(A/N: To put it simply, you guys make me super happy. Thank you, once again!)

I wonder what's going through the minds of the Gamemakers as the rain pours down outside, sending water splashing furiously through the cracks in the cave. There's not much I can do but shift the plastic that I put on the ceiling over Katniss earlier and put the broth pot under a particularly bad leak. I wish I could do more, partly because I'd rather not have to swim later on, and partly because, though I'm so hungry, and I'd really like to distract myself with something, I promised myself I wouldn't eat any more until Katniss woke up. I end up sitting in my usual place next to Katniss, doodling idly in the dirt, wishing for paint. I would paint something beautiful, something that would be a crime to destroy. I would paint Katniss, or a sunrise, the colors all blending together, or a clear night with stars so breathtaking that it's impossible to look away.

Eventually, I gently prod Katniss and help her sit up. I bring the last of the food over to her quickly, and ask if we should try to ration it.

"No, let's just finish it. The groosling's getting old anyway, and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoiled food," she replies to my relief as she divides the food into two piles, pushing some towards me. I end up with a piece of groosling, a few roots, and about three pieces of dried fruit. I attempt to take my time eating, but it ends up that the time I take is about three minutes. I stare at the place where my food was, willing it to reappear again and again. I feel like I didn't eat anything.

"Tomorrow's a hunting day," Katniss says, evidently of the same opinion on the amount of food.

"I won't be much help with that," I confess, though I figure that she already knew that. "I've never hunted before."

"I'll kill and you cook," she suggests. "And you can always gather."

"I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there," I say wistfully, half-serious.

"The bread they sent me from District Eleven was still warm," she replies, sighing. In an effort to keep our stomachs at bay, she takes out some mint leaves and hands a few to me. "Here, chew these." I'm not surprised that they don't help at all.

We peer out of the entrance to the cave when the anthem begins, hoping to see a face in the sky, but we're disappointed.

Katniss eventually asks me, "Where did Thresh go? I mean, what's on the far side of the circle?"

"A field. As far as you can see it's full of grasses as high as my shoulders," I recall, and a thought occurs to me. "I don't know, maybe some of them are grain. There are patches of different colors. But there are no paths."

"I bet some of them are grain," Katniss replies thoughtfully. "I bet Thresh knows which ones, too. Did you go in there?"

"No. Nobody really wanted to track Thresh down in that grass. It has a sinister feeling to it. Every time I look at that field, all I can think of are hidden things." I give an involuntary shudder. "Snakes, and rabid animals, and quicksand." (A/N: I was really tempted to add "Oh, my!" into this.) "There could be anything in there."

There's a strange expression on Katniss's face that I can't quite decipher. It's gone before I can think too long on it, but there was some homesickness, some thoughtfulness, some fearlessness. As soon as her face is wiped clean of emotion, she says, "Maybe there is a bread bush in that field. Maybe that's why Thresh looks better fed now than when we started the games."

"Either that or he's got very generous sponsors," I suggest. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread."

There it is again. A flash of emotion on her face, not the same as before. It's like there's something that I don't understand. She seems to know that I noticed her, and doesn't let me linger on it. "Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," she points out smugly.

That sinks in, and I think about what could have happened to her. I could have woken up to a forever empty cave, I would have died later. I wouldn't have even been able to save her. I reach for her hand, holding it and thinking about the prospect of never holding it again. "Yeah, about that. Don't try something like that again."

"Or what?"

"Or…or…" I can't come up with anything. A lot of the punishments that I had come up with would hurt me because they hurt her. Like not speaking to her for a day. That would be a killer. "Just give me a minute."

"What's the problem?" she grins mischievously. The problem is that you ran off and almost got killed. The problem is that that would have been on my shoulders, that I would never have forgiven myself. The problem is that you're here, and you seem to think that everything you did was fine and dandy.

Eventually I sort out my thoughts. "The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing."

"I did do the right thing," she contradicts me immediately.

I can feel a whole range of emotions bubbling up inside of me. The hurt I felt that she had tricked me, the short-lived anger for putting herself in danger for me, the worry that I wouldn't be able to save her, especially after she saved me. My hand tightens on hers, and I let it out. "No! Just don't, Katniss!" I'm imagining life without her, because of me. "Don't die for me! You won't be doing me any favors. All right?"

She looks shocked at how cold, how serious my voice is, and recoils slightly. I loosen my grip on her hand. I shouldn't have lost my temper, but I was being completely honest. Luckily, she seems to come to her senses and stand up for herself. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who…who worries about…what it would be like if…" she trails off, close to tears.

My plain blue eyes search her beautiful grey ones, searching for the truth in them. "If what, Katniss?"

Her next answer is something that I can tell she wants to keep off television. "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," she replies, cutting off the eye contact.

I smile. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself."

I lean in, kissing her gently, and we both realize in the same moment that this is really a kiss. This isn't me dying on the floor of a cave, with her waking me up with a short one on the lips. This isn't me wishing that she could heal, and delicately letting her know that she means the world to me. Instead, this is the two of us responding to each other, willing to stay with each other, willing to stay like this until the world ends.

Or until she begins to bleed again.

I pull away, kiss her once on the nose, and tell her, "I think your wound is bleeding again." She looks up at me, breathless. I take in her expression, wondering how I got so lucky that she really is here, that she really loves me. "Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway," I say, trying to convince myself as much as her that we need to keep her healthy, we need to keep warm, and that I can't really kiss her until the world ends.

I pull my jacket on at her insistence after she puts her socks back on, hugging herself to keep warm. "I'll take first watch," she tells me determinedly, but I tell her that she won't take a watch tonight at all. She pushes for it, her eyes blazing, and I can tell I won't be able to defeat her.

"Look, I'll let you take first watch if you stay in the sleeping bag. You'll freeze to death otherwise, and I don't want to have to patch you up again," I tell her, opening the sleeping bag so she can warm up, and then sliding in after her. I turn on my side, facing Katniss as she uses my arm as a pillow, the other laid over her protectively, and drift off.

I dream about District 12 again, but it isn't destroyed like it was before. Instead, I'm watching Prim as the Games go on. I see her walk to the bakery, my father giving bread to her, and she walks on, smiling and warming her hands with the bread. She goes to school, keeping as much of a smile on her face as she can, but it seems to be a strain. They haven't begun to air most recent bit of the Games when she returns home, and she pulls out paper and a pencil and begins to write. It isn't homework, I can tell. It's long, and after a while, the tears begin to stream down her face. She folds it up, and scribbles something on the outside.

Katniss

Who, oddly enough, wakes me up, saying that she can't take watch much longer. I agree promptly that she needs to sleep, and she mumbles something about finding a tree tomorrow before she falls asleep.

I think about Prim, think about her writing to Katniss. I decide to write a letter back to her in my mind that she'll probably never hear, but I write it anyway.

Dear Prim,

I just dreamed about you, and you were writing a letter to Katniss while she was in the Games. You looked so worried, and I wanted to let you know that I'm here, that I won't let anything hurt her, and that she will make it home. I promise you, she'll make it home.

I told my father to make sure that you're holding up well, especially on the matter of food, and I hope he's held to that. If he gives you a cookie, and the icing isn't like it usually is, it's because my brother Rye probably did it since I'm gone.

I know that this is easier said than done, but don't worry, Prim. I'm here, I'll help you both.

Peeta