A/N: Thank you coming here and reading my little snippets of reality. I don't own the characters.
There is something more horrifying than never telling a woman you love her. Saying it, and it still not being enough to change her mind. To realize that she does love you, but she loves him more, trusts him more. There is something worse than not knowing— knowing your love will never be enough.
It's even worse when you're the bad guy. Bad guys don't get to have broken hearts. It isn't part of our M.O. I'm not supposed to feel that way. I'm not supposed to feel at all. But here I am.
There is a bright side, however. Being the bad guy means I can be as wounded and nasty as I please. No repercussions when you're already half way to the gallows anyway. A caged animal snarls all it wants to.
It doesn't matter that I would do more for her than he ever could, love her more, make her feel more that she could ever imagine. That I would love her to the edges of the sea. I could show her worlds she doesn't even know about.
It doesn't matter that she's my life line. The one bright, shining spot in 300 years of darkness and pain and selfishness. It doesn't matter that if she'd just love me, just love me, she'd be saving three souls from the abyss: Hers on the day she realizes she's trapped with him, his the day he realizes he'll never have all of her, and mine… well, mine everyday I'm here without her.
It doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. It won't matter.
I don't matter, so I act like it doesn't matter, like it can't ever hurt me, like my heart fell out a long time ago.
The past is my shackle. The worst thing about a past is that it demolishes futures. That's when it makes me angry. I want nothing more than to smash Milah out of my brain. Pry her out of my chest.
Milah.
The name stretches out before me like taunt flesh. If I could just forget that pain, forget about what it feels like watching the light flicker out of the only eyes I'd looked out into eternity with. How at the end of every day, she'd stand there at the bow of the ship, wind whipping her dresses all over the place, black hair fanning out behind her. How she understood the sea, loved it like I did. How she'd laugh out of joy taking in another day of rolling waves and sea salt.
She always tasted salty. Tangy like fresh oysters. Primal. The salt of my earth.
If I could just grind her out of my bones, maybe then I wouldn't be so goddamned bitter about everything, maybe not so hell bent on destroying myself, destroying any hope of a future past her. I'd wanted so desperately for Emma to be my hope, to lead me out of my night and back into the warmth of the sun. Maybe it wasn't in the cards.
I'd had my chance at once in a life time love, and I'd watched it bleed out in my arms.
Sighing, I fingered the rings on my hand. One, my brother's signet from the naval academy, the other a ruby, blood red. I had gotten it on an adventure. I smile at the memory. That had been a happy day.
Milah had been with me for several years, each day challenging me, making me yell and laugh more than I'd ever thought I could. She had consoled me on the anniversary of my brother's death, she had fought me when I was too bullheaded to realize I was wrong, she had kissed me a thousand different ways, each special, each distinctly her own. Thousands of days and nights of Milah.
We had stopped at this island just because. The crew was eager for a night on land, and I was happy just to be there with her. The market place was crowded, buzzing with news of the Jolly Roger, vibrant colors and unique scents assailing the senses. Milah was bartering with a toothless, ancient woman over a silk shawl. I watched her squabbling with the woman, a smile on both of their faces.
"You love her, no?"
I looked to my left and saw an old man beside me, his skin colored like mahogany and lined like old leather.
"Aye," I said, looking back at the two women. "What gave you that impression, mate?" Smirking to myself.
"You look like you're walking around with your soul outside your body. Just like I look at her." I glance over as he points at the old woman Milah was haggling with.
I grinned turning sideways to look at him.
He turned to look at me, smiling as well, his eyes as blue as the sea. Unusual for someone of the islands. "She might not look like much to you, but when I first saw her, she was the best thing I'd ever seen in my whole life. I'd sailed the sea for a few years, and she was what made me stay here." I noted the tattoo on his forearm, A 'P' branded into his flesh. Ah, so that was it, he was a pirate just like me. He caught my glance. "I've never regretted my decision, lad. Love means just that, letting go of what you used to be so you can be what you always wanted to be, together."
I nod, and the man reached into his pocket. He presented me his fisted hand, and when he opened it, there sat a large gem, red as blood.
"Here, take it, boy. A woman like that," he tilted his head back to the mutual centers of our separate universes, now amicably talking about something or the other, "a woman like that," he repeated, "is worth her weight in rubies. You'll do well to remember that." I thanked him, and took the stone from him hesitantly. "Well hurry up lad, if I'd wanted to kill you or trap you, I woulda done it already. From one pirate to another. Take it, sail to you find the place your hearts sing, and stay there. Land life isn't so bad, you know."
I grabbed it and the man dipped back into his pockets. "Oh, and something for you too, now," he produced a smaller, raw stone. "Still, rough around the edges, but it ought to polish up well. One day, when she's rubbed off all your rough edges, you'll be bright and shiny, just like her, just like that one," he pointed to the ruby. With that, he put his hands around his mouth and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a mourning dove. The older woman looked up, touched Milah on the elbow, smiling and bowing her head, saying her goodbyes. The man met her and the two, arm and arm walked up the mountain path away from the bustle of the market.
