So a couple quick notes about my going back and editing the previous chapters, I've changed the timeline a little bit for the Swann family. This chapter mentions the changes, but I haven't rewritten the parts that mention the date, so let me tell you now.

Previously Nathaniel and Rebecca were in Africa for two years before Bartholomew died. I have changed this now to five years to really give the characters a little more wiggle room (actually more for on the end of Jack, Sarah, and Bill considering the age of Will in relation to Elizabeth and Philip, as well as the timeline set up by Jack meeting Rebecca.)

I also changed it so that Philip and Elizabeth aren't eighteen months apart but rather eight. This is simply because I kept trying to pinpoint birthdays for them and eighteen pushes Elizabeth mostly into the birth year of 1720 instead of her proper 1719. As for why I made it eight in particular, I made it that way so I can use Sam Claflin and Keira Knightley's actual birth dates of June 27 and March 26. I'm also going to use Orlando Bloom's birthday of January 13 for Will, but I will not use Astrid Berges-Frisbey's exact birthday of May 26 because I'm insane, looked up the moon phases of the year 1719, and found that May 26 was a first quarter moon, and not a full one, which will later be established in this story as the only time mermaids give birth.

…I think I go a little too hard with my fics sometimes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to researching the colonial ownership of the northwestern coast of Africa for a throwaway line by Nathaniel Swift.

Birds of a Feather

The Curse of the Black Pearl

Chapter Eighteen

Feathering the Nest

March 26, 1719 Year of Our Lord

AKA

Twenty Years Previous...

London, England

"Under the oak by the pond would be a good spot."

Nathaniel Swift looked up from the bible that was practically an attachment of his body. Nathaniel didn't say anything, he simply turned his gaze on his brother-in-law in the way Weatherby Swann so hated.

That look had been one of the reasons Weatherby's little sister had married Nathaniel. The man wasn't much to write home about: lean, quiet, not as serious as his brother-in-law but definitely well-mannered. For all of Rebecca's boasting that she would never marry a man who was a straight laced poncey, her husband's ties were done in quite the orderly fashion.

He was a nice counter balance to the vivacious and fiery Rebecca Swann, but he wasn't dullard nor a simpleton. Nathaniel had an energy only Rebecca could match and passion he would pass to their son. Both were good reasons he would attract the wife he did, but it was those eyes that had sealed the deal.

Quiet and unassuming he may be, but when Nathaniel looked at you… oh, when he looked at you. One glance from Nathaniel Swift and his eyes could tell a deeper, more moving, more epic story than all the words on all the pages of that bible he so loved. His eyes pierced you like he knew every thought that had ever flitted into your mind… and he understood every one.

The worst was when that look in his eyes filled with pity. Weatherby swore it was like staring into the eyes of God as he reviewed your life for residency in either Heaven or Hell. That pity that made you want to fall to the feet of the Lord and admit your worthiness to burn for your sins.

Swift was made to be a preacher.

Nathaniel finally sighed and closed the bible he had been reading aloud. He smiled at his son in his lap, kissed the little mop of brunette hair, and set the little boy on the carpet.

Philip let out a whine and reached up, his little eight-month-old mind not understanding why his Papa had stopped reading and holding him.

"Philip, go play," Nathaniel gently turned his son toward the little heap of toys in the corner of the room.

When Bartholomew Swann was alive, the sitting room of the grand London Swann Manor was off-limits to his children, only meant to entertain high society male guests to drink, smoke, and talk business. When Bartholomew had been buried ten feet deep, his daughter, Rebecca had taken over the space, changing it into a proper family room for her unborn son to play under the guiding eye of his guardians. Katherine Swann – Weatherby's wife – had been very on board with the idea, ready to scrub away the horrible memory of what Bartholomew Swann had done in the room the only time Katherine had stepped foot in it.

As Philip crawled over to the pile of toys and settled down with a wooden Noah's ark complete with pairs of animals and the cast of Noah's family, Weatherby watched his nephew sadly.

Nathaniel's pitying eyes were on him again.

"What do you think of the spot?" Weatherby quietly asked, the image of shovels and freshly upturned earth filling his mind.

"I suppose it's suitable," Nathaniel sighed. "As good as the last one… and the other two."

