Fifteen days after the tribute parade, Cato decided he needed a break from partying. He'd had more liquor than usual the night before and now he was paying for it with a vicious hangover. Even the soft footsteps of the Avox who served his brunch amplified the pounding of his head, and he would have thrown something at her if he hadn't thought the jarring motion would make him vomit. He forced himself to swallow a piece of dry toast and a few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs, along with several glasses of water, called Brutus to tell him he was too hungover to come down to watch Clay train or go out that night, and then he went back to bed. When he awoke, it was late afternoon, almost evening.
"Well, look who it is," Trini said with irritation. "Have you finally decided to train your tribute or is she just going to have to continue training herself?"
Training herself? This should be good, at the very least entertaining…something to laugh about with Brutus and Alec and Clay. He grunted at Trini and walked out of the apartment and across the hall to the training complex.
"Fatal strike," he heard the mechanical voice from the weapons room say. It stopped him in his tracks. "Fatal strike, fatal strike." it said again, about 5 seconds later. He peeked through the doorway, and there was his tribute, tossing knives at holographs as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Fata-fatal strike," the voice said as Hera threw knives at two moving targets so quickly that the voice couldn't even finish announcing the first kill before it interrupted itself to declare the second. Cato couldn't believe it; she'd hit both targets in their left eyes.
He stepped further into the room, and she turned towards him with astonishing speed and agility, and let fly one of her knives towards his head. Luckily, she realized he wasn't a holograph at the last nanosecond, and her wrist hesitated just enough to throw her aim off by a few centimeters, the knife embedding itself in the wall beside his head. It was equally lucky that Cato had superb reflexes and jerked out of the way just in time; otherwise she would have nicked him in spite of her momentary hesitation.
"Whoa! What the fuck?!"
"Sorry," she said calmly.
"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked coolly, trying to hide the surge of admiration that had replaced his shock.
She gestured toward the screen in the wall. Duh. "You taught yourself?" She nodded. "Do it again."
During their exchange, two more of the holographs had materialized and were rapidly advancing on her. She turned and disposed of them neatly, once again striking each in the left eye.
"You practice with any other weapons?" he asked. She shook her head. "You practice anything else?"
"Climbing," she said.
"Show me." She led him out of the maze of rooms and over to the climbing wall. He leaned against the wall to wait for her to strap herself into her harness, but to his amazement she took a running leap and skittered up to the top of the wall thirty feet above him in about seven seconds, her feet and hands barely touching each grip before launching off and up to the next one.
Cato stared at her in shock while she slipped back down. When she was still six feet off the ground, she let go and twisted in mid-air, landing gracefully on her feet with hardly a sound.
"How did you learn to do that?" He couldn't hide how he impressed he was this time.
She shrugged and looked at him. Not the most talkative thing, is she? He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall to assess her. She had to be decently strong to climb like that, but she was small and she couldn't have that much muscle under her form-fitting, cropped black pants and the shrunken gray zippered hoodie that fit closely to her body. He could, however, see that she had a tiny waist, a flat stomach, a high, tight ass, slim legs, and two lovely… round… firm… Focus, you asshole, he snapped to himself. Thankfully, she appeared to assume that his appraisal of her was an objective one meant to gauge her physical fitness and skill level.
Speaking of her physical fitness and skill level...she could probably make it pretty far in the arena. Easily down to the final eight. And with training...well, she might be the last non-Career standing. Brutus and Enobaria had been making fun of him mercilessly about his mentoring situation, but he thought maybe he could get her to the top 5 before Clove or Clay took her out, cementing his reputation as one of the best mentors. That'll shut 'em up. That's what he would do then, he'd train her just enough to make her last most of the games, but not enough to have her survive. It would give him something to focus on for the next couple of months, something to keep the empty feeling at bay. He wouldn't tell any of the others about his plan so he could have the satisfaction of watching the disbelief on their faces when they saw what she could do. Well, he may have to tell Clay about her talent with knives so he could avoid taking a blade in the eye, but he wouldn't do that until a day or two before the games. He pushed himself off the wall with his foot and started walking back toward the weapons room.
"Come on," he called over his shoulder. "I want you to try out the spears."
He had decided she should practice archery and throwing light spears to make her more versatile with long-range weapons. And she needed to learn some hand-to-hand combat for defensive purposes, although ideally she shouldn't get close enough to anyone to have to engage in it. Swords were no good, he told her. Most would be too heavy for her and her reach was too short. Weight training wasn't worth it at all. She already had enough strength to climb with ease, and even if she lifted weights every day up until the games, she'd never be able to overpower most of the male tributes, so it would be a "poor return on her investment." Whatever that means, she thought. He said she needed to continue climbing every day. And to keep practicing sprinting and running long distances and working on her survival skills. And of course, she needed to keep throwing different kinds of knives.
