Chapter Text
Joshua looks up to the mouth of the cave when he hears her bag drop, the canvas sack hitting stone. His lips part, sucking in a breath when he sees her. Six. She stands in the archway— looking worse for wear than he’d seen her last, over a year ago.
His eyes search her— she’s thinner than she’d been when she joined them the summer before last, but he imagines that he knows why. News of the Mojave has reached them, even this far from civilization. There’s a bandage across her wrist where the ratty canvas of her overcoat rides up, and a redness to her throat— as if a collar rested there, once. He grimaces at the thought.
When he finally speaks, it’s slowly. Calculated. An observation, rather than a judgement. “You’ve returned.”
As if his words have given Six permission— permission to speak, to breathe— she exhales. Her shoulders slump, losing their tense rigidity— “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” she admits, meeting his eyes. “But I had a feeling.”
He nods.
Six shifts on her feet. The cave is warm— but she keeps her jacket on. Her fingers curl around the frayed edges of the sleeves as she bites her lip. When she releases her lip— it floods bright red with blood.
She looks up at him. Her eyes meeting his own. She sucks in a breath, and then says— “I’ve figured out what I want.”
Joshua’s own mouth presses together in a thin line. That was something he’d asked her, long ago— “What do you stand for, Courier? What do you want?”
“And that is?” he asks slowly.
“A baby.”
Joshua stills. His hands stop over the gun he’s been half paying attention to since she stepped into the cavern. The weapon isn’t his, not really— not like the one he’d given her months ago. That— he sees— is still strapped to her hip where Maria used to be.
They hadn’t parted on bad terms, but their argument had left a bad taste in his mouth— especially when she’d told him she was leaving the next morning.
She’d told him it wasn’t because of him. Still— he’d given her his gun as an apology.
Along with the words— you’re always welcome in Zion.
He wasn’t sure she’d known that he meant it.
He watches Six shift on her feet again, her teeth digging into her lip, waiting.
He closes his eyes briefly.
He’s not so stupid to pretend to be ignorant of what she means. What she wants. She’s come here to ask it of him. “I’m not sure I’m capable,” he tells her. He pulls his hands away from the gun entirely, resting them on his thighs.
The Legate would never have admitted that— though the Legate had certainly been capable. The fire— he grimaces. It burned away more than his pride, his vanity. He hasn’t— he hasn’t tried much since the canyon, since the Legion.
When he looks up, she’s watching him. It’s not with pity. If anything— it’s with curiosity. Always with her persistent curiosity. “Don’t you have others to ask?” he says.
“Thought about it,” she admits, shifting on her feet. “Arcade would make a good dad,” she says, as though he should know who these men are. “But he’s not into women. And Boone— really thought about that one—” she laughs, almost bitterly, “but he’s got too much trauma on his plate right now.”
He snorts. “So you thought I was the best option?”
“Yes,” she says. In a moment of raw honesty, she says, “I saw in your eyes what you were capable of doing to protect your family.” For a moment, her hand goes up to her throat— raw and red. As if realizing she’s done it, she drops her hand again.
Joshua knows what she means— Salt-Upon-Wounds. It was only at her insistence that she spared the man, so long ago. He owes her that.
He curls his hand into a fist over his thigh, breathing in. This might not have been what he’d wanted, years ago— not exactly, anyway— but it is a chance. A chance to redeem himself. Making things right in the eyes of his people, his God. Doing what he should have done, instead of joining up with Sallow— return to New Canaan, start a family.
“Very well,” he says.
“Oh,” Six says, “that easy?”
His mouth upturns into a smile. “I have a few conditions,” he says.
“Okay,” Six says, cautiously. She steps into the room. A single step, and then two. And then she sheds her jacket, laying it atop a New Canaan supply cache. Her arms are bare under the jacket, showing off pale scars that crisscross her arms. Many made in service of helping the tribals here in Zion. Many others that he has yet to learn the story of.
“If it takes,” he tells her, slowly, as he watches her cross the cavern, “you return with me to New Canaan and be my wife.”
It’s a request. One he cannot, or will not, force on her. If she changes her mind once she has what she wants from him— then that is God’s will.
Six stops, halfway to his side. Her hand comes to wrap around her bandaged wrist, but she doesn’t flinch as she wraps her fingers around it.
“Oh,” she says. “You’d want that? Me?”
“Yes,” he says, frowning. “Any man would be blessed to have you as his wife.”
“I wasn’t sure that you’d—” she says, turning her face away. Her cheeks flush. She doesn’t finish the thought, though Joshua longs to know what she thinks he doesn’t want from her. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Alright.”
Joshua meets her halfway. Pushing away from the table, he steps off the raised rock platform to her side. He takes her hand, bringing it to his mouth. He presses a kiss to her bandaged palm— bandage against bandage. He meets her eye, and her breath hitches.
“So,” Six says, “do you want to get started?”
Her eyes flick to the cot in the corner of the room. Joshua laughs, a bright feeling in his chest. “It’s a long walk from New Vegas. You must be hungry,” he tells her. “Come. I’ll make you dinner.”
While he cooks, Six chatters. She speaks of nothing important. Not the Mojave, not her injuries. Instead, she tells him of her walk from New Vegas. The creatures she saw, the roads she walked. He occasionally interrupts with questions about dinner, but— for the most part, he is content to listen to her talk. Her voice. It’s something he missed— the sound of uncomplicated conversation. The Sorrows are good people, but they speak to him with a reverence that he often thinks is undeserved. Six has never had that impression of him.
When he sets the plates down in front of them, he takes a moment to pray, taking Six’s hand in his own as he bows his head. He thanks the Heavenly Father for the food, for the blessings they’ve been given, and— Six’s return. When he speaks her name, Six’s breath hitches. She doesn’t join in the words, but when he says Amen, her voice echoes his— stumbling in a prayer she’s never spoken before. He squeezes her hand.
