First, thank you to all my readers no matter how few. And second, I'm still trying to get a feel for chapter length. This one is longer than my other ones (which I now realize were very short), but I'm still not sure if it's long enough. So bear with me while I get that figure out!

It's like we're on our way to the Games again. Haymitch and Peeta and I. All stuck on a train. Even Effie is headed back with us. The only difference is the addition of Greasy Sae. She only got to come with us because I threw a fit until they agreed. I needed at least one person I could talk to who wasn't drunk, or over-excitable. And I wasn't sure what was between Peeta and me anymore. So I didn't know if I was allowed to take advantage of his time with my complaints.

The inside of the train looks exactly like the one that carried us to the arena and then through the victory tour. I wander through the dining car. Same table, same chairs. But it can't be the same train. Most were destroyed during the rebellion along with the tracks. Effie warned us after we boarded that we would be stopping often since there are several places along the way where the tracks have been destroyed. The people assigned by President Paylor to work on the tracks have tried their best to make quick, temporary repairs to allow trains to get by, but each one has to be rebuilt for each train.

I reach my room and go inside, happy to be out of earshot of Effie's unending trill about how Peeta and I have grown "so, so, so much!" I go straight to the bathroom and program the shower to a light drizzle. The water isn't too hot, and it feels good on my raw skin. I stand there until my hands get wrinkly, not even bothering to wash anything. I wrap myself in a plush towel, using another one for my hair and go sit on the bed. Already, I'm bored. Already, I'm wishing to be back in District 12. I hadn't realized how much 12 felt like home again until I was on this train, wishing to be back in my house with Buttercup sleeping in the sun. I take the memory book out of the bag I packed; we had to bring our own clothes, there would be no silly outfits waiting for us in the closets here.

There's a knock at the door and I look up to see Haymitch come in, a bottle of something brown locked tight in his fist. He takes a seat next to me and I notice his usual repugnant odor is poorly hidden underneath a fresh, lemony scent.

"Haymitch!" I say, astonished. "Did you make a discovery today?"

He looks at me, confused.

"They're called showers," I continue, being a bit more condescending than I should.

He gives me a nasty look and then frowns at the bottle in his hand. "Effie promised me access to the liquor car if I promised to bathe."

I should have guessed. Haymitch wasn't one to be voluntarily hygienic, and there's not much he wouldn't do for a drop of alcohol.

"What's that?" he asks, pointing to the Memory Book.

I flip it over so he can see the cover.

"Ah, yes. Therapy." He holds his bottle out to me. "My way is easier, sweetheart."

I push his hand away. "Is there a reason you came to see me?"

"I'd like to add a few pages to your diary there," he says, gesturing to the Memory Book.

"I didn't know you knew anyone worth remembering." I know it's a low blow, but I've already been rubbed the wrong way by having to go back to the Capitol, the one place that houses the worst of my memories. Plus, he's made me mad by degrading my Memory Book to a diary.

Haymitch takes a long drink from his bottle before staring at it. "Twenty-three years of mentoring puts you in the paths of some interesting people. I'd say there's at least forty-six worth remembering."

I realize he's talking about the tributes he mentored. I hand him the book. "You can give it back to me when you're done," I say.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." He takes the book and then shuffles out of the room.

I realize I'm still in my towel and guess I should be embarrassed that I sat here like this with Haymitch around, but I'm suddenly too tired to care. I toss the towels in a pile on the floor and climb between the sheets. They're much softer than the ones at home and much to my dismay I drift off easily, allowing the nightmares to consume my thoughts.

When I wake in the morning, I can't remember my dream, but I'm struck with the sudden fear that I'm alone. That everyone I know- Effie, Haymitch, Peeta, Greasy Sae, Geevee—is gone. I'm paralyzed with terror. I can't move my arms or my legs. I try to open my mouth to scream but my lips are frozen shut. The walls are moving, closing in on me. And all I can do is watch as the ceiling begins to drip hot, thick blood onto the mattress. I manage to get my eyes closed and when I open them, the world is dark, I'm sitting straight up in my bed and a horrific shrieking is reverberating through the train. I'm relieved to find that I can move my limbs and I clamp my hands over my ears. If only that terrible noise would stop. It's then that I realize it's me. The horrible screeching is coming from somewhere deep in my chest, working its way past my lips. I stop screaming and bite my cheek, hoping I didn't wake anyone. But it's too late to hope because I hear footsteps coming down the hall toward my room.

"Katniss?" The door to my room opens and Peeta's head pops in.

I can barely see his face in the darkness, but he suddenly looks embarrassed.

"Oh, sorry," he says, shutting the door.

I look down. Oh. I hadn't put anything on after dumping my towels by the bed and I'm naked. I feel my way to my bag in the dark and pull on the first thing I find.

"You can come in now," I call, hoping Peeta is still out there. The door opens and a thin snake of light from the hallway shines on the carpet for a moment, then it's gone, as the door swings shut.

"Peeta?" I squint in the dark, trying to find him.

Someone sits on the bed and I scream.

"Sh! It's okay it's just me," he whispers from the blackness.

"Where are you?" I feel around until I touch his hair, then his face.

"You found me," he says, his voice muffled by my hand. He takes it off his face and holds it in both of his. "Are you okay? I heard you screaming."

I nod then realize he can't see me. "I'm fine."

"Nightmares?"

"Yes."

He seems to sense that I don't want to talk about it and I feel him get up to leave.

"Wait, don't go," I say pathetically.

"I'm just turning the lights on."

I listen to Peeta stumble around until there's a click and the room is illuminated. He walks back over to the bed, sits down, takes a good look at me, and laughs.

"What?" I look down. Only one of my arms made it through a sleeve. The other one is tucked into my pocket. Well it's better than being naked. I adjust myself.

"Was it about Prim?" he asks.

"What?"

"Your nightmare. Was it about Prim?"

I shake my head. "No. This one was… lonely." That's about the only way to sum it up.

Peeta nods. "I have those, too."

We sit there in silence for a long minute. "Well," Peeta says finally. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

I nod. "Thanks."

He reaches over to squeeze my hand and leaves. As I pull the sheets back up to my chin I feel a thin wisp of hope that maybe the boy with the bread will return to me after all.