A/N: Hello, beautiful people! Oh, how I love you! We are so close to 900 people! 900! For only 15 chapters. Yes, you are all awesome.

I am so glad that all of you liked the flashback from the last chapter. Good news is that this chapter doesn't have a flashback! In fact, there's a lot of Peeta in this chapter, both in dream form and in real form so I hope that you guys get your fill!

And note the song title for this chapter! Bon Jovi . . . yes, he's a very sexy man . . . and has the best hair . . . I mean, really. It's amazing. So! They're livin' on a prayer! Moderately hopeful sounding, right?

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: You guys! You guys! I have an announcement to make.

Peeta: Yeah?

Me: (gathers courage) I love you.

Katniss: What?

Me: (nods) I can't keep my feelings to myself any longer! I love you, Peeta. SO MUCH.

Katniss: Back off! He's MINE.

Me: (glares) Oh? Remind me who controls everything you do?

Peeta: Okay, okay . . . um . . . wow, this is awkward . . .

Me: It's okay, Peeta. Our love can conquer all . . .

Peeta: But I don't . . .

Me: Sshh . . . (places finger on his lips) Trust me, darling. Our love is eternal.

Rye: Anyone else think this is creepy?

Katniss: (grabs her bow and strings an arrow) I will give you three seconds to step away from my man.

Me: (holds Peeta closer) No!

Katniss: One . . .

*nervously fidget*

Katniss: Two . . .

*swallows convulsively in fear before glancing longingly at Peeta*

Katniss: Three!

Me: Flee!


Chapter 16: Livin' On A Prayer

We've got to hold on to what we've got

'Cause it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not

We've got each other, and that's a lot for love

We'll give it a shot


I open my eyes slowly, blinking against the shadows of the night. Is it night? Or am I simply smothered in darkness? As my eyes adjust to the blackness, the aches of my body make themselves known with a vicious, agonized cry. My shoulders are consumed by a fiery pain that is echoed in my ribs. I shift tentatively, biting back a curse at the zinging pain the faint movement caused. A deep cut on my chest continues to ooze blood, slowly but surely. That's what caused my lapse into unconsciousness: pain and blood loss.

Pressing my lips together tightly to halt the curses that would surely spew forth, I shift my body once again, trying to find a more suitable position. The pain is blinding, threatening to take me back into the void of unconsciousness, but I manage to force myself to stay present.

I'm sad to say that I've grown used to tolerating vast amounts of pain.

After the pain of my movement recedes, I'm able to feel a slight relief of pressure on my shoulders. However, the pain has now increased in my chest. I almost smile. I just can't seem to win these days.

"There's no comfortable position, regrettably." I glance to my right, toward the voice. Peeta sits beside me, grinning and looking perfectly relaxed in this dark, horrid place. He's wearing dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt that contrasts nicely with his tanned skin. His golden curls hang slightly in his eyes as he bends his head to look at me. "How are you holding up?"

I sigh wearily, leaning my head against his shoulder despite the pain. Peeta wraps his arm around me, and I snuggle into his chest, pain be damned. "It's not easy," I finally answer after a minute. "You're stubborn."

Peeta chuckles and my eyes close at the sound. "Come on, beautiful, cut me some slack. It's been a rough few months for me."

"To put it lightly."

"Like a feather."

I roll my eyes as my lips twitch in amusement. "You're healing up nicely," I tell him. "The bruises are gone, the superficial cuts have healed. You're getting some of your color back. Not quite as pale, anymore."

"Good," Peeta says with a smile. "I hate being pale as a ghost." I frown at his words, and he notices. "Katniss?"

I try to sort through my thoughts. "It's just that . . . when I'm with you . . . you're not all there. Right now you're simply a ghost of your former self."

"That was fairly poetic," Peeta replies. "I must be rubbing off on you."

