Meme Ficlet Challenge: "Friendly Advice" (for GeekMama)
Title: "Friendly Advice"
Author:luvvycat
Characters: Elizabeth Swann/Jack Sparrow
Rating: PG13/Soft R
Word count: Approx. 7,000
Disclaimer: PotC is Disney's, not mine. *sniff*
A/N: This story is in response to the August 2011 meme ficlet challenge, and is written for geekmama, who requested a follow-up to my story “The Christmas Stranger” in which Elizabeth comes to realise that “Captain John Smith” and Captain Jack Sparrow are one and the same…
This tale is set in my “Rum and Persuasion” universe (which is also the setting of my young Will and Elizabeth fics), and contains references to events that transpired in those stories. In the R&P canon, this is a “missing scene” between the final chapter and the Epilogue of “Penance.”
Elizabeth sat on the deserted beach, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her spirits as black as the moonless night as she kept a watchful eye on the horizon. Tai Huang should be coming soon with her Empress… that is, if Barbossa had been a man of his word when he’d promised to send them back for her.
Shivering despite her proximity to the fire, she found herself fighting back tears. Barely an hour since she'd watched her new husband vanish in an eldritch green flash¾bound for a realm where down was up and lost souls drifted upon a ghostly tide¾and she already missed Will desperately. With each passing minute, the twenty-four hours they'd spent together seemed more and more like a dream to her: a sweet, passionate, lovely dream, but one from which she‘d awakened to find a nightmarish reality she wished she didn‘t have to confront. The pathway of her life¾once so bright with promise and hope¾stretched before her now, obscure and frightening, her future as daunting as it was uncertain.
If there had been any mercy in their recent travails, it had been that the pressing need for action had left her little time to think. Now, on this remote island, without another soul around to provide distraction and only her thoughts for company, her fears crowded around her, overwhelming her like a horde of spoiled children, demanding her attention. She could no longer avoid those inner voices, or ignore the cold, hard truth of her situation.
For the first time since she’d fled gaol and Port Royal, she faced the prospect of living in a harsh, demanding, dangerous world far removed from the one she’d known most of her life… alone. Without the familiar haven of home and hearth to go back to, bereft of the warming comfort of family, friends… or lovers.
The black canopy of starry sky above her seemed to stretch to infinity in this suddenly empty universe of hers, making her feel small, insignificant, and perfectly isolated, and it was disconcertingly easy to imagine herself the last person on earth; indeed, in her heart, at this moment in time, she felt herself so. Everyone she’d ever cared about… everyone she’d ever loved, and upon whose love and support she’d depended… were now far beyond her reach.
She closed her eyes. Cast adrift she truly was, like one of those hapless souls at World's End. Every person she‘d held near and dear to her heart had abandoned her, left her behind, passed on to strange lands where she could not follow… at least, not while she lived.
Everyone…
Save for one… whispered her mind, unexpectedly teasing her with forbidden memories that brought a hot blush to her cheeks and heat to other, more intimate places.
Memories of a man other than her husband…
Her eyes snapped open as, guiltily, she banished those tempting images. No! She must think only of Will in that way, henceforth. For all that her husband was, perforce, absent from her life, Wife she now was, and she would not betray him, in thought or in deed. Her choice had been made, after all, on the deck of the Pearl, when she and Will had exchanged marriage vows. In any case, it was an exercise in futility to dwell on ships¾and pirates¾that had already sailed. She’d made her bed, as it were. Now she had to lie in it…
Alone.
She sighed. Her head throbbed, her eyes stung, and her body ached from fatigue not only from the furious battle of the day before, but also from the frenzied, pleasurable exertions of the night and day just ended with Will. The pain also served to remind her that she’d had next to no sleep for nearly three days.
Smiling grimly, she reflected on the whirlwind that had been the past forty-eight hours. Scarcely three sunsets ago, she’d arrived at Shipwreck Cove, fledgling captain of an oriental junk bequeathed to her by a dying pirate lord. With a bravura performance worthy of Nell Gwyn, she'd made her entrance, declaring her right to sit amongst the Brethren as a peer, only to find herself moments later, to her complete astonishment, elected King of that motley Court!
With her mind still reeling from that exceedingly startling turn of events, and under the force of all those strange, savage, expectant eyes (and one pair of intensely familiar, somewhat mocking ones that seemed to challenge Go ‘head, darlin’… I dare you!) she’d been immediately pressed into issuing her first royal decree¾one that held all their lives, and the fate of piracy as a whole, in the balance.
But once the Court adjourned, left again to her own devices, she found her bravado crumbling under the combined weight of her growing trepidation about the impending battle, still-fresh grief over the losses of her beloved father and her dear friend James, and the dreadful certainty that her unforgivable deceit had lost her Will’s love and trust forever. As the clock relentlessly ticked down toward the coming dawn and possible (no…bloody probable) annihilation, she’d sought out Jack, and the eleventh-hour promise of pleasure to be found in his arms, and in his bed…
Now in the grim aftermath of the disaster that was Cutler Beckett, in an irony too cruel to bear, both her lovers were gone: Will¾Calypso’s new Ferryman, immortal Captain of the Flying Dutchman, bound to the sea, and to the goddess, in an unholy marriage she feared might prove stronger than the human bond she and Will had just consummated¾was lost to her for the next ten years; and Jack¾whom she’d also loved, but set aside in her resolve to be a faithful wife to her new husband¾had sailed onward to new adventures, without her.
And, more likely than not, thinking himself well rid of me!
A crushing wave of loneliness, of desolation, of impotent longing suddenly overwhelmed her.
She buried her head in her folded arms.
Oh, bugger!
Ten years was going to be a long, long time, with no one to share her life, and her bed…
She reached for the bottle of rum¾now half-empty¾that Gibbs (bless him!) had thought to include with her provisions. She took a generous swallow, welcoming the not-unpleasant burn as the intoxicating nectar slid down her gullet. Before she knew it, she was tossing the empty bottle onto the sand.
Another change these past months had wrought in her. She used to abhor rum and everything it represented, looked down her nose with self-righteous scorn upon those weak-minded, weak-spirited mortals who indulged in hard drink. However, since the day she’d chained Jack to the mast of his beloved ship, then sat in Tia Dalma’s hut wracked with guilt and regret as those whose lives she’d saved drank tributes to the man she‘d just murdered, she’d gained an appreciation for the singular anaesthetic qualities of the pirate’s favourite panacea. The crushing weight upon her conscience, upon her tarnished soul, might well have killed her otherwise.
But in this disturbing calm after the maelstrom of the past year, and more¾from the moment Cutler Beckett arrived in Port Royal, to his well-deserved destruction at the hands of the two men she loved¾the question loomed, huge and fearsome as the Kraken: Where should she go from here?
For the entire past year, her life’s only purpose had been finding Jack, undoing what she’d done, saving him from the Locker. And then, defeating Beckett and avenging her father‘s murder. Only after they’d accomplished those things, could she dare make any plans for her own future.
Her lips twisted in a rueful grimace. Now, she wasn’t entirely certain she even had one.
She had no idea what was left for her, with everyone else gone. What had she to look forward to? What had she to move toward? How was she to fill the void of the next ten years, until she and Will were reunited?
And how could she ever get her other love out of her mind, and her heart?
For though her arms, and her heart, longed anew for her absent husband, she also found them yearning for the pirate who’d loved her, made her a woman, then moved on.
Jack…
Her vision blurred, and the stars above suddenly fuzzed and floated in a dark pool of unshed tears.
It was all for the best, wasn’t it? After all, they’d both been right: it never would have worked out between them.
But then, that little nagging voice was whispering in her ear again:
Would it?
* * * * *
After waiting what seemed like half the night, Elizabeth at last spied the lights of a ship emerging from behind the cliffs, the golden glow of its lanterns moving like a self-contained constellation against the fixed backdrop of pinprick stars hovering above the darkling sea. Using a tinder from the waning fire, she lit the single lantern Gibbs had provided her, before quenching the last embers. She hastily gathered the few things she’d brought with her to the island¾as well as the one, most precious item she'd newly acquired, entrusted to her safekeeping by her dearest Will¾and carried them down to the strand, where her own small boat was beached.
The lights stilled as the ship came to a stop, and she waited for the agreed-upon signal to indicate the presence of friends, not foes. Once given, she pushed her boat into the surf, climbed in, took up the oars and started rowing toward the lights.
As she drew nearer the ship, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to ensure her course held true, she came to realise that the silhouette barely visible against the starry sky¾the shape of her hull, the configuration of her sails¾was all wrong for the Empress, and when the prow of the dinghy at last bumped against the vessel's starboard side, and Elizabeth raised her lantern, its flickering golden light revealed boards painted not Empress-green, but sooty black…
She stared in shock and surprise. The Pearl?
As her small boat bobbed against and alongside the Pearl, she groped until she located the footholds nailed to her hull. "Ahoy!" she called up into the darkness.
“Ahoy!“ a gravelly voice shouted back. Almost immediately a tether-rope dropped down, narrowly missing her head.
