So I've wanted to write a story about Clove's death scene from the movie ever since I saw it, and I finally got around to it. Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.
"You know the plan, right?" Clove rolled her eyes at him.
"Yes, Cato. Get the backpack and give Fire Girl a makeover," she said, twirling one of her knives between her fingers, the sun glinting off the blade. She was tired of talking to him, but he was persistent.
"And if you need me, just yell, okay?" she now turned to look up at him, her lips pressed in a thin line.
"I won't need you," she said, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.
"But if you do-"
"I won't," she snapped. "Besides, you probably wouldn't even come anyway," she sneered, her cold exterior cracking. He blinked.
"Where the hell did you get that idea?" he asked, genuinely offended by his District partner. She had been acting odd lately. At training, it had been good. They were unstoppable, unbeatable. It was clear what district this year's victor was coming from. But ever since they'd arrived at the Games, she'd been distant, cold. Of course some would argue this was Clove's natural persona, but she had never been like that to him. Even back at District 2, they had always been teasing, training together with smirks on their faces and anticipation.
"Oh, I don't know Cato, perhaps when that blonde slut decided to be your cheap entertainment, and suddenly I'm forced to talk to Marvel and Lover Boy?" oh. Well, that explained it.
"Clove," he sighed, and she looked up at him and he noticed how her eyes were full of hurt that no amount of sneers could cover up, "so I got along well with Glimmer, and consequently ignored you. She died, Clove. There's no reason to still hold grudges," he said, and she glared at him.
"Oh, I'd say you more than 'got along well' with her, Cato," she was still glaring at him, the knife now held firmly in her hand. He knew he should probably be somewhat worried, but all he could think about was how she said his name. Cato. It wasn't the high-pitched squeal Glimmer had done, all bubbly and ear-splitting as her fingers traced patterns on his arm. No, it was deeper and sharper, the letters thrown at him like knifes in only a way she could do. Cato. It was threatening, but still appealing at the same time.
He suddenly stopped walking, grabbing her arm. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he said, dead serious. She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not. While you two were practically turning the Games into 'adult only' content, I was thinking up all these glorious ways to kill you," she quipped, the knife flashing through her fingers again. Again, this should've worried him, but it didn't. Oh sure, he had thought of how he would kill Clove plenty of times. Spear in stomach. Sword at throat. Snapped neck. But none of them seemed right somehow. Now, with the rule change, he didn't have to think about that anymore, because they'd return heroes to District 2, living in Victors Village.
"Oh? And what did you think of?" he asked, his hand still clenching her arm. She ran the knife up his skin, the corners of her lips twitching upward into a smirk.
"Well, I knew it had to be the best kill yet. It had to be something that would make the Capital look away in horror," the knife was on his shoulder now, little faint red lines showing it's path. "Then I thought of these patterns, bloody and beautiful," she was whispering now, the knife at his jaw. "Patterns of an almost-victor," she hissed, pressing just enough for a thin line of blood to appear. She stepped back, her face hard and emotionless again, the started walking.
"Clove," he rubbed the blood away. She kept on walking. "Clove," still walking, that stupid ponytail swinging. "Clove!" she stopped, still not turning around. He sighed, then jogged to catch up with her.
"Yes?" she asked, poking out her lips childishly. With a jolt, he suddenly remembered how young she was. She was 15, the same age his sister would've been. In his opinion, far too young to be here. Normal 15 year olds wouldn't last. Then again, Clove could hardly be classified as "normal".
"You know I meant it, right? When I said I'd come if you needed me?" he said, a tone of desperation seeping into his voice. She refused to look him in the eye, suddenly becoming very interested in a nearby tree.
"Sure," she said without a trace of emotion. He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.
"No, Clove, you have to understand. I am not going to leave you. We're in this together. We're both coming out. I'm going to protect you, I promise," he said. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I don't need protection, Cato," she hissed, pushing him away. He caught her tiny hands in his, getting irritated. What kind of teenage girl had this much pride at this stage in the game? It was utterly ridiculous.
