A/N: Ahh hey sorry this has taken a little while but yeah, it's here now. There have been so many new reviews since the last chapter and I just want to say how grateful I am for each and every one. I read all of them and they all mean so much so thank you!

Pain was white.

I'd always thought it was red like blood or even black but as I lay in my numb state, barely even able to remember where or who I was, I realized that it was piercing, blinding white. The intensity of it burned behind my eyes like having a torch shone in your face. I couldn't describe how I felt. It was as if I was in a coma. I couldn't feel, I couldn't sense, my body was dead. But I could think. I could tell that the pain inside me was white and more powerful than anything I'd ever thought possible.

I couldn't tell how long it'd been, where I was, I hardly knew my own name. All my mind could focus on was the fact that Cato didn't want me. Not any more, not ever. Nothing mattered now.

Sometimes my thoughts drifted to other, more pleasant places, sometimes not. Sometimes it presented me with images of my parents before their deaths, or a purposeless flashback of the games; warm blood on my palms, the feeling of superiority…

But it never lasted.

I was always launched back into the white pain when even a flicker of Cato's image filled my head. Every thought found a way of circling back to him, causing my eyes to water with the intensity of the white-hot burn that filled my chest.

Everything hurt.

Occasionally I'd wonder if he was hurting too. If he thought of me and paused, even for a second, to wonder what I was feeling, whether I was suffering. Of course not. Why would he? I was alone in this.

Alone.

At least that's what I'd thought though, as my body began to regain some kind of feeling, I sensed someone standing over me. I knew that I should have been alarmed, mildly shocked at the very least, but I wasn't able to conjure up any kind of emotion more than a mild sense of curiosity.

Ugh. Waking up was definitely a disappointment. What was the point? At least it put an end to the white-pain that had almost driven me to insanity.

My eyes unclosed slowly, the brightness behind them being replaced by artificial beams of light. I was still in Cato's room but somehow I'd ended up in the bed rather than strewn across the floor. As my eyes adjusted slowly to my surroundings, I was able to make out a male silhouette and, when I focused harder, a pair of worried hazel eyes and a mess of jet black hair.

"Romairo?" I croaked.

My throat ached like crazy and my head wouldn't stop pounding.

"Ah, you're awake," Romairo smiled.

I looked down at my white cotton shirt and winced as I saw the dark red patch covering all of one side. I ran my fingers through my hair, finding black sticky liquid dried into that as well.

"Blood," I murmured in distaste.

"Yes," Romairo nodded, a crease appearing between his eyes. "I would have changed your clothes and such but I doubt you'd have approved."

"Absolutely," I snapped sternly.

I glanced at my wrists which had been cleaned up nicely, a trace of blood in sight. The still raw, pink lines throbbed a little bit but I tried to ignore it. they'd heal soon enough. Unlike other things.

When I looked up again, Romairo was eying me carefully.

"What are you even doing here?" I blurted.

He frowned, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"I was worried. I knew that giving you Cato's number was a mistake. I thought I'd come to see how you were doing – turns out it was just as well."

I blinked.

"Wait, back up a sec, what do you mean you knew it was a mistake? Did you – did you know about him-" about him replacing me already, I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. Romairo wouldn't have given me Cato's number if he knew I'd get my heart broken… again. Would he?

"I had my suspicions," he admitted, shaking his head, "but I wasn't sure. And you were so desperate…"

"So it's my fault?" I barked at him.

"Of course not," he sighed. "It's no one's fault."

I glared at him, my blood heating in anger.

"Oh, I can think of someone to blame."

"Clove-"

"Don't you dare defend him. Just don't."

Romairo held his hands up in surrender, falling silent.

I stretched out, wincing as the pain shot through me again.

"I need to shower," I muttered, getting to my feet and walking towards the exit of the room.

I paused at the doorway, turning back to Romairo who was still sat on the edge of the bed looking mightily unhappy about the whole situation.

"Um, thanks," I said, attempting a small smile.

Romairo's eyes softened as he looked at me, nodding once. It was pretty unbelievable that he'd come all the way from the Capitol just to see if I was okay. I had never really experienced kindness in such a way, at least not since… Cato.

I spent much longer in the shower than I should have.

The burning stream of water was heaven and helped me clear my head of everything; Cato, his new girlfriend's voice, the pain from the blade in my skin the previous day, President Snow and his bitter, cold eyes…

It was just me and the water. Everything else ceased to exist.

I had to scrub at my hair and rinse it three times before the last trace of sticky blood had vanished down the plug hole. The gashes in my arm stung when in contact with the soapy water but I was able to ignore it.

