(Grossly long) A/N: edited 11/01/15

Peeta POV. The tense change is intentional. Title from Dotan's Home II. Also, some people have been questioning why I'm giving Mrs Mellark a little more backstory (as you'll see in this chapter). I do it simply because she's a character that really fascinates me. I can't imagine why she'd beat her children for no reason, and want to try to figure her out. The Mellark family is so complex and I think they need to be explored. And Peeta's mother can't just be a bitch. She has to have a softer side somewhere, right?

Chapter 34: This House of Doubt

Peeta

We've never needed school to teach us about the grim side of District 12. There is a special kind of fear that reigns over Panem, sourced from the Capitol, that pushes aside the small beacons of hope that burn, quenches the fire to make everything dark.

I was three when I experienced my first taste of mining perils. It was a fairly small accident- nobody died- but one of the men who trying to push his workmates to safety got caught in the falling rubble and was carted through town from a usually disused mine shaft, and to the Everdeen household. On that fateful day, I was running- well, toddling- from the bakery to the train station so I could see the silent Capitol train and the driver who always had different coloured hair each time he arrived.

"Peeta!" Mr Mellark called, hurrying after his energetic three-year-old with his two eldest in tow. Fenton and Rye sat in the wooden cart he was pulling along and held on for dear life on the white-knuckle ride through town. "Peeta! How did you get out of the cart?" He dodges the people who fill the square, desperately trying to keep an eye on the little blonde head of curls that bob up and down just ahead. Peeta is usually so calm and well-behaved; it's Fenton and Rye who are in a seemingly permanent hyper state. He wonders what could've caused his youngest son to run off- a giggling, bouncing ball of energy.

And then the ground shakes, the groaning, over-mined soil shifting below their feet.

It's over almost in an instant but everyone in the square freeze. Someone screams. It's as if time has stood still.

Peeta freezes, his happy giggles cut off as he stumbles and falls, landing on his bottom, his eyes wide. For a second he just sits there, his hands absentmindedly patting the patchy ground, before bursting into tears. The sound is loud and clear, and jolts everyone around him to move, to come back to themselves.

"Daddy!" he wails, confused as to why the ground started to shake. An old woman next to him spares him a glance but doesn't do anything to help the young boy, and when his father emerges from the crowds, he reaches up for the person that he knows will keep him safe.

"Hey, hey," Mr Mellark mollifies, bringing the cart to a stop and scooping Peeta up from the floor in one smooth motion. "It's okay. You're okay. Don't worry." He hugs the small child to his chest and turns to face his other two children.

"Was it the mines?" Fenton asks, his eyes solemn. Fenton is still young, but old enough to understand that the people who are always covered in coal dust work in a bad place.

"Yes," Mr Mellark nods his head. Peeta wails into his shoulder and he hugs him tightly, patting his back and murmuring soothing words into his ear until he's calm. "Fen? Rye? Do you think you're strong enough to be able to pull the cart?"

"Yeah!" Rye exclaims, and their father smiles. He's proud to say that his children are always up for a challenge. Fenton and Rye scramble out of the cart and drag it along. He walks behind them, keeping an eye on whether they're struggling or not, and holds a still sniffing Peeta against his hip. Peeta sticks his thumb in his mouth and rests his head on his father's shoulder, watching all the people walking around. He knows that it's okay. Daddy said that it was okay, and it's all better now. Mr Mellark looks down at his son's chubby hand that is resting in the middle of his chest, and finds that squished in his palm is a piece of chocolate cake. He leans his head back to look at his son's face. It's covered in cake.

So, that's what's made him so hyper. He should've known. While he was busy, moving in between the kitchen and the front of the shop while his wife slept upstairs, drowning in sleeping pills, the chocolate cake that was in the tin on the table kept moving about. There was less cake as time went by. Peeta was hyper because Fenton and Rye had fed him an entire chocolate cake, icing and all.

Once they reached the train station, Peeta was half asleep in his father's arms. Mr Mellark was regretting bringing all three of his children along, but there was no one at home to take care of them and he certainly wasn't going to wake his wife. He sat Rye and Peeta on the bench at the train station, asking the eldest to keep the youngest occupied, and went to load sacks of flour onto the cart with the assistance of Fenton, who was stronger than he looked.

Peeta watched his father carrying the big sacks of flour. He wanted to help. Rye was pointing to something, talking about trains and about how Peeta was such a baby for crying and that he wouldn't be big and strong like himself and Fen if he cried like a girl, so Peeta slipped off the bench without his brother noticing. He darted forward, heading for his father, and ran straight into a group of people, who were carrying a groaning man on a plank of wood.

"Let us pass!" A man shouted, pushing the small boy aside. Peeta staggered back and let the coal-covered men pass. He watched in horror at the person who was lying on the makeshift stretcher; the blackened face, flesh ripped away to display the bone underneath, and the man's leg, which was contorted at a horrible angle, blood pouring from underneath a hastily put together tourniquet. The man groaned, his eyes dazed in pain. Peeta screamed, his voice high and piercing. Rye jumped up, realising that his brother wasn't beside him, and Mr Mellark ran forward, abandoning the sacks of flour.

"You couldn't have hidden it?" he demands, his voice loud as he yells at the miners. He doesn't mean to yell, of course, but he believes that children- especially three-year-olds- shouldn't have to see mangled limbs and burnt faces like that. Not yet. He kneels down in front of Peeta and squeezes his arms.

"That man, Daddy!" he cries out. "I could see his bones!"

"I know."