Weatherby's response was cut off by a cry of pain coming from the floor above. When Weatherby first brought his bride home, Bartholomew had given the bedroom directly above the sitting room to the couple. Everyone in the household knew it was to monitor the couple, though no one could agree whether it was to make sure Weatherby was doing his husbandly duties and continuing the Swann line… or to prevent such a thing.

By the time Bartholomew died, the couple had perfectly settled in the room, and despite the dower memories, they had no inclination to move rooms. So it was in that bedroom that Katherine Swann laboured through childbirth allowing Weatherby, Nathaniel, and Philip – not that the last understood what was going on – to hear every little scream.

Nathaniel scowled when he saw Weatherby flinch at the noise.

To most men, the sound of a wife in labour was a noise to rejoice and often wish to do nothing more than break down the door to be at said wife's side during the ordeal. (In fact, it had taken no less than Weatherby and four servants to hold off Nathaniel eight months ago.)

But after eight miscarriages and three stillbirths, the sound of Katherine Swann in labour was nothing but the devil's cruel torture.

Once Weatherby Swann had the hope to be a father. Now he just planned on where to bury the next failed attempt. It had gotten so bad that Katherine had just stopped telling Weatherby when she was pregnant until either he noticed her showing or the next miscarriage had finished.

The stillbirths were the worst, making it that full nine months only to receive a stiff blue thing that never cry out once. Katherine's latest pregnancy had been her roughest yet. She wailed unconsolably every time the midwife told her how strong the heartbeat was or when she felt the baby's powerful kicks. It was just cruel to know this baby wouldn't make it either. Why would it? None of them had.

Even Philip had come to understand his Aunt's helpless situation. When the worst fits of sorrow passed over Katherine, Rebecca would just plop Philip in Katherine's arms and lead the three in a prayer. The little Philip would cuddle his aunt as if he sensed why she was carrying, and whenever his mother gently touched Katherine's pregnant swell to ask God to spare the child, Philip would put a tiny hand on it too.

Weatherby sighed and looked over at Philip. Nathaniel turned his head away. The twinge in Weatherby's eyes was the one look Nathaniel couldn't stand.

"He's growing so well," Weatherby's voice struggled.

Nathaniel looked away in shame, "Yes, he is."

He knew he shouldn't be ashamed of his son, and in fact, upon Philip's birth, Nathaniel's joy and praising of God for the blessing had been so exuberant that it literally led to Rebecca having to utter the phrase, "Nathaniel Swift, get off the roof."

They lived in a four story mansion.

Still, Nathaniel felt guilt. With eleven children lost, Weatherby and Katherine watching as Rebecca delivered a strong and healthy little boy on her first attempt was nothing but a stab in the heart. Especially since Katherine's childbearing woes had been the thing to bring Nathaniel and Rebecca together to begin with.

Unable to bear his brother-in-law's eyes on Philip, Nathaniel joined his son on the ground. He hated knowing Weatherby would turn his head away instantly, but Nathaniel couldn't let Weatherby torture himself with the jealous sight of his sister's healthy son.

"You see this, Philip? This is Noah," Nathaniel held up the the little wooden figure of Noah. He set the other three male figures upright next to the ark, "And these are his sons. Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Can you say Japheth?"

Philip was far more interested in chewing on a wooden giraffe.

Nathaniel sighed and took the giraffe out of Philip's mouth, "We respect all of God's creatures, Philip. You understand? Always love God's creations."

"Ga!" Philip replied, though Nathaniel was fairly certain his young son didn't really understand.

Nathaniel smiled and set the giraffe down, "You know, Mama and Papa saw these one time. You wouldn't believe how tall they are."

"See?" Philip brightened.

Nathaniel chuckled, "Maybe someday. Papa's not sure yet what God has in store for us Swifts."

Weatherby scowled, "I thought you were applying a permanent position in London?"

"Yeah… uh, it hasn't been going well," Nathaniel shifted awkwardly. He had been bracing himself for the conversation where he had to tell his brother-in-law that – surprise – I'm going to go run off with your sister for several years again. Weatherby liked Nathaniel well enough, but the missionary was no fool to think Weatherby didn't slightly resent him for parting him from his sister for five years. "Apparently Beckett and your father did enough damage to my reputation that no church in London wants to hire me on."

"Nathaniel, do not forget whose idea it was to cause that damage in the first place."

"I don't regret what we did, Weatherby."

"Yes, but it's up to all of us now to live with that decision. My poor sister has to carry that burden for life."

