Lovers in a Dangerous Time
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre

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Chapter Two: You Must Love Me

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Last Time in Lovers in a Dangerous Time:

Before I can even open my mouth to say anything, a deafening explosion whips through the air. Something heavy slams into my back and my mouth fills with dirt. I scramble to get up, spitting mud. Whatever's laying on top of me is heavy and I feel warm wetness seeping through my clothes. I'm pretty sure I know what it is.

I shift slightly, struggling to get whatever's on top of me off. I wince in pain as I move, but I don't think anything's broken. The weight slides off of me with a familiar grunt.

My eyes widen and I realize just what, or rather who, it is.

"Peeta!"

oOo

The hospital tent reeks of bleach, with the unmistakable undercurrent of blood and death hovering in the background. Breathing through my mouth doesn't help, the chemicals are so thick they coat the tongue. The air hums with the cries and moans of damaged and dying people and the whirs and beeps of life-saving machinery. Gray and white dominate, relieved only by the red and blue letters on the high tech machines. Hanging fabric walls block the sight of the dead and the dying, but they don't block anything else.

I wish I could leave.

I won't.

Not while Peeta's still hovering in-between life and death.

No one really knows what happened before the explosion. Everyone's got a theory. But the full story is a mystery. The only thing anyone knows for certain is General Glenn and everyone in his tent are dead. It's a lot of names. Samson. Leibowitz. Trudeau. Homes. Nicholson. The list goes on and on.

From the whispered conversations I've overheard, most people think the high-ranking Capitol prisoner they were interrogating was fitted with some type of explosive device. But a few others, those closer to General Glenn, mutter it could have been an inside job, maybe even ordered by Coin.

I don't care who's right. I just want to catch the bastards who did it. And when we do, I want to be the one to kill them. For what they did to my commander, but mostly for what they did to my husband. Whoever engineered this plot needs to pay.

That's assuming they're not already dead.

Peeta moans and all thoughts of revenge fly from my mind.

Reaching out, I trail my fingers along his forehead. They shaved his head. He looks so different without his ash blond hair. He's always been so proud of his full head of hair. He's going to be so pissed when he wakes up. "Hey, Peet. You awake? You gotta look in the mirror."

He doesn't respond.

I hate this. I hate being helpless. Every time Peeta or Katniss gets injured, I feel like a piece of myself is ripped away. I can't lose them. Either of them. I need them. I love them.

My heart wrenches and a memory surfaces: Peeta's hurt expression when I dropped his hand. Immediately after that image fades, hundreds of others rise up to take its place. Each one showcases Peeta's internalized pain. How much each rejection hurt him. How his smiles became more brittle with each show of affection I gave to Katniss but not to him.

It's more than I can bear.

"Peeta, if you can hear this, just… wake up so I can tell you I'm sorry." I take his hand and squeeze it once. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I love you. Please come back to me so I can show you just how much." It's a vow. One I intend on seeing through.

Still, my husband doesn't say anything. No matter how much I want him to.

oOo

Peeta still hasn't woken up two days later. The doctors say the force of the blast gave him a concussion, whatever that is, and the best thing to do is keep an eye on him and let his body heal normally. They say it'll take time. Lots of time.

I hate waiting.

Unlike me and Rory, Peeta took the full force of the blast. He had shrapnel embedded in his back, arms, and legs. There were even a couple pieces of wood and metal lodged in the back of his head. He lost a lot of blood. The doctors stitched up his wounds, but there's not much they can do for the head injury. They're giving him fluids so he won't dehydrate or starve, but he's not a serious enough case to warrant around-the-clock medical care, not with Thirteen's limited staff. There's too many other people injured from the fighting, the bombing of the refugee camp, and this new explosion. Mrs. Everdeen checks in whenever she can, but she's overworked just like the rest.

I'm still in demand as one of the Mockingjays. Cressida tried to push me into filming another propo, but I cut her off. Not until Peeta's better. Instead, I'm spending as much time as I can sitting with my husband, holding his hand, listening to his breathing, making sure he's still okay.

My boy's starting to make getting injured a habit. I'm wondering if I should insist on him staying back in Thirteen like Katniss. Although I suspect both of my spouses would object to that idea. And unlike Katniss, I can't use pregnancy as an excuse to make Peeta stay somewhere safe. I wish I could.

