ix. flicker

She'd never thought that the cause of her death would be being bashed in the head with a rock. Clove had always figured if she were to die in the Games, she'd go down in a blaze of glory, in the midst of a gruesome attack or taking another tribute down before inhaling her last.

But here it was. A fucking rock that was the size of her hand. How pathetic was that?

After all the training she did as a kid, a stone was going to do her in. It was even more ironic that she hailed from the masonry district. The universe was certainly having a laugh at her expense.

Perhaps she deserved it for how terrible a person she was. Clove wouldn't call herself nice. She was mean, twisted, a bitch, generally awful to be around, horribly uncaring and self-serving. Not to mention the cruel streak that surfaced when she was provoked.

Fuck knows why Cato even stuck around all these years.

The image of the blond came to mind and she trembled as regret left its bitter taste on her tongue. Fuck, she hadn't even the chance to bid him goodbye, to tell him how she really felt, to see him one last time. Mournfully, she squeezed her eyes tighter, hoping that when Death came to haul her away in his skeletal grip, it would be fast and painless.

"CLOVE!"

Her eyes snapped wide open. Had she imagined that?

"CLOVE!"

Hope began to bloom in her heart when Cato's voice sounded once more. But yet, the blond sounded miles away. Her shoulders fell. He couldn't help her, not with how far away he was.

"CLOVE, DOWN LEFT!"

What? Duck? Now?

With the small allowance given around the space of her neck from Eleven's grip, she did, just as what seemed like blood sprayed over her, with some of the hot viscous liquid splattering into her eyes.

A shrill scream tore from her throat when she was released and dropped to the ground, the rock landing on her shin. Fuck! That was going to bruise. Vision impaired with blood, she blearily swiped at her eyes with the sleeves of her jacket before absorbing the scene in front of her.

Eleven was on the ground, grunting and groaning as he tried to yank out the spear embedded in his shoulder. The weapon had gone right through muscle and bone, its sharp pointed edge jutting out of his body near his clavicle.

Clove shuddered, taking deep gulping breaths as she tried to steady her frayed nerves, to gain control over herself.

She was fine. She was alive.

An inhuman roar gained her attention, drawing her eyes to the hulking form of her district partner. The blond had a monstrous look on his face as he approached them, sword slung over his back. Cato didn't spare her a second glance when he walked passed her. Instead, he headed straight to Eleven with wide predatory steps.

"You tried to kill her with a rock?" he demanded, blue eyes wild and crazed. "A FUCKING ROCK?!"

The boy from Eleven said nothing and got to his feet, balance skewed due to the spear lanced through his form. Somehow, he'd managed to break the ends off, leaving a small portion of the weapon wedged in his body.

As the two faced off, Clove darted her eyes from one to another. While Eleven seemed broader in stature, Cato was fit and uninjured—it would be an even match. Taking in the animalistic rage on her district partner's angular features, Clove can't ever recall seeing him in such a state.

The blond lunged first.

In a mass of flailing limbs, grunts, and groans, she watched in utter shock as Cato effectively pinned the boy down in less than a minute. When he pulled away, Eleven's face was so bloodied and bruised she couldn't even make out his facial features. If that wasn't enough, Cato stumbled back—sporting some bruises along his jaw and a bloodied lip—before grabbing his sword.

Eleven let out a gurgle of pain when the weapon was plunged through his thigh and Clove flinched at the sound of crushed bone and cleaved flesh.

"A rock, right?" Cato shouted, voice booming. He reached for the rock at her feet. "You wanted to bash her head in with this?"

He wouldn't, she eyed him warily, fingers fisting into the grass. He wasn't going to do what she was thinking, would he?

"Let's see how it'll feel like, shall we?" he thundered, throwing the fist-sized stone into the air and catching it. The blond repeated the action once, and then twice more before diving in for the kill.

It was frantic. Violent. Animalistic.

Cato was almost a blur as he smashed the rock over and over into his victim's skull. He didn't stop when Eleven was dead or when his cannon went off. Rather, the sound seemed to spur him further on, driving him into a frenzied state that spoke of sheer insanity and brutality.

