A/N: Sorry this is a little late guys! Quite honestly, the reason is because I was curling my hair this morning and it made me late for my first class, which, in turn, made me forget to post before class like I usually do. So . . . my bad guys.

On the positive side, my hair looks awesome.

So, this chapter is a ton of fun. Dramatic fun. Remember when I teased you guys about a Haymitch vs. Peeta episode?

Yeah. . . that's this chapter. ;)

Movie quote for today comes from Robin Hood: Men in Tights.

"Over that boy hand!" Sheriff of Rottingham

Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be.; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; "You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"


Chapter 22

I don't know how long we stay on the bathroom floor. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours, and I wouldn't know the difference. Peeta stopped whispering reassurances to me a while ago, but he hasn't once relinquished his hold on me. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a whisper, but it still seems too loud. "I love you," he says quietly. "So much."

It's amazing how three little words can influence your mood. Well, five technically, but I'm focusing on the first three. Peeta still loves me. In the back of my mind, I know that it was silly to ever doubt him, but admittedly I'd been rather overwhelmed at the time. And I imagine that if I had the energy, I would still be overwhelmed.

"And I love our baby," he says, making my heart clinch. "But if you . . . if you don't . . . if you don't want . . ." Peeta begins fumbling his words, and it takes me a moment to realize what he's trying to say.

"No." My voice sounds terrible, so incredibly hoarse from all my crying, but I ignore it. "I can't do that. I can't kill something that's part you."

Even though I can't see his face, I know that I've managed to make him smile, if only a little. "That's nice to hear," he says, and though he tries to hide it, I hear the relief in his voice. "Um, do you know how far along you are?"

I begin trying to do the math in my head. "Seven weeks?" I estimate hesitantly. "Maybe eight."

"So all the puking . . ." Peeta trails off.

"Morning sickness," I say. "The new bane of my existence."

Both of us manage to laugh at that, but the brief moment of levity passes quicker than I can blink. "What are we going to do, Peeta?" I whisper into his neck. "I can't do this without you."

"Who says you will?" Peeta replies, holding me tighter. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But what if . . ." I can't say the words. I can't say aloud that he might die and leave me to face this alone.

"I'm not going anywhere," Peeta repeats softly. "We're going to go into the arena, I'm going to protect you and the baby, and somehow I'll find a way to get us out of there alive."

He's lying. I feel a sob threaten to escape me, but I manage to control it. "You'll die for me," I whisper, my voice cracking. "You promised you wouldn't leave me!" I can't believe I'm so weepy, but I'm blaming it on the hormones. "You promised . . ."

"And I'll keep it as long as I can," Peeta says softly. "But Katniss, if it comes down to the two of us, there's no way in hell I'm just going to let Snow blow us sky high. You're getting out of there alive."

"I can't do this without you," I tell him, pulling away from him so that I can look him in the eyes, emphasizing my point. "I can't." My voice cracks again, and I see something within Peeta break, but instead of crumbling, a fierce light enters his eyes, a level of determination that I've never seen.

"Come on," he says, standing up, though he keeps me in his arms. Gently, he sets me on my feet and I stretch my joints, which are stiff from being in the same position for so long. He picks the pregnancy test up off the floor and tosses it into the trash. I pause for a moment when I see my reflection in the mirror.

"I'm a mess," I mumble as I quickly turn on the tap and splash water on my face. Peeta hands me a towel and I pat the water from my face, but when I open my eyes to stare at my reflection, all I see are red-rimmed, puffy eyes with an equally red nose. I look terrible.

"Come on." The soft, yet sure command in Peeta's voice is ever present, but the determination shining brilliantly in his blue eyes has softened just slightly.

"Where are we going?" I ask as he takes my hand.

"Haymitch."

"What can Haymitch do?" Peeta doesn't answer immediately, instead focusing on descending the stairs. We're outside walking toward Haymitch's house before he answers.

