Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.
- Oscar Wilde


Epilogue - Part II


July 3rd, 74

Eighteen.

Tangled uncomfortably in the sheets, Felix pulled the heavy blanket over himself, and let out a breath. Warm. He was so deliriously warm. This summer fever had done a number on him, but they his patrons didn't care.

I survived.

He couldn't make his peace with the vulnerability of it all.

Asleep his companion didn't seem nearly as animate and bizarre as most of the Capitol citizens normally did. It didn't lessen his desire to smash her over the head with his trusty war hammer, but at least she wasn't as garish and painful to look as they normally were. Her natural locks, which were a soft blonde hue, were more attractive than the purple wig they were hidden under. The more he watched her, though, the more he was convinced that the Capitolites were magnificent canvases of art - canvases of art gone magnificently wrong, that is.

With how many one-timers he'd serviced in the last year, the raven-haired man wondered briefly if he had any children or soon-to-be children out and about in the world. Xena, from his prep team, had spoke of the trend of Capitolites to seek out victor for this very reason during his tour. Felix cringed, desperately hoping against hope that he'd been lucky enough to avoid such a fate. After all, his life was in their hands.

In the post-modern culture (the one that had preceded Panem), a boy became a man the day he turned eighteen.

Further back, though, one became a man at the time of consummation, at religious ceremonies, at marriage, at the assumption of head of household. In District Two, however, it was commonly held that children crossed the threshold the day they turned twelve — it was the age in which one gave up all right to aid, consent, and frailty.

He'd given up all of that and more before age twelve.

Still, Felix Grey did not feel like a man, whatever that meant.

A few years back, he had stolen an anthology from Cato when the blond had gone an endless rant about his coursework. In the decrepit, old book was the tale of a man named Benjamin Button. He was a man who as he grew wiser grew younger.

It was the unfortunate end to an unfortunate end.

As he closed his eyes, the memory of his sister's warm, brown eyes smiled down upon him. You don't understand love, Felici.

I don't understand a lot of things, Jade.


July 4th, 74

The smell of decomposition permeated the air, making the funeral nearly unbearable. In any other context, he'd have found it amusing. You could literally pick out the killers and mass murderers — the men, women, and children who'd stolen someone else's last breath. These individuals, despite their pressed suits and luxurious jewels, were entirely unabashed by the odor.

Fourteen days was an uncomfortably long time to wait to bury a body. It was standard to wait a week before initiating burial processions, but they'd all pleaded with the lieutenant to wait, because to bury Clove on the 27th - on Cato's birthday - seemed unfathomably cruel.

His body arrived seven days after his death (the 25th of June) on the 1st of July. Irony was a fucking bitch.

Region rules forbid burials and weddings on this day, as it was the official initiation of a new training year, a day in which the economy thrived and businesses were required to extend their hours. The next day had been the 2nd, Magnilda's 13th birthday, and not even District Two would demand a girl to bury her sister on her own birthday.

The following day Felix had been summoned to the Capitol and he had begged Nero to make a plea on his behalf to the lieutenant. Just one more day, sir. Please. Just one.

Thus, today was the 4th of July and even in the torrential downpour the putrid smell lingered.

He wiped at his nose desperately, but the stench remained. Clove Holloway was literally rotting before his very eyes. Deprive me of honor and I'll deprive you of sanity. We'll see which of us can hold out longer, rat bastard.

There was a standard of decorum for the many tributes that sought honor and returned in a body bag, and it was read only once for the both. The brunt of the crowd feigned morose faces, a polite, expected form of respect for the deceased. Only a dozen or so men, women, and children held any verity in their grief. Oliver, the blonde Felix recognized as Cato's brother, leaned into his mother's coattails, his tears dabbing the silky material.

The lieutenant stood resolutely, a distant figure from his remaining daughter. Nero was positioned carefully between his mother and his fiance, a slight tremble in his chest. Felix wanted more than anything to tell the ash-haired boy that everything would be okay, that he'd get through this, but Felix himself wasn't getting through it. He was barely surviving on his own and he knew he couldn't lie anymore, couldn't spit out anymore half-truths.

After all, it was his fault they'd failed in the first place.


September, Year 74

The anniversary of Jade and Roxanne's deaths was uneventful. Whenever he was feeling particularly masochistic, he'd sit in his niece's bright green room, the one he'd built but that she'd never gotten a chance to see. On this day in particular, he rested against the wall with Vega nestled comfortably against his chest.

