"There is no port that will have us. Dead men tell no tales."

He stood again, seeing as she was now whole again. What he took note of was her short prayer. Good. Perhaps, at the end of her vigil, there would be something better waiting for her. For now, he afforded himself a better look at her now that she wasn't bleeding. Sure, her clothes were still soaked in her own blood, but she no longer had the face of someone dying. And the fact of the matter, she was a lovely woman to see. Though at the back of the mind, he wondered if it was only because he had not seen one for so long. The wenches of Tortuga look like angels after months at sea is what Gibbs once told him, before going off to find one of those wenches.

Well, damn, he was supposed to be a supernatural ferryman of the dead. He wasn't supposed to stare.

"I'll try to find you separate quarters. They won't be much, but they'll be private."