Trigger Warning: Includes themes that some may find distressing; sexual assault, attempted rape.

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Chapter Thirteen: A Disturbance, and a Promotion

Elizabeth could not have slept for more than an hour, before the night air was pierced by screams, mingled with language so colourful, it could have made even she, hardened as she was to having spent the past few years at sea amongst pirates, blush. She woke with a start, reaching instinctively for her pistol on the cabinet next to her bed. Sitting bolt upright, she swung the weaponry wildly through the darkness.

As her eyes opened, fighting against the depths of slumber, her mind slowly adjusted, her senses returning to her. Swinging her legs onto the cold floorboards, she fumbled in the darkness for her clothes, pulling up her breeches, tucking her shirt roughly into her waistband with one hand, feeling blindly across the tabletop for her sword with the other. A pistol, pre-loaded, stood upon her dresser, and this too, she grabbed. Pausing briefly at the door, she turned back into the room just long enough to reach for her hat. Jack was right; she felt immediately more authoritative with her hat. And, judging by the continued sound of a scuffle, she needed all the sense of authority she could muster.

Swinging the door open, she charged onto the deck, sword and pistol raised.

Two solitary figures were huddled together in the middle of the deck, though, as she peered into the darkness, she noted that more people were present - two or three shadows lurking in the darkness, apparently watching the scene. From the way their silhouetted forms shifted slightly now and then, taking a step forwards, and then retreating, raising an arm, and then dropping, they seemed unsure as to how to respond.

As she stepped closer, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, making sense of the scene before her.

Anne was wrapped in someone's arms, a man, judging by his build. It certainly wasn't Anamaria, in any case. At first, the embrace appeared amorous, and yet Anna was screaming, throwing all manner of curse words in the man's direction, while he in turn reciprocated.

"Shut it, you whore-ahhhh!" The man threw back his head to release a guttural wail. He had been attempting to clamp his large, disgustingly grimy palm over Anne's mouth to silence her, while she, clearly taking offence at this motion, had proceeded to clamp down hard on several digits.

Grabbing at Anne's upper arm with his free hand, he yanked her roughly backwards, in an attempt to release her grip, to no avail. Remarkably, even with a large portion of his hand between her teeth, Anne was continuing her tirade of abusive insults to the best of her ability. The man, meanwhile, only screamed louder as blood began to ooze from his hand - and Anne's mouth.

"For God's sake." Elizabeth hissed, stamping a foot in anger.

A deafening sound brought an abrupt halt to the commotion. Almost all present looked up abruptly to see Elizabeth, a smoking pistol aimed towards the skies. Anne, on the other hand, refused to relinquish her biting hold on the man, though she was straining to look at Elizabeth out of the corner of her eye, without turning her head so much as an inch. Blood was gushing down her chin, dripping liberally onto her shirt.

"What madness is this?!" Elizabeth raged. She recognised the man to be her navigator; a Swede by the name of Eriksenn, who, she noted, looked horrified by her arrival upon the scene.

Allowing the smoke of the pistol to settle, and the echoes of the shot to subside, Elizabeth lowered her arm. Slowly, she began to walk forward, circling the couple.

She squinted at Anne for a moment. Eriksenn was so filthy, it was a wonder that Anne hadn't vomited from keeping his hand in her mouth for so long.

"Anne?" She said slowly, with a tone of warning.

With a last glower at Eriksenn out of the corner of her eye, Anne relinquished her grip, turning her head to spit blood - and, Elizabeth noted with a look of disgust, a chunk of flesh - onto the deck. Eriksenn, meanwhile, hissed in pain, pulling his hand sharply away to examine the damage.

"Trouble, I see?" Elizabeth asked Anne pointedly.

"Aye, Captain." She said, pulling herself roughly from Eriksenn's grasp. "He tried to have me."

"Let us be perfectly clear, lest there be any misunderstanding - by have you, I assume you mean, against your will?" Elizabeth slowly, burning eyes fixed on Eriksenn, who had shame enough, at least, to avoid her gaze. Or perhaps, judging from the way he swayed on the spot, he was simply too drunk to find her gaze in the darkness.

"Aye, Captain." Anne said coldly, glaring at the man. "I were going back to my cabin, and he grabbed me, and said we were going to find a 'nice little corner', for just the two of us."

The man spat upon the deck, his own spittle landing with a 'splat' alongside the amputated portion of his finger, the remains of which he was cradling to him.

