"ʏᴇꜱᴛᴇʀᴅᴀʏ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ, ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ."
Water.
The smell of water hits her nostrils as she ascends into the arena, the liquid the first and only thing Clio sees as she tries to get her bearings. It's everywhere as she turns, the sun's reflection blinding her and forcing her to bring her left hand up to shield her eyes as she squints to examine her surroundings while the platforms lock into place and the sixty second countdown begins. The water smells clean enough, it's nothing like the sewage water that was present in her Games. It doesn't look as though it needs to be filtered but as it's a Quarter Quell she knows she should wait for a moment to see the condition of the water - if this arena is anything like those used in the previous quells then it could kill her in seconds. Her eyes lock onto the cornucopia, finding herself staring at the back of the structure, the silver glint of weapons peeking out from around the walls.
"Fifty-nine."
Jolting slightly at the voice, Clio glances around the arena, trying to document as much as she could. Behind the cornucopia, she can see a dense rainforest with tall trees extending skyward and lush tropical foliage sheltering a soft, sandy beach that sits at the edge of the water surrounding the rocky island. As she pivots, she takes in the shape of the arena. From her position standing on the water - on the metal plate in the middle, that is - she can see the dark blues of the central body of water, hinting at its depth as it curves round in a seemingly perfect circle; slow, calm ripples of waves neatly brushing against the edge of the beach.
"Forty."
Where the fuck is Cato? She thinks, her eyes scanning the faces of the tributes around her. Looking to her left she spots a line of black rocks, and she follows them with her eyes from the beach behind her all the way to the island cornucopia. The rocks, spiked from all sides but flat on top, clearly designed for running atop, seem several feet away. The other side of the rocky strip, she locks eyes with a panicked looking Peeta. His head swivels rapidly from side to side, freezing when he meets her eyes before swallowing, mouth set in a firm line as he focuses on the Cornucopia ahead of him. She wonders if the boy can even swim. His eyes give away his panic and even as she watches him attempt to calm his nerves, chest heaving as he breathes deeply, he pretends not to feel her stare. If he can't swim then his chances of even getting to the bloodbath are so small, there's no point in wasting energy on him, she thinks, I'll just leave him to drown.
"Thirty."
When the voice startles her she averts her gaze from Peeta, and begins to search for Cato again. Where the fuck is he? She thinks, narrowing her eyes. Immediately to her right is the man from Ten and on his right is another line of rocks. Clio's eyes measure the distance from the man beside her and the spokes, realising that two tributes are sandwiched between each line of rocks. As her eyes move around the circle of water, she counts each of the rock boundaries that she can see. Eight strips of black spokes, separating the arena into equal segments two tributes at a time like spokes from the middle of a wheel. There's got to be twelve segments to represent the number of Districts.
"Twenty."
Just past the man from Ten, her eyes find an anxious Wiress who looks at the jungle to her right before turning her attention to the Cornucopia directly ahead of her. Within the next section over, she spots Johanna who, to no one's surprise, looks angry as she raises an eyebrow at Wiress and gives a small nod of her head in the direction of the jungle. Was that an instruction to avoid the bloodbath? Clio asks herself. Is Johanna protecting Nuts and Volts? Dismissing her thoughts as something to worry about after the bloodbath she looks back towards Peeta, and sees Seeder shaking on her platform beside him as she quietly observes the environment. To her left she finds Finnick who is perched precariously on the balls of his feets as he rests in a low stance on his platform. Clio watches him for a moment as he runs his eyes across the top of the water, barely refraining from reaching forward and splashing at the surface. He tilts his head to the side to catch the reflection at a different angle before nodding to himself and rising to a stand once more as he shuffles his feet to ready himself. His eyes meet Clio's, giving her a confident smile until she moves on, quickly deciding that he must have deemed the water safe enough to swim in, but also reminding herself to not dive straight in until the fishboy from Four has emerged from it unharmed.
Looking further to her right, she spots Gloss standing three slices across, standing beside the woman from Nine while Cashmere stands three slices to her left. Given the glare in her eyes, she has found Katniss on the other side of the arena. It's clear to her that the siblings can't see each other, their vision obscured by the cornucopia which leads Clio to believe that Cato is somewhere over the other side of the arena, possibly directly opposite her and that he likely has Katniss nearby if she has Peeta. Fucking typical, she thinks, they've given us the wrong person to kill though I should be able to get to her when I leave him to drown.
"Fifteen."
She catches eyes with Cashmere, who smiles at her before turning to face Gloss; only to find him smiling in the other direction, at who she can only assume is Cato. The siblings don't look stressed upon the realisation that they can't find each other, instead they're smiling at their friends on either side and likely coming to their own conclusions about the set up of the arena. The career alliance is spaced as far as possible from each other, with Finnick primed in a spot where he can quickly get to the trident and make the decision to join them. As Clio thinks, she realises that their position must be intentional. Putting the couple from District Two next to their copycats has to be on purpose. Everyone knows that they're the pair who will want to kill the two from Twelve the most and so giving them the easiest access to them has to be part of President Snow's plan to take them out; even if it takes out the careers before they can even get together.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die and as the last ten seconds of the countdown rings through the arena, all Clio can think of is ten defining memories of her life; of her relationship with Cato. The ones she wants to remember in the final few days before she dies.
"Ten."
"Clio! Upstairs now!" One of the trainers spits, voice ringing above the grunts and slams that comes from the older boys practising their hand-to-hand combat. The man grabs Clio's collar, dragging her out of the training centre and up the large stone steps to the empty room used for punishments and training suspensions. Throwing open the door, the trainer pushes the young girl into the dimly-lit room. Golden strips of fleeting sunlight peek through the slatted blinds as her footsteps echo in the vacant room as she paces around.
The door slams shut behind her and Clio finds herself engulfed in a chilling silence. Dull, grey walls seem to suffocate her as she looks around, through the slats on the single window to watch the busy town square. With each passing second, thoughts swirl in her mind. When the clouds shield the sun, it plunges the room in total darkness, letting her mind play tricks on her. Shadows dance along the walls, the shapes taunting her and the absence of noise amplifies the sound of her racing heartbeat and reminds her of her isolation. Minutes blend into hours, time seeming to drag as Clio spends what she thinks is the first hour predicting the conditioning exercises that her age group will be completing before abandoning her attempts and sitting beneath the window, leaning her back against the wall and starting to count the bricks filling the wall in front of her.
Suddenly after an hour, Clio can hear the scuffling of training shoes and thick combat boots in the corridor outside the suspension room as well as the sound of muffled shouts and protests. With the aggression that the shouts hold, Clio is expecting the boy that is about to be shoved through the door to be one of the older teenagers, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Then the door swings wide, a sliver of light piercing the room and casting shadows on the empty walls as the boy is thrown into the room and the door shuts with a loud slam.
Clio strains her eyes in the darkness and is surprised to find that the boy looks no older than twelve. When the sun shines through the slatted blinds, she uses the new found light to study him. Bright blue eyes. Wide, smug grin. Blonde hair. Sleeveless shirt, shorts.
When the boy walks further into the room, he leans against the wall and as he still hasn't noticed her presence, Clio opens her mouth to greet him, "Hi-"
The boy is startled by her words, body jolting suddenly as a surprised exclamation leaves his lips, "Shit!" His head whips round to find the direction of the voice, eyes resting on Clio's small body at the back of the room. He exhales a nervous laugh, a mixture of relief and lingering surprise, "You're so small, I didn't even see you!"
