A/N: Yet another Clato fic. Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing with my life, and then I go back to writing my fanfic. Anyways, enjoy.

Disclaime: I own nothing

He hadn't paid much attention to her before the Reaping. He knew of her, along with everyone else in District 2, but he made no move to talk to her or even acknowledge her presence. Not until she had volunteered. Now she was his competition.

She was the best, that's what everyone said. She had to be to have the guts to volunteer at age 14. He hadn't even been ready until age 16, and it infuriated him to think that she was better than he was at that age.

He knew what this meant, she would be the toughest to take down, and he had no doubt it in his mind that they would be the last two tributes standing at the end of the Games. He would have to kill her, however, after what he had heard it seemed she actually stood a chance of killing him before he killed her.

By the time the pair had been boarded onto the train he had formed a plan. They were both ruthless, that much he knew, however he also knew that she was a girl, and underneath that steel exterior she had to have some sort of feeling. All he had to do was make her infatuated with him. It seemed simple enough; he had tons of girls falling at his feet all the time. Sure she had never been one of them before, she was too busy training to take any notice in anyone other than herself, but that's not to say he couldn't turn her into one of those girls. He did like to think he had a certain effect on the feminine half of the population. She was female, it wouldn't be that difficult.

"What are you doing?" Clove didn't even bother to look at Cato when he spoke. Instead her eyes stayed glued to the television screen.

"Watching the other Reapings," she replied, an annoyed tone in her voice. .

"Any feisty competition?" He asked. She had already begun to form a list with the most prominent threats- the other careers, possibly the girl from 12. However there was no way she was going to tell Cato any of this, she already knew he was an excellent fighter, but she was smarter than him. She wasn't about to share any of her strategies or plans, she had to use her knowledge to keep the upper hand. So instead she shrugged in response.

"Oh come on," he continued, "there must be some, look right there," he pointed at the boy from 11 who was stepping up onto the stage. The boy was eyeing the little girl who was selected only moments earlier, his expression grave. "He looks strong, we should keep an eye on him," Clove narrowed her eyes, she didn't like Cato's use of the word 'we'. He was right though, she noted, he was a lot bigger than the other tributes, even a little bulkier than Cato himself. He would be difficult to take down. She mentally added him to her list as well.

The two watched the rest of District 11's Reaping in silence, this was the second time Cato was watching it, but the fourth for Clove. As soon as they had boarded the train she started watching the other Reapings, studying up on her competition.

When the tape ended Clove reached for the remote, about to hit replay. However Cato swiped it first and turned the television off.

"Let's go get something to eat," He said, standing up and heading towards the door. He assumed Clove would just follow him, which is why he was surprised when he turned around and saw her still sitting on the couch, fiddling with the remote. "Aren't you hungry?" He asked.

"I want to watch this again," she stated and hit rewind.

"We just watched it,"

"That's why I said again," her tone was condescending, and he hated it. He was about to snap at her when he remembered his plan, he had to get on her good side.

"Come on, it'll still be here when we get back. Besides, you probably haven't eaten since breakfast," He reasoned. She paused the TV and stared at him, studying his face. Why did Cato care whether or not she ate? Of course she had heard of him before the Reaping, everyone talked about it. All the girls fawned over him and all the trainers were impressed with his skills. He was a skilled fighter, but he wasn't a compassionate person in the slightest. So why the sudden interest in her wellbeing? Still she had to admit she was feeling hungry, and after they finished eating she could always come back and watch some more.

"Fine," she replied coldly and turned off the TV. She walked swiftly past him and through the door to the dining cart, not even bothering to hold the door open behind her.

Their mentor and escort were sitting at the end of the long, mahogany dining table, neither bothering to look up as Clove entered, followed by Cato. Cato watched as Clove grabbed a plate and filled it with a very evenly balanced meal and sat down at the far, isolated end of the table.

He hadn't noticed it before, probably because he hadn't really noticed her all that much, but the way she moves was so agile. It was like her feet barely touched the ground when she walked, she made absolutely no sound, that was going to help her a lot in the Games. Meanwhile Cato clomped around noisily, although it wasn't like he ever needed to be super quiet, he was more of a full on, up in your face kind of attacker. Still he was upset about her stealth, if it ever came down to him having to chase her, she had a huge advantage.

As he piled food onto his plate he tried to think of the ways he could kill her. She may be an expert killer, but she was still small and thin, if he got close enough and she didn't fight back too much he could easily snap her neck. He could also throw pikes pretty far, but he knew she could throw her knives with way more accuracy. Yes, the best way to kill her would be up close, that way he could use his strength and size to his advantage. This meant he had to keep her close as well.

He slid into the seat next to her, earning himself a glare. The pair sat in silence for a while, Cato was racking his brain for things that he could say to make her like him, but he couldn't think of anything.

"I've seen you throw knives, you're really good." He said after a solid 3 minutes of silence. She paused and narrowed her eyes.

"Really good?" Her voice was dripping with disdain, "I've been training for 8 years and I'm only 'really good'? Please, I'm more than good, I'm fantastic, I'm the best freaking knife thrower the Games will ever see." He was impressed with her confidence, the only other person he knew that was that sure of themselves was him.