"Not only will I face death, it's sure to be a long and painful one at Cato's hand."
—The Hunger Games, pg. 223
Convergence
Chapter Twenty-One
It only takes one person to reexamine who they are before you find yourself doing the same.
::
It strikes her suddenly that night as she's about to fall asleep. Unexpected and damningly fast, she's not even sure how the notion had been given enough room to grow. Tucked up in her bed and with the drowsy pull of sleep tugging in earnest to drag her under, the thought stoles away into her mind.
There was no act with him. Not from her.
What did that mean?
The Games had changed her, this much was true. She knows it, her family knows it, any of the few people close to her can recognize the difference. Gale, the one person who used to know her better than she knew herself, can sense that something's not quite right. But even he can't pinpoint every change and know the full extent of damage done to her after emerging from the arena.
Katniss cannot be Katniss, since the person she is now has changed too much from the person that she was. And she doesn't trust the person she's become—it's too unpredictable. But everyone has roles to play and she fills the ones she has as best she can in order to go on living. Mrs. Everdeen needs a daughter, Prim wants a sister, and Gale asks for his friend, so she makes them all happy by playing the parts she did before. Having Cato around after the completion of the Games isn't ideal for this way of coping, but it turns out to be easy to fit him into the same kind of mold she uses to deal with all the other people in her life. Having only ever seen her as his enemy, she has no problem thinking the same of him. She knows where she stands with him, and he with her. It is only another part to play, and it is one she knows all the lines to.
Until today.
She told Cato that winning has changed her. It's the truth. It's also not much of a secret for those who love her. However, unwilling to push Katniss to face what she isn't ready to accept, her family and friends leave it alone as something that goes mostly unsaid. Only Prim has dared to breach this boundary, but it had been Prim who had said it, not her sister. Katniss has tried so hard to avoid admitting it, for admitting it will give it life. But when she inevitably does, of all the people she could have said it to, it ends up being to him.
She has only begun to recognize that any kind of life built upon such fragile foundation will always come tumbling down. It only takes one person to create a crack, and then just look how the rest will fall.
For slowly, with every meeting they've had and all the time spent together, things are starting to shift. The way she has been living her life—afraid to see what the Games have altered about her fundamental self—cannot last. The roles they've played together cannot last. For the thought that follows her to sleep, the thought that tiptoes in the night, the thought that flares brightly through her mind, is this:
Cato is changing, and she is changing with him.
She doesn't even know if he realizes it yet.
She has seen little signs of it, springing up here and there and disappearing before she can get close enough to realize what they were. Katniss has been holding pieces of the puzzle in her hands for all this time, collecting them as she goes just to see how it'll all fit. The answer may still be forming, but it has formed enough for her to realize this much. If he is changing, then who is he changing into?
More importantly, who is she?
Haymitch can see the change too, and it drives him to keep Katniss away from Cato. All his years of experience have warned him against Careers, for he has seen too many in his time to ever believe one has the ability to change. So he keeps his watchful eyes turned toward the ex-Career, anticipating a clever trick of masks and pretty lies that he wants nothing more than to protect Katniss from. It stands to reason that he might have been right had this particular Career remained in his home District. And then again, maybe not. For what Haymitch sees as a lie, Katniss is beginning to see as a possibility.
If he changes from something other than adversary, what place would he then hold in her life? He has always been Cato, the enemy. Who will he become, if not someone to be hated?
Who could he become?
All of this flashes through her mind, once last surge of brilliance darting through her brain like tiny fragments of light. All possibilities, stemming from the simple chance of change.
But like all thoughts born upon the cusp of sleep, they fade away as quickly as they appear. Katniss falls asleep, her last thoughts of Cato and all that goes with him, and later wakes up with no memory of having thought it at all.
But it has not been for nothing.
She might have lost the memory, but she hasn't lost the seeds. They remain tucked away in the corners of her mind for safe keeping and slowly continue to grow. One day, they will bloom.
Katniss is changing, and he is changing with her.
She just doesn't realize it yet.
::
"President Snow wants me to come and see him."
Finnick goes very still. He is sitting at his desk, across the room from where Peeta stands. There are a bunch of books scattered across the surface of the desk, a mishmash of text and print. Mixed in among the books are various magazines tossed this way and that. Most of them are open to odd pages; the occasional one dog-eared for later. It's difficult to see the titles, but one or two can be spotted amidst the mess, such as Panem Pop!, Glam Girls, and Rising Stars.
