Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
Summary: Clove doesn't care about a lot of things, but she cares about him. CatoClove, set during their Reaping, oneshot
Okay, so I dunno why, but I just wanted to write about these two. They are such neglected characters that I just felt drawn to write about them. Sure, they're Careers, but that makes them interesting in their own way. And, personally, I think Clove and Cato had something going on. Or whatever. Anyway, please enjoy!
Darkest
Ruthless, they call him.
Warrior, they chant.
Our next Victor.
Clove doesn't worry about this. She doesn't worry about anything, really. Her mind is wheeling circles around this new development as she stands with pride on the stage, beside the Capitol representative that was assigned their District. The people are going on and on about her male counterpart in these new Games, but she knows better.
She's known Cato for years.
She knows his every move, his every thought. She can figure out what he says before he says it. She knows Cato.
The world that they live in has taught Clove to close off her heart to people. Don't get close to anyone, she chants to herself daily. That was why she buries herself in her training for the very Games she had just gotten drafted for.
She has no parents, not sure if anyone up there really knows her except for the tiny girl she always sees staring at the candy shop's window and the man next to her.
She chances a glance at him. One secretive, stealthy glance. She knows that it is a sin in her book to do so, but she had never thought herself a saint.
Clove looks at the planes of his face, handsome and rough. A light scar runs across his jaw line. His eyes are determined and there is a cocky, confident smirk on his face. His hair is tousled and messy, but clean. His skin tanned, his eyes bright with an arrogance that a few people possess in the place called Panem. He is tall, strong, muscular. Well-fed compared to some places like District 12.
Clove damns herself for thinking him attractive.
She has thought this for a while. Just a niggling thought at the back of her mind. Nothing major, nothing huge. But now that she might have to be the one to kill Cato in the end makes something unpleasant settle in her stomach.
It's stupid, she knows. Clove and Cato both have been raised to think of the Games as the highest honor. Winning them would mean endless fame and fortune. Something that they could leave a legacy by. She knows that Cato wouldn't hesitate to kill her if it was between the two of them in the end, so that means she mustn't hesitate either.
She wants to live, you see.
There is a certain, whining voice that chimes in her head every few seconds or so.
It's Cato, the voice says. It's Cato.
Clove wishes she could tell that voice to shut up without seeming like she was losing her mind.
But it's Cato.
The way the voice says his name is in a tone of disbelief. Like it should have been anyone else except Cato.
Because it should be.
Clove hates to admit it, but she agrees with the voice in her head. She doesn't want to, but she does. There is just something so cosmically wrong about this whole situation that she can't even grasp it.
Cato, she thinks. She chances another look at him, and this time finds that she is staring back. There is a certain look to him that she can't place. Something about his eyes being different this time. This look wasn't there before. Arrogantly, Clove believes that no one else can place it but her, since she knows him that well.
The corner of his mouth lifts up in a smirk at her.
She doesn't smile back.
She can't.
Everything in her has frozen up, barring her from even the faintest show of emotion. Cato seems to believe that, and he gives an infinitesimal nod in understanding. He knows he can talk to her later.
That's what scares Clove the most.
Most likely, he'll talk her into being a group with some other tributes, so that they can win together. Until one has to slaughter the other.
Clove twines her hands together in front of her, deciding to look as demure as possible, but keeping her eyes fierce and focused. They would be playing this moment all around Panem, and she needed to look sharp if she wanted sponsors. Though, she doubted that she would have trouble with that. Most times, people from her District were the ones that won.
She takes that as a point of pride. After all, that was how she was raised.
They are quickly led back to the room to say goodbye to their family. Clove only has her grandmother, an old woman who owns the local candy shop. She is crying, because she knows her grandbaby may not come back, but she instills a sense of hope in Clove, since she is from District 2, and she is meant to win.
The moment is gone too quickly, and Clove finds that she is close to shedding tears. She pushes them back. Can't be seen looking weak in front of the Capitol. Though, she could pull a Johanna Mason and get away with it.
The people from the Capitol then push them on the train. They stare out the windows as the scenery flashes by before their eyes.
"Partners?" Cato asks, holding out his hand.
"Of course," she agrees with a grin. She has to, of course. Clove grabs his hand and squeezes it with a little more force than necessary, feeling a strange pit in her stomach because she knows that, to live, she would have to kill him.
Cato squeezes her hand just a bit before parting and moving to his quarters, leaving Clove to contemplate her thoughts.
It's Cato.
Clove growls at the voice, pushes it down to the recesses of her mind.
She can't afford for emotion to get in the way. Those ties were messy, hard to break. When someone did, they would be broken along with them.
Clove decides then, as she watches Cato's back as he moves to his room, that she can't allow for that to happen to her.
With a wry smile on her face, she figures she can at least give him one kiss after she slits his throat.
End.