Sweet Sacrifice, a hunger games fanfic

Victory. Victory. Victory. That is all they think about. That is all a career must think about. If they bleed, if they fall, if they get hurt and think about giving up, "victory" is the word that will raise them up.

No time for pain or tears; fighting is essential and emotions are the worst enemy. That is what you learn in District two, to be deadly and hated; how to make your opponents fear you. It doesn´t matter if people like you, you are weak if you care about other´s feelings and thoughts – unless those people are sponsors and you´re in The Hunger Games. Because you never know who your next enemy will be and it can be anyone; the boy or girl next to you, a stranger or a friend. That is why you´re not supposed to have friends or get attached to anyone, even your family.

Both Cato and Clove were the favorite students at the training academy, because they didn´t care about other people, and, the most important thing, they liked victory, they were so used to it that it was almost like a drug. Victory tasted like blood and pain for them, their rivals's blood and anguish, the screams and begs for death while they were just having fun, doing what they were told to do. And that drug was so good, they would never give it away.

Or so they thought.

Killing, cutting, tearing apart, that was how they made people respect them. That was how Cato and Clove met, ready to kill each other by the most painful way. As he pinned her against the cold hard wall, tightening her neck and taking away her breath, Clove had the blade of her knife pressed to Cato´s throat. "If I die" she said with difficulty, but keeping that twisted smile on her lips – Cato liked that smile, so similar to his – "you´re coming with me". He knew she wasn´t lying or bluffing, the blood drops running down his neck preceded by the slight twinge of pain proved that. Cato knew that she could easily press the blade harder and kill him – not before he killed her to -, just like he watch her doing to other careers so many times. And Clove did the same, watching Cato cutting heads and legs and arms off, leaving the unconscious victim behind and walking away from the crime scene with that cold and mean smirk.

Clove shouldn´t hesitate in cutting him before she fell in the darkness, and Cato shouldn´t hesitate in breaking her neck.

But they did hesitate.

Feeling as confused as a little child, Cato let her ago. Clove fell on the floor, looking at the huge boy with a penetrating gaze.

In that moment, when he reached out his hand, gasps coming from the crowed watching them – waiting there to see blood, to hear screams and pain – filled the air. She stood up with his help and everyone´s blood froze. If they were the best by their own, fighting alone and only with their weapons company, then they would be invincible together. Anyone in that crowd could be the deadly duo´s first victim. Because they knew, Cato and Clove would make as many victims as they could, and it was a very large and frightening number.

When Clove was younger, just a little child, she used to cut her dolls head off and then smash them with her feet. Even before that, she would cut the doll´s lips and cheeks. Her mother watched her little daughter "killing" her toys and she couldn´t be more proud.

When Clove, at the age of 8, threw a butter knife to her cat – an old smelly and annoying cat which was always trying to get her to play with him, thing that Clove thought was a waste of time – and hit it´s eye. They cat died from blood lost and she ignored the dead animal in her room, playing and walking around as anything happened. Hours later, her mother grabbed the little one´s hand and said "There is a perfect place for you, darling". The following day, Clove said goodbye to her mother, who was even more proud of her kid – who she had to raise and educate by herself after her husband´s death – because she was accepted by the training center.

Clove´s mother buried the dead and forgotten cat and a tear fell as she looked to the ground, where the animal was laying under it - that old and useless cat was given to her by her dead husband -, but she wasn´t mad at Clove. If it wasn´t for that dead cat, she would had never seen her daughter´s talent soon enough for Clove to be the youngest career making her first death and she wouldn´t had been accepted with pride and almost happy smiles and looks. Clove had a talent and if it wasn´t that cat the first victim, something or someone else would have been.

Everyone in District 2 knew that sacrifices had to be done, and Clove´s mother thought that there was nothing better than sacrificing a life for the glorious future of her child.

His childhood was not very different from hers, only by the fact that Cato had a complete family, parents and sisters and brothers.

His siblings were so annoying and cruel to him – though everyone in District 2 was a bit cruel, so they didn´t really know the meaning of that word - , always telling him that he wasn´t strong or big enough, that he would be the first dying tribute in The Hunger Games. Even his parents seemed to wait more of his younger child.

When Cato, at the age of 9, broke his older sister, who was 12, arm, they realized that maybe they were wrong. If he was strong enough to hurt an older girl, he was also strong enough to be a victor. Because, as mentioned before, victory was everything for District 2 citizens. Victory and pride; the golden words. The girl, who so many times before hit her brother and told him he was weak and dumb, was punished for letting Cato break her arm. And Cato, the black sheep of the family, was sent to the training center, where their parents knew he would break so much more than girl´s arms.

