Disclaimer: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Disney.
No infringement
is intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.
Summary: Jack and Elizabeth. A follow-up to "In the Dark Watches
of the Night".
Author's note: Written for StormChild, who wanted to see what happened
the next
morning...
Fair Weather Morning
by Hereswith
Waking was this: light sifting through windows, slipping through cracks of
eyes, and
the Pearl, humming gently beneath him.
The soreness in his shoulder was familiar, the warm weight pressed against
his side
was not, and there was a moment of perplexed bewilderment, then realisation
flooded
him. Elizabeth. Pale, pinched and nigh see-through ghost of a girl, coming apart
at the
neatly stitched seams by the side of his bed. She must have slept, then, and
that was
a decided improvement.
Jack glanced down to find said wench curled up, pillowed on him, and indeed,
still
oblivious to the world. It had been a while since a woman had made use of him
in this
way and he did not object to it, as such, but his whole arm had gone numb, and
that
was damnably uncomfortable.
He edged to the right and, when she did not rouse, attempted to wriggle out
from
under her. With nothing more than a single layer of clothing between them, he
would
have had to be dead not to notice certain aspects of her figure, and he wasn't,
most
assuredly not, nor so weak that he failed to appreciate it, but that was the
only liberty
he would take.
As the blood rushed back into his limb, bringing with it a painful tingling,
Jack grimaced,
cursing softly. "Trying to cripple me, are you, love?"
Elizabeth did not answer. Her breech-clad legs were sprawled in perfect repose
and
the tar-stained shirt, a mite too big for her, shivered with each breath. She
had a smudge
on her jaw, and the skin on the tip of her nose was beginning to peel.
In looks and in manners, she bore little resemblance to the other, the late
Mrs.
Turner—Bill's sweet Sarah—but from what he had learned of
both, they had one
trait in common, at least: a rare strength of will. Fine Toledo steel. Tempered
by
far different fortunes and fates—but tempered nonetheless.
Gibbs had informed him how the rescue had come about, his account peppered
with
expletives and words like "mad" and "foolish" and "stubborn",
the reluctant fondness
in his tone belying his grumpy demeanour. And to Jack, it was inescapably clear
that,
if not for the will of that mad, foolish, stubborn lass, he would not be here.
The island
would have spun its spider's web around him, undisturbed, and stripped
the flesh from
his bones, even as it sucked out his soul.
Elizabeth turned over on her back, suddenly, and upon turning, tensed. Her
eyelids
fluttered, as if she was fighting the urge to open them.
"Good morning, love."
"Oh, God," she groaned and sat up, sun-streaked hair forming a
heavy curtain that
hid her face from view. "I didn't intend to fall asleep."
"No," Jack agreed. "But you're the better for it, I
reckon, and there's no sense in
regretting it, now, is there?"
Elizabeth sighed. "Perhaps not," she admitted, plucking anxiously
at the bed linen.
"Jack? I did not—impose upon you, did I?"
He steepled his fingers and tapped the ends together. "I would've
thought you'd
remember it," he said, "considering how thoroughly my honour was
compromised."
She swivelled round, caught sight of his expression and reined her shock in,
scowling
with angry irritation. "Why, you—pirate!"
Jack pushed himself up, so that they were on a level with each other, the motion
rather
more awkward and clumsy than he would have preferred, but her eyes widened,
all
the same.
"Not just any old pirate, darling," he admonished, inclining
his weight-laden head, since
executing a flourished bow was an impossible feat. "Captain Jack Sparrow,
quite at
your service."
Elizabeth stared at him, dismay fading into a brittle confusion that teetered
on the brink
of something else. "Jack—"
The sound of his name was not enough. Not near enough. The taste of it, on
her lips,
might be, and the thought of that waylaid him, he could not outrun it, the fastest
ship
in the Caribbean or not. Watching her reaction closely, Jack raised his hand
and
twirled a honeyed lock around his forefinger. Her chest heaved, at that, and
a frantic
pulse beat at the base of her throat.
"Is it 'aye', then, Lizzie," he asked, knuckles and
rings grazing her collarbone, the
thick, treacly heat of her slowly seeping into him, "or 'nay'?"
"Beggin' yer pardon, Capt'n—ma'am," said
a voice from the doorway and Elizabeth,
as quick as a sprite or a flash, dashed out of Jack's reach, leaving him
empty-fisted
and uncharitable.
"What?" he snapped, very aware of the fact that she, steadfastly,
refused to look
at him.
"Gibbs said to see if ye were awake, Capt'n," Jamie answered,
fidgeting, as well
the blasted whelp should. "'Tis close to noon, and there's
food, if ye'll have it."
"I'll go," stated Elizabeth, and off she went, straight-shouldered
and erect, chin held
high. Jamie hesitated, then, as Jack waved dismissal, the boy hurried to follow
her,
sliding the door shut behind him.
Bloody hell! If that had been the opportune moment, come at last, a right bloody
mess had been made of it.
xx
Elizabeth returned, ere long, carrying soup conjured by the cook, and some
biscuits.
