The first time Clove holds Cato's hand, it's at the reaping and they've just been instructed to shake hands.
They've only talked a few times before, at the training center, but there is a certain amount of respect that they have for each other. They're the two best in the whole district.
Cato gives a good, firm handshake, one that her father would say "that's a man worth keeping" to, but she doesn't think about this, because there is no chance that she's going to be able to keep him or whatever.
She thinks that Cato is fine, but Clove knows that there is only one Victor, because after all, they are Careers.
The two of them smile grimly at each other as they let each others' hands go, and walk into the Capitol building and into the train side by side.
/
The second time Clove takes Cato's hand, it's during the tribute parade and she wants to feel something, anything, as their horses race down the huge runway. She knows that no one can see the tiny gesture, but he stops waving to the crowd for a second and glances down at her. She has no idea what he thinks.
Afterwards, up in their second-floor apartments where it's safe, he asks her about it.
"It was in the moment, didn't mean anything," she snaps, tying her hair up into its signature ponytail even though it's late and no one can see her. Except Cato. It makes her feel more secure.
Clearly he is not convinced. "We don't have time for emotions, Clove," he murmurs, and her stomach dips and she doesn't know why, because he's right, after all, they are Careers, and if they were weak they wouldn't be here.
"I'm going to sleep," she says, less forcefully. "Are you, too, or do you want to stay up so late that you won't be able to function tomorrow?"
"You're always in control, aren't you?" Cato asks, his eyes sliding across her petite form lazily from his spot on the impeccably clean neon green sofa. "And maybe. You know I do my best no matter what."
Clove tries not to think about the double meaning of his first statement, and waves him off as she heads to her bedroom. "Sweet fucking dreams, Cato," she spits at him, angry for a reason she can't explain.
"You too, honey," Cato calls back clearly, staring at the artificial fire as she slams the door.
/
The third time Clove holds Cato's hand, it's right before the interviews and everyone's backstage and he's kissing her fiercely.
"Cato-" she manages to say as she squeezes his hand tightly and as he plants tiny kisses down her neck. "Why-why now?"
"When else?" he gets out before smashing their lips together again. "And you look fucking hot in this dress."
"You don't look too shabby either," she says, the edges of her mouth turning up as he dives in for another kiss.
They only stop when their stylist catches them and demands that the two of them get in line for the tribute interviews, because after all, they are Careers, and need to be on top of their game all the time.
Clove turns and smiles at him right before he goes onstage, and he gives her a tiny nod, smirking, and then she's out there in front of the world.
/
The fourth time Clove takes Cato's hand, they're nestled comfortably together in his bed after a long night.
The last night before the Games.
The sun dawns, shining into their room on the second floor, which still gives a pretty damn good view of the Capitol (but not one that Clove thinks she'll be able to get used to). It hits their faces and the bed, displaying a light rainbow effect on the pale white sheets. He's not awake yet, but she is, and she intertwines her fingers with his and thinks about how many more times she's going to be able to do this.
She tries not to think about when the Games are over and what will happen after that.
And which one of them will be alive.
He wakes up a few minutes later with a face set in stone, although he kisses her furiously and passionately, because after all, they are Careers, and they think alike, and he doesn't know how many more times they'll be able to do this.
/
The fifth time Clove holds Cato's hand, they're finally in the arena and it's the middle of the night. She's lost all sense of time, even though it's still pretty early on in the Games, but she knows this because everyone else is sleeping.
Clove isn't going to sleep for one minute in the arena-how stupid can you get?
She'd been angry at him because he let Glimmer fall asleep on top of him, her blonde braids curling as she sprawled across him, using his body as a pillow.
Cato senses this as he manages to carefully lift Glimmer's body off of him and scoot next to Clove.
She takes his hand and he takes the cue and kisses her again, reassuring her that it's her-it's always been her-not Glimmer, who's for publicity, but right here, right now, they can do as they please.
And they do-quietly, of course, so that everyone else doesn't wake up and find them in a compromising position.
What they hide in the dark of the night goes away the second the sun comes up-after all, they are Careers-but Clove still feels the warmth of his hand in hers and goes on.
/
The sixth time Clove takes Cato's hand, the rule change has just been announced and by now, it's instinct to reach out and grab the first part of him that she can find.
This time they don't even fuck, they just sit side by side in the field, holding hands as they plan everyone else's demises.
Because after all, they are Careers, and there's nothing they do better than killing.
/
When Cato takes Clove's hand, it's after the feast.
He hears her voice-frantic, unlike anything he's heard her say before, Clove keeps everything she says level-and completely disregards his hunt for the District 5 girl and runs as fast as he can.
"Cato! Cato!"
She's screamed his name many times, but this is different.
Very different.
He sprints to the Cornucopia field, looks around wildly for the source of her voice-what could have happened, nothing could have gone wrong, they'd planned it down to the last second, she should have been getting Fire Girl right now-
but then he sees a body on the ground-
no no no no no not her, anyone but her, please be Fire Girl, not Clove, please no no no, please, please-
dark hair sprawled across the grass, mixing slowly with red blood that pools around her head-
she can still be alive, I know it, Clove, no, Clove, no no no, please, no, we can still win, we can still-
"Clove!" His voice cracks, wildly and half-hysterical, but manages to get out her name.
Cato drops his spear on the ground, and sinks to his knees in front of her.
He grabs her hand, the first time he's initiated it, and it's not warm like usual, it's becoming colder and colder by the second, but she's still alive, her eyes are still open, and her mouth is moving slowly.
"Clove, no, Clove, stay with me, please, we can still win, we can-"
"Cato," she says, and swallows. Her bright green eyes stare up into his, eyelashes darker than ever with tears. "Cato-"
He looks around wildly, holding her hand as tight as he can. "We can still get medicine-the sponsors-no, we can still win-"
"Cato-win for me," Clove says, half-smiling as the color drains out of her face. She's shaking now, and he feels something run down his cheeks-certainly not tears, because he is a Career-and splash onto her District 2 jacket. "Of course you would win, you asshole," she whispers, and he lets out something that is half-laugh, half-sob, and she gives something like a smirk or a smile and squeezes his hand tightly-
"I love you, Clove, please-"
and then the pressure on his hand is gone and hers falls to the grass and that is the last time that Cato and Clove held hands.
a/n: review? xo