"Maridel! Thanks for stopping by, darling!" Alethea smiled happily as her friend as Maridel and her three year old daughter, Clove, stepped into the foyer of the large District 2 home. Alethea turned and called into the house for her son, "Cato! Clove and her mother are here, why don't you come say hi?" The five year old boy came bounding into the room, his light blond hair as unruly as ever. Clove immediately ran over, her short, dark hair lifting in the breeze.

"Hey, Clove."

"Hi, Cato."
"Mommy, can Clove and I go play?" Cato's young voice carried easily through the marble room.

"Of course, sweetie. But stay out of the weapons room, and your father's study. The district mayors are al having a meeting with President Snow today, so you can't disturb him. Alright?" the two children looked as though they had lost interest about half way through Alethea's speech, but Cato nodded obediently.

"Yes, mommy. We'll be good. We promise," he said sincerely.

"Yes, promise," chimed in Clove for good measure.

Alethea chuckled as the two ran off, "children. Those two are so energetic."

Maridel smiled, "They might make wonderful victors and mentors someday."

Cato and Clove raced off through the manor in which Cato's father, the mayor of District 2 resided. "Come on, Clove, I found a whole family of frogs in the fish pond! We can go catch them!" Even though he just barely 6, Cato was considerably taller than the three year old Clove, and she had trouble keeping up with him. But when she tripped and landed rather hard on her knee, and scraped the palm she put out to break her fall, Cato stopped in his tracks to help his friend up. His light eyes were worried.

"No help. I'm fine." Clove's brown eyes were defiant and strong in her little face, and Cato smiled. After bandaging her palm and cleaning her knee, Cato escorted Clove down to his fish pond, where the two contented themselves with catching frogs, toads, and the occasional cray-fish until Maridel came to fetch Clove home, and Alethea to force Cato into his evening bath.

"Bye, Clove," Cato called as he watched his friend walk away. She turned, smiled, and waved before hurrying to catch up with her mother on her little toddler legs.

Clove had always found school excessively boring, she was much more mature than the average eight year old girl, and had already discovered that her weapon was the knife, while the rest of her classmates were still experimenting with spears, bows and arrows, swords, and various other weapons. So when the time came to combine all classes for training, she was, naturally, thrilled. The first time a class is allowed in training is when the youngest person reaches the age of eight, Clove's birthday had been the day before, meaning today was that day, because she was the youngest.

As the classes congregated in the gym, a familiar blond boy walked up to Clove, "Hey, Clove," said Cato, who, though three years her senior, was still in elementary classes. He had opted to master the basics extremely well before moving onto more advanced fighting styles with his sword. Clove smiled, "Hi, Cato." The training instructor was going on about choosing partners, and how those partners would be your until your training was finished, or you were reaped. Clove and Cato turned to each other simultaneously, "Partners?"

Cato was well liked among the female population of District 2, even then. And Clove's friendship with him had ostracized her from the other girls in her classes. Her subtlety developing good looks didn't seem to be helping her case either. But, it was certainly clear that Cato and Clove would make a most formidable training team, regardless of how many other young women would have liked to find themselves in the young, dark haired girl's position. With Cato's physical strength and prowess with a sword, as well as Clove's cunning and skill with throwing knives, the duo quickly made their way into a more advanced training group.

After training Cato and Clove were heading into town with their mothers to grab something to eat before going to a movie that was showing about the Rebellion and the Dark Days. It was mandatory viewing for all of Panem, but in District 2, it was almost similar to a night out. They had it easy, training Peacekeepers allowed them to train tributes for the Games without being too conspicuous, they had plenty to eat, the victors were almost always theirs, 1's or 4's. The hardships of the other districts were simply stories. And so Cato and Clove settled down next to each other on a blanket in the town square to listen to their president talk about the rebellion and the Dark Days, much with the air of two young people celebrating a night on the town.

"Hey, Clove," the two children were snuggled together sharing a smoothie with exotic fruit from District 11, "Do you think we'll ever get to be in the Games? Cause I want to be. I'm gonna win."

Clove looked at her friend in the half light and smiled, "You can win, and I'll win the next year. Then, we can be mentors together, and our tributes will always win. Because you and I are an awesome team." The two linked hands and squeezed.

Reaping day was always hot. Especially in the main square of District 2. Clove, now age 13, was wearing a light spring green dress, her glossy dark hair pulled back into a simple braid, and walking beside Cato. The 16 year old was looking dapper in a dark blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts. The friends bid goodbye to each other and headed to their respective areas in the square as the metallic haired Capitolite, Livia, mounted the stage to draw the names from the bowls. Cato and Clove made eye contact across the square, each silently hoping the chance for the others honor was close. Praying for the others name to be pulled. Neither was.

