The food burnt his tongue as Bellamy shovelled it in, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. The food was definitely the best part of the Capitol, the rest of it could disappear and he would be a happier man for it. But the food...it had been a long time since Bellamy had gone to bed with a full stomach, and with mere days left before he was thrown into the arena, he was eating as much as he could.

"Slow down boy, the stuff's too rich for you, it'll make you sick," Haymitch half scorned, half laughed from his seat opposite. Bellamy's mentor wasn't as greedy with the platters laid before them, choosing instead to take gulps of a suspicious brown liquid. Bellamy narrowed his eyes. Haymitch had said he would stop drinking to help them. Bellamy knew he shouldn't be surprised, what people said and what people meant were usually completely different things.

"I'll be fine," He muttered, but he rested his fork on the table nonetheless. He was starting to feel a little sick, though perhaps that had something to do with the imminent training, or the fact that he only had two days left without twenty two mad teenagers trying to murder him. Not mad, just scared, he reminded himself, but it was difficult to see scared teenagers when you looked at the career tributes.

The ones from Two were both eighteen like him, but even the girl had more mass than he did. They had ugly faces with cruel smiles plastered on them nearly all the time. And when the smiles were gone, they were replaced with frowns that were even worse.

District Four was the lanky girl with a face like she smelled something bad and the boy who was handing out winks to all the girls as if he wasn't about to kill them.

And One, Bellamy frowned at the thought; one was the sour-faced boy and that stupid blonde girl. Well, I'd be sour too if I had the misfortune to fall in love with her, he stabbed a fried potato fiercely with his fork, gaining him a questioning look from Charlotte.

"Ready to go?" He stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back in with a loud squeaking scrape.

"Yeah, sure," The girl hurriedly placed her silverware by her plate and stood up after him. She was still getting used to working the cutlery, Bellamy could tell. In the seam they didn't have much cause for knives and forks. When food came you ate it quick; people weren't worried about etiquette, they were more concerned about when they might get their next meal.

Behind them, Haymitch muttered a good-bye, but Bellamy didn't bother to return the gesture. Haymitch had promised to help them, and he'd failed. Bellamy had no time for him. He's trying, came the tiny voice of reason, the voice of understanding, but he quashed it down. Well, he's not trying hard enough.

"Are you okay?" Out of earshot in the little elevator Charlotte risked a glance up at Bellamy. He smiled to himself, his hard glare scared most people away, not her though. No, she was brave. The thought warmed Bellamy slightly.

"I'm fine, Charlotte," He offered her the best smile he had. "Just a bit tense,"

"Well that's to be expected," She nodded with a wisdom to her words that was well beyond her years. She was an interesting child. She had the same curiosity as Octavia, but she was much harder than his sister had ever had to be. She'd had to be hard, be strong. Charlotte had grown up in the care centre; Bellamy had learnt when he'd questioned her on her life before the games. The thought had saddened him, both the girls' parents had died in a mining accident and she had been choking on tears when she told him.

"You don't have to talk about it, Charlotte, its okay," He had said hurriedly as they sat in his temporary bedroom. The girl had wiped her eyes and sniffed, shaking her head.

"I have to be brave," She whined, "Brave like you, I just, don't know how," She had looked so sad at that moment that Bellamy did something he rarely did, he offered her a hug.

Physical affection with anyone other than his sister was foreign to him. He never hugged his mother, not until he had said goodbye to her. He never shared idle touches with friends, and when he was with a girl, he wouldn't even kiss her if he could help it. Touches were important to him; they weren't something he gave away lightly. But he had held Charlotte close that evening while she sniffed away her tears. It reminded him of comforting Octavia, something he might never do again. At the pang that had caused him he had had to pull away, but he held the little girl by her shoulders.

"You are brave, Charlotte. Don't let anyone tell you different."

With his mind back to the present as the elevator slid down to the basement floor, Bellamy glanced to the girl by his side, the tiny child with the horrible past and a horrible future. Her head was held high and her face was a stern mask that he himself often chose to show the world. Looking at her, so small and young but so defiant, he couldn't help but think that she was braver than he was.

The training centre was almost full when they arrived, the same as the day before. Yesterday's training had been something Bellamy threw himself into with a determination. It was a chance to learn something that might keep him alive before the games, his only chance. He and Charlotte had focused on weapon's training yesterday, Charlotte with a set of little knives she found and he with a bow and arrow. It felt odd using a bow again at first, but he quickly remembered the way of it, with the bow in his grip, the string thrumming as he released it and the arrow embedding itself in the target with a thump, Bellamy felt alive. Good, he thought, I won't for much longer.

