It was astonishing how quickly everything was progressing above ground in 13. The foundations of the infrastructure were there already from the days before the games, so it hadn't been too difficult to reestablish electricity and indoor plumbing and even cell phone service.
Panem's train system, after being shut down for a while due to the war, had started back up and they had built new rails in 13 to accommodate the almost constant inflow of finished goods and raw materials. At least two cargo trains came through every day, each with one car devoted to passengers. The schedule wasn't regular, and you had to be flexible with your departure and arrival times, but it was affordable and it got you where you wanted to go.
It had gotten out a couple months after the war that the whole quarter quell had been a setup and that all of the tributes (except Woof of course) had survived and that Cato Hadley hadn't actually raped Katniss Everdeen. There had been some grumbling and mild outrage at first, but for the most part, people were too focused on their newfound freedom and rebuilding their lives to really care for very long.
It didn't really affect Cato at all, since everyone in 13 had known the truth right from the beginning anyway, and that was where he intended to stay. He knew he could never go back to 2, and he didn't want to anyway. It was too closely tied to his past. Things had been a little awkward for Katniss in 12, he knew, but she told him that after a couple of months people had pretty much gotten over it.
For about a year and a half after the official end of the war, Cato continued to live in his room in the underground bunker, but in the spring of 78 ADD, he moved into the little stone house he had built for himself on the outskirts of the land that had been set aside for the construction of the new Capitol, which was now rapidly springing up.
He led an exhausting life. Punishing, really. He rose at daybreak and made himself a bowl of oatmeal and some eggs and then he packed himself a thermos of coffee and a simple lunch and walked a couple of miles to work and he threw himself wholeheartedly into his job.
It made him smile. He had come from the district known for masonry, but since he was six he had been considered "above labor" and meant for something "better."
And now, here he was in 13, a stonecutter in a workshop. All day long he hefted chunks of sandstone and limestone up onto his shoulders and hauled them to his table where he measured and cut and smoothed them into bricks to be used to build foundations and fireplaces for houses and facades for commercial and government buildings.
He pushed himself so that his muscles ached and sweat dripped from his brow, and about once a week some of the other guys convinced him to come out and have a beer or two with them, but most nights he was the last one to leave, the one who made sure all of the machines were shut down and cleaned, and the lights turned off and the doors locked.
Then he walked back home and took a shower and ate some bread and cheese and fruit and by the time he'd finished drying and putting away his dishes, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open, and he'd stumble into bed and fall asleep almost the second his head hit the pillow.
They all shook their heads at how hard he worked. The other stonecutters and the friends he'd made from his time training the rebels.
They didn't understand that he was just trying desperately to distract himself during his waking hours and exhaust himself so he could spend as much time as possible sleeping until he got to see his daughter again.
Three weekends a month for that first year and a half, he had gotten together with a group of plumbers and carpenters and electricians, and they had rotated among each others' plots of land, trading labor and working as a group until each had a finished house.
Now that they were done, he still hung out with some of them on the weekends. They'd go fishing or hiking and it was nice. They all knew who he was, but they treated him like just another guy. Not like Cato the Victor or Cato the Revolutionary.
It wasn't enough though. They made fine friends and neighbors, but his life didn't feel complete.
And he still had bad days and terrible nights, when he remembered the look in Thresh's sister's eyes or dreamed about the boy from 4 he'd killed in his first games. The worst was when he strangled Katniss to death in his sleep. He'd wake up shaking and nauseous, with the urge to shoot himself up with morphling or get the lighter from the kitchen and hold it to his arm. But instead, he would roll over and pick up his phone and scroll through his pictures of Violet. And eventually his breathing would slow and heart would relax in his chest.
The best part of his life was the one weekend a month when he traveled to 12, which was also rapidly rebuilding itself, to see his daughter. He slept at Haymitch's, and sometimes, he'd stay up late sipping whiskey with him and shooting the shit like Brutus used to, but he never got drunk, because it was Violet he was really there to see, and he would have been pissed at himself if he'd had to miss out on a morning with her due to a hangover.
