A Man's Soul - Chapter 3
Title: A Man's Soul (also has its troubles)
Author: me,
sparrows_lass
Rating: erm, PG - I guess...
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the wonderful characters - unfortunately. Not making any money from it.
Author's Note: First of all, thanks to my lovely beta sirdrakesheir for being so supportive and answering my stupid questions. ;] I'm very excited about this chapter - it's the longest so far - and hope you enjoy reading! Well, yeah, and I hope you don't totally hate me for my Jack...or good old Gibbs! :)
Comments are <3!!!!
A man’s soul
(also has its troubles)
The black galleon drifted leisurely through the gently rocking Caribbean Sea. The waves seemed to be as tried as the ship’s crew, who were snoring peacefully in their gently swinging hammocks below decks.
The lovely full moon illuminated the dark night sky with the aid of uncountable bright blinking stars. Rendering lantern next to the old pirate with the colorful constantly commenting parrot on his shoulder at the helm and his small bald headed mate beside him useless.
It was a beautiful night. Everything was calm, apart from the soft sound of waves lazily caressing the pirate ship’s sides.
In the captain’s cabin alone was there motion. Lying on his scarred back, the sun-tanned pirate was writhing violently on his sweaty bunk. His rapid movements caused the damp sheets to fall off his lean body, revealing his sweat-covered naked form.
His long, partially braided hair hit his handsome face as he threw his head from side to side. His face contorted and his roughened, full lips parted in a silent scream.
Suddenly his dark eyes shot wide open, while he gasped a desperate “No!” into the gloomy cabin.
Panting, he squeezed his kohl-lined eyes shut, trying to calm down his racing heartbeat. Swallowing hard, he willed the horrible images of his latest nightmare to relinquish his tortured mind. He must’ve dreamt this dream a hundred times by now, but it still hadn’t lost any of its horror.
It contained all of his worst fears and all the awful happenings that he was trying so hard to forget. Still, every now and then, they came back to haunt him in the most terrible of nightmares. And they never failed to leave him the way he was now: lying shocked and gasping for breath on his damp bunk, covered in sweat, his heart beating rapidly.
Of course, she was part of this nightmare, too. Her; his lady-doom or rather, his pirate-lady-doom. She wasn’t really that much of a lady, though, not anymore. Not after what she’d done. Or what she had not done. Or maybe she’d never really been a lady, she’d been a caged pirate, or rather a sleeping pirate, brought to consciousness by him. By a real pirate. A legendary pirate.
But was he that anymore? A real pirate? He felt more like a broken man; he did not see any sense in anything except consuming his favorite “vile drink”. God, he felt so lost these days...
But then again, his dreams weren’t always nightmares. There were also nice and pleasant dreams. Starring her. Her beautiful face and sparkling brown eyes displaying sweet rapture, her pink lips parted in anticipation, wanting to taste him - again. Her long, honey-brown hair, curled in an angel’s locks, falling wild and free down her surprisingly strong shoulders, her delicate fingers reaching out for him, her whole body arching towards him, aching for his touch, promising a kind of redemption, pleading for forgiveness.
These wonderful dreams were the extreme opposite of his nightmares. Preferably, they took place on a godforsaken spit of land, with a bonfire to dance around and lots of rum. These dreams clearly always involved pleasant actions - with her. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been pleasant, right?
These dreams always left him breathless, too. They made him dread the moment he had to open his eyes and face a bloody vacant cabin, the space next to him on his bunk just as empty as the rum bottles on the floor.
How could this be? How could she hold such a power over him? How could she give him both the sweetest dreams and the most horrifying nightmares?
Still struggling to breathe at normal speed, he turned his heavy head around and watched the only candle that was still burning. Its light cast odd shadows across the dull walls that surrounded him. All of a sudden, he felt trapped and the urge to leave his suddenly very small cabin overcame him.
I should probably go on deck; clear me head in the cool night air, sort me thoughts out.
Finally breathing at an almost normal rate, (and having recovered a little from the bad dream) he picked up the rum bottle on the floor to his right. With an annoyed grunt he let it drop back on the planks.
Or maybe I should go and search for more rum.
The half-full bottle he had received from Gibbs that afternoon was already drained of its last spicy drop. Damn and blast! Why was the rum always gone?
He had to do something, anything but stay in his empty, sweltry cabin. His dark thoughts and the less-than-tempting prospect of more nightmares seemed to shrink the cabin by the second.
He quickly got off his suddenly uncomfortable bunk and pulled on his faded breeches. He staggered forward to open the cabin doors, picking up his precious tricorne in the process. Stepping out of the close cabin and into the soothing cool of the Caribbean night air, he put on his beloved hat and inhaled deeply. Immediately, it had the effect he was looking for: the fresh salty air calmed him down a little as it cooled the heated skin of his face and upper body.
He looked around slowly, nodding at Cotton, who manned the helm, the old pirate’s strangely quiet parrot perched on his shoulder, and Marty, who stood beside him. Both nodded back, a little startled by the presence of their captain, whom they had only seen few times in the last weeks.
Everything was fine, there was nothing to worry about, Jack decided. He set his mind on other things, ignoring the presentiment of something being . . . not quite the way it should have been.
Never mind. Next task: get rum! But where to start the search?
