A/N: This just popped into my head while I should have been studying Biology... oh well. This is another side to Clato., I love the ship, but I still think they were psycho, not as nice as they're sometimes made out to be, but hey, even psychos can fall in love, right?
This is shameless self promotion, but this does use the same backstory portrayed in my other one-shot, We Were Never Star Crossed. So it might make a little more sense if you want to read that one first. If not, that's cool too, you'll know what's going on, just less of where it's coming from. :)
Rated a strong T for violence and suicide.
He did what he had to do.
He doesn't regret it.
It was an equal chance. Only one of them could come out. She would have done the same thing if she could have.
It had been fair. Completely.
He was blameless. He did what he had to do. To win.
That was what the Games were all about after all. You did what you had to, so you could win. So you could bring honor to your district.
It's hard to remember that day. He usually tries not to. Just sits and watches, staring out at the lump of gray that are his mountains.
During the day he can shut the memories down, but at night, they play through his mind like a movie. He's powerless to stop them.
He hates to feel powerless. He hates to feel weak.
He doesn't sleep. He does what he has to do. Like he always has.
He prowls his empty house, then moves out to the rest of the district. Yes, there's a curfew, but honestly, who's going to stop him? His mentor? That's a joke. He doesn't even look at him, none of them do. The Peacekeepers? Ha. Like they would have the guts. He would snap their heads off and they know it.
So he wanders the district. Like a ghost. Searching. And when he realizes what he's doing, what he's looking for, he stops.
That's usually about when the nightmares come.
They had been so close. Four tributes left, two alone, one pair. It would be easy they said. They could go home, they said. They stayed up one night, when neither of them could sleep, talking about what they would do when they got back. The house in Victor's Village. How they would never have to worry about food or Peacekeepers or anything again. They'd be above it all. They would be champions.
They would be victors.
And when you were a victor, the world was in your hands.
The girl from five managed to kill herself off somehow and they were down to three. Three more kills between them and home. Between them and a happy ending. So close.
He relives it in vivid detail. The Feast. How she almost died then, how he just barely got there in time to pull the boy from 11 off her. The fight, how even two on one it had been brutal, bloody, his leg, damaged beyond repair. Her eye, never to see again. Shaken, weak, but they overcame him. Of course they did.
And there were just two more bodies between them and home.
They spent the night planning, plotting, trying to recover. Their mentor sent them medicine, useless, but still. As she put it, the audience was still fawning over their stupid star-crossed lovers. But they were wrong. They would see who the real victors were.
They were hunting for the last two when the mutts appeared, chasing them down. Adrenaline fueled their battered bodies, pushing them to the Cornucopia. They made it to the top, her first, then him, her throwing her knives to ward them away while he made it up.
The other two were slower and as they watched, Loverboy went down, stumbling, and was set upon by mutts before the Girl on Fire could do anything.
She readied her knives and sent one flying, somehow missed, and the Girl on Fire was scaling the Cornucopia while one of the mutts leapt up, nearly ripping him off. While they were distracted, the Girl on Fire made it, arrow pointing at them.
"Just try it," she hissed, knife in hand. "See who can go faster."
The Girl on Fire shifted her bow towards Cato, a wild look in her eyes. "Fine. Shoot me. He'll go down too."
Stalemate. She should have thrown the knife. It would have been best for her to throw the knife, but she didn't. She hesitated.
He was tired of waiting. Just like the little Fire Girl had suggested once before, he threw his sword while her eyes were locked on the other girl.
It hit with a thud and her body toppled backwards.
With a barked command, the mutts were gone, just as the sun topped over the lake. Exhausted, dirty, bleeding from their many wounds, they somehow managed to drop over the side, stumble back to the lakeside.
Then the voice. The voice that haunted his dreams.
"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."
For a moment they stared at each other in shock. The house, the crowns, the happy endings, all going up in smoke.
But they were Careers and they were born to win.
Without warning he attacked. His sword was gone, who knew where, but his bare hands were enough. She stumbled backwards, taken by surprise, scrambling for a knife, thrown into danger when she thought she was safe. She shouldn't have let her guard down.
She gets a knife into him, his stomach, probably hit something vital. Another lands in his chest, but he's barreling forward. She turns, like she's about to run, and he crashes into her, hands around her throat. For a moment their faces are together, close enough to kiss, blue eyes staring heartlessly into brown.
She's terrified, he can see it. She's shaking as she thrashes, trying to get away from him, but he has her pinned down, she's always been puny, speed and distance and yes, a little bit of insanity were her weapons, but they're all gone.
The Career who tortured people is gone. She's just a scared girl. That's all that's left.
He stays there until he's choked the life out of her. Until her brown eyes that were always so bright are glazed over.
He doesn't let go right away. Just for good measure. Her lips aren't moving, but her last words are still echoing in his ears.
"Cato! Please! Stop!"
She's not scared anymore.
She's gone.
He can't hear the trumpets or the announcement or the hovercraft. He can't hear anything but her screaming his name. Begging him to stop.
And he wonders, what has he done?
When they show the recap he thinks he loses it. He doesn't remember what happened. Not until he was on the train home.
With her body.
But he did what he had to do. It was just one more kill.
People don't look at him in District 2. When he wandered by her funeral, they stopped to give him dirty looks or they turned away.
Some days he wants to scream at them, "I did what I had to! She would have done the same!"
They had to have a victor.
He was strong. She was weak.
She's gone now.
He still looks for her. Even if she's never coming back. His girl with the knives is gone. No more teasing little smirk. No more taunting her 'til she smacks him and stomps off. No one to talk to or share secrets with.
Some days he can't figure out why he can't find her.
Others he can't remember why she's gone.
Then it all comes crashing back.
He did what he had to do.
On the Victory Tour they do a special event about the tributes from Two who were so in love, but turned on each other at the end.
When his prep teams comes to find him the next morning, they find him lying in a pool of blood, two perfect slits on his wrists, her knives in his hand.
He did what he had to, to win.
All he had to do was sell his soul.
'Baby we were born to die.'
A/N: That was emotionally draining. Now I feel bad for killing them all, Katniss, Peeta, Cato, Clove. Wonder why I'm feeling so morbid. o.o. Anyway, thanks for reading! If you like it reviews are appreciated. It is a one-shot so if you want to follow (and if you do, that's awesome), probably better to follow my account so you get updates. :]