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You've No Idea, Little Bird

Prim stared at a sleeping Coral, something she found she enjoyed doing, and watched as her breath wheezed in and out. She had a small cold: her nose red, her eyes puffy. It was one of the reasons it had been hard to leave her at home that night. She had been crying; Prim could still see the tell-tale signs of tear tracks.

Coral had wanted to come to the ball. She threw a tantrum when Prim said no.

She reached out a hand to brush back a curl. A hand closed around her wrist before it reached its destination.

"She can't wake tonight. Let her sleep."

She almost ripped her wrist from his grasp, but thought better of it. Tonight she had bigger problems.

"Follow me," Cato said.

She hesitated for a second before following. He turned at the door, with his hand against the frame to see if she did what he asked, giving a nod before leading her down the hallway and up a narrow staircase near the back of the house.

It led to his study. It was the first time she had ever been inside it.

The rafters hung low. Dark wainscoting lined the wall. In one corner there was a light desk. It didn't look as if he used it much, as if he added it as an afterthought. The walls overflowed with books, some for show, some for reading. A TV was in the opposite corner with two brown leather chairs, plush and inviting. She bet if she sat in one, she'd sink a few inches into the cushions. Next to the TV was a black wall with small silver tablets. It took a second to realize they were pictographs, videos for watching on television. There were hundreds of them. She wondered what they were about. The only thing she had ever watched on television was Captiol propaganda and the games.

The largest object in the room sat in the center. She wasn't quite sure its purpose. It was a table of sorts, standing about waist high. A fluffy green fabric cloaked the top, and there were six black holes lining the outside, one for each corner and two in the center. A group of balls sat in the triangle, multi-colored, some with stripes.

"Why are we in here?" Prim asked.

When Cato was in town, she avoided this section of the house, knowing he tended to seclude himself here. She tried to enter this room once when he had left for weeks, but it had been locked. The mystery had intrigued her, but not enough to search it out. She amused herself sometimes thinking what he had in here, imagining torture instruments, whips, chains, human slaves: things befitting a monster. For how much thought she put into it, it was almost disappointing how ordinary it really was.

Cato went to a cabinet on the wall. He pushed a button. It opened with a woosh and wisps of cold poured out. Its interior was glinting stainless steel, lined with all sorts of liquor. He pulled one out and set it on the green table, along with two tumblers. He filled both of them up with clear liquor, then shrugged out of his jacket, leaving it on the edge of a nearby chair.

He chugged a drink back instantly and handed her the second.

"I thought we could unwind."

She clutched the cool glass in her hand in apprehension, as if it was a flotation device, as if it could save her. The liquor was potent; she could smell it before it even came close to her mouth. In a rush decision, she pushed it back at Cato.

He looked at her in confusion.

"I want to remember," she said.

He tilted his head to the side, swishing the liquid of her cup in a circle, putting it to his lips and let it sit there, but he didn't swallow. Without drinking, he brought the cup back down and set it on the green, still grasping the edges.

"I would think you'd want to forget."

She hesitated before answering; she didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

"Not my first time."

He made a bitter face before throwing back the liquor in her glass into his mouth. It went down his throat with one gulp. After, he rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth to catch a few stray droplets.

"If things had gone my way, I would have given you more time," he said.

"If things were your way, would you have still taken me?"

It was an important question. She had to know before the night ended. Before she was forced into his bed.

"Yes." He didn't meet her eyes.

So that was it. The kidnapping was condoned by the capitol, but he would have done it anyway, even without their consent. Prim wasn't sure if it made her feel better or worse about the situation. She thought it would change something, but in the end, it didn't.

"Why?"

He glanced up and stared directly in her eyes.

"Because I wanted you."

"Why would you want me? As you've always told me, I'm nothing but a dirty slum rat."

"True." He agreed.

She felt like a toddler. Why? Why? Why? It was all she ever asked, with only veiled answers in return.

He shrugged. She didn't expect him to answer, but he did, as if he thought about it before. There was a hint of anger in his voice, as if he resented her a little.

"Because you were meant for me anyway. And you refused me. And you're beautiful. And you were going to run off with damn fucking dirty rat. Something about the mixture of those thing. Don't ask me why beyond that. It was a mad impulse, one I'm not sure I regret or not. You've caused me all kinds of trouble." He walked forward. Her breath stopped, giving lurches of pain in her chest at his closeness. He filled up the space, like sunlight, filtering through all her cracks. His hand grabbed a stand of her hair, twirling it around his finger. "But it's too late for reasons. We're going to fuck tonight, so you can either enjoy it or not. Do you understand why we have to do this?"

She flinched at the word he used, though she wasn't sure what else to call it. They certainly wouldn't be making love.

