Work Text:
Gentle fingers intertwined with his, a skip in each step towards the bright pink bed. Bridget squealed delightedly, pulling him in and the closet door closed, “How marvelous! Oh, I can’t wait. A daughter!”
That fiery girl dawned in bright crimson was her daughter, from the future. Bridget’s mind spun, overjoyed at the prospect. Red was brave and outspoken, exactly what the royal bloodline of Wonderland would need in the future, and Bridget held the distinct impression that raising her would teach her all sorts of new perspectives on life. She positively could not wait to have her, to watch her grow.
James, however, felt shrunken in her grasp, since overhearing Red’s confession. One moment, banter over crepes had devolved into stolen kisses, and the next, he had been shooed into her sizable wardrobe when those girls came calling at her door. Her daughter. Unknowingly revealing the truth of where she came from to her teenage mother's hidden boyfriend.
His hook slipped past his lips, worrying at the metal tip with his teeth.
Tilting her head to the side, Bridget watched as he leaned against her headpost, pointedly not joining her on the bed. “Darling, is something the matter?”
Dazed out of his tick, James finally returned her gaze, his eyes stormy and oddly conflicted. “Bridge, there’s uh,” his throat bobbed nervously, “Well, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
Bridget blinked, shifting closer to him.
“It…” He cleared his throat, suddenly finding it hard to recover his voice, “Well, it’s really something you should’ve known from the start.”
“James,” her hands curled around his fingers, cool to the touch, the same his hook was, “What is it?”
“Well, it’s just– Mal might have, ever so slightly…” James trailed – she could feel the dramatic hammering of his chest as her fingers brushed his wrists – “...charmed me.”
Her lashes fluttered with something akin to outrage, “Why would she–”
“I asked her to,” he assured her quickly, though he wasn’t sure of how much of an assurance it was. He couldn’t wittingly allow her to think worse of his friends than she already had the right to. “It was mostly small things. A more natural supplement to deepen my voice here, some minor… shaping, we’ll say, there. All she did was try to make me more comfortable in my own skin. She and Morgie are still figuring out the finer, more permanent details, but Merlin won’t exactly hand over his vault of transformation magic, no matter how much he likes Morgie–”
“James–”
“What I’m saying is,” James inhaled deeply, lashes fluttering with the immovable presence of his pride, fighting to cough out the truth despite the pain in his chest, “I don’t exactly have all the… parts to give you that.” His lip quivered, ever so imperceptibly, “And I know how much you want it.”
Her heart ached, how she wanted nothing more than to kiss away that tremble in his lip, brush away the burning water budding at his lashes with her lips.
“Oh, James,” her warm hands enveloped his face, holding him preciously. “You don’t honestly believe I’d care about something silly like that, do you? Nothing would make me love you any less. You’re mine, my love,” her fingers came down, coiling around the curve of his metal appendage, “Hook and all.”
James audibly swallowed, nodding smally in her hands. “But, the girl–”
A secure smile pulled at her lips, “Maybe they’ll figure it out. Maybe we'll figure something out. It’s so far away, my love,” Bridget pressed her lips to his in a tender kiss, “why worry about it?”
“I don’t want to hold you back,” James admitted quietly, not quite meeting her eye.
“If my dreams don’t include you, they’re not really mine,” Bridget looked upon him warmly, sealing another kiss to his lips. “I do wish you would’ve told me sooner. I could’ve helped.”
“It’s not exactly something I like to advertise,” James admitted quietly. He didn’t have to elaborate. Bridget knew how despite the relatively loose laws of the ocean, some pirates were strictly traditional. Who knows what the word would have done to his survival on board or to his position as captain? There were plenty of myths about women on ships, and though James very much wasn't one, she'd hate to think what he'd have to endure from people who thought otherwise.
“But they did a proper good job on me,” a shy smile crept onto his face. “Got the stubble and everything. Well, you know… almost everything.”
Bridget giggled, running the soft pads of her fingers over the scratchy shadow of his jaw. She wondered why he never grew it out for how proud he was of having it. Maybe the shadowy outline alone made him feel more euphoric. She certainly didn’t mind; as much as she was sure he’d look devilishly handsome with the right amount of facial hair, she appreciated his lovely face unobscured.
“Could I… see it?” her face flushed right up to her ears, “Their work, I mean.”
James chuckled, “Yeah, I mean,” his cool fingers enveloped hers, guiding them down his jaw, seating her slender hand around his neck, “They gave me more of an Adam’s apple. They make me drink this potion that tastes kind of like crowberry? It makes it more pronounced and, with a little vocal training, helps with the voice. I have’ta take it every morning, though.”
His brow knit thoughtfully, running his thumb over her knuckles, “They figured out how to make my hand a little more… manly, I guess. It’s a little bigger than before… a lot veinier than it used to be.” James laughed a little, “Still haven’t figured out how to magick the other one back.”
Her chest bubbled with affection. Bridget did quite enjoy his hand; the long calloused digits, how it flexed with movement. Seeing him so pleased with something she also loved about him filled her with warmth.
The pink of his tongue flicked out, running along his lip. His lashes fell heavy over his eyes as he guided her hand down, past the ridge of sharp collarbone and cool sting of metal chains, down to the saturated reds and black of his parting shirt. Deep brown eyes peered at her, looking the most doe-like she had ever seen him.
Her fingers moved on their own, slipping through cotton and smooth buttons until his shirt fell past his shoulders.
His chest was smooth and pale before her, not quite matching the muscle in his arms, but a lovely sight just the same. Below his pectorals, sat two twin scars.
“Mal did a pretty bang-up job,” James started, “but couldn’t quite smooth it out, in the end. I don’t know. I kind of like ‘em. Makes me look badass, yeah? Like a battle scar.”
The pure, jovial way he beamed at that sent her heart fluttering.
“Yeah,” Bridget echoed. “It’s perfect.” She surged forward, smiling lips pressing lovingly against his own. “You’re perfect.”
He cupped her face, firmly trying to keep up with her onslaught of kisses, “Yeah?”
“So perfect,” Bridget murmured hurriedly to his lips.