Chapter Twenty-Five

I'm booked in for a caesarean.

Somehow, I didn't expect it to be this way.

After all the nightmares I had of childbirth; the pain and the screaming and the faces of my enemies staring me down as it all came to an end; I hadn't taken the time to consider that I mightn't give birth to Oliver naturally. I imagined my water breaking in the middle of school; of Glimmer and her pack of idiots laughing at me as I screamed the building down with agony. How did I imagine such horrific things without so much as considering a C-section? Have I really become that negative?

In a way, I'm relieved. One of my biggest fears have been somehow botching up giving birth. Maybe it's irrational of me to think that way but I always thought that I would mess something up or do something wrong because of the pain. When giving birth, there's no room for mistakes. I know it's just pushing but I've always worried that . . . I don't know . . . I'd push wrongly. Is that even possible? Now I don't have to worry. I'll be completely numb to it all.

That makes me afraid. I've been so numb to everything recently; I'm almost scared of the idea of being numb to Oliver's birth. I shouldn't want to feel something, really, because it will only cause me to create a connection between myself and my son. That can't happen. Effie and Haymitch are having him, I will cannot-and will not-be the person to snatch such an important thing away from them when I said they could have it. Oliver will always biologically be my child, but from the moment he is born he will be Effie and Haymitch's son.

The day of the caesarean comes way too fast. I'm so unprepared for it that I feel like I'm going to explode with nerves. All of my limbs are stiff as I sit on my hospital bed, every muscle coiled so tight that they almost burst. I clasp Peeta's hand in both of mine, tears swelling in my eyes. "I can't do this. I'm not ready," I say. "It's too soon. What if something goes wrong? What if I lose him just like I've lost everyone else?"

Peeta smiles encouragingly, kissing my hands gently. "You're going to be fine, Katniss," he says. "I promise. I believe in you."

My eyes fall to my stomach, which won't be swollen for much longer. I gasp, feeling like there isn't enough oxygen in the room to satisfy me. I clench my fingers around Peeta's, feeling sick with nerves. I'm shaking my head continuously, so much so that I'm almost making myself dizzy. "No, it's too soon," I say again. "There's something wrong. It can't have been nine months already."

"Katniss, there's no need to panic, I promise," Peeta says. "You're having a caesarean because Oliver is breech. That's all. Everything is going to be fine."

I want to believe him. I really, really do. But after the months of therapy; the days where I wrecked my room or shouted rude things or cursed the day I ever let Primrose out of my sight; the hours I would curse and slander Peeta just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time . . . I don't feel like I deserve such assurance. And I certainly don't trust myself to keep Oliver safe.

I've already proven myself to be a failure at keeping my loved ones safe.

My mum.

My dad.

Now Primrose.

They're all gone.

I've even hurt Peeta in some ways. I shouldn't have let him go after Primrose. I should have . . . I don't know what I should have done . . . I just . . . I just shouldn't have! If I stopped him sooner we'd have been further from the blast and his skin wouldn't be so damaged. It was my job to protect him. To aid his healing process and ensure his safety. I couldn't even do that. What is wrong with me?

Now I have Oliver. Poor, sweet, innocent Oliver. I don't want to lose him, but how can I trust myself not to somehow do something wrong? How am I going to ensure his safety when I failed so badly at protecting everyone else?

"I wish you could come with me," I murmur. They won't let Peeta into the surgery because there's some sort of health regulation because of both our states of mind after the explosion at the park. To be perfectly honest, Peeta has seemed more put together than ever. I can't say for sure, though, because he's an expert at hiding his pain. For all I know behind the closed door of his room at the ward he's just as broken as I am.

"I do too," Peeta answers, stroking the top of my hand with his thumb.

I close my eyes tight. "I'm scared," I breathe.

"Look at me." Peeta takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I believe in you, Katniss. 100% of my faith is with you. You will come out of this happy and healthy and there will be another person added to the world. Another baby to grow into a beautiful human being."

I stare at my feet, which dangle a little over the edge of the hospital bed. It's early evening and the sun streaks in through the blinds on my window. It catches Peeta's hair, making it sparkle and glow like a halo around his head. God, he's so beautiful. How can he stick with a psychotic freak like me?

