A/N: Wow, you guys! Seriously, ease up on your very gratuitous display of awesomeness. These reviews? They're the epitome of epicness. They. Make. My. Day.

So please continue to make my day. :)

This chapter has a LOT more action than the last. I'm excited. Very excited. Mainly because we finally get to meet Dr. Riley, who will have a very crucial role to play for the rest of the story. So, I hope you like her.

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: This chapter is very explosive.

Rye: Is that a pun?

Katniss: Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Bombs were being dropped at the end of the last chapter. I've been flying through the air since Monday.

Gale: Impressive.

Me: I know, right? I defy the laws of physics.

Haymitch: I'm about to drop a bomb if you don't start the chapter already.

Me: Oh, hush. You can't do anything unless I deem it so. I'm that powerful. Face it, you have no free will. Everything you do, I command.

Peeta: Seriously, she's right. I mean, can you believe she hasn't rescued me yet? And she says she loves me!

Me: Oh, Studly, I do love you, I swear.

Peeta: Yeah, I can tell. I'm really feeling the love . . . from my cell . . . in the Capitol . . .

Me: (sighs) It's necessary, I tell you! Trust me. After you recover from the horror I will inflict upon you, you'll be a total badass.

Coin: PLEASE MOVE ON WITH THE CHAPTER ALREADY! THAT WAY I CAN KILL YOU ALL SOONER!

Everyone: SHUT UP!


Chapter 6: Skyfall

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles

We will stand tall and face it all together

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles

We will stand tall and face it all together

At skyfall


For a terrifying second, I'm flying through the air, headed straight toward the wall of the warehouse. And then in the next second, a pair of arms wrap around me and spin us around. My impact is softened spectacularly, but hearing Rye's pained groan behind me, I know that it is at his own personal cost. Gale and Boggs are immediately in front of me, shielding, their weapons raised to fire. Rye shifts behind me so that I'm pressed into the wall with the three of them surrounding me.

The ground shakes angrily as bomb after bomb is dropped. It's horrifying being pinned to the wall, helpless as the earth threatens to implode around you. I am so stupid. So incredibly stupid. This was a terrible idea. It was reckless and impulsive and I can't believe that I was actually able to convince myself that this was the right thing to do, coming here to 8. I broke mine and Peeta's unspoken promise to each other. Always protect the baby, no matter what. Hadn't I been prepared to leave Peeta to the fog during the Games? And Peeta has already sacrificed himself in order to protect the baby.

By coming here, I've practically thrown it all back in his face.

Suddenly, I hear Haymitch barking in my ear. "Katniss!"

"I'm here!" I assure him quickly, a begging quality in my voice that I've never heard. It screams, "Please get me out of here!"

"Listen to me," Haymitch orders gruffly, and the tone is oddly soothing. "We can't land during the bombing, but it's imperative you're not spotted."

"So they don't know I'm here?" I question, having assumed that it was my presence that brought on this attack.

"Intelligence thinks no. That this raid was already scheduled." There's a hint of vindication in Haymitch's voice. This was his point he made to Coin about sending me out here. There could always be another raid.

Plutarch's voice suddenly fills my ears, his tone full of calm authority. The voice of a Head Gamemaker. "There's a light blue warehouse three blocks down from you. It has a bunker in the far north corner. Can you get there?"

"We'll do our best," Boggs replies.

Plutarch must be in everyone's ear because Rye and Gale appear on either side of me.

Stick to her like glue, Haymitch had told them. I know that they would have without the order, but I'm still comforted by their presence. My eyes quickly look both of them up and down. Although Rye will undoubtedly suffer a bruised back from colliding with the wall, he and Gale seem otherwise unharmed.

Plutarch invades my ears again. "You've got maybe forty-five seconds until the next wave."

Immediately, I'm sprinting faster than I ever have, fueled by the intense desire to get myself and the baby to the safest location available. My ire at my own idiocy in coming here hasn't begun to fade and I doubt it will anytime soon. It's my chagrin and guilt that allows me to move even faster, knowing that by coming here I basically threw away Peeta's sacrifice.

Boggs leads the way, sprinting ahead of us, while Gale and Rye match my pace, staying on either side of me. The fourth guard I'm guessing is somewhere behind me. I'm grateful for Cinna's continuing brilliance. The boots I wear grip the asphalt on contact and then spring free as I propel myself forward. I'd be hopeless if I'd been forced to wear the ill-fitting shoes 13 supplied me with.

We pass a second warehouse, darting down a dirt alleyway. I spot a faded blue building up ahead, and it's the sight of my refuge that prompts my legs to pump even faster. We're just fifty yards away when the telltale whistling of a dropping bomb pierces the air. Not a second later, the ground quakes beneath us, causing us all to stumble a little bit. Gale is the one who pins me to the ground against the nearest wall this time, though Rye is not even a second behind him. The shaking earth isn't as forceful now, since we're further from the dropping bombs.

