Disclaimer: You're nothing but skin and bones, and you probably taste like… pigeon!
A/N: You're going to kill me because of this chapter. I just know it. But I'm happy with the way it turned out. Mucho angst. That's all the warning I'm going to give.
Squirrel leant against the foremast, a silent sentinel. But this time, she did not stare out to sea. She stared across instead to where the crew were gathered, seated in a circle on the deck, laughing and joking amongst themselves. And in the middle of them all, Elizabeth Swann sat and smiled, golden in the light of the sun.
Squirrel's face and eyes betrayed nothing, but her gut was churning. She wanted to close her eyes, perhaps, or at the very least to turn her head. But part of her couldn't look away. So she just kept watching, seeing Elizabeth being so welcomed, so comforted.
She was struck by the unfairness of it all. But what could she do? The crew loved her, welcomed them as one of their own. They'd all been fooled by the governor's daughter's pretty painted face. If only they knew the truth. If only they knew the reason why the captain they'd all followed was dead. Then they wouldn't be so welcoming.
They hadn't been so welcoming of Squirrel when she first came aboard. Squirrel had been treated with distant respect, and some care, but she was seen as just part of the crew. Elizabeth… she was treated like royalty, in comparison.
Squirrel's eyes finally drew away of their own accord, and found Barbossa and Tia standing together at the aft railing. They stood together, heads bowed, talking faintly. Tia's hands made sweeping, rolling gestures, and Barbossa replied with stoic, thoughtful nods or the change of a stance. The sight of Barbossa and Tia conversing was a surprise to Squirrel. Barbossa glanced over his shoulder, prompted by Tia's unheard words, and glanced without seeming to at Squirrel. He looked back to Tia, who nodded grimly. Squirrel felt insulted. Were they talking about her? Surely that wasn't true; just mere paranoia. But why was someone Squirrel trusted talking to someone she didn't?
What did you expect? She told herself. He's a dead man, and she's the one who brought him back to life. If that's truly what happened. Of course they'd be talking. He'd trust her. It felt like a betrayal, though Squirrel couldn't say why. Everyone has their secrets.
Words from months ago came faintly back to her. On one of the nights when Squirrel had not been in the highest of spirits, Ana had come to her to offer words which were supposed to comfort, in Ana's pragmatic, no-nonsense manner. As Squirrel had watched Jack saunter off to another tavern, a whore under each arm and a bottle in each hand, Ana had murmured, "For a woman who follows the sea, life is always lonely. A woman can have her friends, her shipmates, her lovers even, but she'll always be alone. We're always the odd ones out, left standing alone. It's just how the waters are, girl." Squirrel had flushed and moved away, hurt at the time. She'd not wanted cold practicality; she'd wanted understanding and sympathy. But now, she saw the wisdom of her friend's words.
Barbossa and Tia, she thought, Will and Elizabeth, Pintel and Ragetti, Marty and Gibbs, Cotton and his parrot. Even that pirate had his bloody Black Pearl. Everyone has someone. Squirrel bowed her head. But I have no-one. I stand alone.
More like the sea with each passing day.
She felt a weight suddenly land on her shoulder, and looked to see the monkey smiling at her. She made a short laugh at the situation, at the monkey's appropriate timing. "I'm sorry," Squirrel said, half-smiling, "I don't think it'll work out between you and me." The monkey pouted, and she scratched him apologetically under the chin. "I'm going to have to find a new name for you," she murmured, "Seeing as how I can't say… the other name. Any suggestions?" The monkey chattered at her, then leapt down off her shoulder, and went to go torment Cotton's parrot. Squirrel watched the rascal go, a wry smile about her lips.
Following the monkey's path, Squirrel's eyes were drawn once again to Elizabeth. Miss Swann alone did not seem startled by the animal's sudden appearance in the circle of crewmen. She picked it up by the scruff of the neck, said something sharply, and set the now-well-behaved animal back down on the deck. And the conversation resumed as normal.
Squirrel's smile had faded to nothingness. Elizabeth looked so happy, so carefree, so glad to be a part of this. And she fit in so well. Elizabeth had shed tears that night, when the Pearl had sank, but now it seemed as though nothing could slow her down. Didn't it weigh on her conscience? Deaths of men Squirrel didn't even know weighed on hers. Surely the death of one - especially the one man you yourself condemn to die, betrayed by a kiss - should be a constant twist of the knife. Did Elizabeth feel anything? Or was it just something she'd done, and forgotten? Whatever she felt, Elizabeth hid it well: from the rest of the crew; from Squirrel; from Will.
"Everyone has their secrets," Squirrel murmured, like a faint hiss of sea-spray.
She heard footsteps behind her, soft and stealthy, like a guilty man's tread. She heard the sound of his coat, the now-familiar sound his boots made across the deck; she heard his breath, his resolve; the polite way he hesitated before he spoke. She knew who it was who stood behind her long before he spoke.