"Wow! You're a genius!" Clio drawls sarcastically, rolling her eyes before shooting him a glare and turning her head and returning to her task of counting the dark bricks.
"Mmm sarcastic, I like it. Is that big mouth of yours what got you thrown in here?" He asks.
Knowing he was taunting her, she ignores him to continue counting the bricks above the door, "thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine."
"What?"
"Forty, forty-one, forty-two."
The blonde boy spent the next ten minutes pestering her about what she did to receive a training suspension but she didn't want to give the satisfaction of an answer, knowing that the moment she tells him he'll only start mocking her again. When he asks her for what must be the hundredth time in ten minutes, she finally decides to respond, "is it your big head that got you in here?"
"My bad." The boy laughs, moving nearer to Clio and sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched in front of him. "I'm Cato."
"Clio." She answers, finally taking another look at the boy now sitting beside her, "Why are you here?"
"Hey I asked you first!" He protests.
"I punched Ismene for calling me a dwarf."
Cato laughs, a wide smile on his face as the mystery unravels. "You punched her?" Clio's nod quickly turns to a glare once she hears the rest of the boy's sentence, "All four feet of you punched her?"
"I'm not talking to you anymore!" She complains, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance as she angles her body away from him. "Now why are you in here?" She asks, breaking her own rule when she realises he's gone quiet.
"Darion. He started threatening me now he's twelve." Cato says, gesturing with his hands; the back of his right hand smacking against the wall yet he doesn't flinch.
"So you punched him?" Clio tuts, though her voice holds no tone of disapproval as she bites back an impressed smile, words mirroring his perfectly, intrigued by his story.
"He's one week older than me!" He grumbles, hands thrown up in exasperation.
So he's an eleven she thinks, and by the sounds of it he'll be moving up to train with the twelves after this year's reaping. Unbeknownst to her, Cato is thinking along the same line of thought, trying desperately to work out how old the small girl sat beside him really is. He doesn't recall seeing her with the elevens, but then again the groups aren't whittled down until they reach reaping eligibility. While he thinks in silence, Clio returns to counting the bricks on the wall, taking a mental note of where she gets to when he speaks, "how old are you?"
"Ten," she says, "eleven in April."
He nods and the room falls silent again for a while, neither really knowing what to say to the other. Eventually, Cato breaks the silence with another question and they spend the next hour talking to one another, standing momentarily to feel the warmth of the sun through the glass when it shines until their trainers interrupt their conversations to lift their suspension and usher them to the cafeteria for lunch.
"Nine."
The first day that Clio was allowed to train with the thirteens was a particularly cold, snowy morning in January. The trainers had noticed that twelve year old Clio had been doing particularly well in her training sessions, having beat all of her year group. Potential tributes are usually assigned their partners at twelve once the trainers are sure that each child will be continuing in the tribute academy; and then it's up to the pairs to progress through the years until they are selected for a games - together. However, the mentors had agreed with the decision of the head trainers. Clio was to be paired with an older boy to give her a challenge since she was quickly becoming their most promising tribute.
As instructed she makes her way over to the group of boys that congregate around the schedules in the training centre, waiting for their trainers to begin the day's sessions; while the girls hover by the benches. The boys laugh and chat animatedly as Clio approaches, and when she stands before them she is met with mocking, dismissive words as one of the boys, puffing his chest out points his finger towards the door. "Hey! The ten-year-olds are training outside."
Several of the boys exchange knowing glances, while others remain silent. Clio scans the faces of the boys around her, all of them look smug as they determine her worth by her size. As she goes to retaliate, a deep voice speaks from behind her, "Evander, that's enough."
Evander, the boy who taunted her moments earlier, pales when he turns and finds himself face to face with Brutus, stumbling over his apologies. Clio smiles to herself at the boy's drastic change in attitude once faced with someone bigger than him while Brutus continues, "Alright, shut up. Clio here has been moved up an age group. I expect you to treat her like one of you or else you can find somewhere else to be."
"So she's twelve?" One of the girls sniggers, "She looks about nine."
The girl's friends' laughs die in their throats when they see the stern expression of Brutus' face, "Honoria. Out." He points to the door, raising an eyebrow when she cries out in protest that he 'can't' do this.
"I can and I will." The older man says, his eyes challenging any of the remaining thirteens to question his authority. When no one does, he smirks and continues, "Now, who was Honoria's partner?"
Cato silently raises his hand and Brutus smiles to himself."Perfect. Now find space on the mats for hand-to-hand."
The next hours are filled with hand-to-hand combat sessions, Brutus and the trainers demonstrating various techniques before observing the teenagers, and critiquing their attempts at disarming their partners. Eventually, one of the trainers dismisses the session for a lunch, sending most of the thirteens rushing to the Academy's cafeteria to have the best choice of food.
As the two follow their peers towards the doors of the training centre, Cato walks behind her making Clio stop and turn to face him. "Are you always this slow? My grandpa can move faster than you."
Cato's jaw drops slightly and Clio watches as he straightens up and stands a little taller, meeting her challenge by squaring his jaw and hardening his gaze. "No way," he says, "I'm definitely faster than you."
Clio smirks, "As if." She raises a hand, gesturing to the other side of the training centre which has now emptied for lunch before standing a little straighter to make herself seem taller, crossing her arms, "I could beat you without trying."
Cato releases a very loud laugh, head tilting to the side. It's clear that they both share the same competitive spirit, as he feeds into the idea of being challenged. "Okay then, how about we test it? A few races just to see who's better?"
"Sure," Clio agrees, nodding her head, "But don't cry when I beat you."
"I don't lose," he smirks confidently, "But I am not getting suspended from training for making you cry."
Clio shakes her head with a scoff, moving to place her hand on the wall of the training centre. Once Cato stands beside her again, she stares at him until he reaches back to rest one of his hands on the barrier also. "First one to reach the other wall wins. Ready?"
"Yup."
"Three... Two.... One... GO!"
As soon as the word leaves her mouth, both push themselves from the wall in a sprint. It's slightly ridiculous how badly Clio wants to beat him but there's just something so infuriating how she's always thought of as slow or weak because of her height. Competitiveness burns in her chest as her fists clench, eyes focusing solely on the wall as she forces her legs to move faster in a sprint. Clio doesn't slow down, or even look behind her until she is slamming into the wall, arms stretched ahead of her to shield her face from the impact. She quickly whips around to see Cato touch the wall beside her, lagging about a second or two behind.
"Shit." He mutters as she smirks at him. "Best of three?"
"Fine," Clio agrees. "I still beat you though."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he mumbles before beginning to countdown from three. However, before he voices the word 'Go' he breaks into a sprint.
"Hey!" Clio shouts caught off guard, quickly pushing off the wall to try and catch up to the boy running ahead of her. She watches him touch the wall, her touching a few seconds later. Pulling a sour face that makes him laugh, Clio shoves at his side. "That doesn't count. You cheated."
"It's not my fault you're slow," he shrugs, placing his hand on the wall behind him again. Clio counts down again, and this time she is the one who launches into a run on the number one as she yearns to prove herself. She ignores his shouts as she increases her speed as much as she can so that she can touch the wall first and snag another victory to win the best of three.
"Now that one doesn't count!" Cato complains as she reaches the wall, him reaching the wall for the last time.
