Chapter 22

District 2

Katniss

Author's Note So – I clearly missed my promise to post every Sunday and to finish this by the end of the year. I sincerely apologize for both. I'm going to stop making promises for specific timeframes because I seem to jinx myself when I do so. I make only three promises from here on out. 1. I will finish this. It will be the only thing I post until I do, other than an almost timely holiday update for Clint Barton: Single Dad that I'll have soon. 2. I will finish this in as timely a manner as possible, however 3. I will never choose timeliness over quality. This is why this chapter is so damn late, and why lateness is (unfortunately) likely to continue. I could have broken this one into smaller chapters and had some of it up sooner but I feel that that would have diluted it – agree or disagree, let me know in reviews.

Stephen, Thresh, Clint, Peeta, Gale, and I are standing around the pool, waiting for everyone to be here. "Where's Spruce?" I ask Stephen. There's a small pool next to the weightlifting gym – I've walked by it every day, never knowing what was in the other room. We're all standing around the pool now, in badly fitted beige leotards called "swimsuits," that the equipment manager gave us. Thresh's is way too tight – the biggest size is still too small. The room is muggy and hot – the water's warm, which will make it more pleasant I think.

"Morgan says he's staying with Tony," Stephen answers as he cautiously sticks his toes in the water. That doesn't sound good.

"Why? I thought everything was going okay with him and he'd be ready to go next week?"

"Morgan said he's having a hard time with the bone healing thing and Spruce thought he needed a friend." Fair enough – but I hope we don't run into water in District 2 or the Capitol. Maybe I'll get to show him later, or Finnick can – he said he was showing some of the other victors later this week.

"Let's get started then since everyone else is here," I say. I step down into the water until I'm waist deep and turn around, waiting for them to follow. No one seems to want to – Stephen is the first. He steps into the water after me, and once he does Thresh follows. And then the others finally do – they seem relieved the water's warm, and that no one falls through the floor of the shallow end to drown.

We stay in the shallow end for a while, just so they get used to being in the water. Eventually I try to show them they can float and encounter a problem I wasn't expecting – most of the boys I'm dealing with are all muscle and they don't float as easily as I've always been able to. It's more frustrating than I thought, but by the end of the evening I think everyone has a decent enough grasp on the basic concept – they venture into the deep end and tread water and swim around a bit. I'd still feel safer if we had more time, but it's better than nothing.

As we say good night and everyone starts to leave, Stephen hangs back. He looks so nervous – I wonder what he's going to say. The thought he might be about to ask for Prim's hand flits through my mind – I'd say no, of course. Not right now – not any time soon. She has all this school and he …

He could die soon.

Instead he pulls me into a tight hug, so tight it almost hurts.

"Stephen …" I start, stunned.

"I'm … I just wanted to let you know that … I'm sorry I avoided you for so long after … after what happened in the Capitol," he says haltingly. I have no idea how to answer so I just hug him back.

"It's all right," I finally say after a long pause. I don't know what else I can say. He finally lets go.
"I just wanted to say that … after everything," he says awkwardly. I nod, not knowing what else to do.

"Thank you," I say stiffly. "We should go …" I say even though there's no hurry – it's just too weird.

"Right," he agrees, and we leave the poolroom with no further words said.

It takes some time, but I finally manage to see Fury without anyone any the wiser. "So – what is it you needed to speak to me about, Ms. Everdeen?" he asks as I step in.

"Clint can't go to District 2," I say decisively. "He'll still shoot Tony if he gets the chance. I can't watch him all the time. If you send us all there together, I'm going to have to watch him and I won't focus on anything else, and someone is going to die." He sits there staring at me through his one eye, with hands folded in front of him under his chin. I feel as though he sees right through me.

"He didn't take the shot outside of Muleshoe."
"Because Stephen stood in the way," I counter.

"He hesitated a long time."
"So? He still had him in his sights. His bow was supposed to collapse if he took aim at Tony. It didn't," I remind him.
"The transponder on Tony's armor that would have disabled the bow was damaged by Blonski. It has been repaired and several redundancies have been added."

"He can throw a knife or grab a weapon from one of us – in case you've forgotten, that's how he killed Phillip." His one eye flashes and his jaw tightens – I know that's not fair. He cared about Phillip, he remembers perfectly well how he died.

"Mr. Barton will be on the front line with the rest of you. I guess you'd better watch him," he says coolly. My stomach is tight and my face is hot – my hands clench into fists.

"You ordered him to stay away before – why change it now?"

"He's proved he can resist. The nation needs to see the Avengers as a united front. District unity is more important than ever – and seeing you kids come together is invaluable towards that end."
"You can say he's sick or something – or you can say Tony's leg and ribs didn't heal yet. Everyone saw him get the hell beat out of him by Blonski."

"It's been decided Everdeen, and no amount of complaining is going to change it," he snaps. "If something happens – it'll be on me," he says more softly, and for the first time since I met him over a year ago, he looks old and tired.

"I understand," I say, even though I still don't and I'm still furious with him. He's putting our lives at risk just to make pretty videos – I don't want to see anyone get killed for that. Let alone Clint or Tony or anyone else on our team … But I don't have any choice.

I'll be watching Clint like a hawk.

It's the morning before I ship out when Prim gets the orders – she comes to the table where Mom and I are having breakfast with orders on her wrist, smiling away. But I know her smiles well enough to know it's a nervous smile – I feel my heart race, knowing what she's going to say before she says it. "I'm coming with you!" she says. I try not to show how afraid I am but my heart sinks into my stomach. I glance at Mom – she looks completely stricken. I put a hand on hers – I don't know what to say to her.

"I thought you were going to stay here and go to school," I say, trying to keep my voice normal even though my throat is closing with the tears I won't let fall.

"They said they need all the medics they can get," she says, still excited. And I know the real answer – our interactions and her interactions with Stephen play well so they want more of that.

If I thought it would do any good, I'd go and yell at Fury again. I'm already going to be watching Clint … how am I supposed to focus on anything when Prim will be there? Because if I think she's in danger, I'll drop everything – even if it means putting the others in danger. I know myself enough to know that. I already felt like he was sending me to the front with blinders on – now he's put a huge weight on my shoulders too. I hate him.