A short period of time passed as he thought of all the things he wished he could have said, how much he wished he had told Roxanne every single night that he loved her, because he had, even if only a little, and even if not as much as he should have.

This was the year she would have turned six.

Vega soon grew tired of waiting and bit him, leaping out of his arms, and tearing throughout the room. Wild jackrabbits didn't exactly make good pets and this one had made it abundantly clear in the year he'd held it hostage. He hadn't exactly been the best caretaker either, often passing off the responsibility of feeding it to one of his neighbors, Lyme Welsh's daughter. She was fifteen maybe, with wavy brown hair.

The rabbit should have considered itself lucky. When they'd been younger, he and his friends had experimented on the small creatures. One could only guess what that entailed.

Eventually, Vega grew sick, and Hannah, Hillary, Heidi — something with an H — told him he needed to release it back into the wild.

His initial response had been coarse denial. The rabid pest was all he had left, but she'd looked at him gently but affirmatively and told him that if he really cared for the small creature that he'd give it the opportunity to live.

In late November, during one of the Welsh girl's holiday breaks from school they traveled back into a patch of brush and released his last companion into the wild. Vega vanished in a matter of seconds.


May, Year 75

He'd expected the 'in fair Verona' shit from Cato and Clove, but Twelve was really fucking clumsy.

The victors of the 74th games became engaged at the close of their tour, which Felix could literally not have cared less about. Well, until it set off a cataclysmic end for the rest of them. President Snow's announcement came in the wake of early spring.

It hadn't taken long for Dicey and Nero to make the one-hour commute to Victor's Village and demand he avenge Cato and Clove. Like many of the victors in his neighborhood, they were absolutely thrilled with the announcement. Many of his neighbors returned to their training regimens, readying themselves for a second bid at glory.

He worked hard to put on a brave face, waving off any hints of concern, when Brutus had drunkenly slapped a hand over his shoulder at his reluctance. "You take this from me, kid, and I'll break your goddamn arm." He took a swig of his drink and grinned, "and then I'll break anything else you need."

Felix let out a sigh of relief. Brutus really was the coolest old man he'd ever met.

One afternoon only weeks before the reaping, Lyme Welsh stomped over, banging on his door, and changed his life. He'd expected some lecture, for her to plow him down for spending brief respites with her daughter, but he'd never been interested in the kid. She was even younger than Clove would have been.

"I heard from some pretty fucker in Four that you're ready to fight. That still true, kid?"

His first reaction had been to run. The Capitol had heard every blasphemous word and was ready to cremate his treacherous ass, but he'd only looked her in the eye, asking doubtfully, "And what if I did?"

She smirked, "You're in for a treat."


The Quarter Quell and its aftermath (JuneSeptember), 75

Felix Grey hadn't dared to volunteer. In any capacity.

Several days into the games, the television screen flashed black and the world went to hell in hand basket. Soldiers stormed through his home, barking commands, raiding his house, and taking him captive. "What do you want? I'll comply. Just let me go, motherfuckers!"

One of the soldiers smashed him in the face and when he woke up, everything was peachy-keen from his newest residence in the Capitol's torture-chamber.

For weeks, all he heard were her agonizing screeches. Johanna Mason — one of the most brilliant victors he'd ever witnessed had been reduced to this. Sure, he had despised her in the aftermath, but even he couldn't deny the sheer intensity of the young woman. He tried keep his sanity by finding justice in Peeta Mellark's blood-curdling screams, working to imprint them over the memory of Cato's pleas for mercy, but he failed in such an endeavor.

Six weeks passed until the the rebel soldiers stormed through, rescuing several victors. He'd been saved, saved by... by... The immensity of pain overwhelmed him and that spoke volumes for not only how much had been done to him, but also how far he'd fallen from his former glory. He opened his eyes to find the steely gray eyes of his savior.

Days later he heard one of them whisper — Gale Hawthorne.

A few days into his recovery, Finnick Odair visited him in the hospital and tried to recruit him for the next rebel mission — the mission to capture to Two.

"He's a good kid, Haymitch."

Haymitch Abernathy seemed to believe that as much as Felix did.

"Not good, and not a kid," Felix spat petulantly, pointing to himself. Look what he'd been reduced to! Finnick told him to shut up.