With a last glance at the chest resting in the bottom of the boat (which she knew she wouldn't be able to carry up the ladder), she quickly tied off the dinghy, extinguished her lantern, then started clambering upwards.
As she neared the top, the outline of a head appeared over the railing above her and a hand suddenly materialised from the shadows to grip her wrist, assisting her up onto the deck, steadying her as she swayed, then regained her footing. “Welcome aboard, Captain Swann. Or, should I say rather…" the voice came again, insinuatingly, "Captain Turner?” Gold flashed in the Pearl’s lantern light as he grinned.
“Jack!” she exclaimed, scarcely believing her eyes.
"Fetch 'er up!" he cried to no one in particular, and several crewmen sprang into action to haul up the dinghy.
“What are you doing here, Jack? Where’s Tai Huang? Where’s the Empress?” She glanced up at the helm to see Cotton at the wheel. “And what have you done with Barbossa?” she eyed Jack suspiciously.
“Now, now, your nibs… one question at a time! But first…” he held up a finger, “we must douse the lights. It seems not all of Beckett’s hellish armada have departed these waters. We had to slip past a brace of patrol ships on our way here, hence the delay.” Off her alarmed look, he added, quickly, “Never fear that we were seen. We sailed dark, and lit the lamps only as we were circling this island… and, then, only those facing shoreward. Enough to be seen from land, but not from sea.”
He bellowed orders to quench the lights, and the Pearl’s men scrambled to obey. "Oh… and kindly deliver her highness' effects to me quarters. Savvy?" he appended. As the deck plunged into total darkness, the palm of Jack’s hand, warm through the thin silk layers of her Asian tunic, came to rest against the centre of her back as he steered her, sure and true, into the Great Cabin.
Jack closed the doors behind them, then went to draw the heavy draperies across the stern windows (to mask any light that might betray their presence to enemy ships, she presumed) before moving around the cabin, lighting lamps and candles. As the illumination grew, her gaze wandered around the familiar room, finally settling on the bed and its mussed linens, looking much as it did when she'd last left it, after she and Jack had…
Remembering, her face flamed. She quickly averted her eyes, only to have them meet Jack's dead-on. From the devilish look in them, made more so by the reflected sparks of dancing candlelight, and his small, secretive half-smile, she knew he was remembering as well. He said nothing, though, for at that moment, mercifully, two of the newest crewmembers (former redcoats Mulroy and Murtogg, if she recalled the names aright) arrived with her effects¾including the chest containing her husband's disembodied heart.
At the sight of the casket he'd last seen in the hands of Bootstrap Bill on the deck of the sinking Dutchman, Jack lifted an eyebrow and shot her a sharp glance.
Once her things were safely deposited on the sole next to the bed, and he'd settled her in a chair, a fresh bottle of rum on the table between them, Jack took up their truncated conversation, as though nothing had happened in the interim.
“To answer your questions: Why am I here?" He leaned back in his captain’s chair, stretching out his long legs and contemplating the toes of his scuffed boots, his countenance returning to its usual insouciant mask, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Not for the first time, she envied him that legendary Jack Sparrow sangfroid, his bloody resilience that seemed to carry him through any adversity. She wondered how it was that he was able to emerge from every trial and tribulation much the same man he'd been before, while these past months had transformed her completely? Indeed, she felt like an entirely different woman than the one she'd been back in Port Royal, her world irrevocably changed beyond recognition, and her with it. "If one forsakes the existential implications of your query for the literal, I am here, obviously, to retrieve you from the island. Where’s Tai Huang? He’s on the Empress, of course, right where you left him, which leads to the final answer: the Empress has gone on ahead to Shipwreck Cove¾“ he grimaced, “hopefully.”
Something in his expression disquieted her. Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you say, hopefully?”
“Tai Huang was, shall we say, disinclined to acquiesce to our request to turn the Empress around and fetch you back. Seems your less-than-reliable first mate harbours a bit of lingering resentment about Sao Feng choosing you as Captain over him, and¾with you otherwise occupied, as it were¾“ with a leer, he waggled his fingers in the general direction of her lower parts, “he thought to seize the opportune moment to make off with your bonny ship.“
Elizabeth frowned, too troubled to rise to the bait of Jack's flippant tone. “I‘m sorry to hear that. I’d assumed that Tai Huang and I had settled our differences, back when we were taken by the Dutchman.”
“Apparently he thinks otherwise.”
"A notion I intend to set to rights, at the earliest opportunity, I assure you," she said, through clenched teeth. How dare Tai Huang try to usurp her position, after all she'd suffered through, all she'd sacrificed, all she'd lost? Her gaze daggered back to Jack. "Go on."
“In short, to avoid gratuitous bloodshed¾a course of action, I might add, that Hector enthusiastically endorsed, but which threatened to render your ship rather worse for wear, and with a severely depleted crew¾Barbossa was ‘persuaded’ to stay with the Empress to ensure her safe arrival at Shipwreck Cove, whilst yours truly,” he pressed a splayed hand to his chest, cocking his head to one side in a subtle and, she thought, quite self-congratulatory bow, “…generously volunteered to take the Pearl and rescue our illustrious King from her isle of solitude.”
“Your 'volunteering' of course having nothing whatsoever to do with your fear that Barbossa might abscond with the Black Pearl the moment you‘re gone. But tell me, Jack…" She eyed him sceptically. "If he can’t be trusted with your ship, what makes you think he can be trusted with mine?”
“Because, darlin'," Jack grinned, slyly. "It's me Pearl Hector lusts after, not your Empress. And so long as a man has a chance of stayin' near the object of his desire, he'll not be runnin' too fast, or too far." Elizabeth scrutinised his inscrutable face, wondering if he meant his words to apply to more than just Barbossa and the Pearl. "Besides… lest Hector was tempted to succumb to his notorious ship-stealin‘ proclivities¾I took the liberty of sending a small but well-armed contingent of me own men, including the unimpeachably trusty and trustworthy Joshamee Gibbs, to accompany him to Shipwreck.”
Elizabeth couldn't help smiling at the mention of Jack’s loyal first mate, recalling the kindnesses he'd afforded her, not only recently, but all those years ago. Though Gibbs had grumbled over the risks of having a 'miniature female' aboard the Dauntless, it hadn't kept him from regaling her with story after story (sanitised for innocent ears, she now realised), providing pleasant diversion on what might otherwise have been a long and tedious passage.
How far she'd come from that naïve young girl sailing toward Jamaica and an unknown but hopeful future. How far they had all come…
If they'd only known then what the Fates had in store for them!
Remembering, her heart panged with renewed grief, and she found herself reaching automatically for the rum bottle.
When she lowered it again¾the taste of rum still moist upon her lips¾she found Jack watching her like a hawk.
"What?" she asked, rather defensively.
He glanced pointedly at the bottle, then at her with an ironic arch of a brow and the ghost of a smirk before clearing his throat. “If I may offer a bit of friendly advice, luv… as someone who’s had a bit o' experience with treacherous first mates.“ Looking squarely into her eyes, all levity drained from his face. “Once we reach Shipwreck, deal swiftly with Tai Huang. Establish your mastery over the Empress, and over him¾or cut the baggage loose. He has yet to prove his loyalties, which, when it comes to anyone other than his dead master, appear to shift with any opportunistic tide. And the last thing you want is to wind up marooned on another desert island¾or worse!¾should he get it into his head to take back the ship he sees as rightfully his by fomenting mutiny. He was Sao Feng’s man, and the Empress's crew, at present, are more his than yours. But win him over, and I'd wager the rest will follow his lead.”
She felt suddenly weary, and that weariness seeped into her voice. Yet another trial, another challenge to face. “But how am I to do that, Jack? How do I gain their respect, loyalty, and trust?”
Jack shrugged. “Perhaps Mistress Ching can best advise you on how a woman leads an all-male crew. You are King, after all…” he smirked in what appeared to be smug satisfaction, and Elizabeth could practically hear the unsaid 'thanks to me' floating in the air between them, “…and you'd be well within your kingly rights to seek the Brethren's counsel. As for respect¾you did deliver us a stunning victory, first time out of the box. That in and of itself ought to tip the scales in your favour.”
“Clearly not enough to prevent them making off with my ship. And, actually, for the record,” Elizabeth pointed out, “it was you and Will¾not me!¾who won the day for us.”
“Whilst under your command…" he dismissed her protest blithely with a wave of his hand, "And time-honoured tradition dictates that the laurels of victory, or the ignominy of defeat, goes to he¾" he raised the rum bottle to her, "or, in this case, she¾who leads the charge, not those poor saps foolish enough to follow.”
Victory.
She slumped in her chair. Truly, in her heart of hearts, she did not feel victorious. Though she'd been among the first to dance a merry jig over Beckett's destruction, now that the jubilation had faded, she felt only… tired. Beaten.
Lost.
She wasn't aware of her prolonged silence until Jack's voice interrupted her melancholy reverie:
“A penny for ‘em, luv.”
“You don’t want to know…” She reached, took another pull on the bottle.
