Trust and Sight
He rarely made any attempts to remain unnoticed in a crowd. If, by some twist of fate, a person missed the odd walk or the strange talk, there was the flash of crimson from his headscarf, white and blue and cream and the multicolored baubles tied to his hair to drag the attention.
If the poor fool should prove to be colorblind, well, there was always the walk and the talk.
And him? The man behind the flash? What color was it that suited that man, the man she had trusted once . . .did she truly dare to trust him again? Not black, not red, certainly not white . . .
Draping the old coat around his shoulders, she smiled, her eyes lingering on the no-color fabric for a moment.
"The ship is yours, Captain."
The glint of gold and white as he stepped over to take command, the continued draw of his scarlet headscarf, only slightly weakened by the dousing it had taken, the faded black slip of fabric tied to his wrist as he reached hesitantly, lovingly for the wheel . . .all of that was Jack, and none of it was.
She would trust him again.
