Victory, Panem, Family

by Khaleesi Inara

Victory, Panem, Family: These were the things that mattered above all else.

The Hunger Games trilogy is owned by Suzanne Collins. The Hunger Games film is owned by Suzanne Collins, Lionsgate and their affiliates.

I am making no money from this endeavor. As for any original content: Any likeness, similarities, and resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, and events are unintentional and purely coincidental.

Victory, Panem, Family.

Those were the things that mattered above all else.

Those words were drilled into Cato's head from the very first time he could speak and understand.

Life was fleeting but glory was forever.

Cato Marson did not grow up in the lap of luxury. Most in District 2 did not as soft cushions and sparkling trinkets were for the weak and frivolous. The Capitol could keep their shiny fripperies; those in 2 only needed food and blood.

He wasn't raised in comfort but he barely grew up with the basic necessities. His father, Augustus Marson, was a marble miner in the quarry; the most dangerous and back breaking work in District 2. As humbly as he grew up, he never resented his father. He always knew the sacrifice his parents made for him day in and day out to provide him with everything he needed. His mother was a uniform washer for the Peacekeepers, her hands dried and cracking from the harsh chemicals to keep them as pristinely white as possible. How could he be angry when neither of his parents' hands were soft?

Augustus could have easily been a Peacekeeper. There was honor in protecting Panem and it paid good money but his father had fallen in love with the washer's daughter. He couldn't wait twenty years to marry her. He knew he made the right decision once he held his only son Cato.

His pride, his joy, his hope for Victory.

Cato's family was poor but proud. They gladly worked double shifts to never take out tesserae. If their son was sent to the Hunger Games then it would be because he was the strongest and most well trained, not because their family was so desperate for food and his name added more than necessary.

In District 2, the Reaping was more of a formality. The actual deciding process took place weeks before a Capitol representative even stepped foot into the mountain city.

For Augustus, nothing mattered more than to send his only son to the Academy. He couldn't provide much in his life but he would do that one thing for his son: give him the best chance possible to not only go into the Games but win.

"Son, we only get one chance to live this life. Once we're dead, there's nothing. We either disappear in history, remembered forever as Victors, or at least honored as fallen Tributes. I don't have much to give you but I will damn sure give you the best chance to live on in Victory. I know you're small but you won't be forever. Learn what you can and excel at the Academy. Make the family proud."

Those were the last words Augustus told his son Cato before the child step foot into the Academy. The school was reserved for only those who could afford it, District 2 not wanting to waste any precious resource. If a family couldn't afford the school then they probably couldn't afford food. If they couldn't afford food then the child was most likely underfed and weak; something they couldn't squander any time on.

Each Academy in Districts 1, 2, and 4 were different. They operated independently and had different values. District 1 focused on likability as well as ability with weapons. A child was allowed to stay there until they were out of Reaping age. District 4 focused more on survivability, especially in terms of water situations. The sea-faring District made sure that all Tributes were able to swim and could do mouth to mouth resuscitation. Loyalty until the final two was expected of same district Tributes, so District 4 could save their partner in certain situations.

District 2, on the other hand, was all about being the fittest and most lethal. If the trainers didn't think the child could possibly win then they weren't considered worthy of the program. There have been cases of potential Tributes making it all the way to eighteen and on their last Reaping then kicked out of the course. Students of all ages and abilities always had to be at the top of their game and ready to win the Games. Why bother training if they couldn't attain Victory? Sometimes Tributes did not make it back but it was not for lack of skill or honor. Even the most stalwart District 2 citizen knew that sometimes the odds were not in their favor. There would be a freak landslide or another Tribute could get a lucky shot in. It was enough for them to make it to the arena.

They fought for glory and honor; there was no greater death than that. The Fallen were given special ceremonies and laid to rest in the District 2 cavern, a specially sanctioned part of the mountain that held the honored dead separate from the average citizen. The only ones held in higher esteem were Victors. All were given gilded caskets and clothed in the finest linens. Their names repeated on Remembrance Day, a holiday celebrated only in District 2.

