We are officially two-thirds done with By Your Side! I don't know why it feels like it's going so fast when it's so much longer than the first book and also, I'm (probably) not going to binge-post 11 chapters in one day to end it. Don't ask me to make sense.

Not surprisingly, the first thing the Careers want to do is go through the weapons. Storm and Nolan butt heads over who's in charge, but the rest of us just start emptying out the loaded sleeping bags and eventually they start helping too. All the weapons- we have plenty- are piled up near the geyser.

"I get to pick first!" Turquoise declares.

I think we all want to argue with her- it's in our nature- but it seems a childish thing to start an argument over. We're not in middle school anymore, and Turquoise getting her way is an unfortunate side effect of our maturity. She roots through the pile, growing more and more frustrated with every weapon she inspects.

"All of this is terrible!" she declares when she's looked through everything. "What's the deal? Where's the rest of it?"

Nolan grunts and looks up, away from her, almost as if he's embarrassed. "We got everything we could, alright? For a while, it was just me guarding the Cornucopia- some people got in and got stuff."

"Ohhh." Turquoise nods in understanding. She turns to me with a knowing smile. "So you were slacking."

My hackles rise, but I try not to let my anger show. I don't know Turquoise very well yet, but I know enough to expect she'll feed off any reaction I give her. "I'm not going to take that from someone who didn't fight at all."

She scoffs. "Did I do a good job of finding camp, though?" She ruffles through the pile of weapons again. "Hmm. I guess I'll take this, since you let someone else get the good stuff."

First of all, I don't know what she's talking about; we have an incredible variety of weapons and I know from training she is proficient with all of them. Second of all, there is only one bow, and she's grabbing it right now. I want to scream at her, demand she let me have the singular thing I'm good with, but I know that's an argument I won't win. Against every instinct, I snap my mouth shut.

I'm not the only one who's irritated. Thunder heaves a great sigh. "I thought you wanted a spear, Turquoise. You wouldn't shut up about it earlier."

"Don't pretend to understand me," she snips. "Go on, it's your turn!"

I guess we're just going in district order, then. I don't care that this means I'll be last- the only thing I could have wanted is already taken. Thunder grabs the spiked mace Nolan was using earlier, and Storm takes a long barbed spear and that crossbow she seems so fond of. Nolan picks a pair of axes- one large, for close combat, and one that's small enough to throw.

Our sumptuous weapons pile is looking substantially less sumptuous by the time it's my turn. I reluctantly arm myself with the same short spear I used in the bloodbath, and Peeta ends up with a sword that he is visibly daunted by. There are a couple hunting knives left, which I stick in the pocket of my leggings, and a weird corkscrew thing that looks like it's meant for gutting very, very large animals. I don't know why we even bothered bringing that with us.

§

Haymitch pounds a fist on his desk. "She needs that bow!"

For once, Gale agrees with him on something. He's just about tearing his hair out. "What is she thinking?"

Haymitch sneers. "She's thinking she's going to be polite and not make a fuss over whose weapon is whose. She doesn't stand a chance with that spear!"

"Can we send her a bow?" Gale asks desperately. This is his first year. He's grasping at straws, and Haymitch doesn't have that luxury.

The senior mentor just laughs. "Maybe if we each sold a kidney. Otherwise…good luck."

Gale grinds his teeth as he watches the rest of the scene play out. He's never thought this before, but he needs a drink.

§

As the sun begins to set, we go through and inventory the rest of the supplies. We have, in some ways, a good haul. There are enough sleeping bags for everyone, plus an extra. We're equipped with a couple tarps, water purifying kits, and really every survival supply a group of teenagers in the white wilderness could ever need. There's one that concerns me, though, and I voice that concern to the group: we have very little in the way of food.

Turquoise seems unbothered, but everyone else shows an appropriate level of concern. "They must want a quick game, then," Storm declares. "The rest of 'em will be hypothermic and starving before we know it."

In the uniforms we're wearing, hypothermia is not likely. "Starvation isn't quick, Storm. They want a long game."

Nolan purses his lips. "Maybe there's some way to get food in the arena? Hunt rabbits, or something?"

