CHAPTER 36 – Forced Idleness

“So, Byrne escaped all on her own advices, you say?” Gabriela Delgado questioned lazily, a note of reluctant surprise in her husky tone. Her grey eyes were staring blankly out of the dim, dirtied windows of the captain’s quarters, her tall frame blocking one third of what feeble light managed to stream inside the dark bowels of the cabin.

Almost impulsively, Nerita reached one hand up to her bruised temple, the slight jolt of pain that bloomed under the skin at the contact prompting no visible reaction in the short woman. “Yes. She pretended to feel worse than she truly was. I turned my back on her for a moment and she pulled my gun from my belt and shot Inez. I tried to seize her but she stuck my temple almost immediately after killing Inez.”

Delgado’s brow furrowed in thought. It seemed to her as if there was something amiss in Nerita’s explanation; such sloppiness was not typical of the first mate, neither was her seemingly easy defeat. Delgado knew Nerita was a fierce, able fighter and was not easily caught off guard. She swallowed idly, annoyed that the inattentive routine was now made awkward and obvious by the soreness of her throat, a grim testimony to the bruising force in which Sparrow’s fingers had curled about her windpipe earlier in the tavern. The ironic sense of getting a taste of her own medicine was not lost on the Spaniard, and she was not a bit amused by it. Her irritation laced the subtly accusing words, “It’s not like you to be so careless with prisoners, regardless of their supposed state of well-being. I wonder if there’s more to this lying beneath the surface than what you’re willing to let me know?”

Nerita didn’t need to see Gabriela’s face in order to know her face held the particular expression that managed to be both ominously insightful and sternly inquisitive at the same time. Nerita had spent enough years in Delgado’s company to know her methods; Delgado may think herself perceptive, but she was not the only one. Quiet, deliberately unobtrusive people such as Nerita were customarily ignored, thus being given the best chances to observe others and pick up different nuances in them when they thought no one was watching. Times like those were ones when everybody was in their most exposed state – when one supposed they were alone and unnoticed. That was when they let their guards down, allowed little things to slip out, unawares or nay. Knowledge was power indeed, and this Nerita knew perfectly. And she was not ashamed to use that to her advantage, especially if her own welfare was at stake.

Nerita’s features distorted into a scowl, and her reply was tinged with aggravation she did not need to feign. “Had Inez not been there to distract me with her damned blathering and typical idiocy, all would’ve went just fine. You know I can’t stand her.”

It was almost shamefully easy to throw sticks at dead dogs – seeing as they couldn’t bite back – but Nerita could not be bothered to feel an ounce of remorse over such a trifle thing. It was either Inez or herself, and Nerita had no intentions of ending up as collateral damage, especially not because of an idiotic little ruse devised by Carmen, of all people.

Gabriela snorted derisively, muttering wryly, “Well, at least you won’t be having that problem any longer.”

Nerita chose to be quiet, not interested in agreeing and unable to deny the accuracy of the statement. It came as no surprise to Nerita that Delgado showed absolutely no remorse whatsoever over losing a crewmember; the fact didn’t seem to faze her in any direction. All the people around Delgado were merely usable tools for her, more pawns on her great chessboard. She had used the very word of Byrne aloud earlier. It had always been so up to some degree, but particularly so during the recent years. Her zeal to find the Abyss had finally reached up to the points where it turned something akin an obsession, and a dangerous one, at that. Dangerous to everybody and everything that stood in the way of achieving her goal.

“What of our little mouse?” Delgado questioned after a moment of silence.

“Ran off along with Byrne,” Nerita said shortly. “Likely in custody of the Royal Navy now, I presume.”

“Hmm. It’s a shame, really.” Delgado remarked slowly, her tone pensive. “I rather enjoyed watching her skulk about the corners, trying to remain unseen with poor success. It always amused me greatly.”

Again, this did not surprise Nerita in the least. However, she knew better than to acknowledge this out loud. Instead, she opted to ask, “Have you given thought to our next move, already?”

“I have indeed, Nerita,” Delgado responded, and Nerita could detect subtle anticipation in her voice. Finally turning around, away from the windows, Delgado fixed her glinting eyes on the firstmate, small smirk playing about her lips. “Next, we shall make out the location of the Abyss and set sail soon after. We’re closer than ever before, Nerita. This time we will triumph, you’ll see. This time, there’ll be no stopping us, not now!” she finished ardently, eyes widening and flashing in near frenzied zeal, her smirk widening into a wicked grin. “This time, there will be no stopping… me.”

Cold chill swept down Nerita’s spine, an occurrence that often took place when she had to witness Delgado’s boisterous spiels of supremacy and victory, death and domination. There was something threatening and distressing about the way the woman’s eyes gleamed every time she spoke in such a way, and it made Nerita very uneasy. Though a big part of her talk was just a show, Nerita knew there was truth behind the strong words. By now, she was well aware of the fact that she could not trust the tall Spaniard any longer, for henceforth Delgado had only her own interests at heart. Failing to keep her eyes open around Delgado would ultimately result to her demise, Nerita was certain of it – but she wasn’t willing to be taken down by Delgado and her mad quest. Nerita had vowed to herself not to be pushed around by anyone after she had gotten rid of her lousy excuse of a husband all those years ago, and to that she intended to hold on. Though she had once called Delgado a friend, Nerita saw now that was no longer the case.

The time to make her decision was approaching sooner than Nerita would’ve liked, but there was nothing to be done to alter the fact. Sooner or later, she had to act on her thoughts. But the time was not now. Not quite yet.

The silence suddenly seemed uneasy to Nerita ears, and she shifted her weight from one foot to another in restless manner. One of Delgado’s slim eyebrows rose in silent query, but she remained quiet, scrutinizing Nerita closely with her smoky eyes. The intensity of her gaze made Nerita’s heartbeat quicken unconsciously, while she wondered anxiously whether the Captain already knew of her clandestine disloyalty. Steeling herself, Nerita returned Delgado’s stare, sternly willing herself to keep her calm and not to give in to Delgado’s intimidation attempts. A small curl of her lip betrayed Delgado’s amusement and surprise over the firstmate’s nonchalance. The two women stood still for many long minutes, gazes locked in what seemed to be a wordless duel.

Finally, Nerita broke the silence, but did not evade Delgado’s piercing stare. “Where are we to sail, next?”

Delgado showed no signs of having heard the question, keeping her eyes peeled on the short woman, her brow furrowing slightly. At last, she replied smoothly, “Set course to north-east, for now. I will give you closer bearings very soon.”

Nerita nodded, now breaking eye contact briefly. “What of the Black Pearl and the Commodore’s man-o-war? Should there be a battle, our vessel will not hold against such forces.”

Delgado’s lip curled in contempt. “Yes, I’m aware it would not. Precisely why we are to avoid them… for now. No point to rush into the inevitable battle before its due time. I have no doubts that Sparrow has the map in its entirety now, as well. We will meet them again soon enough,” she said, smiling cunningly. “In fact, I’m already expecting it. But the time for that comes later. Now, leave me be. I’ll discuss with you later on.”

Nerita nodded slowly, holding Delgado’s gaze for a moment longer before turning around, walking out of the quarters and shutting the door quietly in her wake.

Delgado stared at the doors with narrowed eyes, mulling over her thoughts. Turning her attention to the thick, white snake lying upon the table in the middle of the cabin, Delgado strolled over to the reptilian, drawing one long finger along its smooth, warm skin.

“I have a feeling our dear Nerita is experiencing moments of weakness, wouldn’t you say?” she purred to the snake. “She’s not telling me everything, that much is certain. But that is a matter of no consequence. When all's said and done, she’s disposable,” she paused, her eyes hardening. “They are all disposable. Especially the ones that even think about defying me. But now…”

Delgado’s eyes shifted to the familiar ebony box that rested beside the snake on the table, its contents promising Delgado all the things she’d ever wished for. A thrilling rush of anticipation ran through Delgado as she reached for the box, her lips curling into self-satisfied smile as her fingers closed about the polished wood.

“…It’s time to find out where my destiny lies.”

* * * *

Heaving a sound sigh of pure boredom, you absently trace the patterns in the wood above your head with your eyes as you lay on your back in Jack’s bed, trying to pass time. You’ve been awake for over an hour already, having slept for a good two hours since your latest talk with Jack. While you’d immensely enjoyed to just lie there in Jack’s arms as his deft hands travelled leisurely up and down your back in soft, soothing strokes, your curiosity couldn’t be curbed for much long. No longer feeling drowsy, you’d asked Jack to tell you what happened after you’d passed out in the shabby tavern, and how the meeting with Norrington had gone down. You’d learned of all that had happened while you were out of it, including your current destination, the town of Rincon. You’re aware of Jack’s plans to piece up the map after reaching Rincon and having dealt with the stocking of the ship, among other details.

Presently, the docking is not very far away; Jack had reluctantly left the comforts of his bed and your arms to oversee the arrival only about fifteen minutes ago – after telling you in no uncertain terms that you were not to leave the bed under any circumstances, or else. You’d eventually given up and submitted to his demand, after a very invigorating round of bantering and fond name-calling (is was no surprise that ‘hard-headed’ and ‘obstinate’ were few of Jack’s choices), although the ever-so mischievous part of you was extremely tempted to find out what exactly did this “or else” of Jack’s mean.

You can’t stifle the wide, silly smile that spreads to your lips as you think back to the previous conversation of yours and Jack’s, finding yourself still rather unable to believe that he actually loves you. Turning your head to the side, you bite your lip lightly as your smile widens; Jack’s scent lingers in the pillows and bed sheets, and it’s easily the headiest one you’ve ever known, sending a curious tingle down your spine. You chuckle softly to yourself, amused how you’ve turned around in complete circle. Since when did you become so sentimental, Byrne? You think blithely, remembering a time when you used to be amused over other people’s romantic notions and thought ideas such like the scent of a lover to be somewhat corny and silly. It’s funny how ones views can change when they actually get the experience themselves.

You exhale again, slowly, while the smile gradually fades from your lips, disappearing entirely as you get lost in your thoughts. So, this is it, then. The year’s worth of circling around each other has finally come to an end, both you and Jack having said the three little words aloud. It’s a relief, to be sure. No longer do you have to watch yourself and what you say, in fear of saying a little too much. It brings you joy and contentment to know your feelings aren’t left unrequited, a fact that still, quite frankly, baffles you. As amazing as this is, you would be lying if you said you didn’t have your insecurities about this new level of your relationship with Jack.

Your friendship with Jack has always been on a good, solid base; you trust him implicitly, and you know you can turn to him with anything. You are aware of many things about him; how he thinks and what are the things that rile him, both in good and bad. Similarly, you have no doubt that Jack knows the same things about you. May it be as corny as it sounds, but you know for a fact that there’s been a special connection between the two of you ever since the day you first met; it was very subtle at first, but one that has only gotten stronger as time has gone by, especially ever since the intimate night at the pond near Fowler’s cottage. Considering all this, the step from being best friends to being lovers was not difficult to take. Yes, you love Jack from the bottom of your heart, and you know he loves you; there was no mistaking the emotion you saw in his eyes earlier as you lied in his arms.

And yet, you can’t help but to wonder. You are aware of the fact that you’re not the most beautiful or alluring woman in the Caribbean. To be frank, it was safe to say you are not very feminine woman, either. Growing up on a pirate ship and raised by men had left its mark on your personality – you lacked most of the womanly whims and fancies the so-called ‘normal’ women had. Sure, you appreciate cleanliness, and are certainly not opposed to indulging to some comforts if such opportunities are ever presented. However, you do not have much care or understanding for such things like feminine manners, vanities and other female quirks. Life on a ship had taught you to be practical and straightforward above anything else, to shut up and get your hands dirty with honest, hard work.

And as far as looks went, well… you are certainly not ugly or without any charms, but there are more beautiful and more well endowed women out there than you are. However, you had long since realized that good looks were more trouble than they were worth in piracy; they attracted the wrong kind of attention, which usually was not a good thing. You realized early on that playing down your femininity was the key to being taken more seriously amongst other pirates, who were men. Women as pirates are still a rare sight, and most men scoffed upon them, even acted aggressively. It was not extreme to say female pirates often had to watch out for their very lives, for most men did not suffer them in the business at all; they rather saw it as an insult. Feeble women doing the work of men? Intolerable! Oh yes, you’ve had your fair share of that.

Pushing such thoughts aside with a frustrated growl, you draw in a deep breath and push yourself upright on the bed, gasping as your sore muscles flex at the motion, sending painful jolts through your body. Gritting your teeth, you manage to haul yourself into sitting position. You lean your back against the pillows and relax your abused muscles with a sigh of relief. It feels as if every single muscle and tendon in your body has been turned into stone, stiff and hard. Running a cursory glance over your arms, you grimace at the sight. Curse your tendency to bruise easily! Dark spots and blotches of all size mottle your skin, some of them sporting a purplish black colour whereas others have started to turn considerably more yellowish, tinged with greenish hues on the edges. Thin, red scratches crisscross your skin here and there, but those would probably heal soon – you’re guessing they’re mostly from the floorboards of the brig.

You scrunch up your nose and sniff in distaste, experimentally poking a big, dark purple contusion on your left upper arm carefully. Much to your surprise, it’s not very sore, despite its horrible appearance. In fact, you discover that it’s in actuality the small, lighter discolorations that look to be healing already that are the sorest ones. You notice four oval bruises in a neat vertical row on your left upper arm. Lifting your arm, you peer under it and see a fifth one on the underside, just like you expected. Finger prints. Bloody Carmen.

