Guava 13: Things Fall Apart
Title: Things Fall Apart
Main Story: In the Heart -- EPIC PIRATE AU
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Guava 13 (see how they run), chopped nuts (EPIC PIRATE AU), whipped cream (Aaron is five), malt (Back to School Challenge: 6 : Gail : help is on the way), fresh pineapple (Not Alone), brownie.
Word Count: 5192
Rating: R.
Summary: Gail has a bad day, the mutineers have a worse one, and Pat suffers a disappointment.
Notes: Death brownie part 3. It's still not done. Yeah.
TRIGGER WARNING: Violence, threats of sexual assault. Please read with care.
Surprisingly, they didn't kill him.
Nathan had more or less expected to be dead by midday, or at the very least abandoned in a dinghy. That was what generally happened when a Navy ship mutinied, and these were pirates. The most he could have hoped for was kindness to his son, on account of Aaron's age. And that was not likely.
Even more surprisingly, they didn't really hurt him. The man with the gun hit him a few times while escorting him to the galley, apparently just to prove his mastery of the situation, and the men who tied him to the support timbers were a little unnecessarily rough, but that was nothing. He'd gotten worse injuries riding out a storm.
This was not the usual mutiny. Something more was going on here. But he was damned if he knew what it was.
There was a clattering noise by the door, and a moment later Pat half-fell into the room, shoved by the same group of men who'd captured him. Nathan exchanged resigned looks with Ian, that became alarmed looks when Pat staggered to her feet and fell down again.
"Are you all right?" Nathan asked, leaning as close to her as he could, given his bonds.
Pat lifted her head to answer, but one of the mutineers snarled, "Shut up," and kicked her in the side. She shot him an evil look, which boded well, but remained sitting, which did not.
"Did you hit him?" Ian demanded, ignoring the mutineer. He nodded in Pat's direction. "Was he not going quietly enough for you bastards?"
"Shut up!" the mutineer ordered, and kicked Ian too. "No talking!"
"To hell with you," Nathan snarled. "What did you do to Pat?"
The mutineer bent down and punched him once, hard, in the belly. Nathan doubled over, breathless. "Shut up," he said again, then turned and tied Pat's hands behind her back. He straightened up, nodded to himself as if in approval of his work, then, while Nathan fought to get his breath back, turned, collected his compatriots and left the galley.
"I think I’m offended," Ian said, at length. "They didn't even bother tying Pat to a table. Don't they think you're dangerous?"
"I think they think he's concussed," Nathan said. Better to keep using the masculine pronouns-- the mutineers didn't appear to know that Pat was female, and he intended to keep it that way. He had enough to worry about with Gail... but he cut that thought off. Later. He didn't have time right now.
Ian considered that, then said, "No, I'm still offended. It's just not fair."
"Dun' think they're interessed in playin' fair," Pat slurred, lifting her head a little.
"No," Nathan said, smiling a hard-edged little smile. "They're mutineers. Did any of them say anything to you?"
Pat shook her head, and winced. "No. Bastards." The obscenity came out nice and clear, which eased Nathan's mind a little.
"One of them called me a bastard," Ian offered, helpfully. "I called him one right back. He didn't hit me, though. It's like they don't think I'm dangerous."
"No'un thinks you're dangruss," Pat said.
Ian brightened, and beamed at Nathan. "Good news, Captain! He's mocking me! He'll be fine."
"Good," Nathan said, and nodded to Pat. "Recover as fast as you can, please. I've no doubt we'll need to be killing people shortly, and I'll need you for that."
"'ll try," Pat said, then propped her head against the chair next to her and stared at the ceiling. Nathan hoped she was trying to will herself better, then turned his attention to getting out of this mess.
The first thing he had to do was find out what had happened to Aaron and Gail. To the best of his knowledge they'd been in his cabin when the mutiny occurred; with any luck, they were still there. Gail was smart and strong and quick. She'd have figured it out quickly, barred the door, got her hands on a candlestick, something. She'd keep Aaron, and herself, safe.
He had to believe that or he'd be no use to anyone. Because there were far worse things that could happen to a little boy besides simple death, and as for Gail...
Some things did not bear thinking about.
Besides. They were fine. He would get out of this and he would keep them that way. And as long as he kept believing that, it had a chance of happening.
"Captain," Ian said sharply. He looked up just in time to see a little pissant named Jack Winters swagger in, kick Ian in the belly, and look smugly at Nathan, as if he'd just done something clever.
"Hope you're sitting comfortably, Kendall," he said, voice insolent, and laughed.
"Winters," Nathan said, letting disgust load his tone. "I should've known. This has your stench all over it. What is it, Jacky boy, annoyed I didn't get you a pony?"
The little bastard didn't even bother to look offended. Instead he smiled, teeth stained with tobacco, some of them missing. "You're a dead man, Kendall," he said, happily. "And you know it, I hope."
He knew it all too well; if he and Pat and Ian couldn't get out of their bonds and fight back, it was only a matter of time before the mutineers grew weary of having them around. The mystery was why he wasn't dead already. But Nathan didn't let that show. "That remains to be seen, Jacky boy. Where's my son?"
Winters studied his filthy hands, nonchalantly. "He's safe, for the moment. Along with your whore."
"She's no one's whore," he snapped, "least of all mine. And if you hurt my son I will cut you to pieces and feed you to the sharks, still screaming."
Winters smiled his gaping smile again. "Smart of you not to bargain for the whore. You couldn't save her anyway. She's ours."
His stomach cramped with fear. To cover it, he snorted. "Waste of time," he said. "I'm not bargaining for her because she'll kill you."
"That bitch?" Winters rolled his eyes. "She can barely move."
"She won't need to move to kill you," Nathan said, caustically. "A blind and deaf leper could manage it well enough."
"Funny that you didn't, then, isn't it?" He sneered.
Nathan sighed, as if unspeakably weary of the entire situation. "Enough of this, Jacky boy. What do you want? You aren't going to get it," he added, "but I'll admit to curiosity."
The amusement vanished from Winters's face like snow in July. "It's very simple," he said, leaning in close, so his foul breath washed into Nathan's face and made him cough. "We want what's ours, Kendall. We want what you've kept from us. We want the treasure from the Spanish ship, and we want the woman."
"There's no treasure," Nathan said. He was about to move on to Gail when Winters hit him, a straight blow to the jaw. He saw sparks for a moment, and tasted blood.
