confessional hymns for the devil, himself
Comments: I've started cross-posting this over at Ao3 just to get it out in more places. This chapter is a lot longer than the rest; I just had so much to say! Enjoy the update!
Disclaimer: I own nothing that has a copyright attached.
Chapter Three
Clove is not prepared for the immediate anger. It courses through her chest, white-hot, and leaves her shaking. Docere's words are lost on her now. Every cell in her body screams rage, and a thousand possible scenarios of revenge flit through her head. This simpleton is responsible for her death; she deserved better. However, Thresh has his eyes set on Cato only.
Cato falls back into a defensive stance as they both see Thresh ever-so-lightly lead with his chest and come barreling towards them. The impact of their bodies emits a blunt, thudding sound as Thresh tackles Cato around the waist. Though matched in size, the momentum causes Cato to lose his footing, and they both crash to the ground locked together, fists flying.
"Stay back!" Cato yells at her, halting her from where she's about to stomp in Thresh's head with her boot. Clove's vision bleeds red at his words; this was her fight and she wasn't about to be told to stay out of the way!
Thresh notices his opening and delivers a sharp hook of his own. Cato's lip splits like an overripe peach. He spits, spraying Thresh's bare chest with blood which only serves to make the other man angrier. Clove lurches forward, instinct and rage driving her, as she witnesses Thresh's hands wrap around Cato's neck. She grapples with Thresh's back, nails finding purchase in his skin. He curses gruffly and swings her off. Cato claws upward, face contorting as the air is robbed from his body. Clove has no weapons. Thresh is easily over twice her size. Knocking him off Cato by sheer force is out of the question. She does the only thing that comes to mind; she hits him.
Her knuckles meet the soft area of his temple and Thresh grunts angrily, whipping his head around to look at her. There's a trickle of blood sliding down from his hairline, and his golden eyes flash as he frees a hand and grabs her by the back of the neck, slamming her face into the dirt beside Cato. Clove rises back up as far as Thresh's hold will allow her, spitting venom and fire. She notices Cato's eyes are watering at this point and any minute he will either black out from lack of oxygen or Thresh will succeed in crushing his windpipe.
Thresh moves his hold from the back of her neck to her long hair, twisting and pulling the strands in his meaty grasp to hold her still. She howls and kicks out with her feet, just barely able to graze Thresh's ribs. A feeling passes through Clove and it's foreign and unwanted: helplessness. Cato is no longer struggling as he was moments before, hands wrapped feebly around Thresh's wrists in the hopes of loosening the man's grip.
"Thresh! Stop now!"
The young voice rings out in the mountain air, at once powerful and demanding. Something snaps inside of Thresh and from her angle, Clove can just barely make out shame in his eyes. He releases her hair and Cato at the same time.
Rue stands above him, tugging him to his feet. Tears streak down her dark cheeks as she pulls on his arm to put distance between them. When her eyes meet Clove's, she is able to see fear in them. Rue could have let Thresh kill Cato, but she stopped him and that baffles Clove more than anything else she's learned today. The little girl's odds of survival in the arena were slim to none; she should have been glad to see revenge.
Quickly, Rue rushes Thresh up the hill towards the houses and it's then that Clove sees the rest of the tributes have gathered around, watching the spectacle. Her eyes sweep over the familiar faces of her victims, muscle memory reminding her of how easy it had been to throw a knife into their bodies. Marvel and Glimmer are at the fore-front, shock painted on their faces.
Beside her, Cato sits up coughing raggedly. Dark red fingerprints adorn his neck and he rubs at them harshly. Clove wants to ask if he's okay, but adding insult to injury doesn't seem the best route of action right now. He's silent as he pushes himself to his feet and begins walking away from her.
Glimmer approaches them, but Clove stubbornly walks past her; the last position she wants to be in is having to explain to her what's happened to all of them. The rest of the tributes are not Clove's responsibility, and she feels a swell of anger when Cato stops to humor her. How can he stand her giant doe eyes right now when Thresh had nearly killed him a few moments ago?
Clove slams the front door to their shared quarters with a little more force than what is probably necessary, but she needs to make a point even if she can't find the words at the moment. The sitting room is too pristine for her roiling thoughts, so she snatches the cushions from the couch and pillows them underneath her on the floor.
Thresh had held her immobile with just one hand to the back of her head regardless of Clove's attempts to free herself. Yes, he is as strong as they come, and it isn't the first time he has manhandled her, but it still leaves her with a sour, white-hot feeling in her gut. Cato was overpowered, and she had been forced to watch as Thresh choked the life out of his eyes. Her feeling of weakness bothers her much more than Clove really wants to admit to herself. The door slams again behind her, and she flinches despite herself. Her nerves are still shot.
"I have to say that's not quite how I pictured our reunion to be," Cato quips, moving around her to sit on the cushion-less couch. "What are you doing down there?"
Clove doesn't answer him, instead standing and chucking the cushions beside him. "Why does Thresh want you dead?" she blurts out. She had imagined the shock of being alive would have zapped the rest of the Tributes of their aggression. Angry, yes. Blood-thirsty, no.
"Probably because I killed him first," he replies, stretching his long body out on the sofa.
