Peeta ran as fast as his legs carried him. The plan to blow up the supplies at the Cornucopia was a success. Unfortunately, he had to leave Cato behind for reconnaissance. Sure, he was a Career and all, but nevertheless he was still human. No matter how hard he tried to make the impression that he lacked emotion and caring, Peeta saw underneath the blood thirsty glare. He saw someone torn by the sick society mankind has been endowed with. It made Peeta wonder if he had family or friends at his district; if he had any family at all. To be honest, he kind of felt sorry for the man. Or was it something else…Infatuation?
He couldn't let his mind wander too far. After all, would it really matter since he was technically his sworn enemy at the moment? Allies were common in the games but when it boiled down to the last two tributes, he was sure Cato would not hesitate to deliver the finishing blow.
He was almost there and the fact that the Gamemakers decided to induce freezing rain didn't help with his footing. The mocking jays would sing Cato's tune, ensuring Peeta that he was still safe and sound.
Alas, there was no humming or chirping. Peeta began to worry. Had Cato forgotten the signal? Had Peeta missed it himself?
Peeta stopped where he was, straining his ear to get a better hearing.
Nothing.
Moments later, Peeta was in panic mode. Something was definitely wrong.
The baker sprinted once again to the rendezvous point. Still no signal anywhere. One of the tributes could have possibly found him. Hopefully, it wasn't that deadly witch the throwing knives.
Just ahead was the clearing the two were supposed to meet at. No sign of Cato anywhere, just an unburned pile of tree branches on the floor. Peeta looked around for any signs of a struggle. A torn piece of red stained leather lay on a rock, trailed by a few specks of red droplets. Peeta inspected it further to find that it was a piece of Cato's jacket. Judging by the blood on it , he knew he was hurt; Possibly even bleeding to death at a moment.
Luckily for him, there was a trail of boots imprinted in the dirt. Two pairs at that. Someone was following him.
On the run again and full of guilt for leaving Cato unprotected, Peeta advanced through the wood. Hopefully, the two weren't that far off. He didn't have a lot of time either since the water was diluting the foot prints.
As he slid down a hill he slipped and cut the side of his forehead with a rock. Great; now I'm bleeding, he thought, the blood obscuring his right eye. A low scream caught his attention.
"Cato," he whispered. "Cato. Cato!" He ran towards the sound of Cato's voice.
Finally, he came to a clearing surrounded by a small waterfall flowing amongst the almost perfectly placed boulders. There he was, limping and bleeding heavily from his leg. He was mumbling Peeta's name.
"Cato," Peeta said with a sigh of relief. Cato turned around with a smile that was weak from blood loss, but nevertheless joyous. They stood for a moment staring at each other, eyes locked in a trance like no other. Until Cato's smile quickly faded.
The assailant that was following his prey finally had him. Before Peeta could reach him, the harpoon had already made a clean shot in and out of his torso. The world went grey, almost fuzzy in a suspended silence. The clank of the spear on the ground echoed rather disruptively, sounding with pride of the victims life it had taken. Never did Peeta get angry to the point of murderous intentions; yet they slowly begin to creep up into his heart as he watches the one he suddenly grows a nurturing care for, admires from afar; The one whom is supposed to be his sworn enemy yet he could not bear the act of taking his life for twisted entertainment, falls to his knees as the life force that was his bleeds through his shirt. The assassin was long gone, leaving the two to submit their final words.
Before Cato had hit the ground, Peeta was already on the ground next to him catching his fall; cradling him in his arms like a newborn child. Cato was desperately grasping for air as shown by the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes darted everywhere looking for nothing until they locked on to Peeta's who looked as if they were on the verge of tears. "I'm so sorry," Peeta mumbled.
"I never wanted it to be like this you know," Cato spoke in a weak whisper, a thin stream of blood running down his chin."I always thought that… I'd live to see the construction of a new humanity; no more people dying, no more games,….no more having to make the morbidity of everything a reality."
Now Peeta was crying.
"Don't cry," Cato said with a half smile. "You're not allowed to until after the games."
Cato's ability to manipulate everyone into thinking he was a sadistic and malicious puppet for the Capital seemed work on everyone; everyone except Peeta of course. He was cold when he really wanted to be loved. He seemed to lack compassion for others when in actuality he desired theirs. Love was something he tried so hard to suppress, but yet would be a failed attempt anyways.
"You know…when I first saw you, I knew you were different from the other tributes. You were warm and inviting. You magnetized company towards you without even putting forth much effort. Honestly, I can say I was a little jealous. Even….charmed. I think I…"
The dying lover slowly brushed his hand across the cut that Peeta had received earlier, frowning at the thought of how much pain it caused, then tracing the skin behind his ear down the collar of his shirt." I think I love you Peeta," Cato said in almost a deaf whisper. He pulled him in closer by his shirt until the surface of their lips had met, holding each other in a silent embrace.
Peeta let his body coax deeper into Cato's. It seemed to him as if nothing mattered except this very moment. Hopefully the sponsors wouldn't think differently about sending in supplies for the scene they were probably viewing currently. Then again, to hell with the sponsors and their gifts; To hell with the game makers; to hell with the games; And as completely misbegotten as it seemed, Katniss hadn't even crossed his mind for ages. The fact that the two were alone was what he though mattered now.
The two just sat there, Peeta stroking Cato's cheek whose eyes were now closed and breaths were turning into sighs.
It wasn't long before the rise and fall of Cato's chest had ceased along with Peeta's whispers of love. Cato's face seemed peaceful, almost serene in contrast to the ever expanding pool of blood. It also wasn't long before Katniss had showed up next to him with a surprise look that simultaneously tried to conclude that there was a reason as to why Peeta was in that position.
"Are you alright Peeta?" She asked, her voice showing no signs of amusement or shock.
Peeta said nothing for a few moments and then carefully laid Cato down on the rock before standing up. "I'm fine, Katniss." Katniss looked down at Cato's body and then to Peeta. "Harpoon boy?" she questioned. Peeta simply nodded, trying to hold back anymore tears.
"Oh well. That's one less tribute we'll have to deal with later," she said rather coldly. Peeta felt the urge to slap her but remained stationary, silently attributing the remark to her contemptuous nature.
"We should get going before it gets dark," she said turning towards the other direction.
"Yeah," Peeta replied. Taking one last look at the one he adored but had so few moments with, he headed towards the direction Katniss was going in. Seeing him lying there in his own mess sparked a hidden ambition in Peeta. He would carry out Cato's dying wish and put an end to the games for all. No more pain, no more suffering; Just the reconstruction of a new haven for mankind.