Disclaimer: Don't own.
Song Suggestion: Ed Sheeran—"Masters of War" (A Bob Dylan Cover). I imagine this from Cato's perspective, but it could work from Prim's as well.
Thank You: QHluver, 3vlee, SergeantJohnston, SweetStarre123, callofdutygirl13, K.C., Guest, artdecades, Rachel, Sandraanataliaa, katnisseverdeendistrict12, Bea0407, Guest, Guest, HeyBirdy, sarahbee, and Jellybelly Puffypants! Thank You so much for taking the time to review! I'm hoping to get to 200 with this chapter, which would be awesome!
Just to Clear Things Up: One review stated that too many guys like Prim and it doesn't seem real, so I will clear up the confusion.
Rory= Doesn't like her like that. They are best friends, as I have stated. He is flirty, but that's just his personality. They kissed once, on a dare, but it didn't mean anything to either of them. There will be no Prim/ Rory in this fic.
Gale= He loves Katniss. Prim likes him, but the feelings are not returned.
Jace= Does not really love her, or even like her. He actually hates her. It's just a game to him, and he's using her to get at Cato. He's just a psychopath that likes to rape women.
Cato= Even Cato's feelings are suspect. He has a motivation beyond lust to have sex with her, which is why he is trying so hard. There is more to the story, which you will discover in this chapter.
In conclusion… so no, not many people like Prim like that. Poor Prim. (Sorry about the long author's note!)
The Monster's Master
Cato pulled Prim back on the dance floor. She preferred it there to the hordes of people. She had always been shy and never one to seek out people or desire to be the center of attention. She only knew Cato, and in her vulnerable state, she clung to him.
"You don't have to compare yourself to her," he whispered into her ear.
"I-I didn't."
"Just don't, okay," he said, "There's no comparison."
Prim wasn't sure what to make of that statement. Was it a compliment or an insult? Just like she wasn't able to make of what to feel about Persephone. Her logical side didn't care. What did it matter who Cato slept with in the past?
But it did. And she wasn't sure why. Especially since Persephone was so beautiful and cruel. It made her vulnerable. It made her twinge with something, bordering between disgust and anger, and it felt a little greedy and possessive. She ignored it, afraid to pinpoint the correct emotion.
"May I cut in?" The voice was deep and gruff. It broke her from her internal struggle.
She stopped dancing and turned to find an older gentleman. A rose was pinned to his lapels, and the scent of the flower mingled with something sharp and metallic.
She would recognize his face anywhere. Watched it smile too many times over the television to count. It starred in many of her nightmares.
When preparing for this evening, Prim hadn't realized he would come.
Cato froze. His fingers dug into her shoulders. From his reaction, Cato didn't realize he would come either. It was only a moment of defiance, but it was a moment too long. President Snow raised his eyebrows at him, before Cato pulled back and bowed at the waist. Prim struggled with her curtsy. For the first time, she realized why Cato forced her to go to Miss Manners class, and she wished she had paid more attention. In this world, courtesy could mean life or death.
"President Snow," Cato said on his way back up. He stepped out of the way, giving her hand to the President. He didn't look like he wanted to let go.
Their fingers met. His hands were dead, cold, dry, and hard. He started dancing right away, taking her in full circle.
President Snow was a good dancer, but not in the same way as Cato. Cato was precision, executing his moves in a sharp, methodical way. Quick and exact. President Snow moved about with a languid air, unhurried. He almost didn't go with the beat, as if making his own path.
She stumbled and tried to recover. Snow didn't steady her like Cato would. She glanced at Snow, attempting to calm her racing heart. He examined her, his eyes flicking up and down. Not in the way a man stares at a woman, but as one does a caged animal trying to determine how tame it was.
"Careful, Ms. Everdeen, you need to be heedful about where you place your feet. A dance is a game, one wrong move and you'll tumble. You must know and obey the steps."
