Note: I had some problems with the Mexico reveal scene; there were elements, it seemed to me, that didn't really make sense in the context of the series. Such as: Alek knew an awful lot about Deryn's bindings – especially for a boy who couldn't bring himself to say the word "chest" later on. And the first two books are very specific about her "careful tailoring" and don't mention any binding at all. You could argue that she was doing it the whole time and simply never informed the reader, but as uncomfortable as that sort of thing is, I'd suspect she'd bring it up once or twice.

Have I thought about this too much? Yes. Yes I have. But I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor. :P

P.S. - "Bind off" is a knitting term. Knitting FTW!

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Deryn's shoveling in the last bite of her breakfast when Alek turns up in the middies' mess, loris on his shoulder and bandage on his forehead.

Straightaway, the whole day brightens. As bad as he looked yesterday, when she'd popped into his stateroom to say hello and be glared at by Count Volger, she didn't reckon on Alek being up and about until at least tomorrow.

She swallows and says, "Morning, your princeliness," with a grin.

"Good morning, Mr. Sharp," Alek says, very civil. "And to you as well, Mr. Newkirk."

Newkirk has his mouth full of food, and unlike her, doesn't seem inclined to swallow it down in a gulp. He gives Alek a nod and mumbles something like Mmphumphmmph. Friendly enough.

"You look…" Deryn starts, meaning to compliment Alek on his return to good health. Then she makes a proper examination of him: pale, sweating a bit, with a glaze to his eyes as he looks back at her. "…less like a drowned cat."

"Thank you," he says. He crosses the room, moving like there's a glass of water balanced on his head that he doesn't care to spill, and sits – carefully – at the table with them. The ship's matched the storm again, so there's hardly any buffeting. Still, he has to be feeling every tip and bump. "That's approximately how I feel."

"Good morning, Mr. Sharp," Bovril says. It stretches its wee arms towards her; Deryn obligingly leans across the table (making Newkirk grab for his plate and go Mmph! in protest) and gathers the beastie up. Bovril clambers up to wrap around her neck, where it nestles warm and light against her skin.

"Well, now that you've dragged your bum out of bed," she says to Alek, "I've a job for us."

"No antennas involved, I hope," he says, dry. One hand reaches up, in reflex, to touch his bandage. He winces.

"Not a one," Deryn says. Mindful of Newkirk sitting inches away, she waits until she catches Alek's eyes to add, "Maybe a secret or two, though."

Understanding lights his dark green eyes. He glances at Newkirk, who's still busily chewing, then looks back at her and nods slightly.

A secret or two – but none between them. Not anymore.

Blisters, what a daft thing to promise.

For that matter, kissing him had been truly daft… and now's not the time to be remembering how his lips felt, is it?

She drops her eyes to her empty breakfast plate just as Newkirk finally finishes his great mouthful, rises, and says: "I'm off, then, Mr. Sharp. You'll be, er, on the boffin's business -?"

"Aye," she agrees. Lying through her teeth. "I'll catch you up quick as I can, but it may be a while."

Newkirk nods once more, mumbles an awkward goodbye to Alek, and hurries out.

Deryn turns back to Alek. Casual as she can manage, she asks, "D'you want something to eat?"

He shakes his head, then winces again, goes whiter yet, and holds very still. "Perhaps just some tea."

She fetches him a cup, but only because he's in no shape to do so himself. Not because she needs a reason to move away from him and pull her thoughts out of mooning girlishness. There's nothing that can come of kissing him, after all, and they both know that.

She hopes he doesn't bring it up. Maybe it can be – well, not a secret, seeing as they don't have any – but something they both know and never mention. Aye. That'd be grand.

He drinks the tea in tiny sips. Cautiously. Like an old man.

"How's your head?" she asks after a minute.

He grimaces. "Aching," he says, setting down the half-empty teacup. "But I shall go mad if I spend another minute in that bed. What sort of secret? Or perhaps I should say whose?"

"Mine," she says quietly. "I could use your help, I think."

"Of course," he says. "What do you need me to do? I'm afraid I'm not going to be of much use on one of your madcap adventures..."

There's a smile under those words, and it causes an odd flutter in her stomach. Not because of the kissing (not only because of the kissing, anyway), but because he's sitting there with a sodding head wound, ready to help her however he can.

She doesn't let any of that show, however. It's downright unsoldierly.

"I need you to stand watch while I sneak into sickbay and steal some bandages," she says. "Are you done with that tea?"