There's a rustle of fabric beside me. I look up. Rory stands at the entrance to the cubicle, a shiny object dancing between his fingers.

"What do you got there?"

My brother holds it up. It's a gold ring with some kind of clear stone set in it. It looks valuable. Not the kind of thing someone'd leave lying around.

A horrible thought crosses my mind. "Where'd you get that? You haven't been looting people's houses, have you?" I hope he's smart enough not to, but I wouldn't put it past my magpie of a brother.

He shakes his head. "This is what I was looking at when-" he trails off, glancing over at Peeta, "-you know."

I remember. It's why I stopped. Rory'd fallen behind. I'd turned to see where he'd gone, while Peeta'd continued walking. Rory's curiosity is why I wasn't as close to the bomb blast as my husband.

"You know, the ring's the reason I didn't get hurt." Rory holds it up, turning it over to look at the stone. "If I'd been standing, or if I hadn't spotted it…" Again he trails off, letting me draw my own conclusions.

I try to smile. I only half manage. "I guess it was a lucky find."

Rory twiddles the ring between his thumb and his forefinger. "I think it's more than that." He glances at me. "I think it was a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That Prim and me should get married."

I stare at him, my mind reeling. I wasn't expecting my little brother to be talking about marriage. I know he and Prim are a thing. But it's a kid thing. I figured they'd get it out of their system. Especially now that they have more options in Thirteen. But I'd forgotten one thing: he's as gone over her as I ever was over Katniss. Still, this is all kind of sudden. "...Okay. Sure. You've got plenty of time."

He shakes his head. "No, I mean right now."

"Right now? You're a little young." Rory's still a kid. Prim's still a kid. One day, I would be happy to see them married. But not now. Not when they're only fourteen.

"No, I'm not!" He glares at me, lifting his chin. "According to Thirteen, Prim and me are adults."

"Barely!" I throw up the hand that's not holding Peeta's, gesturing at Rory. "You're fourteen, Rory! You're still a kid!"

"You were fourteen when Dad died."

"That's different!"

"How?" My brother crosses his arms over his chest. "How's it different?"

He looks and sounds like the child he is, but his question gives me pause. He's right. I was the same age he is now when I took over as head of the family, when I became the only father Posy ever knew. My eyes meet his and I look at him, really look at him for the first time. He's me in miniature. He hasn't reached his last growth spurt yet, but he's no longer the little boy I remember. He's almost the same height as my husband, with well defined muscles honed from hard use. Part of me wonders when he grew up. How in the hell did I miss this?

Rory's foot starts tapping. He's waiting for an answer. An answer I don't have.

"Dammit, Rory, it just was!" I finally get out, rubbing the back of my neck to calm down. I don't want Peeta to wake up to me and Rory shouting. "I had you and Vick and Ma to take care of, and then there was Posy. I was forced to become an adult. I didn't have a choice. I had to become the man of the house. You needed me. Ma needed me. Posy needed me."

"And Prim needs me," he counters. "Her ma's busy off in the Medical Corps, big sister's the voice of the rebellion. She's got no one left but me. You all are too busy."

I flinch a bit, hoping Rory doesn't notice.

Unfortunately, he does. "I'm not blaming ya, Gale." He rubs the back of his neck like I just did. He really is just like me. "It's just… you ain't got time for us. And that's okay. You got all these other responsibilities, people pulling on you every which way." His eyes bore into mine. "And you've got a baby and another one on the way. You don't need to worry about taking care of us anymore." He puffs out his chest. "Prim and me can take care of each other."

"But you're still a kid." Even when I became a man at fourteen, when I took over my father's role, I never imagined getting married, not until I was past Reaping age. But Rory is. It's just one more difference between his life and mine.

"I'm not that much younger than Peeta or Katniss. I'm not that much younger than they were when you guys got hitched." His voice is earnest, pleading. "'Sides, with Peeta getting hurt and this whole war thing, it made me realize I don't want to wait anymore. Prim and me might never get a chance to grow old. People die in wars, get hurt." He looks at Peeta pointedly, his fingers still clutching the ring. "If I go, I just don't want to go with any regrets."

