Peeta's P.O.V.

It's been a few days since I was brought here. Here, to the Capitol. I hadn't expected it to be very pleasant, of course. But I could have never anticipated anything like this. This is pure torture, something that can only be set up by someone who is pure evil. President Coriolanus Snow.

They haven't been giving me a lot of food. Only enough to keep me alive, and at this point, I don't even want to stay alive. Death would be much better, it would be mercy.

I know that Katniss needs me, but she can handle herself, besides, the pain is unbearable, and I want it to be over. Each day is dreaded, lasting for as long as an eternity. Filled with agony and suffering.

Even my memory of Katniss is getting more and more blurred with each passing day. And the thought of forgetting her is horrible. If I were to die, I wouldn't want to do it without Katniss in my memory.

I am in a cold cellar which is devoid of color. Everything is white, the walls, the door, the ceiling. There are no windows, and the lights are never turned off. Even the track of time is based purely on instinct. I thought life couldn't get any worse than it already was, but here I am, proving myself wrong.

Two people walk into the room, one holding a long wire, the other- a sort of hub with the wire attached to it. Once they come closer, I realize that the main wire splits into two thinner ones. Each fragment has a metal chip at the end.

I swallow hard, unable to speak because of the terror building up inside of me. I crouch and retreat back towards the wall behind me, on my hands and knees. My breathing becomes labored as panic consumes me. Whatever it is that they are doing to me has happened before, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying, it actually makes it worse, thinking of the agony I felt, the pain fresh as if it were yesterday. And probably it was.

The person with the wire hands it to the man next to him and walks to me. He stops me from going further backward by roughly grabbing my hands and tying them behind my back with a long strip of fabric that didn't realize he was holding.

He emerges from behind me and, expressionless turns to look at his companion. They exchange a word-less conversation. The man with the hub and the wire comes forward, placing each metal chip at either of my temples. The contraption feels cold against my skin, and only for a second help soothe the dull ache in my head. But I know that these will soon be the cause of my anguish.

I resist the urge to squirm away from him for it would only provoke them into intensifying my punishment. I squeeze my eye shut, preparing myself for the distress that is sure to follow.

And then it hits, after a little fiddling around with the switches on the hub, it hits. All the pain, the discomfort, and the longing to die, stronger than ever. The pain only amplifies leaving me screaming, kicking and flailing my legs, writhing on the floor.

The current flowing inside of me comes to an abrupt halt, but the pain remains. I feel it fill me again and along comes the suffering. It lasts for what feels like forever before stopping. By the end of it, I am covered in sweat, my throat raw from the screaming, gasping for air.

The pain prevails it's presence in my body, making it impossible to move. Or speak. Or think.

The next thing I know is that I feel hands on my body. Heaving me up, and setting me back down on a cold, hard, slab of metal. They carry me somewhere. I am in too much pain to be able to register the location.

Someone sets me down on another surface, not gently as one would, more like I am not a human but rather an inconvenient object. They tie my hands, legs, and torso down on the metal, to keep me firmly in place, like I had the energy to run away, seriously.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure fussing around with a needle. It comes to me a few moments later and holds my head down while sticking the needle into my exposed arm and releasing the fluid inside me. It hurts at first, but the pain disappears as quickly as it comes. The last thing I remember before blacking out is seeing pictures and feeling zaps of electricity in my head through the chips attached to it as if it were altering my brain. After that, everything is darkness.

A week later

I wake up in a white room with an antiseptic smell. There are several tubes attached to my right arm, extending to the wall behind me. The room contains just my bed. My body is aching all over, so it is hard to move.

I see someone walk into the room. Madge. I wonder what she is doing here, but then I wonder what I am doing here. She closes the door behind her and comes to me. I give her a confused and questioning look.

"Hey," She says, "You were here for surgery, nothing to worry about. They said it's just a side effect of the surgery to not remember certain things."

"Is this the Capitol?" I ask.

"Yeah, it is. We'll be leaving for home today." She assures me, looking away.

