Chapter 16
Clove's POV
A/N last night I had a dream I was in the hunger games :P
I'm half asleep when I feel something lightly rub against my cheek. It's soft, like a caress to the skin, and it feels nice and soothing.
My brain needs to process it for a moment before I realize that Cato's the one who's making me feel this calm and relaxed.
I'm not sure when I fell asleep but the soft strokes to the side of my face feel too nice for me to care. I sigh quietly and Cato's movements falter only for a moment when he realizes I'm awake.
Thankfully he doesn't stop because I would have to voice my objections if he did.
The pad of his thumb lightly runs over my cheek bone, sending chills down the side of my body.
He slowly moves his fingers in a circular motion, tracing my jaw line and then the scar on my neck.
A strange feeling settles over me, one I've only felt on rare occasion, almost always with Cato.
Happiness.
I try my hardest to remember this moment. I focus on the soft hand that's drawing light patterns on the side of my face, making me feel safe and warm all over.
He continues tracing my features for I don't know how long, until he suddenly stops and pulls his hand away.
The warm feeling slowly leaves me along with the feeling of contentment.
I no longer feel calm. I want him to continue drawing soft patterns on my cheek bones with the tips of his fingers- but he doesn't.
With a pout my eyes flutter open.
I find him leaning over the back of the couch, watching me.
"Why did you stop?" I murmur sleepily.
"Were you enjoying it?" He asks.
I nod. "Feels nice." I mutter.
His finger tips lightly brush the side of my face once more.
"Hmm." I hum in contentment.
He retracts his hand again, causing me to automatically frown.
"Don't stop." I mumble in a feeble protest.
"You talk." He says as his fingers ghost over my temple.
My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"In your sleep. You talk." He says.
"Really? What did I say?" I ask him as he runs his thumb under my brow line.
"You kept saying no, over and over again. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?" He asks.
I shake my head back and forth slowly. "Ah uh." I say as he tucks a few strands of loose hair behind my ear.
"At least if it was bad you don't remember it." He says while leaning over the couch and pressing his lips to my forehead.
I look up at him and smile dreamily.
"You know a lot of people are scared of you, but you're such a softy." I tell him.
He raises his eyebrows at me.
"Fine, a very dangerous softy that can kill you in your sleep." I correct almost sarcastically.
"Damn strait." He mutters.
I hold back a laugh.
"Did you finish watching the Games?" I ask him suddenly when I realize I don't feel the glow of the television. It can't be over already, it just started.
He shakes his head.
"You were too distracting so I just gave up and watched you instead." He says.
"You were watching me sleep?" I ask him.
He nods. "I was just trying to figure out what you were dreaming about." He say innocently.
"Oh." I say lamely.
Suddenly Cato's stomach growls loudly.
"I'm hungry." He says.
I roll my eyes. "Really? I had no idea." I say sarcastically.
"Hey, you would be hungry too if you didn't eat lunch." He tells me.
"I didn't eat lunch." I remind him dryly.
"Oh, then how come you're not hungry?" He asks.
"I am hungry, I can just go longer without eating than you can." I tell him.
"How?"
"Lots and lots of practice." I say, my voice dripping with fake enthusiasm.
He scowls at me. "No wonder you're so skinny, you don't eat enough." He says.
"Well if want to buy me food everyday be my guest." I say.
"Hmm, you know what? I think I will."
"I was kidding." I tell him.
"Whatever, we can argue about it later, let's eat." He says as he begins walking away from me and heading towards the kitchen.
"Come on." He calls over his shoulder.
I grunt in response as I roll off the couch. I yawn and stretch my limbs before walking towards him. As I make my way over to him I can't help but admire the extreme detail in the marble carvings along the base boards.
His base boards cost more than I'll ever make in my entire life. I think, laughing at my own misfortune. I'm quick to scold myself though, because it goes against everything I believe in to take pity on myself.
Once I reach him I stand up on my tipy- toes and peer over his shoulder so I can see the contents of the refrigerator.
"What do you want?" He asks.
I shrug. "I'll eat anything that's edible." I tell him.
"Just to let you know, if I make, it will most likely not be edible." He says with a sheepish smile.
"Fine, I'll make it, you just sit over there and do nothing." I say while waving him off.
He gives me a thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan."
...
I decide to make some sort of soup, and after a few seconds of intense thought, I decide on tomato basil.
I quickly gather two medium onions, and chop them into small bits. I set a pot on the stove and add four tablespoons olive oil, along with a can of Italian-style whole peeled tomatoes.
I also throw in a cup of chicken broth with one teaspoon of lemon zest. I grab three garlic cloves and add them in as well.
I pause with what I'm doing and try to think back to what else I need. I snap my finger when I realized I almost forgot the basil. After all, you can't make tomato basil without basil.
I open the refrigerator and search through the drawers till I find a container of loosely packed basil leaves.
I add them to the soup and stir it for a few moments. After I add a teaspoon of lemon juice and salt the rest is a cake walk.
While the soup finishes cooking I take out two bowls and spoons.
