A/N: Okay, guys, you've got to let up on the awesomeness that all of you seem to exude. Seriously. It's overwhelming me. You guys are EPIC! Thank you, thank you, to all my reviewers. You guys make my day . . . and my inbox rather full . . . which is always happy-dance-inducing . . .

Oh, and just a little update on how things are going with my rewrite of CF. I just finished Chapter 26 of at least 30-something. Word count so far: 121, 805. Page Count so far: 396. I have NO idea how it got this long, people. I just keep typing and typing and typing and it just NEVER ends . . . and it's so totally awesome. :D

So! Katniss thinks our sweet Peeta is dead! (Gasp) I wonder how that makes her feel . . .

Let's find out!

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!" . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 14

The pain has only dulled when I wake.

Every bone and muscle is throbbing, sending pulses of pain throughout my body. My joints feel locked into place, and when I make the move to sit up, I can't help the pained groan that escapes me. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the light, and my vision becomes clearer. I blink rapidly, trying to speed the process.

I see a glint of silver to my right, and reach out a hand toward it. My fingers, which I note are completely blood free, wrap around cool metal. My arrow. I can only assume it's the arrow that cut down the tracker jacker nest. Well, at least I got one arrow back.

Something pricks at the back of my mind, something else that I need back. What is it? I pull myself up into a sitting position and look around. I'm right. Something is missing. No, someone is missing.

"Peeta." His name escapes my lips in a whisper.

Peeta is dead.

Dead.

Gone.

He's never coming back.

I'm horrified when I feel tears well in my eyes. Two feelings are pulling within me, grief and denial. Right now, denial is winning. Peeta can't be dead. He's always been there. Always. He can't have left me. He wouldn't. He can't be gone. He just . . . can't be.

My legs hoist me to my feet, and I ignore the pain that shoots through me. I grab my bow from the ground and I force myself to move, my legs working stiffly to propel me forward as fast as possible. I'm stumbling, but I don't care. I have to get back to where we fought the Careers. I have to see for myself.

When I reach the battle ground, I freeze, my eyes taking in the sight before me. The tracker jacker nest lays cracked open on the ground, abandoned. But that's not what stops me. What stops me in my tracks is the large pool of dried blood. My mind tells me that it's Glimmer's, but all I can see in my mind's eye is Peeta, dead and pale, lying in a pool of rich, red blood.

The bodies aren't here, of course. The hovercraft must have gotten them, but I don't remember hearing any cannons. This makes me wonder how long I've been unconscious. How long could it have been? Twelve hours? A day? Two?

I see our backpack that Peeta carried lying on the ground. I rush for it and cling to it tightly. Yes, it may contain supplies that I desperately need, but it also connects me to Peeta. He carried it. He camouflaged it. I notice a glint of silver a few feet away. Peeta's knife.

And it's covered in blood.

A strange, strangled sound escapes my lips. Those traitorous tears are back with a vengeance and it takes all my self control not to let them fall. My body is trembling with the sobs that I will not set free. How could one boy have such control over me?

Treating it as if it's going to bite me, I pick up the knife and toss it into the backpack. My mind cruelly begins to conjure up frightening images. Peeta and Cato. Blades clashing. Cries of pain. Blood. So much blood.

Peeta is dead.

Grief begins to overwhelm me. No, it begins to consume me. There is an aching, hollow feeling in my chest that is so strange, and yet abominably painful. I feel as though I lost something, some integral part of me. It's so . . . empty. I'd never imagined Peeta not being there. He was always supposed to be there. Even before the Games, before we ever really talked, before we were friends, he was always there. A sort of silent sentinel, watching out for me, giving me the bread . . .

I feel alone for the first time since the Games began.

My mind is telling me that I have to keep moving. I need to take the backpack and go. Find food. Rehydrate. Survive. Because that's what I do, that's what I've always done—survived. But now . . . now it's never seemed so hard . . . so daunting a task.

