She wouldn’t have cheered him even if she could have. It wasn’t dignified and it wasn’t proper for the First Mate to not support her captain. Besides, she honestly did not care who won this contest, not in the least. As she stood under Jax, holding his rope, being his second, she couldn’t have cheered as she was too busy staring upwards with her mouth slightly parted her eyes heated and rapt upon him. He was beautiful, well she knew that. The sight of him standing shirtless before her was enough to still her tongue, speed up her heart and send heat to places it had no call to be. But that paled in comparison to the sight of him shirtless and exerting himself. 

Her knees felt weak. Honestly, did that actually ever actually happen? Clearly it did because the rope she was holding to steady him was the only thing keeping her upright as she watched him move. The bunching of muscle, the shifting of skin, the gleam of sweat visible in the glint of the torches on the deck. The shadows on his flesh made by that light were hypnotic and she could not look away. She swallowed and twisted around the rope and did not allow herself to acknowledge that it was so she could see his bottom as he climbed. Instead she told herself it was so that she would not be so downwind of Spice. 

Eventually he moved out of the range of light and she could no longer see him. It was then that the sounds of cheering and jeering came back to her and she pulled her eyes down from the rigging and the man she could no longer see but for the vision of him in her mind. She closed her eyes and leaned her head forward, feeling the vibrations of his motions twanging down the line against her forehead. She could see him still when she closed her eyes, straining and heaving. 

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath, certain that the cheers of the sailors around her would hide her vulgarity. And then it was over. The line was still and she opened her eyes to look up, peering through the dark to see what she could of the contestants. She couldn’t see a thing and so she stood, a quiet form in a sea of noise and excitement which only grew louder a moment later when Barlow clambered down, his face split in a grin.

“To the Helmsman goes the victory!” he cried. 

For a moment there was silence, profound and long at Jax’s audacity to best the captain and at the Captain for allowing it to be acknowledged so publically. Neither surprised Nicki. What did surprise her was Barlow’s before now unknown showmanship, he waited until the pause was ripe before delivering the rest of the message. The crew was to drink their fill this night. 

“Fuck.” She said again into the roar that followed that. Her stomach churned at the thought of more drink but more than that, of the fallout from such celebrations. But for all that she did not relish it, she thought that the captain was right to allow it. It was a good move to remind the crew why they gave their loyalty where they did. He was a worthy captain and she would follow him without complaint. She let go of the rope and moved toward her cabin. It was going to be a very long night and she needed to be dressed for it. As she stepped in she stumbled a little and looked down to see Jax’s boots just inside the door. She bit her lip and thought about his shoulders, his chest as he’d climbed, the perfection of his anatomy, the audacity of his smile. 

She let her thoughts go no further but she picked up his boots and moved them further into the room. Out of the way, she told herself, as she put them behind her table and grabbed the coat that she’d hung over the chair back. She shrugged into it and tightened the twine in her hair before returning to the deck to face the bedlam there. 

After all, someone needed to be alert, someone needed to be on hand when and if things got out of hand. Perhaps the Captain proclamation was wiser than she’d thought after all. In allowing this he gave the crew levity and a reason to toast him. He inadvertently gave his lost first mate a task to keep her occupied so that she would not picture over and over the sight of the helmsman straining up the rope or the way her mind translated the heaving and straining onto other activities. Not that she thought the Captain would have any conscious thought of her imaginings, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t grateful for the distraction. 

Closing the door behind her, feeling the lock click into place securing her things as well as the helmsman’s boots she began to walk the deck to see what needed seeing, thinking she ought to make certain that the poor Cabin boy was sheltered somewhat from the debauchery to come. Though she supposed that with his upbringing in a tavern he wasn’t likely to be too shocked by a ship full of drunken pirates.