Always

Finding You

A.N. Sorry for spelling errors, I didn't have to time to correct it!

Arms wrap around me. Haymitch. He's soothing me like he is my father, although I suppose in a way he is. "I can't do this anymore," I sob into Haymitch's chest, clutching onto his shirt as though it's the last thing connecting me to the world. "I can't . . . it's my fault . . . if he dies . . . because I . . . I . . . I just can't . . . do this . . . anymore . . ."

Haymitch holds me tighter. "I know, sweetheart."

The rest of the day is a blur to me. Sketchy memories of being carried back into 13. Vague voices shouting orders. An angry, demanding Haymitch. A persuasive Gale. A pleading Rye. A crying Finnick. A determined Boggs. Flashes. Chaotic flashes of memory.

Eventually, I manage to come to my senses, but I still feel like a specter. Like I'm not really here. And I realize that I'm not. Gale was right. I can only live with half of myself for so long.

I'm broken.

An achingly hollow feeling consumes my heart, which is pained with each pump of blood it's forced to make. Each breath feels like I'm inhaling thousands of needles. Sharp and gasping. My eyes are tired and burning from shed tears. My entire body aches from the force of my sobs. I hurt. Physically and emotionally, I'm in agony.

I just want to let go. This slow suffering that's sucking all the life out of me . . . death would be an escape. An easy escape. No more pain. Nothing. I would feel nothing, and I would be nothing. The thought almost makes me smile.

And then my baby kicks, reminding me that I'm not alone.

The baby. Our baby. The reason that I'm still here. The reason that I'm living. The only reason. The baby is the reason. For everything. I can't give up. The baby is what connects me with Peeta. The baby is a piece of Peeta, a reminder, a living memory. I can't let go.

I may be broken, but I'm not giving up.

The sound of a door opening, followed by the chair squeaking draws me from my thoughts. "You look like crap." Haymitch tells me.

I scoff. "You're one to be talking." I respond and look at his bloodshot eyes, greasy hair, and dirty skin.

"The doctor said that you need to rest for at least another few hours, before you go and have a breakdown again." He says sarcastically. He must see the broken look on my face because his smile fades a little. "He's coming home. They sent in a team after him."

"Who?" I ask because I don't want to get my hopes up.

"Peeta."

It's almost as if I can feel my heart being put back together, maybe for good. Hopefully for good.

"They have a rescue team after him right now, we'll know more in a few hours." He tells me.

"I want to go." I swing my legs over the side of the bed before Haymitch stops me.

"No, you need rest. Besides they already left."

To distract myself from the nagging feeling in the back of my head, I ask him another question. "Who's leading the rescue team?"

"Boggs naturally," Haymitch replies immediately but I sense something he's holding back. "He pretended to ignore my raised hand. See? He's already demonstrated good judgment."

Something's not right. "Haymitch, who else volunteered?"

"I think there were seven all together," he answers ambiguously and my hammering heart is threatening to burst out of my chest as anxiety and fear begins to twist my stomach.