Someone drugging Cináed would have been a plausible reason for his almost immediate change in demeanour. Nicola had been prepared for anger, irritation and accusations. She’d been under the impression that the wizard didn’t want another kid and she certainly hadn’t thought of it in the immediate future. She’d not been out of Azkaban for three years and was only just getting back on her feet. The shop had been her grasp at independence and she was finally becoming known once more in Knockturn Alley for black market smuggling. Things were finally improving and now she was to be sent hurtling back to fearing the ministry and relying on someone else.

Embodying everything that Nicola did not feel about this unanticipated pregnancy, Cináed suddenly beamed, grasping her and kissing her cheek as he shared his delight. Nicola stood bolt stiff, unwilling to celebrate when he’d only moments before questioned her on the paternity of the baby. Now he was happy?

“I don’t know.” She’d not seen a healer to find out, she’d been too anxious. Too fearful of anyone finding out, or the ministry knowing and getting involved.

“It doesn’t matter if people know it’s yours or not, Cináed,” Nicola, for the first time in years looked scared, nervous. “The world thinks I’m unhinged because I let them.” He’d no doubt figured it out by now. “Now It’s backfired.” She shrugged, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed, worn out and metaphorically beaten. Her choices had thrown her here and it had never mattered as it had always been just Nicola that they affected. But no more.
“Would you let an insane witch sleeping with a wanted wizard keep a baby?” Dark eyes teared and she blinked, shaking her head. “We can’t have it, Cin.”

It was so very easy for Cinaed to dismiss Nicola's concern with a shake of his head.  For the fugitive, it was simple - cheap even - to dismiss the devastating consequences the pregnancy might bring from the Ministry or St. Mungo's.  It was a price he'd paid once before for a child; it was, perhaps, foolishly simple to ignore the potential cost again.  Especially knowing that, despite all of his  complaints about life on the run, Cinaed wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing again, as long as the alternative was leaving Fionn with that muggle. 

"It doesn't matter," he said.  "They can only take the child if they can prove that madness you portray puts the child in harm.  Even if they did - they can't - they will not take the child from us.  I will not let them."  Cinaed turned on the bed to look at Nicola.  "Anyone who tried to take my child would not live long enough to regret it."

"Do you think I'd be any less protective of this child then I would of my first?"

Cinaed knew there was little he could do to stop her, if she chose to not keep the child; all he could do was support and convince, both roles that were far from his standard skill set.  "We'll make it work.  We have allies; we're working towards a better world."

Cináed reminded Nicola of the Wolf in the muggle story of ‘The Three Little Pigs’. He would huff and puff until the Ministry fell. He would growl and bite until he could keep his children safe. But the perhaps naïve witch thought that his bark was worse than his bite and his suggestion of not letting anything happen fell on deaf ears. It was hard to trust him and she didn’t want to try.

“Are you being serious?” Nic asked, staring ahead before laughing. It was a laugh far more habitual for the witch before she shook her head and snapped her head around to face him.
“You want me to think you’ll be protective over it when you questioned whose it was and suggested I’d shag anyone?” They certainly weren’t working towards a better world with him hiding in the shadows like a pathetic coward.

“Don’t feed me that shit, Tawse.” Nicola was now pulling her boots on as she spoke. She stood and moved around the wizard to reach under the pillow near him, grasping her wand.

Cinaed stared at the witch, his upper lip wrinkling into a snarl. 

He would always be in the wrong with her.  He would have been foolishly conceited if he'd assumed she'd been with no one else and he was daft for assuming she'd been free to be with whomever she chose.  He was in the wrong for getting frustrated when she'd dodged the question.  Apparently, somewhere along the lines, this had become more then just a fun shag for her and she'd forgotten to send him a memo.  And, yet, he was the one in the wrong for not knowing. 

"I have never belittedly you.  I have never treated you like something less.  I have looked past the insults and criticism and lack of respect, and I never responded in kind.  You've made it clear you never thought much of me and, therefore, I've never compelled you to not look at other men.  You dismiss me as a joke and then turn around and claim my reputation keeps you stuck here.  If that had ever been a problem, you were always free to leave.  Or, say something.  You-"  He stopped himself and seemed to fade into resignation. 

Finally, he shook his head.  "I have never done anything to trap you here." 

He looked up at the lofted bedroom ceiling and shook his head.  He gave another, dismissive, shake of his head and turned towards the bathroom.  "You seem to have made up your mind, so do what you want.  You've always had the right answer.  Maybe there's someone out there that meets your standards, but I'm done trying." 

“What a fucking saint!” Nicola snapped back, angry and frustrated with his response. How dare he take offense when he’d demanded to know whose the child was! There’d only been him for a long time yet clearly, he’d not been satisfied with just her. She was a disrespectful and insulting pain in the arse that he was happy to do without.

“You got me pregnant.” She stated as he turned to the bathroom. “That’s a trap.” Of course, Nicola didn’t mean it. She was angry and hurt. The thought of a child scared her. The thought of a child with a man who didn’t love her terrified her. She’d fallen in love at 18, been sent to Azkaban at 20 and become a widow at 25. Cináed, despite how Nicola acted, was all she had and they were clearly nothing more than a person to warm the bed at night.

Without another word, Nicola headed for the door, yanking it open and leaving.