A/N: I originally posted this in 2004, but it quickly lost steam after I watched the PotC sequels. I never throw anything away, though, with the hope that eventually (as in now) I get back around to the fic and edit it and bring it to my liking! So here goes! There are several chapters and a full detailed outline, I just have to proofread the heck out of them, and then they will post. Expect the next few updates to be about weekly.
By the way, this takes place during the first film, and involves as many canon characters (and possibly one or two OCs) as I can stuff into the story. Jack and Elizabeth are STILL on that island, but that is where my fic ventures off on its own.
"Must've been terrible for you to be trapped here, Jack. Must've been terrible—well, it bloody is now!" Jack Sparrow spat behind himself to Elizabeth Swann, the governor's daughter as he stormed hastily through the sand to further distance himself from the girl and the flaming palm trees. Blasted girl burnt everything! They'd surely die on the island now. Maybe he should've taken the opportunity to shoot the girl when her back was turned. It'd have been a more graceful death than starvation.
He paused in his stride, narrowing his eyes into the scorching Caribbean sun out at the horizon, over the expanse of water and nearly flawless sky, speckled with fleecy clouds here and there. If it hadn't have been such a cursed place, he could almost call the scene before him enchanting, but when he swiveled back to the massive plume of smoke billowing into the air behind him and could make out Elizabeth's tiny figure pacing on the shoreline, he was reminded of the rum that had been treacherously and ruthlessly wasted. How was he to know that the slight, fair thing contained such visceral brutality that she should put a trove of liquor to flame instead of using it to her disposal?
Jack's mouth curved downward into a scowl and he continued stomping through the hot granules that burned the soles of his bare feet. He had been so bleeding close to having the prized Black Pearl back in his possession, but Bootstrap's eunuch son had deliberately made a mess of things. The boy was ambitious and eager, certainly the spawn of his father – fruit of the loins so to speak, but a foolish one at that. Jack could nearly say that he was fond of Turner because of how alike he and William Turner senior were…almost.
Because of Will's rash actions, Jack was forced to watch Barbossa sail away on his ship once again, and forced to be stranded on the godforsaken spit of land with, of all people, Elizabeth bloody Swann.
Ah, Miss Swann. She sure is a headstrong little spitfire, Jack thought, grinning to himself. She definitely was far too impetuous to exercise suitable decorum, but he liked that about the lass. In a curious way, she reminded him much of himself, despite her tender upbringing and fair sex. No, if Jack had to choose amongst the crew he'd quitted not long ago, he'd prefer the girl for her winning personality and the challenge she presented, but not just for those reasons, of course. He enjoyed her forced company for motives that were too lewd to be proper. Pirate — he reminded himself. Propriety has no place in piracy.
Jack discovered a particularly comfortable spot beneath an unscathed palm tree and sat in its shade, sighing as he lay against the trunk, hoping against reason that the raging inferno yonder would preserve at least a fraction of the tiny isle so that survival was at least somewhat feasible.
Elizabeth paced across the seashore until the sun had begun to sink in the sky, casting vivid pinks and oranges into the clouds. The signal fire behind her had been reduced to mildly smoldering embers. The plan borne of impulsivity and scorching devastation had claimed about a quarter of the island's flora, but she'd figured it meant little since the Royal Navy had without a doubt commenced their search and was going to rescue her, in any given moment.
However, the darkness stole into the sky and in its wake blotted out the sun's brilliance, revealing a creeping full moon surrounded by stars, which slowly illuminated their splendor; all beautiful in their own natural magnificence, and yet —no ship, no white sails. Her stomach turned over not for the first time that day since Jack had stormed off. Was she doomed to be here forever? What if the plan that she had deemed as genius hadn't worked? What would Jack do to her if he found out that his rum had been wasted?
She huffed, wringing her hands in nervous anticipation. She hadn't seen anything of the captain since his hasty departure, just his footprints in the white sand. Had he left? Had he discovered a way off of the island and escaped and left her to rot out of spite? He was after all a pirate. Such actions would not be a surprise from one of that lifestyle. Pirates were, at least according to figures of authority and authors of the adventure novels she had pored over and treasured as a girl of yesteryear, heartless, mindless creatures that harbored no compassion for humanity.
Even the part of her brain that registered the thought didn't believe it. Jack would never abandon her, despite what had transpired the last few days since their first encounter. He'd rescued her from drowning and sailed with Will to save her from Barbossa and the undead crew. No, he was unlike any pirate she'd ever read or heard about. An odd paradox between gentlemanly honor and disobedience – the ultimate rebel – one that refused to adhere to pirate code or society's moral compass. He was a pirate and a good man.
