She'd left the gentle palfrey in Sir Greene's stables this time. No, this ride required that vicious bastard Faustus, the ebony stallion who despised all humankind to the bottom of his black soul.

All humankind, but oh how he loved the Spider he bore, both of her hands clutching his mane as she leaned over his neck, bareback and heedless. She understood him, this Spider, like no other. No bit was ever shoved between teeth and gums, slicing into the tender edges of his muzzle. There were no saddle straps to pinch and confine, and no crop, no whip to lay stripes at his flanks.

Never a whip.

For her, he would fly. Faustus' hooves pounded like war drums over the dirt road, thankfully drowning Sir Greene's raucous laughter from his veranda in seconds. The leisurely carriage ride back to Nathaniel's had set her teeth on edge, an ivory barrier to the scream of frustration she kept barred inside, caged behind the smiles and polite laughter.

Played. Oh, she had been played as splendidly and exquisitely by the blind man and the grinning fool as the finest Micheli violin. Jax. Damn him. Damn him straight to the nethermost circle of hell! It'd be just like him to do some galling bit of impropriety like, say... Actually showing up to the event he'd been invited to attend! She had to talk to Thomas, to the First Mate - surely one of them could make the helmsman see reason - or whatever the hell passed for such in that head of his. Oh, he was going to be there tonight. Antonia just knew it, and she was running out of time.

She and Sir Greene were meant to arrive at Commander Murray's home within the hour, but the instant Robert rounded the corner of Nathaniel's drive on his bay, gentle Antoinette waving her fond farewells beside her beloved Oncle Nathaniel on the veranda? Antonia had fled into the house, tearing to Antoinette's rooms and dashing just as quickly back down once more, the hooded cloak thrown over her shoulders. The rogue hiked her skirts up in both hands, sprinting across the manicured lawns to the stables. And dignity was tossed to the four winds as the hooded woman tore on the demon black horse through Port Royal's filthy streets, her skirts hiked up to her thighs and streaming in their wake like an infernal banner.

That such a wanton should pull up at the Dusk Skate's berth likely surprised no one. The rogue slid from Faustus' back, taking a moment to kiss his velvet-soft snout in eternal gratitude before racing up the gangplank.

Preparations were well underway for their imminent departure, though Antonia's sudden, unexpected and rather spectacular arrival did not go completely unnoticed. She pulled the hood back, grey eyes meeting the surprised gaze of the closest crewman - Hill, she remembered.

"Silverfish?" she asked curtly, the nickname question and statement all at once.

Hill's eyes widened with genuine surprise and, wisely, he resisted the sudden urge to give Antonia the once-over. "Below deck, with the First Mate. But I'm thinking - "

A terse nod of thanks cut off whatever else Hill might have said as she turned on her heel. "Antonia, is that you?" Cooper shouted in a voice loud enough to make the rogue cringe, a disgusted snarl of irritation on her lips. "Ha! Well I'll be damned - who knew you even owned a skirt?" His voice seemed oddly thick, as if he spoke through a wad of cloth - not that Antonia could be bothered to inquire the reason.

Like the braying ass he was, Cooper immediately burst into full-throated laughter at his own weak joke. Antonia simply shot him a glare slathered generously with all the soul-deep contempt she could muster, an especially obscene finger sign for him as she rushed past.

Though she could count the number of times she'd been to the officers' quarters of the ship on one hand, the rogue moved surely enough to the First Mate's own, rapping quickly on the door even as she tentatively pushed it open, ducking her head within with a hopeful smile. She had seen what Nicolette could do to a man when she wished, and the rogue was rather fond of her unbroken neck. "Mademoiselle Beauchamp? Pardonnez-moi. C'est moi, Antonia. J'ai besoin parler - "

The words died a short, tragic death on her lips as, for the first time in living memory, the rogue was shocked to stunned silence.

She was a fool.

She was as big a fool as Jax could ever be, without the virtue of that mirthful, mischievous grin. Nicolette's arms were wrapped so tenderly about her lovely man, her angelic face buried in the soft hollow of his neck - the very place she once thought to discover herself one day, to find whether that tender flesh was near so soft and yielding as it seemed beneath her searching lips.

And how he smiled, with such tender affection as he held her, this exquisite, golden woman. Antonia suddenly knew exactly how she must appear beside the divine vision that was Nicolette: small and dark and so shadowy dim beside such a heavenly light. A light so brilliant, so luminescent that even the rogue forgot what reason brought her here in the first place, seared from her thoughts like a brand.

How... Stupid. How ridiculously, inexcusably naive she had been. Thomas was a man after all, and a privateer captain at that. When had he ever pledged his undying love for a rogue? Sworn eternal fidelity? Fallen on bended knee to ask a woman he knew very well was a thief, a liar, a murderer, to be his wedded bride? Ha! What right-thinking man ever would?

Ludicrous.

Laughable.

The mask fell before the tears ever had the chance, and she did just that. Antonia laughed - at herself, at her foolishness, at her complete blindness. Some lookout she must make. Likely only the grace of God had kept the Skate from being dashed to pieces against treacherous shores on her watch long ago.

Smashed to bits, rather like the torn, aching heart in her chest.

"Excusez-moi. I did not mean to interrupt." Swiftly she pulled the door shut once more, too quickly, too loudly, but Antonia was far beyond caring.

'Do not run. You will not run... ' But too-hasty steps still launched her up the narrow stairs and back onto the main deck. 'You will not run. You will not run. Do not - '

"Aye, now there she is like I said, Lady Antonia!" Cooper brayed, a thick coil of rope tossed over one shoulder, his other arm used to elbow the sailor next to him. "But there's nothin' like that eyeful of First Mate we had! Now there's a woman to make a man glad to rise in the morning - and at night, if you get my meaning. Damn, that Miss Beauchamp - oh HO! Aye, now that's a sight I'll be treasurin' to the end of my days! Worth the broken no- AAAAAAAAAARRGGGHHHH!"

Antonia did not break her long-legged stride as she reached into the silken folds of her dress waist. With a near absent flick of her wrist, the perfectly balanced throwing stiletto was buried to the hilt in Cooper's thigh.

His screams were far less satisfying than they should have been, though the obscenities he flung at her back were undoubtedly more creative than she would have ever given him credit for.

