I wake up early in the morning and deeply regret that I didn't stay asleep. For a moment I'm not entirely sure I'm not lying by the river in the first arena having only dreamt the past seven years because the way I'm feeling at present is eerily reminiscent of the way I felt in that arena, dehydrated and suffering the effects of tracker jacker stings. My head is pounding and even the small motion of moving my eyes aches to an unreasonable amount. My mouth feels as dry as sand paper and my tongue feels big and fuzzy. The taste in my mouth is absolutely horrible. On top of that I am nauseous and listless and find myself stuck in a limbo between needing to get out of bed and going to the bathroom to vomit and never ever wanting to move another muscle for as long as I live.

I keep my eyes squinted shut until I hear the unbearably sharp sound of a glass hitting the wooden surface of the nightstand hard enough to make some of the water in the glass splash over. I force one eye open and spot the tall glass full of water. Katniss' hand is wrapped around it and I slowly move my head a little so I can glance up at her. She looks the picture of health so whatever is ailing me it's not some disease that has struck us both at the same time. Going by her disapproving frown I brought this on myself.

"Drink the water" she orders.

"I might throw up if I do" I groan.

"Drink it."

Mustering all the strength I can gather I sit myself up on my elbow and grab the glass. Slowly I swallow a gulp of water, finding it almost impossible to get it down. The glass feels heavy in my hand and I really want to put it back down but the sound of my wife's voice seems unusually sharp this morning and for once I'm not longing to hear it so I make myself swallow five more gulps before I set the glass down.

"How do you feel?" asks Katniss.

"I can't believe Haymitch willingly puts himself in this state over and over" I complain, rolling over on my back.

Memories of the previous night are beginning to come back to me. One of my few surviving school friends, Jake, is getting married next week and those of us who remain from our old group had a party last night to celebrate. It's becoming more and more common for friends to take grooms and brides to be out for a last night of partying before they get married but it's the first time I've partaken in such a celebration. Right now I'm determined it's never going to happen again.

Katniss' soft hand lands on my brow followed by her lips. Despite the previous disapproving look she sported she now seems tender and caring. I must be a pathetic mess if despite her annoyance she can't help but pity me.

"First time you ever got really drunk?" she asks in a low voice.

"First time I got any sort of drunk" I admit.

"Do you remember everything you did last night?"

I slowly shake my head no. The previous night is partly a blur. I remember heading out with the guys, I remember playing sports and heading off to one of the three restaurants in the district and I remember leaving the restaurant to go to Ben's place and drink some more. I've had a few glasses of wine in my day but never enough to have much effect on me. One glass of wine with dinner won't make anyone drunk, I suppose. Last night it was far more than one glass and it was not wine. What happened after we arrived at Ben's place is mostly a blur which makes me concerned. I have a deeply rooted hate for not remembering things clearly and not being able to trust my own memories. I open one eye and look at Katniss with a worried face.

"I know I wanted to stop when I started feeling dizzy... but Jake was going on and on about how we all had to keep drinking because it was his last week of bachelorhood, though don't ask me how those two things are connected."

"Well you were able to get home on your own" offers Katniss. "Don't worry about the rest. Just rest and keep drinking more water. You're probably dehydrated."

"Katniss I seriously think I might vomit" I admit.

"You did three times last night so I put a bucket by the bed."

At hearing that I groan and close my eyes again, feeling terribly embarrassed.

"I can't believe that" I complain. "God, I'm as bad as Haymitch. Tell me I at least didn't vomit on myself, or worse, on you."

"No, you vomited in the bathtub" she answers, sounding amused. "With nobody in the tub, I should add."

"Perfect" I sigh, curling up on my side again.

"Get some rest" suggests Katniss. "You need to drink a lot of water and get something salty in you so I'll go downstairs and fix you something. Don't worry about it, Peeta. Hangovers don't last more than a day."

"Then how come Haymitch can look hung-over for days on end?"

"Extreme dedication." Her soft lips press against my forehead again. "Close your eyes, honey, and get some sleep. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"I'm mortified that you should have to look after me when I brought this on myself" I complain.

"What are wives for?" she says softly. "I think you can allow yourself one hangover every five years or so without feeling like a despicable human being."