At any rate, bruises would heal in time. However, you’re already sure the slash in the middle of your left forearm would leave a mark on the skin. The two-inch wound you acquired in the fight in the Governor’s mansion has already scabbed and sealed shut, ugly black crush covering the cut. Well, that didn’t really matter to you much, you already have scars of all kinds on your arms; they’re somewhat hard to avoid. The only thing you were worried about was the long cut on your forehead. Tentatively, you touch the pad of your forefinger to it lightly, feeling the uneven layer of dried blood covering it. Luckily it was close to your hairline, so it could be mostly hidden, but you still wish it would not leave too visible scarring.

Throwing the light blanket off your legs next to you on the mattress, you give your legs the same once-over. They aren’t faring any better, either; they look to be pretty much in the same shape than your arms, with the exception that the bruises are all bigger than the ones on your arms. Your feet are encased in bandages, with only your toes and heels left uncovered. All in all, you’re getting the feeling you’re not looking exactly gorgeous at the moment. You fleetingly wonder if you even want to see your face. Your other cheek feels a slightest bit swollen, probably thanks to those cuffs of Delgado’s. Damn wench.

A brisk knocking from the doors of the quarters interrupts your musings, and you raise your head up, calling a “come in” to whoever it is behind the door after you’ve pulled the blanket back over your legs – you already know it’s not Jack judging by the knock, and you’d rather not show the awful contusions to everyone.

One of the doors is pulled open and Anamaria pushes her head in, giving you one of her rare smiles. “Hello, there,” she greets you, stepping inside and shutting the door in her wake.

“Hey, Ana,” you smile back widely as she makes her way toward you, genuinely happy too see her. Your eyes widen in surprise as Anamaria actually leans down and gives you a light hug, careful not to put pressure on your sores. Getting over your astonishment, you return her hug with a smile, patting her back.

“Don’t you ever do anything like that ever again, got it?” Anamaria tells you in her best no-nonsense tone as she pulls away.

“This sounds vaguely familiar…” you trail off with a small smirk.

“Got it?” Anamaria repeats sternly, fixing you a narrow-eyed look.

“Yes, mother,” you jibe with a widening smirk.

Anamaria rolls her eyes, but nods anyway. “That’s better. You had us all pretty worried, you know,” she continues in softer tone as she seats herself down on the edge of the bed.

“I know,” you reply quietly, casting your eyes down to your hands resting in your lap. “Sorry about that.”

Anamaria gives a small smile. “The lads sent their well wishes. Asked me to let you know that the game’s on as soon as you’re better.”

You laugh out loud at that. “Well, if they insist on losing their money again, I’m all for it,” you grin affectionately. Marty still owed you a few shillings from the last round of cards. This crew and this ship are so much more to you than what their face values indicate. The Pearl had become your home, and Jack and the crew was your family.

Anamaria chuckles. “Aye, they wouldn’t go as far as to actually say it, heaven forbid, but they’ve missed ye. And Jack, well!” she cuts herself off with a rueful shake of her head. “I’ve rarely seen him so upset, if ever. He was absolutely furious. And miserable too, though he knew how to hide it better than most,” Anamaria pauses, looking at you solemnly. “I think he was truly terrified that they’d… well, ye know.”

“Kill me?” you supply blandly, and Anamaria nods her head in agreement.

You bite the inside of your cheek lightly, nodding wordlessly in acknowledgement. God, you hate to think all the things you inadvertently put Jack through with your little escapade. The last thing you ever wanted was to cause him any distress, and that’s exactly what happened, anyway. Your rational mind tells you to stop blaming yourself for Delgado’s mad ploys; you didn’t rush in the Governor’s study to get kidnapped, but to rescue your uncle. And yet, you can’t quite shake off the feelings of guilt and chagrin that nag in the back of your mind.

“Well, thank goodness that matter’s now over and done with!” Anamaria announces in her normal, brisk way after another moment of silence, grinning at you. “Things would be just too simple and easy around here had we not your mulish self aboard, Byrne!”

You snort, trying to keep the smirk off your face. “Gee, thanks... I think.”

Anamaria’s lips quirk into a mischievous smirk. “You know what all this means, right? Jack is not going to let you go anywhere by yourself any longer!”

You mock-groan dramatically, wiping one palm down your face. “Coddling, coddling! I can see it already! Likely the man now thinks I need round-the-clock supervision!”

“Well, you do,” Anamaria replies flatly.

“Oy!”

“Oh, and like you have anything against Jack’s round-the-clock supervision!” Anamaria gloats, and you actually feel heat rushing to your cheeks at the comment.

“Pff! Well, that is completely…!” you stammer, opening and closing your mouth like a fish while Anamaria smirks smugly. “Ah, bug off, you!” you finally blurt with no real annoyance, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “You know, I think this taunting of yours isn’t exactly agreeing with my convalescence, so if you wouldn’t mind to either go away or be quiet, that’d be great…”

Anamaria laughs, a rare and joyful sound. “Got you!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes, but can’t curb the smile that spreads to your lips. Anamaria’s mood is too contagious, and you don’t really minding her barbing. What’s a little taunting between friends? You do it all the time to her, so you suppose it’s only fair to allow Anamaria to have her turn now.

A comfortable, amicable silence ensues as Anamaria’s quiet chuckles slowly die out, and you smile to yourself. How incredibly lucky are you to have found such great friends? Exceedingly so.

“So… did…” Anamaria speaks up again, a certain amount of slightly hesitant curiosity in her tone. Judging by the obvious measures of cordiality she’s trying to reach, you can guess what it must be that’s she trying to ask you. Anamaria is known to be blunt in her approach, and subtlety has never been one of her strongest points. But she’s making an effort, obviously not wanting to be nosy or intrude upon anything, and of that, you’re oddly moved.

Deciding to have mercy on her, you interrupt her with a smile, “Ana, I trust you to be straight with me. Spit it out.”

Smirking again, Anamaria does as you ask. “Did that addlebrained fool finally get his act together and tell you something everyone else here except I think you and him have known for ages?”

You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. “Well, that depends on what exactly do you mean with this ‘something’, Anamaria. If you mean something along the lines of me being the most exceptional woman he’s ever crossed paths with, or something like him loving me with everything that he is… then yes,” you finish with a wide grin, recalling each of Jack’s words to you.

The look of astonishment on Anamaria’s face is priceless, and you chew on your lip to keep from laughing. “He said that?” she asks, wide-eyed. “That’s… he’s even more far-gone than I thought! What did you say to that?”

“I think I said, ‘That was much better.’” You deadpan.

Anamaria blinks. “You what?!”

You grin at the disbelief in her tone. “Right before I told him I loved him too and had never loved anyone like I love him. And then we didn’t talk again for a little while.”

Anamaria makes a face. “Alright, see, that last part was too much information for me, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you grin.

Anamaria shoots you a wry look and shakes her head, before giving small smile. “It really is good to have ye back, Byrne.”

You give back a smile of your own, blinking the sudden sting from your eyes. Damn, but these past few days have gotten you all emotional. The Black Pearl’s dark timbers abruptly give a long groan as the ship alters her course slightly, the vessel rocking gently upon the waves from one side to another.

“We’re coming up on Rincon in few minutes, I should go back and give the lads a hand,” Anamaria tells you. “I’ll drop by to see you again later, alright?”

You nod. “Sure, go ahead. I’ll just… count the rings in the wood once more,” you say wryly, point one finger on the ceiling.

“I’d forgotten how you hate forced idleness,” Anamaria grins, starting to make her way toward the doors. “Want my advice? Enjoy it while you can.”

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter back.

“Oh, I think Jack mentioned something earlier, about that bath?” she suddenly asks, pausing her steps long enough to glance at you questioningly.

“If you can arrange that, you deserve my eternal gratitude,” you reply with flourish.

“Right. You do know that I’ll be holdin’ you to that, aye?” she grins as she pushes one of the doors open.

“Unfortunately,” you say, knowing you’ll end up covering for her swabbing duty or something along those lines for that particular promise. Ah, well. The idea of soaking in hot water appears heavenly to your stiff muscles, and easily overrides the unpleasantness of swabbing and any such tasks.

“Alright, then. Remember to stay put!” Anamaria calls behind her shoulder, before stepping out and closing the door behind her. You roll your eyes at the comment. Did she expect you to get up on your feet and do the tango while waiting? Honestly.

Idly fiddling with the hem of the blanket, you wonder how things are aboard the Dauntless, with Elizabeth, Will, the Governor and Gemma. From them, your thoughts wander to Delgado and the scavenger pack she calls crew. Your eyes narrow as you speculate if Delgado already knows the location of the lost Abyss, considering she does have the entire map now as well. Soon, you would know it as well, just as soon as your convoy reached Rincon and restocked the ships. A knot of wary anticipation forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought. To be quiet honest, the though of going up against Delgado once more was not an exactly comforting notion. Yet, you know perfectly well there would inevitably be another confrontation, sooner or later. Another chance for her to taunt and mock you and your parents, no doubt.

You worry your lower lip unconsciously as you ponder whether Delgado ever found out about Nerita’s involvement in your escape. What if the short woman was already dead because of it? Rationally, you know you should not even care. She’s a murderer, just as much as Delgado is. But something about her makes you hesitant to pass final judgement. There was something conflicting in her in that shabby inn, and not just in her actions. She seemed torn mentally.

Pushing aside any thoughts of the Spaniards with an exasperated sigh, you lean your back against the pillows behind you. The familiar creaks and groans of the Pearl calm you, lulling you to a pleasantly lethargic state as you concentrate on the steady swaying of the vessel. With nothing better to occupy your time with, you crane your neck and gaze upward at the ceiling, lazily counting the dark rings visible in the timbers, stifling a bored sigh. You dislike yourself for even thinking such a demanding, needy thought, but you hope the docking is a quick one and you’ll get your bath soon – or at least someone would come by to keep you company before long. The sigh you stifled a moment ago now escapes your lips, loud in the otherwise silent quarters.

You really do hate forced idleness. Especially solitary forced idleness.

TBC...

* * * * *

A/N: I know I'm probably having a deathwish or something, giving you such a shamefully short chapter after so many weeks, and one that didn't even have any Jack in it! I'm sorry, I truly am. The only excuse I have is that I ran out of time. I was supposed to squeeze in the bath, too, but I just could not. It'll be in the next chapter, as well as the return of our lovely Captain. And I promise the next one will be longer, better, and... better. Thank you for your patience with me! ...And please don't throw hard things at me.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 37 – Just A Sea Chest

“Are you absolutely positive there isn’t anything I could do for you, father?” Elizabeth Swann’s concerned enquiry rang in the otherwise quiet guest quarters aboard the Dauntless as she adjusted and fluffed up the pillows placed between the Governor’s back and the high backrest of the cushioned chair he was reclining in.

Weatherby Swann gave a semi-amused harrumph at his daughter’s insistency.

“For goodness sake, cease your fussing, Elizabeth!” he exclaimed, although a fond smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I am perfectly fine, I assure you. Now please, stop fretting.”

Elizabeth sighed tiredly, kneeling next to the Governor’s chair and resting her palms over the armrest. “I’m sorry, father, but I can’t help it. I was so terrified that something would happen to you aboard that dreadful ship. I’m so thankful that you’re back safely.”

Weatherby smiled gently down at his daughter, moved by her concern. His smile took on a sad edge as he realized once again how greatly Elizabeth’s soft brown eyes resembled the ones of his late wife, his beloved Georgina. Their marriage had been arranged, but the union of convenience had later grown out to be one of love. It had been a cruel, cold day to Weatherby when he had lost his significant other so untimely. They should have had many more years together. Georgina should have been allowed to watch her daughter grow up to be the fine young woman she was today. She should have been allowed to witness Elizabeth’s wedding and to be able to dote upon her grandchildren. All these things should have been allowed for his sister, Melissa, as well. Both his wife and his sister had been taken away from the world of living far too early. Weatherby could only hope the two women were watching over them all, especially their children, somewhere out there.

Reaching out a hand, the Governor gently cupped Elizabeth’s cheek. “You have your mother’s eyes, Elizabeth. And her nature.”

Elizabeth responded to her father’s wistful smile with her own, placing her palm over her father’s. Elizabeth’s mother had passed away when she was but a small child, when they were still residing in England. Her memories of her mother were only vague images, or feelings, more correctly. But at least she had those; Elizabeth felt sad to think her cousin didn’t even have that much.

“I love you, father,” Elizabeth said quietly after a moments of silence, tightening her hold of her father’s hand slightly.

“Oh, I love you too, child,” Weatherby responded, his throat tight from sudden emotion. “And I’ll be here for you every day for as long as I am granted time in this world. Don’t ever forget that.”

Elizabeth smiled, blinking to keep the tears that attempted to gather in her eyes at bay. After a few moments, the Governor cleared his throat and smiled down at Elizabeth encouragingly.

“Now,” he began, frowning thoughtfully. “Come to think about it, I do think there might be one thing you could do, after all.”

“What is it?” Elizabeth enquired immediately, straightening her back.

Weatherby Swann smiled, this time with no trace of sadness. “Go and spend some time with William while I rest a moment.”

Elizabeth gave a small laugh, her eyes sparking at the mention of her fiancé. “Very well, then. If you’re sure?”

“I’m positive. Now, go on,” the Governor ushered her, patting her hand lightly. “You have no need to be cooped in here, not while the boy must be missing you already, I’m sure.”