When they arrived there was no lengthy talk from the trainer, they were allowed to get stuck in straight away. The Careers looked at him when he entered, the big brutes smirking as they clutched heavy-handed weapons and the others looking on sullenly. The blonde was there, that stupid blonde girl who wouldn't quit staring at him. Bellamy looked straight past her.

"So, survival skills today?" He asked Charlotte instead. The girl wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Bellamy was about to open his mouth to protest. That had been their plan after all, how would they survive without knowing how to build a decent fire? Or find drinkable water? But Charlotte stopped him before he could start, with a raise of her brows.

"Why don't we warm up with the weapons first?"

"The Careers are there,"

"Are you scared of them?" She cocked her head, teasing, and Bellamy sighed, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness.

"This isn't a game, Charlotte; we want to stay as far away from them as we can,"

"Of course it's a game, Bell. It's the Hunger Games, remember?" Before he could retaliate, Charlotte had started walking over to the weapon racks and Bellamy had to stride after her or risk leaving her alone with the careers.

"What," He pushed his arm between her and a row of knives as he hissed, "Do you think you're doing?" Charlotte sighed, swerving his arm and instead of moving for the knives, picked up a heavy metal bow, holding it out to him.

"You're good at this, Bellamy. Show them." She shook the bow in his direction slightly, somewhere between an invitation and a taunt, until he grunted and took it. Damn girl's too much like me. The bow fitted in his hand the way nothing else ever had, the cool metal flowing through his skin and the hard surface just right in his grip. He exhaled loudly as he picked up a quiver of arrows and slipped them onto his shoulder as if they weighed nothing before stepping in front of a target, far back enough to look impressive, but not so far that he would miss.

He could feel the eyes of the other tributes on him as he settled into his stance and fitted an arrow to the bow; his fingers were trembling with the tension as he pulled the string taunt. He hoped they couldn't tell. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Charlotte, nodding at him encouragingly, and the careers glaring. She was glaring, One. Bellamy's grip released and the arrow went soaring forward, hitting the centre of the target with a satisfying thud. He smiled smugly to himself. It was like the deep sigh after holding your breath.

And then he was firing the rest of the arrows in quick succession so no one could ever say he faltered. By the time he was out of arrows the target had punctures in all the places he had aimed for; heart, lungs, brain, balls. He chuckled to himself as he turned away from his arrow-filled target and placed the bow back on its stand carefully. He let his eyes skim over the careers' dumbstruck faces without focusing in on any of their features; instead he nodded to Charlotte who looked oddly proud of him. It made him think of Octavia, and the way she had cheered for him every time he brought home food, or lifted something heavy, even in the mundane tasks of his life, she was there, cheering him on. And now she wasn't. Bellamy swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed thoughts of his sister aside. Later, he told himself, later, when no one can see you cry.

Charlotte was waiting for him to speak, so he stood straight and smiled.

"Survival skills now?"

Bellamy twirled the little stalk between his finger and thumb, watching the leaves blur green and they spun back and forth. The plant had wide, flat leaves that were shiny, dark green with a waxy surface. He blew out with a sigh.

"I don't know," He admitted exasperated, "Safe?" He looked up from the plant into Charlotte's face, but her expression was as bemused as his. She shrugged and Bellamy groaned, dropping it into the reject pile. He and Charlotte had spent the past ten minutes trying to identify which plants were safe to eat and which weren't from a group provided to them by the training centre. So far they had found that they knew less about plants than they had originally thought and Bellamy was growing hot and agitated. It was one thing to be able to shoot an opponent, but if they couldn't eat, he wasn't going to get the chance. He could use the bow to hunt animals, but there was no guarantee that there would be edible prey in the arena, or that he could find it, catch it and cook it.

"Screw this," He shoved the pile away from him in annoyance, their carefully organised leaves strewn over the floor in a green mess. Bellamy cursed, tugging at his hair.

"You could've used that one," His head snapped up at the sound, for it was an unfamiliar voice that had spoken. Standing over him, her arms folded and her eyes boring through his skull, the girl from One was looking at him in a way that made his blood boil. He could feel the smugness radiating off of her. He hated it.

"Thanks, that's really helpful. Why don't you scurry on back to your bodyguards now?" Bellamy snapped as he hastened to re-sort the plants, just to avoid looking at her. The dumb girl didn't seem to get the message though, for instead of doing what he said, she knelt down beside him, her hands deftly arranging the vegetation into three neat piles.