I realize I haven't seen any animals since we entered the arena, aside from the group of mockingjays overhead. I haven't even seen tracks. "I mean…I can set some snares…"

"It's not like we don't have any food," Thunder points out. It's strange that this giant musk ox of a Career is our voice of optimism, but I've seen stranger things. "Look at this; we have apples…canned chicken…is there a can opener anywhere? More apples…peanuts…shit, I'm allergic to peanuts."

Storm rolls her eyes. "We get it, big guy. We have food. But when you divide that between six people…"

We all look at each other warily. Our alliance is tentative. Hunger would end it in a heartbeat.

"Let's not worry about that now," Peeta says eventually. "We just got here, right? Tomorrow we can explore, find another source of food."

Everyone accepts his suggestion- the tension between all of us eases palpably- and Peeta earns the role of 'chef'. All that role really entails is him portioning out dried fruit and canned chicken (Turquoise is the one who finds the can opener) for all of us. We lay the tarps down near the geyser and sit down, the same way one might sit around a crackling campfire, but inherently odder.

I'll have to get used to being hungry again. The handfuls of food we're allotted for dinner are nothing compared to the hearty Capitol breakfast they served us on the train, but I remind myself I'm in a whole different world now. But I've survived on scraps before- there's no question I can handle it again. It's the others I'm worried about. Peeta grew up in town; he's never had to go hungry, and the Careers all hail from wealthy districts. They might not adapt as easily as I do.

Surprisingly, none of them complain about the meager rations. Storm actually seems to be in a good mood, regaling everyone with a play-by-play of the bloodbath. To be honest, I find her enthusiasm for it a little disturbing, but I knew what I was signing up for when I joined the Careers, and this is probably pretty standard in their book.

Nolan gets in on it too, although he is not as animated as Storm, and they both seem to expect me to tell my part of the story. I don't really like it, but I do it. As painful as it is to rehash the moment I drove my spear through a living person, I signed up for that too. I can't have them thinking of me as dead weight, even though, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what I am so far.

The storytelling lasts until after sunset. The geyser might make a decent heat source and cooking surface, but it does nothing to provide light. We start discussing watch shifts and sleeping arrangements, but we all immediately fall silent when the Capitol anthem starts to play and the seal is projected in the sky.

There's no real reason to be so excited: we don't learn anything we didn't already know. A picture of every tribute who died flashes in the sky, and I'm pretty sure we were directly responsible for all of them. Both from Three. The boys from Four and Eight. The girl from Ten, who had tried wrestling me to death.

Storm seems both annoyed and pleased with the results. That's fairly typical of her, I guess. "Five down. Seventeen to go."

"Don't tell me you're wanting to go out and hunt people now, Storm," says Nolan. His tone is joking, but there's a warning edge to it, too.

"No, of course not. I'm aware I need to rest." Just when I think Storm has finally said something normal, she flips her ponytail to the other shoulder and adds, "Carrying this team has worn me out."

Ah, there's that familiar urge to smack her. I clench my hands into fists and let it pass.

"We'll take first watch," Peeta offers. "So, you know, Storm can get her rest."

"How kind of you," she says sarcastically. "Wake me at midnight."

"How do we wake you without getting stabbed?" I ask. I just know she's the type to keep a knife under her pillow and use it without hesitation.

"Hmm. Maybe wake Nolan first."

Nolan looks a little offended that he's assumed to be the safer option. "Hey. Just so you know, I have the reflexes of a cat. When I first wake up, I might take a few swings."

Storm rolls her eyes. "I've woken you up a million times and that's never happened."

"Does he have narcolepsy?" Turquoise asks innocently. Or at least, she sounds innocent.

"What, no, I-"

"He should probably see a doctor." Turquoise turns to Nolan. "You should see a doctor."

Nolan rolls his eyes. "Show me the doctor in this arena, and I'll go happily."

"What's narcolepsy?" asks Peeta.

"I'm sure it's something she just made up," I put in.

"It's not!" Turquoise says indignantly. "It's a very real disease-"

Storm cuts her off. "He doesn't have narcolepsy." A slow smile spreads across her face, indicating mischief. "I just meant to imply that Nolan is used to going to bed with me."