"Yes, sort of."

Not really, she wanted to scream, because you won't explain about the Manato code! A couple weeks before, she had asked him. He just glared at her and walked out of the room. She wanted to ask him again, but she figured he still wouldn't be truthful.

"Do you at least understand the stakes if we don't make this real? If Snow discovers that we-"

"Yes."

That she did understand. The image of her mother in her rocking chair clicking away with her knitting needles had been burned into her mind. She could add her own images too: of Rory playing ball in the streets, of Mr. Mellark rolling out dough, of Greasy Sae giving her an extra ladle of stew. Of everyone she ever knew. They were all threatened.

"Good. Last question… are you scared?"

"No." The lie slipped past her teeth easy enough, but her voice trembled. She could smell him from here. He smelled of expensive cologne and bourbon and something that reminded her of the woods.

"That is exactly why we have to do this. If someone like Jace asks if I've complied with Manato, I don't want them to be able to take you away. He almost... I'm not going to let that happen again." He paused. "I won't hurt you like him, you know that right? I'd rather you feel pleasure. In fact, I'll do everything in my power to make you moan." He paused with a wicked smirk playing on his face. "We can even practice so you can get it right." His fingers traced the teal beads on her upper thigh. "Say my name." When she didn't answer, he gripped her chin in his hands and straightened her face, so that there was nowhere to look but at him.

"Cato," she obeyed. It was a whisper. A tiny exhale of breath.

"You should keep saying it."

He was so close that their lips brushed together without pressure. She didn't pull away, but her trembling intensified. He picked up her hand and glanced at it, at how it vibrated within his own.

"There's no rush. We have all night."

He took a step back, unlinking them. Prim gave a shaky breath of relief, or was it dismay? She wasn't sure. There was a sick part of her that had wanted him to continue, take the leap and connect their lips. Start and finish the inevitable. Get it over with. The waiting seemed to make it worse.

She leaned back, her hands brushing against the soft fabric on the table.

"What's this?" Prim motioned to the table.

"It's an antique."

Her breath caught in her throat. Years of conditioning made her want to run from the room. If peacekeepers found them...

Cato caught on to her terror.

"Calm down."

"Antiques are illegal."

Highly illegal. If a person were to be caught with them, they'd be turned into an Avox or worse. Objects like these came from the Time Before, before the districts, before the capitol. The people left giant, skeleton cities and roads all over the place. The Captiol banned the use of their artifacts, even of going into the cities. The only glimpse of the world before theirs came from media propaganda. They showed husks of cities, crumpling, flattened. They must have been mighty once, but only ashes remained. One time Gale and her found the remnants of a road, black, smooth stones with a yellow center. They had been too hesitant, even then, to venture further, to follow the road to its destination.

They risked their lives to hunt, not to explore.

Cato went to a wooden rack on the side, pulling out a long, skinny stick from the wall.

"I own many illegal things. You see those books," his eyes flicked to the volumes of literature lining the shelves, "those are antiques too. The Capitol won't touch me. I'm a victor."

The study fit Cato; it was dangerous.

He handed the skinny pole over the table.

"Do you want to play?"

Prim hesitated. It was one thing to look at an antique, it was another thing to touch it, explore it, understand it. But then she thought of Snow, of the things he wanted her to sacrifice. Touching the pole would be defiant, and at the moment, it was an intangible concept she craved. And she was awful curious…

She gripped the stick, bringing into her hands, feeling its weight. It brought a smirk to Cato's face.

"It's called Pool."

He placed a wooden triangle on the green fabric, organizing the balls into a pattern she couldn't understand.

"How did you learn to play?"

He quirked an eyebrow and lifted the wooden triangle with care. He walked to the other side of the table, placing a white ball down on a small dot. Leaning over, he closed one eye for better sight.

What was he doing?

Cato wielded the stick like a weapon, putting it over his thumb, and then Wham. He smacked the ball with the stick, sending it hurtling into the others at high speed. It cracked and reverberated, sending the rest of them scattering. A few went into the holes, others went careening around the table until they all stilled.

"You'd be surprised what you can find on the black market, especially when it comes to the Ancients and antiques." He must have seen the look of disbelief on her face. "Oh, come on, stop being fucking scared. The Captiol isn't going to come rush in here and take you away. They've probably known I've had them for years. You can't tell me you aren't fascinated by them."

She had to admit that she was. Not much was known about them, or at least, not much was allowed to be known. When she was a girl, she used to imagine what they would be like. Most of the time she imagined them to be monsters worse than the Captiol—how else did they end with such fire?

"You know," Cato continued, "They used to have something called a democracy. Their government was run by the people."

"What? All of them?"

