A/N: Oh, goodie, Peeta is BACK! Woo! Let's party, everyone!

Oh, and I have an announcement . . . I finished CF! Yes! Finally, it is DONE. 35 chapters; 167,000 words. It's a beast. I'm currently going back and editing. After that, it's on to Mockingjay! Woo! Oh, and just to warn you guys way, way, way in advance . . . my ending to CF? . . . heartbreaking. Just sayin'. Oh, Peeta . . .

Yeah, I know. I'm a tease. (evil laugh)

Okay, back to this chapter! Peeta is back and Katniss is . . . well . . . Katniss. But, alas, great things happen this chapter. Trust me. Great things. Wonderful things.

So . . . let's get to it!

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 . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 18

I can literally feel myself resurfacing from unconsciousness. Layer by layer I break through the haze until my eyes flash open. Purpose fills me and leaves me wide awake. Within seconds after getting my bearings, I'm climbing from my sleeping bag and scaling my tree back down to the ground.

As I begin to pack up I realize that I've yet to go through Rue's pack. I take all the food and her waterskin, and I make sure to grab all the leaves that extract the tracker jacker venom. I don't know how many times Peeta was stung, and I might need more than I have. It's with this thought that I quickly locate a bush with matching leaves and pick some. I'm sure I have more than enough now.

Next, I tear through the backpack I stole from Marvel. I salvage some dried fruit, a water bottle, and a first aid kit. I don't bother to look through it. I don't feel as though I have that kind of time. I'm simply grateful that I have something that will be of use to Peeta.

When I'm done sorting through all the packs I sling my pack, Rue's pack, and my quiver over my shoulder and take a deep breath, clutching my bow in my free hand. I stand exactly where I did when Peeta and I had our fight with the Careers. I close my eyes and picture it all. I try to remember if I heard or saw anything that would give me a hint as to where he went. Rue told me that she tracked him to the stream by a blood trail, but I wanted to do this my way. Besides, the trail Rue followed was fresh. It's days old now and probably gone.

All I can remember is his cry of pain right before the tracker jackers hit. I don't even know if he stopped fighting when they fell. What worries me is that Peeta would have succumbed to the venom faster than Cato, who is bigger and therefore the venom would have taken longer to take hold of him. Peeta would have been smart enough to see this and try to get away as quick as he could.

My eyes open and I glance to my right where I believe Peeta and Cato fought. If Peeta had turned and ran . . . my eyes follow the path I think he would have taken. Immediately, I'm following what I think is close to the path that Peeta took when fleeing the tracker jackers. I follow the trail for fifteen minutes without any sign that someone like Peeta trampled through, when I spot a broken bush that looks like someone plowed right through it.

I rush to the shrub and see dried spots of blood. I'm on the right trail. I continue to follow the trail and slowly I see more and more signs that Peeta went this way. Overturned rocks. Snapped twigs. Half a boot print. However, when the terrain becomes more and more rocky, I begin to second-guess myself. Could Peeta really have navigated this terrain, hallucinating from tracker jacker venom and bleeding from a major wound?

My feet still carry me forward, and five minutes later I spot a boulder with a smeared, bloody handprint on it. Like someone, a hallucinating someone, tried to wipe away a blood trail. I find my legs carrying me forward at a faster pace. I see the stream. It's fairly wide, though shallow at this point, and I wonder if Peeta would have tried to cross it. I follow the water downstream for a while, searching for any sign of Peeta until I eventually can't stand it.

"Peeta!" I whisper harshly. "Peeta!"

I take another step and suddenly I hear, "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

I freeze. The voice came from my left, so I couldn't hear it well, and the voice was hoarse and tired. It had to be Peeta, though. Something within me begins to flutter and come to life, and I realize that a smile is beginning to pull at the corners of my mouth.

"Peeta?" I call again, this time a little louder. I edge along the bank toward my left, but all I can see are muddy leaves and twigs and plants at the bases of the rocks that meander alongside the stream. "Peeta! Where are you?" I ask softly.

I take another step. "Well, don't step on me."

My eyes immediately dart down to my feet, but all I see is mud and leaves. Until, suddenly, I see a pair of the loveliest, bluest eyes I will ever see. I drop to my knees. "Peeta?"

I'm rewarded with a flash of white teeth as he laughs.

It's official. Peeta Mellark is the king of camouflage. "Close your eyes," I tell him and he obediently does so, his smile vanishing . . . causing him to vanish as well. I judge where the rest of his body is and I honestly can't tell where he is. All I see is mud and leaves and plants, artfully configured to disguise him.

