The Gift

Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: M
Setting: Just after Season 1
All standard disclaimers apply

They end up in Nessa's bed, since Maeve's is occupied. Sinbad doesn't care where they are, as long as she's with him. He got a taste today of what life would be like without her, just a taste, and it's something he can't do again. The minutes crawled, each falling grain of sand in the hourglass repulsively slow, the pain in his body ratcheting higher with every heartbeat. His anger with her cooled quickly, leaving only bitter fear, sharp and ugly, and a horrible yawning emptiness when he considered never seeing her again.

But she's here now, under his body, cradled in his arms, warm and alive and unharmed. Soft dark eyes blink at him in the light of a single glowing orb—he has to love her in pitch darkness on the Nomad and he's not putting up with that shit here. Here she's safe, and he wants to see her.

She apologized with words earlier. Now she does so without. Her mouth meets his, gentle, sweet, lavishing him with affection. Soft hands stroke through his hair, across his broad shoulders, warm, warmer than his own skin. She breaks away, leaving burning little kisses along his jaw, down his throat. He loves her mouth anywhere she wants to put it, but right now he needs the intimacy of real kisses, mouth to mouth. Gently he rolls a knuckle under her chin, lifting her back to him. Hot breath washes against his lips and he inhales, breathing her in.

"Should we be doing this?" He probably should have asked sooner, before their clothes came off. Before they rolled into Nessa's bed, which he swears isn't as comfortable as Maeve's. But he's asking now, while he can still control himself. He'll do anything for her, anything she wants, but he won't risk the safety of the child she carries.

She smiles gently before tilting her chin that last centimeter and touching her mouth to his. That slow, wet glide, impossibly tender, threatens to drag him under. That's fine. He'll happily drown in her.

"It's okay, Sinbad." She kisses the corner of his mouth. "You won't hurt us."

The 'us' nearly does him in. He strokes her cheek with callused fingertips, rough-soft, trailing his touch along her jaw, down the smooth line of her throat. "Beautiful thing." He breathes his words into her mouth. She inhales them more than hears. Her beauty, it's far more than skin-deep, more than full lips and high cheekbones, graceful build, glowing skin. It's the absolute, unwavering loyalty she's shown to him almost from the start. Her kindness toward the less fortunate they meet, the people they try to help. It's her hidden sweet tenderness, the way she holds her nieces, her refusal to give up on her brother. Sinbad kisses her again, too hungry for her taste to resist. This is a hunger that will never be sated. The teas is animalistic; bestial. It burns too hot and too fierce to last. This is different.

He dips his tongue into the hollow of her clavicle, tasting damp sweat just pricking her skin. So soft. Her hands glide down his back, slow, a hot caress. His skin is so sensitized to her, so responsive, he swears he can feel each individual crease and line on her palms. If fortune-tellers are to be believed, this is the map of her. Her past, her future, maybe even her soul—it's all written plainly there, for those who can read it. She presses that map against him, skin to skin, and he swears it's branded into him, stronger and deeper than Scratch's mark.

"You're mine now," she whispers, hot in his ear. As if she can read his thoughts, one hand slips from his muscled back, pushing between their bodies to cover Scratch's ugly mark. Her touch burns with bright, hot sweetness. "He can't have you."

Maeve can be a jealous creature, he already knows. Right now it's sexy as hell. Her dark eyes burn. Strong, slim legs cup his hips, knees rising to hold him, keep his body atop hers, exactly where he is. Yes, he thinks. Claim him. It's her right—it always has been. Maybe before they ever met.

"I'm going to fix this," she vows. Her eyes gleam dark gold in the fitful light, alive with the force of her conviction. He absolutely believes her. In this moment, staring at her fiery certainty, he's without doubt. If anyone can do this, she can. "And when I do, that mark better disappear."

"I'll sear it off if it doesn't. I'd rather wear a scar for the rest of my days." Add it to the list of scars he bears. He'd sear it off now, but doing so won't change Scratch's claim.