"Oh, I thought Cat Piss took him out," Clove says dumbly. Cato is Thresh's only real competition, but admitting to herself that Cato killed him would also mean admitting that Cato probably killed him out of retaliation. For her. As much as her district partner wants to believe they are allies, they still have absolutely no emotional baggage between them. They are barely partners, much less friends. Besides that, Cato and chivalry never really mixed.
He gingerly prods at the mottled bruises that are just beginning to show on his neck, and a wave of embarrassment for him runs through Clove. Seeing Cato capable of injury is a lot like how it was to see her father cry for the first time. Blood still gathers on his lower lip. She takes her leave of the room without explanation as quickly as she can and locks herself in her bathroom.
It seems a good of a time as any to finally take that bath, so Clove strips herself out of the borrowed clothes. While this bathroom lacks the high-tech sprays and foams the Capitol has, there's a various assortment of bath oils and soaps in a basket by the tub. Sinking beneath the water offers her the comfort she's been seeking all day as if all the answers will be found underneath the steam rising up from the tub. When her lungs begin to ache she emerges a little clear-headed than before.
First on her agenda is to question Snow ruthlessly. Find out why he is keeping them all here, and what he plans on doing with them. Who knew when he was going to show his face again though? He would likely want to see Clove even less. Tearing at someone's throat with your teeth doesn't exactly put you in their good graces, but Snow was never in hers.
A cloud of steam billows out into the cool bedroom when she unlocks the door, and she wraps the towel tighter around her to trap more of the heat. There is a glass of water and a couple of round, white pills lying on the bedside table. Clove's eyes shoot to the door, suspicious. She hadn't noticed them when she came in, but it's unlikely Cato would have brought her painkillers in to her. Maybe one of the doctor's assistants brought them by instead.
Clove swallows them as she dresses, slipping out of the bedroom. Cato is still spread out over the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, and chest rising with every inhale. It's safer not to disturb him now that he has finally fallen asleep. She's not expecting the kitchen to be as well-stocked as it is. How long have they been expecting them? How long have they been a part of Snow's "plan"?
She's halfway through a peanut butter sandwich when she hears loud yelling outside. The rest must have finally clued in, she muses, making her way to the front door. Clove can see they are gathered in a semi-circle in front of her house, arguing. None of them seem to notice her as she walks out toward them.
"I think we should all say what we remember last; I think that will help us remember everything," the girl from District Six recommends, her ridiculous blonde pigtails bouncing with her excitement.
"It obviously doesn't matter what we remember last since we can't be sure what we can remember is the truth," Marvel shoots back. For some reason, she is thankful that Cato has left him in the dark.
Pigtail girl looks as if she wants to argue with him, but Clove steps into the middle of the circle before the girl can open her dumb mouth. To her delight, the majority of the group shrinks back from her presence.
"I am increasingly surprised at how dumb you all are." Glimmer's mouth drops open dramatically, and Clove really has to wonder how someone so proper and girly turned into a Career.
"Give us one good reason why we shouldn't kill you right now?" District Six's male threatens bravely, stepping towards her.
Clove snarls, fingering the hilt of the knife she had stuck in her pants from the kitchen. "Just one? The obvious being that I know more ways to kill you in under five seconds than your underwhelming brain can comprehend. I'm also the only one that knows where we are, but if you still think you have a shot, please try me."
The boy looks flabbergasted, caught between wanting to back up the tough exterior he is putting on for show and backing down from a fight he knows he can't win. Thresh solves his dilemma for him by stepping in front of the kid and glaring down his nose at her. She swears she doesn't flinch a millimeter backwards.
"There will be no more fighting," he asserts lowly. Clove doesn't like him taking charge of the group like this and acting as if he'll protect them from Cato and her. However, the tone of his voice doesn't leave much in the way of an argument right now. Not after what he did to Cato.
"Fine. Control your lambs, and I'll try not to slaughter you all out of pity."
Thresh's reply is interrupted by the sudden, silent arrival of a hovercraft in a circle of clear space in front of the houses. Its monstrous body appears out of thin air and sets down just as quietly. She notices Docere wandering out from the clinic as if he somehow heard its descent, curious. The steel ramp unfolds from the side of the craft, fluidly unraveling towards the ground.
Docere reaches her side as President Snow emerges from within, surrounded by his guards. The doctor visibly blanches next to Clove and turns as white as the old president's hair. At once, his disposition on the first day becomes clear to her. He had never been frightened of Cato and her; it is Snow who terrifies him.
The rest of the group is wide-eyed, staring up at Snow with hope in their eyes. He smiles roguishly, sweeping a liver-spotted hand over his platinum hair.
"Children, Tributes, I'm glad to see you all well and awake. I am certain you have a lot of questions for me, and in time, I will answer them all."
The raucous that erupts seems to overwhelm Snow, because the smile drops from his face in a matter of moments.
"You are all a unit, a single undivided entity. As a unit, you will work together and collaborate and achieve the goals that are set before yo-".
"How are we alive?!" one of the district females interrupts, and the group explodes again.
