A/N: Here's a mixed pot of a chapter, which hold at least some essential parts, and some heartfelt ones along with a whole lot of plot-driving-forward without much flare. Since I have an obsession of naming the chapters correctly, I had a hard time coming up with anything for this one, it's kind of scattered! But either way, hope you enjoy, and don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts afterwards :)

I can't remember if I've said it before, but thanks so much to those guest reviewers who I can't thank in a PM!

And to guest reviewer Amy: special thanks for that nice comment, and for reading :) And i'd say maybe... two more chapters, then you'll get your wish fulfilled, even if I think you may be in for a surprise...

Now, who's in the mood for another familiar character to enter the scene? (temporarily, mind you, don't fret...! )

For the next two days, the broadcasts from the Games are few and far apart. The mandatory viewings are filled instead with much discussion and analysing of the recent events, starring different important Capitol people who are specially invited to the studio. One by one, the remaining nine tributes are evaluated for hour upon hour, from their smallest move to their skill set and their chances of winning. In short, it's a quiet few days, despite the fact that nine is a rather large number of tributes left alive after a week and a half in the Games. Most surprising is the girl from Five, who has barely been spotted at all since the beginning, and who has been doing very little besides sneaking food from the Careers and dodging the various dangers that the Gamemakers send her way. She's obviously clever, that one.

Then, finally, on the second evening when Katniss comes home from the woods, she is greeted by Vick, flinging the door open with an urgent call:

"Katniss, come in and watch, fast. He's waking up!"

She leaves her for once full bag to Hazelle, who receives it with a kind smile, and waves away her offer to help scaling the fish she's trapped in a river. So instead, she plops down on the floor in front of the Hawthornes' television, and watches her friend resurface from the dead.

He looks a mess, where he's lying curled up into a ball beneath an uprooted tree: twigs and leaves litter his hair, he's got streaks of mud all over his pants and up his face, shallow cuts on his arms and hands. Nothing major, though, since all of his previously gruesome Tracker Jacker welts are bandaged up and down to a minimum swelling. He sits up, momentarily disoriented, staring at his hands and feet as if they're strangers to him. One finger picks, mystified, at the bandage across the palm of his hand, and he's just about to undo the binding to see what's underneath, when the small figure poised above him on top of the fallen log, speaks up.

"Let it be, it's not fully healed yet."

Gale starts, jumps up on his feet and swings around in an almost comic display of surprise. He winces as the sudden movement, but steadies himself against the log. His eyes narrow, regarding the girl in front of him. It takes him two full attempts before any sound escapes his unused, dried out vocal cords.

"What are these bandages?"

"They're mashed-up leaves from a bush." Rue reaches over to him, a flask in her slim hand. "We use them all the time back home, when the harvesters get stung."

Another suspicious moment passes, but then he lets his shoulders relax a bit, and hops up to sit on the fallen tree beside her. After the sudden movement, he grasps at his head, clearly not fully recovered yet from the shock his body has been in. He takes a long, grateful swig of water.

"How long was I out?"

The girl twists a piece of straw in her hand, tracing patterns with it on the trunk before her. "Just over two days," she states, her eyes darting to meet his when he utters a small, incredulous noise at the information.

"And you've been here all that time?"

"I had nothing better to do, really," she answers matter-of-factly. "And besides, it only seems fair that I would look out for you, when you did the same for me."

Gale stares at her with obvious surprise, almost admiration. "What your name, anyway?" he asks her, not even trying to hide the fact that he never paid attention to it before.

"Rue," she states her name, not letting on if she's offended by his lack of detail memory.

"All right, Rue," he says then, "why don't you fill me in on where we are and what I missed during my little nap." He smiles, and it's a caring kind of smile, the sort he saves for people who actually deserve them. In return, she grins a toothy grin, and just like that, they're friends.

Gale seems to take an immediate liking to her, much like Katniss had when she first saw the girl in action, because he doesn't question her presence by his side as he sets off back to his previous basecamp, to retrieve a few little things he'd left there from before. Along the way, he takes down one of those strange birds, and Rue points out that they're common in her district, even if she's rarely had any of its meat. When later, after they've made a temporary camp by the riverside, he hands her an entire leg to chew on, her brown eyes go as wide as saucers.

