Wildfire

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games trilogy. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter One

Katniss glanced around her temporary sleeping quarters, thought about the tributes that had come before her, and decided it was the worst mockery imaginable. She'd never known such luxury, but if it meant she could live beyond the next month, Katniss would happily live in squalor for the rest of her days.

"If this is the train, I wonder what the capital will be like."

Peeta Mellark stood in the doorway to her cabin, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was tall, with wide, muscular shoulders that narrowed down to a tapered waist. He was spectacularly built, and though it wasn't completely from the work he did as the baker's son, or because he was the school's second best wrestler, no one would ever admit to anything else.

It was one of District 12's worst kept secrets - up there with the black market trading hob - but the fight club forever remained unspoken. An interest shared by men from the town, from the seam, and a number of peacekeepers as well, if it's existence wasn't confirmed, than no one needed to get hurt - or worse.

"I wish I don't have to find out," Katniss answered honestly. Although Katniss had admired him from a distance for years, she'd never truly spoken to the boy. They were both about to die anyway, however, so she couldn't see what damage it could do. "I don't think I've ever loved District 12 so much in my life."

"I know what you mean," Peeta acknowledged. His smile was mirthless. "There's suddenly something so appealing about home."

He left, Katniss idled, and the ensuing hour dragged. She lost herself in her head, her thoughts on Prim, and the reaping, and the strange reality that she had no regrets. In a sense, she was almost relieved. Come what may, there would be no mines in her future, and given how much she'd grown to hate what they represented, it was almost worth celebrating.

Almost.

Eventually, the hour passed, and Katniss found herself in the dining cabin. As with the rest of the train, the food offered was more than she'd ever had in her life, scrumptious, enticing platters that were probably worth more money then she could fathom. All she could think about, however, was the thought that the capital was fattening them up before they were killed, as though they were nothing more than animals being fed for the slaughter.

It made her sick.

"Are you not hungry, dear?" Effie enquired, oblivious to Katniss' turmoil. The district escort was from the capital, and to them, the Hunger Games were sport, or entertainment, and Katniss thought she hated them for it.

"It's been a long day," she hedged. In truth, the food tasted like coal dust on her tongue, and the girl would rather go hungry then be forced to choke down another mouthful. "I guess I'm just tired."

Effie clucked sympathetically. "Eat as much as you can, dear. You'll need your energy."

It also went without saying that she should eat while her meals were guaranteed. She could put on some more weight, too, and given that they would not learn of what the arena had to offer until they were actually inside it, it was probably best if she ate as much as she could.

With that thought in mind, Katniss managed to finish half her plate, the abundance of flavour a drastic change from what she was used to. The food sat heavy in her stomach, but before she could excuse herself to sleep it off - or vomit it up - Effie shepherded her two newest tributes into another room to watch the mandatory recaps.

"It will give us our first look at the other tributes," Peeta reasoned. He walked beside Katniss as Effie click-clacked ahead of them.

"Would you like to make bets on who will kill whom?" Katniss' tone was biting, and she regretted her words as soon as she'd spoken. They hung heavy in the air between them, and the girl turned her gaze to her shoes, ashamed.

Her tendency to blurt out the most inappropriate of thoughts at the most inappropriate of times would surely get her in trouble one day.

"No…" Peeta drew out the word, "I was thinking it would give us a chance to assess their personalities; maybe find some character flaws we can manipulate inside the arena."

"Right," she acknowledged. "If you say so."

Katniss couldn't say she was surprised by the suggestion. She'd already known that Peeta Mellark was wickedly, terrifyingly smart. He didn't look it - not really - but he had a sharp mind, and even better instincts, but she was surprised to see them presently in use. A part of Katniss had expected that he'd still be lost in the shock that day had instilled in them both, but apparently, the boy was also very good at compartmentalising.

Those character traits would treat him well in the arena, she reflected, and Katniss pondered the possibility that one of them could actually make it home this year. It was almost too optimistic to consider, but both of them were competent - more than most their age - and truly, Katniss didn't want either of them to die.

Especially not the boy who'd once saved her life.

In a compartment where a wide television screen took up the space where a window would be, Peeta and Katniss settled in a burgundy leather couch, Effie provided inane commentary about the escorts' outfit choices, and the two tributes watched as their fellow victims were announced.

Districts 1, 2 and 4 were careers, dangerous and overconfident, but undeniably individuals they would both have to look out for. There were others, too - the girl from District 5 and the boy from District 11 - but otherwise, everyone else was painfully, uncomfortably vulnerable.

"The careers look particularly bloodthirsty this year," Peeta observed. "District 2, especially. We'll have to look out for them."

Katniss chewed her lip thoughtfully. Peeta seemed to want to go into the games as allies, and although she wasn't opposed to the prospect, such an alliance would only hurt them both in the end. She knew his abilities, however, because Gale had bitched about him often enough, and she'd watched a few of his fights herself. His hand to hand combat skills were enviable, and there were rumours that he'd been practising with knives since they were kids. Essentially, Peeta Mellark would be an exceptional ally to have, or a terrible enemy.

"They're arrogant," katniss answered.

"With good reason," Peeta acknowledged, "Not many tributes would stand a chance against them."

katniss met his gaze, blue like the sky, and their talents lay unspoken between them. She was an archer, a hunter, with a skill for first aid and foraging. He was a fighter, strong and sturdy, with the skills to back up that strength. She was fast, he was tactical, and combined, they were a formidable pair.

Was it enough, though?

Before she could ask - or say anything, really - Haymitch Abernathy staggered in, wasted out of his mind, and proceeded to projectile vomit across the crimson carpet. Katniss was mildly impressed by the trajectory, but Effie screeched like a banshee and stalked out, and Katniss supposed viewings were over.

"Do you think we should go to bed?"

Peeta eyed District 12's only surviving victor, frowned to himself, and shrugged."I guess so. I should probably get Haymitch to his own room first, though. I don't think he'd appreciate waking up in that."

"I'm sure it's happened before," she answered dully, sighed, and rolled her eyes, "I guess I'll take his legs."

She helped Peeta get the man into his shower, and watched, vaguely disgusted, as Peeta proceeded to strip the man of his vomit stained shirt and undershirt. From there, the baker's son hosed him down under cold water, Haymitch woke up with a litany of curses on his tongue, and Katniss left them to it, certain her assistance was no longer needed. She retreated into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes, and clambered into what was probably the most comfortable thing she'd ever slept didn't sleep.

Instead, as her body began to relax, her mind began to clear from the fog she'd been in all afternoon and without ado, Katniss Everdeen began to cry.

Author's Note: Really not getting characterisation right. Back to the drawing board…