This isn't the first time Peeta has found a trashy magazine collection in Finnick's possession. The vapid titles are a popular source of entertainment in the Capitol, though the outlying Districts judge them to be frivolous and shallow. It didn't take Peeta long to discover how many Panem citizens rush to read the latest edition in order to stay on top of their fashion game. Many of the popular magazines give weekly rankings to rising Capitol stars, and in doing so, help give them further celebrity status.
Finnick, who spends most of his time posing as a just another Capitol peacock, isn't much different from all the other celebrities who clamber to buy the latest magazine release. Anyone who is anybody reads them, but only the most famous are actually featured within the magazines. Finnick himself has already been featured several times in various magazine titles, occasionally even gracing the front cover.
It wouldn't surprise most of Panem that the District 4 victor would read this kind of magazine, given his well-known reputation. It's only shocking to those who knew Finnick beyond his fabricated public personality to believe he would choose to read such garbage on his own private time. The first time he spotted Finnick flipping through the pages of Panem Pop!, Peeta laughed openly at him. Finnick simply saved his spot in the magazine and leveled the other boy with such a haughty stare that immediately caused Peeta to shut up.
"You think it's funny that I'm reading this?" Finnick had asked him that day. "You have to use your brain in order to survive around here. Think as to why."
Peeta learned then, as he continues to do every day, that Finnick does nothing without reason. Every move he makes, party he attends, person he beds, all of it is done under careful calculation. The District 4 victor is playing a dangerous game, and it is one he refuses to lose.
Finnick doesn't place value in money—his currency lies elsewhere. Money, though valuable, will not get him where he needs to be. So instead, Finnick trades in secrets.
In the superficial world of the Capitol, there is no one better to know the best secrets than the biggest stars. Finnick makes sure the brightest of them all are very well acquainted with him, choosing who would be worth his efforts with the precision of a surgeon. He uses the magazines, one tool of many at his disposable, to track those would could prove most valuable to the rebellion. He pleases them and praises them and then makes off with the biggest bounty of all—knowledge.
But Finnick knows better than anyone that all of his careful planning and personal sacrifices will amount to nothing should Snow find evidence against him. He's not stupid enough to believe Snow doesn't have his suspicions, but with nothing tangible to hold over his head, Snow can't touch him (yet). He, along with other victors, place themselves at risk every day. They've been working tirelessly to help the growing rebellion, with only a few of their top agents having the ability to slip information to their secret ally. Peeta has been sworn to secrecy, but even he doesn't know the identity of their patron.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," Peeta says defensively. "I've done everything you've said to do since that night at the party."
Finnick turns around in his chair, placing down the magazine he had been reading. He meets Peeta's worried stare with a frown. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Peeta, are you sure?"
"Dammit, Finnick. Panem thinks you've taken me on as your student. I haven't given anyone any reason to doubt me."
But Finnick did doubt him. He's been suspicious of the new victor from the start, not trusting the way Snow has separated him from the other two victors. He only took him under his wing in order to figure out if Peeta was a mole, placed amongst the other victors but secretly working for Snow. But as the weeks passed, nothing revealed that Peeta was anything more than he what he said he was: a lonely and confused new victor. So Finnick decided to keep him close, slipping him small pieces of inconsequential rebellion information as a test to his loyalty, but despite his doubts, Peeta continued to pass each time. He has only just started to trust Peeta and consider the possibility that he may not actually be involved with Snow, and now this happens.
The older victor looks at Peeta for a long moment before deciding that he is telling the truth, at least at the moment. Everything about this makes him uneasy. "Maybe he's checking in on you? Snow used to do that with me after I won my Games."
"He's done that with me too. But I'm not sure what he wants now."
"Whatever it is, be careful," Finnick says. He gestures towards the magazines and books splayed across the table. "I've done too much to have this all fail now. Too much depends on what we're doing, what some of the other victors are doing."
"I won't let anyone down."
"You better not," Finnick urges, his eyes steely. "You better be prepared to bullshit."
::
And bullshit Peeta does.
"My, my, Mr. Mellark. I was under the impression the last time we spoke that a certain girl meant so much more to you." President Snow sits across from him in his office, hands folded together and his expression scolding. "How very wrong I was with that."
"I'm sorry, President Snow. I don't understand what you mean. Katniss is everything to me."
"Don't lie," Snow says tartly. "I can tell when you do."
Peeta refuses to yield. "I apologize, but I really don't know."
"Obstinate boy."
"Sir?"
"If you continue playing the fool, you'll not like where it gets you. Or, say, others. Are you still going to claim innocence?"
