Author's note: So I was checking emails on an account I rarely access and I had a lot of old fanfic friends that - seeing that I was now online with an actual account of my own at FF net - asked if I planned to post my Pirates of the Caribbean fic. It takes place after Dead Man's Chest, but ignores the fact that At World's End ever happened...which isn't a surprise, seeing as how I started it less than two days after DMC was released to theaters. I'd gone to watch it opening day, and the next night the idea for this fic hit me, so I started writing. However, I never finished it before AWE came out, and I was happy with the way they'd done that movie, so I never really thought about going back to this one. That is, until I saw the number of people that wanted me to post it here and finish it. It's a good little story in its own right - 'little', of course, meaning my typical epic-length excursion - and honestly, I kind of like the fact that I will actually be finishing it. I'm eager to see where it goes. Enjoy!
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Nothing caresses the skin, she thought, quite like the gentle chill of the ocean air at twilight, the breezes smoothing fabric over curves and dancing with strands of hair while the crescent moon looks on, a smile of contentment in the near-cloudless evening heavens. Were it any other time, she could enjoy it, revel in the wind stroking her, soothing her. But calming as it was, it could soothe only her body, not her heart, nor her soul. Nothing existed that could comfort the aches she felt, pain that had lasted longer than any bodily injury she'd ever known. She'd betrayed them both, in that one simple moment, that single span of time in which she'd done what she felt she had to. No manner of rationalization could stem the flow of pain from her heart, the liquid agony that ran down her cheeks unheeded, chilled by that same caressing salty breeze. Staring at the horizon, feeling the burn in her eyes, that which paled by comparison to the turmoil in her very being, she watched the sea with no hope at all as a single word echoed and reverberated deep within the hollowness where her heart once was.
"Pirate."
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The stench was terrible. He did not know how long he'd been in this rotting hellhole, and cared less. If being down the gullet of a carnivorous, supposedly mythological monstrosity wasn't plenty to ruin a man's day, what with the digestive juices eating slowly away at his clothing and his hat shredded by the three rows of age-yellowed teeth he'd had to dodge when it opened its maw over him, the knowledge that he was most likely going to go the same route his effects were headed was enough to kill the jovial appearances he tried to keep up. He'd spent more time than he'd tracked wandering around and through the cavernous entrails, squeezing himself through fleshy, slimy holes here and there, and in general having a completely lousy day. It had almost been enough to make him forget the look on her face, the guilt she'd claimed not to feel, the attraction she'd never admit to. Almost, but not quite. What he wanted was a good bottle of rum. What he had was the gradually decaying scraps of clothing he wore, and his sword. Now, if only he could find a likely route to whichever end of this great and terrible beastie would lead out the easiest, he'd be in better shape. Trying to shrug off any thoughts but those pertaining to the security of his own self, especially those of haunted, deep eyes and the grudging respect their bearer had earned from him, he wiped a bit more slime off of his face and trudged on. Somehow he knew he'd get out. Why? Because she hadn't seen the last of Captain Jack Sparrow.
xXxXxXxXx
Pausing in front of his mirror to admire the way his formal white wig accentuated the appearance of reclaimed dignity that graced him, he picked up his old sword and buckled it on, feeling the familiar weight of it against his hip. Confident that he no longer looked the part of a drunken wastrel, he turned to leave only to find his way blocked by the odious little man to whom he now owed allegiance. A temporary allegiance, he reminded himself, thinking of his plans for the future – a future he now saw himself as having, a future he had been unsure of in the months since that scallywag plummeted from the tower top, leaving him to face the knowledge that he would have to see her happily wed to a lesser man. Within his own mind, the thought fell short. Turner was not a lesser man. Simply different. He supposed he couldn't blame Elizabeth of following her heart. It just rankled bitterly that her heart was not as fond of him as it was of a common blacksmith. No matter. He firmly placed the troubling concepts in the back of his mind, to be dealt with at a later date. Right now, he would need to have all of his wits and skill about him, so as to be able to free himself from the vows of fealty he'd sworn to Beckett without the morally-challenged runt realizing what he was doing. Fixing his trademark confident expression onto his newly-shaven features, he greeted his visitor with a warmth both wholly feigned and completely believable.
"So, Master Beckett, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?" The shorter man simply blinked, a small, sardonic smile twisting his lips.
"Ah, Commodore Norrington, you seem a changed man since last we spoke. The trappings of station suit you. As to my visit, I have a small…task…which I wish you to carry out." He moved into the room, gesturing imperiously for Norrington to take a seat, in his own chambers. Acquiescing to his temporary employer, he sat and stretched his legs out, taking care to appear totally at ease.
"And what is the nature of this task?" he asked, placing just the right amount of curiosity into the words. The smile on Beckett's face never wavered.
"There is a ship, heading for an unknown destination. Aboard this ship are some individuals I believe you have had contact with recently. One of these individuals is in possession of an item the East India Trading company wants badly." Norrington understood that to mean an item Beckett wanted badly. And he knew which item.
"So, I'm to go and retrieve the compass from Miss Swann and return it to you." He paused, appearing to think for a moment. "When do I sail?"