"But bones are on the inside! Why are they on the outside? What's wrong with him?" Peeta asks, frightened and confused as he peered over his father's broad shoulder at the miners that were disappearing into the distance.

"There's nothing wrong with that man, Peety. He's just been in an accident," Mr Mellark smiled reassuringly at his son. Fen and Rye stood beside him. "He'll be okay."

"Where is he going?"

"To the Everdeens'. In the Seam. Mrs Everdeen is a good doctor- she can help him get better."

(That was the first time Peeta heard the Everdeen name. He didn't remember it, however, and it didn't affect him until two years later, when he was at school, and the dark-haired girl with the braids and red dress sang The Valley Song.)

"Promise?" Peeta asked, his blue eyes wide and fresh with tears. Fenton and Rye waited for their father's answer. Mr Mellark didn't know what to say. He loved his boys. He loved them more than anything. He knew that they looked up to him, especially since they didn't really have a mother anymore. Should he lie and say that he could promise, sheltering them from the cruelness of reality? Or should he tell the truth, and tell them that he couldn't promise that he'd be okay, but that he hoped the man would be okay instead? He bit his lip, hesitating.

"Yes, I promise," he finally told them. Peeta smiled, displaying his pure white, stubby baby teeth. It was a little white lie. And seeing his children smile was something he wanted to see more often.

Almost two years later, when eleven-year-old Fenton broke his arm (they told everyone he fell over in the bakery kitchen on just-mopped floors), Farrell Mellark took him to the Everdeens, where Lowell Everdeen opened the door, shook the baker's hand and guided them into the house where his wife sat with dark-haired Katniss Everdeen and golden-haired baby Prim.

Dahlia Everdeen shooed her husband and daughters into the living room, brought the Mellarks into the kitchen, gave Fenton a rag to bite on, and reset the young boy's arm. When Lowell asked about the miner that was carried through the train station two years before, he was glad to be told that the man was well, that he was back at work and had a daughter now.

Farrell Mellark was glad. It meant that he hadn't lied. His sons didn't deserve to be lied to.

As the years went by, I began to appreciate how lucky I was to be born into the family that I had. Maybe our family life wasn't exactly happy, but we had food, comfortable beds, and a roof over our heads. I even have a job waiting for me, since Fen and Rye don't want the bakery. My whole life has been given to me on a silver platter, from a very early age, despite the circumstances.

Mom always wanted a girl. When Fen was born, Dad told her that it was okay. They could have another child, and that maybe that time it would be a girl. Instead, they got Rye. My brothers were born almost exactly a year apart, in the middle of summer, but I'm three years younger than Rye. To Mom, I was the last attempt. She prepared for a girl, despite my father's advice that she wait, and stocked up on floral baby grows, dolls, and soft, pale pink blankets.

Mom used to make me do all the laundry, so that when I put the folded clothes and sheets into the linen cupboard at the top of the stairs I would be able to see the whole shelf dedicated to the daughter who wasn't to be. Sometimes I spot her standing in the linen cupboard, running her hands over the soft, unused clothes and blankets, holding the tiny woollen booties in her palm, and the look on her face makes me feel ashamed of myself, as if I had any say on my gender.

When I was born, she refused to hold me or even look at me for almost three weeks after. Dad ended up looking after his wife, two young sons, the bakery, and his baby all at once. From an early age I was told that I was a mistake, that I wasn't wanted. Mom's resentment to me was clear. Dad said she wanted a girl because she grew up in a household of boys, and that she always wanted a sister, so a daughter was the second best thing.

I find myself wondering what life would've been like if she had received the girl she so desperately wanted. Maybe she'd would be happier, gentler. Maybe she wouldn't have beaten her children. It must be hard for her to have three sons, the eldest a boisterous man-child who's quiet in public, the middle boisterous, full stop, and the third the boy who should've been a girl. And now the biggest disappointment in her life has knocked up a Seam girl and married her.

She has finally got her wish. A daughter in the form of the wife of the son she didn't want.

Katniss and I head to the bakery, hand in hand, noses turning pink in the icy wind, and while she helps Rye in the shop, I assist my father. Mom hasn't been feeling right for the past few days, and now that the snow has begun to let up, floods of people from all corners of the district have been flooding into the shop to by hearty breads to keep them going until the rest of the market opens up.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I ask, eyeing the pile of unwashed dishes. Dad looks up from the pastry he's rolling out and sighs.

"There's a load of laundry upstairs. I know you're good at laundry. Can you just sort it and put it away?"

"Sure."

"And bring some more pills up for your mother," he adds. I nod and head upstairs, pulling the cupboard under the bathroom sink open and fishing out the pot of pills Mom takes. I fill a glass with water and take the bottle of pills and water into my parents' room. It's silent when I turn the knob and open the door. The room is pitch-black, the heavy curtains drawn tightly over the window. Careful as to not knock anything over, I find the bedside table and put down the glass and pills where Mom will be able to see it.

"Shut the door. There's a draft," her voice grumbles from the darkness, centimetres from my ear.

I start backing away towards the door. "I'm just leaving. I left you some water and the pill bottle on the-"

"I know. Leave," she snaps. I nod my head and exit the room, shutting the door tightly behind me.

I begin the laundry. It's an automatic process, ingrained into my brain due to years of chores. First, you collect the dirty clothes that need washing from the drawstring bags that hang on hooks on each bedroom door, and then you sort the darks from the lights, and the delicates from the not-so-delicates. Once that's completed, you take the washing down to the basement and load it into the clunky old washing machine in the corner.

