Hi there, people! :) So... I've spent about 3 days working on this chapter. I've rewritten it. And rewritten it. And rewritten it. :/ Needless to say, it's been a long, tedius, and doubt-filled process. It's worth it, of course, because writing is my passion.

Anyway, I've read and re-written this chapter so many times that I don't really know how I feel about it anymore, so reviews would be FANTASTIC. I'll take critique, but please don't flame. I really am trying. So anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Or Cato. Or much of anything in this chapter that you will recognize. I wish I did, but I'm no Suzanne Collins so...

Chapter Two: Speaking

Knowing it was his year hadn't prepared me for that moment. The moment when I realized that the people in the audience—the people of all Panem—would never know the different sides of Cato. They'd know exactly one—the vicious, blood-thirsty side that was stereotypical of most Careers.

They'd never know Cato at five, uncontrollably excited at the prospect of his little sister being born. Or at nine, the boy who cried when the Academy instructors whipped him, but bawled when I intervened and had my own backside split open. They wouldn't know Cato at 10, cracking jokes at his birthday party-gone-wrong. Capitol citizens would never know that at 12 he was yelling at his dad for being drunk in front of his friends. They wouldn't care that at 15 he carried me to the nurse when I twisted my knee so badly I couldn't stand.

They wouldn't know the Cato I loved, despite all his imperfections and anger.

"Cato?"

He turned from the window at the sound of my heels on the hard-wood floor, electric eyes just as energized as his fidgety fingers. "Aria." There was an exuberant smile on his face and it lit him up like the moon over the mountain at the center of our district.

I struggled desperately with myself because I knew I couldn't cry. If I cried, it would all come tumbling out. It'd ruin everything. So, instead, I put my hands on my hips and grinned. "You did it."

"I'm a tribute." He said it like it was just then dawning on him, like his previous grin had been something he hadn't thought about.

"Yeah, Cato. You're a tribute. You're going into the games." And I'm terrified for you…

His grin got impossibly bigger, lighting him up. His fingers' twitch got exceedingly worse, forced to wait impatiently for the deadly extension of his arm. Anyone who'd seen Cato in action knew that he was one of the best swordsmen District 2 had ever had. And we'd had some amazing swordsmen. His best work, however good he was otherwise, was when he was angry. That's when he pushed himself.

"Cato!"

He refused to hear me, blade hacking viciously at the dummies. I could only imagine what had sparked such an impromptu training session. And the fact that I had been uninvited was most definitely an indicator.

"Cato!"

My fingers twisted nervously into the hem of my blouse while I fought off tears. I hated seeing him like this—angry and unwilling to talk—because it meant that he would injure himself before he'd back down. My breathing was nearly in time with his slashing (Inhale, air. Exhale, contact).

"Cato!"

I couldn't deal with it—his anger and pain. He moved faster than I'd ever seen him move, stabbing with a force he'd never used before. Whatever his father had said or done… it had been bad. Cato was rarely this vicious in training.

"Cato."

I was quieter this time and his fingers gripped the handle tighter as if in response. I could see a few tears falling down his face, words beginning to stream from his mouth. "That sick bastard" he emphasized as he stabbed, "has no idea what he's talking about! He needs to leave." Stab. "Mercy." Stab. "Alone." Stab.

It was about Mercy, then. That made sense. Cato was more than over-protective with his sister. But there was something in his voice… This isn't just about her.

"Cato," I reached out and gently grabbed his wrist, the pressure just light enough that he knew I was there. "Cato, sweetie." It was horrifying how easily I could pluck the blade from his grip. At any other moment, Cato would fight me for that sword—it was his favorite.

As I lay the sword on the table behind me, I reached up to stroke his cheek. Even at 13, Cato was handsome in ways most District 2 men weren't fortunate enough to be. The tears became a steady stream, then, hands shaking ever-so-slightly.

"Aria." He said softly, "Aria, please don't leave me."

I was more than shocked. Cato made it a point to inform everyone that he didn't need anyone. Even when it was just the two of us and he would admit that he wasn't immortal, Cato was never that… needy.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I whispered, curling up at his side as we sank to the ground.

"I—"

"You just gonna stand there?" Cato's far-off voice drew me out of the memory to see him already plopped down on the couch in the visitor's room a few steps away from where I stood.

I laughed half-heartedly, shaking my head. "Sorry… just thinking." I sat down beside him and smoothed out the skirt of my dress.

"What about?" He sounded mildly curious, and when I looked up at him, I could tell he was so excited about his status as tribute that little I said in regards to anything would change his mood.

"Not much."