After dinner, they wash up. Their shoulders brush as they kneel beside the bucket of water Joshua uses for dishes, passing plates and utensils between hands. It’s domestic. Something he hasn’t had in years.
When they’re finished— when they’ve dimmed the lights, and Joshua takes her hand—
Six reaches for him first. She touches his cheek with her free hand, meeting his eyes as she leans in, pressing a kiss to his mouth. He can’t help but let out an agonizing breath at the feeling of it, the feeling of her. She deepens the kiss— opening her mouth to him and tasting him.
Her fingers find the zipper of his vest, tugging it away off his shoulders, dropped to the ground with a thud. And then she reaches for the buttons of his shirt, popping them open quickly as she presses him back towards the bed. Joshua pulls back, and she makes a noise, her brow furrowing when she meets his eyes. His hand covers her own.
She moves as though she’s afraid he might disappear if her fingers leave him.
“Six,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t—” she says, looking up at him with a furrowed brow. Her eyes flick away for a moment. “Usually men want—”
“What do they want?” he asks her, prodding.
Her mouth twists, sourly. “I don’t know,” she says, though he thinks she does. “Usually they just want to fuck and get it over with,” she says. “Whenever Boone and I would— you know, it had to be fast. Because of everything.”
“Six,” he says gently, but almost scolding. “It’s not going to be like that.”
He’s not going to conceive a child like a whore being paid by the hour. He’s going to make love to her, and spend all night doing it.
Six’s brow lowers, confusion passing her face— as if she doesn’t quite understand. He wonders if anyone has shown her this courtesy, or if all the times she remembers being touched has been with haste.
He kisses her again, his hand on the back of her neck. This time it’s slow— as he explores her mouth. She moans into him, pressing her body up against his— curling her fingers at his lower back. He kisses her like that for some time— until, when he pulls back, he sees her face is flushed and her eyes are heavy-lidded.
“Joshua—” she says, breathless.
But he’s not done with her. He presses her down onto his cot, kneeling over her to press a searing kiss to her mouth. She tilts her head up to meet him, whining as he pulls away. He kisses her jaw— her throat, her breath hitching as his scarred lips trail across her red neck. He kisses her collarbone, down to the curve of her breasts over the collar of her singlet. He tugs down the collar, her breasts coming free— heaving with her chest. He feels her eyes on him as he takes one of them into his mouth.
The Legion had always been of mind that breasts were for feeding babies— though, to Joshua, that’s now half the appeal. If they do things right— if God is willing— in some months his child will be feeding from her breast as he is now. It's with this thought that he first feels the stirring in his groin— a bare pull of arousal that aches.
He leans into it, pressing his pelvis into the bed between her thighs as he sucks and nibbles on her breasts— taking turns between them until they’re flushed and red, pointed with arousal. His hands find their way under her singlet, and he pushes it up and over her, leaving her bare-chested on his bed. He pulls back, leaning on his knees. “You’re beautiful,” he tells her, solemnly. All of her scars, her imperfections— they make a woman whole. “Thou art all fair; there is no spot in thee.”
“Joshua,” she breathes again, and then he’s reaching for the button of her trousers. She helps him tug them free of her hips, pulling her underwear with them, clearly sticky with arousal. Seeing her cunt, the swollen clit peeking up between the hair between her thighs, he feels another stirring of arousal.
He doesn’t touch her there, not yet— he kisses down her ribcage, over her womb— lingering to press a kiss there, imagining it rounded with his child. And then he kisses her clit— taking it into his mouth and sucking, pinning her hips to the bed as she howls and jumps. He smirks against her, pressing his fingers against her hole. She’s slick already, aroused from their kissing and his attention to her breasts. Reactive.
He traces between her lower lips, slicking his fingers as he hums against her. He rocks his hips into the mattress, chasing the feeling as he licks her open, his tongue and fingers spreading her entrance. This, too, is sacred. Her womb, her breasts, her cunt. Divine articles of a woman.
Six’s entrance is pink and swollen from his attention, spread wide from his fingers. He pulls back to see her entrance pulse around his fingers, her clit twitching with each curl of them. Six’s head is thrown back, her own fingers curled in the bed sheets. “Six,” Joshua murmurs against her entrance. “I need you to come for me,” he tells her. Whatever happens tonight— at least he can give her this.
“Keep—” she says, her breath hitching as he curls his fingers upwards, pressing up against her pelvis. “—keep going like that. Put your mouth back on me— yes!” she says, as he wraps his lips around her clit. He feels her come— spasming around his fingers, leaking fluid down her perineum. She sighs, her body going limp as he pulls out of her.
“Come here,” she says, reaching for him lazily. He complies. He lays atop her, careful not to lay his entire weight on her, and kisses her. He’s sure she can taste herself on him, but she doesn’t seem to mind— wrapping her fingers in the cotton of his shirt, holding him close.
Eventually her fingers start to stray, to press up against his cock through his trousers. She pulls back quickly. “Joshua,” she says, pulling away from him. Her brow is narrowed in confusion. “You’re not— hard,” she says.
He grimaces. “I— apologize,” he says. “It’s not you. I’ve faced difficulties maintaining an erection since the fire.”
Again— it’s not pity that crosses her face, but sympathy. Determination. “Well,” she says, sitting up, pressing him into the mattress gently. “Let me see what I can do.”
She strips him carefully. But even when he’s removed all of his clothing— he’s still bandaged. It will always be like this for him, he fears. His cock lays between his legs— harder than normal, but still not enough to stay inside her. Six looks at him curiously, and then reaches for his cock. She tugs at it gently. The sensation is dulled, like he’s still wearing clothing. “You’ll have to be harder than that, I’m afraid,” he tells her. She bites her lip, and then tugs harder. He groans, grits his teeth. “Yes, like that.”
