As always, thanks very much for all the favorites, follows, and reviews! Special thanks to Thundarrgirl, Chanceawakening, Thynerdgurl, Sara, rayleen14, MaidenAlice, Guest (#1), Guest (#2), and Scrivener50.

FYI. Another character has a cameo in this chapter. It might seem like a totally random choice, but. I have my reasons. If you can guess why, I'll give you and your movie knowledge a gold star. And not the "you tried" kind. The "you are a winner" kind.

Suzanne Collins owns Hunger Games.

XXX

I'm not sure how much time passes before I realize that the voice calling my name isn't a figment of my imagination.

Katniss, it says, foggy in the back of my mind. Katniss.

It also asks me a question or two, but I can't understand. Disoriented, I blink, and my eyes focus on Peeta. He's standing in front of me, blocking my path, eyebrows creased in what must be a mixture of worry and confusion.

"What?" I ask, sounding raspy. My breath comes out in shaky, shallow wheezes, like I ran a mile to get here.

"What happened?"

I try to walk past him, my lips shut tight, but black spots appear in front of my eyes. For a split second, the world shifts violently, and I hold my hand out in front of me to keep my balance. "I forgot to eat lunch. Dinner, whatever it is," I explain to him, running a hand over my face. "My brain stops working when I'm hungry."

He doesn't move or answer, apparently still disconcerted. I catch him searching my eyes for some piece of the truth, and I glare at the white tile ground with a new determination.

"Come on, there's a bench right here," Peeta says, pointing at a plastic bench pressed against the wall. It's across from a window that overlooks the busy street that leads back to Bohm.

"We need to get your brother."

"He's fine, Katniss." I frown at him, and he sighs. "Just..."

His hand reaches forward, fingers jutting out, to gently brush against my hip, prodding me towards the seat before instantly pulling back. I'd be angry if I wasn't so distracted by the goose bumps that break out all over my body. There are five tiny specs of heat where each finger was just a few moments before.

Dazed, I obey the gesture and gracelessly flop onto the bench. He stands a few feet away, most likely gauging my mood, then eases down onto the spot next to me. His hands clasp together in his lap and he turns his head to the side for a better look at me.

Before he can ask anything else, I say, "I'll wait here. You go up."

"Are you sick?"

"No, just hungry." Now would be the perfect time for a sheepish, half-hearted smile, but I can't do it. Stony-faced, I point towards the elevator. "He's probably waiting right upstairs."

Peeta gives me one last look, a mixture of suspicion and resignation. Maybe even the slightest hint of annoyance. I blink, oddly uncomfortable knowing I managed to bother someone as even-tempered as he is. I'm used to frustrating people, and saying things I shouldn't, but at least Gale fights back. My mother doesn't, but I don't think I could ever feel guilty for snapping at her after the type of parent she's been—especially after Dad died. Then Prim.

Maybe that's why she decided to move away from New York; I'm not enough to stick around for.

Peeta finally starts to move. "Be right back."

I nod absently.

Prim rarely got angry at me. At anyone, really. Even after we lost Dad and I started failing classes in high school, to the point that I wanted to drop out. At least I had a good excuse. I was taking on as many work hours as I could, trying to make up for the lost income, and I didn't have time for much else.

The elevator doors close behind Peeta. As soon as he's gone, I'm aware of the people constantly moving in the hallway, the sirens outside, how cold the bench feels despite my jeans. I wipe my hands on my pants, watching the activity in the emergency room. My only other option is to look out the window, but the traffic's moving so fast it makes me dizzy.

The ER doors swing open into the hallway towards me, and a doctor pushes through them. He's dressed in all white with a stethoscope slung around his neck, holding a cup of something in his right hand.

My immediate thought is that he's carrying blood, and I cringe, shrinking away from him as he passes me. My movement catches his eye and he stops, turning to face me.

There's something familiar about him. Just looking at his face, his posture, his expression, tells me I've met him before. Probably once a few years ago.

My eyes zero back in on the object in his hand, and he follows my gaze. Then he speaks, and I know exactly where he's from.

"It's fruit," he says, holding the cup out to show me and lifting his other hand so I can see the spoon he's got.

"You were in the ambulance." He raises his eyebrows, inspecting me, and I clear my throat. "I—You were sitting on my right."

"I remember you." He steps closer. "You go to Bohm."

After all the patients he has, I can't imagine why he'd recognize me. Maybe he doesn't get as many suicidal patients as I thought.

My instincts tell me to be quiet and let him go on his way, but the gentle expression on his face prompts me to respond. "Yeah. You got me from my dorm room." I wasn't conscious for that part of it, but I can't remember anyone else from the ambulance.

I meet his eyes. He doesn't look surprised or confused, which tells me everything I need to know: He remembers exactly who I am and what I did.

Instead of running for the hills like I normally would, I stay where I am. It's impossible for me to walk away from him. I'm weighed down by a morbid curiosity and fear.

"Do you...get a lot of people like me?" I ask. To my surprise, he sits on the bench next to me, opening his fruit cup.

"Some. More middle-aged people than students." I look at my hands, silent. He continues, "You visiting a friend?"

Quiet as I can, I scoff, remembering the way I managed to bother the one person I was starting to consider a friend just a few minutes ago. "No. Don't really have any to visit." I hesitate. Softer than before, I add, "I'm not very good at making friends."

The 'ding' of the elevator saves him from responding. Holding a bag filled with what look like clothes and toiletries, Peeta returns with a slightly taller, skinnier man following behind him. His brother (I assume) has a fading black eye, with what looks like a broken nose. He walks with a slight limp that becomes even more apparent when he leans forward to mutter something to Peeta, who shrugs him off as they approach us.

