AN: My first foray into the Clato fandom, since I love them too much for words and the Glato in the movie is just unacceptable. This is the scene of the feast from Clove's point of view. Calla, by the way, is the District 4 girl who was killed by the tracker jackers with Glimmer.

Dedicated to Amy. Happy birthday! (a few days early) I swear your card is coming soon. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, and much of the speech in this is copied from there.

Silence.

This is all I can hear as Cato and I melt into the bushes as night bleeds into day, crouching perfectly still with weapons ready. Well, almost. Cato fidgets restlessly beside me, fingers twitching on the hilt of his sword in anticipation. I roll my eyes and fixate my gaze on the Cornucopia. Cato isn't used to being withheld from bloodshed.

I'm starting to wonder if we got the right time – it's the break of dawn now – when the slightest rustle from across the clearing catches my attention. The outline of dark hair and a bow. Well, well, well, we've been graced with Katniss Everdeen's presence after all. She's surely teamed up with Peeta Mellark since the rule change, and it's not hard to guess why she's here. Medicine for her boyfriend's leg. Cato knows where he cut him, and I smirk at the thought of the excruciating pain he must be in without that medicine.

Is he here, then? I doubt it, but it's still possible – I wouldn't put it past him to drag himself after Katniss like a puppy, probably killing himself in the process. I shake my head. I knew from the start he was too attached to the supposed love of his life, even if it's supposed to be staged to help their chances in the Games. Katniss is smarter – if she feels anything for him, she doesn't let it show. Doesn't let it weaken her.

Katniss Everdeen is a mystery to me. I still hate the ground she walks on, of course, but she's not your average District 12 bloodbath – far from it. Her eleven in training proved that, as well as the fact she teamed up with the little girl from District 11 and must be strong to have made it this far. She was the one who killed Glimmer and Calla with her tracker jackers. She was the one who put the arrow through Marvel's heart. Three Careers, three of my allies dead because of her.

Smart. Powerful. Desirable and in love. It's not hard to see why the Capitol loves her.

It's not hard to see why I want to slit her throat myself and watch the life drain out of her.

As soon as Cato catches sight of her, he growls and almost runs at her there and then. I lay the blade of my knife on his arm warningly, and he glares at me, but settles back down. I begin to grow weary with need too, although I don't let it show. It must be nearly time now.

Just as the first blinding ray of sun hits the Cornucopia, there's a slight tremor beneath our feet. Alarmed, I glance around for the source of the disturbance, but then the table rises out of the ground, four backpacks on top of it. I can see our backpack, a large black one, next to an identical one labelled 11. Next to them is a tiny orange pack with a 12 on it, and 5 is –

Gone.

I nearly let out a shriek of frustration when the streak of red hair flits across the clearing and disappears into the trees. The District 5 girl was hiding in the Cornucopia all along! Barely able to contain my anger, I hiss, "Get her!" to Cato, and he nods and stands. "And Thresh! Peeta, too, if he's here."

"And Everdeen?"

"Mine."

Something flashes through his eyes. Cato wanted to be the one to kill Katniss Everdeen, too. Is he really going to challenge me, here?

I raise my eyebrows, daring him, my grip on the knife tightening slightly. Cato grits his teeth, but nods to me and takes off running before the District 5 girl can go too far.

When I look back to the Cornucopia, I'm already slipping more knives out of my jacket in preparation. Across the clearing, Katniss is doing the same with her bow as she sprints towards the table. Rising, I pull my arm back and send my first knife flying through the air before Katniss can properly notch her arrow in. To my dismay, it whizzes straight past her, close enough to brush her cheek but not to scar, and a second later a blooming pain erupts in my left shoulder.

Adrenaline makes me yank the arrow out and pick up the pace again as my feet pound the ground towards her. The brat has the pack attached to her arm now, and my wound only serves as a minor irritant when the anger coursing through my veins sends another knife cutting through the air, this time connecting with flesh and slicing a bloody gash in her forehead. She cries out – stumbles – lets her guard down for half a second – and I crash into her, pinning her to floor with my knees and sending her bow skittering away across the ground.

Katniss splutters under the sudden weight, and then growls, realising the situation as she tries to force me off her. She doesn't struggle much, though, and pants heavily as she tries to blink back the blood pouring into her eye and down her cheek like inky red tears. I frown at her for a split second, expecting more of a fight. This is disappointing. Maybe I should fix that?

"Where's your boyfriend, District 12? Still hanging on?"

The taunt works a treat. "He's out there now, hunting Cato," she snarls. I almost laugh. Well, I do hope Cato can protect himself against a big, mighty threat like Lover Boy with one leg. "Peeta!" Katniss screams, her voice strangled and desperate and not convincing enough.

Still, I deliver a hard blow to her throat anyway, rendering her silent. I control what comes out of Katniss' mouth in her final moments. And I don't want her to scream yet.

"Liar," I smirk. "He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you keep his heart going."

