A/N- Hi, everybody. Sooo, I have noticed that, lately, most of my stories come from either internal debate or dialogue. I don't know how to get rid of the internal debate thing, so I hope you all like that. : ) But, I am challenging myself to do two things in this story:

One- Write for a fairly unpopular pairing (I haven't found any with this pairing, by the way).

Two- Lessen dialogue and see how my characters will communicate.

And as you probably know, I LOOOOOVE writing AU and romance. So, I have combined those two genres with the challenges. Call me crazy, but… this an AU romance about Cato and Lavinia!

Yeah, maybe I am crazy… Oh, well. I hope you enjoy it. I thought chapter one would be good in Lavinia's point of view. Tell me in a review (hint, hint) if you want me to do some chapters in Cato's perspective. And by the way, the mutt scene did happen, but in this version Katniss and Peeta slipped off the Cornucopia, too, and Cato won.

Wow, that was longer than I meant for it to be. Hey, I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo! Anyway, if you read all of that, write a review that contains the phrase 'majestic pickle unicorns' and you'll get virtual cookies. Seriously, I will literally get Peeta to make you all cookies. But since he is fictional, you will all get fictional cookies. Double fictional's make a real. Right? Anyway, all I'm saying is I want to know what you think of this. Quite honestly, I don't know what I think of the idea myself. One second, I love it. The next, I'm not too thrilled with the whole 'less dialogue' thing… but I guess it is because I'm just a naturally chatty person. : )

Chapter One

Does sleep always give off a false illusion of vulnerability? Of innocence? I know, for a fact, that I am not looking into the face of a vulnerable nor innocent person.

Of course he isn't; not only did this person commit horrific crimes in order to escape that arena, but he preformed those acts with such excitement. Eagerness about the Capitol and its twisted ideas. The very ones I ran from five years ago… Now, my inability to scream out every thought I have against them is the mark of my supposed betrayal. The real punishment, on the other hand, is not my forced silence against the Capitol, but rather being forced to looking after the least lucky each year, once they leave the physical arena. I have seen too many to ever think that they truly leave…

But still, none ever seemed to enjoy the Games so much as this one. His excitement is merely a mirror of the unfortunate truth; that to many, this is a way of life, something to be celebrated, even.

But, as the old saying goes, two wrongs don't make a right. The Gamemaker's selected me for an important job- or at least that's how they tried to mask the truth, that this is really punishment- and I need to preform it to the best of my ability.

Another familiar phrase pops into my mind, something that my mom used to say, back when I was really little. Even back then, at the age of six, I was different than the others. In late spring, my kindergarten teacher showed us all the initial fighting of the Games. They were being aired live, and it was our duty as citizens of Panem to watch. However, it was the first time I had watched them without my parent's right there to cover my eyes at the worst parts. Apparently, I was the only one who watched them that way, because, after about five minutes, I broke down crying. For the rest of the year, and even a while afterward, that was what I was known for. The others, even a few teachers, would continue to comment on that. And so one day, when I came home and told my mom about the things that the kids who I thought were supposed to be my friends were saying, she gave me one of the most important pieces of advice I had ever gotten. "You did nothing wrong," she reassured me, softly pushing my hair behind one ear. "But sometimes, and I want you to remember this; hurt people hurt others. Don't be a part of the cycle." OF course, I agreed. Back then, I was able to do so with words.

Now, fourteen years later, I get a big chance to not only refuse to give in to that cycle, but reverse it. I realize with a shock that doing so requires me to befriend the very kind of person I have always disliked. I don't think I have ever genuinely hated someone, though I despise the ideas that most people around me embrace.

I can't do that. But, at the same time, I did promise that, it given the opportunity to change things…

That solves the debate I'm having with myself, doesn't it? I have to at least try. And if I fail, well, what do I have to loose, anyway?

Over the next two weeks, there is plenty of time to think. Though I regret it, I consider not following through with my old promise, passing it off as just a silly little thing I agreed to when I was young and naïve. At one point, I'm changing my mind at least ten times a day. Perhaps it was destiny, or possibly sheer coincidence, but after sixteen days, I manage to stick with one decision, yes, for over two hours. Then, before I can change my mind yet again, his eyes slide open.
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