The rest of us groan. It's not really a surprise, considering how weirdly touchy the tributes from District Two are, but she didn't have to say it. "Really, Storm?" I can tell Nolan is the most exasperated of us all. "Do you have to tell people that? Where was that in our interviews, huh?"

"I didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea," she says with a shrug. "You know, like I cared about you or something."

"What kind of idea do you think you're giving them now?!"

"I'm not getting any ideas," I assure him quickly. "I'm putting that- you- her- as far out of my mind as possible!"

Storm grins as she realizes she's found that something that makes me uncomfortable. Before she can taunt me in any way, mercy shows up in the odd form of Turquoise. She tosses her sleeping bag over Storm's head and then runs away, declaring her "snug as a bug in a rug". Storm yanks the bag off her head with a shout and I mildly wonder if this will end up in death, but they actually settle down pretty quickly and drag their sleeping bags over to the "fire".

Districts One and Two sleep, leaving just Peeta and I alone, for the first time since his heart-stopping interview. Our gaze lingers for just a moment too long, and then we take our place at the "watch station" which is really just a felled log on one side of the clearing.

It's awkward. I'm not used to experiencing awkwardness with Peeta, even though our friendship has only been rekindled for like, a week. He is supposed to be the easy part, and killing people is supposed to be the hard part. Right now, I think I'd rather be back in the Cornucopia, swinging that stupid spear I hate so much.

It's going to be a long four hours.

I think back to our final strategy talk with Haymitch, but I realize that talk was largely unhelpful. We'd all been too frustrated with each other to make any real headway. In the end, I had a vague idea of what to do, and no idea how to do it.

Fall in love.

Peeta and I are supposed to tell a love story. Haymitch insisted it was a good idea. He said the Capitol ate up Gale and Madge's love story last year- regardless of the ending- and they'll be thirsty for more romance from District Twelve. That would maybe be a good idea if he had any other tributes. Me, with the romantic inclinations of a brick…Peeta, who has never had a girlfriend…how are we going to convince the whole world that we're in love?

I try to draw inspiration from my year-long romance with Gale, but that's honestly not very helpful. What I have (had) with Gale is (was) very real, but doesn't make for good television. We were never the "whispering sweet nothings" type of couple, but something full of highs and lows, hot and heavy and screaming fights. I guess maybe that does make for good television?

But that's not Peeta. That could never be Peeta. As high as the tensions have been in the past few weeks, I can't imagine us getting to the point of screaming at each other. Nor can I imagine him sweeping me off my feet and kissing me the way Gale used to when we were making up.

Well, maybe I can, actually. My cheeks burn, just as embarrassing as the thought itself, and I'm suddenly glad it's so dark out.

Okay. Maybe it'll help to reframe the situation. I'm acting. I'm a different person. I don't actually have to fall in love with Peeta. I just have to…act like I am. Is that really so hard?

Yes, I decide. It is.

I glance at Peeta right as he glances at me. I look away just as quickly, pretending to inspect the clearing for invaders when I know there's none. With my years of woodland experience, no one can sneak up on me, and I'm sure we're not the only ones exhausted from our first hours in the arena. I expect we will mainly be keeping watch for the sake of it.

"Katniss, I'm sorry."

His quiet words shock me as much as if he'd screamed. I've been so focused on apprehending predators that I automatically assume he is one, and I jump noticeably.

"Sorry!" he says again. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I shake my head. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. I was just…concentrating."

"I meant…for last night," he says hesitantly. He pushes on before I can respond- as much as I wish it had never happened, there's no taking it back now. There's no real point in an apology. "For putting you on the spot like that. That's not you. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I do," I say, even though that is a barefaced lie. It just sounds like the right thing to say, and I keep pushing words out of my mouth until I stumble across something that sounds authentic. "You wanted to go into the arena with everything on the table. I can't be angry with you for that."

Glossing over the fact that, at the time, I had been very, very angry, and on some level, I still am.

"I don't want you to apologize-" My voice begins to shake, out of my control. "-for caring about me."

He smiles with very little mirth to it. "I'm sorry all the same."