My calf is beginning to cramp due to the quick, twisted position I took in order to protect myself. Trying to situate myself a bit more comfortably, I shift and find myself looking directly into Gale's eyes. "You alright?" he asks, though his words can barely be heard over the explosions.

"Just peachy!" Rye calls and Gale scowls.

"Wasn't talking to you, Mellark!"

"I'm fine," I tell Gale, somehow able to be slightly amused by the bickering between my two guards. "I don't think they've seen me. I mean, they're not following me."

"No, they've targeted something else," Gale says.

"I know, but there's nothing back there except . . ." I trail off as the realization hits me. My heart shrieks in horror at the despicable nature of the Capitol.

Gale and Rye reach the same conclusion I have. "The hospital." Immediately, Gale is up and yelling, "They're targeting the hospital!"

"Not your problem," Plutarch voices sternly. "Get to the bunker."

"But there's nothing there but the wounded!" I cry angrily in despair.

"Katniss." The warning in Haymitch's tone is clear. "Get to the bunker. Run."

If I tell you to run, you had better damn well run faster than you ever have. His words from earlier ring in my ear. And as much as it pains me, I do exactly as my mentor instructed. Boggs hauls me up by my arm and then we're all running again.

As we pass the building I hear machine gun fire. Someone is fighting back. I long to climb up to a rooftop and use the Capitol hovercraft for target practice, but I'm not jeopardizing my safety again. I won't make the same mistake twice.

We reach the bunker in the next few seconds and the moment I'm hunkered down, all of us take a minute to catch our breath. Finally, Gale says, "Never seen you run so fast, Catnip."

"I was motivated," I reply simply, yet the depth of my statement doesn't go unnoticed. I wasn't just running to save myself.

Again, I ruminate on my own stupidity. My head thuds dully against the stone wall behind me and I close my eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I have reached a new level of stupidity, one that should never be achieved by anyone. What in the hell was I thinking throwing myself out here? Yes, visiting the hospital here was the safest place for me but there was still dangerous unpredictability written all over it. Everything can change in a second.

How had I rationalized this decision in my mind? The fact that Coin threatened Peeta's immunity, that's how. Whether it was a bluff or not, it still got to me, exactly like she'd known it would. In the past month, I have never felt more helpless. There is absolutely nothing that I can actively do to help Peeta. He's all on his own in the hell of the Capitol dungeons. Being the Mockingjay, I can use my sway to spare him from being labeled a war criminal, but that's only if we win the war. What if he doesn't last that long? What if his seeming infinite strength fails? Coin played on my worry and guilt in order to get me to agree to this, knowing that I would rationalize the decision in my mind.

Why hadn't I seen that? Peeta would have.

It's time for me to grow up and stand on my own two feet. It's not until now that I realize just how much I've relied on Peeta's instincts, his penchant for ferreting out false motives and seeing through the web of lies and trickery. I need to use my own brain. I need to stop being on the offensive, attacking impulsively and leaping without looking; instead, work on defense, laying low and keeping myself alive. Defense.

Protecting my child is the only thing that matters. Peeta would want me to hang back and take care of myself and let him take point. He and Haymitch would have launched into the ultimate game of chess with Coin. He would have refused to be played as a pawn, while at the same time not being arrogant enough to defy Coin blatantly. I wonder if Coin would still think Peeta was the better choice to save then. He's smart enough to see through her smokescreens. Perhaps, in a way, he would have been more difficult to deal with than I am.

I know exactly what I'm telling Coin the minute I get back to 13. No more field work. None. I'll still do propos, but they will be in the studio. Will that probably grate on her nerves just a little? Definitely. Do I really care? Not in the slightest.

Haymitch was right in the beginning, when he said that for now, I'm safe from Coin. I'm still the image of the rebels. I'm the symbol and my unborn child has been ensnared in the image as well, a personification of the new life that a rebel victory will bring. Coin can't touch me now, and she knows it. I plan on using that to my advantage.

I'm torn from my thoughts when the ground stops shaking and the explosive thunder in the sky ceases. Boggs gets to his feet, but motions for us to stay put. Hesitantly, he hedges out of the bunker and disappears for a minute. When he returns, he waves us forward. It's safe for now.

Once we're outside again, my first instinct is to breathe the fresher air, but the smell of smoke in the air is so thick that I manage to resist the urge. My eyes search the skyline and even from here I can see the bright orange flames and plume of black smoke coming from the hospital. Without much of a thought, my feet begin to carry me toward the wreckage.

Gale and Rye are on either side of me, both of them tense and alert, but I know that they're just as worried about the carnage we all know we're about to see. I see Messalla and one of the insects emerging from behind an air duct, and I realize that they didn't follow us to the bunker. The camera crew stayed and filmed the attack. Well, you can't say they aren't dedicated.

Cressida suddenly appears, ducking out from another alley. She catches sight of me, and quickly begins to wave me over, wanting me to follow her. I pick up my pace a little as she jogs toward the hospital. She's yelling into her earpiece. "I don't care, Plutarch! Just give me five minutes!"

