People call Jack mercurial, slipping unstoppable through ports and across the ocean, quicksilver flashing. James knows better. James has seen the patterns, the highs and the lows, Jack pulled by gravity, by rhythm, by something greater than the Royal Navy or his own self interest. James knows, but keeps silent.

They are quiet now, for there are guards and Articles and death, all waiting. Souls and bodies rocking, scars catching. James watches Jack watching the moon, smelling the changes in the air. He will disappear with the rising tide. For tonight, though, he will hold James free of the undertow.