Ryenne gasped in pain as she stumbled for what seemed like the hundredth time during their harried flight, twisting her already-aching ankle yet again. She couldn't bend to massage the stabbing pains out of it, however, because - as with the many other times - Jack did not stop. He didn't even seem to notice, just continued to drag her along at a breakneck speed. If Ryenne had thought that she'd seen the full spectrum of Jack's emotional compass over the past few months - and he had had cause enough to show it - she was terribly mistaken. She had never seen him like this. His face was awash with panic and his hand was like a vise on hers. He seemed gripped in some kind of trance. He noticed nothing - not her stumbles, not her attempts to question him, not even the faces of the people who openly stared at their passage. Ryenne could not blame them for staring. What a sight the two of them must have been, dressed in fine clothes and chasing through the streets as if pursued. The truth was, they were in pursuit. Of exactly what, she wasn't sure. A doctor, most likely. The question was, did Jack know where to find one?

"Do you have any idea where you're going?" She didn't actually expect an answer, so when she received one, it caught her so off-guard that she almost tripped again.

"Not entirely," Jack's voice was as terse and harried as his pace. "But it would help me greatly if you would stop acting like dead weight and keep an eye out."

She tried to ignore the insult along with the sharp pains now roaring up and down her right leg. "An eye out for what, exactly?"

"A midwife, a doctor, an apothecary... anything!"

Ryenne stumbled on her ridiculous house slippers yet again, and was rewarded with a rough jerk to her wrist, compliments of Jack. Her temper flared. "Look - there's something."

"What!?" Jack whirled around frantically, only to meet the bewildered stare of a chubby little man selling apricots. "A fruit vendor?" The man shrugged apologetically.

Ryenne mustered up her best impression of Jack's impish grin, baring her teeth a little more savagely than was probably necessary. "You did say 'anything.'"

His eyes held thunder. "This isn't a game, Ryenne! Every moment we lose could be putting Elizabeth in more danger!"

"Women have babies all the time, Jack."

"What would you know about it?"

"What would you know about it?"

"I know a damn sight more than you do!" Jack seemed only barely able to contain himself to a growl. "Now, come! Enough of this nonsense! I -" His gaze dropped, falling on Ryenne's uneven hobble. "Why are you limping?"

"Why don't you give it a guess?" She raised the hem of her skirt a fraction, giving him a glimpse of the impractical heeled house slippers Elizabeth had lent her, and scowled.

Guilt suffused his features. "Perhaps we should continue at a more... reasonable pace?"

"If I can continue at all."

He was quiet for a moment, considering her in a manner Ryenne found most discomfiting. Then, before she could guess what he was doing or even attempt to stop him, he put one arm around her waist and one behind her knees and - literally - swept her off her feet. Their faces were so close that she could see the shock on her own face mirrored in his eyes, which were still scanning the marketplace somewhat frantically.

"Jack -" She gasped, nearly biting her tongue as he suddenly shuffled into an awkward sort of jog. "JACK! This is not going to work!" When he didn't stop, she reached up and batted him in the side of the head. That got his attention. He slowed, clearly irate.

"You're absolutely right," he declared, and with that, flipped her over so that she was slung across his back, much like a particularly lumpy, ungainly sack of grain. Or potatoes.

She could have happily killed him.

Running seemed to have become much easier for him, however, and they now threaded their way through the crowd with some speed. The faces of the people they were hurrying past had become infinitely more shocked and perturbed, especially when Ryenne viewed them from upside down. Unless she was mistaken - and, oh, how she hoped she was - she thought she heard Jack snickering. On the upside, her leg hurt quite a bit less. Now it was her pride that was throbbing in pain.

"Remember: keep an eye out," he reminded her, somewhat primly.

She responded by elbowing him sharply in the small of the back, though her satisfaction at hearing his grunt of pain was definitely depleted by the disorienting sensation of jouncing up and down with her head rather closer to the cobblestones than she would have preferred. It made her think of other things she was quite close to. Unnervingly close. The feel of Jack's arm around her waist was suddenly the most disorienting sensation of all.

