oo6
He is the first one over to Clove's house when he hears the news.
When he gets there, he finds the neighbors in a state of panic because they can't find Clove and oh, what if there is a serial stabber on the loose? Cato almost laughs at the old lady's paranoia. If Clove really wanted to kill someone, she wouldn't prefer close range. That isn't how Clove operates.
Cato knows exactly where to find her. He finds her in the weapons room, throwing knife after knife at moving targets. "Fancy you being here," he drawls in his recently acquired deep fifteen year old voice.
She doesn't look up as she impales another dummy- thunk thunk- and only says, "Where else would I be?"
"Indeed." He crosses his arms. "I heard."
She falters, and the knife only hits the shoulder. Clove curses and readies the next one. "What do you want?" she asks.
Cato ignores the question. "Why'd you do it?"
"What do you want?" Thunk.
"Kill your father, I mean." Cato continues to talk. "Was he hitting you?"
She whirls around, knife ready to throw at him, and Cato folds his arms, that superior smirk dancing across his face. "Go on," he dares her. "Go on, try it. I'm faster than you are."
"I'm smarter," Clove snaps.
"Not necessarily true." Cato begins walking towards her, arms still crossed. "Why'd you do it, Clove?"
"We agreed that we wouldn't talk about my father." She turns her back on him and hurls a knife at a moving target, but only clips the right shoulder.
"I didn't," Cato says quietly as Clove's knife completely misses the next target. She curses and stomps off to retrieve all of her knives. "Clove, the Peacekeepers will be looking for you."
"They know where to find me."
"Not really," Cato drawls. "They'll want to take you in for questioning."
"Fine."
"Not fine," Cato corrects. "My mother can always talk to them for you, use some leverage, say it was self-defense."
"It was self-defense," Clove begins before realizing that she's given half the story away. She scowls at Cato, but says in the same even tone, "I don't need your help, Cato."
"Really?" Cato shrugs.
"Really." Clove pulls a knife out of the dummy with a schink. "I take care of myself."
"Spoken like a true Career." Cato turns on his heel. "I'll let the Peacekeepers know where to find you," he tosses over his shoulder.
"Do not help me," Clove yells after him.
"I won't," he yells back distantly.
That night, the Peacekeepers wake Clove up in the middle of the night simply to ask if she is okay. When she begins to explain that it was self-defense, one Peacekeeper only holds up his hand. "We know," he says in a brittle voice. "Your father had a very delicate reputation around town. And we have a witness that will vouch for you."
Clove asks who it is, but the Peacekeepers only tell her to go to bed.
Cato and Clove never talk about it, but Clove lets Cato use two of her knives when they practice the next day.
oo7
"You need to stop practicing with Clove." Cato's father says the words so simply, like it's something that can be done with the flick of a light switch.
Cato looks up from his dinner of lentils and fried beans over an orange glazed chicken. "Sorry?" he asks around a mouthful of chicken.
"We know that she's your… friend," his mother says with a hint of distaste, "but Cato dear, you really need to distance yourself from her. She's not a good friend for the reputation of this family." She makes a sound of distaste when Cato just stares at her, his mouth hanging open. "Cato, stop gaping with your mouth open. It's distasteful and not fit for the son of a victor."
"You want me to stop practicing with Clove," Cato repeats in disbelief.
"Only until your Games are over," his father intervenes.
"But she's my partner."
His mother lifts a delicately manicured eyebrow. "Your partner?"
Cato's fingers tighten around the fork and knife that he holds. "I was planning on volunteering with her next year."
"You will do no such thing," his mother announces.
"I'm ready, Mother!" Cato protests.
"Oh, I don't doubt that." His mother sets down her own silverware and folds her fingers together. "I just don't think that you will kill her if you had to."
"Yes, I would," Cato protests, even as his tongue feels acidic as he says it. "But think about it, Mother. We would take out all of the other tributes easy. It would be the shortest Games ever."
"The answer is still no." His mother rises from the table. "You may be physically ready, Cato, but your mind is not there yet. You need to be brutal. Merciless. You won't be that with Clove."
