Neither of them had known the other when they volunteered as tributes. Neither had ever seen the other. Never saw the other walking on the street. Not once in school. Never at the Training Gymnasium. Never even heard of the other. Not once, ever. She never heard anyone mention Cato in a conversation. He never saw Clove's name in the newspaper. They never knew the other existed. But the Games change everything, and they change everyone.
His parents worked in The Nut. Hers did too. Their parents briefly met at times, but nothing worth noting. Nothing worth mentioning, nothing special, nothing that matters, nothing that means anything. His grandpa was a victor. Her sister was a victor. When he was young, his grandpa told him stories of the Games. How it felt to come back a winner. How good it felt to be the best. The special feeling that nothing else could replace. How proud he was, and how proud the district was of him. She was in her sister's shadow. Her sister won, and that's all anyone seemed to acknowledge. She was nothing, not yet, at least. She would prove, though, that she was something also. Neither of them felt they needed people, though they wanted to feel special. Family was just there. There was no friends. Training was everything. The Games were everything.
They first met on the stage, and again on the train. They didn't speak to each other, words weren't necessary. He saw her as cold with a heart harder than stone, just like him. She saw him as in the way, between her and victory. She dreamed of winning that night. He dreamed of killing. During training he saw her as probably the best ally. She saw him most worthy of an alliance. His skill with a sword was something to rave about. Her knives always struck a lethal spot. Neither said good luck to the other before their private training session with the Gamemakers. The worse she did, the better for him. She wished him bad luck in her head. Neither congratulated the other on their ten in training. They both, however, blew up in anger and shock at the eleven of Twelve girl. He promised to kill Twelve girl. She swore she would make it painful.
They heard each other speak for the first time during their interviews. He wished she spoke more often. She liked his deep, confident voice. Twelve boy's interview disgusted them. Love, such a stupid thing, makes you vulnerable and weak. Neither had ever experienced love, ever longed for it before. Training was everything. The Games were everything. He wondered, though, what it was like. She wondered why everyone wanted it. Why was love desirable? That's why they went looking for the other. They both had to know. Still neither spoke when they found each other. There was nothing to say, only to experience. She left his room without a word, but wished she said something, anything. He didn't know what to say, but he wanted to speak. That night they dreamed of each other.
In the arena they liked to hunt at night. Prey was always easier to kill at its weakest. When she slept, she dreamed of killing, and he would dream of winning. The tracker jackers made them both see delusions. He saw himself dying, losing. He saw her slice him with a knife. She saw herself disintegrating, being nothing more than a shadow.
Seeing the blown up supplies unhinged him. Nothing was going right. First tracker jackers, now the supplies. He couldn't lose, but it was becoming harder to win. She wanted to stay calm, things would work out. She briefly thought of killing them right then, but with them alive, for now, she had a better shot at winnning. So, she and Marvel calmed him down.
When it was announced two could win, they looked at each other. "Guess I don't have to kill you now," he said. "And I was looking forward to ending you," she said. He was somewhat happy knowing he didn't have to kill her. He didn't know what it was. Training taught him to kill, not to save. She was confused. Did she want to kill him? Yes should be her answer, but she was somewhere inbetween. She shouldn't think about it, though, she doesn't have to kill him now. As the nights got colder, they went to each other for warmth. It reminded them of the night before the games, and they both tried to push the thought out of their minds. Neither thought they needed love, they didn't want to need it. It makes people weak and vulnerable. Though, they both had enjoyed that night.
They heard the invitation to the feast. She asked, "Can I have Twelve girl? I'll make it worthwhile." He was hesitant, but for some reason he complied, "Yeah." The plan for the feast was for her to kill Twelve girl, nice and slow. He would make sure no one got in the way. She would give the audience a good show. He was distracted, though, by the taunting of another tribute. He thought he would kill her quickly, it would be easy, nothing would happen to Clove while he went off. He was wrong, though. She was too busy taunting Twelve girl to notice the big guy from Eleven come up. Eleven guy had a rock. For the first time, she was scared. She would always just be a shadow, never could she outshine her sister. She screamed for Cato. Where was he? He heard and bolted as fast as he could. "Clove," he yelled. How could he leave her alone like that? The rock crashed down on her skull. He arrived too late. "Don't leave me," he begged, his voice filled with unfamiliar desperation. She tried to speak, but couldn't. She was happy, for some reason, that he would be the last one she would see. She didn't want to die, and he didn't want her to die. It didn't matter, though, her canon fired, and he was left holding her in his hands. He didn't know her, but yet he felt he knew her entirely. She was him. He was her. When she died, part of him died too. That's why he would hunt Eleven down. Kill him like he killed her, killed part of him. He took a few of the knives in her jacket, as a reminder of her and as a tool for Eleven's death. He hunted Eleven down in the rain. Caught him off guard. Cut patterns in his flesh, just like she would have done to Twelve girl.
When he saw the muttations he ran for it. There was too many to fight at once, the horn would be his only option. He glanced back once. What he saw scared him more than anything. The mutt on his heel looked like her. Maybe she really was looking forward to ending him. He ran fast, towards the horn, passing the only other two tributes alive, the Twelve boy and girl. Once he was on the horn, he caught his breath. The other two would be too preoccupied right now. He asked if the mutts could climb. He had to know if she would kill him or not. Once he regained his breath he grabbed the boy. He couldn't take them both, but he could take one with him. Both if his plan worked, but it didn't. Before his chokehold on the boy could kill him, he felt a 'x' made on his hand. Before he could react he was shot in the hand. He instinctively released the boy, who pushed him back. He lost his balance and fell off the horn. He still had her knives, though, so he was able to hold off the mutts for awhile. He fell to the teeth of the mutts and was dragged inside the horn. The mutts bit at him. He was helpless and her mutt haunted his thoughts. She did mean it, he concluded, she wanted to end me. But then, the mutts left and he was left to die a slow and painful death. How embarrassed his grandpa must be of his grandson. Night fell and left, and he was still alive, inching his way to the mouth. He lost when she died. She was part of him and without her, he would never win. She would make sure of that, and she did. When he saw Twelve girl, he tried to say please, but it didn't come out. It didn't have to, an arrow flew into his skull.