Katniss

~Present~

I'm too distracted by my latest idea about the Careers and their supplies to think of much else. Somehow Rue and I must find a way to destroy their food. I'm pretty sure feeding themselves will be a tremendous struggle. Traditionally, the Career tributes' strategy is to get ahold of all the food early on and work from there. The years when they have not protected it well, those are usually the years that tributes from other districts have won. That the Careers have been better fed growing up is actually to their disadvantage, because they don't know how to be hungry. Not the way Rue and I do.

But I'm too exhausted to begin any detailed plan tonight. My wounds recovering, my mind still a bit foggy from the venom, and the warmth of Rue at my side, her head cradled on my shoulder, have given me a sense of security. I realize, for the first time, how very lonely I've been in the arena. How comforting the presence of another human being can be. Without my permission, my mind begins to drift back to my last night before the games.

I lean my head back against the log, looking at the artificial night sky and remember the way Peeta had come to check in on me. No matter how irritated I was about the sourdough bread, the idea of putting myself in danger and him being mad about it, gives me comfort. In a way, it feels like he's checking up on me after a fight or coming into my room to make sure I'm feeling okay. I close my eyes and fight the urge to smile, thinking of his loud but careful steps and his gentle amble.

I give in to my drowsiness, resolving that tomorrow the tables will turn. Tomorrow, it's the Careers who will have to watch their backs.

The anthem begins and Rue watches the sky for the pictures that will appear towards the end.

"The girls from Districts One and Four are dead. There's ten of us left," I say confidently, not paying the anthem any heed until I hear Rue gasp. Looking up towards the sky, I see Tommy's face.

"Who do you think killed him?" Rue asks quietly, after we had been sitting there for a while.

I shake my head, staring into the darkness with a blank expression. The emotions I'm feeling over Tommy's death don't belong to the Capital. They don't get to have them. "It wasn't the Careers. I have been trailing them all day. I would have found him like I did you."

"I hope it was Thresh."

Shocked, I look down at her. "What?"

If it is possible, Rue looks even smaller than usual. "Before the Games started, Thresh didn't like it when the Careers would joke about killing us. When they trapped me earlier, they were saying things they were going to do before they let me die. If Thresh saw that, he'd stop them. If Thresh killed Tommy, it wouldn't have been too bad."

I carefully put my arm around her. There is something so wrong about discussing the ideal killer with a twelve-year-old. "He sounds like Peeta."

Rue buries her head in my chest, but not before nodding. I hold her tighter and contemplate just how much of a compliment that sentence is becoming for me. Tommy is dead, there's no changing that, but he could have been killed by someone like Peeta, and in a strange messed up way, I could be thankful for that.

"And they're so strong," Rue whispers, thinking about the Careers.

"We're strong, too," I say. "Just in a different way."

"You are. You can shoot," she says. "What can I do?"

"You can feed yourself. Can they?" I ask.

"They don't need to. They have all those supplies," Rue says.

"Say they didn't. Say the supplies were gone. How long would they last?" I say. "I mean, it's the Hunger Games, right?"

"But, Katniss, they're not hungry," says Rue.

"No, they're not. That's the problem," I agree. And for the first time, share my plan with both Rue and the country. A plan that isn't motivated by the need for flight and evasion. An offensive plan. "I think we're going to have to fix that, Rue."

The next morning, at Rue's suggestion, we lay out all our food to plan ahead. She's seen most of mine, but I add the last couple of crackers and beef strips to the pile. She's gathered quite a collection of roots, nuts, greens, and even some berries.

I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers. "You sure this is safe?"

"Oh, yes, we have them back home. I've been eating them for days," she says, popping a handful in her mouth. I tentatively bite into one, and it's as good as our blackberries. Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time. We divide up our food supplies, so in case we're separated, we'll both be set for a few days. Apart from the food, Rue has a small water skin, a homemade slingshot, and an extra pair of socks. She also has a sharp shard of rock she uses as a knife. "I know it's not much," she says as if embarrassed, "but I had to get away from the Cornucopia fast."

