There is no such thing as bravery, only degrees of fear.
- John Wainwright
Recap / It had been a year and half since Mars' passing. In that time, Clove and Dicey had begun engaging in regular sexual activity. Dicey was uncomfortable with this level of intimacy with Clove, who he'd grown especially close to after Cato cut the two of them out of his life, and told her as much. Cato substituted for Felix in a class of third year junior trainees and found most of the kids weren't too fond of Felix's teaching style. Clove wasn't too fond of him either, as she expressed annoyance at the thought of Cato completing their trio for the three year plan. Felix and Clove had a hot and cold discussion about what approach they thought the blonde boy should use in the 76th Annual Hunger Games.
Hunger Games Year 71
"Happy New Year, Cato!"
He nodded a vague sign of restrained gratitude to the black-haired woman, who was cheering at the fireworks lighting the sky from the apartment balcony. His father watched the small explosions alertly, and then turned back to her, kissing her, and taking a sip of red wine. When the blonde baby in Cato's arms grabbed a clump of his shirt, he gave it a warning glance and held onto it even tighter, "Don't turn into a delinquent. We've already got too many of those in this family."
"Are you going to come celebrate, boy?"
Cato remained indifferent, "Just thinking of mom on her own."
His father gave him a wary look. "She had you for New Year last year, Cato."
The woman beside him huffed predictably. Taking a sip of wine, she critiqued "That women should be locked up. She's an animal."
You'd have to find a cage strong enough, Cato thought.
"Sunni, she's still his mother," his father admonished, the height difference between the two of them rather amusing. Cato wondered if he'd grow to be as tall as his father. They had the same cornsilk hair color and dark blue eyes, but his father had a milder disposition. Cato was optimistic, though, noting that if his father's blonde hair could have overridden Sundara's black locks with baby Oliver, then he'd surely inherit his father's towering build.
His stepmother continued drinking her wine. She seemed to be making up for last new years and maybe the year before that, too. For such a tiny little thing, Sundara was as aggressive as his real mother, but with only a quarter of the skill. Of course, instead of directing that energy somewhere useful, she was a typist, but overall, she wasn't worst he could construct in his imagination.
She sure did go out of her way to befriend him. He had hardly helped her in those efforts.
Cato turned on the television just as a special on the victors of District Two began. His eyes widened, thinking of the last time, and he quickly changed it to a television show featuring the Capitol's nicest homes. Anything was better than Sundara babbling about how she and Mina Carrold, the victor of the 58th Games, had been classmates. In honesty, Carrold was the least impressive victor from their district, and there were some - the oldest ones - who won on pure luck, reigning from a time where candidates hadn't yet prepared to be tributes.
He snatched a sandwich from a tray. Sundara said it was against her conscience to let a young boy starve. Cato wondered if this was the same conscience that stole his father from his mother in a 'one night stand' - As if, Cato thought - two years ago and then showed up in the fall announcing that she was pregnant.
The baby fussed in his arms and Sundara was at his side in an instant, "Looks like Oliver's hungry. I'll get him a bottle and bring him back to you in a minute."
Cato looked into his brother's eyes and frowned. "Uh, no thanks. I think I'll just go to bed. Good night, dad, Sundara."
The two watched him as he left for the guest bedroom. "Such a polite boy," Sundara observed, cooing at baby Oliver. Cato's father murmured his assent, and they set the baby down to sleep, hoping for better things in the new year.
"This is a bad idea."
"Do you think I should use Marley or Denton?"
"I repeat, Felix Alexander Grey, this is a monumentally bad idea."
"I heard you the first time, Nero H. Kaiser," Felix mocked, turning in to the boy's locker room. He sneered at first years who watched him carefully. After Nero pushed his bookbag into his locker, Felix ripped the name tag off of it and held it out to him. "What does the H stand for? "
"We've been done everything together since third grade, Felix. Just listen to me for once. This is not a good idea."
"And seeing as how we've been partners in crime for nearly six and half years, you should know better by now than to try and stop me."
Nero's movements stagnated, and he snatched the name tag back from Felix, before slapping it onto his locker. "When did you turn into fucking Ellery Watson?" Felix stood there, suddenly dumbfounded. "The H stands for Holloway. Fucking Holloway. If you want to test Cato, then have one of the instructors do it. You're being fucking ridiculous"
Felix seemed to consider his proposition for a moment, watching the steaming boy with amusement, and then lazily placed his arms behind his head and carelessly said, "Nah, it's not the same. The games just aren't like that. You never know when someone is going to come at you."
"If the rest of Cato's friends are like you, then probably soon."
Felix looked almost proud at the accusation before brushing him off, "I already have one Holloway up my ass. I don't need another one. Why the hell did you keep such a valuable piece of information to yourself, anyways?"
