Spearing the Siren

FIFTEEN

      William sat on their bed, waiting, until she came from the refreshment room in a robe, her hair still dripping wet from the shower. His lovely queen spared a look of ice for him before sitting down at her vanity, brushing her hair out.
      "Silent treatment, is it?"
      "It's better than putting my child in further danger by fighting with you."
      The words stung him. "One fight and it's already 'your' child," he said in a quiet tone that did little to express his feelings.
      "Don't be childish, Will."
      "How else am I supposed to take that?"
      She slammed her brush down and he flinched.
      "I'm upset with you! Are you going to dictate how I communicate that?"
      "Did I not have a right to be upset as well? Your new favorite could have placed us all in danger—"
      She turned around, her lovely brown eyes poniards.
      "Do not call him that. I made him work for my approval, and he earned it—"
      "So you say—"
      "Do you doubt me?" she asked in a low voice, a glint in her lioness eyes. He exhaled, looking down at the carpet. She stood, waddling over to the closet, opening it with an air of displeasure and he sighed.
     "Can we just have a conversation like adults—"
      "You looked at me like I was your enemy, and now you want to talk?"
      She ripped a clean uniform off a hanger, disappearing inside the refreshment room again and he sighed, laying back on the bed, pressing his palms to his forehead. He waited until she came out and he sat up. She went to her side of the bed, his heart aching a little when she slipped on her boots.
      "Neith—"
      "I have bridge duty," she said in an icy voice she'd never given him, standing to grab her jacket from a hook.
      "You're seven and a half months pregnant—"    She turned to skewer him with a look of metal superiors bent on his failure hadn't given him. She walked toward the door, and the ache only increased in his chest. "Please, Neith. Don't go like this." She stopped at the door, a hand on the doorframe as it slid open. "Can you turn around and look at me?"
      "I'm going to be late—"
      "Farmiga doesn't have a social life, you know that." She turned and gave him those cold brown eyes. "I wish you would see this from my point of view—"
      "You are so stubborn!" she snapped passionately, a part of him relieved at her outburst.
      "I am not as stubborn as I used to be. I don't know what has gotten you so riled up—"
      She waddled to him and he found himself caught between thinking she was cute and being scared for his life. She glared down at him like she wanted to stab him in the eye.
      "You insulted me in front of three members of our crew, insinuating I'm weak—"
      He gave her a resigned gaze, understanding.
      "I was just being honest—"
      "Honest! You ripped me a new one! Those lieutenants answer to me! You stripped my authority right in front of them—"
      "I did nothing of the kind—"
      "Coddle! That's the word you used! Do not play with me, Brandt," she said in a low voice, and his gaze gentled. "Not to mention being a complete hypocrite—"
      He held up a hand. "Whoa, that's a word that will never describe me—"
      "I swear, if you weren't my husband, I would kick the shit out of you."
      He gave her a fond look and she narrowed her eyes at him.
      "In your condition? I bet I could trip you."
      She put her hands on her hips, glaring murder at him.
      "Do not be cute with me right now, I'm upset..."
      His gaze warmed. "I noticed."
      She held up a finger. "Don't look at me like that. You know goddamn well you would have used any weapon at your disposal, and you've done worse in your career..."
      "Hitting below the belt, aren't you?" he asked with a smile in his eyes.
      "You are impossible. Do you not see the double standards you're judging him by?"
      "Should I be threatened? You're sure hot and bothered over this lieutenant..."
      "Will! I am not joking!"
      "I'm just trying to get you to calm down—"
      "Have you not met me? I will calm down when I'm good and ready!"
      He chuckled when she leaned over and punched him in the ribs. He sucked in air, falling back on an elbow, his face feeling hot.
      "I think you fractured something—"
      "I'm going to fracture your head!" His pained laugh made her press her lips together. "Must I hit the money maker next?"
      He choked a little as he laughed. "Thanks."   She made a frustrated sound as he wheezed. "Fuck woman, was it really necessary..."
      "You provoked me."
      He laid on his back with a wince. She waved a hand and turned to leave.
      "Sweetheart, please don't go."
      She turned to glare at him. "That isn't going to work on me..."
      "We're not finished talking."
      "Do I seem in the mood to argue with you anymore?"
      "We shouldn't be mad at each other. It's better to fight..."
      Her eyes gentled a fraction.
      "I just hit you. You want a shiner next?"
      "Don't you think you're overreacting just a little?"
      "How so?" she fired. "You disrespected me—"
      "I didn't think about it like that."
      She laughed. "How convenient for you! You essentially accused me of being a mother hen—"
      "Well, you are, aren't you?"
      She waddled back to him, glaring down at him.
      "I make investments! I do not go easy on any of my officers, you should know that! I certainly don't coddle them! You wouldn't place so much trust in me if I wasn't disciplined—"
      His gaze gentled. "I couldn't accuse you of that."
      "So what was that, then?"
       "I was upset with Archambault and you defended him—"
      "Listen to me, Brandt. I am not some fuck buddy, I am chief of goddamned operations aboard this vessel and I will not be disrespected, by you or anyone."
      "I apologize."
      The fire in her eyes cooled. "Do you really?"
      "It wasn't my intention—"
      "Don't give me that shit. Apologize or don't."
      He gave her a struggling look. "You realize I would do so just to bring peace between us."
      Her lovely face filled with fire once more.
      "So then you don't apologize—"
      "I apologize that I hurt you. But it is my responsibility to ensure discipline on my boat. Perhaps I should have done it in private, but..."
      Her eyes cooled. "He gets under your skin. He used to get under mine."
      He sat up with difficulty, favoring his right side.
      "I don't like too many cooks in the kitchen."
      She gave him a condescending look.
      "Really? All this was because of your ego—"
      He gave her a harder look.
      "I am the commander aboard this vessel—"
      "You've made that clear! Can't other people shine as well?"
      His gaze gentled. "It's not as simple as that."
      "It is, you want to be the king aboard this vessel—"
       "Archambault is dangerous, he's used to controlling everything—"
      "And you're not?"
      "It's my job to control everything aboard the Freyja. He is not a commander, he's a lieutenant, and he should act like one."
      Her gaze lost most of its steel.
      "Can you not give him some understanding because he was essentially commander of a settlement for nearly a decade?"
      "He's not there now, Neith. He knows the rules. He knows I am commander of this vessel. I'm not going to give him special treatment." She pressed her lips together. "But I can appreciate a predator when I come across one. I didn't have him detained because we might need as many of those as we can get. After this situation is over, I'll decide what repercussions his actions will incur."
      She calmed. "I suppose that's all I can ask."
      She turned around yet again to leave.
      "Is everything all right between us?"
      His queen turned to give him a gentle look.
      "I'll see you after my shift."
      She waddled from their bedroom as he shut his eyes, pressure in his chest overwhelming the ache in his ribs.