A/N: Oh, how I love you all.

You guys are phenomenal! Last chapter was my most reviewed chapter ever. In all my stories! Do you know how giddy that makes me? I'm bouncing, people. Bouncing.

I cannot accurately express in words how freakin' awesome all of you are. I mean, really. 50 reviews for a single chapter?

Damn, that's awesome.

And I'm incredibly lucky to have you guys as readers. :)

Going on to the chapter, it's definitely filled with a variety of emotions. It's lighthearted and serious at the same time. I think you'll all be satisfied with lovely flirty moments (giggles). And then you'll promptly want to give Peeta a big hug and tell him that everything's going to be okay. Because, yes, you will find out exactly how Peeta managed to get the bow and arrows.

Random Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Peeta and Katniss are just my puppet pals for a while; Smurfs make the best spies; I keep Jack Sparrow in my basement; Dumbledore or Gandalf?. . .biggest question in my life; I think seagulls are strange creatures; Spock rocks; I am terrified of hand puppets; Elves are real...Legolas and I talk...Be jealous; I saw Bob Barker drop kick a small goat once; Timon and Pumbaa are the ULTIMATE dynamic duo; the Fonz is the man . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 10

Peeta and I walk through the forest for the rest of the day. It's surprising to me how much his presence sets me at ease. He's actually a relatively silent companion, which confuses me a little. Peeta's a talker, and while I'm grateful that he has enough insight to keep his mouth shut (his footsteps are loud enough as it is), I'm worried. He has a perplexed, sad look on his face, and for the past few hours I've been worried that he's going to slip into that broody persona I glimpsed the second day on the train.

We continue walking until I hear the nightlife of the forest awaken. There's the hoot of an owl and the snap of branches made by a heavy paw. There will be competition for the rabbits. It's too soon to tell whether I'll be predominantly prey or predator in these woods.

"Where are we going to try and sleep?" Peeta asks, speaking for the first time in hours.

"In a tree."

Peeta stops walking, raising his eyebrows. "A tree?"

"Yeah, a tree." I scan the area around us and see a clump of willows. Their billowy boughs will make for great cover. "Like that one," I say, pointing to the largest willow of the bunch.

Peeta examines the tree. "Okay." He seems nervous. "You go first."

I raise my eyebrows and feel a small smirk pull at my lips. "You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"What?" Peeta is immediately too blasé. "Me? Afraid of heights? Ha, absolutely not."

"Uh huh," I say disbelievingly. "Yeah, I don't believe you."

"Okay, okay," Peeta admits sheepishly, his cheeks tinged red. "When I was little, Rye pushed me out of the apple tree in the backyard."

My eyes widened. "Seriously? How far up were you?"

Peeta's blush deepens. "I was probably four or five at the time. It was only a couple feet. Back then, it was terrifying drop."

I laugh, something I never thought I'd do while in the arena. "Did Rye at least get into trouble?"

Peeta frowns. "You know, I really don't remember. I think I hit my head."

"That explains so much," I tease with a grin and Peeta just shakes his head, taking my ribbing good-naturedly like he always does.

I examine the base of the tree, following its limbs all the way to the top, planning which branches I'll use to climb. I see a large, strong forked branch about halfway up that should hold both Peeta's and my weight. I look over my shoulder at Peeta, who is alternating nervous glances at me and then the tree, though now I think he's overdoing it on purpose.

"Just watch where I climb, okay?" I tell him with a smile before jumping up into the tree. I easily make my way to the branch that I chose. It takes less than three minutes. I look back down at Peeta who is staring at me oddly, and it makes me want to blush. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says with a smile.

My eyes narrow. "Were you checking me out?"

Peeta's eyes widen theatrically. "Me? No. What kind of guy do you think I am?"

"The kind that's a terrible liar," I say, even though I know that when it counts, Peeta can lie better than anyone.

Peeta drops the act and grins at me. "What else was I supposed to look at?"

I flush. "I-I don't know! The trees!"

"You told me to watch where you climbed," he reminds me. "I was just paying attention."

I roll my eyes. "Well prove it and get up here."

A couple minutes later, Peeta is sitting beside me. "You made this look easy."

"It is easy," I shrug. "You're just too fat."

"I am not fat!" Peeta says defensively.

I laugh. "Okay, you're heavier and therefore cannot climb as well as me."

