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"Mom!" I say into the phone. In her hospital, they have a phone which works for certain parts of the day, but sometimes it cuts off in the middle of the conversation. "How are you?"

"I'm okay, Katniss," She says. Her voice sounds distant, just like it always does since Prim died, and of course, before. "How are you doing?"

"Good," I say. "I'm doing really well, actually. How is the hospital you're trying to set up?"

"We've got a few volunteers and there was a minor explosion in the mines yesterday so we were busy stitching up wounds."

"Was everybody okay?" I ask, thinking of my father and his brutal death in the mines. I shake my head free from the memory.

"Yes," Mom says.

"Mom, have you heard from Gale lately?" I ask her. "I want to talk to him; I haven't spoken to him in so long."

"No, I haven't," Mom says. "A couple of years ago he went hunting and he didn't come back. People said that he escaped to live in the woods. Nevertheless, they executed his family after his escape."

Hazelle; Rory; Posy; Vick. All gone. Dead. All because Gale chased a dream like a wisp of smoke. Did he make it? Of course he must have. With a few of my father's weapons and his knowledge of plants, he set out into the woods without telling anybody and let his family pay for it.

My head is swirling. Why would he do that too them? He loved them the way I loved Prim before she died; the way I loved him. Was he unable to convince them to live in the wild? Did Hazelle think he wouldn't go so refused to take part in his illegal activity?

"Okay, Mom. I gotta run. I'll talk to you another time, okay? I love you. Bye."

I hang up Peeta's phone and bury my face in my hands. Oh, Gale. Did he know what would happen to his family? Maybe he didn't. If I hadn't gone to the Capitol, I could have convinced him to stay.

Or I could have convinced his family to go with him.

Peeta walks into the kitchen, gets a drink from the fridge, and sits opposite me. "Are you okay? Is it your leg?"

"No," I say; a week later, my leg is improving, but it still hurts. "It's nothing, I'm fine."

"Okay," He says.

I pause. "Peeta, how come you never talk to your family?"

Peeta clears his throat. "My Mom used to abuse me," He says. "So I don't talk to them anymore."

I remember his Mom, beating him with the rolling pin, and the bread as it landed by my feet. His face as he turned away. "I'm sorry, Peeta."

He shrugs. "You get over stuff like that fast when you're surrounded by a lot of money."

"Yeah," I say quietly. "I guess so."

He messes up his hair and smiles at me. "Are you sure your leg is okay?"

"Stop worrying about me," I say. "Let's go and have sex."

"Whoa," He says. "Probably shouldn't when your leg is as useless as a white crayon."

"Come on, Peeta!"

"When it's healed, okay?"

It takes a couple more days before my leg heals and I can walk on it okay. The skin on my thigh fades to a light yellow. When Peeta comes home from work on the Friday, as soon as he walks through the door, I kiss him. Slightly taken aback, he wraps his arms around my back and kisses me harder.

We stumble into his bedroom; I yank off his tie and continue to kiss him hungrily as his hands run up my bare back. I'm wearing only panties. My hands unbutton his shirt. He kisses my neck until I pull off his shirt and then I kiss him again on the mouth.

I sit on top of him as we kiss. His fingers twist in my hair and he kisses down my body, his tongue swirling around my nipple and I press my forehead against his shoulder before I unzip his trousers and yank them off.

I grind against his erection, both of us still wearing our underwear, and he groans as he tries to get as much friction as he can. I yank off his boxer shorts and his fingers hook into my panties and he pulls them slowly down my legs.

I push myself down onto him and we both groan. How long has it been since we've had sex? Six days? Seven? Eight? His hands guide my hips. I move slowly up and down on him, and then he flips us over so I'm underneath him.

He takes hold of my good leg and puts my foot onto his shoulder. He laces his fingers with mine and pushes into me; my toes curl and my voice gives out a wail. My butt pushes into the bed as he thrusts into me over and over, slower my hips lift up, trying to pull me away from what I want, dragging out the pleasure for as long as he can.

My hands grip onto his hair. I feel the pleasure everywhere, all over my body as my hips jerk in sync with the rhythm of his thrusts. With one of my hands still clutching his hair, I use the other to stroke my clit. He pushes hard and fast into me and I feel myself about to come, and I cry out as I do, and he follows me, and he collapses next to me on the bed, both of us sinking into the mattress.

"Well," He says after several minutes of heavy breathing. "I'm guessing your leg feels better, then?"

"Uh-huh," I say.

He laces his hand with mine. "That's good," He says drowsily, and then he falls asleep.