DISCLAIMER: sob…Don't make me say it…
Jack guided the tiller wearily, unwilling yet resigned to his fate. It had been a week since he'd boarded the Silver Gryphon and he'd neither heard nor seen any sign of Ryenne since the first day. But, he hadn't heard of the discovery of any stowaways either, for which he was grateful - knowing that Will was somewhere on the ship was heartening, at least.
The voyage had been fairly easy going so far - weather wise, in any case - but he had the distinct feeling that it was going to get very much worse very soon. And he wasn't only thinking about the roiling black thunderclouds overhead. Thus far, Quinn had little to do with him; save to check on the progress of the voyage every few hours and to threaten Ryenne's life if anything was to go wrong. But, unfortunately for Jack, Tyrus was at his shoulder every waking moment.
The man was insistent upon recounting every filthy little detail of Ryenne's mutiny and the torture that followed, and telling it once was never enough. Jack had had to hold back from lashing out several times already, telling himself it would do him no good if he was rash - that it would not help Ryenne in the least. And so, biting his tongue until he tasted blood and gripping the tiller with white-knuckled intensity, he was forced to listen to the same gruesome tales over and over again until he thought he would be sick. But, he logged the information away, learning as much as he possibly could about the crew that held him captive.
The memory of the moment was one Jack would have ingrained in his mind forever - one that stirred up memories of his own; watching Ryenne sitting on the ledge at deMuerta, finally deciphering a piece of her past. Although…this version was far more detailed than he'd ever wanted to hear.
"-and the bloody woman thought she could fight me with only a piece of rope!" With an evil chuckle, Tyrus slapped Jack hard on the back, knocking him roughly into the tiller. Jack glared. "A rope! Bloody stupid female…"
"Is that so?" Jack was clenching his teeth so hard he expected to hear his jaw snap at any moment. Phantom screams haunted his ears - Ryenne's screams.
"I tell you: that girl is bloody feisty," he nudged Jack in the ribs. "Not that you wouldn't already know that yourself."
"I -" Jack began to protest heatedly. Tyrus continued as though he didn't notice.
"Kicking and screaming, she was, but one little slice with the dagger, and…" he grinned, miming something Jack dearly hoped he'd never see again. He couldn't take very much more of this… "Scrawny as Caelar is, she sure has some nice -"
"LAND HO!" Jack shouted, hoping to drown out Tyrus's next words. The other man stopped talking abruptly, shading his eyes with a hand, though there was no sun to impede his vision.
"What's going on here?"
Whirling around, Jack found himself face to face with Quinn, and swallowed. There was no land; he hadn't really seen anything…and what would he do now? Idiot… he thought furiously. Quinn's eyes narrowed, staring past him, and a satisfied grin spread across his face.
"Nice work, Mr. Sparrow," he said quietly. "Perhaps Miss Caelar will live to see the end of this voyage, after all."
Confused, Jack turned back to the tiller, squinting at the horizon where a narrow gray strip of land stood out among the endless blue waves.
deMuerta.
vvv
Days blended into nights in the shadowy underworld of the ship's belly, and there had been no other signs of life for Ryenne and Will than each other. No one had come down to check on Ryenne for days, or had even bothered to make sure she was still alive. She and Will were becoming very cold, tired, hungry, and generally miserable. They had taken turns resting while the other stood guard, leaning back to back through the bars of the cell. This helped somewhat to stave off the chilly damp that permeated the very air, even though the one asleep would awaken every time the ship lurched with a sore neck and less energy than when they began.
It was Will's turn to scrape up what little rest he could get, and he had nearly drifted off to sleep when Ryenne's stomach gave a loud rumble. Again.
"Was that you?" he muttered wearily, letting his eyelids slide shut.
"Of course it was me. Who else would it have been?"
"I don't know."
Sighing, Ryenne mumbled something inaudible under her breath.
"What did you say?"
She sighed again. "Hot spiced wine and slow-roasted turkey. With potatoes."
"Oh no," Will groaned, rubbing his temples. "Here we go again."
"That was the last decent meal I had before I ran away."
"I know. You've said that three times."
"If a meal like that were offered to me right now, I'd give up piracy forever."
"That's nice. Now shut up, before you get me started."
His stomach growled, and Ryenne gave a small laugh.
"Too late, it would seem." She was silent for a moment, and then… "Mangoes with cream."
Will bit his tongue and didn't respond; she was doing it on purpose, now.
"Strawberry tart."
"Plum duff with raisins."
