“Whispers” | Millian
@moonbeamnights has been nice enough to let me ramble with her about so many ideas and head canons for these two, and this is one of the ideas that came from it. (Hopefully it's coherent, I tried putting like ten different things we talked about in here.)
WORDS: 2,290
RATING: T
PAIRINGS: Millian
SUMMARY: He heard the whispers then, familiar and slimy little things that wriggled and squirmed into his ears and settled heavily in his gut and he knew she could hear them too.
Ao3
Each time he watched her find him in a crowd her face would light up. It would last only for a moment before she caught herself, schooling her features into a more appropriate expression as her eyes quickly scanned the crowd to make sure no one had seen her, but by then the damage would already be done. Whether he'd worked himself up to the idea that this would be his last time there for both their sakes, or had tried to convince himself that the memory of her was certainly better than reality, her happiness at seeing him of all people ensured he would return at least one more time.
Killian was not used to seeing her outside the tavern. When the ship made port and the resupplies were going underway, hers was a face he never saw in the crowd during the light of day despite how often he would look. Killian would imagine her at home, doing chores with a husband she adored enough to stay with or stealing a few moments to play with the boy she clearly loved. It was a domestic sort of bliss he rarely ever cared for.
That day, though, as he scanned the crowd and expected not to find her, he did. Or at least thought he did. Her back was to him and he was not sure if wild curls were a common style among the locals. Surely not, and especially not loose with the freedom she herself longed for, but the possibility of his pirate hand settling on someone with terribly delicate sensibilities who would rather scream bloody murder than smile at him gave him pause.
So he followed and watched and, admittedly, enjoyed her guileless sashay through the throng of people. He was more convinced by that than by her curls. There was only one person he knew who could walk like that without realizing exactly what it did to a person.
He knew it was her when she turned to touch a delicate silk scarf of burnt oranges and reds and caught her face in profile. Milah had an almost peaceful smile on her face, nearly serene as she was caught up in her own little world, but it quickly froze as her eyes lifted to the merchant. The stall keeper said something with the same sort of sneering smile he saw as a boy. Her lips thinned and she gave a curt nod, fingers flicking the scarf away as though it were made of dung.
Killian sped up his steps, watching her walk with tense shoulders. He nears the market she had just left in time to hear the loud whispering between colleagues about the coward's wife diminishing the value of their expensive silk scarf with her dirty hands. He looked at the scarf and then up at them, eyebrows raising in derision. "You call this silk?" He picked it up between two fingers, flicking it the same as she had, and sent it fluttering to the muddy ground.
"Hey, you can't just do that!" The man who had sneered at Milah was simply outraged that anyone would dare treat him that way.
Killian held up his hands and took a step back, giving the merchant a moment to grab the wooden club behind his stall if he so wished. He glanced at the pirate's sword and thought better of it, scoffing instead. "The world really is going to shit, Suzy."
He shrugged before pivoting, the dramatic flourish only dampened because there was no long coat to flair about his legs, to follow after Milah. His ears were now open to the chatter of others around them. He heard the whispers then, familiar and slimy little things that wriggled and squirmed into his ears and settled heavily in his gut and he knew she could hear them too. She would stop for a moment, shoulders tense, and instead of turning toward her verbal assailant like he wished she would, she just walked on.
It was after a particularly nasty comment that had him reaching for her. His hand settled on her shoulder and before he could say anything she was turning to him, ready to slam the basket she carried into his gut. Her face, so calm and serene just moments ago, was now bright red with anger and humiliation. Then she saw who he was and her face lit up, though somewhat dimmed this time, as she smiled. "You startled me."
"Are you alright?" He wanted to touch her face or pull her close, to offer any sort of comfort to her that he could. But he couldn't because she had someone else for that.
Her shoulders sagged at the realization that he'd heard. She nodded, not even pretending with a smile this time. "I'm fine. It isn't the worst they've said."
Killian scowled. "How is that fine? They shouldn't be saying anything at all." He looked up at the person he knew called her a whore, taking a step toward him before thinking.
"Please, just stop ." An old and weary frustration laced her voice as she grabbed his arm, tight grip loosening as he did as she asked. She blinked and stared at her hand before taking a deep breath to look at him, voice softening. "I'm–" She cut herself off and bit her lip before continuing. "It isn't worth it."
It was the first time she had touched him first and the heat of her hand seared through the linen of his shirt and branded itself deep beneath his skin. At least that would be what he imagined later when he could not sleep and could still feel her touch. For now, though, he stood wondering if the near slip was a near admission of one's own self worth or if perhaps his mind was too quick to try and analyze everything about her, thirsty for any morsel about herself that she might give him. "It would be, though."
Her shoulders relaxed and her smile, while small, was there. "You're very sweet." Her hand slid down his arm and settled around his, all worn calluses and soft skin. He felt his own cheeks warm. He was rarely ever accused of being sweet. Then she remembered herself, eyes darting around as her smile faded and folding her arms against herself. "But when you leave, I will still be at their mercy for the cost of flour and meat and…everything else we cannot get to grow."
