A/N: WOW. I'm over 700, people! This is now officially my most reviewed story, so THANK YOU for being awesome and clicking that pesky little 'review' button. You rock my socks off.

Alrighty! Little update on what I'm up to. I finished editing all of My Last Breath, thank goodness. And . . . prepare yourselves . . . I have written the first chapter of Mockingjay. It makes me giggle just thinking about it. This is also why I didn't get a chance to reply to your lovely reviews. At least you know I wasn't just ignoring you, right? :)

And now I revert back to this story. So . . . let's see . . . Katniss realizes that she loves Peeta! It only took eighteen chapters. So, I guess the next step is how she takes this realization? Hmm . . . 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!"; Severus Snape is awesome; I am very fond of 'Gibbs slapping'; Oreos are the BEST; I start college in a month, yikes; OMG over 700 reviews! . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 19

I lay there, my head on Peeta's shoulder, thoroughly shocked by my realization.

I'm in love with Peeta Mellark.

It repeats over and over in my head, and the longer it goes on, the more permanent it seems. I struggle to fight it, because I can't be in love with Peeta. I can't be in love with anyone. It ruins everything. Makes everything more complicated. This wasn't a part of my plan. I wasn't going to be in a relationship. I wasn't going to get married. I wasn't going to have children.

Love led to all of these things.

I'm torn from my thoughts when I hear a clank. My head pops up from Peeta's shoulder, and I look toward the mouth of the cave. The blinking light of a silver parachute—Haymitch. I shimmy out of the sleeping bag, ignoring Peeta's murmured complaint, and reach for it.

Excitement is bubbling in me. Has Haymitch sent me something to help Peeta? I open the parachute, and then frown slightly in disappointment. Haymitch's gift is a mere pot of broth, steaming and hot. No doubt it is for Peeta, but it isn't exactly the miraculous healing medicine that I was naively hoping for.

Haymitch's message is clear. One kiss equals a pot of broth. I guess that, like me, he didn't count my first kiss at the stream either. I can almost hear him in my head. "Come on! You're supposed to be madly in love! Give me something to work with, sweetheart!"

If only Haymitch knew of my recent realization. I bet that would give him something to work with.

I sigh quietly, but nonetheless grip the pot of broth tightly and retreat back into the cave. "Look what Haymitch sent you," I tell him with a small smile.

Peeta looks at the broth in trepidation and then back up at me. "You're going to make me eat all of this, aren't you?"

"You're catching on quick," I say, and Peeta's sighs, accepting his fate.

The first couple of spoonfuls go down without a fight, but as we reach the halfway point, Peeta begins to put up a fight. "Come on, you're halfway there," I coax him. "Don't quit on me now."

That gets me three more spoonfuls before he's shaking his head again. I try a new tactic this time, when coaxing doesn't work. Threatening. I'm good at threatening. "I'll leave you right here in this cave, Peeta."

That gets me four more spoonfuls.

We're reaching the last of the pot, and Peeta is adamant that he can't eat anymore. I resort to something that scares me and thrills me at the same time. I kiss him. The odd fire in my stomach isn't near as hot as it was earlier. Instead, it feels like a slow-burning. Embers . . . always ready to ignite into something more. Our kiss is short, but it leaves Peeta looking dazed, though it's a happy dazed.

He finishes the broth, and I make him lay back down in the sleeping bag. Peeta looks at me expectantly, but I shake my head. "Go to sleep, Peeta."

"Not without you."

"I'll be right here." I scoot closer to him to prove my point, and Peeta shifts so that his head is leaning against my thigh. Without a thought, my fingers move to brush his hair back from his face, and Peeta's eyes close involuntarily before he forces them open again. I continue my actions, occasionally venturing to caress the side of his face or to trail my fingertips along his jaw. Within minutes Peeta is asleep.

As the night goes on, the temperature continues to drop. The Gamemakers are really going for extremes in the weather of the arena this year. It's becoming unbearably hot during the day and freezing cold at night. I'm tempted to climb into the sleeping bag with Peeta, but I don't. Not yet anyway.

I'm on edge, thinking of how Cato and Clove are probably out and about. Well, I begin to think, maybe not. The cold must be affecting them as much as everyone else. And there are only two of them. They are the only Careers left. Maybe they'll wait for the day to hunt down tributes. I haven't seen Thresh since the Games began, but something tells me that he's doing alright, that he knows how to live off the land as well as Rue. Foxface, well, Foxface will be as conniving and sly as always.

