A/N: Oh, goodness! Over 800 reviews? Seriously? Dudes, that's epic, and I thank you for be awesome.

Okay, I have a feeling a lot of you will be squealing this chapter. One, we've got an awesome argument. Two, we've got a cute little fliry scene. And finally, we have what I like to call a 'saucy scene.' And if you think it's hot . . . let me just say that the 'saucy scenes' in CF are even hotter. (fans herself)

Sooo . . . let's get to it! Onwards!

Random Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Peeta and Katniss are just my puppet pals for a while; Smurfs make the best spies; I keep Jack Sparrow in my basement; Dumbledore or Gandalf?. . .biggest question in my life; I think seagulls are strange creatures; Spock rocks; I am terrified of hand puppets; Elves are real...Legolas and I talk...Be jealous; I saw Bob Barker drop kick a small goat once; Timon and Pumbaa are the ULTIMATE dynamic duo; the Fonz is the man; Peeta Mellark is a sexy beast; Vampires should NOT sparkle; Merpeople are real, they're just shy; "Voldy's gone moldy!"; Severus Snape is awesome; I am very fond of 'Gibbs slapping'; Oreos are the BEST; I start college in a month, yikes; OMG over 700 reviews!; I had an arguement with my wall yesterday. Don't worry. I won!; Whenever I'm on the golf course and someone says 'Four!' I yell, "FIVE!" . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 21

The pitter-patter pattern of the rain threatens to lull my mind back into unconsciousness. The soft tapping of the raindrops against the rock is actually rather soothing. But slowly, the fog begins to clear from my mind, and the dull ache in my head grows exponentially until it's throbbing.

Already I have a headache, and my eyes haven't even opened yet.

"Katniss?"

My eyes are open in a flash. "Peeta?" I blink rapidly, trying to bring him into focus. I feel his hand on my face and let out a sigh of relief. "It worked." I examine his face. His skin is back to its original color; even his hair seems to have a little shine. His blue eyes are brighter than ever.

And a very disappointed frown is on his face.

"What?" I ask defensively. "I did the right thing."

"You drugged me."

"You were being difficult."

I try to sit up, but the moment I lift my head, the world begins to spin, and my headache intensifies. I place a hand on my head, wincing, and I feel a soft cloth under my fingertips. Peeta must have bandaged it. I would be feeling much more grateful if he weren't trying to convince me that saving his life was a bad idea.

"You could have died," Peeta says angrily.

"You would have died!" I snap. "You would have died and then left me here! You know that if the situation was reversed, you would have done the exact same thing!"

Peeta's eyes harden. "That doesn't matter! I doesn't matter what I would have done. You can't die for me, alright? You won't be doing me any favors."

"What makes you think I did it for you?" My anger gives me the strength to sit up and fight the wave of dizziness that the movement causes. "Did the idea ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to save you for my own selfish reasons? That I would rather save you, knowing that you could die later anyway, just so I would have that much longer with you? No. Of course you didn't think of that, because of course, you, Peeta Mellark, are the only one of the two of us willing to die for the other!"

I think that my outburst is the longest and most coherent I've ever shouted.

My chest is heaving with emotion; my headache is now a roar in my mind, tears are threatening to fall from my eyes, and all Peeta can do is stare at me blankly. Maybe I didn't make as much sense as I thought I did.

I open my mouth to say something, but I'm suddenly in Peeta's arms and he's holding me closely to him, murmuring soft words and apologies. A little part of me holds onto my ire at his audacity, but the rest of me is simply overjoyed that he has the strength to hold me to him. We stay like this for a long time, with Peeta occasionally pressing a kiss to my hair or my temple.

After a while, my curiosity causes me to break the silence. "How is your leg?"

"A lot better," Peeta answers. "Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone."

I frown, slightly. "How long have I been out?"

"I'm not sure exactly." Peeta holds me tighter. "I woke up yesterday to find you lying next to me in a rather scary pool of blood."

