When I swim back into consciousness, I can feel I'm lying on a padded table. There's a pinching sensation of tubes in my left arm. They are trying to keep me alive because, if I slide quietly, privately into death, it will be a victory. I'm largely unable to move, but I'm able to flop my right arm over my body, feeling like a flipper, no, something less animated, like a club. I manage to swing my arm around until I rip the tubes out. A beeping goes off but I can't stay awake long enough to find out who it will summon.
The next time I surface, my hands are tied down to the table, the tubes back in my arm. I can open my eyes and lift my head slightly, though. I'm in a large room with low ceilings and a silvery light. There are two rows of beds facing each other. I can hear the breathing of what I assume are my fellow victors. Just let us die! I scream in my mind. I slam my head back hard on the table and go out again.
When I finally, truly, wake up, the restraints are gone. I raise my hand and find I have fingers that can move at my command again.
I open my eyes and immediately need to squint. The lights are blinding and my vision is blurry. I move my fingers first. They work, they can move. Peeta. I have to find him. What had I done? The events flashed before my eyes. Wrapped my arrow in wire. Shot it into the sky. Blown up the arena. If they wanted to kill me when I held out those berries I can't imagine what they wanted to do to me now. What was I thinking, acting in defiance as I had? I had so wanted to protect Peeta, to make sure that he survived, and all I had done was ensure that the Capitol would torture and kill him. No. I can still protect him. I must find him, kill him, before the Capitol chooses the agonizing means of his death.
With great effort I rip the tubes out of my arm again and push myself into a seated position. They can't have been keeping me alive because no alarm goes off. I hold my head in my hands and try to steady myself. What was I doing? Peeta. Find Peeta. I slide my legs off the table and look around. In the room is only Beetee, who lies on a table identical to mine. The others must be somewhere else. There are a few syringes sealed in sterile plastic on a table next Beetee's bed. Perfect. All I'll need is air and a clear shot at one of his veins.
I'm naked except for a thin nightgown so I slip a syringe under the bandage that covers the wound on my arm. I wince in pain because it's far from healed. There are no guards at the door. I must be deep underground in the Training Center or else some Capitol stronghold because I'm the only one in the hallway. It does't matter. I'm not escaping, just finishing a job.
I creep down a narrow hallway to a metal door that's barely ajar. I hear voices so I flatten myself against the wall to listen.
"Communications are down in Seven, Ten, and Twelve."
I recognize the voice of Plutarch Heavensbee. I think. Although I've only ever spoken to him once. A hoarse voice asks a question.
"No, I'm sorry. There's no way I can get you to Four, Finnick."
Finnick. My mind struggles to make sense of the conversation. His hoarse voice croaks something else.
"Don't be stupid, that's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure." Says Haymitch.
Says Haymitch! I bang through the door and stumble into the room. Haymitch, Plutarch, and a very beaten up Finnick sit around a table laid with a meal no one is eating. Daylight streams in through the windows. We are flying.
"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" Says Haymitch, the annoyance clear in his voice. I hold the syringe up like a knife, ready to strike.
"Where is Peeta?" I demand. Haymitch steps towards me and I brandish the needle. "So, it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans." He says. I look around the room for signs of Peeta—nothing. Haymitch sighs.
"Come with me." He says and motions for the door. I don't move. "Well, you want to see him or not?" I stare at him. What is going on? We're clearly not in the Capitol, but we're in a Capitol hovercraft with the head gamemaker and someone I was sure had betrayed me mere hours ago. Is he leading me to some sort of trap? I'm not so concussed as to fall for that trick.
"Katniss." Finnick whispers from across the table. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you. We only knew our own pieces of the puzzle." He looks genuinely sorry.
"Someone tell me what's going on right now," I say shakily. Haymitch takes a step towards me and I try to read his face. "There's a rebellion. A real one. There's been a plan to break you out since the moment the Quell was announced." A rebellion? A rebellion! My head starts to pound as I try to parse what this means. The sunlight feels too bright and I squint my eyes and rub my temples. "Johanna got you pretty good," Haymitch says. "But you got yourself better when you starting smacking your head against the table."
"I thought I was in the Capitol." I say through gritted teeth. It's getting very hard to focus through the ringing that's just started in my ears. Haymitch must be able to tell I'm struggling because he takes a hold of my arm and sits me down, which seems to help. At least I don't feel like I'm going to fall over anymore. "So, where are we going?"
"District Thirteen." Haymitch says.
Thirteen. So it was true. There really was a Thirteen. Bonnie and Twill were right all along. I wonder if they made it there. I look around at the three men and then at the syringe in my hand. I feel my stomach drop at the thought of what I might have done with it. Haymitch must be thinking the same thing because he reaches over takes it slowly from my hand.
"Peeta," I say, my voice croaking nearly as much as Finnick's. "He's here? He's alive?"
Haymitch leads me to a room identical to the one Beetee and I were in, except that there's only one bed. Peeta lies on a hospital bed in the corner, eyes closed, his bare chest wrapped in bandages. His arm is hooked to a tube and he's breathing steadily. Waves of relief and happiness wash over me. He's alive. He's alive and he's not headed to the Capitol to be tortured. He looks pretty bad, though. Although if I had to guess, I probably look about the same. He's covered with bruises, and cuts, and his head looks as damaged as mine feels. His artificial leg is hidden beneath a pair of hospital pants the same material as my gown. His eyes are closed—he must be unconscious. I feel my throat tighten and try to hold back the tears in front of Haymitch but it's no use, I have no control over my emotions anymore, apparently.
He's alive. He's safe. The games didn't kill him, the explosion didn't kill him. I start sniffling and sobbing so hard that I'm reminded of when his heart stopped and Finnick revived him. I kneel down next to the table he's lying on and take hold of his arm, covering it with snot and tears. I wanted him to make it out alive and he has. "Is he going to be alright?" I ask through hiccups.
"He'll be alright." Haymitch says, and he sounds almost as relieved as I feel. "Broken ribs on top of the arm and concussion, but considering what it could have been he got off easy. You did good, sweetheart." He puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it an awkward pat.
I turn to Haymitch and we share a look. We both would have given our lives for him, and it's not missed on either of us. "You wanna stay with him?" He asks, nodding to an uncomfortable looking chair across the room. "He should be waking up soon. Sorry we didn't put you in the same room, but I think it was the right choice for…obvious reasons." He says and twiddles the syringe in his hand. Definitely the right choice. I feel myself getting woozy just thinking of the awful thing I would have done had I woken up next to Peeta. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart." He says and I know that he knows what I'm thinking. "I'll always be a few steps ahead of you." With an annoying wink and a grin, he turns and leaves the room.
All of a sudden I feel dangerously exhausted. I pull the chair over to Peeta's bed and sit down next to him. He looks peaceful. He could be asleep if he weren't in some sort of drug-induced coma. Sweat lines his brow and I reach up to push his hair away from his eyes and I'm reminded of when I did this in the cave. It was for the cameras then, but there are no cameras now. I feel my eyelids drooping so I lay my arms on the table and my head on my arms. I can feel the hair on Peeta's arm against my own. I shut my eyes and let sleep take me.