Author's Note: Hey all you lovely readers out there. Sike. I have no idea how many people are actually reading this because none of you ever review. (Except for NinaMellarkMalfoy, bethaboo, WriterCentral, Pink Mockingjay, and a living hell. You all are my favorites)

That being said, I've decided to keep writing this despite the lack of response because I have some serious Clato feels that need to be voiced. This chapter was seriously hard to write though and I'm still not 100% happy with it, but it's probably as good as it's going to get.

So apologies in advance for the disjointed writing- it's my interpretation of what someone would be thinking in a high-stres, near-death situation. Also, recommended song to play angstily in the background while reading: Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine.

Now that's enough from me- go read it! GAH REVIEW.

Disclaimer: Seeing as I'm still not married to Alexander Ludwig as of yet, no, I do not own the Hunger Games.

Chapter 3

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Cato and I quickly back away from each other. My Career instincts switch on. I find myself automatically assuming a defensive position and wishing I had my knives with me.

My eyes sweep over Cato for possible weaknesses, pressure points I can use to my advantage. They take note of his mangled leg, the scratches running down his arms, and the bruises I know he has on his chest.

-but when I reach his face, I stop. This is the boy I've known since I was five, the boy who taught me how to throw a right hook, the boy who has been by my side since forever.

The boy who means somethingto me.

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I curse the Training Academy because try as they might, they never prepared me for this. They trained me to kill in a hundred different ways- but they never taught me how to kill him.

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With that single moment of indecision, that flicker of resolve, doubt begins flooding my body. I feel it invading my mind and desperately try to keep it at bay. Don't think Clove, I urge myself. Don't think, just kill. My head swims. I close my eyes to quiet my mind. It's a trick that has worked every other time. This time, it fails me.

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The realization that I can't kill Cato plants itself in my mind. It's here to stay- and I'm gone. I am dead- and I know it, know that he will kill me without another thought. The cannon might as well have already gone off.

And yet I can't accept it. I can't give myself willingly to death, can't imagine that these are my last few moments. I am Clove Feldspar. A fighter.

In the course of one second, this all races through my head, and I come to the realization that I both refuse to die and refuse to kill Cato.

I grit my teeth- when did he weasel his way into my heart?

-stuck between a rock and a hard place, I run.

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I flee like the terrified little girl I know deep down I am, straight into the forest.

Literally running away from my problems, I sprint aimlessly. I race inno direction, with no real destination. The only place I want to go is away, away from this god-forsaken arena, away from the Capitol's grip. Silly Clove- you've forgotten that once they've got their claws in you, they'll never, ever let you go.

I stop at the edge of the waterfall, where the arena drops off into the river. My lungs are burning, and I clutch my sides.

Just as I've caught my breath, Cato tackles me to the ground.

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I wince as he squeezes my windpipe. This is it. I feel a stab of betrayal; I thought I had meant something to Cato too.

But amazingly, I feel relief too. Yes Cato, I think. Kill me. Kill me now. Kill me for my weakness. Kill me, I broke our promise-I let my emotions get in the way. I'm sorry it had to end this way. End this now.

Second place isn't so bad, I muse. Maybe Mom will still be proud.

Who would have known that in the end, it's not Cato who faltered, but me? I'd always thought he was softer than me, that he didn't have what it took to become victor.

But he was strong enough, cruel enough, Career-enough to kill me. He deserves to win.

It's stupid and weak and I'm furious at myself, but I still don't regret it- I don't' regret not killing him when I had the chance. I really don't.

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With those last, breathless seconds, I let myself catch one final glimpse of his face. I take in his cruel sneer, his furrowed brow, his strong, clenched jaw line. This is when he is most magnificent.

I save his eyes for last, prepared to see the stormy navy blue hue they darken to in the preparation of a kill. It's one of the most beautiful colors I have ever seen- is it wrong that I'll miss it?

But, to my shock, they are the same troubled, electric blue I saw last night in the Cornucopia. Cato looks at me miserably, and slowly releases his death grip on my throat. "I can't kill you Clove. I can't."