Katniss would feed him his meals, but for the most part, she kept out of his and Violet's way on those weekends. He felt bad for hogging her, but Katniss waved her hand dismissively and said it gave her time to clean the house and get other chores done. Plus, she pointed out, she could hunt on those mornings without foisting her daughter off on Grandma or Aunt Prim.
But now it was midsummer, and Violet was almost two and a half, and he had lived in his house for a couple of months, so Katniss had asked him if he wanted to see Violet every other weekend, and if he wanted her to come to him instead. He had said yes, of course, are you kidding?
And so he took every other Friday off to travel down to pick her up, and Katniss came to 13 on Sundays to take her back.
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The first time Katniss saw his house she smiled. She had come to pick Violet up from her first weekend at there, and she found it easily using the directions he had given her.
He had built it on one side of a wide gravel path, close to a few other houses. It was small and snug-looking on the outside, made up of irregularly shaped stones that he had carefully fitted together like a puzzle, and it had a dark green front door.
Out front was a little purple tricycle, with irridescent white streamers on the handlebars.
They didn't see her at first. The two of them were sitting cross legged on the grass and he was trying to teach her to blow bubbles, but she kept emitting quick, violent bursts of air that did nothing but result in her spit flying everywhere. And so he held the wand up to his mouth and patiently explained that she needed to blow soft and steady and he demonstrated and bubbles went flying everywhere and Violet squealed and clapped her hands and jumped up to chase them.
"Mommy! My bike!" she cried when she saw her mother, running over to her and grasping her by the hand and pointing.
"I see. It's lovely."
"In the shed?" the little girl asked, turning to her father.
"Yes, I'll put it in the shed," he promised as he stood.
"And the bubbles?"
"And the bubbles."
"It looks good," Katniss said. "I like the stones. How they're all irregular. Can I see the inside?"
"Sure. Just go in the back door. The front one's locked. I don't really use it."
It was a simple house, with rough pine floors and matching beams in the high ceilings and cream colored walls and lots of windows to let in the sunlight.
She entered into the mudroom, which held almost nothing. Just a washer and dryer and his work boots, covered in limestone dust.
The kitchen was practical, with no real sign of any personality, except for the piles of crayons and paper spread across the table. Katniss smiled as she sifted through the papers. Some of them were covered in scribbles, clearly the work of her daughter, and some of them held simple pictures of flowers and cats and dogs that Cato had obviously drawn.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asked, and she turned to see him opening the refrigerator. "I have milk and water. And apple juice for Violet."
"No thanks. Is that all the food you have?" Katniss asked as she peeked into the fridge. In addition to the beverages he'd offered her, it held only bacon and eggs and cheese and jelly and butter.
"I have carrots and apples in here," he said defensively, pointing to the produce drawer. "And bread and peanut butter and oats in there." He pointed to one of the few cabinets. "And bananas." He pointed to the counter.
"You eat like a child," she said, wondering if he would remember that morning on the train during the tour.
He looked at her sheepishly and shrugged, and she could tell that he remembered. "I don't really know how to cook."
"I'm just teasing," she reassured him, and turned toward the hallway that led off the kitchen.
The bathroom was unremarkable, except for the little purple toothbrush that sat next to his big red one. The medicine cabinet held a few rolls of toilet paper and nothing else.
The next room she peeked in was empty, except for a few unopened boxes. "Storage room," he said from the end of the hallway. "I guess it could be a third bedroom." There was an affected offhandedness to the way he spoke those words, and Katniss snuck a curious peek at him, but his expression was neutral.
She glanced into the next room, which was clearly his, but turned away quickly. It felt weird, too intimate, really, to be looking at it. Still, she repressed a smile at the state of it. There was literally no furniture apart from a messy, unmade bed, with wrinkled white sheets and a gray blanket. His clothes lay in piles in the corners.
She grinned as she looked into the last door in the hallway.
"My room!" Violet cried, clapping with delight and taking hold of her mother's hand to drag her in and show everything off. Katniss stood in the middle of the room, her heart melting as she took it in. The little bed with a feather pillow and a stuffed penguin and a plush turquoise blanket. The thick, white, faux fur rug. The twinkle lights, pink and blue and green and yellow, strung around the window frame. A handful of children's books on the floor.