"Here, here! What's all this about?" A rather pompous voice attached to a pair of rather pompous shoes - which were all Ryenne could see at this angle - interrupted her train of thought before she could even get it on the track. 'What do you mean by this behavior, young fellow?"

Jack slowed and half-turned. His voice was cool and cordial, every inch the aloof gentleman he now appeared. "I mean nothing by it, good sir. The lady twisted her ankle, and I was merely escorting her to the nearest physician. If you would be so kind as to point us in the right direction, we'll be on our way."

Ryenne could not see the man's face, but his tone was certainly confused enough. "Well, I..." A kindly old face, snowy-whiskered and fully upside down, ducked into view. "Is this true, young lady?"

Had all the blood not already been rushing into her head, Ryenne would have blushed. Instead, she crossed her arms in the most dignified way possible, given her position, and nodded. "It is."

The man straightened out of view and cleared his throat. "I see. Well. There's an herbalist over on Cross, down the lane and to the left."

Ryenne's head pounded as Jack gave the stranger what she deemed to be a completely unnecessary little bow. "Thank you ever so kindly, sir. If you will excuse us, I'll take her there directly."

The man cleared his throat. "Quite."

That was all Jack needed. Ryenne had one last glimpse of the man's knees as Jack tore away through the crowd, banking suddenly to the left and onto a smaller, quieter side street. The stoops of the shops were crammed together here, what little Ryenne could see of their facades worn and grimy. Jack stopped in front of the most tidily swept and helped her lower herself out of her awkward position. The combination of pain from the sudden weight on her ankle and the blood draining from her head caused her to stumble, and he caught her by the arm. She wrenched it away, careful not to lose her balance.

"Don't. You. Ever. Do. That. Again." She gave each word its own forceful emphasis, accompanying each one with a sharp jab of her finger to his breastbone. He couldn't seem to stop grinning.

"It was my pleasure, love." He gave her a smug little bow and gestured to the dingy building they had stopped in front of. "Shall we? Elizabeth is waiting."

Ryenne examined the little shop. It didn't look like much - a narrow building with bundles of herbs dangling behind the pitted glass of its single window - but Jack seemed pleased enough. A small wooden sign depicting a mortar and pestle hung over the doorway, which stood open. Following his lead, she stepped into the cool twilight. Inside, it smelled of earthy herbs and peppery poultices. Her eyes had barely enough time to adjust before a familiar voice reached her ears, and a young, golden-haired fellow stepped out from behind a set of shelves.

"Miss Caelar? What are you doing here?"

It was Quinn.


From his vantage point behind the rough wooden shelves, Quinn peered over the green glass bottles at the pair that had just entered the shop. Mistress Thayden, the woman he had recently won an apprenticeship with, was out in the herb garden, which meant that he would be expected to deal with the customers.

He couldn't believe his eyes. Or rather, didn't want to believe them. If he was perfectly honest with himself, however, he had half-expected to run into Ryenne again sooner or later. He had just been hoping that it would be later. It didn't matter either way, however. There she was, and - despite the fact that he had been trying to school himself out of his feelings towards her since the day he left The Pearl - she looked lovelier than he had ever seen her before. Her hair was swept back into a simple but elegant coif, and the soft lavender of her gown brought out roses in her cheeks. There was a light in her eyes that he had never seen. She was happy.

Before he could think twice about what he was doing, he had stepped out from behind the shelves, mere feet from where she stood. "Miss Caelar? What are you doing here?"

"Quinn!?" He only saw the shocked - but seemingly pleased - expression on her face for half a second before she swept him into a suffocating embrace. "Oh, Quinn! I was so worried about you! Where have you been all this time?!"

She smelled of lilacs. Quinn was fighting a losing battle against himself. "I've been here."

"But where is 'here?'" She released him - somewhat reluctantly, he liked to think - and peered into the musty semi-darkness around them. It was then that he noticed the man lurking behind her.

In the light filtering through the dust motes, his well-tailored clothes and beardless face appeared typically upper-class. A merchant, perhaps. But then the man's brown eyes caught his own in an intense gaze, and he realized.

It was Jack.