"Enough!" Snow commands, patience a thing of the past. "I have saved you all from extinction because you have a purpose. You did not win the 74th Hunger Games, because I have set aside a task for you that means more. Do not question your existence anymore and turn your attention to what you are now meant to do."
She catches Docere's eye. Is this the same task that he wouldn't tell Cato and her about? The old man stares back with the wide eyes of startled prey, and pushes backwards through the crowd. Clove sneers at his retreating back. Coward.
"Over the next few weeks, everyone will be required to attend training sessions. Those caught skipping will be punished accordingly. In six weeks time, training will conclude and all of you will be transported east to begin your next assignment. Think of this not as a punishment but as a second chance. Training begins tomorrow; do not be late."
Snow pivots and stalks back towards the still-running hovercraft, clearly done speaking with the plebian masses. Clove slips back to the house without anyone noticing; Cato needs to know these new developments. He would understand as much as she did that Careers are trained for the Games, but a training of a mixed group can only mean one thing.
They are to be Snow's personal army. An army against what, though?
Clove's just shut the door behind her when she's struck by a horrible keening noise coming from down the hall. The sound is muffled, but she can still discern that it's Cato. She makes her way to his bedroom with deliberation, knife gripped tight in her palm; self-perseverance tells her to take caution to what she may find. He lies face-down on his bed, face completely smothered into his pillow, and he is screaming. The severe rigidity of his body is the only thing that keeps Clove from backing out of the room.
She hesitates briefly as he groans in pain, the sound tortured and coming from deep within his chest. When Clove moves to touch his shoulder, he flinches violently away from her. The angle of his body looks weird like the tension in his muscles is not being controlled by him. Her fingers skim his shoulder blade, and she jerks her hand back, eyes widening in horror. Sweat has soaked through his thin t-shirt, but more pressing is every single one of his muscles is locked tight and spasming violently under her hand.
Quickly, Clove rolls him over onto his back. The pillow and his chin are covered in blood where he's tore into his cheek with his teeth against his will. Somehow, he's still conscious through this. His eyes fall to hers, wild and filled with what can only be agony. Not knowing what else to do, she climbs onto the bed next to him and pulls his head into her lap cautiously. He yells out through his clenched teeth, and a fresh sheen of sweat erupts on his forehead. Clove reluctantly smoothes back his sodden blonde bangs, out of her element.
Docere is right; Cato's ghost pains are a lot worse than hers. Morphling pills spill out over the comforter next to them, where he presumably tried to get them open before he succumbed to the total lock-down of his body. She grabs one and jabs it between his teeth, using a finger to slide it towards the back of his tongue.
"If you bite me, I swear to god I'll rip you apart," she threatens him, voice strained. He gags around her finger. "The same goes for throwing up on me." She assists him with swallowing by massaging his throat with her fingers, watching the pill make its way slowly down. The ice blue of his eyes lock with hers in that moment, and Clove feels like she's trapped in his vulnerability. His pain embarrasses her, and she looks around the room instead. Cato is never supposed to be like this, and she is certainly never supposed to witness it.
Slowly, like a sleeping limb waking up, his body relaxes bit by bit as the medication starts to take effect. His jaw loosens underneath her hands, and she pulls them back sharply, afraid that he'll think she was coddling him. He swallows thickly, a small smirk spreading across his lips.
"I'd like to see that," Cato murmurs. He continues to try and hold her gaze, but at this point Clove is stubbornly looking everywhere but.
"How did you die, Cato? If I'm going to be the one to hold your hand through this shit, I need to know what I'm up against." She doesn't add that she hopes she never has to be in this same spot again. When she glances back at his face finally, his eyes are unfocused and clouded.
"The Capitol created these wolf-hybrid muttations and made them look like everyone. District 12 and I were stranded on top of the Cornucopia when they knocked me off." His eyes come to rest on hers again. "Your mutt attacked me right here," he continued, laying a hand on his chest directly over his heart. "Katniss shot an arrow into my head to put me out of my misery."
Clove balks at his admission, sliding out from under him. Before she can move off the bed, he encircles her wrist with his strong hand. "Don't go." Clove pulls at his grip, realizing he's not going to let her free.
"Stay." His words are slurred now, the drugs finally sedating him.
"I don't want to." He lays still, looking up at her, processing her response. She's thankful for the medication as his drowsy blinking hides the eyes that are too raw, too unguarded, and too searching.
"I have seen you capable of such horrible things, Clove. What you did for me is the first selfless thing I've ever seen you do. Just stay."
She sits on the floor next to the bed petulantly. His face is void of expression, but he continues to stare at her from underneath his lashes. It's invasive and unnerving, and Clove finds herself shifting uncomfortably against her better judgment. "Will you stop looking at me like that?!" He acquiesces, but not before tightening his grip around her hand. She pulls again, ineffectually, at the restraint, exhaustion and annoyance wearing her down.
Today, she's had to assist Cato more than once in ways that she's not okay with. Careers and vulnerability do not mix. Clove can't place her finger on it, but something about Cato has shifted. It shown in his eyes earlier, unrecognizable. She still finds herself nodding off next to him, forehead heavy against the side of the mattress.
Through it all, Cato refuses to let go of her wrist.