After the clothes are dry, you take the wet clothes out to the line, and bring the dry clothes in, iron the dry, fold the dry, and put them away in the linen cupboard for people to collect to put in their respective wardrobes. At first, the whole process took hours for me to complete, but now it takes just under an hour. But the clothes are all washed today, so all I need to do is tidy them away. I carry the piles of laundry up from the basement and prop the door of the linen closet open with my foot, reaching up to begin organising.

Once all the laundry is up on the shelves, I turn to shut the door, but the absence of the usual piles of pink garments and toys stops me. I frown, staring at the empty space, at the crack in the wall, and wonder where they've gone. Did Mom move them? I can't think of why she would. Maybe it's because I don't live here anymore, and she doesn't have anyone to show the clothes off to. She could've sold them, but I highly doubt it. Has she found closure? Acceptance?

"People have been sayin' that you did this for a dare," a gruff voice croaks, throat clogged in the dusty air. I turn my attention away from the rocky outcrop I'm digging at and peer through the gloom. The man next to me is old but even in the pale light of the oil lamp you can see the Seam-grown determination in his eyes. "Why'd you do that? What's wrong with you?"

"My friends don't know about this. I signed up for this job of my own accord," I reply, turning the shovel in my hand. The man frowns, clearly confused, and leans against his pickaxe, the blade inches from his face.

"How old are you?" he asks. I hesitate, mulling possible answers over in my mind. Technically, my working here is illegal. The mine manager told me that if I caught, it would be my fault. 'You signed up!' he said. 'You take the blame!' You have to be eighteen to work in the mines, and at seventeen, I'm branded as crazy for not only breaking the law, but doing this in the first place.

"Uh..." I struggle with an answer. The man nods his head.

"That's what I thought."

"I have a good reason for doing this-"

"I bet you do," he cuts me off. "But why would you work here of all places? You townies have life on the surface. You have a choice. Us Seam have no other choice but to get on with it."

"And I respect that, I really do," I tell him. He raises a doubtful eyebrow. "But we need the money."

"We? You're the Mellark kid, right?" I nod my head. "You've got money."

"I'm not talking about my parents and brothers. I was talking about my fiancé."

"Fiancé? They get younger and younger each year, I swear..." he shakes his head and resumes digging at the rock. "Next they'll tell me their havin' kids before they're outta school."

"And my kid," I add. The man gives me a look and then bursts out laughing. I can't help the smirk that finds its way onto my face.

"Oh, brother," he chuckles, slapping me on the shoulder. He disappears around the corner to where a few other men are working, and over the sound of grinding metal and rock, I hear him shout: 'It's true! The Mellark boy's girl is knocked up!' which is followed by laughter and sarcastic cheers.

The workers in the mines really are good people. Apart from a couple bitter ones who glare at everyone, it's easy to make friends. I don't know if it's the desperation that seeps into your bones as you're lowered deeper into the belly of the monster below that makes you eager for companionship, or if Seam people are simply friendly people. I like to think that it's a bit of both.

Surprisingly, I don't see Gale. I expected to spot him at least once, but after my second week of working, I'm relieved to find that he takes the afternoon and evening shifts. He would undoubtedly tell Katniss about me working here if he did see me, so I'm kind of glad that he doesn't see me. I wonder where he is, however. I haven't seen him around town, in the Seam, and Katniss doesn't talk about seeing him. It's suspiciously quiet around the Gale Hawthorne front.

Katniss is fast asleep when I drag myself out of bed. I haven't slept at all, my thoughts consumed with dread of what today will bring. The mine manager said that I needed to work for a few hours more in order to get the last payment or the money is taken back into the Capitol. No one can afford for that to happen. I asked the manager if he couldn't just give the money to the other workers who deserve and need it more than I do, but he said that the Capitol would pick up on 'free gold' being handed out when no work was done.

So here I am, early on a cold Saturday morning, dragging myself out of bed, away from my beautiful wife, to go and work in the place she hates. To the place that claimed her father, the most important man in her life. I scribble a note for her on a scrap of paper from my sketchpad and pin it to my pillow so that she will see it when she wakes up. It surprises me how easily the lie about going to Mitch's house comes flowing out of the end of pencil, so, as if it could soften the blow, I sketch a dandelion by the side of the message before grabbing my shoes, and kissing Katniss on the forehead; smoothing my thumb over her cheek, memorising the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, the dark lashes that frame her eyes. She looks so peaceful in her sleep and takes on a child-like quality that she doesn't have in consciousness, which is when she pulls the barrier up and is back to her usual guarded self.

"I'll be back soon, I promise," I whisper, adjusting the blankets around her body.

Peeking over the tops of the mountains, turning the land purple and green as it rises, the sun climbs steadily as I walk down the quiet streets. The Merchant Quarters are silent; there are no babies crying, no barking dogs, and even the mines are quiet as all the machinery stops as the evening ends and the night shift begins. The Seam isn't quiet however, and I can hear dogs barking, babies crying, birds tweeting. A skinny little girl wobbles unsteadily past me on a very rusty bike.

I nod in greeting to the men who pass me, noting the way their eyes brighten at the sight of the sun, of freedom. Some pull off their hardhats, shake their heads free of dust, and pour water over their faces, washing away the coal that hasn't been embedded in the lines of their faces. The mine manager nods to let me know that he's registered me down as I pass. It's steadily getting colder and

"Have a good day, gentlemen." The elevator master grunts, swaying back and forth on his feet as we pass him, one hand resting on the lever, the other hovering over a set of buttons. It gets decidedly colder as we enter the dark mouth of the mine, and I grit my teeth as I join a group of miners waiting to be lowered down in the elevator, feeling out of place with my blonde hair and blue eyes, switching on my headlamp once the warped metal doors of the elevator grind shut.