Her lip twitching, Elizabeth scowled at the lump of spittle.

"Ain't so, Cap'n." He said, his throat hoarse from strong drink. "We were just getting acquainted, when the lady came over all shy." He raked a lecherous gaze over Anne's body, and she visible shrank away from him.

"That so?" She turned now to beckon forward the watchful group, and a trio of men - including one of the cabin boys; Jacobs - stepped into view. "What say you to this?"

"Miss Harris is telling it how it is, Captain." It was Jacobs who spoke. "She had no mind to go with Mr Eriksenn, and he wouldn't let her be."

"And you three chose to simply watch from the shadows rather than intervene?"

At this, they all three of them looked suitably ashamed.

"I've heard quite enough." Elizabeth snapped, standing a little taller. A flash of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and, glancing to her left, she saw both Jack and Mr. Gibbs emerge up the gangplank, each with a hand on the butt of their pistols. They themselves seemed a little worse for wear.

Ignoring them, she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. "You signed in agreement with the ship's articles* upon joining my crew, did you not, Mr. Eriksenn?"

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Only a matter of weeks ago, is that not so?"

"Aye." He said, somewhat sheepishly.

She cocked a brow, her eyes darkening.

"…Cap'n." He added.

"And did it not state that there is no tolerance of rape aboard my ship?"

"As I said, Cap'n," He said, with considerably less certainty, "we were getting acquainted."

Ignoring this statement, Elizabeth stepped closer until he was mere inches away, the stench of him; a mixture of alcohol, sweat, cheap perfume (no doubt from one of Tortuga's ladies) and unwashed bodies emanating from him.

"Multiple members of the crew have spoken out against you, and thus, you are hereby dismissed from my ship, Mr. Eriksenn. I suggest that you retrieve your meagre possessions and disembark at once, or else I may be tempted to serve a delicate," She glanced down pointedly, "part of your anatomy to the sharks."

His eyes widened as he followed her gaze, taking a tentative step away from her. As though the small distance gained protected him, he squared his shoulders, his cheeks flush with rage.

"Though somehow, I hardly feel they will be anymore satisfied than with the chunk of your finger which Miss Harris here has already supplied as an appetiser."

At this, there were several sniggers from the onlooking crowd, and it took several seconds for Eriksenn to compose himself enough to respond. "Like I care to serve beneath a woman anyway. Especially someone's whore." He quite literally spat the word; Elizabeth felt the spittle hit against the brim of her hat.

Aware of movement behind her, she turned her head a fraction to see. Jack and Gibbs had both moved behind her, flanking her on either side, swords drawn. They said nothing, and yet she could sense their menacing presence.

She couldn't help but smirk, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards. In truth, however, she felt uneasy. While she had undoubtedly committed violent acts, in the name of protecting herself, or others, or - occasionally - to coerce someone into doing her bidding, she did not consider herself to be a violent person, capable of violence though she may have proven herself to be. And yet, she knew full well the precarious line that Captaincy held. When so disrespected, she knew all too well that she had little choice but to act ruthlessly.

Raising the butt of her pistol, she brought it down hard upon his cheekbone. He fell to his knees, clutched the undoubtedly fractured wound.

"Take him to the brig." She said, not bothering to address anyone in particular. "He'll be keelhauled come morning."

Even in the darkness, she could see as the blood drained from his cheeks as Gibbs, and one of the onlookers - a man by the name of Brekley - stepped forwards, grabbing him beneath each arm.

"Cap'n!" He cried, spouting a stream of nonsense, half defence, half accusations, smatter with cuss words and insults, as they dragged him towards the brig, apparently attempting every option of defence simultaneously.

"Don't tempt me to bring out the cat o' nine tails, Eriksenn." She snapped, as the men dragged him away. "I may yet, though would be a shame; such a spectacle is better to behold in the daylight."

She stepped abruptly in front of Gibbs, bringing the trio to a halt. Thrusting her face inches from Eriksenn's, the metallic stench of his blood reaching her nostrils, she hissed, her rage almost palpable now, "And believe me, Mr Eriksenn, I shall be making a spectacle out of you."

Moving away, she turned back to the crowd.

"Huang!" She screamed, waving a hand at Gibbs and Brekley, singling for them to continue on their way.

"Aye, Captain?" Her first mate called from somewhere in the darkness.