At the sound of the unmistakable Creole French, Thomas’ eyes widened in horror. The sudden and deafening sound of silence, like the calm before a storm, filled the cabin as Antonia stopped in mid-sentence. Thomas’ breath caught in his throat, and he found himself frozen in place. He knew what the rogue saw, and he thought in that moment that karma was collecting upon a debt of ill-fortune that had been long overdue.

Thomas turned his head to Antonia, just as her laughter, her painful and biting laughter, split the silence. The look of shock and betrayal upon her face burned into his mind, and his heart fell into his boot heels. In an instant the rogue was gone, the thunder of her own footsteps echoing the lighting shock of her admonishing and mirthless laughter.

He released himself from the First Mate, his body now shaking and slow to recover. His mind screamed at his limbs to chase after Antonia, to not let the woman who had unwittingly whittled her way to the interior of his soul leave without knowing the truth.

“No,” he muttered, almost incoherently, “dear God, no.”

At last, his own will overpowered his leaden feet. Thomas rushed from the First Mate’s cabin without another word, and he raced after Antonia. The stairs to the main deck were taken three at a time in great bounding strides until he was in the bright midday sun. Thomas spun about, following the still distinctive percussion of Antonia’s heels upon the decking. Her quick walk had taken her almost to the gangway, and Thomas sprinted after her.

Though he did not perceive it, the attention of the entire crew present on the Dusk Skate was singularly directed at the captain and the quarry he chased. Even some on the docks stopped their work to view the spectacle of Captain Thomas Lightfoot, running as fast as his legs would carry him, dash after the mysterious and exotic woman.

His legs bore him well, and Thomas managed to catch Antonia just as she reached the Skate’s port railing. Without thinking, he grasped at her trailing wrist, and whipped her around to face him.

“Antonia wait!”

It was only then, only when his mouth exclaimed those words that reality broke through to Thomas, and the import of what he intended to do shone in stark clarity. The eyes of his crew could be felt upon his back, and their silence spoke volumes. These men had followed Thomas for years. They knew him to be a rascal, a scoundrel, a killer, a womanizer, a drunkard, but never once had they seen him care enough to pursue a woman from his cabin. Never once had they seen him with love in his heart.

Though he did not take his copper eyes away from Antonia, Thomas thought of all of this. He realized that this very instant marked a shift in his entire persona, and the abounding and general wonder of all that implied set his skin to tingling. There was nothing for it now. The cards had been laid out before him, and he could either fold, or gamble and hope to providence that his winning hand lay just beyond the next turn.

“Antonia,” Thomas said, his voice quiet and ragged, “please, I can explain. It wasn’t what it seemed, to all the gods of the seas and the stars I swear it.”

He took his other hand to clasp it around Antonia’s, not wanting to give her the chance to flee before his courage failed. “It was not what it seemed because I follow the stars, and you, Antonia, are the only star I ever want to guide me home. I am a man of imperfections, and a man plastered and defined by my past deeds, but I swear…”Thomas allowed his voice to climb in volume “…My heart is yours, and yours alone if you will have it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” A rough voice said from behind Thomas, and it was immediately accompanied by the snick of a pistol hammer being locked into place. Before he could turn, Thomas felt the barrel being pressed against the base of his skull.

“You expect us to just sit back and smile like good little dogs now that you’ve got your cock tucked between your legs, Cap’n?” The voice continued.

Thomas scowled. The voice was plain enough to him now, though it sounded as though the man was speaking through sail cloth. Cooper

Releasing Antonia’s hand, Thomas turned to face Cooper. The pistol barrel now faced squarely between his eyes, but Thomas did not shy away. His features spoke of defiance and exacting disdain, as if Cooper was nothing more than a pile of horse shit that had soiled Thomas’ boot.

Cooper’s steely gaze faltered slightly beneath the withering stare, but he continued. “Ever since you brought those two cunts aboard, this ship has turned into nothing more than a floating hen house. We deserve better than that, for all we’ve been through. For all the blood we’ve spilt.”

“We deserve a captain not hamstrung by the smell of quim, eh boys?” As Cooper continued to speak, he began glancing back and forth to the other sailors upon the ship. The steel of his conviction bending without the accompanying laughter of his compatriots.

Thomas pressed his forehead against the pistol. Unadulterated ire now oozed from him like the plague, and if his eyes had shone any brighter, they would’ve been alight with flame. When he spoke, his voice boomed challenge, and spat malice.

“Then pull the trigger you sniveling piece of shit. Put your money where your mouth is, and cast your lot.”

Thomas raised his arms, encompassing the entire crew of the Dusk Skate.

“Have I not brought you fortune beyond your wildest dreams? Have I not seen to sate your lusts, fill your bellies, and quench you thirsts? Have I not fought and bled right alongside you?”

Once again Thomas turned his eyes to bore into Cooper. “If I am wrong, then I say once more: pull that trigger.”

An eternity seemed to pass. Sweat beaded upon Cooper’s quaking face, and it ran in rivulets down his cheek and jaw. All sound seemed to have ceased, as even the lap of the waves and the call of the gulls did not reach Thomas’ ears. In the back of his mind, through all the exhilarated fear and adrenaline, Thomas realized in that silent and endless moment that if he were to die this very day; having declared his faith in a woman whom he called his Right Hand, and having pledged his whole heart to another with eyes of grey, that it would not have been a wasted life.

Little sleep, feelings of suppressed rejection,time trying to explain anything to a boy and walk back to his ship left Jax’s smile just a little off. So when he walked on dock and saw the still tension on the deck of his newest love, his ship, Jax didn’t feel like sorting anything out.

Some crew member, --was that Cooper? Dumb shit. --had a pistol pointed at his Captain’s face. It didn’t take long for Jax to find a spot of the deck, pull his own weapon out, find a steady place, a clear shot, and Jax fired.

He was a pretty good aim but on another day he might have hesitated. He wasn’t perfect and there was a possibility in those close quarters that he could be slightly off. That didn’t really enter his mind until the smoke from his shot settled and he peaked through the cloud. Shit, he thought as still no one seemed to move. I funckin’ hope I didn’t hit the Captain.

Either way he better be ready to run. But instead he figured he better just smile, that’s what he did. He threw his hands out sort of a surrender, sort of a shrug.

“Hells, freezing seas, you best not point a weapon at my Captain after a hard night.”