"Well," Clio laughs, "It's not my fault you're slow." She uses his words against him, watching him roll his eyes, mumbling a 'whatever' as she moves to sit down on one of the benches beside the weapons stations; though there's an element of amusement in his eyes as his gaze follows her.
"How did it feel when you beat all the twelves?" Cato asks her.
"Fantastic." Clio deadpans, enunciating each syllable.
"Oh god I'm in love," He jokes, right hand coming to rest over his heart and he throws his head back dramatically.
"Shut up," she laughs, "we're thirteen."
"Ah ah ah, I'm thirteen," he quips, twirling a finger until it points in her direction, "you're twelve."
"Are you gonna keep bringing that up?" Clio asks, pushing herself up from the bench and walking towards the double doors that lead out of the training centre. She rolls her eyes when Cato confirms her suspicions and speeds up to catch up with her on her walk to lunch.
"Eight."
The day after Luna Crawford won her games was a Tuesday. July 15th. Sweltering heat gripped the dry, yellow grasslands of District Two, sunlight beating down on the back of the necks of the teenagers who had been dragged to the edge of the river. They stood in a line atop the rocks nestled at the river bed watching as the water crashes against the rocks, swirling eddies and white foam stretching across the width before being swallowed by the depth. Ice cold jets of water send plumes of spray that sparkle in the sunlight and leave a chilling breeze on the faces and exposed legs of the children standing before it.
"After yesterday's disgrace." One of the eldest trainers begins, pacing up and down the river bank, staring at the line of children on the other side. "It has become evident that half of you have never learnt how to swim."
Several of the children shake their heads, the twelve year olds swallowing their fear when one of the other trainers uses this moment to forcefully shove the oldest child in line into the ice cold water. Clio watches as one by one, the trainers make their way down the line and push the teenagers in. Once all the seventeen year olds have been knocked into the icy water below, the trainers pause and all the younger children watch the mass of flailing limbs as they try and keep their heads above the water. Not one of the seventeens make contact with the river bed as they struggle to stay afloat, and Clio begins to panic slightly, knowing that with her being the shortest thirteen in the Academy she has no chance of being able to touch the floor.
The sixteens are next, each in turn getting shoved into the water once the seventeens have been permitted to pull themselves from the water. Some of the older teenagers watch in shock as a few of the small girls begin to get dragged underneath the water by the fast current; aware that they can't intervene unless they wish to be thrown into the isolation chamber once they return to the Academy and suspended from training for a period of time. Most of the fifteens take the shove better than expected, with the majority of them simply allowing the water to consume them before breaking the surface and floundering their arms wildly. One, however, turns as she is shoving in and manages to dig her nails into the arms of the trainers, screaming hysterically to be excused from this training exercise. It was of no use; the trainer simply prying the girl from his arms, and throwing the girl backwards as if she was a light piece of wood. The girl lands right in the middle of the river, much further from the edge than any of the others had landed, gasping fearfully as she surfaces. Everyone watches silently as her limbs wail helplessly in the cold water before she is instructed to grab ahold of a large stick and is yanked on to the riverbank.
At least I know what not to do, Clio thinks as the fifteens climb from the water and the trainers begin to berate the young girl, their words directed to everyone in line, "You cannot fear water! We've all watched what happens when you are scared of the elements!"
Clio watches nervously as the trainers begin to push the fourteens into the river. She looks straight ahead, eyes locked on the other side of the river bank to not show any signs of nerves though her index finger mindlessly flicks at the nail of her thumb. Her heart pounds in her chest as she watches the bodies of three of her friends disappear beneath the surface of the water, swallowed by the current. Her eyes flit between the ripples in the water until their heads emerge from the water as they gasp for air, eyes wide as they struggle. Frantic movements switch to determined as they fight to regain control against the harsh current. Once everyone has resurfaced and their initial panic has ceased they are instructed to swim to the river's edge and pull themselves up. Finally as her friends emerge from the river, shivering and disoriented, her eyes lock with Cato's and his head tilts forward in a small nod.
I can do this, Clio thinks, it's just water. I won't drown. They won't let me leave Cato without a training partner. She waits anxiously, listening to the shrieks as the trainers make their way down the line of thirteens. With a sudden, jarring force, Clio's body tenses as she plunges into the depths of the river. Ice cold anxiety washes over her body, matching the frigid temperature of the crystal waters, freezing her limbs and immobilising her with shock. Her whole body underwater, lungs burning as her reflexes accidentally trigger a deep, shocked breath and cause her to thrash around under the surface. Panic begins to grip her chest as she desperately fights to resurface, arms slicing uncoordinatedly through the water. Her eyes are wide in panic as her vision now consists only of a disorientating blur of swirling water and is distorted, the sounds coming above the water muffled as she is tossed around by the current. With aching, trembling limbs, Clio claws her way upwards, muscles straining against the relentless pull of the current until her head finally breaks through the water's surface. Gasping for air, she inhales greedily, kicking her legs wildly underneath her to keep her head above water. It threatens to dip a few times, but she kicks harder, managing to keep herself afloat as she looks around, eyes blinking away droplets of water to readjust to the dry environment. She could hear the sounds of splashing and gurgling from those in the water beside her, each person savouring each precious drop of oxygen. Fighting against the current, she flails her legs, finding that the faster she kicks the quicker she moves. Every moment was a struggle, each stroke weak and hindered by the weight of the water-soaked clothes clinging to her exhausted body. Clio's trembling fingers grip a rock on the river bank, using all her remaining strength to pull herself up and onto the grass. Pushing to heer feet, she rejoins her place in the line; drenched and trembling, yet alive.
As she watches the twelves be forced into the freezing river, she stands still, water cascading down her body, hair stuck messily to the sides of her face and back of her neck. Looking to her left, her eyes meet Cato's as his head peeks above the line, taller than the boys lined up between them. Droplets flow from his drenched hair, stuck to his forehead but creating a shimmering halo in the summer sunlight. Clio's heart leaps in relief as she recognises the mix of exhaustion and satisfaction etched on his face.
"You okay?" He mouths over the heads of the other teens.
Clio nods, her breaths still coming out in ragged gasps as she raises an eyebrow as if to silently return the question. When he nods slowly, she turns attention back to the twelves prying themselves from the water, already wishing she could be back in the dorm rooms, and mentally preparing herself for the race to the showers that would be inevitable once they returned.
"Seven."
On the evening of the reaping of the seventy-first games, the usual District Two festivities are underway, with the eligible Academy children all gathering to watch a recap of the reapings before heading outside to the outskirts of the city to the clearing by the border where bonfires are lit, games are played and stories are told by the friends and families of the chosen tributes. As the night draws to a close, the adults begin to disperse, taking the young children away from the growing fires, Clio spots Cato sulking by the edge of the grass. After being his training partner for about eighteen months, Clio has grown accustomed to the boy's quirks, learning a lot about all the details that made him him. He's afraid of dogs, even if he won't admit it, he likes the colour red, he has to set two alarms every morning or he won't drag himself out of bed. That's how she knows, simply from the way he was sitting on one of the discarded tree stumps by himself, dismissing several of his friends that try to attempt conversation, that he wasn't in a good mood. She finds it odd, he was fine earlier when a group of them had gathered around one of the bonfires to play games after all.
Quickly bounding over, Clio approaches the tree stump he is sitting on, slapping her hand playfully on his shoulder, "budge up a bit."
Recognising her voice, Cato shuffles along the stump to make room for her to sit, turning his head to glare at her for a second. "Y'know, for someone so little you sure are rude sometimes."
