How to Tell You Love Him.

CHAPTER TWO

 When we land at thirteen, they take us to the infirmary. Peeta and I get separated. All of the victors get separate hospital rooms to recover. I ask every nurse and doctor who enters the room about my family. They don't answer. At some point, they decide it is best to knock me out. Sending the calming medicine into my veins, I fall into a deep sleep.

When I finally wake again, a familiar face sits beside my bed.

"Gale," I whisper.

"Hey, Catnip." He reaches down and pushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. One side of his face has been burned fairly recently. His arm is in a sling, and I can see bandages under his miners shirt. What has happened to him? How is he even here? Something very bad has happened back home.

"Prim?" I gasp.

"She's alive. So is your mother. I got them out in time," he says.

"They're not in district twelve?" I ask.

"After the games they sent in planes. Dropped firebombs." He hesitates. "Well, you know what happened to the Hob."

I do know. I saw it go up. The old warehouse embedded in coal dust. The whole district's covered with the stuff. A new kind of horror begins to rise up inside me as I imagine firebombs hitting the Seam.

"They're not in district twelve?" I repeat. As if saying it will somehow fend off the truth.

"Katniss," Gale says softly. "Katniss there is no district twelve."

When my mother and sister arrive in my room, Prim throws herself into my arms, clinging to me. My mother wraps her arms around both of us, kissing each of us on the tops of our heads and whispering soothing words. We sit like that for a long time. Tears flowing from all of our eyes. Prim decides she wants to stay with me that night, but the doctors won't let her. They say I need to rest, not knowing I would rest better with my sister or Peeta here.

That thought makes me grab onto my mother's arm, "Peeta? Where is he? Did his family go to him too?" The look in my mother's eyes tells me all I need to know. That it isn't good.

"The merchants were hit first. Peeta's family," my mother chokes on her words, "they didn't make it." The immediate feeling of pain hits. Tears prick at my eyes.

"I need to see him," I almost yell, "I need to see him now."

"Katniss, I don't think they will let you right now." My mother states.

"Make them! Is he alone? Does he know? Who told him?" The words rush out of my mouth.

"He's not alone. Haymitch is there. I can ask the doctors if you can see him. Okay?" Haymitch will do no good. Sure he's our mentor. But he is not what Peeta needs right now. I nod and my mother walks towards the door, stepping outside and cracking it to talk to the doctors.

My mother and Haymitch put up a tough fight. Neither Peeta or I are injured, just mildly malnourished from the arena. However, the doctors don't want us to see each other. I can hear Haymitch yelling. Saying something about us needing to be together to heal. Which is true, although I don't think he knows that. Eventually, they give in. Haymitch takes my hand after the doctors have unplugged all of the tubes from my body. They will plug them back in at Peeta's room. He doesn't know I'm coming, or the fight that had to be fought to get me there.

He is surprised when the door opens. His eyes are red, face swollen. He's been crying, hard. He looks smaller than normal. Sitting on that hospital bed in clothes that aren't his, shoulders caved in from grief. He is even more surprised when he sees me, but does not make a move to come to me. Instead, I go to him. Haymitch lets go of my hand, and walks out the door. He's giving us privacy.

When I get to the edge of his bed, I place my hand on his leg. He hasn't met my eyes up until this point. When they do meet mine, every wall that I have ever built between us breaks. My heart breaks for him, and the pain he is feeling at this moment. I climb into his bed, and settle myself next to him. I lean back onto his pillow. I pull him towards me, laying his head on my chest. He cries. He cries for hours, I think. I realize I have never seen him cry like this. Eventually, his cries falter. Finally, he rests. He must have worn himself out, because he doesn't have a single nightmare. I don't either, because I don't sleep. I stay between a point of waking and unconsciousness all night. And the entire time, I hold him in the way he has always held me.