This is why I stay awake, my bow loaded with an arrow, gripped tightly in my hands as I stare at the mouth of the cave, ready for an attack. We're vulnerable, extremely so. We're on the ground, confined to a cave with only one way out, and Peeta is dying, despite my best efforts.

After another hour of freezing in the cold, I give in and slip into the sleeping bag next to Peeta. He wakes just enough to wrap his arms around me before he falls back into unconsciousness. The sleeping bag is toasty warm, and I relish the sensation for a few moments. However, I realize that the sleeping bag is too warm. My hand comes up to feel Peeta's forehead and he's burning up. What do I do? Do I leave him in the sleeping bag, hoping that the excessive heat will break his fever? Or do I get him out of the sleeping bag and hope that the night air cools him off? In the end, I simply wet a piece of cloth and put it on his forehead.

The night continues like this. My eyes trained on the cave entrance, my bow resting against my side, ready to be picked up at a moment's notice. When the dull light of dawn begins to seep into the cave, I discover that Peeta's fever has broken. Not completely, but he's gone down a few degrees.

Gently, I ease myself out of the sleeping bag, which is tricky because even in sleep, Peeta refuses to let me go, and it brings a small smile to my lips. I grab the iron pot that Peeta's broth came in and take it down with me to the stream. I fill it with water, and then find a bush with Rue's berries on them.

I pop a few into my mouth as I create a berry mush in the pot for Peeta. As I work, I can't help but let my mind wonder to the fact that I'm in love with him. I'm frustrated and confused. It wasn't supposed to happen. I was in these Games because I had volunteered to save Prim. It was always about Prim. I was going to live for Prim. I was going to win for Prim.

Nowhere in my grand scheme did falling in love have a place.

And yet here I am, in love . . . I think. My mind goes through my entire journey so far, starting at the reaping and continuing on until the moment that I'm currently in. Unthinkingly keeping his hand in mine as the anthem played at the reaping. The night on the train when he said we were friends, and I accepted the title, even though I knew that it wasn't what we were. Reaching for his hand when we arrived in the Capitol as we were swarmed by reporters. The days in the Training Center. Him holding me after my session with the Gamemakers. Our conversations on the roof.

My mind flashes to my conversation with Cinna after Peeta asked to be coached separately. Cinna had been sincere in the belief that Peeta cared about me. He had also said something. Something that I realize now was a big clue. I had admitted how confused Peeta made me feel, how I didn't know.

Perhaps you'll figure it out in time. Cinna had told me with a smile. Of course Cinna had known, while I had remained oblivious.

I shake my head a little as I continue to work. My mind skips ahead to the moment on the roof, the night before the Games. Peeta admitting his love for me as a truth, not something contrived for the Games. Retreating back to my room, where we held each other until we fell asleep.

I can't place the moment when it happened, when I fell in love with him. He just . . . snuck up on me. I shake these thoughts away when I deem that Peeta's breakfast is as good as it's going to get, and make my way back up to the cave. I'm greeted with the sight of Peeta trying to pull himself up.

"Where do you think you're going?" I ask.

"I woke up and you weren't here," he tells me, and I can't help but notice they are almost the exact words I used last night. I flash back to the panic that I had felt when I'd woken up without him, and immediately feel guilty.

"I was worried about you," Peeta continues, though I can't help but shake my head, a dry laugh escaping me.

"You were worried about me?" I repeat. "Have you seen yourself lately?"

"I thought Cato and Clove might have found you," he tells me seriously. "They like to hunt at night."

"With how cold these nights are getting? I doubt it."

Peeta sees the pot in my hand, and frowns. "You're going to make me eat again."

"Yep," I say lightly. "There's just the six of us left, by the way," I continue. "There's you and me, Cato and Clove, and then Thresh and Foxface."

Peeta nods, but I can see the question in his eyes. He wants to ask about Rue, but he doesn't. I'm grateful, so grateful that he knows me well enough to see that I'm not ready to talk about it.

I feed Peeta the berry mush and he eats it without complaint, but he turns up his nose at the bit of rabbit that I offer him, so I eat it myself. I also eat a few of Rue's roots and a few more berries before I lean back against the cave wall next to Peeta.

His hand comes up to trail his fingers along my cheek, and my eyes close of their own accord. "You didn't sleep," he observes knowingly.

"How would you know?" I quip. "You're were snoring like a drunk Haymitch."

"I thought we established the fact that I don't snore a long time ago," Peeta says, reminding me of the night before the Games.

I scoff.

