Chapter 10

I focus my gaze on the small clock at the end of the room. Its wooden hands tick shakily around as the minutes past and each tick sounds louder than the previous one. The rhythm it gives me is soothing, keeping me grounded and yet at the same time, floating just a few centimetres above the pain of the contractions.

My mind has figured out a way to cope. I imagine that each contraction is a balloon that grows and grows and grows; then, as soon as the contraction ends it pops signifying the release of the pain. I long for the balloon to pop and the more painful the contractions get, the larger it has to grow before finally popping. On the other hand, the larger it grows, the more satisfying the release of pain is.

"Breathe, Effie." Dr Evans reminds me from the corner of the room where she is busy setting up the old surgical equipment.

I give her a sheepish look which she returns with a disappointed one. I'm trying so hard to be outside of myself that I forget to breathe every once in a while.

I feel a cool, wet cloth being pressed against my forehead and I breathe out in relief. The hospital section is constantly high in temperature to make sure patients are always warm, which I do not get much benefit from as I am sweating bucket loads. The blankets have pooled at my feet, a result from me frantically kicking them off myself just a few minutes earlier.

I grit my way through another contraction and all the way through it, I feel a subtle coolness being applied now and then. The contraction is a lot more painful than the other ones and I feel a short, strangled sound unwillingly leave my mouth.

The cloth is replaced by something harder which presses lightly against my forehead. I open my eyes to find myself staring into concerned, guarded as usual, grey eyes. I try to give Haymitch a smile but it ends up more as a grimace as I am pulled back within me, into the pain which centred itself at my stomach.

I can only describe it as a multitude of needles being repeatedly stabbed into the same spot. The pain is somehow mocking me and I don't like it.

I reach out a hand aimlessly and grip Haymitch's hand as soon as he links his fingers in my own. The balloon bursts and I sigh as I am finally able to open my eyes.

"Lasted 40 seconds." Haymitch mutters, glancing at the clock. "7 minutes apart."

"Almost there." A nurse says as she jots down the times. "Keep breathing Mrs Abernathy. Try imagining that you are blowing out candles. Dr Evans, I'll go and collect the epidural."

I do as the nurse says, breathing and panting as best as I can. When the next contraction arrives, a longer strangled sound leaves me and Haymitch has to breathe with me and force me to look in his eyes.

"Hee, hee, ha, ha." He says and I can't help thinking how ridiculous this would look in a different circumstance. "42 seconds. 7 minutes apart." He states. I sigh, feeling my body collapse stiffly in exhaustion. A glance at the clock tells me that I have been in labour for about 7 hours now.

Haymitch rubs his eyes and leans back in his chair. While he still holds my hands, his shoulders drop in exhaustion and I feel a little pity for him, knowing that he hasn't gotten much sleep lately.

"Haymitch, you should go and rest-"

"No."

I immediately quiet down knowing that anything I say to try and persuade him will fall on deaf ears.

"You okay?" He asks, opening his previously closed eyes and giving me a once over. "You need anything?"

I place a hand on my throat instinctively and he immediately reaches out to grab the isotonic drink from the counter and unscrew the lid for me. I allow him to place it on my lips and tip it down for me as my own arms felt like melted cheesecake.

"Are you hungry?" He asks afterwards.

I shake my head having lost my appetite a while ago. "No, thank you." I mutter and the few words seem to take everything out of me.

"Rest." Haymitch says to me, the concern once again subtly edging its way into his gaze. "You've got at least 5 more minutes until the next one."

I nod, shifting myself nearer to him. He places the pillow on top of his right leg and I lay my head down, my arms wrapping around his left leg. We both manage to dose off for those few, precious minutes before my next contraction started.

We end up in this routine; a contraction would start and Haymitch would time it before we both rested during the time before the next one.

2 hours later and my contractions are now lasting 60 seconds each and are 5 minutes apart from each other.

"9cm dilated." Dr Evans snaps her gloves off her hands and chucks them in the bin. "Nurse Leona, check all equipment for complete sterilization please. And prepare a suction bulb on the side." She jots down a few notes quickly on a sheet of paper before putting on new gloves that a different nurse hands to her.

"Almost?" I ask her, holding my breath in anticipation.

For once, she doesn't reprimand me but simply gives an encouraging look. "Almost." She nods.

I glance at Haymitch who gives me a short, brief look. I can tell that he is worried but there is nothing I can do to comfort him. I feel anxiety crawling up myself.

The next contraction I get is unbearable but with it comes the weird desire to push. I tell this to Dr Evans who gets into action immediately.

"Pull you legs up and hold onto your thighs as tightly as you can Effie. Haymitch, if you can assist her please."

I pull up my right leg and wrap an arm around my thigh while Haymitch pulls up and grips my left leg. I let out a breath and look towards Dr Evans for guidance, my heart beating rapidly inside of my chest.

She catches my eye with a hesitant smile, "Next contraction, if you feel like you want to push, then do it." She says and I nod.

It take a few minutes but when the next contraction hits, I push as hard as I can. I repeat this again. And again. And again. And nothing seems to be happening.