I nod my head, but quickly stop because it hurts to do so. "Okay,"

She looks at me one last time, her face unreadable, before leaving through the door she came from. I stay there, on the uncomfortable bed for a long time until a doctor walks in, carrying some clothes.

"Here, wear these." He hands me the clothes and leaves again.

I wonder how I'm going to do that with all the wires attached to my arm and my sore body. But then a couple of nurses walk in and practically tear out all the tubes from my arm. They help me up into a sitting position and then depart again.

I sigh and stretch out my hand to take the clothes, even these simple actions are now difficult to perform. I slowly and painfully get changed into a pair of jeans and a black shirt. I sit on the bed for a while, trying to muster up the strength to stand up. And when I do, I am a little woozy and unstable but manage to walk to the door and open it. Outside, I see Madge sitting on a chair, legs crossed, and her phone in her hands. She looks up when she hears me.

"Come on, let's leave. You're finally discharged." She says sweetly, I know she is putting up an act because I know her. She'll pretend to be sweet when there are people around, but once we are alone, she will be sure to go back to her bitter self.

I don't say anything as she gets up and grabs her things from the chair, and then we walk to the receptionist. The lady behind the desk hands me a few medicines and I take them.

"Pain killers," Madge tells me. Again, I say nothing but nod.

It's a little hard to walk, but I do it without falling over or anything. Of course, Madge doesn't offer to help me, just as expected.

A while later

We get out of the train that brought us home from the Capitol and decides to walk home since it's not very far from here. As we walk home, we don't exchange a word from one another, we just continue in silence.

On our way, we spot Gale, Prim, and Ava standing huddled in a group and talking with worried expressions on their faces. Madge tries to avoid them by changing the direction we were walking in but fails. They have already noticed us, so they hurry over.

I smile when I see Ava and she smiles when she sees me too. She runs over to me and embraces me, then pulls away reluctantly. Ava shoots Madge a dirty look and then turns to me, "You're home. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I am," I assure her, confused as to why she is so excited and surprised to see me.

"Okay, now that you met her, we can leave." Madge butts in impatiently.

"Wait," Prim pipes in, "Why are you with her now?" She gives me a weird look.

"Well, he is married to me, you see." Madge shoots at her, not giving me a chance to speak.

I feel troubled by their behavior. Why wouldn't I be with Madge? Am I not supposed to?

"What have you done to him?" Ava asks Madge, looking bewildered.

"Nothing happened to him, it was just a surgery. We have to go now, he needs some rest." Madge answers.

"Surgery?" Gale asks, looking as confused as I feel.

"Yes, surgery," Madge says I can tell that she is struggling to stay calm.

Ava, Prim, and Gale give each other a worried look. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing is wrong, Peeta," Madge tells me, "Come on, we need to go home."

Prim tries to protest but Madge grabs hold of my arm and drags me towards home. Once we turn around a corner, she lets go of me and sighs. We continue walking in silence and when we arrive at our house, she rushes inside and goes up to her room with a frustrated look on her face.

I go and sit on the couch, feeling unsettled because of what happened outside.

Seven Months Later

Prim's P.O.V

I walk through the bustle of the district, earning glances from the crowd, hearing whispers behind my back. You would've thought that after all this time this would have stopped, but it hasn't. This is just the way things are.

Katniss told me that she will meet me today, so that's where I am going. To meet her. Peeta came back months ago, Katniss no longer in his memory. Even though I am eager to meet Katniss today, I don't think I am ready to tell her the news yet. She will be devastated. How would I tell her? That the father of her child doesn't even know who she is? That the love of her life doesn't even know that he had any history with her? I am not ready to break her heart yet. And I never will be.

When I found out that the brutality of Peeta's punishment was beyond anyone's imagination, that this is what they had done to him, I couldn't take it. I was outraged. First, I refused to believe that such a thing could happen. But it did, and I had no option but to accept it.