"Try again," Winters said, pleasantly. "Where have you hidden it? We've searched the hold, so don't try saying it's there."
Nathan spat blood and snarled up at him, "There's no treasure! Davy's got all the cargo that's worth anything, you blithering idiot! We're not even carrying any sugar!"
"You're a liar," Winters said, suddenly calm again. That calm frightened Nathan more than the rage, because it meant the man was doing what passed for thinking in his foul little brain. "You're a liar, and you're going to tell us where the treasure is. The question is whether you'll do it before or after we feed your brat to the sharks."
"If you lay one finger on my son..." he started. Winters hit him again.
"That's more than enough out of you," he said. "I've had enough of this. I'm gonna go get the other half of what's mine." In case Nathan had any doubt as to what he meant, he leered and grabbed the filthy crotch of his breeches, then sauntered towards the door. "You think about what I asked you to tell me, now. If you remember where you’ve hidden it by the time I come back, maybe I won't bring you one of your brat's fingers." He winked, in a parody of jocularity, then shut the door to the galley.
Nathan's face was hot, his breath coming fast, blood metallic and coppery on his tongue. "I'm going to kill him," he said, aloud. "No matter what else happens here, I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."
"Leave some f'r me," Pat said, and he turned, saw the light of battle burning in her eyes. "I wan' h's ballocks onna plate."
"Only if I don't get them first," Nathan said. His stomach rolled and cramped with fear. He had to get out of here, and soon, before Winters got anywhere at all. He had to get out, but the rope was tight and rough against his wrists. He tugged at it anyway, frantically. Gail, Aaron, Gail... "Pat, can you maybe get your hands in front of you?"
"No need," Ian said, from a lot closer than he'd been five minutes ago. Nathan jerked, startled, and turned to see Ian lounging against the table, the ropes that had bound him dangling idly over his shoulder.
"How the hell..." he blurted.
Ian followed his gaze to the rope, and grinned. "I'm a thief, Captain, remember? Their knots were insufficient. Now, shall we commence getting our ship back?"
"Yes," Nathan said, and smiled grimly. For the first time since the mutiny had begun a faint glimmer of hope sparked. "Get me out of these, and let's get that son of a bitch Winters."
""member," Pat said. "Ballocks're mine."
--
Gail heard them coming.
Aaron didn't-- his head was bent over the Latin verb she'd set him to conjugating, a fierce scowl of concentration on his face. She had been watching him fondly, wondering how anyone could have left this child behind, when she'd heard it.
Hushed voices, where there should have been conversational levels, or none. Shuffling feet, people trying to move quietly. There was no reason for anyone who was doing something they should be doing to move that quietly, no reason for anyone to attempt not to be heard.
Or at least, no good reason.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and without any further proof, she acted.
She reached out and put her hand over Aaron's mouth. He jerked back, grey eyes wide, but nodded when she placed a finger over her lips. Gail cautiously took her hand away; obediently, he didn't make a sound, just looked at her, waiting for instructions.
She had no time to think, no time to make a plan, no time for anything but the conviction that, whoever was out there, whatever they wanted, they could not be allowed to get their hands on Aaron. And what could she do to ensure that?
Hide him.
She pointed firmly at the narrow cabinet where Captain Kendall kept his oilskins and heavier jacket. It would just fit a small, thin five-year-old, she calculated, and better, it was deeper than it looked from the outside. No one would look there.
Aaron blinked, but went obediently towards it, his bare feet silent on the worn wooden boards. Gail got up and followed him as quietly as she could, helped him to climb in, arranged the oilskins over and around him so he wouldn't be immediately obvious even if someone did open the door, then pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to his forehead and shut the door.
The voices were getting closer, hovering right outside the cabin door now. She looked around, trying to stay calm. How to misdirect them...
The bed. Of course. She darted over to it, not bothering to move quietly anymore, slammed the doors shut and locked them, just as the cabin door burst open.
Gail whirled, heart pounding, the key to the bunk clutched in her sweaty fist.
Pirates piled into the room, eyes everywhere, pistols in hand. Three of them seized her immediately, hands on her arms and shoulders, forcing her down onto a bench by the table. One of them pried the key out of her hand and went to unlock the bunk, cursing when he found it empty-- so much for that idea. But she didn't fight them, didn't even resist much; the longer she went along with this, the more likely they were to overlook Aaron, and the easier it would be on her.
The more likely her baby would survive, she thought, and then refused the thought.
Just then, someone who looked as if he might be in charge swaggered into the room. His eyes lit on her, and he leered.
Just like the Spanish had.
Blood all over the deck, begging for her life...
Gail went cold, clenched trembling hands in her lap. And as she always did when she was afraid, she went on the offensive.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, straightening her back as best she could under the pressure of a pirate's hands.
As she'd hoped, the pirate looked taken aback by her deliberate vulgarity. But then he smirked, and her heart sank. "What does it look like?" he asked, prowling near her. "Ship's ours now, and you'd better talk nice to us. Or..." He smiled, an extremely nasty expression. "Or we might not be very nice to you at all."
Gail looked him up and down, eyes lingering for an insolent moment at his crotch, then snorted. "I doubt you could be nice to me at all," she replied.
The man holding her down choked on a laugh, that he swiftly turned to a cough when the pirate in front of her shot him a glare. He turned that glare on Gail. "Be careful," he warned her, all smiles gone. "Be very careful, bitch."
Ah. So he was the leader, or a leader, and the others were afraid of him. Useful to know. Gail smiled at him. "All right," she said, sweetly. "When Captain Kendall puts your head on the bowsprit, I'll say a prayer for you. How does that sound?"
"Let go," he snarled at the man holding her, and without any warning backhanded her across the face.
She would have fallen if she hadn't caught herself on the table corner. As it was, there were tears in her eyes and a faint taste of blood in her mouth when she got herself straightened up.
"Brave man," she spat at him. "Hitting a woman. They must sing songs of your courage on winter nights, in your home town. Does your mother write you letters about how proud she is? Could you read them if she did?"
The pirate only sneered at her, but she noted that several of the others looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. "You just wait, bitch," he said. "You just wait 'til Winters gets his hands on you. We'll see how proud you are then." He grabbed her chin, forcing her face up. "Now tell us where the brat is."
Aaron. Her stomach clenched, hard. "I don't know," she lied, as calmly as she could. "I haven't seen him since breakfast."
