Hey! Dot here! This is my first Hunger Games Fic, so if it isn't good, that's why. I'd appreciate it if you tell me if I should continue in a review.

Oh, and I'm a Beta for Little Clover13's story Forbidden Love, so check that out.

Here ya go!

CLOVE POV

It was hot. Really hot.

Is that a good place to start a story? No? Well, it was hot. And windy. Windy is important. If it wasn't windy or sunny I wouldn't be dead now. Well, that's besides the point. I have to start from the beginning, right?

"Hello!" Shouted Karma, although she was speaking into a microphone. "Welcome to the seventy fourth Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I glanced at my friend. No, best friend. No, something more than a friend. Cato. He looked back, a small smile on his face. He wanted to be chosen. I knew it, he knew it. I've known it ever since we were about five years old.

"Clove!" Cato shouted, running towards me happily, smiling his gap toothed smile, having recently lost a tooth. "Hey Clove!"

I smiled back and ran to meet him halfway. "Hey Cato!" I had seen him yesterday, but it felt like ages ago. After all, I am five. Well, that's what my mommy tells me when I ask too many question.

"I have to tell you something!" Cato shouted excitedly. He was breathing hard and I watched as his chest heaved.

"Don't tell me that you have to tell me, just tell me!" I said, grabbing his hand as I always did.

He smiled and before giving me the news said, "I think you're the only girl without cooties."

Before I could stick my tongue out at him, he told me the news. "My father is helping me train!"

I gave him a look. "What do you mean? We're in kindergarten, dummy."

"No, Clove!" He exclaimed, still smiling. "For the Hunger Games!"

My eyes widened. I had been watching the Hunger Games for years now, and I didn't like them. Not one bit. In fact, I was scared of them. I think that the definition of tribute is dead meat. I think I'm the only person from District Two that doesn't enjoy the annual event. In fact, everybody else is excited for it, like always. But Cato is my best friend and I have to be excited, or else he might think I have cooties. I don't want cooties!

So I said, "That's so cool! What's your weapon?" I knew what my weapon would be when I began my training, the knives. Hey, just because I'm scared of them doesn't mean I can't be prepared. Actually, it's a better reason to be prepared.

"Spear or machete, I can't decide," He said, using the hand that wasn't curled in mine to tousle his hair.

"Cato, those are really big weapons," I said uncertainly, stretching my arms wide to emphasize, taking his hand with me.

"Exactly! I'll be a master my age ten!" He said, pulling me in for a hug.

I wearily returned it while saying, "Cato, just be careful. For me."

"Of course I will, I would do anything for you," He answered, hugging me tighter.

Then we released each other and resumed running, forgetting almost completely about the Hunger Games.

Now as that memory returned to me, I smiled for the first time in two weeks. Cato smiled back, and mouthed the words, "I wish they would get on with it."

I gave him another smile and mouthed back, "Make sure you keep your promise."

Yes, I had made him promise me to not volunteer unless I was chosen. He had agreed, but very unwillingly. It was obvious he thought he would win with ease. I thought otherwise. He was strong with every weapon imaginable, I will admit it, but he is arrogant, and that is a large weak spot in my book. I trained, too, knives being my weapon, like I knew they would be, although I really didn't want to be skilled in killing people.

"Well, as we always have done, ladies first!" Karma's loud voice shocked me from my thoughts.

I watched as her hand fished through the large glass bowl. She delicately plucked a slip of paper, practically tearing it to shreds with her ridiculously long purple nails, painted to match her almost equally ridiculous lavender hair.

She opened the paper after a moment of fumbling, then squinted and held it farther from her face, trying desperately to see in the almost blinding sunlight. That was her first mistake. Before she could begin, the wind decided it would be fun to blow particularly hard at the stage, plucking the paper from her grasp and quickly bringing it to an unknown location.

Karma frowned. "Well, that was unfortunate. I guess we have to pick another lucky young woman."

Her hand was back in the bowl, this time quickly plucking the slip and opening it.

"Clove Reed! You're lucky! Somebody else almost took your spot!" Karma said, a gigantic smile on her face. She was probably just happy that she hadn't lost the paper.

I frowned, unhappy that somebody had to go get killed. Well, District Two is usually the winning district. We are the Careers.

Wait. Clove Reed. That's me. I'm Clove. I'm the only Clove. I've been selected. No, this cannot be happening. I'm going to die. Now Cato is going to volunteer. He may die too. No, he's strong, stronger than me. He has to win. He has to win for the both of us. I know I can't. All I can do is throw knives.

With amazing accuracy, I reminded myself. Then all of a sudden my confidence was back and I was sky high.

"Clove, sweetie? You have to come to the stage, baby!" Karma called, waving her hands, smiling her Capitol whitened smile.

Then my feet were working, I was striding towards the stage, biting my lip but still confident that I stood a chance.

"Hello Clove," Karma greeted once I was on stage, shaking my hand dramatically. "You are so lucky, you almost lost your spot there, you lucky duck!" She exclaimed, tapping my nose with another blinding smile.

"Aren't I?" I asked almost silently, blinking quickly, as if this scene were just grime in my eyes and I could wipe it away.

"Of course you are!" She exclaimed, looking at me as if I was crazy. "You're going to the Hunger Games!"

"Unless somebody would like to volunteer to take her spot?" Karma questioned, raising her eyebrows at the crowd. There was at least one volunteer every year, not necessarily for the girls, though. This time it wasn't my lucky day. No one stepped forward, no one raised a hand, no one uttered a word. I was officially going to the Hunger Games.

I nodded at her, and she just stared back at me, confused. As you can see, the Capitol isn't that smart. Well, at least not this part of the population.

"Well, now that's over, we can see who's accompanying Clove to the Capitol!"

