Time to sleep, Cato told himself for the hundredth time, although he knew it wouldn't help. He actually had to admit it: He couldn't sleep. He was too excited to sleep.

The interviews were over. Cato had been the cool, arrogant, unreachable Career he wanted to be. The audience had been hanging on his lips as if every word coming out of his mouth was a sure death sentence. They believed he'd do anything to win. And of course, he would.

Cato had convinced many of the sponsors, as his mentor told him proudly. They seemed to believe in his victory, too.

So, what was the problem?

He'd need all sleep he could get. He knew his strategy by heart. He had the strength, the cleverness and the will to win. He would make it.

He wouldn't have volunteered if he hadn't been a hundred per cent sure that he'd make it. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

Cato turned around, so he could see out of the window directly into the streets of the Capitol. Bright lights everywhere. Loud music. The Capitol people were partying, once again.

One push of a button and the curtains closed, locking the happy, drunken people out of his bedroom. Still, Cato couldn't sleep.

He thought about Clove. What she might be doing right now. But it seemed to be obvious that she was sleeping. It was the most sensible thing to do, the night before the Games.

Cato felt anger rising in his chest. Anger at himself.

He was strong; he wasn't like those weaklings from the other districts, those who were always crying when their names were called at the reaping.

He had volunteered, because he had been training his whole life for becoming a victor.

He had never felt anything like fear or excitement. He didn't show his feelings, and maybe he didn't even have any.

Sometimes, Cato was more like a machine than a human being. He killed without batting an eye. He'd been the best fighter at the Training Centre he visited, and he was better than each of his co-tributes, for sure.

Again, Cato had to think of Clove.

She resembled him a lot. Maybe she wasn't as tall and strong built as him, but she could make up for it with her speed. In every battle she'd fought, she had won because she'd been just so much quicker than her opponent.

In a way, Cato admired her for that. But he admired her even more for her knife throwing. He'd watched her at training. She'd hit every dummy right in the heart. She was born to kill; a deadly machine, just like him.

Glimmer and Marvel were good, too, but not as good as Clove and him. They would be allies until all of the other tributes were dead, and then they would fight it out among them. District One could do nothing but lose. They wouldn't stand a chance against the deadly District Two Career couple.

The real question was, what could he do to win over Clove?

Actually, Cato didn't want to think about this last combat at all. He somehow didn't want to be confronted with the fact he had to kill Clove.

But as the Games hadn't begun yet, he would have a lot of time left to decide how to do it. He'd just see what the arena would bring –

Maybe Clove would be killed randomly, maybe even by the Gamemakers.

Stop it now, he told himself finally. Just close your eyes and breathe.

Cato couldn't say how long he'd been lying there, restless, before he jumped out of bed and banged his fist on the bedside table. How could it be that a Career, a sure victor like him, was too excited to sleep?

He'd just do what he was best at. Fighting. Killing. Winning.

It was as easy as it sounded.

Cato sighed and left his bedroom. At the door to the Living Area, he noticed this quiet voice coming from the direction of the TV.

He took a few steps forward, going on tiptoe, and listened.

No doubt, it was Clove, talking to herself.

Whispering her strategy into the emptiness.

"As soon as the gong sounds, run for the Cornucopia. You'll be the first to arrive there. Then get some weapon and start to kill.

Form an ally with Cato, Glimmer and Marvel. Hunt the tributes who managed to escape the bloodbath.

When there's only us, kill Glimmer and Marvel with Cato's help.

And finally –"

Cato entered the room, put a bright grin on his face and said: "Finally, it'll be among you and me."

"Cato."

Clove sounded really surprised. Didn't she hear him? If this had been a night in the arena, overhearing him could've meant her death.

Cato looked at her, still grinning.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, fumbling with her token. Wearing her pajamas, Clove looked like she'd just come out of bed. Like him.

One more thing we share, Cato thought before he sat down on his knees next to her.