Peeta is dead.

The thought repeats tortuously over and over in my mind. I feel a lone tear spill over, sliding slowly down my cheek, despite my attempts to thwart its falling. I don't bother to wipe it away, but it's the only one I let fall. I will not let the Capitol know how much I'm suffering, how much pain I'm in. I wonder how they're feeling right now. I bet that they're happy, yet mourning the tragic loss. Peeta Mellark, so good and kind, dying in a fight to save the girl he loved . . . I bet that the Capitol is just eating it up. I bet some of them even cried.

Like they know how it feels.

I doubt they could ever understand the depth of the pain that I'm feeling. I just lost a friend. No, no Peeta was more than a friend. He was my companion. My partner. Peeta was much more than a friend.

It bothers me that I still can't put a name to what Peeta Mellark is to me.

Was to me. Past tense.

I dig deep within myself, closing my eyes. I see my emotional walls in my mind, cracked and ready to crumble. Mentally, I seal those cracks, though it still leaves a scar. I lock away all my grief, all my feelings for Peeta, deep within the vaults of my mind.

When I open my eyes I feel completely empty. But, at this point, empty is good. I grab the backpack and sling it over my shoulder so that it's resting beside my quiver. My hand tightens on my bow, and I resolutely turn and walk away from the scene. I know what I have to do. I need to hunt.

This is good because I really want to shoot something.

I trek through the forest slowly, due to the physical pain still radiating throughout my body. However, I simply slip into my hunter's crouch and move along silently. But after a few minutes, the silence begins to bother me. Peeta isn't trudging along behind me, scaring away all the game. He's not teasing me. He's not laughing.

Because he's dead.

I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking him out. I can't feel. Not now. Hunting. Rationality. That's all I am. A rational hunter. That's all I can allow myself to be.

A rabbit hops out in front of me fifteen yards away and my arrow is immediately stuck in it. It's not clean through the eye like usual, but it will do. I secure the rabbit to my belt and restring my arrow. Fifteen minutes later, I shoot a bird that looks like some kind of wild turkey. It doesn't really matter to me what it is. Meat is meat.

I drink the last of the water in my bottle, and know that my new task is to find a source. Belatedly, I realize that this should have been my first priority, but I had needed so badly to slip into my hunter's mind, where I only feel and see the woods around me and nothing else. I needed that escape so badly, because otherwise I would think of . . .

I mentally stop my train of thought, not even allowing myself to think his name.

After about an hour of walking, I stumble upon a small stream. It's shallow, but wide. I refill and purify my water bottle, and then I'm struck with the need to bathe. Before I really know what I'm doing, or why, I strip down to my underclothes before settling into the water.

The relief is immediate. The cool water soothes the burn on my calf, which is still blisteringly painful. I can literally feel the dirt and grime washing away from me. But there's something else. I feel like I'm being cleansed, metaphorically. Glimmer's blood, her death by my hands, is being washed away. The thought is ridiculous and impossible, and yet I feel better. Or maybe I'm just wishing. Wishing that I could simply wash away what I've done.

I cut off that train of thought quickly. I can't afford to allow myself to feel guilt for Glimmer. These are the Hunger Games. People are going to die. I will probably kill more tributes. That's just how it's going to be.

Suddenly, without my consent, I hear Peeta's voice in my head.

I'm scared of what I'll have to do. I know I'll die. That doesn't bother me . . . it's just, when I die, I want to die still being me.

I just want to show them that I'm not a piece in their games.

Not a piece in their games. Peeta, as usual, had been one step ahead of me. I know what Peeta would tell me to do. He'd tell me to allow myself to feel the guilt over Glimmer's death. Because if I don't, if I allow her to just fade away without feeling anything, then I've let the Capitol control me. I would be losing myself to them. I would be allowing them to turn me into something I'm not.

And no one dictates who or what I am. Only I have that power.