"I need to talk to you." He came up and stood beside her, staring determinedly forward.
Squirrel smiled sadly. "Look at her, Will. She's so beautiful." The man beside her stiffened, almost angry, then softened as he looked upon his beloved. Encircled by the crew, Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. Her hair was caught by a puff of wind and lifted into the air like a halo of spun gold. The crew beat out the time, and the sounds of Elizabeth's pure voice singing a course pirate chantey carried across the Diana's deck.
"She's beautiful, smart, resourceful…" Squirrel shook her head, smiling through the envy. "A fine woman. I can see why you fell in love with her."
Will said nothing for a long moment. Then, without taking his eyes from Elizabeth, he asked, "What about you and Jack?"
This time it was Squirrel's turn to tense her shoulders, but she soon released the tension with a sigh. "I fell in love with him because he was… freedom." Will looked at Squirrel, curiously, but did not interrupt. "I was a prisoner. But every time I saw that pirate swagger into town, I'd see what it would be like to be free. And I could be happy, for while." Squirrel sighed again. "Just a dream, William. Just a dream."
Will considered this for a moment, then seemed to change the topic, though his words followed the course. "Why are you coming?" He asked, voice low. "Why did you say you'd be a part of this?"
Squirrel looked at Will, half-frowning. She was surprised to see him wearing his vest. She'd not seen him wearing that since the day Will had taught her how to swim. The bloodstain was still as noticeable as ever. She forced herself to meet Will's eyes. "Is that what you wanted to ask me, William?"
"You've never given me a straight answer," Will said, matching her gaze evenly. "I understand that the Pearl was your home, but that doesn't mean you can't make a home somewhere else. I've seen the way you looked at Jack, but I see something different in your eyes now, every time someone mentions his name." Squirrel had to look away; Will softened his tone. "Why are you doing this? Why make this promise? Why travel to the ends of the earth?" He paused, waiting, but she stood mute. The calming touch of Will's blacksmith hands made her turn, made her lift her eyes. "Please, Squirrel. I want to know the truth."
Squirrel would have remained silent if it hadn't been for that vest that Will wore, the vest that bore her handprint in blood. She would have turned away if it hadn't been for Will's plea for the truth. She would have said nothing if it wasn't for that way that he said her name.
"The night you were captured by Davy Jones," Squirrel said, soft and faint, her voice almost lost under the strains of the chantey and the waves and the wind, "I told the pirate who'd betrayed you that I would sail to the ends of the earth and beyond for him." Squirrel's hair fell into her face like a curtain, but a curtain she did not hide behind. "I told him I would do the impossible, if only he could be a good man."
Will frowned. "You're doing this because you think Jack will change? Because you think he's a good man? I thought you said you couldn't believe…"
"I'm not finished, William." Squirrel looked up at him, peering through her hair. She looked across the deck, where Pintel and Ragetti had broken into a jig; Elizabeth joined them, dancing with the two pirates, linked between their arms. She was laughing - they all were. Stifling the queasy, unsettled feeling in her gut, Squirrel looked back to Will, and motioned with a slight jerk of the head that Will should follow her to the prow.
Their tread matched each other's: soft, faint, and light. But both hearts were burdened and heavy. The sound of the crew and Miss Swann was muted - the sound of the sea, the wind and the ship were stronger here. Standing behind the Diana's figurehead, Squirrel glanced at the man standing beside her. His eyes were pained, but patient; curious, but caring.
"I told him I would sail to the ends of the earth and beyond," Squirrel resumed, her voice still a whisper. "I told a man not worth following that I would follow him." Will waited, knowing that there was more to come. The sea washed around the ship, sending up small cascades of spray. The wind was strong, but seemed to leave Squirrel and Will alone. It avoided the pair of them, filling the sails instead.
"I don't know which one of us is worse off," Squirrel said slowly. "You, for having loved and lost, or me, for never having my love returned in the first place."
Will weighed her words, thoughtful. He had no answer for her. Perhaps neither of them was worse off than the other - they both suffered equally. But still he waited, knowing that Squirrel would eventually answer his question.
"He knew I loved him. He knew. But for all my words and actions, he never said anything to me of the like." Squirrel's words were an outpouring of all she'd denied, all she'd refused to think of. It hurt to speak of such things, but it was like the old wounds needed vinegar poured on them before they could be healed. If they could be healed. "He never said he loved me. I doubt he ever did. He kept me around because my attentions were fuel for his ego. I didn't see that." Squirrel shook her head. "I wanted to be his everything, just as he was my everything." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Foolish."
"You're not foolish." Will assured her gently. "You were in love."
Squirrel took a breath, and noted wryly. "Is there is a difference?"
