Sage nodded whenn she decided to stay up here with him. Good....the belly of the ship wasn't as nice as it was up here. Besides, it confirmed that she wasn't too freaked about him wanting revenge or...whatever else he'd told her. He really didn't remember it all....a lot of it had just happened. Come up from the depths of him, and even he didn't completely understand what he was saying part of the time. It had unsettled him too, not that he'd like to admit that.

He stood up with a grunt and a slight wince when the cut across his thigh from the earlier battle stretched. Once he was up it was better though, and he limped across the room to poke his head out the door and call a sailor he saw over, letting him know to grab a few other men and bring a room and some curtains for Jora, as well as her meal and some fresh water. They hurried off to do as he asked, and he slipped back into the room, kicking a few boxes around so that by the time the crew members got there with the bed, there would be room for it.

They arrived only a few minutes later, four of them sliding the bed in, and sage directed them towards the spot he'd cleared in one corner of the room. The boxes had created walls around where the bed was, secured by ropes so they wouldn't wind up falling on the girl or anything. Then they strung up the curtain over the front of it, and handed her the plate of food, as well as a large bottle of water. Once Sage was satisfied with it all, he gave them the thanks, as well as the go ahead to get back to their normal jobs, plopping down on his own bed with a tired sigh.

He knew she'd want to think things over....how to get back home, if she even wanted to. What to tell her father. Anyone who accused her of being a pirate lover in the future. Would her prisoners disrespect her now? Was it all going to be his fault? What if she regretted helping him? He took a long drawl on the ciggarette, holding his breath for a moment before letting it out slowly, watching the smoke move about the cabin.

Eventually, he forced himself to sit up and look over at Jora. "If I don't take a nap I might pass out on the floor somewhere," he admitted with a sigh. "You may as well get some rest too, " he added gently. It would have been a long day, and he saw how she sagged against the wall. It was something he knew all too well...the emotional exhaustion that drug you down no matter how hard you tried to stay awake and get things done.

"For now, this ship is your home. Do what you want on board it," he added after a moment, really just telling her he trusted her. That he didn't mind what she did. It was scary, really, just trusting someone like that. But he couldn't...not trust her, if that even made any sense. He was doing his best, he really was. But it was all honestly very confusing and he was very tired. He could deal with thinking once he'd slept for like 25 centuries. It was an amusing thought....he obviously wouldn't sleep taht long-he'd be lucky if he got ten hours in-but still. He was wiped out.

Sage had felt the heaviness of the silence jora carried with her. He'd done what he could for her....made sure she was comfortable, that she had what she needed. He couldn't ease her mind....but he could do what he could to help. To make her feel welcome. At home. That would help, even if it was just a little bit. A good meal would help too...then again it had coem from her ship, so maybe she was used to it. Though, in his opinion their food was much better than what they could scavange up on his vessel most of the time.

When she spoke up though, he looked over at her softly, giving her a small smile and moving to put the now burnt out ciggarette in the small ashtray on his desk. "You never stopped being my friend, Jora," he noted softly, meeting her gaze. "That hasn't changed." He moved down closer to his bed, taking his shoes and weapons off, really just stripping down to one layer of clothing-a simple vneck tunic and trousers. He did make it so he could reach his weapons and such in a split second if need be, but things like that didn't normally happen. Of course, the way his luck went tonight would be the time someone would have picked to attack. The ocean was calm though...no ships were near them. They were safe.

He stayed awake until Jora had settled down on her own bed, and it was only once he was sure she didn't need anything else from him that he tugged the blanket up and over his tired and achy body, letting his eyes drift shut. It wasn't long after that before he passed out, and thankfully, he stayed in a deep sleep for quite some time. He suppsoed that was one good thing about blood loss....if you lost enough of it your sleep was too deep for dreams to haunt you. At least...until you gained enough rest for your brain to start thinking even while you were asleep.

He hadn't planned on dreaming about his past. And he definitely hadn't planned on Jora being there. Well....no, that wasn't it. Jora was a part of his past. But this was different. Now, she was the one hurting him. She was the lady from the orphanage, she was her father, she was the daughter. He woke with a start, shooting upwards in his bed as his mind raced, face pale, trying to stifle his heavy breathing so as not to wake the girl next to him up. She needed the rest...not to deal with him and his damn broken mind.

