VI

Roane sat astride on one of the triple guns plucking off barnacles and muttered absentmindedly: "Australian barnacle, acorn barnacle, perforated barnacle…" tapping at a barnacle which had settled on her cutlass since yesterday after the dive she smiled, "captain's barnacle…"
Some crewmen nearby giggled and where rewarded with a deep growl and a deadly look from Ro: "Dutchman-crewmen don't giggle!"
They stared one moment at each other and the next all of them burst in to laughter.
"Hell…" Buckle-head snorted, "Ro you're probably the best thing the captain ever pulled from the sea!"
Roane giggled and with a theatrical blink she cooed: "Ay, don't flatter me… I'm just a shy little lady!"
And again they all burst in to laughter.

The day had passed like many others on the Flying Dutchman before, work, work and then again: work.
Roane felt like she had done nothing other than work since she was aboard.
Well, there were some rounds of Liar's dice she probably won – the crew wager years, Ro kisses, and she never had to kiss someone – the chit-chat with Bootstrap, he always had a good story to tell; and her daily deck-promenades around sunset.
The promenades… For Roane, they where the best part of the day.
Just to stroll all alone on deck, talking to the haunted galleon itself and practically basking in the fond response, a tingling sensation under her fingertips, or even a soft hum she could feel deep in her bones.
Some nights she would sit on a bitt and listen to the Captain's furious play.
In those nights she wondered if the crew also remarked that the music had somehow changed.

This evening she was late with dinner – if ye' could call a cold bowl of stew dinner – and so it was already night when she climbed on deck.
Ro shot a quick glance up to the full moon, smiled, brushed a gentle hand against the railing and whispered: "Three months, two days and seventeen hours… an' I'm still glad to be here…" plucking, like she often did, barnacles from the green tinted wood…
"If ye keep on…" a voice rumbled, "when yer hundred years are over, there will be no barnacles left…"
Ro turned around and smiled: "Good evening Captain… eternity wouldn't be long enough…" she then tilted her head, listening to a faint melody which drifted over the sea, "Out there," she nodded to south, "'s a cruiser…"
"Want to watch?"
"Would be a pleasure, me Captain."

They stood side by side in utter silence, both of them one hand on the helm and guiding the Dutch per pure willpower in the cover of a fog bank.
Then the captain broke the silence by asking: "What did ye mean when you said ye'd remember, Roane?"
She answered unhesitatingly and with a sad smile: "I remember my previous lifes…" when Jones said nothing she continued, "I remember you."
He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to know. He didn't even want to think of… "Did I sign ye?"
Ro turned her head, locked her eyes on his and whispered: "You didn't want me, me Captain…" she then turned back to face the open water, "Ship ahead, Captain."

You didn't want me…
The words echoed in Jones' head when he saw her let go of the wheel and walking to the railing clutching hard on it, as if the lass needed something to hold on.
It was so damn hard to appear cold like the sea since the dead man's chest was aboard the Dutch and that traitorous heart so near.

When Ro turned to face the captain once more she saw him absentmindedly stare at her and smiled sadly: "Hadn't the time to proof meself back then… if I had had," she shrugged and her smile lightened, "who knows, you would've taken me right then 'n there…"
Davy Jones snapped back to reality and – tore his eyes off her. What a choice of words!

And then, once again, head tilted, hips swaying, heavy lidded eyes on him, a dreamy smile on her lips Ro listened to the music which floated over the water.
Jones gazed at her. Did the lass know, how…
"Dance?"
The captains eyes darted at her extended hand, then back to her eyes and under their feet the Flying Dutchman begun to hum, sonorous and deep.