I watch her while she throws knives in the training center. She never falters or hesitates. The dark curtain of her hair ripples around her shoulders with every flawless flick of her wrist, and there's a spark of satisfaction in her eyes every time she hits the heart of the target, which is every time. She's some kind of sick perfection. It's one of the many things that makes me hate her.

Clove. Tiny, deadly Clove whom I could snap the neck of with one finger if I were fast enough to catch her. But she's quick and cunning, and she would sense me from a mile away. Sometimes when I can't sleep at night, I wonder if the feel of her bones shattering beneath my hands would be more satisfying than anyone else's. I like to think so.

She saunters over to pull her knives from their targets, and when she walks back to the starting point to begin again, she throws an uninterested glance to where I stand next to the spear station. Her eyes aren't even on me for a second before they're flitting away boredly, and it infuriates me. I'm Cato. Ever since I was a child people have known I was meant for greatness, for victory. I've been better than everyone consistently since I started training. I am the best. I cannot be ignored. And yet this plain little girl acts as if I am no different than everyone else.

I want to break her, to see something besides flatness in her dark eyes. I want to make her scream, to hear her beg for mercy while her blood runs over my hands. Simply because I am who I am, and no one can look down on me.

0-0-0

On the day of the reaping, I can barely stop moving. It's excitement, not anxiety, that has me practically bursting with energy as I make my way to the city square. Finally it's my year. I'm going to get into that arena, and take it all, kill every person I can get my hands on. The grin on my face is like a permanent fixture, making my cheek muscles ache.

When they ask for volunteers, I jump out of my place in line, and practically run to the stage. When I tell the escort my name, the crowd goes wild, cheering like mad. They sense a certain victory from me, as they should. They know who I am and what I'm capable of. They know what it will be like once I'm in the arena: annihilation.

Everyone was so focused on me that I didn't notice another volunteer come up on stage, so when I see Clove standing there, it comes as a shock. It's not her time. She has one more year until she's supposed to be on this stage. But no one from my age group is coming forward. The escort asks her for her name, and when she answers in her quiet, velvet voice, a visible shudder goes through the crowd. They know her as well as they know me, infamous for her bloodlust and penchant for toying with her victims before she finishes them. Tiny, deadly Clove with her sharp knives and twisted brain. I smirk at the thought that I'll finally be able to break her composure.

She is my kill, no one else's.

The escort asks us to shake hands, and she acknowledges me for the first time. When our eyes lock, she smirks, and I can see the promise in it.

Just as I have made her my kill, she has made me hers.

0-0-0

I go straight to my room after they recap the reapings on the giant television on the train. I didn't see anyone as a real threat, with the possible exception of the large boy from eleven. That promises to be an interesting fight.

I've just turned the lights out and settled back on my pillows when I hear the door of my room open. In the light seeping through the crack, I see her slip in and shut the door behind her. She looks even smaller without the knives in her hand.

Clove kneels on the edge of the bed, and then crawls up until she's crouching on top of me with coldness in her eyes. I don't ask why she's there, don't even wonder. Because I know. I've watched her enough over the years to understand. I didn't realize just how much I'd noticed about her until now. The hate I already had for her multiplies as I acknowledge the fact that she's in my head. She has been for a long time.

And she knows it.

I grab the back of her head, and force her down to me, kissing her so hard it's painful. It all rushes back, the urges I got whenever I watched her in the training center. To hurt, to maim, to break. But it's different this time because now I want to hear her scream in pleasure instead of pain.

She bites down on my lip, and the salty warm taste of blood pools against my tongue. I growl into her mouth, and roll over so that I'm on top of her, pinning her arms over her head. She digs her nails into my fingers to try and make me let go, but I don't.

I just hold on tighter, and acknowledge in the back of my mind that this was what I wanted all along.

0-0-0

It infuriates me that I am the one to go to her room the next night, after the opening ceremonies. She's sitting back against her headboard, naked, with the lights off and her hair still sparkling with the glitter her stylist sprinkled over her head. She doesn't speak as I shrug off my clothes. She doesn't have to.

We both know she won this one.

0-0-0

Training in the Capitol is even better than at home. The kids here know they have to beat you to win their lives, and you can tell by the terrified looks in their hungry eyes that they know it's impossible. I am a constant at the sword station, showing off my expertise by cutting through dummy after dummy after dummy. I notice the short boy from district eight watching me, so I lock eyes with him while I slice off the head of a dummy to my left with one sure stroke. Then I slowly let my face break out in a smile. His eyes widen comically before darting away, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he pissed himself.

