Annabelle moaned in pain as another contraction ripped through her, each one becoming more painful than the last. The midwife was yet to arrive, and Dr. Mclaughlan had sent a letter ahead, letting them know he might arrive late. Annabelle was alone in her chambers with only Mary, the nursemaid, and her mother, Catherine.

"Breathe, Annabelle, just take deep breaths," her mother said impatiently, as if she should know how to deal with the birth of a child already.

"She's right, dear, just breathe real slow-yes just like that," Mary said softly, trying to help the girl remain calm and reduce pain. Catherine gave her a rather sharp look before turning the attention back to her daughter.

Annabelle was beginning to sweat profusely, dampening the sheets and making her even more uncomfortable. Mary noticed this, and walked quickly to the bedside table and pulled a cloth from a bowl of water that was lying there in preparation for the midwife and doctor. She laid it across Annabelle's forehead, prompting a rather delirious sounding thank you from the girl.

"Don't mention it, ma'am," she replied swiftly, taking one of Annabelle's clenched hands in her own. "You just focus on breathin' now, the doctor will be here soon. It's goin' to be alright, just-"

She stopped abruptly midsentence, and looked towards the door in shock and embarassment. A young girl, no more than four, had wandered in, a small doll in her hand, dressed in a rather plain gown. Her long, light brown hair fell about her shoulders and she looked rather confused as to where she was. As she spotted Mary, her features lit up.

"Mumma!" she cried, running to the nursemaid and wrapping herself around her legs.

"Roisin!" Mary said in surprise, letting go of Annabelle's hand to pick the little girl up. "What're you doin' here, little one?"

"Charlie took me. He said that he had some things to do, so he brought me here."

"Stupid boy," Mary muttered, nuzzling the girl gently before saying, "let's get you some food, eh? I'm sure Annie will give you something from the kitchen."

"Wait," Annabelle moaned, her hands tightening to fists. "Don't…leave me."

Mary chuckled, looking back at the tense girl. "I'll be back. I promise."

She swiftly left the room, the young girl in her arms. Annabelle turned grudgingly to her mother, whose face was set in tight lines. She brushed a gray-blonde curl from her face before speaking.

"Really, you'd think she'd keep better track of her children. Irresponsible, Irish-"

"Her husband died," Annabelle cut her off, gritting her teeth in pain. "she's… got no other way."

"She should find someone to keep watch over them, for God's sake!" Catherine replied testily, straightening her gown about her lap.

"How would she pay them? She doesn't get nearly enough to sustain herself, let alone her family and a stranger."

This seem to strike her mother as true, as she became silent, waiting for the Irish woman's return. They sat like that for a few minutes, the only sound Annabelle's ragged breathing. Soon Mary returned, accompanied by Doctor Mclaughlan, and the midwife, a rather stern looking woman near her mother's age. Her brown hair was tied tightly back and she sharply sat down at the edge of bed, pulling equipment out of a black leather bag.
Annabelle looked frantically for Mary, whom for some reason she could not spot. The nursemaid soon appeared by her side, smiling gently.

"I'm here, love," she said softly, stroking Annabelle's matted, sweaty hair from her forehead. "It's goin' to be alright."

Annabelle sighed, turning to the doctor, who had lifted the edge of the night gown she'd hastily changed in to, and put his fingers inside her, measuring how far along she was in labor. He pulled them out, wiping his hands off on a cloth, and nodded to the midwife, who took his place in front of her.

"You need to push now," her voice was calm, business like.

Annabelle looked confusedly at her mother, who seemed to have no advice for this part, and merely stared at her skirts. Mary however, took the opportunity to lean down and begin whispering instructions into the frightened girl's ear. Annabelle gritted her teeth and pushed, her muscles tightening, screaming as she felt herself tearing open to allow her child entrance into the world. This occurred many more times, her mother staring idly, and Mary whispering gently words to ease her somewhat through the pain. With a final push, she could feel it, her baby, slide out of her. She heard the midwife slap it firmly on the buttocks, jump starting it to life.

The child screamed loudly, crying out to the world its existence. Annabelle layed her head back on the pillows, closing her eyes, hot salty tears pouring from underneath them. She felt Mary nudge her gently, and she opened them again. Mary was smiling brightly, her green eyes swimming, her black hair slightly sweaty as well.

"He's beautiful, Annabelle," she said gently, calling the girl for the first time by her first name. "Your boy is so beautiful. Look at him."

Annabelle turned her head slightly, to see the midwife holding her crying son in her arms. Annabelle felt an undeniable need to hold the child, and she reached her arms out feebly. The midwife carefully placed him into her arms, and Annabelle looked into the scrunched up, slightly grayish, beautiful face of her first born child. A son. He quieted as he recognized his mother, and he looked at her with inquisitive, dark brown eyes.

Her heart stopped. Her worst fears had come true. She'd given birth to Jack Sparrow's child. She stared at the infant, mouth agape. Her mother spoke again for the first time since she'd started pushing.

"He's got your grandfather's eyes," she said, peering down at the now gurgling baby. "My father had the most beautiful brown eyes."

Annabelle let out the breath she'd been holding in relief, and lightly kissed her son on the forhead. Maybe she was wrong, it was just her grandfather's eyes staring at her. The thought filled her with gratefulness, and she began to weep again.

"We need to clean him," the doctor said, reaching down for the baby, gently taking it from Annabelle's arms.

She followed him as he walked to the bowl filled with water on her bed side table, taking a cloth and carefully wiping him clean. The infant began to cry again, and she wanted desperately to hold him, to make him stop. But she waited patiently until the doctor had finished. He surprised her by handing her son to Mary, who smiled, looking endearingly at the whimpering child.

"Hello, little one," she whispered, putting a pinky into his mouth. "Welcome to the World."

Annabelle looked at Mary curiously, remembering an earlier event.

"I thought you said your daughter was one?" she asked, turning slightly to face the nursemaid.

Mary laughed loudly. "Aye, to me she is. I can't bear to think of her any older than that."

Annabelle chuckled softly and closed her eyes. It was over. It was finally over.