Who: Hawke & Killian, with the latest family addition What: Hawke visits the Captain with gifts, and there's platonic butt groping When: Today Where: Casa de Mills-Jones Rating/Warnings: Mostly low but there's penis art so idk Status: Complete!
In a not-so-surprising twist, it was a wonder Killian even managed to put down his little starfish at all, but sometimes such things were necessary. To change her soiled nappies, mainly (gods, how did a newborn create such a stink with that tiny digestive system?) and of course for sleep. But her papa still watched her then, most of the time - he wondered what she was dreaming, if she was dreaming, and seemed ready to battle either faeries who came to snatch her away and swap her out for a changeling, or any other threat meant to disturb such peaceful slumber. Perhaps he was a bit paranoid, but he just couldn’t picture being away from Meara - what if he did look away, for a moment, and something happened?
She was awake now, settled in her portable, gently rocking bassinet in the living room while Killian read to her. Her blanket was cottony and cosy, with a bit of red woven into it like Niko’s - Irish tradition, he couldn’t disturb that one. She had a soft plush starfish to bat at, the thing hanging from the edge of the bassinet, though was currently entranced with the melodious sounds of Killian reading from a copy of The Little Mermaid, by Hans Christian Anderson. He’d started a library for Meara, in her sea-themed nursery, books that she’d appreciate later - old, beautiful, vintage copies of fairytales that would become personal, some with happy endings and some without, but the point driven home was that she was his happy ending despite the turbulences of life.
“Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it,” he began. “We must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand - “
Reading to newborns was good for both them and the parent, he’d heard. It stimulated babies, helped them develop an interest in sounds and also listening skills. He’d likely finish this book today, or until Meara fell asleep. But that wasn’t a bad thing - it was honestly one of his favourites too, despite its macabre ending. Perhaps it was a good thing she couldn’t understand words yet.
Babies. Everyone was having babies. Not that he minded, honestly - he was paternal by nature, having had a hand in taking care of his siblings and overall supporting them even now with the absence of Malcolm and Leandra. He did his best to lend a hand with his goddaughter when a sitter was needed, and of course favors for the parents to make sure their sanity was also held in tact. Parenthood was very trying regardless of its joys; he saw it firsthand with his parents, always doing what they could to provide for him and the twins despite the sacrifices it brought them. The Amell Family shunned them so there was never any outside help, his father didn’t have any living relatives in the vicinity - they’d made it alright but bloody hell, it wasn’t easy.
At least his friends coming into the roles of fatherhood and motherhood had help here, resources to tap into - Garrett would make sure he was one of them.
He was elated for Killian. He’d had it rough, with losing a hand and then having his ladyfriend stab him as a sacrifice, ultimately dying and then springing forth from the Underworld in a miraculous resurrection like he was Pirate Jesus. For some people the concept of settling down and being surrounded by loved ones wasn’t their version of a ‘happy ending,’ but to others it was, and from the sounds of it Killian was exactly that. Happy.
It was his raven-haired sister that let him in, and Maker could the two of them pass off as twins - the resemblance was remarkable - and she quietly informed him of the new father’s whereabouts, then scurried off elsewhere. He came with a bag of offerings, which included extra diapers (couldn’t go wrong with those) and something a bit more personal and frivolous for the new addition to the family. A crocheted outfit, appropriately sea-themed for the notorious hooked-hand captain’s offspring.
He wished he could take credit for but, no, unfortunately his skills weren’t as complex as he liked.
Hawke tapped the arch of the living room’s entrance with his knuckles, not wanting to be too boisterous with his presence. “Now isn’t this a sight,” the mage chuckled. “Hope I’m not interrupting too much of quality time?”
At least the sight wasn’t too embarrassing, like Killian being covered in spit-up and piss, but that was really just par the course when dealing with babies. As it stood, his panther-like form was lounged on the sofa, rocking the bassinet with his foot occasionally as he read from the first bit of the riveting story. Meara would coo at him sometimes - he took that as encouragement, and a sign she was enjoying the fishy tale.
“You’re alright, mate,” he cleared his throat, setting the book down on the coffee table. “Did you know in that version, the little mermaid is tortured by oysters? Mermaids also have no souls which is kind of a terrifying thought.” Still, it was a well-woven tale that Killian liked. His daughter would grow up enjoying the classics too (and appreciating the correct version of Peter Pan, the one where he was an actual sociopath).
