A/N: Wow. Just . . . wow. Seriously, almost 300 reviews already? That's awesome. Ridiculously awesome. You are AWESOME.

Thank you, thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I may not always get the chance to reply, but do know that I cherish each and every word. :)

Alas, this chapter is a lot of setup for the next chapter where the real fun begins. So, that being said, I hope this isn't too boring.

Random Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Series. As the past two stories show, my version of events would have been quite different.

Me: . . . *que crickets chirping* . . .

Rye: Uh . . . isn't this the part where you say something about the chapter?

Me: Kinda. I just . . . don't know what to say.

Haymitch: Everyone. Write this down. AC doesn't have words.

Peeta: Wow.

Katniss: I'm so disappointed.

Me: Hey! It's not my fault, okay? Sometimes I draw a blank.

Peeta: Does that mean I'm getting rescued sooner?

Me: Uh . . . no. Sorry, love.

Finnick: Well that's just not nice.


Chapter 5: Welcome To The Jungle

Welcome to the jungle where we take it day by day

If you want it, you're gonna bleed, but it's the price you pay


What?

Everyone in the room is silent for a heavy second before they erupt in a flurry of counterarguments. Sending me into combat is dangerous. One, because I'll be the first target should the Capitol learn of wherever I am on the battlefield, and let's not forget the fact that I'm pregnant. The last thing I'll ever do is jeopardize my child's life.

Haymitch is arguing against Coin's suggestion, Rye and Gale flanking him as they dispute her decision. Plutarch seems to be acting as a sort of mediator and Boggs is simply deep in thought, darting glances between me and Coin.

"You've made it obvious that Katniss only performs well in real-life circumstances," Coin says simply.

"Every time we coach her or giver her lines, the best we can hope for is okay," Plutarch adds, not really taking sides, but just stating a fact.

"I'm not arguing that," Haymitch snaps. "It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to. But that doesn't mean we toss her out there and wait for her to get blown up or shot. Prompt her with something she feels strongly about and then just let her go."

"It's unreliable," Coin interrupts coldly. "She's not the boy."

Peeta. I bet Coin wishes she could have rescued Peeta rather than me, for the very reason that Snow is using him now. His gift of words. His way of speaking, making anything sound reasonable. Scripted or unscripted, it wouldn't matter. Peeta is that good.

"Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety," Boggs finally adds his opinion. "She'll be a target for every Capitol soldier, and I'm not comfortable leading a pregnant girl into a warzone."

I don't really know what to do. What can I do, really? Obviously I can't go into a warzone. They'd have to drag me kicking and screaming because I won't get myself and my child killed because of 13's wartime zeal. But what about Coin's threat? If I don't perform as the Mockingjay, Peeta loses his immunity . . .

"Where would you send me?" I ask, causing everyone to look up at me. Haymitch, Gale, and Rye are shooting me glares of warning, but I ignore them. I stare straight at Coin, waiting for an answer.

"Obviously, it would be the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you," she says as she slowly rises from her seat and begins to circle the table. She studies the illuminated district maps before continuing. "You would go to District 8. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. You'd be armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch will be airborne and in contact with you."

"There's no way to be certain the air raid has passed," Haymitch immediately argues. "The situation is completely unpredictable. No matter how many measures we put into place to keep her safe, it's not a guarantee."

Coin's pale grey eyes meet mine. "Well, Katniss will just have to decide if it's worth the risk."

There's something in her tone, something that makes me think she's threatening revoking Peeta's immunity if I refuse. Or maybe it's just my own fears, I don't really know. Worth the risk. Love is worth the risk. Always. But can I really risk the baby? No. I can't.

I close my eyes for a brief moment. What do I do? If I refuse, Coin will revoke Peeta's immunity. If I agree, I will put myself in danger. But I'll have guards. And Haymitch. Things will be fine. I'll be fine. It won't be a risk. I'll be fine. Nothing will happen. I'll be fine.

I can't lose Peeta . . .

I open my eyes.

"I want Gale and Rye as part of my guards," I finally say with as much authority in my tone as I can muster. "And should anything go wrong, I want the hovercraft ready to go the second trouble hits."

"Of course," Coin agrees. "Is that all, Mockingjay?"

I nod stiffly and Coin dismisses everyone. We're to leave for 8 within the hour. There's no time to tell Prim or my mother where I'll be going. Haymitch, Gale, and Rye stay behind as everyone files out of the room, all three of them glaring at me. I meet their glares evenly with one of my own.

