Katniss

Boggs is still broadcasting his displeasure as we make our way through the corridors in the detention center. The two-level building is situated only a few blocks from the City Circle and is not at all like I'd feared. The hallways are surprisingly bright, the overhead lights reflecting off the white walls and floors near to the point of being painful. It smells as sanitized as a hospital even though it's impossible to expect that anything healing ever happens in this place. Behind the regularly spaced doors, Peacekeepers torture, main and kill people on Snow's orders.

And Peeta's locked in one of those cells.

The detention center's also not as highly guarded as I'd expected it to be. The Capitol relies far too much on its technology and since the Rebellion has people who can overcome that technology, it took very little effort to get us into the building. However, you don't have to be a hunter to know that walking into a trap is always so much easier than getting out. Despite the fact that I don't trust Coin, I know that she wouldn't risk Boggs or any of her Capitol spies on a mission that she didn't think would succeed. Convincing her to risk the Mockingjay was difficult enough and I'm ultimately far more expendable than any of District Thirteen's highly trained soldiers.

It was Haymitch who'd convinced Coin to let me go, reminding her that having the Mockingjay be a part of her lover's rescue would make for an excellent propos than the simple knowledge that District Twelve's Victors had been reunited. That had been enough to send the cogs spinning in Plutarch's production-oriented mind and I'd been allowed to board the hovercraft bound for the Capitol.

I was meant to stay on board the craft, but knowing that I was so close to Peeta after so long, I simply couldn't. While I may have been showing signs of stress back in District Thirteen, I wasn't some weak-willed girl. I'd survived the Games twice and had been providing for my family since I was eleven years old. So when my arguments failed to sway Boggs, I outright told him that I was going. Boggs had tried to get Gale to convince me to stay on the hovercraft, but I didn't listen to him anymore than I had Boggs. In the end, since we were short on time, he'd conceded. I'm fully aware that there's going to be hell to pay later, but right now it doesn't matter.

I want Peeta back. Safe and with me.

Since I don't want to alienate him completely, I stay in the center of our advancing formation as Boggs instructs, bowstring held taut between my fingers. Since the hovercraft will return in less than half an hour, we're moving quickly, following the Holo Boggs holds aloft. I don't know where District Thirteen got the information and, for the most part, I don't really care so long as it's accurate. All I know for sure is what the glowing red dots represent. Three smaller ones for Annie, Johanna and Enobaria and a single larger one for Peeta.

Coin had ranked Peeta's importance in the rescue for her own political reasons. It doesn't matter to me what Peeta's rescue would symbolize to the rest of Panem—Capitol and Rebellion alike—I just want Peeta back because he's Peeta. Because I love him. Because he shouldn't be forced to suffer because of me.

Boggs' fist in the air brings us all to a stop at the mouth of two intersecting corridors. From what I can see of the Holo, Peeta's cell is to the right while the remaining Victors are to the left. There's no doubt in my mind which way I'm going. I can feel Gale's eyes on me from a few feet back, but I ignore him completely. I can't afford to worry about Gale, not when Peeta's been suffering so much because of what I started when I held out those horrible berries.

I can still see those splatters of blood that stained the stage every time I close my eyes. Still hear the pained grunts they forced from Peeta as the Peacekeepers kicked and beat him. And it terrifies me that I don't know what's happened to him in the time between the broadcast feed going dark and this very moment.

I don't even wait for Boggs to indicate which direction I'm meant to go in before I join the group on the right side of the corridor. There's no possible way I could even attempt to go the other way if I tried. My feet simply won't allow me to move further away from Peeta now that he's so close.

Boggs' fist becomes three upraised fingers.

Then two.

One.

My fingers clench on the arch of the bow as I dart forward around the corner behind Boggs and the rest. We're less than a minute from Peeta's cell—seconds really with the pace Boggs has been setting.