“Now, I wouldn’t’ve asked, if I didn’t,” he returned. His voice warmed with a trace of their old intimacy as he cajoled, “C‘mon, Lizzie… tell ol‘ Jack what‘s troublin‘ you.”
Her laugh came out sounding more like a sob and her eyes stung with the struggle to stave off the sudden onset of tears. “Where do I begin?“ She could hear the tremor in her own voice… knew that Jack could, too, but couldn’t find it within herself to care. The battle was over, wasn't it? No need to put a brave face on now, particularly in front of Jack, who'd seen not only her ecstatic highs, but her abysmal lows as well.
She took another deep, bracing swig of rum, and when she drew breath and exhaled it on a sigh, the delicious tingle of it danced across her tongue. Liquid courage, Gibbs had called it once, when she'd caught him tapping surreptitiously into his hip-flask. She only wished it were true! She could do with a bit of fortitude at the moment.
She could sense Jack's eyes upon her, feel the weight of his gaze. “I've really no idea what I’m going to do, Jack. I feel as though I‘ve fallen down a deep, dark hole. One I can‘t even begin to climb out of.”
“Now, now…” he murmured, his voice softening with sympathy. “It can’t be as bad as all that, luv.”
“It’s every bit as bad as that!" she snapped back. "When I left Port Royal to find you and Will, it was always with the thought I'd eventually go home again, once it was safe to do so. Be reunited with my father… begin a new life with Will." Despair filled her to overflowing, and a single tear slipped loose. "Now, Father's gone. Will's gone. I've no home to go back to. And where does that bloody leave me, Jack? Not only an orphan, but also practically a widow?" Elizabeth dashed the tear from her eye. “It’s almost as though…" she paused, struggling to find the words to adequately describe how she felt. "Well… as though Elizabeth Swann has died,” she barely whispered. "And I’ve no idea who I am now. What I am.”
"Nonsense!" he drawled. "You're the same as you ever were, darlin'. Clever, and spirited… beautiful, pragmatic, admirably ruthless when need demands… and, without a doubt, still a monumental pain in the arse!" She glanced up, and he winked at her, the corner of his moustache lifting in the shadow of a rueful grin. "And what you are, luv … is free!"
“Free?” she scoffed. “I certainly don’t feel free.”
He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes brightly intense. “But you are, luv… don’t you see? For the first time in your life. Completely. Unequivocally. Rid of those shackles that bound you to your old life. Master¾or rather, mistress¾of your own fate." His voice lowered to an almost hypnotic timbre, as his expressive hands fluttered, weaving visions in the air only he could see. “Think of it, Lizzie. You've been given a chance to reinvent yourself, to be anything you want to be. You can take your Empress… go wherever your fancy takes you, do whatever the hell you bloody well please, and no-one else has a say-so. Nobody to tell you what to do, no-one to force you to wear a corset, or to hold your teacup just-so, or to behave in such-and-such a manner."
Though she knew his words were intended to balm her spirits, her heart twisted in her chest. Oh, how she’d gladly go back, wear those torturous stays twenty-four hours a day, every day of her life, if it meant she could have her father, her dear friend James, her husband back in her life…
Misery inundated her like a wave, pulling her under. “If this is freedom,” she bit out, bitterly, “then perhaps I was better off chained!”
“Lizzie…” Jack chided gently, with what appeared to be a genuinely horror-struck expression. "You can't really mean that!"
"Why not? What has freedom ever gained me, but danger, and loss, and grief…?"
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, and something in his voice, something incredibly tender, set her vibrating with the effort to maintain control. She pressed her hands, palm-down, to the solid wooden surface of the table to keep them from trembling. Oh, how suddenly, how desperately she wanted him to come to her, to take her in his arms and hold her as he'd done before, but feared that if he did so, if she let down her defences and let him back in, she would shatter into a million pieces, start crying and never stop.
Perhaps even break her marriage vows…
But, thankfully, Jack kept his distance, making no move to make contact other than to lean in a bit over the table dividing them, stretching out his right hand until their fingertips barely touched. “In my life, darlin‘, I’ve discovered that circumstances are often never quite as bad as they first appear.”
“Yes,” she said, dourly. “I’m finding that they’re often much, much worse…”
"Aye, luv. I can't deny that sometimes, they are. But I've also learnt this: adversity, if it doesn't kill you first, tends to make you stronger." She flinched as his long fingers began stroking lightly along the tops of her own. She knew he meant the gesture to be comforting, and it was, but it was also coaxing awake feelings and memories she‘d prefer remain dormant… memories of those elegant hands, touching her just as tenderly, in other places.
She jerked her hand away, as though burnt. "Don't…!" she began, then stopped, quickly amending her plea to, "Don't patronise me, Jack! I don't want your pity, nor do I deserve it, after everything I've done." She snatched at the rum-bottle as though it were a lifeline.
Jack shrugged and pulled away. "Water under the bridge, Lizzie. I'm square with how things stand, if you are. Clean slate, as it were, aye?" When she failed to respond, he stared narrowly at her for a moment, then suddenly sprang out of his chair. Coming around the table, he gently pried the bottle out of her grasp before taking her by the hand, “Now, come along…”
"What?" She looked up at him, confused, as she was pulled out of her chair. “Where are we going, Jack?”
Another tug, and she found herself pinned to the front of his body. “Why, I’m takin’ you to bed, of course…” he purred silkily just before he stooped to swing her up into his arms.
Her heart did a flip as her feet left the floor: part excitement, part panic. “Jack… no! We can‘t…” she gasped.
“Oh yes, we can!” Jack looked down at her, and her words died as she found herself trapped by those glittering, fathomless eyes. “We have hours 'til we make Shipwreck Cove, and I don’t know about you, luv… but I could go for a bit of a nap.“
She gaped at him, strangely disappointed as his meaning sank into her befogged brain. “Nap? You mean… sleep?“
“Of course. What d'you think I was talkin’ about?" His knowing grin informed her that he knew very well how she would interpret his words. “Why, look at you, Lizzie… you’re dead on your feet, talkin' complete and utter rubbish, likely haven’t slept for days, by my reckoning.” He smirked, “Unless you and the whelp decided to celebrate your wedding night catching up on lost shut-eye, instead of makin’ up for lost time…”
Protesting all the way, she found herself carried and gently deposited in Jack’s bed, landing on her arse among a nest of soft, brocade pillows. The mattress sagged as Jack artlessly plopped down next to her.
There was a rustle of movement, and then Jack’s voice poured, warm and softly husky, into her ear. “Of course, if you'd rather do somethin' other than sleep, I'm certainly open to suggestions. In fact, the more suggestive, the better!"
"Recall, Jack. I'm a married woman now."
"Actually, I've never found that a particularly persuasive argument¾or an especially effective deterrent¾where the ladies are concerned."
"Nevertheless…" Her look¾then his, following hers¾strayed to the small but ornate chest on the floor, causing them both to sober.
"Ah, well…" Jack gave an exaggerated sigh of defeat. "Can't blame a geezer for tryin', eh? But, if you don't mind me askin', luv … exactly what're you plannin' to do with…?" he nodded toward the pulsating box in question.
What, indeed? "I haven't quite decided, yet. I considered leaving it on the island¾burying it in the sand, or stowing it in a cave somewhere. But it didn't feel right for me to abandon it. Not after Will entrusted it to my care."
"But how safe will it be, luv, draggin' it around with you hither and yon?"
She frowned. She'd thought the very same thing, herself. "Yes, well, there is that." She echoed his sigh. "I suppose I will have to figure something out, sooner or later. I guess I'm just not ready to part with it, yet. There's still too much I have to work out, at present."
"Quite right. Much better to sleep on it, and think about it later…"
"Actually, I'm not sure I can sleep." It was true. As tired as she was, and as much as her body craved the restorative power that sleep would bring, there were just too many worries pressing upon her mind.
"Well, luv … I'm afraid we've no warm milk aboard, only rum, which you've already had aplenty. But perhaps a little story might help…”
She snorted. “I’m afraid I’m a bit too old for bedtime stories, Jack.”
“Ah, but this is a tale from me deep, dark past,” he intoned with a mysterious air.
That piqued her interest. Save for that quite memorable day they'd spent on the island, Jack was seldom forthcoming about his past, beyond perpetuating the elaborate and highly-embroidered tales that made up the warp and woof of his “legend.” The prospect of learning more proved an irresistible lure.
“All right…” she yielded.
His arm worked its way around her. “Me tale begins many years ago, at one of the blackest times of me life, when I met a rather remarkable young lady…”
Elizabeth gave a snuffly laugh. “Jack, I’m hardly of a mind to listen to you expound on one of your many ‘conquests’…”
“No, not that kind of ‘lady’… and when I say ‘young’ I mean very young. Couldn’t’ve been more’n thirteen or fourteen summers…” Off her sceptical look and arched eyebrow, he added, “Think what you like ‘bout me and my dodgy ’moral centre’, ‘Lizbeth, but even I have me standards, including certain minimal requirements when it comes to a lady’s age and experience.”
