She paid no mind to where she walked, she just walked. Tired, stiff, heart-sore and mad at herself she walked as if trying to leave her demons behind her. She didn’t run, to run was to be prey, to admit weakness and fear. She had neither, at least not in this. She was not being chased by her demons, she was simply leaving them behind. It didn’t work, she didn’t expect it too, she was a fool after all. A foolish girl who still hadn’t grown up.

She traced the scar on her cheek as she was wont to do when she was filled with self-recrimination and wanted to flagellate herself. It was a reminder of how stupid she was, how blindly foolish she’d been. But it was also a comfort in is own way though she’d never admit it. It was a reminder of what she had endured and what she had lived through. It was a reminder that told her she could live through this latest mistake as well.

It was only after she’d begun to stroke the scar that she found herself oriented towards the harbor, ready to face the fall-out from her evening. She lifted her chin, the warm carribean sun kissing her cheeks and lightening her eyes as she cast about trying to place herself. She had walked herself halfway across the sprawling port and had quite a hike to get back. It was just as well, further penance for her errors. She paused long enough at a cart pushed by a woman with a baby on a sling to overpay for a loaf of warm bread. She tore off chunks of this as she walked and found herself thinking back over the night and trying still to place what had gone wrong. She felt frustration welling up in her when she failed to pin-point the moment when things had gone awry.

She stopped at a fountain, less than a third of the loaf gone, her appetite having died a fast death, edged out by frustration. The washer women had come and gone from the fountain so she had it mostly to herself though the square was not deserted. She heard the patter of feet and the chatter of voices going about their normal every day activities. The normalcy of it soothed and irritated her. She put the loaf down on the lip of the fountain and bent over it, scowling at her reflection before splashing her face with water. She wet her hair and drank a sip now and then and let the cool water refresh her.

Finished with her spontaneous ablutions Nicki straightened and threw back her head, letting her blond locks whip back, sending up a spray of water in an arc that caught the sunlight and elicited a gasp from right beside her. She whirled, hand reaching in for the knife she kept on her belt and spotted a small boy, dark of eye and darker of skin staring at her in a look that was uncomfortably like that of the boy at the tavern the night before. She scowled at him and noted that his hand was on her bread, caught in the act of stealing it. She also noted that he was rather too thin. The final detail she noted was where his gaze was going. She frowned, thinking it was on her scar and her hand rose almost as if to hide it when she noted that his gaze was lower. She looked down and saw the way her now wet white shirt clung to her, her ruined coat left somewhere along last night’s disastrous journey.

“Foutre!” she shouted and the boy stumbled back. She crossed her arms across her chest and scowled at him. He seemed frozen in place though his eyes lifted to her face, wide and frightened and so like that Boy’s back at the Parakeet, what had his name been?

“Take it.” She snapped, nodding at the bread. “Eat it and learn some manners.”

She held her head high as she walked but she did not uncross her arms. Fortunately she wasn’t too far from the ship at that point. So her awkward walk, which only served to increase her desire for self-flagellation, was blessedly short. However her penance for foolishness had only begun it seemed. She had established herself as first mate through much head-smashing and painful reminders that though she was female she was in no way soft. She beat innuendo out of the men and lashed overtures from their bodies and it seemed in an instant that it was all for naught. The men working on the deck stopped when they saw her, shock or barely hidden slow smiles spread across their faces. She did not acknowledge them though she keenly felt them as she walked up the gang-plank and past the first of the men.

She marched like she wasn’t going to stop and that only made the grins that grew as she passed, mixes of appreciation and smugness, grow. She let them and simultaneously let her own anger grow until she passed one man who was slovenly and quietly disrespectful of her on a normal basis. She did not like breaking heads and she much preferred beating on those who deserved it. Like a flash, with all speed Yàn had taught her she grabbed a greasy handful of the man’s hair and bounced his head off a nearby crate. He cried out but the blow stunned him enough his struggle wasn’t too hard to complain. She cocked her head and looked at him, her eyes cold, hard, as cold and hard as she’d felt when she’d left the pond, her heart bleeding.

“Don’t you have work to do Cooper? Because I don’t think the Captain ordered you to lollygag about. Get to it!” the last was barked loudly, her voice carrying across the deck. Though she’d dropped her arms in the process and though what they no longer concealed was still pert, rosy and a feast for the eyes, it no longer seemed like it was worth the ogle to the men. Especially not with the way Cooper slid to the ground in a heap, blood coming from his nose, his eyes lightly dazed.

Violence was a terrible thing, but necessary, she reflected as she strode across the deck with all the dignity of a Queen, hoping she could get into her cabin before the Captain called for her. She didn’t think smashing his head into something would restore much order at all. She picked up the pace, hoping to scuttle past, albeit with dignity when she saw the open door. She cursed her fate but kept hustling.

Thomas sat rearward upon his chair, his chest resting upon the back to allow the still tender flesh around the tattoo to be free to heal. He faced his open cabin door with his eyes cast downward to several pages of nautical charts lying beneath him on the floor. The route to the Seranas would be easy enough: a short passage southward towards Panama, then northwest to skirt the Cayman Islands, with the Seranas beyond. Easy enough, if his path didn’t take the Skate through the heart of the Spanish Main.

A long sigh escaped Thomas’ lips as he continued to stare. There was nothing for it, his whole existence as a pirate had been in the shadow of the hostile flag of Spain. In his lifetime he knew that he would never see the New World any other way. The Court of Charles II was too enriched and too woven into the future of the Americas for it to be otherwise. He and his brethren were nothing by a thorn in the side of a giant.

Thomas smirked at the thought. Better a thorn in a side than a flower crushed under foot.

Freedom had its risks in the New World, hell it had risks in any corner of the globe, but Thomas would not have traded his life for one of supple imprisonment any day. The dandies and courtly men and women that visited Jamaica, and looked down their noses in horror at the reality of life so far from the gilded gaze of the king, made him value his existence all the more. What did they know of the world? What had their riches truly bought them?

They knew nothing but service. Selfish and cowering service to the monarch that fed them. They were not but dogs, bustled in finery and jewels, but lacking the callouses and scars which were the heralds of a life spent among the salt of the earth.

His mind would have wandered longer, thinking upon his own place in the world, if it were not for the First Mate that blazed her way in front of his cabin door. The sharp thud or her heels upon the deck heralded her coming, but even so Thomas was not prepared for the blur of her form, like the flash of bird from amongst the trees.

Thomas was up in an instant, the chair falling with a wooden clack as he went over the top of it. He reached the doorway in time to see Nicolette’s back, covered in the sheer, wet-linen of her shirt. That coupled with her disheveled locks of golden hair that swayed in a half-tangle behind her, spoke of a night much longer than the one Thomas had had.

A smile wanted to pull at his mouth, a knowing smile of nights spent in the wild and dark corners of the world, and the hellish morning that followed as penance. He quashed it however. In the gait of the First Mate he read more than simply a bad hangover and a desire for clean clothes. There was more there, more to her mood than Thomas could fathom. He knew enough however to realize it wasn’t a circumstance to smile upon.

He let the First Mate go to be with her own thoughts and needs. Thomas spun upon his foot back into his cabin, when an idea came to him. This time a smile did come to his face, but one that lived only long to survive the relative darkness of his cabin. It died instantly upon reaching the sunlight of the main deck, and for the second time that day, Thomas made his way below to the galley.

Almost a half hour later, Thomas returned to the main deck. In his hands he carried two roughhewn mugs, along with a small iron pot. Steam issued in wispy clouds from the pot, and the distinct aroma of freshly brewed Caribbean coffee wafted over the Dusk Skate like an angelic perfume.

