The Gift

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


Doubar stands alone on the deck of an unfamiliar ship too small for his comfort, staring at an isle he does not know. Talia's Silver Serpent is slim and sleek, built to be lightning-fast and reliably crewed by only two or three men. She's not a merchant vessel like the Nomad, and Doubar feels bulky and out of place as he stares without interest at the land before him. From here it looks as if the city has seen better days, and ships in the harbor are few. In Doubar's experience that either means a naturally occurring famine or political mismanagement, and he doesn't really care either way. He's not even completely sure why they're here, only that Rongar is in charge now and Rongar gave the order.

Taking orders from the Moor feels as unnatural as the ship under his feet, but even Talia seems to accept Rongar's new position and Doubar doesn't have the heart to argue about it. He does what he's told and otherwise keeps to himself, not that that's difficult. He and Talia are the only crew aboard her ship and she's given him the cold shoulder since they departed Attalia, barking orders and otherwise ignoring him or muttering under her breath about his unreliability. Is he unreliable? Doubar doesn't think so, but he can't find the fire to protest. He follows her orders because he has no real choice. No one asked him if he wanted to come on this little excursion, whatever it is. They were already underway when he woke from drunken, disjointed dreams to a reality far worse than even his nightmares.

Sinbad is gone. Where, exactly, no one will tell him, but even through the fog of whiskey he remembers a Celt coming to fetch him and Sinbad leaving with her willingly, placing the Nomad in Rongar's hands, not Doubar's. It rankles: he's the first mate, the second in command. He's the one who cares for the Nomad and her crew when Sinbad cannot. But his brother demoted him, kicked him off his ship, and even called him a traitor. Broke his nose, knocked several teeth loose and busted his lip, and then worst of all left, retreating somewhere Doubar cannot follow.

All because of one barbarian girl.

Sinbad still wears Scratch's brand on his chest. His time is trickling away, day by day, moment by moment, and Doubar is slowly beginning to comprehend that he may never see his brother again. He can't keep dates clear in his head and he never knew the precise timing of All Souls Night to begin with, but he knows Sinbad's time is nearly gone. Yet, even with Talia aboard the Nomad, he chose to chase Maeve north instead. And no one but Doubar seems to question that decision. Doubar spoke to Firouz and Rongar when they stopped briefly to take on fresh water, but they only seem concerned with Maeve. Not Sinbad. Not his soul. Doubar came close to decking Firouz out of sheer frustration as the man prattled on about how little he knew of midwifery, how concerned he was about Maeve's condition. Not a word about Sinbad except praise for their captain's foolhardy decision to follow her wherever she went. Everyone is angry and no one will talk to him. They're unable to understand his side of the story—no, more than that. They don't want to understand. No matter what he says, they just won't listen.

Doubar is beyond lonely. Beyond desolate. What comes after that? He doesn't know, but whatever it is, he's in it. His brother is gone. Not dead—not yet—but gone, and he has to face the fact that Sinbad might not come back before Scratch claims his soul. He chose a woman, a snippy, selfish barbarian woman, over the brother who has always been by his side, the brother who swore to their parents to protect him at all costs. Doubar doesn't know how to deal with that. Ordinarily he'd cope by drinking until he can't remember, but Talia has banished all alcohol from her ship, even searching his pockets to make sure he wasn't hiding any little glass bottles. Not that it matters. He's done with that demon whiskey, much preferring the more familiar effects of wine. Anyway, they only had two bottles.

Drying out was hell. He's better now, but he does not welcome his newly-clear head. It only heightens the sense of oncoming doom, of sheer unreality as he sails an unfamiliar ship under unfamiliar captaincy, headed blindly toward a future without Sinbad in it. His brother's fate is approaching fast, drawing nearer day by day, and for once there's nothing Doubar can do to stop it. He's always been by Sinbad's side, always there to hurt whoever tries to hurt his brother first, but now he's adrift and rudderless—no brother, and no way to help him.

Maeve was the sole person in the world with the greatest ability to save his brother, and until the day Sinbad broke his face, Doubar believed she refused to do so. Any woman capable of conceiving Sinbad's child might challenge Scratch for Sinbad's soul, but Maeve is the only woman so closely bonded with Sinbad that Doubar feels no fear of failure. Even Talia, the next best choice, or Elise or Fallon, old Adventurer mates, are last-ditch backups at best. That's the infuriating part, the piece of the Protocol that even now boils Doubar's blood. A catch—so simple, and so damning. Sinbad's champion can't be just any woman. She has to be bonded to him, and no matter how much it irritates the former first mate, there's no woman in the world Sinbad is more bonded to than Maeve. Not even his childhood love for Leah can compare. The little green girl Maeve calls a sister is still with child, he assumes—he hasn't seen her in ages. But Sinbad doesn't know her like he knows Maeve. Isn't bonded with her as he's bonded with Maeve. She may or may not be willing to challenge Scratch when Sinbad's time draws to a close, but if she does she won't win. Doubar's gut knows it. Cairpra said the Protocol had to be followed precisely, lest they risk disastrous consequences. And that irritating green girl just isn't enough.

Which leaves Maeve, a conundrum Doubar still does not understand because no one has been honest with him for moons and now they're refusing to speak to him at all. At first he assumed she would willingly do this for her captain. They've all saved her life enough times, so doesn't she owe Sinbad the same? That's the job of a crewmember, isn't it? Loyalty and brotherhood? He figured she would grumble, because she's very good at complaining, but that Sinbad would talk her around and she would give in. Why wouldn't she? Doubar knows nothing about female hearts, but he knows women like Sinbad. They flock to his swagger, his smile. Even Maeve wasn't immune, though she liked to pretend otherwise. So why would she balk at spending nights in his bed, giving him a child and saving his soul from Scratch?

Her refusal makes no sense to Doubar, and never has. He tried and tried to convince her to change her mind, but she stubbornly rejected every argument and incentive he gave. He did his best. He told her it wasn't forever. That she was free to leave whenever she liked. He was prepared to raise a nephew just as he raised his brother. But she made a big deal about it, and he still doesn't know why. Was it the sex? She doesn't dress like a frigid woman, though he can't honestly recall her ever blatantly walking off with a man. And she likes babies. He wouldn't have guessed it of her, but he saw it for himself. She was excellent at wrangling the three little shrimps they babysat. So why would she refuse to bear one? It's maybe a little uncomfortable, he guesses. He's never thought about it before. But so is living on a ship. So is fighting for a living. None of that has ever bothered her, so why should this?

Doubar's opinion of her started to change, little by little, day by day, as Sinbad's time dwindled and she refused to give in. No longer his little sister, the moody but funny apprentice his beloved mentor left in their care, she became an adversary almost as much as Rumina. Sinbad loves her with everything he is, and Doubar bristled to see her stonily throw it all back in his face, willing to take advantage of his favor but unwilling to give anything in return.

But now he doesn't know what to think. Sinbad said she's with child. Everyone believes it. Despite her constant, very loud refusals, could it possibly be true?

He shouldn't have hit her. Now that his head isn't fogged with drink and fury, he knows this. The rules of engagement are clear, and he's far bigger than she. Far stronger. He should have stilled his hands until she escalated first. That's the rule. His memories of that final encounter aren't entirely clear, but he's pretty sure she didn't hit him. He remembers her vicious mouth, every bit as infuriating as ever. He remembers her hand rising. He doesn't remember an actual blow.

