These men, they were determined to rip her asunder. She felt pulled and abraded by their eyes, their words, their accusations spoken and not. So much so that she had to drop her eyes to her hands which were balled up, hidden in the ruffle of her fine shirt sleeves but tight enough that she could feel nail threatening to push its way through flesh. 

She saw disappointment and sadness in the Captain’s face. Did she see pity? Surely not, for in the face of pity she would have to throw herself to the sharks and forget all that Yàn had taught her about swimming so that she could sink to the bottom, out of the reach of pity. But what trapped her, what pinned her in place was the panic in Jax’s voice when he addressed her as the Captain took his disappointment and left. Jax’s pleading should have fallen on uncaring ears. He’d pricked her too often, hurt her with his comforting arms and then lashed with his cruel tongue and unsettling smile. But he wasn’t smiling then, he was asking, all but begging and she could feel the vulnerability in his voice. 

She knew what it was to feel out of place. He had done his level best to make her feel that on this very ship. So many of the crew had, with eyes, words and deeds they had made her feel unwelcome. She had learned to deal with it, Clearly Jax had not. 

Ripped asunder, they would destroy her. She bit her lips and looked past him, just over his shoulder and blinked her eyes as the horizon wobbled as her eyes filled with tears. See what they had done to her? She was weeping, again. In years she had not wept this much. 

“Fine.” She snapped, her voice cracking as one tear slipped past her lashes to be angrily batted away. First Mates didn’t cry. Pirates didn’t cry. Yet she was crying, out in public where he would see. 

“I will go with you and I will see that you can slip in and out unnoticed. But I will point out that you brought this up, you arranged this whole thing and now you plead for an escort? This is all on your Head Monsieur Jax.” Her honeyed voice lashed out at him, like a whip made of sugar, stinging but sweet for all that.

She strode past him, angrily, somehow the scent of nightbooms still clung to her as she brushed by him. 

“I am going to go get dressed, to prepare. See what you can manage, if you must, ask the Captain if he has spare finery for you. I will meet you back here.”