Well… I'm done.

This is it. As of this moment, Chapter Thirteen (which is thirteen pages long and includes the word "thirteen" thirteen times (all coincidences, by the way)) is the end.

That feels so strange to me- the fact that I'm done. Three years after I began writing this (I'm slow, I know) and I'm done. Or at least, I'm at the ending point of Catching Fire, which is where I first envisioned this going- and stopping.

I hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. (I am considering taking on Mockingjay from Gale's point of view- the real question is would you want to read that? Or would it be too much?) In any case, thank you to everyone who has ever reviewed, favorited, or story-alerted this story. I've put so much effort into this and you all are the reason that I bother that all.

And now, without further ado, I present to you... Chapter Thirteen.

I'm asleep when the first hovercraft flies overhead.

It's the noise that comes with its appearance that truly pulls me from my dreams into wakefulness- I'm a light sleeper by nature. But it's not the actual the sounds that the hovercraft is making that jolt me out of my sleep. Rather, it's everyone else's reactions to them.

There are a lot of screams. Many of the smaller children are crying. I don't blame them- after all, it was only three days ago that similar hovercrafts nearly killed every one of us. Beyond that, hovercrafts are what always remove the bodies during the Games- to these children, the machines currently flying above our heads are the ultimate symbol of death and destruction. So their fear is certainly warranted.

I instantly assume it's the Capitol, back to try to finish off the rest of us refugees, and I sit up, ignoring the shooting pains in my ribs. There's this sinking feeling in my stomach- we're weak and pretty beat up, and I don't know that we can survive another attack when it comes. I mean, obviously we're going to have to try, but everything just seems so unbearably hopeless right now that for a brief moment, I actually have to ask myself "what's the point?". But the moment passes as quickly as it hits, and before I think about it much more, I'm already calling out to my family, barking orders at everyone else, ready to run. I should have known the lake would be too conspicuous- the clearing probably stands out from the air, a huge bald patch of land and water in the middle of the mountains. I've pulled on my shoes and started rolling up the blankets and am completely prepared to abandon camp-

And that's when the hovercraft leaves.

No bombs, no bullets. Nothing.

I break off in the middle of my sentence, mid-word, staring up at the sky, hoping I don't look as entirely puzzled as I feel.

Before I know it, Moore's come to my side, echoing my confusion.

"What was that about?"

I shake my head once, slowly, trying to think. "I- don't know."

There's silence- utter silence, complete silence, the kind that can only happen when even the birds have been scared away.

"If it was the Capitol, why didn't they attack? They obviously could see us from the sky- we were totally exposed," I muse. I don't really expect Moore to have an answer, and mostly I was just talking out loud in order to make myself think better. So I'm surprised when Moore offers me the one solution I won't let myself come up with on my own.

"Maybe it wasn't the Capitol."

I raise my eyebrows, frowning down at the ground. "So, where, then, District Eleven? Certainly not from ours, any government vehicles remaining there would have been destroyed-"

"Not from the Districts," says Moore quietly.

I just stare at him. For a very, very long time. Then, slowly, I say, "Where else do you think it could be from?"

He doesn't look away from my gaze. "I don't know for sure. But I've… well, if there was a rebellion, don't you think they'd want to help us out?"

"I… I don't know." My gaze turns skyward, and I fixate on the bit of blue visible through the trees. "Honestly, I'm not so sure they'd care. They haven't done anything to help us yet."

"Well maybe-"

But that's when Rory comes running up to Moore and I, interrupting us. "There wasn't a Capitol seal!" he exclaims, his eyes glinting with that familiar exuberant Rory-ness that is so reminiscent of- well, of me.

"What?"

"The hovercraft! I could see its design, and there wasn't a seal!" His eyes are darting back and forth between Moore and I, hoping we see the conclusion he's clearly drawn from this small detail.

Both Moore and I do see it.

"So they aren't the Capitol's," says Moore carefully, looking at me to see how I'm responding. "Maybe they are from the rebellion."

There's a long moment while we all think over what this could mean for the rest of the survivors, and I finally let out a sigh. "As long as they don't try to kill us, does it really matter?" I ask tiredly. I rub at my temples wearily, closing my eyes. "I didn't really mean that," I correct myself immediately. "I just- what good is it going to do to theorize about who they are if they're not coming back and we don't have a way to flag them down?"

Rory's eyes are still wide. "Gale," he says slowly. "If it really is a rebellion, they're going to come back. They just are." He says it plainly, his voice filled with faith at any rebellion's inherent goodness. "They wouldn't let our whole District die. Not since they saw how many of us there are. They're probably just… getting reinforcements or supplies or whatever it is rebellions have that could help us!"

I look at Moore, shaking my head disbelievingly, but I can see that he agrees with Rory. "I think your brother's right," he says to me. "If they are the… rebellion… they're not going to leave us here. And if they're the Capitol, they would have killed us all already."

I frown, but I know he and Rory have a point. "So, we just wait here?"

Moore shrugs. "I don't really see any other option, do you?"

