This is a bonus chapter I guess. Regular life is frustrating, and posting BYS is something I can do. So. Here we are. Except more throughout the weekend.

I wake up in a haze, instinctively scrabbling for my bow. It takes me a moment to realize Thunder seems to be yelling, but he is not warning us of intruders. Also, parachutes are coming down from the sky.

"Hey! Everybody wake up! We've got sponsors!"

Turquoise is performing some kind of celebratory dance routine. Everyone else is just waking as well, but it's morning and it's a beautiful one with a bright sun in the pale winter sky. I scramble out of my sleeping bag and try to be the first to catch one of the parachutes.

There are three of them, two large and one small. All of them emit a soft beeping sound, eerily in sync. I reach for the smaller of the two large ones, shoving Nolan out of the way at the last second.

"Somebody must like us a lot," Peeta observes.

"Well, why wouldn't they?" Storm asks haughtily.

"Remember, we're all going to share whatever's in here!" H reminds everyone. "Unless it's something that's obviously for a specific person."

"What would that even be?" I demand.

"A straitjacket?" Storm suggests, glaring at Turquoise pointedly.

Turquoise doesn't notice. She's unscrewing the lid from the smallest capsule. "Oh, sweet!" she cries. "We got marshmallows!"

I don't know what marshmallows are, but I'm too busy opening my own capsule to worry about it. I pull out a pair of thick gray leggings- exactly like the ones I'm wearing now- and I realize I know exactly who it's from.

"Peeta!" I cry. "Do you remember- last year-"

He's grinning. He remembers too. "When you told me and Prim that the best possible sponsorship was spare pants? Yes. I remember."

The others probably all think I'm crazy, as I look to the sky and say "thank you" a hundred times in a row, but I don't care. The reminder of my sister is exactly what I needed right now.

"Put the pants down; we got food!" Nolan exclaims, uncharacteristically joyful. He pulls himself together quickly as he pulls stuff out of the capsule. "Sausages! Bread! Bananas! Look at this!"

Such luxury- I haven't even gotten sick of fish yet! We must have the sponsor to end all sponsors. Something we've done has impressed someone, for sure.

"There's a note!" H exclaims, pulling the small scrap of paper from the bottom of the capsule. "Huh. With love, District Twelve."

"I knew it!" I cry triumphantly. I have no idea how Prim came up with the money- well, actually, I can guess- but I knew this had to come from her.

"Let's eat!" Turquoise exclaims. At least this is a normal thing to be excited about. "Wait, no. We need more sticks!"

She runs off into the woods. The rest of us look through and marvel at all the food my district has provided. That two specific people from my district provided. I'm more certain than ever that the sponsorship was made in Prim's name, with Gale's money. This has the two of them written all over it.

Turquoise produces a whole set of suitable roasting sticks shockingly quickly. I don't know how she found maple branches when the whole forest seems to be evergreen, but I'm minding my own business on that one. She passes us each a stick and we all sharpen them into points with our respective knives. While we do that, Turquoise explains what marshmallows are. It's something she's passionate about, apparently.

"Imagine," she says somewhat dreamily. "You bite into a roasted marshmallow. It's like…the texture of melted cheese. But sweet!"

"You're really selling me on it, Turquoise," I tell her sarcastically. I don't really think she's capable of understanding sarcasm, but I have to try.

"I knew you'd see it my way eventually," she replies, proving my point.

All of us plan to roast sausages for breakfast, except Turquoise, who loads her roasting stick with a banana. "Uh…Turq." Peeta is clearly trying to be polite. "I don't think the bananas, you know. Need to be cooked."

Turquoise just laughs. "Don't tell me you're the kind of weirdo who eats bananas cold."

"Well…actually, I've never eaten a banana," Peeta admits. "I've had them in banana bread, though."

"And you cook the bread, don't you?"

"…yes."

"Then what are we arguing about?"

"I wish I knew," Peeta replies faintly.

Turquoise insists her mushy warm banana is delicious. I've never had a banana before- tropical fruits aren't readily available in District Twelve- but I'm not inclined to believe her. Our roasted sausages are actually delicious. We pair them with some apples from the Cornucopia and wolf them down with reckless abandon.

