet the proof was all around him: soldier uniforms with D13 patches stitched onto their uniforms; the fact that they were alive and not currently being tortured by the Capitol, used in some wicked fashion to end the uprising. And that was another shock. While they fought for their lives in the games the country fought for its very freedom—and for them.

Cato was ready to end their lives rather than let them fall into the hands of the Capitol again. The heavyset man was from the Capitol. Cato remembered him talking to Peeta once. He was the head Gamemaker—Heavenly or something. He had ushered them onto the craft with promises to answer all their questions, but they had to get moving immediately. Only when Lyme and Haymitch had appeared at the mouth of the hovercraft did he believe. And then Heavensbee (that was it) explained everything. Until Cato couldn't hear anymore and fell back in this very seat, blank faced and frozen like a broken computer screen. Prim had collapsed in sobs in the seat next to him until sleep gave her limited reprieve.

War had broken out after Peeta's Mockingjay costume. The Districts couldn't stand by any longer and abet the Capitol's evil. So they took arms. District Thirteen began helping them, providing support and weapons. Plutarch worked from inside the Capitol to ensure the set up of the Arena provided an exit strategy and that they would be waiting to rescue them with this hovercraft they stole. The Capitol's retribution was swift and terrible. All remaining victors were ordered executed and a bombing raid obliterated District Twelve.

"Prepare for emergency landing." A crisp feminine voice spoke over the crackly intercom. The commotion reached a pitched frenzy as people struggled to tie down things knocked loose in battle. Electrical wire sparked from torn open ceiling panels and there was the faint smell of smoke in the air. Cato worried this old thing would break apart before they had a chance to touch down. He had heard one of the mechanics mention all the escape pods except one were damaged. They would all go down with this hunk of metal. Thankfully—or not depending on how Cato looked at things—it held together as they made a jolting impact with the landing pad.

As soon as they touched down medical personnel zoomed down the corridor with two gurneys. One was Peeta, the other Johanna. Haymitch jogged after them. Cato felt a tug on his heart, an invisible force pulling him to follow. This was all too reminiscent of his return from the first Hunger Games. The frantic medics, a dying Peeta, shock that they both had made it out alive, and yet it was miles removed from that time. Looking back it almost seemed simpler. Easier. Now the love was tainted. The world changed. Darker, if possible. Hope seemed so far from reach. Like those nights when he'd watch hovercrafts test their first flight from the top of the Nut and he'd dreamt of escaping in one far away from his father and expectations; visible hope, yet completely unattainable from his point of view.

"Are we there?" Prim slurred with exhaustion, rubbing her eyes with crooked fists.

"Yeah, hurry and move, we should follow Peet—them to the medic bay."

Prim's noticed his stutter, but said nothing. Her eyes were still bloodshot and swollen from tears. More were on the verge. Finnick fell in line beside him and they hurried down the ramp into a vast military complex. Everything was dull steel and chrome. The loading bay was massive; two stories tall, with armed forces racing to great them and help unload. Hundreds of armed soldiers training in the distance stood at salute and watched as everyone disembarked. Trucks and a few tanks lined the back wall. Gun turrets marked the entrance with two sentries on watch.

Maybe with District Thirteen's help they did stand a chance.

It didn't matter.

"Now, now. Don't go running off with out an escort. You'll get lost in a second!" Plutarch huffed as he waddled up behind them, Lyme close behind. They still had yet to speak to each other. Cato didn't know what he would say to her, he felt betrayed. She had kept so much secret it seemed. Why had she felt he couldn't be trusted to know she was working with the rebellion?

Prim eyed Plutarch warily, but Cato couldn't be bothered to care. He could see the bay doors through which the medics had rushed and he felt a burning need to be there.

"Well then please, escort us to our friends. We need to be there." Finnick said. It slipped out of him like a ghost had spoken it and not really him.

"Oh yes, right. Of course. Follow us. They are being taken straight into surgery. It may be a bit."

"Just get us there." Cato snapped. He felt the muscles of his arms tensing and he forced in a deep breath.

Plutarch took the lead with a District Thirteen escort. He obviously didn't know where to go, but didn't want to seem like it. His Capitol aides trotted behind in bright exuberant fashions—one had silver flowers tattooed on her cheeks—talking at high speeds about all sorts of things related to the rebellion. One name kept cropping up that Cato noticed—Coin. President Coin.

They moved down one hallway to the next, then down an elevator four flights. As they hurried to the medical facilities anyone they crossed paths with would halt what they were doing and stare. It was a feeling Cato had grown accustomed too, but usually it was mistrust from those at home or fan obsession and lust from Capitol groupies. Instead these people all watched them with wide eyes full of respect. Cato blocked it out.

