Nicki was just dabbing at her eyes with the not fancy but passably clean hanky and trying very hard not to lose ground because of her outburst. Her captain was a good man and she felt a strange warmth towards him that she could not name, a warmth that went beyond loyalty and service. In the aftermath of her weakness inspired lapse of control she felt somewhat lighter, relieved almost though she couldn’t admit that consciously. All she would allow herself to feel was the warmth and censure towards herself for the lapse. She was gathering her will to speak, to say something into the silence that would fit into the warmth and had trouble finding such words, she was not accustomed to warmth, she was not accustomed to openness. A voice cut through the silence in the cabin as cleanly as one of her blades and in the wake of it the silence bled tension. Nicki’s head snapped up, her eyes wide in dawning realization as the Captain haired off after the fleeing lookout. 

She hesitated. She would hate herself for a long time for the hesitation, but then it was just a small addition to her growing mountain of self-loathing. She hesitated and so that when she finally made it out in the light of the rising day and blinked away the sun and focused on the moment it was already well out of control. Cooper held a gun to her captain, Cooper who had always had a snide comment for her, never to her face, but always just when it was not worth her time to respond. She moved her hand to her pistol.

Gangrene, it was an ugly thing. Rot in the body, rot that would spread. She had to give pain often, as a doctor and as a first mate. Though she was good at it, very good at it, she didn’t like it. Each cut she had to make, each blow was felt inwardly as much as it was ever felt outwardly though she doubted the recipients would believe that. Their wounds healed, hers simply mounted up. But some pain, some cuts were necessary, she knew this. Such as when a limb was bad, when it had gone beyond salvaging it needed to be removed lest the rest of the body join it in rot. That didn’t mean she liked it, it only meant she understood the need. Cooper was rotten. 

Some shots, like the one at the tavern the night before caused more violence. But some shots ended it. She hoped this one would be the latter sort. 

She raised her pistol and was about to pull the trigger when a shot was fired, preempting hers. She paused, baited breath her heart seized as the smoke settled. Had the Captain been shot? Was this the end? There was such a wash of emotion over her in the second there was so much uncertainty that her hands shook. In that moment she understood just how deep the warmth she felt for the captain went. How perfect, to discover just such a thing only to lose it. 

But the smoke cleared and everyone stood where they were only Cooper sported a slash of crimson along the top of his shoulder and was staring with murderous rage at Jax.

Jax. 

Where had he come from? Always there to turn things upside down with his comments and that smile that got under her skin. But the smile was different, strained and tight. She wondered at the lines around his eyes, and then wondered at her wondering. She was too open, to damn open and it was making her hesitate. When Cooper moved, swinging his gun to Jax in his rage she acted. Her pistol was up, her pistol was trained on the rot and it was a simple matter of pulling the trigger and ending the threat, not only to her captain, but to Jax who came out of nowhere and changed everything. 

She was to Cooper’s side so that the risk to her captain should she miss was minimal, though she did not expect to miss. She practiced her shooting rigorously, as she did everything. Driving herself into exhaustion so that she would be ready. Ready for things just like this. She didn’t miss and Cooper’s head rocked to the side as her bullet found his ear like a lover’s whisper. His expression was that of furious surprise for a second before then the bullet exited his other ear in a burst of blood, brains and bone fragment. He slumped, the life leaving him a second before his meanness did. His meanness was what made the dying nerves in his fingers pull the trigger sending a bullet, badly aimed, in Jax’s direction. 

Sometimes when rot was removed, healthy flesh was lost too. As she stepped towards the smoke that hung in the air between her and her handiwork she prayed that she would not find this to be the case on the other.