"She was going to take away Peeta's immunity," I defend my decision, focusing my gaze on Haymtich, whose jaw is clenched so tight I'm afraid it will snap. "You know she was threatening to do it when she asked me. I can't risk losing Peeta."

"What about the baby?" Rye questions, looking protective, worried, and angry all at the same time. "I'm not about to let my baby brother's girl go out and herself killed. I promised him I'd look out for you."

"What are you—"

"Before you two left for the Quell," Rye cuts me off, answering my question before I can even ask. "He made me promise that if anything happened to him, I'd look after you."

"I don't need to be looked after."

All three of them either scoff, roll their eyes, or scowl, obviously disagreeing with me.

"Catnip," Gale sighs. "This isn't a good idea. You're going to be a target."

"I've always been a target," I tell all of them. "That's why I've got you guys, right?"

We're all silent until Haymitch scowls. "You listen to every word I say, got it?" he growls. "If I tell you to run, you better damn well run faster than you ever have." He spins to face Rye and Gale. "And you two stick to her like glue, understand?"

"Like glue," Rye repeats, promising. "Of the stickiest kind."

"Good, now get going."

All of us file out of Command and head to the elevator. I'm on my way to the Remake Room and then to Special Defense so Beetee can help me with my armor. Rye and Gale are heading to get suited up as well, and my guess is that Haymitch is headed to the Airborne Division to get situated in the hovercraft.

We're all silent until the elevator makes the first stop, Haymitch's exit, and the moment the doors close behind my mentor, Rye smiles a little. "He put on the daddypants this morning," he jokes. Gale glares at Rye's attempt to lighten the mood and Rye raises his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Just trying to diffuse the tension."

"Well don't," Gale snaps.

"Careful, I'll prank you."

"I'll kill you."

"I'll haunt you," Rye retorts. "Now, would you rather deal with an alive me for an unknown amount of time or be subjected to my ghostly cries of vengeance until you die?"

Gale's silent.

"Yeah, I thought so."

I've had enough. This is ridiculous. "Rye?"

"Yeah, sweetcheeks?"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up." Rye mimes zipping his lips.

I'm the next stop and before I step out of the elevator I turn back to level a look at Rye and Gale. "Find some way to coexist without pranking or killing the other," I order and Gale's lips purse while Rye beams at me innocently.

Oh, boy.

Though I doubt Rye would pull a prank that would provoke Gale to exact vengeful retribution, I do hope that they find a way to get along, if only for my sake. Shaking my head, I make my way to the Remake Room. My prep team is already waiting and they have me dressed in my costume within twenty minutes. An armband is given to me to cover the scar on my forearm, and I scowl as I situate it properly. Flavius's hands are in my hair, making it look tousled, but still natural. Venia applies just the barest hint of makeup to my face. Simple foundation, a little blush, some mascara and a natural pink lipstick complete my not-so-polished, yet natural-put-together-look.

I couldn't care less at this point.

The moment I'm done, I'm hustled to Special Defense to meet with Beetee. Since I'll technically be in a battlezone, Beetee is helping me with the armor Cinna designed. There's a helmet of a supple material that's interwoven with a precious metal that fits close to my head. It can be drawn back like a hood if I don't want it up full-time. I'm happy with a vest that reinforces the protection over my vital organs. A small, white earpiece attaches to my collar by a thin wire—my means of communicating with Haymitch. Beetee secures a gas mask to my belt, explaining as he works, "If you see anyone dropping for reasons you can't explain, put it on immediately," he says.

Lastly, he attaches a sheath divided into three sections onto my back. Each section houses a different type of arrow. "Just remember: Right side, fire. Left side, explosive. Center, regular," he reminds me and I nod. "You shouldn't need them, but better safe than sorry."

Yes. Definitely better safe than sorry. A bubble of doubt, no, a huge cloud of doubt floats hauntingly in the back of my mind. This could all go so horribly wrong in a second. And if I get hurt or die, I condemn the baby as well. Then, should Peeta miraculously survive his imprisonment—if the rebels win the war—he would have lost the reason he fought to survive due to my own recklessness. I can't do that to him.

But at the same time, I can't knowingly do something that could end all possibilities of ever having him in my arms again, especially when there's still hope.

