Needing the Impossible (A Clato Fanfic)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Cato's boisterous laughter echoes throughout the room and in my ears. My face doesn't flush with rage like it used to. What aggression I feel from my hurt pride, I channel into making the next spear reach the target. And it does – but only just. In fact, when Cato's spear hits the dummy with all its force, my spear is jiggled loose. Naturally, this only furthers Cato's amusement. I give an exasperated sigh and reach for my knives, which I keep with me as much as possible during training as a kind of therapy. I quickly hurl one at the dummy's head and hit dead center. “You're next,” I say gravely to Cato. He smirks in return, knowing that, for now, I'm bluffing. He hasn't done anything to seriously piss me off yet.

We've been training together nearly a year now, and it's going pretty well now that we've stopped trying to hack each other to pieces. We don't talk much, but there's a unspoken agreement between us. We stay out of each other's way, and in exchange, we don't attack each other, which results in a full day of training. But this balance is easily broken, at least it was at first. The slightest thing would set me off, and Fabrizio would have to tear me away from Cato before I slit his throat with one of my many knives. As the months past, however, I learned how to channel my anger into improving my skills. Instead of letting his taunting hinder me, I now use it as a kind of motivation. Cato has also learned his boundaries. I can handle a smirk, a laugh, or even a snide remark, but if he keeps at it, I'm bound to snap.

Not that he's the only one who does the antagonizing. We were focusing on knives yesterday, both during hand-to-hand combat and in long range throwing. I'd taken great pleasure in pointing out all of Cato's flaws as he tried to handle the delicate blades. Today, however, it seems it's his day to taunt me. For as soon as we finish throwing, or, in my case, chucking, spears at the dummies, Fabrizio announces we will be practicing fencing.

I used to be good at fencing, until I got partnered with Cato. Next to him, I look like a seven-year-old playing with a stick in his backyard. And yet, Fabrizio almost never spars with me anymore, always lending me to certain defeat at the hands of Cato. I don't see why he does this. It doesn't benefit Cato at all. He needs a better partner than me if he hopes to improve. Nevertheless, Fabrizio sets us against each other, commanding us to treat the spar as a proper duel, though we aren't wearing any safety gear.

We touch blades and the duel begins. Cato almost immediately takes the upper hand, leading me in a dance around the room. Using my agility and speed, I'm able to keep my body away from his blade and counter most of his blows, but I'm completely incapable of making any offensive moves myself. Fabrizio notices, of course. “Clove, hold your ground,” he calls to me. Yeah, right. I barely dodge a strong swing from Cato. Is he actually trying to kill me? I look up into his face, there's a wicked gleam in his eyes, and I know I'm not going to leave this session as healthy as I came in. “Hold it!” Fabrizio yells at me, displeased with me for ignoring his instruction.

I look up at Cato again, just to be sure I wasn't imagining anything. No, it's all over his face. He is going to maim me. I channel what is supposed to be fear into anger, and use the extra adrenaline to actually advance towards Cato. This slight offensive maneuver surprises him, and I take the extra time to throw out possibly the only attack I'll get during this duel. He isn't ready for it, and I get the first hit of the duel. That's a first. I find a grin spread across my face as Fabrizio hollers, “Touch!” God only knows why he treats these spars like formal court events. It's not like we're going to pause each time someone draws blood during the Games.

Cato looks rather pissed at the fact that I actually managed to get a touch in on him, so I continue to smirk as Fabrizio sets us up for the next round of fencing, just to pour salt on the wound. “Don't look so pleased with yourself, Clover,” he growls. I take this as a challenge and barely wait for Fabrizio to move out of the way before I begin my attack. I'm brutal, attacking with anything and everything I've been taught. Cato is again surprised by my aggression and begins the spar by back-stepping several paces before he is able to gain more control of the tempo.