They reached a door with a white cross emblem on it and Cato pushed through it ahead of Plutarch and everyone else. He prepped for the worst—images of Peeta separated from him by glass, frantic doctors and electric rods jammed in an open chest—but it was only a waiting area. Haymitch argued with two medics, demanding to be with Peeta. A television played in one corner. It was a news report from the Capitol. War torn sceneries flashed across the screen: piles of dead bodies littered the streets of Eight while factories burned out of control in the background, smoke turning the sky black; gunfire popped as white uniformed Peacekeepers advanced through the stockyards of Six on a rebel contingent; women and children covered in grime and blood ran screaming for refuge in Eleven, explosions in the distance. Then the image switched to President Snow. He stood at a white podium in a dark plum suit, grave faced—as if he actually cared that his country was being torn apart by war, brother turning on brother.

"…Our country has been through this bloodshed before. It was a hard lesson to learn, but we have learned we are stronger as a whole then when divided. Much like the interconnected pieces of a machine, we are each a necessary part of the whole. Separated we are useless. Together we are great. With out the districts, with out the Capitol, the other cannot exist. We must not listen to the lies of these terrorists. They wish for nothing more than us to burn." Snow looked directly into the camera lens with an icy blue stare. "Yet if we burn, everyone burns."

Then the image switched to District Two. It was Victor's row and every house burned, bright orange flames licking at the sky. The screen then flipped to District Twelve, nothing but smoldering ruins.

A sob broke free from Prim behind Cato as he stared at the television in shock. It was the confirmation he needed to believe Heavensbee's words but he still couldn't process it. He felt as if he was going to be sick. A cold sweat broke out on his body, his head burned, his stomach churned.

Lyme came to his side and tried to usher him to a seat, "I know this is—" but he flung her hands off him, interrupting and hissing, "Don't."

Lyme's eyes sharpened, she had little patience for disrespect, but she said nothing.

"Turn that off!" Plutarch barked, raging towards an unsuspecting medic, his hands flailing ineffectually. "I demand, who allowed that to play? Have some common sense people."

No one answered. Plutarch huffed then turned back to one of his assistants with the tattooed cheeks and muttered something, his eyes flitting over to where Cato sat with the others. Cato only heard snippets. "…No one else comes in…it's vital that… of the highest priority…"

Then he turned and walked over to them. "I apologize on my behalf. You shouldn't have been subjected to those images. I shall be going in to the operating room with Peeta. I brought with me one of the best physicians from the Capitol and I'd like to oversee his progress, as soon as we know anything we will let you all know."

It was odd that Plutarch would go in to the operating room. What could he do but get in the way? Cato wanted to argue, but he just couldn't find the strength. The flaming ruins of his old home seared on his retina. There was nothing to be done anyways but wait.

"And Johanna?" Finnick asked. He was seated next to Prim across from Cato and looked pale. His naturally pretty face worn down and sickly looking, his eyes a murky green.

"She is also being afforded the best of treatment. Have no doubts, my friends."

Plutarch nodded, it was a jerky motion, and quickly marched towards another door leading further in to the medical complex. Haymitch still stood before it trying to get his way in. Plutarch stopped to speak with him, but Cato couldn't hear what was said. Whatever it was seemed to assuage Haymitch, because he gave up the fight and came over to the chairs everyone was seated in, plopping in one and dropping his chin to his chest, hair covering his eyes. The excitement was over and everyone fell back into silence.

One minute or one hundred later there was a commotion at the door and Cato turned to watch. Gale burst through with two women in white trailing behind him, pulling at him with white gloves and squawking indignantly.

"I said I'm fine!" Gale shouted gruffly, obviously fed up with his caretakers. His skin practically glowed red, but it was changing rapidly before his eyes—back to its natural gold tan. Whatever had happened to Gale the treatment given to him back on the ship seemed to take quick effect. "Get off me already. Where's Peeta? Somebody just fucking tell me where he is!"

Cato's blood turned hot in his veins. He had never been fully convinced that he could trust the man and now he was vindicated in his mistrust. Something inside him awoke back on that beach and it reared its ugly head again. It was dark and cold, sucking all the warmth from his heart. There was a rushing in his ears and then everything went blank. Cato's knuckles cracked as he pushed off the chair and stormed across the sterile white tile floor. Before he knew what he was doing he was throwing a punch at the side of Gale's head. His thick fist connected solidly to the side of Gale's temple. It caught him off guard so completely that he fell backwards, sprawled on the ground. A bruise was already forming on the side of his face.

