Thomas’ heady elation faded like settling dust. As if he was slowly waking from a dream, the reality of the moment in which he awoke came back in a gradual crescendo of his senses. The Dusk Skate had survived by the grace of a force he did not recognize or comprehend. On the seas a storm roiled with preternatural fury, and Thomas could see in his mind’s eye the corpses of Siren and sailor alike tumbling over the scarred railings of the ship as it rode the waves of its ire.

How many men? Thomas thought. How many joined Lightfoot in the depths, heralded by the baleful song of the Sirens?

Bile soured his mouth as he thought of his men, shredded and riddled with venomous bites, their eyes fading to the sight of the tempest that would drag them below the waves. Thomas brought his hands to his soaked hair, and clutched at his scalp. The answer to his own question was always the same: too many. Neptune was avaricious, and he would take more souls than the cosmos required.

The sharp voice of the First Mate brought Thomas’ mind from his dire thoughts, and caused him to raise his head. He watched the exchange between Antonia and Nicolette as an apposite crash of thunder from beyond the cabin bracketing the venom in the First Mate’s voice. Though he had not heard what Antonia had said to the Frenchwoman, judging by the rogue’s demeanor Thomas doubted she had intended to cross Nicolette so.

When the First Mate bowed, and made her gracious offer to further examine him, Thomas’ attention was drawn to the dark stain that spread over the woman’s shoulder like a gruesome epaulet. Sitting up farther upon his cot, his own face mirrored the First Mate’s concern.

“I would appreciate such ministrations, Nicolette. But please, you require more than I now, thanks to your efforts. You need to be seen to.”

Thomas couldn’t say exactly what had healed the Siren bite, but he had a strong inkling that it had somehow been Lightfoot’s handiwork. Even still, it had been the First Mate’s efforts that had ultimately pulled him from the ethereal, and back to the realm of the living. He owed her everything, and he vowed that he would repay her in kind.

As Nicolette left to take her place beside Jax, Thomas ran his hand once more over the strangely healed wound in his side. He couldn’t help but smile thinly at the new lease on his life, and scooting off the edge of the cot, Thomas permitted himself a light kiss upon Antonia’s cheek.

“Give me just one moment, my love.” His eyes darkened as he whispered to his rogue. “I will need your help soon enough.”

With yet another peck of Antonia’s cheek, Thomas stood and made his way to the large sea chest beside the cot. His steps were at first wobbly and unsure, but he managed to keep his feet. Opening the heavy lid, he began to pull out several articles of clothing, as well as a large amber bottle sealed with red wax. Thomas passed one the sets of clothing to the soaked helmsman.

“Take these, and this as well.” Thomas said, handing the bottle to Jax along with the clothes.

Next he knelt before the huddled form of his First Mate. He gave her a smile he hoped was filled with all the gratitude and affection he felt for the steely woman. Reaching out, Thomas ran the back of his fingers gently over the dark stain of the Siren’s bite at Nicolette’s shoulder.

“First, use it for this,” Thomas said to both Nicolette and Jax, speaking of the contents of the bottle. “Then, use it to ease your minds and warm your bellies.”

He made to stand, but not before gently pushing a wet snake of hair from the First Mate’s face, and offering her one last worried smile.

“Take good care of her, Jax.” Thomas clasped the helmsman at the shoulder, and gave the man a confident nod. “Both of you deserve my gratitude today. Thank you my friend.”

Stepping away from both Jax and Nicolette, Thomas retrieved the other set of dry clothes he had withdrawn from the chest. Leaning down to Antonia now, he whispered once again into her ear.

“I’m sorry to do this, but I need your help. We’ve grim work that needs to be done.” Thomas’ copper eyes flitted to the doorway, and the forlorn expression that now molded his features would convey all that the rogue would need to understand.

With that, the Captain stood erect, and nodded a farewell to the First Mate and the helmsman. His heavy boots thudded with an echoing resolve as he made his way through the threshold of his cabin, the grip upon his dagger conspicuous and grim against the continuing thunder of the storm above.

Antonia's brow lifted slowly as Nicolette browbeat her, loud animus falling like the torrential rains beyond these walls, all before Jax and Luc, and even Thomas - all for an edgy jest she whispered between them alone. For a single instant, the rogue considered rising to the bait, letting her own cold, undoubtedly cruel ire hold sway in the face of the woman's furious, overblown invective. Pride was never a luxury a woman like Antonia could afford to indulge, but there was precious little in her that would back down from a good fight, rank be damned. The rogue was no sailor born and, though she had danced in the shadows of honest and upright society for more than half her life, there was only one reason Antonia took up the pirate's mantle over a year ago - and he was sitting upright on the cot beside her.

For Thomas alone, she would let this be. She held her tongue completely, wearing only a small, distant smile on her face as Nicolette berated her, yet another mask among thousands to hide her myriad confusion. Behind the smile, Antonia wondered how Nicolette could so easily toss aside even the small kindnesses she attempted as meaningless: the gift of the perfume for the price of a musket ball to a mutineer's brain pan; the deference and intervention she had shown the woman when she could barely bring herself to speak to Thomas during their gleek game at the Parakeet; the delicate respect for her pain and her privacy when she fled the French naval captain at the Port Royal ball; the promise of stories she also fled, despite the offer of companionship over shared glasses of brandy wine...

The rogue sighed softly as her fingers ran gently over Luc's ebony curls, his head still by her knee as he sat still and stunned on the floor beside the cot. She did not have to see the boy's face to know he was horrified by the First Mate's fury with his Tante 'Tonia. And yet she felt him relax by degrees beneath her gentle, loving touch, even as Jax carefully wrapped a blanket about the First Mate's shoulders.

It was Thomas' words that drew her attention to the spreading crimson stain over the blanket at Nicolette's shoulder, and the rogue's brow furrowed with concern despite the small hurts she nursed within. Perhaps she had been hasty in her judgment then, and suddenly Antonia did not regret holding her tongue in the least. Perhaps Nicolette's bitter words were a matter of pain, or the delirium of venom or blood loss then, with no true intent...

Antonia chose to believe this, the truth of the matter be damned. There were far weightier matters to attend in this moment than bruised feelings. No matter the lightness of Thomas' sweet kiss on her cheek, the words he spoke were crafted of lead, heavy and dire, and the rogue felt this sudden gravity all too well. Not even the second peck to her cheek could allay her dread, though she stood from the cot as he moved to take up the wax-sealed bottle and change of clothing for Jax.

Lifting Luc from the floor, she wrapped her arms about his thin shoulders as her lover moved to retrieve another set of dry clothes. She said nothing at all when Thomas whispered in her ear, grey eyes turning to meet his troubled gaze, reading in an instant the intent that plagued her love to his very soul. Words of explanation were not necessary, and Antonia turned to follow him - until a flash from the corner of her vision stopped her, fingers wrapped about a small, slender shoulder.

"Non Luc. Non... You should not be out in this storm - your Maman and Papa would be furious with me if I let you catch your death of a chill. You would not wish me to face their ire, now would you? Capitaine Lightfoot and I will be back soon enough. You mind Monsieur Jax, sweet boy, and do exactly as he tells you, yes?" Antonia looked to the helmsman who, for no reason she could imagine, had thus far been given to unasked kindness to Luc, her eyes begging the man to indulge this kindness just a while longer. What she and Thomas intended was nothing for Luc to know. Not now. Not yet.

"But what of the voices?" Luc asked plaintively, biting his lip softly, worriedly.

"Voices?" Antonia asked, her brow suddenly furrowed with worry once more.

"The voices in the storm," he said softly, somberly. "The one who spoke of... Bade? Who told you to breathe for Capitaine Lightfoot?"

The sudden light of understanding animated the rogue's grey eyes, and she knelt swiftly before the boy, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Brother Sogba is in the lightning, and Brother Bade within the wind: they will bring you no harm Luc." Her hands lay lightly on his shoulders as she leaned forward to kiss his dear forehead lovingly. Antonia smiled as she pulled back just a little, peering into that sweetly innocent face. By whatever dear price I've yet to meet, I have at least secured your life my littlest love...

"And Brother Agau drives us to safety even now, never fear. Why, if you like? I bet you might yet see them out the captain's window if you look hard enough. You hear them, yes?"