After contemplating for a second, he came to the conclusion that it he was too tired and spent to search the whole ship for one tiny sip of rum.
So, he staggered forward instead and leaned onto the rail, facing the dark, calm ocean. With his elbows propped up on the rail, he studied the moonlight reflecting off the lazily moving waves. It glittered beautifully. His gaze dropped down to his dirty, jeweled fingers. His right index finger showed off a part of his skin that was neither tanned nor dirty. He usually wore a ring on it on that exact spot. He assumed it was emerald. He had always liked the ring, back from the first time he had seen it. It was the first thing he had ever pilfered. He smiled slightly. That was a very long time ago.
Ironically the reason he didn’t wear it now was that a particular dangerous pirate-y damsel had pilfered it from him the same. He had pretended not to notice that the piece of jewelry was gone. Had pretended to be fast asleep when he had heard her light footsteps on the planks that night. It had been the last night that she had spent on the Pearl before stepping on land in Port Royal.
After that night these odd dreams had started.
She had been very careful to make few sounds when she had cracked open the heavy doors to his cabin. He hadn’t worn very much, had laid on his bunk with only his breeches and boots and of course his old bandana on. He had heard her breath hitch as she had moved closer on tiptoes and had seen him lying peacefully sprawled across his bunk, oddly wrapped into - to her - unusually clean sheets, seemingly sound asleep.
He had felt her hot, lightly rum spiced breath tickling his face as she had bent over him. She had studied his face, for he had practically felt her beautiful brown eyes roaming hungrily over every revealed inch of his body. She had sat on his bunk for a long time and it had taken him all his strength then not to show how much he had enjoyed her presence. Preferably by stealing her not-even-an-inch-away delicious pink lips in a bruising kiss. And it had confused, maybe even disturbed him - God knows he was used to a woman’s stare and hot breath on him! And yet it had aroused him and given him chills. Very pleasant chills.
She had traced his jaw line ever so slightly with the tips of her fingers, making the trail tingle with her soft caress. Had picked up his right hand then, closing her delicate, slightly roughened fingers around his larger, work roughened ones. That’s when she had taken his ring, had slid the cool metal off his index finger ever so slowly, as for not to wake him. Just as slow and gentle she had then placed his hand down on the mattress next to him, where it had been before. But only after giving it a slight, careful squeeze. A squeeze you would give a baby’s hand, so gentle as if it would break under too much pressure. And planting a soft kiss, as light as a feather’s touch, on the back of his bronzed, dirty hand.
The sensation of her touch and hot breath in addition to the fresh characteristic scent of her - sea, sweat, woman and flowers - had taken his breath away. It had taken him a great amount of strength - if not all of it - not to show any reaction and to stay calm and unaffected.
She had sat still on the edge of his bunk then and he had again simply enjoyed her company and the warmth radiating from the petite woman next to him. He had gladly listened to every breath she drew, every ever so slight movement she had made.
And then, far too quickly, she had gotten up as carefully as she had sat down before. If he hadn’t been faking sleep but wide awake instead, he would’ve gotten up and grabbed her by her arm, spun her around and captured her full lips in a passionate kiss. He would’ve expressed all these emotions he couldn’t quite put into words nor a hundred percent understood with a long, knee-buckling kiss. But he hadn’t.
Instead he had remained there on his bunk, lying still and unmoved, fake asleep and had heard her approaching the door with quick, light steps. Had heard her pressing down the cool handle with a slight creak of the wood and a barely audible sigh from herself. Then she had halted.
Maybe to take a last glance at the pirate captain on the bunk, for once quiet and peaceful as he slept with his right cheek buried in the clean pillow, lying on his back, his full lips slightly parted, kohl-lined eyes closed, breathing deep and even, his right tattooed and branded arm neatly at his right side on the mattress, the other strong arm carelessly draped across his slightly muscular belly, right over the waistband of his faded breeches, the lower parts of his body oddly wrapped into a mess of blankets, one of his booted legs peaking out from under the cloth, the other one somewhere next to it.
Five seconds later he had heard the door being quickly but quietly opened and shut, then a short silence and a soft mumble. And then the sound of delicate footsteps walking away from the captain’s quarters.
That night, she had taken away a piece of him. In more than one way. She had taken away a piece of the puzzle, a piece of the whole. And no matter how hard he had tried up to now, this piece was irreplaceable and this realization struck him painfully. He didn’t want to accept it, he was still “loathe to claim it as his own”, just like the bloody voodoo priestess had predicted and realized long time ago. But he was a pirate - body and soul - and a true pirate didn’t love anything or anybody more than the sea and his freedom.
Love . . . what made this word so . . . special, so precious anyway? It was only a word after all! And the emotion that stuck to this odd word was just as fatal as a deal with Davy Jones, Cutler Beckett, bloody Barbossa and Satan himself together! And it made a man vulnerable, it made him dependent on another person. That couldn’t be healthy in any way.
People in love were always acting bloody stupid, anyway. Living proof: the bloody whelp. That fool had risked his sorry life for his beloved, without even knowing if she loved him or not. Stupid fool. If it hadn’t been for Jack, Barbossa would’ve killed that boy. Always hurried his actions without thinking them through first - or at least not very well. He wasn’t a coward, that lad, by all means not. But he was young and impulsive.
