A/N: Ah! I can't believe it! We're almost at the end! Only one more chapter to go! Ah!

*runs about her room flailing*

The last chapter will be posted on Christmas Eve! Isn't that an awesome coincidence?

*runs smack into wall*

Ouch.

*picks herself up and resumes running about her room*

See? I'm excited.

Anyhoo, this chapter is a lot of setup, but hopefully it's still fairly entertaining. As for a little CROCS update, I must say that things are going wonderfully well in the most deliciously spectacular ways. I'm right in the thick of Peeta's recovery and boy, is it a dramatic ride. I do love it. Yes, Yes, I do. Honestly, I'm never happier than when my characters are miserable. Is that bad? See, and now I've got you guys worried again. Just remember . . . trust me. PK will get their happy ending, I will personally see to it. That just doesn't mean the road to that happy ending won't be full of, but not limited to: a terrible case of PTSD, failed assassination attempts, conspiracy, explosions, dramatic confrontations, thwarting death multiple times, (etc.).

*smiles dreamily*

It really is a lot of fun, guys. The thing about CROCS is that it is very real and deals with some very real emotions and situations that aren't very happy. In the original, so much was left alone. So many repercussions were ignored. I mean, seriously. Peeta is hijacked. Katniss feels bad but doesn't do anything to help him. This, of course, is after she's "supposedly" been racked with guilt and depression due to his capture. Then, suddenly, just in time for the end of the book, Peeta is stable enough to go on the final mission to take the Capitol? Yeah . . . that just makes total sense.

I focus on Peeta's recovery in my version. He's in a dark place, and I fully explore that dark place and how it affects everyone around him, particularly Katniss. Things aren't happy and so I didn't write it that way. I wanted CROCS to be very real, and I think I've succeeded. In reality, when someone comes back from being tortured, they're a changed person. They're not the same. They'll never be the same, no matter how much therapy they go through. They'll retain some of that darkness that they suffered and it will change some aspects of their personality and twist some of their morals. Peeta will change. And Katniss will have to accept that and learn to love this new side of him. It's tough on both sides. Because at the same time, Peeta is trying to be all that he can be because he still loves her more than anything.

See how everyone would be miserable? They're both trying to be better for the other, but both have doubts as to how successful they'll be.

And now that I've babbled, I think it's time to focus back on this story. Anyhoo, this chapter, as I said, is a lot of setup, but hopefully it's not a complete bore.

That would really suck.

So, let's just get to the chapter, shall we? My ability to ramble continues to astound me . . .

Movie quote of the day comes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part Two!

"I mean, really, Hermione. When have any of our plans ever actually worked?" - Harry Potter

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!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."; "I should have brought you a sedative."; "What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? Huge bag of weed?"; "My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men."; "Spock, I look forward to the destruction of your planet and every planet around it. You will die. Your people will die. J.J. Abrams will die . . . you will ALL die."; "Master Robin . . . AH! . . . you lost your arms in battle! Oh, how terrible . . . but you grew some nice boobs!"; "I mean, really, Hermione. When have any of our plans ever actually worked?"


Chapter 34

He looks just like Peeta, the little boy in my dream. The same boyish grin. The same blonde curls. Except his eyes. His eyes are a stormy grey, like mine. My little boy is smiling up at me happily, holding something in his hand. Something he wants to show me. He opens his little hand and . . .

I wake up.

Although I'm slightly disappointed that I didn't get to find out what my son wanted to show me, I'm still filled with the sweet happiness that the dream brought me. The feeling is so genuine and warm that I cling to it, not wanting the feeling to leave me. Being truly happy in the arena of the Hunger Games is an absurd feat, and I want it to last as long as possible.

But all too soon I'm smacked in the face with reality when I see the blinking light of a parachute floating down toward the others. Apparently, I'm the last one to wake because they're all standing under the trajectory of the falling parachute. I get to my feet and my warm bubble of happiness floats to the back of my mind, but still remains a steady, comforting presence.