Her hands were very small compared to his, Bellamy noticed, cursing himself for noticing anything about her. She's a career, your enemy, he told himself, but it was oddly fascinating to watch her work, placing the leaves and berries in her piles seemingly without thinking. Her pale hands worked much faster than his had, and her organisation was a lot better. When she was done she tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ears and smiled at the floor.

"There, you have three piles, edible, medicinal and dangerous," She spoke softly as she gestured to them.

"Alright, Princess. You showed me up, are you happy now?" Bellamy shifted his body away from her as he frowned, why did she sit so close? The girl looked at him, her eyes bluer close up. And not just blue either, they were flecked with green and grey, like stormy seas that Bellamy could only imagine. District Four was near the sea, but Bellamy had never seen it, he had read about it though, and he could almost see the waves in the girl's round irises. Stupid, they're just eyes.

"Princess? My name's Clarke," She blinked her lashes as she frowned and a small crease formed between her eyebrows. Bellamy resisted the urge to groan out loud.

"I don't care what your name is, Princess. You know, Princess, it's a term of endearment. Can't you feel the love between us?" He rubbed his temples as he spoke in an effort to relieve the headache which was fast invading his mind. The girl's frown turned from confusion to anger and Bellamy's lips lifted in a smile. Good, might be she'd leave him alone now.

"I could teach you," Clarke persisted, "About the plants. If you'd teach me how to shoot a bow like that," She turned her head toward the target where the feathered plumes of his arrows were still stuck in the foam.

"Why would I teach you?" Bellamy snorted. He didn't need help from the careers and he definitely didn't want it. It was probably all a ruse anyway, the girl was trying to kill him off. Yes, that was it. But the waves in her blue eyes grew stormy all the same.

"Because I'm good at what I do, and so are you, and it could help you stay alive." The girl's voice was steady, but Bellamy could see the agitation across her face. It should've satisfied him, but it twisted his stomach instead.

"Look, I don't need District One Princesses coming and telling me what to do just because they get special training-"

"Training?" Clarke's voice shot through an octave and her nostrils flared at the words. "I didn't choose to be in the games, I had to say goodbye to people I love too, I'm being sent in with the rest of you! We're just the same, you're no better than me, and you're no worse. But you don't know which plants will kill you and which will save your life, you could've, but now you won't." She stood up abruptly, her lips pressed closed in a hard line and her eyes burning right through him.

Her hair caught the light as she stalked away, but it didn't matter. She was walking away, and that was what was important. Bellamy shook his head to himself, his fingers scratching at the skin of his neck and his heart pounding. He didn't know why, it was his first confrontation with another tribute and it was the least dramatic thing that could have happened. It could've turned into a fight if he'd wanted it to, his fingers itched to curl into fists and he could imagine her on the floor before him, golden hair splayed around her head and her face bloody as his fists met her nose again and again. It was an odd sort of fantasy for a teenage boy; he should be thinking about fucking girls, not fighting them. But Bellamy supposed he was an odd sort of man, and violence was all he had left now.

The ribbon on his wrist felt tight.

"Why did you do that?" Charlotte's voice cut through his thoughts and his fingertips pulled back from the worn satin. He was glad for the distraction, he might have torn it off otherwise, and that was wrong.

"I didn't do anything," Bellamy exhaled deeply. He couldn't meet Charlotte's eyes, couldn't meet them because they were brown and not blue; couldn't meet them because her mousy hair was tied back with elastic and not a strip of ribbon.

"She could've helped us, we're terrible at this, you know we are," Charlotte's voice betrayed her age with the whine that it was and Bellamy's head snapped up. The girl's face was full of sadness and tears were swimming in her eyes. She had a brave front, but it was falling apart. She's a child, Bellamy told himself, you were supposed to be her brave front, and all you've done is shout. And yet he couldn't bring himself to agree with her. He was a stubborn man at the best of times and cruel at worse.

"She's a career, Charlotte; we want to stay as far away from them as possible," He bit his lower lip and softened his voice, "We'll get better at this, you don't need to worry. I'll look after you, we don't need anyone else." The girl nodded with a small sigh but Bellamy didn't notice. Even as he spoke, his head was turning of its own accord to where the careers were settling down for lunch, but this time, all he was greeted with was a mane of gold hair. Clarke was no longer staring.

A/N Yes Bellarke interaction! This wasn't as long as I'd hoped but I'm happy to be getting another chapter up. I hope you enjoy it, please review! - J x