Note! My first Hunger Games story! Well, at least the first one to be published. That's still pretty exciting. Anyway, this is basically a story through Cato's perspective, though still in the third person. Most of this is book-verse, with a bit of AU-ness, and only one part that's movie-verse, because I kind of had to write Glimmer in there and, sadly, her overly flirtatious movie-counterpart was perfect for this instance. I like to think that in the books, she wasn't that dreadful. Annoying girl.

Disclaimer! I do not own The Hunger Games, they all belong to Suzanne Collins.

When Cato was a young boy, his dreams were always plagued with the Hunger Games. It was simply impossible to get enough of them. Being born and raised in District Two made it completely common for a child's every thought to be consumed by these Games. Not everyone made it—both to the arena and out—but it was completely normal to try. Volunteers would shout the first chance they got, desperately hoping that they would be the first heard (there was a joke in District Two about this, taking the phrase "the early bird gets the worm" and changing it to "the quickest hand gets the Games"). Every year, Cato would dream of the day when he would raise his hand, volunteer, and enter that arena—and come out the victor.

After all, survival of the fittest was key.

The night before the 73rd Hunger Games, Cato and his friends play a game. It isn't so much a game as it is a gamble, a lottery. Each person writes their name on a piece of paper, puts that slip into some sort of bag or bowl, and then the names are mixed so that each scrap of paper looks just like the next. Then they ask somebody to pick a slip, and the name on the paper is the only person from their little group allowed to volunteer at the Reaping. Cato remembers one thing about that night, and it isn't which friend is chosen—it's the girl who picks the piece of paper, with her dark hair, olive skin, and bright green eyes.

He can't help but think that she might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

A year later, Cato and his friends repeat their tradition. They are one short this year, their friend having died the previous. Even now, a year later, Cato still finds himself thinking of the green-eyed girl. She is on his mind almost as much as the Hunger Games are, and he has even managed to talk to her several times. When she shows up to draw a name again, Cato cannot help but feel extremely happy. She doesn't draw his name, but he doesn't care.

He's just glad for another excuse to talk to her.

The next day, Cato stands with his friends at the 74th Hunger Games Reaping. It's rather boring, really, but he's waiting because it's mandatory. So he stands with his friends, and, at one point, manages to covertly steal a glance at the pretty girl who he finds himself falling more in love with daily. She is standing with a few of her friends, and a girl who is maybe two years younger and resembles her in a frightening sort of way. He is just beginning to think that they are related when her green eyes meet his and his thoughts change immediately.

He can't help but wonder if she feels what he does.

The Reaping, now fully underway, is just as boring as any other. When they choose the names, however, he pays more attention. He waits, listens to the announcer pick the girls name. Normally he wouldn't care, but the response is what captures his attention. When the girl—Clove—is chosen, her sister cries out a painful wail. The wailing girl is the same girl who has plagued his every thought for the past year. Cato finds himself acting his brain in an attempt to do something for the ailing girl who he secretly loves.

He can only think of one solution.

In the seconds it takes for Clove to reach the stairs, Cato has a war with himself. His friend's name was picked, not his. But he needs to help the girl he thinks about as much as the Hunger Games. It would break tradition and anger his friend. She needs reassurance. It's the worst possible reason to volunteer. Love makes people do stupid things. If his family knew, they would be ashamed. It's his problem, not theirs. His family would be distraught with his death. She would be shattered without her sister. If he goes now, he couldn't be the victor.

She needs her sister more.

It happens in an instant. He himself isn't quite sure how it happens, but it does. He raises his hand, shouts that he volunteers himself as tribute. He mounts the stage and glances at the other potential tributes before him. His friends are staring at him, shocked, and the one who was supposed to volunteer is glaring daggers at him. Cato briefly meets his eyes and returns the glare, making his friend turn away almost immediately. Cato glances at the others in front of him, looking, as always, for the green-eyed girl, his gaze lingering when he finds her. He meets her eyes for an instant and hope she sees his resolve to protect Clove.

Her new round of tears make him think she does.