"You love it though," she jokes, rolling her eyes jokingly as she watches Cato reach over and grab a marshmallow from the stack she holds in her hands, intent on using them to improve his mood but when she goes to offer him another, he pulls it from her hands and smiles widely as he shoves both into his mouth. "And you say I'm the rude one?"
"Ugh, shut up."
As a comfortable silence falls around them Clio watches him for a moment, eyes scanning the vacant look in his eyes as he stares at the base of the mountain ahead of them before she speaks up. "Are you upset that we didn't get to volunteer this year?"
"God no, there's always next year right?" He laughs, "besides seventy-two is a much nicer number than seventy-one."
Clio smiles. She won't tell him she prefers seventy-three. "Then what's happening?" She asks him softly. "Is everything alright?"
"Kinda." Clio's eyebrows curve upwards slightly, taken aback at his honesty. Although they've grown closer over the past year training together, usually it takes a few attempts to get through to him. "I guess- I'm just- I'm scared, alright?"
"You're... scared?" Clio checks, grabbing his hand beside her.
He looks down at her hand and sighs, "You're gonna think it's stupid..." He trails off.
"I won't. Promise."
"It's just... Who knows what's going to happen to any of us when we go in?" His voice is sombre as his free hand scratches nervously at his jaw. "One of us has to die, y'know."
"I understand that but that's what we train for Cato. That's the whole point."
He shifts slightly on the tree stump, grip tightening on her hand momentarily. "You don't get it Clio. I can't kill you."
She shakes her head. "Yes you can. We both know you can just snap me in half."
He laughs at that, "well duh, I can physically kill you. I just don't know if I'm mentally prepared to watch you die."
"You seem awfully confident that you'd win." Clio retorts.
"Shut up." He repeats, smiling in the silence.
Confusion washes over Clio's face as her head whips round to face him, "Wait." She pauses for a moment, watching Cato's brow raise to mirror her confusion. "Why can't you kill me?"
His face drops, lowering his head to look at his feet that he now kicks back against the tree stumps, "I've thought about what Luna said and I... Uhh... Have you ever- Do you ever think about how we could- I dunno be different- like not training partners. Shit, that doesn't make sense, forget about it. "
"What are you trying to say, Cato?"
He hesitates for a moment before speaking so quickly that he almost stumbles over his words, mouth moving too fast for his brain to catch up, "I think I like you."
Clio can't help but let out a small gasp. "Huh? You what?"
"You heard me." Cato lets out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he sees through her attempts to guide the conversation elsewhere or get him to repeat himself.
Clio's smile falls as she feels her chest begin to tighten slightly. "No. No, no, not like that. You can't like me like that!"
"Well I do, so..." Cato groans, watching as she chews nervously on her bottom lip, clearly torn about their situation.
"It's- we can't," Clio mutters. Yes, she also likes Cato, the same way he likes her but she knows that this would break one of the Academy's rules. Potential tributes, especially training partners, aren't supposed to form any sort of attachment. Relationships, both platonic and romantic, are heavily advised against by their mentors and trainers. After all, you're training to kill this person, and forming an attachment could cause you to hesitate; directly going against rule number three. It could get her, Cato, or worse both of them killed - especially since they're training to fight against each other in the end.
"Fuck the stupid rules!" Cato sighs loudly, his finger pointing in the direction of the border, "You've crossed over that fence three times, Clio! Someone who cares about the rules doesn't do that."
"You're right," Clio says, lips curving into a smile.
"I am?" Cato asks and for a moment, his brain freezes. He stares at Clio, mind seemingly empty as he awaits her answer.
Her response is a short laugh, "are you broken?"
"Maybe a little bit," he says.
In the dim light of the moon and the bonfire several metres behind them, it was difficult to see all the small details on his face but still bright enough for Clio to see the softness of his expression, the small gold flecks that swim in the icy blue of his eyes, and way his lips sit in a loose smile. She feels a few strands of hair fall on her cheek, brushing them away quickly as she lifts her eyes to find his once more, feeling his warm breath against her face as his lips hover over her own.
"Fuck it," she mutters, fingers almost instinctively carding through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, drawing his face closer to hers and kissing him.
The kiss is timid and hesitant, lasting only a few moments before she was pulling back with doubt swimming in her eyes. However, those doubts are pushed away when he moves forwards to recapture her lips, hand cupping cheek as he returns the kiss until they slowly pull back from each other.
"Cato," she whispers.
"I know." He removes his hand from her cheek, running it through his hair instead and letting out a small, nervous laugh. "I wanted someone to dare me to do that all night."
A smile crosses Clio's face. "Why? So I wouldn't have to initiate it?"
"What? No, no! Not at all. I kinda like that you initiated it. I just didn't want it to be shit." Cato's eyes are wide in defensive surprise.
"Only kiss I've ever had so it's not like I have anything to compare it to." Clio corrects him, scowling playfully.
A smile breaks out on Cato's face as he throws his hands in the hand in victory, "Even better, makes me the default champion."
Clio's face scrunches when he pokes her cheek to get her to smile, quickly slapping his hand away, "Stop itttt."
He snickers softly, but doesn't try again, instead dropping his hand beside him and glancing at the mountain as silence falls over them for a couple of seconds, the only sounds heard are the shrieking laughter of the Academy children who remain around the bonfire behind him.
It's Clio who breaks the silence, "you know we can't tell anyone right?"
"Not even my sister? She likes you." He questions, subtly trying to change her mind.
"Fine, if you're telling your sister then I'm telling mine." Clio laughs, jumping off the tree stump and to her feet. "C'mon we should probably go back, and try not to be so miserable with them this time."
"Six."
"God," Clio groans when Cato opens the door to his dorm room at the Academy. The dull ceiling light illuminates her tired posture as she falls face first onto his twin sized bed with a huff, causing him to be unable to stifle his laugh.
"Two weeks," she mumbles into the soft pillow. "Two weeks and I never have to see Thalia again."
"You'll have to see her at the Reaping." He mentions as he locks the door and stands at the foot of the bed.
"That doesn't count." She says, sitting up and dangling her legs off the side of the bed. "It's only one more hour of my life where I have to pretend I don't wish to be the one to kill her."
"Your charm is what draws me to you, Clio." Cato jokes as he walks towards her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Shut up. I can't wait to watch her die."
"I have the weekend off." He says. "Brutus has been especially agitated this week because Thalia can't seem to understand our tactics."
"Ugh she's so stupid, I'm going to place a bet on her dying on day five." They laugh together at her words as Cato moves to sit beside her on the bed. "Is it always like that when you're selected?"
"Pretty much," he shrugs, swinging his legs onto the bed and laying down. "I like irritating him though. It's amazing seeing that vein in his head pulse when Thalia can't wrap her head around his instructions. I have no idea how she got selected, I miss training with you every day."
"So sappy," she teases, rolling her eyes. "If only Evander and Ajax could see you right now, they'd throw up."
"Maybe we should just tell them?" He says while Clio shifts her weight to face him.
"No, not yet. Enobaria is going to kill me." She answers, grabbing his face to pull him up into a kiss. "She'll start talking about distraction and ban me from seeing you next year. I've got more things I wanna try with you."
"Oh have you now?"
"Just hurry up, we've only got about forty-five minutes until the trainers come banging the door down looking for me." When his arm raises to her rest on her back and tries to pull her closer, she shifts on her knees until she straddles his lap, while he shuffles to sit up slightly so his back is pressed against the wall.