"I'll do it for you." She flexes her fingers; tiny sparks burst and fade without harm. "Every hero wears battle scars." Her mouth touches his, slow but fierce, hot-sweet.

This war with Scratch will scar him deeply inside, Sinbad can already tell. The stakes are too high; he won't escape unscathed. He doesn't care. As long as Maeve is with him at the end, triumphant, that's all he asks.

He licks her soft mouth, tilts his head ever so slightly and deepens the kiss. She welcomes him, hands in his hair, on his skin, hot and gentle, brimming with life. He can feel that life—her flat stomach rising with each inhalation, her living warmth, hot now as he kindles the desire always simmering inside her. It's startling to realize he's holding his family as he holds her—two beating hearts, two living souls inside her perfect body. He shifts to the side, rolling off of her, holding her still with a hand on her hip when she tries to follow.

"What's wrong? I promise you won't hurt us."

"I know. I want to look at you."

She stills, leaning her head back on the pillow, submitting to his desire. "I'm still me, Sinbad."

"I know." He lifts a hand slowly, hovering over her skin, so close he swears he can feel its warmth. She glows gold in the dim magical light, a faint sheen of sweat glimmering across her flesh, like the glitter of starlight on his sea. His rough-soft fingertips touch her breastbone, just under the hollow of her clavicle, and trace a slow, feather-light line down the middle of her chest. Such fine skin, silken, the pads of his fingers gliding down, through the cleft between her perfect breasts, down her stomach, to trace a slow circle around her navel. In the dim light he can see the lightest dusting of colorless peach-fuzz, invisible under normal circumstances, backlit like a tiny halo around her body. It's so thin, so light, that he can't feel it against his fingertips, but when his hand hovers a breath from her body her skin shudders with the sensation. She's so incredibly sensitive, so responsive to even his lightest touch. Slowly his fingertips skim the graceful knobs of her hipbones, the flat space between them where his seed has taken root, a baby concealed deep with her. Safe, for now, where Scratch and Rumina can't see, can't know.

"Hey." She touches his cheek, reaching for him with gentle hands. "Come here."

He obeys, lifting his mouth to hers, his hand slipping to her waist, holding her warmth against his palm. His mouth settles over hers, breathing her breath, tongue gliding along hers, slow, feeling the hot simmer of her desire, the taste of her need on his tongue.

"I'm healthy." She cups his cheeks in her hands, her eyes so dark as she looks at him. "He's healthy. Everything is fine." Her hand strokes his hair, combing the too-long strands out of his eyes. "If you keep worrying like this, you'll exhaust yourself."

He knows, but he can't help it. "When will you start to show?" He looks forward to seeing the swelling proof of his child inside her, but fears it, too.

"Not for a while yet. A couple of moons, maybe more. A woman without magic wouldn't even know yet, Sinbad. I know you're impatient, but this is something you can't rush."

"I don't want to." He runs a light fingertip along her hairline, the slight divot of her temple, the perfect seashell curve of her ear. "As long as he's hidden, he's safe. You're safe. I don't know what to do after that." The safest thing would be for her to stay here at Breakwater, but she doesn't want to and he doesn't know if he has the strength to make her.

"Hush." Her arms rise and she draws him close. "It's not time to worry yet. And it's possible we may make it to seven moons without anyone the wiser."

Is that true? He doubts it. He knows nothing about pregnancy but he's seen women big with child, so round and awkward they look like they're hiding watermelons under their clothes. No amount of loose clothing could conceal that. He opens his mouth to argue with her, and stops.

Not right now. He's got to learn to pick his battles, and this isn't the time. She's right about that much. He has weeks and weeks yet to worry, to agonize over her safety, their safety. Right now he has the opportunity to hold her in the light, to love her better than he has since the teas. He refuses to waste it.

"I love you." They're safe here, where Scratch can't touch them, Rumina can't see them, but he switches languages anyway. "Mo grá thú."

"Show me." She nips his lip with gentle teeth and leans back into the soft mattress.

