DISCLAIMER: We don't own PotC.
Ryenne slouched sulkily against the bars of the cell watching Will gulp down the last of the rum with a fevered intensity, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She didn't begrudge him for drinking it, no, but he didn't have to look like he was enjoying it quite so much.
"Bloody bars..." she muttered furiously, kicking them with a snarl.
Will wandered over, looking determined, knife in hand and empty bottle at his side. He was definitely tipsy, if not flat-out drunk, and Ryenne decided to do her best to ignore him until the effects of the alcohol had passed. Suddenly, though, the lock on eh door began to rattle behind her. Startled, she curse, turning to see what he was doing.
He was bent over the chain, brows furrowed in concentration as he attempted to pick the lock with his dagger. It did not seem to be going very well so far; the dagger's end was too wide for much of it to fit inside the small opening, and it kept slipping as he fumbled clumsily. Snorting in disgust, she moved to the other wall, closing her eyes.
"Just give it up, Will; it's never going to work."
There was no response from him except for a sharp click that made Ryenne's heart leap into her throat and her eyes pop open. Will was standing just outside the cell, swaying slightly and looking exceedingly pleased with himself. While Ryenne gaped, he gave the cell door a slight push, and, with a groan of un-oiled hinges, it swung open.
She was free.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
The eerie calm before the storm had set upon the Gryphon, making Jack edgy and tense, his guidance of the tiller more jerky and abrupt than it had been before. Quinn's haughty assumptions that he would reveal the purpose of the compass echoed in his ears, one thing especially.
"Leverage..." he muttered under his breath, throwing a dirty look at Quinn's back. The thought of Ryenne locked up somewhere beneath his very feet made him fume. As far as he knew, no one had even gone down to her since she had been taken – for all they knew, she could be dead. She's not dead, he told himself quickly, banishing the thought. Ryenne would not give up on him...he hoped.
"How are we sure this is the place?" Tyrus's booming voice echoed easily across the deck, making Jack's ears prick to the conversation.
"How are you certain it isn't?" Quinn replied in his cool, calm baritone.
"We can't expect him to be telling the truth!"
"We have the girl."
"She's not worth – "
"She's worth enough; Sparrow cares for her, and that is enough." Quinn's voice had an edge to it, now. "No more questions. If this is the place, then fine; if it's not...we have our ways of persuasion, don't we?"
Tyrus's chuckle burned Jack's ears and he gritted his teeth, willing himself to control his temper. "That we do, Captain."
Control yourself, mate. You're nearly through this...
"Captain, what is Sparrow doing?"
Blinking, Jack shifted his attention back to the approaching cliffs in front of them. The seemingly unbroken cliffs. Grinning mischievously, he stood a little straighter, all interest in the conversation forgotten. Despite everything, all the strings attached to this particular voyage, it was still a huge relief to see the gateway to deMuerta, and now all he had to do was...
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sparrow!?"
Ignoring the man's hand clawing into his shoulder, Jack wildly spun the tiller and braced his feet as the ship reeled, chuckling as he saw Quinn cringing in horror, and...
They were there.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
Groaning in pain, Ryenne leaned heavily against the open crate she'd just collided with, rubbing the back of her aching head ruefully. No sooner than she'd stepped out of the cell, her heart swelling with the ecstasy of her newfound semi-freedom, the ship gave an almighty lurch, sending her crashing, head over heels, into the mountain of crates and boxes that sat on the other side of the brig. And, as if that wasn't enough, a sharp, throbbing pain shot up and down her left leg, a warm trickle of blood soaking the leg of her trousers. Running her fingers down her thigh tentatively, she found the cause of the ache: a piece of broken glass the size of her palm had driven itself into the skin of her leg, impaled deeply like the blade of a dagger. Gasping in horror, she choked back the bitter bile rising in her throat and shook her head in revulsion. There was nothing for it; she would have to pull it out.
Grasping the shard with shaking hands, she drew a long breath and shuddered. Her leg twitched in pain and she wildly fought the urge to cry out, eyes filling with reluctant tears. Steeling herself as best she could, she tugged.
