What? Damn, she was crazy. As Jax looked at her with confused scepticism he shook his head. He wasn’t a child. Did she really think of him as a simpleton that needed her protection? Yet look at her, one steaming hot mess and he liked it. For some reason he could not explained he was drawn to the typhoon of cold winds and soft curves. It was her off centered look at things that made her more than just a lustful fine body. Jax wanted to figure her out. Thing is, he might drown in the process.

Take breath and dive.

“That doesn’t make sense. You just saw me toss it out the window. It was leant to me.” He ran his hand over his dreadlocks and turned to her. “There is a difference between being carefree and happy and being a child.” When he looked at her flashes of his anger at the possibility she judged him to need a mother came through. “I can take care of the shirt.”

Was it the hangover or the idea that the woman he sat there for hours undressing and kissing in his mind thinks of him as some little boy, Jax started to let his anger take hold.

“Just as there is a difference between leading with coldness and leading with care. .” He looked away quickly sure that he had just said too much. “But what do I know,” He kept his head turned from her, “I just destroyed something that wasn’t mine.” Did he mean the start of something with her or the Captain's shirt?

He pushed himself off the floor and stood, “Damn.” he went to the door sure he should leave but he put his hand on the latch and turned back to her. “I was sure women shouldn’t be on a ship, until I spent some time with you. Now I don't want to sail without you.” Now that didn’t make much sense to Jax. Why did he tell her that?

“I will follow your commands not because you demand it, not because I need taken care of. But because you are good at what you do. You know you jobs and you hold a shit load of them. Someday maybe you'll realize you don’t have to hide so much to do what you do so well.”

Fuck. He might as well drown.

Quickly he moved from the door, leaned down to her, put his hand on her chin, lifted her head and kissed her. Just a kiss. No hard passionate press even though he wanted to. Jax could tread water before he sank. Just a press of his lips on hers wanted or not. He took a breath moved back to the door, opened it and walked out.

He was drowning.

((Collab with Igraine and AmongHeroes))

Thomas did not restrain the groan this time as Antonia’s body pressed against his own, and her lips tickled at the flesh of his ear. He should have expected her to wriggle away, and disappear in a flash of dark skin and shimmering beauty. If his mind had been more focused upon the playful edge to Antonia’s words, and not the electrifying proximity of her celestial body, he could have perhaps foreseen the coming game.

But where’s the fun in that? Thomas thought with a predatory smile.

With a trill of laughter hanging in the air, Thomas dove after the rogue. Antonia was strong and deft in her movements, and from the beginning Thomas had to pour power to his muscles just to keep up with her. The water churned around him as his own kicks and flutters propelled him into Antonia’s wake.

Through gulps of air, Thomas could see he was gaining upon Antonia. Flashes of skin shone in brief staccato in the moonlight, and the kicking heels of her feet grew closer with each passing moment. Thomas did not flatter himself with the notion that he was gaining upon the rogue on his skill as a swimmer alone; for all he knew letting him gain was all apart of Antonia’s playful scheme.

Still, he did not let that slow him down as he lunged forward from beneath the waves to clutch at her ankle. With a powerful tug he pulled at her leg, hoping to spin Antonia around to face him. Thomas’ grip was strong, though with the water and the laughter that was bubbling from his mouth, he did not trust that he could hold her for long.

Unseen, the rogue's eyes widened in genuine surprise beneath the waters when she felt that grip about her ankle, dunking her further still before pulling her to Thomas like the riptide.

But nicer. Much, much nicer...

She had , of course, fully intended Thomas should catch up with her - a promise was a promise after all, and this was certainly not one that would be a hardship in the keeping. And Antonia knew very well, a man only truly appreciated what he must work to take hold. Still, she might have guessed a man that could swim against a kraken and survive, would surely catch up with her long before she could finish her circuitous route to shore.

Laughing, Antonia turned toward Thomas, sputtering just a little with surprise and a touch too much sea water down her throat. There was no fighting that grip of his, and the rogue allowed herself to float toward her lovely man until she could wrap her arms about his neck once more, smiling mischievously up into that grinning face. One leg snaked in a slow, luxurious tease up over his hip, to rest languidly about his waist.

"Oh what ever shall I do?" the rogue cooed softly, the laughter in that warm, fragrant voice belying any true dismay. "The fisherman has caught his fish it seems... " Antonia bit her lip softly, eyes narrowing appraisingly as she searched those shining copper eyes, savoring all she read in their depths. She leaned forward just enough to nibble oh-so-gently at his chin, and then work her slow, unhurried way down his neck.

"Have you ever heard the tale Thomas, of the fisherman who released the talking fish he caught one fine day?" she whispered between soft kisses along his throat.

Thomas’ slicked back his wet hair, and met Antonia’s impish look with a supremely satisfied smile. The sensation of her leg entwining about his waist lifted his brow, and the metallic sheen in his eyes flickered with almost genuine brilliance. As Antonia looked to him, Thomas thought that he was no longer floating in the arms of the ocean, but instead buoyed upward by the rogue’s very aura.

As she leaned forward towards him, Thomas’ lips parted fractionally, anticipating a kiss that was long overdue. When instead Antonia’s soft caress came to his chin, he let out a light, but disappointed moan. The next kiss came upon his jaw, then his neck, and ever downward towards his collarbone. Ever farther from his lips.

With each added portion of her question, Thomas’ eyes closed slowly along with the words. His mind was not his own any longer. He was drunk upon the woman before him, utterly lost to the world save for her and her embrace. Without any conscious thought, Thomas drifted his right hand upward along Antonia’s leg, to the curve of her hip, her waist, her ribs, and still further up across her arm and neck, to the firm line of her chin.

There his finger stopped Antonia’s advance down his body, and he lifted the beautiful face, framed in tight ringlet curls of ebony, up to his own. For a brief moment Thomas merely stared transfixed into the grey pools of his love’s eyes, before his mind at last allowed him to speak.

“I have not heard the tale, and I don’t intend to let you tell it.”

With that, Thomas leaned forward, tilted his head, and pressed his lips against Antonia’s. His eyes closed once more, and through the touch of his skin to hers, he drank in all of the rogue that he could.

Antonia did not even know she held her breath when Thomas lifted her chin, holding her gaze entirely with his own before pressing his lips to hers. All thoughts of playing out her silly game vanished entirely in the heavenly bliss of that kiss. Oh, she had thought to wheedle out a few scant seconds more of freedom in the open ocean through some playful bit of chicanery. A tease? A trick? The rogue was a genuine mistress of deception and escape, but the moment the thrill of that kiss raced down her spine like lightning over the sea, Antonia knew she was finally and truly captured - and damn glad of it.

Their beloved stars must surely be smiling down on them this night, glimmering witnesses to the rogue's first kiss, shared at last with the only man she had ever loved, as sweetly and perfectly happy as a virginal bride on her wedding night. Their first kiss, an embrace delayed for far too long. The rogue surrendered herself to the pirate captain's lead, her lithe, supple body wrapping all about him, lost for several long, blissful moments as lips and tongue, fingers and flesh found delicious purchase beneath her every last touch.

Still, the rogue drew back for just a moment, to look up into those matchless copper eyes. "That is just fine Thomas," she whispered breathlessly, "I cannot tell the tale, since I have completely forgotten whatever it was I was going to say anyway... " Antonia shrugged helplessly, though that tender smile beneath grey eyes half-lidded with desire silently said all that was needful between them. The rogue’s eyes fell closed once more as she pressed all she had to the very last, to the lips, the hands and the heart of her lovely man.

Thomas welcomed the first glimpse of the sun’s face with a smile. From his position leaning against the railing of the Dusk Skate’s aft castle, the red glow of the dawn mixed beautifully with the lingering blue of the night. The singular moment of stunning transition from light to dark conjured memories of the equally beautiful moments from the hours before. There was a pleasant soreness to his muscles to accompany these memories, and Thomas sighed with a contented tilt of his head.