"He's going to tell us what he's been hiding," Peeta answers, and my mind flashes back a few months ago, when we'd told Haymitch about District 13. Peeta had thought Haymitch wasn't telling us something, but in the passing months I'd completely forgotten.

Peeta doesn't even bother with knocking. He storms right in, with me trailing along after him. Peeta is so determined, it's almost like it's translating into anger. Haymitch isn't in the living room or the kitchen, and Peeta immediately goes out the back door. Sure enough, Haymitch is sitting outside in an old rocker, drinking.

He looks up at us and his eyes immediately narrow. There's a moment when he looks from me to Peeta. No doubt taking in my red-rimmed, puffy-eyed, disheveled appearance, and Peeta's contrasting determined gaze.

"What do you know about District 13?" Peeta asks immediately, and I think we actually take our mentor by surprise.

"What are you talking about, kid?" Haymitch asks, automatically standing up from his chair. "I thought we went over this."

"Yeah, we did, and you didn't tell us everything."

"Listen kid—"

"No! You listen," Peeta snaps, surprising Haymitch yet again. Peeta drops my hand so he can stand toe to toe with our mentor. "Stop bullshitting for once and give us a straight answer!"

It's not often that Peeta curses. The only time he seems to deem it appropriate is when he's in pain or when he's mad, really mad—like now.

"I know when someone's lying to me," Peeta growls. "And right now you're not doing a very good job."

Anger flares in Haymitch's eyes. In fact, he looks like he wants to tear Peeta's head off, but Peeta doesn't flinch. "What do you think I know?" Haymitch finally asks sarcastically. "What do you want to hear, kid?"

"The truth!" Peeta's fists are clenched at his sides. "Is that so damn hard?"

Haymitch's eyes narrow and for the first time I truly think that Peeta is right. Haymitch is hiding something. He does know something about District 13. I don't know if it's the hormones, the stress of the situation, or both, but this knowledge brings tears to my eyes. Because despite his gruff demeanor, I've come to care for Haymitch. He's family, and as twisted as it is, the closest thing I've had to a father in years. It hurts to know that he lied to me.

A sob must escape me because both Peeta and Haymitch's heads snap to me.

Haymitch studies me closely. "What's wrong with you, sweetheart?" he asks gruffly, trying to hide his concern.

I glance hopelessly at Peeta, who gives me the faintest of nods. All the fight as gone out of him, for the moment at least. "I'm pregnant," I say softly.

There's a short stretch of silence. Haymitch simply stares at me, disbelieving, for the longest time, before suddenly spinning to face Peeta, fury consuming his entire being as he begins to berate my boy with the bread. "What the hell were you thinking, kid?" Haymitch shouts. "You just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you?"

Peeta's anger returns in full force. "It's not like that!" he growls.

"It's not?" Haymitch snaps. "Cause that's the only way you knock up a girl."

"That girl is my wife!"

There's a very pregnant pause as Peeta realizes what he just revealed and Haymitch processes the new information. His sharp gaze darts between the both of us, trying to put the pieces together.

"What are you talking about?" he finally asks. "The wedding's not until . . ."

"We had a toasting," I speak up, not really thrilled by the fact that they've been talking (yelling) like I wasn't present. "I didn't want . . . I didn't want my wedding to be some event, some form of entertainment," I spit the word like it's something foul. "I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to be just me and Peeta, because it was our moment and I wasn't going to share it with all of Panem."

"So how long have you two been 'married'?" Haymitch asks, his eyes narrowing.

"About three months," Peeta answers. "We had our toasting almost a week before the Quell announcement."

Haymitch sighs, running a hand through his long hair. I've never seen him truly stressed before. "What do you want me to say?" he finally asks, looking at Peeta.

"What do I want you to say?" Peeta repeats incredulously, his eyebrows disappearing under his blonde curls. "I want you to tell me that there's some place where Katniss can be safe, where my child will be safe. Because when Katniss wins the Quell, and she will win, we're going to make sure of it. The moment Snow finds out about the baby, you know it's dead the moment it's born, maybe even before . . ." Peeta trails off, no doubt imagining the horror that could very well be in my future. "I'm not going to allow my child to be marked for death before they've even had the chance to live, Haymitch. If District 13 exists, and you know something about it, you had better damn well tell me, because Katniss and the baby are going to go there, and they're going to get away from this hell, from the Capitol, and from Snow."

