A Sense of Personal Honour

Jaina dreamt of the Spire. She dreamt she was back in the torture chamber, watching in silence as the Commandant tortured that young boy with his Will, burning him, light and noise and blood and screams, just standing there. The Spire Being passed her a pistol, and she watched from the outside as the younger Sparrow shot the boy straight through the head. Just fifteen.

She dreamt she was talking to Officer 162, answering his questions quietly and slowly, watching him smirk as he looked her over, then left. The prisoners begged, pleaded. They were starving, just bones, shells. Her eyes moved over to the lever that would alleviate their suffering, if only for a little while. But she couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot, and the men cried out to her and begged and pleaded but she couldn't move. She stood there, frozen to the spot, shaking uncontrollably.

Please. Help us. Please. If we don't eat we will die. Please. Why... why are you doing this?

She dreamt she stood there, silently, watching them, all the way until Officer 162 came back. He saw her standing there, frozen, and smirked again, walking over to her, murmuring in her ear while his hand slid down her back and into her trousers. She felt a tear slide down her face.

She dreamt of that day soon after Bob was killed. She had managed to sneak a dinner knife out of the mess hall. She smacked a guard and got herself thrown into solitary. She took the knife and sliced a deep vertical cut into her right arm. She woke to the face of the Commandant looking down on her. He'd found her before it was too late. Told her next time she should steal a pistol. Said it would be a lot less messy.

She dreamt of Lucien, and that day in his office, so many years ago. She dreamt of Rose.

Death is not your destiny today, little Sparrow.

Blade jolted upright, dragging in a gasp of air, immediately throwing it back out, replacing it with a new one. She put a hand to her chest, to the bullet mark there, astounded when she felt very real pain. She gave a small yelp, retracting immediately. Then, hesitantly, she lowered her hand a little, searching for the cause. There was a thick white bandage around her chest. She stared at it, her heart still pumping fast.

"Troubled sleep?"

Blade reflexively threw her hand to her holster, reaching for her pistol. Then she let out a low, furious snarl and shook her head, "Reaver, give me back my gun!"

Reaver raised an eyebrow, "What thanks I get for saving your life..."

"Well, I'd thank you if it wasn't for the fact that I know you want something for it."

"You are quite correct. But, tell me, if I had left you your weapon, would you have just shot me with it?"

She looked at him for a second, "I'd have considered it."

He smiled, "Still bitter, then."

"Yes." She shook her head, returning her attention back to her wound. The white bandage was slowly growing a pool of red in the middle.

Reaver cocked his head to one side, "Increased heartbeat. Got your wound bleeding again. What did you dream?"

"None of your goddamned business." She looked around her, taking in her surroundings. She was back in that bedroom, back in Bloodstone Mansion. Reaver was sitting back in the same chair, watching her, a small, amused smile on his face. She shook her head, "How long have I been out."

"Three days. Little Roxa was getting quite worried about you."

"Roxa? Good. I need to see her."

"As do I."

"No, you want to see to her, there's a difference."

He laughed, "How perceptive of you. Though, of course, if you'd rather I saw to you you only need ask."

She let out a low snarl, and then shook her head, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and getting to her feet, gritting her teeth at the pain, "We've been over this - when hell freezes over. I'd honestly rather -" she stopped, abruptly, looking down at herself. She looked at him, "What the hell am I wearing?"

His smile grew, "Do you like it?"

"They're mine."

"Yes. They're apparently what you wear back on the mainland." He saw her frown and smiled, "Norman's been doing a little homework."

Blade looked down again. He was right. She was back in her typical 'Albion' outfit - shorts and a corset, both dyed an amazingly bright shade of purpely-blue. Her thigh-high boots stood on the floor beside her, also a bright violet, and her hat and golden ballroom mask were placed on the chest of drawers.

Without the boots the very short shorts showed a quite indecent amount of leg, and the tight corset seemed even tighter than she remembered. It had been rolled up a little to expose her wound, and she pulled it back down, her fingers shaking slightly. She glanced at him over her shoulder, "Miss Carver's work?"

