A/N: Okay, okay. I've got to say something. Really, it's overwhelming me . . . so . . .

OMG! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST READERS EVER AND I AM IN AWE OF YOUR AWESOMENESS!

There, I said it. I feel better now.

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!; I had an arguement with my wall yesterday. Don't worry. I won! . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 20

Once I settle Peeta securely in the sleeping bag, I begin to make preparations. I exit the cave and spend the next few hours trying to camouflage it. Since my previous idea of using vines was an epic fail, I decide to simply use rocks. I pile them up strategically at the mouth of the cave, making it look like the many clumps of rock that line the bank. I leave just enough space for me to crawl though, making sure that it's not a noticeable gap, and I survey my work before nodding in satisfaction.

There are still a few hours of the night left for me to sleep, and I intend to make the most of them. I climb back into the cave and immediately slide into the sleeping bag with Peeta. My regret for drugging him swells within me as I take my usual place beside him. My head on his shoulder, an arm thrown over his waist. Except this time, his arms don't come up to surround me, and I'm surprised by how vulnerable I feel. I remember my father telling me once that it was the little things in life that truly mattered. It was the little things you needed to be grateful for, things that you took for granted. Lying here next to Peeta, without the safety of his embrace, causes my father's words to hit home.

I manage to sleep for a few hours before waking up about three hours before dawn, my body and mind forcing me awake. An overwhelming sense of purpose and determination causes me to be alert and focused within seconds of opening my eyes, and I immediately set to work, crawling out of the sleeping bag and beginning to pack.

I'm taking Rue's pack with me since it's the smallest. I fill it with some food, a water bottle, and some bandages, plus the night vision glasses. I quickly eat as I prepare, popping handfuls of berries into my mouth and eating a rabbit leg. I leave two full bottles of water for Peeta and set aside the first aid kit. It won't be of much use to him, but it sets my mind at ease, thinking that I've done a little something.

I've only been up for fifteen minutes, and I'm already shivering. The air is biting cold, and I can't feel my nose. After a moment of debate, I strip Peeta of his jacket before tucking him back into the sleeping bag. I feel guilty, but I can't deny that at this moment, I need it more than he does. On a whim, I also take Rue's extra pair of socks and poke holes in them, making makeshift gloves.

I grip my bow tightly in my hand, and I feel the weight of every one of my eight arrows in my quiver. However, before I leave, I know I've got to give the Capitol the show they're wanting. No doubt that they're falling over themselves due to Peeta and I. They want a love tragedy, and so far they're getting one, but I intend to change that. Nonetheless, I have to keep the sponsor's money coming, so I give Peeta a lingering kiss.

I feel slightly guilty that the kiss isn't true, that it's staged for the Capitol, but I shrug it off. I can't afford to think of things like that right now. I put on my night vision glasses and ease out of the cave. My breath makes little white puffs in front of me, the air is so cold. It's like a wintry night in December back home.

My plan for reaching the Cornucopia starts by retracing my steps back to the place where Rue and I became allies. From there I'll follow her instructions back down to the copse in the woods at the edge of the clearing in front of the Cornucopia. I plan to hide there until dawn and the feast begins.

It doesn't take me long to reach the first checkpoint in my destination, and I don't linger, too many memories of Rue. From there, I follow the path she taught me. The glasses make everything clear to me, but the world at night still looks odd. It makes everything look ominous, and the feeling really doesn't sit well with the nerves that are beginning to twist in my stomach.

I reach the outskirts of the Cornucopia with probably an hour to spare. Within minutes of settling down in the copse, I'm grateful for taking Peeta's jacket. Most importantly, its warmth is allowing me to stay still and not have to move around every few minutes to get warm. Another more trivial fact that I still find greatly important is that his jacket smells like him, and I take comfort in the familiarity.

While I wait for dawn, my mind wonders to District 12. I have no doubt that everyone is watching and cheering for us. It's rare when we have a tribute, let alone two, make it this far into the games. I can almost see them, gathering in the square to watch the Games, cheering for Peeta to hang on and for me to succeed in getting him the medicine he needs.

I wonder how my mother and Prim are doing. Are they eating enough? Is Mr. Mellark keeping his promise and making sure that Prim's belly is full? I wonder if mom and Prim sit at home and watch the Games on our tattered, old television, or if they've been watching in the square on the big screens.

My thoughts drift to Gale. How is he doing? He's watching the Games I know, silently and critically, but hoping like all the others that I come home. I wonder what he thinks of Peeta, if he wants him to come home, too. I wonder what he thinks of our kisses. I wonder if he thinks they're real. The thought occurs to me that Gale could have been my boyfriend, maybe, if I'd wanted things that way. He did mention running away together. Was that just a last-ditch plan for survival? Or something more? An odd weight sits on my chest at the thought.

I shake my head. Peeta. Peeta is all that matters. Get the medicine. Save Peeta. That is my number one goal in life at this moment. Because no matter how convoluted and chaotic everything else is, the fact remains that Peeta is the one thing in life that makes sense to me, however confusing it sometimes is.