That blasted boy wasn’t really stupid either. He always had his goal in mind, and it was always saving someone. Either his beloved or his father - come what may, that boy would do anything possible and necessary to save them. And each time the whelp would’ve nearly paid these heroic goals with his life - if it hadn’t been for a pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, who had time and time again managed to get Turner junior out of his troubles. Sometimes because Jack himself had been the one who had brought Will into these critical situations, sometimes because he had become a real friend to him.
That didn’t change the fact that he was still a whelp, a eunuch and a fool for love.
The best (more or less) living example for a love that had gone down the drain was Mr. Fishface himself, Davy Jones. Jack was not keen on ending up like the Captain of the Flying Dutchman; bitter and cruel. That man had trusted in his beloved and love itself and had, in the end, been painfully disappointed. Had turned into a monster - body and soul - black hearted and cold as ice. A bastard, who only found satisfaction and pleasure in the torture and death of others. He really wasn’t interested in such a life, even less if it was the consequence of love.
Or bloody Norrington. That love fool had lost his position and everything he had lived for loving her in the first place. Had given Jack one day’s head start in favor for Elizabeth. Had set sail to rescue William - as a favor to Elizabeth when she had promised to actually marry him. He had lost everything after chasing after Jack and his Pearl. Had now regained his position and life, but never won Elizabeth’s love. He had been a fool for love, just the same as Jones and the whelp.
Jack didn’t like thinking about love. Thinking these thoughts made him think about things he shouldn’t think about, because thinking like that always ended in thinking about her. And that was the most horrible thought he could think of at the moment.
“Beautiful night, ain’t it, Jack?”
He startled slightly at the warm sound of a familiar deep voice to his right, which snapped Jack abruptly out of his thoughts and brought him back to reality.
“Aye, it really is, Joshamee.” He said with a short glimpse of his old friend.
“What’s in your head, Jack? Judging from your reaction ye didn’t even hear me come on deck. That would be the first time ever.”
“Well, mate, one of the odd side effects of being almost sober is that there is the chance of being deep in thought, because ye start thinking too much. About certain things.”
“And what would that be then? I suppose these ‘certain things’ have nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that ye’ve been drunk for . . . must be three weeks now?” Gibbs asked.
The captain of the Black Pearl sighed and fixed his gaze on the waves again.
“Maybe . . . maybe not.” He stared thoughtfully out at the ocean.
There was a long silence, and Gibbs tried hard to think of something to say that would make Jack finally admit (at least to himself) what the whole crew already knew.
“Can I ask ye a question, Joshamee?” The younger pirate said all of a sudden, still watching the waves sparkle and reflect the silver moonlight.
Gibbs nodded, his gaze following Jack’s over at the waves beneath and around the Pearl. “Of course, Jack. Always.”
Jack licked his dry lips slowly, nodding his head, his gaze shifting higher to the untouchable horizon.
“Let’s say ye go on shore in Tortuga and by chance ye see a little kitten in the water. Its drowning and ye save it. At first, this little kitty seems to be just a completely normal young cat, but then, after some time ye discover that it’s...it’s a really special and unusual kitten and ye start to really like it. Ye want ta keep it. Ye play little games with it and no matter how nasty and wild this kitty can be, ye enjoy every minute ye spend with it. It’s exhausting, but it’s a nice challenge. And then...and then ye find out that it already belongs to somebody else. Ye kinda knew it from the start, but it’s only when you see its owner that it strikes ye that… ye can’t keep it. It wasn’t yours to begin with. Ye have no right ta keep it. But ye don’t want to give it back, for you’ve really grown to kinda...in a way ye luv this kitty. And then it’s gone. And ye miss it, miss the little fights, ye miss its soft purr, and ye just miss having it around. But it’s gone.
And then, ye accidentally meet it again, in some totally different place, and it’s not a kitten anymore. It’s a grown cat. And the little fights are more challenging now. She wants to find its owner and you help it, although you see a good chance to win the cat for ye. And when she finally has him back . . . she betrays ye to safe his life . . . .”
Jack’s voice had dropped down to a barely audible whisper in the end. He hadn’t noticed he’d changed the ‘it’ into a ‘she’. Silence spread over the two sailors. Gibbs was contemplating again, now about whether or not to stay with Jack’s metaphor. “Jack, why don’t ye jest talk to her about this?”
“What? To whom?” Jack chocked his head in his first mate’s direction, his face displaying innocent surprise, like he had no idea what the hell his old friend was talking about.
“The lass, Jack. Pretty little wild thing. Honey-brown hair, hazel eyes, pink lips, slim body, fights like a lioness, bloody passionate, that one. Actually a governor’s daughter, but she’s some fierce pirate in her heart. Ye even saved her - more than once. Do ye remember?”
“Aye, Master Gibbs, I’d really like to say that I haven’t got a clue who ye’re talking about, but, yes, I do remember. Very vividly.” Jack said, his gaze still remaining at the horizon.
“So will ye talk to her then, Jack?”
“Why would I want to talk to her?” Jack asked, furring his brow and once again taking a brief side glance at the older sailor to his right. “I see no need to do such a thing.”