Boggs arrives right on time, and as we're waiting for the elevator to arrive to take us to the Airborne Division, Finnick suddenly appears, wild-eyed and agitated. "Katniss, they won't let me go! I told them I'm fine, but they won't even let me ride in the hovercraft!"

I bite my lip as I take in Finnick's disheveled appearance. His bare legs peeking out of his hospital gown, his wild eyes shining too brightly, his rope knotted around his fingers, and his hair that's in disarray. Any plea I give to his case will not be heard. But I can't bring myself to disappoint him completely, so I try a new tactic.

"Oh, I completely forgot," I say, slapping a hand on my forehead. "I was supposed to tell you to head to Special Weaponry. Beetee has a new trident for you."

At the word trident he perks up, looking like the old Finnick. "Really?" he asks with excitement. "What does it do?"

I shrug. "Don't know, but if it's anything like my bow and arrows, you're going to love it." I pause for a minute as I add pointedly, "You'll have to train with it, though."

Finnick nods. "Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there."

He turns to go, but I stop him. "Finnick?" I try to fight a smile. "Maybe some pants?"

It's as if he's just now realized the outfit he's been sporting for weeks. Suddenly, he rips off his gown, leaving him in just his underwear, and strikes a ridiculously provocative pose. "Why?" he asks with a leer. "Do you find this . . . distracting?"

The laugh that escapes me is entirely genuine, a rarity these days. Partly, I'm laughing because honestly the situation is quite funny. Especially the uncomfortable look currently on Boggs's face. But I'm also laughing in relief, because at least I know that the old Finnick isn't completely gone. This is the Finnick I met in the Quarter Quell.

"Maybe if you were Peeta," I say with a sad smile. Though honestly, if Peeta were currently in Finnick's pose, I don't think I'd be able to keep from bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

My comment sobers Finnick up a little, and he shrugs sheepishly. "I'll see you when you get back."

"You bet," I smile as the elevator doors open.

When the doors close and the elevator begins to ascend, I shoot an apologetic look at Boggs. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be," he shakes his head before adding graciously, "I thought you . . . handled that well."

I smile slightly. "Finnick's one of a kind."

Boggs seems to size me up, and I wonder what he sees. Do I appear weak to him? A vulnerable girl that is in way over her head? Missing her lover and carrying a child? I doubt I look very much like the Mockingjay that 13 envisioned, but damn it I'm going to give it my best. Peeta deserves nothing less.

I take the time to take in the man beside me, who is apparently going to be the head of my guard. He's probably mid-forties. A buzz cut just hints at his graying hair. Incredible posture. A soldier through and through. But there are laugh lines on his face, causing me to remember the little boy I've seen perched on his hip. An honorable family man. I want to trust him, but he seems so in step with Coin . . .

"You're a brave woman," he says after a moment. "Reckless and impulsive . . . but brave."

"You don't like that I'm going out there," I conclude and Boggs hesitates.

"I don't doubt your ability to take care of yourself," he says diplomatically. "I've seen your Games. But this is not a situation which you should be throwing yourself into."

"I can't lose him." I don't know if I'm talking about the baby or Peeta. Maybe both. "I can't. If there's something that I can do . . . I have to do it."

"And if it costs you your life?" Boggs asks. Well, he doesn't pull punches, does he?

But he makes a fair point. I swallow, my nerves and doubt overcoming me for a moment. "Then I can only hope he'll forgive me."

We're silent for the rest of the ride. There's a short pause and then a series of clicks. Next thing I know we're moving laterally. Even though I know to expect it, it's still odd for me to think of elevators being able to move side to side. The complex of District 13 is so incredibly intricate; that it's really all 13 can do to keep it running.

When we step out into the Hangar, I can't help but look at all the aircraft that surround me. I feel a familiar bubble of anger that 13 had all of this and yet waited so long before helping the rest of us. But, as Haymitch has explained to me more than once, 13 wasn't in a position until recently to launch a counterattack. Yes, they had nuclear missiles, but if they started a nuclear war, the question remained if any human life would even be left. Fair point, but it didn't ease my feelings much.

"Over here," Boggs says, gesturing to a smaller hovercraft.

The insides of the craft are swamped with cameras and other television equipment, plus the operators of said equipment. Everyone is in their District 13 military jumpsuits, even Haymitch, and when he sees my smirk he scowls at me, the expression having more of a harsh quality about it than normal. Yeah, he's definitely pissed at me.