When it was all over, Cato stepped back to admire his handiwork and she shakily moved to his side, staring down at the gory remains of what had been a boy. Where Eleven's head used to be, it was now nothing but a pulp of grey matter, blood and shards of bone.

"Cato," she whispered, hesitantly tugging at his elbow. "What—"

He turned and she blinked, almost taking a step back. Face spattered with the mix of blood and brain matter, hair matted with more blood and sweat, Cato looked like a pagan warrior of eons pass, coming back directly from battle. The wildness in his eyes eased but the fury remained. However, at the sight of her, the flames of his anger increased.

"YOU!" He roared, rounding towards her. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?"

She wasn't given a chance to reply when blood-slicked hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her frantically.

"What the fuck happened to go right for the kill and not playing with your victims? Or about not bragging and dragging out kills unnecessarily?!" He screamed, voice going hoarse. "Well?" he prompted when she didn't respond. "What the fuck about not being stupid and impulsive, huh?! You're a fucking liar!"

Her teeth rattled and she dug her fingernails into his arms, trying to free herself. "Cato!"

"You almost died, Clove!"

"Let go of me!"

"What if I wasn't near enough? It would be you with your skull bashed in!" He pointed to the dead form of Eleven, body trembling uncontrollably.

"CATO STOP!"

He let her go.

"You almost left me!"

She stopped, mouth falling open as she gaped stupidly at him. Those four words he'd howled at her revealed a depth of emotions that clung to her heart, invoking a sense of guilt so profound she recoiled.

"But I didn't," she said, voice strong as she willed herself not to fall apart now, not when she's sure the cameras are definitely on them. She grasped at the arrow wound on her arm and tilted her chin. "I'm still here. I'm not dead."

Cato scoffed, the madness and fury fading now that the threat posed had been eliminated, though there was no mistaking the involuntary shuddering of his form as he gazed at her. His blue eyes were conflicted and the lines on his face were tortured and pain-ridden.

"You would have been if I wasn't near enough." He shot her one last look she can't quite understand before stomping off towards the direction of their camp, weapons in hand along with their bag and Eleven's.

Clove swallowed. After snatching the knives she'd dropped from her third failed attempt to kill Twelve, she followed after him hesitantly, mind racing from the events that transpired not an hour ago.

On auto-pilot, she kindled the fire, careful not to burn their remaining meat while watching Cato clean himself from the blood and gore that he was practically soaked in. He sat at the banks of the lake their camp was positioned close to, scrubbing his hands that were caked in dried blood and guts. Wordlessly, she handed him a spare rag which he used to wipe his face before she prompted him to bend over.

Rigidly, he bowed his back, letting her fingers comb through his hair, ridding the golden strands from its rust-coloured paste. When her fingers accidentally grazed the nape of his neck, Cato shuddered. Turning, he gave her an impassive once over before dunking his head in the water and stalked off.

Chewing on her lower lip, she stared after his tense retreating figure.

Clove knew she was in the wrong. She was fully aware the cause of this large gap that stood between them was her ill-thought actions. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to bridge it. Yes, they have had their fights before with one even lasting a full year, but this, she knew was different. There was no anger or fury channeling this argument, it was filled with deeper and heavier emotions that were harder to untangle and recover from.

The sight of a white parachute floating down broke her out of thoughts and Clove reached for it, ignoring the wince in her arm. Breaking the clasp of the metal container, she found a jar of some sort of ointment, two loaves of bread and some broth.

Fuck, she furrowed her brows. When was the last time she had broth?

Unpacking the food, a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Clove picked it up and rolled her eyes.

Keep on with the show.

She clenched her jaw and crumpled up the note. She didn't know if their Mentor was referring to Cato's display of violence or their love life being unveiled for millions of people to see. Knowing the Capitol and their penchant for anything dramatic, it was probably the latter.

A hand grabbing her uninjured arm snatched her attention and she is unable to resist Cato's insistent tugging grip as he led her to sit near the fire. In total silence, she watched as he yanked her jacket off and began to treat the crusted laceration on her bicep.

