Her question pained him as she asked him in that soft, sweet voice like a prayer. It was a voice that had once slurred brutal obscenities, a voice that once called for murder. But it soothed his demons and let him sleep. Seeing Everdeen for the first time sparked a sort of lazy rage inside him, but it eventually simmered away but Katniss’ hate for him was a blazing, explosive fire that eventually she had taken out on him.

“If you’re a kill, you’re a killer with me,” he murmured. “Because you’re right--that’s what we are now. But now we’re Cato and Clove, from District 2, fighting to keep our heads above the water.” He smoothed her dark hair back from her face. “Yeah. Yeah, I do think it’s for good. I don’t think we’re ever going home, Clove. There’s nothing there except collapsed mountains and fire alarms... We don’t have a home anymore.” He’d tried to be so brave for her but this was the one thing he would never forgive Everdeen and the rebels for doing, even if he had fought on their side during the war. 

They were homeless murderers at this point, forced to exist in a pool of people who hated every breath they took.

Coming Home || Cato & Clove

        ❝ Like the Games, ❞ Clove repeated softly. She found Cato’s words hard to believe. Killer had always been at the top of her list of words she used to describe herself. It was the way she was raised; eradicate all who stand in her way. In the Games she’d done it often enough. The boy from nine, the girl from three and the girl from seven; all dead because of her. She’d never even bothered to learn their names. It made her sick to her stomach. ❝ I don’t think I could ever be anything else. ❞

        ❝ We’re together now, ❞ she responded, placing her hand on the back of his head as if she were holding a child. The way he spoke scared her; it were the words of someone who had lost all hope, and that was not who Cato was. Cato pushed through when everyone else would give up- he was the strongest person she knew. ❝ Is this for good, Cato? ❞ she asked. ❝ Will we ever go back… go back home? To two, I mean. ❞

“I live here now under the order of Comman--President Paylor. My district is still a smoking pile of bodies and rocks and nobody thought to go and help them,” he answered her bitterly. Despite the frigid air, Cato was shirtless. The horrors of the world were magnified on his skin from where the mutts tore him apart piece by piece. One of his nipples was lopsided. And this would always be a reminder of what he had suffered and who he’d killed. And there was Marvel and Glimmer--wherever they were--and Gloss. But for now, he was on his own. Clove didn’t come out of the house except to visit with Annie Odair and her baby. “See you around, Undersee,” he muttered, slinging his shirt over his shoulder and headed, dirty and defeated, back to his house.

Some days later, after the feast, when he and Katniss had shared a strangely tender moment, he worked again outside, this time laying the foundations for the bakery. The apothecary was done, with minimal help from Everdeen, and though it was chilly, Cato wiped away beads of perspiration on the back of his hand as he laid the walls brick by brick.

thanksbuilding (open)

       His words he had spoken held a certain implication. If Katniss was bringing Cato’s dish on his behalf the two couldn’t have been on such horrid terms. It was a little surprising  to hear, but she figured that it made sense. Both Cato and Katniss had been in the same games, endured similar hardships as tributes. While she wanted to get past how uneasy he and his District Partner made her feel, she couldn’t. She couldn’t relate to them on any sort of level and didn’t understand The Hunger Games in the way a tribute would.       Though, if Katniss chose to offer them forgiveness then the least Madge could do was learn to coexist. Though it was difficult to admit, and difficult to think about, he too was victim of the games; a victim of snow. “You live here now, that’s your reason to be there. It’s a District Twelve thing and it’s not the same if people don’t show.” She paused for a moment. “But, it’s your decision. With the war came liberty and all.”

Yo yo yo! Me and Cato are back after a full round of antibiotics! And we’re ready to plot and kick ass and take names! Message me, or I’ll send up some starters. Time to get this place hoppin’ again!

