Ello! I swear to God, I was going to update yesterday but my power went out because of some stupid storm and there were guests staying about my house so, I had no way to update. Sorry again! Ok, we're good with that I would like to move on to a very delicate subject... I swear to my Gods that Hannibal wrote himself. I did not mean to make him a major character in this story anyways, it just sort of happened. Going on to say that, yes, this is still a Cato/Peeta story. There is a reason why I'm doing what I'm doing. I promise, just bear with me please... still if the readers want more Pannibal(love the couple name, btw) I may be incline to indulge for a bit. ;)
I want to thank all my lovely reviewers, readers, alerters, stalkers, and favoriters. Wanna get to a hundred this chapter?
Warnings: Filler, short chapter, three changes in tenses, bad grammar, OCs, perverted notions, and a whole bunch more. I'm too tired to name stuff for right now.
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Anyone up for being my beta in the sequel?
Fragments
Chapter Seven: Superfluous
Two long arduous years I've been working this job. It's been two years of utter seclusion, working in the shadows, bribing, tracking, and torture. Under President Snow's orders my personally trained team and myself were to look into a rumor involving an upcoming rebellion with a fine toothcomb. Countless people I've interrogated, all of them eventually lead to Plutarch Heavensbee, a relatively powerful man that played the internal Capitol Games so well he had President Snow's favor. One would not think Plutarch would have a hand in creating this potential dangerous catastrophe. I wonder if he'd talk during interrogation, I mean there was no lying. I had all the cards and he had none. This was my last interrogation, and it would be my fastest.
I entered a small colorless room where he was being held. There was nothing in the room besides a square desk, two chairs on either side of the desk, and a swinging ceiling lamp. A bit cliché, but hey, it got the job done. I took a seat across Plutarch eyeing his flamingo feathered hair with distaste. What the Capitol saw in the appeal of their fashion, I'll never understand. "I must commend you for eluding us for so long. I believe the last record held was three days," I said pleasantly. Plutarch grinned, winking. Fantastic, I seared the image of his self-assured persona into my memory. I gave him two minutes at most.
"Your people are loyal, but they aren't loyal enough and eventually all of them broke telling me of the Rebellion." I smirked at the minute sign of nervousness Plutarch showed before covering it up with an assured mask. "As you could imagine President Snow was very angry. I mean I would be too when one of his favored Gamemakers was bringing about a mutin-,"
"You'll never get away with this!" Plutarch abruptly cried. Too easy, this one was. "There are others waiting in the wings to take my place in case a situation like this ever happened!" I stared at him for a full minute taking in the seriousness and determination the traitor seemed to possess. How stupid can this man be? Did he not think me or any of my team had not known that? The audacity of this man! We had implemented the very fact into our plans and Snow had approved.
"How shortsighted you presume we are, Plutarch, is a bit concerning. There's a reason for your survival," I said, crossing my arms. I quite liked the way the color seemed to drain from his face. The realization that everything he and his little mutineers were striving for was in vain. "You've grown up in the Capitol and know their laws. President Snow tolerates no traitors in his kingdom. However, you have use to us." I leaned in real close, I could see myself in his eyes and I admitted I looked scary as hell with my current feral appearance.
"What are you going to do?" He asked, brokenly. There was no more zest or zeal coming from him. This paltry man had conceded so easily to defeat. I'm disgusted that it took us this long to get a hold of this spineless fool. His "great plans" were crumbling with each second that ticked by on the clock. I sneered at him. I felt no pity for this man. He was the reason I had been kept from my precious for so long. He was the reason I couldn't even write a letter. I was getting my revenge. And how sweet it was.
"Good question," I mockingly praised. "You're going to be Head Gamemaker for the upcoming Quell and there you'll gather everyone involved in the Rebellion, then we," I gestured to myself, "shall take over from there. Understand?"
He nodded as if he was a marionette controlled by a puppeteer. Stiff.
Good.
"Fabulous! Now, that we've got that out of the way you are to be released back into the Capitol. You are to go on with your pathetic daily life until President Snow calls for you. Remember every move you make we'll be watching." I arose from my seat, heading to the door. Plutarch would stay in this room to be questioned some more on some basic stuff by some trainee but Gods I was done.
"There's no rest for the wicked," Plutarch spoke up just as I reached the door. I snorted. Unfortunately for him, that idiom was not one of the few that I heeded.
The door slams shut leaving Peeta with Cato. They stare at each other in what seems like an eternity. Both of them couldn't believe after ten years of being in each other's constant presence it was finally time to part, and for once they couldn't follow the same path. Neither admitted to it, but it hurts more than anything because just when they were starting their relationship, it has to end. Fate is truly a cruel bitch that loved to toy with her subjects.
"Say something," Cato breaks the silence.
Peeta's in shock, a white rage curls around him directed at Cato, and Peeta can't find the reason why. He's aware that he's angry, so fucking angry that Cato has requested he speak. How dare he do that to him? What could he possibly say to his departing lover? Nothing! Nothing would be enough to sum up the grief he feels. Hannibal left, and now it seems to be Cato's turn. How dare Cato tell him to say something? Did he not understand the monumental situation he was in?
Cato opens his arms wide and Peeta takes his chance. He pounces onto him, landing them both on the bed, and starts his harsh tirade; beating down on Cato's chest, most likely bruises will be there the next morning. "You fucking bastard! Did you not think of your family or me when you volunteered for the Hunger Games? Was glory and honor the only thing you had running through your mind! You're leaving me all alone with no guarantee of your safe return you arrogant, moronic, narcissistic, selfish, megalomaniac fool!"
"Peeta -, " Cato begins, raising his arms but Peeta holds him down.