When I clear the alleyway and emerge onto the street, I freeze, my eyes taking in the horrific scene before me. Burning hovercrafts flicker dully compared to the hospital, which is completely ablaze. People are screaming, both inside and outside of the building. Everyone in the street is running about frantically, desperate to do something to help, but none of them know what they can do. A rescue team appears to be in the process of being organized, to at least try to save some of the patients, but I know it's fruitless. They will find no one alive. If any of the patients somehow managed to elude the flames and the debris, Death will still take them with his smoke.

Gale remains at my side, and the fact that he hasn't lurched forward to help confirms my thoughts. Miners never abandon an accident unless it's hopeless.

"Come on, Katniss," Rye says quietly, his hand gently gripping my arm to lead me away. "Haymitch says they can get a hovercraft in for us now."

He tugs slightly on my arm, but I remain rooted to my spot. I can't seem to take my eyes away from the burning hospital, the faint cries of the dying haunting my ears. "Why would they do that?" I whisper. "Why would they target people who were already dying?"

"Scare others off. Prevent the wounded from seeking help." Gale's answer comes quick and sure. "Those people you met, they were expendable—to Snow, anyway. If the Capitol wins, what will it do with a bunch of damaged slaves?"

His words cut to the bone, but he's right. I remember all the days of listening to Gale rant and dissect the Capitol's motives. I never saw a reason to think like the enemy, why it would matter. But it's in times like these that it could have mattered. Earlier, Gale wasn't thinking of disease when he questioned putting all the wounded together in one place. He was thinking of this. Because Gale never underestimates the cruelty of the Capitol.

I don't want to be here anymore. So I turn my back on the slaughter behind me. However, I'm met with a new sight. The insects are in front of me a few yards away, Cressida standing right beside them. She looks cool and collected, oddly out of place in this situation. Her microphone is at her lips when she speaks. "Katniss, President Snow just had them air the bombing live. Then he made an appearance to say that this was his way of sending a message to the rebels. What about you? Would you like to tell the rebels anything?"

What? They're really going to film me now? After all that just happened? People, innocent people, have just been murdered. For no reason really. Just the sadistic pleasure of power . . . and that's when I realize that I do have something to say. This war can only end one of two ways, but if I go down, I'm going to make damn sure to take Snow with me.

He needs to know that. He needs to see that I'm still fighting. I will not break.

"Yes," I say, my voice firm and steady. I sense more than see Gale and Rye fade into the background, away from the camera's line of sight. The red light of the camera stares at me, and I glare right back at it. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District 8, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors." They were victims of senseless murder, and my fury peaks as I remember some of the people I met only hours ago. Like little Eddy. "I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." I extend my arms out, gesturing to the carnage behind me. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!"

My feet carry me forward, stalking toward the camera, rage threatening to consume me. "President Snow says he's sending us a message?" I spit angrily. "Well, I have one for him. You can torture us"—my voice cracks as I think of Peeta, but I don't pause—"and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" I point to the wreckage of one of the downed hovercraft, the Capitol seal emblazoned on its wing glowing with flames. "Fire is catching!" I shout, determined that Snow sees how I refuse to break. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"

My words hang suspended in the air for a pregnant pause, and then it's snapped when Cressida calls, "Cut! That's a wrap."

The moment the cameras are shut off Gale and Rye are back at my sides again, leading me after Boggs toward the airstrip. Everyone is relatively silent on the way back to 13. Haymitch only has one paternal moment when he greets me at the stairs, grabs me by the shoulders, looks me over from head to toe, and then says, "I'm supposed to die of a bad liver, not a heart attack."

This hovercraft is different from the one that took us. It's cramped and uncomfortable. There are no cushioned benches this time around. Conversation, like I said before, is virtually nonexistent. In fact, halfway back I end up falling asleep on Gale's shoulder.

When I wake up it's because I'm moving. My lids flicker open and in my sleepy haze I almost trick myself into thinking that the blurry vision of a blonde haired, blue eyed boy staring down at me is Peeta. However, a half-second after the thought passes through my mind, I realize that the arms securing me don't feel like Peeta's.

"Rye?" I question groggily, and he smiles a little.

"Wakey, wakey," he says, the lightness in his tone dampened somewhat by the obvious exhaustion in his tone. "Gale went to see his family," Rye answers before I can even ask. "He didn't have time to tell them he was leaving before we headed to 8."

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, looking around.

"Hospital," Rye replies and I groan.

"Okay, first off, put me down," I demand. "I may be pregnant, but I'm not an invalid. Secondly, why in the hell are you taking me to the hospital? I'm fine."

"You feel fine," Rye corrects. "I want to know what's going on in there," he says, poking at my stomach.

