fic
It lives! It lives again at last! I had to beat this part but good - more backstory. Will shows up in the next bit, I swear. And then I'm not going to say how many parts are left because I seem to keep being proven wrong, but the ending is written. Oh, I should add that this gets a bit meta near the middle...
back to Part II
Keeping Faith (Part III)
"How do you know my mother?" Billy wants to know, sliding down to sit cross-legged outside the cell. First the captain of this ship and then a man thrown into his brig - he'd never realized his mother knew so many interesting people.
Jack chuckles. "Oh, we're old friends, she and I. And you know me, of course - did you know that?"
"No, sir." Billy narrows his eyes, studying the pirate's lean, lively face. "I don't remember you."
"No reason that you should, really," says Sparrow, steepling his fingers under his chin. "You were only a wee thing when you sailed 'pon my ship - learnt to toddle during our acquaintance, actually." He leans back against the wall and gestures with his arm. "My men had a merry time chasing you all over the deck when you'd escaped your dam's grasp. And when your teeth were comin' in, I dipped my finger in rum for you to suck." Seeing Billy's expression, he quickly adds, "I washed it first."
"I think..." He screws his face up, trying to recall his babyhood. He does remember the ship, he thinks. Licking his palm from where the rum spilt on his skin, he finds the taste familiar, if not nearly as sweet as it is in memory. "I think I do remember a little...Captain Jack. What's the name of your ship?"
Jack's mouth turns up at one corner. His ship is clearly a worthy topic of conversation. "She's called the Black Pearl, and she's still the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Tell me, mate, did your mother never speak of me or the Pearl?"
"No," he replies, apologetic, for Jack looks wounded at that. "But she doesn't talk about my father much, either. In fact, she's never told me who he really is." He leans forward until his brow touches the iron bars. "Do you know him?"
Jack hedges, glancing back over Billy's head to see only that no one is coming. Billy is bursting with impatience to finally know the truth at last, but he bites down on his tongue. At last Jack draws so near that his head is just touching Billy's, his faded red headscarf brushing Billy's hair.
"Your da's the captain of the Flying Dutchman, son - the weird and mystical ship what ferries sailors to their final reward."
"My father's a captain?" Billy hugs himself, unable to contain his delight at this news.
Pointing with both hands, Jack says, "And not just any captain. 'S why he can't come home to you and your mum, y'see - he sails in the world beyond this one, a crossing that takes ten years at a time."
"Ten years - why, that's not so very much longer than I've been alive! Mother is so sure he's coming back, but she never says when."
Jack exhales a long, slow breath, playing his lower lip between his teeth. "Well, Billy -"
"Jack Sparrow, what gives you the right to educate my son on such matters?"
Elizabeth takes her time as she comes down the steps, as befitting her titles. In Jack's opinion she has made a poor use of them over the past six years. True that she has no ship and the Brethren Court no need to call upon their erstwhile elected leader, but that's a paltry excuse for leaving the poor boy in the dark about his illustrious parentage. The previous young William was tetchy about not knowing the true identity of his father, and Jack doubts he would approve of Elizabeth’s lies no matter her justification.
Jack casts a critical eye upon her. Six years have added a few lines to her face - he notes too many from worry, too few from laughter. The last bits of pregnancy weight that softened her form are gone, though neither she nor the boy appear in danger of starving. Where the eastern silks used to fit like she’d been born in them, she now moves a bit stiffly. Accustomed to more binding clothing, he guesses; she’s trying to hide pleasure in the ease of movement, but Jack knows her too well for that. Or he did once, at any rate.
“Mistress…Brown, is it? Not terribly creative of you.”
Elizabeth’s jaw flexes. He’s as surprised as she to hear the venom in his voice. Resentment wasn’t the first thing he felt upon seeing her, but oh, there it is now, stronger for having steeped all this time.
That foppish bastard Chevalle is right behind her, looking pleased as punch to have the King in his good graces and old Jack in his brig. “Now, now, Jack, we must be civil to our guests, not to mention our betters.”
Letting his lashes fall as if he couldn’t care less, he looks for a telltale square bulge around Chevalle’s middle area. Damn. Must be in the locked chest Jack was trying to pry open when he was caught out.
“Billy.” Elizabeth sounds much more practiced at that mother tone, equal parts reproach and disappointment with just a shade of hurt and the inevitable warning of future punishment. Jack can hardly blame the boy for turning pink and scurrying over, though he does take time to give an apologetic shrug, as if he fears Jack might suffer her wrath as well. He’s not exactly wrong, at that.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” says Billy, hanging his head in contrition. “I got lost and Captain Sparrow called out to me.”
Jack is miffed at being saddled with the blame, though at least the whelp remembers his name properly. Still, he reckons he’s got at least as much practice being on the receiving end of Elizabeth’s disapproval.
“Aye, that I did,” he drawls, twisting the knife further. “Recognized the boy as his father’s son - no thanks to you, Mrs. Brown.”
The reference to Will makes her lips go white and her nostrils flare. She never did like to speak of him, even before she came to Jack for a bit of cold comfort.