The so-called senior division shipped out a day before us. Now it's just the Avengers proper, Prim, Janice, Cressida, and Cressida's camera crew heading for District 2 in a plane. I keep thinking about how worried Peeta and Gale's families looked, how Mom forced herself to smile but had so much terror in her eyes, how Morgan cried as she told Tony goodbye. I can't help but imagine having to tell Morgan that Clint killed Tony, or having to tell Hazelle or the baker that Gale or Peeta was killed and I could have saved them but I had to be watching Clint … imagine having to tell Thresh's grandmother that he's gone because his team failed him again … imagine having to bury Stephen the way we buried Rue and Shale …

Stop it, stop it, I tell myself. I just have to focus. I have to watch Clint if Tony's around and I have to stay focused on what I'm doing, to get myself and all of us out of this alive. Fury's determined not to help in this endeavor, but I'll do it. I can do it. Clint did hesitate last time, and with the redundancies maybe the bow will actually work if it happens again …

Clint rests on my shoulder – he thinks I don't see him looking at Tony through one barely open eye. He hasn't made any aggressive moves the entire plane ride – he just watches him, as surreptitiously as he can. I'm not sure if he's trying to get a sense of his prey or if he's just trying to get a sense of how Tony really is. I desperately hope it's the second one. Spruce watches Clint as closely as Clint watches Tony – I know there's at least someone as worried about my Clint as I am and it makes me feel a little better.

Tony still looks kind of bad – he's not as energetic or sarcastic as he usually is and his face doesn't have all its color back. I want to ask how he's doing but I don't dare – thankfully Stephen does. "Are you sure you're okay, Tony?" he asks.

"Yeah, sport, I'm fine," Tony answers without hesitation and flashes a smile, not as winning as it usually is. And also he doesn't make any kind of quip, which is an even more worrying sign. I glance at Spruce, who nods at me – I take that to mean he's worried too.

The plane lands, Janice touches up our make-up, and we gather our packs and file out. "I see the fighting has already started," Tony observes out loud as we look around at the rubble we've landed in – whole buildings have been demolished. A young woman with long red hair is waiting for us as we deboard, and as soon as Tony sees her he drops his pack and runs to her, picking her up in a big hug. "Pepper!" he exclaims excitedly.

"It's good to see you too, Tony," she answers as he sets her down.

"Um … yeah. So guys, this is Pepper. We grew up together. Pepper this is … well you know who they are," he says impatiently, and then leans in and kisses her. It's chaste by Tony standards but she still blushes. I glance at Spruce who's smiling – I take it he agrees with me it's a good sign. The first one we've had.

"Later, Tony," she says, and pulls away, but takes his hand. "If you guys will follow me – I'll show you to headquarters."

We walk through the streets following Pepper. Before too long we enter a part of the city that hasn't been damaged very badly, but even here we can hear bombs and gunshots in the distant. I look to Prim, who's already reached out to take Stephen's hand. I think to comfort him instead of the other way around, considering he winces with every bomb blast. Clint tenses and I reach out to take his hand, sorry I didn't think of him sooner. "Oh don't worry about that," Pepper says quickly. "It's several miles away and the enemy line's been being pushed back every hour." Somehow, that still doesn't assuage my worry.

We reach a very affluent part of town – the houses are in neat little rows, and they're two-stories unlike the one-story houses that we've seen all along the way. "Welcome to victor's village," Pepper says dryly, and I almost laugh.

"What happened to the victors?" Spruce asks.
"They've been evacuated to the Capitol or have joined the Capitol forces," she explains in turn. "We've set up headquarters here – it's a reasonably defensible area." That … doesn't put my mind at ease.

We step into one of the houses, where we're immediately met by a tall woman as dark as Thresh who motions for us to stop. "I'm sorry, Cressida, you can come in but your crew will have to wait down here," she says authoritatively but warmly. "And you too, Primrose. No civilians beyond this point."

"I understand," Prim answers politely, and squeezes Stephen's hand before letting go.

"I'm Commander Paylor – welcome to District 2," the woman introduces herself.

"Glad to be here," Tony says in a not-entirely-sincere tone, and he sounds so much more like himself I'm relieved.

We're led into a large room – what was once the dining room, I'm sure – where everyone is gathered around a large holo system looking at a large map of the district which is highlighted in ways I can only assume indicates strategic significance.

"Ah, there you all are," a Capitol traitor with long, violently pink hair dressed in an odd blue uniform says cheerfully when she sees us. "I'm Narcissa Wellings, I'll be your liaison." It occurs to me she very easily could have been a tribute escort in a past life – I don't think she was, her name isn't familiar, but her mannerisms are eerily familiar. And why do we need a liaison anyway?

"So what's the plan?" Thresh asks curtly. "What do we need to know about all this?" he asks, gesturing at the image.

"Oh, don't you worry about all this, dear," she says, and nods to a more reasonably dressed person, presumably from the Districts, who presses a few buttons and the image disappears. "I'm surprised no one's told you – you'll be well behind the lines for the rest of the war."

It takes only a moment for that to sink in. I breathe a sigh of relief – Fury knew what he was doing after all. I can watch Clint if we're not in a war zone. Maybe he won't be so stressed if he's not in one, either. I won't have to worry about the others. I glance at Spruce and see he looks similarly relieved. "What?!" Tony demands.

"What do you mean behind the lines?!" Thresh asks more completely. "Half my men are at home making sure the Capitol doesn't get any ideas, and half are out there dying! If all you want is videos, let me go join them …"

"Why even bring us out here then?" Stephen demands.

"What about the senior division?" Clint asks.

"With the exception of Haymitch Abernathy, they are also remaining at a relatively safe distance," Narcissa explains with that unflappable politeness Capitolians are known for. Clint breathes easy for the first time since we landed – I squeeze his hand and look at him and smile.

"So other people are going to be fighting for our freedom while we do nothing?!" Stephen demands.

"Oh of course not dear," she says in what I'm sure she thinks is a reassuring voice and pats him on the head. "You'll be doing the very important job of encouraging the districts!"
"We can film behind the lines, use some composite shots to make it look closer," Cressida explains.

"That's crap. Complete and utter crap," Tony snaps. "We're really doing this? Benching some of the URF's best assets to make nice videos?"