In the time for goodbyes, Cato makes sure they are not only brief, but also that nobody sees what he is planning. He doesn't remember much about the goodbyes, except for the friend that was meant to volunteer stops by. He is no longer glaring daggers at Cato, but his eyes do hold something that Cato doesn't quite like. Understanding. They talk for a few seconds—Cato wants to see as many people as he can—before his friend mentions his secret. He comments that she is a pretty girl, and is surprised that Cato hadn't talked to her more over the past year.

Cato glowers at his friend and says nothing, because he hates the feeling of vulnerability.

To Cato's surprise and pleasure, she visits him before he leaves. She is to be his last visitor, but that doesn't matter—Cato is just as happy to talk to her as he always is. Tear marks stain her cheeks, her green irises made more vibrant by the red. Before he can say a word, she crosses the distance between them, and slams her lips against his. It's sloppy, like all first kisses, but that is what makes it perfect. When they break, they cling to each other like there is no tomorrow. She begs him to keep her sister safe, and if he cannot save Clove, bring himself back. She wants one of them back in her arms. He promises to try.

They kiss again, and after she leaves, Cato lets one tear escape.

Why. That is the first word that Clove says to Cato when they are finally alone, and it's also the first question. Why. It's a loaded question, and he takes his time in thinking it over. He dimly hopes she will drop the subject, because he himself isn't sure. But Clove is a strange little girl, with a storm raging behind her eyes and a passion so fervent that even Cato finds himself intimidated ever so slightly by the little ball of fire. He wonders how the green-eyed girl is related to this little storm, and it is thought about just enough that Clove leaves before Cato can even begin to respond, something he is quite thankful for.

He himself isn't ready to answer such a question.

As it turns out, Clove is quite the killer. She is more ruthless than a goddess scorned, and unforgiving to the point of alarm. She glares daggers just as well as she throws them. Although they are not technically allowed to practice, Clove takes any opportunity to show off her knife skills with bright eyes. The first time was when they were telling Brutus and Enobaria of their skills. Cato made sure to exceedingly mention his talent with a sword. Clove had scoffed at him and commented how the blade of a sword is only good for close range, but knives are good at any. To demonstrate her point, she threw the knife nearest her across the room, successfully lodging it in the wall. Briefly, Cato wondered if his coming here had been even necessary.

He reminds himself it's better to be safe than sorry.

The second time Clove confronts Cato she has more to say. She still demands an answer, one that Cato cannot give. However she prods him with glaring green-eyes and icicle words. Even he, the boy who can silence anyone with a look, cannot prevent the feeling of smallness under the young girl's gaze. So he meekly tells her it is for her sister, a comment that brings about a change in Clove's eyes. Her eyes become softer, gentle like her sister's. She will not cry, because Clove does not cry, but Cato notes the sadness in her eyes at the thought of her sister. Feebly, she tells him that one of them must survive for her. Cato quietly agrees, and tells himself Clove is still only human.

Even she has emotions.

Cato watches the other Reapings with interest. The two tributes from District One, who will, like in every year, become his fellow Career tributes. The sly girl from District Five, the tiny girl from District Eleven. And the girl from District Twelve, who volunteers when her sister is chosen for the Reaping. Cato cannot find it in himself to look down upon the girl at the moment, though he knows he will later. For now, he is content with observing the girl and her sister, and how they appear torn apart by the horrible turn of events. He imagines Clove and her sister, the determined look and the heartbroken wailing. He wonders if Clove would have volunteered for her sister, then remembers the fire behind Clove's gentle eyes, compared to the gentle warmth behind her sister's. Cato knows she would have.

He reminds himself not everyone in District Two is a killer.

Though he is certain that either he or Clove will be the victor, Cato still quietly surveys his opponents. He is, yet again, watching the Reaping and carefully staring at each of the tributes. His original assessments have not changed, but now he is watching their eyes, trying to see what they give away (he is relieved to see that his say nothing). It isn't until he sees the boy tribute from District Twelve that he finds something interesting. The boy looks nervous, naturally, because nobody from District Twelve ever lives long (save for Haymitch Abernathy, and that was really pure luck) but there is something else in his eyes, a different kind of fear. One filled with dread and anger and something else. It doesn't take long for Cato to assess the situation.

