Eleanor expects Rogers to be angry with her over her confession of having used him to exclude Charles Vane from the pardon. Instead, Rogers reveals part of his strategic, calcuting mind. Over tea, Rogers reminds Eleanor what is expected of her as an exemplary figure in a civilized Nassau. He instructs her to seek out Vane, the following morning, and gives her words of advice on how to deal with it.

Chapter 25 - The Guide

Startling Eleanor, Dyson entered the office with the chicken soup. She shrunk visibly, towards the windows. Shaking, even now she feared Woodes' judgment, feared he would send her to London on the Gloucestershire together with Charles Vane. Surely, he will blame Charles' actions on me, because naming him backed Charles into a corner to blow up the fort, escape with the help of a fireship and now avenge himself by taking the cache.

Meanwhile Rogers struggled with the dilemma on how to save Eleanor's soul as well as ensure both their survival. He felt like he walked into a forest full of traps. One wrongly chosen word and the thin tether between them, the sole lifeline for Eleanor as she descended into the abyss, would snap, just as it once did when he blamed and resented Sarah.

After Dyson helped Rogers and his chair closer to the desk so that he could eat, his manservant asked pointedly, "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

Rogers looked up at his manservant. Dyson had entered into his father's household service when Dyson was a young man of sixteen, while Rogers had been a mere boy of seven. Still unfamiliar with the expected distance between master and servant, Dyson had talked with young Rogers like an older brother. Dyson had done more than talk. While Rogers' mother scolded him for fighting with a boy who bullied him at school, Dyson showed him his first punching moves in the backyard, behind the shed where no one saw.

"Mr. Rogers," Dyson had said, with a stalk of grass between his teeth and his hands in his pockets. "If you want to win against bullies stronger and bigger than you, there is no way to do it honorably." And Dyson would have known, because he was thin and lanky, and he had grown up in a quay house at Bristol port. Dyson leaned over him and put his hand on Rogers shoulder. "When you must fight, you fight dirty, Mr. Rogers. Next time one of those older boys tries to bully you, be the meanest bastard that keeps kicking, pulling and shoving and punching, and just never give up. That's how they know that even if they might punch you a bloody nose or a blue eye, you can still hurt them back ten times over." And then as if Dyson suddenly became aware he had given the young boy advice that Rogers' mother would disapprove of, he added. "Just don't be a bully yourself. Don't go picking fights all the time, because then you'll run into someone who'll do worse than give you a bloody nose."

Dyson's advice had served him. Within weeks every other schoolboy took a wide turn around him, no matter what age, height or size. At ten, he entered the boxing training one of the teachers had set up as physical exercise. The first month of his apprenticeship as a sailor aboard John Yeamans' ship on its way to Newfoundland, he had selected the most notorious fighter, Will Hall, who liked to hassle the midshipmen amongst the crew. One day, Rogers made sure to get in Will's way, angering him. After the fight, Rogers had earned respect amongst his fellow sailors. When Rogers established his own home, he hired Dyson as his personal manservant.

So, knowing each other well, Rogers realized by the tone of Dyson's voice that his manservant had sensed the tension between Eleanor and himself in the room. Dyson offered to be useful in whatever capacity that Rogers might need him. Rogers stole a glance at Eleanor. She looked more scared than anything, ready to bolt. Previously, Rogers had commanded Eleanor to stay after he had berated her, either as her governor or as her virile lover. But now he was wounded, could not even stand without extra support. With the loss of the cache and Rackham he did not feel like he was much in command. And he certainly did not have the authority of a husband over her. And yet, perhaps something domestic, something mundane might be of help tonight. "Yes, please. I think I would like some tea after."

"Of course," Dyson bowed his head and left immediately.

Eleanor had been watching Rogers from under her eyelashes. Not once had she detected any reaction from him, not to her admission that she had used him, not to her declaration of love. He had only stared - or was it glared - at her, until Dyson interrupted them. And now, Rogers blew at the hot soup in his spoon and ignored her still. When Charles and she fought, they would scream insults at one another. She'd shove him, slap him, and he'd plant a fist in her stomach or jaw, and then they'd make up by fucking. Though she hated that type of physically violent rowing, at least she knew how to deal with it. But this? With this type of arguing, she was at a loss. Though it left no visible bruises, it was no less painful. She was reminded of the little Rogers had told her about his separation with Sarah, how he had been bitter and could not forgive her faults, and how neither of them could repair the damage. While Eleanor studied her hands, she decided to bite the bullet. "You're angry with me."

