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Why?

[It's not sharp, it's not dismissive. There's a real question there, and she sort of turns her head to look at him. If anything, she almost looks ready to give an accusation.

Something just on the tip of her tongue.

And it's in her voice, like the wolf bites are fresh and he's trying to help her wrap them. ...Except she wouldn't let him then. She'd been stubborn, insisted on doing it herself.]

What good does that do, Cato? It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make it better.

Talking about it doesn't fix anything. Doesn't do or undo anything.

So why bother?

[He sighs, closes the book and drops his head back onto the curve of the chair behind him, exposing his throat and it makes him feel more vulnerable than he ever has.]

So I can just know, okay?

I'm not saying it'll fix everything and make it all better. I'm not even saying that I want to.

I just want to know.

[So I can avoid it in the future. If there even was a future.]

[Fine. Fine, if Cato wants to talk. They'll talk.

She doesn't uncurl from her chair, but her eyes do steady on him.]

I'm not mad at you. Why do you think I am? What have I done?

[Because she needs to explain it to herself. To make a pattern out of the behavior. Because she's not angry at him. So, she needs to understand. Needs to know what she's doing to make him think she is. That way, she can talk about it.

Can explain.

Hopefully.]

[Shit. He didn't want this directed at him. That was the last thing he wanted because he can see Clove and try to figure out what's wrong but he can't look at her and try to figure out what she's done that made him ask.

It's ... It's not what she's done really. He doesn't know how to explain this.]

I - [I don't know.]

I dunno. [You don't trust me. But that's ridiculous. Why would she ever trust him? Since when did they trust each other? Since when did he trust her?]

You...It's like I'm not here.

[He doesn't know how to fucking explain this. Why is it so difficult to say I don't think you've forgiven me for letting you die.?]

Like you're not here.

[There is anger. She can't help it. One fist clenches, and she wants to fly at him. Wants to hit him. Wants to scream. But it's late. That might bring knocking to the door.

Running? He might follow. Worse? He might not.]

Like you're not here?

[She's still curled up, but she's glaring. She shifts just a little, pulls her jacket to the side a bit, showing one of the bandages on her arm.]

I wouldn't have this if you weren't here. If I didn't know you were here.

[She doesn't mean it to be blame. It's not his fault she got hurt by the wolves. But it was for him. To protect him. Even when he'd never really protected her.

Because she wasn't strong enough or smart enough to leave him to his fate.]

Edited 2013-05-06 09:35 (UTC)

I know.

[He doesn't look away from the bandages on her arm, he feels like that would be worse if he did like he wants to. It's a horrible fucking reminder exactly because of what it looks like - not even because of what it is. The spotting on the white bandages are in the shape of teeth and it makes him shiver.

But that's all it takes for him to square his jaw and decide: no. No I'm not doing that today.

Cato forces himself to look at her face.]

I know it's because of me.

[He sounds steady enough, and that's a good thing on it's own.]

What I meant was that...[He's trying to avoid the words 'I feel' because he hates them.]

Drafts, hunting, fighting, anything we do together...we're not really doing it together are we?

[Holy shit he sounds like an idiot. A fucking moron. His face turns red and he's so ready to just get up and hide in the fucking bed like a lunatic.]

Of course not.

[She has to look away. To curl tighter in on herself.

It's safer alone. It's safer to be the Career. To not admit to wanting to bury herself in his arms, let him hold her and protect her from the places her mind goes.

She wants to tell him everything. Every fear and nightmare and secret. Killing Twelve. Being terrified of Twelve's allies. Everything.

But she can't.]

Because there isn't a together. Not for us. You know that, Cato. We both do.

[She wants him to go to sleep. She wants to go out the window. She wants to find a way to make her chest stop feeling like its trying to collapse in on itself. She wants to scream.]

We're looking out for ourselves. Just ourselves. We're not looking out for each other. [But those wounds on her tell a different story.] We don't expect anything; we don't owe anything. Whatever happens to us, it's our own fault. Not each other's.

[A sixteen-year-old who can't forgive a passive betrayal. She would've forgiven a sword slash to her head or back. Clove would have met it with a fierce fight. But she can't forgive herself for dying screaming for his help, and she can't forgive him for letting her die like that. For not being close enough to help when she let herself believe he would be.]

That's how we are.

Edited 2013-05-06 09:47 (UTC)

Right. Fine.