With careful steps, so as not to spill the ebony gold contained inside the pot, Thomas wound his way to the aft castle. He passed his own cabin, and continued on to the First Mate’s. The door was closed when he reached there, and he brought the hand that held the two mugs up to knock gently against the thick wood.

“Lieutenant,” he said in a quiet voice, “if you’re agreeable, I have brought coffee to share. I shan’t keep you long.”

The woman who opened the door to the cabin upon the Captain’s knock was a vastly different creature than the one who had stormed past. She had slammed the door and stood shaking on the other side for exactly one minute. One minute counted in heartbeats as she allowed herself to feel all that had weighed down upon her since she’d begun that cursed card game. Then the minute up, the indulgence over she took every shred of emotion and jammed it down deep inside her, pushing it to the darkest depths of her soul where things she did not want went and they did not come back. Or did not come back often. She had slip ups, clearly, but so far her methods had worked.

Control, it was everything and once she felt that she might have it again she began to divest herself of her sodden wet clothing. She did not want them, they were a reminder of all that she had just pushed away. Bare, she padded to the small window over her bunk, a true luxury and forced the clothing through it with a grunt of effort. She heard the wet splash of it landing in the water and nodded as if that was that. Physical evidence of her mistakes gone she set about wresting control back before she left to go see the captain.

So when the knock came at her door her hair, though not dry in the short time that had passed, was smoothed out and pulled tight into a knot on the back of her head which made her soft, sculpted features even more prominent, more perfect but for the scar that marred them. An insult to perfection there was no hiding it, no attempts to hide it. Her dress what different too. Whereas before she wore stained, wet and torn clothing she now wore sturdy, correct clothing in a military style. Black coat, black vest over a white shirt with a high collar. The pants that she wore would have displayed her backside well were it not for the length of the coat which hid the swell of her hips as well. Those too were black, all of which made the gold of her skin more prominent and the blue of her eyes more startling.

Cold blue eyes which regarded the captain frankly, her mouth in a firm, expressionless line. She was all stiffness and control again. A change of clothing was her armor and she felt ready for battle, ready to prove to herself that she was in control of her life and of her fate. One night filled with a string of mistakes was unfortunate, but it would not set her off course, helmsman or not.

“Captain.” She said and bowed her head correctly. “I was just getting ready to come see you. I had not forgotten your request.”

She gestured to the table where she had tended to Jax’s hand and waited for him to take his pick of seats as was his right. She left the door open. She needed the light, the air, and with Jax’s parting words still sore despite their repression, needed the proof that she was no longer a whore that an open door provided. She followed him to the table and took the chair he did not, fluffing her coat out around her like a lady would her formal skirts, the gesture so automatic she didn’t even register that she’d done it.

“What is it you wished to speak to me of?” she asked, her honeyed voice painfully correct and tight. It pleased her to hear the control in it. To her it sounded like music, carefully crafted and precise. To others it might sound tight, strained, worried. Her perfect brow furrowed and her nostrils flared like a well bred mare scenting the breeze.

“I smell Gobo.” She muttered absently and then looked to him eyes narrowed, back stiff at the implied insult of him seeking help elsewhere though she struggled to keep it off of her face. “Are you hurt, Captain?

For one glorious, heaven sent moment, the rogue imagined the satisfying *thud* of carriage wheels over an unseemly large rut in the middle of the roadway, the sensation made only more delightful by the slightly wet snap of something vulnerable - and hopefully vital - crunching beneath...

Antoinette gasped in shock, pulling the carriage brake swiftly at nearly the same instant she reined in the palfry, halting the pliant, dapple grey mare in her tracks. "Oh! Oh Oncle Nathaniel, please, take the reins! A man, he is hurt, the poor soul!"

In a just world, she'd have thought to put Sir Greene's hateful black stallion to harness today, just for a bit of fun. That ebony hellion that despised the whole human world, and would kick a man in the head with a sharp, iron shod hoof the instant opportunity presented itself...

The gentlewoman lay the reins in her uncle's lap as she slid swiftly from the seat of her carriage. She gathered up the pale green satin skirts in her hands, stepping lightly over the cobblestones to the fallen man. "Quelle horreur! Monsieur, are you hurt?" she exclaimed, her voice thick with fright and genuine concern. The young lady was joined in an instant by the Commander, dismounting from his own bay the moment she lit from her carriage seat, an impatient scowl crossing his face as he eyed the fallen privateer skeptically.

A scowl he was quick to make disappear the instant the kindly, tender Antoinette looked helplessly to him over her shoulder. "Robert, you can help me get him up?"

"Of course, Miss Greene."

In a sumptuous halo of Spring green skirts, Antoinette knelt beside the poor man tossed so unceremoniously to the street by her own carriage. She could not help but note he still held that precious book of his up above the dirt and grime, a thing obviously more dear to him it seemed, than his own flesh and bones. This would be a sight Sir Greene would approve of most heartily, and she so dearly wished he could have seen. Antoinette pulled back the veil of lace over her face, searching the man's eyes for any sign of hurt - beyond that of his bruised pride, of course.

The rogue's steely grey gaze promised a painful, lingering death if he decided to play the grinning fool Monsieur-Jax-finds-his-wet-nurse at this very moment...

"Here now, let us help you. The good Commander and I will get you to your feet. Can you stand?" she asked him breathlessly, the flawless Parisian accent as warm and gentle and full of promise as a tropical sunrise. Antoinette slipped one hand about the man's shoulders, beneath the long, thick tendrils of dark blonde hair that fell about his shoulders, the other providing a steady cradle at his elbow as well.

On his rump with his hands tight on the book over his head Jax sat for a minute realizing how this was the right end to his Night Bloom night or right beginning to the next day. He started to chuckle until he heard the sweet music of an oh so female voice dripped with concern. For him? Well that was sort of lovely. And in that minute only Jax decided he did truly need help. Oh yes, his battered male ego needed the concerned eyes and soft touch of whomever was behind that glorious melody.

His chuckle shifted to a look of pain. He could have a hurt ass, not a problem.

Jax slowly lowered the book glancing at the cover to make sure no mud splashed up. The first mate was pissed enough. No need to add any salt to that wound. As he lowered the book and found his sad eyes he looked to the woman who had run to his aid. His eyes started at her fine silk gown, the rich fabric, crafted stitches, shimmering color. His eyes ran up the curves of the silken dress to the tight fitted waist and the full chest that was snugly fitted into a wonderful taunt display of tease and promise between wealth and prize. Jax almost smiled. Until his eyes traveled over the soft curves of the light brown neck to find her eyes.

Wait! Jax blinked and caught the beauty of those grays right with the threat they so easily conveyed. But she wasn’t the same. He knew the eyes by now, but damn if they looked different all dressup. And she sounded different he was sure. Oh it didn’t take long to know Tante Tonia was not playing with little boys now. Or maybe she was. Jax saw the polished boots right behind that silken green dress. The feet of a high ranked officer moved close to her.

Even as her eyes made it plain to Jax to watch his step or more so his mouth, she let out a sweet song of lady concern and polished woman words. Jax didn't find it hard to let his face show slightly painful confusion as he handed to book to the surprised official and took Tante Tonia Ms Greene’s hand.

“Twas my mistake M’Lady.” Jax let his voice slip into the rough sailor sound. “Didn't mean to rough your ride.” He put one hand into hers and the other he used to push off from the road. Shaking and taking hold of her hand he stumbled against her briefly, getting close enough to feel the rise of her tight straped chest and then stumbled back before the soldier at her side eyes got too angry.

