A/N: Since a big chunk of the world is stuck social distancing and I can't edit fast enough to post every day (I'm still working), I'm going to post a couple of VERY old stories. Most of the AoS fics I wrote in the 1990s were lost in a hard drive crash and even with the Wayback Machine I haven't been able to locate any online copies. I have three that I believe were written between 1998 and 2000, when I was in high school. I've edited them very lightly for typos and grammar but they are otherwise untouched from back then.

Pairing: Maeve/Sinbad
Rating: K+
Setting: Season 2-ish?
All standard disclaimers apply

Water Baby

Please read the author's note this time, even if you don't usually.

Sinbad and his crew had been out at sea for a long time. They didn't know how long, only that it was too long. It didn't matter that this port was unfamiliar to them, only that it was dry land, a place to stretch legs weary of the constant pitch and roll of water beneath, water everywhere. They did not plan to stay long—they were in the middle of a voyage, and this was no vacation. But it was obvious even to the captain that they all needed a few landlocked days before setting off to complete the journey to their destination. And so it was that they entered the pleasant little seaport of Danan. It was a beautifully sunny day, with not a cloud in the sky. The town was peaceful enough. The buildings were mostly adobe brick, with smatterings of wood interspersed throughout. The streets were wide, and generally clean, and the whole place gave off a quaint, contented air. There was a small marketplace with stalls set up outside the shops, canopied awnings keeping the heat of the day off the vendors as they hawked their wares and casting cool shadows upon the few customers, for though it was but a little after midday, some persistent townspeople were attempting to get lower prices by buying when demand was lowest. One of the first people to greet the sailors was a very dark girl minding a baby that could not possibly be hers, for his skin was very fair. She also looked young yet to be a mother, but she smiled friendly enough when the sailors passed by.

"Good day, sirs," she greeted, her experienced hands protecting the baby absently as he crawled along on the soft grass.

"Well met, little one," Doubar returned. "Pleasant day to be out and about…and on dry land." That last was directed to his younger brother, but the bearded captain didn't seem inclined to take the hint. He was staring off into space, not looking either at the horizon nor the town, his blue eyes cold and seemingly blind. Doubar sighed. He knew what his brother was looking for, and he wasn't going to find it. He sought the redheaded woman with a clear voice and the key to his wounded heart. For nearly two years now, the captain had been searching relentlessly, intent upon finding the only woman he cared for. Wherever they went, he asked everyone who might have a clue as to her whereabouts. He went out of his way to travel to ports she had enjoyed, hoping beyond hope that he might find even a trace of her somewhere. But she was nowhere to be found. Doubar had to concede that, after so many months of fruitless searching, it was unlikely that Sinbad would ever find what he sought. Maeve would have been found, he believed, if she wanted to be found. She was intelligent and resourceful, and if she didn't want to be with them, for whatever reason, she had that right. Doubar had to admit, as well, that he would not wish to return if he were in Maeve's position. Sinbad had changed in the two years that she had been gone, and the changes were not for the better. He was wounded in ways that were invisible, but the effects of which manifested themselves in his everyday dealings with people. He'd lost all his respect for women…or, if he retained it, it was hidden far away, in a place deep within himself that could no longer be accessed. His will to live was also diminished, and Doubar knew why. It was said that once a person falls in love, their entire life is altered. They live for the person they love. And Doubar knew that was what had happened to his brother. Sinbad had fallen in love, and he had fallen hard and fast. And then, when she was taken away, he lost what it was he'd been living for. He didn't know what kept him going anymore, what he rose in the morning for. He was lost, and he didn't know how to find his way back.

"Aye sir," the girl responded, drawing Doubar back to the present. She was pretty, he noticed offhandedly, in the way of young girls who are going to turn into lovely women. Maeve herself had most likely been such a girl… But, no. Better by far to push thoughts of the lass out of his head. She was gone, and Sinbad would find his way back to them eventually. He would have to find someone else to tend to his wounded heart. She, quite obviously, didn't want it.

"He's a cute little one," Firouz noted, motioning to the child. Doubar had forgotten about the inventor's presence. He glanced around, but the three of them were the only crewmembers around. Bryn and Rongar had taken off, presumably to look for weapons-merchants. They seemed to do that a lot. The girl, who introduced herself as Aia, nodded.

"Aye, that he is." She smiled indulgently at her little charge, who had righted himself and now sat between her feet, regarding the sailors with a curious look. "His mother's away just now, visiting a friend outside the village. He loves watching the ships, though, so we come down to the docks whenever I've charge of him." Doubar studied the child. He was a sturdy boy, chubby like most babies, though he was not particularly large for his age, which Doubar guessed to be about a year. He was just now learning to walk unassisted, and he ended up on his backside more often than not. But that didn't seem to bother him in the slightest, and as soon as he fell down, he got back to his feet and tried to take a few more wobbling steps. He really was quite a beautiful child. His hair was dark and still fairly fuzzy, and he had a great deal of it, for it was very thick and plentiful. He had dimples that showed when he smiled, and his eyes were a beautiful baby blue. Doubar found himself thinking, with a start, that for all that this babe's skin was paler, he looked very much as Sinbad had as a wee one…

Doubar brushed it off, knowing that there were many blue-eyed babies around, and though this one was undoubtedly very beautiful, all children were beautiful in their own way. He shook his head and was about to wish Aia good day and trudge off, but he noticed that his brother had stopped staring off into space and had knelt next to the child, a look of intense concentration on his face. Doubar watched the frown of concentration cross his brother's face.