"Yes," he says, nudging the cup in her direction. "But, Deryn – why in the world do you need bandages?"

Deryn plucks his cup of tea off the table and swallows the rest in one gulp. No secrets.

"To bind my chest," she says.

Alek instantly colors scarlet. "Oh," he says faintly.

"Chest," Bovril says, stretching and rolling the word in its gleeful way.

For a moment she thinks Alek might get up and leave, but her Clanker pulls himself together, blows out a breath, stares very hard at the floor and asks, with hardly a cringe, "Aren't you already… taking that, um, precaution?"

She rolls her eyes. "No. Though I did try it, before I left London. Took forever, was barking uncomfortable, and Jaspert said he couldn't tell the difference. So I reckoned I'd do without."

"Madcap adventures," Bovril says.

Deryn cuts the beastie a dark glare, but it's tucked its head back behind her ear, and she can't see it properly. She twitches her shoulders in irritation; the loris digs its little claws into her jacket and refuses to be dislodged.

Alek swallows. The tide of red is receding from his face, but not much. "I see. And what – what's changed your mind?"

"Well, Volger found me out," she says, playing with the handle of the teacup. Her ears feel hot. Sod it all, now she's embarrassed because he is! "And I think the lady boffin has too. Maybe a bit of clever tailoring isn't enough, aye?"

"Um. Perhaps not." He finally looks at her, and ends up staring for a long moment. The daft glaze is back in his eyes, and she wonders what it is, exactly, that he's seeing. She wonders if he's going to forget that she's a girl. Barking spiders, she hopes not. That's a conversation she could do without repeating… though another chance to kiss him wouldn't be so horrible.

"Alek?" she prompts. "Are you all right?"

His expression clears suddenly. "I'm fine, Deryn," he says, pushing back his chair and rising (unsteadily) to his feet. "I assume we're going to do this now?"

"Aye," she says, hopping to her own feet. "Dr. Busk'll be on the bridge for a while yet, and no one else's supposed to be in sickbay."

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Stealing the bandages is pure dead easy – much easier than she expected. She doesn't even have to hide under a mad boffin's bed this time: just slips in, does a quick bit of rummaging, stuffs two rolls into her pockets, and slips back out.

Alek raises his eyebrows with a surprised, "That was all?" when she rejoins him and Bovril in the hallway.

"I could go back in," she offers, grinning, as they head to his stateroom, "and stay there until an officer wanders past and demands to know what you're about."

He smiles. "No, thank you. I don't think I'm recovered enough to tell a good lie."

She snorts. "If you ever could."

"True enough," he says, rueful. "Well. I'm glad I was able to help you, nonetheless."

They reach his cabin and come to a halt in front of his door. She hasn't got any longer for skylarking; Mr. Rigby's sure to scold her as is. All hands are needed in this sort of weather. And yet...

"Aye, me too," she says, giving Bovril a scratch behind the ears. "But I'm afraid I'll need a squick more help later."

He frowns, plainly confused.

"There aren't any big mirrors aboard," she explains.

"I'm sorry," he says, still frowning. He touches his head, well away from the wound. "I still don't..."

Barking spiders. She coughs into her fist and lowers her voice to a whisper: "You'll have to tell me if I've made a mess of the bandaging."

Bovril exclaims, "Chest!" and nearly falls off Alek's shoulder from giggling.

Alek goes red again. "Deryn –"

"I'll have my shirt on," she hurries to add. "My jacket, too. But it's been ages since I've tried, remember, and it won't do me any good if everyone can tell I –"

He cuts her off with an equally hurried, "It's all right. I'll help you. I promised, after all."

"Aye, so you did," she says. She blows out a breath and gives him a lopsided smile. "Sorry to test you this quick. I know you Clankers get a bit squeamish about biology."

"You're my friend," he says simply. Then he proves her point by shuffling his feet and staring at the floor, the ceiling, the wall behind her. "After – after dinner, then?"

"Aye. Not too late, though, since you're ill." On impulse, Deryn sticks her hand out for him to shake. He does. His hand is warm – too warm – and damp to the touch. She looks more closely at his face and sees he's gone pale and glazed again. "Blisters, you are ill. I think you've got a fever, your princeliness. Best to lie down for a while."

"Yes," he says softly, looking at their clasped hands. He lets go and lifts his hand towards his head, but stops halfway this time. His smile is strained. "That would be best. I'll see you later, Deryn."

She steps back smartly and hurries off to her duties.

Behind her, right before she's out of earshot, she hears Bovril cackle and say, "A bit squeamish."