Elizabeth shook her head but smiled, nonetheless. Rising from the floor, she started walking towards the entrance of the quarters. Weatherby Swann watched her go, smiling a knowing smile as his daughter’s steps faltered hesitantly as she neared the door. Finally, she halted entirely and gracefully turned around with a small frown on her face.

“Are you quite–”

“Go!” The Governor interrupted her with a laugh, having anticipated Elizabeth’s one, final questioning.

“Very well, very well!” Elizabeth exclaimed with a grin, opening the door and stepping out, leaving the Governor alone.

Weatherby Swann shook his head in amusement, smiling a fond smile. “Young people…” he muttered to himself as he leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes with a small sigh.

* * * *

A groan of delight escapes your lips as the blissfully hot water closes around your battered body the instant you awkwardly lower yourself to sit in the small, wooden tub. It’s not too much wider than your body, and you can’t possibly straighten your legs while in it, but at the moment you’d settle for anything.

Gingerly, you lean backward, setting your back against the end of the tub. The hot water that reached only barely up to your breasts when you sat up now rushes up to meet your collarbones. Your hair hangs freely around your face, the ends of the strands floating on the surface of the water for a brief moment before soaking up and sinking, some clinging onto your skin. You close your eyes as the water around you warms your sore muscles, slowly but surely softening and loosening them up. Warm water has never felt so good, you think sluggishly, the surrounding warmth soothing your body and mind.

You crack your eyes open lazily, just enough to make out the large, slanted windows in the stern of the Pearl. The waning evening sun was rapidly losing its lustre, the light of it now a soft glow instead of a bright glare. The sun would be setting behind the horizon in a matter of minutes, and the spacious cabin you’re in is already growing dark. But that matters little to you; in fact, the increasing dimness around you calms you further. Closing your eyes again for a moment, you revel in the heavenly feeling of the warm water, absently reminding yourself to thank Anamaria for arranging this.

Lying still in the water, you listen to the unusual silence that seems to have been surrounding the Black Pearl for many minutes already. Gone are the stomping footsteps and the calls and shouts from the crew; even the Pearl herself appears subdued, aside from the quiet sounds of the creaking timbers as the gentle swells of the sea stroke the hull of the anchored ship. For a longest while, you do nothing but lie still in the water, enjoying the sensation of your muscles relaxing and softening, the sharpest sores dulling and ebbing away at least for a moment.

At the very moment, half an hour has now passed since your conversation with Anamaria, and the Black Pearl reached the Spanish coastal town of Rincon another half an hour ago. Apparently, Anamaria had taken your word about eternal gratitude seriously, because roughly around fifteen minutes after the docking, she and Ladbroc had provided you with a tub full of warm water, inviting little swirls of steam still rising from the surface. You’d thanked both profusely and exchanged a few words with Ladbroc, the broad, kind smile on the big man‘s face making you feel more welcome than any words could. He is quite like an older brother you never had. Ladbroc had left soon afterwards, but Anamaria insisted on staying and helping you up and over to the tub. Personally, you like to think you ‘allowed’ her to help you, but looking back on it, you realize that she would have done so whether you’d allowed it or not, and there would’ve been little you could’ve done or said to influence her. Getting you upright was the biggest problem; your muscles were so stiff it caused you quite a bit of pain to use them, but you ground your teeth together and took it all in stride. Another question mark was the state of your soles, but you found that it was all right to put pressure on them and walk – even if very carefully – with the bandages around your feet to cover and cushion the cuts.

At this point, you’d thanked Anamaria for her assistance but insisted you could handle things by yourself from now on. Anamaria had been similarly adamant to help you in the tub, and as you had launched into a verbal argument about the matter, she had rolled her eyes and grumbled things about accursed obstinacy under her breath, which you had promptly pretended not to hear. You appreciated Anamaria’s concern, truly, but you’d refused to feel like a helpless weakling any longer – no matter how apt that assessment of your current state of well-being might have been. It was one of those moments to which your late father would’ve shaken his head at wearily and proclaimed that you were, quoting him from word to word, “As stubborn as the day is long and the night is dark, all the way down to that pride of yours.”

Anamaria had put up with your hard-headed determination for admirably long – longer than your father would have - until she finally threw her hands up in the air with a frustrated noise from her throat. With an annoyed face, she’d grudgingly acquiesced. However, she’d sharply pointed out before leaving that she would be back a little later to see how you were doing, and the tone of her voice told you she’d brook absolutely no arguments from you. Hence, all you could do was to nod in accord and let her know you got the message. Letting her have the last word was not hugely uncommon; Anamaria had a stubborn streak to her as well that nearly rivalled yours, although she let it show less frequently than you did.

With another sigh, you finally will your body to act and lift your arms lazily from the water, laying them atop the sides of the wooden tub. Soft rippling of water breaks the silence of the quarters, soothing droplets running down your arms and gliding back into the tub along its sides. Your brow creases slightly in distaste as you scrutinize your skin, eyeing the scabbed cut in the middle of your left forearm and the purplish bruises dappling your arms. Whilst you had rid yourself of the ragged chemise only few moments ago, you’d taken a few moments to assess the damage done. Aside from the obvious bruising, you didn’t fail to take notice of the long, red welts that ran across your stomach where the bones of the corset had so unpleasantly jabbed into your skin during the hours you’d worn the accursed contraption. I’ll be damned if I ever wear one of those bloody things again in my life, you’d thought testily, running a gentle finger along one of the lines of abraded skin.

From your arms, your gaze drops down to your thighs, blurred by the water. Still, you can make out the round discolorations – roughly the size of boot’s toe. Your knees seem to be the only parts below your neck that are free of any blemishes. Perhaps it is only a good thing you can’t see the state of your back. If the soreness is of any indication, it must be one giant mesh of black, blue and purple. Almost unbidden, another weary sigh escapes your lips at the thought.

Tiredly, you straighten your spine and sit upright in the tub, grabbing the sodden washcloth that floats limply in the water. Carefully, you wash your face, minding the cut on your forehead. Knowing your muscles are too sore to even attempt bending over to wet your hair in the tub, you soak up the washcloth and tilt your face up, covering the cut on your brow with one hand while bringing the cloth up over your head with another, curling your fingers tightly around the drenched piece. Water streams from the cloth, small rivulets trickling down from the crown of your head and wetting your hair, few glistening droplets clinging onto your unruly locks. You repeat the process until your hair is thoroughly soaked, the waterlogged strands clinging insistently onto your neck and shoulders.

Meticulously, you rub the cloth gently down your skin, starting from your neck before moving down to cleanse your chest and shoulders, continuing along your arms. Gingerly laying your scratched soles against the tub’s bottom, you draw your legs up a little more, your knees creating two tan islands in the middle of the water. Your hands work almost unconsciously, carefully washing away the dirt, sweat and tension than still clings to your body while your mind wanders elsewhere. Minutes crawl by without your notice as you immerse yourself in your ruminations, mulling over the events of the last few days. Absentmindedly, you wonder if Anamaria really was correct and that you do have a bad habit of contemplating everything overly much.

The quiet noise of the quarters’ door opening and someone stepping inside brings you out of your thoughts. With your back turned to the doors, you can’t see who it is, but there are really only two possible choices. You first believe it to be Anamaria coming back to make good on her promise, but as the newcomer closes the door and begins walking toward you in calm, measured strides, you can tell by the sound of the person’s gait that it is not. Your brow furrows slightly in confusion.

“I thought you were supposed to oversee the restocking,” you speak up, a perplexed edge in your tone as you tilt your head to the side to glance over your shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Jack’s coat landing in a heap over one of the chairs around the table, his hat following soon after.

“Aye, that I was. Up until I handed the duty to Gibbs and Anamaria, who are perfectly capable of dealing with it,” Jack responds in subdued manner as he lowers himself to sit next to the tub, slightly behind you. “I felt I’d much rather be here for you,” he goes on in soft murmur, leaning in to press his lips against your bare shoulder in a light kiss. You smile softly to his words and the tender gesture, your emotions welling within you.

“I’m glad,” you murmur, meeting his eyes and cracking a small grin. “You’re just in time to wash my back.”

Jack heaves a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Here I am, almost literally on my knees before you, offering my affections and support, and all you want is someone to wash your back. Women,” he adds wryly, a tiny smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Now, now, Jack,” you admonish with a smirk of your own. “You shouldn’t complain so. You get to see me wet and naked, after all.”

Jack remains silent for a moment, pursing his lips slightly in thought, and you catch his russet eyes dipping down and up again on your decidedly nude form briefly in the dimness of the cabin. “That is a very, very good point you’re making, my darling.”

“Quit leering and get to work, pirate,” you say with a small laugh, handing him the wet cloth and turning back to face the windows in the stern.

“Always were a bossy one…” You hear Jack mumble as you draw your knees closer to your chest and fold your arms over them, smiling at his words but remaining quiet. He could have that one little gibe, this time.

What little levity Jack had vanished the instant he fixed his gaze on your bare back. Now that his eyes had gotten used to the dimness of the cabin, he could make out the various dark bruises standing out sharply against your light skin, his jaw clenching involuntarily at the sight. Jack had been expecting this; after all, he’d seen the state of your arms and legs. He thought he’d be prepared for it, but this… this ignited his burning anger all over again. He felt a fierce need to injure Delgado in every which way he could, leaving her bleeding and hurting just like she’d done to you. Despite his righteous anger, Jack couldn’t quite shake off the vague feel of failure that nagged in the back of his mind – failure to keep you safe from harm.

He had not told it to anyone yet, not even you, but Jack always kept an eye on you, ever since the early days of your friendship. Especially after you’d arrived to Gibbs’ place on Tortuga after the merry night at the Bride, bleeding and weary after the battle with Francesca Vega. However, he had also taken great care to be inconspicuous in his vigilance. Partly because he had been introduced to your pride early on in your acquaintanceship, that stubborn pride that accepted such aid so very poorly at times and would likely be snubbed by what you’d likely view as an underestimating of your ability to look after yourself. But the weightiest reason behind his discretion about the matter was the solid fact that Jack had not even himself understood his inclination to watch after you at that time. And so he’d kept silent about it, mulling it over and over in his mind until he could contemplate upon it no longer, but dismissed it as something that simply was and could not be undone. Recently he had finally started to understand it; it came clearer to him slowly and subtly, yet surely, along with the changing of his feelings for you. And here you were before him now, the smooth, soft planes of your back marked with painful-looking bruises that should not have ever appeared there in the first place. Almost without conscious thought, Jack raised his free hand and brushed the back of his fingers slowly up along your spine, careful to keep his touch light. This would be the first and the last failure of his; nothing like this would ever happen to you again, not while he was around. Jack would not fail to keep you safe for a second time.

You exhale quietly at Jack’s touch to your back, the utter gentleness of the act causing your throat to tighten and tears to spring into your eyes. Biting your lower lip, you blink them away, not wanting to weep any more than you already have. Jack’s long silence makes a wave of trepidation to rush through you, and you wonder how bad your back is looking, truly. You can draw a few conclusions from Jack’s unwillingness to speak.

“That bad, eh?” you speak past the lump in your throat, not quite managing to summon levity in your tone in spite of your effort.

“Of course not,” Jack replies, his tone all too calm and carefully measured – he’s angry. Only when he sounds so utterly impassive, it’s the surest sign of a stirring beneath the surface.

“Liar,” you retort softly with a small, sad smile on your lips.

Jack doesn’t respond, but you hear him heaving a quiet sigh. A faint tinkling of the charms in Jack’s hair sounds gently in the silent cabin, and a mere moment later, his soft lips brush against you back again, this time over your spine. Your eyes close as if on their own accord, the damn tears threatening to gather behind your lids again. The way Jack is treating you, with such unconditional tenderness, is unlike anything you have ever experienced before in your entire life, and you find it almost hard to believe such affection is being bestowed upon you. You had never even dared to wish for intimacy like this with anybody, knowing all too well the life you lead didn’t offer such chances. Moreover, you had always thought you didn’t need any such things to begin with, fiercely determined to stand on your own two feet and manage by yourself. And now… now, you find yourself embracing it, finding comfort, understanding and strength in the closeness you share with Jack. His hands – the hands you’ve seen clutching the hilt of his cutlass in harsh grip and manage the large wheel of the Pearl with firm determination, come stormy weather or sunshine – are now gentle and light as he cares for you, one palm stroking your side so softly and soothingly, whilst the other carefully washes the damaged flesh with the cloth.

Oh god, he loves you. The words have been said already, but only now does the full meaning of the sentiment suddenly dawn on you, bearing down on you more profoundly than any words could ever convey. And the feeling of being loved by him is no less intense than the emotion within you, the love that is only for him alone. Opening your eyes and inhaling shakily, you don’t even notice the lone tear that slides down your wet cheek, falling down from your jaw and landing on your arm, folded over your up-drawn knees. Another one soon follows, but you raise your hand to wipe away any others, a ghost of a smile on your lips. As much as you loathe weeping, these tears aren’t of distress; they’re of happiness.

“Don’t cry, darling,” Jack pleads softly, so softly you nearly miss it.

You smile a little at his concern. “They’re good tears, I promise.”

“Ah, so there are such things, after all?”

The edge of wry mirth in his tone coaxes a small, genuine laugh from you. “Who would’ve thought, aye?”

Jack chuckles and now you smile fully, marvelling at his ability to lift your spirits like that, no matter how miserable you might be feeling. A moment passes in comfortable silence, only the soft trickling of water and quiet creaks of timber filling the air.

“You know, that coy little friend of yours…” Jack pauses his words as he pushes some of your damp hair over your shoulder, his fingers trailing across your sensitive skin in the process and causing your concentration to falter slightly. “…Has managed something I had thought improbable.”

