She has everything worked out by the time Prim proclaims him to be healed. Apparently, he does, too.

"You know I have to go, right?" Peeta asks, grimacing a little when he puts weight on his leg.

She shakes her head. "You don't have to do anything," she says. "So . . . what? You're ready to just waltz right back in there?"

"I would call it waltzing," he says, squaring his shoulders stubbornly. "But you've been taking care of me and you haven't had a full day in the woods since. Even if we could cure the meat for winter, there's not gonna be enough time to gather everything we'll need. You're going to have to let me go."

"I can't," she protests. "Madge is having her baby soon, and she already told me that she's going to hire me to help then. She doesn't have any experience with kids. And Hazelle – she's getting money from Gale's wages at the Mayor's office, so she's letting me take on a few of her clients. Do their laundry. She's going to show me how."

"I'm not going to let you do everything," he says. "That's not fair."

"I didn't say you were. I've worked this out, Peeta. You're gonna help me trade. I'm gonna teach you to gather. And we can run a table at the Hob if we need to."

"You're determined, aren't you?" he asks.

She nods. "We'll be okay. We have to be okay."

They are. Because they face it together, and she gets the feeling that they could take on anything that way.

- The End.