xi. brighten

Cato ran his gaze over her features, barely able to suppress the tug on his mouth at the way Clove was struggling to cut her steak with a fork and a spoon. Her eyes were flared with irritation, her movements jerky as she used the spoon to violently dig out a hunk of meat. The end result of her steak were chunky uneven pieces and juices that were splattered around the aluminium tray.

"Why aren't you using a knife?"

She snorted, throwing him a dark look from under her lashes.

Beneath the waistband of his trousers, his cock twitched and Cato hastily rubbed at the side of his neck, as though the action would soothe away the flush creeping up his skin.

"Do you really think I want to use a fork and spoon to cut meat?"

"So…"

"They banned me from using knives, dumbass!"

Right.

He grimaced, gazing around the canteen, taking note of the few armed men patrolling the edges of the room. Even though they've been here for more than a month, had eaten in this hall with everyone else three times a day, wary hard looks were still thrown their way. And Cato would not even bring up the hostile glares he received on a daily basis.

Being who they were, they glared right back. He, with a murderous snarl, and Clove, with a sinister sneer.

As of now, District Thirteen was easily the safest place they could be. Between the Capitol and the rising tense atmosphere that was now District Two, here in Thirteen, they were at least guaranteed safety and shelter despite their inhospitable companions.

Cato hadn't even known there was anything of Thirteen ever since they've been wiped out by the Capitol all those years ago. But here they were, eating their food, sleeping in bunkers thousands of feet underground and dealing with distrust and disgust everywhere they went.

The fucking joys, he thought snidely, levelling an icy glare at a uniformed woman who eyed him scornfully from across the room.

"I'm so fucking sick of the food." Enobaria drew him away from his staring contest by announcing her arrival with a sharp slam of her tray as she sat beside him.

"You don't have to eat it," Clove snarked, curling her lip. "You didn't have to come either, remember?"

"Of course I had to," their former Mentor retorted, sharpened fangs glinting from the fluorescent lights. "Who knows what sort of fucked up mess the two of you would've been in if I'm not here?"

Cato rolled his eyes, although a small part of him was truly appreciative of how Enobaria had taken the difficult mantle of looking out for them. The older woman had taken them under her wing, sheltering them as best as she could the minute they arrived, ensuring they were well-informed, defending them from the heavy stares of Twelve's drunken mentor and more, which was ironic considering they were brought here by Thirteen's orders.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He waved his hand dismissively and rubbed at his temples.

He didn't need anymore reminders of how they've ended up here. He didn't regret it. Clove was alive and here with him. That was all that mattered.

"Why are you not using a fucking knife? Your food is a fucked up mess."

His tiny short-fused girlfriend glowered and slammed the end of her fork against the table, attracting the attention of everyone in the vicinity. "I'm not allowed one!" she scoffed, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder. "But as if that could stop me should I want to go on a killing spree."

"Shut it, Clovey," he warned. "Do you want to end up in solitary confinement?"

"Yes." She shot him a look. "Then I wouldn't have to sit here and feel everyone staring at me as though I murdered a bunch of babies."

"Technically, you did," Enobaria said, shrugging as she tore into her steak. "You both did."

"So did you!"

Leaving Clove to argue (he did notice her tendency and enjoyment in verbal sparring) he took her plate and began dicing up her meat into smaller even pieces for her. Unlike his partner, Cato was granted the ability to use a knife during mealtimes. A fact that she was still bitter over. "It's not fair," she'd screeched once. "You too could kill them with anything or just with your bare hands. Why am I the one having her knife rights revoked?"

Enobaria had burst into mean laughter and he, unsure of what to say except for a lame murmured, "Fuck if I know."

Once he was done with her food, he slid the plate back and watched as Clove argued with their Mentor. His eyes traced the way her bright green eyes flared up, indignation rising on her cheeks as she spoke, dark hair curling on her back and his mind went to how close he'd been at losing her.

It had happened too fast for him to stop her.