"Bloody hell!" She hissed, gritting her teeth and sucking in a few sharp breaths as her hands slid their grip, fingers slicing open on the razor-like edges of the glass. Letting out a strangled sob, she wiped her bleeding palms on her trousers and tentatively took hold of the glass once more.
"Urgh..." Will's muffled groan made her bolt upright, hastily releasing her grip on the dagger-like shard. "...that was fun..."
She struggled to keep the pain from her voice. "Are you alright, Will?"
"Fine," he grunted, and the sound of boxes being shifted cam from somewhere on her right. "Just...surprised."
Do it now! Get it over with! Using one side of Jack's coat, she wrapped it around the shard, giving herself a less dangerous handhold, and wrenched the thing out, moaning in agony. The sounds on her right ceased suddenly.
"Are you alright, Ryenne?"
"Fine, fine." She groaned, pressing a hand to the wound on her leg. "I've only had the wind knocked out of me, is all..." She did not need Will worrying about her; he needed to concentrate on the situation at hand, not any little cuts or scrapes she might obtain along the way.
"You're sure?" Will's voice sounded skeptical.
"I'm fine; stop worrying."
She heard him sigh reluctantly and boxes began to scrape around once more. Squinting in the dim light, she surveyed their surroundings with a grimace. Crates and the straw packings were scattered everywhere, with the occasional scrap of unknown somethings. Will's rum bottle, no doubt the cause of her injury, was nowhere to be seen, and she sighed herself. A bit of rum would not have gone unappreciated at the moment; she needed the anesthetic.
Bracing herself against the crate behind her, she used her good leg to push herself up, struggling only a moment before regaining...if not firm, then at least adequate footing. Her wounded leg trembled in protest, but held, however unsteadily, and she took a few shambling steps towards the noise.
"Ungh..." Will groaned again, and Ryenne caught sight of his shadowy figure, hunched against a crate.
Limping over to him, she bent as far as her leg would allow and rested a hand atop his head. His hair, damp and curling from sweat, brushed between her fingers, and she had to resist the urge to kiss it. He'd gotten her out of the wretched cell; he was a hero to her, no matter how drunk he was.
"Are you sure you're not hurt, Will?"
"I'm just fine, girl!" he snapped, pushing her hand away. "Stop asking and let me catch my breath."
He's a mean drunk. Ryenne now resisted the even stronger urge to grab a fistful of that curly hair and tug. It was tempting.
"Do you need any help?"
"No. Just give me a moment!" He shifted his feet underneath him slowly. Too slowly.
Letting out a low growl, Ryenne grabbed his hand and jerked him to his feet, sorely overestimating the strength in her own leg. With a cry of anguish, she felt her knees buckle beneath her and threw her arms around his shoulders, collapsing into his arms. For a moment, she just stayed there, too shocked and embarrassed to move. Will tensed.
"I...uh...tripped." She explained awkwardly, using him to help herself regain her precarious balance. He caught her elbow, steadying her, and a concerned frown appeared on his face.
"You are hurt!"
"No," she replied quickly, letting go of him and wobbling back a few steps. "No, I'm fine. Only a little fatigued; I haven't eaten in a week, you know."
He tried to grab her arm again, but she continued to stagger back for every step he took. "We could find some more of that rum." He suggested helpfully.
"There's no time." Oh, god, let him have a plan! "What do we do, now?"
"Well...I don't know, exactly." He shrugged. "It all seemed so simple at the moment..."
"Dammit!" she growled, clenching her fists. "Dammit, Will! You don't have a plan!?"
He shrugged again, looking sheepish. "Well, I..." Pausing a moment, Ryenne could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he formulated a rough plan. "Wait! Come on."
