Another Way Out

by always-andshewrites

A HG - Catching Fire rewrite. Sequel to "Changing the Game." Katniss and Peeta made it out of the arena together, but little do they know the games are only beginning. Who can they trust as secrets are exposed and identities are revealed? Everlark/Gadge. Told in multiple POV's.

10. All Feels Right

Authors Note: I know, I know, but I have to say this… my apologies for this massive, massive chapter! Seems like they just keep getting longer and longer. This chapter has a lot less "dialogue" and certain characters "retelling" events. I had to do it this way, or else one chapter would have been more like 5-6 chapters. And there is SoOoO much information in this chapter!

I also want to thank all of my amazing readers for your likes, favorites, and follows, and of course, all your comments / reviews… they TRULY mean the world to me

Also, this chapter has a bit of the storyline from Suzanne Collins' other book "The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes", so if you haven't read that book, it will definitely be a spoiler!

But anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, or "The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes"

Un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine. (Sorry for typo's, or any other grammatical/spelling mistakes)

RECAP: Last time in "Another Way Out", Haymitch is visited by "Dream Maysilee," with a warning. He gets his kids out of the square. Gale gets whipped. Prim and Lilly work diligently on repairing Gale's back . . . and Peeta's hand . . . and Madge too. Katniss has a hissy fit/temper tantrum. Haymitch calls Effie, who sends a generous gift to her friends in 12. Raven shows up in the middle of the blizzard, having rescued Madge. K & P get hot and steamy in the shower. Gale has some flashbacks. Madge gets to meet her "aunt," and wakes up with a message for Haymitch.

Another Way Out

Chapter 10 – All Feels Right

[ Gale ]

I know she's here before my eyes are open; but it's not because I hear her. At first, I think it must be her strawberry scented shampoo, but no, that's not it either. The room smells too clean— too sterile for anything to penetrate through the heavy stench of alcohol and disinfectant. It's more like a feeling, like I can just sense her presence. Or . . . on second thought, maybe the alcohol has seeped into my brain, and I've gone mad.

I fight against the morphling, the sleep syrup, and whatever the hell else they've pumped into my bloodstream as I communicate with my brain to open my eyes. It takes some effort on my part, but eventually I manage to force my eyelids open. At first sight everything is fuzzy as my vision comes into focus. Without moving my head my eyes scan the room, the corners of my lips turning up when my eyes land on her. Madge. And for this one moment, there is no pain; there is only her . . . and . . . all the world feels right.

She must sense that I'm awake because she turns around to face me and poof, just like that it it gone. My face hardens when I catch sight of the fading bruises covering her face. Her right eye is nearly swollen shut; her face is a canvas of black and blue, tinged with splotches of purple that range from light, to so deep and dark that it's almost red, but she's still so beautiful. Her furrowed brows slowly begin to relax into a smile when she sees my eyes are open and I am blinded by her beauty. She is like a bright, warm beam of light— the kind that has the power to part the clouds; the kind that makes a rainbow possible. Then she leans down and gently presses her lips to mine, sending electricity surging through my limbs. And just like that, she has made me forget why I was even mad to begin with.

"I guess turkey's off the table for dinner," I force the corners of my dry, cracked lips up into what I hope is a smile.

My attempt at lightening the mood fails. She doesn't return the smile, only offering me a frown. "It was for me?" She asks dejectedly, her eyes pooling with water. She blinks— it was the only thing holding the dam up, and a chain reaction of tears begin trickling from her eyes.

"Hey, hey— don't . . . cry," I manage to croak out. In an instant she turns around, sprinting across the room and I feel so empty, so hollow and desperately alone from the sudden loss. I want her to come back.

Come back Madge, I'm sorry, I want to tell her, but when I open my mouth, my voice isn't working. She returns in a flash; carrying a cup filled with water that she drops a straw into. She steadies the straw with her fingers and lowers it, bringing it down to my lips.

"Drink," she instructs. "It's just water. It'll help," she continues, as if she thinks I do not trust her. I part my mouth, wrapping my dry, cracked lips around the straw just as Madge gently runs her fingers through my hair. I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of her soothing touch while I drain the cup dry.

"Wow, that was good," I tell her, feeling oddly refreshed. My voice is still raspy and hoarse, but not nearly as bad.

"Do you want more?"

"No. S'good," I mumble.

My vision is impeccably clear now, and for the first time I get a good look at her face. If I thought her face was bad when I first opened my eyes, it is nothing compared to now. She looks bad, terrible; like someone beat the shit out of her. I wonder if it looks worse than it feels for her; I certainly hope so.

The muscles in my face tense, growing hard and stiff, while the anger rushes through my limbs from the sick asshole who did this to her. She notices the change in my demeanor, mistaking my anger and the venom in my eyes as geared toward her, instead of toward the person who did this to her. I reach out and grab her arm before she gets too far away. At least my reflexes didn't suffer.

"Don't go Madge . . . please," I beg her. She draws nearer but keeps her face hidden behind her hands.

"I'm so disgusting right now, I . . . I—" she whimpers. I want to get up from this table and go to her; wrap my arms around her. I want to comfort her— tell her, no, show her how beautiful she is. But I can't. I am trapped on this table; held prisoner by my injuries as the pain from my back seems to radiate— everywhere.

"No, no, no, you could never be ugly," I meant for my voice to come off as strong and commanding, but instead, it comes out in a raspy whisper.

"I saw your face Gale; I saw how you looked at me. It's okay. I've seen it, and I know how awful I look. I . . . I would be repulsed to look at me too."

I think about her words. How could I ever be repulsed to look at her?Even before I loved her, when she was nothing more than the mayor's privileged daughter, I was struck by her beauty. When I look at Madge, I feel many things, repulsion is notone of them. But how do I tell her? How do I tell her how beautiful she is? How, with just the tiniest curve of her lips, she has the power to make all of my dark, gloomy, storm clouds that constantly hover over me disappear. Disappear into . . . something beautiful and majestic. That she is something beautiful and majestic and vibrant and . . . and above all else, stunning.

"Madge. Look at me," I command, but unlike me, she does not budge. "Please," I plead with her.

She is hesitant at first, slowly turning around, but still refusing to lower her hands from her face. "Madge," I press her once more, tugging on her shirt sleeve. She shakes her head.

"Madge, please. Lower your hands and come down here so I can look into your eyes. I need to tell you something and I can't say what I want to say while I'm looking at your shirt."

She slowly lowers her hands and squats to my level keeping her eyes squeezed shut. Disappointment rushes through me— I need to see her eyes. And then a tear streams down her cheek. I reach up and catch it with the pad of my thumb, barely grazing her skin. I wince, thinking of how much it must hurt.

"Please look at me," I ask her again, hoping to pour all my love into those four words.

This time she obeys, but her chin is trembling.

"There she is," I say with a shy smile. It's hard to tell because of all the bruising, but I think she blushes.

"Do you know . . . when I first opened my eyes and saw you, that— I thought you were the sun?" She scowls at me with disbelief.

"I'm not kidding. It was either the sun, or I'd died and gone to heaven. I felt . . . warm, and at peace, and . . . and for that one moment all the pain was gone. You did that Madge."

"It w-was probably just the morphling," she interjects, but I shake my head with certainty.

"I know it was you because I could feel it here," I grab her hand and bring it to my chest. "What you saw just now was not disgust toward you, it was anger, rage, and unadulterated hatred for what that sick fuck did to you. What you saw was me wishing it were me who ended his life."

Her eyes widen with fascination. Fascinated that I would go to such extremes for her, or maybe it's disgust that I could do— or want to do something like that. With her chin still quivering, she sniffles and nods. "Nothing Madge, no amount of bumps, bruises, scrapes, or anything in this world could disfigure how beautiful you are to me. Your beauty mesmerizes me, it takes away all my pain. I mean . . . who the hell needs morphling when I've got you," I tug the corners of my lips up, hoping to get a smile from her. "But it's not because your face is so beautiful, which it is," I lightly trace my finger from the center of her forehead, down her nose and lips, making sure not to apply too much pressure. "But because you are beautiful in here," I bring our conjoined hands over to her chest, just above where her heart lies.

She finally smiles, her eyes regaining their usual sparkle. "I can only imagine what a disgusting mess my back looks like. I'm sure this tiny little bruise has nothing on that," I try to tuck her hair behind her ear.

She leans in and once again presses her lips to mine, but deeper this time. "Thank you, Gale," she whispers.

I feel the drugs pulling me back under and know that I only have minutes left with her and force my eyes to lock with hers. I don't know whether it's one second, or five minutes, but in the time our eyes are fixed I try to convey all my love to her— to project it into her.

And then the darkness takes over once again.

xxx

The next time I feel myself waking my body doesn't feel nearly as heavy . . . not nearly as sedated. I still feel whatever drugs they were using to knock me out . . . just . . . perhaps not as much. I don't feel Madge's presencelike I did last time, but when I open my eyes, disappointment washes over me when I find her nowhere around. Instead, Katniss and Peeta are sitting on the rocker. Well, Peeta is sitting on the rocker, Katniss is curled up in his lap. They are staring into each other's eyes as if they are having a conversation only they are privy to. I feel like I am the intruder in the room.