"Yeah, about that- Leave Clove out of your plan for world domination."
"I don't think so, Nee. That minx is real good. I don't think I'll find another one like her."
Nero yanked Felix back by the arm, with a lethal expression in his eyes. "I lost my dad to the Games and my aunt to heart problems. If you're even a little bit human, you won't take Clove from me. too."
"When the hell did you decide to start caring about Clove?" Felix sneered, "Because, as I recall, I can't think of a time you came to cousin H's aid."
"Probably around the same time you stopped paying attention."
Felix pulled his arm out of Nero's grasp, "And I'm not human. I'm a born victor."
"For everyone else's sake, let's hope you never procreate."
A malicious smile spread across Felix's face, "When you're this talented, they line themselves around the block."
"Hopefully for an eye exam."
Felix's lips thinned, "You should be a lot more grateful. I'm giving that little girl's life more significance than she ever could ever dream of. What do you plan to do after graduation, work in the damn quarries? Not fucking me. So tread carefully."
"I hope selling your soul to the devil was worth it."
"Marley or Denton?" Felix demanded.
"Denton."
Callan stared at Dicey expectantly, about ready to implode. Halle hooked her hand in his, and Callan squeezed back, looking her over with nervous expression.
"It's okay, Cal. It'll be okay," she said to him softly. He squeezed her hand even harder.
"You cover her at school. I've got the annex," Dicey said, finally.
The younger boy swallowed, his chocolate-colored locks falling in front of his eyes as he looked down towards the ground, "School, yeah. I can cover that. Promise."
Dicey leaned in, resting his hands on Callan's shoulders and squeezing. "Hey, hey. Don't cry. She's okay. Crying isn't going to make it go away. We just have to stick together." He smiled at Halle, "That's not a problem, is it?"
She shook her head, and wrapped her arms around Callan. He wasn't much taller than her, maybe a few inches, but right now he looked decades older, "I'll train harder so I can protect myself."
"Good. Do that, Hal." Callan coughed harshly, and turned away, "Me too."
"Halle, I think it's better if you don't come with us to the market for a while. We'll cover you," Dicey said, mentally calculating which days he'd fight and the days in which Callan would need him as backup for his pick-pocketing.
Halle immediately protested, "I want to do my part. Dicey, I'll be stronger. I promise!"
"I know, Halle. It'll just make me feel better." Their heads both rose, with Callan's dark locks and Halle's considerably lighter hair contrasting. Callan looked quiet, but protective, and Halle was concerned, but defiant, "Look, we're good for a few days and then mom will have enough for a few meals."
Halle looked back toward an enlarged portrait of Wyatt Almoy, his sword raised towards the sky, with his last enemy's severed head on the end. "You're not going to volunteer, are you?"
Dicey averted his eyes, "No, not if I have the choice. Felix is gunning for that spot and I don't really plan on interfering." The unspoken sentence that he would do what he had to if worst came to worst settled anxiously in the trio's stomachs.
"I gotta go. I have Close Combat at 3. Hal?"
She nodded and looked at Dicey, "Sorry I didn't listen. I'm going to do what I said. Get stronger."
"Stay close, you two."
Their responses rung out and they left together, with Callan's arm slung around her shoulder. He could do it. Dicey knew he could. He put his face in his hands and took several deep breaths.
It's okay, it's okay. The man didn't get her, he thought. Halle is safe. Safe, but scared, and how could I let her go on her own? If the man had stolen her away from us... Mom would have lost her mind.
His head felt heavy. This day had gone over like a lead balloon.
"Trouble in paradise with the bed buddy?" a derisive, unwelcome voice inquired curiously.
Dicey prayed that if there was a God that Cato would evaporate into thin air. He wondered if ignoring him would help in this aspiration. After all, If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will...
"Oh, come on now. You can't be that bad in sack," Cato goaded. Clove once said she enjoyed teasing Dicey because of his facial expressions.
Cato's next sentence was said- well, no- screamed in a mixture of fear and disgust, "I didn't think you two were actually doing it! What the hell, you child molester?"
If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will, there's a way. Dicey tried to pull away, but it was more difficult on the floor than it would have been if he'd been standing, "Aren't you going to justify what you're doing?"
Dicey only muttered, quite flushed, "I don't have to explain anything to you."
"Clove is just a little kid!" Dicey backed even further away from the feral-looking Cato. Yeah, he thought, and so is Halle. It doesn't make them any more immune to what's out there.
He could tolerate Cato not being his friend, but why the hell did he have to be his enemy? This fucking sucked and it was crippling him in humiliation, "What Clo and I do is none of your business, C."
"It's against the Annex rules to force someone into sex," Cato reminded him forcefully.
Dicey blanched, losing all coloring in his face, and tried to steady himself.