She had an odd feeling there was a second meaning to his words. President Snow, as if to prove a point, stepped the opposite way, taking Prim with him. The only way she avoided falling was to lean into him. She gagged at the smell coming off him, hoping she masked her grimace of disgust.
"Don't you agree?"
She blushed and turned her face to the ground, concentrating on her feet. She didn't want to step wrong.
"Yes," she whispered so quiet she would be surprised he heard.
"Look at me, not at your feet."
She glanced up, knowing as she stared into his eyes that there was no way to hide her terror. He saw right through her as if he knew her whole life, as if he knew every desire, as if he knew every fear. As if he knew how to give her the world or crush it around her.
"You're quite docile. It was well your sister took your place in the games. I'm afraid you would have died fast, and that would have been boring. Katniss, on the other hand, gave quite the show."
His words, said so matter-of-fact and cold, took the wind out of her. She always focused on how Cato killed her sister. She had forgotten that it wasn't entirely his fault, even though he volunteered. It was Snow's. It was the world he helped build. It was the cruelty he infused in it.
Though still afraid, the mention of her sister gave her courage.
"Even the docile listen and think. I may have just surprised you."
Snow's face didn't change, but somehow his whole demeanor darkened.
"Rats listen, think, and sometimes surprise, but they are still trapped in a cage." His hands turned into clamps, and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. During a twist, she saw Cato off to the side. His body was straight and tense, and he picked at the buttons on his shirt, as if trying to find something to do with his hands. "Do you know many secrets, Ms. Everdeen?"
She shook her head.
"Come, come, tell me a secret and I'll tell you mine."
"I have no secrets."
A benevolent smile played on President's Snow's lips. It disconcerted her.
"You go hunting regularly with a Mr. Gale Hawethorn, do you not? If I recall, you prefer the same weapon as your sister, but aren't as proficient with it. Though since I already know that one, it wouldn't be much of a secret. Humor me with something different."
How did he know those things?
Was it possible for a heart to stop and continue living? The mention of Gale almost made her panic. She had refused to think of him since Cato threw her into the tub. The moment of panic subsided when she realized it didn't matter if he knew about their hunting sessions. Who could he hurt? Gale was dead.
"I am not fond of liars, Ms. Everdeen, and I contain very little patience. Tell me a secret."
"I've been stolen."
"That's better." But then he quirked his lips, the metallic scent wafted from his mouth again. She knew that scent anywhere, she smelled it enough dealing with her mother's patients. "Though, I'm afraid I know that secret as well. We are running out of time. Here, let me help: tell me what you fear."
Was it okay to say him?
"Heights," Prim answered, "I always have nightmares I am free-falling."
He smiled and she noticed that his teeth were very white and almost pointed like a carnivore.
"Interesting," the word rolled off his tongue. She instantly regretted telling the truth, though she suspected he had ways to tell if she lied. And he hated liars. "You can't understand a person until you know their fears."
They danced in silence for a moment. One song ended. She wanted to stop, but he kept dancing into the next song.
"You haven't asked me mine," President Snow said. She noted an edge of humor in his voice.
"What?" The fear made her heart pound and unable to concentrate. Her mind wasn't in the right place to responsibly play with wit.
"My secret."
"I'm very curious." She managed to come off more calm and collected than she felt.
He leaned forward, placing his cheek against her so his lips could be next to her ear. She forced herself to allow the contact, though her insides squirmed in revulsion. His skin was like paper, as if the first layer could be torn apart.
"This perfect world I've worked so hard to build wants to rebel against its master. "
She didn't answer. What could she say? I'm sorry? It would be a lie. You deserve it? It would be the truth. She decided silence would allow him to interpret what he wanted.
"Tell me, Ms. Everdeen, what is the correct form of discipline?"
"Distraction."
"We shall try, for sure. But distraction isn't discipline. We're playing with hypotheticals. What if the Districts fail to be tempted by shiny things?"
