How The Courier felt after Kiddo's birth
The fire is low. Wasteland nights were not as quiet as they used to be anymore. Not since a week ago.
The Courier sits on a flat stretch of red rock, knees pulled up, elbows resting on them. The baby is wrapped tight in a worn blanket at her side. Not cradled or held, but laying on the cold ground, tossing and turning as she whined.
Joshua Graham stands a few feet away, hands folded behind his back, watching the horizon the way he always does, like heβs expecting judgment to rise with the sun.
βShe doesnβt have a name,β he says finally, not looking at her.
The Courier snorts softly, no humor in it.
βShe does,β she replies. βKiddo.β
Joshua keeps his gaze on the sky. βThat is not a name.β
She shrugs. βItβs what he used to call me.β
Thereβs a long silence. Wind drags over sand and ash, the baby whimpering and cooing softly to fill what sound was missing.
βShe cries,β the Courier says after a moment. βAnd I justβ¦ sit there.β
Joshuaβs gaze finally shifts then, slow and measuring.
βI feed her. I change her. I make sure she doesnβt die.β Her voice stays level, almost cynical. βBut when she cries, I donβt feel anything. No panic. No ache. Noβ¦β She gestures vaguely at her chest. ββ¦whatever itβs supposed to be.β
They donβt have a word for it out here. They barely have clean water. The feeling was empty and something she couldn't identify.
βShe smells like milk and dust and him,β she continues. βAnd I keep thinking ββ
She grimaces, pinching the bridge of her nose and rubbing.
βI keep thinking he did this on purpose..and how stupid I was to let him.β
βHe helped bring a girl into a world ruled by men.β Her voice hardens. βMen like Caesar. Like House. Like him. Men who carve their names into everything and call it order.β
The baby shifts. A small, restless sound.
The Courier doesnβt pick her up.
βAnd worse,β she adds quietly, βhe brought someone into this world who will never know what itβs like to be truly and fully loved.β
The statement finally pulls Joshuaβs attention fully onto her.
βWhy do you believe that?β
She laughs. The sound was sharp and ugly.
βBecause look at her.β She gestures toward the bundled infant. βLook where she is. Look who her parents are.β
Her eyes flick toward Joshua now, defiant. Daring him to contradict her.
βI canβt even name her,β she says. βI look at her and all I see is leverage. A weakness. A bargaining chip someoneβs going to use. Maybe him. Maybe Caesar. Maybe...me.β
The last word comes out quieter than she meant it to.
Joshua steps closer. Not too close. It was like crowding a wounded animal, something he knew better not to do.
βYou think love is a guarantee,β he says. βSomething owed.β
She shakes her head. βNo. I think itβs something I donβt have in me.β
The confession sits between them, raw.
βI thought when she was bornβ¦β The Courier swallows. βI thought something would change. That Iβd feel claimed. Like I belonged to something.β
Her eyes drop to the baby.
βI just felt tired. And angry.β
Joshua studies her for a long time. His voice, when it comes, is low and steady.
βAnger is not the absence of love.β
βIt is often the shadow of it,β he continues. βYou are angry because you see the dangers she will face. Because you know this world. Because you understand men like her father.β
The word "father" is deliberate. A dad would be someone loving and present.
βYou would not be angry,β he says, βif you did not already fear for her.β
The Courier purses her lips and shakes her head.
βI donβt want her to be small,β she mutters. βI donβt want her to learn how to make herself agreeable. I donβt want her to think survival means smiling at the right men.β
Joshua nods once. βThen teach her otherwise.β
She shakes her head. βYou donβt get it. He brought her into a world where being a girl is already a disadvantage. And he did it without thinking about what that means.β
Her voice just barely cracks.
βAnd heβll never love her the way she deserves. He doesnβt know how. He doesnβt even know how to love himself without turning it into a deal.β
The statement twisted itself from the Courier's stomach to her throat. She knew how true it was. Anyone who knew Benny would agree.
"And it's just my luck that she survived the full pregnancy."
Joshua crouches finally, lowering himself so heβs level with her instead of looming over her.
βPerhaps,β he says carefully, βyou are not grieving the childβs lack of love.β
βPerhaps you are grieving your own.β
The baby begins to fuss in earnest now. They were small, insistent cries. Thin but stubborn.
The Courier stares at her like sheβs facing down an enemy she doesnβt understand.
βYou do not feel what you expected,β Joshua says. βit is a human feeling...it does not mean you are incapable.β
βShe is alive because of you,β he continues. βShe is warm because of you. She is fed because of you. Those are acts of love, whether you feel them yet or not.β
As the crying grows louder,
The Courier exhales sharply, frustrated.
βPick her up,β Joshua says, a command that made the Courier's chest tighten with guilt.
After a moment, she does so awkwardly, like sheβs holding something fragile but foreign.
Kiddoβs crying stutters when sheβs lifted, quieting but not fully stopping. The tiny fist curls into the fabric of the Courierβs shirt.
βSheβs going to grow up hard,β she whispers.
Joshuaβs voice is steady as stone.
βThen she will survive.βThe Courier looks down at the babyβs scrunched, furious little face, her tiny fists balling up in protest.
βShe deserves better than survival.β
Joshua meets her eyes, then to Kiddo's.
βThen give her more.β
The fire pops. The wind shifts.
The Courier didn't speak.
And Kiddo, unnamed, still, and fragile, breathes steadily against her chest.