I reach where I know Katniss will be, but she isn't. So I assume that she is on her way. Sure enough, a few minutes later she emerges from behind a tree. I can't even smile after seeing her, knowing that I have to break the news to her. I know she will be mad at me for not letting her know earlier, but I couldn't help it. Ever since Gale found out, he has been feeling guilty. But it's not his fault, it's no one's fault, really. It's just our fate. Our terrible fate.

Gale is a good person, he might have been harsh about Katniss running away and cheating on him, but he understands. He understands that you cannot be forced to love someone. That it's not right to. He was bitter at first, but then he softened up, sure, it took time, but he did. Just like I knew he would.

Katniss walks up to me "Hey, Prim." She smiles.

I put on a fake one too, "Hey, how have you been?" She is eight months pregnant now, and you can see it. She is small for her stage, but it's okay. I have been giving her a few pieces of advice from the little I know about pregnancy, as in what to eat more, and what to avoid. Pregnant women used to come to my mother all the time.

"I've been fine. How are you?" She asks.

I shrug. "Alright, I guess."

She nods. "That's good."

"Katniss, I- I need to tell you something," I start, as nervous as one can be. She nods, not saying anything, encouraging me to go on "It's about Peeta..."

"Prim, you're scaring me. Tell me what it is. Please."

"Peeta, he- he was taken to the Capitol, remember?" She nods, looking terrified. "They didn't only keep him there for torture. They-" I fumble around with words, not knowing how to say it. I can't even look her in the eye.

"Prim..."

Then I decide that I can't go on like this, I just have to tell her, once and for all. The consequences that will follow will be taken care of. So I blurt out, "They hijacked him into forgetting you."

It's the look on her face more than anything that breaks my heart. "W-what?" She asks. "What do you mean? Prim... Ho- What?" Tears well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

"They altered his memories so that he wouldn't remember you," I say, tearing up myself.

I see tears running down her cheeks as she backs away from me, "How long have you known?" She asks.

I bite my lip, "About a month after he returned."

"Prim how- how could you not tell me? Don't you think that I deserve to-"

"No, you don't!" I cut her off, "You don't deserve to know that! You deserve to be happy! How do you think that I would be able to tell you that for Peeta you never even existed? You don't deserve to live a life like this, Katniss!"

She looks at me, aghast, and taken aback by my sudden outburst. "I know! But how-you should have still told me! You lied to me! I-" She stops, not being able to continue, and breaks down. She held it together for so long, and I could never do that. But this is hard for her, I know it is. This is not something she can brush off. She has been in there in the woods for months, waiting for someone who was never going to come...

I told her that Peeta couldn't come to visit her because the peacekeepers were keeping a close watch on him. She told me to give certain messages to him, and I pretended to give them to him. Seeing her like this, crying, just causes the guilt in me to rise, so high that I'm barely able to contain it.

I sink down to my knees too, apologizing to Katniss, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Katniss. I just couldn't do that to you. I couldn't see you like that. I'm so sorry." Now crying too.

She starts crying more, and I can't bear to see her like that, so I crawl under the fence, and got closer to her. "I'm so sorry" I keep repeating, but I know that a mere sorry cannot suffice as my explanation, but I don't know what else to say. I don't know what will make her feel better right now.

Katniss looks up to me and says, "Prim, I know that it was hard for you, but this is something that you should have told me earlier. How could you wait for an entire half year to tell me that the father of my child doesn't even know me?"

"I don't know, Katniss," I whisper, a steady stream of tears running down my cheeks. "What I did was wrong, I know, and I'm sorry. I also know that this isn't enough but I don't know what else to do."

I have caused her so much pain, and I know it. For months I kept giving her false hope that Peeta will be able to see her soon, but I was lying to her. I was lying to Katniss. And the thought makes me sick to my stomach. She is right, How could have I done that to her? How could have I been so heartless?

She reaches over to me and embraces me, and that makes me start sobbing. I bury my face in her neck, feeling awful. I don't know how she could forgive me, after all, I have done it to her. But she did because that's how she is.