She does. She alternates between tugging at his cock and fondling his testicles until his cock stands at attention. It takes far longer, he knows, than it should. A labor hardly worth it, he fears. Six looks at her accomplishment proudly— and then she ducks down to take him into her mouth. He hisses at the pressure— her mouth warm and tight as she sucks. She looks up at him from his cock, and if he had been a younger man, he would have come from that alone.
“Six,” he moans, reaching to cup the back of her head. She slides her mouth down his shaft, hitting his pelvis— moaning as she goes. He feels that. She pulls nearly off, sucking at the head of him. She keeps at it for a while, finally lifting off his cock with a pop.
Her mouth is red and swollen, saliva dripping from the corner until she wipes it with the back of her hand. She looks at his cock, her hands on his thighs. “You’re not going to get any harder, are you?” she asks. Her eyes flick up to meet him.
His cock stands between them, but it’s as soft as it is hard. “No,” he tells her, “probably not.”
She nods, and then she straddles him. Her cunt— still wet— slides across his cock, soaking him. She takes him into her hand, pressing his cock against her entrance. It takes two tries, but eventually her folds part for him, and he’s inside her. She rides him like that— her hands on his chest, her head thrown back, rutting her hips against him.
It takes him a while, even with her soft, wet cunt clutching around him. But when he comes— he feels it wash over him. He spends inside her with weak spurts, far less than when he was in his prime. Still, Six smiles at him as she rides him through it, seemingly happy about it. When she pulls off him, she’s careful to catch his spend, pushing it back inside her with two of her own fingers. His cock makes a weak attempt to jump at the sight of it.
She lays down against his side, cleaning her fingers with her mouth before tucking them into his bandages. He watches her like he has all evening.
“What happened to you?” he asks her.
She laughs, breathily. “I learned to let go,” she says. “Caesar is dead. Benny isn’t.”
Joshua nods.
He had called her a hypocrite, then, at the Three Marys— seeking her own revenge when preventing him from his. She had been right, though. Killing Salt-Upon-Wounds would have destroyed him, destroyed everything he’d worked for. He presses a kiss to her hair, and he holds her close.
Joshua hikes behind Six along the old side road towards the North Fork campground. The sky is a honeyed-orange, the sun starting its descent towards the earth. Around them, the sounds of Zion carry— the chatter of birds in the air, the insects in the bushes, Six’s boots on gravel. It's a peaceful existence.
Spring passes with little news. And then summer. What has always been empty remains empty.
But with summer comes the caravans. The first proper trains of them in years.
First Happy Trails, then others— Crimson Caravan, Far Go Traders, and the smaller companies— having heard the word of the New Canaanites, Joshua’s people reconvening in the burned city to rebuild as they always have. Daniel sends letters when he can— the temple is rebuilt, the boarding house. Salted earth cleared, overturned— the community garden growing healthy and tall. Build ye houses, and dwell in them; and plant gardens, and eat the fruit of them.
Each letter sends a ping to his heart, only soothed by God’s kingdom in Zion— and now by Six. He shares each letter with her when it comes, the drawings of the ever-growing map of New Canaan Daniel includes with each one.
The caravans had been Joshua’s excuse for staying when all the others— Daniel, the Dead Horses— had left. Someone needed to stay to guide the travelers to New Canaan, didn’t they? But the truth of the matter was that Joshua longed for the peace that Zion had brought him in the wake of the destruction of New Canaan. Forever chasing wistful memories— and escaping the guilt that plagues him often.
“Not much farther,” Six says, glancing back over her shoulder at him. He hums in agreement.
They stop for a moment when they hear the cry of a gecko over the ridge, towards the burned cabin that blackens the landscape. They both reach for their guns, but after a moment, the cry dies down. Six turns to him. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” she says, tone almost teasing. “I make this walk all by myself all the time.”
“I know,” Joshua says.
As if finding her purpose, Six has taken it upon herself to greet each passing company. When the Sorrows’ scouts relay the news of a caravan coming through the pass, Six hikes up the hill to the campground to meet them. To offer them the spoils of Zion, the hospitality of its people. And, he thinks— to make her own judgements of those who come to their kingdom.
Occasionally Joshua joins her, when he has something worth trading for, or is in need of parts hard to scavenge. The New Canaanites accept all forms of money— caps, NCR, Legion coin— with plenty to spare, and he has skills the caravans are often in need of.
This time, though— it’s late. For all the sun left in the sky, her salvaged Pip-Boy leading her way, Joshua worries for her. He can’t help it. These days— she’s a more permanent fixture in his bed than not, even if there haven’t been any results to speak of.
He looks over the horizon. “I know you’re plenty capable. But darkness comes quickly these days, and I worry for you.”
She smiles at him, almost shyly. The same teasing tone to her voice as she says, “As you pray for the safety of all good people who come to Zion?”
He snorts, but reaches for her hand, pulling her close. Her eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, as he does. He tugs down his bandages, if just for a moment, to press a kiss to her mouth. This sort of affection is usually reserved for the dark of his cave— but he cannot help it, not with her so close. “Yes, you know I do. But I worry for you in particular.”
She flushes, leaning into his touch. “Oh,” she says, and turns her face away. “We should hurry, then.”
She tugs him along with her until they can see the campground by the river. The caravan has already settled into the camp, a fire lit and sending smoke high in the air. Three guards sit at the picnic table, while a fourth tends to the two brahmin at the water troughs, brushing them with a thick-bristled brush. The brahmin that Joshua can see bears a symbol he’s unfamiliar with in the caravan circles— a faded rose like something out of a medieval manuscript. Two traders stand near the trailers, one of the women leaning up against the canned ham-shaped metal body.