"You did just right," I say. "What's in your hands?"

"Breakfast," says Rue. She holds them out revealing two big eggs. Her wound must be feeling better, if she was able to go find eggs.

"What kind are those?" I ask.

"Not sure. There's a marshy area over that way. Some kind of waterbird," she says.

It'd be nice to cook them, but neither of us wants to risk a fire. My guess is the tribute who died today was a victim of the Careers, which means they've recovered enough to be back in the Games. We each suck out the insides of an egg and some berries. It's not a great breakfast, but it works. I can hunt on the way back.

"Can you hold the fort for a few hours?"

"What?" Rue asks, slightly panicked.

"It's okay, Rue. I just want to scope out the Career's food pile before they fully recover from the stings. You said they should be immobile for at least another day?"

Rue nods. "I know they were stung more than once, they will need some time to get over them. But why can't I come?"

I get up and start to gather my supplies. "You're still hurt, Rue. You need to rest."

"Katniss, even if you could get to the food, how would you get rid of it?"

"Don't worry, I'll think of something. Destroying things is much easier than making them."

This seems to pacify her and she agrees sullenly.

I trace back to the tree and small creek where I had found Rue the day before, and then follow the current downstream until I reach a large lake. They have set up their camp beside the lake with their supply stash about thirty yards away. There is a pocket of tents with weapons spread around them, and I assume that is where the Careers are recovering.

A boy about my age stands guard over both the stock pile and the sleeping tributes. If I remember correctly he is from District Three. He carries a spear, but does not seem too deadly. I study the surrounding area more. Something doesn't seem right. All the food was just left out in the open with only one guard, and not a particularly skilled one at that.

Most of the supplies, held in crates, burlap sacks, and plastic bins, are piled neatly in a pyramid in what seems a questionable distance from the camp. Others are sprinkled around the perimeter of the pyramid, almost mimicking the layout of supplies around the Cornucopia at the onset of the Games. A canopy of netting that, aside from discouraging birds, seems to be useless shelters the pyramid itself.

The whole setup is completely perplexing. The distance, the netting, and the presence of the boy from District 3. One thing's for sure, destroying those supplies is not going to be as simple as it looks. Some other factor is at play here, and I'd better stay put until I figure out what it is. My guess is the pyramid is booby-trapped in some manner. I think of concealed pits, descending nets, a thread that when broken sends a poisonous dart into your heart. Really, the possibilities are endless.

I stay put for a half an hour or so, trying to figure out what to do about the supplies. The one advantage I have with the bow and arrow is distance. I could send a flaming arrow into the pyramid easily enough - I'm a good enough shot to get it through those openings in the net - but there's no guarantee it would catch. More likely it'd just burn itself out and then what? I'd have achieved nothing and given them far too much information about myself. That I was here and that I can use the bow and arrow with accuracy.

There's no alternative. I'm going to have to get in closer and see if I can't discover what exactly protects the supplies. In fact, I'm just about to reveal myself when a movement catches my eye. Several hundred yards to my right, I see someone emerge from the woods. For a second, I think it's Rue, but then I recognize Foxface - she's the one we couldn't remember this morning - creeping out onto the plain. When she decides it's safe, she runs for the pyramid, with quick, small steps. Just before she reaches the circle of supplies that have been littered around the pyramid, she stops, searches the ground, and carefully places her feet on a spot. Then she begins to approach the pyramid with strange little hops, sometimes landing on one foot, teetering slightly, sometimes risking a few steps. At one point, she launches up in the air, over a small barrel and lands poised on her tiptoes. But she overshot slightly, and her momentum throws her forward. I hear her give a sharp squeal as her hands hit the ground, but nothing happens. In a moment, she's regained her feet and continues until she has reached the bulk of the supplies.

So, I'm right about the booby trap, but it's clearly more complex than I had imagined. I was right about the girl, too. How wily is she to have discovered this path into the food and to be able to replicate it so neatly? Wily is dangerous. She starts to fill her pack, and I hurry to think faster.