His hand cupped her shoulder, pulling her closer even as he leaned back against the pillows, drawing her down with him until they were both recumbent, her head resting upon his chest. “T’was the season of our Lord‘s birth, I recollect, though I can’t say precisely what anno Domini. Those days, after Hector made off with me Pearl, I spent a fair amount of time deep in me cups.”
“And, of course, these days you’re the perfect exemplar of sobriety,” Elizabeth responded, tartly, then hiccoughed. Too late, she recalled her own intemperance this night, and what the Holy Book said about casting stones…
His chest rose under her cheek as he heaved a sigh. “M’dear Lizzie… d’you want to hear the tale, or not?”
“Sorry,” Elizabeth murmured. “Pray, continue…”
“Well, this young miss… Bess was ‘er name, or something like it, as I recall… had gotten herself and her male companion into a spot of trouble, and they were in the midst of bein’ waylaid by a blackguard¾nay, an entire band of knife-wielding blackguards¾intent on makin‘ off with their valuables. And, it appeared, with the young lady herself…” he finished, darkly.
His words stirred something in Elizabeth’s memory… a similar experience, nearly forgotten, that she and Will had had, years ago, as children, one Christmas Eve… their encounter with a down-on-his-luck seafarer. What had been his name…?
“Naturally,” Jack continued, “I interjected, interceded, intervened, and in short order, I had every last one of those brigands lyin’ insensible in the dust, me boot-print tattooed upon their backsides. In gratitude for saving their lives¾and after she learned of the sad plight that had brought me to such ignoble straits¾the young lady offered me her most prized possession: a necklace of great price, which had belonged to her dear, departed mum.”
Another memory stretched and wakened, and Elizabeth’s heart panged anew as she remembered her own mother's much-loved necklace, now left behind in Port Royal along with the rest of the Swanns’ worldly possessions. Her blood boiled at the thought that the late, unlamented Cutler Beckett might have laid claim to those treasured keepsakes, so rich in precious family memories and history.
A suspicion began to form in her mind…
“An offer which¾pirate that you are¾you eagerly accepted.”
“’Course I did!” Jack stated, with a sly, sidelong glance. “What pirate worth his salt returns swag, once acquired?”
“What pirate, indeed?” Elizabeth couldn't help smiling, recalling the joy of her younger self, returned from their Yuletide adventure, finding the priceless necklace tucked safely into the pocket of her torn, dirty cloak: her gift to the Captain returned with a note bearing the signature…
The memory fell into place:
C.J.S.!
Captain John Smith…
Her breath caught as the bud of her suspicion bloomed into certainty.
C.J.S.!
Captain Jack Sparrow…?
With a mental slap to her forehead, she wondered how she could have failed to make the rather obvious connection, until just now.
Ah, the folly of youth…
“Pirate you may be, Jack. However, from your tale, it does seem you’ve long made a practice of saving damsels in distress,” she added. “Very unpiratelike!”
“Well…” Jack hedged. “I s’pose that depends on the motives of the pirate in question." The corner of his mouth quirked. “And, of course, the value of the damsel...”
Elizabeth raised her head to survey Jack‘s profile, his expression a study in practised inscrutability. “Or it could have merely been the action of someone who is both a pirate, and a g¾”
He turned suddenly, laying a tar-stained finger across her lips. “Now, don’t start spoutin' that ‘good man’ rot again!” He grinned wickedly, and in her mind superimposed over Jack‘s face was another one from the far distant reaches of her memory: battered and beaten, identical eyes ringed not with kohl but with bruises, a black empty gap in that smile where now shone brilliant gold, “…or I may just feel obliged to do somethin’ utterly despicable, and quite improper, to prove you wrong.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she scoffed, though she was abashed to find her traitorous body tingling at the prospect.
“Oh, I wouldn’t, would I?“ His expression darkened, all nasty rapacious pirate, and her heart fluttered. “Care to put that theory to the test, luv?”
On impulse, she leaned up and kissed him¾just a quick, chaste peck¾on those leering lips.
He reared back slightly, tilting his chin up to look down his nose at her with a puzzled frown. “What was that for?”
“For saving me, yet again." As his eyes narrowed, she hastily added, “And for the lovely bedtime story. But I’m afraid I fail to see your point.”
“The point is, luv,” his face gentled, as did his voice, “that no matter how dire or hopeless circumstances presently appear… they can and do change.” Another rueful twist of his lips. “Sometimes, with alarming frequency.”
She thought of how she and Jack had left things, when she‘d last departed the Pearl. The terse words they‘d exchanged in his cabin when she‘d gone to break the news to him about her and Will‘s marriage, only to discover Barbossa had already spilled the beans to Jack. The aloofness between them when they‘d said what she thought would be their final good-byes.
“Jack?”
“Yes, luv?”
"What about us?"
"Eh?"
“Where do we go from here?”
He was silent for a moment before responding, his expression carefully neutral, “We don‘t go anywhere. I carry out, complete, and otherwise conclude me undertaken errand: convey you to Shipwreck, reunite you with your ship and crew, deliver you to the warm bosom of your loyal subjects, who are no doubt enthusiastically celebrating your brilliant victory even as we speak. Then, Mrs Turner,” his voice seemed to chill several degrees, “we go our separate ways¾I to Tortuga, which is where I was bound before your iffy first mate forced us to belay those plans, you to wherever it is you decide to go. You get on with your life, I get on with mine. End of story.”
“Is it, Jack? Is it the end of our story?” she couldn’t keep the sadness in her heart leaching into her voice, mourning the loss of the fragile, almost companionably intimate mood that had grown between them, now shattered.
Jack answered with a deep sigh. “How can it be otherwise, darlin’? You’ve a husband you’re determined to be faithful to. And I…” His lips quirked into an arrogant grin, though there seemed to be no humour in it. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow! Footloose and fancy-free…”
She nodded. She knew that was the way things had to be¾it was the decision she herself had made, after all¾but every throb of her heart, the rush of blood in her ears seemed to murmur, over and over: If only… if only…
Her acceptance seemed to put him at ease again, and the tension drained out of his face and body. "Now lie back and close your eyes, luv. Your troubles'll still be there when you wake, but with a few hours o' rest under your belt, and a clearer head, you might find 'em a bit more manageable."
"I wouldn't count on it," she said, gloomily.
"You said before that you felt like you had died. I can indubitably say, luv, that you're definitely not dead, only… perhaps a bit dead in the water, at present." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Remember I told you once what a ship needs: a keel and a hull, a deck and sails. Well, a ship also requires a rudder to steer her, a compass to point her in the right direction, and a fair wind to push her toward her destination. Once you find these, put your ship in order, as it were, you'll be right as rain. I promise."
"From your lips…" she murmured, dubiously. Despite everything, the rum and the luxuriousness of Jack's bed, after the island’s lack of such amenities, were conspiring to work their soporific magic on her, and she fought unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "But in one thing you’re right, Jack… I do need sleep. No reflection on your storytelling abilities, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. And I must admit your bed is so bloody comfortable." As was lying, again, in the crook of his arm, in that bed, though she didn't¾daren't!¾say so. She fixed him with a stern look. “Just don’t forget where you are, and mistake me for one of your hired women…”
“Aye, my most piratical liege. As long as you don't go mistakin’ me for your immortal husband. I am only human, after all¾me legend notwithstanding." He turned to her, a puckish mischief lighting his dark eyes. “I can’t guarantee I’d resist if you decide to take liberties with me person in your sleep…”
She smiled in spite of herself, her previous brown study tempered by his obvious attempts to amuse her and distract her from her cares. “You needn’t be concerned, Jack. I’d hardly take you for Will, awake or asleep. Your person is perfectly secure, and unassailable.”
Jack flashed a rakishly agreeable grin. “Then, Captain Swann… I mean, Turner… I believe we have an accord.” His voice lowered sensuously, belying his next words. “Fear not, Lady Faithful… your virtue is safe in me hands.”
“Good,“ she said, the single syllable turning into another yawn. “And speaking of hands… kindly keep them to yourself! If I wake to find you touching anything other than your own person, the consequences will be dire indeed!”
He raised his eyebrows, making a show of extricating his arm from beneath her head, flexing his fingers elaborately as though they'd gone numb. “Lizzie, I’m shocked! Not only that you'd impugn me honour as a man and as a pirate, but also that a refined lady such as yourself would advocate the prurient practice of self-abuse!”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, Jack… just shut it, and go to sleep!” The candlelight began to blur, and Jack’s face with it. She turned away, curling onto her side, her bottom coming to a rest against his hip as she nestled her cheek deeper into the soft, inviting pillow. “I trust you’ll have somebody wake us when we reach Shipwreck Cove?”
“Consider it done, your liege.”
As slumber overtook her, she found her cares slipping their moorings and drifting away with her consciousness. “Good night, then…” she murmured, adding fondly, under her breath, with a sleepy smile, “Captain Smith…”
Already lost in the land of Morpheus, lying beside Jack in the comfortable and comforting cradle of his bed, she didn’t feel the gentle brush of fingers on her cheek, or hear his whispered reply:
“Sweet dreams… Bess.”
