Katniss has her first hangover the next day, and she's more of a baby about it than Cato would have expected.
"Make it go away!" she moans. "This is worse than the tracker jackers."
"I doubt that," he says dryly. He's got very little sympathy for her. It's her own doing.
He and Cinna convince her to eat a huge greasy breakfast of fried eggs and sausage and hashbrowns, and after struggling to keep the first few bites down, she starts to feel better, so Cato takes her to his place in Victor's Row.
She wanders through the rooms, all of which are dark and masculine. She wrinkles her nose. "I hate it," she says. "Do they all look like this?"
"No, I had some interior designer do it."
"And you like it?"
He shrugs. "It's alright. It fits my personality."
"Dark and oppressive?" she teases.
But then she turns serious. "It fits the image you project to everyone. But it's not the real you. It's not the you I know."
xxxxxxxxxx
She's feeling almost 100% by the time Cinna and his assistants arrive to start getting her ready for the Presidential Ball.
The dress they put her in is red and extremely low-cut. It's the perfect backdrop for that necklace from 1. A little too perfect in fact…
He raises his eyebrows at Cinna.
"They sent me a sketch of the necklace a while ago," the stylist confirms. "So I could make a dress to go with it."
Katniss tugs irritably at the gems. "I don't like the way this feels. Like a collar or a noose or something."
"Well it's only a few hours you need to wear it," Cinna says. "And besides, you look stunning. Doesn't she Cato?"
Cato frowns. "I hate it," he says. "All of it. The dress. The necklace. The makeup."
"Cato!" Effie scolds. "She looks beautiful!"
"I never said she didn't. But it's not the real her. It's not the Katniss I know."
xxxxxxxxx
Almost as soon as she makes her grand entrance, a server offers her a glass of champagne, but she makes a disgusted face and waves it away.
Cato smirks. "I see we've learned our lesson."
She scowls. "Don't be such a condescending dick."
"I thought you were feeling better."
"I am. But I caught a whiff of that champagne, and for a second there...Gaaahh." She shudders.
"I'll get you some ginger ale," he says.
"No! No alcohol."
He smiles. "It's not alcohol. It's fizzy and it tastes like ginger and it'll settle your stomach."
He's just ordering it for her at the bar when the president walks up beside him. "So courteous," Snow says. "How utterly unlike you. You must be quite taken with Miss Everdeen."
Cato doesn't have a response to this. He simply glares at the old man.
"Well," the president continues. "It was a very successful tour."
Cato snorts. "Except for 2 and 11."
Snow's eyes narrow and he rests a hand on Cato's upper arm. "My dear boy, whatever are you talking about? From what I saw everyone loved the newest victor. They all cheered wildly for her."
He's squeezing Cato's bicep just a little harder than necessary. He has a tone. Like the one Seeder asked Katniss about in 11.
Cato's confused, but the president has released his grip on his arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go ask Miss Everdeen for the first dance of the evening."
"No!" It comes out involuntarily, forcefully. Shit.
Snow raises his eyebrows. "No?"
"I was hoping to dance with her first, that's all, Sir." Cato forces himself to calm down, to sound more deferential.
"Aaahh, yes, I see. Of course. You know, we don't talk much about the time before the Dark Days, but did you know, my boy, that the ancients had a marriage tradition where the father would have the first dance with his daughter at her wedding? And then after that, he would hand her off to her new husband for their first dance as a married couple. This is something like that, is it not? The mentor," he gestures toward Cato, "having his last moment with his protege before she's given over to another?" And Snow turns to look at Tony Waterford, who is talking with Katniss.
Cato feels a surge of anger and a surge of jealousy, but above all else, it's fear that washes through him.
"Well, go on then," Snow says. "Don't keep her waiting on her ginger ale."
xxxxxxxxxx
When it's time for the dancing to start, Cato takes Katniss firmly by her right elbow and leads her onto the floor.
He's going to make it clear to everyone in this room that he's laying claim.
His hand on the small of her back is possessive. He spreads his fingers, covering as much surface area as possible. He pulls her in closer than necessary. And then he places a kiss on her forehead. He can feel her surprise at his display of public affection. But he doesn't pull back. He just keeps his lips pressed to her and as he spins her slowly around the floor he glares at all of them over her head.
And then he locks eyes with Tony Waterford, who is studying him in amusement, a smirk on his face, his arms folded across his chest.
And Cato tightens his grip on her, he pulls her in even closer.
Mine he thinks. She's mine.
xxxxxxxxxx
The second they are allowed to leave he tells an Avox to summon their driver.
She's set to go home tomorrow and it's shortest night of his life. He doesn't sleep at all. Instead, he spends it propped up against his headboard with his arms around Katniss as she rests her head on his chest.
"What happened?" she asks. "To make you love me?"
He counters with a question of his own. "Why did you touch me that night after Brutus's funeral?"
"Are you just gonna ignore my question?"
"Answer mine first and I'll get to yours."
