Author's Notes: For anyone who's read my other oneshots - these are just that, oneshots. I don't plan on writing sequels for anything I've already written, mostly because in my mind there's not much I can do with them. Still, I'm flattered you'd want me to continue!

Also, this one's a bit more angstier than the others and bit more one-sided. I've read stories where they exchange "I love you"s and it just didn't seem in character (to me - I mean, the stories are all fabulous, but this is just how I perceive the Careers), so I wanted to write my take on it.

Entracte
a Hunger Games (© Suzanne Collins) fanfiction

"I love you."

Before the words can even register in her head, Clove slaps him. Cato stares back at her with wide eyes, as though he can't believe what she did. She's sure her own expression mirrors his.

"… There has been a change to the rules. Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive."

If they are the last two alive.

The words repeat themselves in her mind over and over again, until she thinks she can see them dancing in front of her. Two people from the same district can make it out together - there can be two winners of the Hunger Games.

Two winners.

Cato and Clove.

For a moment, her eyes brighten.

"I love you."

Clove doesn't know why she does it again - but she brings back her hand and slaps him. It's softer this time, much more unsure, and her unguarded moment allows him to grab her hand in his. "Clove, what are you doing?" he whispers, giving her small digits a squeeze. "We can go home together - both of us can win."

She tries to understand, tries to weave the words together so that they can finally make sense, but no matter what she does it just doesn't click. Twenty-four kids are thrown into the arena and only one makes it out; that's how it's always been. That's how it's been for seventy-three years and the Capitol are not people who compromise. Unless, she thinks, unless it's all for the entertainment.

And what better entertainment is there than a love story?

Clove's brow furrows because finally Cato's words make sense. The freaks in the Capitol have to be gushing over the star-crossed lovers of District 12. The rules have been altered because of them, and rage begins curling in her stomach at the thought of it. The lovers have the edge, and this rule proves it.

The rage does not die down when she remembers that Cato is holding her hand; it grows because now she understands. Cato wants that edge as well.

"No," she hisses, snatching her hand out of his, because she will not play a part in his games. She is not a tool to be used - she is a Career, a victor, a winner. She is not some girl who cries for her beloved or someone who whispers 'I love you.' Clove is not a lover, and she refuses to play the part.

"Clove," Cato growls, much more aggressively, as he steps forward to cup her face. He pulls her in and leans so that their foreheads are touching and her toes are pushing against the ground. It's too intimate a position and she squirms. "Did you hear him? Do you hear me? We can make it out together," he enunciates each word slowly, trying to embed them permanently into her mind. "We can finally go home together." She looks deep into his eyes when he says the next words. "I love you."

She sees nothing.

She pushes him away, crying out. She doesn't know why, but she's angry and hurt and upset and she can't bear to look at him any longer. He stares her down with confusion, but she's too busy trying to sort out her own thoughts and feelings. She cannot describe the wrenching pain that is in her chest or the hurt that is in her stomach. She just feels sad and it doesn't make sense because she shouldn't - she and Cato can destroy the rest of the tributes and they can go home.

But it doesn't feel right. The way he says it, the way he holds her, the way he caresses her; it's all wrong because there's nothing behind it. But that shouldn't matter because the Hunger Games aren't about love or affection - they're about winning. It shouldn't matter if it's real or not real because it's not as though she likes Cato. She's been using him as much as he's been using her, and now they really can use each other to win.

As a Career, she should snatch up the opportunity. As someone who's been trained for this her entire life, she should be enthralled. For some reason, though, Clove just feels her heart clench. She feels weak and nauseous, and she's upset because she knows - she just knows - that Cato is not affected by this at all. Cato has always looked out for himself and Clove knows she should be doing the same, but something has gone terribly wrong.

Clove does not know what love is (for she has never really been shown it), but neither does Cato. His words, just like his eyes, are hollow.

She knows he's upset with her act (or lack thereof) even hours later, when the two of them are eating dinner. He doesn't look at her, but she doesn't care, because all she can hear is his I love you I love you I love you over and over again. Clove has never wished for a prince charming, has never waited for a knight in shining armor, has never seriously dated or liked a boy, but she knows it shouldn't be like this.

"You're a Career," she tells herself after inwardly debating with herself. "Suck it up and go for the win." She glances at Cato, who's nudging at the dying embers of their fire, and softly calls out his name. He barely at has time to look up before his face is in her hands and her lips are up against his.

She knows there's nothing behind it, but she lets herself enjoy the warmth of the arms that wrap around her. Real love and feelings have nothing to do with the Games, but Clove pretends, just for now, that she is not in the Hunger Games, but that she is a normal girl and that - maybe - the boy holding her really does love her.