"Sinbad…" he started, intent on turning the captain's attention back to the task at hand—namely, finding a tavern that sold good ale. But his brother would not be disturbed. Sinbad kneeled next to the baby, who, unconcerned with this sudden furious attention, planted his fat starfish hands on the ground and waddled rather ungracefully to his feet, wobbling for a moment, but standing upright. A large grin split his face, revealing his baby dimples again, and he clapped, which unbalanced him and sent him to the ground once more. Sinbad, instead of chuckling, reached out with one hand and touched the boy hesitantly, as if he thought the child could be merely an illusion. But the soft cloth and baby-heat his fingers encountered were real enough, and he turned the boy's face ever so gently toward him, looking into the innocently blue eyes. The child grinned up at him.

"Sinbad, we've taken up enough of these people's time," Doubar urged, breaking whatever spell had held the captain prisoner. And Sinbad sighed, that distant look affixing itself to his face again, stood, and followed his brother farther into the town.

"There goes a strange enough pair," Aia murmured to the baby, who merely clapped again, making an expressive noise and pointing toward the ships docked in the harbor.

"No, no more ships today," his babysitter said, picking up her charge and cradling his small body in her arms. "We'd best get you home—your mother will be here soon."

Maeve stretched tiredly before reaching out with one covered hand and pulling the cauldron away from the fire. She dipped out a pewter pitcher full of the heated water and poured it into a small basin, testing the temperature with her wrist. She added a little cool water and swirled the mixture around until the entire basin was little more than lukewarm. A small chuckle from behind her made Maeve smile, and she turned to find her tabby cat reaching out to cautiously sniff the baby sitting on the earthen floor of her small cottage. She grinned widely, despite her fatigue, and let out a low laugh. The brown animal, large for a cat, and sleek, turned and regarded her with big green eyes as if to say, "I wasn't going to hurt him…" But Maeve merely stood from her place by the fireside and reached out for the baby. She swung the dark haired child into her arms, resting him against her hip and brushing his fluffy hair out of his face. "And how about you, hmm?" she asked amusedly, her brown eyes watching his blue ones. "Caitein still hasn't forgiven you for pulling her tail before. You weren't thinking about doing it again, now were you?" Her tone was filled with amused laughter. The baby merely inserted his thumb into his mouth and grinned at her. Maeve shook her head fondly before setting him on the wooden counter and pulling his clothing off. She deposited him in the basin of warm water, and he immediately tried to climb out again.

"Oh, no," she said absently, holding him in the bath with one hand as she reached for the mild soap with the other. "You need a bath, and you're going to get one before I'm too tired to give it to you." She used her hand to shield the baby's sensitive eyes from the soap as she quickly bathed him, washing his fuzzy hair. He babbled to himself quietly as she smoothed soap over his baby-soft skin, seemingly fascinated with the way his toes splashed in the water. Maeve's complete attention was on her task, so much so that she did not notice the front door of her small cottage open until the visitor was inside.

"Maeve."

She jumped, and jerked upright, her hands soapy to the wrist, before she saw who it was that stood in the doorway. "Eadoin. I didn't hear you," she said to her friend, turning back to the child.

The woman in the doorway clucked before shutting the door behind her. "Maeve, you should be sleeping."

"I'm not done with my work yet," the young woman replied, using her hand to cup water and dribble it gently over the baby's head.

"Look, I know you can hide what you are doing from Aia, but you can't hide it from me." The woman watched her friend concernedly. She could see the weariness in Maeve's features, even in the way she stood, and it worried her. "I know you've been using your own life's energies to keep that old woman outside of town alive. Maeve, you can't keep doing this! Why are you tempting fate and defying death by keeping her alive? It may be an insensitive thing for me to say, but her time has come. Why do you fight it so?"

Maeve removed the child from the basin and wrapped him in a dry cloth that had been resting near the fire to warm. She cradled him close to her body, seating herself on the stool beside the hearth again. She raised very tired eyes to Eadoin. "She is waiting for her son," she told her friend. "She had a dream that her son would return to her ere she died. I am trying to buy her just a little bit of time. She wants to see him before she dies…so badly." She passed one hand tiredly over her eyes. "I can do it. Not for much longer…but hopefully it will be long enough."

Eadoin raked an appraising glance through the small house. It was built oddly, but to Maeve's preferences. The main room was large and spacious, with large windows to let in the sunlight, and the roof was high overhead. She knew Maeve disliked feeling closed in, and the high ceilings made her feel more at home indoors. There were two little rooms opening off the main room, one for sleeping in and the other for storage purposes. As soon as the child grew old enough, Maeve was planning to change her storage room into his bedroom, and move all the things she was storing down to the cellar, which was really where they belonged to begin with. But there was nothing here that Eadoin had not seen before—a young woman, a baby, a large brown cat. Herbs hanging in bunches from the rafters, shelves of dried herbal mixtures lining the walls. She looked only to note that the house looked nearly as clean as ever, despite the fact that Maeve spent so little time here, as she was so often at the house of the old woman now. Eadoin knew her young friend was spreading herself far too thin, and that something was going to give…and soon. But there was nothing that she herself could do, except for make her rest when she was home. Which was what she intended to do right now.

Eadoin stepped over to Maeve and, without so much as a word, nearly lifted her friend off the stool and shoved her gently in the direction of the bedroom. "Go," she said in a voice that brooked no nonsense. "Take the baby and go lie down. I'll bring us some tea, and we will talk." Maeve's protests died on her lips as she was ushered into her bedchamber. Eadoin lit a few candles, filling the room with soft golden light, before stepping out to steep the tea. Maeve, exhausted, sank down into her bed with a thankful sigh. She didn't even bother to change her clothes before curling up on her side, drawing her knees up toward her chest and facing the little boy. She moved the blanket aside, tickling his now-dry tummy and making him chuckle. The sound of his baby-laughter always brought a smile to her lips, as it did now, and as she smiled, the exhaustion receded the tiniest bit.