Peeta senses my awareness first. I don't know how to explain it because no words come out of his mouth, but I just know he told Catnip to look at me, that I'm awake. Catnip jumps off his lap and rushes to my side. She drops to her knees and brings her face in front of mine. She smiles, and I can't help but feel sad and relieved that I no longer get excited from her smile like I once did. The excitement I felt with Madge does not burn between us. It feels like it was so long ago when I thought I felt that way about her, but in actuality, it wasn't. She's still beautiful though, even with her eye half swollen shut.

I turn my head to the side and give Peeta a half smile. "Thought you two'd be gone by now," I say, remembering our conversation in the woods. And then I wonder how long ago that was. It feels like it was a lifetime ago. I remember how I thought he was a coward for wanting to run. Now though, not so much.

"Nope," Peeta says.

"We're going to stay right here with you and cause all kinds of trouble," Catnip finishes for him.

I try to look around the room, hoping that Madge is just hiding somewhere in the corner, but it hurts too much to move.

"Madge is resting in my room," I smile; first, because Katniss knows what I'm thinking; that years of hunting together and being in sync with each other's thoughts hasn't completely faded. Secondly, as I think of Madge curled up in a ball, sleeping peacefully not that far from me, and finding myself wishing I could climb into the bed with her.

"Stop thinking dirty thoughts," Katniss scowls at me playfully. "Mom says you can go home tomorrow. But no strenuous activity; no lifting, bending, stretching, or twisting. Basically, you can go home if you promise to be a lazy bum."

"I think I can manage that," I chuckle, "but Posie's not going to like it," I mumble, finding it difficult to speak while lying on my stomach while images of my sister filter through my mind. Posie: running into my arms when I get home, and me, picking her up and swooping her into the air. Now that I think about it, I can't recall a time I haven't done that with her since she was old enough to run.

But just as quickly, I notice a sudden heaviness in the air. Katniss and Peeta share a concerned look that only adds to that weight. And then once again, it's like they are immersed in a conversation only they can hear.

"What? Is something wrong with Pose?" They don't say anything, and my pulse begins to hammer inside my head. I try to get up, but Peeta pushes me back down.

"She's going to be fine, Gale," he says, his eyes suddenly dark.

"What do you mean she's going to be fine? Why isn't she fine now?" I glare at him, hissing through clenched teeth.

"Gale, you can't get yourself worked up, or you're going to end up right back on this table, in this room," Katniss threatens me, which fixes me in place. She always knows what to say to get me to shut up. Our minds are alike, that way— which is probably why she said it.

I inhale a deep breath then slowly blow it out to calm my nerves. "What. Is. Wrong. With. My sister." I spit out through even breaths. Ma, my brothers, and my baby sister mean more to me than anything, and I'm not sure if I could ever forgive myself if something happened to them while I was stuck lying on this table. I'm their older brother— the only father figure they have and it's my job to protect them. To keep them safe.

"Posie's got the measles. That's why your mom hasn't been here, plus with the blizzard she didn't want to take her out in it. But Katniss and I took some medicine over there the other day. She's not contagious anymore, but her fever is still pretty high."

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to keep my tears at bay and grit my teeth so that I can say, "When can I go home?"

0 – 0 – 0

[ Katniss ]

I walk into the house and immediately narrow my eyes with a raised brow when I see Peeta with the tube of red paint Effie sent. He tosses it back and forth from hand to hand, examining it, rolling it around in his hands, as if it holds the answers to the world. His leg— the real one, he has crossed over his prosthesis, shaking relentlessly.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Huh? What did you say?" He jerks to attention, planting both feet firmly on the ground. He looks startled, as if he didn't even hear me come in.

"I said, what are you doing? You look deep in thought."

"I don't get it. Why would Effie send me paint, knowing that I can't use my hand? And why, out of all the colors in the world, would she send me this horrible shade of red? And . . . it's oil based, she knows I hate painting with oil based paints." His brows draw in with confusion.

"You know Effie, she probably just wasn't thinking."

"Uh-huh Katniss," Peeta shakes his head from side to side. "Maybe the Effie we first met, but no. There has to be a reason." Peeta defends our escort. I open my mouth to protest but quickly snap it back shut. Now that I think about it, I realize Peeta kind of has a point. The "Effie Trinket" we first met and the "Effie Trinket" who joined us on the Victory Tour are two totally and completely different people.

"I don't know Peeta, but you're going to end up making yourself crazy over it. Come on," I pull him to his feet, "it'll come to you if you're not thinking about it so hard."

We never could figure it out. We ended up taking the tube of paint to Haymitch, who just smiled from ear to ear, mumbling something about how that stupid woman was so insufferably brilliant.

It was a special cream, crafted in the Capitol that, when you apply it to any superficial wound, it almost instantly cures it on contact.

Peeta frowned at this realization. "How is that tiny little tube supposed to help anyone? That's not enough for Gale's back. Or Madge's face. Unless . . . are you supposed to mix it with something?"

"She didn't send it for them kid, she sent it for you," Haymitch explained.

"Well, send it back to her, I'm not using it," Peeta huffed.

Haymitch looked awestricken. "Don't be stupid kid. Effie knows you need your hand. She risked her life for this medicine. She couldn't get enough for everyone, but she got them what they needed. Pain medicine and antibiotics ain't cheap, even in the Capitol."

"Peeta, listen to Haymitch. You need your hand. You can't paint—" I plead with Peeta, thinking about his nightmares.

"You expect me to care about being able to paint when Gale's back is sliced up seven ways to Sunday? And Madge— every time she looks in the mirror, she is reminded of what that creep did to her!"

I flinched at his words, knowing he was right. I wouldn't have used it either, not knowing how bad Madge and Gale's injuries were compared to mine. I would have felt much too guilty to use it, walking around without a scratch with the knowledge of the scars they would hold for the rest of their life. But I refused to tell himthat.

Instead, I yelled at him, told him he was acting like a childish, stubborn asshole. Eventually, Haymitch managed to convince him.

"They can't use it kid. Not even Katniss can, even if Effie had sent enough for everyone. It would look too suspicious if they were all just miraculously healed overnight."

"Oh, but not me?" I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his condescending tone.

"You can wear gloves to cover your hands. Stop being stubborn kid."

"Peeta, you need your hands. You need to be able to paint," I pleaded with him, and then added silently, 'Your nightmares.'

"I couldn't paint for years. We didn't have money to afford paints or brushes," Peeta scoffs, ignoring me.

"Well, you gonna let Sweetheart over here wash you? I take that back, you'd probably like that. What about wipin' your ass for you?"

Peeta froze for a second as he considered Haymitch's words. His face softened for a second before it hardened once more. "No, I— I can't do it," Peeta said. I met Haymitch's eyes, pleading with him to help me. Peeta needs his hands like he needs oxygen to breathe. Like Haymitch needs his spirits.

"What if Katniss refused the medicine in the arena? After you risked your life to get it for her, but then she just refused it?" Haymitch pushed.

"It's not the same thing Haymitch, and you know it," Peeta cut him with his eyes.

"Yeah, you're right, kid. It's not the same. If Effie gets caught, she won't die fast like a tribute would in the arena. They'll torture her, make her death real slow and painful. Might even make you watch," I cringed from the thought. So did Peeta. I knew it was just a tactic Haymitch was using, and it worked. A few days later.

"Are you ready?" Peeta asks me. I shake my head, returning to the present and take Peeta's hand. It's only been five days since Madge was attacked, Gale was whipped, and Peeta nearly lost his hand. My injury seemed so miniscule compared to theirs. My eye is barely even swollen anymore.

I learned that Haymitch's "photo shoot" tirade wasn't just a way to threaten our new head peacekeeper, but an actual thing. Apparently, Cinna and Portia have designed a slew of wedding gowns for me and tuxedos for Peeta, in which the Capitol will get to vote on their favorite. The costumes with the most votes will be what we wear to our wedding in the Capitol. Effie, along with both mine and Peeta's prep teams were scheduled to come to 12 for us to try everything on, which will also include an entire day of freezing my face into a smile.

But Haymitch worked it out with Effie and the photo shoot is postponed a few weeks; just long enough for my face to heal. If Haymitch isn't careful, people are not going to continue believing his 'sorry, worthless, too-plastered-out of his mind to do anything' act.

"Yeah, I'm ready," I say as I clasp the last two buttons on my coat. Peeta grabs his scarf and wraps it around my neck. Then he links his fingers with mine and together, we head out into the unknown.

'Peeta, your gloves,' I remind him. Not only is it freezing outside, but no one can see his perfectly healed hands. Not even Prim's impeccable stitchwork can speed the healing process that quickly. There isn't a single trace that there was once a scar there.

There may be no trace of a physical scar left from his hand catching that whip, but the emotional scars linger in what my mom calls "nerve damage". Peeta occasionally loses feeling in it and sometimes drops things. Mom says that she hopes, in time, that particular side effect will fade as well.

