In district twelve, everyone knows everyone. Or, at least, everyone knows me and Peeta.

So now I'm regretting my decision to have her at home, everyone is at our door, they might as well just break it down, barge in and attack us with their flowers and gifts.

They don't want to attack us, I assure myself. They just want to see my baby girl, they just want to congratulate us. They're just neighbours with flowers and baking and tiny sweaters they've spent time knitting. They're our friends, they want to see us happy, me happy.

But all I want is to hold her and stare at her, I don't want her to leave my arms or my sight. I want to protect her.

When I was pregnant, when she was inside of me, it was easy to protect her. I dreaded the day that she would be outside of me, in a world that could harm her, that could take her away from me. And now, here she is, big blue eyes staring up at me, and I've never been more scared in my life.

"Haymitch is manning the door. If anyone knows how to get rid of people quickly..."

I hadn't even heard him come back in the room, but he's at the foot of the bed, blue eyes fixed intently on me. We haven't been alone since she was born. The midwife left maybe an hour ago, but Greasy Sae and her granddaughter Mari were here with me until twenty minutes ago. Then they went to help Peeta deal with the visitors, and now I guess they're either helping Haymitch or they've gone home.

I try to get my thoughts straight in my head, I look from Peeta's concerned blue eyes, to my daughter's sleepy face, then back at Peeta. And he looks so worried, why are people always so worried about me? And that's when I burst into tears.

He's at my side in an instant, holding me, holding both of us. I bury my head in his shoulder. "I don't know how to do this." I whisper, fighting to regain control of myself. "I don't know how Peeta."

He takes my face in his hands, forces me to look at him, straight into his kind blue eyes that our daughter has now inherited. "Katniss," He says firmly. "I don't know how either. I've never raised a child before. I've never been a father. But we're going to be fine. She's going to be fine." He wipes the tears from my face, his eyes never leaving mine. "Alright?"

This is why I need Peeta. He is my voice of reason, my sanity, just as I am his. When the flashbacks leave him breathless and half crazed, I am the one who holds and calms him. He is the one who I reach for in the dark, when the nightmares leave me screaming. We would be lost without each other.

I take several deep breaths and use my free hand, the one not holding my daughter, to wipe the rest of the tears from my face. He lets me go and sits back on the edge of the bed, although one of his hands rests comfortingly on my arm. Then he smiles at me, and I manage to smile back. "Alright." I reply.

"Good." He says, "And I believe the first thing parents are supposed to do are give their child a name." He's smiling while he says it, but there's some tension in his voice, and his hand on my arm feels heavy, like he's worried I might break down crying again. Of course, I might, if I hadn't already thought this through. I already know her name. But I haven't told him, we haven't even talked about it. I knew if I asked he would suggest names that I could never use. Names that hold too much sadness in them. I will have to say my daughter's name aloud name every day, and if I have to use one of those names...

"Have you thought about it?" He asks. His smile has faded somewhat. "I thought maybe a flower..."

"Yes." I agree, cutting him off before he suggests one of those forbidden names. "I thought about that too." And now I'm worried that he won't agree, that he won't like it. A memory from some long ago time creeps into my head, how silly I thought the names of the district two tributes were. I push the thought away before it can mutate into horrible memories, and force myself back into the present.

"Dandelion." I say.

He's surprised, I can tell from the look on his face. This wasn't what he was expecting. But in a split second he's covered up his surprise and he's smiling. "Dandelion?"

"Danny." I continue, "We can call her Danny."

"Danny," He repeats, and his smile widens.

"You like it?" I ask, although I know that even if he doesn't he will agree with me.

"It's perfect."