Plutarch bends down to pick up the pitcher from the floor. A nurse rushes in and asks if everything is OK. "Delightful, thank you. And aren't you just so charming for checking in on us?" He flatters the woman until she's blushing and closing the door behind her.

"You have some nerve showing up here," I spit at him.

"I sincerely don't understand the hostility, Katniss," he states as he rolls a chair next to our bed and takes a seat. I extricate myself from Peeta and sit to face him.

"You sent those cameras in. You knew about the threats on our lives, and you flooded District 12 with foreign faces. You gave that woman a means to an end. You knew about the unrest in 13! What were you thinking?" I glare at him.

"I couldn't possibly have known that Mitchell's wife was going to use the camera crews as a facade to get in 12. I hadn't even announced the series publicly," he replies.

"You were bragging about it, because you can't help but bask in the limelight. You told Effie. Who else did you tell?" I seethe.

From behind me, I hear Peeta breathe, barely above a whisper, "Mitchell's wife?" I turn back to look at him, and his eyes betray the pain percolating beneath the surface. "Then, this is my fault." I see him retreat inward. I want to send an arrow into Plutarch's chest.

I take Peeta's face in my hands. "This is not your fault."

Peeta shakes his head and forces my hands away. "I killed him, Katniss. I killed him. And then his wife shows up and you almost died!" He's pulling at his hair now. "Do they even know where she is? Is she okay?!" he pleads.

"She's dead," Plutarch states matter-of-factly. "Her body was found only yards from yours in the woods. It looks like a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

"I'm going to be sick," Peeta states, pushing himself up and away from the bed. He retreats into the bathroom and I hear him vomiting in the toilet. I creep in behind him and rub his back as he rests his head on his knees, quietly sobbing. "I did this to her. To you. And now I'm still alive, and she's the one that's dead?! What is that? It doesn't make any sense."

I pull his head into my lap, and he lays on the floor. We stay like this for a long time. "Did she have kids?" he whispers.

"I don't know, Peeta," I reply. I'm so angry with myself for not telling him sooner. He shouldn't have found out like this. I feel his body tremble, and I run my hand up and down his arm. I knead my thumb into his muscles, trying to get them to unknot, but he is wound like a string.

"This is all my fault," he shivers.

"No." I cradle his head in my hands and push my forehead to his. "This is Snow's fault, for torturing you. This is Coin's fault, for sending you out there. You never should have been there in the first place, Peeta. She basically put a loaded gun in the middle of the Star Squad. She was hoping you'd kill me, but everyone else there was expendable to her." I stroke his hair. "You never would have gone out there on your own."

He buries his face in my legs. "I can't do this, Katniss." He pulls away from me and sits with his back against the bathtub. "It just never stops. It's like the Games will never end. The war will never end." I straddle him and press my chest against his. I let him feel me breathe. I feel his heart pounding, and then I feel it slow, until it's steady and constant.

"It hurts right now. It will hurt later. It will always hurt," I say. "But we can't just focus on the terrible things. We need to think about the good. You need to make a list of every good thing anyone has ever done. Every good thing that will someday come to be. That someday, you'll have a bakery, and you will make sure no one in 12 is ever hungry. You will paint the leaves and give people hope. You'll teach our little girl to draw dragons with wings and trolls under bridges."

He smiles at me. It's a small smile, but it's a victory nonetheless. He rests his head against the wall, and I lay my cheek against his. I bring my mouth to his ear and whisper, "I love you, Peeta Mellark." I feel him disarm, and melt underneath me. He wraps his arms around my waist. We stay this way for a long time. We rock slightly. We are two burned, tattered, victims of war. Our skin has been lapped with fire, our bodies torn by bullets, our hearts hollowed by the pain of loss and guilt, but in every way we are a we.

When Peeta and I finally leave the bathroom, I'm frustrated to find Plutarch still sitting in the chair, reading a magazine.

"You're back! Wonderful!" he exclaims.

We sit on the bed and eye him warily.

"I came to discuss when we could film a segment with you. As you can imagine, the scene of you two in the bakery was really quite lovely, but the country has been on edge since the incident in the woods surrounding District 12. The last image they have of you is being rushed into the hospital, and that certainly won't do," he states.

"Well, whose fault is that?" I snarl.

"Let's let bygones be bygones, shall we? Now, I spoke with your physicians and they expect you will be released sometime next week. How about a segment the week after? Give you a few days to settle in, and then we'll send a team? I assure you, they will be highly vetted," Plutarch proposes. I now understand why Enobaria filed her teeth into fangs. If I could rip his jugular out of his throat with my teeth and watch him bleed on the floor, I think I'd do it. Peeta can feel me tensing and places a comforting hand on my knee.

"Plutarch, both Katniss and I are exhausted. Why don't we discuss this later?" he asks. Discuss this later? There is no discussion. I'm not doing this. I'm about to say as much when Plutarch stands and offers Peeta his hand.

"Sounds reasonable, young man. I'll be in touch shortly." Peeta just stares at his hand until Plutarch drops it and wipes his sweaty palm on the leg of his pants. "I'll just see myself out, then," he states and exits through the door.

I turn to Peeta, ready to protest this entire idea, but before I can form the words his mouth is on mine. It's slow. It's sensual. We have no privacy here, not really, but I find my mouth moving against his. He puts one hand on my face, the other rubs my leg. I moan a little, and he rubs my thigh harder. My legs are so sore from today's routine, and the pressure is almost too much, but so good at the same time. He leans me back and he runs circles up and down my calves and thighs, massaging and digging and lingering and I feel like I'm melting into the bed. He rubs my ankles and feet, until my entire lower half in tingling. He starts at my toes and kisses his way up my leg, onto my hips. He lifts my shirt slightly and kisses my stomach, then traces his way up my hands, my arms, my neck, until his mouth finds mine again. Our lips collide, and my tongue is in his mouth and his hands are tugging my hair. We haven't been intimate in weeks, and all the days of keeping apart keep us crashing together. I flip us over and take the advantage. I pin his hands to the bed and bite his neck. I grind my hips into his and he groans. I muffle his mouth with my hand.

The door swings open and Johanna lumbers in. She is drunk. We pull apart, but I don't think she is alert enough to understand what she walked into. She plops herself on the bed with us and tries to crawl under the covers.

Gale follows her in quickly, grabbing her hand. "Woah, Johanna… we are sleeping in the waiting room, remember?"

"Oh yeah…" she slurs and presses a sloppy kiss on his mouth. His eyes shoot to mine and I mock them, sticking my tongue out and swirling it around in the air. In a moment, Gale has lifted Johanna over his shoulder and is carrying her out of the room. She protesting, kicking and scratching him.

"Sorry…" he says to us and closes the door.

"I can't wait to go home," Peeta says.

"Me too."