Title: All The Right Moves
Chapter: Part 2, A
Characters/Pairings: Cato/Clove, Clove/OC
Summary: The life of a Victor isn't all it's cracked up to be. Assassinations, bogus love affairs and betrayal... Just another day in the life of a double agent.
Disclaimer: Please see previous chapter.
Author's Note: No excuses. I'm still working on this. But you know, very slowly.
Part 2, A:
There aren't many perks in the hire-to-kill profession – he's hunted down and viciously murdered friend and foe alike, spent weeks at a time sleeping on the cold, hard ground, and, as his targets have become more and more capable themselves, has experienced levels of physical pain he never knew existed – but his duties keep him away from the Capitol most of the time, and for that Cato is eternally grateful.
His lip curls as he stares over the edge of the roof. He can see why others may find the Capitol appealing, the glitz and the lights are blinding, but the brightness is artificial, fake - it hurts his eyes. And the buildings; there are so many of them. It's constricting, not at all like the expansive mountains and wide-open ranges of District 2. He feels like he'd suffocate in this city if he were forced to live here.
Not that he'll have to worry about living anywhere in a few weeks.
He knew it was coming, but his chest still burns with bitterness at the thought of going back into the Arena. He's paid his dues, he's followed his orders, he's done his job… Too well, he thinks as his hands curl into fists. There is one reason Cato's name was pulled out of that bowl and one reason alone; to tie up loose ends.
And they have ensured he will, by sending Clove into the Arena with him.
Which is something else he should have expected. Cato knows Snow is ruthless when it comes to maintaining his powerful hold over Panem, knows he would do anything and eliminate anyone to keep his corrupt government intact. Clove's participation in the Games is the President's way of culling the unrest, of extinguishing the fire in two very different ways. She is his sacrifice, his way of garnering sympathy and proving his family is susceptible to the laws of their nation without endangering one of his own. She is also his salvation, his way of destroying the opposition without raising suspicion. Because Snow knows what Cato is capable of and the lengths he will go to protect Clove, he knows the depth of Cato's dedication to his grandson's fiancée, and he knows that Cato will cut down every single person in that Arena (himself included) to keep her alive and relatively whole.
Clove.
Cato's grip tightens on the railing and his eyes drift closed at the thought of her. They haven't talked much in the past few months, not since she'd shown up on his doorstep the day after her engagement was made public. She'd come to clear the air, to explain the situation and to offer an olive branch – but the heartbreak was still too raw, too fresh and he'd responded to her peace offering with anger and accusations:
"What is your problem!?" Clove's frustration caused her to literally stomp her foot. "Why are you acting like this?"
Cato reeled around, a look of incredulousness on his face. How could she not know? How could she not understand? "Because I don't want you to marry him!"
"No shit," Clove scoffed sarcastically. "Look, you knew-"
"I never thought it would go this far," Cato interrupted her heatedly. Yes, he knew what her mission was, had known what was expected of her the moment Vaughn had expressed interest and her father had identified that interest as an opportunity for infiltration. But that didn't make any of it easier for him. "I never thought you would…"
"Would what?" Clove demanded when Cato trailed off. "Would what, Cato?"
"I never thought you would get so attached to him!"
"Attached?" Clove growled, eyebrows narrowing. "I am not attached to him."
"Yes, you are." Cato's words were clipped, forceful and the sorrow behind them is buried deep under the resentment. "You care about him. You love him."
"I do not."
"You do," Cato hissed, his jaw clenched. "You want to marry him."
He wanted to shake her; to make her realize that somewhere along the way her mission became her reality, that she was engaged to the man she loved.
And that man was not him.
If he could go back… Cato shakes his head. What a fruitless thought. He can't go back - no one can - and he knows dwelling in the past will only make it more difficult to accomplish his mission moving forward. He has to get his head in the game now or risk everything he's worked so hard for all these years.
Which is why he's here on the roof instead of tucked into his stupidly-luxurious, overly-soft Capitol bed like the rest of the city. He'd laughed at the note his father had slipped him just before he'd boarded the train - roof, 11:40. don't die. love you – and had immediately torn and tucked the sentimental bit into his pocket for safekeeping. He assumed whoever this rendezvous is with had received a similar message.
Or, he checks his watch irritably, there has been some kind of miscommunication because it's now well past midnight.
Another ten minutes tick by and Cato is quickly losing patience when the door suddenly swings open.
"Sorry!" It's Finnick and he's obviously been with a client.
Clients, Cato silently amends as Finnick approaches. The other Victor's hair is mussed and he's missing the top button on his shirt, his clothes are rumpled and there are two very different shades of lipstick smeared along his jawline. It makes Cato's skin crawl to think about what his friend is forced to do and how numb to it the man has become.
If given the choice, he'd still rather kill people.
"It's been one of those night," Finnick says with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "The requests haven't stopped coming in since the Reaping. All of my regulars want one last lay."
"Ah." Cato frowns, never quite sure how to respond. "Well, okay. That… makes sense?"
Finnick grins. "Don't worry, man. I'm not going to tell you that I just screwed a Gamemaker's wife in their bed while he fucked her brother on the couch."
"Finnick!"
"You're such a prude," Finnick laughs. He knows how uncomfortable Cato is with the work he does, and that's why he takes every opportunity he can to taunt him about it. That's what friends are for, right? "Are you still a virgin? I'll get you laid tonight if you don't want to die a virgin. Or are you waiting for Clove? Is that it? Are you saving yourself?"
"I am not a virgin," Cato denies defensively, shying away when Finnick tries to flick his bicep. "And shut up."