I see his point. If I die tomorrow, the only thing I'd regret is that I couldn't hold my youngest son in my arms, or kiss Katniss's lips again. I glance down to where Peeta's hand is clenched in mine. Or show Peeta just how much I really do love him and want him.

Rory's right. We are in a war. I need to stop putting off things because I'm scared. I don't want Peeta to die thinking he was always going to be second best. My husband doesn't deserve that.

I sigh, unwilling to keep fighting. "Fine. I'm not gonna argue with you about this any more. But have you thought about what if Prim says no?"

"She won't." There's no hint of falseness in his tone. He's positive she's going to say yes.

"Certain of it, are you?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Yup." Rory doesn't elaborate. I envy his surety. It's so different from my own nervousness regarding my spouses.

I have a thought. It makes me smirk. "I suppose this means I need to give you the talk."

"The talk?" His brow furrows. "What do you mean, 'the talk'?"

From the bed, Peeta lets out a groan. "If you're gonna tell him about sex, would you mind doing it somewhere else? I've gotten my fill of secondhand embarrassment."

My heart skips a beat. He's awake! My boy's finally awake!

Unable to help myself, I lean down and press a kiss to his chapped lips. "Hey," I breathe. "Missed you."

Peeta opens his eyes and smiles up at me. It's the most beautiful thing in the world. "I missed me too. D'you think I can have a drink of water?"

I nod, gesturing for Rory to pour him a glass, since Peeta's not letting go of my hand.

But Rory's gone. He must've skedaddled as soon as Peeta said the word sex.

If he thinks running away now is going to save him from the talk, he's wrong. Very, very wrong. But I can deal with him later. Right now, I have a husband to help.

oOo

The hangar bay in District Thirteen is teeming with people. It's even more crowded than it was the day of our departure. It's weird. It looks like the whole district's shown up. I wonder what the deal is.

I glance over at our ever-present bodyguard. "What's going on?"

Bart Ashley turns his head and gives me a look of disbelief. "It's a funeral. You have funerals where you come from." The way he says it makes me think he's expecting us to say no.

I share a look with Peeta. So many people for a funeral? That's just weird. Thirteen's customs are so alien. Foreign. I miss the certainty and ritual from back home. At least there things made sense.

My husband shrugs his shoulders slightly in agreement. He's leaning against me, his skin still an unhealthy pallor. I still haven't gotten used to his lack of hair. He's sporting a little fuzz, but it's darker than I remember. It just makes the scars on his head stand out even more. Another pulse of guilt surges through me. These scars are my fault. If I hadn't…

To distract myself from that train of thought, I answer Ashley's implied question, "Yeah, we hold funerals." I'm proud I've managed to keep the annoyance out of my tone. "But they're a lot smaller. And they tend to be done in cemeteries, not…" I struggle to find the words. "Not in places like this."

The soldier shakes his head. "Cemeteries are a luxury. We don't do that around here. We do one mass funeral and then the bodies are taken straight to be processed."

"You mean like cremated?" Peeta asks with a frown. We both remember the funeral pyres from the flu. It's not a good memory.

Ashley takes a moment too long to answer. "Yeah, something like that. It's a bit more complex than just tossing the bodies on a pyre."

I'm about to ask him for more information, but all other thoughts on the subject are immediately pushed aside when I spot a familiar figure hurrying through the crowd. She's searching for someone, probably us. Her frown deepens as she pushes her way through. There's a man following her, moving against the crush of people to keep up with her. I tense up for a second until I recognize our other bodyguard, Hayes. Good to know he's been watching Katniss while we were in Six.

I nudge Peeta and point. "Toldja Katniss'd be waiting for us."

"She's gonna yell at me," Peeta bemoans, rubbing his hand over his shaved scalp.

"That's what happens when you go and get injured. You should know that by now. Besides, you deserve it." I press a kiss to his temple. "Might as well brace yourself."

Katniss spots us and waddles over. Her belly is even bigger than when she was carrying Rain. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was ready to pop. She's so tiny and her belly's so large. I hope nothing goes wrong. I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself.

She joins us, her eyes bright. Without saying a word, she pulls us both to her, wrapping her arms around us.