"Felix, come on," Finnick goaded him. "You told me that you were going to fight. This is your opportunity. We need your consultation to do this right."

The man from Twelve nodded in the affirmative, still not trusting, "What do you know about District Two's infrastructure?"

"More than you could ever imagine."


October, 75

He and Katniss Everdeen spoke for the first time aboard the hovercraft to District Two.

"Why would you help us?" she asked him, the doubt smokey in her eyes.

Felix had long grown tired of the constant weariness. The rebels were the Capitol just painted a different shade. Literally no distinction, no difference in the way they looked at others. Their us versus them mentality was growing tiresome.

He opened his mouth to make a nasty retort when he realized that she was quavering slightly. She was scared of him.

Felix grinned, satisfied. How long had it been since he'd met someone that still considered him a threat? He calmed down, the self-satisfied expression vanishing, and he only replied, "The war's not just about you."

Jade. Roxanne. His parents. Clove. Cato. Nero's father.

The braided girl watched him hesitantly, "I know," and then turned back to her window.

That was the extent of his communication with her.


Lyme was their flagship leader and she often discussed the different strategies the rebels had employed to try to bring down the military base.

The Mockingjay wasn't actually allowed to directly participate in combat. Felix wasn't so sure she was a good fighter anyway. So she divided her time between filming propaganda shorts for the districts, visiting the ill and wounded, and hunting in her free time.

Despite being heavier than she had been in the games, she was still thin and flimsy. How Clove had lost to her of all people he'd never know.

Well, he did. Clove had been arrogant. Clove had been herself, really. But it was hard not to be arrogant when you looked at Katniss. She was so innocuous.

He'd been assigned to the combat unit, working with many of rebels from Two. The oppressed men of Two North, many older than himself, and even less privileged than he'd been. The Capitol's soldiers — which were the men and women of Two — had been hosted in the military base.

He could have been one of them. Once upon a time, he'd wanted to be.

He could have been like...

"Felix, you're okay. We-"

Fuck.

"You're... You're with them, aren't you?"

He could hardly stand it. The flash of betrayal in Dicey's eyes, the accusation, but most importantly the disappointment. So he did what he did best by shutting him up with a punch to the abdomen.

Speed had always been Dicey's crux, however. He thrust the gun up against his chest. "One pull-"

Felix knocked the gun out of his hands, cursing, "Don't be a coward, Dicey!"

That was all the redhead had to hear before he tackled him to the ground, the two rolling around like children in a school fight. Felix threw a second punch, "You're going to lose."

"Don't underestimate your opponent," he spat back, his fist connecting with Felix's jaw.

The raven-haired man grinned as he pinned down the younger man. It'd been the first thing he'd ever said to the auburn-haired boy.

"You're not cut out for this line of work."

Dicey kneed him, "Never placed much emphasis on your opinions anyway."

Felix hit his head against Dicey's, causing him to fall back and clutch his forehead. He assumed the vantage position, when he heard a familiar call, "Don't let your guard down, Dice!"

Perhaps quite stupidly, Felix turned towards the speaker. He kicked Dicey in the side twice, forcing the soldier to hold onto his stomach for air. Nero's blue eyes looked on at him, and he panicked, pointing his gun at Dicey's chest.

"One move and I'll blow him to smithereens."

"Who's the coward now?" Dicey managed to wheeze.

"You're on their side," Nero breathed, stunned.

With a swift movement, Felix hit Dicey over the head with the edge of his gun, knocking him out cold. None of his thoughts streamed cohesively.

"I thought you were dead," Nero rasped out, looking absolutely stricken at his betrayal. "You've been with them the whole time! You bastard... you—"

Technically, that wasn't true, but it didn't stop the heaviness returning to his chest. He needed an out. Felix closed his eyes and released the trigger. Nero went down in seconds, the gaping wound in his thigh bleeding quicker and quicker as the raven-haired man made his escape.

"What will do when this war is over?" Nero demanded of him, but Felix refused to reply, continuing his ascent away from him.


Weeks passed before Thirteen sent in a second team composed of strategic workers — 'the brains.'

From the second he arrived, Gale Hawthorne observed his every movement, stalking after him, and never leaving to him to his own misgivings.

"I don't come cheap, pretty boy."

The dark-haired man blanched slightly, before resuming his stance of defiance. "I don't trust you, and I don't care what Haymitch or any of the rest of them say."

