She took the bottle in fingers gone numb with cold. In the back of her mind she was distantly aware that she was losing blood and that if such a thing could be felt, she could feel the toxins working their way into her blood stream. Yet she couldn’t move, she felt so strange, the distant thunder seemed to be laughing at her, chuckling and chortling at her expense. And the Boy had spoken of it too. She shivered, she didn’t like this one bit. But what she did like was the way Jax was looking at her, concern mingling with something she couldn’t name. Was it the fever that was setting in that made her shiver? She was warm, too warm and his fingers on her when he loosened her shirt had burned into her like brands and the throbbing left in their wake wasn’t anything unpleasant though it hurt like sweet agony. 

[i]“Trust me.”[/i] He’d said. 

Did she? Could she? Could she not? She had his boots, that meant something. 

She leaned into his fingers when he touched her cheek and let her eyes drift shut. She was lost and adrift and the contact was all that seemed to keep her from shattering with all the mocking laughter ringing through the clouds overhead. There were dead and dying men and she was the doctor. She’d come here to tend to the captain who had not seen fit to let her see to him. She had no clue what the Captain was up too but she never could follow what made that man do what he did. It was time she did what she was called to do. 

She turned her head into his hand, pressing a soft kiss into the calloused palm of the helmsman so quickly it might have been an accident but for the taste of him that lingered on her lips, wood and salt and something wonderfully male. She didn’t think about the why of her actions only let her lip trace over her lips before she put the bottle to them and drank deep. 

“Stitches will have to wait. I need to see to the men.” She dropped the blanket to the floor, there was no use trying to stay dry when she was planning on heading out into the storm. “Come along, bring the boy, we’ll get him below decks and later, after I have done my work you can come and get your boots and I will trust you to make me whole.” 

She looked at him, her eyes dark with fever and something like madness and she heard and felt all the weight in her words. She offered a smile to him before she ran her knuckles over his cheek with a hand that shook. 

And she was gone, striding across the rolling deck, her medical bag in her hand. She braced herself as a wave hit the side and pummeled her. She stumbled back but a step before she righted herself and moved on. She paid no mind to the laughter that accompanied the wave, she focused only on the way the salt stung the still bleeding wound in her shoulder. 

Twice more the ocean tried to claim her and twice more she held firm and then she was below decks and amidst the wailing men and her calling took over. She walked among them, organized and prioritized. Giving milk of the poppy to those who required it and put together as best she could those who were apart. She used whatever hands were nearby, giving them chores and tasks and she took what strength she could from Jax, touching him lightly whenever she passed him, quietly, hidden, not because she was ashamed but because she was selfish. It was for her she touched and she did not want to give any part of it to anyone, not even the ability to gossip and tease. 

Finally she had done all she could, the rest was up to the men and their ability to endure. She knew what hers was and she knew she was near the end of it. So she stood, leaning against a continent beam and looking through the gloom for a stocky figure with a maddening grin. She had his boots, it was time he took them. 

“Jax,” she called weak honey cutting through the moans. “We should get your boots.”