"Liar." He said with a laugh, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

I rolled my eyes, sitting up on my knees as I noticed that, while he looked fantastic in his dress shirt, the collar wasn't straight and the shoulders were wrinkled. And no matter how preoccupied I was with his general safety, that was something my mother's meticulous style-training would never let me ignore. Even though he was still sitting and I was kneeling, my eyes were right about level with his collar, which worked perfectly for me, I suppose.

My fingers made quick work of their first task, skimming lithely along the material and tugging it up straight. Every brush of his skin on mine sent shocks up my spine and I allowed myself to be lost in that, because I didn't plan on telling him how I felt before he left and there was a chance that I'd never experience his touch—no matter how casual—ever again. I was so caught up in this horrifying thought-train that I didn't feel his shoulders sag or notice the way his fingers stopped fidgeting.

"Aria?" I'd heard that tone exactly once before—and that day was forever burned into my memory, so out of character had it been.

I froze. "Cato?"

"Stop messing with my collar for a minute." His voice caught.

Slowly, I eased myself back, eyes hunting desperately for his. Again, his name slipped from my lips. "Cato?"

"Why are you here?"

Because I love you.

"That's what this time's for. Lov— " I caught myself, but not before it was too late. "Family and friends saying goodbye."

"Goodbye…" He echoed my final word and any possible thoughts of his safety vanished.

"Cato…"

"No. Let me finish." He said it firmly, swallowing hard as he hunted for words again. "In most districts it's because they don't think the tributes will come home."

"Yeah…" I agreed softly, looking anywhere but his eyes. I couldn't. Tears already burned mine, fiery-hot and unforgiving. Looking at him would surely unleash a meltdown that neither of us could afford.

"So… you don't think…" There was no hiding the uncertainty in his voice, and it was something I wasn't used to. When we were kids, we'd both been so curious that uncertainty was useless and as we grew older, it was Cato that had taken on the cocky persona. Aside from a few painful and generally forgotten moments, Cato was Mr. Confidence.

I squabbled for words that weren't there, mouth opening and closing idiotically until Cato's fingers wrapped around my wrist. My eyes flew to his, a knee-jerk reaction that had been ingrained in me from years of training to each other's needs. I'd never made a bigger mistake in my entire life.

Gone was the fire and spark in his eyes, replaced with the vulnerability I knew only from childhood, when he didn't know how to hide it. The Cato I saw was terrified of my words, which would either condemn or gratify him.

If only it were that simple.

"I think I'm scared for you." I whispered, closing my eyes as our foreheads touched of their own accord. "I think that you're strong and you were built for these games… but I also think…" Tears started and wouldn't stop. "I wouldn't know what to do if you did die. Because you're the one person I trust and I care about you, Cato. Not like I should—it's not best friend caring or 'brother-I-never-had' caring. It's so much… bigger than that. It's…"

I was crying so hard I couldn't say anything more, not daring to open my eyes because the second I did I would know the truth and that was something I couldn't bear.

"Aria…" My name was strangled in his throat, voice carrying a thousand emotions I couldn't name. "I'm going into the Games…"

"I know."

"I can win." A sliver of strength returned to his voice as both his hands came up to my waist. "And then I'll be back."

"Y—"

Nothing I could have said mattered because his hands moved up to cup my face and before I could register what was going on, his lips were gently pressed to mine and my whole body lit up like someone had set me on fire. It was gentle and sweet, like Cato at 6, picking flowers for his mom on the way home from school.

We broke apart, both inexplicably breathless. "C—Cato." My eyes were wide in surprise, and his were just about the same. I could see in his face that he'd never expected a kiss to feel like that.

Again, he drew me close, breath warm and sweet across my lips as his mouth met mine again. And what I'd felt before was nothing compared to what I felt now. He pulled me closer to him, chest-to-chest, so I was sitting in his lap and my arms looped around his neck, pulling us both impeccably closer. This kiss was much harder, faster, filled with longing. (Hidden deep within it was also panic, but we both chose to ignore that.) It was Cato at 14, beating up Ander Mullen for talking about how good he thought I'd be in bed.

And this time when we broke apart, we didn't stare, because that would surely make me cry again. Instead, he pulled me so I lay beside him on the couch and I curled up, laying my head on his chest and relishing in the feeling of his arm around my waist.

"Cato?"

"Mmm?" I could hear his grin.

"I love you."

"I know."

For Cato, that was as good as saying the same.

Maybe he can make it out alive…

So... what did you think? Liking it? Not liking it? Critique? I'm up for your comments, I welcome them in fact. Just, as previously stated, PLEASE don't flame.

Thanks for reading! And please leave a review! It helps!

~Cali