"It's okay." She says in my ear. I pull away and nod. "How is he doing?" She asks, referring to Peeta.

I shrug, "He's doing fine, he is still with Madge. Married to her. With all those arguments they have every day.

She nods, sniffling. "Okay," We just sit there for a while, my head on her shoulder and her arm around my shoulders lost in our own thoughts.

After a while, she speaks up, "Why don't you come with me to the cabin?"

"Katniss, you know I'm scared of being out here." I protest.

"It's okay, I'm not going to let anything happen to you." She assures me.

"Okay, let's go." I give in.

She gives me a smile and we go. We walk to the cabin in a comfortable silence occasionally broken by me freaking out on hearing a rabbit or a bird in the bushes, thinking that it was some wild animal.

When we arrive at the cabin we head straight to the couch, snuggling up against one another and staying there. Even though Katniss is not showing how much this is affecting her, I can clearly see it, and I know that she is upset.

Suddenly, I think of something. I look at her and ask, "Katniss, will you sing for me?" She opens her mouth to object, but I don't give her a chance to. "Please?" I beta and give her a pleading look so that she gives in. And she does.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head, and close your eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise

Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

That is the last thing I hear before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

~

Katniss's P.O.V.

My eyelashes part, allowing only a sliver of light into them.

"Katniss?" I open my eyes and a kind face with blond hair swims into my vision. Prim.

I smile sleepily, my eyelids drooping lazily and opening again. "Hi."

I am lying in bed, my arm under my head.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"How's the baby?"

"Fine, I think," I murmur drowsily, still too comfortable to open my eyes. "Moving."

"Mmm," says Prim, and I hear the smile in her voice.

I am a little under nine months pregnant. My due date is about three weeks away, and I have been waking up like this for almost a week now. She has been here for a few days in the woods with me. She knows that I am frightened since this is my first baby. I hadn't planned on having them at all. Not in this world. Not until I met Peeta... Peeta wanted kids.

Since that day, the time has passed in a blur of anxiety, surviving in this place alone and preparations for the baby's arrival. As my belly grew, so did my worries. But Peeta isn't here. Prim was instead.

Today, there's not much she can really do to keep me comfortable. I'm so huge that it's difficult to find a good position in which to sit or lie down.

"Wait," I say as she gets up from where I lay. "Where are you going?"

"I have to go to the Hob. Dad doesn't have anything to help deliver a baby."

"Don't go," I mumble, "I don't want to be alone out here anymore... They won't be coming for a few more weeks."

"I'm sorry. I want to stay here with you. But I have to go. Don't want to be unprepared for when they come."

"But you're going to be away from here, and you don't know what could be out there and if you can get back in..."

"I won't be gone any more than a few hours at the most. I promise."

Then Prim does get up, as much as I don't want her to. I hear her moving around and getting her things but I'm so tired I don't keep my eyes open to watch her.

Sometime later I feel Prim's hand rub along my stomach.

"I'll be back later today. If you need anything, get the walkie talkie and call me."

"Okay."

"Are you comfortable?"

I chuckle. "I haven't been comfortable for weeks."

I crack open my eyes a bit like the bed dips. I feel Prim's hand on my shoulder. "Let me get you some pillows, okay?"

I nod. My eyelids droop closed again. I feel Prim gently lift my knee and put a pillow between my legs. She then slips a pillow under my elbow. I automatically wrap my arm around it.

"Better?"

"Yeah," I say, forcing my eyes open to smile at her. "Thank you."

"I'll be back soon."

And then she's gone.

~

I wake to the snow howling outside.

With some difficulty, I sit up. It can't be any later than early afternoon, though the dark storm clouds outside make it impossible to tell without a clock. I glance at the one on our wall. It's around noon.

I move to the edge of the bed, letting my swollen feet rest on the floor as I stand up. I feel the all-too-familiar bend in my back from carrying this heavy baby. I begin to wonder about what this day will hold in Prim's absence. Along with Peeta's...