Jax took a step and held out his hand for the book. “No troubles to you, fine Madam . Just let me shake the stars from me head and I’ll be out of ya road.” He shook his head and looked into those deep grey eyes again. What game was this mermaid playing now, he wondered. Not that he should know, oh best that he doesn’t. Still, he was finding some fun in the different sides of the Captains figure head. Oh yes, she was so like the woman that hung ornately on the bow of many a ship.

“Ya’re kind to stop.” Jax spoke quietly glancing at the Commander sure that he wasn’t the one who pulled the reins to a halt. “Don’t concern yourself none. None at t’all. I will just..” Jax pulled away and stumbled catching himself before he fell. He wavered and tucked the book back into his jacket making it obvious he was having trouble walking. “Not hold ya up.” He let his words say he was fine while his legs wobbled and swayed.

He looked over the two to the fine carriage he had walked into and then shook his head. He looked to the Commander just to make note of the guy’s face, the new boy in Tante Tonia’s play yard.

“Not keep ya.” Jax added and took another unstable step back. He winced making a painful face with each stumbled step. He could play this mystical mermaid game. Oh not as well as she, he was very sure. Still Jax found some pleasure in this hidden game.

Thomas smiled to the First Mate as she opened the door. Her transformation back to the hardened, yet strikingly beautiful naval officer was in stark contrast to the woman he had glimpsed earlier. The blue eyes that met his own copper gaze felt icy and distant, but Thomas refused to let the happiness drain from his face.

“I didn’t imagine you did, Lieutenant. Forget about our meeting, that is.” Thomas said as he came into the small cabin and took a seat, with the smile still curling his lips and the stubble upon his jaw. “Thank you for seeing me.”

With great care, Thomas set the two mugs down on the table, and poured generous helpings of coffee into each. When they were filled, he set the pot aside, and placed one of the mugs before Nicolette as she took her seat across from him. She asked after the purpose of their meeting, and further if he was hurt. To these questions, Thomas’ genuine smile grew fractionally larger.

“Ah, well the answer to your second question dovetails nicely with the answer to your first.” Thomas brought his mug of coffee to his lips and blew upon the steaming ebony liquid before sipping at it. The coffee was still very hot, but the first sip danced pleasantly upon his tongue nevertheless. He used the moment as he sipped to organize his thoughts, and decide upon his next words.

“You have a keen nose,” Thomas said as he turned in his chair, presenting his back to the First Mate and resident doctor. With only a slight cringe as he contorted his arms, Thomas lifted his linen shirt, exposing the freshly marked tattoo upon his flesh. Thomas spoke down to his boots, as he no longer faced Nicolette. “I must confess that this injury is of my own doing.”

He shrugged, “It is perhaps a foolish thing to have done before a voyage, but the man that has been tattooing me is only available on rare occasions.” Thomas pulled the shirt back down, and shifted in his chair to face Nicolette once more. The smile, ever present since his visit, remained.

When he spoke next, his voice was the smooth and romantic sound of buccaneer French. “As for the answer as to why I asked for you to meet me, I wanted to speak with you about trust. That is why I showed you my back. No one else besides the artist has seen the work. Its meaning is very personal to me, and I hope you take my forwardness in showing you in the light of friendship that it was intended.”

Thomas sat forward, leaning his elbows upon his knees. He looked to Nicolette with a gaze that spoke of openness. “I trust you, Nicolette,” He said, softly emphasizing the use of her given name. “I trust you because I see your drive and commitment in handling the Skate and the men that sail her. Your merit is without blemish, and that is why you are my First Mate.”

He opened his hands and shrugged once more. “You were bold in coming to me and seeking out a berth on this ship. I liked that about you, as you well know. However, you must also realize that your boldness notwithstanding, I would never have allowed you aboard my ship if I did not trust you, or more appropriately, thought you capable of gaining my faith.”

Thomas paused to smile, hoping to keep the conversation light. He took another sip of coffee.

“I know you are a private individual, and that is your right, as it is any person’s right. I know very little about your past, and that fact does not trouble me. Discretion is freedom in the New World, and I value it highly. When it comes to my friends, and those in whom I place my own fate, I look only to the now, and to the horizon beyond.”

Thomas lifted an eyebrow to the First Mate, the corner of his mouth naturally following the upward arch of his brow. “Your are my right hand aboard this ship, the person I know who has the capability to sail the Skate through hell’s black waters, and back out again.”

With his eyes glittering with curiosity, Thomas leaned back into his chair. “What I want to know, Lieutenant, is how I can gain that same trust from you?”

'That is right, Monsieur Jax. You just keep on not keeping us here any longer... '

Though it took a Herculean effort of will to keep those grey eyes from rolling upward to the heavens in frustration, the gentlewoman Antoinette somehow managed to appear perfectly oblivious to the well-timed near-grope, her eyes wide instead with a perfect combination of concern and resignation as she watched him limp away - or a very poor facsimile thereof.

Poor, dear poppet! Well off with him then it seemed, if he was going to be so insistent...

Antoinette turned helplessly to Commander Murray, who just barely managed to hide his own eye roll and snort of contempt, hand quickly over his mouth, coughing to clear his throat.

"Ahem... Excuse me. Oh, please do not look so stricken, Miss Greene. I am sure he will be fine." The soldier offered the young woman his hand, to escort her back to her seat in the carriage. "Just fine, you will see."

Antoinette nodded reluctantly, grey eyes shimmering with unshed tears, as if the whole incident had turned her all out of sorts. "If you are sure, Ro - "

"Young man! You good sir, the one just toppled by our carriage!" Sir Greene's voice, losing none of the old Admiral's commanding edge, rang out over the street as he stood to his feet on the floor board, the palfrey's reins in one hand, his silver-headed cane in the other. He rapped swiftly on the wood with the tip of his cane, as if there were even the remotest chance his voice did not carry.

Which, of course, it did.

"We cannot have you walking about, now can we? You might hurt yourself worse still, and then what good would you be to your captain? Aye, I can hear it in your voice there - a sailor, I'd wager."

Thankfully for Antoinette, the difference between a look of wide-eyed wonder and incredulity was only a matter of degrees: while the elderly man was far too blind to notice, her escort was far too stunned to do likewise.

"Come now," Sir Greene called once more, that still brilliant smile wide and easy on his age-lined face as he waved in the general direction of the "injured" man's voice. "We can give you a ride, wherever you need to go."

The elderly man sat down once more, grandly patting the seat beside him up on the carriage. "Well, unless you are a man of such portly proportions, that you would crush my niece's skirts unduly. That simply would not do, I fear. But if I am right, and you are a sailor true? Well, surely you are not nearly so wide of bottom as all that."

Antoinette blinked, her mouth open for a moment in perfectly stunned silence.

The rogue dared not turn at this moment. She could not. Because she was certain beyond any least doubt that if she did, she would be 'treated' to a full, unfiltered view of Monsieur Jax's ridiculously wide grin - and she might not be able to stop herself from pulling a blade and ignoring all she ever promised her Silver Fish.

But no, no... No matter how satisfying it might be, it would probably be a little less than productive.

Sir Green grinned, patting the seat beside him once more in invitation as that smile turned impish, and suddenly, she realized.

The rogue was getting played. Yes, she was getting played by a blind old man, and a grinning fool. And she did not know whether to laugh until her sides ached, or just cut somebody.

Antoinette decided of course, that she would sedately turn toward that poor, hurt man, smiling oh-so-sweetly as she beckoned him toward the carriage. "You heard my dear Oncle Nathaniel, Monsieur," she said, the smile on her face threatening to crack at its painfully tight edges at any moment. "Where ever should you like to go?"