"Yeah, yeah that's why you're here." He nods, "I just didn't want to rush you."
"Wow, you've really got the hang of being honourable." Clio teases, "but I think we can rush it a little bit. My sister can't cover for me all night."
"We won't get in trouble." He grins before pressing his lips against hers, arms pulling her tighter against him and settling on her hips. Clio leans down, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders as he breaks their kiss and places light kisses along her jawline, lips travelling to her neck.
They ignore the murmur of voices in the corridor outside, undeterred by the rattle of the metal handle as the lock struggles under the force until it is flung open in an explosive motion. It swings wide with a deafening bang, causing the wooden frame to shudder against the adjacent wall, hinges straining under the sudden motion. They both yelp in surprise, sitting bolt upright as Clio rushes to swing her leg off of Cato's lap to sit beside him as he tries to nonchalantly fix his hair in an effort to not look suspicious.
"Am I interrupting something?" Zeus taunts from his place in the threshold, figure dominating the space of the doorway as he quickly shuts the door behind him. Muscles tense and eyes narrowed he glares at them.
"You are actually." Cato answers, "Get out of my room Zeus, you shouldn't be in here."
"Neither should she," The eighteen year old points at Clio who now sits cross legged on the side of the bed pushed against the wall. "But you weren't exactly kicking her out, were you Hadley?"
"I'll go." Clio says as she begins to shuffle towards the edge of the bed. "Just keep your mouth shut."
"Oh no Clio, you stay right there." Zeus laughs, "I want you to watch."
Confused, Clio watches Zeus' chest heaving with every breath, his left fist clenched at his side whilst his right is clamped around one of the long metal baton from the weapons wall in the Academy, grasping it so tightly that it reveals the white of his knuckles from restrained aggression. A vein pulsates in his forehead and his face is flushed with rage as his eyes dart between the two of them. Her eyes widen as she notices him take a step forward, adjusting his grip on the baton. Nudging Cato's leg she nods towards the baton, causing him to jump to his feet. The second he's on his feet, she watches Zeus lash out with a swift horizontal strike, aiming for his right knee. The baton cuts through the air like a sharp blade, striking the stone wall underneath the window when Cato quickly sidesteps to evade the attack. The loud thud that echoes through the room, doesn't deter Zeus as he follows up with a series of calculated strikes. Each blow whistles through the air as Zeus' left fist follows with jabs directed at Cato's face, each one narrowly missing as he ducks and weaves to avoid any direct hits. Acting quickly he closes the gap between Zeus and pushes him roughly at the wall, unleashing a barrage of powerful punches that forces the older boy to shift into a defensive stance and use his baton to shield himself from the hits.
In a matter of seconds Clio watches Zeus spin the baton and sweep it towards Cato's legs again which is only narrowly avoided by a kick to the man's wrist. She knows she's not supposed to intervene in moments like this. The tales told by the older teenagers at the Academy have shown her that moments like this are the true test of the selected volunteer. But she isn't about to just watch her boyfriend lose the opportunity he's spent his entire life building up to because a bitter eighteen year old decided to sneak a weapon from the training halls. Suddenly, Zeus lunges forward, thrusting the baton with all his might. Cato blocks his attack but she watches him stumble backwards momentarily. In the split second it takes for Zeus to lift his weapon to the side in preparation to strike, Clio jumps from the bed and weaves behind the man while his eyes are locked onto his target - Cato's right knee. Quickly she leans her weight onto her right leg, forcibly driving her left foot into the space behind Zeus' knee. The man cries out, folding like a deck chair when his leg gives in from the power of her kick. While his head crashes into the wall behind him, his hands fly out in an attempt to steady himself and his left fist smashes into the bridge of Clio's nose.
"Shit!" She yells as she quickly moves to the window, pinching the fleshy part of her nose to stem the blood now rushing onto her cupid's bow. She watches as both boys stand up, and when Zeus throws a punch with his right hand, the baton now transferred into his left. Cato catches the fist in his right, left hand coming up to grab the boy's wrist. His fingers unfold Zeus', tightening his grip on the bones and squeezing. Hard. The older boy's contorts in pain, his left fist dropping the baton as it curls and jabs at Cato's side as he thrashes to try and escape his grip. Clio hears a sharp crack, the sound of the bones in his hand crunching. Zeus screams loudly as Cato drops his hand and the boy slumps to the ground. Keeping her head down and hand pinching her nose, she peers over at his hand as it begins to swell, blood spurting from beside the bone which now protrudes from below his mis-shapen pointer finger. Purple and blue bruises cover the skin from the tips of his fingers to the base of his wrist as he pulls himself to his feet.
"Get out." Cato says, pulling at Zeus' collar and pushing him to the door.
"If you couldn't take me out without help from your little bitch then you're fucked Hadley." Zeus spits, before turning his eyes to the girl standing by the window. "And I'm looking forward to making a sport of your death, Clio."
"Five."
Sunday July 4th. Reaping day for the seventy-second Hunger Games. When Clio gets to the square it's as crowded as ever, with three quarters of the central population of District Two packed into the roped area in the square, the adults scuffling for positions a few feet back from the teenagers. The parents of the volunteers speak to one another from the first row of spectators, their voices loud in order to emphasise the abilities of their children to the gamblers that are already placing bets on the tributes. The festivities of Reaping Day spills into the streets surrounding the square as people gather and stare at the large screens and eagerly await the day's events. All the excited voices around the square blend together as Clio walks behind her sister in the check-in line, signing her name mindlessly when the Peacekeeper draws her blood. She finds her usual place in the crowd, slotting directly behind the rope that separates the fourteens and fifteens. The crowd in District Two, like all the other Districts is organised by age but differs in the fact that those enrolled in the Academy always stand at the front of their age range, with the best performer in each year positioned at the end of the row; the volunteer included.
She can see the back of her sister's head rows in front of her as she peers between the shoulders of the fourteens. She then sees the nine living victors from District Two standing to the side of the stage, ready to be introduced when the escort arrives. Finally, she glances over the aisle separating the boys and girls, careful not to turn her head completely behind her and gets a glimpse of Cato at the end of the row, hands in the pockets of his suit trousers while an excited grin covers his features. It's as if he was born for this. Clio supposes he probably was.
Her head snaps forward as the formalities of the Reaping begin, Xanthe Corvus steps on the grand stage, her bright orange peplum skirt standing out from below her crisp white blouse but directly contrasting the peacock blue of her large beehive hair pinned back with golden beaded clasps. Clio finds that the pre-Reaping ceremonies all seem distorted, her hands clenching the fabric at the bottom of her dress as she wills away the knot in stomach, knowing where the sudden nerves have come from but not particularly wanting to dwell on that either. Once Xanthe finishes her speech she steps forward with a bright smile, pretending like the Reaping truly matters when everyone in the square is aware that the selected teenager never actually ends up competing in the games. Clio's eyes roll when the tall brunette girl immediately volunteers the second the name is read aloud, bounding over to the stage in a pale yellow dress that reaches mid-thigh, already predicting the seventeen year old's strategy.
She inhales sharply when Cato's words ring out across the square, girls nearby turning to watch her as he steps forward from his spot with the sixteens. She can't look away as her training partner, her boyfriend, confidently saunters up onto the stage and stands beside the tall seventeen, hands folded neatly behind his back, feet shoulder width apart and head held high just like he'd been coached to. His words are short and to the point, just like a good career should. Clio watches angrily as he shakes Xanthe's hand before shaking the hand of the female tribute - Clio can't even bring herself to remember the girl's name right now and they are led off the stage and into the Justice Building.