"You picked all this out?" she asked Cato.
"No, she did. We went shopping Friday night."
Katniss put her hands on her knees and leaned down to address her daughter. "Your bed looks so cozy!"
Violet giggled and nodded with enthusiasm, but Cato snorted affectionately. "She wouldn't know. She made it about two minutes in here both nights and then she insisted on coming in to stay with me."
"She'll grow out of it," Katniss said, standing upright and turning to face him. "The trick is to sit in here with her and read to her and rub her back until she falls asleep."
The last stop on the tour was the living room. "I don't really use this room," he said, when she saw that it contained only a couch and a big, cushy chair with a footstool. No coffee or end tables, no lamps, not even a tv. But there was a gorgeous stone fireplace that matched the exterior of the house.
The floor was completely bare. Come to think of it, the only rug in the entire house was in Violet's room. Katniss almost opened her mouth to say something about it, but clamped it shut again. His daughter was his number one priority. As soon as the fall set in he would realize that her little toes were cold and he would rush out and buy bathmats and rugs for the hallway and a thick carpet for the living room. Katniss knew it. There was no need to say anything. He would learn as he went, and for the most part, she decided, she wouldn't intervene.
Except for the medicine cabinet. She should probably do something about that soon.
Silly man she thought.
And she couldn't stop the tender smile that began to spread across her face or the tears that filled her eyes.
This was not the same man who had wrapped his hands around her throat on top of the Cornucopia four years ago.
And yet this was the same man who had wrapped his hands around her throat on top of the Cornucopia four years ago.
"What is it?" he asked stiffly behind her, and she realized that she'd just been standing there, staring at the fireplace for a couple of minutes.
"Nothing," she said, shaking her head and blinking back her tears. But when she turned around, he looked down at her with worry in his eyes.
"Do you think it's ok?" he asked. "For Violet? Is there something I should have done differently?"
"No, no," she rushed to reassure him. "It's perfect."
"Then-?"
"You're a wonderful father Cato," she whispered and before she could stop herself, she put her hand to his cheek.
He hitched his breath and tensed his body, and his eyes were wide on her face.
She immediately dropped her hand and turned toward the hallway, embarrassed at her sudden outburst of emotion. "Violet honey!" she called out to her daughter. "We need to get going or we're gonna miss our train."
"I comin' mommy!" Violet called back.
She stayed facing the hallway as she waited for her daughter because she didn't want him to see her hurriedly wiping her tears from her eyes.
An almost unbearable pressure had built up in her chest and it was screaming at her to relieve it by turning to this man and kissing him on the mouth.
But she didn't give in and she didn't turn around.
So she didn't see him clench his fists to keep from reaching out and pulling her into his arms.
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She was right about the rugs. Sometime around mid-September, they appeared all throughout the house, along with a little pair of fuzzy brown bear slippers.
And as the weeks and months passed, she noticed other new things. A moon-shaped nightlight next to Violet's bed. A little wooden sled after the first snowfall. Tins of cocoa and bags of marshmallows for hot chocolate.
And one day, a husky puppy named Beau.
Violet had been asking for a puppy for weeks, and Katniss, who felt Buttercup was more than enough, said no.
But Cato was an entirely different story. "Sucker," she teased him as the puppy sat with Violet on the rug in the living room, wagging his tail and licking her face as she squealed.
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One weekend she arrived to pick her daughter up a little earlier than usual, and she caught them at their Sunday morning brunch.
"Mommy!" Violet squealed from her booster seat, waving her fork in the air.
"Hi honey," Katniss said as she surveyed her daughter's plate. Bacon. Banana slices. Chocolate chip pancakes. And a glass of milk to wash it all down.
"I thought you couldn't cook," she said to Cato.
"Most things, no. But breakfast…" he said as he flipped another pancake. "Breakfast I can cook like it's nobody's business. You want some?" And he grinned at her boyishly.
"Yes," she said automatically, mesmerized by his smile. Oh I want some alright she thought.
"How many?"
"How many what?"
He gave her a funny look and gestured at the skillet with his spatula. "Pancakes." Duh his tone said.