Six drops his hand when she sees them. Her breath hitches, and then she shrieks in joy— surprising Joshua, bristling him.
“Cass!” Six calls out as she breaks into a run, and one of the traders’ heads shoots up sharply— the woman leaning against the trailer.
The woman has lightly tanned skin— weatherbeaten from caravan work, freckled like the night sky— her hair the same color as the morning sunrise.
Genuine joy splits the woman’s face when she sees Six, opening her arms for the woman. They collide so violently the trader’s cowboy hat is knocked from her head, the two women laughing as the caravaner has to stoop to pick it up.
Joshua watches the women talk for a moment before making his own way down the hill. When he reaches them, Six pulls back from the other woman, but their arms still touch, as if Six is afraid the woman might disappear if she lets go.
The woman he assumes is Cass turns slowly, tilting her cowboy hat to get a good look at him.
“This your Legate?” Cass asks. Joshua bristles for a moment before forcing himself to stand down. It’s not judgement in the woman’s eyes, but caution. Like she’s chosen her words carefully to see his reaction.
But it’s not the use of his former title that has Joshua pause, but her familiarity with him. Six told her friends about him. He didn’t think that it was like that. Not for her.
“Yes,” Joshua says eventually, rather than correcting her.
“Rose of Sharon Cassidy,” Cass says, continuing to surprise him. She offers her hand, and Joshua takes it. Her grip is strong and sure. “But my friends call me Cass.”
“I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys,” he says, her hand still in his grip. “It’s a beautiful name,” he says.
Cass smiles, something lopsided about it. “Yeah, Dad used to think so too. He was one of those dirt pilgrims, like from your book,” she says. Taking her hand back, they come to rest on her hips. She looks around— first at Joshua, then the campground.
“I pray that your trip was uneventful?” Joshua asks her. They’ve had no word of the White-Legs attacking caravans since the first few weeks after the confrontation at the Three Marys, but the disgraced tribe is not the only player in this game. Animals, driven off by the sounds of the Storm Drums have returned to their breeding grounds. The 80s, too, have grown bolder with the destruction of New Canaan. It’s only by the grace of God, he knows, that his people haven’t been fully eradicated by them.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “It was fine, thanks,” she says. She bites her lip— the same way that Six does, when she’s thinking. Blue eyes meet his own. “The Legion is a real piece of work,” she tells him, “but at least in their territory caravans had a real shot of making it to their destination. Can’t say the same about NCR territory.”
Joshua nods slowly. He thinks this is another test. But he cannot disagree with her. It had been one of the reasons that so many so-called profligates stayed in Legion territory. Martial law was brutal, but the wasteland was far worse for so many. He cannot justify what they did for so long— his long list of sins something that he must atone for to this day— but he can understand the fear of the common wastelanders, and their acceptance of it.
“I hope that someday soon the same can be said for New Canaan,” he says. Talk among the tribes is that they hope to band together to eliminate the 80s, driving them away from Highway 50. But Joshua sees no point in another war, not so soon. Not when he hopes to stay closer to home.
Cass nods, turning back to Six. The dismissal is gentle— but a relief. Joshua has passed her scrutiny. The woman reaches for Six, grasping her arms. Her eyes flick down to Six’s middle. “No baby?”
Six’s smile tightens, shakes her head. Joshua sees her hands grip Cass’s arms tightly. He bites his tongue and turns away— he knows this news is disappointing to her. In truth, it’s disappointing to Joshua as well— worse than any judgement Six’s friends may have about his past. That is something he’s faced, a thousand times over. A thousand faces forgotten, a thousand sins remembered. But this personal failure—
Each time they try— or he fails to perform as expected— he knows that the fault lies entirely with him. Six never seems to hold it against him, but he never fails to think, even as she lays her head on his chest and talks of the future, that she could have chosen someone more fitting.
“Well, that’s alright,” Cass says, gripping Six’s arms. “Took Mom and Dad a few years to make me, and Dad sure was a horny bastard.” Six belts out laughing, and Joshua turns back to see the smile on her face.
Cass pulls away. “Brought something for you,” she says, disappearing into one of the campers for a moment. When she returns, she holds out an unlabeled jug to Six.
“Moonshine?” Six asks. “What was I supposed to do with this if I were pregnant, Cass?”
Cass laughs brightly. “You didn’t have to drink it immediately,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It was either for celebrating or to drink away our feelings.” Six purses her lips, shaking her head, but reaches for the cork. Cass turns to Joshua. “You joinin’, preacher-man?”
He means to say he’s not a preacher, he’s a missionary— but Six beats him to it. “He’s a missionary, Cass, it’s different.”
Cass shrugs. “They’re all dirt pilgrims,” she says, and Six rolls her eyes.
“No thank you,” Joshua says, an itch to his skin since Cass brought up the baby— or lack thereof. “I don’t drink.” He thinks that any further explanation of it is unnecessary.
Cass shrugs again. “More for us. You stayin’, cowgirl?” she asks Six.
Six turns to him— not for permission, but as an acknowledgement— and nods.
Joshua nods back. “Be safe, Six,” he tells her. He longs to reach out to her, to squeeze her hand in assurance, but he doesn’t. She smiles at him, and then turns back to her friend as Joshua descends into the valley again.
It’s late when Six stumbles back into the cave. Joshua is sitting on the bed, his knee raised as he reads from the bible. It’s one of those nights that the words bring him little comfort, but he reads them anyway.
Shadows dance off the wall as he hears Six swear, struggling to undress. He finds that the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a smile as he hears her. The toss of boots, a small crash— but her voice never goes silent. When she appears, spotting him, her face lights up in a way that never fails to ignite a bloom of affection in his chest. She’s stripped down to her underwear and her singlet, and after a moment of gazing at him, she drapes herself over him. Her skin is feverishly warm.