"You are not going to bed like that," Eadoin stated as she glided through the doorway and set two steaming mugs of tea on a bedside table. "If you sleep in that dress, with your belt on, you'll wake up sore tomorrow and defeat the entire purpose of going to bed in the first place. Come now, give me the child. Go put something else on." Maeve allowed her friend to take the child, knowing she was acting like a child but not really caring at the moment. She was so tired, too tired to do anything but react to her friend's gentle instructions. Perhaps Eadoin was right after all. Perhaps she was so busy taking care of the poor old woman that she had forgotten how to take care of herself…

She pulled her nightshirt out of her clothes trunk and, after shedding the brown vest and white dress that she still wore, slipped into the baggy, flowing shirt. It was a man's shirt, and it was much too big for her, but she wore it anyway. Sometimes she imagined that it still smelled like him…like the deep sea and that male scent that was simply his own…

She shook her head, pulling out the bindings on her hair and letting it flow like water down to the center of her back. It was longer and redder than ever, with golden highlights glinting sharply in the dim candlelight. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, making sure it had not tangled while up in the loose knot she'd worn the entire day. Then, turning, she dove into bed and snuggled under the blankets, reaching out for the boy. Eadoin had dressed the child again, and now she handed him back to Maeve. He cooed as he was handed back to his favorite person, reaching up very deliberately to touch Maeve's face with one fat hand. She smiled, but it was not without a kind of wistful pain that Eadoin was used to seeing on Maeve's face.

"I miss him," Maeve said softly, so very softly. Her tea sat, untouched, by her head. "Two years, and I miss him so badly it hurts." One long, slender finger reached out to touch the baby's cheek. "Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if our son didn't look so much like him…" She sighed. "I wish a lot of things, Eadoin, but I wish most that things with Conn's father hadn't worked out the way they did." Eadoin sighed, at a loss as how to comfort her friend.

"I don't really know what to say, Maeve. I know that you'll be happier once you move on…but can you really move on?" She looked meaningfully at her friend. "You still sleep in his shirt, Maeve. Every time you go near the docks, your eyes search for a ship that's never going to appear. When you look at your son, all you see is his father." Maeve held back her tears. She would not cry. She had cried for Sinbad exactly once, and that was all she would allow herself to break down for him. She had her life, and he had his. She, at least, had Conn, a precious little treasure that brought her endless joy every single day of his young life. He was just over a year old now, and Maeve adored watching him grow. Her son. They had a life together now, and even if Maeve couldn't truly move on, she refused to cry. In some ways she was not quite weak enough to cry…and in other ways, not strong enough. But Eadoin knew none of this as she saw her friend's sorrow, and she knew that the only thing that would alleviate it was the man who had stolen Maeve's heart, the man who had fathered the beautiful child held in Maeve's arms. She sighed and leaned over, kissing her friend on the forehead. "Sleep, Maeve. Things will look better in the morning, when you're not so tired. Sleep."

"I will. Thank you."

"Anytime."

As Eadoin blew out the candles and the room became darker, Maeve snuggled her son close and sighed, breathing in the milky scent of the clean baby and willing her heart to shut up. They didn't need Sinbad, no matter how much she might want him. And he didn't want her, he'd proven as much. He hadn't searched for her, hadn't found her. And she'd been strictly told not to search him out. She didn't know why, until Cairpra had explained it to her one day. She was needed in this village, to heal the citizens, to fulfill her destiny. If Sinbad found her, she was free to leave with him. But until such time, this would be her home. And, for the most part, she didn't mind. She liked the village, and she had made several close friends. Eadoin was like a protective older sister. But she knew, somewhere deep inside her heart where it was too painful to go anymore, that she would never be truly happy unless she was with Sinbad. She fell asleep and dreamed of the ocean, blue sky stretching far above a calm sea, and a little ship sailing into the horizon.

Doubar belched loudly before slapping his mug back on the rough table.

"Nice one," Firouz commented dryly, though he didn't look up from the small contraption he was fiddling with. Sinbad didn't respond, but continued to stare listlessly out the window, his ale nearly untouched.

"Little brother, what's the matter?" Doubar asked. He didn't really enjoy being around his brother when Sinbad was in these melancholy moods that he didn't seem to want to shake. But, really, what was family for if not for helping each other through difficult times. Sinbad needed someone to take his mind off of the hole in his heart, and even though he knew his brother didn't necessarily want a mentor right now, he knew the captain would not find what he really wanted.

"Are you still upset about the babe?" he asked. "Sinbad, there are a thousand little children in this world with blue eyes and brown hair. We've never been in this town before—there's no possible way you could be the father." He chuckled. "You're off the hook…this time." Bryn shot the first mate a dirty look, but it was Sinbad who actually answered the large man.

"And if we may travel from port to port, who are we to say others may not?" He heaved a sigh before pushing away from the table and standing. "I don't know what it is, Doubar, but I feel as if that child means something." He gazed out the window at the midmorning light.

"Sinbad? Where are you going?"

He didn't turn as he strode toward the door. "To find the mother."

"But you don't even know where to look!" Doubar protested. "She could be anywhere…"

"It's a small village. I will find her." And Sinbad didn't listen to another word, instead striding out the door. It closed behind him with a sound of finality.

Sinbad found Aia by the docks again, though there was no little child with her this day. She was reading a book, and she did not see him approach.

"Aia." The girl looked up.

"Sir!" She smiled politely enough, though Sinbad could see she looked startled to see him again. He didn't really care. The image of that baby boy had haunted him all the rest of that day, and into his dreams at night. He didn't know why it was so important to find the mother, but he knew it was. If the child really was his, he didn't know what he would do. Would the mother want him to stay? He didn't want to do that—he couldn't share his life that way with anybody but Maeve. He knew he really should not have taken to lechery as a release from all the pain he felt with Maeve's absence, but he had needed something to take his mind off of the terrible emptiness within his heart. It was the wrong choice, he knew that now, but there was no escaping that he had made the choice, and now, perhaps, he would have to pay the consequences.