The juxtaposition of how Cato was handling her so gently and delicately with the same hands he'd shockingly crushed a man's skull floored her. The disparity of his earlier violence and the tenderness her district partner adopted as he treated her was the breaking point.

"I'm sorry," Clove finally said, breaking the silence, the words thick and unfamiliar on her tongue.

Cato didn't respond. He merely washed the wound and applied a generous amount of the ointment Enobaria had sent before wrapping her arm with scraps of clean fabric in lieu of bandages.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, lashes lowering. "I didn't mean for...I never thought I would—" her voice broke and she dug her nails into her palms.

Dead.

She would have been dead by now, body carted away by the Capitol transporter if Cato hadn't intervened with his spear. The gravity of that fact weighed heavily on her shoulders and she inhaled sharply, knees going weak.

"I can't win the Games without you." Cato sounded tired and pained as he spoke. "I can't go home without you."

She exhaled slowly, meeting his tormented blue eyes that were swimming with things she didn't want him to say. If he voiced them out, breathed life to her thoughts, drew out the path she'd been seconds away from walking on before he altered the road, Clove was sure to lose it.

The idea was too terrifying to comprehend.

"I promise I won't do anything like that again."

Cato scowled, drawing back. "Like you promised not to be impulsive and stupid and rushing headfirst into danger? Is Fire Bitch worth the lost of your life?" he demanded, voice raising.

She didn't take the bait. She can't. Not when she had nothing to defend herself with.

"How did you manage to get to me so fast?" she questioned, sidestepping the trap.

"Five was too quick," he said flatly. "And I realised that if I were to chase after her, you would be left alone with both Twelve and Eleven. So I headed back, just in time to see what I feared would happen."

"Oh."

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She glanced up and shrugged helplessly. "It was Marvel's fault."

It was a joke. Or at least a weak attempt at a one on her part, but Cato's scowl only deepened.

"I was taunting Fire Bitch about her ally's death and Eleven overhead. Thought that I killed her instead of Marvel and then I saw the rock in his hand and..." she trailed off, not wanting to continue.

Cato visibly flinched and he raised a hand to push her hair away from her face, tucking the dark lock behind her ear. His gaze trailed over her, over the planes and angles of her face, of every freckle along her nose and cheeks, committing her to memory as though he was afraid of never seeing her again.

Her gut fell and she bit her bottom lip till salt and iron flooded her mouth.

"Fuck you, Clove," Cato muttered. "You're going to be the death of me."

Noting the absence of anger and abrasiveness in his words, Clove succumbed to his arms banding around her small form and curled into his embrace.

"You wish," she mumbled into his chest, closing her eyes, revelling in the safety Cato provided.


The sound of a cannon being fired stirred her from slumber. Clove jerked and squinted up at the sky, stumbling her way to the fire where Cato was. Words cannot describe the relief that washed over her when she found him cleaning his spear.

"It's Five," he said, putting aside the weapon and taking the sword on his right. "It has to be. She isn't a killer. Fire Bitch would've done her in to save her own skin."

"It's just us and Twelve, then—the final four," she breathed out, helping herself to some leftover chunks of bread.

"Wonder how they're doing," Cato muttered under his breath, giving a particular harsh swipe over the sharp tip of his spear. "Sponsors would be flocking to them now that Bread Boy is as good as new."

She gritted her teeth.

Clove knew Cato wasn't putting the blame at her feet, but she felt it all the same. If only she hadn't taunted Twelve and simply stuck her blade through the brunette's throat, both she and Cato would have been home by now. The blond would have been able to gut Five, and with Fire Bitch dead, she would be able to take on Eleven, leaving Lover Boy to starve and die from his injuries. But no, she'd just had to be vindictive and plain fucking dumb.

"We will go home." She squeezed his shoulder, stretching her legs out on the grass. "We'll kill them and we'll go home as Victors together."

She may have been weak during the Feast, allowing hatred and petty vengeance to cloud her judgement, to dictate her actions, but not anymore. Now that she'd had a close brush with death, had victory within her grasp, she wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"You gonna be some impulsive bitch again?"