“Gemma?” you ask, raising your brows in interest. “And that is…?”

You don’t need to see Jack’s face in order to know he’s smirking smugly; you can hear it in his voice. “She’s caught the good Commodore’s eye without so much as having even said a word to him. Looks like the man has a fancy for seemingly dainty lasses. It’s the ‘damsel in distress’ syndrome these hoity-toity types seem to go for…”

You roll your eyes a little at Jack’s words, but smile in amusement nonetheless. “Really? Well, that’s quite unexpected.”

“Aye, but could prove to be convenient,” Jack replies craftily. “Perhaps ole Norrington will lighten up and give us a rest now that he’s finally found himself a girl whose affections haven’t already been given to another.”

“Jack!” you exclaim slightly reproachfully. “Bringing that particular issue up was totally uncalled for. Pray don’t ever say that in front of Norrington,” you go on, trying to be stern and fighting the amused laugh bubbling inside of you at the same time.

“It’s only the truth!” Jack defends himself, in near offended tone.

“Still!” You shake your head a little, but can’t quite curb the amused smile that spreads to your lips. A sudden thought occurs to you, and you turn your head to look over your shoulder, watching Jack as you speak up. “You said Gemma hadn’t spoken even a word to Norrington, and yet you sound awfully certain that something will come out of that. One has to wonder what exactly makes you so sure?” you query, quirking your brows curiously.

Jack, having had his gaze trained on your back during your question, now flicks his eyes to meet yours and raises his brows in clueless manner, giving out the impression that he knows nothing of what you speak about. However, you know better than to fall for that trick. He looks all too innocent to actually be innocent. As if reading your mind, he speaks up calmly, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, luv.”

“Jack…” you drawl, both a question and a subtle edge of warning lacing your tone.

“I haven’t done anything, honestly,” Jack denies, a small smirk tugging at his lips while returning his gaze to your back, gently washing your shoulder blades with the warm cloth. “I just pointed out the simple fact that my Pearl already has plenty enough guests and there’s no room for more, but seeing as Norrington commands a rather fair-sized ship, doubtless he could find lodgings for one more lady aboard the Dauntless. That’s all.”

“That’s all, indeed!” you say, striving not to grin mindlessly. You know very well what were Jack’s original incentives to push Gemma over to the Dauntless, but this is just too good to pass up. It’s right there on the tip of your tongue, the retort you are itching to deliver but know Jack wouldn’t appreciate it. Oh, but the temptation to tease him just a little is simply too great to resist.

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Jack! Giving the Commodore a chance to find love like that. I just knew there was a soft-hearted man beneath that tough pirate exterior,” you say sweetly, your lips twitching.

“Wha’?” Jack blurts out in affront at your insinuation, staring at you with widened eyes. “That was not why I did it for!”

“Oh, it’s all right!” you reassure in calming tone, struggling not to burst in laughter at Jack’s scandalized expression. “It’ll be our little secret.”

Jack splutters, mouth opening and closing as he grasps for words to contradict the outrageously ridiculous claim. It’s too much for you, and you lift your hands to fold them over your mouth, your shoulders quivering from quiet laughter.

“I’ll have you know Norrington can sort out of his bloody love life all by his onesies, woman,” Jack finally says with narrowed eyes, having recovered enough. “Kindly never mention anything like that to me ever again.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” you gasp through chuckles, lowering your hands. “You should’ve seen your face…”

“Sidesplitting, to be sure,” Jack mutters dryly.

You pout a little, detecting the faint tone of annoyance in his tone. “Love you?”

Small smirk tugs at the corner of Jack’s mouth, and he raises his eyes to meet yours, the dark orbs warm and playful. “Good for you, luv.”

You roll your eyes and cluck your tongue in faux annoyance while turning your head back ahead, although there’s no real irritation to back the actions up. Jack chuckles quietly behind you, and after a faint rustle of clothing, the plaits and dreads in his hair brush against your bare shoulder as he murmurs next to your ear, “Love you, too.”

“Good for you,” you mimic his earlier response with an insolent smirk, turning your head to the side a little.

Jack reaches out one hand to lay his damp fingers against your jaw, gently tilting your head yet a little more to lock gazes, his intense eyes boring on yours. “Yes,” he agrees huskily, claiming your lips with his. The kiss is soft and slow, the loving way he brushes his lips against yours sending small shivers down your spine.

Parting from you after a moment, Jack strokes the fingers on your jaw gently over a faint bruising next to your mouth, furrowing his brows as he stares at it. “Nothing like this will never happen to you again,” he vows fiercely. Raising his eyes to meet yours, he stares you unwaveringly in the eyes as he goes on, “I won’t let it.”

Your breath catches in your throat for a moment. Jack sounds so certain. He’s using that tone of voice that could convince you that anything he might ever think to tell you is true, but you know better than to assume anything in this world is certain. You give him a small smile, tinged with melancholy. “You can’t promise things like that,” you tell him softly.

“I’ll be damned if I can’t keep the woman I love safe!” Jack almost growls in response, dark eyes flashing angrily. Inhaling a calming breath, he shakes his head slightly. “No, darling. No one will lay even a finger on you again, not as long as I still draw breath. That much is certain.”

You look deep into Jack’s eyes, reading the conviction in them. No, nothing in this world was certain and anything could happen to both you and Jack, but as long as it was within his powers, Jack would keep you from any harm. As immortal has he might fancy himself being, that was all he could do. However, this was good enough a promise for you. You believe him. Smiling slightly, you nod your head a little in understanding and consent. Jack mirrors the movement, nodding once in wordless consensus.

“Now, then…” he starts after a minute, removing his hand from your face and leaning back a little, beginnings of his usual smirk starting to appear on his lips. “Let’s get you washed up before that water turns cold. Provided it already hasn’t, judging by the looks of things,” he adds impertinently with a quick glance down at your chest, his smirk broadening into a lopsided grin.

You huff indignantly, but can’t help but to smirk in amusement over the ever so typical, sudden mood swing of Jack’s. He could go from solemn to smug in split seconds. “Cheeky scallywag,” you retort as you turn back to look ahead and cross you arms over your chest – more to make a point rather than to play prudish - but the scold is pretty much ruined by the mirth edging your words.

“Ah, you know you like it,” comes Jack’s very self-assured reply from behind you.

You snort a little, before returning wryly, “I refuse to dignify that with an answer.”

“Have it your way, then,” Jack replies in utterly nonchalant manner, pausing for a beat before adding in infuriatingly knowing tone, “But you still like it. And now you’re rolling your eyes, aren’t you?”

“No,” you deny, perhaps a tad too quickly to be convincing – for you indeed were reacting just so at Jack’s insistency. “Tell me, were you always this impossible or is it something you picked up along the years?”

“Possibly,” Jack responds, and you sigh in weary resignation. There were days when you actually thought Jack was the most impossible person on the face of the earth.

“Never mind. I think it’s best left a mystery, after all.”

Jack is quiet for a brief moment, before murmuring, “You must be tired, still. Normally you’d give me harder time than that.”

You give a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll try again tomorrow. You won’t be getting off so easy, then.”

“Looking forward to that already.”

You smile slightly as a comfortable silence ensues, closing your eyes as the warm water trickles down your abused back in small rivulets as Jack gently washes your back with the cloth. You’re starting to feel a bit sleepy again, the water having relaxed you to the state of drowsiness. Still, the meeting with Norrington and the others about the map and your next destination would take place only some odd hours away, and you are fully planning to partake in that little get-together. There would be time for sleeping later. Forcing your heavy lids open again, you now notice for the first time how dark it has really gotten in the cabin – it must already be later than you thought.

“I emptied one of those chests, by the way…” Jack announces, breaking the silence. You blink, trying to jog your sluggish mind and work out that on earth he’s talking about.

“What? Why?” you ask in confusion.

“For you to put your things in there, obviously,” Jack replies, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Truthfully, it most likely was, but your tired mind is rather slow with catching up on things at the moment. “When you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

Blinking again, you realize he’s speaking of the heavy sea chests sitting on the floor of the cabin, next to the walls. Thinking back on his words, you finally come to the realization that Jack has emptied one of his sea chests so that you can put your things in there, which would imply…

“You’re… giving me a chest?” you question slowly. “Is… this your way of asking me to move in here? With you?”

“No, it’s my way of telling you we should switch cabins,” Jack replies amusedly, before sobering a little. “Aye, it is exactly that.”

“…Oh.” For once in your life, you’re speechless. Jack wants you to move in his cabin. As in live there. With him.

“Oh?” Jack repeats, almost incredulously. “That’s all you have to say? Oh?”

“You’re giving me one of your sea chests? Really?” you ask with a wide, genuine smile, glancing at Jack over your shoulder.

“It’s just a sea chest,” Jack says, an amused gleam in his eyes over your excitement. “I can give you two if it makes you that pleased.”

“I’m just saying that it’s a good idea,” you state cheerfully, before lifting your brows. “Are you sure, though? You’ll be stuck with me, then.”

“Well, I can’t for the life of me think of anyone else I’d rather be stuck with,” Jack replies, looking at you in the eyes with that nonsensically charming half-smile of his. The smile, however, grows into a mischievous grin as he adds, “And that way I can keep an eye on you and make sure you stay out of trouble. Savvy?”

You laugh as you turn back around, shaking your head slightly. “Even though I, according to certain someone, snore and drool in my sleep?” you ask with a grin, remembering the particular conversation with Jack in the brig of the Dauntless en route to Port Royal after the misadventure with Barbossa was over.

“I believe I can overlook those particularities, luv. After all, we can’t all be perfect.”

“Like you?” you finish the unspoken ending humorously.

“Your words, not mine.” Jack returns glibly.

You chuckle quietly, but say nothing in response. You’re unable to smother the stupid, wide smile that spreads to your lips. Just a sea chest, indeed! Jack would mask such a significant request as moving into his quarters behind something as mundane as emptying a sea chest. This relationship between you and Jack hasn’t even properly begun and already it was rather peculiar. But then again… you weren’t really expecting anything less from Jack. You heave a small sigh, feeling more content than in ages.

Who cares about normality, anyhow, you think to yourself with amusement. Now I've got a sea chest to go with a handsome pirate Captain.

* * * * *

A/N: OMG, what's this? Ebs actually updated! I know, I know. I'm so very sorry for the long wait! Real life's been busy, I've had a tough writer's block, things in general have just been mad. Sorry again. This chapter was supposed to have more scenes, but I ran out of time. I promise the next chapter quicker than this one, though, that's guaranteed. :) Hope you enjoy it, I was somewhat uncertain of it here and there. Ta ta for now, dears!

* * * * *

CHAPTER 38 – Something Rich And Strange

Orange.

The girl’s hair was indeed a soft shade of orange, James Norrington finally decided. It was not blonde, and it was not brown, either. It was something in between, but still not quite. It was clearly more brown than blonde, but at the same time, it was not solely brown either; it was a warm, brownish orange. It was the most peculiar color, and surely more than a little unorthodox. Perhaps that is what made it so fascinating to James.

Norrington’s brow furrowed slightly as he watched Gemma from his vantage point from the helm, interacting in subdued fashion with Elizabeth down on the main deck. He could not explain it, this strange interest he seemed to have for the curly-haired girl he had only spoken a few courteous words to, having exchanged the stiff, polite formalities with her whilst departing the Black Pearl earlier. Much to his surprise, James abruptly realized that he wanted to go down there and talk to her, spend time with her and get to know her better. The potency of the sudden impulse was almost startling, but more so was the fact that James could not make sense of it even to himself. And for a man of rationality, this was most unbalancing a thing to discover.

It helped matters none that in the faint light of the setting sun, Gemma’s hair seemed to shine warmly with a glint of gold gleaming amid the ochre curls, creating a glowing halo around her face – at that moment, James briefly wondered if perhaps he was gazing upon a fallen angel, a creature of great beauty and great sorrow.

James’ frown deepened at the contemplation, annoyance simmering in his mind for having such ideas. He hardly knew anything about the girl, for goodness sake. And perhaps that was precisely the crux of the issue. He knew nothing of her aside from the few meager basics; her name and the fact that she had been forced to stay aboard the Spanish galleon for the last three years. Aside from those, Gemma Wickham was a total stranger to Commodore Norrington. A stranger who, for some curious reason, wholly intrigued him.

Norrington watched as Elizabeth touched Gemma’s arm briefly in friendly way while saying something to her, to which Gemma responded with a quick nod and a small smile of understanding. James noticed how the smaller woman flinched ever so slightly at the contact. The instinctive reflex of Gemma’s caused an unexpected wave of anger to wash through James; how had the accursed Spaniards treated the poor woman to make her react in such a manner? His thoughts were interrupted as he realized Elizabeth was now walking away from Gemma, leaving the girl by herself. Drawing a deep breath and blowing it out, Gemma turned around to face the horizon, resting her small hands upon the rail on the Dauntless.

Go and talk to her. The sudden fancy that occurred to James was so strong he’d already taken a few steps toward the stairs leading down from the helm before he even noticed it.

“Commodore!” Gillette’s voice suddenly called out, and Norrington saw the lieutenant was climbing up the said stairs, wearing that look of self-importance on his face James found a little irritating at times. “Commodore Norrington, Governor Swann requested to have a word with you before the departure to the Black Pearl,” Gillette announced as soon as he halted his steps before Norrington.

