A Big Fish

You might be a big fish
In a little pond
Doesn't mean you've won
'Cause along may come
A bigger one.

-Lost, by Coldplay-


When the earliest of morning light filled the small corner room of an ancient inn on St. Pierre, the heat was so great, so demanding, that Jack woke a full hour ahead of that which he'd even planned. He hadn't slept so well in a month, due in part to the bed which was unmoving without storms or heavy ocean swells, and also perhaps, the soft skin which had covered his throughout most of the late night.

He slowly moved from a young woman's arms, his head bobbing heavy with only the finest of French wines. His shirt and discarded breeches were in a heap on the floor beneath his bare feet, and though he struggled to get dressed in silence, he eventually felt a warm hand tracing over the notable scars and ink on his back.

"Bonjour, Capitaine…" the sweet voice beckoned as he turned with a sly grin.

"Mornin' t' you, mon amour."

She giggled at his slurred accent as he leaned back into the mattress, half covering her with his upper body. Jack planted wet, wild kisses upon her vine rich lips. His wiry dreads and soft black hair fell across her breasts, mixing with the honey yellow of her own long tresses. Her mouth consumed Jack's tongue as her arms wrapped firmly around his neck, pulling him ever closer to her fiery skin.

Between kisses he heard her offer herself to him again. "Won't you stay a while longer and collect better on your coin?"

He laughed a little and let his tongue swirl out of the heated cavern of her mouth, to trace circles on her chin and neck. Of course he didn't want to leave. This girl, like so many others before her, had captured his spirit with a simple tumble through cotton sheets. He wanted nothing more than to stay there and be ravished by her mouth and hips the rest of the day. Yet, the duty of a captain was retained.

"Wish I could, love. But the sea calls."

The young woman frowned as he sat up to return pulling his boots on. While he did, she sat up as well, pressing her sweltering, tender breasts into his spine as her arms came around to fondle the tenseness growing in his pants below again. He tried to ignore her tiny hand delving inside of the thin fabric and latching onto his oversensitive shaft. He growled at her in hazy ecstasy, but still moved her hand away gently, knowing he had to go despite the desire to stay.

He hovered over the bed, looking down upon her as he threw on his wrinkled tunic, sash, belts and finally his coat. She lay there naked upon the sheets before him, her supple figure calling out for attention, that of which he couldn't give. He smiled and leaned down over the mattress one last time, bringing his lips close to hers.

"Ye are a goddess, Marielle."

A smile lit up her face and he softly kissed it away. She lay on her side watching him from across the small room, and as he tipped his hat to take leave, the charms in his hair glistening in the early sun, she called out to him.

"Do come back someday, Jack!"

A lasting, gold-capped grin was all he could offer before sliding into the alley and shutting the door.


He walked along aimlessly through quiet, rising town. A few lingering drunks scavenged for food along the main street, small shops were opening as they swept steps and threw back windows and doors, and even a couple of wenches stood rumoring at the town's center fountain.

Jack had sworn to Gibbs and the crew that he would work on getting the needed stock and supplies before they left at noon. And while he strolled, prepared to carry out this task, he was drawn from making lists in his mind when a sudden roar of energy came from the street ahead of where he was. Echoes of shouting and the sound of bayonets being drawn interested him as he slowed to watch for whatever was coming his way.

"Lieutenant, she's come about through ere'!"

Not a full moment passed, before he saw a rushing body coming at him in the dirty street. It was a woman, her skirts raised as her small boots trampled through the dust in a full bolt out of trouble. He couldn't make out a face because her long, tangled black hair was strewn about as she ran. As the calls of officers grew louder, she tripped and fell to the ground before him, startled and in fear for her life.

"Thief! Make way!"

Jack's eyes darted from the long street way, where he heard the nearing horses, and then back down to the girl as she crawled onto her hands and knees. Her huge skirts and dangling gems and jewels were making this a struggle. He walked closer and knelt down, offering out his hand.

"Ere', let me help you. Quickly."

Her head flipped back with a mess of dark curls, and the instant his eyes came down to meet hers, he was startled. For below him, curious and scared, were the watery eyes he had never stopped imagining from the alleyway. Her mouth gaped a little, having recognized him too, and he instantly pulled her to her feet as he saw a flurry of red coats and shining firearms coming about the corner shops.