The elevator master shouts 'GOING DOWN!' and the metal box jumps, groans and finally begins to lower us, shaking the entire time. Despite the fact that my colleagues tell me that I needn't worry, I have to hang on to the chain link section of the elevator until the doors are yanked open and I'm shoved forward into the network of tunnels.

There isn't much talking as we collect a bright yellow canary or on the journey down, deeper into the ground to today's location, our backs pressed against the jagged rock, the carts filled with coal whizzing past us, inches from our noses. But once we've reached out location, shivering in the cold, musty air, there are jokes are stories and songs that help us pass the time. Someone passes around a flask of amber liquor that makes my nose hurt when I take a sip, but the day goes well.

I enjoy hearing people's stories. One of the most memorable is a tale from hundreds of years before the Dark Days, back in a time period called the 'Victorian Era'. Back then, children as young as eight were sent into the mines in a far off country to help dig coal up, and since the hours were so long, many children used to fall asleep on the tracks that guided the carts up to the surface and back down into the ground. The most common victims were the ones who were paid a pitiful amount to sit in tiny dugout alcoves by the trapdoors, pulling a lever whenever they heard a cart approaching so the trapdoor would fly open and the cart would continue on its journey.

There were many horrific accidents, so fellow miners and parents of those children would tell stories of terrifying monster that lived in the dark shadows of the mine shafts. 'They said that if you fell asleep you would dream of the monster, hear the clanking of its chains as it walked, and it would drag you into the darkness if you didn't wake up' is what I was told. I can't imagine eight year olds in this place. Perhaps that's one of the reasons why the countries before Panem fell in the first place.

Other tales seem to be made up, they're so surreal. Talk of rebellion, of secret, underground colonies, hidden from the Capitol. Of uprisings. Of the end of the Capitol's oppressive rule as we know it.

"Is it true?" I finally ask in a hushed voice, curiosity getting the better of me. "Are the rumours true?"

"I damned well hope so," a man with a hunched back grumbles. "People aren't happy, boy. They want equality and the Capitol is never going to give it to us."

I stay silent, mostly because I don't know what to say. And uprising? We'd never survive it. The Capitol would be there to control us in an instant, whether it was from bargaining or brute force. I decide to be wary of rumours, never quite believing them, but never quite dismissing them either, clinging on to the idea of the Capitol not being in control. It's a frightening idea, to be honest.

The first time the canary stopped singing, everything went eerily still and silent.

"Everybody out!" someone bellowed, and in a single line, oddly calm, everyone moved towards the exit, only for the bird to start singing again. Everyone laughed, while I stood there shaken and sweaty, counting down the hours before I could go home and hug Katniss.

I have half an hour left of my final shift, and then I'm calling it quits. Forever. My brothers' words echo around in my head and thoughts of what would happen to Katniss and our baby and of my family if I never came out of here have forced me to think everything through more clearly.

The mood between the miners has definitely been lifted; the prospect of getting out of here and going home to something to eat and good night's sleep putting smiles on our faces.

These smiles vanish however, when there's a loud cracking sound from up above.

"EVERYONE QUIET!" A young man orders, narrowing his eyes to listen. Everyone stops talking. Everyone stops moving. I think everyone stops breathing. I look around, over my shoulder, and then my whole world shifts. The ground groans and starts to crumble above and below us, dust raining down. Everyone flees, shouting and yelling for people to hurry up and fit in to the elevator, and a few men make it into the metal box, but it's too full.

"We'll come back!" One of the men shouts as they disappear up the shaft.

This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. I think of Katniss. What is she doing right now? Did she feel the ground move? Is she okay? My heart clenches painfully in my chest. She'll be told about me working here if I die. She won't believe them- she'll scream and shout. I wonder how my brothers will break the news.

Oh, Katniss. I don't want to die.

I promised you I'd come back.

"There's an escape route at the end of the passage!" One of the miners says, pointing along the passage we've just run out of. "It's blocked up but we can break through it!"

"You're crazy! We don't know what that passage is like!"

"The ground is going to cave-in in a minute and I'm not going to wait around for it to happen!" Two sides are immediately formed, staggering over the shaking ground. The majority decides to wait for the elevator while two older men head into the gloom.

"Your choice," a man from the elevator group shrugs his shoulders. I turn on my heel, ducking out of the way of falling rock, and follow the two men that disappeared into the gloom, following the bobbing light of an oil lamp.

"Hey, wait up!" I yell, stumbling along. "How far away is the exit?"

"Not far," the taller of the two men explains hurriedly. "But we'll be able to break through the blockages if we get there quickly."

We duck out of the way of falling rock, twisting deeper into the darkness with only our lamps to guide us. As we jump down to a lower level, my hardhat slips off, clattering to the floor and sliding out of sight. I curse out loud and run to grab it but not before a chunk of rock falls from the ceiling and hits me on the head.

"What the fuck, man?" the shorter guy hisses, snatching my hat up and shoving me forward. I clutch at my head, feeling warm blood seeping through my hair, onto my fingers, and down the side of my face.

"My head..." I groan, my head spinning.

"Just... just keep going, okay?" he pushing me onwards. There's an almighty smashing noise –much louder than the first explosion- and the ceiling up ahead caves in completely, sending all three of us scrambling backwards to get out of the way of falling rock.

"Fuck!" The taller man shouts.