Before he could properly absorb her murmured declaration of her feelings for him, she'd sliced her neck open and all he could do was watch in horror at the sight of her body keeling over, of her blood dripping, It was the copious amount of crimson liquid flowing from the self-inflicted incision that drove him to action. His mind spun, working for a solution that would get them out of this mess alive. At that point, Cato didn't care about the consequences his actions would've wrought. Not when Clove was seconds from dying.

"If she dies, I die!" he'd screamed at the sky, clutching her limp body frantically that dreaded day in the Arena. "The minute she stops breathing, I'll end myself here and now and you won't get your fucking winner!"

He'd been out of his mind from how much blood was flowing over pale freckled skin that he'd taken his sword, all ready to plunge it through his heart when a hovercraft appeared in the sky.

She was lucky, the doctors at the Capitol had claimed. She'd not sliced deep enough, hence a major artery was still intact, allowing them to operate and keep her alive.

That had started a chain of events that led them here in the secret camp of Thirteen. And if it meant dealing with shifty eyes and sneers and leaving behind everything he knew, so be it. He still won. He has Clove.

Clove, who was now twirling her fork in her fingers with a look on her face he recognised all too well. A look that meant someone was going to be buried six feet under soon. Cato doesn't bother telling her to knock it off if she wanted her fork rights to be revoked too.

But as he bit into a bland loaf of bread, he caught Clove's green eyes and the look in them sent his pulse racing, blood roaring in his ears. She was coy, drawing his attention with her tongue, the tip darting out to run teasingly over her lower lip. That very action brought up the memory of how that muscle had laved flat broad strokes on him the night before. Cato tightened his grip on his cutlery till his knuckles turned white.

He threw her a dirty look.

Clove grinned smugly.

The soft tilt of her mouth and the arrogant gleam in her eyes further cement the fact that Cato knew he would do anything for her. So much for being independent when he was clearly in a codependent relationship with a girl he'd fight the world for.

That was stated clearer when he was all ready to murder two of the patrolling guards who'd muttered some slur meant for his better half when they walked past their table. The red haze falling over his eyes and the senseless need for blood and pain and death pumped through his veins. It took Clove digging her nails into his forearm and Enobaria pulling him into a chokehold to break him out of the cold deadly rage clouding his brain.

Later that night, in the privacy of their room, he lay gasping on the bed, flushed and more than content, having had no doubt the second best orgasm of his life (the best being the first time they'd fucked back in the Capitol) as Clove slid up, a wide smirk on her face as she cuddled close to him. Their sweat-slicked bodies were entwined in their tangled sheets and Cato didn't think he'd been this happy before.

With Clove resting her head on his bicep, fingers trailing along his body, tracing the scars that line his torso while rubbing her cold feet against his shin (a habit he hated but was forced to deal with), he'd never imagined that they'll be here in this position.

The odds had been stacked too high, but somehow...they made it.

He was ten when he met her that day at the Academy. And if he looked back, Cato could remember Clove always being at his side, all snotty and vindictive and terribly short. She had been the first person he went to when it came to anything, be it good or bad. Frankly, he can't picture living a life without her in it.

However, it was when he was fifteen when he started to notice that Clove was a girl.

As it turned out, dark curls, fierce green eyes and a smartass mouth turned out to be his damnation.

It wasn't long before he realised what he felt for his best friend surpassed anything amounting to friendship. Suddenly, everything she said or did had recurring scenes in his fantasies, be it her eating ice-cream or barking insults at him. After, he realised getting himself off had become ridiculously easy. All he had to think of was Clove and the curses she'd hurled at him, the way her eyes flashed in defiance or how her lush mouth would purse when she got downright bitchy.

And now, it was safe to say that reality was fucking better than any of his lewdest thoughts from jerking off in the shower or under the sheets late at night.

"You're quiet." Clove sounded impossibly smug. "Cat got your tongue?"

"You just sucked me off like a vacuum cleaner," he said hoarsely. "What were you expecting?"