Only because he's Rye do I resist the urge to break his finger. Why people think that my pregnant stomach is now available to touch escapes me. There are only a handful of people allowed to touch my stomach. Peeta, Rye, and Prim are a given. I wouldn't mind if Haymitch placed his hand on my stomach, though I can't imagine him ever doing so. Same with Gale.

But the point is that I wouldn't be tempted to shoot them if they tried.

"Come on, it won't be that bad," Rye says as my silence stretches on. "Don't tell me you're pouting."

"I'm not pouting," I snap irritated, my voice harsher than I meant for it to be. "Sorry," I apologize with a sigh. "I'm just a little . . . stressed."

"Please tell me you don't plan on going out there again," Rye says as we walk through the doors of the hospital. "Because I don't know if my back can take getting blasted into any more walls."

"I'm never going out there again," I tell him resolutely. "No more battle zones, even if it's supposed to be in the all clear."

Rye sighs in relief, nodding. "Good to hear, sweetcheeks."

We're split up then, a nurse each pulling us to different sections of the hospital. Rye just gets to sit in the emergency room. Me? I'm special. I get to go to the special doctors. They have a fancy name that I can never remember. All I know is that all their patients are pregnant.

My doctor, Dr. Riley, is a woman in her early sixties. She's sharp and shrewd and it's pointless to try to talk yourself out of trouble with her because she just won't hear it. But I've learned that she does have a soft side. After all, she's one of the few native to 13 that's a grandmother. I've met one of her grandkids, a little toddler named Aaron with the warmest chocolate brown eyes. Somehow, during my earlier weeks in 13 when I'd been on the brink of giving in to my grief, Aaron convinced me to play hide and seek with him. I'd found out later that it had been Dr. Riley's idea.

I'm lead into my usual room and sit on the weird bed/chair. Nerves begin to tangle in my stomach as I wait for Dr. Riley. She's going to chew me up and spit me out for going to District 8. She'll show no mercy.

So when she storms in, her thin-wire glasses askew, her grey hair looking rather wild, and her thin lips pursed into an even thinner line, I know that she dropped whatever it was she was doing just to come rip me a new one.

I'm right.

"Girl, you are so many shades of stupid, you could make a rainbow! What in the hell are you thinking?" she snaps as she rips a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall. "Didn't I tell you to take it easy?" I don't bother trying to interrupt to defend myself. It won't do any good. "Three little words. Take. It. Easy. This does not mean that you go gallivanting out into a warzone where people drop bombs that can kill you and your baby. Or, worse yet, you live and then lose the baby. Now, isn't that exactly the thing we don't want to happen?" Again, I don't bother answering. "It's exactly the thing we don't want to happen! It's why you are here with me so I can check you over. It's why your husband sacrificed himself to the Capitol. And so do you mind enlightening me on what was going on in that little brain of yours? Hmm?"

"I'm sorry—"

"That's not what I asked, girl," Dr. Riley interrupts as she readies the sonogram. "I don't want to hear your apologies because what you did is the epitome of stupidity and is inexcusable. I want to know what twisted logic led you to believe that going into a warzone while five months pregnant is a good thing."

"I never thought it was a good thing," I snap, my arms wrapped around my torso defensively. "Part of being the Mockingjay is making propos, but I'm not good with cameras like Peeta. I can't say anything remotely genuine unless it's unscripted. Haymitch was making the point to everyone in Command, and then at the end of it Coin said that sending me into combat would provoke some spontaneity in me. Haymitch argued, but . . ." I stare at Dr. Riley, whose back is to me. You'd think she was ignoring me, but I know she's listening to every word. And right now I'm debating whether I'm going to tell her of Coin's implied threat. How would she take it? As a person having grown up in 13?

"But what?" she prompts me, and I decide to go ahead and take the plunge.

"She implied that she would revoke Peeta's immunity if I didn't go," I say quickly and then it's like the words can't come out of my mouth fast enough. "I didn't know if it was a bluff or not, but I didn't want to risk it. I know that it was stupid of me to go into 8, but she played on my guilt because I can't do a damn thing to save Peeta and he's all on his own going through all that pain and even though she can't possibly know how much pain that thought causes me, she knows it pains me." I curse the tears that have welled in my eyes as I continue, my voice less hurried, but more strained. "It kills me. Knowing that I'm safe here, while he's being . . . being . . ." I swallow, forcing myself to say the word. "Tortured. And it's all for me. I know that it's not my fault, but—"

"It feels like it," Dr. Riley finishes with an understanding nod.

She turns back around to face me, her expression nowhere near as harsh as it was previously. The grandmotherly affection I've seen glimpses of begins to shine through a little. "Alright, get out of that monkey suit so I can see what's going on in there," she orders. A few minutes later she's rubbing that cold goo over my stomach that makes me shiver every time. Both of us look up at the screen as she maneuvers her wand over my stomach. I see the tiny image of my baby on the screen and feel the familiar itch in my eyes as I fight back more tears. This happens every time. Because Peeta isn't here to share it with me. He should be here.