Quinn didn't know why his appearance had changed so drastically, and he didn't dwell on it; the air in the shop seemed to have dropped several degrees, and he could feel his hackles rise. He gave Jack the dignity of a stiff nod, however, as the other man came to stand by Ryenne.

"Do you run this shop, Quinn?" His question was terse, and Quinn noted that he hadn't had the decency to at least nod back.

"Only in the absence of Mistress Thayden," he responded. "Is there a reason why you're here?"

"Yes," Ryenne said. "We need someone to help - "

"And am I supposed to assume that you're as well-versed in midwifery as your mistress?" The look Jack gave him was one of obvious distaste. He didn't even seem to have noticed that he had cut Ryenne off. She did, however, and shot him a look of annoyance.

"My skills lie elsewhere within the healing arts, sir. In case your memory fails you." It was impudent, but he didn't serve under Jack any more, and...it felt good. The glare the other man gave him sent a delicious shiver of defiance down his spine; a month ago, Jack could have imposed any number of punishments on him for that kind of effrontery. "She has taught me some things, however," he added, more for Ryenne's sake than anything.

"Where is your mistress, boy?" Quinn's eye caught a flicker of movement as Jack's hand twitched to where his sword would normally sit. He wasn't wearing it. Apparently his fancy new clothes didn't allow for such things. Quinn couldn't help but feel relieved. He was careful not to let it show on his face.

"She's out, as I said before." He kept his tone cool and authoritative. "Why are you here?"

Jack opened his mouth, but this time Ryenne cut him off. "We're here because we need someone to help Eliz - Will's wife," she amended, seeing his forming confusion. "She's gone into labor. But it's too early, and -"

"And you're concerned, naturally so."

Quinn jumped at the sound of Mistress Thayden's papery voice. He hadn't heard her entrance. Neither, apparently, had Jack or Ryenne. The former reached again for his nonexistent weapon and the latter stifled a gasp of surprise. For, papery though her voice may have been, Mistress Thayden was no crouched old woman. She stood a full head taller than Quinn himself, and there were only one or two silverly streaks running through her thick red hair. Her eyes were a clear and piercing blue. Right now, they were full of calm command.

"Where is the lady?" Mistress Thayden continued, her question accompanied by the various rustlings that indicated the gathering of her supplies. Quinn exhaled a small sigh of relief; he barely had enough training to assist in normal childbirth, let alone a situation where there might be complications.

"We would be more than happy to lead you to her at once, Mistress Thayden," Jack answered, and if Quinn wasn't much mistaken, there was a note of relief in his voice, too. He had not seemed overly anxious when he had entered the shop, but Quinn didn't discount the fact that his own perceptions of Jack's moods were somewhat jaded.

"That would suit very nicely, I think," Mistress Thayden said, coming to stand beside Quinn. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Lad, you will come along. You may learn some important things today." He nodded, and she smiled down at him. Her sharp blue eyes were measuring, but she seemed to approve of his willingness. He tried to not let his terror show. "Now fetch your kit, and let's be on our way."

He nodded again and hurried to collect his worn leather satchel from the small side room he was able to call his own. He could feel Jack's eyes on him as he left, feel the anger burning like hot coals behind that stare. He pushed it away, focusing instead on the nervous flutter that was building inside his chest. This would be the first time he assisted a childbirth. It was no small thing, and would require all his attention. He couldn't allow Jack to distract him.

A sharp - and sharply familiar - gasp of pain drew him back into the main room, where Ryenne had just collapsed into a lavender heap on her way towards the door. He had to resist the urge to run to her side. Jack was already there.

"I'm fine. It's nothing." Ryenne brushed away the unspoken question along with Jack's proffered hand, climbing unsteadily to her feet. "It's nothing."

"A great many 'nothings' have proved to be quite serious 'somethings,' in my personal experience." The mistress had already removed her spectacles from her apron pocket and began to usher Ryenne to a nearby chair. Jack caught her when she stumbled, tucked an arm around her waist to help her walk. Quinn's own grimace of discomfort nearly matched Ryenne's. He hovered over the old woman's shoulder, watching her skilled, bony fingers remove Ryenne's shoe and probe her ankle.