Felix grinned, quite satisfied to finally hear the discontent aloud. Hushed whispers were fucking petty. "Fine with me, but don't expect to last long if you don't trust us. Your life is in our hands either way."

One afternoon, they were assembled to take a second look at the military base's interior. The rebellion had come to call it The Nut, which irritated him more than it should have. Then again, most things had irritated him since returning to Two. His life had effectively stagnated. They'd been there for weeks and virtually no progress had been made.

'The Brains' as they'd been called were hardly worthy of their title, making several inane suggestions that wouldn't work for various reasons.

Finally, Lyme spoke on behalf of all Two rebels, Felix included. "The next person who suggests we take the entrances better have a brilliant way to do it, because you're going to be the one leading that mission!"

He let out a breath of frustration, sharing her concerns, when Gale finally offered an alternative. Instead of taking out the military base, they'd disable it. His stomach tightened at that.

"So you're suggesting we start avalanches and block the entrances?" Lyme asked.

"That's it," Gale said. "Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies. Make it impossible for them to send out their hovercraft."

It was simple, but clever. Risky, but brilliant. He'd have appreciated the sentiment more if didn't mean that they'd have to die — Nero. Dicey. Lieutenant Holloway.

They'd suffocate. Which wouldn't even be an honorable way to go, but he couldn't object now. He'd made his bed, now it was time to lie in it.

"We'll never be able to trust them again," Gale remarked.

"They should at least have a chance to surrender," Lyme shot back.

"Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they fire-bombed Twelve, but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here."

Felix's eyes narrowed violently. It took every ounce of restraint he had and then some to cool himself off. Lyme didn't look any better off. He'd made the wrong decision. Thirteen was no better than the Capitol and now he was paying the price.

A few days passed and then it came time to test Gale's theory.

Spectacular. It'd been absolutely spectacular. He, The Mockingjay, her guard, Gale, and a select batch of Two rebels watched as the rocks slid down the side of the mountain, effectively shutting it off from the world.

Felix tried not to wince. His parents had gone a similar way. I'll be okay, Jade. I'll win, and we'll be okay. We'll all be okay. Those were the words he'd spoken to his sister the day he'd volunteered for the games.

Hours and hours passed. Things became dreary and hopeless. The chances of any survivors became nil. I'm sorry, he thought, his chest heavy with remorse.

The Mockingjay was taken away to make a speech and announce their victory. As if it wasn't visible from the lack of movement and heavy air. As Katniss began her speech, there was a breeze and then the ring of an arriving train. Rebel soldiers waited, tense and ready to fire at any movement.

One of them shot out the train's headlight as the door opened. Felix squinted his eyes, unable to see well in the darkness. A young man stumbled out, clutching his gun in one hand and a cloth in the other.

Dicey.

He'd survived.

Don't do anything stupid, Felix thought.

Katniss approached him, calling off the attack and kneeling beside him when he pointed the barrel of his gun directly at her.

Fuck.

Why did Dicey always have to learn the same lesson twice?


As the auburn-haired woman changed his bandages, she murmured sadly. "Baby, I told you to be safe."

The position on his side wasn't the most comfortable, but the healing process for his burns had been taxing and he'd preferred not to exacerbate his situation. Cato would have been proud of him for that one.

He let out a breath, "never been much of a good listener."

A stern expression replaced her sadness, but only for moment. "Isn't that the truth?" she quipped. She combed her hand through his hair and rubbed his shoulder soothingly and he nestled closer to her.

Dicey let out a hacking cough, "but it's okay, because I finally did it."

The permanent expression of discontent and concern didn't leave her face as she warily asked. "Did what, honey?"

His eyes remained closed, but a faint grin lit up his face. "Made enough money. Halle's finally free. I did it, ma."

An immense sadness fell over his mother, who only stroked his face gently. Her baby wasn't a baby anymore. A surge of pride rushed through her. She'd raised him right, he'd grown up to be such a good man. "Dicey," she began.

"Wasn't entirely selfless, though." He waved her off, embarrassed a bit by the admiration in her voice. His mother didn't know half the sins he had to make up for, and he still had long road ahead of him. "I had to prove to myself that I'm not him and I did. I made a promise, a big one, and I kept it."

The sentiment that he didn't dare articulate resonated like a bell.