Cato surveyed his surroundings, nervously awaiting his turn at the spear throw. He noticed the older boys practicing a few lanes down fling the weapons with ease while his small hands were barely able to grip it steadily at eight years old. The trainers told them they didn't expect experts on their first day but they needed to see what they might be good at. He noticed that he wasn't the smallest boy but he was definitely smaller than most. His father assured him that he wouldn't be diminutive forever, Augustus being a big man himself, and his growth spurt was just waiting to happen. So he steadied his shoulders and flung the weapon with all of his might.

It didn't hit dead center but it was an impressive feat for such a small child. The teacher's took note but still did not give him the attention he thought he deserved.

He heard quiet whispers in the halls and among the teachers. They thought he had "beginners luck" and that his accomplishments would not amount to much. He was, after all, the poor son of a miner. That spurned him on to work harder and longer than anyone else.

Cato Marson would not accept that because he was small or came from humble beginnings it meant he was bound to be a nameless citizen that never amounted to anything. He remembered his father's aching back and his mother's bleeding hands. He remembered the sacrifices they made so that he would have the best life possible. Their work would not be in vain.

He was always the first up and in the gym and he would be the last to leave. Although all of District 2 had a strict curfew and schedule that followed them into the Academy, he was given special allowances as a student. He knew that his size was a disadvantage, not only for strength but intimidation. He wanted to be able to strike fear in any Tribute that would dare oppose him. He wanted them to tremble at the very sight of him.

As hard as he worked, he still didn't have the special treatment from the trainers. He worried that if he went into general population without the favor of his mentors than no worthy female Tribute would want to stand with him.

For the first four years, the Academy broke the classes up by gender. Each set would train as much as they could then they would introduce them to the other classes. It would give the children time to find their niche and then impress a possible partner. No Tribute had ever won without some sort of ally and the best one to get would be their own District partner. If they didn't have the support of their own teammate, then what chance did they have in the arena? They wouldn't kill their own district partner, at least not before all other Tributes had been slain; such a thing would be dishonorable beyond anything they knew.

So not only did he need to impress his tutors, he needed to amaze a future partner.

Cato finally got his chance when he was eleven, months before his first Reaping and being introduced to the female students. There were no chances that he'd be chosen to go into the arena. Even if his name was picked out of the bowl, an older and more experienced volunteer would take his place. He wouldn't be able to contest it as there was no way an eleven year old would beat a sixteen or older Tribute. There have been brave students that had tried but all failed during the final test of who would go into the Games. Once a Tribute lost his chance to go into the Games then he wouldn't be eligible again due to their District specific rules. There were too many that wanted to go in and they took every chance they got to cull the numerous volunteers.

Failure was not an option. He would not risk disgracing his family due to foolish pride.

They were having some sort of special lesson that day. Each student, a dozen or so, in his class held their preferred weapon. Cato's was a double edged sword. He learned to wield it methodically and powerfully. He could cut from any angle and even sever a dummy's head. He hated that his teacher's still waited for him to flunk out, not believing a washer's son could excel beyond the Mayor's son or anyone else who came from means.

The anger sometimes became overwhelming for him, unable to control the rage that boiled over inside of him. It was as if the emotion was too big for his body and escaped its confines. On more than one occasion he had lost his temper and lashed out; hurting his sparring partner or whoever happened to be unlucky enough to be nearest to him. He had been chided and more than once sent to clean up duty in punishment. They wouldn't kick him out as it was ridiculous to discourage brutality for the Hunger Games but they also couldn't let him continue to harass the other students. They wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye or dismiss his conduct if a student was hurt enough to inform their parents. If the parents were well connected or wealthy enough to ask for a interrogation and Cato found guilty, the Academy would have no choice but to expel him.

Although he would sometimes be on thin ice when it came to his temper, he pushed himself harder to show that he ought to be in the Games; more so than anyone else.

Every male in his age group stood in an empty room, stark white tile donned the floors and walls; a single black drain in the middle of the room was its only color. Everything about District 2 was some sort of white, black, or grey. Their life was utilitarian and nothing ever wasted on anything beyond the basics.

They could enjoy extravagances when they were Victors.

