POTC Fic - Tiger Wings - Part 3/6
Authors: madam_pudifoot and mary684
Title: Tiger Wings
Characters: Young Jack (age 8), Teague, Sala, Mister Smithson and a handful of miscreants.
Rating: PG
Word Count: Part Three - 1,288
Disclaimer: We own nothing. We don’t even own this universe, as it’s an odd mish-mash of each of our worlds, but we’re as content as cucumbers to play in it.
AN: We owe a huge thanks to florencia7, whose drabble, A Family Night was the sole inspiration for this piece.
X-posted to blackpearlsails and redux_08 as well as our respective journals.
Part One
Part Two
Tiger Wings
Part Three
Jack could feel his stomach drop to the floor, along with what was left of his courage. The library was situated in the middle of the hull, and he’d be spotted if he tried to leave now. If Smithson didn’t tan his hide, Teague surely would.
He glanced about the room, seeking any sort of an escape; alas, there was but one way in, one way out. He entertained the idea of jumping out the small port window, but he quickly cast the idea aside - he’d never make it in time.
He spun around, desperately seeking out some place to hide - the desk had a clear view from the door and would never do; the heavy curtains were also out of the question, as his toes would peek out and surely give him away.
Footsteps neared the library, steady and deliberate - Teague. A sharp knot formed in Jack’s gut, and he inhaled deeply to keep from whining at the discomfort. If Teague ever caught him - nay - ever guessed at what he’d done… Well, Jack preferred not to think on that just yet.
The steps ended just outside the doorway. Jack’s eyes continued to scour the room, working so rapidly that he nearly felt woozy. Then he saw it: a table had been pushed back against the starboard wall, so laden with books, papers, bottles and rubbish that it seemed unremarkable. A thick cloth was draped over it, brushing the floor. The perfect hiding spot!
Jack dived, landing hard on his stomach. Dust flew from the impact, but he ignored it, crawling on his belly until his nose was to the wall. He twisted, pulling his knees to his chest, breath so shallow it was painful.
For a minute, the world was agonizingly quiet; the only sound the hammering of his heart. And then the footsteps faded away, headed towards the bedchamber. Jack let out a sigh of relief, body going lax. That was too close!
A clap of thunder went off beyond the hills, still at sea. The sound gave him a stroke of confidence, knowing that his escape would go unnoticed with the coming storm.
Jack sat back on his haunches, cautiously checking his person for his treasure, only assured after pulling the tattered scrap from his belt and waving it before his eyes. He tucked it away once more and then made to duck out of his shelter, but was stopped by a soft treading sound.
Jack would’ve sworn if he could.
Numerous rips and holes lined the tablecloth, and from his position he could make out vague shapes and a small patch of light against the floor. The door was out of his line of sight, but part of the desk was visible - a pair of bare feet stood before it.
It seemed that his opportune moment had passed him by.
Jack strained to make out the sound of pages turning. His heart throbbed against his chest and suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room. He wanted to gasp for air, but he was worried that the sound of his breathing was already too loud.
The riffling stopped and silence pressed on around him, constricting so tightly that Jack couldn’t breathe at all. He watched as Teague idly turned. He didn’t need to see the pirate’s face to feel those predator’s eyes searching the room, their gaze a piercing heat.
Jack carefully pressed closer to the wall, cringing as his sweaty hands peeled from the floor with an audible suction. He was certain that Teague could hear the faint rustling of his clothes and the booming thrub-dub of his heart.
As he steeled himself for flight, Jack silently prayed to the Gods that Teague had left the door open. He grit his teeth as Teague advanced towards the table, pace so slow that Jack knew he was only doing it to intimidate him.
It was working.
The cloth lifted, Jack’s panic rising with it. Fear paralyzed him momentarily, but his senses quickly returned. Jack sprang forward, only to be shoved back roughly, his head knocking against the floor. His vision swam and he had to struggle to recall which way was up.
“What are you about?” a dark voice asked, hovering somewhere near his feet.
“Nothing,” he said instinctively, sitting up on his elbows. The cloth had been pulled back and his father kneeled before him, one elbow resting against his knee. He didn’t look pleased - but then, he rarely did.
“Been fighting again,” Teague said, eyes narrowed. “Ran away, did you?”
Jack’s cheeks flushed in indignation, though it did nothing to ease his fears. “No.” He licked his raw lip, still ripe with the metallic tang of blood.
“Then why are you lurking about under the table like a ship’s rat?”
The suspicion in Teague’s voice caused Jack to deflate, instantly wishing he’d gone along with the story - it would’ve been easier to lie his way out of it.