James frowned slightly, annoyed to be distracted just as he was about to go talk to Gemma, but also feeling a more than little befuddled; was the impending meeting with Captain Sparrow over at his ship truly so close at hand, already? Glancing quickly up at the sky, he noticed how dark it already was, the sun having set behind the horizon a moment ago. Few of the mariners were already lighting the lanterns on the deck, offering some light in the darkening evening. How had he missed the track of time so completely? Turning to look down at the deck where the curly-haired woman had stood only a while ago, Norrington couldn’t quite ward off the slight disappointment that surged in him when he saw that she was no longer there, perhaps having retired to her cabin.

“Hell.” The dispirited word had already tumbled out of Norrington’s mouth before his mind even thought to censure it.

Gillette blinked incredulously, not expecting the Commodore to respond in such a way. “Sir?” he questioned, scandalized.

Realizing his faux pas, Norrington quickly cleared his thoughts, even if momentarily. “Thank you, Gillette. That will be all,” he dismissed the lieutenant curtly with a nod, and the officer readily returned the gesture before moving back, even if still wearing a baffled expression. Ignoring this, Commodore Norrington strode past Gillette and descended down the stairs, his stance calm and collected even thought bewilderment gnawed at him. James would have never thought such a slight slip of a girl could ever shake his composure like this. Apparently, Norrington thought dryly to himself as he made his way to the Governor’s cabin, there is a first time for everything.

While his rational mind swiftly and efficiently tucked the matter away, James still felt irrationally disappointed when he could not sight even a glimpse of ochre curls anywhere along the way.

* * * *

Books.

You frown in thought and cock your head to the side while you stare at the short row of leather-bound spines on one of the upper shelves of the heavy cabinet in Jack’s quarters. How come you’ve never noticed that Jack has books before? You’re perfectly aware that he can read, but you’ve never actually seen him reading a real book before; the only thing you’ve seen him read are charts and reports. The distance between the round table by which you’re seated at and the cabinet is rather long, but you can just about spell out the vertical titles in the candle-lit cabin when squinting your eyes.

You can’t help but to be impressed by some of the titles as you read them, Dante’s Divine Comedy in particular makes your brows climb slightly upwards. Then you recall his vehement words to Koehler and Twigg a year ago in the brig of Fort Charles; ‘The deepest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers.’ And indeed it is, you come to realize as you stare at the faded title in the spine. While you have not personally actually read the book, you know more or less what it is about.

Shifting your gaze to the next volume, you blink when read the title; The Tempest, by William Shakespeare. The next one is also Shakespeare, some of his sonnets. You wonder at this for a moment, for you never took Jack to be one to read Shakespeare, quite frankly. Your astonishment and awe increases as you go on; Geoffrey Chaucer, Miguel de Cervantes… With a small, fond smile, you decide once again the man had more sides to him than you could possibly comprehend.

Turning your head to look at Jack, who’s currently busying himself with searching for something by his desk, going through the charts and things in a rather disorderly manner, his back turned to you. You amuse yourself for a moment, watching as he picks up one chart and furls it open a little, inspecting it. Deeming it to be the wrong one, Jack moves it aside – or better, tosses it aside in a careless flick of his hand. You shake your head a little as this goes on, and more charts are flung aside. Few of them topple on the floor from the end of the desk, but Jack seems completely undisturbed by this. A smirk pulls at your lips; your father would have scoffed upon such treatment of precious charts and maps. Pete always had all his things in meticulous order. Then again Pete and Jack were two sides of the same coin as persons, anyway. But you believe your father would have come to like Jack had he gotten the chance to meet him, after he’d gotten over the initial vexation that Jack’s eccentric behavior sometimes brought on to other, less eccentric people. That is, if Pete had not killed Jack first for daring to touch his little girl.

Your ruminations are cut short as Jack makes a noise of frustration from his throat and pulls open one of the desk drawers, bending over slightly and giving you a nice view of his backside. Your smirk grows wider, accompanied by an appreciative quirk of an eyebrow.

“Have you lost something again?” you question with amusement in your tone, the impish smirk still on your lips.

“Momentarily misplaced,” Jack corrects with a quick glance over his shoulder. “I told you I don’t lose things. Enjoying the view, are you?”

You roll your eyes at the smugness of his tone, but smile anyway. “You know perfectly well I’d be fibbing if I said I didn’t.”

“Aye,” Jack chuckles knowingly while rummaging through the desk drawer. “But usually you have to claim the opposite just for the sake of being pigheaded.”

You sniff objectionably. “I prefer to call it ‘willpower’, really.”

Jack snorts – the nerve of him! – and you level a narrow-eyed look of reproach at his back. It has no effect on him, and so you let it slide. Just this once. Leaning your back gingerly against the backrest of the chair you’re sitting in, you stretch your legs straight under the table and lay your soles flat against the floorboards, feeling the smooth wood under your bare toes. Your scratched feet are again encased in clean bandages after your recent bath, your hair still slightly damp from the wash. You relish the fact that you’re again dressed in your own clothes after the nasty corset-and-torn-shift ensemble, feeling extremely comfortable in your dark breeches and light blue shirt.

Casting your appraising gaze upon the books once again, you speak up with a curious edge to your tone, “I didn’t know you had all those books. I’ve never seen you read any.”

“For some reason, I haven’t felt the need to entertain myself with those after you came along,” Jack replies impishly with a grin.

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes as you ponder if that was an entirely flattering comment or not. “I see,” you finally respond dryly, even if a smile is threatening to pull the corners of your mouth upward. “But you have actually read all of them?”

“’Course I have!” Jack throws over his shoulder with certainty. “Would I bother keeping them if I had no use for them?”

“Even the Shakespeare’s?” you ask with a shade of doubt in your voice, raising your brows.

Jack straightens his spine slowly and inhales deeply, silent for a moment as he contemplates something. Then, he finally speaks up, a solemn timbre in his deep voice. “Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change, Into something rich and strange.”

Silence fills the quarters the moment Jack finishes his citation. You swallow thickly to force down the sudden lump in your throat, the beautiful quote striking a profound chord within you. You know it has to be a coincidence that Jack chose that particular excerpt, but the uncanny connection it bears to your recent thoughts of your father nearly drives the air from your lungs. The passage runs through your mind anew, and you abruptly realize how tremendously comforting quote it in actuality is. Hearing it from Jack strangely allays the deeply buried unease you’ve always had about your father’s ill fate. The concept of a sea-change, an extraordinary metamorphosis, curiously alleviates the hidden anxiety and an odd feeling of calmness settles about you.

Inhaling deeply, you look back at Jack, realizing that he has turned around to face you, casually leaning back against the desk while his palms rest against the edge of the desktop. His eyes, however, are watching you closely, a look of subtle questioning in the dark orbs, mingled with a barest hint of concern.

“That’s a beautiful thought,” you remark quietly, giving Jack a sad smile. “Funny how I was just thinking of him, actually…”

“What of him, luv?” Jack prompts softly after a moment when you remain silent.

You flicker your eyes to meet his again, smiling. “I think he would’ve liked you if he’d gotten the chance to get know you.”

Jack chuckles quietly, lowering his gaze for a moment. “Now, there’s a thought,” he drawls contemplatively. “Rubbing shoulders with a man who was something of a legend even when I was still learning the trade.”

“I always forget how some viewed him like that,” you reflect, smiling faintly. “He was just father to me. The one that always forbade me from playing in the powder magazine and such.”

“A father who probably would have broken the neck of any man to even look at his precious little girl the wrong way,” Jack adds dryly with a small smirk, raising his brows as if daring you to deny it. Interesting how Jack’s mind is running along the same tracks with your own thoughts tonight.

“Why, naturally! Though I believe Pete would have just settled for… well, you know… snip snip!” You smile pleasantly and make the scissoring move in the air with your pointer and middle finger.

Jack winces as if feeling the pain, drawing in a hissing breath between his teeth as a shudder of horror goes through him at the very thought. “Perhaps it’s a good thing then that I won’t have the pleasure of meeting your illustrious father, luv,” he replies, a faintly sarcastic emphasis to the word ‘pleasure’.

You chuckle mirthfully. “Aw, I would’ve protected you from him.”

Jack smirks, an amused gleam in his dark eyes. “Would you have, now?”

“But of course I would’ve,” you assure resolutely. “What good would you be to me without…” you pause, quickly glancing down his body and back up again before grinning impishly, “Every part of you attached?”

Jack’s brows climb up to his bandanna as a look of incredulity crosses his face for a second, but it’s quickly replaced with a slow grin that spreads to his lips. “Oh, is that how it is…?” he drawls smugly. Your eyes are drawn to the subtle, charming sway of his hips as he pushes himself off of the desk and saunters slowly towards your chair. “Your true designs are finally revealed; only interested in carnal dealings with yours truly. Well, fortunately for you,” he pauses as he reaches your side, crouching down next to you and smirking as he holds your gaze. “I’m not at all opposed to letting you use my fine body for your enjoyment. I know you’re powerless to resist the charms I possess.”

You smile amusedly, not about to be left without a retort. Bending down a little to bring your face closer to Jack’s, you whisper questioningly, “Yes, well, you know what they say about good looks, don’t you…?”

“Why don’t you educate me, luv?” he replies huskily.

“That they don’t thrive together with brains, so you either have one or the other,” you murmur, smirking.

“I suppose that makes you the brains of this relationship, then,” he answers cheekily, grinning.

You give a laugh, before harrumphing in mock upset. “Oh, so I’ve no beauty, then?”

Jack’s darkening eyes glance at your lips before finding your gaze again. “I think you’re an exception to the rule, darling.”

“Good save, Sparrow!” you praise with a wide smile. “Very good. You must be another exception to the said rule, only a very clever man could’ve skirted around that question with such talent.”

“I think I’ve said it before, but you really do wonders for my self-esteem,” Jack murmurs, bringing one hand up to trail his fingertips lightly against your jaw, leaning his face forward slowly.

“Whoever thought up that stupid rule was an idiot, anyway,” you whisper almost inaudibly as Jack’s lips are only a hair’s breadth away from yours. You’re about to close your eyes, expecting his mouth to press against yours in the next second… only to be rudely interrupted by a sudden, loud knocking on the quarter’s door that breaks the moment, causing both you and Jack to jump and pull away.

“Captain!” Gibbs’ muffled voice floats through the doors. “Commodore Norrington and the others are ‘ere.”

Jack rolls his eyes and throws a sharp look towards the general direction of the doors. “And what a bloody wonderful timing they have, too,” he grumbles in annoyance, before sighing resignedly. “Aye, show them in!” he finally calls out, receiving acquiescent response from the older man through the door.

Turning back to look at you, Jack’s lips curl slightly upward in a small, rare smile. “Well, sprite,” he starts, voice deep and melodic, “It looks as if it’s going to be business before the pleasure tonight.”

You sigh exaggeratedly and slump your shoulders in disappointment, wincing slightly as a twinge of pain ripples through your tender muscles at the move. “Fine. Let’s get this little get-together over and done with then, shall we?”

* * * *

Elizabeth cast a critical eye about the Captain’s quarters of the Black Pearl, remembering all too well her previous visit to the said quarters a year ago. She found the cabin to be something altogether different now in Jack’s possession than what it was when Barbossa had habited it. The quarters had seemed so cold and austere to her back then, despite the ornate engravings and details in the dark timbers; there were no signs of anybody actually using the cabin anywhere, of actually living in it. But then, Barbossa had not really been alive, had he? She recalled how even the warm glow of the many candles lit all around the cabin did not erase away the turbid look about the wood, as if there were a nasty membrane of some sort covering the fine timber, smothering it. As if the ship herself were dead along with her crew of that time. A small shiver traveled down Elizabeth’s spine as she thought she could almost hear Barbossa’s mocking laugh and the quiet chatter of the monkey whisper in her ears.

But now, Elizabeth saw the mahogany was alive again, an elegant sheen to the black surface. The quarters were once again lit with several candles, and the softly flickering light coaxed out just the tiniest hue of deep red within the sable wood. Now, the cabin was far from austere. Charts and scrolls of parchment were strewn across the heavy desk by the slanted windows in the stern, ones that were no longer stained with crusted salt and grime. Elizabeth took notice of the heavy sea chests sitting on the floor, out of the way. She paid attention to all the bits and pieces here and there, ones that made the cabin look inhabited, homey even.

Elizabeth’s curiosity was swiftly replaced with heartwarming relief when she saw her cousin sitting by the large table, awake and well. The long, evident wound on your forehead and bruising on your skin appalled Elizabeth, and a twinge of sorrow pierced her heart at the faint signs of weariness about you. And yet you seemed to bear all that admirably, as if it were no big a deal, with that small, jovial smile playing about the corner your mouth and the familiar glint of good humor in your eyes that Elizabeth figured nothing could ever erode from your gaze.

You give Elizabeth a friendly smile as she makes her way towards you, surprised as she unexpectedly bends down to give you a hug the best she can with you being seated in the chair. Blinking a few times in bafflement, you manage to get over your initial astonishment enough to return the gesture, even if awkwardly with your stiff arms.

“Hey, now, careful there,” you tease with a quiet chuckle. “I’m still covered in bruises, so not too tightly.”

“Sorry,” Elizabeth apologizes with a small smile as she draws away. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

You nod with a fond smile of your own. “Same here, Lizzie. Nice to see you again as well, sugarlump,” you add with a grin when Will appears next to Elizabeth, taking her hand in his while rolling his brown eyes.

“Good to hear you’re still able to call me names,” Will responds good-naturedly. “I think that means you’re well on your way to full recovery, already.”

“Admit it, you missed it,” you taunt with a smirk.

“Naturally,” Will replies dryly, but with amusement in his eyes.

