“You'd have thought we planned it," says Peeta, giving me just the hint of a smile."Didn't you?" asks Portia. Her fingers press her eyelids closed as if she's warding off a very bright light."No," I say looking at Peeta with a new sense of apreciation. "Neither of us even knew what we were going to do before we went in.""And Haymitch?" says Peeta. "We decided we don't want any other allies in the arena.""Good. Then I won't be responsible for you killing off any of my friends with your stupidity," he says.”

“Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, “So what should we do with our last few days?”“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies.“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.”

“I'm going to wake Peeta," I say."No, wait," says Finnick. "Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his."Well, there's so little opportunity for fun left in my life, I agree. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta, lean over until our faces are inches frim his nose, and give him a shake. "Peeta. Peeta, wake up," I say in a soft, singsong voice.His eyelids flutter open and then he jumps like we've stabbed him. "Aa!"Finnick and I fall back in the sand, laughing our heads off. Every time we try to stop, we look at Peeta's attempt to maintain a disdainful expression and it sets us off again.”

“Got it," I say. "Did you tell Peeta this?""Don't have to," says Haymitch. "He's already there.”

“I think of the snarling, cruel exchange back on the hovercraft. The bitterness that followed. But all I say is "I can't believe you didn't rescue Peeta.""I know," he replies.There's a sense of incompleteness. And not because he hasn't apologized. But because we were a team. We had a deal to keep Peeta safe. A drunken, unrealistic deal made in the dark of night, but a deal just the same. And in my heart of hearts, I know we both failed."Now you say it," I tell him."I can't believe you let him out of your sight that night," says Haymitch.”

“If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were....My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you - the tributes of District 12!”