Half of this chapter is literally just Katniss watching TV. Haven't done that since book 1. It's not my favorite part of the story but I also think it's important to get Katniss's perspective on the stuff that happens to Prim, so I spent forever writing it and here it is.

Katniss

As hard as it's going to be, I know I need to watch the Quarter Quell. Beginning to end, as much as I possibly can.

At least I'm not alone. Storm chased everyone else out of the common room on the fifth floor, which is substantially larger than our cramped dormitory/barrack/whatever you want to call it, and Peeta is skipping school to join us. I don't know where the others are- H and Thunder have siblings to worry about too- but I assume they have their own plans.

I expected the common room to be at least a little bit welcoming, but it's not. There's a big TV- that's the main reason we're here- and a "couch". The "couch" is more like a park bench with armrests slapped on it and a thin cushion across the bottom. It is not comfortable, but is spacious enough that we can all three sit on it without touching.

Although, I suspect within the hour, we'll be clinging to each other in fear. Like kids watching a scary movie.

My stomach churns as we watch the "pre-game festivities". In truth, hardly any of it reaches my ears. Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith banter back and forth. Pictures of tributes- Prim has just a number; official pictures weren't taken for late additions- and numbers flash across the screen. Betting odds, I assume.

Prim's odds are notably poor. I expected as much, but I cringe at the news anyway.

I want it to end and I want it to last forever. All too soon, the screen shows the arena. Metal pedestals, the Cornucopia. A lot of snow and ice- fresh stuff, unmarred by footprints and blood from my stint in there. I'm surprised they went through that much trouble. But we already know the Capitol can produce snow in the middle of summer- topping it off can't be a big deal to them.

My heart pounds in my throat as the pedestals split open and the tributes are elevated from below the ground. I was on one of those just a few weeks ago- but that's not important right now.

What's important is Prim. I get my first glimpse of my sister since Reaping Day, and I nearly break out sobbing on instinct. She looks so different from when I last saw her. Older, I think. The past month has aged her too. She's outfitted in a blue down coat and gray leggings just like I have in my closet and her golden hair is pulled into one braid instead of her usual two. She's not the little duck I left behind, although she is still one of the smallest tributes.

I survey the other unfamiliar tributes- I don't really need to look at Kinzie or Lorcan or any of the others I went into battle with. I recognize Rye from the bakery, obviously. He's a wider-set Peeta with shorter hair. Then there's Jewel, Thunder's sister, who looks just as strong as he is but twice as determined. Maris really does look like a mini-Storm- she hasn't hit her growth spurt yet. Hiron, H's brother, is built lighter than your typical Career, but I'm pretty sure he's only fourteen.

I scan the arena as the clock counts down. Much of it is the same as it was when I was there, but I notice the Cornucopia is not overburdened with loot like it was before. The Gamemakers have learned from their mistakes- all sharp, throw-able weapons have been removed. All that's left is some clubs and shovels, blunt instruments that could never be used against the arena.

There's no food or medical supplies either, as far as I can tell. That worries me- I know this arena; I know there's little in it they can use to survive. It's abundantly clear that this is meant to be quick.

One good thing will come out of it, I hope. There won't be much of a bloodbath if there's nothing there worth fighting for.

The buzzer goes off, indicating the beginning of the fight. My heart leaps into my throat as all the tributes leap off their now-de-mined pedestals and sprint towards the Cornucopia. Even Prim. I thought she would run. Why wouldn't she run?

She is running, I guess. She's running straight into the Cornucopia, set in the middle of a frozen lake that I know from experience is not quite frozen solid. I take my eyes from the screen for just a moment to check on Peeta, who nearly died once from falling in that lake. He looks a little bit green; I can't blame him.

I find Prim again. Jewel is charging after her, and for a moment I'm terrified, but then I realize Jewel is watching her back, not going after her. Rye is doing the same for Hiron- they're a team. They've done exactly what I thought they wouldn't.

The camera pans away from Prim and Hiron ruffling around in the Cornucopia to Maris. She's grappling with Davina from District Six over one of the shovels, tugging it back and forth. "Maris!" Storm exclaims, on the edge of her seat. "Get her!"