"Yes, that's exactly what we're doing," Narcissa says, a bit more sternly. If it were just me, I'd be as angry as Tony, Thresh, and Stephen. But … if it keeps Clint safe … and the other safe from Clint … "We could also use your tactical input – you have significant battlefield experience, Mr. Conners, and every indication is that you have a brilliant tactical mind, Mr. Hawthorne," she says. I glance at Gale to see his reaction for the first time – I realize I would have looked to him first once, and some part of me finds the time and the unfrayed nerve endings to find that unbearably sad – and see that he looks just as furious as the others, but he's kept his mouth shut. I look to Peeta – to my surprise he looks just as angry. Spruce and I must be the only ones relieved.

"And for that, we should probably explain some tactical issues with the District," Commander Paylor says quickly, and the man who had shut off the hologram earlier quickly turns it on.

We get a quick summary of the challenges. We're fighting trained Peacekeepers in their home district, and they're aided by some of the most loyal-to-the-Capitol citizens in Panem. The biggest threat is from the air – they're still able to get their hovercrafts in and out, not only to attack us here, but to drop bombs on the agricultural districts and the tracks. We're pushing the lines back every day now, but that will change once we reach the Nut. The Nut is a mountain they've hollowed out to be their defense center – it'll take us months to get inside. It's a valuable target – not only for tactical control of the enemy, but as a launching site for hovercrafts and access to the best route to the Capitol. We're going to have to take it before we have a prayer of taking the Capitol. "It'll be interesting to be the besieging party, instead of the reverse," Thresh observes dryly. Gale looks at the map thoughtfully, and I know he's coming up with something already, but he doesn't share right away. We've got to get closer first anyway.

The courtyard is empty and has long since been cleared of all danger, but a fierce battle must have been fought here before – rubble and shrapnel are strewn all around, and some of the stone pavement is scorched or stained with dried blood.

We have a well-choreographed set of actions to take and general direction in how to act – Cressida calls action. The courtyard is filled with artificial fog that I suppose is supposed to be smoke, Tony flies in and looks around with repulsors at the ready, while Clint and I stand on the balcony of a nearby building and sweep the area with bows and arrows. Tony calls to the rest of us that it's clear, and then Stephen, Thresh, Peeta, and Gale file in, determined and serious, and Clint and I scale down the ladder leading up to the balcony. To my surprise, Clint jumps down from halfway on the ladder, flipping over in the air to land on his feet in a kneeling position, roll, and then land with his hands in the air. "Tada!" he proclaims. I'm so taken aback, it takes me a moment to laugh. But once I do, I laugh until my ribs hurt. Tony cocks his head for half a second and then laughs uproariously too. Peeta smiles a little. The others are unamused – Gale especially.

"Let's do that again with less … theatrics, Clint," Cressida says patiently. I almost laugh at that, because this is all about theatrics – in a way, Clint rolling like that was well in line with what I thought they wanted, other than the flamboyant pose at the end.

Regardless, we reset the scene. This time, Clint still flips on the way down but lands in a crouch and stays in it to notch an arrow, rather than springing to his feet to "stick the landing." Cressida doesn't object – I know it looks impressive. The kids will love it. I follow his lead and jump down and notch an arrow as soon as I land too, though I don't dare try that flip thing he did.

We move on through the courtyard and into a row of houses, going door to door to "clear" the area. Prim and Spruce, in inconspicuous gray uniforms rather than medics' white uniforms but with bands on their arm bearing a prominent M, follow close behind, as though they're embedded in our unit to tend any wounded. The houses are small but comfortable – about the size of the house I grew up in but with full carpet, thicker walls, and much nicer furniture. Or at least, it must have been nicer than ours before it was covered in smoke and rubble. In one of the houses, Clint trips over a piece of rubble. He play acts at having been seriously hurt, crying out for Prim and Spruce to come and help him. I know Gale and the others won't find it funny so I try to keep my face straight. But then once Spruce gets to him, Clint play acts at dying really overdramatically, the way that people die in stupid Capitol dramas, and then Tony starts to laugh and I can't help it any more. Cressida calls for a cut but even she's smiling a little – so is the camera crew. Even Thresh doesn't seem as angry as he did the first time Clint screwed up a take – only Gale seems unamused.

"I'm glad you think this is all so funny," Gale says sourly while glaring daggers at Clint.

"Oh come on Hawthorne, he's just trying to make the best of it," Tony says. I glance at Clint to see how he reacts to being defended by Tony. I can't quite read his face – but he seems a little confused. "If we're stuck out here making propos we might as well have fun with it."

"It's only because they don't trust him with a live weapon around you Stark – that's the only reason we're behind the lines while everyone else fights for our freedom," Gale says harshly.

I see Clint, so recently acting like himself, completely wither at Gale's words, and I think the thing I never thought was possible. I hate you, I think at Gale, but before I can speak Peeta does, and it's much more calmly than I would have.

"I really don't think that's it. I think we're just too valuable to really risk … Plus if we were with a unit we'd be a huge danger to them …" Peeta explains evenly.

"They didn't mind in District 7."
"No – and we did our job there, pea brain, and now the tide has turned, both in District spirit and in the war," Tony says, speaking slowly and enunciating as though he's talking to someone very stupid. "I don't like it any more than you, but there's no need to be an ass about it."

"Yeah … I don't think this is helping anyone, guys …" Spruce adds timidly, but it does no good because Tony's on a roll.

"You're the one who's always angry, Gale – I don't mind that, I really don't. I'm angry too – I have been since I was ten-years-old. But why don't you do everyone a favor and point that anger at the Capitol instead of the guy who got mind raped at the Capitol and the people who are trying to help you." I really, really wish he hadn't used that choice of words – I look at Clint and see his eyes flash in anger, but he doesn't make a move for his bow. "I know you're mad because you think he took your trophy away from you, but I have news for you – it was never going to be you, asshole!" Blood rushes to my face – I almost lunge at him but stop myself at the last second – if Tony did anything to defend himself, Clint would definitely go off. He doesn't have a live weapon, but it's not something that needs to happen, especially not given what Gale's just said.

"You know what Stark, take off the suit and we can settle this outside," Gale says, brimming with anger.