I return the gesture, enjoying the feel of both my loves pressed up against me. Enjoying their scent. Katniss smells like Thirteen's soap, but with a hint of breast milk. I bury my nose in her hair, breathing in. I feel Peeta doing the same. I know we're both thinking the same thing: we're home.

It's an intimate moment, private. I'm embarrassed to be doing it in such a public place, but nothing, not even embarrassment, will keep me from holding my wife.

After several long moments, Katniss pulls back and stares up at the two of us, her eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. "Don't you ever make me worry about you like that again! This is the last time you go anywhere without me! How can I protect you idiots if I'm stuck underground?" She turns her eyes to Peeta. "You're lucky Plutarch told me you'd been injured but were expected to make a full recovery! When I heard about General Glenn…" she trails off, shaking her head. "You're lucky." She runs her fingers over the newly grown stubble. "Even if you did lose your hair."

"So… you're not gonna yell at me?" He scratches the back of his neck nervously.

Katniss raises an eyebrow. "Should I? You didn't do anything stupidly heroic, did you?"

Peeta flushes and ducks his head. "Depends on what you call stupidly heroic?"

"What do you me-" Katniss cuts herself off. "No. I don't want to know. You're here now, you're both here now, and that's all that matters." She glances around the hangar nervously, her eyes wary, gauging the people around us. She pulls the two of us off to the side, until we're standing against one of the walls. Ashley and Hayes follow, standing guard to give us what privacy they can in the overcrowded hangar. "So, I have some news." She shifts her weight from foot to foot, her arms crossed over the top of her protruding stomach. Every inch of her conveys nervousness and worry.

I share a glance with Peeta. Something's wrong with our wife. Something she doesn't want to tell us.

Peeta, as usual, speaks up. "Katniss, are you okay?"

"What?" she stammers out. "Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

"You tell us."

She looks away, a sure sign she's lying. "I'm fine."

"The baby?" Panic tinges my voice. "There's nothing wrong with the baby, is there?"

Katniss's head pops up and she shakes her head. "No! Other than he likes to dance on my bladder while I'm trying to sleep. The baby's fine!" She's telling the truth. My worry eases.

"So what's up?" Peeta asks gently, his hand on Katniss's arm. "What do you need to say?"

She looks at him. "I know you're gonna be mad at me."

"I am?"

"Yeah, I've…" She looks over at me for help, I don't know why. It's not like I can reveal what she did that might make Peeta mad at her. Besides, the man loves her. She could probably cut off a limb and he'd still think she shit rainbows. Not that I'm much better. I'd gladly sacrifice an arm or a leg if it meant I got to keep Katniss and Peeta. They're my life. I can't live without them.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak but she's cut off by a squeal of feedback from the front of the hangar.

The three of us turn to see Coin standing on a raised dais, the flag of Thirteen draped artistically behind her. On either side of her are two projection screens with the words 'In Memoriam' emblazoned on them.

The President clears her throat and begins to speak. "Citizens of Thirteen, we are gathered here to honor our fallen soldiers, whose lives have been sacrificed upon the altar of freedom. Make no mistake," she holds up one hand to emphasize her words, "these men and women are heroes, and they should be remembered, honored, and treasured. We need to make certain their deaths do not go to waste."

The screens behind her start flashing the words 'Duty,' 'Honor," and 'Sacrifice' in big, bold letters over stills of snowy battlefields. It feels like we're watching a propo.

A feeling made even stronger at Coin's next words. "I call upon all of you now to bear witness to their individuality and their legacy."

To the strains of a slow instrumental song, which Ashley whispers is called 'My District Will Soldier On,' the president reads off each member of the dead's name, rank, and where they died while the projections show their pictures. The spectacle reminds me of the 'memorial to fallen tributes' thing the Capitol does during the Games. I wonder if the similarity is intentional.

The whole affair is a tedious monotony. So many people are gone. I want to leave, go see my son, but I feel an obligation, a debt, to those who died. So I stay.

Coin drones on and on, listing name after name. "Georges Glenn, General, District Six. Oliver Homes, Soldier, District Six. Laura Hughes, Medic, District Twelve."

Wait? What?

I startle out of my reverie at the mention of our district. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta do the same. Both of us turn to look at Katniss.

"Did she just say District Twelve?" I breathe, already knowing the answer but refusing to believe it.