She didn't bother to look for him. Instead, her gaze found Jack's. He was looking at her, his expression strange, his eyes burning into hers. Her eyes held his, like a life raft, gaining strength, though her knees trembled so much, she was afraid they would give way beneath her.

"At eight bells, I want every man present to witness the punishment of our former navigator. Let it be known," She bellowed, addressing all present now, though her gaze remained firmly on Jack. "That the articles to which you all agreed upon when joining my crew, will be held to the utmost diligence. Allow me to make clear that if anyone lays so much as a finger, unwelcome, upon anyone aboard this ship, it will be at pain of death. I assure you all, you do not want to risk my wrath. Am I making myself, perfectly clear?" This last question was spoken as hardly a whisper, and only on its utterance did she tear her gaze from Jack's, to scan the crowd. It had grown considerably, as men emerged from both the quarters below, and the gangplank, to join the melee.

Her eye landing upon Anne, Elizabeth noted a tear in her shirt, over her breast, which she held tightly closed.

"To bed, all of you, or else, back to your festivities - but have a care - because news of any further violations will reach my ear, I promise you that."

At this, her crew were dismissed, and began moving in a confused huddle of muffled talk towards the nearest tavern - but for a rare few who were inclined to retreat to the sanctuary of their hammocks.

Elizabeth reached now for Anne, touching her lightly on the arm.

Anne flinched as though Elizabeth had burnt her.

"Are you alright, Anne?" She asked gently.

She shrugged. "He saw me with... Maria. Reckoned I needed a real man, or something like that." She shook her head, her eyes glazed. "Said something about... fixing me."

"It's over now, Anne." Elizabeth said softly. "Go to bed. He can't come near you now."

Anne nodded, but instead, she headed straight for he gangplank, no doubt to find Anamaria. Elizabeth could hardly blame her.

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Only once the deck was deserted, did Elizabeth allow herself to breathe, removing her hat as she tilted her face skywards. There she remained for several minutes, until she felt quite certain that her trembling knees would collapse beneath her, and so, she returned with haste to her cabin. Closing the door firmly behind her, she proceeded to undress, throwing down her weapons - and her beloved hat - in her urgency to return to the oblivion of sleep.

Behind her, there came the faint sound of someone clearing their throat.

She froze, her breeches around her ankles. Slowly, she turned to look over her shoulder.

Jack was sitting, feet propped against her table, smiling broadly as he openly admired her shapely legs, and the outline of her bum through the linen of her shirt.

"Jack!" She screeched, crouching to retrieve her breeches. As she sprang back to her feet, her head spun dangerously, and she had no choice but to pause in her redressing to steady herself against the table. "What are… What are you doing in my cabin?" She hissed.

He too, she noticed, had sprung to his feet, apparently in some alarm as to her dizzy spell; a hand was reaching out to steady her, though he had not quite dared make contact. Instead, he pointed both index fingers upwards; a sign that he was about to say something particularly insufferable.

"Might I suggest that you lower your voice, love, lest you wish to abandon any attempt to uphold any semblance of an honourable reputation amongst your crew?" His eyes drifted once more to her still bare legs, and Elizabeth, swearing profusely, hastened to refasten her breeches.

"I repeat, Jack," She hissed, snatching a dagger from her belt, "What are you doing in my cabin?"

He eyed the weapon warily, hands raised as she brandished it beneath his nose. "Not about to keelhaul me, are you, Lizzie, love?"

"Highly tempting, at present. I won't ask a third time."

Dropping his hands, he rolled his eyes with annoyance, batting the knife away. "Nothing sinister, I assure you, Captain. I didn't expect you to start relieving yourself of your clothes the second you stepped through the door - not that I have any complaints there, love." He flapped both hands towards her legs, now covered. "In fact, now that I know you're in the habit of spontaneously undressing, I might have to make a habit of lingering unawares -"

"Jack." She snapped in warning. "Did you pay no mind to the little speech I just made?" She waved her arm towards the deck.

At this, he looked truly offended. "I hope," He began, coldly, "I needn't seriously point out to you, Lizabeth, that I don't hold with rape?"

Her face fell. "No," She said, sighing, "Of course I know that. I didn't think that you… well, if I'd thought that, I wouldn't be brandishing this at your face," She waved the knife, before stabbing it deftly into the tabletop, so that it protruded upwards at a slight angle.

