He sat on the couch of the train, all soft upholstery and attendants already treating him like a king. Something had already pissed Clove off while he took a tour of the train. They were different in that way; Clove was completely focused. She sat down to watch the tribute recaps with their mentors the second she got to the train. She wanted to see what she was up against, but Cato knew it didn't matter. The tributes from 1, and possibly 4, were the only real threat besides Clove. He watched the diamond encrusted District 1 reaping first, and realized he had nothing to worry about. The giggling blonde and lanky boy were insignificant, only allies until they eventually turned on each other. He doubted they would make it that long anyways and ignored how that thought still bothered him somewhere deep in his chest.

Tired of fighting the same battle he always had, he decided to forego the recaps and wander around the train. He took in the life he would have when he won and found a nice spot to relax in the bar cart. That's where he sat when he heard Clove start screeching and listened intently to the cursing flying out of her mouth. He listened as their mentors scolded her to relax, but all Cato could hear was that they had been upstaged by someone from 12.

That's when he turned on the recaps. He sat through them all and ignored the knife twisting in his gut at the innocence of the girl from 11. Do not view them as people Cato, only obstacles in the way of your victory.

He ignored his father's angry voice in his head and watched as Effie Trinket in her ridiculous fashion made a big show of drawing the girl's name. Cato expected someone fierce, which was laughable when it came to 12. Their citizens were too underfed and overworked to try very hard in the games, and their drunk mentor was too busy drowning in his own sorrows to attempt to gather enough sponsors to save them. Honestly, all the sponsors available pouring their bank accounts into Haymitch's pocket couldn't make up for the fact that usually, 12's tributes were too underfed to face the elements, to sucked of spirit to fight, lacking the drive to even want to live. Cato thought maybe it was the wealthiest girl in the district chosen, maybe she had the best shot, and that had been what had Clove screaming.

No, that didn't make sense, Clove could kill anyone.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

Cato was pulled from his thoughts as the camera panned to a small 12-year-old girl. Her cheeks had the same concave look that all the children of 12 had, sunken and brushed with mining dust. Still, not as bad. She looked like a deer in headlights, with bright blonde braids and big, scared, blue eyes. The same knife from before when 11's tiny female tribute was reaped twisted in his gut again.

Maybe Clove was upset because she knew if she killed these two girls, they would haunt her dreams forever. No, that couldn't be it, Clove was just as delusional as the rest of the members of 2's Academy. Being a victor was all glory, the blood on your hands was washed away when you left the arena. These small girls were obstacles in the path to victory. Easy obstacles.

"Prim! Prim!"

The camera was still focused on the little girl, when a voice laced with panic called for her. The girl's head spun just as the camera moved to the source, another girl had stepped out of the crowd. Peacekeepers were already moving towards her, trying to restrain her as she desperately tried to reach her sister. But nothing would stop her.

In a raggedy blue dress, with a long dark braid thrown over her shoulder, this girl was on fire. Older than Primrose, this girl had more muscle on her than anyone he'd ever seen from 12. Her face, her smoky grey eyes were lit with desperation as the peacekeepers held her back. She fought against them with a resignation he had never seen in someone from 12, when suddenly she stopped.

Cato was pretty sure time stopped as she turned her head to Effie Trinket, and with a fire he had never seen before screamed the same think Cato had.

"I volunteer!"

The peacekeepers dropped her as if she had burned them, and he wasn't sure she hadn't. She was fierce. She almost looked proud when readjusted herself, stood tall, and said it again,

"I volunteer as tribute."

A command. Four words nobody had ever heard from 12 before. That little girl finally cracked, screaming and running towards the older one. Her steely grey eyes tore from Effie Trinket and her raging fire dimmed to candlelight as she begged the little blonde to go find their mother. Sisters.

A tall dark-haired boy appeared from the crowd, swooping up a screaming Primrose and pulling her away from the crowd. Their brother maybe? He had the same fire in his eyes as her, but more uncontrolled. Then he looked at the older sister, no. Brothers don't look at their sisters that way. A weird feeling spread in Cato's chest at that thought.

You could still hear Prim screaming while the oldest walked to the stage. Now she was shocked, reality had set in. She was going to the games. Effie Trinket tried to reclaim the situation, making comments about them being sisters and asking her name. Cato wanted to know too.

