Chapter Ten

AN:/ OHMYGOSH. I'm soooo sorry for the delay. I had the worst writer's block, then I got my wisdom teeth taken out, and then my internship was being annoying. Anyways, I'm really sorry.

So this is chapter ten, I tried to give a little more insight into Cato and how Clove and Cato are adjusting.

But guys, I really am sorry for the delay. The only thing that motivated me after a while was knowing that there were so many people enjoying this story. Show your support by reviewing this chapter! Please tell me how you liked it, and if you like the direction I'm taking this story in.

REVIEW.

Disclaimer: FML, I still don't own the Hunger Games.

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Later that same day, Cato and I are devouring some cake from the bakery across town. We sit across from each other at my kitchen table, digging in directly to the cake, not even bothering with slices. The decadent chocolate is so rich, my stomach almost hurts- but I can't help feeling like celebrating.

I beam at Cato, a small smile gracing my face. I don't say anything; just enjoy the moment while it lasts.

He's still shoveling in the dessert. I called quits after eating about a quarter of it, but more than two-thirds of the cake is gone now. An impressive feat, considering we got the largest cake there.

I watch Cato in fascination, but he pays me minimal attention, only stopping to look at me when chugging some water to clear his throat. I roll my eyes and my attention lands on my camera lying on the other end of the table. I reach over for it nonchalantly, and then quickly snap a picture of Cato stuffing his face.

The noisy shutter rouses him from his binge session. Startled, he looks up, mouth hanging stupidly, with crumbs smeared across his face. Unable to help myself, I take a picture of this too.

My soft smile returns to my face as I look over the pictures I just took. Eyes not leaving the camera screen, I snicker, "You don't even like dessert, Cato."

"But I like you, Princess."

My eyes snap up to his, sparkling with laughter. "You're so lame, Cato. When'd you get so sappy?"

He winks at me, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I think you meant to say sweet."

I look away, half in embarrassment, half in amusement. Then I remember myself; swallow the smile that's been sneaking onto my face far too often these days. I stand up, bringing my plate to the sink for my maid to do later.

Cato gets up, hands me his plate to put in too. "Speaking of sweet, you look pretty goddamn adorable right now."

I try to scowl at him, but my cheeks feel hot. Why am I pretty and cute, when he's gorgeous and hot and handsome? "I'm not having sex with you right now, Cato," I drawl, leaning against my counter top.

"Well, not right now right now…." he drifts off suggestively, hopping to sit on my counter. "But you look beautiful right now, I'd like to just admire for a moment." He tilts his head to get a good look at me. His eyes trail down every inch of my body, and I can practically feel him undressing me. I fidget and shuffle my feet and have to hide the tremble of arousal. When his eyes rest on my chest, which has grown considerably now that I've stopped training 24/7, I fold my arms across myself self-consciously.

His eyes darken when my arms squeeze my breasts together even more. "You're not helping yourself, Clo."

"Cato." I sigh, reprimanding. Inside I feel a little triumphant though. Ha, I think. You're not the only one with sex appeal.

His gaze meets mine, not even a little regretful. "Such a pretty, innocent face. If I didn't spot at least two hickeys on your neck, I would have mistaken you for an angel."

I yelp, and slap my hands over my neck in an attempt to hide them. "It's your fault, asshole. You were the one who gave them to me!"

He just laughs it at. Cato's proud of those marks, damn him. "You might want to hide those if you don't want people to know about us." His chuckles abruptly stop. "When are we going to tell people about us?"

The hazy spell surrounding me breaks. I carefully lower my hands from my neck. Carefully, I mumble, "Uh, I don't know if that's a good idea." I squint at his cheek, avoid his intense stare. "By the way, there's crap on your face."

He brushes off the last part, aware that I'm just trying to change the topic. "Why? Scared?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes- your little mob of fan girls might just rip me to pieces." The smudge of chocolate on his cheek is actually mocking me now. "Cato, seriously. Wipe your mouth, for God's sake."

He just tries to read me with his electric eyes. Feeling self conscious, I decide to assault his cheek with a towel. Careful to keep a safe distance, I carefully wipe his face.