"Not really, no." I sigh, looking at my brother and cradling my bad arm protectively against my chest. "And if people ask us about it, you want us to what, just tell them the truth? That we're waiting to see if they come back to murder us all?"

"If you have a better plan, Hawthorne, feel free to enlighten us," says Moore seriously. I'm not sure if he's trying to be biting or not, so I just ignore it and take his sentence at face value.

"I'm sorry," I say truthfully at long last. "I just don't like sitting here, waiting for a trap to be sprung on us. It's making me twitchy."

"We don't know that there will be a trap at all," Moore points out.

"But there could be," I answer.

My mother has found her way to us finally from where she had been with Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, her eyes slightly afraid. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah, Mom, of course we saw it," Rory replies, rolling his eyes. "It'd be kinda hard to miss the giant floating metal vehicle in the sky."

She raises her eyebrows at his tone of voice and he instantly de-puffs, slouching where he stands. "Sorry," he mutters. "That was rude."

Mom, who of course can take everything in her stride, just nods at her son's apology and keeps talking. "Why do you think they didn't attack?"

Both Moore and I answer at the same time. I say, "They still might," and Moore says, "We don't think they were the Capitol." We look at each other, and then back at my mother, and finally I say, "We're not really sure. But they could come back at any mo-"

And that's when they do.

The metallic buzzing and rushing of wind that accompanies all hovercrafts fills the sky and Moore, my mother, Rory and I all look up at the air above us, suddenly filled with tension. This could be it. The moment when we find out whether or not they intend to kill us. Mom's hand finds my good one and squeezes, ripping her eyes off of the hovercraft above us only to find Vick and Posy. If we have to run, she's making sure we take the whole family with us.

My heart is thumping in my chest, pounding out a rhythm that fills my ears and the whole world around me, ominous and anxious. And that's when two more appear in the air.

Three hovercrafts above us now. And not a single person is moving.

And finally, the machines do something none of us really expected.

They don't fire. Not a shot.

Instead, they land.

In one of the few spots not filled with people, where the trees are still spread far from the shore of the water, one of them touches down, the wind from their movements sending up piles of leaves spiraling into the air.

Some people are actually moving closer- Moore included- and he disappears among the other people, forcing his way towards the hovercraft.

Vick's mouth is hanging open slightly at the sight of the giant vehicle. "Is it going to hurt us?" he asks quietly, his voice rasping in a hoarse whisper.

There really isn't a Capitol seal on the hovercraft. So when I answer my little brother, I'm being honest. "No," I say. "I- I don't think it will."

There's not enough room for the second hovercraft to land here, but as the motors turn off and the leaves settle back to the ground around the machine, a small crowd is forming. We stay away from the machine, enough that we're probably out of range unless whoever is on the ship has some pretty long-range weapons, but we're close enough that we can see what's going on over there anyway..

The doors to the hovercraft open with a long and loud hiss as the compressed air from inside is released into the chilly sky, and the crowd collectively flinches at it, without tearing our eyes away from the sight.

My mom's nails dig into my palms.

And then we see the people.

Five of them walk down the gangway, adults dressed in white jackets, clearly doctors. Closely following them as they survey the crowd is a woman, dressed simply, but with such a commanding air around her that there's no question in my mind that she's the person in charge here.

Now, though, the real question is just: in charge of what?

And I'm about to have my question answered.

The doctors stop at the base of the gangway, bags of equipment in their hands, seemingly prepared to come to our rescue. There's a sturdy-looking man with grey hair and blue eyes who's standing at the woman's side, looking around warily with a large gun held in his hands. He doesn't look like he's going to use it but he certainly looks like he knows how to in the event that it becomes necessary to do so. The woman with him stops about midway up the gangway, and when she speaks, her voice carries. Maybe she has some sort of high-tech microphone that we can't see. I don't know, but I know that everyone within our small makeshift camp can most likely hear her every word.

"Which one of you is the leader here?" The speaker is the tall woman with a helmet of silver hair. She's looking around imperiously with calculating eyes. Her voice is steady and commanding, like she's not used to having people ignore her while she speaks.

I'm searching the crowd for Moore, eager to see what happens, but am utterly surprised when I do manage to find him. He's standing incredibly close to the hovercraft and answers the woman by jabbing a thumb in my direction.

"Him as much as anyone else here," he says, and the woman's piercing eyes land on me, turning the heads of most of the crowd in my direction. Posy gasps as everyone turns to stare at my family, and she dashes behind me to hide from them, still gripping tightly to one of my hands.

I'm more than a little taken aback by this, since I really haven't done much besides get myself injured multiple times. Sitting on the sidelines getting hurt really shouldn't count as a quality that's desired in a leader.

But the woman seems to accept the man's explanation because she raises her eyebrows , and then says clearly, "Well, come on then."

Without even considering the implications of my actions, I begin walking forward to meet her. Posy quickly lets go of my hand at the thought of being seen, and my mother lifts her up into her arms, watching me as I walk away from them. I can feel Rory's eyes on my back, burning with pride. Even Vick is looking surprised but pleased.

