disclaimer: disclaimed.
notes: i love giving villains new light. again, no capitalization and i'm sorry if you dislike that, but it is a conscious choice. this was meant to be slightly romantic, but that didn't work out too well. so this is it. i suppose there might be slight cato/clove? i don't know. you decide.
summary: this competition is to fight death; to prove you are worthy of living. / cato & clove, through the games.
darkest before dawn
clove is eleven when she is handed her first knife. her father smiles as he wraps his arm around clove's mother, watching his daughter throw the knife in and out of anything she could find.
why, he voices to no one in particular, i think we could have ourselves a mighty little Victor here.
/
when her name is pulled out of the hundreds, she smiles.
/
it's not the first time that she sees him when he walks up confidently to the stage beside her. she remembers kindergarten, a small little pale-haired child that sat in the back of the class, ignoring everybody around him. she remembers him being beat up, and the first time that he ever stood up for himself. she remembers kissing him between classes, the nights spent throwing knives and practicing sword fighting.
but she puts all of that behind her when he stands beside her, a devilish grin on his face. the exact same grin appears on her face, seconds after.
/
when they walk into the training center for the first time, clove has no doubt in her mind that one of them will win this. the two of them are similar; relentless, devious, merciless. they give no second chances, no room for mistakes. the others are vulnerable; compassionate.
cato looks over at her.
i think we've got this one in the bag, don't you?
she smiles.
/
one night in the apartment, right before they enter the Games, clove sees cato looking out the window, onto the thousand of lights below.
she thinks she hears him whisper, i'll make you proud. you'll see. i'll win this.
and for a split second, she wants to go over and comfort him. but she thinks better of it.
/
there is an immediate alliance between the two of them, though she knows it can't last forever. after all, they all die. they all die, except one of them.
but she makes the most of it while it lasts, marking off the other tributes one by one.
/
go to sleep, cato says as he walks over her. they're changing guard shifts, the others asleep as sound as they can be in the arena. i've got this. but she doesn't move. what? he asks as he sits next to her. what is it? he can't help but care.
we all die, she says, looking up at the sky and watching for all the deaths that day. every single one of us, at some point or another. i don't see why this is such a big deal.
well, yeah, he says. but this competition is to fight death; to prove you are worthy of living.
but she's already asleep on his shoulder, and he lays her head gently on the ground.
/
when she dies - by the district eleven tribute, no less - he vows to avenge her. her death was uncalled for; he was sure that it would be a fight down between the two of them.
i'll get him, clove, he says to himself the night when he sees her flash across the scene, announcing her death. and then, i'll win.
/
when he dies, he closes his eyes, and sighs as he sees her face.
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