Ever the opportunist, Cato reaches out for me and pulls me close. Cradling me with his arms around my waist, he finally catches my gaze. "You could take all those girls with your eyes closed."

I am ridiculously flustered at the close proximity. I stammer- which I never do- "B-but why go through all that trouble?" It's just Cato. I tell myself, and I regain a stable state of mind. "I'd be robbing the district of some quality prostitutes in a few years."

He chuckles at that. "True, the economy would probably crumble to pieces." He looks deep into my wide eyes. "But I think it's cute that you're overprotective."

My hand, which previously was resting softly on his face with the napkin, drops the towel to the floor. I quickly pinch his cheek with my wiry, thin fingers. Cato grimaces, and I grin back at him. "More like the complete opposite." In his moment of distraction, I step neatly out of his grip.

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My timing has never been better, because just as I put a respectable distance between myself and Cato, Cassie bursts in.

"Clove?" she calls from the doorway, "Have you seen Cato?"

Cato and I share a look- Please don't tell her, not now, I plead with big eyes. He purses his lips, but finally relents. He shouts back, "In here, Cass."

Cassie skips in, angel hair flopping down her back in a sweaty mess. Two in mid-June is sweltering. "Mom and Dad say that you have to watch me tonight. They have to go to some boring Peacekeeper Ceremony, and I can't go- no kids allowed."

Cato groans, realizing that looking after Cassie will prevent him from getting into my pants. "Munchkin, can't you just go with them?"

"It's not like I want to stay home with you. You make the worst dinners." Cassie juts her chin out, a signature Clove Feldspar move. Watching her mirror my movements makes my mouth turn up in the corners.

Sensing an argument brewing, I attempt to distract her, "Hey, Cass? You want some of that cake? You can bring some of it back to your parents too."

Cassie turns to the cake sitting at the table, and her eyes light up. "Sure! Daddy loves chocolate."

Cato mutters, "Suck up." Nevertheless, he affectionately tousles Cassie's hair, then smoothes it back into place.

Watching Cato be so gentle with Cassie, seeing him so removed from his Career persona, is when I first realized Cato was something special, all those years ago. I delicately cut off the edges where Cato's fork hacked at the cake. I want to give Cato's parents a good impression of me- they still intimidate me a little bit. "Apologize to him for me then, Cato ate most of it."

Cassie giggles nervously, "It's alright. It can be my pre-birthday cake." Cassie's twelfth birthday is coming up, and it's all she can ever talk about. Last year, it was because she was excited to turn eleven- but this year, it's because she's scared to turn twelve.

An uneasy silence falls over the kitchen. I'm positive someone will be available to volunteer in her place, but the first year of reaping is always nerve-wracking. I clear my throat loudly. "… Well, we need to have a pre-birthday celebration then." I'm literally pulling words out of thin air, attempting to cover the awkward silence. But my idea isn't completely terrible. "How about you and Cato come over, watch one of those dopey movies the Capitol gave me?"

Cassie's grin reappears, even if it is considerably dimmer. "That sounds way better than a Cato dinner. Thanks! I'm off to watch those old men play chess down the street!" Just like that, Cassie bounces out of the house.

Cato turns to me, eyes still worried for Cassie's sake. "Cato," I start an attempt to comfort him.

He brushes me off though, "After all that, she forgot the cake." He doesn't want to talk about it now, and I can respect that.

Cato picks up the rest of the cake. "Walk me to the door?" he asks.

Shrugging, I follow him to the front door. Before I can open the door for him though, his hand presses against the door, keeping it shut. "When are we going to tell people?"

I sigh. "Cato… I'm just not up for it right now." I cover my face with one hand, and rub my eyes warily. "Why can't we just keep it between us for now?"

He's quiet for a moment. "I don't know why we have to keep this a secret." His voice carries a soft, hard edge to it.

I tilt my face up to look him in the face. "It's safer this way, I think." My voice is tinged with worry. "From the Capitol."

His eyebrows furrow, "They want us to be together."