Luc nodded his head slowly, his dark, amber-lit eyes somber and thoughtful. "Aye, then I do not doubt you will see them as well, even sense them as they move to and fro over the face of the waters. 'Tis a gift of our people, of our family, and nothing to dread. But we shall keep this secret between us, yes? We will talk more when I return, but for now only know there is nothing to fear."

Antonia stood to her full if diminutive height, her fingers running through the damp ebony curls of his head once more. She left a reassuring smile for Luc that disappeared the instant she turned from the boy to the door, her definite strides following after Captain Lightfoot out of the sanctuary of his cabin and back into the uncanny stormy night.

Jax stood by the door with clothes that were not his in his hands again. He lowered his head to see and moved his hands to feel the dry warm quality cloth. He glanced to Nicki not sure at all what to say. Sea witches both of them. Twisting things up. Twisting him up. He wanted to see her eyes and judge her anger. That’s what he expected. Here he had coaxed, convinced her to stay only to be left behind with a man who could not dress himself and a boy. She thinks him a boy. Standing there with another man’s shirt again and nothing to say.

He let the shirt fall onto the desk and he took a step toward her. The weight of everything was too much to hold in silence. They might have defeated the sirens, they might have called the storm and managed an escape. But at what cost? “Here,” He reached slowly and carefully to her shoulder. “You’ll have to tell me what to do, let your wisdom guide my hand, and we will take care of your shoulder.” He took a breath and a slight pause, “As commanded.” There was an edge to his tone. Stay behind Jax. He did not regret at all being with Nicki and yet he was sure she would blame him for being placed in the seat and forced to watch the boys, he and Luc, the boys.

He managed a weak smile. “And when we fix you up we can go out and check on those two.” He turned his head slightly to the wide eyes of Luc and winked, “Think they can keep us inside when things need done?” After all the Captain did not command. No in Jax’s mind it was more of a request. No reason not to head out into the storm. Get his boots. Check on the First Mate’s cabin. Could be Ms Doc here was more needed than anyone. But first, he would take care of her. If she scuffed at him or gave him a hard time, Luc could help hold her down. He smiled at that thought.

Gently Jax pulled the blanket off her shoulder while at the same time letting it stay tight around her waist. “Find something in that chest there we can use to clean the wound.” He figured he would give Luc a task, something to do. Something besides holding her down, as she didn’t need that just yet. Better than sitting there gawking. Besides, before long Jax would owe his Captain all the shirts off his back. Not that he didn’t already.So might as well pull something else out.

Jax tried to very carefully pull the top of Nicki’s shirt open, just a bit so he could find the skin where the wound cut flesh through the now drying blood. He kept looking at her eyes, her face, judging how much she would take, what she would allow, what instructions she would give. Or if at some point she would shrug him away, jerk at his touch, turn away from him not accept his help at all. Then he would pounce on her. So he told himself. He watched her. The cut was much deeper than he would have thought. He winced when he saw the depth to the bone.

He took a breath and looked to Luc. “Bet you could get lost in that chest. Could be a bed for you. There must be something in there to clean this that the Captain wouldn’t mind parting with. See anything?” He offered a challenging smile “Dive in there.”

Luc’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. “I can’t do that. It’s the Captains things and well, I mean, “ Luc gave a small grin, “His undershorts might be in there.”

“Prefect! Find a set quickly.”

Jax turned his smile to Nicki. “Bet they’re clean.” He quickly let his touch on her shoulder lightened and he added, “No disrespect at all. He gives me the shirt off his back I am sure he would lose a set of what is closest to you.” He uncorked the bottle and handed her the drink. She might need a swig by now.

Jax was unsure what he saw on her face. He had seen her in his day dreams and still he could not judge the look in those eyes. But he knew why. Because he cared what her eyes might say. He cared about what she thought of him. As if he needed to look away he swept his eyes back to Luc. The boy was struggling. He couldn’t decide if he should really look through the Captain’s things.

Luc sort of wanted to not care and open the lid, look inside. He could let his imagination scurry about at all the things that might be in there. Some hidden under a fancy jacket, some tucked between beautiful silk, some setting in plan view unafraid of whom might discover them. But even if he could claim later that Jax made him do it, he knew he shouldn’t. Deep down he did. He glanced to Jax.

Jax smiled, “The first rule of being a good follower is to not lose your self. Any fool can be a military drone and do whatever someone says.” He didn’t look at Nicki even though he wanted to, “Blind obedience only leads to blindness. You have to think some on your own.” He shrugged his shoulder and turned back to Nicki.

Luc blinked and left the chest unopened. Instead he found the Captains pillow and pulled off a crisp white cloth that kept the bunched of grasses and straw together. He dumped them on the ground sort of kicked them under the bed and handed it to Jax.

Jax chuckled and held it up to Nicki. “Will this be clean enough for now? It looks as if you might need a stitch or two. I can do that if you let me, instruct me,” He paused and then leaned just little forward closer to those amazing eyes, “trust me.”

He looked around the cabin quick not moving away for her before she responded. “We can head to your cabin and bring the boy with us. I’ll tie him tight so he doesn’t blow away with that extra shirt the Captain contributed to the never return Jax’s account.”

He could not help himself. He could only last so long. So with a tenderness and gently touch of his hand he let his fingers brush back a few strands of her hair. He allowed them to stay there on the side of her face on her cheek. He knew she might swat them off. She had every right to. Still, like the roll of the waves and the whip of the wind he was caught in the movement of things.

She took the bottle in fingers gone numb with cold. In the back of her mind she was distantly aware that she was losing blood and that if such a thing could be felt, she could feel the toxins working their way into her blood stream. Yet she couldn’t move, she felt so strange, the distant thunder seemed to be laughing at her, chuckling and chortling at her expense. And the Boy had spoken of it too. She shivered, she didn’t like this one bit. But what she did like was the way Jax was looking at her, concern mingling with something she couldn’t name. Was it the fever that was setting in that made her shiver? She was warm, too warm and his fingers on her when he loosened her shirt had burned into her like brands and the throbbing left in their wake wasn’t anything unpleasant though it hurt like sweet agony.

“Trust me.” He’d said.

Did she? Could she? Could she not? She had his boots, that meant something.

She leaned into his fingers when he touched her cheek and let her eyes drift shut. She was lost and adrift and the contact was all that seemed to keep her from shattering with all the mocking laughter ringing through the clouds overhead. There were dead and dying men and she was the doctor. She’d come here to tend to the captain who had not seen fit to let her see to him. She had no clue what the Captain was up too but she never could follow what made that man do what he did. It was time she did what she was called to do.

She turned her head into his hand, pressing a soft kiss into the calloused palm of the helmsman so quickly it might have been an accident but for the taste of him that lingered on her lips, wood and salt and something wonderfully male. She didn’t think about the why of her actions only let her lip trace over her lips before she put the bottle to them and drank deep.

“Stitches will have to wait. I need to see to the men.” She dropped the blanket to the floor, there was no use trying to stay dry when she was planning on heading out into the storm. “Come along, bring the boy, we’ll get him below decks and later, after I have done my work you can come and get your boots and I will trust you to make me whole.”

She looked at him, her eyes dark with fever and something like madness and she heard and felt all the weight in her words. She offered a smile to him before she ran her knuckles over his cheek with a hand that shook.

And she was gone, striding across the rolling deck, her medical bag in her hand. She braced herself as a wave hit the side and pummeled her. She stumbled back but a step before she righted herself and moved on. She paid no mind to the laughter that accompanied the wave, she focused only on the way the salt stung the still bleeding wound in her shoulder.

Twice more the ocean tried to claim her and twice more she held firm and then she was below decks and amidst the wailing men and her calling took over. She walked among them, organized and prioritized. Giving milk of the poppy to those who required it and put together as best she could those who were apart. She used whatever hands were nearby, giving them chores and tasks and she took what strength she could from Jax, touching him lightly whenever she passed him, quietly, hidden, not because she was ashamed but because she was selfish. It was for her she touched and she did not want to give any part of it to anyone, not even the ability to gossip and tease.

