A/N: Hi guys! How ya doin'? Me? I am super excited right now! And I feel the need to gush, so can I? Please? Okay, so here I go . . .

As some of you know, I'm currently writing my version of Catching Fire. First things first, it's turning out to be a behemoth, let me tell you. I've got 22 chapters in the bank and I'm at 94,000 words. And guess what, I've still got probably another 10 chapters to go! Yes, my version of Catching Fire is a lot longer than the original. Anyway, back to my gushing. I'm gushing because I've written some truly awesome scenes that I cannot wait for you guys to read! We've got a wonderful fight between PK (oh, the passion). We've got a fantastic fight between Peeta and Haymitch (so much fun when they're angry). We've got an episode of Peeta vs. Gale (don't you all want to know how that turns out). We've got two beautifully dramatic meltdowns for Katniss (yes, I'm very mean to her). And, just to top it all off, I gave PK a dog . . . technically a wolf, but the point is that I gave them a pet! Why? Because every great couple needs a loyal furry companion. So . . . yeah, lots of fun stuff I've been writing. Really, it's just the relationship that I've developed for PK. In the books, we never got to see them happy and secure in love. Even on fanfic that kind of relationship is hard to find, but I have written an united, confident PK in love and it puts such a different spin on things!

(giggles excitedly)

Okay . . . And now that I've completely turned your attention away from this story, let's try and get back on track. This chapter is a shortie, I know, but I will always end a chapter where it makes sense to, and the ending for this one was just perfect, so I had to cut the chapter there. Anywho, we've got some interesting thoughts going on in Katniss's head. Mutiny! But shall Peeta's awesomeness sway her thoughts? Hmm . . . let's find out!

And here . . . we . . . go!

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; Peeta Mellark is a sexy beast . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 11

It was hot. So, so, incredibly hot.

And my mouth and throat were so, so, incredibly dry.

It had only been hours ago when Peeta and I had been playfully bickering over the rabbit, but it now seems like years. As if to taunt us, the Gamemakers have turned up the heat in the arena. It's blisteringly hot, and I'm sweating bullets. Peeta and I both know that we're in trouble. Deep trouble. There's a dry patch on my tongue that refuses to moisten, and my throat feels scratchy and swallowing is painful.

Fatigue has settled in and it's not the normal kind, like the tiredness you feel after a long day of work or a nice long hike through the woods. No, this fatigue is crippling. My muscles and joints are stiff. My head is throbbing in time with every beat of my heart. My vision is blurring, and I think I'm beginning to hallucinate because I don't know why Prim is sometimes walking beside me when I look to my left.

I always blink and then she's gone.

But Peeta and I trudge on, stumbling along together. He used to be able to catch me when I stumbled, but now he's just as tired as I am and I know he couldn't keep me from falling if he tried. I want so badly to stop, to rest, but I'm too fearful of not being able to get back up.

My mind briefly wonders if the Capitol is going to be disappointed with Peeta's and my boring deaths. Suddenly, I think of a specific viewer of the Games. Someone who could help us. Someone who could potentially save us, if only from dehydration . . .

Haymitch.

Don't we have sponsors? I wonder. I'm sure that we must. After all, hadn't Peeta and I done enough to hook their interest? To get them to like us? Haymitch told me that I had them wrapped around my finger. Wouldn't that mean that we had sponsors? All Haymitch had to do was press a button and a silver parachute would float down to me, delivering to me the most precious liquid. I know that prices are astronomical to send something into the arena, but isn't Haymitch going to at least try to get me out of here? Or Peeta?

Maybe he's trying to send me a message. Maybe he's saying that he wants me to ditch Peeta. After all, he can only save one of us, right? There's only one winner of these Games. Peeta already said he doesn't want to win. I bet if I suggested separating he would. He wants me to win. He told me that too. I open my mouth, preparing to ask him, but I can't form the words. Whether it's the lack of water, or my personal distaste for the words, I can't say them.

So I stay silent and continue to look for water.

"Why hasn't . . ." Peeta pauses, trying to moisten his tongue enough to talk. ". . . Haymitch . . ."

I nod, showing him that I know what he's trying to say. I force myself to shrug in answer.

"I'm going to be . . ." Peeta swallows. ". . . really pissed if . . . he just lets you die."

If I had the energy, I would have laughed.

"Probably drunk," I manage to say.

Somehow, Peeta finds a way to smile at my comment.

But my previous thoughts of Haymitch begin to prick at my brain. Haymitch and I, much to my aggravation, are a lot alike. I feel like I understand him on some weird level. For all of his drunkenness, Haymitch is actually a pretty smart guy. Calculating. Manipulative. I've been able to see glimpses of these qualities when he's been fairly sober. His eyes get that sharp look, like he's seeing everything and organizing it in his mind. It's annoying.

So Haymitch has to be sending me a message. If he had the ability to send Peeta and I water, why wasn't he?

Because we've almost found it.

This thought spurs me on, and I feel a desperate strength take hold of me. Peeta and I walk for another hour before I stumble and don't get back up. I hear Peeta collapse beside me. My face begins to sink into the ground a little, and I notice that the ground is cooler than I think it should be. It feels nice against my overheated skin.