The man backhanded her again, casually, like swatting a fly. "Don't lie to me," he said. "We'll find him soon enough, you know. Make it easier on yourself and don't make us look."
Gail looked him in the eye. "I don't know," she said.
"Bitch," he snarled, and drew his hand back again. She flinched, despite herself, and closed her eyes. But the blow didn't fall, and when she opened her eyes again, a little man had seized her interrogator's wrist and was bending it back, casually.
"Remember what's mine, Brown," he said. "Back off."
"Sir," her interrogator said, uneasily, and fell back.
The new arrival turned to her then, and bent down until his face was level with hers. His foul breath made her gag. "So, then, milady," he said, his tone mocking. "Do you know who I am?"
Ah. So they knew, then. No point pretending anymore, and Nathan had said she intimidated the crew. Gail put on her best lady-of-the-manor expression, even as her stomach rolled and cramped, and stared down her nose at him. "No," she said, haughtily. "Why should I?"
"Why indeed," he said. "You'll remember me after this." He straightened again-- she inhaled cleaner air gratefully-- and looked down at her, thoughtfully. "Where's the boy?"
Gail just looked at him, but her interrogator spoke up. "He's in here somewhere. We watched all morning and he didn't come out. And she--" he spat the word-- "knows, but she won't tell us."
The new man turned thoughtful eyes on Gail again. "You mean she won't tell you," he said, and laughed, harshly. He took hold of her chin as the first man had done. "She will, though. Once we treat her like the whore she is." He smiled down at her. "Then again, maybe you'll be grateful, hmm?"
She'd kill him first. Or herself.
Gail shook that thought away. No. Aaron. She had to protect Aaron. She had to protect him just long enough for Nathan to get out of wherever he was and come shoot people. If she could only hold out that long...
The new man lost patience with her lack of response, and hit her again, this time with a closed fist. "You'll tell me where he is!" he shouted. "You tell me where he is or I'll beat you bloody right here!"
"Don’t...!"
Gail's heart crashed; her stomach tightened. No, oh no, Aaron, no...
But the little boy was already climbing out of the cabinet, his grey eyes huge with terror and glazed with tears. "Don't hurt her," he stuttered. "Please don't hurt her. I'm here."
"I told you she lied," the interrogator muttered.
The new man met and held Aaron's eyes, then hit Gail once more, deliberately. He let go of her then, as did the man behind her, both of them advancing on Aaron.
She dropped to the floor, landing on her hands and knees, then scrambled up to a kneeling position. Aaron held his ground as the men closed in around him, though he was crying freely now, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. Her belly clenched again at the sight, as a murderous rage began to boil under her breastbone.
Oh, yes. She was going to kill these men.
One of the pirates had left a pistol sitting on the table. Careless of him, careless and foolish. Gail inched forward, crawling along the gritty floor, then lunged to the table, hands scrabbling across it. One of the pirates turned toward her with a shout, but she had the pistol in her hands, and was hauling herself clumsily up from the floor by the table's edge. She pointed the pistol at the group of men and snapped, "Back away from him. Aaron, come here."
Aaron obeyed immediately, ducking between two of the men and running to hide behind her skirts, but the pirates were less quick. The new arrival, obviously the leader, turned to the others and demanded, "Who left that there?"
"I did," said a young, spotty-faced boy, looking embarrassed. "But it's empty, Jack. No shot nor powder."
"Oh, really." The leader came up to her then, face twisting in an ugly smile. "Bad luck," he said to her, softly. "Hand it over now, and maybe I won't make you suffer for this later."
"Empty?" Gail asked, weighing it in her hand. It did feel rather light. "Oh. All right then." And she hit him very hard across the face with the butt of the pistol.
He went down with a startled shout. Before he could get to his feet again she put her foot on his throat and leaned, just enough to cut off his air. "Don't come any closer," she told the other men, pleasantly, as her stomach tightened at her own effrontery. "Or I'll crush his windpipe."
The interrogator snorted. "And why should we care?" he asked, advancing a deliberate step. "More for us."
"You should care," Gail said, still in the pleasant tones she'd used, in another life, for churchmen and prospective suitors, "because if you make me, I will crush your windpipe too. And yours," she added, looking to the spotty-faced youth. "And yours."
Aaron had gone down on his knees beside her. As she said this, he got up and pressed the leader's pistol into her hand. "Besides," she said, with a nod of thanks to the boy, "that pistol might be empty, but this one isn't. Who wants to be first?"
--
"They're still in the cabin," Ian reported, swinging back into the galley. "As far as we can tell Winters is in there with him."
Nathan nodded grimly, and checked his pistol. "Aaron and Gail?"
He didn't realize until a few seconds after he'd spoken that he'd used her Christian name. Ian surely must have noticed, but he mercifully didn't comment. "No sign of them," he said. "But no screams either. It could be worse."
It could indeed. Nathan looked past Ian, at the forty-odd men he'd found tied up in the hold of the ship. It was a far larger percentage of his crew than he'd expected, not that he was ungrateful. And Winters had left ten men guarding them, who were now tied up in their erstwhile prisoner's place.
He ran down the crew list in his head. They'd sailed from Plymouth with two hundred and fifty, lost seventy in various fights. Davy had taken half the remainder with him. Ian had locked about fifteen more men below decks when they'd gone down to search the hold. Which meant Winters couldn't have more than fifteen men in the cabin with him.
Fifteen men. Easily overcome, in their numbers, but more than enough to kill a small boy and a pregnant woman before they finally fell. Nathan swallowed down nausea. Pat wasn't quite better, though she'd stopped slurring and recovered her balance. Ian couldn't take out fifteen men alone. They couldn't storm the cabin without risking the people in there.
There had to be something they could do...
"Captain!" His lookout, a skinny young man named Thomas, popped into the room. "Captain, something's happening! You better come see this."
Nathan exchanged looks with Ian, and bolted after the young man. With any luck, Winters would take the rapid movement as a sign that his little rebellion was falling apart and come racing out to see what the matter was.
The way his luck was running, though...
He burst onto the deck and stopped in sheer astonishment. Thomas bounced on his toes, grinning. Ian, following close behind with a group of men, stopped and stared for a moment, then shrugged, and motioned his people ahead.
Fourteen men sat in a row in front of his cabin, expressions disgruntled and ever so slightly terrified. Aaron stood behind them, a plank held at the ready and an expression of fierce concentration on his face. And behind him, Gail stood, her face exhausted and haggard, holding a pistol to the head of Jack Winters.
