Pain. One misstep and you feel a red hot lash on your back. Two missteps, and you never feel anything again. Sometimes I used to wish I had taken those two wrong steps, and walked into the arms of my guardian, the friend who promised me an escape. From District 11, from everything.

"Rue."

The voice is a balm, a gentle song that lifts me from the hell of sleep. I stir, but don't open my eyes, waiting for her touch. She rests the back of her finger on my cheekbone, and traces the line down to my jaw. Her finger unfolds, and the tip lands on my lips, a single petal from a beautiful flower. I kiss the finger, to let her know I am awake.

"You were making noises in your sleep," she mutters softly.

I open my eyes slowly, and croak, "I was?"

"You sounded like you were in pain."

Her other arm is wrapped around my side, but I have slipped from her embrace. I move back into her, and she holds me close. Her hand is laid protectively on my stomach, her pelvis against my backside, her breasts pressing softly into me, while her other hand continues to stroke my face gently. I sigh contentedly, and hold her hand on my stomach.

Once, I was always in pain, I want to tell her. That was before I met you. But I don't say it. I lie in the embrace of my love, and thank any gods that are up there that she is there beside me.

"Rue?" she says again, concerned by my silence.

"The district," I mutter vaguely, but I know she understands, that I don't need to say anything else.

"It's gone, my sweet. You're safe."

She knows; she was there when the district fell. She remembers how the iron gates collapsed, the stone pillars crumbled; Peacekeepers shooting rebels, but more rebels shooting Peacekeepers. If it wasn't for her, I would have met my friend after all.

I turn to face her, and stare into her grey eyes. I used to think that there wasn't any colour in them, but now I know better. All the colours in the world lie beyond those eyes, but they, like me, are shrouded in pain and loss. Only when our eyes meet do I see the colour in her, the joy that I know reflects my own. We stare at one another for a while, as she continues to trace the lines of my face. She runs her fingers through my hair, and suddenly, as if there were no distance between us at all, my lips are on hers. In an instant, I know that I'm safe, that I'll never call Death my friend again. Because this is Life, and it is so much sweeter.

She rescued me. She found me when my home and family were burning around me, and took me away. I can never forget that.

She tastes of morning, but I don't care; her older lips make me feel at home. My heart flutters as she is pressed against me, and I open myself to her. Her tongue finds mine, and we dance a sweet dance, unable to feel anything but each other. I start to move my lower half, pressing myself into her, and she responds, moving with me to a gentle rhythm. I place my hands on her neck and pull her even closer, and we are locked in that beautiful embrace, dancing to each other's music, feeling the chords of the song throughout our bodies. We kiss, and we dance, and the song builds to a crescendo, until neither of us can hold it any longer. All I can hear is my own voice, shouting in ecstasy. We feel each other's release, can feel the wetness on each other's thighs, and sigh into one another as the song draws to a close.

We stay like that for what feels like an eternity, before our lips part. Her face is angelic, a smile radiating from her lips, and I know that I'm grinning stupidly as well. Because I'm hers, and she's mine, and that's all I ever need to feel safe and happy.

"I love you, Rue."

"I love you, Katniss."