The smell of her leaves something to be desired— sickly-sweet alcohol masking her usual clean scent. His nose scrunches as he lays the bible face down on the floor beside him. “Did you have a good evening?” he asks her.
Her face is pressed into his chest— her reply only a murmur. He reaches to stroke her hair, loose from the tie she’d worn earlier.
“I can’t hear you, love,” he says, the word slipping out.
Six lifts her head off, her hair in her mouth. He smiles. “Yes,” she says. “Cass is very good at drinks.” He laughs.
“I’m sure she is.”
She shifts on him, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, and then his neck— trailing up his jaw. His breath hitches. “Six—”
“I want to fuck,” she says, and then kisses his jaw again. He can feel her words murmured against his skin through the bandages. She ruts against his leg. “I want you inside me. I’ve been thinking about it all day—”
He sighs. “Not while you’ve been drinking,” he tells her. He clenches his jaw and turns away, pressing his eyes closed. Even if she were sober— he isn’t sure he’d be able to, tonight. But he won’t have her like this.
She pulls away, groaning. She flops beside him. “Spoilsport,” she mutters into the pillow. After a moment, she lifts her head. She asks quietly, “Can I still stay?” His heart aches.
“Yes,” he says, quietly. “It’s your home too.”
She makes a noise against him, one he can’t read. Finally, she lifts her head up, resting against his shoulder again. “Read to me then. From your book,” she says almost petulantly. But Joshua can’t help smiling at it, at her— as he reaches for the bible.
He imagines this often— reading to his family. Her. Their children. And then he picks a passage, and begins to read aloud. This time— the words bring him comfort.
The sounds of the Sorrows’ camp echo through the Narrows. Joshua and Six sit along the river bank on log stools; thick, woven baskets between their legs. He reaches into the basket for another ear of maize— pulling free the husk, tossing the cob into one basket, the husk in another to be saved for preparation and crafting.
It’s quiet, steady work. Others sit in the camp, around their own baskets. Many hands make light work, especially at harvest time. He’s shucked half a dozen ears before he realizes that Six hasn’t moved in a while, her fingers tucked into the husk, but frozen there. Her arms rest on her thighs— healthier, now, than when she first returned to Zion. He feels it each time he touches her— the padding over her ribs, the meat of her thighs.
He follows her gaze. On the other side of the river, families convene around their own baskets. Mothers and fathers, children. Little girls kneeling in the silt, diligently pulling apart the husks and flinging maize silk at their siblings— shrieking in laughter as the spidery substance clings to their skin. A baby, less than a year old— surely conceived shortly after the victory at the Three Marys— clinging to its mother’s breast as the woman sits among female relatives, hands all working in sync.
Six has never told him what it was that prompted this. Her desire for a family, a child. She’d been abrasive the first time they’d met— jittery from the attack. But she’d softened when he’d talked of the Sorrows, had made fast friends with Waking Cloud— the woman telling Joshua once that she wished that Six could have met her family. And she has, now.
He wonders if she remembered something else from her past— the memories coming and going often. Or, if like Joshua— this had been something she’d wanted all along, buried under mountains of violence just to survive.
He means to speak, to call her name, when Six interrupts their silence. “What will we do in New Canaan?”
She speaks as if it’s inevitable. As if, month after month, he hasn’t failed her. Maps of the city tucked away in her things, as if more precious than the paper they’re drawn on. Maybe we’ll move here? she asks, fingers trailing along paper. Along the residential streets, along the outskirts of town, out over the untouched hills, the cliffs. Joshua leaning over her shoulder.
Joshua pauses. “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”
She looks down at the ear of maize in her hand. She rips the husk from the ear, tossing the greenery into the basket, pulling shreds of silk piece by piece. “It’s going to happen eventually, Joshua,” she tells him. As if she’s assuring him as much as herself.
“Yes,” he says, reaching for another ear of maize. He presses his lips together. “I was thinking of reopening my family’s gunsmithery,” he admits, pulling the husk free. He pauses. “Manufacturing firearms, as my family— my tribe— has done for centuries. Learning to use a .45 automatic pistol is a New Canaanite rite of passage, one I hope to share with future generations.”
Six nods. “You said someone from your tribe designed it before the war.”
Joshua nods. “The original factory still stands where John Moses Browning produced the first Colt 1911s, outside of what was once Ogden. Some of his machinery was used to open my family’s machine shop— but much of it still inhabits the factory.” Untouched by the White-Legs, who never understood the significance.
“Sounds like you’ve been thinking about it,” she says, nudging his boot with her own. She looks at him fondly, a teasing smile on her lips.
He nods again, slowly. “I have,” he admits. These days— he longs for a quieter life. For a while— Zion was a balm to his soul, but the longer he spends here, among the Sorrows— the more he thinks of his people. His tribe. “I know that my brothers would assist in rebuilding the shop,” he says, “as they have rebuilt the town. New Canaan is a community. I was—”
He pauses, pressing his lips together as he looks down at the ear in his hand. Bright yellow kernels glisten. He feels Six’s boot brush against his own.
“You were?” she prompts, gently.
“I was hoping to teach our son the craft as my father taught me,” Joshua finishes. His brothers— in flesh, not just in spirit— had returned home from their own missions to help their father run the shop. To teach their own sons the craft. They’re gone now. Thanks to his sins.
“Joshua,” Six says gently, a breath exhaling from her mouth. Their eyes meet for a moment, and she reaches out to squeeze his hand. Her palm is warm in his own. “I was thinking I could open a delivery company, like the Mojave Express.” She laughs, almost nervously. “I mean, I wouldn’t do any of the courier work, not when— when the baby was little or anything,” she says. He squeezes her hand. “But I— I don’t know. I like delivering letters, packages. People are always happy to see a courier.”