Peeta is taken aback when he sees Madge waiting for us on the steps. "She wanted to get out too," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"That's fine, I was just surprised is all," Peeta says.

Together, the three of us link our arms together and make our way toward town. We thought nothing would happen during the blizzard. Boy, were we wrong.

"Holy hell!" Madge gasps, reaching up to cover her mouth.

The square has been transformed. A huge banner with the seal of Panem hangs off the roof of the Justice Building. Peacekeepers, in their pristine white uniforms, blending in with the snow march on the cleanly swept cobblestones. Along the rooftops, more of them occupy nests of machine guns. An official whipping post, several stockades and gallows occupy the center of the square. And the noose, dangling on a high branch of a tree almost makes my heart skip a beat.

'Not one. Three,' Peeta observes.

'One for each of us?' I surmise, feeling the terror shoot up my spine.

"Oh my god, this looks like—" I begin.

'Eleven,' Peeta finishes silently.

"Thread's a quick worker," Haymitch says, startling us when he appears out of nowhere, pointing off in the distance.

I pull in a sharp intake of air when we see the Hob surrounded in a cloud of smoke. "Haymitch! You don't think anyone was in—" I cry out, too exasperated to complete my thought. Many of the people who worked in the Hob were our friends. We saw them almost every single day. I traded with them, and Peeta brought them bread. We always paid triple what anything was worth, and now it's just . . . gone. How will everyone feed their families now?

"Nah, they're smarter than that. You would be too if you'd been around longer," Haymitch says, not seeming the least bit worried. "Well, I'd better go see how much rubbing alcohol I can scrounge up," he winks at us and then takes off.

"What does he need— OH!" Madge begins to ask, before answering her own question. "We can't let him, he'll kill himself, or at the very least go blind!" Madge cries and then gets irritated at mine and Peeta's calm demeanor. "Why aren't you stopping him?"

"We've got bottles of spirits put away at home," Peeta tells Madge, and that seems to relax her.

"For a rainy day," I turn to Peeta with a smile. "This happened once before. Peeta and I have been stocking up in case it happened again. Trust me, you do not want to be around a sober Haymitch."

Madge says she wants to stop by the mayor's house to check on Poppy and Kizzie, telling us she'll meet us back at the house. Peeta is reluctant to let her go off on her own, so we stand guard, watching her exit the square and we do not take our eyes off her until she is safely inside the mayor's house.

0 – 0 – 0

[ Peeta ]

After Katniss and I made it back home that day in the square, we didn't think it was possible for things to get worse. Boy, was I wrong. Things went from bad, to worse, to downright horrific.

The mines were closed for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 was starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don't receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with the means to pay exit the shops empty handed. When the mines reopen, wages are cut, hours extended, miners sent into blatantly dangerous work sites.

Food promised on Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. Me, my dad, and Rye wake up at the crack of dawn to begin our workday. We no longer help out at the bakery, which does nothing but fuels my mother's anger. But we can't sit around and do nothing, so we bake. We bake and bake, and then bake some more. Dad fishes out old recipes from a box in his attic. At the end of the day, me and Rye, along with Katniss and sometimes Madge, leave baskets of food on peoples doorsteps. We start with people we know who have children— families to feed with no means to feed them. We don't even bother to ask if they want the extra food, we just leave it anonymously, knowing they would refuse our help with no way to pay. Mother screams that we are stealing her business, but we only hand food out to those who could never afford the bakery in the first place.

The installations in the square see plenty of action as people are dragged in and punished for things so long overlooked, we've forgotten they were illegal. Stupid things like singing in public, wearing a hat, or anything that conceals your face in public. Shopkeepers are not allowed to leave their doors open, and all walkways must be free and clear of all merchandise.

Madge and I walked by the stocks the other day and saw a family of four shackled to the posts. Well, the husband and wife were shackled, while the peacekeepers forced the two younger children to remain by their side. We later learned their crime was placing scraps of metal along the train tracks. For as long as I can remember, parents have brought their children to the train tracks to flatten the metal; something fun to do as a family, and you even get a free souvenir to bring home. I can even remember my own father bringing me and my brothers here when we were small. The peacekeepers wanted to make an example of the Kinsleys', letting the district know it is illegal to interfere with the train tracks, which include placing scraps of metal along them.

The one bright side is Katniss convinced Haymitch to hire Hazelle as his housekeeper. We've managed to supply Haymitch with enough alcohol so that he doesn't get the tremors, but not enough to damper his sour mood. And it's weird, yet also strangely pleasant to walk into Haymitch's house and not be repulsed by the stench of week-old trash and vomit. And, Hazelle has been keeping Haymitch on a schedule, which is only one more thing for him to complain about. I glared at him, then asked if he wanted me to bring any booze the next day. That shut him up quickly.

Hazelle working at Haymitch's house also allows us to keep her family fed. Though, she can't be seen leaving Haymitch's house with baskets and baskets of food, so I usually walk her home. I always make up some kind of excuse about the bags, but then end up insisting Hazelle take them all. That, in addition to giving her a handful of coins. Though, she doesn't seem to think all the coins in the world will make much of a difference soon.

Katniss was so upset last night. She was so upset and hurting so much— I wanted to take her mind off everything, to help her relax. I only meant to massage the tension from her shoulders. I feel my pants tighten with my growing excitement at just the memory of her lips. Her lips. My lips. Our lips. Forbidden places.

"Katniss, we should— stop," I pant in-between heated kisses. She is perched on my lap, her knees pressed into the sofa cushions on either side of my hips, locking me in place while her arms are locked around my neck.

"Please, Peeta," she pants, running hot kisses down the side of my neck, along my throat, tracing my collar bone and the apex of my chest. I'm strong, but not that strong. And I have even less restraint when the girl of my dreams, the girl I've loved all my life kisses my neck, running her tongue against my skin and her fingers through my hair. I was surprised my voice even worked at all.

"Okay, if— you're . . . sure— this is— what you— want," I manage to choke the words out. She stops, pulls back ever so slightly to look into my eyes.

"This is what I want. I want you." I was completely under her spell after those words. I took her up to my bed, thankful that this wasn't a night when my father or Rye was sleeping over.

Although we didn't go "all the way," we still went pretty far. Further than we'd ever gone before. Far enough that we fell asleep that night; naked, in each other's arms, and in pure bliss.

When I woke up in the morning and found Katniss absent from not just my bed, but the entire house, I was not surprised. After the night we shared, I imagine she has run off somewhere, probably high up in a tree to think about everything. When I get downstairs, I notice her game bag is missing from its usual hook, as well as nearly half of the canned goods in the pantry. I put two and two together and surmise that she most likely loaded it all into her game bag to pass out to the people we know who need it, so I don't think anything of her absence. Normally, we do this together but after last night—

Stop smiling like an idiot Peeta. I tell myself.

I decide to make use of my time this morning and sit down at the table to begin working on my list for Effie. Normally, I order my groceries from the local store in town, but since the recent drought, Effie has once again been a life saver. I supply her with a list each week and she orders it in the Capitol. I don't know how she does it, but it arrives on the train the following day, and it's always double— triple of what I asked for.

Once I'm done I shove the list in the drawer and decide to head over to the mayor's house to get my plan set in motion. I wanted to involve as few people as possible, but to execute my plan I will need her help. I just hope she's willing.

0 – 0 – 0

[ Effie ]

"This way Miss Trinket," Tigris motions me to follow her into the stall that leads underground in her shoppe. I remove my heels and tuck them into my purse, reminding me of when Haymitch did the same back in District 11. I pick up my pace and follow Madame Tigris underground. I see the fake-fire lanterns and smile when I notice that Cinna and Portia have heeded my request by placing more of them throughout the tunnel. Tigris leads me to a table laden with four chairs, motioning for me to take the seat across from her.

"Madame Tigris, what is this all about?" I ask, confused as ever.

"Please Miss Trinket, it's just Tigris."

"Okay, then I must insist you refer to me as Effie," I playfully retort, which grants me a smile.

"I am not certain how much time we have, so I will get straight to the point."

"Okay," I nod.

She fidgets for a moment with her hands and then takes a deep breath.

"Coryo— I mean, President Snow, he is my cousin . . . or well, he was."

I gasp and my hands snap up to my mouth. "I heard such rumors, but I surmised that's all they were. Rumors. Wait a minute— what do you mean he was your cousin?"

"That man—" She hisses in a very cat-like way, her eyes seething with anger. She takes a steadying breath then blows it out before continuing. "The man who rules our nation is not the boy I grew up with. He is not the boy I helped care for, nurtured back to health when he was ill. He is not the same sweet, kind, caring boy I once loved— not the boy who sought me out for advice. That man," she pauses, seething with anger once more, "is evil incarnate."