"Aia, I need you to take me to his mother."

She didn't need to ask who he was talking about. She frowned. "But, sir, why? She doesn't like people very much…"

"I think I know her," he insisted. "Please, take me to her house. You don't need to do any more than that. Just take me to her house, and I will pay you."

She sighed. "I don't want your money, sir, and she doesn't like strangers."

Sinbad's eyes flashed with impatience. "Girl, I tell you I need to see her!"

Aia sighed, but closed her book and climbed to her feet. "She's not going to be happy about this," she said softly. "She doesn't like people."

"She will see me," Sinbad said confidently as he motioned for Aia to precede him away from the docks and into the town.

The cat pounced onto the bed, padding across her mistress' legs to crouch near the child, sniffing a small, protruding foot suspiciously. But finding nothing wrong, she pawed the boy gently, waking him. Sea-blue eyes opened sleepily and the baby smiled, reaching for the cat. Caitein pulled away before he could touch her, though, and meowed softly. Conn struggled to his knees, and followed the cat at a slow crawl, reaching forward with one hand, trying to grasp the long tail quivering just out of his reach. The cat leaped easily off the bed and pushed through the half-open door into the main room, intent upon getting away from this threat to her person, but Conn continued to follow. He tumbled off the low bed, landing rather hard on his backside before crawling through the door and into the main room. Maeve, still heavily asleep, didn't notice.

"Sir, I don't think she is awake yet," Aia stated nervously, twisting her hands in her dress. "Come back later, please; she'll be even more upset if you wake her up…" Her eyes showed her nervousness as she cast her eyes around the small, neat front lawn. A large brown tabby cat with emerald eyes blinked lazily at her from a windowsill.

"Thank you for the concern, Aia," Sinbad said, his eyes glued to the little cottage. "But I have to do this now."

"Yes, sir."

Sinbad left the young girl at the gate, stepping into the front yard and crossing quickly to the door. He eyed the cat on the sill, but it merely winked its emerald eyes and turned away. Sinbad pushed the front door open.

"Hello?" The room was almost empty, and silent. Sinbad stepped cautiously inside. He let his eyes wander over the odd assortment of shelves, bottles and jars and dried herbs lining them. On some sturdier, lower shelves lay a few books. He stepped over, after assuring himself that this room was, indeed, unoccupied, and pulled a book off the shelf. It was a book on magic. Sinbad felt his hands begin to shake. His mind stopped working. Magic books. Books of magic. Never had he bedded a sorceress, not after Maeve's disappearance. He could tell, through his rainbow bracelet, when someone was in the habit of practicing magic. It made the little hairs on his arms stand up, and a tingling feeling run up and down his spine. It was too painful to be around that feeling if Maeve wasn't causing it. And so he had shied away from anyone that gave off the aura of magic, and he certainly hadn't bedded any sorceresses. Which led, logically, to something his mind could not handle at that moment. A small noise from under the low table made Sinbad turn. At first he thought it was another large cat, but he was soon proven wrong as the baby boy that had started this whole mess crawled out from under the table.

"Well, hello," Sinbad said softly. "Are you spying on me?" The boy latched onto the seat of a wooden chair and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. Sinbad watched, a little unsure, as he scooted a little closer to the boy and knelt on the floor.

"C-come here," he said softly, stuttering a little. His hands were still shaking as he reached them out for the baby. Conn planted his feet and let go of the chair, taking two faltering steps before falling into Sinbad's outstretched hands. Blue looked up and met blue, and Sinbad found himself staring deep into eyes that, somehow, he knew. The small, warm body of his son balanced trustingly in his hands, and he looked down wonderingly to see the small torso almost engulfed by his two hands, tanned and rough from work.

"My son," he whispered softly, for he saw now what he had only guessed at before. "My boy."

"What are you doing here?"

Sinbad's eyes closed spasmodically at that voice. He knew it, knew the voice. He knew who it belonged to, and he'd almost given up hope to see her again. He turned around, lifting the small child easily into his arms as his eyes opened and he faced the only woman he had ever loved…

"Maeve…"

"Don't touch him."

"What?" Sinbad pushed away from the table and stepped toward Maeve, but she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Maeve, I have been searching for you for two years! Why didn't you let me know you were okay? Why, Maeve? I have been out of my mind with worry, never knowing if you were safe, if you were okay!" Conn made a small cooing noise and placed his chubby palm on the side of his father's face. Maeve hissed lowly, but Sinbad was smiling softly at his son and didn't see the dangerous look in her eyes.

"Give me back my son."

Sinbad touched the soft hair on the baby's forehead and looked at the redheaded sorceress. "Maeve, don't do this," he said softly.

"I said, give me back my son!" Sinbad hesitated, torn. If he didn't release the baby, Maeve might well consider it a threat and all hopes of reasoning with her, of at least having a civil conversation, would fly away. But if he did release the boy, there was a very good chance that he would never get him back. And Sinbad couldn't bear that. He had a son, a little child. And he didn't want to lose that, not now. The soft weight of the baby in his arms was precious, something he refused to lose.

"Maeve…"

"Sinbad, I am not going to tell you again!" Her fingers flexed dangerously. "Give me my child!"

Still Sinbad faltered. He was not going to lose Maeve now that he'd found her again, nor was he willing to give up the little child he now held in his arms. Family meant a lot to him, whether she believed it or not, and he couldn't just give up this little boy now that he knew he existed. Had the child belonged to another woman he would have still felt responsibility, and a sense of fatherhood, but it was different with Maeve. For it was not simply the boy Sinbad loved, it was the family he represented. Because only with Maeve would Sinbad consider a family like that—she was the only woman he loved, the only woman he had ever given his heart to. And a heart wasn't the kind of thing you could take back if you didn't want to give it anymore, nor was it something Maeve could return to him. It had been given too fully. But to give the baby to her now might mean she would refuse to listen to him, for with the child in her arms he had no leverage over her and she could—and most likely would—walk away from him. But to make her even angrier by refusing meant magic, and he truly didn't want to make her mad.