I will not be a piece in their games.

Allowing Peeta's words to sink in and guide me causes the aching hollowness in my chest flare. I heard his voice in my head so clearly, it was almost as if he were right beside me. Like he's supposed to be. I curse my mind, but it's relentless. Suddenly, there's a barage of images in my mind, all of them involving Peeta. A night in the rain. His stupid, know-it-all smirk. Those eyes, so, so incredibly blue, and always dancing with a light that made you want to smile. Strong, protective arms. His laugh. That soft smile he saved just for me . . .

My heart feels as though it's being squeezed by a tight, clawed hand. It's so painful that I can hardly breathe. I feel tears in my eyes and quickly submerge completely in the water so that the Capitol can't see them. I stay under the water until my lungs are ready to burst before resurfacing and taking in much needed oxygen.

Deciding that I've spent enough time in the water, I get out and dress, knowing that the slight dampness in my clothes will dry quickly. The Gamemakers seem to like to keep the arena hot this year. I find a place to set up camp and decide to risk a fire. I'm relying on the fact that I will be able to cook the game and then put out the fire before nightfall, and I'm hoping that dusk will help conceal the smoke.

I quickly clean my kills. After the bird is plucked, it's no bigger than a small chicken, but meat is meat and that's all that matters. I start a small fire and quickly have it going pretty good. I fix a spit each for the bird and the rabbit and then sit back and wait.

It's about a quarter of an hour later when I hear the snap of a twig. My head jerks up toward the sound just in time to see a pair of wide brown eyes before they disappear behind a large tree. "Hey Rue," I call softly. "I won't hurt you. Come on over here."

Slowly, Rue peeks out from behind the tree. She hesitantly takes a few steps toward me. "I can fix your stings," she says quietly.

"Really?" I ask. I haven't given much thought to them, even if the stings themselves have swollen to the size of a small stone and are painful to the touch. I'm too consumed by a completely different kind of pain to really notice. "How?"

Rue produces a handful of leaves from her pocket, and I remember my mother saying something about a particular leaf being able to treat tracker jacker stings. "We use them all the time at home, in the orchards," she explains quietly. "There are a lot of nests."

"Oh, yeah," I say. "District 11. Agriculture."

Rue nods.

"Orchards, huh?" I ask. "Guess that's why you can fly around the trees like you have wings."

I smile slightly when I see Rue beam with pride.

"Alright then," I say. "Fix me up."

I try and appear as nonthreatening as possible, even though I know that I'm far from being at the top of my game. I seem to be doing something right though, because Rue loses a little bit of her hesitance and comes to sit beside me.

Then she does something unexpected. She tosses a leaf in her mouth and begins to chew. After a minute, she takes the mixture of chewed leaf and spit and spreads it over the sting on my knee. The effect is instantaneous and a sigh of relief escapes me. "Oh, that's better," I say and Rue smiles a little. "Can you do the others?"

Rue applies her little remedy to the rest of my stings and I'm already feeling remarkably better, physically at least. "Now if only I had something for my leg," I say as I look at my burned calf. It's hideously red and blistered and is becoming extremely painful to walk on. I've been fighting a limp all day.

I notice Rue's eyes are on my kills that are cooking over the fire. "You know what, I think I need to repay you," I tell her as I take the kills off the fire. I place the rabbit in my backpack, but I leave the bird. "Just a little insurance to make you stay with me." The words leave my mouth without a thought and I fight not to flinch. Peeta said practically the same thing to me when we'd first met up in the arena.

"You want to be my ally?" Rue asks surprised.

I swallow, remembering my last ally. Peeta . . .

"Sure," I manage. "Why not?"

I know that I shouldn't be doing this. If anything, I've learned that eventually, alliances fall. Peeta died. In order for me to win the Games, Rue will die as well. Alliances are temporary. But the comfort a companion provides is invaluable at the same time.

