WOW MY BAD…I did not realize the last chapter was such a beast until I uploaded it. The most boring chapter possible and it was 6.5k words…bruh. IT WAS IMPORTANT I SWEAR and now we can go back to The Good Stuff.

for now…

Peeta shows up the next day, and from that point on, he only leaves when he has to. I don't know what happened or what changed at home, and I don't ask. It's hard enough for me to just look at him, when Prim is fixing him up and I can see his wound; I can't imagine talking about it.

In lieu of talking about it, we adapt. We watch the Games, which gets tenser with every passing hour. I get brave enough to return to the woods, before we have to dip into the sponsorship money. The very idea of it is wrong. Like even though it'll never be any use to Gale, my family cannot touch it. We scrape by, and the pouch remains buried in my drawer.

Gale and Madge talk about splitting up again. They don't do it, of course. They just talk about it. I want to tear my hair out. Don't they understand, where this path will lead them to? Don't they know it'll only be worse in the end?

"I'm sure Gale has a plan, Katniss," Peeta says in an attempt to reassure me. "I'm sure he's strategizing more than he lets on."

Well, that sounds like the Gale I know, but he's sure not letting on much at all! He more or less just keeps telling Madge it'll be okay, which is not true or an effective strategy.

I try to get into his head. Six tributes left, and one of them is his fiancée. What would I do? I don't have a fiancée. I can't relate.

What if it was Prim?

That sends a shiver down my spine, even though there's no circumstances that could lead to Prim and I in the Hunger Games together. That's the moment that makes me understand Gale. I wouldn't be able to leave her, either.

Still, I can't help thinking Gale would be a much more effective player on his own. Even if he didn't abandon her, it's a liability to take her on a manhunt, and she clearly hates it, so why keep bringing her along? Couldn't he just tuck her away somewhere safe so he could focus on keeping himself safe?

I know the answer to that too. In the arena, nowhere is really safe. So for better or for worse, Gale and Madge aren't apart for more than a moment.

I watch the Games hungrily; I can barely look. Gale's repeated decision to stay has only made it more clear: he is going to die. It's a matter of days or hours now. Every day could be the last time I see him alive; I know it could end at any time.

And yet, it doesn't. Time in the arena slows down to a turtle's crawl. Gale and Madge intend to be offensive, but they have no luck finding anyone to fight, and little do they know, the woods is empty besides them. The District Four girl rallies and flees deeper into the arena, stretching the distance between her and Thresh. Cato and Clove get lost. Neither of them has any idea where they are, where Thresh is, or why they thought this was a good idea.

They get so far that the prairie turns into a bog, and that bog turns into a sinkhole. I think this might be what kills them- it would just be so convenient- but it isn't. They pause their bickering for the few minutes it takes to extract each other, using Clove's throwing knives as handholds. When they get out, they argue about who led them into the sinkhole, and Clove lunges at Cato. I think that might be what kills at least one of them, but Cato ruins it. After a few minutes of shouting and wrestling, he gives her a long, swooping kiss.

"That's what I would do," he says. "If I were from District Twelve."

Nothing more comes of it, but it does stop the fight effectively. The Careers move on in their bog-soaked clothes. This time, I do relay my thought about spare pants being the best possible gift. Peeta agrees.

Overall, the incident doesn't make that much of an impression on me, besides being annoyed that Gale will still have to find a way to kill the Careers, so I'm surprised when Prim brings it up later. We're both in bed, trying to sleep but not quite ready to, when she asks me, "Do you think Cato and Clove are in love?"

Normally, I take everything my sister says seriously, but I can't help scoffing at this one. "Of course not, Duck. The Careers? In love?"

"Well, they kissed today!" she reminds me.

"That was just an excuse to make fun of Gale and Madge."

Prim disagrees. "They could have made fun of Gale and Madge a different way. They had to want to kiss, at least a little."

I am so glad I never told her Peeta accidentally kissing me. If she can make a love story out of Cato and Clove, I'm positive she'd have a field day with me.

"Even if they wanted to, it doesn't mean they're in love," I try to rationalize. "They're twisted people, Prim. I don't think they know that much about love."

"I guess not." She sounds sad now. "It's too bad they're in the arena. I wish they could all just get along."

That's my sister, wishing for everyone's happy ending. I'm too much of a realist for that. And I know it's a dangerous line of thinking to follow.

She's not wrong, though, so I reply, "I do too" and wrap the blankets around me tighter, hoping sleep will come.

§

The mentors get interviewed again. Onscreen, Haymitch appears even more stony-faced than he is in person. I wonder if they're forcing him to stay sober while he's in the Capitol. "Surprised?" he barks when a reporter meekly approaches him. "Am I surprised my tributes have lasted this long? Of course I'm surprised! The boy's an idiot!"

Ah, that question again.

Effie Trinket tugs on his arm and glowers at him, as if willing him to be polite or at the very least shut up.