She snickered, rolling over on her stomach to face him, propping her chin up on her hand as she rested her elbow on his chest. He watched, entranced, as she leisurely licked her lips, reminding him of how she'd swallowed without hesitation.

His flaccid length twitched and his mouth went dry.

"Fuck," he muttered, turning away to drag a palm over his face. "Give me a break, Clovey."

"I am!" A smirk formed on her face as she pushed her hair away from her face. "Not my fault you can't keep it in your pants."

Cato snorted, multiple snarky remarks coming to mind but he just couldn't be bothered. Not when Clove was there, eyes glittering with glee and contentment with rosy cheeks and hair, a tangled mess. Instead, he reached out to loop an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Marvelling at how he'd been so close to losing this—her, it allowed him to treasure moments such as this, to protect it with everything he had.

From where she was lying, Clove tilted her head and peered up at him. "How long do you think it'll take for all this to go away?"

Involuntarily, he tensed. "I don't know. Months?"

A quiet sigh was heard as she shifted. "Never thought I'd say this, but I miss the sky."

So did he. Of course staying thousands of feet underground for the past month and counting wasn't helping. That and he figured the lack of fresh air was slowly driving him mental.

"What do you wanna do when this is all over?"

He blinked at Clove's unusual stream of questions. "I don't know." Shrugging, Cato ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Who knows? Maybe you'll be the only one to make it out alive."

"Shut the fuck up." Clove levelled him with an indignant glare and gave a sharp jab to his gut with her elbow. "No one is dying, least of all us. I didn't try to kill myself so you could die a few months later. Get that through your thick skull, asshole!"

Ducking his head down, he suppressed the grin on his face at her vehemence and ferocity in her eyes. However, Cato didn't bother pointing out the flaws in that statement, choosing to tug her closer. With her head resting in the crook of his neck, he brushed his lips on the crown of her head, fingers tightening around her waist.

It didn't matter that they were in the midst of rebellion, that they had a target on their backs, that they were barely on neutral ground.

He has the love of his life at his side. They were going to be okay.


"How's the murder squad going today?"

Cato glanced up, a scowl forming on his face when Haymitch Abernathy came into view.

The man was a far cry of the shadow he'd been since the Games. No longer stumbling about and dressed in wrinkled stained clothes, he was now groomed properly, decked out in an iron-pressed uniform that was the antithesis of dishevelled. His customary stringy greasy hair was absent, blue eyes bright and alert. Notedly, he was sober and the full force of his attention were centered on Cato and his companions.

Opposite him, Enobaria's face formed into a derisive glare, one similar to his as she leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers haphazardly on the table. At his side, Clove curled her lip and tilted her head upwards as she put down her cutlery on either side of her plate.

"What the hell do you want?" His ever sociable girlfriend demanded shortly, eyeing the man from Twelve as though he was an insect she'd gladly squish with her shoes.

Cato watched, body tensing when he caught a flicker of something flash in Abernathy's eyes when they fell on Clove.

Revulsion.

Without a doubt, he knew whatever prompted that look had to be about the long deceased Girl on Fire.

It was just his luck that Clove had set off District Twelve by murdering Fire Bitch. They had lashed out, like a mad dog finally escaping from their leash. Not liking that, the Capitol removed all traces of them, burning them to the ground. That's when Thirteen had stepped in, offering sanctuary to survivors and of-fucking-course Abernathy was one of them.

Cato had never liked the older man, likening him to a seedy weasel who was able to squirm and talk his way out of anything. He'd thought he was done with the likes of the Mentor, but as he met the man's probing gaze, his scowl deepened. So much for that.

As if on cue, his eyes flicked up and he caught sight of familiar cold eyes glaring at them from across the room. More specifically, that icy murderous glower was aimed at Clove.

Muscle twitching in his jaw, Cato shifted his jaw and bared his teeth in return.

In his opinion, Gale Hawthorne wasn't much.

Tall and unassuming and with the same furious vengeful expressions he shot them on a near daily basis, Cato knew he could beat the boy in a fight any time, any day. From what he could tell, the boy was grieving the loss of his friend, who just had to be the fucking Girl on Fire.