Foxface has confirmed what I'd already guessed. But what sort of trap have they laid that requires such dexterity? Has so many trigger points? Why did she squeal so as her hands made contact with the earth? You'd have thought, and slowly it begins to dawn on me, you'd have thought the very ground was going to explode.

"It's mined," I whisper.

Foxface is taking a few items from a variety of containers, crackers from a crate, a handful of apples from a burlap sack that hangs suspended from a rope off the side of a bin. But only a handful from each, not enough to tip off that the food is missing. Not enough to cause suspicion. I see that she's almost finished and with a thought to Peeta, a chilling idea appears in my head. I could kill two birds with one stone, be that much closer to ending this. If I let her go, I'd have to hunt her down and try to figure out how to blow the mines. Or . . .

And then she's doing her odd little dance back out of the circle and I have no time. I loose the arrow without hesitation, without a true understanding of what I am aiming towards, and as I turn, I probably wouldn't have been able to tell anyone which target I aimed at. It isn't until I hear the explosion, feel the ground suddenly slam into my chest, and notice the tears chilling my cheeks that I know. I know which option I took, and I hoped I could someday forgive myself.

The ringing in my ears is loud, louder than I had ever experienced, but my run had gotten me far enough away not to retain any significant damage. At least I hope it did. I pick myself up off the ground, pulling small leaves and twigs off my hands, and take my first few staggering steps away from the scene. I need to get out of here.

On unsteady legs I flee into the trees, following the path back to the fallen logs I left Rue under. My usually light footing is messy, and I don't even realize my poorly placed step until I hit the rocks I was running on. My hands sting and I feel a warm pool gather beneath then. Blood red and seeping into the crevices of the rocks, leaving a trail for someone to follow. Shit. I can't waste my precious water, my cleansing pods already running low, so I grab some moss off a nearby tree and try to sponge up mess. I hiss as the dirt and plant gets caught in my cut-up palms.

I stuff the bloodied moss into my pocket, thinking to burn it at my next opportunity, and grip my bow firmly, the curves feeling familiar in my hands and helping to ground me. I try to imagine myself back in my woods, with Gale covering my back and Prim waiting at home. I can almost see it too, when I hear the unmistakable sound of another cannon.

I stop running, trying to put together who it could be. Ultimately, I realize I'll find out tonight during the anthem. When all the deaths of the day are shown. When Foxface's picture will be broadcasted all over the arena. When the recaps will show me murdering her over and over again. When I might just have to explain myself to Rue.

No, I decide. I can't tell her. I won't. Rue never saw the horde, she didn't know about the bombs. I could tell her about the bombs in the ground but fail to mention Foxface's presence. Therefore, if I do lie, it will be a lie of omission. Anyway, do I really have to report back yet?

"What took you so long?" Rue calls as I get closer. "I heard two cannons, I thought they had killed you!"

"I was fine, Rue," I say, trying to calm her down, but the water in her eyes and the dried tear tracks on her cheeks say it's going to be harder than that to reassure her. "How about we make up a signal? That way if we get separated we can call each other."

Rue suddenly looks up at me. "I know what to do," she says. "It's something we do in the evenings in the orchids." She cupped her hands around her mouth and whistled four notes. The birds around us start to repeat the tune, flapping happily at the new song. As the birds fly to and fro, the notes begin to carry further and further into the forest. This is perfect.

"So, how'd you do it?" Rue asks later, over a small meal of berries and roots.

"There were bombs placed around the outside of the stockpile. I blew them up," I recite my tale.

"Were the Careers around? Did you see them?"

"Most of them were still in the tents on the far side of the clearing. They are still weak from the Tracker Jacker venom."

"Who were the two deaths then?"

"I don't know."

"But if you were there-"

"Rue! I said, I don't know," I yell, frantic with the need to deny and escape the truth of my actions. Looking at Rue shrink back from me is hard; I don't want her to be frightened of me, but couldn't tell her. "Rue," I begin in a much softer tone. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk right now."

With that, I walked over to a tall tree and began to climb.

