It was after midnight when Katniss's phone rang. She'd been ignoring the phone all week, ignoring texts and calls from the few people she knew in Panem. She wanted to ignore this call too, to ignore everything and everyone, to simply wallow in her misery, but seeing Annie's name on the display, she picked up. She was ready to brush her friend off, but Annie's voice was panicked. Finnick was gone on yet another call with the firies, way up north where the cell service was spotty. And the baby was coming, now. Three weeks early.
Katniss didn't think twice, she jumped in her car and picked up her friend, driving in a panic to the hospital where they both worked. Annie had called ahead and they were ushered up to labour and delivery right away. There was no need for bluster, no need to throw her credentials around, yet Katniss did anyway, demanding tests and monitors, quizzing Annie about her status, barking at the nurses. Trying to exercise some measure of control, to abate her utter helplessness.
Only when they were in a private room in labour and delivery did Annie grasp Katniss's hand. "Please," she said. "You're making this harder." Annie looked so small, the controlled physician gone, a scared woman with no husband and no family beside her.
All Annie had, at least until Finnick arrived, was Katniss.
Her heart clenched in understanding. She had done an obstetrics rotation in med school, but that was a long time ago, and the urban hospital she worked at back home had an obstetrical department, so she seldom saw women in labour at all. Let alone helped them. But it didn't matter. Annie didn't need Katniss the doctor. Annie needed Katniss the friend. She needed the relationship. She needed care and support.
Katniss could do this.
She ignored the monitors, let the nurses take care of the medical aspects of Annie's care. Instead, Katniss held her friend's hand, and told her repeatedly how amazing she was, how lucky this little baby was going to be, to have a mother like Annie.
The labour was fast by first baby standards, but also endless, timeless and otherworldly. Katniss was there, every minute. Not the doctor, not the detached professional. Katniss, the woman. The one behind the wall, the one who loved fiercely.
She could almost feel her sister by her side, could almost hear Prim encouraging her. Reminding her that this Katniss who built relationships, who cared, this Katniss had been inside all of the time.
Dawn was breaking when baby Odair came into the world, red-faced and bloody, screaming in righteous indignation.
Annie and Katniss both cried.
"Thank you," Annie rasped, holding her infant to her chest with one arm while still clutching Katniss's hand. Katniss knew the nurses and obstetrician were still working beyond the drape, but it was as if they weren't there, as if she, Annie and the baby were completely alone in a bubble of utter magic. "I couldn't have done this without you," Annie said, but Katniss shook her head vehemently.
"Yes you could have," she said, tears still streaming down her face, the first time in her adult life she'd cried. Something profound had shifted inside Katniss. Two decades of stoicism undone by one tiny, squawking being, by the awe and beauty of his birth. "But I'm so glad I could be here with you. To experience this with you." As a physician, Katniss dealt with life and death every day, knew the rush of saving a patient, the forced numbness that protected her psyche when she lost one. But she'd never experienced anything like this before. Never felt everything so keenly. It was exhilarating.
It was terrifying.
Katniss was still with Annie, in the postnatal ward, when Finnick Odair burst through the door to the suite. He was in his civilian clothes, but streaks of soot on his neck spoke to how hastily he'd washed.
She felt like an interloper, watching their reunion, seeing both Odairs cry as they embraced, as they fawned over their newborn child. Katniss snuck away quietly, though she was sure they wouldn't notice her exit anyway, so engrossed were they in their joy.
The hallways in labour and delivery were more crowded now than they had been the night before, bustling with nurses and orderlies, shrill wails of infants drifting through the organised chaos. And slumped against the wall just outside Annie's room, a big, brawny blonde firefighter, rubbing his eyes with dirty hands.
God how she missed him.
"Hey," Katniss said softly. Peeta looked up at her.
"They okay?" he asked with no preamble. Katniss nodded. She saw his relief, knew he'd probably made himself sick worrying about Annie being alone. "Good," he nodded.
"Yeah," she said softly. She longed to tell him about the birth, about the immensity of the experience. She wanted to share it with him, the story, and so much more.
She wanted to let him in.
She opened her mouth, to apologise, to tell him he was right, that she was afraid but that she wanted to try. But he was pushing himself away from the wall, and turning to leave.
"I'll see you around, Doc," he said, and Katniss felt the impersonality of it like a spear to the chest. The pain must have shown on her face, because Peeta's cool expression faltered, something like regret flashing in his eyes. But his jaw clenched, and he nodded, then walked away.
And she watched him walk away.
Again.
It was what she had told him she wanted; no strings, no complications, no risk. But she didn't really believe it anymore. She wanted Peeta, and more than that, she wanted the life her friends were enjoying. The partnership. The relationship. The love.
And she wanted it with him.
But she'd ruined it. Shut it down before it'd even had a chance to bloom. Shut down on him, walled off her heart to keep him from breaking it.
It had broken anyway.
Katniss went home, feeling more alone than she ever had, the glow of what she'd experienced at the hospital fading fast.
She watched Peeta's house from her bedroom window, aching to go to him. She watched until exhaustion forced her to bed, but she saw no sign of life there.