Just so you all are aware, I am not especially proud of this chapter. Kiss/sex/intimate scenes are not a great strong point of mine, having no experience of my own and being desperate to avoid clichés. Normally, I want to have my chapters utterly perfect before I post them but this time I just couldn't work on it anymore, so I apologise in advance for this pretty crappy chapter. Hopefully it's just a blip :) I'm also sorry for getting slack with updating but I have lots of work for school again and lessons after school as well so I am not able to write as much as I want to anymore either. Ah, the joys of sixth form! Also just as an fyi, I am incredibly distressed by the removal of the break line on formatting. I think that's it for this long and annoying a/n so, yeah, enjoy this chapter and thank you for sticking with me.

[BREAK]

Clove had kissed people before. She had kissed boys before and she had kissed girls before. Hell, Clove had even kissed Cato before. But she had never, ever kissed anyone like this. Every time she had kissed a person before, they had ended up dead; it was a part of her job. She kissed to kill. This time though, she was kissing to live.

She could remember what kissing Cato had been like from back in the alleyway; she remembered the shape of his lips and the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue and the roughness of the slight stubble on his upper lip and chin bristling against her skin. She also remembered the unfamiliar longing that had rooted itself in the pit of her stomach as he had pinned her to the wall and the ache his touch had left on her skin. She remembered how she hadn't wanted him to stop.

Well, now he wasn't.

The first kiss he left on her lips had been a light as a feather, so soft she only knew it happened because she had watched his head dip down to hers. If she hadn't, she might have thought a butterfly had brushed against her mouth instead, but no, it had been Cato, and he had kissed her with a touch far gentler than she could have ever imagined. And she wanted more than that.

With her fingers, she grabbed onto the cuffs of his sleeves and pulled, hoping to make him bend back down to her. He didn't need much persuading. This time, as Cato's lips moved towards hers, Clove opened herself up to him. Their mouths slotted into one another as if falling into a rhythm as old as their heartbeats and Clove felt goosebumps run down her spine until she shivered. Eagerly, she twisted her body so it paralleled with his and Cato's hand left her wrist and came up to cradle the back of her head, drawing her closer to him.

He tasted of beer and she tasted of blood but to Clove nothing had ever tasted better. She was slipping away, slowly tumbling out of her comfort zone, out of reach. She was losing control and she could not have cared less. For what might have been the first time in her life, Clove felt whole.

Cato's hands suddenly moved, from behind her her neck to the small of her back and lifted her forwards as he knelt back on his heels. Clove moved with him, their bodies mirroring each other just as they had been in the stand off, just minutes before. A lot can change in a few minutes.

As their lips pulled apart for a second, allowing for both of them to catch one quick, gasping breath, Clove lurched forwards to wrap her arms around Cato's neck and he kissed her again, his teeth biting down on her bottom lip. Eagerly, Clove's mouth responded to his and she felt her entire body fizz with endorphins and she let out a deep, shuddering sigh without fully realising it.

'Wow,' she whispered.

'Wow?' Cato gave her a smirk, half his face lit by the light from the single bulb above their heads. 'Now there's something a guy likes to hear.'

'I bet there are lots of things you'd like to hear,' Clove retorted, kissing him again, hard.

'I like you better when you're not killing me.'

'I like you better when you're kissing me.'

'That can be arranged.' Their lips collided again and Clove felt a surge of that churning feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that tugged and twisted and made her want to get even closer to Cato, as close as possible. Her hands locked into his hair.

'Cato,' she mumbled, his lips still half joined with hers.

'Mmm?' He kissed her chin, her nose, her eyelids. God.

'I still have to kill you.'

'I'm hoping not right now.'

She couldn't help but laugh, a giddy, light-headed laugh that bubbled up from her stomach and pressed into Cato's skin. God, when was the last time she had laughed like that? Had she ever laughed like that?

'I guess I could stand not to kill you right now,' she whispered.

'Good,' he growled. He was showering her in kisses now, she had never been touched so much before in her life and she wanted more, more, her body was aching for more.

Clove pulled her body back from Cato and caught his face in her hands. His eyes were wild with energy and his breath was coming out in short, sharp exhalations. Against her chest, she could feel his own rising and falling swiftly. 'I want you,' she said, and it came out as an order, not a statement, not a request, an order. 'Now.'

'I thought I wasn't your type,' he teased, his hand running up the back of her shirt.

'I don't have a type,' Clove scoffed, then gasped as his hand found her bra strap.

'Sure about that?'

'I don't have a type,' Clove insisted. 'I have you.'