"Peeta," I chastise, and he sobers slightly.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he apologizes, hugging me tighter. Somehow I don't feel the pain the action should have caused. "I know what you mean. But you got to know that I'm in there. You just got to bring me out of myself. I'll fight you, because it's so much safer where I'm at in my head now. The pain is dulled. The memories are fresh, but seem unreal. I'm afraid to feel, because I know it's going to hurt. And, damn it all, I'm still trying to be strong. For you."

"For me?"

"Yes, for you," Peeta replies with an amused smile. "Everything I do, I do for you. I've got the idea in my head that if I show you the pain I'm truly in, it'll only add to your pain. Of course, I'm right about that. In a way."

"I know how much pain you're in," I retort as my anger begins to bubble in my chest. "Just because you're trying to hide it, doesn't mean that I can't see it. What makes me hurt more is the fact that you are trying to hide it. I know that it hurts you. When you hurt, I hurt."

"Yeah, well . . ." Peeta sighs before shrugging slightly. "I haven't been very sociable lately. Maybe I can't read people like I used to."

"Or maybe you're simply doing what you want," I retort. "Maybe you're not ready to deal with the pain."

Peeta frowns, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "Maybe," he admits. His eyes scan the cell that we're currently sitting in, taking his time to stare at each and every dull, red stain that scars the stone floor, the splatter that dots some of the walls. "What happened in here," he begins quietly. "It's beyond description. I can't tell you how much this place haunts me. I lost so much of myself in these four walls . . . some of which I'll never regain."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Peeta gently tips my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. "I don't regret a single minute I spent in this place," he says softly. "You're worth it."

"But you still feel guilty about it," I retort. "You regret not being able to be with me."

"Well duh," Peeta says with an eye roll. "Katniss, I missed this." He lays a hand on my round stomach. "I missed watching you grow, watching our baby grow. I wasn't there for you like I should have been. I wasn't there to go to doctor's appointments. I wasn't there to see your face light up when you felt the baby move for the first time." His face darkens slightly. "I wasn't there to protect you from Coin's manipulation. I wasn't there to support you. I simply wasn't there." Peeta sighs heavily. "And I know that you don't begrudge me for any of it. And I also know that however much it sucks, it was better for me to be here in this hellhole, because the alternative is unthinkable."

"You try to do too much," I tell him softly.

"Well, woman, I'm madly in love with you," he replies quickly. "What do you expect?" Despite everything, I laugh. Pain laces through my body at the action, and I suck in a sharp breath. "Easy," Peeta soothes. "Laughing with busted ribs is not conducive to a pain-free environment."

I close my eyes and lean further into his chest, relishing the fact that it holds the strength it did before. "I love you," I whisper. "No matter what."

"That's a good thing," Peeta says, planting a light kiss in my hair. "Because, as much as it pains me to admit it, I'm going to test that theory."

"It's not a theory." I shake my head, nuzzling his chest in the process. "It's a fact."

"Eh, I still think we should test this theory. Just to make sure."

"You want me to prove it to you?"

Mischief dances in Peeta's blue eyes as he nods, a devilish grins stretching his lips. "I think it's only fair."

Ignoring the pain of my aching body, I wrap my arms around his neck. "Are you sure you're not doing this just for fun?" I tease.

"Of course it's just for fun," Peeta replies with a chuckle. "But it doesn't detract from the gravity of the situation, Mrs. Mellark. It's not nice to toy with my feelings."

By now, my lips are hovering just over his. "Well, I'm not known for being nice."

The electricity that lights my veins the moment our lips finally touch is enough to shock my entire system with pleasure. Fire of the most delicious kind burns in my stomach as our lips move together. My hands tangle in his hair as he deepens the kiss, muffling my moan of approval. The kiss goes on and on, but the necessity of oxygen forces us apart.

"Well?" I ask breathlessly.

"Mrs. Mellark, I think you love me," Peeta replies with a smile before adding seriously, "But I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to prove it again."

I pretend to be outraged. "What about your love for me? Why don't you prove your love?"

Peeta suddenly smirks. "Because the stone floor would tear up your back."

"Peeta Mellark!"

"What? It's true."

"You're so, so . . ."

"Devilishly charming? Incredibly sexy?"