Will changed his stance, standing side-on, looking straight at Squirrel. He almost agreed, but her words had struck a jarring chord. Squirrel continued to stand facing the oncoming sea. She couldn't face Will. Not yet.
"Is this a journey of revenge, then?" Will asked, slightly saddened, almost conspiratorial.
Squirrel shook her head. "No. It's a journey to find the key to my cage." She shrugged, looking sidelong at Will. "I deserve a life too. One that doesn't revolve around that pirate. And the only way I can be free from him is if I'm able to look him in the eye and feel nothing for him." Squirrel paused a moment, then let out a short bark of a laugh. "It's a fool's errand, I know. I'll just fall into that trap all over again." She saw, out of the corner of her eye, Will lift up a hand to comfort her; saw that hand ball into a fist and drop back down again.
"You've not cried for him," Will noted, cautiously.
"Of course." Squirrel agreed. "I lied for him, stole for him… I even condemned men to watery graves for him. Yet all I got in return was a broken heart. Is it any wonder I'm not going to cry for him?" She looked to Will. "You've not cried for Elizabeth."
Will looked away, a spark of something in his eyes. "She's not dead."
"Neither is that pirate," Squirrel murmured, "If this voyage is any indication of that. But Tia told me I was wise in not weeping for the dead." She sighed again. And a little voice inside her, soft and emotional, added, You don't feel wise, do you. It wasn't a question. She didn't, but she wasn't going to admit that. Even to her own conscience.
Will took a breath, and lifted his eyes to Squirrel, steering the conversation back on course. "If your love for Jack is so foolish," He asked, gentle and inoffensive, "If you think he's a man not worth following, then why are you here?"
Squirrel closed her eyes, fighting with herself. Will had asked for the truth. But did he really wish to know it? Surely, it would it do more harm than good to share such a burden. But… how would she ever know, if she did not speak her mind? He asked for the truth. He deserves to have it. Squirrel opened her eyes, and turned to face Will.
"I said I would sail to the ends of the earth and beyond for him," Squirrel said, "But I'm not doing this for him."
Will tilted his head, confused. But he waited.
Squirrel steeled herself. "I'm not doing this for him. I'm not even doing this for me. I'm doing this for you." She took a breath. "I'll sail to Hell and back… for you."
Will jolted, eyes wide. He took a step back, unsettled and uncomfortable, then forward again as to cover up any offence to Squirrel. But Squirrel did not mind. She'd expected much worse a reaction to her words.
"What do you mean by that?" Will asked, wary, unsettled, almost afraid.
"You're a man worth following, William," Squirrel said, her words dull; an anticlimax to her previous statement. She stared out over the vast expanse of water. "All my life, the only men I've known are cowards, liars and traitors." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Nothing but rogues." She faced Will now, turning away from the sea to meet his eyes, and to face him honestly. "You, William, are the only good man I've ever known. A man worth following. If you decide to sail to Hell, then I'll be there at your side."
Will shook his head, still rattled by Squirrel's declaration. "Don't," he said, taking a step back.
"I'm not in love with you."
Will paused, then tilted his head. He considered Squirrel, looking at her in a completely different light now. Before, she'd been an ally. Then, for a short amount of time, she'd been… something Will couldn't comprehend. Something he hadn't expected, nor wished to. And now… what was she? What had she become?
Squirrel didn't know herself.
"If you're not in love with me," Will said, slowly and cautiously, his voice kept low, "Then why would you agree follow me?"
Squirrel smiled then, saddened amusement in her eyes. "I don't know." She shrugged helplessly, almost laughing. "I don't know. But I would." She held Will's gaze, aware of how discomforted she'd made him feel. "Please. You asked for the truth. And… I will always be honest with you, William Turner." She spoke the words clearly, making the point she needed to make. "If I am nothing else to you, I will be honest with you."
A long silence stretched between Will and Squirrel, a silence filled with unsaid things. There was a shine of uncertainty in Will's eyes, but that was slowly smothered with understanding.
"Birds of a feather," he murmured, remembering. "A pair a broken hearts."
Squirrel nodded. "Yes." She sighed a long sigh. "So, William, now you know. The reason I'm coming on this voyage is you. And that's the truth of it." She shrugged, then turned and slowly walked away. But Will followed her, walking by her side.
Together, they stood and looked out over the deck, where Elizabeth and the crew worked the ropes, their songs abandoned for the time being. Elizabeth sang as she walked the deck, her head tilted towards the sun, her skin and hair honey-golden.
"You and I both fell in love with pirates," Squirrel murmured.
Will frowned slightly. "Elizabeth isn't…" And his words trailed off as he realised. "Yes. I suppose she is," Will said, burdened by this knowledge, hurt by this realisation. "'Take what you can, give nothing back'; 'fall behind, left behind'." He closed his eyes, and sighed wearily. "I became a pirate to save her once, but it was never in my heart. It was always in hers."