What I'd said to Caesar Flickerman that long ago day after our first Games holds so much more truth now. And while I know I won't be ale to lock him away from the horrors of the war indefinitely, I can at least not let him out of my sight for a very long time. Not until I'm sure that he won't be snatched away if I turn my head. I don't care if reducing my role as the Mockingjay will infuriate Coin. Peeta and I have both done enough for a rebellion that we were signed up for before anyone actually asked us what we wanted.

Unsurprisingly, the door that Peeta's locked behind is under guard. Two burly Peacekeepers stand on either side of the heavy steel door, riffles held at the ready. I get only a brief glimpse of this before Boggs shoots the one standing on the left. An arrow pierces the neck of the second one a moment later. The look of confusion is still on his face as he slides to the ground.

Klaxon alarms start going off in the direction of the other set of cells. We move quickly, hopeful that the others will do what they can to salvage their end of the mission. As much as I want to see Annie back with Finnick, I know there's nothing any of us can do for them right now except hope that as many of them make it back to the rooftop as possible.

Over the sound of the alarm I can vaguely make out stomping footsteps headed in our direction while I wait impatiently for Boggs to fit a small device over the locking mechanism on the door. The small click the lock makes as it's deactivated is almost anti-climactic.

Almost.

Shoving the soldiers aside, I force the door open and burst into the room.

"Peeta," I moan, my bow falling from my suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter onto the floor.

My shock lasts for only half a moment before I hurry across the dimly lit room to where Peeta's huddled into the far corner. I drop to my knees when I'm still a few feet away, sliding the rest of the distance until I'm close enough to touch him. Only I don't. I can't. Between the blood, bruises and burns that carve such terrible patterns into his skin, I'm not sure where I can actually touch Peeta without the risk of hurting him further.

"Peeta." His name comes out more like a sob this time as I carefully brush his too-long hair away from his eyes.

Even that gentle touch causes him to flinch and I instantly draw my hand back in case I've managed to hurt him further. Only I don't think I have. His eyelids are fluttering as though he's only just becoming aware of what's going on around him. Peeta's gaze appears hazy as he glances towards the dark corners of the room, searching out any possible threat before they land on me. The almost glazed expression shifts to confusion and before I can even think to say or do anything to comfort him I'm being yanked away.

"What—no! Peeta!" I shout as I'm hauled back into the corridor.

The only reason I don't fight is because I recognize the familiar drab District Thirteen uniforms. Peeta doesn't and begins struggling as they lift him off the ground.

"We don't have time for this," Boggs hisses as he shoves my bow back into my hands.

Glaring at him, I shake off the hands gripping my upper arms and rush back to Peeta. He's screaming and writhing, twisting against the hands that are steering him towards the door. Peeta's eyes are wild as he fights, slowing their progress.

"Peeta!"

His attention snaps forward as I gently place a hand on his cheek. All of the fight drains out of him then and he sags between the two soldiers holding him upright.

"Katniss."

My name sounds like it's been wrenched from somewhere deep inside him and he struggles towards me. One of the soldiers releases his arm and then Peeta surges forward, hugging me tight against his chest.

"Shhhh... It's okay, Peeta," I whisper into his ear as he moans unintelligible things against my neck. In the background, I'm dimly aware that the gunfire's gotten closer. "Come on, Peeta, we have to go."

It takes two of us to support Peeta as we slowly make our way back towards the staircase. His arm is looped over my shoulder, his fingers clawing between the plates in my armor. He's panting, his footsteps stumbling as we hurry towards the roof access. Every time that he lurches forward I want to throw my bow away or hand it off to someone else so that I can wrap both arms around him, but the others are all too busy defending us and I won't throw away Beetee's work of art.

Peeta's head drops down onto my shoulder when we stop at a corner. I turn my head and press my face into his hair, taking those few moments just to be close to him. His breath hitches momentarily and he turns his head, his bleary eyes searching out mine.

"Hey," I whisper, unable to prevent my lips from curling up into a smile.