Which means he struck first, and he feels immeasurably guilty for that, though not as guilty as his men seem to think he should. He broke the rules, and he's sorry for that. But he's not entirely sorry for hitting her. The moment she crumpled, that mouth falling silent, was...satisfying. He knows better than to say so, but in his heart he can't deny it. No one wants to hear his side anyway, so why should he confess? He couldn't force his brother to see the truth that she was bewitching him, but in that moment he could shut her up, and he did. It felt wonderful. At the time.

Now he's not so sure.

Doubar hates second-guessing himself. He's uncomfortable making decisions because he knows he's not good at it, one of many reasons he sails under his brother instead of striking out on his own. They're better as a team, his brother's brain paired with his brawn. Only now he's alone, he doesn't know how to handle that, and he's beginning to be afraid that it's all his fault. He's always had Sinbad to check his impulses, to hold him back when necessary. To tell him when to unleash his anger, so it hurts only the people who deserve to hurt. Sinbad kept telling him to leave Maeve alone, that she didn't deserve his wrath. But Sinbad wasn't himself. Maeve bewitched him, spinning her magic just like Rumina, with just as selfish an aim. She captured Sinbad in a web of sorcery and lies, and Sinbad's judgment about her couldn't be trusted. Doubar knows it. His inner voice, which Firouz calls his conscience, told him so.

But now Sinbad is gone. Doubar can't even protect him physically because he removed himself from his brother's presence. He ordered Doubar off the Nomad, the ship which has been their home for two solid years. He called him a traitor. Broke his face. And left.

Doubar doesn't understand any of it. But he knows his brother is very, very angry. Not at Scratch and Rumina. Not at Maeve. At him. He believes Maeve is carrying his child, and he saw Doubar kick her in the belly. That made him angry enough to kill; Doubar's clear on that point. But he can't bring himself to believe what his brother and Rongar and Firouz are now saying. Maeve told him she would never bear Sinbad a son, and he took her at her word. Sinbad told him he accepted Maeve's refusal, and he took his brother at his word. Why are people now telling him something completely different, and furious that he didn't know sooner?

As Doubar stares vacantly at the Nomad docked beside the Serpent, her deck empty save a lone man on guard, he's no longer confident in anything anymore. Everything he's ever known to be true has turned out false. He believed his brother would always be by his side, but Sinbad is now very far away and about to be lost to him forever. He believed his brother would never betray him, but now he's hurting and Sinbad isn't here. Rongar captains the Nomad, Talia follows him willingly despite already getting her reward, and nothing at all makes sense anymore. So why shouldn't it be true that Maeve and Sinbad have been lying to him for moons? Were they all making fun of him the whole time? Slow, silly Doubar, who always needs his younger brother to explain everything to him, to bail him out of trouble?

He listens anxiously for this thing called conscience, the small voice inside whose echo has urged him on and comforted him these past moons as Sinbad pulls further and further away. But even that inner voice is silent now. How far did he sink for even his conscience to forsake him?

"Come on, big guy," Talia calls, emerging from below deck, a cloak clasped around her shoulders. The sky is overcast, heavy and damp and oppressively humid. Doubar doesn't care about the weather. He cares about very little these days. "We're going to visit a soothsayer. I'm pretty sure even you can't mess that up. Though she is a woman, so maybe I'd better order you not to attack her." She stalks down the gangplank. "Keep up. You don't get to mope around my ship alone. Rongar says I have to babysit."

Doubar grimaces, hating her tone, the way she refuses to even look at him, but he follows her to the dock. What else can he do? If he doesn't she'll just harangue him until he gives in, and anyway he's sick of fighting with his friends. He just wants things to go back to the way they were. When Sinbad was at his side and nothing came between them. When everyone told him the truth instead of lying and expecting him to know better. When he and his crewmates were not constantly at each other's throats. Hell, he'd give his right hand to see Maeve sitting on the aft steps once more, a giant book open in her lap, healthy and peaceable as she puzzles through some indecipherable spell. She used to be his little sister, always up for causing trouble. Before this mess started. Before she bewitched Doubar's brother. And he just wants that back. Whatever changed her, made her play with Sinbad's emotions and bewitch him instead of helping him, Doubar just wants it never to have happened. He wants everything to go back to the way it was.

Firouz and Rongar are already on the dock waiting for them. Rongar is draped in a heavy brown woolen cloak, even the hood drawn over his head despite the fact that the sky hasn't opened yet. He shifts restlessly from foot to foot, looking tense and alert. Leadership doesn't agree with him, Doubar assumes. He must not be used to the pressure, because he looks far too agitated for a short wander through an unfamiliar but friendly city to visit a soothsayer.

*We must move swiftly,* he signs, his motions firm. *No lingering. We go to the soothsayer and straight back to the ship.*

"Because we're all in the mood for more secrets, more cryptic nonsense," Doubar mutters. He expects no one to answer him, and no one does.

Rongar draws himself further into his cloak and prepares to leave the dock, but a familiar shout from the Nomad's deck halts him.

It's Sinbad.

Doubar's heart lifts. He was afraid he might never see his brother again, but Sinbad is here. He hasn't abandoned him after all.

Sinbad's clothes hang loosely from his body and his face is drawn and weary, but he grabs a line and drops to the dock with the same easy grace he's always had. A man with a touch of dark hair on his chin follows. Doubar doesn't know his name but he's seen him before and he seems to pose no threat, so he ignores him. His attention is solely for Sinbad.

"Brother!" he calls, but Sinbad's swift steps bring him to Rongar's side, not Doubar's. The Moor lifts a welcoming hand and Sinbad clasps it warmly, drawing him into a hard, brotherly hug.

"Thank you, my friend. For everything."

Rongar inclines his head in acknowledgment.

Doubar feels the sick churn of envy in his belly as Sinbad greets Firouz and the stranger offers a hand to Rongar. "Niall," he says, with a polite dip of his chin. "You cared for three of my sons for a week."

Rongar takes his hand willingly.

"Rongar doesn't talk," Talia says. "But he's in charge for now. It's refreshing, having a captain who doesn't bark orders."

*You bark enough for all of us,* Rongar signs, and the other man chuckles.

"I know you already through Maeve's stories. She may disagree, but I think it's past time we all meet and put everything on the table. No more secrets. She had very good reasons for them, but they've outlived their usefulness."

"Finally someone speaking some sense," Talia says. "We have a literal genius aboard the Nomad and Sinbad's no slouch either, yet somehow we always seem to be in the dark."

"We unfortunately have little time today," the man says, "but you deserve a full explanation." His solemn face cracks a small smile. "You're the pirate Maeve pretends she doesn't like." He offers Talia his hand.

She smirks. "Oh, it's no act. Trust me. But we have a temporary truce. I don't fight with pregnant girls." Her eyes flick sideways at Doubar and though he's not good at picking up subtext he understands her meaning plainly. He growls at her, at Niall, even at Rongar and Firouz because Sinbad greeted them like the brothers they are while ignoring his existence.

"We've been extremely worried for both you and Maeve," Firouz says as he peers at his captain. "You don't look well, Sinbad."

Sinbad grimaces. "It's a long story, and I don't have time to tell it. Maeve is alive. That's all that matters." His words are clipped, his voice terse. He's angry—very, very angry. "I thought I said to keep that traitor off my ship."

"Relax," Talia says, "he's with me. He hasn't touched your ship since you gave orders."

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it."