Dr. Riley is silent for an agonizing few minutes before she grunts and shakes her head. "That kid is tough as nails," she announces and I sag in relief. "While we're here, might as well ask. You want to know if it's a boy or a girl?"

I hesitate. A part of me desperately wants to know if it's the boy that I've always believed. But another part of me doesn't want to know. For one reason only. Peeta isn't here. He's already missed so much. I won't take this experience away from him. "No," I reply quietly. "I don't want to know."

Dr. Riley raises her eyebrows fractionally, but doesn't comment. She wipes the goo off my stomach and lets me dress. However, once I'm dressed and ready to go, I don't leave. I know that Dr. Riley still has a few words for me.

"You love them both very much," she states, referring to Peeta and the baby. "I don't envy your position, Katniss. Frankly, it sucks. But, sweetie, you've got to do what's best for you." Dr. Riley sweeps away some of the hair that has fallen into my eyes in a very grandmotherly way. "It's not just you, now, you know. When I said to keep active, I meant in a healthy way. Like taking a nice, easy walk. Not full-out sprinting trying to get away from an air raid."

"I'm sorry," I say pathetically, but this time Dr. Riley doesn't retort with a snappy reply.

"I know you are," she says. "I'm glad you realize that you're currently number one on my Idiots to Watch Out For list."

Despite everything, my lips twist up in a half smile.

"Katniss, keep a little faith," Dr. Riley suggests in that soft, stern way of hers. "From what I've seen, your man can survive. Not just because he's physically strong, but because his will is even stronger." She wipes away a tear that's managed to escape me. "As a doctor, I've seen some miraculous things. People who should have died, but managed to hold on."

"Never underestimate the will to live, Katniss," she orders gently, squeezing my hand. "He'll keep fighting because he has something to live for."

I nod, soaking in her words greedily. I'm very aware that my emotional state rests upon the tip of a knife. Just a push to far and I'll give in to the grief . . . go back to that empty place I only visited briefly during my week of recovery. I've managed to persevere, relying on my inner strength that as of yet remains unbreakable, finding ways to make it seem as though I'm working toward getting Peeta back. But there are days, like today, when I feel myself tip in the opposite direction. When all I want to do is give in and cry for Peeta and the pain I know he's in.

So I ingrain Dr. Riley's words in my mind, as a weapon to use against my constant battle with grief. Peeta has a will to live. Both of us do. We have the ability to endure. Peeta is strong enough. He'll live. For me.

And I'll never stop fighting to get him back.

"I'll see you in a few weeks, okay?" Dr. Riley grabs my attention once more. "And so help me if I hear you did something so completely idiotic as frolicking off into a warzone again, I will make your life a living hell. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good."

I leave Dr. Riley and the hospital entirely, managing to avoid my mother. She'd try to scold me, too, but I think Dr. Riley left her with nothing new to dish out. Rye is sitting in a chair, waiting for me. "You okay?" he asks anxiously.

"We're fine," I assure him. "Thanks to you."

Rye isn't capable of being sheepish, but the look on his face is as close as he'll ever get. "There's plenty of time to talk about my heroics," he says lightly as he throws an arm over my shoulder and leads us out of the hospital. "But, regrettably, we're due in Command."

I groan.

"Yeah, that was my response, too. Command fills me with this urge to jump off something very tall."

When we enter Command, most everyone is already there. However, Coin's presence is noticeably absent, hence why everyone is milling about and chatting quietly. I see Cressida, Messalla, and the two cameramen, or the 'insects' as I've dubbed them in my mind. Somehow, oddly enough, I get the feeling that if we were in the Games together, I would want them as allies.

Messalla sees me and waves me over with a big smile. "There's our star!" he praises.

I respect the camera team in front of me. For having stayed outside during the bombing to get quality footage, and then arguing with Plutarch to get in my little speech. They take pride in their work. Like Cinna.

All of them are smiling genuinely at me, and I can't help but smile back. I turn to the two cameramen who are obviously brothers. Red hair, blue eyes, same build. "I have to stop referring to you as the 'insects,'" I admit, sounding a bit sheepish as I explain how I came about the nickname. Neither seem offended. One of the brothers introduces himself as Castor and the other as Pollux. I wait for Pollux to say hello, but he merely gives me a nod. Maybe he's a man of few words? However, as I study him a bit closer, taking in the slightly odd set of his lips and how it appears as though it's more difficult for him to swallow, I realize that my previous assumption is false. Pollux isn't a man of few words. He's a man of no words.

Pollux is an Avox.

I don't let my realization show on my face, I only return his gracious nod with one of my own. Rye lets his hand rest on the small of my back, a gentle gesture that reminds me so much of Peeta. He says a few words to the camera crew before excusing us and steering us toward Haymitch, who is still looking surly. Well, surlier than normal.

He looks me over once we're standing beside him and grunts, "That kid okay?"

"Fine," I assure him. "No need to worry, Gramps."