He realized then he had no fucking clue what was going on. Damn, that seems to be happening alot lately.

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.

'It wasn't what it seemed...'

When had things ever been between them? From the very moment they met, Antonia had not been what she seemed, merely a seductress, a thief who lured men to their ruin. When Thomas had tracked her down, he had not been what he seemed either. What pirate captain in all this retched world, would let the rogue who had made such a fool of him live? And not simply live, but then turn his back to the treacherous creature, to give her a choice to murder or to follow...

Antonia's eyes fell to the hands that clasped her own, the strength in them begging her to stay right where she stood. Thomas spoke of stars. Here, before all the crew, before every last man on this ship, peering up curiously from the docks, hanging from the rigging for all she knew or cared - he said she was his star. His very own Home Star.

And when Thomas offered his heart, imperfect as it might be, her vision swam as she blinked away tears, her lip quivering beneath the weight of the thousand conflicting emotions that coursed through her these past moments. Antonia took a breath, trying to steady herself before she lifted her eyes from his hands, wholly wrapped about her own, to the face of her lovely man -

She had been so lost in this moment, she had not even heard Cooper's approach. His grating voice, his words, the unmistakable click of a pistol hammer turned her blood to ice. She dared not move, dared not say a word, dared not breathe. And when Thomas turned to press his forehead to the pistol muzzle, it was all she could do to keep that scream of horror locked behind her teeth. 'No Thomas, please dear God please make him stop. Thomas do not invite death... Not before my very eyes. Do not take him, please God not now... '

Grey eyes darted over the deck of the Skate to her crew, to faces she had known for a year now, to men she knew would follow Thomas to the very gates of Hell and beyond if need be...

A pistol shot roared, but from entirely the wrong direction. Antonia's gaze snapped toward its source, eyes wide when she realized - Jax. The rogue did not think, but wrapped her arms swiftly about Thomas' shoulders, pulling him to her and swinging herself between the two men before Cooper could pull the trigger. And when the second shot came, the rogue winced, anticipating the shattering pain - or hellfire, or heaven's gates, or perhaps even perfect blackness, the endless nothing - what could she know of such things?

The third shot, and still she breathed, and still she could feel Thomas' heart hammering in his chest against hers. Antonia dared open her eyes, a choked sob of relief ripped from her throat when she turned to see Nicolette standing there, while Cooper did not, crumpled in a bloodied heap at the First Mate's boots.

Antonia moaned as relief crashed over her like breakers. Her eyes shut tightly, she turned back to Thomas, desperately wrapping her arms about his neck like a castaway grasping the sands of blessedly dry land. And then the rogue wept. She wept softly, silently, as she had not allowed herself in nigh on a decade. Only the shuddering of her body gave her away as she buried her face in Thomas' neck, then to the bristle of his bearded cheek, her generous lips to his ear.

"You cannot die on me Thomas, not now. Don't you dare," Antonia finally whispered, a small, strangled laugh escaping her lips. A gasp of a laugh, breathless and pained, but true and genuine without a hint of the bitter betrayal that laced her last. "You just offered me your heart, and I am keeping it. And I will not be pleased if you go and toss what is mine away without a thought, to finally catch hold of the Death you invite. You should know Thomas, even Death is a little frightened of your rogue. You would be wise not to risk such displeasure," she teased.

The fingers of one hand cradled the back of his head, gently twined in those blonde-auburn locks as she pulled back, just enough to peer up into the fires of those unmatchable copper eyes. And though the corners of her lips still trembled, just as she did, a small, tentative smile began to shine. "Besides, you have held your Antonia's heart from the moment you first showed me your back. You would not wish to break that to pieces, would you? How could I bear to look to the night skies again Thomas, without your voice to tell me the stories of the stars?"

Though Thomas was steadfastly defiant, his face could not refrain from cringing as the report of the first pistol shot rang out. So intent his focus had been upon Cooper, and the man’s own pistol, that Thomas could not comprehend who had fired. Even as strong arms enveloped his shoulders and sent him spinning round, Thomas could not be sure if was alive or dead.

A second shot thundered, and Thomas cringed again. Idly he realized that he would possess no capacity for such expressions if he had been perforated by a pistol ball through the forehead, and that thought brought his eyes open. His vision had little time to focus however, when a third shot followed in quick succession. Once again his eyes flinched shut.

“God’s blood!” he heard himself say as the echo of the three shots dwindled into the acrid powder smoke that drifted across the Dusk Skate.

He caught a glimpse of Jax, a spent pistol in his outstretched arm, and the First Mate clutching her own discharged weapon. Before her lay the bloody mess that was now Cooper, and Thomas had an instance of abundant relief and gratification before Antonia flung her arms about his neck, and pressed a body wracked with silent sobs against him.

Still half stunned from his brush with an untimely death, Thomas encircled the rogue with arms that trembled with the fading waves of adrenaline. As Antonia’s lips brushed lightly against his cheek and ear, Thomas let out a shuddered laugh. It was a laugh that encompassed all the fear, anxiety, doubt, relief, joy, and gratitude that had all managed to press itself into the tumultuous span of only a few minutes. It was a cathartic and liberating laugh as well, as Thomas looked up into the bright blue sky and felt an overpowering sense of renewed calm. His friends, his crew, had shown their true merit, and in doing so they had given him a treasure more valuable and precious than any chest of bullion. He had been given devotion, loyalty, and love.

Thomas smiled, hearing Antonia’s precious admonishments. He met her grey eyes as she pulled away, peering at the constellation of her features that made the rogue the exotic and striking woman that she was.

“I plan on staying alive yet another while longer,” he said. With his thumb he reached up to brush lightly over the gentle arc of Antonia’s cheek. “And besides, the Devil himself isn’t prepared to take me yet, for if he did, he knows my soul would be in the ceaseless pursuit to gaze upon your face just once more. And by God I’d rip the very gates of hell open just to do it.”

Thomas leaned forward to kiss the rogue lightly upon her forehead before he looked up, his copper eyes moving from Jax to the First Mate.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice loud enough for all to hear. “The both of you…” Thomas raised and arm, sweeping it around to indicate the entirety of the crew, “…all of you have humbled me today. I stand in your debt--”

He reached down to grip at Antonia’s hand, giving it a squeeze that was more for his own comfort than anything else. His eyes found Jax and the First Mate once more, his face becoming lined with gratitude and happiness.