"I'm glad we're stocked up," says Storm. It's kind of hard to understand her because she's the kind of person who talks with her mouth full. "Having a safety net for food will make it so much easier to travel further away from camp, don't you agree, Nolan?"

The wide-eyed look on Nolan's face makes it pretty clear this conversation was not discussed before to this moment. "Uh…I didn't think we had decided on a course of action yet."

Storm brings a hand down forcefully on the rock. Her gloved hand doesn't make much noise, but the message is clear. "Don't you get it? Inaction is a decision! We need to do something!"

Pause. No one really wants the chore/possible beatdown that comes with responding to her.

"Storm." Nolan's voice is wary but firm. "You could also argue that a safety net of food makes the outlasting strategy sounder too."

Her eyes narrow to slits. Blue, the color of choppy lake water. "You're not being serious."

"Considering all the options is the reasonable thing to do, Storm."

"And when," she growls. "Have I ever been reasonable?"

Honestly? She has a point. Nolan seems to have no such qualms. He takes another bite of sausage. "Well…as far as I can remember…never?"

"Shut up!" she snaps without really thinking about it. She's clenching her roasting stick so hard I think it might break, or that she might start using it as a weapon. Obviously, she has plenty of proper weapons easily within reach, but there's something to be said for convenience, and the roasting stick is carved to a point. "C'mon, Nolan," she goads. "Is that really all you've got? Don't you want to fight?"

He doesn't give her a response. It's Peeta- voice smooth as silk- who replies. "Nobody wants to fight, Storm."

It's exactly the kind of thing you're not supposed to say in the arena, but there's no time to linger on it anyway because I'm pretty sure she's going to tear him limb from limb. She whips her head around to face him, finally breaking her deadly eye contact with Nolan. "You wouldn't understand, Twelve. We're from District Two. If we're not looking for a fight, who are we?"

"I'm sorry you don't have an identity outside of murder, Storm," Turquoise says. I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not- I don't know if she has the capacity to be funny on purpose or not. She does seem to have enough common sense to realize Storm's not going to take that remark well, because she scrambles to her feet, shoves a handful of marshmallows into her mouth, and flees the scene. "Uh duh wa leh ka!" [AN- I don't remember what she's supposed to be saying here.]

Shockingly, Storm doesn't seem too worried about Turquoise's accusation or general babbling. She's back to glaring at Nolan, blue eyes as sharp as daggers. "This is what we trained for," she says in a low voice. Training for the Games is actually illegal, but it's no secret that some people- mainly from Districts One and Two- are all about it. That Storm and Nolan hail from a Career academy is no surprise to me at all. "Why are you letting me down now?"

"Just because I'm not-"

"Forget it!" Storm snaps. "Do any of you want to fight?"

She glares at every one of us individually, looking for an answer. The Storm I know would never beg- I don't think she even understands the concept- but this is probably as close as she could possibly get. Searching for agreement, agreement that isn't there, with a hint of desperation I haven't seen in her pointed face before.

I duck my head when her glare lands on me. I regret, more than ever, aligning myself with her yesterday. It's not that the strategy is bad. It's that she's crazy. I can't tie myself to crazy, not any more than I already have.

Her lip curls with distaste when none of us have anything to say. "I expected better. Maybe you're all deadweight."

"You know that's not true," H snaps. "I'm fully aware you need me."

"And you needed me and Turquoise yesterday," I supply. "You can't act like you're better than us because you're more enthusiastic about risking your life!"

"I don't need any of you!" Storm snarls. Then, as if a light bulb has just gone off above her head, she gets up. "And I'll prove it!"

"Storm…" Nolan says in a warning tone, but once she's gotten an idea in her head, there's no slowing her down. She's much like Turquoise in that respect. I wonder how angry she'd be if I told her that.

Probably not much angrier than she already is. If there's a maximum level for anger, Storm has to be pretty close to it. She stuffs items into a pack in a frenzy, ignoring Nolan's useless attempts to calm her down and everyone else's curious stares. I'm aware I'd better keep my mouth shut right now, but there's ridiculous temptation to say something, anything. "Good riddance", probably.

"I'm going hunting," Storm announces. She spits every word out like it's done her some personal wrong. "Alone. And we'll see if I come back for you ungrateful fucks or not."

"You don't have to!" Turquoise trills from across camp. She's lining up all the sleeping bags for undetermined reasons.

