Disclaimer: If only…

Summary: You're not sulking.

Pairing: JS/ES, one-sided

Genre: Angst

Rating: K

Definitely Not:

You're not sulking.

(You don't sulk. After all, you're Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow.)

And you're not pining.

(You have nothing to pine for. Nothing at all. Less than nothing.)

Not moping either.

(No, you aren't.)

You have all that matters.

(The Pearl. A trustworthy crew. Open sea. Rum.)

You don't have any worries.

(No tentacled-monster after you or his terrifying beastie.)

And it's not as if you have sorrows.

(And it's not as if you're trying to drink them away with your rum. You're not consuming more rum than usually, not at all.)

You're not wondering about things.

(About her.)

You don't have wistful dreams at night.

(About her.)

And it's not like you lost her.

(You never had her to begin with.)

It's not like you care.

(You don't love her, much less like her.)

She had her island.

(You had your Pearl.)

She had her fish and his heart.

(And yours too, but that doesn't matter.)

But there was something about her.

(Always had been.)

First woman to reject you, she was.

(First person to murder you too, bloody pirate.)

One of the first women you loved.

(Were you on that list of hers?)

You remember the first time you met her. It's not as clear a memory in your mind as you would prefer, but you had drank a copious amount of rum, as usual, and you were very much focused on commandeering yourself a boat. And trying not to get arrested.

(Except you do remember her perfect creamy skin that you glimpsed at as you peeled the corset from her and you do remember how soft that said skin was.)

You should've paid more attention.

(But it isn't as if you knew what was to come.)

You thought her to be just another love-struck, snooty, beautiful rich girl.

(You were wrong, minus the love-struck, snooty, beautiful, and rich descriptions. Clearly, she was unique, one of a kind. And clearly, she was a woman, not a girl.)

She was young. So very young.

(Too young for the ideas that flooded your mind whenever you looked at her.)

Until she wasn't.

(But you paid no attention to the slight frown lines on her face or the barely-formed crow's feet around her eyes that suspiciously appeared only after she had sent you to your death.)

She looked up to you.

(At least for a while, until she learned that much in those tales that she heard of you were false.)

You'll never forget the way she looked at you then.

(The dimming of her brilliant eyes as she looked at you disappointedly.)

For once, you wanted to be better, different. You wanted to change who you were.

(For her, so the spark would have never diminished.)

You wanted her.

(And she saw that and used it against you. She seduced you before shackling you to the mast of your own ship just before it was attacked by the bloody Kraken. She sentenced you to your death.)

She kissed you before setting her jaw and telling you that she wasn't sorry.

(You still can't go to the damned mass without thinking of her.)

And you called her, "Pirate."

(And she forced you to fall deeper for her.)

But she still married the damn eunuch.

(And you were too cowardly to give her a reason otherwise.)

She still married the whelp, the bloody whelp.

(Even though, you know, that the bloody compass pointed to you when she held it.)

(And for you, it pointed to her.)

You gave her everything.

(Your heart, your future, your life.)

And what did she give you?

(Nothing.)

She even stole your own bloody line.

("It would've never worked out between us.")

Bloody lie, that was.

(They had much in common. Pirates, for one. Need for freedom, another. They would've worked out well. )

Once would never be enough for you.

(But it had to be.)

Maybe it was for the best that you never had her.

(No, not really.)

She would have been happier with you.

(Would she have?)

You could have lived out your own happily ever after.

(Maybe. Probably.)

(Complete with open ocean, adventures, and freedom.)

And now she's gone.

(There's no rescuing for either of you.)

And your chance, your moment has passed.

(The. End.)

You don't miss her. You're not pining for her or moping and sulking around because of her.

(Definitely not. Not at all.)

(Because after all, there is no way at all you can miss or pine or mope or sulk for something that you never once had.)

(Except, that is what you're doing though, aren't you?)