Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead & The Hunger Games or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I recently watched The Hunger Games and well, what else was I supposed to do? It just screamed for a caryl au. In terms of the Hunger Games universe, I am thinking this could easily fit in as a replacement for the actual canon events in the first book. With Carol in place of Katniss as the inspiration for the revolution. I am also ignoring the age rule in terms of the Reaping and keeping their ages within TWD canon.

Warnings: adult language, adult content, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, canon appropriate violence.

Even the Phoenix (needs ashes to rise)

Chapter Two

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait!" Ceasar squawked, watching the replay as Carol saved Glenn Rhee and Maggie Greene, the oddball tributes turned lovebirds from District Four. "Did I see that right?" Ceasar hummed, squinting dramatically back at the live feed as Carol extended a hand to both of them. Casting down her weapon to pull them both upright. Leaning in to impart something that the microphones couldn't quite make out.

"This is more than just an alliance, isn't it? How fascinating! Is this another play? What is her plan? What is it?" Ceasar chirped, magenta suit flashing in the bright lights as he fanned himself dramatically. "I am dying over here. Literally. It is like the hunger games of my anxiety levels right now."

The conversation paused when both announcers watched as the filthy, blood stained couple nodded. All small smiles and haunted eyes as Mika and the other children peeked out from around the sleek curve of Carol's black and white survival suit.

"I told you not to rule her out, didn't I?" Ceasar gloated, cutting his co-anchor off before the man's mouth could even so much as fall open. His blinding grin only growing all the huger when Templesmith's chin wobbled in annoyance.

"Sit back and watch the Queen of these games conquer, everybody!"

They didn't have a chance to speak more on what had transpired in the train car until after they'd arrived at the Capitol. And while he wasn't entirely sure why, it ended up being him that sought her out. Clinging to those smattering of words like a drowning man to a life preserver.

She simply watched him – waiting. Knowing. Any other time it would have angered him. The way she'd pierced through the familiar numbness he'd existed in for so long. But the truth was that once brought up, whispered into the dark like sweet nothings from one lover to the next, he couldn't get it out of his head.

"Maybe it's time that changed…"

The day before the final training session – the one that was performed for the year's sponsors before the scores could be tallied – found him pacing around and around the foot of her bed as the days left to them grew short. Jammed to the brim with interviews and training. Sponsors and commitments that took up much of their time during the day.

"You ain't never going to win," he remarked finally, watching as she tried to shrug the soreness out of her shoulders from her evening sparring lesson with Morales. "Not like that, not like they do."

"Then what do you suggest?" she asked, short hair feathered soft around her temples. Expression sharp and alluring in the muted city-light.

"I've watched you in the rink, at the stations testing your skills, and 'yer passable. Talented even if we had more time to train 'ya up - but all that ain't you. It ain't how 'yet gonna get through this," he explained, running a calloused hand through his hair. Stupid tie half unravelled as he yanked at his collar in annoyance.

"You need to be invisible, you need to go into that training session tomorrow and trick everybody into thinkin' 'yer weak. Some little miss homebody, grieving widow, mother-whatever. It doesn't matter," he rasped, unable to so easily dismiss the way the light did her more than a few favors – figure cut, lithe and soft in the distant haze of sharp orange and blinding light.

"You need to get the lowest score you can, without anyone catching on. You need to make sure that when shit goes down in that arena, they won't be comin' after you first. Remember. You aren't a threat. You can't be or else they'll band together and pick you off like they're all some big happy family. We need all the time we can get to make sure the rest of the game goes as planned," he inferred guardedly, all too aware of who might be listening as he kept his tone quiet.

"I've always been invisible," she replied softly, stopping him in his tracks as she extended a hand, palm up and unthreatening until he took it cautiously. Letting himself be drawn down to sit beside her as her smile remained small, but went all the way to her eyes with the truth of it.

"People have always underestimated me, Daryl. That's why this is going to work. Why it has to work. Not just for me. Or you. But for everyone. It's long past time for a change, don't you think? Especially one for the better?"

It wasn't until later that evening that he finally realized why he'd hated her so much in the beginning. Why the very sight of her in that train car had nearly turned him inside out.

After all, it wasn't every day you met eyes with the better half of your own reflection.

The person you could have been if you'd only listened to what the world had been trying to tell you the day you sold your soul to an unsympathetic regime that glittered – distant and cold like the most precious of jewels. Elegantly unmoved as the Districts that worked to keep it fed withered and wept.

That the revolution was already here.

And all it'd ever needed was a voice.

He watched the small smile spread in the midnight-dark as she clutched the cloth-wrapped bundle to her chest. It was the faded floral print of the same dress she'd worn that day on the train now bunched between her bloody fingers as she looked skyward, tired eyes gleaming bright.

His drink sat untouched on the table in front of him as he watched the missive disappear in into the thick undergrowth. Her deception was so clever he found even himself sucking in a surprised hiss when delicate fingers wandered. Weaving almost flirtatiously between the vines until the tips feathered across the underside of a cluster of ebony berries wreathed around the entrance of the cave they'd taken shelter in for the night.

Removed as he was from the crowd, the startled hush was audible from balcony to balcony as she played with the underside of the prickly leaves. Almost as if she wasn't aware of the deadly poison that beaded clear and bright across the Nightshade's spines before she quirked a brow and turned. Tucking the bundle into the front of her jacket as the announcers quickly seized the bait and began speculating if Carol's attentions on the Nightshade vines were allusions to a possible end to this tribute's very intriguing story.

'Atta girl.

Now it was his turn.

By the time the Capitol calmed down long enough to consider getting mentor Daryl Dixon's thoughts on 'this latest development', he was long gone. Communicator and bloody tracking device left neatly in the front pocket of the resplendent suit jacket he'd thrown across his chair. Buying himself time to collect Jacqui and Patricia before they sent the Peace Keepers after them.

For the message contained within the last gift may have only been four simple words. But they were all the signal she needed. It was time for the final act. The steep climax that threw itself out into the straining dark just before the story wrapped itself down for a close.

Because the final gift he'd sent to her was no ordinary piece of bread.

Rather, it was what had been hidden within it that made it special.

"For the curtain call. - DD"

In the aftermath, the Capitol reported that everyone perished in the resulting explosion. That after receiving a defective stun grenade, Tribute Carol Peletier of District Twelve died alongside the eight tributes from five different districts she'd reportedly been protecting at the time.

As to the whereabouts of mentor and past Hunger Games champion Daryl Dixon, the Capitol strangely had no answer. As one might imagine, there were more than a few rumors circulating amongst the elite circles. One of a sordid love affair gone wrong. Another of an ill-fated accident involving open water and more than a few bottles of whiskey. Even more shocking, was that of the heresy of a surprise elopement – but on that subject those supposedly in the know would go into little detail.

But the people in the Districts began to tell a different story. They spoke of a female phoenix rising from the ashes of a nation on the cusp of change. They spoke of an unlikely love that had blossomed between mentor and tribute. And of a plan that was hatched amidst the whisper of bed sheets and indulgent sighs.

District 13 however, had no need for story or rumor. Not when they had the very heart of the revolution living and breathing amongst them. Giving hope to the nation as one by one the districts began to rebel – crying out in one voice for a future each and every one of them was willing to fight for. Die for.

For they called her the Phoenix. And him the ash that curled at her feet. A partnership that had given them new life and the strength to rise tall. Fanning the flames of a future that now seemed but a revolution away.

May the odds be ever in their favor.

A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.