"That's better," Peeta grins. "Cause this is all muscle."

"Oh, I know," I say immediately, the words escaping my lips before I can stop them and I blush furiously, prompting Peeta to laugh.

"Shut up," I glare at him. "Or I'll push you out of the tree."

"I'll take you with me."

"You wouldn't," I dare him boldly, and Peeta merely raises his eyebrows.

"Wouldn't I?"

I'm quickly discovering that Peeta has a much better poker face than I do.

We continue to pass the time like this, teasing each other like we aren't in an arena to fight to the death. I wonder what the viewers are thinking. I know the people back home are probably thinking that we're fools, refusing to see reality. However, I bet that the Capitol is eating this up right now. Due to the willow's branches, I doubt that they can get a good look at us, but I have no doubt that they've been broadcasting our conversation. We actually sound like the bickering lovers we're hinting at being, though I wonder where we stand now that Peeta has admitted his love for me.

This thought causes me to pause and go quiet. Peeta notices, but doesn't say anything. It's almost as if I'd forgotten. Peeta Mellark is in love with me, for real. The looks he gives me, his occasional tender touches. They all stem from true feelings. I suddenly wonder what he's been thinking of my reactions to his words and gestures. Am I leading him on? No. No, he knows that we're just friends. Well, he knows that he's just my friend. That's enough for him, right?

But is that enough for me?

I immediately kill that particular train of thought in my mind. There's no room for it here. Not in the Games. It's pointless. There's no point. None. Why even entertain the thought? I try and purge all thoughts and feelings concerning Peeta from my mind.

Regrettably, it does not work.

Night has fallen and I feel the temperature around me drop. I roll out the sleeping bag and stuff the backpack down at the bottom. Now comes the tricky part.

"You get in first," I whisper, the black night around us making me feel required to keep my voice low. That, and the Career Pack is notorious for hunting down tributes at night. I don't know if any are nearby and if they are, I don't want them to know we're here.

Peeta nods and slides into the bag, making as much room for me as possible, but it's still going to be a tight fit. I blame his broad shoulders. Nonetheless, I manage to slip into the bag beside him. Well, technically I'm half on top of him, but that's just the only way that we're both going to fit into the sleeping bag. My head is resting on his chest like last night, my arm is thrown over his waist, our legs are tangled together . . . and yet our position doesn't really bother me. Despite my earlier thoughts and attempts at clamping down on all the odd feelings that Peeta seems to promote within me, my heart is racing and I feel much warmer than I think I should, even with the heat-reflective sleeping bag. I can't help the feeling of comfort and safety that envelopes me.

Peeta's arms are wrapped around me, securing me to him. I feel his lips brush my hair and my stomach tightens in response. I'm certain that he can feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest. We're definitely pressed up against each other tightly enough for my thought to actually be plausible.

Thankfully, the anthem begins to play, signaling the end of the day in the arena. Both Peeta and I look up at the sky, waiting for all the fallen tributes faces to appear. What seems to be a floating screen appears in the night sky, but it's really a hovercraft with a large television hooked onto it. At home, the Capitol shows a full death recap, complete with how each and every tribute met their end. However, here in the arena, that's seen as unfair and a disadvantage. For example, if they showed me killing someone with a bow, then every tribute in the arena would know my weapon of choice. My secret would be out. So, here in the arena, we only see a headshot of the tribute, the same picture used when they announced our training scores. It's just that this time, instead of their training score being under their name, it's only their district number.

The girl from District 3 is the first to appear in the sky. I resist making a noise of contempt. They show the order of fallen tributes by district. Since they showed 3 first, that means that both tributes from 1 and 2 are still alive. The Careers.

I'm surprised when the next face in the sky is the boy from 4, but what surprises me even more is how Peeta's body goes rigid at the sight of the now dead tribute. I immediately know that there's a story there, and I'm silently debating if I'm going to ask him about it as the tributes continue to appear in the sky.

The boy from 5, both tributes from 6 and 7, and the boy from 8 all appear in the sky. Both from 9. The final face to appear is the girl from 10, and I'm slightly surprised that the boy from 10 didn't die as well since he has a limp.

"Okay, so who's left?" I ask quietly. "Five Careers. Foxface. Thresh and Rue . . ."

Rue . . . so she'd made it. This fact makes me feel relieved.