The woman's resumed her expression of slight indifference as she sees me approaching and measures me up. "My name is Alma Coin," she says, her voice incredibly matter-of-fact. "I represent District Thirteen. We're here to help you."

I try not to let any surprise show on my face, although the crowd of survivors is spreading signs of that emotion enough for all of us, with gasps and whispers to one another. "District Thirteen?" I repeat blankly. I'd never even considered that it could still exist. "Clearly not destroyed, then?"

The woman nods. "Not entirely, no."

Instead of following that line of questioning (as I'm positive I'll be given the answers eventually), I begin to introduce myself. "My name is Ga-"

"We know who you are," she dismisses. Neither of us moves to shake hands. Rather, we stand there, appraising each other. The broad, heavily weaponed man is still standing nearby, watching me talk with Coin wordlessly. "Why don't you come inside so we can talk?"

I begin to move forward but stop myself before I even take a step, shaking my head. "How about we stay out here until you provide me with a legitimate reason to trust you?" I don't mean it rudely, but I don't what to risk anything. And yes, I know that's ridiculous because if she wanted to hurt me or anyone else here she could easily have done it ages ago- either from the sky, or from any one of the millions of opportunities I've given here by just standing here.

But she seems to approve of what I've said because something about her expression changes. She doesn't smile, exactly, but something about her seems slightly more pleased. "The promise of food and a place to stay isn't enough for you?"

"No, I can't really say that it is," I answer, letting my eyes drift to my mom, who's looking worried.

Coin raises her left arm to chest-height and I flinch, momentarily afraid she's got a gun. But she doesn't, she just has some sort of communicating device strapped to her wrist, and she proceeds to speak into it.

"Abernathy? The young man that saved everyone here is requesting to speak with you."

A moment later the communicator hisses into life. "From Twelve? Kind of hard to believe anyone there'd want to talk to me." The voice is clearly Haymitch's, and he laughs a little hoarsely. "Send him on in." The communicator clicks off.

Coin turns to look at me pointedly. "Is that better?"

I finally nod grudgingly. As much as I don't like Haymitch, I can't deny that I trust him. After all the crap he's been through at the hands of the Capitol, I have a hard time believing he'd ever support them. I'm bursting with questions but Coin doesn't give me a chance to ask them.

Instead she says, "Go straight in, he's in the first room on the left. And don't take too long, Hawthorne, you and I have business to discuss." Then she turns away from me, barking out orders to her medics. "Do a basic check-up on all of the survivors. Treat the serious wounds, diagnose what you can, and make sure to get a-"

But I stop listening, instead ducking down to limp my way through the door and into the hovercraft.

The inside of the craft is streamlined but surprisingly roomy, large enough for multiple rooms and doorways but still aerodynamic. Or as aerodynamic as can be expected from the inside of a hovercraft, anyway. I don't have a hard time finding the door Coin told me about, and I hesitate outside it for a moment, trying to decide whether to knock or to just barge my way in.

It's Haymitch, which prompts me not to bother with knocking, but I decide to anyway just in case someone's in there with him. I bang my fist against the door twice.

"Come in," comes a hoarse voice, and I'm a little surprised at the tone- bordering on civility- but I push open the door and walk inside.

The room is small. It's got a couch, a desk, and some chairs. Haymitch is lounging in a chair behind the desk, looking at papers on it, apparently absorbed in whatever it is he's reading.

He doesn't look up at the sound of me entering. "So. I'm going to meet the kid who single-handedly rescued Twelve."

"Well, I don't know about single-handed, and I'm pretty sure you and I have already met," I reply easily, still standing in the doorway, leaning against one side of the doorframe.

He looks up this time, takes one look at my burnt face, and then bursts out laughing.

"Of course it's you," he exclaims, and his voice seems a little twisted and humorless. Actually, seeing him, it's clear that he's been in some sort of physical fight fairly recently because five long, red lines stretch down his face. He doesn't seem to care- or even notice- that I'm staring at the scabs. "All of District Thirteen's in an uproar, terrified that all of Katniss's friends and family have been killed and that she'll never agree to be the Mockingjay now, and here you are, leader of the whole escape attempt! Her family's all right?"

I nod wordlessly and he bangs his hand against the table. "It's just too good!" He's laughing again, but there's something vaguely off about it, like he doesn't think it's funny at but isn't sure how to react. Then he breaks off and takes a real look at me, pulling an expression of disgust. "What happened to your face?"

"You're one to talk," I snap back.

He looks confused momentarily, then raises a hand to his own scarred face, his expression twisting into a sneer. "Katniss," he says, by way of explanation. The name also sounds close to a curse when he says it.

I don't ask about what she did to him. Only, "Where is she?"

Haymitch lets out a derisive scoff, and then mutters something foul. "You're infatuated with her too. I'd forgotten. It's impossible to go anywhere in this country without someone asking me about her."

