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SHELTER
(Day 4 - Evening)

Thunder cracks the clouds just after sunset. Merida looks up with a grimace, as the first raindrops patter lightly into the dry dust underfoot. "Ach, that's lovely," she says, and yanks up her hood. "Just what we all needed."

"Caves!" Jack shouts, and points downhill. "C'mon, before we're soaked!"

It's a mad dash after that, skidding even in their sturdy boots as tumbling rainwater sluices around the boulders and turns the dust into mud. Jack is right, at least; there are caves along the cliff, just deep enough to fit the three of them. They tumble inside and huddle together, shivering in their soaked clothes. Any wood outside is too wet to burn, and the rain is falling harder with every passing minute.

"Berries for dinner," Emma sighs, as she struggles out of her damp pack. "Again."

There's just enough room to sit shoulder to shoulder while they eat. Their packed bodies do warm up the tiny cave a little, at least. Still, when the Capitol seal shimmers into sight overhead, the blare of trumpets is almost drowned by the roar of the storm in the trees.

"Long live Panem," Jack mutters, and sketches a mocking salute. "Rain today, rain tomorrow, rain forever."

"Jack, no." Emma winces, but giggles all the same. Merida is trying to lay out their sleeping bags in the cramped space, and only makes a rude noise under her breath.

The fanfare ends, and faces begin to flash across the stormy sky. The boy from District One appears first, his cocky smile barely visible in the dark and the driving rain.

"You know," Jack grumbles, "if they really want us to watch this, maybe they should turn off the waterworks?"

"Jack, hush," Merida says, watching the projection intently. It's a girl's face, now. District Four. "We have to keep track..."

The girl's face fades, and one last face appears.

Sharp black eyes glare unforgivingly at the camera over a proud swoop of a nose. She'd teased him about that nose, once. He'd stalked off in such a huff...

"Oh," Merida says. Her own voice sounds tinny and hollow in her ears. With one last flourish of trumpets, the projection fades.

"That was him, wasn't it?" Jack sounds shaken. "With the bow."

So he was watching, after all. She doesn't trust herself to speak, so she nods instead.

"He saved Emma."

Merida nods again, remembering that familiar silhouette in the trees. "I..." She stops. Struggles for a moment, with this sudden hole in her world. "I dinnae even know how he died," she says, faintly. Something drips onto her hand, too warm to be a raindrop.

"Oh, Meri." Emma puts down her handful of fruit, and dabs helplessly at the older girl's face with her damp jacket cuff. Her small hands are grubby and cold, but gentle. "Meri, please don't cry..."

Merida shuts her eyes, fists clenched, and tries to take deep, steady breaths. She can't break down, not now. There won't be anything left of her. After a shuddery moment, she hears a rustle of damp waterproof jacket as Jack awkwardly puts his arms around them both. He doesn't say anything - which is probably a blessing - but the extra warmth is welcome.

"You should sleep," Emma says. "Both of you."

Merida manages a watery smile. The urge to wail has faded a bit, at least. "When did ye become my mother?" she jokes, weakly.

"I mean it." Emma's big brown eyes are worried. "I'll keep watch tonight. It's past my turn and you know it."

Merida and Jack exchange uneasy frowns. They've been splitting watch since the Games began, an unspoken agreement to make sure Emma stays rested.

"Please, let me help." There's a stubborn set to Emma's chin, now. "You need rest, too! I can't carry you both if you pass out, you know."

Jack cracks a grin at that. "Fair enough, Em," he says. "Promise you'll wake us if you start to feel sleepy?"

"Promise," Emma agrees, and they lock pinky fingers. It has the look of a sibling tradition. Merida's heart squeezes sharply, and she turns her attention to prying off her wet boots.

The sleeping bags are damp, but blessedly warm. Still, it's hard to settle. Merida pillows her cheek on her arm, and tries not to think about her last night in the Tribute center. It's no good. She can still taste that bowl of soup.

"I'm sorry." The whisper is just loud enough to reach her ears.

"What?" Startled, Merida rolls over to peer at Jack through the shadows. His face is half-outlined in the light from the cave mouth, a silvery glimmer in the dark.

"He was your partner," he says, quietly. "And...it's my fault you weren't with him. You should have been there. I shouldn't have mixed you up in this."

Merida grimaces, too tired and heartsore to mince words. "None of this is your fault, ye daft bawbag," she mutters. "And who are ye to tell me where I should and shouldn't be?"

"But I'm going to get you killed - " he tries to protest.

"No, ye're not!" Anger sharpens her fierce whisper more than she means it to. She cannot, cannot, carry any more guilt. Her own is heavy enough. "I'm going to get myself killed, my way, in my own good time, and I'll thank ye to keep your nose out of it, Jack Frost!"

He inhales sharply - and then there's a quiet thump from the mouth of the cave, and they both go still. Breath held.

Listening.

Two more quiet thumps follow, and then a rustle as Emma gets up to retrieve her weapons. She's practicing, Merida realizes. Throwing the knives into the bark of a tree, hard enough to stick, the way Merida taught her this afternoon.

In the shadows next to her, Jack whispers, "Forrester."

"What?"

"Our name's Forrester," he says. "Not Frost."

Merida hesitates, thrown. After a moment, she whispers, "D'ye know, I'd actually forgotten?"

Jack lets out a bleak little chuckle. "Figures." He swallows, then adds, "Look, forget I said anything, okay? Just...keep looking out for her, and you can call me whatever you want."

"Careful," Merida warns him. "I'll hold ye to that."

Listening to the rhythmic sound of knives striking wet wood, and the steady drumming of the rain, they drift into an uneasy sleep at last.