Clove scowled and jammed her elbow into his gut. "I said I was sorry!"

"Now you know how it feels when you keep on throwing our fight from last year into my face. How the tables have turned," he jeered, throwing her a smirk.

"Shut up, asshole," she muttered, avoiding his arm but not putting up much of a fight when he inevitably pulled her closer.

"They're gonna give us two houses when we win," Cato began after a moment as he fingered the edge of his sword. "Do you really need yours?"

She scrunched up her nose. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"It's not like things were that different between us before the Games," he countered, brows furrowing.

Clove fought the grin that threatened to make its appearance on her face. "You know it was," she said, angling her body to face him, enjoying the red tint on his cheeks. "We were just friends. Besides, why do we need to share a house for? It's not like you of all people need a house, let alone even a bed for fucking—"

"Would you just fuck off?"

She sniggered as his face reddened.

"It's true," she said, cocking her head. "I did tell you the girls back home talked."

"It's not like that," Cato snapped, shooting her an angry glare. "You know it's not like that with you. Never you."

Laughter fading, she nudged him in the arm with her shoulder. "I know." Pressing her lips together, Clove shifted closer. "I know," she repeated.

He grimaced, mouth twisting into a sullen line. "So? You didn't give me an answer."

Cradling his face, she leant in, brushing her mouth lightly, teasingly against his. Feeling his chest rumble where he was pressed close to her, her hands slid up his chest as she deepened the kiss and swiped her tongue over his bottom lip, giving sharp nips on the flesh with her teeth before pulling away. With the pad of her thumb, she rubbed the reddened swollen lip and grinned.

"Is that good enough?"

Half-lidded blue eyes stared down at her as the fingers on her waist tightened. "Yeah…"

Smugly, she tilted her head, threading a hand through his hair, pushing the short strands away from his forehead. "You could've just said you wanted to fuck me, instead of going through all that talk about moving in and sharing a house and stuff."

"You're romantic as crap, Clovey."

"I know." She batted her eyes obnoxiously and Cato snorted.

Arms banded around her, he slumped down to the ground, back hitting the grass with a muffled thump as he pulled her to his side.

"As long as you don't expect me to cook," he said ruefully. "Surviving the Games so you could get food poisoning from my appalling culinary skills isn't exactly high on my priority list."

She shuddered, recalling the one and only time she'd eaten the chicken noodle soup he'd prepared from scratch. Clove didn't think her stomach could bear throwing up for five consecutive days again.

"What's on this priority list? Wood carving?"

"Probably."

Till now, Clove still couldn't understand how Cato could be so talented with a knife and his bare hands with blocks of wood and yet, be so horrible at knife throwing. She'd seen him fashion replicas of animals, loved watching him work with her favoured weapons, studied his movements keenly, appreciating every flick of his wrist and firm guiding fingers. However, when it came to hurling a blade, it was a disaster.

It was a quandary.

"You should have been born in District Seven," she teased. "There's nothing there but trees."

"No," he said. "You're in Two."

Cheeks flushing with pleasure at his candid admission, she allowed a tiny smile to tug on her mouth. God, he was such a fucking sap. She loved it.

Together, they lay on the ground, watching the ambiguously-shaped clouds drift in the sky.

She missed moments like this. Moments where she and Cato could just…be. She hated how the Capitol portrayed them as cold-hearted freaks who only knew how to hurt and torture and kill. They were people too. Albeit more messed up than usual, but they still had emotions and thoughts.

Feeling Cato's steady breath puffing against the crown of her head, she pressed closer to him, heart slowing to sync with his. Who knew things would've turned out this way? Who would have guessed that she and Cato would be bound together by ties other than friendship? Which brought up the question: How and when things had changed between them? What had been the defining factor? Most importantly, how could she not have known? She did pride herself in being able to read him like a book.

Fidgeting, Clove stole a quick glance in his direction. Perhaps if she stared hard enough, she could be granted access to his mind and subsequently, his thoughts.