Peeta looks President Snow steadily in the eyes. "Yes."
"I find that very hard to believe, Mr. Mellark."
"What can I do to make you?"
"You can start with telling me the truth. I have people everywhere in this nation, and especially in this Capitol." President Snow leans forward slightly, and Peeta can catch a whiff of roses as he does. "It's been brought to my attention that you've been spending an awful amount of time with Mr. Odair."
"Is there something wrong with that? Many victors spend time together. Something about winning the Games seems to form a strong sort of connection."
"No, nothing wrong per say," President Snow says, drawing his words out and heightening the tension between them, "It's more a matter of how you've spending your time."
"Whoever brought to your attention that Finnick and I are friends must have also told you that we usually just go to parties together and entertain guests. I don't see anything wrong with that, sir."
"Ah, yes. Nothing wrong with that at all," the older man repeats, softly mocking.
"Do you always question victors in their choice of friends?"
"Only when they deserve questioning."
"Finnick is one of the most popular victors in the entire country. I doubt most people would agree with you that he's someone who has to be watched in the way you're implying."
"And what is it I'm implying, Mr. Mellark?" Snow's top lip curls up into a semi-smile, missing nothing. He continues to push, not backing down. "I'm most interested to hear what thought jumped into the forefront of your mind. Tell me."
"That maybe Finnick's, um, particular friendliness with people would encourage me to do the same?" Peeta lies smoothly, picking the first falsehood that comes to him. "If that's the case, don't worry, sir. I'd never cheat on Katniss."
"If only that were it, Mr. Mellark. The Capitol already loves you. I'd do nothing but incur their regard if I could only give you to them in the same manner I gave Mr. Odair years ago," President Snow says, his words light but their meaning wicked. "Mr. Odair may want everyone to think his thoughts are as pretty and vacant as his face, but I know better than that. As I'm sure do you."
"Finnick and I just attend parties together. He's fun to have as a friend, but his real self is nothing more than a flirt. I've never seen signs of him being anything other than that."
"Tell me, does it sound convincing to you when you say that? Because it doesn't to me."
"I'm not sure who would ever think that Finnick could be something other than a playboy," Peeta says carefully, "But playboy or not, he's been a good friend to me. Hanging out with him makes me miss home less than I would without him."
Snow's hands flex as if he'd love to wrap them around Peeta's neck. He maintains his placid demeanor, though his brow is furrowed and face spiteful. "I'm just trying to do you a favor, Mr. Mellark, and warn you against encouraging Mr. Odair's attention. It would be wise to listen."
"If he is someone as dangerous as you say, then show me the proof," Peeta says. His voice doesn't betray his thoughts, but internally his heart is beating faster than it should and there's sweat gathering on his palms. He knows Snow will never believe him, so he makes the only move he can. "I'll have no choice then but to listen."
The older man stares for a long moment at Peeta, his mouth twisted in disdain. He takes a breath too long to answer, giving Peeta the answer he needs. Without proof, Snow has nothing. Peeta knows that Finnick, who is already well aware Snow doesn't trust him, will be relieved to hear it.
"Exactly," Peeta says, triumphant. "You don't have proof since there is none. It's all just an innocent misunderstanding."
President Snow's expression is ugly. "You are many things, Mr. Mellark, but innocent is not one of them. Neither is stupid. You may play as dumb as you want, but you're convincing no one in this room of it. We both know what is going on here." He leans forward again, using his sheer presence to crowd Peeta. "Don't you wish to know why I've brought you here to the Capitol?"
The words cause a chill to stir deep within his veins. "I thought it was to perform the duties of a victor?"
"Yes, indeed," Snow says softly. "And we both know that victors love and support their Capitol, do we not?"
"I do."
"And for the sake of the Capitol, any victor who is worthy of the title would do everything in his power to protect the country's best interests, am I right?"
"Of course."
"And if it were to be found out, hypothetically of course, that a victor is withholding information that would go against his Capitol, and thus his country, do you know what I think would happen then?"
Peeta's expression doesn't change. "What would that be?"
"I think that the victor should be worried about what would happen to his loved ones, his family, his District. Especially if this victor had someone special in his life, let's say, a fiery girl who has her own issues with the rules?"
"And just what would happen to them?"
"Nothing that they would be able to walk away from."
Peeta swallows hard, his fingernails digging into the fabric of his jeans from where he presses them against his knees. President Snow's eyes gleam with malice. "Do you think that their lives are worth the cost of protecting someone else? A practical stranger, who uses lies and deceit to get what he needs?"