He told Hera all this as he mapped out a training schedule for the next week for her over dinner. He handed it to her and she scanned it.
"How will I learn the hand-to-hand combat?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Are there holographs I can practice on in that room? I didn't see a training video or a screen like the one in the weapons room in there."
"No, you'll practice with me," he said matter-of-factly.
"Oh. Won't that interfere with your training with your own district people?" she asked neutrally, no judgement or sarcasm in her tone.
"That's why we're practicing in the mornings."
"Won't they think you're a traitor?"
"They will if they find out. But we won't tell them." He looked at Trini pointedly, and she nodded to show that she understood. "Tomorrow. We'll start at 9," he told Hera.
Cato was telling Gianni about his plan to train Hera on the downlow at breakfast the next morning, when she ambled out around 8am, still half-asleep it seemed. She took a seat across from him and slathered a croissant with butter.
"So don't say anything to anyone about her knife throwing or any of it," he was saying. "This way, they'll all underestimate her and they'll never see her coming."
"What about the scoring? " Gianni asked.
Cato was about to tell him that he was going to have Hera downplay her skills to the gamemakers, when he was distracted by the noise issuing from her throat.
"Mmmm. Sooooo goooood," she mumbled. She was chewing the croissant and her eyes were closed.
He side-eyed her.
When she opened her eyes he was still looking at her. "I'm a simple girl," she said, and shrugged. "It's the little things."
"The little things?"
"Yeah, the little things that get me going." He didn't say anything and continued to stare at her caustically. "The little things. Like this," she said looking at the croissant she was holding. "And the first sip of coffee of the day," she said as she added milk to her steaming mug. "And the sunlight in the morning." She gestured towards the window on the eastern wall.
"The little things?" he asked again.
"Yeah. You know what I mean."
"No. I don't."
"You don't have little things that just, like, make your day?"
He studied her. Her hair was pulled into a disheveled knot on top of her head. A few pieces had fallen out and brushed against her collarbone, which peeked out from a white v-neck undershirt. Her lids were heavy over her still-sleepy eyes, and the sunlight that spilled into the room illuminated her cheekbones. The way you look right now, he thought, and then quashed the sentiment immediately. "No," he said flatly.
"Ok then," she said, raising her eyebrows and going back to her croissant. "Sorry I asked."
He was a natural at instructing. His tone and demeanor were icy, of course, and he didn't seem like he was enjoying it at all, but he had a way of explaining concepts and demonstrating techniques that made it easy for Hera to learn quickly.
They spent three hours together that first morning. He taught her how to hold herself defensively and how to block punches and strikes, although he never actually hit her. They did everything in slow motion at first. After a while they worked up to what Hera thought was a normal pace, but Cato told her that no, that was really only about half-speed.
After that, Cato had her practice throwing spears. And then it was noon and he left to go have lunch with his people from 2 and return to his normal routine.
"We'll start at 10 tomorrow instead of 8," he told her. "I'm gonna be out late tonight."
Hera watched the highlights of the 70th games that night. She hadn't really been able to get over how hot Cato was in person yet, although she'd managed to pretend she hadn't noticed. She'd been careful not to let her eyes linger on him, careful to keep her focus on what he was teaching her.
She didn't remember thinking he was that good-looking four years ago when she'd watched him on tv. Maybe it was just because she'd been fourteen, and not really thinking about boys that way yet. She definitely thought he was attractive now, even though it gave her chills to watch him slaughter the other children. It seemed to Hera that he was on some kind of autopilot.
And then there was the part where he had sex with the girl from 1. Hera and Uma had squealed and looked away four years ago when it happened, and Uma's mother had gasped and sent them out of the room immediately.
But Uma's mother wasn't here now, and Hera gaped as she watched it play out. She was a virgin, but she wasn't completely naive. She'd seen men and women have sex a few times and she knew what a penis looked like; when she and Uma were about twelve, they'd learned what sex was from the older girls at school and had spied out back of the bar to watch couples humping in the alley. They'd been both horrified and fascinated. And one time, Hera had been up in a tree when two teenagers stumbled into the woods, giggling and fumbling around. And of course her father had tried...
Still, this was disturbing. Cato and the girl, Luxe, had simply exchanged a quick look while the other Careers slept. Then she'd stood up and walked away from the fire and Cato had followed. They didn't say a word and the whole thing seemed cold and business-like...just like her own interactions with him that morning when he'd trained her.
And his dick was huge. How the fuck does that fit in there? And why isn't she screaming in pain?
Hera wrinkled her nose and shivered a little.
He didn't like her, he decided as he sipped his whiskey at the club that night.