Eyes sliding up, she studied his side profile, taking in the shadows falling over the sharp planes of his face, the steep slope of his nose that had been broken more than once, the smudges of dirt and blood smeared on his temple. Pressing her lips together, she fidgeted. She'd done this before—the staring. But right here, in the Arena of the Games, it felt different. They felt different.

"I can feel you staring. What is it?"

She hesitated, stilling.

"Spit it out, Clovey."

"When did you realise you… you know…" she blurted out, fixing her gaze resolutely against the sky.

"What?"

"When did you know you…cared about me?"

Cato arched a brow. "I always did."

"Stop it, you ass," she huffed, resisting the urge to pinch him for being difficult. "I know you fully get what I'm referring to."

The fingers playing with the ends of her hair brushed against the side of her head. "Deep down, I think I've always known for a while," he admitted. "But it wasn't until last year that I knew for sure. You were facing off with those girls in the rankings and you broke their noses and made them bleed like crazy and…"

"And?"

"I think one of the girls tried to taunt you or something like that and you snapped—went after her until you had to be pulled away screaming and kicking—"

"You make me sound like a raging psychopath," she deadpanned.

"But you are one."

She slapped him in the stomach. "What does that say about you being attracted to one, then?"

"Twisted." He smirked, body rolling to hover over hers. "We are fucking twisted."

Clove did have to agree with that point.

"But it was that one smirk of yours that did me in. Made me wanna grab you—blood and all—and pin you down—" he cut himself off and groaned. "You are not making me say this when there are cameras."

"But you were getting to the good part," she said slyly, interest piquing as she curled her hands into the cotton of his shirt, tugging him closer. "Come on, I wanna hear it. What did you want to do to me?"

He leaned down, eyes darkening. "Fuck you raw," he said hoarsely. "Fucked you hard until you forgot everything except my name, till you couldn't move a muscle, till you acknowledge being mine and nothing else."

Oh. Oh fuck.

Whatever she was expecting to hear, it certainly wasn't that.

Clove inhaled sharply, arousal coiling low in her belly.

Involuntarily, she clenched her thighs together, biting her lip at the pure need and lust reflected in those baby blues. She was pretty sure her eyes mirrored his. Those uttered words sent her mind spinning, wanting. Fuck, she wanted all of that, wanted it with a burning passion that was further fuelled by his hand creeping up her side.

Tilting her head upwards, her lips brushed against the underside of his jaw, leaving featherlight kisses against his tanned skin. Her hands bunched his jacket, tugging him closer than before, legs parting, welcoming the large male above.

"Clove."

She loved the neediness in his voice, of how her name sounded so harsh and guttural coming from his lips.

Cato growled and dug his fingers into her hair, adjusting her face before his mouth found hers once more. Their tongues clashed and unlike the earlier kisses they've exchanged, this was punishing, raw. The blond shifted, aligning their hips and Clove shuddered at the feel of him, hard and ready against her thigh through their clothes. Eagerly, she slid against him, hands encircling his neck, nails digging into the nape of his neck as she fought to wrestle for dominance of this kiss.

Never one to be submissive, Cato gave as good as could. Giving one last sweep of his mouth against hers, he trailed his lips down her jaw, giving alternating small kisses and bites before fixating on a certain spot and sucking hard.

The prickliness of the growing stubble along his jaw when he mouthed at her neck made her shiver and Clove released a quiet sigh. A sigh that turned into a hiss when he nipped at her flesh and laved the sting away with broad flat strokes of his tongue.

"Bastard," she mumbled. Forcing back a moan, she dropped her head back against the ground, exposing more of her neck to give him more room to work on.

The answering smirk she felt against her throat made her fist his hair and yank forcefully. Fucking smug asshole.

However, when his hand began to push her shirt up to cup the swell of her breast, the haze in her mind cleared a little and Clove made a slight pushing movement on his chest.

"Wait," she said, gasping when he gave a particular violent suck at the hollow of her throat. Her back arched and she blinked. "Cato, not here. The cameras."

He didn't reply, didn't move, really. Instead, he paused and the only sounds that could be heard were his harsh breathing against her neck and her quiet pants.