Having had Romairo come to visit was like a massive wake-up call. Get your act together, Clove. You're acting pathetic. I needed to get back to my old self; before I entered the games and was crowned a victor, before I met Cato, even. Before my parents had died. Back when I was just another kid from District 2.

I donned some clean clothes and shuffled back to Cato's room where Romairo was waiting.

"Much better," he grinned sweetly and I couldn't stop my lips curving into a smile as well.

"Did you tell Rondula that you came?" I wondered, taking a seat and shaking out my damp hair.

"No. she has no reason to take interest in what I do."

I felt slightly relieved although I didn't know why.

"Good. She's on Team Cato."

Romairo chuckled at my made-up term.

"I'm sure she isn't but if it makes you feel any better, I'm very much on Team Clove."

I looked down, snorting slightly.

"Thanks."

It was then that something occurred to me though and the amused smile disappeared right off my face.

"Romairo," I began slowly, biting my lip out of habit, "you won't… you're not going to tell anyone, are you? About how you found me, I mean."

His lips turned down at the corners as he paused for a second.

"I should do," he told me, "but no, I won't tell anyone. Only if you promise not to do anything like this again. I won't be here next time."

"Okay, fine. I won't," I lied through my teeth, hopefully convincingly.

It seemed to work as Romairo nodded slowly, standing up.

"You need some sleep," he instructed. "There's a drink on the nightstand. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

What?

"You're not staying," I said.

"Sorry but I am, at least until you're more recovered."

"For goodness sake, I'm fine-"

"Clove, I'm not going anywhere so you may as well be quiet and sleep."

I growled quietly but didn't further comment. I'd never admit it aloud but having a bit of company in my huge, empty house might actually make a nice change. Even if it was my Capitol stylist.

And Romairo stuck to his word.

He didn't leave for the next three days, sleeping on the couch while I slumbered in Cato;s bed, bringing me food and drunk like I was some kind of invalid. I was eventually able to persuade him to leave. Don't get me wrong, having him around had definitely helped me get my head into a better place but I was beginning to need some alone time. So he left once I'd thanked him and after promising to visit again soon and here I was again.

Alone.

It was better this time though. I knew that I would have to get on with my life, that I'd have to get used to being alone. Cato wasn't coming back for me. No one was. It was tough to come to terms with but I was getting there, slowly but surely.

I began to go out again. I had to be careful to cover my scars at first but that was only a minor problem. I took up my old job at the training centre, teaching knife-throwing, I helped out at the local school, keeping busy wherever I could. It made me feel better and, after some time, I got through whole days without Cato and my past life even entering my mind. Those were the good days. I was able to just… get on. It worked for me to block out all the old memories. It was either that or confronting them and I sure as hell wasn't ready for that.

Months ticked on by and there was still no sign of Cato. Every day that I showed up to the training centre to see it empty of his presence yet again, it did strange things to be inside. I tried to ignore it, to accept that he was a Capitol resident now, he'd moved on; I should too.

Before I'd even processed it, the Quarter Quell was upon me, not that I was particularly interested at first. There was something about this particular event, though, that I couldn't seem to keep off my mind.

Cato would be there.

He'd have to be, surely. All citizens of District 2 were required to attend the reaping and technically that still applied to him. I couldn't even contemplate seeing him again without shivering chills of pure excitement and my stomach knotting up sharply. Good, Lord. If my body was reacting like this now, what was I going to do when I was actually faced with him?

I'd been trying to avoid the subject in my mind but it was hard when everywhere I looked, everything I smelt in my own house reminded me of him. It also didn't help that wherever I went, people looked at me in sympathy, knowing full well that Cato and I were going to be seeing each other for the first time in six months any day now. I couldn't take it. I was going out of my mind with anticipation.

Part of me imagined Cato pacing nervously at that minute, wherever he might be, worrying about being in the same small space as me after all this time, but at the same time eagerly wishing it would come around sooner. They were all just fantasies though. He didn't care. He probably didn't even realize he was due back in District 2 by now. Then my brain began conjuring up images of what he might actually be doing; maybe he was out for dinner with his girlfriend, perhaps they were sharing a joke, an intimate moment, a kiss... Maybe more.

It was about then that I told my brain to shut the hell up before I carved it out of my skull and trampled on it.

And, it felt like it'd been an awfully long time, but finally it came, much to my utter dismay. The announcement.

It was 7.30 at night on the dot when I switched on the television, Caesar Flickerman's popular show had been on just before, which luckily I'd missed. I hadn't even used the expensive TV since owning the house; I had no desire to. But that evening, I figured I may as well watch the reading of the card – I'd have to be at the reaping so I may as well find out what they were doing this year.