For the first time since meeting with Snow, Peeta can't come up with an answer.
"It doesn't seem worth it to me, now does it? Especially when this stranger would not do the same for you. You only need to do the right thing, my dear boy, and help me bring this particular stranger to the justice he has coming to him," Snow urges persuasively.
"This is all hypothetically, sir?" Peeta finally answers, unable to put off withholding a response any longer.
"Hypothetically, yes. For now," Snow says, his words nowhere close to comforting. "Are you sure there's nothing you wish to tell me about your friend, the charming Mr. Odair?"
::
Later, after Peeta emerges from his meeting with Snow, he finds his way back to Finnick's room. Upon being asked if they had anything to worry about, Peeta would look the older boy straight in the face and say, "No. Nothing at all."
::
The next day starts off with the promise of good things to come. Katniss wakes up with the lingering feeling as if she's had a pleasant dream, despite not being able to remember anything about it. The blankets she's snuggled under are warm and soft, and there's the smell of food cooking in the kitchen that makes the house feel downright cozy.
Thought she doesn't know where it comes from, Katniss wakes up with an unacknowledged desire for change.
After the dramatics of yesterday, there's a feeling instilled within her that quietly urges for action instead of the familiar stagnancy. Today, the urge prompts, can be a day to forget about everything she's done wrong and focus on getting some things right. There's those who would argue she's done plenty of things right, but Katniss isn't the type of person who can generally see that. It's too hard, sometimes, to see past the wrong.
The tour may be starting sooner than expected, and Katniss may be leaving quicker than she planned, but there's still time to set certain things right.
Mrs. Everdeen and Prim are already gone by the time she heads downstairs, so Katniss spends most of her morning into mid-afternoon in peaceful solitude. Her family is busy attending to a patient in the far part of town, and she doesn't expect to see either one of them for most of the day. Unable to do anything that didn't require constant vigilance, she can't even sit still in her free time. Katniss takes it upon herself to do chores around the house, and even begins to collect firewood in preparation for the coming autumn. The Victory Tour can run at variable lengths, all depending on how long Snow wanted to keep his victor on parade. All in all, it made it difficult to figure out as to when she'll be able to come back home. Worried she won't be around to help keep her family warm when the weather turns, Katniss builds their woodpile with earnest determination.
It's well into midday when she finally puts down her father's old axe. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Katniss heads back inside the house to shower and change before her family gets home for dinner. She isn't expecting one of the two to be already inside the house when she walks through the door.
"Prim?"
Katniss's younger sister looks up from her work. There's various herbs sprawled out in front of her, and Prim appears to have been reading from a list. "Oh, hi Katniss."
"You're home early. Where's Mom?"
"She's still with our patient, trying to get her broken wrist sorted out. It's a worse break than it looked at first."
"So what are you doing back here? Shouldn't she need your help if it's that bad?"
"It's a broken bone. Mom has it covered. Besides," Prim gestures to the herbs and vials of random medicines that litter the tabletop, "I need to get started on the medicine we use for the pain. It has to sit for at least eight hours to do any good, and that's only after everything is mixed together. It's better if I got started on it now than wait another couple of hours to come home and then start."
"Makes sense," Katniss agrees. "I'm going to take a quick shower, but let me know if you leave before I'm done."
"Okay," Prim says, her attention already focused back onto her work. She reaches over to a random vial, consults the label, and then dumps it into the mixing bowl. "Sounds good."
::
The warm water feels divine against the stretch of her skin. It washes away all of the day's sweat and grime, leaving her body clean. Katniss takes a longer shower than she planned on, but Prim is still there at the table when she emerges from the bathroom.
"I figured you'd be gone by now," Katniss says, her voice causing her sister to jump slightly. "Hard at work?"
"Katniss! I didn't hear you come in," Prim answers, somewhat frazzled. "You barely make any noise when you walk."
"You're not the first person to say that," she tells her sister wryly. "How's that concoction of yours coming along?" Katniss crosses the room, placing her dirty clothes and used towels in the laundry bin Mrs. Everdeen stores in one of the closets. She keeps one towel, using it to dry her hair.
"I'm almost done with it."
"That's good."
Comfortable silence slips into the room between the two sisters. Katniss takes a seat at the table, hanging the used towel across the back of an empty chair, and begins to work a comb through her wet hair. Prim, still consulting the list Katniss spotted when she first entered the house, mostly ignores her sister in effort to get the mixture done. She reaches for the final herb, placing it in the bowl, and then mixes it all together.