He nodded.

"How did they make it work? That would have been chaos."

Cato shrugged and walked to the corner of the table, picking out two balls from the pocket. One was solid purple, one was solid blue.

"I'm solids. You're stripes." He said.

She had no idea what he meant.

"Their government didn't make any sense."

He shrugged again, leaning over, aiming at the white ball again. It seemed the white was meant to be a catalyst for the colors and stripes to be pushed into a pocket. He pulled the stick back and forth a few times, as if adjusting his aim, before loosing it.

Another solid ball plopped into the hole, causing him to smirk. Cato thrived on competition, and even as she watched him, he seemed to gain back some confidence that had been stolen by Snow earlier.

"Well, from what I heard, they didn't exactly all run the government. They just picked the people that did. And they didn't serve for life. After a certain amount of time, the leaders stepped down—"

"They just stepped down? Just like that? They didn't fight to stay in power?"

He just shook his head.

The idea was just too unbelievable to be true.

"It sounds wonderful," she said.

"It sounds fucking stupid."

He aimed for another solid ball, but he missed. The white ball hit the edges of the table, bounced against it, and fell down into one of the holes.

"Shit," Cato cursed.

"Well, maybe it didn't make much sense, but it worked for them," Prim said.

"Obviously, it didn't. Otherwise they'd still be here, preaching their equality and bullshit. But all that's left of them is burned cities. So much for democracy, huh?"

"Well, we're not sure why their cities burned. And besides, if you know so much, how would you run the government?"

Their conversation teetered on the brink of treason. The room might even be bugged.

But Cato was right, they must know about the antiques, and he hadn't gotten in trouble yet. President Snow needed them to reign in the people. Maybe they would get in the trouble in the future, but not today.

Cato eyed her for a moment. He set the ball on the table and motioned her to come closer.

"Your turn."

"My turn?" She hated that she felt nervous. Games had never been her strength. She tended to lose. "But I'm not sure how to play."

"Just do what I've done, but aim for the striped ones."

She attempted to act like she understood what she was doing. She went to the table, bending over like he did and placed the stick on her thumb. She attempted to aim, but when she sent the stick forward it flopped off her finger, and the stick missed the ball by at least five inches.

Cato snorted, "I'll be nice and allow you to shoot until you hit something. Since it's your first time and all."

Prim scowled, having an irrational urge to strike him. The violent thought came out of nowhere, and was so completely unlike her, she had to blame Cato.

She tried again, and missed again, cursing low under her breath in a combination of embarrassment and frustration.

The third attempt she finally hit the ball, but it only went an inch. God, she knew she'd be bad, but this was just pathetic.

"You absolutely suck." He teased.

"One more word and I'll aim for you next."

"I think we've already seen how well that'd work."

"Then I'll wait till you're asleep. I do know where your bedroom is. I'm sure I'd eventually hit something that can be damaged."

"That was the least intimidating threat I've ever received."

She wanted to be mad, but her indignation melted and she snorted, unable to hide her smile.

What was that? Was she smiling? With Cato?

He smirked back, and the energy in the room shifted, almost suffocating with its weight.

She bent down to aim again, putting the tip on top of her thumb like he showed her. Before she shot, she put her forehead against the green, fuzzy top. She hadn't realized how dizzy she was until now. Alcohol from the engagement dance still filtered through her.

"I'm hopeless."

Cato placed his stick on the rack, and walked towards her, positioning his body behind her. She felt his hands on her arms, and his warmth at her back. Her dress didn't off much protection, for it dipped low on her back, exposing her skin to him. Soft linen brushed against bare skin.

"Here, I'll show you," he whispered into her ear.

This was one of those tricks, she thought. The ones the boys did. She saw many boys in district 12 "showing" girls how to do things, while the girls acted coy and stupid. It always annoyed her.

But this wasn't coy or stupid. This was blatant seduction. Both people understood what he was doing, and it caused her hair to stand on end all across her body.

"Hold it like this," he guided her hands into position, lips tickling her ear. He slid his hands down her arms in an attempt to place them in the right spots. They were large hands, nice and wide and weathered. The skin was golden and hard, the nails trimmed. Up close, they held tiny scars, almost invisible like the veins in butterfly's wings.

His head bent down so that it rested near her shoulder.

"Now shoot."

He helped her pull the stick back. When it went forward, it hit the ball and the one in front of it. It didn't go far, but it inched closer to a side pocket. It was a start at least.

It was Cato's turn again. Their bodies separated. Her body mourned the loss of heat, the chilliness of the room replacing his warmth. But her mind breathed a sigh of relief, not yet ready to take any leaps of seduction just yet.

He shot and scored, and managed to do it a second time as well before missing on the third try.