Finally she had done all she could, the rest was up to the men and their ability to endure. She knew what hers was and she knew she was near the end of it. So she stood, leaning against a continent beam and looking through the gloom for a stocky figure with a maddening grin. She had his boots, it was time he took them.

“Jax,” she called weak honey cutting through the moans. “We should get your boots.”

Jax hadn’t had the time he should have to take care of Nicki’s shoulder. But then, he hadn’t had the time he wanted with that amazing sea witch since she first touched his wounded hand. How long ago was that? He couldn’t count the nights and yet he realized now he had been lost in her since that fight, that first time in her cabin, that card game. As in her determined style she stomped out of the Captain's safe quarters and back into the wind he grabbed the shirt, not his of course, and Luc’s hand. He tied on sleeves to the boys wrist and the other to his.

He grinned to Luc, “Silly maybe, but if I lost you out there I would be paying dearly even in the pits of hell.” He winked and then follow Nicki.

Lus grounded him more than he would ever admit through the storm, the wind, the rain. Jax watched with fear the few times Nicki lost some steps and blew close to the railing and ravage seas. But she stood her ground, kept her feet. It was Luc that gave him weight and reason not to rush to her or step foolishly to fast. He kept his grip on the ship and the boy.

Once below deck Jax untied the shirt and gave Luc quick grin before he followed again the now determined Doctor. He offered his hand when a cut needed more pressure than the ship’s doctor could give needing her hands to cut bandages or wrap tight. He ripped tape when she held her hand out to him words not needed in her clearly directed focus. He stood beside her while she offered her stern and yet consoling warm words to those she layed down to the final rest.

At some point he looked back to Luc realizing the boy was following but at slight distance. The boy’s face told Jax everything. His eyes were wide but tears hung on the edges. His face was pale and his lips quivered slightly. The scene was horrific and Jax had forgotten how young he was. Jax put a hand on Nicki just to let her know he was there but then moved off to Luc’s side.

“Remember that cabin boy’s special spot?” Jax spoke softly putting one hand on his shoulder. Lus could only answer with a nod. “I can take you there again . You can stay there until we are done. There is no reason for you to see all this.”

Luc pulled his frighten eyes from the mesmerizing scene around him and looked to Jax. To Jax surprise, Luc shook his head no. He couldn’t really say anything, the frighten child, but Jax saw the determination in those young water filled eyes to ride this out, to make himself a part of this no matter the painful discomfort.

Jax squeezed his boys shoulder and smiled. “All right, mate.” Jax put one arms around him the way two drunk men might and lead him closer to Nicki. “How about you hold the tape and when I wiggle my fingers you tear a piece. Be a help.” He pulled the child’s head closer to his and added a whisper, “The Doctor will not ask for help but that don’t mean we can’t give it.”

So the two of them followed the hard working doctor through the awful wounds and cries of the battered crew. They were almost to the end when Luc, nudged Jax and with his head not words nodded to the edge of the dark room and Mr. Davenport, if he remembered the man correctly. The man was curled up along the planks of the ship with a wideness in his eyes. His arms were blood covered and the top of his head seemed sliced open.

“Sing to me again.” he cried although no one seemed to pay any attention. “Don’t leave me here with these ugly bastards.” When Jax tried to get closer and when Nicki noticed, Mr Davenport screamed and scurried along the edge of the curved wall away from them. Nicki started to follow but Jax reached for her to stop her. He was near his end in Jax’s mind and she was just scaring him more. Let him go. There were others. They could not take their time chasing him. It only took a minute for the doctor to find someone else that needed her.

Some time later, how did he measure time in the depth of death and life?, Nicki was done. He could see her lose her strength her wound still not treated as it should be. She gave all she could, done all she was able. He saw that as she reminded him of his boots. He had not forgotten at all everything she had.

Jax smiled to her and went closer to her side. Behind him he wiggled his fingers to Luc as if for tape but it was clear none was needed. Luc should follow them. As they moved to the deck, Jax could feel the storm begin to lose it’s hold on the sky and the sea. They would not have to fight their way back to Nicki’s cabin.

Jax could not see anyone else on deck. So he thought it was time to do what he wanted to, what he could, what he felt needed done. He went to Nicki and scooped her off her feet. She was surprised of course and in no way did she fall into his arms or melt into his touch. No, he felt her stiffness at frist. But she was worn and battered. He held her across his arms and smiled to her.

“My boots and your shoulder.” He let his whole face smile. “We best take care of each other.”

She didn’t cry out when he lifted her, only barely. She clenched her teeth against the dull throbbing ache that shot out from the wound. She could feel the necrotic bile of the creatures moving from the bite though her body. Necrotic, what a perfectly apt, perfectly horrible word. She could feel the fever setting in even as they moved across the deck and the wind and rain lashed at her. She felt the lessening in the still powerful storm that battered the ship. The lightning flashed and still she heard the laughter within the thunder and the words she just couldn’t quite make out.

She knew it was time to do something about her wound, past it really. She would have flayed anyone else on her crew for coming to her in the state she was in. She would demand to know what they were thinking, to wonder if they liked to make her life harder. To wonder if they liked to suffer rot in their veins. But she was doctor and patient both and with that came some privileges, including ignoring one’s own medical advice.

“Yes.” She said as she forced herself to relax in his arms, despite the pain. “Boots and shoulder.”

She let him carry her into the cabin, her head spinning and wanting nothing so much as to shrug out of her wet clothes and sink into the oblivion of sleep. But after the door closed and the bulk of the roar of the storm and its accompanying laughter were cut off she realized they were not alone. The boy.

That’s right, they were on nursery duty weren’t they? Or rather Jax was. That would make her treatment just a little harder. She would not shuck her shirt in front of the boy, the boy brought on board without anyone seeing fit to inform the first mate. The boy who watched her a little too intently.

She slipped out of Jax’s arms and walked to her bed and pulled the warm blanket off of it and tossed it to the boy who was wet through and did not have enough meat on him to be risking a soak.

“Dry off, stay warm.” She said to him and then made her way slowly to where she’d kept the boots. She bent down to reach for them but stumbled a little, her hand on the corner of her desk the only thing that kept her upright. She cursed and watched her hand which had seemed on track to get the boots miss greatly. She tried again, her fever-bright eyes narrowed it irritation. She got them and then stood, pausing to let her balance catch up with the rest of her before turning and offering the boots with a flourish meant to give homage to Jax’s usual antics but which fell flat in her jerky delivery.

“Your boots. Can you get the boy somewhere safe and dry?” she said and did not say, or rather she wasn’t certain if she said or thought somewhere not here.

“He has seen enough of people’s insides tonight, he need not see mine. I will need your help with this shoulder.” She said, even if she thought the words would choke her. She needed help, it galled.

“Will you come back to me?” And there was softness, strange vulnerability in the slurred honey that she tossed his way.

((Collaboration with AmongHeroes and Igraine))

Thomas waited in the hissing gale, his head bent away from the rain and wind. There was a strange quality to the storm’s fury. Something that Thomas could not immediately identify, though it was instantly perceived as he walked from the shelter of his cabin.

Even as he stood there, not wavering, his face contorted into an expression of discernment. The feeling the storm imparted bothered him, and he searched his own thoughts for an answer to its unspoken riddle. What was it he felt amongst the rain? The question gnawed and tugged gently upon his mind, and he scoffed as comprehension continued to elude him.

He could recognize enough of what he felt to know that it wasn’t a baleful sense he gathered. No malice or note of impending doom was born upon the droplets of driving rain. Yet, standing amidst the elements, Thomas had the uneasy feeling that there was a cost to be paid to this fortuitous and ethereal tempest.

His reverie broke with the sound of his cabin door opening, and the sounds of booted feet coming to meet him. Turning just slightly, Thomas looked to the soaked, while still exotically striking woman that had joined him.

Thomas gave Antonia a grim, but appreciative look. “Thank you for joining me for this.” His voice was full and loud. A requirement to be heard above the din of the storm. “It is never easy, especially alone. A terrible duty, but one that must be done.”

Antonia nodded, taking a deep breath as she looked up to the darkly shadowed planes of Thomas’ face, her grey eyes soft with understanding and an unswerving, unequivacol tenderness. This was no time for smiles, no time for gentle levity, and her gaze told him she knew as much. Captain Lightfoot loved his men fiercely. She knew well, he would batter the very gates of Hell for any one of them - and they for him in return, but for the mutinous bastards who never did last long, one way or another.