Fulvia sees us and comes right up to me, studying my face that is lacking the dramatic makeup she'd desired, and frowns. "All that work, down the drain," she laments with a sigh. "I'm not blaming you, Katniss." No, of course you aren't. "It's just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like him." She grabs Gale by the arm and spins him around, abruptly ending his conversation with Plutarch. "Isn't he handsome?"

The question, given mine and Gale's history, is incredibly awkward, but luckily Rye shows up to save the day. "Oh, I don't know 'bout him," he says with a bright grin. "But I think we can all agree I'm pretty smokin'."

"Well, don't expect us to be impressed," Boggs says dryly. "We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear."

I decide to go ahead and trust Boggs.

An announcement for takeoff is given and I take my seat between Rye and Gale. Haymitch and Plutarch sit opposite me, and I strap myself into my seat. Slowly, the hovercraft rises into the air and then winds through a short tunnel before reaching a platform that rises up into the middle of a field. Then we're gliding through the clouds.

It's only now that I realize I don't really know what to expect in District 8, a byproduct of my impulsiveness. Plutarch explains the state of things in the simplest terms, for which I'm grateful. I don't want to know the extraneous details.

All the districts, except for District 2, are currently at war with the Capitol. It doesn't surprise me that 2 has stayed loyal to the Capitol. They've always been favored, receiving more food and better living conditions. 13 was once the stronghold for the Capitol, but after the Dark Days and the supposed destruction of 13, District 2 took up the mantle as the Capitol's center of defense, even if they were publicly presented as the home of the nation's stone quarries.

What surprises me most, however, is the fact that not only does 2 supply the Capitol with weaponry, but also with Peacekeepers. "You mean some of the Peacekeepers are born in 2?" I ask dumbfounded. "I thought they all came from the Capitol."

"That's what they want you to believe, yes," Plutarch agrees with a nod. "But its population could never sustain a force that size. Then there's the problem of recruiting Capitol-raised citizens for a dull life of deprivation in the districts. A twenty-year commitment to the Peacekeepers, no marriage, no children allowed. Some buy into it for the honor of the thing, others take it on as an alternative to punishment. For instance, join the Peacekeepers and your debts are forgiven. Many people are swamped in debt in the Capitol, but not all of them are fit for military duty. So District 2 is where we turn for additional troops. It's a way for their people to escape poverty and a life in the quarries. They're raised with a warrior mind-set. You've seen how eager their children are to volunteer to be tributes."

Yes, I've seen how eager they are. Cato and Clove. Brutus and Enobaria. "But all the other districts are on our side?" I check to make sure.

"Yes. Our goal is to take over the districts one by one, ending with District 2, thus cutting off the Capitol's supply chain. Then, once it's weakened, we invade the Capitol itself," Plutarch reveals. "That will be a whole other type of challenge. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Haymitch has said something of what the government would be like should we win, but I want a little more detail. "If we win, who would be in charge of the government?"

"Everyone," Plutarch answers with a smile. "We're going to form a republic where the people of each district and the Capitol can elect their own representatives to be their voice in a centralized government. Don't look so suspicious; it's worked before."

"In books," Haymitch mutters, obviously not too trusting of the idea.

"In history books," Plutarch corrects. "And if our ancestors could do it, then we can, too."

Honestly, I don't see our ancestors as much to brag about. After all, they're the reason we're in this position in the first place. Leaving us with a broken planet and a war-torn country. Yeah, thanks ancestors. We really appreciate it.

But I still can't deny that the idea of a republic sounds like a great improvement over our current government.

However, there's still one question that I can't go without asking. "And if we lose?"

"If we lose?" Plutarch actually chuckles, an odd smile on his face. "Then I would expect next year's Hunger Games to be quite unforgettable."

I don't even want to think about it.

"That reminds me." Plutarch fishes around in his pocket for a moment before producing a vial that's filled with purple capsules. "We named them nightlock in your honor, Katniss," he says, as if I should be pleased. "The rebels can't afford for any of us to be captured now. But I promise it will be completely painless."

I'm wondering where to put the pill when Plutarch taps my left sleeve. There's a tiny pocket just big enough to conceal the capsule, but small enough to remain inconspicuous. Even if my hands were tied, I'd still be able to lean my head forward and bite it free. It appears Cinna has thought of everything.

That doesn't matter though. I have no intention of ever swallowing this little capsule of death.