"I think that should be it."
"All done?"
"Yeah."
Katniss eyes the mess of vials and unused herbs scattered across the table, taking in the runny mess that coats her sister's hands from where she mashed together ingredients. "You're going to stink with that stuff on your hands. Isn't there a better way to mix it together?"
Prim sticks her tongue out from where she sits. "Well, you were pretty stinky yourself when you first came in the house. What were you doing anyway?"
"Working on the woodpile."
"The woodpile? Katniss, it's only September."
"I know. I want to be ready though, just in case I'm not home when it starts to get cold."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"You're always looking out for us, aren't you?"
The older girl studies the blonde, trying to determine if she placed any hidden meaning on the words. "Of course. You're my family. If I don't, who will?"
"I like to think that we can look out for each other together," Prim says hesitantly, unsure of her sister's reaction. "It's not fair if it's all on you."
"Prim, I—" Katniss begins to say, but then changes her mind. "You know, we never talked about what happened after we last fought."
Prim stiffens almost instantly. "Why are you bringing this up?"
"We never had a chance to talk about it, not with everything that happened with the Peacekeeper and Cato and—well, you know that already. But I wanted to talk about it, you know? I didn't want you to think I was ignoring what you said to me."
"I shouldn't have said anything like that to you," Prim says. Her expression carries the weight of guilt and some small form of self-loathing. "I called you a liar. I yelled at you."
"I deserved it."
"No, you didn't. You've done so much for us, especially for me. I should have realized what kind of effect bringing it up would have on you before I said what I did."
"But you were right with what you said."
"Katniss, you don't have to say that."
"No, let me. It's about time that I did," Katniss insists. The words she said only the day before come swimming up her throat, fighting to keep themselves lodged. Normally she would let them, for saying that loud out would only hurt more than it does to keep them inside. But ignoring something will not make it any less true, no matter how thoroughly she tried to convince herself.
"You were right when you told me a couple of weeks ago that I've...changed," The words fight her until the very end, but Katniss forces them out and leaves herself exposed. "I have changed."
The words hang between the two sisters. Prim looks at the older girl with something akin to wonder, while Katniss is left feeling surprised. Saying it out loud was actually easier than she thought it would be. Perhaps admitting it yesterday, calling herself out to Cato, had made it easier to stomach a second time?
"I'm still trying to figure out what that means. It scares me sometimes."
"You're allowed to be scared, Katniss," Prim says softly.
"Am I?"
"You're not alone anymore. We're here for you, like you've always been there for us."
"Prim—" Katniss begins to say, and then cuts herself off. She is happy she is able to open up to her sister for the first time in what feels to be a very long while. But feelings are tough, and expressing them are even tougher.
"You don't have to promise me anything," Prim says, filling the emotionally packed silence with sincerity. "But I want you to know you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not anymore. That it's okay with us, you know?"
"I know," Katniss answers, and then gives her a small, hesitant smile. Prim returns it instantly, her own hopeful.
There's something between the two of them that relaxes immediately following this conversation, a rift the two sisters weren't fully aware existed until this point. It loosens, as if exhaling in one big sigh, and the unknown tension that's been there since the Games starts to smooth itself out.
"What are you going to do now?" The younger girl asks, and then rushes to specify what she means. "With the rest of the day. I think we're good on wood for a while."
"I think so too. And I'm not sure. What about you?"
"Clean this up before Mom gets home," Prim gestures towards the medical herbs and vials arranged on the surface of the table. "I pulled out almost our entire stock of supplies. No matter what jar I need, it always seems to be in the back of the cabinet."
"Isn't that how it usually goes?" Katniss asks. She begins to braid her damp hair, her fingers mindlessly working the strands into the familiar pattern. "What do you use that one for?" She nods her head towards a blue vial on Prim's right.
"Oh that?" Prim picks up the vial, inspecting it. "It's a type of root mixture. We use it for helping with stomachaches."
"And that one?"
The younger girl looks at the indicated clear jar. "Helps with labor pains."
"What about that one?"
"This one?" Prim looks at the vial Katniss has redirected her attention to. "Hm, I'm not actually sure." She reaches for the vial, popping open the lid, and looks inside. "Oh, it's Cato's pills."
Katniss looks curiously at her sister and the vial she holds. "His pills? Weren't they in a different container?"
"Yes, but Mom put them in here instead. She didn't want any trouble if a Peacekeeper came around and saw we had someone else's medication. We know Snow is just looking for a reason to bring us trouble."