"Your poor sister would have run away from home regardless of what paths either you or I chose." Nathaniel ruffled his son's hair, "But thank goodness for the choices that were made if it meant this little one."

Weatherby looked away in pain as Nathaniel stroked his fingers through Philip's bushy little hair. Originally born blonde – leading to a great deal of teasing Rebecca over just exactly who blonde Philip's father was if Nathaniel was brunette and Rebecca auburn – Philip's hair had finally darkened to his father's nut brown. However, the little green eyes of Rebecca Swift seemed to be here to stay.

Nathaniel sighed, "Weatherby… Rebecca and I do want to stay in the British Empire. We are trying to stay at least on British soil. I don't fancy learning French any time soon, and in Africa we've had more than enough Portuguese and Greek for a lifetime. And don't even get me started on the Spanish."

"I thought part of the servant of God thing meant you had to be loving of all God's people."

"Nowhere in the Bible does it say I have to be happy about what men like Cortes did. Sure, if faced with a Spaniard, I will give them love, kindness, and respect – I am no Jonah standing on the border of Nineveh after all – but that doesn't mean I won't have a distaste for the Spaniards in general. The British Empire is no saint, but the Spanish spit in the face of God with their wretched inquisition. I forgive them and deliver them God's word, but I will not dance in Gomorrah."

"So the Floridas are out of the question then?"

Nathaniel laughed, "Why would I even look at the Americas? Boston and New York and that mess is going to reach a boiling point before the turn of the century. The only colonies worth it in the Americas are in Canada, and if I wanted cold, miserable, and in conflict with the French, I would stay in Britain."

Nathaniel Swift was a godly man who preached and lived love and acceptable, but boy did he have little patience for politics.

"Look worse comes to worse," Nathaniel said. "Lord Tipton has promised me funding for another five years in Mauritania-"

"And yet you claim you want nothing to do with the French Empire."

"What can I say? Lord Tipton is determined to see the Kifka all converted to Protestant Christianity. But as much as Rebecca and I love that village in Mauritania, we want to find a place to raise our son in peace. Even if I've been working with the Kifka for seven years, Catholic French occupied Africa as Protestant Anglicans preaching to hostile cultures is not exactly what you would call peaceful."

"And yet, it's what my sister craves."

"Your sister craves the freedom to live her life as she sees fit," Nathaniel shot. "I love her and support her in doing that. Staying in High Society Britain doesn't allow that. So, we'll find somewhere else."

Weatherby sighed, "I just… I miss her so much when she's gone."

"She misses you too," Nathaniel smiled. "Sometimes I wonder if there's more room in her heart for her brother than her husband… especially if she is peeved with me."

"So where are you planning on going?"

"Well, Canada's not exactly out of the question. I've put in applications in a few places in Newfoundland. But it's mostly the Caribbean we're looking at."

"But the piracy there is out of hand. Even I know that Captain Robert Smith is an absolute terror."

"Actually according to Rebecca, Smith was killed by that Armando Salazar Spaniard pirate hunter." Nathaniel shrugged, "I'm not certain. I don't argue with Rebecca on the topic of pirates. That's her hobby, not mine. Besides, it's dangerous anywhere in the world, at least the Caribbean has a lot of potential for us. I've put in applications to Fort Worthington, Syrene, Swallow Falls, Mernian, Heathesrow, Saint Simon's, and even in this new British settlement in Jamaica called Port Royal."

"Jamaica, Good Lord. Why would anyone want to live there?"

"Sun, sky, and a vast array of coconuts?" a woman's voice replied.

The men looked up to see Rebecca standing in the doorway, her dress stained lightly with blood, brow covered in sweat, and eyes filled with tears. Rebecca was Katherine's steadfast companion through labour which meant only one thing if she was standing before them.

Weatherby dropped his head into his hands, heart filled with despair. It was only through Bartholomew Swann's many years of strict upbringing – or as Rebecca liked to call it emotional abuse – that Weatherby didn't break down into tears.

"My Love," Nathaniel rose to his feet, picking up Philip in one arm. He carried their child over to his wife as she struggled against her own sobs. Without asking, he pressed Philip into her arms, took Rebecca into his own, and kissed her forehead, "My Love, I am so sorry. God has plans for us that we will never begin to understand."

"Oh Darling, I know," Rebecca hugged her son extra tight. "The Lord Father does work in the most mysterious of ways. Brother, Katherine has-"

"Please do not say it," Weatherby held up a hand. He struggled to collect himself, "Twelve children gone. I am as cursed by God as Jacob was blessed."