But I'm not accepting his embittered ramblings as an answer. I stalk closer, trying my hardest to hide my limp as my tone gets lower and more serious.

"Tell me where she is, Abernathy."

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Calm down, Mr. Melodramatic. She's in a room on the ship. Perfectly fine. A little disoriented and angry and injured and sedated, but fine. Oh, and slightly crazy. But there's nothing new there."

"What happened in the arena?" I sit down on the couch without asking Haymitch if it's all right. To tell the truth, I really don't care whether he's okay with it or not. I want answers and I'd like them as quickly as possible.

Haymitch sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "What didn't happen in the arena?" The sarcastic tone in his voice is gone for maybe the first time in his life, and he looks up at me with a weary expression. "The Capitol broke in at the same time that we did. We ended up getting a few of the survivors out- Beetee, Finnick, and Katniss. The Capitol took Enobaria, Johanna, and- and Peeta."

I'm not sure who 'we' is referring to, exactly, but I set my expression, feeling oddly chilled by this bit of news. "Are they going to-"

"Torture him? Definitely. If he's lucky they'll go too hard on him and he'll die quick. He's got it better than Johanna does, though. She actually knows worthwhile information." Haymitch's hand reaches outwards like it's trying to find a bottle to drink from, and then he curses as he realizes that nothing's there. "Took away all the booze," he says. I'm staring at his hand, which is shaking with tremors. "It's not permitted in District Thirteen." His voice twists around the words mockingly, but I can tell just how real the problem is. He's having some major withdrawals.

"District Thirteen," I repeat. "They're the ones that broke into the arena? Tell me about them."

Haymitch shrugs. "What's there to tell? You already met the president."

I cough, spluttering in surprise. "The what?"

"The president. Alma Coin- she's president of District Thirteen."

I'm staring at Haymitch, dumbfounded. "So, what, it's like its own country?" I don't know very much about government in general- why would I? It's not like the Capitol felt it was really something we ought to learn. But I do know that Districts don't have presidents.

"That's the goal," says Haymitch. "Actually, it's more that they're aiming to take over the country that exists here currently."

"So they're the resistance," I say, finally understanding.

"You're a real clever one, aren't you," Haymitch answers snidely. He kicks off his shoes and stares up at the ceiling, as if there's some deep secret written there for him to read.

I ignore him. "So it really exists? And you're part of it? How long has it been going on? Does Katniss know about it? Did Peeta? Is it inter-district? Why hasn't the Capitol done something to them yet? Is the District armed? Why-"

"Of course it exists, boy. This revolution isn't something that was just recently thought up. It's been around for years. And no," his voice loses some of its biting tone. "Katniss and Peeta didn't know about it."

I can tell he's thinking about Peeta and the inevitable torture that will come to him, pain caused in order to find answers that he won't be able to disclose. Although I have to wonder whether or not it's better for him this way.

All right, it's obviously not better for him, but better for the resistance. This way he can't give anything away that might be important. Apparently Johanna Mason can, though. I don't even want to think about what the Capitol is doing to them right now. The possibilities make me feel a little sick-hearted.

"All right," says Haymitch after waiting for me to respond. When I don't, he keeps talking. "Here's what's happening."

He goes on to tell me all about the District. Apparently, in the Dark Days, its primary export wasn't graphite, it was nuclear energy and weapons. I only need that much and then I can make a good guess at what happened.

"They seized control of the weapons, then?" I ask, only it's not really a question, it's a statement. It's the only thing the rebels could have done in order to secure their survival. "They probably threatened the Capitol unless they were left alone. There wasn't much Snow could have done to stop them without assuring mutual destruction, so he had to let them keep existing." I admit it, I'm impressed- I like these District Thirteen people despite myself. They're certainly resourceful, seeing as they've managed to evade the Capitol for seventy-five years. They've got to know what they're doing by now.

"Why bother asking me anything if you already know all the answers?" Haymitch grumbles, leaning back in his chair and putting his shoeless feet up on the desk. He's wearing a pair of socks that are filthy and holey. My mother would be appalled- I know she spent ages darning and re-darning socks for him when she was still his housekeeper.

I ignore him (I'm pretty good at that) and say, "But you? How long have you been part of the rebellion?"

"Longer than you've been alive, kid," he says gruffly, his hand twitching out for a bottle that doesn't exist again. Instead he picks up a piece of paper from the table and crushes it in his hand. It's not a motion out of anger, but more out of instinct. Immediately he sets the paper back on the desk and tries to smooth it out.

So Madge was right. Madge, who for all I know is dead- don't think about it it's not true- was actually right. Haymitch did know more than he let on. The thought makes me want to laugh, cry, and hit something, all at once.

I have more questions, but Haymitch interrupts me with one of his own. "Twelve?" The single word is enough for me to know what he's asking. His tone is nonchalant, like he doesn't really care, but of course he does. District Twelve was his home just as much as it was mine.

I don't really want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. "Burned to the ground," I answer curtly, which of course he already knows. I can tell that he was hoping for slightly more detail, but he seems to accept that there are some things that, well… that aren't meant to be discussed. He would know, after all. He's seen similar things in his life.

