This is the epilogue of the Ninth Hunger Games.

For all intents and purposes, this is the end of the book. I will keep updating chapters on Checkmate because I don't want to separate this into two stories.

So chapter 25, because there's no reason why things can't sometimes turn for the best. Or at least the not-worse.

Fife was woken by the smell. A smell so pungent it reeked, but not in an unpleasant way. Rich and musky, it was utterly unfamiliar. She brought her hands to her head, gingerly feeling the thick bandage covering her eyes and nose. Her eyes didn't seem to register the slight pressure she was putting on them with her fingers.

Fife wriggled her toes and unfurled her arms and legs. She let out a breath of relief as her body responded. There was no real pain, just stiffness and dull aches. She felt her way to a seated position on the bed –or was it just a mattress? It was rough and felt uneven- Her hands found a wall on one side, rough and warm. Bark? Fife ran her fingers over the surface, tapping it gently as she struggled to rely on senses other than sight. Where could she be?

She paused to listen. Odd sounds reached her ears; trills and chirps, birds. She strained her ears, mystified. There were so few trees in Nine that only pigeons, sparrows and the occasional hawk populated the empty skies. Songbirds were something that existed in cages for the amusement of the very rich. Fife brought her knees to her chest, suddenly finding the darkness chilling. If she wasn't home, where was she?

She ran her hands over her face and body for other bandages and scars. She was naked under some kind of cotton shift. Her fingers paused on her left upper arm. A two-inch wide circle of skin was wrinkled yet smooth. She suddenly pictured a horrible burn mark. The thoughtful smile the bird songs had brought to her lips withered and died.

Constantine, Mags. The Hunger Games.

Fife grasped her knees in a tight embrace as cold shivers run up her spine and limbs. Her unresponsive eyes dry as the desert but her soul wept as she slowly rocked her body. Constantine had been so sure his death was heroic. He had been at peace. Mags was probably still out there somewhere, determined to change the world. She would die before she gave up. They'd both deserved so much better. Fife hoped Mags would find it in her to be happy.

The huddled girl took a shaky breath. Constantine's handsome face was etched in her memory, the last thing she remembered before jumping, and the pain. She would never see them again. Both allies and enemies, and yet they had been more loyal than what Fife would have expected of her closest friend. Would the memories would fade or would be condemned to find every relationship flavorless after this, comparing everyone who crossed her path to the two extraordinary tributes who had shown her that there were souls the Capitol could never taint?

Outside, a loud chirp broke through Fife's mournful thoughts, tugging her back into the present. A small smile drew itself on Fife's lips, a pained but giddy smile, as she adopted a more comfortable seating position. She breathed in, feeling lightheaded. She'd done it. She'd beaten the odds. But she wasn't home. Where could she be?

She whistled, absently trying to imitate the loud chatter outside. A soft rustle against her bare skin told her there was an open window nearby. Her stomach grumbled. She was starving.

"That's one fat and ugly bird."

Fife started -she'd heard no door open- and found herself grinning at the familiar voice. She couldn't reach out with her arms without looking ridiculous so she spread them in a welcoming gesture.

"What about animals?" Briar, the most talkative Citadel kid of her 'propaganda class', asked.

"Just a few birds in District Nine. They're all fat and ugly. The Capitol feeds them with the leftover grain because they don't want us to eat the surplus. And they put a selective poison in the birds so we can't eat them. So they fly around looking down at us and sometimes unloading less than savory content on our heads," Fife said solemnly, earnestness personified.

Stern gray eyes bore into hers. Fife repressed a snicker. She just couldn't resist overdoing it when Chickaree came to check on her. After all, the rebel woman had all but said that she wanted those children to feel privileged about living hidden underground rather than yearning for the outside world, so some coloring was in order.

Fife swallowed painfully. Were any of those kids still alive?

"How are you, Chickaree? How long has it been? Where are we? Who is 'we'?" She said, firing the questions so quickly that she had to stop to breathe.

Of course it had been them. Who else? And who else had medicine advanced enough to mend broken bones in days?

