[private] I couldn't utter my love when it counted; birthing

[bethlehem]

I can get there on my own. you can leave me here alone.

She laughs and it echoes in both hemispheres of his brain and in every chamber of his heart.
She laughs and it makes him laugh, too. A breath of a sound as he shakes his head.
He does not argue, just grins good-naturedly and says, “of course.”

Because it is quiet and, for the moment, she is not angry at him for the things he is and the things he cannot change. She is not angry at him for living inside himself for so long that he does not remember how to do or be anything else. She kisses his jaw and he kisses her back, catching her between the eyes, exhales a soft breath.

And then he looks away, he reorients his focus with the child sleeping beside her. She is so peaceful there, lost to her dreams, and the heart swells in his breast. She is beautiful, like her mother. He wonders idly what devastation she might bestow on the world around her, wonders if she will destroy them, too. If they do not destroy themselves.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs again, without taking his eyes off of her. “Thank you,” he adds after a beat of silence. “Thank you for giving her to me and for being her mother,” he whispers. He shakes his head and finally looks away, as if convinced that he might disturb her sleep by looking at her too long. That she might swim back to consciousness hissing and spitting, screaming mad.

“I never thought I’d be a father,” he mutters, pensive as he peers into the murky darkness closing in around them. “I’m still not convinced I’ll be any good at it.”

BETHLEHEM

I'm just tryin' to do what's right. oh, a man ain't a man unless he's fought the fight.