Is he talking to me, or is he talking to the cameras? Does he actually regret his "confession", or is it just part of the show we're putting on? I wish desperately that I could speak to him candidly, figure out what's really going on in his head. He's too good of an actor for me to guess now. I'm almost annoyed at him, actually, for being so good at this when I am struggling.

Deep breath. Remember everything Haymitch told me and try to turn it into useful advice. Don't be afraid to show a little skin; they love that. Nope. Even if we weren't in a freezing cold arena, that would be a no. Don't rush to get to "I love you". Think slow-burn love story, not rom-com. Technically helpful, but it does not give me any idea of what I should do right now, and that's what I'm worried about. Stay away from big romantic speeches. You're awful at that. A well-placed hug is better than a shitty speech.

Well, that actually applies to the situation, at least. A hug seems too big right now- which is ridiculous, because I've wrapped my arms around Peeta hundreds of times; literally, it has already happened today- but I inch a little closer to him on the seat we're sharing. Close enough that the sleeves of our puffy coats are brushing.

Peeta turns to me cautiously. In the dark, I can barely see him, but there's still something inherently comforting about the face I know so well. "Katniss, I didn't-"

One of the Careers stirs in their sleeping bag. Both Peeta and I clamp our mouths shut. This "love story" might be on display for the entire world- but it is not for their ears.

I wonder if we look "in love" to them, if we're sitting close enough together or leaning in just right. I'm sure I don't. I'm sure I look as stiff and formal as Gale did on his Victory Tour. For the millionth time already, I wonder why it's so hard to act out a situation that's really not all that preposterous.

I sneak a glance at Peeta and find he's already looking at me. Although I want to, I don't look away. I study him, instead. My best friend for five years. The only person I can trust in this arena. Golden curls, blue in the moonlight. There's no denying that Peeta is attractive- I've known that for a long time.

"Don't worry about me," he says in a low voice.

I don't know what he thinks I'm thinking, but I don't think it's what I'm actually thinking. So I just say, "I'm worried about both of us."

"That's…fair, actually."

He doesn't try to comfort me. I think he knows he can't. We're in a bad place. We will most likely die. The one small comfort we have left is that we have each other, and even that is tainted by the roles we have to play.

The rest of the four hours passes in silence. Thick, palpable silence.

Midnight's arrival is a relief. I can't stop yawning. As instructed, Peeta and I wake Nolan first- he does not take any swings at us, despite his earlier claims- and he wakes Storm. She does whip out a knife when she first opens her eyes, but she settles before drawing blood.

Storm and Nolan take their place at the watch station, and Peeta and I arrange our sleeping bags. When I realize how thick the material is, I elect to use my puffy coat as a pillow instead of wearing it to sleep. I have few options for comfort left- might as well take what I can get.

The sleeping bag is huge- easily big enough for two. I try not to look at Peeta as he settles down next to me, all but zipping himself into his own bag. There's something a little bit of regret there, if I think too hard. Not because sharing a bed with him would add to the love story- no, I don't care about that. Because I remember the last time we slept together. The safety and warmth of it, waking up entangled in him. There had been no love story then, but it had been so much easier then.

I don't know why I can't be that close to him now.

But at the same time, I do.

Even though I've been yawning for hours, sleep does not come easily to me. After spending so much time on high alert, my body does not want to relax, much less sleep. Entrusting my safety to Storm and Nolan feels very wrong to me.

I try to tell myself that if they wanted to kill me, they could have done it easily without waiting for me to lie. Storm has already killed someone to save my life, for crying out loud. Clearly her word means something to her, and Nolan seems like an upstanding guy for the most part.

Besides, I'm a light sleeper. It's unlikely they could get the drop on me anyway. I remind myself of that, and several other things I find moderately comforting, and I force my eyes shut.

When sleep eventually finds me, so do the nightmares.

It's mostly the boy, Trace, the one I killed. I know his haunted expression as I ran him through will stay with me until I'm dead too. No amount of assurance that it was self-defense, that if it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else, can ease my mind. I see him rising from the grave. I see him pulling me into one. The rest of them, the other four who died, make their own appearances, but it's the boy whose life I took directly that tortures me the most.

