I'm finally shipping one of my favorite couples, Clove x Cato. Exciting.
Music inspiration from James Newton Howard's "The Train" and "The Hunger Games" for the THG score. (I found a bit of a romantic vibe from "The Train", and somewhat from "The Hunger Games", but moreso a sense of what is going to happen. If that makes sense.) Oh, and listening to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift and such.
You'll see "Cato/Clove" thingies that sequence a time-lapse. Fanfiction is a butt and isn't letting me use cute squiggly text thingies.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. *dramatic close*
On we go!
Cato and I arrive from the tribute's parade, introduced to our floor of the training center by our mentors, Enobaria and Brutus. Enobaria walks with purpose (and Brutus just follows behind quietly) as she tells as about the red, black and white colored floor level; it comes with rooms for both of us seperately, a dining room, a sitting room, and more that I can't remember, but make the mental note to take full advantage of. I look at the still, sorrowful figures that stand by at corners of some of the rooms, and the word "avox" comes to my mind.
I look at my fellow district tribute, Cato, who is at least a foot taller than me, and is overall bigger than me. (I think his arm is as wide around as my thigh.) His size alone makes me think twice about talking to him, but I realize that he's not really a threat at this point, that we share the same goal and we have a lot in common, that we might be able to become friends. I follow his lead, as he always prefers to be first, which I don't mind too much, and we break off when we find each other's rooms.
I look at my room, which is really... strange. The room is mostly a brighter red, not blood or wine red, and my bed is black and white. The colors alternate throughout the room, and it's actually... pleasant. I change my clothing out of the slightly ridiculous costumes we wore for the parade. That district twelve girl... Katniss... the Girl on Fire. Makes me want to puke.
Anyways, I undo my braids, letting my velvet black hair fall onto my shoulders. My stylists picked out my clothes, and for once, I take time to look at them. They are... nice. Comfortable. Compliment my figure. I shake my head at the nonsense, going to the sitting room where Cato and my other Capitol lap dogs would be. What a shame it is, how they think they are supreme to us, yet how they bow before us at our victories. They are such weak, destructive beings. I'd love to get a knife through them anytime.
I am about to close the door to my room when I see Cato exiting his room as well, dressed in shorts and a loose v-neck shirt. It compliments him well, and I can see him search my body as well. I vaguely remember that we have free time until tomorrow. Today, we relax and figure out how everything goes down. Cato brings me back to my attention, and he lets out a hefty sigh, looking me straight in the eyes. His eyes are a grey-blue, and despite his fierce and unforgiving apperance and reputation, his eyes show me something I'm not used to... gentleness.
When we first met on the stage of our Justice Building, we shook hands, and I have to admit... he was a bit scary. I had seen him before in classes, at training, on the streets, but I'd never actually talked to him. In the train, we shared our first conversation. At first he was kind of happy to be there, to try to win for our district, and then once we entered the Capitol, he seemed excited but overwhelmed. He gave me a glance as we both took in the apperance and size of the Capitol, and it seemed to register in my head as unease and a sense of protectiveness of me. I wondered where it came from.
I see that protectiveness again in his eyes, and after I realize we've been gazing at each other for over a second, I move my eyes away from him. Both him and I seem to be extremely nervous. And at this moment, I hope that both of us die. Not two people can win. Only one.
I don't want to leave the arena without him.
I realize that I'll be damaged beyond repair without him. If I ever see his death, I'll break down and just let someone kill me then. I have never been so close, so passionate, so protective for a human being before. This is definately the start of my mental downfall.
I am once again brought out of my mental musings when Cato brushes the back of his hand on my cheek. He just does a slight brush, barely touching my skin, as if he's expecting me to swat his hand away or scream at him. Which I nearly do, but then I remember. This is something new to me, but it feels very good. I instinctively put my hand over his, gently pulling down the hand that's stroking my cheek. I take a deep breath, and we both silently walk towards the sitting room.
Cato/Clove
The next morning, me and Cato arrive at training. I can feel his eyes examining me. I don't particularly like the attention, but it's better than being stared down by your training coach. I look towards him, and he quickly shifts his gaze to the Gamesmakers and our training instructor.
Throughout training, we watch each other show our stuff. He does weightlifting, of couse, and some swordfighting as well. For his size and mass, he's quite quick and nimble. I, as expected, do some knife throwing. I can tell that he's watching me the entire time.
We later move onto the obstance course, and we both fly by with ease, dodging the foam bats that the sparring-partners swing at us. We both meet at the end of the course, barely breaking a sweat, and we both silently walk towards our rooms in the training center.
Cato/Clove
We do two more days of training, and recieve pretty good scores. Cato is not pleased when the girl from twelves gets a better score, a near perfect score, in fact. I can tell he's angry, but Enobaria, Brutus, and our stylists keep him calm enough not to scream and start throwing things, which I know he does best.
Cato/Clove
We later do interviews with Caesar Flickman, a man that looks silly (but is strangely comforting) with his blue attire, his blue hair. We tell him how ready we are to fight and win the Games. But I can't help feeling like this will all turn out very wrong.
Cato/Clove
The night before the Games, I find Cato brooding in the sitting room, and I sit beside him. The rest of our Capitol companions are eating, but neither me nor Cato are interested in food.
He turns to me with his gentle eyes, and in an instant, we touch lips, his arms around my waist and supporting my back with ease, keeping me from moving away from him. This is not a simple kiss, what kids back home call "a brush of the lips", but he kisses like he's angry, hungry, needing something. I start gasping for air, and he releases me from his grasp, and his lips, both of us panting with wide eyes. What have we done?
Cato looks again at me, his beautiful blue-grey eyes ful of shock and need. He brings his hand to my cheek again like he did on the first night, and slowly leans over to me and gives me a gentler kiss on the forehead. And then he's gone, back to his room.
I do not see him again until the Games.
Lame ending, kind of sketchy and awkward. I hope you enjoyed, as I did enjoy writing this Clato fic. I will probably come up with another one-shot for this couple... I just adore this pairing. A review, please?