"I can eat the whole thing?" she questions him, staring in wonder as he tears into his own leg without further ado.

"'Course," comes Gale's mumbled answer, around a great chunk of meat in his mouth. "There's more, too."

Then, when night comes, and Gale had taken a quick swim in the stream to wash off all grime and dirt from his mangled body, they share a branch to sleep on high up in an oak, and he lets her lean her curly head on his arm as she sleeps, curled up in a thin sleeping bag which she had stuffed in her backpack.

"That was such a good bedtime story," smiles Prim, her face completely free of worry for the first time in ages. Beside her on the sofa, Vick is already asleep, his head lolling partly against her upper arm. In turn, she has her head leaned on Rory's shoulder, and all in all, the three of them make a rather funny picture.

Even Katniss has to relinquish a small smile at the sight, and at the realisation that for once, a day in the Games had not been a day spent in Hell. The motions of walking, hunting, washing and feeding himself must have seemed comforting and familiar to Gale, just like they did to her back at home, like something they would do together any day of the week, in their own special little bubble. Something inside her stirs when she thinks about it, but it's not completely uncomfortable, as long as she ignores the facts of where he actually is and what lies in front of him still. And also, the sight of him asleep side by side with his new little ally is heart warming. She understands why he couldn't just leave her to her destiny when he saw her with the Careers: no matter how much she wishes Gale would just be practical, she knows his compassion is a large part of who he is, and she wouldn't have him any other way. In fact, that soft spot in him for his siblings, and his fierce protection for them, is what she l… admires about him. Strives to do just as well herself, that's it.

Sighing, Katniss drags her tired legs upright, stretching her aching back out and realises that the movement makes her pants hike down on her hips, which is strange, since they're relatively new and all. The semi-elastic material of the leggings shouldn't begin to slack for a long time yet. She inspects them, but can find no inclination the material is damaged when she looks closer. Unfortunately, that can only mean one thing.

"They're too big for you already," frowns her mother, who has come up to her in the doorway and notices what she's doing.

"But…" she starts, frowning as she counts back on the days and weeks, takes stock of time and food supplies. It's only been a couple of weeks, and she's already losing weight at a frightening tempo, weight that she certainly doesn't have left over to spare. Panicked, she spins around to inspect Prim, takes her face in her hands to feel her normally fleshy cheeks, pinches her ribs in a movement too sudden and forceful.

"Ouch!" exclaims her little sister, swatting at her hands but staying still in place and gazing up at her.

She moves on to look closer at Rory and Vick, who are now both standing with their mother by the kitchen. They all look tired, a little more hollow around the eyes, but otherwise as fine as kids can look, coming from the Seam.

"You're all okay?" she asks, in a low, concerned mumble, relieved when they nod their heads.

Her mother and Hazelle are both watching her with a knowing look, but none of them look too worried, which calms her.

"Worry about yourself instead," says her mother in a low voice, gently touching her shoulder as she passes her on the way out the door. "Please be careful."

Katniss almost blushes, not liking being the centre of attention all of a sudden, and certainly not liking the worry she sees in her sister's eyes on her account. However, she knows they are right. It's the beginning of summer, after a long and prosperous spring, and now is the time to stock up on everything needed to survive the winter – body fat included. She's meant to gain weight, not lose any more of it, but in the midst of constant stress and heavy spirits, she tends to forget about eating, letting the kids have the best stuff always and forgetting completely that she, too, is little more than a child and still growing. She vows to herself to try a little harder from now on, since what use will she be to anyone if she's too weak to hunt?

Gale's alliance with the little girl from Eleven turns out to be rather short lived, but manages to produce some truly great results while it lasts. Midday next day in school, the students are once again called into the lunchroom, to witness the first of Gale's truly great plans executed. He and Rue have stacked up huge pyres of firewood in scattered places around the Cornucopia, and their plan seems to be to distract the Careers away from their camp, where they've been holed up for several days while healing from the Tracker Jacker stings. There are still, unfortunately, three of them: Cato, Clove and Marvel, along with the District 3 boy, who is miraculously still alive since he's proved very useful to them in all his technical knowledge.