Will twiddled his thumbs.
"Beef stew with carrots and onions and thick broth and -"
His stomach growled again, long and loud.
"Argh," he said eloquently. It would be impossible for him to sleep, now; there was, quite literally, visions of sugar plums dancing in his head, and he wanted to eat every one of them. While strangling Ryenne at the same time, of course. "I'm glad you think all this is funny, at least."
"I can see how this could be harder for you. You're not used to missing a meal, are you? Poor boy."
"I -" he began to protest, but something suddenly occurred to him. "When was the last time you had a decent meal?"
"Poor pirates can't afford to eat decently."
"Jack is a poor pirate, and he seems to get along well enough." Will pointed out.
"No, he's not. And he's as skinny as a rail anyway!" she paused a moment, looking ponderous, then whispered to herself. "Not that that's bad…"
"Hmm?"
"Oh, nothing."
Will chuckled. "You like him, don't you?"
"No." she replied too quickly, and he felt her shift against the bars.
"You do, admit it!"
"There's nothing to admit!" she countered defensively, squirming. "Anyway, why does it matter?"
"It doesn't. I'm just curious."
She snorted, and her stomach rumbled once more. "Oh, don't they care that I'm starving down here?"
"Probably not, considering what they've done to you already."
"I don't suppose it matter anyway; it'd only make them happier to know…I'll be they do know!" She laughed mirthlessly, her voice bitter and sulking. "I'll bet they're up there having a party this very moment."
Will laughed as well, shaking his head. "I doubt it."
Ryenne ignored him. "Probably up there munching blueberry tarts and drinking French wine…" her stomach growled, as if to punctuate the statement.
Drawing his knee into his chest with a shiver, Will sighed and scanned the shadowy dark of the brig, trying to tune out Ryenne's distracted mumblings about succulent mutton chops and raspberry scones. His eyes alighted on the crate he'd previously been using as a hiding place and he brightened slightly.
"Ryenne, what do you suppose is in those boxes?"
"A leg of lamb." She replied listlessly, throwing a bored glance over her shoulder at the large box he was gesturing to. "Probably just wood and tar for making repairs to the ship, with my luck."
"Would they really put wood in a wooden box?" he asked skeptically, hauling himself slowly to his feet.
"I don't know…maybe? They are pretty pathetic."
"No one is that pathetic, Ryenne." Running his hands over the rough lid of one of the crates, he slid his fingers under the edge and tugged. Nothing happened. "They're nailed shut!"
"Oh, really? Well that's just too bad…" Ryenne muttered sarcastically, tugging absentmindedly at the lapels of her coat. Will glared.
"Give me something to open it!"
"Honestly, Will, what would I have that would help you open that thing?"
"I don't know…a knife or something!"
"Don't you have a knife?"
Cursing himself for his stupidity, Will fumbled around his belt in search of his dagger. Unsheathing the blade with a hiss of steel against leather, he grinned sheepishly, holding it up. Ryenne snorted in disgust.
"Idiot…"
Prying the nailed cover off the crate was no easy task, but Will managed it within ten minutes. Grunting and straining, he'd muffled the wood's protesting groans and creaks as best he could. Flashing a smug smile at Ryenne, who watched intently from her place leaning against eh bars of the cell, he removed the cover and brushed aside the straw packing to see…
"What is it?"
Grimacing, he grabbed one of the several pitted glass bottles, holding it at arm's length as though it would bite him at any given second, and lifted it aloft for her to see. The amber liquid inside sloshed noisily, almost seeming to glow in the dim half-light, and he groaned in revulsion.
"Rum."
vvv
Ryenne stared uncertainly at the bottle in Will's hand, not quite sure what to make of this new discovery. One the one hand, liquor was sustenance - which she dearly needed. And, on the other hand, it was, well…rum. Would it be worth the risk of having Tyrus - or worse, Quinn - come upon her while she was drunk? A short mental battle ensued, in which she decided that the former aspect of the drink was the more important at the time. Stretching her hand out through the bars of the cell, she crooked a finger at Will.
"Bring it here."
He looked doubtful. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, last time -"
"It's the closest we can get to food. You don't want to die of starvation down here, do you?" she reasoned, quirking one eyebrow up at him. He sighed.
"Well, no…but -"
"Good, then. Bring it to me."