"We'll see," the doctor says, rising to his feet. He lowers his voice to a whisper. "I'm still betting on you."

Peeta gives me a warm, somewhat weary smile as the doctor disappears down the hallway, unopened fruit cup in hand.

"I'm Taftan," Peeta's brother says with a short nod when they reach me.

I return it, trying not to stare at his bruises. "Katniss."

"I've heard." Immediately, I note that he's fiery and amused, without a trace of Peeta's gentleness.

Something about the shit-eating grin on his face sends a wave of heat rushing up my neck to my cheeks. Before I have to reply, Peeta hands his brother a cell phone, "Here, you can call the cab."

XXX

Peeta's silent in the taxi. Taftan sits in the front, and I see him watching the pair of us in the mirror. He tries to start multiple conversations, but it isn't long before they die off into silence.

After telling the driver to take a left hand turn that will lead us to an apartment complex, Taftan turns to look at us again, cocking his head to the side. "So, who's the doctor?"

"What?"

"Who were you talking to? Never seen an ER guy stop for a quick chat before."

I shrug, looking out the window. "I don't know. Guess he just wanted a place to sit for his break."

"Doc wouldn't have sat down next to me," Taftan says, and my gaze slides over to meet his. "Then again, most people wouldn't choose to sit next to a fighting, failing, can't-keep-his-dick-in-his-pants son of a bitch."

I start at the venom in Peeta's voice as he cuts in. "Stop."

My shock must show on my face because the amusement returns to Taftan's face. He glances over at Peeta, eyebrows furled. "What? I could tell her a lot worse stories than that."

"We didn't have to come pick you up," Peeta reminds him, resting his arms on his legs as he leans forward, gritting his teeth.

Taftan opens his mouth to shoot back some remark, one I already know will cut deep. Some strange protective instinct takes over, and I interrupt before he can get more than two words out. "You got in a fight?"

"Not much of one," he answers, temporarily distracted by my question. "Got jumped by three assholes at once. Sober assholes, too."

"And you weren't?"

He snorts in response, and I leave it alone. There's another uncomfortable silence, and I can tell he won't wait long to break it. But I can't think of any question or statement that doesn't sound forced or intrusive.

Turns out, I don't have to, because Taftan starts to explain exactly how the fight came to be. It's every bit as disgusting and crude as I expected.

"...found out her name was Demi afterward, so I don't know why that bitch was calling herself—"

Peeta rubs a hand over his face, looking bitter. "That's enough."

"Since when do you stand up to family?" Taftan smirks.

I'm not sure what's so offensive about that, but Peeta's face goes a sickly, pale white. Then, almost instantly, it turns bright red in anger. I don't know what he's going to say, or if it's warranted, but I don't want to sit back and listen to them argue again. And I'm almost positive that whatever insults Peeta has up his sleeve, Taftan's are worse.

"I did know that doctor," I blurt out, and they both suddenly seem to remember I'm here. "The one who was sitting by me."

Without taking his narrow eyes off Peeta, Taftan says, "You hang around hospitals a lot, Katniss?"

I shake my head, swallowing and fumbling for an explanation that won't embarrass me. But his piercing gaze moves to meet mine, and it's as if he's dragging the truth out of me, not unlike the softer, gentler look I sometimes get from Peeta when we meet.

"He was there when I woke up in an ambulance that got me after I took too many Aspirin a few months ago."

Even though Peeta already knows, I find myself looking everywhere but at him. It's the first time I think I've admitted to anything out loud, and the first time he's heard the story from my own mouth.

"You OD'd?" Taftan asks. "On Aspirin? Who the hell OD's on Aspirin?" He pauses. "Ah. Wasn't an accident, was it?"

I can feel Peeta's stare as I answer, "No."

Taftan points at Peeta, looking at him. "You left that part out."

"It wasn't your business."

No one has anything to say after that. Not even Peeta's brother, who keeps quiet until we reach the outside of an apartment complex near Bohm. "This is me," he says to the driver, who stops. He gets out of the car, hauling the bag Peeta was carrying with him. Just before he shuts the door, he sticks his head back inside, hand resting on top of the roof of the car.

"Thanks for seeing me out," he tells Peeta, his voice flat. He moves back, shutting the door behind him, and gives me a lazy wave before heading inside.

I watch him go while Peeta pays the driver. When he's done, he says, "You okay with walking the rest of the way back?"

I'm not brave enough to look at him, so I open the car door and get out in response. He leaves through the other side and meets up with me on the sidewalk. For awhile, the only sound is our footsteps against the concrete and the occasional honking traffic on the road as we head back to Bohm.

But as soon as the dorms and buildings are visible, it's impossible for me to keep quiet, knowing that he'll head off to his dorm and I'll go to mine. By then, the opportunity to say what's been racing through my mind for the last ten minutes will have passed.

"Peeta?" I begin uncomfortably, facing him. "Thanks for taking me with you. And...not telling him about me."

"I did tell him about you," he says. "I told him you're Katniss Everdeen, you're in my Gov. class, and you come into the cafe sometimes."

I stop in my tracks.

I'm so used to thinking that anyone who talks about me is automatically going to mention what I did and how crazy I am. It never occurred to me that Peeta might have a whole different story to tell.

Swallowing, I start to walk again with a foreign tingling in the pit of my stomach. A senseless, obscure longing roots itself somewhere deep under my skin.