It was this love that drove him to his ‘terrible duty.’ And for her love, she would not leave him to this alone.

She said nothing over the roar of the storm, not trusting the volume of her voice over the laughter of the loa, or the winds and the torrential rain that buffeted them all, lifting the Dusk Skate and driving her like a child in his bath with a carven wooden ship. Antonia simply reached for Thomas’ hand, squeezing those fingers tightly to tell him she had heard, she had understood all he said - and all he left unsaid - before nodding toward the entry that would take them below deck and to the rest of the crew.

All they intended this night, the bloody work that must be done, should be completed quickly as well. The First Mate would rise, of course, to come doctor the crew as duty demanded of her. She would have her hands full enough, with those who had the least chance of survival. Nicolette should not have to rend her soul for those who simply did not.

The rogue released Thomas’ hand, turning swiftly to descend the narrow stairs.

With the comforting tingle afforded by Antonia’s hand still lingering upon his skin, Thomas followed. The darkness of the stormy night sky was made all the darker with each descending step into the gun deck, and he had to pause at the end of the short stairway to allow his vision to adjust.

As he waited, he could hear the moans and painful breathing of the crewmen huddled amongst the cannons. That he could make out these noises, even above the roar of the storm, was a terrible thing to comprehend, and Thomas felt his heart sink to his stomach. It was all too clear the damage that the Sirens had wrought upon the crew of the Dusk Skate. The wails of the crewmen spoke to as much. Thomas tightened his grip upon the dagger in his hand, and a sour, metallic taste filled his mouth. In short order, his vision adjusted to the darkness, and he could see well enough.

The sight that met him, even in the dim confines of the gun deck, married in terrible accent to the sounds that accosted his ears. Men were strewn about upon the floor, some huddled together, some alone. Many clutched at the figures of their comrades, offering promises of peace and paradise to their dying charge. The obsidian gleam of blood was everywhere, and the whole of the deck stunk of the sweet, iron tang of gore.

Without a word, Thomas began to move away from the stairs, and into the tangle of grievously wounded men. The first man he reached was but a mere foot or two from the last tread of the stairs, and it was with a hard mask of resolve that Thomas knelt beside him.

Marshall, Thomas thought in quiet dismay. He recognized the man before him almost instantly, seeing the silhouette of his face, and noticing the shark’s tooth earring that gleamed from his left ear. Reaching out, Thomas pressed a hand gently against Marshall’s abdomen. Against the spot where dull light shone in uneven and grotesque fashion over what had always been the flat stomach of a slight man.

Immediately as Thomas’ fingers met the smooth, wet surface of Marshall’s eviscerated bowels, the man winced and cried out. Thomas withdrew his hand, and his head hung low. Now stained with blood, Thomas reached forward with quaking fingers that shone black. Soundlessly, and with a reverence only hard circumstances could convey, Thomas relieved Marshall of his agony for all eternity.

Antonia watched Thomas kneel beside poor Marshall, her impassive face yet another mask belying a thousand emotions that would do not a single one of these men the least bit of good. And so she kept them well hidden, turning away before her love did what he must. The rogue knew very well there were others still in need of mercy this stormy night.

She had not gone more than five paces before she too took a knee, beside Adjoa. The ebony skin about his lips and cheeks had turned a sickly hue, a dire blue that promised he would not live out the hour though his face contorted in a rictus of pain as he gasped vainly for breath. The man’s enormous chest heaved uselessly, blood bubbling up through the makeshift bandages that were already soaked crimson, covering the mortal wound that opened one side of his chest entirely.

Adjoa’s dark eyes held Antonia’s gaze, one massive hand wrapping about hers. This wound was merciless, and though it was stealing his life it had cruelly left him all his wits though he could not speak a word. Something that tried to be words gurgled wetly in his throat, his hand reaching for the small silver cross that still, somehow, hung about his neck. The great man’s gaze told her he knew exactly why she had come for him - that he knew, and he welcomed her arrival. Yet he still had a thing to ask of his own merciful angel.

Antonia nodded once more, bending low to his ear as she held his hand, murmuring the words she knew he most needed to hear in his last moments.

Did he most heartily repent of his sins? A nod.

Had he truly forgiven all who may have sinned against him? Another nod.

Did he accept his Lord as his one true Savior? Yet another quick nod, followed swiftly on its heels with a heaving breath that gurgled blood turned a visceral black, shining like oil as it dribbled from his quivering lips.

The rogue bent her head, whispering a prayer she had learned as a little girl in her father’s plantation chapel. She lay a loving angel’s kiss to his forehead, and then set Adjoa free, liberating the great man to make his way to Heaven’s gates.

**********

The time spent on the gun deck passed with a sickening swiftness that made Thomas numb. Each new soul sent away seemed to pass swifter than its predecessor’s, until many of the bodies tucked amidst the gun-carriages set all too still. By the time Thomas had worked his way forward to the bow of the ship, he was covered in blood, sweat, filth, and the heavy weight of guilt.

Though his hands no longer shook, Captain Thomas Lightfoot felt no strength in his limbs. Leaning against a large bulkhead, his blood soaked hair pressing against the grain of the wood, Thomas perceived himself like a husk. A man held up by only the thin veneer of his station, and not by the will of his body. To their credit, those of the crew still alive and well enough to carry on had not protested the work of Thomas and Antonia. They knew well the value and mercy inherent in the terrible action. Yet, even with the unspoken blessing of the crew, Thomas had the poignant venom of disgrace and repulsion drifting slowly, mixing in the blood of his veins.

Looking back, he watched Antonia carry out her own terrible task. Like a true angel, a merciful creature of death, the rogue moved and dealt her final gifts. Thomas could only stare with half-lidded eyes, eyes that had lost their usual brilliant shine. In the back of his mind, Thomas knew that he was glad that Antonia loved him enough to share this burden. At the same instant, his face soured at the opposite side of the coin; if he loved Antonia as much as she did him, should he have asked her to help him in the first instance?

He let out a dismal, crestfallen sigh, willing the burden of his thoughts from his mind. There would be time enough for that, and he was too exhausted to fully unravel all that troubled him. For now, the comfort that he sought in Antonia’s company was all that he would allow himself to focus on.

As she neared him, her grim duty complete, Thomas reached out a hand caked with stained blood, and waited for his love to pull him away from the Hell around them.

And she did not hesitate, not even for a moment. Beneath the blood, beneath the gore, Antonia saw the guilt-laden agony with which her beloved flayed himself. She wrapped her strong, nimble fingers into his tightly, not forsaking his bloody touch as she pulled him into her own.

She was tired, so unspeakably exhausted and just beyond these too-thin planks she could still hear the voices of the loa laughing in the conjured storm. The rogue had paid a price tonight, a horrible price alongside Thomas as they moved among the crew, performing their most bloody, and yet horribly necessary duty. Faces of friends, some she had even considered as close as brothers, would haunt her darkest dreams with wordless recriminations, their dead eyes bearing accusations and blame for untold nights yet to come. Yet she was neither fool enough nor naive enough to believe - not even for a moment - that this soul-rending work could begin to pay the crushing debt she entered into this night.

But whatever price she must yet meet, Antonia did not believe her debt would be called quite yet. And her sweet lovely man, her magnificent Captain Silverfish, needed her strength in this moment, not her fears or misgivings. She pulled Thomas to her, wrapping one arm about his waist tenderly, but firmly, as she led him further into the bowels of the Skate, to the one place Thomas might find a measure of solitude and peace, however slight or ephemeral those blessings might truly be.

The galley was warm, but not uncomfortably so, particularly for those soaked straight to their miserable bones by rainwater and a deluge of blood. Carefully she let Thomas sit upon one of the stools, pulling their intertwined hands to her chest as she let her forehead rest tenderly against his, not a single care for the spatter or gore that caked them both.

“Take your rest for a moment, my lovely man,” she whispered, ”I will warm the water.”