"No," he said as he spooned his soup.

She could not believe him saying so. He has to be upset, right. "You were a complete stranger to me then," she explained.

"I know."

"It was before you made me promise not to manipulate, lie and withhold," she insisted.

"Hmhmmm."

"He came back," she whispered. "He came back!" she insisted. "He's not like you and I, aiming to better himself. He does not believe there is anything about himself that he needs to better or change."

Rogers smiled to himself. "I know. I'm not angry with you," he repeated.

Baffled, she gaped at him. "Why not?"

He did not immediately reply, wanting to finish his meal first. It did him some good. It gave him back some of that strength that he had spent in fighting seven pirates and subduing Charles Vane. When he was finally done, he laid his spoon down in the bowl and used the napkin to dab his mouth. He noticed a bloodstain of his cracked lip as a reminder. "The day I decided not to send you back to London on the Gloucestershire was the day you named him as your father's murderer. Like any of his numerous victims, you have every right to hate Vane and to desire justice. Since then, I considered you naming him as the equivalent of a victim bringing charges against him."

Eleanor frowned. It made sense to her that he had made a decision about living with the suspicion that she had used him initially. Still, there was a difference between making that decision based on a suspicion, and having your mistress actually confess to it. He ought to feel resentment over it.

Rogers settled back in the chair, folded his hands before him and watched her with some calculation. It was obvious she thought his explanation poppycock. Earlier, Rogers had tried to soften the impending disagreement by revealing his own weakness to her, how he needed her, depended on her to help him. He had never admitted or shown his weakness to anyone like that, least of all Sarah. Each argument had ended with Sarah or him leaving the room and depart to their own privacy (towards the end of their marriage for days on end without seeing or speaking to one another). And then when enough time had passed they would pretend as if nothing had happened. Of course, that had never truly resolved anything. The memory of his failed marriage had urged him to argue his point with Eleanor differently.

She had spoken truthfully to him - why she had named Charles, her feelings for him and the honest admission that she simply was not in any state to determine what she would do. And Rogers owed her truth in return. He decided to take the gamble. "I needed a pirate that I could declare a villain for the other pirates to hunt for bounty, so that my men could secure the beach and town after the pardon speech. When I learned that he was once your lover, I feared that since the pirates themselves delivered you to England, that they would rather side with Vane and thus my divisive tactic might fail." Eleanor flinched when he referred to Vane as her former lover. Obviously, she preferred not to be reminded of that fact at all. "When I knew it was not just because of a mundane dispute and I learned how he himself made enemies on the island I settled on Vane's name wholeheartedly."

Eleanor stared at him, fathoming how strategically his mind had been all along. "We used each other in the same matter for different reasons," she whispered.

"Yes. If I recall it correctly, you called it 'mutual interests'. I needed a villain, and you wanted your father's murderer brought to justice."

Eleanor did not mind having been used for it. She had participated in it willingly. And yet, it also explained why Rogers did not even contemplate hunting Charles. Rogers was like two pirates in one privateer - Jack and Flint. She wondered how much of Woodes' choices had been that calculated from the very beginning. When did it all begin?

But before her thoughts could go any further down that path, Rogers pointed at his face. "And this only confirms your claim about him. Even as Hornigold's cavalry arrived and was upon us, he kept on hitting me. He was wounded from a gunshot. I disarmed him from his gun and sword. But he would rather fight with his fists, despite there being no escape, than surrender. I'm not wholly unfamiliar with that type." He kept it to himself though that he was such a fighter himself. There was only one immense difference between Vane and himself - Rogers only fought to gain something or to set an example. "That man will always fight with the aim to destroy – Charles Town, your father, the fort, a ship, my face."