Author:luvvycat
Characters: Elizabeth Swann/Jack Sparrow
Rating: PG13/Soft R
Word count: Approx. 7,000
Disclaimer: PotC is Disney's, not mine. *sniff*
A/N: This story is in response to the August 2011 meme ficlet challenge, and is written for geekmama, who requested a follow-up to my story “The Christmas Stranger” in which Elizabeth comes to realise that “Captain John Smith” and Captain Jack Sparrow are one and the same…
This tale is set in my “Rum and Persuasion” universe (which is also the setting of my young Will and Elizabeth fics), and contains references to events that transpired in those stories. In the R&P canon, this is a “missing scene” between the final chapter and the Epilogue of “Penance.”
Elizabeth sat on the deserted beach, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her spirits as black as the moonless night as she kept a watchful eye on the horizon. Tai Huang should be coming soon with her Empress… that is, if Barbossa had been a man of his word when he’d promised to send them back for her.
Shivering despite her proximity to the fire, she found herself fighting back tears. Barely an hour since she'd watched her new husband vanish in an eldritch green flash¾bound for a realm where down was up and lost souls drifted upon a ghostly tide¾and she already missed Will desperately. With each passing minute, the twenty-four hours they'd spent together seemed more and more like a dream to her: a sweet, passionate, lovely dream, but one from which she‘d awakened to find a nightmarish reality she wished she didn‘t have to confront. The pathway of her life¾once so bright with promise and hope¾stretched before her now, obscure and frightening, her future as daunting as it was uncertain.
If there had been any mercy in their recent travails, it had been that the pressing need for action had left her little time to think. Now, on this remote island, without another soul around to provide distraction and only her thoughts for company, her fears crowded around her, overwhelming her like a horde of spoiled children, demanding her attention. She could no longer avoid those inner voices, or ignore the cold, hard truth of her situation.
For the first time since she’d fled gaol and Port Royal, she faced the prospect of living in a harsh, demanding, dangerous world far removed from the one she’d known most of her life… alone. Without the familiar haven of home and hearth to go back to, bereft of the warming comfort of family, friends… or lovers.
The black canopy of starry sky above her seemed to stretch to infinity in this suddenly empty universe of hers, making her feel small, insignificant, and perfectly isolated, and it was disconcertingly easy to imagine herself the last person on earth; indeed, in her heart, at this moment in time, she felt herself so. Everyone she’d ever cared about… everyone she’d ever loved, and upon whose love and support she’d depended… were now far beyond her reach.
She closed her eyes. Cast adrift she truly was, like one of those hapless souls at World's End. Every person she‘d held near and dear to her heart had abandoned her, left her behind, passed on to strange lands where she could not follow… at least, not while she lived.
Everyone…
Save for one… whispered her mind, unexpectedly teasing her with forbidden memories that brought a hot blush to her cheeks and heat to other, more intimate places.
Memories of a man other than her husband…
Her eyes snapped open as, guiltily, she banished those tempting images. No! She must think only of Will in that way, henceforth. For all that her husband was, perforce, absent from her life, Wife she now was, and she would not betray him, in thought or in deed. Her choice had been made, after all, on the deck of the Pearl, when she and Will had exchanged marriage vows. In any case, it was an exercise in futility to dwell on ships¾and pirates¾that had already sailed. She’d made her bed, as it were. Now she had to lie in it…
Alone.
She sighed. Her head throbbed, her eyes stung, and her body ached from fatigue not only from the furious battle of the day before, but also from the frenzied, pleasurable exertions of the night and day just ended with Will. The pain also served to remind her that she’d had next to no sleep for nearly three days.
Smiling grimly, she reflected on the whirlwind that had been the past forty-eight hours. Scarcely three sunsets ago, she’d arrived at Shipwreck Cove, fledgling captain of an oriental junk bequeathed to her by a dying pirate lord. With a bravura performance worthy of Nell Gwyn, she'd made her entrance, declaring her right to sit amongst the Brethren as a peer, only to find herself moments later, to her complete astonishment, elected King of that motley Court!
With her mind still reeling from that exceedingly startling turn of events, and under the force of all those strange, savage, expectant eyes (and one pair of intensely familiar, somewhat mocking ones that seemed to challenge Go ‘head, darlin’… I dare you!) she’d been immediately pressed into issuing her first royal decree¾one that held all their lives, and the fate of piracy as a whole, in the balance.
But once the Court adjourned, left again to her own devices, she found her bravado crumbling under the combined weight of her growing trepidation about the impending battle, still-fresh grief over the losses of her beloved father and her dear friend James, and the dreadful certainty that her unforgivable deceit had lost her Will’s love and trust forever. As the clock relentlessly ticked down toward the coming dawn and possible (no…bloody probable) annihilation, she’d sought out Jack, and the eleventh-hour promise of pleasure to be found in his arms, and in his bed…
Now in the grim aftermath of the disaster that was Cutler Beckett, in an irony too cruel to bear, both her lovers were gone: Will¾Calypso’s new Ferryman, immortal Captain of the Flying Dutchman, bound to the sea, and to the goddess, in an unholy marriage she feared might prove stronger than the human bond she and Will had just consummated¾was lost to her for the next ten years; and Jack¾whom she’d also loved, but set aside in her resolve to be a faithful wife to her new husband¾had sailed onward to new adventures, without her.
And, more likely than not, thinking himself well rid of me!
A crushing wave of loneliness, of desolation, of impotent longing suddenly overwhelmed her.
She buried her head in her folded arms.
Oh, bugger!
Ten years was going to be a long, long time, with no one to share her life, and her bed…
She reached for the bottle of rum¾now half-empty¾that Gibbs (bless him!) had thought to include with her provisions. She took a generous swallow, welcoming the not-unpleasant burn as the intoxicating nectar slid down her gullet. Before she knew it, she was tossing the empty bottle onto the sand.
Another change these past months had wrought in her. She used to abhor rum and everything it represented, looked down her nose with self-righteous scorn upon those weak-minded, weak-spirited mortals who indulged in hard drink. However, since the day she’d chained Jack to the mast of his beloved ship, then sat in Tia Dalma’s hut wracked with guilt and regret as those whose lives she’d saved drank tributes to the man she‘d just murdered, she’d gained an appreciation for the singular anaesthetic qualities of the pirate’s favourite panacea. The crushing weight upon her conscience, upon her tarnished soul, might well have killed her otherwise.
But in this disturbing calm after the maelstrom of the past year, and more¾from the moment Cutler Beckett arrived in Port Royal, to his well-deserved destruction at the hands of the two men she loved¾the question loomed, huge and fearsome as the Kraken: Where should she go from here?
For the entire past year, her life’s only purpose had been finding Jack, undoing what she’d done, saving him from the Locker. And then, defeating Beckett and avenging her father‘s murder. Only after they’d accomplished those things, could she dare make any plans for her own future.
Her lips twisted in a rueful grimace. Now, she wasn’t entirely certain she even had one.
She had no idea what was left for her, with everyone else gone. What had she to look forward to? What had she to move toward? How was she to fill the void of the next ten years, until she and Will were reunited?
And how could she ever get her other love out of her mind, and her heart?
For though her arms, and her heart, longed anew for her absent husband, she also found them yearning for the pirate who’d loved her, made her a woman, then moved on.
Jack…
Her vision blurred, and the stars above suddenly fuzzed and floated in a dark pool of unshed tears.
It was all for the best, wasn’t it? After all, they’d both been right: it never would have worked out between them.
But then, that little nagging voice was whispering in her ear again:
Would it?
* * * * *
After waiting what seemed like half the night, Elizabeth at last spied the lights of a ship emerging from behind the cliffs, the golden glow of its lanterns moving like a self-contained constellation against the fixed backdrop of pinprick stars hovering above the darkling sea. Using a tinder from the waning fire, she lit the single lantern Gibbs had provided her, before quenching the last embers. She hastily gathered the few things she’d brought with her to the island¾as well as the one, most precious item she'd newly acquired, entrusted to her safekeeping by her dearest Will¾and carried them down to the strand, where her own small boat was beached.
The lights stilled as the ship came to a stop, and she waited for the agreed-upon signal to indicate the presence of friends, not foes. Once given, she pushed her boat into the surf, climbed in, took up the oars and started rowing toward the lights.
As she drew nearer the ship, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to ensure her course held true, she came to realise that the silhouette barely visible against the starry sky¾the shape of her hull, the configuration of her sails¾was all wrong for the Empress, and when the prow of the dinghy at last bumped against the vessel's starboard side, and Elizabeth raised her lantern, its flickering golden light revealed boards painted not Empress-green, but sooty black…
She stared in shock and surprise. The Pearl?
As her small boat bobbed against and alongside the Pearl, she groped until she located the footholds nailed to her hull. "Ahoy!" she called up into the darkness.
“Ahoy!“ a gravelly voice shouted back. Almost immediately a tether-rope dropped down, narrowly missing her head.
With a last glance at the chest resting in the bottom of the boat (which she knew she wouldn't be able to carry up the ladder), she quickly tied off the dinghy, extinguished her lantern, then started clambering upwards.