Dr Evans whispers hurriedly with a nurse, her gaze flying frantically from me to the other nurses.

"What's going on?" I ask quickly, my voice rising uncontrollably. "What...why?"

Dr Evans frowns. "The baby isn't coming out. You're crowning but it isn't getting any further than that. We're going to have to cut you open."

"Do you have the right...medical stuff to do that?" Haymitch asks from beside me and I almost jump in surprise at the sound of his gruff voice.

She gives Haymitch a quick glance. "No. But there is nothing else that we can do. Nurse Leona, can I have the scissors and suction bulb. Prepare a needle and thread as well but get someone else to do it. I need an extra pair of hands."

The scene in the hospital seems to speed up as nurse after nurse rummages through draw after draw, yelling orders at each other. I turn to Haymitch in the chaos, barely seeing him as my eyes are droopy with pain and exhaustion.

"Your baby." I whisper, tiredly. He reaches round me to grip my other leg to allow my own arm to fall and rest by my side.

"Eff?"

"Love this baby Haymitch." I mutter. "If I don't make it-"

"Please don't say that Effie."

"If I don't make it," I repeat. "Please Haymitch, love this baby. Your baby. Promise me, Haymitch."

"Eff." He says and the word comes out strangled and drenched in desperation.

"Promise me."

"I promise." He replies and I am satisfied.

I'm okay God. I'm okay with whatever your plan is.

It all seems to happen very quickly after that. They cut me wider open and it takes a while to stop the blood from flowing. Then I am pushing and pushing and pushing.

It takes a few, terrifying seconds for the cry of a newborn baby to fill the room but his cries fill up my heart. Dr Evans doesn't have to confirm to me that is a boy, I just know. My baby has just come into the world. My flesh and blood. I feel Haymitch's hands leave my legs and instead grip my arm softly and I quickly reword my words. Our flesh and blood.

"Oh my God." Haymitch mutters, his gaze glued on the spot where our baby is being cleaned and wrapped up in a fluffy blue towel.

Thank you God, Runs repeatedly through my mind, as the tears drop softly from my eyes to the bottom of my cheeks. Almost 6,5 years ago, I fell in love with a lonely, attractive drunkard from District twelve and 5,4 years ago, he fell in love with me. Now our love is conceived in flesh, bones and ligaments and it's scary to think that we are partially responsible for this new life that has just entered the world. This soul that has been knitted together in my womb, breathing with the breath of the creator.

I fall back into the bed, a tired sigh leaving my lips. I've done it. I can see my baby now and rest with him lying in my arms.

But it doesn't end there.

The pain of labour feels like nothing compared to the pain that comes while Dr Evans stitches me up, after bringing out the after birth. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop my own cries from escaping my mouth in an attempt to not scare my baby. It is a useless attempt as the sounds still erupt from me and I dig my fingers into my palms to try and divert the pain elsewhere.

My other hand clenches Haymitch's and my poor husband still allows me to squeeze painfully onto his hand even though I am sure it must be sore from being the source of pain release for so long.

"It's almost over now." He tries to comfort me, though his own voice is shaking slightly. "Just hang in there baby, you're almost done."

It takes a good 10 minutes before Dr Evans is finished and she numbs me straight afterwards with an injection of morphine. Haymitch mutters bitterly beside me about why they didn't think to do that before.

A nurse comes and lowers our baby into my hands and I finally get to gaze upon his face. I have never seen anything more magnificent and beautiful in my life and my praise went to the Lord all over again. His complexion was a soft, tan cream, in between Haymitch's olive tones and my pale complexion. His eyelashes curl softly against the very tops of his cheeks and I can already imagine the handsome man he would turn out to be. His eyes flutter slightly and I catch glimpses of grey. He looks like Haymitch. Undeniably. His eyes, his mouth, his nose.

I turn to see my husband looking down at our baby with an expression of complete...adore. I have seen the expression on his face before but now it is completely clear and unguarded. He looks like he would be willing to die for this little human and protect him with his own life. I wonder if my face reflects the same thing.

"I can't believe we..." He trails off before a small smile plants itself on his face. "Thank you Eff. I never thought I would be..damn, I love you so much." He mutters, placing a kiss on my forehead softly, his fingers quickly brushing away at his cheeks.

His tears are like a chain reaction that causes my own tears to start falling down my cheeks. I never thought I would be here either with a man-a husband-that I loved and now, our very own baby. "So daddy, what are you going to name him?" I ask, cheerily.

Haymitch takes a few moments to answer, gazing thoughtfully at our baby's face. "He's a Thatcher, isn't he?"

I nod immediately to his choice, having thought the name the second I laid eyes on him. "Thatcher John Abernathy." I say, smiling.

"No unnecessarily long middle name?"

"No." I say, shaking my head. He is completely grand without one.

Haymitch has to go to work the following day while I am still in hospital. A few people come and visit Thatcher and I-Sarah, Richard, Mrs Everdeen and Prim-but they can only stay for a few moments to offer their congratulations and coo at the baby before they have to dash back to their respectable work. I am not offended by this. District 13 is busy now more than ever and President Coin makes sure that everyone is doing something.

