It wasn't too long of a night at all, and Tara had only found that to be just given how hard the birth of her twins had been on her years prior. She'd already paid her dues, and blood, and sweat and tears – and with Roxanna's help and instructions, for her as well as for Sparrow, she'd pretty quickly given birth to a healthy baby boy. He'd been screaming as loud as the roaring seas as soon as possible, all while his father, unusually pale despite his sun-kissed complexion, was reverently silent for once.
He'd thought he'd seen it all, and done it all, but witnessing childbirth had absolutely been missing from that list – and in a way he was sure he'd grown up quite a bit. A decade earlier, he might've fainted right away.
In present days, with ever more stamina and prudence than ever due to his attempts in helping raise his twins, he still felt as though he'd just witnessed a massacre, but one he could help Tara through at least.
He was fairly certain she'd broken him a finger or two while pushing – and squeezing his hand with a grip tighter than any thief could ever dream of – but that was nothing compared to what he imagined to be the worst kind of pain the human anatomy could possibly go through.
It was a mystery to him how a supposedly so tiny body could blow everything that much out of proportion. Slightly torn her beautiful body was again, but a friend of Jocard's, a young Italian they'd called for, was way more confident in stitching her up than the last old bat that had tried to help years ago.
And so soon enough, he'd held his crying baby boy after Roxanna had tightly wrapped him up in cloths.
"Nice to meet you, little birdie," he muttered in awe, still fascinated by the fact that he held what had just come out of Tara … Life was bizarre, and how it came to be as well.
"Can I see him?" Tia had anxiously asked for the both of them, with James peeking over her shoulder like a little lamb.
They'd heard their mother moan and breathe in pain behind closed doors, somewhat terrified with the stories of their own birthday in mind. But as soon as they'd identified the sounds of a baby crying, and also relieved Spanish mumbling right before Teague opened the door for them to enter, they knew everything was alright.
"Is it a boy?" James asked when Jack bent down to let them crowd him.
Jack winked at Tia. "Place of a sea goddess was already taken, so indeed … that is your brother."
"Jack," they heard Tara behind them, her impatient gaze combined with a tired smile, "I miss him, give him back …"
He proceeded to place his son into his mother's arms, Tia and James were soon climbing onto the bed to cuddle up to her as well, just to instantly fall asleep. Jack eventually smirked, breathing a kiss on Tara's forehead, then he also took a seat on the bed, right next to her.
"Are you alright?"
"Do you see blood somewhere?" It was a genuine question, and accordingly he shook his head after a genuinely anxious examination of the sheets.
"Good. Then I'm alright."
Upon hearing those words, Teague got up from the wooden bench before the bed, tipping his imaginary hat and offering Roxanna a hand. "I'd say we owe someone a drink or two then."
"Oh don't bother," she said, not yet taking his hand as well. "I'll be on my merry way, but thank you."
"Don't you insult me like that, come on."
A kind command it was, she clearly just needed a little push. Jack was more than glad to provide that.
"He doesn't get more charming than that, so if you're waiting for the opportune moment to accept that drink, that is actually it."
"Cheeky as ever," Roxanna growled in mock-outrage, "Jackie, how dare you imply I was even slightly open to the possibility of –"
"You made childbirth look so simple," Teague let his voice cut across hers. "Last time, the girl nearly died. Hell, she even had me crying in secret."
"Really?" Tara asked in surprise.
He didn't reply, which indicated that it was true indeed. Still he went on, "So don't overcomplicate a drink now, Roxanna – be so kind."
"You were right," she sighed, letting her gaze shift from Teague to Jack. "The charm had already peaked a moment ago."
Sparrow raised his hands in shining innocence. "Told you so."
She couldn't help but chuckle, taking Teague's hand for good, telling him, "I truly do deserve a drink, and maybe some music."
Teague flashed his gold teeth in a rare grin, and now Roxanna could clearly see where Jack had gotten it from. "Who needs charm then, I'll get the guitar …"
Roxanna winked at Tara. "They say he who can play a guitar can also play a Lady, did you know?"
"Interesting …"
"I only know I'm about to be sick," Jack muttered. Tara couldn't help but smirk at that, too.
"For the record, I did try to teach his lazy bones how to play a guitar," Teague claimed with a husky laugh. "But not all hands are made for music."
"And not all music is made for hands, savvy?" Jack nodded with narrow eyes, generously gesturing to the door for Teague and Roxanna. "Nice having you, thanks and all, but here's your chance to leave before I puke."
Giggling, Roxanna led the way with old Teague gladly following her. Only when they shut the door, Jack let out a harsh breath to finally give Tara an incredulous look.
"I'm not sure how much longer I can bear to live this way."
"I'm rather sure how much longer I need you to bear it," she retorted even though a warm smile spread across her face. "Give me a couple of months, will you?"
Pushing the thoughts of his ever present father aside was the least he could do after witnessing her in labour.
"Sure." And he meant it.
"We also finally need a name."
"Yes." He nodded. "But I suggest we come up with one tomorrow, love." He tried to sound as cheerful as could be, but with the information Jocard had shared with him heavy on his heart, he couldn't possibly also burden her with that topic right after giving birth.