Gale and Rue part ways at the last pyre, promising they'll meet up again in the evening to celebrate their takedown of the Career's supplies. An encouraging mumble passes through the room at the revelation of their plan, since this is something the people of Eleven and Twelve are fully in support of: the sentiment being that if we don't get to eat whatever we please, neither should they. While Gale closes the distance between the fire and the Cornucopia, they are shown a view of the Careers, bickering about what to do next. Their hunt for tributes to kill has become distinctly harder, since none of those left will be easily taken down. It's a mystery they have managed to stick together all three of them for this long, what with the growing tension of knowing only one of them can win.

Once Gale reaches the edge of their clearing, it's not long before the first chimney of smoke begins to rise up in the distance. The tributes in his sigh react just like he had wanted them to: they run straight for it, even taking with them the boy from Three now that their numbers have dwindled. Then he goes to work, having already figured out something is up with the uneven plots of land where the landmines are buried. While he puzzles over it, he sees the remaining tribute from Five rush into the scene before him, jump across the distance to the supplies in a very peculiar pattern, grab a few things and scuttle off, and that's when the pieces finally fall into place for him.

It takes him all the remaining five arrows he's got, but eventually, he shoots down a sack of apples on top of the pile, and they roll down the short hill with thunderous finality. In short, it creates one hell of an explosion, and the pressure wave throws him backwards forcefully, only barely holding onto his consciousness.

Again, thinks Katniss bitterly, by now not so much scared as angry and irritated by the way he risks his life over and over. When Cato comes barrelling into the scene a few short moments later, her heart picks up speed never the less, since the hiding place under a bush, where Gale has crawled in, is bordering on disastrous.

Luckily, the Career is more focused on taking out his fury on the closest possible subject, than on finding out who was behind the sabotage. And once the boy from Three is dead, morbidly killed by a savage twist to his fragile neck, his remaining partner agrees that whoever did this, must be dead too. Marvel is nowhere to be seen.

She still sits on the very edge on her stool, leaned forward in anticipation, until she has seen Gale crawl flat along the ground into a safer spot, bleeding heavily from one ear, and until they have seen Rue being captured by that hateful boy from District 1, when the Capitol seal shows up in the sky and it's over for now. Grinding her teeth together, she would curse the damn Games out loud all over again if only she were alone in the hall.

To hell with afternoon classes: she needs fresh air and freedom.

But also this day, her path out of the school building is halted, when she hears her name called by an unfamiliar voice. She turns around to see Peeta Mellark walking up to her, clutching a brown paper bag in one hand and wearing an expectant expression on his open face. She stands frozen in place, like paralyzed from the surreal feeling of this situation. He has never in the years since their only interaction, ever said a word to her. Always only watched her from afar, following her with his eyes until her nerves would be twitching with annoyance. And guilt. Because the main reason she hates it when he stares at her, is because of the memories that she is forced to recall when she looks at him. She owes him her life, and the life of her little sister, and that is a debt she can never repay, to her great regret.

"Katniss?" he calls again, superfluously, when he reaches her. He's not the little scrawny boy from her memory anymore, that's for sure, but his eyes are still that same startling colour of blue. "Hi," he says, smiling good-naturedly. "I wanted to talk to you for a minute, if that's okay?"

She regards him, frowning without meaning to, for a moment. Surprisingly, he's not put off by her cool attitude, but keeps his smile in place.

"You're going to miss the start of class," she grudgingly points out, hesitant to even open her mouth to speak to him. She does not want to deal with this boy, with all his background where she is concerned, and with his obvious Merchant class looks: well fed and friendly.

"So are you," he notices, tilting his big blond head slightly to the side and continuing to gaze at her in that unsettling way.

She has to look away, focusing her eyes instead on her ground beneath his feet. He's wearing shiny, but obviously inherited, school shoes, she notices. "No, I'm not," she counters, setting her jaw in that stubborn way that indicated she does not wish to be contradicted.

"But… Oh." Peeta shifts his weight from one foot to another, and she hears him take a deep intake of breath before getting to the point. "So, what I wanted to say was, I'm sorry things have become so hard for you."

Katniss' eyes snap up to his face, her eyebrows mashed together. Hard? What does he know about hard? Her life has always been hard, in the most literal sense of the word, and these last few weeks have been nothing but an incline in the depth of the problems. But she can see, despite her unwillingness to do so, that he means well, so she tries to control her voice when she says: "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," he says, voice gentle and low. "It's no more than a kind word."