Chickaree's half-fond half-teasing laugh reached her ears. Fife, a small smile still on her lips, tilted her chin up defensively. She'd show the woman there was nothing wrong about asking questions.

"Quite well, considering," Chickaree said, gently grasping the girl's hand. "You've been unconscious eleven days. Teal, Fix and Skylar with three more from the Citadel are here. You might remember young Oliver."

Fife's grin broadened. She remembered indeed.

Seriously? It couldn't be dawn yet. Fife realized the shape shaking her awake was quite small.

Fife concealed her groan with a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Late," a childish voice whispered, "or early, it depends. I want a story, but a real one, not that spooky tosh. I know you have to lie because the others are stupid and would go get themselves killed outside just to take a peek, but I can handle the truth."

"And who are you, Curious?"

"Oliver, and I heard Chickaree tell you off for asking questions. I know loads of answers."

Fife sat up. She figured she might even like this kid.

"The nosy chipmunk survived because he snuck into the bunker to spy on Arion -his father- and the rest of us that night," Chickaree continued. Fife could hear the smile in her voice. "Arion is here too, with Piezo, a friend. I'll introduce you."

Fife smiled again but her heart wasn't truly in it. Three out of how many rebels who had tried to come to Seven with Chickaree? Had Oliver had a mother? Was the man whom Teal had said Chickaree loved, Hunter, alive in some other District? Fife didn't dare ask, unable to fathom where Chickaree found her strength.

Immersed in oppressive darkness, Fife tried to picture the woman who was holding her hand. The memories were precise and easy to find. Chickaree's fit form, graceful movements and regal posture, her jaw, too strong to be feminine, softened by a long but thin nose. Those pronounced arched eyebrows crowning her magnificent pale gray eyes. High cheekbones which made her look drawn but also increased the soldierly air about her. Fife furrowed her brow. What shape were Chickaree's ears? Fife couldn't check. She'd never paid attention because she hadn't needed to. Now she desperately wanted to know. How many other things had she failed to notice when she'd still had the chance? She hardly remembered Skylar's face, past the terrible scars.

She fought to keep her voice level. "Have you dyed your hair? The Capitol must know you now."

"Yes, gray."

Fife winced. Such lustrous auburn hair. She giggled, stupidly happy to be still capable of such vain thoughts. The blindness wasn't such a big deal. She was alive. She couldn't believe it. She'd handle the rest.

"It is important I be dismissed as just one ageing woman fleeing a plague," Chickaree pursued, "the swamp villages of Seven's borders aren't very supervised, we're just required to provide a quota of wood. People move and rebuild often because the death tolls are high and the places we can safely log few, so strangers aren't suspicious. Escaping to the north is madness. There is no civilization there and the winters kill. The marshes surround us in every other direction and the roads are heavily patrolled, but we are reasonably safe here. We work in plain light as official citizen. We are diminished but we have people disseminated everywhere in Panem. We will rise again when the time is right."

Eleven days and they were official citizen already? Those people hadn't lost their touch. District Seven... Forests... it had always sounded like a fun place.

"You'll be formidable," Fife promised, clumsily reaching for Chickaree's second hand. "Will my eyes heal? What really happened to them?"

Chickaree's silence spoke volumes.

"You must have used a lot of your best medicine on me," Fife finally said, "and you'll never get anything like it again here. I can't thank you enough. I can live with being blind, Chickaree. Don't worry about me."

She refused to be an additional source of pain for the people who had saved her life. She was much too young to mope around and consider the best part of her life over.

A mirthless smile then quirked her lips. She would live, but it wouldn't be her. People were rarely aware of how much their faces and body language revealed. Blind she would have to be much more sincere, unable to adapt her words and expression to unspoken signals. What had made her special had just been taken away. And her name was too well known now to risk being heard by a peacekeeper. Fife Chican was dead.

The events of the last weeks seemed surreal, events and faces flashed before her eyes, ghosts of the past, flashes of light. Fife's instincts were to push them away, to forget the fear, the horror, the death. Instead the girl struggled to latch on, to etch them in her memory forever.