Nicki settled into her chair and with a grateful nod to her captain wrapped her fingers around her Mug. Her nostril’s still flared as she waited for the captain to speak. Gobo was in the air and she wanted answers, answers and distraction from her foolishness. She herself used Gobo often in healing balms. The traditional Asian medicines she’d learned from Yàn were quite woven into her own healing though she was aware that most western Doctors lacked not only the understanding but the interest in such ancient traditions. She had seen enough to be certain of their effectiveness, but to smell it on the captain and not of her own hand brought up a lot of questions for her. Who had he seen? How had he been hurt, chief among them. She studied his face, her eyes narrowed, looking for signs of pain, trying to see past the friendly smile that made her as nervous in its own way as Jax’s broad grin. She found no answers in the lines of his face, she simply didn’t know him well enough for that.

Fortunately she was not long in the wondering though the captain took a meandering way to answer her with words slowly given and action. She couldn’t help the way her fingers tightened around the mug, the soreness that lingered from the night before, coupled with the burning of the hot liquid kept her from losing herself in her tension again as the captain lifted his shirt.

Idiot, she told herself. It wasn’t like he’d gone for his breaches. It was his shirt, she saw men shirtless all the time, she was simply stirred up from the events of the last half day. She relaxed her grip forcefully and narrowed her eyes at the canvas of his skin before her. She looked not just as a doctor inspecting her patient but as an artist. She’d seen such work before, touched it, caressed it, kissed it even, but never so fresh as what she saw before her now. It was exquisitely executed and she could see the gleam of balm on his skin. Though it was irritated and damaged from the application of the ink it looked clear, ready to heal. She would have nodded approval, would have spoken her thoughts on the matter of care when he continued speaking. So she shut her mouth, held her honeyed tongue and listened.

She wished immediately that she had spoken up, that she had interrupted him or even run her fingers lightly over the broad back of the captain, touching the ink and damaged flesh with fingers the bolder of her patients had claimed could heal upon touch. But she hadn’t and he spoke on. He spoke of one thing that was absent in her life. One of the things that had been ripped from her years ago while she was held down with a filthy shirt wad of cloth jammed into her mouth to stop her screams. Trust which had been further ripped away when she’d fought her way home, through fever and infection which had ripped through her and likely stolen from her the unique ability of her gender to be turned away as a disgrace. She’d been a humiliation to the people who should have loved her no matter what, to the people she had counted on to be there for her until the end.

Trust, it was a lie as she’d been so painfully taught.

She stated at him, her eyes widening as the cold in them melted into panic that she could not hide. The maelstrom of emotions that were clearly bubbling inside her were far, far closer to the truth than the cold control she wore daily. That Pain was chief among them told just a sliver of her tale. She fought to hold onto her false control, undone by a simple unanswerable question. In the wake of which she shook and her grip tightened again on her mug, the sting of the burning coffee helpful this time as she used pain to pull her back into herself, to help focus her.

She was not going to lose control. Hadn’t she done that enough of late? She fought off the memories and looked at the moment, reflecting on what had been said. The Captain trusted her, for all that it was a foolish risk on his part for which she was grateful even if she could not reciprocate. She knew she had no ill designs, she knew what her intentions were, but he did not and still he risked it. What could she say to that? What could she tell him on the matter? That she could not, would not trust? That she had trusted before and nearly been destroyed by it?

Focus, she told herself. Be true but do not tell more than is needed.

“Thank you Captain.” She said, her voice thick with confused emotion. “I appreciate the trust. I will endeavor to be worthy of it.”

She looked to the mug, seeing her reflection in the black near-mirrored surface. She saw no further than the scar that marred her visage, the ugly at the heart of her.

“You need gain nothing from me, Captain.” She said after a moment, her knuckles white still. She licked her dry lips and then lifted the bitter liquid to her lips and took a searing mouthful, savoring the pain of it as it slid down her throat, far too hot to be comfortably swallowed. “I will do my duty and serve you to the best of my ability. I love the Skate.” The words rang with truth, not art simply the truth of her heart. She looked up then, her gaze just above his eyes, avoiding his gaze without appearing too, as controlled in her avoidance as she had been in her losses the night before. A careful pattern of truth interspersed among avoidance but never ever a lie. Nicolette did not lie.

“I love the Skate and the freedom and life that it gives me. You have my loyalty, my service and if need be you have my life.”

Let it be enough, her eyes pleaded with him, I cannot give you more.

Oh how Jax really wanted to just break out into a wide grin. Oh he did. And he fought it. What was with this day that he was going against the things he felt? Sort of swimming against his current. First with the whole sleepless Night Blooms and the real flower that he chased away and now with the masquerade of the brown sugar sea witch and her boys.

Her boys. The old man from the carriage stepped into things and he was the reason Jax longed to grin. Right to Tante Tonia Ms Greene. His mouth fought it even as his eyes danced a bit. He was not the master of disguise as this woman was. But he let the corners of his mouth rise in the direction of the black booted insincere Commander toy she was playing with. Ha! He said without moving his mouth to a smile at all. He steadied his feet, let his eyes raise to tease the Soldier Man. Before he could be sure or respond Jax moved past him and closer to the carriage.

“How kind ya are Sir.” Jax said with a sea sound drip. Jax stood and patted his stomach in an exaggerated fashion, hard and slim as it was, “Take note that I will not crush nothin’ except the lad that thinks to climb uninvited onta my ship. You read me right, kind Sir.” Jax took a second look to Ms Greene making sure not to wink even though he wanted to. “I be a man of the sea. Have been since I was spit in my Mama’s kiss. Will be until the salt takes all my waters. You are wise to so easily know such things.”

Having answered the Tante Tonia’s Oncle, he twisted his head to look back to her again. “Wherever?” He asked with a question that he was sure he wanted to hang like the edge of a wave before it crashed. “I will not crush your fine attire, I swear by my lover the moon.” Oh how he wanted to smile. “But my night was filled with such tension I would gladly accept. I have had no sleep and gladly accept a seat in your fine carriage and beside you.” He shot the Commander a quick look and a very tiny grin.

“That is if the esteemed Commander would not feel to..” He paused, just a white foam of a smile at the tip of the wave, “put out upon.” He turned back to the elder man, “Won’t want no one in them fancy boots thinking I stepped where I shouldn’t. Or sat for that matter.”

“But,” Jax took hold the carriage door and turned back to Ms Greene, “After you M’Lady. As injured as I am I still gots manners.” He bowed hiding his face because he was enjoying this too much. With his head down he offered his hand to help her back up into her seat. “Donna worry,” he spoke very softly, “my whereever is not far.”

"Your manners are perfectly delightful, Monsieur," Antoinette replied, her warm, silken Parisian-accented English lingering like a lovely perfume on the air between them, "But you are the one who is injured, and I would not wish you near to the edge of the bench. Why, we might hit a rut, a pot hole, and you be flung to the ground. Non, non non, that will simply never do!"

"You go on now Monsieur, up you go, right next to my Oncle Nathaniel... "

'Because honestly, if I must sit between Monsieur Jax and an impish Sir Greene with his little boy's sense of mischief? I might very well have to shove the fool off one side, the old man off the other, lay reins over the palfrey's back and disappear for parts unknown... '"

That thought alone lent a touch of sincerity to Antoinette's smile as she watched the poor, injured man hobble himself up into the carriage seat. Commander Murray was there by her side in a moment, ready with a firm hand and arm to assist her back to the end of the carriage seat. He took the moment the young woman reached across Jax to retrieve the reins from her great uncle, to catch the privateer's gaze with his own.

The military man repaid Jax's grin with a cool smile of his own before he turned to remount his bay stallion, the narrowing of his dark eyes promising without a single word that he at least knew exactly who Jax was. No, he might not know the pirate's name, but Robert Murray did not become the officer of the Fort Charles garrison by being either unobservant or a dullard. One of Thomas' then, from the abattoir they had made of the Black Boar this night past...

"Where would you care to go, Monsieur?" Antoinette asked, the palfrey's reins back in her evergreen silk-gloved hands, veiled grey eyes regarding this odd, strangely dressed man.

"Indeed my good man, where is your ship berthed?" Sir Greene interjected, his face turning toward Jax where he sat. "I should dearly like to know her name, perhaps even be introduced if you have a mind, and the moments to spare."

"Though not of course, before I know yours," the elderly man exclaimed with a little boy's smile, making to slap one hand on Jax's leg. One bushy, silvery white eyebrow raised curiously as the gnarled fingers of his hand ran lightly, almost reverently over the hard binding he'd inadvertently touched.

"Oh now, what have we here?" Sir Greene asked, that boyish smile growing to a wide grin of delight. For all Jax's coarse speech, it seemed the man had a bit of play in him as well there. The blind man chuckled warmly. "A book then? Antoinette reads to me always, whenever she visits me here in Port Royal. Ah, there is precious little better, than the accumulation of wisdom and knowledge between the bound pages, would you not agree? Well perhaps you might indulge an old man's curiosity thrice over: your name, the name of your ship, and the name of the book you carry?"

Jax moved into the carriage with ease and he settled into the comfortable seat. Nice, he thought as his bottom felt the soft rich spring of the cushion. He felt good so even the cold eyes of mister fancy military boots didn’t bother him. March on boy, ride on. Jax was in the carriage after all.

He turned to the rich thick sweet voice of , well whoever she was right now, Ms Greene, and he let his mouth open but no sound came out. Where was he going? But before he stumbled out his answer the older man began to ramble on. There was something about his smooth cloudy eyes and teasing voice that Jax liked right away. The old man was spry and entertaining.

So the Oncle wanted to meet the ship that was now his home and love? He did? That made Jax’s eyes open wider and he wanted so bad to wink to Tante. But no, he would try hard to, to..oh to what...well to play this game.

He was getting ready to offer his name, no harm in that, when the gnarled hand came down on his book and the man was off again, talking with a slight joking sound that Jax liked. There were not many that could out talk Jax but this old man could sure give him a race.

When there was finally a pause, Jax could not help but chuckle. “Well my kind observant rescuer Sir,” he kept the sea salt accent just because, once started might as well, “you do not let things pass by you now do ya? Good thing. Yes indeed. This fine lady in your care is privileged to have such a keen guardian, Sir.”

He nodded his head in excess just to hide his laughter, “We barter we do, us who sail the seas, and you have given me a space on this fine ride so I give you an answer in return. Or a tale, as that might be." He turned his face to the older man, " It was one of those amazing nights that ends in your fine company. Guided by fate is all I can say.”

“You see I am Jax, to all who care to be friendly and Jozua to those who do not.” Jax chuckled again, “So Jax to you good Sir. I sail and guide because it was always just what I did and love. And because I do, I love and honor the moon and her night sky. Ah the things the lights of the night have told me, directed me to, shown me, I can only begin to explain “ Jax gave a sigh to help the story.

“Last night she directed me right into the clutches of a small wee boy who looks into the night just as I do.” Jax pulled his hand from the book and took hold of a piece of air, of nothing and yet something, to help his story. “Was it fate that lead me to him? Fate that directed the cut of those cakes?” Another sigh, “I think so.”

“This child’s eyes filled with wonder as I spoke of the moon and her splendor. For him I hunted and searched for this very special book for stars and science I pledged care and promise its safe return. But worth it for the guidance of a young boy to the sea and the sky.”

Jax paused a bit, “ I am at port for a time as we just docked and just stretched those sea legs. I ask not to return to the ship but to instead be dropped right where my night began at the Inn called Parakeets. For books.” Jax patted the book of Jesuit Astronomy and turned to look at the fine Ms Greene. “For the future of dreaming lads.”

Sir Greene chuckled amiably, nodding his head in approval of course. Oh, he was well aware that Jax had not given him the name of the ship - the long years of his life may have stolen away his sight, but that keen mind and even sharper wit remained honed to a razor's edge. But this sordid little jest had never been about gleening information at any rate, but rather to have a little fun at the expense of the young thief who broke into his home four years ago, and stole away with an enduring affection.

"Wonderful to meet you Master Jax, despite the unfortunate circumstances of course. Nathaniel Greene, at your service - and apparently your coach today as well," he quipped.

"Sir Greene," the Commander said with one dark eye turned meaningfully toward Jax.

Still the elderly man continued on, as if he hadn't heard in the least. "Though you have more than earned this ride, simply by virtue of your fine story. A Jesuit book of astronomy you say? So you sail and guide - a lover of the moon who rules the tides, and the stars above that keep a ship right. Helmsman then, Master Jax. I will solve your riddle of a story, and call you helmsman."

The elderly man leaned over to Jax, his voice dropping a bit as he smiled widely, sharing his own "secret" with the amiable young man. "Once they called me 'Admiral' - though I'd not recommend such a thing if you can avoid it by any means. Do not mistake me: those beautiful ships, the sailors - many a good man among them... The seas from horizon to horizon, and the roof of heaven above... Ah, there is nothing in this world to compare. But for the ruin that Kings and Parliament can make of a man's days, I would have counted every last one a blessing of our dear Lord above us."

Sir Greene chuckled warmly. "But no, no, nothing maudlin this day. Forgive me, but old men do tend to ramble on. To the Parakeet then, for a young boy with dreams of the sea and stars in his head. Antoinette, do you know the way?"

The carriage was already rounding a fountain, the same fountain in fact that Nicolette had washed in [to spectacularly pert effect] earlier, though none there could have known such a thing (But perhaps the young boy watching the passing carriage from the shadows, slowly savoring the crusty remains of a loaf of bread to make it last even longer). "Oui, Oncle Nathaniel," Antoinette replied, "I believe I do, though should I miss a turn? I imagine Monsieur Jax will set me right again."

The rogue's gloved hand reached for the book still setting in Jax's lap, lifting it gently from his hands just far enough that she could glance at the thick spine, and read the title for herself. She relinquished the book once more entirely, letting it fall back to the helmsman's lap with an approving pat of her fingers on its hard cover.

Some small part of her fought it hard, this feeling very like to gratitude to Jax. Her first thought when Sir Greene had not-so-subtly suggested visiting the Skate - if he could finagle the ship's name from Jax - had been not so much a genuine thought really, as a sickening drop of her stomach. Everything about this day was designed to keep Commander Murray's attentions - and that of his officers - far and away from the unusually busy goings on at the Dusk Skate. Though she loved the old man dearly, nothing would have upended her plans faster than dear Robert visiting that very same berth.

And then of course, there was the matter of this book. No, she could not possibly know whether Jax had truly procured this book for Luc's sake, but it was exactly as he said, a book on astronomy. And he could not possibly know, how dear that boy truly was to his Tante 'Tonia. Yet here he was, the 'grinning, chattering fool' she had not even imagined was literate, who called her 'wet nurse' and gaped at her breasts like a starving man staring at the last loaf of bread in the world - yes, here he was, offering to share this precious gift 'for the future of dreaming lads.'

Antonia's eyes lifted from the book to Jax's eyes, catching his gaze with her own beneath the veil of lace. She said nothing at all, but only offered him a smile of her own, genuine and true that shone brightly with both pleasant surprise and genuine gratitude, a small nod of her head before her eyes returned to the thoroughfare.

“Oh good kind Sir,” He let his eyes glance to the Commander who rode along side, sort of leaning toward the carriage if Jax were to judge, “Sir Greene,” He leaned closer to the old man and whispered not so softly but with that secret type of breath, “Admiral, I am impressed. But please, for both our sakes, do not let on. I have a history of trouble with authority.” He leaned back and chuckled. “But then you, Sir Greene, unlike some others,” Did he glance again to the Commander? Of course not! “have that wit and wisdom. That’s what it takes to find and keep an excellent helmsman. Take’s a man that can see the skills of the one touched by the lady moon and the soul of the tiller.” Jax didn't say that was he, but, well, they should assume so, right?

Jax watched Ms Greene’s hand touch his book as she had to make sure. She needed proof of course that his story might be true. Not that she believed him, but to Jax that did not matter. To him, he would never bring any ruling body to his ship unannounced. Lead them to the Skate. Now way, sweet sugar, fancy boots or wise wit. No. That was just not his way. There were reasons he was not on some steady country, king of commander’s payroll. More than one really. But the fact was Jax just could not get into the military style. Not for this sea artist. Now he could follow orders, hell, you can’t guide a ship without someone in charge. And he picked his vessels just as he picked his Captiain They had to know the feel. Even if Jax was not sure of Thomas’ balls, Lightfooted or not, women on board, he knew the guy had the skills and the feel. He’s proven it to Jax. So to him the Drust Skate was perfect, a beautiful ship with a good leader.

He grinned to Ms Greene. Now if the Captain could just get up their damn skirts, make up his mind and leave them on shore, so much the better. But, Jax, wasn’t giving up his spot. And he wasn’t bringing a Commander and Ex-Admiral to his Captain’s dock. No way, salt spray.

Beside he actually liked Admiral Greene. He did. They guy knew about the love of the sea. And he was a tease, Jax was sure. “Of course after all of this,” Jax paused, “activity, I am sure you would accept my offer to share a swig of whatever teases your salty whistle and share some of you tales of the deep with me.” Jax took a of snorts of a laugh, “As you might have noted I find the flow of stories almost as soothing as the rumble of waves.”

“Besides,” He sat taller, “This lad might need your expertise even more than my humble attempts. Can you just imagine his excited delight to be introduced to an Admiral? Oh my he would be over the top of himself, for sure.” Jax let his excitement spill through,”Books are wonderful and fine, but the real thing? Beyond words.”

Jax cleared his throat and looked to the Misses of this ride, “Of course if you, my fine lady, have other plans and I would disrupt them, please set me off at the Inn. My seeking of the company of your esteemed Uncle is not meant to cause you any conflicts. We know how important those social engagements can be.” Jax lowered his head to somewhat hide his smile.

Thomas sat up instinctively as the panic and roiling emotion rose into the First Mate’s eyes. He was taken aback as she seemed to coil like a spring, being compressed with a burden he could not see or understand. When she answered him, her words cut through the air with the force of old pain restrained by personal will.

She spoke of thanks, and of appreciation. She spoke of duty and of love for the Skate. She offered her service, and even her life. What she did not offer however was trust, and though her proclamations seemed genuine, her omission of even the very word was as conspicuous as the scar upon her face.

What have I done? Thomas thought.

Had he made a mistake in coming to Nicolette? In seeking common ground between them her answers made it seem like he was no closer to the mysterious, beautiful, and apparently troubled First Mate. It was as if he was swimming into a riptide, moving with hopeful intention against a current that pulled him inexorably away. His heart fell slightly in his chest as a sobering realization came to him with Nicolette’s words still ringing in the small cabin.

His First Mate, his right hand, for all her high quality and staunch sense of duty would never wholly bestow her faith in him. His actions, his words, and even his intentions would forever be slanted by doubt in her eyes.

“I appreciate your devotion to the Skate, Nicolette.” Thomas said quietly, unable to hide the shade of disappointment in his voice. “It is a quality of you that has never been a question, but it is always refreshing to hear.”

His face pinched, and his brows furrowed. “I apologize if my coming here was forward, but perhaps I can explain my reasoning. Lightfoot, my adopted father, was a rough pirate to his very core. Salt flowed in his veins and gold filled his skull.”

Thomas looked to Nicolette as he spoke, his gaze not shying from the cat-like eyes of the First Mate. “For all that though, Lightfoot had a heart for love. I was lucky enough to be granted that love. Since I was sixteen I was at his side, sailing and plundering, and all the while he granted every ounce of faith in me that he possessed. When I spoke to him, he took my words at their full value, and when he spoke to me, I revered it like gospel.”

He smiled then, recollecting absently upon some fond memory. “You see, I trusted him implicitly. In his shadow I felt confident and safe. I felt like a man with the world laid out before him on a platter. I was a king in waiting, a prince of the sea.”

“And I have fantasized,” he said, his voice falling off into an almost whisper, “since his passing, about finding that partner that can give me that feeling again.”

Thomas smirked and snorted, his own forthrightness surprising him.

“I suppose such a dream is wholly foolish, eh?”

He stood then, holding his own mug of coffee, now forgotten, between his hands. Thomas cleared his throat and tried to offer the First Mate a reassuring smile that he himself did not embrace.

“Thank you for your time, Lieutenant.”

For all that Jax's good-natured wheedling of the Commander amused the rogue for its sheer brazenness, she knew very well that Robert Murray was not a man to anger. He was a good man, but proud - and dangerous - and she could almost hear the stiffening of his already ramrod straight spine with every jest Jax flippantly let fall from his lips. She doubted her lovely man would be any more pleased with her if she slipped a blade between Jax's ribs, or let Commander Murray do the job himself. With little doubt, he would be just as vexed if the Fort Charles garrison officer was the one to deprive him of a damn good helmsman.

While her great uncle was otherwise occupied with the sailor who was seemingly less and less injured and more and more animated by the moment, Antoinette reached for her dear Robert's hand as he rode beside her. The gentlewoman smiled up at him softly, surreptitiously behind her lace veil, a smile that said those grey eyes were entirely for him at the moment though she said not a word. A smile that said while the boys might play together for a while, she would far rather pass her time with the attentions of the man beside her.

Antoinette gently squeezed the fingers of his hand, a promise for later that the soldier returned with a warm laugh. The way to the Parakeet was not terribly difficult or convoluted to find - this was Port Royal after all, not London. And Sir Greene was genuinely rapt with the conversation he had with this intriguing young man who, he knew from the moment he spoke, was in no way a Navy man.

"Oh Master Jax, I am afraid I absolutely must beg your indulgence for another day. I should love to make the acquaintance of your young friend, but we truly do have prior engagements to meet while my niece is here in Port Royal with us."

"And at any rate, a former Admiral, simply an old man now who likes to talk far too much." Sir Greene patted the young man's knee, even as his niece turned toward him with genuine concern in her eyes.

"We are here, Monsieur Jax. The Parakeet, yes?" Antoinette asked, indicating the inn over her shoulder - while the rogue's eyes narrowed with worry - a worry she did nothing to hide from Jax, though neither the erstwhile Commander nor the blind old man could see a thing. Her gaze flicked from Nathaniel, back to Jax once more meaningfully, an unspoken plea there not from the mask of the gentlewoman, but from the rogue within. Taking Robert's offered hand from the back of his horse, Antoinette slid from her side of the carriage seat to the ground to let Jax pass.

"And perhaps on the morrow then, if you would have a moment, kind sir?" she asked, the warm voice of Antoinette just a touch... Strained. "You and your young friend? My Oncle Nathaniel does not live so far away that the walk should put you out so much, I should hope?"

Sir Greene smiled widely at his Antoinette's words, nodding his head slowly. "Of course! Oh, my niece - always with the brilliant notions. Yes, I should very much like to meet with you and your young friend if you've the chance, and the boy's parents do not mind. Any lover of the skies and the sea, young or old, can only make the very best of companions - do you not agree?"