"Oh. Two please."
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It was 1:17am and her phone was ringing. Why was her phone ringing?
Alarm set in when she saw that it was Cato.
"What's wrong?" she asked without bothering to say hello.
"She's sick." He sounded panicked.
"Sick? What kind of sick?"
"Her nose is running and she keeps grabbing her ear and she has a fever."
Oh jesus. That was all? Katniss wanted to laugh at him, but she stopped herself.
"What's her temperature?" she asked calmly.
"100.3. I checked it four times."
Jesus.
"Ok, well that's fine. Nothing to be alarmed about. Just keep checking every few hours. You don't need to worry about it unless it gets up to like 103. And make sure she drinks a lot. Don't worry about only letting her have one glass of juice a day. Let her have as much as she wants while she's sick. But still dilute it with water." And then she gave him instructions on which medicine to give her for her ear. "Call me if you need anything else," she finished.
He called her back about an hour later.
"I gave her medicine and juice and she seems better, but I can't get her to go back to sleep. She says you rock her and sing to her when she doesn't feel well. I'm rocking her but...maybe if you sing to her?"
"Sure," Katniss said. "Put the phone up to her ear?"
"You're on speakerphone."
"Oh." And she proceeded to sing a few simple, soothing lullabies. "Did it work?" she asked about ten minutes later. But he didn't answer. "Cato? Did it work?" Still nothing. "Cato?"
"Huh?" His voice was thick.
"Did it work?"
"Yeah, she's out. Thanks."
He fell asleep too she realized. And she smiled to herself, but only for a second. Because her throat closed up and her eyes filled with tears and she wished more than anything that she had been there to see Cato asleep with his daughter, her daughter, their daughter in his arms.
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One Tuesday in January he called to tell her that the workshop had a big order that needed to be done by the end of the week so he wanted to work on Friday. "Would you mind bringing her this time and I'll return her on Sunday?" he asked. "I should be done by 4, and you can just bring her right to the shop instead of taking her all the way to my house."
So she and Violet arrived around lunchtime and the two of them wandered around the Capitol shops until 4.
He wasn't quite finished when they entered the workshop and he gave them a guilty smile.
"Like 20 more minutes, that's all I need. When does your train leave?" he asked Katniss.
"Not for another hour. I can sit with her in the front room."
"No I watch Daddy!" Violet protested.
He opened his mouth to say no, but then he looked around the room and down at the hammer and chisel in his hand.
"Ok," he relented. He pointed to the windowsill behind him. "But you sit right here with mommy and you don't go near any of those machines. Got it?"
Violet nodded her assent.
"It's safe," he reassured Katniss, but she wasn't concerned.
"I figured. Otherwise you wouldn't have allowed it. I trust you." And she settled in and pulled Violet onto her lap and as she watched him work, she studied his body, noting how it had changed over the last few years.
He would never be a small man. He would always be tall and broad-shouldered, but he no longer ate like a body-builder or followed a carefully planned workout like he had at the Academy, and so he had lost a bit of his bulk. His muscles had grown long and lean, as though they had uncoiled themselves and stretched out.
His face when she first met him had looked baby soft and smooth, and now it was a little rougher, a little scruffier.
His blue eyes, once icy and cold, had mellowed out and grown smoky and warm.
But it was his hands, with their calloused palms and scarred knuckles and ragged cuticles, that she watched the most. They were so. fucking. sexy.
They were sexy when they measured and marked and cut and sanded a chunk of stone into a brick.
And they were sexy when they flipped chocolate chip pancakes.
And when they scratched Beau the husky behind the ears.
And when they smoothed their daughter's hair out of her face.
They were sexy because they did not destroy anymore, but created.
Because they did not harm anymore, but healed.
Because they were not rough anymore, but gentle.
And Katniss wondered what they would feel like on her bare skin.
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The winter had been fairly mild, and so March was unseasonably warm, and one sunny Friday morning a few days after Violet's third birthday, Cato arrived in 12 earlier than usual.
"Look who's here already!" Katniss called to her daughter when he came through the door. "Let's hurry and get your bag packed."