Halle was free.

and now so was he.


December, 75

Felix met President Coin for the first time late in the year 75. He tried to hide his repulsion and confusion, but it was too thick. Clear as day, really. The decision had been immediate and he was effectively left out of any more missions, having outlived his usefulness in her eyes.

He didn't mind.

He knew he would have died if Katniss hadn't stipulated that all surviving victors remain safe. He pretended to be grateful. Once in a while, he'd catch glances of Finnick and his wife, the victor of the 70th, Annie Cresta.

Good for Finnick.

Annie looked exactly like how he felt on the inside. He amended the thought; He probably didn't look good outside, either.


January, 76

After successfully ensnaring District Two, the next logical target for the rebels had been the Capitol. It was a shit storm, to be put nicely.

First, Katniss was announced as dead. Then the announcement was rescinded. They'd sent in Peeta — who was about as stable as Cato had been when Clove died.

Finnick became a casualty of the mission and though he had barely known the man, Felix still felt a sense of loss. He owed the man so much more than he'd ever given him, because he'd been the only member of the rebellion with even a sliver of faith in him. It didn't help knowing that Finnick had left behind a legacy, reminding him entirely too much of Nero and his father.

Towards the very end, President Snow took several children hostage, using them as collateral and protection. He should have hired Felix as an adviser. He could have at least warned the president that Thirteen had never deigned having sympathy for the plight of children, just another manner in which they resembled the Capitol.

The Mockinjay's sister was only one of the many, many casualties, but the shift in Katniss' behavior was immediate. She imploded.

President Coin's resolution was to take a vote, which essentially boiled down to whether or not they should host a final hunger games with the wealthiest, most influential Capitol children. He'd been extremely grateful not to have participated in the vote.

Weeks passed and he still didn't know what decision he would have made. Probably the wrong one.

However, when it all boiled down, Katniss ended being smarter than he previously thought. President Coin became the last casualty of war. Felix could not have been more impressed.


February, 76

He ended up taking Gale Hawthorne home to Two. The strong, burly young man might have made a select candidate in another life, and shared the same ruggedness. For the first few weeks, he sulked, watching the world from the window and saying little.

One night, Felix grew frustrated. Gale hadn't even lost anything important, just failed to win the girl. There were thousands of them in Two.

When he'd finally called for Gale to move past this, he'd sighed, exasperated, "I wouldn't expect you to understand. District Two isn't exactly known for its loyalty. You all live in a world of putting your individual selves first, forgetting what matters; honesty, integrity, family." He continued, "But in District Twelve, all we have is one another. We're tied together by our mutual loss. Here, your common endeavor is to massacre others to win a house. So, I understand why you can't empathize, but—"

Great, Felix thought to himself, when the first tear fell. He was crying. Just what he wanted. He'd been a warrior once. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

"What could you possibly know about my district that you've figured out from my damn window in three weeks, Hawthorne?"

Gale looked at him, still disconnected. "I didn't think people like you could cry."

Felix looked him over, furious and perplexed. "You can dislike that we bucked a system designed to murder children, Twelve, but we're still human."

Felix reigned his temper in and continued to watch Gale, who'd returned to his window.

Clearly war hadn't exposed this man to the full expanse of individuals one could meet in a lifetime, because such commentary was reductive. Certainly, District Two had its share of cultural competencies to work through, but to believe they were incapable of pain...

He'd never thought that of other districts. He'd just never cared.

Felix couldn't figure which outlook was more dangerous.


March, 76

He'd taken Gale to Two West to learn its infrastructure. As a war hero, he'd been assigned a comfortable position in their district.

Gale had the grave misfortune of meeting Magnilda first. Nero would have been the ideal, Felix figured. Dicey, a secondary, perhaps. Felix had immediately tensed at the chance encounter.

"He's even more rugged in person. Looks like he'll fit right into this hellhole," Magnilda said seductively to Gale after catching sight of them one afternoon walking through market street.

Gale shifted a bit uncomfortably. It would have been entertaining if he hadn't been worried that Gale would be bleeding out within the next sixty seconds. "Is she flirting with me?" he asked Felix in a hushed whisper.

The black-haired boy shook his head, surprised by Gale's indirectness, and still slightly on edge. "No. You need to leave."

