For Whom The Bell Tolls
Summary: Sequel to Her Match, DMC AU. Jack and Lizzy have been married roughly a year, when he leaves her behind in Nassau with naught but a note that says "Be back soon." Furious, Elizabeth sets out to find her wayward husband and the Pearl. Rumor of a man named Lord Cutler Beckett has come to the Caribbean, and it seems the bell tolls for all those who call themselves pirate. Elizabeth is certain it has something to do with Jack's disappearance, but what?
Rating: M
A/N: Firstly, apologies to Hemingway for the title, though I think he stole it from John Donne. :P
Events of DMC, through the lens of the aftermath of my fic Her Match. You don't really have to read it to get what's going on, just know that after COTBP, Jack asks Lizzy to haul away with him, and she does. ;) I seem to have written plenty about Jack and Lizzy getting to the altar, but haven't done much examining of life after "I do." And as any of us who are married truly know, that's when the real adventure begins! :) I also blame a certain post by sparrabeth on Tumblr , of Lizzy giving Jack the "Did you give the children rum?" look. LOL. Definitely a married couple look, and definitely greased the wheels of my imagination, for sure!
Aaaand ok I know I have hanging fics and I will get back to them soon I swear! But my muse demands this now! ::ducks thrown bottles::
Chapter 1: Home Sweet Home
Ah, Tortuga. Nowhere like home.
Roughly a year had passed since Elizabeth first began calling herself pirate, and already the raucous den of sin, the buccaneer stronghold of Turtle Island, felt more like her natural habitat than a drawing room in Port Royal ever had.
Roughly a year had passed since Elizabeth also began calling herself Sparrow, after a certain legend of a pirate captain stole into her bedroom one night, and dared propose that she haul away with him.
She had not regretted the decision to marry him once since.
She didn't regret it, but he might, she thought acerbically, once she finally caught up with that infuriating man-child of a pirate, the silly selfish git.
A month ago she'd awoken to the noon sun shining through their window in Nassau, a horrendous headache assaulting her skull. Jack had been nowhere in sight, the bed beside her cold. She'd stumbled to the basin for a glass of water, where she found a note in his surprisingly elegant hand. It had read:
Lizzy Darlin,
Be back soon.
-Jack
Confused and alarmed, she'd puzzled over the note , holding the cold glass of water to her aching head. It had not taken long for her to decide she needed a real drink, and she went to the sideboard to facilitate the urge. There she found a small bottle next to the rum they'd nursed the evening before. She sniffed its contents, finding the liquid sickly sweet.
Opium, she realized.
Jack had drugged her?
What the devil was going on?
A dark dread blooming in her chest, she'd run to the widow, looking to the harbor.
The Black Pearl was gone.
He'd left her behind.
Tears stinging her eyes, Lizzy had slid down the wall, her legs suddenly of no use in her shock. Her mind ran in circles, and with a snarl she fought to harness them, to make some sense of this unthinkable scene. What had happened last night? They'd just made port with a considerable take from the season's pillaging. There had been Drinking, of course. Re-connection with old friends. A bit of dancing. She might have kissed Anne Bonny somewhere along the course of the evening, but neither Jack Rackham or Jack Sparrow had seemed to mind.
Jack had seemed pre-occupied about his hand, she remembered. He'd wrapped a cloth around it, claiming to have cut it, but wouldn't let her see. He'd kept peeking at it, then quickly covering it again.
Later they'd procured the room, and he'd made love to her with an ardor that was impressive even for Jack.
Three times.
Even now the memory of his clever coaxing kisses curled her toes, the thought of his caresses made her moist between her legs all over again.
After they'd finished he'd gone to the sideboard for a drink, and brought her one in bed.
Jack she'd whimpered to herself. How could you leave me?
She'd gone down stairs to find Anne and Jack Rackham, also nursing their heads and poking at pewter trenchers of eggs and fatback. Quietly she'd asked them if they knew where her Jack had gone. Bewildered, they'd shaken their heads no. Not much later Beatrice, the proprietor of the tavern, had come to sit by Lizzy and told her in her lilting creole tones that Jack had paid for the room upstairs for three months, and had instructed her to see to anything Elizabeth might need.
Bewildered, she'd thanked her friends, and hit the streets. Nassau was not a place an unaccompanied woman should usually traipse about, but with her sword at her side, a gully knife in her boot, and a sharp look in her eyes that could rival the keenest blade, Elizabeth did not fear. She went to the docks to conduct further questioning, but no one was privy to the Pearl's schedule.
For a while she'd languored in Nassau, filling her days with a bit too much rum and memories of the past year with Jack. She thought of how excited and afraid she'd been, when first she set foot upon the decks of the Pearl that fateful first night. Jack had taken her to his cabin, where she half expected him to ravish her right then and there. But he'd simply kissed her on the cheek, bade her to rest, and left to see to getting the Pearl underway from Port Royal as hastily as possible. Perhaps he'd thought she might balk, and demand they turn the ship around, and he'd thought it best to be able to return her unscathed. Later that night he'd slipped into bed behind her, draping an arm about her waist with almost reverent care, as though he couldn't believe she was really in his bed. She'd scooted back into the long curve of his body, intoxicated by his scent and his warmth and the way they seemed to fit so perfectly together.