Her normally stony expression seems suddenly impossible to recall, so she's stuck in a sort of permanent wrinkled frown. "Well," she fidgets, drawing her toes along the lines of the floor tiles, "you've been kind enough to me as it is, in life." This is her way of saying thank you, respectfully and without fuss, but he doesn't buy it.

"There's no such thing as enough kindness," he counters, and then holds forth the paper-wrapped bundle in his hand.

Katniss is suddenly very thankful that they're the only two left outside. She regards it wearily, suspecting what's inside but still asking: "What's this?" There's a hard note to her voice, still.

"I think you know what it is. I want you to have it." His wide eyes are holding hers in place, and she can see the silent plea in them not to make him go back on his offer.

But of course, her first impulse is to do just that. "No," she whispers, voice failing her when it's suddenly all too much for her: anger, irritation, hunger, and now this. "I don't want it. I don't want to owe you more."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Owe me? You don't owe me, Katniss." Her name is like velvet on his tongue, like he really enjoys saying it to her face. It makes her decidedly uneasy.

"But, you know, for… before," she mutters, unable to look at him again. She glances up when she hears him chuckle softly, the noise incomprehensive to her under the circumstances.

"I did that because I wanted to," he spells is out to her, and he smells like warmth and life itself when he spreads his arms before her in animation.

She frowns deeper, and realises she's biting her lip. Why is she still standing here? "But I never even said thanks," she mumbles, all the while feeling her irritation over her own words increase. The vulnerability of the situation makes her feel weak, easily beguiled.

Peeta Mellark chuckles in that warm way of his again, and answers her simply: "Then thank me now, and take this, please."

Despite her fighting with her nails and teeth, she can feel her resolve slipping, as sure as gravity or the sun rising each morning. Her last defence is a feeble question: "Why?"

"Because you need it. I can see that just as well as you know it." He looks at her meaningfully, his eyes gently daring her to contradicting the truth of that statement.

"But it's too much, and I can't repay –"

"A gift is not for repaying. And if you won't take it for yourself, then give it to your sister, or to those other kids you're taking care of."

He has her there, and he knows it, by the slightly smug look of him. When he holds out the bag to her once again, she sighs, but reaches out her hand to accept it. Her whole being is squirming in unease, and she can feel shame colour her cheeks, but it's no use: a yes is a yes, no matter if spoken or not. Peeta retains his hold of the handle a second longer than necessary, making her hand inevitably connect with his when she grips it. Her eyes, guarded, meet his in a short moment, which seem to stretch out impossibly.

"Thank you," she mumbles, barely parting her lips through her stone-set jaw.

His answering smile is bigger than any she has ever seen on his face, or on basically anyone's face for that matter, making her feel almost compelled to return the gesture. But she doesn't, and he steps back, hands falling to his sides as he half-turns to head back into the corridor.

"You're welcome," he says, and there's something shining in his eyes when he looks at her for once last moment, something like hope, which she won't even begin to puzzle over. "See you around."

And with that, he walks through the door, and leaves her standing in the school yard, perplexed and flustered and with a thoroughly queasy feeling spreading through her stomach.

As reluctant as the gift had been, she can't help but indulge in the scene of surprised laughter and exultant smiles from the four kids, as she brings out fresh soft bakery bread to go with the dinner stew that evening. The atmosphere around the crowded kitchen table in the Hawthornes' house is the lightest it has been in a long time, as they're able to forget for a few short moments how despairing life has become, and remember again what it feels like to be full, and warm, and surrounded by people who make you laugh and whose affection you hold. Katniss remains mostly silent, happy to watch the rest of them interact and let her mind relax for a while. No one asks her where the bread came from, just like they never question from where she brings in the resources that keep them fed, clothed and warm, either because they don't want to know or because they let her secrets alone, she doesn't know. She stuffs down thick slices of the semi-white loaves, dipped into the remaining sauce from the unusually flavoursome stew that Hazelle had cooked, and then leans back in her chair, feeling dense and sleepy, satisfied despite her lingering grief over the origin of the meal.

A little while later, after she has insisted on washing the dishes to let the other two women linger by the table, engaged in some kind of simple game that Vick has started in a fit of new energy, the semblance of normality is shattered once more, as it's apparently time for the Games to be broadcasted again.

