Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers! This chapter was once boring and repetitive, when it should be full of so much emotion. I felt like I soiled it by having the exact same things in two POVs. So, after an hour of editing, this is the finished product: Chapter 4 - Version 2.0. I tried to keep the repetition to a minimum, but still allowing inner thoughts of both characters to be expressed at the most important times. I hope you all enjoy this new version of the chapter much, much better!

P.S.: If anyone is interested in reading the original, you can PM me and I can send it to you via DocX.

Disclaimer: No, I'm not the genius Suzanne Collins. Therefore, I don't own The Hunger Games.

CLOVE

I lie on the floor in a ball sobbing. I figure I'm loud, but stop caring after the first gallon of tears.

I'm not even sure why I'm crying. My mind runs through today's events. Waking up late, rushing to the reaping, talking to Rai and Turia, hearing my name called, seeing Cato volunteer, saying goodbye to my family, having cameras bombard me, getting tossed on the train, throwing the knife, stuffing myself, watching the reapings. Most of it isn't exactly tear-jerking. Then what is it? What's making me cry?

Before I can answer myself, there's a knock at the door.

CATO

I'm sprawled out on my stomach on my bed, rubbing a corner of the comforter between my fingers, admiring how soft it is and how unfortunate District Two's proximity is to the Capitol, because I won't get the chance to actually sleep here.

My thoughts are interrupted by loud, rapid sobs coming from the room across the hall. I don't know what's making Clove cry like this. I never pictured her to be the crying type. I listen to the sobs and my mind flashes to my mother. All those times where I've heard her sob are resurfacing in my mind. Like when my father would hit me when I was young, she'd scream and cry for him to stop. Or when he'd threaten to leave her, take my brother and sister, and kill me, leaving her with nothing, she'd beg and plead for him to stay and not to touch a hair on my head. Or when I was in the Justice Building, and we were saying our goodbyes, she couldn't stop crying. Whatever's bothering Clove, I've got to know. I've got to help her.

I throw open the door to my room and knock on her door gently.

"Go away," I hear Clove gurgle.

"Don't tell me you're going to act like you weren't just crying your eyes out," I say to the door. I hear a sort of sigh come from Clove, and take that as my cue to open the door.

I see a ball of Clove, writhing on the ground, reaching for her comforter, and wiping her nose. There's a dark puddle on the ground where I assume she had her meltdown. Her hair near her face is plastered to her cheek by tears, and there's water stains going down the front of her shirt.

"Well, what do you want?" she demands, looking at my knees.

"I came to see what's wrong. Something's got to be bothering you to make you cry that much," I say as soothingly as I can.

She climbs up on the bed, and bunches herself back into a ball. She looks at the wet spot on the floor and sighs shakily.

"I'm really not sure, myself. I guess I've been holding it in all day. Did you cry at all?" Clove asks, finally meeting my eyes. Her gray-blue eyes are sparkling with tears. I sit down gingerly on her bed.

"No, but it's probably a matter of time," I say a little feebly. I'm not one to cry, and I don't think I have since I was a baby, even when I was getting beaten and threatened by my father, even when I said goodbye to my mother. I'm just acting a little wimpier to make Clove feel a little better about crying. "I'm pretty confident I'll win, but there's always that chance, you know? That chance that I'll fail. That I'll let my family, friends, and myself down. I'm sure I'll cry over that later," I say unsteadily. As I say the words, the thought of what I'm saying sinks in. What if I never see my mother again? What if I can't protect her from my father? I feel my eyes beginning to water at the thought. I blink away the tears, and regain the confidence that I'll win the Games.

"I think you're right, Cato. I think that's why I'm crying," Clove says a little more steadily. "Who exactly are you trying to win for, other than yourself?"

"My mother," I respond without even thinking about it. "She's the only person I've ever loved. She's the only person who really cares about me. Who are you trying to win for?"

"My little brother, mostly. He's my best friend and I care so much about him. I'm having a hard time being separated from him right now. I think the only thing that's keeping me together is seeing him when I get back," she answers, losing what little steadiness she had in her voice before.

"Wow," I say, a little amazed. The thought of seeing my little brother's face when I get back makes me feel homicidal. "I have a little brother, too. And a little sister. I can never see myself loving them. Especially not the way you seem to love your little brother."

CLOVE

"Why don't you love your siblings?" I ask. I may seem a little nosy, but I just want to keep our conversation going, because the moment Cato leaves, I'll feel all alone again. After all, he seemed to know exactly why I was crying even when I didn't know, myself.

"Because they're the reason my father stopped loving me. When they came along, my father poured what little love and care he has in him into them. I hate them both," he says bitterly. "The only reason I'm still sane is my mother. She's the only one in this world who loves me. I'd give anything just to see her face again." The tears building up in his eyes spill over. "I should probably get going," Cato mutters, trying to hide his tears, as he's starting to stand up. I grab his arm and pull him back down.

