Sorry it took so long to get this up! I've been fighting a bug the last couple days on top of getting ready for school –so my brain is functioning at its best :P

And 150 reviews! Eeeeek! :D I love you all. A LOT. We're really close to 200! I'm already brain storming for the CF rewrite. I'm excited :3

So...we had a cliffhanger, yes? Peeta blacked out?

Enjoy!


Where's my dog?

That is the first thing that pops into my mind as I journey back to reality from the dream world.

I need to feed him. It's morning.

"Peeta, wake up." A firm yet gentle slap to the cheek.

I fight against the blackness, struggling to break through.

I have to feed him!

"Peeta," the humming warns again. "Snap out of it."

My eyes flash open and I'm immediately blinded. Something moves over the sun, then – and I'm partially back in the darkness.

Where the hell am I?

"You're okay. Don't move too much." I focus in on the object shielding me from the sun – a hand? I see double. Before I realize what I'm doing, my arm is stretched out in front of me; my fingers brush against it.

Yep, it's a hand.

"Where's my dog?"

A deep chuckle. "He's safe, Peeta. So are you. Just stop squirming."

I frown. "I – I – I need to feed him." I struggle to sit up. Why am I on the ground? The sun is blaring and I squeeze my eyes tight – it has to be closer to the afternoon than I thought. He's got to be starving!

A firm hand pushes down on my chest. "Okay, then. What's your dog's name? I'll call him for you so you can feed him." They sound like they're mocking me. Fine. Whatever. I just want my damn dog.

I rack my brain for a name – Catna, I think. His name was Catna! No...

Oh...

"I...don't have a dog."

They chuckle lowly again. "I know, Peeta. I know." Even though I can't see straight, I can sort of make out a face. It's a man I'm pretty sure. His voice is low. "Close your eyes. It's going to be bright." I follow instructions, the back of my eyes glowing red from the sun. His hand brushes my neck and hits a spot that makes me jump in pain. Damn. He murmurs an apology before yanking something small from my neck. My throat is on fire.

A bee sting?

"Who are you?" I ask through closed eyes.

He laughs lightly. "Cato," he answers through a chuckle. The name means nothing to me. "I'm hurt, Peeta. I thought we'd grown so close in our time together."

"Where am I?"

His hand stills near the source of pain.

"You're in the Hunger Games."

A thousand memories come crashing back all at once.

The Reaping. Prim crying. Madge hugging me. My facial hair being shaved. The parade – being lit on fire. Training. Interviews. Water. Death.

They're like pictures – yet incredibly fuzzy. It's almost like they didn't happen – and trying to remember them makes my head throb.

"Why can't I remember?" I try sitting up, but he shoves me down yet again.

"You need to stop moving. I'm trying to help you," he scolds softly. "And to answer your question – you got stung by Tracker Jackers. It's no shocker that you can't remember – it's one of the common side-effects of their venom."

I blink, processing.

Oh...I do remember that. Marvel screaming and running away – the tiny fairy and the gray eyed girl up in the trees, sawing away at the nest.

Oh, God.

Katniss.

"Where's Katniss?" the words are awkwardly loud, but I can't control my volume. "Is she okay? Is she alive?"

She said she would be right behind me!

"I don't know where she is," he begins slowly. His hand makes its way down to my arm where another sore point pulses. He gently yanks the stinger from my skin and I hiss. "Last I saw of her she was out cold in the arms of some dark guy. He started booking it when he saw me."

Thresh.

Thresh had Katniss.

A number of emotions run through me – a thousand questions.

Where'd he take her?

Why did he take her?

If he hurts her, I'll kill him myself.

But he adores her.

And as much as it hurts to accept that – he cares for her the same way I do. I doubt he loves her as much as me, in fact I'm almost certain he doesn't, but he adores her enough to keep her out of harms way. He'll protect her.

This is a good thing.

But I still can't stop the jealousy that runs through me.

"Okay," I murmur, settling back into the dirt. Then my eyes narrow at my healer.

Now what are you doing here?

"What happened to the rest of the Careers?"

Cato's hand trembles against my leg as he pulls out a third stinger. His voice is stone cold. "Glimmer is dead," he says icily. "I'm not sure how she died. I saw the hover craft picking her up. She was stung pretty badly."

Almost unrecognizable, I want to had she really died from the stings? Trying to recall my final memories before falling into my mini coma is like pulling a rain drop from the ocean. Everything's jumbled up. The bleeding forest – was that real? I'm almost certain it wasn't. Even as limited as my knowledge of trees may be – I know that wood isn't capable of hemorrhaging. But if Glimmer really had died from an arrow to the heart – who was capable of shooting?

Katniss had all the arrows. Could it be her? Or had that been another hallucination?

I don't know what to believe any more.

"Marvel's missing," he takes a deep breath, drawing me from my thoughts. "He could be dead, though. I mean, there were two canons fired by the end of the fight– so, I mean – that must be him. He was hit with the nest on impact. I'm sure he wouldn't have survived such a massacre. Could he? No." I'm not sure who he's trying to convince now.

I stare at Cato's face, trying to decipher his true emotions while shielding my own. He tries to mask them through stern eyes and taught lips – but I've become pretty good at reading faces over the past few weeks with Katniss.

"And Clove is gone," he chokes on the last word. His face crumples in a fit of agony.

Two canons.

He thinks Clove's gone. I can guess what his definition of gone is.

I really don't know what to say to a brutish man on the verge of tears – it's something I've never experienced. They don't teach these things at school.

