A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the reviews and most of all, your patience. I've always been very proud of the fact that I have no unfinished stories, and that those stories were consistently updated at least once a week. (Can you believe that at one point I updated twice a week? I can't). Anyway, I don't care for this update every two weeks business. It's not fun for me, but school is kicking my ass, work is fucking me over, and Lord help me, I'm training for the military in what little spare time I have.
Let's just say I'm really looking forward to Christmas Break.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Not mine.
Chapter 32
For the second day in a row, Emma woke up with a twisty feeling in her stomach. This time, however, was different. She didn't feel as if she'd forgotten something. She felt like she was going to vomit.
She closed her eyes tightly and swallowed, placing a hand on her head that felt clammy. She prayed she wasn't coming down with the flu. The Enchanted Forest didn't exactly have Tylenol and microwaves for chicken noodle soup. Or a couch to lounge on while she watched a marathon of some HGTV show.
Sometimes she really missed her realm.
Emma laid still as she fought her nausea, for once not finding the lulling sway of the ship comforting. It was hell, but she refused to puke. There was no way she could avoid waking Killian, and she refused to treat him to the disgusting sight of her throwing up her guts into a chamber pot. So she tried to keep as still as possible, ignore the rock of the ship, and swallow down the bile that kept rising in her throat.
Miraculously, she managed to fall back asleep, and when she woke again, it was to a sensation far more pleasant. She smiled, eyes still closed, as Killian sighed into her neck before placing a kiss under her jaw. His hand was a warm weight on her stomach, fingers wrapping around the curve of her waist. "Morning," she greeted sleepily.
"Morning," he replied with a groan as he stretched. He huffed and cuddled closer to her, letting his head rest on her chest. Emma absently began to card her fingers through his hair. God, did she love his hair. It was ridiculously silky and it felt good between her fingers. She let her nails lightly drag along his scalp and he sighed. "If you keep that up, love, I'm going to fall back asleep." She let her hand drift lower so that she was drawing mindless patterns on his back. "That's not much better," he added, though he made no attempt to move.
Emma smiled. Truth be told, she didn't cuddle. It wasn't in her nature. Foster homes had led her to covet personal space. She'd lived in far too many crowded, cramped bedrooms with too many other children to think that sharing her space was a good idea.
But Killian liked to cuddle.
So she cuddled.
And lo and behold, she'd developed a bit of a soft spot for it.
She let her nails scrap against the short hairs at the base of his neck. "You know, babe, you've got to get up eventually."
He mumbled into her skin. "No."
"Really?" she said lightly. "All those strangers on your ship without you to oversee them? How daring you've become, Captain."
Killian lifted his head. "You're in quite the good mood this morning."
"I had a good night."
He grinned, suddenly looking far more awake. "Aye, love," he agreed as he kissed her cheek. "That we did." He playfully caught her earlobe with his teeth. When his hands began to wander, she caught his wrist. He pouted. "Since when are you the logical one?"
"Since the supplies are going to arrive any minute, and you're still naked."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Swan."
"No, it's just not the opportune moment."
His face twisted. "You realize you're quoting Jack when I'm the one that's naked?"
"You say that as if it's a bad thing," she teased.
He growled before claiming her lips. The kiss was rough and possessive and Emma smugly reveled in it. Her pirate was so easy to rile sometimes. When he finally let her breathe, he said, "The only man you should think about is me."
"Especially when you're naked."
"Darling, if you're not thinking about me when I'm naked, I've decidedly done something wrong over the last two years."
She laughed and kissed him. "Go," she gave him a light shove that only moved him because he allowed it. "Be a captain. Boss people around."
"Sounds like you're the one giving orders today, love."
Emma admired him as he stood and stretched, propping herself up on her elbow as she watched him dress, smiling whenever Killian looked at her with a knowing smirk. "And when shall you be joining me?" he asked once he'd shrugged into his coat.
Emma shrugged one bare shoulder. "When I feel like it."