Then I feel it. A twinge of pain in my abdomen.

No. Oh no.

I sit back down on the bed, my hand on my stomach. No. No, this isn't happening. It's not.

It's a fake contraction. That must be it. It's fake. One of the fake ones that Prim mentioned.

So then, I have no reason to worry. But I do not leave the bed.

Another pain, stronger than the last, starts to build from inside me about a half-hour later. I hunch over, grabbing the metal bar of the bedframe, gasping at the intensity of the horrible clenching agony in my lower belly.

Another three contractions over the next few hours and I can no longer deny it.

I am in labor.

I let out a breath. You have time, I tell myself calmly. This kind of thing takes hours. It'll take hours. Prim will get back in time, and we can call mother and she can tell Prim to deliver the baby. Everything will be fine.

The wind roars from outside the window.

~

Six hours have passed.

It's nighttime now, but the blizzard rages on.

There is no way to get a hold of Prim out in the middle of the woods. And I can't make the trek to the fence to find help. Not at this time. The cabin's generator shut off from the power of the storm. The fire is dying and I don't have any firewood nearby. I meant to get some more a week ago but never got around to it, with Prim being here. Inside, I've lit a candle or two, but they only give off so much light.

I have barely moved from the edge of the bed, except to light the candles when the power went out. Now I lie on my side, clutching my belly and panting. In my other fist, I still have the metal bed frame, cold against my sweaty hand as I fight contraction after contraction, which has only grown closer together with how long I've been here.

It's overwhelming. I've felt pain, but none as bad as this.

I need my sister. I need my husband...

How is Prim going to get back? For that matter, when?

~

It's been nine hours now. The blizzard has had periods of stopping before it hits again with a vengeance an hour or so later. I'm sure Prim is stranded at the District, and I have no way of getting ahold of her. The walkie talkie is out of batteries.

I groan. I didn't want to do this by myself. I'm frightened to death, and I need Peeta here to chase the fears away. I need Prim to help me do this. Now I'm alone in the house with them.

I squeeze my eyes shut as another contraction rips through me. God, I can't do this. I can't push this baby out. Something will happen. It'll be too big. Or it'll come out backward. Or, god forbid, I'll do something to damage it.

I fight to slow down the hyperventilation that has already begun. No. No. Focus. You're by yourself. You have to do this. There is no other way.

Slowly, I hoist myself up when the contraction ends. I know I only have a few minutes before another one hits, so I move as quickly as my body will allow me to move toward the closet in the hallway.

I grab blankets and towels. I'll need some for wherever I give birth so I can clean up the mess. Then I need some for the baby when it comes out.

Once I seem to have enough of what I need, I waddle back into the bedroom and set the pile on the floor. Where will I have this baby? It seems only sensible to give birth on the bed, but the idea of being confined to it strikes fear into my heart. Another contraction suddenly sends me to the floor, and I rock on my hands and knees through it, almost not noticing the discomfort from kneeling on the rough, grainy carpet. I feel safe to make as much noise as I feel like making because no one is here to hear me, so I groan loudly.

When that contraction's done, I crawl toward the pile of blankets and towels that I had temporarily discarded. I'm going with what my body feels most comfortable doing, and right now, that does not include the bed. I take some towels from the pile and spread them onto the carpet in front of the bed. I slip out of my underwear and toss it on the floor. Then I take the pillows I was sleeping on and put them down in front of me so I can lean forward onto them when contractions hit. I carefully lower myself to the floor and kneel on the towels, making sure they're where they need to be. All seems to be in place. Now to wait for the baby.

It seems I may not have long to wait. As if seized by an invisible force, I reach both hands under me to feel for the baby, leaning forward slightly. The baby isn't coming out yet, but I know it must be close. I'm panting, chest heaving, stomach rising, and falling rapidly. I know I will have to push soon.

I wish Peeta was here. I'm sure Peeta would wish the same if he had any idea what was happening. He doesn't know me anymore...I know I can only have Prim here... If she can come back.