"Over here," he murmured as he hid her behind a high gate beside a closed tavern that had run thick with vines. "Don't move."

His dark eyes locked her into place as Eva stood nervously behind the iron barricade, watching him step back toward the street between the small ivy vines. She bit her lip anxiously, not sure what sort of intentions a man could have to save her from the trouble she'd brought upon herself.

Jack waited a few feet from the gate, enough to block any suspicions, tapping his boot and whistling. Moments later, a flock of six officers trampled toward him on horseback. They halted and the large, white stallions kicked up dirt in front of Jack's eyes. The man in the lead peered down at him.

"You, rogue. Have you seen a gypsy girl run by with a stolen coin bag?"

He looked down, trying his hardest not to turn and glance into the sapphire eyes he felt burning a hole in his back.

"Fraid' not gents." Jack replied solemnly with a low grin as he turned his face back up. "But if it's a pickpocket yer after, I'd place wager on er' having run an escape to th' docks."

The lead gentleman nodded swiftly and turned his horse about, demanding.

"In step, men. To the docks!"

In a storm of dust and anger, the six horses and their riding men fled toward the shore, leaving Jack watching after them with a proud smile. When all was cleared, he spun on his boot heels to find the girl again. But as he should have guessed, based merely upon the art of her supposed craft, she was long gone.


With scraped hands, weak knees and a heavy weight upon her spirit, Eva wandered silently back up the hill to her house. The bag of coins jingled with every step she made. She thought about the man who had helped her, the same man who had come across her actions in the alley the night before. It had embarrassed her a little, for him to walk upon her like that and to not have said a word, nor made a move to show face in the dark clearing.

His dark eyes had somehow made their way into her dreams, as if she'd seen or heard of them somewhere before and knew exactly what they meant. She had grown up with a fascination for the scoundrels who traveled the seas, sailors and pirates alike, but she couldn't place where she knew the design of his face from. He was frighteningly handsome, with a sense of care but also rebellion, same as she had herself. It left her swooning in her subconscious.

Her early morning lift of the coins from a merchant's cart had been to ensure her finances when she left from the docks later in the afternoon. She had spotted the perfect ship, a brooding one that loomed near the outer edge of the port, with wispy black sails and a smooth sheen of smoky oak. Eva didn't know what it was named, or who crewed it, or even who might have captained it, and she didn't particularly care. It was merely her transport elsewhere, not an everlasting home. She only needed freedom from Martinique, whether that be on the seas or new-found land.

As she came into her home through the back door, she was greeted by her dog as usual, looking for food and company. He followed her about the halls and rooms as she collected things she needed for her journey.

Her father's old tunics and breeches would suit best. She pilfered his tattered sailing hat off the wall, as well as his belt and boots from the wardrobe. Nothing about her parents' room or the rest of the house had changed since their deaths so long ago, for she had never had the heart to touch any of it. But now, it was about necessity, not sentiment.

From her mother's vanity she only took with her a fine, antique silver brush that had belonged to her grandmother in Versailles, as well as a handful of jewels and pearls she imagined she could use for barter in the future.

Once her bags were packed with fresh clothing and riches, she found an old razor from her father's shearing kit, once used on his bristly chin. She stood before the mirror, grasping at thick locks of her hair, as she cut through them. She winced slightly at the action. Her hair fell to the wood floor below her in a substantial pile as it left her neck, and left her head in only a shortly cropped black mess.

"The son you never had, dearest Papa." She giggled and dusted out all of the loose strands of hair until she looked as though she were a lonely, beggar's son in the reflecting glass.

With a basin and warm water, she also took to removing all of the smeared paint across her eyes, and the blush on each of her cheeks, as well as the lipstick dabbed upon her mouth. Her face was plain, innocent looking, and hardly that of any woman's she'd ever seen when she was finished.

She changed out of her heavy skirts and draping trinkets. A cloth wrap bound across both of her breasts tied them down inconspicuously, and she pulled on a dirty pair of brown pants and a cream colored tunic. They were comfortable, more so than her own clothes usually were. She smiled once more in the mirror before tugging on the boots and grabbing her bags to head back downstairs.

"Come on, Dill."