The hovercraft lands in a wide street on the outskirts of District 8. Within seconds, the stairs drop down and everyone steps out onto the ground. The moment the last person exits the craft, it immediately launches into the air and vanishes.

I'm left with my bodyguard, which consists of Boggs, Gale, Rye, and one other. I don't know his name. The television crew consists of two broad-shouldered men with large mobile cameras that encase their bodies like an insect shell. Cressida, a short woman with a tattooed shaven head of green vines, is the director. Her assistant, Messalla, is a slight young man with multiple earring piercings and even a tongue piercing. I note that the stud is silver and about the size of a marble.

How he even manages to shut his mouth and look normal amazes me.

We hardly linger for more than a few seconds before Boggs is ushering us off the main road to a section of warehouses. Boggs walks in front of me, while I'm flanked by Rye and Gale. As we're walking, a second hovercraft lands and a medical team emerges from the craft. I can tell because of their white uniforms. Crates of medical supplies are quickly unloaded by the six of them.

Boggs continues to lead us through a narrow alleyway between two warehouses. Dull and gray, the tight space simply seems dreary. Only the occasional access ladder interrupts the battered metal walls. However, when we finally emerge into the street, the sight that greets my eyes makes me want nothing more than to stick to the dull gray tunnel we'd passed through.

The area is bustling with life and yet reeks of death and illness. Patients are being carried on whatever is available. Some have made homemade stretchers, but most vessels that carry the casualties are whatever is around and capable of the task. Wheelbarrows. Carts. Slung over a strong shoulder. Clenched tight in arms. It's a horror scene from my mother's kitchen times a hundred. Broken, bleeding, limbless forms surround me, and I begin to panic.

Why send me here? I can't do this. Didn't they see how hard it was for me to take care of Peeta when he was hurt in our first Games? I don't do well with other's pain.

"This won't work," I choke as I try not to listen to the pained moans that seem to multiply just to spite me. "I won't be good here."

Boggs must see my panic because he places his hands on my shoulders. "You will. Just let them see you. That will do more for them than any doctor in the world could."

A woman who is directing patients into the makeshift hospital suddenly spots us, does a double take, and then begins to quickly stride toward us. She looks just as ragged as everyone else, her eyes puffy with fatigue. She smells of metal and sweat. A bandage that should have been changed days ago wraps around her neck. The strap of her automatic weapon is digging into her neck and she repositions it. Wordlessly, she orders the medics behind us to the hospital with a mere jerk of her head. The medics obey immediately.

"This is Commander Paylor of 8," Boggs introduces. "Commander, this is Soldier Katniss Mellark."

Automatically, my positive feelings for Boggs skyrocket. He's the first person in 13 to introduce me or address me as Katniss Mellark. Not that I have any problem with my maiden name. I'll always be an Everdeen, and I'll always be proud of it. But I'm a Mellark now, too, and I'm thrilled that someone has finally acknowledged it.

"Yeah, I know who she is," Paylor says. Even though she's young, probably only in her mid-thirties, I can see why she already holds such a high rank. The authoritative tone in her voice brooks no room for argument. Her appointment was not arbitrary. "You're alive then. We weren't sure."

Is that accusation in her tone, or am I hearing things?

"I've been recovering," I reply crisply, not wanting her to think that I'm weak and have been hiding out in 13.

Paylor's eyes dart to my stomach, which is still noticeably rounded, despite the fact that black is supposed to be a slimming color and I'm wearing armor. "Sure you want to be here, Mockingjay?"

My eyes narrow. "Absolutely." I'm tired of people questioning my decision to be here, even if the pesky little voice in the back of my head (that sounds oddly like Peeta) is telling me to get the hell out of here.

"She insisted on coming by to see your wounded," Boggs says.

""Well, we've got plenty of those," Paylor retorts before taking a step back and motioning us forward. "Come on in, Mockingjay. And by all means, bring your friends."

As we walk, Gale bends slightly to whisper to me, "It's not a good idea," he says. "Assembling the wounded like this."

He's right. Any sort of contagious disease would spread like wildfire. But before I can respond, Rye beats me to it. "I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die. Besides, I don't think they have many other options."

Gale falls into silence, apparently having accepted Rye's answer, or simply having chosen not to comment. Not that there's time. We enter the hospital and I'm almost immediately overwhelmed by the stench of death, disease, and decay. I'm not allowed to stay in here too long, for fear of picking up some virus that could possibly harm the baby, so I know we'll have to be quick without seeming rushed. Always a tricky practice.