"Peeta, you're amazing," I say and he opens his eyes again, and I find that I'm very grateful. I don't want to take my eyes off of him, afraid that he'll really disappear.

"It's good to see you," he says softly.

If he weren't covered in mud from head to toe, I think I might have laid a gentle hand on his face, maybe swept away the hair that I know would have been hanging in his eyes.

"It'll be nice to see you to," I say, trying to lighten the mood a little. "Where did Cato cut you?"

I can practically see the pain multiply tenfold in Peeta's eyes when I mention the wound. "Left leg. Up high."

My brain begins to think of a plan, things that I need to do. First, I need to examine his wounds, and to do that I need to get him to the stream and clean him up. "Let's get you into the stream," I say. "Clean you up and see what kind of wounds you have."

"And here I just thought you wanted to see me naked," Peeta manages to joke and I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. At this point, with my growing joy of having found him continuing to build within me, Peeta could probably say just about anything and I'd laugh.

"In your dreams," I say with a scoff.

"What do you think I've been doing the past few days?" he retorts with a smile. "Aside from dying."

I take it back. There are a few things he can say that will never cause a laugh to escape my lips.

"You're not going to die." It comes out of my mouth like an order.

"Says who?" His voice is so ragged and tired. It worries me.

"Says me," I tell him fiercely. "I won't lose you. Not again."

This seems to confuse him a little, but I pay it no mind. A bubble of emotion, all the trauma and stress from the past few days is culminating within me, but I shove it to the back of my mind. All my focus is on Peeta.

The stream is only two feet from us. How hard can it be to move him? I quickly learn that it's near impossible. Peeta has just enough strength not to resist when I try to move him. He can't help me at all, and I'm not near strong enough to drag all two hundred pounds of him the mere two feet into the stream. And that's not mentioning all the mud and plants that have practically adhered themselves to both Peeta and the rock. I eventually have to give him a sharp tug in order to set him free of their clutches. No matter how hard I try to be gentle and make the process as painless as possible, and no matter how hard Peeta tries to keep silent, a pained cry will escape him at practically every movement. I've been able to drag him just far enough away from where he'd sealed himself into the bank when I can't take it anymore.

"Okay, new plan," I say after I see tears cutting through the dirt on his face.

"That would be tremendously appreciated," he manages to say, though pain is etched into every syllable.

"I'm going to try and roll you, okay?" I say and Peeta's eyes meet mine, anxiety and pain written in them. "Just once," I try and reassure him. "You've got to be closer to the water. Grit your teeth and suck it up, Mellark."

Peeta's lips twitch up in a small smile.

And he promptly loses it when I begin to roll him over. I've never heard so many curses in one sentence, so colorfully combined. When I finally have Peeta resting about a foot from the stream, his breathing is ragged and his body is shaking in pain. I have never felt so guilty.

"Sorry," I apologize softly.

The fact that Peeta doesn't respond tells me how much pain he's truly in.

I don't dwell on this though. I can't afford to. I focus on what I have to do next, and that's wash all the mud off him. I open my pack and take out my two water bottles and Rue's waterskin. I set two in the stream so that they are constantly full or refilling, and begin the long process of washing the mud off of Peeta.

Gently, I wash the dirt from his face and hair. I'm desperate to see his face, and when I do, I can't help but smile softly. "Found you," I joke quietly and Peeta rewards me with a small smile in return.

"Lean down," he says. "Need to tell you something."

I do as he asks and lean over and put my good ear to his lips. It tickles as he says, "Remember, we're madly in love, so feel free to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

His words cause me to laugh softly, and I whisper in his ear. "We'll see about that, Mellark."

To the cameras and the rest of the people of the Capitol, I hope that it looks like we're whispering sweet nothings. After all, Peeta is right. We're, according to Clove, the star-crossed lovers from District 12. No doubt that the Captiol is rejoicing at our reunion, but I'm momentarily angered by the fact that they don't care that Peeta's dying, not really. They just want to see the drama unfold.

It takes me a good while, but I finally rinse enough mud from Peeta's body to see his clothes that were hidden underneath. Gently, I unzip his jacket and then unbutton his shirt, easing them off of him. I have to cut through his undershirt to get it off him because he doesn't have the strength to pull it over his head, and when I tried all the movement was pulling at his wound so I took the easy way out and simply cut it away.