Seizing her hand once more, he began to drag her in the direction of the stairs, looking furtive. While one half of her dismissed him as incredibly drunk, the other half wanted to put her trust in him, as she used to. And so, she found herself limping gingerly along behind him, throwing her lot in with his. He was going to get them out.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
The joy of finally reaching deMuerta dissipated nearly as quickly as it had come, and Jack was left gazing around at the surrounding cliffs with a sort of painful regret. There was still a chance to keep them from the treasure inside the island, but any plan he tried to make clung too much to hope and not at all to possibility. They had Ryenne, and as long as they had her, they had him as well.
"Jesus, Sparrow! What the hell did you think you were..." Quinn's voice trailed off in disbelief as he stared at the rotting skeletons of wrecked ships that littered the water all around them. "Where in the bloody hell are we?"
Jack sighed heavily; reluctantly. "Isla...deMuerta." The words dragged from him like stones. His secret; his island...no longer. Was that really it?
"deMuerta..." Quinn repeated thoughtfully, throwing a sidelong glance at Tyrus, who frowned. "We'll see..."
Scanning the bleak landscape once again, Jack felt a huge sense of loss welling up within him, but squashed it ruthlessly. Why was he letting himself become so defeated without even thinking? And then it came to him: he'd done his part. The bargain only detailed his bringing them to deMuerta, not guiding them around inside it. That meant...Ryenne...
Quinn jerked his head at Tyrus, barking a command.
"Get the girl."
ï¶ï¶ï¶
Ryenne peered out the porthole into the weak twilight created by the impending storm, estimating the distance it was down to the water below. It was a long drop. Irritably brushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes, she pulled her head back in and stared at Will in disbelief.
"It'll never work!"
"It will," he replied simply, reassuringly patting her shoulder. "Just don't think about it."
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You're drunk!"
"Am not." He protested indignantly. "I've never been drunk in my life!"
Ryenne's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Really? Never?"
"Never."
"Hmm...well, I pity you, then."
Will glowered. "Why?"
She sighed. "It doesn't matter." He looked perplexed for a moment, then seemed to shake it off.
"I suppose I should go first then..." He hesitated, and Ryenne suddenly heard the sound of heavy footsteps thumping their way down the stairs. Will's eyes went wide.
"Go, Ryenne!"
Shaking her head, she took a step back, away from the porthole. A desperate idea was forming in her mind, and in order for it to work, Will had to be gone. Acting quickly, she grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, and – before he could protest – shoved him off the ship, into the water. Praying he wouldn't be impaled by the broken rigging of a sunken ship on the way down, she turned to see Tyrus staring at her; and fainted.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
Clutching at air, Will didn't even think to cry out as he plummeted down, down, hitting the water with a painful splash. Choking and sputtering, he clawed his way back to the surface, wiping water out of his eyes and glaring back up at the porthole. Ryenne, when I bloody get my hands on you, I'll...
Ryenne. Ducking his head back underwater, he hurriedly swam into the shadow of the ship, clinging to its side. Someone had been coming and she was still up there. Come on, Ryenne! Come on! Jump! What was she doing!? No sounds came from above, no hint of what was happening. Bloody woman...
Throwing one last glance up at the porthole to be sure no one looked out, he began to swim his way to shore. What was he going to do, now?
ï¶ï¶ï¶
When Tyrus returned to the upper decks, a grim look upon his rough face, Jack's eyes darted immediately to the limp body cradled in the man's arms, his heart dropping into his boots. Ryenne. Forcing back the lump rising in his throat, he opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn got there first.
"Is she...?"
"No," Tyrus pitched his voice low, drawing his captain aside, but Jack still caught every single word he uttered. "I found her up by the portholes; getting ready to jump out, I'd wager. It sounded as if there was somebody else with her, but when I looked there was no one there. She fainted right out when she saw me."
"But, how did she...?" Quinn gazed at Ryenne's unconscious body in puzzlement. In his own mind, Jack was thinking the same thing: how had she gotten out of the brig? ...Will...
"I dunno, Captain. The brig was a disaster, though; crates and straw everywhere, and – "
Quinn cut him off with a sharp gesture as he noticed Jack watching, and brushed a tender hand over Ryenne's brow. Too tender. "Take her to my cabin; I'll question her later – "
"No!" Jack shouted, clenching his fists angrily. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. "I've fulfilled my part of the bargain, now it's time to fulfill yours."