“Do ye really want me to list up all reasons? I think ye know perfectly well yerself. Besides, if I would list them all up, we would still stand here at the break of dawn when I should be already manning the helm.” The seadog stated with a knowing look at his younger captain.
Jack grimaced and sniffed. “You seem very certain, Mr. Gibbs. But unfortunately, I believe that I do not know what you are babbling on about at all!” He looked Gibbs straight in the eye for only a few seconds, then he turned his face towards the sea again.
Gibbs sighed secretly. He had known that this would be difficult, but he hadn’t thought it to be THAT difficult. Then he noticed Jack squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment, as if being angry with himself for that poor lie.
“Look, Jack, I’ve known ye for quite some time now, and this is the first time you’ve acted this strange. You’re actin’ even stranger than ye did durin’ the thing with Jones and the heart. And I believe that this is also a matter of heart. I don’t mean to interfere with your matters, but the whole crew . . . meaning me as well . . . is already worrying about ye - some are even angry. So I’m asking ye for getting this settled, for yerself, the same as for the crew. Because if ye don’t I’m afraid there will be a mutiny sooner than ye think. As a matter of fact we haven’t done a proper deal of pirating for three weeks now. That’s reason enough - ye know it,” Gibbs said, his voice calm and compassionate.
“I know. I can’t . . . .,” Jack said, shaking his head slowly as his voice trailed off. His head hanging heavy in defeat as his eyes roamed aimlessly over the sea beneath him. “I can’t . . . don’t you see? She belongs with . . . belongs with Will. She deserves better than being a pirate . . . or with pirates. She’s worth a proper man, a fine and good man like the whelp. One who takes care of her, who makes sure she’s alright.” He swallowed hard, hating that he sounded so bloody vulnerable and sad. That was nothing of what a true pirate captain should act like.
“Is that what keeps ye from setting things right between ye two? Well, Jack, I can assure ye that ye are a good man - the gentleman amongst the pirates. And ye definitely know how to take care of yer men and them members of the female creature. And if the lass wants to be a pirate - Lord knows she loves the sea and freedom, now that she knows what it is like - she will become a pirate, sure as tide. Can’t keep that fierce cat from doing whatever she wants,” Gibbs assured his old friend with the ghost of a smile on his weather-beaten face.
“Thanks for the flowers, Joshamee, but that’s not all.” Jack shook his head quickly and paused. “There’s a lot more to it . . . it’s just . . . .” He trailed off once again.
Yes, of course, he had known good old Gibbs for ages, but he was reluctant to speaking ALL of it out loud. He had already said so much - too much, maybe. It was better not to say all of it. This kind of . . . odd feelings towards other people made one so bloody vulnerable, so easy to get hurt. And nobody wants to get hurt. These emotions tied one to another person - body and soul. They made one dependent on somebody else than oneself - not to say addicted. But it was even worse than being addicted . . . it took away one’s freedom, shackled one to that one person - emotionally at least. That was a high price to pay. It made one need to swallow one’s pride and trust in that somebody. TRUST. Trust in that person that it would never hurt you.
He shut his eyes and shook his head sadly but firmly in opposition. “Don’t think I wanna pay the price for it. It’s just too high.”
“Don’t think, don’t want or don’t know? Listen, ye shouldn’t tell me the answer, it’s not meant for my ears, ye should tell her. Ye can do that this morning when we reach Port Royal.”
Jack straightened up and spun around, facing Gibbs, who was grinning at him. Glaring daggers at him, Jack hissed, “This is my ship, I’m giving orders! What do you think you are doing?”
Gibbs simply smiled at the younger pirate. “I’m acting in behalf of the crew and forcing you to your luck. I would never dare to do this under any other circumstances, Jack, but some people just don’t know what’s good for themselves - and for once everybody else knows better than ye do, Captain. This is only for yer best, trust yer loyal crew.”
Jack looked like he was going to explode every second. Who did Gibbs think he was?!! First he made him - more or less oblique - admit his blasted feelings and then he told him that they were already nearly in PORT ROYAL without him having given the order to sail there!!
“Furthermore, you gave me order to sail to the nearest Port to stock up our supplies, and on account of my navigational skills I figured that Port Royal was the closest. Ye have no choice, Jack, for I already told the crew that ye gave the order to raid Port Royal after stocking up our supplies. They won’t be very friendly if ye tell them that ye are changing plans. As I said, they are in need of finally doing what they do best.” Gibbs kept on smiling.
“Yer bloody starting to sound like me! I knew there was something wrong,” Jack muttered angrily. Immediately he tried to come up with a plan that could prevent both a mutiny and facing the governor’s daughter or her husband. But he couldn’t quite think of one.
That would be a first.
In addition, they hardly had any supplies left, and he owed the crew a day or night on land with rum and pleasant company. And on the other hand he completely understood Gibbs’s intentions, he knew perfectly well how un-captain-like he was acting at the moment and - even worse - he knew the elder man was completely and utterly right.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he spun around and stepped out towards his cabin. When he pressed the cool metal of the door handle down, he halted. He turned back one more time and yelled “Mr. Gibbs!”
Gibbs looked at him, still standing at the rail. His smile widened and he nodded his head as he heard his friend’s next words.
The ghost of a weak but genuine smile began to pull at he corners of the Captain’s mouth as he said “Thank you.”
luv ya!!
