We are all quiet at breakfast the next morning. The trip back to 12 will take a few days. It feels weird, but the train almost feels like home now. I'm grateful to be out of the Capitol, out of the Tribute Center and its ghosts.

Haymitch is hungover. He's only been sober a week, but after he realized we hadn't convinced Snow, he drowned himself in the abundant liquor at the party. Last night was a night of mourning. Today, though, we have a different focus.

Rebellion.

Haymitch nurses a coffee and eats greasy food. Cinna is quiet. Effie, on the other hand, is her chipper self. She twitters on about the closing tour festivities in 12.

"Well, normally, the Victory Tour coincides with District Twelve's Harvest Festival, which is held in late fall. But as we all know, normally the Victory Tour starts in Twelve, not ends there. So they've delayed the Harvest Festival until our return!" Effie exclaims. They delayed the Harvest Festival? I've always thought the name was kind of stupid – it's not like we actually have crops to harvest in 12 – but its early winter now. I roll my eyes, to which Effie gives a disapproving tisk-tisk.

"So what's the game plan for Twelve?" I ask Haymitch. He lifts his head slightly from the table.

"Be yourselves. You're home," he grumbles. He's right. We aren't playing Snow's game anymore, and there is not rebellion in 12 to pacify even if we were. We can't exactly talk about revolution on the train, so we just all eat what we can manage of breakfast before going our separate ways for the afternoon. Effie takes over the table with plans for the closing ceremonies. Haymitch goes to his room to try and sober up. Cinna and Portia discuss the final party looks before heading to the garment car.

Peeta and I decide to wander the train together. Normally it's one of us or the other, sticking to our own turf, but today we walk hand-in-hand, pointing things out we've discovered along the way. Peeta is clearly more observant than me. I find when I'm wandering the only thing I can manage thinking of is putting one foot in front of the other. We end up in the lounge car.

I think back to early on the tour, when I wasn't sleeping and Peeta and I slept on the couch together. It was the first time we'd slept together since the cave. It felt like something settling into place. I drop on the couch. One wall is covered with books, and he grabs a couple that look interesting and brings them over. They are both antiques. Incredibly old, well before the Dark Days. I'm sure their presence is more for eye candy than actual reading material, but I open mine up.

My book talks about a traveler. A man who ends up shipwrecked in a foreign nation of tiny little people. I wonder what it is on the other side of the seas. The Capitol has told us Panem is all that remains of what was once a vast and sprawling world. I don't know that it's true, but I can only hope they are wrong. That somewhere beyond the limitlessness of the oceans, there are other nations that have found peace.

"Do you think we're alone?" I ask quietly. Conversation like this is forbidden, but at this point I'm beyond caring.

"No," Peeta smiles softly at me. "We're not alone. We have Haymitch and Effie and Portia and –" I cut him off.

"No, I mean… Do you think we're alone on Earth?" I ask more directly, my eyes still glued to an illustration in the old book. The pages smell like dust and decaying ink and glue. It's comforting in a strange way. It sort of smells like my family's plant book. I wonder if we've been making books the same way for hundreds and hundreds of years.

"I don't know," Peeta answers delicately. "I hope not."

I place the book on the table in front of us and lean back into Peeta, pressing my chest into his back.

"I'm going to miss you when we're home," he whispers, his hands running lazily through my hair.

"Me too," I say back. I'm certain my mother won't approve of any of this, even if our fake engagement somewhat legitimizes our behavior.

"My house is just so big and empty," he murmurs.

"Why didn't your family come up to the Village?" I ask. Peeta sighs.

"My mom says it's just too inconvenient to run the bakery from across town, and my dad has lived in the bakery since he was a kid. Mom's kind of resentful of everything I got after winning the Games. When I first got back, I showed up to help with the morning baking like I have my whole life, and she told me to leave. That being a victor means I don't have to do that anymore. Victor's Village is basically like a tiny prison for me, keeping me from my old life, my family. I'm not looking forward to going back," he confesses.