He smiled faintly. "Fair enough."
He pecked her lips and then bounded up the stairs to the deck. Emma watched him go before falling back onto the bed and letting her body sink into the mattress. She didn't want to move. There was a heavy sense of calm in her veins. It almost felt criminal to get out of bed.
She contentedly dozed on and off until the noise above deck grew too loud to ignore. That, and she wasn't entirely comfortable lazing naked in bed with forty men stomping around above her. Yet the moment she stood, she regretted it. An intense wave of vertigo struck her, so much so that she nearly fell back onto the bed. Holding out a steadying hand to center herself, Emma closed her eyes and waited for the sensation to pass.
Yep. Definitely should have passed the day in bed.
Emma felt worse the longer she moved. By the time she was dressed, she was once again forcing down nausea, but that didn't stop her from determinedly grabbing her coat and climbing the steps to the deck. The deck was a circus of activity. It appeared as though every merchant in town was aboard the Jolly hauling crates of supplies. Spices, fruit, paraffin, linen, the whole nine. They hadn't refitted the ship like this in months.
If she hadn't been swallowing down bile, Emma would have wondered just where Killian planned on going.
As it was, the world began to blur and change. Killian's voice sounded distorted as he barked orders, and the ship might as well have been doing cartwheels for all the purchase she felt beneath her feet. Emma barely made it to the rail before she threw up what little was in her stomach. Her eyes watered as her stomach continued to heave, and when she felt someone gather her hair she weakly shoved them away. "Ugh, no. Go away," she ordered pathetically as she tried to take deep breaths and force the world to stop spinning.
"Emma, what's wrong?" Killian asked, ignoring her pitiful attempts to push him away. "You were fine just a moment ago."
She shook her head. "I woke up before that feeling like this," she admitted. "Maybe it was just a fluke. I'm fine." She wiped her mouth and took a deep breath. "Really. Must have been something I ate."
Killian didn't quite believe her. "You should lie down."
"Killian, I said I'm fine."
He knew better than to argue when he saw her jaw set and her eyes narrow. So he nodded and sighed. "At least take things slow today, love," he bargained.
Emma huffed a little but agreed. "Fine. I'll just run into town and get something." Killian opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand. "I'm not running a mile, babe," she said. "I promise to leisurely stroll."
He kissed her temple. "If you're not back by noon, I'm leaving without you. So don't take too long." He smiled when she snorted. "Be careful, Swan."
"Always."
Navigating land proved slightly better for her lingering nausea. The longer that Emma walked (leisurely, as promised) the fainter her nausea became until it disappeared entirely. Still, Emma continued on her way to the apothecary. She'd thought she'd spotted the stall last night. Apothecaries tended to set up shop separate from the rest of the market for privacy purposes since not everyone wanted to broadcast their purchases to the whole market. Some things were best dealt with in private.
It wasn't like she felt the need to let the whole market know she was buying birth control . . .
Emma stopped walking.
No.
Absolutely not.
There was no fucking way she could be . . .
"Are you alright?"
Emma blinked. "Yeah," she breathed, raising a shaking hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. When she noticed herself trembling she closed her fist and held it tightly at her side. "I'm fine. I'm . . . I'm fine."
Yes, she was fine. Totally fine. She had to be fine.
It was only when she managed to focus her frayed nerves that she recognized her Good Samaritan. "Milah."
Milah smiled slightly. "Yes. And you're . . .?"
"Emma."
"I thought you were to set sail today."
"We are. I just . . . need to get something."
She was fine. She was fine. She was fine. She wasn't . . . she just wasn't.
Dark eyes narrowed as Milah's womanly intuition flared. She glanced ahead at the apothecary and then back to Emma, whose clenched fist unknowingly rested on her abdomen. "Does he know?" she asked.
Emma's eyes widened. "Know what?"
"That you're with child."
"I'm not," Emma insisted, nearly angry. She winced. Her breaths began to come quicker and her nausea began to return. She swallowed. "I can't be . . . I can't . . ."