"Yeah, but they know we were at least half-faking. And I dunno, the way Merino was acting… something's telling me that we shouldn't be so public." It's not the whole truth, but I do get this sense that something isn't quite right. The Victory Tour's been postponed twice, which never happens. There was a shortage in food, which also never happens- in District Two, at least. President Snow's look when he crowned us. More Peacekeepers in the streets.

Cato's tired of talking about this, I can tell. He doesn't buy my reasoning, but lets it go for now, and with a sigh, opens the door himself. I reach for his hand, silently asking for him to be okay with this. Cato just slips through my grip, "See you later, Clove." He says gruffly, and I am left alone in my doorway.

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I'm relaxing on my porch at sunset, the only time in District Two in June when the sun is not scorching. Waiting for Cato and Cassie, I twirl my knife in one hand, sipping flavored tea from the local market in the other, I am almost at peace.

Fellow victors walk by, and I nod to most and go as far as saying hello to others. Before I became a Victor of my own right, when I still lived in my mother's house, I never talked to these victors. I idolized them from afar, sure- but I think a part of me was also a little intimidated by them.

Slowly but surely, I've gotten to know these people. Not for how many kills they accumulated, or their weapon of choice, but in their own right.

Sparta Gibbs, victor of the 51st Games, has a long scar down the side of her face and looks menacing on a good day. Nonetheless, she always pays the local children way too much to water her garden.

Hal Jefferson, victor of the 69th Games and the most recent victor aside from me and Cato, always goes to the market late in the day to buy up as much of the day's surplus as he can. He insists that he's just a shopaholic, but we all know that he does it to help out the less fortunate merchants.

I wave at the Corinthians, a pair of elderly brothers who won sometime before the 1st Quarter Quell in back to back years. They're nice old men, and when I watch them play chess on their porch, it's like none of us were ever in the arena.

Lyme strides up to my house. "Evening, Feldspar. Nice job in training today. Those kids almost look like they're in shape now."

I accept her compliments like I always have, with a strong nod. I expect her to go on her way, but she leans on the porch railing.

"I got word from the Capitol today. They've been postponing it, but you and Cato's Victory Tour will be in three weeks," she announces, almost regretfully.

Although I keep my face straight, my body uncontrollably shudders.

Lyme looks at me sympathetically, "It's a bit chilly out, isn't it?" It's far from chilly, but I am grateful for the excuses she makes for me. "Yeah, a little cold."

"Well, it's my responsibility to prepare the two of you a little bit, so tell Cato to come over with you tomorrow night, understand?" Lyme gives me a purposeful look, and speaks slowly.

I bite my lip, getting that familiar feeling that something bigger is going on. "Alright," I agree. She studies me, and I blink back at her, telling her that I got the message.

Satisfied, she leaves. I half-heartedly sip at my tea, nowhere near as peaceful now that the prospect of another brush with the Capitol looms near.

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I step out of the shower, momentarily relaxed from the hot steam.

Suddenly, I hear a sound from downstairs. I remember I forgot to lock the front door. The possibility of an intruder immediately springs me into action. Instantly, my eyes flick around for a potential weapon.

Toothbrush? No, the flimsy plastic would break after one good jab, and the dull edges couldn't even be used as a shank.

Mouthwash? No, I'd have to be really close to the intruder to get it into his eyes.

I grasp a heavy, ceramic cup by the handle, and I break it in half by cracking it against the sink. It's now jagged and sharp, and the best I can do for now.

As I silently creep down the stairs, I realize it's probably just Cato, returning from putting Cassie to bed after the movie. My shoulders loosen.

But the intruder downstairs is being far too loud to be Cato sneaking into my house. I can hear them breathing- even Cato's not that sloppy. I cock my head, and determine that the noise is coming from my living room.

I flip into the room, guns blazing, ceramic mug at the ready-

Cato's sprawled out on the couch next to my armchair. His feet dangle off the armrest, and he breathes deeply through his mouth. Leave it to Cato to sneak into my house, presumably to scare me, and then fall fast asleep.

I lower my improvised weapon, oddly disappointed. I contemplate waking up Cato with me standing over him with a sharp knife. He'd probably piss his pants- teach him a lesson about falling asleep on me.