As she neared the top, the outline of a head appeared over the railing above her and a hand suddenly materialised from the shadows to grip her wrist, assisting her up onto the deck, steadying her as she swayed, then regained her footing. “Welcome aboard, Captain Swann. Or, should I say rather…" the voice came again, insinuatingly, "Captain Turner?” Gold flashed in the Pearl’s lantern light as he grinned.
“Jack!” she exclaimed, scarcely believing her eyes.
"Fetch 'er up!" he cried to no one in particular, and several crewmen sprang into action to haul up the dinghy.
“What are you doing here, Jack? Where’s Tai Huang? Where’s the Empress?” She glanced up at the helm to see Cotton at the wheel. “And what have you done with Barbossa?” she eyed Jack suspiciously.
“Now, now, your nibs… one question at a time! But first…” he held up a finger, “we must douse the lights. It seems not all of Beckett’s hellish armada have departed these waters. We had to slip past a brace of patrol ships on our way here, hence the delay.” Off her alarmed look, he added, quickly, “Never fear that we were seen. We sailed dark, and lit the lamps only as we were circling this island… and, then, only those facing shoreward. Enough to be seen from land, but not from sea.”
He bellowed orders to quench the lights, and the Pearl’s men scrambled to obey. "Oh… and kindly deliver her highness' effects to me quarters. Savvy?" he appended. As the deck plunged into total darkness, the palm of Jack’s hand, warm through the thin silk layers of her Asian tunic, came to rest against the centre of her back as he steered her, sure and true, into the Great Cabin.
Jack closed the doors behind them, then went to draw the heavy draperies across the stern windows (to mask any light that might betray their presence to enemy ships, she presumed) before moving around the cabin, lighting lamps and candles. As the illumination grew, her gaze wandered around the familiar room, finally settling on the bed and its mussed linens, looking much as it did when she'd last left it, after she and Jack had…
Remembering, her face flamed. She quickly averted her eyes, only to have them meet Jack's dead-on. From the devilish look in them, made more so by the reflected sparks of dancing candlelight, and his small, secretive half-smile, she knew he was remembering as well. He said nothing, though, for at that moment, mercifully, two of the newest crewmembers (former redcoats Mulroy and Murtogg, if she recalled the names aright) arrived with her effects¾including the chest containing her husband's disembodied heart.
At the sight of the casket he'd last seen in the hands of Bootstrap Bill on the deck of the sinking Dutchman, Jack lifted an eyebrow and shot her a sharp glance.
Once her things were safely deposited on the sole next to the bed, and he'd settled her in a chair, a fresh bottle of rum on the table between them, Jack took up their truncated conversation, as though nothing had happened in the interim.
“To answer your questions: Why am I here?" He leaned back in his captain’s chair, stretching out his long legs and contemplating the toes of his scuffed boots, his countenance returning to its usual insouciant mask, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Not for the first time, she envied him that legendary Jack Sparrow sangfroid, his bloody resilience that seemed to carry him through any adversity. She wondered how it was that he was able to emerge from every trial and tribulation much the same man he'd been before, while these past months had transformed her completely? Indeed, she felt like an entirely different woman than the one she'd been back in Port Royal, her world irrevocably changed beyond recognition, and her with it. "If one forsakes the existential implications of your query for the literal, I am here, obviously, to retrieve you from the island. Where’s Tai Huang? He’s on the Empress, of course, right where you left him, which leads to the final answer: the Empress has gone on ahead to Shipwreck Cove¾“ he grimaced, “hopefully.”
Something in his expression disquieted her. Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you say, hopefully?”
“Tai Huang was, shall we say, disinclined to acquiesce to our request to turn the Empress around and fetch you back. Seems your less-than-reliable first mate harbours a bit of lingering resentment about Sao Feng choosing you as Captain over him, and¾with you otherwise occupied, as it were¾“ with a leer, he waggled his fingers in the general direction of her lower parts, “he thought to seize the opportune moment to make off with your bonny ship.“
Elizabeth frowned, too troubled to rise to the bait of Jack's flippant tone. “I‘m sorry to hear that. I’d assumed that Tai Huang and I had settled our differences, back when we were taken by the Dutchman.”
“Apparently he thinks otherwise.”
"A notion I intend to set to rights, at the earliest opportunity, I assure you," she said, through clenched teeth. How dare Tai Huang try to usurp her position, after all she'd suffered through, all she'd sacrificed, all she'd lost? Her gaze daggered back to Jack. "Go on."
“In short, to avoid gratuitous bloodshed¾a course of action, I might add, that Hector enthusiastically endorsed, but which threatened to render your ship rather worse for wear, and with a severely depleted crew¾Barbossa was ‘persuaded’ to stay with the Empress to ensure her safe arrival at Shipwreck Cove, whilst yours truly,” he pressed a splayed hand to his chest, cocking his head to one side in a subtle and, she thought, quite self-congratulatory bow, “…generously volunteered to take the Pearl and rescue our illustrious King from her isle of solitude.”
“Your 'volunteering' of course having nothing whatsoever to do with your fear that Barbossa might abscond with the Black Pearl the moment you‘re gone. But tell me, Jack…" She eyed him sceptically. "If he can’t be trusted with your ship, what makes you think he can be trusted with mine?”
“Because, darlin'," Jack grinned, slyly. "It's me Pearl Hector lusts after, not your Empress. And so long as a man has a chance of stayin' near the object of his desire, he'll not be runnin' too fast, or too far." Elizabeth scrutinised his inscrutable face, wondering if he meant his words to apply to more than just Barbossa and the Pearl. "Besides… lest Hector was tempted to succumb to his notorious ship-stealin‘ proclivities¾I took the liberty of sending a small but well-armed contingent of me own men, including the unimpeachably trusty and trustworthy Joshamee Gibbs, to accompany him to Shipwreck.”
Elizabeth couldn't help smiling at the mention of Jack’s loyal first mate, recalling the kindnesses he'd afforded her, not only recently, but all those years ago. Though Gibbs had grumbled over the risks of having a 'miniature female' aboard the Dauntless, it hadn't kept him from regaling her with story after story (sanitised for innocent ears, she now realised), providing pleasant diversion on what might otherwise have been a long and tedious passage.
How far she'd come from that naïve young girl sailing toward Jamaica and an unknown but hopeful future. How far they had all come…
If they'd only known then what the Fates had in store for them!
Remembering, her heart panged with renewed grief, and she found herself reaching automatically for the rum bottle.
When she lowered it again¾the taste of rum still moist upon her lips¾she found Jack watching her like a hawk.
"What?" she asked, rather defensively.
He glanced pointedly at the bottle, then at her with an ironic arch of a brow and the ghost of a smirk before clearing his throat. “If I may offer a bit of friendly advice, luv… as someone who’s had a bit o' experience with treacherous first mates.“ Looking squarely into her eyes, all levity drained from his face. “Once we reach Shipwreck, deal swiftly with Tai Huang. Establish your mastery over the Empress, and over him¾or cut the baggage loose. He has yet to prove his loyalties, which, when it comes to anyone other than his dead master, appear to shift with any opportunistic tide. And the last thing you want is to wind up marooned on another desert island¾or worse!¾should he get it into his head to take back the ship he sees as rightfully his by fomenting mutiny. He was Sao Feng’s man, and the Empress's crew, at present, are more his than yours. But win him over, and I'd wager the rest will follow his lead.”
She felt suddenly weary, and that weariness seeped into her voice. Yet another trial, another challenge to face. “But how am I to do that, Jack? How do I gain their respect, loyalty, and trust?”
Jack shrugged. “Perhaps Mistress Ching can best advise you on how a woman leads an all-male crew. You are King, after all…” he smirked in what appeared to be smug satisfaction, and Elizabeth could practically hear the unsaid 'thanks to me' floating in the air between them, “…and you'd be well within your kingly rights to seek the Brethren's counsel. As for respect¾you did deliver us a stunning victory, first time out of the box. That in and of itself ought to tip the scales in your favour.”
“Clearly not enough to prevent them making off with my ship. And, actually, for the record,” Elizabeth pointed out, “it was you and Will¾not me!¾who won the day for us.”
“Whilst under your command…" he dismissed her protest blithely with a wave of his hand, "And time-honoured tradition dictates that the laurels of victory, or the ignominy of defeat, goes to he¾" he raised the rum bottle to her, "or, in this case, she¾who leads the charge, not those poor saps foolish enough to follow.”
Victory.
She slumped in her chair. Truly, in her heart of hearts, she did not feel victorious. Though she'd been among the first to dance a merry jig over Beckett's destruction, now that the jubilation had faded, she felt only… tired. Beaten.
Lost.
She wasn't aware of her prolonged silence until Jack's voice interrupted her melancholy reverie:
“A penny for ‘em, luv.”
“You don’t want to know…” She reached, took another pull on the bottle.
“Now, I wouldn’t’ve asked, if I didn’t,” he returned. His voice warmed with a trace of their old intimacy as he cajoled, “C‘mon, Lizzie… tell ol‘ Jack what‘s troublin‘ you.”
