Author's Note: This is an alternative to "Respite", a prequel to "Aftermath" and the last of these "His World's End" that I'll be writing. Keep an eye out for the sequel series "Amaranthine". Thanks for reading these ficlets! I immensely enjoy the feedback and I hope a lot of you come over to Amaranthine with me.
Summary: Jack needs to escape because he knows deep down, that what he's doing is wrong. And when she comes to find him, he realises just how wrong it is. [JE.
His World's End
Escape
Jack sat with his bare feet dangling in the cold lapping water as he stared out at the open sea. Shipwreck City didn't have many piers outside the cove's walls and Jack was lucky to find one of the empty ones; most of the ships had docked within the fortress.
He'd slipped out of the meeting of the Brethren Court and found his idyllic hideout that he'd discovered many years before. The dock was basically dilapidated; the rotting wood was sodden and smelled of dampness and moss.
He wasn't sure how long exactly he'd been perched there but he'd guess from the height of the moon that it had been two hours at least. The moon had chased the sun from the sky and was glowing amber in the dominant orbs afterglow, Venus shining astonishingly to the left of the burning sliver. The horizon's sky was iridescent, almost rainbow like: blazing orange on the water's edge, fading yellow to pink, melting into violet and an endless indigo that was sprinkled with stardust. He'd watched as a myriad of other ships had flocked to the pirate fortress, black against the setting sun, stunning as they emerged – full canvas – from the mist the twilight always seemed to create around the surrounding islands. The last of one had passed not so many minutes ago, the ripples from its approach dissolving against the rocky outcrop, leaving the sea mirror-like in its tranquillity. He could see the reflections of the burnt orange moon and shining Venus on the obsidian like sea and he felt comforted by their familiarity.
He'd come here to escape the stifling atmosphere of the proceedings in the Brethren Court, mot of which revolved around a certain pirate lord owing all the other pirate lords money.
He found it ironic that they were bickering over money when it was most likely they would all die tomorrow and not be able to use it.
He slapped his feet against the surface of the water and watched as the ripples extended out until they disappeared into the distance.
He loved nights like this, where his only company was himself. It was strange, however, that in Davy Jones' locker – a hell as individual as each person – his idea of hell was himself. It made sense, after he'd thought about it, because he knew he was his own worst enemy, victim of his own legend. When he'd been in Davy Jones' locker his thoughts had plagued him, memories haunted him and visions taunted him.
But here, in his self-imposed onesies, he worshipped his thoughts, devoted time to sorting through them. In the locker, he'd thought he'd have eternity to ponder and reconcile but now with the impending war, any moment to think was one to be grasped and savoured.
Jack Sparrow was not a likeable man, he'd admit. He'd spent a good part of his life on the wrong side of the law, fleeing trouble and running from fights. There wasn't much in his life that the average person would be proud of but to him, he had all he needed – his ship, his life and as loyal a crew as a pirate could command.
They'd even come to world's end for him.
He pursed his lips and blew hot air through his nostrils. He was angry, it was obvious. It had played second fiddle to all his other thoughts but his momentary escape afforded him the opportunity to delve deeper and seethe quietly in the recesses of his mind.
"Jack?"
He closed his eyes and let out an agonised sigh that quickly turned to a groan as he banged his head against a mooring post. He hadn't been alone with Miss Swann since they were back in Jones' locker and he'd sort of hoped it would have been the last. He'd enjoyed her company once but now the vision of her face brought back memories of her betrayal, of being eaten by that beastie and his countless time spent in Jones' locker.
Maybe, if he closed his eyes and wished hard enough and long enough, she would just disappear.
He found it strange that he hadn't heard her approach but was now acutely aware of her every breath and he was sure that if he really concentrated, he'd hear her hair blowing in the wind.
"I know you can hear me Jack."
He half smirked to himself as he leaned back on his elbows and tilted his head back to look at her, slowly opening his eyes as he did so. Even upside down he couldn't mistake her frown for a smile.
"Ah! Captain Swann," he drawled, feeling his voice crack slightly from under-use. He met her eyes and his smirk returned. "However did you find me out here all by your onesies?"
He sat up as she moved around him and propped herself on the dock next to him.
"It wasn't hard really." He raised his eyebrows in question. His eyes trawled over her face and he marvelled at the differences he saw there since the short time he'd seen her last. "I just followed the smell of sweat and rum and it led me here."
He barked out a laugh at that.