“I’m always happy to see a particular courier,” he tells her. Her mouth twists shyly, and she kicks his boot.
“I’ll bet,” she says, her face red. “I mean— this works out. You make the guns, I deliver them. We can do it together.”
A partnership in all things. “I’d like that,” he tells her.
Six drops her ear of maize into the basket, but doesn’t reach for another. “Have you— put any thought into what we talked about the other day?”
“Which topic?” he asks her, trying to think of a particular subject of importance.
“Names,” she says, reaching for a cob, as if trying to make it seem like it doesn’t matter as much as it does.
“I—” Joshua pauses. He hasn’t earned the right to name a child, not when he can’t do the basic act of creating one. Not when it will be her body that toils for months, and her body that labors to deliver it. “Six—”
“It’s alright,” she says, quickly. She busies herself with the maize. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he tells her, reaching for her hand again, to still it. “Six, I want to make it clear to you— I don’t consider this of low importance. But I— have I earned the right to name a child you will carry?”
“You’ll be its father,” she says. And then quieter, “Won’t you?”
As if she worries that he might not be. “Six,” he says again, dropping the maize in his lap. He reaches out between them, taking her cheek into his hand to tilt her face towards him. “You asked me to father your child. This is not a task I take lightly— the act of creation, or the responsibility that comes afterwards. The child will be mine, as you will be—” as you are— “and I do not want you to think that my hesitancy stems from that.”
She pushes forward, pressing her mouth to his. It’s muffled by the fabric, but still he savors it.
When she pulls back, her face is flushed red, her eyes glistening. She holds his hand close to her heart, her lips parting. She glances back towards the hill— where her tent lies, the one the Sorrows gave her. The one she rarely uses these days, spending most nights in his— their— bed.
“Do you want to—” she asks, her eyes flicking up towards the hill, her cheeks flushed.
“Yes,” he tells her. He wants to be close to her, very desperately.
They leave the basket of maize.
She pulls him by the hand up to the cliffside, pushing aside the flap of the tent. He’s hardly inside the tent at all before she’s pushing him down onto the bedroll, knocking the wind from his lungs. He hardly has time to breathe before she’s straddling him, kissing him desperately— like all the talk of their future hinges on the act of lovemaking, depends on it. And, he supposes it does.
“Joshua,” she moans against his mouth. His hands settle on her thighs, her core hot over him where she’s got her pelvis pressed to his own. She rocks her hips against him, want coursing through him. He grips her tightly— his teeth clenched as she peppers kisses along his jaw, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt— as if he could be one with her like this, if only his fingers press hard enough.
It's not enough, though— not like this. Not today. “Six—” he says, and she understands. She pulls off of him for a moment, pressing a searing kiss to his mouth.
“You want me to touch you?” she asks, her eyes glittering in the faded sunlight of the tent. He nods. A part of him reels from the shame of it— of having a beautiful woman on top of him, and not being able to maintain an erection for her. But when she looks at him like that— with a soft fondness, an open want— he supposes it doesn’t matter. He has no appearances to maintain, no one to impress, no one to intimidate. Not with this woman who agreed to become his wife, if all goes well.
She kisses him again— a long, searing kiss while she rubs herself against him. When she pulls off, she doesn’t move at first, taking in the sight of him— but then she reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head until she’s bare-chested for him. He reaches to touch her, instinctively— brushing his thumb against her breast, Six shivering under his touch. Her lips part and his hand leaves her breast— coming to brush the pad of her thumb against her lips. With a twinkle in her eye, she bites down on his thumb, barely a nibble— maintaining eye contact as she does.
His breath hitches, his cock twitching in his trousers, under her core.
Six pulls off of him entirely. She stands for a moment before she’s pulling her own trousers off. The sight of her, bare— it never fails to steal away his breath, no matter how many times he sees it, sees her. The thatch of hair between her thighs, the meat of her hips— spread for him, around his face, or over his hips.
She’s got her tongue between her lips as she kneels between his legs, reaching for his belt. Threading through the loops of his trousers, her deft hands on the zipper of his jeans. She tugs them down over his hips until he’s bare— save the bandages. For him, this is as close to naked as she sees him. She’s offered to help change them, but he turns her away each time. One of his sins, before his fall, had been vanity. And whatever it is she likes about him now— he fears that if she were to see what he is under it all, she might change her mind. It’s a vain thought, but one that persists. She never pushes, though he sees the distance in her eyes as he does.
But as of now— she reaches for his cock. There are days when his cock reacts like it should— standing tall and proud for her, when she can ride him with little effort. When spilling inside her is a gift more than a chore. And other days— like this one— where, despite all the lust and affection he holds for her, his cock rests with little interest.
She reaches for his soft member, laying dormant between his legs. She tugs at it gently, leaning forward to take it into her mouth. He feels it, vaguely— muffled, as if a sound under water.
He grimaces. She lifts off his cock, taking her own fingers into her mouth, wetting them. Catching his eyes as she does— arousing him more than the feeling itself, her mouth on him. When she reaches between his legs, he feels at first one of her fingers pressing against his hole, a clinical sting as she presses inside. She rubs him gently, her other hand on his thigh— until her second finger joins the first, pressing against the bundle of nerves inside him.
With two of her fingers rubbing against him, he feels the spark inside him, his cock beginning to take interest. She leans forward, taking his cock into her mouth again, her other hand leaving his thigh to stroke him to attention. It’s not the first time they’ve done this— her fingers doing what his body won’t naturally. She sucks at his cock until it stands at attention, until his breath hitches, and he’s tapping her shoulder.