Davina is bigger, but Maris is fierce for her size. She eventually wrenches the shovel out of the other girl's grip, and Davina turns and runs into the pine woods bordering the lake, where her district partner, Griff, is waiting.

There's not much of a scuffle beyond that, thank God. Aspen and Lorcan from Seven- who I know now are rebels, aiming to destroy the Capitol from the inside- grab a couple clubs and bolt from the clearing with what's left of their pack. That just leaves Prim, Rye, Hiron, Jewel, and Maris- who, despite having gone her own way initially, seems to be part of the group.

"That wasn't so bad," says Jewel, when the last enemy tribute has fled.

"I wish we had a little more to show for it," Rye says glumly. "No food, no sleeping bags, and the closest thing we have to a first aid kit is Prim."

"I just hope we can avoid injury in the first place." My sister's voice is shaking. Even though she wasn't actually involved in the fighting, she has every reason to be terrified. "This is no place to heal."

"You've got that right," Maris mutters, kicking the ground with one black boot.

"Maris hates the cold," Storm says suddenly. "She always has."

"District Twelve gets colder than the arena was, for us, at least," I add.

"District Two doesn't," she sighs. I can tell she's thinking the same thing as I am: how incredibly wonderful it would be if all of us could go home.

The Career Pack 2.0 arms themselves as best they can. There really isn't much. Prim grabs a metal bat, although she looks incredibly uncomfortable with it, and the rest take shovels or clubs. Maris takes one of each.

"We should make camp," Jewel declares. "Nothing is going to magically appear here. We need to get out of sight."

"Is it really "making camp" if we don't have any camp to make?" Maris asks grouchily, complete with finger quotes. "What we should really do is chase after the pair of 'em and take them out!"

"It's weird that you're so eager to do that, Maris," Rye points out. He's surprisingly calm about this whole affair, which shouldn't surprise me because that's exactly how Peeta is. Steady as the sun.

Maris shrugs. "Why? If I had no chance of winning like them, I'd want to be put out of my misery."

A shudder runs down my back at how much she seems to mean it. I had the same fear about Storm, once, but I'm beginning to realize that most of her ferocity is just bluster. Maybe her sister is the same.

"We're not doing that, Maris," Jewel says firmly. "We need to strategize."

"We strategized yesterday!" Maris complains, and now she actually sounds like a fourteen-year-old. "Where are we supposed to camp, anyway?"

"I know exactly where to go," Hiron says triumphantly, like he's been waiting for this moment all day. "C'mon!"

He leads them the same way Nolan led me after the first bloodbath, and everyone else follows without complaint. I keep my eyes on Prim. She's quiet, with nothing to say as Maris and Hiron bicker about nothing. Even Rye chimes in once in a while, and Jewel has the occasional stern word, but Prim says nothing.

I wish I could be there. Hug her. Protect her. Tell her everything is going to be okay even if it isn't. Seeing her this way, full of fear and spirit broken, makes me feel like the worst big sister the world has ever seen.

She's already been so brave. As scared as I am for her, I have to be proud of her, too.

I don't remember when I grabbed ahold of Peeta's hand. He doesn't seem to mind. I think he's just as strung-out as I am, running his thumb across my wrist repeatedly. I don't know which of us it's supposed to be comforting.

The screen flips to the other pack- Aspen, Lorcan, Jemma, and Kinzie. I groan. "Who cares?"

"It's only fair, Katniss," Peeta reminds me. He's always so god damn agreeable, but this time I know he'd rather be keeping an eye on his brother too. "And it's good to know what these guys are up to."

"They're walking through the woods, like everybody else," I grumble. Jemma and Aspen are leading the way, with Lorcan close behind and Kinzie, the youngest, dragging.

"At least they're going the opposite direction," Storm puts in grumpily.

I stare at her. "Are you actually supporting a lack of conflict?"

Now she just looks disgusted. "Look, I'm not stupid. I know Maris can handle herself…but the rest of them? They need to stay as far from conflict as possible."

I should be hurt, but honestly that's the closest to empathy I've ever heard from Storm. In any case, she is right. Even though I know it's not possible, I hope The Career Pack, Reformed never sees combat at all.

