Author's Note: This fic tells the story of what happens to Cinna after Katniss sees him taken away. There will probably be some spoilers for Mockingjay, so don't read if you haven't read all the books. It is definitely pretty realistic since there is never any proof of what happens to Cinna, really. Hope you fellow Cinna-lovers enjoy and please let me know what you think.

Cinna lay on his right side on the small, hard bed. He was in a jail cell, 6 by 6 foot, with nothing but the hard bed and a small toilet. Twice a day they would bring him a little bread and some water. Just enough to keep him alive.

He had lost a lot of weight over the months he had been there and his skin clung to his skeletal frame. For the first few weeks his stomach had growled constantly, but after a few months it took on a deadly silence. Cinna himself had not spoken in a long time. He had been in prison in the Capitol where he was beaten violently. He had several broken ribs that mended poorly and pained when he breathed in deeply. He had been tortured for information- he had been whipped, electrically shocked, deprived of food and sleep- but he never gave in. He never spoke a word to President Snow or his goons. He was only in Snow's prison a week and a half when, late one night, a man came to his cell with the key.

"Cinna," the man whispered urgently. "Wake up."

He sat up painfully. His clothes were tattered and soaked in blood. It hurt to move. There wasn't a place on his body that had not been somehow injured. Cinna squinted through his pain to see who it was.

It took him a moment to place the insistent face. His name was Gaston. Cinna had met him at a party during Katniss' first Hunger Games. He had complimented Cinna's design work, they talked for a while, and ended up spending the night together. He hadn't seen him since that night.

His head swam and his vision threatened to blacken as he stood up. He felt the wounds on his back and chest, which had only just clotted, begin to pour blood again. He grit his teeth and limped over to the bars. He leaned against them, barely able to stand on his own.

"We've got to get you out of here," Gaston whispered. "President Snow has ordered your execution."

Gaston unlocked the door and shackled Cinna, which was unnecessary. He couldn't fight or flee even if he wanted to…even if he had the strength to, he would be overcome before he could escape. Gaston checked the hall to make sure it was clear, then led Cinna out.

"So you're going to kill me?" Cinna asked, somehow managing to keep his voice strong.

"Don't be silly," he replied.

"You're going to let me go?" he whispered, feeling a faint hope.

"Not exactly… I can't let you go, but I'm having you transferred to a smaller prison, under a different name. Several prisoners are being transferred there to make room here for captured rebels. You'll get lost in the crowd. I don't think anyone will recognize you with your face so swollen."

He touched Cinna's face gently and Cinna flinched.

Cinna wanted to tell him no, to let him go to his death. He wanted to be brave, like Katniss…but he hurt so terribly…

"Here," Gaston said, pulling him into a small bathroom and shutting the door. He turned the lock and pulled a pair of scissors out of a pocket inside of his coat.

"Turn around," Gaston said and Cinna obeyed. He realized what was going to happen and bit his lip as the scissors snipped off his ponytail. He watched helplessly as Gaston flushed it down the toilet, then messed his hair up.

"Sorry," Gaston said with a regretful sigh. "I really did love your hair. Now, just one more thing…"

He wet his hands under the sink and proceeded to rub away Cinna's golden eyeliner. He stepped back to take a look at him and Cinna looked in the mirror, trying to see himself from a stranger's point of view. It wasn't hard- he barely recognized himself. He was covered in blood. His usually fantastic clothes were gone, replaced by the orange jumpsuit all prisoners wore. His jumpsuit was tattered and soaked in blood. His face was swollen on one side from a sharp blow and he had a cut over one eye that had started bleeding again when Gaston wiped away his eyeliner.

"What about Snow?" Cinna asked quietly.

"It wasn't supposed to be a public execution anyway," Gaston said with a shrug. "I'll just tell him I threw your body in the Incinerator."

"You work for him?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Gaston said with an eye roll. "I just…couldn't stand to see you killed."

Gaston kissed him quickly, which surprised Cinna, then opened the door and pushed him out.

Cinna didn't speak anymore and Gaston led him upstairs to a room filled with other prisoners wearing shackles. They all looked mean as snakes- he recognized some of them as murderers and rapists that had been arrested in the Capitol over the years. He swallowed hard. When he looked back over his shoulder, Gaston was gone.

He joined the line of prisoners and was transported, via bus, to a much smaller facility without being noticed.

"What happened to you?" asked one of the guards, leading him to his new cell.

"Fight," Cinna said, trying to make his voice sound as gruff as possible.

"Looks like you got your ass kicked," the guard laughed coldly.