Shifting a little, he reached into the bassinet to carefully pick up the precious cargo who was wearing a pink polka-dotted onesie. The precious cargo who also nuzzled at Killian’s shoulder a bit, and he patted her back. “Come on in and meet her, and sit on that delectable bum of yours.”
He’d get in a grab before the visit was over, just you wait.
Look at that tiny creature in his arms - it was clear that Killian was smitten, and Meara already had him wrapped around that little finger of hers. “How does someone get tortured by oysters is what boggles me,” he said, entering the living area fully. “Got gifts for you. Diapers for you and the missus, and an outfit for your pooping goldfish there.”
RIght now he’d settle on the couch, the bag dropped by his feet, and he craned his head to get a good look at the rosy-faced tot in his arms. “Very small - I take it she was popped from the oven a bit early? My goddaughter was the same, but those little rolls of blubber will begin to form in no time. She’s beautiful.” In that scrunched, wrinkly way, of course, like all sprogs. “How’s the adjustment been going?”
“Makes it sound like Regina and I are the ones wearing the diapers,” Killian quipped, good hand cradling the back of Meara’s head, his prosthetic with a thin glove stretched over it (metal was cold against skin) holding her across her bottom - though he could probably fit her in one hand, she really was a tiny tot. “Born a couple weeks early, aye. But thank you - I happen to think she’s rather lovely too.”
Meara was filling out a little, certainly bigger than she was when she’d first emerged into this world - now just a bit over a month old, she was getting on something of a feeding schedule (not much else to do besides eat, sleep, and expel waste when you were that small) and took to the formula well. “And thank you for bringing offerings. Here, let’s see - “ He passed the baby over to Hawke, and now he’d have a look at what exactly was brought.
“A seahorse. Oh, it’s bloody precious - I think I just shed a tear.”
“Your bum’s too sizeable for such a thing, mate,” Hawke quipped, but he doth not protest at suddenly having a bundle transferred into his arms - she was light as a feather, and so very delicate looking. Sleepy, too, judging with how such a small mouth opened wide to release a semblance of a yawn. He’d use his ‘quiet voice,’ then. “And yes, a seahorse. I wish I could take all the credit but my skills aren’t that complex yet - I’ll have to make her a little bearded face warmer, though. I’ve at least mastered that.”
Especially with the cooling months coming along. December was said to bring snow and he’d experienced it last year (especially when he had to chase his now-wife to the bloody airport to keep her from leaving like some romantic comedy), and all little people needed something to keep their faces from the cold.
Garrett gently bounced her in his burly arms. “I take it you never saw yourself as the fatherly type, either? You wear is strangely well.” Sometimes pirates did have an ooey-gooey center to them. Deeply hidden under the reputation of fearsome terrors of the sea, of course.
Pirates were not supposed to have nougat-like centres, but stranger things had happened - besides, that life of loneliness out at sea, enraptured by their briny mistress who could never fully love in return, it caught up to you eventually. Killian found that what he wanted had changed, all as his own life changed - but that was what happened, it was the nature of things. And after not even daring to dream of things like marriage and fatherhood, both were things he had evolved to develop cravings for. Oddly enough.
“Not really, no,” he admitted, chuckling when he thought of what he was like a year ago. A year really wasn’t that much in the past either. “I was a lonely alcoholic, and as nice as the idea of fatherhood seemed I had just sort of accepted that it wasn’t for me.”
But he’d been wrong, obviously. Funny how it all worked out. “Sort of came along in phases, really. First my sister showed up, then I didn’t want to cock that up so I tried to be better. Then before I knew it I was in a relationship and knitting a blanket for my godson,” the Captain shook his head in obvious bewilderment. “Haven’t mastered a face warmer though, I’ll leave that to you. I’m sure Meara will appreciate it. Bonus if it’s a ginger-coloured one.” Zelena and Regina looked nothing alike, despite being sisters - it was a tossup if Meara would favour her redhaired mum, or the more darker side of the family.
A ginger beard, hm? That’d be different, but he’d absolutely love to - babies looked dashing with crocheted facial hair, they really did. “Funny, isn’t it, how the energies that fuel this place end up ripping us to pieces and then rebuilding us into a strange new life?” Come here and expect for life to be irreversibly changed, that’s for sure. For better or for worse. Usually for the better, after the worst came and went. “I’m glad to see the idea’s become a reality for you, but no that you will never be revered as fearsome while you have puke-stains on your shirt.”