Her dark eyes held a nasty mischief that reminded him entirely too much of Clove. Which would have been expected, except that Magnilda had always worn her heart on her sleeve. Her attire, which had normally been inappropriately colorful, was now one-toned; black. She was fitted from top to bottom in black jeans, a black low-cut shirt, black leather boots, even a black headband, and a dollop more of a black makeup than she could successfully pull off.

It was like a gritty funeral everyday.

"What? Why?" Gale asked.

"Because she's dangerous."

Gale looked her over. She was maybe 5'6, at the most 130 pounds. What could she honestly do that would have someone like Felix concerned? He was scary, but this girl? She was just a child. "The war's over," was all Gale said. He didn't want to fight anymore. Especially not a little girl, even one trying too hard to look older than she clearly was.

Magnilda's lips turned upwards. "I trained for the games, not a war."

"Those are over too."

The self-satisfied expression fell from her face, "Then let's play our own round."

She stalked up to him. Gale remained impassive, watching her warily examine him in closer detail.

Finally, Felix supplied softly, "Her father worked inside the base. He suffocated as a consequence of the avalanche. It made her an orphan."

"What right do you have to tell him that?" Magnilda had stalled for a second, but at that commentary, she immediately revved back up.

"I'm trying to move on, H. You should too."

Gale watched them curiously, "How exactly do you two know each other?"

"Take your fucking pick, Twelve. He was my cohort instructor, my cousin's best friend, my sister's mentor. He tried to murder my best friend once, too, so we can add that to the list. It depends on what role he's choosing to play this week."

Felix balked, "I was not going to kill fucking Arianne. I was fourteen and a prick, but I wasn't actually going to murder an eight-year-old."

"What difference does it make? I was twelve and not a prick when I murdered Halston Rooney."

"Considering you know his fucking name, I don't think that holds much weight in your argument."

Magnilda soured at that response.

He let his arms fall to his side. "You know I'm sorry. You know I'll be sorry for the rest of my life, so why do you keep trying to play these mind games? Here's some free advice. None of this will bring her back, Magnilda! So why the fuck are you trying to take Clove's place? She's dead. Six feet under, and we don't need a replacement. She'd have sooner slit her throat than let you try."

"First of all, my name is Nelly," She shook furiously, the kitchen knife he hadn't noticed before clenched firmly in her right hand. Then, she grit out, "Second, it's so fucking easy to judge when you have nothing to lose."

But she was wrong. He'd had everything to lose. He'd just realized it a moment too late.


April, 76

He and Gale's friendship (or whatever it was) was particularly enthralling. Gale was always on-edge, always to himself, but he'd begun loosening up. It took him a few weeks to ask what he'd wanted to know from the moment they'd left Magnilda in the market.

"Magnilda was everyone's little pet."

Gale listened intently, "But you don't seem to like her."

"Make no mistake, Gale. Everyone in Two is a game-player, even the cute ones."

"She doesn't seem to like you much either, but you can't have been too close. You don't even know her name."

Felix groaned. "Magnilda is her name. The year I started high school, I became a training assistant for Magnilda's age group. The day before the training year began, I memorized the entire cohort roster, or at least I tried to." He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head.

Gale arched his brows.

"104 seven and eight-year-old kids. Magnilda's name was at the top of my roster and I got antsy, so I sort of just fixated on her name for a while. I didn't know that she had a nickname. You could tell the trainers over and over again, but they didn't care, so it's not like there was any note. I don't do it to piss her off, it's just hard to see her as anything else."

Gale then relayed the reasoning behind his questions. He'd seen her again with her cousin and he'd tried to apologize for what he'd done to her father.

When Felix looked ready to have a stroke, Gale only remarked that he thought she'd understood, maybe even forgave him.

"It wrecked all of us when Cato and Clove died, but her especially so."

And Dicey, but he left that comment out.

"I can tell."

"We were a family. A dysfunctional, chaotic family, but we really cared about each other when we weren't trying to strangle and rip out each other's limbs. Magnilda has a cousin, Nero. He was my best friend... til I shot him in the battle of Two. I don't think he's going to come around anytime soon."

His roommate snorted.

The raven-haired man continued, "The soldier that Katniss saved was another one of them. Worst person for her to encounter, actually, so I'm surprised he didn't pull the trigger. Whatever she said must have really gotten to him."

"Catnip's persuasive when it matters."

Gale sounded convinced, so he didn't fight him on the matter.