A thick, heavy curtain runs the length of the substantial warehouse, creating a wide corridor. Corpses with white sheets drawn over them line the hall, the line of dead seeming endless. "We've got a mass grave started a few blocks west of here, but I can't spare the manpower to move them yet," Paylor explains before finding a slit in the curtain and pulling it back.

Impulsively, I clutch Gale and Rye's wrists. "Do not leave my side," I plead under my breath.

"I'm right here," Gale assures me.

"Got your back, sweetcheeks," Rye adds.

When we step through the curtain, I'm assaulted. Not by a person, no, but by my senses. If I thought that the smell of the decaying corpses were bad, it's nothing compared to the horrific reek that's filling my nostrils. Putrefying flesh. Blood. Infection. Soiled linen. Vomit. The cacophony of smells all mold together to form one revolting aroma that's only amplified by the heat of the room. Skylights have been opened in hopes of somewhat alleviating the stench, but I don't know if it's doing too much good. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I'm able to see row upon row of cots or pallets, all filled patients. Every available space is being used and so the remaining patients lie on the floor.

Sound is what penetrates my mind next. Cries of loved ones, moans of those in pain, and the cringe-inducing drone of black flies all mutate together in one terrible dissonance. Black spots swim in front of my eyes and for a moment I'm afraid I'll faint. But it's the look in Commander Paylor's eyes, one that's judging to see what I'm made of, if I'm really the person people should put their faith in, that allows me to pull myself together. I won't crumble.

So I let go of Gale and Rye's wrists and begin to walk through the closest row of patients.

"Katniss?" A croaky voice calls to me and I pause in my procession, trying to identify the cry that has broken through the general din. "Katniss?" A hand grasps mine, and I look down to my right to see a young woman whose leg is wrapped in heavy bandages. Still, blood has leaked through and black flies swarm the wound. Pain is clear on her features, but there's something else. Something that seems completely out of place, given the situation. Excitement.

"Is it really you?" she asks, sounding hopeful.

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat feels too tight. Still, I manage to choke out, "Yeah, it's me."

At the sound of my voice, her face brightens to reflect pure joy, completely eradicating the pain on her face for just a moment. "You're alive! We didn't know. People said you were, but we didn't know!"

"I got pretty banged up," I explain. Everyone will think I mean physically, and I won't dissuade them differently. My emotional state is what ails me, but they don't need to know that. "But I got better, just as you will."

"I've got to tell my brother!" The woman struggles to sit up slightly so she can call to someone a few beds down. "Eddy! Eddy! She's here! It's Katniss Everdeen!"

A boy looks up at the sound of his name. Bandages obscure half of his face, as his mouth opens as if to shout an exclamation. I move to him, easing down onto my haunches so we're almost face to face. I run a gentle hand through his brown curls, murmuring a greeting. He doesn't answer, but he stares at me with his good eye with such intensity that it's as though he's trying to memorize every detail of my face.

Slowly, my name begins to ripple throughout the room. "It's Katniss! Katniss! Katniss Everdeen!" The despair in the air begins to lift, replaced with a renewed hope. I walk through the aisles, grasping extended hands, murmuring hello, how are you, and good to meet you. Nothing of great consequence, but that doesn't matter. Boggs was right. Just seeing me is enough.

Despite his treasonous interview, many ask about Peeta. They assure me that they know he was speaking under duress. It's the sincerity in their wishes for Peeta and I to be reunited that causes tears to well in my eyes. Snow hadn't needed us to convince the people of mine and Peeta's love. It's obvious that they are not blind to the love Peeta and I share.

Rye gets many interesting looks since he and Peeta resemble each other so uncannily. Initially, some people actually thought he was Peeta, and then he had to disappoint them with the truth. I wonder how he feels about all this. Does he feel resentment? Because the people want his brother and not him? Is he angry for the same reason? No. That's not Rye. Knowing Rye, he's just as disappointed as the patients that Peeta isn't here to shake their hand. Because, at least if Peeta were here with us, we'd know that he was okay.

Many people also inquire about the baby. One woman is in tears due to her relief. Being a mother of six, she was constantly worrying about the dangers I faced in the arena. The time I went without water. Our many battles. The fog. Everything that could possibly cause a miscarriage and yet I still managed to save my child. I tell her that I couldn't have done it without Peeta and the rest of our allies, and the woman nods. "He'll make a wonderful father," she says, grasping my hand in both of hers. "Take care of yourself, Katniss. He's waiting for you."

