"You escaped," Reinette listened and tried to understand. And not just that Jack would get free of the Bastille and willingly walk into danger once more. "And then he sent you back."

That the reasoning was so ridiculous only made it hurt all he more.

She continued to scrub as forcefully as she thought Jack could manage. Across her chest to his other arm, down his stomach and his legs. She could do little for his wounds until they were clean. The water grew blacker and blacker still.

When he body began to convulse and rack with coughs, Reinette pressed herself closer, bringing one arm about his shoulder for support. She ignored everything else.

"We know the day I die, Jack. And it is not tomorrow. Nor is it a week, or month or even a year from now. I am not going anywhere."