Title: Dolores
Pairing: Jack/Angelica but not really
Summary: Because all Jack Sparrow had ever given her was sorrow.
Disclaimer: Don't own :( Also I love commas and semicolons, fair warning.
He hadn't known, she told herself. He hadn't known exactly who he was leaving when his thirst for the sea finally overpowered whatever it was he felt for her; he had thought he was only leaving her. (Only leaving her, she thinks, as if leaving a woman-a girl, really-whose entire life you had derailed to have a bit of fun weren't a horrible, despicable, heinous thing that a man, by all the righteous powers of the universe, should burn in hell for all eternity for. The bitterness consumed her). By the time she felt the first twinges of what he had left behind, he was long gone, adrift on some faraway sea on his beloved ship, and she was completely alone.
-x-
The convent nuns were sympathetic, thank the Lord, though the disappointment she saw in their eyes almost made her wish they would kick her out. The nuns had become like mothers and like sisters, women she loved and respected, and she added their dismay to the ever-growing list of things she would never forgive him for.
-x-
She hadn't expected the pure discomfort of pregnancy. She knew it would be difficult, knew her body would stretch, her breasts become tender, her feet swell and her bladder weaken. She knew all this, and yet, she felt it was worse for her than other women because she was carrying his child. Of course his spawn wouldn't be a gentle, calm, considerate baby-no, it had to kick and punch her insides until she was reduced to tears and had to call for Sister Maria. Damn this child. She was always frustrated and always angry-although, she admitted to herself while Sister Maria mopped her forehead, the baby had little to do with it.
-x-
She wondered what it would look like, whether it would have his eyes or hers, his smile or hers; whether it would inherit his love of the ocean, whether it too would one day abandon her for the salt of the sea. She hoped for a boy. Boys weren't left, boys did the leaving, she rationalized. If she had a girl, her daughter would be a fool like her, would allow others to control her life instead of taking charge of it. It didn't matter anyway, she griped to any of the nuns who would listen; either way, the child would never have a father, a fate she herself had been dealt. They tutted at her; a child was a Heavenly gift and she could not know what God had planned for it. She ignored them.
-x-
Sister Josefina liked it, but Sister Maria was honest from the start: "Dolores is triste, sad. Don't forget, su hija is an hijo de Dios también, a child of God. She deserves a better name, a name glorifying her place in His world!" She ignored her too.
-x-
A girl. Dolores it was, then, a sad name for a life that would undoubtedly be sad as well. She examined her child frantically, ensuring all the necessary parts were present: ten toes, ten fingers, two eyes, two ea-her own eyes flew back to her daughter's for a moment before the baby was whisked away. Angelica had little time to think; no sooner was her daughter gone than she herself fell asleep. Giving birth to his child had exhausted her.
-x-
The funeral was small. Angelica had no family left and few friends outside the convent. The weather was horribly wrong, a spring day too bright and sunny for a burial. The priest stumbled over the Rites. He was young and nervous, barely older than her, and didn't give off an air of spiritual wisdom. She very much doubted he would be able to usher her child into an eternity in Heaven. The nuns all whispered the same condolences over and over again, but she brushed them off. She knew it was God's will, she knew how common it was for new babies to just not wake their mothers with wailing sobs one morning, she knew she was young and had plenty of time left. She knew, she simply didn't understand.
-x-
She was surprised how much she missed the daughter she had only known for a few months, a child she hadn't even wanted in the first place. The first morning after the funeral, she awoke wondering if her daughter had learned to walk overnight and had jaunted out to the kitchen for breakfast. When a sense of reality finally returned to her, the absurdity of it sent her into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
-x-
The cemetery was just outside her convent, so she visited every day. It was a small tomb with an even smaller headstone, her child's name inscripted on it in tiny font. Isabella Antonia Sparrow. It fit, she thought. tracing her finger over the letters. God's promise, beautiful, a bird. She was glad she had listened to Sister Maria, bless her. Dolores was a fine name, but not her daughter's. She was even glad she'd included the "Sparrow" bit, against her better judgment and despite her enduring ill will. Her daughter was a beautiful bird who had flown away, but she was also God's promise, and she knew her God did not make promises He didn't keep.
-x-
By the time she met Jack Sparrow again, years and years later, Isabella had become a faint memory of a time in her life when she was young and naive and stupid, when she wandered around falling in love with rogue pirates. She wasn't that girl anymore, hadn't been for a while. She had found a father. She had found a purpose. Still, she had to suppress a gasp the first time she really looked at him after so long. She had been right. Their daughter had had his eyes.
Fin.
Eh, not a fan of the ending or of Fanfiction not allowing the paragraph breaks I wanted. Translations and name meanings taken from Google. Also just made up what an 18th century Spanish Catholic funeral for a baby might've looked like, eek. Review!