She looks up at him, her mouth around his cock, two fingers inside him— eyes hooded, blown black with arousal. “Six,” he groans. “If you don’t come here, I’ll have to finish in your mouth.” It’s a pleasant thought, but it's not what he wants, not what he needs. It’s not what she needs, either. He saves that for when finishing in her cunt doesn’t matter— when she bleeds between her thighs, aching at her core.
Six lifts off his cock with a pop, saliva clinging to her mouth. He pulls her forwards until she’s practically collapsing on top of him. She positions herself over him, and then he feels her hand wrapping around his cock, lining up with her entrance. He groans, their foreheads pressed together, as she takes him inside her. “Joshua,” she breathes. “I want a baby. I want your baby. Will you give me one?”
He groans again. “If God is willing,” he says. She laughs, a breathy chuckle against his lips.
They breathe each other’s air as she raises her hips off his, the tight drag of her cunt around him. It’s not enough, her pace— and with his hands on her waist, holding her tight against him— he flips them over. She yelps, startled, as her back hits the mat— and Joshua pulls out of her, fucking her hard and quick. Her hand presses down between them, on her clit as he rocks inside her, his knees and thighs burning from the force of it. She’s beautiful, like this— under him. Stretched out on his cock, her chest glistening with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead.
He presses her into the bedroll, as best his knees allow— and takes her. It’s desperate and fast, and he feels like a young man again— sneaking away to kiss the girl down the street, kissing alone the most sinful thing he’d done.
“I’m—” Six says, a cry.
“Come,” he orders her. And she does. He feels her spasm around his cock, and that’s enough— it sends him over the edge, pressing her into the bedroll, her legs spread around him. He groans, his face in her shoulder, as his body empties what it can inside her. It’s more than he expects, but eventually he pulls off her, arranging them so she’s laying on his shoulder.
She nuzzles his chest, warm and satisfied. She hums.
Her fingers knot in his bandages, cool against his overheated skin. “What were you thinking,” she says, “for names? For the baby?”
His fingers stop the stroking of her skin. “You must have ideas,” he says, a gentile redirect.
She huffs. “Yes.” Her fingers knot the fabric. “I have loads of ideas.”
Her words sit uneven in his chest, like a roll of a ship. He wants to know them— but there’s a sting behind it, too. “What are they?” he asks.
“Oh, well,” she says lightly, “I was thinking about naming them after me.”
“You were?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says again, far too lightly. “Six, and all that. Six Graham junior. Three Graham. Two Graham.”
He purses his lips. He has a feeling she’s being less than genuine, but he did tell her to choose their names. “If that’s what you want.”
Six huffs again, and all at once she pulls away from him. She pins his shoulders to the bedroll, her eyes meeting his fiercely as her hair slips past her shoulders and brushes his chest. “Tell me a real name,” Six demands. “I don’t want you to just agree with me because you— you—”
“Because I—?”
“Because you feel bad or something,” she says. “If this is— is happening, if you want me to be your wife, and you want to have a family shop, and— and all that,” she says, “I need you to participate. You can’t just be— hesitant.”
“I don’t think anyone has accused me of being hesitant before,” he says, but she isn’t having any of it.
Her eyes narrow. “Well, you are,” she says. “Like you’re—” Her eyes widen, and she sits back on her heels. He has to prop himself up to see her. “Like you’re not sure it’s going to happen,” she finishes.
He presses his mouth together. He can’t argue with her claim.
“What part are you unsure of?” she asks. “That your parts work, or that I’m going to— flake on you?”
He closes his eyes. Sighs.
“Because I thought that I—” her words are bitter, and when he opens his eyes, she’s biting her lip and looking away. “I told you what I wanted. I’m tired of all this running.”
“Six,” he sighs, sitting up fully. “Come here,” he says. For a moment, he thinks that she might not. But she does. She moves slowly, but joins him at his side, laying back down with him. His hand rests over her belly, where he hopes his seed will take. He strokes her hair. “Six Graham,” he says. “You’re going to take my name.” It’s more of a question than a statement.
“Well,” she says, hesitant, “that’s what it means, doesn’t it? To get married?”
He chuckles, “Among other things. But you don’t want— to keep your name? Your real one?”
He knows she remembers it. She’d told him, once, that she remembers more than she lets on. It’s easier like this, she’d said. Pretending she doesn’t. It means she can ignore all the things she doesn’t want to face. That had been a point in their argument, then. But he doesn’t bring it up as a jab, now.
She stills. “This is my name now. Even if I’m going to sort of sound like a measuring cup.”
He laughs. “Alright, alright.” He strokes her hair. He looks up at the weatherbeaten tent roof. Pale gray. Worn thin. “There are names my tribe use often,” he tells her. “Names from our holy tomes— from scripture, from the Book.”
“Like?” she prompts.
“Nephi, Enos, Levi—”
“Not the first one,” she says, a low chuckle. “I knew a guy with a terrible golf swing.”
“A—”
“Those are boy names, aren’t they?” she asks, interrupting. “What about girls?”
“Sariah, for one,” he tells her. “Junia, Esther.”
“Junia,” she says, humming. “I like that one.”
His hand rests over her waist, her belly, her womb.
Junia, he thinks. When he closes his eyes— he once again asks God for this blessing, as Isaac and Zachariah had— as Hannah had: For this child I prayed; and the Lord hath given me my petition which I asked of him.
They wake to a chill in the air. Autumn has come, spilling into the valley like the maples and cottonwoods losing their leaves into the underbrush. Red washes as far as the eyes can see: the trees and their leaves, the red rock, the spilled blood.
Joshua can tell it’s already going to be a disappointing month.
