7. A shower for two.

At first Cato seems puzzled by my sudden interest in cleanliness. Our suites, complete with luxury en-suite bathrooms, are only a few minutes walk away. I'm relying on something I noticed earlier this afternoon when I had occasion to use the toilet. We leave the training room and I lead Cato to the nearest rest rooms. As I thought, they are not gender specific, and privacy to the individual facilities is controlled by one of the palm-print panels which seem standard throughout the Training Centre. Importantly, there are no security cameras in here. Each rest room comes complete with a shower unit, inside which is a small changing room and the shower itself.

By now, Cato understands what I'm planning. I place my hand on the panel outside the shower and the door unlocks. Cato does the same with one of the toilet cubicles. Then Cato and I quickly dart inside the shower unit. There's a risk that Cato's failure to enter the toilet cubicle has been detected by the security system, but it's a risk worth taking.

We take our time stripping off our clothes, enjoying our opportunity to be intimate. There isn't a lot of space since this unit is only designed for one person. After several minutes I feel the need for a bit of room in order to catch my breath. I step back into the shower itself. I hadn't anticipated the water starting automatically and I let out an involuntary yelp of surprise. Cato laughs as he joins me under the pleasantly warm water. He reaches for the controls to start the flow of soap. We may as well be clean as we bring each other back to the heady heights of passion and lust.

I lean forward to kiss Cato on the mouth while his hands are busy roaming over my body. For some reason he doesn't like kissing. It was the same yesterday, on board the train. Cato allows me to kiss him, but he only responds in a very half hearted way. I must ask him why when I get the chance. But not now. We are both reaching that magic point where we can no longer control of desire.

Then our slippery wet bodies become so entwined that anyone watching us ... which I hope there isn't ... would mistake us for a single body. My only regret is that our union is so brief. A 'quickie' I believe it is called. Our haste is partly due to the need to be out of here before we attract suspicion, but also because Cato is already so aroused that he barely enters me before he spills his seed. I have no regrets about coming here tonight, but it could have been so much more if we had been able to plan it better. Unfortunately, in our current circumstances, we must content ourselves with these snatched interludes.

The water stops as suddenly as it started. Warm air blows down on us to dry us. The combination of Cato's attentions and the warm air send new sensations rippling through my body. Although the main event has passed, we still enjoy a few more moments of closeness while we dry. All too soon it's time to get dressed. It is difficult for both of us to get dressed at the same time so I allow Cato to dress first. Then he hands me each item of my clothing in turn so I can dress. It's a striptease act in reverse.

"Why don't you like kissing me?" I ask Cato as I dress under his watchful eye.

"Because we aren't lovers," replies Cato. "Kissing is something that you do with someone you want to romance and love. I like you. I like you a lot. But I don't love you. I cannot allow myself to have any romantic feelings towards you. In four days time we enter the arena. We might find ourselves in a situation where one of us may need to kill the other in order to survive. There's no future for the two of us beyond the next few days. Our liaison is one simply driven by animal need. Admit it. You came here simply because you wanted sex."

"That's untrue," I say. "Yes, I wanted sex, but I came for other reasons as well. I was curious and ..."

"Curious?" says Cato, interrupting me. "About what?"

"I was curious as to why you wanted to meet me alone tonight. Last night you said that you simply wanted to deflower a virgin. You accomplished your mission with my willing participation. I think we both achieved what we were seeking last night. So why did you leave me the note indicating that you wanted to meet tonight?"

"To see what your reaction would be, and whether you are smart enough to follow my trail."

"I see. So you were testing me in order to gauge my tracking skills? You simply wanted information which might prove useful inside the Hunger Games arena. So, you regard what we just did in the shower as a bonus, then? But why tell me this now?"

"A very appreciated bonus, nonetheless. As for telling you now, I promised that I wouldn't lie to you. I make a habit of keeping my word."

"That's very noble of you Cato," I laugh. "Unfortunately for you, your ability to tell a convincing lie is not as good as some of your other skills."

"What lie am I being accused of telling?"

"What you've told me tonight has been a lie. Well, apart from what you said about the sex, perhaps. You certainly seemed to appreciate that. It's simple really. You claim that our meeting was a trick to test my tracking skills. But that only makes sense if you already knew the assembly area would be locked up at night when you left the message by my locker. Otherwise you'd have expected us to meet in the assembly area as arranged. However you also claim that you didn't know the assembly area would be locked up. Which is it?"

Cato goes silent. He obviously realises the contradiction in his story. So much for his promise to tell the truth. Perhaps he was lying last night when he said I wasn't drugged when we met. It's possible I was, but it's equally possible that it was my own hormones causing the pleasant effect. I've no real desire to trawl through the rights and wrongs of that meeting. What remaining time we have is too precious.

"Don't sulk," I say to Cato as we leave the shower unit and return to the main corridor. "I'm not angry, but don't insult my intelligence again. The sex was good. If you want to do it again, then you know where I am."