Eleanor appraised his handsome face, all cut up and beaten. To her he was still handsome. In time, it would heal and either leave no trace or become a scar. And she loved his scars. For the first time though, she realized it was almost entirely Charles' doing that Woodes looked this beat up. More, Woodes was one of two men who lived to tell the tale. Flint was the other. Woodes had not just survived the fight; he had caught Charles Vane at a great risk for himself, clinging to him at the last to prevent him from escaping. Did he do that for me? No, she knew. Woodes does what he does, because he thinks it is best and in his interest, period. He was actually very similar to Charles or Jack or Flint in that regard. It just so happened that his interests aligned with hers. She felt several impulses all at once then. One, to go down that dungeon and punish Charles for hurting her man. And two, to straddle Woodes' lap, kiss every cut on his face and fuck him. She felt almost instantly horny. Her breathing was rapid and her eyes dilated. Since Woodes was easier to get to than Charles, Eleanor took a step into his direction.

Right on cue, Dyson entered with a tray of tea cups and pot to serve it. "Your tea, my lord."

"Thank you, Dyson," Rogers nodded. "Miss Guthrie will take care of it."

Tea? Eleanor did not care about tea in that instant. No, she wanted his tongue and his cock inside of her, press her body against him, feel him inside her, reward him for doing what she believed to be the impossible right where he sat. Who wants tea at such a moment?

As Dyson left with the empty soup bowl, Rogers indicated the tray. "If you'd be so kind, Eleanor. I am thirsty and I truly desire a cup of tea." He lifted his arm and indicated his figure. "I'm not exactly in a state that I can do it myself."

Eleanor sighed. Only a true Englishman would desire tea and stand upon ceremony over it, even if to her mind they were beyond all ceremony. And so she walked to the tray on his desk and poured him a cup and then added three spoons of sugar made from sugarcane, just the way he liked it. She placed it in front of him on the desk, within easy reach.

"Thank you." He lifted the china cup by the delicate ear, circled the teaspoon to help the sugar dissolve and then sipped.

Since Eleanor could hardly jump a man drinking his tea, she decided to pour a cup for herself. She might as well, as it would look odd if she did not, though she was not actually thirsty for tea. Well, perhaps mixed with some rum. Drinking tea also meant she would have to sit down. She could hardly sit in his governor's chair, but the other one was occupied by the basin of water that she had used to clean his wounds earlier. So, she picked up the basin and set it out of the way. Finally seated, she looked at him with her cup and saucer in hand. He sat for a moment relaxed, his legs stretched in front of him and eyes closed. But when he opened his eyes, he sat up straight again, though he did not redo the sash of his bloodstained shirt. She felt stupid sitting stiff and ceremonially while they were alone. He had seen her naked, kissed her where no man had kissed her before. Woodes smiled at her from above the rim of his cup as he sipped. Eleanor frowned. Is he mocking me?

His smile faltered. "Why are you making that face?"

Her mood was over, and she could hardly tell him, "I wanted to fuck you a minute ago, but instead we're drinking stupid tea." Something about the whole tea-serving and drinking just made that impossible. One of her earliest memories of her father and mother was her mother pouring tea and her parents sitting together, drinking and talking civilly. So, instead she searched for something else to say that bothered her. "You still don't trust me," she said in reproach. "Will you ever?"

It sounded too much like an accusation that Sarah once lay at Rogers' feet. Trust needs to be earned, built over time. That was what he had said to Sarah then. However, he had never allowed Sarah the means to regain his trust. Instead he oversaw all finances or housed her and their children with his mother whom he trusted to keep a tight budget. At least, he ought to give Eleanor a chance to earn it and tell her exactly what he had an issue with, even if it hurt her, as well as talk about the most difficult thing there was - feelings.

He sighed. "I trust your loyalty and your affections for me. But I do not fully trust your ability to control your impulses, in hatred and in love." Rogers put his cup down. "The past twenty four hours I have seen you act and on impulse more than the past two months." And before Eleanor could utter a word in self-defense, Rogers lifted his hand. "Please hear me out, Eleanor. I am not actually referring to last night. While it may have been feeling that guided you, I know you made that decision with deliberation – in mind and heart. And I'm…" He thought for a moment on how to express his feelings about it. He was not used to it, let alone in a strong language, let alone about sex. He preferred to show it rather than talk about it. "Immensely grateful for it, humbled by it. You have given me a wondrous night, in sacred trust. I -" He stopped. While he knew how he felt, he was not yet committed to say it.

Eleanor had listened to him in silence, and though his words were not grand, nor poetic, she was suddenly bashful over it. Her cheeks felt hot. Her breathing was rapid and his deep blue eyes spoke the words he could not yet bring himself to say to her. Last night is sacred to him. And I would have defiled it earlier by jumping his bones.