I'm at Peeta's side when the parachute hits the ground. Yet again, it's another basket of rolls from District 3. Twenty-four rolls in total, just like last night. I frown slightly as we divide up the rolls, taking five a piece. As I nibble on one, I can't help but think that these deliveries are coincidental. After all, it's Haymitch. Everything Haymitch sends has meaning, a purpose. What could twenty four rolls from District 3 mean? My eyes find Finnick and Beetee. I think of the way Finnick has seemed to obsess over the bread, taking the time to count each individual roll. And Beetee, how last night he'd stated the number of rolls, twenty four, as if to be certain. Why would he need to be certain? The bread means something, I decide, and Finnick and Beetee know the answer.

Which means that somehow this bread tells us something about breaking out of the arena. After all, we have to act soon. Only District 2 is left and then it's just us, the allies. If we eliminate District 2, the Capitol will surely expect our alliance to fall and for us to turn on each other in order to win. We have to break out before we're put in that position, because I know that I can't possibly kill any of my allies. They're friends.

After we finish eating, everyone separates to do their own thing. Beetee is staring at his spool of golden wire, fiddling with it. Johanna leaves to tap a tree. Finnick begins to weave another net out of vines, and so I take Peeta's hand and lead him into the water. Somehow I've got to find a way to share my thoughts with him without tipping our hand to the Capitol and Snow.

When we're a suitable distance away from the others, I loop my arms around his neck so that I don't have to tread water. Peeta's hands settle at my waist and he asks, "So how did you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well," I reply with a smile. "I had a dream."

"A good one?"

"I thought so."

Peeta grins. "And what was this good dream about?"

"The baby."

Peeta's face softens and a tender light enters his eye. It's not an accident when his hands brush my stomach. Despite everything, I know that Peeta is happy about becoming a father. Even with the threat of death lingering over our heads. "Really?" he asks softly. "What happened?"

"Nothing much," I shrug as much as I'm allowed with my arms around his neck. "He was probably about two or three, and looked exactly like you." Peeta chuckles. "But he had my eyes. He had something in his hand, something he wanted to show me . . . he seemed very proud of whatever it was."

"Woke up too soon?" Peeta guesses and I nod. "I bet it was a . . . flower."

I raise my eyebrows. "A flower?"

"Yeah," Peeta affirms. "Because if he's anything like me, he'd give his mother flowers. I bet it was a dandelion."

I laugh. "How would you know?"

"Because you like dandelions," he replies. "I'd be sure to tell him that."

I can see it in my head now, Peeta conspiring with his son to surprise me with flowers. The image is so incredibly sweet that my eyes begin to itch with the need to cry. Damn hormones. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, and whisper in his ear, "You're going to be a great father, you know," I tell him.

"I hope so."

"You'll be amazing," I assure him, resting my head on his shoulder. "You're patient and kind and compassionate and everything else a father needs to be."

Peeta kisses my hair, "I love you."

"I love you, too," I reply softly before pulling away from him so that I can look him in the eye. It's time that we talked about why I really dragged him out here. I'm trying to figure out a way to allude to the escape from the arena, but Peeta beats me to it.

"You know, I think Beetee's coming up with a plan," he says casually. "An electrical trap for the rest of the Careers."

"Really?" I ask, knowing that 'electrical trap' means 'plan to break out.' "We'll need to act quickly, then. These Games are going by fast."

"Yeah," Peeta agrees, looking back at the beach to our friends. "We need to leave soon."

To the viewers and the Capitol, it sounds as though we're planning to ditch our allies once we get rid of the Careers. In reality we're talking about leaving the arena completely. Peeta's really too good at these secret, duplicitous conversations.

"After the Careers, it's just us," I nod in agreement and Peeta gives me kiss, as if to seal the deal.