“Never mind,” she says, forcing a smile for her son after visibly controlling herself. She lays a hand on his head, her fingers brushing through the curls that come from his father, though the color’s more like her own. “Captain Chevalle has given us his cabin for the evening. Go with him, now, while I speak with Mr. Sparrow for a bit.” Chevalle nods, leading the boy back up the hatch.
Relieved to get off so easily, Billy turns to skip backwards, waving at Jack. “G’night, Captain Sparrow!”
“And t’ you as well, William,” says Jack, climbing to his feet and bowing at the waist. Now that he’s seen the boy, he regrets the unkind thought he had from time to time that they’d all three be better off without him. And like it or not, Billy has helped define who Elizabeth is now. Jack is curiously to find out how despite the grudge he bears her.
She comes within a step or two, staring at him with fierce brown eyes. Jack props his elbows on the bars and lounges, daring her to start. Their showdown lasts for several minutes, far as he can tell, and while she’s more patient than in days past she still breaks first.
“Oh, I can’t talk to you like this,” she mutters, exasperated. Jack holds back a grin of triumph while she draws a pin from her hair and fiddles with the lock.
“Useful accessory, that,” he acknowledges, moving forward as she swings the door open. But she steps quickly inside and slams it shut, leaning back against it with an elegantly arched eyebrow.
“You are still Remy’s prisoner. Mind telling me what you did to get shut up in here?”
Jack crosses his arms over his chest, ignoring the undertone of play in her voice. Surely she doesn’t think things lie smoothly between them? “I do mind, in point of fact. How’s about you explain yourself instead?”
Elizabeth snorts, hand going to her hip. She stands braced for a fight, though he’d bet she doesn’t realize it. “Explain myself? Who the devil do you think you are, Jack?”
“Wrong question,” he snarls, the anger boiling over now. Pacing a short line in front of her, he is gratified to see that she looks alarmed. One hand twitches for the dagger she’ll have strapped to her right side somewhere.
“Then what’s the right one? I must say, I’ve become accustomed to a plainer way of speaking since you left.”
Jack gives a short burst of humorless laughter, slapping his thigh. “Oh ho, there’s a lark! Who did the leaving, Elizabeth? Have you forgotten sneaking off in the night like a she-cat, no word about where you’d be going or how you’d be making a go of it for the lad?”
Recollecting that moment of panic six years ago is enough to make bile rise in histhroat. Waking at anchor to find Elizabeth and the babe gone, he naturally assumed they'd been abducted by another like Underwood, or by one of the many folks who had a quarrel with Jack himself. Even when the watch said she'd gone down to the dock on her own, even when he realized that she'd taken all her things, he still spent three days tearing up Port Maria in search of them. Matters were not easy between them, true, but he didn't believe she could simply vanish without word from any pirate he asked, paid, or held a hot poker to. Not being who she was. Not with a small child at her side.
Jack advances on her now. He's not a large man, but he fancies himself quite menacing when need be, and she has no room to retreat. Elizabeth being Elizabeth, she wouldn't do so anyway - though her gaze is flitting about instead of steady on him like it has been. He’s near enough to see the pulse jumping at her throat, to feel the warmth of her breath as she retorts, “I had my reasons, and you have your share of the blame.”
And it just gets more trying. He wonders why he’s even bothering. “Blame? What did I do but welcome you into my bed -” Elizabeth’s eyes flash dangerously, but that only spurs him on. “- When you finally got to properly missing dear W -”
“Don’t say his name.”
Her arm flies up and he flinches, knowing he deserves this one. But she doesn’t strike him, just curls her hand into a pale fist and spins around to clutch the iron bars.
Having scored a hit, Jack doesn’t feel much better for it. What a man can do and all that - or a woman, as the case may be. And if Elizabeth can turn her back on him, what right has he to blame her for his inability to accept it? It's no fault of hers that he was maybe becoming accustomed to the idea of having her and the lad aboard the Pearl. She’s not his wife, she’s not his crew - she’s never been anything but what she would, and Billy is quite certainly not his son.
But he still has his questions. If she’ll kindly tell him more about the why of it, he swears that will be enough. She hasn't much longer to wait for Will, anyhow.
“All right,” he says quietly, not daring to touch her. “All right. If guilt’s to be shared, I’ll throw in my hat. But there was no call for you to disappear off the edge of the map like you done.”
Elizabeth shakes her head, shoulders hunched. “You don’t understand.”
“Make me understand.” He plants himself beside her, propping a hip against the bars. There’s no running now; she’s locked them both in.
Still she turns her face away, her voice so soft it is nearly lost to the echoes of the brig. “I betrayed my husband and our son.”
Jack takes a breath. He’s prepared for this - was prepared for it then too, if she’d wished to broach the subject instead of keeping their affair under wraps and in the dark from everyone, including each other. He sends up a silent plea for mercy from the Flying Dutchman. She’s right about that bit at least.
“Lizzie, ten years is -”
She turns to glare at him, long-dormant misery threatening to crack her cool façade. “I know what ten years is, Jack. And that might have been all of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
She tips her head back, apparently engrossed in the beams above their heads, and speaks very slowly. “The curse that keeps Will aboard that ship…can be broken.”