Hog tied and gagged was an average sized male. They all thought it odd for him to be there but waited until they were spoken to. They were taught to follow rules not question their superiors.

"This is a traitor. He was caught stealing wood in District 7, outside their gates. He stole from Capitol owned land and brought here as a demonstration," Primus, their instructor spoke. His words clipped, never wanting to say more than was absolutely necessary.

"This is probably your most important lesson you'll learn at the academy. Kill without remorse or a hint of hesitation. Go."

Most did not comprehend the instruction, confused as what their mentor could be asking of them. They knew on the surface that they would have to kill in order to survive. They did not expect it so soon. Others questioned why they should kill the man in the first place. He was tied and could not defend himself. They weren't executioners or Peacekeepers; it wasn't their job to kill traitors.

Only Cato followed the order immediately.

His family's honor was at stake and he would not pause. The man before him was a traitor and traitors held no honor. He knew he had to kill and would do whatever it took to achieve Victory. It's what he had been working so hard the past four years for. It's what his parents worked so hard for. He would not let them down.

For Victory.

For Panem.

For Family.

It was a quick clean death. The blade sliced through the traitor's like lard, so easy it passed through flesh. Blood spurted from the wound and washed the walls in crimson. Cato showed no signs of regret. Instead, he smiled at the job well done. He was confident that many Tributes he faced in the arena would come to a similar end. He liked the thrill of the kill, knowing that he was doing what he was made to do: End the life of those who came against him and win the respect his family so rightly deserved. He would be the first Marson in the history of District 2 to win the Hunger Games. His father would no longer have to push marble from the quarry, his mother never having to touch the washing basin again. He would take care of his own and his sons and daughters would know Victory.

The Marson name would not be forgotten or fade in time. It would be forever etched in the grand monument of Victors. An eternity in stone and revered for generations to come; and no one would ever look down on him or his family for their origins again.

Cato was no longer ignored by his teachers.

On the other side of the campus, Clove Cutler played with knives. It was a game she liked to call "How many fellow students could I throw a knife at and almost hit without getting in trouble?" She was known as the "girl with knives" although she snorted at the pure unimaginative name. The sharp implements were her thing. They were her family's means of money. The small brunette was the heiress to the Cutler's Cutlery Empire. Everyone from the Capitol to the well off in District 12 had a set of her family's knives and silverware. Anything sharp a trade person used was from her family's factory. The Cutler's were even contracted to make the weapons used in the arena. They would then make perfect replicas if a Tribute had used one and the Capitol wanted a souvenir. She came from one of the most respected families in District 2 and with that came certain expectations.

She was expected to already be adept at wielding the blade. Her weapon of choice was the small knives and she threw them with the utmost precision. Already at age eight, she was hitting dead center bullseye, her mother expecting nothing less than perfection from a Cutler.

Although she would be considered a prodigy in most circles, at the Academy and the Cutler family, she was given no more praise or recognition than was necessary. A simple "well done" was all she ever got and would ever get. Why give accolades to someone who should be at the top?

It was par for the course. It was expected. A bird does not get congratulations for knowing how to fly or a fish being able to swim.

It was annoying to say the least. She wasn't expecting a parade, at least not until she won the Games, but she knew she deserved more than a simple pat on the back. Practicing four hours a day as a child was no small feat. So she decided she would practice even more at school. Four hours turned into eight along with everything else they taught her, such as hand to hand combat. Still the teachers and her mother would not give an inch of recognition, no matter how agile she got or the size of the opponent she took down.

Her aim had gotten considerably better, even at long distances and moving targets she hit exactly where she wanted. The knives were embedded deeper and deeper as she grew stronger.

Still, all she heard from her mother was,

"Your brother could make a knife go three inches deep."

"Your cousin could throw two knives at the same time."

"Your uncle could wield both a sword and a bow."

It was never enough because no matter what she did, until she won she was nothing. Her whole family had generations of winners. What was excelling at the Academy to a family of Victors?

She let out her frustration on her fellow students. They would meet the very near end of her blade. She never missed a target but a small smile to the trainers and an "opps" was enough to get them off her back if she threw a knife a little too close to another child. Besides, she was a Cutler; from the moment she was born her name was in the books to go into the Arena. There was no point in reprimanding her.