It is getting pretty late though. Usually Cato and I head up to bed together, and watch more recaps until we fall asleep. I'm about to jostle him awake when I get a good look at his face. His brow is smooth and nightmare-free, which I know is a precious commodity nowadays. Do I really want to rob him of a peaceful sleep?

Sighing, I go to fetch him a blanket or a pillow or something. In one of the closets, I find a woolen cover. I shake it out, relieved when dust doesn't come flying out. Haltingly, I approach Cato with arms stretched out wide. Do I just toss it to him? Don't you dare tuck him in, Clove.

As I I'm contemplating how to give Cato the blanket without looking like some doting girlfriend. Even in the dark, I glower at the word. Girlfriend.

He's asleep, he won't even notice the difference, I tell myself. But as I drape it over his sleeping body, Cato does rouse himself.

"…Are you tucking… me in?" He mumbles sleepily, fatigue slurring his words together. Regardless, I swear I hear amusement in his voice.

Caught, I freeze in the darkness. Maybe if I make a run for it now, he'll chalk it up to a dream. Weighing my options, I am just about to bolt when he teases, "I don't need a blanket if you'll keep me warm instead, Princess." His come-on loses some of its potency when he's forced to hide a yawn mid-sentence.

I snort, not bothering to hide an entertained smile from stretching onto my face in the darkness. "As if," I shoot back. A laugh escapes from my lips as I whip the blanket in a bundle at his face. "Go back to sleep, lazy."

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After I've settled into bed, practically willing myself to be able to sleep without Cato, he sneaks in. I partially sit up, leaning on one of my elbows. In his half-asleep state, he's slung the blanket haphazardly over his shoulders. His hair's getting a little long, and flattened and spiked in the most random way possible. He's attempting to take of his pants smoothly, but his leg gets caught in them, and he stumbles out of them.

Never one to hold back, I snort unattractively. Cato whips his head to me.

"Nice of you to show up, lazy." I tease.

"Not lazy…" he mutters.

I scoot over on the bed, making room for him. "Mmmm right."

"I came up here, didn't I?" He points out stubbornly, rousing himself slightly.

"You're right, Cato. You're not lazy. You're just 'scawed of the dawk'." I mock in a little baby voice.

Despite the dark, I can see him stiffen. "I'm not scared of anything." His suddenly aggressive voice carries the warning signs of one of his famous rages.

Alarmed at the sudden change in mood, I realize I've stepped on a nerve. "Right. Sorry, Cato."

But that just seems to make him angrier. "Don't do me any favors, Clove." He swallows noisily, "I know I'm a coward." And just like that, Cato deflates into another broken victor.

My heart aches a little at what he must be feeling. I can't even begin to imagine what he's thinking right now.

We victors understand each other, but we all cope and struggle in our own ways.

Lyme teaches and protects the trainees. She knows it'll never be enough though, and it kills her.

Brutus indulges in prostitutes and debauchery, but it can't possibly mask the guilt I know he feels for killing his own district partner in the final showdown.

Hal, who seems perfectly fine at first glance, has scars on his wrists that can only be self-inflicted.

Even my mother, the unbreakable Atlanta Goodridge, is paranoid and shuts out her two daughters.

We're all pretty screwed up, I guess. Being a victor in District Two means that there are plenty of people who can empathize with you. Even the cruelest of Careers need a safe haven, and the Village here has knitted itself into a ragtag, dysfunctional family. It must be terrible for Haymitch Abernathy over in District Twelve, with just him in his Village. Every day, I privately thank the universe that I have such a support system, and Cato. I don't know what I would have done without him.

And now's the chance for me to return the favor. "Cato." I whisper, sitting up completely and moving to the edge of the bed. "You're not a coward." I open my arms, and he falls to his knees and into my embrace. His head rests on my collarbone, and I automatically begin to stroke his hair. I don't even question it- when Cato needs me; I throw away all my inhibitions.

"You're the bravest man I know. " I whisper fiercely. "You have to believe that." We stay like that for a while, and I try to overlook the shocks of pleasure I feel when his breath fans over my breasts. Keep it together, Clove.