He crept out of bed with a slight shiver, lighting a ciggarette and then moving out of the cabin, finding the rigging and climbing up to the crow's nest, where the bitter cold of the wind bit his skin and the mist from the ocean dampened his face. His hair had come loose at some point in his mad dash out of the cabin, and was now whipping around his head in the wind, mingling with the smoke coming from the stick he held.

He came up here often...something about the fresh air, and the smell and feel of the ocean always calmed him. Or maybe it was the silence. The silence all but the slight creaking of the ship and the gentle woosh of the waves under it. He wasn't sure, but most nights he came up here. It seemed like a miracle he didn't get sick more often than he did...and he definitely wasn't sure how he hauled himself up here being hurt. Getting back down might be an issue. He didn't care about that now though. He just needed to calm his racing mind and heart.

Sage stood there, feeling the water hit his skin, soaking the clothes he was wearing after a few minutes of being up there. Not wet like the rain did earlier, but they were damp enough to be cold. To cling to his skin rather than blowing about in the breeze. It wasn't the best idea to come up here in just a thin tunic, hurt and frazzled, with no shoes or anything....but he hadn't thought about that. He still didn't really care. He'd probably live.

He shuddered as he recalled the events of the dream, closing his eyes and try and block out the images. It didn't work of course-it never did, but he always tried. He had given up on not havign nightamres at all a while ago...he'd tried every option out there, including drinking and smoking. None of it ever helped. And it was frustrating. So damn frustrating. He could do nothing about it. He could feel the hot tears leaking past his eyelids, and he clenched them farther tighter together, breathing quickening as he fought a losing battle with his mind. The memories were all crowding around his mind now, enough so that he staggered, having to grip the railing to steady himself, knuckled white against the wood.

He wasn't sure how long he was like that, though when he heard Jora's voice he opened his eyes, and taking a steadying breath. The thoughts dimmed a bit, as if moving back now that he had something to do. Even if it was make sure she was alright. "You can come up," he noted quietly, forcing himself to relax, taking a casual drawl from the ciggarette, which had remained almost entirely untouched until then.

Thankfully it was dark, and the mist would mostly conceal the streaks his tears had left on his cheeks. He hated the fact that almost every night, He'd wind up here crying. A complete mess. You'd have though he would have run out of tears by then. But apparently he had tanks somewhere inside his skull, because there always seemed to be more.

He waited quietly, shivering slightly as he waited for the girl to climb up. He was glad she had come, but now he wondered what she thought of him. She'd saved his ass, and now he'd had a nightmare and had ran off irresponsibly up on top of the ship. Yeah, he wasn't seeming very strong. Or Captain - like. she probably thought he was a moron. It was obvious she'd followed him out of concern. What if she was just being nice because his sob story had won her over? His breathing sped up again, and he had to force it down, quench the feeling of his stomach flipping around inside his body.

Sage hadn't moved as he'd spoken...and judging by the slow way the girl came up, she figured out that he wasn't quite in his right mind. But she was coming up anyway, speaking to him in a tone that somehow settled his nerves. In other ways, her presence frayed him a bit more too, and he wasn't sure what he wanted more. Her, or to just be alone. They'd pass eventually, and he'd go back down and change, pretend everything was normal by the time his first mate brought him breakfast. He'd hide the tired way his eyes glazed over or he nearly tripped over his own feet.

Her words held truth to them though, and he glanced over at her, face twisting slightly. He was too tired to hide much, so the struggle of finding words, and the struggle of deciding what to tell her and if it would be the wise thing to do or not. Every choice he made held that same struggle...everything he said or did would have consequences. Soem would be good, like them now having supplies to feed his men. But it could also be bad, like if he'd told them to jump at the wrong time, or he'd miscaculated where the other ship's storage was. Then they all might have died.

He looked back out at the water, shoulders tensing when she reached her hand out, closer to him, the movement startling him slightly even though he she was there, and she wouldn't hurt him. But the memories he held about people said otherwise. He relaxed after a brief moment, of course, wanting nothing more than to lean into her warmth. But she'd offered a hand to support him. Her ears. He doubted she'd want him to just collapse onto her, to seek out the warmth and comfort he so longer for from someone. But he doubted he'd ever get it....at least not truely. Sleeping around when they landed probably didn't help the situation, but at least whatever they gave him in combination with the large amount of rum he always consumed would get him a decent nights rest after the fact.

