AN: Quick update because I have no life. Thank you to everybody who reviews/alerts! You guys really make my day. The mouse owns Beckett, Mercer and um...somebody else too. I own Rose and Goldie. Beckett's only line of dialouge belongs to the brilliant Telera and Ol' Jim belongs to Mysterywriter of Norrington RPG.

1-25: Restaurant

The Dead Rabbit, ensnarled in Port Royal's viper nest of sidestreets and alleyways. The only place one could get a bowl of potatoes for sixpence and not be at the chamberpot a week. Also one of the only places Rose's kind were welcome.

The owner, Ol' Jim, a toothless old sailor with a head like a corn kernel, hugged and led her to a decayed table.

"The usual then, thorny Rose?"

"Aye," she smiled. "Pitcher of grog too."

Before long she was kissing Goldie's rouged cheek. The other sat, tossing skirts and trademark hair.

"Let's see," she commanded. Rose emptied her purse with flourish on the splintered surface.

"Five pound."

"Liar! Well you're payin'. Christ the bloke must be mad."

Rose was quiet. Collogue and cullie ran up the rickety stairs, taking her reply with them. Goldie laughed.

"God I love this place. Food and business all in one."

Rose spoke, lump in her throat, smile on her mouth.

"What else is there?"

They each took a swig from the bottle. Goldie's sharp eyes stalked the door.

"Ooh. Speaking of business."

A man in a tattered Navy coat, torn almost beyond recognition. His queue undone, his face drawn. But something in the way he walked. He slumped into a chair, put his face in his arms. Rose cocked her head.

"He looks miserable poor soul."

"We're all miserable, darling."

Even this said with a smeared grin. Rose's reply too quick.

"I'm not."

Even a friend can turn a head to an obvious lie. Goldie knew that their trade bred trouble. So did Rose. Every girl for herself.

"So you won't mind if I take 'im then?"

"Be my guest. But I'll not wait for ya."

"Course not. Take what ya can."

"Give nothing back."

And she was gone. In a flash her arms around the sailor's neck. Rose could read the words upon her lips so often were they said.

"What do ye lack, love? What do ye lack?"

Two minutes and he's leading her out the door at a run. She giggles, waves hurriedly to Rose who salutes.

The following evening she's turned away. The dog Mercer stands at the door to the chamber

"Your services won't be required tonight, mum. Some urgent disciplinary business has come up."

She was angry at being dismissed that way, and frightened by the anger. Mercer marched off. She pressed her ear to the door. Heard his voice.

"What were you doing in a brothel…Admiral?" Beckett asked.

Rose shuddered. She knew those tones intimately. The hidden anger. Cutler had no patience for illicit activities in those he commanded. Ha. If only they knew.

"Such a fucking hypocrite," she muttered to herself as she headed down the stairs. "That poor bastard's in for it."