Her laugh came out sounding more like a sob and her eyes stung with the struggle to stave off the sudden onset of tears. “Where do I begin?“ She could hear the tremor in her own voice… knew that Jack could, too, but couldn’t find it within herself to care. The battle was over, wasn't it? No need to put a brave face on now, particularly in front of Jack, who'd seen not only her ecstatic highs, but her abysmal lows as well.
She took another deep, bracing swig of rum, and when she drew breath and exhaled it on a sigh, the delicious tingle of it danced across her tongue. Liquid courage, Gibbs had called it once, when she'd caught him tapping surreptitiously into his hip-flask. She only wished it were true! She could do with a bit of fortitude at the moment.
She could sense Jack's eyes upon her, feel the weight of his gaze. “I've really no idea what I’m going to do, Jack. I feel as though I‘ve fallen down a deep, dark hole. One I can‘t even begin to climb out of.”
“Now, now…” he murmured, his voice softening with sympathy. “It can’t be as bad as all that, luv.”
“It’s every bit as bad as that!" she snapped back. "When I left Port Royal to find you and Will, it was always with the thought I'd eventually go home again, once it was safe to do so. Be reunited with my father… begin a new life with Will." Despair filled her to overflowing, and a single tear slipped loose. "Now, Father's gone. Will's gone. I've no home to go back to. And where does that bloody leave me, Jack? Not only an orphan, but also practically a widow?" Elizabeth dashed the tear from her eye. “It’s almost as though…" she paused, struggling to find the words to adequately describe how she felt. "Well… as though Elizabeth Swann has died,” she barely whispered. "And I’ve no idea who I am now. What I am.”
"Nonsense!" he drawled. "You're the same as you ever were, darlin'. Clever, and spirited… beautiful, pragmatic, admirably ruthless when need demands… and, without a doubt, still a monumental pain in the arse!" She glanced up, and he winked at her, the corner of his moustache lifting in the shadow of a rueful grin. "And what you are, luv … is free!"
“Free?” she scoffed. “I certainly don’t feel free.”
He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes brightly intense. “But you are, luv… don’t you see? For the first time in your life. Completely. Unequivocally. Rid of those shackles that bound you to your old life. Master¾or rather, mistress¾of your own fate." His voice lowered to an almost hypnotic timbre, as his expressive hands fluttered, weaving visions in the air only he could see. “Think of it, Lizzie. You've been given a chance to reinvent yourself, to be anything you want to be. You can take your Empress… go wherever your fancy takes you, do whatever the hell you bloody well please, and no-one else has a say-so. Nobody to tell you what to do, no-one to force you to wear a corset, or to hold your teacup just-so, or to behave in such-and-such a manner."
Though she knew his words were intended to balm her spirits, her heart twisted in her chest. Oh, how she’d gladly go back, wear those torturous stays twenty-four hours a day, every day of her life, if it meant she could have her father, her dear friend James, her husband back in her life…
Misery inundated her like a wave, pulling her under. “If this is freedom,” she bit out, bitterly, “then perhaps I was better off chained!”
“Lizzie…” Jack chided gently, with what appeared to be a genuinely horror-struck expression. "You can't really mean that!"
"Why not? What has freedom ever gained me, but danger, and loss, and grief…?"
“Elizabeth,” he said softly, and something in his voice, something incredibly tender, set her vibrating with the effort to maintain control. She pressed her hands, palm-down, to the solid wooden surface of the table to keep them from trembling. Oh, how suddenly, how desperately she wanted him to come to her, to take her in his arms and hold her as he'd done before, but feared that if he did so, if she let down her defences and let him back in, she would shatter into a million pieces, start crying and never stop.
Perhaps even break her marriage vows…
But, thankfully, Jack kept his distance, making no move to make contact other than to lean in a bit over the table dividing them, stretching out his right hand until their fingertips barely touched. “In my life, darlin‘, I’ve discovered that circumstances are often never quite as bad as they first appear.”
“Yes,” she said, dourly. “I’m finding that they’re often much, much worse…”
"Aye, luv. I can't deny that sometimes, they are. But I've also learnt this: adversity, if it doesn't kill you first, tends to make you stronger." She flinched as his long fingers began stroking lightly along the tops of her own. She knew he meant the gesture to be comforting, and it was, but it was also coaxing awake feelings and memories she‘d prefer remain dormant… memories of those elegant hands, touching her just as tenderly, in other places.
She jerked her hand away, as though burnt. "Don't…!" she began, then stopped, quickly amending her plea to, "Don't patronise me, Jack! I don't want your pity, nor do I deserve it, after everything I've done." She snatched at the rum-bottle as though it were a lifeline.
Jack shrugged and pulled away. "Water under the bridge, Lizzie. I'm square with how things stand, if you are. Clean slate, as it were, aye?" When she failed to respond, he stared narrowly at her for a moment, then suddenly sprang out of his chair. Coming around the table, he gently pried the bottle out of her grasp before taking her by the hand, “Now, come along…”
"What?" She looked up at him, confused, as she was pulled out of her chair. “Where are we going, Jack?”
Another tug, and she found herself pinned to the front of his body. “Why, I’m takin’ you to bed, of course…” he purred silkily just before he stooped to swing her up into his arms.
Her heart did a flip as her feet left the floor: part excitement, part panic. “Jack… no! We can‘t…” she gasped.
“Oh yes, we can!” Jack looked down at her, and her words died as she found herself trapped by those glittering, fathomless eyes. “We have hours 'til we make Shipwreck Cove, and I don’t know about you, luv… but I could go for a bit of a nap.“
She gaped at him, strangely disappointed as his meaning sank into her befogged brain. “Nap? You mean… sleep?“
“Of course. What d'you think I was talkin’ about?" His knowing grin informed her that he knew very well how she would interpret his words. “Why, look at you, Lizzie… you’re dead on your feet, talkin' complete and utter rubbish, likely haven’t slept for days, by my reckoning.” He smirked, “Unless you and the whelp decided to celebrate your wedding night catching up on lost shut-eye, instead of makin’ up for lost time…”
Protesting all the way, she found herself carried and gently deposited in Jack’s bed, landing on her arse among a nest of soft, brocade pillows. The mattress sagged as Jack artlessly plopped down next to her.
There was a rustle of movement, and then Jack’s voice poured, warm and softly husky, into her ear. “Of course, if you'd rather do somethin' other than sleep, I'm certainly open to suggestions. In fact, the more suggestive, the better!"
"Recall, Jack. I'm a married woman now."
"Actually, I've never found that a particularly persuasive argument¾or an especially effective deterrent¾where the ladies are concerned."
"Nevertheless…" Her look¾then his, following hers¾strayed to the small but ornate chest on the floor, causing them both to sober.
"Ah, well…" Jack gave an exaggerated sigh of defeat. "Can't blame a geezer for tryin', eh? But, if you don't mind me askin', luv … exactly what're you plannin' to do with…?" he nodded toward the pulsating box in question.
What, indeed? "I haven't quite decided, yet. I considered leaving it on the island¾burying it in the sand, or stowing it in a cave somewhere. But it didn't feel right for me to abandon it. Not after Will entrusted it to my care."
"But how safe will it be, luv, draggin' it around with you hither and yon?"
She frowned. She'd thought the very same thing, herself. "Yes, well, there is that." She echoed his sigh. "I suppose I will have to figure something out, sooner or later. I guess I'm just not ready to part with it, yet. There's still too much I have to work out, at present."
"Quite right. Much better to sleep on it, and think about it later…"
"Actually, I'm not sure I can sleep." It was true. As tired as she was, and as much as her body craved the restorative power that sleep would bring, there were just too many worries pressing upon her mind.
"Well, luv … I'm afraid we've no warm milk aboard, only rum, which you've already had aplenty. But perhaps a little story might help…”
She snorted. “I’m afraid I’m a bit too old for bedtime stories, Jack.”
“Ah, but this is a tale from me deep, dark past,” he intoned with a mysterious air.
That piqued her interest. Save for that quite memorable day they'd spent on the island, Jack was seldom forthcoming about his past, beyond perpetuating the elaborate and highly-embroidered tales that made up the warp and woof of his “legend.” The prospect of learning more proved an irresistible lure.
“All right…” she yielded.
His arm worked its way around her. “Me tale begins many years ago, at one of the blackest times of me life, when I met a rather remarkable young lady…”
Elizabeth gave a snuffly laugh. “Jack, I’m hardly of a mind to listen to you expound on one of your many ‘conquests’…”
“No, not that kind of ‘lady’… and when I say ‘young’ I mean very young. Couldn’t’ve been more’n thirteen or fourteen summers…” Off her sceptical look and arched eyebrow, he added, “Think what you like ‘bout me and my dodgy ’moral centre’, ‘Lizbeth, but even I have me standards, including certain minimal requirements when it comes to a lady’s age and experience.”