The pirate captain wondered if Antonia was even now still slumbering in the tangle of bed covers in his cabin, or if she had awoken to find the single Amazon Lily that he had placed beside her head. Thomas had considered it quite the feat to slip from his cabin, acquire the flower from an early rising dock vendor, and return to Antonia’s side to place the small token near her, and all without the rogue discovering him. That notion took his smile to a smirk. More than likely, Antonia had full knowledge of his comings and goings, and she was just humoring the romantic whims of her Silverfish.

“How did I manage such good fortune?” Thomas said to the dawn. The morning replied with only its splendor, and Thomas thought that such an answer was more than satisfactory.

Thomas stood from the ship’s railing, and turned to walk slowly to the helm. His hands caressed the worn wood of the wheel, and Thomas’ thoughts of the night before morphed into wondering after what had come of Jax and Nicolette. He had no notion of what had transpired after the First Mate’s flight from the party, and Thomas hoped that whatever had occurred was pleasant. He trusted that it had, though he could not say why he felt as such. Thomas supposed that he would soon enough know, though perhaps not in detail, at least a notion at what had transpired with his crewmates.

The slight bob of the Dusk Skate tugging at her moorings brought Thomas back to the moment. The tide was in, and the slight breeze that attended it was out of the west. It was a simple sign of good tidings if Thomas was ever to find one amidst the qualities of a new day.

The time had come.

Thomas brought his fingers to his mouth, and blew a hard and jubilant whistle. The relative quiet of the young morning broke as the pirate captain called out to his crew, heralding the coming adventure.

“Awake! Awake you scoundrels and cutthroats!” Thomas yelled across the deck, his voice loud and tremulous with laughter. “To your stations, and make ready to sail. Fortune is calling to us this fine morning, and we shan’t keep her waiting.”

She’d been certain he would ask her annoying questions, questions she didn’t want to answer. She had been certain of it. But no, the vexing man couldn’t even annoy her in a reasonable manner. No he had to take offense at what she said, he had to misread it and turn it about leaving her bewildered with nothing like an answer ready for him. She most certainly did not think him a child, the evidence of that was clutched to her chest.

She struggled to her feet, her head protesting all the while as she desperately sought an explanation to offer him all the while fighting delight that he hadn’t pressed her. She didn’t get a chance to say anything because he, maddening man, kept on speaking. His very words stealing her footing from under her. He didn’t want to sail without her? Panic filled her at the words, at the implication contained within them. Panic flooded her eyes and they widened almost comically as he approached her. Then against her will they fluttered closed when he hooked his finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his. Anticipation filled her, sweet anticipation that she was too off kilter to stop.

He kissed her.

Not the deep, press of flesh to flesh she would have expected. No the kiss he gave her was soft, gentle and did more damage than even the most passionate, brutal kiss would have. She had no defense against such a kiss. She might have even leaned into him, a soft sweet sound slipping from her just before he pulled back and stalked out.

She stood for a moment, eyes closed swaying towards where he had been and it was only the sound of the door closing behind him that made her eyes fly open, bringing her back to the moment.

Fury filled her, fury and panic so thick, so strong she couldn’t breathe. It was not directed at him, for all that he was maddening and insufferable and it was all directed inward at herself. She had allowed herself to grow weak, to soften. She hadn’t held herself together and had broken more than once in the last few days. She was weak and she had let him in.

Seconds after he left her cabin he would hear a great crash as her mug smashed against the wall of her cabin, thrown with all the fury she held inside her. The lance of pain that flashed in her head from the sound of the impact was penance, it was less than she deserved. There was no further sound from the cabin after that for she had grabbed her one pillow and pressed it against her marred face to smother the sobs that wracked her.

The Captain’s voice boomed out, jarring her from her self-indulgent fit of pique and within but a few minutes of his bellow, a stone-faced Nicki stepped out of her cabin, her hair pulled back in a tight, severe knot, her clothing dark and as concealing as the night before’s clothing had been revealing. Her eyes were a little red and her mouth a tight line across her face as she looked about the deck, took in the work that was being done and then began to bellow out her own orders. If there was distress mixed into the honey of her words, only those who knew her would hear it and owing to her usual care of such things, there were few enough who could hear it. She tasted on her lips the result of letting people inside and felt it in the confusion in her heart, still raw from her encounter with the commander the night before.

It was good to leave this place, get some sea behind them. It would give her time to think, to consider if this might need to be her last trip on the Skate, she was making too many mistakes, too many things were out of her control.

Thomas might have been quite pleased with himself, if he only knew how successful his early morning venture in subterfuge had truly been. Antonia moaned softly from beneath the snarl of blankets, arms and legs akimbo. Her thoughts were still thick and heavy with the lack of anything like a proper night's sleep, though her body knew well enough the sun had just risen beyond the windows of Thomas' cabin. One lithe, caramel-skinned arm snaked from beneath the blankets, her fingers searching for Thomas' warmth to wrap herself into, to anchor herself once more into the delicious sleep she craved...

Her heavy eyelids still shut against the coming daylight, the rogue pouted prettily when she realized she was all alone, groaning with disappointment when her fingers reached the mattress edge. A little breath of a laugh escaped her nose. No, of course Captain Lightfoot did not get to sleep in until he pleased, did he? Most certainly not on the day his beloved Skate was to sail.

And as drowsy as she was, Antonia knew she should not either, no matter how she longed to stay right there in her lovely man's bed. Because in the wee hours of the morning, Antonia ventured from the Skate herself, quietly slipping from Thomas' bed and, wrapped in the night's deepest shadows, made her way to the Parakeet.

What the rogue had to tell her oldest, dearest friends was a grim truth, and one she couched with not a single word of subtlety or false comfort. And Madeleine was every bit as furious as the rogue knew she would be, John just as inconsolable, and there was not a damned thing Antonia could do to make any of this better for them. No, there was not a single word she could say to these good people, who must choose to lose their only son for heaven alone knew how long on the high seas, or risk losing him to an obsessive madman. And she did not dare ply them with worthless platitudes and hollow reassurances about letting their boy, a mere child of eight years, sail with the Skate. Either choice was fraught with its own perils and pain, but only one promised the Spider’s protection, all the days he would be absent from them.

Madeleine's curses surprised the rogue not at all, nor did the hurt-filled vow that Antonia would never be forgiven. All the rogue could do was agree with every last furious accusation, knowing very well she deserved each and every profanity that Luc's Maman hurled at her. But it was genuine fear that made her humble, and Antonia begged. She begged for Madeleine's understanding. She pleaded with John to see reason, and to please please know Antonia would never suggest such a thing, were there any other choice...

Antonia left the Parakeet deeply troubled. She explained to both her dear friends that the Skate would sail at high tide in the morn, and that no matter their decision, she would understand and love them still. She had to. They were Luc's true parents, after all. What else could she do? Was there anything else left to say? No, she had told them all, and no matter her fears Antonia could not simply take their son from them! And so she could only pray that somewhere, somehow, in all these years, she had earned a small, precious measure of trust to cover all this hurt she brought them.

Defeated, deflated and uncertain, Antonia returned to the Skate knowing that only the dawn’s light – still a few hours away – would reveal her friends’ final decision. And it was in this state that Antonia returned to the Dusk Skate, and her sweet Silverfish’s bed.

Thomas never woke when she entered his cabin again and undressed, or at least not that she could tell. But when she crawled back into his bed, her lovely man pulled her close, in a gesture as seemingly natural as breathing, even in his dreams. Warmth for cold fear, comfort for anguish, his sure presence soothed her like little else could, every inch the distilled essence of those warm, calming waters they swam this past night. Though the anxious distress did not wholly leave her heart, her worries quieted in his arms just long enough for sleep to find her once again.