Jack blinks. Now that’s interesting. Most curses can, but with Calypso and Davy Jones being who they were - are…“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s not a widely known part of the legend,” says Elizabeth, reading his confusion without reaction. “When I first realized I was with child, I called for Calypso in desperation, and she answered. She told me of a way - that if the captain of the Dutchman has a lover who is true for ten years, he may give up his duties and return to her - not just for a day, but for good.” Her voice is flat, but it cracks a bit near the end.
“Oh!” says Jack brightly, about to point this detail out as a remarkable lucky turn for such a star-crossed pair as the Turners. Then he remembers his part in her departure from the Pearl, and repeats himself in a considerably more subdued manner. “Oh. And -”
“And I have been untrue,” Elizabeth finishes. Though she blamed him before, she now seems fixated on her own guilt.
Jack thinks it patently unfair for Calypso to set a bargain she can’t hold herself, but that’s a goddess for you. He might say something about it being only a extra year and some change, but Elizabeth doesn’t seem like she’ll be comforted much by that, and his previous thought has set the wheels turning in his brain.
“Well, but did she name the terms?” he asked after long moments of silence, which produce ragged breathing from Elizabeth and an inkling of an idea from Jack.
“Of what?” Elizabeth’s brows are knit in confusion. He’s always liked that look on other people. It's particularly satisfying for this woman's visage, he's found.
“Of your fidelity,” he explains, tapping the meaningless ring on his own neglected marriage finger. “What’s ‘true,’ precisely? Never marrying again? Never bedding any man in Will’s absence?”
Elizabeth colors and starts to turn away, but Jack grabs her arm. “Never loving in a more abstract sense of the word, whatever you do between the sheets? Or are you merely expected to show up to welcome him back with open arms, with those ten years left to spend as you please?” The wheels are turning faster now, and he can’t see why he never thought of this before. Of course, he didn’t know about the potential curse-breaking before. And Elizabeth wouldn't have; for all her competent scheming at sea, she's still high-minded when it comes to love.
“I…I don’t know,” says Elizabeth haltingly, suspicious of his excitement. “She didn’t - I assumed…”
“Ah, there’s your mistake." Jack could kiss her, except he doubts it would go over well given the particulars of their present conversation. "Never make assumptions when dealing with deities or demons, love. But perhaps it isn’t such a mistake in this case, since as she never expressly specified what she meant by ‘true,’ you may be able to negotiate your own terms.” He grins and brings his palms together, waiting for her to lavish praise on him for his wit.
Elizabeth is still frowning. “You mean lie.”
Jack makes a face. She would assume that. “Not at all. Do you still love the whelp?”
“Of course!” She is clearly offended at the very question. Jack waits. When she closes her eyes and murmurs an affirmative, he sees her face as it looked when the Dutchman came bursting up from the waves after the battle, her man at the helm.
“So whatever acrobatics you and I may’ve gotten up to,” says Jack, waving an illustrative hand, “it did not take up all the space in your heart what belongs to Will.”
Things are looking up, for Elizabeth’s mouth quirks. Mirth isn’t Jack’s preferred reaction when he reminds a person of their time in bed, but he’ll take it over shame and despair.
“No,” she says wryly, “however it may wound your pride to hear it.” Jack spreads his hand on his breast to let her know his grief. She continues more seriously, “There’s whatever we have, you and I, and I did cling to it. I can’t name my feelings precisely, but I won’t deny them - if you will not.” She looks at him askance, perhaps believing he means to trap her into admitting something she doesn’t wish to name.
In truth Jack is surprised - the girl he knew would never have gotten this far. Only a coward would fail to meet her in kind: he cannot trap her without ensnaring himself, after all. He’s already done as much.
“Not unless there’s a kraken about,” he assures her, voice merry but eyes deadly sharp. Elizabeth’s face glows a little brighter in response, although she winces at the mention of her youthful indiscretions. Jack lets that one lie for another time. “Now, to bring us all up to speed. As William Turner is still the queen of this king’s heart, it must be surmised that the heart is true. And if your heart be true, then how can it be said that you’ve betrayed your beloved?”
She’s harder to hope now. “Jack,” she sighs, “I want more than anything to believe you, I do. But if Calypso holds us to a stricter definition of faithfulness - and I will not ask her,” she adds when Jack opens his mouth. “We aren’t on good terms.” Her eyes are shadowed, and he knows better than to inquire as to the particulars.
“Well, there’s no sense fretting about it until the time is at hand,” says Jack with a shrug. He reaches for her hand, a reflex which causes him no thought but seems to startle her. “Why don’t the both of you wait it out on the Pearl? Gibbs has her somewhere in the near vicinity, shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange a transfer of passengers.”
She looks pointedly down at their joined hands. Jack lets go immediately. “No ulterior motive, I swear! I’ve no desire to make a matching pair of Turner-led deaths. And when we’ve taken a worthy prize, I might even be persuaded to part with it.”
Gnawing on her lower lip, Elizabeth considers his proposal. “Billy is still so young…”
“He’s nearly eight, aye? No older’n me when I first went to sea - and I had to leave me dam’s lap to do it.”
Conflict twitches on her face still, but Jack is distracted by shouts from above. It seems a ship has been sighted - a ship with black sails, if his French hasn’t failed him.
“Ah, that would be our chariot now!” He holds out his arm, gentleman-like. “Well, Mistress Turner? Will you join the crew of the Black Pearl once more?”