"Papa!" Aaron said, happily. "Look, we won!"
At Aaron's voice, Gail looked up, and met Nathan's eyes. "Oh," she said, sounding faintly surprised. "There you are. Could you come and take him away, please? I'd like to sit down."
Nathan just stared at her for a moment, lost in sheer admiration. Then he realized that she was trembling, very faintly, her hands on the pistol shaking, and if there was ever a better recipe for disaster, he hadn't seen it.
Not that it would be such a tragedy if she accidentally shot Winters. But he wanted to do it.
He crossed to her, pushed his pistol into Winters's belly and escorted the man away from her. "You're all right," he said, over his shoulder, and pushed Winters up against the rail. "I've got him."
Gail nodded, handed her pistol to Thomas when he appeared beside her, and stepped back to lean against the wall, both hands going to her belly, her eyes fluttering shut. Aaron went to her and hugged her legs; she smiled, and rested one hand on his head. They would be all right, he thought, and turned his attention back to Winters.
"Well, then," he said, smiling. It was not a friendly expression. "You're a dead man, Winters. And you know it, I hope."
Winters worked his mouth for a while, then spat at him. Nathan shrugged, and shot him in the head.
The body fell backwards, over the rail, and hit the sea below with a soft splash.
He watched it fall, conscious only of relief, then turned back, and met Gail's eyes. She watched him for a moment, her hand caressing Aaron's hair as she held him against her belly, then gave him a tiny nod of approval.
Oh, he thought, and felt his stomach sink. Oh, no.
"Got the others below decks with the rest," Ian said, cheerfully, as he climbed up through the hatch. "Where's Winters?"
"Over the side," Nathan said, without looking away from Gail's eyes. Oh, no...
"Fair enough," Ian said. "He deserved it. Pat will be upset, though."
"Pat can have the ballocks of some other mutineer." Why was Ian asking him this? Couldn't he see? Didn't he know?
"It won't be the same," Ian said, with a kind of verbal shrug. "Ah, well, can't be helped. What now?"
What now indeed. Nathan shrugged himself. "We sail on to Plymouth. We'll deal with the rest of the mutineers soon, I expect. Go and see if any of them were coerced."
"Will do," Ian said. He looked back and forth between Nathan and Gail for a moment, then shrugged again and disappeared down the hatch.
Aaron, oblivious, came away from Gail's side just then and ran to his father, joy in all his small being. "We won, Papa!" he said, beaming, and threw his arms around Nathan's legs.
Nathan, grateful for the excuse, broke the gaze and gave all his attention to his son. "Yes, we did," he said. "And you were very brave, love." He knelt and hugged his son tight against him. "Thank God you weren't hurt."
"Oh, that's all right," Aaron said, blithely. "Gail hid me. And then when they found me she said she'd shoot them if they hurt me."
Nathan's heart did an odd little skipping jump in his chest, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Did she?"
"Uh-huh!" Aaron beamed. "And then she hit Mr. Winters very hard, and she made everybody go outside and sit down or she'd shoot them, and then she hit Mr. Winters again when he said he wouldn't go. But he was a bad man and he deserved it."
"He did," Nathan agreed. "He did deserve it. You're both all right?"
Aaron nodded. "Uh-huh. Only I think maybe..." For the first time he sounded troubled. "It didn't sound very nice, Papa. The things he said to Gail. I think maybe he hit her."
Nathan looked up at Gail then, to verify that, and his heart froze in his chest.
At some point when he hadn't been looking, she'd slumped down against the wall. Her hands clenched against her belly, her eyes stared from her ghost-pale face, and worst of all, oh, God, a small bloody patch appeared on her chemise, soaking through.
"Gail," he blurted, and ran to her, heart in his throat. But she looked up at him as he went down on his knees beside her, and the look in her eyes was not one of pain.
The frantic kind of fear he saw there was not reassuring, but it was better than pain.
"Gail," he said, leashing his own panic firmly, and touched her arm lightly. "What..."
"It's too soon," she interrupted, her voice rising. "It's too soon!"
All at once he understood.
"Papa?" Aaron came up beside him and touched his elbow, his voice trembling. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said, holding Gail's eyes, hoping to convince her as well as himself. "No, nothing's wrong. Aaron, love, do me a favor and go and get Pat and Ian for me, will you?"
Aaron looked between them a few times, then nodded silently, and ran for the hatch.
--
This terrified her more than the mutineers.
They were only men, and help was coming. She'd known that all along. But this... this was her own body turning against her, her baby coming far too soon and far too fast. Fear gripped her, shaking along her bones, turning her breath to pants. But Nathan was there, his hand on her elbow strangely comforting, and blind with terror, she let him lift her to her feet, let him guide her into the cabin.
He took her to the bed, not the benches at the table, and any other time that would have horrified her, but she had no attention to spare for it. And all the while he was talking to her, saying soothing nonsense, the kind she'd overheard him saying to Aaron when she'd woken up once in the middle of a storm. But his own voice shook, just a little.
Paradoxically, that relaxed her a little. She wasn't the only one afraid.
She didn't care to remember the next few hours. The pain gripped her body in waves, her whole body stiff and aching until it passed and left her wrung out, limp and panting. She walked endless circles around the cabin, supported by Pat or Nathan or Ian, stopping when a wave of pain overtook her, biting her lip through to keep from crying out and frightening Aaron, hovering outside. And then towards the end it got bad, so bad she couldn't think, so bad she didn't care that Nathan and Ian could see parts of her that not even her husband had seen, so bad she could do nothing but curl up on the bed, arch her back and cling to the sheets as the pain tore her apart.
And then... and then...
"Get me some water," Ian snapped, and there was a slithering feeling between her legs, and a child's cry wavered, high and thin, above the sound of the sea against the hull.
She tried to sit up, to get a look at her baby, but Pat pushed her back down and ran a damp cloth over her forehead and face. "Not yet," she ordered. "Relax. What's the word, Ian?"
"It's a girl," Ian said, and then, worryingly, "Pass me the knife." But it was all right, he was only cutting the cord, and then she heard a few splashing sounds and then finally, finally, Nathan put her daughter in her arms.
She was tiny, her hands doubled up in fists, her howling cries gaining strength every minute. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her head a little squashed, her skin wrinkled and an angry red. Wisps of red hair plastered flat against her skull, and she kicked angrily, waving her fists in the air.
Her daughter.
Her daughter.
