A/N: I just adore torturing these characters.

**Chapter 4**

As soon as we're inside, I lean against the shiny stone wall. I turn and face the marble, pressing my hot, clammy forehead to the coolness. Peeta is stroking my back. His hand is warm and heavy. The pressure makes me want to bow forward and vomit some more.

"Get off," I whisper, shrugging out from under his hand.

"Okay," Peeta says calmly, "It's okay." He leans against the wall beside me. I glance up at him, and our eyes meet.

The distinctive clacking of Effie's high heels comes toward us from down the hall. A few other sets of footsteps follow. I'm sure it's Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia. As they approach, I hear their gasps and exclamations echoing through the hall.

"What happened?" It's Effie, of course. "Your speeches weren't wonderful, but they weren't, well…"

Stars are blinking at the corners of my vision. I'm going to pass out if I don't sit down soon. I press my palms against the cool marble wall and try to formulate something to say. "I'm just—"

Suddenly the floor is dropping like I'm in an elevator. "Whoa—"

Haymitch and Peeta are on either side of me. It seems like no time has passed at all and I'm slumped on a couch in a small sitting room off the hall. I blink a few times. Cinna is sitting beside me, offering a glass of water. I take the glass in my shaking hand. I swallow a small sip, then hold the glass to my fevered cheek.

"Hey," Cinna murmurs, "You alright? You were really scaring me back there."

"I'm good," I say, trying to cool my other cheek.

"No, you're not." Peeta is standing at the arm of the couch closest to me. "You need to rest." He brushes a lock of hair from my face. I'm tender beyond belief. His fingers briefly make contact with my skin.

"Don't touch me," I snap. He's hurt. Peeta retracts his hand and uses it to rub his own jaw. I feel bad. In a lot of ways. "I love you, though," I say quietly. Why the hell did I say that? Do I mean it? Well, maybe. Part of my mind remembers all the nights with Peeta in my bed to soothe away the nightmares. But a larger part is entrenched in this moment and just how rotten I feel an dhow much I'd like to strip off my clothes and float on my back in a slow moving stream with no other human beings in a five-mile radius. I also have a fever. And I just passed out.

"Sorry," I say to no one in particular.

Effie thinks I'm talking to her. Of course she does. "It's quite all right. We are scheduled to be at dinner with the mayor in two hours, though. The event will be broadcast live just like all the others," Effie says with a worried trill. She begins to rattle through her handbag for the pill bottles.

"Goddamnit, Effie!" I moan, "I just threw up the last batch of those things."

"Can't you just cancel it?" Peeta barks at Effie. This is different. I'm usually the one who snaps at Effie. Peeta is the one to smooth things over afterward.

"No, we can't." Even more surprising, it's Haymitch who answers. "But believe me, that would be the best idea. Can't deprive the people of an evening with their little star crossed victors, now, can we?" He raises his eyebrows at me, and I understand what he's trying to imply. All the events have to go on camera as planned or President Snow will suspect I'm inciting rebellion in the districts.

"Yeah," I sigh, "Fine." I hold my forehead in my hands. "Just give me a few minutes."

Effie hesitates, clicks her shoes back and forth in front of the couch a few times, then leaves the room.

"I'll bring in your dress in an hour. We won't prep much before dinner," Cinna says as he gets up from the couch. I hear Portia's footsteps following him.

When the door closes behind them, Haymitch grabs my arm and pulls me up from the couch. I'm off balance and gasping with discomfort as he steers me out of another door and into a tiny bathroom. I sink down onto the closed toilet. He shoves Peeta into the wall beside me. Haymitch squeezes in front of the sink and shuts the door.

"What?" I ask indignantly.

"Now that we're not being overheard, I'm going to get you out of this," Haymitch says.

"Out of what?" I sigh.

"Get you out of the damn dinner party, sweetheart," Haymitch replies.

"How?" Peeta asks. He's skeptical.

"You," Haymitch gestures to me, "Didn't look so bad on TV earlier. Not so sick, just tired or stressed or something. So we'll play off that. Tonight you're going to have a drink."

"No!" I immediately exclaim.

"Hold on, sweetheart. You don't have to have a lot. Before they actually have us sit down to eat, there'll be an hour or so of walking around, chatting, you know, just like always. You get a glass of something, take a couple of sips, make sure the camera sees you. Set it down somewhere, get another one, talk to people," Haymitch holds my gaze. I know I have a slightly disgusted look on my face.

"It won't stay down!" I argue.

"You don't know that. Maybe a little liquor'll make you feel better," Haymitch smirks. "But all the better if it doesn't."

"Fuck," I whisper as I rub my forehead, which has begun to throb.

"Hey, hey, bear with me," Haymitch snaps. "We have to 'make the story unfold,' provide a reason before we up and leave. You," he pokes me in the thigh, "have a drink. Drown your sorrows, get tipsy. Then say you don't feel so good. Go to the bathroom. You," he claps Peeta on the shoulder, "Go check on her. Make sure she's okay. Then come back and tell us she's sick. Effie'll arrange for us to leave, we go back to the train, I have a drink, and we all sleep until this shit blows over."

Peeta's nodding, but I'm not convinced. "I'm going to look like some sort of idiot on national television," I say.

"You'll look human. All the Capital folks get wasted all the time. They'll be going around commiserating with your tough life, 'Poor Katniss,' and all that crap. Hell, you'll look like you learned from the best." Haymitch slaps his own chest.

"That's what I'm afraid of," I mutter. But I know it'll work.

I look up at Peeta. "You think…?" I don't really know what I want to say.

"Yeah," he says. "We'll get through it. Then you can sleep."

I nod. "Okay."

Haymitch opens the bathroom door and lets himself out. I shove myself to my feet and follow, heading back to the sitting room. I'm suddenly freezing. There's a furry blanket strewn over the back of the couch. I reach for it, but the slick fur slips to the floor.

Peeta appears behind me. He pulls the blanket from the ground and wraps it around my shoulders. I walk straight into Peeta's arms. I let him guide me to the couch, where we sit, my head resting against his chest.

I fall into a light doze, longing for this day to be over.

A/N: PLEASE R&R! More to come!