The After Gate

A/N: Hi :) I wrote this because I'm fascinated with Clato and I think Cato and Clove deserve to have their story told. Details are gonna be taken from both the book and the movie, hopefully it won't be confusing. Bottom line, this story was written as I wanted, so bear with me... I hope I let no one down and I hope I did Clove and Cato justice. Read...

Part 1

"From the treaty of the treason: In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of twelve and eighteen at a public "Reaping." These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol. And then transferred to a public arena where they will Fight to the Death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games."

Cato POV

The first thing I noticed about Clove was not her petite build, not her big brown eyes, the nutmeg freckles sprinkling her nose, her pointed chin, the peachy glow of her cheeks. Not even the nimble grace with which she made every move, the self-same fluency that enabled her to drive a blade into the heart of a dummy standing forty feet away or fight off digital opponents in a blur of flying knives.

Nope. It was the shield. The hard, impenetrable shield that made it impossible to see anything but brutality and ruthlessness in her face, her gaze. My first impression of Clove was that here was a girl who had nothing to lose.

She was twelve. I was thirteen. We should have been innocent, happy children playing innocent, happy games. But happiness and innocence had never really been a part of my life. Or hers, obviously.

She was a rich man's daughter. I was a rich man's son. Our families had two important things in common: they were both powerful in our district and they both valued the Capitol's recognition over anything else. Add this to our attitude issues and we were prime tribute candidates, and I guess the authority knew it. They took advantage of her uncaring coldness, using it, as they used everything, for their end. They jumped eagerly on my angry rebel spirit for the same exact reason. We were foreordained.

Eventually, being the experts they are, they honed the defiant little brown haired girl's nimble body to throw lethal blades with fatal precision. She was swift, sharp, alert to near paranoia. They had made her like that because that was how they wanted her.

As for me, I became their pitbull-slash-racehorse. I was trained relentlessly so that my strength was equally relentless. They drove me to perform incredible amounts of gymnastics while I was timed, until speed was my other main tool. I was drilled until my first instinct, first reaction in any situation was self-preservation. Immediate, levelheaded self-preservation. Sometimes I sucked at the levelheaded part...

We were raised to kill.

We knew without being told we would volunteer in the Games one day. It was for the common good. That was what they told us, and when were they ever wrong?

Clove POV

For years now, life held one goal for me, one purpose. Win the Games. Win and be an honor to my district. Then, finally, I would be loved. The uncaring populace would care. I would be important, I would be accepted for the first time. And for the first time, I would have made a difference.

As of now I was a tool. My district's tool. I did what they told me, learned what they taught me, not because I was meek but because I was desperate. The only hope of a future lay in winning, and I must chase that hope. I had nothing else to live for.

Then Cato happened. When I met him he was already popular; at thirteen he was already fatally gorgeous and girls stared after him, followed him, giggling and starry-eyed.

They had reason, I guessed. He was quite stunning. His blonde hair alone was enough to weaken any normal girl's knees, tousled sexily and so tempting to touch. And then you add the chiseled cheekbones and alert sky-blue eyes and you've got a ladykiller on your hands. But what I always secretly thought to be the direct shot to the heart was his mouth, always quirking in sarcasm or firm in concentration or hardened in anger.

Yeah, he was a masterpiece, particularly as the years went by and he matured. But I was untouched by his charm; I refused to be touched. I had no desire to be one of the airheaded lovestruck idiots that hung in in awe near his elbow. Such weakness was just that- weakness, and I never participated in weakness. It cost to be weak and I had no luck to spare.

We saw plenty of each other, both being specifically trained in District Two's Training Center to be tributes someday. Soon. Others were in training here too, but everyone was aware that the year Cato turned sixteen it would be he and I. Between our talents and our families, we were the chosen ones.

He teased me. Always cheerfully, always with his trademark sarcasm. I think he found me rather interesting, as the only girl immune to his manly appeal.

"Clove," he said once, "how is it that you spend all your days training in this building and yet manage to have freckles on your nose? One can only imagine the disaster of leaving you in full sun for even one entire afternoon." He smirked sweetly. He was the only guy I knew who could smirk sweetly.

I sent a knife spinning into a dummy's chest before replying. It added effect. "Cato, how is it that your hair is always blonde on top and dark at the roots? You are in here as much as I am. Could it be you bleach, perhaps twice a month, even?"

"Hm," he remarked and quite suddenly he stepped close and spun me around, holding firmly onto my hip and wrist. The wrist attached to the hand that held my next knife, of course. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I glared fiercely, wiggling my other arm where it was pinned between us. "Let me go or I'll stab you in the ear." I nearly did, too, but he was very swift, very adept, and he countered every move of mine with a better one of his. I hissed at him.

He snickered at me, holding me neatly with my back to his chest. Then he spun me around so I faced him. "You won't be hard to take down," he remarked. "Such a pity."

We had a strange brand of friendship after that.

R&R and I'll kiss you. (Hypothetically only, no worries.)