When the cannon booms, he launches himself into her arms. They don't think about it, they don't think about what it means. The Mellark boy's blood still soaks his hands and smears in Clove's hair, but it hardly matters. They stand on the lakeshore, rocking back and forth in some manic embrace of joy and relief and instinct. And as it stretches on, they slow their pace, until there is no movement but the trees in the wind and the frantic fluttering of her heart. And uncertainty tears them away from each other.
Her voice is dry as paper, and it takes Clove several tries to get the words out. "Where are they?" she croaks. "He's dead. They both are. We won. We won." This becomes her mantra, even as the silence persists. Cato can feel the buzzing of the Capitol from the miles away, his skin tingles in anticipation.
"It's over!" Clove shrieks at the sky, but it gives her no answer. Cato can't tell if weather she's sobbing or laughing, but as he ventures close to her again, he discovers it to be a mixture of both. She fixates her bloodshot eyes on him, lip curled in a familiar gesture. "Where's the music?" she demands of him, "The announcers?" Why haven't they come for us?" He doesn't answer her either.
Their heads yank up as if on strings when the familiar voice booms out. And everything is revoked along with the rule. His confidence. His drive. His certainty. Because there is one more kill the Capitol expects him to make, and Cato can't help but feel cheated of what's owed him. Guaranteed security. A hot meal every night. A life of luxury for him and his family. His mother and sisters. He's owed his health and his riches. His Clove.
It isn't until the blade tears through the remains of his shirt that Cato is cheated out of his last right. The knife is bigger than Clove's normal fare, he dimly thinks as his knees hit the dirt. The bloody tip juts out a good two inches from his stomach. When she yanks it from his body, his head cracking firmly against the ground, he recognizes it as his own short sword. Her fingers, normally so nimble and quick, fumble with its weight before relinquishing it to the earth. And Clove watches him die. She doesn't say that she's sorry, because she isn't. He doesn't curse her name, because he can't find reason to. Cato's fingers stray across his abdomen until he reaches the ragged edges of the wound. His nerves shriek as his thumb prods along the inside and Clove watches him like a hungry mutt.
"I swore to you. I swore I would win."
"You have."
Her eyes flash. "Not yet."
"I'm still-." He can't finish the sentence.
"Just sleep now." She says finally, her hand once again wrapping around the grip of the sword. "You've been up to long and it's time for my shift. I'll keep watch."
Cato can't take his eyes off her. Clove doesn't shake as she hefts it above her head. Her face is still covered with mud and the blood of her last kills. Scars cross her cheeks and he can name the time each one was inflicted. Her hands are so bony, her face as hollow as his own, and her gaze glows with hunger. She looks like a goddess of war. She's the one thing that every truly scared him.
"Go to sleep. Before they get here."
Cato feebly shakes his head, pushing himself onto his back with a groan. He can't escape her, they both know that.
"What are you living for, Cato?" she says. "Nothing. I am the strongest, and only the strong can survive. I'd prefer you by my side. But now you are on my target. And I never miss."
"Keep watch?" He croaks.
She nods. "I will."
His hand falls onto the ground and she strikes down for the heart, bracing her feet just like he taught her. And Clove is right. She doesn't miss.