A/N: I'll let you in on a secret about how I write my fics. I'm taking this superbly boring lecture class, so I scribble down drafts and ideas for my chapters. Then I go around with crumpled up bits of paper in my pockets until I can have some time alone to type. Only today, I decided to enjoy the sunshine and sit on the grass. When I got up, my back pocket and my fic notes were all wet. So here goes interpreting my smudges…

**Chapter 6**

"Hey, it's alright," Peeta says as he runs his hand over my forehead, "We'll get out of here real soon. Your fever's through the roof, and I thought alcohol was supposed to cool you down…"

We just sit there for a while, Peeta holding me and supporting my weight. The cool, dark bathroom is soothing my prickling senses. Except for the fact that I feel completely awful, I don't want this moment to end.

Peeta makes to pull me to my feet. "Here, let's clean you up a little so we can go get Haymitch and Effie," he says.

I try to say "wait," but instead I retch again.

"Okay, okay," Peeta soothes, "okay." He guides me back over the toilet. After a few painful heaves, a thin stream of water comes up. Peeta strokes my head.

When I'm done and breathing heavily, I feel hot and trembly. I shrug the cashmere wrap off my prickling skin. It's stained with liquor and vomit. Peeta rubs his hands over my bare shoulders.

"I need to go get Haymitch," Peeta whispers in my ear. "Will you be okay for a minute?"

I nod at the toilet bowl and croak, "Yeah." Peeta kisses the top of my head and carefully slips out of the bathroom.

I spit a few strings of foul tasting mucous from the corners of my mouth. Then I flush the toilet and haul myself to my feet. I stumble to the sink to splash my face and rinse out my mouth. I'm shaking so hard that I have to clutch the basin to stay upright.

Once I've found my balance, I bend forward to suck water from the tap. I raise my head to swish and spit, but on my way up, I jar my upper lip on the hard edge of the faucet. Prickles of pain and shock shoot up my sinuses and down my jaw. I wince and let out a gasp as I quickly cough the water back out.

Tears are filling my eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today. I splash cool water on my hot face, then hang my head over the sink, not bothering to turn off the tap.

The only way this could have gone worse is if I'd had puked right on the peacekeeper's shoes. Well, no it would have been much, much worse if I'd spewed on Effie and her fancy high heels. I'd been hoping that I could just come to the bathroom and sit on the floor for a while, lean against the wall and relax while Effie and Haymitch carried on the drunk-sick act for me.

If only I hadn't drunk Haymitch's disgusting malted barley concoction. I silently curse at myself, swearing never to drink liquor again. Not even a sip. Not even when I don't have the flu.

The door to the bathroom bangs against the wall. Peeta's hand turns off the water flow.

"Hey sweetheart." Haymitch's voice sounds behind me. "Effie's getting them to bring a car around in a couple of minutes. So we can go back to the train."

"Thank you," I whisper. I straighten up from the sink. Peeta is right there next to me, the concerned wrinkle he's been wearing all day is prominent between his brows. I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my forehead on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I breathe.

"Hey, none of this is your fault," Peeta replies softly.

"But—I'm sorry," I say, not finding any other way of expressing how I feel. What I mean is that I'm sorry I put you through all this nonsense, I'm sorry I'm snapping at you one minute and kissing you the next, I'm sorry that I'm getting puke on your shirt as you hold me, I'm sorry that we can't just lay in bed forever with no responsibilities or pressures from the Capital…

"You good to go sweetheart?" Haymitch asks. "We gotta go meet the car out back." He picks up my stained wrap from the floor and tosses it to me. "You're a mess," Haymitch observes as I try to arrange the cashmere clean-side-out to cover the worst of the stains on my dress.

"Thanks," I mutter. Peeta wraps his arm protectively around my shoulders as we exit the bathroom. The cameras find us a little ways down the hallway. I keep my head on Peeta's shoulder and my eyes trained on his face so I don't have to look directly into the camera. I feel disgusting and want the goddamn Capital to let me suffer in private.

