A/N: I have over a thousand reviews!

(runs about wildly in excitment)

Wooooooooooo!

(absently runs smack into wall)

Ow.

(leaps to her feet and begins running and screaming once more)

Wooo!

I think that's enough said on just how ecstatic I am. Now, onto if Peeta lives or dies or loses another limb since I spared his leg . . . or gets maimed . . . or seriously injured . . .

Or he could have miraculously grabbed the lip of the Cornucopia . . . nah, too boring . . .

Oh! AND this chapter has the moment I think we've all been waiting for. ;)

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; I once saw a man riding a cow like a horse, saddle and all. I swear I'm not kidding; Over a 1000 reviews! . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 25

"Peeta!"

I scramble to the lip of the Cornucopia, my arrow still loaded in my bow. My eyes are searching frantically for him, but all I see is a mess of multi-colored fur. All I hear are growls and barks and the scraping of claws on metal.

And then I see a flash of blonde hair.

The mutt pack has formed a sort of tight circle around Peeta and Cato, who stand back to back. As I suspected, Cato had a sword hidden somewhere on him because it's now clutched in his hands and he's wielding it with a fury, chopping and hacking at all the mutts that come near him. The long knife that Peeta has looks pathetic in comparison, but no less deadly when I see Peeta slit the throat of the mutt closest to him.

But I know that this can't possibly last long. Peeta will die if he doesn't get back up on the Cornucopia, and I have to save my two arrows for when they are really needed, which means that I have to watch as one of the mutts slashes its claws across Peeta's chest.

"Go to the horn!" I cry. "You've got to move!"

The mutts seem to favor Cato, most likely because he's giving them a harder time. His body armor that practically covers him from head to toe is so far proving resistant to the mutt's teeth and claws. I see Peeta trying to fight his way through the mutts to get back to the horn so that he can climb back up.

Sheer, overwhelming helplessness flows through me. I can only watch as Peeta fights the mutts that surround him. To my horror, I see the smallest mutt, representing Rue, lunging at him from the side. He won't be able to defend himself in time. Without a thought, I let go of my arrow, and the Rue mutt falls to the ground dead. I feel a sob threaten to choke me, but I fight it back.

Peeta continues to stab and slash at the mutts, dodging when he can, but he's weakening fast. Only adrenaline is keeping his bad leg from giving out, and I can see the blood from where the wound has reopened. I see a lot of blood. I hope that it's from the mutts.

After what seems like forever, Peeta is at the tail-end of the Cornucopia and only two mutts have followed him. He stabs one and it lets out a startled, pained yelp. Peeta doesn't waste time and leaps onto the horn, beginning to climb.

But there's the second mutt.

It leaps into the air, its fanged mouth bared, and hatred shining in its eyes. Its claws, black and razor sharp, extend out from its paws. Peeta is about to die.

I load my last arrow in a flash and let it fly. The mutt's claws just graze Peeta's back before it falls toward the ground, my arrow sticking out of one of its eyes.

I drop my bow and rush toward Peeta, grabbing one of his arms and helping him the rest of the way up. We half-crawl, half-stumble back up the Cornucopia until we're at the mouth again, the highest and farthest we can possibly be from the mutts. I can still hear Cato fighting them. The sound of metal on metal and occasional cries, some animal, some human, permeate the night.

Peeta collapses onto his back, his chest heaving as he takes in as much air as possible. His blue eyes find mine, and somehow, miraculously, he manages to smile at me. "Good to see you," he gasps. "Thought I wouldn't for a minute there."

"Are you crazy?" I yell, referring to his brief scuffle with Cato that sent him over the edge. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Well . . . I was sort of . . . oxygen deprived . . . at the time," Peeta says between breaths. "Seemed like . . . a good idea."

"It was a terrible idea!" I scream, my fear getting the better of me. "Now, look at you!"

"I've probably looked better, haven't I?" Peeta chuckles before wincing.

My hands are shaking as I notice the pool of blood that's beginning to form under him. I curse dropping all of our supplies when we first saw the mutts. I could have used the bandages. "Well, let's see how bad off you are this time," I say, my voice cracking oddly.

I unzip his jacket and ease it off him, ignoring the three long tears going diagonally across it. Peeta's shirt is torn exactly like his jacket, but is spattered with blood, the majority coming from the three long gashes that start at his left shoulder and extend across his chest down to the right side of his waist. They are seeping blood, but I'm relieved that it's not a heavy flow. He'd most certainly bleed out if it weren't so.