"Yeah, well, the Serpent's not under your control, and neither am I. I'm here because of Rongar's impeccable manners. Look." She thrusts her hand expectantly toward the Moor, who rolls his eyes but like the good sport he is, he bows low over it and kisses her knuckles. "See? As if anyone else would kiss the hand of a pirate like that. I also need to know how this ends. I've come too far to leave without an answer, and I have several bets riding on the outcome. You can't blame a girl for that." She grins cheekily.

Sinbad does not return her smile but he doesn't protest when she kisses his cheek and slaps his shoulder hard in greeting, either. "I needed to check on everything. The Nomad looks fine. Is everyone all right?"

"You needed to check on them," Doubar mutters, sullen and growing angrier by the second as Sinbad refuses to acknowledge him. "Not the brother whose face you broke." Honestly, he's not so upset about that part. Brothers brawl, and he couldn't care less about the shape of his face. It's the fact that it happened in anger, that Sinbad called him a traitor when all he's ever tried to do is protect him.

Cold blue eyes turn on him. "I have no brother."

"Easy." Talia sets a hand on Sinbad's shoulder. "Let's not shed blood today. We're just going to see a soothsayer. A nice family outing. Want to come along?"

"I can't. I meant it when I said I didn't have time to explain." Sinbad glances at his bracelet, which pulses slowly with rainbow light. It looks like it's breathing. What magic is this, Doubar wonders uneasily? What more has Maeve done to him while Sinbad was gone?

"Is Maeve still…?" Firouz swallows hard, winces, and falls silent before he can finish the question.

"Still what?" A hard, mocking edge enters Sinbad's voice. It's completely unlike him. "Still struggling to heal after a monster attacked her? Yes. Still incredibly weak and unable to get up despite her sister and a visit from an older healer? Yes."

*Don't do this,* Rongar signs, his hands firm but his face gentle under the shadow of his hood.

"It does no one any good," Niall agrees. "Least of all her."

Sinbad's shoulders sag. He buries a hand in his hair, tugging at the messy strands. It's too long, but he's never been good about cutting it regularly. Doubar has advised him over and over that he should make a choice: either shave his head completely like Rongar or grow it out and plait it back, like him. But Sinbad doesn't listen, as he never listens to any of his big brother's advice. Doubar told him not to get attached to the angry redhead Dim-Dim left in their care, told him she wasn't a good choice. She's not wifely material. But Sinbad didn't listen, and look where it got them.

"She's not good, okay? What do you want me to say?" He crosses his arms defensively over his chest. "We thought she was getting better, but she started bleeding again when Keely let her get up so now she's on bed rest until Samhain. How she thinks she's going to fight Scratch in her condition I don't know. I shouldn't even be talking about it."

"It's safe to speak truthfully now," Niall says gently. "She's out of danger from your enemies, even if they are listening. Scratch can throw himself against the magical shields on that island all he likes—they won't give."

"Believe me, that's the only fact holding me together these days." Sinbad's voice is dark and weary. Doubar can clearly see the change in him, as he saw it on the Nomad after Maeve disappeared. He's thinner than he should be, drawn and tired, and worry seems to have carved creases into his face that were not there before. He stands firm upon the creaking dock, but he's a shadow of the man he used to be. And Doubar has to wonder, as he looks at his little brother, a man grown now: did he really help to cause this? Did he put at least some of that haunted pain in his brother's eyes?

Firouz exhales a drawn sigh. "I feared as much. I'm sorry, Sinbad. Truly. If I had any knowledge that might help—"

"I know," Sinbad says, and sets a hand on his shoulder. "It's women's business and they don't like us butting in. Believe me, I've learned that lesson over and over lately."

"I have a dear friend named Velda, a talented physician in her own right, and we've shared much knowledge with each other. But not this." The apples of Firouz's cheeks pink slightly as he speaks. "She was very clear that childbearing is a woman's art and she would not betray the trust of the midwives who taught her by sharing the knowledge they would not."

"It's the same in the west," Niall agrees. "I have five sons, and have never seen one born. Why I can assist the ewes at lambing season but not my own chéile I don't know. Still, if it's what they wish, we have to accept it."

Doubar has no idea why the man would want to witness a birth anyway. He's seen animals born. It's time-consuming and messy, and it's just not natural for a man to be there. He's not surprised at all that Firouz is curious, though.

"Maeve is strong," Niall says, squeezing Sinbad's shoulder as Doubar himself has so often done but now cannot. "She wouldn't still be alive otherwise. If anyone can do this, she can."

Doubar struggles to comprehend everyone's grave faces, their worry. What's so wrong with Maeve, then? He admits that he shook her. Hit her...once? Twice? He can't remember. She fell quickly, either way. And he kicked her once before she abruptly disappeared. It was barely a fight. She's always been able to take a few knocks, and gives as good as she gets. How could he have possibly brought her so dangerously close to death as Sinbad seems to think she is? No. She must be faking it, trying to milk this for all the sympathy she can.

"That girl is too stubborn to give up, Sinbad," Talia says. "You picked a good one in that sense—maybe only that sense. She won't let you down."

He nods, one swift jerk of his head. "And she's in the best hands possible. We're going to try to convince Cairpra to come north for a while. Maeve wants her. I have faith in the skill of the people caring for her. But I know that at some point that skill doesn't matter anymore."

"Aye," Firouz agrees. "There's a point at which the skill of the physician makes no difference, and I can only imagine the same is true for midwifery. But Maeve is strong, and stubborn, as Talia says."

"My Finleigh, too," Sinbad agrees, the hint of a strange, tender smile touching the corners of his mouth. Doubar has never seen that smile on his brother before. If he didn't know his little brother so well he might also miss the damp shine of Sinbad's eyes, but he's known him from birth. He sees it plainly. Sinbad is hurting, in desperate pain. "She's as fierce as her mother. I know it."

"You named her already?" Talia looks at him in alarm. "That's bad luck, Sinbad. Even Celts must know that."

"They were warned," Niall says. "And warned not to get too attached. Keely was very clear about that. But it's no use fighting once the attachment's made. I should know."

Doubar feels a curdle of unease in his belly, a droplet of apprehension beginning to grow. He doesn't understand much of anything these days, but he knows the lost, grasping pain drowning his brother's eyes. Sinbad looked the same the day he lost Leah, but this is far, far worse. He's not a scared little boy grappling with a child's emotions. He's a grown man sinking under the weight of a man's pain.

Is it truly Doubar's fault?

He doesn't know anymore. He was so sure Maeve wasn't with child. She told him so. Sinbad told him so. Over and over and over. Then Talia and Firouz said otherwise, but he couldn't believe them. Not after hearing the opposite so often. Plus, everyone seems convinced that this supposed child is a girl, and his brother couldn't have sired a girl. Not Sinbad.

But the pain in his brother's eyes is very real, too real to continue to deny. Sinbad believes Maeve is carrying his daughter. He's even named her.

"Luck is an abstraction. A delusion. It doesn't exist. You don't name children before birth because, rationally speaking, the chances are about forty-sixty they won't survive. And of course most expectant parents don't know the gender, but that's really beside the point."

"Hey, Mister Genius? Please shut up." Talia whacks the back of Firouz's head.

Sinbad scowls, dangerous and threatening. "They're strong. Both of them. Maeve's a hero, and my Fin is, too, even before she's born."

"Little girls aren't heroes," Doubar mutters. He's pretty sure he doesn't mean for Sinbad to hear, but he does anyway and rounds on him instantly.

"How would you know? You clearly don't understand yet that you're the villain here." He stalks forward one slow step, hands curling in warning at his sides.

"I didn't know she was carrying!" Doubar refuses to back down. This mess may be partially his fault, but he will not take all the blame. "You lied to me! Both of you! My own brother!"