"Another time, then," he finally said when he drew back, dark eyes full of promise.

She didn't reply, couldn't when her heart was racing, beating erratically in her ribcage, blood rushing through her veins and her body shaking from unsuppressed need. But she nodded, thumb reaching up to wipe off the smudges of dirt on his forehead.

The blond gazed down at her with that soft look in his eyes and Clove didn't dare to blink, lest it be gone. Slowly, her hand lowered to cradle the left side of his face, thumb caressing his cheek. The idea of Cato looking at her in that manner for the foreseeable future—for eternity sent her reeling.

At that thought, the emotions that welled up in her heart, clogging her throat, made her shift and Clove did what she did best when she couldn't deal or express her feelings, she avoided.

"You're heavy," she complained, planting her hands on his chest to shove him away. "Get off."

Snorting, he did and ran his hand through his hair.

Even though she had been the one to break the intimate atmosphere, Clove found herself longing for it as soon as it had vanished. Unable to leave things as they were, she righted her rumpled clothing and retied her hair, eyes never leaving Cato's form.

"Would you ever have told me?" she murmured, tilting her head and resisting the urge to touch the tender parts of her neck he'd worried his teeth with.

This question had been on the backburner for awhile and Clove never knew when it was the best time to bring it up. But now seemed as good a time as any. They were going home together. Nothing could stop them.

The blond didn't have to ask what she meant. He shrugged, nodding slowly. "After winning the Games, yes. That had been the plan."

"Well, at least you don't need to anymore, considering we're both here," she commented, offering a small smile, hoping her tone was light like she meant it to be.

Cato didn't respond.

With how long they've been sitting and talking, she knew it wasn't that late. Time hadn't passed that quickly for the sky to be this dark and for the weather to be freezing.

Cato tensed, jaw clenching as he met her gaze.


It was the finale.

Silently, he handed her the smaller fitted armour from their pack. The Feast had given them two sets of body armour and they'd figured it was meant to protect them from whatever the Gamemakers had cooked up for the finale.

They've tested them. Pierced their weapons into the lightweight material and found that nothing could penetrate it. Although it left their limbs exposed, it did protect their vital organs. Which made Clove wonder what kind of sick concoctions were going to be shoved in their faces in order for them to go home.

The howls and growls echoing in the forest answered her unspoken question.

"The Cornucopia," she said, arming herself with her vest and counting off her knives.

"Twelve could be headed there too."

She shrugged, tightening the straps of the armour. "We're nearer. We'll be there first."

Cato gave a curt nod as he picked up his sword.

She studied him, noting the creases on his forehead and the lines on his face. Without hesitating, she moved and slid a hand up his back and looked up at him. In that few seconds of their eyes locking, she tried to convey what she couldn't say, that she daren't say, her fears, her thoughts of what could go wrong and most importantly, what they stood to gain.

"Together," she whispered, "Together or nothing."

"Together or nothing," he echoed, gunmetal blue eyes trained on hers.

Her lashes fluttered close as he ducked his head down and rested his forehead against hers. His fingers gripped her arms and when she opened her eyes, he pressed his mouth softly against hers. It was lingering, heartfelt and yet bittersweet.

Clove's heart ached.

The sensation of being watched sent goosebumps up her spine and hastily, she drew away, inwardly cursing herself for being distracted and casting narrowed eyes of their darkened surroundings. More notedly, it was silent. Too silent. Where the birds and insects had chirped and buzzed, it was now deathly quiet.

Blood racing through her veins, she shifted, tensing, body poised to fight and run.

"Fuck!"

It all happened too fast for her mind to comprehend.

A beast lunged out from the shadows of the trees and Clove could only watch in frozen horror as the black Capitol mutt gripped its powerful jaws around Cato's leg and bit.

The shout of agony from the blond snapped the haze her mind was in.

Attack and wound. Kill and defend. Together or nothing.

She rushed for the mutt, knives out and stabbed the beast in its gut. Once, twice, thrice, she lost count, crimson liquid gushing and spraying. She thought she might be stuck there, pinned by the sight of a human face on the beast with terribly familiar eyes until Cato stumbled to his feet and grabbed her arm.