He's waiting for you. The words strike me, but I push them into the back of my mind. I can't focus on them right now. Patients. I have to comfort the patients. Be the Mockingjay.

It's only now that I realize the journey Peeta and I felt we were making alone, we've shared with thousands. They've been behind us the entire time in our ongoing struggle against the Capitol. And even though Peeta is currently captive in the Capitol, I realize that we've been the Mockingjays long before I accepted the title and despite the fact that Peeta probably doesn't have a clue he's a 'Mockingjay' in the first place.

An exhilarating feeling begins to flow through me. A strange sensation that's equally frightening and exciting. It's not until I'm about to leave, standing at the end of the warehouse, listening to the hoarse chant of my name that I realize what the feeling is. Power. I have it, a kind I never knew I possessed. Snow knew it when I pulled out those berries. Plutarch knew it when he rescued me from the arena, and now Coin knows it, too. And she fears its potency so much that she had to publicly remind those of 13 that I am not in control.

Once we're outside again, I breathe in the fresher air like I'm starving for oxygen. I accept a canteen of water from Rye. "You did great," he says, giving me a small encouraging smile. "Riveting performance."

I feel my lips twist into a responding smile despite myself. "Yeah, I'm sure it was."

"We got some nice stuff in there," Cressida pipes up, sounding genuine.

I totally forgot about the camera crew that's been following me. I take in their appearance. The two cameramen are sweating bullets in their insect suits, and Messalla is scribbling notes. I can't believe I actually forgot they were there.

"I didn't do much, really." I'll never be able to accept a compliment, something Peeta playfully chides me endlessly for.

You'll never be able to accept a compliment, will you?

"You have to give yourself some credit for what you've done in the past," Boggs says.

My past? You mean the past that's so far been riddled with destruction? The only light being Peeta? He's now being tortured. Not even Prim, not even Haymitch or Gale or Rye can comfort me.

I lean against the wall. "That's a mixed bag."

"Well, you're not perfect by a long shot. But times being what they are, you'll have to do."

Gale leans against the wall beside me, shaking his head. "I can't believe you let all those people touch you. I kept expecting you to make a break for the door." So did I, but I always managed to quell the urge. "Your mother's going to be very proud when she sees the footage."

"My mother won't even notice me," I say. "She'll be too appalled by the conditions in there." I turn to Boggs, asking, "Is it like this in every district?"

"Yes. Most are under attack. We're trying to get in aid wherever we can, but it's not enough." Suddenly, Boggs pauses, as if listening to something. I realize it's his earpiece. Instantly, I fiddle with mine as the fact finally dawns on me that I've yet to hear Haymitch's voice barking in my ear.

"We're to get to the airstrip," Boggs announces authoritatively. "Immediately!" He lifts me to my feet with one hand. "There's a problem."

I hear Peeta's voice in my head, spewing a stream of his rare, prolific cursing.

"What kind of problem?" Gale asks warily.

"Incoming bombers," Boggs replies as he yanks my helmet over my head. "Let's move!"

Immediately, Rye and Gale are on either side of me, Boggs leading the way once again as we begin a sprint along the front of one of the warehouses, heading for the ally that leads to the airstrip. I look all around me, but I don't see any sign of an impending attack. Just a blue, summer sky, exactly the color of Peeta's eyes.

Suddenly, sirens begin to wail. My eyes return to the sky and I see low-flying Capitol hovercraft in a V formation. I have just enough time to listen to more of Peeta's fervent curses in my mind before the world falls ominously silent. . .

Until the bombs begin to fall, and I'm blown off my feet.


Oh, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss . . . not your brightest idea to go into a warzone. Even a supposed "safe" warzone. Seriously, the phrase just reeks of oxymoron.

And so, in summary: Katniss made a dumb decision, Gale and Rye are on the brink of a prank war, Haymitch is plotting to steal back from Coin the alcohol he so desperately needs, Plutarch and Fulvia are nominating Gale for The Bachelor, Peter Jackson is in talks with Coin about her being the new Gollum, Finnick is posing provocatively, and Peeta is . . . well . . . he's playing poker with his guards again.

Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Dr. Riley! Yep, we're meeting her next chapter!

"Never underestimate the will to live, Katniss."

Lots of love,

AC