But it was those same worries woken with her, which finally forced open her eyes. She expected to see not much more than the grey outlines of Thomas’ crumpled bed linens and, beyond that, his Spartan cabin furniture. Antonia was unprepared for the delicately luminous sight that greeted her on the pillow.

Antonia sat up instantly, still mostly tangled in blankets, that wild mane of coiled ebony hair cascading in untamed tendrils past her shoulders to spill down her back. Her bare legs dangled over the edge of Thomas’ bed as she gazed at the Amazon lily held so delicately in her fingers, like a precious jewel. Her vision swam for the tears that spilled suddenly down her cheeks, but it was the wide, loving smile on her lips and the soft, slightly incredulous laughter that promised these were simply tears of joy.

**********

It was the Antonia that all the Skate’s crew knew best who emerged from the stairs of the aftcastle – well, in the main at least. That same oversized linen shirt, those well-worn brown pants belted at her waist and tucked into the tops of her hobnailed boots, her thick black hair pulled from her face and plaited into a wide rope of a braid down her back. But it was that alabaster lily perched over her ear, its stem woven securely into the plait, that fairly glowed with an otherworldly light against the onyx of the rogue’s hair and the caramel hue of her skin.

At her Captain’s call and his First Mate’s command, Antonia leapt with a preternatural grace to the rigging, a Spider once more in her web as she began to climb nimbly for the very best vantage point. She could only pray that Madeleine and John might yet see fit to bring Luc to the Skate, and she wished to keep a lookout for them until the moment the ship sailed. But as she climbed, Antonia could not resist a glance toward Thomas as he strode the deck, dangling easily by a single hand as she sought that copper gaze, to show him how she treasured his gift. Antonia grinned as she blew her Captain Silverfish a sweet kiss, giving him a playful wink before turning again to scale the mast.

Antonia thanked every last loa her own Maman had ever taught her; she praised God in heaven and all the saints she had ever known when she saw the oddly out of place trio making their way toward the Dusk Skate's berth. The rogue smiled widely to Thomas, giving a silent cheer with an upraised arm - though whether he saw her or not, she could not say - the man was, after all, rather occupied seeing his ship underway.

No matter, he would know soon enough that his new cabin boy had finally boarded. Antonia swung easily down the rigging, hand-under-hand, her whole body swaying lightly on a rope until, several feet above the deck, the rogue let go. She dropped, landing as lightly as a shed feather before she rose to her booted feet, striding toward the gangplank.

"Oh... Oh thank God... Madeleine, I was not sure you would come... " The two women fell into each other's arms, the hard, angry and hurtful words hurled only hours ago erased completely from all thought, no more than smoke on the wind now, forgiven and forgotten utterly.

"I was not either," Madeleine whispered into her dear friend's ear, "Until I saw one too many red coats about the road, far too early this morning outside the Parakeet. Alongside a few too many pairs of strange eyes on the streets, not red enough with too much drink or too little sleep? No, there was no other choice... " She pulled back from Antonia, taking a deep breath though her smile remained tremulous at best.

John remained silent, and the rogue suspected it had more to do with his unwillingness to weep before all these roughened strangers and his own son, than sheer lack of anything to say. But Luc was simply beside himself, waiting for the moment for his Maman and his Tante 'Tonia to pull apart before eagerly inserting himself into the conversation.

"I have brought Capitaine Lightfoot's gold piece," the boy piped up proudly, patting his burlap knapsack proudly, "And look!" Luc reached for a leather thong tied about his neck, pulling up the sharply glinting prize secured there beneath his white linen shirt. "The tooth from Monsieur Jax's great shark, his prize from Mistress Moon! Maman fixed it for me!"

Antonia made all the appreciative noises necessary to see the boy's face light proudly, running her fingers through his dark curls so affectionately. Small talk was difficult in these moments, as the adults did their very best to appear cheerful for the sake of Luc's spirits, as if this sudden change of plans were truly some grand surprise of an adventure, and not a desperate plan born of unflinching necessity. But still the three soldiered on, the two women perhaps far better than the giant red-headed man, who frequently had to stop to blow his nose, and curse some an oncoming, unseasonal cold for his tearing, bloodshot eyes.

But preparations for the imminent departure of the Dusk Skate made lingering farewells even more difficult than they obviously already were. Those parting embraces for Luc were bittersweet: a shower of kisses from his Maman who he loved her far too much to complain about (though he secretly prayed the angelic Mademoiselle Beauchamp was not looking his way); and a great bear hug in his Papa's burly arms that lifted the boy several feet from the ship's deck, leaving him breathless, grinning and a little red-faced.

The farewells for the rogue were far tenser, though quieter, subdued, and nothing that Luc would have ever noted but for the notable and whispered words between them. Yes, yes she would find a solution to this impossible dilemma, and Luc would be back with his loving parents imminently. Antonia would watch over him always, and never let him from her sight wherever the Skate was in port. Of course, she would ensure Luc wrote them wherever possible, that he practiced his letters and reading and, of course, learned navigation and charting and geography...

Antonia stood beside Luc, her arm wrapped about his shoulders as they watched his parents step down the gangplank. At least a dozen backward glances over their shoulder were invariably met with smiles, and waves, until Madeleine and John disappeared once more into the burgeoning early morning crowds of Port Royal. The rogue sighed heavily, equal parts undeniable relief and heartache warring in her gut.

But her thoughts were pulled from any maudlin musings at the boy's piping voice. "Tante 'Tonia, you look so strange," Luc said with all a child's unfiltered boldness, eyeballing her oversized shirt and the trousers and the boots dubiously. It was not until those dark amber-lit eyes turned upward to the Amazon lily braided neatly in her hair, that the perplexed expression fell away

"Except that," he continued, pointing to the flower. "That suits you."

Antonia only laughed, wrapping her arm all the tighter about Luc's shoulders and pulling him even closer for a moment. "Well skirts are an incredible pain to manage when you're climbing the rigging, and far too heavy when you are being drenched in a torrential storm. You will see Luc," she said with a sly grin.

"You too will be glad, not to have to negotiate skirts yourself soon enough! But let's get you settled in, find you a hammock and a spot to stow your pack. You will certainly be put to work, but no worse than at home in the Parakeet I imagine. Do not expect or ask for gold pieces or shark teeth for every least thing you do here, Luc. You will be paid in knowledge and learning in many different subjects aboard the Dusk Skate, and earn your own way, and that will be enough."

"A hammock? I'll be sleeping in a hammock!?" The enthusiastic grin said Luc had pretty much stopped listening to her words right around the point of his sleeping arrangements, and Antonia burst into bright laughter all over again. Fine, fine... There would be time to go over duty, responsibilities and expectations once they were actually away from the docks, after all...

Control. That was the treasure Nicki sought to possess, control over her life, over herself, over her circumstances. Control was her drug and the more she thought she had, the more she needed. She had lost control so many times of late, control of her emotions and control of her circumstances. There had been witnesses to her loss of control and that troubled her. She would have to attend to that. But just then, with the deck rolling under her feet as the ship was pushed from its moorings she felt like she could set it aside for a moment. It was a problem for later when she didn’t have so many things to attend to. There were men who needed orders, tasks that needed doing and she was in the midst of it, barking orders and seeing that it was all done to the Captain’s, and her, liking.

The men knew their work, but that didn’t mean they would always do it to the best of their ability. They were all to a man cut out for piracy and an unfortunate side effect of that sort of personality was a stubborn independence that she could admire as much as she could lament it. But she could work with it and in this moment it gave her focus and pulled her back from the yawning chasm of her mistakes over the past forty-eight hours.