He can't keep away from that mouth. He follows, shifting his body above hers once more, kissing her as her arms curl around him. He's hungry for the taste of her skin, starving for it. Earlier today he feared for her safety but thankfully—this time—she's unharmed. The heat of her body, the way she moves under him, it all tells him the same thing. She's so full of life, in this moment he could almost believe she's invincible.

Sinbad traces his mouth along her skin, silken-sweet to his lips, his tongue. She's incredibly sensitive, skin shuddering with pleasure as he cups a breast, brushing his thumb lightly over a shell-pink nipple. He loves how the tip contracts, hardening to a little point he takes into his mouth, sucking gently, running his tongue along the hard little bead. So sweet. She's long, lean muscle almost everywhere, but not here. Here she's luxuriously feminine, plush-soft, finer than the richest satin. He leaves tiny, sucking kisses along her creamy skin, savoring this rare chance to love her in the light.

"Once this mess is over, I'm never fucking you in the dark again," he vows. Never. When they can be honest about their relationship she's moving into his cabin permanently, and he's filling it with candles, or lanterns, or these magic light globes. No more darkness. No more hiding. He braces himself on one arm, threading the fingers of his other hand through her fire-bright hair, holding her to him as he kisses her. She's hungry, her kiss needy, mouth insistent on his. "And we're going to be loud. Very, very loud."

"Are not." She curls her calves over his and flips them easily, landing astride him. He yields without protest. "Because, curse or no curse, oh captain, we still live on a little ship with our friends very nearby." She bends over him, red curls spilling over her shoulder, brushing his chest. His skin tingles at the contact.

"They can deal with it." He wraps his arms around her, even as she settles the devastating heat between her legs over his throbbing cock. He bites back a curse as she rocks her hips with a teasing little roll. "It's my ship. Captain's prerogative."

She chuckles, palms hot on his chest, those tempting breasts almost near enough to kiss, but not quite. He leans forward but she rises higher, out of reach. "We're also going to have a kid, don't forget."

"How could I?" It seems to be all he ever thinks about these days. "But babies sleep a lot, don't they?"

"Yes." She nips his lip, runs her blunt human teeth over the rough texture of his chin. "But in short bursts. And they scream like hell when you wake them up."

Okay, so maybe being deliberately loud is out. But they won't have to be silent. And they won't have to spend their nights in secret, in fear. That's the most important thing. He kisses her and rolls them again, pressing her into the mattress. He aches to be inside her. He bites down on her nipple, squeezing slowly with his teeth, harder than she expects, a mounting, pinching burn that makes her hiss, her hips jerking upward into his. Just as she inhales to tell him to stop he releases her, sucking the hard bud into his mouth, laving with his tongue, soothing the sting.

"Oh." She melts. "More."

He sucks harder, stroking her other nipple with his thumb, rolling it gently in his fingers before palming her breast. Soon she'll suckle their child here. He's surprised by how much that image moves him—his sorceress with his child at her breast. He lifts himself to her mouth, slow, deep, sucking her tongue, pressing her down into the soft mattress with his body.

Her hips shift against the bed and she moves so his swollen cock slips between her legs, against her hot center. She rubs her slick folds against him with the rolling, teasing motion he can't resist. He hisses and breaks the kiss, gazing at her in the dim golden light. So beautiful. Her full lips are swollen from his kisses and she pants lightly, eyes dark, hungry.

"Please."

It's a word she utters so rarely that he's wholly unable to deny her. He smiles. "What do you want, mo chailín? My mouth or my cock?"

"Both."

Right answer.

After, he holds her close in the fitful light, both of them sweat-damp and sated, lazy and satisfied. They need to get back to the Nomad, but Sinbad isn't ready to leave just yet. He needs this time, and he suspects she does, too. She tucks herself against him, in the spot she likes on his shoulder, breathing slowly, every line of that gorgeous body speaking contentment. He hooks his hand behind her knee and draws it up to rest on his abdomen, bringing her closer. Only then does he notice two thin, open little slashes near her knee that weren't there this morning.