“--And I am all the better for it.”

As soon as he realized he was lost, not following anything he was thrown back and hit the side of the ship right near the walkway he entered on. Although his back smacked against the side rail he didn’t fall. He leaned back.with his eyes surprised but he must have had that grin on his face because no one noticed. And from there he saw that Night Flower finish off what he didn't. The First Mate had to clean up after him. Damn he couldn't even do a kill without her into it somehow. Or maybe she just had to take a shot to show him, to show everyone. Yea, she might be sweet to look at but stay the hell away. If her frozen laugh doesn't get ya her aim will. Maybe he was already got. He tried to breath and watch.

He only nodded to his Captain as he found the man’s eyes on him. He was thanking him and kissing. What was going on? Ms Greene, Toante Tonia was hanging on the Captain like, well, like she was wanting him, like she thought he was going to die, and the guy was not beating her off with any force at all. Was this another game? How many boy toys did this fish of many colors really have? Never mind, that was not his problem.

His problem was his chest hurt. Jax felt as if he was pressed against the side of the ship. He pushed to stand but instead slid down and sat on the deck. Maybe he was hit. He felt a force push him back. But he didn’t feel a wound, a bullet hole or any blood. He slowly looked down at his coat and saw a burn mark on the outside. He opened his jacket and there right in the thick leather cover of that precious book was the bullet. Oh, pissin' paper, read that.

Jax chuckled for a second and then looked up quick. Shit, he thought the sea witch is going to really kill me now. Her book is messed. The first he burrowed and look. No more nights with an arm around her, no more gasps at her shelves filled with things to explore. No Jax best just give up on all of that and go back to his old plan: keep away from woman on a ship. Keep his head down and his eyes straight. Keep away from the boy catching brown sugar fish. Keep away from the soft feeling cold hearted sea witch. Trouble. Both and his Captain didn't even know it yet. Mermaids of sorts both of them. Nice to look at, and damn, nice to hold. But Jax saw them both circle their fine fish tails around his Captain and drag him down. Not a bad way to go. The idea of all that just caught up with Jax, that and the sound of his Captain’s laugh. So finally sitting down Jax started to laugh as well.

“I think I had enough of this port town. Can we shove off again and get back where things make sense like the sea and the sky?” He pulled his jacket over the destroyed book not ready to show that to anyone yet. He still sat not trusting his legs or maybe more not wanting to let anyone see any more than his loud laughter.

Profound relief flooded her when Jax spoke in his usually flippant tone. The sullen words didn’t matter, only that he spoke. Speaking was good, speaking meant he was alive, it meant his lungs weren’t filling with blood. Her relief was so surprisingly intense that she all but staggered when it hit her. The openness that her Captain had dragged her into meant that for a brief moment her relief showed on her marred face.

She was moving towards him as soon as the smoke cleared enough for her to make him out and with each step the ice came back, frosting over her lovely features until it was only her eyes, her traitorous eyes that spoke of her worry. She skirted the Captain and his armful not really trusting herself to speak to him since her own emotions were so raw from everything. But she did press a hand lightly to his shoulder, a quick grip with her fingers still scented with the smell of gunfire. That was all she could manage to acknowledge his words since her world narrowed down to one.

One infuriating, frustrating, hurtful man. A man who was not dead. It would have been her fault if he had been killed, she hadn’t moved faster, she had hesitated. She had nearly failed. She was very good as self-recrimination, a master at mentally flaying herself.

She stopped before Jax where he sat with his flippant tone and that unsettling grin and looked down at him her eyes skipped his face and searched his body for wounds. She was a doctor. She was there as a doctor and the relief she felt was that of a surgeon for her patient she told herself. She was a first mate. She was there as an officer making certain a valuable crewman was still fit to do his job. That was it. She believed it.

As she looked him over she recalled how he had hid the wound in his hand and knew she would have to be insistent. She recalled too the sting of his words as he mocked her, the words that had made her flee the pond filled with Nymphaea Antares.

“I need to examine you.” She said succinctly, her honeyed voice stiff, professional though her eyes pointed out the lie in her voice.

Then her eyes lit upon the scorched hole in the front of his coat and they narrowed even as she felt a squeeze on her heart.

No

She dropped, crouching before him she touched the hole gently as if probing for a wound.

“Mon Dieu, Are you shot?” she asked, her surgeon’s fingers tracing the edges of the hole shakily.

She couldn’t leave him alone the cold eyed sea witch. She was right there. Right in his face. It wasn’t bad enough she had to finish his kill, clean up his mess, fix his hand, have books, a smart mind and a body that kept him dreaming thoughts he didn't want to have. She just delighted in tormenting him. That's how they were those sea witches.

Yet when the first mate marched over to him he saw a look in her eyes that he knew he would dream about for way too long. Damn her! She did that on purpose. Showed him that, those eyes that would melt him. She wanted him to see what he could never have. Take that Night Blooms destroyer! And then as if she knew she took them away. The ice came back when she asked of his state. with cold dripping from her lips.

She needed to examine him so as to rip out his heart and twist his tongue. Sure, sure, Jax thought, I am an open book. He took a breath wishing he had something to say to make her back away again. Something that would force her to turn her back and walk down that road away from him.

He grinned. He could think of something. He was still Jax after all.

“I might die,” He smiled to her and let his eyes show his own delight in his joke. “My last request would be a kiss.” He teased sure she would find offense . “Must be the mood of the deck, delicious devotion and death.” He turned his head away not really wanting to see her eyes, not wanting to anticipated the sting of the slap he was sure would come.

Then in a moment of weakness he sighed and glanced back to her. “I’m sorry.” He whispered as he put his hand on the hole of his jacket trying to push hers away. “I am fine.” From the lean of her and the force of those eyes he knew she would not leave him alone until she believed that. Jax shook his head and opened his jacket to let the beautiful doctor see his real wound. Hers.

“Not doing so well with the things of you, am I doc?” He smiled at her as he pulled her destroyed book from his chest.

The gentle pressure on her fingers spoke volumes of comfort to the rogue's soul, giving her every ounce of reassurance as the captain might have taken for himself. Antonia smiled tenderly as she looked back up into those copper eyes, the backs of her evergreen-gloved fingertips just barely grazing the still magnificently bruised cheek.

