A/N: edited 10/01/15

Katniss chapter!

Chapter 33: Your Eyes Never Lied

Katniss

I hit the seven month mark in February. To celebrate, Peeta makes me a cake that is more chocolate than anything else. I am unable to eat it all at once and end up feeling bloated and sick, lounging around for a few hours after eating it and complaining. Peeta just laughed his way through it, kissing me to shut me up.

"Two months left," I whisper, slightly in awe, as we lie in bed one night. I've hooked one leg over so that it's wedged between Peeta's, with my head resting on his chest. His hand has found its way down to my hip, and the other is twirling a piece of my hair in slow circles.

"Two months," Peeta echoes, his voice filled with as much awe as mine. "And then we'll have a baby to look after."

"A real life baby."

"Not fake?!"

"Shut up," I retort, trying not to laugh.

"And it won't be a sack of flour either."

"Speaking of which, were is that flour sack?" I ask, tilting my head back to look at my husband.

"I, uh... Well, it's difficult to explain," he says sheepishly. "Because the sacks are the same brand that we use in the bakery, the flour ended up... in pastries and cakes and various types of bread."

"You cooked our baby?"

"Well, baked."

"How can I expect you to look after a real life human if you bake the flour version?"

"I promise to never bake our child," he says, placing his hand over his heart in an effort to make his vow more sincere. I roll my eyes. "But I do promise to love them."

I pause for a long time before answering. "When I first found out about the baby I asked my Mom if I'd ever learn to love you or the baby... I was afraid that I'd be bitter. That I wouldn't be able to let myself believe that someone as good as you could possibly love someone like me," I take a deep breath, and despite all the emotions I'm feeling I can sense the wave of drowsiness fast approaching. "And now that I know you love me, and that I love you too, I know that I'll be able to love the baby. I might be a shit mother-"

"Katniss-" he protests, tightening his grip on me.

"And he may hate me, but I will love him anyway."

"There is no way that your child could possibly hate you," Peeta whispers tenderly, placing his hand on my stomach.

"They might. They'll love you. Everyone does."

"Katniss Mellark. He or she won't hate you. Not in the slightest," he says, his words taking on a tone of authority. I press a kiss to his bare chest, smile, and close my eyes.

Peeta and I have become more open with each other since coming back to school. I'm not as afraid to tell him my feelings, and he isn't either. We trust each other. We miss the other's presence if we're alone. We find ourselves just sitting there and laughing at silly memories. It's comforting. Apart from Gale (who doesn't really count because he's more of a brother to me) I haven't had much male influence in my life. Being with Peeta has made me more aware of so many things. Some of these things have led to heated kisses in almost every room of the house, cautious touches that become confident caresses, nights of complete ecstasy.

Our kisses have steadily become sultrier as the days have gone by. I find myself eager to initiate them; to transform the kiss from a tender peck on the cheek to a full-blown make out session. I've had to prompt Peeta into letting his hands and lips wander, and actually placed his hands on my bare breasts to get things moving when he just stood there, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

The images of Peeta moving above me, the band of muscle around his hips shifting, his arms shaking as he holds himself up above me, the beads of sweat that roll down his nose, or the way his hands rest on my thighs when I ride him, the way his groan rumbles not only through him but through me as well, the smouldering look his eyes hold as he locks eyes with me- those are things I'll never forget. It's been burned into my brain like a set of times tables, but not as boring.

One day I come into the house from a trip into town and find the house empty. I make my way further into the building, hanging up my coat, heaving a bag of groceries onto the kitchen table and dumping my shoes by my chair only to hear a thumping sound. It's a repetitive and solid sound, thump thump thump, so I listen carefully to see where it's coming from. I pull open the backdoor, fully prepared to yell at whoever is out in the backstreets making such a commotion, but my words are sucked from my mouth when I find the source.

Peeta has his back to me and is wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants, giving me a fantastic view of his heavily muscled yet scarred back as he punches the punching bag hung outside on a hook. I bite my lip and just stand there, gripping the doorframe with both hands to keep myself steady. My husband, seemingly oblivious to my presence, continues to bring his arms round onto the bag, sending it careening forward and backward. I must stand there for a good ten minutes just watching, before shaking my head and heading back inside, shutting the door quietly, to deal with the groceries, making sure that I keep an eye on Peeta through the kitchen window.