"Yeah. The sex was good. Next time you can make the arrangements."

"Okay," I say, pleased that Cato has agreed to continue our clandestine affair.

"You said that you came to find me tonight out of curiosity," says Cato. "You were about to add another reason before I cut you off. What was the other reason for coming to meet with me?"

"An act of rebellion. The gamemakers try to control us, and ... let's face it ... they generally succeed. Our mentors try to control what the gamemakers don't. Each tribute is little more than a prisoner waiting for execution day. Sure, we are well fed and pampered with fine clothes. Our cells may be comfortable but they are cells nonetheless. It helps me to keep my sanity and independence if I can rebel against their rules."

"I don't think I've ever met anybody like you," says Cato. "I feel the same. I'm supposed to be spending tonight studying the profiles of all the other tributes. Not that there's much to study just yet. Once our training sessions get underway then Brutus, my mentor, will gather all sorts of information about each tribute. Information Clove and I are expected to memorise."

"Well, your mentor can't really complain. You've been a good boy and spent you time studying your competition tonight. At least one tribute in particular. What does your profile on me say?"

"Hah! Let's see if I can remember. Ah yes. Katniss Everdeen, District Twelve. Age 16. Volunteered to prevent her 12 year old sister, Primrose, from being reaped. Shows a tendency towards slutty behaviour. Not considered to be a serious threat."

"Slutty behaviour?" I ask. "Because of what I did at the railway station?"

"Probably," replies Cato. "Let's face it, there hasn't been a lot of opportunity for gathering information about the other tributes so far."

"Unless there are others like us," I reply. "Wouldn't it be a laugh if all the tributes paired off."

"Can't see that happening. I'd pity the poor fool who ended up with Clove."

"So what do you think that you've learned about me tonight?" I ask.

"Ha! You're not tricking me with that question," laughs Cato. "Let's just say that I'm glad your tracking skills aren't too bad."

"Not too bad?" I reply. "Is that all you'd rate my ability to find you tonight?"

"Well it took you nearly half an hour to find me."

I'm about to dispute Cato's estimate of the time, but I hold my tongue at the last second. Of course, Cato doesn't know that I was unsure about our scheduled meeting time, so he believes I took longer to find him than I did in reality. He's tricked me into revealing something about my skills, so I'll let him draw the wrong conclusion. I'll need to be more careful in future, though.

We take the elevator to the accommodation suites, being careful with our behaviour now that we are once more under surveillance. The District Two suite is only a few floors up, while mine is at the top. Cato gets out first and risks a quick squeeze of my hand as he leaves me.

"See you at training tomorrow, Katniss," Cato says as he leaves.

A few moments later I'm back inside the District Twelve suite. Nobody is about and the lights are dimmed. I begin to wonder whether Effie and Haymitch realise that I'm not already sleeping soundly in my bed. I walk quietly to my room and get undressed ready for bed. For the second night running I sleep naked and for the same reason. I'm still in a heightened state of arousal. Tonight's coupling was over too quickly and failed to leave me in the pleasant satisfied state that I achieved last night. But what am I going to do about it?

I've a full day of training tomorrow, so I'll need to get some sleep. Although it's nearly midnight I'm not very sleepy and I need to come down from the heavens. I turn on the entertainment console besides my bed, intending to browse the options to find something that will help me to sleep. The television screen immediately displays a programme about the Hunger Games. That's hardly surprising. At this time of year there's rarely anything else on. It's an interactive show with viewers invited to send in their questions about the Hunger Games for an 'expert panel' to answer. I've seen these sorts of programmes at home, but we haven't the technology in District Twelve to send in a question. It suddenly dawns on me that no such restriction applies here.

I watch the programme for about twenty minutes while the panel answers questions about a whole range of topics. Then, out of mischief, I decide to send in a question. The console by my bed is easy enough to operate and sending my question is quite simple. I get an automated message acknowledging my question and I sit back and wait.

I don't know how many questions are sent in, or whether they all get put to the panel. I presume there is some form of vetting process. I'm getting tired and I'm almost at the point of giving up and going to sleep. Then my question pops up on the screen, which the presenter reads out aloud.

"We have a question from Kat," says the presenter. "It's an unusual one. Has there ever been an instance of two tributes from different districts making out instead of fighting each other?"

"By making out, I presume you mean having sex," begins the first member of the panel pompously. "Of course not. There was one year when the two tributes from the same district were romantically involved before the reaping. But it's inconceivable that two tributes from different districts would be involved in that way."

"I disagree," interrupts the second panel member. "There was an instance during the 68th Games when the girl from District Six ... I think ... had a sexual arrangement with the boy from District One."

"She was from District Eight," adds the third panel member. "Besides, that hardly counts. She traded sex for being allowed to live after she was caught by the Careers. Not that it did her any good. He killed her anyway after he'd amused himself for a while."

"Humph! It's an impossible situation anyway," says the first panel member.

"I disagree," says the third panel member.