"Maeve," he said softly, holding his child in his arms, "I will give him back if you promise to hear me out. You can't just shut me out of your life! I've been searching for you for two damn years!"

She didn't look mollified, but she sighed softly and held her arms out for the baby. Sinbad knew that, by her honor, she would listen to him. He was reluctant still to give up the little boy, but he held hope that Maeve would give him back after she heard what he had to say. Their hands touched as he handed over his son, the tiny little hands of the baby grasping both adults' sleeves for a moment. Blue eyes locked with brown.

"Maeve…"

"Please, Sinbad, no." She forced herself away, her eyes dropping to the ground as her arms wound themselves firmly around her child. The baby nuzzled into his mother's shoulder, his hands balling into fists, clutching handfuls of the coarse material of her nightshirt. Sinbad took a good look at his sorceress for the first time. Her hair was longer and redder than ever, with golden glints that flashed in the midmorning sunlight streaming in through the windows. She looked right, somehow, holding the dark-haired child in her arms, her eyes showing soft concern over his welfare.

She was wearing his shirt. That was the second thing Sinbad noticed, and he felt a faint glimmer of hope enter his heart as he saw this. Maybe everything would turn out all right, if he played his cards right. He didn't want to believe she had forgotten all about what they'd shared, about everything they meant to each other. Slowly, he took a breath, and slowly, he began to speak.

"Maeve, please. I've been searching for you since you left. Tell me, what have you been doing?" Sinbad knew that to start out by confessing love or insisting she return would not work, not with Maeve. He could see it in her eyes, see the insecurity and unsurety she felt at being so near him, about having the choice of whether or not to reveal herself and the child to him wrested from her. He knew that she hated not being in charge of her own life, and that his appearance here really was not what she had wished for. But he couldn't leave now, not when he'd found what his heart had been searching for, for so long. So he forced himself to sit down carefully on a chair, forced himself to keep away from the white-faced sorceress, and forced himself to make small talk with her, if only to calm her fear.

"Two years, Maeve. Tell me what your life has been like."

She seated herself on the stool before the fireplace, the movement an acquiescence of sorts. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! Yes, she had wanted Sinbad back badly…but this wasn't Sinbad. This man standing before her was not the man she had fallen in love with. His chin was bearded, his hair matted and greasy. He looked like a pirate, and she nearly shuddered at the ice she saw in his eyes. They were so cold…so dead…

No, not quite dead. Just searching for a reason to live…

Maeve pushed that thought away, but not as firmly as she once would have. Was it true? Could her disappearance have affected him so very badly? She doubted that…but why? Living without him had been killing her…and she had her son, her light, to keep her going. Sinbad didn't have that. He hadn't even had the knowledge that the child existed at all. Could living without them have really done this to him? She sighed, and decided to watch him carefully. He was not her Sinbad…but did that mean that the man she had loved so much was really gone?

Maeve reached out with her magical powers to light the hearth, something she had done without thinking since returning from the Nomad. But she hesitated before actually summoning the power to her fingers, remembering the child she held firmly in her grasp. Velvet eyes turned to Sinbad. She didn't truly want to return the steady warmth of her child to this man, but she had seen the tender, reverent way in which he touched the baby, and she knew that no harm would come to him while in his father's arms. So, however unwillingly, she held Conn out to his father.

"I cannot hold him when I work with fire," she said in explanation. "He inherited my affinity for magic, but his father's sensitivity to water." Sinbad wordlessly accepted the warm child into his strong arms. The baby looked up into his eyes, one tiny, chubby hand reaching out to pat the scratchy surface of his father's jaw. Sinbad leaned forward and hesitantly kissed the small boy on the forehead. He smelled clean and milky, a strange combination that Sinbad decided he liked. Maeve lit the fire with a simple thought and sighed wearily, reaching again for the warm, comforting solidity of her son. She saw the boy's calm, unafraid curiosity about this man. He was far too young to wonder about such things as fathers, far too young to question why this man looked so much like himself. And they did look alike, Maeve had to admit. The dark hair, the bright blue eyes, even the dimples; it was all there. She sighed inwardly, watching Sinbad's large, gentle hands holding his child. She still loved him. Sometimes so much that it hurt…but was love enough, especially now? She would not accept a pirate as a father for her son. This boy was going to have a strong, loving, caring father or none at all.

"There's not much to tell," she said quietly. "I completed my apprenticeship and became a journeyman sorceress. Cairpra sent me here to work in this village once I left Dim-Dim. I settled, made friends, had a baby. Rumina still lives, my quest is still unfulfilled. I guess you could call this a little respite from trying to save the world."

Sinbad smiled at the attempt at humor. "Our son was born here?" It wasn't necessary for him to have Maeve confirm the paternity of the child. It was apparent, even at this young age, for he looked so much like Sinbad that there could be no other possibility. Maeve nodded, as the little boy drummed his hands lightly against her arm. He smiled brilliantly, and leaned down, very deliberately kissing his mother's thumb. She smiled and kissed the top of his head, nuzzling his fuzzy hair.

"Maeve…" But she sensed what he was about to say, and she tried to stop him. It wasn't time for requests to stay or go, for confessions of love.

"Tell me what you've been doing," she said, changing the subject abruptly, hoping he would get the hint. "Besides trying to grow a beard, that is."

