Katniss quickly realized that pregnancy was not always the blissful, ethereal time TV and the movies portrayed.

The fatigue was crushing, sending her to bed early every night and weighing her limbs down like lead in the morning. Not wanting to tax her further, Peeta took on the bulk of the home renovation himself, working well into the night, far later than he should have while still keeping baker's hours. Normally, she couldn't sleep well without him by her side, but these nights she was pulled into a sleep so deep and swift it felt like she'd been drugged.

Reading the pregnancy books her mother had sent, the term "morning sickness" became something of a joke. Katniss found herself sick morning, noon and night, and what was supposed to end by the third month lingered well into the sixth. She looked like hell, too. Her eyes were bloodshot from all the vomiting, her dark hair lay limp and greasy, and she was starting to believe the pregnancy "glow" everyone raved about was just a euphemism for "sweat."

Rather than a time of happiness, she found herself feeling like a soldier at war with her own body.

Her mental health was suffering as well. Every doctor's appointment was a source of anxiety. Pregnancy represented a huge loss of control over her future; she ate right and followed her doctor's orders, but at any point, something could go wrong and she would be powerless to stop it. Each time the doctor moved a monitor around her belly looking for the heartbeat, she swore her own heart stopped.

To complicate things further, a routine ultrasound detected irregularities with the placenta that would need to be watched. The doctors assured her it was very common and typically nothing to worry about, but their words did nothing to ease her mind.

Mostly, she worried that she was already a terrible mother. She was committed to this pregnancy, and would do everything in her power to keep the baby safe and protected for as long as possible. But she couldn't describe her feelings as love. While Peeta talked to her belly constantly - singing off key and telling stories about his day in an endearing cooing voice - she couldn't bring herself to have a conversation with the bump. It was all so abstract to her normally practical self. How could you love something you couldn't see? Feel connected to a person you hadn't even met?

Oddly, even feeling the baby moving didn't quell her worries. She knew that most women felt comfort and joy at their first flutters and swishes, but she felt only terror and ambivalence. Who was this alien creature moving around inside of her? Would she ever grow to love it?

She lay in bed one night, late in her eighth month, staring at the bump. Peeta was reading beside her, his right hand lying across her belly in a protective gesture that had become all too familiar recently. The baby was especially active this evening, and she watched as the entire swell of her abdomen moved and shifted with its efforts.

"Shouldn't I feel something?" she whispered.

Peeta looked up from his book. "What do you mean?" he laughed. "You couldn't feel that?"

"Not that." Katniss struggled to lift herself up to a sitting position. "Shouldn't I feel… a connection to this baby? Some kind of mystical bond? This whole thing is so bizarre. It's like a stranger has taken up residence in my body."

Peeta scooted up next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. "Well, she is a stranger. At least for now."

"See - that's what I'm talking about!" She turned to face him, shrugging his arm off in the process. "You said 'she'. I can't do that!" Ever since the ultrasound confirmed his suspicions, Peeta had been telling anyone who would listen that they were having a daughter. Katniss was more cautious about the information. She certainly wasn't going to rush out and buy dresses just yet.

"How do you really know it's a 'she'? We don't know anything about this baby, and you walk around acting like you love it already!"

Peeta reached out to put a hand on her belly again. "Well, that's because I do love her."

Katniss scoffed and flopped back onto the bed. "Of course you do. You don't have the emotional IQ of a slug."

He laughed and lay down beside her, holding his head up with one hand and rubbing her belly with the other. "You do not have the emotional IQ of a slug. Maybe an earthworm…" She shoved his hand off and tried to turn away, but he gripped her shoulders and pulled her back. Hovering over her, he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I'm kidding," he insisted, his smirk fading. "You're perfect. And I don't care what you say – you love this baby just as much as I do." Katniss shook her head, but he put a finger to her lips to stop her before she could protest. "You do. I see how careful you are about reading up on the latest studies, and how nervous you get at every appointment. You'd do anything for this baby."

"That's not love," she mumbled from behind his finger. "That's protection. It's my job to make sure this baby survives until it's born, and I take my job very seriously."

Peeta smiled. "Call it what you want. I still say it's love. It's no different than how you 'protected' Prim all those years." He quirked an eyebrow, challenging her to argue, but Katniss just shrugged. Bringing up her sister was a low blow, but she knew deep down he was right. After their father passed away, she was became a second mother to Prim when their own mother checked out emotionally.

Still, this felt different somehow.

He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to her lips. "And anyway, the books all say it's totally normal to feel this way. Just give it time."

Time. That was the one thing she was clinging to. But she knew it was running out.