I shove the thought away.

Stop the bleeding. That's what I have to do. That's my focus.

Bandages. I need bandages. "Okay, I'm going take your shirt off," I tell him, but Peeta really isn't paying too much attention to me. His head is turned toward the sound of Cato fighting the mutts. I've been desperately trying to ignore the sounds. Cato is losing. His pained cries are more and more frequent. There are simply too many mutts. Even for someone of his skill.

I remove Peeta's shirt and that's when I see the full extent of the damage. Aside from the three gashes on his chest, smaller scratches cover him, and I cringe at the nasty bite mark on his right forearm. All his wounds together have coated his entire torso in blood. And this is only the external damage that I can see. What about internal damage? How did the twenty foot fall from the Cornucopia hurt him? I note that his breathing has yet to slow, and he's still gasping rather than taking in a good lungful of air. I tell myself that it's just a natural reaction to excessive pain, but I can't help but worry about broken ribs and if one might have punctured a lung.

Where do I even begin? How do I decide which needs a bandage?

I decide that his chest is the worst, so I focus my attention there. I rip the remains of his shirt into strips, grateful that the long sleeves are mostly intact. I begin the long process of wrapping the makeshift bandages around him, but it's clear to me that I'll need more, and I can't sacrifice his jacket. Night has only just now fallen and the temperature has already dropped at least twenty degrees. The metal of the Cornucopia that was burning hot when I first climbed it is now ice cold. I tell myself that this is good for Peeta's wounds. The cold with help decrease the blood loss.

I quickly unzip my jacket, ignoring how my skin is immediately dotted with goosebumps. Knowing what I'm about to do, I grit my teeth and get it over with. Ignoring the fact that every person in Panem is about to see me shirtless, I quickly rid myself of my shirt before covering myself with my jacket, zipping it up in a flash. I'm already shivering from the brief exposure, and I can't imagine how Peeta is feeling at the moment.

Peeta's eyes are on me, but I ignore him. If the situation weren't so dire, I might be embarrassed that he just saw me, however briefly, without my shirt with only a dirty white bra to preserve my modesty. I focus on the task at hand, ripping my shirt to make more bandages. Eventually, I've done the best I can do, making sure that the bandages are wrapped tightly enough to help with any busted ribs he may or may not have.

I ignore the fact that blood is already beginning to seep through the dressings.

I help Peeta back into his jacket, but he's still shaking with cold. So am I. Peeta unzips his jacket, and weakly motions for me to lay with him. "But—" I begin, my eyes darting to his wounds, but Peeta shakes his head.

"Don't care."

So I cuddle up next to him, and he zips up his jacket around us both. I try to position myself so that I'm not directly touching any of his wounds, but it's a tough task. His right shoulder is relatively unscathed, so I rest my head there. I drape my arm over his waist as lightly as possible, but I still hear him hiss in pain.

With nothing left to distract me, I can no longer distance myself from Cato's cries, which have now turned to moans. I can only imagine his pain. His armor, which is the only thing that has kept him alive, is still serving its purpose, but now it is only prolonging his death and his suffering. The mutts are gnawing on him, slowly killing him. I hear them dragging his body across the ground. His sharp cries of agony pierce the air, and I bury my face into Peeta's shoulder.

The night drags on, and it's the worst night of my life. Cato's whimpering as the mutts work away at him is slowly driving me insane, and Peeta is slowly fading as well. I can feel it in his breaths, which are slowly becoming more and more hollow. I refuse to let Peeta fall asleep, too worried that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them again. I call out his name each time his lids flutter closed, but as the night progresses, I have to yell louder and louder to keep him with me.

The air is unbearably cold, like the Gamemakers want to turn us into icicles. Even with my jacket and Peeta's, I'm still shivering. When the sun finally breaks over the horizon, a cannon sounds. Immediately, my eyes dart up to Peeta, just to make sure that he's still with me.

Blue eyes meet my grey, and I relax. Slowly, the gravity of the situation is sinking in. Cato is dead.

Peeta and I have won the Hunger Games.

"We won," Peeta says hollowly.

"Hurray for us," I say, my voice just as tired and hollow.