Though Jack wasn't overly surprised when he observed that she had Jamie
in tow,
he wondered, with wry amusement, which of them it was she did not trust to behave,
him, or herself. She propped a pillow behind his back, briskly efficient, and
hovered
to make sure he ate, but she still would not look at him.
Jack mulled this over for a bit, then questioned around a piece of fish, "Care
to tell
me what you've done with me hat, love?"
A startled laugh escaped her. It was not, it seemed, what she had imagined
he would
say, and the slight, but unmistakable stiffness in her posture eased. "It's
in my belongings.
I brought it with me on the Aurora." Peering at him through her
lashes, she added,
"I'm inclined to keep it, you know. It's a nice hat, all it
needs is a proper cleaning and,
perhaps, a few choice decorations around the brim."
The hitherto silent Jamie gave a strangled cough.
"You wouldn't," Jack growled.
He wasn't worried. Not precisely. There was, however, no denying that
tiny sting of
apprehension.
"I might," Elizabeth replied, and her mouth twitched.
"Bah!" he said, eyes narrowing. "I'd have you locked
in the brig for disobeying the
Captain's orders."
"I haven't signed the Articles, Mr. Sparrow," Elizabeth reminded
him, pointedly.
"You may be his Captain," and she gestured in Jamie's direction,
"but you are certainly
not mine." Jack lifted a quizzical brow, in response, and she pinked,
prettily, when she
noticed, as if the double-entendre did not occur to her until then. "Well,
you aren't!
Besides, you haven't ordered me not to."
Options were weighed, scales balanced, then tipped over. "And if I asked
you to be
so kind, Mrs. Turner?"
Her smile glinted like sunshine off the ocean's surface. "Then
I suppose I should have
to consider your request." She snatched the finished bowl from him and
put it aside.
"It's a glorious morning, Jack. I thought—Jamie could help
you, if you want to take
some air."
So, Jack mused, the boy did have a purpose, beyond that of acting as a guardian
against what might, or might not, come to be. "I wasn't shot in
the leg, love. I can
walk."
And walk he could, as he had boasted and claimed, but only so far. He stumbled
in
the corridor, for no apparent reason, flailed and would have fallen, had Jamie
not
supported him.
"Ye'd best lean on me, Capt'n," Jamie urged.
Jack glared at him, that big, lumbering figure of a would-be man. Too young.
Tom
had scarce been a year older, and he had bled out in some rickety bed in Tortuga.
And Cotton—but he would not think of Cotton, full fathom five, with no
parrot to
speak for him. "Very well," he grumbled, "but I'll not
have you cosseting me on
deck. Savvy?"
"Aye, Capt'n!" said the boy.
Humouring him, no doubt.
xx
It was, in truth, a glorious morning. The skies were clear, the sun had burned
them so,
and they had a leading wind; his light-footed lass fairly danced across the
waves. Jack
stroked his palms over the smooth wood, to reassure himself as much as the Pearl.
Jamie had withdrawn, but Elizabeth remained and her presence tugged at Jack's
attention. He inhaled, savouring the scent of sea and ship and breeze. "I
owe you
my life."
She made a smallish sound, most likely a protest, and Jack tilted his head
in a suitable
angle, waiting with quiet patience for her gaze to seek his. When it did, skittish
and
seal-dark with an emotion he could not quite identify, he offered her the rest
of it:
"Thank you."
A crease appeared between her brows, as if she meant to argue the matter further,
but she searched his face instead, carefully, and he knew not what she read
in it, or
what winding paths her mind was taking, only that, in the end, she nodded.
"I expect that makes us just about square, Captain Sparrow," she
said, with the
faintest trace of a quiver in that otherwise resolute voice. "After all,
I've owed you
mine since the day I fell from the battlements—shielding you from the
Marines was
hardly payment enough."
"As I remember," he replied, "you weren't too impressed, at the time."
"As I remember," Elizabeth countered, "you were filthy, horribly
rude and you
manhandled me. I thought you despicable."
"Ah, yes!" Jack exclaimed, and then, because he couldn't resist, "And now?"
"Now?" The Pearl's bow dipped down, spray from a breaking
swell spattering
the deck and Elizabeth grabbed hold of the rail to steady herself, briefly looking
up as the blue and yellow bird, which was ducking in and out of the rigging,
screeched. "I daresay I've grown accustomed to you."
"Accustomed, is it?" He chuckled. "I should hope so, love.
You've known me
long enough."
She was silent; finding something of interest in the pattern of the shrouds
and the
waters that stretched out, gilded and endless, beyond.
"I dreamt of you, before we even met," she said, at length, somewhat
tentatively.
"Pretended I was Captain Jack Sparrow, fabled pirate of the Spanish Main,
or,
when Father and I had quarrelled, that I would run away some dark and moonlit
night and join his crew. Your crew," she amended, with a crooked, rueful
smile,
and turned fully towards him again. "Reality, of course, was nothing like
my dreams."
Jack grinned as he tried to picture her, the Elizabeth that must have been,
reading
of his exploits by candlelight, perhaps, while the good Governor believed she
was
tucked up in bed and fast asleep.
"Less than what you expected, eh?" he teased.
Her eyes met his, unflinching. Fine Toledo steel.
"Much less," she answered. "And so much more."
