She pretends she doesn't care and then decides that's ultimately rather pointless. Nobody wants to talk to her anyway, who would ask her if she's okay? Who would she lie to if she replied yes? She's malicious and cold, nobody dares look in her direction anymore - let alone ask her about her feelings.
You're pretending for yourself.
The thought slivers around her mind, crawling over every inch of her brain until it's ringing louder and louder and she can't ignore it anymore. She scoffs at the idea but deep down she knows that it's true, she's pretending not to care, but it's for herself because if she doesn't then she'll be exposed to a situation she doesn't know how to deal with - and that is more terrifying than the Games could ever be because she knows how to deal with everything. Apart from this. She hates her mind for being so human and then bitterly decides she hates herself even more for not wanting to be human, but boxes those dark thoughts away to deal with later, or never.
But she cares.
And it takes her longer than she'd like to admit it, but she cares. And it infuriates her that he doesn't. She doesn't want him to leave. She doesn't want him to die. (you'rebeingridiculousthisiswhatyou'vebothtrainedforforallyourlifeandyouknowhewontdiehesstrongokaysostopityourebeingstupid.) She takes a deep breath and ignores him, because that's how she deals with emotions she doesn't know how to handle, apparently. There's a strange twist of emotions inside her ribcage that she doesn't know what to do with, she can't tell if she wants him to notice or not.
He notices.
She wants to say he marches right up to her and demands to know what's going on, why is she ignoring him, isn't she happy for him? And she could scream no, right in his face, no because it means he'll either come back with girls throwing themselves at him or in a coffin, and she doesn't want either of those options. She doesn't want him, she wants them. As a team like they've been for the past four years; and maybe could try to mask it as she just doesn't want to lose her training partner, but that's not it either, and they would both know it.
She gets her wish after a week of icy silence neither of them knows how to approach. She gets her wish but in the worst way possible.
Because her name is read from the slip of cream card and she waits with cold dread in her heart for someone to leap forward, for someone to volunteer, but nobody does. And maybe if it wasn't him who has already volunteered, who stands on stage with horror on his face, she would have been glad. But it is, it is him and her and they will be together as a team again but this is not how she wanted it, this is never how she wanted it.
They share maybe a handful of words in the Capitol and her heart aches and it makes her want to rip her hair out because she didn't know it could do that. She wants to go and talk to him but what use would it be? They'll both be in the arena tomorrow morning and no words will matter. So she takes another deep breath and carries on ignoring him, hoping that somehow he'll be brave enough to break this monstrous silence that's settled upon them.
He isn't.
They work together alongside the two from One and Four and Loverboy, but without the usual rhythm that they had in training, and they still barely speak. The girl from One is throwing herself over him and she wants to scream but instead she kills lizards and hopes someone else kills him first. Then there are the tracker jackers but they both survive that, too, but in her mild hallucinations, she dreams he looks after her with a quiet, pained voice. It was so vivid that when she awakes she has a glimmer of hope that it wasn't a hallucination, but the wall of stony silence is put up between them again, casting a huge shadow that blocks out the weak hope ruthlessly. He doesn't even ask her if she's okay, they just get up and move on and the days drag on.
The announcement of a feast comes. There's a small part in the back of her brain that tells her if she just speaks to him, there's a chance he'll eagerly reply. Tomorrow, she tells herself as she lays down to sleep, I'll try tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes and she makes empty threats to Katniss, too busy pouring out her anger on some girl from Twelve that she doesn't hear Thresh until it's too late.
The screams for Cato rip out of her throat desperately, she's never screamed or begged before but she does so at the top of her lungs now, pleading for her life and her rescue and help in one name. She lies on the grass with her hair matted with blood and a dent in her skull the distance she can hear someone yelling her name, the voice raw with panic.
Clove dies not knowing that Cato - who has never begged before, either - cradles her body and begs for her to stay with him, come on Clove, just stay, please - even though the cannon went off minutes ago and he's just clutching at a corpse.
Clove dies unknowing of how Cato felt. Later, Cato dies unknowing of how Clove felt, of how she didn't know how to deal with the unfamiliar emotions he made her feel, of how she never really felt human until he unknowingly made her.
authors note
hm that^^ was supposed to be like, 300 words and ended up as 1000 oops. anyway welcome to my little collection of drabbles and one-shots based around the career pack of the 74th games, because i luv them. hope u enjoy!