Got a nice long chapter for you today. Hope you enjoy. This one is mostly action , but more fluff to come soon!

Also, sorry about the glitches. The site has been acting up, so the format is kind of funky, but I'm working on fixing it. Sorry for the inconvenience. :/

Enjoy, my lovely readers!

The dagger felt foreign in his hand, the metal as cold as ice. Peeta had used it before, to slice bread and clean fish, but the instrument had never been used in battle while he owned it. Now, that about to change. He followed Thresh up the stairs and onto deck, where a pistol and a worn, three-cornered hat were shoved into his hands. He didn't want either of them.

"Wear the hat," Thresh advised. "Or no one'll know which side you're on."

I don't even know which side I'm on, he thought glumly as he shoved the hat down on his head and gingerly slipped the gun into his belt. Thresh eyed him skeptically.

"You gonna fight with just those? No sword or nothin'?"

"No sword," Peeta confirmed adamantly. Thresh shrugged.

For the first time, he allowed himself to look at the other ship. It was just close enough to see that it was racing in the opposite direction. Trying to escape. But the Tracker was faster, and they would catch up in a matter of minutes. Normally, at this point, Peeta would be hiding in the kitchen, grimacing at the tramp of feet above. The commotion was even more pronounced above deck, where pirates argued over the best weapons and gleefully tied bandannas over their faces. Someone passed around a small jar of leather oil to rub into boots and belts, and someone else passed out strips of blood-red cloth to tie around sleeves. Thresh tied Peeta's on for him, when he tried to refuse it.

Mr. Undersea and Haymitch gave a short pep talk centered around the fact that the vessel in question had purple emblems displayed on its white sails, marking it as a rich trading ship. There was likely to be money, silver, spices and silk, they said, but not much food. The crew groaned at that, mumbling about how tired they were of fish and dry biscuits. They brightened when Haymitch announced that there would be no need to take recruits, this time. Peeta took a deep breath to calm the queasiness in his stomach.

Just then, the double doors of the Captain's Cabin burst open and out strode Katniss. She looked exactly as Peeta remembered her when they first met. Her rapier swung from her hip, her hair was drawn back elegantly yet practically in a French braid and her soft leather pants were tucked neatly into her lace-up boots. It was still odd to see a girl in pants and boots, but at least by this time, he had learned not to stare. The doors swung shut again. Peeta blinked. Gale hadn't followed Katniss out of the Captain's Cabin. Did that mean he was never there in the first place?

"What are we up against?" she asked Haymitch, accepting the pistol he handed her.

"Merchant trading ship," he said. "Purple emblem. Fifty guns."

"They won't pose much of a problem, then," she said coolly.

Haymitch grinned. "Reckon they've got some rum on board?"

"If it's the kind of ship you say it is, they'll have port and brandy, too. Not that you'd care. You'd take anything that gets you drunk, even if it's fermented seawater." With that, she walked away, taking hold of one of the ropes. Half of the crew followed her lead, lining up on the starboard side. The other half readied the cannons. Peeta hovered, not sure where to go, until Haymitch raised his eyebrows at him and pointed to the ropes. No matter how drunk or hung-over he might be, he hadn't forgotten his order for Peeta to fight.

Somehow, in the jostle through the crowd, he ended up next to Katniss. She glanced at him, then did a double take. "Peeta? What are you doing here?" He couldn't tell if she was annoyed, confused, surprised or suspicious.

"Captain Abernathy wants me to be in this raid," he said shortly.

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"Don't give me that. I know there's a reason." Even while balancing precariously on a railing and holding a rope that was twice as thick as her wrist, she managed to look intimidating. Peeta sighed.

"I guess he wants me to… prove my loyalty, or something like that."

There was a pause. Then, lowering her voice, she said, "But you're not exactly loyal to the Tracker, are you?"

"What are you- ?" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"You just be careful, all right? I don't know what he's thinking, sending you on a raid, but I'll be keeping a close eye on you. Don't try anything risky."

The cannons exploded into action, ending the conversation. Peeta struggled to keep his balance as cannon balls struck both ships, more confused than ever. Did she mean that she suspected he would betray the Tracker, and that she'd be watching him to make sure he didn't? Or did she mean that she was worried for him, since he wasn't especially suited for battle, and that she would be watching him to make sure he didn't get hurt? Her words could have either meaning, or maybe even both at once…

As they drew level with the merchant ship, Peeta could see the sailors on-board. Not many of them even appeared to have weapons. Most were tending to the cannons and sails. All of them looked terrified. Peeta bit the inside of his cheek, hard. How was he supposed to fight, kill these people, take their cargo, when they hadn't done a single thing wrong? He couldn't, he couldn't, he… had to.

Almost in sync, the pirates swooped down on their ropes. Peeta followed a beat later, the only one not moving as part of the group. He landed awkwardly on the deck, stumbling on impact. While he tried to regain his balance, everyone else was already off, spreading across the ship . Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Katniss leap into the rigging and start picking people off from there. A cannon boom startled Peeta to his senses, and he drew his dagger.

The sailors, though obviously untrained, defended themselves reasonably well. They aimed guns and slashed with knives, and they might have had a chance, except for one thing: this was the crew of the Tracker, which operated like a well-oiled machine. Everyone seemed to have a job of their own, be it cutting the ropes of the cannons, herding the sailors towards the prow or slipping below deck to ferret out anyone hiding. Peeta, of course, didn't quite fit into the system. He stepped back and forth, nervous and unsure. He settled on just trying to avoid the worst of the fighting and maybe push a sailor or two out of the way.