I walk over to Cato and place one in front of him and the other directly across.
"Do you like to cook?" He asks me.
"What? Oh yeah, I really enjoy it." I tell him.
Usually I don't have enough food to cook a real meal with at home, let alone have the money to buy the proper ingredients.
Unlike Cato who seems to be oblivious to the fact that he has just about every kind on ingredient in his pantry, and probably would live off of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches if I didn't cook for him.
Well, maybe he can cook but just want me to think he can't so I'll make him dinner. I'm not complaining, I enjoy cooking so I wouldn't have a problem if he told me he was just to lazy to do it himself.
The timer on the stove sounds indicating the soup is finished.
I turn off the dial on the stove and and take the pot over to the table. I place it on top of a wood trivet so the bottom of the pot won't burn the surface of the oak table.
I grab Cato's bowl and carefully ladle the soup into his dish. I set it back down in front of him and proceed to serve myself.
I move the pot to the side so I can see his face.
"Thanks." He says sincerely.
I shrug. "No problem." I tell him.
We stare at each other for a moment.
"Well go on." I say.
He picks up his spoon and I lean in close as he sips it.
"Uhhh where did you learn to cook like this?" He asks as he greedily takes in another spoonful.
I laugh. "My mom taught me a little, but I mostly taught myself." I tell him.
He nods in response.
"Eat." He instructs.
I do as he says and take a spoonful into my mouth.
It taste very rich, different flavors pop out at me and see why Cato's so eager to get to the bottom of the bowl.
"It's ok." I say with a shrug, waiting to see what his reaction will be.
He practically chokes on his soup.
"Ok?" He questions. "It's delicious." He says while looking at me as if I know nothing.
"As long as you enjoy it, I'm happy." I say.
"Well it's the best soup I've ever had, so you should be ecstatic." He says.
I smile smugly at him. "Good to know."
...
We don't talk much, Cato is too immersed in his soup to focus on anything else, so we eat in a comfortable silence.
I don't remember a time when things were completely mute, even now the quite clinking of silverware can be heard along with the occasional vibration caused by a spoon hitting the side of the bowl.
We drain our dishes in mere minutes and take them to the sink.
I almost drop my bowl when I hear a loud knocking at the door.
"Who the hell is that?" Cato mutters as he places his dish in the sink.
He walks over to the door and peers through the looking glass.
He turns to face me.
"You gotta go." He says, sounding somewhat panicked.
"What?" I say in confusion.
"Like right now, you gotta go."
"Why? "Are you ok?" I ask him.
"I don't know." He says.
"Where do you want me to go?" I ask him.
"Just duck down." He tells me.
"Who's at the door?" I ask.
"It doesn't matter right now, I'll explain later."
"Cato can you just tell me what's-" I'm cut off by another loud knock at the door.
"Quick!" He hisses.
He gestures for me to duck down and I roll my eyes at him as I crouch behind the counter.
I hear Cato open the door and step outside.
I pause to see if I can get word of anything but I soon find out it's useless.
Curiosity over takes my thoughts and I find myself wondering who on Earth could possibly make Cato react like that.
Obviously he knew who was at the door, and he wasn't too thrilled to see them.
I frown to myself. It's not like he's in any danger, right? I mean for god sakes he's in his own home.
I hear muffled shouts coming from outside and I hesitantly peek around the corner. The door is close but I can see the outline of Cato's shadow peeking out from the small window next to the door.
I listen carefully in hopes of catching something that doesn't sound like jiberish.
I have my face pressed up against the side of the kitchen counter for a full five minutes when I abruptly hear the front door open and slam shut.
I hear Cato walking towards me and I grip the edge of the counter top as I stand up.
I brush myself off and look up at him.
"Who was at the door?" I question.
"Peacekeepers." He answers.
"What did they want?" I asks him suspiciously.
"He said I'm no allowed to tell anyone. Because if I do he said, and I quote, 'If I find out you mentioned this to anyone I will personally see that your name never makes it into the reaping ball.' "
My jaw drops. "They can't do that!" I protest. "That's blackmail! We've trained our whole lives for the Games, they can't just take that away from you!" I say angrily.
"I know they can't. Plus I don't know why he overreacted like that, it wasn't even a big deal." Cato says.
"I mean seriously, what idiot thinks he can actually manage to blackmail me." He say with an eye roll.
"Can you tell me what he said?" I ask him hesitantly.
"Sure. The Peacekeeper named Issac didn't even both to look up when I answer the door, he just began reading off this official paper telling me there was going to be a rule change for the Games next year. Before he could tell me what the rule change was he looked up and realized it was me, and not my father, he made me promise not to tell anyone, a promise I just broke." He says dryly.
"Sorry." I mutter.
"Don't be, I was going to tell you anyway." He says.
"Oh, ok, so what do you think the new rule change is gonna be?"
Go to my bio and vote! Only 7 people so far want me to write a modern day AU clato fic :`( Am I that bad? I promise my AU will be great, please vote!
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