"Oh," Gail said, and without warning burst into tears.
Main Story: In the Heart -- EPIC PIRATE AU
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Guava 13 (see how they run), chopped nuts (EPIC PIRATE AU), whipped cream (Aaron is five), malt (Back to School Challenge: 6 : Gail : help is on the way), fresh pineapple (Not Alone), brownie.
Word Count: 5192
Rating: R.
Summary: Gail has a bad day, the mutineers have a worse one, and Pat suffers a disappointment.
Notes: Death brownie part 3. It's still not done. Yeah.
TRIGGER WARNING: Violence, threats of sexual assault. Please read with care.
Surprisingly, they didn't kill him.
Nathan had more or less expected to be dead by midday, or at the very least abandoned in a dinghy. That was what generally happened when a Navy ship mutinied, and these were pirates. The most he could have hoped for was kindness to his son, on account of Aaron's age. And that was not likely.
Even more surprisingly, they didn't really hurt him. The man with the gun hit him a few times while escorting him to the galley, apparently just to prove his mastery of the situation, and the men who tied him to the support timbers were a little unnecessarily rough, but that was nothing. He'd gotten worse injuries riding out a storm.
This was not the usual mutiny. Something more was going on here. But he was damned if he knew what it was.
There was a clattering noise by the door, and a moment later Pat half-fell into the room, shoved by the same group of men who'd captured him. Nathan exchanged resigned looks with Ian, that became alarmed looks when Pat staggered to her feet and fell down again.
"Are you all right?" Nathan asked, leaning as close to her as he could, given his bonds.
Pat lifted her head to answer, but one of the mutineers snarled, "Shut up," and kicked her in the side. She shot him an evil look, which boded well, but remained sitting, which did not.
"Did you hit him?" Ian demanded, ignoring the mutineer. He nodded in Pat's direction. "Was he not going quietly enough for you bastards?"
"Shut up!" the mutineer ordered, and kicked Ian too. "No talking!"
"To hell with you," Nathan snarled. "What did you do to Pat?"
The mutineer bent down and punched him once, hard, in the belly. Nathan doubled over, breathless. "Shut up," he said again, then turned and tied Pat's hands behind her back. He straightened up, nodded to himself as if in approval of his work, then, while Nathan fought to get his breath back, turned, collected his compatriots and left the galley.
"I think I’m offended," Ian said, at length. "They didn't even bother tying Pat to a table. Don't they think you're dangerous?"
"I think they think he's concussed," Nathan said. Better to keep using the masculine pronouns-- the mutineers didn't appear to know that Pat was female, and he intended to keep it that way. He had enough to worry about with Gail... but he cut that thought off. Later. He didn't have time right now.
Ian considered that, then said, "No, I'm still offended. It's just not fair."
"Dun' think they're interessed in playin' fair," Pat slurred, lifting her head a little.
"No," Nathan said, smiling a hard-edged little smile. "They're mutineers. Did any of them say anything to you?"
Pat shook her head, and winced. "No. Bastards." The obscenity came out nice and clear, which eased Nathan's mind a little.
"One of them called me a bastard," Ian offered, helpfully. "I called him one right back. He didn't hit me, though. It's like they don't think I'm dangerous."
"No'un thinks you're dangruss," Pat said.
Ian brightened, and beamed at Nathan. "Good news, Captain! He's mocking me! He'll be fine."
"Good," Nathan said, and nodded to Pat. "Recover as fast as you can, please. I've no doubt we'll need to be killing people shortly, and I'll need you for that."
"'ll try," Pat said, then propped her head against the chair next to her and stared at the ceiling. Nathan hoped she was trying to will herself better, then turned his attention to getting out of this mess.
The first thing he had to do was find out what had happened to Aaron and Gail. To the best of his knowledge they'd been in his cabin when the mutiny occurred; with any luck, they were still there. Gail was smart and strong and quick. She'd have figured it out quickly, barred the door, got her hands on a candlestick, something. She'd keep Aaron, and herself, safe.
He had to believe that or he'd be no use to anyone. Because there were far worse things that could happen to a little boy besides simple death, and as for Gail...
Some things did not bear thinking about.
Besides. They were fine. He would get out of this and he would keep them that way. And as long as he kept believing that, it had a chance of happening.
"Captain," Ian said sharply. He looked up just in time to see a little pissant named Jack Winters swagger in, kick Ian in the belly, and look smugly at Nathan, as if he'd just done something clever.
"Hope you're sitting comfortably, Kendall," he said, voice insolent, and laughed.
"Winters," Nathan said, letting disgust load his tone. "I should've known. This has your stench all over it. What is it, Jacky boy, annoyed I didn't get you a pony?"
The little bastard didn't even bother to look offended. Instead he smiled, teeth stained with tobacco, some of them missing. "You're a dead man, Kendall," he said, happily. "And you know it, I hope."
He knew it all too well; if he and Pat and Ian couldn't get out of their bonds and fight back, it was only a matter of time before the mutineers grew weary of having them around. The mystery was why he wasn't dead already. But Nathan didn't let that show. "That remains to be seen, Jacky boy. Where's my son?"
Winters studied his filthy hands, nonchalantly. "He's safe, for the moment. Along with your whore."
"She's no one's whore," he snapped, "least of all mine. And if you hurt my son I will cut you to pieces and feed you to the sharks, still screaming."
Winters smiled his gaping smile again. "Smart of you not to bargain for the whore. You couldn't save her anyway. She's ours."
His stomach cramped with fear. To cover it, he snorted. "Waste of time," he said. "I'm not bargaining for her because she'll kill you."
"That bitch?" Winters rolled his eyes. "She can barely move."
"She won't need to move to kill you," Nathan said, caustically. "A blind and deaf leper could manage it well enough."
"Funny that you didn't, then, isn't it?" He sneered.
Nathan sighed, as if unspeakably weary of the entire situation. "Enough of this, Jacky boy. What do you want? You aren't going to get it," he added, "but I'll admit to curiosity."
The amusement vanished from Winters's face like snow in July. "It's very simple," he said, leaning in close, so his foul breath washed into Nathan's face and made him cough. "We want what's ours, Kendall. We want what you've kept from us. We want the treasure from the Spanish ship, and we want the woman."
"There's no treasure," Nathan said. He was about to move on to Gail when Winters hit him, a straight blow to the jaw. He saw sparks for a moment, and tasted blood.
"Try again," Winters said, pleasantly. "Where have you hidden it? We've searched the hold, so don't try saying it's there."
Nathan spat blood and snarled up at him, "There's no treasure! Davy's got all the cargo that's worth anything, you blithering idiot! We're not even carrying any sugar!"
"You're a liar," Winters said, suddenly calm again. That calm frightened Nathan more than the rage, because it meant the man was doing what passed for thinking in his foul little brain. "You're a liar, and you're going to tell us where the treasure is. The question is whether you'll do it before or after we feed your brat to the sharks."
"If you lay one finger on my son..." he started. Winters hit him again.
"That's more than enough out of you," he said. "I've had enough of this. I'm gonna go get the other half of what's mine." In case Nathan had any doubt as to what he meant, he leered and grabbed the filthy crotch of his breeches, then sauntered towards the door. "You think about what I asked you to tell me, now. If you remember where you’ve hidden it by the time I come back, maybe I won't bring you one of your brat's fingers." He winked, in a parody of jocularity, then shut the door to the galley.
Nathan's face was hot, his breath coming fast, blood metallic and coppery on his tongue. "I'm going to kill him," he said, aloud. "No matter what else happens here, I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."
"Leave some f'r me," Pat said, and he turned, saw the light of battle burning in her eyes. "I wan' h's ballocks onna plate."
"Only if I don't get them first," Nathan said. His stomach rolled and cramped with fear. He had to get out of here, and soon, before Winters got anywhere at all. He had to get out, but the rope was tight and rough against his wrists. He tugged at it anyway, frantically. Gail, Aaron, Gail... "Pat, can you maybe get your hands in front of you?"
"No need," Ian said, from a lot closer than he'd been five minutes ago. Nathan jerked, startled, and turned to see Ian lounging against the table, the ropes that had bound him dangling idly over his shoulder.
"How the hell..." he blurted.
Ian followed his gaze to the rope, and grinned. "I'm a thief, Captain, remember? Their knots were insufficient. Now, shall we commence getting our ship back?"
"Yes," Nathan said, and smiled grimly. For the first time since the mutiny had begun a faint glimmer of hope sparked. "Get me out of these, and let's get that son of a bitch Winters."
""member," Pat said. "Ballocks're mine."
--
Gail heard them coming.
Aaron didn't-- his head was bent over the Latin verb she'd set him to conjugating, a fierce scowl of concentration on his face. She had been watching him fondly, wondering how anyone could have left this child behind, when she'd heard it.
Hushed voices, where there should have been conversational levels, or none. Shuffling feet, people trying to move quietly. There was no reason for anyone who was doing something they should be doing to move that quietly, no reason for anyone to attempt not to be heard.
Or at least, no good reason.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and without any further proof, she acted.
She reached out and put her hand over Aaron's mouth. He jerked back, grey eyes wide, but nodded when she placed a finger over her lips. Gail cautiously took her hand away; obediently, he didn't make a sound, just looked at her, waiting for instructions.
She had no time to think, no time to make a plan, no time for anything but the conviction that, whoever was out there, whatever they wanted, they could not be allowed to get their hands on Aaron. And what could she do to ensure that?
Hide him.
She pointed firmly at the narrow cabinet where Captain Kendall kept his oilskins and heavier jacket. It would just fit a small, thin five-year-old, she calculated, and better, it was deeper than it looked from the outside. No one would look there.
Aaron blinked, but went obediently towards it, his bare feet silent on the worn wooden boards. Gail got up and followed him as quietly as she could, helped him to climb in, arranged the oilskins over and around him so he wouldn't be immediately obvious even if someone did open the door, then pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to his forehead and shut the door.
The voices were getting closer, hovering right outside the cabin door now. She looked around, trying to stay calm. How to misdirect them...
The bed. Of course. She darted over to it, not bothering to move quietly anymore, slammed the doors shut and locked them, just as the cabin door burst open.
Gail whirled, heart pounding, the key to the bunk clutched in her sweaty fist.
Pirates piled into the room, eyes everywhere, pistols in hand. Three of them seized her immediately, hands on her arms and shoulders, forcing her down onto a bench by the table. One of them pried the key out of her hand and went to unlock the bunk, cursing when he found it empty-- so much for that idea. But she didn't fight them, didn't even resist much; the longer she went along with this, the more likely they were to overlook Aaron, and the easier it would be on her.
The more likely her baby would survive, she thought, and then refused the thought.
Just then, someone who looked as if he might be in charge swaggered into the room. His eyes lit on her, and he leered.
Just like the Spanish had.
Blood all over the deck, begging for her life...
Gail went cold, clenched trembling hands in her lap. And as she always did when she was afraid, she went on the offensive.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded, straightening her back as best she could under the pressure of a pirate's hands.
As she'd hoped, the pirate looked taken aback by her deliberate vulgarity. But then he smirked, and her heart sank. "What does it look like?" he asked, prowling near her. "Ship's ours now, and you'd better talk nice to us. Or..." He smiled, an extremely nasty expression. "Or we might not be very nice to you at all."
Gail looked him up and down, eyes lingering for an insolent moment at his crotch, then snorted. "I doubt you could be nice to me at all," she replied.
The man holding her down choked on a laugh, that he swiftly turned to a cough when the pirate in front of her shot him a glare. He turned that glare on Gail. "Be careful," he warned her, all smiles gone. "Be very careful, bitch."
Ah. So he was the leader, or a leader, and the others were afraid of him. Useful to know. Gail smiled at him. "All right," she said, sweetly. "When Captain Kendall puts your head on the bowsprit, I'll say a prayer for you. How does that sound?"
"Let go," he snarled at the man holding her, and without any warning backhanded her across the face.
She would have fallen if she hadn't caught herself on the table corner. As it was, there were tears in her eyes and a faint taste of blood in her mouth when she got herself straightened up.
"Brave man," she spat at him. "Hitting a woman. They must sing songs of your courage on winter nights, in your home town. Does your mother write you letters about how proud she is? Could you read them if she did?"
The pirate only sneered at her, but she noted that several of the others looked uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. "You just wait, bitch," he said. "You just wait 'til Winters gets his hands on you. We'll see how proud you are then." He grabbed her chin, forcing her face up. "Now tell us where the brat is."
Aaron. Her stomach clenched, hard. "I don't know," she lied, as calmly as she could. "I haven't seen him since breakfast."
The man backhanded her again, casually, like swatting a fly. "Don't lie to me," he said. "We'll find him soon enough, you know. Make it easier on yourself and don't make us look."