"I was going to say ridiculously horny."

"That too."

Before I can blink, Peeta claims my lips for another kiss, and I forget my ire at his audacity. My senses are overwhelmed by Peeta. Sight, smell, sound, touch, taste . . . I catalog it all in my mind. The sight of his blue eyes smoldering with passionate love. The smell of cinnamon that always clings to him. The sound of his moan that only I have to the power to provoke. The taste that is uniquely him. I'm so lost in him that it takes me a few moments to realize that Peeta is trying to pull away from me. With a frown, I release my grip on his hair so I can look at his face.

"What?" I ask in frustration. "Why'd you stop?"

"Because you're about to wake up."

"Why?"

"Because the baby is resting right on your bladder, and you've got to pee."

My face falls. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No."

"You're such a mood killer."

With a start, I jerk into consciousness and growl in frustration as I toss back the covers. After I take care of my business, I return to the room and flick on the lamp, blinking against the dull light. "Crazy pregnancy dreams," I mutter to myself as I begin getting ready for the day.

At least twice a week since Peeta's return, I have had the same basic dream. I'm in his cell in the Capitol, feeling every facet of pain he experienced, and Peeta—a healthy, strong, fully recovered Peeta—will keep me company. We'll talk about everything and nothing. Sometimes he'll simply hold me. And then there are times like today when we would talk about him, the real Peeta that currently lies in the hospital.

Despite the oddity of my dreams, I find them extremely helpful. Peeta has great advice to offer me about himself. Shocker, I know, but it's true. In the past three weeks since Peeta's return, I've employed my dream Peeta's advice numerous occasions. When to push. When to give him space. What to say. When to listen.

Since Peeta's return, the results of his capture have revealed themselves fully. Although physically his healing is moving along nicely, his emotional healing hasn't even begun. His bruises are gone. His superficial cuts have healed. But the scars remain.

He hates them, the scars. Sometimes I'll catch him glaring at them, his eyes darkened with anger. I don't know whether he's angry at the person who put them there or that they make his experience impossible for him to forget. Most likely both.

He wants to forget, I can tell. Sometimes he'll close his eyes but never sleep. As if he's trying to force all the memories, all the pain, into a tiny box in the deepest part of his mind. When he opens his eyes, finally, I know that he's succeeded partially in his attempt. His face will be expressionless, his blue eyes that once sparkled will be dulled. His voice will be calm and steady but devoid of emotion.

Dr. Riley says that it's Peeta's attempt to take control of the situation. By controlling his feelings, he feels as though he's in command of himself. It reassures him. It helps him to believe that he is still his own person, that the Capitol didn't take away his strength and independence.

But his control is lost in the night, when he's plagued with nightmares.

They're terrible to witness. Night terrors, Dr. Riley calls them. Nightmares so real that Peeta can't wake up from them. When they occur he has to be sedated, so that he slips into a realm of sleep that is untouched by dreams. Even my singing cannot calm him when the terrors have him in their clutches.

In the past weeks, we've also learned that Peeta is afraid of the dark. Although he's never voiced his fear, I could tell. The tenseness of his muscles when the lights would go out at night were a sign of his discomfort. Wordlessly, I'd brightened the room, though I kept the light extremely dim. Just enough light so he could see the room and anyone in it. And, like Johanna, he also as an adverse reaction to running water. Although his fear as not nearly as strong as Johanna's, he's still extremely wary.

He's also hyper vigilant, even when it's just him and me in the room. Every unexpected sound causes him to jump. Every person who enters the room is automatically greeted with suspicion and distrust. Any human touch to his skin causes him to stiffen. He doesn't like lying underneath the hospital blankets because it limits his movement, making it harder for him to defend himself should someone attack him.

But I've seen brief glimpses of the Peeta I remember. In the way he responds to Maya, who is constantly with him. In the way he makes sure to ask Rye about his day when he comes to visit after his training. In the way he'll beat Haymitch at chess when they play every day at noon, and the small smirk that will appear on his face at the victory. But the one that means the most to me is when I walk through the door every morning, he smiles.