His hand cupped her shoulder, pulling her closer even as he leaned back against the pillows, drawing her down with him until they were both recumbent, her head resting upon his chest. “T’was the season of our Lord‘s birth, I recollect, though I can’t say precisely what anno Domini. Those days, after Hector made off with me Pearl, I spent a fair amount of time deep in me cups.”
“And, of course, these days you’re the perfect exemplar of sobriety,” Elizabeth responded, tartly, then hiccoughed. Too late, she recalled her own intemperance this night, and what the Holy Book said about casting stones…
His chest rose under her cheek as he heaved a sigh. “M’dear Lizzie… d’you want to hear the tale, or not?”
“Sorry,” Elizabeth murmured. “Pray, continue…”
“Well, this young miss… Bess was ‘er name, or something like it, as I recall… had gotten herself and her male companion into a spot of trouble, and they were in the midst of bein’ waylaid by a blackguard¾nay, an entire band of knife-wielding blackguards¾intent on makin‘ off with their valuables. And, it appeared, with the young lady herself…” he finished, darkly.
His words stirred something in Elizabeth’s memory… a similar experience, nearly forgotten, that she and Will had had, years ago, as children, one Christmas Eve… their encounter with a down-on-his-luck seafarer. What had been his name…?
“Naturally,” Jack continued, “I interjected, interceded, intervened, and in short order, I had every last one of those brigands lyin’ insensible in the dust, me boot-print tattooed upon their backsides. In gratitude for saving their lives¾and after she learned of the sad plight that had brought me to such ignoble straits¾the young lady offered me her most prized possession: a necklace of great price, which had belonged to her dear, departed mum.”
Another memory stretched and wakened, and Elizabeth’s heart panged anew as she remembered her own mother's much-loved necklace, now left behind in Port Royal along with the rest of the Swanns’ worldly possessions. Her blood boiled at the thought that the late, unlamented Cutler Beckett might have laid claim to those treasured keepsakes, so rich in precious family memories and history.
A suspicion began to form in her mind…
“An offer which¾pirate that you are¾you eagerly accepted.”
“’Course I did!” Jack stated, with a sly, sidelong glance. “What pirate worth his salt returns swag, once acquired?”
“What pirate, indeed?” Elizabeth couldn't help smiling, recalling the joy of her younger self, returned from their Yuletide adventure, finding the priceless necklace tucked safely into the pocket of her torn, dirty cloak: her gift to the Captain returned with a note bearing the signature…
The memory fell into place:
C.J.S.!
Captain John Smith…
Her breath caught as the bud of her suspicion bloomed into certainty.
C.J.S.!
Captain Jack Sparrow…?
With a mental slap to her forehead, she wondered how she could have failed to make the rather obvious connection, until just now.
Ah, the folly of youth…
“Pirate you may be, Jack. However, from your tale, it does seem you’ve long made a practice of saving damsels in distress,” she added. “Very unpiratelike!”
“Well…” Jack hedged. “I s’pose that depends on the motives of the pirate in question." The corner of his mouth quirked. “And, of course, the value of the damsel...”
Elizabeth raised her head to survey Jack‘s profile, his expression a study in practised inscrutability. “Or it could have merely been the action of someone who is both a pirate, and a g¾”
He turned suddenly, laying a tar-stained finger across her lips. “Now, don’t start spoutin' that ‘good man’ rot again!” He grinned wickedly, and in her mind superimposed over Jack‘s face was another one from the far distant reaches of her memory: battered and beaten, identical eyes ringed not with kohl but with bruises, a black empty gap in that smile where now shone brilliant gold, “…or I may just feel obliged to do somethin’ utterly despicable, and quite improper, to prove you wrong.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she scoffed, though she was abashed to find her traitorous body tingling at the prospect.
“Oh, I wouldn’t, would I?“ His expression darkened, all nasty rapacious pirate, and her heart fluttered. “Care to put that theory to the test, luv?”
On impulse, she leaned up and kissed him¾just a quick, chaste peck¾on those leering lips.
He reared back slightly, tilting his chin up to look down his nose at her with a puzzled frown. “What was that for?”
“For saving me, yet again." As his eyes narrowed, she hastily added, “And for the lovely bedtime story. But I’m afraid I fail to see your point.”
“The point is, luv,” his face gentled, as did his voice, “that no matter how dire or hopeless circumstances presently appear… they can and do change.” Another rueful twist of his lips. “Sometimes, with alarming frequency.”
She thought of how she and Jack had left things, when she‘d last departed the Pearl. The terse words they‘d exchanged in his cabin when she‘d gone to break the news to him about her and Will‘s marriage, only to discover Barbossa had already spilled the beans to Jack. The aloofness between them when they‘d said what she thought would be their final good-byes.
“Jack?”
“Yes, luv?”
"What about us?"
"Eh?"
“Where do we go from here?”
He was silent for a moment before responding, his expression carefully neutral, “We don‘t go anywhere. I carry out, complete, and otherwise conclude me undertaken errand: convey you to Shipwreck, reunite you with your ship and crew, deliver you to the warm bosom of your loyal subjects, who are no doubt enthusiastically celebrating your brilliant victory even as we speak. Then, Mrs Turner,” his voice seemed to chill several degrees, “we go our separate ways¾I to Tortuga, which is where I was bound before your iffy first mate forced us to belay those plans, you to wherever it is you decide to go. You get on with your life, I get on with mine. End of story.”
“Is it, Jack? Is it the end of our story?” she couldn’t keep the sadness in her heart leaching into her voice, mourning the loss of the fragile, almost companionably intimate mood that had grown between them, now shattered.
Jack answered with a deep sigh. “How can it be otherwise, darlin’? You’ve a husband you’re determined to be faithful to. And I…” His lips quirked into an arrogant grin, though there seemed to be no humour in it. “I’m Captain Jack Sparrow! Footloose and fancy-free…”
She nodded. She knew that was the way things had to be¾it was the decision she herself had made, after all¾but every throb of her heart, the rush of blood in her ears seemed to murmur, over and over: If only… if only…
Her acceptance seemed to put him at ease again, and the tension drained out of his face and body. "Now lie back and close your eyes, luv. Your troubles'll still be there when you wake, but with a few hours o' rest under your belt, and a clearer head, you might find 'em a bit more manageable."
"I wouldn't count on it," she said, gloomily.
"You said before that you felt like you had died. I can indubitably say, luv, that you're definitely not dead, only… perhaps a bit dead in the water, at present." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Remember I told you once what a ship needs: a keel and a hull, a deck and sails. Well, a ship also requires a rudder to steer her, a compass to point her in the right direction, and a fair wind to push her toward her destination. Once you find these, put your ship in order, as it were, you'll be right as rain. I promise."
"From your lips…" she murmured, dubiously. Despite everything, the rum and the luxuriousness of Jack's bed, after the island’s lack of such amenities, were conspiring to work their soporific magic on her, and she fought unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "But in one thing you’re right, Jack… I do need sleep. No reflection on your storytelling abilities, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. And I must admit your bed is so bloody comfortable." As was lying, again, in the crook of his arm, in that bed, though she didn't¾daren't!¾say so. She fixed him with a stern look. “Just don’t forget where you are, and mistake me for one of your hired women…”
“Aye, my most piratical liege. As long as you don't go mistakin’ me for your immortal husband. I am only human, after all¾me legend notwithstanding." He turned to her, a puckish mischief lighting his dark eyes. “I can’t guarantee I’d resist if you decide to take liberties with me person in your sleep…”
She smiled in spite of herself, her previous brown study tempered by his obvious attempts to amuse her and distract her from her cares. “You needn’t be concerned, Jack. I’d hardly take you for Will, awake or asleep. Your person is perfectly secure, and unassailable.”
Jack flashed a rakishly agreeable grin. “Then, Captain Swann… I mean, Turner… I believe we have an accord.” His voice lowered sensuously, belying his next words. “Fear not, Lady Faithful… your virtue is safe in me hands.”
“Good,“ she said, the single syllable turning into another yawn. “And speaking of hands… kindly keep them to yourself! If I wake to find you touching anything other than your own person, the consequences will be dire indeed!”
He raised his eyebrows, making a show of extricating his arm from beneath her head, flexing his fingers elaborately as though they'd gone numb. “Lizzie, I’m shocked! Not only that you'd impugn me honour as a man and as a pirate, but also that a refined lady such as yourself would advocate the prurient practice of self-abuse!”
She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Oh, Jack… just shut it, and go to sleep!” The candlelight began to blur, and Jack’s face with it. She turned away, curling onto her side, her bottom coming to a rest against his hip as she nestled her cheek deeper into the soft, inviting pillow. “I trust you’ll have somebody wake us when we reach Shipwreck Cove?”
“Consider it done, your liege.”
As slumber overtook her, she found her cares slipping their moorings and drifting away with her consciousness. “Good night, then…” she murmured, adding fondly, under her breath, with a sleepy smile, “Captain Smith…”
Already lost in the land of Morpheus, lying beside Jack in the comfortable and comforting cradle of his bed, she didn’t feel the gentle brush of fingers on her cheek, or hear his whispered reply:
“Sweet dreams… Bess.”