The pirates, of course, wouldn't let him get away with that. One of them appeared at his shoulder, growling, "Get in there, coward," and steered him into the heart of the battle. Peeta didn't even have time to yell before he was attacked. The dull handle of a gun smacked him in the back of the head, sending stars dancing in his vision. He just barely managed to raise his dagger and redirect a second blow before it hit him. The sailor blinked, maybe confused by Peeta's lack of reflexes. Then the gun was pointed at his head. Instinctively, he jerked up his arms to guard his face. The motion drove the dagger into the sailor's arm, and he shouted in pain. Peeta, horrified at the drips of red that ran down the blade and into his sleeve, yanked it back. Before the sailor could react, he turned and fled, only to run into someone else. They wasted no time, but pulled back a long, jagged knife, preparing to drive it into his stomach.

Peeta fell to the deck, landing painfully on his hip. The jolt shook his pistol free from its place in his belt, and he snatched it up. It was already loaded, ready to shoot. The sailor, a glint of fear in his eyes, lunged forward with the knife. Peeta's finger tightened on the trigger, but he couldn't- he needed to, but he couldn't- he was less than a second away from death, and his fingers still didn't cooperate-

The knife fell from the sailor's fingers as a look of surprise and pain came into his eyes. Then he, too, fell, revealing the gunshot wound in his back. Behind him, a familiar figure dropped out of the rigging, landing lightly. Katniss reloaded her pistol and shouted, "Watch yourself, Peeta! You've got a gun- use it!" She bounded away almost before finishing her sentence, vanishing into the chaos.

Peeta scrambled to his feet, breathing hard. He had almost died. Katniss Everdeen had just saved his life.

He kicked the pistol away from him, despite Katniss's instructions. What use was it? He couldn't shoot it even if he wanted to. Instead, he gingerly picked up the serrated knife, grimacing at the slippery blood on the handle. At least he could defend himself with it, without killing anyone. But as it turned out, he didn't need to. The Tracker's crew was nothing if not efficient, and after a few minutes the enemy crew was defeated. Splash after splash sounded as they were tossed, or jumped, overboard.

The pirates started the cheerful process of ransacking the ship. There was, indeed, brandy. But before Haymitch claimed the bottles and disappeared, he sidled up to Peeta. "You'll be on the next raid, too," he said sternly.

"What? But I did what I was told!" Peeta cried. I don't know if I can do this all again, he added silently.

"You'll be on every raid," the captain ordered in a steely voice, "Until you learn to be part of the crew."

"I am-"

"No, you're not! And if you're not happy with it, you can join them." He jerked a thumb at the small pile of bodies still waiting to be thrown overboard. Then, in a cloud of alcohol fumes, he was gone.

Peeta slumped against the mast, letting the serrated knife fall to the floor. Kill or be killed. It was like some sick game. Thresh soon found him and pulled him down the stairs, exclaiming happily over the loot. He didn't seem to notice Peeta's troubled demeanor. "Since you helped with the raid, you can pick out anythin' you like. 's long as it's not somethin' the ship needs. Look, I've got my eye on that plate, there."

Peeta looked around. The cargo hold was stuffed full of riches, as was predicted. Yards of silk were packed in cedar chests, boxes of fragrant teas were stacked to the ceiling and fine china gleamed under its padded wrappings. It was all very beautiful, and very overwhelming. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Then he set his jaw.

If Haymitch wanted Peeta to act like a pirate, he would just have to start acting like a pirate. He hated it, but if it was a means of survival, he could do it. And it would have to start now. Did he want to die? No. Did he have any choice? No. And what did pirates do? Pirates looted. So, determinedly, he pushed into the midst of the crates and barrels and selected a box at random. Upon opening it, he saw it was full of expertly-made utensils with ivory handles. Good. The kitchen was low on forks, anyway.

He set it aside, trying with all his might to push down the caustic guilt in his throat, when he saw the circlet. Curling silver wires made up the structure, forming a leaf-like pattern, and where it dipped down in the front, an opal was flanked by two small pearls. It looked like something out of a fairy-tale, as if it had been previously owned by an elf princess, or a mermaid.

Peeta lifted it from its velvet-lined box, enchanted by its simple, elegant beauty. Would the pirates want to keep this for the Seam? Would it be of any use there? Glancing around, he saw others claiming golden cups and jewel-studded weapons for themselves. Surely he could keep this, if they could keep those. And he did want it. Hesitantly, he set it back in its box, flipped the lid closed and set it on top of the crate of utensils. He would take it. Not because he wanted it for himself, but just in case he ever won over Katniss, he would have something nice for her. The thought almost made him smile, unlikely as it was.

Suddenly, he thought he understood why the crew could steal so thoughtlessly. When you were thinking of someone else as the owner- not you, and not the person it really belonged to, but someone you cared about- it wasn't like stealing. It was like… gift-shopping, almost. Was that how the pirates thought of it? Did they look at the things they stole simply as presents for friends and family back home? What about the food, the seeds, the cloth? Things that they needed? Maybe that could be explained away even more easily. The Seam needed them. The ships didn't. They were just transporting them. How bad could it be? Very bad, he reminded himself. Sailors die. Whole ships are destroyed. But, still... he understood the reasoning.

Yes, now Peeta knew how they could steal. And God forgive me, I'm one of them, he thought, aghast at himself.

Haymitch looked at him approvingly as he climbed the stairs, holding his claims. And, though they were both fairly light, he had never carried two heavier boxes.