A/N: Guys, you really have to tone down your awesomeness. I'm over the moon with all of your reviews. Seriously, over 900? Really? You. Are. Amazing. I love every single one of you. :)

Okay, this chapter definitely involves events that TOTALLY did NOT happen in the books. Honestly, of all the things that I've changed, this change makes me the most nervous.

So . . . let's just 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; OMG over 700 reviews!; I had an arguement with my wall yesterday. Don't worry. I won!; Whenever I'm on the golf course and someone says 'Four!' I yell, "FIVE!"; I listen to the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean every time I finish a story; I am a Sherlock Holmes fanatic . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 23

The rain stops abruptly, like someone simply turning off a faucet. One second it's pouring, the sound of the water hitting the earth loud and continuous, and then in the next second it's eerily silent for a few moments until the birds begin to sing, and the sun begins to rise. In the mist and left over humidity of the rain, the sky looks even brighter, reflecting off the moisture in the air. If I knew that Peeta didn't absolutely need all the sleep he can get, I would wake him so he could see it.

I let Peeta sleep for a few minutes longer while I prepare the rest of the food, halving it out on two separate plates. Now that the rain has abated, we need to hunt. These Games are down to the final four. They'll probably be over in mere days. The Gamemakers will no doubt drive us together somehow if nothing happens today. Everyone must be anxious for the finale.

I rouse Peeta, gently shaking his shoulder. He blinks a few times, clearing the fog of sleep away. Once he does and his gaze lands on me, he surprises me by pulling me in for a long kiss, one that actually makes my toes curl.

I'd always thought the girls at school were making that up.

When we break away, I have to think for a minute. My thoughts are oddly scattered. "We're wasting hunting time," I eventually say.

Peeta smiles mischievously, like he knows the effect he has on me. "Well, I wouldn't call it wasting . . ." he trails off before stealing another kiss, which (regrettably) only lasts a few seconds because I back away and shove his shoulder. Damn me being responsible.

"Come on," I say. "We've got to eat." I hand him his plate, piled high with rice and stew.

Peeta eyes all the food. "All of this?"

"We need staying power," I shrug. "Trust me. We'll earn it all back at the end of the day."

We spend the next minutes devouring our plates. Eventually, I chuck my fork and begin wiping up the gravy with my finger. I can't help but think of Effie and all her comments about manners and etiquette. "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering," I laugh as I continue to mop up the gravy with my finger.

A chuckle escapes Peeta and a playful light enters his eye. He tosses his fork away and says, "Hey Effie! Watch this!" I'm staring in shock and amusement as Peeta begins to lick his plate clean, making exaggeratedly loud, satisfied sounds. By the time he finishes I'm almost balled over in a fit of laughter.

"We miss you Effie!" Peeta calls out, blowing our District escort a kiss.

I clamp my hand over his mouth, a laugh escaping me. "Quiet! Cato could be right outside the cave!"

Peeta's hand wraps around my wrist, pulling my hand from his mouth. "So? I've got you to protect me," he says has he pulls me into his side, sneaking in another kiss before I extricate myself from his hold.

"Can you manage five minutes without kissing me?" I complain, though my lips betray me when they stretch into a smile.

"Absolutely not," Peeta grins cheekily before pulling me in for another kiss.

I try to resist. Really, I do . . . for all of about two seconds . . . and then I'm kissing him back just as fervently. My blood is zinging with an exhilarating kind of heat, and the feeling is still so new and consuming that I don't want it to end. It makes me forget about the Games, forget that we both might die. All that exists right now is Peeta's lips on mine. It's just me and Peeta.

Without a thought, I allow my tongue to trace over his lower lip, and the shudder that shakes Peeta gives me a sense of power. This is effecting him just as much as it is me. This consuming heat. My hands tangle in his blonde curls as his tongue begins to dance with mine. The sensation causes an embarrassing moan to escape me, and I feel Peeta smile into the next kiss. Great, male pride. I would be more annoyed if it weren't for the feel of his hands slowly sliding up my sides before brushing the sides of my breasts.

Whoa, wait a minute. I freeze mid-kiss, causing Peeta to tense as well. Slowly, my eyes open to find myself staring into startling blue eyes that are currently darkened with desire, and yet are shining with surprise, anxiety, and embarrassment.

It's as if both of us just realized exactly how intimate our position is. Somewhere along the line, I shifted so that I'm now straddling him. My fingers are still buried in his curls. Our torsos are practically clued together, and his hands are still resting dangerously close to my chest.