"Can't hurt to be careful," Katniss says, agreeing whole-heartedly. "Did you guys get a chance to look at it and see if there's anything weird going on?"
"No, not yet. We weren't expecting the accident that caused the broken wrist down at the mines today," Prim says, putting the vial back on the table. She looks for where she put the lid amongst the mess of ingredients strewed across the wood surface.
Katniss reaches the end of her braid, tucking the final pieces of hair into place. She pulls at the hair tie that she keeps around her wrist, ready to wrap it around the end of the braid. The cheap rubber, having been used frequently and now worn out, breaks under the force. The rubber snaps out of her hands and proceeds to fling itself across the room.
The snapping! noise the hair tie makes, as well as the unexpected launch from one side of the kitchen to the other, makes Prim jump as it whizzes by. While Katniss swears from the sting left behind on her wrist from the broken rubber, the startled younger Everdeen jerks up from where she sits, her knees knocking against the table. The collection of jars and vials jump as well, the force of Prim's impact causing some vials to tip over or roll off the table all together.
"Dammit, I'm sorry Prim. Are you okay?" Katniss asks, rubbing the red spot left behind on her wrist. The hair she just braided falls loose around her face without the tie to hold it in place.
"Yeah, it surprised me," Prim says, looking at the mess of vials and jars. Katniss gets up and begins to walk towards her sister, but stumbles forward slightly before she's halfway to the other side. "Did you trip?"
"I stepped on some of the ones that hit the floor. Which pills are these?"
Prim looks at the vial that's now sporting a wicked crack down the middle.
"I think they're Cato's."
::
Hours earlier, roughly around the time Katniss wakes up safe in her own bed, Cato lays awake in his.
For the most part, the night prior had ended on a surprisingly good note. He had wondered if he'd regret accepting Everdeen's offer after he left their house, but no such feelings have surfaced so far. He has more poultice for his arm, in addition to Mrs. Everdeen and her daughter's promise to look into ways to help it heal further.
All in all, besides the glaring discomfort of giving up his last bottle of pills to them, it has been a decent night. Cato returns home, stomach full of delicious cake, and walks into his bedroom. Changing into more comfortable clothing, he treats his arm with the smelly medicine one last time before settling down to sleep for the rest of the night.
He gets an hour, maybe two, of rest. And then he wakes up to a strong burst of pain that's starting to build within the walls of his skull. Cato tries to push the pain away, burying it deep within his mind where it can't come out and hurt him. That only works for a little while.
The headache only grows.
Over the dark course of the night, Cato tries everything he can to make the pain in his head lessen. Nothing works. He rolls this way and that, tries sleeping on his stomach instead of his back, and, at one point of pure frustration, even puts his pillow over his head.
The first light of morning reaches across the sky with sluggish fingers, and he has not slept for most of the night.
"This fucking sucks," he curses out loud, as if saying it will make him feel better. Giving up on sleep, Cato sits up in his bed. The disjointed lines of empty pill bottles that cover much of the room mock him, as if by being empty they've done him a personal wrong.
Looking at empty bottles does him no good. He leaves his room, heading for a different part of the house. The rest of the morning rolls on, the pain of the headache getting worse with each passing hour. Cato has always taken the painkillers by this point within a headache's progression. He has never tried to go so long without taking any medication for the pain, especially when headaches tended to start only hours apart from one another. The headaches hadn't been spaced so closely together in the beginning, at least not right after the Games, but the passing weeks have found the time between the pain becoming less and less.
It is around noonish when Clove makes her unwelcomed appearance. She is leaning against the wall, watching him as he rubs his fingers against the sides of his throbbing skull.
"Looks like someone is having a good day."
"Fuck you, Clove." Cato doesn't even bother to look up.
"Sorry, not interested then and not interested now," the shade teases. She is flickering in and out from where she leans, but her expression remains haughty. "Why don't you just take one of your pills if you're in so much pain?"
Cato refuses to answer, but that doesn't deter her.
"Oh, that's right," Clove says, tone jovial. "You can't because you were stupid enough to give away your last bottle."
Cato gets up from his place on the sofa and walks past the taunting ghost. He runs a cloth under the faucet water and returns to lie back down, placing the cloth over his head. Clove tuts, as if amused by what she sees.
"Do you really think that's going to help you? Like seriously, did you think like oh gee, things will be fine now because I've got this damp towel to put on my head? The damp towel will stop the pain, my life worries are over? Now I'm cured?"
The District 2 victor rolls onto his side and away from her. His only sign of acknowledgment to what she says is a quick flip of the bird.