"You know, back on Tortuga," she eventually said, yawning already, "I once heard you play."
He glanced up in surprise, an eyebrow raised.
Of coursehe could play a guitar. Teague had indeed been adamant about teaching him as a kid. And even though as a kid he'd often times pretended not to be that good at it – just to tease the man he wasn't quite sure was his father back then – he had developed quite a decent amount of skill.
He simply didn't like using it. It kept reminding him of his childhood, and the way his mother used to claim Teague was more in love with the instrument than her …
Never give up your freedom, a mantra he'd always lived by. Just as much asDon't be like Teague…
"Did you now," he eventually said under his breath, inching closer. He took in the peaceful sight of his content baby boy in her arms, as well as the snorting twins to each of her sides. "Must be ages ago, I haven't touched a guitar in years."
"You were really good, though."
"What song did I play?" He asked out of sheer curiosity. "Do you recall?"
"Greensleeves. A proper shanty version of it, though."
"Are you sure?" He couldn't quite believe that. "Must've been terribly drunk then."
"You were." She looked down at her sleeping son. "As per usual, back then." A tad hesitantly, she took heart in adding, "Maybe it needed to be that way so I was fully able to appreciate you being sober for a while …"
For a while.
She said it ever so casually, but that made it even worse. And in a way he caught himself there as well. He'd believed she didn't even suspect a thing …
"I hardly noticed in your behaviour, but all of a sudden, kissing you felt more and more like a decade ago again." She gave him a tired smile. "I don't mean to mother you, really, you gave me another son, Jack, I have better things to do … But if I may, I'll admit I'm a bit … anxious. About it."
"Was it that important to you?"
"Of course it was. "
Not exactly the answer he'd hoped for, when, in fact, he'd started drinking again the moment he'd taken on the glass of wine that Ching initially insisted Tara tested …
In the very moment, it was relatively necessary and felt like nothing at all, but the truth was that the taste on his lips reminded him of the life he'd once so loved to live to remedy whatever chaos had clouded his head. And the lingering flavour on his tongue kept whispering to him that he was in full control anyway, as he'd supposedly always been, and that only the dose made the poison … He knew much better than that, but how good did he even have to be? Wasn'tgood enoughfine, too?
"Why?" He was mad at himself for even asking the moment he voiced it, since deep down he knew the issues at hand – but hated hearing them.
"Why I was glad you were sober?" The very question made her eye him suspiciously. "Trust you don't want me to list that, Jack."
"You fell in love with me while I was in pieces, which I'm not these days –"
"I fell in love with the person," she was quick to correct, "I knew you truly were … I fell in love with the few healthy glimpses of you you still flashed while intoxicated, but ultimately I couldn't live with just those. Youwerein pieces, and so was I."
"You make it all sound so dramatic –"
"No, Jack. You numbed yourself on purpose as to not feel a thing, and when it worked so well it was actually frightening, you'd need me to pour back life into you."
"Oh Tara, whatever –"
"Don't do that," she hushed, "in your same old way …"
She didn't have to voice that they had responsibilities. She didn't have to point out that they were supposed to be a much healthier version of themselves. That went without saying …
He lifted his chin while taking in a deep breath, almost a bit lost for words while letting his gaze wander over the children.
"Let's not wake them up, indeed." He lowered his voice, grabbing for her hand to bridge the physical distance between them. "You, this …" He let his free hand draw a circle in the air, including the children, and each of them. "You mean the world to me. I promise that we'll never be such a mess again."
She nodded, holding on to his words as though she'd briefly been about to drown. "And you know, once we're on the run, I'm sure you'll feel more like yourself again anyway, Jack … I know you're cut off the ocean for too long already again, and I see how you can't be as happy as I wish you to be, but –"
"It's fine, Tara, I just need you to rest and heal." He squeezed her hand tightly as he added, "You've risked your life to bless me with these children, you've made your sacrifices. Now let me make mine – paling in comparison anyway – by being slightly unhappy about Teague and his ever so annoying omnipresence, yes?"
"It's more than that. I know this place isn't for you, it's just too much intertwined with your childhood …"
"But also the childhood of my children, which you made a much better one," he insisted. "Tara, I love your preaching soul, and I appreciate you always finding excuses for me throughout the years and even tonight … But I was reckless, wasn't I?" She couldn't quite follow him, so he specified, "Whenever I was drinking, I mean …" She wouldn't quite respond, so he only just nodded. "I know I was. I guess I'd be again. I'll fix it."
"What does that mean?"
"Boring abstinence again." He sighed in glorious self-pity. "Starting now. Alright?"
She was quick to nod, slightly biting her lower lip. "You being such a good father is weirdly attractive, have I told you that before?"
"Keep saying it. And now give me our son so you can get some sleep."
"You have to hold his head, yes?"
He smirked. "You told me that fifty times throughout the last two weeks." Still he showed her his grip once he held his boy. "Like that?"
"Perfecto."
"Do you hear that?" Jack asked his son. "And once your Mamá got some sleep, we'll come up with a name for you."