"I will be content if this is the absolute worst mess I ever see made of your face, Silverfish," she quipped with a small smirk, though the tease in her words was belied by the tears still drying on her cheeks. Antonia sighed, a weight she had not even realized she carried eased from her chest by some small increment. "And we can continue to confound the Devil. Tonight then, yes? I have matters to tend to still this day, and well into the evening I imagine. But the night - as always - is yours."

Antonia stepped away, turning toward the gangplank to finally make her way back to Admiral Sir Greene's estate at a slightly more sedate pace than she had arrived, far more in keeping with the elegant, pale green silk dress she wore beneath the cloak. She could not resist one last, lingering look over her shoulder to Thomas -

- And very nearly wound up in a most undignified heap of silks, petticoats and crewmate on the deck. Hill's dark, laughing eyes giggled silently as the rogue extricated herself swiftly, looking her up and down and then back to his captain - and then back to her - his eyebrows waggling with an unspoken, good-natured teasing.

"Shut up, Hill," Antonia hissed with a roll of her eyes, shoving the grinning man hard - but not too hard - in the shoulder, just enough to set him off-balance and guffawing with delight into the Skate's railing.

Jax's raucous, distinctive laughter bounded over the deck and, though he had slid to the floor boards, Antonia felt sure no one could feel such mirth and be too much hurt. She had a moment of concern when she saw Nicolette hovering over him as she passed toward the gangplank, pausing to see if she had been horribly wrong...

The book. Antonia remembered well, the way Jax had lifted that precious book high overhead, preferring to take pounding of the cobbles with his own body than let even the smallest harm befall his tome. Yet now it seemed this Jesuit book of the stars had shown him no less devotion, taking Cooper's musket shot full in the cover. After what he and the First Mate had done for Thomas, Antonia's relief was instant, genuine and intense - but still she understood (or thought she did at the least), the undercurrent of genuine despair hidden behind the smile Jax managed to give to Nicolette.

The rogue knew she had nothing to give for the moment, that Mademoiselle Beauchamp was far better equipped to tend to any lingering bruises and hurts than she. Still, Antonia's hand reached for the helmsman's head, an affectionate caress of those long, sun-bleached tendrils of hair as she passed in a whirl of precious verdant silks.

She did not linger, heading down the gangplank swiftly toward the waiting black stallion. A wide swath of respectful space all around him by the dockhands, just beyond a nasty bite or a vicious kick, though he nickered softly at his Spider's approach. Antonia smiled, guiding Faustus closer to some boxes so she could mount his back in a far more dignified, ladylike manner than she had arrived.

She pulled the hood of her cloak back over her head nonetheless, leaning over the stallion's neck to whisper a few words, setting off at a graceful canter from the docks. Oh yes, Antoinette would be a touch late this afternoon, without any doubt. But Commander Murray would be patient and gracious as ever, she was sure. Timing was entirely a lady's prerogative, after all.

“Oh.” Was all she could manage, two letters, one syllable. Her honeyed voice holding so much in that tiny little word.

Wonder at the sight of the bullet imbedded in the book. Horror at the ruin of such magnificent learning and relief that he was well. She reached out a hand, her fingers still trembling to circle around where the bullet protruded from the book. Brushed aside was her irritation at his jibe, his impertinent request for a kiss. For all that his “I’m sorry” was whispered she heard it clear as a bell and more importantly she heard within it the honest regret. She understood that she was not the only one to grieve for the book.

Her eyes blinked fast for a moment and then closed, her fingers stilling as the mask of ice shifted and fought to hold its shape. Ultimately Nicki won control of her expression because control was something very dear to her. She felt movement and a shadow fell over her and she looked up to see the lookout ruffle Jax’s hair and then leave the ship.

So soon? She wondered. Her man near dead several times over and something more important comes up? Nicki could not fathom what was so important that the woman would leave the Captain so soon.

She bit her lip, an expression of childish confusion as she pulled herself back into the moment and into the repentant face of Monsieur Jax. She needed to say something, she knew, but she was not a think of pretty words and comfort, not any longer and the words did not come easily. But the remorse there called to her, echoed her own regrets in ways she couldn’t say.

She pulled her fingers from the book and reached for the ties of his shirt, business in action as she began to speak.

“A book is a thing of paper, wood and leather. It is precious because of what lies within. It was a valuable book, but not priceless. It can be replaced, no knowledge is lost. A man is a thing of blood and muscle and bone. He is precious for how he lives his life and cannot be so easily replaced.”

She pulled his shirt open, exposing his sun bronzed skin to the warm kiss of sun. Her fingers danced over him, light and sure, professional and not as she took his measure, testing the soundness of his flesh. She could see under his skin the blooming of blood disturbed from its normal pathways but the bone was sound.

“Keep it.” She said, “Perhaps not all of it is ruined, maybe some of its treasures will be whole towards the end. If not then you have yourself a luck charm, hardly a bad thing to have about.”

She tugged his shirt over the distracting sight of his exposed chest and stood, her body catching the sun as she stood over him, framed by light which cast her marred face in shadow. She was too open for this, to open to be around people and wanted nothing more than the blessed dark of sleep, but it was morning yet and that sanctuary was a good long way off. She had her duties, to the ship, to her Captain.

“Come with me to my cabin and I will give you an ointment for your bruise, it will speed the healing.”

Damn these woman confused him! Both of them for that matter. After embracing the Captain that saucy island mermaid who wears too many faces to count was there with her hands in his hair. Was that affection or a softer boxing of his ears? But his question of her, as many as there were, at the time were overshadowed by the Night Bloom First Mate. Curses to her for that. First she gives him cold eyes and then she speaks of how precious a man is for the life he lives. He can not so easily be replaced. Really? Look at all the sailors in this harbor town. Lots of men on these shores. If men are so special why did she not like them? It seemed to Jax there were more helmsman about than books on numbers and starts written in such smooth details. Does she really believe he might be of value?

Yet this icy first mate did not appear to be a lying sort even when lies would be easy. She could have demanded, even within her rights, he replace the book. But instead she gave it to him. Lucky piece with maybe something left he gain.

She gave him the book. She asked nothing from him. She stood over him letting the sun farme her form just for him to view. Damn that sneaky conniving gut twisting woman. Was it her goal to torment him?