I try to mask my bewilderment, hoping the darkness filling the tunnels facilitates in concealing what I cannot hide while she shares with me the time Coriolanus Snow changed. At eighteen years old his family— which consisted of nothing more than himself, Tigris, and a "grandma'am", which I gather is just another term of endearment for a grandmother. They were in financial crisis, on the verge of eviction, yet no one knew of their plight. The grandma'am and Snow were too proud to seek help. They did not wish for the citizens of the Capitol to learn of their downfall. "Coryo" believed the university was his way to power— education equaled success, so he secured himself a position into the mentor program.

I remember learning of this during my education in Escort training. It was the year of the 10th Hunger Games; the citizens were beginning to lose interest in the Games and needed a way to "spice things up." They did not yet have victors in every district, so they sought out students of the Capitol. Tigris goes on to explain how the dean of the school had a special hatred toward Snow's father and intentionally placed him the District 12 female tribute, knowing it would crush his pride.

"What could a grown man possibly have against a young boy?" I wonder, not realizing I spoken the words aloud.

"You see, shortly after the war, Dr. Gaul— she was a mad scientist, Head Gamemaker as well as one of the University instructors. She gave her students a hypothetical assignment to come up with a proposal . . . a punishment for the districts. Late one night, Crassus and Casca—"

My eyes narrow with confusion, not knowing who is who in her story.

"I'm sorry, Crassus, that was my uncle and Coryo's father. And Casca Highbottom was the Dean of the University. And well . . . you know," she shrugs slightly. Yes, everyone knows the name Casca Highbottom, the creator— mastermind of the Hunger Games.

"Well, Casca and Crassus got together to discuss the assignment one night over drinks, and I guess Casca had one too many. As a joke he shared his hypothetical idea with Crassus. He never imagined in his wildest dreams that the leaders in the Capitol were looking for ideas. He had every intention of shredding the paper afterwards, but Crassus, my uncle craved power and knew this would work in his favor, so he turned the paper in, giving Casca the credit. Casca never thought it would come to pass, it was just too abominable a plan to be executed. But Dr. Gaul loved it." Tigris takes a breath and I maintain my silence so that she may continue.

"Casca went to school the following day, confused as to all the high praising from his peers. This is when he learned his "friend" turned his paper in for him. He was appalled that Dr. Gaul intended to convert his paper into a real-life demonstration. He went along with it, thinking it would die out very soon after, because I mean . . . it is truly despicable. But he was wrong. The Capitol ate it up. They loved it. And hence, here we are."

A shiver runs up my back and I do nothing to conceal my shock. The hunger games exist because of Snow's father. Though it was not born from his mind, he is a descendent of the author of the atrocities we now call the Hunger Games.

Tigris gives me a moment to regain my bearings before she continues. She tells me of the District 12 girl Snow mentored, a girl named Lucy Gray Baird. She was a tiny, gangly sixteen-year-old girl who had a pension for music and snakes.

Snow fell in love with her— or as close to love as he will ever come, because even Tigris, his own flesh and blood is convinced that he is incapable of love. He brought her food when he learned the Capitol was starving the tributes. His friend went into the arena, and he was sent in to fetch him and ended up taking out her biggest threat. And then he tampered with some of the mutts, making it so they would not attack Lucy Gray. And then finally, he snuck her some poison, which is how she ultimately won her Games. There was supposed to be a reward— a free ride to the University, but instead, Snow's punishment was to be twenty years as a peacekeeper.

"It was that Dr. Ghaul's fault, I am certain of it. If not for her trickery, for her putting evil thoughts in his head, I believe he would have followed a different path." Tigris says with such pain in her eyes, but I do not believe even she believes her words.

Tigris later discovered Snow's 'best friend', a young boy by the name of Sejanus Plinth— that his execution was Snow's doing . . . along with her suspicions about Lucy Gray.

"Snow said she just disappeared. They were in the woods; he was ready to end her. But then he was bitten by a snake. He is certain her bones lie somewhere on the outskirts of 12, but I believe in my heart that she still lives. That Lucy Gray is still out there somewhere."

I have no words for her theories . . . I just do not understand how one man can be so . . . evil.

"Do you know he killed Dean Highbottom?" Tigris continues. "Rat poison again. That's what he does to his enemies, or anyone who threatens his position of power. Dean Highbottom wished to eradicate the Games, they sickened him, and Snow didn't want that. The Games were a way to maintain control over the districts; a way for the Capitol to sustain its power. So, you see Effie, I will gladly do anything I can to aid the rebellion's effort."

"Wow, this is a lot to take in. But . . . I mean . . . he is your cousin. Your own flesh and blood—"

"If I thought there was any hope in getting the cousin back that I once loved so dearly, I would fight tooth and nail for that boy. But alas, that boy is gone. He died a long time ago. And all of this— all of the endless years of torturing the districts, murdering innocent children because of a war that happened far before their time— it isn't right. I can't— I don't want to, and I refuse to stand idly by any longer. He must be brought to justice."

"Wow, when you asked for a chat, this was the absolute last thing I ever expected!" I admit.

She twists in her chair and begins fumbling through a briefcase I never even realized was there and pulls out a large envelope. She slaps it on the table and pushes it over to me. "Please, I insist you take this. It is written completely in code, only certain operatives within the rebellion have the capability to decipher its words. I hope it helps you, and please Effie," she pauses, smiles, and rests her hand atop mine. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do to be of use— anything at all."

During one of Proctor's drunken stupors— that man could give Haymitch a run for his money when it came to putting away bottles of alcohol. Well, one night I inconspicuously continued filling his wine goblet, while pouring my own glass down the drain. He was so wasted, and so eager to get into my pants that he was completely oblivious to my plan. He merely thought I was trying to seduce him. I had hoped to pry any information from him; something— anything useful to help the cause— and my dear children. That night he revealed a hidden safe in which he kept a secret file of Snow's. I managed to sneak a glance and from the corner of my eye, I am almost certain I saw something that looked like a video cassette tape.

Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

All other recordings of the 10th Games were completely eradicated from the filing system. It was a disgrace to the Capitol, and they wanted no trace of their humiliation. Except for one copy. One copy that I am almost certain Proctor has under lock and key.

I am determined to get my hands on it. Unfortunately, Proctor checks his safe daily, so I wasn't sure how I was to obtain a copy. That is, not until I shared this information with Plutarch.

Plutarch was already curious, having heard through the grapevine that all recordings of the 10th Hunger Games was nowhere to be found.

"Do not worry Miss Trinket, I have the capability of getting you the proper technology to copy the tape and poor, dear Proctor will not be the wiser."

"Plutarch, I do not wish to get your hopes up. It very may well be something entirely different," I told him, knowing Proctor's repulsive, kinky fetishes.

Plutarch said that was no matter. Whatever was hidden under lock and key could be useful, so, that is what I did. I once again loaded Proctor with enough alcohol to knock an elephant out and took the small, handheld, square-looking, metal device into his safe and pressed the "Facsimile" button, and supposedly, the device copied all its contents into something called a "hard drive." Plutarch sent a silent message to my cellular device upon receiving it that simply said, "Received."

0 – 0 – 0

[ Madge ]

"Madge! Hey, what are you—" Startled from my peaceful slumber, I nearly fall out of my chair from Katniss's excited shouts. I came outside, onto my porch early this morning for some peace and quiet, hoping that the fresh, frigid, nearly arctic temperatures would help me wake up, not send me back into a snooze. I look up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes to see Katniss jogging this way.

At about five yards away she pauses in flight, her eyes narrowing, a scowl set deep in her features as she looks me up and down. "Why exactly are you dressed like that, or do I even want to know?"

I look down, wondering what she could be talking about. That's when I realize I forgot to change clothes when I got home last night. I must have been so exhausted after my shift in the mines that I just . . . collapsed as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I open my mouth to explain what happened when I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.

"Never mind, I definitely do not want to know if you and Gale are into some kind of kinky role play," Katniss says. It takes me a second to pick up on her innuendo . . . she thinks that Gale and I . . . that we—

"Oh my god! No, no, it's not like that I swear!" I exclaim. "Gale was . . . the mines opened back up and he was," I cringe from the memory, but then force myself to focus. "He was in so much pain Katniss, he wouldn't have made it down there, much less made it through an entire fourteen-hour shift, so I uh . . . I took his place."

My heart nearly broke in half yesterday when I was helping Gale. Lilly had just cleared him to go home a few days before, with his promise to continue to rest. His wounds weren't completely healed and if he pushed himself too hard, they could open back up and he'd be right back where he started. Ever since the arrival of our new head peacekeeper, the mines have been shut down.

"I know it's bad that so many are out of work, but it felt like a blessing in disguise," Katniss listens intently as I begin to explain. "Hazelle and I thought it would give Gale some time to recuperate. We didn't expect the mines to open up so soon; it was almost as if they did it on purpose. It just felt like too much of a coincidence when Thom surprised us with a visit two nights ago— informing us that the mines were back in business, and everyone was to report first thing in the morning."

Katniss nods, understanding all too well what this means. The first rule Head Peacekeeper Thread reinstated was the, 'No work, no pay,' rule, which basically means what it says. If you do not physically show up for your shift, you can forget about receiving a paycheck. And no work equals no money. No money means no food. No food means starvation. Starvation means death.