Author: me,
sparrows_lass
Rating: erm, PG - I guess...
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the wonderful characters - unfortunately. Not making any money from it.
Author's Note: First of all, thanks to my lovely beta sirdrakesheir for being so supportive and answering my stupid questions. ;] I'm very excited about this chapter - it's the longest so far - and hope you enjoy reading! Well, yeah, and I hope you don't totally hate me for my Jack...or good old Gibbs! :)
Comments are <3!!!!
A man’s soul
(also has its troubles)
The black galleon drifted leisurely through the gently rocking Caribbean Sea. The waves seemed to be as tried as the ship’s crew, who were snoring peacefully in their gently swinging hammocks below decks.
The lovely full moon illuminated the dark night sky with the aid of uncountable bright blinking stars. Rendering lantern next to the old pirate with the colorful constantly commenting parrot on his shoulder at the helm and his small bald headed mate beside him useless.
It was a beautiful night. Everything was calm, apart from the soft sound of waves lazily caressing the pirate ship’s sides.
In the captain’s cabin alone was there motion. Lying on his scarred back, the sun-tanned pirate was writhing violently on his sweaty bunk. His rapid movements caused the damp sheets to fall off his lean body, revealing his sweat-covered naked form.
His long, partially braided hair hit his handsome face as he threw his head from side to side. His face contorted and his roughened, full lips parted in a silent scream.
Suddenly his dark eyes shot wide open, while he gasped a desperate “No!” into the gloomy cabin.
Panting, he squeezed his kohl-lined eyes shut, trying to calm down his racing heartbeat. Swallowing hard, he willed the horrible images of his latest nightmare to relinquish his tortured mind. He must’ve dreamt this dream a hundred times by now, but it still hadn’t lost any of its horror.
It contained all of his worst fears and all the awful happenings that he was trying so hard to forget. Still, every now and then, they came back to haunt him in the most terrible of nightmares. And they never failed to leave him the way he was now: lying shocked and gasping for breath on his damp bunk, covered in sweat, his heart beating rapidly.
Of course, she was part of this nightmare, too. Her; his lady-doom or rather, his pirate-lady-doom. She wasn’t really that much of a lady, though, not anymore. Not after what she’d done. Or what she had not done. Or maybe she’d never really been a lady, she’d been a caged pirate, or rather a sleeping pirate, brought to consciousness by him. By a real pirate. A legendary pirate.
But was he that anymore? A real pirate? He felt more like a broken man; he did not see any sense in anything except consuming his favorite “vile drink”. God, he felt so lost these days...
But then again, his dreams weren’t always nightmares. There were also nice and pleasant dreams. Starring her. Her beautiful face and sparkling brown eyes displaying sweet rapture, her pink lips parted in anticipation, wanting to taste him - again. Her long, honey-brown hair, curled in an angel’s locks, falling wild and free down her surprisingly strong shoulders, her delicate fingers reaching out for him, her whole body arching towards him, aching for his touch, promising a kind of redemption, pleading for forgiveness.
These wonderful dreams were the extreme opposite of his nightmares. Preferably, they took place on a godforsaken spit of land, with a bonfire to dance around and lots of rum. These dreams clearly always involved pleasant actions - with her. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been pleasant, right?
These dreams always left him breathless, too. They made him dread the moment he had to open his eyes and face a bloody vacant cabin, the space next to him on his bunk just as empty as the rum bottles on the floor.
How could this be? How could she hold such a power over him? How could she give him both the sweetest dreams and the most horrifying nightmares?
Still struggling to breathe at normal speed, he turned his heavy head around and watched the only candle that was still burning. Its light cast odd shadows across the dull walls that surrounded him. All of a sudden, he felt trapped and the urge to leave his suddenly very small cabin overcame him.
I should probably go on deck; clear me head in the cool night air, sort me thoughts out.
Finally breathing at an almost normal rate, (and having recovered a little from the bad dream) he picked up the rum bottle on the floor to his right. With an annoyed grunt he let it drop back on the planks.
Or maybe I should go and search for more rum.
The half-full bottle he had received from Gibbs that afternoon was already drained of its last spicy drop. Damn and blast! Why was the rum always gone?
He had to do something, anything but stay in his empty, sweltry cabin. His dark thoughts and the less-than-tempting prospect of more nightmares seemed to shrink the cabin by the second.
He quickly got off his suddenly uncomfortable bunk and pulled on his faded breeches. He staggered forward to open the cabin doors, picking up his precious tricorne in the process. Stepping out of the close cabin and into the soothing cool of the Caribbean night air, he put on his beloved hat and inhaled deeply. Immediately, it had the effect he was looking for: the fresh salty air calmed him down a little as it cooled the heated skin of his face and upper body.
He looked around slowly, nodding at Cotton, who manned the helm, the old pirate’s strangely quiet parrot perched on his shoulder, and Marty, who stood beside him. Both nodded back, a little startled by the presence of their captain, whom they had only seen few times in the last weeks.
Everything was fine, there was nothing to worry about, Jack decided. He set his mind on other things, ignoring the presentiment of something being . . . not quite the way it should have been.
Never mind. Next task: get rum! But where to start the search?
