Note: this fic if T rated, and the end of this chapter will reflect that. It's nothing graphic or specific, but if you're extremely squeamish, be warned.

Sorry for the not-so-often updates. It's the end of school, I've been busy, you know the deal. :P I promise I'll update a lot more often come summer.

Enjoy!

Peeta's sword fighting lessons soon expanded to include gun shooting and ship sailing. From throwing knives with Haymitch to climbing in the rigging with Rory, sword fighting with Three-Fingers to manning the helm with Thresh, it seemed as if every spare second out of the kitchen was spent on some sort of lesson. By the end of each day, he barely had the energy to stumble to his hammock before collapsing. But, though grudgingly, he had to admit- he was learning. He was becoming steadier on his feet and more adept at handling weapons. His reflexes were sharpening, and he gathered less bruises with each skirmish.

It was mid-Winter on the seas when Peeta first beat Three-Fingers at sword fighting. Three-Fingers jabbed at his side and Peeta knocked his blade away, twisting his own up towards Three-Fingers' chest. He stepped just out of reach and Peeta's sword swished through empty air like a cattle whip. Feinting to the left, Three-Fingers changed trajectory at the last second and flicked the tip of his blade towards Peeta's knee. Peeta saw it coming. Instead of blocking the incoming blow, he lunged for Three-Fingers' side. His sword struck soundly, earning a wince, and as Three-Fingers brought his hands up to strike Peeta's sword away, the blades met and Three Fingers' was deflected, lodging itself firmly into the mast. Peeta's sword was at his throat before he could blink.

They stood still for a moment, panting. Slowly, Peeta realized… he had won. Three-Fingers was unarmed and, if it wasn't for the thick sheathes of fabric bound around the blades, he would be dead. He stepped back, lowering his sword guiltily. The whole situation reminded him too much of when he was first taken by the Tracker, when Katniss had her knife at his neck.

"Sorry," he muttered, walking to the sword still quivering in the mast. "I… sorry."

"Sorry?" Three-Fingers exclaimed. "Yer kiddin'! Tha' was the best Ah've ever seen ya fight! Come on, gimme my sword! See if yeh can beat me again!"

He couldn't. Whatever he had done right the first time, it wasn't working anymore. Peeta lost to Three-Fingers three times before they put away their swords. At least they didn't have a crowd watching them anymore.

"Yeh did good, lad," he said, slapping Peeta on the back. "Just wait. Yeh'll be th' most fearsome pirate on the ship one day."

"Thank you," Peeta said, knowing it was meant as a compliment. "But I don't think so."

"Just wait," he said again, then hobbled away with a throaty chuckle.

Peeta leaned against the mast while he unwrapped his sword. The fabric had become frayed from the countless times winding and unwinding it around the weapon, and razor-thin indents marked where the edges cut slightly into the cloth. As he set aside the bundle and reached for a water canteen, a shadow flickered across the sun overhead. He glanced up in time to see Katniss descending from the rigging. She hopped from rope to rope like a squirrel, finally dropping the last ten feet to the deck.

Her face was impassive when she said, "When's your lesson with Rory, usually?"

"Right about now. Why?"

"Because today I'll be taking over."

Peeta concentrated very hard on replacing the lid to his canteen, avoiding her eyes. It clicked snugly into place before he said, "All right. Any reason in particular?"

"I've had more practice than Rory," she explained. "Also, we'll be in the crow's nest today, and he says that makes him sick."

It makes me sick, Peeta thought.

"Are you ready?"

No.

"Yes."

Even on the calmest of days in the lowest of ropes, Peeta felt queasy up amongst the sails. Today, some two hundred feet above the frothy sea, it was hard to focus. And with Katniss there, well, it was a wonder he didn't fall within the first ten minutes. By the time they reached the crow's nest, which swung through the low-hanging sky like a pendulum, his hands shook so hard he could barely hold on. He wrapped his arms around the nearest wobbly rail and put his head down on his knees. Katniss patted his shoulder awkwardly.