"Why the fuck would you attack an ally at all?" Sinbad demands. "Pregnant or not, she was your friend! She's my family even if you're too dense to admit it. And you put your hands on her. Kicked her when she was already down. She was no threat to you but you nearly killed her anyway!"

Renewed fury pushes Doubar to square himself with his brother. No one else will listen, but he has to make Sinbad see. "She wouldn't help you! She had the ability to save you, but I thought she refused because you told me so. And whether she's with child or not, she was still bewitching you. She put some sort of spell on you, I know she did!"

"I told you exactly what I told everyone else and they figured out the truth. You were just too angry to see what was right in front of you. Why didn't you listen? I told you over and over that she had no obligation to give me a child, and I meant it. That's her body and her choice. I wouldn't feel any different if she'd chosen not to. If I'm not upset you have no right to be, either."

"Yes, I do! You're my brother!" Doubar explodes, stomping closer. Rongar appears at his side, a silent, warning presence. "I raised you! We're a partnership! No uppity barbarian has the right to change that, or to choose whether you keep your soul!"

Sinbad's jaw clenches hard and his muscles shake with the effort it takes not to launch himself at his brother. Rongar and Talia flank Doubar, Niall and Firouz cautious on either side of Sinbad.

"I'm suddenly very glad neither Wren nor I had any blood kin," Niall mutters.

Everyone tenses, prepared to thwart another brawl if necessary, but Sinbad controls himself this time. "Maeve and her people aren't barbarians," he says, his voice dropping in both tone and volume. The soft words are somehow worse than his bellow. "The only barbarian I see here is the one who nearly killed a pregnant woman and his own niece out of spite."

Is that what he did? Truly? Doubar can't believe it. He was defending his brother, as he always has. Defending their brotherhood, what they mean to each other. That's all. There was no spite. Was there? Why can't his brother see? "Niece," he growls. "If that witch is truly carrying a girl, it's no blood of ours."

Sinbad launches himself at his brother, and it takes both Firouz and Niall to hold him back.

"You're not good at implying things, Doubar, so don't try," Talia says wearily as she steps between the brothers as added insurance against a brawl. "Say what you mean straight out. Call her a whore and her baby a bastard. It won't make Sinbad any angrier than he already is, and it saves time."

Is that really what he meant? Doubar isn't even sure anymore. He just knew it would rankle his brother, and he wants to cause pain because he feels it deeply. He hurts. Those who caused his pain should feel it, too. Maeve isn't here, but Sinbad lied to him. He pulled away instead of facing Scratch side by side with his brother, as they've always done before.

"She's mine," Sinbad snarls, throwing himself against the wall of Niall and Firouz. Combined, they withstand his fury. "Both of them! No one disrespects Maeve like that, or my daughter. She's fighting for her life before she's even born, and it's your fault!"

"Sinbad, calm down," Niall says softly. He places a hand on Sinbad's shoulder and Doubar's gut churns. That's his brother. His place. Not some stranger's. Not even Maeve's. It's always been him and Sinbad, the pair of them. Brothers, with Firouz and Rongar paired just behind. But now everything is upside down, inside out and wrong. A stranger stands next to Firouz, holding steady with him as if they're used to working together. That stranger is touching his brother, giving him quiet advice, when that's always been Doubar's place. Behind Niall and Firouz stand Rongar and Talia, who have been solidly paired in brotherhood and agreement since Sinbad left the Nomad. Everything is wrong, everyone's places jumbled about like a deck of cards scattered on the floor, and Doubar hates it.

Also, where does that leave him?

"Your skin is like ice," Niall says, his hand firm on Sinbad's shoulder. "We have to get you back to Maeve. I don't know if it's the distance or the time, but we have to go."

Sinbad shakes him off. "My daughter will save my soul if she survives," he says, those blue eyes so like their mother's glaring malevolently at Doubar. The words grate out between tightly clenched jaws. "If she doesn't, her death and mine are both on your hands. Brother."

This hits Doubar like no other argument, no other pain. Like a hammer to the skull, it nearly drops him. His face throbs where Sinbad hit him the last time they fought. His fault.

His hands.

Sinbad believes Maeve is with child and that child is his. He's counting on her to save his soul. And Doubar nearly killed her. She may still not survive, if what he says is true.

They eye each other as uneasy silence settles around them. The few other sailors at the wharf wisely choose to keep well away.

Doubar stares at the man he's known nearly all his life, his oldest tie, his only blood. Brother against brother. When he looks at Sinbad, he sees so much. The newborn his father insisted he must always protect. The baby he saved from the storm that killed their parents. The young boy he comforted when his childhood love died. The teenage captain he willingly followed to sea.

And the grown man standing before him now, spilling pain as blood from a wound, fists clenched, teeth bared like a predatory animal, fully ready to attack if their friends let him.

So.

They've been together their whole lives, partners their whole lives. Just the two of them. Now Scratch has ruined that as surely as if he took Sinbad during that first storm.

Or did Doubar do this himself?

"We need to go, Sinbad," Niall says gently. "We need to get you back to Maeve."

Doubar's shoulders sag. Maybe he did break them. Maybe it really was him, not Maeve or Rumina or Scratch or anyone else. Maybe he has no one to blame but himself. He doesn't understand, but everyone else seems to believe it's all his fault. "Sinbad…" What can he say? "If I'd known…." If someone had just cared enough to tell him the truth….

"Then what?" Sinbad growls. "You wouldn't have attacked a sick woman a third your size?"

Doubar winces. Is she really so small? He never noticed. Her presence is so big, so vital.

"What would have stopped you? Her willingness to save my soul? Or the chance that she might be carrying a son?" His lip curls with scorn.

"That's not fair!" Doubar protests. Maeve was an ally, a good friend. That only changed because...because...he doesn't know anymore. He's so confused. Because she refused to save Sinbad's soul. At least, he thought she did.

"What part isn't fair?" his brother demands. "I heard at least some of what you said before she disappeared. She has no inherent value to you, does she? Only what she might provide."

Doubar scowls, his brow lowering, and he can feel his face growing hot and red. "That girl's bewitched you," he insists. "You would have agreed with me about all of it before Dim-Dim dumped her on us!"

This seems to surprise Sinbad. He blinks. "I wouldn't," he says, but he doesn't sound entirely sure.

"You would," Doubar insists. He knows it.

"I'd never attack a woman like that, or kick her when she's down," Sinbad says firmly. "Whether I knew she was with child or not doesn't matter. I'm not that sort of man."

Doubar never thought he was, either. He still doesn't want to admit that he might be. "You wouldn't have chosen a woman over your own brother. Not before that Celt."

Sinbad is silent. Doubar can see him thinking, desperately trying to find a way to refute him, but he has none. Doubar seldom wins arguments and he's shocked that he's won this one. But he can see Sinbad scrabbling for a comeback, a plausible denial. He has none, because they're brothers. They may look nothing alike, but on the inside they're the same. They'll always be the most important person in each other's life. No angry little Celt can change that, even if she is with child.

"You're right." Sinbad's voice is barely louder than a whisper. He sounds...devastated.

What? Doubar blinks, trying to understand. They're agreeing about something. That's a good thing, right? So why does Sinbad sound gutted?

"Before Maeve, I didn't understand." The corner of Sinbad's mouth twitches mirthlessly. "Maybe that's why Dim-Dim insisted that we meet."

Doubar's face closes over. He scowls. "Dim-Dim didn't know he'd be cursed by that demon!"