Jax could have melted at Nicki’s question, would he come back to her? He didn't want to leave. He was here now and wanted to go nowhere else. But any small bit of ground he had managed to cultivate with this amazing woman would dry up quickly with the ties of the boy. With the eyes of the boy, right here, right now. Now, Jax liked Luc but he traveled light, remember? He had little things and even fewer connections. Now all of the sudden he did? Jax had never known any joys of a father or brother and he didn’t feel particularly slighted in either regard. He had no desire to assume either role himself. It was Nicki he came for.

He moved toward her, the First Mate, the Doctor, Nicki, and put his hands on hers as she held the boots. “Hold them for me longer, please?” He smiled to her and sort of gently lead her down to sit on the edge of her bed, while he held her hands, her arms, that held his boots. “I will take Luc back if you promise me you will stay here, cover up, keep my boots and wait for me.” He let go with one hand and pulled back her top cover.

Slowly he knelt by her on her cabin floor and lifted one of her feet pulling on one boot to take it off. He watched as he tugged one and then the other. She still held his boots as he put hers on the floor beside the bed. He reached again for his own and placed them right beside.

He stood again looking down at her. He would have smiled that Jax grin to her but it just didn’t really come. Instead his face could not hide his concern and longing. If he had been in his old mood his old self before he had ever kissed Nicki he might have teased that he could fix her the same way she did the Captain and straddle her pressing against her. He wanted to. But that was before. Before the Night Blooms, before the readings in her cabin, before she took his boots. Now he was more worried about her. Worried she was hurt much worse than she would admit. Worried that he would not take the care of her she needed.

To chase all his doubts away, they did not feel comfortable on Jax, he took a breath and did smile, a more sincere caring one, “I will come back. Hundreds of times I’ll come back to you.” He let his eyes tell her it was true.

Jax spun around to find Luc. The boy was curled inside the blanket with his teeth chattering and his eyes wide open. Was it fear Jax saw? He was afraid to ask. And he didn't want Nicki to see the young lad’s need. No she had enough, had done enough. He put his arm quickly around the child and escaped with him out the door.

“Are you going to leave me alone?” There was the edge of a cry in the small thin voice. Jax let his arm hang over the boy as they made their way from her cabin across the deck.

“You are never alone on a ship, Luc.” He patted the boy’s arm. “But you need to be somewhere else. You want your bunk or that safe spot that cabin boys know?”

“My bunk will be beside empty hammocks of dead man, or crying ones. The safe spot is not safe from the dreams of the things I saw.”

Jax stopped. He pulled his arm off. “Well unfortunate for you, the warm soft Mama’s bed you threw aside is not available here.” He put both his hands on Luc’s shoulders, and spun him to face Jax. “You are on a pirate ship, Lad. There are nightmares for all of us. Each has to find his way through them. Right now I am helping the First Mate. Not you.” He lowered his eyes realizing the truth of that. Jax put his arm back around the boy and offered much gentler. “I could take you back where you should have stayed, the Captain's cabin.”

Luc nodded as Jax put his hand on the top of his head. “And you can finally look through that old secret chest.”

“I’m not going to do that!”

“I know,” Jax laughed. “But I’ll tell you I might have at your age. I might now, except you would tell and my boots are waiting.”

((Collaboration with Igraine and AmongHeroes))

Thomas allowed Antonia to pull him along, leaning heavily against her embrace as she led them down into the galley. It surprised him that none of the crew had retreated here to wait out the storm, but he counted the unexpected solitude as a blessing, and so he did not dwell upon the cause of the small fortune.

Thomas closed his eyes as Antonia pressed her forehead against his own. He was keenly aware of the drying blood that pulled and itched as his skin pressed to his love’s, but the warmth of her touch was too inspiriting for him to care. His eyes opened to Antonia’s. So close were they that he could see the copper of his iris’ reflected in the pools of steel-gray of Antonia’s own. He brought a hand, overlayed with the crimson stains of their recent undertaking, and caressed the cheek of the woman before him.

“Thank you,” was all Thomas could whisper, his throat filling with the full weight of all that had just taken place.

“De rien, chèr,” she whispered. ’It is nothing, dear:’ that was the fuller translation of those French words, the simple, common response that said ’you are welcome.’ But of course what they had just done was not ‘nothing;’ and though a mercy, a final kindness even for men suffering hideously without a single hope of life, Antonia knew this had ripped most everything from her lovely man.

Hearing that pain in his whisper tore at the rogue’s heart, and she knew there would never be words fit to meet this moment. She did not even try. Antonia simply wrapped her arms tightly about her love where he sat, pulling him close to her chest, laying his head against her beating heart while the fingers of one hand ran soothingly over his head, forsaking no tenderness though his hair was still tacky with drying blood.

Behind her, fresh water began to heat in the cast iron cauldron. She should be careful that it not boil, but for this moment, Thomas’ hurts was the whole of her world.

“I saw Lightfoot,” Thomas said, the words materializing upon his tongue before he even realized what he was saying. Pressed against the warm and comforting hearth of his love’s heart, at the precipice of a ruined conscience, Thomas wanted to alter the current of his mind to anything but the lingering eyes of the men he had just killed in the name of mercy.

“After I was bitten by the Siren,” he continued, his voice a low and raspy whisper, “I awoke on an island, and Lightfoot was there.”

Antonia’s gaze fell for a moment to the top of Thomas’ head where he rested. Of all people who might have heard this strange statement, she might be one of the precious few who would not wonder if, perhaps, something in his mind had not snapped beneath the unbearable weight of guilt. She took a small step back, reaching to cradle that beloved face gently.

“Well, you tell me then,” she said softly, a tender finger pushing back a lock of hair from his face. “Tell me Thomas, what your father had to say to you. I imagine you must have had so much to catch up on, so much to share.”

Never once did the thought occur to Antonia, that this might have been some fever dream, the aimless ramblings of a brain caught somewhere between life and death. The spirit world was as real - perhaps even more real - than this mortal one. She needed consider no further than the meager inches of wood between themselves and an unnatural storm, to know this was so.

Antonia’s hands took Thomas’ for a moment, a gentle pressure for his fingers as she embraced them to her heart for a moment. She let him go, though not for long, only turning to take up some of the old kitchen cloths, that would now serve for their washcloths.

“Did he have any message for you, lovely man?”

A single, snort of a laugh came through Thomas’ nose. The question Antonia had asked was not funny, not in of itself, but the subject brought a strange smile to Thomas’ lips no matter the recent emotional burden.

“You would think that he might have given me some message from the beyond? It would make sense that a spirit would grant a man such insight. Instead…” Thomas said, sitting up and looking at Antonia with a sideways smile.

“Instead he wanted to drink rum and hear about everything he had missed.” Thomas shrugged and shook his head. “The man hasn’t changed, even in death. I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“No,” Thomas said, growing more serious. “We really did just sit upon the sand of ‘his island’ and speak about times past and present. No future, I’m afraid.”

Thomas looked over to the fire that was licking at the iron cauldron. He fell silent, looking into the flames and remembering Lightfoot’s face as if he had just seen the man in the flesh. As he stared, the notion that Antonia might find his tale strange came to his mind, and just as quickly as it arrived, Thomas thrust it aside. Antonia was a woman open to the realm beyond, and what’s more, Thomas had no doubt that she trusted him implicitly. Even in matters as strange as the world outside of the mortal one.

“I told him of you.” Thomas continued, still looking to the fire. A slow smile returned to his face as he thought of Lightfoot’s reaction to him admitting he was a one-woman-man for the first time in his life. He turned his smile to Antonia, and some of the familiar glow returned to his eyes.

“He seemed to approve of you.”

“Well, that is something there, now isn’t it?” Antonia stood from the floor after ladling the warm water from the cauldron to a smaller pot - though one still large enough that it required both her hands to lift. She had tossed the old cloths over her shoulder and, pot in hand - or rather, hands - she crossed the short distance to where Thomas sat, setting the water down beside him.

She knelt to wet one of them thoroughly, ringing it out in her hands before standing once more. The blood on her own hands had already tinged the water a deceivingly soft pink, and the rogue knew there would be many rinses required to see them both cleansed once more.

Antonia cupped Thomas’ chin in one hand, the other covered with the wet cloth as she began to wipe the blood from his face. A small, mischievous little grin began to creep across her lips as she seemed studiously intent on her self-appointed task.

