A/N: Please read full Author's Note!

Sorry for the delay! My laptop crashed, and I had it saved there. So now I have my dad's old laptop, and if there are a lot of mistakes… well, I'm not used to the tinier keys yet, and find myself repetitively skipping letters or pressing the wrong keys that are right next to each other.

But, on the bright side, this laptop is faster, and I like the Microsoft Word Document better on here, because this actually has spell check! I applaud thee, my dear spell check. If it didn't, we'd probably be reading this: Pkrase read gull Suthor's Mote!

This is going to be mushy, love-y and all, and full of Marvissa, Peetniss, and yes, the introduction, and the entire blossom, of Clato, my dear Clato fans. Clato will be hard to write, because in here, Cato hates Katniss, and I love Katniss and Cato together. Hmph.

Also, I am sorry if the Clato doesn't feel right, but I've been looking up Clato fiction for days, trying to find something to inspire my aspect of the couple. I got nothing. So it's going to completely be from scratch, because I found no Clato fanfics that inspired me. Don't get me wrong; there were good ones, just not ones that felt like they would really inspire my writing style.

Now. Sorry to bore you, but:

Title: His, Hers, Mine

POV: Clove Laine

Day 7, early in the morning, Cato has been awake for hours.

I wake up next to him as he searches the early-morning sky. Then I remember. He's mine. Finally, he's mine.

"Cato," I mutter, sitting up.

He sits up, too, and stretches as I shine my knives, specifically my curved-blade one. My most precious one. My deadliest one.

"Yes, Clove?" he says jokingly.

"Morning," I snap, as though I am angry.

"What did I do now?" He laughs, and kisses me. "Morning."

I smile, and kiss him again because we are so close. "Who all is alive? I lost track."

"You. Me. District Six boy. Foxface. District Eleven boy. Marvel," he snaps. "Katniss. Peeta."

The way he says the last three, I can tell he is more furious than I thought with him. It makes me smile, how angry he is. One: Because he looks cute. Two: It means that today, we'll kill. A lot.

"Ready to kill?" he asks, a grin creeping on his face. Some might call it sadistic. I call it district pride.

"Definitely." The deadliness in my voice is loud, deafening, though I whispered the word, and then kissed him again.

I love the way our lips meet, I love the way he smiles before a hunt, and I love the way he holds me. It's all so alive, so… him. I love it. I'm glad—no, overjoyed—that he's finally realized who I am and who he is, and that the way we fit together is perfect. I know it. I've always known it; just set it aside out of anger. And now, he, the boy who has always been there in his own little ways, is with me, to be there… until the end. The end that no Career ever thinks about. But I am forced to, since my end means he loses me, and his end means I lose him.

I wonder if he's as deep in love as I am. Sure, I've crushed on him longer, and he's more sadistic than I, though I don't usually believe in sadism, but still.

This is pushed out of my mind as a large parachute floats down. Cato, already getting up, grabs it, and tosses it to me. I look inside.

"What is it?" he asks, getting his sword.

"A feast," I state, amazed, "of Capitol food."

"Capitol food?" he asks, sitting back down. "Let's eat before we go."

"Good idea," I agree, my mouth practically watering. I'm not hungry, but I so love and miss Capitol food.

I eat eggs coated in candy-flavored pink sauce. It's a bit slimy, but the flavors surprisingly collide well. They dance on my tongue and disappear down my throat, and create a need for more of some Capitol food—any type, really. Kind of like morphling. Capitol food is addicting like morphling.

Next I pick up little chicken delicacies, drenched in cheese sauce that has garlic and butter mixed in, and rolls with yellow icing stripes and taste like lemonade.

Then, because it is cold from yesterday's rain, I sip hot chocolate as Cato scarfs mini turkeys.

"That's good, Cato," I tell him, laughing. "Can't have it show itself on the hunt."

"What? The food?" He looks up, putting the food away and wiping his greasy hands on his pants (the Capitol neglected to send napkins). "Nah. It's not too rich for me."

"Whatever you say."

We pack up, and pack what we want to take. Mainly it's just weapons and a pack of food, just in case. Then we set out. We laugh and talk and joke. And yes, there is some kissing making its appearance. But then I point out a tribute trying to get away from us, and we go silent.

I take my knife in my grasp. "I wound him; you finish him off," I offer Cato.

"Good deal," he agrees, shaking my hand, and I almost laugh.

But then I remember my task and head for him, the boy in front of me. He's running through the trees, but they don't offer concealment as well as he thinks. My knife whizzes into his back without a second thought.

"He's all yours," I tell Cato, stepping aside.

Cato goes to the boy, sword in hand. I approach the two, smiling. He's begging.

"Stop begging," I snap. "Cato doesn't like a beggar."

"No," Cato says slowly. "I don't like beggars, do I, Clove? Sucks that you've already proven to be one, doesn't it, kid?"

"Alex," the kid snaps.

"Tell me," Cato requests. "How did you make it this far?"

"Smarter than you, I bet you," Alex spits.

"You're real stupid, aren't you?" Cato growls. His sword sinks slowly into the stomach of the tribute, causing bloody screams from the kid. Then, once the cannon sounds, in one swift motion, Cato pull out his sword. I clap for him, and he wipes the tribute's blood from the sword on his shirt. "Next up, District Eleven. Then Foxface, Peeta, Marvel, and last, but certainly not least-hated, Katniss Everdeen. Girl. On. Fire."

He kisses me softly. I smile when he pulls away. "Why were you ever with her?" It's a joke, but he takes it seriously.

"Used her for sponsors," he whispers in my ear, so no Capitol camera can hear. "It's always been you, Clove Laine."