"He brought Maeve with him on our voyage. He didn't have to. I asked him not to. But he knew better."

Doubar is disgusted that Sinbad would dare suggest Dim-Dim did this to them on purpose, placing all the blame on a sweet old man who isn't even here to defend himself. "I wish to all the gods we never crossed paths with that girl," he says, and he means it with all his heart.

Sinbad's smile is gentle and sad. "I don't."

"I know you don't. That's the magic talking. Or the consequence of sleeping with only one woman for too long." Maybe that's the problem. Even their father didn't keep solely to their mother, no matter how much he loved her. No man does. It's not natural. Fidelity is expected of women, not men.

Sinbad's eyes grow colder and Niall bristles. Talia shifts restlessly—no one likes that comment.

To Doubar's surprise, Sinbad snorts. He's angry, but a bark of mirthless laughter leaves his throat. "If you think I've been sleeping with her lately you're stupider than I thought. She's struggling to keep an unborn baby alive after you attacked her, and she's been critically sick since Rumina's time spell. How would fucking possibly help any of that?"

Doubar wishes he had a good answer. He thought he won this argument but he feels his footholds slipping, the situation falling away from him. He doesn't know what to say.

"Sex has nothing to do with how I feel about Maeve."

"Probably not nothing," Talia mutters, but nobody chooses to chide her.

"Look, I've made plenty of mistakes in my life. I don't deny that. But Maeve isn't one of them. I'm not under any spell except Scratch's curse. Maeve isn't Rumina and she would never do something like that to me or anyone else. I love her. Nothing you say can change that. Why would you even try? Maybe you'll understand someday if you ever find a woman you can love."

Doubar's shoulders slump. He reaches up to rub his face but the pain of his ruined nose and busted lip makes him drop his arm again. He's lost. Not just the argument, but everything. His place at his brother's side. His position on the Nomad. His purpose. He can feel it slipping away, and he grabs frantically at the final straws as they fall out of reach. "I just want my brother back." His voice cracks. "So she's carrying. Fine. So you thought it would be funny not to tell me. To let me worry. Fine. It doesn't matter. She'll free you from Scratch, which is all I ever wanted in the first place. Then we can go back to sailing as we used to. You and me, just as we're supposed to be. You can keep her, if that's what you really want. I won't complain. Much." He'll do anything to turn back time, to return to the way they were.

But Sinbad slowly shakes his head. His eyes are damp, but he's resolute. "Nothing can ever be the same again," he says quietly. "If Fin lives and Maeve frees me from Scratch, I'll have a daughter to raise. Those things you said to Maeve and about my Fin...they can't be taken back. I can't have that around my little girl. She doesn't need an uncle who thinks she and her mother are worthless. I won't do that to them."

And it's done. Everything really is over. Doubar stares dully at Sinbad. "You're choosing a barbarian witch over your own brother."

"No, Doubar. I'm protecting my family. You're the one who drew the line."


Sinbad is shivering badly by the time he opens the door to Maeve's room. It feels like his bracelet is punishing him for going too far, being gone too long, and he knows he deserves it. He and Niall were only meant to check in very quickly with Rongar, gather a few items, and return swiftly to Breakwater. They didn't expect Doubar.

He also doesn't expect what he sees when he enters Maeve's room. Everyone is there on the big bed, Wren and Keely and all the children, including Keely's apprentice. As they used to pile together for warmth in harsh northern winters, they're piled on and around Maeve's shivering body, lending her what heat they can while Sinbad is away. Declan, her special favorite, is sprawled against one side, his head resting on her sharp breastbone, Keely firm against the other, guarding the curve of Maeve's belly from any errant little arms or legs. Sharp green eyes take him in as he sets Maeve's red blanket and their swords on the floor with a muted clatter.

"This experiment is not one we will be repeating," Keely says, slowly sitting up, an arm under her own swollen belly. "I knew it wasn't a good idea in the first place."

"It wasn't his fault." Niall puts the swords in the chest at the end of Maeve's bed, though Sinbad doesn't know what good it will do. The kids are as bad as Talia about personal boundaries. They'll find the blades swiftly no matter where Niall puts them. His body aches with pain and cold as he perches on the edge of the bed, his fingers reaching for Maeve's skin. She's white and shivering, as she hasn't been since the night they came to Breakwater. Tired brown eyes open as he strokes her cold cheek and she manages to smile.

"I warned you not to dawdle," Keely snaps.

"I didn't. But Doubar was there. He shouldn't have been." Sinbad leans over the multiple children in the way and presses his lips gently to Maeve's forehead. He badly wants to kick everyone out of the room and bolt the door, curl up under the blankets with just her. His body craves her nearness, and he knows his absence is the reason for her icy skin. The children's warmth may help a little, but they can't give her what she really needs.

"We weren't even gone an hour. Maybe a little over half," Niall says, lifting a sleeping Con from the jumble sprawled across Maeve's legs.

"It was too long, regardless. Or too far. Or both." Keely curses despite the presence of so many small children. "I hate not understanding the rules of that damn bracelet's magic."

"I'm just grateful it's there," Sinbad says. He refuses to get angry at the magic keeping Maeve alive, no matter how much he doesn't understand it. "Mo chailín, I'm sorry. Can you hear me? I'm back. I brought your blanket."

"Of course I can hear you." Her words stutter through chattering teeth as she grips his hand and holds on tightly. "I'm cold, not deaf."

Keely rolls her eyes. Sinbad feels only relief. That's his girl. He kisses her forehead again despite the awkward proximity of several small faces. Sailors have very little privacy aboard ship, and he's had to learn that the same goes for a Celt household no matter its size. Children and adults barge in and out at all hours unless he engages the metal bolt, and even then sometimes he hears whining and spies tiny fingers reaching under the wooden door.

Part of Sinbad wants to protest so many small children piled so close to his Fin at once. Maeve is too fragile for any roughness right now, even accidental, and Mia and the boys are rowdy. But Keely is watching them, and they press their warm little bodies close to Maeve like worried puppies slinking along a baseboard. They're exceptionally gentle with her as they cuddle close. Maeve's arm curls around Declan, his body like a little furnace, leaking heat.

"You're cold," the boy says, petting her fiery hair. He hugs himself against her. "I can make you warm."

"Thank you," she says, letting them cuddle though it's really Sinbad she needs. They snuggle close to her with purely animal instinct, their mothers watchful of Maeve's fragile belly. She runs her hands through Rory's curls and kisses Declan's silk-straight hair. With her family sharing their body heat and Sinbad once again near, she's starting to warm. He feels an echoing easing of his own discomfort, but only slightly.

Mia shifts on Maeve's thighs, stretching like a cat. "Careful, dove," Wren warns. "Remember not to touch her belly; it could hurt her baby."

"I know, auntie." Mia stays where she is. None of the Breakwater children are terribly obedient by nature but they all seem to understand that this is an order they must not ignore. "But Fin's already hurting," Mia adds.

Instantly Sinbad's attention snaps fully to the four-year-old girl. "She's what? How do you know?"

"She's cold. She hates it. I want to sit on her like a chicky with an egg, but mama says not to."

Keely gives Sinbad a helpless shrug. "Cold isn't hurting, Mia."

"It is to Fin. She hates it. A lot. And her leg hurts. I told you so before."

"You did," Keely allows.

"Why is she hurting?" Sinbad demands. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Keely frowns. "At least, nothing more than before. I can't sense anything wrong with her, and Mia is four. I'm sorry, but if there's a problem it's not something I can fix right now. We'll have to see when she's born, just like with any other baby."