“I told her she can work under me. I’m the boss--Paylor appointed me. Katniss should respect that, and if she causes any trouble, she’ll be off my team in a heartbeat, I can promise you that.” It was strange that he and Peeta seemed to be getting on so much better. Peeta was gentle and kind.. he was exactly who Cato thought he was all along. The love story had been bullshit, but Cato knew that the boy from Twelve really had loved Katniss Everdeen. And there would be a second starcrossed lover story soon if he didn’t keep a lid on his comings and goings with Clove.

But maybe.. maybe Peeta could help. Clearly whatever he did made Katniss change her mind about him. “I’d like that, yeah. Clove and I have a small garden in the back of the house but it’s not much. Leeks, radishes, peas, and some potatoes. We can trade you. We’re working on the bakery now, actually. It’s slow going.”

He is shocked to discover that Katniss wants to be on the construction crew, she had been hunting for he district but building? He wasn’t sure she was even fully recovered nor should she be working with Cato when she still held so much against him. “You are right, I will talk to her, try to get her to back off at least for a little while, and she.. hasn’t told me about the construction thing but I will bring it up. Might not be the best idea.” he murmurs shaking his head. 

“Oh. Yeah, actually I was making rounds. Have a few left, more in the house if you want anything else. I will be glad when the bakery is finally open.” 

That sick egotistical bastard in him reared its ugly head. He didn’t give a damn about district 12, or about the Phoenix Project--because his home was ruined too. They only wanted to repair 12 because she was the mockingjay, because that was how Paylor was keeping everybody together. A snarl built up in his chest and over his lip. He had every intention of walking into his house and shutting that goddamned door and laying on the floor and never getting up. Because it was all he felt like doing these days.

The girl on fire had other plans, though, and he wheeled around to face her with the force of her hand. Maybe she wasn’t as weak as he initially thought but he was prepared to fight, fists coming up immediately. “I’m not the one overreacting, drama queen,” he sniped. But she was wearing him down like she’d promised and he threw his hands up in the air, letting them drop to his sides. He was considering ignoring her friendly gesture. Considered ignoring the hand. He grabbed it though, shook, harder than necessary, and let it go. “You come and work, you work under me, as my subordinate. You’re a member of the team, a link in the chain, and I’m giving you the same rules that I give everyone else who works for me. I’m the boss. I give the orders. It’s not for you to decide to go off on your own. You wake up when we wake up, you do the work, and if you falter, if you cause an accident, if you have a single misstep, you’re on suspension. And I’m talkin’ to you like I talk to everyone else--you can ask Deejay if you like. Everybody follows my rules, and that includes you, girl on fire.”

He eyed her hard. “You start tomorrow morning, seven AM sharp, you report to the center of town where the well is. Bring gloves. We’re laying the foundation for the new apothecary.”

katniss held her hands up innocently, staring at him in shock. she had actually tried to be… civil, for once, but he had blown up over it. “where are you going?” she called after him, furrowing her eyebrows as he tugged his collar up, as if to hide something. something inside her, she didn’t know what, carried her towards him, picking up into a jog eventually. “hey! stop!”

finally reaching him, she grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face her, anger written all over her face. “what’s your problem? i didn’t even say anything to offend you and you just go off and overreact again,” she sneered, angry that he hadn’t noticed even her attempt at kindness. “look, i know we can’t necessarily be ‘friends’ or whatever, but we can be civilized people, yeah?” she held out her hand for him to shake. “give me a chance here, and give me a chance with the crew. i want to work. i want to help you. all of you.”

Cato’s contribution: roasting/dressing/preparing 4 turkeys courtesy of @kctnissevcrdeen and a saffron rice dish with peas.

They treated him like a leper, like a monster. He hadn't seen the aftermath on a holovision in all its bloody glory, but they hated him here and he felt the weight of it day after day. At the very least he had Clove to go home to at night but that was it. Didn't they understand, underneath the bravado and the boasting and the blood chilling violence, that it was what he had to do to stay alive? It was him or them. Unless they had been in the arena they would never understand.

