DRABBLE NUMBER: 4
PROMPT: Abandoned
TITLE: Worthy
CHARACTERS: Clove, Cato
GENRE: Angst
FIC SUMMARY: Clove is done with the way Cato treats her, and finally decides to leave him. Cato looks back at their life together, and knows he lost the best thing that ever happened to him.
RATING: Teen
WORD COUNT: 1322

It had taken Clove years to find confidence in herself, Cato knew.

When it came to her fighting skills, her abilities as a tribute and a fighter, she was sure of herself. In fact, when it came to the things her dainty little hands could do with a knife, Clove was arrogant and she knew she was good. She knew she was the best, and she knew she was worthy of victory, but that was also the only part of her she thought was.

Because when it came to Cato, Clove had felt unsure and unworthy. She would never tell him, but Cato knew her and he saw the way a small frown would form on her face whenever she saw her reflection in a mirror, the way she would bite her lip in uncertainty whenever they would have sex and she lay undressed before him, or the look of wonder in her eyes whenever he would lay a hand on her arm or place a simple kiss on her lips. He saw it all, and the fact that his wife had not liked herself very much had not really bothered him.

He knew now that it should have, that he should have done something, told her she was beautiful or given her some sort of assurance that he would not leave her. He knew it had worried her, that he would get tired of her, or find someone better and just leave. And when he looked back at it now he knew he had never really given her a reason to not think that. Cato had treated her so carelessly, like she would put up with him and his shit no matter what he did.

Truth was that Clove was beautiful, and he had not realized how truly precious she had been to him before now when she was no longer around. But he found her transformation from young and insecure, to strong and confident amazing anyway. She was still his girl, even if she knew she did not belong to him anymore, even if she refused to be a victim to his abuse.

Clove had been in love with him, he knew that. She would rarely actually admit it in words, but that too was something Cato could very easily see in her. The way her face would light up whenever he smiled at her, or the way she would try her best to keep back a smile when he kissed her, the way she would look at him, her gaze almost lovingly behind that vicious glare, when they had sex and the way she would curl up in his arms after.

He had also counted the times she had actually told him she loved him, three words he had only heard escape from her four times in their life together.

The first time had been the first night they got to spend together after having won the games and it was the first time he had seen her serious, without any murderous insanity or blood-lust or rage showing in her. It had taken him some time, but eventually he had told her he loved her too. They had not said anything more to each other that night, only kissed and instead of fucking like they usually did, they had made love.

The second time she had told him was on the night of their big Capitol wedding. Cato did not count the times she said it in front of the cameras, because he knew that was not her speaking and that she was just saying what President Snow wanted to hear. It had been when the two of them were dancing and had lost themselves into a bubble of their own. This time it was Cato who had said it first while he had been admiring the look of hope and happiness on his wife's face and it had just seemed to slip out of him in a whisper. He had seen how stunned she had looked in that next second that followed, before her face did not only bright up the darkness that had been in his mind ever since their victory, but also seemed to brighten the entire room. Clove had simply pressed her lips against his and murmured the words back to him, a rare look of love in her green eyes.

The third time had been when she had had a nightmare and had woken up screaming. Clove's eyes had been wild as she had looked at Cato, and her body had shook as she frantically had pulled off the cover and searched his bare torso for something Cato at the time could not even begin to understand. He had watched her body heave and drop with each hasty breath, before she eventually had breathed out in relief and looked at him with much calmer eyes. "It was just a dream," she had whispered, her voice choked. Clove had looked at him for a couple of more seconds before she had thrown her arms around him, burying her face in his neck and muttering harsh curses against his skin. And somewhere between those curses, she had said something along the lines of, "I fucking love you, you fucking asshole."

The fourth and last time she had told him she loved him, was the day she had left. She had turned insane with rage, and had fought him viciously. It had been quite hard to get the furious woman off of him, but Cato had always had an advantage when it came to close combat between them and with the advantage of strength, he had managed to throw her off. And she had screamed to him from the other side of the room, "I loved you! I loved you!" Past tense.

And that was when the knife had come flying towards him, and Clove had run for the door. If he had not reacted and moved slightly to the left, it would have plunged deep into his heart. Instead, it plunged deep into his shoulder.

Cato had stood there, gazing after her in absolute awe and a beginning heartbreak that would hit him even more powerfully once he realized Clove would be gone for good. He had never expected it, that she would try kill him, or even worse, leave him.

With the blood trickling down his chest, his torso, even down to his hip, he could not even begin to understand what he had been thinking when he decided to sleep with another woman. Cato had expected Clove to turn the other cheek, to look away and pretend they were still happily married. That was what she had done all the other times, though he had seen the hurt in her eyes and he knew that she knew and had known all along.

It was in that moment knew what he had lost, and it was in that moment he could feel the raw pain of heartbreak hitting him like a wall of emotion. It hurt more than any knife she could have cut him with.

And now, when he was sitting there in his chair, drinking the last of his vodka, he knew that the pain would not end. He knew she was not coming back, and he knew it was his own fault.

Cato touched the healing wound on his shoulder, and took a final sip. He was alone, abandoned by the girl he had loved the most. But shit, the girl was now the warrior she had always wanted to be, she was worthy, oh, so much more than worthy and she knew it, and it was something Cato could not help but admire.

And through the searing pain in his chest, and the much duller pain in his shoulder, he smiled. It was better to have been loved by her and lost her, than never been loved by her at all.