Jack was having a great deal of trouble recognizing the man in the mirror. He knew it had to be him - he recognized his own muddy brown eyes, could place every one of the tiny scars his beard usually covered - but the horrible realization simply would not sink in. The poncy git who was staring at him with such a shocked expression was - had to be - the subject of an incredibly life-like, mirror-shaped painting, not his reflection. It couldn't be. This man did not look fit to sail on a ship, let alone captain one. This man looked like the type of man who would be seasick before he even left the harbor. This man could not be Captain Jack Sparrow. He looked like some ninny of a banker, some coddled aristocrat. He looked like...
Norrington.
He thought he might be sick.
Elizabeth had most definitely taken out her revenge with the scissors. His hair, which had once hung past his shoulders, now merely brush his cheekbones. Or rather, had been brushing his cheekbones; now it was oiled back, sleek and reeking of something that had a wafting, musty type of odor. It was more awful than he could ever have imagined. The hair alone would have been bad enough, but Elizabeth's revenge extended further than that. Thus, the tiny scars his beard usually covered were exposed. Because there was nothing there to cover them any longer. Elizabeth had, at least, conceeded to let him do the shaving himself, for which he was extremely grateful. he was not quite sure he would have trusted her with an open blade so close to his neck, not yet. Possibly not ever. Angry women with sharp objects were just homicides waiting to happen, in his book, and he was not ready to die.
He understood her anger. She and Will had been living a quiet, pleasant life up until he had decided to visit: Will had taken over the smithy, they owned a charming house and were expecting their first child... things had been going perfectly. Now they were both dancing in the shadow of the noose. They were harboring a wanted man, after all, and though Jack highly doubted Norrington would ever have the stomach to hang Elizabeth, the man had never exactly been fond of Will. She was right to be worried and angry. Since Jack's return, she had been threatened with widowhood more times than she even knew; whether he liked it or not, he had to acknowledge her right to be angry. With him, of course. And possibly even with Will. But no one would be right to harbor a grudge against Ryenne, poor girl. In that, Elizabeth was so very wrong. She was, however, right in insisting that, at the moment, making sure Norrington didn't recognize Jack was key. But this...
This was wrong.
"Wasn't there something else you could have done? Beaten me black and blue? Maimed me beyond recognition?" Maimed in a different sense of the word; he already considered himself maimed. If he had known he would have to subject himself to such extreme physical disfigurement, he would have opted for something more... masculine. This was simply humiliating.
Elizabeth's smile had more than a hint of smugness to it. That - and the fact that she had yet to put away her scissors - made him nervous. Her tone, however, was genuinely enthusiastic.
"You look wonderful, Jack. Like a gentleman."
Will's response was less so. Jack wondered if it had anything to do with the way he was nervously scrubbing a hand through his own shaggy mop of hair. "Well... you do look different."
"I look like a poncy git." There was no point in denying the truth.
"It's the suit," Will reassured him. "You'll get used to it."
"I hope not." Jack studied the powder blue monstrosity he had been forced to don and sighed. "I suppose the ruffles are necessary?"
Elizabeth's eyes twinkled. "Oh, absolutely."
He sighed again and turned from his reflection, eyes searching for the one person who had remained silent throughout the entire ordeal, the one person whose opinion truly mattered to him. She was tucked against the wall, her hands hidden in the folds of her velvet skirt and a thoughtful expression on her face. He felt naked and anxious under that familiar gaze. Then she smiled. It was a hesitant smile, shy and full of sweetness. His heart leapt in his chest.
"You look younger."
That was a compliment, wasn't it?
"Thank you." She blushed and lowered her eyes. Her hand twitched to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her borrowed gown. He wanted to catch it in his own, wanted to kiss each fingertip. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the mirror once more and ran a hang along his now-smooth jawline. He did look younger. He could pass for a man in his middle-twenties. A man Will's age.
A man Ryenne's age.
For the first time, Jack realized how very young Ryenne was - at least ten years his junior, perhaps more. The realization hit him like a fist. How old he must seem to her. He was still a man in his prime, yes, but she was a woman in the flower of her youth. A woman with prospects, with a future. Even without their age difference, what could he possibly have to offer her? He was a wanted man, a salty sea dog who would never be able to settle down and establish a home, who would always be on the run. He could never be a proper husband. A pirate could never be anything but a pirate; it was all they knew. Ryenne would want no more of that life, not after the damage it had done her. She would want what Elizabeth had, what all women eventually came to crave: a lovely home, a respectable husband, a family... things Jack could not give. His heart sank like a stone into the pit of his stomach. He had been right all along: Ryenne could never choose him. Ryenne would never be his. The pretty blush, the sweet smile... they would belong to another. He could hardly stand the idea.
