Okay, so for the past episode or two this has all been boring filler stuff, to stay true to the book and all of that while the star-crossed lovers were uh, busy (making out). So things will definitely become more interesting in this chapter! Thoughts, anyone?

Only one review? D: Fine, I'll have to make do with this pitiful haul. C'mon guys, if you liked, give me your thoughts! It won't hurt, it'll get you a mention, and it's fast! AND it makes my day! C'mon, please? :(

DauntlessClove I'm not a shipper, it's just that some are decent if they're well written :P I do like Clato though, a lot. So yep.

CHAPTER FOUR: VICTOR

I woke up expecting the morning, for the sunbeams to shine on my face, to feel the hot air as opposed to the frigid air of the night.

But no. I groan internally. It's still dark, extremely so, and I'm wondering now whether I was sleeping full five or six hours and it just looks dark, or did I get woken up by something–

I yawn lazily, still in full groggy-sleep mode, and look down. I'm at least 30 feet up, just in case Fire-girl does find me, so I'll be able to react quickly enough. But what I didn't expect is a coal-black mutt gnawing at the tree, slowly climbing its way up. I don't give it credit for being the most agile mutt ever, but, hey, at least it's trying, right?

Then I remember exactly who I am and where I am and what that mutt's trying to do, and there's only one thought.

RUN.

I untie my rope, screaming, "Cato!" wondering whether he's awake or not, climbing down as quick as humanly possible, and just running. Grabbing my knives.
"Cato! Cato! Where are you? They're mutts!" the desperation in my voice is obvious.

And then I think of something horrible. What if he already died? What if the cannon woke me up and I didn't realize it? "Cato!" I yell one last time, still running for my life and still with the mutts at my heels.

There's four now, chasing me. One that's red-coated with blue eyes, shiny orbs that seem to carry wisdom, another with a chocolate-brown coat and black eyes as cold as steel. And a smaller one, too, that looks a little like the other dog that's now side by side. But she's smaller, much smaller, and she looks frail.

I try not to gasp as it hits me. These are the tributes. Foxface, the girl from – what was it? Six? Seven? That I murdered at the cornucopia, in the bloodbath – and Rue. Little tiny Rue, that we murdered. Honestly, I'm not guilty about it, because she wouldn't become a victor anytime soon, but it would be nice if she had had a chance at life, at least. She was too young to be reaped. At least, for 11, where nobody's trained.

And then I hear it.

He's wheezing, and he's coughing, and there's no doubt in my mind that he's injured, but I hear Cato yelling "Clove! Clove!"

"I'm here!" I yell, although he obviously doesn't know where "here" is. "Nevermind, just – get to the Cornucopia! Now!"

I said that for two reasons. One, that's where the final battle almost always is, and two, The cold slippery metal of the cornucopia will be quite the challenge for the mutts, whereas I'm a born climber.

Slowly, the mutts still chasing me and losing my sense of direction, I make my way towards the Cornucopia. Roughly, at least. By the time I'm there I see Cato, panting, with a gash in his stomach. It's not big enough to be a real threat, but it's going to slow him down, definitely.

I'd like to sit down, relax, have a cup of tea, talk about training and all of that, maybe give him a friendly hug. But there's no time for that here. As a team, though, we're much better at hunting. A knife takes out Foxface, and a sword, the boy from nine. Another knife to Rue. How ironic. And slowly, I can see them, emerging; Katniss and Peeta, the star-crossed lovers, looking ready for a fight.

They're too far for me to possibly send a knife to, and an arrow could probably get me before I could know it, but it's clear they're not focusing on us. I don't even know if they've noticed we're here.

What they are focused on, however, are the six or seven mutts that are currently after them. "That's not going to be pretty," I say with a small chuckle. More seem to be materializing from the ground. But it turns out that Peeta's decent with a knife, and, as expected, Katniss's amazing with a bow, so they're turning out okay. But they're still struggling, and it's when Peeta gets a bite to the leg when they start really getting bad.

