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A/N: Many thanks to my wonderful beta djarum99. You're the best, darling!
Feedback is appreciated.
Destruction
by
Claudia M. Gacrux
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She rolls over onto her stomach, the whisper of skin against the sheets breaking the silence of the Great Cabin, her amber eyes flecked with gold fluttering closed. Tendrils of white smoke whirl in the air, curl around her outstretched limbs and smudge the windows as moonbeams pour through the panes, forming puddles of light upon the floor. The smell of patchouli and sweat fills her nostrils when she buries her face in his pillow, missing him. It has been five days since their argument, five days and far too many hours to count, yet he still refuses to talk to her, to spare her even a glance, and his indifference hurts even more than the livid marks on her upper arms. She knows she shouldn't have yelled at him and questioned his orders in front of the crew, but she was so angry, so furious with him for not discussing his plans with her that she couldn't stop herself from voicing her thoughts. Couldn't and didn't want to.
A barely audible sigh escapes her lips as she sits up in the bed, even less sleepy than before. The rich scent of incense coiling itself around her like a dusty serpent, she looks out the windows, her fidgety fingers skimming along her breeches-clad thighs. The stars scattered across the sable firmament blur, crystalline and smooth and unreal at the same time, reminding her of a certain night watch and him. His dark, smoldering eyes bespeaking danger and mysteries, drawing her deeper and deeper into her fatal admiration for him whenever she meets his gaze. His body, a land of gold and ink, glowing silver in the moonlight. A frustrated groan thrums in her throat, and she tears her gaze away from the sky, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She rises to her feet, throwing a glance at the maps strewn across the table, the floorboards cold against her soles. There is a limit to her patience, she realizes, and she's had enough of his sulking. Putting on her shirt and boots in haste, she curses under her breath when her fingers fumble with the ties of the shirt. Her sudden clumsiness irritates her a great deal, and soon she settles on leaving the shirt open at the neck, grabs her vest and storms out of the cabin, intent on talking some sense into him.
A warm wind fragrant with salt and seaweed swirls around her and howls in her hair as soon as she steps out on deck. The blackened planks glisten with sea spray and the ratlines sway in the wind, dancing to the rhythm of the waves splashing against the hull; there is no sign of him. She grunts dejectedly, turning on her heel, and shrugs on her vest while ascending the quarterdeck stairs. The hollow sound of her footsteps mixes with the gentle hum of conversation and hangs in the air, oddly reassuring. Then her eyes spot him, a languid shadow enveloped in velvet darkness, sitting on the rail, one leg drawn to his chest, the other dangling over the side of the ship. Divested of his coat and vest, he gesticulates freely to prove his point, and in a moment of clarity, she notices rare sincerity and unbridled joy in the otherwise theatrical flourish of his hand, in the many tones of his voice as he speaks. Releasing the breath she didn't realize she held, she keeps watching him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide, the tattoo of her heart loud, arrhythmic. She's transfixed by him, lost in the sinful but oh-so-precious memories of their lovemaking, so when Gibbs's booming baritone suddenly resounds in her ears, she comes out of her reverie with a start. Startled, she looks in the direction of the wheel, and sure enough, there Jack's first mate is, slumped against the wheel, grubby hands gripping the spokes, massive shoulders shaking with laughter.
"Jack, ye devil," Gibbs rasps out, brushing away a stray tear rolling down his cheek.
"Told you that was a good one," Jack grins, resting his forearm on his knee, as his liquid gaze sweeps over the moon's icy features and the horizon's ebony rim, his curious eyes changing color from warm chocolate to granite to onyx when he unexpectedly meets her gaze, rendering her speechless. His grin fades and a flicker of something akin to anger comes into his eyes; his lips curve into a sneer, and he tilts his head to the side, sizing her up. There is something exceedingly cold and malicious about the way he's looking at her, and she shivers all of a sudden, her skin prickling in the chill of his gaze, her heart freezing in her breast mid-beat.
"Miss Swann," he says suddenly, startling Gibbs who hasn't noticed her until now. "And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, pray tell?"