This time, the story told in real time is not a pleasant, soothing one. They get to watch as Gale rises from his makeshift hideout, covered in pine needles, dirt and a fair amount of blood, and sets of to locate his little partner. It takes him an agonizingly long time to find his way through the woods, as he is for some reason extra careful with his steps, and keeps sweeping his head from side to side to watch for dangers. From the way he keeps fidgeting with his left ear - the one with dried blood all around it - it would seem something is up with his hearing, and it obviously bothers him. She has no trouble sympathising, knowing full well how important all senses are to a hunter, hearing as much as eyesight, to pick up on all the little signs of unrest or danger closing in.

Repeating a simple four-note whistle that he and Rue had agreed on earlier to the mockingjays above, Gale locates the right area where she would have last been, but finds only the third fire still in place, unlit. In alarm, he draws out his bow, scans the forest around him carefully through the drawn-out shadows of twilight. It's almost dark, and apparently getting colder in the Arena, she can tell from the clear light of stars filtering through the treetops above him. Together with the half moon, they illuminate the forest with a cold, steely silver colour, blending with the tendrils of mist rising from the ground to form an eerie landscape, where seemingly anything could be lurking behind each root and stub.

When Gale does find Rue, it's already too late. She's hopelessly tangled in a mess of net and ties, lying shivering on the ground in a small clearing not far from the third fire site. Katniss is hit by a cold, churning feeling inside - overtaken by a sudden certainty of how this is going to play out. Getting up from the floor, she shuffles her feet over to where her hunting bag is slumped on the floor by the door. Things can be as exciting as they wish on TV, but she will watch only as much as is inevitable.

Taking out a small jar of polishing fat, she grabs her worn old hunting boots, and sits down under the gas light by the kitchen table to shine and mend them with meticulous care. She wonders silently how the others can stand it, how Vick, Rory, Prim and her mother can just sit there and watch, as if what happens is some fancy drama with actors who only pretend to get hurt and die, and not the final hours of real children, among which one of their own. Perhaps she's the one who doesn't get it, she thinks, maybe they're all braver and more though-skinned than she is, despite their youth and their fragility.

Either way, she concentrates as hard as she can on the old, shiny leather in her hands, brushes away each tiny fracture in its smooth surface, just like her father had once taught her to do it. But every few moments, her head snaps up at some noise or some flash of motion on the screen, too distracting to ignore. So that way, she sees as Gale cuts the frightened little girl loose from the net, only to be intercepted by the arrival of her captor: Marvel, who should have died from multiple Tracker Jacker stings, but who seems to have a stronger mind than one would have thought from all his bickering.

She hears him laugh, and say: "I knew you'd show up, sooner or later, Twelve." She hears Gale respond, evidently trying to draw out the moment by keeping the Career talking for as long as possible. It occurs to her that he is out of arrows, and she's unsure if he has any other weapons at the ready with him. In her sudden bout of nerves, she accidentally polishes a particular spot of her right boot too forcefully, making it more worn than restored. She swears under her breath, but then her head is once again snapped around to the television, as she hears several simultaneous cries of alarm. Before she can even really grasp what has happened, Rue is down on the ground with a spear protruding from her slim chest, blood colouring her clothes a silvery shade in the night time brilliance. At the same time, Marvel goes down too, dead before he hits the ground with a knife lodged deep in his throat.

For a split second, all she can think about is how she should have been there to shield her little sister's eyes from the sight of so much death, even though logically, Prim has seen much worse before. But she hears muffled sobs from the sofa, and with a heavy heart, she gets up from her chair, and walks over there, to find Prim hiding her face in both hands, curled up against their mother, who has Vick in a firm hold with her other arm. She sits down on the armrest, runs a hand gently over her sister's blond hair, and folds both her arms around her narrow shoulders, as she turns into her shoulder instead. Sitting on the floor, Rory leans his head on Prim's legs, in a gesture half comforting and half drained.

Two kills for that one knife, both from the same district, it flies through her mind. The thought horrifies her, until she thinks self defence, it was either them or him. It hasn't even occurred before then to Katniss, that she should be happy Gale has lived through yet another close encounter with enemy tributes, but now she can't help but to drink in the image of him moving around on screen, unharmed except for his ear and a few scratches and bruises.