The dog followed her as she left the house, walking loyally by her side all the way back into town and down the road toward the docks. Eva watched each of the ships being loaded for leave, but kept her eyes pinned on the darkest of them all, settled the farthest off, almost in secrecy. Nothing was being loaded onto it yet, but a large group of rowdy men stood around its dock, talking and going over some sort of checklist.

She saw an older man shouting out orders. She smiled confidently as she approached him, Dill on her heels. He looked up as she came in to stand beside him.

"Hello," she coughed to find the right tone, a more boyish one. "Sir."

"Lad…?" He asked curiously.

"Is this your ship, sir?"

Gibbs glanced down the docks and circled the scene of the Pearl, then tilted his head back.

"I be first mate, o' this ship. Why?"

"You must have lost some men to the town overnight. Yes?"

Gibbs nodded slowly, looking down at his stock papers again.

"A few, boy. Why do you ask?"

"I would like to join on your crew."

"Would ye now?" His ears perked at this, knowing full well that they needed as many extra hands as they could be given. He held the smaller boys' gaze. "Could always use an adventuresome young sprout, such as yerself. Ave' any experience at sea?"

Gibbs stepped away to examine a few barrels, and Eva followed his movement.

"Not at sea, no. But I shall be a fast learner at any necessary tasks you have to offer."

"Hm."

He thought about it as he glanced to the stock house in search of Jack. He didn't see him though and turned back to the young boy before him.

"What's yer name, lad?"

Here she hesitated, fidgeting a little with her shirt and bag until she spoke up proudly.

"I'm Elijah, sir. Elijah Marley."

"Elijah eh…" he looked her up and down as though it were to test the strength in her arms rather than the reasons most men usually did. "…well, if ye think ye can handle a mop."

"Oh yes, sir!"

"And this mutt? Is he yours?"

She glanced down at Dill who sat curled in the dirt, scratching his ears. Laughing a little under her breath she knelt down to pet him, still looking up at Gibbs.

"This is Dill. He's friendly, I assure you. Wouldn't hurt a flea."

Gibbs smiled crookedly, having always had a secret soft spot for babies and dogs. He wasn't sure what Jack would make of a dog being on board, but he figured it would be good company for all of the men and nodded his approval. Eva, or in his mark Elijah, stood and began walking towards the ship.

"We make sail when th' ships loaded, lad. Make yerself useful till then."

"Aye!" she saluted back and rushed on board to help the other men, with Dill scurrying behind her.


Jack had left the duties of the ship to his crew, although he had made good on his promise of doubling the hold of rum this leg of their journeying. He was also providing them with the necessary materials to renew their hammocks below deck. And for this, they were pleased enough to see him wander back into town without his help on board.

He spent much of the morning in a merchant's office, bartering off precious gems of all shapes, sizes, and hues, for fresh bed linens for his cabin, crates of candles and clean wicks, as well as newer hand-sewn shirts and breeches.

Sometime during the business of trading at the shop, he found himself unable to dispel the thoughts of seeing the color blue again, ocean blue of course. It wasn't so much the waves and salt spray of a deep sea storm, as much as he needed to find the girl who seemed to encompass those rare feelings all within her glowing eyes. Whoever she was, why ever she ran off without thanking him, she had hooked something foul and readily unmarked in him.

Jack glanced down at the counter where laid his pile of payment in jewels. Amid the emeralds and rubies settled, he saw a single sapphire charm dancing in the faint sunlight of the shop. He sighed, lifting it out for safe keeping as he replaced it with another of the boring colored gems, and placed the cobalt stone in the pocket of his coat to admire later on.

"Payment fair and in full sir. Your packages," the merchant waved to the floor and counter that held stacks of his things.

"Merci, monsieur La Barré."

He nodded with a smirk as he clasped his hands together in a bow and turned out of the shop. His young apprentice for the day, a new lad named Jeremiah, was close on his heels with the purchases.

"Venez encore, Capitaine Sparrow. Anytime you need." The older man shouted before the bell on the door jingled closed again.

They wandered back to the ship, the boy following Jack like a dog, his arms wide and weak in a struggle to not drop anything. Once at to the Pearl's docking planks, he sent Jeremiah off to store the goods in his cabin, while he began to set orders on board. The men were scattered across the pier and in a production line on the gangplank as he wiggled by. He patted a few of them on the back with shouts of encouragement, and more still with disgust.