It's not a bright smile. It's not even a happy smile. It's a smile of relief. Relief that I returned, that I didn't abandon him, that I haven't given up on him. Though it pains me that he thinks I might leave him, I still relish that smile.

As I step out of my room and begin the long trek to the elevator, I ponder the day I face. It's sure to be a long one. Now that Peeta has been given proper care and had some time to recover, he's been growing anxious. He hates being in the hospital, though I think it has more to do with the fact that he's been kept in the same room in the entire time. He wants a change of scenery.

To Peeta, I'm sure his hospital room seems like yet another cell.

Therefore, in yet another desire to exert control over his situation, for the last few days Peeta has been arguing (quite loudly) with Dr. Riley to heal his ribs. Without special medicine to expedite the process, his ribs will take months to heal on their own, and Peeta can't stand the idea of being hindered that long. So, when Dr. Riley, in a rare thoughtless moment, mentioned a special series of shots that could heal his ribs completely in a matter of hours, Peeta immediately latched onto the idea. It didn't matter to him that when the process was explained fully it was revealed to be an incredibly painful procedure. I still remember his response perfectly.

Trust me, Doc. It's nothing I can't handle. I won't say a word.

Though it rankled, Dr. Riley had finally conceded defeat yesterday after a third heated argument with Peeta. I told her the first day she mentioned it that there was no point in arguing with him, but she seemed to think otherwise. I'll have to resist the urge later today to give her a smug, "I told you so" look.

I glance at the modest watch on my wrist supplied by District 13—0800. Peeta's procedure is starting. I wanted to be there, but Peeta had been vehement that I be absent. I don't know whether it's the fact that he doesn't want me to see him in pain or the simple fact that he just doesn't want me there. Either way, his brief banishment hurts. When he'd issued his edict I had debated arguing with him, but when I'd looked into his eyes, I could see how much my absence mattered to him. So I swallowed my retort and resumed my place at his side, beginning a conversation about Rye's most recent prank instead.

Peeta's return seems to have sparked Rye's more mischievous side that had been dormant for far too long . . . and the people of District 13 are paying the consequences. He started out small: a tack on Boggs's chair, rewiring the radio in the cafeteria to play something called the "Imperial March," and somehow greasing one of the obstacle courses on the training field so that it was impossible to complete without falling on your face. However, Rye's most recent and currently greatest triumph, as I'd explained to Peeta, was that somehow, Rye had managed to sneak into one of the control rooms and reprogram everyone's schedules to say, "Chaos, Panic, Pandemonium—My work here is done."

To me, I find the fact that he hasn't been caught to be his greatest prank of all.

When the elevator doors finally open, they reveal Prim. She smiles at me as I step into the steel box. "Good morning," she says brightly. "How are you?"

"As good as I can be."

Prim frowns. "The procedure will proceed without a hitch," she tries to assure me. "Dr. Riley is overseeing it herself."

"I'm not worried about that." I shake my head and sigh. "It's Peeta, I'm worried about."

"You think he's trying to do too much." Prim says, not as a question but as a fact.

I nod.

"Think about it Katniss, he's been without the power to do anything for too long. He had no control in the Capitol, and even here, he's still under Dr. Riley's orders. By doing this procedure, he'll at least be able to leave the hospital, especially since he's passed the majority of his psych evaluations."

That was another thing. The only thing that truly kept Peeta in the hospital for three weeks was malnutrition and his psyche. For the first week he was extremely volatile. His flashbacks were vicious and wholly consuming, and he'd given his fair share of bruises to his attending physicians as a result. No matter how calmly they approached him, he still saw it as an attack and he'd try to take them out. Maya's continual presence by his side helped, but once he got caught up in a flashback, she was of no use. All she could give was a warning of what was to come.

However, for the last few weeks, his flashbacks seemed to have stopped. Dr. Riley can't explain it and her lack of understanding vexes her. Her best guess is that Peeta is suppressing his memories extremely well, and this troubles her more than his now less than frequent flashbacks. As far as I can tell, she simply sees Peeta as a time bomb. She is waiting for the moment when he can't suppress his captivity anymore, when it will become too much, and he will explode. She is terrified of the results.

