A/N: The characters are not mine, they belong entirely to Suzanne Collins.

This is my first story in Hunger Games. Obviously, pairing Cato/Katniss since I'm not able to ship anything else in this fandom. Since I'm not able to sleep or drink or think like a sane person, I just had to do this. I hope you'll like it and please R&R, reviews make my day!

Drink The River Dry

Chapter 1

The train speeds up and Cato shivers with excitement. He looks around the carriage, searching desperately for something to drink and spots a bottle of wine. Ah, yes. Even though at the Academy there weren't many occasions to try alcohol, Cato likes wine best: it's as red as blood but not quite as sweet. He relishes the taste of it. He should have broken the rules more frequently back at District 2, he muses with some regret, but now it's irrelevant. For the next couple of days, he will break the rules hard and fast and no-one will be able to stop him.

The door opens and Cato's attention shifts to his fellow tribute. He didn't pay much attention to her at the Reaping, he just caught her name, Clove, knowing that he'll have plenty of time to work her out later.

Clove's tall, with dark hair, but nothing much. She's wearing a gun-metal grey expensive dress that matches the color of her eyes. She sits down on the sofa, and tilts her head to the side.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cato," she extends her hand, sounding almost pleasant. Cato grins his predatory grin and, because he's in the mood, replies, "No, the pleasure is all mine".

She rolls her eyes, and no one has ever done that to Cato before. Interesting, he thinks, because she doesn't seem to be afraid. Back home, he had quite a reputation. He heard what people said about him: Cato is a big-balled, crazy-eyed, motherfucking killing machine, and if you stand on his way, he will claw into your chest, tear out your heart, and send goodbye letters to your family. And he lived up to that description. Parents warned their children about him. Other Careers feared and respected him. It all flattered him, really.

But this girl, with her cat-like moves and smooth tongue, seems blatantly relaxed and unnerved by his presence. Cato's not an idiot. Clove might not be afraid, but she's a true Career. She is competition and he'll be keeping an eye on her just as she'll be keeping an eye on him, he has no doubt about that.

"That," says Clove, like she is reading his mind, "is probably true".

Before he has a chance to make this conversation more entertaining, Anthea, their escort, bursts into the room. She's all excited, too excited for Cato's taste.

"Oh, I see you've already befriended each other, how marvelous!" She paces around the carriage. "But you haven't heard the news! Nothing like that has ever happened before!"

"Oh, do tell us, Anthea" drawls Clove, feigning interest, her attention entirely focused on the silver knives laid out evenly on the table.

"District 12 has had its first volunteer since, oh, I don't know, ages! It was all really rather extraordinary. She stepped in, you see, to save her sister from being reaped, the poor thing. It was such a brave thing to do, and so sad at the same time, because her family is, naturally, devastated…"

Now, that is interesting, thinks Cato, Anthea's words fading into the background. District 12? Cato has been there once, when his uncle won the Games, a good couple of years back. And a volunteer? He'll believe it when he sees it.

"… and the Capitol is absolutely thrilled, and well, who wouldn't be? Naturally, she's on everybody's lips."

Cato is mildly irritated. Of course, everyone would be talking about her, but his irritation soon fades. Anyway, it's not like she's going to survive for long, those from 12 never do. They are all weaklings and that girl probably never held a knife or any other weapon in her hand, excluding maybe a fork.. As soon as she's dead, everyone will forget about her.

"Do you want to watch the recap?" asks Anthea in a flippant manner. Now that she delivered the news of the day, she busies herself with eating a creamy cake in yellowish color that makes Cato sick.

Clove shoots her a look that could kill.

"And waste my time? No, thanks, I've got better things to do than watch children with tearful expressions scared out of their lives. They always behave like poor little squirrels. Honestly, someone should just kill them and save Panem all the embarrassment. "

"Oh, Clove, dear, you have no compassion! But they're not as brave as you are, of course. You are completely different league. You are made to be winners after all!"

Clove doesn't seem like she heard any of Anthea said.

"Well, suit yourself, Clove. I'll watch the Reapings in my room."

"Have fun, Cato" she smirks and exits the carriage.

Cato picks up the wine nonchalantly. He doesn't want anyone to accompany him anyway. Besides, he likes to know everything about his competition and who knows, maybe that girl from Twelve might just be worth his time. It would be foolish to disregard any possibility. He rises from the sofa, and goes to his room, greeting Brutus and Enobaria on the way. They haven't spoken with each other yet, about the rules and the sponsors and all that shit, but they all know there's no point in that, really. Cato was raised for this. He knows exactly what he came here for.

He watches the bits from the Reaping on the screen with moderate interest, restraining himself from rewinding the tape straight to the footage from District 12, because even if he doesn't want to admit this, that girl really picked his interest. Tributes from 1 are not a surprise, Careers of course, looking like they're at each other's throats. Then he sees Clove and himself, steady and calm with the crowd cheering in front of them, already looking like Victors. Then a footage of some children that remind him of miserable prey, well, aren't they just that, he thought. Halfway through, Cato is so restless and so bored he almost regrets the whole idea.

"… Primrose Everdeen!"

A shrill voice interrupts his thoughts – it's the District's escort, Effie Trinket, and honestly, Cato hasn't seen a more ridiculous outfit in his entire life. Peacekeepers usher a girl towards the stage, she doesn't even look for a 12 year-old. Cato almost pities her. Well, not really, he corrects himself. He doesn't pity her. She's just another nameless tribute scared out of her life. The girl manages to make a only a few steps, when another girl runs from the crowd screaming, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

That's when Cato sees her. She's tall and skinny, her long dark hair carefully styled in some kind of a plait. She stands there, her chin held high, defiance radiating from her physique. Her little sister is crying, and some guy picks her up and takes her back to the crowd, but Cato cannot bring himself care for those details. He stares intently at the screen where he can read her face like it was an open book, fear and uncertainty and guilt and rushed decision written all over, but there is something else. There is no surrender in the way she walks and Cato feels something else unknown, something with claws and fangs, something deliciously sharp in her eyes that creeps under his skin. Well, look at that, she's a fighter, he thinks, and his heart starts to beat faster.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" asks the escort, puffing her powdered cheeks.

Her tone is flat, her fists clenched so hard her hands are almost shaking, when she answers, "Katniss Everdeen."

"Well, then, Katniss Everdeen", Cato tries the taste of her name on his tongue and it burns just a little, just as he expected. "Very nice to meet you. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

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