Sinbad's eyes meet Maeve's. He sees concern there, but she's cold and exhausted, and she may not have room for any further worry on top of that which she already carries. She hugs Declan close and gives him a small, tired smile over the boy's head.

Okay. Sinbad wills himself to accept Keely's words, as Maeve seems to. Like the tangle of magic surrounding Fin, this too will have to wait to be explored until she's born. Mia prattles, and he's learned by now that sometimes it means something and sometimes it doesn't. If Keely doesn't know, all they can do is wait.

"I'm glad to be back, anyway," Sinbad says, offering Maeve the red blanket he knows she wants. Her tired smile is all the thanks he needs. He knows Doubar doesn't understand this bond, doesn't understand why he cares so deeply for this woman. But he does, and it's a wholly natural love, not manufactured by lies or dark magic, no matter what his brother thinks.

"We're glad, too," Wren agrees as Niall kisses her in greeting, his youngest son held gently in his arms. "What happened, leannán? You look...unsettled."

Niall strokes his son's sleeping head. "Sinbad's brother was not what I expected. That's all." He transfers Con's weight to his shoulder and touches Wren softly. "I'm glad to be back, and relieved to find things no worse than they are."

Sinbad scowls. He's beyond troubled by his fight with Doubar, by the man's continued obstinacy and unwillingness to see the truth for what it is. He loves Maeve. She's more than a wife—she's his partner in life now, part of him as he's part of her. That can't be taken back, nor can time be spooled like thread, rolled back to an easier moon as Doubar seems to wish. Sinbad doesn't know any magic that can do that, and he wouldn't even if he could. He loves Maeve far too much to ever give her up. "I have no brother," he says, and he can feel the surprise of the older boys, the ones paying attention. Bran and Declan look at each other, then at him, eyes wide and mouths silent.

"You do," Maeve says, squeezing his hand gently. Her skin is so cold, but so is his. He threads his fingers through hers, wishing he could hold the swell of her belly, too, but he won't in front of the children since they've been forbidden to touch. "You can't deny your blood, Sinbad."

"Watch me." He doesn't care if he's being a bad influence for Niall's boys. Not after what he just went through. Doubar's bitterness is like poison, and he can't let it infect Maeve or his Finleigh. He just can't. He tips his head back and rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen the built up tension in his muscles. He feels rigid, and his body aches with cold. This isn't normal for him and he's jealous of the way the smallest children sprawl and contort themselves in the strangest positions while still looking perfectly comfortable.

"Sinbad," Maeve says gently. Despite her soft voice, it's a warning. Fine. He won't say any more with the children present, but he refuses to back down from his decision. Doubar is not part of their lives anymore, and he will not ever be part of Fin's. How could any father allow it, knowing how the man feels about her? That he doubts her paternity simply because she's female, and wants nothing to do with her despite the fact that she's meant to save Sinbad's soul?

"Did our trip do any harm?" he asks Keely, attempting to push away the dark unease which hovers around him. He can't change Doubar, and he's done trying to talk to him. He needs to focus on the future now, and the future is his daughter.

"Nothing lasting, so far as I can tell," she says, scowling again at his bracelet. "But I really hate that thing. I believe in magic and medicine in equal measure, but that doesn't mean I understand them equally. And I do not understand that bracelet."

"Does it matter?" Maeve asks, echoing Sinbad's own thoughts. It doesn't to him. So long as Maeve lives, he doesn't care how.

"Not really," Wren says, a playful smile touching her lips as she glances at her sister. "Keel just hates a mystery."

"That's not true. I love mysteries. I only hate the ones I can't solve."

Maeve laughs as Lily crawls across her ribs, seeking Sinbad. She's decided he's her favorite person right now, and she won't take no for an answer as she draws herself into his lap. He doesn't reject her, circling her little body lightly with his arms instead. Her father may have abandoned her, but she has plenty of other people here to care for her, and he's one of them. Antoine ran from his daughters. Sinbad longs for his.

And he still doesn't understand why Doubar can't accept that. Why are they so different? He holds Antoine's daughter gently, careful of the sensitive wings folded down her back. He and Doubar share the same parents, the same blood. They were raised by the same mentor. The only real difference is their ages. So why have they grown so far apart? Why can't they see eye to eye anymore? He looks at the little girl in his lap, contentedly chewing on a ragged stuffed toy he thinks was meant to be a cat? He's not sure. Keely or Maeve must have made it, because the others all have far more patience and skill with a needle. He tucks Maeve's red blanket around Lily's tiny shoulders and lets her rest her head against him. He wants badly to hold his own daughter, to feel her little weight in his arms, against his chest. Because of Doubar, he may never get that chance. He thought things were getting better—Keely even let Maeve get out of bed for a short while recently. But she started bleeding again almost immediately, so Keely said she's forbidden to move until Samhain. Sinbad has no words to describe his anxiety.

And it's Doubar's fault. His own brother may have killed his daughter, and he doesn't know how to deal with that. He can banish the man from his life, but he can't banish him from his thoughts. He wishes he could.

Maybe even more than that, he wishes for Dim-Dim. A sharp jab of sudden, aching loneliness guts him despite the crowded room. These are good people—wonderful people. They've taken him in without question, simply because he belongs with Maeve. They never once doubted or fought this bond, as Doubar continues to. They're his family now, too. But they are not his the way Dim-Dim is, or the crew of the Nomad. They don't have the shared history that builds deep bonds. He feels half-lost without his brother, his céile so sick and his daughter not wholly expected to survive. He wishes desperately for the old man's familiar face, his comforting smile, the way he has of saying just the right thing, whether playful or intuitive. Maybe Dim-Dim could give them the answers they seek about his bracelet. Even if not, he always brings hope even in the darkest hour.

"I know that look." Maeve's voice is soft and sleepy, an echo of the smile she gives him over Declan's silky brown hair. "You miss Dim-Dim."

She knows him so well. He returns her wistful smile. "I miss how he always knows the answer, even if he refuses to tell it. It makes me feel better even when he makes me figure everything out myself."

"And he always knows what to say to make things better," she agrees.

"I know how to make things better." Declan tips his head up and kisses Maeve, then presses his cheek to hers as he hugs her tightly.

"You do. Thank you." She holds him close, sleepy and peaceful now that she's warming. Every touch, every glance, tells Sinbad how much she loves that little boy. Declan wants to go to sea badly. He's too young now, only just turned seven, but if Sinbad ever returns to the waves he has half a mind to take the boy with them. Maeve loves him, and it will be a relief to his parents to apprentice him somewhere his wild energy can be focused.

"Where is the Nomad?" Maeve asks, her dark eyes turning to Sinbad. "Still in Attalia?"

He shakes his head. "I didn't recognize the port, and I got distracted before I could ask. It doesn't matter. They're fine. I trust Rongar. Talia's still with them, which I didn't expect. She took Doubar aboard the Serpent so Rongar technically didn't disobey my orders." He grimaces. This still irritates him, but Talia was right: he can't order her to kick Doubar off her own ship.

"Are you okay?" She squeezes his hand gently. "You're still cold."

Yes, he is, and he suspects he will be until everyone leaves and he can lie down with her and rest. This is punishment for leaving her, whether his bracelet intends it to be or not. He willingly submits to the discomfort—he deserves it. "I will be," he says. Fighting with Doubar is torture, but she doesn't need to be told. She already knows. Doubar is his blood, and he's always been there for him. Always. Until he attacked Maeve during a fit of temper, nearly killing Sinbad's daughter in the process.