"C'mon, get up you coal scum!" Cato bellowed. Gale looked up at Cato stunned. "Let's finish what we started or are you unable to face me like a man with out Peeta here to defend you?"

Cato scuttled forward and swung out a kick with his right leg at Gale's stomach. Before it connected Gale cried out savagely and caught it with both hands lifting up and knocking Cato off balance. He fell backwards onto his ass. They were both on the floor now and Gale scrambled at Cato, giving a kneecap to his side. Cato was in a blind rage, practically unable to see or hear, just moving on instinct. He launched into Gale and pounded into any inch of skin he could find—each crush of bone against flesh only feeding the needy quest in his mind for blood.

Then suddenly they were both ripped apart by a host of guards. Cato fought against his captors in a fit of insanity. Vile, hateful things spewed from his mouth as he kicked up off the floor and tugged against the arms of his restrainers. It wasn't until he was pinned to the ground and Lyme's nose was within an inch of touching his, her pale eyes outraged and forcing contact that he stopped.

"Pull yourself together, Ryves. This country is at war. Peeta could be dying and Prim doesn't need to see this. Your wounded pride is the last thing anybody needs to deal with. I expect more from you." Lyme spoke to him. Her voice was even and barely above a whisper, but filled with some much disgust it stung like her words were sparks of electricity that spattered across his face. A wave of shame fell over him and he nodded. She stood and looked at the guards. "You can release him now."

Cato took a beat before standing, fighting to banish the monster that awoke inside him back to its cage. Once on his feet he realized there was a much larger crowd in the medic bay than before the fight. Gale was already over in a seat being offered an ice pack. Prim was standing just behind Haymitch and he wanted to move to her, but the look of fear on her face—directed at him—was enough to feed a lifetime of self-loathing for Cato. He was disgusted with himself. What was he becoming? No wonder Peeta left him for the arms of another man. He dragged a hand over his face and stepped backwards.

"Now that that's all over, it's time to introduce you to the woman in charge of it all. She orchestrated your rescue with Heavensbee and is now so kind as to offer you and all our remaining kind refuge here in District Thirteen." Lyme supplied, offering with a curt hand gesture between Cato towards one of the new arrivals. She was a woman in her mid-fifties due to the gray hair that hung in straight sheets to her shoulders. Heavily armed men flanked her on both sides and she had a gun holstered to her belt. She looked hardened from the years of isolation and constant fear of death imposed on District Thirteen.

"Cato Ryves this is President Alma Coin."

The President of the District he had heard people talk about so much. Cato straightened his back and moved forward to shake her hand. He stood there looking like a fool for a second as President Coin studied him with narrowed eyes. They were a harsh grey, like all the color had been leached from them. Then she took his hand in hers. It was a tight and quick grip.

"So, you're Peeta's fiancé, the other half of the Mockingjay." President Coin spoke with a way that made Cato feel as if she towered over him. She wielded her authority like a hammer. "I'm hard pressed to see what he finds so great in you."

"I am too, might be why we broke up." Cato couldn't help himself from tossing back. Her lips tightened like one large wrinkle, but she said nothing further. It seemed like that was news to her and Cato couldn't help but smirk. She did not look happy to be so misinformed.

President Coin introduced the man to her right as Boggs. He was a big intimidating looking man, but Cato could see he was nothing more than her puppet. President Coin took the time to introduce herself to Prim and Finnick also before shaking hands with Haymitch. Cato wandered back over to the chairs, choosing the one furthest down from Gale. He sat and glowered over at the congregation of others.

"Have you heard any word on Peeta, President Coin?" Haymitch asked with tight restraint. Cato couldn't tell what he was restraining, but there seemed to be a lot of emotions bubbling just beneath the surface of his haggard face.

Prim looked up between the adults expectantly, desperate for information too. Finnick was still blank faced and standing numbly to the side, almost as if he had forgotten where he was. It finally hit Cato. He'd lost something too and was trying to process it with as little success as Cato.

"None yet. That is why I'm here. I've been informed Plutarch has gone into the operating room. That is a clear violation of protocol." President Coin obviously ran a tight ship and thrived on control and information. Her biggest fears were probably disorder, disobedience and faulty intelligence—like Cato and Peeta still being engaged.

"Yes he wanted to oversee the doctor he brought back from the Capitol with him."

"Is the doctor someone we can trust?"

"I hope so. Plutarch has given me no reason to doubt him, he got us all here alive and safe so far."

Haymitch seemed to be trying to convince himself of the fact more than he was President Coin. She was inclined to agree and departed from the group.

"I shall be going in to check on our Mockingjay and speak with Plutarch. Everyone will remain here."