The following week she had a repeat ultrasound at the hospital. Her doctors wanted to keep a close eye on the baby to make sure the issues with the placenta weren't worsening as her due date grew near.

"Katniss Everdeen?"

Katniss looked up from her book to the nurse holding her file. "It's Mellark," she corrected. She'd planned to keep her last name after they married, but halfway through the pregnancy, she decided she wanted to have the same last name as the rest of their little family. Peeta had offered to take her last name, or to hyphenate the two, but she opted for the more traditional route. Besides, his last name was on the generations-old bakery that he would someday inherit.

"We're ready for you in room 3."

Hesitating, she looked to the door, hoping to see Peeta walking in. He had to open the bakery that morning, but had promised to meet her as soon as his brother arrived. "My husband isn't here yet..."

"It's fine, dear. The receptionist will send him back as soon as he gets here."

Lying there without his hand to hold, the minutes seemed to crawl. She stared at the ceiling, distracting herself by looking for patterns in the swirls of the tiles. The tech was being extra thorough this time, not making the usual small talk about the weather or plans for the weekend. While Katniss would normally find comfort in such a reprieve, the silence was deafening. Where was Peeta?

Eventually the tech excused herself and left the room without much explanation. She returned a few minutes later with a tall, balding man that Katniss assumed was a doctor. They discussed something quietly for a few minutes as the tech pointed things out on the screen. The doctor took over the machine himself for a moment before finally turning to address Katniss directly.

"Ms. Everdeen –"

"Mellark," she interrupted nervously, watching the tech step out of the room again. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

"Ms. Mellark. I'm Dr. Latier, one of the resident physicians. Unfortunately, it seems the issues with your placenta have not resolved as we'd hoped. The baby is no longer getting the nutrients needed and is not growing as we'd like to see. Continuing this pregnancy has become too risky for the both of you, so we're going to have to deliver today."

Katniss went numb. She heard bits of his explanation– words and medical phrases she was sure she had read about before, but the gravity of the situation overwhelmed her. Deliver today?

"But – it's too early! I'm not due for another month. What if -" She wasn't even sure what she was trying to ask. "Isn't it dangerous to for the baby to be born now?"

"I assure you, it's more dangerous to wait. The baby is small, but the lungs are developed and functioning properly. If there are any concerns after the birth, we have an excellent neonatal ICU upstairs. Your baby will be well cared for."

The tech reappeared with a red-headed orderly pushing a wheelchair behind her. "I'm here to bring a patient up to OB?"

The arrival of the man only served to increase Katniss's anxiety. "No – wait! My husband isn't here yet. I can't do this without him!"

"Katniss?" As if on cue, she heard Peeta's voice from down the hallway. He entered the room, confused by the three medics looking at him. "What's going on?"

The sight of his disheveled curls and flour dusted t-shirt made everything real all of a sudden, and Katniss burst into tears.

Peeta rushed to her side and took her hand as the doctor quickly explained the situation again. Stunned, he listened quietly, absorbing the news while stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

"We'd like to take her upstairs to begin prep for the delivery," Dr. Latier concluded. "To move things along, you can stay here to being filling out the paperwork with Ms. –"

"No," Peeta's voice was firm as interrupted the doctor. "I'll fill out whatever you need upstairs. I need to stay with her." Dr. Latier studied them both, nodding before giving the orderly his instructions.

The couple was quiet on the elevator ride, and Katniss felt lost without Peeta's comforting voice filling the silence. She watched him staring at the numbers while the elevator ascended slowly, a blank look on his face. His hand was still curled around her fingers and she gave it a little squeeze, drawing him from his thoughts.

He gave her a weak smile, and squeezed her hand back. "Guess it's good I finished the baby's room last week." She could see he was trying to be brave for her sake, but the wrinkle in his brow told her he was just as worried as she was. The elevator opened, and he stepped closer so they could walk through the doors together. "Prim will be disappointed about the baby shower, though."

Katniss had forgotten all about the shower, which was scheduled just a few days away. Their mother had moved to a warmer climate in an attempt to improve her mental health after Prim started college. As the remaining local branch of their family tree, Prim had taken on the party planning in her place. Katniss tried to indulge her sister as much as possible, but she still spent the past few weeks vetoing ideas for games like "Baby Food Taste Test" and "Guess Mommy's Girth."

"I can't say I'm totally disappointed about that one," she admitted, eliciting a chuckle from Peeta. "We should probably call her soon… Let her know what's going on."

He nodded. "Of course. I'll call her as soon as you get settled."

The orderly turned down a few corridors and into a homey hospital room. Peeta stepped out to contact Prim as Katniss was transferred to a hospital bed and slowly attached to several monitors and wires. A hospital bracelet was cinched snugly around her wrist and an IV was placed into the back of her hand. She was starting to feel overwhelmed by the activity around her as she repeated her name and birthdate half a dozen times.