"No, dear little Roxa's. I'm afraid Miss Carver's... artistic talents have finally caught up with her."

Blade looked at him for a moment, "You killed her."

He nodded, "Yes, yes I did. A single shot to the heart - I assure you, it was quite painless."

She just looked at him. Then she shook her head, disgusted, and turned back to the chest of drawers. She picked up her mask, her hands shaking with anger, and slipped it roughly over her eyes. She smoothed back her hair and put on the black hat, all the while gritting her teeth, her heart throbbing in her chest.

Pirate. Pirate. Pirate.

The pirate watched her like a hawk, and smiled when she turned back to him, "So. How have you been? You come to my home asking for assistance, stay the night, and then storm off for two days without so much as a note of explanation. How impolite of you, Jaina."

She shook her head, "In case you didn't notice the huge massacre down on the waterfront, I'll enlighten you - I was sort of busy."

"Yes, I did, actually."

"You could have killed it easily." She said, her voice low with heavily suppressed anger, "Or at the very least helped. But you didn't."

"No, I'm afraid I didn't see anything in it for me."

"Yes. I thought you'd say that." She looked at him, "People are dead, Reaver."

"And that's a shame, it really is. But you're going to have to do more than put a few curs in danger to attract my attention, my dear."

Her anger peaked at his suggestion, "You think I did this?"

He shrugged, lazily, "Well. Never have I known a banshee to come this far into civilisation, and yet, lo and behold, one does... and little less than a week after we also get our first Hero. You are saying this is coincidence?"

"I was sent to look for two boys lost in Wraithmarsh, they released the banshee, not me."

"Hmm... How... convenient."

"Oh, y'know what, think whatever you want. I'm out of here."

Blade made a move forwards and Reaver fluidly stepped in front of the door, "Not so fast, my dear. I have a proposal for you."

"What." Her voice was like ice.

"Maybe we should get back to business. Yes?"

"Lucien?" she asked, cautiously. She was waiting for the catch.

"Yes. Now, taking into account that I saved your life, I may still be open to coming to your assistance. What would it entail, exactly."

She paused, calculating him. Then she shook her head, and leant back against the wall, casually, "I want you to help me capture Lucien Fairfax. Notice I didn't say kill. I'll be doing that myself."

"Then how would I assist?"

"He'll be at the Spire. Well guarded. I'll need help taking down the lackeys. They can be very... persistent."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

He looked at her. The lie came easily to Jaina, purely because, as far as she knew, that was all. It was Theresa who would be adding in the little extras. She'd never been all that good at the 'you've got Hero blood' thing. Theresa explained it so much better.

"Hmm..." Reaver mused, holding a knuckle to his lips, "Tempting... who knows what lovelies he has secreted away at his little Spire... But here's the problem: you've done all sort of impressive things, and yet you haven't really done anything that benefits me."

"Reaver, I just saved your ass from a banshee."

"As you said, my dear, I could have handled that perfectly well should the need arise."

She looked at him. Anger boiled within her but she kept it firmly tamed.

He smiled, "My dear, you appear quite tense. Come, let me help you."

He walked towards her, swiftly, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her recoil back. She stayed perfectly still, her whole body stiffened, and he smiled at her as he circled around her, stopping at her back, "Let's get rid of some of that tension."

She felt his hands fall onto her shoulders and firmly suppressed a flinch. She tensed, subconsciously holding her breath. He brushed his hands across her shoulders and the back of her neck, softly like a caress, but when she turned her head to glance over her shoulder he pushed it back front and centre, firmly. She tensed even more and he seemed to feel it. He kneaded her muscles, gently, soothing them, "Relax. You must still be hurting after that little show. That was quite the scrap, Blade."

Though Blade's instincts were still on red alert, she felt with a painful intensity how good his attentions felt, how soothing his touch was, how sensitively his hands moved along her bare skin, going down only as far as the corset allowed him. His hands were like gold, seeking out pains that she didn't even know existed, the slightest cramps, the smallest aches, drawing them out and soothing them, expertly.

No. No, she wasn't enjoying this. He was a monster. Worse than a monster. A pirate.