The energy that builds up inside me messes with my head and makes me misinterpret every move Peeta makes into some sexual thought. By the time we head to bed, I'm going crazy with lust. And I never thought I'd ever feel that for any man. For anyone. Peeta climbs into bed and goes over to give me a kiss goodnight, but I grab his shoulders and pull him down on top of me, surprising both him and myself at my assertiveness. This surprise doesn't last long however, and Peeta gets the message that I don't want to just lie beside him tonight, touching him but not touching him.

It's about three weeks after the first day back at school, and I've given up with listening to what people are saying. For the most, the majority of the student body seems to have moved on, and apart from whispers when I get undressed for Gym class, or looks in hallways, everything seems to have calmed down. The Baby Games have taken a backseat in my life, but being pregnant hasn't allowed me to not study for it. I still have to take part in the lessons, but, if anything, it's a joke. Madge says that it's too late now for me to even bother, and that I'll get the highest marks for participation and effort at the end of the year. It's kind of ironic, really, how the Games are supposed to stop teenage pregnancies happening and I'm pretty much ready to pop.

When I wake on a bright and cheerful Saturday morning, I roll over in the bed and make contact with something cool and crunchy. I open my eyes and find that a note has been pinned to Peeta's pillow in his absence. Removing the pin and putting it aside, I read the note:

Good morning,

I'm at Mitch's house. I'll be back soon, there is leftover soup ready for lunch.

Always,

Peeta.

Beside the short message is a drawing of a single dandelion, sketched quickly with a pencil, but the detail is unprecedented, every petal is perfectly shaped, and each of the leaves drawn with precision.

I groan, rolling over and burying my face into the pillow. I hate it when Peeta isn't here. Waking up without him is something I prefer not to do. It's not only his presence that makes me happy, but the way his eyes are cloudy and sleepy after he's just woken up, the way his smile looks almost lazy, like he can't yet muster the strength to smile fully. His morning hair is to die for, and (I think is my favourite thing about Peeta in the morning) is the way he kisses me. Unlike other kisses which are passionate with sweltering heat behind them, morning kisses are relaxed and gentle.

What a way to wake up.

I look up at the clock and find that it is nearly eleven o'clock. Lately I've been sleeping more and more and a few times Peeta has had to wake me before I ended up sleeping for the entire day. I get dressed and make my way downstairs to make something to eat.

As I spoon soup into my mouth I hear a faint rumbling sound. Thunder. In District 12 we get heavy rain by the bucketful, thunder that sounds like an avalanche, and electrifying lightening that lights up the dark sky. These storms are common in springtime and around the harvest and it usually results in the rivers in the forest overflowing, which in turn makes the coal dust that covers everything in the district turn to sticky black slush that is a nightmare to deal with.

I decide to go to the bakery since I don't know where Mitch's house is, and even if I did I doubt my presence would be appreciated. The snow is gone but it's still a little cold for springtime. Once I've finished eating, I tie my hair back into a loose braid and go upstairs to get my boots to seal them with beeswax to help them remain waterproof. Half an hour later, I'm pulling my mended boots on when I feel a strange tightening in my lower stomach. I frown, pausing my movements, and wait. What I'm waiting for, I'm unsure. I let out a breath. That was weird. Usually any movement I feel is fairly gentle and I can tell that it's the baby inside me that is moving. This time, however, it isn't the baby. It's my body. It's my body moving, not the baby shifting or stretching.

The second I stand upright there's a more intense feeling. I tuck my hands under my shirt and press them against my skin, feeling my stomach harden as the tight feeling returns and my heart starts racing. This isn't what I want. I'm only seven months. What if I go into labour now? I know that it's possible -lessons at school taught me enough- but the survival rate of babies born too early in this district is extremely low, practically non-existent. Combined factors like poor diet, few doctors or nurses, and an overall lack of sexual health care available makes the entire pregnancy process dangerous. But I can't go into labour now. I can't. Peeta isn't here. No one is here. I'm all alone.

