Hey y'all, I've been playing with the idea of this story for a really long time now and I'm SUPER excited to finally bring it to life! A few quick side notes before we get started, just to set the stage and prevent confusion later on. Cato was the winner of the 73rd Hunger Games, but other than that everything is pretty much the same (Katniss and Peeta still won/are in big trouble, Snow's still out to get everyone, etc)! This story basically picks up about halfway through Catching Fire, although there is plenty of alluding to past events.

Also, here's your blanket disclaimer for the entire story: I OWN NOTHING. Especially not the Hunger Games or the character any associated with it. I'm not going to repeat that every chapter, because it's not going to change.

Anyways! Without further ado, Love is Weakness:

My own large, blue eyes stare back at me from the mirror of the training center locker room. As I allow my eyes to fall down the length of the mirror, I find nothing out of the ordinary. My pale skin is still riddled with scars, some fresh but most fading. My long, dark hair falls in loose curls until about half down my back. Brutus had always told me I was a fool for keeping it so long. I almost smile at the memory of him ripping me off the training course by my ponytail, screeching about women and weakness. Truthfully, I wasn't sure why I hadn't cut it off after last spring. I could barely run a brush through now it without wishing it were his calloused fingers gliding blissfully there instead.

When I become aware of where my train of thought has brought me, my eyes snap back up to find their own reflection again. But this does no good to pull me out of the daydream I am falling quickly into. He has the same icy blue eyes as I do. It's ironic really, considering how different we look while standing next to each other. He stands at least 6'3", while I get suspicious looks when I attempt to claim 5'6". His skin keeps a warm summer tan well into snowy weather, while I remain pasty year round without even sunburn to claim color. His blonde, perpetually messy hair is a stark contrast to my dark mane, and the freckles that dance around his cheeks and nose are no where to be found on my entire body. But our eyes are so similar; one look would have any stranger convinced we were twins.

A sharp, stabbing pain in my side brings me back to the present, and I turn to see blood now beginning to seep through the back and side ribcage of my shirt. A quick survey of the scrape tells me that in several hours I would have a bruise roughly the size of a grapefruit painted across my side.

I curse under my breath, hissing as I pull my shirt over my head and start the hot shower. How could I be so foolish? The Reaping was tomorrow, and I had just injured myself in a last minute attempt to let off some steam. The pain is only magnified as I step under the stream of water, and I bite my knuckle to hold in a scream.

After a minute or so, the pain subsides and I let my thoughts from earlier creep back into my mind. It's hard not to think of him when I'm here after hours. I can't begin to count the times we broke in here late at night. At first, it really was to practice our skills and try our hand at the more advanced stations we were not yet allowed to visit. But as our relationship grew less platonic, so did our visits. I shudder at the memories I have in this building, even in this shower. I can almost imagine him whispering my name. Then I realize I do hear his voice ringing out over the sound of the faucet; only it is harsh and almost as if he has to force himself to say my name.

"Athena?" He waits a minute while I pretend not to have noticed another human's presence in my small sanctuary. "Athena! Damnnit I know it's you and I know you can hear me. What the hell are you doing in here?"

I groan low enough so that he can't hear and turn the water off before wrapping myself in a towel and stepping out of the shower. I know I must flinch slightly when I look up to meet his eyes, and I can tell by the way he faintly winces in response that he noticed. Immediately, I force up the wall that I've had to use around him ever since last year.

"What the hell are you doing in here? This is the women's locker room, you know," I absentmindedly wring the water out of my hair and flick it in his direction. I catch a glimpse of the sneer on his face just before I close the changing room door. And I can detect the bitterness in my voice when I add, "You never used to be apposed to these late night break-ins."

"As a victor and a mentor, I could report you. You know that, don't you?"

"When are you going to learn that you don't scare me, Cato?" I yank open the door still only half dressed to give him my most seething glare. When his eyes fall to my waist and his face pales I realize my mistake. I quickly yank a pullover over my wound and push past him. "I was just leaving anyway."

"What happened?" He chokes out after a significant pause. I turn to face him and see the last traces of genuine concern sweep across his face before they are replaced by anger. "Athena, you blithering idiot. You shouldn't be in here alone. You could have killed yourself! Here, let me see-"

"You lay a finger on me, Cato Porcius, and I swear to you I will break your whole arm," I growl through clenched teeth. "Report me, if you like. This time next month, I'll have even more power than you as victor of the 75th Hunger Games and the third Quarter Quell."

Cato grabs my elbow and spins me around. His face is less than an inch from my own and his eyes are frantically moving back and forth between mine. When his voice comes out ragged and desperate I can almost convince myself that I hear fear and concern in his voice, "What did you just say? Athena you can't seriously be considering volunteering tomorrow…"

My silent scowl and attempts to free myself from his grasp must answer his question because he lets go of my arm only to send his fist into the mirror behind me. I force myself not to flinch and maintain my steely glare as glass rains down around us. He brings both his hands up to cover his mouth, and I notice blood trickling down his fingers from the impact. As he slides his hands up through his messy hair, he collapses on the bench behind us. His voice is so quiet and broken that at first I believe I imagined it, "You promised. You promised me you'd never volunteer…"

At the reminder of our past together, my breath catches in my throat. "It would seem we've both made a habit out of breaking our promises to each other."

Well... What do you guys think? I'd love to hear your feedback (good or bad, I'm not picky). But I'd really REALLY like to hear from you if you're enjoying the story and want more.

I'm not going to hold chapters hostage until I get a certain number a views, but they do motivate me to write more/faster. So pretty pretty please leave me a note and let me know what you think!

xoxo