A/N: This chapter contains detailed trauma responses. Please proceed carefully.

You stare at the phone for a long moment, unsure if you even want to touch it. You could say you never saw it. You wanted to have never seen it. But decades of fear, and conditioning, have you reaching for it regardless.

You pull the rubber band off as your stomach twists and knots.

Dear Doll,

You nearly hurl, putting your hand up to your mouth just in case. It's rare your parents addressed you as anything other than Doll, but since Thatch started calling you by that name you didn't really want to hear it from anyone else.

Send a text to your phone when you're alone. We don't expect that will be for some days, so don't panic. You're doing such a good job, don't let us down.

You know how important the plan is.

You crumple up the paper and suppress the urge to scream. You want to cry, but if your face swells then Thatch will notice, and you don't want to worry him.

You were so certain, so hopeful, that when they'd been run out of Newgate's home they had screwed up their precious plan all on their own. That you'd be done with it. Done with them. Free of it.

You should've known. The moment your mother was kind to you when you'd gone back home to get your things, you should've known. The fact that they hadn't trashed the house in anger and frustration should've been enough for you to know.

You could almost feel their hands on your shoulders.

"Don't worry about the details, Doll. Just do as you're told. There's too many moving parts to the plan for you to keep up with it anyway."

"- he might not be able to sway things in our favor enough, we have to make sure that wretch is flawless or, - hey, hey! What are you doing up? Get back to sleep!"

"Just do as you're told. If you can't think well enough on your own, just follow directions, and it'll be fine."

"Ugh, gods, don't smile like that. C'mere, we're going to practice. By the seas you can't learn anything. You better put in some effort, this plan is important and we need you to step up, Doll."

"What do I do?" You whisper the words, barely hearing them yourself with the music playing. If you defied your parents and they had some catch in The Plan™ to account for that, you'd be punished. If you told Thatch they could make sure you were thrown in prison, or abandoned.

If you didn't say anything, you'd be betraying Thatch.

But if they hurt him -.

Tears spilled down your cheeks and you panicked, not wanting to cry. "No, stop, stop. Shhh, shhh, it's okay, it's okay. You're a doll, just a doll." You wipe your eyes and hug yourself, rocking back and forth a little to soothe your heartbeat. "Dolls don't cry, they don't worry, they just do what they're told. It's okay, it's okay."

You wouldn't say anything. You wouldn't think about it, you wouldn't let it bother you. You didn't know what to do and so you'd do nothing. It was how things worked. You were just a doll, all you had to do was move when moved, and speak when spoken to. There was no way Thatch knew about the phone or the note, or he would've said something.

He was far too easy to read. There wasn't any duplicity in him, and he would move you. All you had to do was let him lead you and he'd get you through the weekend.

You were used to shouldering the burden, you could handle it.

In the time it took you to put everything away you'd managed to calm down completely. You even stepped across the hall and into the bathroom. Bringing in the stuff Izou had packed, you set it up in your new space, and took the time to check your face and make sure there weren't any troubling signs left there.

Thatch's humming hadn't stopped, but from the sounds of things he was done prepping.

Putting on your well-practiced smile you make your way into the kitchen. Thatch was in the middle of cleaning up, sink full of suds, sleeves rolled up. He turns to see you and gives you a smile before nodding to the side.

"Have a seat, I'm almost done."

You sit down, looking over the area a little more closely than you had when you'd first arrived. It was fairly spartan, but not completely bare. There was an eclectic collection of books on the bookshelves in the living room. Plenty of movies and you recognized two gaming consoles from advertisements that you'd seen before.

Most of the books looked like they were cookbooks, at least from this distance, but that wouldn't be surprising. Thatch had a real passion for cooking. Anyone would be able to learn that about him within just a few minutes of knowing him.

Thatch dries his hands and rolls his sleeves back down before starting to make some coffee and tea. "You alright?" He questions, not even glancing over at you when he asks.

You flinch, but nod your head. "Yeah. A... little overwhelmed, I think."

"It's a lot of stuff changing all at once, it's alright." He says, sounding a little more subdued than he did earlier. "Aw crap. I don't have any herbal tea here."

"Oh, uh, water's fine, really." You assure him even as his shoulders slump. He's so big, but the motion is still pretty exaggerated.

"We'll add it to the list then. Bah, it might be worth heading out today, if that's the case." He grumbles to himself.

You muster as much of a smile as you can and look up at him. "I promise, it's okay. I can survive on water today. I appreciate it though."

"It's coming up on 9," he says as the coffee percolates and he hands you a glass of water. "If you wanted to, you can take a nice long shower and change. I know you've been stuck in those clothes for a couple days now."

