Minor edits because I accidentally uploaded the wrong version. Many apologies. I haven't posted to in a while, so there may be a few formatting quirks as well.

"So are there any tributes you have your eye on this year?" Caesar asked.

"Well, there is one," Cato hedged, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away towards the audience.

"A possible ally?" Caesar asked. "Or is this a target?"

"Well, if I say 'target' both you and him will probably get the wrong idea," Cato said. "Let's just say that if all goes well, I plan on using the old privileges."

Caesar blinked, hesitating for a moment. "You don't mean-"

Cato nodded. "He doesn't know I have my eye on him yet, though. I don't want to scare him off." Cato laughed a bit at himself, and the audience chuckled with him – even while many were frantically whispering to their neighbors trying to figure out just what privilege he was thinking of.

"Such a tactic can be dangerous for you," Caesar reminded him. "If you are Victor and fail to bring your prize to the end with you…" His voice trailed off, and the audience fell into an expectant hush.

"I'll return to his district instead of mine. And since it would have been my duty to protect him, I doubt I would get a very warm welcome. I'm not worried; I'm going to be victor. No tribute here is going to change that."

"Well there you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen – the confident and gutsy Cato!"

"What did he mean, Haymitch," Katniss demanded. "What old privilege –there are no privileges in the games."

"You shouldn't worry about it, sweetheart," the mentor told her, waving his hand. The whiskey sloshed where he held the glass, and he frowned at it for a moment. "Cato said his target was male; you just gotta get out of there before the bloodbath starts. Peeta too. He's probably not looking at either of you, but it's best not to take chances."

"What?" Peeta asked. "I mean, I knew that was the plan, but what chances are we talking about?"

"This changes things for you," Haymitch said. "Run before you do anything else. Cato only has ten minutes to announce his prize; once those ten minutes are up, feel free to try and steal weapons or food or whatever – if you can without getting killed."

"I think you'd better tell us what this is," Katniss said. "What if someone else wants this privilege, or we do?"

Haymitch shook his head. "You can't. Sorry, sweetheart, but it's part of the rules – it's likely he wants to claim someone as his pet and prize. He can only do that to someone from a lower district than his."

"So he couldn't claim someone from one or two?" Peeta asked.

"Exactly. It's a privilege of living in a district that is closer to the Capitol and of having the Capitol's favor. Since District 13 is gone, there is no district lower than 12 – so no prize."

"So what happens if someone is claimed," Katniss asked.

"Well that depends. If the one who claimed the prize is killed, then from that point on the Games would be pretty normal for the prize. If the one who claimed the prize is Victor and the prize still lives, then the prize is allowed to live – but don't get excited, sweetheart," Haymitch cut in as Katniss started to open her mouth. "You don't get to go back home. You get to go live with your Victor, who essentially keeps you as a pet and can do anything he likes to you short of killing you."

Katniss paled, and Peeta swallowed hard. "You mean-"

"Hard laborer. Decoration. Toy. Caretaker. Whatever job the Victor wants you to do, you do or he has the right to punish you however he desires. Hell, he could punish you just because he wants to. You have, essentially, no rights. You're one step above Avox, because you only have one master and you get to keep your tongue."

"So why don't more Careers take advantage of this?" Peeta asked. "It seems like they'd be jumping at the chance to get a free-" he gulped, stumbling over the next word: "-pet."

"Two reasons," Haymitch said. "One, the conditions. Only one person can claim a prize during the Games. It must be done within the first ten minutes, the prize must be conscious and subdued, and the Tribute attempting claim must have killed at least two other Tributes before he or she can name a prize.

"If that doesn't turn a Tribute away, then there's number two: the risk. If the prize should happen to be killed during the course of the Games and the Tribute claiming him survive as Victor – he returns to the District of his prize and not his own."

"That's what Caesar and Cato were talking about," Katniss muttered.

"Right," Haymitch confirmed. "That's why a Career hasn't claimed a prize in over 50 years. It's in the Tribute's best interest to choose a prize strong enough to survive, but a Tribute like that isn't easy to subdue and defend in the first ten minutes. And no Tribute likes being owned. Prizes have turned on their captors during the games – killing them in their sleep, or poisoning their food. He has to be confident that he's stronger than the Tribute he wants as prize, strong enough to control them – although Cato's ego is big enough he could be after anyone."

Peeta scanned what he could see of the arena. Katniss was almost opposite him, closer to the forest where she could make a quick run for it. Behind Peeta was an open field and a lake – and beyond that an uphill climb. The best bet was the forest, but he'd need to cross around a few other tributes to get there.

Next to him were two female tributes; on his left was the tribute from one, Glimmer, and on his right the girl from five. On five's other side was Cato – who had his eyes set on a coil of rope and a short dagger that were placed only about five feet before him.

The countdown ended, and Peeta hesitated only a moment, just long enough for the girl from five to pass him in a mad dash for the cornucopia.