"I just twisted it while we were running, that's all," Ryenne told her.

Mistress Thayden gave her a wry look. "And why, might I ask, were you running in shoes like these?" The lady brandished an offending shoe at them.

Ryenne raised an eyebrow pointedly, and Jack shifted from one foot to the other. Despite Ryenne's injury, Quinn couldn't help but enjoy his obvious discomfort.

"Young people today. Not a whit of common sense between the lot of you," Mistress Thayden muttered to herself.

"That's as may be, but Elizabeth went into labor quite suddenly and there was no time to spare. There is still no time to spare," Jack protested.

"Very well. Your ankle is sprained, young lady. I insist that you remain here with Quinn until it is properly bandaged."

"No," Jack interjected suddenly, and all three of them turned to give him shocked looks. He blinked, seeming unsure, but then rallied. "I really don't think Ryenne should be left here."

"Why ever not, young man?" Mistress Thayden queried.

"She might get lost on her way back. Or worse," he added darkly. Ryenne snorted, giving him a look that said that she clearly thought he was insane. "Well, you might," he shot back.

"You're being ridiculous, Jack," she said. "I'll stay with Quinn. We'll walk to the Turner's together. I'm sure the bandaging won't take too long."

"It won't, as long as we don't postpone treatment any longer," Quinn said, doing his best not to look too smug. Clearly Jack was desperate not to leave Ryenne alone with him.

"The boy is quite right," Mistress Thayden concurred, and his chest swelled with pride. "Your ankle will be fine within a couple of weeks, but only as long as you treat it gently, which means staying out of shoes like these." She shook Ryenne's shoe for emphasis, and then turned to Quinn. "I trust you know how to deal with this?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Join me at the birthing when you're finished." And with that, she and Jack were out the door, Jack turning to give them one last furious, frustrated glare.


Ryenne shook her head in disgust and bewilderment as she watched Jack make his sulky exit, throwing Quinn one final dirty look. He really had no reason to be acting that way, and least of all to a boy so many years his junior. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I don't know what's wrong with him," she said.

The boy just shook his head, sending her a brief smile before returning to his kit of supplies. "It's fine."

She refused to be placated. "It's not. I don't understand why he would act so... so..."

"Jealous?" The boy supplied, his smile turning a bit sad. "Don't you, Miss Caelar?" When she opened her mouth to reply, he shook his head again. "Never mind. It's nothing."

I don't think you realize how much the boy cares for you.

Ryenne, Jack loves you... very much. I think he loves you even more than he realizes... and it's damn near killing him that you won't see him.

Suddenly everything was clear. Jack was jealous... of Quinn. And she had made it so, refusing to see anyone but Quinn throughout her recovery. Quinn, who seemed to her like a sweet younger brother, a confidante. Someone safe. Jack viewed him as a threat. Because Jack loved her... and so did Quinn, apparently.

She didn't know whether to feel happy or sad, annoyed or flattered.

Fortunately, she didn't have to puzzle over it much longer, as another twinge from her ankle cleared her mind of all thought. She tried to stop a hiss of pain from escaping her lips, but Quinn must have heard it all the same. His sad smile was quickly replaced by a disapproving frown.

"You certainly do know how to hurt yourself, don't you?" He deposited a pile of fresh bandages on the floor next to her and knelt to prod at her ankle, just as his mistress had done. "I'll need for you to... er... remove your stocking." The tips of his ears flushed red. She had to supress a smile. After all he had seen her through, the thought of seeing her bare leg still made him flush.

She played along. "If you wouldn't mind turning around for a moment..."

"Of course," he leapt to his feet, vanishing once more behind the shelves he had first appeared from. She chuckled quietly, watching him go. And immediately regretted sending him away.

Had she been wearing trousers and a shirt - or even the simple shift she had worn for so many weeks - it wouldn't have been an issue for her to bend and remove her stocking. Unfortunately for her, the dress she was currently wearing didn't allow for much in the area of bending, or any sufficient range of movement at all. She wouldn't be able to remove the stocking. At least, not on her own.