She hated to admit it, but she longed for the pirate captain's blasted company. The quiet solitude was enough to drive her to madness and – God help her – she inevitably came to the conclusion that she needed Jack Sparrow's presence. She needed desperately to hear the pirate's rough voice. She decided to set off and find him.
Elizabeth followed his tread marks to the eastern side of the island and every so often let her gaze sweep over the sea as if to find those Royal Navy colors flapping in the wind perched above the mainmast of the Dauntless. She tapped her fingers together in frustration at the lonesome, rolling waves, and then peered into the mass of palm trees further into the island. She spotted the captain immediately, a spectacle of a man in his unique dress and mannerisms; he was sitting cross-legged in front of a small fire, his hand poised above the flames. The previous determination and courage left her considerably and she waited, anxious for Jack's reaction to her presence, slowing her purposeful stroll to a near standstill. She crept closer to him, then stopped abruptly when his head turned sharply and he peered over at her with an air heavy with suspicion. In spite of the tension his demeanor presented, his eyes were subdued, a visage she thought she'd never witness upon Jack Sparrow's animated face.
"Did you finally find leave from your post, Miss Swann? Anything worth noting on the horizon? White sails and such?" came the voice, the earnest words enveloped in condescending suggestion.
She sniffed haughtily, crossing her arms and glaring at the side of his head after he resumed his ministrations.
"Regrettably, no."
A few heartbeats passed in silence, save for the hushed ebb and flow of the tide and the occasional shriek of gulls flying in the distance.
"You may come over 'ere, Miss Swann. I don't bite." His voice was just as grave as his eyes had been. Elizabeth's nerves quieted somewhat, although she did not care for the low weariness of his tone and the quiet behavior – she likened it to Jack, the infernally sly con artist, always concocting a scheme to confound and conquer whomever he considered to be in the way of what he desired, accepting defeat.
"Thank you," she mumbled, closed the distance between them, pulled her skirt up and took a seat directly across the fire from him. One side of his wildly expressive mouth darted upward into a half-smile and the hand held above the flames moved as he turned a makeshift spit. The fire crackled merrily and she was fleetingly enamored with the efficiency the man revealed when put to the challenge of surviving amidst the overwhelming odds.
"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked, tucking a honey-colored strand of hair behind her ear.
"Caught meself a fish," he announced, plucking the crude stick away from the fire and revealing the indiscernible hunk of singed meat to her. "Little buggers all over the place over there a-ways." A bejeweled hand motioned toward the shallows somewhere of to the left of him with a manner not unlike pretentious indifference. She stared at the meat and felt her middle tighten hungrily, but noticed with disdain that what he had caught could hardly pass as a meal for one, no less two ravenous individuals who had not had a decent bite to eat for quite some time.
"There is enough for both of us?" she asked, the suddenness of her appetite for whatever he had there edging her voice.
His eyebrows raised dramatically, the half-grin resurfacing. "Oh, I apologize, milady. If I had known you were hungry, I'd have caught more for the two of us."
She nodded, her eyes a-lit with hostility, lips pressed into a thin line. "Were you simply expecting me to starve?"
The arrogant, sidelong grin that remained halfway emerged finally opened into a boisterous, toothy smile, gold and all. "Oh, not to worry, young missy. I never forgot 'bout you," he replied, passing her a large, flat palm leaf with blackened lumps on top of it. He recognized the hesitance as she studied the remains of whatever it had been before his demolishing of the poor creature. "I fear I may have overcooked it a bit."
Elizabeth tried to remain stoic, but couldn't help the good-natured chuckle and took the leaf, casting him an apologetic smile. "You're very kind to do this, Captain. Thank you."
He studied her inquisitively, and then shook his head once, dismissive. "I may be the most fearsome pirate in the Spanish Main, love, but I have a touch of honesty left inside my weasely black heart." He allowed his piercing gaze to rake over her until she felt unnerved, and then he righted himself, choosing to direct the next self-important comment to her brazen behavior. "At least when compared to some." The gilt in his smirk glinted off of the firelight. She reddened, her mind immediately going to the previous night when she had purposely gotten him drunk in order to carry out her botched scheme. "Don't get me wrong, love. I admire a person who's willing to do whatever's necessary."
Their eyes met and held for the first time since she'd located him. Her noble chin went up firmly. "You're a smart man, Jack," she said as he chewed his fish quietly, "but I don't entirely trust you." Something in his stare altered and he stood, ambled to her side and stooped down, until his face was inches from hers. Her pulse quickened and she felt drawn into the fathomless obsidian depths of his eyes.
"Peas in a pod, darlin'," Jack whispered, gesturing at the two of them with his finger. He remained half-bent above her, and noticed the parting of her lips and the change in her breathing until an impudent leer snuck onto his face. He backed away feeling satisfied with the reaction he'd received from her and went to his side of the fire once again, bit off a chunk of fish from his twig and stretched his body out with a self-assured languor, then folded a hand under his head.