"Yeah, yeah, just gotta go sleep it off, ya know?" I hear Haymitch boisterously telling the camera as he walks a few steps in front of Peeta and me.

We wind our way through the building's halls for minute, then we meet Effie at the same back door where we entered earlier. It feels like we've been in district 8 for a lifetime, but it's really only been about six hours.

Effie's chirping away as usual, apologizing to someone, muttering about different pills to give me, yammering about how long it will take to reach district 7 from here… I'm not listening.

We pile into the car, Effie in front with the driver, and me sandwiched between Peeta and Haymitch in the back. I lay my throbbing head in Peeta's lap. He strokes the skin above my left ear, but it's too tender, so I pull his hand down to my cheek. The pressure feels good; it gives me confidence that my face is not going to fall off, and I'm so nauseous that I fee like it just might.

My stomach jumps into my throat as the car begins to move. I know it's only a few minutes drive to the train. I try to breathe deeply and relax, but I can't stop from retching. I bring up a tiny amount of water and bile, which I end up spitting onto the floor of the car between my feet. I swear under my breath.

Effie begins to chastise me for the poor manners displayed by my vomiting in the car, but Haymitch tells her to lay off.

I'm so wracked by the time we get to the train that I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to stumble up the steps and into my bedroom. I start toward the bed, but Peeta hauls me into the bathroom first. I sit on the floor in front of the toilet (with which I am very well acquainted) while Peeta pulls my dress over my head and wipes makeup and stomach contents from my face. I'm dressed only in my underclothes, but I'm so sick and sleepy that I can't bring myself to care.

I hack up a bit of slimy yellowish bile while Peeta sheds his suit and washes his own face. I'm asleep with my head on the toilet seat when he is kissing my cheeks and guiding me to bed. I collapse onto the mattress and burrow into the blankets. Peeta spoons me, arms wrapped around my shoulders. His skin is soft on mine, and I lean heavily into his chest. I'm finally comfortable. I sleep.

I'm surprised that it's light outside when I open my eyes. I slept through the night, something which is usually impossible when I'm as sick as I am. Was. I'm still tender and drenched in sweat, but I'm not aching or nauseous anymore.

I turn over to face Peeta. I can tell that he's awake, but feigning sleep so as not to disturb me. "Hi," I say hoarsely.

"Hi," he answers with a smile. "Your fever broke."

"Yeah," I say with a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"Hey, I'd do anything for you," Peeta breathes, kissing my forehead. His lips feel wonderfully cool.

There's a knock on the door, and Haymitch sticks his head in. "You making another baby already?" He smirks.

I throw a pillow at him. "Hell no. Go away," I say.

Haymitch laughs. "Just wanted to say that you did great last night. News idiots are going on and on about poor you and how kind and selfless you are." I pick up another pillow and prepare to toss it. "Glad to see you're feeling better, then." He retracts his head and shuts the door.

I push myself into a sitting position and wipe sweaty hair out of my face. Peeta reaches over and retrieves a glass of water from the bedside table. I take it from him and swallow a cautious sip. It goes down smoothly. My throat and stomach welcome the soothing liquid after the strain of yesterday. I recognize that I'm quite thirsty. Hungry, too.

"Any chance of toast?" I ask Peeta.

He chuckles as he gets out of bed. "You really are feeling better," he says.

"Yes, so much better," I echo. Peeta tosses the pillow I threw at Haymitch back onto the bed.

"You know, maybe we should try it sometime," Peeta says.

"What?" I ask.

"Making a baby," he answers with a slight smile. "The Capital would eat it up." He's laughing now.

"Fuck no," I say, my expression torn between indignant and amused. "Get me some goddamn toast."

"You keep that look on your face, and I'll really do anything for you," Peeta grins as he slips out the door and down the hall.

I lay back and smile too.

**END**

A/N: As always, please R&R. Reviews feed my muse.

New fic coming in a few days. See you all soon!

Oh, and I have a challenge for you: You write a nice hurt/comfort sick!fic and I'll lavish you with reviews and praise.