"Are we stuck here?" The shorter man asks. The taller man nods. "Thanks a lot, asshole. Now we're stuck here!"

"Hey, I thought we could make it! Don't blame me, Danial!"

"Of course I'm going to blame you! You got me into this mess!" Danial snarls, jabbing his finger into the other guy's chest.

"You didn't have to follow me! I'm stuck here too!"

"Can you just calm the fuck down!?" I interrupt. "I think we should head back, towards the elevator." It's quiet for a long time, but we eventually agree to try that, only for us to come to a dead end with more collapsed ceiling, and we end up trapped in between the exit passage and the elevator.

"Hello?" Danial calls out. "Is anyone there?" There's no answer. The remaining miners that got trapped underground must have managed to get onto the elevator. My stomach drops. We're buried alive.

Danial checks his watch. We've been stuck here for nearly two hours now and haven't heard any human activity on the other side of the rubble wall.

I've learnt that Danial has no wife or children, but he does have twin sister, Florrie. The taller man, Jeph, has a fiancé and young daughter, Sophy. Both Danial and Jeph are surprised to hear that, at seventeen, I'm married with a child on the way.

"Christ, when I was your age I was messing around at the slagheap," Danial chuckles, rubbing his chin. Jeph snorts.

"I was on the wrestlin' team," he says, turning to me. "You Mellarks wrestle, don't ya?"

"All three of us."

"You want a boy then? Carry on the line of wrestlers?"

"I don't mind. Girl or boy, I'll love it," I say, pressing my hand down on the gash in my head to try and stop the blood flow. I don't feel dizzy any more, but the wound on my head is causing some concern.

"You're a good man. A lot of kids your age wouldn't take on as much responsibility as you have," Jeph says. "Especially with a Seam girl."

"I don't think it matters if you're from the Seam or not. I love Katniss," I shrug, inspecting my hand to see if my wound is still bleeding. I can feel blood on the side of my face, by my left ear. "You said you had a girl... Sophy? What's she like?" I ask, turning the attention away from me. The last thing I want to do when trapped here, with death a high risk, is to talk about Katniss and our baby, the people I would lose if we stay down here.

Jeph smiles. "Completely bonkers, keeps us up until God forsaken hours almost every night, but I love her."

"See, I've never missed out on a night's sleep," Danial winks. "No kids equal more sleep."

"I wish you had told me that before I knocked Daisy up." Jeph shakes his head. I grin.

"That Everdeen is a tough girl though, you'll be alrigh' if you stick with her," Danial stares at the ground. "Knew her father. Lowell was a great man. Always knew how to cheer ya up."

"I can't believe you've come down 'ere, considering what happened to that girl's Daddy," Jeph says, looking curiously at me. I rest my head back on the rock and close my eyes, blocking out everything around me.

"I wanted to have enough savings. I'm aware of how much children cost- I panicked, I guess. Enough to make me come down here. Should've known something like this would happen."

"We'll be alrigh'." Jeph says.

"They'll get us out eventually."

"That won't matter when I've died from blood loss," I mutter. Danial stands up and shines the light of my head torch onto my wound.

"It's slowing down. The bleedin', I mean."

"You sure?"

"I've seen plenty of injuries, kid. I think you'll be okay," the older man reassures me. "You'll 'ave to get your girl's mother to sew it up though."

'Your girl'.

I like that.

Another hour passes, and Jeph is getting antsy at being confined.

"We should at least try to dig our way out."

"Carefully, though. We don't know if the roof will cave in even more," Danial says, looking doubtful.

And so, we begin to dig our way out. My hands scrabble aimlessly at the rock, pulling away a few pieces, and I end up ripping away part of my nail when my hand gets trapped between the rocks. Danial gets his hand caught as well, and Jeph curses loudly, mostly Seam words I've never heard being used in the Merchant Quarters, when a jagged chunk of rock falls onto his foot.

"It's useless," I cry, throwing my hands into the air. "We're stuck!"

"They'll send help. It's probably looser on the other side."

"I just want to get out of here!" I shout, kicking furiously at the impenetrable rock. Danial and Jeph just sit back down, letting me rant. I eventually get it together and sit down, my chest heaving. No good wasting the air. It's precious down here.

My fingers are numb.

My head spins.

My heart aches.

Any feeling of hope that I've built up during these long hours (that stretch on like years, especially when the oil lamp burns out, plunging us into darkness) melts away, leaving me stripped to the bone.

I close my eyes, listening to the wind wailing through the darkness, to the sound of water dripping, to the sound of Jeph breathing, Danial breathing, and me breathing. Somehow my brain hijacks memories of Katniss and her family and my family and turns them into nightmares, the longer I'm here in the dark, unseeing, unfeeling.

Katniss' song-like laughter replaces the wind, and I keep hearing footsteps. I swear I see Dad walking away, off into the dark passageway, his hair glowing in the darkness. I keep feeling ghostly hands on my shoulders, and I swear they're Rye and Fen messing me around.

"You're awfully quiet. You two alrigh'?" Danial asks, his voice shattering the silence.

"Could be better." Jeph replies. I say nothing, but sigh to let them know that I'm still here.

I think I fall asleep at one point, slumped against the wall, my body simply giving up, exhausted, my mind unable to process anything, resigned to believing that this is how my life will end. I dream of the faceless child, their hair tucked up into a woollen hat again so I can't see it, that runs through the meadow, giggling. And then there's Katniss, beautiful as always, running after the child. She calls to them and scoops them into her arms, carrying them over the ground.

They're heading for the graveyard.