Clove is at the knife station, tossing the blades into targets with just as little effort as it takes her to blink. She even gets the ones that race across the board at top speed. No one joins her there, much too intimidated by her frigidity and the snarl on her lips.

She looks up like she sensed that I was watching her, and then before I've even realized what she's done, there's a knife protruding from the head of the dummy right next to me. She grins with all her teeth, and her resemblance to a cat just gets stronger.

0-0-0

When we're fucking the night before we go into the arena, I bite the spot right between her breasts as hard as I can and say, "This is where I'm going to stab you."

For the first time ever, I hear her laugh.

0-0-0

We camp below the tree where the girl from district twelve perches like a squirrel. I want to take a page out of Enobaria's book and rip her throat out with my teeth. I have since I saw her eleven flash across the screen. How is that possible, a starving little girl from the coal mining district outscores me? It doesn't really matter what she showed the gamemakers now. All that matters is that I sink my sword into her heart as soon as possible.

Clove sits as far from the rest of us as she can while still remaining close enough to the fire to stay warm, sharpening one of the many knives she got from the Cornucopia. It's clear from the way she rolls her eyes every time Marvel or Glimmer opens their mouths that she doesn't think the pair from district one are all that bright, and neither of us trusts the girl from four or Lover Boy. But I can play nice for now because we can use them. However, the ability to fake things isn't within Clove's realm of skills.

I watch her run the pad of her thumb lightly over the blade she was sharpening. Blood runs from the slice it opens, and she watches it drip down her hand with fascination.

I think of her nails ripping jagged paths down my back, and begin to ache. For what, I'm not entirely sure. It's easy to narrow it down though: to kiss or to kill.

In the end, it comes back to Clove. It always does, doesn't it?

0-0-0

Crack. Buzz. Sting.

That's what I wake up to in the morning. I'm on my feet in an instant, sword in hand, but I can't fight off these foes with a weapon. A tracker jacker nest has dropped on our camp. Immediately I know that this is the work of the bitch from twelve, but I don't have time to be pissed off at her right now. The others are screaming, stumbling around in complete chaos. Pain blossoms beneath my eye, and almost immediately it begins to swell shut. I run, towards the lake we passed when we were chasing Katniss.

A thought occurs to me, and before I can even think twice about it, I've turned around, intending to head back towards the camp. Clove barrels through the bushes behind me before I get too far, and now I'm running after her instead of towards her as we full-out sprint towards the lake.

We jump in, and the water brings immediate relief to the pain in my eye and legs and arms. I stay under as long as I can, cataloging my pains. I must have been stung at least five times.

I resurface, already beginning to feel woozy. I see that Marvel and Clove are the only others from our party that made it to the lake. Clove has crawled up onto the stones next to the water. She is facing me, panting and dripping wet with her hair sticking to her forehead.

She glares at me hatefully as she hisses, "Don't you ever think about going back for me again."

0-0-0

We are on our own now, which is how we like it.

She cleans dirt and blood from under her nails with one of her knives while I eat the last apple from my backpack. We sit shoulder to shoulder under the moonlight, and I can smell the last remnants of the soap she used in the Capitol.

"When we find her, I kill Everdeen."

I scowl at her. "No way."

When she looks up, it hits me just how big her eyes are, wide and dark and full of secrets I want to know.

"What if I promised to give the audience a nice, gory show?"

"How gory?" I ask after a few moments of hesitation, unable to hide my smirk.

"They'll ship her back to twelve in pieces."

I want to say no, but I can't deny her when she's staring at me with those eyes.

0-0-0

The sound of the trumpets wake me up, and I find myself face to face with Clove. We stare at each other emotionlessly from where we lay on our sides as Claudius Templesmith announces that two tributes can win this year if they are both from the same district. When the sound of his voice fades, I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing it so tightly she's in danger of broken bones.

"We will kill them all," I promise.

"No mercy," she whispers back.

We fall asleep with our fingers still intertwined.

0-0-0

We hide in the bushes outside of the Cornucopia, watching as the table rises out of the ground. There is our backpack, the big one with the '2' printed on it, which could be the difference between winning and losing. Clove's got several knives clutched in her fist, which she points over towards the other side of the field.

"Go see if you can find eleven," she breathes.