"Why do you think Gale Hawthorne is an idiot? Wouldn't you say he's done fairly well so far?"

Haymitch just grunts. "Technically. I guess."

Effie looks like she desperately wants to cut in, but…manners.

The reporter moves on. "What about Madge?"

It's astonishing to see the change in Haymitch's face. His whole demeanor softens and his voice doesn't come out like he's ordering someone's execution. "Madge is a good kid. I didn't expect her to have the guts she has. So…yeah, still surprised."

Peeta- my only company right now- scoffs. "Picking favorites much?"

"Quite disgusting," I agree. Although our tones are lighthearted, I purse my lips. Haymitch, obviously, is not much help, but he's all they have. And he clearly prefers Madge. Not having his mentor's full support makes Gale's already-bad situation worse.

"Hey."

As always, Peeta can tell when I'm sulking. Which is fairly often these days, I guess.

"Maybe we should get out of here for a while."

I roll my eyes. "Does that mean it's time for bread-baking-lesson-two?"

I'm surprised when he shakes his head. "No. Will you take me to the woods?"

That sentence is even more surprising. I blink a few times before I answer. "The woods?" I repeat. "You want to go out in the woods?"

My life has taken a number of ridiculous turns lately, but this one takes the cake.

"I went before, didn't I?" Peeta asks rhetorically.

"I guess so." He hadn't asked me that time, and if he had, I probably would have said "no". "But I figured that was extenuating circumstances."

"It was," he says with a shrug. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to go now."

I weigh the options in my head. I've been back to the woods since The Incident; nothing came of it. But Peeta doesn't know how to walk quietly, so I lose almost all chance of bringing prey down by going with him. At the same time, I had no plans to hunt this afternoon, so it doesn't actually matter if I come home empty-handed. The more relevant issue is that the woods- ever since my father died five years ago- have exclusively been mine and Gale's. What does it mean to bring another person to our haven?

It means he wanted to go, dumbass, I tell myself. And realistically, I will never share the woods with Gale again. It doesn't help him for me to jealously guard "our" forest.

Besides, it's Peeta. If there's anyone I can trust with something close to my heart, it's him. I have learned that lesson several times over.

So I relent. I'll take him hunting, if that's what he wants. Gale would probably hate it, given his weirdly personal distaste for all things Peeta, but I don't see any way he could ever find out about this venture. Also, even though it is second nature for me, I don't not have to justify everything I do to Gale. It's a habit I should really try to break.

I pause at the fence to listen, but as usual, it's off. I duck under it and Peeta follows, albeit a bit more clumsily. We retrieve my bow, even though I doubt we'll come across any game, and I turn to him. "What do you want to see?"

He's too busy looking around with a sense of wonder to answer my question right away. You'd think the man has never seen trees before. "I don't know. Everything, I guess?"

I shake my head stubbornly. "You need to be able to walk quietly to see 'everything'."

"So teach me!"

At this moment, it occurs to me Peeta's interest might be related to distracting me from the Games, not seeing the woods. As if that would work.

However, I have already decided to humor him. I remind myself to be as patient as I can be and start showing Peeta the basics of stalking. He might not have much for natural talent, but he is a good student. He listens so intently- almost too intently- and puts forth remarkable effort.

Unfortunately, that effort yields next to no results, and it's hard to be critical of someone who is so clearly doing their best. After a while, I change the subject. "Do you want to learn to shoot?"

He nods agreeably, although I'm sure he doesn't understand how generous my offer is. My bow is like an extension of myself: no one gets to handle it but me. Granted, Peeta is only allowed to because if I have to listen to him clomping around for another second I will turn the weapon on myself, but it's still a great honor from my point of view.

I tear a piece of bark off an oak tree and point to the bare spot on the trunk. "That's your target, alright?"

"Alright!" he repeats cheerily. Then he stiffens. "You're…you're going to give me more to go on than that, right?"

"For everyone's safety, I think that would be best."

I set him up about thirty feet from the tree. An easy shot in theory, but given this is Peeta's very first shooting lesson, I don't expect him to have an easy time of it. That's if he even hits it at all. I wasn't even nailing targets on my first day.

I add "teaching" to the list of things I'm not very good at. As experienced as I am with the bow and hitting stuff with it, explaining it to someone else seems impossible. After several attempts at using my words, I end up miming proper draw position myself and correcting Peeta's position by hand when he fails to copy it. We do this several times before I have him actually nock an arrow.

"You're sure you want me to do this?" Peeta asks uncertainly. I think my speech about all the things that can go wrong when shooting an arrow has gotten to him. Maybe I spoke a little too seriously. At the same time, I can't think of anything more serious than slicing off your nose or putting an arrow through your foot. It's only right he knows the risks.

"I do," I say firmly. "I know you can do it. Even Prim's shot an arrow before."

"Prim? Really?"