As if she could sense these thoughts, Ryenne was suddenly beside him, slipping a tentative hand into the crook of his elbow. He should have been thrilled - it was the first time she had willingly touched him in months - but he couldn't force a smile onto his lips. He could only stare, transfixed, at their side-by-side reflections and try not to picture her on the arm of another man. It was difficult. In staring, he couldn't help but notice how very similar they looked. Both dark-haired with the memory of sun and sea on their skin, both so very awkward in their borrowed finery. Even her unusual amber eyes were not so very different from his own gold-flecked brown. She could have passed for his sister, as much as that notion bothered him.
Unfortunately for him, Elizabeth seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
"It's thankful the three of you look so similar," she said, nudging Will over to stand next to the two of them. "It'll make it easier for you to pass for family. Cousins would be best, I think."
"Maternal cousins," Will amended, grinning that familiar sheepish grin. "As my paternal side consists mainly of pirate stock."
Jack chuckled weakly. "Of course."
"Maternal cousins, then. Your mother had a brother, didn't she, Will?"
"An older brother," Will supplied. "George, I think his name was. I can't be sure. I only met him once or twice when I was a nipper."
"And I would, no doubt, be named for my father? As a sort of Turner family tradition?"
"Well -"
"George is sufficiently pompous." Jack forced another weak chuckle. "It'll do."
"And me?" Ryenne's voice was hesitant, as if she were loathe to remind them of her presence. Will fixed her with a smug sort of smirk.
"You'll be Carolyn, George's sweet little wife."
The word sent a thrill down Jack's spine. Behind his reflection, he thought he saw Elizabeth throwing Will a grimace, but he it hardly mattered. Ryenne was smiling that shy smile once again. Was she as pleased by their make-believe marriage as he was? He could hardly dare hope. He tried to force some nonchalance into his voice, confidence into his tone. He failed in the most fantastic way.
"George and Carolyn Turner, then, eh?"
Will's smirk was evident even in his tone. He knew what he had done. "No, not Turner. This would be my mother's side of the family."
Jack was in no mood to be baited. "Well, what was your mother's surname, then?" He thought he saw Ryenne catching her breath. He didn't have to wait long to hear why.
"My mother's maiden name... was Caelar."
Ryenne hadn't expected - after her brave decision to venture into the world outside her borrowed bedroom - to return to her self-imposed prison so quickly. And yet, here she was, huddled in the corner behind her linen privacy screen, both doors firmly bolted against any intruders. It was a necessary precaution; the expression that had clouded Elizabeth's features as she stormed out of Jack's room had been... well, it hadn't been pleasant. She had reason to be unpleasant; if memory served, Ryenne had not been the only one to pilfer a surname from Will's family tree. Of course, the end result had been very different for the last woman to do so. Despite what Elizabeth might have thought, Ryenne hadn't meant anything by the gesture. The name had simply been the first to pop into her head the night she'd fallen in with Quinn. She hadn't wanted to give him her true name for some reason, and she never had. She had shed every element of her old life in that one moment... or so she had thought. The action hadn't required much thought until now. Now, when it was going to cause her so much trouble. Oh yes, there would be trouble. Elizabeth's face had foretold as much. And Jack... she hadn't paused long enough to gauge his reaction.
What would Jack think? What would he say?
She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her forehead against them. She was tired of being inundated with memories, tired of feeling as though she was never completely herself. Tired of not knowing what was going to happen, or what her role would be. She wanted, for the first time in a long time, a measure of security in her life. She wanted to feel at home.
There was a knock at the door, hesitant at first, then gaining boldness. She didn't need to ask to know who was there. She sighed.
"Leave me alone." She pressed her face into her knees until she saw stars. "I want to be alone." It wasn't true.
Jack's voice was surprisingly patient, for Jack.
"Don't be ridiculous, Ryenne. Open the door."
"I know you must hate me; you needn't pretend otherwise." She heard his sigh.
"Ryenne, I don't want to repeat myself."
"Then don't. Just go away."
"I'll break this door down if I have to."
That got her attention, and she started slightly, raising her head to peer around the screen at the door. The doorknob rattled threateningly. She was on her feet before she even had the chance to think about moving.
"Don't you dare."
"Then don't make me," he snapped back.