I nod, and begin to move as quickly and silently as I can. We agreed that she would get the backpack while I covered her from the forest and picked off as many of the others as I could find. I trace the ring of trees around the Cornucopia, but I find no one. So I start to move outwards in the woods next to Thresh's field, hoping to catch him when he's making his escape. I'm pretty far back when I hear it.

"CATO! CATO!"

It's like ice in my veins, a kick to the chest.

"CLOVE!"

Her names rips from my throat like a prayer on the lips of a dying man. I run as fast as possible, not bothering to be silent. I could hear the fear in her voice, and it terrifies me. Clove's not afraid of anything. She needs me, she needs me, she needs me.

I trip, fall, jump back up, and keep plowing through the foliage. I remember when we were in the training center back in district two and I wanted so desperately to hear her voice etched with fear and pain. Now I've heard it, and I can't imagine why I ever wanted to.

When the trees start to thin, I see her lying on the ground. I scream her name again, but she doesn't respond. I break through the brush into the field, keep running to her. I see Thresh sprinting back towards his little hideaway with his backpack and mine and the girl from district twelve fleeing towards the woods in the opposite direction, but they don't matter. Nothing matters except Clove.

I kneel next to her, and roll her onto her back. "Stay with me, Clove! Don't leave me here!" I say, but it's no use.

I drop the spear in my hand, and pull her to me so that she lays across my lap. There's a sizable dent in her right temple, a dip that almost resembles a crescent moon. There's no blood, but it's obvious just how grievous the injury is. The sight of it makes my stomach turn. I can't fix that. I can't put her back together.

"Oh god, no," I hear myself moaning. I subconsciously begin to rock her back and forth, unaware that I'm crying until I see the tears landing on her face. Her lips are moving like she's trying to speak, but her eyes are empty of any sort of comprehension. It's safe to assume that something vital was severed in her brain when she was hit. I have to swallow the vomit trying to force its way up my throat.

It's hard to imagine her as the girl that never misses the bull's eye now. She's so fragile, so breakable. I never even knew. Why didn't I realize it?

"I should have stayed with you," I say, my voice breaking pitifully. "I should have fucking stayed. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

For a moment, her pupils dilate and I know she's registered that I'm there, that she's not alone. I run the backs of my knuckles across her cheek gently, and then it's like a vacuum just sucks the light right out of her eyes.

"No, Clove! Look at me!" I yell, but it's too late.

The canon fires, she goes completely limp, and I'm alone.

0-0-0

I keep her clutched to my chest long after the cannon sound fades. I can't bear to let go of her, this girl who I hate and promised to kill. It's obvious now that I never could have done it. Sneaky little deadly Clove who snatched up my heart when I wasn't looking. Such a thin line between loathing and loving. When did I cross it?

Back home all I ever dreamed of was winning. It seemed like a perfect life: riches, glory, and fame. But I never saw it, never allowed myself to process the fact that there was a cost. Thinking back now, I saw it in the eyes of every victor: the raw pain and desolation left behind in place of the parts of them that the arena stole. And here I am now, holding in my arms the very part of me that's been taken. Winning doesn't seem very important anymore.

After what could have been minutes but feels like hours, I close her eyelids for the last time, shutting the door on the part of me that still contained human compassion. I lay her down on the grass, and position her so that she lays flat with her arms down at her sides. She looks like she could just be sleeping. It takes a lot of effort to stand and walk away. I turn around only long enough to watch the hovercraft take the empty shell of her body away.

Something inside of me frays, snaps, releases. I see nothing but red and the face of the giant from district eleven who took what was mine. And I don't mean the stupid fucking backpack.

He took Clove.

Revenge becomes my fuel, streaks through my veins hotter than anger and pain and adrenaline. The idea of giving up flees as fast as it came. My mind begins to chant her name over and over becoming louder and more insistent as I get closer to the field where Thresh has taken refuge.

Clove…Clove…CLOVE…CLOVE!

I will kill Thresh, and then I'll kill the redhead from five, the Girl on Fire, and Lover Boy. I'm going to win this game. For Clove.

"WE'LL KILL THEM ALL!" I scream towards the sky.

I hear her, whispering in my ear like she's still standing right beside me.

"No mercy."

Hello. (: Thanks for reading. Clato is my OTP and I've always wanted to write something for them, but most of the time I give up halfway through. I don't have a lot of confidence in my work.

I hope you enjoyed this. I'm not too sure how I feel about it...it's 1:30 in the morning right now, so my judgment might be a little impaired with sleep deprivation. :P

Drop me a review to tell me what you think? ;)