After the reaping the two walked into the park across from the main stretch of the town to plop themselves down under a tree with some icy, caffeinated beverages.

"Every year, I hope it's you, Cato. You would definitely win." Clove watched her friend carefully, leaning against the tree. "I can't wait to watch you win."

"Funny, every year, I think the same thing. That I can't wait to watch you win. You're so good with knives, you never miss. And you're too smart to get tricked by any of the other tributes." Clove laughed, and the two sat quietly for a while, the only sounds the slurping of their frozen drinks.

"But, Clove, what if we both get reaped into the same games? What would happen?" Cato's voice was softer than Clove was used to, almost...worried.

"Cato, that could never happen," Clove tried to sound confident, but found, even as the words left her mouth, that it could happen. The same way she could very possibly never be in the Games. It all depended on the odds. "Well, then...then we would be in the same Games, and one of us would have to win." Clove didn't mention she was struggling with whether or not she could actually kill her best friend. Her only friend. But of course, her training would kick in, and the ruthless, murderous Clove would come out.

After their drinks were gone, they wandered around the park for a while, just chatting. About school, training, the people around the district, their classes. The subjects of reapings and the Games were avoided.

The victory tour was a little more subdued than others that winter, because the victor was from District 7, not District 2. Although, Clove did enjoy being able to wear the beautiful burnished gold dress her mother had laid out for her. She twisted the mass of dark, silky hair up on top of her head, decorating it with golden butterfly clips with razor edges. Just in case she felt like practicing. Cato met her at her door in a matching gold suit with a butterfly patterned tie.

"Why, hello, Cato! Don't you look dashing," Clove laughed.

"Hey, Clove," Cato chuckled, his blue eyes dancing with mischief.

"Are you mocking me, Mr. Butterfly Tie?"

"Of course not, my lady. You look ravishing," Cato returned jokingly as the two set off toward the square, where the festivities would commence. Maridel and Alethea watched as their children walked off, arm in arm, shoving each other playfully.

"Clove is lucky to have someone like Cato. She's so competitive with him. It drives her to be that much better," Maridel smiled, remembering her childhood with Alethea.

"Oh, yes. They remind me very much of the two of us when we were young. Only, there was never a chance of us falling in love," Alethea laughed softly, her tone almost sad. "Maridel, is it wrong that I hope neither of them are ever reaped? I know that both of them are capable of winning, but I'm still afraid, of losing either of them, of see what it would do to the other. Of what the Games would do to them. That training at school is very..." Maridel hushed her friend hurriedly and put her arm around Alethea's shoulders, as she replied, "I don't want them to go either. No matter what the glory. I want my daughter alive. I want your son alive. They can't survive without each other. But we must not speak of the Games that way. Ever. It's too dangerous. Besides, its an honor to be in the Games. It brings our district honor."

Cato and Clove spun around the dance floor, enjoying the festive atmosphere of the Victory Tour. They tasted every kind of food that had been laid out, and eventually retired to a darkened corner from which they had a good view of the other guests, and a good angle from which to observe their interactions.

"You know, Cato, if we wanted to, you and I could have this entire party incapacitated in 5 minutes. None of them are expecting anything," Clove joked, almost maliciously, as she and Cato watched the swirling colors of the women's dresses around the floor.
"True. But where's the fun? It wouldn't even be a competition." Cato's eyes swept the town square, brightly lit and beautifully decorated. "No. It would be boring...Oh, Caesar's getting himself into trouble again..." Cato rose hurriedly and detached his mentally unstable younger brother from a few feet up one of the tent poles. "Caesar, you can't climb those. You're 11. You're too old for that now. Come on, buddy, let's get you home." he picked his little brother up and set him on top of his shoulders. Caesar laughed, and his infectious joy set Clove laughing as well.
"Come on, it's about time we were getting home anyway. She took Cato's hand, and they walked back to the mayor's home, hand in hand, while Caesar rode atop his brother's shoulders.

As Cato pulled the light blue, starched shirt over his head and buttoned the last few buttons, he could barely suppress his excitement for the reaping. He was 18. He was strong. He could win. He had to be reaped this year. He had to. And if he wasn't, well then, he would just have to voulunteer. Clove was nearly jumping up and down with excitement as Maridel pulled her hair back into an elaborately curled twist around the back of her head.

"Clove, darling, you have to sit still, I might accidentally stab you with a hair pin," her mother chided, though Clove could tell she was suppressing laughter.

"I'm sorry. I just...I have a good feeling about today's reaping." Clove raced from the house as soon as her mother had finished doing her hair and pulling the green velvet dress over her head. She skidded to a stop in front of the mayor's house, from which Cato was just emerging with a nicely groomed Caesar in tow.