Katniss' eyes widen, her pitiful attempt at leading me on quashed. She knows she's trapped now, and she sets her mouth in a grim line as I lean down, increasing my body weight keeping her down. Or maybe she's just stopping herself from spewing monstrosities at me.

"What's in the pretty little backpack?" I ask innocently, eyeing up the small orange thing greedily. "That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it."

I open my jacket, running my fingers over the various blades lined up inside. All commissioned by me since the bloodbath, some bloodier than others. This isn't a job for a rough, jagged blade that'll do the job and not much else. I need a performer. Selecting a spotless small knife, I turn it over in my hands, evaluating it. The first light rays of the day gleam in its untainted blade, bathing it in a golden glow. Yes, this will do nicely.

"I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show."

I promised no such thing, of course, but it doesn't matter anyway. Katniss Everdeen doesn't care.

This is when she starts to struggle, wriggling around desperately in an effort to unbalance me, to knock me to the side, maybe even to reach an arrow behind her to jab me in the side. The sight of the knife in my hand has made her realise how close to death she is. That's what I always find amusing about a person's final moments. They never believe it's real.

Until it is.

Scowling, I grab a fistful of hair and yank her head forcefully, reminding her who's in charge. "Forget it, District Twelve." And then I smile. A genuine smile that fills me with anticipation. "We're going to kill you," I murmur softly into her ear. "Just like we did your pathetic little ally… what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue?" This last word is said so gently, so carefully, it could be carried away on the wind.

And there it is. The fire in the Girl on Fire's eyes. The fire that Rue and only Rue could provoke. And of course, I intend to play with fire, because a fire is thrilling as long as you don't get burnt.

"Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?"

I twirl the knife in my fingers carelessly, allowing Katniss' eyes to linger on the spinning blade for a few moments. "Now, where to start?"

Tilting her head from side to side, I consider her. She's really quite pretty, if you look past the dirt and the defiance and the battle wounds… speaking of which, the blood from the gash in her forehead spoils the fun, so I wipe it away, smearing the stain further. It doesn't matter. She'll be covered in the stuff by the time I'm through with her, anyway.

I tap my knife thoughtfully against her cheek. She winces. "I think… I think we'll start with your mouth."

Tracing the outline of her lips with the tip of the blade, I smile sweetly at Katniss. The blade is pressing into her skin so softly it must be hardly tickling her. I wonder if she's having an inner war with herself. If she should make another attempt to fight back. If she should be defiant or scream out when the pain comes. Apparently, she's chosen to be defiant as she fixes me with determined, hateful grey eyes. She wants to stare me down as I carve her pretty features into tiny pieces. Huh. We'll see how long that lasts, District Twelve.

"Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore."

I bring my face so close to hers that our mouths almost touch. I can feel her short, sharp breaths ghosting over my lips. "Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?" I whisper into her mouth.

Something wet lands on my own mouth, splashes onto my cheek. I taste metallic blood, and what, to my disgust, is saliva. Face flushing – who does she think she is? – I pull back, reeling, and press the knife hard enough into her lip to sting.

If you're going to be childish, District Twelve, then we can play games. We can play games.

"All right, then. Let's get started."

The razor sharp blade makes the first jagged tear into her lip, and releases the first bead of blood.

Goodbye, Girl on Fire.

And it would be.

But it turns out the odds aren't in my favour today.

The breath is knocked out of me as a hand clamps the neck of my jacket and a great force hauls me into the air. I'm so stunned that the knife slips from my fingers, and panic kicks in. Kicking my legs wildly, I try to twist in whoever's grip I'm in, and use my steadily returning breath to scream, scream, scream. Thick arms wrap around my torso, and it's with horror that I realise I'm completely helpless. I have no weapon – no strength – no Cato.

Screaming, I thrash wildly in my captor's arm, trying to land vicious bites he doesn't even notice. I'm terrified, which scares me even more, because I've never been afraid. I've never felt so hopeless. Right now, it feels like I could die. I shouldn't be scared of death – death should be scared of me!

But my heart is beating so violently that I can't feel it anymore, and adrenaline is the only thing that keeps me blindly lashing out in pure terror, my shrieks being the only thing I can focus on. As my eyes roll back into my head, I catch sight of the face of my captor.

Thresh. District 11. The brute has me! Cato, he's got me!

But if Thresh is here, where's Cato? Cato? Cato! CATO!

I'm not able to form words, though, apparently, and all I can do is keep screaming in the hopes that Cato will hear me.

I need him.

I let out a grunt when the iron grip releases and I feel a blissful nothing until my back hits the ground, rattling my body through to its core. Then Thresh is there, standing over my body, barely masked rage spilled over his usually emotionless face.

Immediately, I know that I stand no chance.

"What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?"