We stay in the water a bit longer, swimming around aimlessly, when I notice that the remaining scabs on my skin are beginning to peel. Gently, I rub a handful of sand down my arm and the scabs fall away, revealing new, healthy pink skin. I tell Peeta of my discovery, and we help each other rid our bodies of the scales. We take longer than necessary, and I don't mind at all. Especially when Peeta's hands linger in all the right places. Hey, what can I say? Pregnancy hormones . . . father of my child running his hands all over me . . .

I enjoyed it thoroughly.

After we're satisfied that each of us are scale-free, I call to Finnick. "Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!"

It's comical how quickly Finnick gets up and dives into the water. After another ten minutes or so, all three of us emerge from the water, our skin as pink as the sky above us. I decide that we should put on another coat of medicine, since the skin seems delicate. The ointment doesn't look near as ghastly on smooth skin, and it will provide protection from the sun and also be good camouflage in the jungle.

I've just put the ointment back in my parachute when Beetee calls us over. "I think we'll all agree our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," he begins and my heart stops. Not because we're talking about killing Brutus and Enobaria . . . because we're not. Not really anyway. This is what we're going to show Panem and the Gamemakers to hide our true plan. We're finally going to break out of the arena.

I focus my attention back on Beetee. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, I suppose, but it's dangerous, exhausting work."

I wonder. "Do you think they've figured out the clock?"

"If they haven't, they'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock. So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap."

Beetee pauses for a moment, maybe to see if we have any questions. All of us remain silent, so Beetee continues as he draws a picture of the arena in the sand. It's not in Peeta's precise strokes, but that doesn't matter. Beetee's mind is focused on more important, complicated things. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?" he asks.

It's like I'm back in school, and Beetee is my teacher, slowly leading in to the lesson of the day. "Where we are now," Peeta answers. "On the beach."

"So why aren't they on the beach?" Beetee asks.

"Cause we're here," Johanna snaps impatiently. She's not one to beat around the bush, so she's probably doesn't like Beetee's lesson-like approach too much.

"Exactly," Beetee nods, ignoring her tone. "We're here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?" he asks.

"I'd hide just at the edge of the jungle," I say. It's far too dangerous to go too far into its unknown depths. "So I could escape if an attack came and so I could spy on us."

"Also to eat," Finnick adds. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants, but by watching us, I'd know the seafood's safe."

Beetee smiles proudly, as if we're his best students. "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and midnight?"

"The lightning hits the tree," I say.

"Yes. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with the surface will be electrocuted."

My mind is trying to process all that Beetee has suggested. His idea seems rather extraordinary, beyond any of my true comprehension. I'm sure that there are a million technical terms and scientific explanations for how his plan works, but I'm just happy knowing that the lightning strikes the wire and somehow we escape from the arena. The wire is the key, which makes me wonder, what's the lock? There's no use in having a key if there's no lock.

"Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up."

"Oh, it will," Beetee replies quickly. "But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it."

Johanna is skeptical. "How do you know?"

"Because I invented it," Beetee replies, as if surprised we didn't know, and I can't help but smile. "It's not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lightning or the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," she admits, chagrined.

"Don't worry about the wire—it will do just what I say," Beetee assures us.

"And where will we be when this happens?" Finnick asks.

"Far enough up in the jungle to be safe."

"Okay," I say. "But the Careers will be safe, too, then, unless they're in the vicinity of the water."

"And all the seafood will be cooked," Peeta adds.

"Probably more than cooked," Beetee says with a small smile. "We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?"

I nod. "And we have sponsors."

"Well, then I don't see a problem," Beetee says. "But as we are allies and this will require all our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you four."

I glance at Peeta, raising my eyebrows. "What do you think?" I ask, though I know his answer.

"I don't see why not," Peeta shrugs. "If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them. And even if we don't and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose that as a food source, too."

Finnick looks at Johanna and they hold a silent conversation that stems from years of friendship. Finally Johanna says, "Alright. It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they'll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves," she adds dryly.

"Wonderful," Beetee says brightly. "I'd like to inspect the lightning tree before we put everything in motion, to eliminate any unexpected variables."