"The boy from 3, the girl from 8, and the boy from 10." Peeta lists the last of the remaining tributes that I didn't remember in a soft voice.

"What about the boy from 4?" I ask, remembering his reaction to seeing the tribute's face in the sky.

"He's dead."

"I know."

"I killed him."

"I guessed."

I'm struck by the need to be able to see his face, to see his reaction to our conversation. I've never been good with people, and I've always had trouble reading emotions. After all, I have enough of a time trying to figure out how I feel, let alone try and decipher someone else's feelings. But there's something about Peeta that makes me want to understand.

"It was all so fast . . ." Peeta holds me tighter as he speaks quietly, so quietly that I doubt any Capitol microphone can pick up his words. His words right now are meant only for my ears and the thought warms me in an unfamiliar way.

"I knew you wanted the bow," he continues.

"You told me not to go for it," I say, keeping my voice as low as his. "You were shaking your head."

"I stood a better chance at surviving the fight at the Cornucopia," Peeta says by way of explanation. "You're quick, but you're not big enough for one on one with the Careers."

I huff in indignation at his words, but more so at the truth in them. "So what happened?"

"I ran into the boy from 7 first," Peeta says and I remember the gash on his arm. "We hardly had time to fight before he fell. Marvel from 1 got him with a spear, though I think he was aiming for me."

"I don't think anyone else can use a bow," he says. "Because when I got to them, no one had even bothered with them." Peeta pauses. "I'd just slung the quiver over my shoulder when he tackled me."

I can tell that Peeta is reliving every moment of the fight, and I'm furious with myself for letting my morbid curiosity get the better of me. Why do I always seem to hurt him in one way or another?

"We fought for a bit," Peeta continues. "It was almost like a wrestling match back home . . . until he drew the knife . . ."

My mind immediately goes to the cut above his eye.

"I almost lost," Peeta says so softly I have to strain to hear him. "I just—I couldn't—I had so many chances to gain the advantage, but I just . . . I just couldn't make myself take them. But then he cut me . . . and . . . if it's possible . . . it made everything more real . . . the fact that I was going to die . . . and I realized that I wasn't ready. I-I wanted to live, so I the next time he lunged at me, I grabbed his arm and . . ."

Peeta trails off, leaving the ending untold.

I don't ask.

Instead, I feel guilt, thick and heavy in my veins. I want to make Peeta's pain go away. He doesn't deserve this. His heart is far too kind, too loving, to have to deal with this pain. I hate that I made him relive the killing all over again. I'm so angry at myself that for a moment I'm almost shaking with it.

The Capitol. It's all the Capitol's fault. They're making Peeta feel this way. It's their fault that he's in this position. He's hating himself, I know it. He's going to feel guilty for the death of the boy from District 4 until the day he dies, and I don't like the idea of Peeta carrying around that weight for however long he has yet to live. Peeta shouldn't carry this burden. I hate the Capitol. I hate them for making someone so pure of heart feel like he's a murderer.

I desperately want to make his pain go away. It's extremely important to me. To make him realize that he's still Peeta, the boy with the bread, the boy who saved me.

Almost as if it has a mind of its own, my hand reaches up through the darkness to come to rest on his cheek. The skin is wet and I know that he's been crying silent tears, the kind that simply fall without consent.

"You're still Peeta," I tell him softly, repeating my words from the roof. "You'll always be Peeta."

I don't know if my words make him feel any better, but I feel his hand wrap around mine and give it a squeeze. Our joined hands come to rest on his chest, right over his heart. Peeta doesn't say a word, but I think I've helped him. It's this thought that causes me to allow myself to fall asleep in the intimate position we're in.

Snap!

I jump awake so quickly that I might have fallen out of the tree if Peeta hadn't steadied me, clutching me to him. I know we've only been asleep for a couple hours, four at the most, but I feel surprisingly well-rested. However, I hardly have time to dwell on this fact before the snapping starts again.

Both my head and Peeta's turns toward the sound. It's not the sound of a snapping twig as a heavy foot falls on it. This snapping is the sound of someone breaking limbs from a tree. Silently, Peeta and I wait, and I ignore the fact that somehow during our brief slip into unconsciousness, I basically ended up right on top of Peeta.

There's some scuffling and then a spark. A fire blooms and I think of every single curse word that I know or have heard Gale say. What do they think they're doing?