But with Peeta seeming more and more in control of himself, Dr. Riley had no choice but to sign off on the majority of his psych evaluations. Because in all honesty, Peeta did pass them. However, that didn't mean that she was releasing him from the hospital.

Much to Peeta's annoyance.

Dr. Riley's contingency plan is that until she deems Peeta at full mental capacity, he has to stay in the hospital. Because, as she told him bluntly when he began to argue, "Mr. Mellark, I can't release you despite your miraculous penchant for memory suppression. It'll be my head on a platter when you snap, and you will snap. It's just a matter of time. And until that happens and you deal with the fallout, hell will freeze over before I let you out of here completely."

I've never seen Peeta so angry. However, what was scarier than his fury was how he locked it inside himself.

Like Dr. Riley, I am also terrified of what will happen when Peeta finally snaps.

"You know he can only leave the hospital if a guard accompanies him," I tell Prim.

"Yes, but it's better than being trapped in his room all day. Besides, I think it will be good for him."

Until he attacks a random stranger because they might look like one of his "interrogators," I think sarcastically.

Prim must see my indecision because she sighs. "Look, I know that he's far from healed. It'll be months, maybe years before that happens, but he has to start somewhere, Katniss. We can't keep him caged; he'll just fight us more than he already is." She has a point. For the past few days, Peeta has been taking insubordination to a whole new level. "Besides, you can't tell me that you don't want him out of the hospital. You miss him."

Oh, yes. I miss him, more than anyone could ever conceive. I miss his smile. I miss his laugh. I miss the way his eyes would sparkle. I miss his easy-going nature. I miss the way he seems to know what I am thinking. I miss him. Dearly.

The saddest part of it all is that I know Peeta misses me just as much . . . and yet we still can't seem to connect like we used to. Every day it's becoming clearer and clearer—we have to fall in love all over again.

And that's something that Prim, despite her young wisdom, cannot understand.

"I do miss him," I reply. "But that doesn't change the fact that I still don't think he's ready for all that he thinks he is."

My answer seems to grate on Prim's nerves. "You know, Katniss, I never thought I'd say this, but I can't believe you're losing faith in him."

Before I can respond, the elevator doors open and Prim steps out quickly. I watch her retreating form until the closing elevator doors block her from view, leaving me wondering if she's right. Have I lost faith in Peeta? No. No, I don't think that I have. However, I think in the past weeks I've realized that Peeta has limits. He's not invincible, like I think he would like to believe, especially now. And if he's going to be in denial of the fact, I have to be the one to remind him.

I'm so lost in thought that the next time the elevator doors open, I step off without giving a thought to what level it is. After blinking, mentally chastising myself for being an idiot, and surveying my surroundings, I realize that I'm on the Special Defense floor.

Knowing that I have hours to kill before I'm allowed to see Peeta, I decide to drop in and visit Beetee. I have hardly seen him since Peeta's return. Quite frankly, I haven't seen anyone since Peeta's return that isn't directly involved in his recovery.

Everyone stares at me when I enter Special Defense. I don't particularly know why. It's not as though they've never seen me down here. Is it my now painfully obvious pregnant belly? The fact that Peeta's return sparked so much attention?

And, of course, there are the pitiful rumors about a rift between myself and Rye now that Peeta has returned. My eyes narrow at the reminder of some people's ignorance. Honestly, how these rumors about Rye and I ever got started is beyond me. The idea of me being with anyone other than Peeta is just . . . weird.

I find Beetee in one of the research rooms, but am mildly surprised to find Gale as well. The two of them are hunched over a desk covered with schematics. Beetee is taking a measurement on one of the drawings as Gale keeps it flat on the desk. My eyes rove around the cramped room that is littered with drawings of similar design to the one Beetee and Gale are currently examining. Displayed prominently on corkboard walls and computer screens are designs of the same type. Vaguely, in one drawing, I recognize Gale's twitch-up snare.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What are these?" I ask curiously, catching their attention.

