Vivid shades of greens, blues, and yellows churned and swirled against the ornate wooden ship as it cut through the waves and she knew she was going to be sick-again. Hermione stood at the edge of the deck and leaned against the polished white railing, holding her head up by the temples and begging and pleading that her stomach withhold her last meal. Her skin was paler than ever with a tinge of grey-green gracing the space between her cheekbones and jawline. Earlier her cheeks were red from embarrassment; what with her being the only one aboard who was casting the contents of their stomach over the side of the ship. Hermione's senses were both dull and reeling, and she barely noticed the hand that placed itself upon her shoulder. Her eyes followed the hand back to meet the face of its sympathetic owner; his face shaped by an amused but understanding smile.
"You'd feel better if you made your way below deck," Billy advised, moving his hand from her shoulder to rest below his yellow bandana in order to shield his eyes from the burning sunlight, "the ship's movements are most subtle there."
"I doubt anything can help me now." Hermione groaned as her stomach lurched, but nothing came up. It had to be empty by now, right? She'd been sea sick all day. She turned around and sat on the light brown wood of the deck, against the railing where the cool shade of the sail cast its midday shadow over her. In truth, she wasn't accustomed to the sunlight, either. Clouds and rain were England's signature; her natural habitat. The sun made her hot and tired, both painful additions to her illness. She shut her eyes tightly, a sign she had given up all hope of ever feeling well again. A bead of sweat graced her forehead: a monument to her strain.
Billy knelt down to sit beside her and attempted to distract her with conversation. "Can I tell you something?" He prompted, coming to sit down beside her "You remind me of someone I love."
This caught her attention. "How so?" She asked, cradling her abdomen before shutting her eyes to drown out another sudden urge to vomit.
"I have a wife and son back home, in North Carolina. I'm here as a privateer, making my fortune, in hopes my son might one day attend a college." Billy folded his arms over his knees as he sat squinting up at the sun in thought. "I miss them every day."
"I understand." Hermione replied, somewhat distant, thinking of her own parents and friends back home.
"My son is waiting for me. He should be eight years, soon enough. My, do I feel aged." Billy smiled nostalgically, eyeing the detail in the wooden grains on the deck while he recounted his years away from home. "It's been quite some time since I saw him last." All remnants of a smile faded away. "I hope I can set up a great life for him. Not one like my own."
"What's his name? Your son?" She asked, a few strands of hair catching in a gale of wind and tossing about. She held up her hand to the side of her face to shield the wind that fought for her attention.
"William… A family name."
"One moment, please." Hermione felt a rush of illness return and she moved her body, quickly, to face the railing again, staying seated. When the feeling passed, she rested her forehead against the rail and shut her eyes, feeling the Wicked Wench as it bobbed up and down against the waves without any sign of mercy to come. She reopened her eyes and blearily observed the hills of Jamaica shrinking further into the horizon. "Billy, what else can you suggest for seasickness?"
He paused, thinking. "You can always go rest in the captain's bed. I don't imagine the hammocks below deck will be very accommodating for you."
Her eyes widened. She hadn't even considered her sleeping arrangement yet. She groaned audibly in disapproval, but considered it. At this point, she would consider anything. "You think he wouldn't mind?"
Billy and Hermione both turned to see the captain occupied at the helm, talking to his first mate. Billy shook his head. "No, you should be fine. I imagine Jack wouldn't mind." They observed the Captain as he wrestled with his spyglass, struggling to pry it open.
"How long have you known him? He's a bit of a character, it seems." Hermione observed him with amusement.
"Since we were teens, actually." Billy mused. "He's always been a little… off. Can you imagine he comes from a long line of pirates?"
"His family? Pirates?" Hermione spun to meet him.
"Yes. He ran away from home when he was a kid because he decided the lifestyle wasn't for him. Changed his name, even. His father, Captain Teague, made a name for himself Jack couldn't separate himself from, so he changed it."
Hermione nodded in understanding. "He carries a broken compass." She began, standing up to balance against the rail. "Do you know why?"
Billy frowned in surprise, meeting her eyes with a shrug. "I didn't know it was broken. But, there must be some reason. An odd man, Jack is, but a lost one, no. There is method in his madness. His whole life has been a bit unorthodox. Even now, his behavior continues to surprise me."
"Oh." She was intrigued by his answer and turned away to observe Jack again, trying to figure him out. A quick toss from the waves reminded Hermione of her illness. She gripped the railing with one hand and her abdomen with the other as the ship rocked too much for her liking. "Oh. I think it's time for me to go lie down."