The bustle of the district square is a blur as the unselected children all begin to head home, no doubt to eat and bathe before the evening festivities begin at the clearing. The voices of a few of Clio's fellow fifteens snap her out of her trance-like state, urging her to hurry to the Justice Building as a final call is announced for the friends and families of the tributes. She finds herself pushing past people in the square, running as fast as she can towards the building, until she bursts inside and is gestured towards a solid stone bench where she is asked which tribute she has come to see and once the word "male" leaves her lips she is told not to move and that her allotted time will begin in about two minutes.
This is the part she hasn't had a chance to practise. Goodbyes are private between the Tribute and their loved ones. No one speaks of what they say in what could be their final three minutes with a tribute, and as Clio has never known a volunteer well enough to come and say goodbye before today she's not sure what approach to take once she is allowed in. She isn't given time to muse over the thought as Peacekeepers push out the forms of Cato's parents and sister and she barely has time to smile in Aeliana's direction before she is pushed inside, immediately slamming her body into his open arms.
"Don't you dare die," are the first words Clio utters after a minute of silence.
His hand moves to grab her chin, tilting her face up so she's forced to strain her neck to meet his eyes. His eyes travel over her face, lingering on the freckles that litter across her nose and cheeks before returning to her eyes and smiling at her and nodding his head in acknowledgement and understanding.
A shout from the other side of the door tells them they only have thirty seconds remaining and Cato's eyes flit between the door and his girlfriend. "I- I've gotta go," He says, tilting his shoulder backwards in the direction of the train car that is undoubtedly waiting for him behind the Justice Building.
Clio gives him a soft smile, "Okay." She grabs his hand from her face, bringing it down to his side and squeezes it three times before detaching herself from him with a step back, "Kill them all."
He nods, a confident smile spreading across his lips as Clio quickly steps nearer again and presses her hands onto his chest - she can't quite reach his shoulders after all; not comfortably anyway. Leaning onto her toes, she captures his lips in a soft kiss. As much as she wishes to get lost in him again, at the way his hand naturally gravitates to the curve of her waist, another knock at the door forces her to pull away and step back.
"Good luck, handsome," she says with a smile at the low blush that covers his cheeks, "You've got this. I know you do."
Cato gives her a final nod as a Peacekeeper barges through the heavy door, pulling at Clio's wrist to remove her from the room. "See you in a month, baby."
"Four."
The whole Academy watches the days of the games together, sitting in clusters on the training room floor to cheer on their tributes through each step of the games. The younger children watch in awe at the parade while the older teens observe the bloodbath and the final kills closely, storing away techniques used and dreaming of the glory received once declared a victor. The tributes' friends and families are sometimes involved in the viewing 'parties' at the Academy if they live close by and this year Clio spends a large majority of the time beside Cato's sister, distracting the nine-year old who wouldn't usually be allowed in the main training centre of the Academy, especially after Cato revealed the nature of their relationship in his interview. She wasn't entirely sure whether he'd been coached to say what he had or whether he'd deliberately disobeyed the advice of his mentors, but either way she found that she didn't mind how the declaration made her feel even if several of the sixteen year old girls would send death glares her way throughout the day.
Panem's anthem blares as the tributes are moved up into the arena, the platforms coming to a jerky, abrupt stop with the music as the arena's landscape comes into view. The first thing Clio notices is that it's bright, far brighter than in previous years as the sunlight reflects off the snow, pure white, thick and fluffy; the snow reaching up to the middle of the platforms. The Academy children all watch as the tributes squint, processing the terrain at the same time, headings swivelling back and forth widely in an attempt to find their allies or their first targets. The only thing that breaks up the white snow and ice is the Cornucopia, nearly as bright as the surrounding snow as it shines in the sunlight and with the useful items that fill the structure it's far more interesting as the children begin to place playful bets on which tribute will reach for the shiny, dark metal weapons inside while the countdown sounds.
When the gong rings, everyone watches as the several of the tributes from the outlier rush into the snow and fall flat on their faces instead while the careers sink their boots into the depths and head toward the cornucopia. Their ears are filled with the deep clanging of metal against metal and high-pitched, pained screams as tributes fall to the ground, the crisp white snow now stained with the red liquid. Clio's eyes flick between the different camera angles which show the career alliance trudging their way through the snow, slashing at tribute after tribute. After a while the commotion begins to die down as the surviving tributes flee towards the lines of pine trees in the distance and the career alliance gather to share their resources, until Cato's head snaps towards the Cornucopia. Clio watches as he abandons his conversion, walking slowly in that direction and ignores the calls of the other careers. The cameras are now all focused on him, and the Academy is silent as they pick up a rustling noise from the dim interior. As he steps closer the shadow freezes.
Clio holds her breath as he takes another step and gasps leave the mouths of the younger children as the young boy from Eight - at least she thinks he's from Eight - springs from the Cornucopia with arms loaded full of food and backpacks before raising his hands in surrender. Fear flashes across the boy's eyes as Cato's sword slashes deep across his chest, wielding the sword as an extension of his arm as it moves almost automatically and the boy collapses with shock and pain. The cameras catch the colour drain from his face, cheeks turning a flat, sullen grey as he presses his hands to his chest, coughing and spluttering desperately. When the boy falls from his knees onto his side, Cato uses the tip of his sword, now stained bright red with blood, to manoeuvre him onto his back and plunge the blade into the centre of his chest.
Cheers erupt through the training academy as they watch the life drain from the boy's eyes, however, it's the squeak from Aeliana beside her once Cato drops to one knee beside the boy and uses the material of the tribute's trousers to wipe the blood from the edge of the blade, that catches Clio's attention. Looking towards the nine year old, Clio sees her eyes wide with fear, trembling hands clasping tightly to the clothing at her chest, likely at the brutality she witnessed from her brother.
Stretching her hand out towards her, Clio offers a gentle smile to the young girl, her voice surprisingly soft and soothing as she nods her head towards the doors, "C'mon, let go sit outside."
Aeliana thinks for a moment before intertwining her small fingers with Clio's and rising to her feet. Clio guides the girl quietly towards the doors, slipping out unnoticed by the Academy children and trainers who chatter excitedly about the bloodbath, until a gust of fresh air whooshes past the young girls' faces and the sunlight warms their skin.
"Hey..." Clio whispers as the two girls sit on the stone steps of the town square, "You know you're safe, right? He- We'd never let anything happen to you."
The younger girl sniffles, pushing her unruly blonde hair out of her face, "Why did he... do that?" Her voice is barely more than a whisper and the question hangs in the air as she tries to understand her new emotions. The nine year old first watched the games two years ago, and growing up in District Two she has quickly grown accustomed to displays of violence but it's clear to Clio that she's affected by the actions of her brother - her protector.
Clio's expression softens as she takes a moment to gather herself and choose her words. "Sometimes the people we love have to do things we don't like Ali, but that's okay. It doesn't mean we have to love them any less."
Relief flickers across Aeliana's features as she listens to Clio, pulling the older girl into a tight hug and wiping her tears sneakily on her t-shirt. She's not as sneaky as she thinks but Clio doesn't have it in her to catch her out right now so she simply wraps her arms around her and rests her chin atop her blonde head, speaking softly into the strands, "You'll never be alone, okay? He loves you so much."
"Three."