"I can't stand the thought of my child suffering due to my decisions," Peeta continues, his voice slowly losing its anger. He's pleading now, and I finally see that Peeta is just as terrified as I am. He was just being strong for me, because we can't both afford to crumble. "I never meant to play a part in starting a rebellion, neither did Katniss, but Haymitch, I've never had something to fight for before, someone to fight for. I've been wary of this rebellion for a long time. Yes, I want the Capitol gone, but I was hesitant to fight. I've got all the reason in the world now, Haymitch. The Capitol interfering with my life is one thing. Interfering with Katniss's life is another, but interfering with my child's life, a life that hasn't even truly begun, is inexcusable. I will not allow my child to grow up in this world. I want a safe place, where I can watch him or her grow up happy and completely worry-free. No reapings. No Games. Just peace. So if there's any way that could possibly happen, and you know something, tell me." Peeta holds Haymitch's gaze, his blue eyes shining with a persuasive plea. "Please."

Haymitch sighs, sounding wearier than I've ever heard. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Is district 13 alive?" I ask, approaching the two of them before taking Peeta's hand and griping it tightly.

There's a long pause before Haymitch finally looks us directly in the eyes, almost challengingly, before answering, "Yes."

"Tell us everything," Peeta demands and Haymitch nods.

"Alright," he says, motioning to his little back porch where an old porch swing hangs opposite the rocking chair he'd previously occupied. "Let's sit. It's a long story."

It takes an hour for Haymitch to tell us everything, and at the end of his spiel, I'm speechless. Bonnie and Twill were right. District 13 is secretly alive, but not necessarily thriving. The survivors managed to move underground and since then, for the past seventy five years, they've been rebuilding. Now, it's like an entire city underground. There's a dining hall, a weapons center, and crops being grown (I'm still not quite sure how that worked). It was truly a city underground. And it was the center of the rebellion.

Of course, my first question was why the Capitol had left them alone all these years. Haymitch's answer was simple. Nuclear weapons. District 13 threatened to bomb the Capitol, so they made a deal. District 13 would pretend to be obliterated, and in return the Capitol would leave them alone. It sounded so simple that it took a long time for the fact to sink in. Just a simple power play was all it took to get the Capitol to leave District 13 alone. Nuclear weapons were their linchpin.

Ever since the end of the Dark Days, District 13 has been slowly rebuilding, preparing to start another rebellion. And lucky for me and Peeta, we provided the spark needed to spur years of planning into action. Haymitch tells us that he was contacted by District 13 years ago, but he ignored them. It wasn't until Peeta and I that he really began to keep in contact with his underground sources. He tells us of all the districts that are also in contact with District 13, and unsurprisingly they're all districts that have rebelled—3, 4, 7, 8, and 11.

But what completely floors me is when Haymitch explains that the leaders of the rebellion in each district are the victors of the Hunger Games. The irony does not escape me. An older couple named Beetee and Wiress from 3. Finnick Odair, a bronze-haired, gorgeous victor from 4. Johanna Mason from District 7, who won her games by pretending to be a weakling before viciously killing the rest of the competition. Chaff, one of Haymitch's friends, from District 11.

And then there's Peeta and I, the star-crossed lovers from District 12.

All of this has my head spinning, but I swear my heart stops when Haymitch leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and looks at Peeta and me intently. "Right after the Quell announcement I was contacted," he explains, before pausing for a few seconds and dropping the bomb that almost makes me faint. "They plan to break you out of the arena."

Of course, this news sends Peeta into a fury, because Haymitch has known this for months and watched us worry ourselves to death, and the fact that I'm pregnant really isn't helping him keep a lid on his anger. I put a hand on his shoulder, silently pleading with him to calm down, and I'm relieved when he relaxes beneath my hand.