"Ah, Katniss, you've found us out," Beetee says with a smile, as if my intrusion on their little secret doesn't bother him.

Gale, however, seems uncomfortable with my presence, although I don't particularly know why.

"Is that what you've been conspiring with Gale?" I ask Beetee, choosing to ignore Gale for the moment.

"Yes, I'm sorry if I've been stealing him away from you."

My answering smile is slightly forced. Given the fact that I've barely left Peeta's side since his return, I can't say that Gale's absence has even been noted by my overwhelmed brain. I don't know whether to be guilty or worried that I've so easily forgotten my best friend.

"I hope you've been putting his time to good use."

"Come and see," he says, waving me over to a computer screen.

Beetee proceeds to explain in great detail what exactly it is that required him to requisition Gale's help: bombs. Bombs of all kinds, all based on many of Gale's traps that he would use when hunting. It's not so much the mechanics of the traps, but the psychology that shows their brilliance. Booby-trapping an area that provides something essential to survival, like a water or food supply. Frightening prey so that a large number flee into a greater danger. Endangering offspring in order to draw in the actual desired target, the parent.

This plan is the one that truly makes my skin crawl.

On and on Beetee continues and my horror grows. Somewhere along the line, Gale and Beetee forgot the wilderness and focused on human impulses, like compassion. A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then, a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well.

"That seems to be crossing some kind of line," I tell them after Beetee finally runs out of words. "So anything goes?" My comment seems to hit home for Beetee, who looks doubtful, but the opposite is true for Gale. He glares at me with hostility and something like defiance. "I guess there isn't a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being."

"Sure there is," Gale retorts cuttingly. "Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he tortured Peeta."

His cruel, blunt words shock me into silence, and it takes me a second or two to recover from his verbal assault. "What?"

"Come on, Katniss. This is war. There's no time to show mercy," Gale says coldly. "Snow certainly didn't."

My jaw clenches in anger. "No," I agree. "He didn't. But I'm not about to stand here and praise you for your good work. Yes, this is a war, but if we don't grant mercy, then we're no better than Snow." I glare at Gale. "And if you don't realize that, then you're allowing yourself to become who you hate."

Gale's gaze hardens. "I can't believe you're defending them."

"I'm not defending them, but I'm not so blind as to think that everyone in the Capitol is evil and deserves to die!"

"Look at what they did to Peeta! I've seen him! He's not even the same person! He might still be alive, but he died in that cell! The Capitol did that!"

"No! Snow did that!" I hiss as angry tears fall from my eyes. "Snow is responsible. Just him. And I want to see him dead more than anyone, so don't you dare tell me that I don't know who is responsible!"

And before I say something that I might regret, I turn on my heel and walk as fast as I can out of Special Defense. I punch the button for the elevator and impatiently tap my foot as I wait for the doors to open, wiping furiously at my tears.

I'm thankful that the elevator is empty when the doors finally open. There's no telling what my pregnancy hormones would provoke me to do. Best case scenario, I would have screamed at him or her to get out of my elevator. Worst case scenario I would have wanted them to hug me.

I'm really glad no one is on the elevator.

As the elevator takes me up to the hospital floor, I try to pull myself together. If I'm to see Peeta, I need to be as calm as possible. I wish that I could go in bawling my eyes out and know that it wouldn't matter, that he would automatically take me in his arms and hold me. But, regrettably, I have no idea what my tears might provoke him to do, and I'm too scared to find out. The one time I've let him see me cry since his return, he merely watched my tears fall. Yes, he'd squeezed my hand just a little tighter, but I selfishly wanted more.

And so when the elevator doors open, my tears have ceased. Head held high, I walk through the now very familiar hallways to Peeta's room. I've been here so often, I can even recognize the nurses who work in the ward. I don't know their names, of course. I suck at names. Peeta was the one who could remember names, even if he only met the person once.