"I . . ."

"Um . . ."

We break apart quickly, both of us blushing in embarrassment. I make it so there's about two feet of space between us, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms aroung my legs, as if I'm worried they'll suddenly develop a mind of their own and straddle Peeta's lap again. Both of us are silent as we try to control our breathing, not daring to look at each other.

Did that seriously just happen? I've only had experience in kissing for three days and suddenly his hands are . . . wandering. More importantly, I've only had experience in kissing for three days and suddenly his hands are wandering . . . and I like it. What. The. Hell.

I have only just recently been introduced to love and it's consuming nature.

I have now met lust, and I swear I'm about to combust.

Did it get hot in here all of a sudden? Or is that just me?

"I'm sorry, Katniss." Peeta is the first to break the silence. I feel his eyes on me and tentatively turn my head to meet his gaze. His cheeks are still flushed and I imagine mine are, too. His next words are bumbling, showcasing his nerves. "I shouldn't have . . . but you . . . and kissing . . . tongue . . . awesome . . . and I'm sixteen and . . . in love with you forever . . . and more kissing . . . and . . ." Peeta trails off, trying to string together a coherent thought. Finally he just says, "My bad."

I can't help it. I burst into a fit of laughter. Peeta stares at me for a confused moment before his lips twitch as his lips form a smile. A chuckle escapes him, which leads to another and then another. Pretty soon both of us are consumed in a fit of embarrassment-induced laughter.

We manage to get a grip on ourselves after a minute or so, and I meet his eyes. "Don't be sorry," I tell him. "I'm just . . . new to all of this."

Whatever 'this' really is. Love. Lust. Relationships in general . . . wait, are Peeta and I in a relationship? Like a relationship, relationship? Probably not . . . I'd have to tell him I loved him for that to be true. Is that how these things worked? Or are we unofficial?

Wow, this stuff is complicated.

"Well, I really shouldn't be feeling you up yet," Peeta says before blushing and beginning to stammer. "Not that I expect. . . well . . . you see . . . if you don't want . . . I . . . um . . ." Peeta closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm just going to stop talking."

"Peeta," I laugh. I don't know if my blush will ever fade. "Um . . . let's just move on for now, okay?" Avoidance. I'm good at this. "We have more important things to deal with than hormones right now." My blush deepens. I didn't even know I truly had hormones until now. Peeta, what has your love done to me? Not to mention my own feelings. "Let's just survive the day."

I don't mean for them too, but my words carry a rather poignant note that causes all the embarrassment and tingly warm feelings to vanish. Harsh reality slapping us both in the face. Survive. We have to survive the day. There's no time for our feelings to make us blind to our present circumstance . . . even if I can still feel the ghost of his lips moving with mine, the memory causing my face to flush once more.

"You're right," Peeta agrees, seriousness beginning to take over his expression. "We can, uh, talk later. When we win and get the hell out of here."

"When we win," I repeat, almost like a promise.

"Let's get going, then," Peeta says as he gets to his feet, and I quickly follow his example.

However, I can't help but add. "Peeta?" He looks at me expectantly. Trying to control my blush, I place a hand on his chest as I reach up on my tiptoes to give him a soft kiss. My face flushes with heat as I place my lips at his ear, so no Capitol microphone can hear my words. Only Peeta. "Don't feel guilty," I whisper before admitting in excitement-tinged embarrassment, "I like the feel of your hands on me."

I swear Peeta stops breathing. "Good to know," he says after a second, his voice catching slightly.

I pull away from him and quickly turn away, not looking at him to hide my vivid blush, and busy myself with getting our supplies ready for our hunting trip. After a moment, Peeta is at my side, helping me to pack everything up. I'm immensely grateful that things are so easy and comfortable between Peeta and I. The awkwardness from the previous few minutes has faded completely, both of us able to set aside our feelings and focus on survival. The present.

Then we can think about our future . . . even if the thought causes a nervous fear to tangle in my stomach. I push it away and focus on counting the six arrows in my quiver. Once we're standing outside the cave all of the levity disappears. The seriousness of our situation fully sinks in, and neither of us are thinking of our rather lustful encounter. Survive. That's the name of the Games.

I check my snares that I set before the rain trapped us in the cave, but as I suspected, they're all empty. With the weather the way it's been, all the rabbits would have been hunkered down just like Peeta and I. Nonetheless, I retrieve the wire and place it in one of the packs.