Killian rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I cannot say I like it very much, but for you ," He sighed heavily with a theatrical roll of his eyes. "I shall do my very best to behave myself."
She bit back another smile as best she could. "A difficult task for you, I'm certain, but I have faith you will succeed."
"What else does a man need aside from the faith of a beautiful woman?" Her smile turned to confused shock. Fearing he might have overstepped and scare her off at any moment he took a step toward her. "Will you be at the tavern tonight?"
Her hand fluttered to her chest, brows furrowing together in thought. "Oh." She bit her lip between her teeth again and he feared she might try to make excuses. "After Baelfire's in bed. After…everyone's in bed."
"Baelfire. Your boy?" She nodded, the beginnings of a smile on her face again. "How is the lad?"
The smile bloomed so bright it almost hurt to look at. "He is beautiful. Thank you."
And, since he was already asking about her family, he had to ask about him. He hated talking about the man at all, letting himself pretend for stretches of seconds at a time that he did not exist. But the man did, and Killian had enough good form left in him to acknowledge as much. "And that husband of yours? You make the picture of domestic bliss and happiness, I'm sure." He kept his voice calm and even and he thought maybe he'd reward himself with a nice, drunken stupor later.
He expected her smile to stay when she talked about all of her family and he'd have to pretend it wasn't slowly killing him. Instead it fell as her face twisted into a hurt scowl. "Are you making fun of me?" Before he could answer her shoulders sagged and she rolled her eyes, turning to walk away as she muttered. "Of course you are. Why did I let myself expect any different."
The words were more muttered to herself but they still landed like punches to his gut. Killian knew if he didn't fix this now there would be no more smiles for him when their eyes met in a crowd, or if they ever would again.
"Milah, wait." She didn't stop and he had to scramble to catch up. He darted in front of her and held up both his hands. He wanted to grab her arms and get her to look at him but he was fairly certain that way would lead to a kneed groin and some face scratches. "How is what I said making fun?"
Her glare stayed in place for a long stretch before it finally melted as she looked at him. "You're not?"
He shook his head, finally settling his hands on her shoulders. "I might tease. But that's something for all parties involved to enjoy." He flashed her a grin and a bit of an eyebrow waggle before clearing his throat at her blank look. It was moments like these where he resisted the urge to show her what he meant. "I wouldn't make fun of someone I like. And I very much like you."
"I'm glad. I'm not sure what I would have done if you had been." Her voice was soft and sad and he wondered if he were the only adult in her life that didn't make her miserable in some way. Or, if he did, he hoped it was the sort of miserable she made him, because it was the kind wanted to cling to.
" I was fully prepared for a well placed knee." Her cheeks turned pink. He studied her for a long moment. He'd made himself content with just this, thinking this was the life she wanted. And he could be content if this was all she could give him. "Are you happy?"
Her eyes widened as she looked at him. "I love my son." It was a quick response and he wondered how often she'd repeated that to herself.
"Is that enough?"
"It has to be."
He nodded and finally dropped his hands from her shoulders. Killian thought he might be understanding more of her. He wanted to know more, to ask her everything, but having her not want to throttle him was a good place to end. Still, she had to know that she had options. "My offer still stands. If you ever do wish to see those things, all you need to do is ask."
"And if I keep saying no?" Her eyes were large.
"I will keep coming back until you tell me not to."
Later at the tavern she was laughing beside him, joking with his men as she won their money. She was happy sitting there, sipping her ale and stealing bits of bread and meat from his plate. She froze and this time it wasn't a whisper.
"Looks like the coward's wife is whoring herself to a bunch of filthy pirates to feed her family, eh?" There was laughing and jeering as his table fell silent.
He had promised her he would behave when they talked about her. But as they'd brought his crew's bathing habits into question, well, who could blame him for throwing that dagger at that man's head? There was a startled yelp beside him as it vibrated harmlessly in the wall. "Looks like I'm a bit drunk today, lads. I missed!"
This time the laughter was at his table, and far louder. Good. He turned to Milah. "I'm sorry, love, did I startle you?" She shook her head. He held up the dice for her. "Good. It's your roll, I believe."
Her pockets were filled with more coin than when she'd joined him when they left. It wasn't whoring if it was a fair buy-in and they both left for separate beds. He walked her closer to her home than he had before, suddenly not liking the way the shadows lurked around her. This meant they were far enough from prying eyes that he could take her hand in his and kiss it as he'd done their first night. "This is where I'll leave you."
She grabbed his arm again and opened her mouth to say something. Then, thinking better of it, she let him go and smiled at him. It was still lovely, still warmed him, but it was also sad. "I'll see you when you're next in port."
"Aye. I really hope you do."
He started back for his ship, stopping at the curve in the road to look back. He expected her to be gone but she stood there with a longing that he'd thought he would only ever see in the mirror when he thought of her. He wanted to run back to her, plead with her to come with him, and maybe if he did now she would. But she had a boy she loved, and that had to be enough.
He lifted his hand in a wave before making himself leave again, almost hating that his steps were suddenly lighter. He hated that the whisper of hope blooming in his chest was born from the misery on her face.