Your smile's a little more genuine and a little embarrassed. "That... is a good idea." You admit, suddenly very aware of how much time had gone by. "I apologize, I must look quite the fright."

"Ah, no, I didn't - augh." Thatch puts a hand to his face and sighs. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say I could tell from your appearance." He lowers his hand, eyes shifting away after a second. "You look cute- er, fine, I mean... I just meant it's been a couple of days and you'd probably feel better after a hot bath and a fresh change of clothes."

Not a drop of duplicity, you muse internally, feeling a terrible twist at your heart at your own secrets.

You nod at his idea and drink most of the water. "I'll do that then, thank you." Getting up you hear Thatch make a noise and pause, looking over at him.

"It's gonna be okay," he says. "I promise."

Your smile falters, and for some reason you let it. You're hiding enough, and it doesn't feel right to feign your emotions around someone like Thatch. Even if he wasn't your match. You can't bring yourself to say anything, but you nod before walking away and getting ready to take your shower.

Thatch leans against the kitchen counter as you head down the hall. He lets out a slow breath, doing his best not to sigh loudly. There's already enough weight on your shoulders, you shouldn't have to worry about what's on his. The conversation he'd had with his father and brothers kicks around in his head as he looks at the ceiling, wondering what to do next.

"You're going to have to be patient, Thatch, if you want things to work." Pops had said, after Thatch had put you into the guest bed. "She nearly caved to her parents desires even with me standing there. The conditioning is deep. You can't take anything personal, especially if it involves her parents."

Pops set the journal down that Izou had found in her bedroom, and everyone had looked at it like it was going to just ooze poison or something. Considering what was written in it, it wasn't too much of a stretch.

"With that we have a better idea of what she's gone through, but..." Pops sighed. "I'm worried about the repeated mentions of this plan, whatever it is."

"That pressure of perfection too," Izou's voice was heavy with anger. "Burying people like that in the garden would've poisoned the flowers."

"They kept her in the dark though, didn't they?" Marco hums, hooded gaze on the journal before he looked at Thatch. He was relieved to see his brothers and father on your side, the fire in Marco's unassuming gaze was hard for Thatch to miss. "Literally, and figuratively. Poor bird probably doesn't know anything."

Pops grunts. "If she knew that their first step was to try an' sell her I don't think she'da been so docile."

Thatch's fists clench at the thought. They had that night too. He rarely ever even raised his voice, never mind getting truly angry, but he'd wanted to strike her parents.

"But, and I hate to say this-." Marco started.

"Then don't."

"Thatch," Izou said carefully. "You need to consider it."

"The hells I do!"

"Keep yer voice down, lad." Pops commanded. His voice was stern, and it silenced all three of them. "Your brothers are right. The compatibility might be fabricated." There's a heavy silence and Thatch wasn't sure what to say. "Not that anyone needs to know about it."

He looked up and his dad shrugged. "All things considered, you're both getting along fine. I don't see any reason to ruin that. If things change we'll worry about it then."

It was all going to take time. All he could do was deal with what was in front of him. He hears the shower kick on and goes over the checklist in his mind. New phone, herbal tea, maybe you could just wander around the mall. Worry about the budget and stuff Sunday.

After the budget on Sunday if the weather held out the two of you could go to a park, or maybe even just back to the manor.

What he wanted to do was spoil you. He wanted to take you to dinner at fancy restaurants and buy tickets to operas he wouldn't even be able to understand. He wanted to buy dresses and jewels for you and tell you how beautiful you were. He wanted to wake up next to you and admire how cute your cheek squished against the pillow while you slept.

But the words of that journal kicked around in his head, and before he could do any of that he needed to give you space. Your parents had made all your decisions, from your hobbies to your clothes to your schedule. You read what they wanted, watched what they wanted, learned what they wanted. They had taught you only to please, to never complain, to never want.

If Thatch showered you with his desires, you could end up just tailoring yourself to what he liked, and you'd never end up learning who you were. He wanted to know who you were, and wanted you to know who you were too.

His fist tightens again, even as he takes a deep breath to try and calm himself. He wished Izou had never found that damnable journal, but at the same time he was grateful for it. He wouldn't have caught onto how bad things were in time otherwise.

Hearing the shower turn off, he shotguns the coffee he meant to drink slowly, and heads to his own bathroom to freshen up and brush his teeth. He does his hair into the pompadour he usually wears, the actions almost automatic. Pops said it always made him look more approachable and friendly, and he was willing to do everything he could to make things easier for you.

There'd be a time for heavy conversations and bad news later. You deserved a break, a moment to breathe, time for introspection without your parents whispering into your ear. He'd keep the secret of your journal for now, even if it was nearly eating him alive to not admit to having read it.

His shoulders were big enough to carry both your burdens for now, he could handle it.