A/N: Thank you very much for all the reviews:)
Disclaimer: I don't own POTC (which I'm sure you can tell, after having seen AWE...)
Chapter 2
How would it be to have a new life? Completely new, a white sheet of paper on which he could write whatever he wanted, but this time more carefully, more cautiously, more wisely, more deliberately... Or perhaps not. Perhaps he would follow his old paths, changing nothing.
But then again, there were few things he would change, if he was only given a chance.
Jack tossed and turned on the bed, in one of Tortuga's best inns. What would he change, then? What would you change, mate? Somehow he could not concentrate, and it annoyed him, almost as much as the fact that he could not sleep.
It was the third sleepless night in a row, and he was tired of his own musings. He was tired of thinking. He pulled a pillow from under his head, and pressed it to his face. Why he could not sleep?! He threw the pillow on the floor, and sat up in the bed, resting his head against the wall behind him.
The things he would have changed if he could included: 1) kicking his father's shin for telling him (he was twelve years old at that time), that... Well, actually he could not remember what it was that his father had told him. But never mind. If he could change that, he would not have kicked him no matter what it was that he had said. 2) giving up the headings to Isla de Muerta to Barbossa. Right. Certainly this. 3) (if somehow he would have given said headings after all, and the story would have proceeded as before) drinking too much rum on that little island...
Jack stared at the dark window in the room.
Yes. And instead he would have just pulled her towards him, and kissed her until she would have gone insane...
It was probable, however, that she would have slapped him long before going insane... Yes, and then...
Why on earth he was thinking about her?! He threw himself on the bed, and closed his eyes, determined to fall asleep, pulling the cover over his head. She had killed him; she had kissed him; she had rescued him; she had killed him; she had said he was a good man; she had married the whelp; she had kissed him; she had killed him... Jack threw the cover on the floor.
Now... if he could meet her again, but meet her again and for the first time simultaneously... Would he have done something differently? And what would he actually do? What would he say?
Not possible, he muttered.
Not probable, he thought, eventually falling asleep.
Elizabeth sat in the armchair, staring at the chest. Everytime she looked at it, she felt lonely and guilty. Lonely because she was, in fact, alone; and guilty because she felt lonely.
She vaguely imagined that she was not supposed to feel that way. The chest was ought to make her feel better. That was why she had not buried it somewhere far away, but decided to keep it safe near her. The chest should be giving her strength. But somehow the longer she stared at the chest, the faster her strength was evaporating. She was afraid that one day it may disappear altogether. Along with her.
She needed a change. She needed a day off from her grim existence, from her waiting, from her missing him so much, from her loving him... She thought that maybe if she could get lost in a moment, in a temporary madness, in a crowd, among people, it would enliven her, it would help her recover, come back to life, begin to feel alive again. Just one day... And then she could come back here, and maybe even appreciate the peace and quite of her present life...
She locked the chest under the floor in a special hiding place, covered the part of the floor with a rug, changed to a more comfortable dress, took some money, and left the house abruptly.
Just one day. I will be back in one day, Will.
"Jack! Jack! Wake up!" shouted Gibbs, rushing into the room.
Jack did not move.
"Jack!" Gibbs began shaking him inconsiderately.
"What's this?!" Jack suddenly woke up, accidentally hitting Gibbs on the forehead with his elbow.
"Oi," hissed Gibbs, rubbing his forehead.
"What are you doing?" asked Jack irritably.
"The Black Pearl," gasped Gibbs. "The Pearl's here."
"No, she is not," countered Jack resolutely, taking a quick look around, looking at Gibbs suspiciously, as if Gibbs was trying to deceive him.
Gibbs stared at him in confusion for a moment, and then waived his hand dismissively.
"In the docks! Jack! The Pearl! I saw it!" he continued passionately.
"How much did ye drink yesterday, aye?" asked Jack knitting his eyebrows, and reluctantly getting off the bed.
"No, Jack," shook his head Gibbs, slightly hurt. "I'm serious."
"I know ye are," agreed Jack, putting his boots on. "That's what worries me."
"No," Gibbs was getting nervous. "I really saw the Pearl, because the Pearl is here," he did not really know how to convey the message more clearly. "She just sailed in. I saw her."
"Very well," said Jack, taking his coat, and his hat. "Let's go, then. But if instead of the Pearl there will be no Pearl, then instead of ye there'll be no ye anymore as well. Savvy?"
Jack walked out of the room, followed by Gibbs, who rather disliked the meaning of Jack's last sentence, as soon as it reached him half-way down the stairs.