A part of me knows he's most likely right. However, there is an irrational part of me that will always question each word that comes from his mouth. I've been like this ever since the accident. Peeta would tell me something-and I would know that for the most part he's right-but that voice at the back of my head; that little tickle that questions his motives takes over me and consumes my beliefs until I'm consumed by disbelief.

Is that what it was like for Peeta when I told him he wasn't fat?

The door to my room opens and my nurse wheels in a bed. I swallow the lump in my throat, my hand laying itself on my stomach for the last time. I look back at Peeta, the tears in my eyes soaking my cheeks. "I hope you're right," I say.

When I try to stand up, Peeta holds my hands firmly, preventing me from doing so. I look at him blankly, slightly surprised by his authority. He's still having to transport himself around in a wheelchair to reduce his back the agony of movement, so I have to look down at him. He stares up at me, his eyes hard as steel. "I am," he says.

He tugs me down to him and kisses me.

Kissing Peeta makes my heart soar. Despite the pain; and the heartache; and the screaming and the crying; despite my fear of the future and what I'm going to do with myself, the knowledge that Peeta is here with me right now is all I need. I feel almost revitalised, like I could fight a thousand armies and win. All because of him.

But as soon as I pull back and look at the bed the crippling fear falls on top of me all over again.

I reluctantly part from Peeta, clutching his hands until I have no choice but to let go, and let the nurse transfer me to the bed. My heart is beating so hard it's making me feel even more sick. I clutch the bed bars as they wheel me out, wishing with everything that I have that everything will go smoothly.

I wish Peeta could come with me . . .

The operating room is massive. Well, it seems massive to me. It could be because I'm staring at the ceiling and not exactly scoping the room out. My head is buzzing with a thousand thoughts a second, most of them concerning Oliver. I dearly want him to be safe. I hope the stress I've endured over the past few months hasn't done him any damage. I would never be able to forgive myself if it did.

"Because of your recent stresses, Katniss, we're going to administer anaesthesia," the nurse explains to me. "We don't want you to work yourself up to the point where you could become extremely distressed by the procedure and your psychologist informed us that he still isn't secure that you're of stable mind."

Thanks Doctor Aurelius, I think bitterly.

For some bizarre reason, as the IV is being inserted into my hand, Primrose's funeral pops into my head.

My breathing picks up involuntarily as the memory of being escorted to the graveyard blossoms in my mind. Having to remain within a particular distance of my escort; not wishing to interact with anyone, not even my friends; seeing all those fake mourners behaving like they knew my sister when they didn't. The fact that Glimmer was there; and Gale; and Cato; and even Marvel; making my blood boil to a dangerous level. Not attending the gathering afterwards that Mrs Trinket arranged because I was beginning to tremble and twitch again.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Primrose Georgina Everdeen, who tragically lost her life in the recent park explosion."

"We're going to knock you out now, Katniss," I'm told.

"No," I answer, intense fear washing over me like a virus, "don't, I'll be trapped!"

"Earth to earth."

"It's okay," the nurse says gently.

"Please," I beg, grabbing her wrists desperately. "I'll be calm, I promise."

"Katniss, it's alright. You'll come to again in a couple of hours. We can't guarantee your mental stability during the procedure." She smiles widely. The blinding light above her makes her look sinister, and it does nothing to settle my nerves. "When you wake you'll have a beautiful baby boy by your side."

"Ashes to ashes."

I can't get trapped in Primrose's funeral. I wish every day that I could forget it. Just another reminder that she's not here anymore. And that it's all my fault. I lash out, rational thought gone; consumed by fear. "No, please, don't!" I beg, weakly fighting the nurse holding the mask off.

Another nurse grabs my wrists and holds them down. I lose my fight moments later, realising that instead of convincing them that I'm sound enough to have the surgery without being knocked out, my lashing out has only made myself look even more unstable. I burst into spontaneous tears, wishing there was something else I could do. Something to save me from getting trapped in my sister's death.

The mask is placed over my mouth. It's cold against my skin.

I get light headed. My eyes roll around my head like marbles.

"Dust to dust."

"Just think," my nurse beams, "when you wake, you'll be a mother!"

I pass out.

"Amen."