Cato's hand froze on her back; his fingers were cold against the heat of her skin. He looked at her for a moment, then laughed softly, under his breath. Then, he jumped to his feet, pulling Clove up with him so they were standing toe to toe. Her head came only up to the top of his chest. Before Clove knew what had happened, Cato had lifted her up to his eye level with two hands under her armpits and she had wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him to her. He kissed her once more, his fingernails digging into the flesh of her thighs and Clove felt like her body was going to burst.

'You have me,' Cato whispered into her ear, then carried her through into his bedroom.

[BREAK]

'Did it happen?'

'Yes, sir.'

'When?'

'About an hour ago, sir. The security cameras we placed in the vicinity of the apartment block show her entering the building at seven minutes past eleven tonight.' His assistant, a pale, languid young man with cropped mousey hair, hesitated. 'She is yet to leave the building, sir.'

Sitting in his chair by the window of his office, Coriolanus Snow smiled, a thin, cold smile that stretched the skin around his lips back and never reached his eyes. At last. He had been waiting for this for days. Small wonder she held out, really, he thought to himself, bringing his hand up to stroke his beard. At best, he had approximated that it would take him two days, maybe even three, to secure her; never had he expected her to hold out for almost a week. She's stronger than she looks.

Out of the window, he could see the lights of the city, standing out against the stark colours of the Chicago buildings like stars on an ink black sky. Car headlights moved fluidly across the roads like fireflies and the neon signs downtown flashed in bright colours, announcing offers and shows and specials at the Mexican buffet, still glowing at just after midnight. The city never sleeps. But somewhere in the city, Snow knew, were Cato and Clove. Might even be that they were looking at out the lights too, just like he was. For some reason, he found that amusing. He might even have laughed, if he thought he still had the capability. Luckily, he didn't.

'It's all a game,' he said, more to himself than anyone else.

'Sir?' The pale-faced assistant stood hovering, his clipboard clutched to his chest.

'A game,' Snow repeated, slowly.

'I don't understand.'

'No, you wouldn't.' And neither do they. He cleared his throat. 'You know what to do?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good.' Snow reached out and opened a drawer. He had very few things in his office; large as it was, most of the space was completely unnecessary. Most of the cabinets and shelves were empty. In this drawer, however, he did keep a few items: a gold pocket watch he disliked wearing on his wrist, a pack of chewing gum and a gun. 'That will be all.'

The assistant gave a hesitant bow from the waist and scurried back to the door as fast as his skinny legs could carry him. Fool. Snow shook his head, nose wrinkled distastefully. From the drawer, he took out a stick of gum and, unwrapping it, put it on his tongue and bit down. A peculiar taste for chewing gum, he mused, but one that he had come to almost enjoy. Rose, he thought, with the bitter undertaste that might have been blood.

It's all a game, he thought, chewing on the gum. But it was his game. And he would be the only winner.

[BREAK]

Cato hadn't slept so well in weeks.

Normally, his sleep was punctuated with fits of insomnia and dreams that left his sheets drenched in a cold sweat and his heart thumping; when that happened, Cato would get up and go play on one of the many game consoles in the living room or take a hot shower and let the water wash away the pounding in his brain. This morning, though, he woke at dawn, to the sounds of birds singing in the trees on Alison Avenue and Clove's arms wrapped around his stomach.

Cato froze, straining his ears to hear if he had woken her, but Clove's breathing remained even and low. Grinning, he felt his body relax and he lay there for a minute or so, relishing in the feeling of the sheets tangled up between their legs and the strength with which Clove's arms held him from behind. He couldn't look at her face, but he could feel her forehead pressing into his shoulderblade and the curve of her body fixed into his back, like the missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle. It gave him a feeling of completeness, being able to feel her being there. She was tangible. He liked that.

Carefully, Cato reached down and unclasped Clove's hands from his stomach. She mumbled something in her sleep and shifted closer to him. Cato breathed in shallowly and felt the heady sweet stench of her fill his nostrils. Jesus Christ. Gently, Cato let his hands run over the fine hairs on her forearms as he shimmied out of her reach. Clove's arms slipped down onto the mattress as Cato slid off the bed; her hands clutched out at thin air and ended up snatching at the sheets. She sighed contentedly.

Cato could have quite easily stood staring at her all day. She looked especially tiny, curled up like a cat in the middle of his bed, her dark tangle of hair striking against the pure white of the sheets and pillows, and vulnerable in a way he had never seen her look before. Somehow, it made her even more desirable to him, which really just made everything even more fucked up.