I feel Peeta's hand on my shoulder. "K-Katniss . . . we . . . have to keep . . . moving."

My fingers curl into the ground, as if to keep me there. The fact that the ground is cool and moist hits me again, and something stirs in my brain.

I love mud, I think.

Mud.

My head lifts from the ground. I inhale sharply and notice the smell of lilies. Pond lilies.

"Mud," I whisper. I force myself to my knees. "Mud and lilies."

Peeta is looking at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have, but I look at Peeta anyway. I hold up my fingers in front of both of us and see that they're dark brown, covered in mud.

I see comprehension dawn on him and suddenly we're both crawling forward. Five yards of crawling through the mud and we see it. The Gamemakers really couldn't have hidden the pond any better. Surrounded by tall grasses and shrubs, you wouldn't see it unless you walked right on top of it.

Though I would love nothing more than to jump into the pond, filled with my blossoming yellow lilies atop their little green pads, I restrain myself. With shaky hands I unscrew the top of the water bottle and fill it. Somehow, my overheated brain is able to remember the exact number of iodine drops needed to purify it. This entire time, Peeta has been staring at the water of the pond like it's going to disappear any minute. I really don't blame him, though I'm glad he has enough sense to wait until I purify the water.

The thirty minute wait is grueling and an odd, yet very effective form of torture. Holding what I so desperately need in my hands, and yet being unable to drink it. It's agony. I doubt that I wait the full thirty minutes, though it's really my best estimate. I remind myself to drink slowly and take one, slow sip.

The effect is immediate. Slow building, but immediate. I take a few more sips before I pass the water bottle to Peeta. "Slow," I remind him in a cracked voice and he barely nods at me before drinking.

We continue to do this for hours. A handful of slow sips and then giving the water bottle to each other in turns. We refill the bottle as needed. Eventually, though we're still tired, we almost feel back to normal. I can tell because Peeta's lips are beginning to quirk up in that faint, ever-present smile that seems to be on his face, and his blue eyes are regaining that sparkle. He even grabs the backpack and begins to camouflage it. After about half an hour, he has miractulously managed to conceal the blaringly bright orange color of the backpack.

I decide that successfully thwarting death for the second time in the Games deserves a reward, and I allow us to dip into our reserve of precious crackers and beef. We get one cracker and strip of beef a piece. This rallies our spirits immensely and after another hour or so, we're beginning to share some broken bits of conversation.

I'm about to say something when suddenly, a splash of water hits my face. I cough and blink rapidly, only to see a pair of blue eyes sparkling at me. "You did not just do that," I say lowly.

Peeta pauses for a moment, as if to ascertain whether I'm going to play his little game or if I'm mad at his silliness. Honestly, I haven't made up my mind which I am, but he seems to decide for me because he's grinning like there's no tomorrow.

And it might be true.

So I splash him back. We continue our little childish game until my competitive side shines through, and I dunk his head under. I only keep his head submerged for a second before I let go. However, much to my distaste, Peeta flips his head up out of the water, splashing me in the process. I know he did it on purpose. And when he makes a big show of shaking out the water from his long, now wet blonde curls, Peeta makes sure that I get the brunt of the water droplets flung in my direction.

My hands come up to block my face, and I laugh. That's the second time I've laughed during these Games. Only Peeta could make me laugh at a time like this. He simply has an effect on people, an effect that I am most definitely not immune to. The thought scares me on some levels, but I don't dwell on it.

When Peeta finally stops shaking his head, he looks at me, grinning. I can't help but think he looks handsome. His blonde hair is a shade darker and about a half-inch longer because it's wet, causing it to hang into his eyes. Little drops of water are still falling from his hair. He's smiling at me in that way he has. His eyes are twinkling.

I feel a smile threaten to form.

My stomach begins to flutter.

"We should find somewhere to settle for the night," I say, ending whatever little moment we were in.

The trance is broken and Peeta seems to blink before nodding. "Yeah," he agrees. "It'll be dark soon."

I fill up the water bottle again before I locate a suitable tree to rest in. I quickly scale it and a few minutes later Peeta is beside me. The anthem plays, but no faces are shown in the sky. No one died today. We settle into the sleeping bag, again with me practically on top of him, but I'm so tired I don't care. I gladly let my head fall to rest on his chest. Peeta's arms come up to surround me and my eyes close as I drift off to sleep. I'm really glad neither of us snores . . .

A few hours later, I wake to the sound of thundering feet. I bolt up and place a hand on Peeta's chest to support myself as I lift my upper body to look around for the source of the noise. Peeta is asking me what's wrong when suddenly he stiffens.

And I know that he sees it too.

I stare, stunned and horrified, as a great wall of fire descends upon us.

Great balls of fire! Ah!

So, I guess you guys know what happens next chapter. Run! Flee from the flames! Run, PK, run!

Anywho, because I'm still all excited and bouncy about how my rewrite of CF is going, if you review, I shall answer one question (it can be anything) about my rewrite. It can be about Gale, PK, the Quell, anything. I swear to be truthful!

Lots of love,

AC