"Are they crazy?" Peeta breathes incredulously.

I ask myself that same question. Honestly, I'm debating leaving the tree and killing whomever it is myself. I realize that it's cold, and not everyone has a heat-reflective sleeping bag, let alone someone to share it with and double the heat produced, but still . . . grit your teeth and tough it out!

The Careers hunt at night. The fire is a beacon shouting, "Kill me! I'm right here!"

Whoever the fire starter is, is just asking to get killed, but they are not the only ones in danger. The fire is only a hundred yards from the tree that Peeta and I are in. If the Careers find him or her, they could easily find us as well. We're in danger too.

"Should we move?" Peeta whispers into my hair, and I ignore the tingly feeling the action causes. I really don't need Peeta making me feel emotional and oddly girly right now. I need to be the rational hunter. I push away every funny feeling that deals with Peeta and focus on our situation.

Should we move?

There's both a risk in staying and a risk in moving. If we stay, we would be sitting ducks if anyone discovered us, especially if they caught us by surprise. And I choose our hiding spot too well because of the billowy limbs of the willow tree. Even if we were able to hear their approach, I wouldn't have a clear enough view through the boughs to get a shot off.

However, if I can't see them, that means they can't see me.

It's this thought that causes me to shake my head. "No," I breathe. We're staying in the tree.

Peeta and I watch the fire for the rest of the night. It's not safe to go back to sleep with the fire giving away our location so near. I'm just beginning to think that the fire starter, whose death I am still debating on carrying out myself, made it through the night, when I hear multiple sets of loud footfalls and hoots of excitement. By the sound of it, the Career Pack has seen the fire. It's not hard for me to guess which tributes have allied in the arena. Cato. Clove. Marvel. Glimmer. The girl from 4.

By the pleading that cries into the night, I know that the fire starter is the girl from 8. She continues to plead for a few minutes, when her cries are abruptly cut off. I surprise myself by burying my face into Peeta's chest, and his arms tighten around me.

Somehow it's more horrifying to listen to someone's death than to witness it. With only the sounds of their death, your imagination gets to run wild with different gruesome scenarios. Did Cato kill her with a sword? Run her through? Or was it Clove and one of her knives that silenced the girl forever? Where they quick about it, or did they toy with her, taunting her with her eminent death, building her fear? Judging by her pleading, I think it's the latter and the thought causes my stomach to lurch.

A cannon sounds.

My disgust of the Careers morphs quickly into fear when I hear their footsteps and voices begin to get louder. Closer. The dim light of pre-dawn allows me to see Peeta's face more clearly, but all I can see are wide blue eyes reflecting fear right back at me. Peeta and I don't move, hardly daring to breathe as the Careers stop to talk right in front of our tree.

They have flashlights and torches, but the extra light only allows me to see their feet and legs clearly. My heart is thumping so loud in my chest that I swear the Careers should be able to hear it. From my position, which is almost directly on top of Peeta, I can feel his heartbeat hammering away just as quickly as mine. Our black sleeping bag may be great camouflage in the night, but in the light of day not so much. Our safe haven could quickly turn into our downfall. Judging by my own internal clock and the very dim, slivery light beginning to break through the dark, I can tell that we have mere minutes before the sun comes up, giving away our position.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" one of them says, causing a round of cheers to break out.

They are only ten yards from our tree.

"Wish it'd been the girl from 12," one of the girls speaks, and I know it's Clove. "She didn't look too bright, what with all that twirling and giggling she did on stage. Ugh, I wanted to puke."

"I want to know how she got that eleven," another says, a boy.

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," someone sneers. Cato.

"We should find him first."

There are murmurs of agreement.

"Oh please, we find one, we find the other," one of the girls scoffs. Glimmer, maybe? "Did anyone see where he ran off too?"

"No," Clove growls frustrated. "I just saw him gut the boy from 4. He's pretty handy with a knife."

Peeta tenses at her harsh words and I flinch.

"Who cares?" Cato snaps. "I just want to find the girl."

"Yeah, we all know you want to be the one to kill her," Glimmer says, sounding annoyed. "Just because she beat your training score, it's got your panties all in a twist."