Jolted back into my previous nightmare, I realise that Katniss is going to my grave, just like she promised. I scream and shot and yell her name, begging her to turn around, to see me.

She never does, but lays a bouquet of dandelions against my headstone.

"Peeta!" Someone is shaking my shoulder. "Wake the fuck up, man!" It's Jeph.

"What?" I mumble groggily, disorientated for a while before I realise where I am.

"Put your hardhat on, buddy. We can hear the elevator. People are comin'!" Danial says, not bothering to hide the excitement in his voice. I stand, carefully putting my hat on and stretching my limbs. We can hear muffled creaking from the other side of the rubble wall, and we all listen intently, trying to decide if we're just imaging things. But it's real. The elevator is moving.

"How long have we been down here?" Jeph asks.

"Hours," Danial says, because how can any of us truly know?

Jeph claps me on the back. "It's been nice gettin' to know you guys," he jokes light-heartedly. I switch on the lamp on my hardhat. "It really has."

"Sorry for getting you guys into this mess. I honestly thought we'd make it," says Daniel.

"It's my fault for being clumsy and dropping my hat," I tell him.

"If you hadn't have dropped it, we wouldn't have stopped, and we would've ended up crushed under those boulders," he smiles, his face haggard in the yellow light of head torch. Jeph rubs his hands together and adjusts his hardhat.

"Enough with the pleasantries," he says, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Can you hear us?!" He yells. Danial and I wince at the loud sound as it bounces off the walls and floor and ceiling.

"Hello?" A muffled voice yells. I feel like crying in relief.

"Hello!" Jeph replies.

"How many of you are there?" A different voice shouts back. It must be two rescue men.

"Three!"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, but Mellark's head is pretty messed up!" There's no answer for a while, but I can hear the people talking.

"We're gonna have to dig you out! Can you help?" one of them eventually reports back.

"Sure we can!" Danial laughs, stepping forward to remove a boulder, rolling it away. Jeph and I follow suit, eagerly shifting rock until there's a small hole in the wall. I can see lights moving about.

Freedom.

I'm going to keep my promise to Katniss. I'm going to get out of here.

She's going to kill me.

We make quick work of the rubble wall, pulling the rocks away one at a time, checking all the while that the roof doesn't fall in anymore. We make a gap small enough for us to get through, the process taking longer than it should because more rubble keeps falling down, forcing us to jump out of the way. Danial climbs through first, followed by Jeph, and I'm close behind.

"You guys alright?" one of the rescue men asks, eyeing us carefully. All we can do is nod and race for our escape. I'm free. I'm an elevator lift ride from Katniss.

"We are now. What happened?" Danial asks.

"The east column collapsed," a rescue man explains, heading for the elevator and cranking the door open. "We were going to blast it ourselves next week."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"No, but it's taken all day to get everyone out. Finch was trapped over in Sector B."

"Who's up top? Anyone waiting?"

"Uh, Daisy and Sophy are waiting for you, Jeph. And your sister is up there as well, Danial," the man says, as we pile into the elevator, sighing in relief when it starts its steady ascent upwards. I shuffle my feet, my head throbbing, and examine my hand. It's bruised and swollen and covered in dust. All three of us are covered in dust as if it's a second skin. "And there's a whole bunch waitin' for you, Mellark. All blonde, except for the Everdeen girl."

"Katniss..." I breathe, my shoulders sagging. "Is she alright?"

"Crying her eyes out but looking determined."

"That sounds just like her," I say, relieved. Jeph chuckles from the back of the cage. I squint against the bright white light of the outside as the elevator reaches the top of the shaft, juddering to a stop. The elevator master yanks the doors open and smiles widely at us, muttering something about good luck under his breath. We stagger forward and I can already taste the clean, cold air of the outside world. I stumble slightly as light fills my eyes, and one of our rescuers walks beside me, stopping me from falling. I guess my head injury is worse than I thought.

Danial practically shoves us aside to get through, laughing loudly and running towards an old woman who shouts his name and sobs loudly into his shoulder when he envelopes her into a hug.

Jeph is next, and is greeted by Daisy, a slight woman with bright red hair like Darius', who shrieks joyfully. A small girl runs forward, Sophy, I assume, away from her mother and towards her father, screaming 'Daddy!' over and over again. My heart aches at the scene.

As I step out of the shadows I pull off my hat, shielding my eyes from the light of the setting sun with my hand. The slight breeze I feel against my face is like heaven as I walk forward, feeling the orange glow of the sunset warming my skin. I take a deep breath and look up, finding Mrs Everdeen, Prim, my parents and brothers standing in a group, and then, a few steps ahead of them is Katniss, staring at me as if she can't quite believe it. I know how she feels, I really do.

Her eyes are wide, grey, and so beautiful. Her hair is in its signature braid over her shoulder. She looks terrified, angry, and amazed all at once. I watch as she whispers something –too quiet for me to hear- and runs forward.

"Peeta!" she cries out, flying towards me as I squint in the dazzling sunlight. I watch Danial hugging his sister, Jeph hooking Sophy on his hip, kissing Daisy as if she's oxygen.

"Katniss," I sigh, her body colliding against mine, her arms tight around me as if she's never going to let me go. I know I'm never going to leave her again. "You're here." I whisper into her ear. She sobs, her chest quaking against mine. I just laugh, squeezing my eyes shut and burying my face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent, such a wonderful change from the stifling ashy smell I've been in all day. I spin us around, feet stumbling over feet, laughing and crying at the same time.

"D-don't you ever do that to us again, okay?" she gasps.

