Hello again shipmates!

Right, this is the chapter of DOOOOOMMMMM! as I like to think of it.

Just to clear things up before I get you all confused and annoyed, a month has passed since Beckett turned up at Lizzie's door, and yep, she's still pregnant.

Beckett swung the axe again, splitting the log into two.

Over a month had passed since the awkward 'Log pile' incident. Elizabeth's pregnancy was causing problems for both of them, he could tell she was in a lot of pain and she found the perfect way to express her discomfort was to torture him. Gathering the heavy firewood for her was just one way he could ensure he was out of killing distance.

He had built himself his own little cabin near the trees. He had been cunning in that way, far enough to be out of sight but near enough to keep an eye on her.

What am I still doing here? I never intended to stay....

If he had bothered to even consider the prospect of leaving, he would have realised that abandoning a pregnant woman to deal with the imminent birth alone was, frankly, cowardice on his part. He didn't like being afraid.

Yet he was. Even he, not used to expecting mothers and bemused by the whole thing, could tell that Elizabeth was in a great deal of discomfort, she kept wincing when she moved.

The sun began to rise behind the trees, casting a sallow light on the clearing.

Beckett picked up the logs and started back towards the cabin.

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What does he want? Can't he bloody cook?

Elizabeth stirred the stew and smiled to herself. Of course not.

She had lost the will to fight him anymore. He had apologized, in a way, she still wasn't totally forgiving him.....she just....got used to him being there.

Another wave of pain washed over her, worse than any of the others.

Nearly...nearly.......

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The two sat facing each other. The warm Caribbean air wafted through the open window, bringing an attractive floral scent into the cabin.

Beckett put his spoon down, placed his elbows on the table and looked at Elizabeth critically.

'What are you intending to call the child?'

Elizabeth returned his penetrating gaze. She answered his question without hesitation.

'Morgan.'

Beckett pulled a face. 'And if it's a girl?'

'Morgan. I thought a unisex name would be fitting. I like Morgan.'

Again, the eyebrow rose up Beckett's forehead. Elizabeth returned the scathing expression.

'Thank God I didn't choose Bartholomew.'

Despite himself, Beckett laughed and Elizabeth began to smile warmly. Beckett trailed off and began fumbling in his pocket. Elizabeth cocked her head.

'What are you doing?'

'What? You didn't think I was carving myself a pipe did you?'

'Honestly? Yes.'

'Well, I wasn't.' he answered. Beckett placed something wooden on the table. Her mouth fell open.

Beckett smirked. Took me ages. Just hope the little brat enjoys it...

It was a spinning top. A small child's toy expertly carved to form a delicate point at the bottom. It was perfectly proportioned and of a warm oak colour.

There was a silence as Elizabeth gaped at it. After a while she met Beckett's gaze.

'This...this is a toy....' she stuttered.

'Well spotted' he jeered at her from across the table. 'Yes, for...Morgan, as you call it. I suppose this is a gesture of goodwill on my part.'

Elizabeth deftly picked the top up and examined it. It really was an excellent piece of work. She felt her hatred for him waning...

Are you nuts?! He's a lunatic!

But for some reason, she couldn't reason with herself to be mad at him. Instead, she flashed a smile at him.

'Thank you Beckett, really, it's so nice.'

Beckett returned her smile. At last...he was getting through...

Elizabet smiled again and rose to pick up the plates.

Beckett knew instantly something was wrong. Gasping, she bent double, clutching her stomach. Fear made Beckett's insides freeze and he rushed over to her. A spluttering sound alerted him that Elizabeth's waters had broken.

'Beckett!' she cried, holding out her hands. He grasped them and held her upright. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, he suddenly felt useless.

'Beckett please, get the midwife!' she cried again.

'Er, right!' he said, wringing his hands 'Where is she'

'Tortuga'

'Right, hold on!'

Beckett fled from the hut, Elizabet gasped again as she felt the infant shift position within her.

'Beckett please' she whispered weakly 'Hurry'.....

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The water splashed around him as Beckett leapt out of the boat and raced to the Tortuga shore. Sweat ran down his forehead in tiny beads and he felt himself going red from the running.

Where is the damn midwife?

At last he found the place. A small establishment tucked away in a dark alley, it reeked of putrescence , Beckett noticed, as he half-fell through the door.

'Hello?!' he called as he straightened up. No-one answered.

'Hello?' He repeated, again, no reply.

'IS THERE A MIDWIFE HERE OR NOT?!!' Beckett roared at the top of his lungs; dust fell down fro the ceiling.

An ancient, ragged woman hobbled from behind a doorway Beckett had not seen before. She was a witchy little thing; he suddenly felt alarmed to let her near Elizabeth with her beady eyes, yellow teeth, sallow skin and long jagged nails that had a substance under them that looked uncomfortably like blood.

'What d'you want?' she hissed.

Beckett took off his hat. A gesture, he felt, made him seem like a concerned gentleman.

'Please Madam, I am in need of your services. Elizabeth, that is, Ms Turner...please she's having a baby!'

'Turner?' said the midwife, looking Beckett up and down, 'Already? Let me get my supplies...'

She turned and bustled in the dank storeroom. He stood, jingling from one foot to the other in his impatience.

'Please, there is a woman whose labour isn't getting any easier!' he cried.

The old woman returned, clutching her bag.

'Lead the way.' she cackled grimly.

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Beckett raced up the hill, technically dragging the elderly midwife behind him.

'Hold on Lizzie, I'm coming.' He whispered desperately.

When they reached the cabin, he allowed the midwife in first. As he tried to follow she barred his way.

'No men.' she growled.

Beckett hesitated; he could hear faint cries that could only be from Elizabeth.

Do as she says....Elizabeth needs you....

Did she really need him?

'There is a storm coming,' said the woman, 'We need a guard'

'Sure, sure, no problem' Beckett said as he distractedly sat back on the log pile. A short scream echoed throughout the cabin . Beckett stood up swiftly as the midwife reappeared.

'We need buckets.' she ordered.

'B-buckets?' he repeated stupidly, 'What do you need buckets for?'

'Just get the buckets you stupid man!' she shouted at him. Beckett sped towards the back of the house, returning with two buckets that he threw at her.

'What now?' he asked.

'Sit,' said the woman. 'And wait.'

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Beckett shivered as another strangled cry came from the cabin. He felt as though his heart was being wrenched from his chest every time he heard her cry out in pain.

Hours passed......

What is that witch doing?

The dark night sky shrouded the island. Beckett glanced up in alarm as a blood- curdling scream issued from Elizabeth. Then, silence descended.

Beckett stood up and swept of his hat as the midwife came out.

'Is she-' Beckett began, then he gasped as he saw her overalls covered in deep crimson liquid.

'WHAT IN GOD'S NAME HVE YOU DONE TO HER?' he cried, trying to shove past her. The buckets, he noticed as he felt hot vomit rise in his throat, were filled with blood and bloodied sheets.

'The child's dead' the hag said simply.

For some unknown reason, Beckett felt the bottom drop out of his world.

Birth isn't a miracle. God is not forgiving, but a pillar of fire; taunting and vengeful.

Next chapter contains the first real Beckabeth moment. See you next time.