Emilia quietly closed the door to the guest room. Jack was sleeping quietly, still under the effects of the drugs. She leaned against the wood, her head swimming with thoughts. Watching Jack sleep had reminded her of her late husband, when they first married. When they had one of their few days off, they would have enjoyed the luxury of their own company, sleeping in. When she had touched Jack as he fell asleep, he had the countenance that rang true to her former husband's own. But...what did that mean? And why was she comparing her husband to her former spy companion? Emilia turned away from the door, not quite sure what now lay beyond it.

Emilia tried hard not to think about these strange new thoughts as she set about helping Jack get used being....well, Jack Stiles. The Daring Dragoon had been easy enough for him return to, but being Jack again meant he had to be willing to reach out again to the world, to put his trust into others hands. Emilia was determined not to let him withdraw away again.

She knocked on the door of the guest room that served as Jack's private hospital. Hearing no answer, she walked in- only to find him quickly dressing in the Dragoon's cape and mask. "Jack! What are you doing?!"

He pulled on his gloves and grabbed his scabbard from the hidden panel of the headboard. "Several soldiers are forcing peasants into chain gangs on the eastern part of the island. The Dragoon's going to go stop it."

Emilia gaped. "You were eavesdropping in on my conversation!" She shook her head angrily. "You're in no condition to go out and fight! ...Jack?!"

She looked around the room, looking for her charge, but was left only with an open window, with the curtains blowing in the sea air.

She was still there ten minutes later when he walked in behind her, gasping for breath and leaning on the doorframe. Arms folded, she refused to look at him, only recognizing his presence with a terse question, "Did you break the lock on the window?"

Jack groaned a bit, shaking off his costume and collapsing on the bed. "No, Emilia. I used the sword tip to jimmy the lock. Are you going to keep interrogating me, or can I get back into bed?"

Emilia rolled her eyes, and shifted her weight slightly under her petticoats. "Well, it's good to see one thing hasn't change, I guess. You still absolutely refuse to listen to me, particularly when I'm right!"

She sighed, and sat down next to him, brushing aside his sweat soaked hair. "Jack, you can't rush things. I want you to get better so you can go and do this without ruining your health. You're not dying on my watch, Mr. Stiles." She stroked his cheek lightly. They quietly looked at each other, letting the awkward silence build. Emila closed her eyes and sighed, trying to stay angry at him, to keep her from falling into this strange comfort she felt around him.

The uncomfortable quiet was broken by a sickening cough from Jack. "I better let you get back to sleep, then." Without looking up, she quickly shuffled out and closed the door behind her.

"Emilia..." Jack sighed at the closed door. Would they ever go back to the way they were? Did they even want to? This wasn't a working relationship, but was the line still drawn in sand between them? He crawled into bed, drawing into himself to think. Sleep would be a long time coming.

"Jack, really. There must be something you're willing to wear." Emilia rummaged through the swatches of fabric the seamstress had brought with her. Another week had past, and the governor was insistent to have his old "American Monkey" over for a dinner party in his honor. The few clothes that Jack had that fit him was the Dragoon costume. While the governor was an idiot, even he would have a hard time ignoring the evidence there. So she demanded her charge get at least a decent set of normal clothes. "And stand still. They need proper measurements."

"Emilia, I'm not comfortable dressed up as something I'm not. You're not getting me into those old clothes. Understand, sister?" Jack still stood straight obediently, but he glared at his partner anyhow. The glare was broken, however, as he tried to keep from scratching the eye patch again.

"Oh, I understand alright. You couldn't fit into those old things anyway. It seems once we take you away from the governor's parties, you actually stop acting like a pig. Don't scratch." Emilia kept a straight face, but inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that he was recovering from the visage of skin and bones that she had found him.

Jack glared at her, but was quickly distracted when the seamstress jabbed him with a needle. "Watch it, lady! I have enough scars already!"

Emilia glared at him. "Jack, don't scare the poor girl." She reached over and handed Jack a swath of dark silk. "A simple undercoat and vest in this. Think you could possibly live with it?"

He looked quizzically at her with a lopsided grin. "Who are you, and what have done with Emilia Rothschild, shilling miser?"

"I am not a miser, Jack Stiles. I just knew a good investment when I saw one, and that wasn't you. Besides, this just happens to be a present from the Governor. I think the silly little German wife talked him into it."

Jack fingered the cool fabric between his fingers. When it caught the light, embroidered dragons could be barely discerned. The totem of his true spirit, as the Algonquin tribe shaman back in Massachusetts might have told him. A younger Jack would have scoffed at the idea; but now? He proffered the scrap to Emilia. "Alright, but maybe a 'patch as well. This one itches like the devil."

"It wouldn't if you didn't scratch at the scar tissue so much." She took the fabric, accidentally brushing his fingers. She turned quickly to the seamstress to hide from Jack the growing blush on her face. Really, what had gotten into her lately! She stammered her wishes of the clothing in French, before hurrying out of the room.

Jack watched her in confusion. Did he do something wrong?

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Don'tcha hate when the say "To Be Continued?"

Comments, Critiques, Flames, JoaT naughtyfics, or Jack and Emilia dolls are welcomed and encouraged.