Since only Beetee truly knows all the intricate details of how this could blow up in our faces, none of us argue and we pack up and move to the twelve o'clock section. Johanna leads the way through the jungle, and I pick up the rear. Peeta and Finnick alternate carrying Beetee, who is still too weak to climb the steep slope of the jungle. But it doesn't take long before the intense hike causes us all to break out into a sweat and for our pace to slow.

The air is thick with humidity just as it's always been since these Games started. I want more than anything—aside from breaking out of the arena and watching President Snow die—a nice, cool glass of water. Or maybe an ice cube. It's not that I don't appreciate the liquid from the trees, but it's the same temperature as everything else in the arena—warm.

"Katniss, you better take lead," Finnick says as we begin to reach the crest of the hill. "You can hear the force field."

"Hear it?" Beetee questions, eyeing me appraisingly. Guess who isn't fooled by my little fib? But surely he must know that I couldn't point out the force field's weakness, the chinks in its armor.

"Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed," I tell him, hoping that he doesn't say anything contrary.

But Beetee just nods. "Then by all means, lead us on," he says. "Force fields are nothing to play around with."

"Definitely not," Peeta mutters before shooting me a reassuring smile, almost as if knowing that I would need to see that he was alright.

I give him a small smile in return before taking point and snagging a branch of nuts off a tree for future use. The lightning tree is unmistakable, since it towers above the rest of the canopy. I take the nuts and toss them in front of me occasionally, but it proves to be unnecessary. The force field is clearly visible to me due to the large, undulating square about twenty feet in the air. Still, I toss a nut toward the force field and it falls blackened to the ground with a puff of smoke.

"Just stay in front of the tree," I tell them. There's still fifteen feet of space from the back of the tree to the force field, but after Peeta's close call I'm not taking any chances. I even draw a line in the dirt so that the boundary is clearly visible.

Next, we divide up tasks. Finnick stays to guard Beetee as the older man examines the tree, while Johanna taps a nearby tree for water and Peeta gathers nuts. I hunt nearby, and as I move silently through the foliage my mind is consumed with thoughts of breaking out of the arena. Will Haymitch be in the hovercraft? Surely everyone oriented with District 13 will be, even Plutarch. Because once everything goes to hell, they can't be anywhere within reach of Snow's deadly clutches.

Once again my mind drifts to the wire. Such a small, golden, seemingly flimsy wire that is supposedly the key to breaking out of this arena. But what is the lock? Every key needs a lock. If Beetee's plan works, the majority of the arena will be electrified. Would the power surge cause the force field to collapse, or is there something I'm missing?

And what about the bread? Twenty four rolls from District 3. Twenty four and three. Those are the key numbers. Twenty four. There's twenty four hours in a day . . . could that be what it means? Twenty four hours. That would translate to midnight. And isn't that when Beetee wants to initiate the plan? Midnight? What does it matter that the bread was from District 3, though? Haymitch had to have had a reason for using that specific kind of bread. D3. Could it mean day three? That's it! Midnight on the third day. That's what it means. That told Beetee when to destroy the force field.

I feel a small rush of pride that I figured it out. Before Peeta, even. He's usually he first one to see these things. Maybe some of his smarts have rubbed off on me the past year. I see a tree rat hanging off a limb in apparent boredom, so I shoot it. I find two more easily and when I hear the ten o'clock wave I realize that it's about time I made it back to the others.

When I arrive back at our little makeshift camp, Beetee is hovering around the tree, taking measurements and doing who-knows-what. I watch as he takes a sliver of bark from the lightning tree and then tosses it into the force field. It glows a bright white before reverting back it its original color, and Beetee nods and murmurs, "Well that explains a lot."

I have to press my lips tightly together so I don't laugh. The only one who received any enlightenment from that little experiment was Beetee. I sit down beside Peeta, who offers to clean my kills since the smell of raw meat is yet another smell that makes me want to vomit now that I'm pregnant. He takes them a distance away from me, downwind, and quickly cleans the kills. I feel a little bit of pride as I watch him. I'm a good teacher.