I wake up shaking, heart pounding like a jackhammer. There's a terrifying moment where I don't know where I am, until I notice Peeta in the sleeping bag beside me. Then it all comes flooding back, although it doesn't do much to ease my fear. There's not much relief in knowing you're in the Hunger Games.

Peeta stirs as soon as I sit up. Unlike me, he doesn't seem to have a moment of panic. He just yawns and stretches, as if he's waking in District Twelve like usual. "Good morning, Katniss."

"Morning," I echo. There's nothing "good" about it.

We're the last ones to wake- Turquoise and Thunder had the last watch, and Storm and Nolan just aren't capable of resting for very long I guess. Storm shoots me a dirty look as I shuffle out of my sleeping bag and put my coat back on. I wonder what I've done to anger her now.

"Good, you're finally awake," Turquoise says in a weird fake-deep voice. "We waited for you to have breakfast."

"That's…" I pause. "Surprisingly courteous of you."

She shrugs. "Well, we needed our chef. Order up!"

Peeta looks a little sleepy to be in charge of something as important as breakfast, but he seems willing to take on the job. He starts pawing through the stack of crates again and Turquoise bounds after him, talking about soup. I wonder, somewhat mirthfully, how Thunder endured a four-hour watch shift with her.

Another few handfuls of food. The six of us sit by the geyser (in my head I keep calling it "the fire" even though that's not what it is) and nibble. One of the things I learned in our years of scraping by: when you don't have much food, you have to eat it slowly, keep the hunger sated for longer.

Not everyone employs my strategy. Storm gobbles down her handfuls of peanuts and dried cherries like the wolf that she is. As soon as her food is gone, she starts being a bitch again. "We've sat for too long," she declares. "We need to hunt."

"I haven't seen any signs of rabbits or even-"

"Not animals," Storm sneers in a tone that's cutting even for her. "People."

"What do you mean, we've been sitting too long?" Thunder interrupts. This is the first time I've heard him speak out against either of the District Two tributes. "It's been less than a day!"

"And? With how little food we have, we can't afford to waste any time!"

"Making sure we're ready is not a waste of time!"

Turquoise clears her throat. "Um, if you guys are just going to argue, I'm going to go climb trees." Without waiting for an answer, she tosses the rest of her breakfast into her mouth and scrambles off to the nearest tree.

Storm glares at Thunder, challenging him without thinking twice. "I'm ready. What's holding you up?"

"We have no idea what we're getting into! We haven't explored any part of the arena besides this camp. Doesn't that seem like a problem to you?!"

She replies with a sneer. "Why would I be concerned with exploring the arena?"

Nolan steps in for the first time, cautioning her. "It could be way more treacherous than it looks, Storm. We can't act cocky- that's how people like us get killed."

I look to Peeta, and I know we're both wondering if we should say our piece or not. I doubt Storm would welcome our opinions, but we are part of this team…

§

"Storm is right," Gale announces.

Haymitch looks at him like he's crazy. "Yeah, maybe in a universe where "right" means "wrong". Why should they go looking for a fight now?!"

"They're the Careers," Gale emphasizes. This might be his first year as a mentor, but he's determined to prove his input is valuable, mainly by arguing. "That's what they're supposed to do!"

Haymitch just snorts. He hates having to take a nineteen-year-old's opinion seriously, especially when that nineteen-year-old is Gale. "In case you haven't noticed, this isn't your typical pack of Careers. They've already busted the status quo by camping as far from the center as they did!"

"We can't have the others thinking they're weak," Gale insists.

"Weak?!" Haymitch repeats. "You're kidding, right? You know they've already taken out five tributes, right? Who are you to talk, anyway? Wasn't your strategy to hide out in the woods the whole time?"

"That was different!" Gale retorts heatedly.

"It was not at all different!" Haymitch says with an air of finality. "Drop it, Hawthorne. Nolan knows what he's talking about."

"So you keep telling me," Gale mutters, eyes raised to the heavens.

§

Our argument gets us nowhere. As predicted, Peeta's and my involvement makes it worse, and it becomes Storm versus everyone- everyone except Turquoise, who spends the whole time monkeying around in the trees. She keeps up the antics and eventually falls from substantial height. To everyone's dismay, she is not hurt.