Her face was stony as she moved about, but as she saw order falling into place in the wake of her commands some of the dead light to her eyes left, replaced by a sparkle that was more her normal light. She passed by the boy brought on just before departure by their lookout. She did not look at him directly, but she was aware of his presence and more than that, his occasional gaze her way. She did not address him because she was uncertain what he was even doing there and the captain had not yet seen fit to inform her. Normally this would have annoyed her and sent her to speak to him about the lack but she could not do so. She was still too shamed by her flight from the party to look him in the eyes. The few times she’d passed him while the ship was readied to leave she’d managed to have her eyes elsewhere and to avoid direct contact. That wouldn’t work forever but for just then it worked plenty fine. She applied similar techniques to Jax who was, thankfully, fully clothed in his customary garb, his shirt mostly done up. The small V of visible flesh of his chest was easy enough for her to avoid looking at for more than a second or two. But she did wonder if he’d done it on purpose to unsettle her.

She didn’t dwell on the thought long, it wouldn’t do to distract herself even if he cut a very fine figure standing at the helm easing the ship out into the harbor with a skill that was undeniable. For all that he was maddening she could not dismiss his skill with the Skate, nor his affection for the ship. It was an affection she shared for all that she thought it might be time to leave her. The thought pained her and she pulled her thoughts away. There was time enough to consider that later. She grabbed the arm of a passing sailor, Henshaw was one of the more skilled gunners, small and lithe but a little too disrespectful for her tastes.

“Ma’am,” he asked with only a hint of a sneer in his voice at being stopped.

“Go to the Captain and see what he wants done with that boy.” She ordered him, pointing to the boy who was trying to see everything at once and was perched well out of the way on a barrel. He wasn’t in the way, but still the fact that she didn’t know why he was there bothered her sense of order and she needed to something about it.

“Yes, Sir, Ma’am, Sir.” Henshaw quipped and she narrowed her eyes at his retreating back as he darted to the captain across the deck.

She moved, not wanting to be handy when the captain was asked lest he seek her out when she was not prepared to be sought out. She wound up on the deck not as far from the helm as she would have liked. She realized with a start as she cast about looking for a distracting task that for the moment everyone (excepting the boy) was busy at a vital task, and that all was going according to plan. For a brief moment Nicki had exactly what she wanted, everything was in control. So why was she struck by a sense of being at a loss? Was control not enough? She banished the treacherous thought. She felt confused and empty in its wake. Without conscious thought her eyes sought out Jax and that little triangle of flesh that she was certain he had left exposed to draw her eyes. For a moment, in that little moment of calm, of order she let herself look and long.

Ah, the open sea. Jax was standing at the helm, his hands on the wheel his eyes glancing to the sextant and the compass. This was what he loved. This ship surpassed any in the quality of the build, the wood, the lines, and the instruments. Jax loved this compass. He knew the value of the finely calibrated sextant and the decorated effective sundial. These were Jax’s tool. Here he felt right. He could work the Dusk Skate better than he could figure out any person. She glided from the port out to sea as if she longed for the open waters as well. With his hands on the wheel Jax could feel the tiller. Here his touch had a response.

This lady, this lovely ship, knew his hands, what they meant and how to react. Best he keep his love and affection where it was appreciated. Jax bent to the smooth top spoke and gave her a kiss. Sure he could admit he was trying to get the taste of Nicki off his mind. But he was back. Back where he should be, not in some fancy cabin, not longing for some hot mess. And so was she. He tied not to watch her stomp around the deck giving orders and settling things. But Jax’s advantage was a clear sight of most of the mainship. He was noticing her more now that before port. That could be because he danced with her in his arms. Because he showed her the Night Blooms. Because she showed him her books. Because he kissed her. Because he puked in her cabin. He shook his eyes away from Nicki.

He saw the boy from the Inn, Luc, get on board. Now that was a surprise. But not his concern really. He was younger than that, or maybe that age, when he first sailed. Still he wouldn’t have guessed his parents would release him so. And the task they were taking now? Not the best route of a green lad. Still, wasn’t Jax’s problem and his lovely mistress ship didn’t seem to mind.

“We have a child for you, my Lady.” He whispered to the wheel. “Don’t you be jealous. It is just another chance for an adoring lover, you know” He glanced up thinking of that to look for his Captain.

Jax had the charts, the ones he stole years ago and the ones someone managed to acquire that were very current of this area of sea. How they were obtained Jax didn’t want to know. Charts like these were worth more than a ship full of gold. They could bring the owner many hulls full.

Jax waited for Captain Lightfoot to add more direction to his orders. He set the course. Jax had a good working relationship with the leader and usually once clear of land more instruction would be given. He expected the Captain to join him soon enough.

“Sir,” He called when he saw the Captain near by. “I have a matter to settle. A confession.” He waited until the man stepped closer. “The clothes you so gracious leant to me are washed hanging to dry by your cabin. But the shirt is not there. I owe for it’s replacement.” Jax offered a weak smile and a shrug. “The night got the better of me and it was ripped, messed upon and tossed to sea. I will repay with coins and buy you a replacement punishment for my lack of respect.”

He nodded formally and then turned back to his wheel. “She is a bit stiff this morning.” He was sure he would understand he meant the ship. But maybe not. “Seems she might be in a huff that her real lovers attention went elsewhere.” He teased. It was common for the myth of sailors who go to port being missed by the lady ship. But his smile and eyes might have suggested something else. Had the Captain been lucky? Jax chuckled and lifted his face to the wind.

The crew stirred their task of setting the Dusk Skate to sail with alacrity, pouring over the ship in a chaotic orchestra of bent backs and grunted effort. Thomas strode amongst the men, directing when needed, but his words were often as not superfluous in such moments. Those that called the Skate there home were skilled and driven sailors, they didn’t need the captain to hold their hands to get a ship to sea.

Amongst the flurry of activity his eye was drawn up to the rigging, where a flash of white caught his attention. There, dangling with the confidence of a spider within its web, was Antonia. She was dressed in her usual sea-faring garb, and Thomas thought that the simplistic fabrics and humble trappings contrasted to make her beauty all the more dramatic. Tucked in beside her bright face was the lily that he had left her, and a smile drew up the corners of the captain’s mouth. He gave a slight bow at the offer of her blown kiss, his gaze promising a visit to the crow’s nest when the chance arose.

Thomas left Antonia to her work, moving from beneath the main mast and towards the fore castle. The Dusk Skate cut smartly through the calm waters of Port Royal Harbor, passing first the guns of Fort Walker, and then the more formidable battery of Fort Charles off to port. Jax had the ship on a masterful tack; Thomas could feel it in the eager tilt of the keel as the Skate latched selfishly onto the slight, but favorable morning breeze.

“Beg pardon, Captain,” said a voice from behind Thomas.

The pirate captain turned from his viewing of the ship’s bow, and found Henshaw standing with the boy, Luc.

“Yes?”

“The Lef-tenant wished me to bring this boy to ya,” Henshaw said. “She said you would know wha’ to do wif him.”

Thomas looked down into the awed face of the boy. His expression was innocent and pleasant, every bit a child in place he had only yet dreamt of. A twinge of sadness came to Thomas as he recognized the emotion. It would not last, and truthfully it could not, even if Thomas wished it to. The boy was here as a means to save his life, but Thomas could not protect him from the harsh reality aboard a pirate ship. Lessons were taught with stern consequences, even for cabin boys.

“Very good, Henshaw. I will take him from here.” Thomas said.

Henshaw grunted an “Aye,” before turning to return to his work.

Bending down to one knee, Thomas looked into Luc’s eyes. He did not offer the boy a smile as he had done in the Parakeet. The pirate captain kept his face neutral, yet not unkind.

“Luc, it is good to have you aboard,” Thomas glanced upwards towards the crow’s nest, though he could not see Antonia. “You must understand that being here will be nothing like your life at the Parakeet.”

“Oh, I know Capitaine, I will…” Luc interrupted, a smile jumping upon his face. Thomas raised a firm hand to quiet the boy.

“Luc,” Thomas said with a voice harsher than he had intended, “do not interrupt those above your station.” With a slow exhalation through his nose, Thomas forced himself to smooth the edges of his voice. He reached up to take the boy by his shoulders.

