To Be A Career (A Very Clove Story)

Chapter 19- To Be Shy

"I know," I whisper back. I don't know why we're whispering, but I don't care. Maybe if we talk quietly enough, the cameras won't hear us.

"You always are so confident," he tells me.

"Well, I figure it's better than being under-confident," I shrug.

"Your brilliance is sometimes extremely distracting, Clover," he admits. He, Cato, does not know the definition of distracting. He's all I can think about.

"I'm glad you think I'm smart," I tell him.

"But you are smart. And funny, and amazing, and confident, and you're just something," he whispers. I can't help the stupidly huge smile on my face, the blush spreading across my cheeks. I love life right about now, but not nearly as much as I love Cato.

"Thanks," I whisper.

"You're welcome." He moves a piece of hair out of my face, and he tucks it behind my ear. He holds my face in his hand, but he pulls his hand away. I feel disappointed, but I try not to let it show. I hear a parachute fall down as Cato takes my hand.

We walk over, and see that it's a first aid kit. It has bandages and fever pills and millions of other things. It's exactly like the one Marvel had when he died. I remember what he inscribed in the tree, Cato's hand in mine, and I think maybe Cato is following Marvel's last piece of advice. Or at least, I hope so.

"It looks like the one we had before Marvel died," Cato says, echoing my earlier thoughts.

"That's what I was thinking!" I tell him.

"Maybe I'm a psychic..." he jokes.

"That would be damn creepy, Kitty Cat!" I tell him.

"It would," he agrees.

I examine the kit, and I can't help but think of all of the ones at home. They aren't as nice as this one, but they're pretty good.

"It kind of reminds me of the ones at home," I mention to Cato after a few minutes.

"It does. Except we didn't have that many of them." He's right there, I've only seen a few in person.

"I've only seen a few of them, but I remember what they look like," I tell him.

"I wonder what's going on back home..." Cato admits, sounding rather sad.

"Well, I know one thing for sure," I say.

"What?"

"I know that there are things going on at home. I know, without me and my lack of abilities of knowing, my family back home is pathetic," I say.

"They kind of are. But then again, so is mine."

"What is this? Cato actually admitting a fault>" I say with a fake surprised expression.

"Luckily for you, I'm not offended by your pathetic attempts at humor. Anyone else would have told you to shut up by now," he says, sounding angry and annoyed.

"Okay, I'll shut up," I say, putting up my hands as if I'm surrendering.

"Good," he bitterly spits out. How could we have gone from romantic to annoyed at the flip of a switch? Maybe I should keep my big mouth shut. We start to hunt, but we come back with nothing, and Cato in a worse mood.

I debate talking to him, but I should just let him be. The sun is rising as we sleepily make our way back to camp. I watch the sun rise up, up, up, until it's completely up, and Cato is asleep. At least he isn't frowning in his sleep. That would mean he was really mad at me. I lay down my head, careful to keep my distance as I let myself fall asleep.

I'm awake without anyone telling me to get up. The sun is glaring at me. Cato is still sound asleep. I decide to let him sleep. I can handle being alone for a bit. I reorganize the packs, sorting them by importance, putting the most important closer to Cato. As if that can keep him safe. I organize my knives, sorting by type. I clean them off as the sun glares at me. Cato doesn't wake up. I wait until about mid-day until I convince myself that should. I walk over to him, and I take off the night vision goggles. He turns towards me, and find his hand. I hold his hand, and pause. He hasn't woken up and attempted to kill me, so I figure I'm safe.

"Cato?" I whisper. He moans, and opens an eyelid.

"Clove?" he says, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah, it's me," I tell him.

"Thought so." He opens the other eye, and he lets go of my hand. I try not to show that I'm secretly wishing he'd take my hand and talk to me, like he always did with Glimmer.

"I'm really sorry," I admit.

"You don't seem like the sorry type," he says, analyzing the situation. I'm getting sick of holding back my emotions towards him. If I told him I love him, I'd screw everything up.

"I hate fighting with you. I hate that I make you mad. I hate that I care if you're mad at me. If I had it my way, I wouldn't care. But I do, and I'm sorry," I say, actually telling him the truth. Don't get me wrong, I love him. But it would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't.

"You're forgiven. And I don't like fighting with you either," he tells me.

"Thanks," I say.

"Now, exactly how long was I asleep?" he questions, noticing the sun.

"A long time. I thought that if you slept long enough, when you woke up you wouldn't be mad at me. I know it sounds kind of stupid." I'm just leaving out the part where I think he's cute in his sleep. Not only would that make me creepy, that would probably annoy him.

"That is kind of stupid," he chuckles.

"Yeah, I know..." I shyly say, tucking some of my hair behind my ear.

Cato Hadley screws up my head. And Cato Hadley just might be the strangest thing to ever happen to me. And the best one.