"Well … I'm practically naked underneath and I'd hate to contribute to your inferiority complex," Tony says, and Gale takes a swing at his exposed face even though he's still in his suit.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Spruce roars from behind and we all turn to face him in fear – his voice is lower than it usually is. Only once I look do I realize that I shouldn't have been worried – it wasn't accompanied by the beeping of his heart rate monitor. He smirks a little, yet looks to the ground sheepishly. "That's a nice power to have," he admits. He looks up and adds, in a louder voice, "I think this is getting out of hand."

"I'll stop, I'll stop trying to be funny," Clint says softly from the ground. The anger Tony briefly roused is gone, and to my horror it's been replaced by something even worse – I can see tears shining behind his eyes even though he's looking at the ground so no one else will see. I kneel by him, putting my arms over his shoulders.

"Oh no, Clint … it's okay … none of the rest of us …"
"It would be nice to just film the damn things and get it over with, without having to redo takes because Barton won't quit cutting up," Thresh says, and I'm furious with him too but I'm more concerned about Clint.

"Just do it without me – you don't need me anyway," Clint says.

"We're only doing it because it's the only thing you can do," Gale snaps.

"Seriously? Are you that thick?" Tony demands in exasperation at the same time I get to my feet. I throw the punch at Gale before anyone can step in – my fist connects with his jaw, and then I feel Stephen's arms around my waist pulling me back.

"Stop! Everybody just stop!" he says as he sets me behind him. "We're just going to film the damn things with no more fighting, and then we're going to go back to base and talk about strategy or build or whatever it is we can do to keep helping, and we're going to stop whining about it!"

"In fact, I think we've done enough for today," Cressida says quickly, even though it's only been a couple of hours. "Why don't we just head back?"

It's a short ride, but it feels longer – it's awkward and quiet. When we get back to base, Cressida asks Stephen and Tony to stay back to talk – I practically drag Clint inside. I want him out of sight of everyone so he can fall apart (again) in peace, and so that I can have a moment to figure things out.

"That could have gone better," Prim observes timidly as she, Clint, and I duck into the house that we've been assigned to.

"Yeah … it could have," Clint says stiffly as we head into the room that's between assigned to Prim and me. "I'm so sorry … that was stupid, I should have known …"
"No, sweetheart, no," I say quickly, taking both his hands. "It was funny. It really was. And it's such a joke anyway … nobody minded, except … Gale wasn't really mad at you, he was just mad they're making us stay behind," I say quickly, hoping he doesn't see through me fudging the truth.

"I don't think you've ever called me anything like that before," he says with a little smile, and I'm so glad to see it I can't even be angry at his spectacular ability to miss the point of everything I was saying. I kiss his cheek, incredibly relieved to see his smile.

"I guess I should go then," Prim says, and I turn in time to see her smiling mischievously. "I'll go wait for Stephen."

"You do that," I say, and kiss him on the mouth this time as the door closes behind her.

All too quickly, there's a knock on the door. It takes a couple of tries to break way from Clint – he keeps trying to kiss me again. "Who is it?" I call, with his arms still around my waist.

"It's Stephen – I want to ask you guys something," Stephen calls in. Clint and I pull apart more completely.

"Come on in," Clint calls evenly, and Stephen comes in.
"I'm not … interrupting something, am I?" he asks awkwardly.

"Not at all. So what did you need to ask?"
"So … we've still got to do the big scenes all together, that's an absolute mandate," Stephen says. "But Cressida thinks she can get it cleared with Fury for us to get a bit closer to the front in smaller groups – we'd still be relatively safe, she says, but we'd also actually be doing something."

"And I still wouldn't be anywhere near Tony with a live weapon," Clint says, and I know from his tone he's letting what Gale said get to him.

"Um … yeah. That was kind of the point. Well plus I wouldn't have to be near Gale or Tony … they're really not my favorite people," Stephen says, and his bluntness turns up the corners of Clint's mouth. "And you know how Tony prefers to work alone, anyway. Anyway … she thinks Fury will go for it but she wanted to make sure everyone would be okay with it before she sent in the request."

"Of course, that sounds awesome," Clint says smoothly.

"I'd definitely rather be doing something," I add. And still keep you safe, sweetheart, I add in my head.

"Okay, I'll let her know," Stephen says, and heads out as quickly as we can.

Clint gently pulls me back to him. "Where were we?" he asks.

"I think I remember," I say. I don't know how long it is until the next knock on the door, but we'll take the time we can.

I'm glad that Clint and I are in the same blind, without Gale, who's been teamed with a sniper from District 13, and nowhere near Tony. The bombs going off rattle in my chest and make me grateful for the earplugs in my ears, that block a lot of outside noise but can serve as a communicator if they need to. We're the closest to the actual battle except for Tony and Haymitch, but we're high above it all in a heavily armored and disguised box with only a very narrow slit to make shots. We're as safe as we could possibly be and still be doing anything useful – looking for the glint of rifle sights and the flash of fire from a gun muzzle to take out our counterparts from the other side, who are making every effort to take out Haymitch. We have a holo telling us where the other rebel snipers are so we don't accidentally turn on each other, and other than that there's nothing to do but focus on the field of battle – or rather the space above it. It's hard to look away from the swirling lightning show and the crashing hovercrafts and the explosions on the ground. It's a storm of chaos and we're looking for such a minor component of it. Even if we wanted to talk, we'd never hear each other over the ruckus of the battle, which we can hear even through the earplugs.

Every time something explodes, I worry it might be Peeta or Tony or Stephen or Thresh. If it's high up, I worry it might have been Gale's or Duke's blind that got taken out. I worry that Prim and Spruce got too close to the front treating wounded. Every time a hovercraft goes down, I worry it's Danvers. I worry for Finnick, for Johanna, for Boggs …

Over and over I tell myself I can only worry about two people right now – Clint and Haymitch, and the others are just a nagging thought at the back of my mind until the end of the shift.

All of a sudden, Clint freezes. He sits there a long time, his bow string drawn taut and still peering through the eyepiece that allows us a wider range of visuals than the narrow slit through which we fire, but he doesn't let the arrow fly. I know he won't hear me if I ask what the problem is, so I gently push on his shoulder to get him to get down. If he's not going to take the shot, he should get away from the narrow slit through which he could himself get shot. He does so, and stays down for a little while, then goes back into battle as though nothing happened, and he seems fine for the next two hours until Leeg and Rains come to relieve us. They have the second shift – Leeg's sister is paired with Gale. How nice that must be, to be able to only have to worry about yourself during a shift …

We climb down one at a time when the coast is clear, as called to us through our ear plugs that serve, now and again, as radios, and make our way back to base. "What happened? Why did you hesitate so long?" I ask Clint on the way, once we get far enough away from the battle that we can hear ourselves think.