"Love," he chuckled as his hand reached out and twirled a loose strand of her hair between his fingers. He saw her eyes narrow and he smirked triumphantly, before letting it drop back into place. "You're in a pirate fortress, darlin', that could have led you anywhere." He emphasised his words with a flick of his wrist and a dance of his fingers.
"No one here smells quite as bad as you."
Jack pretended to look offended as he raised his arm and sniffed. He crinkled his nose in distaste before shrugging.
"What can I say love? Pirate." He sniffed the air around her and pulled his head back and scrunched his face. "That's my excuse but what's yours?" Her eyes widened in indignation and he sneered unkindly.
"I'll have you know that I bathed on my way here!"
Jack grinned at her cockily before he looked back to the yellow twilight, glancing sceptically at her from the corner of his eye.
"Bath or no, you still stink." He paused for a few moments, marvelling once more at the beauty of the disappearing daylight. Truth be told, the scent was far from unpleasant. From a distance it mingled with the salty sea air and affected Jack's senses more than he'd care to admit. "I'll bet you enjoyed having Sao-Feng's maids fawning over you, preparing you for the Brethren Court. Bet it reminded you of the gold old days back in Port Royal."
The words slipped out before he had a chance to analyse them in his head and he almost cringed at them. He didn't need to look at her to know she was glaring at him; the heat of her stare was burning the skin on the side of his face.
"That's not fair, Jack," she retorted hotly, her molten eyes never leaving his face. "I've proven myself to be a good pirate and-"
"Ah yes," he interrupted, his words coming out almost mystical. He loved how she always seemed eager to hear his words. He felt the bitter taste of resentment in the back of his throat and he swallowed it down. "So you have… only the good pirates shackle their captain to a ship and leave them to die." He kept his voice calm as though he was recalling a story from a book and not something that had happened to him not so very long ago.
It both angered and confused him that when he looked at her, he didn't want to kill her. In fact, he was pretty sure there were plenty of other things he could think about doing to her.
"Jack…" he heard her breathe out and he turned to her. "I'm so-"
"Don't apologise," he interrupted again and gazed at her thoughtfully until he couldn't tolerate it anymore and glanced away. "We both know you don't mean it," he continued and ducked his head to look at his nails.
He could feel her staring at him again and he turned his eyes to her, his face devoid of emotion. It was a look he had perfected years before when… well, way back when. He knew that the look was haunting, he'd been told that a few times. He saw her eyes crinkle slightly at the edges as she turned away form him. He couldn't even bring himself to smile victoriously.
("I'm not sorry.")
He felt his heart constrict at the memory and he too flinched as he looked away from her face. He didn't understand why his heart was hurt by the memory and he certainly didn't like it.
"At the time I wasn't. The Kraken was after you not us or the ship. I… I thought you would just die not…" She breathed deeply and Jack bit his lower lip for a moment before turning his head to face the other direction. Silence enveloped them and Jack let out a slow steady breath.
He felt entirely too maudlin and didn't like the fact that he'd given up taunting her so easily – that was not the Jack Sparrow way but he just didn't have the energy. Now that he'd stopped moving, even only for a little while, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and sleep until the waves carried him away. And her presence wasn't helping. He had come down to the pier in hopes of escaping, of running away from the things he shouldn't be – after all, that's what he was renowned for.
"How did you find this place?" He turned to her with a frown on his face. "It's beautiful."
"I think the question is Miss Swann, how did you find this place?"
He saw her smile at him slightly and he wondered suddenly if she thought he'd forgiven her.
He wasn't sure that he ever would.
"Mister Gibbs saw you come this way."
Jack pursed his lips and nodded. He'd seen someone in the shadows relieving themselves when he'd left but he hadn't paid it much attention. Now he wished he had. Mister Gibbs was of the opinion that Jack should speak to Elizabeth, if not forgive her entirely. If Jack had known it was Gibbs he'd have given the scabrous dog not to tell anyone where he'd gone.
"Did he now?" Jack nodded to himself, knowing he was going to have to have a word in the ear of his first mate. "And why, pray tell, were you looking for ol' Jack in the first place?" He asked with a curious glance in her direction, his usual lilt returning to his voice. He was sure he only imagined how forced it sounded. He watched her open her mouth before she looked away embarrassed, a blush rising up her face.
"I… I don't know," she finally murmured, her face hidden in the deepening dusk, the loose tendrils of hair around her face catching in the gentle breeze. Jack checked himself for staring at her and moistened his lips as he looked away.
You're full of it, old man. What are you thinking?