"Wait a minute, what do you mean, 'you took his place'? Katniss asks, arching a perfectly shaped brow.

I shiver from the cold, wrapping my arms around myself. "You want to come inside? I't's freezing out here."

"Sure," she says, shrugging her shoulders and following me inside.

"So, what brings you to my neck of the woods anyway?" I ask her, closing the door behind me.

"Finish your story and I'll tell you. I'm curious to see how you got Gale to agree to this," she answers cheekily.

I blush. She knows Gale too well to believe that he willingly let me go to work and earn his money for him and his family.

"So, like I said before, Hazelle and I both knew, that Gale would never be able to make it TO the mines, much less make it through an entire shift, but you know Gale," I begin. Yes, but my beautiful, stubborn, hard-headed Gale Hawthorne believed otherwise,' I think silently.

"He was adamant that he was fine and could make it through an entire workday. So Hazelle and I challenged him. We said we wouldn't argue with him or do anything to stop him if he could make it around the house four times without taking a break. And well, you know Gale."

"Let me guess, he didn't make it around once?" Katniss asks.

I shake my head. "He made it around twice, with Hazelle and I trailing behind him and then midstride, he just collapsed . . . but not without retching from the pain. After that, Hazelle and I devised a plan. She grabbed one of his uniforms and took in the seams so that it would fit me. Hazelle added sleep syrup to his middle of the night dose of medicine, enough to knock him out for the rest of the night and first leg of the morning," I tell Katniss, feeling more than ashamed of myself for my deceit.

Katniss's eyes widen, "Wow! That's . . . genius, but I wouldn't want to face him when he realizes what you've done."

"I know, I've been hiding out. I'm too much of a coward to face him. I mean, I know eventually I will have to . . . just . . . not yet."

"Okay, well then come with me. If for nothing else than to delay the inevitable," Katniss says, jumping up from her chair.

"Where too?"

"For a walk, I need some fresh air. I've been couped up in the house for too long,"

I grin from ear to ear, knowing exactly where she intends to go. "Okay, let me get out of these clothes first," I tell her and sprint to my room with a little pep in my step.

I go into my room and peel off the grimy coveralls coated in coal dust, switching them out for a pair of jeans and a sweater. I really wish I had taken a bath last night, but oh well. I grab a pair of socks and then make my way back to the living room.

"Geez Madge, it's so cold in here, how do you stand it?" This time it is my turn to avert my gaze.

"It's not that bad, you're just used to the fancy indoor heating," I deflect from her question, but then immediately feel bad for my words.

"You know you can always come over whenever you want to, right?" She says guiltily as I slide a second pair of socks over my toes and then stuff my feet into my boots.

We make our way to the fence, and then we both slip gracefully under it after making sure it is void of any power.

"I'm surprised Peeta didn't want to tag along," her cheeks immediately darken and I know it's not from the cold.

"Didn't tell him," she shrugs, keeping her eyes forward.

"So, he can't um . . . just like . . . go in your head and pluck your thoughts out?" I ask once we are out of range of all the devices.

She freezes up for a second as if this hadn't occurred to her. "I don't . . . think so."

"So, what is that like? Is it like . . . you just get a feeling that you know what he's thinking, or feeling or can you like . . . actually hear his voice in your head?" I ask her, wondering how crazy I sound. Before the Games I remember her telling me that she and Peeta could sense each other's feelings, and I thought she was full of crap.

"It's like . . . I mean, most of the time, yes. I just know what he's thinking and feeling, but— and don't ask me how because I don't know, but when we were in the arena, something happened. And now we can talk to the other in our minds. Or is it with our minds?" Her forehead wrinkles with confusion as she weighs the words against each other.

" I've never heard anything he doesn't want me to hear and vice versa. It's almost like—" she pauses, searching for the right word, "like talking on the telephone, only no one else can hear it."

"I don't know if that is the coolest thing I've ever heard, or the scariest," I admit to her.

"A little bit of both," she agrees.

"Well, we're already out here, and with all the changes that have been made in the last few days, I have a feeling this might be our last inkling of freedom."

We walk the rest of the way in silence until we reach a tiny little cottage. I follow Katniss up the steps, but it isn't until we step over the threshold that I notice the smoke billowing out of the chimney.

"Katniss," I whisper, tugging on her braid. Immediately, her head shoots up and then her hand instinctually reaches over her shoulder for an arrow and loads it into her bow.

The smoke should have been our first clue that the cottage was occupied. Clearly, someone had to be in here to get the fire going. Between my frozen limbs and my frozen-in-fear state of duress, I am somehow not surprised to see the two uniformed peacekeepers standing over the fire.

This is not the time to panic Madge, I remind myself and grab ahold of Katniss's hand. She links her fingers in mine and squeezes tightly. I can tell she is just as terrified as I am.

Wait a minute . . . peacekeeper's don't come out here, the thought flashes through my mind, but I still don't understand it.

We take a step back, hoping we can leave unnoticed, but my foot haphazardly lands on a branch, the crunching noise alerting the "peacekeepers" to our presence.

With lightning speed, Katniss re-strings the arrow in her bow. Just as she is about to release the arrow, one of the peacekeepers yells, "PLEASE DON'T SHOOT!" They both throw their arms in the air, signaling peace. "I— I'm just going to remove my helmet," the taller one says, and I'm shocked by the feminine sound that escapes her mouth.

They both proceed to remove their head gear and then shake the remaining droplets of snow from their dark tresses. I cock my head to the side, confused when I see the young girl— a girl not much older than me. She has long, wavy, auburn brown hair that falls loosely past her shoulders. It's her grey eyes that shock me— grey eyes that hide behind a pair of glasses that rest on her nose. I am still too shocked to speak when she extends her hand to Katniss, opening it palm up to reveal a piece of bread, stamped with a symbol of a mockingjay. The same exact mockingjay I gave Katniss as her token when she went into the arena.

"What is that?" Katniss demands. The older girl takes a step forward, urging Katniss to accept the tiny circular piece of bread. But now that I get a closer look at it, it looks more like a cracker.

"It means . . . we're on your side. We're here to help you," the woman says with sincerity in her eyes. The older woman must be the first girl's mother, or at the very least, they are closely related. They look almost identical, with maybe twenty-five years between them.

"My name is Hallie Carmine, and this is my daughter, Stella Lavender. We have traveled all this way for you Katniss," Hallie locks eyes with a confused Katniss as she continues, "to deliver a message for my mother. She has information pertaining to President Snow that may be of use to you," the woman, Hallie Carmine says. I wrinkle my forehead when she begins digging through her satchel, and then hands Katniss a book.

It looks so old, beaten, and tattered, I can tell it has been put to good use. And . . . it looks much like my book, the one Haymitch instructed me to use.

"If that's true, then why didn't your mother come?" Katniss hisses skeptically.

"Between her age and the blizzard, it was not safe for her to travel, so she sent us."

"What's in the book?" I ask, my hands itching to reach out and touch the book. To run my fingers along the spine, to carefully flip through the pages and learn the secrets it holds.

"It's my mother's journal. You see, my mother was the Victor of the 10th Hunger Games— she lived in 12 at the time. And . . . and uh, Snow, who was just a young boy at the time was her mentor. He got her out of the arena. If it wasn't for him, she would not have won. But that journal," Hallie says, pointing to the book in Katniss's hand, "it is a very detailed encounter of my mother's time with your now president."

Her choice of words piques my interest. She says, your president, as if he isn't theirs.

"If he saved her life, then . . . why would she be willing to help us? Katniss ask suspiciously.

My eyes narrow, my mind races at a million miles per second with so much confusion. Katniss must be feeling the same way as Hallie continues to explain further.

"From the stories mother has shared with us, I can tell you that there was a time she loved Coriolanus. She would have done anything for him. They were even going to run away together, to escape from 12 because of . . . well, it's all in her journal. But then mom said she got a feeling. A very bad feeling, and so she set a trap for him. Much like you Katniss, the woods were her second home, but him; not so much. You see, as they were heading to this very cottage, Coriolanus— Snow inadvertently admitted something— and at first Mother didn't think anything of it. But then they stumbled upon some weapons; Mother put two and two together, realizing he killed his best friend. Just . . . please, take it. Read it. There could be something in there you can use," Hallie insists.

Katniss turns her head to me, meeting my eyes with a questioning gaze. I return her question with a nod, urging her forward.

"Katniss, I don't know if you know this, but you are an inspiration to us all. You and Peeta. You guys are so brave— and loyal to each other. Together, you have provided the nation with the one thing that is stronger than fear," the younger girl, Stella says.

"What's that?" I ask, but I think I already know the answer.

"Hope," Stella smiles.

[ 0 – 0 – 0 ]

[ Katniss ]

"Do you believe them?" I ask Madge as we make our way back to the fence. I hadn't realized we'd been gone so long, but when I look up at the sky, it's growing darker than I'd like to see with as far away we are. I pick up my pace, knowing we don't have much time before it's completely black out here.