Then as quick as she cut the knife to his heart she commanded him to follow. To her cabin. To those books, to that room, to her alone again. He almost refused. Right on his lips he almost cursed her and screamed that he was fine and she had no right to play him this way. But the deck was full and she was the First Mate. He wanted to be on that ship even if it meant he had to suffer through her. Or maybe, truth of it all, because he had to do just that.

Jax thought for a minute how easy it would be to say something smart to help the ice sea witch find that meanness and disregard him again. He could tease and get a hidden chuckle from all the precious sea man who stood on deck watching. Oh there were swirls of words and taunts that swam about. But Jax held them back.

He stood and shrugged his shoulder finding that smile again. He would obey. Like the scolded puppy he would put his tail between his legs and follow her. But she best watch the hound at her heels because those little pups turn into useful dogs. Ha, Jax snickered at that thought and managed to move from his place behind to walk along side just as they both got to her cabin door.

“Mademoiselle,” he whispered and then cleared his throat, “I mean Doctor, First Mate. I have sometime of importance to discuss in fact. It seems I have stumbled into an unwanted invitation,” He smiled to her, “Not to your cabin, or course," he tried hard to let his face show his joke and yet he guessed she would not find it."but to a dance or some party tonight given by the Commander of this Port’s Post. He himself gave the invitation.” Not a lie, Jax was sure, just maybe a stretch of the truth. “I am not one to attend those types of affairs and yet to refuse would be slightly improper. But if you and the Captain would attend with me, all would go much better. And I am sure if you tell the Captain of the invitation, if you tell him instead of me, the hardship you endure during the affair will lessen.”

He offered her a small smile as if an apology, “I know two nights in my company will be a challenge for you and yet once at the party you can mingle and I promise not to water log your style.”

Jax reached ahead of her and opened the door to her cabin.

She strode across the deck as if she didn’t feel him walking behind her, as if his laughing eyes weren’t boring into her. She strode as if she weren’t fleeing, which she was, without a doubt doing. She’d give Jax the promised ointment and then send him on his way and not emerge again until she needed to.

“Toss the garbage over the side.” She said as she passed a knot of crewmen, men who admired but did not necessarily like Cooper. The sort that pointed wherever the wind blew them. The body needed to go and she thought it best they feel the consequences of mutiny in a tangible way. They would not balk, but they would learn. She was a big believer in such lessons, they saved her much trouble in the long run. They saluted and she was certain she detected no insolence in it and nodded back as she passed by.

Only then Jax was alongside her, whispering, his laughing voice making her turn her head and narrow her eyes at him. Her smooth brow furrowed a little, waiting for a jest, a quip, something aimed at her that would sting. But it didn’t come. His words were confusing, inexplicable and her brow furrowed even further as she tried to figure out his angle. There had to be one, she was certain of it. She just couldn’t see it and was far too riled up to think, let alone puzzle out this unsettling man.

“Invitation?” she mused. “Commander?”

She shook her head and before she really knew that she was even speaking, words came out, “I do not go to such things but I am certain you will look lovely on the Captain’s arm, you should ask him.”

She froze, shock cracking her mask of ice. Had she… Had she just quipped?

She had.

What was wrong with her?

Shaking her head she stepped past Jax into the cool, dark of the cabin where hopefully the dimness would hide the scarlet flame on her cheeks. Furthermore she opened her cabinet of medicines and with shaking fingers began to sort through her bottles.

“Undo your shirt.” She commanded in a tight voice that declared her distress.

Dujo, the Dusk Skate’s quartermaster, was running upon only an hour or so of sleep, and he was still yet far from his next appointment with his hammock. He had been up and down the dock shops of Port Royal like a man possessed, trying to outfit the Skate for her impromptu voyage. It was a task that would be nigh impossible for most men, but thankfully for Captain Thomas Lightfoot, Dujo was not most men.

Having just left the Ship Chandlery of Mr. Edward Hartley, Dujo crossed yet another set of supplies from his mental list. He had secured deliveries of everything from pitch to whale oil, and even all the lengths of rope and sail cloth the Skate would require for the coming voyage. It had cost him many a favor, and even more in debt shares for the Captain.

Luckily the Captain has God’s own reputation in matters or credit, or we’d be riding at anchor for a long while yet, no matter the coming endeavor and its promised prize, Dujo thought.

All that remained on the quartermaster’s list was the equipment for the cannon. The Captain had said to prepare the ship for iron, and Dujo intended to do so in spades. Though the Dusk Skate was a formidable ship, the Spanish still possessed the lion’s share of sea power in the Caribbean. Their ships of the line were among the most feared in all the oceans of the world, and thusly Dujo never took the matter of armament lightly.

He rounded southwest at the intersection of Lime Street and Tower Street, turning towards Chocolate Hole, and the armory of Mr. Nathaniel Geddes. Geddes’ armory was the sole supplier of shot and powder for the privateer ships in Port Royal, and having such a valuable enterprise, the man had been wise to house it beneath the deadly reach of the guns of Fort Charles.

Dujo looked to the imposing fort as he walked down the muddy street, squinting in the afternoon sun. Though Fort Charles had been built to protect the harbor of Port Royal, and all the privateer and naval ships that called her home, the inner pirate in Dujo couldn’t help but itch with apprehension in the blanket of her shadow. Soldiers could just a soon send a pirate to the gallows of High Street as protect them from the Don. Dujo scoffed at the thought. More than likely it would be the pirates saving the asses of the soldiers in the event of an attack, and not the other way round.

As he neared the stoutly constructed armory, Dujo decided without much thought that he would change his route to the alleyway just northeast of the armory, and forego any more scrutiny from the coralstone walls of Fort Charles. Entering from the harbor side would allow him to hopefully catch Mr. Geddes by surprise as well, and possibly grant him the upper hand for the coming barter.

Skirting the row of heavy carts that lined the alley, Dujo was just about to round the corner into the armory’s rear entrance when a name reached his ears through the din and bustle of the boardwalk.

“…You say the Crimson Feather put to sea this morning?” Came a rough voice, quieted to a whisper, from within the armory. Unfortunately for its owner, the copper lined walls of the structure reflected even the softest of sounds powerfully, and Dujo heard every word as he halted just beyond the doorway.