He didn't like the look of quiet determination her face took on as she put all of her mental and physical energy into the lesson at hand. She was supposed to be weak and hesitant.
He didn't like that the way he taught and the way she learned fit together neatly, like a key in a well-oiled lock. How they both liked to break a concept down to its most basic elements and focus exclusively on perfecting one thing at a time before moving on to the next. She was supposed to be inept so he could lose patience with her.
He didn't like how she didn't even seem to notice him as a man. Her gaze as she looked at him was steady. It held no trace of desire. She was supposed to want him like all the other girls did.
He didn't like that his attitude of frosty indifference, which usually unnerved people, had no effect on her whatsoever. She was supposed to be intimidated by him.
He didn't like the general aura she gave off. Like an early summer afternoon. Tranquil and warm, but humming with a gentle energy. She was supposed to be undone at the thought of her imminent death.
I don't like her, he said to himself, as he thrust one final time into the random girl laying facedown beneath him before he came.
It was the second morning of their training and although she'd killed hundreds of holograms with her knives, she'd only just now killed her first one with a spear. "Fatal strike," the system announced, and she clapped her hands in delight and turned to him, grinning. Her eyes reminded him of sunlight sparkling on water. It pissed him off.
"Don't get too excited," he said dryly. "You're still gonna die in there. Clay's gonna win. I'm only doing this with you so you'll be one of the last tributes left, and I can keep my mentoring stats up."
"I know," she said cheerfully, spearing another hologram through the chest.
"Why are you so goddamn happy?"
She turned and grinned at him again. "Cuz fuck it, that's why."
He had nothing to say to that.
When the morning was up, he left and she headed for the climbing wall. When she reached the top and looked down, however, he was still there, watching her.
"Seriously," he said. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"I'm from 7. The trees."
"What, did you just like, climb them all the time?"
"Yeah, pretty much. I loved the woods. I miss them. I haven't been outside since I got here," she sighed sadly.
"Didn't anyone show you the roof?"
"No."
"You can go up on the roof. It's not like the woods or anything. I mean, half of it is just space for hovercrafts to land, but part of it is a garden. There's even some trees."
She was so excited she could have kissed him. But she didn't. "How do I get up there?"
"Come on," he said. He rode the elevator up with her and she gasped with delight when the doors opened. She ran to one of the trees and swung herself up into the branches, settling on one about 12 feet off the ground.
"Thank you! Thank you sooo much! You made my day!"
She was glowing with happiness, pure and unadulterated. Cato wondered how she could get so excited about something so simple. Especially since she was going to be dead in less than three months. She should be freaking out. It irritated him that she wasn't.
"It's really not that big of a deal," he said dryly. "I don't get why you're so excited."
"I miss the feeling of fresh air on my skin," she said, smiling and lifting her face to the breeze.
"Is that one of your little things?" he sneered.
Hera hated being mocked, and her quick mind started to form a retort, but she remembered who it was below her and, anyway, she was enjoying the sun and the wind too much, so she held her tongue. "Yes," she said. "I really can't believe you don't have any little things. Everyone has them, whether they realize it or not."
"I do have one, now that I think about it."
She was intrigued. "What is it?"
"Tributes who keep their mouths shut and don't annoy me with pointless conversation."
Christ he was rude. "You know, you have another little thing I can think of." Don't say it, Hera. Don't say it.
He snorted. "Looks like someone can't take a hint." He rolled his eyes and sighed. "What is it?"
"Your dick." She knew it wasn't true-she'd just seen it on video the night before, but she was furious. His eyes remained icy, but she could feel fury rolling off of him in spite of the distance between them, and she was glad she was up in the branches.
"You ungrateful cunt," he growled. "I didn't want to help you in the first place."
"Then don't. I never asked you to. I was doing just fine before you decided to grace me with your presence."
He scoffed. "You need me. You won't last five minutes in there without my help."
"Pretty sure that knife I almost put through your eye a couple days ago proves otherwise." Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut?
"Why don't you come down here and we'll see how you do without a knife?"
"Why don't you fuck off and leave me alone?"
"You better shut that smart little mouth of yours."
"Come up here and make me." She glared down at him defiantly.
He glared back up at her for a few seconds. "It's easy to talk shit from up there, isn't it? If I did decide to make you, you'd punk out before I made it any farther than the first branch. But I'm not gonna bother. You aren't worth the effort," he spat and turned and stalked away.
She didn't speak a word to him the next morning, simply nodded as he briefly and coldly explained to her how to relax her limbs to avoid injury if she was tackled or thrown to the ground. And then it was time to practice.