But that was it, though; he wasn't thinking, even as he shifted closer to her and heard the wood beneath him creak in protest. He stilled and stared at it dubiously. When it stopped, he leaned his upper body closer and murmured into her ear;
"You just got curious when you noticed my absence eh?" He ignored the little voice in his head taunting him about his use of the word 'curiosity', instead he focussed on her slowly narrowing eyes, ignoring the feather light brush of her hair against his cheek as she nodded. "Took you long enough to realise I was gone."
Why does it bother you so much that she might not have noticed straight away, Jackie?
He shook his head, his trinkets jingling with the motion.
"I actually noticed straight away – I saw you slip out the door." She met his eyes for a second before he looked away. He was surprised by that. He'd made a point of being very far away from her for essentially the whole night following his voting her the Pirate King. Well, not just her but Teague and Barbossa too who had taken to sending curious glances his way whenever they could. Avoiding them had made his night indescribably difficult because they had situated themselves at various points around the room making it insanely difficult for Jack to avoid them all at the same time. "I just couldn't get away. Being Pirate King means I have to listen to every single quarrel the brethren have." She had a smirk on her face that looked suspiciously like she'd stolen it from one of the pirate lord's she was complaining about.
"You're welcome," he smirked back at her, tongue in cheek.
He didn't want to admit that he felt a little guilty about selling out the pirates but to him, the prize at the end was worth it: who in their right minds would come after the ruler of the sea? The immortal Jack Sparrow, only a stab of a heart away. He thought it was a fair deal; the seas were a dangerous place now that Beckett controlled Jones' heart. There was no question in Jack's mind that Jones should be killed and Jack was more than happy to fill the position.
I mean really, Jackie, how hard can it be to transport a few souls, eh?
He nodded to himself.
He really had thought it through. Jack had no earthly bonds to another living soul – expect, perhaps, the Pearl – so cutting out his heart and living for ten years at sea with one day ashore was really not too much hassle. As for the rum; well, he'd have a crew who could go ashore at any time and he was sure the Dutchman had a large store. And if it didn't, it would when he would be finished with it.
But the Captain and the Dutchman have a duty, you can't just ignore that.
He growled.
He hated when his conscience reared its ugly head. It didn't happen often, granted, but when it did it poked holes in his otherwise perfect pirate-y plans.
"I really mean it, Jack."
He started at the sound of her voice, jumping slightly. It felt strange for him to be surprised. He wasn't usually so tied up in his thoughts that forgot a person was there, let alone a person who was her.
"Really mean what, love?" He asked, his usual slur tainting his words.
She sighed in frustration and he grinned impishly. He loved aggravating her and took great pride in his efforts when they worked. He shifted closer to her again; so close, in fact, that their shoulders were almost brushing.
He tried to ignore the slight hitch in his breathing; instead, he concentrated on the horizon once again. He loved looking into the distance, wondering what was over there beyond what the eye could see. It was strange though, that tonight his thoughts were on what was there, right beside him.
"For trusting in me." He frowned and pursed his lips. What the blazes was she talking about? She rolled her eyes. "For making me pirate king."
He formed an 'o' with his lips and nodded. He shrugged and his skin burned as his shoulder moved up and down against hers. He closed his eyes and glanced away for a moment. Stars glistened brightly in the unpolluted sky. Jack loved the night sky almost as much as he loved the sea. He'd spent years as a boy on his back staring endlessly up to the heavens. It had done him a world of good, too. Being a seaman not only meant knowing the sea but the skies above too. A man could always distinguish his whereabouts in this shrinking world so long as he could read the stars.
It was another thing he'd missed while he'd been cooped up in the Locker.
He heaved a sigh and spread his arms wide in hopes of dislodging his maudlin mood.
"And to think, we most likely won't live to see another night like this… Makes it that bit more special don't you think?" He frowned as the words passed his lips in nothing but a soft, low whisper that spoke volumes about his inner turmoil.
He turned to Elizabeth as she turned to him and their eyes met, ablaze with raw fear and passion. He half smiled as his eyes darted to her lips. He slid his arm casually across her shoulder and thanked whoever was listening that she didn't shrug him off.
He needed to be with someone.
He was more than surprised – as though her allowing him to touch her wasn't surprise enough – when she shuffled closer to him and ducked her head against his chest.
He watched her for a moment of startled confusion before tightening his hold on her and sighing evanescently into the air.
"I'm scared, Jack," she murmured, her voice just as – if not more – quiet than Jack's had been moments before.