Stylists move around Clio in a flurry as they work on the finishing touches to her outfit. July 10th. The day before the start of the seventy-third Games, and the night of the interviews. Clio watches in the large mirror ahead of her as one of her stylists applies copious amounts of smoothing gel to the front strands of her hair to slick it into place whilst another meticulously wields a curling iron around thick sections of her precisely-parted hair. Once she has luscious, voluminous waves cascading down her back, one of the stylists parts her hair using a fine-toothed comb as the other clips the crystal, feather-topped slides into the sleek hair above her ears. Juno, her head stylist kneels at her side, creating a fine mist of warm vapour around her dress as she smoothes out the creases in the tulle with her handheld steamer. As the stylists step away to stand behind her, Clio takes a moment to admire herself in the mirror. She is dressed in ethereal design of soft, pristine white tulle which is illuminated by the lights to give it an angelic quality. With a deep V travelling from the centre of her chest to the waist of the dress, the silk bodice features an off the shoulder neckline that, along with the simple silver pearl necklace, gracefully frames her defined collarbones and shoulders and draws eyes downwards to her décolletage in a style just daring enough to be alluring yet sophisticated and elegant, pure. The bare shoulders and fitted bodice accentuate her natural curves and muscle definition, and the subtle boning provides structure in a contrast to the large butterfly sleeves which flow outwards from her sides to give the appearance of wings. As the many layers of tulle cascade from the waist they form a voluminous skirt that bounces gracefully with each step, appearing soft and flowy and creating an illusion of floating elegance. Cocking her head to the side when she notices the hint of transparency each layer has as she runs her hands between the fabric before they are quickly removed by the stylists in fear of ruining the illusion. The knee-length lettuce hemline shows off the definition in her calves but will help make her legs look longer to the audience, something Juno tells her as she instructs her to raise one leg at a time to strap her into the white, pearl-lined stilettos. As she is escorted out of the prep room by the stylists, the iridescent elements adorned the outer layer of tulle catch the light and give a delicate touch of glamour without overpowering the innocent portrayal.
She can practically hear Enobaria's patience running thin as Xanthe's frenzied voice calls out from the hallway that they were going to be late to the interviews. Juno opens the door to step out and Clio can see Brutus and Enobaria talking beside the lift, Xanthe pacing the room in a panic, with Cato and Evander sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge, laughing together and shoving each other lightly before the escort reprimands them about messing up their suits.
"Oh my! Clio!" Xanthe gushes as she is guided through the doorframe. All the heads in the room turn to face her as they take in her appearance. She sees a glint in her mentors' eyes as she watches Cato scan her figure. His gaze never falters as he stands and meets her in the centre of the hallway. A smug smile pulls at her lips as she sees him lick his lips and pull her to him, hands attaching to her hips and clinging to the delicate fabric; steadying her as she stumbles in the heels.
"Stop fucking staring at me." She huffs, watching as his peaceful expression peers down at her in a playful scowl.
Evander throws his head back in howling laughter and chuckles come from both Brutus and Enobaria as he begins to examine her face. Cato's hand moves up to cup her cheek, thumb wiping at the makeup blending into the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. She twists her head away but he tilts her head up as he mutters about the stylists' decisions to cover her freckles, even more determined to expose them.
"Stop it." She pushes his hand away. "Go back to staring at the dress. You like it?"
"Like doesn't even begin to cover it." He says as the fingers of his left hand rub over the tulle at her hips. "You look like an angel."
"I am so glad you said that Cato." Juno interrupts. "That's exactly the angle we're playing this year. The innocent, desirable angel who is a perfect match for the golden boy who came before her and just as deadly."
"The angel of death." Enobaria smiles, teeth glinting in the light.
Evander snorts as Xanthe ushers him from his seat, placing his hands into the pocket of his black suit. When everyone stares at him, he presses the button to call for the lift and voices opinion, "I'm sorry. Clio's just not what I imagined an angel to look like."
"Yeah, well, you're exactly what I expected a demon to look like." Clio jokes back, biting back a laugh when he raises his hands to his head and forms a horn motion with his fingers.
"I thought angels were supposed to be tall, magnificent creatures?" He asks Juno quietly, ignoring Clio's eyes rolling as everyone files into the empty lift to take them down to the floor where the interviews are to take place.
The doors sliding open on the lower floor halts their conversation and they are escorted by their mentors to the line of tributes, smiling at their allies from One as they slot in behind them. The hallway is silent as the five minute warning is called, causing Brutus and Enobaria to wish them luck before walking to take their place at the other side of the stage with the other mentors and gesturing for Cato to follow. He holds a hand up to signal he'd join them in a moment before turning to Clio, "You okay baby?"
"Yeah, just you know I don't like standing still." Clio says as she watches the stagehands run around frantically positioning different lighting and camera equipment.
"They'll love you. You're going to outshine all of these idiots and they'll be begging to sponsor you." When a stagehand fearfully taps him on the shoulder to shoo him from the tribute's wing, he nods and places a kiss to her hairline.
"Two."
August 2nd. The seventy-third games had finished late last night, and medical staff had immediately rushed Clio into a treatment room the second she stepped onto the hovercraft after the broadcast was stopped. A general anaesthesia was injected into her body in instances before she was wheeled into the tribute centre and worked on by Capitol doctors. Once awake early the next afternoon, Clio listens to instructions and she doesn't move from the room, going back to sitting on the bed as she waits for her team to come and collect her.
She just wants to go back home now, itching to finally get a full night's sleep without having to wake every two hours to check her position and whether anyone was nearby and plotting. She thinks of her family, of how excited she is to see her sister and her parents again. I've come home a winner so now they can finally relax. They have the victor child they've always wished for. Her mind goes back to the best moments of her games. She thinks of the laughs she shared with the rest of her group as they wandered the desolate city. Of the stupid stories the four of them told. Of the jokes that Evander would tell her when she was frustrated they hadn't tracked down another tribute yet. She remembers the feeling of realising that the Games are what she was made for. The feeling of her makeshift knife sinking into human flesh for the first time. The incredible lack of resistance that differed so much to the animal carcasses that were used twice a year in the Academy. The way she felt when the blade penetrated the subcutaneous fat, the ripping of the muscle and the sound of the hardened clay hitting the hard bone in the centre. The surprising amount of force needed to pull the weapon from the body. Painting the deserted streets with blood of the fallen tributes. I did that, she thinks with pride as she recalls the feeling of winning the Hunger Games. The pure, unadulterated confidence experience in the arena. The adrenaline of her kills. The rage when the idiots from Seven threw an axe forged of stone and metal piping into the chest of her District partner and the satisfaction when her sharpened brick projectiles took them both out in seconds in retribution. The fire in chest returns when she thinks back to the moment she won again, the power in her blows like nothing she had ever experienced as she blacked out and kept striking. Again. Again. And again as she watched the life drain from his eyes. And again as he fell to the floor. And again as she had to make sure, unrelenting until the announcement of her victory echoes throughout the now empty arena.
The hiss of the glass door sliding open again breaks her from her thoughts as she hears three sets of footsteps. Enobaria goes to speak first but instead she just mirrors Clio's expression when she realises that the girl's face is warped into an ecstatic, wide grin. As they walk closer, they open their arms to wrap the short girl into a group hug but instead she pushes their hands away.
"I need to shower first," she laughs. They begin to protest but she shakes her head, "Fine, but please tell me one of you brought toothpaste."