See, the mutts are strong. Only fatal injuries, it seems, actually affect them. And although Katniss has taken out about five or six mutts, there are a lot left, seeing as though they're only now focusing on them instead of us, now that we're unreachable. I almost pity her when the dog bites her in the foot, and another in the arm.

And then I hear the cannon.

"Pe–Peeta!" She sobs, and she's not even bothering fighting anymore. "Peeta!"

I don't know what was between them – come on, love? – but it's obvious she's grief stricken. Another bite, to the stomach. She's howling now, crying out his name. It's terrible to watch.

I slide down the Cornucopia, determined, run towards her, and ready a knife. The mutts are so engrossed in chewing off little bits of Katniss, and she's too busy crying, that she only notices me when I hold her hand. I'm not one for pitying, but this would be me if Cato died, and she obviously did care for him a lot, no matter if it was love or friendship.

She's almost dead now and the mutts engulf her. Such a terrible death, I think. Not honorable in the slightest, and painful too, although we Careers are oblivious to pain.

"I'm sorry," I say, and all she can do is nod numbly, "but I have to win."

And then the knife finds her heart.

I don't even realize she's dead, really dead, even after the cannon goes off and after the mutts disappear into thin air. I don't realize we won until Cato hugs me.

And then it all comes back. "We won," I whisper softly. Now that it's finally happened, my life's wish, what I've been training for for so long, it's so surreal. I can only imagine how it will feel in the interviews, with all the fame and the money and the – oh, it'll be wonderful.

"Yes," Cato says, "we won." His voice is filled with pride and passion, but there's something else.

Doubt.

"What's wrong, Cato?" I ask quietly. And then I realize it, too. Where's the hovercraft, ready to pick us up? Where is Claudius Templesmith, announcing the winners? I start shaking myself, sitting on the floor to contain myself. "What happened? Are we now winners? Will we stay here forever?" despite what every Career says, what every Career will tell you right after they won, this isn't a pleasant place. It's the stuff of nightmares, this arena.

It's death and blood. It's not what everyone says it is. It's freedom or death. Kill or be killed.

I'm not saying I'm not a Career anymore, that I don't believe in what I have lived through, what I have dreamed to be for what seems like forever. It's just that this is not all that it is lived up to. These couple of days have been terrible, and they seem like an eternity.

I don't want to live another one.

Then I hear his voice. Claudius's.

After watching so many Hunger Games, his voice is comforting, almost. A familiar figure in this vast, cruel arena. "After studying of the rule book, we have come to decide that the previous rule change has been.. revoked.. good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"I can't kill you!" I burst out. "I just can't. You're my…" I don't know what do call him, really. Is he an acquaintance? A hunting partner, in some way or another? No, I decide, he's neither of that. "Friend," I decide.

He tries to mask the hurt on his face.

"I can't kill you, either," he says. "Clove, I –"

"Shh!" I say. Then something comes to me. I take out a knife. "Take out your sword," I say. He does, but he seems confused. "Put it at my chest," I say. He doesn't budge. I hiss at him, "Do it, I have a plan," and he does.

I put my knife to his too. And say loudly, "For district pride!" and he repeats weakly.

And just as I thought, the hovercraft comes marching in, and Claudius Templesmith's voice, too. "For district pride, right?" Cato asks. He pronounces each word with meaning, each syllable loaded with emotions. His message is clear: did you know?

"Yes," I answer flatly. That's universal.

I don't know what I've gotten myself into.

The light, it shines on my face, and I can hear a slight beeping. I fidget around quickly, trying to get out, and it seems that there's something my arm. For some reason, though, I'm not strong enough to pull it out – since when did this happen? And there's a scent, a scent of something that's too familiar to me, but something beautiful, too.

But the scent of blood is too strong to be masked.

"Hello, Miss Jerine," I hear a voice saying, and I look to see him. President Snow, in all his glory. I quickly bow, showing my proper respects, and I hear him laugh. "No need for formalities, Clove."