And despite that knowledge, I just can't get their faces to leave my mind.

Kids, burning to death. Terrified. Melted flesh and the scent of it, on the air, in my lungs, sprinting past the flames and choking on fistfuls of my neighbors. Little bits of Bristel and Madge, floating on the wind.

I swallow, close my eyes to clear my mind, and open them again. Then, doing one of the things I'm best at, I change the topic. "So. Coin. Tell me about her."

Haymitch studies my face to see whether or not I'm all right, and the truth is that I am. Or I will be, anyway. I just want to be able to stop thinking about it.

He finally answers. He tells me how she's strict and ruthless, and positively brilliant at strategy. How she's resourceful, how she's spread the rebellion throughout the districts, how she's made her District militant enough that a full-out resistance has actually begun and- so far- been pretty effective.

"And she's smart," he adds, his voice sounding almost thoughtful. "I mean, yeah, we're here to get you and the Everdeens to bribe Katniss into helping us, but we're also here to offer shelter to the refugees. Coin didn't want to leave you out here, even though we've taken a considerable risk by coming."

I nod, my left arm itching in its sling. "When can I see Katniss?" I ask abruptly.

Haymitch opens his mouth to answer me, but it's not his voice I hear.

"We're going to evacuate everyone before we let you see her, but we'll make sure you're on the same vessel that she is." It's Coin, standing in the doorway, appraising Haymitch and I. I don't know how long she's been there and I'm feeling a little self-conscious that maybe she heard me questioning Haymitch about her, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's not accompanied by the older man this time. "She may not want to talk to you though. I'm not about to mince words with you, Hawthorne. Katniss attempted to commit suicide."

I pull in a sharp gasp of air then let it out angrily. Of course she did. Idiot.

Instantly I feel bad about thinking that and then mentally take it back, but it's true. Even if she thought it was the smartest thing to do, she shouldn't have done it. Not only because I don't want her dead. But because a whole lot of people around the country don't want her dead, either.

Coin walks further into the room, her arms clasped behind her back, staring out the small, round window to the forest around us. "Normally I would say that she's welcome to do with her life what she wishes. But right now this country doesn't need a martyr- goodness knows we've had countless numbers of those. What the people really need is a hero, and she's in perfect position to provide that at this very moment. The only problem is that she is incredibly unstable."

I watch her as she speaks, wary. This sort of conversation is only ever followed by a request.

"But she trusts you. Certainly more than her mother, or anyone else that we know of."

"More than me," Haymitch agrees, making an annoyed face. He doesn't bother to take his feet off the table.

"So, what we'd like is for you to talk to her once she's awake. Help explain to her what's going on. She's gone practically catatonic every time someone's tried." Coin sounds annoyed by this, frustrated that the hero she risked everything to save isn't cooperating.

Well, too bad for her. After everything Katniss has been through, she deserves a little time to be crazy.

But Coin does have a point. Katniss trusts me. And I trust her.

And if she really is losing her mind, I'll just have to help her find it again. Because that's what we do for each other. We make sure that both of us can survive.

"I'll do what I can," I say.

Coin studies me, her dirty-snow eyes examining my injuries. "Go find one of the medics. They'll change your bandages and make sure you've been treated properly. Get your family, explain to the survivors anything I or my medics covered insufficiently. Then go ahead and get yourself some food. We'll send someone to get you from this ship's dining hall in about half an hour. You are dismissed, Soldier Hawthorne."

"I'm not a soldier," is the first thing I can think of to say, and I'm slightly confused as I say it, casting my gaze to Haymitch who has just recently closed his eyes.

"No," Coin agrees. "But you will be." And she walks out of the room, leaving me alone with Haymitch once more.

But I don't stay there for long. I take one look at the scratched man who's practically asleep at the desk and start to stand up, ready to follow orders, my mind racing with all the possibilities this conversation has opened up.

I still can't quite believe it.

There's a legitimate resistance movement against the Capitol and President Snow. And I'm about to be a part of it. So, after years of nothing, I'm finally going to be having the chance to do something real to help stop Snow.

And even though it makes no sense considering all of the death I've been surrounded with for the last four days, I've never felt so… alive.

I walk out the door of the room without a word to or from Haymitch. And then I walk out of the hovercraft, dodging medics and other survivors as they load onto the gangway into the vehicle.

I can tell that they're trying to get the most severely injured onto the hovercrafts first, because some of these people have to be carried on, or rolled up the ramp on stretchers. Somehow the number of doctors has multiplied, and now there are dozens of them, roaming the camp and talking to people and fixing wounds. I have to hand it to them- District Thirteen certainly was prepared to come help us.

I start heading away from the hovercraft to find my family when I feel an arm on my shoulder, and I whirl around to see who's trying to grab my attention.

It's a doctor, someone just a few years older than me, with light brown hair, white-clad and carrying a bag that's most likely full of medicines. "Gale Hawthorne?"