Cato continued, "And too, too many people are breaking the rules. This is a rule I won't let escape me."
Dicey scoffed. "Your sense of justice is totally twisted."
"I'll fight you."
Dicey grinned, itching for the opportunity, "Yeah? With what stakes?"
"Stop making that face. I'll win, and then we'll see who's smiling."
"As long as you stop talking, I don't really care." Dicey said, losing any trace of good humor. Cato frowned at him, before reaching into a silver barrel.
Cato dug in further and withdrew two wooden swords, "Three lethal shots. The winner keeps his pride. The loser loses his life."
"Fair enough," Dicey said in response. Jumping to his feet, he studied Cato with a satisfied expression.
"Whose count?"
"Yours," Dicey said, with a smirk on his face.
"One," he looked at the mirrors behind them, "two." Followed by a glace at the displays of weaponry, "three!"
Cato launched forward, his sword headed towards Dicey. The smaller boy thrust his sword upwards as Cato's descended on him, and blocked his attack. The blonde moved back quickly, before coming at him once again. Dicey ducked, backing away in a jumble of steps. He caught his footing and went for a strike, but Cato easily blocked the hit.
Again, Cato descended on him. This time, Dicey turned to the side, almost rolling away, and slapped the top of Cato's ribcage with the wooden sword. Cato's expression intensified and Dicey leaped backwards, trying to regroup.
A lethal spot. He needed a lethal spot.
He lost a breath of air as the blonde came extremely close to his throat. Dicey ducked a second time and thrust the sword against the lower portion of Cato's ribcage. His instructors were right after all. The simplest techniques are often the most useful. He'd keep that in mind. "One," he said with a cheeky grin to Cato.
Cato turned and swiped quickly at him. Dicey's eyes widened and he stepped back, before falling. Cato stepped forward swiftly, and rested his sword on Dicey's throat, "Don't be arrogant, Dice."
Dicey retrieved his sword and swung it at Cato's knees. Cato jumped away from the hit, moving just long enough for Dicey to get back up, and jump forward. Cato rolled away, and swung his sword to defend against Dicey's next strike, which was towards his waist. He backed away, then started forward quickly, and commanded the sword directly into his abdomen.
"Two to one."
"Two to one," Dicey agreed, catching his breath for only a second.
He moved back as Cato came for a second strike, and jumped forward, swinging his sword upwards. The sword made a harsh point of contact with Cato's armpit.
Dicey withdrew immediately, knowing within seconds that Cato would come for his neck. This time, he purposely fell backwards, and and rolled away. Cato came for his abdomen, but Dicey was easily able to avert most of his strikes, only cutting it close a few times. He thrust the sword upwards into the open air and Cato smacked it with his own sword. Dicey's sword went flying away from both of them. Cato struck him twice, but both points were non-lethal. He went for a third strike, but Dicey slid backwards, inching towards his only means of defense.
Cato went for his throat and he barely skimmed by an inch or so. Dicey waved his hands around erratically for the sword, before feeling the familiar grip. He swung it just in time to defend himself from the oncoming attack and forced himself into a standing position. He backed away, waiting for Cato's assault. He ducked, ready for the sword to make impact with his neck. It was too late, though. The sword instead struck him right where his liver was.
Dicey fell to the floor, clutching his side, his eyes shut firmly. The pace of his breathing increased and he couldn't stop himself from crying out. Cato examined him from a small distance and clenched his teeth. Shit, he thought to himself. Suddenly Cato was glad he had picked wooden swords, though from the look of excruciating pain on the smaller boy's face, it might as well have been a real machete.
"That's what you get for breaking Annex rules," he responded grimly to Dicey's hisses of pain.
"Well, I guess I deserve it then," the boy spit back bitterly, begging silently for reprieve. He let out a string of expletives when he remembered why Cato had wanted to fight him in the first place. "Can't force Clo to do anything," he grit out, crying out in pain shortly afterwards.
"She's twelve years old."
His conscience had said the same things for months. Clove is twelve, you pervert. You're going to break her. Clove is too young. You're being despicably selfish. Clove needs a friend and you're using her as a vessel. You're just as bad as everyone else.
His head ached as he tried to understand what had happened.
Halle... Some man had tried to kidnap Halle. How could he have been so stupid as to leave his 10-year-old sister on her own for even a minute.
Dicey could hear Cato trailing the mat, tracing around his kill. He blinked slowly, acutely aware of the tears wetting his cheeks, but they weren't his own.
AN - Sundara is about 30, Mr. Elroy is 42, and Oliver will turn a year old in March. Dicey and Cato have a different assortment of skills. Cato is offense-oriented, his weakness being that he has trouble predicting other people's next strike. Dicey is better with evasive tactics. He's a street fighter, after all. However, just as in life, you can't dodge things forever. Eventually, they'll catch up with you.