Jack grunted, turning away from her to fiddle with the various trinkets which she had acquired on her so far ventures. His reflection was visible to her in her looking glass, however, and she could see his pout, his furrowed brow. Clearly, why ever he had snuck into her cabin, it was a topic he was having some difficulty to broach.

The corner of her mouth betrayed her, pulling upwards into a smirk.

"Have you come to critique by ability to discipline my crew, Jack?" She said, all anger gone from her voice. Perhaps she was simply too exhausted to be angry with Jack. Or, perhaps, she in truth didn't mind the thought of his looking at her legs, as much as she ought.

"No critique necessary, love." He said, the tone of his voice matching hers. His gaze met hers via the looking glass. "Handled like a true Captain of such rapscallions as us."

She smiled sadly.

"I can't help but wonder what Will would think of my decision to have a man keelhauled."

Jack's own smirk flickered at the mention of her absent, and not quite dead, husband. He resumed his perusal of her possessions.

"Cap'n Turner is hardly the innocent soul you seem to view him as, Lizabeth. Many a man's blood on those hands, after all. And a long history of deceitful acts and double-crossing to boot."

"Pot, kettle."

"Tis hardly the point, love. We're discussing dear William's moral compass, not mine."

"And what of your moral compass, Jack?" She asked, serious now. She was close enough to him now to pick up his scent; sea salt, leather, rum, and the musky scene of unwashed male. And something else… yes, he had been with a woman tonight. Even if she hadn't witnessed his ascension up the staircase of the tavern with one of Tortuga's 'girls', she would have known, from the smell of him. And, simply, because when did Jack Sparrow ever pass a night at Tortuga without spending a least part of it with a woman?

At last, he turned to face her. His eyes were so dark, it was impossible, especially in the dim candlelight, to distinguish iris from pupil; great black pools. Will's eyes too were almost as dark, and yet Jack's held a knowledge of the world which Will was - even after all they had both seen over the past few years - only beginning to accumulate. How would Will's eyes look, after ten years at the held of The Dutchman?

Haunted.

"What of it, love?" Jack said, stepping towards her, so that she could feel his rum-soaked breath on her face.

"Have you ever had someone keelhauled?" She asked, in hardly a whisper.

Jack considered for a long moment. "Aye, love. On more than one occasion. But never without good reason. And then there have been times when I ought to have, but chose not to - unwisely."

"Did… Did it weigh on you to do so?"

She watched as the various responses flickered across his face, could hear his flippant reply of "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love," as it surely crossed his own mine. But, of course, the truth was never so straightforward - only the legend.

"Aye, love. And no doubt it'll be the same for you, but letting Eriksenn go unpunished will weigh heavier still."

"Yes." She agreed, pensive.

They stood together for a long while, reading each other well enough that neither needed to speak.

"Why are you here, Jack?"

He cocked a brow. "I thought you weren't going to ask that question a third time?"

"It's not the same question."

"Tis, love, and I've already answered it."

"Not it isn't, and no you haven't." She snapped. "I'm still waiting for an adequate explanation.

The pout, she noted, was back, his eye avoiding hers.

"Well, love, it occurred to me that you're now in need of a navigator." He widened his arms invitingly. "I came to offer my services," He eyed her again, grinning devilishly. "As well as any other services you may so require." At this, he bowed deeply, gold teeth glinting at her as he openly admired her legs again.

She scoffed, taking several steps back.

"You're insufferable."

Still bowing deeply, he lifted his chin to cast his wicked grin in her direction.

"Seems to me, love," He said, flexing his back like a cat as he stood upright, and began to circle her slowly. "That more so than you need a navigator, you need one whom you can trust."

She scoffed again, wheeling to face him.

"Trust? You? How many times must we discuss the matter of trust, Jack?"

At this, he looked hurt.

"As many times as it takes. I see you're still failing to recognise your trust in me?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, before promptly closing it again.

"Ay, Lizzie?" He pressed, looking at her knowingly.

"You're asking for a great deal from me, Jack, all things considered."

"Aye, and what greater trust is there than in spite of all evidence, contrary or otherwise, trusting a dishonest man to be dishonest, but more importantly, to still trust said man to be honest as when it matters?"

She paused to consider this, shaking her head.

"Only you can work your way from 'mere crew mate' to navigator in a matter of days, Jack."

At this, he spread his arms in the perfect, silent gesture of 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love'.