Sinbad grimaced. "Trying to deal with you being gone. Maeve, I died when you left. I didn't know how to live without you, without the other half of my heart." He sighed, looking down at his tightly-clenched fingers. "Two years, Maeve. Two years, and I didn't know if you were hurt or well, alive or dead, whether you still thought about me as much as I thought about you." He swallowed, not daring to meet her eyes as he spoke. He didn't want to speak this next part, but it was important for her to know.

"I tried to find what I was looking for in other places—in other women. I tried to drown my sorrows in lechery, in acts I couldn't enjoy because they weren't with you. None of those girls were ever you, Maeve, and I came away from each encounter feeling more empty than before. I need you, Maeve. You are my life, my better half, the one who completes me. I am furious with Dim-Dim for taking you away, for never telling us you were well. But I'm more angry with myself for losing faith so quickly, for trying to tell myself I didn't need you. Because I do, Maeve. For the same reason that you kept my shirt and bore my child. We are one, you and I. I can't explain it, and I don't understand it, but we are one."

For a moment, it looked as if Maeve wasn't buying it. She looked as if she wanted—and was about to—stand up and walk into the other room, taking her son and leaving Sinbad's heart on the floor. And Sinbad knew that if she walked away from him now, there was no way he would get another chance. A million pleas rushed to his head, begging her to stay, using the child's welfare as a bargaining tool—

But, no. Maeve was a free spirit, and he couldn't do that to her. Her choice was hers to make, and force and deception were not okay. Not with Maeve.

Her answer, whatever it was, was delayed as Aia came slamming into the room, panting, her dark skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Maeve! Maeve!" she called, her voice urgent.

"What is it?" the sorceress asked, her eyebrows drawing together in concern. She turned away from Sinbad, absently shifting the child to her hip as she rose and crossed the room to the young girl.

"The old woman! She's slipping!"

Maeve's eyes flashed, and she pushed Conn into his babysitter's arms as she ran toward the back room where she slept. "I'll be right there," she said. "Get the horse ready!"

Aia flashed a concerned look at Sinbad, who had stood by this point. He touched her shoulder, a comforting gesture. "It's okay. I'll get the horse—you keep my son safe." The dark eyes widened at that, but Sinbad merely smiled before slipping out the front door and around back to the tiny stable. The stable was clean and well-maintained, but Sinbad really didn't expect anything different from Maeve. There was a single horse in residence, a tall dappled gelding that regarded Sinbad with large, liquid eyes. The sailor grinned. "You know, I don't like riding horses," he remarked as he pulled a well-oiled saddle from its rack and placed it on the animal's back. "As a matter of fact, I don't much care for your kind altogether. Although," he grunted as he tightened the girth, "your mistress seems to like you well enough." The horse snorted his opinion of this and reached around as if to nibble on the captain's sleeve.

"Hey!" Sinbad jerked his arm away and glared at the horse before slipping a bit between the animal's teeth and leading him out to the front of the house. Maeve slammed through the door a moment later, her small satchel slung over her arm. She looked startled to see Sinbad holding her horse, but she caught herself before scowling at him.

"Your horse, my lady?" Sinbad asked softly, hoping it didn't sound mocking. He didn't move to assist her as she mounted, and as soon as she was seated he let go of the reins. Maeve's heels dug into the gelding's sides, and the horse bolted away down the quiet street. Sinbad waited half a second before following on foot.

The room stank of death, but the old woman's eyes were still bright as she lay in her bed, gasping for breath.

"Maeve…Maeve, my darling. He…is c-close. I can feel it. Bring…bring…" Her voice was raspy and barely more than a whisper. But the urgency was fervent, and Maeve knew that she could not deny this old woman her final wish if it was in her power to grant it. Already she had kept her alive when death ought to have claimed her. Was it all in vain? Maeve knelt beside the bed, ignoring the scent of death. She took one frail hand in her strong one, the old skin as dry as paper, and translucent, showing the purple veins under the very white, very fragile cover. She closed her eyes and reached deep inside for the spark of magic, nudging it until it grew. The fire burned brightly, but tiredly, for it was not supposed to support more than one life. But Maeve ignored this, instead focusing on the spark's energy. She drew it away from her soul, from the space inside her that housed her magic, and in a thin stream down her arm, into her fingertips, and slowly, ever so slowly, into the old woman's body.

"Bless…you, child," came the weak gasp. Maeve didn't answer, concentrating instead on the transfer of life-magic from herself to the woman. It was difficult and dangerous work. If she gave too much, both of them could die—Maeve from a lack of power and her patient from an overdose. After a few minutes, she relaxed and cut the contact between them. The woman sank weakly into her pillows, and Maeve stood up, stretching and willing the dizziness in her head to go away. She stumbled…

And was adeptly caught by a pair of strong arms.

"What can I do?"

She knew it was Sinbad, and she didn't have the strength to fight his presence. "Find…son…" she mumbled, pulling away from the warm touch of his body. Not now. She couldn't worry about this now…

Sinbad frowned. "Our son? But what—"

Maeve shook her head, and the lightheaded feeling receded. "No. Not my son—her son."

Sinbad took a good look at the dying woman. "How am I supposed to know?" he asked.

Maeve shrugged. "You're the hero, aren't you?" she asked, a small, tired smile playing across her face. "Figure it out."

Sinbad cracked a small smile at that. He couldn't help himself—he reached out and traced his knuckles down her soft, warm cheek. "Be careful, Maeve," he whispered softly before turning and leaving the small house.

Maeve shook her head and returned to her patient, pulling several packets of dried herbs from her satchel. "Hurry," she murmured to no one in particular before beginning the rest of her task.

Sinbad trudged through the town, his eyes searching all over for…well, he wasn't quite sure. Somebody male, he knew that much. But other than that…he was at a loss as to who this person was. Somebody whose mother was dying, and wanted to see him ere she passed. But…who?

"Sinbad!"