"Seize off that netting. We ave' no use for more!"

"Keep t' the rigging! Moor it along t' salvage its bits, ye foul lub!"

"Marty, deck needs a proper scrub. Step to, man!"

All of these commands and more were met with enthusiasm as fifty men ran to their given duties. They loaded barrels of rum and fresh water, crates stacked to the nines with the healthiest, most exotic looking fish, fruit and poultry. A few small goats were lifted aboard and taken below one by one, as well as the new linen for the necessary patchwork on the sails to be done.

He had kept all made promises, and so it was indeed a surprise to both Jack and the rest of the crew when the ship lost two of its finer, stronger sailors. The first, Bartholomew, was jumping ship in St. Pierre for his own personal devotion to better health and pleasure. Jack had graciously left him with a bag of coin and a proud tip of his hat at the tavern the night before. It was not the sort of life he would ever have chosen for himself, to wrestle with the feminine psyche on land until the end of his long days. But he respected the romantic older man just the same.

The second to toss off was a young but equally determined pirate the crew had named Squalid Pete. And on rare, overly induced occasions, Meek Petey. It was a brand he had so won on account of his submissive attitude towards all aspects of the Pearl and especially its rowdy crew. The rumors fluttered about between the crazed, desperate men on board, as to who indeed would be the first and last to take advantage of the young man. And so Pete left with his secret, one Jack felt sure he knew but never divulged to another on ship. His offering of respectful stipend did not even come close to matching that of Bart's. Not that it mattered.

As Jack shifted across the deck to meet his first mate at the bow, he sighed at how long it had already taken to load the galley. High noon had regrettably come and gone.

"Wot' is the number, Gibbs?"

"Crew sir?"

Jack nodded and twisted his fingers about the rail in front of them, glancing out on the hospitable little town, thinking about a pair of lips that tasted like fine wine. And then a set of stony blue-water eyes.

"We're t' be leavin' with only three new men than we arrived with."

His eyes shifted to the older man with a surprised expression. It meant he had gained one.

"Ye don't say. An' names?"

"Well, there be a set o' strong men who offered themselves outside o' the inn early as could be stirred. Jonah an' Nicolas. "

He glanced across the deck, already having spotted the two men in question. Without looking back at his first mate and best friend, he pushed on.

"And a 'fird?"

"Aye Capn', a young lad, sprightly and eager t' be sure. A dark little boy wit' a half weakened spirit, but sure mind no doubt. Just cross' there."

The two shifted their eyes toward the figure of the small boy. Jack knew immediately that he couldn't be more than sixteen at best, with his obviously fragile, almost feminine state. His clothes were without a single doubt his father's at the rate to which they covered half of his hands. And just as Gibbs had so professed, from under a tattered brown hat, brushing the nape of his slender almost soft neck, was a crop of choppy black hair. He hated to admit his sudden intrigue, or the irrepressible thoughts that often flowered in moments like these, in his confused mind.

He was however glad to have a replacement of some kind for Pete and Bart, whether the boy was a third their sizes or not. He was so interested in fact, that he hardly noticed his mates' ongoing speech.

"…twas' only half promising on th' matter o' sailing, yet said e' was ready and determined to learn at the' hands o' pirates."

"Not a might bit afraid then, eh?" Jack cackled over his shoulder as he took a step toward the boy. It was impossible for him not to stare at the turned creature for some reason.

"Figured we could use a deck and' or at least a new tend in th' brig."

Jack smirked and twirled his hand on his belt with an odd glow in his eye. "Indeed. I trust ye to bring the little lad up t' speed, Master Gibbs."

"Yes, Capn'!"

"Good man."

He never looked back at Gibbs. Jack made a swift move across the deck, just brushing the backside of the boy as he shuffled to his cabin. His thigh slid over the unbearably, uncommonly soft mound of the lad's bottom and left Jack in a strange sort of swell when he finally made it inside and safe against the door.

It would be difficult to deal with having something so delicate on deck during the grueling, sweltering days. It had been back there always, those repressed memories and thoughts that destroyed him when at sea, away from women. He only hoped the crew would contain themselves as he felt he would need to in time.

His head was rushing as he stammered off to his charting table, forcing himself to instead find some comfort in the ever plaguing thought of those rich indigo eyes and hiked knickers in the dark.