She growled in frustration. Nothing was going to keep that man out if he didn't want to be kept out. He was persistent that way. She crossed the room in a few short - albeit hesitant - strides, brushing down her lavender skirts and straightening them self-consciously. Then she opened the door.
Jack was standing on the other side, as she knew he would be, and they spent a long, awkward moment eyeing each other. Then he brushed by her and into the room. Nervous as she was, she couldn't help but raise a sardonic eyebrow.
"Well, do come in, by all means."
He rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat.
"What was all that in there?"
"All what?" Just because she had opened the door didn't mean she was going to make the rest of it easy for him.
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
She glowered at him, still unable to get over how completely different he looked. The clean line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, so close to smiling even in his annoyance... they seemed completely new, and yet achingly familiar. Her eyes trailed to the place where his collar opened to reveal the hollow at the base of his throat. She wondered what it would be like to plant a kiss there...
"Ryenne."
She blushed, forgetting her glower as his reprimand drew her out of her reverie. It took her a moment to remember the reason they were standing there in the first place. Horribly enough, he noticed. His tone softened immediately.
"What's wrong, love?" He reached out to touch her arm, and then seemed to change his mind. She wished he hadn't. "Why did you run? What's the matter?"
She felt strangely close to tears. "You're not angry with me?"
He looked confused for a moment, and then closed his eyes, understanding. When he opened them again, they were filled with tenderness.
"No," he said simply.
Before she could stop herself, she was moving towards him, moving so that she was nearly pressed against him, his scent at that proximity heady and terrifying. It didn't stop her, though, as she reached a hand up to touch his neck, his cheek, drawing them closer. His eyes glazed slightly and his breathing hitched just once, and then... He put a hand on her shoulder, not quite pushing her away, but holding her back.
"I'm not angry, Ryenne," his voice was soft, but firm. "But I do want to know what's going on."
She closed her eyes in embarrassment and turned away, trying to quell the spreading warmth on her cheeks. What had she done? She was such a fool!
And then the tears came.
"I didn't mean to choose that name, it just sort of happened - Quinn asked who I was, and there was snow in his hair and not enough time to think and I didn't know what to do and I needed something that wasn't me, and - Jack, I was desperate and it was a long time ago and now Elizabeth will hate me and she has every right to, but what kind of name would Carolyn have been for pirating anyway, not that I knew that that was where I was going to end up, but... but..." She trailed off, slightly out of breath.
His eyes had glossed slightly once again, this time from what seemed to be pure confusion. He gave his head a quick shake and smiled - somewhat bewilderedly - down at her.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to repeat that, love. Slowly."
Jack closed the door gently behind him, walked a short way down the hall, and leaned against the wall, shaking his head. When he had finally gotten the whole story out of Ryenne - it had taken her a while to become fully coherent - he had had a hard time not alerting her to the fact that it still didn't make much sense to him. Of course, he understood the basics: how Ryenne had chosen the first surname to come into her mind when she first began her new life, and how that name had just happened to be that of Will's mother. It had upset Elizabeth because of her own adventures in pseudonymity, and, given how fiercely protective she was of Will, the fact that he had just risked his life several times over the course of the last couple of months to save Ryenne's hardly sat well with her.
But as far as Jack could tell, the past was the past. No one had been irrevocably hurt by Ryenne's choice of names, no matter how unfortunate, and he really was going to have to have words with Elizabeth about unnecessarily upsetting her when her mental health was still so fragile. Beyond that, Ryenne's past was still a jumble to him. Judging by the state of her, it was as bad as his worst fears, but he couldn't imagine what -
An ear-tearing shriek ripped through the house. He jumped, then sprinted down the hall to where he had left Elizabeth and Will earlier. Elizabeth was on the floor, Will supporting as best he could.. Her face was red, tears trickling out of the corners of her eyes, which were squeezed shut.
Will looked up at him where he stood in the doorway, frozen.
"For God's sake, Jack, get a doctor! She's going into labor!"
His words had a galvanizing effect, and Jack turned on his heel and ran back to Ryenne's room, bursting in the door. She was standing almost where he had left her, her eyes wide.
"Jack, what's-"
He grabbed her by the arm and began towing her out the door. Fortunately, she didn't resist.
"Elizabeth's going into labor. We're going to get a doctor, and then we are not coming back until it's over."
"But don't you think she needs people to help-"
"Not coming back until it's over," he reiterated through gritted teeth. They were going out of the front door just as another bloodcurdling scream came from upstairs, and Jack flinched involuntarily.
Undead pirates, deadly storms, and diabolical villains were one thing.
But a woman giving birthÉwell, that was entirely another.