After contemplating for a second, he came to the conclusion that it he was too tired and spent to search the whole ship for one tiny sip of rum.
So, he staggered forward instead and leaned onto the rail, facing the dark, calm ocean. With his elbows propped up on the rail, he studied the moonlight reflecting off the lazily moving waves. It glittered beautifully. His gaze dropped down to his dirty, jeweled fingers. His right index finger showed off a part of his skin that was neither tanned nor dirty. He usually wore a ring on it on that exact spot. He assumed it was emerald. He had always liked the ring, back from the first time he had seen it. It was the first thing he had ever pilfered. He smiled slightly. That was a very long time ago.
Ironically the reason he didn’t wear it now was that a particular dangerous pirate-y damsel had pilfered it from him the same. He had pretended not to notice that the piece of jewelry was gone. Had pretended to be fast asleep when he had heard her light footsteps on the planks that night. It had been the last night that she had spent on the Pearl before stepping on land in Port Royal.
After that night these odd dreams had started.
She had been very careful to make few sounds when she had cracked open the heavy doors to his cabin. He hadn’t worn very much, had laid on his bunk with only his breeches and boots and of course his old bandana on. He had heard her breath hitch as she had moved closer on tiptoes and had seen him lying peacefully sprawled across his bunk, oddly wrapped into - to her - unusually clean sheets, seemingly sound asleep.
He had felt her hot, lightly rum spiced breath tickling his face as she had bent over him. She had studied his face, for he had practically felt her beautiful brown eyes roaming hungrily over every revealed inch of his body. She had sat on his bunk for a long time and it had taken him all his strength then not to show how much he had enjoyed her presence. Preferably by stealing her not-even-an-inch-away delicious pink lips in a bruising kiss. And it had confused, maybe even disturbed him - God knows he was used to a woman’s stare and hot breath on him! And yet it had aroused him and given him chills. Very pleasant chills.
She had traced his jaw line ever so slightly with the tips of her fingers, making the trail tingle with her soft caress. Had picked up his right hand then, closing her delicate, slightly roughened fingers around his larger, work roughened ones. That’s when she had taken his ring, had slid the cool metal off his index finger ever so slowly, as for not to wake him. Just as slow and gentle she had then placed his hand down on the mattress next to him, where it had been before. But only after giving it a slight, careful squeeze. A squeeze you would give a baby’s hand, so gentle as if it would break under too much pressure. And planting a soft kiss, as light as a feather’s touch, on the back of his bronzed, dirty hand.
The sensation of her touch and hot breath in addition to the fresh characteristic scent of her - sea, sweat, woman and flowers - had taken his breath away. It had taken him a great amount of strength - if not all of it - not to show any reaction and to stay calm and unaffected.
She had sat still on the edge of his bunk then and he had again simply enjoyed her company and the warmth radiating from the petite woman next to him. He had gladly listened to every breath she drew, every ever so slight movement she had made.
And then, far too quickly, she had gotten up as carefully as she had sat down before. If he hadn’t been faking sleep but wide awake instead, he would’ve gotten up and grabbed her by her arm, spun her around and captured her full lips in a passionate kiss. He would’ve expressed all these emotions he couldn’t quite put into words nor a hundred percent understood with a long, knee-buckling kiss. But he hadn’t.
Instead he had remained there on his bunk, lying still and unmoved, fake asleep and had heard her approaching the door with quick, light steps. Had heard her pressing down the cool handle with a slight creak of the wood and a barely audible sigh from herself. Then she had halted.
Maybe to take a last glance at the pirate captain on the bunk, for once quiet and peaceful as he slept with his right cheek buried in the clean pillow, lying on his back, his full lips slightly parted, kohl-lined eyes closed, breathing deep and even, his right tattooed and branded arm neatly at his right side on the mattress, the other strong arm carelessly draped across his slightly muscular belly, right over the waistband of his faded breeches, the lower parts of his body oddly wrapped into a mess of blankets, one of his booted legs peaking out from under the cloth, the other one somewhere next to it.
Five seconds later he had heard the door being quickly but quietly opened and shut, then a short silence and a soft mumble. And then the sound of delicate footsteps walking away from the captain’s quarters.
That night, she had taken away a piece of him. In more than one way. She had taken away a piece of the puzzle, a piece of the whole. And no matter how hard he had tried up to now, this piece was irreplaceable and this realization struck him painfully. He didn’t want to accept it, he was still “loathe to claim it as his own”, just like the bloody voodoo priestess had predicted and realized long time ago. But he was a pirate - body and soul - and a true pirate didn’t love anything or anybody more than the sea and his freedom.
Love . . . what made this word so . . . special, so precious anyway? It was only a word after all! And the emotion that stuck to this odd word was just as fatal as a deal with Davy Jones, Cutler Beckett, bloody Barbossa and Satan himself together! And it made a man vulnerable, it made him dependent on another person. That couldn’t be healthy in any way.
People in love were always acting bloody stupid, anyway. Living proof: the bloody whelp. That fool had risked his sorry life for his beloved, without even knowing if she loved him or not. Stupid fool. If it hadn’t been for Jack, Barbossa would’ve killed that boy. Always hurried his actions without thinking them through first - or at least not very well. He wasn’t a coward, that lad, by all means not. But he was young and impulsive.