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I am furious, strangely enough. Because this was the easiest way to go, and I had almost reached a point of acceptance that I was about to die. I can't believe that Cato could drop the ball like that.

"Kill me Cato," I say half-taunting, half pleading. "Kill me, and you can go home."

"I can't," he repeats, lost and afraid. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Old Clove, Career Clove would have gagged in her mouth; then killed Cato for his insolence. I must be going through some sort of identity crisis, because I realize, to my horror, that I feel the same way. I feel prickles in the back of my eyes. What pathetic Careers we are.

I give a disbelieving scoff as I stand up, brushing the dirt off me, "-unbelievable."

His head jerks up. He looks almost irritated. "And what about you, Clove?

Only we could bicker at a time like this. I snap back, "And what about me?"

He gives me a long, hard stare. "Could you kill me? Right now?"

I could, right now. Push him right off the waterfall and into those jagged rocks. Then I'd be free. I can't though. I want to go home so freaking bad, but not enough to kill him. I feel too much for him.

It's not love, God no.

But it's something: it's couldhavebeens, it's the heavy weight of a lifetime of shared memories, it's the hole I know I'd feel if I killed him, it's missing something that I never should have let myself get used to.

I fidget, and then drop my gaze. Avoiding the question, I remind him in a hopeless voice, "They'll be sending in the mutts soon."

Cato draws me in again with those electrifying eyes. The silence in this arena is stifling. His eyes wander over the waterfall gushing behind me, then snap back to me, "Do you trust me?"

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Without a second thought, I nod. It's an automatic response, a knee-jerk reaction- but I know it's true. Cato is the only person who has ever understood me, the only one who has ever looked out for me.

His eyes flash, fierce and determined, and he pulls some rope out of his backpack.

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I stare at him as he begins to unravel it. I have no idea what's going on. I call out to him, confused.

"Cato?"

He looks up at me, then towards the waterfall- and I draw up the horrifying conclusion on my own.

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The waterfall is fiercely crashing over rocks below us. It leers frighteningly up at me, grimacing with those horrible shards of granite. Right now, that very waterfall is me and Cato's last hope for survival.

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I try to take deep, calming breaths while Cato approaches me with the rope. My hands are shaking as he binds our hands together with it. He must sense my apprehension, because he clasps my hand through the binding.

This is really it, I think, as he knots it.

Finally done, he looks down into my eyes, perhaps for the last time.

"It's now or never," I whisper. It's time to reveal to Panem our plan in a last-ditch attempt to go home.

Cato understands what I'm trying to say. It's important that we give the Gamemakers enough time to let the information sink in- but wait too long, and they'll send the mutts to take out one of us. Dramatically, he nods solemnly, "You jump, I jump."

And if it were any other time, he'd wink at me, and I would roll my eyes. But right now, I try to look as melodramatic as possible. I mournfully ask him, "Together?"

He pins me down with those electric eyes, and I can tell for all the dramatics, he means it. "Together. Always."

It's horribly soppy, but I still melt. I lean into him, angle my face up to meet his, and kiss him one last time, for luck.

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And the kiss is magic. In fact, it's so good, I hope extra hard that this plan works, so I'll have the rest of my life to kiss Cato like this.

We surface after the longest and shortest moment of my life, and he looks dazed. Even now, I still can't help but feel smug about that. I train my eyes on him, and bring him back to the here and now. "Ready?" I whisper.

Cato counts down slowly and quietly. I don't worry about them not hearing us, because no doubt all of Panem is trained solely on us at this moment. "Three….. two….. one…. "

And we jump.

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We stay suspended in the air like aloft angels for seemingly minutes before we start hurtling towards the rocks beckoning below.

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I feel a flash of fear, realizing our plan didn't work, that I'm finally dead, when the hovercraft scoops us up in a net.

A thousand miles away, I hear distant echoes of Claudius Templesmith announcing me and Cato as the victors. Relief wracks my body, and Cato and I are finally victorious.

We have won.

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