Haymitch scowls. "One, never call me that. Two, regrettably I'll always worry about you. Three, you're not going back out there."

"I know." My eyes narrow slightly as Coin enters the room, causing everyone to quickly wrap up their conversations and fall silent in respect. "And I'm about to tell her that in no uncertain terms."

Coin takes up her spot at the head of the table, and begins. "First off, I would like to congratulate our team that went into 8 today," she says. "While the raid was unexpected, it was handled well, and we kept our Mockingjay safe . . . not to mention we got some great footage, or so I've heard," she adds, before looking at Cressida. "How soon will you have a propo ready?"

"By twenty hundred hours, I suspect," Cressida replies promptly, having already given the idea thought.

"Wonderful," Coin praises with that spooky smile of hers. "Now, as I said before, I realize that the raid was unexpected, but I don't think we should let one surprise scare us. There's a safe zone in 11 that—"

"I'm not going," I interrupt Coin, causing many surprised, shocked stares. No one interrupts Coin. "There is no guarantee of my safety," I say firmly. "I'm not risking the baby again. It's not worth it."

No one can doubt the sincerity of my words, and by the immovable quality in my tone, they know that I will not be swayed. Coin knows that I will not be swayed. We hold a staring contest, and I refuse to wilt under her steely, yet somehow impassive glare. There's no telling how long it would have lasted because someone, one of the higher-ups that I don't know, speaks up.

"Then where will we find more propos?" he asks.

Cressida immediately comes to my aid. "We have some terrific footage of Katniss at the hospital in 8. There should be another propo in that with the theme 'Because you know who they are and what they do.' We'll focus on Katniss interacting with the patients, particularly the children"—no doubt playing on the fact that I'm an expectant mother—"the bombing of the hospital, and the wreckage. Messalla can cut that together. We're also thinking about a Mockingjay piece. Highlight some of Katniss's best moments intercut with scenes of rebel uprisings and war footage. We'll call that one 'Fire is catching.'" Cressia pauses before adding, "And Fulvia had a wonderful idea."

Fulvia, whose previous expression made it appear as though she'd swallowed something terribly sour, brightens in shock, but she recovers. "Well, I don't know how wonderful it is, but I was thinking we could do a series of propos called We Remember. In each one, we would feature one of the dead tributes. Little Rue from 11 or old Mags from 4. The idea being that we could target each district with a very personal piece."

"A tribute to your tributes, as it were," Plutarch notes.

"That is wonderful, Fulvia," I say sincerely. "It's the perfect way to remind people why they're fighting." It is also a way for me to stay out of dangerous situations, but that doesn't detract from the fact that I really do think it's a wonderful idea.

"I think it could work," Fulvia continues. "I thought we might use Finnick to intro and narrate the spots. If there was interest in them."

Coin nods. "I don't see how we could have too many We Remember propos," she says. "Can you start producing them today?"

"Of course," Fulvia agrees, sounding eager, obviously mollified by the praise for her idea.

I note that Plutarch doesn't seem to have a need to share in the credit. That's when I realize that his success isn't measured in the success of a single element, but the success as a whole. If we win the war, then he will take his bow. And expect his reward.

Plutarch is definitely a Head Gamemaker.

I'm drawn from my thoughts when Coin speaks up. "Well, I'm glad that our team has once again proven that they're truly invaluable. With the footage we gained today and the ideas of others . . ." She nods at Fulvia. "We have enough quality propos . . . for now."

I open my mouth to reiterate the fact that I'm not going back out there, but Coin raises a silencing hand. Reluctantly, I obey. "I agree with you, Katniss. Sending you into 8, considering your physical state, was a rash decision." I'm waiting for the 'but' of her statement. "But we can't rely on used footage for too long. Therefore, I propose an alternative. One that is completely safe, with no fear for a surprise air raid."

"And that would be?" I prompt, not entirely impolite, but obviously not respectful.

"I would like to send you back to District 12," she says. "It's your home and quite obviously a defining part of who you are. I would also like for Gale, Rye, and Haymitch to be on the ground with you, each of you talking about your home. Memories of good times. A funny story. Let the people know exactly why you're fighting." Coin pauses, letting her words ruminate. "What do you say?"

I bite my lip. It is a good idea, I'll give her that. And I can't deny that returning to 12 wouldn't give me a sense of peace. One, because it is home. No matter how blackened and burned it is. Two, it's closer to Peeta. I could go back to our house, maybe take a few more of his things. I might even venture into his art studio. I avoided it last time, out of respect, but I don't know if I'd be able to restrain myself a second time.

But what about Rye and Haymitch? And Gale? Would they want to walk amongst the rubble?

I'm reminded of my promise to myself that I was going to stay in 13. No more warzones, no more adventures. There's no guarantee for my safety. But this is District 12. District 12 is destroyed, abandoned by both the rebels and the Capitol.