Hawke grinned broadly at the friend across from him, leaning into the sofa cushions with his current plus one. Nothing like cuddling them at this age with how they smelled (sans the times where they took a ghastly shit), and at the moment Meara was so quiet and effectively soothed. Good job, Papa Hook. “How’d the whole adoption progress go along? I know you wanted this one specifically, so you either paid a pretty coin or dabbled in the fine art of blackmail and deceit.”
Threatened, maybe? That was an option. Killian had resources available to him, and was the type to make sure a ‘negotiation’ went his way on his terms.
Cuddling with infants was one of those parts of life - glittering tinsel and Christmas morning, sunshine, birthday cake, all things that invoked happiness. They were so warm and soft and did smell good, like cottony clouds, and then they happened to take a shit and ruin it all but for the moment that you shared, it certainly was calming. Killian was pleased to share those moments with his broad-shouldered friend.
“When am I not dabbling in blackmail and deceit,” he grinned crookedly - but alright, in all due fairness, this pirate had cut back a lot. Getting his proper PI licence was an excellent stepping stone on the path. “But no, it was - sort of that, sort of someone owing me favours? Also slipping a bit of money into offshore accounts here and there,” he shrugged, folding and unfolding the seahorse outfit. “Accounts belonging to hackers. If your name is at the top of whatever list the person at the adoption agency is reading, they don’t question it.”
People trusted their own technology. What a beautiful thing (for him to take advantage of).
Clever man. Hawke was aware that there were complicated circumstances surrounding the birth origins of this child, and getting her and only her had been the priority - pulling strings was a must. Meara would grow well under this roof. Parents that wanted her, other family members and friends eager to help in any way.
The wee one snoozed in his arms and he was content to just leave her there, not daring to move in fear of disturbing her. Maker knows how long it could have taken Killian to get her sleepy enough to close those blue eyes. “Think you two will ever drop the bomb of adoption on her when she’s old enough to understand?” Love was the true test of parenthood. There wouldn’t be a lack of it for this one, but how the hell would you explain that sort of thing to your child? It’d raise question. Unwanted ones, perhaps.
“I’m sure it’ll come up at some point,” Killian admitted with a sigh. Either when Meara got too smart for her own good, when she listened to her gut instincts, or happened to discover something - but it wasn’t like he or Regina were going to keep her adoption a secret. They hadn’t baby snatched from Zelena (any judgmental stares could be pointed toward the Charming’s regarding that particular offence), no, they’d gone through all the legal channels to adopt her, ensuring that neither Zelena or her one nighter maintained any parental rights - it was just that they allowed the odds to swing in their favour, when it came to the agency contacting suitable parents, was all. “But I think we’d just tell her that her mum and dad weren’t quite fit to raise her - “ They didn’t even know each other, for fuck’s sakes, but at least it wasn’t creepy soap opera subterfuge like in Storybrooke, “...and that her biological mom decided to give her up. For the best, really, since there was no chance she could have thrived in Kentucky where she was.”
Gods, no. Even Zelena needed to get the hell out of there - go off and ‘find herself,’ without the restraints of motherhood. She wasn’t ready for that, but luckily Meara’s new parents were.
“Oh, sorry, mate - it sort of slipped my mind, but since you came all this way to visit, do you want anything?” Killian asked, remembering his manners. Good form, you know! “Spot of spiked tea or something similar?”
“All I know about Kentucky is that they’ve got buckets of fried chicken, so thank Andraste you’ve rescued her from such a bleak diet,” he mused, but he figured that sort of discussion would be based on whatever circumstances they found themselves in during the upcoming years. He was sure Meara would know she was loved, and that she was theirs. Unless, of course, she has an awful experience with puberty and leaned more towards ‘I HATE EVERYTHING YOU’RE BOTH RUINING MY LIIIIIIIIIIFE’ melodrama (Carver hadn’t left that stage, actually).
But, well, the brakes of time will be slammed on at the moment - poor thing didn’t know how to wipe her own bum yet. “And if you’re drinking spiked tea then I suppose I couldn’t say no,” Garrett answered, still pinned and paralyzed by the presence of the slumbering starfish, all warm in his hold. “Though, your new predicament does beg the question of whether you’re going to take the wedding plunge sometime in the future - is talking about that going to require a bit of an extra spike to that tea?”
Meara would grow up quick enough as it was, so Killian was completely fine with putting the brakes on things - and not worrying about teenage hormones or paying for university until much, much later. Even if they would have to start saving now. He laughed a little, getting up to put together the finest mugs of spiked tea.