That blasted boy wasn’t really stupid either. He always had his goal in mind, and it was always saving someone. Either his beloved or his father - come what may, that boy would do anything possible and necessary to save them. And each time the whelp would’ve nearly paid these heroic goals with his life - if it hadn’t been for a pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, who had time and time again managed to get Turner junior out of his troubles. Sometimes because Jack himself had been the one who had brought Will into these critical situations, sometimes because he had become a real friend to him.
That didn’t change the fact that he was still a whelp, a eunuch and a fool for love.
The best (more or less) living example for a love that had gone down the drain was Mr. Fishface himself, Davy Jones. Jack was not keen on ending up like the Captain of the Flying Dutchman; bitter and cruel. That man had trusted in his beloved and love itself and had, in the end, been painfully disappointed. Had turned into a monster - body and soul - black hearted and cold as ice. A bastard, who only found satisfaction and pleasure in the torture and death of others. He really wasn’t interested in such a life, even less if it was the consequence of love.
Or bloody Norrington. That love fool had lost his position and everything he had lived for loving her in the first place. Had given Jack one day’s head start in favor for Elizabeth. Had set sail to rescue William - as a favor to Elizabeth when she had promised to actually marry him. He had lost everything after chasing after Jack and his Pearl. Had now regained his position and life, but never won Elizabeth’s love. He had been a fool for love, just the same as Jones and the whelp.
Jack didn’t like thinking about love. Thinking these thoughts made him think about things he shouldn’t think about, because thinking like that always ended in thinking about her. And that was the most horrible thought he could think of at the moment.
“Beautiful night, ain’t it, Jack?”
He startled slightly at the warm sound of a familiar deep voice to his right, which snapped Jack abruptly out of his thoughts and brought him back to reality.
“Aye, it really is, Joshamee.” He said with a short glimpse of his old friend.
“What’s in your head, Jack? Judging from your reaction ye didn’t even hear me come on deck. That would be the first time ever.”
“Well, mate, one of the odd side effects of being almost sober is that there is the chance of being deep in thought, because ye start thinking too much. About certain things.”
“And what would that be then? I suppose these ‘certain things’ have nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that ye’ve been drunk for . . . must be three weeks now?” Gibbs asked.
The captain of the Black Pearl sighed and fixed his gaze on the waves again.
“Maybe . . . maybe not.” He stared thoughtfully out at the ocean.
There was a long silence, and Gibbs tried hard to think of something to say that would make Jack finally admit (at least to himself) what the whole crew already knew.
“Can I ask ye a question, Joshamee?” The younger pirate said all of a sudden, still watching the waves sparkle and reflect the silver moonlight.
Gibbs nodded, his gaze following Jack’s over at the waves beneath and around the Pearl. “Of course, Jack. Always.”
Jack licked his dry lips slowly, nodding his head, his gaze shifting higher to the untouchable horizon.
“Let’s say ye go on shore in Tortuga and by chance ye see a little kitten in the water. Its drowning and ye save it. At first, this little kitty seems to be just a completely normal young cat, but then, after some time ye discover that it’s...it’s a really special and unusual kitten and ye start to really like it. Ye want ta keep it. Ye play little games with it and no matter how nasty and wild this kitty can be, ye enjoy every minute ye spend with it. It’s exhausting, but it’s a nice challenge. And then...and then ye find out that it already belongs to somebody else. Ye kinda knew it from the start, but it’s only when you see its owner that it strikes ye that… ye can’t keep it. It wasn’t yours to begin with. Ye have no right ta keep it. But ye don’t want to give it back, for you’ve really grown to kinda...in a way ye luv this kitty. And then it’s gone. And ye miss it, miss the little fights, ye miss its soft purr, and ye just miss having it around. But it’s gone.
And then, ye accidentally meet it again, in some totally different place, and it’s not a kitten anymore. It’s a grown cat. And the little fights are more challenging now. She wants to find its owner and you help it, although you see a good chance to win the cat for ye. And when she finally has him back . . . she betrays ye to safe his life . . . .”
Jack’s voice had dropped down to a barely audible whisper in the end. He hadn’t noticed he’d changed the ‘it’ into a ‘she’. Silence spread over the two sailors. Gibbs was contemplating again, now about whether or not to stay with Jack’s metaphor. “Jack, why don’t ye jest talk to her about this?”
“What? To whom?” Jack chocked his head in his first mate’s direction, his face displaying innocent surprise, like he had no idea what the hell his old friend was talking about.
“The lass, Jack. Pretty little wild thing. Honey-brown hair, hazel eyes, pink lips, slim body, fights like a lioness, bloody passionate, that one. Actually a governor’s daughter, but she’s some fierce pirate in her heart. Ye even saved her - more than once. Do ye remember?”
“Aye, Master Gibbs, I’d really like to say that I haven’t got a clue who ye’re talking about, but, yes, I do remember. Very vividly.” Jack said, his gaze still remaining at the horizon.
“So will ye talk to her then, Jack?”
“Why would I want to talk to her?” Jack asked, furring his brow and once again taking a brief side glance at the older sailor to his right. “I see no need to do such a thing.”