"I love you, so much," I reply, tears sliding down my cheeks. I've never been so grateful to have her in my arms. The odds were stacked up against me so high, but, for once, it seems they are in my favour.

I open my eyes and see Dad standing a few meters away. He nods at me, his smile trembling and pulls Mom close. It's the first time I've seen them hugging like that is such a long time. Katniss pushes me away a little, standing on her tiptoes, her hands cradling my face as she gazes at me, tears overflowing. Her hands map my face, thumbs sliding over my cheekbones, over my forehead, over my jaw line. She takes a deep shuddering breath and presses wet kisses to my sooty skin, again and again, peppering my face, gasping out words in between kisses.

"Why did you do it? Why didn't you tell me? I almost lost you! I can't lose you, Peeta. I just can't. You're part of me now. What the fuck were you thinking, you complete idiot?!" her lips meet mine then, capturing them in a kiss that has a lifetime of emotion behind it. I feel hatred, confusion, fright, love, passion, longing, and desperation as her lips move against mine.

"I'm sorry," I offer when she pulls away. "I'm sorry Katniss."

Tears well up in her eyes. "Don't let me go."

"I won't."

"Promise me," she says seriously, locking eyes with me. "Promise me you wont."

"I've never going back," I tell her, kissing her forehead. "I promise. I love you, so much, okay?"

Katniss nods her head, breathing out through her nose. She's suddenly furious, wiping roughly at her eyes with the cuff of her jacket. "What if you had died, Peeta? What if you had died miles under the ground and we didn't even know you were there?!" She shoves me, hard, and batters her fists against my chest, again and again. "You idiot! Why would you do this? Especially after what happened to my Dad! What is wrong with you?" She hisses, her eyes flashing. I just laugh, pulling her close.

"I'm crazy, I know," I mumble. Katniss bursts into tears again.

"Damn you, Peeta Mellark."

"I'm not going anywhere," I pledge, enjoying the feeling of simply holding her in my arms. She could be firing arrows at me and I'd be happy.

"Go and hug everyone else," she eventually sniffs, moving away and pushing me forward. Dad pulls me into his arms, slapping my back.

"You're an idiot, son. But I love you," he chuckles, his voice thick.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," I say, before turning to Mom. She looks sour, as normal, but there's something in her eyes that tells me that she's relieved. She steps forward, hands curled into fists, and I pause, anticipating a hard slap across the face, maybe? But when she hugs me, I have no idea what to do I'm so shocked. It's stiff, our arms unsure of quite where to go, but I pat her back and let her mumble something into my ear.

"If you died, Peeta, you wouldn't have met your son or daughter. You're very lucky."

"I know, Mom. Thank you," I reply, her body feeling tiny and frail in my arms. She pulls away, clearing her throat, and brushes her hand over my ragged shirt as if it will clear all the dust away. Fen and Rye pounce, laughing and wrestling me into a hug.

"We told you not to go back, idiot," Fen says. "You should really listen to your brothers."

"I know, I know," I chuckle wearily, and they let me go. Prim flings herself into my arms, babbling into my ear about how stupid I am and how worried Katniss was and that she's glad that I'm okay. I tell her that I'm glad to be here too. Mrs Everdeen hugs me with a surprising amount of strength, her eyes shimmering.

"My daughter has married perhaps the most reckless man in the district," she rolls her eyes. "I'm happy that you're here though, Peeta. You have no idea how lucky you are that Katniss wasn't waiting here with her bow and arrows."

"I was half expecting it," I chuckle.

"I'll sew your head up in a minute," she smiles, patting me on the shoulder. I nod, move away, and gather Katniss into my arms, kissing her again. She can't seem to stop crying and laughing and yelling at me, all at the same time. I just laugh and cry with her, but I couldn't be happier.

An hour later, Katniss and I are calm enough to join everyone else at the Everdeen's house. Mrs Everdeen cleans my head wound and Prim sews it up with shaking fingers, apologising each time I wince. Katniss grips my hand tightly the entire time, grimacing as if she's the one being sewn up.

"Are you okay?" I ask quietly, my eyes locked on her, trying to keep my head still as Prim prods about. Mom and Dad and Fen and Rye have gone home to get some food, and we're going to have dinner once my head is sorted out. Katniss nods, swallowing, and smiles at me.

"It's nothing. I'm just happy that you're still here," she says, bringing my hands up to her mouth and kissing my bruised knuckles.

"So am I," I agree, smiling at her. She drops my hands and places her own on her stomach, her brow furrowing. "All I could think about was you while we were down there and-" I trail off, watching my fiancé rubbing her stomach, her frown deepening. "Katniss?" I repeat, noting the way that her eyes widen and her cheeks pale.

"Mom?" she asks, looking up at her mother, before doubling over in her seat in pain.

"Hey, hey, Katniss-!" I say, trying to move forward. Prim yanks me back by my hair.

"Stay still!" she orders. I flounder desperately, watching as Katniss stares at her stomach, clearly in pain and worried.

"What's wrong with her?" I ask, eyes wide. Mrs Everdeen rubs her daughter's shoulders and tells her to sit up straight, asking her a series of questions about what she can feel and if it's happened before.

"It happened this morning," she grimaces, breathing shallowly. "I was getting dressed to go to the bakery and it happened twice." I can't believe I left her on her own for something that clearly terrified her. "But it hasn't happened again since just now."

"It's just a contraction," Mrs Everdeen says calmly and Katniss' mouth drops open along with mine. I'm itching to jump out of my seat but Prim is still mending my head.

"What?" I exclaim. "Is the baby coming?"