“Your first lesson, my boy, is to know your place. This ship, and every vessel like it, operates on hierarchy. There is an order of things, you see? And right now, you are at the bottom. The sailors around you have all earned their place here, and in their eyes you must do the same. Follow instructions without quibble, and do so promptly.”

Luc nodded, the awestruck look draining from his face.

“I will have you report to Mister Morneau, he is the ship’s cook. With your experience in the Parakeet, this should be at least somewhat familiar to you,” Thomas continued. He spun the boy gently about, and pointed over Luc’s shoulder towards the stairway that led below decks. “Those stairs will take you below, and into the ship’s belly. Travel down them, past the gun deck, and there you will find the galley and storage area. Mister Morneau will be below, going about his work. Find him and tell him that I have sent you to work under him.”

Thomas stood and patted Luc gently upon his head. “It may be some time before your aunt or I can come to check up on you, but until then keep your chin up. You’ll do fine if you work hard, and keep quiet.”

With a thin smile, Thomas pressed gently upon the boy’s back. “Off with you now.”

Luc darted off, looking over his shoulder once to Thomas, and then up to the rigging as he passed beneath where Antonia stood at her post, high above. Thomas hoped the boy had caught a glimpse of her, if for no other reason than to gain solace from her distant face. He watched Luc until he disappeared down the steps, and then Thomas turned his attention elsewhere.

He walked back along the starboard rail of the ship, looking out to sea, and inspecting the rigging of the sails as he moved passed them. Thomas soon found himself at the aft castle, not far from the helm, and the indelible figure of Jax. When the man called to him, speaking of the debt for the shirt, Thomas chuckled.

“The only debt you owe me is a tale of what transpired last night. Stories are sometimes more valuable than a purse of gold, and I sense that this could be the case.”

Jax continued on about the nature of the Skate, and Thomas nodded his agreement.

“Aye, she can be a jealous girl, can she not?” Thomas reached out to run a hand over the warm wood of the aft castle railing. “She may give you some pique at first, but I’m sure after a time beneath your skilled hands she’ll be wooed once again.”

Thomas fell silent for a time, looking out over the port quarter of the Skate. He could clearly see the distinct indentation of the land that made what was known as Monkey Bay. This was point Thomas had been waiting for, the landmark to truly begin their journey.

“Jax,” he said turning to the sea artist, “Bring us about. We tack south towards Panama. Once we are in open water, I will address the crew.”

She would not steal Luc's dignity, hovering over the boy like some fretting hen over her chick. Well, she supposed that figuratively she would not hover over him, since quite literally she was hovering over most all the Skate’s crew anyway. But no, despite Luc’s age, the last thing he would ever need among this crew, was the perception that he was coddled because of who he was to Antonia, and the officers he had become acquainted with, including the Captain. There was no sense in breeding resentment, or sowing the seeds she knew in such close quarters and proximity, could bear bitter fruit one day.

But that did not make it any easier, to watch him below, and wait. Everyone looked small from her vantage point, but Luc especially so as he sat there upon that barrel, neither in the way of ship’s business nor out of sight. Antonia showed Luc where he might stow his own knapsack of belongings, and the hammock where he would bed down, and then returned the boy to the deck to await orders. If he was to be the cabin boy, his duties should first come from the ship’s captain at whose pleasure he served, or even the first mate - not from the lookout and rigger.

“May I try that too, Tante ‘Tonia?” Those beautiful dark, amber-flecked eyes traveled up the dual masts, to the webbing of rigging and sailing. It was all she could do to keep from laughing aloud and daring him to see how far he might yet race her up the thick ropes and sail. Oh yes, she could see it in him, this preternatural grace, those long-fingered, clever hands and cat-silent steps – but those steps were not hers to order, no matter what she wished.

And so she watched that dear, patient boy instead. But that did not mean she did not plan. Antonia had not expected Henshaw to be the first among the crew to speak with Luc – and sent by the first mate it seemed? The rogue frowned deeply, wondering at the woman’s choice to send a man near as retched as Cooper had been, to Luc? Had the rogue perhaps done something so deeply objectionable, she had earned such dismissiveness from Mademoiselle Beauchamp? Particularly concerning a young boy for whom Antonia so obviously cared? Because most certainly, a sweet, well-meaning child like Luc could have given no such offense… Could he?

No. No, surely whatever troubled Mademoiselle Beauchamp was the product of all that caused her flight from Commander Murray’s ball the night before. Was Antonia entirely sure of all that passed through Nicolette Beauchamp’s mind at that moment, when all that should have lain before her was a night of laughter, music, dancing and perhaps a bit of subterfuge if she had even the least aptitude? Of course not – First Mate Beauchamp would likely cut the tongue from her own head before making a confidante of a woman like Antonia. But that did not mean the rogue had not already fitted a few pieces together all on her own, always hearing far more than she ever spoke, and knowing enough of human nature to divine one or two clues to the puzzle of Nicolette.

So no, of course Luc could have no hand in the evil done to her by that French Navy commander, and no one but the most soulless creature would inflict hurt on a child, or deliberately put him in harm’s way. The first mate did not strike her as such a beast.

Still, Antonia’s grey eyes narrowed dangerously as she merely bit her lip, silent as she hung upside down from the forward mast, praying it was merely expedience that sent Henshaw to Luc and promising herself that lessons concerning the handling of a blade would begin this very night.

Not until Luc stood before Thomas did she breathe anything like a sigh of relief. From the far side of the main mast, pretending to do something of some importance, Antonia watched them, unable to hear but observing the gist as always, and she was content. It was Captain Lightfoot who spoke with the boy now, not the generous, open-handed man with the easy smiles and easier laughter from the night before, with a penchant for piss-water grog and pound cake.

And when he directed Luc below deck, Antonia rather suspected he was headed toward Morneau, and she was glad. Jacques was a good man – for a pirate, of course – and though he’d certainly put the young man to hard work, that was no less than to be expected. Luc was not unused to hard work, and frankly? Anything the boy could bring to Morneau’s cooking by way of his Maman’s undoubted skill would only be unutterably welcome!

Antonia laughed softly to herself, pulling herself back upright as she waved to Luc far below before he disappeared to whatever new duty Thomas had assigned him. She had promised him after all, that she would remain his Spider in the rafters above, his beloved Aunt Anansi keeping an eye on him always, and she smiled warm encouragement to the boy with a nod of her head.

When he disappeared below deck, the rogue lightly traversed the thick cable ropes to the aft mast with a rather impressive display of both balance and strength, until she could climb the scant few yards into the crow’s nest. This small space was, in the main, left entirely to her uses and she outfitted as she would, as comfortably as she might. She did, after all, have the unspoken promise of a visit from her lovely man when time and duty allowed – the stars above, after all, had been their boon companions and twinkling witness for more than a year now. And so comfortable blankets were wrapped beneath tarps and lashed to the mast against stormy weather, and the familiar outline of her similarly protected lap desk lay beside them as well.

But now, alongside these few valuables she kept for her own, were two small, leather bound packages: gifts for the two people she most owed her happiness. Small gifts, true enough, considering the inestimable boon they had given her only the day before – but in truth, what could she possibly ever offer, to compare to what they had restored to her, her lovely man very nearly stolen away by a traitor’s pistol?

Antonia carefully the leather strings to the belt about her pants, cinched about her waist beneath the linen shirt, and smiled. She would wait ‘til open waters to find them, when matters aboard the Skate were settled – or at least as settled as they ever did get, she thought with a wry chuckle to herself.

Antonia smiled to herself as she peered down from the mast, not really wondering at her sudden good fortune, that at least one opportunity she had hoped for had come open, but so very glad nonetheless. The rogue had spent some hours before the ball considering these small tokens she had brought, these gifts of gratitude.

For the helmsman, it would be the Admiral Sir Greene himself who would help her find that most perfect of presents. It would take a fellow sailor of course, and a gentleman and a scholar and a trickster himself, to see just the right thing for the ever-smiling-yet-assuredly-not-a-fool Jax.