The odd thought that if the situation weren't so dire, I might be more distracted by the sight of a shirtless Peeta occurs to me, and I force myself not to blush, even though my eyes betray me and sneak a glance at his broad, bare chest. I shouldn't even be noticing these things, and I ignore the odd heat that warms me anytime I'm in his presence.

I decide to treat his upper body first before tackling the wound on his leg. Since he's basically laying in a mud puddle after all the mud I've washed off of them, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. In this upright position, I'm able to see just how bad off Peeta really is. His skin, which normally holds a sun-kissed glow, is paler than I've ever seen. He no longer looks strong, and his shoulders are sagging within an unseen, heavy weight.

His torso is covered in bruises that look days old, and I deduce that they're from his fights with the boy from District 4 at the Cornucopia and then his most recent fight with Cato. He has four tracker jacker stings, including one below his ear. This actually puts me at ease a little. These are things that I can fix. I quickly apply Rue's remedy of leaves to his stings after pulling the stingers from the wounds, and he sighs in relief.

I decide that Peeta's earned a break, and I let him rest as I busy myself with washing his jacket and shirt in the stream and then spreading them out on a boulder so that the sun can dry them. Once I'm finished with that task, I return to Peeta's side.

My hand moves without a thought to his face, resting gently on his cheek before caressing his jaw line. Peeta's eyes open, and their hypnotizing blue cause me to remain still. I feel my heart beat thudding faster in my ears, my stomach does a quick flip, and I find myself moving closer to him. Before I realize what I'm doing, my lips meet his.

Our kiss is very brief, mainly because I'm shocked and Peeta is as well, I can tell. My lips stay glued to his for only a second or two, long enough for me to think that his lips are incredibly soft and that he also has a fever. I pull back and we stare at each other for a moment. And then Peeta grins, looking like he could stare at me forever and be perfectly content. "I've been waiting for that a long time," he says softly, his grin still in place.

Though the Capitol probably sees this comment as cute, I know that Peeta is serious. I don't know exactly how long he's been in love with me, but knowing Peeta like I do, it's probably been a while. For some reason, my mind flashes back to my conversation with Rue about love, but I immediately stop that train of thought. Her death is still far too recent and painful.

To distract myself, I begin to dig through my pack to find the first aid kit that I took from Marvel. Inside I see what I'm looking for, pills that reduce temperature. Occasionally, when my mother's own remedies do not work, she will break down and buy these little capsules.

I take two from the bottle and give them to him. "Swallow these," I tell him and he does so without a word.

The thought occurs to me that Peeta probably hasn't eaten since before we were separated. "You must be hungry."

"No, not really," he says. "I haven't been hungry for days."

When I hold out a bit of rabbit for him, he wrinkles his nose and turns his head away. I frown. This is bad. He's even sicker than I thought. I know that if I hadn't found him today, he probably would have been dead tomorrow.

The thought makes my stomach clench.

"Peeta, we need to get some food into you," I say firmly. I fish around in my pack and find some dried bits of apple. I put them in his hand. "Eat it."

Peeta and I have a staring contest, a silent battle of wills, but it doesn't take long before Peeta caves and begins to nibble on the dried fruit. If he eats even half I'll be pleased, but when he manages to eat it all, I allow myself a little smile. Peeta couldn't stand to disappoint me.

I notice that his eyelids keep fluttering. "You can sleep in a minute," I tell him and his half-lidded gaze finds me. "I need to look at your leg."

As carefully as I can, I remove his boots, socks, and pants, which I manage to remove without blushing. However, any thoughts about blushing I have are gone when I get my first look at the gash on his thigh. It's worse than I ever could have imagined. His leg itself is swollen. The skin around the wound is festering and the smell is terrible. The wound itself is hideous, oozing blood and pus.

I want to throw up. I want to flee, disappear into the woods like I do when mother or Prim are doctoring a patient with a bad wound. But I force myself to stay put. Peeta needs me. I'm all he has, and he's all that I have. I try and adopt the calm demeanor my mom does when dealing with a badly injured patient.

Peeta, unfortunately, as always, sees right through me. "Let me guess. It looks just as bad as it feels."

"Let's just be glad it doesn't look even worse, then," I say in response. "I still need to clean it."

I scoot my sheet of plastic underneath him, and then pour water bottle after water bottle over the wound. With each pour, the extent of his wound is further revealed to me. The cut is all the way to the bone, inches deep and filled with infection.