When I turn the final corner that leads to Peeta's room, I notice a new face. A nurse, one that I've never seen before, is pushing a cart of laundry. Now, normally I wouldn't find this at all suspicious, except that I knew for a fact that only specialized nurses in psychological recovery worked in this ward, and I happened to know every single one of them by sight.

This girl was not one of them.

My eyes narrow as I remember a conversation with Haymitch earlier this week. Naturally, my refusal to leave Peeta's side for Mockingjay duties was met with resistance. Even more strain was brought to the situation because I wouldn't allow anyone from the Capitol near Peeta. Dr. Riley supported my stance, because there's no telling what Peeta's reaction would be. However, President Coin seemed to think differently.

But that didn't matter, because I had the power and I was finally not afraid to assert it. It really must rankle to know that she couldn't hold dominion over me any longer. She had no leverage. Not anymore.

And Haymitch took the opportunity one day earlier this week to tell her. Of course, he never outright said it, that would be too bold, even for him, but it was most certainly implied. Coin tried to force Dr. Riley into telling her about Peeta's condition, but Dr. Riley invoked patient confidentiality and promptly left the room without being dismissed. If she wasn't the best doctor in 13, and an OB/GYN at that, I'm pretty sure that she would have lost her job—at least.

Left with few options, Coin resorted to the oldest trick in the book: spying. Already, in the past five days since Haymitch gave me the heads up that she might try something, I've chased off two of her spies. One was Coin's personal doctor. One pretended to be a nurse. And now, it seems I have another fake nurse to unmask.

With a fake smile, I walk up to her, noting that she's lingering by Peeta's door, trying to peek inside. "Hi!" I say brightly, startling her so much she nearly topples over. "I haven't seen you around here."

I'll give her points for recovering as she blushes brightly and begins to stutter, "I'm—I'm sorry, Mrs. Mellark!" Oh, she's shooting for brownie points with the surname. "You scared me!"

"No, it's me who should apologize," I reply with a thin smile. "I mean, I'm sure you were hanging around Peeta's door for no reason at all. In fact, I'm sure you were just about to knock to collect the laundry, am I right?"

I watch as a tiny bead of sweat forms on her forehead as she answers, "Yes. Yes, I was. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be out of your hair in just a minute." She quickly reaches for the doorknob, but I grab her wrist before she's even touching the metal. Pregnancy has not dulled my reflexes.

"I'd rather you simply be out of my sight."

I can see from the look on her face that she's debating whether or not her mission is salvageable. My eyes narrow as I give her my most vicious glare, one that promises a very painful end, and she quickly makes a decision. With a curt nod, she says, "Excuse me," and resumes pushing her laundry cart down the hall.

After I surreptitiously follow her out of the hospital, making sure she doesn't try to double back, I return to Peeta's room. I hesitate for a moment before entering, knowing that he'll still be in great pain due to the procedure. Dr. Riley said it could easily last the rest of today into the next. Maybe it'd be best not to disturb him . . .

"Are you going to come in or not?"

With wide eyes, I open the door and find Peeta staring at me. "How did you know?"

Peeta shrugs. "I always know when you're close. That hasn't changed."

My heart flutters at little at his admission. "Apparently. I remember when it annoyed me. It still does sometimes. You make it too hard to sneak up on you."

Peeta's lips turn up in a small smile. "I don't think it would be wise to surprise me at the moment. I might try to kill you."

I try not to frown. It irks me that Peeta talks so cavalierly about his condition, but I don't let this show on my face. Instead, I smirk back at him. "You could try," I tease. "But don't let this stomach fool you. I'm still faster than you."

"I doubt it."

"Are you trying to say that I'm fat?"

"I'm not trying to say anything."

"It was implied. You think I'm fat."

"I think you're beautiful."

I pause, momentarily stunned. Peeta seems to sense my shock because he smiles, though it's not completely genuine. "What? I may be a little nuts but I'm not that far gone."

"It's not that," I shake my head slightly, still a little unsteady. "It's just that, this time last week, I don't think you would have said that."