It was Ryenne's turn to blush.


"Ah...hmm. Now...wait. Hmm."

Quinn frowned, wondering why, exactly, Ryenne was muttering to herself. Surely removing a stocking didn't require -

"Damn."

"Miss Caelar, um...are you all right?" He said, somewhat hesitantly. There was a pause from the other side of the shelf, and then a sigh.

"Quinn, can you - can you help me with this, please?"

"Help you with what?"

"This bloody stocking."

"Oh." Gingerly, he stuck his face around the side of the shelf to peer at her. She was sitting with her hands in her lap, looking slightly chagrined. Seeing him, she gave a small shrug.

"I can't reach in this corset. Can you...?" She gestured vaguely at her skirt.

Quinn blinked, swallowed, and blinked again in rapid succession. Take off her stocking? The stocking underneath her skirt? The stocking that was, very likely, attached to a garter that also happened to reside underneath her skirt?

"Quinn," she said, seeing him stare. "It isn't as if you've never seen me in trousers. Or less", she added with acerbity. "My leg will not bite you."

"I suppose," he acceded, still reluctant. It just wasn't...wasn't...

There was no way around it. He didn't find it proper. Not in the least. Ironic, considering the amount of time he had spent around pirates, but this was Ryenne, and he had never been able to help but put her on a bit of a pedestal. However, the bandaging of her ankle required him, as her healer, to do whatever was necessary, so he steeled his nerve and knelt in front of her.

Lavender skirts filled his vision, the fabric draped quite becomingly over her legs. Reaching out, he grasped it between his thumb and forefinger and began to inch it upwards, trying - oh, how he was trying - not to give her any indication of exactly how bothered he was by this simple act. Her stocking, not that he was looking, was a sheer white silk thing held up by garter that he most certainly did not look at. Pinching the stocking, he gave it a quick tug, drawing it down her slim leg and over her ankle, which had clearly swollen already. The bruising brought him out of the shocked sort of trance he had found himself in, and he discarded the stocking, holding her ankle with one hand and gently probing it with the other. From the corner of his eye, he could see her fighting back a wince. Her voice, when she spoke again, showed the strain.

"Why did you leave us, Quinn?" She squeezed her eyes shut as he poked and prodded. "How did you end up here, of all places?"

He wanted to ignore the questions, throw himself into caring for her injury - he needed to wrap it in cool cloth before the swelling became too much worse - but he suddenly found himself surveying the cluttered little shop he had called home for the past weeks. It was his place of learning, his haven. He'd been so lucky to -

"Quinn, please talk. Distract me." Ryenne's voice had a pleading edge to it now. "It hurts."

He had no choice.

"I was going to accompany you to Mr. Turner's home, the day we made port, but -" But Jack said I wasn't to see you anymore. The words sounded petulant, even in his head. "But the Captain thought it would be best if you were attended by a more... qualified healer. When I tried to insist, he made it quite clear that my presence was no longer required on the ship. So I left." He tried to sound as nonchalant and uncaring as possible, but he had the feeling that he was failing in the most spectacular way.

Ryenne was silent for a moment. "Wait... Jack dismissed you? But…he never said anything."

So she had no idea. He had a moment of intense irritation; had she even wondered at his disappearance, or asked anyone where he had gone?

Well, he knew the answer to that. She hadn't. She had been so wrapped up in her gradual recovery that she hadn't been aware of his absence, and clearly Jack hadn't volunteered the information. He suddenly realized that he had rather come to hate Jack. With that realization came a strange feeling of liberation. He had never admitted to himself the extent to which Jack had failed his trust.

When he really thought about his disappearance from Ryenne's life, though, it wasn't as if he had bothered to leave her a note telling her where he had gone, or tried to find out how her recovery had progressed. So they were both to blame.

It didn't make him feel any better.

If he had looked up, he would have seen the guilt clouding Ryenne's features. He didn't bother, just hurried to fetch himself the pitcher of clean, cold water Mistress Thayden kept by her bedside. Ryenne's voice followed him from room to room, deliberately ignoring his attempts to ignore her.

"What have you been up to? Have you been here this entire time? How did you find Mistress... er... Mistress..."