"So similar," Brutus chuckles as he tosses a tube of toothpaste in her direction. Catching it easily before it comes into contact with her sore chest, she rushes to the sink in the corner again, using her left index finger as a toothbrush as she cleans her teeth with her back facing her team.
When she turns around after she's finished, Brutus is the first to pull her into a crushing hug. Arms pulling around her shoulders. "Good job, Li. You did everything we asked of you. I've never seen someone more deserving of this win. Congratulations."
Enobaria is next, pushing Cato aside so she can tug her away from Brutus and into a hug of her own. Their hug is tight as Clio closes her eyes, savouring the moment properly this time. They hug for a few minutes, not speaking for a while as Clio enjoys the affection from the woman who trained her, who helped her achieve her win, who was part of her selection for the Academy, for the Games. "I am so proud of you, Clio." She promises her with a smile. "You did it. It's about time District Two had another female victor."
She lowers her voice to a whisper, "How is it feeling?"
"Thank you, Enobaria. I'll be fine," Clio responds in her own whisper before laughing when Enobaria loudly announces that she's the proudest of her. That the pride the other two feel cannot compare to hers.
"Absolutely not." Cato scoffs.
"I've never been prouder of anyone. Our angel of death." Enobaria beams.
"My angel."
Cato crosses the short distance between them with a few confident strides. Without pausing, Clio jumps into his arms, hands thrown around his neck as she hugs him, sighing into his chest. He lifts her effortlessly, one of his arms gripping her thigh that has wrapped itself around his hips, holding her up against him as his other hand cups her face. One of her hands presses to his cheek to remind herself that she's here; she's alive. That he isn't a hologram manufactured as some type of torture method by the Capitol. Her other hand reaches into the hair at the nape of his neck as she kisses him like her life depended on it. Their breath becomes one as she moulds her mouth against his, threading her hand through his hair to keep him as close as possible to attempt to make up for every second of lost time between them; whilst he kisses her deeply, nipping at her lower lip. Claiming and possessive. He came so close to losing everything he never dreamed possible. He came so close to that fleeting kiss the night before she entered the arena being their last. He came so close to losing her. He needs a moment to feel the softness of her skin, the strength of her legs, the beat of her, the rise and fall of her breath. He needed to touch her to know she was real. That she was alive and that he was still living too.
She can feel him smiling while they kissed and she knew he was just as happy she would get to go home as she was. His hands shift to encircle his arms around her waist, tightening their grip and he spins her round in circles, making her feel slightly dizzy and pull away with a little giggle.
"Missed me?" She teases as he adjusts her in his arms.
"A little." He replies before meeting her in another chaste kiss that she draws out until they are gasping for breath once more. "Okay, a lot. You were gone for three weeks."
Pushing some of her hair from her face, she places her forehead against his as they stare into each other's eyes, giddy smiles plastered on their faces. "We did it, baby." Clio whispers.
"You did it." Cato corrects her. "I fucking love you, angel."
"I love you too." Clio answers him without hesitation before she presses another desperate kiss to his lips. So lost in each other, they had almost forgotten the audience they had until Enobaria clears her throat.
Clio reluctantly drops her legs from his waist, as he lowers her to the ground again; hand resting on her waist as his eyes remain locked on her features, slowly tracing her freckles and the dip of her nose. She cannot stop smiling, even as Enobaria drags her away from her boyfriend and into another room so she can finally shower before her prep team arrives to get her prepared from the Recap show where she will be announced as Panem's newest victor.
"One."
As Clio massages her favourite coconut scented conditioner through her hair, she hears the sound of her front door slamming shut. Assuming it's Brutus and Enobaria joining the two of them for dinner, she continues to detangle the knots at the bottom of her hair that have wound themselves tightly together after she spent the afternoon in the pouring rain.
"Where do you need us?" She hears Brutus through the sound of the water, which is now turning cold after the thirty minutes she's been standing under the shower head.
Turning off the water, she hears Cato respond as she steps out of the shower. "Enobaria, I need you to help lay the table. You have a better eye for that kind of stuff than I do. Brutus, I need you to... "
Their voices trail off and quieten down after that as she wraps a fresh towel around her body to dry off, but she can hear the sounds of the oven opening and closing and the clangs of cutlery being placed on the marble-top table; their older friends complying with his requests.
Pulling on a black, puff-sleeved dress, she gently combs through her hair; parting it in the middle and using a claw clip to secure it out of the face to let it air dry. Making her way downstairs and heading to her kitchen, the mess of blonde hair is what she sees first, his back turned toward her as she watches a loud laugh leaving his lips at something Brutus has said. The dining table adjacent to the kitchen island is covered with a fancy white table cloth that she never really uses, only having had one reason to need it before. Her favourite cinnamon spiced candles are laid out in the centre of the table, housed in little golden wire cages while her crystal vase sits in the middle; a selection of red and pink camellias replacing the white roses that previously resided inside, and ornamental cherry blossoms litter the covering of the table. White glass wine plates and silverware sat above her marble placemats with matching wine glasses either side and a bottle of red wine in between. It takes a moment before Cato turns, showing off the most charming smile as he leads her to her chair and pulls it out for her to sit. As she sits comfortably at the table she watches him hurry back to the kitchen as Enobaria can be heard mixing all the various elements of the dinner together in a pan before Cato comes back with two plates, setting one down infront of her and sits across from her.
"You cooked?" She grins at him.
"Swords and sex aren't my only specialities you know. I can cook when I want to."
"Fucking hell." Enobaria mutters as she and Brutus make their way towards the front door.
"You two aren't eating with us?" Clio asks them.
"After that?" Enobaria laughs, "Absolutely not, I've seen enough of you two over the years. Happy Birthday Clio."
"Happy birthday." Brutus mirrors, "Don't enjoy yourself too much, we still have training tomorrow. Also, we helped. He won't admit that."
"I tried okay." He protests, before his voice softens. "I hope you like it anyway."
"Cato. I'll eat it even if it tastes like shit because you tried." She reaches out to grab his hand across the table and rubs her thumb over it, making him smile at her reassurance before taking her hand away to pick up her fork to taste his cooking.
They chat while they eat, discussing everything except the Quarter Quell looming over their heads, just trying to be normal for one night before they have to return to their reality tomorrow. The conversation was filled with interjections of "Is it Okay?" "Do you hate it?" "Is it worse than that time I burnt eggs?"
Eventually, after they finish eating, Cato stands to collect the plates. "So, thoughts on dinner?" He questions.
"Edible, I guess." She teases.
"Hey! I tried." He protests with a pout.
"I'm joking." Clio giggles before her mind switches to wanting something sweet. "What's for dessert?"
"I got you something." He says as he takes the plates back into the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder for her to close her eyes before he walks back inside and places a plate on the table. Clio can hear the click of the lighter as he lights the candles and instructs her to open her eyes.
"Is that a giant cinnamon roll?" She squeals, jumping out of her seat to hug him. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"Thought you'd like it." He shrugs, but a huge smile spreads across his face. "I had the bakery make it especially for you, and I love you, too. Now make a wish."
The gong sounding pulls everyone back to reality. Let the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games begin.
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𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎!
Me writing this chapter like:
Sorry lads this one is beefy. 13k of memories for your reading pleasure. Hope you enjoyed ;)
Also I'm meeting before Alex and Danielle this weekend so if I die then Amy (@WintersOdair) is responsible for completing my uploads. I give you full permission to bully her until she does it.
Rip me.