He'd known she would be – hell there was no man alive who wouldn't be. The thought of facing the might of the East India Trading Company and the British Navy had been plaguing Jack with its daunting sense of finality for the last few hours. Even the unflappable Jack Sparrow would admit that it seemed fruitless.
"I know… me too," he murmured in reply, surprising them both.
He cursed himself, his conscience, the good man inside of him for making his lips so loose around her. He hated that she knew him so well as she did. It frustrated him beyond words that her presence disrupted his brain – heart? – function. She turned to him and he tried to keep his impassive gaze locked on the horizon but he turned to her and glanced over her face before forcing himself to turn away again.
"I hardly know you, Jack," she murmured after long minutes of contemplative silence.
He turned to her with an amused frown on his face, his lips quirking up at the edges. He saw her eyes dart to them and unconsciously moistened them with his tongue.
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, luv… the story practically tells itself."
He tried to tell himself that the hint of self-loathing in his voice was entirely an act of his overactive imagination.
Silence descended once again, during which Elizabeth shuffled and placed her hand innocently on his thigh. He eyed her and the hand with deep rooted scepticism and intrigue. He watched as her index finger gently stroked the muscle above his knee. He trained his vision on a point out at sea, gulped and flexed his jaw.
"I don't know," she whispered, her hot breath washing over his hand. "I think there's a man beneath the legend… a good man." He gulped as she flexed her fingers and slid them higher up his thigh. The feel of her slender fingers was doing terrible things to his self control. Gently, he flattened her hand with his own and gripped her fingers between his.
He smirked as he turned his dark eyes to her and nodded.
"Why do you think I wanna live forever, eh?"
He watched the smile form on her lips as she turned towards him, her body twisting to face his, one leg tucked up to her chest, the other dangling over the edge in a most unladylike fashion. He tried to stop his eyes wandering her body, taking in her lithe figure that was mostly – unfortunately? – consumed within her ridiculous attire. She somehow managed to free her hand and her gentle, almost soothing ministrations continued, even doubled. It was only when her small hand crept higher up his thighs that he managed to compose himself long enough to grasp her two hands in his, pulling them to his chest.
"You don't want to be doing that, love," he murmured quietly, his eyes never leaving hers as he pulled her up with him.
Her eyes dipped to his lips and, unconsciously, he wetted them and tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, almost drawing blood against his desire to lean down and capture her lips.
"I won't have time to regret it…" she rasped out, her bottom lips pouting at him, teasing him with its sensuality and he leaned even further into her.
"You want to know what it tastes like," he whispered evanescently in wonderment. His breath pooled over her face and he watched as she nodded and closed her eyes slowly, drawing ever closer to him.
Every fibre in him screamed at him to stop, to pull back, get out because he was without a doubt going to regret this insanely stupid decision at some point in his – perhaps soon to be over – life. He opened his mouth to protest but when he did he found her tongue probing his mouth already, her lips melding with his.
And that was it for him.
He wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her to him tightly, almost smothering her. His hand slid into her hair, gripping the long strands and freeing them from their band. He heard her moan into his mouth and it sent waves of warmth throughout his body. He groaned as he pulled back from her and watched as a myriad of emotions swept across her face, regret not present amongst them.
His eyed ravaged her face, her puffed lips, her mussed hair. He drew his hand from the back of her head down her neck and slowly began to slide the unbuttoned jacket from her body. He watched her face closely for any signs that he should stop but he saw none. Carefully, tentatively, he eased her arms from their restriction and almost instantly her arms circled his neck, drawing him to her, simultaneously pushing him against one of the rotting posts.
All rationality left him then. Caution was thrown to the wind and he grabbed her by the thighs and wrapped them around his waist. He felt a breeze on his head as she tossed his hat aside, felt the blood pound around his body as her hands fumbled with his jacket. It caught on her legs but he couldn't bring himself to put her down to rid himself of the garment. He spun them and pushed her against the post, not hearing the creaks of protest from the wood. He shuffled and shrugged his hands free of his coat. He took the opportunity to observe the simple white shift. His arousal grew as his eyes swept over her breasts. Her hardened nipples poked against the thin material demanding to be touched. He complied, his fingers seeking out the nub and pinching it. She squealed slightly, startled and he groaned as excitement passed over her face. Her eyes opened and caught his, dark and endless like the falling night. He opened his mouth to say something but words failed him; instead, he ducked his lips to her neck and placed hot, open mouthed kisses there, nipping at her collarbone.
He urged her legs from his body and placed himself between them, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. He felt her pull away slightly and he murmured quiet words of reassurance against her soft, tanned skin.