“It’s actually going to be Irish coffee, if you don’t mind,” the Captain noted, because overall he wasn’t really a tea person - he had English roots on his mum’s side, but preferences were elsewhere let’s just say. “Under normal circumstances I would have needed a minibar of whiskey to talk about marriage, but lately - “
Well. Things were different lately. He shrugged, putting the coffee on - and it was good coffee, nothing mediocre or bland. It was rich, bitter, a slight taste of caramel. If anything, he knew how to prepare the very best in hot beverages that hailed from his homeland. “I’ve got to find a ring and then catch her off guard - but at least I know she’d say yes?”
Hawke wasn’t picky, he’d drink it all. Especially spiced. But if he was going to have a hot beverage, then he thought it best to begin the process of transferring the sleeping babe to the bassinet. He did so very carefully, not wanting jar her awake and so far seemed successful. Meara was put down without a peep, eyes closed and breathing softly. He’d had some practice with his own goddaughter when she was this young, so it was good to know those skills remained sharp.
“That’s half the battle already,” he remarked, grinning crookedly at Killian. “I mean, I can’t understand why she’d even say no - you two have the life of a married couple. A house together. A child. Paperwork’s just a technicality.” Then, of course, there was also the symbolism of marriage in regards to commitment. His own definitely benefited them in regards to taxes and business but it was about how he didn’t mind putting up with the mischievous antics of a pirate who was worth more than what she’d thought. “If you want a partner to accompany you on this noble quest of ring hunting I’ll be a happy volunteer. Whenever you’re ready.”
Everything felt so still and quiet, when Meara was asleep - Killian usually either watched her or tiptoed around, skulking, afraid to make the tiniest of sounds because he was convinced even a mouse fart would wake her. And he really didn’t like waking her when she was in the middle of restfulness - that often led to crankiness.
“Unless she forgets the conversations we had about it, or decides to prank me,” he snickered dryly. But no, he couldn’t picture Regina doing that - they would tie the knot, someday. Probably very soon. Like when the wedding buzz died down with Neal and Emma, not wanting to steal their spotlight in any way.
He kind of wanted a spectacle of a wedding though, Killian thought. Something beautiful, a ceremony on his ship where he’d probably wear his Naval uniform because he already knew Liam would throw fireballs from the beyond if he didn’t. “Wouldn’t mind a partner at all. I’d like it to be a really special ring,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps your beloved can help me find one? Only the best in plunder, of course.”
“I’m sure she can manage the best in the plunder,” Hawke promised, knowing his scrappy wife - sticky fingers with honed senses for shiny things. What the process went for that, well, he’d leave it to her twisted mind. “Something fit for a queen, perhaps? Although this queen sounds like she’d also be morbidly satisfied with ring made from the bones and teeth of her enemies.”
He was mostly joking. Mostly. But he’d toss the word to Bela and see in what way she could lend a fellow pirate with an eye for treasure - bonding would ensue, he was sure of it, probably over their mutual fondness over his blood mage arse.
Which, now that he remembered -
Yes, Killian. That was a grope on your behind from your favorite bearded bartender. “It was just there, taunting me. Must be what you’re wearing.”
An interesting time for Kenzi to sort of pass by, because she caught that exchange, blinked, shook her head and went on. Probably upstairs to avoid walking in on anything weird.
“Both her and I would go for a matching set of rings made from the bones and teeth of our enemies, that’s why we’re well suited - “ Oh, Hawke, you rascal! The grab on the bum elicited such a happy purrrr from this pirate, and he gladly returned the favour - with a sizable grab of his own, using that flesh and blood hand. He only had the one, so he needed to make it good. Of course, not like he expected Kenzi to walk by at that exact minute, but alas.
“Want some Irish coffee, sharkbait?” he called after her, though she was perhaps already long gone and in her room with headphones on. Leave the cheap whiskey and the spray-can cream at the door - this Captain knew how to perfect the trickiest part of an Irish coffee, which was getting the cream to float on top.
There we go, even with a dusting of nutmeg over it all - in the shape of a cock and balls, naturally. “You drink it through the cream,” he winked, giving Hawke his hot beverage. Arrrrr.
Oh, balls! Surely the little pirate was already used to their ridiculous antics as it was. It was friendly groping. Friendly reciprocated groping, as he didn’t mind the manly pirate hand that had fondled his rear end for a second there.
“How the hell did you -” Hawke was awed by the artistic talent of his drink, so much that his face showed cleared signs of bewilderment and being overall impressed. “You’ll have to show me this trick because I suddenly want cock art on my coffee all the time.”
Good thing Meara was sleeping and had no understanding of language or context yet.