Why was he asking her this? Didn't he have higher-ups for advice, a war-council? No, he didn't ask her for a true answer. He was testing her. A test for what, she wasn't sure.
"I always believe kindness is the best discipline. Firm and kind."
He chuckled. "So honorable, Ms. Everdeen. However, that is a naïve view of human nature. Show weakness and the wolves will tear out your throat."
She wanted to argue that point. She never hit Coral, and she still obeyed her.
"I have limited experience in the field of discipline, but I often think redirection is the best course of action. Most misbehavior is a series of bad habits that can be changed through consistent conditioning."
"I'm impressed. But even conditioning needs a motivator. Fear is a powerful tool."
"Love is even more powerful. Fear may force a person to fight in a battle, but love will make the person willing."
He eyed her then, as if she were briefly more than an animal in a cage. Then he smiled as if she was a friend. Prim was no fool to fall for it.
The song stopped. President's snow's feet stopped moving, so hers did too.
"We shall see what is to come. A distraction first, I believe, then redirection. They have you to thank for that."
She knew the next question he wanted her to ask. It would be his chosen course of action, she could tell.
"And what if redirection fails?"
He took her hand and patted it.
"Fire and brim stone, Ms. Everdeen." His blue eyes twinkled, "I shall put down my fist and show them the might of their true God. They shall cry to me as their father, and only then will I show mercy."
She could see it now: a firestorm engulfing district 12, burning up everything and everybody she ever loved.
Several Hours Later
"He wants to see us again," Cato whispered into her ear later into the night. He twirled her in the midst of a dance. Breath in. Breath out. Her feet made a pattern without her consent. It was Cato's pattern, not hers. She had already learned it by heart.
The lights were dimmer, the noises subdues. The night closed in on itself, the darkness overcoming the life and colors. Slowly it inched forward, touching their toes. Many of the couples in the room shied from the darkness, found alcoves to hide in, or left to shelter the night in their homes.
Something of the night reminded her of death, as every sense ceased to function.
"Why?"
Cato leaned in, brushing his lips on the shell of her ear. She tried to contain the shiver, the undefinable boiling in her belly. It made her nerves jump towards him.
"Nothing good, I'm sure." His lips left her ears, "Though I have ideas."
Prim doubted anything good had ever come from President Snow.
She tried to contain the dread, the familiar ticking of time. But it infected her, regardless.
Thirty Minutes Later
Guards led them to through a labyrinth of hallways, ending with a glinting metal door. They opened it, leading them into a large, octangular room. A heavy, wooden desk sat in the middle of the room. Behind it, Snow stood before the window with his hands clasped behind his back. The lights of district 2 twinkled in the night beyond, a few flickered out and some flicked on while looking at them like fireflies blinking and shifting.
Both Cato and Prim walked through the door, and the heavy door shut with a soft click. Prim couldn't help but think how it reminded her of a sound of a coffin lid closing. Securing her in its cavern.
Snow turned with a frown on his face.
"Don't bother sitting." He walked over to his desk. A bouquet of white roses overflowed in a vase, their petals tight in the center and stretching at the ends. A few bent at the stem, as if weeping. Snow took at the few that were dying, then grabbed a pair of scissors, snipping off the ends at an angle and arranged the flowers, fluffing them and twisting them to his heart's content.
"A rose is often underestimated. They are beautiful, yes, but poisoned in their own way." His fingers stroked the petals for a few moments before balling his hand into a fist and slamming it against the desk. The sound reverberated. The vase shook. The light from the lamp flickered.
Prim jumped. Cato didn't, but his hand reached, as if subconsciously, and gripped her hand like a noose.
"You plucked a beautiful distraction, Cato Carthage, but a dangerous one."
"Sir," he stepped forward, "She—"
"I told you to secure the girl in a suitable way. Clean, without a trail. You were given all the cards to pull it off, and you started off brilliantly. I'm sure in time, the Capitol would have manipulated her into your arms, but then you not only stole her, but you claimed Manato. If the districts, but especially the Capitol, finds out she is not willing-"
"They won't!"
