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The Cave

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They have it all on tape--every moment, every sound, but she could never bring herself to watch it. Her memories are faulty and she hates herself a little bit for not remembering with perfect clarity every single moment in the caves. She didn't know it then, but she was falling in love, or at least deeply in like with Peeta and shouldn't she remember that? Remember every flick of his eyes, every twitch of his feverish hands, and each sweet press of his hot, dry lips? Well, she remembers his lips. The feel of them then and the feel of them this morning as they kissed her out the door.

She can't bring herself to stop hunting. She needs the exercise and the activity to keep her sane, and wild meat tastes better than store bought.

Mostly she remembers being worried, afraid he would die there in that cave, that she would be alone with death. Because death in service to another is one thing, but death for no reason? For entertainment? Still makes her skin come out in goose pimples.

She knows Peeta recalls even less of the caves than she does because of his fever and because he still is never completely sure whats real and what's not real. The one time he brought up that strange time she asked him what he remembered and he said, "Your pulse. It's the only thing I can remember."

She walks quietly through the brush and sits on a rock. How odd that he should remember her pulse, when she'd been taking his over and over, willing it to slow down, and then later to speed up.

"What do you mean?" She'd asked from within the circle of his arms.

"I thought I could hear it as you sat near me. Like it was all around me. I could see it in your throat--throbbing away. It meant you were still alive and that was all that mattered."

She won't kill anything today. Some days it's enough to just be safe.