“Were just looking for my hat,” he replied, smiling innocently. He knew Teague wouldn’t be best pleased with the answer, but it was the lesser of two evils.
“And why is it under my table?”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, “Things have a way of turning up places, sir.” There was little chance in Teague believing him, but so long as he didn’t discover the truth of the matter, it was of no consequence.
Teague gave him a cross look, thin lips curling into a slight frown. He then took a half step back, still crouched down, beckoning Jack with a knobby finger.
It was difficult to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat, but Jack knew to disobey a direct order from his father would have serious repercussions.
He twisted awkwardly, mindful to keep one hand close to his belt - his knee bent up as he scooted himself forward and in one fluid motion he managed to flip the scrap from his person. The parchment landed somewhere to his side, but he was certain Teague hadn’t seen it.
Jack dragged himself out into the open again, sitting almost nose to nose with the older man. He flashed another smile, leaning slightly to the right, hoping to block Teague’s line of sight.
“Supposing it’s not here. You haven’t seen it, have you, da?” he asked, rotating on his knees, careful to lock eyes with Teague - willing him to turn around. The last thing he needed was for the Keeper to see what had become of his beloved Code.
Teague’s face remained unmoving, and for a moment Jack wondered if he’d heard him at all. Black eyes flickered towards the wall, then came to rest on him once more as Teague let the tablecloth fall to the floor.
Jack let out the smallest of sighs, hoping that his relief wasn’t too obvious.
“Why would I have seen it?” Teague rose to his feet with marked swiftness, and Jack was hesitant to follow, lest he receive another sound blow. He didn’t exactly fancy being on the floor, but Teague wasn’t wearing his boots, which would surely count for something.
“You’ve a… habit of seeing things,” Jack said, hesitantly standing, arching away from his father, more out of habit than anything.
“Aye,” Teague muttered, giving him a cold look before moved past him. “Fetch that note, boy.”
The command was so sudden that for a moment, Jack truly didn’t know what he meant. “Sir?”
“The one you’re lying about - under the table,” he said. “I’ve a way of seeing things, lad,” he added, flashing a silver toothed grin. Teague sat at the desk chair, with laced fingers resting casually against his stomach. There was a glint in his eye that chilled Jack’s blood.
TBC...
Title: Tiger Wings
Characters: Young Jack (age 8), Teague, Sala, Mister Smithson and a handful of miscreants.
Rating: PG
Word Count: Part Three - 1,288
Disclaimer: We own nothing. We don’t even own this universe, as it’s an odd mish-mash of each of our worlds, but we’re as content as cucumbers to play in it.
AN: We owe a huge thanks to florencia7, whose drabble, A Family Night was the sole inspiration for this piece.
X-posted to blackpearlsails and redux_08 as well as our respective journals.
Part One
Part Two
Tiger Wings
Part Three
Jack could feel his stomach drop to the floor, along with what was left of his courage. The library was situated in the middle of the hull, and he’d be spotted if he tried to leave now. If Smithson didn’t tan his hide, Teague surely would.
He glanced about the room, seeking any sort of an escape; alas, there was but one way in, one way out. He entertained the idea of jumping out the small port window, but he quickly cast the idea aside - he’d never make it in time.
He spun around, desperately seeking out some place to hide - the desk had a clear view from the door and would never do; the heavy curtains were also out of the question, as his toes would peek out and surely give him away.
Footsteps neared the library, steady and deliberate - Teague. A sharp knot formed in Jack’s gut, and he inhaled deeply to keep from whining at the discomfort. If Teague ever caught him - nay - ever guessed at what he’d done… Well, Jack preferred not to think on that just yet.
The steps ended just outside the doorway. Jack’s eyes continued to scour the room, working so rapidly that he nearly felt woozy. Then he saw it: a table had been pushed back against the starboard wall, so laden with books, papers, bottles and rubbish that it seemed unremarkable. A thick cloth was draped over it, brushing the floor. The perfect hiding spot!
Jack dived, landing hard on his stomach. Dust flew from the impact, but he ignored it, crawling on his belly until his nose was to the wall. He twisted, pulling his knees to his chest, breath so shallow it was painful.
For a minute, the world was agonizingly quiet; the only sound the hammering of his heart. And then the footsteps faded away, headed towards the bedchamber. Jack let out a sigh of relief, body going lax. That was too close!
A clap of thunder went off beyond the hills, still at sea. The sound gave him a stroke of confidence, knowing that his escape would go unnoticed with the coming storm.