Taking a deep, long, calming breath, I weigh out my options. If I do go into labour, it will probably be okay. It usually takes a few hours for anything to get really serious. By then Peeta could be back. I could go and find Peeta. It would be okay. The other option is that the baby arrives quickly. If I shouted for help someone would hear me. Someone would help.

As I think about this, as I get more and more frightened and worried about what is to come, I realise that I've been standing still for a good ten minutes –and nothing has happened. The baby is still. My stomach is still. Everything's alright. I let out a sigh of relief and look down at my belly, laughing at myself and the whole ridiculousness of the situation. It's okay. The baby isn't coming yet.

Once I've calmed down –scolding myself for making such a fuss, for acting out of character, for not being logical and thinking everything through before jumping to conclusions... for relying on Peeta so much- I pull on my other boot and button up my coat. Stepping outside into the icy street, I turn my collar up against the cold and lock the front door. Before long I'm at the bakery, my skin prickling at the sudden change in temperature as I step into the shop. It's fairly quiet at the moment, and I'm surprised to see Mrs Mellark standing behind the till, sorting out an order with an elderly man who leans heavily on a walking stick.

"Hello Mrs Mellark," I offer quietly. Her head snaps up to face me and her eyes narrow. "Is there anything I can do to help out?"

"We don't need anything from you," she snaps, though her voice isn't as sharp as it usually is, leaning towards a softer tone.

"I- I'm sorry for causing problems, but I want to help."

"Did you not hear me the first time? We don't need your help," Mrs Mellark turns to the old man and plasters on a smile, finishing his order, and doesn't speak again until he's exited the shop. "Your apologies aren't welcome here. Besides, it's too late now. Too late to make everything right."

"Peeta's happy. I'm happy. We love each other-"

"Do not lie to me!"

"I'm not lying!"

Her hands comes down on the countertop, the sound ringing around the room. "You do not love my son. He's just confused. He doesn't know what he wants. But you two don't love each other, anyone can see that!"

"I love Peeta," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and level. "I believe that he loves me. Sure, we're both confused and scared of what the future is going to be like, but we know that we can rely on each other to be there when things get tough!"

"You're not fooling anyone! You don't love Peeta!"

"You don't either!" I hiss, regretting my words as soon as I've said them. Mrs Mellark is the bitch of all bitches, but since I'm married to her son, I think it's up to me and her to make an effort to at least be able to be in the same room as each other without wanting to scream. I open my mouth to apologise but she cuts me off furiously.

"What do you know about my family? You know absolutely nothing! How dare you come into my home and insult me!"

"I'm not trying to insult you, I just don't think it's fair that you can be bitch to me and I can't be a bitch right back at you!" I put my hands on my hips and Mrs Mellark snorts, though I can see the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips. Is she happy that I'm fighting back? That she's got an equal match for once?

"I don't like you."

"I know."

"And I don't like the relationship you have with my son."

"Everyone's entitled to their own opinion." I force out through gritted teeth.

"So I'd like you to keep your filthy Seam nose out of my business and I'll keep mine out of yours."

"I don't believe you." I say, raising an eyebrow. Mrs Mellark shrugs her shoulders.

"Whatever," She says dismissively. "They're in the kitchen." She waves her hand vaguely in my direction. I sigh and move into the kitchen. Mr Mellark and my new brothers-in-law greet me fondly. I ask if I can help and Mr Mellark has me sat down on one of the stools by the table peeling and sorting various fruits that have been shipped in from exotic and warmer districts like Four and Nine. An hour passes easily, filled with chatter and laughter. It's a complete reversal of what it's like with Mrs Mellark.

"Where's Peeta then?" Fenton asks as his father leaves the room carrying several trays of freshly baked loaves, looking up from the bowl of icing that he's mixing, rolling up his sleeves to reveal heavily muscled arms.

"He was gone when I woke up. Left a note saying he was at Mitch's house," I explain, looking down at my hand, stained by the fruits I've been handling. Rye looks up at Fenton in confusion.