I cry out at the next contraction, my yell ending in what I think is a grunt. Once it's over, I flop into my pillows. That was a terrible one. I want to push. I don't know how to check myself, but I figure it out. I poke a finger far enough in to note that I can't feel the baby's head, and that's enough checking for me. I really want to push, but there's nothing there, so I lean forward onto my pillows and rock my hips from left to right. It helps a bit, but not much. I can almost feel Peeta's nice, warm hands on my back, soothing me through labor. That's what he would be doing right now.

I groan. The pressure is awful and only getting worse. I have to be close to pushing because I want to do it, but I know that the baby isn't close enough yet. As the pressure intensifies, so does my want.

Don't push, I think furiously, despite everything in my body screaming at me to do otherwise. You can't push yet. It's not ready. You're not ready. Don't push. Don't push.

I decide I won't let myself push until I absolutely can't resist the urge any longer. I don't want to do something wrong and hurt the baby. And since I have no idea what I'm doing, it seems best to be safe.

At the next contraction, I actually scream aloud, and by some insane desire, I pray that Prim heard it. I need her. This baby is coming and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to take care of it. Prim will know. I won't.

"No," I choke, my arms braced around my belly. "No, stop. I want this to stop."

As if I really think I could make this stop. Tears begin to fill my eyes.

"Please," I whisper.

I know I could never stop it even if I wanted to. I don't know who I'm pleading with anymore.

"Please," I whisper again.

As if in reply, another wave of unbelievable pain hits. I yowl, falling face-first onto the pillows, my hands clenching into fists. I want to push. I want to push.

A gush of fluid hits my feet and my breath catches. It's coming. It's really coming and there is no one here to deliver it. I don't know how to deliver any baby, let alone deliver my own into my hands.

I try to breathe. It can't be that complicated. I just have to catch it, don't I?

Then I get another contraction and I remember. Oh. The pushing. I have to do that too.

When, though? It has to be soon. As soon as the contraction's gone I check myself again, and this time, I am startled to feel something warm and solid against the pad of my finger. That has to be the head. As soon as this realization hits, so does another contraction. I have to push. I have to push.

I realize I need to get in whatever position I'm going to have this baby, and I'd better do it quickly. As if on cue, my body forces me to stand, one hand clenching the bedpost. I make sure there are towels under me to catch any fluid or blood. I breathe. This is it. This is it. Breathe. Be calm.

My hands are shaking. Another wave hits me, and I know this one is it. I'm going to push.

So I take a deep breath and I push. I really push, and my knees seem to naturally bend as I do so. It hurts beyond belief, but it almost feels good, too. It's what my body is supposed to be doing with this baby on its way. Pushing it out. And it means that labor will be over, and there's little more I want right now than that.

When my urge to push dies back down, I reach down to feel my progress. Nothing.

I give an exasperated groan. I've never done this before, so I have no idea how long this part will take.

The blizzard continues to howl outside. It's dark now, the only light coming from the candles I've lit in our bedroom. I'd almost prefer it this way. The calm and quiet glow from the candles is comforting.

I push again, both hands gripping the metal bar on the bedframe, bearing down with what feels like every muscle in my face, chest, stomach, legs, and bottom. It has to be at least a little bit closer now, with how hard I'm pushing. I want this thing out.

I grunt and growl and strain for a few more minutes before I rest again. I feel down there and still nothing, really. I briefly wonder if I should get a mirror before another contraction hits and I realize that I can't hold a mirror while I'm giving birth.

I make sure to keep my legs spread far enough so that this child can come out. I push again, and suddenly I can feel how close the baby's head is. It's painful, so painful, but I grit my teeth and press on. There's no stopping this baby now.

With the next push, I make progress. I know this because when I stop, I can feel it. The small throbbing sensation coming from that area causes me to feel around, and I feel it again. The tiniest bit of the warm, solid head is starting to come out.