"Yeah?" I ask.

"President Coin wanted me to take a look at you. It shouldn't take long," he says, as though he expects me to refuse his assistance.

"All right," I say with a shrug, and he instantly searches in his bag for all sorts of fancy equipment which I will probably never know how to use. He seems to be rifling through his bag as fast as he can, like he's afraid I'm going to dash off at any moment to get away from him. As he changes my bandages and gives me some cream to put on my burns, I start talking to him.

"So, how long have you been with District Thirteen?"

The doctor looks up, slightly surprised at the question, but then drops his eyes back to my arm, which he's checking for broken bones. "I was born there," he answers simply, now pressing lightly on the bones near my wrist. "My parents were from District Nine, though. They ran away right after they got married. Does that hurt?"

I flinch. "Yeah." It's all I can do not to run away from the touch.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and then says, "It's broken. Most likely just a hairline fracture but it's going to take some time to set. Back in Thirteen we have some medicines that will speed along the process, but for now you're going to have to keep it in the sling."

I nod my understanding, and then say, "How do you like it?"

"What, Thirteen?" When I confirm that that's what I meant, he shrugs. "Better than anywhere else, that's for sure. Food, clothes, a job- plus I don't have to worry about the Games or the Capitol interfering whenever they feel like it. How did you like Twelve?" he returns. I can tell that he didn't mean it rudely, but more out of curiosity.

I shrug, and think of all the times I wanted to be rid of the place. "It was a home," I say simply. "Not much of one, but still mine."

The doctor nods and finishes pinning on a new bandage around my ribs where Lucien hit me with his gun. "Then I'm sorry for your loss."

"It wasn't your fault, but I appreciate it." Some other medics rush by with a little kid laid out on a stretcher. Her face is badly burnt- worse than mine by a lot- and she's breathing shallowly. Mrs. Everdeen is at their side, talking quickly as they load her onto the hovercraft. I can only hear a few of her words, but from what I can hear, it sounds like she's telling the doctors what she's already given the girl to keep her alive this long. I'm looking around and I catch sight of the older man with the gun, talking to some of the ex-miners, looking serious.

As the doctor keeps working on my various injuries, I say, "So what's with Coin's watchdog?"

The doctor looks up, momentarily confused. When his gaze moves to the man I'm staring at, he lets out a surprised laugh. "Oh, him? That's Alexander Boggs. He's the President's right-hand man."

I whistle. "A lot of important people came to pick us up."

The doctor nods his agreement. "I don't know the specifics, but yeah. They decided it was an important situation, I guess. I mean…" he trails off, and looks at the ground, a little embarrassed.

"What is it?" I ask.

He laughs again. "I'm sorry, it's just… it's sort of surreal to be talking to you. I mean, you know the Mockingjay!" His voice gets slightly hushed, and then he lets out a sheepish laugh. "Sorry. I just-"

"Nah, it's okay," I say, and it's the truth. I got over being recognized for knowing Katniss a long time ago. The only weird thing is that she's being hero-worshipped now, and not openly despised.

"What- what's she like?"

I look at this doctor's face, and then smile a little. "She's brave, and brilliant, and beautiful… Honestly, she's every bit as wonderful as she seems. Only better."

The doctor's smiling too now. "I wish I could meet her."

I don't say anything back right away, instead thinking about where Katniss is right now and what sort of state she's in. "Practically catatonic," that's what Coin said. She's had… some sort of mental breakdown, or something.

But at least she's alive.

"Maybe one day, you can," I tell him at long last.

We don't say much more for about a minute, although it's obvious both of us are thinking about what's just been said. The doctor who's helping me finishes stuffing his supplies back into his bag, and then he straightens up. "All right, I think we're done here. When we get back to the District, we'll try to get you something more. But for now all I can say is try not to move around. At all."

I let out a laugh at that bit of advice, and the doctor grudgingly allows himself a smile. "Okay, try not to move around as much. I just don't want to have to reset any bones."

"Yes sir," I say, snapping a fake salute with my right hand and grinning at him. "Thanks again, uh-" I stumble for his name.

"Harry," he says with a grin, offering a blue-gloved hand to me to shake. "Harry Cade." We grasp hands for a moment, and then he grins again. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around the District. It's not a very big place. Besides, you seem to get injured a lot, so I'm sure you'll wind up in my infirmary eventually. How do you get a broken hand and bruised ribs in a fire, anyway?"

"It's a long story," I sigh.

Harry laughs. "Well, maybe one day I'll get you to tell it to me." He talks a breath and then starts talking again. "Anyway, it was-"

"Cade!" Both Harry and I turn to locate the voice. It's a female doctor with an old man leaning against her, limping our way. "Do you have any low-dose morphling in your bag? All of my pain relievers have already been used up."

"Yeah, I've got some," he calls back. "Dosage?"

"Twenty milligrams?" the second doctor suggests, and Harry turns back to me.

"Look, it was great meeting you. I'll- I'll see you around, all right?"