He hadn't intended on letting it get this far. Nor had he thought that he would fall for Clove quite so hard and quite so fast. When Snow had approached him the week before, with a small, slim file on his best, and most dangerous, assassin, Cato had considered it a welcome challenge. Normally, his targets were men older than himself, or hard, pursed-lipped women who looked at him like a slab of meat; a young girl with lethal tendencies would certainly make a change, he had thought when he had accepted the assignment. Especially when she was hell-bent on taking him down herself.

Sighing, Cato forced himself to turn away from the bed and took cautious steps around the piles of clothes they had discarded on the carpet the night before, taking care not to make any noise that could wake Clove. Clove. He gritted his teeth at the thought of her as he moved into the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush. What the hell was he going to do with her?

She'd said she still had to kill him. Problem was, he still had to kill her too. And yet Cato could still feel the pressure of her lips tingling on his, still smell her perfume lingering on his skin and he liked it. He really fucking liked it. God, what a mess, he thought, scrubbing the brush viciously around his mouth. What a fucking mess. Why the hell had he let himself get in this fucking deep? Cato spat out into the sink and watched the foam slither down the sink, stained pink with blood from where his gums had bled.

'Cato?'

He jumped at the sound of his name, and whirled around. Clove stood in the doorway, only wearing her black t-shirt and underwear, her hair falling down onto her shoulders . She even looked beautiful this early in the morning, a feat Cato, who had woken up next to lots of girls, hadn't even thought was possible.

'Hey.' He grinned at her. 'Sleep well?'

'When I was sleeping.' She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture he recognised as typical of Clove. 'Did you?'

'Like a log.'

She smiled and walked towards him. Cato closed his eyes as she pressed her lips to his and didn't even mind when the bitter taste of her mouth mingled with the mint of his toothpaste. He kissed her back eagerly.

'Stop.' Clove pushed him back. 'Enough.'

A little indignant, Cato drew back from her and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. 'You started it.'

'Well, I'm ending it.' Clove sighed and ran her hand through her hair. 'God, this is fucked up.'

'You're telling me,' Cato muttered, just soft enough for her not to hear.

'I'm leaving,' Clove decided and span around back into the bedroom.

Cato's head snapped around. 'What?' He hurried out after her. 'Why?'

Clove was hurrying around the bedroom like a miniature whirlwind, gathering her clothes up in her arms. 'Look,' she said briskly, stuffing her legs into her trousers, 'I think it's best if we forget last night ever happened.'

'All of last night?' Cato could have sworn he saw her cheeks flush red under her dark curtains of hair.

'All of it.'

Fully dressed, Clove strode into the hall, pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she went. Cato followed at her heels, not ready to let her go just yet.

'Thought you had to kill me,' he taunted.

'I do.'

'So do it.'

'I can't!' she snapped, whirling around to face him, anger spitting in her face. She seemed to regret her words as soon as they left her lips. 'I mean, not right now,' she recovered. 'I will.' A ferocious expression appeared on her face. 'I will kill you.'

'I don't doubt it,' Cato murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. Clove slapped his hand away and pulled open his front door.

'You'd better keep your eyes open, Mr Monroe,' she warned, and walked out of the apartment without looking back, letting the door slam in Cato's face after her.

Cato stood for a moment, staring at the wood in front of him, trying to catch his breath. 'Yeah,' he whispered to the empty room, which suddenly seemed so cold now she had left. 'And so had you.'

He turned on his heel and headed back into the bedroom once more, scratching at the scabs on the back of his neck, the only evidence left that Clove had been there at all. Halfway through the door frame, he froze and felt his heart drop all the way down to the floor.

The bed looked almost exactly as they had left it; sheets half flung off the end and the pillows tossed to one side. However, now there rested, propped up against the headboard, a single red rose wrapped in white paper and tied with a matching white ribbon. A white card lay next to the rose, his name written on in red, cursive ink. Across the room, the window was flung open wide, curtains fluttering in the wind and the cool, early morning breeze blew through the room, ruffling the bedding. A deep shiver ran down Cato's spine.

He picked up the letter, already guessing what would be written on it. Snow did not disappoint.

One more chance, the letter read. It's her or you.

Cato must have stared at the letter for several minutes before he realised his hands were shaking and his breath was coming out in heaving gulps. Before he knew what he had done, the sheet in his hands had been ripped to shreds of white and red beneath his fingertips and his legs were moving towards the open window. He meant to throw the tiny pieces of paper as far as he could, but they just ended up drifting through the gaps in his fingers and he watched them fall down onto the street below, like snowflakes.

Turning back into his room, Cato gave his dresser an almighty kick and sank down onto the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

What a fucking mess, he thought. What an absolute fucking mess.