Love has taken another prisoner.

That night, Cato finds himself awake and thinking of her. Her green eyes, warm and gentle and loving, plague his mind with new visions and stories. He imagines their wedding day, where he is proud and she is beautiful and their worlds combine into a perfect one. He imagines them making love, soft, slow, and tender but fierce and needing all at once. He imagines her walking around in one of his t-shirts, flirting with him in an irresistible way. He imagines her carrying his children, glowing and perfect and his. He imagines all of the different combinations of him and her that could appear in their children, and longs for one of each. He imagines them growing older together, happy and in love.

He turns onto his side and scowls for the dreams that will never happen.

Cato isn't quite sure what to think of the Capitol. It's nice, suiting for a Capitol. Power and regality lingers in the stone that makes the Capitol, giving it the authority needed of a capitol. However Cato finds that District Two is also quite nice. He's biased, sure, but does that really matter? That sentimental saying "there's no place like home" must hold some truth because even Cato finds himself wishing to be back home in District Two now. Of course, that's probably her, hiding in his subconscious. No, he wants to be here. He wants to be in the Capitol. He wants to be in the Hunger Games.

He wants to kill.

Typically, in the Parade, it is the first few Districts that make the greatest impression. After all, once the crowd sees enough dreary, horribly planned outfits, they get bored with the show. The blood and gore hasn't started yet, they're only just seeing the people. All the Parade means is that it is one day closer to the deaths. But this year, the Parade is far more interesting, and it isn't the first few Districts that attract the attention. It's the very back. District Twelve. Cato scowls at them when he sees them on the screens, set ablaze and drawing attention to themselves like moths are attracted to a flame. Briefly, Cato chuckles, causing Clove to cast him an unusual glance. He brushes it off and flashes a brilliant smile, a trick that earns himself a few cheers. Inside, he is busy plotting. The tributes from District Twelve seem like the obvious moth-attracting flames, but they will see that it is he and Clove that shine the brightest.

They will burn brighter than the sun.

In the Training Center, Cato makes sure to intimidate his opponents. He could care less what their "talents" are-he knows well enough his and Clove's talents. Instead, he opts to show off his strength, to flaunt that he is a Career, and an intimidating one at that. He wants to prove that District Two has so many victors for a reason, and that he is another victor in the making. Cato wants to show that he has no fear, no weakness. He is set on proving that he is a competitor that will not be taken down with pure luck and low blows. No, they will not cheat him out of what is rightfully his. He will win, and he will be victorious. Even if he has to kill himself so that Clove can live, at least there will be a victor from District Two.

This year, District Two will be victorious.

Cato hates the boy from District Twelve. Not because of the appeal he and his other tribute have in the parade, which the other Careers find maddening, but because of how cunning he is. How easy it is for him to get away with things because of where he's from. District Twelve! The poor, pitiful, weak little group of stragglers because they are most certainly not people! How is it that he can say what Cato can only wish to mutter? How can he proclaim his love for a girl-who is here at the Games with him-when Cato wants nothing more but to say how he is trying to protect himself and Clove so one of them can go back to the girl who has captured his heart? In this moment of fury, Cato decides that he will be the one to kill Peeta Mellark.

And it will be good.

The first thing Cato thinks when he sees the arena is how it reminds him of District Two. He is certain that this particular arena holds a touch of each arena, for there are more than enough trees. Still, he cannot help but think of District Two and the beauty of his home. As he stands on the platform, patiently waiting for them to signal their release and the Games to begin, Cato briefly imagines District Two. He sees the walkways, the homes, the citizens. He even sees her, smiling at him, beautifully stunning with her gentle frame and her piercing eyes. She is smiling, an angel amongst demons, a girl who belongs in another time where there is no Hunger Games, no violence. When he opens the eyes, there are only twenty seconds left, and Cato finds himself searching for Clove, relieved when he sees her looking forward, fierce as ever. This blood bath that's about to happen, he will not have to worry about her.

He can finally kill without mercy.