Drawing a shaky breath, she stares at him, seeking understanding in the fathomless depths of his dark orbs, but his eyes become hollow, devoid of emotion, thus making it impossible for her to read him, and she suddenly starts wondering whether or not she did the right thing coming to him.
"I wish to talk to you," she says, her voice sounding odd and forced even to her own ears, "in private."
Jack cocks an eyebrow and gets off the rail, the gentle moonlight softening his features and taking years off him, making him appear deceptively calm, alluring. "In private, eh?" he says, faking interest, and he's all feline grace and fluid movements as he comes closer to her, shining, sparkling and swaying. He is an uncharted territory, an enigma—the glorious embodiment of charisma and mysticism—and she can't help the slight tremor creeping through her body when their eyes lock once again.
"Yes, come with me," Elizabeth says with a hint of forcefulness in her voice, squaring her shoulders in a subconscious attempt to gain some confidence, which, of course, doesn't go unnoticed by him. With a devilish grin, he leans toward her, bringing his lips tantalizingly close to hers.
"I don't think it'll be necessary," he says, his hot breath ghosting across her face, his heady scent mixed with brine surrounding her. "You see, Gibbs here, is deaf as a post," he adds conspiratorially, glancing at his first mate. "Right, Mr. Gibbs?"
"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs replies, mighty uncomfortable.
Jack smirks and clears his throat. "So, what do you want to talk about? The course? Cartography? Impeding me in my duties as captain?" He pauses as his wiry fingers brush her collarbone and start tracing patterns on the silky skin of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Her cheeks coloring all of a sudden, she opens her mouth to speak, but in the blink of an eye, he leans forward and silences her with his lips on the corner of her mouth.
"Or maybe you just got lonely in my cabin?" he whispers against her mouth, his mustache prickling her upper lip, and her eyes shut as she shivers involuntarily, painfully aware just how lonely she felt. Her hands twitch at her sides as she fights the urge to reach out and touch him, to run her fingers through his mass of black hair, the dreadlocks spongy and ropelike, the braids thick and heavy with beads.
"Jack," Elizabeth breathes, suddenly missing his body heat, and opens her eyes. Leaning against the rail, he smirks triumphantly at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and she glares at him, feeling a wave of anger and incredulity wash over her. "You are despicable," she says through clenched teeth.
"So they say." He folds his arms across his chest. "Anything else you're burning to share with me, darling?"
"I don't know why I'm wasting my time on you," she says, pulling her vest tightly around her, and fixes her gaze on the mighty Scorpius moving lazily across the velvet-black sky. The sea wails, and the waves roll in silvery-white scrolls, sparkling in the moonlight, as neither of them speaks. There is an ocean of unspoken words between them, and as Elizabeth listens to the Pearl's low moans and breathy sighs, she realizes she's particularly unsatisfied with the sudden turn their friendship has taken.
"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie," Jack's mocking tone brings her out of her thoughts, and she looks askance at him. "You're all flair and beauty, but so little excitement," he says loud enough for Gibbs and a few other crewmembers sitting on deck to hear, his gaze dropping to her breasts in a way that leaves no doubt as to what he's referring.
"So are you, Jack Sparrow. In truth, Will was much more interesting than you." A lie, and a childish one at that. Will was too much of a gentleman to even think of touching her intimately, hence she never saw him naked, but she can discern a sudden change in Jack's demeanor, feel the rage pooling inside him, and she's decidedly pleased that she hit a nerve.
"Ah, brave William," Jack says with contempt and pulls a face. "We shall never forget him and his ability to do something incredibly, heroically stupid."
Raising her eyebrows, she opens her mouth, momentarily stunned, as indignation bursts inside her chest.
"Do not speak of him, especially not like that," she says in clipped tones. "You're unworthy."
Jack rolls his eyes. "What do you desire, Bess?"
"What?"
Suddenly she's caught off guard, and he swiftly appears in front of her, as though he were a magician performing a trick, and twirls a lock of her golden hair around his finger, looking her up and down. "In dire need of a man, eh?" he says with a smug smile. "Well, love, I'm not currently interested in a tumble, so feel free to go and find someone else to resolve your problem. Savvy?"