Some frustration was let out on the traitor sacrifices. She had been practicing on small animals, killing them indiscriminately for target practice and whatever happened to be unfortunate enough to be in her back yard. Killing a traitor from another district was an easy transition and she snuffed out their lives with carefully aimed knives. She knew where all the major arteries were and where to throw on the body to kill the quickest. She even knew where to throw to kill the slowest if it were her pleasure.

Time went on and she shined in every lesson they taught her. She knew how to knock down an opponent. She could wrestle other students into submission. She was the number one student in her class and still not a word from her family. Even the teachers merely smiled and went about their duties. Even if her family had accomplished great things, why could they not see she was just as good or important? Why were her abilities ignored because someone before her did just as well? Why couldn't she be acknowledge for what was happening in the moment?

Years pasted and she grew angrier and angrier. It all came to a head when the classes mixed.

Cato Marson, the bane of her existence. He was the constant threat to her number one spot at the Academy. Not only did he have strength and skill, he had good looks and an easy lethal charm. The average Panem citizen would think him mad with his blood lust. But in the Capitol and District 2, he was another cocky Tribute that was all but assured Victory, the skills to back it up, and everyone seemed to agree.

What was hers as a birthright he had to earn through training. He was congratulated and fawned over while she was ignored while they were both in the same placement.

From the dark look he gave her as she easily threw her knives and hit her target, the feeling was mutual.

Clove Cutler was a spoiled brat who didn't know how good she had it, in Cato's opinion. Everyone knew who she was, she didn't need to even try and her spot was guaranteed. He even would bet that if her name was called, and he knew it would be because the pre-Reaping was fixed, no one would speak up to challenge her. She was the heiress to the Cutler fortune; she was expected to do great things by merely being born into her family. He had to work every day and every hour to prove he even belonged there while her name alone commanded respect.

Although she was considered small, even for a female, for her age and class; the others gave deference to her and all stepped back just slightly whenever she was around. She didn't need to say anything, she was a Cutler and it was best not to get on her bad side.

Cato didn't care what side he was on, he worked too hard to get where he was and he wouldn't bow to anyone.

The two eyed each other and both refused to be the first to move. They would not submit, it wasn't until a teacher had broken their silent feud did they move and neither could claim victory.

Both vowed to themselves that they would show the Academy just who was their number one student.

It was easier said than done.

Cato easily proved his dominance in strength and wielding a sword. No dummy stood a chance as he smoothly severed their head from their body. His cocky grin told her that it would be oh so easy for her neck to end up like the mannequins. If she were ever in arms reach, her life would be quickly ended.

But Clove was quick and agile, more so than a lumbering teen could ever hope to be. Cato couldn't kill her if he couldn't catch her. Her aim at moving targets with her taunting smile let him know that all she had to do was find a safe distance and have a knife to do him in.

Their rivalry began to mount as training continued. Both refused to leave before the other and they arrived at the gym at the same time.

When it came to practical Arena classes outdoors, they each had a traitor kill count that set records.

Clove set precedence in speed of kill, Cato impressed them all with savagery and show of strength. He could kill with a weapon as well as with his hands. A snapped neck here and an impromptu rock to the skull there was a crowd pleasure, much more than Clove's boring and repetitive knife throwing.

When both were praised, they left angrier than when they went in.

Sharing Victory was not an option.

Neither had a chosen partner yet, something unheard of in their fourteenth year.

Cato was deemed too volatile, his anger and bloodthirst could easily turn to his partner. More than once he had been reprimanded for confronting another student for some affront to his family or imagined theft of his favorite weapon. More than one Tribute in the Game's history had fallen because they couldn't control their anger and others took advantage of their distraction. No one would work with a mad dog and disobedient pets were always put down. Undesirable comparisons to Titus Corcomedenti, the Tribute turned cannibal, were thrown about.

Clove was considered impossible to work with as she saw everyone beneath her and no showmanship to speak of. There were whispers of the Capitol Citizens bored with the Cutler winning streak. She was not marketable and there were rumors that she wouldn't be likable. Her condescending scowl she always wore would put anyone off. When she went in, it was most likely the favor would go to District 1 or 4. If the Capitol detested anything, it was boredom.