Her hand was back in the bowl, this time the boys' bowl, digging deep, then suddenly yanking up, satisfied with the catch.

"Darren Rerie!" She called in the same loud tone she had used to shout my name. I winced, inching away from the microphone.

I frowned. Darren was twelve. He had actually just turned twelve last month. He was deadly, sure, but against some of the better trained tributes of four or one, he was a goner.

That's why I was happy when shouts of, "I volunteer!" Sounded out, and Darren scurried back to wherever he had been standing, relief clear on his face.

But one call stood out to me. It was louder, more eager than the others. Somebody pushed their way through the crowd, probably the owner of the voice.

As soon as he was clear of the crowd, I wanted to cry, shout for him to turn around and go home. But I couldn't. That's not what a District Two tribute would do.

So that's why Cato was able to push his way through and shout with a loud, clear voice, "I volunteer as tribute!"

"Well then come up here," Karma ordered, and Cato almost sprinted up the stairs to join me.

My fingers were curled into fists around the fabric of my silk orange dress. I felt my fingernails digging into my palms through the material.

"What's your name?" Karma asked sweetly, staring at Cato fondly. Well, I don't blame her. Cato is very attractive, with blonde hair tousled to perfection, perfect pale skin, and sky blue eyes that I could stare into forever.

I couldn't help the feeling of wanting to punch Karma and telling her to back off. I was jealous, and I couldn't control it. I liked Cato, I've admitted it to myself many times. I've just been too chicken to admit it to anyone else.

"Cato Fields," He said clearly, staring straight at me, smiling at me, leaning towards me.

"Well Cato Fields, shake hands with your fellow tribute," Karma said, her eyes not leaving him, most likely undressing him with her eyes. It was gross, actually. Cato is sixteen, like me. Karma is somewhere in her thirties, maybe forties. Although the Capitol drugs allow her to still look twenty.

Cato's hand was suddenly in mine, and it just felt so familiar. I leaned closer, so close that I could reach out and touch his face if I really wanted to. He shook it firmly, holding my hand longer than he had to, which Karma definitely noticed. She interrupted, "Well, meet the tributes of the seventy forth Hunger Games!"

Then we were pulled apart, and being dragged towards the city hall. Cato dragged the guards handling him towards me, and grabbed my hand again, which I gratefully squeezed.

"Hey," He whispered, "It's all going to be fine."

And in that second, I really believed that it would be.

CATO POV

"It's going to be fine," I whispered to Clove as she was pulled to her section of the City Hall. "It's going to be fine."

I smiled again as they shut the door and left me to wait for my visitors before I was taken to the Capitol.

I had done it. I'm going to the Hunger Games. I'll win them, too, I know I can. I've been training since I was five. Five.

But Clove is going in with me. She will die. It's inevitable. I don't think she wants to win, though. She wants to go out, she wants me to live.

For some reason that made me want to cry. I didn't want to lose Clove. I love- what? Love is weakness. That's what my father has always told me. I've always believed him, I've never had reason not to. He's trained me well for the past eleven years, gone over impressive strategies, and given me the edge I've needed. So when he told me that love is a weakness, I didn't question it, just believed him.

So what is this feeling that always bubbles through me when I see Clove?

The doorknob turned, causing me to dismiss my thoughts. I have to seem sure, calm, collected. Can't have anybody thinking that I'm unprepared.

"Cato!" My father shouted, entering the room. I smiled back. "I'm proud of you son!"

"Thanks," I answered, quickly dodging the punch he threw at me.

"Good job, stay sharp," He said, bringing his fist back to his body.

I just nodded. My past thoughts were still haunting me.

"You remember the strategies, right son?" He asked, and before I could answer his first question he asked a second. "And the moves for all of the weapons?"

"How could I forget?" We had spent countless hours going over them, studying them, perfecting them. It's impossible for me to forget.

He tousled my hair then gave me a quick pat on the back, which was as affectionate as he ever got.

I patted back before he was asked to leave by the Official.

My next few visitors were friends, who just congratulated me and asked when I thought I would return. They were jokers, these guys, but they truly thought I would win.

Well so did I, but that's unimportant.

"Your hour is up," An official announced gruffly. "You'll be boarding the train now."

I gave him a nod before pushing past into the hall. I didn't need a know it all Peacekeeper telling me what to do.

As I strode down the hall, ignoring the shouts of protest behind me, trying to find the door that separated Clove and I. When I did, I straightened my shirt and waited for when she would come out. The door opened and I was prepared for Clove to enter the hallway, but she didn't. Emerging from the room was a sniffling woman, with a smaller child tucked under her arm. The child was Teresa, Clove's younger sister, I knew that. The woman... I had no idea who the woman was. Actually, looking directly into her eyes I recognized her. It felt like she was from a dream, something surreal.

Then she walked past, and I saw a star on the back of her hand. That was Clove's long lost mother. She had left them when Clove was five and Teresa had just been born. This must be awful for Clove.

I walked in, only to see Clove staring into the wall, tears falling down her face, an empty look in her eyes.

"Clove," I whispered, sitting next to her. She didn't move. "Clove," I tried again.

When that didn't work, I entwined my fingers with hers. She was still unresponsive. I squeezed, nothing happened. I took a deep breath and kissed her cheek, brushing her hair aside.

She blinked slowly, lazily, then turned towards me, instantly taking my hand as she always did.

"Thank you, Cato," She said quietly, looking at the ground, obviously embarrassed or ashamed about something.

I decided it would be a good idea to leave it be and just answered, "You're welcome."

"You two," A Peacekeeper said, opening the door, "Out. Now."

I stood, pulling Clove with me. "Let's go. We've got a train to catch."

Clove smiled weakly and nodded. "Yea. I guess we do."