Mentally shaking away these thoughts, I focus on tearing off a drumstick and handing it to Rue. "Here," I say.

Rue stares at the drumstick in her hand wide-eyed. "Are you sure?" she asks. "Really?"

I nod. "Yeah, you earned it anyway. Besides, I've got the rabbit, too. There's plenty."

"I've never had a whole leg to myself before," she says quietly, which surprises me.

"Take the other," I say and she looks at me shocked. "Come on," I encourage her. "I've got my bow. I can easily get more food, and I've got some snares."

This seems to assure Rue and she takes the other drumstick. For a while we simply eat in silence, but then Rue starts to talk. The bird, apparently, is called a groosling, or so she tells me.

"Sometimes," she says. "A flock will land in the orchards and we'll get a good lunch."

"You know, I thought that you would have had a bit more to eat than the rest of us," I say. "Being the agriculture district and all."

Rue's eyes widen. "Oh, we're not allowed to eat the crops," she informs me.

"Why? They arrest you or something?"

"They whip you and make everyone else watch," Rue explains seriously. "The mayor's very strict about it."

I can tell by Rue's expression that this is not all that uncommon in District 11, but a whipping is a rarity in District 12. After all, Gale and I should be whipped on a regular basis because of our hunting—though technically we could get a lot worse—but no one ever says anything. The Peacekeepers want fresh meat just as bad as everyone else. Gale and I are lucky. Besides, Madge's father, the mayor, doesn't seem to have the taste for such events.

Being the rag-tag district of Panem has its advantages apparently. As long as we meet the coal quotas, we're pretty much left alone.

I wonder if the Gamemakers are blocking out our conversation. The knowledge of what goes on in other districts is very limited. We know the main things about one another, which is how each district helps the Capitol. District 12 is coal. District 11 is agriculture. District 4 is fishing. District 1 is jewels and finery. We only know the basics.

And that's how the Capitol wants it to stay.

Rue and I lay out our supplies. It is Rue's idea, and I admit it's a good one. It allows us to see what all we have. Rue has seen most of what I have, though I lay out the beef strips and crackers. I'm impressed by the amount of roots, berries, and greens that Rue has collected. She's just as good in these woods as I am.

I eye the berries she's picked carefully, though. "Are you sure these are safe?" I ask because I don't recognize them.

Rue nods. "Oh, yes. We eat them all the time back home," she says as she pops a few into her mouth.

Tentatively, I bite into the fruit. It's good. Just like our blackberries at home. We divvy out half the food between ourselves evenly in case we get separated. Rue also has a small water skin, a homemade slingshot, and an extra pair of socks. She's been using a sharp rock as a knife.

"It's not much," she says sheepishly. "But I had to get away from the Cornucopia fast."

"You did the right thing," I assure her as I spread out my gear. I pause when Rue gasps.

"Where did you get those?"

I see that she's looking at the sunglasses. I shrug. "In my pack. They're pretty useless though. They don't block out the sun and they make it hard to see."

Rue is shaking her head, and she looks excited, though I don't know why. "They're not for the sun!" she tells me. "They help you see at night. We get to use them sometimes in the orchards when we harvest through the night, for those of us who are up the highest where the torchlight won't reach. There was this one boy, Martin. He tried to keep his. Hid them in his pants. They killed him on the spot when they found out."

I frown. "They killed a boy for these?"

"On the spot," Rue repeats. "And everyone knew there was no danger. Martin acted like a three-year old; he wasn't right in the head. He just wanted them to play with."

District 12 is beginning to sound like the place to be, a sort of safe haven. I would have never thought it, but it's appearing to be true. Apparently, the Peacekeepers of District 12 are tame compared to some of the other districts. I can't imagine our Peacekeepers killing a simpleminded child. I'm reminded of one of Greasy Sae's grandkids, a little girl that isn't quite right in the head and wonders around the Hob. Everyone is always extra nice to her and give her scraps and things to play with.

