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Guest #1: I will try, but I can't guarantee anything :( sorry

AliceW: Check for the next chapter and hopefully you'll think it explains everything

Clove blinked open her eyes. It was Saturday. Her wedding day. Gross. (A. /N. I decided to skip Friday because I'm a very impatient person and I couldn't wait to write this part.)

She rolled out of bed and felt for her ring on her left hand. She had decided to start wearing it, to practice the feeling.

"Clove! Get dressed and come have breakfast!"

Clove snorted and slipped on some shorts and a t-shirt and stomped down the stairs into the kitchen.

"Eat up!" Her mother was ecstatic. "But not too fast."

"Shove it in your ass," Clove snarled under her breath before heading toward the door.

"Young lady, where do you think you're going?" Clove's mother narrowed her icy green eyes.

"Out," Clove growled. "Just let me be free for the last time in my life."

"Be back by eight-thirty!" her mother called as Clove slammed the door behind her.

Clove headed towards the Training Center; she had slipped some of her knives into her shorts. She could feel the blades poking her skin.

"Clover!" Cato came jogging over. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"Ready for what?" Clove could play stupid.

"For our wedding," Cato said, a little confused.

"I don't want to," Clove replied stubbornly. "You can't make me."

Cato snorted amusedly, keeping pace with his very-soon-to-be-wife. "How much do you wanna bet, baby?"

"You can't make me," she repeated, not noticing what he had called her.

"Yeah, right." Cato picked her up around her tiny waist and flopped her over his shoulder.

"Cato!" she screamed, pounding on his back fiercely.

"Go a little easy on my back," he grunted as they jog back to Clove's home.

"Let me go, you bastard!" Clove struggles as she tries to get one of her knives from her shorts. Finally, she succeeds and presses it against his neck.

Cato stops as the cold, sharp point sears his skin.

"Put me down, Cato Reiner," Clove commands.

He loosens his grip on her and Clove takes the knife away from his neck.

"Nope!" Cato grabs the knife, holds both of Clove's hands together, and continues on his way to Clove's house.

"Fuck you, Cato!" Clove bites Cato's arms as hard as she can.

"I've survived worse, Clover. That won't do anything."

"I'm not sharing a room with you," Clove hissed, struggling to free her hands.

"Okay. I wasn't planning on it until you felt comfortable with me," Cato said, not the least bit offended.

The girl over his shoulder stopped struggling once she heard this. "Really?"

"Yeah. I can be nice when I want to, you know."

Clove snorted. "Uh huh."

"I can!" Cato protested, and turned left.

"Where are we going? My house is the other way!" Clove smacked Cato's back.

"You didn't want to go home, so I'm taking you somewhere else."

"I want to go home, Cato!"

"Too bad, Clover." Cato smirked.

The two of them walked-well, Cato walked-through a glade of trees and stopped beside a small creek.

After Cato put her down, Clove looked around. Cato didn't seem to be ready to catch her if she started running, but Clove didn't doubt that he wouldn't.

"I come here a lot," Cato said finally, watching the water flow by. "It reminds me of my brother."

Clove cocked her head curiously. Cato never talked about his family. "Why is that?" she asked.

Cato continues to stare at the creek. "We would come here and play in the water when we were younger," he replied. "He wouldn't mind if I threw rocks at him, or splashed him. He would always laugh.

"And then he was reaped," Cato went on. Clove was dead silent. "And everyone thought he would win; until that District Four boy found him."

Clove thought back to the 67th Hunger Games. Cato's brother had been reaped along with a sixteen-year-old girl.

In the end, it had come down between Cato's brother, Finnick Odair from District Four, and a girl from District Two.

And Finnick Odair won the 67th Hunger Games.

"Going away from everyone helps me think," Clove whispered. Cato looked at her. "The only things that listen to me are my knives." She stroked a small, thin dagger with a wicked sharp blade affectionately.

Cato sat down on a boulder and patted next to him. Clove walked over and sat cautiously.

"C'mon, Clover, I'm not gonna bite." Cato gave her a grin and then turned his head to look at the water again.

"Is that why you tortured those District Four tributes?" Clove asked, twirling her knife.

Cato nodded. "I just felt like it would be enough to get back on Finnick, but it wasn't."

"It won't ever be enough," Clove whispered softly, hoping he wouldn't hear.

He did though, but said nothing. She's right; it won't ever be enough.

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