All things considered, it seems like the pettiest of complaints; a toothache. The fact that it was a blow from a vicious Career fist that loosened molars and bruised his jaw was more typical of the arena, and preserved his dignity somewhat.
"No, you eat the last leg," he said, gently pushing the girl's hand away. "I couldn't chew it, jaw hurts."
"How about the bread we stole?"
"Nope," Peeta says, shaking his head gravely as he rejects the piece of bread once again. "You should eat it, Primrose. I'm not a baker anymore, I've forsaken bread."
"What do you mean you're not a baker anymore?"
"I'm a gardener now," he says smugly, and waits to see if they get it. "I take care of flowers," he adds eventually, and Rue makes a scoffing sound.
"You are ridiculous," she says, brown eyes impish. "You are so dumb. Prim, is he always like this?"
She is teasing, but Prim just nods in response, her little face steadfast. "Yes, always." Her empty hand is resting on his knee, and there's so much trust in that dainty touch, trust scarier than the bloodbath at the cornucopia or the wall of fire that had driven them together. He's the smallest boy left alive in the arena, but they are tinier still
"How come you flirt so much?" Rue asks him. "Aren't you in love with her si-i-ster." He rolls his eyes at the sing-songy 'sister', but sticks his nose in the air and sniffs.
"Just because I'm in love with one beautiful lady, doesn't mean I can't be nice to two more."
(the people love this, love his smooth charm and stubborn kindness. He gets the most sponsors by playing up the helpless love angle, or by showing his strength-as he did last by slinging a girl over each shoulder and running, as he did in the fight that loosened his teeth-but lately there is even support given for this side. It makes Katniss glow with confused pride, and Haymitch watch with caution for the displeasure that it will doubtless invoke)
"Dumb," repeats Rue, with all the assurance of a pre-teen.
"I just wish there was something I could do to make it better," says Prim, and her clear blue eyes are direct, with a calm courage that humbles him. "I'm supposed to be a healer, you know." Her lip trembles just a little before firming. "I haven't seen anything that could be used for a toothache."
"You could kiss it better," Peeta suggests facetiously, and clean tidy Primrose makes a horrified face.
"Kiss your TOOTH?"
He laughs, even though it hurts, and pulls her close to run his hand over her head where wisps of formerly braided hair make a halo. "No, dummy," he says, and Rue echoes,
"No, duh," and leans forward to press a featherlight kiss on the bruise at his jaw. "Like this."
Elsewhere in the arena the careers are hunting down one of the surviving kids from the outer districts. It makes for good tv, and although the cameras never sleep no one is really watching the smallest ones as Peeta sweet-talks the girls into eating the last of the gifted bread and Rue softly sings the notes for "time to go home".