"What are you doing here?", he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Couldn't sleep", Clove mumbled.

Cato laughed again. "So you wanted to use the time learning your strategy?"

"I know my strategy", Clove replied. "I just wanted to make sure I haven't forgotten anything."

"Like the fact you'll have to kill me at the end?"

Clove shrugged, but didn't answer.

He looked at her intensely. How weak she appeared, sitting cuddled on the floor, staring down at her hands.

Cato followed her look. "What's this?", he wanted to know, honestly interested.

"It shall bring me luck", Clove responded. "I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to take it into the arena."

"A talisman? Are you serious?" Cato frowned. "As if you'd need any luck out there."

Clove sighed and put the talisman back into her pocket, sitting a bit straighter now. "I'll take that as a compliment", she said.

Cato smiled and observed her in the darkness.

He really had to admit she was pretty. Her dark eyes matched exactly the color of her hair which was falling down her back like black silk. In her dress for the interview, she'd looked simply gorgeous. Cato couldn't take the eye off her as he remembered her on stage next to Caesar Flickerman.

Anyway, beauty wasn't a rarity in District Two. A lot of girls back home were pretty.

The thing with Clove was: She seemed to be somehow different from them.

She wasn't just pretty, she was also deadly.

Although she looked weak in the darkness, almost like a child, she shouldn't be underestimated. That was what she'd taught the sponsors, too.

And it was what Cato liked the most about her.

Suddenly, Clove raised her look and her eyes met Cato's. He turned away with this strange feeling that resembled shame.

Luckily, Clove knew how to detract from this moment.

"Let me guess: You couldn't sleep, either", she remarked teasingly. "That's weak, Cato. I'd expected more from you."

Cato nudged her slightly. "Don't talk to me like that! Remember, I'm the future victor of the 74th Hunger Games."

Clove folded her arms in front of her chest, laughing. "What did you say there? You don't truly believe that, do you?"

"Well, who should keep me from winning, in your opinion?" Cato quickly came to his feet, offering Clove to fight.

"Me", she replied, following his offer. "I'll send you a postcard from Victor's Village, weakling!"

And all at once, she ran towards Cato and kicked for his head, but he somehow managed to dodge her. Before Clove could attack again, she saw his fist aiming for her belly and ducked down fast.

Cato jumped for her, but there she was on her feet again, running towards the long table they ate at. Suddenly, she tripped over something and tried to hold her balance when Cato ran directly into her, tossing both of them to the ground.

Of course, their little fight went on. They rolled over the floor until Clove got a grip on his hair. He gasped and choked down a cry of pain. Clove was pinning him to the ground now, grinning at him superiorly.

Cato struggled to escape her grip, but it was pointless. He looked up into Clove's face, her dark eyes staring at him with this incredible depth, framed by long lashes.

"All right, you've won", he hissed at her. "At least this time."

Satisfied, Clove let go of him, even holding out a hand to help him to his feet, but Cato refused, deeply hurt in his honor.

For his surprise, Clove seemed to be very disappointed at his refusal.

When they both had regained their breath, she asked without looking at him: "Cato? Could we get serious for a moment?"

Cato, somehow curious, nodded. "Sure, but – what's the matter?"

Clove slowly walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains, watching the Capitol people partying. Cato followed her. She stood with her back turned on him, so he couldn't see her face at all. Nevertheless, he knew she was worried.

"Clove", he said quietly, "talk to me. What's up?"

She took a step to the side and waved him over.

"Look at them", she said when he was next to her, pointing at the people outside. "They are so unconcerned. They don't know any sorrow. You know what I mean, don't you?"

Her face turned towards Cato. She looked tired, with dark shadows under her eyes, but still beautiful.

"I know", Cato whispered back, even if he didn't get what she was up to.

The Capitol people had always been completely unconcerned. They needed entertainment to escape their boring, luxury life. That was the only reason the Hunger Games existed.