"Clove, move!" he rasped urgently, fingers almost yanking her arm out of her socket.

They ran, lungs burning and legs pumping as they stumbled through the forest. Distantly, they could hear the sounds the mutts making getting progressively louder as they gave chase.

"We're almost there!" she panted, urging Cato to pick up speed.

In response, he grunted, wincing each time he put his weight on his injured leg.

By some miracle, they managed to reach the Cornucopia without further impediment. Dashing across the field, she hoisted herself up the walls and immediately grabbed Cato's arm. Groaning, he hauled himself up and landed on his back with a loud thump.

She didn't wait. Clove tugged on her trousers, ripping off a long strip and tied a tourniquet around his leg. Only then did she take a look at the wound on his calf.

It was a mess. His flesh was punctured by great-teeth marks, skin in bloody ribbons, blood gushing out at an alarming rate and truly, it really was a blessing that he'd managed to run all the way here. Although the blond was now clearly suffering for every breath he took was a tortured one.

"Clove," he panted, chest heaving as he pulled himself up. "How bad is it?"

"It's fine," she lied, removing her jacket and wrapping it around his limb and tying it into a knot. "We're safe for now. You're fine."

Throwing a reassuring smile his way, she took the small window of time to rest, to catch her breath and to get ready for the inevitable showdown.

They didn't have to wait long.

She could hear Twelve's shrieks and hurried pants as they drew closer to the Cornucopia. Lover Boy was breathing so heavily she could catch his shuddered grunts from all across the field. Smirking, Clove rose to her feet and tossed her hair over her shoulders. Cato grinned predatorily, exchanging a proud twist on his mouth as he too, heaved himself up slowly.

They didn't have to say anything. Not when Twelve appeared, head bobbing up as she scaled the walls. Not when she helped Lover Boy up and they dropped to their knees, forms wracking as they tried to inhale as much air as their oxygen-starved bodies could. Especially not when Clove and Cato glided to the side and hid amongst the shadows the irregular structure of the Cornucopia provided.

Pausing, she watched the pair, inwardly shaking her head from how unaware they were of their surroundings, of how close they were to death.

When Lover Boy got to his feet, Clove struck. Slinking from her spot, she placed her knife against his throat and with the boy practically putty in her arms, she shoved him towards Cato before lunging at Twelve.

Finally.

The both of them fell against the metal ground, arms and legs tangled as each fought to get the upper hand. But with Clove having the advantage of coming up unannounced, she prevailed and forced the brunette down.

"NO!" Twelve screeched, hands already fumbling with her bow and arrows in her quiver. "PEETA!"

"Oh yes," Clove mocked, batting the brunette's hands away with ease. "Hello, darling," she grinned, mouth spreading into a large smirk. "Looks like we've come full circle."

Punctuating her sentence, she forced her dagger through the brunette's forearm, the blade cleaving through cloth and flesh, between the ulna and the radius and made its way home through.

Twelve screamed, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as her legs kicked up frantically but Clove remained sturdy, unflinching as she released her hold on the pinned arm.

"You're more trouble than you're worth, you know," she said, tilting her head. "Especially when you're from a nowhere like District Twelve. You should learn your place," she declared, straightening. "Don't you think so as well, Cato? Does the Girl on Fire need to learn her place?"

Her district partner snorted and twisted Lover Boy's arm when he squirmed.

"He agrees." Clove grinned back down at the trembling girl. "You know what they say, if you fail, you just get up and continue. So," she grabbed the small blade from her vest and trailed the cold cruel tip from Fire Bitch's cheeks to her forehead. "Three times I've failed to get you, but here we are. No one is going to save you now. And you'll have to pay for being such a fucking nuisance."

With that, she forcefully dug the blade through skin and began to carve. Three uniformed lines formed on that perfect pale space. "Three lines for the three times I've failed," she said.

Under her, Fire Bitch bucked and shrieked, blood mingling with tears and snot and saliva but Clove didn't care.

