A/N: Dedicated to Florencia7, for all her advice and constructive criticisms while writing Tempest Tossed and just in gratitude for her amazing writing ability. This is a one-shot that takes place after the climax of COTBP, but before the return to Port Royal. In other words...the awkward journey back from Isla de Muerta.
The rocking of the Dauntless did little to settle Jack's nerves, sitting in her brig, knowing each lurching of the ship brought him closer to the gallows. Pulling his hat down over his eyes, he imagined his now-obscured vision to be what oblivion must look like. Gibbs. Blasted Gibbs, commandeering his Pearl right out from under him. Maybe he's gone somewhere safe and is only waiting for the opportune moment to bring the ship out of safe-keeping and hasten you to safety yourself. Something told him it wasn't "safe" to count on that. More importantly, he thought, was how to escape once they docked. At least Barbossa is dead. At least you did that much. He'd freed the Pearl from her curse, slaying a most peculiar supernatural dragon and releasing his lady from its clutches. Or some bloody variation of it.
Maybe his death on land would at least give Jones a sporting kick in the groin…do squid have groins? Did it matter since squid do not typically captain ships and make bargains with foolish and desperate human captains?
"You look like you could use this."
Thank God. He'd have worked himself into a frenzy if left alone down here much longer.
"Where did you manage to find that?" He smiled less at her and more at the brown bottle she held by the neck.
"James doesn't completely abstain from vices," Elizabeth said in a cryptic way, plopping down and positioning her back against the bulkhead. They would be side by side if not for the bars, he noticed. Still in spare soldiers' uniforms, she passed the bottle through the bars to him. Uncorking it, he drew back his head and let the rum wash down his throat.
"Almost makes up for that which you squandered," he said, making sure to give her a frown and stern eyebrows.
"You could stand to be a little more grateful," she said in the same haughty tone. "You know we'd have both died eventually had there been no signal."
But what a way to go, he considered saying to the subtle pout on her lips.
"And instead I'm scheduled for me own hanging and you're scheduled to be given away in marriage to a man you don't love. Can't say we've bettered our predicaments too much, darling." Covering the hole at the top of the bottle, he maneuvered it back through the bars without spilling a drop. "What say you to wetting your whistle, Lizzie?"
To his surprise, Elizabeth took a dainty sip, wincing only for a moment at the taste. It was the angle, he decided, that kept his attention, the angle with which she drank it, allowing him to see every cream-colored inch of her neck and the beginnings of her pronounced collarbone.
"James…it's not...being married to James won't be nearly as awful as you make it sound," she swallowed. "He's a good man. We've known each other a long time. He'll take me out on this very ship." She took one more sip, more a swig this time, and slid the bottle back to him, their four hands bridging it just right so as not to spill. "And he does care for me. It should only be a matter of time before I lo…" she sighed and placed her elbow on a risen knee.
"Ye could make him fall out of love with ye," he suggested, laughing. "You're entirely too pleasant around him, making such simple requests for wedding gifts such as leading him into a cursed, un-killable pirate trap for a boy well below your station. All he needs is someone to bring that to his attention and he'll be calling off any and all nuptial plans, to be sure."
"Or while I'm at it create some anti-love potion. May I have another sip?"
Jack dipped the bottle through and balanced the bottom of it until her hands pulled it out by the neck. Routine, it was now.
"What was it you were going to say to me?"
"When was that, love? Before or after ye got me drunk?" He gave her a wide grin when she met his eyes with that fire he was finding more and more alluring. To think this same little creature had only hours earlier knocked Barbossa's men senseless with a golden staff made his head spin.
"No. On deck, when you said we, we were…" She sat the bottle between her legs and played with the rim.
When he'd said they were peas in a pod. Just the memory of it made him smile, the memory of her active, determined face still for a long enough time that he could lock in on those eyes. He hadn't planned on saying anything, had he?
"I don't think I was going to say anything."
"Oh. It must have been the way you looked."
Jack couldn't resist.