I'm very aware that that thought really doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

When the silvery light of dawn begins to break and I still see no clue that there's a feast anywhere in the vicinity, I begin to panic. Am in the right place? Yes. Yes, I am. I'm positive that Claudius said the Cornucopia. Positive.

But however positive I am, a wave of relief still rushes through me when the ground in front of the Cornucopia opens up and a table begins to rise from the depths. It's like a long dinner table; covered in a pristine, white cloth. Spaced equally across the table are four packs. The first two packs on the far end are large and have the numbers 2 and 11 on them. The third pack is medium-sized and green with a number 5 on it. The last pack, hardly big enough to even be considered a pack, more like a padded pouch, has the number 12 on it.

That's mine, I think.

I'm just about to rush forward when I see someone dart out of the Cornucopia the moment the table locks into place. Foxface. Only someone like Foxface, daring and sly, would have taken such a brilliant risk. Admiration, frustration, and anger flood me. I should have thought of that!

It's a perfect plan really. She gets to her pack first, and by not taking anyone else's pack, she's basically ensured that no one will follow her. They will want their own pack before risking gunning her down. And here I have lost precious time lamenting over the perfect execution of her scheme.

I dart out of my hiding place, knowing that I have to get to the table next.

It's only because I hear a whizzing on my right side that I know enough to duck as Clove's knife slices through the air, missing my head by inches. I spin around and fire an arrow at her. Clove is just quick enough to turn to the side and avoid a fatal hit, but my arrow still lodges in her arm. This gives me precious seconds to reach my pack as she pulls the arrow out of her arm. Regrettably, the arrow lodged in her left arm. She throws right.

However, I only give this thought a minimal amount of weight, even though I string another arrow automatically as only a seasoned hunter can do. My only thought, the only thing that matters, is getting my pack.

I'm at the table now. I sling the small pack over my shoulder and just as I'm turning to make a run for it, I hear another knife whizzing toward me. I'm not fast enough this time, and the knife clips me in the forehead, sending a rush of blood down my face, blinding my eye. I release my arrow in the general direction of the attack, but I know the moment it leaves my bow that it misses.

This fact is compounded when I'm knocked to the ground.

I struggle, but Clove plants her knees on my chest, pinning me to the ground and restricting my breaths to nothing more than wheezes. I'm filled with failure as I stare up into Clove's glinting eyes. I'm going to die. I know it. I can only hope that Prim doesn't watch, because staring into Clove's eyes, I know that my death at her hands will not be quick. No, she'll want to savor it.

"Where's your boyfriend, District 12? Still hanging on?" she mocks, a small, evil smile on her face.

Well, if she wants to talk, I might as well contribute to the conversation. It only means I'll be alive that much longer. "He's out there right now. Hunting Cato," I lie with a snarl. Then, with almost all the air I have left in my lungs, I scream. "Peeta!"

Clove's forearm jams into my throat, abruptly cutting off my scream and severely limiting the amount of oxygen I'm able to pull into my lungs. However, I see that my lie has given her pause, her head whipping back and forth to see if Peeta's going to charge out of the woods to save me. I use her momentary distraction to my advantage, and abruptly try to shove her off me. It works, and I've just managed to scramble to my feet when I'm tackled to the ground again. I spin in her hold, my fist coming around to connect solidly with her jaw, but it only seems to daze her and make my hand throb.

"You're feisty, I'll give you that," she tells me before smiling, which is even more menacing because of the blood in her mouth from my punch. "But you're a little liar. Lover Boy is nearly dead, isn't he? Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for him? Too bad he'll never get it."

Fury and despair are roiling through me in equal waves. Fury at Clove for drawing out my death. Why can't she just get it over with? I've always hated the ones who draw out the death of another tribute. They disgust me. They think it's fun. They enjoy it. But despair is weighing me down, too. Failure. My failure, which ensures that Peeta will die. It will be all my fault. And then the thought that I'll never have the chance to tell Peeta that I love him, however new and frightening the concept is, causes my heart to ache.

Clove opens up her jacket, and I see that it's lined with an array of knives. She chooses a particularly dainty looking one, before gently running the blade down my cheek. "I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show."

Instinct to survive prompts me to try to flee. I'm struggling for all that I'm worth, but Clove is simply too big, too strong for me to throw her off, and I doubt I can distract her again to try another sneak attack.

"Forget it, District 12. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally . . . what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?" Clove asks with a menacing smile. "Now, where to start?"

She carefully observes my face, turning it from side to side as if to see just the right angle. "I think . . . " she begins. "I think we'll start with your mouth."

I clamp my teeth together and glare into her eyes as she teasingly traces the outline of my lips with the tip of the blade. I refuse to show weakness. My gaze will never falter from hers. A scream will never escape my lips. No. I will show a silent strength in the end. For Rue. For myself. My last show of defiance.

"Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?" she asks.

In answer, I work up a mouthful of blood and spit in her face.

Rage dominates Clove's features, and I know my end is near. "All right then. Let's get started."