Jack sat back on his haunches, cautiously checking his person for his treasure, only assured after pulling the tattered scrap from his belt and waving it before his eyes. He tucked it away once more and then made to duck out of his shelter, but was stopped by a soft treading sound.
Jack would’ve sworn if he could.
Numerous rips and holes lined the tablecloth, and from his position he could make out vague shapes and a small patch of light against the floor. The door was out of his line of sight, but part of the desk was visible - a pair of bare feet stood before it.
It seemed that his opportune moment had passed him by.
Jack strained to make out the sound of pages turning. His heart throbbed against his chest and suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room. He wanted to gasp for air, but he was worried that the sound of his breathing was already too loud.
The riffling stopped and silence pressed on around him, constricting so tightly that Jack couldn’t breathe at all. He watched as Teague idly turned. He didn’t need to see the pirate’s face to feel those predator’s eyes searching the room, their gaze a piercing heat.
Jack carefully pressed closer to the wall, cringing as his sweaty hands peeled from the floor with an audible suction. He was certain that Teague could hear the faint rustling of his clothes and the booming thrub-dub of his heart.
As he steeled himself for flight, Jack silently prayed to the Gods that Teague had left the door open. He grit his teeth as Teague advanced towards the table, pace so slow that Jack knew he was only doing it to intimidate him.
It was working.
The cloth lifted, Jack’s panic rising with it. Fear paralyzed him momentarily, but his senses quickly returned. Jack sprang forward, only to be shoved back roughly, his head knocking against the floor. His vision swam and he had to struggle to recall which way was up.
“What are you about?” a dark voice asked, hovering somewhere near his feet.
“Nothing,” he said instinctively, sitting up on his elbows. The cloth had been pulled back and his father kneeled before him, one elbow resting against his knee. He didn’t look pleased - but then, he rarely did.
“Been fighting again,” Teague said, eyes narrowed. “Ran away, did you?”
Jack’s cheeks flushed in indignation, though it did nothing to ease his fears. “No.” He licked his raw lip, still ripe with the metallic tang of blood.
“Then why are you lurking about under the table like a ship’s rat?”
The suspicion in Teague’s voice caused Jack to deflate, instantly wishing he’d gone along with the story - it would’ve been easier to lie his way out of it.
“Were just looking for my hat,” he replied, smiling innocently. He knew Teague wouldn’t be best pleased with the answer, but it was the lesser of two evils.
“And why is it under my table?”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, “Things have a way of turning up places, sir.” There was little chance in Teague believing him, but so long as he didn’t discover the truth of the matter, it was of no consequence.
Teague gave him a cross look, thin lips curling into a slight frown. He then took a half step back, still crouched down, beckoning Jack with a knobby finger.
It was difficult to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat, but Jack knew to disobey a direct order from his father would have serious repercussions.
He twisted awkwardly, mindful to keep one hand close to his belt - his knee bent up as he scooted himself forward and in one fluid motion he managed to flip the scrap from his person. The parchment landed somewhere to his side, but he was certain Teague hadn’t seen it.
Jack dragged himself out into the open again, sitting almost nose to nose with the older man. He flashed another smile, leaning slightly to the right, hoping to block Teague’s line of sight.
“Supposing it’s not here. You haven’t seen it, have you, da?” he asked, rotating on his knees, careful to lock eyes with Teague - willing him to turn around. The last thing he needed was for the Keeper to see what had become of his beloved Code.
Teague’s face remained unmoving, and for a moment Jack wondered if he’d heard him at all. Black eyes flickered towards the wall, then came to rest on him once more as Teague let the tablecloth fall to the floor.
Jack let out the smallest of sighs, hoping that his relief wasn’t too obvious.
“Why would I have seen it?” Teague rose to his feet with marked swiftness, and Jack was hesitant to follow, lest he receive another sound blow. He didn’t exactly fancy being on the floor, but Teague wasn’t wearing his boots, which would surely count for something.
“You’ve a… habit of seeing things,” Jack said, hesitantly standing, arching away from his father, more out of habit than anything.
“Aye,” Teague muttered, giving him a cold look before moved past him. “Fetch that note, boy.”
The command was so sudden that for a moment, Jack truly didn’t know what he meant. “Sir?”
“The one you’re lying about - under the table,” he said. “I’ve a way of seeing things, lad,” he added, flashing a silver toothed grin. Teague sat at the desk chair, with laced fingers resting casually against his stomach. There was a glint in his eye that chilled Jack’s blood.
TBC...