"A sight to wake up to," I say dryly, and Peeta doesn't answer immediately.

"You looked dead," he says softly. "For a moment, I thought you were."

"Not a nice feeling, is it?"

Peeta's hand comes up to caress my cheek. "One I could go without feeling."

"Then let's just not die," I say lightly. "Just save ourselves the sorrow."

"Sounds like something I can agree to."

My eyes drift to the mouth of the cave and I see the rain coming down lightly. It's only then that I notice the piece of plastic wedged into the rocks above me, creating a little canopy to keep the rain from dripping down on me due to the cracked ceiling. Peeta must have built it.

"Have you eaten anything?" I ask. "You need to eat something."

Peeta looks sheepish. "I'm sorry to say that I woke up and gobbled down half the rabbit and a piece of groosling before I realized that we might have to make it last. Don't worry, though. I'm back on my strict diet."

I shake my head. "It's alright. I'll go hunting soon."

Peeta looks at me warily. "Not too soon, though, alright? Just let me take care of you for a while."

"Fair enough," I say with a small smile. "You owe me anyway."

Peeta laughs a little, thinking of the silent game of payback we've played for the past few years. "Where do I start then?" he asks. "Food?"

"Always a good place to start."

Though there's a part of me that will always balk at being taken care of, the rest of me is relishing the feeling. Because, for once, I get to sit back and let someone else shoulder the burden. It's always been me taking care of others, my mother and Prim, protecting them. After years of shouldering this weight that at times I resented so much it took me an entire day alone in the woods by the lake shake the feeling, it is an incredible feeling to sit back and let someone else take over. The thought flies through my mind that if this were Gale and not Peeta, I would be putting up much more of a fight. There's just something about Peeta that I trust, something that I don't have with Gale.

It might all go back to my illuminating discovery that I'm fairly certain I'm in love with Peeta.

Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and some raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. Once he thinks that I've eaten enough, he moves to my feet, intending to warm them up. Because of the rain, my boots and socks are still wet. I don't even realize how cold my feet are until I feel his warm hand. I jerk my foot away, and Peeta looks at me confused. "What?"

"I have a thing about feet," I say seriously.

This doesn't seem to deter Peeta. In fact, it only makes him amused. "Why?"

"Because . . . because they're just nasty, okay?" I fumble for an explanation that sounds reasonable. "I mean, they get so dirty and they stink, and one time a patient came in to see my mom and he really had something weird going on with his toes, and . . ." Peeta grabs my foot and an embarrassing squeal escapes my lips. "And it tickles!"

Peeta laughs. "You're ticklish?" He reaches for my feet again, and I jerk them away from him.

"Aren't you?" I ask defensively.

Peeta shakes his head. "I have two older brothers. I was all tickled out by the time I was eight."

"You know you use Chris and Rye as an excuse for a lot of different things," I tell him, my eyebrows raised.

"Having those two for brothers really shapes your life," Peeta says with a fond smile.

A question I've always wanted to ask escapes me. "Why did you let Rye win the wrestling tournament?"

Peeta chuckles. "You know he's cursing you at home right now. He's lost all the glory."

"I think I can take him," I say with a grin.

Peeta rolls his eyes, but begins to explain. "At the time, he was trying to impress a girl. Safe to say that if he lost to his little brother, he would not feel very impressive."

I laugh. It was so something that Peeta would do, letting his brother get the win just so said older brother could impress a girl. "Was the girl impressed?" I ask.

Peeta laughs, louder and freer than I've heard in a while. "No. She was worried about me and if I was okay."

A giggle escapes me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the preceding giggles. Only Peeta Mellark could make me giggle, such an abhorrently girly act. "Poor Rye."

Peeta merely nods, a rogue chuckle escaping him. We continue to talk as he warms up my feet by putting them in his jacket, and then tucking me into the sleeping bag. He sits beside me, but after a while, I can't stand it anymore. I reach down in the sleeping bag and unwrap his jacket from my feet. I toss it into his lap, and he frowns. "You—"

"It's freezing," I cut off his argument before he can get on a roll. "You need a jacket."