"I'm not saying she did it well."

She had missed horrifically and cried afterwards. But she had, indeed, fired a shot.

Peeta draws the string back, visibly uncertain but doing everything correctly, and lets go. His bow hand jerks upward as he fires and the arrow soars far above the tree he was supposed to be aiming for. I struggle to keep a straight face. "Well. That's better than what Prim did."

Peeta scoffs. "Did she hit a person?"

"Nope. Straight into the ground. That arrowhead hasn't been the same since." I shrug. "But if we can find yours, it'll be just fine."

"Do you really think we'll be able to find it?"

I have plenty of experience chasing down my own rogue arrows, so I have reason to believe I'll be able to find this one. Peeta's shot was pretty wild, though. We're just going to have to hope.

Obviously we don't have a trail to work with, so we rely on the power of guessing. I'm pretty good at guessing, though, and the arrow took a steep enough angle that it can't have gone too far. We start rooting around in the woods, hoping it's not buried in a bush somewhere.

I was right: it didn't get very far. I spot it at the top of a tree, the complete opposite of my "bush" theory. It's too high to knock or shake down, so I do what any sensible person would do: I start climbing.

It's around forty feet off the ground, which is a decent climb, but nothing I haven't done before. The height isn't a problem. The distance from the trunk is. I look at the extending branch dubiously, wondering if it'll support my weight. I give it a good shake- which does nothing to dislodge the arrow, unfortunately- and decide I ought to give it a try.

It's definitely sketchy, wiggling down a heavily drooping branch, but I don't hear any cracking. I think I'll be fine. The problem occurs when I'm mid-reach for the arrow, anchoring myself with my legs and stretching as far as I can. I hear my name in a frantic call. Peeta.

I call back to him while kicking myself for leaving him alone. All the terrible things that could have happened to him run through my head as I tuck the arrow into my quiver and scramble to get down. Returning to the trunk will take too long. I am going down the hard way.

The branch droops closer to the ground with every inch I move. When I feel it's about to break, I grab and swing the rest of my body off the branch, dangling for a moment before I drop. The landing sends a shock through my kneecaps, but I stay on my feet and also scare the shit out of Peeta.

"You were in a tree?" he asks when the heart attack has worn off.

"So was this." I hold up the arrow I retrieved. "What happened to you?

He looks embarrassed now. "Well…I couldn't find you. And then there was all this rustling in the trees…and, you know, they say there are bears and wolves out here…"

I grin, even though I feel bad for spooking him. "Well…the rustling might have been me. As for bears and wolves, they are out here, but they don't venture this close to civilization. Even if they did, they're much more scared of you than you are of them. Usually."

"I guess that's somewhat reassuring."

"Do you want to try again?" I ask, and he nods hesitantly.

I spend the next hour or so teaching Peeta how to shoot. He is not good, but he actually hits the tree a few times and we avoid losing any arrows. We stop when we get hungry, but instead of returning to the fence, we sit down in front of a blackberry bush. I'm a little annoyed Peeta's attempt to distract me has worked, but I guess I can't complain too much either. I can't change Gale's fate by wallowing. I have to allow myself to be happy. And there's no denying that acting a fool in the woods with Peeta has made me happy.

"So tell me, Katniss," Peeta says in a voice that's entirely too serious. "Am I the worst student you've ever had?"

I pause, pretending to think about it. "Hmm, not quite. Gale argued a lot more."

Peeta nods along, as if this comes as no surprise at all. "I have my flaws, but at least I take instruction well."

"You don't have that many flaws," I tell him, and he laughs as if I've said something much funnier.

I've finally gotten used to looking him in the eye again. For a while, with the bruise, I just couldn't do it. A few days after the incident, it's faded to a yellowish-gray instead of the original sickly purple. Still unsightly, still disturbing. But I can see past it now.

I can't stop thinking about the night he got that bruise. More importantly, the night he kissed me. Neither of us has said anything about it- in fact, we have deliberately avoided the topic- but something has distinctly changed. Something in the very air between us. I hate when things change. I always have.

We're sitting just as close now as we were then.

I wonder what would happen if he kissed me now.

I cast the thought aside immediately. I tell myself he didn't mean anything by it. That I didn't want him to mean anything by it. Why mess up a good thing? Why make things more complicated?

Maybe something more complicated would be better. You don't know until you try, right? But when Peeta catches me looking and I'm immediately compelled to look away, I know I won't be the one to say the word.

I can't believe we're getting so close to the end! I can't believe I even had the guts to publish this. TS is like a child to me and I'm terrible at opening myself up to criticism- and I know how mean people can be. So thanks for not being mean? I'm rambling again. Whoopsies.

I hope there are people who like this story, and I hope you can tell how hard I worked on it! This is my first serious multi-chapter fic and it's the main reason I'm brave enough to branch out from one-shots. Maybe there is hope for my (fanfic) writing career?!