Another canon fire.
Clove gripped her knife, fingers wrapping around its hilt as naturally as one would clutch a teddy bear for comfort, and flickered her eyes open. The whole crew was fast asleep, their bodies just slumped shadows in the night. Only Clove had been disturbed by the warning of yet another death in the arena. Holding her breath and praying her movements didn't betray her; Clove rose to her feet stealthily and climbed over her sleeping teammates with careful precision. One wrong move and Cato would have her in a headlock in no time—sneaking around in the middle of night with a knife in hand wasn't exactly a good way to make fast friends. But Clove knew that Marvel had totally ignored his duty as night guard (his snoring could probably be heard from the Capitol) and someone had to make sure they didn't all wind up slaughtered before dawn. Clove knew she had a good instincts—her father had always told her she was a fine hunter, and if they had lived in some of the more impoverished districts, she would have survived just fine—and now she used to them to tune into the cloaked mystery of darkness. Holding her knife up until it was hovering at chest-level, Clove crouched in front of the thick trunk of one of the trees that squared off their campsite. From here, she had perfect view of Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, and even that sneaky Peeta Mellark. Clove felt her teeth clenched and forced herself not to be absorbed completely by the fresh wave of fury—but, like many things, it was easier said than done. District 12's tributes had been a thorn in her side ever since that ridiculous show on the chariots—the Capitol's audience was busy oohing and ahing whilst Clove was busy rolling her eyes. If only those had been real flames…then she wouldn't have to be dealing with Mellark's sudden betrayal that seemed a little too good to be true and Everdeen with her I'm-the-caring-older-sister crap that was starting to get real old, real fast.
Something crunched softly in the distance and Clove gripped her knife tighter—great, a little daydreaming and now she was going to end up with a slit throat. Rising to her feet, Clove scanned the campsite, counting quickly under her breath; One, two, three…Wait…
"Nightmares?" a husky voice hissed in her ear before two hands landed roughly on her shoulders. Quickly, Clove ducked and whirled, brandishing her knife; then, unexpectedly, a foot hooked expertly around her ankle, bringing her down. Grunting from the impact, Clove reached for her weapon (it had been thrown out of her hand from the attack) and gasped as a boot landed solidly on her ribs.
"Not so tough without your knife, are you?" Cato announced smugly, leaning over his bent knee to get a better look at her. His eyes glittered manically in the darkness, "You know, it feels kind of good pulling one over our Little Miss Badass."
"I'm so happy for you," Clove panted, mouth twisting into a grimace, "now can you let me breathe?"
"Getting slow, darling," Cato drawled, lightening up a bit but not relinquishing his place, "Tired out already?"
"You wish," Clove shoved at his foot, wishing she had her knife to stick into his toes, "get off me."
"Sneaking around on your friends," Cato clucked in disappointment, heaving Clove to her feet and picking up her knife with two fingers, "not very nice."
"Please," Clove snatched her second limb, her prize since the day her father had gotten it for her, from Cato's grasp and grinned wickedly before pressing the blade to his neck, "I don't have any friends."
"Clearly," Cato spat, eyeing the knife with a little bit of nervousness, "since the ideology of alliances seems to be lost on you."
Slowly, Clove removed the blade. Looking around, she was surprised their entire encounter hadn't woken anybody up.
"What do you mean?"
"You might be one scary bitch in the arena but, at the end of the day, age beats everything."
"God, let's not get into this again," Clove snapped, already losing interest. If she wanted to be put to sleep, she would have woken Cato earlier and asked him to drill her with his tirades of age versus experience lectures that might have even made President Snow question the logic of time.
"Listen to me," Cato stepped in front of her swiftly, blocking her way, and Clove narrowed her eyes. Blondie was getting a little too cocky for his own good. She'd have to take him down a peg…hmm, some other time maybe, another night, a guerilla attack similar to his own tactic from tonight…
"Me and Glimmer have each other's backs; we promised. Romeo over there is probably still counting on his girlfriend to spare his neck and Marvel is ready to sell anyone of us to save his own skin. That leaves you without a backup plan."
"What if I do have a backup plan? What if I'm like Marvel?"
"Marvel's a worm whom nobody trusts but can't help but feeling sorry for; you, you're not capable of that kind of sympathy."
"Am I actually being lectured on my lack of emotional response by the infamous psychopath who likes to break peoples necks as a National Sport?"
"Besides me," Cato amended, crossing his arms and glaring down at her with a knowing look, "you're the next killing machine around here."
"I don't kill for the hell of it; I kill for survival,"
"And because it makes you feel good,"
"Shut up," Clove bit her lip and looked around Cato, "I don't want any of them listening to this."
"They're out," Cato waved his hand in dismissal, "I spiked their water yesterday; It's only me and you."
"Great; I can be killed and buried without ruining Glimmer's beauty sleep."
"I don't intend on killing you yet," Cato replied calmly, "I just wanted to chat before we started recalculating our next move against Everdeen and the rest of the tributes."
Not very much reassured by the promise, Clove backed up until she felt her spine flush against the tree: She couldn't afford to trust Cato; the guy was a complete loony. But on the other hand, he had a fair point; Clove had been intending of ditching these guys before they managed to get Everdeen. But if the rest of them had backup, contingency plans in case someone or something went haywire, this put her in an undesirable position. Cato waited, his hair almost glowing under the spidery patterns of the moonlight.
"I'm not becoming you and Glimmer's third wheel," Clove said slowly, eyeing the distance between them like a long distance sprinter calculating the distance between herself and the finish line, "I want something solid."
"I've got a choice for you," Cato stepped forward and Clove felt her flesh tingle in excitement and fear.
"Ultimatums; don't you love them?" she babbled sarcastically but shut up when Cato was a not twelve inches away from her. The night had gotten suddenly very quiet.
"Choice number one," Cato's hand shot forward and stroked the skin of Clove's throat almost tenderly although she knew better; stiffening, she kept frozen as his hand travelled to the back of her neck and roughly wretched her head back so she was looking to the stars, "I kill you now and spare you the pain of being shot with one of Everdeen's arrows or beaten to a pulp by Thresh or being roasted by yet another one of those damned forest fires," Clove clawed at his hand but it was no use; it was like fighting with stone. Her neck throbbed as Cato pressed closer to her and wrapped two hands around her throat. His whisper tickled her ear.
"Or you can let me help you,"
"Help how?" Clove croaked. Cato looked considering for a moment and then stepped back, the space between them throbbing like a chasm instead of an inch, "I'll ditch Glimmer; she's pretty but she's not a survivor. I like my life and mean to keep it until the very end of this blasted tournament. What about you?"
He'd leave Beauty Queen hanging for her? Clove had to admit, it was a pretty sweet deal. Although she didn't like him, Cato was a fighter and, like her, didn't bother much with emotion. They would make the perfect team. However…
"If we're a team," Clove allowed, "I want Mellark voted off the island; I don't trust him."
"Done," Cato shrugged and flashed her a grin that left her a little giddy, Goddamn it, and she couldn't help but grin back.
"Am I safe to go back to sleep now?" Clove asked, gesturing to Marvel, "I just thought it would be wise to have a guard so I don't wake up with Thresh's ugly face hovering over me, a spear in my chest, you know?"
"I'll do it; couldn't sleep anyway," Cato motioned to the bed of moss near the roots of the tree, "Sleep; you need it, slow poke."
"Shut up," Clove grumbled for the second time that night. But as she lay down, bones bending gratefully into the softness of the moss, she felt the safest she'd ever felt since ever stepping into the arena.