Milah had no qualms about being blunt. "Do you wish to be rid of it?"
That finally made Emma come back to herself. For a brief moment, the nausea faded and the panic in her chest dulled. Her fist unclenched to cradle her stomach. "No," she said firmly.
Even before, in prison when she'd found out she was pregnant, Emma had barely entertained the thought. The prison doctor had given her the option, had talked briefly about the procedure, and assured her that many women did it and went on with their lives. Emma couldn't imagine it. She and her baby had both been innocent, and Emma had hoped that at least one of them could live happily.
But this was different. Her decision was the same, but the circumstances . . . oh, the circumstances couldn't be more different. She wasn't in prison. She had a guy she loved, who loved her, who—if she told him her suspicions—would very likely jump up and down like a little boy at Christmas.
And it was that certainty that, strangely, instead of reassuring her, absolutely, completely, terrified her.
Because she wasn't ready.
Dammit, she was supposed to have five years. That had been the deal.
"Emma? I didn't mean to upset you."
Emma shook her head. "No, it was a . . . logical question. Look, I don't even know if I'm," she swallowed, "pregnant. I just had a thought."
Milah smiled slightly and put a comforting hand on Emma's arm. "Is it such a terrible thought to have?"
"No, I just . . ." Emma shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I don't know for sure, and that's no reason to have a meltdown." Milah's nose twitched at the unfamiliar term, but she said nothing. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."
"I imagine a ship full of men is not the place for more . . . womanly conversations."
Emma snorted. Plus, it wasn't as if she could write to Elizabeth. She couldn't just put something like this in a letter. She suddenly fervently wished for her friend to be in Milah's place. Elizabeth would know what to do. Surely she and Jack had had a few scares?
That's what this was. A scare. She just had to wait for her period. It would come. It always did.
Except . . . oh, god she was late.
"Emma." Milah gave the younger woman a shake with a worried frown. "I would like it very much if you could stop going so quiet. It's unsettling. Would you like to go back to the Jolly Roger? Or I could send word for Captain Jones to—"
"No," Emma said quickly. "No, don't send for Killian. He'll take one look at me and know and I can't . . . I need to know for sure before I . . . before I say anything."
Milah frowned. "Do you fear his reaction?"
Emma's answering laugh was strained. "Not for the reason you'd think. No, he'll be . . . he'd be ecstatic."
"But you're not."
"It's complicated."
Walls that she'd left down for years suddenly sprang right back up as though they'd never fallen, and Emma gladly retreated behind them. She straightened her back and took a deep breath. "Thanks for stopping to see if I was alright," she said. "But I'll be fine."
Milah's eyes narrowed, judging, and Emma tensed even further. It didn't matter if the woman was merely debating the honesty in her words or whether she was lying about her feelings about her maybe/maybe not pregnancy. Emma still felt as if she was being weighed and measured.
And found lacking.
"If that is what you truly believe," Milah eventually said, "then I wish you well."
"Thank you."
Emma walked away before Milah could ask more questions. She didn't go to the apothecary, but she didn't return to the ship. No, she loitered around town until she couldn't risk another minute without Killian sending someone to look for her. Sure enough, as soon as she stepped aboard, Vincent met her with a concerned look in his eye.
"We were about to look for you, lass," he said. "Where've you been?"
"Nowhere. Are we ready to go?"
"Aye, but—"
"If Killian asks, I'll be below."
"Emma, wait. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Emma said, stressing the word as if she could make it true. "Everything's fine."
They were bound for a faraway island in a kingdom called Arendale, and it didn't take Killian two hours into their journey before he came to the conclusion that Emma was avoiding him. At first he thought little of it. She wouldn't be his Swan if she didn't pull away from him occasionally. True Love didn't magically make it so that they never fought—because by the gods, could they fight. Killian actually thought of it as more of a battle. A bloody one.