“Do ye really want me to list up all reasons? I think ye know perfectly well yerself. Besides, if I would list them all up, we would still stand here at the break of dawn when I should be already manning the helm.” The seadog stated with a knowing look at his younger captain.
Jack grimaced and sniffed. “You seem very certain, Mr. Gibbs. But unfortunately, I believe that I do not know what you are babbling on about at all!” He looked Gibbs straight in the eye for only a few seconds, then he turned his face towards the sea again.
Gibbs sighed secretly. He had known that this would be difficult, but he hadn’t thought it to be THAT difficult. Then he noticed Jack squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment, as if being angry with himself for that poor lie.
“Look, Jack, I’ve known ye for quite some time now, and this is the first time you’ve acted this strange. You’re actin’ even stranger than ye did durin’ the thing with Jones and the heart. And I believe that this is also a matter of heart. I don’t mean to interfere with your matters, but the whole crew . . . meaning me as well . . . is already worrying about ye - some are even angry. So I’m asking ye for getting this settled, for yerself, the same as for the crew. Because if ye don’t I’m afraid there will be a mutiny sooner than ye think. As a matter of fact we haven’t done a proper deal of pirating for three weeks now. That’s reason enough - ye know it,” Gibbs said, his voice calm and compassionate.
“I know. I can’t . . . .,” Jack said, shaking his head slowly as his voice trailed off. His head hanging heavy in defeat as his eyes roamed aimlessly over the sea beneath him. “I can’t . . . don’t you see? She belongs with . . . belongs with Will. She deserves better than being a pirate . . . or with pirates. She’s worth a proper man, a fine and good man like the whelp. One who takes care of her, who makes sure she’s alright.” He swallowed hard, hating that he sounded so bloody vulnerable and sad. That was nothing of what a true pirate captain should act like.
“Is that what keeps ye from setting things right between ye two? Well, Jack, I can assure ye that ye are a good man - the gentleman amongst the pirates. And ye definitely know how to take care of yer men and them members of the female creature. And if the lass wants to be a pirate - Lord knows she loves the sea and freedom, now that she knows what it is like - she will become a pirate, sure as tide. Can’t keep that fierce cat from doing whatever she wants,” Gibbs assured his old friend with the ghost of a smile on his weather-beaten face.
“Thanks for the flowers, Joshamee, but that’s not all.” Jack shook his head quickly and paused. “There’s a lot more to it . . . it’s just . . . .” He trailed off once again.
Yes, of course, he had known good old Gibbs for ages, but he was reluctant to speaking ALL of it out loud. He had already said so much - too much, maybe. It was better not to say all of it. This kind of . . . odd feelings towards other people made one so bloody vulnerable, so easy to get hurt. And nobody wants to get hurt. These emotions tied one to another person - body and soul. They made one dependent on somebody else than oneself - not to say addicted. But it was even worse than being addicted . . . it took away one’s freedom, shackled one to that one person - emotionally at least. That was a high price to pay. It made one need to swallow one’s pride and trust in that somebody. TRUST. Trust in that person that it would never hurt you.
He shut his eyes and shook his head sadly but firmly in opposition. “Don’t think I wanna pay the price for it. It’s just too high.”
“Don’t think, don’t want or don’t know? Listen, ye shouldn’t tell me the answer, it’s not meant for my ears, ye should tell her. Ye can do that this morning when we reach Port Royal.”
Jack straightened up and spun around, facing Gibbs, who was grinning at him. Glaring daggers at him, Jack hissed, “This is my ship, I’m giving orders! What do you think you are doing?”
Gibbs simply smiled at the younger pirate. “I’m acting in behalf of the crew and forcing you to your luck. I would never dare to do this under any other circumstances, Jack, but some people just don’t know what’s good for themselves - and for once everybody else knows better than ye do, Captain. This is only for yer best, trust yer loyal crew.”
Jack looked like he was going to explode every second. Who did Gibbs think he was?!! First he made him - more or less oblique - admit his blasted feelings and then he told him that they were already nearly in PORT ROYAL without him having given the order to sail there!!
“Furthermore, you gave me order to sail to the nearest Port to stock up our supplies, and on account of my navigational skills I figured that Port Royal was the closest. Ye have no choice, Jack, for I already told the crew that ye gave the order to raid Port Royal after stocking up our supplies. They won’t be very friendly if ye tell them that ye are changing plans. As I said, they are in need of finally doing what they do best.” Gibbs kept on smiling.
“Yer bloody starting to sound like me! I knew there was something wrong,” Jack muttered angrily. Immediately he tried to come up with a plan that could prevent both a mutiny and facing the governor’s daughter or her husband. But he couldn’t quite think of one.
That would be a first.
In addition, they hardly had any supplies left, and he owed the crew a day or night on land with rum and pleasant company. And on the other hand he completely understood Gibbs’s intentions, he knew perfectly well how un-captain-like he was acting at the moment and - even worse - he knew the elder man was completely and utterly right.
Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he spun around and stepped out towards his cabin. When he pressed the cool metal of the door handle down, he halted. He turned back one more time and yelled “Mr. Gibbs!”
Gibbs looked at him, still standing at the rail. His smile widened and he nodded his head as he heard his friend’s next words.
The ghost of a weak but genuine smile began to pull at he corners of the Captain’s mouth as he said “Thank you.”
luv ya!!