After some minutes of breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he lifted his head. It was nearing sunset. On the horizon, where it was impossible to tell sea from sky, pink melted into blue. Gold-streaked clouds were torn like jagged claw marks in the heavens. Apart from the far-away swish of water, it was so quiet it felt wrong to make a sound.

Katniss was the first to speak up. "You're not a quitter, I'll give you that." She looked at him sideways, waiting for his reaction.

At last he replied, "My father always told me never to give up." Then he mentally cringed. He sounded like a little boy.

"Is he dead?" Katniss asked bluntly.

"No. At least, I don't think so. I hope not. I haven't seen him in a while." When it became clear that Katniss was waiting for more, he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll spare you the sob story. But, basically, I left in a hurry and haven't heard from him since."

Katniss made a short sound in the back of her throat that might have been laughter. "Sounds like me. First time I left, no one thought I was coming back."

"What happened?"

"I'll spare you the sob story," she mimicked, smirking. But Peeta thought he saw something else in her eyes before she looked away. He waited. Katniss fiddled with her boots. "We were out of options," she said quietly. "So the next time the Tracker came by, I demanded they let me on their crew. Haymitch knew me, so he let me on as a cabin boy… well, cabin girl." The fading sunlight glinted off a small knife that she nervously flicked open and closed.

"And… how did you get from there to First Mate?" Peeta ventured, wary of pushing her too far. He had seen before how suddenly her walls could go up.

"They saw me fight. Apparently I turn into a wild animal when I'm cornered. I don't think anyone wanted to get in my way after that."

It seemed like that was only half of the story. Cautiously, Peeta said, "Cornered?" It was immediately apparent he had gone too far.

Katniss hung her head. "There used to be a crewmember… named Cray. That time… it's the reason that he is no longer on this ship. Or any ship. It's also why I have the Captain's Cabin to myself now."

It took a few minutes, but once Peeta pieced together her meaning, his vision went red. His hands clenched hard enough for his fingernails to bite into his palms. His jaw locked. How dare he. How. Dare. He. If he wasn't already dead… Oh, Katniss. It's no wonder you don't trust easily. He remembered what Thresh said when he asked about Katniss, those first days onboard. How the men respected her, and if not, were afraid of her. Now he understood what he had meant a little better.

"Stop it," Katniss snarled suddenly. "Don't go pitying me because of something that didn't even happen. He cornered me, I fought, Gale and Haymitch intervened, Cray was killed. End of story."

But Peeta couldn't stop the tremors of rage running up his spine. For the first time, he wanted the cool, heavy feel of a weapon in his hands. If, at that moment, something like that happened again, he wouldn't hesitate a moment to use it.

"Hey. Hey!" Katniss snapped her fingers in front of his face and he blinked. "Look. Are we going to get this lesson over with, or are we going to sit here jabbering until it's dark?"

They got up, Peeta once again gripping the ropes, and clambered into the rigging. The whole time Katniss spoke about balance and knots and three points of contact, one thought kept running through his head: I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you safe. I'll keep you safe. However I can. I won't let that happen again.

The next day, Haymitch commented on how much more accurate Peeta was with the knives. When questioned, he simply replied, "If I ever need to use them, I'll be ready."

Without warning, a bell rang, harsh and demanding.

"You'd better be," Haymitch said, shoving knives back into their sheathes. "Because here comes your chance." The ship burst to life with pirates scrambling for weapons, and Peeta gazed at the distant merchant ship with a set jaw. Haymitch, hugging his knives to his chest, bent his head to whisper in Peeta's ear. "I'll be watching, boy. Remember what I said, and remember what you've learned."

Then he was gone and Peeta was left to join the crew in preparing for another raid. This one was unexpected. The crew fumbled with hurried movements, trying to ready themselves in time to fight. Peeta donned a three-cornered hat and took the pistol he was offered. He rubbed the pommel of his sword, palms sweating, and didn't even try to pay attention to Mr. Undersea's pep talk. Thresh asked him what was wrong, but he just shook his head. After this, he told himself, there was no going back. This was the raid that would decide his fate. The Tracker swung around to pass the merchant ship and with a hearty battle-cry, the pirates swooped down upon it.