Reaver brushed across her neck, and then pressed down, drawing his hands down her back, out towards her sides. Was he trying to draw a groan out of her? Or was his game more subtle than that? Was he fucking with her head? Trying to associate his touch with pleasure in her mind? That option was more likely. The pirate was far from unintelligent. Once again, he wasn't just planning on fucking with her body. He was screwing with her mind, too. If he succeeded... every time she saw him she would feel his touch like heat on her neck, a shiver moving across her shoulders.

His hands moved to her neck and she bit down hard on her tongue to prevent a groan. She could feel her muscles relaxing under his artful touch, feel his gentle pressure soothing her, relieving the tick in her neck, the tension in her shoulders. She could feel his game working.

And it sickened her.

Reaver stroked a thumb just underneath her hairline, "Come come, Blade. What good ever came from abstinence?"

"What good ever came from self indulgence."

She tried to pull away, but he dug deep into her collarbone, just enough to let her know he could hurt her if he wanted to, and she couldn't suppress her wince, "No no no, you just stay still. Relax. There's a good girl. Now. Let me ask you something. My inaction during the banshee attack. It disgusted you. Why."

"Because you could have helped." Her jaw was locked, and she talked through gritted teeth, "Because you could have saved lives."

"At personal endangerment."

She shook her head, anger sparking inside her, "Maybe, yes. Do you think I thought I wasn't in danger? Do you think I went there completely oblivious of the risks?"

"Why so bitter?"

"Because I do this every goddamned day. And I can't see why you can't do it once to save your people. It's... wrong."

"That is why you are after Lucien?"

She hesitated, then rallied herself, ignoring his touch, "Yes. I want to save lives. And I don't understand why you don't."

He paused, and she felt him shake his head, "Not all of us have your pride in your sense of moral superiority, my dear."

"Moral superiority? I'm doing this to stop Lucien!"

"Your distinctions are trivial," he replied, simply, "Does the reason matter? Won't the end result be the same either way?"

She shook her head, almost hesitantly, "I... I don't think it will."

Reaver pushed deeper, "I didn't think you would be so single-minded. You want to kill this man, yes? If he were here, now, would you kill him?"

She paused. "Yes."

"Simple as that?"

"Simple as that."

He paused, musingly, one hand kneading down her spine, the other stroking under her neck, "Even if he had a reason for killing your dear sister?"

Jaina froze. She licked her lips, slowly, giving herself some time. Then she shook her head, slowly, "How long have you known."

"Not long. A few days."

"How."

Reaver's hands tightened slightly, "You talk in your sleep. Did you know?"

She didn't reply. Yes, she did know. Hammer had told her, Theresa had told her, Michael had told her... But she was sure that wasn't the only way he had found out about her past. Norman. Her past was only rumour even back on the mainland, but it appeared this rumour, at least, contained some truth.

She was shivering slightly. The banshee... everything it had said still echoed through her mind. She didn't want to go through this again.

"You hate him so much, don't you."

She didn't say a word. Hatred. Loathing. Disgust. She felt all these things. But what powered her to hunt down this man was unnameable. She didn't know the word. She couldn't even describe it. It was something she'd just had all her life. Since that night.

"He does have a reason."

Reaver cocked his head slightly to one side, "Sorry?"

"He does have a reason. For... for killing her. But it wasn't good enough. Nothing would be good enough."

"You deemed his reasoning unworthy," he completed, nodding, "So, in his eyes, are you the unreasonable one?"

She shook her head, her anger sparking, "He has the eyes of a madman."

He smiled, slowly, "And you don't?"

She stopped. She glanced at him over her shoulder. Then she shook her head, slowly, "I don't hurt people."

"Are you so sure about that?"

She didn't reply. She felt her heart pumping fast in her chest.

Reaver laughed, feeling the reaction in her shoulders, and dug down a little bit with his hands, causing an involuntary shiver, "I admire a ruthless streak in a woman. You take the moral high ground with me, how many have you killed?"

"That doesn't -"

"Yes it does, my dear. In your little quest for revenge how many lives have you taken."