Guilt percolates inside me. At the same time I was rejecting Peeta, so was his family. I know I still have open wounds from the Games, and while my mother and sister tried to nurse me through them, he was alone. He was raw and empty and alone, pacing around a giant house. Left behind.

"I miss Prim," I say softly. I can't wait to be back. Peeta smiles.

"Yeah, me too actually. She was really my only friend up there," he confesses. He's told me stories about the two of them. Prim bringing him tea when he couldn't sleep. How he came home one day to find her trying to nurse a nest of birds that had been abandoned by their mother. How the two of them fed them worms and made them a house. How he helped her with her math homework. I have no idea how they spent so much time together without my noticing, but I was carefully and intentionally not looking at him. Spending all my time in the woods.

"I bet she's excited about the engagement," I say, and Peeta looks kind of sad. I turn my head back to him and our eyes meet. I know what he wants to ask. Is that still on? I don't have an answer. I just shrug and pull my legs into my chest. I rest my chin on my knees. I know this ride home is terrifying for him. The last time we went home, I disappeared, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling nervous. The emotion is bouncing between us, swelling and reverberating until I can't stand it.

I turn around and sit on my knees so we are at eye level. I meet Peeta's gaze. He looks back at me with blue pools filled with apprehension. I lean forward and kiss him. We aren't in one of our rooms and there are no cameras here. Effie is right down the hall. This kiss is outside the rules. I move my mouth with his. We know each other now. He knows if he caresses my bottom lip with his tongue, I'm not able to stifle a sigh. I know if I dip my tongue deep into him, his voice will grow deep. He'll cling to my legs. I can't offer him answers, but I can offer him this. I can show him that we know each other. I crawl into his lap.

We aren't supposed to be doing this. We are engaged, yes, but we are still two unsupervised teenagers. But when he pulls my hair, I press myself into him and he rewards me with a groan in the back of his throat. He stands on his knees, me still in his lap, and leans forward so that he's lies me on the couch. He drops on top of me and moves his mouth down to my neck. I whimper quietly as he pulls my skin with his teeth, and it's so sensitive I can't tell if I want him to stop or do it more.

"When we go home, do you still want me to do this?" he asks, his mouth never leaving my skin, his hands sliding under my shirt. I bite my lip and nod vehemently. "Do you still want me to kiss you here?" he whispers, dropping his head to my stomach and kissing my hip.

"Mmhmm," I hum. I tug and pull at his shirt until I bring his mouth back up to mine. We kiss until we run out of air. My lips tingle, swollen and sensitive, but it just makes everything feel that much better. I sigh and Peeta covers my mouth, worried Effie will hear us, but never stops kissing my skin, focusing on my neck, my collarbone, my jaw, my hands. I feel like he's everywhere, setting every bit of me on fire. I'm covered in sweat and panting. Peeta collapses on top of me, and the weight of him feels reassuring.

"I need to shower," I exhale, still trying to catch my breath.

"Okay," he replies, not moving or making any effort to let me up.

"We're going to get in so much trouble," I whisper, and he muffles a laugh in my shoulder.

The rest of the train ride to 12 we don't have much opportunity to talk about the rebellion. At one pit stop, Haymitch tells us we are better to wait until 12, so we do. The festivities in 12 are a few days long, so we don't see much of Cinna, Portia, or Effie. Haymitch, Peeta and I play cards and chat about home. Haymitch keeps trying to talk to us about mentoring, but every time he brings it up I shut down. I'm not sure if Plutarch lied to me, or if Prim is actually safe, but even thinking about the Quarter Quell makes me feel sick.

Behind closed doors, Peeta keeps me distracted. Things between us keep pushing forward, but it's bittersweet. He kisses me like he thinks he may never kiss me again. I kiss him like I'm afraid I'm going to push him away. I'm terrified of nights without him, of the demons that haunt my sleep. I don't want to leave him alone in his big, empty house.

When the train pulls into 12, we both let out a shaky breath.

Home.