She shrugs her shoulders. "I guess so. Why would they lie?"

"No! No, no, no! They didn't— they couldn't have!" I gasp when I hear the faint humming vibrating from the fence.

"They didn't what?" Madge asks shakily.

I look down, searching the ground for something to test against the barbed wire of the fence, thankful for the light of the moon. I dig a pebble out of the snow and it makes me think of my father. I grab Madge's hand and we take a step back before tossing the pebble at the fence. And then just like my father, the pebble explodes into nothingness.

"That's not good," Madge says shakily.

For some reason I remember a story my dad used to tell Prim and I before bedtime. It was about a family going on a picnic, and they faced many obstacles. With each obstacle they encountered, the father would say, 'We can't go over it, we can't go under it, we have to go through it.' But my dad would always use his silly voice when retelling the story to us and then he would tickle us until we would beg him to stop.

Madge and I both have exceptionally tiny frames, but we still wouldn't be able to slip under the fence without our bodies at least grazing the wires, so slipping under is out of the question. From years of experience, I know it stretches for miles and miles, so we can't go around it. That leaves us with only one option. Well, two, but the first is almost certain death.

We can either wait for someone— most likely a peacekeeper, or we can take our chances, scale a tree, and hope the snow breaks our fall. I am thankful for Madge's keen sense of awareness, so that I do not have to say it.

Madge takes up the tree without a second glance. "I'll jump first, and I'll aim for that snowbank," she says, pointing to a heaping pile of snow, "then I'll try to catch you when you go over," she finishes, as if it's the most obvious scenario, and then scurries up the tree like she's been doing it since she was born.

I follow in line behind her, ready to spot her if she loses her balance. But she doesn't. Not even once. I can't help the smile that forms on my lips, or the sense of pride at my friend who was once deathly afraid of heights, climb so seamlessly up this tree.

No, it's my fault she's out here; I should go first. We both know whoever goes first is most likely to get— at the very least, a sprained, if not a broken something. Whether it's a leg, an arm, or a tail bone, only time— and gravity will tell.

"No, I'll go first and catch you. It's my fault you're out here. It's only right that I go first."

Madge rolls her eyes and then her face twists into an irritated scowl. "Don't be stupid Katniss," she begins in a condescending tone. "I chose to come out here with you. You did not force me into anything. I probably would have come out here anyway— I'm too much of a coward to face Gale," I frown, knowing that what she says makes sense. "Besides Katniss, it makes more sense for me to go first since I'm smaller. The drop won't be as hard on me." I don't like it, but I finally give in, knowing she has a point.

Between living in the Seam, drastically reducing her food intake, and then being attacked and unconscious has reduced her to skin and bones, causing my guilt to soar to unprecedented levels.

She takes my empty game bag, balling it up underneath her to use as a cushion. I see the white of her knuckles as she takes a deep breath. But then, as her fingers begin to loosen from the branch, a voice calls out from below us. It is the most beautiful, glorious voice I have ever heard. It freezes me in place, and I break out into the widest, ear-splitting grin.

"Madge! Is that you? What are you doing up there?" The voice who calls out is just enough to startle her, but I grab her hand, steadying her balance. And then I poke my head over her shoulder.

'Peeta? What are you doing here? Not that I'm not grateful to see you,' I say the words in my head, not wanting to draw attention to us.

'Looking for you. It would have been nice if you would have let someone know where you're going. Or that you'd be out for the entire day,' he snaps back, his words cutting.

Madge turns to look at me and says softly, "Can you two cut that out? It's just . . . it's weird."

"Sorry," I say, almost forgetting that Madge knows about our private language.

"The fence is on Peeta. We can't go under," I yell down to Peeta in a hushed whisper.

Under the moonlight, I see the concern etched in his features. His eyes narrow, and then he opens his arms, equidistantly apart. "Come on, I'll catch you."

"You go first," I say, pushing Madge forward. She just nods.

"Try not to break him . . . if you can help it," I say, blushing at my statement.

Peeta was actually the reason I took off this morning. I was too ashamed— embarrassed— cowardly to face him . . . after what we did last night. I shake my head, hoping Madge doesn't notice, and force myself to focus.

Madge takes a steadying breath, summoning her inner courage and relinquishes her grip on the branch that was securing her. She flies through the air with her eyes squeezed shut. Peeta catches her, and they tumble into the snowbank. I release a gush of air I didn't realize I was holding, thankful it's actually a snowbank and not a giant rock covered in a thin layer of snow. Peeta lets out a grunt, followed by a groan before he stands up and dusts the snow from his body.

He takes a second to regain his composure, steadying himself on his feet before he resumes his open-armed position for me. "Okay, come on Katniss, we've got to get home," Peeta says with urgency. I want to question him, but I don't have time to think about it right now. I follow in line with Madge and release my grip on the tree. If I wasn't so terrified about breaking my leg, I might have admired the iridescent beauty of the view from so high off the ground.

I fly through the air— like a mockingjay soaring through the sky— however, not nearly as graceful. Time moves in slow motion as the distance between Peeta and lessens. He swerves from side to side, following my path to catch me. Like Madge, I squeeze my eyes shut only moments before I smack into his body.

I land hard on my feet before we tumble in the snow from the force of the impact, and I end up rolling haphazardly on the ground. The instant my feet hit the ground I know something is wrong; my ankle twists in an inhuman way, and I am certain it is broken. And then I collapse on my bottom, sending a sharp, shooting pain soaring from my tailbone to the tips of my toes.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" I cry out from the pain. Madge helps me to my feet, holding her breath to stifle her laughter.

"It's not funny, I think I broke my butt. Or my ankle," I whine.

Madge opens her mouth to say something, but Peeta beats her to the punch. "Katniss, come on. I'll carry you if you need me to, but we've got to get home."

"What's the hurry?"

"We've got visitors. Two peacekeepers. They're waiting at your house with Mom, Prim, and Haymitch. They've been there awhile; said they are on strict orders not to leave until they have spoken with you."

"How do you know?" I ask, knowing if he had been home, they would not have allowed him to leave.

"Rye's at my house. He's been spying on them," he pauses, snaps his head to the side and narrows his eyes at me. "I, however— have spent the entire afternoon searching this entire district for you," he seethes at me. What was at first anger slowly fades, pain taking its place— and then relief.

"Well, I need to stop in town first, so they can wait just a bit longer," I retort, limping along the way.

"Katniss—"

"Don't 'Katniss' me Peeta. What will they think if I show up after being gone all day with nothing to show for it? Won't that look suspicious?" I hiss at him as Madge hands me my game bag.

"What is so important in Town that you're willing to risk Mom and Prim's lives?"

Ouch. "I just . . . I can't go home empty handed. Plus, Mom mentioned the other day that she needed some supplies."

"Already got that covered," he retorts, and then shoves a bag into my hands. I take it, hobbling beside him, finding it difficult to peer inside and walk at the same time. I really wish I had taken Peeta up on his offer to carry me, but I am much too proud to ask for his help now. Most likely sensing my pain, Peeta sighs in frustration and slips under my shoulder, allowing me to use him as a crutch. I offer him a soft smile, grateful for his assistance.

'I'm sorry for not—' I begin to silently relay my apology, but Peeta cuts me off.

'It's okay Katniss, I get why you left. Just . . . next time just leave me a note. Anyway, what were you guys doing out there?'

"Will you guys stop that? I can feel you talking, and I feel really left out." Madge whines playfully.

"Sorry," Peeta and I both say in unison.

The darkening sky does nothing to conceal the dark worry lines shadowing Peeta's eyes.

'Once we get home remind me to tell you all about our trip. It was rather . . . enlightening.'

I open the bag Peeta shoved in my hands, sticking my nose inside and gasp out my surprise when I see an assortment of medical supplies— several rolls of gauze, bandages, herbs, and oils my mother has been asking for, as well as a small bag of peppermints he could have only gotten at the sweet shop.

"What did you do, rob the store?" Madge chuckles and snatches the bag to inspect its contents.

"I had some free time," Peeta says sarcastically.

The corners of my lips turn up knowing he must have heard Prim whining about wanting peppermints.

"I would love to join you guys, but I uh . . . I should probably get home. I'm going to have to face Gale at some point, might as well go ahead and get it over with," Madge whines, her shoulder slumping over in defeat.

Peeta gives me a curious look, and I tell him I'll fill him in on all the details later. We stop walking, keeping our eyes on Madge as she turns toward the Seam. We do not take our eyes off her until she is safely in her house.

"When did you get all this?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation casual; not wanting Peeta to ask why I disappeared for the entire day.

"All day while I was looking— searching for you Katniss. I mean . . . I wasn't surprised when I woke up and you were gone. I figured you needed . . . some fresh air. But after lunchtime and you were nowhere to be found . . . no one had seen you all day. I was . . . I was scared Katniss." He scowls at me and then opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then he just shakes his head. "I figured you would come back empty handed, and besides, Mom mentioned she needed these supplies, and I know Prim loves peppermints, plus, it's been a while since she's had any."