"Probably not," Peeta agrees. "But I'm a quick healer."

I refrain from responding to his statement for the moment. Instead, I take my seat by his bedside and focus on Maya, who immediately trotted to my side the moment I walked through the door. I debate my response as I scratch her behind the ears. "Maybe," I finally reply quietly, avoiding eye contact. "Or maybe you just want to believe that."

"Katniss." At the sound of my name, I can't help but meet his eyes. I nearly flinch at the betrayal that he's trying to hide. "Don't tell me you're on her side."

"Dr. Riley knows what she's doing, Peeta," I argue quietly, but firmly.

"What does she know?" Peeta retorts sharply. "She doesn't know a damn thing about what's going on in my head."

"And what is going on in your head?" I challenge. "What are you so afraid of, Peeta? That you'll be treated differently? That people will see you differently? Or are you just too scared to show or admit to yourself how much the Capitol broke you?"

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I can't even believe that they escaped my lips. For a moment, Peeta and I just stare at each other. He seems just as surprised by my words as I am. Until now, I've been very careful during our conversations. I hardly ever pushed, and he hardly ever mentioned his torture except for a few scathing remarks whenever he truly wanted to get his point across. It was the huge elephant in the room. It's not as though I am in denial about what he went through. I simply avoided the topic because I didn't want to provoke a flashback, not when he'd gone days without having one.

But I'll be the first to admit that I also avoided the topic for fear of what he might actually reveal.

After another few seconds, our staring contest ends. Peeta looks away, and I notice his hands clench into fists. "Is that what you think?" he asks angrily. "That I'm broken? That I'm weak?"

"No," I answer quietly. "But I'm not going to lie to myself and think that you're as strong as you think you are."

Peeta remains silent, and I sense that he wants the conversation to end, but I decide to push him. "You're not okay, Peeta." His shoulders tense. "No matter how you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can't shove this from your mind and continue on with your life. You have to face it. You have to accept it. You're not broken, Peeta, but you're not all that you once were either."

"So, what?" Peeta retorts viciously. "What if I'm not the same guy you married? Can you live with that? Can you live with the ghost of the man you once loved?"

"You're not the man I married, that's true," I admit calmly. "And you're certainly not all that you can be, and you're right, you may never reach that point again." Peeta stares into my eyes heatedly, but behind the anger I see the vulnerability, his need to know my answer, and his terror of what it might be. So I give him his answer with all the conviction I can muster, "But damn it Peeta, I love you. I don't care if you never become the man I remember. I fact, I don't want you to become that person. I want you to find yourself again, and whoever you decide that to be, I will love just as much."

Despite my answer, Peeta still seems unsure. "Really? Are you willing to accept the fact that you might have to tell our kid one day why their Dad is the way he is? The reason he can't love them like he should?"

"No, I'm not willing to accept that," I tell him honestly. "Because I have no doubt that you will love this child more than you love anyone. Even me."

"You don't know that. I'm not that person anymore."

"Not entirely, no. But you're heart is still made of gold, and it's your heart that defines who you are." I make sure to hold his gaze. "You have a good heart, Peeta. That will never change."

"I'll probably test that theory."

I smile, remembering my dream. "It's not a theory," I tell him softly. "It's a fact."


So! Lots of stuff happened this chapter! There's drama brewing with Gale and Katniss. I'm actually going to do something with his character. Needs a little character arc if you ask me. So, here's the starting point for that.

And Peeta! We got a dream Peeta and a real Peeta, both of which said sweet things. Progress, people. Progress.

Summary for the chapter is as follows: Peeta proves to be the creator of INCEPTION; Katniss and Gale argue over coloring books; Prim actually acts her age for once; Mrs. Everdeen is somewhere smoking weed; Coin is trying to call up James Bond to eliminate the Mockingjays, but M refuses to answer; Dr. Riley is still awesome; and Haymitch is plotting an Ocean's 11 worthy plan to steal Coin's alcohol . . .

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

"What are you going to do, Hawthorne? Hit me?"

Lots of love,

AC