A/N: This is short, but it's been a long time coming. Dedicated to Lyndi, who just knows without me explaining.

Inspired by Famous last words by MCR. NOT A SONGFIC.

I don't own the song or HG.

Famous last words

Katniss leaned over the railing, expecting the contents of her stomach to spill onto the train tracks beneath her, seeing the bulky wetness hit the steel, the chunks of barely digested food would hit the steel and be gone when the next train came by.

She felt sick; she'd been feeling sick ever since it happened. She couldn't believe she'd done it. Technically Cinna'd done it, but she'd been the one to land the pitying blow that ended Peeta Mellark's life. He'd resembled a rabid dog, foam rumbling out of his mouth like vomit.

Poison. Poison injected into his body when he was examining her pin. She'd assumed it because of some Nightlock she'd smeared on it the day before… it wasn't. Nightlock didn't do that.

A pair of dark hands crept around her waist; she leaned into them out of habit. He was older than her, much older, but she didn't care. She knew her mother wouldn't care either, nor would Prim. Prim would be girlishly happy about it.

Gale might care. No, Gale definitely would care. She knew he cared for her, they grew up together, after all, but she couldn't find herself to care for him that way. Her heart just wasn't with him. It was with her designer.

But now she was conflicted.

She swept a hand through her dark hair, frustrated. How could she even face Peeta's parents? Or rather, his father? Could she just avoid him? It wasn't that simple, the district wasn't that big. It was an impossible feat. And after he gave her those cookies (which she unceremoniously threw out)… it wasn't right.

"You should stop worrying," Cinna whispered into her ear, his one hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"But I still did it, Cinna," she turned around, his arms never leaving her smaller form, "I killed him!"

He pulled her closer, his smooth hands rubbing circles on her back. "It was you or him, they'll understand." He whispered into her hair. She didn't return his embrace; instead she was frigid and icy. It hurt him. He wouldn't admit it, but it hurt him deeply. He'd gone through a number of things these last few days, not only to see her in the arena, but to ascertain her coming out alive. He'd done everything Haymitch had asked of him, including smearing her mockingjay pin with poison, an act that could get him not simply executed, but tortured and bruised too.

He let her go unwillingly, his hands nearly frozen around her, refusing to heed the call of his brain. He screamed at his hands to let go, and they did, though his fists didn't unclench, leaving her at the railings.

At the door he stopped and looked back at her.

"I know I can't make you stay, Katniss," He said, his deep voice reverberating around them, "but you're not the only one who went through hell."

It was the third or fourth night, and he found himself with a panicking teenager in his arms. Their lips were frantically touching, needing, possessing, their hands moved around, touching sensitive spots…

"Stop," He said, though his body was screaming at him to let this go further, "Katniss."

She drew back, "What?"

"We can't do this," He stated firmly, but he pulled her close to him, "Not now, not this way."

"What…"

"Win," He said, "Win and come back to me, Katniss. If we do this and you die, I'll die."

"You say you love me but you hardly know me," She whispered, "How can I know you'll do this for me?"

"Because I'm the only one you can trust besides your mentor," He answered, "And I will ascertain that you win. Just promise me you'll win."

"I'll win."

"Where's your heart, Katniss?" He asked, stepping closer to her, "You promised me you'd win, and you did. It's not your fault Peeta was killed. It's not your fault I killed him, is it?"

"You could've told me about the poison, Cinna."

"I am not afraid to keep on living, Katniss, because life is for the alive, not for the dead." He said in an icy voice.

"And what if you were Death personified?" She snapped back, her voice colder than his, "I'm not afraid to keep on living either, but I'm not afraid to go on alone either."

"That's a lie and you know it."

She shook her head, her hair bouncing off her shoulders, "It's not. I didn't ask to be put in the Games. It was kill or be killed. And if I survived the Games I can survive being alone."

Cinna blanched, she was serious. She thought she could go on without him. He couldn't allow that. He wouldn't. He loved her too much, he'd done too much to let her go.

He sighed, collecting her into his arms again, unsurprised when she remained frigid.

"I know what I've done is wrong, and I deserve no forgiveness. This life… it's so demanding, it wants us to survive the toughest thing, but I fall prey to sin, Katniss, as do you. But I feel… if you stay, if you remain with me, here… I'll be forgiven. You give me hope."

"That's not working," She mumbled, an obvious lie from her.

"This is war, Katniss, I could lose you at any second… but I don't want to." He pouted. Katniss laughed and kissed his pouting lips.

"Will you stay?"

"Yes," She answered, finally returning his embrace, "but only because your love is so demanding, that, without it, I can't speak."

"Talk about me being lovestruck," He grinned against her lips, "you make me weak… but at the same time, with you I'm both awake and unafraid."

"I already said I'd stay," She laughed, "You can stop. Just know that NOTHING you can stay can stop me from going home."

"I won't stop you." He said earnestly, "I'm going with you. As a Capitol resident and your stylist, I have that liberty."

Katniss smiled for the first time in days. This wasn't the end, nor was it a new beginning – it was simply the start of a new chapter. And she would write this one.