[A/N- sigh. Jack just feels off in this one. Not that we ever see him really contemplative. But thanks for staying with me, I know I'm going at a breakneck pace, and there will be several other chapters in Singapore.]

Aloe. Tea tree oil. Chamomile. Lemon. Sandalwood. Jack praised his stars he actually recognized the herbs, otherwise he would have been in for a hellova lot of work, and even more money. It took him and Josh an hour to find the best quality, at decent prices, in large amounts, and the shaman nodded, satisfied, as they walked in the door, applying steaming bandages to Alinnya's arm. She whimpered slightly, blinking down at the man, and Jack moved over to the other side of the table, setting his hand on top of her own. She trapped his little finger with her thumb, leaning against his shoulder in exhaustion. After a moment, the shaman removed the bandage, and Jack was almost sick at the amount of greenish puss and blackish blood that were saturated on it. The shaman poured some of the tea tree oil on it, and she hissed lightly, straining her breath.

"It hurts beautiful, and we all know it hurts, and you needn't try to hide that it hurts."

"I had plans for that arm," she growled, her face pillowed on Jack's chest.

"You still do. Give it time."

"Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Someone who knows too much, Alinnya. Trust me. I'll do you no ill."

"How do you know my name?"

"That's not important."

"You don't know how important that is."

"The wise men are trained to impress. You know that. Now hold still, and don't let her move," his eyes turned to Jack momentarily, then back to Alinnya. "This will hurt as badly as anything has."

She didn't even have a moment to think before he tore the lemon open, crushing its contents and burying the juice and pulp in the open sore. Consequently, there was nothing she could do, save scream, involuntarily struggling against the shaman, holding her arm still, and Jack, who had his arms wrapped around her waist and other arm. Her screams quickly turned into sobs of despair, and Jack, looked around, making sure no one else was paying attention before he rested his head on her shoulder, berating himself for ever accepting an invitation to the damned ball.

***

She was asleep on the floor, arm thoroughly poulticed and bandaged, and Jack just sat next to her, her head on his lap.

God, he wanted some rum.

"So why'd you buy her?"

"How do you fucking know everything?"

"It's a gift."

"My father sold me, when I was a lad, to a pirate. Never branded, but… I knew what they'd do to her."

"Have done. She's fared worse, I think, than she'd let you know."

"Why does she refuse to let me fix it?"

"Because," the man sat next to him. "She's very aware that things can happen. And she knows you won't harm her, but she also knows you can't always stop it from happening."

"I would."

"Do you really want her to love you? Someone so emotionally hollow cannot feel their emotions with any moderation. They can barely process slivers of what we feel. When you grow tired of her, would you like to break her far more than any man has?"

"I don't know."

"It's a lifetime process. Let her alone. When she heals, she will have a hard enough time trying to rationalize why she went through this for you. Sleep. Tomorrow night I'll expect you to seek some drink, company, and normalcy elsewhere, much as your young friend is."

"Why?"

"I don't fix things to be broken. You'll decide what you want before I release her into your hands."