"Hey, Clove!" Cato choked out as his best friend threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance.
"Hi, Cato! Hi, Cato! Hi, Cato!" Clove cried as Cato deposited her on the pavement in front of his stoop.

"Alright, calm down, Knife Girl. Caesar is a little nervous about his first reaping, so we have to go slow, okay?" Clove grudgingly agreed to her friend's request, taking Caesar's other hand.

"You know, Caesar, someday, I bet you'll be as good with a sword as Cato."

"You bet, Clove! I'm gonna be the best sword person ever!" Caesar's enthusiasm was encouraging, but as Cato and Clove made eye contact an understanding past between them. Caesar would not stand a chance in the Games. His mind did not function at the speed required. He would die quickly. And Clove looked into Cato's eyes, and saw that he knew it, and so did his mother and father. They parted ways in the square, moving off into their respective areas as the had so many times before.

As Livia mounted the stage, her metallic silver hair glinting in the sun, Clove held her breath. She wanted so desperately to be reaped, she was ready. She could do this. She could win. She would win. She glanced at Cato and saw him watching Caesar with a worried look on his face. Livia gave some silly speech about the importance of the games and the honor brought to the Victor and his or her district. Clove payed attention to none of it. Willing time to go faster. Finally, Livia reached her hand into the large bowl containing the girls names. Clove was breathless with anticipation and Livia unrolled the paper and called out the name "Clove Stylus." Her name. She had been reaped. She was going into the Games! She and Cato met eyes across the square, but as her mouth curved into an excited smile, she felt a small twinge of, something. Was it fear? As she walked up onto the stage, Livia asked the crowd for volunteers, and even though some girls looked anxious to raise their hands, Clove stared down every one, intimidating them into silence, the twinge was growing into something more alarmingly fast. Clove would keep her face straight, though. Intimidating. Then, Livia reached into the boys bowl, and pulled out a slip of paper. Before Livia had evan begun to read the name, Cato had lunged forward. "I volunteer." His voice echoed strong and clear around the square, and no one questioned it as he walked up to the small stage to take his place beside his best friend turned enemy. And suddenly, the full truth of their situation hit them. They would have to kill each other. And, so, when Cato turned to the girl he'd grown up with, he felt fear well inside of him, as well. And for the first time, he was not happy to see Clove standing next to him.

"Hey, Clove."

"Hi, Cato."

Clove could see the slight hint of fear in his eyes, and she knew it mimicked her own. And neither of them said another word until they were allotted time for goodbyes. Maridel crushed her daughter to her chest.

"Clove, sweetie, I want you to come home. I do. But I don't want you to have to live with killing Cato. You let someone else kill him, okay? I love you, Clove. I love you!" Maridel was trying desperately to hold back the tears, and Clove was clinging to her just as tightly.

"Mom, I love you. I will come home. I'll win. I will. I'll win and some one else kill Cato. But I will come home. I promise. I love you. I love you!" But the Peacekeepers were shooing her mother out and ushering in Alethea.

"Oh, Clove. I'm so sorry. I wish you and Cato could win different Games. But since you're in the same ones, I want you to know that, even though I love you, I will be rooting for Cato." Alethea pulled back and put her hands on Clove's shoulders, "You and Cato can't be in the final two together, okay? Don't make him kill you." The other goodbye's were short. Clove thought they felt fake. False goodbye's from people she didn't like and didn't like her back. When she and Cato were finally alone on the train they stood in the corridor for a few moments, facing each other. Then, suddenly, they were holding each other close, holding back tears that would betray their fear. "Thank you," Cato mumbled into Clove's shoulder. "Thank you for understanding. That it was my last chance." Clove could only nod in agreement, not trusting her voice. A few stray tears made small streams down her cheeks. The ferocity of Cato's embrace had destroyed the hair her mother had worked so hard to create, but she didn't really care. As Cato moved to pull away, Clove held on tighter. "Just a few more minutes. Please, let me be a little girl for a few more minutes, Cato." Her friend didn't respond verbally. He just rested his cheek on top of her head. The message was clear. He wanted to be vulnerable too. She turned her face into his neck, wanting, just for once, to allow herself to be human. To suppress the killer that the school had turned her into. But she couldn't. Not really. It was always there, a part of her, her constant companion, always itching to get out, no matter how hard she tried to squish it down. Cato had it to. They all did.

"I don't want to..." Clove searched for the right word, "lose you. But only one comes out," she finished in a whisper.

"I know," Cato pulled her, if possible, even closer. "But, Clove?"

"Yes?"

"I'm still going to try and win."

Clove was silent for a few seconds, and then, "I know. I am, too. We have to, don't we? But, Cato, you're still my best friend."

"And you're still mine. You always have been."