Again, this chapter was typed up in about four hours before Mom could turn the laptop in, so… This chapter is dedicated to one of my best friends in the whole wide world, Michelle, for staying up with me until 1:30 in the morning, and didn't understand just how dirty my mind was until then. Don't ask. I wanted to do more for this chapter, but that specific kind of "more" has to wait until later, sadly enough. Hehehe… I haven't laughed that hard in a long time…
OOo
It was ten thirty at night, and the battle still raged on above us. It had been hours since the soldiers left, and I was concerned. There hadn't been any news; no one else had come since that last visit from Sergeant Harvan taking the volunteers.
Annie and I had sat together for a while, maybe two hours, until I decided I should go back to my family. She let me stand up and depart wordlessly.
Without so much as an apology or a 'hello' to my family, I sat down in between Prim and Mother. Their arms went around me and we were silent.
The feeling of despair that Peeta's going away left behind was almost gone. Though the undeniable worry I felt for him, I knew he'd take care of himself. For me, if not anyone else.
Another half-hour went by, and a sudden clamor of voices rose out from behind the trapdoor.
My heart thudded into my throat, and for a second I thought it was the Capitol people finally finding me. But, no.
The trapdoor slammed open violently and a horde of people poured in. Not fast, mind you, but fast enough.
People from all around the bunker stood up and raced towards the throng, and it was then I realized. They were the soldiers. Why they had come back, I didn't care. Before there was even time for all the soldiers to get inside, I stood up and ran over to them, my eyes scanning the crowd.
Heart pounding feverishly, I wove through the people, some limping, some hugging others, some leaning against the wall, bleeding. My eyes then flicked over to Annie, who was against the wall, too, supporting Finnick.
Finnick was completely drenched in scarlet, flowing from an open wound in his shoulder. Annie was busy dabbing it with a wet cloth, one hand on her husbands' cheek. It seemed as though he had been shot in the shoulder, and was looking quite pale and defeated, which was really weird for him. But I didn't have time to stand and gawk.
My footsteps grew more frantic as I zigzagged around people. I couldn't find him, he wasn't there. Choking back hysterics, I paused for a moment to breathe. This terror inside of me was raw and gripping. Just like when I was so young, waiting outside of the collapsed mine, waiting for the man who would never come. Somewhere deep inside, I knew he was alive, but at this point, seeing is believing. Until I was in his arms, Peeta hadn't made it. But when I stopped and glanced to my left, there he was.
Peeta was standing, just standing, off to the side near a wall. His chest was heaving, and his hands were on his knees, a gun lay on the floor nearby. Blond hair was matted to Peeta's forehead with sweat, and a large patch of dried red-brown blood colored the shoulder of his shirt. Other than the obvious overtiredness of his face, he looked fine.
With a cry, I began running towards him. "Peeta!"
He looked up, a split-second confused, but then his eyes lit up when he saw me running towards him.
I slammed into his chest at full speed, and threw my arms around him. If he hadn't already gotten injured fighting, I took care of it. Maybe even cracked a rib…
The force of our embrace picked me up into the air—actually, I think that was him—and being exhausted as he was, when he lifted me up into the air, Peeta leaned backwards onto the wall, an eighteen-year-old still clung onto his neck.
We slid down onto the floor together, and I was abruptly concerned. Our landing wasn't exactly soft, and he had just come back from twelve hours of non-stop war. Brows furrowing slightly, I mumbled an apology and began to get off him (I was on my knees, legs on either side of his), but Peeta's hand on my wrist stopped me. When I looked back at him, it was completely obvious he was fine. Enjoying himself, even.
His hand left my wrist and trailed up to my hair, where he swept a stray lock of hair behind my ear. One of his arms was behind him, supporting his torso as he sat up, but the other remained on my hair.
Tears that were threatening to fall down my face began, hot and released after the stress of not thinking Peeta had made it.
Feeling relieved sobs build in my chest, being able to see Peeta again, I put my arms out and supported my torso as well. My fingers just barely brushed his as I leaded forward.
I might want to add that everyone was looking at us—again. We were in a slightly indecent situation on the floor, right after the Capitol attacked, and since everyone in the Whole of Panem knew us, it made it even worse.
I didn't give a crap, and neither did Peeta.
His arms curled around my neck, and kissed me gently on the lips. Okay, 'gently' was an understatement. A major, major understatement. At this point people would be telling us to "get a room", but since there was no rooms to get, it was pointless.
But to my excruciating disappointment, it didn't last forever like planned. Eventually, we had to pull away for air. Stupid oxygen…
The leftover adrenaline from the kiss made me oddly giddy. "Maybe we shouldn't have…" I had to stifle a giggle. "Maybe it wasn't best to have done that in front of so many people, Peeta. They're watching us."