Tyrus looked ready to lunge at him, save for the body in his arms, but Quinn looked as calm as ever. Studying Jack coldly through half- narrowed eyes, he was silent for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest, giving Tyrus a slight nod. The other man looked indignant, shaking his head haltingly, but moved at another cold look from his captain. Eyeing Jack with violent distaste, he bent and dropped Ryenne roughly at his feet, lip curling in disdain. Then, throwing one last resentful look at Quinn, he tramped away.
"There. Now you have your prize, Sparrow." Quinn said coolly, tapping his foot impatiently on the deck. "It is time for you to show us the way into deMuerta."
Jack ignored him for a moment, kneeling next to Ryenne's limp body. She looked gaunt and pale – half-starved, no doubt – but he could see the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, now. A fresh wound stained one leg of her trousers with dark blood, still sticky to the touch and less than an hour old. And deep. He grimaced.
"Did you hear me, Sparrow? I said – "
"That wasn't part of our bargain." Jack said simply, brushing Ryenne's hair gently out of her face. He could swear he had seen her stir.
"Listen here, Sparrow – "Quinn began heatedly, before Jack cut him off.
"You could just as easily kill me as let me live, I know." He looked up at the man towering over him, suddenly realizing how young the other captain was. No older than Will, in fact. "I've heard it before, and I know the truth of it." His voice took on a cold edge, and he no longer cared how much danger he was in. Only Ryenne mattered. "No, if you'll leave me alone for a moment, I need to make sure 'my prize' isn't dying."
Quinn stood over him a minute longer, seemingly unsure of what his reaction should be, then gave a curt nod and stalked off after Tyrus, his black coat billowing in the wind. Jack snorted turning back to Ryenne. She was watching him.
"Hello Jack." She said weakly, a small smile twitching at the corner of her lips. He smiled back.
"Hello Ryenne."
Ryenne slouched sulkily against the bars of the cell watching Will gulp down the last of the rum with a fevered intensity, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She didn't begrudge him for drinking it, no, but he didn't have to look like he was enjoying it quite so much.
"Bloody bars..." she muttered furiously, kicking them with a snarl.
Will wandered over, looking determined, knife in hand and empty bottle at his side. He was definitely tipsy, if not flat-out drunk, and Ryenne decided to do her best to ignore him until the effects of the alcohol had passed. Suddenly, though, the lock on eh door began to rattle behind her. Startled, she curse, turning to see what he was doing.
He was bent over the chain, brows furrowed in concentration as he attempted to pick the lock with his dagger. It did not seem to be going very well so far; the dagger's end was too wide for much of it to fit inside the small opening, and it kept slipping as he fumbled clumsily. Snorting in disgust, she moved to the other wall, closing her eyes.
"Just give it up, Will; it's never going to work."
There was no response from him except for a sharp click that made Ryenne's heart leap into her throat and her eyes pop open. Will was standing just outside the cell, swaying slightly and looking exceedingly pleased with himself. While Ryenne gaped, he gave the cell door a slight push, and, with a groan of un-oiled hinges, it swung open.
She was free.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
The eerie calm before the storm had set upon the Gryphon, making Jack edgy and tense, his guidance of the tiller more jerky and abrupt than it had been before. Quinn's haughty assumptions that he would reveal the purpose of the compass echoed in his ears, one thing especially.
"Leverage..." he muttered under his breath, throwing a dirty look at Quinn's back. The thought of Ryenne locked up somewhere beneath his very feet made him fume. As far as he knew, no one had even gone down to her since she had been taken – for all they knew, she could be dead. She's not dead, he told himself quickly, banishing the thought. Ryenne would not give up on him...he hoped.
"How are we sure this is the place?" Tyrus's booming voice echoed easily across the deck, making Jack's ears prick to the conversation.
"How are you certain it isn't?" Quinn replied in his cool, calm baritone.
"We can't expect him to be telling the truth!"
