A/N: Set in District 2 before the Reaping.
It was with an overwhelming feeling of dread that he walked up the path to her house. They had been supposed to meet up an hour ago, and she hadn't gone to training that morning. And Clove never missed training. As he stood before the door he contemplated whether to knock. He didn't really want to come face to face with her father, drunk or sober. Still, he could hardly just go barging on in so he gave a quick, light rap. There was no answer so he knocked again, a little harder. The door swung open a little way on its hinges. Nervously he poked his head in. "Hello? Clove? Anyone home?" Silence. He stood there, biting his lip, deliberating on what to do. Eventually he decided he had nothing to lose by entering so he pushed the door open. He walked down the hallway and hovered in the entrance to the living area.
The sight of an unmoving black lump of clothing caught his eye. Her father was passed out on the floor of the living room, an empty bottle still in his hand. Cato tapped his foot on the ground to see if it would wake him up, then a bit louder. Satisfied that he was passed out he stepped into the room. The sight of a splash of blood on her father's hands though made him freeze. His eyes roamed over the unconscious man, hoping that it was his own blood. He didn't appear to have any injuries.
There was a noise to his left. Cato lifted his head and looked towards the kitchen. "Clove?" he half whisper-called. He still didn't want to risk waking the sleeping man. He paused and heard the faintest gasp in response. It was all he needed. He raced into the kitchen and flung himself around the counter. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the counters and looking up at him through a curtain of tangled hair. His eyes flew to where her hands clutched her stomach, bright red trickles seeping between her fingers to join the blood soaked into her clothes and pooling on the floor.
"Co!" she gasped again, her voice quivering. He knelt down beside her, ripping off his jacket, and pulling it around her shoulders. She was shaking, hard, and her skin was cold to his touch.
"It's okay," he muttered uselessly. She looked at him hazily and he could see tears glistening on her cheeks. Clove never cried. "It's okay," he said again, stroking her hair. He looked around him and saw the large knife, still dripping with blood, lying next to her on the ground. Did she pull it out herself? With a noise of disgust he kicked it so it skidded across the floor and out of sight. Reaching up he found what he had been looking for, and grabbed a bundle of cloth. "It's gonna hurt okay but I've got to stop the bleeding," he said, leaning over her, apologising for the pain he was about to inflict. She nodded weakly and moved one of her hands, resting it on the ground beside her so it left a bloody handprint on the tiles. Quickly he pressed the cloth to the wound in her stomach. It took all his courage to keep pressing when she screamed and grabbed at his shirt, dissolving into gasping sobs of agony and burying her head in his collar.
He released the cloth with one hand and reached for her hand, gripping it tight. She squeezed it back, though not as firmly as he would have liked. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured in her ear over and over again. He didn't know what to do. Did he take her to the training centre medics? Or the Hospital maybe? Neither of those were really options. The medics wouldn't treat an injury not sustained in battle and the Hospital wasn't for the likes of them. He'd be lucky to get near the door.
Suddenly his mind leapt upon an idea. "I'm going to take you to Maeve, okay?" he whispered to her. She shifted slightly against him, nodding the slightest bit. "Okay," he muttered to himself, trying to find the courage. She didn't cry out as he lifted her but she gasped once and he could see fresh tears falling from her eyes as she tried to suppress the pain. With one hand she clung to the collar of his shirt, the other was pressed to her stomach, though he wasn't sure it was very effective. She was too weak to resist the pain needed to stop the bleeding. He turned her away from where her father still lay on the floor as he carried her through the living area, but she had her head pressed to his shoulder and her eyes closed anyway.
"It's gonna be okay," he said to her repeatedly as he carried her through the deserted down. He was half saying it to himself as well.
"I want to kill him," she whispered, barely audible. It made him smile grimly though. When she talked like that he knew she was still there.
"Not if I get to him first," he said and he saw her give a weak smile. He wasn't joking. He would fucking rip the man to shreds.
"Maeve!" he shouted as they approached the door. He kicked at it with his foot and it was flown open shortly after.
"Cato what-" the old woman began but stopped at the sight of a bloody Cato with an even bloodier Clove in his arms. "In here," she said, snapping into action mode. She was the medicine woman of the District. Most thought she was crazy but Cato's family had always known that she carried a true gift, whether you wanted to call it magic or science. She led him into a small, light room at the back of the house. She pulled a cloth off a sturdy looking table and nodded at it. Cato carefully lay Clove down, apologising as she winced. He took a cushion Maeve offered him and gently lifted Clove's head, sliding the pillow underneath her.
"Cato don't go," Clove whispered, her fingers reaching for his hand. Once again he wrapped his bloody fingers around hers. He leant over her and gave her a reassuring smile, trying to see passed the horrible paleness of her skin.
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised. Clove gave him a weak smile which turned into a wince as Maeve rolled up her shirt, examining the wound.
"I'm going to have to operate on this one sweetie," she said, not looking up. "A couple of stitches isn't going to cut it I'm afraid...so to speak." As she tittered at her own pun Cato could understand why everyone thought her crazy. Well, maybe she was, but he still trusted her with Clove's life more than anyone else in this district.
"Cato. Cato," Maeve was saying, trying to get his attention. He looked up at her. She looked at him seriously through her tiny spectacles and frowned. "You know I don't have any pain medication," she said solemnly. He nodded, his mouth dry.
With one movement he sat on the edge of the table next to Clove, keeping his eyes on hers. He gripped her hand tight in his and placed the other one on her shoulder. "It's gonna be fine," he said, rubbing her shoulder. She stared at him and he could read the pain and fear clearly.
He flinched as Clove suddenly jolted underneath him, a strangled cry escaping her. He gulped down the awfulness he felt as he watched her cry out, trying not to writhe as Maeve's fingers probed her stomach. Cato kept up a string of soothing noises and words which he knew didn't help, but he said anyway, simply because he felt so damn helpless. It was almost with relief that he felt her grip go limp in his hand and watched her head fall back, eyes rolling closed. He kept talking to her, even though she was passed out, as Maeve steadily fixed the wound.
"Here, drink this," Maeve said when she had finished, shoving a mug of something warm into his hand. "You're probably in shock too." He stared numbly at the steaming purple liquid in the cup before taking a tentative sip. Hot black current.
"Will she be alright?" he whispered to Maeve, his eyes slipping to where Clove lay asleep.
"The wound will heal," Maeve replied, her back to him as she washed something in the sink. She turned around and looked at him seriously. "But it's not up to me to say whether she'll be alright, Cato." He stared back at her, processing her words.
"I won't let her go back," he said eventually. "I won't," he repeated with more conviction. Maeve smiled at him and turned away again. Cato put down the mug and moved to Clove's side. Tenderly he smoothed her hair away from her face. "I won't let you," he whispered to her.