Peeta was making a path for the forest, bending to reach for a backpack that was in easy reach, when a weight slammed into his side. He fell over, rolling with the blow, and cursed himself for taking his eyes off the others.

He froze when the dagger met his throat.

"Good boy," Cato breathed, sounding elated. "Stay still. You cooperate in this," he said, still speaking in a low voice, "I won't kill that Girl on Fire right away. You behave really well and I might make her death quick."

Peeta didn't move, biting his lip as he considered his options. Cato was already looping the rope around one of Peeta's wrists without looking.

"Tell me now, loverboy, or I tell Clove to kill her before she leaves this clearing."

"F-fine," Peeta whispered.

Cato moved the dagger away and focused on tying Peeta's hands together. His gaze shifted immediately to the bloodbath, and Peeta tried to mentally track how much time had already gone by. Surely any Tributes not allied with the careers would have already fled the cornucopia, he thought. Either that or they were already dead.

It hadn't been ten minutes yet, Peeta was certain. Typically the bloodbath was over in around five minutes, though the Capitol played it out over a longer period of time so that different angles could be seen – so deaths that happened at the same time could be seen individually.

Cato hauled Peeta up by his wrists and headed towards the center of the cornucopia. Peeta stumbled as Cato passed by the girl from nine and casually stabbed her in the back. She'd been fighting with the girl from two – Clove – and still had the sword in her hand.

He threw the dagger and it landed in the neck of a boy on the edge of the bloodbath; Peeta didn't know his district, but the boy had a look of shock on his face as he slumped over the sack he'd been stuffing.

That was two tributes. Peeta felt his heart sink as Cato shoved him to the ground and picked up a sword, turning to face the other tributes. Peeta had landed hard at the mouth of the cornucopia – among the supplies. Peeta attempted to inch away, but a sharp tug on the rope Cato held stilled him. "You stay there and stay quiet," Cato said, his voice clear and loud. "Or I send Clove out after your girlfriend."

Someone stumbled into Cato's range, and the career lunged forward and slid his sword through her stomach.

"That's it," the boy from one said. "Did you get enough, or do we need to chase someone down?"

"More than enough," Cato said. He tugged on the rope and hauled Peeta forward, only to shove him down again in an open patch of ground. Peeta almost threw up – his face was only inches from a patch of blood. He couldn't see the body.

Cato put his foot on Peeta's side, just enough weight on it to make certain Peeta stayed down, and raised his sword upwards. "I claim as pet and prize!" he shouted.

For a few tense moments, it was quiet as the GameMakers evaluated the bloodbath, determining if all the requirements had been met. Peeta squinted in the sunlight, trying to gauge if anything was happening, when he heard the beeps signaling a gift from sponsors. It was not the typical silver parachute he'd seen so many years on the televised broadcasts, however. This was a gold parachute with only a small box attached.

Cato shoved the tip of his sword in the ground next to Peeta's head and ripped open the box as he straddled Peeta's side. In moments, Peeta felt a collar he hadn't even had the chance to see snaking around his throat and locking into place.

"There," Cato said. "Now you're mine."

Peeta glared at him. "Only if you survive this – and I do," he growled. "And I don't think you're going to win."

Cato smirked. "Is that why you're being so complacent?" he asked. "Don't worry, I'll definitely win." He leaned down and placed a kiss on Peeta's temple.

Peeta reacted violently, shoving Cato away and causing the other Tribute to slam into a crate of tent supplies. "What the fuck-" Cato started to swear, snarling and snapping his gaze to Peeta.

The district 12 tribute was trembling, staring at Cato with wide eyes. He'd backed away until his neck was pressing against the blade of the sword Cato had plunged in the ground.

Cato immediately softened his approach, raising his hands and making soft shushing sounds. He didn't take his gaze from Peeta, but he saw Clove and Marvel slowly approaching from behind Peeta, ready to step in. Glimmer was staring at Peeta in shock, not moving. "Easy there," Cato said, shifting to his knees and bringing himself just the smallest bit closer. "I'm not going to hurt you, Peeta."

In contrast to the easy words, Peeta was shaking harder, curling in on himself and not taking his eyes from the other Tribute. When it looked like he was going to shove himself backwards – back onto the blade – Cato panicked, and shouted: "Freeze!"

Peeta froze.

Cato stood, a dark frown crossing his face. He obviously wasn't pleased; from what he had previously seen of the two tributes from district 12, he hadn't expected such a strong reaction to such a chaste kiss.

Marvel pulled the sword from the ground and away from Peeta, but the boy didn't seem to notice. He was too focused on Cato, who was crouching down in front of him.

"What's wrong?" Glimmer asked. "Why'd he- you know?"

Cato shrugged. "I don't know. Homosexuality is frowned on in some districts, but I checked with Brutus – 12 shouldn't be one of them. Unless it was just his family. It's not that he's my prize; he was pretty calm about it all until that kiss."

"Figure it out later," Marvel said. "The pair from four are checking the dead. We should set up a camp and organize the supplies."

Cato nodded.