Cato felt Madge's eyes linger on him, accusing and anger stabbed through him. Though two might have been a Capitol favorite, he still had gone hungry. He still lived in less desirable conditions. He was still expected to volunteer for the Games. To bring pride. To bring honor. "I made something already. Everdeen will bring it. There's no reason for me to be at the dinner."

thanksbuilding (open)

Cato had no concept of the holiday and so he stood alone in the town square, mixing cement. Smoke drifted from the tiny shanty chimneys, bringing with it the scents of quaint food being cooked over a fire. He’d left Clove up to her own devices even though he was loathe to leave her for too long on her own. She needed time to acclimate. 

Cato put on the gloves left to him on his back porch and began laying the brick and mortar around what was going to be a doorway for a room in the Justice Hall.

"That's not why I carried the bag." Cato watched Katniss from the corner of his eye as she pulled out the turkey feathers almost vindictively. His massive fingers plucked the feathers out in handfuls, deft and skilled for a task he'd only done to chickens. Reaching for his hatchet, Cato said nothing, putting the turkey across another stump, leveled with rocks pushed under the roots. He stretched the delicate neck out and brought the axe down, turning his head away as the head severed from the body.

Methodically, Cato did the other three the same way, and strung them up one by one from the clothesline by their feet from the rope on his belt. "Now dress them. Organs out, in that bucket over there. We'll use them for the gravy." Cato handed Katniss a knife, warily, but disappeared into the house to get the pans ready for roasting.

Gobble Gobble / Katniss

His upper lip curled in disdain as he saw Katniss emerge from the forest, shuffling along like a child. The rock tumbled in front of her shoes. And the words he’d said at the block party came back: we’re all children. He crossed his arms over his massive chest. Clove was off practicing her knives and it was fortunate because otherwise Katniss might be the one they plucked and roasted and served.

“Mmhm,” he grunted, taking the heavy game bag from her and carrying it around the back of the house. In the back he set up a giant fire, over which he’d put the wash tub and filled it with water. With little ceremony, Cato tossed the four turkeys into the hot water, letting them soak. He reached for a hatchet hanging from his belt and unrolled a spool of rope in his pocket. He didn’t speak to her at all, leaving the silence. It was the best way to get things done around Everdeen.

He took the first turkey, dripping wet, and sat down on a stump, pulling the feathers out, tossing them aside. “Get one, start pulling.”

Cato scowled at Finnick as he pranced past him, leaving water in his wake. He thought he'd just keep going but instead the Victor stopped to talk. "Everdeen and I have turkeys in the oven. I made a pot of peas and rice. I think we'll be okay if I come and work." He knew little of Clove and her goings on outside the home. They kept to themselves and if he hadn't been required to go, he would be building and setting stones all evening and well into the night. "What kind of fish are those?"

thanksbuilding (open)

Cato had no concept of the holiday and so he stood alone in the town square, mixing cement. Smoke drifted from the tiny shanty chimneys, bringing with it the scents of quaint food being cooked over a fire. He’d left Clove up to her own devices even though he was loathe to leave her for too long on her own. She needed time to acclimate. 

Cato put on the gloves left to him on his back porch and began laying the brick and mortar around what was going to be a doorway for a room in the Justice Hall.

"It's who you were," Cato corrected sagely. "Maybe some part of who you still are. When I had that gun in my hands, I was ready to find Everdeen and kill her, my way. Like the games." His way, with no interference. Even if he hadn't defected, Cato still would have died again at the hands of the Capitol, protecting what they held sacred. He would have died in a peacekeeper's armor, shoving men and women to the ground with the butt of his rifle.

Clove deflated in his arms and he was there to hold her strings taut so she didn't fall. He wasn't sure what prompted the kiss except that he'd wanted it for ages in his dreams. It wasn't until she lay motionless on the emerald ground that he realized that he'd wanted to draw her close and kiss her eyelids as she slept. Cato was careful with her, as if she would shatter into a million pieces if he moved the wrong way, said the wrong thing.

The man cupped her face, hair still wrapped around his fingers, his mouth searching and aching for hers. It became heavy and desperate but Cato reared back with wild eyes. "It would have been better for us to be dead." He hid his face against her shoulder. "At least we would have been together." He lifted his face again. "We were supposed to go home. But wherever you are, that's home."