"You knew this the entire time?" Peeta barely controls the anger in his voice. "You were going to let us waltz into the arena, thinking we're going to die, all the while knowing that there was going to be a break out?"

"You wouldn't be so pissed if Katniss wasn't pregnant, and you know it," Haymitch retorts and it effectively shuts Peeta up, because Haymitch is right. Yes, I would have been angry with Haymitch for keeping us in the dark about the plan, but now that I'm pregnant I'm furious. The same goes for Peeta.

Being pregnant changes a lot of things, like my entire perspective on life.

"So what's the plan?" I ask excitedly. "How are we going to break out?"

Haymitch hesitates before admitting, "Plutarch Heavensbee is on our side." I feel my jaw drop, and it takes me a moment before my brain can formulate a response. Plutarch Heavensbee? The Head Gamemaker? "There's a force field surrounding the arena. Beetee and Wiress think that they can disable it long enough for a hovercraft to come in and get you out."

Peeta opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Haymitch interrupts him, looking fierce. "That's enough questions," he says sharply. "I've told you enough. Now get out of here."

Peeta gets up to leave, but I stay on the rickety porch swing, looking at Haymitch. "Why wouldn't you tell us?" I ask, still hurt by the fact that he'd lied. Haymitch has never lied to me.

"To protect you," Haymitch answers, allowing some of the worry and love he has for us to show. "Cause this might all go to hell, and even the best laid plans find a way to fail. If one of you got captured . . ." Haymitch trails off. "Well, the less you knew the better."

It's a harsh truth. This plan might very well fail, and what would happen then? What if we're captured by the Capitol? Haymitch is right. The less we know the better. But I can't focus on that. I have to hope for success, if only for my child. He or she, they're something to fight for. Before, the rebellion, overthrowing the Capitol . . . it was all for me, for me to be free of them. And yes, for my family and Peeta, too, but now . . . now it's all about my child.

It's scary how much I already love this child. I will do anything for my child. There is no line that I will not cross, and I know Peeta feels the same. There's such a strange fierceness to this love that it's nearly overwhelming.

"Let's go home, Katniss," Peeta says, breaking through my reverie. I glance up at him, and know by the tenseness in his shoulders that he's still upset. Me? I'm too tired to be upset.

Nonetheless, I rise from my seat and take his waiting hand. Together, we walk to his house. I immediately head to the kitchen because I'm struck with the sudden urge to eat something chocolaty. I find some chocolate muffins that Peeta must have made earlier and grab two. I'm aware of Peeta's eyes following my every move, but I ignore him for the moment. The chocolate muffins in my hands are much more important.

I begin to nibble on one as I make my way up the stairs to the bedroom. Once I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed, I truly focus my energies on the muffins before me. The thought occurs to me that these wonderfully delicious chocolate muffins should not have such importance, but as of this moment, they are of the utmost importance. Oh, great. Food cravings.

Peeta sits beside me on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and stretching his legs out in front of him. For a moment we're completely silent. I eat the muffins and Peeta just sits there beside me, staring rather intently at the wall, as if he's trying to will it to crumble with his gaze. After I savor the last chocolaty bite of my second muffin, I turn to him, but he doesn't look at me. He's still staring at the wall.

So, to make it absolutely impossible for him to stare at the wall any longer, I straddle his hips and place my hands on his chest, absently noting how tense his muscles are. "I don't think the wall has any answers," I tell him.

Peeta's eyes finally meet mine, and I'm still able to see the anger he's trying to bury. I never really know what to do when Peeta's angry. It's such a rare occurrence and usually it's gone just as quick as it appeared. I don't know how to help him. "Why are you so angry?" I ask.

"Why am I angry?" Peeta repeats, looking at me dubiously. "Why wouldn't I be? Haymitch lied right to our faces. He's been lying, for months. He would have let us go into the arena completely blind."