How small could the world get?

Fuck, the bitch was dead and here she was, still haunting them from beyond the grave months later. Fucking Twelves. Who fucking knew people from Twelve were this grating? Maybe the Capitol had the right idea of burning them off the planet.

Regardless, Cato wouldn't hesitate to eliminate the boy should he try anything against Clove. Vigilante justice or any sort of revenge was not going to be tolerated on his watch, especially if the target was Clove. Well, he could always make a habit of killing blue-eyed boys from District Twelve. Lover Boy had been the first and Hawthorne could be next.

Even so, and despite having the full knowledge that Clove could handle herself in a fight with a boy from such a lesser district, Cato ensured the brunette never had contact with the boy. He knew Clove all too well. Knew that she liked taunting, picking at weak spots, revelled in setting people off, enjoyed provoking anger and spite more than anything in the world. No doubt if she and Hawthorne were put in the same room, there would be a fight and a dead body.

He wasn't idealistic enough to hope that Thirteen would side with them against Twelve. Being booted out was the last thing they needed right now.

As much as Clove liked to think that she was better at controlling her emotions and thoughts than him, there were exceptions. Their dynamic had changed. He wasn't stupid. Cato knew Clove thought that she was his protector, defending him with everything she had for he was the unpredictable sort with his temper and fists. But now, their roles were reversed. Clove was the one who got easily provoked and he, the calmer rational one.

Maybe it was the Games that had done that, scrambled their brains from the psychological effects of being thrown into the Arena. Who really knew?

"If you're sticking around, I'm leaving!" Enobaria huffed, throwing the man a scornful look as she stalked away from the table.

Abernathy rolled his eyes before they shifted meaningfully to Clove.

His girlfriend doesn't react and ignored the unspoken request, focusing on her meal as though it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Do you mind?"

Cato narrowed his gaze at the man's impatient tone.

"Can I have a moment with your boyfriend?" Abernathy rephrased his question, teeth grinding as his jaw twitched.

Clove sniffed disdainfully as she twirled her fork in that manner Cato deemed as threatening. "Why? Surely, whatever you can say to him, you can say to me."

The Mentor plastered on a saccharine grin. "Hmm, not this one, sweetheart—"

"No," Cato interrupted, shooting the man a heavy stare. "Whatever you want to blab about, she stays."

"Look here, Junior, it's not like I want to spend my free time yakking to the two of you after what you did, but the higher ups deemed it necessary for us to have a…chat—"

"After what we did?" Cato scoffed, leaning back into his chair. "What the fuck did we do? All we did was survive and if that involved killing your tributes then so be it. It's been what? Twenty-three? Twenty-four years since you won the Quell and became a Mentor. You must be used to your tributes dying by now after all these years."

Haymitch Abernathy went stone cold, eyes turning hard as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

Huh. Maybe he was still the hotheaded one and Clove, his impulse control.

From the appreciative smirk the brunette shot his way, he could tell she was impressed by the barb that surely cut deep.

"President Coin wants to ensure that you will play your part in the upcoming fight," the older man bit out after a moment of silence, clenching his fists, body trembling from barely-restrained fury. "And I am not permitted to say whatever I have to in front of you."

"No—"

"Fine." Clove exhaled heavily, giving a dark look to the former drunk before flouncing off to where Enobaria was seated a few tables away.

Cato watched as the pair bent their heads close as they began talking with solemn expressions on their faces. He doesn't miss the way Enobaria shot wary suspicious glances his way or how Clove kept an eye on him as she conversed with their Mentor.

"Well, what do you want?" he demanded.

Abernathy licked his dry chapped lips. "The higher ups want to know if your little girlfriend is still loyal to the Capitol."

"What?"

"Basically, they doubt her loyalty."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Clove isn't loyal to the Capitol. Clearly, sobriety doesn't suit you," Cato snarled.

Abernathy sneered. "Are you a hundred percent sure? You were the one who defied the Capitol, not her."

