Title: Take the Heartland
Summary: The Feast plays out differently this time. With a second chance and a groundbreaking confession from her district partner, Clove may finally be able to win it all. That is, if the star-crossed lovers of District 12 don't beat her to it.
Characters: Cato Hadley, Clove Kentwell, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark
Pairings: Cato/Clove, Katniss/Peeta
Rating/Warnings: T, for violence and language.


"Attention Tributes. Attention! The regulations requiring a single victor have been suspended. From now on, two victors may be crowned if both originate from the same district. This will be the only announcement."


Clove nearly falls out of her tree when she hears it.

Cato. She needs to find Cato.

Leaping from the branch she was perched on, she hits the ground running. On instinct a knife is drawn, perhaps a testament to her slight paranoia, as she continues to tear through the forest like her life depends on it. She doesn't dare call for him—no, that would be suicide—but heads in the direction she last came from. She figures their old camp is a starting point, so she can—

"Clove!"

Idiot.

Clove tries not to scream in frustration at her district partner's stupidity. He might as well have just fired off a flare, or pitched a glowing sign reading, Come find me!

She hears him call out again and rolls her eyes, following the sound of his voice until she catches him, barreling through the forest like a madman. To make him pay a bit for his complete and utter idiocy, she follows leisurely behind and lets him run around like a headless chicken for another few moments before she finally winds up, aims, and lets her knife fly.

Her aim is true, as usual, and the blade embeds itself into the tree beside Cato. He stops abruptly before drawing his sword, turning on his heel and finally facing her. She ignores the way his face lights up, just ever so slightly, at the sight of her. "Clove."

"You're an idiot, Cato, you know that?" she replies, marching past him to tug her knife from the tree. She whirls on him, pointing the dagger at his chest accusingly. "Sprinting around the woods like a goddamn maniac, hollering all the way. Might as well have thrown yourself on your sword while you were at it."

His only response is a lazy stretch and a cheeky grin. "Missed you too, Smalls."

She glowers at the long-abused nickname, sheathing her blade and shaking her head. "Shut up. Let's just keep moving."

She isn't really sure what's gotten into her all of a sudden. Rather, what got into her a few minutes ago. She frowns to herself at the memory of being... excited after that announcement. Desperate, even. The only thing on her mind was Find Cato and she had acted on it. Almost like she wanted him to live.

Well, surely she doesn't want him dead, anyway. Still, she came into these Games vying to be the sole victor in the first place, so really the prospect of Cato living shouldn't have much of an effect on her. It would have happened eventually without the rule change, right? God, she needs to relax.

"Hey, slow down, will you?"

She stops in her tracks to see him several paces behind her. Sighing, she allows for him to catch up. "You're slow."

"Clove, I don't see what the rush is," Cato snorts. "We're the strongest people left. Everyone's afraid of us, remember? Not the other way around."

She narrows her eyes at him. She wonders if she should bring up Fire Girl's training score of 11, or if she should strangle him for implying that she's scared of the other weaklings who call themselves tributes. She foregoes both options, instead settling for a roll of her eyes and turning on her heel to keep walking.

"Aren't you happy?"

Again, Clove stops in her tracks. She closes her eyes, takes a deep, deep, breath, and turns slowly to face Cato once again. "Happy?" she repeats.

"Well, yeah," he shrugs easily, a casual smile tugging at his lips. "We can both win this thing, right? No need for me to kill you anymore."

Clove scoffs. "Nice try, Hadley, but I'm fairly certain that I'd be doing the killing."

His grin widens and he begins jogging to catch up with her. "That's cute, Smalls. Real cute."

"Can we please let that nickname die?" she grits out. She doesn't need all of Panem thinking she's weaker because of some dumb, cutesy nickname.

Cato hums in faux thought before shaking his head. "Not until you stop being smaller than me, which will be never."

"You know, that rule change never said I couldn't still kill you."


They continue to trek onward, with no real goal. To find tributes, Clove supposes, but she's not putting her heart into it. She instead finds herself thinking, almost obsessively, about Cato's sudden change in demeanor.

Throughout the Games he was a perfect Career—brutal, violent, fearless. He was the unspoken leader of their pack, showing nothing but soldierly resolve and an iron fist. It was his idea that they separate once it was down to the two of them. "Only six of us left," he said. "We should probably split up to get rid of the others faster. Then we rendezvous and I finally run you through with my sword."