"Do you care?" she asked, sharply, "I'm sorry, did the Pirate King grow a conscience when I wasn't watching? You don't care, Reaver, you're just a heartless bastard, and don't try and trick me into thinking otherwise."

He laughed, softly, his breath brushing her ear, "Such harsh words from such a sweet tongue... You'd make a good pirate."

"Then I will remain true to myself. Your price, Reaver. Name it, and then we'll see."

He thought for a second, "Well... that all depends. For Lucien's head... what would you give?"

"My life." There was no hesitation, "I would give my life to stop him."

"To kill him."

"Yes. To kill him."

"Mmm..." he continued kneading her muscles, almost thoughtfully, and then shook his head, "It is not your life I require, I'm afraid."

"Then what do you... require."

His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders and she could sense his amusement, "Need you really ask?"

She paused for a moment. She felt his hand move up from her shoulder, up her neck and across to her chin. He turned her face to his, firmly. Then he kissed her.

Blade's first impulse was to pull back. But you can't pull back from someone who's already behind you. She jerked away, hitting her elbow sharply on the wall, shaking her head, quickly, "No."

"You know it's the only way."

"Let me go."

He pulled her back again, kissing her, firmly, and she twisted, trying to avoid his lips, "Stop."

"No."

"Stop."

"No."

She tugged a little back, "I'm married."

"Mmm. And I want you." He kissed her again, gently, "You are beautiful."

"Stop it."

"Stunning."

"I mean it, stop it."

"Courageous."

"Reaver."

"Engaging."

He coupled each of his words with a brush of his lips across her neck, and she threw out a hand to the wall to stop him from pushing her forwards so she was cornered. She saw him smile out the corner of her eye, and he kissed her cheek, softly, "Beautiful."

"You've said that before." She said through gritted teeth. Her body was frozen, stiffened, completely taut against his touch.

He noticed, and went back to massaging her shoulders, trying to relax her again, alternating his stroke every now and then in hope of surprising her into a gasp, "It's simple, my dear. You give me what I want, and I'll give you want you want. Only a fair trade... Sparrow."

She pulled away from him, turning back round, "Don't... call me that."

Call his game. Come on, Blade. Think about it. Alternation. Between unease and comfort. Anger and passion, pain and pleasure, the two flipsides of a coin. Call his game. Don't get sucked in.

She pulled in a deep, slow breath. Calm. Calm down. Theresa was forever telling her that as a child. Calm. Calm yourself, Sparrow. Slow. Quiet down, now. Just relax.

You give me what I want, and I'll give you want you want.

What I want is Lucien. I want his head. But... how far would I go to get that?

You... you... chose me. Over Lucien.

Michael. No, this... this wasn't... She couldn't. Could she?

Lucien laughs every night as he remembers that time in his study. He still keeps the gun with which he shot you and your sister. A souvenir.

Anger and uncertainty and pain burned inside her in equal measures, her light brown eyes tracing the green opposites. They seemed opposite in every way. While she was uncertain, angry, frustrated, scared, he was cool, collected, and looking at her with a small, confident smirk that said he knew exactly what battle was going on in her mind.

I can't take any more of this. The smiles, the manipulations, the fucking pirate conduct. Kill him. Just goddamned kill him.

No. She couldn't. But... what else. What else could she do.

We need his help - and he wants to play his little game. So you must play it - or Lucien will get what he wants.

Perhaps you believe you will resist. Some try at first - a misguided sense of personal honour.

Emotions fought and anger seemed to be winning. Anger at Reaver, at Lucien, at Theresa, at herself. Anger at every stupid goddamned choice she'd made that had brought her here. Anger at letting him even think that this could be possible.

Anger that she had been pushed into what she was about to do.

You must decide: is your honour... really that important to you?

Blade shook her head, shaking with suppressed rage, and grabbed the pirate by the collar of his ridiculous jacket, yanking him towards her and kissing him.

The action was short lived. Reaver pulled his head back slightly, relinquishing her lips, and she was only too happy to oblige. Blade's eyes burned with anger. He looked at her for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he smiled, slowly, "Good girl."