"I just … I started wondering if Officer Treece's tour was over yet," he says softly, looking off into the distance. It takes me a moment to recall the name – that's the Peacekeeper that used to sneak him and his brother bread and let Duke get away with hunting more than once.

"I'm sure it is," I lie, and I definitely don't mention that even if she was retired by then, she might have re-enlisted with the war on.

There's always a full camera crew waiting in the yard outside of the house that serves as base at the end of shift, capturing our reunion from multiple angles. We're practically the first ones this time – Stephen and Thresh are the only ones back so far. Thresh gives us both a rib-cracking bear hug when he sees us, and I turn to hug Stephen only to find him unusually sedate, sitting alone on the porch. "Stephen? What's wrong?" I ask. He shakes his head. I go to sit by him on the porch and put an arm over his shoulder. He doesn't respond – just keeps sitting there, staring at his feet. I look at Thresh who shakes his head, so I don't say anything else. I glance at Clint and know two things are running through his mind – it breaks his heart that, unless prodded by the camera people, Stephen never embraces him, and anxiety over when Duke will join us.

We sit in silence for what is only about five minutes, but feels like an eternity. Tony makes it back next – I glance at Clint, who nods, and then I run over to hug him. "You guys do okay?" Tony asks.

"I think so – Haymitch is still with us, anyway," I say. I don't say we got a couple of enemy snipers apiece, because I don't want to think of it in those terms. I don't have to see them die, I don't have to think of them as anything but a point of light a mile away – I like it that way.

"That's good, Catnip."

"Are you okay?" I ask. He hasn't seemed the same ever since District 7 … or more accurately after his bones were broken and he had to have that painful thing to heal it. He's quieter, more solemn, sadder even.

"I'm fine … took out several artillery units and a half dozen hovercrafts," he says coolly. He always gives me the cold numbers and nothing else. Pepper, having heard he's back, makes her way from tactical to greet him, and then she's the only thing on his mind anyway.

Another five minutes pass. Once again, it feels like hours. Duke joins us – Clint breathes easy for the first time since we came back as we both embrace his older brother. "I guess the wedding is still on!" Duke says, like he does every time he sees us, and I hope he doesn't know how uncomfortable that makes me.

And finally, Prim and Spruce come back. "Prim!" I call and run to her. I know she and Spruce aren't in any real danger – they're not even cleared for battle. They only go to areas that have already been cleared for civilians – mostly they work in a field hospital. Even so, now and again, a bomb goes off behind our lines, and the enemy has snipers (not that they'd be targeting medics but) … It's not as though the Capitol is averse to targeting hospitals. She and Spruce both look the worse for the wear – there's smudges of blood and smoke and who know what else on their uniforms and her shirt, as always, is untucked – but she smiles. I hold her tight and look to Spruce and nod, like I always do – I'm thanking him for looking out for her. I take the opportunity to tuck her shirt in.

I don't want to let go – I never do.

It's been almost a month in District 2. We're closer to the Nut but the battle rages on. Not that we're part of it at the moment – the Avengers, old and young, and assorted associates are all gathered in the living room of the house, waiting to see the newest propo. We're fairly disinterested, but Narcissa makes a big production out of "premiering" the new propos and we indulge her by sitting around and watching it and pretending to enjoy it. I lean on Clint's shoulder, wondering how much longer it will be before it comes on and we can get this over with.

The image crackles – the Capitol is trying to take the feed back. That happens all the time – it usually doesn't mean anything. Usually the technicians on the rebel side keep them from breaking through – all though sometimes it becomes this hilarious battle between Capitol and rebel propaganda in which the propos will interrupt each other, seemingly mid-sentence, and it becomes this nonsensical jumble of words and images.

Not today.

The image that comes up is of District 1 – you can always tell because it looks distinctly beautiful and colorful, but in a more tasteful way than the Capitol. There are Peacekeepers out in force in the streets, but they almost seem outmatched by the civilians in the streets. They shout and throw pieces of rubble and garbage – the Peacekeepers advance into the crowd with batons at the ready, using shields to protect themselves from the onslaught of angry people. Then some of them start firing into the crowd. Chaos erupts as some of the civilians try to run, others just keep on coming. "Why are they showing this?" Stephen asks, confused. I glance at him and see Tony, two seats down on the couch, looking white as a sheet and look back to the screen. A little boy, no older than ten, is rushing forward, holding up a little device that looks horribly familiar. I freeze, watching in openmouthed horror. "The rebels would have you think that they have the moral high ground," Snow's voice intones smoothly. A piercing sound emanates from the device the boy onscreen holds, and civilians and Peacekeepers alike collapse on the ground. "But, as you can see, they have no problem arming small children with dangerous weaponry for their own twisted ends. We have confirmed that this technology you see the young man originated in the diabolical imagination of Anthony Stark." A spray of blood goes up from the boy's shoulder and he collapses in a heap, still alive but too wounded to run. A little girl, probably about six, runs out to him, screaming, "Harley!" The image cuts to Snow himself, sitting in his office with a carefully crafted look of disapproval. "The young man was, by unfortunate necessity, wounded, but luckily he was captured alive and questioned about his acquisition of this device – it is our hope that he can be rehabilitated and the damage done by rebel propaganda and Mr. Stark's thoughtlessness can be undone. Do not be deceived by rebel misinformation and assertions of moral superiority – to aid them is to invite chaos and discord …" I don't hear the rest, because Tony runs out of the room and I follow without hesitation.

I find him on his knees, leaning under the front porch railing and vomiting. I have no idea what to say or do. "It's all my fault … Rhodey told me it was stupid, that I shouldn't do it, but I did, and now he's dead … that kid is dead because of me," he says when he's done retching.

"Well … he might be being tortured," Johanna says from the door.

"Not helpful!" I snap at her.

"Depending on how thorough a job they decide to do, we may get to the Capitol and save him before they can finish him off," she adds, in no softer a tone.

"That's wonderful. The best case scenario is I only got this kid tortured for a few months," Tony says with a groan and rests his head against the railing post. "And the worst is I got him and his sister killed, after torture. I need a drink. And some pills. And whatever else they have around here."
"No you don't – you need to stay sober so you can beat the Capitol and get to him in time," Spruce says sternly as he goes to sit by him and put an arm over his shoulder. Of course Spruce actually knows what to do.

I head back inside, since I'm no use out here. Everyone is sitting inside in shocked silence. "Is he okay?" Peeta asks me.

"No," I answer. "He's … he's really messed up. Spruce is with him, and so's Johanna …"

"Oh dear," Peeta says, and immediately gets up to follow too as soon as he hears the latter name.

"Go get Pepper from tactical from him, or send Johanna to do it," Stephen suggests as he goes, and Peeta nods. I take my seat next to Clint … I don't know why we're still gathered around the screen but no one knows what to say.

"Did … did he hurt that kid too?" Clint asks me softly.

"What?" I ask reflexively.

"The kid on the screen. Did Tony molest him too?" Everyone sits in silence – I don't know how to answer.

"No, because he didn't molest anyone. I thought they were working on getting that through your head," Gale snaps after a long silence.

"I'm … I'm sorry … that was dumb …" Clint stammers.

"Yeah it was dumb," Thresh says harshly.

"I said I was sorry …"
"Maybe just learn to keep your stupid mouth shut instead of having to run it all the time," Thresh snaps, at which point Duke throws himself at a man roughly three times his size, but thankfully Finnick grabs him before any punches are actually thrown.

"It's not his fault, you know that," I say defensively, taking Clint's hand. As shocked as I was by that comment, I know it wasn't his fault, and I'm getting sick of Gale and Thresh ganging up on him. When did they become best buddies, anyway?

"Let's just calm down, everybody," Finnick says quickly, making a valiant effort at soothing the tension.

"We're just making things worse," Stephen says, out of the blue, and leans way down on the couch so his head is between his knees.

"What do you mean?" I ask him quickly, my concern now being pulled in three directions. I hate every second of this.

"Let's see you go through what he went through," Duke taunts from where Finnick holds him. "I bet you'd have been spilling your guts after an hour with the bastard that worked him over. After all you were going to give up your own little cousin for dead as soon as you got reaped together …"

Thresh flies over the back of the couch, a terrifying mass of muscle, and punches Duke so hard blood flies and there's a horrible crunching sound I know is his nose breaking, maybe other bones too. Narcissa screams.

Lightning flashes right outside the window and thunder so loud it shakes the whole house booms. Narcissa screams again. "That is enough," Haymitch says sharply, still holding the hammer up. "Did we forget who the real enemy is, here? Who do you think made the kid think like that? And Duke, can you ever, ever just shut up and let things go?"

"That's my little brother!" he shouts, only you can barely understand it because his nose is broken. But at least the bone didn't go into his brain, that's what I was afraid of when I saw it. Prim is already at his side, trying to get a look at the wound but he won't lean down and let her.

"I'm not a baby, Duke!" Clint says, but he sounds young when he says it. "And that was a low blow and you know it! Let me stand up for myself!" But he wasn't … he was cowering. And I did the same thing as Duke, only not as crazy. I babied him. Maybe I'm doing more harm than good.

"I'm going to go check on Tony," I say, even though I really just need to breathe, and start to head outside.

Before I can open the door, Johanna storms in. "What was that lightning?" she demands. I step outside and shut the door behind me, hoping to escape for a while.

Instead I get to see Tony sobbing on Spruce's shoulder. Spruce sees me and subtly shakes his head, so I turn around and go back inside but head upstairs without a word.

It took me a while to realize we were being quartered in Drusa's house. The house she got to live in after she betrayed us. It made me furious at first – I didn't want to have anything to do with that traitor. Then I realized why they did it – so that they could show the Capitol, "Hey, look where we are!" I hope she's seen it in the propos (if they get through in the Capitol – I understand it's still very difficult to get a signal through there) and I hope she chokes on it. I was tempted to put a few holes in the walls, but then I remembered she'd probably be executed as a traitor by the end of the war anyway, so it's not like she'll ever be back here, and I'd just be damaging it for whoever's going to live in it afterwards. It's such a massive house, several families could probably live here.

I sit in her little studio – she had a couple of walls taken down to merge a couple of rooms and had them redone to look like what, I take it, a dance studio looks like – and think about what would have happened if I hadn't been stupid, if I hadn't screamed at her. Shale would still be with us – maybe Tony would be in better shape. Maybe if he'd been in a better state he wouldn't have given that kid that weapon – he might have been thinking more clearly. Or maybe he's just reckless Tony and nothing could have changed that. She'd certainly handle all this nonsense better than I do – she'd destroy the bullying they're doing of Clint with one or two words. She'd at least know how to make Tony feel better, how to comfort Clint … she wouldn't be hiding here in a traitor's dance studio, feeling sorry for herself and wishing to be anywhere else.

I kick the wall until I put a hole in it even though I know it's pointless and obnoxious.

Maybe not so pointless – I feel less like I'm going to explode.

It's been six weeks in District 2. We're getting closer to the Nut every day.

When we first came here, we filmed a propo almost every day. Now we film one once a week.

We're on different shifts now too – there's a lot less emphasis on our joyful reunions these days. I thought that would be easier – to only have to worry about myself and Clint during my shift. But worrying about the others, especially Prim, while I've got nothing to do is maddening. Especially if I'm trying to sleep. My nails are bitten down to the quick and there are deep shadows under my eyes that, thankfully, are hidden by my helmet or else I'd be subjected to make-up calls every day before climbing into the blind.

This is one such sleepless night – I've been staring at the ceiling for hours. I can hear the distant sounds of fighting – bomb blasts and artillery fire, even at a distance, make for a very poor lullaby. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind. Spruce has told me a little bit about this … you just focus on your breathing, to the exclusion of all else, without trying to change it or anything. I try that … I end up focusing on Clint's breathing. I wonder if that works just as well. Probably not, but it's certainly more comforting. Clint and Duke have one room and Prim and I have another, but most nights now Prim and Spruce have the night watch as medics (which I prefer because the battle is less intense at night and therefore they're safer) while Clint and I still have the day since that's when we use Haymitch. It saves a lot of time if Clint has nightmares if we just sleep in the same room, in the same bed in fact – my mother would kill me if she knew. Thankfully he doesn't lash out, the way Howard apparently does. Sometimes I have nightmares too – that I'm back in the Arena or back in the forest during the evacuation of District 12 or that I'm in the blinds and I've just failed to save Haymitch. I never wake up Clint – he can't deal with that on top of everything else – but I always reach out to make sure he's there and then I breathe easier. Sometimes neither one of us can sleep and we end up just talking, or more often just listening to each other laying awake and worrying. But he tends to sleep a little better than me – Duke usually has the morning shift, so he doesn't go on until the sun's almost up. As much as Clint loves my family, he doesn't have the primal fear for them I do, which of course is understandable.

"It'll be okay, Kat," Clint says softly. "You heard the projections. We should have the rest of the District by the end of the week." I had no idea he was awake – I wonder if he ever pretends to be asleep all those times I have a nightmare. If he's really awake and wishing he could hold me, but knowing I'd be hard on myself if I knew I was disturbing him.

"It's cracking the Nut that worries me. If we could stop it now … disable those hovercrafts … And anyway a lot could happen in that week. And who knows how long it'll take to take the Capitol."

"I know," he says and strokes my cheek with his left hand. I flinch at the coldness of his prosthetic fingers.

"I'm sorry," he says, pulling back, but I reach for that hand and put it back against my face after kissing his palm.

"It's all right, I was just startled," I say softly. "I don't mind your hands – I'll never mind." He shifts so his body is closer to mine – my heart races but I don't move away. Here in the dark, in this war, in this worry – he's the only thing I have to hold onto. His mouth finds mine, and the night already seems a little less dark.

There's a very loud blast, much closer than the others. "What the hell?" Clint asks as we disentangle from each other instantly. He sits straight up, listening. I jump out of bed and look for clothes to throw on.

"It was close – way too close," I say as I find a shirt and a pair of pants I wore a couple of days ago after my shift was over. I grab my bow and quiver as I step out.

"Don't you need armor?" he asks as I run out the door. I probably should have put the armor on but all I can think about is getting to wherever Prim is. He follows shortly behind, also armed, also not in armor.

"Get back inside, Ms. Everdeen," someone in uniform orders, but I ignore them and keep on running.

Another blast goes off, just as close. Chills run down my spine – in one of the tactical meetings we had, Gale mentioned the idea of a delayed bombing strategy where a second bomb goes off after emergency responders have had enough time to rush in. His words come back to haunt me now – I thought it was horrible then, and now I know we weren't the only ones with the idea. If I was worried about Prim before, I'm terrified now. I pick up the pace, running headlong in the direction of the blast.

Before long I can't run anymore – the area is crowded with medics and firefighters running in and civilians running away form the scene and I have to slow down. "Prim!" I scream over and over, and stand on tiptoes and try desperately to reach her, even though I don't know where she is. I scan every person running by, desperately hoping to see Prim.

And then I hear the Hulk roaring and I'm even more terrified – Spruce and Prim always work together. Not just on the same shift, but in the same unit. "PRIM!" I scream with everything in me, a wild animal scream, but there's no answer. My knees turn to water and I find myself falling, but Clint catches me before I hit the ground. He's not strong enough to hold me up so he falls with me and we're both on the ground. I weep openly, not even trying to hold it back. "It's okay, baby, if Spruce had time to turn, then whatever it was wasn't instant – hell he might just have turned because of the sound," he comforts frantically, but he doesn't sound that convinced. He strokes my hair and rocks me, with one arm wrapped around me so tight it almost hurts.

I sob frantically on Clint's shoulders for what seems like an eternity. I've heard people say that their life flashes before their eyes when they almost die – Prim's life flashes before mine. I remember when she was born, the first time I held her in my arms and looked in her little blue eyes and touched her downy head. She was so heavy in my arms, so heavy but so soft. I remember bringing her Lady and trying to teach her to hunt and bringing her the bread Peeta threw and putting the mockingjay pin on her on her first Reaping Day and seeing her again at the rebel base and seeing her in a medic's uniform hugging Stephen …

And then I hear the sound of Tony Stark landing in his suit, more gently than he usually does, and his mechanically filtered voice shouting, "Katniss! I've got her!" I feel Clint's body going stiff as a board, but it doesn't register. I find my feet and run towards him, heedless to everyone I have to shove out of the way. He's holding Prim in his arms – her head and her limbs are frighteningly limp.

"Prim!"

I get to him and look her over – she's scraped, burned, and bruised on every inch of skin and her uniform is singed, torn, and dirty. Tony lifts his faceplate so he can talk to me directly. "She's alive," Tony says quickly, seeing my stricken face. I put both hands on her face and kiss her forehead – once I do I can tell she's breathing and it seems nice and strong. Maybe it only looks bad. "So far as I could tell there was no spinal injury or anything else that strongly contraindicated moving her so I decided I better get her out – I've got to go and help, I don't know how many other people are still buried. Some loyalist asshole had themselves rigged to blow and our people missed it – they waited until they were in the hospital to set themselves off. Then a second one did – it's been a while so I don't think there's any more, but you better get her back to your quarters and hope that's far enough back, Jarvis says he's already got a couple of doctors heading there," Tony explains, almost in one breath, and transfers her into my arms. She's heavy – of course she is, she's almost as tall as me now – but I can carry her.

"Thank you Tony," I say breathlessly and stand on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Hey now – don't go starting rumors," he teases and pulls away, then closes the faceplate, steps back a few more steps, looks to make sure there's a clear area around him, and takes off again.

I can carry her, but not as fast as I'd like to. "Clint!" I call, turning around. I could use some help – if we carry her between us, we can get her safely home in a lot shorter time …

He looks at me with a look of complete shame and trepidation. He's frozen in aiming position, with one hand on a collapsed bow and one hand on an arrow that won't come out of its quiver.

I stare at him for a moment too long, unsure of what to feel, and then I just head on, carrying Prim by myself.

The noise and the chaos dissolves around me as I carry Prim back to our quarters. She's heavy, but I don't mind. I focus on the fact she's breathing, that I don't see any heavy bleeding, that I don't see any broken bones, that I don't see any major burns. But I still hate Fury for sending her along, just because we made good propos together. Well, and her and Stephen …

Oh, Stephen! Does he know she's okay? There's no way for him to know yet. I can't worry about him yet.

Prim begins to stir. "It's okay, I'm here," I say comfortingly. "I'm taking you to a doctor."

"What happened?"

"A second bomb went off – you and Spruce were buried. Tony got you out – Spruce is … he got himself out."

"What bomb?" she asks in a groggy voice. I think of Rue, how she was hit in the head and died later, and I walk a little faster.

The doctor that Tony said was waiting for me meets me at the edge of the yard of Drusa's house. "What's her condition?" she asks as I transfer Prim to her arms.

"I feel fine," Prim insists.

"I don't know – Tony said he didn't think there was a spinal injury or anything that counter-indicated moving her," I say. "Her breathing is strong and I don't see any bleeding."

"It's what we don't see that worries me," the doctor says stiffly. She's one from District 13 – I'd recognize that cool, even way of speaking anywhere. She carries her up the front steps of the porch and I run to open the door. She goes inside and lays her on the floor – she's already pushed back the sofa and the coffee table and spread a bunch of blankets for her. She kneels by her, checking her over and asks Prim all kinds of questions while I watch anxiously.

The door opens and closes. "Katniss," Clint says softly. I turn to face him, still unsure of what to say. He looks so ashamed. I swallow every question I want to demand an answer to – which arrow was he going for? Was he going to put me and my little sister at risk with an explosive or an incendiary? Tony's faceplate was up – surely Clint was reaching for a normal arrow, to take advantage of the shot. "I just … I saw him with Prim and she was hurt and I know it was stupid but I thought … I thought he hurt her and …"

I should tell him it's all right.

His bow collapsed and his quiver locked. Everything worked like it was supposed to. No harm was done. Tony probably didn't even notice.

I should tell him it's all right.

He looks so miserable, standing there.

I should tell him it's all right.

Nobody was hurt. He can't help it.

I should tell him it's all right.

I hug him close without saying a word. "Is she okay?" Clint asks.

"I don't know," I say worriedly.

"Did she lose consciousness?" the doctor asks me.

"Yes – she was out when Tony brought her to me," I say, turning quickly to face her, ready to answer any more questions.

"I'm ordering an air lift to the hospital in 3," the doctor says immediately.

"Do you think it's that serious?" I ask.

"It might be. And we're not taking chances with the Mockingjay's little sister," she says brusquely. I don't know what to say.

"Can I go with her?" I ask, coming to kneel by her and take her hand – Prim still seems out of it.

"I'm afraid not – medical personnel, pilots, and patients only in the airlift. And you'll need to be dismissed from duty anyway." Duty? How? How can I go on shift knowing Prim's …

"She'll be all right, Ms. Everdeen," the medic says, the first time she's been comforting. "I just want to be safe rather than sorry."

I stay with her as long as I can, trying to explain to her what happened and that Tony saved her. Clint runs to tactical to try to get them to contact Stephen – but he ran out to the chaos with only his shield, the same way Clint and I ran out with nothing but our bows, so even if they're willing to try it's going to be an uphill fight.

A hovercraft lands in the yard and several paramedics – Prim explained the difference once, but I can't remember right now – enter the house with a stretcher. "Be brave, little duck – I'll come see you as soon as I can," I say, even though I don't know if they'll let me go or not.

I wait until they've carried her away, and I'm certain she can't hear, to start crying again. This time I'm alone. I tell myself she'll be fine, but I can't convince myself. I stay sitting right there in the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth.

Duke comes to sit by me. I should tell him what happened with Clint, but I can't focus on anything but the little girl that just got loaded in a hovercraft. He hugs me and pats my back. He's not as comforting as his brother, but there's an understanding between us – he doesn't try to tell me it's okay, because he knows. He knows how hysterical he'd be if it were Clint, how inconsolable, and so he just offers a warm shoulder to cry on.

I only thought the night was long before.

Every nerve is on edge in the blind as I scan the horizon for the glint of rifle scopes.

I can't worry about Prim. She's going to be fine. They would have told me if she wasn't.

I scan the horizon again. Did I miss something?

I can't do anything to help Prim right now – I can help Haymitch. We need Haymitch. We need Haymitch to end the war so that Prim can be safe – safe forever.

She was so limp in Tony's arms, so confused when she awoke and the doctor seemed concerned when I said she'd been unconscious …

This is my fault. I put her in danger. If I'd just died early on in the Games … if I'd run into the bloodbath and gotten killed …

"Katniss!" Clint shouts. Even with him shouting, I never saw the knife coming.

A blade sinks into my throat, just under the chin and off to the side. Clint gets off a shot. I barely make out the person who threw it – a flash of black hair and pale skin dropping down out of sight, whether because Clint shot her or of her own accord, I can't say. Another knife flashes but Clint puts his arms up in time – it glances off his armored arm and sinks into his other, bare forearm.

"Katniss!" he cries, and I hear him even over the din of battle. I sink to the ground, a hand instinctively going to my throat.

"Blind Four – medical attention needed ASAP, at least one hostile fled the scene, sniper down," Clint shouts while triggering his radio to receive audio, then kneels by me, grabbing my hand away from the wound. The pain hits me all at once – I want to scream but instinctively, I clamp my mouth shut and try not to cry out. An agonized hiss escapes through my clenched teeth and every limb tightens until I'm sure tendons and muscles will snap.

"Hold on, baby, hold on," he pleads, and holds my hand with the unwounded arm, seemingly heedless to how much blood is pouring from the other. The wound is burning, and I reach up with the other hand to pull the knife out.

"No! Leave it!" Clint says and grabs my hand with his wounded arm. "No, baby, no – it'll bleed faster if you pull it out," he pleads.

"There's something on it …" I croak but talking is agony. I don't even know if that's true – it hurts so badly I can't tell if I'm imagining that it burns more than it should.

"I know Kat, but you'll bleed faster – don't talk …" he turns away from me, risking letting go of one of my hands, and bellows into the radio. "Damn it! Where's the medics?"

As though in answer to his question, two medics come into the blind with a stretcher and load me on. I hear them talking to Clint, asking questions. The knife needs out … it needs to come out …

Everything goes dim. At least I'll be in the hospital with Prim soon.