"I like Doubar," Declan says. "He's the best in all your stories."

Maeve kisses his cheek; the child doesn't see the aching sorrow in the set of her mouth. "I know," she says. For so long Doubar was like a big brother to her, too. He defended her. Watched over her. She's lost three brothers now, and Sinbad can't imagine that pain. First Dermott. Then Antoine. Now Doubar. Part of Sinbad wants to blame Scratch and Rumina entirely for all of it, but he just can't. He knows better. Their enemies orchestrated this mess, yes. But her men all acted of their own free will. Dermott left her. Antoine disowned her. Doubar nearly killed her. Scratch didn't do any of it, even if he did egg them on as Maeve insists. Doubar still had free will, and he chose to put his hands on her.

Sinbad's head drops forward, his stiff muscles slowly beginning to give way as Keely finally moves, gently gathering up the children, herding them toward the floor.

"We'll leave you for now," she says, lifting Lily from Sinbad's arms. Her daughter whines. "I don't know what will happen in the future, Sinbad, but time and babies both have a way of healing hurts."

Maybe so, but Sinbad isn't sure there's enough time in the world to heal this one, and Doubar doesn't want his niece besides. Maeve was sickeningly right about that. He crosses the room on leaden feet to latch the door and snap the bolt shut behind her family. They're the kindest people in the world, but he desperately needs to be alone with his sorceress. He hurts, both inside and out, and despite the damp, oppressive heat aboard the Nomad there's a core of ice deep in his belly that refuses to melt.

Maeve still shivers lightly, though she's warmed far more swiftly than he this time. Sinbad kicks off his boots and slips his shirt over his shoulders, intent on the touch of her skin. Nothing in the world feels better than that. She changed out of the heavy lambskin robe days ago and wears a clean, sleeveless chemise of very light linen, the blankets and Sinbad's proximity more than enough to keep her warm as her energy slowly returns. He falls into bed and draws her against him, groaning softly with the instant relief her touch brings. The bed is warm with the residual body heat of so many people, and he relaxes into the soft feather mattress, the warmth of the blankets cocooning them. The sweetness of this touch floods his body as he holds her, winding himself around her as he's learned to do. The aches in his body fade almost instantly and he feels the ice in his gut begin to thaw.

Slowly he draws his hand over the swell of Maeve's abdomen, holding his daughter as he holds her mother. Fin kicks, the little tap against his palm infinitely soothing. "There's my girl," he whispers, and Maeve chuckles, low and sleepy. It's only midafternoon, but he suspects they'll have to wait to contact Cairpra tomorrow. Maeve won't be awake much longer, and she may sleep straight through the night. There's no telling, since he unwisely left her. It was only supposed to be for a few minutes, and Doubar was not supposed to be there. But things always seem to go wrong when they can least afford it. He kisses her temple, lips reverent against her skin, and is just glad only Doubar disrupted his plans today, not Rumina or Scratch. He hasn't seen or heard from either of them since retreating to Breakwater, and he doesn't want to. He hopes they don't know where Maeve is. She doesn't need them to cause a scene, even if they can't break in.

Fin kicks again, softer this time, a final nudge before settling down as her mother settles. Doubar doesn't understand—could never understand—how it feels when she moves under Sinbad's palm. It's beyond words. All he knows is that nothing will ever feel as right as this, and he'll battle the entire world to keep Maeve and his daughter safe if he has to. He'll sacrifice anything, including brotherhood with a man he's not sure he even knows anymore. He and Doubar have always had disagreements, but he's never been horrified at his brother as he was today. The things he said about Maeve, about Fin, are unforgivable, and he can't make excuses for Doubar any longer. He's a man grown. He needs to take responsibility for what he says, what he does, without Sinbad constantly circling back to fix the trouble he gets in.

Maeve's fingers gently stroke down his cheek. Dark eyes watch him, heavy with sleep but still alert. "You're right here," she says, "but still very far away."

He kisses the corner of her mouth, the sharp, delicate line of her jaw. She's beautiful, and she's all his. All her sweetness, her anger, her strength and spirit—everything she is. He loves it all. His fingertips brush her soft lips, her thick, dark eyelashes. "No," he says. "I'm here with you. That's where I'll always be." He presses against her as tightly as he dares, dropping his head to nestle in the crook of her neck, breathe the soft scent of warm, clean skin. He doesn't want to talk about where he was. He just wants to hold her right now and forget, for a little while, all the struggles they face. He can't solve any of their problems—not yet, not on his own—but he can be here. He can hold Maeve and their baby, willing them his strength, feeding them his lifeforce and the magic from his bracelet. "I love you." It's the truest thing he knows. He misses the sea, the baking heat of his homeland. He misses Firouz and Rongar, and aches for his lost brother. But above all of that, greater and stronger by far, he loves her. Maeve and Fin come first. They'll always come first. He'll happily give up everything else if that's what it takes to keep them.

"Love you, too, sailor." She settles more comfortably against him and her eyes drift shut. He smiles as he watches her struggle to keep awake.

"Sleep. I know I was gone too long, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Just rest now. I'm not going anywhere." Not until Samhain.

"You sleep, too," she says, but she's too far gone to insist. Her cold shivers ease, along with the ice in Sinbad's gut, as she drops softly into sleep. His mouth curves in a tender smile and he kisses her bare shoulder, drawing his lips along the smooth warmth. The gold kiss of the southern sun has all but faded from her skin, leaving behind faint warm freckles, which he adores. He hopes Fin will have them, too. He nuzzles her throat and settles against her, glad his daughter seems willing to let her mother rest. Keely complains loudly that her boy seems to be nocturnal and wants to play all night, but Fin has thus far been good about letting Maeve sleep. Maybe it's Maeve's deep exhaustion, or maybe Fin needs her sleep too, or maybe mother and daughter are just weirdly in sync. He doesn't know, but he's grateful. He runs his hand lightly over her belly once more, intent on being thankful for all he has. Meeting Doubar today deeply unsettled him, but he's back where he belongs now. With his girls. Protecting them, as he always will. He may not be able to shield them from Scratch as Keely can, but he can stay near, feeding their strength with his bracelet and his own energy. Most fathers have no role in caring for their unborn children, and he's selfishly glad that he's the exception. Because of so many circumstances, Maeve can't do this alone right now. Nor does she have to. He's here.

But despite everything he has, he can't sleep. Doubar's words echo in his head, and no matter how he tries he can't banish them. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to tell Maeve what the man said about her, about Fin, so he hopes she never asks. She tends to ignore whispers about her perceived sexual behavior—tongues always wag about the way she chooses to dress, her habit of hanging around sailors, and she's never cared before. But those mutters have never come from his crew before, men she cares for. And she will not stand for whispers about her daughter's paternity, Sinbad knows without even asking. Not with her own history. And not with so much at stake. Sinbad's soul depends on that child. She's his, he knows without a doubt. But it crushes him that Doubar questions this, especially since his only reason is her sex. If his Fin were a son, Doubar wouldn't doubt. But she's not. Sinbad doesn't consider that a failing. Doubar does.

And what is he supposed to do about that, other than remove his brother from his life? The man injured her badly, and didn't seem sorry for it today. Until Finleigh is safe in his arms there's still the stark reality that she might die—killed by her uncle's temper. Scratch or no Scratch, that isn't something Sinbad is capable of forgiving.