"You need to stay warm."

"So climb in here with me, if you're so worried," I say, raising my eyebrows. "With you in here we'll be sweating in no time."

For once, I realize the double entendre in my words before Peeta, and my face flushes the brightest it ever has. Peeta catches on a second after I do, and much to my embarrassment and aggravation, he waggles his eyebrows. "Well scoot over and I'll see what I can do," he says with a grin before making a big show of crawling into the sleeping bag with me.

Despite my lingering embarrassment, I don't hesitate to lay my head on his shoulder, and when his arms come up to surround me I can't help but close my eyes and relish the feeling. When he was drugged, he'd felt so far away, and now it's like I've never felt closer to him.

Entranced by this feeling, I tilt my head up to allow my lips to brush the skin of his neck. Peeta makes a sound of surprise, but I ignore it, continuing to kiss my way up his neck before Peeta finally regains his senses enough to meet me halfway, his lips crashing down on mine. This is the first real kiss where he's not loony with fever or dead tired, and it shows. Fire ignites in my stomach as our lips move together, and when I feel his tongue trace my bottom lip, a moan escapes me, much to my horror and excitement. It only seems to spur Peeta on, and I'm suddenly very aware of his hands that are dangerously low on my hips. A sound between a shriek and a squeal escapes me when Peeta's hands tighten on my hips before suddenly lifting me on top of him.

He really is feeling better.

Peeta's tongue traces my bottom lip again, and this time I open my mouth and let him in. The feeling of our tongues dancing together is incredibly new and a little odd, but terribly exciting. When we finally break away, I feel as though my lungs are about to burst.

I meet Peeta's eyes and see that they're that dark shade of blue again, and now that I'm aware of my feelings for him, I recognize the look in his eye. Desire.

I feel an odd sense of girlish pride. I have this effect on him. Me.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks, his voice a little lower than normal. I like it.

My response escapes me without a thought. "On fire."

The rest of the night passes quietly. There are no more excessive, fire-igniting kissing sessions, as we're both still worn out from the previous day's events. Peeta is still weak from his wound, and my head is still throbbing with the worst headache in history. My brief bout of oxygen deprivation probably didn't help, but I don't regret a single second of that kiss.

The rain continues to pour into the next day, and I know that I can't hunt. The rain is coming down in sheets. I wouldn't be able to see three feet in front of my face. Hours ago, Peeta and I ate the rest of the food we had, and it did little to thwart our hunger. I'm a little surprised that Haymitch hasn't sent us anything. Surely, he could? Or maybe not . . . anything sent into the arena now would cost an egregious amount. Or maybe we're not giving him enough. Maybe he wants more of the 'star-crossed lovers'? I'm miffed that my favorite kiss with Peeta to date wasn't worthy of being sent something.

I'm drawn from my thoughts when Peeta speaks, "I wonder what's with this storm," he says. "Who's the target?"

"Cato and Thresh," I answer immediately. "Foxface is hiding in her den somewhere, and Clove . . . she's . . ."

"Dead," Peeta finishes for me. "I know. I saw her in the sky the night before. Did you kill her?"

"No," I shake my head. "Thresh. He broke her skull with a rock."

"Lucky he didn't catch you too," Peeta says, and I slowly shake my head.

"No," I close my eyes, my mind reliving the onslaught of the feast. "He caught me . . . but he let me go."

"He let you go?" Peeta questions confused, and I know that I have to tell him everything that he's missed. From my alliance with Rue all the way up to the feast.

And so I do. I tell him all about finding Rue and letting her be my ally, though I keep my explanation of what love is to myself. I tell him about blowing up the Career's supplies. Tears enter my eyes when I tell him of Rue's death and how I sang to her. I give him every detail of the fight at the feast, my battle with Clove and how Thresh saved me, and then how he let me go before taking both his and Cato's packs and darting into the part of the arena that I've never seen.