"I don't really care Clove, because guess what? I made a promise, and I'm keeping it," Cato did not know what happened next. All he could remember what leaning forward slightly, so slightly that it shouldn't have made a difference, but it seemed that Clove had started leaning forward too, and then next thing he knew a pair of lips was touching his. Touching. Lips were touching his and he was in the Hunger Games, dammit, he should be thinking about his next kill and covering the Arena in blood, but he couldn't ignore the fact that lips were touching his and he liked it.
He found himself being shoved backwards, Clove standing there with her arms crossed. "Don't do that again, or there will be consequences," she threatened, but she couldn't hide the smile that creeped onto her face before she started walking away, Cato, a grin on his, following.
A glint of red. His eyes snapped up as it raced by. District 5. Glancing back, he saw Fire Girl racing towards the backpacks, the sun catching on one of Clove's knifes as it was thrown at her. It would be quite a show indeed.
But he couldn't pass up the opportunity to throw himself out of the tree and race after the sly tribute. After all, they had hardly seen her at all the whole games. He had to hand it to her, she had somehow managed to slip her way to victory. Almost.
Ahead, he could see that spot of red as it weaved in between the trees, creating too zig-zag of a path for him to throw his spear. Letting out a growl of frustration, he raced to catch up. That's when she looked behind her, making her fatal mistake as she tripped, landing on the dirt. He grinning, looming over her, spear in hand.
"Well well, seems the hunter finally found the fox," he jeered as her pinched features twisted into a sneer, reminding him eerily of Clove. He probably shouldn't have gone so far away, but she'd be okay. She was lethal, strong. That's what he liked about her; she wasn't all needy and whiny like Glimmer had been.
"CATO!" the sound pierced his ears, scraping his eardrums. No. No no no. That wasn't her, it couldn't be her. She didn't need him, she was fine. No.
On the ground, the fox girl raised her eyebrows at him.
"CATO!"
"Sounds like your girlfriend needs you," she said, before slipping into the bushes. But he didn't care, because suddenly his feet wouldn't move fast enough and he couldn't push through the branches slapping at his face, leaving stinging words. Don't break your promise.
Then he was there and Clove should be there, standing over the broken, bloody body of Fire Girl and she would grin at him. But she wasn't, because she was on the the ground and she couldn't be because he had promised and he didn't break his promises and Fire Girl was darting into the trees and 11 was running away, grasping two backpacks-11 and 2 they said-but that didn't matter because she was broken on the ground and she couldn't be because he had promised. Somewhere in the distance, a cannon went off.
"Clove?" he fell to his knees, gently taking he chin. Eyes wide, blank. A mouth, slightly open, that he would never press his against again, a mouth that had screamed his name. She had died screaming his name. She had died thinking he didn't care, that he was still longing after the bubbly blonde. She died thinking he broke his promise.
"Clove..." he wouldn't cry, he couldn't cry, but he was-look, tears dripping off of his face right there- as he pleaded with her to come back. But she was stubborn and she was gone, not coming back to tease him and threaten him and kiss him because one kiss wasn't enough, wasn't fair, and she shouldn't die thinking he didn't care, that he was a traitor. I'm so sorry,Clove. I'm so sorry.
He stood, trying to morph back into that cruel, strong tribute from District 2. "I'm going to make another promise, Clove, and I'm going to keep this one. I promise to win for you, Clove. To win for us," he took note of her thin snapped neck. She looked so little, so delicate in death. His eyes narrowed. District 11. No, Thresh. If he was going to give him the brutal, glorious death Clove had dreamed of, it was time he started calling him his name. Thresh.
"He better hope he dies before I catch up with him, Clove, because guess what else? I promise he will die with your face in his mind," he started to walk away, but felt this nagging feeling in his stomach. He turned back around to see as the hovercraft carried her tiny doll body in the sky.
"I promise I won't forget you,"
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