"You do that, Granger." He nodded to her in farewell as she turned to leave, noticing the familiar sway of jelly legs in her gait.
The captain's cabin seemed forever away from her spot at the side of the ship. The rocking was opposite her stride toward the cabin, causing her to stumble sideways here and there before her stomach demanded that she begin to run. She threw open one of the doors and ran to the bed, tossing herself on her back in order to calm her nausea.
The beige room began to spin as white drapes reached toward her from the open windows, of which she now began to see double. She lay looking up, noticing an opaque set of windows that was allowing daylight in through the ceiling. Another rock in the ship made the chandelier sway in a rhythm opposite the room. Hermione made herself comfortable in the bed and shut her eyes, feeling the pulse in her arms that counted with her every star that she saw in the darkness of her eyelids. After a few minutes, the coolness of the cabin soothed her to sleep as she lay outstretched among the pillows.
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"Mister GIBBS!" Jack called up to his first mate from the base of the stairs, the sun setting behind them.
"Aye, Cap'n." The man rushed over to meet him.
"Why is the woman in my bed?" Jack seemed calm but, in truth, he was panicked.
"I didn't know she was, sir." Gibbs shrugged his shoulders absently, brows furrowed in expectation of the unpredictable.
Jack reduced his voice to a hushed panic. "How do I get her out of it?" Jack didn't know much about women, but he knew better than to disturb a sleeping female.
Gibbs drew back his lips in a grimacing smile. "I dunno, Cap'n. If ye ask me, we should have left the lass behind. And, since when did Captain Jack Sparrow fail to negotiate a contract with Cutler Beckett? You're far too clever, Jack. Even as a boy you had a knack for such things."
"You're no bloody help at all." Jack frowned and stormed away to consult, instead, his closest friend who sat in the crow's nest, looking out. Jack pulled up the sleeves of his blouse before climbing up the ratlines as he had done thousands of times before. At the top, Jack helped himself over. "Ah, Billy." Jack stood in the small space, leaning against the side of the basket.
"You know this basket can only carry one of us, right, Jack?" Billy folded his arms over his chest, unadmittedly thankful for the company.
"Hogwash, I say. More importantly," Jack cleared his throat as if to add emphasis to his point, "Why is the girl asleep in my cabin?"
"I told her you wouldn't mind" was Billy's simple and irritating reply.
Jack blinked at him with his mouth hanging acutely agape. "Why? That's mine! A man's… captain's cabin is his castle, they say."
"Are you telling me you don't want the pretty girl to sleep in your bed, Jack?" Billy regarded his captain smugly. "If anything, a thank you is in order."
Jack's lips pursed in thought, realizing Billy had a fair point. He shook his head before continuing. "But how do I get around my room without waking her?"
"Jack," Billy said impatiently, "I don't think she'll mind."
"She's a woman. They mind everything."
"She won't mind, Jack. Just don't… creep her out."
"How would I do that?" Jack asked, a little offended.
"Well, don't stare at her, and be sure to listen to her. I think you'll be fine."
Jack was pleased with this, offering Billy a pat on the shoulder before returning to seriousness. "Also, you should know that if I never get my bed back, I'm taking your hammock and you can doze with the chickens. Or, the sharks for that matter."
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It was dark when Hermione awoke, but not in the cabin. She blinked open her eyes, noticing the telltale glow of candlelight that reminded her she was not home. She stretched her limbs, loosening the sleep from her body by pushing her arms up into the pillows and letting out a small groan, followed by a sigh. Her illness had subsided, to her relief. Now, she felt only a dull pulse in her head and the way her body felt heavy like lead after a hard sleep. She never even noticed the red sleep lines on the side of her face from the stitched pillow she'd slept on.
Jack regarded her as she sighed adorably, pushing herself upward to rest on her elbows, looking out at the room ahead of her. Her vision was still blurry, but a figure across the room spoke.
"Allo, love." The captain's voice rang from the figure. She frantically blinked her eyes awake and sat up in bed, embarrassed. She grabbed the top of her hair in surprise as she looked around. How had she slept so long? When her vision cleared, she saw him at his desk, observing a map. He continued when she didn't respond. "Sleep well?"
He wasn't mad at her? There was a silence that nearly overpowered the dull creaking of bones of the old ship that seemed to rattle as a wave lifted and dropped the ship against a swell. Hermione gripped the bed at the ship's movement that didn't seem to phase the captain at all. This would all take some getting used to.