"But the twaps!" Violet called back.
"Well, sweet pea, we'll postpone that until you get back, huh?"
Cato gave Katniss a questioning look. "Twaps?"
"Traps. We were just gonna go check the traps. But it's no problem. You two go. She can always come with me another time."
But little Violet stomped her foot and made that face, so much like her mother's, that Cato had come to love.
"No, the train doesn't leave until 1 so there's plenty of time for you two to go check them," he said hurriedly. "I'll go see what Haymitch is doing."
This elicited another stomp. "Why can't Daddy come too-oo-oo?!"
Katniss smiled and brushed her daughter's hair off her forehead. "Well, there's no reason he can't." She turned to Cato. "You can come if you want. But you'll probably be bored out of your mind."
"No I'll come. You want me to carry something?" he asked as she slung her bow and game bag over her shoulder.
"No. You'll probably end up carrying her at some point."
It was a successful run. All but two of her traps and snares yielded up some small creature, and her game bag became so full that Cato reached out and took it from her shoulders.
"You didn't have to do that," she said. "I can handle it."
"I know you can," he said. "But I'm feeling like dead weight. Besides," he said, nodding his head towards Violet, who stood in front of her mother, arms above her head, proclaiming Up mommy, up mommy over and over again, "our daughter wants you to pick her up."
Our daughter. The words made her shiver. "No, you take her and I'll take the bag. Honey, why don't you let daddy hold you? He only gets to see you a couple times a month and I get you all the time."
Cato laughed. "She'll spend the entire train ride on my lap. You take her. Get your fix in now so you won't miss her too much over the weekend."
Katniss didn't protest anymore and hoisted Violet up. "Thank you."
Cato smiled, but he hadn't done it for her sake. He'd done it for his own. Because he had decided long ago that the sight of Katniss with Violet on her hip was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
And here, on her own turf, the mother of his child was especially breathtaking, and as they made their way through the forest, he glanced at her appreciatively.
She was at home in the woods, he had noted that before they were ten yards into the trees. She was light and graceful and her feet were steady and she was radiant in a quiet, tranquil way. As Cato studied her, he realized that she actually looked younger than when he'd first laid eyes on her. Motherhood and a few years of proper nutrition had made her a little softer, a little curvier, though she was still small and lean. Her gray eyes had lost their steeliness and become gentle and hazy and, at times, they could be incredibly sensual.
But right now, they were bright and mercurial, and all of her senses seemed to be heightened as she focused on a faint rustling in the undergrowth about twenty yards from them.
"Oh my god, is that a turkey?" she whispered, setting Violet down. "You usually don't start seeing them until like mid April. Be quiet and don't move." And she slowly drew out an arrow and nocked it in her bow, and then she shot the bird right through the neck.
"Well he must not have been the sharpest tool in the shed," she said as she lowered her bow and started off towards his limp body. "They're usually a lot harder to get. Come on."
"God, look at this guy," she said when they reached him. "He's got to be like eighteen pounds. Good thing I brought you along. Now I won't have to carry him all the way to the butcher myself. We'll have to bring Daddy with us more often huh sweet pea?" she asked, turning to Violet. "He's good luck."
And she looked up and gave him a big grin, all pearly teeth and shining eyes and glowing cheeks, and then knelt down to retrieve the arrow from the turkey's neck.
But Cato couldn't smile back because his throat suddenly hurt.
This was who she was supposed to be. This woman. Strong and proud and warm and resilient in spite of everything that life had thrown at her.
She really was on fire, only now she was soft and cozy and life-sustaining. Not raging and hungry and desperate. Not reduced to a pile of smoking ashes.
And he knew he couldn't contain her or hold onto her but maybe she'd just let him warm himself beside her for a while, maybe she could burn for him sometimes. The ache in his throat spread down into his chest as he watched her, and he turned away abruptly, blinking hard and swallowing.
Thank god they tranqued me on top of that Cornucopia he thought as he listened to her explain the process of removing the arrow and draining the blood to their daughter. Thank god they tranqued me.
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She led them back toward town a roundabout way because Violet wanted to show him the meadow.