"She tried to kill herself for me," he retorted, eyes narrowing. "Why would she devote herself to the Capitol when they want either of us gone?"

"If you even think about lying, I can throw you brats out—"

"But you won't," Cato interjected smoothly, leaning back into his chair. "You can't. The rebellion needs us to get through District Two. And from what I can guess, that's a pretty big important part of the whole plan."

Abernathy grimaces and rubs his jaw. "Funny. You're not dumb like a bag of rocks like I initially thought."

Cato ignored the jab. Nothing could hold a candle to Clove's insults. not this deadbeat man whose past drove him to drinking. Pathetic.

"Clove isn't loyal to the Capitol," he repeated coolly, getting back on track. "If anything, she's loyal to me. Just as I am to her."

"Yes, but the two of you are alive now." Abernathy raised a brow. "Would she go running off to the Capitol when we reach District Two? Precautions have to be made if we even sense the tiniest hint of betrayal."

The patronising condescending tone Abernathy used, grated. But it was the underlying threat in his words that made him snap. Right now, all he wanted was the man's death. Running on pure rage, Cato made a move to get to his feet and lunge over the table, mind intent to enclose his fingers around that scrawny neck and squeeze. To make that hated arrogant face turn purple.

He would have succeeded had it not been for the small hand sliding up his back, fingers fisting into his shirt as dark tresses entered his line of sight accompanied by a soft confident voice murmuring things in his ear. Clove.

How she'd made it over here this fast, he had no idea. But whatever she was doing, it worked to calm him down, to erase some of the tension knotting his spine, dissipating the fury rushing through his system, clearing the need for Abernathy's death.

"I'm sorry your tributes had to die," she raised her voice a little louder, addressing Abernathy who was on his back on the ground. "But I'm not sorry for killing them," she finished coolly, tilting her chin.

"Wasn't expecting you to be all remorseful," the man said, derision dripping from his tone. "Doubt you even know what it means."

Cato growled but Clove shrugged, brushing off the barb. "To answer your question, the Capitol wants Cato dead for saving me. How can I be loyal to the people who want me and him dead?"

She didn't wait for the old man to respond as she straightened, mouth twisting. "Plus, I'm sure your Girl on Fire would have murdered me in cold blood to get home too."

"She would have made it clean and painless."

"Yes," Clove shrugged, conceding. "But it's too bad I'm not her."


"Would you be going?"

He hadn't even been home for longer than a minute when Clove came into view, green eyes narrowed on him. "What?" he glanced up to see her leaning against the doorway. "Going where?"

"The Anniversary," she supplied, eyeing him in manner he recognised as appreciative.

He smirked, taking his time to remove the black gloves because if anyone liked his uniform more than him, it was Clove.

The full black army uniforms of the thirteen districts were a new addition as were most of their standard practices. With the fall of the Capitol five years ago, everything had changed. Most of the laws and regulations have been overturned, giving way to fairer and more humane practices. Respective districts had their own Mayors as well as a Ruling Council to take charge of their area. Resources were now easily shared, information given freely and things have improved for the better.

Sometimes, when he walked through the streets of Two, Cato still marvelled at how far they've come, of how things have changed.

"I might skip this year," he answered, raking a recently ungloved hand through his hair. "It's not going to be any different from the previous four years."

"Says who?"

"You just like looking at the footage of Coin and Snow's deaths," he retorted, removing his coat to hang it on the stand nearby. "And you know they're not going to show it this year, or the year after—"

Clove sulked, crossing her arms as she turned back into the hallway leading to the kitchen. "Fine. But Enobaria is going to put up quite a fit if we don't show up."

"Whatever. She's not the boss of me."

"She is, you idiot. You're just a slightly high-ranked official and she's on the Ruling Council. I think that means she owns your ass."

He smirked, reaching out to slide a hand around her waist, cornering her against the marble counter. "I thought you owned my ass."

"I do," Clove confirmed and arched a brow superciliously. "And don't you forget it."

