Jones hoped she had woken at this point. With no hourglass to tell the time, he depended sold on how far they had come compared to how fast the ship traveled. The damnable wench had to hurry up and heal, otherwise he would... What would he do? Inflict more pain? For once he felt helpless, but not in the usual sense. He wanted this lass to stop being so much of a mystery, but the only way to have her explain herself would be to let her wake on her own time. He could not pry answers from her lips with pain. In fact, he could do nothing at all.

He paced around his cabin, cursing the lass roundly for being such a nag in his side. What was she playing at? Of corse he knew she was not Calypso. The sea goddess was a real beauty, while this lass... She was rather plain, and every time he had seen her she had been covered in filth, sometimes blood.

Eventually, he gave up his wondering and bellowed his rage to the empty room before stomping angrily out to check on her.

The men had left a wile ago, leaving her in the cold, dark room. It was obvious she had moved some, as almost all the cloth was a bit rumpled and the dress that had once been covering her was no longer even touching her. Droplets from the ceiling dripped around her, giving her skin a rather eery look in the light of his lantern. As he watched her, she rolled her shoulders and moaned before flipping her head so it was facing away from him. Her relatively short hair was mixed with sweat, sea and blood and stuck to her head where she had been lying on it previously. It had even stopped looking like hair at this point, the tendrils seemingly having fused together into something that looked almost like the fin of a fish.

"Wake up, lass," he said quietly, and then once again, louder. She made no response either time. When he shouted, her hand twitched. Thinking she was too weak to open her eyes, he began to question her. "Why did ye apologize to me-uh? Why do I no longer frighten ye?" She twitched her hand again, and flipped her head once more so she was facing him. Her eyes were open slightly, just enough for him to know she was indeed awake and comprehending what he was asking. For a moment, it looked as if she were trying to open her mouth to reply. But simply could not. He looked down at her, face unreadable as she struggled.

"That's it, open yer mouth an' explain everything that goes on in that damned head of yers-uh." It was the wrong thing to say, he knew, but he also knew that he was the captain, and it was her duty to obey him no matter what. Except, the bloody lass did not do as he said. The muscles in her face relaxed, her eyes shut, and she flipped herself away from him once more.

He growled and reached over with his pincer arm and flipped her back over, in the process rolling her onto her injured back. She let out a large puff of air at that, but he did not care if she was hurt. He wanted answers, and she had them but would not give them to him. Her eyes flitted open and she looked at him angrily. She was, he could tell, trying to convey a message with her eyes that he clearly was not reading.

Picking her up so he could hear whatever she might mumble, he held her like a baby to his chest. And then, she exhaled.

It was definitely not simply her exuding air. She seemed to be timing her intake and release of breath to a rythum, one he had heard many a time. One that he himself played frequently, though not so much since she had become part of the ship. She continued her pattern of breathing there in his arms, inhaling her way through the notes of the song that played on the music box his first love had given him. He almost dropped her at the realization. When she stopped, he looked down at her form to see her eyes had closed once more, and her breathing had become its usual rhythmic rising and falling. She was asleep once more, her somewhat warm body limply hanging there. Her eyelids were slightly wet with either sweat, condensation, or tears.

Gently he set her back down upon the floor. One of his tentacles from his beard ghosted over her face once before he retreated quickly from the galley. He had an idea of what she meant. She forgave him, forgave hi for hurting her. She meant she understood he was hurt, and still hurting. She echoed his pain, understanding a bit of what he felt. And she still did not hate him.

He had hurt her, mentally and physically, to the point where she could not even move. Something had happened to her in her past. He did not know what, but was now completely sure she had been hurt before. A lost lover, perhaps? A dead mother or father? Whatever it was, it had plagued her for a wile before she had overcome it. He could see that much in the hollowness of her eyes.

She had not torn out her own heart as he had. It had been beaten out of her. And now, the rest of her was beginning to compensate, attempting to heal her once more, the only problem was that she would not heal fully. What he had done, no one could fix.

The lass had joined him in heartlessness.

"Wake up, lass!"

Someone was yelling at her. Why could they not just leave her be? She was happy where she was. It was warm and safe, something she had not experienced for what felt like years. Nothing could go wrong in this place. There were no cursed pirates trying to take the flesh for her back. There were no fights where one of her friends turned up dead. There was no Tortuga, no Dutchman, and most certainly no Davy Jones.

"Wake up, damn ye!" No, there was most certainly a Davy Jones. And he wanted her to wake up and leave this place. She tried to motion with her hand for him to leave her be, but he did not. And so she came out of her calm place and attempted to regain her consciousness, and thus control of her body. "Why did ye apologize to me-uh? Why do I no longer frighten ye?" She tried to make a 'wait a minute' motion with her hand, but all that happened was it twitched feebly. Finally, her eyelids rose slightly, and she immediately wished they had remained closed. It was sark here, aside from a light source she could not see.

She wanted to see it.

Why did she apologize? Because he was like her. He was hurting, and it was not his fault. She was sorry he had been hurt to this point. Why did he not frighten her anymore? Because there was nothing left to be frightened of. He could hurt her physically, but she understood him now. Now that she had no love left in her.

Finally, her head flipped sides so she was facing him. He was carrying a lantern in his tentacled hand and was glaring down at her, beard twitching and writhing a bit. She strained to try to answer him, but could barely hold her eyes open anymore. She tried, she really did, but no amount of strain made her muscles move. She was just too tired, too weak. She could tell that Jones knew she was trying, especially when he told her to keep trying.

The part about her head being damned canceled that, however. She stopped trying, knowing he would probably hurt her for it. She did not care. Her back hurt enough in its own that she would not feel whatever else he threw at her.

Turning away, she closed her heavy eyelids, letting the darkness of her mind encircle her. While she still held the power in this situation, she would not stand for being insulted. Actually, she couldn't stand to begin with, so she really could not decide what she stood for or not. Literally, at least.

Jones growled and forced her to flip back over to face him, in the process moving her so she was laying on her stinging back. Mentally, she yelped in pain, but all that escaped her was a small puff of air. She once more opened her eyes, trying to convey her displeasure and anger. He didn't seem to notice, and picked her up.

Then she understood. He was hurt, confused, angry that his past love had been brought back to stinging memory by her. He wanted to understand what she was on about. How would she answer him?

An idea struck her, and she suddenly knew how she would communicate with him. She attempted to use her breathing to sing the song he played on his organ every night. From the look on his face, he understood. He understood that she understood him, did not hate him, might even care a bit for him. That last part was the bit that confused her. How could she have a place in the spot her heart used to be for the captain? He had hurt her to this point, and would do so again and again with no backward thought.

'It is because you understand him and can relate.' That made sense.

She poured all her emotion into huffing that song out, all her pain and hopelessness washing away from her in torrents as he held her. Forbidden tears clouded her vision, and she closed her eyes. It felt so wonderful to let her emotion out into song, and she understood now why Jones played his organ.

The final breath of the song left her, and she fell back into the recesses of her mind once more.