"We have the girl."
"She's not worth – "
"She's worth enough; Sparrow cares for her, and that is enough." Quinn's voice had an edge to it, now. "No more questions. If this is the place, then fine; if it's not...we have our ways of persuasion, don't we?"
Tyrus's chuckle burned Jack's ears and he gritted his teeth, willing himself to control his temper. "That we do, Captain."
Control yourself, mate. You're nearly through this...
"Captain, what is Sparrow doing?"
Blinking, Jack shifted his attention back to the approaching cliffs in front of them. The seemingly unbroken cliffs. Grinning mischievously, he stood a little straighter, all interest in the conversation forgotten. Despite everything, all the strings attached to this particular voyage, it was still a huge relief to see the gateway to deMuerta, and now all he had to do was...
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sparrow!?"
Ignoring the man's hand clawing into his shoulder, Jack wildly spun the tiller and braced his feet as the ship reeled, chuckling as he saw Quinn cringing in horror, and...
They were there.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
Groaning in pain, Ryenne leaned heavily against the open crate she'd just collided with, rubbing the back of her aching head ruefully. No sooner than she'd stepped out of the cell, her heart swelling with the ecstasy of her newfound semi-freedom, the ship gave an almighty lurch, sending her crashing, head over heels, into the mountain of crates and boxes that sat on the other side of the brig. And, as if that wasn't enough, a sharp, throbbing pain shot up and down her left leg, a warm trickle of blood soaking the leg of her trousers. Running her fingers down her thigh tentatively, she found the cause of the ache: a piece of broken glass the size of her palm had driven itself into the skin of her leg, impaled deeply like the blade of a dagger. Gasping in horror, she choked back the bitter bile rising in her throat and shook her head in revulsion. There was nothing for it; she would have to pull it out.
Grasping the shard with shaking hands, she drew a long breath and shuddered. Her leg twitched in pain and she wildly fought the urge to cry out, eyes filling with reluctant tears. Steeling herself as best she could, she tugged.
"Bloody hell!" She hissed, gritting her teeth and sucking in a few sharp breaths as her hands slid their grip, fingers slicing open on the razor-like edges of the glass. Letting out a strangled sob, she wiped her bleeding palms on her trousers and tentatively took hold of the glass once more.
"Urgh..." Will's muffled groan made her bolt upright, hastily releasing her grip on the dagger-like shard. "...that was fun..."
She struggled to keep the pain from her voice. "Are you alright, Will?"
"Fine," he grunted, and the sound of boxes being shifted cam from somewhere on her right. "Just...surprised."
Do it now! Get it over with! Using one side of Jack's coat, she wrapped it around the shard, giving herself a less dangerous handhold, and wrenched the thing out, moaning in agony. The sounds on her right ceased suddenly.
"Are you alright, Ryenne?"
"Fine, fine." She groaned, pressing a hand to the wound on her leg. "I've only had the wind knocked out of me, is all..." She did not need Will worrying about her; he needed to concentrate on the situation at hand, not any little cuts or scrapes she might obtain along the way.
"You're sure?" Will's voice sounded skeptical.
"I'm fine; stop worrying."
She heard him sigh reluctantly and boxes began to scrape around once more. Squinting in the dim light, she surveyed their surroundings with a grimace. Crates and the straw packings were scattered everywhere, with the occasional scrap of unknown somethings. Will's rum bottle, no doubt the cause of her injury, was nowhere to be seen, and she sighed herself. A bit of rum would not have gone unappreciated at the moment; she needed the anesthetic.
Bracing herself against the crate behind her, she used her good leg to push herself up, struggling only a moment before regaining...if not firm, then at least adequate footing. Her wounded leg trembled in protest, but held, however unsteadily, and she took a few shambling steps towards the noise.
"Ungh..." Will groaned again, and Ryenne caught sight of his shadowy figure, hunched against a crate.
Limping over to him, she bent as far as her leg would allow and rested a hand atop his head. His hair, damp and curling from sweat, brushed between her fingers, and she had to resist the urge to kiss it. He'd gotten her out of the wretched cell; he was a hero to her, no matter how drunk he was.