"Thayden." Quinn focused on pouring water from the pitcher to the chipped porcelain basin he would use to soak the bandages, focused on not spilling a single drop. He hoped that if he worked hard enough to focus all of his suddenly bitter energy into every droplet of cool water, none of it would spill out onto Ryenne. He didn't want to be angry with her, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "Her name is Mistress Thayden. I happened upon her shop about a week after I left the Pearl. I heard word that she was looking for an apprentice. She accepted me. I've been here ever since."

He roughly worked the bandages into the water with his hands, selecting one and beginning the wrapping process. He had to force himself to slow down; a swift wrap job was a shoddy one.

Ryenne's hand on his shoulder gave him pause. "Quinn, I'm sorry. I should have come and found you."

He closed his eyes, trying to will himself not to hear her. It was easier to be angry than to accept her apology, easier to dwell on his own hurt than to acknowledge the terrible guilt that simple statement provoked. He still couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes.

"Thank you for doing this, as well. I have a feeling I'm going to need this ankle good sooner rather than later." She paused, and he tried not to know what she was talking about. "Did you know that Jack sent the Pearl away?"

He shook his head no, trying to stop his hands from shaking. If the Pearl was gone, what he had done...

Gods. What had he done?

"Jack says she's too distinctive to linger here in Port Royale, especially with Commodore Norrington nosing about." From the corner of his eye, he could see her fingering the embroidery on her lavender skirts (agitatedly). She couldn't possibly know, could she? "Even so, I think the Commodore may suspect Jack is here."

Focus. Focus. She doesn't know. "And that's why Jack looks so..."

Ryenne chuckled. "He does look different, doesn't he?" She bent as close to his ear as her corsets allowed, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's a disguise."

"Is it."

No. That was the wrong inflection. He tried for something more circumspect.

"I don't know if that's going to make a difference. Jack is too...unique. He can't help but stand out."

He wanted to smash something. Circumspect? He couldn't be more obvious if he tried, and they had to be blind or fools if they thought that Norrington was going to be taken in by a disguise like that. The man was many things, but fool was not one of them.

He should know.

Ryenne was skeptical. "Well...maybe. I barely recognized him the first time I saw him like this, though. Do you really think Norrington would know?"

She was so naive.

No.

She had never met Norrington. If she had, she would either have already killed Jack herself for sending the Pearl away, or arranged passage for him off the island.

Quinn's dexterous fingers tucked in the end of the last bandage. The pressure was building in him to speak, if only to disabuse her of the notion that she and Jack were safe under the aegis of their flimsy deception. But he was torn. He regretted what he had done, certainly, but Jack... Jack deserved it.

If he were to die...

That was what decided him. Guilt was only a pale motivation compared to the knowledge of the pain Ryenne would be in if Jack were hung. She didn't deserve that. His hatred of Jack was nothing compared to his hatred for himself for even contemplating what his chances would be with Ryenne if Jack were to die. He felt like scum. Worse than scum.

"Ryenne, I need to tell you something," he said quietly, steeling his backbone.

"Anything, Quinn." There was concern in her voice, and he felt a terrible burning sensation behind his eyes. He forced himself to look at her.

"You're going to hate me, and you have every right to."

She frowned. "What? Quinn, whatever it is, just tell me. I won't hate you."

She really had no idea. It was anguish. The blood was roaring in his ears.

"I told Norrington. I told him Jack was here." Ryenne was silent, but her eyes held volumes of hurt and confusion. "I wanted revenge," he continued, the words easier now that he had started. "It was the only thing I could think of. Norrington knows Jack; the only reason he hasn't arrested him already is because he wanted to make sure he had the upper hand before making a move."

Ryenne swallowed. "Quinn, why would you do something like this? I understand that you were angry when Jack told you to go, but - to tell the Commodore that one of Britain's most wanted pirates was not only in port, but staying with the son-in-law of the governor - Quinn, you've put everyone I care about in danger!"

"Well put," said a dark voice, and Quinn and Ryenne started simultaneously. Jack was standing in the doorway, and there was murder in his eyes.