While at the top of their class, neither was favored to win. Both seemed bound to die with honor but without Victory.

It wasn't until a fateful summer day, after their fourth Reaping and the time pressing down on them to finally go into the Arena did Fate intervene on their behalf.

They had a grueling day of training; the coaches were working them harder than ever. They were at the age when they would be eligible to finally be Reaped and they did not want their students to embarrass them in the Arena, in front of Capitol and all of Panem.

Cato and Clove had tied for the kill count and exercises for the day.

A tie.

They were both awarded equal points and commendation.

Both were infuriated that neither seemed to be able to get one over the other.

Both were drenched in sweat and grime from the outdoor mock arena. They had done a forest exercise, dirt and gravel stuck to them like an extra layer of skin. Both were ticking time bombs of fury and no one was about to get in their way.

Cato's muscles ached as he tried to stretch them out, hoping to relieve some of the pain he knew was going to come the next day. He hated that she had stole some kills from him. Her blades were quicker than his feet; he wanted nothing more than to see her at the end of his sword when she smirked her pompous smile while a traitor fell before he could get within killing distance. He got his revenge when it came to close range targets. She was overwhelmed if more than one opponent approached her while he easily dispatched his enemies. He couldn't help but gloat when her eyes widened in surprise after he took down three traitors and killed two with only his hands. She was on the ground and the staff had to cattle prod the traitors to stop them from killing her.

He was on his way to the showers when he heard a gruff voice, it was Silas; third in class for the males. He was speaking to Clove, one of the brave to actually approach her.

"I think we should partner up for the Games," Silas offered, having more confidence than sense.

Clove merely glowered at him, trying to tell him he was an idiot without having to deign to talk to him.

"I think we would make a great team and neither of us would have hard feelings about eventually betraying the other…"

"First off, it's not betraying. District partners are not friends. Secondly, you're third in line for the boys side. Why would I, the first place female and a Cutler, ever even think of partnering up with someone ranked so far beneath me?"

Cato snorted while he eavesdropped, Clove could cut with more than just a knife.

"I'm not that far beneath you in ranking. And who else are you going to partner up with? Nero has already partnered with Seppia. You can't seriously be holding out for the washer's son; the mongrel with no control or any kind of lineage. Don't know why they even let him in, he should be in the quarry with the rest of his low born family."

"How have you gotten as far as your fifteenth year while being so stupid?"

Both Cato and Silas were surprised by Clove's venomous voice. The former thought she would take the first opportunity to insult him and the latter thought she would agree with him as she was from such a prestigious family, just as Silas was. Cato was so surprised that he couldn't even be blinded by rage. He would make sure to punish the other male, most likely at their next training session and he would "accidently" punch the boy in the face. No one was allowed to malign his family and think they could get away with it.

He would show Silas and everyone what the washer's son could do.

"That washer's son is the first in the male's class and could very well be first in our year. Who cares what lineage he has? That doesn't mean anything in the Games and you are foolish to think it matters to me."

"So what? You're going to align yourself with that mutt because he's first in class? You'd drag the Cutler name down?"

"No, it'd only be dragged down if I partnered with an over arrogant idiot like yourself who would probably die on the first day. If anyone is Bloodbath fodder, it's you."

Silas' mouth gaped at the insult, too wounded and angry to even formally put together words. Not only had she insulted his skills by insinuating he would be killed quickly, she took it a step further by stating he wouldn't even make it past the Bloodbath, where only the most inept Tributes perished. Even the most loyal District 2 citizen that supported the Games would be hard pressed to say a Tribute died with honor if they lost their lives at the Bloodbath.

"Cato might be from a poor family but he's excelled far above any other male here, even the well do to son of the lumber yard owner. All I see is my competition and if you had any sense you'd see it too."

Silas didn't respond but Cato heard a shuffling and the familiar noise of someone being strangled, a noise he had become acquainted with in the past few months. He quickly turned the corner and saw that Silas had his hands wrapped around the thin and delicate throat of the girl he offered to partner with.