"He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" Peeta questions and I nod.

"Well, you two have that in common," he says. "You both hate owing people."

"It's very annoying. It's like the bread. It took me forever to get over owing you for that," I explain.

Peeta looks at me incredulously. "From when we were kids?"

I nod. "You didn't even know me. We hadn't said a word to each other. I still don't know why you did it." I shake my head. "Other than the fact that 'it was the right thing to do'?" I make little air quotes in the air to prove my point and show my disbelief that that's all his motivation was.

"You know why," Peeta tells me softly.

It clicks. "You were in love with me when we were eleven?"

"It actually all started when we were five."

I stare at him, shocked. "You've loved me since you were five. There's got to be story for this."

"And you're wanting me to tell it, aren't you?" Peeta asks.

"I did tell you a story before. You owe me one."

Peeta grins. "Fine. It was the first day of school. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair . . . it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up."

"Your father?"

Peeta nods. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"

I'm shocked. "What? You're making that up!"

"No, true story," Peeta says with a smile. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings . . . even the birds stop to listen.'"

A sad smile pulls at my lips. "That's true. They did."

"So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta remembers with a fond smile. "And I knew I was a goner. Then for the next eleven years I tried to work up enough courage to talk to you."

"With mild success."

"With mild success."

"We were great with one word conversations," I say with a smile. "Hi."

Peeta chuckles. "Hi."

"And then you would blush and walk away," I recall with a soft smile. "I always thought you were weird."

We both laugh before slipping into silence for a few moments. I break it when I say, "You have a remarkable memory."

"I remember everything about you," Peeta says quietly as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now."

"Well, I don't have much competition here," Peeta teases, but my response surprises him with its sincerity.

"You don't have much competition anywhere."

There's a light in Peeta's eyes, one that I haven't seen. Almost like hope. I lean forward, and just as I've pressed my lips to his, there's the clanking sound of a parachute hitting the ground outside the cave. Peeta gives a loud whoop of excitement, crawling out of the sleeping bag and running into the rain, despite my protests.

He quickly returns with the parachute, which as a large basket attached. We know what's in it before we open it. Food. Peeta quickly opens the basket and we both stare in awe at the food before us. Fresh rolls. Goat cheese. Apples. And best of all, a large tureen of my favorite lamb stew over fried rice with dried plums.

"I guess Haymitch got tired of seeing us starve," Peeta says, his face alight with excitement.

"I guess so," I say.

But in my head, I'm replaying the last few minutes of mine and Peeta's conversation. My confession to him, basically admitting my love and yet not at the same time. I can practically hear Haymitch's smug voice in my head, "Yes, that's what I'm looking for, sweetheart."

Woo! Katniss, look at you! You got to make out with Peeta. Lucky girl, you are.

Little update for Mockingjay: I've got the first three chapters in the bank. MJ's giving me trouble for multiple reasons. Mainly because Peeta isn't there, so both me and Katniss are depressed. And then there's such different circumstances that I have to deal with. But, alas, never fear. I shall write on and get Peeta back as soon as possible. I've had a lot of questions as to whether Peeta will be hijacked. I can sorta say 'yes and no.' He won't have the memory loss, but he will have the moments of blind rage, though it will not be directly influenced by his experience with tracker jacker venom. My evil plan for him is actually quite heartbreaking (for both him and Katniss), even more so than in the books. Yeah, I know, I'm evil. Just prepare yourselves for a darker, more dramatic story.

And now on to my version of Catching Fire! Let's see . . . what quote from My Last Breath shall I share today? Hmm . . . let's go with . . . Rye Mellark! We'll be introduced to Peeta's family in my version. :)

So this is Rye's typical greeting to Katniss, "Hey there, sweetcheeks!"

Lots of love,

AC