Elizabeth doesn’t take his arm. Instead she digs the hairpin out of her pocket and turns to the lock on the brig door.
Chevalle is somewhat put out to find his bargaining chip free and armed, but his respect for Elizabeth - and the blade she’s kept sharp all these years - holds him at bay. Only then does she learn that Jack was aboard La Princesse Ecarlete in search of that bloody compass, which he managed to lose on a fruitless search for La Aqua de Vida.
“You really went looking for Ponce de Leon’s fountain of youth?” Her laugh turns into a snort at his hurt look. “Jack, surely you didn’t expect to actually find such a thing.”
“What I didn’t expect was to find my hard-won compass in this gentleman’s possession,” Jack says, baring his teeth at the captain. “Give it back, Chevalle, or I’ll give Mr. Gibbs the signal to fire - you know very well my Pearl outguns your Princesse.”
To Chevalle’s fury, the crew of the Pearl has indeed run the cannon out while negotiations distracted those on La Princesse’s quarterdeck. The other ship flew a white flag, but now she sits not fifteen yards off, guns primed. It was well played, Elizabeth is forced to admit, even if she thinks Jack would be worlds better off without the stupid compass.
“I do not have l'objet misérable!” Chevalle declares, drawing himself up to his full height and sweeping his short cloak in agitation. “I do not even know what it looks like.”
“Easy to solve that, mate,” Jack replies, helpfully sketching the thing in the air. “It’s a sort of square box, y’see, danglin’ from a length of cord -”
“I’ve seen it,” says Billy, struggling out from behind Elizabeth, where she had ordered him to stay the moment weapons were drawn. “The captain hasn't got it, he has.” He points to a shifty, dull-eyed man standing to Chevalle’s left, who tries to sidle away. But Chevalle calls out for him to stop and levels a pistol right at his head, and he decides to stay.
“Oh, this ol’ thing?” Simpering, he inches forward and holds the compass as far away from his body as he can manage. “Was holdin’ it fer ye, Cap’n, honest. No idea it had any value whats’ever.”
Jack strides forward. “There, now I’ve got my compass back and we can be on our merry. Good eye, lad.” Billy beams at the praise.
Chevalle snatches the dangling compass back. “It is on my ship. Therefore, it is in my possession.”
"But it’s mine,” says Jack through gritted teeth, his fingers flexing on his sword hilt. “As any fool could tell you. I paid a dear price for that compass and I will have it back.”
“Mother, are they going to fight?” Billy sounds much too fascinated by the prospect for her taste.
“Not if I can help it. Capitaine Chevalle -” She nods and smiles to him, and he puffs up like a rooster. “I want to thank you for your generous hospitality, which I hope my son and I may share again at a later time. But I’m afraid that compass is Jack’s, and has been for as long as I’ve known him.”
Chevalle opens it and studies the swinging needle. “I do not know how it works, but it must be valuable indeed for you to want it so badly, Capitaine Sparrow.” He snaps the lid shut, narrowly missing Jack’s creeping fingers.
“Oh, just a bit of sentimental fluff, really,” says Jack, snatching his hand back and shaking it out. The way his eyes follow the compass as it swings belies his words.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Pay him, Jack.” Chevalle is a fairly pedestrian sort of pirate, after all: no heathen curses or mystical lands for him, just solid gold. Her memory is supported by the gleam that alights in Chevalle’s eyes at the mention of money.
“What, for my own property?” Jack cries. “He’ll swindle me anyhow.”
“I will not! For what price did you obtain this compass?”
Jack rubs his beard. “Trust me, you don’t want to know that, and I’m not interested in paying it out to you.”
The price haggling takes a good ten minutes until both parties are satisfied. They spit and shake, which makes Billy tug on her skirt with delight, and Gibbs rows a boat across with the gold.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he exclaims upon seeing her. “I was beginnin’ to think we’d never see ye again, lass!” He pumps her hand enthusiastically, and then can’t resist crushing her in a hug. The years don’t see to have changed him much, aside from a bit more white in his muttonchops - his grip’s as firm as ever.
“And surely this strapping lad can’t be wee Billy?” The boy has been staring at Gibbs with open wonder. He has his moments of shyness, which belong to Will through and through, and he blushes red to be so addressed. But he doesn’t shrink against her; he sticks out his hand, an absurdly grown-up gesture that stirs both pride and sadness in his mother.
Gibbs takes Billy’s cue and shakes his hand gravely. “I hear ye’ll be joinin’ us aboard the Pearl, and welcome. Tell me, now, is there anything ye’d like t’ hear about your pa?”
Billy’s expression is enough to let the old pirate know that this is, in fact, what he wants most in the world. Ignoring Elizabeth entirely, he walks to the rail under Gibbs’ arm.
“’S good to see old friends again, is it not?” Jack asks her, slinging a companionable arm over her shoulders.
Trying not to let his touch - any touch at all in six long years, but especially Jack’s, damn him - affect her, she nods her assent. She shades her eyes, gazing at the familiar dark ship rocking majestically on the swells. If any place could be home without Will there, the Pearl would be it. Jack wisely holds his tongue when she wipes away a few tears.