There's the sharp sound of skin meeting skin, and judging by Glimmer's outraged scream, Cato just slapped her. Cato's action immediately starts an argument, particularly from the other boy, which has to be Marvel. It kind of makes sense. Glimmer is his district partner.

Finally, the third girl, which by process of elimination I can determine is from District 4, has had enough and breaks up the argument. "We're wasting time! Stop bitching between yourselves and let's get moving! We're not going to find either one of them at this rate!"

The Careers settle down after a moment more of bickering. Not a one of them can stand not getting the last word. If my life weren't in eminent peril, I might have found it within myself to be annoyed.

"Fine," Cato snaps. "Let's go."

The Careers break into a run. Peeta and I don't move until we can't hear them anymore. Hesitantly, I shift out of the sleeping bag, ignoring the fact that I basically have to shimmy my way out. I feel a blush heat my cheeks as I scramble/shimmy over Peeta to be free of the confining sleeping bag.

I see the look on his face. He's biting his lip and his eyes are that odd shade of dark blue that I remember from when I'd placed my hand over his lips in my room to prevent him from ordering anything else into the microphone.

I feel the need to apologize, though for what, I'm not sure. "Sorry," I say.

Peeta looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or cry out in frustration. Odd.

"It's okay," he eventually says, and my blush deepens for whatever reason.

We jump down from the tree a few minutes later. My quiver is slung over my shoulder, and I grip my bow expertly in my hands. Peeta shoulders the backpack, one that we really need to camouflage soon. I begin to make my way to my snares that I'd set up the day before. After seeing the rabbit, I'd set a few snares. Peeta hadn't been talking and it had given me something to do.

I know that it's probably a bad idea to check the snares, but the hunter in me makes me do so. I can't resist. Besides, I can't let the Careers know that I was here. Luckily, my hunter instincts pay off and one of my snares holds a fat rabbit prisoner.

Peeta and I share a triumphant smile.

But now, what to do? The idea of lighting a fire is ridiculous, especially considering the death of District 8 not fifteen minutes ago . . . and then I remember her fire . . .

The embers should still be hot.

I jog to her campsite and sure enough, the coals are still hot. I quickly make a spit and then hang it over the smoldering fire. Peeta and I wait for the rabbit to cook in silence for a while, but Peeta breaks it.

"Seems like we're a hot topic," he says, referring to the conversation we'd heard between the Careers.

"Joy," I say sarcastically. "And I'm not giggly," I add defensively as I remember Clove's words.

Peeta answers straight-faced. "Definitely not. You, Katniss Everdeen, are many things. Giggly isn't one of them."

"I was just dizzy from all the twirling," I continue to defend myself, and I can tell Peeta's fighting a grin.

"Of course."

I see that the rabbit is done and take it off the smoldering fire. "Come on," I say. "We better get moving. We still need water."

In reaction to my words, Peeta swallows. "Yeah, that'd be a good idea."

I start walking, munching on the rabbit as I walk. For a while, Peeta doesn't say anything, but I know his silence can't last long.

I'm right.

"So are you gonna let me have any of that?" he asks, referring to the rabbit.

I shrug. "I caught it," I answer ambiguously. "Technically it's all mine."

Peeta pouts.

"Don't make that face," I say firmly. Peeta pouts more, his blue eyes bigger than ever. "Seriously."

After another few seconds of pouting, I can't take it anymore. "Oh, fine, here," I say. I'd already eaten half. "You look ridiculous."

Peeta's pout morphs into a grin. "Thank you," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself as he takes the rabbit from me.

I roll my eyes, and can't help but mutter, "I hope you choke on it."

Peeta's chuckle is all I hear as we continue into the woods.

Yay! And the First Date from Hell continues!

So, I have addressed how Peeta got the bow and arrows. Poor Peeta, he killed someone. It always bugged me in the books that we never found out if he really did actually kill anyone. I mean, it's alluded to that he killed the girl from 8 (though it was merciful). And when I was re-reading the book I noted how Katniss was surprised that the guy from 4 died. Then I was like, "Hey, I'm gonna have Peeta kill that guy!" Yes, that's really what I said.

Anywho, I thought it was good for his character arc, especially for my version of Peeta.

So . . . yeah, I guess that's it! ;)

Review? Pretty please? Next chapter PK face the horrors of dehydration and Katniss has mutinous thoughts . . . will she act on them? *cue dramatic music*

Lots of love,

AC