"Weird. I thought you said you saw Mitch at the Undersee place."

"I did," Fenton nods his head. "An hour or two ago."

"Was Peeta with him?"

"I didn't seem him," Fen shakes his head. Rye nudges his older brother and gives him a look that I can't decipher. I feel out of the loop, that they know something that I don't. "Uh...Give us a minute, Katniss." Fenton says, his brow furrowed. Rye yanks him out through the backdoor and I crane my neck to peek through the window. Rye is talking with a grim expression on his face, and Fen is rubbing the back of his neck in an anxious motion. I can't hear what they're saying, but I can tell that it isn't good. When they come back inside again I try to act like I haven't been shamelessly trying to eavesdrop.

"Everything alright?" I ask.

"Not exactly..." Rye says, pausing and running his hands through his hair.

Fenton glances at his brother, muttering under his breath. "If she doesn't know... he's gonna kill us if we tell him."

"Guys?" I speak up, my brow furrowing.

"What the fuck is wrong with him? It's been months!" Rye snaps, staring at me blankly. This whole situation is making me worried and uncomfortable. "Why hasn't he told her?"

"He's probably been meaning to, but you know Peeta."

"No shit."

"You think he's there right now?"

"Most likely."

"You're telling her. Not me," Fenton shakes his head, his eyes wide. I stare at them. This is just plain rude. It's pretty obvious they're talking about Peeta and I, and I'm sat literally five feet away.

"You're oldest."

"Can you please tell me what's going on?!" I exclaim, standing from my seat.

"I'm just going say it. And you have to promise not to... freak out on us," Fen warns. "We thought you knew. We told him to tell you but I don't think anyone else knows but us two."

"What is it?" I ask, pausing in sorting the berries. Fen groans.

"Peeta... he's an idiot sometimes. He doesn't think shit through and just does it without considering the outcomes. Usually he's pretty good at picking up on his own mistakes, but other times he's just stupid," Rye shifts his weight from one foot to another. "And he means well."

"Just tell me what's going on!" I snap, staring at them. How can they blatantly talk like this when I'm right in front of them? They seem to be beating around the bush, trying to prolong the actual explanation of whatever they're about to say.

"For three, well, four months or so, Peeta has been working in the m-"

And then the ground shakes violently, cutting off Fenton's words. Rye flies over to a tall, four-tier cake sat on a cake stand and steadies it. Fenton juggles with several items, fighting to keep them in their respective places on shelves. My hand forms a fist, squashing the berries into a pulp as I wait for the shaking to stop, my eyes squeezed closed. I hate this. I hate that this happens. I hate that the last time there was a major incident at the mines; it took the life of my father.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the shaking stops, leaving everything eerily silent and still. I take a deep breath, calming down, and relax a little. It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay. Mr Mellark comes rushing in, his hair unruly.

"Is everyone okay?!"

"We're fine," I gasp, letting out a breath and reopening my eyes now that the ground is still and I don't feel like I'm going to throw up. "We're okay."

And then Fenton curses, the sound breaking the silence. I look up at him. He looks panicky. "Peeta!"

My heart leaps. "What about Peeta?"

"He's been working in the mines for the past few months to make some money for you and the baby. We think he's there right now. Not at Mitch's house," Rye blurts out, his eyes wide.

My mouth drops open. My blood runs cold. My heart stops. A horrible chill runs through me at what I've just been told. This can't be real. This has to be a nightmare and any minute now I'll be woken by Peeta and be safe in his arms in our bed in our house with nothing there harm us. Peeta can't be in the mines. He can't. He wouldn't have…

"Tell me this is a joke." Mr Mellark says.

Peeta is in the mines.

"No, he can't be!" I exclaim, my voice shaky. "He said he was at Mitch's house!"

"I guess he didn't want to hurt you, you know how he is-"

Peeta is in the mines.

I hold my head in my hands, biting down on my tongue so hard that I taste blood in an effort to keep my screams locked up inside me. I stagger forward, pointing at Fenton and Rye in horror. "How long have you two known about this? How fucking long?" I demand, not caring about keeping my language toned down around Mr Mellark, walking closer to the blondes in front of me. "How long?!"