I occupy myself with toasting nuts while he works. When he brings the meat over, I try not to breathe through my nose as we toss the cubes of meat into the force field. About a quarter of an hour later, the ominous clicking noise from the eleven o'clock section starts up. It's much louder here in the jungle than on the beach, and I conjure up a mass of flesh-eating beetles in my mind, scurrying along the forest floor, looking for a victim.

"It's not mechanical," Beetee decides after a moment.

"I'd guess insects," I say, and then add, "Maybe beetles." Flesh-eating beetles.

"Something with pinchers," Finnick says, making little pinching motions with his hands.

The sound of the clicking amplifies, as if our talking has alerted them of our presence, making us all wary. "We should get out of here, anyway," Johanna says. "There's less than an hour before the lightning starts."

We all agree and quickly pack up our meager supplies and food and move to the next section over, the blood rain. Beetee wants me to be able to climb a tree and observe the lightning strike the tower-tree. While we wait for noon to come along, we have a picnic of sorts. Nuts and tree rat with warm water. I almost miss last year during the Games, when all Peeta and I had to do was have a steamy make-out session and Haymitch would send food—Capitol food.

Wildly, I wonder if Peeta and I having sex in the arena would merit a Capitol feast like the one we received last year in the cave. As soon as the thought congeals in my mind, I blush in embarrassment, and of course, everyone notices. It doesn't help that my eyes immediately flash guiltily to Peeta, prompting Finnick to start teasing me of having dirty thoughts. This is when Johanna, ever the reliable one, points out that I'm pregnant and that had to happen somehow. Then she looks pointedly at Peeta, who ducks his head in embarrassment, but also to hide his smile.

Luckily, Beetee is here and he scolds Finnick and Johanna for teasing us.

When the clicking sound begins to abate, I climb a tree until my head pops out of the canopy. Right on time, the lightning strikes the tree at noon. It's stunning. When the white-hot lighting hits the tree, it's encompassed by a white-blue glow that seems to radiate heat and the air around the tree cackles with sparks of electricity. It's truly mesmerizing. I drop down into Peeta's waiting arms and report my findings to Beetee. I'm not too terribly scientific about it, but my explanation seems adequate because Beetee merely nods and seems satisfied.

By two in the afternoon we've arrived back at the ten o'clock beach after taking a rather circuitous route. Beetee sits in the shade and begins to fiddle with his wire, seemingly preoccupied, and it's almost as though we've gotten let out of school early. After an hour or so of lounging around and swimming, we decide that since this is probably the last time we'll ever be able to have seafood in the arena, we should make a feast out of it. So under the careful guidance of Finnick, we spear fish and collect shellfish and oysters. I can see why Finnick loves the sea so much. It's truly beautiful and relaxing, and I really get to appreciate it when I dive for oysters. The fish are so bright and colorful, and strange yet beautiful sea flowers dot the sandy floor.

Finnick, Peeta, and I clean and lay out the seafood while Johanna keeps watch. We work in relative silence until Peeta suddenly laughs after cracking open an oyster. He holds up a pea-sized pearl, creamy-white and shiny in the bright sun. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal, it'll turn to pearls," he tells Finnick in an earnest voice.

Finnick scoffs in reply. "No, it doesn't."

But I've succumbed to a fit of laughter at Peeta's words and we share a knowing smile. The ever positive words of Effie Trinket. How she first presented us to the Capitol last year, as beauty that arose from pain, which then evolved to love that arose from hate.

Peeta rinses off the pearl in the water and then offers it to me with a soft smile and twinkling eyes. "For you."

"If you kiss him in front of me, I will kill you," Johanna says the moment I start to lean in. Peeta and I both pause to look at her. "What?" she shrugs. "I saw enough of that last year to last me a lifetime."

Peeta rolls his eyes and then gives me a quick kiss that causes Johanna to move toward him with an axe raised. "What?" Peeta smiles cheekily. "You said you'd kill Katniss if she kissed me. As you just saw, I kissed her."