I pay little attention to the rival pack, even though I could probably learn something from them. I know now that Aspen and Lorcan are secretly rebels- as are their mentors- and that should make them interesting to me, but it doesn't. I just hope that working against the Capitol means they're against the Hunger Games, against killing, as well.

"Hey, I know that place!" Storm exclaims when "our" people appear back on screen.

We all do. It's the place we spent most of our time when we were in the arena: the gap in the evergreens with a geyser in the center. There's no trace of us now. Everything has been hauled away and smoothed out, with four inches of fresh snow on top for good measure.

"I think it's that way!" Hiron declares, pointing in a direction that I think is southeast. In the arena, it was hard to tell, and it's even harder to tell when you're watching the arena on television from hundreds or thousands of miles away.

"Well, obviously," Maris huffs under her breath, even though there's really very few directional indicators and they're both doing this from memory. The rest follow without complaint.

"They're going to the cave," Peeta realizes. I hadn't realized he was so close to me- his voice comes out right in my ear.

I shudder, not because of him. The last thing we did in that cave was get attacked by a bear. We only survived because we were heavily armed. These kids are not. I can easily imagine that mutated creature snapping everyone's shovels like toothpicks.

Nonetheless, for every reason it's a bad idea, there's a reason that it's good. Prim expresses her concern- our dad taught her to fear bears, just like he did for me- and Hiron states the facts grimly. "Without sleeping bags, we won't survive a night out in the open. That wind is fierce, y'know? Besides," he adds brightly. "Our siblings killed the bear that lived here. It's unlikely the Gamemakers could produce another one so quickly."

If I learned one thing while I was in the arena, it's that you should never underestimate the Gamemakers. I shudder at the thought of what will happen if Hiron is wrong, and I feel Peeta do the same beside me.

We watch with bated breath as the kids creep into the cave. It's a little brighter than before, but still dimly lit, with a steep descent to a decently-sized chamber about ten feet below ground. The chamber is even dimmer, with uneven ceilings casting long shadows on the rough floor.

In here, they couldn't remove every trace of the first Quell. The bloodstains are gone, as is every scrap of fur, but claw marks still scar the floor and walls from our battle with the bear. The other tributes notice them too; we get a close-up of Jewel's concerned face as she scans the room.

"The cave goes further back," Rye points out. Indeed, there's a shadowy crevice at the back of the cave that we never explored. It certainly isn't welcoming, but one could make a case for it being interesting. "Should we go in there?"

"I think we're fine where we are," Hiron says decisively. Even though he's one of the younger tributes, he seems to have carved out a leadership position for himself. Interesting. "It'd probably be better to stay where we can see the entrance."

"Besides, that's where the bear came from," Jewel adds, her nose scrunched up with distaste.

"There's no bear!" Hiron insists. It seems naive to be so sure- but then again, I'd been sure of the same thing until the bear had lurched out of its hiding place. One would hope it's not going to happen twice. "Let's just…hmm, let's-"

The door to the common room bangs open. I'm so engrossed in the Quell that my stomach drops a mile, but it's just Finnick. "Are you guys just sitting here watching TV?" he asks like that would be such a horrible crime.

"Yes?" I answer. Instinctively I pull myself a few inches away from Peeta, like it's wrong that we are touching. I cock my head towards the screen. "Our siblings, they're-"

Finnick scoffs. "Yeah, I know, they're on TV. But you know you can't change anything by watching it, right?"

I huff. "Well, yeah, but…"

"Don't say it makes you feel better," he warns.

My shoulders sag. That's exactly what I was going to say, but I guess I won't give them the satisfaction of saying it out loud. "Well…ah…it's just nice to know what's going on?"

He doesn't seem impressed. "It's under control, trust me. You should come with us! We're going to do some training!"

I'm equally unimpressed, casting another glance toward the TV. Although, Storm sure looks interested…

"C'mon, they'll be fine!" Finnick promises. He's trying to charm me; I'm not going to let him.

Or at least, I'm going to try not to let him. Finnick is extremely charming.

I look longingly at the TV one more time. In truth, maybe he's right. The camera's on Davina and Griff now, and they're making camp as well, hollowing out a snowdrift in lieu of a proper shelter. Aspen's pack is still on the move, but they're moving in the opposite direction of my sister, so I probably don't have to worry.