Shaking his head distrustfully, he slowly crossed to her, eyeing her thoughtfully for a moment before handing her the bottle. A small smile crossed her face as her fingertips curled around the cool glass, as though she could already feel the rich liquid coursing down her throat. Anything in her stomach would be better than nothing. Drawing the bottle towards herself with a rapturous expression fixed on her face, she was met with a sharp clang, her hand jarring painfully. The bottle wouldn't fit through the bars.
"What?" she cried, giving the bottle another vicious tug. It did not slide through, remaining so tantalizingly close, and yet so far…
"What is it?" Will asked curiously, looking up from riffling through the straw packing of the crate. "Is something wrong?"
"It-it won't fit!"
"What do you mean 'won't fit'?"
"It won't come through the bloody bars!" she said indignantly, pulling desperately at the neck of the bottle where it had become lodged.
He looked confused, incredulous. "That bars aren't that narrowly spaced, are they?"
"Apparently they are!" Another tug, to no avail. "Help me!"
Standing, he grasped the bottle, turning it in different directions. It was round with a narrow neck, and the amber liquid sloshed about with every attempt, but it would still not fit through. Ryenne pulled, he pushed. She wrenched, he twisted. Nothing worked and, finally, they had to admit defeat. With a vexed sigh, Ryenne slumped down to the floor, drawing her knees up and eyeing Will, who had been left holding the renegade rum.
"You might as well just drink it."
He looked askance at the bottle, and then at her.
"No!"
"Well, unless you somehow find something else remotely edible down here, that's all we've got."
"But…it just wouldn't be fair."
She rolled her eyes. "Your point…?"
"That was it."
Ryenne leaned her head against the bars and closed her eyes.
"Just drink the damned rum, Will."
Hesitatingly, he uncorked the bottle and stared at it. He would only have a few sips, enough to quell the persistent grumbling in his stomach. Throwing Ryenne one last pitying glance, he brought the cool glass up to his parched lips. It was sweet as it burned its way down his throat, fiery heaven; it was no wonder why Jack was so enamored with the stuff.
After a few mouthfuls, he was already beginning to relax. Suddenly a thousand escape routes and plans swam through his mind, each better than the last. They would get out of here soon, survive this whole ridiculous ordeal. He would be able to go home, where Elizabeth was undoubtedly worried about him. The Pearl would be safe, and the Gryphon would return to the hands of good pirates. Jack and Ryenne would share their feelings for each other, and...well, do whatever they would do...
Yes, indeed, he was feeling much better. And the best part of it all was that he still had most of the bottle left.
vvv
Jack sighed, staring ahead at the rocky cliffs they sailed towards and almost wishing that he hadn't walked into Lee's Tavern all those months ago. But that wasn't a fair thought; of all the trouble Ryenne had caused, only about half was truly her fault...and she was worth all of it and more. In fact, thinking about her was one of the few things that kept him going, and now he no longer had to listen to Tyrus's horrific memoirs. Quinn had taken to remaining at his side every second, monitoring the last short leg of the voyage.
Tearing his eyes away from the ever-approaching isle for a scant moment, he peered thoughtfully up at the storm clouds overhead, estimating the amount of time they had before it began to rain. If the wind continued the way it was going, they would reach Isla deMuerta well before a single raindrop was shed. Nodding in a depressed sort of satisfaction, he lowered his eyes once more to find Quinn staring at him expectantly.
"How long?" the man asked simply, tugging absentmindedly at his own coat sleeve.
"An hour; two at most." Jack replied, avoiding Quinn's eyes. It was hard enough to muster the words to say when he wanted nothing more than to the ram the cold steel of his blade into Quinn's heart, but he could not force himself to look into those hard black eyes; hollow yet mocking. Quinn nodded in reply and reached into his pocket, pulling out the compass. Jack tensed.
"You never told me what this thing does, Sparrow."
"It doesn't do anything: it's broken."
Quinn snorted. "It does something; I'm sure of that."
"Then you tell me what it does," Jack snapped, gripping the tiller harder. "Because the damned thing has been broken for as long as I can remember."
"Why do you keep it, then, if it's so obviously useless?"
Jack shrugged, fixing his yes upon the shoreline once more. "No reason."
"You know, Sparrow...I don't believe you."
"Why would you? A pirate's life is based upon lies."
Quinn slipped the compass back into his pocket.
"While that is likely true for most pirates, I personally find that it's usually easier to simply be honest - which means that sooner or later, you will tell me the truth about this."
"What makes you so confident about that?"
Quinn's voice became dangerously low. "Because, Mr. Sparrow, I have something you don't."
"And what is that?" Jack spat, grimacing as the other man's grin widened.
"Leverage."