Rebecca frowned, "Actually, Weatherby-"

"Jacob had at least thirteen children," Nathaniel cut off, thinking the objection of the accuracy of Jacob's offspring would sound better coming from him.

The pair of Swanns just stared at Nathaniel in a none too happy way.

"He, uh, he had uh… at least one daughter. So it was at least- at least thirteen," Nathaniel stumbled over his words, looking to his wife, confused as to why she wasn't backing him up. "You know, Dinah. The one who was defiled by Prince Shechem, and then Jacob demanded foreskins of his kingdom's men as the bride price, and then Simeon and Levi killed all the men of the kingdom, and when Jacob asked why they did it they asked him if they should have let them treat Dinah like a harlot?"

There was a very long silence as Weatherby just stared at his brother-in-law.

"Darling," Rebecca patted Nathaniel's hand, "not exactly what I was going for."

"You sure?" he frowned.

"Yes, Nathaniel. We've had this discussion many times. Biblical stories about foreskins are never my first thought. In fact, I wasn't even going to bring up Jacob having thirteen children at all."

"Oh… my mistake."

Rebecca sighed, "Weatherby, please just listen to me for a minute."

"Sister, I will not do this," Weatherby rose to his feet. "I will not stand another lecture on God's plans and mercy and the reasons the Lord has chosen to take my children from me while he decides to bless you instead. I love you, Rebecca, but I will not pretend it does not hurt to see child after child lost from my highborn, well-bred wife, while my reckless little sister – who in all my years of modesty and propriety has gallivanted about the world and society in open, hostile rebellion – gets it right on the first try with a man who practically lucked his way into his bride."

Rebecca arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow as ice burned in her eyes.

Nathaniel noticed. He said nothing, but took a large step back, glancing over at his son, debating whether or not to rescue the boy from the line of fire.

Even Weatherby seemed to see his error, but while his voice wavered, his anguish was too grand.

"So, please, Rebecca," Weatherby begged. "Just cut to the chase. Tell me the gender, tell me how it drew only one breath, and then tell me no more."

There was a very… very long silence as if God himself was afraid to interrupt.

"Very well then," Rebecca shifted Philip onto her hip. "I'll tell you exactly what you want and no more. I will tell you it is girl and tell you she indeed only drew one breath."

Weatherby turned his face away, the hot tears swelling in his ducts.

"One breath… or so it seems as that girl appears to have been wailing that breath non-stop since she first let it out. Lord on high, does that girl have a set of lungs on her."

Weatherby and Nathaniel's snapped to Rebecca. Their jaws hung open in confusion and shock.

"What did you just say?" Weatherby whispered.

"Oh, no, Brother, you said to tell you no more, and no more shall I tell." Rebecca smiled in a way that suggested she enjoyed it to the point of sin. She chuckled and adjusted her son on her hip, "Well, look at the mess we're in, Philip. Your uncle doesn't want to hear any more, and your father has put his foot so firmly in his mouth that we should send for the doctor to remove it, so I guess it's to you I must deliver this news, Little One."

Nathaniel and Weatherby traded a guilty look.

Rebecca smirked at all three of her boys, "Congratulations, Little Philip. You're a cousin! Your Aunt Kat gave birth to a beautiful, lively, spirited little girl who is such a screamer, I'm genuinely surprised we can't hear her in this room. Twenty minutes old, and I can already tell she's going to be quite the handful. Oh, you are going to have so much fun with your cousin!"

"The child," Weatherby breathed out, still looking dumbfounded. "It… she lives?"

Rebecca looked so smug as she met her brother's eyes, "Oh, Brother I can't say. You wanted me to tell you no more."

Without another word, Weatherby shot out of the room, pushing his sister out of the way, her laughter following behind.

Weatherby had no perception whatsoever if his sister and her family followed him or if any servants stood in his way as he ran up the stairs and down the hall towards his wife. To him, nothing in the world existed beyond himself, his wife, and the little girl that couldn't seem to possibly exist.

His heart beat like a track horse when he heard his daughter's cries down the hall. He ran faster than he had ever in his life to reach the bedroom that seemed an ocean away. Without announcement or ceremony, he threw open the door.

Then his heart stopped.