Peeta is in the mines.

"He told us before you got married!" Rye exclaims. "He said he would tell you!"

"You assholes! Of course he wouldn't tell me! You should've told me the second you found out!" I cry, spinning on my heel and making for the front door of the bakery.

"Katniss!" Mr Mellark shouts. I ignore him and push past the people stood in the bakery front, out the door, and down the street. My feet slap against the cobbled ground almost painfully as I run. I've travelled through four streets before having to stop to catch my breath, my throat dry and my entire body stinging from such sudden activity after so long without it. Everyone I've passed look shaken, and I try to find out how bad the situation is without stopping, but I haven't ran like this for a few months and find myself gasping for breath, staggering down the street like a drunkard.

I need to find Peeta. If he's in the mines, he could be dead. He could be injured beyond repair. He could be alive and looking for me. I hang on to that last thought tightly, begging that he's okay. Begging that he hasn't been dragged away from me like my father was. Losing my father cost me my childhood. Losing Peeta would cost me my life.

I jog slowly in an effort to catch my breath, and I'm several hundred yards from where the cobbled Merchant roads merge into the packed dirt of the Seam when someone grabs my arm. I yank my limb out of the person's grip, determined not to let anyone stop me until I have Peeta safely on the surface.

"Katniss, wait!" I whip around to find Rye, with Fen and Mr Mellark close behind.

"Let me go!" I growl, trying to remove my arm from Rye's grip when he grabs me again. "You didn't tell me anything! He obviously wasn't going to tell me! Why did you keep it from me? I could've got him out!"

"Just listen!" Rye shouts.

"He'll be okay Katniss." Mr Mellark says, trying to reassure me.

"How do you know that? What if he's dead? What if he's dead?" I push Rye away with a surprising amount of force and set off running again, only to be joined by them on both sides, Mr Mellark lagging a little way behind, and we run through the Seam down to the mines, a path I know all too well. The closer we get to the mines, the more people we see that are rushing in the same direction as we are.

"The east column collapsed!" I hear one person shout.

"It's the busiest shift!" Another bellows among similar exclamations are people calling for loved ones, people who were working deep below in the ground when the accident happened. My head is spinning –most likely from oxygen deprivation- and I can't think straight. So I do what I know best and run. I run because Peeta can't be gone. He has to be alright. He can't leave me alone. He'd never meet his child. His child would never meet his father. I wouldn't be able to show my husband how much I love him.

The land underfoot is suddenly bare- void of tufts of the scrubby grass that grows so well in the Seam or any other vegetation. On all sides there are slag heaps that tower above us. There's a small hut on one side that know to be the mine manager's 'office'. There must be almost a hundred frantic people milling around, waiting for survivors to be brought up in the stifling, unsafe cage of an elevator. Rye runs to the mine manager and I follow close behind, all the while scanning the crowds for a blonde head. I find a few, but they aren't Peeta.

"Can you see him?" I gasp out, clutching at my chest.

"Not yet," Fenton says, searching for his brother. Mr Mellark has suddenly gone extremely pale. "But he'll be okay. He's alright." Fenton tries to reassure me, but he looks upset as well. I hate to know what I look like. I run towards Rye and a very stressed-out looking mine manager.

"How the fuck could you let this happen?" Rye yells, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Sir, I assure you that this is not intentional. We're doing our best to get everyone out. The elevator gets jammed sometimes, so we need to bring up the workers slowly," the managers stammers, looking up at the Merchant in front of him like he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

"Damned sure you do! This whole place is a load of shit! Why doesn't the Capitol make it safe?" Rye demands, furious. I tug on his arm.

"Don't you think he knows that?!" I tell him, pushing him away. He swears profusely under his breath and paces back and forth. "What happened?" I ask the manager, trying to get a better understanding of what I'm dealing with.

"We think the east column has collapsed, though we're not completely certain."

"And? Was anyone in there?"

"Not directly, but there were several parties who were nearby," he explains holding his clipboard out and ticking off miners as they stagger past, covered in dust. None of them are Peeta.