Boggs followed her to the door before turning and standing guard with the other two officers. It was extremely odd Cato realized. He had always dreamed of escaping the Capitol, finding a place where he and Peeta could live together, safe from persecution. And yet here they were and it was all wrong. They had escaped, but to what?

More time passed. Minutes bled to hours. It was excruciating. No one spoke. Food was brought around at some point. They barely touched it. The television droned in the background, still on the same channel even after Plutarch's outburst. Prim snored lightly in her sleep, curled in what couldn't possibly be a comfortable position on the chair. Finnick stared vacantly at the wall across from him. Gale chewed his nails, the ice pack melting in the empty seat next to him. Cato sniffed and adjusted in the uncomfortable chair. It was so tense in the room the very air felt brittle and breakable. Finally the door guarded by Boggs opened and President Coin marched out in tight, quick strides. Her face was a mask of neutrality.

"Haymitch."

He quickly rose from his seat and went up to her. Cato and Gale both stood at the same time to follow and then stalled, making tense eye contact. Before they could do anything Haymitch disappeared behind the doors. Boggs escorted President Coin out before they could ask anything.

Prim stirred awake and moved restlessly in her chair, stretching out the kinks in her neck. She looked at Cato before averting her eyes. He felt another twinge of guilt. She asked for an update, but they had nothing to report. Cato could barely speak. His throat was so constricted with worry it was like trying to talk around a rock he'd swallowed and lodged in his throat. Gale moved in next to her, throwing an arm around her shoulder and informing her Haymitch had been allowed in. Cato bristled.

"That's good then… right?" Prim looked around at the room, but no one had answers for her. Cato didn't know. The lack of information was worrisome. There had been so many explosions. He hadn't actually seen what happened to Peeta. Just the blood trail left behind when he was loaded on the hovercraft. Finnick had told Cato he tried to go to him, but Peeta ordered him to help Johanna. Typical Peeta. Always putting others first. Except when it came to them…

Abruptly Cato pushed away from his chair and stormed away from the others. He couldn't take it anymore. He began pacing a line into the tiled floor, losing his mind to the monotony of his steps. Seven forward. Seven back. Over and over. Head down. Eyes unblinking until everything blurred, everything melding together. Then his body forced a blink on him and it started over. More minutes passed. What could be taking so long?

Just when it was all about to overwhelm him and the walls were on the verge of collapsing, everything that they held in exploding outward, Haymitch walked back through the doors.

Everyone shot up and moved in on him like a herd of hungry cattle charging their master, knowing it was dinnertime and they were finally going to be taken care of.

"Haymitch, what happened in there?"

"What's the word?"

"Peeta—is he…is he alright?"

"Just tell us already."

They all spoke at once, inundating Haymitch. He held up a hand and took a step back as if buffeted by a wave. He looked grim. More worn out and beat down than Cato had ever seen before, even at his worst most drunken moments on the Victory Tour. Cato didn't like that look. He couldn't handle it. He was about to turn away, unwilling to accept the news about to be delivered when—

"He's going to live."

Sighs of relief escaped all around Cato. He should have felt that release too. The boulder that had settled over his chest removed, but instead he fretted more, the weight growing. Haymitch wasn't saying something.

What happened in that operating room?

Is my mind trustworthy?

Peeta didn't know what to think anymore. So much had changed in a matter of days. But the ultimate question that lingered over his mind was could he trust it? Could others?

Tossing and turning in the starchy sheets of the hospital bed, Peeta fought for control against the dark. It would be so easy now to just give in to it, to let it take him. District Twelve was annihilated, his family dead, all those innocent people…just gone. No one would blame him. They'd say it was post-traumatic stress disorder; he'd dealt with so much its no wonder his mind didn't give out earlier. But that was the easy way out.

His mind still reeled when he thought back to that first moment, waking to find he was in district Thirteen and alive. President Coin was an intriguing woman and he wasn't sure yet what his opinion of her was. And then there was everything else… Plutarch Heavensbee believed in him and Haymitch would support him in anything. He didn't know if he could do it. It was too much and yet apropos. He was the boy on fire, the Mockingjay. He had finally accepted that title and he couldn't turn it down now.

It's the only thing I have left to me.

The drugs still flowed heavy in his system and it was hard to tell how much time had passed since those meetings. Time bled together and waking moments blurred with his dreams: a nurse checking the dosage of his medicine became his mother harassing him for ruining a cake he had decided to decorate for the Harvest festival; Haymitch whispering in his ear, begging almost, the begging turning to an accusing Beetee, 'You're a killer!' He berated until Peeta woke sweating and crying out in pain.