For the First Mate though? Oh that would take a touch more thought there, to be sure. A great deal more thought, a far harder bout of searching (no small thing in the matter of hours she had before Commander Murray's ball), and quite a good chunk of her own silver - enough perhaps to raise the brow of even her dear Captain Silverfish.

Hand-under-hand, Antonia let herself down the rigging toward the deck until, about a third of the way down, she flipped to her belly. Her legs wrapped easily about the ropes, she eased herself above where the First Mate stood, dangling head down, the thick black braid of hair falling over her shoulder.

"Bon matin, Mademoiselle Beauchamp," the rogue said so very softly, her voice not much more than a gentle sea breeze behind that lovely golden head.

Hanging upside down as she was, Antonia grinned impishly as she tapped Nicolette's ebony-clad shoulder. Oh how her agile fingers itched to play. Just like a naughty child trying so very hard to be good, it was all she could do not to tweak at that tightly wound wrap of hair playfully, perhaps even slice at the cord that held it all so perfectly, pristinely in place, and see her hair spill down about her shoulders.

"Do you have a moment to spare?"

And yet not surprisingly, Antonia doubted very much that First Mate Beauchamp would see the humor in her whimsy, and so she only smiled widely, grey eyes laughing merrily.

Jax managed a good grin to the Captain as he requested a story. “Me and a moon beam. Unbelievable tales are my speciality. Because of course, I never truly kiss and tell.” He laughed and leaned close to the wheel. “Does the Drusk Skate have reason to be jealous this morn?” If Jax had a story there was little doubt The Captain might as well. He was a dashing figure at that fancy garden party. Now Jax did not normally tease someone in positions above him. But this Lightfoot was just that. Light in moods sometimes. He wanted a crew he could trust. But then who does not? Yet this man seemed willing to make that happen through actions of his own, not just words. He gave him a shirt for one things. He encouraged fair cards. He agreed to go to the requested party. And when Jax did not return his positions, there was no tone of punishment or disappointment at all.

There was something about the man that was different than any he sailed under. For one he was farsighted enough to have two woman aboard. And he had attempted to ask Jax’s opinion on things that others never did. In his mind Jax cautioned himself. He had never been one to think those who rule over him could be anything close to a friend. Then again, he wasn’t the type to seek friends at all. Yet here was a man Jax could let fleeting thoughts of being friendly toward in a deeper way than just a grin. But Jax was doing that sort of thinking more often of late.

To test the waters Jax added, “Seems I might have eyes on a feisty woman who does not return the looks in the ways I gave them.” He laughed and took hold of the wheel again, “What an unimaginative sailor tale is that?”

He grined to Tomas and then turned to carry out the orders. “Prepare to Come About!” He shouted to Nic...to the First Mate as he saw her standing by the flexible, in limbs and in costumes, Antonia.

The wheel spun and the sails flapped, luffing as it was called when the sail let out wind and then took it again, answering in the change of the bow’s direction. The tacking of the mainsail followed on its own, wind guiding the canvas. With the breeze of the sea and the splash of salt the bow turned southward. Jax saw the crew respond as it should to the shift of the jibe or the headsail. They were on the winch tightening the mainsail in the new position. Jax glanced back to the two women as they stood.

He grinned back to the Captain. “Use to think females on any deck was bad luck.” He laughed looking back to the sight of the two misfits on the ship. “Tell you the truth you may have changed my mind.” He spun back and laughed, “And that good Sir, is not an easy thing to do.”

He nodded with the full smile still in place and turned back to the wheel knowing he best not be inattentive to his first love, the dame of the sea, this ship.

Lost in her work, lost in the roll of the ship and the tickling fingers of breeze across her skin, Nicki kept herself too busy to ponder much on her folly. The boy was squared away and though she had no more answers than before she was not brave enough to seek them out from the captain who didn’t see fit to keep her abreast of crew changes. It was fine, it was well and good, she had enough on her hands. Hung over men and high spirits made for a need for a firm hand. But they were nearing open waters and with that her work and her need to maintain a firm grip would lessen and then thinking could begin again.

That was not what she wanted, not at all. She would need to find something to do to keep herself occupied lest she drift into contemplation. The answer came in words whispered as softly as a breeze. She most certainly did not jump. A first mate did not Jump, no matter that a voice came where there should be none, no matter that it hissed across her skin like a promise of trouble. No, for certain Nicki did not jump or let out a soft gasp. No she simply turned and with a golden eyebrow arching wryly assessed the upside down woman who hung from the ropes who requested her time.

What on earth could this be about? She wondered to herself as she considered the request, a moment of her time. Aye she had some to spare and had been looking for distraction from thoughts likely to go sour. But the question was would that moment distract or further muddy things? She had enough mud in the works with Monsieur Jax around, she did not need more. And this woman had been there to witness her shameful flight. But certainly even so unconventional a woman as she wouldn’t be so uncouth as to bluntly mention such a shameful thing? Nicki had serious doubts about the wisdom of granting this woman her time, but even so she cautiously nodded her head, her expression the smooth, unmovable mask she donned when inside she was in turmoil. Which was to say the mask she wore all the time.

“I do indeed have a moment to spare. What is it you want of me?”

"Nothing you have not already given, Mademoiselle Beauchamp," Antonia quipped in her perfect Parisian French, silken and warm. She wore that same, sweet grin, and maintained her upside down perch for some moments longer. Of course the rogue realized that she had startled the First Mate, and of course she heard that soft, near inaudible gasp. That was her job, after all, to see and hear what might be otherwise missed - or even dismissed - in the course of every exchange.

But it was also a rather intrinsic part of the rogue's job, to use discretion and delicacy, and even a touch of wisdom when sifting through such tidbits of information. And so Antonia remained just as she was, smiling brightly, her view of the Dusk Skate's deck topsy-turvy of course though not the least disconcerting from a spider's perspective. Besides, what could possibly be more innocuous, more childishly harmless, than the grinning, vaguely silly sight of a woman swaying upside down from the ropes of the rigging, the thick cables twisted about her legs, with that long ebony braid swinging side-to-side like the pendulum of some strange clock.

The rogue had not forgotten the events of the night past. Far, far from it, in truth. But Antonia had thousands of masks, where Nicolette had only the one - the very one she presented to her now. No one understood better than she, that a mask was more than a mere costume, an ephemeral disguise. A mask was armor, and the rogue would do nothing intentionally to strip Nicolette's from her.

"In truth, I have a gift for you. A small token of my gratitude for what you did yesterday, for our Captain." Antonia winced with yet another remembrance though, also involving the Captain and the First Mate and the matter of a certain embrace, and a small bark of laughter bubbled past her lips.

"Obviously, I mean on the Skate's deck, and not... Well, below deck? I do apologize for that... Ah... Misunderstanding, I suppose we might generously call it? Still, I should not have barged into your quarters, no matter the business that seemed so urgent in the moment." There was naught but the light of sincerity in Antonia's grey eyes and her tender smile as she peered into Nicolette's lovely face. Whatever else the First Mate might have read there, was entirely her own doing.

Antonia leaned upward, her long, agile hands reaching for the rope she twined her legs about, grasping its length to pull herself up and then drop lightly to the deck beside the First Mate. She looked up to Nicolette now, the timbre of her voice gentle and true. "Thomas Lightfoot's life is... Priceless. To me it is - and I do not imagine I have hidden such a thing from you, Mademoiselle Beauchamp?"

The rogue looked away for a moment, loosening the leather tie gathers of a dark velvet bag bound to her belt. It was not terribly large, no longer than the length of her hand, and her gaze returned to Nicolette's face as she offered her the bag. Easily seen through the confines of the velvet, was the rectangular shape of a box.

