Peeta tried very hard, to his credit, not to let the confusion register on his facial expression. If they were still in the Capitol, they were being watched to be sure and the last thing he wanted was for audiences to think that he and Katniss weren't on the same page. He frowned a little at the idea of her thinking that she was going to die. There was no way that was happening. He and Haymitch had already worked it out; Peeta would stay with Katniss as long as he safely could, and then he would die. She would return to District 12.
"We don't have to talk about that right now, Katniss, okay?" he asked, tilting his chin down to press his lips against the top of her head as he felt her attempt to bury her face in his chest. He could see, when he lifted his head again, that the complex was a few blocks away. It was within sight range. The sooner he got her back there, the better.
Finally, she admitted it aloud to all of the prying eyes, to him, and most importantly, to herself, that she was sick. Peeta felt a weight lift off his shoulders at that. At least she'd finally come to the conclusion on her own, since it seemed as though she hadn't heard a word he'd said. When Peeta felt Katniss lift her head, he looked down at her and found himself thinking, as she smiled back that her eyes looked so empty that the expression didn't suit her at all. Katniss was beautiful, but even Peeta could see that the pieces of her face just then didn't fit at all. "We could," he agreed, finding himself smiling in spite of himself at the reminder of the secret they shared. The fact that it wasn't real. At that, the smile faded again. "No one would believe it, not with everything else; everyone else sick, too," he told her quietly.
But, the last thing she said made Peeta falter in his step, coming to a stop without realizing right away that he'd done so. Forcing his foot falls forward again, Peeta looked down at her, horrified. "Katniss...I don't care about the sponsors," he told her in a low voice. "I care about you. They think you're pregnant and sick, to boot. They'll expect you to look weak. They'll expect me to take care of you, like you took care of me in the first Games. They'll eat it up," he whispered. "So stop it."
His eyes moved forward again as he carefully crossed the street, ignoring the blaring horns as a few cars had to screech to a halt to avoid him. Peeta paid them no attention, knowing full well that they knew who he was and that the Capitol, at large, loved him. They wouldn't let him die like that. What was the entertainment to be had, there? "Look," he said in a quiet, soothing tone, tilting his chin up. "Nearly there. We'll get you to bed. I'll hold you until you fall asleep; I'll keep you safe," he promised. "You just need to rest, that's all. The sponsors will send us what we need to make you well again after you rest."