A/N: Hey, hey, lookie, lookie! Guess who updated a day early? This chick.

Why, you may ask? Because you're all awesome and you deserve an early update.

I'm so glad that all of you are looking forward to my rewrite of CF, and yes, for those of you who are wondering, I will continue on and rewrite Mockingjay. *cue happy music*

Oh, and to some of you who reviewed and asked a question about CF...I did try to answer your question, but it's difficult when you've disabled your PM. So, sorry if it seems like I totally ignored you. I did try to reply.

On a completely random note, I went to Six Flags over Texas yesterday on vacation ... SO MUCH FUN. I almost blacked out on the Titan. IT WAS AWESOME! If you can't tell already, I'm an adrenaline junkie. :D

Okay, okay, let's get on to the chapter! FIRE! I love how y'all seem to be pyromaniacs like me...

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; Vampires should NOT sparkle . . . still think I own HG?

Chapter 12

Seeing a giant wall of red-orange flames coming straight toward me is without a doubt one of the scariest things I will ever see. The sheer size is enough to stop my heart in its tracks and cause my muscles to freeze. I don't know how long I'm frozen, probably less than a second, but it feels like so much longer.

Suddenly, instinct takes over, pumping my veins full of adrenaline. Faster than I would ever have thought possible, I scramble out of the sleeping bag, grab my bow and quiver of arrows from the near limb I'd hung them from, and literally hop from branch to branch in my haste to get out of the tree.

The adrenaline must be aiding Peeta as well because he drops down beside me not a second later, and then we're both running. I immediately begin to follow the animals, trusting their sense of direction. Rabbits, deer, even a pack of wild dogs race by me, leaping effortlessly into the air, avoiding the flames and the debris, while Peeta and I stumble along after them, tripping over fallen limbs and bits of rock.

I curse my previous thoughts of feeling safe before falling asleep. No one died today. That should have given me pause. It should have made me think. It's not a good thing in the Games for no one to die. That would imply that the Games are boring, and the Gamemakers can't have the Capitol thinking that.

Thus, the wall of fire. This fire is not natural. The flames are too hot, too high, too uniform. No, this fire was caused by a single person, a Gamemaker, who is sitting comfortably in a chair, far, far away from this fire that he has set upon us.

I think that the rest of the tributes, aside from the Career Pack, must be scattered throughout the arena. My guess is that the fire is a tactic to drive us all together. But where? The lake? The Cornucopia?

I jump over a fallen, burning tree trunk. Not high enough. The tail end of my jacket catches fire and I rip it off and stamp out the flames. Peeta takes it from me and tosses it into the sleeping bag that he's slung over his shoulder. We can't afford to lose any of our supplies. They're all we have. Even a burnt jacket too valuable to lose.

The smoke and ash in the sky is quickly getting to us. It's insufferable, similar to breathing in hot, dry wood. I begin to cough. It feels like my lungs are being scorched and cooked. At first, there's a mild discomfort in my chest, but only minutes later the discomfort morphs into a sharp pain for every breath I take.

I have to stop after another few minutes of running. My excessive coughing has turned into to retching, and I just manage to take cover under an outcropping of rock before the heaves get the best of me. I can hear Peeta beside me, coughing and retching as well. I vomit until there's nothing left in my stomach. My breathing is ragged and my lungs feel as though they are on fire.

I know that we have to move. I know that we can't stop. I think back to what I know about the Games. Often, some of the unnatural forces of the Games, like this fire, are only in certain sections of the arena. I'm thinking that if Peeta and I can just escape this section, then we will be fine.

"Do you think that we—" Peeta pauses, a violent cough racking his chest. "—can double back?"

I pause, thinking it over. Peeta's idea has potential. I can tell what he's thinking. If we are able to double back and get behind the fire line, we would be safe from the Careers, or at least further from them, and we would have a source of water. But Peeta's idea would require miles of extra running around, and then a very circuitous route back.

"I don't know," I admit between gasps. I can't seem to take a deep breath. "I think maybe—"

I don't get to finish. A fireball crashes into the rock above us, causing half of it to collapse. Peeta and I share one glance, communicating one simple message.

Run.

And run we do.

We bolt out from under the rock just as another fireball hits it, probably destroying it completely, but neither Peeta nor I look back to check. I hear a whizzing in the air and shout, "Down!"

Peeta and I collapse onto the ground, the fireball hitting the ground about ten yards in front of us. The fireballs themselves are probably only the size of an apple, but they pack a punch when they hit the ground. Peeta and I are up and running again a second later.

I don't know how long we run or how far, dodging fireballs all along the way. I'm not sure if my lungs will ever be the same after this. Eventually, the fireballs stop and it seems like we've outrun the fire. Peeta and I slow to a walk before I have to stop to retch again. A bitter hot, acidic substance is all that I can throw up.

My clothes are soaked through with sweat, my body is trying desperately to rid myself of the poisons I've been inhaling, and somehow, through the smoke and vomit, I'm able to smell singed hair. Almost in wonder, I pick up the end of my braid and sure enough, nearly six inches have been burnt off. The blackened ends fall from my fingers.

Peeta notices. "Damn."

My thoughts exactly.

However, I don't linger on this thought because I hear the telltale whizzing of a fireball. My muscles react, but I'm not fast enough. I'm able to spin out of the way, but the fireball clips my left calf. This seems to be the last straw, and a shriek of surprise and fear escapes me. I scuttle backwards on the ground, almost as if I could run away from the fire engulfing my pant leg. Peeta's hollering at me, saying something, but I can't really hear him. My mind is only able to process the fact that I'm on fire.

I regain enough sense to quickly roll my leg across the ground, trying to put out the flames. And then suddenly Peeta's beside me and rips my pant leg at the knee, tearing away the burning fabric and blistering his hands in the process.

