I awoke slowly, something I couldn't remember doing in years. The softness in which I slept was as far as humanly possible from my bed, a structure that made park benches seem comfortable in comparison. Opening my eyes, my first sight of the morning was a pair of dark eyes hovering over my own. I stifled a scream and instinctively launched y arm into the air, connecting the heel of my hand with the nose of the person suspended above me.

"Damn it, woman, what the hell is wrong with ye!"

Oh shit. I bolted up in bed, hitting him again in my haste.

"Oh my god, Jack! Are you alright?"

"What do ye think? Do I look fine to you?"

"Actually, you look a bloody mess. Literally."

"And whose fault would that be?"

My eyes narrowed at his continued shouting, my concern for him fading with every yell.

"Oh, I don't know… maybe the person's who decided it would be a good idea to surprise a paranoid woman while she was sleeping! You're lucky I didn't have my gun on or I would have shot you!"

Temper flaring, I stalked into the bathroom and grabbed a cloth, wetting it in the basin of water before tossing it at the angry pirate captain, his handsome face marred by the blood running from his nose. Hoping I hadn't broken it, I bit the inside of my mouth while he used the rag to staunch the flow.

"Is it broken?" I finally brought myself to ask, trying to appear unconcerned as I moved to get clothes from my trunk, secretly hoping that he wouldn't try to hit me back.

"Thankfully, I think not," he growled, glaring at my back as I tried not to hurry into the bathroom.

Groaning, Jack pressed the cloth tighter on his nose and gingerly felt the tender area under his left eye where her forehead had hit him. He could feel it beginning to swell already and knew his crew would never let him live it down.

"Mr. Gibbs!" he yelled, pulling the door closed quickly before the man could arrive and see his face.

"Captain?"

The first mate's question filtered through the heavy door in some understandable confusion. It wasn't as though they made a habit of talking through doors.

"Yes! I'll be briefing our new crew member about our, erm… situation… today. If ye'd be so kind as to have food sent at the appropriate times and keep my ship afloat, I would be eternally grateful."

In somewhat puzzled agreement, Mr. Gibbs turned away from the door and made his way on deck, leaving behind his very battered looking captain hiding in his cabin.

Jack sank onto the bed as the pain in his nose began to subside, only to be replaced by a dull throbbing in what felt like the very bone of his skull. Leaning back against his pillows, his thoughts turned unbidden to the sight of the unusual woman in his bathroom as she stood wearing only his shit. The legs looked to be miles longer than her small height could possibly allow. These weren't exactly thoughts he felt comfortable with, considering their past history together. Or lack thereof.

He sighed deeply from low in his chest, the pain of his headache overwhelming his senses. Damn it, but he'd never thought he would see her again. It had been so long ago, but he still dreamed about those eyes sometimes. Not that he would ever admit it, of course. Never aloud. Maybe he had made a mistake then, but it had never crossed his mind that it was a mistake he would have to face. Listening to the noises coming from the bathroom as she dressed for the day, he tried hard not to imagine what she might look like at the moment. That was a path he had promised himself he would not go down.

Standing in front of the surprisingly ornate mirror in the bathroom, I laughed at the vanity it showed in the pirate captain in the other room. A black bandana served excellently to hold my unruly hair out of my face and I borrowed some of the kohl sitting out since I liked the way it looked against my eyes.

It felt good to be back in my work clothes again after so long waiting for a new job. The black skirt was the clever creation of one of my good friends; its buttons were attached loosely to breeches that ended just below my knees, hugging my legs tightly so as not to interfere with the material of the long skirt. In an emergency, one good rip would tear the buttons loose, leaving me free of the cumbersome fabric and able to move with ease. My fingers lightly brushed against the deep burgundy corset that covered a soft, white cotton shirt. I loved this piece of clothing. Really. Hearing Jack's conversation in the other room, I decided it was safe to join him again.

I folded his shirt neatly as I opened the door, choosing not to look directly at the man, despite the heat I could feel from his stare.

"Where'd ye get somethin' like that?" he murmured, making me smile a little despite myself.

"Do you really want to waste today's question on my clothing?"

"Actually, I was hopin' ye'd just humor me an' give me that one for free."

Rolling my eyes, I weighed my options. I could tell him something that was harmless enough, but it would open the door for more questions. Could I close it once it had?

"Wallachia, the region in Romania where some say vampires were born. It was a gift from a young countess who claimed to have taken it from a vampire she had killed. A thank you present, so to speak, for getting her younger brother out of some trouble. Tried to sell his soul or some nonsense like that… he made a horrible contract. I mean, if you're going to sell your soul, you should at least demand…"

I trailed off when I saw the look he was giving me.

"Maybe Romania would have been enough," I muttered, placing the shirt with my other clothes.

"So tell me if I'm missin' anythin' here… you went to Romania to get a lad out of a contract for 'is soul," he began before I interrupted.

"Actually, I went to Romania to talk to his sister. She made a trade with me. She'd give me her information on vampires and let me look at the sources her family has compiled over the years. They're what people in my field call Slayers. They're like the assassins of the underworld. But better dressed."

He just stared at me in a way that, in the past, would have made me very uncomfortable. Oh well, at least he wasn't crossing himself. I'd gotten that more often than I liked to admit.

"So, did ye learn anythin' interesting?"

"You're asking me about my work?"

"Is it really tha' surprisin'?"

"Well, yes. Most men just make their excuses and run."

"I'm not most men."

Tell me my heart did not just leap. I refuse to fall for that crap.

"I'm your new employer."

Asshole. If I let it, I'm pretty sure that would have hurt.

Removing my journal from the trunk, I took a seat at the magnificent desk the room held. What I wouldn't give for a desk like this at home – or the place I tried to pass off as one.

"Well, since I'm here, I would say you might as well tell me why that is."

I refused to turn around and look at him, even though I knew he was confused and probably at least a little offended by my new attitude. What the hell, I'd done worse. It was obvious that he was trying to find a way to regain control of the conversation without acknowledging that he had lost it in the first place. I almost felt a little bit bad for everything I had put him through in only an hour. Even if he did deserve it, I prided myself on my professionalism and efficiency and this entire morning had gone against all of that.

Sighing, I turned back towards the bed.

"Look, I'm sorry about this morning. I really didn't mean to hit you. It's a reflex – I have to defend myself if I think I might be in danger. You would do the same, I'm sure."

He has no idea what it cost me to do that. I do not apologize, but this man has brought together so many different parts of my life that I can hardly tell where it is I stand anymore. I don't even dare look at myself anymore, because I'm sure I won't know who it is I'm seeing. Or maybe I just don't want to.

"Alrigh' then. I s'pose we can get down to work."

Good, back into my comfort zone; although I'm not sure what that says about me as a person, considering the things that populate my mind when I work.

"So, first I'll just ask some standard questions to start my file on this case and allow me to figure out how I need to go about this."

He nodded and settled himself more comfortably on the bed. It occurred to me that I would probably be stuck in the cabin with him until the swelling of his face went down or he could think of a plausible story to tell his crew that wouldn't involve him getting beat up by a woman.

"Alright. So, what sort of manifestation are we dealing with here?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, what's the thing you want me to deal with? Ghost, vampire, werewolf, witch, living dead…"

"What?"

"You know, zombies."

"Oh, righ'… well, I guess it's a bit of a mix. See, there's this old sorcerer. Really old. Like, been dead 'round a hundred years old."

"I see. And what is it that this dead sorcerer is doing that you find to be a problem?"

"Why don' we 'ave some lunch and I'll tell ye the whole tale?"