That had been months ago and had been the last time Cinna spoke out loud. He lost track of the days, the months spent lying on his side. His wounds had been left untreated, leaving ugly scars all over his once beautiful skin. His mind was more damaged. He did nothing but lie there, day after day, his eyes half-open but not seeing. He was trapped in his mind, in a sort of dreamlike state. He no longer smelt the stench of prisoners or heard the noises around him. He only moved when they slid the tray of food in twice a day and even then it was an autonomic function, eating the bread, drinking the water, then pushing the tray back out and returning to his bed.

While he lay there in his dream-like state, he saw images of Katniss. Katniss dressed in her coal suit from the first Hunger Games, on fire as she and Peeta rode through the crowd. Katniss in her fiery dress from the first interview…then in her wedding dress, spinning and spinning until she transformed into a Mockingjay, then flew away. He dreamed he watched Katniss as a Mockingjay, flying through an impossibly blue sky, high above the earth, above the clouds, where the sun grew hotter and hotter until her feathers caught fire. She plummeted towards the Earth, towards the ocean, and Cinna woke in a cold sweat just as she plunged into the water.

He dreamt about her a lot. He dreamt about her wearing the clothes he had designed for her for the rebellion, the ones in the sketchbook he had given to Plutarch. Of course he had no way of knowing if the sketchbook had made it to Katniss, if she had even escaped the arena. But he found himself dreaming she did.

Sometimes his dreams of Katniss were interspersed with dreams of the many men and women he had sex with. Most of them were like Gaston, just one night stands. Some he had been with many times, like Portia, Peeta's stylist. But it was never complicated. Everyone he had been with understood that he did not allow himself to get close to people. He had fallen in love when he was younger, with a man who was abusive both physically and emotionally. He ended up leaving him, but he hadn't allowed himself to feel love since then. When he started to feel something for someone, he shut down. Except with Katniss. He cared for the girl on fire. He had known from the first moment he saw her step up for her sister at the reaping that she was special. She had been hurt, too, but she was strong. Strong and brave. That is why he had requested District 12. Why he had turned her into the girl on fire.

Of course he hadn't known at first what he had started. He had just wanted her to make a lasting impression, to win sponsors, to win the Games…but when she had pulled out that handful of berries, he knew what it meant. And he was ready to help her move against the Capitol. He did everything he could to help her- spent hours talking to her on the phone after her victory, helped her design 'her' talent for the Victory Tour. When they announced the Quarter Quell and how it would be played, he immediately began sketching. He created the Mockingjay dress, even though he knew it would infuriate Snow. Katniss would be safe from him. Snow couldn't have her killed without all of the Capitol going into an uproar and Plutarch would keep her as safe as possible in the Games. Cinna had known the dress would probably result in his arrest, so he spent the weeks leading up to the Quarter Quell sketching furiously, the designs that Katniss would wear. Designs that would both inspire the rebels and keep her safe.

One night- or was it day? He could never tell anymore- he was dreaming of making love to one of a number of Capitol girls when he realized he knew this body. He knew the curve of the hips, the skin, the breasts… He looked up and met her grey eyes as she brushed his lips with hers. Katniss…

He awoke feeling confused and disoriented. He sat up and looked around for the first time in months. He exhaled slowly and leaned back against the wall. He could hear the noise of a crowd somewhere in the distance. He wondered vaguely what was going on, but eventually he lay back down and returned to his state of semi-consciousness.

Cinna did not know that the noise he heard were the people of the Capitol evacuating their homes. He didn't know that Katniss Everdeen was in the city, several blocks away from him, hunkered down in a shop run by Cinna's old friend Tigris. He didn't notice when the guards stopped bringing food and water.

He dreamed of Katniss on and off. The dream came again that she was a real Mockingjay. She was flying over the Capitol, towards the President's mansion. The streets below were chaos and confusion. People shooting indiscriminately, man, woman and child. Suddenly, a fireball comes out of nowhere and ignites her tail feathers. He can feel the flames as she is consumed. Her feathers fall away, leaving her naked and human. She is still on fire, her skin melting away, her beautiful hair…everything burning, so real he can smell it.

The next time he came to he realized how weak he felt. His throat was dry and his head was pounding. He thinks he can still smell the smoke from his dream, but thinks he must be imagining it. Suddenly, there are shouts and all the prisoners are yelling. He tries to stand, but he is so weak his feet give out and he hit's the cold stone floor on his left side, the side where the broken ribs mended badly. This sends shooting pains through him and he uses the last of his strength to roll onto his other side. He is now facing the door of the cell. He puts his hands over his ears, thinking maybe if he can block out the sound, he can fall back asleep and maybe this time he won't wake up, finally…

He is fading out when the door opens and he sees people in gray uniforms coming for him. He doesn't recognize them or the uniforms. He tries to speak, but finds he can't. He can't move. He thinks he must be dead or at least they must think he is. That's fine, he thinks to himself. Just fine… He feels himself being lifted, then he is gone.