Coming Home || Cato & Clove

Cato never anticipated in a hundred years–a hundred lifetimes–that he would have died, only to be resurrected to become a puppet once more. And never did he think that he would be sobbing so pathetically into Clove’s arms. He was supposed to be the strong one. He remembered forcing her tears back into her eyes so the cameras wouldn’t see her cry, so they wouldn’t see her grow into weakness. Nobody cared about the Careers; all eyes were on the starcrossed lovers of District 12. There were no cameras here and the Capitol was far, far away, and that was the only comfort he found. Sometimes the head doctor that visited Katniss and Peeta  came to see him too, told him he was safe, that he would never be submitted to the Capitol tortures again and Cato wasn’t sure he believed him.

“No, Clove,” he said firmly. “You’re not going to hurt her. I asked her to kill me. I asked her to. She seemed to think that I’m here to kill her but I don’t give a damn about her. I want a safe place to live–for us to live. Two was never safe, not in our wildest dreams. My mother, my father…” Cato’s voice strained with suppressed emotions. He stood and carried her towards the sofa in the living room. Her suitcase was quite forgotten outside. Cato held her like a bride, like a child, close to his chest, his bruised knuckles gripping her under around her middle as he held her. “We’re together now, and I’m never, ever, ever going to leave your side, Clove, as long as I live. I lost you once and I can’t do that again.” And he pulled back, to chase away her tears with his fingers, before replacing them with his mouth, kissing her cheeks dry. Centimeters away, he stared at her, bravery from his vulnerability seeping through him. He kissed the corner of her mouth before pressing one to her lower lip–their first kiss.

If he harmed her, the boiling tar pit would swallow his body whole. Twelve had them all over the place--or that was the rumor. Every district had one. In Two, it was the bears or the peacekeepers and the bear pits. Growing up with a peacekeeper for a father, Cato knew that the rumors were founded absolutely in truth. ‘This is what happens when you break the law, son. And let us hope I never have to throw you to the bears.’ A shudder crawled up Cato’s long, laddered spine.

“I didn’t expect it to be an act of kindness,” he snapped at her. “You proved something bigger than a piece in Snow’s games then and there.” Cato turned to walk away from her in the opposite direction, turning the collar of his coat up and over his exposed neck. Nothing quite seemed like it was right after the games and after the rebellion. “So congratulations.” Or whatever, he thought. Acid rose in his throat as he headed away from the Mockingjay’s house and towards his own at the end of the row.

“that’s why i’m not going to be.” the words couldn’t have dripped with more rage. she couldn’t; she wouldn’t. that wasn’t her passion. that wasn’t her specialty. she was about to deck him across the face once he grabbed her wrist, but his tone signified something other than violence. “what?” she seethed, ripping her wrist away just as he released it, then crossed her arms tightly.

wait… what? “thanked me…?” she murmured, her expression softening slightly. “cato… that wasn’t an act of kindness. it was an act of humanity. i couldn’t watch someone suffer like that for the rest of their life, no matter how much they’d hurt me. don’t thank me for doing something i should’ve done anyway,” she replied quietly, shaking her head and giving him an empathetic look.

Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you’ll find an edge to cut you.

Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns (via larmoyante)

Don’t give up on him

thanksbuilding (open)

Cato had no concept of the holiday and so he stood alone in the town square, mixing cement. Smoke drifted from the tiny shanty chimneys, bringing with it the scents of quaint food being cooked over a fire. He’d left Clove up to her own devices even though he was loathe to leave her for too long on her own. She needed time to acclimate. 

Cato put on the gloves left to him on his back porch and began laying the brick and mortar around what was going to be a doorway for a room in the Justice Hall.

His upper lip curled in disdain as he saw Katniss emerge from the forest, shuffling along like a child. The rock tumbled in front of her shoes. And the words he'd said at the block party came back: we're all children. He crossed his arms over his massive chest. Clove was off practicing her knives and it was fortunate because otherwise Katniss might be the one they plucked and roasted and served.