Due to the relentless amount of rain the past few days, the stream has flooded the banks, which is a relief because the water has erased all the signs of Peeta's camouflage. "We'll need to head to my old hunting grounds," I say. "There's not much here."

"Lead the way," Peeta replies, falling into step behind me.

"Keep your ears open," I tell him as I paw fruitlessly at my left ear. Still no sound. It must be irreparable. "Especially the left. I still can't hear."

Ideally, to cover our tracks, I would have us walking in the stream, but I'm afraid that the current, only speeded by the excessive rain, would take too much of a toll on Peeta's leg. Though he is ten times better than he was a few days ago, and the medicine cured the blood poisoning, the wound itself is still serious and weakening. Compiled with his days of inactivity, I know that today's trek will leave Peeta weary.

We walk along the shore until boulders give way to rocks and then rocks give way to pebbles. Finally, we're on my turf, the soft bedding of pine needles springing under my feet. But it's not a minute before I realize that I'm going to have a serious problem.

I'd forgotten how loud Peeta walked. I can't help but compare his tread with Gale's, who can walk so silently that even in fall, when dried, cackling, dead leaves litter the forest floor, he's still able to be virtually soundless.

And then there's Peeta, who sounds like a herd of cattle stomping through the woods. Honestly, I don't know how he manages to be as loud as he is. It's like he purposefully tries to snap every twig he sees on the ground. But I remind myself that Peeta, who has lived in town his entire life, was not taught by his father at the age of eight to walk silently, like my father had taught me. And then, oddly enough, as irritating as it is, I can't help but find a small part of his loud footfalls endearing. It's just one of the things that make Peeta who he is.

I debate my options. The best one, the most logical one, would be for me to dump Peeta someplace safe and hunt on my own. But I know that the idea will be tossed the minute I suggest it. Peeta won't let me out of his sight and I know if our positions were reversed, I wouldn't want him to leave me either. Option two is somewhat reasonable.

"Can you take your boots off?" I ask, and Peeta looks at me oddly. "I'll take mine off too. We'll both be quieter that way." Like I was making any noise. "As it is, no rabbit within a ten-mile radius will come near us."

There. That wasn't too insulting, was it?

I think Peeta reads between the lines though because I seem him blush ever-so slightly before complying with my request. We get moving again, our bootlaces tied together and slung over our shoulders. I know that Peeta is trying to walk quieter, because a twig only snaps every minute or so instead of every second. And the fact that we're bootless is helping.

But it's safe to say that when we reach the spot were Rue and I became allies, I haven't shot a thing.

"How you manage to walk so quietly amazes me," Peeta says as he eases himself down to sit at the base of the tree. His leg began to bother him a mile or so back. I could tell.

"How you manage to walk so loudly amazes me," I retort with a smirk, and Peeta shakes his head.

"Okay, obviously I'm scaring off the game," he says. "We're going to have to split up."

I frown. Not liking the idea. But then again, I can't really see another option.

Peeta is thinking the same thing. "You go on," he suggests. "Show me some plants to gather and then we'll both be useful."

I'm still wary about leaving him. "Not if Cato comes and kills you."

Peeta surprises me by laughing. "Look, I can handle Cato, alright? I fought him before, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and that worked out great," I say before I can stop myself and Peeta huffs indignantly.

Great. Male pride. Just what I need to deal with right now.

"He didn't get away unscathed, either," Peeta mutters, and I can't help but sigh.

"How about you climb a tree and act as a lookout?" I suggest.

"How about you show me some stuff to gather?" Peeta retorts and I throw my hands up in the air in defeat.

"Fine, come here," I say before showing him some roots to dig up. And I show him Rue's berries.

I turn to leave, but Peeta grabs my wrist. "Don't go far, okay?" he says softly, and I know that he's already forgotten our little tiff. "Just in case you run into trouble."

On impulse, I teach him a short, two-note whistle so we can communicate to each other that we're alright.

Once I'm fifteen yards away, I feel the forest come to life around me again. I step quietly through the forest, though in my mind I'm always keeping track of the distance I'm putting between myself and Peeta. Once I'm around fifty yards out I see a flash of a bushy tail and let an arrow fly. One rabbit down.

In the next five minutes, I venture another twenty-five yards and pick up another rabbit and a squirrel. Deciding that this will be enough for the day, I begin to make my way back. I really don't like the fact that I've left Peeta alone, weak and injured (even if he denies it). What if Cato does stumble upon him? Peeta fought him before and lived, but will he be able to manage a second time?