"Come on," I growl, bearing down again. I push until suddenly I feel burning. I stop. Is something wrong? I feel around and discover that the baby's head is beginning to crown. I have to assume that it's normal to feel stinging because I have an uncontrollable urge to push and I must follow it. I push again and the burning worsens.

"Nngh!" I scream, but I can only stop for a breath. My body is forcing me to push. I have little control over it now. I am pushing so hard I can't make any noise, and I feel like every vein in my face is about to burst. But I can also feel the baby-making progress, and that keeps me going.

I push again, and again, and again. I rock my hips to lighten up the pressure. I breathe. I moan. I scream.

Finally, I notice that I have pushed all the way to the forehead. I groan in frustration. It's taking forever and it feels like I'm being slowly torn in half. I thought I'd be further by now.

"Come – out," I snarl, pushing again. I put my hands on the baby's head. It's warm, slimy, and solid, and I feel some silkiness that I know is its hair. I wonder if it will have dark hair like mine or blonde hair like Peeta's.

I am spared further contemplation of this when I am seized by my next contraction. The awful stretching, stinging, burning feeling worsens every second, my scream growing louder and louder...

And there's the head. It's out. I've rounded a corner, but I'm not done. I take a few deep breaths. I try not to let myself relax just yet, though there is a bit of relief that comes with feeling the baby's head sticking out of me.

I'm exhausted from standing. With one hand still on my baby's head, I slowly lower myself down into a squat, noting with some relief that this is a semi-comfortable position to give birth in. For the first time, I can look down and see how much progress I've made. Once the initial shock of seeing the baby's head between my legs passes, I reach down and touch the baby's face. Dark hair is plastered to the head. The eyes are shut, the face a light purple.

That's odd. I feel the part of its neck that's out and feel, with a jolt of dread, a slimy umbilical cord.

I loop a finger around it almost instinctively and pull the cord over the baby's head and off of its neck. Now I have to get it out. What if it can't breathe?

I push immediately. The shoulders are just as awful as the head, if not worse, and a scream rips its way through my throat. I really want to stop pushing for a few minutes. My body isn't allowing it, so I keep going, wiping everything else from my mind except getting my baby out and into my arms.

I take a breath and push again, my hands ready to catch the baby. I make enough progress for the baby's head to turn. I don't even prepare myself for the final push. I am ready.

I gather up whatever strength I can find and push hard. Once I've passed the shoulders, I watch the arms come through. With me guiding it, the baby slides out of me onto the towel, along with what looks like a river's worth of fluid and blood and goodness knows what else.

It's out. It's out. I gave birth to a baby and it just came out. I lift it off of the towel and up to my chest immediately. I feel the baby's slippery skin touch mine as I sit up and fall back against the bedframe. My hand on its back, I grab a blanket and cover the baby with it. I'm still breathing hard as I put a trembling hand over my eyes. It's over. I can't believe it's finally over.

Then I realize that the baby hasn't made a sound.

I grab another blanket and do what I've seen my mother do with a baby that is taking a long time to cry. I start to rub the blankets over the baby, maybe start something going in the heart or lungs.

"Please," I gasp, tears already falling, fear already chilling me to the bone. I can't have had a dead baby. I'll die too. "Please. Cry."

Suddenly I feel a squirming against my chest, and my whole world stops. I brush back the towels to see the baby's face turn from a light purple to a bright red. Its mouth opens and it gives a small gurgling cry, then it begins to really wail. And it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

I gasp, my eyes filling rapidly at the sound of its cries. I can't stop looking at my baby, can't stop drinking it in. I am already so in love. Then I suddenly realize I haven't even checked its gender. One quick lift of the blankets, and I know.

It's a girl. A baby girl.

I look at its face, her face, and I start to weep. She is so, so beautiful. My daughter.

"Hi," I say, laughing and crying.

I hold her close to me and sob as she starts to slow her down crying. For good measure, I grab another blanket and spread it over her. I want her to be warm. As I embrace my child, happy and relieved tears streaming down my cheeks, it occurs to me that I never want to let her go.