"You should try those tonight," Rue says. "See how they work."

"Probably a good idea," I reply before extinguishing our fire. I pack up all our supplies, making sure that Rue has some leaves in case my stings flare up again. Already, the swelling has almost gone down completely. Those leaves are magic.

"We better find a place to sleep for the night," I say as I shoulder my pack and quiver, my bow in my hand. Rue shoulders her little pack too and together we move silently through the woods, following the winding stream that I found earlier in the day.

Night has fallen completely when I see a suitable tree a few yards in front of us. I look at Rue. "Where have you been sleeping?" I ask. "In the trees? Just in your jacket?"

Rue nods, and I frown as I think of how cold the nights have been. Not that I've really noticed much. Peeta's warmth kept the cold away.

I hate the thought of falling asleep without him . . .

My attention is forced back to Rue when she holds up her extra pair of socks. "I use them for my hands."

"Well," I say. "You're sharing my sleeping bag with me. It's plenty big enough."

Rue's eyes light up at my offer. It's more than she probably ever hoped for.

We quickly scale a tree with a broad, forked branch and settle in for the night. I know that Rue has lost all reservations about me when she immediately slides into the sleeping bag and curls into me, resting her head on my shoulder.

Her position reminds me so much of how I'd spent the nights with Peeta. It causes the hollow ache in my heart to flare, and I force back the tears before they even have a chance to form. I try to force myself to forget the feel of his arms around me. I try to force myself to forget the warmth he'd radiated. I try to forget how, impossibly, he'd made me feel safe in a place like the arena of the Hunger Games.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't force him from my mind.

The anthem plays, but there are no faces in the sky. This causes me to wonder how many days I was out. I ask Rue, keeping my voice low. "How many days was I out? Who all is gone?"

"You were unconscious for two days," Rue answers in a whisper. "The girl from District 1 and the girl from District 4 died during your fight with them. There are ten of us left."

My mind has drawn a blank. There is one name that she didn't say. I feel hope building within me, but I hardly dare to wish it into existence for fear that Rue simply forgot. I force myself to speak, though I fear her answer. "What about Peeta?" My voice breaks as I say his name.

Rue lifts her head from my shoulder and I can just make out her face in the dark. "He's still alive. I tried to track him, but I lost his trail at the river. He's hurt, there was blood. That's how I followed him. But he's alive."

Peeta Mellark is alive. The boy with the bread is alive.

"Katniss?" Rue asks, my silence bothering her. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I manage to say. My mind is chaos. I can only think one coherent thought. Peeta is alive. Peeta is alive. My emotions are haywire. I can hardly distinguish between one feeling and another. All I can comprehend is astonishment and a growing sense of joy. "I-I thought he was dead. I remember hearing him cry out but the tracker jackers attacked, and I woke up and he . . . he wasn't there . . ."

"Peeta's alive Katniss," Rue repeats, and I wonder if she realizes how precious those words are to me right now, how badly I need to hear them. "He's alive."

I nod, though I wonder if she can even see the movement. We're quiet for another minute before Rue speaks up again. "Katniss, you really like Peeta, don't you?"

The phrasing that Rue uses exemplifies her young age. She reminds me so much of Prim.

"Yes, Rue," I say softly. "I really like Peeta." Rue's head finds my shoulder again and I can't help but hold her tightly to me. "More than he probably knows."

And just then I see a silver parachute floating down to me.

Aw . . . finally Haymitch sends the burn cream!

But that's not what's really important in this chapter! Katniss knows that Peeta is more than a friend. Oh, progress! Glorious progress! Still doesn't have a name for him, but he's more than a friend! Woo! Oh, goody . . . the wonderful things that can happen with that knowledge . . .

Sooooooooooo . . . I guess I'll see you guys Tuesday! Katniss decides to strike back, and answers a scary, thought-provoking question from Rue . . . oh, what could this glorious question be?

Lots of love,

AC