She shrugs against him. "You just looked so miserable and lonely. And I couldn't stand you, but at the funeral I saw how even though all of you from 2 stood together it was like there were these walls up between you. Like none of you could actually connect with each other because of them. And they'd been showing all of this coverage of Brutus's life and a lot of it was of you and him, and it seemed very father-son...in a fucked up way, of course." He smiles at this.
"And I thought about when my dad was killed," she continues. "How my mom just sat there like a slug. And Prim was so little. I didn't know Gale yet. I was eleven years old and I had no one. I was so scared. And so lonely. And no one offered me comfort. It was just me and Prim, clinging to each other. And so I looked at you and I thought that even you didn't deserve to go through this completely alone. So that's why I did. There. I answered your question. Now you answer mine."
Cato takes a deep breath. "I've fucked hundreds of women," he says, and Katniss tenses in his arms. "And they all have this greedy look in their eyes. They want money or status or maybe just to tell their friends they got with me, I don't know, but they objectify me just as much as I objectify them. Not one of them actually gives a shit about me. And why should they, right? I get it. I'm no better. It's not like I gave a shit about any of them either. But you...I treated you like fucking dirt. And that night it was like I looked up at you and you didn't want anything from me. You just cared, even if it was only for a few seconds. And then you said that thing about Brutus being like my father, and I felt like someone actually understood me for once. Even better than I understood myself. And so there you are this scrappy little shit. Tough as nails, rough life. But it hadn't killed whatever it was in you that made you do that for me." He shrugs. "And that was it."
She's looking up at him now. "What do you mean that was it?"
"I mean that was it. Fuck Quintus, fuck Clove, fuck the games, fuck 2. None of them cared about me, none of them understood me. But you did. Maybe it was only for a minute, but you did. And I was done for. Not even subconsciously. I flat out knew it. Done for. I couldn't even talk to you after that. I felt like a pile of mush around you. I was a fucking wreck the whole time you were in the arena. And your shoulder…" He trails off and closes his eyes at the memory of the pop and the sick look on her face when he dislocated it. He takes in a big, shaky breath, and he exhales it in four whispered syllables. "I'm so sorry."
She doesn't say it's ok. Because it wasn't and it still isn't. But she's forgiven him and he knows it. He can tell by the way she presses her forehead into his chest. So he buries his face in the hair on top of her head and lays his palm against that left shoulder.
"Stay," he says into her hair after a few minutes. "Longer. With me."
"Here in your house?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
Forever. "However long you want. Stay til you have to go back to 12 for the next Reaping Day."
He can feel her smiling into his chest. "That's like five months from now. And then I'd have to turn around and come right back here."
"That's the idea."
She's still smiling. "And I already told you I hate what you've done with the place."
"I give you free rein to change whatever you want. Knock all the walls down and gut the place."
"Cato…"
"I know," he sighs. "Your family. So then I'll have to wait til May." Jesus christ, what is he gonna do for five months? Besides have his place redecorated so that it's more to her liking.
"Maybe I'll come back for a couple weeks in like February. That's only two months. And anyway, I can call you now you know. They let me have a phone."
"Yeah ok." But he's worried. Two months is a long time. A lot can happen in two months. She could forget all about him. And he knows who's back there in 12 waiting for her.
"So your friend Gale…" he hears himself say.
"What about him?"
"He's gonna come after you." She scoffs. "Fine, don't believe me," he says. "But a guy knows when another one is after what he considers his."
She hitches her breath. But then she speaks and her voice is sad. "He's my friend Cato. My best friend. Or at least he was before the games. I can't just abandon him."
"Who said anything about abandoning him? You do what you want. I'm just warning you so you're not completely floored when he tells you he's in love with you. So you'll at least have some plan of how to react."
"I thought maybe you were gonna try to tell me I couldn't have anything to do with him."
Actually, he would love to say that, and throw in a you are mine for good measure, but he knows better. It won't do any good. She'll do what she wants regardless.
So he tightens his arms around her and mouths the word to the universe. Mine.
xxxxxxxxxx
Morning comes too soon and as Katniss dozes against him, Cato watches in dismay as the sun's rays begin to peek around the edges of his heavy black drapes.
He slips out from under her and tucks the sheets around her, and then he goes downstairs to his kitchen.
For the most part Cato can't cook, but he loves breakfast and so he's taught himself to make eggs and pancakes and homefries and bacon.
Today though he thinks he'll make french toast and sausage.
As he fries up the bread and browns the sausages, he wonders how you make hot chocolate. He's not a huge fan of it himself, so he really has no idea. But he's going to learn by February so he can have it for her when she comes to visit. He's going to have whipped cream too, he decides. And chocolate sprinkles. Maybe he will learn how to make that lamb stew she likes. And he's going to have all of his walls painted lighter colors. Maybe like white or cream or something. Yeah. That's what he'll do.
He scoops the french toast onto two plates and slathers the pieces with butter and maple syrup and he divides the sausage links up.
"How many girls have you done this for? Hundreds?"
He turns to find her in the doorway.
He shakes his head. "Just you."