Little did she know.
They were wed the next day, and that night Jack took her with such gentle urgency, initiated her into the sacred rites of the marital bed with a tenderness she never would have dreamed possible for a pirate.
But I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love.
She could just hear him in her head, anywhere she went.
Even in his absence, Jack would get his two pence in.
And after that first night? Well. There was a reason the doxies of Tortuga all fluttered their fans when Jack Sparrow sauntered by, hopeful that he'd turn their way. No one had a mouth like Jack Sparrow, or dexterous artist's hands, or… Lizzy was a married woman, and the thought of the torrid lovemaking she shared with her husband still inspired a hot flush to bloom all over her body. He showed her such maddening passion, such pleasure that some nights she thought she might die from it.
It seemed every day and every night held a new adventure with Jack.
A new game to win.
A new puzzle to solve.
A new treasure to discover.
Sometimes he treated her as though she was made of glass.
In the beginning it seemed like his every other sentence began with the apology of I know it's not what you're used to, until she'd kissed him firmly on the mouth and assured him that everything he gave her was perfect.
And then sometimes, he was so hard on her.
She recalled an afternoon in which she'd joined the men in practicing fencing. She'd entered a bout with Jack, enjoying their game, until she made a bad turn and gave him her back. He was on her like a wolf, smacking her backside with the flat of his sword so hard she knew she would have a bruise. "Appreciate the gesture, love, but were I an enemy I hope you wouldn't hand out your arse so freely." The crew had howled, and she'd wished the deck would open up and swallow her, her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. Afterwards she'd retreated to a dark corner of the hold to cry, the only place on the ship she could find to be alone with her shame and her anger.
An hour later Jack came to find her, a peace offering of a rum bottle clasped in hand. "Sorry love," he'd apologized, sliding down to sit beside her. He offered her the bottle, and begrudgingly she took a drink, resisting the urge to rub her smarting back side.
"I know I made a mistake but you didn't have to be so mean about it," she'd grumbled, unable to meet his eyes.
"Ye scared me," was the excuse he offered, and he took an excessively long pull on the rum.
"I scared you?" she'd asked incredulously.
"Aye, ye scared me, because I've seen stronger, more experienced men die in horrible ways for making less of a mistake than that, darlin'. The thought of something terrible befalling you…terrifies me. Perhaps—"
She'd pounced upon him before he could dare say that maybe he'd made a mistake bringing her out onto a pirate ship, and took him with an almost violent passion against a barrel of salt-pork. "No regrets, Jack. Say it," she'd demanded, her mouth hot against his, holding his release hostage until he ceded with an oath.
No regrets, love.
She never made that same mistake again in a fight. She trained harder. Became meaner. Kept a sharp eye upon the horizon, always.
Had it not been enough?
Then the other possibility began to creep in. The last dark frontier she'd not allowed herself to consider until that moment.
Had Jack grown tired of her? Had the novelty of wedding and bedding the Governor's daughter worn off?
Was she no longer a coveted treasure just out of his reach, but simply another notch in Jack Sparrow's long scarred bedpost?
It couldn't be true, she told herself, praying she was right. How could a man who sometimes slept nearly on top of her, wrapped her up so tight in his arms in his sleep, as though afraid she might slip away in the night, leave her?
Uncertain of everything she thought she knew, Elizabeth had waited.
Soon, gossip of a new power come to the Caribbean made its way to Tortuga. A certain Lord Cutler Beckett had arrived from England, charged with bringing order to the unruly backwater that was Jamaica. Pirates' days were numbered in the Caribbean, so the rumors whispered. Unlike her peers, Elizabeth received this news with relief. It was her first ray of hope in what felt like an eternity in hell.
When Beckett's minion came for her, she was more than ready. He approached her like she was still a young English debutante, not a legendary pirate's bride, informing her with firm civility that Lord Beckett would like a word. She politely shoved a pistol up his nose and related that she would like a word as well. With the help of Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny, the pirates put Beckett's agent to the question. It did not take much persuasion, only the removal of a single fingernail, to learn that Beckett sought Jack Sparrow and his special compass at all costs. He had arrested the blacksmith William Turner on charge of piracy, and tasked him to find Jack Sparrow in exchange for a pardon. Even the Governor himself had been arrested for his complacency for piratical acts in his jurisdiction.
Elizabeth had felt an ache in her chest at the mention of her former fiancé, and a fearful dread for the fate of her father, but it was nothing compared to the howling anxiety that gripped her for Jack.
What dangerous game was that infuriating man playing now?
An adventure too perilous to bring her along? Something he himself didn't reckon he would return from?
She would kill him.
She knew she had to go to Port Royal.
A/n: I thank you kindly, dear readers, for leaving comments/reviews! They make writing these fics SO much more fun! :)