"What happened?" He traces one with a light fingertip. Something split her creamy skin, the edges of the narrow wound bruised violet.

"Just a little trouble in Cairo. I handled it." She nestles into him, sweetly soft, voice careless, dismissing the encounter.

Sinbad hesitates. He doesn't want to push, doesn't want to risk breaking the spell of this sweet sleepiness, but he's her captain and he needs to know. "Is that why you came here? Were you hurt worse?" Coming to Firouz or Keely when injured is exactly what he wants her to do, so he has no intention of scolding her, but if there was a problem in Cairo it needs to be addressed.

"No." She tucks her head into his shoulder, hiding a yawn. It's beyond late, and she's obviously tired. They're going to have to do something about the lack of sleep she's getting. "They tried to take my bracelet. I couldn't let that happen, so I came here. Like I said, I never really meant to. I would have told you if I had."

He's not angry about that now. She's more than apologized. "Who tried to take your bracelet?" Honestly, that's more concerning to him. She needs that link to her people, and he can't imagine the danger her sìthiche family would be in if that stone fell into the wrong hands.

"Just some neighborhood roughs. I told you, it was no big deal." Her voice holds a low note of warning. She wants him to drop it.

He will. For the sake of the moment, he will. But he hears what she's not saying as clearly as what she does say: she came to Breakwater because she didn't feel able to stop the thieves with sword or magic. Judicious retreat is not her style, and while he's glad that she was willing to do so, the implications worry him. Unless it was a large gang of men she shouldn't have had any trouble getting rid of them. Bringing bullies to their knees is one of her favorite pastimes. So why wasn't she able to this time?

Sinbad wants badly to demand answers, but after the disastrous day he suffered through he knows better. It's just not worth upsetting her. "You're fine?"

"Promise." She touches her mouth to his, kissing him sweetly.

Arguing with her kisses is impossible. He holds her tight to him, breathing her in. He can feel how late the hour is and they badly need to get back to the Nomad, but still he lingers. The constant need to pretend, to lie, is wearing him down. It's wearing them both down. She won't admit it, but he can feel the tension that never leaves her body except here, at Breakwater, where she knows she's safe.

"Mo chailín." He strokes her hot skin tenderly, handling her with care. She hasn't reached for the blankets yet, which tells him she's still feeling overheated, as she was earlier in the day. He doesn't ask, knowing she won't tell him. "I know I can't give you gifts. Even if I could, I don't know what you need."

"I don't need anything."

He's beginning to hate hearing her say that. He senses that it's not true, but he has no way to refute her. "Ant says this is your body and you need to lead. So tell me. If you don't need material objects, what do you need from me? Whatever it is, it's yours."

And finally, it seems, he's said something right. Her arms slip around him and she holds him tightly. "I love you, Sinbad."

He curls around her, his chest and arms not a cage, but a shelter she chooses to willingly seek. "You know I love you."

She nods, her smooth cheek warm against his rough one. "Yeah. I know." A tiny laugh escapes her. "No one else puts up with me like you do. Not even Keely."

He doubts Keely puts up with much, even from her small children. But to him, Maeve isn't something to be tolerated or endured. He enjoys arguing with her, crazy as that sounds. Loves her wicked, sarcastic sense of humor. Her quick mind and quicker tongue. And her fits of temper are something to behold—though he'd prefer if she chose a different target once in a while.

Or maybe not. Apologetic Maeve more than makes up for the lash of her anger. "I told you, I stopped trying to fight us," he says, holding her close. "We're inevitable."

Her soft mouth brushes his cheek, kisses the corner of his mouth. "I don't know what I'll want, what I'll need, as time progresses. Right now, just some patience, please. I've never done this before." She grimaces. "And more water. Keel's orders."

Patience and water. It doesn't seem like very much, but it's a start. He kisses her soft mouth. "Okay. Whatever you need. And whatever Keely says, because I'm honestly still a little afraid of her."

Maeve chuckles. She presses close, her smiling mouth on his. "She's pregnant, too. You think she's scary now? Just wait."