The camera swung round to focus on President Snow and it took all my self-control not to switch if off right there and then. Looking at him made me sick, knowing that he probably forced Cato to work for him, in the beginning at least. He began by explaining to the audience what had happened in the previous Quarter Quells and continued droning on and on about things that I knew full well about as I became increasingly uninterested. Were there really people who knew nothing about the past Quarter Quells? Did he really need to explain all of this? I supposed that maybe not everyone had done as much research on the subject as Cato and I had before entering the games.

"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," he bellowed, at last getting to the point. A little boy in white stepped forward, holding out a box and carefully lifting the lid. The President slowly selected an envelope marked '75', running his finger across the seal and unfolding the piece of paper inside. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

I jumped to my feet though what I was about to do, I'm not quite sure.

"Wha-what?" I spluttered at the empty room, mouth hanging open.

What did he mean? Existing pool of victors? But that meant… that meant I could be picked.

I could be entering the games again.

I sunk down to the floor, gasping for breath.

"Oh my God," I breathed.

How could Snow have done this? How could this be happening?

"No, no, no, no…" I chanted, placing my head in my hands in desperation.

I couldn't go back into the games. I was just getting my life back on track. I couldn't go back there!

My initial thoughts were suddenly being overpowered by other ones, though, and at once I was much more terrified. Not for me… for Cato. Forget about me, what if he was reaped? What if he had to go and fight in the games with no allies? What if… if he didn't make it out again? Then what would I do?

Hundreds of questions swam around in my mind like piranhas as hard as I tried to ignore them. Everything was spiralling out of control and there was nothing I could do to stop it…

Without thinking about it, I reached for the small, wooden-handled knife on the table next to me and forced it into my arm, letting out a whimper of pain as it broke the skin and began spilling blood everywhere. This time, though, the burn wasn't a good type of burn, it just reminded me of everything that was going wrong and my promise to Romairo. I felt instantly guilty, not better. I shook my head, throwing the knife across the room with a scream of frustration. It clattered on the wooden floor in the kitchen, splattering blood across the walls but I ignored it. I clambered to my feet and jogged to the bathroom sink, grabbing a damp towel and pressing it against my arm.

"Enough," I commanded myself, wincing in pain.

This wasn't helping anything. What would the old me have done? I wondered, shutting my eyes. She would have assessed the bad situation and done everything in her power to resolve it, no matter what it took. She was strong; she could do anything she set her mind to.

I wasn't that girl anymore though. And what could I possibly have done? I couldn't go back in time and change the writing on the reaping card; I couldn't stop the Quell from going ahead. I was powerless.

Completely useless.

I trailed back to the living room, collapsing on the couch and trying to empty my mind. There was nothing I could do, so why bother even sweating about it. What happened, happened, regardless of what I did to stop it.

I slowly drifted to sleep, my mouth twisted into a grimace the whole night, wondering how Cato had taken the news.

I supposed I'd be finding out soon enough.

Soon was an understatement; it felt like only a day had passed before the reaping was actually happening.

I woke up in the morning, reluctant to open my eyes. I dressed slowly in my reaping clothes; a pale green dress which I hated but it was compulsory for the girls to wear dresses, a skirt at least. I took my time getting ready, mostly because I still wasn't sure if I was ready to even attend the ceremony, but also because I knew there were going to be cameras there and I'd probably be one of the most focused on people – I wanted to look my best, didn't I? No one could know how hard I'd found my first year of being a victor, I wouldn't let them.

I carefully braided my dark hair into a crown of knots and made sure that my skin looked clear before carefully taking a deep breath in front of the mirror. It will be fine, I told myself repeatedly but it did nothing to settle my nerves. I knew it wouldn't be. The odds just never seemed to be in my favour.

The day of the reaping was hot and sultry. When I got to the square, it was midday and the majority of the population of District 2 was stood waiting and sweating, machine guns trained on them. I couldn't believe how quickly it'd come around, it seemed so recently that I was having my name picked out of that reaping bowl and being ushered off, Cato by my side. There was a small roped-off area where the previous victors stood. I slowly walked over to the girls section, recognising some of the faces there. There was Lyme and a girl just a couple of years older than me; I think her name was Alexia. There was Enobaria, looking unaffected by the whole situation of course. The rest of the group I had seen most of generally around the training centre.