"I don't think I can do this again in five years."

She giggles and leaves the room. I pull my knees up towards my chest and take slow, deep breaths to fight the nausea. Why do people get drunk over and over if this is what happens the day after? The drunkenness itself wasn't even all that fun. It was just blurry and spinning and even though I was intoxicated I knew I was acting like an idiot. They say that alcohol dulls pain but even if that's true while it's in your system it only makes things worse the next day.

After a while I hear Katniss' footsteps coming back up the stairs. I force myself to sit up and then I cover my mouth with my hand, scared I might vomit. My wife appears in the doorway, looking chipper and healthy, carrying a tray with a glass of water and a ham sandwich.

"I can't eat that" I say immediately.

"Try." She sets the tray down on her nightstand and gets up on the bed next to me. "You need salt. Salt and water."

"Won't the water dilute the salt?" I ask tiredly.

"Just eat and drink."

"Later" I say, closing my eyes and fighting a wave of nausea. "Is it ridiculously bright in here or is it just me?"

"It's mostly you. I can pull the curtains if you'd like."

"Yes please."

I feel the bed dip as she moves off of it and I hear her moving about in the room. Then the curtains are pulled and the room gets darker, making me sigh in relief. I hear Katniss continuing to move about in the room and I wish she would go do whatever she's doing in some other room. Then the bed dips again and the next thing I feel is her body aligning itself to mine, though she stays above the covers instead of crawling under them with me.

"Get some rest" she says softly.

"Sounds like a plan" I mutter in response.

I wake up some time later, my wife's body still aligned to mine. My head is still pounding, although slightly less so than before, and the nausea is still there, if perhaps a tiny bit lighter. I don't know how come Katniss is still here. I expected her to leave and do more worthwhile things once I was asleep. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turn my head to look at her. When I begin to move she shifts and lifts herself up on her elbow, gazing down at me with a combination of concern, disapproval and, strangely enough, amusement.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"About an hour and a half. Ready for that sandwich now?"

Probably not a question so much as a demand. Feeling another wave of nausea run through me I glance over at the sandwich on the nightstand, thinking to myself that ham is the very last thing I want to devour at present.

"Do we have anything…" I pause, pondering what I'm really in the mood for. "Greasier? I think I need something to soak up the alcohol."

"Too late for that" she snorts. "You're hungover because you're dehydrated and because your body is breaking down the alcohol already."

"I forgot I married an apothecary's daughter" I reply dryly.

She moves off the bed and walks around it, picking up the sandwich and holding it out to me. With a sigh I take it, picking up the slice of ham between two fingers.

"Kind of stale."

This makes her annoyed, a scowl on her face as she gives in and yanks the food back from me and leaves the room, muttering under her breath. When she's gone I force myself to get out of bed, nearly tripping over the bucket I may or may not have been puking into during the night. I head for the bathroom, groaning loudly when I reflexively turn on the lights and remember just how bright they are. Using one hand to try and shield my eyes as good as possible I use the toilet and then brush my teeth, hoping to get at least some of the horrible taste out of my mouth. Then I stare at the shower for a good five minutes, wondering to myself if I have the energy. Eventually I decide that I do. I feel sweaty and sticky and I probably smell like Haymitch and I'm guessing I'll feel less miserable once I've washed it all off myself.

Fifteen minutes later I step out into the bedroom again, a towel wrapped around my waist, indeed feeling somewhat better. Katniss has made the bed somewhat, arranging the pillows and the comforter but foregoing the bedspread, and is now sitting cross-legged on top of the covers with a book in her hands. She looks up at me and I feel a surprisingly pleasant jolt through my body when her eyes can't help drifting towards the towel. She quickly looks up at me though and nods to my nightstand.

"We had some lasagne left over, the one you made that was dripping in béchamel. That's the best I can do by way of greasy food."

Despite my various physical displeasures, and the fact that I'm not at all in the mood for lasagne, I grin widely.

"I'm all sorts of in love with you."

She rolls her eyes but I think I detect the hint of a smile.

"You just say the stupidest things sometimes" she says, though not really in a complaining way. Then she smirks. "I think you'll find you're even more fond of me when you've taken the pills I brought you along with the food."

