Jack found himself in a less than desirable position, none other than kissing the feet of Anamaria. Following the nearest of his near-death experiences, washed ashore, he came to with the sight of her above him, offering him a spot on her crew. Knowing when to relent and accept an opportunity when it presented itself, he surprised the both of them by accepting. In higher fortune, Jack would cast aside the offer immediately, refusing any vessel outside of the Black Pearl and refusing any role outside of Captain. But he just couldn't seem to get a leg up as of late and, even in all of her brass and ill-temper, Anamaria had a softness that came out on her best of days. He missed softness.
After accepting her offer, softness was the last thing Jack was met with, however, immediately handed a brush and a pail once aboard the ship. He pulled a face, wondering if he should make a run for it already, but he knew Anamaria was testing him, and he suspected he deserved this somewhat after several instances of slighting her.
Scrubbing the deck, Jack reasoned Anamaria was doing rather well from herself. The ship wasn't anything to write home about but was more than he had and the crew, nearly all women. Yes, she was doing rather well from herself, Jack thought, watching Anamaria draw a woman with dark, narrow eyes and short cropped raven hair forward by the chin as another with golden hair and a smattering of freckles kissed at her neck and smoothed attentive hands over her waist.
Jack didn't realize he paused from his work, his mouth falling slack, until he felt a hand at his shoulder. A crewmember that was all curling hair and curving hips whispered a greeting in Jack's ear and he turned into her, his mouth already pulling up in a grin so near her own until Anamaria huffed a vocalization that was enough of a command in itself.
"No fraternizing with the deckhand," Anamaria said for good measure, and Jack glared at her retreating back as she left the other women to it, pulling her hat low and returning to the helm.
After serving a week's time as deckhand, a glimpse of Anamaria's softness was revealed.
"Alright, you've proven your worth, Sparrow. Honestly, I thought you would have said the hell with it, gone right mad by now."
There was an unspoken sentence resting behind her eyes. You really must be down on your luck, Anamaria's eyes spoke for her, and Jack had to tear his gaze away.
"Gone wrong mad, I suppose," Jack said, his voice distant, but he offered Anamaria a tender smile soon after.
The lot of them came into some money, good money, with a pillage, and Jack was shocked by at Anamaria's generosity when he gave him a well over decent cut. Even considering he led them to the real ticket of the raid, Anamaria was the Captain. She owed him nothing.
"Do something good with it," she simply explained, although there was a weight to the words, spoken like an honest Captain.
They sailed for Tortuga and Jack couldn't be more thankful to see the town in all of her debauchery and glory. He was itching to touch a woman, soft and alluring, now finding himself surrounded by countless possibilities yet all off-limits, testing his patience and sanity.
Jack made for the usual bawdy house first, always sure to hold the saltiest of wenches, surpassing his usual stiff drink or two, or three. He wanted to feel every shudder, every touch of the hand. Then, he could get properly near-blackout and circle right on back.
After swinging the door open, the bookkeeper gave him a knowing close-lipped smile.
"Haven't seen you in a while."
"Came out of dark matters a little worse for wear. I'm on the other end now but need a right good time." Jack swallowed down the rest of his sentence. To forget it all.
"I know just the one. A walking Venus she is. Can even sing for you if you like," the man called out as he sent away for the woman.
Jack drummed his fingers against the desk absentmindedly and, feeling the tell-tale prickle at the back of his neck at the feeling of being watched, suddenly turned. Jack met eyes with a woman who was peeking around from the curtain behind the desk. She hid away in an instant at being caught watching him. Frowning, Jack drew forward and swept the curtain back.
All large brown eyes and skittish hands at the hem of a robe that barely met mid-thigh, the woman was just barely one. She started when a rat that raced across the floorboards. Jack's eyebrows knitted together, trying to ignore the sense that she needed protecting when her eyes met his once more, helpless. Her eyes held a noticeable sense of melancholy, not yet masked over with dark makeup or carefully crafted and put-upon desire, but an honest and deep melancholy Jack knew and knew all too well. She was new, he reasoned.
"Scarlett here is just what you—"
Jack held up a hand, not turning. "This one."
The woman standing before him wrapped her arms around herself and she stared down at her bare feet.
"Oh, she wouldn't hold a candle to—"
Jack faced the tradesman. "This one," he reiterated, and the other woman left with a scoff and roll of her eyes.
"Fresh off the market." He raised an eyebrow. "Care if you pay before you poke?"
Jack forced three times what he would normally pay into the man's hand. "I'm good for it if that's what you mean," he said, an edge in his voice. "That enough?"
"For a common whore, but this one? This one's pure."
Jack pulled a face and dug back into his pocket and dropped more coins into his hand.
"And you said you were worse for wear." The man grinned at Jack, nearly showing each of his yellowed teeth. "Right fun you'll have," he whispered conspiratorially. "I nearly wanted to break her in myself but couldn't make for damaged goods."
Jack offered a tight-lipped smiled and looked to the young woman who momentarily met his eyes then lowered her head once more before following him, resigned, to the back. The moans and shouting, both performative and desperate, seemed more difficult to block out than usual on the way back, but dulled once they reached an empty room. Jack shut the door and turned to the woman who stood with her arms still drawn in on herself, refusing to look at him.