“Mother?” Billy peers up at her from the bottom of the boat. “Just how many pirates do we know?”
on to Part IV
back to Part II
Keeping Faith (Part III)
"How do you know my mother?" Billy wants to know, sliding down to sit cross-legged outside the cell. First the captain of this ship and then a man thrown into his brig - he'd never realized his mother knew so many interesting people.
Jack chuckles. "Oh, we're old friends, she and I. And you know me, of course - did you know that?"
"No, sir." Billy narrows his eyes, studying the pirate's lean, lively face. "I don't remember you."
"No reason that you should, really," says Sparrow, steepling his fingers under his chin. "You were only a wee thing when you sailed 'pon my ship - learnt to toddle during our acquaintance, actually." He leans back against the wall and gestures with his arm. "My men had a merry time chasing you all over the deck when you'd escaped your dam's grasp. And when your teeth were comin' in, I dipped my finger in rum for you to suck." Seeing Billy's expression, he quickly adds, "I washed it first."
"I think..." He screws his face up, trying to recall his babyhood. He does remember the ship, he thinks. Licking his palm from where the rum spilt on his skin, he finds the taste familiar, if not nearly as sweet as it is in memory. "I think I do remember a little...Captain Jack. What's the name of your ship?"
Jack's mouth turns up at one corner. His ship is clearly a worthy topic of conversation. "She's called the Black Pearl, and she's still the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Tell me, mate, did your mother never speak of me or the Pearl?"
"No," he replies, apologetic, for Jack looks wounded at that. "But she doesn't talk about my father much, either. In fact, she's never told me who he really is." He leans forward until his brow touches the iron bars. "Do you know him?"
Jack hedges, glancing back over Billy's head to see only that no one is coming. Billy is bursting with impatience to finally know the truth at last, but he bites down on his tongue. At last Jack draws so near that his head is just touching Billy's, his faded red headscarf brushing Billy's hair.
"Your da's the captain of the Flying Dutchman, son - the weird and mystical ship what ferries sailors to their final reward."
"My father's a captain?" Billy hugs himself, unable to contain his delight at this news.
Pointing with both hands, Jack says, "And not just any captain. 'S why he can't come home to you and your mum, y'see - he sails in the world beyond this one, a crossing that takes ten years at a time."
"Ten years - why, that's not so very much longer than I've been alive! Mother is so sure he's coming back, but she never says when."
Jack exhales a long, slow breath, playing his lower lip between his teeth. "Well, Billy -"
"Jack Sparrow, what gives you the right to educate my son on such matters?"
Elizabeth takes her time as she comes down the steps, as befitting her titles. In Jack's opinion she has made a poor use of them over the past six years. True that she has no ship and the Brethren Court no need to call upon their erstwhile elected leader, but that's a paltry excuse for leaving the poor boy in the dark about his illustrious parentage. The previous young William was tetchy about not knowing the true identity of his father, and Jack doubts he would approve of Elizabeth’s lies no matter her justification.
Jack casts a critical eye upon her. Six years have added a few lines to her face - he notes too many from worry, too few from laughter. The last bits of pregnancy weight that softened her form are gone, though neither she nor the boy appear in danger of starving. Where the eastern silks used to fit like she’d been born in them, she now moves a bit stiffly. Accustomed to more binding clothing, he guesses; she’s trying to hide pleasure in the ease of movement, but Jack knows her too well for that. Or he did once, at any rate.
“Mistress…Brown, is it? Not terribly creative of you.”
Elizabeth’s jaw flexes. He’s as surprised as she to hear the venom in his voice. Resentment wasn’t the first thing he felt upon seeing her, but oh, there it is now, stronger for having steeped all this time.
That foppish bastard Chevalle is right behind her, looking pleased as punch to have the King in his good graces and old Jack in his brig. “Now, now, Jack, we must be civil to our guests, not to mention our betters.”
Letting his lashes fall as if he couldn’t care less, he looks for a telltale square bulge around Chevalle’s middle area. Damn. Must be in the locked chest Jack was trying to pry open when he was caught out.
“Billy.” Elizabeth sounds much more practiced at that mother tone, equal parts reproach and disappointment with just a shade of hurt and the inevitable warning of future punishment. Jack can hardly blame the boy for turning pink and scurrying over, though he does take time to give an apologetic shrug, as if he fears Jack might suffer her wrath as well. He’s not exactly wrong, at that.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” says Billy, hanging his head in contrition. “I got lost and Captain Sparrow called out to me.”
Jack is miffed at being saddled with the blame, though at least the whelp remembers his name properly. Still, he reckons he’s got at least as much practice being on the receiving end of Elizabeth’s disapproval.
“Aye, that I did,” he drawls, twisting the knife further. “Recognized the boy as his father’s son - no thanks to you, Mrs. Brown.”
The reference to Will makes her lips go white and her nostrils flare. She never did like to speak of him, even before she came to Jack for a bit of cold comfort.
“Never mind,” she says, forcing a smile for her son after visibly controlling herself. She lays a hand on his head, her fingers brushing through the curls that come from his father, though the color’s more like her own. “Captain Chevalle has given us his cabin for the evening. Go with him, now, while I speak with Mr. Sparrow for a bit.” Chevalle nods, leading the boy back up the hatch.