A squat nurse with a short gray bob fiddled with a monitor around Katniss's belly, trying to capture a reading. She velcroed it tight around her middle and watched a long strip of paper print out to the right of the bed. Frowning, she adjusted the monitor and studied the paper again carefully.

"What's that?" Katniss asked, concerned by the older woman's actions.

The nurse turned and gave her a small smile. "Just watching the baby's heartbeat." She made a few notes on the paper before looking back to Katniss and patting her hand. "Don't worry about a thing. You're in excellent hands." She watched for a few more minutes, then excused herself to the nurses' station.

Peeta returned a few minutes later, looking around the empty room. "Everyone's gone?"

"For now." Katniss shifted as much as she could in the bed without disturbing all of the monitors. She reached her hand out to Peeta, who had stalled out a few feet from her bed, watching the screens. "C'mere."

Peeta pulled a chair as closely as he could to her bed and cupped her hand in both of his. "Are you scared?"

"Kinda." Katniss laughed ruefully. "Guess we don't have time for those birthing classes now."

Peeta shook his head and smiled at her. "Nope. That's what we get for procrastinating. Guess we're gonna have to wing it." He reached out and smoothed her hair back from her face. "You can do this," he insisted. "I know it's not how we'd planned, but we have to focus on the positives. We're going to meet our daughter soon."

She leaned her head into his hand, closing her eyes. "Mmm-hmm." She wished she felt as positive as he did. If only she'd had a few more weeks to get her head around this. Maybe by then she'd feel ready, somehow.

The nurse returned a few minutes later to check the monitor again, making a disappointed clucking sound. "Can you get over onto your side, dear? It will improve blood flow to the baby." She helped Katniss shift onto her left side and adjusted the straps. "I'm sure it's fine, but I'm going to give Dr. Latier a call to get his opinion. Just try to relax for now."

Relax? Katniss was anything but relaxed, tethered by wires and tubes and getting more concerning news every minute. She stared at the clock on the wall, trying to think of anything but the clicking of the machines surrounding her. It was hard to believe it was nearly lunchtime. If she was at work right now -

"Haymitch!" At the thought of work, her boss and mentor of the past four years popped into her head. She was expected at the office after her appointment, but with the sudden drama, she'd completely forgotten to let anyone on her team know what was going on. She knew Haymitch would be concerned if she didn't show up; while he gave a first impression of a crotchety middle-aged man, he had a heart of gold and had become a father figure to Katniss over the years.

"He's probably wondering where I am. I don't want to worry him…"

"I'll send him a text," Peeta offered. He had forged his own friendship with Haymitch over the years, since bonding over a soccer game at the first company picnic. "He'll understand."

Just as Peeta finished typing out the text on his phone, Dr. Latier entered the room with the nurse. He stood by the bedside and cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Mellark – I've reviewed the results of your tests, and unfortunately we need to move things along more quickly than originally planned. We've seen several drops in the fetal heart rate, and with the earlier results, I'm concerned the baby is in distress. We'd like to perform a cesarean section as soon as possible."

"What – what does that mean?" Peeta asked. "Is the baby okay?"

"For the moment," the doctor said, his face serious. "But time is of the essence. I've spoken with your OB and she agreed that we should move forward as soon as possible."

Things moved quickly. Transport was arranged. The risks and side effects were reviewed. Consent forms were signed. Peeta was able to accompany them to the surgical unit, but because of the urgency, Katniss would have general anesthesia and he would not be allowed into the operating room. They would both miss the birth of their daughter.

Peeta held onto her hand right up to the operating room doors where the nurses let them know it was time to say goodbye for now. He leaned over to whisper something to her belly before giving Katniss a tender kiss. "I'll see you soon," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It'll be okay, I promise."

Katniss gripped his hand between both of hers, reluctant to let him go. "Stay with me," she pleaded, even though she knew he couldn't.

He brought their hands up to his mouth for a teary kiss. "Always," he reassured her, his voice breaking. "I love you. I love both of you."

She swallowed, staring into his wet eyes, trying to compose herself. "I love you, too."

The surgical staff moved swiftly, transferring her to the operating table, strapping down her limbs and connecting her to the monitors. The anesthesiologist spoke in hushed tones, offering words of comfort and instructing her to relax and count backwards from one hundred. She found herself fighting as the medicine did its work, every instinct resisting the darkness that threatened to take hold.

Finally, she let her lids close and focused on the calming blue of Peeta's eyes as they had parted. As she fell asleep, she wondered if their daughter's eyes would have the same warm hue.