Chapter 26: Telling Cato Anyway

After Saturday training, we walk home, just the boys and me. When we get to my house, we're freezing and snow-covered, but it's worth it to spend the time with just them. Cato and I play-wrestle on the floor, honing skills and maneuvers we already know, preparing him for accelerated training. After dinner, because we didn't help cook, we're charged with dishwashing, which is good. Our parents and Caleb go sit down to listen to my mom play the piano and between that and the sounds of the dishes clinking around in the basin, I have enough cover to talk to him.

But I can't very well just blurt it out here, can I? It'd mess with his mood and even if he were to hide it so well that our parents didn't notice, Caleb would. "I need to talk to you," I tell him quietly, dunking the plate I'm washing in the water to rinse it off.

"And now's not a good time?" he guesses.

"No. You up for a hike tomorrow?"

"Sure. Have you talked to my brother?"

"Not yet. But it's kind of a . . . the subject runs along the lines of Chicken Killing Day."

He looks at me, setting down the teacup he was washing. "Ignorance won't protect him, you know?"

I set the plate down too quickly and it wobbles on the counter, betraying the slight annoyance I feel at his words. To attempt to cover for it, I try to joke, "As if anyone could keep him ignorant of anything for long." I set my hand on the plate to stop it wobbling, then look at Cato. "I didn't mean to imply that neither of us tell him ever, but I need to tell you first." That's weird enough in itself. When has there ever been a situation when I couldn't tell them both right away? It feels like some invisible and sound proof wall has gone up between us and Caleb, and I don't like it. To-be-victory has its price, I guess.

"Tell me what?" he asks. Kid clearly doesn't understand.

"It's a long story. That's why I wanted to talk tomorrow."

"Let's talk now." He raises his voice, "Guys, we'll be right back." Then he puts a hand on my shoulder, grabbing a handful of fabric, and pulls me outside via the back door. I think my mother tries to protest, to remind us that it's only early March and that going outside without coats isn't an option, but we don't listen.

Cato lets go of me once we're outside. "Spill," he orders me, closing the door behind us. Thirty seconds ago I wanted to take him hiking, but we're already outside and if he goes back in before I tell him, he'll be frustrated and everyone will want to know why and that'll just be a big mess.

"Let's walk," I grab his wrist and pull him away from the house, across our frozen garden, in between the houses on the street parallel to mine, and then down that road, heading away from the main town.

"What about Chicken Killing Day?" he asks after a minute or two.

The street is empty. Very few people drive cars down here and we'd hear them coming from miles away. There's no danger when I stop in the middle of the road and turn so I'm facing him. Then I start to explain, but I don't get very far before he starts asking questions. "The first day of accelerated training, everybody has to fight, just you and one other person. It's a test and a scare device if you win."

"You never told us about any kind of initiating first fight."

"Straight after I didn't want to talk about it, and after that it didn't come up."

"How's it work?"

"It's basically an all-out match in front of everyone. Usually the initiate doesn't know about the fight ahead of time, but I don't want you to be unprepared. You and another trainee, who already knows about the fight well beforehand, get into the middle of the room and beat each other up. I didn't lose, which is probably why you didn't know about the fight. The girl barely touched me." I pause, thinking about the truth in that. She didn't so much as bruise me and I brutalized her. It takes some effort to remember that she was fake-stabbing me before I can speak again. "I knocked my opponent unconscious against the floor. It was brutal."

"You and I have already been in fights, though." Travis. Brutus. Brutus. I don't quite know what he means to say with that. Maybe he thinks he'll be exempt because he's already fought for real. If so, he's wrong. Maybe he's thinking it won't be so bad. Training is still training. It's not like it's a fight to the death. Well, that's true. Death or murder are unlikely. Fear of death, on the other hand, or putting the fear of having to murder someone right there into the initiate, those things are definitely possible.

"The trainer, Paul, he's called, messed with me. When the girl went limp, I stopped hitting her, as any rational person would. And he asked me if I'd heard a cannon."

"Why? What cannon?"

"He was referring to the Games. It implied that I was supposed to kill her."

"But you didn't." It's a statement, but somehow also a question. He wasn't there, and training's never been a public thing. If they can cover up broken bones and stabbings, why couldn't they cover up a murder or several?

"Obviously," I answer with finality. I don't want him thinking I killed some unconscious girl just because Paul is out of his mind.

"Then why'd he say it?" Now he sounds confused.

"It was a joke," I say forcefully, anger flooding me as I remember that the turmoil that raged in me as I knelt with my fingers in the girl's hair was Paul's amusement. "And a reminder that it won't be chickens we fight in the arena."

I can see Cato's breath in the light from the stars as he exhales. "What if you had lost?"

"Does it matter? I didn't."

"It matters for me." No it doesn't! He can't think that.

"No it doesn't," I insist. He can't lose. He fought Brutus. Who else could even offer Brutus real competition (besides Paul who won't stoop to the level of beating up a trainee) let alone beat him?

Unintelligible words slip out between gritted teeth as he grips my upper arms and gives me a shake. His fingers dig into my arms and I brace my hands against his chest, then get a grip on his upper arms. I know he's not angry with me, just immeasurably nervous, if one understands nervous to mean scared. I remind myself that it was good of me to tell him. Better to go in knowing than to find out the way I did. "What'd you bring me out here for if you're not going to tell me everything, huh?"