Katherine Skylark sat in their bed, her face a mosaic of tears and victory, holding a baby who wailed like she wanted the world to hear her. The cries were sharp, but to Weatherby and Katherine Swann, they were the most beautiful music ever played.

Terrified that it was dream about to slip away, Weatherby made slow, small steps towards his wife. Katherine smiled, and when he came close enough, reached out a hand for him. Their fingers woven together gently, and she lightly squeezed to prove to him this was real. Their child truly lived.

Katherine then pulled Weatherby forward to stand at the head of the bed. She shifted the baby in her arms to show the little girl's face. Katherine smiled when she heard Weatherby's sharp intake of breath. She stroked a thumb on the back of his hand, and then gently placed his fingers against the little girl's cheek.

Weatherby stood there, staring at his daughter in disbelief, fingers lazily trailing across her redden skin. Red skin – not blue – the red skin of a newborn with blood pumping through their veins and air flowing through their lungs.

His daughter lived.

And so, he fell to his knees and wept.

Whitecap Bay, South of Florida

"Should he return in pov'rty

From o'er the ocean far

To my tender bosom

I'll press my jolly tar."

The beautiful blonde mermaid was irresistible to the man in the lifeboat. His Captain had warned him not to jump ship after the creature he had spotted near the lighthouse, but the sailor not ignore her enchanting calls for him to be her Jolly Sailor Bold.

He had leaned over the edge a dangerous amount, nearly enough to flip the thing, but nothing mattered to him but that wonderous mermaid caressing his face, singing to him.

"My sailor is as smiling

As the pleasant month of May."

The daughter Tamara carried within her from the victim she had mated and consumed seven months previous flipped in her stomach. Mermaids never showed a sign of their pregnancies to ensure they could still catch their meals, but Tamara could feel her daughter react to the lyric about the month of May. Her clever little Fry recognized the month she would be born.

Tamara had high hopes for this little one. She prayed to the Mother Goddess that her daughter would be born a Green Tail. The child would at least be a Blue Tail. The Mother Goddess wouldn't dare insult Tamara's Sisterhood by giving their leader a Red Tail daughter.

No, this one had a great destiny before her. The Mother Goddess had visited Tamara in a dream the night after she had mated and dined on her daughter's father. In the dream she promised Tamara that her daughter would be unlike any other mermaid who had come before.

"And often we have wandered

Through Ratcliffe Highway."

Closer and closer the sailor leaned over the boat toward her luscious lips. Tamara smiled coyly as she sung that haunting tune. Her teeth were straight and white, not the horrific fangs his captain had warned him about.

"Many a pretty blooming

Young girl we did behold."

Closer and closer. He was almost in her grasp.

"Reclining on the bosom

Of her jolly sailor bold."

In the corner of her eye, Tamara could see Nerissa, Marina, and Ariella surface behind him. Their eyes were black, and they were ready.

"My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold."

Her face dipped beneath the water as she let out one last verse.

"There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold."

And then they attacked.

When the feast was over, Tamara wiped the blood from her lips. Making sure no Sister was watching her, Tamara touched her stomach where her little fry swam as frantically as a guppy within.

"Settle, Little Fry," Tamara whispered. "Nourish yourself with the flesh I have consumed for you. I will make you strong and keep you safe. Even when you have forgotten I am your mother, I will always keep you safe."

She never dreamed that one day she would attempt to execute her little fry for saving the life of a young boy named Turner.

Port Glasgow, Scotland

"Look at you," Bill stared in amazement at the son in his arms. The Black Pearl – or more accurately, Jack had – finally allowed him a visit home to meet the child Sarah had borne more than two months previous. "He's amazing."

"Gets it from his mother," Sarah Turner née Smith smirked as she took a seat on the bed next to him.

Their home base was a little seaside cottage Bill's mother had spent her last days in before fifteen-year-old Bill was forced to jump on the first ship that came into Port Glasgow (not to be confused with the city of Glasgow which was some miles east.)

Sarah sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, "I've missed you so much, Bootstrap."

"I've missed you too, Smith," he tilted his head atop hers. "The Pearl isn't half as exciting without you."

"Well, Jack is still sailing it, so I imagine the adventures are still many. Just without me to bring the arses to heel."

"Careful Smith," Bill teased. "Last time you brought a pirate's arse to heel, we ended up with this."

Sarah laughed as he held up their son.

"Careful, Sailor," Sarah bumped him with her hip. "Talk like that could leave that arse very lonely during this visit. Your wife has needs, Turner. Don't go running off that mouth and force her into making an example of you on principle."