"Go to sleep, Katniss," he orders softly. "I'll keep watch. You can't stay awake forever."

He's right. I know he is. But that doesn't stop me from giving him a mild glare before I lay down. It's far too hot in the sleeping bag, so I smooth it out and lay on top of it. I make sure that my bow is gripped in my free hand, ready to be used at a moment's notice. I feel Peeta's hand sweeping away some strands of hair on my forehead.

"You wake me up in a couple of hours," I tell him.

"Go to sleep," is his response.

My eyes slip closed and I'm lulled into unconsciousness, Peeta's hand still stroking my hair.

I know the moment that I open my eyes I've been asleep far too long. The afternoon sun is lighting the cave, and I look up to glare at Peeta. "You were supposed to wake me."

Peeta shrugs. "For what? Nothing's going on here." He grins down at me. "Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot."

Of course, as I'm sure he intended, his comment causes me to scowl, and he chuckles. "If you weren't hurt, I'd hit you," I tell him as I wipe the sleep from my eyes.

"Always so violent."

"You love it."

"Katniss, not in from of all of Panem," Peeta chides me, finding the strength to smirk, and I my eyes widen as I realize the innuendo.

"Peeta!" I chastise, blushing furiously.

"Two older brothers," he reminds me. "I can't help it."

All the levity Peeta has managed to create is zapped when I undress his wound. The blood and pus is gone, but instead, the skin is shiny and tight due to excessive swelling. But all of this fades to insignificance when I see the red lines snaking up his leg. Blood poisoning. I could use all the leaves and ointment in the world, and it would make no difference. I need the superior drugs of the Capitol to treat this. Haymitch. Could Haymitch send the medicine? Do we have enough sponsors? The price of the medicine would have been astronomical at the start of the Games, and the price to send things into the arena only increase as the Games progress. If Haymitch pooled all our sponsor money, would he have enough?

"There's swelling, but the pus is gone," I say, my voice still coming out shaky despite my best efforts.

Peeta is shaking his head, a sad smile on his face. "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss. Even if my mother isn't a healer."

"You'll be fine." I redress his wound. "You're strong. You'll just have to outlast the others. You'll be fine," I repeat. "They'll cure it at the Capitol when we win."

"Sounds like a plan," Peeta says, but I know it's only to placate me, and somehow that makes it worse. Peeta is always trying to protect me, even when it's my job to protect him, like now.

"You have to eat," I say. "Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup."

I grab the pot and some roots and greens from my pack. "Don't light a fire," Peeta says. "It's not worth it."

"We'll see."

When I step out into the sun, the heat of the day is bearing down relentlessly. Already, I feel a bead of sweat form on the back of my neck. I head to the stream and fill the pot with water. The heat from the stones beneath my feet is radiating up to me, and I'm struck with an idea.

Maybe I won't have to start a fire at all.

I set my water-filled pot on a bed of the hot rocks and then place a few in the pot itself. With the heat of the rocks and the sun, the water is quickly warm. I mince some of the rabbit meat and toss it into the pot, followed by Rue's greens and roots. I'm no cook, not by any means, but since soup is essentially stuff thrown together in a pot with water, it's one of my better dishes. I hunt for some more greens along the stream to spice up my recipe a bit, and am lucky enough to find some chives. I chop them up and then toss them in before switching out the hot rocks at the bottom and replacing them with fresh ones. Then put the lid on the pot and sit back to wait.

Once again with nothing to occupy my mind, I can't help that my thoughts drift to Peeta and my newly discovered feelings for him. How do I act around him now? Does this somehow change everything? Should I tell him?

A unanimous no, resounds in my head.

My mind drifts to my father, as it often does when I'm troubled. I was always my father's daughter. He was my idol and my hero. I worshiped him. He could do no wrong in my eyes, and his soft advice to me was always golden. What would he tell me? I need to know what to do.

I close my eyes, resting my forehead on my knees. What do I do? Love was never supposed to be in my cards. I've never been very fond of the concept, not after watching my mother sink into such a great depression after my father died. She died with him. Because of that, I've always seen love as a weakness, and my thoughts on the matter have probably been strengthened by my resentment of my mother. For withering away and ignoring Prim and me. Love, romantic love, made you weak.

But something tells me that my father would disagree with me.

Gale pops into my mind. What is Gale thinking? I know that he's been watching the Games. What does he think of my behavior? No doubt he thinks it's all a Capitol ruse, concocted by Haymitch to insure sponsors. Gale's that type of thinker. Tactical. Something tugs at my chest as I think of Gale. For some reason, I almost feel as though I'm betraying him and the closeness we share. I shake my head. Thoughts of home and Gale and the woods don't belong in the Hunger Games.