You chuckle, shifting your eyes to take a look at the other people in the quarters. Jack is exchanging quiet words with Gibbs not far from you, while Anamaria circles around the table to stand on your other side, giving you an inquiring look.

You shoot her a look of your own, one that suggests her not to start coddling you. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Anamaria smirks in return. “Wasn’t going to ask anything.”

“Sure you weren’t,” you reply wryly, but smile anyway. You turn your attention away from Ana to glance at the Governor on the other side of the table, giving him a reassuring smile and a nod in response to his slightly concerned gaze. The older man seems calmed by your silent affirmation that you’re all right, smiling back.

Jack nods in response to Gibbs’ words in apparent satisfaction, before finally regarding the people gathered in the cabin. “My good gentlemen! And beautiful ladies,” he hastens to add after receiving sharp looks from you, Elizabeth and Anamaria. “Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, my pride and joy. I don’t think she’s had quite such reputable guests before,” Jack says smoothly, glancing at the Commodore with a tad impudent grin. “Best soak up the experience while you can.”

Norrington raises his brow coolly, a small, ironic smile on his lips. “We’ll make sure to heed your sage advice, Captain Sparrow.”

“Good!” Jack replies cheerfully, his devil-may-care grin widening. “You do that. But now, I’d be much obliged if you’d seat your posteriors down so we can get down to brass tacks, savvy?”

A good ten minutes later finds everyone else seated by the mahogany table – except for Gibbs and Anamaria, both content on standing – examining the two pieces of parchment that put the entire debacle into motion in silence. The authentic one of them is yellowed and shriveled by time, while the other that Jack copied earlier is crisp and straight, the ink vividly black against the faded markings on the older half. And yet, despite the differences, the shapes sketched on each half match perfectly, fitting together as precisely as possible. There, upon the middle of the pieces, was drawn an island in a shape that vaguely resembled a misshapen butterfly flying askew, two larger main lands connected together by a considerably thinner strait in the middle. The left side is large and oval-shaped, stretching further southward in the sea than the smaller, slightly triangle-shaped mass of land on the right side of the strait. A good distance to southwest from the strait lies another island, though considerably smaller and near round in shape. Few more tiny islands dapple the sea around the strange butterfly-island, but one cannot miss the elaborately drawn X on the southwest coast of the left side of the main island.

You wet your dry lips with the tip of your tongue while staring at the complete map on the table, a peculiar, nervous energy humming within you. This was finally it. The whole reason why you went through the grueling days aboard the Maldito now lay before you, revealing the secret resting place of the legendary Abyss to everyone in the dim, silent cabin.

“X marks the spot, did I not say so?” Jack’s faintly triumphant voice breaks the silence, throwing a smug sideways glance to Gibbs, who’s too astonished by the map to do aught else but nod slowly and murmur a quiet, “As I live and breathe!” his gaze still fixed on the parchment pieces.

“But how do we know which island that is?” Elizabeth asks practically. “There are thousands of islands in the Caribbean!”

“Aye, so there are,” Jack agrees lazily. “But I shouldn’t think finding out which one of them that there is,” he points a finger towards the map, “to be overly difficult.”

“And how is that?” Will asks dubiously with raised brows.

“It’s actually rather simple, young William,” Jack drawls, the beginnings of the familiar smirk starting to show on his lips. “For any man who has spent many a year studying charts and maps learns to identify certain things - say, specific islands, for instance – by their appearance. Especially ones as unique as ours seems to be. Isn’t that right, Commodore?” Jack asks, flicking his dark gaze to Norrington. “I’m thinking you’ve an idea about the name and location of this island already, as well.”

Commodore Norrington gives a slow nod, a pensive frown on his face as the studies the map on the table. “I believe so, yes.”

Satisfied of his correct guess, Jack smirks, before turning his head to look at Gibbs. “Seeing as you’re standing there, would you be kind enough to fetch us the chart we need, mate?”

The quartermaster grunts shortly in acquiescence, trudging over to the desk and grabbing one of the furled charts carefully. Making his way back to the table, Gibbs hands the chart to Jack who takes it from him with a quick smile. Standing up, Jack picks up the parchment pieces before placing the chart on the table, flicking at it with one long finger and sending it rolling slowly along the tabletop, an elaborately drawn map of the Caribbean islands spreading open over it. You take a moment to admire the sheer beauty of the design, before refocusing on Jack’s words.

“Here is our current location,” Jack states, tapping the pad of his forefinger against the map, where the city of Rincon lies, on the northwestern coast of Puerto Rico. “And if we were to take a route towards the south, and sail along the coast of Puerto Rico…” he drawls, dragging his finger along the surface of the map as he speaks, “Past St. Croix to the Lesser Antilles, along the west coast of the islands… all the way to our destination,” he finishes, halting his finger over one of the islands in chain of the Lesser Antilles, tapping the spot a few times in emphasis. Jack places the parchment pieces over the map next to the said island, and another silence ensues as everyone compares the two illustrations. Sure, the drawing on the map is quite elementary and lacks detail, but it can be indisputably identified as the island Jack just pointed out on the chart.

“Guadeloupe?” Elizabeth speaks up, questioning tone in her voice.

A very self-satisfied smirk graces Jack’s features as he sits down again, lifting his feet up on the table without a second thought. “Guadeloupe.”

“As I thought,” Norrington comments mildly, but casts a narrow-eyed look of stern reprove on Jack and his uncouth behavior. Jack, however, is utterly unconcerned of this, smiling pleasantly to the cross Commodore.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Will comments. “If the ship sailed from Europe and crossed the Atlantic Ocean, it would be logical for it to end up somewhere in the Lesser Antilles.”

“How long will it take us to reach the island?” Governor Swann inquires. “I assume sailing there is our next undertaking?”

Norrington studies the sea chart with a concentrated frown. “Two days, in the very least. Three, most likely.”

“That is, if the winds are favorable,” Jack interjects with mild amusement. “But I wouldn’t worry about that too much. It could be a leisurely sail before we reach the south coast of Puerto Rico. Prevailing winds are from southeast, which means we should be having mostly full sails after that… provided you have an able helmsman who knows how to read the winds and use them to his advantage,” he adds, smirking.

You heave a quiet sigh at Jack’s supposedly subtle taunt, shaking your head slightly. Those two just couldn’t leave each other well enough alone, could they?

Norrington gives Jack a rather insincere smile. “Why, then I sincerely hope you do have one in your crew.”

Jack’s smirk widens into a grin, about to take the challenge just as the Governor interrupts the beginning feud. “Gentlemen, please,” he implores with a disapproving frown. “We are still working for the common good. This is no time for petty squabbling.”

“I agree,” Elizabeth says, giving Jack a pointed look to which the pirate answers with the wide-eyed look of innocence.

“I’d be interested to know something about Captain Delgado, actually,” Norrington speaks up after a moment of silence. “Namely of the strength of her crew; after the attack to Port Royal we counted sixteen of the crew deceased and nine are detained in Fort Charles, awaiting hanging. But we have but a rough idea of how large her crew is currently,” he says, pausing slightly to glance from the Governor to you. “I thought perhaps either one of you can answer to this question, seeing as…” he falters, groping for the correct words with little success.

“Seeing as we were – well, I was – abused by them and would have probably thought to count every one of the women?” you ask dryly, raising a brow. Norrington clears his throat slightly, coloring just a bit. Sighing soundlessly, you have pity on the man; it was after all a sound question. No need to get snappy about it. “That was unfair of me. Apologies, Commodore. I’d say Delgado has perhaps thirty-five or so women to fight for her cause… but no more than forty, I’m certain of that.”

Norrington nods his head in understanding, satisfied with your answer. “I suggest we set sail as soon as possible, then,” he continues, addressing mostly Jack. “As I have understood it, it’s imperative we reach the island before Delgado, if this fable about the sword and it’s curse holds true. I dare not think the consequences if that woman gets his hands on such a weapon.”

“You’re allowed to suggest all you like, Commodore, but I wonder if you’ve noticed that the sea’s as still as a surface of a mirror. I’m afraid we’re not sailing anywhere with no wind, mate,” Jack replies evenly, studying the Commodore through faintly narrowed eyes.

Irritation flashes in Norrington’s eyes, but he curbs it admirably. “At first light tomorrow, then. Unless you have something against it?” he asks, sarcastically.

“Ah, well…” Jack pauses, leaning back in his chair and absent-mindedly playing with the small plaits in his goatee as he mulls over this. “I had thought to spend the morning rearranging my extensive wig collection, but I suppose I can do that some other time,” he replies, sarcasm lacing his tone.

You manage to suppress your laughter just barely, but the mental image of Jack shuffling wigs about causes a small snort of mirth to escape, nonetheless. You catch Will turning his face away under the pretense of rubbing the back of his neck; you’re not fooled, as you can see the slight quaking of his shoulders, just knowing he’s hiding quiet laughter with the movement. The Governor sighs wearily, but makes no comment, whereas Elizabeth settles for giving Jack a look between vexation and amusement.

“How accommodating of you, Captain Sparrow,” Norrington replies in frosty tone, earning an easy smirk from Jack.

“I’m a very accommodating sort of man, Commodore.”

That causes Norrington to snort in a very un-Commodorish manner. “That’s not exactly the word I’d use to describe you, but that’s beside the point.”

“All right, children,” Governor Swann speaks up resignedly. “I do believe we have covered the most essential matters, now. As we have now replenished the supplies of each ship, I assume it is decided that we will set sail towards Guadeloupe first thing in the morning,” he summarizes. “I also do hope you both are actually capable of collaboration when the need arises, gentlemen,” Governor Swann adds in an admonishing tone one might use when talking to unruly kids as he glances between Norrington and Jack – who amazingly enough have the decency to look at least a bit ashamed, even if Norrington more so than Jack. “With that, I suppose it is safe to say this meeting is hereby concluded for now.”

A few minutes later, you find yourself being gently hugged by Elizabeth again before bidding good night to her. Anamaria tells you she’d talk to you tomorrow, but settles for just nodding her good night’s wishes as is her usual wont. Gibbs and Anamaria accompany the Commodore, Governor Swann, Will and Elizabeth out as per Jack’s request, and a while later the doors of Jack’s quarter’s are shut closely, leaving a silence hanging in the air between you and Jack, still seated in your chairs, Jack’s feet still propped upon the table.

“That went well,” Jack comments after a moment, glancing at you with a grin.

“Well?” you echo incredulously, turning to look at him. “Well, indeed! You just had to vex the Commodore once again, didn’t you? You do know that you are the most vexing person on the face of the earth, don’t you?”

“You don’t seem to be particularly effected by that,” Jack points out smugly.

You smile, and state, “I’m immune to it by now. Mostly.”

Jack chuckles, shifting his gaze back to the closed doors. “You know, I actually rather like that uncle of yours,” he muses, looking at you again with a playful glint in his eyes. “He can have some temperament when he wants to.”

You chuckle, agreeing. “He is quite something, alright.”

Jack drops his feet from the table and smirks in a way that should gives you a heads-up; he’s up to something. And indeed, before you even realize it, he has hooked one foot behind one of the legs of your chair and pulled it next to his, draping one arm around your shoulders and tugging you gently closer to him. “Now then, as we’re finally alone again…” he drawls in a deep, seductive voice, “I distinctly recall us having some unfinished business just before this little meeting, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Uh-huh,” you hum your agreement, closing your eyes as Jack bends his head and fusses the sensitive skin of the side of your throat with his nose.

“And what would that have been, I wonder…?” Jack coaxes, inadvertently stilling your breath for a moment as his soft, warm lips begin to trail a path up your neck, his masculine scent filling your nose. He buries his left hand into your newly washed hair, twining his long fingers in the soft strands while applying gentle pressure, turning your face slightly so that your eyes meet his darkened gaze as he lifts his head from your neck.

“Dinner,” you murmur against his lips with a small smile, one that widens at Jack’s expression at your unexpected reply. Thrown off guard, he blinks once, his eyes refocusing as a puzzled frown furrows his brow. “What?”

“I haven’t eaten anything in a while, and I’m really pretty hungry,” you explain reasonably, smiling still.

Jack stares at you for a moment in silence. “Dinner,” he finally echoes, nodding his head slightly. “Very well,” he goes on, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If it’s dinner you want, then dinner’s what you will get.”

You smile, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “My thanks.”

Jack grins cheekily. “You know, you owe me a few fair favors already, just to remind you…”

“Don’t you worry,” you assure him with a sassy smirk. “I never leave a debt unpaid. You’ll get your compensation just as soon as every muscle in my body stops aching.”

“Looking forward to that, darling.”

“I’m sure,” you laugh. “Now, where’s my dinner, eh?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I had to saddle myself with a bossy one. Maybe I really am daft.”

“Hey!” you protest, smacking his lightly on his arm.

“Ow,” Jack gripes. “Hostile, too.”

“Indeed,” you say dryly, arching your brow while trying to shoo away the amused smile. “If only people could see you now, the infamous Captain Sparrow so easily bossed around by a woman.”

“Well,” Jack starts as he pushes off of his chair and stands up, starting to stroll towards the quarter’s doors. “I’d say there are certain perks that come with that. And besides,” he grins widely, throwing you a naughty look over his shoulder, “I have always had a certain fondness of being under a woman, anyway.”

You bite your lip to curb a giggle, watching fondly as he walks out to arrange your dinner. Lewd, daft, darling pirate, you think to yourself, that peculiar, heartwarming feeling growing within you.

* * * * *

A/N: The Shakespeare quote of Jack's is from "The Tempest", Act i. Sc. 2. One of my favourites, actually. Once again, sorry this took a while to write. I'm so effing busy nowadays, it seems! Hope you liked it. Loff you!