POV: Peeta Mellark

Katniss kisses me, and then lies down, but not to sleep. She slept all last night when I didn't wake her because she needed to rest. She just lies next to me for a long time, not talking or anything. Eventually a thud outside the cave makes her sit up. "You open it this time, Peeta," she says.

"Take a knife, just in case, Katniss," I tell her.

She nods her head and takes a knife from the pile of four. The pile also includes the one single arrow that I haven't figured out why Haymitch would send it—to torture her is the only thing I got, and I don't think that's right, because she smiled—and why Katniss would be happy about it.

When Katniss comes back, she hands me the parachute and I tear it gently open. Inside is a small tube-like thing. And: One. Single. Arrow. No more again, and again, no more bow. Just the arrow. It flusters me so much it's annoying, like the buzz of a fly all around, but you just can't figure out where the fly is. And I don't want to ask Katniss, because then the sponsors would think I wasn't worth betting on because I didn't know what it was about.

"What's in the tube?" Katniss asks, staring at it,

I open the little lid and peer inside. On the bottom of the lid, the part facing the medicine stuff is a note, not written by a person, but a typewriter or something. It's medicine for my leg, I think.

"Medicine for my leg," I say uncertainly.

"What?" Katniss says, taking the tube. "Peeta, it is!"

"How much do you think it was?" I say.

"A lot" is all she says. Oh well, I don't care the cost. I'm just glad I have it so I don't have to keep Katniss cooped up in her, more in danger then when she was alone, pointlessly, any longer. I don't even understand why she stays. It's not like she's had a crush on me forever like I did on her. That's obvious from after the interviews.

She takes the medicine from the tube and spreads it on my leg. I let out a deep sigh of pleasure. It feels so good…

Then it hits me. If this was so much, sponsors won't be able to spare enough anymore for her bow, and then we'll just, torturously, get one arrow at a time. Then we won't get the bow and… I don't want to think further. But she needs the bow if she is to win. I don't need the medicine. I shouldn't win. She should. So many more people need her than people do me…

Trumpets interrupt my thoughts. Then Claudius Templesmith's voice says, "Congratulations, seven remaining tributes! There has been a… er, rule… change. Now two tributes can win!" There is a long pause. "But they have to be from the same district. Goodbye, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"Katniss," I whisper. "Does this mean…"

"Yeah, Peeta, we both can…" she stutters.

"We can both win." We kiss. I can finally have my Katniss, and now, unlike five minutes ago, I can keep her. And she can keep me.

We have to win.

POV: Cato Long

"Congratulations, seven remaining tributes! There has been a… er, rule… change. Now two tributes can win!" Long pause. "But they have to be from the same district. Goodbye, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"Clove." She is asleep under the tree I sit under. She was up for hours on watch last night, because she refused to sleep. Now she's interrupted the hunt to sleep. Oh well, it's Clove. "Clove!"

She snaps up. "What? What happened?"

"Clove, we can both win," I tell her.

"No, Cato, there can only be one victor," she mumbles.

"No, Clove, I swear. Claudius Templesmith just announced it," I snap.

I still almost can't believe it, though, either. Both of us? It's impossible. It's too good. I've always wanted to propose when the time came. What better time than when we've just stepped off the train. She'll have seen home once again after weeks, and everything will be gorgeous to her, because she's Clove. She'll say yes and everything will be okay. We'll have children. They'll volunteer and win. Simple as that. Clove Long. I think she'll like that title. I can't wait to give it to her.

But first we have to kill all these tributes. Long and slow. I don't want to waste the fun on the trip to the proposal, now, do I?

POV: Marissa Markison.

"Congratulations, seven remaining tributes! There has been a… er, rule… change. Now two tributes can win!"

Marvel and I, already close, turn to each other. "Wh-what?" he stumbles to say.

"I know right," I mumble, trying to comprehend what Claudius Templesmith has said. Because if it's what I think he said, I can go home with Marvel Gratte. I've fallen in love with him, finally, so now he's more than my best friend, my ally, or my nothing. Now he's Marvel Gratte, and I can go home with him. And I will go—

"But they have to be from the same district. Goodbye, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

My heart sinks. Nothing could ever prepare for how hard this hits me. I can actually feel it in my heart. I've just gained Marvel, and then lost him, all in under five minutes.

Without even knowing it, I am crying in his shirt, tears rushing out onto it. "It is okay, Marissa," he whispers. "It's okay."

I look up, my eyes probably red and wet. "No, Marvel, it's not," I whisper harshly. "It's not. I—how am I supposed to deal with losing you or you deal with losing me?"

"That's just it." He stares at me, long and hard. I can still remember Marvel on the elevator, yelling, "Allies?" It was so simple, and he was so annoying and silly. But now I really know him. He's thoughtful and appreciative. Sure, he's still funny and joking, but he's loving and heartfelt and really warm when you get close to him, too. And I mean it. He really puts off a lot of body heat. "I don't think that when whichever of us wins, we'll ever get over it."

We hug and kiss until around two, after hours, and he says, "Do you believe I love you?"

Now that I love him, I do. All it took for me to realize I love him was the way he held me, the way it seemed as if he'd protect me and never let me go for the world, or on our case, the chance of winning. And in discovering that I love him, I realized he really did love me. And does. Right now.

"Yes."

"Good."

He requires no reassurance from me. It's implied somehow. If it wasn't, I'd know. I'd understand. Why? Because Marvel is Marvel and Marvel is my Marvel. I don't care how close he and Glimmer were. At best, I trust him enough to know that they were just friends. Close, maybe, but just friends.

And I am his Marissa.

A/N: Next chapter I will not focus as much on just the love stuff. Though it will be there, I promise. And next chapter will strictly be one POV. So vote on my poll for which it should be! And check out CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal's stories!

Now… well, review, please!