So the kid was right. It doesn't surprise him. Truthfully, he's not really scared of Maeve's best friend, though her daughter makes him a little nervous. But he respects her knowledge and has no intention of contradicting her. Whatever she says Maeve needs, Maeve's getting. He combs her bright hair back with gentle fingers. "Is that why you were lightheaded earlier? You need more water?"

"Yeah." She hides a yawn in his chest. "I feel better now."

He hopes that's true. He's going to be watching her more closely than ever, even though it irks her. Pregnancy is dangerous, the most dangerous thing most women ever do, and he can't lose her. Or the child she carries. That's just not an option.

Maeve returns them to Sinbad's cabin on the Nomad. Her aim is getting better. As long as she doesn't drop them into the sea he can't complain. He stills, hearing quiet voices above them.

"You sleep." He kisses her warm forehead. "I'll tell them you've returned and be right back."

For once she doesn't argue with him. Despite the nap she took with her sisters earlier she's obviously tired. He kisses her mouth, then slips out of his cabin, making sure to close the door firmly behind him.

Doubar and Firouz are on deck; Sinbad watches as Rongar swings aboard. He can feel the late hour, hear it in the soft quiet of the harbor.

"Sinbad," Firouz greets him. "Any word?"

He nods, returning Rongar's handclasp. "Yes, thank the gods. She ran into some trouble with a neighborhood gang but she's back and unharmed." He can't tell them any more. The constant lies grate at him, but there's nothing he can do about it.

"Unharmed?" Doubar rubs his bearded cheeks. His face is red with drink.

"Mostly." Sinbad doesn't have the details himself so he can't give them. But he's run his hands along every inch of that body and found nothing except a scattering of bruises and the thin little lashes on her legs. The wounds are small and will heal quickly, and she says she didn't need Keely's help with anything worse. All he can do is trust her words.

"That's something to be grateful for." Firouz teeters as the deck shifts beneath them. He likely didn't drink as much as Doubar, but he doesn't tolerate it as well, either. Rongar grabs a fistful of shirt at the back of his neck to steady him.

"Go on to sleep," Sinbad says, smiling. "We'll skip the early tide tomorrow, head out in the afternoon. I want to lay in a better supply of water and possibly see about some fruit as well."

Firouz is tired and tipsy enough not to protest. He and Rongar make their way below, the door falling shut behind them. Sinbad pauses. He wants nothing more than to go back to Maeve, to sleep with her soft warmth in his arms for what little of the night remains, but Doubar isn't moving for the door.

"You were really worried about her, little brother." He blinks eyes bleary with wine and the late hour.

"Aye." Sinbad watches him carefully. "So were you."

Doubar brushes off the observation. "She's a member of this crew, isn't she? I'm allowed to worry."

"Of course. We both are." Sinbad shifts his weight as the ship shifts under him, a movement that's as automatic to him as breathing. He's been at sea since he was ten years old. It's his home. He never wants another.

"It's more than that with you." Doubar leans heavily against the railing. The wood creaks under his weight. "The way you look at her. Your eyes follow her. Don't think I haven't seen it."

I love her. "I don't know what you mean." He can't say it. There's so much he can't say, and he hates it. He looks at his brother. Doubar isn't sloppy drunk, but tipsy and tired. How much of this he'll remember tomorrow Sinbad doesn't know. If tonight were a normal night, he'd be just as drunk, loose and happy, leaning on his brother or Maeve as they slowly make their way back to the ship, flirting with her, laughing when she inevitably decks someone who gets too close. He's never seen her actually drunk, and having tasted the whiskey she grew up on, he now knows why. He doesn't regret claiming her, making her his, but he regrets the enforced silence, the lies, and the loss that comes with it. Will they ever get back to that place again, when they can all be happy together? A crew—a family?

"Will you cut that out already?" Doubar rubs his eyes. "The lying."

Sinbad tenses. Doubar knows him better than anyone. Better than Maeve. Better than Dim-Dim. Is he finally calling him out?