I took a deep breath and slowly counted to three in my head. Slowly, I turned my head in the direction of the boy's pen and it took me just half a second to see him, half a second more to process what I was seeing. Cato stood, facing in the other direction to me, arms folded across his chest. He wore a smart shirt and plain pants – a completely ordinary outfit but he somehow made it look Godly. His blond hair shined golden in the overhead sun. It was longer than it'd been when I'd seen him last, and messier. There was an aroma of pure power radiating around him despite many of the men surrounding him being older and stronger. My breath caught in my throat. So many memories, so much history, all rushing to the surface. It had been - how long? Yet somehow it felt so right to be in the same place as him again, it was as if he hadn't even left. He turned around suddenly, looking bored, but the second our eyes met he froze, icy-blue eyes widening in shock, folded arms dropping to his sides as if he couldn't support them anymore. It felt like I was being stabbed in the heart… but it was good. I took a physical step backwards as if the pressure on my chest was real instead of purely coming from my mind. His mouth hung agape the same as me, our locked eyes not budging, not even to blink. We were at least ten meters apart but he may as well have been right up in my face, it was that intense. Neither one of us made a move to speak. There was nothing to say.

Before I'd even had time to recover, Rondula's booming voice coming from the stage stunned me into breaking eye contact and just like that the connection was broken. When I turned back, Cato was focused on Rondula's animated speech on stage, refusing to look back in my direction.

I couldn't focus on anything a while, my brain too dazed to tear my eyes away from the back of Cato's head. I managed to pay attention, though, when I heard her preparing to read the names out.

"I think we'll start with the boys," she called cheerfully. "It's not every day we have a Quarter Quell!"

I clenched my fists in annoyance at her Capitol voice. It made me want to vomit. As she approached the boys reaping bowl I felt my whole body vibrating in anticipation of her next words, my fingers trembling slightly.

There was a little while of tense silence as she hastily snatched a slip of paper from the glass cauldron and unfolded it, clearing her throat before she spoke.

Her next words made me choke on my breath and a strangled kind of sound escape my throat.

"Cato," I whispered, parroting Rondula's words.

No. No, no, no, no…

This couldn't be happening. Out of all the victors, why did Cato have to be picked?

I glanced over at him, after Rondula read his name, everyone else looking in his direction as well.

He looked cool and calm, completely fine about being picked. At least that's what everyone else would have seen. But I could see under the armour that he was shocked, distraught… he was scared. He was alone. That's what he thought, anyway. I could see how much he was dying inside and how so very hard he wished he hadn't been reaped.

I wanted to cry. For him, not for me. I wanted to sprint over and wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hard and stroke my hands though his hair and tell him that it would all be okay because he had me. What else could he possibly need?

But he didn't. He didn't have me. Not anymore.

I swallowed, biting back my emotions and watching in torture as he made his way up to the stage, introducing himself to the crowd as if they didn't know him. I could sense Brutus's gaze trained on me in concern but I didn't return it. I couldn't look weak, especially not now.

Rondula smiled joyously, ambling over to the other ball of names.

"Girls, next," she declared, sticking her hand through the hole and rummaging around manically.

I was barely even concentrating on what she was doing. I didn't care. I didn't care about myself anymore.

All I could think about was Cato. He wouldn't be able to survive the games alone, I just knew it. He'd get too angry, he wouldn't think about things. He's always been hot-headed but he'd always had me to rein him in. How was he going to cope on his own, not knowing anyone?

I was so distracted by my own thoughts that I barely even heard Rondula's high-pitched voice reveal the female tribute. When I did I gasped absently.

"Enobaria Roland!"

It wasn't me. It was Enobaria.

Enobaria – my strong, independent mentor who'd been there to guide me through everything. We may not have always got along but I wouldn't have wished this upon anyone. As I turned, I saw her face fall and her eyes open wide in horror. She may have been strong and independent and Lord knew she was deadly but no one could be blasé about being picked at the reaping, especially if it was the second time around. It just wasn't possible.

She cleared her throat and began to walk forward but she'd only taken two steps when my brain decided to shut off and my body acted purely on instinct.

"No, you can't!" I exclaimed, ridiculously at her retreating figure.

She spun, looking concerned.

"What are you doing, Clove?"

"You can't go back there," I breathed, shaking my head.

Why should Enobaria have to go and relive the horror of the arena, all these years after she'd won? Why should Cato have to suffer alone, without me having a chance to even speak to him?

I thought back to how I'd felt when the reaping card had been read and realised that the situation now was the complete opposite of that. Then I'd been completely powerless, unable to do anything to help anyone. But now – I could actually do something. I could change the course of injustice.

I stepped forward, ignoring everyone's eyes locked on me. I looked up; my eyes meeting with Cato's, his face a mask of pure horror. When I spoke my voice was loud and clear and a whole lot more confident than how I felt.

"I volunteer as tribute!"