All that matters is surviving and keeping Peeta alive. Because no matter how confused about everything I am, I know that Peeta has to live. Because, like I told Rue, I can't imagine surviving these Games without him. A world without Peeta just doesn't seem right.

I lift my head from my knees and take the pot off the rocks, discarding the rocks inside. I make my way back to the cave, and find Peeta waiting for me. His eyes are immediately on me, and I see the relief in them. He perks up a bit, but I can tell that he's fading.

My throat threatens to close up, but I fight it.

"Do you want anything?" I ask, and he shakes his head.

"No, thanks. Wait, yes. Tell me a story."

I look at Peeta blankly. "A story?"

"A happy one, preferably."

I can't believe this. Of all the things he could ask me, he wants me to tell him a happy story. "How old are you?" I tease. Storytelling is something that I don't do, kind of like singing, because they both remind me of my father. He could tell the best stories.

Peeta merely shrugs. "Humor me."

I roll my eyes as I drop to sit beside him. His hand finds mine, and I don't hesitate to twine my fingers in his. "How about the day I got Prim's goat?" I suggest.

"Sounds great."

And so I begin to tell Peeta the edited version of how I got Prim's goat. I'm sure that the audience has put two and two together and deduced that I hunt illegally. How else could I shoot a bow like I do? But I don't want to bring unnecessary harm to my customers, the Peacekeepers, Greasy Sae, the butcher . . . because by buying my kills they're breaking the law as well.

"It was the day before Prim's tenth birthday," I begin, and I see Peeta's eyes brighten. No doubt he's remembering the frosted cookie he left on our doorstep the next day. We share a conspiratorial smile before I continue. "And I wanted to get her something nice. So I went into town and sold an old silver locket of my mother's."

Peeta knows that 'sold an old silver locket' means that I went hunting.

And I did. Gale and I went out into the woods that evening, and though we got a good haul, it was really no better than we did normally. It was just getting dark and Gale and I were about to head back home when we saw him. A young buck, his antlers still small and fuzzy in his youth. He was beautiful.

He looked much less beautiful a second later when he had two arrows stuck in him, one in his chest and one in his neck. Gale and I shot at the same time. However, we waited until dark before dragging the hundred and fifty pound deer into town. The last time we'd gotten a dear, we had naively dragged it through the Hob. People were cutting out chunks of it, and by the time we'd sold it, we got half the price for it.

So this time around we waited for the cover of darkness before heading to Rooba, the district butcher. Rooba is someone you don't want to mess with. She gives you one price and that's it, take it or leave it. But Rooba will always give a fair price, and she did that night, giving Gale and I more money than we had ever had at one time, even throwing in a few steaks.

The next day Gale and I went into town, hunting for Prim's birthday present. Of course, she had already received the cookie from Peeta, which she had just been ecstatic about. This had only made me more determined to get her a present that would top a frosted cookie. Which was quite a goal, but I was determined.

I was examining some nice blue cloth, thinking I could buy some for Prim for a new dress, when I looked outside and saw the Goat Man. The Goat Man is an old miner. His fingers and hands are inflamed and twisted, something my mother calls arthritis, and he has a hacking cough that shows his many years in the mines. He's called the Goat Man because somewhere along the line he saved up enough money to buy a bunch of goats, which have kept him alive and given him something to do in his old age.

On the back of his wagon, a white goat with black patches was lying down, and I immediately saw why. Its shoulder had been mauled, probably by a dog, and it was badly infected. This fact, however, didn't stop me because I thought I knew someone who could fix it. I knew that goat had to be Prim's, and I told Gale so.

Together, we approached the Goat Man and began to haggle over Prim's future present. Owning a goat in District 12 could change your life. The Meadow is a perfect feeding place and they can live on practically anything. They give four quarts of milk a day and then you can sell it. Even make cheese and sell that too. That extra money would do wonders for my little family.

Gale and I bought a quart of milk to share and then stood over the goat, as if idly curious. "Let her be," the Goat Man said.

"We're just looking," Gale said.

"Well, look fast cause she's going to the butcher soon," he replied. "Hardly anyone will buy her milk and even then they only pay half price."

"What's the butcher giving you for her?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Hang around and see." I looked ahead and saw Rooba striding toward us. "Lucky thing you showed up," the Goat Man said when Rooba arrived. "Girl's got an eye on your goat."