"Alright, I'll stop." Finnick shakes his head and, still chuckling, pulls a small leather pouch out of his pocket. "Here."
Cato takes the pouch from him and empties the contents, a thick gold ring, into his palm. He stares at it a moment, trying to determine its significance before glancing up at Finnick uncertainly. "Are you… Are you proposing to me? Because I love you man, but… you know, uh, not like that."
"Ha ha," Finnick drawls dryly and lifts his arm up to reveal a similar golden bracelet tucked around his wrist. "Put it on."
"I assume this will be my token?" He slips the band onto his thumb. "Why?"
"Katniss is a liability," Finnick explains with a sigh. "She can't keep her mouth shut and she wears her heart on her sleeve. If she knew anything about what we have planned, everything would be compromised. We have to keep her in the dark until the very last moment."
"We won't have time to establish an alliance with her prior to the Arena," Cato says slowly as he puts together the pieces of the puzzle. "I'm guessing these are to prove we're trusted allies?"
"Haymitch has been wearing this bracelet and that ring for months." Finnick gestures to the jewelry with a nod. "He's made sure Katniss and Peeta will instantly recognize them when we get into the Arena."
"Who else has one?"
"No one."
"Clove? Johanna?"
"Cato," Finnick takes a step forward and claps a hand on Cato's shoulder, his eyes glinting hard with an authority he's just managing to pull off. "Katniss has to live. We are her protectors and it's our mission to ensure she leaves that arena alive. Not Clove's. Not Johanna's. Ours."
"But –"
"I'm willing to accept them as allies," Finnick ignores the attempted objection, fearing he won't be able to continue once redirected. What he's saying makes him feel sick, makes his heart absolutely ache with the injustice of being forced to prioritize one life above others. "But, Cato, they are not our objective. I won't hesitate to put a knife in Johanna's back if she interferes with this mission and I need to know you're willing to do the same."
It's a lie and they both know it.
But Cato agrees anyway.
They discuss strategy well into the morning hours. Finnick has uncovered small details about the Arena and what they may encounter – equal sections with fresh horrors in each, podiums setting on their own individual islands, weather with a twist – but most of their plans are simply based on conjecture. The sheer number of unknowns is staggering and there's no way to predict whether a strategy will work or not; there are just too many what-ifs. In the end, Cato suggests they just wing it and Finnick laughs in agreement.
The first rays of morning sunshine are beginning to color the sky when they finally adjourn. Cato bids Finnick farewell on the fourth floor before continuing down to D2's apartment. He's yawning and dragging his feet a bit when he exits the elevator… to find Vaughn and Clove curled up on the sectional in the communal area.
"What the fuck," he mumbles, grimacing as he comes to a stop a few feet away from them. Vaughn is on his back, his head propped up by pillows while Clove is sprawled on top of him with her cheek resting against his chest. The sight is sickening, and Cato very deliberately and very loudly clears his throat to wake them.
Vaughn's eyes pop open immediately, but Clove's flutter as she yawns, "Cato?"
"Are you just getting in?" Vaughn asks shrewdly, cocking his head as Clove sleepily pushes off his torso. "Where have you been, Cato?"
"I don't think that's any of your concern, Vaughn," Cato counters with a sneer. "What you should be concerned about is that you're in direct violation of Rule 37 - only representatives of the corresponding district or those supplied to serve them are authorized to gain entrance to district living quarters in the week proceeding the start of the Hunger Games."
"Very impressive." Vaughn quirks an eyebrow and slides his arm around Clove's shoulders as she settles back against the couch. "Have you memorized all of the rules?"
"Yes."
"And exceptions?" Vaughn shrugs and pulls Clove further into his side. "Because there is an exception for spouses."
"That's only intended for Mentors and Stylists," Cato bites back through clenched teeth. "And as Clove is a Tribute and you're not actually married yet… You need to leave."
He's right, and all Vaughn can do is stare coldly at him until Clove intercedes softly, "Baby, please."
"Yeah." Vaughn breaks eye contact with Cato to give Clove a fond, affectionate smile. "It's late."
"Early," Clove corrects quietly with a nod to the window. "The sun's coming up."
"You're right." Vaughn disentangles himself from his fiancée, stands slowly, and stretches while yawning, "As usual."
"I really wish you didn't have to go," Clove breathes. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and blinks up at Vaughn with so much admiration it causes Cato to look away. "I just really want to spend more time with you before..."
"Oh, babe, hey. None of that," Vaughn murmurs as he helps Clove to her feet. His hands immediately go to her cheeks, his thumbs clearing away the moisture from the corners of her eyes. "I've got clearance to meet you after the Parade tonight. We can hang out it one of the green rooms until curfew, okay?"
Clove nods imperceptibly and tries to swallow her tears.
"Get some rest." Vaughn takes a deep breath and lets his forehead fall forward to rest against hers. "I love you and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure we do get more time with each other."
Cato shuts his eyes. He doesn't have much in common with Vaughn, but they are united in their complete devotion to the fiery, petite woman they both love so much. They have entered into an unlikely and unspoken agreement that, if successful, will result in Clove's survival.
"I love you, too."
He doesn't watch them say goodbye – doesn't watch Vaughn press a soft, sweet kiss onto Clove's lips or wrap his arms around her shaking shoulders, and he certainly doesn't watch Clove drop her face into her hands once the door clicks shut.
"Can I…" Cato clears his throat awkwardly. "Can I do anything?"
"Cato." Clove turns to him and takes a deep, ragged breath. "I think you were right."
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