"I didn't know you could cook."
"I can't really. Just breakfast. And I can grill meat. And that's about it."
She sits down at the counter and he hands her her plate and a fork.
"What is this?"
"French toast," he says.
"What does french mean?"
"I dunno. I think it must have to do with how it's prepared. How it's dipped in eggs and milk and fried."
She takes a bite and gasps. "Mmmmoooohhmygod."
Cato feels a surge of pride. "Like it?" he asks as he pours her a glass of orange juice.
"I love it," she says with her mouth full.
Cato's feeling quite smug with himself. She spent the night in his arms and now she's sitting in his kitchen and she's wearing his shirt from last night and she's having a mouthgasm over food he's made for her.
Fuck you Gale Hawthorne he thinks. Fuck you Tony Waterford.
xxxxxxxxxx
A car arrives an hour later to take her to the train.
The two of them stand across from one another in his foyer.
He hands her his very favorite button-down. His medium gray blue one that matches his eyes. He hopes she'll sleep in it every night. He hopes Gale Hawthorne will show up unusually early one day and see her in it. He hopes he will immediately realize who's shirt she's wearing.
Mine.
"I didn't…I didn't think of anything to give you," she says as she accepts it.
"It's ok."
"There's probably not anything of mine like this you love anyway."
He grins. "Well I love that little black robe but I'm pretty sure I'd rip it if I tried to put it on."
She narrows her eyes at him and then she smiles.
"What? You picturing me in that robe?"
She nods.
"You know I think your diamond necklace would look really good with it. Leave me that and your robe and I'll take a picture of myself and send it to you."
She bursts out laughing. Which was what he was aiming for.
And he loves the sound, but all of a sudden he's filled with something wild and desperate. It reminds him of the way he felt as he looked at his mother all those years ago when they came to take him to the Academy.
This time it's Cato who flings himself at Katniss. He snatches her up into his arms like a child and squeezes her to him as tightly as he can without breaking her. She squeezes back.
"It'll only be a couple months," she whispers.
He nods against her shoulder and then pulls back to look at her face. She puts her hand on his cheek and they study each other. And then she leans forward and kisses him, soft and tender.
"Good-bye," she whispers.
"Bye." He sets her down and watches her walk out.
With every step she takes it feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. And when the front door closes behind her he's pretty sure his favorite shirt isn't the only thing of his she's taken with her.
xxxxxxxxxx
After she leaves, he goes to his living room and pulls up the footage of the tour. He'll just sit here for a while and watch, he decides. So he can keep looking at her. Maybe it'll feel like she hasn't left yet.
He's not surprised at the heavy editing of 11. They only show the crowd cheering for her and there's no trace of 12's traditional salute.
The footage continues for a couple more hours, as they show 10 through 3.
And then they show 2. This...this he doesn't want to see. So he lifts the remote to fast forward through it when all of a sudden the crowd erupts into wild cheers. His hand freezes on the remote.
What the hell?
They didn't cheer like that. They turned their backs. He knows. He was there. He watches as she gives her speech and they clap and whistle and look up at her in awe, with reverent smiles on their faces.
They show the line of the other Victors from 2, seated on one side of the stage. They're grinning with pride, laughing and making asides to each other, their eyes fixed toward the front of the podium, toward Katniss's back. The camera never lingers for long on them, but as they do a close up of Linus, the suit of the Victor sitting next to him catches Cato's eye. It's only part of a shoulder and an arm, there's no face on the screen, but Cato knows that gray suit. It's his suit. Because that's his shoulder and arm.
He rewinds the footage and each time they show the stage he looks for Alec, but he's not there.
Because on the day that footage was actually recorded, he was at the podium. It was his Victory tour.
Of course. The Capitol doctored the coverage of 2. They took snippets and leftover, unused video footage from Alec's victory tour and they threw Katniss's speech in there.
Cato had thought of 2's behavior to him and Katniss that day as an act of disrespect intended solely for the two of them. But now he realizes that whether or not they meant to, the people of 2 defied the president that day. And Snow can't have the whole of Panem witnessing 2's outright defiance.
There's a rustle and a footstep to his right. For a split second he thinks maybe it's Katniss and he's elated. Maybe she's come back because she can't stand to leave him and she's going to move in with him.
But it's not Katniss.
It's a group of Peacekeepers. Five of them.
"Hello Mr. Hadley," one of them says. "We need you to come with us."
What the fuck? He rises from the couch slowly. "Why?"
"It will be explained to you very soon."
This can't be good. He folds his arms. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me where I'm going and why."
"Sir, this is not an invitation."
"Fuck you." And he sits back down on his couch in defiance.
From his peripheral vision, he can see them glancing at one another as if trying to decide what to do, and then one of them raises his tranq gun.
Cato whips his head back toward them just as the dart hits him in the neck with a sting.
Oh fuck these assholes. He's up and leaping over the side of the couch and he's got his hands around the throat of the Peacekeeper who just shot him.
He feels another sting in his neck. And another.
And then everything goes black.