"Are you sure you're not hurt, Will?"
"I'm just fine, girl!" he snapped, pushing her hand away. "Stop asking and let me catch my breath."
He's a mean drunk. Ryenne now resisted the even stronger urge to grab a fistful of that curly hair and tug. It was tempting.
"Do you need any help?"
"No. Just give me a moment!" He shifted his feet underneath him slowly. Too slowly.
Letting out a low growl, Ryenne grabbed his hand and jerked him to his feet, sorely overestimating the strength in her own leg. With a cry of anguish, she felt her knees buckle beneath her and threw her arms around his shoulders, collapsing into his arms. For a moment, she just stayed there, too shocked and embarrassed to move. Will tensed.
"I...uh...tripped." She explained awkwardly, using him to help herself regain her precarious balance. He caught her elbow, steadying her, and a concerned frown appeared on his face.
"You are hurt!"
"No," she replied quickly, letting go of him and wobbling back a few steps. "No, I'm fine. Only a little fatigued; I haven't eaten in a week, you know."
He tried to grab her arm again, but she continued to stagger back for every step he took. "We could find some more of that rum." He suggested helpfully.
"There's no time." Oh, god, let him have a plan! "What do we do, now?"
"Well...I don't know, exactly." He shrugged. "It all seemed so simple at the moment..."
"Dammit!" she growled, clenching her fists. "Dammit, Will! You don't have a plan!?"
He shrugged again, looking sheepish. "Well, I..." Pausing a moment, Ryenne could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he formulated a rough plan. "Wait! Come on."
Seizing her hand once more, he began to drag her in the direction of the stairs, looking furtive. While one half of her dismissed him as incredibly drunk, the other half wanted to put her trust in him, as she used to. And so, she found herself limping gingerly along behind him, throwing her lot in with his. He was going to get them out.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
The joy of finally reaching deMuerta dissipated nearly as quickly as it had come, and Jack was left gazing around at the surrounding cliffs with a sort of painful regret. There was still a chance to keep them from the treasure inside the island, but any plan he tried to make clung too much to hope and not at all to possibility. They had Ryenne, and as long as they had her, they had him as well.
"Jesus, Sparrow! What the hell did you think you were..." Quinn's voice trailed off in disbelief as he stared at the rotting skeletons of wrecked ships that littered the water all around them. "Where in the bloody hell are we?"
Jack sighed heavily; reluctantly. "Isla...deMuerta." The words dragged from him like stones. His secret; his island...no longer. Was that really it?
"deMuerta..." Quinn repeated thoughtfully, throwing a sidelong glance at Tyrus, who frowned. "We'll see..."
Scanning the bleak landscape once again, Jack felt a huge sense of loss welling up within him, but squashed it ruthlessly. Why was he letting himself become so defeated without even thinking? And then it came to him: he'd done his part. The bargain only detailed his bringing them to deMuerta, not guiding them around inside it. That meant...Ryenne...
Quinn jerked his head at Tyrus, barking a command.
"Get the girl."
ï¶ï¶ï¶
Ryenne peered out the porthole into the weak twilight created by the impending storm, estimating the distance it was down to the water below. It was a long drop. Irritably brushing a strand of dark hair out of her eyes, she pulled her head back in and stared at Will in disbelief.
"It'll never work!"
"It will," he replied simply, reassuringly patting her shoulder. "Just don't think about it."
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You're drunk!"
"Am not." He protested indignantly. "I've never been drunk in my life!"
Ryenne's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Really? Never?"
"Never."
"Hmm...well, I pity you, then."
Will glowered. "Why?"
She sighed. "It doesn't matter." He looked perplexed for a moment, then seemed to shake it off.
"I suppose I should go first then..." He hesitated, and Ryenne suddenly heard the sound of heavy footsteps thumping their way down the stairs. Will's eyes went wide.
"Go, Ryenne!"