He didn't think he'd ever wanted someone as badly as he wanted her at that moment. Driven by a passion he thought had been quelled when she'd killed him, they fought against one another, dancing around one another's body's like the most familiar of old partners. He'd never experienced the gentle feel of another against him such as this. Gentle uncertainty betrayed her wanton passionate touches, paradoxical to the end but oh so enjoyable.
He forgot, in that moment, everything: who he was; who she was; what they meant to each other – to other people. It was this thought of her absent fiancé that drew him away from her, leaving them both wanting and unsatisfied.
"We shouldn't be doing this."
She snapped her eyes open and stared at him incredulously, anger and shame tinting her cheeks and neck a rosy red.
"What?" She snapped and took a step back from him as though disgusted. He rolled his eyes at that.
The fog that had surrounded his head began to lift leaving him clear headed and hateful once again. Anger rose within him though at whom it was directed he couldn't say. Himself, for letting her so close to him again or her for even thinking of coming this close to him. He shrugged and turned away from her, picking up his jacket and dusting it off with forced nonchalance. Inside, his heart was still racing, his lips stung from the ferocity of her kiss and his thoughts were scattering so quickly that his mind was resembling Davy Jones' empty locker more and more. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes before turning back to her.
"This was a bad idea," he said coldly and to the back of her head.
He tried not to think about the way her shoulders shook or her breaths were coming out uneven in the cooling air. He resisted the almost irrepressible urge to reach out and gather her to him.
What the hell is wrong with you, Jack?
"I don't understand you Jack…"
He didn't respond to that and when long minutes passed where neither of them spoke and dark clouds began to gather over their sanctuary, he straightened himself and shrugged off the remaining urges to grab her and take her for himself.
"I'm going back in to get some sleep. I suggest you should too, your Highness."
He didn't wait for a reply before he made his way back into the bustling streets of Shipwreck City. He bumped into a few sailors that he'd known throughout his years on the sea but he did not stop to parley or drink. All he wanted to do was get to the relative peace of his quarters on the deck of the Black Pearl where he could partake in any number of un-gentlemanly deeds he deemed fit.
"I know you wanted that just as much as I did, Jack Sparrow!" He stopped abruptly and froze, his eyes almost popping from his head. Slowly, he turned back, feeling entirely too self-conscious in the suddenly hushed street. His eyes scanned the crowd and then he saw her, her hands on her hips, her long coat thrown haphazardly across her shoulders, her hair still a mess from their tryst. The look in her eye was dangerous and Jack could only gulp. He watched as she quirked an eyebrow at him and a smirk grew across her face. "What, Jack? Can't you do as your King commands?"
He opened his mouth but thought better of it. Instead, he stalked towards her with long, wide steps. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and dragged her with him to the stairwell. He doesn't acknowledge her as she squirms in his grasp, doesn't listen to her demands to let her go. He pulled her up the stair and tossed her into his quarters which, conveniently enough are at the top of the stair.
"Jack! What the hell do you think you're doing?" She screeched when he slammed the door shut and leaned against it, his eyes staring at her dangerously.
"Don't think you can intimidate me, Miss Swann. I will only hurt you." He saw her visibly recoil and he smirked triumphantly. "Do you want to know why I don't want you?" He eyed her with scrutinising eyes. "Besides the obvious," he sneered and watched as her eyes narrowed. He didn't wait for a reply of any kind before he leaned closer to her, forcing her to step back. "You killed me, Miss Swann, or have we forgotten?"
"We both know that I did the right thing," she murmured darkly, her eyes black like the night sea.
He didn't say anything for a while as his eyes searched hers. She has taken a step closer to him and he can smell the lavender scent from earlier. He took a step away from the door and into her personal space and he saw her start.
"Then why'd you come rescue ol' Jack then, eh?"
She didn't break eye contact with him but he saw her expression soften, the tight line of her lips relaxing. He wants to feel them on his again.
No.
"I... I felt guilty."
He steps back from her then and points at her with his leather bound hand.
"Then you know, deep down, that what you did was wrong."
She closed her eyes, her long lashes falling on her cheeks. He watched as she bit her lip and he can feel something stirring inside him, something ugly and unnameable. He pushes the unfamiliar feeling away.
"Why don't you want me?" He frowned at the unexpected turn of events and smiled almost comically. That wasn't the retort he'd expected. "It doesn't matter…" she murmured and swept past him. He caught the look of intense vulnerability in her features as she glides past him. His hand is on the door forcing it shut before his brain can process the action.