"Don't get too far ahead of us," Cato called as the toddler broke into a run towards the edge of the treeline. Katniss smiled at his overprotective nature.
"She's fine," she assured him, but he was already picking up his stride to catch up with his daughter. When he emerged into the clearing he stopped short at the sight that greeted him, losing his grip on the turkey carcass and letting it fall to the ground.
"Katniss?" he said, turning around as she picked her way lazily between the trees. "Have you forgiven yourself for Peeta yet?"
"What?"
"Have you forgiven yourself for Peeta?"
"I don't understand. Why are you asking this now?" But he just looked at her, waiting for her answer. "I don't know that I'll ever be able to," she whispered. "And I feel especially guilty because part of me is glad he died because...you know...if he hadn't...then Violet wouldn't…Cato why are you asking me this?" Her eyes were full of tears.
"I don't think he holds it against you. I think he wants you to forgive yourself."
"How do you-?"
And Cato reached out and took her hand and pulled her into the sunshine so that she could see the sea of bright yellow dandelions, rippling gently in the breeze, that had literally covered the expanse of the meadow, so that only a few specks of green grass showed through here and there.
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It was warm in 13 too, and Katniss lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes as she ambled down the gravel path toward Cato's place two days later.
She could hear their voices coming from behind the house, and she peeked her head around the corner to find Cato perched on the back steps with Beau at his feet and a mug of coffee in his hand.
Her daughter was crouched on the grass below, carefully arranging a bouquet from stacks of yellow dandelions and wild purple violets spread out below her.
"D'you think mommy will like 'em?" she asked.
"I think she'll love them."
And then a sudden breeze sent Violet's fine, dark hair flying into her eyes. She made a frustrated sound and swiped impatiently at her face with her free hand. Cato laughed and set down his mug.
"Come here baby girl," he said. "I'll put it up for you." She set the flowers down and came to sit between his knees, and he pulled the elastic from her wrist and put it in his mouth. He gathered her hair in his hands and swiftly plaited it and secured it, and while it wasn't neat or pretty, it did the trick.
"Like mommy!" Violet cried with delight, turning around to face her father as she reached her hands back and ran them over her braid.
"Like mommy," he agreed, and kissed her nose. "Just like mommy."
As he pulled away a fly buzzed down between them and landed on her cheek. She furrowed her brow and huffed as she swatted at it, and Cato burst out laughing, covering his mouth with his hand.
"Oh now you really look like your mother." His voice was so tender it hurt. As though he was proud of how much like Katniss Violet was. As though he liked that she resembled her mother.
And all of a sudden Katniss wanted nothing more than to have him inside of her.
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"Mommy!" Violet squealed when she took a deep breath and rounded the corner five minutes later. "Look!" And she held out the flowers.
"Are those for me?" she gasped, her surprise fake, but her delight genuine. "They're beautiful! And so is your hair!" She knelt down and kissed Violet on the nose, precisely because Cato's lips had touched that very spot a few minutes ago.
"Come see what daddy got me for my birthday!"
In front of the shed was a little red wheelbarrow and a set of toy gardening tools. There was a shovel and a rake and a watering can, and even a little pair of work gloves. But the most adorable part was the straw sunhat with a purple ribbon around the crown and the pair of green galoshes, with frog faces on the toes.
"Oh my god you're gonna look so cute in this," she said. "What a good birthday, huh? Did you get everything you wanted?"
"No," Violet said. Not sadly or angrily. But simply and honestly.
"No?" Cato said from behind them. "Well this is unacceptable. Tell me what it is you want and I'll get it for you."
"God you spoil her," Katniss laughed, rolling her eyes.
"Promise Daddy? Promise?"
"I promise," he said, crouching down to put his arms around her. "As long as I can afford it and and mommy says it's ok for you to have. Now tell me what it is. And don't say a pony. Because I can't afford one of those."
"Silly Daddy! Not a pony!"
"Then what?"
She giggled and stomped her feet and her hands clutched at his shoulders. "A baby brother!"
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Ohhhhhh shiiiiiit. Get ready for something with a hint of lemon (just tart, mind you, not sour) in the next chapter ;)