It appeared that Silas would not accept "no" as an answer and Clove's mouth had finally pushed someone too far.

He wasn't sure why he intervened. In one swoop not only would Silas get rid of his biggest competition but he wouldn't have to lift a finger to boot. Clove would be gone and Silas would be kicked out of the Academy. The lumber yard scion would be tried and convicted of killing his peer; something heavily looked down upon outside of an exercise. It wouldn't be the first time a student killed their rival. Most had the sense to either make it look like an accident or do it during a training session and out of sight; make it seem as if a traitor sacrifice had gotten a lucky strike in or even a spar had gone too far. For Silas to do it so publicly and not knowing who was watching or listening was extremely foolish.

While Clove was his biggest challenger, something didn't sit right with him when it came to her dying at the hands of some idiot like Silas.

There was no honor in a sneak attack or perishing in a moment of passion. Even Clove deserved better than that.

She didn't care that he came from a humble background. The heiress of one of the richest families in District 2 saw him for what he was: a threat. Even when he broke a hundred necks and slaughtered a hundred foes, some only ever saw him as a miner's son. She saw him for the competitor that he was.

Clove didn't see a washer's son; she saw what stood between her and the Victor's crown. Even the teacher's who gave him the number one male's spot didn't see beyond his heritage.

In the end, he couldn't let his equal be beat dishonorably.

So he easily lifted Silas off of the gasping girl and in a quick motion, snapped the would-be killer's neck like a twig, and let the boy's dead boy hit the floor.

Clove's eyes watered and she coughed a couple of times, her throat recovering from the constriction. Once she got her bearings she noticed that Silas was dead and Cato towered above her. Her eyes turned to slits and she wondered if he stopped the other boy simply to have the joy of killing her himself. She was sure that anyone would love to take a Cutler out of the running and increase their own changes of not only going into the Games but winning. She also had to admit, to no one other than herself, that she had not made any allies from her peers and in hindsight it would have behooved her to do so. At least if someone did kill her, an ally would be sure to investigate her death and demand compensation from her killer's family for risking their chances in the Games; something highly against the rules before they were Reaped.

She cursed that she had already put away her knives and was too arrogant to always carry them on her person. It was foolish for her to think that everyone would be honorable and she too important for anyone to try anything.

"Well? What are you waiting for? End it," she snarled out. While she didn't truly want her death she also didn't want to wait in anticipation for when or how Cato would kill her.

She was surprised when Cato snorted in derision, as if she were a simpleton for even thinking he'd do such a thing and said,

"I'm not as stupid as Silas. You're way too well connected for anyone to kill before the Games and get away with it."

"Then why didn't you just let him kill me? I'm your biggest competition here."

He didn't deny her words, accepting that she was the most dangerous component his generation of possible Tributes had to offer. So he answered her honestly,

"Because when I win the Games, it's going to be because I defeated the best there was. Not because I went against pathetic Tributes who don't deserve to be there. When I am crowned Victor, I will know it was because I deserved it without question."

In those simple sentences, Cato managed to deflate every ounce of anger she had and she was filled with a begrudging respect. She stayed seated while Cato turned away and went back to the dorms.

She wanted the laugh and cry at the same time. Her bitter enemy had given her the praise that she had always wanted.

She was the best and it would be an honor to be able to defeat her. Of course he wouldn't be able to but he had acknowledged that of all the people in the Academy, she was the only one who was worth fighting.

She had a lot to think about.

The next day, she made it a point to stand near him while they stood around for a demonstration. The coaches were exhibiting the various arteries in a person's body with a halograph. Clove already knew the material and Cato had no interest in it. A couple of jabs of a sword would kill anyone no matter where they were placed. In the Hunger Games it was doubtful that once a Tribute was struck they would be able to stop the bleeding. Even if they managed to get away, they would bleed out later. The Arena was never known to supply coagulants and most wouldn't know enough or be psychologically prepared to cauterize.

Perhaps if Cato paid attention, it would have saved him a lot of trouble in his future.