* * * * *

CHAPTER 39 – Of Friends And Foes

Gabriela Delgado’s glower, Nerita decided, had to be the fiercest she’d ever seen. But then, that came to the first mate as no surprise. If the usual, spine-chillingly cold stare of the smoke gray eyes was intimidating, more so was the vicious gleam of annoyance in the eerie orbs, darkened to the shade of a stormy sky. It was good for Nerita that she knew how to control her emotions and keep them from showing in her countenance; the long years of abuse by the hands of her wretched, late husband, both physical and mental, had taught her that much. It was a shame that the half-blind woman who stood next to her in Delgado’s dim Captain’s quarters had no such advantage.

Carmen the quartermaster was as rigid as a ramrod, her entire being charged with so much nervous energy that she practically quivered ever so slightly, like a strung bow straining to be released. From the corner of her eye, Nerita saw the taller woman swallow thickly and lower her gaze to the floor as Delgado’s glare fell upon her. She was truly, genuinely afraid of the formidable Captain. Nerita was as well, but she hid her fear deep and kept it there with all her might, using every ounce of her honed self-discipline not to let her true feelings show. Should her mask happen to slip, it would mean certain doom; and Nerita was not ready to die yet. Not by the hands of Delgado, at least. So, Nerita kept her face impassive, holding her head up high, and waited in stoic silence.

“Can either one of you explain something that has been greatly puzzling me over these past hours,” Delgado finally spoke up slowly, her voice husky. “Why is it exactly that we are STILL stuck in this blasted town and not sailing towards our destination like we should be?”

Nerita recognized the misleadingly patient tone in the Captain’s words instantly, knowing the eruption of her anger was sure to take place any moment now. She had no intentions of bearing the brunt of it, especially as she knew the delay was none of her fault. Nerita shifted her green eyes, alight with near sinister satisfaction, to the side to meet the anxious brown one of Carmen’s. Nerita’s own eyes narrowed in response, and glimpsed the flash of fear in Carmen’s as the comprehension of what Nerita was about to do dawned to her. No quarter to betrayers, Carmen, Nerita thought, the quartermaster’s plans of getting rid of her still fresh in her mind. You should have thought twice before hatching your little plot behind my back.

“The ship is readied for departure, Captain,” Nerita responded calmly, holding Carmen’s frantic gaze for a moment longer before turning her head to meet the steely eyes of Delgado. “Except I do believe the supplies have still not been replenished, despite the ample time there has been to do so. It has always been Carmen’s duty to see to that.”

Delgado’s eyes narrowed crossly as she flickered her eyes from Nerita to Carmen, staring down at the woman with expectancy. “And is this the truth, Carmen?” despite her angry gaze, her tone was something akin a melodic purr. “That we are still short on supplies, causing us to linger?”

Carmen’s mouth worked frenetically, opening and closing as she groped for correct words of explanation. “Captain, with all due respect, I assure you that it was not my–”

“Is it?” Delgado interrupted harshly.

“Yes, Captain, it is,” Carmen at last admitted haltingly, before quickly launching to elaborate, “My sincere apologies, but there were complications in the situation that–”

Once again, Carmen was interrupted; the sharp sound of a hand striking flesh echoed loudly in the quiet cabin, followed shortly by Carmen’s garbled cry of pain.

“No-good fool!” Delgado thundered furiously, eyes blazing with gray fire. “Are you telling me that thanks to your utter incompetence, we’ve been delayed for hours? Answer me!”

“Yes,” Carmen got out, voice muffled by her own hand pressed against her fiercely smarting jaw. “Forgive me.”

“Your pathetic groveling will not get us back the lost hours!” Delgado snapped irritably, glaring at the shorter woman. “It seems that you have no idea how important it is to get to Guadeloupe before Sparrow, Byrne and their blasted Navy entourage! That sword is mine, and nobody else is to touch it before I can use it according to my plan,” she growled darkly, pointing a long, elegant forefinger at Carmen’s face, the sharp nail only inches away from her skin. “You truly ought to be thankful I haven’t already killed you where you stand, Carmen. But perhaps I should rid you of your remaining eye for hindering our process, hmm? That should teach you a much needed lesson,” she smirked wickedly while running the pad of her finger along the skin next to Carmen’s good eye, her voice changing from the furious bellow into an ominous purr.

Carmen swallowed, closing her eyes. “Please, Captain, don’t…! I’m sorry, forgive me…” she babbled, voice shaking.

Nerita shifted her weight uncomfortably at the blatant dread in the proud woman’s voice. She truly loathed Carmen, knowing she got everything she deserved after planning to have her killed, but this show of unabashed degradation Delgado was mercilessly dragging the quartermaster through was starting to turn Nerita’s stomach.

Delgado’s smirk disappeared, and she scowled down the terrified quartermaster. Briefly, she speculated what a wonder it really was that she’d made it this far with such bungling idiots in her crew. Piteous creatures they might be, but at least they were easily controlled. They served their purpose, for now. Still, losing many precious hours when time was something she really could not spare to lose angered Gabriela beyond measures. For a moment, she did contemplate on the best way to remove the frenzied brown eye from its very socket, but abruptly abandoned the idea, a much better one crossing her mind. Fine, Delgado decided, wicked enjoyment welling within her. Let everybody else suffer because of her idiocy, as well. The idea in mind was potentially hazardous for Carmen’s health, but Gabriela, quite frankly, couldn’t care less if the rest of the women tore Carmen apart limb by limb because of her blunder with the supplies, as long as they still did their duties and kept in mind who was in charge.

“Very well,” Delgado drawled, pulling her finger away. “Keep your eye. This time. But don’t think for a moment I’ll be as lenient should there be a next time.”

Whilst Carmen stammered her tremulous thanks to the Captain, Nerita quirked her brow in wary suspicion. That was all too lenient of the Captain, indeed. She was up to something; Nerita was willing to bet everything she owned on it. Shifting her gaze to meet Delgado’s, Nerita gave her a curious look. Delgado merely smirked in response, before turning around with easy grace for such a tall woman.

“Forget the supplies then, we’ll do without. Nerita, set course toward Guadeloupe, I want to get as far away from here as we possibly can before the night darkens and the winds dwindle,” Delgado threw coolly over her shoulder, stalking to the large table a few feet away.

Nerita’s eyebrows rose higher at the comment, whereas Carmen balked, her jaw dropping open in stunned surprise.

“N-No supplies, Captain?” Carmen spoke up, forgetting her recent terror in the face of disbelief. “But we’ve only scant amounts left as it is, we can’t possibly sail–”

“Then I suppose,” Delgado cut her off forcefully, fixing a stern look on her, “You should have given thought to that fact a little earlier.”

“But…” Carmen stuttered, near desperate expression on her face. “But what will we eat?”

That was all the same to Delgado, Nerita knew. She had no worries about provisions, for Nerita was aware of the secret stash of food and drink Delgado had in her quarters. She knew better to let anyone know she was aware of this, though…

“I suggest you ration what little supplies you have left carefully,” Delgado said emotionlessly, watching the hapless quartermaster for a moment before a slow smile spread to her lips, dark amusement dancing in her smoky eyes. “And there are always a few rats scurrying about the hold. I’m sure if you close your eyes and use a bit of imagination, they can pass of as chicken.”

Nerita bit her lip as Delgado gave a low chuckle of mirth at her own wittiness, a vile feeling building within her. She couldn’t quite identify it, but whatever it was, it left a nasty, vaguely nauseous sensation lingering in the pit of her stomach and tightened at her chest uncomfortably. How far would this twisted power play of Delgado’s go? The tall Spaniard was ruthlessly using the crew in order to reach her own goals, sparing no thought to their well-being. Suddenly, her decision to let Byrne and Gemma slip away in Aguadilla felt all the more right to Nerita.

“Now,” Delgado started as she seated herself down by the table, addressing her curt words to Carmen, “Run along and make sure we’re ready to sail. I want a few words in privacy with Nerita.”

Throwing a quick, spiteful glare in Nerita’s direction, Carmen acknowledged the Captain’s command and turned around on her heel, stalking out of the quarters and closing the door in her wake. Straightening her stance slightly, Nerita leveled a steady gaze on Delgado, waiting in silence for what she had to say.

Returning the look for a while, Delgado finally spoke up with a hint of sarcasm, “I trust I don’t have to emphasize the significance of reaching that island and finding the Abyss before Sparrow and Byrne to you, do I?”

Nerita shook her head slowly. “No, you do not.”

“Good,” Delgado smirked, satisfied. “The best part of my plan depends on them arriving to the scene only after us. How long do you think it will take us to reach Guadeloupe?” she abruptly asked, narrowing her eyes at Nerita.

Counting the distances in her head, Nerita thought about this for a few minutes. They were currently on the coast of San Jose, on the northeastern coast of Puerto Rico. They’d been forced to circle around the main land along the north coast when departing Rincon in order to avoid the possibility of running in with the Dauntless, knowing the Navy’s man-of-war possessed the firepower many times greater than the Maldito. Adding in the Black Pearl, there would be no chance the Espíritu Maldito would survive such encounter. It was a wise choice to circle Puerto Rico, but also one that took time and inevitably made them fall behind; which was why Delgado was so cross about every wasted hour.

“I think we’re looking at four days, at least,” Nerita finally replied in subdued manner.

“That won’t do, Nerita. Make it three days,” Delgado said callously, staring at the first mate in the eyes in that unnerving way of hers that made Nerita feel as if Delgado could see into her mind and know her each thought, no matter how well hidden. “We’ll sail through the nights, no stops of any kind. Make certain it will be so.”

It was not a question, it was an order. Nerita could do little else than to nod in understanding. Unease was rearing its head; even if not entirely impossible, it would be extremely hard to make the journey in three days. Nerita knew for certain Delgado was well aware of this as well, but she refused to accept nothing less than everything; if it could be done – if only in theory – Delgado would demand it to be done, no matter what the cost. Or else.

“You’re awfully quiet nowadays, Nerita. More so than usual,” Delgado suddenly remarked coolly, watching her with scrutinizing eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling fine? That you haven’t got anything on your mind you’d like to share with me, perhaps…”

Nerita’s composure was shaken for a second, her heart skipping a beat before she gained control of her emotions once again. A horrifying thought flashed through her mind at Delgado’s words; could it be possible she was on to her? That she had an idea of how Nerita had betrayed her Captain? No, her rational mind denied. She couldn’t have. How could she possibly know?

“I’m perfectly alright, Captain,” Nerita replied calmly, her tone void of the turmoil going on within her head. “Just preoccupied with everything going on at the moment, that’s all.”

Delgado nodded slowly, but didn’t take her piercing gaze from the first mate. “That is reassuring to know. Here I was actually starting to think you were harboring ill thoughts of some sort, mutinous ones, even,” she gave a laugh that did nothing to soothe Nerita’s nerves. “But you would do no such thing, would you Nerita? You know better than that,” the tall woman purred, giving a feline smile.

Nerita swallowed dryly as the image of the short, disfigured excuse of a man whose body she’d thrown overboard with Carmen in Tortuga entered her mind. She recalled all too well how his pasty face was still flushed red while his lips were already blue, his ugly features contorted to a mask of deadly agony. Yes, Nerita knew exactly what happened to those not useful to Gabriela Delgado.

“Yes,” Nerita acknowledged stiffly, forcing the memory away. “I do know.”

Delgado’s smirk was triumphant, but her tone was edged with a warning. “And don’t you go forgetting that... dear friend.”

Nerita forced a quick smirk. “Certainly not. You won’t have to worry about that.”

Delgado watched with sharp eyes as the diminutive first mate left the cabin to see to the departure, leaving the Captain alone with her thoughts and her white snake. “That remains to be seen,” she murmured absent-mindedly to herself, glancing over to the snake that was as well pointedly watching the cabin’s entrance with pale pink eyes, forked tongue licking the air. “Smelling deceit in the air, my friend?” Delgado asked the reptilian, raising a brow. Receiving no answer from the silent creature, Delgado shifted her gray eyes back to the closed doors.

“That remains to be seen…”

* * * *

A quiet, relaxed sigh spills from your lips as you open your eyes slowly, blinking away the lingering sleepiness. You guess it’s early still, only some hours from sunrise; the beams of light pouring in the quarters have that certain, bright clearness to them that verifies your estimation. You hug your pillow lightly as you lay on your stomach on the soft mattress, the right side of your face burrowing slightly in the pillow as you watch the sleeping man next to you only inches away, a soft smile on your lips as you let your eyes wander over Jack’s features. You marvel for the umpteenth time how ruggedly beautiful he is, as contradictory as the sentiment is. Your gaze trails from his sensual lips to his cheekbones, admiring the dark lashes resting upon the suntanned skin; you ponder with some amusement that he must have longer lashes than you do. Following the lashes up, you linger for a moment at his kohl-smudged eyelids that hide the expressive russet orbs, ones that you’re certain change their hue depending on his moods. Your smile stretches into an affectionate grin at the sight of his unruly hair sprawled over the pillows, one small wisp flung across his forehead. He looks so young like this, boyish, almost.