"No, it's okay, you can cry. You've already seen me cry and I don't care. I won't tell anyone," I assure him. "Besides, I'm the only one on this train who knows exactly how you feel. Please, stay. It's worse crying alone, believe me." My own tears return, just when I thought I cried every drop out.

Cato stays, and we both cry for another decade. I'm trying to think of ways to calm us down, and just when I'm about to give up, I think of something.

"What did you love most about home, other than your mother?" I ask.

He slows his sobbing and looks at me quizzically, then softens his expression. He reaches for my face, and brushes away the locks of hair stuck to my cheek. "I think I loved how friendly everyone was, whether or not I was friendly back to them. How about you?"

I bite my lip. I search my mind for an answer, but come up empty. Then I remember. "I always loved looking in the window of the fancy dress shop, even though I'd never be caught dead wearing anything on display. I would just picture some snob wearing one of the gaudy dresses and beating her senseless."

Cato laughs heartily, and our spirits finally rise. "I remember whenever I saw you around, you'd always be beating up someone for some reason for another. I always felt a sort of respect for you."

The thought of big, popular Cato admiring my fighting gets me a little flustered. I never would have thought he'd even bother noticing me. Then again, I also never would have thought he'd cry his eyes out in front of me, either.

"I think the time where I respected you most was when you gave my little sister a shiner last year," he chuckles. I rummage my mind for this memory, but can't find it.

"Why did I punch her?" I inquire.

"Oh, I think it was something about her bumping into you and you took it the wrong way. I've never gotten a chance to thank you properly. So, thanks," he says.

"You're welcome, I guess," I reply.

"Yeah, well, I can tell you don't really remember. You've probably beaten up so many people that it all blends together," he implies. I shrug. It's true, but it makes me seem careless. I decide to change the focus to him.

"Have you beaten people up?" I ask. I know the answer, but I'm curious to see how he'll respond.

"Yeah, but not nearly as many as you," he responds. "You can't tell me you've never seen me beat anyone up."

"Now that you mention it, I think I have," I admit.

"Huh, Clove Helios noticed me. How about that! I suppose I should feel honored," Cato grins, turning back into his usual haughty self.

"I think you should be honored. My noticing people is usually something special, considering I'm so careless that I beat people up left and right for no reason," I retort.

"I never said that!" laughs Cato.

"It was implied," I shoot back.

"Well you can't tell me it's not true!"

We share a laugh. What am I doing? Am I seriously becoming friends with the enemy?

"Why are we doing this?" Cato asks, echoing my thoughts.

"Doing what?" I ask back, even though I know the answer.

"Bonding, I guess. Telling each other our most personal details."

"Nothing to lose, I suppose. A minimum of one of us will be dead in a matter of weeks," I answer.

"I guess we should make the most of the time we have left, since I think we're becoming friends," Cato admits.

"It's pretty weird. You're actually being nice to me," I respond.

"What's even weirder is that you're being nice back."

I smile, realizing I'm usually not this nice to people other than Rhodon.

My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening.

"Oh!" Magnus gasps. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know you two were both in here having a moment. I just popped in to let you know that we're approaching the Capitol!"

Cato and I look at each other, then walk over to the window. I have to squint to see our surroundings because, even at sunset, there are more colors in the Capitol than I've ever seen in my life.

As we go farther into the city, people turn towards our train and point and wave at us. Cato and I smile and wave back, which sends the crowd into frenzy.

As we pull into the station, Cato turns to me and asks, "You ready?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Let's just get this over with."

I tug the curtains shut, because even in the station, all the colors are making my eyes hurt. I turn to Cato and look up at him looking down at me. I wrap my arms around him, which seems to startle him.

"Thanks," I say with my cheek pressed in his shirt.

"For what?" Cato asks, confused.

I look up at him again. "For coming in here. For knowing why I was crying when I didn't even know, myself. For being nice. For being here for me and crying with me. For understanding."

He awkwardly puts his arms around me and pats my back slightly. "You're welcome, I guess."

I realize befriending Cato will have its advantages. He'll trust me, have my back, and maybe even protect me. Of course, it will just be that much harder for me to kill him, but I'll do it without blinking an eye when the time comes.

CATO

As the train approaches the station, I look down at Clove, who appears mesmerized. "You ready?" I ask.

The smile plastered on her face fades as she shrugs. "Let's just get this over with."

She draws the curtains and rubs her eyes slightly. She looks up at me, and flings her arms around me, burrowing the side of her head into my chest.

"Thanks," she breathes.

I'm confused. "For what?"

She meets my eyes and smiles. "For coming in here. For knowing why I was crying when I didn't even know, myself. For being nice. For being here for me and crying with me. For understanding."

She puts her head back on my chest and squeezes me tighter. I'm not sure what to do, so I sheepishly rest my arms around her and pat her back uncomfortably.

"You're welcome…I guess…" I say, glancing around.

I begin to worry. I hope I don't have to kill this girl personally. This tiny girl whose arms are securely wrapped around me, smiling. We've built up a little friendship this past half hour, as painful as the thought may be. All I can wish for is that someone comes along and kills her before I have to.