But it was his aim to become like them, wasn't it? He didn't want to look like them, stupid and crazy as they were, but to live a life as easy as theirs.

A big house in the Victor's Village, parties and fame. That's what he was aiming for.

"You can call me weak", Clove went on, "but in a way, I just don't get it. How they can watch twenty-four human beings, children even, fighting to death in an arena only one can escape. It's cruel, I think."

Cato looked at her. He didn't want to call her weak, but –

"You can't question this, Clove", he told her seriously. "Killing is what we are here for. I've trained so hard all those years to kill them. I've waited all my life to win those Games, and if killing is what I need to do, I'll do it! Maybe they're all just innocent children, but it doesn't matter. Because we aren't the ones to die."

Clove turned away from him suddenly. "You don't understand", she whispered. "And now, you'll be thinking of me as a weakling, won't you?"

That was weird. Cato still didn't get it, but it didn't feel right to leave Clove like this, so he seized her shoulder to comfort her.

"I don't think you're weak", he said tiredly.

Clove pushed him away. "There will be only one of us left!", she snarled at him. "For one of us, the arena means sure death, don't you understand?"

And finally, for the first time, Cato did understand.

This thought had been in his head for so long now that he'd learned to ignore it. He had always known there was the possibility to lose. But it wouldn't be like losing a game. He would lose his life.

It didn't matter, though. He'd spent all his life training for the Hunger Games. Without them, he'd be nothing.

The promise of money, fame and an unconcerned life had overweighed the fear. Winning the Games was all a district child could do – even if it came from Two – to escape the misery of Panem. If Cato wanted to fulfill his dreams, he would have to win the Games, then. He had no choice.

He'd become hard as steel, cold as ice. If he had any emotions, deep inside, he wouldn't dare to show them. He was a killing machine. No feelings meant no fear.

That was his way to handle the situation, he guessed.

But apparently, Clove wasn't that much like him, in this regard.

Cato had never seen her showing any emotions.

She'd volunteered, fast as lightning.

She'd thrown her knives, fully concentrated, without missing her aim.

She'd sat next to Caesar Flickerman, showing the sponsors the strong Career girl they wanted to see.

And now she was actually weeping.

As he heard the sobbing sounds coming out of her mouth, Cato couldn't control himself any more. His hand reached for Clove's face, and when it found her cheek, he turned her face towards him softly.

"Don't cry", he whispered. "Please. I can understand you. I know what you mean. It's okay."

Clove wiped the tears out of her face, but there were always more to follow. "Nothing's okay", she replied. "Tomorrow, we'll go out to die!"

She started to tremble now. Cato seized her arms to keep her calm.

"I want you to look me straight in the eye", he told her. "Come on, Clove."

Shyly, she looked up to him.

"Listen", Cato went on, "you won't die. Just remember one thing: You haven't spent all those years training for nothing! You have more strength, more knowledge, more strategy than each single one of your opponents. You'll kill them all, even Glimmer and Marvel. Don't forget what you're fighting for, Clove. Think of victory, of returning home, and you can make it."

"I don't doubt that", she replied. "I'm just – somehow – afraid."

"That's okay", Cato told her quietly, but Clove shook her head.

"It isn't. Not for a Career."

"What do you think, then, is the reason why I am not lying in my bed, sleeping?", Cato asked. Suddenly overwhelmed by his emotions, he took Clove's face in both of his hands and looked at her insistently.

Clove had stopped crying, but still, she didn't seem to believe it. "You're kidding me!", she said. "You're just saying that. You aren't afraid; you're Cato."

"I know", Cato said, and laughed. "It's weird, but it's true. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

Deep wrinkles appeared on Clove's forehead. She looked even more tired than before.

"Now, just stop thinking and go to bed", Cato instructed her. "It's your big day tomorrow."

Clove bit her lower lip. "I can't."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I can't."

"Nightmares?"

"I've never had any, at least since we're here", Clove explained. "It's just – I can't sleep. I tried it, and I can't."