At the thought, my pace quickens. However, not a second later, I realize that it's not Peeta I should be worried about. It's sheer instinct, not my hearing that causes me to suddenly spin toward my left, just in time to see the metallic flash of a blade.

Wielded by Foxface.

Shock causes my reaction to be just a little too slow, and I feel a stinging sensation as the blade cuts across my stomach. The pain snaps my brain into gear, and as Foxface lunges past me, I grab her arm and bring my knee up to hit her wrist, causing her to lose her grip on the knife.

Now we're on an even playing field.

I know my bow is no use, not at this close range, so I let it drop before I tackle Foxface to the ground. We grapple for a few moments, rolling around on the ground, trying to gain the advantage, but like the fox that I nicknamed her after, the girl from District 5 is just as wiry and nimble, constantly slipping out of my hold.

Vaguely, in the back of my mind, I hear Peeta whistling, but I don't have the time to whistle back. Foxface lunges at me, knocking me onto my back and I can't help but compare this fight to my brief fight with Courtney Mathers in the second grade. Lots of rolling around on the ground. Biting. Fingernails.

But when Foxface yanks on my braid that is all it takes for me to snap. There is absolutely no dignity in hair pulling.

I kick Foxface off of me, and reach back behind me to grab an arrow from my quiver. I hear Peeta call my name just as I turn around, arrow raised to charge at my foe.

I see a flash of red hair, and then suddenly Foxface is right in front of me, her bloodied mouth open wide in shock. Confused, I look down. It's almost surreal to see my arrow gripped in my hand, half of the shaft invicible because it's sheathed in Foxface's torso. She impaled herself on my arrow when she lunged at me.

Peeta calls my name again, and I hear him trampling through the forest toward me. I know that I should call out to him, but all I can do is stare at Foxface, who takes one last shuddering breath before falling silent.

The cannon goes off just as Peeta bursts into view.

I shove Foxface's body off of me, cringing at what I'm about to do. I grab the shaft of my arrow and pull it out of her chest, wincing at the sound of the resisting flesh. But I need all the arrows I've got. I only have six left.

When I look up Peeta is at my side, and I barely have time to blink before his arms are around me and his face is buried in my hair. His hold is nearly suffocating, but I don't dare to tell him so. I just hug him back, trying to reassure him that I'm okay. After a few long seconds pass and Peeta shows no hint of letting me go anytime soon, I try to pull away from him. "Peeta, let me go," I say softly. "I'm fine."

There's a second of hesitation, but he does concede to my request and let his arms fall back to his sides. I step away from him slightly and say, "We need to search her stuff. See if she has anything useful."

I hate how cold I sound.

I reach down and pick up the little pack that she'd dropped when she first charged me. There's nothing much. An apple. A cracker. A water bottle. A warm blanket. Some berries. My brow furrows as I pick up one of the berries. It looks very much like the ones that Rue showed me, but I hesitate.

My father's voice enters my mind. Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach.

"She would have died anyway," I say softly, holding up the berry to Peeta. "Nightlock," I explain. "They're poisonous."

"Well, we can just throw them out then," he says, but I frown, an idea coming to me.

"No," I say as I take a handful. "If Cato's hungry, he might make the same mistake. We could drop them along the way."

"Alright," Peeta agrees before his eyes widen. "Katniss, you're bleeding!"

"I am?" I ask before remembering the cut on my stomach. I look down and sure enough, on my shirt is a thin, red stain. "It's just a scratch," I placate. If it were anything worse, I doubt I'd be standing and carrying on conversation.

"Let's get back to camp," Peeta says, taking my hand. "We can check it."

I gather my bow and arrows and my kills, the two rabbits and the squirrel. The moment we're far enough away, the birds fall silent and I know that the hovercraft to get Foxface's body is near. Guilt of having taken another life gnaws at me, and it's much more painful than the cut to my stomach. I had known that it would be a possibility, that I would have to kill Foxface, but I actually hadn't thought it would really happen.

"Why would she attack me?" I ask as Peeta makes me lie down near a fire pit, one that he had obviously been working on before he'd dashed off after me. "Direct confrontation isn't her style."

Peeta shrugs as he quickly works to start a fire. He succeeds in minutes, managing to coax a flame from damp wood. Shouldn't surprise me since Peeta's a baker. "She was probably desperate," he says. "The Games are winding down and she knew that she couldn't take on Cato. She probably avoided me because I'm bigger than her. That leaves you."

"How did she know to approach me from the left, though?" I ask, wondering. Had she been around at the explosion?