"Oh that. I wasn't going to speak, love. I was going to kiss you." She was trying to restrain her blush, casting her eyes down into the bottle. Jack ran his tongue over his teeth inside his mouth, predicting what would happen if Lizzie knew how…how…his nose twitched. Determining what to call her blushing wracked his brain. Calling it cute meant the absence of rum. Too clearly he could see her withholding the bottle from him, adopting a pretentious level of etiquette, and bidding him goodnight. He blinked watching her chug before wordlessly returning the bottle to him.
"Of course," he said, clearing his throat. "You'll be getting plenty of that, I'd wager, although picturing the good Commodore kissing stretches the imagination, not to mention the stomach." That seemed to ease her back to him, he thought, her wrist not too far from his own. He could nudge it and surely that would appease this unyielding notion of touching her.
"Perhaps you can get started on that anti-love potion for me," Elizabeth laughed.
"A backwards Tristan and Iseult, the pair of ye." An arched eyebrow answered him. "You, the girl who's read up on all manner of crimes on the high seas, have no knowledge of classical literature?"
"You insult me, Jack." She placed her hand over her heart and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, all of it dripping in sarcasm. "I was surprised you knew it."
"Oh yes, the prelude to that whole Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot business. Simple task, really, going and retrieving a girl for someone else, and then there you are on your ship with her and the next thing ye know, you've both drunk from the same magic love philter and complicated everything." Passing the bottle through the bars once more to her after a quick swig, he licked the taste off his lips. "I suppose it only gets less interesting from there."
"Quite. I never liked the bit about the sails."
"Remind me on that part, love."
"Oh, after the whole affair is discovered and Tristan marries the other Iseult. Tristan is wounded and only the original Iseult that he still loves can help him and sends her a message that if the ship he sends to her comes back with white sails, she's on it. If they're black sails, she's not coming back to him. Of course, it doesn't matter in the end because the other Iseult tells him they're black and he dies…as does the first Iseult…but as of late black sails seem the more appealing color." She gave him a laugh and nudged his wrist herself. Bugger. The small insignificant touch did nothing to assuage him. He only wanted more. He pressed up against the bars.
"They've always held their charms for me. Can't speak for anyone else, especially now since said 'anyone else' lies dead." Jack grinned. "I'd like to drink to that statement when you're finished there."
"Oh!" Elizabeth gave out another laugh and repeated the bottle-passing routine with him. "That'll be all for me, thank you. I have no desire to be any closer to drunk than I already am."
"Ye held out, though. More than I thought you'd drink." He closed one eye and peered into the bottle, clucking his tongue. "More than someone who believes it to be a vile drink that renders even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels."
"Well, you have a talent for remembering things said in a huff." She should stop blushing, Jack thought, leaning his head on the bars. She had to know how it made him want to guard her, rescue her from whatever she'd tell him imperiled her, and he had to know how unnecessary that protection would be. He grunted. A hanging also put a damper on any future plans, no matter how asinine they sounded.
Hours later, after waves of conversation and comfortable silence as steady as the ones supporting the Dauntless outside, Elizabeth lazily set her hand up through the bars. Yawning and fluttering her eyelashes to stay awake, she let out a deep exhale.
"Ye best be getting back to whatever quarters they gave ye, love."
"I don't want you left all alone," she sighed, the sincere whispered words stealing his breath.
"Worry about yourself, darling. At this rate, you'll only get about two hours in before we make port." Catching the hand that had slid in on his side, he clutched the fingers together and kissed the dip of her wrist.
"Sweet dreams, Jack." She propped herself back up and ascended up the steps and out of his line of sight. He closed his eyes and smiled so wide it sent a tremor coursing down his back. Horrible timing, mate, he scolded himself at the absurd thought running through his mind. Not running. Flying. It was flying at him at such a velocity it would feel like a wall of bricks when it hit him. Besides, it's only because she's the only female company you've had since Mum that ye didn't bed down in a matter of hours. Bloody hell, they hadn't even really kissed. Pulling his hat back down over his eyes, he imagined kissing her lips. Next time he would. That's right, mate. This hanging won't be the end of you. Ye got to live long enough to kiss her.