I can't help the smile that forms on my lips when Peeta calls my mother "mom". It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like my heart almost smiles. We make our way to the front steps when Peeta scoops me in his arms. He kisses me full on the mouth and I feel his frozen nose against my cheek.

'Let's do this,' he says before kicking the door open, where we are greeted by two peacekeepers glaring at us with surprise.

'They knew where you were,' Peeta conveys silently.

'And they weren't expecting me to return,' I add.

"There you guys are! Just in time for dinner!" My mom chimes excitedly.

[ 0 – 0 – 0 ]

[ Peeta ]

"Good morning Peeta, where are you off to so early?" Lilly asks me once I get inside and remove my winter gear.

"Oh, you know; just out and about. Doing the usual runs," I tell her, hoping she doesn't sense my anxiety.

"Where is Katniss? She's usually with you," she asks with narrowed eyes.

I don't want to worry her, so I lie. "She wanted to check on Gale and then stop by Madge's house afterwards," I say, thinking that it's actually probably not a lie.

"Actually, I came over here because I wanted to speak with you . . . privately . . . um . . . without Katniss," I tell Lilly uneasily, feeling as if I could literally squirm out of my skin.

"How about I make us a pot of tea and we can sit in the office room. It's a little too cold to sit on the balcony, but at least we can look out the window," Lilly warms me with a gentle smile. I nod, thinking tea is a good idea, it will give my hands something to hold onto.

Lilly prepares a pot of tea while I fill the tray with cups, saucers, cream and sugar. Then we head upstairs to the office room and take a seat across from each other at the table that looks out onto the balcony.

My hands are shaking so bad I nearly drop my spoon. I take a deep breath and gather my bearings— and my courage as I prepare my speech.

"So, you're probably wondering why I asked you to talk?" I begin and she nods, dropping in a few sugar cubes into her cup as she offers me a calming smile.

"Well, I sort of already had this conversation with Mr. E— Dylan . . . um . . . before the tour," I refrain from using the words 'passed', or 'died', as I continue. "But um, I feel like it's only right for me to speak with you now. As you know, I proposed to Katniss on television, so the world is expecting us to marry in the Capitol, but that's not what either Katniss or I want. We wanted to make it our own. With just our families, maybe a few friends . . . to have a toasting. We want the traditional District 12 customs, and I was going to—" I pause, shaking my head.

"I'm sorry, let me back up," I say, sucking in a lung full of air. "First Lilly, I . . . I was hoping to ask— I mean to get your permission— approval— no, no that's not the right word," I trip over my words like I have never done before, wanting to kick myself for rambling like a blithering idiot.

"Peeta," Lilly begins, placing her cup on the table and then she reaches for my hand. She clasps her hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. "First of all, I am honored that you came to me, and of course you and Katniss have my blessing. You have been a part of this family for so long, I already think of you as my son. It was actually," she pauses, wiping the moisture from her cheeks.

"One of the last things Dylan said before he— before he—" she chokes on her words, causing a pang of guilt to wash over me. "Left," is the word she settles for. "Before he left, the television was on in the background and when we heard you proposing to Katniss, Dylan's last words were . . . he said, 'Peeta is good. Make sure she marries him,' and I couldn't agree more."

Her reassuring words cause all the emotion inside of me to swell, so I rise up on my toes, closing the distance between us and wrap my arms around her shoulders.

"Thank you Mrs.— I mean Lilly, I promise I won't let you down. I'll take care of Katniss, I'll be a good husband, I promise. I'll do right by her, and I'll make you both proud, I promise."

"Peeta, since you'll be marrying my daughter, you can call me mom if you want to. I know you already have one, but—"

I lower back down to my seat, meeting Lilly's gaze. My eyes are wide as saucers and my eyebrows must be close to my hairline. "D-do you mean that?" I stutter.

"Of course, Peeta. But only if you want to," she says with true sincerity.

I nod, and this time it is me who has to wipe the streams of tears from my face.

I shake my head, wiping the grin from my face as I enter Katniss's house for the second time today. Katniss wasn't in bed— or anywhere in the entire house when I woke up this morning. Her game bag was missing, as well as her boots, but I know she wouldn't go into the woods. Not with all the new peacekeepers lurking around every corner. Not after what happened to Gale. No, she wouldn't be that stupid.

It's been hours since I was here last, and there is still no trace of Katniss. I had no doubt in my mind that she'd be gone when I woke up . . . intimacy scares her, and we were more than a little intimate last night. But she should have returned by now.

"Hi Peeta," Prim says, opening the door lazily.

"Hey Prim," I give her a smile and follow her inside. I try not to look suspicious as I crane my neck to see if Katniss is here.

"She's not here," Prim says. "She isn't at your house?" she asks, cocking a concerned brow . I don't want to worry her, so I play it off.

"She probably went to bother Haymitch, you know how she likes to wake him up," I say, and then realize my mistake. Prim knows as well as I do that Katniss absolutely detests even the thought of being in Haymitch's house.

Prim and I sit down and share the only food I have left after making my rounds this morning— a blueberry muffin. When I look at Prim my heart swells with so much joy. I love her so much; she is the little sister I always wanted.

"I can't wait until you're my brother for real," Prim mumbles through a mouthful of muffin, causing a surge of heat to spread to my cheeks.

"Hey Peeta," Lilly appears in the kitchen, interrupting us. "I didn't expect to see you back here so soon."

"I was actually about to head out. I have a few more errands to run," I try to say as casually as possible.

Lilly frowns, "I was just kidding Peeta, you know you're welcome here anytime."

I smile, grabbing my coat off the back of my chair and slip my arms through the holes. Then I lean down, kiss the top of her head, then move over to Prim and do the same thing.

"I know. But I've got a lot to do today, and Katniss should be home soon. I— I don't want to miss her when she gets there."

My statement causes wrinkles to scrunch up on Lilly's forehead as she narrows her eyes at me. "She's not home yet? That's not like her. Do you think—"

"No, no," I wave a hand in the air, playing it off as if it is no big deal. "She probably just lost track of time, I'm sure she'll be back soon. If she's not home by dark, then I'll go looking for her."

Lilly hesitates, wiggling in her chair. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something when Prim chimes in.

"Hey mom! I've got to show you this new technique I read about, and I was hoping you could help me with it," and then she meets my eyes with a knowing look that says, bring my sister home.

I make my way to Haymitch's house next to find him passed out at the kitchen table. Just like the morning of the tour, his head rests in the crook of his elbow, drool slithering from the corners of his mouth, and a knife clutched in his right hand. He claims not to have seen Katniss, having been asleep since dawn. He brushes it off as if I'm bothering him, but I see the concern etched in his features.

I make my way to the Seam next; my first stop is the Hawthorne's. If Katniss went anywhere, it would have been to check on Gale. Hazelle and Posie are happy to see me and hesitantly accept the basket of rolls. Hazelle hasn't seen Katniss either. When I ask to speak to Gale, because maybe he's talked to Katniss, Hazelle tenses up. She reveals to me that the mines opened back up, but he was in so much pain he couldn't bear it.

I chuckle when she tells me how she and Madge conspired together, knocking him out with sleep syrup and Madge taking his shift. She says he still hasn't awoken, but she has a good feeling that I won't want to be around when he does finally come around. She bids me goodbye, and I bypass Madge's house, figuring she's probably asleep after an entire shift underground.

I stop by a few more of Katniss's old neighbors' homes, dropping off loaves of bread and rolls, hoping that they're still warm.

I am anxious and feel defeated. I can't find Katniss— it's like she's just disappeared. Poof; into thin air. I hope nothing bad— that the Capitol— that Snow—

Stop it Peeta.

The sun is still high in the sky when I make my way back into town, so if I had to guess, I would say it was no later than three o'clock. My anxiety increases as I think about the sun going down. If this were summer instead of winter, there would still be four to five hours of daylight left. But alas, it is winter and by the time it gets dark it will be near impossible to find her.

And then . . . I begin to think the worst. What if she ran away? What if . . . after what happened last night— what we did— what if she realized a life with me isn't a life she wants and she just . . . I went to bed feeling so happy. I was on cloud 9. And I woke up that way too. We've never gone that far before. I mean, we've done things, fooled around, touched each other in some pleasurable ways. But last night was intense. It was a hunger, a desperate need to be closer.

"She probably just needs time to think, to sort everything in her mind. She's probably high up in a tree somewhere, looking down and laughing at me," I say, trying to reassure myself.

It doesn't work.

When I reach the bakery, I look in the window and see my mother's back. Even from my distorted view I can tell she has her arms crossed over her chest as she talks to someone. My father sees me from the corner of his eye, and his entire being freezes with fear. He gives me the slightest, imperceptible shake of his head. His body relaxes but the stoic expression on his face does not change as I turn around.

I am about to head home and change into warmer clothes so I can continue my search for Katniss when I hear mother's chirpy voice.

"Yes, Peacekeeper Goode, I will be more than happy to inform you if I see either of those two. I'm sure wherever they are, whatever they're doing, they are certainly up to no good." Mother's effervescent voice freezes me in place.