And now he's different. Still strong and slightly brooding, but more... lighthearted? He keeps smiling—genuine, easygoing smiles. It's weird. And he carries conversation more than he has this entire time, acting like they're friends (which, sure, she supposes they were—are—but the Games aren't for friendship).

She finds herself still thinking of this as they huddle around a fire that night. He sits next to her, nearly brushing her shoulder with his own, as he chats animatedly about the rest of the Games.

"It'll be easy, Clove, trust me. Thresh is our biggest competitor, and then maybe Girl on Fire, but we can take them. And the other two? Easy kills. Surprised Lover Boy isn't dead already, really."

His voice is still hard and serious, purely strategic, and to all of the viewers, that's probably what they pick up on. But Clove has known Cato practically since they could walk, and she recognizes the hope that is masked by his words. The unadulterated optimism. She doesn't even have the heart to tell him that she's beginning to think it's all too good to be true.

Later, he offers to take first watch. She doesn't argue, curling up on the hard ground with her jacket draped over her legs. Still, the nights are getting colder and it isn't enough.

She pretends to be sleeping when she feels another larger, warmer jacket fall over her shoulders.


No tributes the next day, either. Clove is getting restless and Cato is getting bored, so they spend their time sparring.

"This is getting ridiculous," she groans, jabbing forward with her knife.

He blocks the strike easily, pushing back and swinging low with his sword. "What, how much I'm kicking your ass right now?"

She leaps away from his blade and shoots him a glare, surging forward and feigning a left strike. When he moves to defend that side, she dives the other way and barrels into him, knocking him into a tree and pressing him against it with the tip of her knife at his neck. "No, the lack of tributes, genius," she says with faux sweetness. "Besides, I think I actually just kicked your ass."

Cato chuckles, a gravelly sound, before reaching up with lightning speed and gripping her wrist, the one attached to the hand holding her knife. He twists painfully, emitting a sharp gasp from Clove and forcing her to drop her knife, and spins her around, yanking her arm behind her until her back is pressed against his front, giving her no freedom of movement. His other arm drapes over her upper body, his sword poised to slit her throat if need be.

"You wanna rethink that statement?" he asks, his face much too close to hers. She can feel his breath against her ear.

"Let go of me, you brute," Clove growls. She struggles against his hold, even ramming her head back into his chest, but he only grips her tighter. She can tell he's enjoying this victory far too much.

Finally he lets her go, tossing her away from him as if she weighs nothing. She quickly regains her footing and whirls on him, shooting him her most withering glare as she marches forward and scoops up her knife. She wipes the blade on her shirt, clearing it of the mud and leaves. "Dick," she mutters.

Cato only grins. He opens his mouth to speak, no doubt some innuendo about his manhood, when he's interrupted by another announcement from Claudius Templesmith.

A feast. Something they need desperately. Clove looks up to find Cato already staring at her. She can't help the grin that creeps onto her face, but she notices that he remains stoic.

"Cato, we have to go."

"Why?"

She looks at him incredulously. Is he serious? "Uh, because they're giving us something we desperately need. For free."

Cato shakes his head, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms distrustfully. "What could we possibly need that badly, Clove? We have some food left in our packs, plus you're a decent hunter. Our clothes are fine, we know where to find water, and we have enough weapons to stay safe. There's nothing else they could give us."

"You don't know that," she argues. She always knew he was arrogant—takes one to know one, she figures—but this is a new level. "Maybe they've picked up on something that we haven't. Or maybe the Gamemakers are planning on releasing some kind of twist or muttation. Whatever they have for us at the feast could help us."

Unfortunately Cato is just as stubborn as she is, if not more. He's made up his mind. "We're not going, Clove. There's no point in risking our lives when we're this close to winning."

He takes off, heading back in the direction of their camp. She glares at the back of his head for a few moments before following. "Maybe I'll just go myself, then," she says. She's only half-serious, and meant for it to only be for herself. Still, Cato goes rigid and he stops in his tracks before wheeling on her.

"Don't even think about it," he says, more serious than she's seen him in the past couple of days. "You're not going on some stupid kamikaze mission to get something that may or may not even be useful to us."