"I can see perfectly well what's happening here. I told you ages ago to stop it."

"I don't know what you mean," he repeats. His mind can't come up with any better reply.

"Having a little crush on the girl back before this mess with Scratch was one thing. She's a knockout, I'll admit. Prettier by far than Talia; there's no contest. But you don't have that luxury anymore."

Sinbad isn't sure how much longer he can keep playing dumb. "I don't have a crush on her." It's kind of technically true. He's in love with her. What he feels goes far beyond a schoolboy crush.

"You do, and you're going to have to get over it." Doubar stretches, his joints audibly popping. "These late nights, little brother," he groans. "I'll feel this one in the morning."

It's nearly morning now. Sinbad needs to get back to Maeve before she has to return to her own cabin, before a new day dawns. He's not ready for another round of pretending yet.

"When we leave Cairo, we're headed for Talia. It may take some time to find her, it may not. But when we do, she'll be your priority. You won't be able to play games with Maeve anymore. You'll need to convince Talia to help you, and get her with child." He rights himself. "It's just a warning. Cairo isn't the safest city, but Cyprus is better. You might think about putting Maeve ashore, if only temporarily."

Sinbad's jaw tightens. There's no way in hell he's putting Maeve ashore anywhere, for any length of time. Even if she wasn't carrying his child, he'd never allow it. The thought alone sours his stomach and his gut clenches uneasily. Doubar doesn't know it, but Sinbad has offered to put him ashore if the fighting becomes too much for Maeve to take. It's something he never in his life thought he'd consider, but she and the child she bears must be protected. Even from his brother.

"Maeve stays," he says flatly.

"I knew you'd say that." Doubar smiles, but there's no happiness to the gesture. "But I'm warning you. If Talia sees what the rest of us see, she won't want to help you. Why would she agree to carry a child for you when you're acting the lovesick fool for another girl?"

"I've never acted—" Sinbad forces himself to stop, clamping his jaw down, biting off the words. He inhales deeply, taking a slow breath. Doubar's trying to help. From his perspective, knowing what little he knows, his warning makes sense. And all of his actions, his anger toward Maeve, stem from worry, and love of his brother. Sinbad has to remember that. He blows out his breath and takes another. "I don't love Talia. I never have. She knows that." As a little child he loved Leah, and lost her. As a man he loves Maeve. No other. "I won't lie to her. I need her help, but I don't want a wife. I'll give her money, if she wants it. I'll call in favors from the caliph and Omar of Basra if I have to. But I won't promise her something I can't give."

Doubar hitches his shoulders, shrugging lopsidedly. "Talia's a pirate. I don't think she wants to wed. But she won't like being made a fool of, which is what you'll do if you keep playing these games with Maeve." He leans over, cracking his back before heading for the stairs. "Take your older brother's advice for once, and end this now. Before it's too late."

Sinbad follows. It's already far, far too late to end things, even if he wanted to, which he never will. But he takes his brother's warning very seriously. He and Maeve are clearly not being careful enough if even Doubar's noticed enough to comment.

He enters his cabin and closes the door silently behind him. There's no light—there can't be when Maeve's here—but he doesn't need it. He knows the exact number of steps to his bunk, where to step to avoid the creakiest floorboards. He sheds his clothes quickly and slips into bed, drawing the silken warmth of her body against his chest.

She half-wakes, stirring as he curls around her, pressing back against him. She's so warm that they don't need the blanket but he wraps it around them anyway, knowing she likes it. Her sweet scent soothes him and he breathes her in, willing his body to calm. They don't have much time for rest.

"Mo grá thú." Her whisper, full of sleep, feels sweetly painful.

He holds her tighter. The next few moons aren't going to be fun for anyone. But he has to have faith that it will all be worth it in the end. Once they've defeated Scratch. Once they can be honest with their friends again. He splays a hand across her flat belly and kisses her smooth shoulder, holding her tight. They just have to get through a little more time. Then they'll have their baby, and everything else can go back to the way it was. Back to normal. It has to.