"Aye, First Mate Smith. I hear your orders loud and clear," Bill chuckled. He looked back at his son, "So what'd you call him?"

"What makes you think I've already named him?"

"Smith, you can't own a dagger for more than an hour without naming it. I'm positive you've already named our son."

"Alright, fine. William Richard Turner, though I think I'll call him Will."

"William Richard Turner," Bill shook his head. "William for his father and Richard for your brother."

"Good, strong names."

"And highly unimaginative. Wait until the crew finds out. I'll never hear the end of it."

Sarah narrowed her eyes, "You'll never hear the start of it. Bill Turner, you will not tell the crew our son's name. Hell, you won't even tell them he's a son."

"They'll find out some day, Smith."

"But it won't be from you," she crossed her arms. "Bill, my father was a Robert Smith, King of the Caribbean, I know how this story goes. Do you how many times Dirk and I were kidnapped by rival pirates under the age of ten?"

Bill paused, "…Six?"

"It doesn't the matter the number!" she exclaimed. "Because the fact there was a number is the whole point. My God, the thought of the crew of the Pearl knowing about our son terrifies me. Barbossa knowing about him terrifies me… and you know I'd throw down with him any day."

Bill sighed and set Will in his crib in the corner. Sarah had installed a little curtain around the crib to block sunlight during Will's naps and give Sarah her privacy when she needed it. Bill considered closing the curtain but stopped and smiled at his son. He had missed the boy's birth, he daren't miss another moment any time soon.

"You have a point…" Bill conceded. "Twigg and Koehler knowing about Will sends a chill up my spine. Koehler never did get over you rejecting him, and we both know that pair are pirates in every sense of the word."

"So you'll keep Will secret?" Sarah crossed her arms as she rose from the bed.

He took his wife in his arms, "They won't ever know if he's a son or a daughter."

"Good," Sarah smirked. "Now… was it at least a good voyage?"

"Profitable, if that's what you mean."

"It's always what I mean. Though from the bag I saw you bring in, not as profitable as usual."

"Because the fearsome Sarah Smith isn't on the Black Pearl anymore. Merchants would surrender at the sight of us because they couldn't stand the insanity of Captain Jack Sparrow and the violence of Sarah Smith who could throw a dagger and pin a fly to the wall by its wing. When are you going to rejoin the crew?"

"Jack ask you?"

"Every single day. Sometimes even twice."

Sarah laughed, "Well, it's certainly going to be a while yet. I, at the very least have to stop nursing first. It's probably going to be at least two years until I'm ready to leave Will for the sea. How has Jack been?"

"Misses his old First Mate," Bill said. "Barbossa's driving him up the wall, but I'm not going to challenge for the position. I'm not First Mate material."

"You're the perfect First Mate, Bill. My First Mate."

"And glad to be it, but it takes a special kind of insanity to be Captain Jack Sparrow's First Mate."

"Six months at sea and you simply return to mock your wife."

"Oh, I returned to do a whole lot more than that." Bill pulled the curtain closed on his son. His lips suddenly crushed to hers and his fingers found the ties to her dress.

"Bill!" she gasped, pulling away. Her breath heaved a little as she shot a look towards the curtain concealing Will. In the lower class it was normal for a family to bunk all in the same room and for parents to create more children in the vicinity of their current ones.

Didn't make it not weird to have the baby in the same room.

"Please, Sarah," his mouth was hot on hers again. "I've been at sea far too long."

It took all of her strength to pull away, "I thought you wanted to get to know your son."

"Of course." He shoved her dress off her shoulders. "But after I get to know my wife again."

She smirked and without another word, shoved him down onto the bed. He'd barely hit the thin mattress when she crawled atop him.

"Bootstrap Bill Turner," she chuckled, unlacing his pants, "you've been at sea far too long."

And they let nature take its course.

London, England

"She's so beautiful, Kat," Nathaniel said as it was his turn to hold the little girl. He bent down, kissed her forehead, and prayed, "Thank you, Lord on High for this precious – and loud – little girl, and Hallelujah for all your blessings upon this couple."

"Yes, praise the Lord!" Rebecca downed a shot of whiskey as she sat at the table in the corner of the room with her brother, who was still frozen in shock.