"If you get into a compromised position, no one will step in," I tell him quietly, hoping he'll understand that even if he needs help, not even I will be able to give it to him. "And nobody stops because their opponent asks them to. They stop when the trainer tells them."

He pushes my hands off his arms as he lets me go. Taking a step away from me, he says, disgusted, "That's sick. What's the point of fighting like that? Why continue to hurt someone when they're already done?"

"If you bring that up, they'll ask you to define done." It's harsh, but true. I stopped when my opponent did, but Paul is ruthless. He kicked her if I remember correctly. Kicked her as she lay unconscious and pinned underneath me. As long as someone still has a pulse, they're fair game.

"Unconscious, Clove. Or unable to fight back. That's done." His use of my name makes this feel personal, like he's jumping down my throat about my morals. I didn't say I condone fighting like that, but we're not training to knock people out. Paul has made sure we all know that.

"Dead is done in the arena," I remind him quietly.

"I won't kill another trainee just to prove a point––" He won't have to kill a trainee! That was part of the point of coming out here. I was trying to tell him not to let Paul get to him, but that doesn't seem to be working. Still, there's another point he needs to hear before I remind him of that.

"But you'll kill a kid to entertain the Capitol?" I shoot back, tired of his self-righteousness.

"Don't you attack me," he snarls, shoving me back a step with one hand. It doesn't hurt, but it makes me mad.

"You started it!" I spit back at him. Before he can do anything, I've stepped forward, regaining the step he made me take and then some. I grab hold of the front of his shirt and pull down, at the same time reach around behind him and put my fingers around the back of the neck. It's not comfortable for him, but this way he doesn't feel nearly as threatened as he would have if I'd grabbed him around the throat, and I still get his undivided attention. "Don't act like you're on some higher moral ground than me. You've known as long as I have what you're doing." I release him, pushing my knuckles into him just below his collarbone.

We stand there, both winded, glaring at each other. I've never looked at him like this. His expression starts to soften before mine does, and I wonder what he's thought to make him think back on his words. "I didn't mean to seem self-righteous," he says.

"Well, you did," I snap, then wish I could take it back. I can't, but he lets me believe I can by raising his eyebrows, waiting for a different answer. "And I didn't mean to call you out. I wouldn't kill a trainee in 2, but I'll kill a kid if I have to. That is messed up."

"No." He pauses, then answers quietly, thoughtfully. "It only sounds messed up, because we're safe here. When we're in the arena, it'll be either us or them that lives, won't it? Of course we'll always choose us. That's not messed up. That's basic biology." I smile a little, because it makes me feel a little better. Cato steps forward and grabs my shirt, the same place he touched when he shoved me a moment ago. It's not gentle, but not aggressive either. He pulls me forward, toward him, and wraps his arms around me.

I hug him back and say, with half my face pressed against his shirt, "Don't you dare die in the Games."

He touches my hair and answers, "You either."

"And no one's going to make you kill a trainee," I continue, pulling away slightly to look up at him. "They'll just say that to scare you. But they can't send someone in who's got nasty enemies here. 2 will provide sponsors, but not if a tribute isn't well liked."

In answer he kisses my head and says, "I know." We stand there for a moment or two longer, then pull apart. He takes a deep breath and we return to my house, talking of other things so that we're composed when we re-enter. Caleb raises his eyebrows at us when we come back in, but Cato just shakes his head. Maybe it's not so weird that we have things just between us. Caleb's been working in the stronghold for years. He's been keeping things from us for all that time. Maybe he expects that accelerated training means we'll now have to do the same. Part of me is grateful for that, glad he's not offended, glad I don't have to explain it to him and another part resents it. I wish I could tell him, but I can't. All of this leads me to be grateful when the four of them take their leave at the end of the night. "See you tomorrow, Tiny," Caleb says, hugging me goodbye. I mess up his hair, hug his brother and go back inside to sleep.

Disclaimer: Don't own.
AN: Hopefully this was an intense chapter full of moral dilemmas. The next one will be full of action!

Unrelated to HG, I've been to the movies twice since coming back. Go watch The Fault in Our Stars. It's so emotional and great. Go with an open mind. Let yourself be vulnerable for two hours and feel everything. Also go see How to Train Your Dragon 2. It's full of humor and cuteness and tears and it's great.

To my lovely reviewers:
Clove1113: Yes! How very correct you are! I wrote to all of you, just had the wrong number in there. I fixed it now though. And thank you :)
Ghanaperu: Raylan is sweet. He's just sort of in the wrong place at the wrong time with Clove. Or he accidentally oversteps boundaries, but he is sweet and confused. In the next chapter you're going to meet a not-so-sweet trainee. There's a good mix of people in 2.
Haha. I love those moments from Clove. The ones where she admits a gap in thought. the thing that always makes me laugh about that is that Clove clearly doesn't actually know her European History very well, despite the fact that Caleb has sort of taught her some. She says Napoleon was the leader of 'some country called French'. And she'll mess up in the future when talking about past events. I make myself laugh.

~Billy