Relieved to get off so easily, Billy turns to skip backwards, waving at Jack. “G’night, Captain Sparrow!”
“And t’ you as well, William,” says Jack, climbing to his feet and bowing at the waist. Now that he’s seen the boy, he regrets the unkind thought he had from time to time that they’d all three be better off without him. And like it or not, Billy has helped define who Elizabeth is now. Jack is curiously to find out how despite the grudge he bears her.
She comes within a step or two, staring at him with fierce brown eyes. Jack props his elbows on the bars and lounges, daring her to start. Their showdown lasts for several minutes, far as he can tell, and while she’s more patient than in days past she still breaks first.
“Oh, I can’t talk to you like this,” she mutters, exasperated. Jack holds back a grin of triumph while she draws a pin from her hair and fiddles with the lock.
“Useful accessory, that,” he acknowledges, moving forward as she swings the door open. But she steps quickly inside and slams it shut, leaning back against it with an elegantly arched eyebrow.
“You are still Remy’s prisoner. Mind telling me what you did to get shut up in here?”
Jack crosses his arms over his chest, ignoring the undertone of play in her voice. Surely she doesn’t think things lie smoothly between them? “I do mind, in point of fact. How’s about you explain yourself instead?”
Elizabeth snorts, hand going to her hip. She stands braced for a fight, though he’d bet she doesn’t realize it. “Explain myself? Who the devil do you think you are, Jack?”
“Wrong question,” he snarls, the anger boiling over now. Pacing a short line in front of her, he is gratified to see that she looks alarmed. One hand twitches for the dagger she’ll have strapped to her right side somewhere.
“Then what’s the right one? I must say, I’ve become accustomed to a plainer way of speaking since you left.”
Jack gives a short burst of humorless laughter, slapping his thigh. “Oh ho, there’s a lark! Who did the leaving, Elizabeth? Have you forgotten sneaking off in the night like a she-cat, no word about where you’d be going or how you’d be making a go of it for the lad?”
Recollecting that moment of panic six years ago is enough to make bile rise in histhroat. Waking at anchor to find Elizabeth and the babe gone, he naturally assumed they'd been abducted by another like Underwood, or by one of the many folks who had a quarrel with Jack himself. Even when the watch said she'd gone down to the dock on her own, even when he realized that she'd taken all her things, he still spent three days tearing up Port Maria in search of them. Matters were not easy between them, true, but he didn't believe she could simply vanish without word from any pirate he asked, paid, or held a hot poker to. Not being who she was. Not with a small child at her side.
Jack advances on her now. He's not a large man, but he fancies himself quite menacing when need be, and she has no room to retreat. Elizabeth being Elizabeth, she wouldn't do so anyway - though her gaze is flitting about instead of steady on him like it has been. He’s near enough to see the pulse jumping at her throat, to feel the warmth of her breath as she retorts, “I had my reasons, and you have your share of the blame.”
And it just gets more trying. He wonders why he’s even bothering. “Blame? What did I do but welcome you into my bed -” Elizabeth’s eyes flash dangerously, but that only spurs him on. “- When you finally got to properly missing dear W -”
“Don’t say his name.”
Her arm flies up and he flinches, knowing he deserves this one. But she doesn’t strike him, just curls her hand into a pale fist and spins around to clutch the iron bars.
Having scored a hit, Jack doesn’t feel much better for it. What a man can do and all that - or a woman, as the case may be. And if Elizabeth can turn her back on him, what right has he to blame her for his inability to accept it? It's no fault of hers that he was maybe becoming accustomed to the idea of having her and the lad aboard the Pearl. She’s not his wife, she’s not his crew - she’s never been anything but what she would, and Billy is quite certainly not his son.
But he still has his questions. If she’ll kindly tell him more about the why of it, he swears that will be enough. She hasn't much longer to wait for Will, anyhow.
“All right,” he says quietly, not daring to touch her. “All right. If guilt’s to be shared, I’ll throw in my hat. But there was no call for you to disappear off the edge of the map like you done.”
Elizabeth shakes her head, shoulders hunched. “You don’t understand.”
“Make me understand.” He plants himself beside her, propping a hip against the bars. There’s no running now; she’s locked them both in.
Still she turns her face away, her voice so soft it is nearly lost to the echoes of the brig. “I betrayed my husband and our son.”
Jack takes a breath. He’s prepared for this - was prepared for it then too, if she’d wished to broach the subject instead of keeping their affair under wraps and in the dark from everyone, including each other. He sends up a silent plea for mercy from the Flying Dutchman. She’s right about that bit at least.
“Lizzie, ten years is -”
She turns to glare at him, long-dormant misery threatening to crack her cool façade. “I know what ten years is, Jack. And that might have been all of it.”
“What are you talking about?”
She tips her head back, apparently engrossed in the beams above their heads, and speaks very slowly. “The curse that keeps Will aboard that ship…can be broken.”
Jack blinks. Now that’s interesting. Most curses can, but with Calypso and Davy Jones being who they were - are…“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s not a widely known part of the legend,” says Elizabeth, reading his confusion without reaction. “When I first realized I was with child, I called for Calypso in desperation, and she answered. She told me of a way - that if the captain of the Dutchman has a lover who is true for ten years, he may give up his duties and return to her - not just for a day, but for good.” Her voice is flat, but it cracks a bit near the end.