She blinks in surprise, and then the meaning of his words stings, taints her blood and poisons her heart as fury rapidly burns its way through her veins, and her palm lands across his face with a vicious clap. "How dare you!" she thunders, her eyes flashing, as the blood roars in her ears, deafening her, and her breathing becomes ragged.
The air is laden with friction, the frosty rays of the moon spill across the deck, making the film of sea salt covering the boards glint like ice, as the planets shift, and everything becomes a blur. Voices mix with the splash of the waves, the smell of brine and the metallic taste of blood impair senses, making Elizabeth feel as if she and Jack were back at World's End, divided, resentful, unforgiven. When the treacherous wind whispers around them, wrapping them in a shroud woven of silence and too many misunderstandings, he looks at her. His eyes, glimmering like two black mirrors, hold her gaze captive, though he doesn't say anything. Instead he presses his lips into a thin line, seething with cold anger. With a flash of jeweled rings, he raises his hand to his face and clamps it over his cheek.
"Damn you," she whispers in a harsh voice before she whirls around and runs below-decks.
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When Elizabeth finally stops running her muscles and tendons thrum with exhaustion, and she leans against the bulkhead, the golden knots of her hair sticking damply to her neck, linen shirt clinging to her back. Closing her eyes, she presses her forehead against the rough wood. Gunpowder seems to crackle in the air each time she takes a quick, shallow breath, and the wet smell of mold and musk blends with the stench of fish and seeps into her clothes. A lone lantern glows eerily in the darkness, casting a dim light on her and the barrels standing nearby. Elizabeth curls her fingers against the wood, listening to the symphony of the sea's dulcet tones and the ship's continuous creaking, when two strong arms appear at either side of her head, caging her between the bulkhead and the man behind her.
"We're not quite finished yet," Jack's voice rumbles in her ear as his cool fingertips brush the nape of her neck, sending a flurry of goosebumps across her skin.
"Go away," she hisses, not bothering to turn around. "Leave me alone."
"No." He snakes his arm around her waist and pulls her backwards against him. "Doesn't feel good when someone degrades you in front of others, does it, Lizzie-girl?" he breathes, his lips pressed to her ear. His hand slips under the hem of her shirt, and she gasps, squeezing her eyes shut, when he cups her breast, his rings cold against her nipple, his fingers rough against her sensitive skin. He nibbles her earlobe, plants open-mouthed kisses on her neck, tasting her skin and making desire spread through her like fire, spiral straight to her core. Biting her bottom lip to keep from moaning, she wriggles in his arms, her heart pounding furiously against his palm, her treacherous body aching for him even though her mind tells her to turn him away. Whimpering, she clenches her fists, her nails scraping the wood of the bulkhead in the process, and arches into him.
"Jack, let me go," she half moans, half groans when he spins her around and pushes her against the bulkhead. "I don't want—"
He captures her lips in a kiss, and soon his slick tongue slips into her mouth, exploring, eliciting weak moans from her. He tastes of salt and something sweet, of some tropical fruit whose name she can't remember. Dizzy with want, she feels his hands clasp her wrists as he presses his body against hers, the bulge in his breeches hard against her abdomen.
When he releases her wrists, he pulls her leg over his hip and rocks against her, making her gasp. "No more games, Lizzie," he says hoarsely, looking into her eyes. "Don't ever question my orders in front of the crew. I am the captain of this ship, not you, my dear."
Breathing heavily, she turns away, feeling anger pulse inside her. "Am I to understand that my opinion is of no significance to you, Captain?"
"Elizabeth—"
"No, Jack," she breaks in, meeting his gaze. "I'm not one of your mindless harlots. Let me go."
Sighing, he searches her face, traces her swollen lips with his fingertips, but her expression remains grave, and her eyes glitter with angry determination, demanding obedience. "As you wish, Miss Swann," he says, disentangling himself from her. Then he steps away from her, his gaze raking over her body, and bows mockingly.
"Goodnight," he says coldly and disappears into the darkness.
His footsteps quickly become a distant echo.
"Damn you, Jack. Damn you," she chants, cradling her head in her hands, when she slides down the bulkhead, and bitter tears start burning sinuous paths down her cheeks.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.