"GET BENT!" Storm yells. Then, without a word to the rest of us, she is gone. I feel like the wreckage in the path of a hurricane. No wonder they named her "Storm".

Overall, I'm relieved. There's a decent chance she'll get herself killed out there and I won't have to worry about her inevitable betrayal anymore. She might be ferocious and terrifying, but she's a hothead. If she just makes one mistake…

I shake my head. I'm not going to waste my energy wondering what will happen to Storm. There's enough to worry about right here in camp.

For now, though, we are acting like we're not worrying about anything. Thunder cocks his head back to the geyser and abandoned roasting sticks. "So, uh. Who else is still hungry?"

§

Camp feels oddly empty without Storm, although Turquoise's warbling singing somewhat makes up for it. She grates on all of our ears, but overall, it's a decent distraction from the state of our lives so I can't entirely complain. If it wasn't for the screech-singing, our world would be unnaturally quiet, and that's a whole new can of worms.

It's more complicated than Storm made it, staying versus going. She doesn't understand- or maybe doesn't care- how much we have compared to the rest of the tributes. If H is right and no one else will be able to catch fish, it's only a matter of days before the rest of the competition runs out of food entirely. Keeping ourselves safe and fed isn't cowardice: it's cleverness.

I know that's just not the way she sees it. In Storm's violence-filled book, it's not enough for the other tributes to die: we must be the ones the kill them. For honor, or whatever incomprehensible things motivate that girl. It makes no sense to me. Who puts honor before safety when your life is on the line?

I stop myself. In the history of Career packs, it's actually a very common trait. I just got lucky to align myself with a pack that included common sense, a pacifist, and Turquoise.

It's weird to feel lucky in relation to Turquoise. I shake the feeling off and start helping Nolan build a fire. At first, I didn't think we needed a fire, but when he explained his plan, I agreed. He wants to melt and boil large quantities of snow to save as drinking water- stored in the parachute capsules- and he doesn't want it to come out tasting weird like everything we've cooked over the geyser has. It seems like a good cause to me.

I borrow the smaller of Nolan's two axes and chop down some pine branches from the outskirts of the forest. With the larger ax, Nolan takes down an entire tree. Thunder and Peeta gather tinder, and H searches for matches. It seems Storm may have taken all of them, since she left in such a hurry and grabbed items at random.

At least we have the flamethrower.

With all of us working together, it doesn't take long to build a roaring fire. Nolan sets it up as he pleases while the rest of us look on approvingly. Well, except Turquoise. She's sitting in a tree monkeying around with the control panel on her spear. I can only hope she somehow electrocutes herself with it.

"Nolan, this looks great," H declares. "But do you have it under control from here? I think some of us should go fishing."

Even though we still have tons of food, no one disagrees with her suggestion. There's no such thing as being too prepared, and as sure as there's snow on the ground, the Gamemakers have a method of taking away our source of food. The more we can stock up, the better.

Nolan nods his approval, and Peeta and I both volunteer for fishing duty. Thunder offers to guard camp, and as usual, Turquoise will not be contributing whatsoever. H gets her supplies together and we make the walk back to the lake.

Bow in hand, I keep an eye on Storm's tracks as we walk. Looks like she didn't stay on the usual path for long- something convinced her to dart into the thicker woods. I don't bother trying to get in her head. There's no point.

When we get to the lake, H sets her pack down and starts pulling stuff out of it. Two sticks with notches carved into the ends. An assortment of strings and hooks. Lastly, a corkscrew tool just like the one we got from the Cornucopia.

In the context of ice fishing, it makes much more sense. "That's how you make the hole in the ice?" I guess, and H nods.

"Yeah. Since there are three of us, I thought we'd drill another. More than two per spot, your lines tend to get tangled up."

"I can do that," Peeta offers.

She pauses, then shrugs. "Alright. Go wild. Just drill ten feet or so away from the hole that's already there."

Peeta gets to work on our fishing spot, and H gives me a lesson on the concept of ice fishing. I pick it up pretty easily: aside from the location, it's not that much different from river fishing. She sets up one of the poles for me, but while she's explaining the reasoning behind certain strings and certain hooks, we hear a crash-splash combo that makes my blood run cold.

"PEETA!" I blurt out without thinking.

