Captain Elizabeth Turner (
try_corsets) wrote2012-04-26 09:17 pm
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[OOC: A suitable amount of time after this.]
The decision is not final yet, not without Will's consent, even though they had discussed the name at length, but Elizabeth begins calling her son Will as soon as he arrives, wailing and kicking like he means to take on all the stormy waters of the world and live to tell the tale.
Will, Jr. is loud, irate, demanding some moments; quiet and almost thoughtful others. Elizabeth couldn't be more proud. Or more anxious to introduce him to his father. There's no telling how long the Dutchman will be able to stay, and once she starts wandering closer and closer to the door to check and see, Guppy and Demeter begin to teach her in earnest what to do with a newborn.
Eventually she is declared well enough for the short trip, and so is little Will. Without another word, Elizabeth scoops up her son -- it is only just beginning to be a thing that doesn't feel unnatural, or an ill fit for her -- and makes for the pirate ship in the lake.
It's morning. She hadn't realized that when she stepped out. The mist is beginning to burn off. Whispering to Will Jr., she tucks his blanket a little closer to his tiny chin. Quick glances spaced between a study of any possible obstacles on the ground give way to a hopeful, searching look in her eyes as she starts to make out details on the Dutchman's hull. Any minute now, she will see what she always longs to see whenever she turns a weather eye on the horizon: her husband, looking out for her.
The decision is not final yet, not without Will's consent, even though they had discussed the name at length, but Elizabeth begins calling her son Will as soon as he arrives, wailing and kicking like he means to take on all the stormy waters of the world and live to tell the tale.
Will, Jr. is loud, irate, demanding some moments; quiet and almost thoughtful others. Elizabeth couldn't be more proud. Or more anxious to introduce him to his father. There's no telling how long the Dutchman will be able to stay, and once she starts wandering closer and closer to the door to check and see, Guppy and Demeter begin to teach her in earnest what to do with a newborn.
Eventually she is declared well enough for the short trip, and so is little Will. Without another word, Elizabeth scoops up her son -- it is only just beginning to be a thing that doesn't feel unnatural, or an ill fit for her -- and makes for the pirate ship in the lake.
It's morning. She hadn't realized that when she stepped out. The mist is beginning to burn off. Whispering to Will Jr., she tucks his blanket a little closer to his tiny chin. Quick glances spaced between a study of any possible obstacles on the ground give way to a hopeful, searching look in her eyes as she starts to make out details on the Dutchman's hull. Any minute now, she will see what she always longs to see whenever she turns a weather eye on the horizon: her husband, looking out for her.
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It is almost funny that he is asking her how to do this.
She has no idea how to do this.
Well, alright. Holding Will has gotten a little less scary. Not that she's prepared to admit as much.
"Put your arms like this, so you can cradle his head," she explains, resting the baby in his arms, trusting that he'll figure it out quickly.
"Do try not to drop him," she adds with a straight face.
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"My hands are rough..." he starts, almost apologetically to both Elizabeth and young Will, but he soon stops all protestations.
Because there is a baby in his arms, tiny little head resting in the nook of his elbow, tiny little feet only just reaching the palm of his hand.
And when he touches one of those tiny little hands in wonder, tiny little fingers curl tightly around the rough sailor's finger he was so worried about, and tiny brown eyes look myopically up at him, so much like Elizabeth.
(If Elizabeth couldn't see further than her own nose.)
And everything melts away.
Will smiles.
He's a father.
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"And mine are not?" Elizabeth asks with quiet amusement.
The sight of Will holding their son does something funny to Elizabeth's insides (of which she is lately much more aware), and she has to blink back a sudden rush of emotion.
He looks so awed and happy.
Elizabeth is glad that, in spite of everything, she could give his this moment and hopefully many more to come.
"He'll be quite handsome, like his namesake." Her smile is faintly teasing.
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"Hello, Will."
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Then, "Do you think he'll be well enough?"
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But he moves his hand - with tiny baby fingers wrapped to tightly around one finger - to young Will's chest, frowning thoughtfully.
"He has a strong heartbeat," he says. It had been a nagging wonder - he was conceived by a man with no heart, after all. "Aren't babies always small?"
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She shakes her head, until she realizes that might be taken as an answer to his question, which is not what she meant.
"Yes, babies are small. But I meant," and she pauses, blinking at him with a blank expression, not at all sure how she wants to phrase this, "on board the Empress."
With pirates.
The gesture -- Will's hand over his infant's heart -- registers late. She can't help the small smile that follows.
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"Our son? Your son? He'll be safe anywhere."
Beat.
"And if anyone threatens him, you send that pirate to me."
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"I've used that to my advantage before," she says. "Your position."
She never told Will what she hired Raph to do. He undoubtedly met some of the sailors Raph, ah, helped on their way, but they were probably too scared to call attention to their point of exit, at it were.
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And that's very ruthless indeed.
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Elizabeth's cheeks very nearly dimple with her effort not to smirk.
"Will," she asks, gently teasing once more. "Are you giving me permission to behave as a pirate?"
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"Is there a right answer to that?"
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She ignores the question. The answer seems obvious, really.
"I'll keep him safe," she swears: ever fierce, ever determined.
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"No one could keep him safer."
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"I intend to avail myself of help in that regard," she replies easily.
Would a better person feel chagrined at that admission?
Perhaps.
She doesn't care.
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Will plays a minor game of tug with his son, testing tiny grips and tiny arm muscles.
"Who?"
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He's so small.
Again, she's distracted. They made a human.
"Do you really wish to know?" she asks at last.
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but he's still as proud as any parent, and extends his little finger to brush against Elizabeth's hand. Hello.
"Am I better off not knowing?"
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She leans across their son and kisses Will.
Will, Jr. is just going to have to get used to excessive displays of affection on the rare occasions they can see his father. Elizabeth is not willing to have it be otherwise.
"Raphael," she shares eventually. "And others."
Once she hires them.
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His other hand has a baby, but that's OK.
"The ninja?"
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Probably.
Regardless, Elizabeth still doesn't care.
"Yes," she answers. "The ninja."
Beat.
"He is a useful acquaintance."
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Will pulls back a tiny bit, reluctantly, bringing her lower lip at least part of the way, before he looks down at his son, whose breath is becoming steady, his eyes closing.
"How long can you stay?"
Can it be forever?
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Yet they both know it can not.
Her voice, uncharacteristically soft, offers what is possible: "As long as you can."
It will have to be enough.