He took her mouth again, this time with a forceful vigour that made her feel sick. He pushed her back against the wall and she immediately turned the tables, not one to be controlled at any time, forcing back a retch as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She tightened her grip on his shoulder until it was hard enough to hurt, dangerously, letting him know her opinion of this act.

She kissed him like she hated him, and, though she wasn't altogether sure whether this was increasing his fervour, she couldn't stop. She wanted to hurt him, punish him, show him she wasn't just some toy he could play with whenever he liked. She bit down on his tongue, hard, tasting unfamiliar blood. He gave a low growl and retaliated with a bite of his own.

He tried to slow the actions down, hands looping in the strings that held her corset together, pulling at them, but she shook her head and yanked the top open, letting it fall to the floor. Do it quickly, get it over and done with, don't give yourself time to think.

She moved her hands to his shirt, popping open the buttons, going fast again, her speed hampered somewhat by her caution - she knew that if she ripped the silk cloth, even during a moment like this, his reaction would not be a happy one.

He glanced down, taking in her haste with a typical amusement, "Slow down, Sparrow! You don't want your first time over and done with in two minutes, do you?"

She shook her head, concentrating firmly on the clothing and not him, "Don't call me Sparrow. And I have two children this is hardly my first time."

"Ah, of course. I should have guessed. The marriage. And you were once a gypsy, of course..."

"What has that got to do with anything."

"Well, you know how they are! Free living, free life, free love... It's remarkable you're still as naïve as you are, Sparrow."

"I said don't call me Sparrow."

He shook his head and attacked her neck with his mouth, biting down hard enough to leave deep red marks. Jaina suppressed every single flinch and instead worked on his belt.

He stopped her when she came to undoing his holster, retrieving the Dragonstomper .48, firmly, "I think I'll keep this actually, my dear. You never know."

She looked at him. She didn't trust him with a gun. She didn't trust him at all, but with a gun he was substantially more dangerous. And, frankly, she thought his protests cheap seeing as she herself was unarmed for the first time in about fifteen years.

He saw her uncertainty, and smiled slowly, "Well. How about we... negotiate for it? I can think of some other ways of keeping your loyalty."

She frowned slightly. He glanced up at the rope hangings of the bed, pointedly. She remained confused for a moment, until she realised he had taken hold of her wrists, and was running a thumb along her skin, softly.

Blade looked at her wrists, and then the long strips of rope, and put two and two together. She shook her head, slowly, "Keep the goddamned gun." She said, her voice a low growl.

He laughed and leant back in, biting once again at her lip. "You're no fun."

"Shut up and just goddamned get this over with."

Reaver smirked, "Your wish is my command."

He pushed her roughly back onto the bed, moving quickly over her, his hands following the line of her shorts, unbuckling the belt, easily. He seemed to consider pulling them off and then stopped, instead moving his hands up her thighs and underneath the thin fabric, pushing upwards.

He leant down so his breath brushed against her ear, "If it helps... you can just imagine I'm your little Michael." She tensed, and he noticed, and laughed, rotating his hands a little towards the inside of her legs, "Though, of course, I think you'll notice some... substantial differences."

Blade bit hard on her tongue again, fighting back the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes. Oh God. Oh Avo. No. No, she couldn't be thinking about him now. Get him out of your head, get him out!

But she couldn't. His voice, his smile, his laugh, his touch - so gentle, nothing like the treatment she was receiving now - his modesty, warmth, his light, easy humour, Avo, no, please, please no. This was Reaver brushing across her skin, Reaver smirking, licking along her jaw, this was Reaver's bulk pressing her down into the mattress, keeping her still, holding her down, and she had never been so painfully aware of it, so conscious, knowing it was him, knowing it was wrong, knowing she could do nothing to stop it. This wasn't Michael this was a pirate! A murderer! A filthy, chauvinistic, Bloodstone pig, a monster of men.

Blade felt tears threaten again, and, again, she forced them back. She tried to return again to the anger she had had before, but it was too late. She couldn't do it. Oh God. Oh Avo.

Michael. Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry.