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Deep down, Elizabeth has known her time was very near. She isn't entirely certain how she has known, but she has. The thought has been drifting through her mind like a lazily meandering piece of driftwood, buoyant but easily pushed aside time and again, left there until she has the desire and fortitude to reel it back and firmly acknowledge the truth in it. For days Elizabeth has existed in a state of semi-awareness, barking orders and making plans, absently noting changes, all at the same time.

Because she's Captain Elizabeth Turner, Pirate King, and she has a position she is determined to maintain.

Somehow.

When the first pain hits, she thinks, Yes, there it is, and stares at her face in her small, cracked looking glass; so different now than the face she'd seen reflected back at her in Port Royal. Better, she thinks. Lived in. The corner of her mouth curves up, and the full lips in the mirror do the same. The scarlet sash today, she decides with a decisive nod, gingerly getting dressed as she had the day before, and the day before that.

Tai Huang eyes her half an hour later, as he is giving a report. Elizabeth slowly, carefully unclenches her fingers from the starboard rail. "The wind is shifting. Starboard tack." As she moves away she does her best to walk straight and tall, not waddle.

Everyone on board knows where to find the Captain at sunrise (keep a weather eye on the horizon), though she's rarely bothered these days. Still, when she gasps aloud and unbends her stiff shoulders to curl in, to try and stop it, two of the men Tai Huang and Gibbs like to keep in their sights guffaw from the main deck. Straightening takes no small effort of will, but she does it; and as she does, she sets her mouth in a thin line and decides, finally, that it's time to find Gibbs. Ready or not, the baby has had enough of waiting.

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From behind the nearest drawn curtain comes a rousing whistled rendition of the theme from Mister Roger's Neighborhood.

The bed Gibbs helped her on before he left is a little too soft for Elizabeth's taste. That back is raised, but she sinks down until she swears she can feel the metal springs beneath and tries to push herself back up on shaky arms. The cycle repeats itself a few times until she huffs in frustration and rests a hand over her round stomach.

The tune wafts her way and has her absently moving her head from side to side before she realizes what she's doing. Instantly, she frowns.

"Pardon me," she says in a way that suggests the whistler should really be doing the apologizing. When nothing happens to stay the catchy collection of notes, she eyes the table beside the bed, selects a cup made of a shiny red material and throws it at the curtain. "You there. Hello?"

If he hears her, then it doesn't show. The whistling continues, and is soon punctuated by the jaunty sound of a zipper being zipped.

A few seconds later the curtain is drawn back.

Aaaaaand that's about the time when the girly scream appears.

"AHHHHH! How long have you been there?"

Elizabeth blinks.

"Hardly any time at all," she replies, gaze dropping to his stomach. Her voice is a tad higher when she asks, "And you?"

Mike scrambles to remove the headphones from his ears. All the while he just keeps smiling in that manic way of his. The way that says, No, I totally knew you were there. You totally didn't just sneak up on a ninja. And by sneak we mean just sit in a hospital bed. I swear!

"Well you know, clean bill of health and all that. You know, with the whole..."

Insert vague hand gesture round abouts his midsection.

"You?"

Sit in a hospital bed with much rustling and grumbling, even. Elizabeth raises her eyebrows at Mike in a way that says Pirates, 1. Ninjas, 0.

"Over rigged," she says, flatly. "You've had yours?"

All in all, she does a good job of not sounding jealous.

Hush you and your internal monologue!

Though...it's not helping Mike's case any when he's not instantly sure what she means by "over rigged."

"I have! Couple of weeks now, at least. It...it's funny, I so thought I'd remember the day like it was yesterday but..." Here he simply shrugs.

"I was kind of out of it for a good chunk of it. They tell me I did great though."

He is, after all, a champion sleeper.

If it helps, Elizabeth's making an attempt to remove the scarlet sash she'd so carefully put on (far too tightly, it turns out) this morning, pausing to release a pistol, but she's clearly hampered by her stomach and her quicksand-like mattress. Frowning, she abandons the sash and eyes her boots. Those should probably come off, too.

"Congratulations."

She misses being able to bend.

"...out of it?" Was that hopeful? Quite possibly.