In the arena, Cato quickly finds that there is a sharp contrast between the Careers of District One and the Careers of District Two. The Careers from District One are not as focused, not as devoted to winning. They are overconfident, winners from years past sharing their wisdom "that it's all raw talent". Cato will admit that Marvel is not as overconfident as other Careers from District One, and he quickly notes that Marvel also has some raw talent. It's not perfect, but not everything can be polished. It is Glimmer that is a typical Career from District One. She is flirty and bubbly, an air-head that could be killed in a heartbeat. She has no talent, no skills, and certainly no aim. But he leads her on as she flirts with him, hoping that he looks like he might just like her too.

He hopes that Clove's sister knows that his heart is hers and hers alone.

One by one, the other tributes fall, including the Careers from District One. There are only a handful of tributes left, including the two tributes from District Twelve. The only other tribute Cato is truly worried about is the girl from District Twelve, who has shown a startling talent with a bow and arrow. She will be difficult to take down-a machete is close range, whereas a bow and arrow is long-but with the combined efforts of himself and Clove, Cato is sure that they can take her down. They will take down "the girl on fire", the girl from District Twelve who has caused so much uproar with the entire Games in general. If she had never entered these Games, Cato or Clove would have already been the victor. But she just had to make this difficult. No matter. He is certain that he or Clove will take her down. Then, he and Clove are one step closer to victory.

One of them will be one step closer to her.

The rules have been changed, so that if there are two from the same district then they are both capable of leaving this mess as victors. Cato grins at this good news, but does not hold this dazzling smile for long. He must be stoic, just incase anyone else sees that grin. Even the people outside must not know his joy, because then even they will have leverage. He cannot risk leverage. So instead, Cato returns to his stoic nature, carefully observing his surroundings, making sure that Clove is never more than several meters away from him. Now, it is more important than ever to keep Clove close to him. They could both return to her sister, but to do that, they both must live. It is all that he wished for and then some, and Cato is somewhat thankful that the "star crossed lovers"-as he has decided to name this tributes fromDistrict Twelve-were in this years Hunger Games.

Now, both he and Clove can win.

Never had Cato pictured his demise to be something like this. It was painful, so very painful, but never what he had expected. To tell the truth, Cato wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting. Whatever it was, though, it wasn't this. It wasn't being eaten to death by these mutts, with their eyes the color of the other tributes. As he is being eaten, he tries to keep his eyes closed as much as possible, and every time he opens them, he carefully avoids the eyes of the mutt that looks like Clove. The last thing he needs to see is the painful green eyes that he has fallen so desperately in love with, two times over. He loves her sister, he knows that for certain, and he loves Clove like a sister, for she is a far more tender sister than his own. Out of the corner of his eye, Cato briefly sees a flash of silver, and knows exactly what it means. The tributes of District Two are dead.

His last thought is about how upset she will be.

When Cato wakes up, everything is bright and white. He knows he is dead, something that, surprisingly, doesn't bother him. He rises and looks around, trying to understand just where he is, what's going on. His thoughts stop, however, when a small, dark haired figure appears before him, staring at him with sad, tearless eyes. The fire is gone for now, but she still refuses to cry. Neither of them say the words that loom over them, because even after they are dead they both know saying something like that will just be a painful confirmation. Instead, Cato surprises both of them by crossing the distance and hugging her, offering that they make a new promise. One that they could fulfill, one that they would fulfill. One that Clove is quick to agree to.

They would wait for her together.

Cato quickly finds that time does not exist in the world of the dead. Four seconds ago, he was waking up in this afterlife. Three seconds ago, he was hugging Clove. Two seconds ago, they were making their new promise. One second ago, they were talking about all of those small details that they never knew about each other. Now, she is with them. She must have walked up during Cato's story because he does not remember hearing or seeing her approach. But there she is, smiling at the two of them, her green eyes still gentle, but no longer sad. Clove grins, and runs and hugs her sister which is very un-Clove like, but perhaps that is what family means, being unlike yourself. Cato cautiously approaches her with a sheepish grin and his hands in his pockets, and cannot help but feel thrilled when she launches herself into his arms.

The reunion is perfect.

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