Disclaimer: PotC and Sailormoon belong to their respective owners. Unfortunately.
He saw her from a long distance away.
His legs jolted forward automatically, spraying out white-hot sand, and he saw, across the waves of heat and gleaming stretch of beach, that she moved jaggedly, trippingly in a similar gait, his mirror image. His feet picked up speed, and before he realized it, he was running toward her. The ragged strands of her flaxen hair swept around her face, strained, streaked, and pale, and the shreds of what had once been garments flapped around her carelessly.
The hot Caribbean sun lent a mesmerizing haze to their surroundings; in a flash, like a mirage to a dying man. She was almost before him, inches away . . ..
Two seconds slipped past, and he found that what should have been their touch was halted, abruptly and devastatingly by the cold barrel of a British revolver pressed heatedly against his chest.
Her lips trembled and the thin brows upon what was once a creamy-smooth complexion furrowed mournfully.
He regarded her calmly, still mere inches from touching her. "So, lass. This is to be my welcome." And his head twitched, but the carelessness that had always come so naturally was gone.
Her lips parted as if she thought to speak, then closed again, with a gentle suffocating sound.
"'S'all right, love. If I was you I'd do the same to me, too."
With the force of two hands, she renewed her pressure on his chest. "Don't mock me, Jack." It was a quiet plea.
"I do mean it," he said, a small grin spreading his black moustache like two legs around a crooked mouth. "I've a heart as black as the sea-bottom, as they say, but even I'm not such a scoundrel that I can wrong you and get away without guilt, and shame, and all that," he muttered. "Celestial beings be damned." He flicked his fingers effeminately at an invisible gnat.
She looked doubtful. Hurt and doubtful.
Suddenly, he grabbed her hands and pushed them harder against him. "Go on, then," he whispered, leaning in ever-so-slightly, grin fading to a soft smile.
"You're tricking me!" she cried, but it was not an angry sound.
"Am I?" he quirked his head a little to the side, turning his nose to the salt spray waves. "Now, that's downright unfair. It ain't me that's tricking, seeing as you'd never 'ave the heart to do it – not in a million years, lass . . . and that's the swear-to-God truth if I ever heard it." Putting out his lower lip and adding, as an aside, "And I 'ave once or twice."
She looked surprised.
He immediately took the opportunity to finger for the trigger and try to maneuver it over her own. Unfortunately, the movement triggered the girl instead, and she flung her arms with all the force her tiny frame could manage. A resounding boom and the blast from the barrel tossed her backwards, flinging her arms up and to her right, a shy distance away from the ruffled and slightly breathless pirate captain.
Before he could take in the full shock of what had just unfolded, she flung the gun away and was upon him, hitting and pushing in fitful bursts. All he could do was put his arms around her and hold her as she settled and cried against him.
He patted her back awkwardly, a bemused smile gracing his dirty face. He almost opened his mouth to remark about her not being able to keep her hands off of him. But he thought better of it, for once, and stood in the shimmering heat and let her hold him.