"Katniss Everdeen"

Her voice sounded far away; her eyes nearly clouded over. He longed for them to be on fire again.

"Well, I bet my hat that was your sister!"

There was the spark again. Cato's heart lurched as her head snapped to Effie, a glare that would have knocked him on his ass across her face.

"Yes."

"Well! Let's give a big round of applause for Katniss Everdeen, district 12's very first volunteer!" Effie's shrill voice in the microphone sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The camera cut away from her and Katniss, to the crowd, much to Cato's distaste. Until he saw that they were on fire too.

Somewhere in the crowd, a hand rode up with three fingers. The arm belonged to a woman with anger written clear as day across her face. The residents of District 12 did not agree, they did not condone.

One by one, the entire district left Effie a fumbling mess as they lifted their fingers to their lips, and then towards Katniss. Every single hand had three fingers raised. Cato almost wanted to join them; his hand nearly twitched.

The camera cut back to Katniss and zoomed in on her, and Cato felt like he was drowning. She looked emotional, proud of her district; her chin raised high in defiance. Her face was beautiful. The curve of her jawbone lined with a dark black braid, big steel grey eyes that held so much within them, her olive toned skin brushed with coal dust, small, tiny freckles on her nose, a thin pink scar running through her eyebrow. That was when the anger hit him. She didn't deserve whatever gave her that scar, she didn't deserve to be in the games.

Cato didn't understand what was happening to him. Girls had never once mattered all that much to him. They were a distraction, and most held no self-respect as they threw themselves at him. They thought maybe they'd be the one he remembered when he became victor. Cato couldn't really blame them for wanting more than District 2. Working in the quarries was miserable, and being a peacekeeper was worse. Of course, they're looking to matter more than just a typical district resident. Cato was doing the same thing himself, the people in the districts were just numbers on a piece of paper. Their whole lives were work. Cato had been raised to think that serving the Capitol was what mattered. The Hunger Games were for honor and glory. The idea never sat right with him, not after he had still remembered the peacefulness of his mother. He pretended, but deep down he knew killing other children was not something to be proud of. He was too observant to how Enobaria winced when her killing throat-rip was played on TV. He saw the bags under Brutus's eyes, the broken look in his eyes when nobody else was looking. Cato was too observant to miss those things.

He knew he was deadly; his training was drilled so far into his head. He sat in enough classes on murder to understand what they wanted him to do. He spent enough time in the training rooms with his sword, in the dead of night, working to be the best. But somewhere inside of him, it was the same little boy who screamed for his mother as the peacekeepers from the academy tore him from her arms. Sometimes, when he laid awake at night, he could still hear her voice singing lullabies to him. That was why he trained in the middle of the night. He needed to drown out her voice, the soft, whispered apologies she gave him before he was ripped away. The way she had told him that after his father had left them, her only option left was to send Cato away. Her tears as she told him that she and his baby sister would starve without it. He remembered how she had begged for him not to hate her; she had begged for him not to become the mister he wanted. She told him to remember that they were innocent children, that murder was never something to be proud of. She cried as she told him to always remember who he really was.

So, Cato never forgot. He pretended to be a brainwashed, good little soldier. He pretended to dehumanize the people of the other districts. He pretended like there's nothing he'd rather do than be a capitol slave. He pretended like killing innocent children would be the greatest thing he ever did, and he pretended he would enjoy it. He became the best, even if he hated every minute. He needed to win, if only to ensure that his baby sister never had to starve, if only to ensure that his mother could see her son again.

And there was Katniss Everdeen, about 115 pounds soaking wet, standing on the stage of District 12. She had volunteered to save her sister, and something about her had made the entire district respect her. She was beautiful, and defiant. She would fight to go home for Prim. And Cato knew, that one more person had been added to his list.

His mother.

His sister.

Katniss Everdeen.

All of his years of training weren't for the glory of being a victor. No, it was for the glory of protecting Katniss. It was so he could finally let his heart crack open, let her burn him inside and out, let the facade fall and be whatever she needed him to be until his final moments. Maybe she would care for his family when she won, maybe his mother would be proud when she saw her son had taken the Academy's training and used it to save this girl. Maybe his sister would see her big brother die for her in the games, and never allow herself to be brainwashed. Maybe it would be enough.

It was time for Cato Hadley to stop pretending.