"Hey," he whispers back, dropping his forehead against mine as his eyes fall shut.

I want to run my fingers through his hair, touch his cheek and his neck, but with one hand holding my bow and the other supporting Peeta around his waist, I can't.

We're already on the ground before I register the soldier on Peeta's other side shouting for us to get down. I twist us around, putting Peeta between the wall and me. Cinna's armor will protect me, but Peeta would be far too vulnerable in his worn undershirt and drawstring pants. Peeta begins to tremble as the return gunfire gets closer, his fingers scrabbling at my hips, arms and shoulders. I wrap myself around him, one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders. My face is pressed into the side of his neck where the smell of fear and pain and hopelessness is almost overwhelming.

I barely manage not to flinch when I hear a bullet slam into the wall far too close to our heads, but Peeta cringes. He also brings his hands up to cover my head. It won't be any type of protection against bullets, but I touch my lips to his neck to show I appreciate the gesture.

"Move!"

Peeta tries, but he still needs help from me and one of the soldiers to get back up. His left leg is dragging, his strained muscles having difficulty lifting his Capitol-designed prosthetic leg. When I glance over at him, I can see the sheen of sweat that's broken out along his hairline. The rest of his skin looks damp and clammy. We haven't gone very far, but after so many weeks of imprisonment, he's nearly reached the end of his stamina. I tighten my grip at his waist, refusing to let him fall. We're so close now. Only a few more minutes and we'll be on the hovercraft heading back to District Thirteen.

It's not until we're actually at the entrance to the roof access that I realize the predicament it will create. The only way up to a roof is a narrow ten-step staircase that's just wide enough for a single person. While the rest of us will be able to fly up those stairs, Peeta's barely able to stand up without support. He's stubborn, though, and tenacious. Between the two of us we'll get him up those stairs even if it takes us longer than Boggs would like.

"You can do this," I whisper into the shell of Peeta's ear when it's his turn to go up. I'm right behind him with my arm wrapped around his waist. "It's just ten steps."

Ten steps that it seems to take a lifetime to climb. There's no railing for him to grab onto, so Peeta leans forward and half-crawls, half-climbs the stairs. His entire body trembles with the effort of it all, the muscles in his arms and back standing out in sharp relief, but he doesn't stop. He simply keeps going upwards while I stumble behind him, the hand holding my bow braced against the wall and my other hand flat against Peeta's stomach. I'm trying to provide as much forward momentum as possible while at the same time attempting not to trip over his legs.

The sudden blast of fresh air as we reach the stop of the stairs is a welcome relief even as the world has gone dark now that we're no longer in those brightly lit hallways. To our left is the open hatchway of our hovercraft, probably no more than thirty feet away. I haul both myself and Peeta up with help from the soldier who emerges from the stairs after me. There's still gunfire going off behind us and just beyond our hovercraft I can see the vague outline of a second Capitol hovercraft heading towards the detention center.

The gangway rattles and shakes as we rush up the incline. Once we're surrounded by the solid body of the hovercraft, I start to feel like I can breathe again. I drop my bow and gather Peeta up in my arms, holding him so close that nearly every bit of us is touching from our knees to our foreheads. We stand there for only a few seconds before whatever force was keeping Peeta going deserts him and we begin to crumple to the floor. I hear someone shout for the medic as I carefully guide Peeta down, cradling his upper body against my chest.

"You're safe now. It's over. You're safe," I whisper against his forehead before leaning down to catch his eyes. Peeta's blue eyes are brighter than normal, filmed by a glassy sheen of tears. I manage to find his lips, chapped and dry, without looking away from those too blue eyes.

That fire that had burned deep within me when we'd share those desperate last kisses on the beach in the Arena flares up again. There's an ache to it this time that I can't even begin to figure out.

"You came," Peeta breathes against my lips.

I smile and kiss him again, my lips catching the corner of his mouth. "Always."