"Mmhm," he grunted, taking the heavy game bag from her and carrying it around the back of the house. In the back he set up a giant fire, over which he'd put the wash tub and filled it with water. With little ceremony, Cato tossed the four turkeys into the hot water, letting them soak. He reached for a hatchet hanging from his belt and unrolled a spool of rope in his pocket. He didn't speak to her at all, leaving the silence. It was the best way to get things done around Everdeen.

He took the first turkey, dripping wet, and sat down on a stump, pulling the feathers out, tossing them aside. "Get one, start pulling."

Gobble Gobble / Katniss

@kctnissevcrdeen

It was reluctantly that Cato agreed to help with the turkeys for the Thanksgiving dinner in Twelve. He’d never celebrated the holiday before because it meant nothing in Two, where they had nearly everything at their disposal. He didn’t know what they were supposed to be giving thanks for now, with his body brutally disfigured, and with his mind a fragile piece of glass.

He stood at the back door of his home, the kitchen already prepared for his next task. Cato was one of the only ones with an oven big enough for the turkeys, and apparently they were important for the dinner, so, in order to try to keep favor, he volunteered to cook them. And now he was waiting on Katniss for what he was sure would be a disaster.

Gobble Gobble / Katniss

@kctnissevcrdeen It was reluctantly that Cato agreed to help with the turkeys for the Thanksgiving dinner in Twelve. He'd never celebrated the holiday before because it meant nothing in Two, where they had nearly everything at their disposal. He didn't know what they were supposed to be giving thanks for now, with his body brutally disfigured, and with his mind a fragile piece of glass. He stood at the back door of his home, the kitchen already prepared for his next task. Cato was one of the only ones with an oven big enough for the turkeys, and apparently they were important for the dinner, so, in order to try to keep favor, he volunteered to cook them. And now he was waiting on Katniss for what he was sure would be a disaster.

task 001; settling in

tic k t o c k

tick tock tick tock tick tock

Cato rolled onto his side, staring at the clock on his bedside table. He shouldn’t be here. He should be smothered under a flaming stack of bricks like his mother. He should be blown to pieces on the Capitol mansion grounds; they should be scraping him off the side of the road. He should have been left dead after the last games, but no, no, no, Snow had so many grand plans for his victors, for his lap dogs. Woof, woof.

tick tock.

The young gladiator didn’t understand the reason to bring him back from the dead. They had others that would have garnered more sympathy than Cato and his dumb group of Careers, like they were gods among men. They weren’t, they were children. They were stupid children with pointed sticks and fire and hot, hot blood. His bed was empty; down the hall he heard Clove turn over and his stomach curled. He wanted to go to her but there were two doors between them, and the space that stretched out between them was too long and he didn’t want to put his toes on the floorboards of that house.

tock

t o c k

t o c k

Cato flicked the clock and the hands began moving again. He folded his bruised hands over his chest, where the lazy thump of his heart betrayed the anxiety in his head. He didn’t want to close his eyes. Closing his eyes meant the nightmares would come, and nightmares meant screaming, and screaming meant raw eyes and a red throat. He would reach out to his empty bed and grasp for Clove and her ivory skin and the curl of her hair and she wouldn’t be there.

Now she was down the hall. 

He clenched his jaw and rolled out of bed, drawing the comforter around his shoulders and tiptoeing down that long hallway with its blank walls. The homes were all the same; Cato knew Gloss’ and Cashmere’s home by memory, and this Victor Home was no different. But it was so god damned big and empty, even with h e r breathing in that hollow room. The downy cape of his blanket dragged behind his lonesome, monstrous stature. He was a weary god, looking across his kingdom, still smoking, still smoking, and oh, oh it was rebuilding itself, a phoenix. 

Cato hesitated in the doorway, gazing down at Clove’s figure. She was still there--not a dream. Not a nightmare. His girl, his little goddess bathed in moonlight and blood.