"Oh!" The elderly man's smile widened and brightened, as that impish light flashed across his face once more. "Speaking of much younger companions? Master Jax, I do believe you should go in my stead this night to a dance with my dear Antoinette and Commander Murray. Of course bring whomever you see fit to accompany you - there should be drink, music and merriment beneath the stars."

Nathaniel clapped his hands together with delight. "Yes! What a positively perfect solution - what do you say, Commander Murray?"

There was precious little Commander Murray could say of course, beyond, "Perfect, Sir Greene."

Through teeth clenched in something that might have resembled a snarl far, far more than a gracious smile.

Most days, Nathaniel Greene made peace with the fact of his blindness. But there were days, well moments really, when he might have been sorely tempted to sell his eternal soul, simply for the chance to see Antonia's face at times like this...

“No!” the word was out of her mouth before she could stop it, the sound startling her enough that she clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror at her boldness as she looked at the Captain. He’d opened himself to her, he was offering her something, she wasn’t certain what, but he was giving her a gift and all she could do was shit on it. Or so it seemed. She felt like the ground was falling out from under her. In a panic she stood, the chair clattering to the floor behind her, the noise barely audible through the roaring of blood in her ears.
How could she tell him any of it? How could she tell him that it wasn’t him, it was her. She was the broken one, she was the one with no trust to give. It wasn’t that he wasn’t worthy of trust, he was. If she could trust anyone, it would be him. He was her captain, he had given her this chance, this berth. But she had no trust to give. Not a drop. It had cost her before, the image of her lover’s dark slanted eyes twinkling with dark humor, or the ink that seemed to dance across his skin, flitted across her memory, chased as always by the wave of sadness that filled her when thinking of how things ended for them.

“Please.” She said, the word muffled by her fingers which she only reluctantly lifted from her mouth. The flesh around her mouth was mottled, blood slowly returning to the flesh she’d pressed so hard that the marks of her fingers were visible.

“Close the door.”

She had to turn away, she could not look at him while he bore that disappointment so clearly in his eyes. She’d seen that look before, when her Papa had tossed that purse of coin to her feet and sent her on her way. She shivered, her body shaking as if it would rip itself asunder from the storm that resided inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding it all in.

“I am sorry to be a disappointment to you, Sir.” She began, and she was honestly, truly sorry to be lacking for him. He was her captain, he had been good to her but part of her was angry too. He asked the impossible of her and made her feel bad for her lack.

“It isn’t you, Captain, it is me. I am broken you see. The parts of me that could trust were ripped from me years ago. I once had that trust you spoke of with your Captain.” Her honeyed voice cracked, sweet shards of sugar that could cut just as well as glass.

“I had someone who made me feel that anything I dreamed was possible. He made me think the world was mine for the taking. I believed him and I went to do just that. Except he had misled me, the world was not mine. And when I came crawling back to him, ruined and disillusioned he cast me aside. That trust you spoke of, it was ripped from me when I needed it most. Imagine that? Imagine if your Mentor had betrayed you when you were down and broken. Then imagine trusting anyone after that?”

She risked a look at him, her heavy lidded eyes flicking at him over her shoulder, slumped now in defeat and no longer rigid with control. She looked broken just then, like a statue smashed by vandals.

“I am sorry, but you ask more than I can give. At least now, maybe someday I won’t be so broken.” She shrugged, doubt in her every line.

“But I will go, I will not hold a position you might fill with someone who could give you what you need.”

For the second time during their encounter, Thomas was stunned into silence. Nicolette’s immediate and powerful response set his jaw, and his eyes widened. The falling of her chair as she stood made him flinch, as if he had received a slap of reality across his face.

Blinking to recover his own composure, Thomas stepped back to slowly close the cabin door. He never turned away from the First Mate, afraid that if he were to present his back, this moment of electric insight into the mysterious woman would vanish as quickly as it had come.

His eyes followed her as she turned from him. He noticed that she was shaking as she did so, her hands snaking up to clutch her arms. Thomas’ face contorted into an intense mixture of shame and empathy as the depth of the inner turmoil he had coaxed from Nicolette boiled to the surface of her very being.

When she spoke apologies for being a disappointment to him, Thomas felt the gut wrenching urge to draw his own dagger across his throat. What the hell have you done? he chided, how selfish and short-sighted can one man be?

He had unwittingly placed a burden, an expectation of monumental proportions, upon the shoulders of a woman who had not offered to carry his personal affliction of a past he could never hope to regain. As the First Mate told her tale of betrayal, of how she had been broken by a man who even Thomas himself seemed to embody in this very moment, his despair only grew in his chest.

A hundred times over as she spoke, Thomas wanted to reach out and stop her, to say that she did not have to rip her own wounds open simply to satisfy his egoistic desires and curiosities. The pained expression upon his face only intensified as she glanced back to him over her shoulder, and in that instant Thomas Lightfoot knew that he had never felt so small and ashamed ever before.

Nicolette’s final words called for Thomas’ own outburst. “No! By the stars in heaven, no.”

He stepped closer to the First Mate, his hand raising to reach for her shoulder, as if without his touch she would fly from the Dusk Skate like a bird startled from its roost. Thomas’ hand hovered just above the black fabric of her coat, and several breaths passed his lips before at last he rested his fingers gently upon her right shoulder.

“Nicolette, I am sorry. For everything.” His voice was quiet and strained with guilt. “I placed you upon a pedestal you did not even realize existed. I projected my past into your future, and I should not have done so.”

“Please stay,” Thomas said. “Please, stay with the Skate, and with me. Even if you can never grant me your trust, you deserve to have someone try to earn it every single day. If you will allow me, if you will stay, that is what I intend to do. You may not be able to grant me such graces, but I will strive in every instance to give you a reason to believe that you are no disappointment, and though you say you are broken, in truth what remains is not shattered, but merely tempered to a substance stronger than the original.”

There was so much going on and just as Jax felt in the middle of deep stares and unsaid needs during the card game he felt it again as the carriage stopped. Ms Greene showed him the eyes of the woman who called from the crow’s nest and the lips of the worried Tante. She was asking him to be careful. Whatever game she played she was surer of herself than she was of him. Big surprise. Nevertheless, he offered her a small understanding smile. Ms Greene was not his shipmate, nor was Luc’s Tante Tonia but the rouge and high scaling Antonia was. A sea witch and in places a woman should not be, and still, a spot on his ship brought loyalty. But, Jax was Jax and his ideas of comfort did not comfort most. Let them worry a bit and wonder about him, made disappointment harder and expectation less.

As he was trying to show all that in the twinkle of his eyes and the grin on his face the other boy she played with, the older one, the Admiral decided to add more to the mix and invited Jax and whomever he wanted to some celebration tonight. Dancing with the posh Commander and his fellow boot kickers. With whomever? What fun.

Jax began to exit the carriage but he stopped and leaned toward Sir Admiral Greene. “You Sir have yourself a scheduled visitor come ‘morrow with a fine bottle, ears to listen and the eyes of a curious lad if all line right. Of course, I might have to pledge untold treasures to have any parent allow me to take a child. But to spend the afternoon with you would shine above the reassurances I will be forced to make.” Jax smiled.

“Your invitation to an evening of worthy entertainment is most appreciated as well. Again, I have to seek the counsel of my Captain. But if the moon shines bright and her guidance allows it I will be there dressed and ready to dance.” Jax paused. “Thank you, Sir for the most amusing ride and conversation.” Gone was his sailor sound. “May the salt still lick your lips and the sound of the sea forever rumble at your feet.” Jax bowed sure that Admiral Greene would not know he did, still the man deserved it.

