Prologue

In that obnoxious Texan drawl, the drawl that she had resigned herself to hear for the rest of her life, the preacher called, "Some of us have places we got to be, honey!"

She and Bill shared something of a sympathetic smile, before, with arms wrapped around her bulging tummy, they turned and entered the shabby little wedding chapel. Her assassin's nerves had steeled her, contorted her face into one of placidity; for all appearances, she was as content with Bill's presence as anyone else. Inside, however, her anxiety was running full course; the baby felt it, and gave a hearty kick to the wall of her stomach, causing her to give a little, "Oh!"

This, of course, went unnoticed by the two men who were advancing on one another. Bill had taken on the stance of a gunslinger, and looked ready to threaten Tommy to make his day; Tommy, on the other hand, was grinning like the sweet fool that he was, and was already reaching forward to take Bill's hand.

"Tommy, this is my father. Daddy, this is Tommy," she said, smiling nervously between the two of them.

"Hi there," Tommy gushed, before adding in, "Dad!"

She winced, and so did Bill. "Bill is the name," he said in that gravelly voice; she saw Tommy's green eyes flicker, and knew he'd gotten the message—and yet, true to form, he never shed a drop of good old southern hospitality; already he was clapping Bill on the arm, and welcoming him, and expressing his delight that he had not, in fact, spent the wedding in a mine in Perth.

After the small-talk had been made, and Bill had leaned himself against one of the pews on the bride's side of the chapel, she looped her arm into Tommy's, and made her casual advance down the aisle. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled beneath Bill's studied gaze; she felt her spine crawling, as if it sought to be released from her body so that it might escape his scrutiny.

The preacher led them through their vows, Tommy making his with as much heartfelt sincerity as he would the next day, during the real ceremony. She tried to match his vivacity, but failed; too much of her mind was on Bill, and his actions. To his credit, however, he made only a single motion during the entire ordeal, and that was to inconspicuously rub his mouth upon Tommy's reading a particularly cheesy vow; and, she had the suspicion that his eyes were mocking her, throughout her own vows.

"By the power vested in me, by church and state, I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Goodwin. Son," he said with a grin, "you may now kiss the bride."

Beatrix darted her eyes over at Bill, very quickly, and then gave a quick laugh. "We better save that for tomorrow, don't you think, Tommy?"

He laughed as well, and nodded. "Yeah, I reckon you're right."

She pushed her arm through his again, and tossed her little fake-bouquet to her friends seated in the pews. They giggled, and caught it, and then giggled again. Beatrix looked up at Bill, and locked eyes with him. Her own had grown misty with tears, but she barely needed to see at all to be drawn to his gaze; he would always, she knew, have that power over her.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

He gave a nod of his silver head, and offered her a slight smile. Even now, she felt as if her stomach had dropped to the floor, when he smiled at her.

Somewhere deep within her mind, she felt a sensation similar to that of déjà vu; far back in her mental recesses, she heard a distant echo of her own voice. "Bill... It's your bab—"

"Honey?"

Her eyes snapped over to Tommy's, and she gave a half-hearted smile. "Sorry. I'm feeling a bit faint."

Immediately he had a hand on her lower back, and another on her arm. "Well come on, then. Let's get you home, so you can get some rest for tomorrow." She gave him a teary smile, though still she felt unsettled by the vision she had just seen. As they moved down the aisle, she again looked for Bill.

He was gone.