"Oh, but there are! I've been dreaming to meet you for ages," I say. It's true; in some of the poorer districts, they frown upon Snow and say that he shouldn't be president (well, they don't actually, but that's what they want to say if they could say it without having an accident arranged) but in the richer, Career districts, he is almost a god.

"Let's not lie, now, shall we, Miss?" his cold eyes almost burn through my skull. I nod numbly. "What were you thinking?"

"When I took out my knife?" I asked. He nods impatiently. "I was thinking that if I was to die, than I'd rather die in an honorable way, rather than kill my friend behind his back." It's true, partly. If that wasn't going to work and they would really risk losing a victor, I'd rather commit suicide. It's considered extremely dishonorable to just sneak up and kill someone, for instance, in their sleep, while you are to be guarding them.

He searches my face, obviously trying to find the lie, but it's the honest was always the risk of not being stopped, to be forced to kill the only person who understands me, that I have actually somewhat come to like.

"I believe you," he says, "but only partly. Are you sure there was no ulterior motive in this?"

"A little, I guess," I answer again. I'm scared that I'm being a little too cool, too casual, to act around the President, the one who helps all and is good. He raises his eyebrow. "I knew vaguely in my mind that there was a chance that maybe we'd be stopped. But I didn't imagine that we'd be spared."

Again, this was only partly true.

"I believe that you are telling the truth," he says warily, "so therefore carry on. But remember, Miss Clove," he smiles in a grandfatherly way, "the walls have ears."

I shudder. As he begins to leave, I ask him, "Where's Cato?" I'm too groggy to actually care that I'm asking the President some stupid question that I could just ask the nurse, but he smiles again and says, "Room to the left, honey."

It's creepy, how he talks. How he acts. But nevertheless he's good, right? He's just looking out for the citizens of Panem. He must've thought that I was engaging rebellion, or something of the sort. I relax a little bit, thinking that everything's been cleared up and now it's fine, there's no need to worry.

"Cato," I call sleepily, "Where are you?" one of the nurses pass by – a strange girl with spiky blue hair and half of her face dyed yellow – and I ask her, "Can I go to Cato?"

She's hesitant, at first, but after chatting with another nurse she decides to wheel in my hospital bed. I'm not injured anymore, but I feel weak, very much so. Maybe even enough to not be able to walk. Anyway, I'm glad that this was taken into account because I didn't realize before how tired and fragile I was.

"Cato?" I ask again, now that I'm in another room. I move my head, although it hurts, and find him one bed to the left of me.

"Clove!" he says. I'd hug him but it seems that I'm stuck here for now, so that I can't move much. I don't want to, anyway, because the hospital bed is strangely warm and comfortable.

"We won. We really won, and we did it together," I say with all of the energy and happiness I can muster, which isn't really a lot. Cato nods. He got the worst of the injuries, so it seems that he's worse off, but he's still stronger than me, so he's, somehow, better off.

"I can't believe it," Cato says in pure joy. "I bet it's going to be just like I dreamed."

"Do you think I'll live next to Enobaria?" I joke, laughing. In Two, Enobaria Stone is respected greatly, being one of the strongest, most talented victors there ever were, but she's also kind of… well, weird. With her coal-black hair and eyes, and her menacing pointy teeth, on top of being a better knife-thrower than I could ever be, she's not someone you would want to mess around with.

"I don't know," Cato says, "but I think you'd get along well."

I laugh. I don't think, strangely, that I've ever laughed this much before. Cato's something special.

Alright! So, yeah, thoughts? Reviews, anyone? REVIEWS? Anyway, yeah, thanks for reading, and also:

A) Today's my birthday! Yaaaaaay!

B) Oooh! What shall happen to the rebellion? I don't know, maybe (CENSORED FOR SPOILER ALERT)... and that's how Dobby died. *wipes tear from eye*