“Though I do wonder, if your father had not approved, might you have tossed your rogue aside, dearest Silverfish?” Antonia pouted prettily as if the very thought distressed her so, though the laughter in her grey eyes gave away the tease in her words.

Boots. There were boots tucked under her bed that were not her own. How long had it been since that had happened last? Years, certainly. Not since Yan, Yan the beautiful, Yan with a body that made her itch to sketch, Yan who was no more.

She stayed where Jax had laid her until he slipped out with the boy. She winced at the distant laughter that rode in the wind and it occurred to her that she was mad, or perhaps the toxins in her were making her hallucinate. But then she’d heard the voices, the laughter before she’d been bit. She shook off that thought. Madness brought on by fever and poison was a much more comfortable state of being than hearing actual voices in the storm. And with a delightfully stubborn application of will, it was so. Done, the idea fixed irrefutably in her head. She was hallucinating, there was nothing in the storm.

She sat up and let the room swim around her for a moment, even with eyes closed it spun. Jax would deliver the boy somewhere, back to his Mama, no back to his aunt or just somewhere and then he would come back and she would accept the help she needed and then they could talk about boots, or not talk. Just something.

What did she want? She opened her eyes and looked down at the boots, the two pairs standing side by side, Jax’s worn, thick broad boots looked strangely comfortable next to her own, high spit-shined boots. She groaned because she liked how they looked together very well and that was asking for trouble she did not need. Jax’s smile told her from the get-go that he was trouble. His smile had been honest about that. It was broad and bright and it had promised untold damage to her insides. She had stayed away and kept guarded, warned off by that smile. It hadn’t mattered because with the smile came that chest, that body. Made by heaven to be her absolute weakness. It came at a time when she was weak, when she needed and she was so tired of everything. But mostly she was tired of being so tight, so alone. She stumbled to her table, intent on getting medical supplies but instead found her book with its sketches and her shame contained between the covers. She opened it, with trembling fingers and let her fingers trace over the charcoal representation of all that she wanted and all that she shouldn’t take.

He just wanted her body, didn’t he? That was simple enough, maybe she could give him just that? Her heart need not be part of the picture. The window over her bed burst open in a sudden rush as it was buffeted by the laughing wind that roared into her cabin and mocked her. She closed the book but not before drops of rain hit the page like tears, puckering and marring the paper. It would dry but it would never be as it was.

She stumbled and slammed the window shut, ignoring the laughter that still seemed to fill the cabin. Hallucination, she told herself. You are ill and hearing things. But the door opening wasn’t an illusion, it was very real. And the sound of booted feet slipping into the cabin wasn’t imaginary.

“Jax.” She breathed and knew that she could tell herself her heart was out of the picture but that it was a lie. It was shredded already and it would be pulverized by the end no doubt. But still she would do what she wanted and dreaded because his boots looked so right next to hers. She would take what she could get for as long as she could have it. Without turning she let her trembling fingers fumble with the buttons of the shirt she would not remove when Luc was there and then, laughing at her care of the ruined garment simply ripped it off in spite of the pain. It fell to the ground and the full extent of the wound in her shoulder was barred. A bit of Nicki was gone, there would be a puckered scar across her shoulder but not one overly large. A larger area was shredded but intact, the hooked teeth of the siren having left quite a mess in her flesh, but the angry red area all around it was by far more troubling than the wound. That was infection setting in.
“Sing to me?” said a voice that was not Jax.

She whirled, her hands coming up to cover the edges of her bodice, her eyes widening in surprise. Mr. Davenport, his eyes mad, his face a strange grey, puffy and waxy, stood swaying in the doorway, the laughing storm rushing past him making her shiver.

“Sing to me, beautiful one. Take me with you down to the depths.”

Jax was leading Luc back to the Captain's cabin feeling just a little guilty that he would leave the lad alone. But not enough to change his mind. As they turned he noticed a faint glow from the galley and figured a hunk of dried salted beef might help the boy relax into sleep. Full belly might chase some nightmares away. Worth a try if only to lessen his own flutters of unsettled choices.

So with a quick step Jax swung toward the door. Brashly he pushed it opened and stepped inside with Luc still under his arm like two drunken sailors helping each other home. But they weren’t drunk and this wasn’t really home. That was obvious as soon as the door slammed shut behind them with the leftover force of a fleeing storm. They had intruded. That was very clear as the closeness of the two filled the air all around the empty room. Captain and his sea witch. It was thick with intimacy of some kind. Oh they were dressed and not sucking each other’s air at all but the way they touched each other and the silent caresses of words Jax did not hear made their presence awkward. A child and a wet worn man there ,where just two lovers should be.

They could just turn and leave. But Jax made the exact opposite decision. “Ah,” He opened his arms wide and grinned, leaving go of Luc. “Just who we wanted to find.” Luc glanced to Jax not sure what that meant and his look said so. “I was just taking the lad back to your quarters Captain.” Jax took another step into the galley leaving Luc confused and a bit behind. Luc lowered his head and stood still.

“Thing is, he has seen enough.” Jax didn’t try to lower his voice but he directed the conversation toward the lovers, Thomas and Antonia. They were worn and dirty too, blood evident on them just as it was on Jax and even a bit on Luc. “And now?” He opened his arms gesturing at the two of them. Somehow he wished he was right where they were. Oh not here in the kitchen but softly reassuring each other with touches and eyes in a different cabin along side his boots. And that need, desire, want, weight more than the hesitation he might have been where he shouldn’t be. “Now, if I can leave him here in your care, might be the best.” He turned from the two of them to glance at Luc. “All of us have nightmares.” He spun back to Thomas and smiled, “Even Captains.”

Jax opened his mouth to say more but closed it quickly, enough said. Enough seen. Enough done. He moved toward the door before either Thomas or Antonia could protest the dumping of the boy into their private time. Right before he left he nudged Luc who was still by the door and gave him a wink. He had no idea why or what he was trying to convey. Just it was all right? Was it? But Jax knew where he needed to be. It wasn’t here. It wasn’t with the young frightened boy or the two consoling lovers.

Mr. Davenport had never been know to be the fastest of the crew. But then he was now more than just the man he had been. More directed. More sure. More filled. In fluid steps like water of a wave he was inside Nicki’s cabin and on her. His arms around her with little doubt of his meaning. She sang to him. He knew it. All the melodies that danced in his head were calls from her. She wanted him. She wanted him to take her away from all of this and surround her with his body and soul. She wanted him to take her. Take her, all of her, and go off together into the sea. That’s why she sang to him. That why she called. He knew this and with quick steps he meant to tell her he would obey the call, the song.

She might fight or pretend to resist. Yet that was all part of this melody they made together. She would pretend strength when she was weak with her desire. For him. For their song together. He would prevail. He would make sure she knew he would so she could fall into him exactly as she really wanted to. The song said so.

Holding her tight any way he could he would pull her from her room and bring her out to the wind and sea so she could know. So she could feel the song better as the splash of the fading storm sang to them both. Together they would leave this horrid place and instead fly from the deck into the notes of a promised union crashing in the sea. Down into their depths. Down into each other. Down into the waters that would save them both.

Nicki’s voice rose for certain, it rose high and danced with the laughter that even then curled about in the wind. But she didn’t sing and she didn’t laugh, she screamed. Honey ripped from her throat. For such sweetness to convey such wrongness was a terrible thing and her screams seemed to still even the storm for a moment. In that pocket of silence her cry rang out. Just for a moment before Mr. Davenport threw the two of them over the side into the churning waves where her screams were cut off.

Nicki had failed again. Again and again she let herself down. She knew what she should have done. For certain she had fought and kicked the siren maddened sailor but it wasn’t enough. She had failed. She had failed before when her captain had ordered her fellow sailors to pull her down and humble her. She had failed when faced with him again at that ball, running screaming into the night. And she had failed this time. Her fight had been weak, decimated by fever and exhaustion. Aching from a nearly debilitating wound her struggles had been far from effective. So he’d carried her, nearly unhindered to the edge of the ship and dove in.