"Why did you ask us to kill Peacekeeper Ashlar?" She mumured as a pair of pleading blue eyes entered the edge of her vision.

Chickaree squeezed her shoulder. "We had no expectations. It was to see how you thought, to make you angry, to force you to reveal what you expected of rebels and what you would say about yourself."

A sense of utter weariness and dismay invaded Fife. She put her head in her arms and chuckled. "You must have thought I was insane."

"No, you tried to reason with us. You were clever, desperate and prepared to deal with fanatics. Your resolve was admirable. Mags was not, she wanted us to be the rebels people imagine in tales, and I liked that. It is heart-warming to see people still fight and hope. Constantine was... struggling. He listened, he had decided Mags was someone to be loyal to and held no particular love of the Capitol. It was more than I would have expected from a Colonel's son. You did not fail." Chickaree drew a shaky breath, and her voice was thick with regret. "I am sorry for our cool welcome and the way we threw you at Atli," her voice dropped to a choked whisper. "We were terrified the Capitol would use you to destroy us, when the traitor had been in our midst all these years."

Fife shivered, yet the memories were but ghosts in the wind. Even that was not enough to dampen her exuberance at the realization that her life was not in danger anymore. It was over.

"Don't beat yourself up. I forgive you," Fife said with a smile.

The seventeen year old itched to run outside and breathe clean air. She felt Chickaree sit next to her. The warm presence reminded her this was not about her alone.

"Were you able to send a message to my parents and brother?" Fife said, hating how vulnerable she sounded.

She hadn't even said goodbye properly. So many things she would never be able to say… She should have spent more time with Tabor. She swallowed, suddenly terrified he'd resent her forever, if only to cope with the loss.

"Yes, that crumbled card in your pocket. It looked like a devil. Skylar said to reverse it."

Gratefulness accompanied by a profound sense of loss almost tore a sob out of Fife. She would never see them again. Mum, Dad, Tabor, Cat. Yet the rebels could not have done more. She forced cheer in her tone.

"Brilliant. I'll have to thank Skylar. Who'd have thought he was the tarot card type…" Fife paused, leaning into the former rebel leader, soaking up the warmth of her soft body. "I've always been partial to the name Deirdre. What's my cover story?"

Fife wanted to weep again when all she heard was silence. How was she supposed to talk someone if she didn't see their faces? She unfolded her legs and froze. She would never run again. The realization was like an searing knife ripping at her chest. She hadn't switched Nine's roofs for Seven's trees, no, now she was earthbound and clumsy. A cripple. Dependent. Alive. Fife forced the pain aside and a new smile on her trembling lips. She squeezed Chickaree's hands harder, now glad for her inability to produce tears.

"I know my first life is over," she said, "I'm really happy that my family knows I'm well. I can handle this, just please spell out what I cannot see. And tell whoever it was who threw acid or whatever in my face to destroy the cameras that I don't hate them."

Her face had seemed normal to the touch. Fife hoped she wasn't disfigured, but it could wait.

A strangled chuckle escaped Chickaree's throat. "Fix will be very relieved. He has been very worried." Chickaree chuckled again, but the sound had a strong edge to it and Fife could now hear how hard the woman had been trying to keep herself together. "Scratch that, he's been torturing himself over it. Please make a big deal of forgiving him because he'll do something stupid otherwise." Chickaree took a calming breath. "He goes by Pan now," she said, failing to keep a slight tremble out of her voice. Fife swallowed, realizing the woman was crying.

"Chickaree is a rather common name in Seven, so is Teal," Chickaree pursued, her voice a husky whisper, "we have kept our names. You can be who you wish, Deirdre. You can be my daughter or a friend. Your story is yours to tell."

Fife let her forehead fall against Chickaree's chest, humbled the woman would offer to be family.

Her story. She was good with those.

THE END.

I wouldn't call it a classic happy ending, but I never truly intended to kill them all.

Please review^^.