I rummage through the little first aid kit and find the usual simple things. Bandages. Gauze. Tape. Fever reducers. Nothing near the caliber I need to treat Peeta. Where are the heavy pain killers and antibiotics? Of course they wouldn't supply those. They might actually help you live.

The leaves that I use on the tracker jacker stings draw out infection, so I decide that they're worth a shot. I'm proven right when, after a few minutes of pressing the chewed-up leaves in the wound, a river of pus begins to flow out of the wound and down his leg. Even though the wound is revolting and I feel my breakfast threaten to come up every few seconds, I tough it out. I rinse his leg and then apply another round of leaves to the wound, causing yet another river of pus to spill forth that is so revolting I know that I'm probably as green as a tree in spring. But I keep going until the wound actually looks moderately better.

This is after four rounds of leaves and a buckets-worth of pus.

"Okay . . ." I think of what my next move should be. "Let's put some burn cream on it and then wrap it up." The burn cream should help fight off infection and it can't hurt either way.

A problem occurs to me after I've wrapped up his wound in sterile, white-cotton bandages, and see the contrasting white against the once-white of his undershorts. I've left them on because one, I am not immune to nakedness like my mother and Prim, and unlike them, I find it extremely embarrassing. My second reason for leaving Peeta in his undershorts was all of the first reason, compounded by the fact that it's Peeta.

But against the sterile white of his bandages, his shorts look like an infection waiting to happen, and I sigh in defeat. I reach around and grab Rue's backpack. "Here," I say. "Cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

"Oh, I don't care if you see me," Peeta says lightly, despite his situation.

"Well, I do," I say before turning around and staring out toward the stream. A few moments later, the shorts splash into the water in front of me, and I think that he must be feeling a little bit better if he can throw.

"You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," he tells me in amusement.

I scoff as I clean his shorts. "You know, if you're just going to make fun of me, I'll just leave you right here."

"Why not?" Peeta asks. "I'm as good as dead anyway."

His words prompt me to spin around and face him. "Stop saying that."

"It's true."

"The hell it is," I snap. "You are not going to die. I'm not letting you die. Got it?"

Peeta studies my face for a minute. "Got it."

"Good," I say before returning to the task of cleaning his shorts.

Peeta dozes off soon after our brief argument and I let him sleep while his clothes dry out. However, by late afternoon when the sun starts to dwindle, I don't dare to wait any longer. There's no telling where Cato and Clove are, and I really don't want to run into them. If they got the jump on us, there's no way I'd be able to fend them both off. I haven't even seen Thresh since the Cornucopia, and Foxface is as good as invisible until she decides to show herself.

I shake Peeta's shoulder. "Peeta, wake up." Sleepy blue eyes stare up at me. "We've got to go."

"Go?" he repeats confused. "Go where?"

"Away from here," I say mildly. "Downstream. We've got to get you someplace safe until you're stronger."

I help him dress, and then together, we manage to get Peeta on his feet. Immediately, his face drains of all its remaining color as he puts weight on his leg. We step into the stream, and we're able to go about fifty yards before I see that Peeta's about to pass out. I sit him down on a rock and put his head between his knees, rubbing his back absentmindedly as my eyes scan for somewhere near to hide.

My eyes spy a cave about twenty yards above the stream, and I know that it's the best I'm going to be able to find. Peeta will barely be able to make the journey to the cave as it is. When he's ready, I help him back to his feet and then half-carry, half-drag him up to the cave.

The cave is a fairly good size, considering everything. Definitely manageable for two people. I make a bed of pine needles and then lay the sleeping bag over it before ordering Peeta into the sleeping bag. He does so without complaint, and when he appears settled, I attempt to camouflage the mouth of the cave.

After thirty minutes of work, I promptly tear it all down in aggravation. My mess of vines and greenery may have fooled an animal, but it would have been blaringly obvious to a human. We're better off not camouflaging the entrance at all.

I return to Peeta's side and give him more fever pills. He takes them and for a moment we're quiet . . . and then I feel his eyes on me. I meet his gaze and he smiles a little. "Aren't you going to crawl in with me?"

I hesitate, but Peeta makes a weak motion with his hand, waving me over. "Come here," he pleads softly. "I've missed holding you."

I've missed being held, I think before I can stop myself. But, looking into Peeta's eyes, I know that I can't deny him and I'm selfish enough to give in. I slide into the sleeping bag with him, making sure to be on his right side, away from his injured leg. My head fits easily onto his shoulder, and I'm careful of his wound when our legs tangle together.