She is talking to the peacekeepers.

"Yes sir, absolutely sir!" Mother sucks up to the men. I can't really hear the peacekeepers, but I have a feeling that "those two" is me and Katniss.

I always knew my mother hated me; she has made it no secret what a disappointment I have been to her my entire life. But would she actually turn me in to the peacekeepers? Knowing it was a death sentence, would she actually . . . do that?

I try not to think about the answer as I take the back way out, taking the long way home, all the while, my heart sinking deeper into my chest. It's getting close to being dark and I haven't seen Katniss once. I walk slowly, very slowly, so I am taken aback when I open the door to see Rye.

"What's going on?" I ask my brother. He's crouched on his knees, on the sofa, peering out the window.

"The keeper's are at over there," he whispers, as if speaking too loudly will give us away and then points across the way to Katniss's house. "They've been going door to door asking if anyone's seen either of you," Rye tells me.

"Should I . . . do you think I should go over there?"

"NO!" Rye yells in a hushed whisper, shaking his head vehemently from side to side. "Go get Katniss and bring her home."

I nod and rush out the door. "Katniss, where are you?" I ask to no one in particular. I have already searched the entire district for her and no one has so much as seen her.

"You don't have a choice, you have to find her," I say as I make my way to Katniss's old house in the Seam. When I get there, I notice her father's hunting jacket is gone, which is when it hits me.

She's gone into the woods. If she was just up in a tree thinking about last nights events, just her jacket would suffice. She would only take her father's jacket if she needed the extra warmth. In a hurry I make my way to the last place I ever expected her to go; under the fence, where she promised me she would not go.

"Dammit Katniss," I say, heading to the fence. For all I know the peacekeepers know where she is and turned the fence on, hoping to catch her in the act.

At first it was euphoria and excitement, followed by stress and anxiety that consumed my every thought the entire day that I forgot I had the means to speak to her the entire day. I laugh out loud, wanting to kick myself for being such an idiot when I hear something, or . . . more like a rustling noise high up in a tree. I stop, straining my eyes and see not one, but two someone's.

I begin to recognize the silhouette, and then the wild, curly blonde hair.

"Madge, is that you?"

0 - 0 - 0

[ Prim ]

When Peeta came by for the second time today I knew something was wrong. I knew he had no clue where my sister was. It has taken everything in me not to pace the floor in front of the peacekeepers. They got here about an hour ago with an important message for my sister, under strict orders not to leave until they relay said message.

Thankfully, Haymitch showed up and has diverted my attention into a game of chess. Mom stands over the stove, pretending to cook. I wonder what the peacekeeper's would think if they knew she was doing nothing more than boiling several pots of water, with a few select herbs to fill the air with their enticing aroma.

My head snaps up when I hear voices outside the door. The peacekeepers must hear them too because they turn to face the door. The woman peacekeeper remains impassive while the man peacekeeper looks surprised to see my sister in one piece.

The door swings open with a rush of giggles and laughter as Peeta carries Katniss bridal style into the house.

"There they are! Just in time for dinner!" Mom exclaims, unable to mask her relief. Katniss arches a brow in confusion, knowing it is way past dinner time, but she doesn't miss a beat.

Peeta sets her down gently and I see Katniss grimace the slightest bit. Anyone else who saw her would not know, but she is my sister, and I know her. She is in pain.

"I didn't know we were expecting visitors," Peeta lies so smoothly, "or we would have come home much sooner."

Haymitch coughs and says, "Your move kid."

"Oh, we're not visiting, we've come here with a message from Head Peacekeeper Thread," the woman states.

"They've been waiting for hours," mom divulges.

"Must be an important message," Katniss surmises, which grants her a scowl from me. Now is not the time to push the peacekeepers buttons.

"May we ask where you've been, Miss Everdeen?" The woman asks.

Peeta coughs, his cheeks turning a dark shade of red. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather not say where we've been," he says suspiciously.

"Are you refusing an order then?" The woman peacekeeper asks.

"No, no, no, it's just . . . I didn't mean it like that. I just mean . . . um . . . I would just rather not say," Peeta begins, pointing his eyes at me. "You know . . . um . . . in front of Katniss's little sister."

It takes the peacekeepers a moment to realize what Peeta meant. I for one know that Peeta and my sister were not 'fooling around,' but that's what Peeta wants them to think.

"Peeta!" Katniss shoves Peeta playfully, playing along with the charade. "You promised!" she whines.

Katniss feigns being mad at Peeta, crossing her arms across her chest and turning away from him.

"Seems like our love birds were just looking for some time alone together," Haymitch scoffs at the peacekeepers.

"We're going to have a talk about this later, young lady," even Mom plays along.

I glance a look at the peacekeepers. The man is smiling, most likely amused but the woman's expression remains hardened. "What's in the bag?" She asks sharply, after clearing her throat.

I can tell by the look on her face she was hoping for game or wild plants. Something illegal, found only on the other side of the fence. Something to condemn my sister— something to bring her in for.

Katniss walks back into the living room and dumps her game bag out on the table. "Take a look for yourself."

"Oh, good," mom says, rummaging through the pile of supplies and picking up the rolls of gauze with a pleased smile on her face. "We were running low."

"Oooh, peppermints!" I squeal, sprinting over to the table and scooping one up. Peeta meets my eyes and smiles, and I know he got them just for me.

"They mine," Katniss retorts bitterly and tries to swipe her game bag up. But she is in pain, so her reaction time is dulled. I swipe the bag from her and toss it to Haymitch who puts a mouthful of peppermints into his mouth.

Katniss's brows furrow into a scowl, "None of you deserves candy!" she yells.

"I'm sorry," I give my sister a contrite smile, "we were just teasing."

Katniss scowls at me, then pulls me in for a hug. Then her eye catches the peacekeepers, just as she pulls back.

"You have a message for me?" Katniss asks candidly.

"From Head Peacekeeper Thread," the woman states. "He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day."

Katniss frowns. "Didn't it already?" she asks a little too innocently.

"He thought you might be interested in passing this information along to your cousin," the woman relays the message. Maybe it's just me, but she seems a little disappointed that she didn't catch my sister doing something wrong.

"Thank you, we will make sure to tell him. Although . . . he is still bedridden from his last lashing. I don't think he is quite ready for another." Peeta offers politely, but I feel the vibes of sarcasm vibrating through the room.

"Yes, thank you. I'm sure we'll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse." Katniss says.

The woman's jaw tightens. I can tell this is not what she expected to happen, but there is nothing more for her to do. No further reason for her to be here. Both peacekeepers give us a curt nod and leave. Mom locks the door behind them and Katniss slumps against the table, letting out a groan of pain.

"What's wrong Katniss?" I ask her sternly, rushing to her side.

"Oh, I banged up my left foot, and my tailbone's had a bad day too." Peeta helps her over to the rocker and slowly lowers her down on it, and then Katniss exhales a sigh of relief once she is planted firmly on the cushion.

Mom eases off her boots, one at a time. "What happened?" she asks.

"She slipped and fell," Peeta says, and we all stare at him with wide eyes in confusion. Katniss does not slip. "On the ice," Peeta says obviously, surveying the room with his eyes. He is trying to tell us that he cannot say. Because they might be listening.

Mom examines Katniss's foot and wraps it tightly in a bandage. She assuages that Katniss has a break in her foot, and her tailbone is only bruised. She orders Katniss to stay off her feet for several days. My sister's face contorts into a scowl at complete bedrest. Peeta fills a bowl with soup while I run to Katniss's room for pajamas. But when I open her drawers, there is nothing there. I run over to the closet, hoping that I can find something comfortable for her to wear. Thankfully, I do and take them to my sister, making a mental note to tell her she needs to keep some of her clothes here too.

After Katniss eats, mom and I help her into her pajamas. We sit in the living room where we suck on peppermints and Katniss brushes my hair. Mom runs to the apothecary and returns with two medicine cups and hands them to Katniss. One is a dose of the antibiotics Effie sent, the other, a tiny dose of morphling for the pain.

Katniss's eyes start to droop and Peeta walks beside her, but when she starts to wobble, he scoops her up in his arms and carries her the rest of the way.

I can't help the smile that forms on my lips at how proficient Peeta has become with his prosthesis. He picks my sister up as if she weighs no more than a pillow and seamlessly carries her up the remainder of the steps.

I guess it's because Katniss spends so many nights at Peeta's house, or maybe it's because mom knows how out of it Katniss is, but she doesn't say anything when Peeta never comes back down.

Authors Note: Once again, I do not own "The Hunger Games" or "The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes." All original characters and dialogue belong to Suzanne Collins.

Did you know . . . . . it is illegal (at least in the state of North Carolina) to interfere with the train tracks, which include placing scraps of metal along them.

Please review! Reviews make my world go round!

From Chapter 11: Katniss, "I toast this bread as a symbol of my love. From this moment on, our hearts will be as one."

One last thing… I am still looking for a beta, or even just someone to pre-read. Message me if you're interested!