To Be A Career (A Very Clove Story)

Chapter 18- To Be Able to Win

I wake up with a smile on my face. At least Cato didn't push me off of his shoulder. He fell asleep too. I try to stifle a yawn, and I fail. This makes Cato wake up, opening one eye sleepily.

I wake up with a smile on my face. At least Cato didn't push me off of his shoulder. He fell asleep too. I try to stifle a yawn, and I fail. This makes Cato wake up, opening one eye sleepily.

"Good morning Clove,"

"Morning Cato."

The world looks slightly fractured, and I realize I still have the night vision goggles on. I take them off.

"You want breakfast?" I ask.

"Sure," he says. I take the weird waterbird, and I hand him a leg. I take a leg for myself.

"Should we cook them?" he questions.

"No. We'd be broadcasting our location to any killer who cares. Unless you have a death wish, then go for it," I tell him.

"Okay then," he laughs.

I take a cautious bite of the bird. It's good, but would probably taste better cooked.

"It's not half bad," I tell him. He takes a bite, and I see him smile.

"You're right!"

"I'm always right," I remind him.

"Sometimes," he adds.

"Sometimes," I repeat, agreeing with him.

This makes him chuckle. Which makes me smile. I am a romantic fool, and damn proud of it. His laugh makes him smile, and I wish he felt the same.

Cato finishes his leg in about a minute. I'm picking at it, and I'm not hungry.

"Hurry up, Clove!" he exclaims.

"Chill, Cato!" I tell him, finishing the remainder of it.

"You hardly ever eat a bite," I hear him say.

"You don't even care," I guess.

"Lie. I can't have my only ally die of starvation," he states.

"Good point," I say. I finish the leg.

We try to find some food, but we fail.

"We can't hunt for shit," Cato says after what feels like days later.

"We could always gather," I remind him.

"Why didn't I think of that?" he asks me.

"Because you didn't," I say simply.

"Thanks for that, Miss Obvious," he states, his voice full of sarcasm.

"You're welcome, Sir Sarcasm," I say him.

He laughs again, which makes me laugh. We're scaring off game, and telling the world where we are. But I don't care.

"You're brilliant, Clove!" he tells me, a hint of a laugh on the end of his sentence.

"Do you compliment everyone, or is it just me?" I pry. Maybe I just made a funny moment awkward, but I want the answer.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

He comes closer to me, and whispers in my ear, "Only you."

I smile. I repeat that moment in my head as we gather. I love the way those words sound. I love the way he says them. I love how maybe it can apply to more than compliments. I just love it.

We have food gathered, water treated, and we have to find shelter.

"How is it that we can never find shelter?" I question.

"Maybe it's just bad luck," he says.

"Maybe," I respond.

"Or the odds aren't in our favor," he guesses.

This makes me giggle. That line is so overused. All the escorts say it over and over. And the Capital people probably say it over and over.

"Possibly that," I say, trying not to laugh.

We walk around a little more, trying to find something. We find nothing. I track the sun, setting in the sky. I watch the colors as the sun fades away, and the moon rises. We put back on the night vision goggles.

"The anthem's going to start soon," I tell Cato.

"Yeah," he says. We sit down, safe in the cover of trees. The familiar song comes on, and I hum the whole thing. Cato hums bits and pieces of it.

According to the sky, today's been pretty quiet. No one died. Then I hear the trumpets.

I pop up. They almost never communicate with us, but sometimes that make an announcement. Usually for a feast.

I hear Claudius Templesmith's voice, congratulating Katniss, Peeta, Thresh, District Five (whose name is Finch), Cato, and me for making it so far. But this isn't an invitation to a feast. This is something different. It's a rule change.

I didn't know there were rules, other than don't step out of your tribute tube until sixty seconds, and the unsaid no-eating-people rule. Under the new rule, if the last tributes are from the same district, they can both win.

He repeats it, and I absorb the words. Two tributes can win. If they're from the same district. Cato and I are District Two. I put the puzzle pieces together.

"We can both win," I whisper.

I smile stupidly, and sit back down. He moves over, towards me.

"You know, I could never kill you, even if I had to," he admits.

"I couldn't either," I tell him.

"Why?" he asks me.

"Why what?" I stall.

"Why couldn't you kill me?" he says to me.

Maybe this is where I should tell him that I think I love him. Maybe I should lie. I should do both. "I'm too close to you," I respond.

"Really?" he questions, sounding unbelieving.

"Really. What about you?" I ask him.

"Um......." he says.

"You don't know, do you?" I say. That's a complete random guess.

"You're right again."

"I'm always right. Sometimes," I whisper.

"You are," he whispers back. Something about all of this, the woods, the way I am, who I'm with, what I'm doing, makes me smile. Smiling isn't the best thing in the Games, but I smile anyway.

And I don't think I love Cato. I know I do.