Katniss nods, her eyes refusing to meet ours.

The two of us stare at her, all of our attention focused on our wife. The litany continues, but nothing Coin could say can compare to the secrets our wife has been keeping.

"Is this what you were trying to tell us?" Peeta asks, his voice carefully non-confrontational.

Katniss finally glances at him, then me, not meeting either of our eyes for long. "Yeah. I hope you're not mad. I… I know you talked to Plutarch, but… I just couldn't give up." She bites her lip. "Twelve is our home… was our home. I had to do something."

"So what'd you do?"

"I went to Coin. I made the argument. She sent me and Haymitch to Twelve." The explanation is so very Katniss. Short and to the point.

Peeta latches onto the last part. "You went to Twelve?"

"Yeah. I mean, I wasn't in any danger! You think they were gonna sacrifice a pregnant woman like that? They kept me on the hovercraft." She squirms under Peeta's knowing gaze. I swear the guy can read her like a book. I envy him. "Well, they tried to. I had to get out and prove it was me."

Wait… what? "Damn it, Katniss!" I explode in a harsh whisper, glaring at her. "What if somebody had taken a shot at you?"

She glares right back. "Why would they? The Peacekeepers were almost happy to surrender! Anything to get away from the flu. What few of them were left, anyway."

"But-"

"I was fine!" she insists, wrapping her arms tighter around her body. "Thirteen got everyone out. Everyone who was left." The way she says it makes me think the number wasn't very high. "The only people left behind were Peacekeepers who refused to join Thirteen. I'm pretty sure Haymitch locked them in the basement of the Justice Building. I don't know. I wasn't allowed anywhere near 'em."

"So, how many people were left?" Peeta asks, wondering the same thing I was.

I'm glad he interrupted. I'm still trying to calm down.

"About seven thousand."

I do the math in my head. Twelve had a population of around ten thousand before the flu. A little over five hundred or so have already made it to Thirteen. That means the remaining twenty five hundred either died in the epidemic or trying to escape. A quarter of my district is gone and I bet most of them were from the Seam.

"And where are they?" my husband presses. He surveys the crowd with narrowed eyes, trying to spot any familiar faces. It's impossible. There are too many people packed too close together.

"Most of them are here. The Peacekeepers got sent to rehabilitation camps or something like that, but Coin promised not to torture anyone. Madge and Prim stayed there, along with Thorn, to make sure of it."

I take a deep breath. I know Katniss isn't hurt and she made the right decision, but I still worry about her being out in the field where I can't protect her or our baby. How am I supposed to keep our family safe, if my spouses keep running head first into danger?

Now that I'm calmer, I slip an arm around my wife. "I'm proud of you. Yeah, what you did was reckless and dangerous and put both you and the baby at risk, but you did the right thing. Didn't she, Peet?"

"I suppose this is why you thought I'd be mad at you," our husband surmises, "because you talked to Coin without me around. I'm supposed to be the one who's good with words, right? It's my job to do the talking for us."

Katniss nods, still chewing on her lip.

"Well, turns out I was wrong. Looks like you do know the right things to say. You saved our district, Katniss. I'm not about to let my pride stand in the way of seven thousand lives." He plants a kiss on her temple. "Like Gale said, I'm proud of you."

While we've talked, the funeral has wound down. There's still music playing, but the screens have faded to black. One by one, the crowd around us drifts away.

Katniss twists her fingers. She's not wearing her wedding ring. Her hands must have swollen too much to keep it on. "That's not the only thing I need to tell you, Peeta."

Peeta opens his mouth to say something, but he's cut off by a familiar strident voice. "Where are they?"

Peeta's eyes widen and he stares down at Katniss in growing horror. "You don't mean…"

Our wife refuses to meet his gaze.

A middle aged woman with faded blond hair appears out of the throng. "There you are!" She crosses her arms over her flat chest and narrows her dark blue eyes. "Come on, boy, aren't you going to say hello to your mother?"

oOo

AN:
Written:
6/3/16
Revised: 7/26/16
Revised 2: 8/8/16

The title of this chapter comes from the movie of the musical, Evita. The funeral dirge for Thirteen is a bastardized version of "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic. Yes, we went there.

Things We Randomized:

- Who, if anyone, died (Homes and General Glenn)

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