They loved each other because they wanted to; they'd chosen each other. That was how it worked. It worked because they tried.
But for the life of him, after days of silence, Killian couldn't figure out just what he'd done to endure such coldness. Initially he'd thought that perhaps she wasn't thrilled with his choice of destination. Arendale was, after all, the lead ice exporter in the realm, and his Swan was no fan of the cold. Yet it seemed unusually petty of her to hold such a thing against him for so long.
Every time he attempted to ask her what was wrong, it only made her more upset.
And what bloody sense did that make?
A week into their abrupt distance, Killian was just as upset as Emma, for no other reason than he now felt obligated to deal with her snappy barbs and sarcastic retorts with an equal measure of anger and frustration. It worked beautifully until the façade shattered on the ninth day when he came down to their quarters and found her crying. She hastily tried to hide the evidence, turning away from him even as she plainly raised her sleeve to her cheeks and sniffled. "I'm fine," she said preemptively, her voice thick but steady.
It pained him to see her like this, walls up and heavily fortified. "Emma," he murmured, taking a step toward her. "Darling, please." He held her face in his hands. She stared at his necklace. "Don't shut me out," he pleaded quietly. "What can I do?"
Emma shuddered against the sob that wanted to break free. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "It's nothing," she said, forcing herself to look up only to glance away the moment his eyes met hers. "I thought it was something, but it's not."
Killian frowned. "Swan, you're not making sense."
"I thought I . . ." she trailed off, the words catching in her throat. "I . . ."
She flinched when Killian tenderly coaxed her to look at him. His thumbs wiped at silent tears she hadn't realized had fallen. "What?" he asked.
"I thought I was pregnant."
Killian stilled as she said the very last thing he expected. Pregnant? He felt a brief, glorious rush of joy and excitement at the thought. He very nearly smiled. For a slow, beautiful second, he fought the urge to pick her up and spin her in a circle. And then the moment passed.
She'd thought she was pregnant.
"And you're not," he said, managing to keep his voice soft and lulling. Emma's feelings were his priority. He could sort his own later. "Are you okay?"
Her chin trembled. "I don't know."
"So this past week, with you avoiding me—"
"I wanted to tell you," she said regretfully. "But I couldn't."
"Why?"
"Because I had to be sure. I . . . I needed to know for sure."
Killian could understand that. "Alright," he said. "And now that you are sure?"
Emma stared at him as if he held the answer. When he could offer her none, her eyes fell once again to his chest. To his relief, she stepped into him and he readily wrapped his arms around her. Gods, he'd missed her. She kept her hands on his chest, one curled around his vest and the other wrapped around the charms of his necklace.
"I was scared," she admitted in a whisper. "I was so scared."
"Of me?"
"Of everything. I didn't think, I'm not . . . I don't know if I could do it again."
Killian tensed briefly. He would never have brought it up before she did, and in the two years he'd known and loved her, he'd noticed them—the faint white lines on her stomach, nearly invisible unless you knew where to look. His Swan had a child.
It didn't matter to him. It didn't make him love her less. He thought that perhaps the child had died or perhaps had been sent away for its own good. He knew his Swan. Those were the only options. She never would have stayed in the Enchanted Forest if she had a child to care for.
So he'd been content to wait for an answer, and even more so, content to never receive one.
Yet she'd opened that door, and he was hopeless not to walk through it. "Again, love?" he questioned.
Emma fiddled with the charms on his necklace that she knew so well. Two more charms had been added since she'd met him: a swan and a sword. She rubbed her thumb over the swan. "I haven't told you everything," she said. "About . . . about what happened with Neal."
She tensed when he did at the mention of the name. Yet before she could pull away, Killian's arms tightened around her. "You don't have to tell me, Emma," he said quietly. "But don't pull away from me. I can't . . . I don't like it. It—"
"Hurts," she finished, her voice subdued. "I'm sorry."
