Black-Winged Freedom
Title: Black-Winged Freedom
Wordcount: 1.393
Summary: Jack pays a nightly visit to his beloved Lizzie . . . .
Disclaimer: Nope, all belongs to the mouse . . . plot is mine, though!
WARNINGS: character death! sorry, guys - pained me to write this, too!
A/N: inspired by Placebo's "Peeping Tom"
Black-Winged Freedom
Careful not to fall in the dim light of the quarter moon, Jack gripped the edge of the stone with a firm hand. It was smooth and cool beneath his fingers - the polished façade of the governor’s residence he was currently climbing.
He’d done this more often than he should - more often than was healthy for him. Not only in the sense that he was an ounce over the average age of enamoured lads climbing the walls to pay their coveted ladies a midnight visit - it was simply a threat to his mental well-being.
His callous fingers clutched the flawlessly smooth window seat and he hauled himself up and onto the narrow sill of the open window. Soundlessly, Jack got off, landing in a low, feline crouch on the floor. Quickly, his eyes darted across the bedroom: there wasn’t a sound to be heard except even breathing, not a sign that anybody had taken notice of his presence. ‘And all that without a single drop of rum’ he smirked, pleased.
Slowly, Jack straightened up and nimbly swaggered over to her sleeping form. He lingered, gazing at her from dark eyes, features soft and glowing with his smile.
There she was: cheek buried in her pillow, face serene in her dreams, svelte body clad in ivory silk and tucked securely beneath cloud-white linen - her, the one who truly mattered. His Pirate King, the one who made him feel invincible, his Lizzie.
But, as always, something was off.
The damnable thing that was all wrong was the same that tainted the perfect vision of his girl in the huge bed each and every single time by the mere presence of its arm around her soft waist in a possessive curve.
She wasn’t Jack’s Lizzie no more - probably never had been in the first place. She was the whelp’s now - officially: Elizabeth Turner, the young and beautiful Governess of Port Royal, wife to Governor William Turner Junior. She was the lad’s - in his life, his bed, his arms.
Jack’s smile was gone, replaced by a temporary frown. He exhaled heavily - thank God nobody noticed. Will Turner was a very sound sleeper, so no worries there, but Lizzie, she was easily woken and Jack wouldn’t dream of it. He wasn’t about to make his nightly presence known in any way - after all, he was merely checking up on her, making sure she was alright.
Why wake her, when her expression was so peaceful; relaxed and comfortable, her own hand resting loosely atop her husband’s. She smiled happily in her sleep.
His answering smile was bittersweet, overshadowed by sadness. Why ever would he force her to notice him when she was obviously happy with the life she was leading? He had no right to intrude.
Jack felt like a peeping Tom, anyways: visiting uninvited and unbeknownst to a single soul in this fashion. Once, one of the first times he’d checked up on her through her window, he had unintentionally walked in on them making love. It really shouldn’t have surprised him; they were young and in love, after all. They hadn’t noticed him, though, and when he’d finally had the sense to avert his gaze from the tangle of sweaty, bare skin, he’d left.
It had been a curious jumble of feelings to say the least; envy, the cold stab of jealousy, the fruitless yearning to be him, the jabbing thought that he’d just intruded in a most private moment. And then the hurt, cutting so deep if had made him flee and not come back for weeks.
And still, as he was standing there now, it was so easy to push aside his memories of that night and pretend like she was still the Lizzie he had come to know on their journey to Davy Jones’ little island and not somebody else’s wife.
If only reality would refrain from keeping that tight and unyielding grip around her waist from whichever angle he regarded her. He could twist and turn it all he wanted, and even if he couldn’t see the whole of her husband - that arm was always there to remind him.
Jack sighed quietly, unable to tear his gaze away from her just yet. He hadn’t really been with another woman ever since he’d dropped her off at Port Royal a year ago. Of course he’d been to Tortuga, had met Scarlett and Giselle, but it hadn’t been the same. He’d roamed bordellos and ports all over the Caribbean, had been to Singapore, searching for a girl that at least physically resembled Elizabeth, but it had been futile. Once he’d found one, and as he’d held her he simply couldn’t go any further. Not a chance.
So he’d tried to drown his sorrow in liquor, had gambled too high until he’d had nothing left to lose. For with every game he lost, a little piece of him had fallen away, his belongings were gone. He didn’t care. His Pearl was under Barbossa’s command again and he didn’t have the strength anymore to chase him. There was no sense to anything anymore anyway.
No, he had made his decision and he would follow through with it! Elizabeth had stolen his battered heart and broken soul, and now she belonged to somebody else, refusing to set him free again. What else was there for him? He’d been on his own like this for far too long and he knew it wouldn’t change anytime soon. Or ever.
This life he was living - it was more of a withering away. His misery was complete when he once again succumbed to the sweetness of the never-ceasing siren call that was Elizabeth’s mere presence. What did it matter what he did? Was there any point to his suffering? Who cared, anyway? He himself sure didn’t.
Jack’s unfathomable eyes became slightly shiny; he swallowed hard. He took a step closer to her, bent his knees and breathed a kiss on her forehead, softly stroke the golden tangle of her hair. His angel. His demise. Everything would be alright as long as she was happy.
Determined again, the pirate got up and onto the window sill. Poised there in a crouch, he looked back one last time, drinking in the sight of her, then he swung off and into the dark.
He picked up the bottle of rum he’d hidden outside upon his arrival and wandered with single-minded steps through the slumbering town. He took a swing off the bottle as he passed the docks, admired the play of almost transparent clouds across the inky infinity of the night sky. Lost in labyrinthine thoughts his jaded eyes beheld the wondrous beauty of the darkness that surrounded him, the glossy beam of the moon casting eerie shadows on the walls of family homes, none of which ever to be his.
By the time he had reached the Fort, most of the rum was gone. As suitable for a true living legend, he passed security guards and watchmen without difficulty, finally climbing the far top of the building, the one that looked out onto the docks and his first love, the sea.
“Drink up, me hearties, yoho,” he mumbled before draining the bottle of its last drop. And as he took in all that surrounded him, he smiled weakly. He was back at the beginning again: penniless, alone and ship-less in Port Royal. Jack put the empty bottle to his feet, watching and listening as the waves so far beneath him beat the sharp edges of the rocks.
It was only appropriate to end his misery where it had all begun.
With black-winged confidence, a treacherous reliance, Elizabeth’s - his angel’s - face branded into the inside of his eyelids, he undid his belts, his sash, dropped his effects, removed his tricorn - even his bandana landed atop his shirt in a heap. At last, he kicked off his boots.
Stripped bare of everything that made him Captain Jack Sparrow, he walked to the very edge of the chilly stone beneath his toes. The ebony depths of his eyes slid shut to the world. A single step further and -
He was falling, unrepentant, as the air rushed past his bare chest in a sharp stream. Deceptive freedom washed over him and he smiled in earnest as relief flooded his veins with snug warmth.
He would be alright.
Finally.
Enjoy!
And as always, feedback is <3! :)