"Let them watch." His mouth brushed against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "I'm not through."
For a few more minutes, he kissed my throat, my jaw, my lips. But finally, he drew away, satisfied. "I'm done now."
But I wasn't… I wanted to insist, but I didn't. Instead, I blushed and awkwardly got off of him. My legs were getting sore.
His arm wrapped around my side, and we just sat together, leaning up against the cold concrete wall. I wanted to ask him what went on up there, and why he came back. Maybe they had won the fight, and killed all the Capitol soldiers, but that was highly unlikely. Something about this whole ordeal made me extremely questioning. There had to be a catch somewhere in the grand scheme of things.
By now, everyone had situated themselves on the ground as well, tending to the wounded, crying over lost ones, and embracing the ones that had made it out without even a scratch.
From the far side of the room, I could see Mother and Prim sitting side-by-side, eyes visibly scanning the room for Peeta and I. Some part of me kept telling me to get up and go to them; it was rude to give all my time to Peeta alone.
But the other part told me that I won't see him again for a long while, and spend every minute I have with him. And that was the part of me I listened to. Letting out a small sigh, I stretched out on the cold floor, and put my head on Peeta's lap. Though he smelled of sweat and blood, I didn't wrinkle my nose or even flinch. It was the smell of war; I was used to it.
Peeta lightly placed the back of his hand to my cheek and kept it there. The warmth of his touch, and the hush of the crowd was more than enough to lull me into a false sense of security. Pretty soon, I had my eyes closed and a small smile was playing on my lips. It was as if the past two days hadn't happened. We weren't at war, we weren't wondering where all the bombs went. We weren't frightened for our lives. It was just him and me, floating off into space on a cloud of silver…
A harsh feedback rippled across the room suddenly, ruining whatever peacefulness I had bottled up inside of me. Accompanying the feedback, was a wave of static, then everything went silent. Even the whimpers of children had been muted for this occasion. Then a voice rang out across the bodies, the very one I had had nightmares about, the one I'd hoped to never hear again.
"Good evening, people of District Thirteen." A pause, waiting for the effect to set in. "This is your President Snow."
An almost-detectable gasp raised and lowered Peeta's chest, and I sat bolt upright. Arms wrapped around me and held me tight to Peeta's chest.
"I am sure this is all new to most of you out there, listening to me. You know that a few hours back, I sent some of my men in, and here you are, most alive. No bombs, no terrifying riots. 'What's the catch' you say. I applaud you. There is indeed a catch."
His sharp voice grew a tone of shrewdness. "I had planned this attack precisely, see. I would not use bombs or hovercrafts. I would set my men afoot, and only send in some of them. Many died, something they had put upon themselves the moment they choose to either act with me or against me. Whilst the wounded are being nursed, and reunions persist, the rest of my men have set up camp in the forest nearby."
Peeta, just barely hiding apprehension, glanced down at me with a scared look in his eyes, though nothing was said. I pressed closer to him.
"There is no hope in taking me, I'm afraid. Send all the soldiers you want over, rain bombs on us until you are run dry. It wouldn't do any good." A crackle of static hissed for a second, then the hearing was clear again. "Tomorrow morning, at the same time, we will come again. But this time, if you want me to spare your men and women, I request one thing: the Mockingjay must fight. She is to appear out there with the other soldiers and fight with them, not cower in an underground safe house with Mr. Mellark over there, enjoying yourselves."
My ears grew hot with rage and embarrassment. Peeta's did the same too, and we both whipped are heads around, trying to find the invisible intercom to glare at.
"If Miss Everdeen does not come out at nine o'clock tomorrow to fight, I will not spare a single one of you. I have the blueprints. I know where you are. I can easily have each and every one of you demolished. Right this second, in fact. With just a press of a button."
Everyone in the room flinched, thinking he would, but only silence answered.
President Snow laughed. "And if our Girl on Fire comes out, I will spare the rest of you. As soon as she is brought down, I will have my men surrender and we will go back to the way things were. Agreed?" Only the echo of his frosty voice answered back. "Excellent. I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning. Have a wonderful night, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
The loudspeaker clicked off, leaving the remnants of the Hunger Games slogan ringing through the air like electricity before a storm.
All eyes were on me. I was their savior, the Girl on Fire. I was their rebel, someone to follow. I was the beginning of this revolution, I had to end it.
Swallowing, I stood up. The eyes followed me, but I didn't not hold my head high and make some speech about freedom, and morale-boosting wisdom. I just pulled Peeta up with me, and went to sit by Mother and Prim. Onto their laps I fell, crying the tears of a Mockingjay. I fell asleep in the arms of my family, for what I knew would be the last time.