Cato let go of her face and took her hand instead. "We're allies, right?", he asked.

"Of course." Clove was weird. "But –"

"Then, let's go", Cato interrupted her.

He didn't know what was going on when he pulled Clove after him, aiming for her bedroom. She stopped and looked at him questioningly, so he announced: "I'm coming with you. Except you're averse to it, for sure."

For a moment, he expected her to protest, but she didn't. Instead, Clove managed a smile and followed him.

Her bed was exactly as comfortable as his. Cato lied down with his arms crossed behind his neck, waiting for Clove to join him. She hesitated, looking at him unsurely, until he reminded her: "You'll need some sleep if you want to win, sweetheart!"

"Don't call me like that", she mumbled. Finally, she lied next to him, head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders.

Cato couldn't remember that he'd ever slept as good as that night. With Clove in his arms, the weird feelings inside his head were gone. He was completely relaxed, and so was Clove.

She fell asleep quickly, even if it was the last night before the Games. Even if going into the arena meant sure death for one of them, as she'd said.

But if she felt safe, it was all okay.

Maybe showing emotions has its advantages, Cato thought. Maybe, with Clove on your side, you don't need to be alone any more. Not now, and not in the arena.

Just take care of her. That was his last thought before he fell asleep, too.

Just take care of her.

Cato had to think about this night all the time while he watched Clove dying in his arms.

He'd begged her to stay, but it was futile.

He had wanted to protect her and failed.

Bitterly, Cato remembered the morning, when he'd woken up and felt so close to victory. They could have won together, after the rule change. Both of them, returning home, living together in the Victors' Village.

They just had to stay strong.

Then the feast.

Cato had hidden in the underbrush while Clove had run for Katniss, the girl who was on fire. She'd been their enemy all along, and the feast was the best possibility to kill her.

And Clove could've done it, if it weren't for Thresh.

Cato hadn't seen him coming, although it was him he'd been waiting for in his concealment.

He watched everything: How Thresh hit Clove with this rock, how he let Katniss go.

Clove had been screaming his name.

"CATO!"

Her voice, full of pain, echoed in his head.

Cato had run as fast as he could. But he'd come too late.

"Don't leave me", he'd told her. "Stay here, Clove. Don't go. We can still make it."

"Liar", Clove had replied.

The rock had totally damaged her skull. Blood was flowing all over her face. She didn't have long.

Still, her hand was clasping his, and he held on tightly.

He promised her she'd make it, even though it was just to calm her.

He didn't want to lose her.

He didn't want to go on without her.

But Clove was already facing death. They both knew it; knew that she would never make it.

He had to give up on her.

"I'll kill him", Cato swore her. "I'll find Thresh and kill him. I promise you, I will win. For you."

Clove's hand didn't let go.

Her eyes were still looking up to him.

Then, she opened her mouth to say her last words.

"I believe in you, Cato."

It wasn't more than a hush, almost inaudible.

But he heard it. And he nodded.

"Just don't forget that I'm doing this for you", Cato told her. "Because I love you, Clove."

She actually managed a smile before she took her last breath and her eyes got empty.

The cannon fired and the hard sound told Cato that this wasn't a nightmare after all.

It was real.

Cato clenched his fist while tears were running down his face. The first tears he'd ever cried.

They could've made it. Together.

And now, she was gone.

She'd left him alone, as he'd always been, before he had met her.

Anyway, Cato would take revenge for her death.

Thresh would die.

The red-haired would die.

Lover Boy and his little friend would die.

And he, Cato, would be the only one left. He would win.

From the beginning, he had known that he would be the victor.

But now, something was different.

Cato didn't want to win for himself any more.

He wanted to win for the girl who relieved him from his loneliness.

For the girl who showed him the meaning of love.

"For Clove", he whispered, before he went off in the direction Thresh had taken, leaving the girl he loved back for the approaching hovercraft to collect.