"What I mean to say is that you let your feelings and impulses override your mind and behave unguarded in public. Chamberlain may be an arrogant fool steeped in the prejudice of his noble upbringing and has shown you little to no respect, but he did not get where he is – a Commodore – without earning it and proving his worth before the Admiralty. If you insult him and in front of his men, you not only undermine him, but yourself and me by extension."

"He's not exactly civil either," she retorted heatedly. "He said something about you trusting in me, but he meant thrusting."

Rogers lowered his head and sighed. "He was in the corridor, when we… He heard us this morning. He was out of line!" He opened his eyes and stared at her imploringly. "Eleanor, you can only win his respect by showing you are a better person than he is. And you can only lose the respect of every naval officer and dragoon in my service if you continue to swear at their superiors. Since, my movement will be restricted the coming days, you will have to command my men on site and in cooperation with Chamberlain." He leaned closer to her and reached for her hand. "I know you can earn their respect. Dr. Marcus gave me a positive account on the impression you made at the sick bay. Remember the admiration you won of Mr. Forris, Mr. Lardener and others aboard the Delicia. They're not all like Chamberlain. They don't expect you to live up to the standard of a lady in London, but you are more than a common saleswoman on the fish market. You must set the standard of a civilized Nassau, and therefore act civil." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, properly.

The way Woodes explained it to her reminded Eleanor of her mother who had tried to teach her how to be a little lady and curb her impulses. Eleanor knew Woodes was right. She had let herself slide into dealing with those who frustrated her as if they were pirates, who only listened to her if she swore and spoke strongly. And she felt deeply ashamed of herself all of a sudden. "I will seek out Chamberlain in the morning and apologize to him. And I will do better." It brought a smile to Woodes' lips and as he let go of her hand, she cupped his scarred cheek and brushed her thumb lightly across the old scar. He closed his eyes at that. Suddenly, she remembered him recoiling from her for an instant when she held him up on the market square. "Was that why you first flinched and drew away from me when I rushed to your side? Because a lady wouldn't do that?"

Rogers nodded. "Yes," he whispered. He opened his eyes again and pressed his lips together in regret. "The whole town now knows that you share the governor's bed. At a time that pirate enemies seek to stir trouble that was...unwise."

She retracted her hand, and folded both her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry, I didn't -"

"Shsh. It's done now." He brought his hand to her face and lifted her chin. "Yours was the first face I longed to see." She could not stop herself if she wanted to. But they were in private quarters now. He had not said anything about behaving properly behind closed doors. She raised herself from her chair, leaned over him, brought both her hands around his jaw and pressed her lips on his. Rogers groaned and whispered. "Careful. I'm very fragile for the moment."

"He did this to you," she murmured to his lips.

"You should see the other guy," Rogers grinned.

Eleanor let go and shook her head. "Better not. I promise to do better, but I might break my promise if I see him."

"I fear you will have to." Rogers picked up his tea cup. The tea had cooled off. So, he downed it in one go.

"Why? What do you mean to do with him?"

"Since we both are his personal victims, we are too compromised in a spiritual sense of the law, even when not literally, to have him tried and hanged here. It might look like vengeance instead of justice. And it would take time – a judge needs to be appointed, a court installed, a jury selected. We can't risk the street getting unsettled or Flint's allies setting up a rescue attempt. If we lost the cache and Rackham, then Spain must see that it was against all our efforts to return it to them. So, I'm sending him to London. The Admiralty can judge and execute him."

She exhaled a breath she did not know she had been holding and sat back down in the chair beside his. Yes, she realized, we don't need to do this ourselves. It was as if she had forgotten for a while already that they were part of England again. Eleanor questioned whether she had ever fully realized it until now. Emotionally she had regarded it as their island – Woodes's and hers. As a consequence she had assumed Woodes and she had to deal with every issue personally. She had always been obliged to make the decisions all on her own, if she wanted to preserve some semblance of humanity and security in Nassau. Surrendering that responsibility to London instead lifted the weight from her shoulders. She even could find a sense of justice in the knowledge that she would live here, on the island, to help build a civilized Nassau, while Charles would endure a prison cell in the Marshalsea and hang over Wapping. It set her own ordeal to right somehow.