There's a terrifying moment where I can't see him at all, only the hole he'd been drilling and floating chunks of ice. He sputters to the surface and I'm running, ignoring H's shouted warnings that I could fall in too. I kneel down on the ice, at the foot of the jagged hole, and try to grab Peeta's hand. I know he can't swim. I know he must be panicking.

H is beside me. She takes charge- water safety is kind of her thing, I guess. "Quit thrashing and grab on!" she orders.

He sputters and gasps, which I assume is his way of saying, "I'M TRYING!"

I manage to get ahold of one gloved hand, ignoring that the splashing has me halfway soaked by now. The ice creaks and groans beneath us, warning me we don't have much time before it gives out on us too. If we all fall in, more or less, we are fucked.

Thanks to my stability, H manages to grab Peeta's other hand. "Slowly," she warns me as we start to pull him out. We can't go down with him: that much is perfectly clear.

We don't really have the option of moving quickly, anyway. Peeta is a big guy and we have little-to-no traction on the ice. Even though there are two of us pulling, one small step at a time is really all we can manage.

Peeta heaves a shuddering sigh when we haul him up onto the ice. I don't know if he's capable of speaking- he is soaking wet and shaking like a leaf. I help him to his feet, almost feeling like I am shaking too. "We need to get back to camp," I announce.

"Just a minute," H murmurs.

Just a minute? Is she crazy? I'm lost for words as she kneels back down, inspecting the edge of the broken ice. "H," I snap. "We need to go before he freezes to death."

I'm supporting most of his weight with my shoulder; I can feel him shivering.

She stands up and takes Peeta's other arm. "See how thin the ice is at the edge, and how thick it is everywhere else? It's designed to break."

"Do I look like I give a shit?" I growl as we start to walk. It doesn't surprise me that something that looked safe had a dangerous twist. It also doesn't matter. What matters is getting Peeta back to the safety and warmth of camp, because if I lose him, I lose everything.

We leave the pack and the poles on the ice. It's much more important that we get a move on; we can come back for that stuff later. Our situation is dire enough already without wasting time. Shock, sub-freezing temperatures, and being soaking wet are not a good combination.

I'm drenched from the waist down as well, but it's only Peeta I'm concerned about. His red face has paled to an ashy gray and his teeth seem to be chattering. "T-thank you," he manages as we stagger off the ice.

"Don't talk. Don't waste your energy," I instruct him. He clearly doesn't have much to spare.

"No, I'm fine," he insists, even though he is clearly not fine. "Thank you. Thank you for pulling me out. I could've died if it wasn't for you. I'd definitely be dead without you."

I'm beginning to think he's a little bit delirious. I'm somewhat losing my mind myself, but one of us needs to be coherent right now and I guess it'll have to be me. "Don't thank me. Don't talk. It's fine, Peeta."

"No, I-"

"Shut up, Peeta." H's voice carries more authority than mine. She is in somewhat of a better state than I.

Peeta falls silent after that. Truthfully, I think he's just running out of breath.

The walk back to camp feels three times as long as it normally does. Partially because of the suspense- that in itself is unbearable- and partially because Peeta is shaking so hard he can hardly support his own weight. Neither H or I is frail by any means, but Peeta is a big guy, and wading through the deep snow doesn't make it any easier.

It's a relief- sort of- to make it back to our clearing. If only it actually meant we were out the woods. I hear a couple gasps as the others realize something is wrong and rush towards us.

Turquoise, for better or for worse, takes the lead. She nudges me out of the way to support Peeta. "Take his clothes off!" she orders me.

"What?!" I exclaim, my voice an octave higher than normal.

"He'll never dry off if he stays in wet clothes! Take off everything that's wet and get him in a sleeping bag!"

I'm reluctant to take orders from Turquoise of all people, although what she's saying does make sense for now. I still balk at the idea of taking Peeta's clothes off, but that's a pretty small issue compared to, you know, him dying. I fumble with the zipper on his jacket and he shakily pushes my hand away. "You don't have to- I can-"

I let him. H explains what happens in her clipped practical tone and Thunder takes the soggy clothes to dry over the fire we conveniently started earlier. I avert my eyes as the layers come off- he leaves his undershorts on, thank the lord. This isn't even the first time I've seen him without a shirt on, but there's still something that feels indecent about it. It's a relief when he crawls into the sleeping bag and is fully covered once more.