I look to Peeta, like I'm making sure. "I'll follow your lead," he assures me, which is sweet, I guess, but not very helpful towards me making a decision.

"They'll be fine," Finnick says again. His voice is softer, this time. Kinder. "We're going to go outside…"

Just like that, decision made. I haven't seen the sun in more than a week, and even that was an artificial sun to go with the arena's artificial snow. The idea of being outdoors, really being outdoors, is too tantalizing to pass up.

"Alright, let's go," I decide, flicking the TV off with a normal degree of reluctance. "How do we get outside?"

"I'll show you," Finnick says mysteriously. There's no denying the man enjoys being mysterious. "C'mon."

Peeta squeezes my hand one more time and then drops it. Storm pushes past both of us and we all follow Finnick out of the common room. The outdoors isn't easy to find, I'll tell you that. It's about as inaccessible as possible, maybe to prevent the average citizen from seeking it out. Lots of twists and turns, a number of staircases marked "maintenance" or "authorized personnel only". I sure hope Finnick knows what he's doing.

I have to blink a few times when we finally climb out the trapdoor that leads to open air. The harsh fluorescent lighting of the district did nothing to prepare me for sunlight, real sunlight. It's blinding, but not in a way I'd ever complain about.

It's not as beautiful as the woods in District Twelve- the trees here are young and spaced out, newer growth- but it's certainly not the wasteland the Capitol has claimed it to be, either. There's wildlife everywhere, and none of it seems to know humans are anything to fear. Birds flutter inches away from me, singing all the way. Squirrels chase each other up and down the willow trees with reckless abandon. This is land in its most natural state, completely and utterly untamed.

H, Nolan, and Thunder are already up here. There's a pile of weapons between them- must have been fun getting all those through the trapdoor- and Thunder is testing a sword in his hand. "No Turquoise?" I ask as I approach. It's rare to see one without the other, especially for something like this.

"With the Mockingjay gone, she has extra responsibilities up at Command," Nolan explains.

"No time for fun and games?" I ask wryly.

"None at all."

"Daphne, too?"

Now he just shrugs. "She just didn't want to. Daph's not much for the thrill of battle."

That sounds right. I don't know Daphne very well, but I do know she is the epitome of a liberal arts major.

"It'd be nice if she'd joined us, just so we'd have an even number," Finnick muses. "Oh well. I'll referee. Everybody pair up!"

I automatically look to Peeta- as my fake boyfriend, he's obligated to pair with me whenever possible- but Nolan is already tugging at his arm. I assume that's only because Storm has already sank her claws into H, with a grave expression more suited to a fight to the death than a simple training spar. It's unfortunate, really, to have earned the girl from District Two as a rival, but H handles it better than I think most would.

That leaves me and Thunder. Alright, fair enough. He's talented in combat, but he's not a psychopath like Storm. I doubt I'll be able to best him, but if I do, I won't have to worry about him pushing me down the stairs later in retaliation.

I pick up a couple swords before I find one I like. Thunder is patient, another of his good qualities. He waits for me without complaint even as H and Storm's swords clash. Then we find a spot on flat ground and raise our swords too.

I'll be honest, I'm not great with a sword. Most of my experience comes from the arena, when we swung sticks at each other and called it "dueling". None of that gives me an edge here. Thunder, on the other hand, has years of Career training- he was practically born with a sword in his hand. I know he is strong, fierce, and fast.

He doesn't start out fast, though. His first swing of the sword is almost lazy, catching me off-guard. I match his pace, grateful for the reprieve even though it irritates me that I need it. It gives me a chance to learn his style, anticipate what he's going to do and when he's going to do it. I didn't ever spar with Thunder in the arena- I watched him and Turquoise fight, but it's not the same as feeling out his tricks firsthand.

Our swords meet and depart at a dozen different angles; I'm convinced sparks would be flying if these weapons weren't dulled specifically for the training room. I find my rhythm, although I'm sure I'll be sore in the days to come. I have decent arm muscling from years of drawing back my father's bow, but weeks of not eating and barely sleeping have taken their toll on me. I'm not as strong as I once was.