Gail looked him in the eye. "I don't know," she said.
"Bitch," he snarled, and drew his hand back again. She flinched, despite herself, and closed her eyes. But the blow didn't fall, and when she opened her eyes again, a little man had seized her interrogator's wrist and was bending it back, casually.
"Remember what's mine, Brown," he said. "Back off."
"Sir," her interrogator said, uneasily, and fell back.
The new arrival turned to her then, and bent down until his face was level with hers. His foul breath made her gag. "So, then, milady," he said, his tone mocking. "Do you know who I am?"
Ah. So they knew, then. No point pretending anymore, and Nathan had said she intimidated the crew. Gail put on her best lady-of-the-manor expression, even as her stomach rolled and cramped, and stared down her nose at him. "No," she said, haughtily. "Why should I?"
"Why indeed," he said. "You'll remember me after this." He straightened again-- she inhaled cleaner air gratefully-- and looked down at her, thoughtfully. "Where's the boy?"
Gail just looked at him, but her interrogator spoke up. "He's in here somewhere. We watched all morning and he didn't come out. And she--" he spat the word-- "knows, but she won't tell us."
The new man turned thoughtful eyes on Gail again. "You mean she won't tell you," he said, and laughed, harshly. He took hold of her chin as the first man had done. "She will, though. Once we treat her like the whore she is." He smiled down at her. "Then again, maybe you'll be grateful, hmm?"
She'd kill him first. Or herself.
Gail shook that thought away. No. Aaron. She had to protect Aaron. She had to protect him just long enough for Nathan to get out of wherever he was and come shoot people. If she could only hold out that long...
The new man lost patience with her lack of response, and hit her again, this time with a closed fist. "You'll tell me where he is!" he shouted. "You tell me where he is or I'll beat you bloody right here!"
"Don’t...!"
Gail's heart crashed; her stomach tightened. No, oh no, Aaron, no...
But the little boy was already climbing out of the cabinet, his grey eyes huge with terror and glazed with tears. "Don't hurt her," he stuttered. "Please don't hurt her. I'm here."
"I told you she lied," the interrogator muttered.
The new man met and held Aaron's eyes, then hit Gail once more, deliberately. He let go of her then, as did the man behind her, both of them advancing on Aaron.
She dropped to the floor, landing on her hands and knees, then scrambled up to a kneeling position. Aaron held his ground as the men closed in around him, though he was crying freely now, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. Her belly clenched again at the sight, as a murderous rage began to boil under her breastbone.
Oh, yes. She was going to kill these men.
One of the pirates had left a pistol sitting on the table. Careless of him, careless and foolish. Gail inched forward, crawling along the gritty floor, then lunged to the table, hands scrabbling across it. One of the pirates turned toward her with a shout, but she had the pistol in her hands, and was hauling herself clumsily up from the floor by the table's edge. She pointed the pistol at the group of men and snapped, "Back away from him. Aaron, come here."
Aaron obeyed immediately, ducking between two of the men and running to hide behind her skirts, but the pirates were less quick. The new arrival, obviously the leader, turned to the others and demanded, "Who left that there?"
"I did," said a young, spotty-faced boy, looking embarrassed. "But it's empty, Jack. No shot nor powder."
"Oh, really." The leader came up to her then, face twisting in an ugly smile. "Bad luck," he said to her, softly. "Hand it over now, and maybe I won't make you suffer for this later."
"Empty?" Gail asked, weighing it in her hand. It did feel rather light. "Oh. All right then." And she hit him very hard across the face with the butt of the pistol.
He went down with a startled shout. Before he could get to his feet again she put her foot on his throat and leaned, just enough to cut off his air. "Don't come any closer," she told the other men, pleasantly, as her stomach tightened at her own effrontery. "Or I'll crush his windpipe."
The interrogator snorted. "And why should we care?" he asked, advancing a deliberate step. "More for us."
"You should care," Gail said, still in the pleasant tones she'd used, in another life, for churchmen and prospective suitors, "because if you make me, I will crush your windpipe too. And yours," she added, looking to the spotty-faced youth. "And yours."
Aaron had gone down on his knees beside her. As she said this, he got up and pressed the leader's pistol into her hand. "Besides," she said, with a nod of thanks to the boy, "that pistol might be empty, but this one isn't. Who wants to be first?"
--
"They're still in the cabin," Ian reported, swinging back into the galley. "As far as we can tell Winters is in there with him."
Nathan nodded grimly, and checked his pistol. "Aaron and Gail?"
He didn't realize until a few seconds after he'd spoken that he'd used her Christian name. Ian surely must have noticed, but he mercifully didn't comment. "No sign of them," he said. "But no screams either. It could be worse."
It could indeed. Nathan looked past Ian, at the forty-odd men he'd found tied up in the hold of the ship. It was a far larger percentage of his crew than he'd expected, not that he was ungrateful. And Winters had left ten men guarding them, who were now tied up in their erstwhile prisoner's place.
He ran down the crew list in his head. They'd sailed from Plymouth with two hundred and fifty, lost seventy in various fights. Davy had taken half the remainder with him. Ian had locked about fifteen more men below decks when they'd gone down to search the hold. Which meant Winters couldn't have more than fifteen men in the cabin with him.
Fifteen men. Easily overcome, in their numbers, but more than enough to kill a small boy and a pregnant woman before they finally fell. Nathan swallowed down nausea. Pat wasn't quite better, though she'd stopped slurring and recovered her balance. Ian couldn't take out fifteen men alone. They couldn't storm the cabin without risking the people in there.
There had to be something they could do...
"Captain!" His lookout, a skinny young man named Thomas, popped into the room. "Captain, something's happening! You better come see this."
Nathan exchanged looks with Ian, and bolted after the young man. With any luck, Winters would take the rapid movement as a sign that his little rebellion was falling apart and come racing out to see what the matter was.
The way his luck was running, though...
He burst onto the deck and stopped in sheer astonishment. Thomas bounced on his toes, grinning. Ian, following close behind with a group of men, stopped and stared for a moment, then shrugged, and motioned his people ahead.
Fourteen men sat in a row in front of his cabin, expressions disgruntled and ever so slightly terrified. Aaron stood behind them, a plank held at the ready and an expression of fierce concentration on his face. And behind him, Gail stood, her face exhausted and haggard, holding a pistol to the head of Jack Winters.