Shaking her head, she took a step back, away from the porthole. A desperate idea was forming in her mind, and in order for it to work, Will had to be gone. Acting quickly, she grabbed his shoulders, spun him around, and – before he could protest – shoved him off the ship, into the water. Praying he wouldn't be impaled by the broken rigging of a sunken ship on the way down, she turned to see Tyrus staring at her; and fainted.
ï¶ï¶ï¶
Clutching at air, Will didn't even think to cry out as he plummeted down, down, hitting the water with a painful splash. Choking and sputtering, he clawed his way back to the surface, wiping water out of his eyes and glaring back up at the porthole. Ryenne, when I bloody get my hands on you, I'll...
Ryenne. Ducking his head back underwater, he hurriedly swam into the shadow of the ship, clinging to its side. Someone had been coming and she was still up there. Come on, Ryenne! Come on! Jump! What was she doing!? No sounds came from above, no hint of what was happening. Bloody woman...
Throwing one last glance up at the porthole to be sure no one looked out, he began to swim his way to shore. What was he going to do, now?
ï¶ï¶ï¶
When Tyrus returned to the upper decks, a grim look upon his rough face, Jack's eyes darted immediately to the limp body cradled in the man's arms, his heart dropping into his boots. Ryenne. Forcing back the lump rising in his throat, he opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn got there first.
"Is she...?"
"No," Tyrus pitched his voice low, drawing his captain aside, but Jack still caught every single word he uttered. "I found her up by the portholes; getting ready to jump out, I'd wager. It sounded as if there was somebody else with her, but when I looked there was no one there. She fainted right out when she saw me."
"But, how did she...?" Quinn gazed at Ryenne's unconscious body in puzzlement. In his own mind, Jack was thinking the same thing: how had she gotten out of the brig? ...Will...
"I dunno, Captain. The brig was a disaster, though; crates and straw everywhere, and – "
Quinn cut him off with a sharp gesture as he noticed Jack watching, and brushed a tender hand over Ryenne's brow. Too tender. "Take her to my cabin; I'll question her later – "
"No!" Jack shouted, clenching his fists angrily. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. "I've fulfilled my part of the bargain, now it's time to fulfill yours."
Tyrus looked ready to lunge at him, save for the body in his arms, but Quinn looked as calm as ever. Studying Jack coldly through half- narrowed eyes, he was silent for a moment, then crossed his arms over his chest, giving Tyrus a slight nod. The other man looked indignant, shaking his head haltingly, but moved at another cold look from his captain. Eyeing Jack with violent distaste, he bent and dropped Ryenne roughly at his feet, lip curling in disdain. Then, throwing one last resentful look at Quinn, he tramped away.
"There. Now you have your prize, Sparrow." Quinn said coolly, tapping his foot impatiently on the deck. "It is time for you to show us the way into deMuerta."
Jack ignored him for a moment, kneeling next to Ryenne's limp body. She looked gaunt and pale – half-starved, no doubt – but he could see the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, now. A fresh wound stained one leg of her trousers with dark blood, still sticky to the touch and less than an hour old. And deep. He grimaced.
"Did you hear me, Sparrow? I said – "
"That wasn't part of our bargain." Jack said simply, brushing Ryenne's hair gently out of her face. He could swear he had seen her stir.
"Listen here, Sparrow – "Quinn began heatedly, before Jack cut him off.
"You could just as easily kill me as let me live, I know." He looked up at the man towering over him, suddenly realizing how young the other captain was. No older than Will, in fact. "I've heard it before, and I know the truth of it." His voice took on a cold edge, and he no longer cared how much danger he was in. Only Ryenne mattered. "No, if you'll leave me alone for a moment, I need to make sure 'my prize' isn't dying."
Quinn stood over him a minute longer, seemingly unsure of what his reaction should be, then gave a curt nod and stalked off after Tyrus, his black coat billowing in the wind. Jack snorted turning back to Ryenne. She was watching him.
"Hello Jack." She said weakly, a small smile twitching at the corner of her lips. He smiled back.
"Hello Ryenne."