"Yes, I will," Cato protests again. "Mother, you were the one who vouched for her when she killed her father!"
"Only because you asked me to," his mother says. "The answer is still no. I forbid you from practicing or talking with her ever again until your Games are over." She sweeps out of the room, leaving a stunned Cato behind.
"Father-" he attempts to appeal to his father, but the older man holds up his hand.
"I'm afraid your mother is right, son. There is nothing left to do."
oo8
The next time Cato lays eyes on Clove, it's at an exhibition wrestling match- a mock Reaping. He meets her eyes across the room, the small little girl with the knife, and can't help an amused smile from drifting across his face as he observes her folded arms and uplifted chin. She's the most dangerous person here apart from him, he knows. She responds by lifting her chin even higher and deliberately turning away from him.
His own smile falters, even though Clove hasn't said anything to him. He knows her well enough to know that the way her jaw tightens and the way her fingers are digging into her arms means that she's angry. Of course she is angry, he reflects. He did leave her behind.
But he pushes the feeling aside, remembering his mother's words: Be brutal. Merciless. And then his father's voice echoing in his mind: Hit them hard. They won't hit back.
He is pleasantly surprised when the trainer draws both his and Clove's name out of the basket. Cato strolls to the middle of the room, his muscles rippling. Easy, he thinks, eyeing Clove's small form as she takes her place opposite him.
Not so.
Cato finds himself working to keep the slippery girl pinned as she slides and uses tricks that he remembers teaching her. In the end, however, he gets the upper hand and has her pinned in a chokehold. The trainer announces that he is the winner, but Cato barely hears him as he releases the choking Clove. "You good?" he asks.
"Never been better," she spits at him.
He smirks. "Good. I'd hate to lose my best partner."
"Your only partner," she corrects him. "Nobody ever wants to work with you. You're selfish."
"And you're as popular as a dead fish," he counters.
"It'll keep me alive in the Arena."
"You won't have an alliance."
She scoffs at that one. "I won't need one."
"If we team up, the rest of the tributes will be dead in days."
She considers his point. "That is true," she concedes.
He holds out his hand. "Allies?"
She shakes it. "For now."
The trainer is dismissing the rest of the trainees, so Cato and Clove wait for everyone to clear out before leaving themselves. "Those were some nice tricks," Cato says eventually as they fall into silent step together.
She shrugs. "I had a good teacher."
They don't train together anymore, but there still remains an unspoken bond of friendship between them.
oo9
Brutus eyes Cato over the top of his glass as the two sit in Cato's room. "A Career alliance," he says deliberately. " A Career alliance…"
"Why are you so surprised?" Cato challenges. "It's been tradition for One and Two to team up."
"Yes, but…" Brutus trails off as he thoughtfully fingers the stem of his champagne glass. "I've never seen a pair of Two tributes work together so seamlessly before."
"We've been training partners for years."
Brutus nods slowly. "Tell me, boy, are you willing to kill her? Or die for her?"
Cato snorts. "She's useful to me now. When it gets down to both of us…" He simply shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.
His mentor raises an eyebrow. "You didn't answer my question."
"Because you already know the answer." Cato bangs his glass down. "I'm the 74th victor."
Brutus nods. "With that confidence, I won't be surprised. Nobody is your friend in that Arena. Not even Clove." He rolls his imposing shoulders back, his grizzly face lighting up with a grim smile. "Make the alliance with One. Make no friendships. If you're going to win, win alone. Your mother taught you to be merciless, I expect."
Cato is reminded of how his mother forbade him from training with Clove, and realizes with a tiny pang that she was only trying to help. "Yes," he says almost inaudibly.
The older man nods, standing up. "Then our strategy session is concluded. You know what you have to do." He begins to walk out of the room. "I'll go get your stylists."
When Clove sees him later that night, she shoots him a look that clearly asks: What now?
Cato only grins, even as he shoves her shoulder as they walk. "We're making the alliance," he says. "We're going to destroy them all."
The both of them ignore the unspoken and each other as they stride into the dining compartment together.