~Earlier this Year~

Over the last several months, I had walked in on Peeta doing nearly everything, been in every room of his house multiple times, and helped with even the most mundane tasks like planting the garden Peeta seemed hell bent on having, but through it all, I had yet to see this. It's a Monday, not one of our usual meeting days nor had I decided prior to this morning that I was going to come. In other words, Peeta had no idea. I would never had imagined it would be a big deal. Peeta was always put together; his actions defying the precedent that every Victor had laid before him. So, when I walked in moments ago, and was greeted by the smell of alcohol, I was shocked to say the least.

I call his name, glancing around the living room. When I receive no answer, I head upstairs. He isn't in either his room or his painting studio. "Peeta!" I yell, running back down the stairs, worry over taking my logic.

I burst into one of the last unsearched rooms in the house: a small bathroom meant for guests on the main floor. Two glass bottles of distorted colors lie empty on the floor and so does Peeta. I reach down to shake him awake but he barely mumbles back. Frustrated, I yank back the shower door and drag him in. Flipping the handle to cool, I let the freezing water poor over his sweat and alcohol drenched body. His eyes fling open and he spurts extra water out of his mouth.

I thought he would sputter, get angry or yell—that's what most drunks do. I at least thought the water would sober him up. Instead he just sits there, in the freezing water in the dead of winter. Barely glancing up at me, Peeta's shoulder hunch and start to shake. Although it could have been the chills, something inside me knows its sobs that are making him rock like that.

I reach into the shower to turn it off, hissing when my hand has to travel through the pelting ice to get to it. This was probably not my best idea. "Peeta?" I ask gently, not sure how to deal with this and looking towards the open bathroom door. I could just leave, but one more look at Peeta and I know that if I leave, he'll probably freeze to death. The drunken boy had done nothing to get out of the water, or even to dry off. He just sat there crying.

Channeling my mom, I think through what I need to do. I need to get him dry, its my fault he's wet in the first place. Then I need to get him warm and somehow sober him up.

I grab one of the thick clouds off of the towel rack and hand it to him, only to have his hand drop to the shower floor, soaking it. I groan, kicking the wall. Why was this so difficult? Starting another plan, I twist his malleable body around to face me and throw him onto the bathmat.

Handing him another towel, I force him to make eye contact with me. "Peeta, get your clothes off and dry yourself. I'll get you some clothes and then start a fire. Dry your head first."

When he finally emerges from the bathroom, the living room fire place is roaring. Its some sort of gas fueled fire because the wood is fake; however, it still gives off heat. Although his clothes are changed, they still stick to his body and water drips off his hair and down his face and neck. At least he followed some of my orders.

He attempts to sit next to me on the rug, but really just ends up falling. It doesn't seem to bother him, though, as he lets his eyes be drawn to the fire. He's still crying, and from the look of his eyes, he's probably been crying all night. I don't say anything. I wouldn't even begin to know how to ask him what's wrong.

After a few minutes of me watching silent tears trickle down his face from the corner of my eye, he finally says something. "I killed him, Katniss."

My head snaps to fully look at him.

"I killed Teller," he whispers.

Moving slowly, half of me trying to talk myself out of it, and half of me telling the other this was long overdue, I wrap my arms around him like I do when Prim cries. His wet head falls heavily onto my shoulder, reminding me of his heavily intoxicated state—as if I needed a reminder. And although my shoulder is now wet, I can't be too irritated.

I'm mostly confused. Maybe this feels okay because I am the one holding him. Maybe that's why I am allowing Peeta to touch me more than anyone has, except Prim, since my dad died. Or maybe it's just Peeta. Whatever it was, I didn't mind it.

"It's going to be okay, Peeta."

His head twists on my shoulder so it is his face pushing against me. "It will never be okay, Katniss. I don't care if it was self-defense or whatever Haymitch says. I killed him. He's dead because of me."

He sounds so hollow that I can't help tightening my hold on him.

"Drinking doesn't make it better," he continues. "I thought I could be like Haymitch. I'm not. I can't not feel. How do you not feel, Katniss?"