And yet, Doubar is still Doubar. The same man Sinbad has known all his life—big, broad, simple, kind. Doubar cared for him when their parents died, joined him when he was a young, untested captain in need of a forgiving first crew. They were together their whole lives until Doubar assaulted the girl carrying Sinbad's child. Until Sinbad broke his face and ordered him off his ship.

The history between them is written in blood. The deaths of their parents. Leah. The loss of Dim-Dim, their vow to find him. Triumphs over enemies, scattered also with losses. Near-death scrapes, commiserating over heartbreaks. The loss of crewmembers, friends, and ships. Too much history to be put to the torch and forgotten, but what else can he possibly do? He's finding it impossible to reconcile the loving older brother he's always known with the man who has so thoroughly rejected his daughter, first denying her existence and then insisting she must be some other man's bastard simply because she's female.

Would Doubar have rejected him so thoroughly, too, had he been a sister rather than a brother? Would he have let that first storm take him instead of saving him? He's horrified that he even has to ask this question, but he can't help it. Dermott didn't reject Maeve for being a sister. He took her with him when he left their father's house, a heroic thing for such a small boy to do, refusing to abandon his sister to a father who would no doubt have killed her. He raised her and Keely the best he could, cared for them, taught them what he knew. In this moment, Sinbad cannot say with certainty that Doubar would have done the same. Weeks ago he would have said it without question, but that was before Doubar nearly killed his daughter.

For long years as a child, Sinbad looked up to his older brother. Nearly worshiped him. Doubar and Dim-Dim were his rocks as he struggled to find his way in life, adrift in uncertainty, mired in the losses of his parents and Leah. Now he sees Doubar with clearer eyes, and the truth is not one he likes. His brother is strong in body but quick to anger, and doesn't think before he acts. Maeve has a hot temper but she doesn't lash out indiscriminately. He knows without a doubt that she would never strike someone smaller or weaker than herself, whereas Doubar doesn't care. When he loses his temper, things break. People break. For the most part those people deserve it, but sometimes not. And lashing out at Maeve in her state was a step too far.

Sinbad can hear Dim-Dim's gentle voice in his head, reminding him of the pointlessness of his anger. What's done is done and can't be taken back. This lesson was drummed into both boys for most of their childhoods, but only Sinbad ever really learned it. Anger is only healthy when it can be channeled into something positive or productive. If not, it festers like wound-sickness seeping into the blood, poisoning the soul. This is what has happened to Doubar, and Sinbad can't let it happen to himself, too. Maeve and Fin need him, and he can't be caught in this trap of fury over what his brother did to them. Maeve isn't, for whatever reason. Maybe because she believes so thoroughly that she spoke to Scratch, or maybe she's still too weak to fully embody her anger. Either way, she's moved on. She's wholly wrapped up, as Sinbad should be, in caring for Fin and trying to heal before Samhain. He has to follow where she leads and do the same, despite the emptiness he feels at the loss of his brother. Doubar's actions can't be reversed, can't be taken back. All they can do is move forward.

But he doesn't know how. Dim-Dim prepared him for much, but not for this. Not for Doubar's utter betrayal. His shoulders stiffen as he realizes just how angry he still is not only at Doubar's violence, but his complete rejection of his daughter. Sinbad expected to have to apologize for lying at some point, despite the necessity. He didn't expect his brother's bitter spite toward an innocent child. And yes, he realizes he's overtired, overanxious, and overprotective of his girls. But that's partially Doubar's fault. He's the one who attacked them. Not Scratch. Not even Rumina—not this time.

He's also haunted by Doubar's accusation that before Maeve, he was just like his brother. He wasn't. Was he?

No, he insists. They share the same blood, the same history, but they are not the same person. He would never attack an ally, or a woman as sick as Maeve obviously is. He doesn't lose control as Doubar does; he's stronger than that.

But Doubar was right when he said Sinbad would never have chosen a woman over his brother. Not before Maeve. Before Maeve, he never had any reason to. He never allowed any girl too close, not after Leah. Losing her was too painful to repeat, so he kept the opposite sex at a comfortable distance for his scar-riddled heart. Girls were for fun only, for flirting and dancing, later for fucking. They liked his pretty face and his confidence and he liked the pleasure of their musical voices, their soft bodies. He took advantage of no one, but neither did he let anyone close enough to mean anything to him. Doubar didn't feel jealous or supplanted by them, so there was no "side" to take.

Until Maeve.

Until this one beautiful western barbarian with a temper as hot as the sun managed to knock him down and then turn his world on its head. He will always be grateful to Dim-Dim for that rather painful gift.

Without Maeve, he probably would have agreed to Doubar's initial plan regarding the Tam Lin Protocol. He would have convinced a woman—maybe Talia, maybe someone else—to bear him a child, and he would have paid her well and done his best to visit from time to time afterward. It's exactly what a diligent, responsible sailor is expected to do with his bastard offspring.

But Maeve is different. She's always been different. She's not some tavern wench, a quick fuck and a vague memory. She's part of his crew. Part of him. Too deeply entwined in the web of his life to even attempt to extricate. She's no sweet, docile southern girl, but a creature borne of hardship and sacrifice, just as he is. She brought parts of him back to life that he'd long thought dead, and taught him that love, while frightening, is still worth the risk of loss. These are not easy lessons, and not ones Dim-Dim could teach, though he tried. Sinbad learned from Maeve by watching her struggle alongside him. She's suspicious. He's wary. They both bear heavy burdens of guilt and loss they will never fully be able to set down. But she's a fighter, like him. And once they realized they weren't actually fighting each other, the rest was almost easy.

As easy as breathing with her.

Sinbad stares at his bracelet, the slow pulse of its light as it breathes with them, in tandem. Dim-Dim often teaches through roundabout methods. He can't discount the idea that Maeve was originally meant as one of these. But she's become far more than that, and he doubts Dim-Dim could see this far ahead despite his gift for prophecy.

He hopes not, anyway. Because he wants to believe his mentor would have found a way to warn him, or somehow cushion the blow, of Doubar's betrayal. This one action has plunged so many lives into darkness, but maybe Doubar's most of all. After all, Sinbad still has Maeve. His Fin still lives. Doubar is big and strong, yes, but in some ways he's a pitiable figure. He's alone, and angry at a woman he thinks stole Sinbad away when really, Doubar did that himself.

A big part of Sinbad wishes he could grant his brother's wish to turn back time, to return to the way things used to be, when Maeve and Doubar got along and they all lived together in peace. When they knew who their enemies were, and who they could trust. But Doubar killed that past when he hurt Maeve, and going back is now impossible.

Something in Sinbad's heart breaks as he steels himself to bid farewell to the brother he used to know, once the most important person in his world. That man is dead, or maybe he never really existed in the first place. Maybe that Doubar was always only part of his imagination, the man he wanted his brother to be. Or maybe they both exist, side by side, the good and the bad, as with all men. Even so, the threat of the bad is intolerable to Sinbad now that he has a daughter to protect. Doubar hurt her once. He will not allow it to happen again.

"I'm going to protect you, angel," he whispers, touching Maeve's belly under the blankets. Fin is still, sleeping quietly safe within her mother, just as she should. "From every bad thing in this world." Even as he says it, he knows it's impossible. Tragedy lurks everywhere, even on this enchanted isle where evil cannot land. Antoine left his family, and Lily cries herself sick every night pleading for a father who never comes. He knows he can't keep his Fin safe from everything. But fuck it all, he has to try.

A/N: I didn't mean to leave it on such a dark note, sorry guys. Next chapter will have much more action and much less hand-wringing, I promise!