fic: alliance, cato/clove, pg13
title: Alliance
author:
shornt
characters/pairing: Cato/Clove
rating: PG13, I think. Brief mentions of violence.
words: ~600
notes: First foray into THG fic. I have lots of Career feelings.
Cato hears the screams. He knows. He runs, faster than he ever has in his life.
The cannon sounds.
He falls to his knees.
---
She was ten, he thinks, the first time they crossed paths in training.
She was a scrawny little thing, shiny black hair intricately tied back, eyes already hungry for blood. Her little fingers just barely curled over the handle of a knife, but her knuckles strained white against the sleek metal.
It sunk straight into the middle of the target. She turned around with a glint in her eye.
“Your turn.”
Cato remembers being that young, holding a weapon in his hands and planning to do damage with it.
It was nothing compared to her.
---
There’s a difference between a blade cutting canvas or plastic, and a blade sinking through human flesh.
Once you’re twelve, you have to be a killer. That’s all there is to it. Killing is nothing. They’ll all kill in the end, anyway.
They bring in the weak, the criminal. The women who can’t stop crying and the men who falter in combat. Bruised, in more ways than one. All resigned. Their fate is sealed.
The first time Cato pulls back his arm, poised to kill, he hesitates for just a second.
His arm releases and it's done.
You never forget your first.
---
He watches her, several years later.
She doesn’t even blink.
When the man hits the ground, she smiles.
---
Her name’s called first. She waves to the crowd like she’s already a victor, proud cheering from her family feeding her fire.
He volunteers because he knows he’ll never find a stronger match.
(She’s still smaller than other tributes. He’s not worried.)
---
“I could kill you, you know.”
He looks up, startled.
The train is quiet, zooming toward the Capitol. They’re supposed to be sleeping but have snuck their way out, aiming blunt butter knives at the cushions of a purple satin couch.
He quickly brushes off the chill in his spine.
“You think so, Clover Leaf?”
His hand reaches over to poke her braids, but she catches his arm before he can touch her, holds a knife against his neck before he can breath.
“I know so.”
A flick of the wrist and the dull blade splits the satin.
---
She’s beautiful, in a manic sort of way. Caesar doesn’t let anyone forget it.
Cato’s just trying not to picture her spattered in blood.
---
When the cannon goes off and they realize Glimmer was left behind, she laughs.
He doesn’t miss the fleeting panic on Marvel’s face. It almost makes him hope she wins.
(Almost.)
She’s in the lake, tending to her own stings without so much as a wince.
She easily could win.
---
Sometimes she falls asleep against him, safe and secure, surrounded by mines.
It’s almost comforting, until the blade shifts in her fist.
---
“I’ll kill her,” he swears, fists clenching so hard he feels nails dig into skin. “She’s mine.”
“Not if I find her first.” Her eyebrow lifts in amusement. “But don’t worry. If I get to her, it’ll be a show.”
He feels goosebumps rise on his skin.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He believes her.
---
“Stay with me,” he yells, desperate.
It’s too late.
She’s still beautiful, even in death.
---
As he stares down the arrow pointed at him, he realizes he’s just a tally mark. And who’s keeping count anymore?
Dying is nothing. They all die in the end, anyway.
author:
shornt
characters/pairing: Cato/Clove
rating: PG13, I think. Brief mentions of violence.
words: ~600
notes: First foray into THG fic. I have lots of Career feelings.
Cato hears the screams. He knows. He runs, faster than he ever has in his life.
The cannon sounds.
He falls to his knees.
---
She was ten, he thinks, the first time they crossed paths in training.
She was a scrawny little thing, shiny black hair intricately tied back, eyes already hungry for blood. Her little fingers just barely curled over the handle of a knife, but her knuckles strained white against the sleek metal.
It sunk straight into the middle of the target. She turned around with a glint in her eye.
“Your turn.”
Cato remembers being that young, holding a weapon in his hands and planning to do damage with it.
It was nothing compared to her.
---
There’s a difference between a blade cutting canvas or plastic, and a blade sinking through human flesh.
Once you’re twelve, you have to be a killer. That’s all there is to it. Killing is nothing. They’ll all kill in the end, anyway.
They bring in the weak, the criminal. The women who can’t stop crying and the men who falter in combat. Bruised, in more ways than one. All resigned. Their fate is sealed.
The first time Cato pulls back his arm, poised to kill, he hesitates for just a second.
His arm releases and it's done.
You never forget your first.
---
He watches her, several years later.
She doesn’t even blink.
When the man hits the ground, she smiles.
---
Her name’s called first. She waves to the crowd like she’s already a victor, proud cheering from her family feeding her fire.
He volunteers because he knows he’ll never find a stronger match.
(She’s still smaller than other tributes. He’s not worried.)
---
“I could kill you, you know.”
He looks up, startled.
The train is quiet, zooming toward the Capitol. They’re supposed to be sleeping but have snuck their way out, aiming blunt butter knives at the cushions of a purple satin couch.
He quickly brushes off the chill in his spine.
“You think so, Clover Leaf?”
His hand reaches over to poke her braids, but she catches his arm before he can touch her, holds a knife against his neck before he can breath.
“I know so.”
A flick of the wrist and the dull blade splits the satin.
---
She’s beautiful, in a manic sort of way. Caesar doesn’t let anyone forget it.
Cato’s just trying not to picture her spattered in blood.
---
When the cannon goes off and they realize Glimmer was left behind, she laughs.
He doesn’t miss the fleeting panic on Marvel’s face. It almost makes him hope she wins.
(Almost.)
She’s in the lake, tending to her own stings without so much as a wince.
She easily could win.
---
Sometimes she falls asleep against him, safe and secure, surrounded by mines.
It’s almost comforting, until the blade shifts in her fist.
---
“I’ll kill her,” he swears, fists clenching so hard he feels nails dig into skin. “She’s mine.”
“Not if I find her first.” Her eyebrow lifts in amusement. “But don’t worry. If I get to her, it’ll be a show.”
He feels goosebumps rise on his skin.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He believes her.
---
“Stay with me,” he yells, desperate.
It’s too late.
She’s still beautiful, even in death.
---
As he stares down the arrow pointed at him, he realizes he’s just a tally mark. And who’s keeping count anymore?
Dying is nothing. They all die in the end, anyway.