Finnick laughs. "He's got a point, Jo."

"Shut up, Finnick!"

When we settle down to eat, Haymitch sends yet another basket of rolls from District 3. I watch as Finnick counts them. Twenty four. I fight not to smile. I was right! This is Haymitch reassuring them that we break out of the arena at midnight. However, he's also sent us a bowl of red sauce to go with the fish. Oh, he's feeling generous today.

We all stuff ourselves and actually carry on a rather lighthearted conversation. Well, as lighthearted as it can be with Johanna's blunt sarcasm. But Finnick and Peeta's combined enthusiasm causes her to soften just slightly, her words not having so much of a bite.

"So, what do you want your kid to be?" Finnick suddenly asks.

We're sitting in a loose circle, with me between Peeta and Johanna. At the question, both Peeta and I look to each other. "I just want the baby to be healthy," Peeta replies with a shrug. "Gender doesn't matter, but Katniss thinks it's a boy."

"How do you know?" I retort before looking at Finnick. "And he's lying. He wants it to be a girl."

"How do you know?" Peeta mocks me with a smile. "And I know you think it's a boy because you always refer to the baby as a 'him.' You want a mini-me."

I snort. "So? You always refer to the baby as a 'she.' Does that mean you want a mini-me?"

"Ever thought the kid might be a mix of the both of you?" Johanna asks with her signature sarcastic condescension. "You know . . . Peeta's smarts . . . your hunting . . ."

Finnick chuckles, "That's a recipe for disaster. Can you imagine the trouble that kid would find?"

"An untold amount, I'm sure," Beetee pipes up, causing us all to laugh.

Johanna shrugs. "Well, I'd bet it's a girl."

"Nope," Finnick shakes his head. "I'm with Katniss. It's a boy."

"There is a fifty/fifty chance," Beetee states. "It's all up to the chromosomes."

We eat until we can't possibly eat anymore, continuing the light conversation. Finnick makes a joke about glimpsing how the baby was made last night, which prompts Peeta to tell him that he couldn't be so lucky, which then prompts me to slap him upside the head.

Everyone just ends up laughing.

Despite all that we ate, we still have leftovers, so we throw them back in the sea. The shells we leave alone. They'll wash away with the wave. After cleaning up a bit, there's nothing left to do but wait. Peeta and I sit by the water's edge, hand in hand, though I rest my head on his shoulder. We look rather relaxed, but in reality we're not. Both of us are tense and anxious. Finally, we're going to break out. We're leaving. Going to District 13 to aid in the rebellion. Haymitch told us to prepare to do propos for the rebellion and other things like that. He even mentioned going out and fighting once, but that was specifically for Peeta. Not me, the pregnant one. The thought that either Peeta or Haymitch would let me go within a mile of a battle zone is comical. Really, they're both way too overprotective sometimes.

My stomach is filled with nerves and anxious anticipation. The battle is about to begin. I get the feeling that I'm about to be thrown into a whole new world blindfolded, but as long as I have Peeta I'll be alright. As if his thoughts are mirroring mine, Peeta squeezes my hand and places a kiss in my hair. I think of the pearl he gave me earlier, the pearl that is currently safely encased in a parachute tied to my belt. It's just a pearl, but it came from Peeta. His own little symbol of his love, and I can't help but smile at the thought.

Peeta brings our joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of my hand, and we share a small smile.

And then Beetee breaks the silence. "It's time."


And cue dramatic music!

Well folks, the end is almost upon us! One more chapter to go! Ah!

So, in summary for this chapter: Beetee is fond of electricity, Finnick and Johanna are starting PK's baby's official fanclub, Katniss is dreaming of baby, Peeta is sweet as chocolate, and let the mass break out begin!

And the quote from CROCS comes from . . . *drumroll, please* . . . Haymitch!

"Working on it, sweetheart, but it's hard to accomplish something when I'm surrounded by idiots."

Lots of love,

AC