"And as a reminder to you and to everyone that had been rooting for scum like Twelves, District Two will always come up on top." Clove hissed and jerked Twelve's chin from one side to the other, admiring the cheekbones she'd been wanting to carve into from the start.

She made a curved incision on the left, carving the number two and then a straight line under the number. Next, the number twelve was formed. "Two over…twelve," she finished grandly, pulling back to admire her handiwork. "Because Two trumps Twelve over any fucking day."

In the background, she can hear Lover Boy screaming and crying for Katniss and please and stop and I'm begging you and Clove stopped, turning her head to see Cato holding back the shorter boy with ease.

However, it was the absolute heartbreak on the boy's face that made her still, fingers loosening her grip on the knife in her palm.

If Bread Boy really loved his district partner as it showed on his face, Clove didn't want to think or even imagine the pain he must be feeling. Fuck knows what she'd do if their postitions were swapped and she was forced to watch someone murder Cato right in front of her and being unable to stop it.

"Clove?"

Her eyes darted up to Cato's searching ones and she hastily glanced away.

Looking down at the trembling, shell-shocked girl, Clove pressed her lips into a thin line. Fire Bitch didn't want to be here anymore than she did and Clove couldn't blame her for wanting to survive, to live. But it all came down to either of them and Clove would never feel guilty for choosing Cato and herself. Swallowing harshly, she quickly slit the girl's throat with a flick of her wrist, watching the life fade out of Twelve's eyes.

The Girl on Fire was gone.

She got up and sheathed the blade back in her vest. "Just kill him quick, Cato. I want to go home."

A deafening snap which was followed by a body crumpling the ground echoed and Clove closed her eyes, knees almost giving way.

It was over.

They won.

They were going home.

Words could never express the gratitude, the relief, the utter ecstatic joy that was coursing through her body. She sidled up to Cato's side, arms wrapping around him, burying her face into his chest. Breathing in his scent, Clove slumped her shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut.

Beneath her palms, she could feel the blond trembling and with the way his arms enveloped her, and his muttered repetitions of her name, it was safe to say he felt the same.

Belatedly, they sank down. Mindful of Cato's injury, she settled at his side, waiting for the announcement that declared them the winners of the 74th Games.

And just as she thought she'd conquered the world, done the impossible, it all came crashing down around her in seconds.

"Attention. Attention, tributes. There's been a slight rule change. The previous revision allowing for two victors from the same district has been revoked. Only one victor may be crowned. Good luck. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

She closed her eyes.

It was all for nothing.

Everything had been for nothing.

Numbly, she watched as Cato pushed away from her, howling and cursing at the sky. She didn't register the threats and words of anger he hurled nor the way he shook his fists at the sky, looking terribly deranged and out of control.

She should have expected this.

They weren't the favourites to win. The Capitol's real favourites lay dead not a few metres away from them and Clove wondered if this was the plan right from the start, to instill hope and take it away to see a battle to the death between partners as the ultimate entertainment. Or would it be different if the pair from Twelve had emerged as victors?

Whatever. It didn't matter. There wasn't any point in thinking about this any further.

The Capitol would never let the both of them walk out of the Arena alive. One of them had to leave in a box and the other crowned.

It all came back to the start. Clove would do what she'd intended the minute she'd been picked during the Reaping.

Pushing herself up, she grabbed Cato by the arm and kissed him, lips moving softly, tenderly, doing her best to convey the torrent of emotions in heart. The sorrow of having to leave, the joy of having him at her side all these years, the grief of all she was to lose began to choke her, the contentment she'd felt being his and he, hers for those few days—they all bubbled up.

Slowly, she pulled away slightly, hands cradling his cheeks, committing every single detail of his face to memory. And this time, Clove knew she could say it with feeling and certainty.

"Love you," she murmured against his mouth.

It wasn't the exact three words but it was enough. They gave her the strength to do what she had to.

She didn't hesitate.

Eyes shut and with a firm steady grip around a blade, she applied enough pressure and pulled the serrated edge across her neck.

"CLOVE, NO!"

It may not be the death she'd envisioned for herself. But this—him, she could and would die gladly for.


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