In Rogers' mind it solved many issues. It removed Vane from the island and away from Eleanor – admittedly even from himself – and Flint would be unable to frame Rogers as a governor who hanged pirates. But Rogers was not fully done yet. "By sending him to London, you can never be a witness at his trial, nor lay any charges against him about the murder of your father. You will have to live with that fact. That said, because of the massacre at Charles Town, you can be assured that the Admiralty will find him guilty and hang him." Then gently he said, "You played your role, when you named him to me. But in a civil world we deal out justice, not revenge. I require from you that you offer him a chance to a merciful death if he pleads guilty on the charges of piracy – no drawn out public trial, no Wapping, no gibbet. You shall propose him this plea, tomorrow morning, personally. He may have been base in life, but I want you to offer him the dignity that any man deserves if he so chooses." He took her hand in his once more. "You ask of me to trust you, to trust in your higher senses, to trust that you can withstand the temptation. Here is your chance to earn it. It is also your only chance to redress your father's murder in order to move into the future - our future," he whispered. "So, you shall have your one moment to confront him, if you wish it. Do you think you can do all this, and return to me, without harming him?"

While her hatred ran deep, it was now becalmed. Charles would die. This was all the assurance she needed. It was a relief she did not need to kill him herself to make sure of it. She had no need of some drawn out public spectacle to quench her thirst of his blood. Least of all did she care whether her father's name was on the list of Charles's crimes far away in London. Dead was dead. "Yes, I can do that," she said.

"Don't expect it to be easy. That man aims to destroy what he can. If he cannot do it with gun, sword or fists, he'll try with poisonous words. He won't just sit there, broken, listen to you and say, 'yes, please'. He'll talk to you, goad you, say whatever comes to mind that can hurt your feelings, or make you doubt yourself."

Eleanor realized that Roger was actually clutching her hand. He is afraid for me. "I understand."

Rogers was not yet assured, but he had to make that leap of faith in her. All he could do was give her guidance, advice."If you feel at any time that your impulses might take over, realize you are free to walk away from him. You can leave his cell any time you wish to. He's the prisoner. Not you. You don't have to prove anything to him. Still, you're only human. So, if he manages to trap you mentally in that cell with him, then as a last resort –" Rogers looked around to give her something to hold on to in her mind. "you think of tea."

"He will say whatever he can think of to hurt me. I am free to walk out. And if I'm trapped I'll think of tea," she recited his advice. She repeated these words in her mind several times as a corset to keep her mind upright and from faltering under the pressure of provoked impulse.

Rogers sighed. The darkness Rogers had seen more than an hour ago was disguised by studiousness, though he did not actually believe it had passed. The glow she had about her the past weeks – since Bermuda he realized – was not there. Her little smile playing so often around her lips was gone too. He realized that he had been the primary cause of her blooming the past month, but that Vane's return overshadowed it all. He had done all he could do for her though, so that she could return to the light. It was out of his hands now.

(Tea - Her love declaration in 3x08 was devoid of emotion. It wouldn't have made Rogers swoon, not right after she admits to using him and he stares at her in a way that says, "who am I looking at?" The confrontation is a quarrel that somehow got resolved off-screen. Rogers' concern about 'gravitating back to her past' regards her lapse in public behavior in 3x08, but from 3x09 Eleanor behaves impeccably in public, as if she has integrated the anglification. Now what is more civil and English than tea?

Another habit of hers is how she gets horny when a man does something that she wants. She's bound to want to fuck Rogers for capturing Charles in a personal fist fight. But ceremonies of civility (taught by her mother) are as much a habit as any other. Just as the stay automatically forces her back and shoulders in the desired posture, the tea ritual demands civil behavior.

For Rogers the tea represents his dream of domestic happiness. Despite the tea dream of Sarah-Rogers, they failed in acquiring domestic happiness and verbally fought. Rogers reflects on this several times (the little mirror that Eleanor holds up to him). Domestic happiness does not mean - not having disagreements - but being able to resolve them. Hence the resolution of the confrontation and tea are symbolically conjoined.

Cupid & Psyche: With each of Psyche's impossible and deadly missions given to her by Venus, others volunteer to help her. When she has to go into the underworld and fetch the box of beauty a tower gives her precise instructions on how to survive and succeed. While none of the helpers on these missions appear as Cupid, Venus identifies them as Cupid magically animating or manifesting these helpers. Here Cupid Rogers himself give her the needed guidance and instructions.)