"Sure thing," I say, and Harry dashes off, opening his bag as he goes.

And now to find my family, and Prim if I can.

It doesn't take very long for me to figure out where they are, because from where I'm standing, I can see my mother helping Delly Cartwright and the three children with her onto the hovercraft. Vick's holding Posy's hand next to them and Rory is- predictably- nowhere to be found.

"Mom," I call, making my way to her. She and everyone with her stop and look up, their eyes finding me.

"How'd your talk go?" My mother asks, the little girl I days ago- Tessa, I think it was- squirming in her arms.

"Haymitch's socks look terrible again," I say, which makes me Mom let out a small laugh while Delly smiles. "Hi, Delly," I add.

"Hey, Gale." She's holding her real little brother's hand on one side and the other little boy's hand on the other. The sight reminds me of my own siblings.

I head over to Vick and Posy, kissing Posy's forehead and rubbing at Vick's hair with the knuckles of my right hand. "Hey, kid. How are things?"

"The doctor says they have food on board," Vick answers excitedly. "Real food. Good stuff, for everybody!" His eyes are wide. "And we're all going to have a new home in District Thirteen!"

I nod. "That sounds about right, from what Haymitch told me."

"He was sober enough to say anything helpful at all?" My mom asks dryly, and I let out a half-hearted laugh.

"Well, yeah. Apparently they don't let anyone here have alcohol. Haymitch obviously isn't doing very well with that little regulation."

"Well, someone needed to break him of the habit," my mom sniffs, although she can't quite hide the sorrow in her eyes. She feels bad for him. She's worked for him, and seen how he lives, and she pities him. I don't know how I feel about that. Before I can say something about Haymitch which I will probably regret, my mom keeps talking. "And have you heard anything about Katniss?"

I pause, considering my answer. "I haven't seen her yet. Apparently she's having some sort of… of breakdown, or something."

My mom sighs, shaking her head, and Delly pulls in a quick gasp.

"That's terrible!"

"Yeah, I know," I answer. "I don't know how bad it is, exactly, but judging by the way Coin was talking to me… she's not doing well at all." Not that I blame her for that. "You all know where Prim and Rory are, right?"

"Prim's helping out Thirteen's medics with her mom," My mother answers. "Rory is with her. Mostly he's just handing them supplies, but at least it's something.

"All right," I say, after a pause. "So, the first hovercraft is going to leave in about ten minutes, from what I can tell, and I've got to be on it. I'm supposed to explain what's going on to Katniss- apparently she's not responding to conversation very well at the moment. So I'll talk to her, and then I'll find you guys on the ship-" I break off at my mom's stricken expression, and then frown, puzzled. "..You all are going on the first hovercraft, right?"

"Not exactly," My mom says, frowning. "I figured Moore could probably use my help more down here, still organizing everybody else. The kids and I are going to go on the last one, probably. But if you're needed on the first, then-"

"No, no, it's okay," I say quickly. "I'll be fine on my own, then. I'll just get to District Thirteen first and figure out what's going on so that when you all get there, we can have a plan already made."

My mom finally nods, although she doesn't seem too pleased with the solution. "If you're sure that's the best thing to do." She inhales deeply. "Well, I don't know how long it will be until we see you. In any case, I love you," she says, and she kisses my forehead. "Stay safe."

I smile, say my goodbyes, and then dash off, so I'm inside the hovercraft when it takes off. Delly and the kids with her are some of the last people to get on the ship.

I know Coin told me to get some food, but I'm really not hungry just now. I know I should be starving, and in all honestly maybe I am, but right now it's Katniss I care about so much more than anything else. Certainly more than my rumbling stomach, which I learned to entirely ignore long ago.

I go to the dining hall anyway, where I was told to, but I'm not there long before the ship's lifted off and the view out of the windows is one of the tops of trees rather than the bottoms. I have to take in a quick breath because it's so strange- I'm flying. I'm leaving District Twelve forever. I'm flying.

The whole experience is so surreal. A few people- survivors- come and try to talk to me, but I'm not really focused on the conversation and I honestly don't remember what it is I say. All I know is each minute I'm not spending with Katniss is a minute where I'm sitting, twitching in my chair with nervous energy as refugees move and shuffle around me, moaning in pain or whispering to each other in excitement.

I don't get anything to eat, which maybe I'll regret later. But when enough time has passed that I can no longer see the lake from out the window, someone comes up to me.

"Gale Hawthorne?" My head snaps towards the voice, finally breaking away from the window, and I see an older female doctor standing in front of me. Instantly I'm on my feet, ignoring the wrenching pain in my sides as I stand up.

"Can I see her now?" My words rush out in a blur, but the doctor seems to understand.

"I'm going to take you there. I… I don't know how awake she'll be. And she'll look bad- we don't have a prep team like the Capitol does to make the damage seem less severe," she warns, her voice twisting the words with an anger that I am all too familiar with.

"I don't care," I say. "Just take me there."

The doctor nods, and we're off.