"We were all fighting for the same thing — to bring justice to Cato and Clove and to break the stasis in our lives. Unfortunately, the magic is in interpretation."

His face pondered the thought briefly, "That's probably the smartest thing you've said to date."

Felix laughed.


May, 76

"I came here with the intention of being pissed off."

Magnilda plopped onto the grass in front of the two headstones. Untying a cellophane bag, she pulled out a handful, laying the color-coated chocolate in the outline of a large smiley face on a patch of grass to her left.

"But, today's been such a nice day, and I don't know. I think it's symbolic. That there's more to life than feeling sorry for myself."

The fourteen-year-old girl laid the brightly-colored flowers in front of Clove's grave, announcing, "I fought for you guys to be together, but it wasn't easy."

She clasped her hands together.

"Dad wanted you to be with mom."

She looked to Cato's headstone, "but your dad, your dad, Cato, he wanted you to be with Mars. I spent so long crying for myself and my own hurts, but watching him made me want to cry all over." Magnilda threw her hands into the air, defeated, "but I felt like you guys spent all your lives together, side by side, and that it wouldn't have been right to keep you apart. So if I ruined your burial plans, sorry, but I won that one."

She blocked the sun with her eyes, pointing hazily to the right. "Mom's over there," and then pointed to the left, "and Mars is somewhere off in that direction."

Magnilda dipped her hand into the bag of candy, eating a handful, and noted, "Felix is home and he's not dead. You win some, you lose some, I guess. He brought home this guy from Twelve, and he's alright. Felix is so obviously trying to turn him into Nero, but I don't know. I think Gale's more of a straight-shooter. He's more of a Cato— if you were twice as angry and half as talented."

A sneaky smile crossed her face.

"Nero's still with Aniston, by the way. I guess it's true love after all, or whatever. I haven't really seen much of Dicey. Wish I could tell you more, because I know he was your guy's favorite, but it's been really awkward between Callan, Halle, and I since you guys left. I can't look them in the face, not after how mean I was to them before the war."

"I haven't been doing too well the last couple years if you hadn't guessed yet. I'm all alone and for every up there always seems to be a down. Dad's death hit me pretty hard, Lo, but he's with mom now. I hope they're happy together. Sometimes, when I'm really sad, I like to guess what you'd say to me - you'd probably tell me to stop being such a crybaby and grow some balls. Maybe it is time I stop making excuses."

She wiped her tears.

Taking another piece of chocolate, she laughed slightly, "You'd probably throttle me for wasting your candies, Cato. 'Nelle! chocolate is fucking delicious, why are you using them as decoration? The goddamn ants are going to devour them all!' and then give me a stern talking-to about whatever nonsense would be on your mind."

The brunette laid her head to the ground, leafing through her pockets, "Even though you guys are gone, I know you'll always be by my side..."

She snorted, "That sounds pretty stupid now that I think about it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm living day-to-day and that I know you guys would want me to be doing something more with my life than just being angry all the time."

She withdrew a bow from her pocket, slipping the teal clip into her hair. Magnilda looked to Cato's grave, "I'd brought this for you. You were always into that sentimental bullshit, but I think I'll be keeping this one. Sue me, asshole." She stuck out her tongue, a playful grin lighting up her cheeks.

Magnilda extended her arms outwards and enjoyed the sun cascading across her skin, allowing the breeze to ruffle her hair.

"And I guess I'm not as sad anymore, because I know we'll meet again someday."


Author's Note (2012) - This is the end of canon. Well semi-canon, because I let Felix live. I'm not a fan of Mockingjay, but I thought I'd show the ripples Cato and Clove's deaths had.

Anla'shok, I'm so excited that you guessed the soldier correctly because you were my first reviewer and thus presumably the reader whose been reading longest. Dicey's mother, Cato's biological parents (not Sundara), and Felix's parents (until their death in 65) all work/ed for the quarries as miners. To those who guessed Nero, I think that's the most logical conclusion because he's the one who talked about the military most, so kudos to you too.

Alternate ending begins next chapter, and may end up being longer than five chapters, because I'm having a hard time dividing up the content cleanly enough. I guess that's good news, right?

Author's Note (2017) - I don't remember if I cried the first time I wrote Magnilda's scene, but yeah. I altered conversations between Gale and Felix. The rest is the same.

Written: October 9th, 2012
Edited: April 9th, 2017