Author's Note: Sometimes I try not to write Clato but then I just give in because my life has become this ship and I REGRET NOTHING. Anyway - thank you to absolutely everyone who has read/favorited/alerted my stories, but I would seriously adore you if you left a review. Hearing from you really does make me keep going. :)
No Place Like Heaven
a Hunger Games (© Suzanne Collins) fanfiction
Cato doesn't believe in heaven.
He doesn't believe in a god, because god has no place in a world like this, where children run to the slaughter - where children are born to die. He doesn't believe in a higher power or in silly concepts like karma (where's the Capitol's karma?). He does not believe in hope or faith; he thinks they're useless in this world where they live. Hope and faith will never prepare the parent for losing their child to the Capitol, will never keep the child's name from being reaped, will never make the Hunger Games go away. In this sick world, painted red with the blood of children, heaven is nothing more than a fairytale.
It astounds him when he sees one of the other tributes praying before going in to his private session with the Gamemakers. He glances over at Clove, who is picking at her fingernails with one of her knives disinterestedly. "What?" she asks when she realizes she has his attention. She follows his gaze to the praying boy, who signs himself one last time in a broad cross. Clove smirks upon witnessing the action. "He's gonna need all the help he can get. I'd say it was unfair, but even god can't get him a decent score."
"I didn't know you were religious," he says before thinking it through.
She snorts. "I'm not. I heard it's a bigger thing in the lower districts. My mom used to be into it, though, so I know a bit about it."
"Used to be?"
Clove's on her feet now, looking down at him with a expression he doesn't quite understand. "Then Cella happened. It's hard to keep believing in and praying to god after you watch your thirteen-year-old disemboweled on television." She shrugs, as though the death of her older sister is nothing more than another topic for conversation, and walks away.
In this world, where children watch their brothers and sisters and friends die, where people force children to kill each other for entertainment - Cato knows there can't be any god.
They call him brutal and bloody and vicious, and they all look upon him with fear. To them, he must look like a demon; to the ones he kills - mercilessly, viciously - he is the devil. There is no remorse or hesitation when he kills. They think it's because he enjoys this. Really, though, he's just trying to make ends meet in a godless world.
Marvel and Glimmer are both gone - idiots, he thinks to himself - and it's just him and Clove now, seated around a campfire, waiting for morning to break. Clove is fidgeting with her knives, more than normal. "Are you nervous?" he asks teasingly.
The scowl she sends him would cause any man to reel back; he just laughs (mostly because he's used to it by now). "Not very many of us are left," she answers calmly, her face becoming solemn.
His lips press into a thin line and he says nothing, because nothing he can say will comfort her. The end of the Games are coming, which means that the end of their alliance is coming as well. Cato went into these Games with the intention to win - and that has not changed. Though she may look small and fragile, he knows it's the same for her. Ally or not, friend or not - one of them will be dead soon enough.
In this world, it's even inconvenient to have friends. Sometimes Cato just wants to laugh because everything is just so wrong. Because the one person he's become close enough to even call a friend is someone he might have to kill.
"Look, the food's done," she announces, cutting through the thoughts that are clouding his - and probably her - mind. For a moment, they enjoy the peace.
Then it's just them, the boy from 11, the lovers 12, and the girl from 5. But numbers don't matter anymore because both of them can go home; both of them can - will - win because they are the Careers from District 2. They will win because this is in their blood, because they were trained to kill. Cato allows himself to feel relieved, and from the small smile on Clove's face, he knows she feels the same.
Maybe there is a god after all.
"I'm going to the Feast," she says calmly as they begin packing their bags.
He raises an eyebrow. "By yourself? I can come with y-"
She shoots him a sharp look, which once again brings a slight smile to his lips. "I've got it. 12 will be there, and she's mine." He hesitates. He wants to tell her that going alone is unnecessary, that they'll both be safer together, but then he realizes how weak he sounds and he just nods. "I'll be back soon."
He feels fear while she's away. There's an uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut, and he knows he shouldn't have let her go. Before he can really think about, he's on his feet, running towards the Cornucopia.
"Cato!"
Her cry tears through him like glass, and now he's sprinting - but not fast enough. "Clove!" he answers, a desperate plea for her to hang on, to wait for him.
"Cato!"
When he finally sees her, slumped against the ground motionless, his world begins to spin. Nobody else is there - just her. He runs over to her, drops to her side - and he sees the wound indented into her head. "Clove," he croaks, his shaking fingers cradling her in a tender way that he's never held anyone.
The life is quickly draining from her eyes, the rise and fall of her chest is slowing, and he knows she's gone. It's futile. "I don't want to die," he hears her whisper.
No matter how much he begs her to stay him, he knows she's dead. He knows that the last thing she will ever see is this blood-smeared arena, the last thing she will ever know is killing, and the last thing she will ever feel is death. He holds her tight against his body as her warmth gradually fades.
Cato doesn't believe in heaven or god, but he wants to believe that Clove will find some place happy. He wants to believe that she'll find a world where children don't kill each other, where she doesn't have to watch her sister die on television, where she isn't trained to destroy others. Maybe, he thinks, she'll find heaven and maybe death is better than this sick world they're living in.
His thumb lightly strokes the curve of her cheek before his large hand closes her eyes. This world and this arena have nothing to offer her now.
But this is what they wanted, isn't it? To watch them suffer and cry and despair before dying? To eradicate all traces of hope? Hope and faith didn't save Clove, and now Cato is standing alone in a field. He knows he can depend only on himself, that hope and faith will do nothing for him, but he hopes for her because she deserved more than this sick world.
He watches motionlessly as the aircraft takes her away, and his eyes remained fixated on the sky even long after its gone. He allows himself a moment to pray, then continues on his way.