"Papa!" Aaron said, happily. "Look, we won!"
At Aaron's voice, Gail looked up, and met Nathan's eyes. "Oh," she said, sounding faintly surprised. "There you are. Could you come and take him away, please? I'd like to sit down."
Nathan just stared at her for a moment, lost in sheer admiration. Then he realized that she was trembling, very faintly, her hands on the pistol shaking, and if there was ever a better recipe for disaster, he hadn't seen it.
Not that it would be such a tragedy if she accidentally shot Winters. But he wanted to do it.
He crossed to her, pushed his pistol into Winters's belly and escorted the man away from her. "You're all right," he said, over his shoulder, and pushed Winters up against the rail. "I've got him."
Gail nodded, handed her pistol to Thomas when he appeared beside her, and stepped back to lean against the wall, both hands going to her belly, her eyes fluttering shut. Aaron went to her and hugged her legs; she smiled, and rested one hand on his head. They would be all right, he thought, and turned his attention back to Winters.
"Well, then," he said, smiling. It was not a friendly expression. "You're a dead man, Winters. And you know it, I hope."
Winters worked his mouth for a while, then spat at him. Nathan shrugged, and shot him in the head.
The body fell backwards, over the rail, and hit the sea below with a soft splash.
He watched it fall, conscious only of relief, then turned back, and met Gail's eyes. She watched him for a moment, her hand caressing Aaron's hair as she held him against her belly, then gave him a tiny nod of approval.
Oh, he thought, and felt his stomach sink. Oh, no.
"Got the others below decks with the rest," Ian said, cheerfully, as he climbed up through the hatch. "Where's Winters?"
"Over the side," Nathan said, without looking away from Gail's eyes. Oh, no...
"Fair enough," Ian said. "He deserved it. Pat will be upset, though."
"Pat can have the ballocks of some other mutineer." Why was Ian asking him this? Couldn't he see? Didn't he know?
"It won't be the same," Ian said, with a kind of verbal shrug. "Ah, well, can't be helped. What now?"
What now indeed. Nathan shrugged himself. "We sail on to Plymouth. We'll deal with the rest of the mutineers soon, I expect. Go and see if any of them were coerced."
"Will do," Ian said. He looked back and forth between Nathan and Gail for a moment, then shrugged again and disappeared down the hatch.
Aaron, oblivious, came away from Gail's side just then and ran to his father, joy in all his small being. "We won, Papa!" he said, beaming, and threw his arms around Nathan's legs.
Nathan, grateful for the excuse, broke the gaze and gave all his attention to his son. "Yes, we did," he said. "And you were very brave, love." He knelt and hugged his son tight against him. "Thank God you weren't hurt."
"Oh, that's all right," Aaron said, blithely. "Gail hid me. And then when they found me she said she'd shoot them if they hurt me."
Nathan's heart did an odd little skipping jump in his chest, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "Did she?"
"Uh-huh!" Aaron beamed. "And then she hit Mr. Winters very hard, and she made everybody go outside and sit down or she'd shoot them, and then she hit Mr. Winters again when he said he wouldn't go. But he was a bad man and he deserved it."
"He did," Nathan agreed. "He did deserve it. You're both all right?"
Aaron nodded. "Uh-huh. Only I think maybe..." For the first time he sounded troubled. "It didn't sound very nice, Papa. The things he said to Gail. I think maybe he hit her."
Nathan looked up at Gail then, to verify that, and his heart froze in his chest.
At some point when he hadn't been looking, she'd slumped down against the wall. Her hands clenched against her belly, her eyes stared from her ghost-pale face, and worst of all, oh, God, a small bloody patch appeared on her chemise, soaking through.
"Gail," he blurted, and ran to her, heart in his throat. But she looked up at him as he went down on his knees beside her, and the look in her eyes was not one of pain.
The frantic kind of fear he saw there was not reassuring, but it was better than pain.
"Gail," he said, leashing his own panic firmly, and touched her arm lightly. "What..."
"It's too soon," she interrupted, her voice rising. "It's too soon!"
All at once he understood.
"Papa?" Aaron came up beside him and touched his elbow, his voice trembling. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said, holding Gail's eyes, hoping to convince her as well as himself. "No, nothing's wrong. Aaron, love, do me a favor and go and get Pat and Ian for me, will you?"
Aaron looked between them a few times, then nodded silently, and ran for the hatch.
--
This terrified her more than the mutineers.
They were only men, and help was coming. She'd known that all along. But this... this was her own body turning against her, her baby coming far too soon and far too fast. Fear gripped her, shaking along her bones, turning her breath to pants. But Nathan was there, his hand on her elbow strangely comforting, and blind with terror, she let him lift her to her feet, let him guide her into the cabin.
He took her to the bed, not the benches at the table, and any other time that would have horrified her, but she had no attention to spare for it. And all the while he was talking to her, saying soothing nonsense, the kind she'd overheard him saying to Aaron when she'd woken up once in the middle of a storm. But his own voice shook, just a little.
Paradoxically, that relaxed her a little. She wasn't the only one afraid.
She didn't care to remember the next few hours. The pain gripped her body in waves, her whole body stiff and aching until it passed and left her wrung out, limp and panting. She walked endless circles around the cabin, supported by Pat or Nathan or Ian, stopping when a wave of pain overtook her, biting her lip through to keep from crying out and frightening Aaron, hovering outside. And then towards the end it got bad, so bad she couldn't think, so bad she didn't care that Nathan and Ian could see parts of her that not even her husband had seen, so bad she could do nothing but curl up on the bed, arch her back and cling to the sheets as the pain tore her apart.
And then... and then...
"Get me some water," Ian snapped, and there was a slithering feeling between her legs, and a child's cry wavered, high and thin, above the sound of the sea against the hull.
She tried to sit up, to get a look at her baby, but Pat pushed her back down and ran a damp cloth over her forehead and face. "Not yet," she ordered. "Relax. What's the word, Ian?"
"It's a girl," Ian said, and then, worryingly, "Pass me the knife." But it was all right, he was only cutting the cord, and then she heard a few splashing sounds and then finally, finally, Nathan put her daughter in her arms.
She was tiny, her hands doubled up in fists, her howling cries gaining strength every minute. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her head a little squashed, her skin wrinkled and an angry red. Wisps of red hair plastered flat against her skull, and she kicked angrily, waving her fists in the air.
Her daughter.
Her daughter.
"Oh," Gail said, and without warning burst into tears.