"Thank you, nonetheless. We will never know what that dog Cooper might have done, if he would have pulled the trigger... " The rogue's voice trailed off, filled with the desperate, helpless emotion of that horrific moment. Antonia took a deep breath, smiling resolutely as she steadied herself once more.

"But I know what you did," she finished softly, meaningfully. Her grey eyes peered about them, over the deck. The sight of the two women aboard the Skate speaking to one another was new, a thing unheard of to this moment, and the rogue could feel curious stares turned their way.

She did not imagine Nicolette would enjoy becoming a spectacle.

"Please do accept this and - if you like - feel free to open it in the privacy of your quarters. Or not, as you will. It is a delicate, exquisite thing, this small token. Even the layers that hold this gift are beautiful, but what lies within is uniquely lovely - as you are."

Thomas snorted at Jax’s quip about the Skate’s justification for jealousy. “Aye, indeed she may.” His eyes drifted up towards Antonia who was making her way down the rigging, seemingly on a mark to intercept the busy First Mate. A smile creased the corners of his eyes. “Verily, she might feel the need to toss me to the sharks after last night.”

He opened his arms to the sea-artist just as the man began his course change. “She’ll forgive me,” Thomas said, kicking at the worn wood of the deck as if challenging the Dusk Skate to do otherwise. “This fine lady knows she will always hold a special place in my heart. I’m sure you can attest to such, eh?”

“As for unrequited interest, it’s a tale I think every man has known at least once in his life.” Thomas gave Jax a friendly, if questioning gaze. The man had been more forthcoming with his company in the past hours and days then Thomas had yet seen, and the pirate captain wondered just what had prompted such a change. Thomas’ eyes drifted towards where the First Mate stood across the deck, and narrowed as his mind ticked like clockwork.

The thought of Jax chasing after the affections of Nicolette was an innocently pleasant exercise for Thomas. With the First Mate, Thomas had perhaps glimpsed through the woman’s veil, be he certainly had never pierced it. The mysterious and capricious woman was an enigma, and if anyone could plot her course, Jax seemed like a man eccentrically gifted enough to do so.

“This woman whose gaze you seek…” Thomas said, casting a sideways glance to Jax. He paused, thinking to inquire after the identity of the man’s desires. Instead Thomas merely smiled. “Forgive me,” he said. “I will not pry. Perhaps at a later time, and accompanied by a tankard of kill devil, we can more justly trade truths about the fairer sex?”

Thomas fell silent as Jax went about his work to reorient the Skate onto its new course. He knew the man would answer when he could, and so Thomas left his proposition hanging in the warm sea air.

Thomas turned his attention to the crew as the worked the halyards and blocks to reorient the sails for the new course. Nicolette directed the men in their work with efficient and consummate skill, and Thomas afforded himself a slight smile. There was something of primal gratification in watching a ship under sail respond to the will of those that worked her. Thomas felt the urge to leave the aft castle and jump into the rigging with his men to toil and haul at the lines, but he forced the thought from his mind.

As the ship fell at last into its tack, and the sailors began to climb down from the stations for a much deserved break, Thomas looked back to Jax.

“Do you ever miss it?” Thomas said, “The work in the rigging I mean? I'll admit that I often do.”

She was quiet a long moment. Collecting her thoughts was a charitable way to frame what she was really doing which was scrambling for some shred of control or insight in this matter. Thank goodness her mask was firmly in place and the medicine she’d taken to combat the hangover she richly deserved had worked as effectively as it had. Because she was lost, completely lost in the moment. She hadn’t expected this and wasn’t certain how to reply to this strange woman. She did not like being without footing, not in the least. But with the eyes all on them, even without looking up from the bag that was offered her, she could feel the gaze of nearly the entire crew. She swallowed and knew that she must act of her very silence would be part of the spectacle that she was trying to avoid.

With a shaking hand she reached for the box and enclosed it in her fingers but did not take it from Antonia. Her thumb ran over the velvet of the bag in a speculative stroke. The motion bought her but a moment before the silence would swell into spectacle again. She did not like this moment, she did not like that she did not know her place or how best to reply.

If you do not like the footing, best change the playing field.

She looked around, noting what she’d seen before she’d been startled from above, that things were well in hand. Well enough in hand that so many of the crew had paused to watch. As her eyes swept over them all she let them see that she noted who paused and who worked. The savvy ones snapped back to work.

“Come.” She said softly to the waiting woman. “This conversation would be best held elsewhere.”

She let go of the bag then, a gentle unfolding of her fingers from the velvet that was not a rejection in the least. She turned and walked towards her cabin in a stiff gait that still managed to roll with the swell of the deck. She did not wait for an agreement, no matter what the woman and the Captain had between them she was first mate, she had to act the part. She had to, lest the sharks who watched and circled rip her to pieces at the first sign of blood in the water. The Captain’s encounter with Cooper had demonstrated to her so clearly that even here on this well-disciplined ship, no one was safe and no one was to be truly trusted. Even if she wanted to.

"Aye, Ma'am," Antonia replied in English now, her inimitable voice spiced with that warm Cajun patois. Not of course that Nicolette heard - or if she did? She did not give the rogue the least indication that her assent was of any consequence - but no matter.

That was not the point. Not truly.

The rogue's entire demeanor, all the way down to the tone of her voice, stated she deferred to the authority of the First Mate's command instantly. And where Nicolette likely wished with all her heart to fend off the curious stares of the Skate's men, Antonia invited them as she fell in behind the tall, golden woman. Let the crew see the exotic, caramel-skinned lady of a thousand hidden blades and an eagle's gaze yield to the orders of their First Mate. Let every last pair of curious eyes watch as the darkly dangerous Vodoun woman, the bearer of richly deserved blessings or curses aboard the Skate, heeded Nicolette's command to follow without the least qualm or hesitation.

There was more than one gift, after all, that the rogue could give to the First Mate.

Nicolette strode toward the aft castle and her quarters, with all the straight-backed dignity that simply screamed of years spent in naval service to Antonia's knowing gaze. Disciplined and exacting, yet still very much at ease with the swell of the waves beneath the ship as Nicolette strode toward her cabin, the rogue could almost imagine the days when the Admiral Sir Greene might have walked just so on the decks of a British warship.

Well, obviously without the sway of hips. Antonia bit her lip softly and dropped her eye to keep the soft laugh that wanted to bubble up, back behind her teeth.

The rogue's own gait affirmed to any who watched, that she was a creature entirely apart from the stunning Nicolette Beauchamp. Where the First Mate was the very picture of self-control and a certain exquisite, rigid elegance, Antonia simply glided behind her as she was bidden. One would no more expect to find military order and discipline in the rogue's lithe steps, than one might think such a thing natural to the jaguar prowling in the shadows of the jungle canopy.

As they walked toward the First Mate's cabin, Antonia was content to see Nicolette's strides were sure and solid. It had been all the rogue could do to keep her own fingers still, and not reach to steady Nicolette's shaking hand when she first tentatively reached for the velvet bag and the mahogany box nestled within. She was relieved herself, that the First Mate had chosen to take their meeting from prying, curious eyes. Antonia had not intended to set her off balance, to see her unsure or hesitant - no matter that only the rogue was close enough to take the least note of anything off in her demeanor.

Trust was, apparently, not a commodity Nicolette held in abundance.

Antonia's thoughts prowled through the shadows of the night past, to the onyx-eyed, eagle beaked face of the French naval captain, to Capitaine Poutreau - the sight of whom had sent the otherwise steady and sturdy First Mate to flight. All the vile suspicions that had begun to raise their foul heads the night before, wormed their way into the more fertile soil of Antonia's darker imaginings - though she kept all to herself of course.

Particularly the murderous promise that hovered ominously, like a steel grey storm cloud in the back of her thoughts, for that sweet crimson day the loa blessed when the rogue's path crossed with a certain pissant French captain again.

