To Charles' surprise it did not take three years for the two of them to cross paths again. Well, at least he was surprised that the third time had not happened in the tavern where he frequented and she worked at. Instead, it was down by the docks, at midnight. Sometimes being on land resulted in restless sleep in him, the lack of the lull of the waves disturbed him often, the ocean was what he knew, where he loved to be, it was his home, and these sands did not offer the same feeling of belonging. So it was not an unusual sight to see Charles Vane wandering around the docks when he really should have been in bed. He just needed to see the ocean, hear the waves hitting the shore. The moon was bright and as he laid eyes on her, the pale moon made her hair seem like it was glowing, a halo of sorts around her head. It was the first time he'd seen her locks free, not pinned down on the proper lady's hairdo or the sensible way she had it up working at the tavern. As his boot met the wood of the pier, he knew she could hear him approaching, as the beach was quiet as a grave, the ocean making the only sound. Yet she did not look back to see who it was. He took the steps to reach her, she still did not look up as he stood next to her.
"What's it like, living on a ship, the hunting? I like to imagine I feels like freedom," she almost whispered the last word. Charles Vane was not a man of many words, but he could not, for some strange reason, stop himself sitting down next to her, and her shoes that were now between them, a barrier of sorts, he felt. He looked at her moonlit face, so pale and flawless. She stared at the sea, like it was the one being asked the question, instead of the man sitting beside her.
"It does," he admitted. For that was exactly what it was to him. Freedom from… so many things he did not even care to think of it. She turned her face to him, the locks of her blonde hair spilling over her shoulder, long enough to cover her breasts. She just looked at him, and for the first time in his life, Charles Vane felt like he should say something, to fill the silence, alas, he did not have to.
"I don't know what it would be like to be free. That was never my purpose," she said with a tone that could be interpreted as sadness, but that fire of determination burning in her eyes, he could not see it as such.
"Then what is your purpose, Eleanor?" he asked and he could see her shiver, from what, he was not sure of, for the sea breeze was still warm.
"To rule this place," she stated. He let out of boisterous laugh. It made her squint with ire. "You think I am not up for it," she demanded, but he shook his head.
"No, you're up for it, alright. Just the idea of a sixteen year old girl telling grown men what to do makes me laugh."
"It will happen, just wait and see," she swore, and he nodded, for he was not a dishonest man, and looking into her eyes, he had no doubt that one way or another, she would make it so, she would make this place her kingdom, by any means necessary. How long they sat there on the pier, just looking at the waves, he did not know, and he did not care to, for being there with her was like being on ship.
For weeks Eleanor tried to sleep soundly, she tried to will it but she could not, for her thoughts kept returning to that one night by the docks when no other than Charles Vane had walked to her, laughed at her, her plans. It had made her want to scream. He was infuriating. And now he was sailing the deep wide oceans and had left her with this exasperation. It had been weeks now. Weeks. How he had left such a mark of her psyche, she did not know, and perhaps didn't even want to know. She kept going through her routine, like nothing was amiss, yet she carried that laughter in her mind, feeling mildly annoyed at all times, except when she remembered the shivers that he had caused just by saying her name, with that voice of his. It made her feel desirable. Those thoughts she tried to force out of her mind and there was no better way to do that than to work around the clock, no matter how much Mr. Scott kept nagging in her ear about it. However there was one obvious downside to working where she did, for the tavern was the first place the returning crews made their way, well sometimes after the Inn… And as she saw Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny walking in, her breath caught as she knew that where those two went, Charles Vane was not far behind. This time was no exception. Just after them, he walked in, with that self-assured way of his to walk into rooms. For a second his eyes searched behind the cloud of smoke from his cigar, and quickly found what they were looking for, her. He kept his eyes fixed on her as he walked up to the counter behind his friends, or crewmates. That man didn't seem to be one for friends.
"Eleanor," was the only thing he said as they reached the counter. The shivers were back, from her scalp to her feet they travelled without her permission. Rackham cleared his throat.
"Surely Miss Guthrie would like to be addressed more formally," he said with an apologetic look on his face.
"We're on first name basis, Jack," he rasped, which warranted a look from Rackham and even Bonny turned to look at him, expressionless, however. Suddenly she wanted to say something to justify him calling her by her Christian name, something, anything, but there was nothing to say. Rackham was correct, she did like to be addressed formally, she liked these people here to show her respect, to show the kind of attitude that would be necessary for her to rule the place. Yet with him, she had offered that name freely, without hesitation, without even a thought, and after the way he acted with her.
"Join us," he more commanded than asked.
"I am working, as you surely can see, Charles," she countered. She did not respond well to commands. Rackham lifted his brow and turned slightly away from the display unfolding in front of him.
"Get someone else to do it, you own this place," he said as if that was the most obvious answer.
"Now that would be unfair toward my employees, don't you think?" she said, pouring rum to the pints, not looking at him. "But I do get off at eleven," she added, however. And answer that made her want to hit her head repeatedly to the counter to smack some sense back into her, for those words had slipped out of her mouth faster than she could have stopped them.
She glanced at him under her lashes, seeing him leaning on the counter with a smirk plastered on his stupid handsome face.
"Eleven." The word almost like a dare. And if anything, Eleanor Guthrie was always up for a challenge.
The minutes ticked by as she worked. Usually working made the days go by faster, now it seemed like the watch she kept glancing had stopped ticking entirely. Bonny, Rackham and Charles had occupied the same corner table where he had sat before, on the second time they met. She kept stealing looks, which she hated to be doing, if for nothing else, but because of the fact that Charles seemed to be looking at her at all times, so he saw her watching. And every time, the small gleeful smile appeared on his face. It made Eleanor want to groan out loud, but it also made her heart beat a bit faster. Finally it was the end of her shift, and suddenly she did not know what to do with herself. What was she even doing? Having drinks with Charles Vane, was she positively insane? Facing the bar counter, and away from the threesome sitting in the corner, she tugged her loose curls behind her ear, breathing in and out heavily. She braced herself, turned around and walked to the pirates.
As she approached, Rackham stood up, as he should with a lady in the presence. Charles Vane was not one for formalities, Eleanor knew, and was not surprised that he did not rise from his seat, but to her surprise pulled out a chair for her, next to him, and poured her a glass of rum. She picked up the glass and downed it, earning her one of those Charles Vane smiles.
"Ms. Guthrie, how nice of you to join us, I'm sure you had an exhausting day," Rackham started, in his polite manner.
"Exhausting, yet rewarding," she said with a polite smiled. "How was hunting?" she asked and Rackham started telling the tale of their hunt, yet soon she got distracted, as she noticed how close Charles' legs were to hers under the table. She turned her eyes to him only to see him already looking at her. Oh he knew exactly what he was doing. But two can play this game, she said to herself, and moved her hand ever so slightly, right next to him so their little fingers grazed against each other. Right in that moment she should have known what she was starting, and perhaps she did, but refused to acknowledge it. For that small touch, the reciprocity from her side was the final straw, as anyone assessing the past would see clearly. After that, all bets were off between them. Anything and everything could happen, and in a way later in their lives, it did. However, now in this moment they had no knowledge of what was to come and they could just sit there both enjoying the thrilling feeling that filled them, that type of feeling that promised good things, or bad, depending on who was looking, as for Jack Rackham seeing the situation unfold right under his eyes, he only saw trouble. Nothing good could come out of a pirate getting involved with a proper little English lady.
"Dear lord," Jack groaned and beside him Anne Bonny nodded.