"No! No, it wasn't me!" Some unknown force propels me backwards, away from Thresh, away from danger, and rocks are cutting into my bare hands and I'm literally dragging myself away from a fight but I don't care, because I can taste death and the fear makes me blind to everything else, makes it impossible to care about my reputation and my image back in District 2 as a Career and even though all I want to do is scream, Marvel! It was Marvel! He's dead now!, I can't.

Because I can taste death and all I want to do is live.

"You said her name. I heard you. You kill her?" Thresh's features twist into a darker grimace. A look that hardly bodes well for me. "You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

And then I finally notice Katniss Everdeen, staring at us, shellshocked. She can't believe how lucky she is. I can't even bring myself to work up fresh hatred towards her, because at the same time I see Katniss, I also see the rock in Thresh's shaking hand.

Curse you to hell, Marvel!

"Cato! Cato!" I shriek, sobs starting to break out. I can feel the threads of my hard, Career-built shell unravelling. Cato, I need you. Cato, please! Can't you hear me? I need you, Cato, I need you now!

"Clove!"

His shout is almost as anguished as mine, and I know that he's here. He sees me. He sees Thresh. He sees Katniss trembling on the ground.

He sees what I don't, and that's the rock in Thresh's hand slicing through the air too fast to stop, like one of my knives, and smashing into my skull.

A wrenching pain rips through me. I can't feel anything at first, but I'm well educated in all the ways a person can die, and just because there's no blood doesn't mean it's not fatal.

I feel numb as my head hits the ground. I'm vaguely aware of Thresh and Katniss. Words. No Thresh or Katniss. But something's wrong, because I'm not chasing either of them down. Something's wrong because I've forgotten how to move my limbs, and everything's blurry and out of focus. The edges of my vision are turning black and rotten. I don't know what's happening.

Something's wrong, but I'm not quite sure what yet.

"Clove! Clove!"

There's movement beside me as faint calls of my name try to break through the barrier in my ears that's reduced every noise to a ringing sound. Blonde hair. Scarred face. Cato blocks out the sun as he puts my head on his lap, and suddenly I can't see or hear anything except him. My senses are trying desperately to tune in to him, to hold onto only him. That, along with the terrified look that doesn't look right on Cato's face, confuses me even more.

"Clove, stay with me!"

With some difficulty, my eyes find his, which are flicking back and forth from my face to the place where Thresh hit my head with the rock. And then I understand.

"Cato," I mumble, surprised at how well my voice works. It's not choked up with sobs, like some of my victims. I've never cried before, and I'm not about to start now. "Cato, am I…?"

He only nods jerkily, clenching his teeth together. Is Cato about to start crying? That'd be a sight, and I almost laugh. Then I realise I can't.

"I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have tried to find them. I'm sorry, Clove, I'm so sorry, I should have been covering you…" Cato's face darkens, and the look in his eyes hardens. "I'll kill him. I promise, I'll kill him."

"I'll kill you if you don't," I murmur, and Cato nods again, as if seriously holding me to my threat.

My vision starts to slip out of focus again, and I panic as I temporarily lose sight of Cato. But he's there again, as he grabs my hand in a crushing grip. I can feel him shaking. When did I become so… aware of him?

"Clove, don't go. Don't leave. Stay with me, please!"

And then he really does start to cry. I can't believe what I'm seeing, and I should be angry at this show of weakness – but the salty tear splashing onto my cheek makes me realise I'm dying. I have maybe a few moments left to breathe. And then I'll be gone forever.

It's like being hit by a train – or a rock – as I realise this is what all my training has been leading up to. I've been trained to kill, and at the same, trained to die.

I've been trained for this moment my whole life, but when it matters most, I can't for the life of me find the reason why.

And suddenly, I don't care that Cato's crying.

"Cato, you've got to get back to District 2. You've got to win," I hiss urgently, practically begging. Cato takes a shuddery breath and nods. I have to fight against my own tears. Not because I need to maintain a show of strength as a Career. Not because crying as I die will disappoint my family back home. It's because I won't cry for the Capitol.

I don't want to die.

"Cato, I'm scared," I whisper, so the cameras won't hear. He holds my hand tighter than ever, and to my – horror? Relief? – starts to stroke my hair.

"It's almost over, Clove. It's almost over. It's okay. Hang in there."

And we're not Careers anymore. We're terrified teenagers – children, really. A heartbroken boy holding a dying girl in his arms.

It would be tragic if it weren't so sick.

"Cato…"

"Almost there, Clove. You'll be fine, I promise."

It's with a sense of finality that I have to close my eyes, but I can still feel Cato even if I can't see him. This is going to be harder for him than it is for me. All of a sudden, he cares so much. I wonder…?

No. It's impossible. Silence washes over us. I feel my whole being sinking into something that's cold and warm, light and dark. My body relaxes as does my mind, and I can't remember the name of the person who did this to me, the name of the person I myself tried to kill earlier or why they were important. I've never felt so peaceful.

"Clove?" Rising terror. Could he…? "Clove! Clove, I -"

But his following words are blasted into non-existence by the cannon, and I suppose I'll never know.

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