"You've reached a new platform of idiocy, Cato," she mumbles, marching forward and brushing past him. However, his hand shoots out and grips her arm, preventing her from going any further.

"Neither of us are going, Clove," he bites out. "I'll tie you to a goddamn tree if I have to. We aren't doing it."

Clove sets her jaw and tugs on her arm, but his grip doesn't relent. He's looking at her with a surprising amount of intensity and something else unrecognizable in his blue eyes, to the point where she almost wants to agree with him. She huffs, mutters a "Fine," and gives one more yank of her arm until he releases her. She isn't quelled yet, thoughts of the feast still swimming around in her mind. It would be more suicidal not to go, wouldn't it?

By the time they reach their camp, night has fallen. The days are growing shorter now that things are winding down.

Their dinner consists of jerky and a shared pack of dried fruit as they crowd around the fire. Cato keeps his distance tonight, this time sitting across the flames from her, but his eyes have barely left her the whole time. He must still be angry with her.

She isn't done fighting, though. "Bet Fire Girl will be there tomorrow," she says, staring at the flames. "We could get rid of her right there. That's one big opponent out of the way. And if Thresh is there, too—"

"Then he'll overpower you and kill you, Clove," Cato says, exasperated. "We aren't. Going."

Clove is offended. Thresh isn't even that much larger than Cato, and she's had no trouble taking down her district partner in the past. She would be fine. "Cato, come on," she groans. "You let me have this, let me go in and finally kill Girl on Fire, I... I promise I'll give everyone a show. I promise. And then I'll go, okay? I'll grab whatever they leave for us and I'll be back here before we know it. No distractions."

He says nothing, but continues to look at her. He's considering it, she knows he is. So she continues.

"Once she's dead, Lover Boy's got no chance. You cut him good," she says, even attempting to appeal to Cato's ego. "I'd bet my best knife that they'll have some kind of medicine for him. Lover Boy dies, we pick off the redhead from Five, and then it's us against Thresh. A big showdown that goes down in history as one of the bloodiest, most glorious final battles the Games have ever seen. And then... and then we go home."

Again, she won't mention that she doesn't fully trust the rule change. She knows it was really made for District 12, but crushing Cato's hopes won't help her cause.

Finally, Cato lets out a long, heaving sigh. "Let me sleep on it," he says.

Clove lets out her own sigh, a puff of annoyance as she tries to keep her cool. "You aren't the leader anymore, Cato," she says. "It's just the two of us now, so you don't get to call the shots yourself anymore. You don't have time to sleep on it. It'll be early in the morning. We have to make a decision tonight."

"Fine, then," Cato growls, suddenly standing. "Go ahead. Go to your stupid feast and kill the bitch from Twelve. Have fun getting killed when Thresh shows up, too. See if I care."

Her gaze snaps up to meet his. The comment shouldn't hurt her, but it does. So he suddenly doesn't care if she dies. Great. "Screw you, Cato," she says, keeping her voice as even as possible and ignoring the way her eyes are starting to burn. It's from the fire, she tells herself.

His fists clench and unclench before he runs a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. He looks guilty for a moment, but Clove knows him. Cato doesn't apologize, ever. Why should this situation be any different?

"I'll take first watch again," he mutters. "Try to get some sleep."

She chooses to ignore him, still angry about his comment. Wordlessly she stands and steps away from the fire, curling up on the ground with her back to him. She stares at a distant log until she begins to grow tired, finally letting her eyes slip closed.

She finds that it's rather difficult to sleep when angry.


Oh, yes, another Clato-centric alternate ending to the Feast.

However, alternate ending to the Feast doesn't necessarily mean alternate ending to the story. Just because it's in Clove's perspective doesn't mean that she (and/or Cato) will be victorious. Maybe I prefer angst, or maybe I prefer a happy ending for our tributes from Two. Time will tell, I suppose...

I've actually already finished this entire story. Took me two days. I have never written something so quickly. Originally it was just going to be a long oneshot, but then it hit 13k and I decided that would not be a good idea. So yeah, I think right now I've got 7 or 8 chapters queued up and ready to go, and that'll be the story!

Leave a review and let me know what you thought!