He urges her body round and pins her to the door with an arm on either side of her stunned face.
"Oh, I want you." His voice is hoarse and nought more than a scarce whisper in the sudden silence in the room. "I want to know what it tastes like…" he trails his hand across her shoulder, up her neck, cradling her jaw in his rough, calloused hands. "What it reallytastes like, without the burden of death, or guilt looming in the balance."
"Jack…" Her lips brushed against his clavicle and he hissed at the contact, the walls of Shipwreck Cove whispering secrets to themselves as the wooden floor beneath them rocked slightly with the waves.
"Tell me…" he murmured as he closes his eyes, his lips grazing her closed eyelids. Her hands slide up his back, into his hair and he arches into her fingers, wherever they go. "Tell me you want this…" He doesn't think he'll be able to handle it if she says she doesn't.
Her lips suck the pulse point on his neck and she doesn't need to speak. He knows her answer.
--
A strange sense of déjà vu washes over Jack as he sits with his feet dangling in the lapping water. Dawn is breaking on the horizon, the sun chasing away the dark recesses of the eventful night. A cool breeze brushes against his still heated skin and he can't help but shudder.
When he'd awoken, warm and sated in bed with the slender figure of his murderess wrapped around his body he'd felt the undying need to leave. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he'd dressed and left, finding himself travelling a well worn journey to the same pier he'd come to hours before to escape.
It was little wonder that he'd returned here; it offered the weary traveller peace and quiet from his travels, a place to unwind and contemplate the days – if not their life's – events. It was the latter that occupied Jack's mind, as well as the former. Images passed slowly in front of his eyelids as he recalled the events of the past hours: her skin against his, warm and sweaty and oh so sweet; the feel of her purity wrapped around him, warming and welcoming and feeling so undeniably like home that he'd almost murmured words he knew that he could not mean.
He looked to his wrist and saw the lace wrapped around there and his thoughts automatically rewound until he could see her face: the woman he thought held his heart for many years. The lace served as a memory and also a mask, covering scars on his wrist and mind that he'd shown no one. Scars that pained him to remember but more so to forget.
Behind him, he can hear the City awaken and it rouses him from his remoteness. He looked around and saw the rocks lighten with the sky, the crystals glinting in the soft orange glow. Sometimes he missed this place, the beauty of it. It was strange, however, that he only ever missed it while he was there. The rest of the time, he remembered why he didn't return.
He heard light footfalls behind him and he turned to see the woman he'd left that morning leaning against the wall of the archway that lead to his sanctuary. He hadn't expected her to come find him, let alone with such calmness or tranquillity ebbing from her.
He caught her eye and studied her closely but she bore no hint of resentment. He hinted at a smile and she returned it tentatively.
"It's time to go, Jack," she whispered, the wind carrying her words to him.
He nodded once and turned to take in the view before him. He knows that it is more than likely the last time he will be able to enjoy this tranquillity, this beauty that has helped him through so many years. He sighs heavily and pulls himself up, grabbing his hat that he'd left the night before and tucking it snugly onto his head.
He stops in front of her when she doesn't move and they stare at one another. He finds that he can't think of anything to say, except those indomitable words from earlier.
"Thank you, Jack," she whispers softly and smiles at him almost shyly.
He feels something inside of him restrict and he gulps down the sudden, inconvenient lump in his throat.
He shakes his head as he touches her elbow, succumbing to his need to touch her just one more time.
"No, thank you."
They stare at one another for a few more moments before he gestures that they should perhaps get going. She nods and begins to move again and Jack feels a slight tug on his hand as she does so. He looks down at the same time she does and finds that they've somehow connected their hands. They glance at one another and that's all it takes. His lips are on hers, though not roughly or hastily but slow, passionately, almost loving.
They separate slowly, their breaths mingling and he rests his forehead against hers.
"We should go." He nods against her and closes his eyes.
"You go. I'll catch up."
He realises that he won't be able to leave with her because if he does, they won't leave. He knows that almost certain death is imminent when they step foot on the Black Pearl and that isn't something he wants to think about when he is with her because he won't be able to let her go. He knows the chances of him getting aboard the Dutchman are slim at best.
She's gone before he knows it and he takes a few minutes to collect himself, to reinstate his mask. He sighs one last time before he moves.
He doesn't allow himself to think about what will happen if his plan works. Of what might happen to her because then he might not be able to live with himself forever.
Because maybe he won't be able to escape it.