He was determined to break her. He wanted to see her in tears, cowering in fear from him, so he slammed her into the mat using the maximum amount of force he could without injuring her. He knocked the wind out of her over and over again, but she just got back up each time once she regained her breath, with a defiant look in her eye. He hated her for that look. And he hated how she didn't flinch as he took a step toward her to do it all over again. And how she didn't cry out as her body made contact with the ground.
He grew so angry that eventually he picked her up by the back of her neck and slammed her down face-first. She didn't move for a few seconds, and he started to wonder if he'd accidentally knocked her out. But then she rolled over, and blood was streaming from her nose.
"Ohhhh, shiiiiit," he said and backed up a step. The sight of her bleeding caused all of his anger to dissipate.
She stood and wiped the blood from her nose with the back of her hand, her eyes still hard.
"Let's do it again," she said calmly, looking him straight in the eyes.
He just stood there, staring at her as though he hadn't heard her right.
"Again," she said, still softly, but this time with more intensity, taking a step toward him.
He backed up a step. She took another step forward.
"Come on," she challenged. "Again."
He didn't move, so she shoved him in the chest. He was so disconcerted that he actually backed up into the wall. "Again." She lifted her chin to maintain eye contact with him, and she was so close that he could see the flecks of silver in her blue-green irises. He couldn't look away from her face.
"Fine," she said softly. "But don't ever accuse me of punking out." And she walked out of the room.
Cato sat in his room and watched her reaping over and over again later that morning. He had been right about one thing the first time he saw it a couple of weeks ago. She was definitely operating in a state of mild shock. But he was pretty sure he was wrong about her being soft. Her voice when she volunteered was unwavering and certain. And he was struck by the way she pushed the other girls in her age group aside as she moved to the center aisle. Resolutely, without hesitation.
He couldn't stop thinking about her as he sat with Brutus and Alec to watch Clay train that afternoon. Or as he worked out. He wondered if her nose hurt. It hadn't looked broken, but he wasn't sure. He had actually felt the urge to go check on her, but he didn't know what to say to her, or even what the point of checking on her would be. And he was pretty sure she wasn't expecting him to seek her out. She probably didn't want to see him. So he avoided her.
He replayed their exchange from the day before in his head. He'd been the one to tell her about the roof, and then to take her up there. She'd never asked him for any of it. And then, when she expressed gratitude, he'd gotten annoyed. So he'd tried to dampen her spirit. And when that worked, when he'd actually achieved his goal and she snapped at him, he'd gotten angry with her. None of it was her fault. I wasn't gonna let her win no matter what.
That night, Cato went out as usual, but he still couldn't stop thinking about Hera.
A little after midnight, he looked around the club, chose a girl at random, and did his usual wink and smirk. Brutus laughed and Alec clapped him on the back, and Cato gave them a farewell nod before sauntering up to the girl. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked without pretense. She giggled, and he took her by the hand to lead her outside. He walked with her for about a block, and then yanked his hand from hers and told her to get lost. She stared at him, confused and humiliated, but he stalked away from her, and back toward the training center without another word.
He woke up before sunrise the next morning, and he couldn't go back to sleep, so he decided to go for a run around the city. Early morning was really the only time he could run in peace in the Capitol, because the streets were mostly empty. He tended to attract too much attention any other time of day.
The sky was just beginning to turn from indigo to a bluish gray, and it was foggy out, so the light from the streetlamps took on a hazy quality that Cato found comforting.
I like this, he thought. It's peaceful. And then he stopped in his tracks.
Hera wondered if her and Cato's short-lived relationship as mentor and protégé was over with. She was perfectly ok with it if it was. They hadn't seen each other since the day before when she'd walked out on him and straight into her bathroom. Her hands shook as she held a cold cloth to her nose, but she refused to give in to the urge to cry.
As much as she hoped she'd never see him again, she was determined not to be the one to give in, so she trudged into her training complex at 9am the next morning, her body bruised, her nose a little sore but not broken, and decided to climb the wall a few times as she waited to see if he would show. She hoped he wouldn't.
She had just reached the top when he entered. She stilled herself when she saw him out of the corner of her eye, and turned her body in his direction as he approached the base of the wall. He looked up at her. She looked down at him. Neither of them said anything. She slipped down the wall, light as a feather, and turned to face him as her feet touched the ground. They were an arm's length apart, and they stared at one another for a few breaths.
"When I go running early in the morning and it's still foggy…the way the streetlights look," he said quietly.
She felt her eyes widen the slightest bit as she realized that he was trying to apologize. She knew better than to smile, and she knew better than to say anything in return. It would ruin the moment. So she simply turned and walked to the sparring room. He followed on her heel, and his hands on her waist were gentle that morning as he taught her to curl herself inwards when he tossed her-with very little force-onto her back.