In shock I see them tearing off his blood-stained shirt, digging the bullet out of his flesh, cleaning the ugly hole in his stomach. He's still breathing, but shallowly. The start pumping drugs into him, and through my daze I can only form one comprehensible thought: He took that bullet for me.

All I can do is sit there as they try to save his life. The whisk him off to treat him further, and I just stare after them with the image of the bloody bullet hole still emblazoned on my mind.

My hunter's senses pick up someone stirring the air beside me. Katniss.

"Snow's dead," she says. "We won."

I don't respond, and she can tell by my expression that something's wrong.

"Who?"

But all it takes is one more look at my face to know.

"Peeta?" she gasps.

I nod slowly.

"No!" She starts babbling frantically, and her voice is rising in pitch.

"Where is he? I have to see him! What if—I have to—"

I rise and lightly cover her mouth with my fingers to quiet her.

"You can't see him right now," I say. "They're trying…to save him."

"Save him?" she whispers, and her eyes fill with tears that shine in the glow of the fluorescent lights.

She buries her face in my shirt, shoulders shaking with sobs. My arms automatically wrap around her.

"He'll be okay, Catnip," I say.

But I'm not so sure it's true.

We stand there for a long time, Katniss's muffled whimpers the only sound in the quiet hall until Mrs. Everdeen appears in her medical apron and gloves, looking grim.

Katniss unearths herself from the depths of my shirt.

"How is he?" I ask. I'm surprised by how blank and empty my voice sounds.

Something in her eyes tightens when she replies. "He doesn't have much longer."

"How much?" Katniss croaks.

Long pause. "I'd say about an hour, if he's lucky."

I stare at her, my mouth slightly open. I don't know how long I expected. A month maybe? A couple weeks? A few days? But not this.

Katniss lets out a strangled cry and begins to sob uncontrollably. I expect her mother to give her some words of comfort, but it's me who she addresses next.

"He wants to talk to you," she says.

"Me?" I ask in disbelief.

She gives a curt nod. "He's in the third room on the left." Her eyes are till tight. But as I turn to leave, I see something in them soften and suddenly she's out of doctor-mode. When she speaks to Katniss, her voice is trembling too.

As I walk down the hallway, my every footstep echoes eerily. I'm so used to my silent hunter's tread, it's unsettling.

When I reach the door, I hesitate and then creak it slowly open. I feel a sharp twinge of guilt when I see him. His face is drained of color. There are cuts all over his arms and chest. But worst of all is the bandage on his stomach, already soaked in blood. The contrast of the brilliant red against the white is startling. That could have been me, I think.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out the question that's been weighing on my mind since I found out what happened.

"Why'd you do it?"

He looks at me for a moment before he answers, and there's something in his eyes that makes me want to turn away. When he speaks, I can hear the pain in it.

"Because she needs you," he says softly.

I just blink stupidly because I don't know what to say.

"So, what'd you want to talk to me for?" I ask gruffly, finally breaking the silence.

He takes a deep, slow breath. "Actually, I needed to ask you something," he says.

"Yes?" He just saved my life. I can't refuse him.

He looks at me with that steady gaze so full of pain, it's almost tangible.

"Make her happy," he whispers.

I stare back at him, at a loss for words. Suddenly I'm there watching the Quell on the big screen in the town square again and I see Peeta open his locket and show Katniss the pictures inside. Of her mother. And Prim. And me.

"Your family needs you," he had said. I thought he might have been playing for the cameras, but now I knew he wasn't.

I think of the way Katniss had been unreachable for days after she found out the the Capitol had captured Peeta, locked away in some dark world of her own pain. I think of how she's out there right now, crying her eyes out with the knowledge that Peeta will not live to see the end of the day.

And I know that if Peeta Mellark dies, nothing I could do would ever make her truly happy again.

"I can't," I choke out.

"Yes, you can," he insists. Then he takes on a softer tone. "She loves you."

My mouth opens even though I'm not exactly sure what I'm about to say, but he speaks before I do.

"Please," he says quietly. "I need to know she'll be happy. Please, swear that you'll do what I failed to. Please."

He's imprisoned me again in that miserable gaze and I can't look away, can't tell him that it will never happen, can't do anything but comply with the dying boy's last wish.

"I swear it," I say, even though I know I've already broken my promise before I even speak.

When I'm finally walking back down the hall, I still feel trapped by that tortured stare. And I think that maybe he was the better choice for Katniss after all.