We make our way past injured people and children and families huddled together, none of them making any particularly loud noises. I think they're all afraid that if they do anything too quickly or loudly, they'll wake up and realize this whole week has been a dream. That we're all going to wake up in our beds in District Twelve, with only the Games and the mines to look forward to. I understand, because I feel the same way.

But I'm going to see Katniss. I'm going to see Katniss now, and even if that's just a dream it's something I'd prefer to being awake any day.

Finally the doctor stops outside of a door, and turns and looks at me. "Are you sure you want to do this? I understand-"

"Look, I'm positive," I say, and I'm having a really hard time keeping the frustration out of my voice. "Can you please just open the door?"

Finally the lady sighs and shrugs, and pushes the door in for me.

I walk inside.

The room is large and curved, just like everything else on this ship. The ceilings are dreadfully low and the whole place is flooded with a silvery artificial sort of light. But my eyes go straight to one thing, near one of the far walls.

It's a bed. More accurately, it's a padded metal platform, surrounded by beeping medical equipment and tubes of dripping liquids, and the whole setting in general makes me think of death and pain and sorrow.

And that's when I see the girl, asleep- or pretending to be asleep, anyway- on the bed.

Katniss.

She looks so, so tired. Her long hair is jagged in places and frizzy and soaked with blood near her skull, and falling into her eyes, and she looks pale and thin and sick. I step closer to her, studying her for a long moment, just standing there with my arm in its sling, staring. I'm at her side and I barely even recognize her.

Beyond that, her arm has a long line of stitches travelling up it, zigzagging across her flesh and cinching her together like some sort of perverted rag doll. I grit my teeth, breathing deeply.

This is not right. Katniss- who, for the record, is only seventeen- shouldn't look like this. Not ever.

She doesn't open her eyes, but I stay by her side, wanting to just reach out and grab her hand, until she does.

The grey eyes flicker open.

I don't even know what to say, but that's okay, because she speaks first.

"Gale." Her voice is a ragged whisper, hoarse, lost, missing, torn, and it's so wonderful to hear it at all that I have to swallow back some emotion as I lean down to push a strand of her hair off of her face and onto the pillow behind her.

"Hey, Catnip," I answer. I can see her grey eyes- so like my own- drinking in the sight of me, everything, registering confusion at the burns on my face and the sling on my arm and the bandages peeking out through my filthy miner's shirt. A moment passes while Katniss seems to be trying to get her thoughts into order, and then the most important of them pushes its way past her lips.

"Prim?" It's a gasp, desperate, hungry for some good news but so positive she'll get bad news instead.

This, at least, is good. I can tell her what she wants to hear. "She's alive. So is your mother, I got them out in time."

Fires in the distance, up close, body parts discarded on the ground like pieces of forgotten paper to be tossed away.

Katniss saves me from the memory. "They're not in District Twelve?" Her voice sounds so confused. So lost.

I try to think of the simplest way to explain, because I can see in her face that she isn't fully here. I mean, she's still Katniss, but she's only halfway present, like half of her mind was left back in the arena. Like half of her mind is traveling with Peeta, wherever he is. Whatever's happening to him.

"After the Games, they sent in planes. Dropped firebombs." I can't quite think of words to describe the result. I don't know that there are words that could do it accurately at all. Even the images in my head can't compare to the actual memory. "Well, you know what happened to the Hob."

Her eyes sort of zone out, like she's trying to get them to focus on something that isn't there. When she speaks again, her repetition isn't quiet, it's just small. Like she's trying to hide behind her own words, to throw them up as some sort of protection against the truth.

"They're not in District Twelve?"

I don't know how else to explain it. And I think, I think that inside, Katniss knows the truth. That there's just no way the Capitol would have let District Thirteen get away with what they did without some payback of some kind.

"Katniss," I say softly.

As soon as I say her name, I want to take it back because I know she'll recognize the tone. It's the same one I use when I'm hunting and I don't manage to kill something right away. This is the tone that only ever comes before the deathblow. And of course Katniss, my hunting partner for years, recognizes it.

She flinches against whatever news it is I might be bringing, raising one arm up in front of her face as though she can fend off my message with physical force. I reach out my good arm and catch hers in mine, pulling it down gently and holding on tightly.

But Katniss is shaking her head, trying to get herself away from me so she can't hear the news that has been left to me to give her. That was left to me because she trusts me. Because I trust her. Because the only person she'll listen to right now is me.

"Don't," she whispers, and her voice cracks on the word, and my heart breaks with it.

But she has to know the truth, and if I don't tell her now, no one will ever be able to.

"Katniss," I say slowly, trying to make my words obey me, but I don't think she hears it. And looking at her, I'm once again overwhelmed with a burning sense that I am completely guilty in this. Guilty because I couldn't save her from the Games either time, guilty because I couldn't keep more people alive back in Twelve, guilty because of what I did to Lucien, and most of all, guilty because I have to deliver this terrible, terrible news and that it has to be true.

"Katniss," I try again, not looking away from her eyes, "There is no District Twelve."