I jerk. "I feel," I reply, indignantly.

But drunken Peeta just shakes his head. "Not in the same way."

And I can't tell if he's talking about how I could never understand what it felt like to kill someone, or if he is referencing the interview that we both ignore so diligently. Either way, he is right. I'll never understand what he is going through, and I'll never fall in love. The girl who wanted love died a long time before Teller did. No matter what these little emotions and moments mean, they don't mean I like Peeta. Never in that way.

~Present~

"What are you doing?" Rue asks, finding her way up to the branch beside me.

"Watching the sunset," I respond, not taking my eyes off the artificial color.

"Why?"

I breathe in deeply, trying to find solace in it, as if he would suddenly appear beside me and let me know everything was going to be fine. I had killed someone, and not in self-defense. I killed Foxface and it wasn't okay. It will never be okay.

"Because it's orange."

"Is that your favorite color?"

"No," I almost laughed. "I hate orange." I could feel her questioning eyes on me and gave in after a few seconds. "It's Peeta's," I conceited.

"Oh," she says, happily. "Mine's pink. I saw a dress once, on one of the foremans' daughters. It was pink and white. I told my stylist about it, but she said I looked best in blue."

I smiled gently at the innocent comment, silently cursing her stylist, whoever she was. How could she not give a dying twelve-year-old the chance to wear something she had probably dreamed of her whole life? "I think you'd look beautiful in a pink dress."

"As beautiful as you?"

This time, I did laugh. "I'm hardly beautiful, Rue."

She frowned up at me, "Peeta thinks you are."

"Peeta also thinks wrestling is a metaphor for life and spends all day in a hot kitchen breathing in the excess yeast; he's not exactly a credible source."

Rue giggles, but is interrupted by the anthem in the sky. Oh no, I hadn't even realized how dark it had gotten. I don't know if I can watch this.

The first image to appear is that of the boy from District 3. He must have been the cannon that I heard on the way back. He wasn't close enough to the blast to have been killed, but perhaps he was injured and bled out? Or maybe he was killed by the Career Pack once his boobietrap didn't work. I hope against hope it isn't the first one. I was a nervous wreck waiting for the day I had to face Foxface's death, I didn't need another.

The second is Foxface. Her picture seems to be brighter than the one before and my eyes blur over as I unnoticeably avert my eyes from the holo. I feel Rue gasp from beside me and I shut my eyes against the truth.

I don't open them to see the last face, I couldn't deal with it at this point. Maybe I'll ask Rue tomorrow. Tonight, I just was to go to sleep. Pulling out the sleeping bag from my pack, I offer it to Rue. She nods and we carefully climb into the bag. I can rest more assured tonight now that we were off the ground.

"Did you see her, Katniss?"

My blood freezes in my veins as Rue brings up the one subject I wished to avoid.

"Yeah," my voice is strangled but I hope she doesn't notice.

"Isn't it crazy? Three in one day."

"Yes, Rue. There were multiple deaths today."

"Was she at the pile, Katniss? Who do you think killed her?"

"Rue!" I snap. "I don't want to talk about this."

She shrinks away and I immediately regret my tone.

I groan. "I'm sorry, Rue. I didn't mean it."

"No," she says meekly. "I know I talk too much."

"Rue," I prompt, but get no response from the girl. Searching for another topic, I say, "You know, Katniss and Rue are both plants, but where katniss is an edible plant, Rue is a weed."

"It is not!" she cries. "It's an herb, my mother told me so."

I pretend to think about it, secretly happy she seems to be talking again. "Nope," I say. "Its a weed."

"Katniss!"

I laugh and pull her closer, and she snuggles in, apparently forgiving me, ready for sleep. We stay quiet, allowing our minds to slow and our vision to begin to cloud over.

"What's yours?" comes her muffled and groggy voice from beneath my arm.

"My what?"

"Your favorite color?" she yawns.

I look down at her, knowing she's seconds away from falling asleep and say with a smirk, "Orange." Just because I can.