Peeta unzips his jacket and I disentangle myself from him. His bandages are soaked through with blood and the red stains my jacket as well. I ease him up into a sitting position, and Peeta sucks in a sharp breath, the pain overwhelming him for a moment. Neither of us move from our new position. We're waiting; waiting for some kind of sign, some announcement saying that we won.

It doesn't come.

"Maybe . . . we have to . . . get away from . . . the body," Peeta suggests between gasps of pain.

Do we? Do we have to get away from the final kill? My mind is so befuddled and slow due to the stress and the cold that I can't remember from previous Games.

"Think you can make it to the lake?" I ask.

"Think I better try."

It's a team effort to say the least, but Peeta and I manage to get on the ground. My limbs are so incredibly stiff from the cold that every movement is pain and sends jolts through my bones. I have no idea how Peeta is even managing to stand.

A little voice in the back of my mind is also wondering how Peeta is even managing to keep breathing, but I ignore it and the chills the thought sends through my spine.

We make it to the lake, and I reach down to our pack that we dropped in our haste to get to the Cornucopia and escape the mutts. I grab a water bottle and take a big gulp before giving it to Peeta. He needs it much more than I do.

"What's taking them so long?" Peeta asks weakly, but I see some idea begin to spin in his mind. He looks suspicious.

"I don't know."

A glint of silver catches my eye and I see that it's my arrow that deflected off of Cato's armor. I'm bending down to pick it up when Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes throughout the arena.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

I stare at Peeta in disbelief, and to my surprise he gives me a sad smile. "You got to admit it's a dramatic finale," he says softly.

It was all a lie. The rule change. These Games were engineered from the very beginning, or at least since our time in the cave. To ensure the most dramatic finale. The star-crossed lovers of District 12 choosing which one of them will live.

My eyes look up when I see Peeta raise the knife. Instinct causes me to react, my loaded bow aimed right at his heart. Peeta merely raises his eyebrows before tossing the knife into the lake. My bow slips from my hands as shame courses through me. Peeta would never hurt me.

But he's shoving my bow back into my hands. "Do it," he says gently. "Go home."

"No." I shake my head. "No!"

"Please, just do it before they send the mutts back out." Peeta's voice sounds so persuasive, but it's not going to work on me. "I don't want to die like Cato."

"Don't guilt me into this!" I shout angrily at him. My body begins to shake with the sobs I'm repressing. "I'm not killing you!"

"It's what I want!" It's the first time Peeta's ever raised his voice to me. "Go home, Katniss! To Prim! To your mother! That was your plan all along!"

It's a low blow and he knows it. Prim. It's also the one thing that could make me actually do it. Kill Peeta. To go home to Prim.

But I can't. The tears and sobs that I've managed to quell so far escape me. My hands are trembling. My heart is aching. I can't do it. I can't kill him.

I can't do it.

My tears slide down my cheeks as I shake my head, and Peeta groans in frustration, running a bloodied hand through his hair. "Why not?" he asks me. "I'm going to die anyway, we both know it! You're just going to let me bleed out?"

"Stop trying to guilt me into killing you!" I scream at him. "I can't do it! I can't!"

Peeta is so frustrated he looks angry. "Why?" he asks again, and I finally snap.

"Because I love you!"

Peeta stares at me, and for a moment I worry that he's stopped breathing. As it is, I'm wondering if I have too. I feel oddly starved for oxygen. This was not how I ever pictured telling him.

The words are pouring out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Rue asked me what being in love was like," I admit, more tears flowing because of the pain of her death. "And I—I didn't know what to say, but I . . . I told her that . . . that love was when you couldn't imagine surviving without him." I look up at Peeta, who can only stare at me. "I can't survive without you, Peeta," I whisper.

To my surprise, a tired laugh escapes him. Anger begins to bubble within me, but it vanishes the moment his hand touches my face. His lips meet mine and my eyes close. He cradles my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears that slip from my eyes. This kiss feels different from the others. Warmer. My heart swells in a way it never has. Because for the first time, we're on even ground. I know that he loves me. He knows that I love him.

When we break away, Peeta rests his forehead against mine. "All the years I've dreamed of you saying that, and you choose now to tell me?" he asks with a sad smile.

"I'm not good with words," I tell him softly. "That's you."

Peeta smiles a little, but it falls. "They have to have a victor, Katniss." He trails his fingertips along my cheekbone. "That's all they want."