Much lighter Jax jumped from the carriage and smiled up to might fancy feet. Then he spun around and with his back turned brushed his fingers over his head in a wiggle wave good bye. Jax took a deep breath, stopped by the door of the Parakeet, put the book under his arm, then stormed inside.

“Luc, lad Luc. I so hope you are here.” Jax shouted as he entered. In truth, he wasn’t so sure he wanted the boy about at all. Then he could say he tried and well, fate just wasn’t there this day. But as the few inside turned toward the loud mouth the patter of small feet ran down the stairs.

Luc stopped at the bottom and looked to Jax but did not come closer. A woman, whom by her protective steps right toward her son and her outstretched arm could only be his mother. “It’s Monsieur Jax, the Lady Moon’s Lover and Shark Fighter.” Luc answered his mother's questioning look.

Jax smiled, “True, true, and you must be this fine lads sister.” He laughed sure that the joke was preposterous but then so was Jax. “I have a story and book to share. Please if I might sit and purchase a meal. Would you allow me to share yet another tale of grand adventure with your son?” Jax smiled sweetly. She could say no, this mother of the boy. She would have every right. And then Jax could once again spout of his efforts even if they were not fulfilled. But instead she nodded, gestured to a table and went back to work.

“Ah Luc, what a night" Surprised things had gone this far, Jax began."Did you see the moon? How she teased me, how she showed me beautiful things and then scurried away behind masks, judgments, misunderstandings and false skins.” He took a deep sigh as he sat on one side of the table and confused Luc sat on the other. “Last night I wondered following her light, the shine of the moon, to the pools of water north of town and the beauty of the Night Blooms. Right there at the very edge of that pound a seal rose from the edge of water with beautiful lilies in her arms. Flowers that took my breath away with their sweetness. She laid them down for me and let me rest against her. A seals skin is soft and warm. The cow let me feel her warmth amid the fragrance of those flowers.” Jax let his eyes drift away as if he was remembering something wonderful. A plate of fruits, portage and a roll was placed in front of him as Luc’s mother’s eyes studied him.

Jax took a few bites and smile. The woman left. “ But as soon as the sun peak through she changed. Yes the seal stood, on her flippers she stood right up and with her fins she tugged at her fur and pulled the skin over her head and off her body.” Jax eyes got wide to underscore the surprise of that. “She took her fur off and stepped out of her skin.” He paused to let the shock show on his face. Then he leaned forward and softly asked, “She was a Selkie. Have you heard of them? Do you know the tale of the seals who keep their skins tucked away while they roam the world in our shapes?”

He moved even closer to the lad and then looked all around the room. “There is one about . One pretending to be us, to be human, but she sheds her skin, she changes as the sky does from light to dark, from storm to clear blue. “ Jax leaned back and took another bite .

Luc ‘s eyes were wide as he leaned in, “What does she want?”

Jax smiled, “What we all want, to be a part of something. To be one way to some and then put on another face, a different skin to others. So she can be a fancy lady one night dancing with fancy men, a learned doctor the next, and cunning fighter on the morn, and a skill first mate the next. Then . she will slip off to swim in the waves. “

Jax paused, “She doesn't know what she wants.”

Jax smiled and finished his meal putting the book on the table beside him.

She flinched when he shouted, she couldn’t help it. She was too keyed up and she was too busy berating herself for her weakness to feel him approach. She flinched again when he touched her but she did not pull away even though part of her, a big part of her screamed at her to pull away. She’d been hurt before, in so many ways and allowing touch was simply inviting more hurt. Look what had happened the night before after all.

But she was obedient, tractable and in so many ways trained to please and his hand delivered the message he wanted it to and then some. It told her to stay put and so she did. The touch kept her from fleeing which she very much wanted to do.

But then he was speaking and his words, wonderful, heartfelt, absurd, made her shake her head in denial. He no sense, not a lick. He needn’t prove anything to her, he owed her nothing. He was the Captain! He had given her the position and it was her place to keep it.

But still those words sank in, sinking through her honey-colored skin and past the discipline she’d had hammered into her while serving in the Navy. They reached the core of her, the Nicolette long buried and locked away. The soft, sweet girl who had made naive decisions and ruined everything. She was not gone as the Nicki of now hoped, not wholly. She was simply locked away. However, all the upheaval of the past day had put cracks into the prison that held her trapped inside. So the words Captain Lightfoot spoke reached this Nicki. That Nicki came to the surface for some much needed air. Neither Nicki was able to stop the fat crystalline tears that formed with artful precision on her thick lower lashes. They lingered, caught on the hairs, catching the light just long enough before taking a tragic and lovely dive onto her cheeks, ruined and smooth.

Where there was one tear there seemed to be another. Each one long overdue. She fought them, because she was incapable of not fighting, even if it was a futile battle. She shook and before she was fully aware of what she was about, she turned and with a quick step that surprised her she stepped into the Captain. She still had her arms around herself but she put her forehead on his shoulder and then turned her head, pressing her face into the warmth of his neck, breathing in a long, shuddering breath.

“No.” she said softly, her breath a warm honeyed breeze against his throat. “There is no need, you need prove nothing to me. If you will have me as I am, broken and un-trusting I will serve you with all that I am.”

A soft sob slipped past her lips, a heartbroken sound and her arms seemed to snake around him of their own volition, tightening her hold, her softness pressing into him as she shook.

“Why couldn’t I have met you before?” It was a question that required no answer for all the heartbreak in it.

Thomas stood there. His feet, though planted firmly upon the deck, seemed weightless. So stunned was he by the First Mate’s sudden embrace, and the breathy words she spoke against his neck, that he felt as if he truly must have never awoken from the previous night’s drunken stupor.

It was real, and she was real, however. The tears that had sat upon her cheeks, both perfect and marred, soaked into the thin cloth of his shirt. Her shuddered sobs and intakes of breath warmed his flesh, and the smell of shining golden hair filled his nose. Yet amongst all the many notes that called his senses to her, it was the press of her figure, the firm embrace of her arms, and the proximity of her full lips that froze him in utter and complete absorption.

His mind raced, a thundering storm of emotion and thought that worked to the beat of his bounding heart. Thomas had not meant for this, had not anticipated Nicolette to open to him in such a violent torrent of torn wounds and renewed vulnerability. He had known her to be secretive and reserved, but what she had shown to him was more than he had fathomed to lie buried beneath the angelic surface. The mark upon her cheek spoke to a past of pain and torment, but this was more than that. For the second time that morning Thomas cursed himself and his own arrogant dreams, and what it had forced from the woman who now embraced him.

Another part of him, the darker portion, the one that had been fed and tended by the free and scoundrel lifestyle of a pirate captain, saw opportunity in this moment. It called for him to seize the First Mate’s vulnerability, to possess this rare and damaged flower. The struggle against this part of him was so fierce, that Thomas again felt shame flood into his pounding heart, and spread like chilled water through his veins.

How low a man am I truly? These demons that I entertain, who is master and who is slave?”

In the end, it was the glittering image of stars that came to his mind’s eye that affirmed his conviction. He thought of the North Star, the Home Star, and how its sparkling aura had come to mean so much more to him reflected in the grey eyes of a rogue.

“You are welcome here as long as you wish. As you are, and no different. I would have it no other way,” he spoke at last. His voice was quiet and calm, and his breath teased the few loose strands of gold upon the First Mate’s head.

He brought an arm around to return the First Mate’s embrace, while the other reached into his hip pocket to withdraw a well-worn and stained kerchief.

The absurdity of his offering teased at the corner of his lips just slightly, and he hoped Nicolette would find the gesture equally as softening to the moment.

“It’s not pretty, and it certainly isn’t lace, but I can assure you it’s clean.” Thomas paused briefly, “Well, clean enough anyway.”