Killian knew the look in her eyes. She got that look occasionally when she did something like this: pulled away or let her temper get the best of her. It was one of guilt, or rather the desire to make amends, to repent, and he didn't want her to ever feel like she owed him. "You never have to apologize to me, Swan," he said, stroking her cheek and leaning closer. "I love you."
Emma gave him a faint smile in return. "I love you, too."
"You don't have to tell me the rest of the story," he repeated, but she shook her head.
"Yes, I do," she said. "You . . . you should know . . . and probably sit down."
Killian took her hand to take her with him, but when she gently resisted, he wordlessly accepted her plea for space and sat on the bed while she hugged herself and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Emma glanced at him as she twisted her hands before she grew frustrated with her own nerves and huffed, keeping her hands at her sides. "So Neal framed me, and I went to prison," she began, knowing that he knew that but feeling the need to start from the beginning. "I was seventeen, and it was maybe a month or so before I knew something was . . . wrong." Killian frowned at her use of the word and she flinched. "I was young and stupid. My cycle was never regular, I didn't keep track of it, and prison just . . . I wasn't really inclined to care about, well, anything."
What Killian wanted to do was get off the bloody bed and go to her. What Killian wanted to do was wrap Emma in his arms and never let her go until she acknowledged how godsdamn special she was and how she hadn't deserved any of this. But he didn't move. He stayed away.
Because if he went to her, she would cry, and he knew that she didn't want to do that. She needed to be strong, all by herself, to remind herself that she could. So he let her.
"I was two months along," she whispered. "I'd been pregnant before I'd gotten locked up, but I hadn't known. There was no way Neal could have known, but I . . . I hated him even more once I found out. That he could do that to me, to . . ." She shook her head. "I was so scared, at first, but . . . it wasn't so bad after a while. I wasn't . . . I wasn't alone anymore."
Tears welled in her eyes, but Emma set her jaw defiantly, refusing to let them fall. Killian nearly went to her then. She didn't have to be so strong all the time, but even after two years together, she rarely let herself be this vulnerable with him, rarely let him share some of her burden. But gods, if there was any time to remind her that he was here, it was now.
"Swan—" he began, but she talked over him, words steadily falling faster from her lips as if she was exorcising a demon.
"I didn't want to give birth," she said. "I didn't want to lose it. I wanted to keep it. With me. But I went into labor, and it hurt, and no one really cared, and I was handcuffed. I was still a prisoner, and it wasn't. I couldn't keep it, so I gave it away. I had to give it away, Killian. I had to give it its best chance and that wasn't with me."
Emma shook and trembled. Her chin wobbled as she tried desperately to hold in her tears that kept silently falling anyway. She looked so incredibly small and alone, like she was a teenager all over again, and Killian's resolve snapped. Though he wanted to close the distance between them in two easy, quick strides, he forced himself to move slower, to give her a chance to push him away if it was what she wanted—although, truthfully, at this point he thought he'd likely ignore her wishes.
Thankfully, he didn't have to make the choice. Emma chose for him. She reached out a shaking hand and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and that was all the prompt he needed. His arms were around her in the next second, and Emma burrowed into him as if she could hide in his chest forever. Killian thought it more likely that she simply didn't want him to see her cry.
He still felt her tears steadily soak his shirt.
"You did what you thought was right, love," he said once she'd quieted. "There's no shame in that."
"I didn't even hold it," she whimpered. "I knew that I . . . I wouldn't be able to let him go."
Killian ran a soothing hand down her back. "Him?"
Emma sniffed. "I never asked, but I knew it was a boy."
"Let's sit down, hmm?" he suggested quietly, easing them both toward the bed. Emma stayed in his lap like a child, her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. "What do you need me to do, Emma?" he asked. "Tell me."
Emma's lips twitched in a sad smile. "This is good." She turned her head deeper into his shoulder and breathed him in, letting the familiar mix of salt, leather, and rum calm her. "I love you," she said.
He kissed her head. "And I you."
"Killian?"