All they want is a victor . . .

An idea strikes me. It's crazy. It's ridiculous. It's suicidal.

And it just might work.

I run over to the pack that lies on the ground and snatch up the pouch that has the nightlock berries. When I return to Peeta, he's looking at me like I've finally lost it. Maybe I have.

"Katniss, you can't—"

"Trust me," I implore as I put half the berries in his hand, closing his fingers around them. Peeta is still looking at me apprehensively. "Trust me," I repeat softly, and I see the light in Peeta's eyes. He realizes what I'm trying to do.

I pour the rest of the berries in my palm. "On the count of three?"

Peeta bends down to kiss me gently, whispering against my lips. "On the count of three."

We turn so that we're back to back, our free hands twined together at our sides. "Hold them out," Peeta says. "I want everyone to see."

I hold my hand out, showing the nightlock to all of Panem, but most importantly the Gamemakers.

"Three," I begin the countdown.

Please let this work.

"Two," Peeta whispers, squeezing my hand.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they'll let us die.

"One," I finish and the berries pass my lips.

Trumpets suddenly blare, and the frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith rings out into the arena.

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you—the tributes of District 12!"

The berries spew from my mouth, and I'm wiping my tongue on the sleeve of my jacket to make sure I don't swallow any juice. Peeta leads us to the lake and we flush our mouths with water just in case. I turn to Peeta, "Did you swallow any?"

"No," he replies, though his breathing is sounding more labored. His eyes flutter closed breifly before he forces them open. "Did you?"

I shake my head, knowing that he won't hear my response. The Gamemakers are playing the Capitol's live reaction to our win in the arena, and the roar of the crowd is so loud I'm astounded that even this noise can't be picked up by my left ear.

Peeta suddenly begins to sway on his feet, and my eyes grow wide. "I thought you didn't swallow any!"

But I see that nightlock is not what is causing him to sway. It's blood loss. Blood is seeping through the bandages, dripping toward the ground. When the ladder from the hovercraft drops down, I make sure that Peeta grabs it. With one hand I hold onto the ladder, but my other is fisted into the back of his jacket. The electric current freezes us in place, and I can only watch him slowly fade away from me.

The moment we're on the hovercraft and free from the electric current, doctors rush us, but it's like I'm still in the arena. When they try to take Peeta away from me, I refuse to let go, screaming and cursing and flailing about like a madwoman. It takes four people to drag me away from Peeta, and even then I refuse to let go, ripping out a handful of fabric from his jacket. I'm still struggling when they put me in a glass room, separating me from Peeta.

I pound on the glass, shaking it. I'm still screaming, but I don't know if they can hear me. Tons of medical equipment is scattered about and the doctors lay Peeta on an operating table. I'm terrified of all the instruments that sit on tables beside the doctors. They are all weapons of the cruelest kind in my eyes. Vaguely, I hear an attendant to my right offering me a beverage. I think I knock it from her hands.

My eyes are focused not on Peeta, but on a machine standing by his head. I watch as the line moves up and down. His heart is still beating. He's still alive.

Suddenly, the line begins skyrocket. I can almost imagine the manic beeping as it tries to keep up with the rapid rate of Peeta's heart. My hands cease their pounding on the glass. My eyes widen in fear, and I feel my heart rate speed up, too. Like I'm trying to keep pace with Peeta. The line representing his heartbeat moves frantically as it tries to keep pace with his heart. Seconds pass when suddenly the world stills, and my heart, which had been beating franticly along with Peeta's, shatters. A red line flows smoothly across the screen, taunting me with the horrifying truth.

Peeta's heart is no longer beating.

Yeah . . . whoopsie?

I swear, I really do love Peeta. With all my heart. But . . .

(cackles with evil laughter)

Cliffhangers are just so much fun!

And really, something good happened this chapter! Katniss told Peeta she loves him! That's good, right? So what if I went and killed Peeta . . . maybe. You know, those Capitol doctors work miracles . . .

Okay, okay, one more chapter after this one, people! Only one more to go! Hmm . . . what evil do I have planned? Muahahahahahaha!

Let's see . . . quote from MLB, quote from MLB, what shall you be? Gale. Yeah, I think it's about time he had his say.

"You were supposed to fall in love with me!"

Rut roh. Smells like teenage drama.

Lots of love,

AC