It does effectively end the fight, though. Storm storms off (literally) and grabs a sword from the spare weapons pile. She beats it against a tree repeatedly and the rest of us ignore her.

The rest of us also decide to do something useful and go through our supplies again, this time organizing and sorting everything into piles. Thunder leads this. I had been ready to write him off as another brainless Career, but I don't think that's true anymore. Actually, I think he has more common sense than the rest of them combined.

As we inspect each crate and packet, I only pay half attention. The other half of me is always listening, hoping to hear the flutter of dove wings or the chattering of squirrels. Our food situation is worrisome. No matter which way you slice it, we won't be able to go on for very long. We need prey. It would cement my survival in more ways than one: it would give me something to eat, and it would make me completely invaluable to the team as a huntress. You can't buy that kind of security.

Nolan clears his throat. "Hey, Loverboy, can you put this in the first aid pile?"

I flush and look down, but Peeta is harder to rattle. I pretend not to hear anyway. "Sure, Nolan. I just didn't realize you felt that way about me."

Nolan doesn't look rattled, either. "Hey, this isn't about me. This is about you and your cutesy confession of love."

My cheeks burn even brighter and I really hope that Thunder, next to me, is not listening to them.

"You sound jealous," Peeta observes.

"I'm not jealous; I'm making fun of you!"

I still don't look up from the pile of stuff I'm working on, but I'm sure Peeta is rolling his eyes. "I'd be a lot more willing to take that from you if I didn't know you were hooking up with Storm."

Now Nolan sounds offended. "Hey, that's not like, a regular thing! Settle down!"

"Shut up," I say.

He glares at me. I don't think he even knew I was listening. Which I guess explains a lot. "Don't tell me you-"

"No, shut up!" I insist. "I heard something."

The boys think I'm crazy for a moment, but the crunching of snow from outside the clearing makes it clear I'm right. Instantly, we're on our guard, scrambling to our feet and grabbing our weapons. Peeta returns to my side, holding his sword awkwardly, but with an air of determination that shows he's willing to swing it.

More crunching, more footsteps. I hope against hope that it's any kind of animal, but I already know it's a person. Here we go again- another round of killing and jabbing the spear. Trace's face flashes through my mind again, making me hesitate when I should be ready to fight. I push through. Just because I knew I would have to do this doesn't mean it will be easy.

Branches snapping. I grip my spear, at the ready. She steps into the clearing- the curly-haired girl from District Four, the one who slammed me into the Cornucopia, her hands in the air.

We're all thrown off. Nolan takes the lead. "Hold your fire," he orders. Then, to the girl, "What do you want?"

The growl in his voice and the intimidating size of him (not to mention the dual-wielded axes he's sporting) would have put me off, but the girl from Four doesn't seem concerned. "I want to join you."

"Ha! As if!"

I nearly turn around and wallop Storm just for scaring the shit out of me, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised this drew her away from her tree-smacking. Behind us, Turquoise is wiggling down from a pine tree, also curious.

"We have enough deadweight on this team," Storm declares. I know she's talking about me, but it's not the time to pick that fight. "We don't need any more. You're a lot more use to us dead."

She raises her crossbow and nocks it back. Again, the intruder doesn't flinch. "Actually, you need me alive."

I'm too busy admiring this girl's enormous balls to reply, but Nolan raises one eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Why might that be?"

"Probably because she's pretty?" Turquoise guesses. Thunder whacks her in the arm.

"Because I'm the only person- you know, since you killed Damon- who can provide food in this arena," the new girl replies confidently. "You need me."

I'm taken aback. Until that moment, I was absolutely certain we were going to end up killing her. Now I'm forced to reconsider.

We're not dumb enough to take her at her word, though. Thunder scowls, his eyebrows coming together like bushy red caterpillars. "What can you do that we can't?"

The girl grins and reaches into her pack. "Fish."

Wow this is a LONG chapter. I was not aware I let myself go on and on for so long, but I really enjoy writing the Career Pack and I think that shows. I also really like writing the star-crossed lovers even if they're not super star-crossed in this version!