It was hard for him to lose a shot, even if he was still winning, for she could tell how hard he concentrated by his furrowed brow and the way he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth.

Was he trying to impress her?

Usually, she would think that was ridiculous. Why would Cato care about impressing her? But he kept looking up at her as if trying to gauge her reaction. With each shot he made, he would right himself with his chest puffed out in pride, as if on display. As if to show her he was a champion. Prim attempted to keep a neutral face. It wasn't hard to do. She understood the position she was in, but she still didn't like him. She certainly wouldn't gush over him every time he won something like one of his fan girls. Besides, if he was winning, that meant she was losing, and she never did like losing.

"You never answered my question." she said, uncomfortable with his stares and wanting to turn the tables. "About the government."

"Your turn," he answered. "Do you need help this time?"

Prim gripped the pool stick in her hands, trying to calm down her heart.

She knew what he asked. He was asking permission in his own way-to touch her.

No, she almost sneered.

"Yes."

She gave permission.

His face was unreadable, the features etched in stone. But his eyes—they turned dark. His head tilted downward in his stare.

He walked up behind her again. Even through clothes, every cell in her body felt him.

"If I ran the government, there wouldn't be another person. There'd just be me. A democracy wouldn't work, not in practice."

He lined up her pool stick again, causing her to lean down. The callouses on his hands electrified her arm on their way up and down. This time he didn't keep them on her arms, instead he stood up behind her clutching at her hips. The fabric of her dress bunched on the sides as he gripped it.

He gave a little tug, pulling her hips backwards to fit to his. He was hardness, everywhere. She felt the arousal pressing tight against her. Her mouth warred on whether to let out a squeak of terror or a moan. The pulsing began inside her, the ache. It pulled and stretched, making her want to move against him just to feel him press tighter.

"Your version of the government sounds an awful lot like Snow's."

"Snow is correct on some levels. A democracy wouldn't work because not everyone deserves to have power. Most are weak or stupid. They need to be led."

"Who deserves power then? You, I'm guessing."

His hands loosened on his hips and went farther down her legs, slowly inching up her beaded dress.

She sucked in a breath to calm herself.

"Of course. I'd be a great leader. I'm strong. I'm capable... I'm rough when I need to be."

In a sudden movement, his hips pressed hard into her back, and one hand pushed at the top of her shoulders. Her upper body slammed into the table, catching her descent at the last moment with frail wrists. Cato kept her pinned. The other hand pressed hard on her hip near the edge of her spine. She almost cried out from the pain before he let up.

"But I can be gentle too." The hand left her hip, trailing up her exposed back, tracing her spine. His finger felt like a feather to her skin, like a lightning flash. She shivered underneath him as his hand tangled in her hair, twirling it up and brushing all to one side of her shoulder.

Stop making me feel these things, her mind pleaded both to Cato and her own body. It betrayed her. She could feel her heat, her fire, rising up in her. She didn't want to feel this… this desire. If she had to give it up to him, fine, but she didn't want to feel it.

His hand let up the pressure in the middle of her shoulder blades.

"Go on, shoot."

She sucked in a breath through her clenched teeth. She repositioned, her brain fuzzy, not able to think.

She eyed the configuration on the table. The white ball sat near a striped ball, which sat near the pocket. She didn't doubt she could push the striped ball in; she was less certain about keeping the white ball on the table.

"Tilt the stick a little to the left."

She did what he said.

"Now just give a little tap, not too hard. And lower your elbow a little… yes, like that."

She tapped the ball. They knocked together. The striped ball tipped in, disappearing from view, but the white one teetered. She held her breath for a moment. But the ball stabilized.

She twisted, facing him, unable to hide her streak of pride.

"I did it."

It came out in a whisper.

He towered over her, large, imposing, lethal, making her forget all about pool or winning. He wasn't thinking about pool either. She knew what he wanted then, what he desired. The intensity of it almost knocked her over as their eyes locked. Her pool stick clattered to the ground, forgotten.

It was time for a decision.

"It's still your turn, little bird, your move."

Stop fighting the brick wall.

My move. My choice.

And damn it all, she wanted it too.

There was no denying anything anymore. Her excuses crumbled.

She didn't dare kiss him like she wanted. That would be too bold. Prim was at a loss for how to start something she was so inexperienced at. So she just let herself ride off instinct. Her trembling fingers went up and gently touched his jaw line, running across the soft, full bottom lip.

Cato exhaled a shaky breath.

It was all the permission needed.

His lips crashed into hers with violence, both hands on her cheeks, body pressing her back against the pool table. The intensity shocked her.

"Oh, little bird, you have no idea." He said into her mouth, "But I'll show you."