But I won't make this decision. I don't trust myself. Not after my spectacularly flawed decision in going to 8. So I look up at Haymitch, who always knows the right thing to do. Not necessarily in the moral sense, but in the analytical sense. If he thinks it's safe, then it's safe.

He meets my gaze, and I know that he realizes the decision is up to him. That I'm trusting him with it. Finally, Haymitch looks up and locks eyes with Coin. "I want half a dozen hovercraft in the air, patrolling. Guards on the ground. Four hour time limit and then we're gone."

Coin nods curtly. "Agreed. You'll leave first thing tomorrow."

The meeting at Command is dismissed, though Gale lingers to talk with some of the higher-ups, including Coin. I keep forgetting that his Communicuff has granted him a higher status. He knows more of the ins and outs of this rebellion than me, but I don't mind. I trust him to tell me anything that I need to know. There have never been secrets between me and Gale.

I part ways with Haymitch and Rye, choosing to go down to the kennels to see Maya. Lieutenant Caine sees me and nods in acknowledgment, but I barely give her a cursory glance because all my attention is on an eighty pound white ball of fluff. Maya is sitting at the door of her pen, tail sweeping the ground behind her as she smiles at me.

The moment I free her from the pen, she attacks me with affection, and I heartily return it. This is what I needed. In a soft voice, I tell Maya all of what happened today. Endangering myself and my child by going to 8. I even bore her with tales of the future propos, but Maya just sits here, wagging her tail. It's wonderful.

There's no judgment in her eyes. Just pure adoration and love. Nothing I ever do will cause her to see me any differently. I'm very aware that this probably sounds a little silly, me taking so much consolation from a four-legged, furry being, but this is Maya. Oddly, she's the closest thing I'll ever have to a therapist.

The longer I'm with Maya, the more relaxed I begin to feel. Dr. Riley wants me to be as stress-free as possible. A tall order for me, considering everything, but I do try. Maya is a great help.

I'm struck with an idea, and before I can talk myself out of it, I go over to Lieutenant Caine and ask if I can borrow Maya for a few hours. Technically, Maya isn't supposed to leave the kennels unless needed for a job, but Caine eventually allows it. Happier than I've been all day, I beckon Maya over to me and both of us eagerly escape into the elevator.

I punch the floor for the hospital and wait impatiently for the metal cube to take me to my destination. The doors open and Maya is immediately at my side. She's sniffing around, sneezing at the chemicals in the air that are probably much more potent to her superior nose. We get weird looks, some of them shocked, some disapproving, but no one stops me. It probably helps that Maya isn't causing any trouble, just trotting along at my side, looking as amiable as possible.

When I reach the door I'm looking for, I knock to announce my presence and then open the door on my own. Finnick never answers the door, usually too consumed in his rampant knot tying. I'm greeted with a familiar sight. Finnick is sitting cross-legged on his bed, his eyes focused and yet far away as he stares at the rope his fingers are manipulating.

"Finnick?"

He glances up at me quickly before reverting back to his knot. "Hey, Katniss. Heard you got yourself into a bit of trouble today," he says. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I say. "We both are, but I have someone I want you to meet."

"Is it a particularly beautiful woman?" he tosses back, a little bit of his old self shining through.

"I certainly think so," I reply with a smile. "But maybe not the kind you'd expect."

Maya finally decides to announce her presence, yipping to get Finnick's attention. His eyes shoot to the animal at my feet, widening comically. "This is Maya," I introduce. "Maya, this is Finnick." Maya and Finnick both continue to stare at each other. "Well, don't be rude. Maya, shake."

Right on cue, Maya raises her front paw, waiting for Finnick to shake. A smile, a true smile, begins to form on Finnick's lips. He wraps his hand around Maya's paw and shakes it, "You are a lovely, girl," he admits.

Maya sits right by Finnick's bed so that she's easily within petting range. Finnick's fingers have already abandoned his rope, choosing instead to weave through her fur. I can't help but smile, especially when Maya rests her head on the edge of the bed. Finnick continues to pet Maya, scratching behind her ears occasionally. Of course, as long as he continues to pet her, Maya is content to stay where she is. It's a win-win.

I spend the next few hours with Finnick, even staying for dinner. The nurse eyes Maya warily, but the obvious change in Finnick must be enough for the nurse to allow Maya to stay. Truly, Finnick has slowly become more and more himself over the past few hours. He's a little bit quicker to joke. The wild light in his eye has faded somewhat, being replaced with a sadness I'm all too familiar with because I see it in my own eyes every time I look in the mirror. A mixture of sadness, despair, and most hauntingly, hope. Because both of us desperately hope that we'll be reunited with Peeta and Annie.

At twenty hundred hours, the television in the room immediately comes on. "Must be the propo," I murmur to Finnick, but both of us have our eyes trained on the TV.