"She was smart," he explains. "And with the noise I was making coming up here, she probably followed us and heard you say something about it."

Logical deduction. I have no doubt that he's probably right.

His job tending the fire done, Peeta's eyes fall on me. "Now let's look at that cut."

"It's no big deal," I shrug it off. It really only stung a little . . . as long as I didn't move.

Peeta doesn't believe me, and his hands move toward my shirt, the first aid kit sitting on the ground beside him. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Well, the shirt has got to go," he tells me.

"No it doesn't."

Peeta gives me a look. "You stripped me naked," he deadpans. "And you can't part with a shirt?"

He does have a point.

I compromise, lifting my shirt so that it rests under my breasts. When Peeta's hand makes contact with the tender skin of my stomach, I can't help but tense. Not in pain, though. Odd little sparks are shooting through me at the feel of his warm fingertips touching my bare skin.

Our eyes meet, and I know we're both thinking about the incident in the cave and my whispered reassurance to him afterward. I like the feel your hands on me. Both of us blush lightly.

I try to focus my attention on my wound. "See?" I say after I look at it. "No big deal."

The cut itself is only four inches long, starting at the curve of my waist and stopping a little short of my bellybutton. It's a thin cut. The kind that bleeds far more than it would seem it should. Nonetheless, Peeta doctors the cut and then tapes a piece of gauze over it.

When he's finished, I move without a word to my kills to gut and clean them. Minutes later they're hanging over the fire, roasting. Peeta and I sit in silence, his arm wrapped around me protectively. I bet if I moved, he'd tighten his hold to keep me next to him.

I find the gesture both irritating and sweet at the same time.

Once the food is cooked we clean up, and I tuck away the one of the rabbits and the squirrel into my pack. I give myself and Peeta a rabbit leg to eat before putting the second rabbit into the pack as well. I'm thinking of where we're going to sleep tonight. Ideally, I'd like to find a tree, but I'm worried that Peeta's leg won't hold up to the task of climbing, especially after the exertion of today. The long hike here and then his sprint toward me when I'd fought Foxface.

That only leaves going back to the cave, because even though it means hours of walking, it's close to water and easy to defend. The fact that I refuse to sleep on the ground in the woods while Cato is out and about is another reason to head back to the cave.

"You up for the hike back to the cave?" I ask Peeta, who in reply merely gets to his feet and throws both packs over his shoulder.

I think he may be mad at me, but I don't really know why.

As I suspected, it takes hours to hike back to the cave, and we're both completely worn out. I pause at the stream to refill our water bottles before following Peeta into the cave. He already has the sleeping bag rolled out and is just about to slide in when I come into the cave.

Without a word, I climb into the sleeping bag, and immediately Peeta's arms are around me. My head falls to rest on his shoulder and I feel Peeta lay his cheek on top of my head. He's barely said a word to me since my fight with Foxface, though he's kept me close.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask quietly.

Peeta sits up a little to look at me. "No. Why would I be?"

"I don't know!" I snap exasperatedly. "That's why I'm asking."

"You just scared me, that's all," Peeta admits. "You didn't whistle back and when I called for you, you didn't answer, and then the cannon went off . . ."

"Oh," I say softly, my frustration fading.

"I thought I lost you there for a minute." Peeta trails his fingertips along my cheekbone. "I can't lose you, Katniss," he says earnestly. "I can't."

I'm not like Peeta. I'm not good with words, but I know that something needs to be said. I need to say something comforting, however, I have no idea what it could be.

So I kiss him instead. This kiss is different from all the others, tinged with desperation and fear. I try to be as reassuring as I can be, if that's even possible when kissing. But, apparently, I must be doing something right because when we break away, Peeta gives me a small smile before placing a tender kiss on my forehead.

Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

Well? PK got a little heated in an oh, so delicious way . . . then cue adorable Peeta stammering and Katniss embarrassment.

And then I went and had Katniss kill Foxface. I never liked how she died in the books. She was so sly and smart (not to mention she was kind of painted as Katniss's rival in the wits department) and I have to wonder what her game plan was. Obviously, she can't outlast everyone. She doesn't have the skills or the sponsors. Her only option was to attack, and Katniss is the most logical option.

Plus, I can't resist writing a chick fight. Chick fights are awesome.

Sooo . . . moving on to today's quote from My Last Breath? Who shall the lucky guest star be? Hmm . . . I know! . . . Cinna!

"Katniss, why is your shirt hanging from the ceiling fan?"

Lots of love,

AC