"If we were anyone else, we'd still be kids," he murmured after a moment. "At home, with their parents, maybe going to the university. Studying something we enjoy." It was odd...but they were still so young in the grand scheme of things. 20 years old was still practically a child...and sometimes that was what he felt like. Hell, he felt like that so often he wasn't sure he really was as old as they'd aged him at, back at the orphanage. But he couldn't be a kid. He had to be a captain of an entire fleet, a price on his head and the lives of dozens of men resting cautiously on his shoulders. That was a big enough burden without everything else he had to carry.

He took another few huffs of smoke from the stick he held, releasing the last one with a sort of bitter chuckle. No one was perfect, she'd said. He wasn't a moron. "Oh please," he snorted. "What other 20 year old takes off in the middle of the night like some irresponsible pre teenager, unable to handle memories from five plus years ago to the point of crying over it," he half snapped. He wasn't snapping at her, he was snapping at himself. His inability to cope. "I can't eat, I can't sleep, and I don't know how the hell they expect me to make all the right decisions when I can barely force myself out of bed in the morning," he added tiredly, shaking his head and tucking the hair that had blown across his face behind his ear with a sigh.

She didn't want to hear this. She didn't need to be the one to dump his own burdens on her. He dropped his gaze, knawing on his bottom lip again, tasting blood but not especially caring. "And you're carrying enough of your own burdens I feel bad doing this," he added quietly, almost shyly. "You should be resting comfortably, not chasing me up into the wet and cold in the middle of the night."

Sage felt his stomach go on another roller coaster ride in his tomach in the few seconds the girl stayed quiet once he'd finished talking. What if he'd snapped too harshly? What of she thought he was mad at her? Upset at her? What if she thought she was only stressing him out by being there, making things worse. What if she was wishing she had never met him again?

Her comments when she spoke up again caused some of the tension to release from his shoulders. She wasn't mad, at least. There was that. She didn't sound like she was just there because she pitied him either, but really didn't know. He let out a bitter chuckle in response to her comment, though, shaking his head. "But I can't be one," he noted simply. "i was never able to be one." He'd always had a job to do. Burdens to carry. Something bigger than him that needed to be done or kept safe or...something.

He shook his head when she mentioned his crew, drawing his lower lip into his mouth again as he chewed, tasting blood by then but not really caring. His gaze drifted over to the area they all slept in...knowing they'd all be sleeping peacefully at the moment. "No...they can't know," he murmured softly. "They all have their own burdens to carry. They need someone strong. Someone they can trust in." His gaze drifted back to the ocean then. "If I break down in front of them, they'll cast me out. Leave me on some godforsaken island. No food, no water, probably no shade. Just a pistol with one shot in it." The weight of his words would carry to the girl, tell her what she needed to know. The last part, especially. She'd know what the pistol was for, and it wasn't exactly to hunt food.

He threw her a somewhat startled expression when she touched him, the warmth of her fingers seemign to travel up his arm. If was odd....how a single touch and a few words could rock all of the walls he'd built around himself. Turn his breathing choppy and confuse and surprise him enough that she could clearly read his face. The shattered look his eyes held, only kept back by those walls she'd already kicked down. But also the fear...the heasitation he still held so tightly to. He couldn't get hurt by anyone else. Especially not her. If he let her in, if he trusted her, and it wound up hurting him....he wasn't sure he'd ever manage it.

His fingers had moved to his forearm again, the scratching now drawing a decent amount of blood as he scratched it all raw. It was subconscious...not something he ever really meant to do, but it was a nasty habit he couldn't stop. Half the time he'd wake up and just be...bleeding. Sometimes it was bad enough for stitches. But after a few moments, he shifted so that their sides were pressing together lightly. Not much....as much as he longed to just curl up in her arms and never let go, that wasn't really realistic. But even this simple touch helped calm his mind a little bit. She'd feel he was shivering, but he didn't much care about that. At least he knew there wasn't anything he could do to embarrass himself around her....he'd already done that enough.

After a while of just standing there in silence, he grew too cold to stay outside any longer so he sighed and moved to push himself off the railing. "Now that I've got us both cold and wet again, we should probably go inside," he murmured, moving to make his way back down to the deck. It was slow going, and honestly rather painful. His stitches and body, which was still exhausted from the fight, didn't like him much at the moment. So, by the time he was back in his wamr cabin, with comfortable, dry clothes on, he sort of just staggered over to flop back onto his bed, passing out right away, not even bothering to put his hair back up or draw the blanket over himself. He was jsut...completely drained.