Weatherby had been so stiff and silent that the servants had brought up a bottle of his favorite whiskey to have a glass nurse him back to reality. When Weatherby still failed to mentally return to Earth, Rebecca just decided waste not, want not and tucked into the alcohol. Rebecca was no alcoholic, but when she decided to celebrate with whiskey… well, there was a reason even Weatherby supported Bartholomew's restriction of Rebecca drinking whiskey at social gatherings.

Heck, even Nathaniel would hide whiskey from her.

Nathaniel shook his head, glad to let Rebecca have her fun this time, "She is quite a beauty, Katherine. Although I would like this screaming to stop sometime soon."

"It does detract from her beauty a little, I suppose," the thought made Katherine smile. "Though I suppose that was your whole thesis on why miscarriage happen, wasn't it?"

"Oh yes," Nathaniel chuckled. "The whole miscarriage happens because God makes a child too perfect not to be an angel speech. Aka the speech that got a certain Miss Swann's attention in the first place."

"I remember that dinner," Rebecca smiled at her husband, keeping an eye on her son crawling around on the floor toward his father. Thinking better of the whiskey, she pushed the bottle away from herself, remembering to keep her senses around her child. "You said that apparently the combination of Weatherby and Kat together just made such beautiful, perfect children that God couldn't possibly place them into the horrors of this world. …Nat, what does it say about us that we had Philip on the first try?"

"Our kid's too ugly for Heaven?"

"Oh please, he's your son and mine. We're a very attractive couple. Smash our features together, and this boy is going to such a looker even a mermaid would swoon."

"Becca," Katherine said as Nathaniel passed the baby back to her. "Mermaids aren't real."

"Nowhere in the Bible does it say they aren't."

Katherine rolled her eyes, "Next you'll say dragons are real."

Rebecca quirked an eyebrow.

Katherine scowled and opened her mouth to object.

"We're not having this conversation again," Nathaniel cut off. His voice was barely audible over his niece's screams. He sighed as Philip reached him with his crawling. Nathaniel picked him up and sat Philip in his lap, "Seriously, Kat. Is your daughter alright? She won't stop screaming."

"I don't know," There was a strain in her voice that made Nathaniel regret asking. Katherine had given up hope on ever having a child so that when she did have her daughter screaming in her arms, she had no idea what to do. "The only time she's stopped screaming was when I fed her. I don't know what to do. She's fed, warm, dry, has a fresh nappy, I've held her, rocked her, tried to get her to nap… Honestly, Rebecca I thought considering how your mother was, I thought that the whole spiritedness was a you thing and not a Swann women in general thing."

"Oh no, there's a reason Father cut off contact with Great Aunt Leah… I should get back in contact with her. But you're right, we need to do something. Philip has never cried for this long."

Nathaniel scowled, "Rebecca… we're not… trading kids."

"I didn't mean that!" she rolled her eyes. "I mean we need someone else to step in."

"Yes…" Katherine's flicked to the still unmoving Weatherby. "Someone."

Rebecca glared at him and then slapped her brother's arm, "Oi! Weatherby Isaac Swann! Get it together, Man!"

"Oh, uh," Weatherby sputtered, blinking rapidly like he finally woke up from a coma. "Right."

Weatherby joined his wife on the bed, taking his daughter to make his attempts at soothing her. However, it appeared that the baby was not simply in need of her father's arms.

"Okay, seriously, if your daughter is going to be this loud you two should name this kid Sarai," Rebecca said.

"Sarai?" Katherine scowled.

"Don't you mean Sarah?" Weatherby looked like he wasn't exactly certain which end of the baby was meant to go up. He of course did know… he just looked so helpless holding his daughter you couldn't fault anyone who thought otherwise about him.

Nathaniel chuckled as he noticed his son had fallen asleep in his arms, "She means Sarai, the original name of wife of Abraham, Sarah. Sarah means Princess, but Sarai means argumentative."

Weatherby rolled his eyes, "For Goodness sake's Rebecca, how many times must I tell you that no one gets your deep Biblical lore jokes?"

"Don't scold her, Brother," Nathaniel said as he placed the sleeping Philip on the bed, not having a better spot in that room. The bed was so large that when he set Philip on the bed he wasn't even close to Weatherby and Katherine. "I understand her jokes."

"You're a minister! You're supposed to understand them." That exclamation seemed to rile up the little girl even more. The baby gave a very piercing shriek that woke Philip and made him start crying. "Oh for goodness."