"No!" Hot tears gather in Peeta's eyes, if he had been raised in any other District they would be free to run, but here tears are exclusively reserved for the women and children. Peeta is neither, so, he holds them back exerting a great effort. "No! You will listen Cato Alexander Scipio, and you will listen well. I fucking love you but I've already been in this situation. The outcome is written in stone. My love isn't enough for you to stay, is it? You will leave regardless." His hits are becoming sluggish, but he never stops. All his anguish is going into each blow.
Why does it hurt so much? The knowledge of Cato volunteering had been told to him multiple times since he first came to District 2. Peeta couldn't understand. Cato reaches out, clasping Peeta's wrists together in a strong hold. Peeta doesn't bother to struggle he was too emotionally expended. "Peeta, it won't be for long. You must know that I'll come back," Cato says, uncharacteristically soft.
"You aren't psychic, Cato! The only thing, you know is that you have a 1/24th chance at winning. Nothing more and nothing less!"
Cato balks. "Do you have any faith in me?"
"Faith!" Peeta laughs, humorless. "It isn't that I haven't got faith in you, that's such an insignificant thing in the arena. I'm afraid you're going to die and you aren't going to come back home... to me! I can't live without you, Cato. I can't," he stresses.
Cato struggles to sit up with Peeta, but he manages. For the first time, in a long time, Peeta takes the time to study his Cato. He's broad shouldered; tall and sturdy like a boulder. He's attractive with his short dark blond hair and chocolate eyes, but there were small microscopic scars that decorated Cato's body, and Peeta's proud to say he knows where all of them are and has even given him a portion of them. "My foolish Puppet, do you doubt your Master so?"
Peeta swallows. "Never."
"Then trust in me, right now," Cato says and Peeta looks in askance at him. Cato's voice is alike a siren's lull. It's alluring to him, but Peeta won't fall for it. Not this time. He crosses his arms, staring pointedly at Cato.
"You'll gain my trust if you promise me something," Peeta remarks in a tone that leaves little room for playing around. He truly means his next words, maybe this promise will be enough of an incentive for Cato not to be foolhardy and for him to use all the gray matter in-between his ears.
"What?"
"You will come back and take what's mine to give."
"What?" Cato repeats and Peeta rolls his eyes. It can never be a two-in-one-deal with guys; they can't both have brains and good looks. He leans in, whispering in Cato's ear. Cato in turn gives Peeta a double take, "You mean it?"
Peeta nods.
"I'll definitely promise then!" Cato grins wildly. He whoops loudly, practically bouncing on the bed. Peeta did not think that Cato would be this excited, and this quickly. He duly notes a specific -ahem- organ pressing against his backside. He swears.
"Thank you, you have my trust now," Peeta says dryly. The doors burst open at his words and Cato sneezes randomly. Three Peackeepers walk in, as usual they hold themselves with an air of authority but Cato and Peeta barely blink an eye at their presence. It would take a lot more than three Peacekeepers to take them on.
"Time for visitors to leave," the unnamed one in the front says. Peeta can detect a hint of nervousness in his voice. Must be a newbie, they were fun to play with but this wasn't the time.
"Yeah, Yeah, I'm going." Peeta stands up from Cato, the familiar pang of them separating immediately there. Cato apparently has other plans; he hangs onto one of Peeta's wrist, forcing him to twist around to face him again. "Huh?" Peeta manages before he's lurched forward by Cato's powerful tug. Cato meets him halfway, ardently kissing him. Peeta can tell by how hard and quick, and unexpected the kiss is that Cato was saying his goodbyes. And just as the kiss starts, it ends. Cato nips his bottom lip, letting go of Peeta to stand up himself. He winks at Peeta.
"Only a precursor, babe."
Peeta flushes at Cato's lascivious tone, but tastefully decides not to respond. He waves a final goodbye to Cato, sliding between the Peacekeepers to leave the room. He appeals to all deities possible as he treks back home. His heart growing heavier at each step he takes away from his beloved. He tells himself that Cato soon will be home and all will return back to normal.
Right?
Cato folded his arms, his eyes locked on Peeta's form until the blond vacated the room. "So, how long until the train leaves?" Cato inquired, settling back on the bed. He did not appear all that concerned with the obvious bulge in his pants.
"In thirty minutes," the one on the right answered briskly.
"I'll be done in ten. Can I get some magazines, a couple of tissues, and lotion? The sex of the people in the magazines don't really matter either," Cato said, tactless as usual. He raised an eyebrow at two of the Peacekeepers who were discreetly blushing and the other, the one centered in front, cocked his head to the side in confusion.
He dug into his pants pocket, easing out a small bottle of lotion, throwing it to Cato. "I don't understand why do you want those things? It sounds kinda odd." Three sets of eyes blinked at him, all wondering if they heard correctly.
"How old are you?" Cato asked, trying and failing to keep his laughter at bay. The other two Peacekeepers weren't faring much better; both of them were coughing to keep their laughter hidden.
"Nineteen," the Peacekeeper answered naive. Cato merely wore his patent smirk. Although Cato was younger by a year, the Peacekeeper was a kid. The kid was innocent. It was adorable. Cato almost felt bad for potentially corrupting the poor sap.
"I'm eighteen, enough about ages though. Can you get me those items or not?"
"Erm, sure, I'll be back." He awkwardly moved passed his fellow Peacekeepers, disappearing down the hall to the main sitting room in the Justice Building. More than ever was he perplexed. He resigned to ask his mother when he got back home.
"So..."
"His parents wanted him to get some real world experience," one of them said whilst rubbing his temples. The Peacekeeper next to him simply shook his head in exasperation.
Cato snickered, "I see."