“Aye,” said a second voice, one that Dujo recognized as that of Geddes, the armorer. “After the fight with Lightfoot’s lot in the Boar, I heard that ‘er captain was visited by one of the Governor’s men, and as soon as she was fit to sail, the Feather put out with the tide this morning.”

Though Dujo had not been in the Black Boar during the deadly encounter, he had certainly heard of it from his crewmates. His black eyes narrowed.

“What in all hell could make them do that? Certainly they put out without the proper fitting? The Feather had only just arrived three or four glasses before the Skate only a days past, had she not?” said the first voice.

Geddes replied in a voice that even with the favorable acoustics of the walls, Dujo had to strain to hear.

“Well, the word I’ve heard is that the man from the Governor’s mansion had information about a wrecked Donnish galleon somewhere in the Windward Passage. The promise of gold would be the only reason I could see to make the Crimson Feather risk such a voyage without waiting to be refitted.”

At this, the quartermaster’s eyes widened, and without a moment of hesitation, Dujo spun upon his heels and bolted as fast as his short legs would carry him.

Cannon shot would have to wait. The Captain needed to know all he had heard.

After the abundant excitement of the morning and early afternoon, Thomas was happy to set about the mindless task of loading the provisions that Dujo had ordered. With sweat streaming down his body and a smile planted firmly upon his features, Thomas hauled a cask of salt-pork up the gangway.

If the crew had any lingering troubles from the recent execution of the traitorous Cooper, they showed it not at all. In truth, as Thomas worked alongside them, the men appeared as if their spirits had been lifted of a burden they had never voiced, or perhaps one they could not put into words in the first instance. In his own right, Thomas felt somehow freer now. All that had transpired had given new life to his love of the Skate, and those that called him their captain. The acts of the First Mate and Jax had particularly touched him, and even now he wondered after the pair and their whereabouts.

As for Antonia, his rogue, the thought of her caramel skin and grey eyes, shining brightly despite their hue, added a spring to his step as he descended belowdecks. It had been difficult to see her leave so soon after his proclamation of his devotion, but he understood her life and its demands. Being a shadowy figure required such prompt departures, and the promise of the night was truly all that Thomas required.

And what a promise it could be, he mused, allowing his piratical brain to run wild for a moment with images of the more dusky skills of the rogue he had yet had the pleasure to experience.

Thomas placed the cask down along with the other food stores, and stood to wipe the sweat from his brow. Around him other seamen bustled to stow the mountains of supplies that were coming in droves to the Dusk Skate’s wharf. Satisfied like a proud father, Thomas began to ascend the short stairway to the main deck, when he was met by Dujo.

The quartermaster was drenched in sweat, his features red from exertion. “Beggin’ pardon Cap’n,” said Dujo. He paused to take in several short and harried breaths. “I’ve got news.”

Jax laughed. She didn’t look at him of course. The doctor had her hidden face moving away from him as quickly as she could ducking into her cabin. But he heard her and he laughed. “See?” He followed, his musical sound of glee entering her cabin. He sat quickly and did as she commanded, unbuttoned his shirt. “I knew you had wit. Can’t be as smart as you and not have the spark.” He pulled his sleeves from his arms and crumped the thing beside him. “But I won’t tell.” He teased slightly.

“I know you have an image.” He settled and his smiling face faded. “I do too.”

Jax braced himself for the feel of those doctor fingers. He hoped they stung, flashed with pain of the coldness he knew she wanted to give him. He wanted the frozen hurt to wash away that memory of her head on his shoulder. Take that softness away and freeze any desire he had. Maybe she needed some help. He felt his tongue get thicker as he decided he could do that for her. Jax spoke but looked down at his own chest noting the start of bruised coloring.

“But you keep yours and I’ll hold mine. Mine says, I can go to the Captain and see if he will escort me as you so plainly painted. I’ll tell him it was all your idea. You think he and I are a better couple. If he disagrees, well, then he can make a request of you.”

Jax looked up at the First Mate, the woman who still will not give him her name, who knows to stay away from him even better than he has managed to keep clear of her. He tried to catch her eyes. “A request from him to you would not be denied I would guess.”

They didn’t sting, those Doctor’s fingers. She was not one for needless pain and knew just how to touch. Sometimes her touch needed to sting, but she didn’t think even sting would teach this one to hold his tongue.

She put the pot on the table near the laughing man with his unsettling smile and absently picked his crumpled shirt from where it sat next to him. She made quick work of smoothing the fabric and putting it into the order that pleased her and then placed, folded, it not far from him. She didn’t want his shirt, she didn’t want his chaos. She wanted order and control.

Originally she had intended to give him the pot of salve and send him on his way. She wanted nothing to do with him and his wound was not terrible. But somehow her mouth had opened and she had told him to take off his shirt and now she was stuck with the consequences of that as she kept her eyes down but let them roam over his body with veiled interest simply in the anatomy of him, nothing more. She was a Doctor, such things were important to her calling.

She didn’t meet his eyes as he spoke, instead paying far too much attention to the removal of the pot’s lid, which was not usually as difficult for her to remove. Her expression tightened as she heard his words about addressing the Captain about the party. Her face showed her displeasure though it was not felt in her touch as she smoothed a green balm that smelled of herbs and sunshine filtered through leaves across his chest. A broad chest that spread out into broad shoulders which were populated by muscles well defined enough to act as an anatomy study. She itched to draw even as she itched to strangle and maybe to touch.

But his words pulled her back. She liked threats just about as much as she liked chaos.

“Do it.” She said to him, daring him to ask the Captain, her voice as sharp as her hands were soft as they lightly glided over his skin. “He commands my time on this ship as well as my loyalty. But I am not a slave. He cannot command me to attend such an event unless it had consequences for the ship and its crew. If he goes and he needs skirts with him either you can don them or he can ask Antonia. I think we know that she would not refuse him.”

The lady's agile fingers glided gracefully over the harpsichord keys, the notes of Couperin's Passacaille in C major dancing from the graceful instrument, alternately playful and laughing in a way that its composer had never imagined nor intended. The Admiral Sir Greene might very well be the only man in this grand parlor to understand the strangely light, lilting air to what should otherwise be a more sober, serious tune.

But, as always, the blind man sat quietly in the high-back walnut chair, both hands wrapped over the top of his cane perched between his legs, one gnarled finger swaying to the strangely lively beat with that ever-present enigmatic smile.

