DISCLAIMER: All of the places and characters in this story belong to Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this story. It only serves to (hopefully) entertain.

~The Guardian~

I don't need a test to tell me what's been happening with my body these past few weeks. It's obvious. I'm nauseous all the time. My breasts are swollen and achy. I feel like I need to nap every two hours.

And I'm late. Three weeks late, in fact.

I want to cry.

The tears sting my eyes as I bring my hand down to my middle. I feel awful for attempting to will it away, but I can't help it. Even though Peeta has wanted this for so long, I didn't, and still don't. I never wanted this. Yes, I had agreed to try for a child, but I never actually thought it would happen, especially not so soon.

I'm scared, terrified. This simply can't be happening.

"Katniss," I hear Peeta call suddenly, "dinner's ready."

I take a deep breath before heading downstairs. I've known of my condition for a little over a week now, and I've tried to tell him. I just simply couldn't. Part of me wanted something to go wrong so I could pretend this never happened, but it hasn't, and I can't hide this from Peeta forever. He'll figure it out eventually. I have to tell him.

I find him in the kitchen, noting the irony of him placing some bread on the table.

"Hey," he says with a smile, but said smile fades when I say nothing. "Are you alright?"

I shake my head, but still say nothing.

"Katniss, you look like you're about to faint. What's wrong?"

The words won't come out. I try to speak, but I can't say it. If I say it, then it means it's real and there's no going back.

"Peeta, I-" I stammer. It's all I can muster. I bring my hand gently down to my middle and look at him.

His eyes widen with understanding.

"Are...are you sure?"

When I nod, he stares at me for a few moments without moving a muscle, almost as if he's in disbelief. Then he walks across the room and falls to his knees directly in front of me. He wraps his arms around my middle and gently rests his head against my belly. I can hear his breathing change; it becomes shallow and uneven. He's crying.

"Thank you," he whispers. It's barely even audible. I don't know if he's talking to me, to our unborn child, or to no one at all. Regardless, he's happy. He's beyond happy.

Why can't I be happy? Why is this a precious miracle to Peeta, but a recipe for disaster to me? I can't be happy about this when I'm so horrified at the thought of becoming a mother.

I can't do this.

The way we sleep suddenly begins to change. Ever since the Games, Peeta has held me while we lay together in bed at night. He wraps his arms around my shoulders while I rest my head on his chest. It makes me feel safe, needed, loved. It feels like he's protecting me, guarding me, just like he always has. But now it's different. He still keeps one arm around my shoulder, but he now rests one across my middle. He has two to protect now.

That alone should help me feel better about bringing a child into this world. Peeta will never let anything bad happen to him or her. Neither would I, of course, but it's different with me. I can't let the past go. I can't stop thinking about the Games. What if they come back? What will happen to this little person inside of me? What if we can't keep him or her safe?

I can't do this.

I have the teeniest little bump now and Peeta keeps touching it every chance he gets. I smile when he does. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if he can tell the smiles are fake. I hope he can't. I don't want to ruin his happiness.

He's started to paint the room next to ours. He's doing a mural of some kind, but I can't tell what it is just yet. I've asked him what he's planning, but he won't tell me. It's a surprise, he says. He always says it with pure joy in his eyes.

Why is he so excited? Isn't he scared, too? How can he not be? After everything we've been through, everything we've seen and done...I mean, he has to be at least a little concerned, right?

I'm jealous of him. I really am. I wish I was able to embrace the idea that we'll have a daughter or son in a few months. Furthermore, I'm convinced that all of the pregnant women I've ever come across during my life were liars. They always talked about how wonderful pregnancy is, how rewarding and joyous it can be. They never said it was scary. They never said it was terrifying.

But it is.

Or maybe I'm just too damaged to be normal.

I can't do this.

We've learned it's a girl. She moves now. I can feel her kicking and turning over. I can feel her beating heart.

I want to scream.

Peeta doesn't know how much this is tearing me apart. He just continues to paint our daughter's room and smile. Sometimes when we're laying in bed at night, he rests his head and hands on my swollen belly so he can feel her move. He whispers to her about how much he loves her and how he can't wait to meet her. And when it's time for us to go to sleep, he continues to guard us both. He wraps one arm around my shoulder and the other around our daughter.

All through this, I can't help but think of my mother. Was she this scared during her pregnancies? The Games were still around when she went through this. Before she had me, did the thought ever cross her mind that I would participate in the Games not once, but twice? When she was pregnant with Prim, did she ever think that the growing life inside of her would perish a mere thirteen years later?

If she knew these things, she would have been scared. But she didn't, so she was probably happy, thrilled to become a mother.

I, on the other hand, have lived the Games. I've witnessed children die of both starvation and murder. I was almost one of them on multiple occasions.

That can't happen to my little girl. Peeta's little girl. Our daughter.

I'm so scared that it will.

I can't do this.

In a month, she'll be in my arms. How long will it be after that until Peeta and I have to tell her about the Games?