He turned to see Firouz and Rongar hurrying toward him. "Sinbad! Where have—" Firouz stopped talking and looked carefully at his captain. There was something he saw in Sinbad's eyes, something that had been missing for a very long time. "You found her."

Sinbad nodded. "Aye, Firouz, I did. With the help of a very special little boy." And, incredibly, Sinbad smiled. It was a smile neither crewmember had seen for two years.

"What little boy?" Firouz asked. Rongar's eyebrows had drawn together in confusion, for he had not been there when Sinbad met Conn for the first time.

The smile grew softer, and Sinbad's eyes twinkled. "My son." Both Rongar and Firouz's mouths dropped open.

"Your…what?"

Sinbad grinned wider. "My son. My little boy." He smiled at the completely stupefied expressions on his friends' faces. "Now, I just have to convince Maeve to come back with us…" Rongar raised his eyebrows, but Sinbad ignored it. "But first, I have to find this person…"

"What person?"

Sinbad sighed. "I haven't a clue. All I know is that it's a he, and his mother lives here. She needs to see him immediately."

Firouz frowned. "Didn't one of our crewmembers say his mother lives here?" Sinbad lifted his head. Could his task possibly be so simple? He could hardly believe it.

"Um, Sinbad?"

"Not now, Firouz. I'll explain everything later. Right now, we've got to go find the old woman's son…and soon!"

Maeve's head was swimming. She could hear an odd buzzing noise, and she knew that she had pushed the limits of what she had to give. Death was pressing around both of them, and she didn't know if she could keep it at bay anymore…from either of them. She was failing. She wasn't going to make it this time. She had cheated death too many times keeping this woman alive. Now, both of them would pay for it. She felt her vision begin to darken…

Strong, gentle arms suddenly reached out of the darkness, grasping her, pulling her back from the edge of the abyss.

"Easy now, Maeve. I'm not letting you go that easily."

Light crashed down upon her again as she felt her link with the old woman dissolve, and death ebbed away from her. "You think that was easy?" she asked incredulously, wincing. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the buzzing in her ears, drifting into unconsciousness. Sinbad accepted her entire weight into his arms, smiling softly as he picked her up and bore her away from the bed.

"Cap'n. Thank you so much, cap'n." The male voice was filled both with grief and thanks. Sinbad, holding the love of his life gently in his arms, nodded solemnly to the young crewmember. The young man reached out and touched his mother softly.

"I'm here."

"Knew…you would be."

Sinbad smiled softly and left the room, leaving the man in privacy. As he stepped outside into the bright sunlight, he sighed contentedly. Maeve shifted in his arms, but did not wake. He looked at her, considering what would be the best thing to do with her now. He considered taking her back to her house…but then decided against it. Yes, she needed to rest, but, he reasoned, wouldn't it be better to put her where a physician could keep an eye on her? In case of complications, of course. He smiled and grabbed the reins of the grey gelding, pulling both himself and Maeve into the saddle.

"Come on, boy," he said to the horse. "It's time for us all to go home." And he turned the dappled horse's nose toward the docks, where a small ship waited, ready to set sail.

Tired…so tired…. Maeve forced her eyes open, not really knowing why, just knowing that there was something she ought to be doing, some vague responsibility she knew she must uphold. She dragged her eyelids open, the movement feeling like sandpaper scraping against her eyes. The first thing she saw was Sinbad, holding Conn and attempting to feed him with a rag. Conn was having none of it, and kept spitting the cloth out every time it ended up in his mouth. Maeve ruled out the possibility of this being a dream rather quickly. If she were dreaming, Sinbad would be able to hush the cranky splutters coming from their son, and Conn would not be fighting with a rag.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" she demanded finally, the knowledge that she was on board the Nomad—and in Sinbad's cabin—not escaping her.

He didn't sound surprised to hear her voice. "Trying to feed my son," he replied, as Conn fussed. "But he doesn't seem to want to humor me." Conn let out a little wail, and Sinbad used that opportunity to slip the cloth back into his mouth. Conn promptly spat it out again.

"Is he even hungry?" Maeve asked, rolling onto her side tiredly. Her entire body ached, and she vaguely remembered a freezing cold, colder than anything she'd ever felt before. She shivered, forcing the memory back into the shadowy recesses of her mind. She didn't want to think about it right now.

"He's been fussing for hours!" Sinbad replied, frustrated. "Aia brought me goat's milk when I asked, but he refuses…"

Maeve sighed, and reached her arms out for her child. "That's because he's not used to it. Give him to me." Sinbad tossed the bowl aside and readily crossed the cabin, perching on the edge of his bunk as he handed the baby to Maeve. She turned on her side, unbuttoning her loose white blouse and exposing one soft, heavy, milk-laden breast. The baby latched onto her rosy nipple readily enough, suckling softly as she held him. Maeve closed her eyes, feeling the edge of her previous exhaustion creep upon her once more. The soft feeling of her nursing infant always made her drowsy…

"Hey, that's mine," Sinbad said, half-teasing, half in mock dismay.

"Not anymore," Maeve replied, keeping her eyes closed. Conn's tiny fist wrapped itself around a fold of her blouse, and she ran a finger lightly over his tightly-clenched hand.

"I don't know about this, Maeve. I knew becoming a parent meant sacrifices, but…"

"Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, you twisted pirate!" Maeve snapped. "And, while we're on the subject, what right do you think you have that you can just waltz right in and kidnap both myself and my son?" Her brown eyes opened, fire-velvet, and she raised a dark, sculpted eyebrow at him.

"Relax, Maeve, we're still at port."

"I know that!" she snapped. "I didn't sail with you all that time for nothing; I can tell when a ship is moving and when it's docked!" Conn made a whimpering noise and flinched a little, an unconscious response to his mother's irritation. Maeve cupped a hand over his eyes for a moment, their special gesture that meant, I am here; don't be afraid, and leaned down to kiss his head.