“Oh!” says Jack brightly, about to point this detail out as a remarkable lucky turn for such a star-crossed pair as the Turners. Then he remembers his part in her departure from the Pearl, and repeats himself in a considerably more subdued manner. “Oh. And -”
“And I have been untrue,” Elizabeth finishes. Though she blamed him before, she now seems fixated on her own guilt.
Jack thinks it patently unfair for Calypso to set a bargain she can’t hold herself, but that’s a goddess for you. He might say something about it being only a extra year and some change, but Elizabeth doesn’t seem like she’ll be comforted much by that, and his previous thought has set the wheels turning in his brain.
“Well, but did she name the terms?” he asked after long moments of silence, which produce ragged breathing from Elizabeth and an inkling of an idea from Jack.
“Of what?” Elizabeth’s brows are knit in confusion. He’s always liked that look on other people. It's particularly satisfying for this woman's visage, he's found.
“Of your fidelity,” he explains, tapping the meaningless ring on his own neglected marriage finger. “What’s ‘true,’ precisely? Never marrying again? Never bedding any man in Will’s absence?”
Elizabeth colors and starts to turn away, but Jack grabs her arm. “Never loving in a more abstract sense of the word, whatever you do between the sheets? Or are you merely expected to show up to welcome him back with open arms, with those ten years left to spend as you please?” The wheels are turning faster now, and he can’t see why he never thought of this before. Of course, he didn’t know about the potential curse-breaking before. And Elizabeth wouldn't have; for all her competent scheming at sea, she's still high-minded when it comes to love.
“I…I don’t know,” says Elizabeth haltingly, suspicious of his excitement. “She didn’t - I assumed…”
“Ah, there’s your mistake." Jack could kiss her, except he doubts it would go over well given the particulars of their present conversation. "Never make assumptions when dealing with deities or demons, love. But perhaps it isn’t such a mistake in this case, since as she never expressly specified what she meant by ‘true,’ you may be able to negotiate your own terms.” He grins and brings his palms together, waiting for her to lavish praise on him for his wit.
Elizabeth is still frowning. “You mean lie.”
Jack makes a face. She would assume that. “Not at all. Do you still love the whelp?”
“Of course!” She is clearly offended at the very question. Jack waits. When she closes her eyes and murmurs an affirmative, he sees her face as it looked when the Dutchman came bursting up from the waves after the battle, her man at the helm.
“So whatever acrobatics you and I may’ve gotten up to,” says Jack, waving an illustrative hand, “it did not take up all the space in your heart what belongs to Will.”
Things are looking up, for Elizabeth’s mouth quirks. Mirth isn’t Jack’s preferred reaction when he reminds a person of their time in bed, but he’ll take it over shame and despair.
“No,” she says wryly, “however it may wound your pride to hear it.” Jack spreads his hand on his breast to let her know his grief. She continues more seriously, “There’s whatever we have, you and I, and I did cling to it. I can’t name my feelings precisely, but I won’t deny them - if you will not.” She looks at him askance, perhaps believing he means to trap her into admitting something she doesn’t wish to name.
In truth Jack is surprised - the girl he knew would never have gotten this far. Only a coward would fail to meet her in kind: he cannot trap her without ensnaring himself, after all. He’s already done as much.
“Not unless there’s a kraken about,” he assures her, voice merry but eyes deadly sharp. Elizabeth’s face glows a little brighter in response, although she winces at the mention of her youthful indiscretions. Jack lets that one lie for another time. “Now, to bring us all up to speed. As William Turner is still the queen of this king’s heart, it must be surmised that the heart is true. And if your heart be true, then how can it be said that you’ve betrayed your beloved?”
She’s harder to hope now. “Jack,” she sighs, “I want more than anything to believe you, I do. But if Calypso holds us to a stricter definition of faithfulness - and I will not ask her,” she adds when Jack opens his mouth. “We aren’t on good terms.” Her eyes are shadowed, and he knows better than to inquire as to the particulars.
“Well, there’s no sense fretting about it until the time is at hand,” says Jack with a shrug. He reaches for her hand, a reflex which causes him no thought but seems to startle her. “Why don’t the both of you wait it out on the Pearl? Gibbs has her somewhere in the near vicinity, shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange a transfer of passengers.”
She looks pointedly down at their joined hands. Jack lets go immediately. “No ulterior motive, I swear! I’ve no desire to make a matching pair of Turner-led deaths. And when we’ve taken a worthy prize, I might even be persuaded to part with it.”
Gnawing on her lower lip, Elizabeth considers his proposal. “Billy is still so young…”
“He’s nearly eight, aye? No older’n me when I first went to sea - and I had to leave me dam’s lap to do it.”
Conflict twitches on her face still, but Jack is distracted by shouts from above. It seems a ship has been sighted - a ship with black sails, if his French hasn’t failed him.
“Ah, that would be our chariot now!” He holds out his arm, gentleman-like. “Well, Mistress Turner? Will you join the crew of the Black Pearl once more?”
Elizabeth doesn’t take his arm. Instead she digs the hairpin out of her pocket and turns to the lock on the brig door.