The hulking male noticed the small girl and that the evidence of her ordeal the night before had vanished. She was from a wealthy family so he wasn't surprised that she would have a dermal mender or some kind of medicine or even make up to erase the evidence. He was slightly worried about what the administration would do once they found Silas' body. His family wouldn't be able to fight any kind of disciplinary action that could possibly include expulsion. At first he was confident that any move against him would be defended by Clove as she would be implicated as well. He was certain the Cutler family pride would not allow the tiny brunette to admit she was not only caught off guard and nearly killed but had to be saved. Now that he saw she had healed herself, she could easily refute any implication she was involved at all and smoothly insinuate that the short tempered Cato had lost his cool again and merely killed Silas for some trumped up reason.

"So did you hear? That male third in your class…Sirius? Solaris? Whatever, he fell down the stairs. Broke his neck they're saying," Clove said to him nonchalantly as if she were making small talk. She wasn't that graceful with it as she was used to either being completely sarcastic or demeaning. Subterfuge was not her forte.

Cato betrayed no emotion or evidence that he was shocked. He was surprised that Silas' death was being treated as an accident and knew she had something to do with it. He suspected that she was offering out the olive branch in her own awkward way but one could never be too sure in such a cutthroat culture.

"No I didn't hear about but then again, I do not pay attention to those so far beneath me."

"Yes I'm not surprised. He is hardly worth mentioning."

They both eyed each other and seemed to silently agree to never talk about it again. Silas was dead and his death proclaimed an accident. No reason for them to speak another word about it.

Something had changed between the two, a shift that both could feel as neither were as adamant about hating the other. They were still rivals and did their best to outdo the other, but it didn't have the same vehemence it once had.

Where once Cato would have sneered at Clove's ability to strike down her enemy from far away, thinking it was cowardly to do so, he saw the advantages and skill that went into such a feat. He was also impressed at how quick she was. Before he could even blink she had thrown three knives and killed just as many traitors. He knew better than anyone that skills like that did not happen by accident, no matter what situation they were born into. She was not just a spoiled brat whose place was guaranteed because of her name.

Where Clove would have rolled her eyes at Cato pummeling the traitors, thinking he was just a cumbersome bull in a District 1 ceramic shop and his kills merely a lucky result of random brutality aimed at everything, she saw the pure strength that went into each broken bone and severed appendage. She had, in the privacy of an empty gym, tried lifting Cato's favorite sword and found the weapon weighed half as much as she did; at least it felt like it. So to swing it about as he did took much more muscle than she initially gave him credit for. He was not just a novel blood thirsty killer that was congratulated merely because everyone was sick of seeing a Cutler with the Victor's Crown. He had the force to back it all up. There was also an innate charm, much to her irritation, which he exuded; a charm she did not have.

While most would only come off as arrogant, his smile was lethal and convinced anyone that even though he was a killer, one couldn't help but love him. It was only when he lost control of his temper did the haze of charisma fall to the wayside and he became off putting.

So when he suggested that she smile more, and a real smile not the condescending one she often wore, that she took the advice to heart and not get riled at the suggestion that someone dare tell her how to win the Hunger Games.

They had started a habit of working out together. He would do much heavier weights while she did smaller ones with higher reps. She wanted to get stronger but not too defined as to become less feminine. And while she lifted her small weights, he casually commented that she ought not to scowl so much.

"Someone once told me that it's easier to catch flies with honey than it is with vinegar," he repeated the ancient phrase.

"So you want me to act like some vapid airhead, like the ones in District 1?" asked, somewhat affronted that someone point out that she was less than approachable but willing to at least let him explain himself.

"Not vapid, just pleasant. You don't want people to think you're weak but you do want them to want to be around you. Part of being a Victor is getting people to want to give you money. And no one wants to give money to a sourpuss."

"So it's a popularity contest?"

"Exactly. Everyone loves a winner but you have to convince them that you aren't just another Cutler in a long line of winners. You're Clove Cutler, deadly but someone you can hang out with on the Victory Tour."

She took in his words and could see the wisdom in it. She wasn't guaranteed a win so she needed to be more than just good at killing. At first it was difficult as her initial instinct was to scoff at those around her. She was raised in the high society of District 2; she had money and a pedigree of winners. Why would she ever expect for people to do anything but bow to her? She had experienced it all her life up until the Academy. Now that she was in the real world, no one cared how she was treated before. Either she delivers or get out of the way.