Sinbad sighed. "I'm sorry, Maeve, but I wanted to see for myself that you were okay. And Conn, well, I wanted to get to know him. You really can't blame me for that. Look at this little wonder we've created! I never knew he existed until two days ago. I know you're possessive of him, but he's my son, too. He really is extraordinarily beautiful."

"He looks like his father."

Sinbad flashed that annoyingly cocky grin. "I'd thought of that."

Maeve was silent for a long moment, tracing a long finger thoughtfully across her son's cheek. Baby blue eyes flicked up at her, soft and content. "I missed you, you know." Her voice was soft and low.

"I hoped so." He'd lost that cheeky grin, and his voice was as serious as hers. He took her free hand and interlaced their fingers. "I want you to stay. Please."

Maeve sighed. "I know you do." She was still so very tired, still drained of energy. And this cabin was so comfortable, his scent calmly and unobtrusively cradling her just as surely as the wide, soft bed did. She couldn't make this decision right now. She was too tired, too fueled by her emotions to make any clear decisions. The suckling child always made her feel soft, pliant, and agreeable to just about anything. But she also felt the edge of anger toward this man, for presuming to bring her here, to his cabin on board the Nomad without her consent. Never mind that this was truly where she wished to be, where she had yearned to be since leaving it nearly two years before. He really hadn't the right to bring her here without even asking.

But above it all, she felt a fiery and persistent need to be near him, to feel his touch and his love surrounding her. She felt so cold, and he was like a bright flame, calling her to share his light and warmth. She needed him. Maeve knew well that she should not give in to what her body wanted, should not seek his warmth. But, touched by the icy blade of death, she couldn't help it. Her cold was the ice of death, and his warmth, the flame of life.

"I cannot decide forever in this moment," she said softly, "and understand that, once I decide, it will be forever."

"I know," Sinbad said softly. "You don't have to choose right now. Good or bane, I can wait. For you, I would wait an eternity."

"For right now, I need you. I cannot think about forever. But, for now…please stay."

A soft, tender smile played upon Sinbad's face. "As long as you like," he whispered, settling down beside her on the wide, soft bed. After a moment of hesitation, he spooned his body around hers, his arms locking around her waist and pressing her back into his front. His fingers touched warm, silken skin, and he brushed the tips of his fingers against Maeve's soft breast and the silken cheek of his son. He felt Maeve shiver at his touch, and shift her body closer to his. He traced his fingers back and forth over the small baby's cheek, burying his face in Maeve's soft red curls. She sighed and relaxed, and Sinbad felt her body loosen as she fell back to sleep. He kissed the side of her neck and breathed in the spice of herbs still lingering on her skin. This was what he had wished for, these two long years apart. The banter, the teasing, the companionship she gave him could be matched by no other. And holding her like this…the simple warmth of her firm, slender body against his own was what he'd yearned for. Peace like nothing he'd ever known. He refused to fall asleep just yet, for he knew that it was very possible Maeve even now could decide to stay in Danan. This might be the only time he would ever be able to hold his family, safe and warm and content in his arms. So he stayed awake throughout the long, lazy afternoon as Maeve and Conn slept deeply. Sometimes he stroked his son's little cheek, or caressed the silken skin of Maeve's warm stomach. But mostly he just held her, and she their son, a small family overflowing with love. But as the sun sank over the horizon, his comfort and warmth got the better of him and he slept.

Maeve woke just as twilight was descending on the small ship, the gentle swaying of the sea beneath her immensely comforting. She smiled and stretched lazily, snuggling back up against Sinbad's warm body. Sometime during their nap, she'd turned around to face him and wrapped an arm loosely around his muscled waist. Their son lay between their sleeping bodies, snuggled against his father but still holding tightly with a reflex-driven fist to his mother's shirt. She looked down at her baby, seeing the tightly-clenched fist but also the sweetly sleeping face. She couldn't take him away from his father now. Sinbad's hand rested against his child's little body, the gesture protective and loving even in sleep. He doted on the child, that was obvious enough even after the fleeting amount of time they had spent in each other's company. And she knew how much family meant to Sinbad; he had stressed the point countless times both in word and deed. Doubar was his only family for the longest time, and he did not show to Firouz or Rongar the complete concern he had for his brother. And she had seen the strong, loving care that Sinbad used when he held Conn. No, she could not separate them now. Sighing, she looked up at the sleeping Sinbad, noting the differences in his appearance. But they were just appearance; inside he was the same man she had fallen in love with. He'd grown older since—and perhaps because of—their parting, but then, so had she. She smoothed a gentle hand over the lines on his face, and they melted away into a small, content smile. They were not the same people they had been two years ago…but they were not so changed that they did not know each other. Their hearts still knew. And she could not leave him again. As much as she liked to believe that her life was her own to live as she wished, she could not leave him again. It was simply not possible. She knew it was because she loved him, and because she simply needed him. They were a family, no matter what anybody said now. There was nothing she could do…and truth be told, she didn't think she wanted to. A slow smile crept over her face as she gazed at her sleeping son. He had his father now, and she was happier about that than she ever thought she could be. A warm, very gentle hand touched her cheek, and her eyes flicked up to find Sinbad awake and watching her. His eyes were gentle, and she smiled as she gazed at him.

"Stay," he murmured sleepily, and though the entreaty was the least of all the ones he had made, it was also the greatest. He was not overflowing with rational reasons for her to stay, or pleading, or telling her why she should be with him. He had just one reason written plainly in his eyes: that he was a man and he loved her. And really, that was the only reason she had been looking for in the first place. Reaching up, she pressed her hand against his and held it to her cheek. There were tears in both their eyes as they reveled in the feeling of skin upon skin once again, of touch without necessity or obligation.

"I will."