"He had his reasons," I argue, wondering why I'm taking Haymitch's side. "And it was a good one, you know that."

Peeta sighs heavily. "I know," he says. "I know, but right now I just can't think. I don't know what think. All I know is that I have to protect you . . . I just, god, I just don't know how!" Peeta stares at me entreatingly, like I can give him the answers he's seeking, but I can only stare back at him sympathetically. "I can't lose you or the baby. Hell, I'm still trying to get used to the idea that I'm going to be a father!"

"I feel so helpless," he whispers as his arms wrap around me. "Going back into the arena was hard enough to grasp, but now . . . I can't stand the thought of you stepping one foot into the Capitol, let alone the arena."

I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder as my arms wrap around his neck. "I'm scared, too," I whisper into his neck, blinking back tears once again.

Scared is really an understatement. I'm terrified. I'm living out my worst nightmare. A child of mine falling victim to the Capitol, and he or she isn't even close to being born yet. What makes it worse is that there's truly nothing that I can do. I can't avoid going into the arena, no matter how much I wish I could find a way. If I tried to run, the Capitol would catch me, I have no doubt. Where would I go, anyway? Try to find my way to District 13 like Bonnie and Twill? And that's only if I found a way to avoid a twenty-foot high electrical fence. No, there's no avoiding going back into the arena.

It's just that the thought of facing the Quell, pregnant, when my fellow tributes are victors, threatens to freeze me with fear. Honestly, can I not catch a break? My child will be fighting to live before he or she has even truly begun to live. It's not fair. It's just not fair.

"But I've already had my meltdown," I say softly, trying to put a little levity in my voice. Because, if I do say so myself, this morning was absolutely the biggest meltdown I've ever had, even worse than the night of the Quell announcement—times ten. "My biggest worry was if you'd still love me," I admit sheepishly.

"What?" Peeta pulls away from me, looking at me wide-eyed. "You thought that just because you were pregnant, I wouldn't love you anymore?"

"I was panicking," I try to explain myself. "I know it was stupid, but I just . . ." I sigh. "I was just so scared . . ." My eyes meet Peeta's. "I still am," I admit softly, and Peeta holds me tighter as I continue, "The fact that I was pregnant hit me so hard, and all I could think about was the Quell and Snow and then there was you. I knew that once you knew I was pregnant, you'd do everything you could to get me out of the arena, including dying for me, and I just . . . the thought that . . . you just can't do that to me, Peeta," I finish in a whisper.

"But don't you see?" Peeta asks, gently taking my face in his hands. "I can't let anything happen to you and the baby. I'll do anything to keep you safe."

I shake my head. "You don't get it, Peeta. I can't survive without you . . . I don't know how to survive without you anymore." I quickly blink back the tears that I feel coming on, and whether it's my exasperation of how teary I've been today, or simply the need to feel something besides an overwhelming sense of dread and fear, determination fills me.

"This is how it's going to work, okay?" I hold Peeta's gaze, trying to instill some of my own determination within him. "We're going to go into the arena, and you can be the overprotective husband that I know you will be . . ." Peeta actually cracks a smile at that. "And then we'll find a way to get out of the arena, together, and then we're going to give Snow hell, got it?"

Peeta leans forward and gives me a kiss. "Got it," he murmurs against my lips.

When we go to bed that night, Peeta wraps his arm firmly around my waist, pressing my back against his chest. His lips linger on my neck as his hand comes to rest on my stomach, and for the first time all day, I feel safe. Along with that feeling of security, another feeling settles within me . . . an overwhelming determination, an unremitting desire to protect my child. My hand comes to rest on top of Peeta's, and I come to one irrevocable conclusion.

I will protect my child until my last breath.


And now you know where I got the title for this story . . . aside from the fact that my inspiration for this story comes from the song, "My Last Breath" by Evanescence. Anyhoo, the Quell is almost here! Soon we get to meet Finnick and Johanna! WOO!

Quote from the next chapter comes from Peeta!

"Fantastic things happen in this bed."

Lots of love,

AC