"No-"

"Then what is it? She's only seven months along! Is the baby coming?" I ask, glancing from Katniss to Mrs Everdeen in horror.

"Sit down, Peeta!" Katniss' mother orders. "Keep still so Primrose can finish sewing! They're called Braxton Hicks. They're like test runs," she faces Katniss and smiles. "Your body is preparing for labour. Nothing to worry about."

"So it's okay?" Katniss asks. Mrs Everdeen nods. "I thought I was going to have the baby in our kitchen!" she exhales in relief, looking down at her stomach and laughing.

"They're brought on by stress and lack of sleep," her mother says. "Which is understandable."

"So this is perfectly normal?" she asks, eyeing me. Prim pulls a bottle of salve out and applies it to my head and I hiss at the stinging feeling radiating out from the wound.

"Yes, dear. It's when your water breaks that you should be worried," she laughs, patting her daughter on the shoulder. "And trust me, you'll know when that happens."

"I guess he is just as happy to see that his Daddy is safe as I am," Katniss say, looking up at me, and I feel my heart lurch. I really do love this girl.

Hours later, after eating a hearty meal at the bakery, hugging many teary people, getting yelled at by everyone, and lifting Katniss up so her legs wrap around my waist and kissing her until we're breathless, I tell my wife that I just want to go home and be with her and no one else. She nods in understanding, squeezing my hand. We say our goodbyes and leave promptly, reaching our house in less than ten minutes.

Once we arrive Katniss shoos me upstairs, telling me to have a shower, and heads into the kitchen to start a fire. I don't recognise the person in the mirror. He's bruised and battered and covered in dust. The feeling of hot water washing away the sweat and grime from today is liberating. I watch the water turning grey and disappearing down the plughole, and continue scrubbing my body until the water is clear again.

I emerge from the shower feeling like a new person, but I'm completely exhausted. Katniss comes into the bathroom and takes my clothes, dumping them in the fire without explanation and smiling as they burn.

"I really am sorry," I whisper, coming up behind her and resting my hands on her stomach. She leans into my chest and sighs.

"No more apologies, okay? All I want to know is why you went in the first place. We would've been fine on our own."

"I was scared of not being able to provide for you."

"And you thought that going into the mines was the right plan of action?"

"At the time, yes." I murmur. Katniss is silent for a long time, watching the fire.

"You could've worked at the butchers. Or at the market. Or simply asked for a raise at the bakery."

"I know... I just didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologising. I don't care," Katniss says. "But your brothers said that they tried to talk you out of it at our wedding, Peeta. Our wedding! Why did you go back?"

"The Capitol requests that you have to complete a full work piece, or they take the money. I didn't want that money to go back to the Capitol. There are people here who need it more than I do."

"I can't believe I didn't figure it out," she shakes her head, turning to face me.

"No one knew at first. Mitch saw me in the middle of the night, and then I told my brothers. I was going to tell you today, I swear. I never thought this would happen," I clear my throat. "I've been going most nights."

"The graveyard shift?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"I do now."

"You're unbelievable."

"I know."

"And I hate you so much for doing this."

"I don't mind."

Her eyes are molten in the light of the fire, burning into me. "If you ever put yourself in danger like that again, I swear I'll shoot you," she threatens, but there is no malice behind her words, just sheer, honest relief. "I thought you were dead," she whispers, her voice breaking at the last word. "I thought I'd never see you again and that you'd never see our baby and I didn't even care that I was going to be widowed. All I wanted was for you to meet him."

"And I will," I say. "I was never going to die, Katniss."

"You didn't know that," she snaps, before her expression softens. "Just... just stay with me."

"Always," I promise, pressing a kiss to her neck. She sighs, bringing her mouth round to mine. I secure her to me as if we could become one if I held her long enough.

"Not tonight," she mumbles against my mouth when my hands sneak under her shirt. I don't even want that. I just want to feel her warmth under my hands. "Tonight I just want to sleep beside my husband knowing that he's not going to leave in the middle of the night."

"I'm safe, Katniss. And so, so sorry."

"I'm done with apologies," she says gently, taking my bruised hands and leading me upstairs.

"I didn't think. I was stupid. You can divorce me if you want. I'd understand completely."

"I'm never going to divorce you, dummy," she smiles, drawing back the bed sheets and letting me fall face-first into the pillows before climbing in beside me and drawing the blankets up over our bodies. We settle into our usual positions, curled up like puzzle pieces fitting together, and I bask in the feeling of having her near me.

"I was scared in the dark," I tell her, my lips brushing against her shoulder in a thousand tiny kisses. "I kept seeing you, and my Dad. And I was hearing things and feeling ghostly hands on my shoulders. I must have fallen asleep at one point, because I dreamt about you and the baby... but in an alternate universe where I died." Katniss stiffens in my arms.

"Was the baby a girl or a boy?"

"I don't know. But they looked happy."

"Any child of yours would be happy," she says. "But that is no excuse to go gallivanting in the mines when you don't have to."

We're quiet for a while, but I know none of us are sleeping. We're just thinking, breathing, living.

"I think my Dad may have been looking out for you down there," Katniss mumbles.

I simply smile into the darkness. "I love you."

"I love you more," she replies, taking my hands. "Now, get some sleep. I'm going to be yelling at you all day tomorrow."

I close my eyes, pressing my lips to her neck, feeling her pulse beating fast below her skin, reminding me that she's alive. That she's real. That we're safe. With that knowledge, sleep pulls me under quickly, soft and gentle like a caress to where it's safe and warm.