Hermione only nodded, her deep sleep still having claimed her voice. She cleared her throat before giving him a husky answer, deciding he'd waited for her answer long enough. "Yes, thank you." She looked around the room, finally noticing the ornate engravings in the white-painted room that surrounded them. She continued. "I'm sorry for taking your bed, Captain Sparrow. I didn't know where else to go." She was trying to be as polite as possible as she stood from the bed and pulled the sheets back up.
"Ah, there'll be no need for that, darlin," he waved his hand in the air. "And, it's Jack to you, love."
Hermione saw his compass sitting open on his desk and she saw her opportunity to ask him about it. She walked over, casually rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she went to stand by him.
"What are you doing?" She asked, looming beside his work.
His eyes leaned back into his head slightly when his senses were invaded by the telltale vanilla aroma that came off of her in waves, capturing nearly all of his attention. He'd smelled vanilla once before, at a market in Morocco. He shut his eyes, concentrating on her sweet scent for just a moment before forcing himself to come back to reality. "Charting a course... Estimating how long it will take to arrive at our destination." His map was of the continents; the Atlantic centered.
He explained his work to her but zoned out almost completely as she leaned close to him, her natural vanilla scent overwhelming, and her hair was so close to his nose, soft and bouncing, that he would have reached out and pet her curly tendrils if she hadn't pulled back again. "I'll measure each of these distances, then compare them to the distance calculated here… so… then, C is the square root of A squared and B squared… thus your hypotenuse is six inches. Based on the original estimate, that's about twenty-seven days."
He stared at his work for a long moment, a jest settled on the tip of his tongue. He met her eyes with his dark ones still in place; showing either mischief or arousal, or both.
"You call this efficient?" She dared crack a joke, amused, but was distracted when she saw food on the table. Suddenly her hunger was all-consuming. She had been throwing up all day, afterall.
"Where did you get that?" She asked, afraid she'd missed dinner.
"Ah, it seems you missed dinner." He remarked to her dismay, writing something before giving her attention again. "You can always check below deck to see if the cook has anything."
She slumped, disappointed, before turning to leave.
"Hey, um." He forgot her name, but she stopped nonetheless. "Have a biscuit for the road." He tossed it to her, which she gratefully accepted.
"Hermione."
"Gazuntite."
"No, my name is Hermione, remember?"
"Hermione. Lovely." He echoed softly, making her blush fiercely. She quickly exited the room. He watched her leave, letting go of a long breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding.
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The food was cold and unsatisfying and only reminded her that she couldn't remember her last meal. Although she ate plenty, she went to bed hungry for something more, which awoke her in the dead of night. Had she been dreaming? She wasn't sure.
It was pitch black, save for the moonlight that shone in through the windows of the cabin; reflecting off of the ocean and lighting the room with a silver glow. A snore jolted her to alertness and she realized that the Captain was fast asleep on the couch where his limbs were strewn about most uncomfortably with one arm draped over his face and the other dangling haphazardly over the edge.
It wasn't long before Hermione spotted his compass hanging open from a string he'd fastened around his wrist; he'd kept it close ever since he'd 'lost' it the day before. If there was a chance for her to examine it, now was it.
She quietly pushed herself from the bed, careful not to make any noise as she placed her bare feet on the lightly stained wooden floorboards that stung cold against her feet. The young woman crept closer to the sleeping man and knelt down beside him, taking the compass into her hands lightly in hopes the change of weight against his wrist wouldn't wake him. She held her breath as he stirred, rolling onto his back and smacking his lips in his sleep before a deep snore confirmed that she hadn't disturbed him much. Hermione let out a long, measured breath as she turned her attention back to the compass that spun around and around, lost for true north. She dared place the compass in his open palm, searching his face for any sign of movement and found none. The compass' spinning slowed and came to a stop in her direction. She furrowed her brows, unsure of what this meant. The red point shifted again, pointing toward the liquor cabinet and then back at her before finally settling on the liquor cabinet.
She removed the compass from his hand again delicately and held it in her own, wondering what changes would happen. It spun ceaselessly again, trying her patience. After a long minute she shook her head and shut the compass in frustration before marching back to the bed and setting herself on it, arms crossed, calculating the different movements of the compass and their possible meanings. She arrived at no meaningful conclusions and stayed up the rest of the night, tossing and turning in frustration. It was just as she feared: she would have to ask him about it.