Barking out a laugh, he released her, but not before brushing his mouth on the crown of her head. As he grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl laying in the centre of the island counter, he observed the sight of her dressed in her navy uniform complaining about the physical state of the volunteered cadets.

As much as they had promised each other back in Thirteen to lay down their weapons, to leave their background of violence and killing behind them, they couldn't. It was in their blood, too ingrained in their DNA. Hence, they've chosen to direct their...talents in better, productive ways.

Even though he and Clove had been offered positions as trainers for their growing army, Cato had volunteered to enlist instead, to help shape the future of their district. He was trained, yes. But he was aware he didn't have the same proclivities to weapons like Clove did. And he wouldn't lie, seeing his girlfriend take on recruits larger and older than her was a hell of a sight. Especially when they thought her inexperienced and too much of a risk.

Before the Capitol fell, he and Clove had played their roles, convincing their District to stop fighting and let the rebellion led by Coin to enter, to sabotage the Nut without any further casualties. It'd made the Capitol much weaker, their grip on everyone shakier when they'd lost their staunchest supporters.

However, it was the duo deaths of Snow and Coin that had been the utter shock for everyone watching.

Having done their parts, both he and Clove had decided to watch the execution on screen rather than be there in person and when Coin fell, body folding over and collapsing on the ground, utter pandemonium had erupted. Till now, the death of Coin was still unsolved but privately, they've figured it'd been an inside job. Without a leader to back everyone up, mayors of the various districts were elected to form the main council to address issues and ensure better cooperation among everyone.

Though they've turned down any roles to help rebuild and restructure Two as they wanted a quiet life, it didn't take long for Clove to go crazy from the inactivity. In fact, Cato was surprised she lasted a month considering how much he knew she hated sitting around and doing nothing.

Basically, a bored Clove, was a terrible, unmanageable and unreasonable Clove.

His mouth twitched as she began pacing in the kitchen, a little frown marring her face as she spoke, nose scrunched up in distaste as her hands gestured wildly. He was just glad that nothing breakable was nearby.

Some people said relationships change when their circumstances have evolved.

Well, he found that that didn't apply to them.

Sure, they've grown up, matured a little, did some things differently, but in his opinion, Clove was still the same, abrasive, unromantic, a little violent and direct as ever.

Cato wouldn't have it any other way.

As he took a glance at his watch, he grinned, appreciating the lull in Clove's whining that their recent recruits were terribly trained. Without responding, he grabbed the sandwich he'd prepared earlier from the fridge and chewed into it.

"Excuse me, but what the fuck are you doing?" Clove huffed, crossing her arms, glaring lasers at his sloppy snack. "I got dinner settled, you ass!"

He bit back a snort but a huge part of him loved the domesticity of that one sentence.

Looking down to his sandwich and ensuring that half was gone, he leant his weight against the counter, offering the half-eaten bread to Clove. "Here's to twelve years of friendship."

Clove's gaze darted between his face and the bread and Cato could accurately point out the moment she got it. Recognition glinted and there was no denying the soft gleam edging in those green eyes.

"Really?" she asked, mock annoyance dripping from her tone as she reached over to take the proffered bread.

"Yeah." He nodded, knowing full well that Clove loved this tradition they had. She'd admitted it after imbibing too much wine the year before. "Twelve fucking years of friendship. I still wonder how I'm alive—"

"Oh, shut it," she grumbled, throwing a sulky look from under her lashes. "But...just friendship?" she teased, waggling her left hand in front of his face, the gleam of the gold band on her finger drawing his attention. "If so, I might have to remove this pretty bauble then."

The cheeky smirk she shot him and the way she tilted her head made his stomach clench. Fuck, he loved her. He really fucking did.

"No," Cato growled into her ear and hefted her up, wrapping her lithe legs around his hips. "Definitely not."

Clove laughed, gripping his neck tightly before kissing him deeply.

- fin -


Thank you so much for reading and i hope you guys have enjoyed this silly fic of mine. xoxo