"I'm sure she's fine," I murmur. "She's a fighter."

And then it hits me.

Two canons.

Cato had said she was out cold...

Or that's just how it seemed.

"I guess we won't know until tonight," Cato retorts curtly, hiding emotions. "Until then," he pulls off his jackets and balls it up before lifting my head off the ground to pillow it. "You rest." He pulls something out form behind him and I hear the faint sound of tinkling metal. With a proud smile, he hoists up a small brown bag and twirls it for me. "Katniss dropped it." I feel bad taking her stuff – but when he holds out a canteen of water for me to drink, I can't refuse.

"Have you drank anything?"

"Of course," he rolls his eyes. "She had three in here. I guess her teammates and her are doing pretty well for themselves."

Katniss, Rue, and Thresh.

Who would've guessed?

"She's got quite the line up of sponsors from what I can tell," he continues, digging deeper in her bag. "Unfortunately there isn't any remedy I can put on your stings in here – but I mean – Come on!" He pulls out a bristly stick. "A tooth brush? That's ridiculous! You really did her a favor, know. If you hadn't concocted that love sick puppy story for the Interviews – I doubt she'd be here now."

"I didn't concoct anything," I snarl.

He seems taken back. "So that wasn't just some strategy you and your mentor planned out?"

"No! I mean, yes – sort of. Haymitch kind of figured out my feelings and helped me from there. But everything I've done since these damn Games started has been to get her out of here."

Cato ponders this, eyebrows drawn together. "Do you regret telling her?"

"I regret how told her. Not that I did."

He props his back up against the tree behind him, relaxing – looking a little defeated, even. "How would you have told her? If there weren't Games to play."

I consider this. "Knowing me and my inability to use words, I would have done it shamefully. I probably would have screamed at her across the lunch room at school or muttered it awkwardly over dinner on our first date. Which is not really acceptable in most relationships," I chuckle, trying to make a joke out of the heart-felt conversation.

Cato doesn't join me – he stares off into space at something in front of him.

"I would've bought her daisies," he says softly. "I know she doesn't seem like the flowers and chocolates type of girl – but I'd always imagined that under her skin there was a gentler creature that would have blushed over them." A slow smile faintly graces his hardened face. "She doesn't smile or laugh a lot. She's been through too much to ever be that comfortable with happiness again – but I hoped that maybe I could be the one to change that."

For the first time since the Games started – I see something in a tribute that I thought I'd never see.

Me.

The atmosphere of the conversation takes a dark turn at his next words.

"The day she was Reaped was the worst day of my life," his jaw clenches. "Forget me. I don't care about Games. I figured I'd be okay for the time being. If 'the odds were in my favor,' I'd come home just so I could make my father proud. He'd always wanted a victor for a son." He rolls his eyes – glassy with unshed tears. "But that changed when they called her name. It was like everything just stopped. No one had taught me what to do if my heart stopped working."

He looks up from his hands and connects gazes with me – his eyes are tired.

"I think that's why I asked you to join our alliance," he murmurs. "I saw myself in you. I felt like maybe if I had one person who understood my pain I wouldn't go crazy. But I did go crazy – I did pull a knife on you." He almost laughs at the memory. It wasn't as funny for me. "I didn't trust you. And it wasn't because you were a tribute – one that would try to kill me in my sleep if you had the chance. It was the fact that I didn't trust myself. And you were me."

Part of me wants to protest. We were not the same person – but I stop myself. Because I know it's true. I can see myself in him.

We were both just a boy with a heart that no longer belonged to us.

"Are you still going to try and win?" I ask, part of me wondering if Cato's a better liar than I gave him credit for.

He shrugs and says in honest, "I don't know." He looks at me, dubiously. "Are you?"

"No," I shake my head. "That's never been an option for me. I can't go home without Katniss. And since that's not an option either, I guess it'll have to be her whether she likes it or not."

A soft clunk catches my attention. I peer over to the bushes to my left – a silver tin canister with a flashing red light. Cato makes his way over towards it warily, before untangling its parachute from the branches.

"It's for you," he says, unscrewing the lid. He pops it off and I immediately can smell the scent of medicine.

Haymitch.

"Looks like we can treat those stings after all," he grins before kneeling beside me. He gingerly applies it to all my wounds – the numbing effects taking on immediately and begins to lull me to sleep.

Through my half closed eyes, I can see Cato flash me small smile. "You earned it. Get some rest."

And when I close my eyes – I dream of daisies.


I wake up to the sound of the Anthem squawking announcing the departed – their name, face, home, and COD proudly displayed for all the tributes to observe. I'm not sure why COD is important – maybe to stir up fear in the remaining survivors eyes? It seems cruel to me.

Cato scoots closer to my side, and I can see him visibly shaking out of the corner of my eye.

Please Lord, spare two heart breaks tonight.

And like Cato said, there are two.

The fist is a blonde and glowing face.

Glimmer Aura, District 1, Katniss Everdeen

My heads spins.

So I hadn't hallucinated.

The thought terrifies me in indescribable ways. But not as much as the next face I see – one that causes guilt and sorrow and fear to constrict around my heart.

Rue Casture, District 11, Marvel Kirk


Poor baby Rue :-( It had to happen sooner or later.

What do you think of Peeta's new ally? Heeheehee – I've always been a Cato fan.

Tell me what you think!

I love reviews!

And a heads up – school finally starts for me tomorrow...so updates will not be as frequent because school + marching band = no free time.

Sad :-(

Have a lovely week!