"Aye?"
"I wanted it to be true. This time around. I just didn't know it until . . ."
He shushed her when her voice began to crack. "It's alright, love," he assured her. "There's no rush. We have time. Five years, remember? That was our deal."
Emma nodded. "Then we find an island."
"Aye, love. Then we find an island.
Killian left Emma asleep in their bed to step on deck. Despite the cold, he'd left his coat below, wanting to feel the bite of the wind against his skin in the hopes that it might distract him from his thoughts. Unfortunately, he had no such luck.
Emma.
Emma pregnant.
With his child.
And another.
He didn't know which upset him more, and he was upset. He was upset about Neal. Never had he ever harbored such blind hate for a man he'd never met, and unless fate was truly a twisted, fickle bitch, he likely never would. Killian didn't understand it. He didn't understand how a man who claimed to love Emma Swan could betray her. He didn't understand how any man could leave the woman he loved in prison.
Not to mention the child . . .
Emma was right about one thing. Even if Neal hadn't known about the child, having the knowledge now made it that much easier to hate him.
Because Emma should never have gone to prison. She should never have had to go through a pregnancy alone. She should never have had to give birth alone, handcuffed to a godsdamn bed. The picture alone of his Swan in chains was enough to set his blood on fire. She shouldn't have been alone. She shouldn't have been forced to give up her child.
And yet she had.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
So, yes, Killian Jones was upset, furious in fact, but more than anything, deep in his gut, he was painfully disappointed. The fact that Emma knew it made him feel like a selfish bastard, but gods help him, he wanted to see her stomach swollen with his child. He wanted to see the deck of the Jolly full of riotous little pirates with their mother's eyes. He wanted to wake up to children bouncing on his bed, and he wanted to struggle to walk to the helm because a little hand kept tugging on his coat. Bloody hell, he'd even take the tantrums and the screaming because he just knew that his children would inherit their mother's furious little scowl that made her eyes flame bright.
He hadn't always thought of such things. It had been a faraway thought in the back of his mind. Children, a wife, a family . . . it was part of a future that he could barely imagine. More a picture of obligation, expectation. Eventually everyone settled down. He'd never particularly thought himself an exception.
Then he met Emma, and suddenly those faraway thoughts of marriage and children became frightfully real and vivid. And he wanted it.
Killian didn't know if he could be a good father. His own father had been a piece of shite. Hardly a role model. But Liam . . . Liam had taught him good form. If he could just remember Liam, Killian thought that perhaps he had a chance of being a decent father. Gods knew, he would try.
Emma made him want to try, and he'd almost been a father today. Almost.
The knowledge that he wasn't hurt.
But he'd promised her five years, and he'd give her every single minute of those years, and if those five years passed and Emma still wasn't ready, he'd give her five more. He'd never ask more of her than she could give. He loved her. By the gods, did he love her. She was enough. She would always be enough.
He hoped she knew that.
Killian huffed, the smallest of smiles tugging his lips. Knowing his Swan, she still likely questioned it. Stubborn woman.
"Everything alright, Captain?"
The only sign that he was startled was in the brief second Killian's shoulders tensed. He stood straighter as he met Vincent's cautious yet sincere concern. "Fine, Mr. Turner," he said.
"Forgive me, sir, but it's cold enough to freeze bollocks out here, and you don't have a coat."
Killian cocked an eyebrow. "Are you a pirate or a bloody nursemaid?"
"Emma can't seem to decide either sometimes. Says I'm sensitive." Killian's lips twitched. "Is she alright, sir? She won't talk to me."
"She'll be fine."
Vincent hesitated. "Captain?"
"Yes, Mr. Turner?"
"Are you sure?"
The young pirate stood his ground as Killian took a threatening step forward. "I'd choose your next words very carefully, mate," he said dangerously. "Don't think Emma's fondness for you will stay my hand."
Vincent took a deep breath. "Won't it?" he challenged.
"Are you blackmailing me, Turner?"