Peeta hums in contentment. "That's better."

In the silent dark of the night, with nothing left to distract me, I feel myself begin to crack. The stress of the last few days has been overwhelming. The fight with the Careers, resulting in my very first kill in the Games. Meeting up with precious, sweet Rue, only to hold her has she took her last breath. Killing Marvel, the one responsible for her death.

And Peeta. Thinking that I had lost him forever. Going an entire day thinking that Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread, was dead. Lost to me. Gone. Abandoning me, leaving me alone.

Only to get him back. Here I am, my head on his shoulder like the nights before. His arms wrapped around me, holding me too him. He's here. With me. Alive.

I don't notice the tears sliding down my face until Peeta's thumb is tenderly brushing them away. "It's okay," he whispers to me soothingly. "It's okay, Katniss."

I shake my head, which causes me to nuzzle his neck. It is most definitely not okay. Peeta, who, for all intents and purposes is on his death bed, is comforting me. Because I, Katniss Everdeen, am too weak to hold it together—overcome by swells of emotion that I don't know how to handle.

"What did you mean earlier?" he asks me quietly. "About not losing me again?"

Tears are still sliding down my cheeks, but I'm not sobbing. I'm too weary to summon the energy. So my voice comes out relatively steady as I begin to explain. "When we were fighting the Careers, I shot down the tracker jacker nest. And . . . and right before it hit the ground . . . I heard you cry out. I knew you were hurt, but then the tracker jackers attacked and I-I didn't think. I just ran. But then the venom overcame me and I blacked out." My mind flashes back to the day when I woke up. The loneliness and panic that I'd felt. "When I woke up . . . you . . . you weren't there." The words pass my lips barely audible.

"I-I ran back to the place where we fought, and I saw all the blood and . . ." I swallow. "I just . . . I thought that . . ."

"Hey," Peeta murmurs soothingly into my hair. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Peeta!" I whisper harshly, choking on a rogue sob. "I spent a whole day thinking you were dead before Rue told me different. And now . . . and now I just got you back and you . . . you still might die . . ."

"I thought you weren't going to let that happen," Peeta reminds me.

"I'm not," I confirm. "I won't." No. Peeta Mellark is most certainly going to live. There is no other option. It will happen. Because I simply can't lose him. He's my partner, my friend, but more.

Unnamed emotion swirls within my chest.

My conversation with Rue pops into my head, and I can't fight against it this time. I'm surprised when it's not her words I hear in my head, but my own.

Love is when you can't imagine surviving without him.

I don't have time to dwell on this scary thought because suddenly, Claudius Templesmith's voice is resonating throughout the arena. I listen, shocked, as he tells us that there has been a rule change. A rule change! This must be a first. No one changes the rules of the Hunger Games. What has caused this to happen? I listen intently as the voice of the Hunger Games explains the new rule. Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be crowned victor if they are the last two alive. He repeats this message twice, as if worried that we wouldn't understand it the first time.

My eyes meet Peeta's, and I see that his eyes are just as wide and excited as mine. "We can go home," he breathes, but I shake my head.

"We will go home," I correct.

Joy is filling me, surprise and astonishment. I imagine I'm feeling almost giddy. Peeta and I can go home. Together. We can both live. We can both win.

Like earlier in the day when I stared into Peeta's blue eyes, I can't look away. The happiness in his eyes, the love in his eyes is drawing me in. My lips meet his again, and this time I don't pull back. Though technically this is my second kiss, I'm counting it as my first. An odd, yet exhilarating fire begins to burn in my stomach. Peeta's hand comes up to cradle the side of my face as our lips continue to move in tandem, and when we break away I can't help but lean into his touch and gaze into his eyes that are reflecting my own joy right back at me.

I hear my own voice in my head again. Love is when you can't imagine surviving without him.

And then it hits me, crashing into me with the impact of meeting the Capitol train head-on. The realization that I knew was coming. The door in my mind that I'd kept resolutely locked. Shock, horror, and an overwhelming feeling of warmth flood me from my head to my toes as I realize what has happened to me.

I've fallen in love with Peeta Mellark.

Booyah! FINALLY. She loves Peeta, and she knows it! Woo!

Okay, let's see . . . what line do I want to share from My Last Breath? Hmm . . . I think it's Katniss's turn, don't you think? :)

Katniss: "It's the first time you aren't shirtless and dying."

Lots of love,

AC