~xXx~

I wake up slowly. The world around me is blurry and nebulous. I groan and massage my eyelids. God, my abdomen hurts. My entire lower body feels numb and my skin feels like it's on fire. I'm lying on my side and, if I had the energy to try hard enough, I could probably swing myself onto my back, but I don't. In fact, I'm contemplating going back to sleep because I feel too heavy to function at the moment . . .

I remember.

Panic flushes through me and my eyes snap open.

Two eyes stare back at me.

Two wide, grey eyes.

A tiny creature lies in the incubator by my beside. I can't breathe. Oh my god. Tears are spurting out uncontrollably and I'm sobbing. He's here. After all of the fear and the panic and the worry; he's here. My beautiful baby boy.

"Oliver," I whisper, reaching out over the side of the bed to touch the incubator. His eyes slide closed and he kicks his tiny legs. I laugh, my tears soaking my lips and mouth, coating my tongue in salt water. "You're so beautiful," I cry.

A hand touches mine and I yelp with surprise. I look for the culprit and find Peeta sitting by my bedside in his wheelchair, beaming what has to be the widest smile I have ever seen him wear. "I told you that you could do it," he says.

"Can I hold him?" I ask.

"I don't see why not, although you're probably best asking for a nurse's assistance."

Peeta gets a nurse into the room. She's bright and breezy, sliding into the room fresh as a daisy. "Hello Miss Everdeen!" she beams. "Congratulations!" She approaches Oliver in the incubator and says, "Do you want to hold him?"

"Please!" I answer, wincing that I sound almost aggressive.

The nurse is unfazed by my snarky answer. She scoops Oliver out of his incubator-almost taking too long for my liking-and gives him to me. I don't even notice her leave again. I'm so rapt with the creature in my arms. He's so warm and so small. I hold him carefully against my chest, which he immediately nuzzles into. My hands shake only the tiniest of bits.

"The first thing he heard was your heartbeat," Peeta tells me. "They always place the baby on top of the mother's chest so they can hear their heartbeat and bond with them."

"I shouldn't be the one bonding with him," I say, my voice shaky from all the crying.

Peeta looks almost saddened. "I know," he says. "But you'll always be his mum, in one way or another. Effie and Haymitch won't shut you out completely, not after all you have done for them."

My eyes haven't left Oliver's. They physically won't budge. "I don't know if I can do that," I say. "I don't know if I could pretend that I'm not his real mother. I didn't expect to-I didn't think I would"-

"Fall in love with him so quickly?" asks Peeta.

I nod mutely.

Because it's true. I have only held Oliver for two minutes and yet I know that I will fight to my dying breath to protect him. My son. My gorgeous baby boy. Nobody will hurt him as long as I live and breathe. I won't allow it. It's my duty-no-my honour to be the saviour and the guardian and the protector of this innocent child.

But that's just it.

I can't.

He's not my son.

Not anymore.

Peeta eyes me, concern in his blue eyes. "Are you going to keep him?" he asks. There's a tinge of worry in his voice. He knows just how unfair that would be of me to do but is trying to make it sound like it's my choice.

When I know that it's not.

I sniff up and swallow hard. Pressing my lips to the top of Oliver's head, I close my eyes. "No," I whisper.

Peeta reaches out and takes my hand in his. I'm crying again but I can't remember when it started. It's a mixture of joy and sorrow. Of knowing that my boy is going to be taken care of, but also knowing that in the process of that I have to lose him first. So I take this moment to hold him. To hold him against my chest and feel his heat against my skin. To feel his tiny heart racing against mine.

"I love you Oliver," I whisper. "And I always will."

And as I cradle my son against my chest, I realise why Prim's funeral came into my mind before the nurses knocked me out.

Because death doesn't exist on its own. With death comes new life. It won't take away the pain of my sister's death-nothing will be able to do that-but making sure that Oliver lives a happy life with Effie and Haymitch is a start. And to that I must get my act together and get out of this hospital, hopefully with Peeta. I'm going to fight the pain, in Prim's name, and safeguard Oliver. Not as his mother, but his guardian instead.

Life is a blessing.

And I just created a miracle.

A/N: Some details may have been slightly altered from reality (such as Peeta not being allowed in during the surgery and why Katniss had to get locked out) to fit the plot but I'm sure you guys don't mind, right? :)

Please R&R with your thoughts! We're nearly finished now, can you believe it?