"I'd rather not think so, sir. I'd rather see it as conscientious bargaining."
"Conscientious bargaining," Killian repeated with an incredulous sneer before he chuckled without humor and drew his sword. He held the blade at Vincent's neck. "I'll not have anyone on my ship use Emma against me. Now," he pressed the blade deeper into Vincent's throat. Not hard enough to draw blood but if Vincent so much as sneezed, he'd slice his own carotid. "Choose your next words carefully."
"I'm not afraid of you."
It wasn't a bluff. If it had been a matter of defiant posturing, Killian would have sliced his throat and tossed him over the rail. But it wasn't a bluff. It was honest, and that made him hesitate. Vincent used the silence to his advantage. "And to be perfectly frank, sir, you only get so . . . violently inclined . . . when you're upset."
"How observant."
"And," he continued, "only one thing can upset you this much nowadays, which is Emma being upset. So, respectfully, Captain, how is she?"
Killian's sword dropped. A pang of regret rang through him that he tried to ignore. "Perhaps you have a point," he admitted. Liam had always told him that his emotions would get the best of him if he wasn't careful. Emotion leads to impulsivity, little brother. Think before you act.
Vincent merely nodded once, the motion one that could be read as respectful, or more boldly, as agreeing with Killian. Killian sensed it was the latter. "Emma will be fine," he repeated. "If you wish to know any more than that, ask her. It isn't my place to tell you anything more."
Nodding again, both men were silent until Vincent asked, "Is she with child?" Killian's head snapped to him. "It's the only bloody thing that makes sense," Vincent explained. "Been racking me brains tryin' to figure out what could put her in such a state, and with the way you two go at it—"
"Watch it," Killian warned and this time, Vincent raised his hands in submission.
"Forgive my bluntness, Captain," he said. "But she . . . something's been different about her lately. Not these past few days but before. She seemed . . . warm. It's just . . . me mum used to talk about ladies glowing and all when they're, well . . ." he trailed off as his age began to show and he ran his hand through his hair. "I just wondered if I'd need to watch her a bit more careful, that's all. And then scold her for not bloody telling me," he added, mildly annoyed.
When Killian had brought Vincent aboard, the boy had been thirteen and frightened as all hell of pledging himself to another captain. Killian couldn't blame the lad. If he hadn't had Liam hovering around him like a giant guard dog when he'd been that age, his experience aboard Silver's ship would have been much worse. Killian had always been striking. Yet back then, his good looks would not have been an advantage. It would have been akin to a death sentence.
So he hadn't thought twice about letting Vincent aboard, and he'd paid special attention to the rest of the crew in case they got any ideas.
But aside from that, Killian hadn't thought very much of Vincent Turner. The lad had been a good cabin boy and then a decent deckhand with a penchant for knots. It was only since Emma had come aboard and taken a shine to the lad that Killian had been forced to acknowledge that Vincent was a damn good sailor. More importantly, he was a good man. Better than the rest of them.
Perhaps it wasn't such a shock that he and Emma were close.
Killian sighed and looked away, eyes falling on the water. "She's not pregnant," he said simply. "And if you're smart, you'll let this conversation end."
Vincent frowned but didn't object. "Aye, Captain. Shall I take the helm?"
"Aye, Mr. Turner." Killian shivered. "It's fucking freezing."
"Your idea to travel to Arendelle, sir."
"I'm quite aware."
"Sir?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
Killian paused but did not otherwise react to the knowing tone in Vincent's apology. Instead he said, "Keep a weather eye, Vincent."
"Aye, Captain."
I think that scene with Vincent and Killian is my favorite in this whole damn story.
So! To everyone that was hoping for a baby, sorry! But it's natural to have a scare or two in a committed relationship, and it was about time Emma opened up fully about Neal. Our Swan usually needs a very firm shove when it comes to such things.
So, next time . . . "You and Killian really are a lot alike." - Emma
Until next time,
AC