The more we spar, the more I wonder if Thunder has any weakness at all. I'm faster than him, but not by much, and as I get more and more tired, the gap between us all but vanishes. He's frustratingly precise, as if this is embroidery and not swordplay, and there's enough power behind his blows that he could knock me off my feet if I let him. Worst of all is the sense that he's not even trying right now- if he really put effort in, he could best me in seconds.

As if he senses my frustration, he slows down, using one hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Being trapped underground most of the time, it's easy to forget that it's summer in the real world, and both of us are heating up. "You're not bad," says Thunder, an easy grin on his face. More proof that he's not even trying. "Try moving your left hand half an inch up."

If it was Storm, I would disregard the advice on principle, but Thunder doesn't irritate me in quite that way. I adjust my hand position and raise my sword again. The fight resumes.

The pace stays slow, which would bother me if it wasn't so educational. Thunder is a surprisingly good teacher. He checks my position occasionally- I try and fail to find it annoying; I need the help- and gives me advice on how to beat him. Sometimes, it works. I land the odd hit on him- he gets many more on me, of course, and I find out that even the dullest blades hurt. I'm certain I'll be battered and bruised tomorrow, but in this moment, I feel so alive.

Our swords pick up speed again, but it feels easy as breathing now. I'm not struggling to predict his moves now; it's more like a dance than a fight at this point. It's also possible now for me to carry on a conversation without dropping my sword, and I realize my one chance at beating Thunder is to distract him, then strike. Underhanded, perhaps, but like I said, one chance.

"We saw your sister on TV," I say, feinting and then darting in again.

It works. Thunder is thrown off for just a second, and I manage to knock my sword against his shoulder. "Yeah?" is all he says.

"Yeah. Jewel." Blocked. Swing. Block him. "You guys look just alike."

Now he cracks a smile. "Everyone says that, just because we're both redheads. We don't act anything alike."

"You don't?" Honestly, I wouldn't know. I've never actually met Jewel, and seeing her on TV once doesn't give me a very thorough idea of her personality.

"Yeah. Jewel's unbearably practical," he scoffs, although I don't think being practical is anything to sneer at. "...and I'm a hopeless romantic."

"A hopeless romantic, fresh out of the Career Academy?"

"They tried to beat it out of me, don't worry." Thunder lunges forward and I scramble to block. Despite the timing, I don't think he's joking. His face is one-hundred-percent sober. "Honestly, I can't bear to watch."

Now I'm the one who's fumbling. I'm rewarded with a knock in my side that leaves me throbbing. Still, I don't let it slow me down. "The Games, you mean?"

"What else?" Thunder lowers his sword. "Truce?"

"Truce," I agree. I'm covered in sweat, and that "alive" feeling I was talking about? It's starting to feel more like exhaustion. A break is necessary.

I check on the other pairs, both of which are still sparring. H and Storm have both gone feral- not that it's a stretch for Storm- and are screeching at each other as the swords swing, but it looks like Nolan and Peeta are still having fun. Finnick is supervising their duel, jumping in with critiques and comments whenever he deems it necessary.

"I'm scared I'll have to watch her die," Thunder confesses. His voice cracks with the words, but I wouldn't dream of making fun of him for it. "I know she's capable- she's probably more capable than I am- but in there…knowing there's any chance…"

"I feel the same way about Prim," I admit. Not a secret, not a lie, but still strange to say out loud. "...except I couldn't look away."

"Maybe you're braver than me," he suggests. Not a possibility I've ever considered. Fear has all but overtaken me since I first heard the Games were back on whereas Thunder has, as far as I know, remained cool as a cucumber.

I guess that goes to show how little I know.

It was fun to involve Thunder a little bit more- he's a cool dude.

I started a new fic recently for my comfort fandom because I've been so aggressively unhappy lately that I wanted to add something fun to my life. Except it HASN'T been fun because I'm putting so much pressure on myself to finish it within 30 days so I can start posting it as soon as I'm done with DS and that lowkey takes all the fun out of it. ALSO I have started writing a novel which is more proof there's something deeply wrong with me.

Xoxo,

Liz