Respectful and obedient, Antonia stepped into the First Mate's cabin as she was bid, the velvet bag still in her hands, clasped behind her back. She pushed all remembrance of the last time she had seen the interior of this small room to the back of her mind, and instead turned toward Nicolette as she closed the door behind them.

Antonia did not presume to take a seat, but remained on her feet as she smiled up to Nicolette. Her hand outstretched, Antonia offered the First Mate the velvet bag once more. "Should you like to see, Mademoiselle Beauchamp? Now that we are elsewhere? 'Tis for you alone, after all."

Nicki preceded into the cabin before Antonia, opening the door and waiting until the smaller woman was in before closing the door and shutting out some of the noise of the ship. She walked to the table she worked on her patient’s at and settled into her normal seat, gesturing to the empty seat across from her.

There was a faint scent of vomit in the room, bile and booze, pretty unmistakable without the odor of sickness that illness induced vomit carried. It spoke a tale that she would rather not have told but there was little for it just then. She refused to remain a spectacle out on the deck any longer. She glanced around, the books were still scattered on the floor around where she and Jax had slept, curled up together. There were still the empty bottles, laying on their side, forlorn and sad, telling their own tale. One cheeky bastard even rolled with the sway of the ship, a soft chink chink emitting from its bid for attention. Nicki paid it no mind and prayed that Antonia would as well. Oh she knew full well those grey eyes would see, but she hoped that they would not read into it. Her bed was completely made, unmussed unlike the rest of the room which bore a decided lack of military neatness. She felt a soft flush on her cheeks, ruined and whole as she looked at the woman before her choosing her words with care. She wanted to be correct, but she did not want to be ungracious but she was uncertain if she could accept anything from the strange woman, the Captain’s woman or not.

“I appreciate your gesture Mademoiselle, but I want you to know it is unnecessary for all that it is appreciated. I did what any first mate would have and should have done. I am certain that were the situation reversed that the Captain would have done the same for me.”

She looked down at her hands and wondered if she’d just lied. No, she shook her head to herself, recalling the fervent light in the Captain’s eyes when he’d ask from her that which she could not give. He was a worthy captain and she was churlish to doubt him, even in the privacy of her own thoughts.

“Truths about the fairer sex?” Jax laughed as he slapped the wheel gently. “We better be drinking with someone more knowledgeable than the two of us.” He smiled to the Captain wondering about his boldness in that regard. Could be man has had endless lists of fair maids he left in port after port. But there was something about how his ship and his crew came first that made Jax believe he was not a grand womanizer. Still, he didn’t know for sure.

“But the riggins?” He let his eyes dart up the rope of the main sail. “That’s something we know some truths about. And now that you mention it,” He looked back to Thomas, “It’s been some time since I climbed. How about we forget the truths we most likely we will never know and go instead for the thrill of the riggings. Tonight, or when ever we have a calm minute.”

Jax took a minute to watch the First Mate march off with the now dismantled Ms Greene. Just like the rest of the men on deck crew he watched them both make ways to the cabin.

“And just because we are gaming men. Let’s put a spin on the fun.” Jax turned slowly from the scene on deck to look to the Captain. “When you are able, when the winds are right, we’ll sprint up those rope. The first one to the top gets to hear the tales of the night after the garden party, last night, from the other while he drinks the kill devil.” Jax smiled liking his offer.

Could be the Captain couldn’t play that sort of game. Could be he has to hold the firm spot of no slips of roles and little fun while at sail. Could be the First Mate would not approve. But, all that was not so much Jax’s concern. If the man denied the challenge then Jax would understand. Jax just wanted Lightfoot to know there were ways to still feel those tiny moments of the past funs.

Jax glanced to the place on the deck where Nicki had just been. Yes, he wanted to show the same to her. Yet that was most likely impossible. So instead he could just remember the times he ran the ropes. Maybe help Thomas Lightfoot as well.

"Oh yes, I know. Of course it is unnecessary, Mademoiselle Beauchamp," Antonia said easily as she slid into the offered seat, setting the bag before her on the table between them. "And of course Captain Lightfoot would have done the same... "A small, slightly wicked little smile tilted one corner of her lips upward.

"In truth, now that I think on it? You may have let Cooper off a touch lighter than he might. I imagine Thomas would have deemed a solid pistol-whipping in order before a musket ball to the brain pan, if anyone dared threaten his First Mate - but I shan't fault you for the lack."

The rogue winked slyly up to Nicolette before her gaze returned to the velvet bag the First Mate had still not yet touched nor taken in her hand again. Antonia's fingertips danced over the smooth softness of the velvet for a moment before she spoke again. "Besides, there is no such thing as a necessary gift. If a thing is necessary, it is no longer a gift, non? Then it is a need, and not near so fun." The rogue’s smiling grey eyes peered up to Nicolette, to try her very best to guess whether even the smallest gleam of a lighter heart might penetrate the First Mate’s solid, unbending veneer.

Nodding to herself with her answer, Antonia simply began to untie the fine, supple leather ties to the bag with nimble fingers. She could smell the vomit and see the empty liquor bottles - she had not grown blind and senseless in the seconds it took to walk into the cabin after all. The toe of one hob-nailed boot shot out like a serpent’s strike to stop the sea-rolling bottle, putting a swift end to that irritating noise, bending over to set it upright on the floor before returning to her own small task. Nicolette would be no more at ease here in her own quarters than she would be on the deck. Antonia did not doubt for a moment what the painfully self-conscious Nicolette would be thinking, wondering what the rogue would read into the juxtaposition of drunken excess the First Mate could have never managed on her own, and the tightly-controlled military precision with which she controlled most all her life.

It was a shame then, that Antonia could not reassure Nicolette she truly did not care. She would have loved the chance to tell the First Mate that whatever solace she found after she fled the ball - whether with the helmsman who chased after her or some other set of arms - was both a blessing, and absolutely none of the rogue’s concern.

But the good discipline of even a pirate ship stayed her tongue and, though she would have listened gladly with neither judgment nor a loose tongue for gossip, Antonia did not ask for the First Mate’s confidence. Trust was, after all, not a commodity Nicolette held in abundance – and one that had yet to be earned at any rate.

And so Antonia simply smiled, gently, to Nicolette as she sat back up once more and removed the mahogany box from the velvet bag herself. “As I said on deck, ‘tis true, this is a pretty enough covering,” her fingers running lightly over the deep red wood, worked to a buttery-soft smoothness. She worked carefully at the small brass latch with a fingernail before opening it and turning it toward Nicolette.

was nestled in a bed of ivory velvet, blanketed above and below in its cushioned confines, glimmering scarlet and alabaster in the limited light of the First Mate’s cabin. “And it does get lovelier the further one goes within.” The rogue’s careful fingers lifted the bottle from its velvet bed, smiling as the twinkling of the skillfully made glass droplets that encircled the bottle gleamed like morning dew.

“The scent held within is grander still, unique and unexpected.” Antonia’s eyes lit with excitement, her smile widening as she recalled the thrill of the find, when she finally discovered a gift so justly perfect. “It is lilac!”

“Now of course le parfumier cannot simply harvest lilacs here – ‘tis too far south for such blooms! But he told me his secret – if not the proper alchemy of course. He can combine the scent of a rose, and then the lily of the valley, just a touch of almond essence and – believe it or not – just the sweetest hint of clove and voila! We have lilacs in the Caribbean!”

Antonia’s warm, Cajun-spiced and delighted laughter whirled through the First Mate’s cabin like a playful tropical breeze. She set the stoppered crimson bottle back into its velvet bed, her fingertips pushing the whole toward Nicolette by a mere few inches as she stood. Still smiling, the rogue stood to her feet and nodded respectfully to the golden woman. “I will let you return to your duties Mademoiselle, as I must return to mine – certainly before the First Mate catches me out and has my poor hide flayed from flesh.”

The rogue laughed softly, reassurance she was, of course, only teasing. “Thank you once more, Mademoiselle Beauchamp. Truly,” she said softly as she turned to let herself out.