"Oh my God," I whisper. I realise that I'm shaking- convulsing, almost- and drag my hands through my hair, messing up my braid. "Is Peeta Mellark down there?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"I can't tell you, ma'am, unless you are of direct family of the workers. Confidentiality." He turns to address another tearful woman. I grab the side of his jacket and yank it, hard, almost pulling his skinny frame to the ground.

"I am his wife! My name is Katniss Mellark. Now you tell me where Peeta Mellark is or I swear I'll go down there myself!" I spit angrily.

"You're not old enough to be married. It isn't legal."

"Nothing in this whole damned district is legal!" I screech.

"Confidentiality-"

"Confidentiality my ass!" I yell, pointing down at my stomach. "Now tell me where the fuck my husband is! I have a right to know as his wife and mother of his child!"

The manager's nostrils flare and I watch as he battles as to whether he believes me or not. I narrow my eyes, glancing back the Mellarks, and he follows my gaze. His eyes widen and he consults his clipboard. "Peeta Mellark, number 57803, is… still unaccounted for."

"Thank you!" I snap, turning on my heel and colliding with Mr Mellark. It's then that my anger lessens and I burst into tears that wrack my entire body in lurching, loud sobs.

"He's okay, Katniss. Don't worry," he says, rubbing my back. He leads me over to sit down further away from the yawning mouth of the mine, which is spewing thick black clouds of dust. There are horrible screeching sounds coming from deep within the darkness, sounding like one of the monsters from the tales told to children to stop them from wandering about at night. I slump down onto a boulder and take deep breathes.

"What if he's hurt? What if he's dead?" I ask, dead tasting like poison on my tongue. Mr Mellark sits beside me as Rye paces and Fenton walks in the other direction. "He can't be gone. Tell me he's okay."

"He'll be okay, Katniss. He's tougher than he looks, trust me. If he could put himself in danger like this, he'll come out unharmed," Peeta's father says, though he looks like he's trying not to cry himself. I'm suddenly angry again.

"I hate him! Why would he do this to us?"

"You don't mean that-"

"I do! We don't need more money, he's just being stupid! He knows that I hate this place after what happened with my Dad!"

"Katniss-"

"How would he do this?" I wail, breaking down. Mr Mellark pulls me into his side but says nothing. I sob into his shirt and I feel his tears on the top of my head, and hug him tighter, letting him know that it's okay to cry. We sit there, side by side, watching people being reunited, watching people cry and scream and curse everything, from the Capitol to the very ground they stand on.

Rushing forward, clicking into place like the flick of a switch, all the things I should've noticed fit together in my mind like a puzzle. Peeta's exhaustion when I thought he was getting the same amount of sleep I was. The coal dust on his boots and in his hair that I assumed was just from walking around the district. The nights when I'd wake to an empty bed. The way he'd get a grave expression on his face when I mentioned the mines. The subtle nods that he exchanged with passing miners, that I had thought was just his naturally friendly personality.

Why didn't I put it all together sooner?

I try to clear my head and think of positive things- of Peeta's smile, his eyes, his hair, his kindness, his happiness- but it only makes me more frightened for him. He's such a good person. He doesn't deserve to be lost below the ground in a place he was never meant to be in. My father's body was never recovered, and the small stone that represented his grave was placed on untarnished ground because there was no coffin to bury. That can't happen again. History can't keep repeating itself. Peeta deserves to live a long and happy life with the girl he loves until he's old and grey with his children and grandchildren around him.

With a jolt, I realise that Peeta deserves to live a long and happy life with the girl he loves- and that that girl is me. That child is the one I'm carrying. He can't be lost deep beneath the surface. He should be able to watch his last sunset. He shouldn't be buried in the dark where the light never reaches, where hopes and dreams are crushed, where countless souls have been trapped by the Capitol's endless greed.

Fenton comes rushing back to us after a long while. The crowd is beginning to thin out. It's getting later and later, the sun sinking lower into the sky, plunging us into even more darkness. Fewer and fewer people are coming out. I'm beginning to lose hope, bit by bit. "I've been checking everyone who comes out. The elevator master says that no one has been reported as dead or seriously injured yet. Everyone just seems shocked but glad to be alive," he takes a deep, shaking breath and laughs a little. "I've never seen anyone so glad to see the slag heaps before," he says. "And I went and got your Mom and sister, Katniss. Figured you'd want to see them."