The next morning, we set off again, heading towards wherever the currents seemed to lead. The crew in good spirits. After things settled back into their rhythm on the sea, I searched for her, finally discovering her in our cabin. Her back was too me as I entered. She sat at my desk, her shoulders shaking and heaving.
"Milah, what's wrong, love?" I approached her, placing my palms gently on each of her shoulders. She was lost in her sorrow. As I kissed the top of her bowed head, I saw the familiar scrap of parchment in her hands. A drawing of her son. Several years ago, she had met a street artist, and after paying him handsomely, spent several hours of his time describing her son, rejecting the sketches until this one, just right. She carried it always. I ached, knowing that I couldn't ever give her that back. She'd chosen this life over a boy whom she never stopped loving. The day after we had left, she had begged and begged to go back, to bring him with her, but I knew better. I'd already taken a man's wife, what would he do if we snuck back to steal his only son? Granted, he was a coward, but every man has a breaking point. She had finally realized that a ship was no place for a child, our lifestyle too reckless. I told her over and over again that she could go back, but that I couldn't go back with her. I'd stick out like a sore thumb. I had a responsibility to my crew, to my ship. Besides, I couldn't imagine living under the rule of the Queen that had sent my brother to his death.
She understood, and in time came to realize that it was better for Baelfire to be with his father on land than scrapping and scraping with a bunch of unruly pirates. Nevertheless, from time to time I'd see the cracks in her armor. She'd see children at port and smile in that wistful way I never quite understood. Later, I'd find her like this, crying and I'd try as gently as I could to be the rock she needed.
"Oh, Milah. I love you." I murmured into her hair. "I'll always be here. I love you." I'd say the words over and over, and eventually she'd look up and smile weakly. Only, this time she only cried more.
I walked around to the side of the desk and knelt down at her feet, looking up at her.
"Come now, lass. Tell me, talk to me." I looked up at her, patiently waiting as she collected herself.
"Killian. I'm sorry," she apologized. She did this a lot when she cried. She felt guilty for leaving Bae and guilty about crying in front of me.
"Milah, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm sure if I had a child, I'd miss him every second. Just like I'd miss you." I took my hand and stroked her face from chin to temple, grabbing a piece of hair and tucking it behind her ear.
She smiled ruefully through her tears, her smile jagged and lopsided.
"Well, Jones, I guess we'll test that theory out soon." She grabbed my hand from the nape of her neck and placed it on her stomach.
There was a moment where I sat there before my brain took all the random scraps of information and stitched them back together into a whole. My face went lax as I stooped there staring at her stomach, trying to see past the layers of leather and linen, trying to piece together any changes.
Everything went fuzzy, and then snapped into sudden clarity. I looked at Milah, trying her hardest to keep her face completely emotionless, waiting for me to wrap my mind around what we had done.
Me? A father? A protector? Bloody hell.
"Killian," she started. I pulled my hand away from her stomach and put a gentle finger to her lips. And pulled her, tenderly to her feet.
"Milah, darling. I can't say that I fancied myself a father, but I do know that I love you, and I'll, well I'll love her, too." I felt responsibility settle on my shoulders like a mantle, but I didn't resent it. This would just be another part of our journey.
The lines in her forehead immediately melted away and I felt her sag under my grasp. She was relieved.
"Oh Killian," she said, smiling, new tears springing from her dark brown eyes. She hugged me, kissing the side of my neck. After, she pulled away to look at me suspiciously. "And how do you know it will be a girl, pirate?"
"Just wistful thinking, lass. You know what this means though, don't you?"
"What?"
"Well, you can't very well bring the tyke into the world with a pirate for a Da, now can you?"
She shook her head. "I don't understand."
I sighed, "Milah, I know you miss Bae, and it's unfair, I think, to keep him from you, especially in light of the circumstances. I meant it when I said we couldn't raise little ones on a pirate ship. We've got to start thinking about the future, Milah. Let's go home."
"But, but what about the ship? The crew? The Queen!?" She asked, the fretful lines returning to her brow."
"Believe it or not, the men can carry on without me. I'd be happy just to be with you, both of you. Besides, from all I've heard the Queen has bigger fish to fry than one reformed pirate looking for an honest life. I'm beginning to want more than a pirate's life at sea."
She pulled out of my grasp, putting her finger tips to her lower lip and turning away from me. "Milah, I know you came with me for adventure, but just because we're on land doesn't mean the adventures have to end." I stepped up behind her and grabbed her by the middle, stroking her stomach. "From the looks of things, our real adventures are just beginning."
And with that, we set sails for home.
And she died. They died.
And it was all my fault.
Sometimes in the months after I'd have vivid dreams about a tiny little girl, jet black hair in ringlets, big green-blue eyes and the smoothest skin you'd ever seen. Most of the time, I'd just hold her, stare at her in a stupor as she slept, her thick eyelashes resting on chubby cheeks. I'd feel warm arms wrap around my torso and a warm voice breathe, softly, "Killian."
With that, I'd jerk awake, stomach rolling with boiling bile, my eyes stinging, my fists balled.
He had taken everything away from me. Things he didn't even understand. Things that I didn't even understand. I would have done anything to kill him, to kill anything and everything he loved.