My calf is screaming, but I don't want to look at it. I know that it's bad, judging by Peeta's grimace when he looks at my leg. He's talking to me, probably trying to reassure me, but I don't hear his words. I'm too focused on not revealing how much pain I'm in. I remember my mother treating burns. Burns are a common injury in 12, particularly in the Seam. All of us are around fire. It's used to cook and heat our homes, and then there's the occasional fire down in the mines.

I remember one miner that came to my mother. I knew he was knocking on death's door the moment I saw the burn. I only got a quick look at it before I ran from the house, but it was enough. The burn was all the way to the bone . . . blackened, dead flesh surrounding the wound. The smell had been terrible. I knew there was no helping him, and my mother did too. She numbed the pain, did what little she could, and then left him with his family until he died.

My mind tells me that the burn on my calf is not as bad, but I still can't look at it. My emotions are running wild. The near death experience, coupled with the adrenaline rush that hasn't quite gone away and the blinding pain in my leg, is not helping me in my quest to get my emotions under control. But still, I force myself to remain as stoic as possible.

Panem is watching. The Capitol is watching.

I know that the Gamemakers don't want me dead. Not yet at least. If they did, I would be dead. One of those fireballs would have hit me harder, or I would have fallen into a pit of vipers. No, this fire was only for entertainment.

"Katniss, the girl on fire," I mutter to myself, so low that I doubt the Capitol can hear me, although Peeta does. He makes a noise of contempt.

"Let's go," Peeta says, taking charge, which is odd, but oddly comforting at the moment. I realize that I'm relying on him again, but at the moment I don't care.

However, I draw the line when he scoops me up into his arms. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying you."

"Put me down."

"No."

"Now!"

"Not happening."

I scowl, and he smiles. "There's the scowl I've been waiting for."

"Why are you so happy all the time?" I ask in bewilderment and exasperation.

Peeta just shakes his head, the smile still on his face. "Do you really want to know?"

"The anticipation is killing me."

Peeta's smile dwindles a little, and I make an apologetic face. "Sorry. No death references."

"Thanks for that."

"Okay, so tell me why you're so happy all the time," I say, getting back on track. I actually want to know because I don't know how he manages it.

"One, I'm not happy all the time," he informs me. "Just most of the time."

"Glad you clarified that."

"And it's all because of you."

I frown in disbelief. Me? "Why?" I ask.

Peeta shrugs, and the effort seems easy even though he's carrying me. "Because I love you, Katniss."

I don't know what to say. Peeta's answer is so simple, to him at least. To me? His answer is complicated. Very, very complicated. At his words, a warm feeling rushes through me, but at the same time it clashes with a feeling of rejection. I don't want to feel this warmth. I can feel my carefully constructed emotional walls cracking. I don't want them to crack. I can't afford for them to crack.

But I can't find it within myself to return a caustic comment, one that would hurt his feelings and hopefully extinguish the love he feels for me. I just can't hurt him. He's been too good to me, and I have a weakness for good people.

My head comes to rest against his shoulder and Peeta holds me closer. Suddenly, I feel myself being lowered to the ground. "Wha—" I begin.

"Relax," Peeta assures me as he sets me down. "I found water . . . completely by accident, of course," he can't help but add with a small grin.

"How you manage to smile all the time amazes me," I say, more to myself than to him as I close my eyes briefly.

However, when I open my eyes after a few seconds, Peeta's face is serious as he looks at my leg. "It could be worse," he declares. "Need to put it in the water. It'll draw the heat out."

I remember what my mother always said about burns. It coincides with what Peeta is saying, but that makes sense. Peeta, a baker, who is always working around fires, is bound to know a few things about burns.

Speaking of burns . . .

"What about you?" I hiss has he lowers my leg into the water. It appears to be a natural spring, the water seeping from fissures in the rock. "Your hands."

Peeta shrugs. "They're no big deal."

"At least soak them in the water for a bit," I tell him, and Peeta makes an exasperated face, but does what I ask.

I should have known that Peeta wouldn't listen to me for long. Hardly fifteen minutes later, his hands are out of the water and he's organizing our things. He takes my bow and quiver of arrows, which had slid off my arm when I'd stopped to retch for the second time, and lays them beside me. Wise of him. He takes out my scorched jacket from the sleeping bag and examines it before practically ripping it in half.

He hands it over. "Better put that on," he says as I shrug into the jacket. The hem barely hits the bottom of my ribcage now. "Gotta stay as warm as you can."

Peeta rolls up the sleeping bag and then stuffs it into the backpack. He fills up our water bottle from the spring and treats it. After waiting the appropriate amount of time, he hands it to me. I dutifully take a few sips, because I know he'll put up a fuss if I don't, and I need to rehydrate anyway. I give the bottle back to him after a while, and Peeta gives each of us a cracker and a strip of beef. The small amount of food settles my stomach, which is still feeling a bit woozy.

After Peeta has all of our supplies organized, it remains quiet between us, but it's not uncomfortable. I'm used to silence anyway. We stay like this for a long time until I begin to drift off to sleep. Peeta comes to sit beside me and taps my shoulder. "Scoot up," he says softly.

I do and he moves to sit behind me. I realize what he's doing, and I'm still able feel that fluttery feeling in my stomach even though I'm more tired than I've ever been. I lean back against his chest and feel his arms wrap around my waist. I lay my head on his shoulder in the crook of his neck, and I feel him rest his chin on the top of my head.

My eyes drift closed.

Aw...mental picture...so sweet...

And I'm ECSTATIC to announce that the next chapter will be PK vs. Careers! And Peeta vs. Cato, Round 3. Wooooo!

Also, might we see some possessiveness from Katniss next chapter? Hmm? She doesn't like other girls eyeing her man . . .

Lots of love,

AC