"Pills?" I echo dumbly.

"Yes, silly. There are medicines that make hangovers more endurable."

"I know" I mumble, walking over to the bed and sitting down beside the nightstand. "Just didn't know any of those medicines were in our house."

She shrugs and returns her focus to the book she's reading.

"They're good for cramps, too."

I nod slowly, though I instantly regret it as it shoots new waves of pain through my head. Somewhat clumsily I reach for the plate of lasagne, steeling myself before lifting a piece to my mouth. It's not all that bad, in fact I really liked it the first time we had it, but it's not what my stomach is craving at present. I swallow the two pills Katniss brought for me and down them with almost half the water in the glass. The water is cold, probably just been poured or she had ice in the glass previously and I just didn't notice. I finish the water long before I finish eating the food, setting the plate down with approximately half the lasagne still on it. With a groan I pull my legs up on the bed and lay down, curling up in a foetal position. The towel feels uncomfortable so I remove it and toss it on the floor, barely aware that I am naked. I hear a soft chuckle from my wife who then moves off the bed, drapes a blanket over me and picks up the towel.

"Don't tempt me when you're in no shape to follow through" she murmurs against my temple before pressing her lips to my skin. She heads for the bathroom with the towel and I close my eyes and drift off to sleep again.

The rest of the day goes by slowly and somewhat miserably, though I feel better with each passing hour. Katniss spends a large portion of her day cooped up with me in our darkened bedroom, slowly coaxing me out of my desire to just curl up and sleep the day away. As I begin to feel better she engages me in conversation and for a while reads to me from her book. At one point we even have sex, which turns out to be a wonderful distraction, though Katniss does almost all the work. As the day begins to turn towards night I find myself lying on my back between her legs, my upper body resting against her belly and chest as she sits leaning against the headboard. My arms wrap around her legs and her hands play with my upper arms and my shoulders. It's calm and serene and I feel ten times better than I did when I first woke up in the morning.

"You should go downstairs" I say, not really wanting her to leave but knowing she ought to. "You haven't had dinner yet."

"Neither have you" she points out.

"I could do without dinner today" I sigh, groaning a little when she responds by lecturing me on the importance of eating as if I didn't already know. "Just go downstairs and get yourself some dinner" I say when she's finished.

"Fine" she grumbles, giving me a not-so-gentle nudge so she can get off the bed.

While she's down in the kitchen I use the bathroom again, brush my teeth to call it a night and half-heartedly try to comb through my unruly hair. Buttercup has found his way up to our bathroom and sits on the thick, soft rug beside the bathtub and studies me with ill-hidden disdain. I give him a look and he meows lazily.

"You spend like sixteen hours a day sleeping" I say. "Don't come judging me for wanting to go to sleep at seven o'clock even though I've probably slept for like four hours during the day today."

I head back to bed, crawling underneath the sheets, waiting to see if my wife will come back upstairs soon or if she'll sit in front of the television for a while. She deserves some time for herself to do something fun. This must have been one of the most boring days of her life, hanging out with me in this utterly non-charming state. Buttercup hops up on the bed and curls up between my knees, purring contently. Of course he chose that spot. He's got a thing for choosing sleeping spots where he's enclosed in some manner and between mine or Katniss' legs has become a favourite. Probably because he knows it's inconvenient for us. Carefully I move over on my stomach, trying to reposition my legs without bothering the cat too much. The prosthetic ensures that I fail but luckily Buttercup chooses that leg to bite so I don't feel it.

"Play nice, cat" says Katniss, walking in at that moment. Then she chuckles. "Really Peeta, going to sleep already?"

"Still hungover" I groan into the pillow. Then I lift myself up a little and look at her. "Really, you should go watch television or go outside for some fresh air or… something. Trust me, I won't be much company."

"I'll stay until you're asleep."

Like she did earlier in the day she lays down beside me but stays on top of the covers. Her arm drapes over my back and shoulders and her face rests at the nape of my neck. She whispers something to me but I can't make it out. I tell her that I love her but it comes out as a mumble into the pillow so she probably doesn't hear it. With the comfort and company of wife and cat I drift off to sleep for the last time today.