So with his coaching she learned to be sweet but with an edge of sarcasm. She'll be nice to someone but with an understanding that she would have no trouble killing; which was what the Capitol was all about.

Cato learned that there were bigger issues than slights to him or his family. What good was his family honor if he was kicked out of the Games? Or worse, seen as a wild animal that would do more harm to himself than good. Even a prized stallion must be broken in before they can race.

So when another student grunted under his breath that he couldn't believe a lowly washer's son had pinned him down, he started to charge towards the clueless student, Clove stepped in and placed a hand on his arm. Not enough to actually stop him if he wished to do their peer harm but enough to make her presence known. He turned his head quickly to see who would dare, or be stupid enough, to try and stop him to see Clove subtly shaking her head. Silently telling him that not only was the other boy not worth it but he was putting himself in jeopardy.

"Let's go to the punching bag area," was all she said.

He saw the retreating back of the boy who insulted him, having no idea what kind of trouble he had almost gotten into by muttering demeaning things about Cato's family. The blond wanted nothing more than to thrash something but seeing Clove and her determined look he was reminded at what he could lose should he be expelled.

Once he lost his chance at being in the Games then it would be all over. His family would have wasted all that coin to send him there in the first place. He would never have a chance at claiming Victory. Worse still would be that he would probably have to become a Peacekeeper to help his family with the debt they incurred to send him to school. If he had to wait twenty years before he could even get married, what chance would he have to sire his own son or daughter that could do what he failed? What woman of worth would want an Academy drop out past his prime?

Clove grounded him, made his see that not every battle was worth fighting and he pushed his anger on more training. He expended his energy into more useful pastimes such as getting stronger and learning new ways to kill his opponent.

Besides, if he wasn't there to beat Clove then who could she beat to stand out from the rest of her family? He really was the only way she would set herself apart from all the winner's in her family. If she could beat The Cato Marson, then that was something to boast about.

So their bitter rivalry turned into a friendly one. They both knew they had what it took to win but how to outlast the other? If they were going to win, then it would be because they beat the best; and who was better than Clove Cutler and Cato Marson?

Cato had learned to control his rages but still needed a little help from Clove. She in turn learned to give an award winning smile but had not shook the sardonic edge. The rough edges in her personality were smoothed out with his easy going magnetism. They were a power duo and whatever one lacked the other made up.

Once word spread that the top female and male in the entire Academy had paired up, most had all but decided it wasn't worth pushing themselves hard anymore. They all knew who would be picked in the 74th Games as both were in their 16th year, the minimum age for the council to even bother looking at Tributes. Until the two went into the Games, it wasn't worth the effort as all knew they would not be picked. Even the seventeen and eighteen year olds knew they didn't stand a chance. The most they could hope for was graduating with honors and choosing a spouse from those left over. If they couldn't compete in the Games, they could hope for choosing the fittest spouse to breed with and hopefully produce a strong child who in their turn would enter the Academy. If not them then their children might be able to win Victory.

So when Clove stood proudly on stage when her name was chosen, Cato lunged at the chance to volunteer. His name was not fixed into the bowl as to not make it seem as if the Reaping was rigged. Besides, everyone loved an eager volunteer.

Both stood straight and confident, giving each other secret smiles and buzzed with excitement. This was it, they were in the Games. They would bring pride and honor to District 2 and their families.

Part of them was sad that they would have to kill such a worthy opponent and turns out close friend. But their deaths would not be in vain as they would die the most honorable death there was.

Clove would throw a knife right between Cato's eyes, giving him the quickest and painless end. He was worthy of a swift death.

Cato would cleanly sever her head with one blow from the sharpest sword the Capitol would supply him with. He would give her the best chance at an open casket at the honoring ceremony for the Fallen.

They would sacrifice their best friend for:

Victory

Panem

Family

They could do nothing less.

A/N: So here's my take on the whole "How Cato and Clove become friends" deal. Also to give a little more insight to District 2 and their cultural admiration of the Games.