Was this truly for real? The sudden uncertainty makes you pull your lip between your teeth while your eyes still gaze upon Jack’s peacefully resting form. Was this really happening, that you were really lying so intimately next to him, with love in your heart? The recent events of the past few days have all been so staggering and mind-boggling that you find it hard to believe it all has not been just some big dream and that you’d soon awake in your old hammock with everything being back to the way it was before the business with the map half. The thought makes your heart skip a beat in fright, and a cold shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of the soft blanket pulled over you. Pushing yourself up with your hands, your muscles giving painful jolts in protest of the sudden movement, you gingerly turn your body to lie on your right side and prop your elbow against the pillow. A surge of relief washes through you as you gently touch your left hand to Jack’s bare chest, feeling the warmth of his smooth skin under your fingers. Yes, it was all true and real; no dream could feel so perfect.

Smiling to yourself, you lean the side of your head against your right hand, gazing down at Jack. Very lightly so not to wake him up, you skim the pads of your fingers over his chest, brushing them over the floral tattoo above his heart and the two bullet wounds on the other side. From there, you draw them up along the side of his neck, feeling the steady, strong beat of his pulse. Turning your questing hand around as you go higher, you tenderly stroke his cheek with the backs of your fingers for a moment, before lifting your hand to push back the errand lock of hair from his forehead. Unable to chase away the temptation, you draw your forefinger lightly along the small, vertical scar that runs across Jack’s right eyebrow, smiling wider as he makes a small noise from his throat in his sleep – or so you think.

“At least one good thing came out of getting that,” Jack suddenly murmurs drowsily, a small smirk pulling the corner of his mouth up, “Women seem to adore it. Brings out their nursing instincts, I guess.”

You smirk back, even if Jack can’t see it with his eyes still closed. “And you of course have nothing against that,” you reply quietly while trailing your finger over the scar again, amusement lacing your tone. “How did you get it, if you don’t mind the question…?”

Jack draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, wetting his lips slightly with his tongue before responding in the same, sleep-slurred drawl as a moment ago, not bothering to open his eyes. “Well, on the night of the mutiny Barbossa thought it would be amusing to re-arrange my face a little before shoving me on the plank. Broken bottle, I think, that point is a little hazy…. nearly took the entire eye out. But it’s nothing compared to the one I gave the bastard back, that much I do remember,” he adds smugly.

Furrowing your brow, you wonder just how severely did Barbossa and his mutinous mates injure Jack before dumping him on that miserable little island. His tone was quite lighthearted for recalling such a sordid memory, but you know that it was simply Jack’s way to always play down such serious things, as if it were no big a deal. Instead of responding in words, you lean down and press your lips against the scar, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

“Told you,” Jack murmurs triumphantly, rolling to his left side at the same time you pull away, sliding his arm over your waist under the covers and burying his face in your chest, his forehead against the base of your throat. “Nursing instincts,” he breathes against your skin, carefully tightening his hold of your waist and drawing you a little closer to him.

You chuckle, straightening your right arm across the pillows and lying back down, Jack’s head tucked under your chin; it feels very nice and comforting to hold him close like this. “It’s past first light, Jack,” you comment quietly, mirth in your tone. “Should we consider getting up and about?”

“Too bloody early,” comes the drowsily muttered reply.

You smile at Jack’s disgruntled tone, gently combing the fingers of your right hand through his hair. “I do believe Commodore Norrington will be ever so peevish unless we shan’t,” you quip with your best, proper British accent.

Jack grunts something nonsensical, followed by an uninterested “Let ‘im,” mumbled against your skin, his lethargic tone indicating he’s about to fall back asleep any second.

Giving a quiet laugh, you close your eyes as well, listening to the quiet squeaks of the Pearl’s timbers and Jack’s even breathing. You realize you’re a bit tired still yourself, as well. Ah, heck. An hour or two more couldn’t hurt. Besides, you’re feeling all too comfortable right here to leave anywhere. Reveling in the safety of Jack’s arm around you and the pleasing warmth of his skin against yours, you sigh deeply in contentment.

“Yeah… let him,” you murmur half-heartedly, before surrendering to the sweet slumber that soon overtakes you.

* * *

The most pleasant sensation of combined softness and warmth was the first thing Jack’s mind registered as the haze of sleep slowly eluded him. He had some vague images of waking up earlier and talking to you briefly, before falling asleep again. As he recalled something else as well, he opened his eyes and tipped his chin slightly, slow smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he found himself admiring your cleavage from a very close range, the dipping neck of your shirt giving an alluring glimpse. Well, that explained it. Not a bad way to wake up, Jack decided as he pulled his gaze away with reluctance, closing his eyes again. Your body was enjoyably supple in his arms, pressed against his front in a way that felt nothing short of exquisite. With his head tucked under your chin and your arm loosely wrapped around his shoulders, it was as if you were the one protecting him from the world and not the other way around. For a moment, Jack ceased all thoughts and just listened to the sound of your breathing, drawing in the scent of your skin. Not a bad way to wake up, to be sure.

Exhaling slowly, Jack tilted his head to the side to glance about the quarters; it couldn’t have been longer than few hours since the first time he’d woken up to your light caresses. He knew very well he should get up already and prepare for the impending sail towards Guadeloupe, but damned if he wasn’t feeling too bloody good at the moment to even think of leaving you quite yet.

Jack’s hand was absently stroking the length of your left flank, the thin cotton of the shirt you’re wearing doing a poor job of keeping him from feeling the gentle curve of your waist under his palm, much less hiding the alluring swell of your hip. The strongest fancy to slip his hand under the shirt and caress your bare flesh tempted Jack unbearably for a few moments before he managed to quell the amorous impulse; as much as he longed to make love to you, he was perfectly aware that you were not recovered enough for such intimacy, and he wouldn’t expose you to any chance of discomfort or pain. Aye, his mind knew this well, but his body apparently refused to agree with that; it seemed to feel your closeness all too acutely, already beginning to respond. Jack stifled the expletive about to leave his mouth, aggravated by his treacherous body. Knowing that staying where he was now would only worsen the situation, Jack gave a frustrated sigh and began pulling away from you. Sitting up and gazing down at your sleeping form, Jack ran the backs of his fingers gently down your cheek and touched the pad of his forefinger lightly against your lower lip, smiling slightly to himself as you sigh softly in your sleep. With great reluctance, he finally turns away and quietly slides from under the covers to sit on the edge of the bed, grabbing his breeches from the back of the nearby chair.

Unhurriedly tugging on his worn breeches, Jack thought that perhaps it was a good thing you didn’t know of the effect you had on him even if your sleep. He knew without a doubt you’d use it to get your way in the future if you did; you would be shameless enough to do just that. Although, he amended to himself with some wry amusement, it didn’t really require such measures for you to get your way, to begin with. But he wasn’t going to give that one away just yet…

* * *

You bite the inside of your lip lightly to keep the smile off your face, finally cracking your eyes open just enough to peek through as you catch the quiet sound of rustling fabric, opening them fully as you see Jack sitting on the edge of bed a few feet from you, his back to you. You’ve been awake for a little while already, even if pretending to be sleeping was rather difficult with Jack’s hand stroking your side in a way that sent little shivers of anticipation running through your body. Keeping your silence, you let your gaze roam over the contours of Jack’s bare back, the disheveled, dark dreads hanging down his shoulders. You have a hunch as to why it was exactly that Jack decided to get up already, if your own feelings were anything to go by. And he was lying rather close to you… You had almost given in to the mischievous idea that popped in your head to draw your leg up along and over his under the pretense of being sound asleep, but eventually decided against it. That would have only made your own situation more unbearable and teased poor Jack needlessly. And, judging by the lingering stiffness of your muscles, lifting your leg like that would have probably just sent jolts of pain shooting through the limb. Yes, while you were very much yearning to be together with him like lovers are, you knew it would be impossible until your abused body stopped aching all over. You only hope it will not be for long.

However, nothing is stopping you from pleasing your eyes and watching Jack, and watch him you do. Almost unconsciously, you pull your bottom lip – still tingling slightly from his brief touch – between your teeth as you stare at the mesmerizing way Jack’s muscles flex along with the movements of his arms as he tugs his breeches over his legs. Your palms suddenly itch terribly to touch the tanned, smooth skin and feel the firm muscles underneath, to trail the tip of your finger along that white scar on his shoulder blade like you did on that night at the pond near the Fowlers cottage. You release your lip and grin in delight as Jack finally stands up and pulls the breeches over his slim hips, giving you a nice view of his lovely rump. He leaves the drawstrings untied, and the fabric sags slightly off the left hip as Jack picks up the worn shirt, starting to work it past the plentiful hair.

Mentally cursing the clothing for denying you the stunning view of Jack’s bare body, you decide you might as well start “waking up” already. Shutting your eyes and inhaling deeply, you gingerly stretch your arms a little while releasing the breath soundly, opening your eyes just as Jack pulls down his shirt and glances at you over his shoulder.

“Good morning, luv,” he says with good cheer, shoving the hem of his shirt in his breeches. “And how are we feeling today?”

You know perfectly well he did not mean ‘we’ as in you and him, but as in you alone, but the opportunity is just too good to pass up on. “Somewhat stiff like, I’m thinking,” you answer with a rascally grin, your voice wavering slightly from stifled laughter.

Jack pauses his movements entirely for a brief moment, giving you a sly look before picking up the task of getting dressed once more. “You do know I’m gonna get you back for that when you least expect it, don’t you?”

You smile lazily, watching in silence as Jack slips the long vest over the low-cut shirt and picks up the frayed sash, starting to wrap it about his waist with practiced ease. “I didn’t think for a moment you wouldn’t, Jack,” you finally respond with a playful grin, sliding your left hand down the cooling sheets over the empty space beside you. “Isn’t it nice to have someone to keep you on your toes?”

“Oh, yes,” Jack replies dryly whilst buckling his belt, “My life was really so dull before you graced it with your presence.”

You smirk, raising a brow. “Surely that’s not sarcasm I hear in your tone, dearest?”

Jack schools his features into that slightly wide-eyed look of dismay, as if appalled you’d even think to ask such a question. “Surely not!”

“Good to know,” you reply dryly as Jack throws on the long overcoat, pulling his hair away from under the collar, the movement stirring quiet jingling from the many beads and charms. A small smirk tugs at Jack’s lips as he slings the belt holding the scabbard and cutlass over his shoulder, but he says nothing.

A quick jolt of restlessness suddenly twists at your guts as you realize that Jack is only his hat short from being decked in his full pirate regalia, and would be leaving the quarters soon. Leaving you alone. With nothing to occupy your time with – idle, inactive, and utterly bored. God, no. Having been used to working and pulling your weight ever since childhood days, the thought of having to stay in one place with nothing to do except being bored out of your wits prompts you to awkwardly struggle into a sitting position, wincing as your muscles contract sorely.

“Jack, wait,” you plead as Jack grabs his hat from the table. “Do you think there’d be something left for me to do today?”

“There is, darling,” Jack replies as he presses the weather-beaten tricorne on his head with both hands. “You are under specific orders to stay still in that bed and build up your strength.”

You blink, opening your mouth to plead your case. “But–”

“No buts on this,” Jack interrupts sharply, giving you a stern look. “You’re not fit enough to be up and about yet, and you know it as well as I.”

It really was somewhat annoying when he was so damn right and you could do nothing to deny it. Yes, you know you’re not recovered enough to take up your deck duty along with the rest of the crew, no matter how much you’d want to. “I know, I know,” you consent, even if with slight displeasure, “But there has to be something I can do to pass the time! Haven’t you any paperwork that needs to be done?”

“You must be really desperate to ask me that,” Jack replies in amused tone, already starting to stroll away.

“Jack, come on! I’ll go stir crazy before the evening with nothing to do in here!” you cry, hating to sound so tetchy and needy, but the prospect of being cooped inside for the entire day just twirling your thumbs did not appeal to you. “You know I can’t handle inactivity.”

You thought Jack was going to walk out the quarters, but instead he makes his way over to the large bookshelf and picks up a few of the books you’d been perusing earlier before the meeting from the shelf. “Well, then,” he starts, sauntering back next to the bed and dropping The Tempest and Don Quixote on the mattress next to you, giving you an untroubled smile. “This should be the opportune moment to catch up on your reading.”

You look down at the volumes on the bed, and then back to Jack again. “Sometimes I really hate you,” you deadpan, even if you’re unable to smother the tiny smile playing about the corner of your mouth.

“You and everybody else,” Jack says cheerfully, turning away again. “I’ll quiz you about those later on, just so you know.”

“Wonderful,” you acknowledge dryly, watching his retreating back.

“And don’t you dare even think of getting up, savvy?” he throws over his shoulder as he reaches the doors.

You smile sweetly. “Don’t I always do as I’m told?”

Jack laughs outright at this, throwing you a brilliant grin of pure amusement as he pushes one of the doors open. “If only, luv,” he quips, but sobers soon and gazes at you keenly for a moment. “Please, take it easy. I’ll come by a little later and keep you company for a while. I promise.” With that and the quickest flash of a small smile, he steps out and closes the door in his wake.

You give a tiny, forlorn smile at Jack’s words as you stare at the closed doors of the cabin for a moment, knowing that he did not make empty promises. The silence around you is almost oppressing, and you heave a sigh, shifting your gaze down to your bandage-swathed feet that peek under the covers. If only you could walk a little better, if only your body did not ache dully after each, slightly bigger movement. If only the bruises on your skin would vanish already instead of taking on new, sickly hues of green and yellow to go with the purple and black. If only you did not still feel lingering weariness despite just getting a good, full night’s sleep. If only, if only… Giving up with a frustrated huff, you plunk back down on the pillows, cursing aloud as your stiff muscles let you know such sudden movements were not appreciated.

Staring helplessly up at the dark ceiling, a single thought keeps echoing tauntingly in your head; this was going to be one long day.

CHAPTERS 41-45

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