Snow's glared with the interruption, and his eyes found Prim, glancing at her for five seconds, long enough to make her uncomfortable. His hand went up to his mouth and he bit his thumb as if in thought.
"You should hope." The hand left his mouth and placed it on the table, "If it comes to pass that they should, I'll not hesitate serving you to them, as payment," his eyes flicked back to Prim with a slight glimmer, "as redirection."
Cato Carthage, the bravest man Prim ever met, trembled. She felt the shaking of his hand in her own and tried to reassure him with a slight squeeze. In this cavern, only Cato could stand between Snow and her. It was odd that she comforted a monster. It was odd when the aggressor turned into a buffer. She needed him to keep his head straight to get them both out of here with the least amount of damage.
"You need to secure your hold. I care not that you took her. In the end, it could be easily hid, but you claimed Manato, and you must now deal with the consequences. I know what happened with Jacen Hartline, and should anything have happened, or happen in the future..." He trailed off. He said this to Cato but then his eyes flicked back to Prim. Endless pools of blue loathing. They drowned her. Washed over her. Overwhelmed her. He hated her; there was no doubt about that. Cato was the monster, but Snow was the monster's master. "And you, Ms. Everdeen, need to understand your own precarious situation."
He clicked a button on his desk. An image of her mother projected on to the wall beside them. She sat in her rocking chair near the crackling fire, her knitting needles click-clacking together. She looked more shrunken, if that was possible, her clothes swallowing her skinny frame. Her once lustrous golden hair hung limp down her back.
How did they get the film? Did they have her house bugged? Probably. She wouldn't be surprised if the Capitol had monitored her since Katniss volunteered.
Snow walked toward the image, standing next to her mother. It looked as if he stood in her old shack. It was wrong. So wrong. The shack was nothing much, but it was hers. It was her family's. A painful nostalgia overwhelmed her, a feeling of wanting to cling to the past but feeling it slip through clenched hands. Snow bit his thumb once more, then reached out and brushed a finger down her mother's intangible cheekbone. She half expected to see a shiver.
"I see where you received your looks. She must have been quite beautiful in full bloom. It would be a shame to destroy her." He paused. "You see, I do believe you, love can be a powerful motivator, but it is made greater by fear."
Prim caught her breath, caught her exclamation of fear. Though it didn't do any good. Snow knew the effect it had on her. Her mother was the only thing in her life left.
"Fail and you will understand sorrow."
I already do.
"Fail at what?" Prim couldn't help but ask. It was an imaginary task with tremendous consequences.
"Securing Panem's love and distracting them through your own love story. Your sister was unconvincing during the games with Peeta Mellark, and I have doubts of your own ability. Learn to mask your emotions, or it will cost you dearly."
"I'll try my hardest."
"There is no such thing as trying. There is failing or succeeding. You can do one or the other." He walked back to his desk and clicked the button. The image vanished. Prim wished she could pocket it for herself, to gaze at later. It had been so long. She always took for granted her loved ones, their presence, their voice and smell, until it was too late.
Snow turned his back on Prim and Cato, clasping his hands near his spine, facing the large, open window with the twinkling lights of District 2. He reverted to the form they found him in, contemplative, introspective.
It was a silent gesture, but it dismissed them.
They both turned at once, avoiding each other's eyes, not wanting to see the shared vulnerability. She hated him, but she hated Snow more. In Snow's presence she almost felt a kinship with Cato of shared struggles and fear. She almost felt sorry for Cato. And that was something that just wouldn't do.
She heard from somewhere that the easiest way to bring people together was to give them a common enemy.
Cato grasped the handle of the door. Before they could leave, Snow's voice gave them pause.
"Tonight, boy, tonight. You must secure your hold on the girl."
In horror, she started to unravel the mystery of what was required.
What else required the cover of night between a woman and a man?