Cato slowly lifts his eyes up to meet mine. I ignore that my own breath has become labored. "You have to believe that." I repeat in a soft voice. What Cato needs now is a shoulder to lean on, not a warm body.

Of course, he chooses that moment to kiss me hard right on the mouth.

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At first, I try to be the rational one. "Cato." I say between kisses, as we crawl into the bed while attached at the lips. "Cato, stop." My mouth says stop, but my body is urging him on.

"Cato." I breathe as I wrap my arms around his neck. "Cato, it's late."

"I love it when you say my name like that," he murmurs heavily as he places hot, wet open-mouthed kisses down my neck, completely ignoring my half-hearted attempts to stop him. I whimper a little in pleasure, and his hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb grazing my jaw.

I slide my hands down the back collar of his shirt, fingers relishing in the warm muscles between his shoulder blades.

Our legs tangle with the sheets, and he shifts so he's mainly on top of me. The pressure of his chest keeps my body pressed tightly to the mattress, but he keeps most of his weight braced on his two knees, one of which is wedged between my legs.

Right as my breath hitches when he places a kiss dizzyingly close to the most sensitive part of my breast, he stifles a yawn.

I am torn between continuing and letting Cato getting the sleep he desperately needs. I'm selfish, and it takes me longer to decide than I'm proud of. Cato's hand is wandering up my stomach, pushing my shirt up along with it, and it all makes me feel like I'm weightless, like Cato's warm body is the only thing preventing me from blowing away. It's as if I'm jumping off that waterfall again with him, except that instead of being scared, I'm relishing every minute of it.

But Cato's well-timed second yawn makes my decision for me. "I didn't know I was so boring to kiss." I pout as we break away from another long kiss.

"No Clove, far from it. You're so intense that I tire easily," he replies easily, fingers continuing their lazy path along my breasts.

That makes me chuckle shakily. "Nice save, but it's time to go to sleep."

He shakes his head and continues his ministrations on my collar bone. I lose my breath for a second, but I slap his face lightly. "Come on. We'll pick up where we left off tomorrow."

With that promise, Cato slowly climbs off of me. My legs are slightly numb from his weight, so I flex my legs to regain feeling in them. My thigh accidentally rubs his inner thigh, and he groans, "You're giving me mixed signals here, Clove."

I feel bad that he'll probably have to go to sleep horny, but it's not like it's any easier for me. "You need your sleep though. And you're so intense that I tire easily," I repeat his words in a low, grumbling imitation of his voice.

He breathes a sleepy laugh, "You're a tease, Clove Feldspar. You shut me down so quickly, my crotch practically hurts."

His unpolished talk makes me flush a little bit. "Cato, you're a big boy. I think you can handle it."

He doesn't reply, and his breathing becomes soft and slow. I wiggle next to him into a more comfortable position. I finally settle on my stomach, my head turned on the pillow to face Cato.

Cato's blue eyes are silver in the dark, watching me. "I'm scared of the dark when you're not next to me," he admits.

That makes my heart flutter a little bit, but I still shake my head in disagreement. Tossing my arm so that it rests on his chest, I whisper, "I wish you would believe me."

Cato doesn't agree with me, but he finally falls asleep. I think the content feeling that I get when his face eventually relaxes is what they call love.

But before I drift into a dreamless slumber, I remember that the Victory Tour starts in a few weeks, and we'll have to return to the Capitol soon. He's fast asleep, but my hand finds his under the sheets anyways and squeezes it tight.

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So… thoughts? I had a hard time portraying Cato and Clove as a new couple without them getting unrealistically sappy… tell me if you thought I did a good/bad job! I tried to make it a point that Clove is pretty self-conscious and hesitant, but is willing to throw her inhibitions away when Cato is in danger. It's really sickly sweet, but I think it's something she'd definitely do. Also, do you have any thoughts on what Lyme's meeting will be about? It's pretty obvious, but I'm open to any new suggestions.

Please review! If you have the time, check out my new one-shot Goodnight and Goodbye, and tell me what you think of that as well! I really appreciate the support. Thanks!