Elizabeth felt the burn of excitement turn into anger. How dare he…he…make her feel like she did! He knew exactly how to make her blood simmer, how to generate such a reaction; it was only natural that she'd swoon as he knelt so close to her face that she could see the very lashes which bordered his eyes and could feel his hot breath on her flesh. She seethed at the foreign, yet atrocious need that had pooled into her middle.
She was very well aware of his way with women. The books she'd pored over as a girl boasted of the myriad of mistresses that he left at many a harbor. It also suggested the rumor of his having a gaggle of wives, up and down the seaboard of the American Colonies, some in the West Indies and even as far as Africa.
Elizabeth scoffed at the notion, which caused the man to turn his head.
"What was tha', love?" he murmured, eyelids drooped to slits in near slumber. She considered remaining silent in order to avoid any further awkward conversation, but curiosity got the better of her.
"In the stories, it's gossiped that you have thirteen wives and more mistresses than stars in the heavens."
A raspy, condescending laugh. "You believe everything you read in those stories of yours, Miss Swann?"
"It isn't true?"
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't."
She shot him an agitated look. "If your island escape was a fabrication, I suppose said rumor is as well." Furthering the continued disappointment, she supposed it was inevitable that her fantasy of a pirate's carefree life with no bounds, no rules, no constraints should be ruined completely.
"Oh, there be a few wenches awaiting their Captain's return." He waved his hand around absent-mindedly. "But truth be told, this man has never made a sacred vow, 'cept to his one and only true love, the Black Pearl."
Elizabeth's snort was quite unladylike. She should have seen that answer coming.
"'Sides, Miss, 't'ain't a grand idea bringing aboard a married fellow, leaving behind his wife and child."
Her mind immediately went to Will. He'd talked often of his mother and her courage and strength. He admired her zealous effort to live even in the absence of Will Sr., despite the ferociously poverty-stricken house they'd inhabited and the tiny rations of food. He never really talked about his father, except that he had become a merchant sailor to provide for his wife and child, when his visits home were too far and too long in between. It was common for a sailor to spend long durations at sea, so this was what Will had assumed as a boy when he hadn't bothered to contact them, even after years of silence. Elizabeth felt a sadness for him as she remembered his father had turned to piracy and rampaged the Spanish Main with the likes of Barbossa and Jack Sparrow instead of returning home where he belonged.
No wonder Will hated the very thought of his father as a pirate.
"Why did Will Turner, Sr. sail on the Black Pearl if it was such a bad thing to have a married man on board?"
"He was a fine carpenter and a good man. Difficult to find in these days of ignorance and depravity." Jack's voice had dipped into a low tone, almost as if consumed with remorse.
"A pirate and a good man? Could there be such a thing?"
"Yes, Miss Swann. He was an honorable scalawag. Not sure if that makes any sort of sense, but 'tis true." Jack paused, hesitantly. "When I went on board ship as a boy, he took me in, taught me the ropes. Everything I know 'bout sailing."
She hummed softly. "He must have meant a great deal to you. You speak of him fondly."
The pirate was still for a moment, pondering with his stare downcast. "I suppose you may presume he had played a fatherly role in my early merchant days."
Her eyebrows darted upward. Oh, how Will would react to such words! "A fatherly role? When his son back in England desperately needed said fatherly role?"
Jack blew an annoyed sigh. "Well, Miss Swann, you've managed to exhaust me with your incessant babbling about marriage and the paternal influence of men and their eunuch progenies. So, if you'll excuse me, I'd like very much to fall into a peaceful sleep."
Elizabeth set her mouth in a firm line, watching the man settle into the sand in complete carelessness, then turned her eyes to the ocean. The tide was coming in so that the waves rolled much heavier than in the day, and left a line of white foam on the shore; it was hypnotizing, almost seductive in its tumbling gesture. The water glistened under the increasingly silver reflection of the full moon, casting a thousand sparkles across the surface.
She stared for a long time, in a trance, lulled by the crashing sounds and continuous motions, letting her thoughts stray to Will and the crew of the Black Pearl. What was he doing or thinking at that very moment? Would she ever see him again? Was she so destined to die apart from Will and never live to know what it was like to hold him in her arms and whisper words of love to the man in which her heart truly desired? Was he going to die with a knife at his throat? Was Jack Sparrow to be the last person she'd ever lay eyes on?
Tears spilled from her eyes when she realized that more than likely sweet William Turner would perish at the hand of Barbossa.
Elizabeth fought the terrible ache of despair rising in her chest and finally let sleep take her as she lay back turning from the slowly dying fire.
Post A/N: I appreciate comments/favs/follows! Whatever comes my way. :)