A/N: God bless the Rangers for beating the Washington Capitals. And thank you Flogging Molly for giving me a (somewhat) mainstream outlet for my sick fascination with Irish drinking songs.

Sorry I keep messing with Gale. I think I have a grudge against him.

August 25

10:16 am

There's a knock on the apartment door. My mother rises from the chair beside my bed to open it. "Is she okay?" I hear Gale's low, quiet voice.

"Yes, just hold on." My mother looks over her shoulder at me. "It's Gale," she says.

I nod, silently letting her know that it's okay to let him in. The hinges squeak as the door opens all the way. Gale comes to the side of the bed and sits in the chair that my mother just vacated. He puts a hand comfortingly on my knee.

I'm sitting barefoot and cross-legged on the recently neatly made bed. The quilt is crumpled beneath me now. I clutch a mug of lukewarm ginger tea between my hands.

"Hey," I mumble.

"How are you?" Gale asks.

"Breakfast is gone," I sigh.

"I figured," he says. "This the first day?"

"Yeah," I say. "Sort of. I kind of felt bad yesterday after dinner. Didn't puke, though."

"You holding anything down now?"

"Water. For now," I say. "Trying for tea. How long is this supposed to last?"

"A month? Maybe? I don't know," Gale answers.

"About six weeks," my mother says softly. She is leaning against the wall near the door. I'd almost forgotten about her.

"Shit," I groan.

"It'll get better, Katniss," my mother intones, "And it will all be worth it in the end."

"No it won't," I say. I don't really mean to be rude to my mother. It's just that my usual anti-pregnancy attitude has gotten much worse with the addition of morning sickness.

I take a small sip of tea. The mild ginger flavor seems stronger and more acrid than it's supposed to. The mouthful I'd taken in earlier has already begun to calm my stomach, so I know drinking more will be helpful. I can't get around the flavor, though. "Ugh, this doesn't taste right," I complain. "I want something salty."

"Again? Now?" Gale raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah," I say, rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand. "I'm hungry. Just sick at the same time." I'm aware of how odd it sounds. Usually the first hint of nausea drives all desire for food out of me. But right now I'm craving a loaf of district 4's seaweed bread and a glass of milk. The thought that it would likely come back up doesn't dissuade me.

"Finish the tea, it will help. Then if it stays down—" my mother starts

"Mom—" I interrupt. I'm about to say 'shut up,' but I think better of it. I know hormones are probably to blame for my horrible mood, but I still feel bad about it. I hand the mug of tea to Gale and rub my eyes with my fists. "Where are you supposed to be?" I ask him.

"Laundry duty," he answers. "Same as you."

"Oh." I've gotten so used to disregarding my schedule. Of course I'm allowed to now that I'm 'indisposed.' But because I'm just so inclined to break the rules, I want to be busy and training all day.

"They're not missing us, though," Gale says. "First priority is that you're okay."

"I'm fine," I murmur. "Just need a minute to get a grip." I've already had about half an hour to get a grip. And I still haven't.

"Okay," Gale says. He offers me the tea. I take back the mug, but I'm still not interested in drinking the liquid. I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. Gale puts a hand on my back.

"Katniss," my mother says. "I need to get back to the hospital."

"Okay," I say, not looking up. I'm relieved that she's leaving. I'll only continue being insolent toward her. But I'm disappointed that we're not closer. Mother and daughter are supposed to bond over a pregnancy, right?

"Mom," I say, suddenly glancing up to catch her attention.

"Yes?" She answers.

"Don't tell Prim. That I'm sick," I demand. "You know it'll make her worried out of her head. She doesn't need that right now."

"But Katniss—" my mother starts.

"It's not like she won't find out later," I say. "She just doesn't need to know right now."

"Well—okay," my mother agrees. "You take care. Come down to the hospital if you need anything."

"Yeah," I say. I take a sip of tea as the door closes behind her. I tilt my head back and drain the mug, then shove it at Gale and get up from the bed.

"Where are you going?" Gale asks.

"Gonna go fold towels. Want to come?"

"You feel well enough?" he asks skeptically.

"Yeah," I say. "It's not like this is going to go away any time soon. Might as well get used to it."

The walk down to the laundry room does me good. I feel better on my feet. When we get to the warm, humid room, five or six people are folding linens at the central table. Another two or three are moving piles of garments between the machines that line the walls.

Gale and I join the folders. Everyone looks at me, then quickly looks away. I should have gotten used to this by now. All of district 13, hell, all of Panem, is eagerly awaiting news about me and the pregnancy. I'm loath to talk to anyone about it. This repulsive blight on my life.

I keep my head down and work, carefully creasing the towels and pillowcases and folding them into perfect squares. I usually can't stand the meticulous repetitiveness of this kind of work, but today I use it as a distraction. I think only of the fabric between my hands.

I'm grateful when it's time for lunch. I'm ready to be away from other people, even if it's only for a couple of minutes as I walk down the hall. Gale and I head toward the dining room. "I'm hungry," I whine. "I could go for some toast with, like, a shit ton of butter."

"Well, keep your fingers crossed. It's not like we get to choose," Gale reminds me.

"Yeah, well. I should get special privileges," I say.

"What do you call it when you go bother Sae in the kitchen? I'd say that's a privilege," Gale teases me.

"That's different," I say. "It can't be a privilege because I'm breaking the rules. And they don't know I do it."

I begin to smell what we're having for lunch as Gale and I near the doors to the dining room. It's strong. Cabbage-y. Gale holds the door open for me. "Thanks," I say. Then I stop as I'm met with a gust of warm air strongly scented with cabbage and garlic. I can't stand it.

I wheel around and dash a few steps down the hall, where I collide with Haymitch on his way to lunch. I try to say 'sorry,' but I just come out with "Mmmm," as I bring a hand up to cover my mouth. I can taste bile and ginger tea.

I burst into the nearest bathroom and vomit into the toilet. The door bangs against the wall behind me and two sets of footsteps echo on the tiled floor. "Sweetheart?" Haymitch asks.

"Katniss," says Gale comfortingly as he kneels down next to me. When the tea is gone, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and cover my face with my hands. I'm still so nauseous. The stench of cabbage seems to be lingering and festering in my nostrils and throat.

Haymitch slides down against the wall and sits on the floor with us. "You'll be okay," he says.

"Yeah, Catnip. It'll be okay," Gale echoes.

Tears are rising. I let the sobs come, and I bury my face in Gale's chest. He wraps protective arms around me. I moan out the words that I've been longing to scream all day, since I first felt sick after breakfast. "I don't want this!" I wail into Gale's shirt. "I don't fucking want this."

Haymitch rubs my shoulder. "I know, Sweetheart," he intones. "I know."

A/N: Reviews feed my muse! Three more chapters to go, I think.