That was how Clove and Cato, only kids at the time, entered in a training center. Sacrifices were done for that, a cat and a girl´s arm. And everyone knew those sacrifices weren´t enough, the girl and the boy would have to practice a lot and be exemplar careers, doing what their mentors told them to and disobeying only at the right time – no real career ever does everything he is told to.

Cato liked to watch her train with knives, throwing one after other, always hitting the bull´s-eye. There was something so engaging about the way she threw those knives. The way her dark hair fell on her eyes; the way her green eyes got darker and so focused; and even the way her small hands gripped the knife in such a caring way – almost like those knives could get hurt and Clove cared about them.

He liked to stay there, watching her and keeping his eyes on her short and tiny figure. And Cato knew she liked it too, even though the yelling and cursing showed the opposite.

And Clove liked to watch him from her knives section, as Cato cut the dummy´s heads off. She would smile without even realizing it, admiring her partner – and sometimes something more – exhibiting his skills. She would stay there, playing with her knives just to pretend being occupied in something than not watching him out. And sometimes, a knife would fly and hit the wall few inches away from the head of the girl who was flirting with Cato. The girl would walk away, nervous and trying to don´t let anyone see how scared she was; Cato would smirk and wink at Clove, sometimes even waving at her; and Clove would pretend she was distracted and missed the target – of course, she would say it in a low tone, for only Cato to hear her. But Cato never believed her; Clove never misses.

And as they watched each other training, both would think and imagine. Cato tried to guess what she was capable of doing to his skin only using her knives. How would she cut him? Hard? Slow? And where would she do it? Would he like it? Of course he would, just by his smile the answer obvious.

Clove also liked to imagine what the blade of his sword could to her neck. Cato was always telling her how much he liked her neck, how it wasn´t too long or too short, it had just the perfect measure. She enjoyed imaging them in his room, the walls filled with different swords, experiencing each other´s weapons in their own skins. Both liked to imagine how the other would make scars and marcs on their bodies, a sign of possession and the only way they had to express forbidden word.

Something happened not many years after the first alive sacrifices; something that no one expected and something that caught both Cato and Clove by surprise. One day they were playing with their weapons and the following day they were a team – and something more. Three years later, they were the ones to be sacrificed.

They stayed together in The Hunger Games, nothing could make them apart, the deadly couple from 2. Her knives and his sword; her sadistic mind and his strong muscles.

As the citizens from District 2 watched them in the arena, they kept thinking those careers were invincible and one of them would win and bring one more victory to them.

Cato and Clove also were convinced that they would be the last two tributes standing. What would happen when they had to kill each other, none of them knew. "Anyway, we were born to die" she told him once "Sooner or later, we will die. I just don´t want to be killed by someone like that fire bitch. If I´m gonna die, I want it be a memorable death, a moment Panem will never be able to forget". He agreed, understanding what Clove meant. If she was going to die there, he should be the one killing. But, obviously, Cato shouldn´t expect an easy fight. Clove would do anything to come back, to be the victorious one, even if it meant the death of her partner and lover – not that they would ever say that last word.

Or so she thought.

After all, she was right. Her death was something memorable, but no for the best reasons. As she called him, screeching his name, Cato ran as fast he could. Clove was in trouble, serious trouble and he could feel that. But Cato couldn´t think about it. No. The thought of someone hurting her, breaking her skin and bones, making her bleed and in pain was a torture for him.

He ran as fast he could, hoping he wouldn´t be too late to save her life - and his.

As he hold her dead body – her eyes still opened and staring at the blue sky – Cato realized that he wouldn´t be the one going home.

His home was with Clove, breaking and tearing apart, loving and hating. Together.

When the mutts surrounded him, deep inside his mind, Cato heard her voice calling for him.

He begged for a chance to see his dark haired girl again. A chance to watch her throwing knives one more time; a chance to hold her in his arms and never let her go.

Cato realized that there was one thing that he would never be able to sacrifice for victory: love.

In the end, when both bodies were lying together under the cold ground, Panem remembered their names.

In the end, the sacrifices were done and both were each other´s death. Because, just like Clove said, they were born to die.

Sooner or later, one of them would be left behind. Unfortunately, - not for them – both stayed behind, together in death.