Chevalle is somewhat put out to find his bargaining chip free and armed, but his respect for Elizabeth - and the blade she’s kept sharp all these years - holds him at bay. Only then does she learn that Jack was aboard La Princesse Ecarlete in search of that bloody compass, which he managed to lose on a fruitless search for La Aqua de Vida.
“You really went looking for Ponce de Leon’s fountain of youth?” Her laugh turns into a snort at his hurt look. “Jack, surely you didn’t expect to actually find such a thing.”
“What I didn’t expect was to find my hard-won compass in this gentleman’s possession,” Jack says, baring his teeth at the captain. “Give it back, Chevalle, or I’ll give Mr. Gibbs the signal to fire - you know very well my Pearl outguns your Princesse.”
To Chevalle’s fury, the crew of the Pearl has indeed run the cannon out while negotiations distracted those on La Princesse’s quarterdeck. The other ship flew a white flag, but now she sits not fifteen yards off, guns primed. It was well played, Elizabeth is forced to admit, even if she thinks Jack would be worlds better off without the stupid compass.
“I do not have l'objet misérable!” Chevalle declares, drawing himself up to his full height and sweeping his short cloak in agitation. “I do not even know what it looks like.”
“Easy to solve that, mate,” Jack replies, helpfully sketching the thing in the air. “It’s a sort of square box, y’see, danglin’ from a length of cord -”
“I’ve seen it,” says Billy, struggling out from behind Elizabeth, where she had ordered him to stay the moment weapons were drawn. “The captain hasn't got it, he has.” He points to a shifty, dull-eyed man standing to Chevalle’s left, who tries to sidle away. But Chevalle calls out for him to stop and levels a pistol right at his head, and he decides to stay.
“Oh, this ol’ thing?” Simpering, he inches forward and holds the compass as far away from his body as he can manage. “Was holdin’ it fer ye, Cap’n, honest. No idea it had any value whats’ever.”
Jack strides forward. “There, now I’ve got my compass back and we can be on our merry. Good eye, lad.” Billy beams at the praise.
Chevalle snatches the dangling compass back. “It is on my ship. Therefore, it is in my possession.”
"But it’s mine,” says Jack through gritted teeth, his fingers flexing on his sword hilt. “As any fool could tell you. I paid a dear price for that compass and I will have it back.”
“Mother, are they going to fight?” Billy sounds much too fascinated by the prospect for her taste.
“Not if I can help it. Capitaine Chevalle -” She nods and smiles to him, and he puffs up like a rooster. “I want to thank you for your generous hospitality, which I hope my son and I may share again at a later time. But I’m afraid that compass is Jack’s, and has been for as long as I’ve known him.”
Chevalle opens it and studies the swinging needle. “I do not know how it works, but it must be valuable indeed for you to want it so badly, Capitaine Sparrow.” He snaps the lid shut, narrowly missing Jack’s creeping fingers.
“Oh, just a bit of sentimental fluff, really,” says Jack, snatching his hand back and shaking it out. The way his eyes follow the compass as it swings belies his words.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Pay him, Jack.” Chevalle is a fairly pedestrian sort of pirate, after all: no heathen curses or mystical lands for him, just solid gold. Her memory is supported by the gleam that alights in Chevalle’s eyes at the mention of money.
“What, for my own property?” Jack cries. “He’ll swindle me anyhow.”
“I will not! For what price did you obtain this compass?”
Jack rubs his beard. “Trust me, you don’t want to know that, and I’m not interested in paying it out to you.”
The price haggling takes a good ten minutes until both parties are satisfied. They spit and shake, which makes Billy tug on her skirt with delight, and Gibbs rows a boat across with the gold.
“Miss Elizabeth!” he exclaims upon seeing her. “I was beginnin’ to think we’d never see ye again, lass!” He pumps her hand enthusiastically, and then can’t resist crushing her in a hug. The years don’t see to have changed him much, aside from a bit more white in his muttonchops - his grip’s as firm as ever.
“And surely this strapping lad can’t be wee Billy?” The boy has been staring at Gibbs with open wonder. He has his moments of shyness, which belong to Will through and through, and he blushes red to be so addressed. But he doesn’t shrink against her; he sticks out his hand, an absurdly grown-up gesture that stirs both pride and sadness in his mother.
Gibbs takes Billy’s cue and shakes his hand gravely. “I hear ye’ll be joinin’ us aboard the Pearl, and welcome. Tell me, now, is there anything ye’d like t’ hear about your pa?”
Billy’s expression is enough to let the old pirate know that this is, in fact, what he wants most in the world. Ignoring Elizabeth entirely, he walks to the rail under Gibbs’ arm.
“’S good to see old friends again, is it not?” Jack asks her, slinging a companionable arm over her shoulders.
Trying not to let his touch - any touch at all in six long years, but especially Jack’s, damn him - affect her, she nods her assent. She shades her eyes, gazing at the familiar dark ship rocking majestically on the swells. If any place could be home without Will there, the Pearl would be it. Jack wisely holds his tongue when she wipes away a few tears.
“Mother?” Billy peers up at her from the bottom of the boat. “Just how many pirates do we know?”
on to Part IV