[Cato can't help how bitter he sounds. He blames it all on the Malnosso. It goes squarely on their fucking shoulders because every single bit of...anything they've had together has been because of them.

The chocolates, the memories, the fact that they were alive. It was all them. Literally everything about them that had made him think he cared about her was basically the result of a crapton of lies.

It made him feel a little sick. But whether it was hearing her say it or realizing that about them, he couldn't tell. Cato rolled up to his feet and stood, stretching in that familiar way he always did.]

It was stupid.

[He feels stupid thinking about it, really fucking stupid; but all he can play through his brain now is asking Clove to marry him and holy shit that was just the icing on the cake now wasn't it?

It's just enough to make something snap in him. Maybe for the better because before where he felt almost nothing he feels anger and sadness and - wow that's a new combination. It's so much so he can't resist getting in one little bit more before he walks into the kitchen to sit at the table and just...look out the window.]

They're over, Clove. The Games are over for us.

[The words aren't what makes it happen. It's the movement. For a moment, something lifts in her when he stands, but... he leaves. Just into the kitchen, not very far away. But far enough. Another room. It might as well be another apartment. Another world.

She has no one to blame. It's her own fault.

This, Thresh, Twelve. They're all her mistakes.

Clove ducks her head, pushing her forehead against her knees. He won't hear her. If he hears her, he won't care. A sob catches in her throat, and she lets out a quiet, pained groan. It has nowhere to go, no outlet. The tears sting her eyes and cut her cheeks as they fall, but she sits in the chair, curled up in her own misery. Because she just told him they do things alone, even when they're together. Because that's what they are.

That's what she is.

It's her fault she's here alone.]

They're never going to be over. This is just another Arena. I want to go home.

[It feels like whining. Maybe it is whining. Soft vocalizations that escape between sobs. Between the silent screams she opens her mouth to let out, only no sound escapes. He won't hear her from where he is. If he does hear her, he won't care.

Because she's been trying too hard to be alone. And now she finally is. And it's just her fault.

She isn't even sure if it comes out. Maybe it does. If so, it's quiet, pathetic, needy, and frightened:]

Cato.

[It doesn't take long for him to hear her. They aren't separated by rooms, not with the table being on the other side of a wall for them. It's easy to hear her suck in breath and try not to be loud and it's easy to sit there and pillow his head on his arms because he's tired.

It's all very easy to separate their little breakdowns from one another.

Until he hears his name. It makes him jolt upright in his seat, suddenly much more awake than he had been.

He doesn't even remember getting up from his seat, but he does and he's kneeling in front of her now. He's within an arms length of her and it's hard not to reach out and pull her in - it's hard not to comfort her but he remembers how she died and how she gets when he surprises her like that. He's not sure so he just crouches in front of her.]

Hey. Hey. Clove? Stay with me.

[Those words.

They used to be almost laughable. His way of calling her back, teasing her, when her mind was wandering. When she was off in daydreams, basking in the warm sun during free hours at the Academy.

But those words haunt her memory. They don't frighten her, but they remind her. Of another sunny day, of another patch of grass. Of that strange feeling of being half asleep. Of knowing she was just so, so tired. Of strong arms trying to keep her from what had proven to be the inevitable.

She looks at him and then moves. Uncurls and shifts. Off the chair, forward, to clutch at him and bury her face in the crook of his neck. She tries to hold back another sob, tries to pretend she's not quivering.]

I'm not mad at you, Cato. [It's muttered, a choked assurance.] I screwed up, not you. I'm not mad at you.

[It's strange for her to want to be held by him, but Cato doesn't care. He doesn't hesitate when she flings against him and holds him tight. He won't say anything because he's scared she'll leave. He doesn't say anything at all, he just cups her head in his hand and lets himself breath without fear of her running.]

...What?

[He's confused, yeah. A lot confused. Because he didn't know why she acted the way she did, and after thinking for a long time it was because of something he did...he doesn't know what to think.]

[Clove bites her lip, tries not to cry. She buries her head further into his shoulder, clutches at him tight enough to feel the strain in her fingers. It's the way she's found herself holding onto her knives sometimes. Usually right before she realizes they're cutting her.

But if she lets go, Cato might decide this is too much. That he doesn't want this.

Her lips move a few times before she finds the words she wants. She hates them, resents every thought that has brought her to this point. That has brought them to this moment.]

I'm scared.

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