"My leg! My leg!" Peeta sobbed, grabbing out for warm flesh and feeling only the cold metal of his prosthetic left leg that began at mid-thigh.

It was foreign and didn't belong to him. He wished to reject it. He didn't want anymore Capitol related constructions in his body, but he couldn't fight this one. Not if he ever wanted to walk again.

Then it hit him anew. He was crippled. He was no longer whole. His family was gone—his father, his brothers, even his mother. His home was gone. His lover lost to him. Johanna next to him, undisturbed by his wailing in her medically induced coma.

The medic had rushed in and administered a stronger dose of morphling and he was swept back under stormy gray clouds of sleep.

Evening light, bright and golden, spilled in through the narrow windows placed into the wall near the ceilings. Peeta assumed that most of this building was underground, along with the rest of District Thirteen. It was how they had survived for this long with out being killed by the Capitol. He had been awake and coherent for most of the day for the first time in a while and they were going to allow visitors. He learned it had been three days now since the events in the Quarter Quell. War still raged, District Twelve was still in ruins, the engagement ring still on his ring finger, the other on the bedside table next to him.

The door creaked open and in walked Prim. She looked good. Healthy and clean and unscathed, if not apprehensive; her bottom lip worried between her teeth until Peeta held out a hand to her.

"Prim…"

She then ran to the side of his bed, her feet quietly padding across the tile, and awkwardly gripped him over the side of the bed. He hugged back as fiercely as he could, planting his head in her hair and breathing in the clean smell of strawberries. It was done up in braids like Katniss used to do for her before school. And that was it for him. He couldn't hold back and neither could she. The tears welled hot and fresh in his eyes. They were all that was left of District Twelve. Prim chocked back sobs as she squeezed his torso tight between her arms.

"They're all dead Peeta!" Prim wailed into his chest. Peeta stroked and coddled her, trying to give her what remained of his strength, but he feared it wasn't enough.

A noise, the soft intake of breath, a gasp almost, alerted Peeta to another's presence. He looked up from Prim's hair, still clutching her close, tears streaking his heated cheeks. Then a moan of joy slipped from his throat and fresh tears spilt over his lashes. Gale was alive. It hadn't been a ghost. He was whole and safe and in District Thirteen with Peeta. Despite all the mixed emotions he had and the anger he had felt at Gale before when everything came to light about them to Cato he felt warmth spread through his heart, spilling out over his chest and warming the whole of his body; even his cold metal leg.

A smile enveloped Gale's face—also mixed with tears, his family was gone too Peeta realized. But that smile, it was something he hadn't seen in a while. Not since that one night that seemed eons ago, but was really only a few weeks ago. The smile dimpled his cheeks and his cobalt eyes blazed alive with a blue fire like sapphires in the morning sun. His hand moved out to rest against Peeta's left thing and Peeta flinched. Gale's hand withdrew, shock replacing his face. Peeta shook his head no, but Gale lifted the covers regardless and a broken moan escaped his mouth as he caught site of the Capitol technology that had replaced his flesh and bone. Prim looked up too and gasped at the sight of it.

"Oh Peeta! They—they didn't tell us!"

"They wouldn't tell us anything of your condition save for that you were alive," Gale growled indignantly.

Primrose wept anew and Gale fell back into the chair provided next to Peeta's bed.

"It's not all bad. The technology is wired right into my nervous system, I wont even have any rehabilitation time. I'll kinda be like a superhero. It's strong than the rest of my body combined." Peeta tried for light, forcing a laugh, but failed terribly. No one joined his laugh.

In the end Prim fell asleep curled up next to Peeta on his bed as they mourned their home and family, her hand tightly wound in the fabric of his shirt, his hand slowly stroking her back; giving her as much comfort as he received in return. Gale remained by Peeta's side too, eventually falling asleep upright in the chair by his bed. It seemed wholly uncomfortable.

Just as his eyes became heavy with encroaching sleep and the lights turned off for the night Peeta caught sight of movement by the door. Standing in the doorway, lit from behind by the light of the hallway was Cato. It cast shadows over his face but made his body radiate like some dark angel, his features smoky and brooding. Peeta sought out in the shadow of his face for those brown eyes, but all he could see where the dark hallow spots where his eyes should be. He could feel the intensity of their gaze, searing across the room like lasers.

Then Cato turned away. His face illuminated by the light for the briefest of seconds before his back was turned to Peeta and he walked away. He walked away from Peeta for the second time and it was like feeling the break all over again. His chest constricted and his heart clenched. He knew it was over and everything was lost.

It's time. Now or never. Just leave me that little review I know has been eating away inside of you since you first started reading this.

Love, love, love,

Crobb07