I set my jaw grimly, and just as I feel the first cut at the corner of my lips, Clove is abruptly pulled off me. I'm stunned, too shocked for my senses to really do their job and tell me what's going on. My mind is racing. Has Peeta managed to save me? Has a hovercraft yanked her up?

I blink rapidly and see that I was wrong on both counts. Thresh—huge, hulking, menacing Thresh—has Clove in a tight hold. His arms, looking the size of small tree trunks, pin her to him and hold her firmly to his chest, her feet dangling a foot off the ground. From my sharp angle on the ground, he looks even bigger than I know him to be. He towers over me, displaying his enormous strength, his power. He throws Clove to the ground and when he speaks, his voice is not subdued like in his interview.

It shocks me when he shouts. "What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?"

Clove has lost all her confidence. Scrambling away from Thresh, she looks like nothing more than a scared little girl. She's too terrified to even call for Cato. "No! No, it wasn't me!" she denies, shaking her head so adamantly, I'm surprised it stays connected to her neck.

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" Thresh's face flushes with rage. "You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

"No! No, I—" Clove pauses when she sees the stone that is clutched in Thresh's hand, the size of a loaf of bread. This is enough for her to scream, "Cato! Cato!"

"Clove!" I hear Cato in the woods, but I know that he's too far away. He won't get to her in time. Clove must realize this too, because she begins to scramble to her feet. I hear a sickening crunch as she's knocked back to the ground, Thresh having brutally hit her in the head with the stone. She crumples to the ground in a heap. There's no blood. Only a dent in her head.

There's no recovering from that wound.

Thresh suddenly turns to me, and I'm frozen. I'm just as good as dead like Clove. No arrow is strung in my bow, and I won't be quick enough to string another arrow before Thresh bashes my head in. All I can do is stare into his golden brown eyes.

"What'd she mean? About Rue being your ally?"

"W-we teamed up," I explain, my voice shaky. "Blew up the supplies. I tried to save her, I really did. But I . . . I just didn't get there in time. He got there first, District 1."

"You kill him?" Thresh asks harshly.

"I killed him," I confirmed. "And buried her in flowers." My mind can't help but replay the memory, as I admit, "And I sang her to sleep."

I can't help the tears that spring into my eyes. Rue, sweet little Rue did not deserve to die, and a part of me will always blame myself for her death. Because I didn't get there in time to save her.

"To sleep?" he questions gruffly.

"To death," I specify. "I sang to her until she died . . ." I reach up a hand, not to go for an arrow, but to wipe my nose. "Your district, they sent me bread." I sigh in resignation. "Just do it quick, okay, Thresh?"

I wait for the blow, but it doesn't come. Conflict is plain on Thresh's face. Eventually, after a few seconds of internal debate, he lowers the stone, though he points it at me. "Just this one time, I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we're even then. No more owed. You understand?"

Yes. I understand. Thresh and I are alike in this way. We both hate owing people.

My head jerks up as Cato's voice echoes through the air, calling for Clove.

"You better go Fire Girl," Thresh says and I don't hesitate to leap to my feet and take off running.

When I reach the edge of the woods, I can't help but turn back to glance at the Cornucopia. I see Thresh snatch up both his pack and Cato's before disappearing over the edge of the plain into a part of the arena that I've never seen.

But when I see Cato crash out of the woods and make a beeline toward Clove, my legs start working again and carry me swiftly over the forest floor. The thought that Cato might come after me is at the forefront of my mind. And the fact that I have my bow doesn't give me much comfort. He can throw a spear nearly as far as I can shoot an arrow. And even though the thought occurs to me that Cato probably went after Thresh since he's the one who had what Cato desperately needed, it's not enough to cause me to slow.

I still run.

When I reach the stream, I trudge right through it, boots and socks and all. I'm surprised I haven't tripped from being unable to see where I'm going. Blood is still rushing from my head wound, and it's covering the right side of my face, blinding me. I take off my makeshift gloves and press them to the wound. They're quickly soaked through.

Somehow I'm able to navigate my way to the cave. I crawl through the opening, gasping for breath, but I don't dare slow. I fall to my knees beside Peeta and rip open the pack. A small, narrow box drops out and I rip that open too, revealing a single, hypodermic needle. Immediately, I grab it and then stab it into Peeta's arm, pushing the plunger down.

I sink down to the floor of the cave beside him, breathing heavily. My head is throbbing, and there's a dull ache in my hand. The sharp, metallic taste of blood coats my lips. Spots dance in front of my eyes.

A tired sense of victory fills me. I succeeded. I saved Peeta.

That's my last thought before the darkness takes me.

Go Katniss! You saved him. Good for you. Just know that when he wakes up, he's not going to be too happy with you. Thrilled that you're still alive, but pissed that you drugged him and then risked your life. Don't worry. You'll argue about it.

Hmm . . . let's see . . . what quote from My Last Breath shall I divulge? Let's go with Haymitch! A particularly sweet moment from him . . .

Haymitch: "Hard to be lonely when you've got kids."

Lots of love,

AC