Yes, it was Miss Antoinette Greene who sat primly on that sumptuously upholstered bench, changed from her verdant morning silks to a rose pink gown that hung fetchingly off her bronzed shoulders, the dusted lightly with a pearlescent powder. The crown of her ebony hair was pulled back and plaited with precious strings of alternating pink and ivory pearls, while the long shining curls cascaded down her back, undulating serpent coils, a mesmerizing sight as the gentlewoman played.

But it was Antonia who danced in the music she played. It was the rogue's wide smile that lit the room near as bright as the sunlight streaming into through the tall windows of the elegant, rosewood paneled parlor. And if that smile fell upon Commander Robert Murray, it was all for the better of course. After all, if she must leave the true source of her bliss, veiled in a joy that made her near giddy as a virginal naif? Then let both truth and artifice serve the duties she performed during landfall, unheralded and unknown to the last - even to the captain she served and loved.

They had decided at the very last moment, to bring the entirety of the officers' contingent, their wives and companions and children to Nathaniel's estate rather than try to crowd all into Robert Murray's officer's quarters. And in truth it became a surprisingly merry affair, carriages and horses alike streaming toward the Greene estate in a parade of smiling faces, men stealing moments from their duties for this unexpected, unscheduled outing away from the teaming Port Royal.

The officers' children played on the vast manicured lawns, screams of laughter and shrill shrieks punctuating various games of blind man's bluff and tag and hide-and-seek. The servants of the Greene estate bustled as they hadn't in many a year - though gladly, swiftly preparing food and drink, setting tables and chairs for their unexpected guests, enjoying to the last the sweetly contented smile of the kind, decent elderly man they all loved dearly, to a man.

At least two separate games of cribbage had begun, and a small, intent crowd had gathered about the two lieutenants deeply invested in a game of chess beside the grand marble fireplace.

The rogue's smile widened as she caught Robert's dark-eyed gaze, all rapt attention for the lovely young gentlewoman as she played. Yes, if these men were here? Then they could not be at the docks, curious about the unprecedented preparations of the Skate's crew. Here, they could not be too troublingly vigilant concerning any 'shortcuts' her crew might deem necessary in their haste, nor concern themselves with rumors of debt shares and exorbitant credit extended to the privateer captain Lightfoot, or complaints on a run of certain valuable supplies.

And there would only be one more evening to devote to distractions, to keep the erstwhile, dutiful eyes of the Fort Charles garrison riveted elsewhere - anywhere really - but toward the berth of the Dusk Skate. An evening, and a day -

Antonia blinked, the smile faltering on her wide lips as her fingers seemed to trip over the strangest chord - though she recovered in an instant. She had forgotten. Forgotten utterly in the high emotion of discovering Thomas embracing the First Mate, his pursuit and his declaration to her - and then Cooper's unspeakable treachery. Forgotten to speak with Thomas or Mademoiselle Beauchamp, or even warn off the helmsman herself from treating that mischievous invitation as anything like 'genuine.'

Jax's visage loomed in her mind's eye, and it was all the rogue could do to keep the groan of frustration trapped right behind that lovely smile. No amount of gratitude for Thomas' life could make her glad to see the helmsman's grinning face this evening, at the party at Fort Charles.

No.

No. He would not dare...

“Not a slave,” Jax looked toward the scare that marked her in more ways than one, he was sure, “Of course not.” He let her know he saw the mark.

Her fingers didn’t hurt, damn her. But then her eyes and her words were weapons enough. “Give an inch and they take a nautical mile.” He looked over at his neatly organized shirt and for reason he couldn’t explain he reached to it and scrunched it all up again. Best she know right off he was a mess. Best she know no way can she straighten him out as neatly as she would like.

Jax took a deep labored breath feeling the smoothing depth of whatever it was she was doing. Curses to her, why couldn’t she heal with pain and speak with healing? Never mind. Never mind. It was best that she hint warmth with a touch she can’t hide no matter how hard she tries and cuts with the ice of her tongue. Cold hard sea witch.

“I will take your advisement, First Mate, Sir,” Of course Jax hit the Sir with just the right strength and amusement. “If it is a skirt he wants than Antonia will more than fit the offered arm, I am sure. Thing is she may be otherwise occupied.”

He shrugged and looked back down to his bruised chest. “But then, I just drive the lovely ship and can’t settle all this other mixed up inter play. The Captain will know what to do, to order or not. Consequences or not.”

Jax smiled up at the First Mate. It started as a snide grin but he let it go to the more natural state of just liking to look at her. Damn her. As quick as his appreciation found itself he masked it just as well as she did. Well, maybe not as well, but he tried. To add to his false face he had to let his tongue fill in just like she had. “Don’t your worry your pretty little head,” He chuckled at the sound of that joke, “I will find a skirt and an arm to make me fit in as best I can, which is not so well at all, but then I represent little..

Jax laughed again, “ I mean to play this game out. Just for the fun of it.”

She pulled her hand back from his chest when he called her Sir, a quizzical expression on her face as she briefly looked him in the eyes trying to ascertain his intent. Was it mockery or respect? She’d been so disarmed, enchanted really by his body and it’s raw physical beauty that she had forgotten all but the barest shreds of her hurt and annoyance that this man’s tongue. But his grin reminded her of the sting intended and so she shut down, putting the mask back in place. That was the danger of this man, his ability to disarm her with just his smile or his body, making her forget the insult delivered but moments before.

He was dangerous, she needed to remember that. He shook her control and could shatter her calm and that just wouldn’t do.

But even as she eyed him warily he spoke and there was interest to be had in his words or rather the lack of words. She felt her interest reluctantly growing even as he spoke of a game he meant to play.

A game, she did not enjoy games that were not of her own design, games she could exert control over. But this thing that he spoke of, it might be more than that.

“You are not being clear.” She said as she stepped away and made a slow show of closing up the pot so that she could collect herself in the time it took.

“A Game?” She wiped her hands on a bit of bandage, surprised by her own impulse to use his deliberately disheveled shirt. An impulse she resisted, certain it would have amused him if she had followed through.

“Speak in plain words please Monsieur Jax. You clearly have more information than you are giving, what with your hints and your smugness. I do not enjoy games. So speak plainly or hold your tongue.”

She turned to him then and held out the pot, any further applications of salve to his rather impressive chest should best be done by him, she could not be trusted.