The shock of the cold water stole her breath before it swallowed up her head so she was able to take in one last gasp before she was pulled under by a strong arm tight around her waist. She felt the sting of salt in her wound and the pain of it, so deep, so strangely intimate woke something in her. She thrashed anew, choking on the water but determined not to be swallowed up so completely by the dark. She fought and kicked and twisted, using the pain of her wound to fuel her. She broke free and kicked towards the surface with its laughing storm, with the ship, with Jax.

Her head burst out of the water, surging up through the surface, her scream bubbling before her.

“Help!” she screamed just before a hand clamped on her ankle and pulled her down. She coughed and kicked and felt herself weakening but managed to slip free once again.

“Jax!” she screamed, fear changing the flavor of her honey as it struggled filled the night even as she struggled with Mr. Davenport.

“Help me, Jax! Please!”

And then she was under again and she knew as an iron strong hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her down like and anchor that she wasn’t going to get to the surface on her own again.

Thomas’ eyes closed at the touch of the warm cloth against his face, and a tight lipped smile accompanied the expression.

“It is something indeed,” Thomas said. “Lightfoot was a man whose opinion was made quickly, and finally in most cases,” Thomas scoffed at the memory of the man, “so I would warrant his approval as a success.”

Opening his copper eyes, Thomas looked to Antonia and smiled more fully. The cast of the firelight upon her caramel-brown skin was beautiful, and the curls of ebony that framed her face gave the rogue a strangely angelic quality that made Thomas want to reach out and touch her. As Antonia reached to his face with the cloth once more, he gently stopped her, and withdrew the cloth from the rogue’s hand.

“As for the consequences of Lightfoot’s disapproval, well…” Thomas stood and stepped to the cauldron of hot water. For several moments Thomas washed the rag clean as best he could in a small basin of cool water, before wetting it with the water from the cauldron. He moved back to Antonia and resumed his seat. With the same careful touch that his love had granted him, Thomas reached upward to clean the angelic face seated before him.

“…If Lightfoot had expressed condemnation over our match,” Thomas said, completing his thought at last. “The man on the island, lost soul or not, would have received a beating worthy of such attentions.”

For several more long moments, Thomas continued his ministrations with a pleasant glean to his face as he wiped the layers of dried blood from Antonia’s countenance. The pleasant thoughts of Lightfoot, and the warming quality of speaking of his love only buoyed him from the present only so long however, and soon his features once again began to darken.

“We’ve lost so many,” he began suddenly. “We won’t be sure of the numbers until we have a count, once the storm has passed, but I fear the Dusk Skate may be dangerously undermanned.”

Thomas’ dark confrontation of his ship’s fate was swiftly diverted by the thud of the galley’s wooden door, and the abrupt entrance of Jax. Beneath his arm, slung like a sack of grain, was the boy Luc. Despite his grim disposition, the sight brought a smirk to Thomas’ face.

“Hello gentlemen,” Thomas said, standing slowly. “I’m glad you dropped him by, Jax. We’ll certainly take the lad.”

Thomas shuffled towards where the barrels of hard biscuit and jerky were stored, as Jax bent to speak to Luc. Taking a wooden bowl, the captain began to place a small portion of the dried food inside. His ears listened intently to Jax’s words as he worked however, and as Thomas filled a small earthen mug from a cask of drinking water, he nodded in agreement to Jax’s words.

“Captains especially.” Thomas said, speaking to the harsh existence of the nightmares they all shared. Looking up from his work to the dark eyes of the boy, he continued, “Come on m’boy, try to eat something, and share a spot near the fire. It’s not delicious fare, but a filled belly is a blessing in its own right.”

Luc moved to the pair of his aunt and the captain, looking back over his shoulder to the helmsman’s wink and gesture of encouragement.

Thomas moved his eyes to the helmsman, and gave the man a smile and a nod that spoke to his thanks for watching over the boy. “We’ll have work to do soon enough, Jax. Storm or no, we can only drift for so long before we must get the men aloft, and get the Skate righted proper-like. I’ll call on your skill shortly, my friend.”

With that, Thomas watched the man leave the way he had come. His eyes lingered momentarily upon the darkened doorway of the galley before he turned his attention to Luc, and handed the boy the bowl of food he had just prepared.

The storm was retreating. The wind dying, the bounce of the ship not as dramatic, the rain puddled on the deck instead of whipping around in the air, and in that quiet where the night brightness beet against the thick clouds, Jax heard a splash. It wasn’t like a wave that broke but more like something heavy hit the water. A plop more than a splash. He didn't go to the sound but instead moved toward Nicki’s cabin. The door was open. He stood for a minute confused. Did she leave? He looked inside.

That was when he heard the honey coated scream. There was no doubt who was calling him. Jax ran to the edge, to the railing and looked out into the dark waters. He saw nothing. Was it all just his longing for her making him hear her calling his name? But the surface broke. Her voice called again. She called his name. Jax lept up on the railing balancing for a second before he would throw himself into the water after her. He told her he would come back hundreds of times. But right before he fell he reached to the riggings along side. It was the dingy, the small row boat used to go ashore. Jax climbed on the ropes with greater speed than the contest. He released the pulley just before her head sank back under.

“NIcki!” He screamed not anywhere close to the sugar sweet her voice sounded even in distress. Before the row boat loosened enough to fall Jax was over the rail and diving toward the water.

Jax curled his body tight. In a ball he would sink faster. The slap of the cold sea water did not phase him much, his fear hitting stronger. She was in the water calling him. She needed him. He could not let her down. He had enough times already and this was when he had to come through. Please let him come through.

In the water he opened his body and tried to look around. Everything was dark. The storm churned the sea into a thick muck of green foam and seaweed. Jax could not see anything. He swung his hands around, kicked his feet wildly trying to find anything. No not anything, Nicki. Maybe she was above him. Maybe below. Just a few reaches to his port side or floating off to the stern. How would he find her?

Jax felt the churn of the water as something moved. He raced toward that movement only to realize it was the row boat hitting the water. He kicked. The edge of his foot hit something. He curled toward it and took hold. It was not Nicki. He was almost sure. But it was someone. It was an ankle and his hands grabbed hold and worked along the leg following as he forcefully kicked up. Up toward the surf. Up toward the sky. Up toward the air. His hands moved around the body until they found more legs and arms. It was two. There were two. Hard snaps of his legs together, pressing the water down and pushing all of them up.

They all broke the water. Jax gasped for air and shook his head trying to see who he held. Davenport clung onto Nicki. It was a death grip for sure. Jax pressed his knee between the two and tugged on the seaman. “Not this one!” He yelled. “Throw her back.”

Davenport was confused and exhausted. He couldn’t let go of his song. But what was going wrong? He lost the sound, the melody, the music. He felt the push of the helmsman and found he had little strength left. But he clung on. Weakly yet unable to really let go. Jax pried cold stiff fingers from around Nicki. He tugged Davenport’s hair and finally pulled him loose. He kicked the man and took a firmer hold of Nicki as Davenport feel back under the water.

Jax held Nicki’s head up out of the waves and put his arm around her chest treading water on his side. “Don’t you leave me!” He screamed at the First Mate. He looked at the Dust Skate as she rolled on the sea away from them. “Please don’t leave me.” He said softer to her and to his ship. Then he spun away from the ship he loved, with the woman he did, and swam toward the bobbing row boat going in the other direction.

She felt like she’d died, over and over she died in the darkness as a madness strengthened arm pulled her down despite her best efforts. She kept fighting though, even though it wouldn’t be enough, clawing, kicking, and trying to pry hands off of her that seemed fused to her. She could see nothing, no hope or even which way was up or down. She was lost, for good this time.

Then there was something thrashing in the water beside them, a hand gripping her ankle, walking its way up her body. She included it in her futile thrashing, certain it was a siren come to take more chunks out of her. Only it wasn’t. They broke through the surface well after when spots of color had begun to burst against the back of her eyelids as her body screamed of its need to breathe. She obliged, not certain where the gift of breath had come from, but grateful nevertheless. Then past the laughter in the storm she heard a miracle.

Jax.

Jax had come for her. She had been lost in the dark and he had come.