"Not if she's spoken for," I said casually.

Rooba looked me up and down and then at the goat. "She's not. Look at that shoulder. I bet not even half of the carcass will be good for even sausage."

"What?" the Goat Man exclaimed. "That's not what we agreed!"

"We didn't agree to anything," Rooba said sternly before looking at me. "Give it to the girl," she said before marching off, but I caught her wink at me.

Then the Goat Man and I began to haggle over the price. "We drew such a crowd," I tell Peeta with a small smile. "Everyone was taking sides and offering opinions. Eventually we settled on the price. If Lady lived, I had made a great deal. If she died I had lost a lot of money."

"But she did live," Peeta points out and I nod.

"I was so giddy, I brought a pink ribbon to tie around her neck," I remember. "Gale carried her home. He didn't want to miss the look on her face." I laugh at the memory. "Prim was so excited she was laughing and crying at the same time."

"Mom was a little wary once she saw the wound on Lady's shoulder, but she and Prim went to work, forcing remedies down Lady's throat. That goat couldn't have died if she tried," I say. "Prim was so insistent on sleeping right beside her that first night. And I swear that Lady licked her cheek, like she was saying thank you."

"Was she still wearing the pink ribbon?" Peeta asks.

"Yeah," I confirm, a little confused. "Why?"

"Just trying to get the full picture," he explains. "I can see why that day made you happy."

"Well, I knew that goat could be a little gold mine," I say nonchalantly.

"Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping," Peeta says wryly.

"That goat has paid for itself," I tell him in a superior tone. "Several times over."

"Well, it wouldn't dare do anything else after you saved its life," says Peeta. "I intend to do the same thing."

His words confuse me. "Really? And what did you cost me?"

"A lot of trouble," he answers. "Don't worry. You'll get it all back."

I frown. What does that mean? "You're not making any sense," I say, reaching up to feel his forehead and I find that it's hot. His fever is going nowhere but up. To hide my worry, I simply pretend that all I'm doing is swiping his hair out of his eyes.

I think Peeta sees through me though.

Before he can say anything, the trumpets ring out, interrupting him and startling me. I'm on my feet and out of the cave in the next second, not wanting to miss a word from my new best friend, Claudius Templesmith. I listen carefully as he announces a feast, and then I wave his offer away indifferently.

A feast is held at the Cornucopia, usually toward the end of the Games when food is scarce. It's just another way to draw the remaining tributes together and hope for blood. I don't need to risk my life for such a thing. Peeta and I are doing good on food anyway, and I'm sure one of the dozen snares I set along the stream will catch something.

I'm just about to turn to walk back into the cave, when Templesmith's voice stops me. "Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

I freeze. Peeta's medicine.

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

It takes a few seconds for my limbs to defreeze. When I regain control of my limbs, I walk back into the cave, and Peeta is already glaring at me. "You're not risking your life for me."

I raise my eyebrows. "Who said I was?"

"So, you're not going?" he asks.

"Of course, I'm not going," I lie. I'm going. Peeta can't stop me. "Give me some credit," I continue. "Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid." I sit down beside him. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there." There. That sounds plausible, right?

"You're such a bad liar, Katniss," Peeta tells me, and I imagine if he weren't so tired, he might actually have the strength to look angry. "I don't know how you've survived this long." He begins to mimic me. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. Of course, I'm not going." Peeta looks at me knowingly. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin."

I know the game is up. Anger at the fact that he won't let me save him causes my face to flush. "All right! I am going, and you can't stop me!"

"I can follow you," he retorts stubbornly. "At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia—"

"—you won't make it a hundred yards—"

"—but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure," he finishes defiantly, and I can't believe he's doing this.

"So you're just going to make me sit here and watch you die?" I ask furiously. "You're going to make me stay when I know that I can save you?"

"If you go, I go," Peeta says firmly. "I don't care if I have to drag myself, I'm going."

I glare at him. Peeta is just strong and stubborn enough to pull it off. And if he's howling after me in the woods, someone will find him. Or maybe something. He'd be dead for sure.

"I'm not letting you die, Peeta!" I know that I should probably lower my voice. Who knows who can hear me? But I can't help myself.

"I won't die," Peeta argues, but I'm shaking my head. I hate that tears are pooling in my eyes.

"Yes you will," I whisper, my voice breaking.