Clove cackles. Her non-corporeal body continues to become clearer, as if solidifying with each passing hour. She flickers much less than before.
The headache grows from bad to worse, finally settling on horrific. Cato feels as if his brain is going to explode from within the confines of his skull. He wants to storm over to the Everdeen house right now and demand his pills back because he can't take much more of this. Unfortunately, though he won't admit it to Clove, he's not sure if he'd be able to make the short walk to the Everdeen house that's necessary in order to do so.
Cato opens his eyes, his vision unsteady and twofold from the pain in his head. Clammy sweat has broken out across his skin, and the way his body shakes is reminisce of a Morphling addict who hasn't gotten their fix.
He gathers the strength to haul himself off the sofa and make his way back into his bedroom. Clove follows close behind, her laughter causing the extreme pain in his head to spike each time she opens her mouth. He goes to his wall of empty pill containers and begins to pull off the lids, searching for any pill he might have missed before. There are none.
Defeated, Cato slumps and then slides down the wall, meeting the bedroom floor with an ungraceful thud. There are no more pills left, and the pain is bad enough to cause spots on his vision. It won't be long until he passes out, or worse, and the thought gives him some relief.
"Pain, pain, go away. Come plague Cato another day," Clove sings shrilly to herself. She repeats the little ditty several times as the boy sitting slumped on the floor watches her with hateful eyes. She tosses him a clever smile, and even under his affected vision, her image has never been clearer.
"If you ask me," Clove says nastily, "I think the pain's here to stay."
He doesn't have the energy left to answer. Instead, he turns his head away from the haunting ghoul and focuses on anything else. His eyes land again on the wall of pills that decorate the space behind his bed. From where he sits on the floor, he spots a single bottle that is different than the others. Laying on its side at the far end, it has been missed in his previous investigation.
Cato gathers whatever force of will he has left and uses it to make his body do as he bids it. Grateful there's no one around except for a shade who refuses to leave him alone, Cato literally crawls across the room to reach the pill bottle. He reaches up for it with a shaking hand and knocks it down from its perch. The clack! of pills rattling around on the inside of the bottle is a welcomed sound to his ears. Finally, he can get some relief from this awful pain.
He opens the bottle of pills and looks inside. Larger pills than what he usually takes shift around within the container, his trembling hand causing them to rattle around again. The pills are a brighter, more sickening shade of neon green.
These are the pills that Brutus brought to him several weeks ago.
Brutus had told him to use them only for his 'really bad days.' If this doesn't count as one, he's not sure what else would. Cato barely hesitates as he dumps some of the pills into his sweaty palm and then shoves them into his eager mouth. Pain is a powerful motivator. He takes four pills instead of the normal two, and only realizes afterward these are actually stronger than his old pills. A 'higher dosage,' Brutus had said. If it could help control the pain, Cato can't bring himself to actually care what they are.
The medication works fast. Within minutes, Cato can feel the pain begin to soften and recede. The large spot it took up inside his mind is shrinking. Clove must sense it too, given the way she looks at him. He expects to see her upset now that her fun's been foiled, but instead she is wearing a grin so wide it looks as if it could tear her face in two.
"District 2, looking out for their own as always," Clove boasts, words like honey. "Even though you're ex-District 2 now, it's more than what I can say about District 12."
"District 2 wants nothing to do with me," Cato hisses, his hand again at his temples. "At least the Everdeens care enough to try and help."
"At least the Everdeens care enough...blah!" Clove repeats, sickened. "Do you even realize the shit you're driveling now? The Everdeens are the ones who took away your pills!"
"They were..." Cato pauses, trying to keep his train of thought in line. The soothing effect of the pills is dulling the pain, but it is starting to feel as if it's dulling other things as well. The pain is receding, but so is the ability to think straight. "They were trying to...help me. "
"Some help they did you," she scoffs, clearly unimpressed. "Leaving you without anything when your headaches started. They knew you were going to be in pain, but do you think they gave a shit? No!"
The pills are making a muddle of his mind, he reasons to himself. Since when are thoughts so difficult to hold on to? Maybe he shouldn't have taken so many of Brutus's pills.
He'll question later if he should have taken any at all.
[here's a hint—probably not].
"They pretend they care, but that's only because they're afraid of you," Clove continues, undaunted by his lack of response. "I've been trying to tell you that all along, if you've only listened to me."