The Games may be a thing of the past, but in a sense, they really aren't. They'll always be here, lingering over our heads like a heavy raincloud ready to burst, and I swore I'd never bring a child into a world filled with such horror. She won't have to live through reapings or the Games, but she'll have to live knowing that her parents were part of them. She'll have to know we killed people and that the meadow just beyond our property is actually a graveyard.

How can this child live peacefully knowing such terrible things? How am I supposed to give that burden to an innocent little girl?

Even the baby's room doesn't bring me peace. Peeta has finished painting it. He's created a beautiful mural of an evergreen forest, much like the one I once considered to be my true home. I pretend to be happy, I pretend to love it, but it's all an act. I worry about her. Will she like it, even after she learns about the first time we were in the Games – Games that took place in a forest just like it?

I can't do this.

My body is being ripped in two; I'm sure of it. This has only been going on for hours, but it feels like it's been years since I've been laying here, drenched in sweat with excruciating pain consuming my abdomen.

People are saying things, but they sound so distant, so far away. There's a woman telling me to push, to keep going, but I can't. I'm too scared.

And Peeta...I swear he's here somewhere, too. He's talking to me, almost as if he's reassuring me, but I can barely make out his words.

"...look...me...okay...Katniss...look..."

I keep my eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pain washes through me. I can hear myself scream, but that, too, sounds like it's miles away. Is it possible to hear pain? It must be, because all of these sounds around me blur together. Nothing make sense; nothing at all.

Until a hand tightens around mine.

"Katniss, look at me. Look at me, love."

Peeta.

Despite how natural it feels to keep my eyes shut in an attempt to will away the pain, I force them open. I look to my right, and there he is. He looks so calm. Once again I find myself envious of how he handles things.

"You have to push, love."

I shake my head. "I can't..."

"Yes, you can. It'll be okay."

He seems so sure and I want to believe him. I don't like to show my fears in front of other people, but there's no one I'd rather be vulnerable in front of than Peeta. I let my guard down.

"I'm scared, Peeta..."

He reaches out with his free hand and gently brushes it against my face.

"I know, love. I'm scared, too. But it'll be okay, I promise. You can do this, Katniss. You can do this."

Another wave of pain hurdles through my body, but my eyes don't close as they've be instinctively doing ever since this began. Instead, they remain transfixed on Peeta's. For a brief moment, I find myself lost in the icy blue pools I fell in love with years before. His eyes are so full of excitement, of concern, of faith, of love. He'll never stop protecting me, guarding me, or loving me. He'll be there with me through the good, the bad, and everything in between.

I can do this.

I continue to grasp his hand, and he just holds it tightly as I begin to push. It hurts. It hurts so much, but I keep going. I push again. And again. And again. And, for a fraction of a second, there's nothing. There's no more pain. The room is silent.

And then, out of nowhere, there's a breath. Then a whimper. And then a cry.

She's here.

The nurse brings her to me. I'm reluctant to take her at first, but the moment she's in my arms, I'm in love. My fears and uncertainties fade away into nothing as I hold my daughter, and somehow I know that this is how it's supposed to feel. I feel so powerful, so needed, so happy. I've never seen something so beautiful in my entire life. She gazes up at me with her father's eyes. Peeta's eyes.

Peeta.

I look over at him. The tears of joy are falling freely down his face as he looks down at me and his little girl. I smile at him, and for the first time in a long time, it's a genuine smile. I'm finally as happy as he is, if not more, and it feels wonderful.

"I love you," I breathe.

"Oh, Katniss, I love you, too."

I gesture for him to take her and he doesn't waste any time. He slowly scoops her up into his arms, and the sight of Peeta holding our daughter for the first time makes me want to cry. The way he holds her is so gentle and tender, but there's a certain strength about it that shows how determined he is to guard her from harm and keep her safe, always.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he whispers to her. "I'm your daddy. I love you so much, little one. I love you."

Our gazes meet once more, and he smiles through his tears of happiness.

"Thank you," he whispers. This time, I know he's talking to me.

"No," I say, "thank you."

"For what?"

"For her. For this. For being there for me. For keeping me safe. For loving me."

He smiles and slowly leans down to kiss me on the cheek.

"I'll never stop."

I know he won't. He'll never change. And as long as he's with me, I know everything will be alright. Our daughter will be okay. She'll be safe and loved, and so will I.

And I honestly couldn't ask for anything more.

Author's Note: Even though I've only previously written fanfics for Harry Potter, the recent Hunger Games movie reminded me of how much I love the series and its characters, particularly the Everlark ship. This was my first Hunger Games fic and I was initially reluctant to write it; I never thought I'd write for more than one fandom. But the idea simply wouldn't leave me alone, and I must admit I had a great time with it! It was a nice change of pace to get out of Hogwarts for a little while. Hopefully more Hunger Games fics will follow this one. I have a lot of ideas, so let's see how they all pan out. :)

Much thanks to the lovely MissingMommy for all of her help on this story!