At first, the screen is black, but then a single flickering flame appears that quickly multiplies and spreads into a roaring fire that consumes the screen. It looks so real I feel the need to flinch back from the heat. My mockingjay pin emerges from the flames, glowing brightly from the heat. Then a voice from my nightmares fills my ears, the deep voice of Claudius Templesmith, the voice of the Hunger Games. "Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, burns on."

I don't have time to wonder how they got Templesmith's voice because suddenly I'm on the screen, standing in front of the very real flames and smoke of District 8. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District 8, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors." Suddenly, they cut to some footage of the hospital, burning and collapsing in on itself. I can still hear the screams. They show some of the desperate onlookers as I continue in a voice over. "I want to tell the people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do." They show me again, my arms spread out as I gesture to the flaming massacre behind me. "This is what they do! And we must fight back!" Next, they launch into some truly fantastic footage of the battle that I didn't get to see because I was in the bunker. It starts off with showing the bombs being dropped, and then cuts to Commander Paylor and her men manning machine guns as they shoot down two of the Capitol hovercraft. Then I'm back on the screen. "President Snow says he's sending a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" They show a burning hovercraft, the Capitol seal on the wing of the craft a focal point before it melts into the background as they show me shouting at President Snow. "Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!"

My words fill the screen boldly as everything else fades into the background.

IF WE BURN

YOU BURN WITH US

I'm stunned by the propo. I can hardly believe that it was me that I saw on the screen, but I have to give thanks where it's deserved, and I know that half the reason I looked as good as I did was because of Cressida and her team.

"People should know what happened," Finnick says approvingly. "Now they do."

I leave my seat beside Finnick's bed to turn off the TV, but just as my finger is hovering over the power button the Capitol begins to introduce a special program. Caesar Flickerman appears on the stage . . . and I can only guess who his guest is . . .

My heart hammers wildly in my chest and the camera slowly pans out and then I see him. "Peeta!" His name escapes me in a horrified, choked gasp. In his earlier propo just a couple days before, he looked perfectly healthy. Beyond healthy, really. He looked fighting fit.

It's like I'm staring at a completely different person. Peeta has undergone a transformation of the worst kind. He's thin, at least fifteen pounds lighter than the last time I saw him. There's a nervous tremor in his hands that I can tell he's fruitlessly trying to control and it's frustrating him that he's failing. They've kept him groomed, but it doesn't fool me. I see the bags under his eyes that they tried to hide with makeup. I see the pain in his every movement that his clothes can't hide. Peeta is suffering. All for me.

Haymitch suggested that the recent propo we'd seen had been filmed soon after the Games, but to see the evidence before my eyes . . . I never could have thought it would cause me this much pain. I'm hurting with him.

"Oh, Peeta." I don't bother to wipe away the tears that are slowly sliding down my cheeks.

Caesar and Peeta try to make small talk at the beginning, but it's empty on both sides. Caesar quickly cuts to the chase, asking Peeta about rumors that I'm taping propos for the enemy. "They're using her, obviously," he says. Just like they're using you, I think. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" Caesar asks.

"There is," Peeta nods, looking directly toward the camera, staring right into my eyes. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't . . . find out."

There's something that he doesn't say, but that's easily reflected in his eyes. I love you.

"I love you, too," I whisper.

Black screen. Seal of Panem. Show over.

Mechanically, I hit the button that kills the power. I know that people are about to show up, so that they can do Peeta-damage control. To see how I'm reacting to his words. Honestly, I couldn't care less as to what he actually said. That was just for the Capitol. That doesn't matter to me. It's what he didn't say that matters most to me. He loves me. He's still holding on. For me.

I hear footsteps approaching, and Finnick is suddenly by my side and gripping my arms. "We didn't see it."

"What?"

"We didn't see Peeta. Only the propo on 8. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you, got it?" Finnick explains and I realize what he's doing. Creating a test. Let's see how much we can truly trust those around us.

I nod quickly in agreement and Finnick and I hurry back to our previous positions. I've just sat down in the chair when Plutarch and Fulvia enter the room. Finnick immediately launches into how great everyone came across on camera and how it was so powerful that we tuned out right afterward. Plutarch and Fulvia look relieved, and Plutarch happily points out that while they didn't manage to air the propo in the Capitol, they managed to get it shown in 2, which could actually be more beneficial. They're all smiles.

But they never mention Peeta.


For shame. They don't mention Peeta . . .

So, lots of stuff happened this chapter! Let's do a recap: Katniss deluded herself into thinking that she was smarter than a 5th grader, Rye obviously likes peaches, Gale is slowly moving to the dark side, Haymitch is feeling uncomfortable in his daddypants, Dr. Riley is a sponsor for Skittles because she can taste the rainbow, Finnick and Maya went on their first date, Plutarch and Fulvia are auditioning for roles on World's Worst Person; therefore, Coin is plotting her counter-ad campiagn, and Peeta trying his best to look like Steve Rogers before he became Captain America.

Quote from the next chapter comes from . . . Haymitch!

"Take that you sober bastards."

Lots of love,

AC