Faces that I thought would come, do not make an appearance. I conclude to myself that Finnick is too busy with Anna, Katniss is being worked too much with the war preparations and Peeta...oh Peeta possibly doesn't even know who I am any more.

I gaze down at Thatcher's face as he sleeps, resting in my arms and I think about my parents for the first time in a long while. I imagine how my mother would have loved to swoop Thatcher in her arms and press kisses all over his face and how my father would gaze at him distantly but with pride shinning in his twinkling eyes.

"He looks like Haymitch." My father would say to me. "But he has your cheekbones." He would grin, making me laugh.

I don't realise I am crying until the tears drop onto Thatcher's soft, pink cheeks. I immediately wipe them away, brushing his warm cheeks gently. "I'm so sorry baby." I say quietly. "I promise you, I'll stay strong for you. Mummy won't cry." I mutter even though I know promises like those are out of my reach.

"Effie?" A knock on the door sounds.

I look up to see Dr Evans standing at the doorway, a tight smile on her face. "Is everything okay?" She asks.

I nod quickly, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hand. "Yes, thank you." I say hurriedly. "I appreciate all you have done for me Dr Evans. I wish there was some way I could repay you."

She shakes her head. "No charge Effie, I am just doing my job. Trust me, the reward is in healthy, beautiful babies like Thatcher. May I check his blood levels?"

She ends up doing a full on body check up on Thatcher at my request before she claims him to be a healthy baby and tells me repeatedly that I have nothing to worry about.

Later on, I am feeding Thatcher when the hospital room door opens once again and Haymitch walks in. He leans against the door after closing it and I see how his shoulders drop for a second in exhaustion.

"Hi." I say, softly.

"Hey." He replies. I see the familiar tension of a difficult day on his features and I smile in hopes of cheering him up.

Haymitch sits down on the chair beside the hospital bed, his eyes fixed on Thatcher.

"He's okay." I answer his unspoken question. "Dr Evans did a full check on him and he is a very healthy baby."

Haymitch nodded, a look of relief on his face. "And you?"

"I'm okay too." I say, smiling. "My blood results came back and everything is normal."

He nods once again, his gaze returning back to the baby in my arms. I lift him away from my chest as his lips stop suckling and button my hospital dress up. "Here." I say, holding Thatcher out to Haymitch.

Haymitch gives me a hesitant look before taking him gently from me and into his own arms. "How do I.."

"Arm underneath his head." I say, using my own arms to demonstrate. "And position your other arm like this...perfect."

His arms shake a little with nervousness but other than that, Haymitch looks like a natural holding Thatcher. He rocks him softly and Thatcher lets out a few mewls in his arms as he stretches and gets ready to sleep.

"That's all he does. Eat and sleep." I say affectionately.

"He looks so...peaceful." Haymitch mutters.

"He looks like you." I reply.

"Sorry about that." He grins back at me and I laugh. "You're tired. You should rest."

I shake my head, stubbornly. "You are tired too."

"But you just had a baby." He says, cutting off my protest. "Sleep Eff. I'm here." He gives me an attempt at a reassuring smile before looking down in awe at the baby in his arms.

Content, I curl up onto my side and watch them until my eyelids drop lazily and I am fast asleep.

CUT

Haymitch opens the door to our bunker and steps aside to allow me in. I hold a sleeping Thatcher tightly to my chest as I make my way into the room. To my surprise, inside wasn't as bad a mess as I was expecting. While things weren't in the order I would prefer them to be, Haymtch had obviously tried his hardest to keep it clean and tidy.

It has been five days since I gave birth to Thatcher and Dr Evans has finally allowed me to leave the hospital unit, fully confident that I am healing well.

I approach the small crib at the end of the bed, eyeing it cautiously. Haymitch chuckles from behind me. "Give it a chance Eff."

"What if he falls?" I mutter, glancing at him fearfully.

Haymitch simply raises an eyebrow at him. "He won't. It is sturdy as a brick. Anyway, I'd like to think my reflexes are quick enough to pick him up if the crib starts moving."

I mutter something about his old age which is replied to by a playful glare. Smiling, I take my chances and lower Thatcher softly into the crib. I stay close with my hands hovering above him for a good minute before stepping back, deciding to myself that the crib is safe.

I rock back gently on my heels. The walk back here took more out of me than I thought it would and I am hit with a wave of exhaustion.

"Time to sleep?" Haymitch immediately suggests and I nod, not even bothering to argue.

Turning, I open my arms childishly and he rolls his eyes but allows me to cling onto him anyway. "You are the strongest woman I know." He mutters, kissing my forehead gently.

"No I am not." I reply, shaking my head. "I'm not the first woman to have a baby."

"Doesn't matter. It's more than that."

"I love you." I say and it comes like second nature to me now. Haymitch kisses my forehead again, in his own natural reply.

"Come on. Let's get some sleep." He says, with a yawn.