Peeta's face softens when he sees my tears, and when he pulls me to him, I don't fight him. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and he runs a hand soothingly down my back as I cling to him. I hate that I'm acting so weepy. But I can't control it. I love him, and I'm discovering that love is a very powerful emotion that has the ability to build you up and tear you down. Right now, it's tearing me down. It doesn't help that the whole idea of being in love is so recent and foreign to me. I haven't yet learned how to process these feelings very well and right now they're getting the better of me.

And Peeta is not helping the situation.

"I won't die," Peeta repeats, placing a kiss on my temple. "I promise. I won't leave you, couldn't even if I tried."

My tears have dried up, and for a moment I simply relish the feel of his arms around me. Even when he's nearing the brink of death, he still manages to comfort me and delude me into thinking that everything will be alright. But this time, it's not going to work. I know that everything won't be alright. Not if I don't go to the feast and get his medicine.

"Fine," I say quietly. "I won't go."

Peeta gently pulls me away from him, probably so that he can tell if I'm lying. I summon up my best scowl to cover my lie. "But you're going to do what I say when I say it! And you're going to drink water, wake me when I tell you, and eat this soup no matter how disgusting it is!" I snap.

"Agreed."

Peeta eats the soup, going on and on about how delicious it is, and it might be encouraging if I didn't know what fever could make someone say. Honestly, Peeta sounds a lot like Haymitch when he's on a drunken spiel. Well, not quite, but close.

As night settles, I make sure that Peeta is tucked into the sleeping bag before telling him that I'm going to wash up at the stream. He looks at me warily, as if wondering if I'm going to bolt, but eventually he just nods tiredly. As I get up to leave, he suddenly grabs my hand, pulling me back to him. I'm confused by what he wants, but when I feel his lips touch mine, it no longer matters. I kiss him back, surprised by how natural all of this is. Maybe it's just because it's Peeta.

It's our longest kiss yet, and when we break away I'm gasping for air, and feel flushed. Peeta cradles my face in his hands, and looks at me a long moment, as if he's trying to memorize my face. "I love you."

I reach up and caress his cheek. "I know," I say softly before leaning forward and kissing him gently. "I'll be back."

Once I'm out of the cave my face drops. I look up at the sky. "Come on, Haymitch," I whisper. I don't know what exactly I'm asking for, but when I see a parachute drop from the sky I jump up and snatch it out of the air in my haste. When I open it, I'm momentarily excited. It's a small vial. Peeta's medicine? I think that it must be pretty powerful stuff, but doubt begins to form. If this is the medicine Peeta needs, why would Haymitch have just sent it now? Why not earlier?

I open the vial and place a tiny drop on my fingertip before putting it to my lips. The taste is almost sickly sweet and I immediately know what it is. Sleeping syrup. It's common enough in District 12, the cheapest of the medicines available. My mom uses it to calm hysterical patients, or to put people to sleep in order to sew up a deep wound.

Why has Haymitch sent me this? What good is sleep syrup? I glance at the vial again. There's enough to knock someone out for a whole day . . .

"Thank you, Haymitch," I whisper.

Quickly, I move toward the berry bushes and strip them of their fruit. I mash them up in the pot, and then add the sleep syrup, hoping that the taste of the berries will dilute the sweetness enough. I go back to the cave, inwardly cringing and yet determined at what I'm about to do. Peeta will see it as a betrayal, but there's simply no other way. I refuse to watch him die.

Peeta's eyes are immediately on me when I enter the cave. "What's in the pot this time?"

"More berries," I say lightly. "And you're going to eat it all."

"That's the deal."

I'm able to get two spoonfuls into him before he looks at me. "What are these?" he asks. "They're sweet."

"They're sugar berries," I explain. "My mom uses them to make jam. Haven't you had them before?"

"No," he says slowly. "But they taste familiar."

"Well, you can't get them in the market much," I shrug. "They only grow wild."

I give him another spoonful. Just one more to go.

"They're as sweet as syrup," he says before taking the last spoonful. Suddenly, he freezes and his eyes widen as he realizes what I've done. I clamp my hands over his mouth and nose, making him swallow. He tries to vomit them back up, but he's already losing consciousness. Regret threatens to overcome me when I see the betrayal in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I apologize softly. "But you can't die."

It doesn't matter that he can't hear me. The rest of Panem can.

Isn't that a great act of love? Drugging Peeta. Yeah, he feels the love, Katniss. Definitely.

Well, there we are! You guys know what happens next! The Feast! Woo!

Okay, let's see. What quote from My Last Breath shall I divulge today? Hmm . . . let's go with . . . Finnick!

"Spare the rest of us from what went on in that sleeping bag."

Lots of love,

AC