“Jax!” she wailed with her precious breath making her limbs move, making the leaden weights lift to twine about him even past the aching protest of her salt-stung shoulder. It was all she managed but it didn’t matter. Jax had her, his strong arms about her, her head resting on that well-muscled chest that always captivated her. She heard desperation in his voice when he screamed to her to stay with him. She felt her lips tremble and hated herself for the weakness of it. She wasn’t supposed to be weak and helpless. She wasn’t supposed to need rescuing. Yet she couldn’t deny the sweet gratitude she felt that he had come for her. He had saved her.

He pulled her through the frothing sea towards the dingy that bobbed in the waves. Somehow he got them both into the little boat. She lay in the bottom, coughing up sea water and trying to pull herself together. But she had nothing, no recourses left as she caught sight of the Dusk Skate in flashes of lightning as it moved ever further from them. The deck had been empty, everyone had been below decks waiting out the storm. She had been lucky that Jax had heard her when she’d cried out. They were alone, lost.

She pulled her eyes from the Skate and thought about the last time she’d been so low, so lost. This was nothing to that. She was stronger now and she wasn’t really alone, was she? There had been some alchemy performed on her heart, she was sure of it. Somehow in the thrashing dark of the sea she had been changed and rearranged. No, if she were honest she would admit that she’d been changing all along, the dark choking water had just made her aware of the change in her panic not to lose it. She wasn’t alone, she was alive, Jax was alive and though her home was drifting away without her she didn’t mind, not really. Not with him.

She had remade herself before, from pampered young girl to disciplined naval officer and then to hard, deadly Pirate. She could remake herself again, she would make herself someone worthy of the man who had dove into the dark sea for her. She would make herself someone worthy to love Jax. Jax with his maddening smile and contagious laughter.
She lifted a trembling hand, traced the bearded line of his jaw, barely visible in the storm-dark night. She imagined his smile, the maddening expression that warmed her even then. She wanted to do all she could to see that smile spreading across his face in the light of the storm.

“I am sorry.” She said, salted honey making the words rough. “I forgot your boots.”

Luc took the bowl with a small, grateful smile. "Thank you sir," he said quietly as he settled easily onto the chair his Tante 'Tonia abandoned, waving him over to take what had been her seat. He wasn't hungry, not truly, but he nibbled at the hardtack anyway, washing it down with the fresh water because Captain Lightfoot was right of course. A full belly was a comfort, even now, even after all he had seen, and Luc bit off a large bite of jerky as his aunt's gentle fingers ran lovingly, soothingly, over his own ebony curls.

Antonia did not have even a moment to reply to Thomas' words before Jax had arrived with Luc in tow, and she kept her peace now as well, as the captain and the helmsman spoke of dreams and nightmares. She busied herself while Thomas prepared Luc's makeshift meal, hiding as best she could the blood-stained evidence of the merciful brutality from the boy's eyes. Luc had seen enough this day. More than enough. Far too much, and if Antonia were not so sure that whatever the Commander had planned for Luc would be similarly as dire, just as deadly, the guilt of knowing all those dark, amber-lit eyes had seen this night, would have weighed with a shame as great as any anchor.

The rogue sighed softly, and did not speak until Luc had managed some bites of his makeshift dinner at the least. "You are right Thomas. The numbers are low - far too low." She kept her words deliberately vague, her one concern adding a single other burden to the boy sharing the warmth of the fire with them now. She would have dearly loved to revisit the more tender words spoken only moments before, to tease and laugh about the consequences of the elder Lightfoot's rejection of Thomas' own Home Star, to savor the light in Thomas' copper gaze as his eyes roamed over her face as he lovingly washed her clean as well. But the moment for levity had passed, and all Antonia had left was the trust more such times still lay ahead of them.

"Depending on where we have been blown, there might yet be the chance to increase... Those... "

Antonia's voice trailed off slowly as she listened to the wind howling and laughing just beyond these wooden planks, still as stone for several long moments.

'De golden woman been tossed to de waves, little sister. De smiling man be gone after her - you tink you might want to retrieve dem, yes? Dere's no lifting dem - you gots to haul dem out yourself if you want dem... At least before Broder Sogba strike down de smiling man to a little speck of ash. He is not taking a liking to de way de golden woman looks at de tiny mortal. Not when he work so mightily to catch her eye tonight... '

The laughter on the wind whistled away through the galley, back up the stairs to the deck and the night. Rogue and boy looked quickly to one another, eyes wide with surprise, and not a little genuine fear.

"Thomas, something has happened to Nicolette, to Jax. We have to get up top - now... " She never once thought to explain herself, or her strange, near incomprehensible words to Thomas. There was not time and, in all likelihood, there was no need. This was the very man who trusted his beloved rogue enough to battle sirens, and keep them at bay at her word alone. She never had to be told, that Thomas' trust in her was complete.

Luc did not wait to be told to wait for his aunt yet again, setting the bowl and cup aside swiftly and at her heels in a moment as she dashed out the galley, heedless for the dark and wet as she made her way up top.

Antonia might never be a sailor born, but her sight was matchless, and she sprinted over the Skate's deck, shouting their names into the ebbing winds. "Jax! JAX! Nicolette!" The rogue did not stop to turn as she caught sight of the pair on the waves, even in the inky darkness of the waning storm. "Thomas! Luc - a rope! Bring rope!"

Jax fell into the bottom of the lifeboat. He was exhausted. And yet, somehow, someway, it felt good. He had made it and the hand that touched his face told him everything he wanted and needed was right there.

What had happened to him? He smiled. He didn't care.

All the hesitation, all the fear, all the doubt washed away with the salt water gulps as he pulled Nicki into the boat. He knew in his very soul what he had been denying for so long; since her crisp honey commands when he first boarded, making him avoid what caught him so, since her detached concern for his hand, since the way she played her cards, wept at the Night Blossoms, kept her books, danced in the garden, read out loud, and shot with true aim. Since he saw her empty jacket blow through the wind, saw her kiss another man, followed her as she worked herself to weakness and then, then thought he might have lost her. Since all of that he knew finally what he wanted. It was not his boots.

Wet and and worn, Jax still felt as if a weight had been lifted. He wrapped his arms around her feeling warmer than he knew he should. She was here inside his arms and that was all he needed right now. He pulled her even more into him as he lay against the rungs of the bottom of the small boat. He opened his eyes to the fading storm and smiled. He didn't care where he was, how long they would drift or what island they would finally wash to shore upon.

All he cared about at that moment was the soft hand on his face and the sound of those sugar filled lovely words.

He laughed. “Forgot my boots?” he nuzzled his grinning lips to her ear and her neck. “I will trade them.” He kissed her neck. “I give them to the Lady Ship Dusk Skate and in return I all want is you in my arms.”

The stars just began to peak out from under the thick dark clouds. He knew this sky. What he never knew, ever before was how good it felt to hold someone, really hold them and just breath, just rest, just feel the fingers and smooth voice of someone he realized now he more than just cared about. Not just someone. Nicki.

He put his lips close to her ears and told her what he knew was true. “Nicki, I want you.”

Jax laughed at the strange delight he found in saying that. They were both washed up, rung out, left to dangle on the waves, left with nothing. Yet he felt more full, more real, more whole, than he ever had. “I should want a warm bath, new clothes, safety on a ship, a table filled with food and drink but I don’t. I really don’t. I want you. And holding you right now, for however long we have, makes me happier than I ever imagined. I trade them all, everything, for you.”

He chuckled and looked down at her seeing how lovely she really was, more beautiful now than in that fancy gown. “Let me hold you and tell you silly ridiculous promises of how we will sail into the sunrise and onto an island where I will spend days, years, lifetimes, making you happy.”

He took a breath and realized all of it was true. He would rest and then battle anything, everything, to have more time to hold Nicki. He wouldn’t give up. They would sail away together. Part of Jax thought he was delirious. Yet part of him felt all of that was more true than anything had ever been.

So he lay content in a strange sort of way feeling the wonderful touch of Nicki. He didn’t lift his head or look over the rails back to the ship he thought he loved. He didn’t hear any cries, any calls, anything above the lap of the waves and the breaths of Nicki. Jax was happy. As he looked to the sky he realized the feel of loving something real, something that could maybe love him back. Not a ship. Not a lifestyle. But a person. No, not just a person. Nicki.