"Yeah, higher than a kite in a tornado," he says grinning as he drapes the cord to his headphones over his neck and begins to walk towards the bed of sarlaac.

"My water broke, but there was no where for it to go. Kind of sucked actually."
Mike's shrug is a simple one.

"Got a cool scar out of it at least. Well, for the time being anyway. You uh...want a hand?"

His final question being the only part of that Elizabeth is certain she fully understood, she blinks and says "Yes," indicating her boots. "I'd like those off."

With that, she leans back against the pillows and exhales slowly.

"Higher than a kite?"

"Consider them off." He's as gentle as one can be while removing someone else's piratical- style boots.

"Feeling no pain," he offers as a definition to higher than a kite. "You know, like, drunk to the point of feeling bulletproof?"

Elizabeth exhales with obvious relief -- a nod serves as her thanks -- and gives his words careful consideration.

"Like Jack and his jar of dirt," she exclaims, somewhat unhelpfully.

It is a logical conclusion.

"Yeeeees," he says eying her warily. "Exactly like Jack and his jar of dirt."

Beat.

Beat again.

Beat the third.

"Jack has a jar of dirt?"

Elizabeth considers whether or not to be straightforward, as she absently pats her overlarge stomach.

"He did, before he smashed it."

Beat.

"He believed it offered him protection from the reprehensible Davy Jones."

You see.

Well, actually, Mike just had Jack's wooden love child, so he probably does see, doesn't he?

"A magic jar of dirt."
He has to repeat this because...well...because it's just one of those things that kind of requires repeating.

And yet...it's not a bad comparison.

"Yeah, it makes about as much sense as that. Though, it's a heck of a lot more fun than carrying around any old jar. Being high, I mean."

"It wasn't, of course. Magical. He only thought it was."

Beat.

"Oh, he was quite high when he smashed it."

Beat.

"Toward the stern, as I recall."

This might be a joke. The jury is undecided.

His brow furrows.
He's not sure, but...there's this nagging feeling that she's making fun of him.

It's...it feel like...like Leo is making fun of him.

"You're mocking me, aren't you."

"Why ever would I do that?" she answers with a straight face and credible consternation in her eyes.

Elizabeth rarely does anything that doesn't benefit her in some way, after all. And yet, a case could be made for amusement's sake.

"It won't be long, will it?"

"Danger, excitement, something fun to do on a Saturday night?"

It doesn't matter that it's none of these things be strictly true, but doesn't stop him. Truly, once Mike gets going precious little will stop him.

"No, not long now. Permission to come aboard?"
He gestures towards her feet. Mike remembers what waddling around on swollen ankles felt like, and...it was less than fun. What's a little foot massage between friends, really?

Thus far, Mike has yet to be anything but kind and courteous, and admittedly a little strange. Suspicion registers, but she gives him a quick nod.

"Granted."

Beat.

"Where's your child?"

If people think Mike's hugs are out of this world, they should really experience his foot massages. They'd be almost sinful if he didn't just constantly radiate good intentions.

"Spending quality time with her...er...um...step grandmother? No, that's not...She's with Sallie. She's still a little soft around the poles to make a full on Bar debut, so we're trying to keep her as close to the mental link as possible. You know, for Bar's sake."

"I see."

Not quite. Between his words and strike the ship's colors and clap her in irons whatever he is doing to her aching feet, Elizabeth is well and truly confused.

Not that she lets it show much.

"Soft around the poles, you say?"

What?

"I do say," he says with a grin. "You know, just like any baby she's kind of soft around the seams. Which, you know, all things considered I am thankful for. Like uh...oh man, what did Guppy and Donnie call them? On human babies. Fontanas? Fantanas? Something like that anyway."

"Fountains?" asks a perplexed Elizabeth, only half paying attention thanks to the way he's rubbing her feet. "I did know they are delicate. Babies."

Her eyes find his. Quietly, she adds, "What is she like?"

He winks when she makes eye contact. His smile continues to be bright and warm.

"Magellan? She's like no one I've ever met before. I can't wait to get to know her better, you know...once she starts to think in straight lines."

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try_corsets - 2012-05-21 15:07 (UTC) - Expand

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