"Is he okay?" A lone voice asks. We all look up to find Mrs Mellark, Mom and Prim standing in a little huddle. "Where is he?"

After a long while of hesitation, Mr Mellark gets up and speaks. "We don't know. He hasn't come out yet." His voice breaks at the end. Mrs Mellark actually looks distraught. Her husband steps forward to comfort her and Mom and Prim envelope me in their arms. Prim sobs into my side and I have to hold in my own tears, determined to be brave now, to not let myself be weak when strength is what I so desperately needed.

"He'll be okay," Mom says, but I recognise the fear and the emptiness in her voice. "Peeta is not your father, Katniss. He will come out alive and everything will be alright."

"I just want him beside me," I mumble into her ear. "Is that too much to ask?"

And that's how we wait. My mother and sister, my new in-laws, and myself. All standing in a group, waiting with a few other people. The mine manager is still running around with his clipboard, asking people questions. We wait for what must be hours. I begin to shake with cold, having forgotten my coat in my haste to escape from the bakery. Fenton gives me his coat, saying that the last thing Peeta will want is his wife freezing to death. Rye gives Prim a shoulder ride, trying to keep her spirits up. I rest my hands on my stomach and wallow. The manager and elevator master discuss something before reporting back to the small groups of people left behind.

"We're going to send down some workers to check for anyone who's still down there," the manager explains, looking around at the group gathered. He looks at Mom and Prim and then at me, his eyes flickering with recognition. He knows the Everdeen family. He was here when Dad died. Pity fills his eyes and I hate him for it. "But we think that the last have already gone home."

"And how long will it take to send a search party down?" Mr Mellark asks, his arm around his wife. Mrs Mellark catches my eye and holds it for a few long seconds before looking down. I bite my lip, stand up, and walk towards the manager. He looks slightly wary of me.

"Please get him out." I whisper. He nods his head.

"It could take over an hour to find them, if they're still alive," he says sadly. "But we're trying. We don't leave our workers behind."

We watch as the elevator of two rescue men equipped with lamps and pickaxes sinks into the gloom.

We wait as the manager talks to an old woman and a younger woman with a three year old, repeating what he told us. That Peeta, the old woman's brother, and the younger woman's husband are unaccounted for.

We listen intently for the sound of the elevator creaking and groaning, dragging itself up to the surface. The elevator master wipes his brow, looking too old to be a position of such trust.

And then, echoing through the silence, we hear it. The screeching of twisted metal against unforgiving rock. The rattling of chains, the churning of cogs and wheels. All at once, everyone holds their breath. I stand from the boulder on wobbly feet, watching the entrance of the mine as the weak light from the lamps filters through the hazy, polluted air. A group of people step out into the open, so slowly it's agonising.

One pair of boots. That's one of the rescue men.

Two.

The old woman cries out, running forward over the dry ground. "Danial!" she cries, joy splitting her features. Danial envelopes his sister in a hug and laughs, though tears are cutting lines on his creased, dusty face.

A third pair of boots emerge.

The young woman shrieks and the small child runs forward, screaming Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! in her little girl voice, the tight, shiny ringlets of her hair bobbing about with every step. My heart is in my throat, watching her running to her father. A family put back together again, whole and safe for another day.

Dread fills me, heavy and suffocating. "Peeta?" I whisper, though it seems ten times louder than usual. I step forward, squinting into the darkness, waiting, watching, hoping that he's here, he's okay. That he wasn't the only casualty in the first major mining accident since the one that ripped my father from my life.

Two pairs of boots appear from the gloom, with one person leaning slightly on the other as the stagger out into the open. The other rescue man? Peeta? My eyes run up their body. Battered overalls, a cracked orange hardhat. The person removes their hat to reveal blond hair stained by blood and choked with dust.

And then they look up, opening their eyes and looking straight ahead, burning into me.

Blue eyes, clear as day.

I've never seen anything so beautiful.