I'm still crying as I adjust her into the crook of my arm and gaze down at her. We did it. By some sheer miracle, we did it. And now my baby is in my arms at last. I feel joy, relief, and the strongest, scariest love I've ever known. One or two of my tears lands on her soft, sweet face.

She begins to squirm after a few moments and makes unhappy little noises that hint at eventual fussing.

I know, at least, I think, that she might be hungry. I unbutton my nightgown and bring the baby up to my breast. I don't know how to make her latch on, so this takes a few moments to figure out. Once she has found her food source, she immediately begins suckling. It feels strange, but it doesn't hurt.

"There you go," I tell her softly, stroking her rosy little cheek.

When she is done, her tiny eyelids suddenly squeeze and open, and our eyes meet for the first time. I well up again at how blue hers are. They're Peeta's eyes. It makes me wish more than ever that Peeta had been here with me for this. But I am her one and only for a few moments. And in those moments I surrender my life to this little baby. She is mine, and I am hers.

I lean down and kiss her small head, feeling her soft dark hair on my lips. She is calm now, and it does not take long for her to go to sleep, her head on my heart, her hand clenching a fistful of my hair.

It only takes a glance out of the window at the continuously falling snow that brings back any worries. My life might have changed drastically in this dimly lit bedroom, but the atmosphere outside has gone on as if nothing had happened. I have to hope that it'll stop soon, so Peeta can come home to see his daughter. And speaking of my daughter, I have to keep her warm while the power's off. Suddenly this little life in my arms seems even more vulnerable. I hold her close, curling over her protectively.

"We're okay," I whisper.

She doesn't seem to be cold now, which is good, but I'm paranoid about the slightest breeze rolling across her fragile skin. I've seen too many sick babies on my mother's kitchen table. I push the thoughts out of my mind and grab the last blanket from the pile, covering my daughter with it. She has to stay warm.

I suddenly realize that I am completely spent. Every muscle is sore and in desperate need of rest. I know I can't move, though, until the afterbirth is taken care of. As if on cue, I feel it down near my pelvis. The cord is still attached to it, so I reach down and tug it out. It's bloody and slimy and positively disgusting, but at least it's out and I can forget about it. I layer towels on the floor and move it onto them. The cord has stopped pulsing. I briefly wonder if I should get something to cut it before I realize that it has fallen off on its own. That takes care of that.

I refuse to let my baby sleep on the drafty floor, in the dead of winter, in the midst of a blizzard. I need to get us onto the bed so we can both sleep. I make sure there is nothing else coming out of me before I gather up my baby and slowly rise to a standing position. My leg muscles have almost nothing left. They shiver and shake as I walk very slowly toward the bed. Though all of the pillows are now on the floor, the quilt is still perfectly spread. My strength is limited, so I gently lay the baby onto the far-end of the quilt. She stirs a little but does not wake. I have to kneel down on my knees and crawl to get the pillows since standing is incredibly draining. I am not so stupid as to toss the pillows up onto the bed, because I don't want any to land on the baby. I force myself to stand again so I can get myself and the pillows onto the bed. It takes a few minutes since my muscles are still trembling in protest, but I manage. Once I've adjusted the pillows, I pull back the quilt enough for us to both get under it without doing too much jostling. I scoop the baby back up into my arms and lie down with her.

Once I am under a blanket do I finally feel how exhausted and utterly relieved I am. My baby lies beside me, asleep, breathing softly, her cherub's face still and peaceful. I put an arm around her and move myself a little closer so that I'm nearly curled over her, my nose barely touching her forehead, my arm encircling her. The last thing I remember before I drift off is her quiet, peace-filled breathing.

Hey guys! Mariyam and Zeffie here! Thanks for reading! We hope you liked it! We loved this part! Hope yall did too! Let us know what you guys think!! We love feedback! Plz leave a vote and a comment! We love you all so much! More will be out soon! We promise! Baii!          ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

-Zeffie and Mariyam! ╰(*°▽°*)╯