The pain has almost completely disappeared from his brain, pulling itself back inside whatever box it came from. In the empty place it leaves behind, there's something else beginning to grow. The new feeling begins to seep across his mind, digging itself into familiar thresholds, and Cato realizes it's not very new at all. Instead, it's only the first time it's been given such free reign over his mind.
He knows this feeling very well, almost as well as the pain. The two seem to go hand in hand, after all.
The feeling is anger.
Pure rage.
It's enough to drag him to his feet. Cato stands up from his position on the floor and takes an uncertain step towards Clove. She doles out another sharp smirk, encouraging him to approach her further.
"I mean, did you see where their help has left you?" Clove rants. She beckons him closer with a swipe of her hand, but something in him still hesitates. Clove gives him a dirty scowl, but remains relativity unperturbed. To his unsteady eye, she appears to be more determined than ever. Clove takes to pacing across the bedroom floor, leaving behind slimy, green footprints in her wake. Her image, moments ago so clear, is twisting now, distorted. "Can you even realize what the Everdeens sugarcoat as help actually is? Can you see the extent of their caring?"
Clove's words pick away, knowing exactly where to strike.
"They left you to crawl across the floor like a dog," the shade oozes. Her features have begun to run together, but he can still make out her eyes. Cato didn't remember Clove having green eyes, but the neon green irises glow eerily bright nonetheless.
"Are you a dog, Cato?"
His pride flares up immediately upon being poked. "No."
"Then why let yourself get treated like one?"
Cato shakes his head, trying to clear it. To focus. His temper is pushing past any rational thought, flooding his mind in a way Clove has always seemed to encourage. He feels the way he did that day on the porch with the Peacekeeper, the day he hacked off the man's arm and nearly killed him.
Clove always has chosen her words in a way that would anger him the most, using the right combination to get him to flip his shit in the most violent way she can. He always thought she was only doing it to be annoying, but he realizes there's actually more to it than that. She wasn't hoping for him to lose his temper, she was counting on it. But it's much too late for that now.
It's much too late for many things.
"It's sad to see what's become of you." Clove finally stops her pacing and looks him dead in the face. "All because of that girl." She gives him a look of calculated pity. "It's always been because of that girl."
Anger has fully replaced pain in beating against the walls of his skull. Fury wails its horrid song inside his brain, and it's screaming for her blood. Nothing seems as important right now than doing what he promised himself to do from the start.
"Kill...her?" he asks, and Clove narrows her eyes at the slight uncertainty he still shows. She decides to be merciful this time and lets it go. Hesitancy or not, she knows she has him. Finally, finally has him, despite her other failed attempts.
"Yes, that's it," Clove says. She steps closer to him, bridging the gap between them. "That's exactly it. You've got it now."
Cato stares straight ahead with unseeing eyes and allows Clove to drape herself all over him. She molds her body against his, as if she'd like nothing more than to melt into it. She continues to do what she has done from the very start: fuel his anger and unleash his rage.
"Time for Katniss Everdeen to die."
::
The green pills are scattered across the floor. The broken vial lays forgotten amidst the mess.
Pills crunch beneath her bare feet, and Katniss takes a step back to look at the several she's accidentally crushed. One of them has broken in half from the force of her foot, cracked straight down the middle. She bends down and picks the pill up from where it fell, grasping it tightly between her fingers. Katniss holds both halves of the pill in her hand, studying it with mild curiosity. There is some kind of liquid oozing out from the broken middle, the color a more noxious shade of green than the paler exterior of the pill.
Prim stands up from her chair, preparing to clean up the mess. Katniss tentatively reaches out and dabs at the green ooze with her finger. The sensation that rushes across her skin from the contact is instantaneous, and there is only one thing in all of Panem that can cause such a reaction.
"Prim, don't touch them!"
The younger girl stops immediately, but her expression is surprised. "What is it?"
"It's these pills. What's in them." She drops the broken pill from her hand as if it's burned her, watching it hatefully as it falls again to the ground. "They're not painkillers at all." Her sister tilts her head in confusion, not understanding, and Katniss doesn't expect her to. Not in the way everything has crystallized for her. The scattered pills glitter innocently across the tile floor, but Katniss knows them for what they are.
"It's tracker jacker venom."
::
This fic is now halfway complete.
The last scene of this chapter is actually one of the original four scenes this story has been based around. Most of the plot/sub-plots written in the last twenty chapters were largely created to lead up to this.
My thanks for the overwhelming amount of feedback left for the last chapter. I honestly wasn't expecting so much after not updating for months, and it made me incredibly happy to know this story still has its readers. It's really thanks to you guys that I had the motivation to write this chapter up so quickly.