Squirrel nodded, sadly. "They're rogues and they're scoundrels," she sighed, "And they break your heart, but you can't help but want to be with them." There was a faint smile about Squirrel's lips, but it was such a sad smile. "You become like them so you can be with them. But you can never be what they really want."
Will's silence spoke of his pained agreement. This time, his hand reached Squirrel's shoulder to comfort her, and lingered there. The two of them stood in companionable silence for a moment longer. Will's hand on her shoulder was such a comfort to Squirrel, though she couldn't quite place why.
"I may not be honest with anyone else," Squirrel whispered, "But I'll always be honest with you, William Turner."
Will looked to Squirrel, his eyes fathomless and his expression unreadable. "And I with you, Miss Grey."
If anyone had looked over then, they would have seen Will and Squirrel standing together, looking at each other. One could presume they were discussing the weather, or the course that lay ahead, or perhaps even events which had happened before. None would have even considered what truly lay between those two.
Everyone has their secrets, Squirrel thought to herself, tearing her eyes away from Will. And this is ours.
Elizabeth looked up, and waved cheerfully to Will. Squirrel grinned, and waved, whereas Will merely nodded, too much on his mind.
"Ahh," Squirrel sighed, "I'd give my hand to have her hair colour. I'd love to be blonde." She pulled ruefully on a strand of her own mousy brown hair, then - to Will's raised eyebrow - held up her bandaged left hand, smiling as though it were all a jest. And then she turned away, crossing the deck with the breeze swirling around her. "Good day, Miss Swann!"
Elizabeth smiled. "Good day, Miss Grey!" The woman looked up to the billowing sails, grinning. She'd the sea in her blood, and it was singing. "We'll be at Africa in no time at this rate!"
"I know," Squirrel smiled, hiding her teeth behind her lips. "Not even a week to go, aye?"
"Yes!" Elizabeth grinned back, tugging on one of the ratlines, as though dying to climb up and see the wide expanse of the ocean. "What are the ports in Africa like?"
Squirrel shrugged. "Hard to say, Elizabeth. I've never been there." She frowned, amused. "Do I have to call you 'Elizabeth'?"
Elizabeth wore a matching expression. "What? No, you can call me Miss Swann, if you like."
"What about Lizzie? It's faster to say. How about it? For a friend?"
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. "Certainly! If you want to." Her laughter seemed brittle, suddenly, and her smile seemed to slip. There was something deep in the woman's eyes which spoke of guilt, of shame. And why not? When everyone had seen Squirrel fall weeping into the pirate's arms, Elizabeth's betrayal was made all the harder. It was as though, now, Squirrel were the reminder of the death of the pirate. And Squirrel's friendship was another load for Elizabeth to bear.
So you do feel terrible for what you've done, Squirrel thought. Good. Good. She nodded, still smiling, as though she'd not seen what Elizabeth was trying to desperately to hide. Squirrel had always been a brilliant actress. "Well, then, Lizzie, I've got some chores to do below, so I'll leave you to it. Good day."
"Good day!" Elizabeth hauled herself up into the rigging, moving surely, but not nearly as gracefully as she had been dancing. She scrambled, reaching faster than her legs could keep up. It was as though she were trying to escape.
Squirrel glanced back at Will, expecting his eyes to be following his fiancée as she climbed ever higher. But he was staring at Squirrel, and their eyes met and locked across the distance of the deck. The handprint stain on his vest was so, so noticeable. Squirrel nodded to him, a polite greeting, as though they'd not spoken. Will nodded in return, then joined the crew at the ropes. Yet he moved slowly, still lost in thought.
Squirrel stood alone, and looked out to sea, her hand straying to her necklace. The five points under her hand were warm, warmed by her skin. She fingered one of the diamonds, recalling all she'd said. It was too late to consider whether this was all just a mistake. Too late to get her words back. Too late to go to Will and apologise; what was there to apologise about? She'd spoken the truth, just as Will had asked. Tia's warning suddenly came into Squirrel's mind. One day that coin will land on its edge. The warning seemed ominously closer now, even though Squirrel still did not know what it meant.
The edges of the diamond Squirrel was fingering were smooth, well-sanded down; they didn't rasp against or snag her fingers. Yet Squirrel knew that this was the stone (or the bone, or the piece of fossilised wood) that was marred with stripes. Imperfect lines on the reverse side, cutting the otherwise perfectly smooth surface of the diamond.
Squirrel dropped her hand and looked out to sea. There was no sign of land for miles and miles in any direction. Yet she knew they were making good time. They'd be in Africa soon enough, then around the Cape they would go, through to India, and then, at the heart of the East Indies, to the island of Singapore. But it wasn't the course that they were following that concerned Squirrel anymore. She glanced at Will.
I'm moving, she thought, But where am I going?