She watches him kneel down beside Rues fallen form, and she looks so small and young in this moment, that her heart constricts painfully despite her vow to herself not to care for other tributes than Gale. One way or another, she had to die, but what does that matter when the real injustice was done way before this moment, in the moment when her name was chosen among all those other in the Reaping bowl: or even before that, when in the past their Government decided to take out their revenge on the Districts by yearly blood offerings. She feels hot pressure build up behind her eyes, but tries to take comfort from the fact that at least the girl has him there in her last few moments, to hold her hand and stroke her hair out of her white face with warm fingers against her icy skin. He mutters small, comforting words to her, but they do very little, since he seems to be on the brink of despair himself. They have known each other for only a few days, but his instinct for protectiveness is fierce and strong, and she can tell from his crumbled face that he feels like he has failed his ally.

Katniss watches as the starlight shines brighter and brighter in the deepening night, while the light in Rue's eyes fade bit by bit, as if her brilliant vivaciousness is somehow soaked up by the atmosphere and there intensified. With her mess of dark curls spread out beneath her head, secure on her partner's thighs, she whispers out a request to him:

"Can you sing me a song?"

Gale smiles remorsefully down at her, shakes his head a little. "No… no, I can't sing." His voice turns even softer, his eyes a shade more sorrowful, when he continues: "But I know a girl who has a voice so beautiful, that when she sings, all the mockingjays stop and listen."

The little girl smiles, and opens her eyes to look up at him. "Madge?" she guesses, innocence shining in her large brown eyes.

A haunting shadow slithers across his eyes, but he breathes out a pained breathy laugh. "No. But I'm sure Madge can sing very beautifully, too."

Her eyes close again at that, and her last few words are so faint that the microphones only barely catch up on the sound. "Will you please try, anyway?"

In a voice that is far from steady, and even further from true to tune, Gale strikes up the first words from a song that Katniss recognises too well for it to be a coincidence. It's an old lullaby, one that she and Prim would always ask to hear when they were small children to put them to sleep. Their father said he'd learnt it off his grandmother, when he in turn was just a little boy, and he was sure it had existed a long time before even that.

He sings it with stumbling precision, like it's something he has heard only once or twice, but which stuck to his memory with a strong impression. The idea comes to her that maybe he has heard it from her, has at some point walked in on her singing in the woods, like she will sometimes do when convinces she's on her own. She doesn't know whether to be slightly indignant or flattered by the fact that he knows it, and that it comes to his mind in a situation as fragile and significant as this one. Hearing it in his deep, rather musical tone does strange things to her insides, and soon she finds tears trailing hot streaks down her cheeks, falling onto Prim's head before she can stop them.

Heartsick and completely fed up with this never ending madness, she wows to sneak out to the woods again early in the morning, and spare herself any more of the crumbling, all-consuming sadness that is taking hold of her body. She will see no more, will bare no more of this mental torture, and wishes fervently for it all to be over soon, so things can go back to the normal rhythm of everyday life. Normal worries, like food for the day, seems so simple and practical in comparison, that she almost don't mind them anymore. But in a world where twelve-year-olds are allowed to die for the sake of nothing at all, without even a chance at the rest of their lives, how can anything be right? What is the point in doing as you're told, or playing by anyone else's rules, when there's no peace, and no sense of right and wrong that guides them?

Then she catches herself, because what practical good will these kinds of thoughts do her now, in the midst of all that's going on? None, that's it. Just like she sees Gale steel himself to get up on the screen, she must lock up this feeling of immense injustice that will only cloud her judgement, and focus on what's next. Lucky for her, what eases her anxiety over all that she's had to witness in the past weeks is also what brings them food on the table.

When she goes to sleep that night, the bed unusually spacious since Prim is curled up with their mother in lingering sadness, she hums quietly the melody still in her ears to herself. She can hear the words in his voice still, like a record on repeat that won't let her forget. If she blocks out the horrid images that come with it, she can imagine him singing it to her only, a fantasy so comforting that she can feel her whole body go limp and drifting in no time.

Right on the edge of sleep, in a state of half-dream where visions blur and reality mixes strangely with imagination, the thought appears: if she means nothing to him after all, like she is inclined to think is true, why would he bring up such an intimate memory of her, in a moment of emotions as strong as that? Her heart flutters, just once, but then sleep courses over her, drowns all conscious thought.