For the first time, I allow myself a sigh of relief. He's safe. He's warming up. He'll be okay. He doesn't look happy but I wouldn't expect him to be. Happy is not necessary. Alive is.

I change into my spare pants (thank you, Prim) and hang the old ones over the fire next to Peeta's. My coat got wet too, but since it's waterproof and wasn't submerged like Peeta's it doesn't bother me too much. By the time I get back to the geyser, everyone else is engaged in serious conversation. Even Peeta. He's sitting up now, with the sleeping bag wrapped around him like a cocoon.

H zeroes in on me. "Katniss. We need to go back for the poles- are you coming?"

I shake my head. "No. I need to stay with him."

"Of course." The note of sympathy in her voice is infuriating, along with the implications, but I go along with it. It's what the other Katniss would do. "Nolan?"

"I'm in," he replies. Then, to me, "If things go south, send Turquoise to fetch us. Otherwise, we should fish while we still can."

It sounds so ominous for a moment, I wonder if Nolan knows something I don't. I don't dwell on that. This is the Hunger Games- assuming things will go wrong is not a stretch. Today has already proven that.

Nolan and H head back to the lake. Unsure of what else to do with my time, I pull one of the smaller logs over to Peeta and just sit beside him. He's quiet- I don't know if it's because he's exhausted or upset or still a little out of it. I don't make much effort to engage him in conversation. Words have never been my strong suit.

Turquoise offers Peeta James as an "emotional support animal", which he politely declines. Of course Peeta is polite, even at his worst. I wouldn't want anything that had been in Turquoise's bra either, but I certainly wouldn't be polite about it.

Thunder hovers near us, eventually pulling up a log too. I don't think Peeta likes the fuss being made over him, but he doesn't say anything about it. He doesn't say much of anything at all. He stays curled up, staring into the geyser listlessly. Eventually, he falls asleep. I'm glad for it, knowing he must be exhausted, but I watch him carefully, counting the seconds between the rise and fall of his chest.

"You must care about him a lot."

I'm too startled- too focused on Peeta's steady breathing- to reply. Thunder continues. "I've never seen you look so unhappy."

Is it really that obvious? I like to think I have a pretty good poker face.

"Well, you haven't known me very long," I deflect.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Thunder says quickly. "I just…admire it. That's all."

I take his discomfort as a moment to study him. His sprinkling of freckles. Brown doe eyes. Hardened muscles visible even through his thick coat, betraying the Career background he seems to be trying to hide. He doesn't act like any Career I've ever known.

"Thank you, Thunder," I reply. I cock my head towards Turquoise, who is repeatedly stabbing her spear into the ground. It makes a small sizzling noise every time it meets the snow. "I imagine your relationship with your district partner is a little, uh. Different."

Thunder grimaces. "Yeah. You could say that."

She does a little war cry with every stab. It's…a little disturbing, honestly.

"…I think I got the short end of the stick, as far as partners go," he continues.

Well…yeah. But since Peeta's out of commission right now, it's my job to look on the bright side. "I mean…she was pretty helpful earlier, when we first got back to camp."

"She has her moments, I guess," Thunder concedes, still sounding pretty glum.

"At least you won't get attached," I supply. The look of confusion he gives me indicates that I am perhaps the only one thinking in terms of "getting attached" this early in the game.

"Maybe you're right," he murmurs, but he sure doesn't look like he agrees with me.

I fiddle with the end of my braid, wishing for this conversation to be over. Prim's ribbon offers me the slightest bit of comfort. My sister always has and always will be my number one reason to keep going. Now more than ever, it feels like it would be easier to just roll over and die than keep fighting when the very ground (or lack thereof) seems to want us dead.

But that's not what Prim would want.

That's all I can really cling to: that my sister would want me to come home.

I wonder, if I die, if someone will make sure she gets her hair ribbon back.

FYI "Spare Pants" is a reference to Chapter Fourteen of Taking Sides. One of 2 references I planned from the first book to the second…has anyone noticed the other one?

5 chapters left in this fic! Then just one more book before I have ~closure~. I'm pretty much over worrying about if people like my writing or not which is probably a good mental health thing for me. I'm also getting really excited about writing new stuff, but having absolutely 0 luck with said new stuff. Typical me.