Six awoke to red-stained underwear, dripping onto the bed. It’s too cold this morning to bathe in the river, so while Joshua strips the bed of mottled bedding, Six heats water over the fire, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Her movements are tense, her jaw clenched as she strips with stiff, cold-addled movements. She mops blood from her thighs the same way she mops his seed, dripping down her legs. Her naked form— bare from the waist down— is a familiar sight to him. Not met with arousal, but appreciation. He’d hoped by now that they would have been blessed, as many others have, and the blood would have stopped.
With a sigh that settles into his lungs as the cold air does, Joshua changes the sheets.
By the time he’s done, Six is clean. Cotton padding her underwear. She dresses quickly, layering— and then disappears from the cave for a few hours. Joshua cannot blame her. He can hardly stand to be around himself some days either.
He busies himself too— speaks with the elders in Narrows, spends a few hours preaching to the disciples. But like so often lately— the words feel hollow in his mouth. Ash, like New Canaan after his return. Always ruining the things he’s touched— And whatsoever the unclean person toucheth shall be unclean; and the soul that toucheth it shall be unclean until even.
When he finally returns to the cave, Six is sitting by the fire, staring into it. He means to ask where she’s been all day, a means to conversation— but he can’t find the words.
Instead, he sits beside her, on an overturned crate. He sighs, reaching for her hand. Her fingers are warm in his own cold palm.
“I’m sorry,” Joshua says instead. He knows there are probably a thousand verses he can say to her, as he might a New Canaanite, to ease her pain. But nothing comes to mind— and he doubts that she would want to hear it. “I thought this might be the case,” he tells her, his jaw stiff, as he too looks into the fire. “I wasn’t sure I would be capable of fathering a child— but now I know.”
How many of his good years had he wasted on a fruitless campaign? How much of that time could he have had with a woman like Six— how much time could he have had with Six?
She’s still young— so very young in his eyes, not yet born when he set out on the fateful mission that created the Legion— she has time. Things Joshua does not. Whereby shall I know this? for I am an old man. But Six is not stricken in her years.
He knows what comes next. He doesn’t want it any more than he did months ago, a piercing jealousy flooding his heart, but he knows the words need to be spoken. “I haven’t been able to fulfill my side of the promise. You should—” he closes his eyes for a single beat, forcing the words out. “You should seek out another. Someone who can give you what you want.”
Six yanks her hand back. The look in her eyes is nothing short of hurt.
He thinks that she might speak, might say anything—
But she doesn’t.
He sees her jaw clench, and then she’s up off the stool, the scraping sound echoing into the cave. She moves quickly, with purpose— she reaches for her bag by the door, something that hasn’t left his cave in months. Not since she stopped bothering to go back to her tent in the Sorrows’ camp. Not since she made his cave her home. Her back is to him all the while, stiff. Joshua’s heart aches in his chest, and he longs to reach out to her— but what more is there to say?
She leaves without a word.
It's somehow worse than the last time she departed Zion, bitter words still between them. At least then she had said goodbye. At least then there had been a promise of a return.
Joshua counts the silent hours. He doesn’t know what for. Six is gone. He doesn’t know where to— to the Sorrows’ camp, perhaps. Or to the caravan campground. Or maybe— maybe she’s already started along the highway back towards the Mojave. The thought lies bitter in his mind, as the hours pass, as her boots carry her farther from his arms.
He prays— for her safety, for her good health. And that— with someone else— she’s able to get what she wants, the things she longs for. A family.
Joshua wonders if she’ll go back to the men in the Mojave she’d named, nearly a year ago. Boone— the man she’d lain with before him. If she’ll take the names they’d settled on, and use them with someone else. Rebecca. Junia. Matthias.
Or, if like their time together— those names are scattered to the wind.
For once— his eyes cannot stay on the pages of his Bible. They swim when they read the words, his jaw locked in his mouth.
He sleeps early.
He’s woken by her, crawling into bed with him. He’d slept heavily, hadn’t heard her boots, her bag hitting the floor. He freezes at her first touch— her return a surprise. He’d thought—
She wraps her arms around his middle, pressing her forehead to his spine. She’s cold— like she’s spent the night outside in the dropping temperatures, her chilled fingers working their way under his bandages to press against ruined flesh. The pads of her fingers are ice along his ribcage, something he fears he deserves.
She doesn’t speak, but he can hear her breathing.
Joshua lays there stiffly for a long time, gathering the words. Gathering his composure, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Surely she can feel it, pressed as close to him as she is. Bile gathers in his throat.
He asks her the question he’s been aching to ask since she’d left. “Did you seek out another?”
He isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. Many men of his tribe take second or third wives— but he cannot imagine the feeling if the same was done with husbands. He has always been of the possessive sort— even in the early days. But the aching in his chest cracks at the idea of her with another.
He wonders if he reaches between her thighs— will he find the seed of another man? He wonders if he can take that, if only— she’d stay.
It’s a selfish thought.
She laughs, but it comes out a sob. “Of course not,” she says, and it cracks something in his chest, hot and dark and possessive. He reaches for her hands, bringing them up to his chest, holding them over his heart. Warming them.
“Idiot,” she says. “I was up at the ranger substation.” He doesn’t trust himself to speak. She sucks in a breath. “Let’s go to New Canaan,” she says. “Get married.”
“You’re not—” he starts. He’d seen her that morning, the blood. Her leeching disappointment.
“No,” she’s quick to say. “No. But I— I’m tired of waiting. I want—” she swallows, her voice cracking. “I want a baby. But I want you too. Not just— if. I want—” she says. “I want the shop in New Canaan. I want a family— even if it's just the two of us.”
“Six—”
“Don’t start on being too old for me,” she says.
Joshua laughs, breathily, despite himself. “I won’t,” he tells her. He turns over, to face her. To press his forehead against hers, to take her palm into his hand, press a kiss to her knuckles. “Six,” he says. “Will you be my wife?”
“Yeah,” she says, “I will.”