"Alright, that's it," Rebecca walked around to the side of the bed her son was on, to comfort Philip. "Brother, just put your baby on the bed, and we'll figure this out."

Weatherby cast about the room as if he hadn't noticed there wasn't a crib in the room, and finding nothing else, also set his daughter on the bed with him, Katherine, and Philip.

"So what were you going to call her?" Rebecca asked as she tried to settle Philip down. She would have to formulate an actual plan for her niece it appeared.

Katherine gave one of the brightest smiles the family had ever seen – which wasn't saying much considering the way Bartholomew Swann had terrorized her after he decided she was faulty equipment and good only to help keep his son in line via threats against Katherine.

"I know just what to call her." Katherine caught Nathaniel's eye, "Elizabeth."

He smiled, remembering the conversation they had had years ago about the biblical figure, "For Mary's cousin who waited so long for a child."

"God wanted me to use that name, that's why he sent me a daughter."

"Yes, Katherine," Nathaniel squeezed her hand. "After all these years, you are blessed and remembered, just as God blessed and remembered Sarah, Rachel, and Elizabeth."

"Have you thought of a middle name?" Rebecca asked. "I could give you some suggestions."

Weatherby chuckled, "Don't listen to her. She gave her own child the middle name of his father."

Rebecca narrowed her eyes, "You're just bitter we didn't give Philip your name for the middle one."

"Well, after all I've done for you is that so much to ask?"

"Weatherby is a terrible name, and I will not inflict my son with your stupid name."

"Fine, then we won't give Elizabeth the middle name of Rebecca. Right, Katherine?"

Katherine looked very uncomfortable with the brother/sister spat.

She leaned in to her husband and whispered, "Actually, Darling I wanted to go with Rebecca."

"Please, My Love," Weatherby whispered back. "I can't let her win here."

Katherine sighed, "Alright, but I suppose there was another name I liked. Dinah."

Weatherby choked.

Nathaniel snorted.

Rebecca shot daggers at both of them.

"What is it?" Katherine frowned.

"Nothing, My Love," Weatherby patted her hand. "Nothing at all."

"He's right," Rebecca smiled. "Elizabeth Dinah Swann is a wonderful name. Right, Nathaniel?"

"As perfect as Philip Nathaniel Swift," Nathaniel smiled a bit too large. The look on his brother-in-law's face suggested that if Nathaniel ruined the name for Katherine, Weatherby would have him strangled in his sleep.

And the look on Rebecca's face suggested that she'd help him.

Suddenly he noticed it, "Wait. Does anyone hear that?"

The others scowled.

"Hear what?" Katherine asked.

"The crying," he answered. "It's lessened."

Immediately four sets of eyes shot to Elizabeth, and a gasp filled the room.

"No! Philip!" Rebecca hadn't been paying attention and thus didn't notice when Philip had crawled over to Elizabeth to investigate the source of the noise.

Rebecca reached forward for her son; instinct had kicked in to pull the pair apart less one hurt the other. But she stopped herself at the last moment.

Philip wasn't at risk of hurting Elizabeth. He had just settled down on his stomach next to her, watching with large green eyes that appeared much wiser than his eight months. Philip babbled nonsensically to Elizabeth as if he too was taking his turn to sooth her.

The strangest part was that it worked. Elizabeth's cries lessened and lessened with every moment. Then when Philip reached out with a tiny hand and touched her face, the crying stopped entirely.

The adults weren't exactly certain what was going on.

Her cousin's hand on her face, Elizabeth's eyes stared up into his. Some strange, silent understanding seemed to pass between the pair. Then Elizabeth grasped the wrist on the hand on her face.

Philip babbled happily and proudly at the moment. He moved his hand away, Elizabeth somehow also knowing to let go. Without another thought, he laid down next to her, he bowed against hers, fell asleep cuddling up to his cousin.

Elizabeth was asleep cuddling up to her cousin less than a minute later.

The parents stared at their children, utterly dumbfounded.

"As a man of God, I have seen many wonderous things," Nathaniel said. "But that? …That was a true miracle."

The others were quick to agree.

And as Weatherby Swann gazed at his slumbering daughter and nephew, he knew deep down that he never wanted the pair to be apart.

…Nor apart from him.

A/N: I would just like to say for the record that after all that build up of what kind of person Rebecca Swann was, I love that her first appearance involves her doing shots of whiskey next to her newborn niece.