"I don't take well to being spied on," Jack murmured, celebrating a silent victory when she raised her chin. His mouth twitched into a near-smile when she squared her jaw at him.
"I don't take to men yanking back curtains but here we are," she retorted easily, and the sound of her voice, clear and bright as a bell but colored by the flippant nature of her words was a good sign, he thought. She still had some life in her.
"You ought to get used to such in a place like this," Jack replied, honest, and she flinched at the words. "Bound to happen," he added, his voice softening.
Jack studied her for a moment, his gaze catching at the circles under her eyes and too apparent cheekbones. She was stunning but gaunt, seeming worse for wear as well. Jack dug a hand back into his pocket, thumbing over the coins there, wondering if she would let him buy her a meal easily or if she was too proud for that and fight him on it until she couldn't stave off her hunger any longer.
Jack slid down the door and crossed his legs before him, clicking his compass open and shut to fill the silence before finally looking up and asking, "Got a name, dearie?"
She looked at him, calculating, seemingly wondering why he was so far away, not making a single move to touch her yet when he paid for just that. She lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her legs to the side, adjusting several times, her hands tucking in her lap to remain decent.
"Elizabeth," she answered, her name spoken regretfully as she pushed hair from her face. He cleared his throat, hoping to clear away the strained feeling there, her sullenness contagious.
"Jack." He raised his hand and curled his fingers forward in a small wave. "Life hasn't been kind to you," he offered the statement, and there was undeniable recognition in her eyes. "She isn't too sweet to me either," Jack continued, sitting up, cross-legged. "How'd she cross you, love?"
"Why are you asking me this?"
"Misery loves company," he replied simply, the words barely there they were so quiet.
In the shared silence, the muted sighs and groans from the other rooms pooled into theirs. Elizabeth cast her gaze over her shoulder at the bed, then immediately shied her gaze away from the worn blanket, grey and dull and surely covering a whole mess of regrets.
"I lost three men that truly loved me in a span of three days, alright?" Elizabeth whispered, looking up to Jack. "My father was called on by a failed heart, probably onset by worry. Pirates stole me away as they thought I was… someone else, only because I told them I was. My dear friend, who they were truly after, saved me. Then, well, there was something about the crew knowing his father and a curse and—I'm not entirely sure." Jack straightened against the door at the mention of a cursed pirate crew. "I still can't make sense of it all as it all happened much too fast. They killed Will—my dear Will," she amended tenderly, "in cold blood. Then they killed the entire fleet of the Royal Navy that came to save me, one a man who proposed to me the morning before I was taken. I managed a crude raft and washed ashore here."
Elizabeth's hands balled fists in the fabric at her thighs and she lowered her head, her hair curtaining her face.
"It's my fault the three of them are dead and gone. I tangled up in matters I shouldn't have. Privileged boredom of a governor's daughter, I suppose," she murmured, her voice laced with remorse. "I can't go back. I can't face myself, let alone my old home without the three of them there upon my return. I deserve a wretched life."
Elizabeth met Jack's eyes again, and he noticed they shone with unshed tears.
"Before I escaped, the pirates tried to do the very thing to me that you're about to and, well—Will you just get on with it without seeing me cry first? Or is that a demented pleasure you have? You like to see your whores cry first, is that it?" she demanded to know, forcing away tracks of tears from her face with her sleeve.
Jack clasped his hands together in his lap, thinking over how to address her after such a heartfelt and shaken confession. Just when Jack opened his mouth to reply, he heard a knock on the door.
"A drink for an old friend?"
"Fine, thank you," Jack called back then made a face.
The sick git was hopeful to catch the woman's sighs.
"Barbossa's crew?"
"That's them, yes," Elizabeth muttered.
Jack's heart softened for the woman further, her life slighted by the same crew that mutinied him all those years ago.
"The deepest circle of hell for the lot of them," Jack spoke through gritted teeth.
Her features washed over with a thoughtful expression and she leaned forward. "You know them?"
"My old crew," Jack said, finding himself the one admitting regret to a stranger now. "Committed mutiny on me on the very ship I sold my soul for."
"Sold your soul?"
"Only choice I had at the time. Like I told you, life isn't sweet to me."
There was another knock on the door and Jack stood and swung it open, about to snarl at the man but the busty worker with firey hair answered instead.
"On the house." She forced a bottle into his hands.
Jack nodded in thanks then closed the door. He drew the cork from the rum and took a swig, welcoming the familiar burn with a sigh.
"He wants to hear us. He won't leave us until he has some material to fumble over himself with," Elizabeth murmured, looking up at the ceiling. Jack recognized a wordless prayer resting on her lips. She looked right looked angelic she did, Jack thought.
Elizabeth blinked her eyes shut then suddenly gasped out a sigh, loud enough to be heard but gentle enough to sound genuine. She peeked an eye open and looked to Jack expectantly.
"Oh," she moaned, drawing it out, then circled a hand forward, prompting him.
"Lizzie, oh, Lizzie," he muttered, rolling his eyes, then took another long drink.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the nickname and he shrugged, continuing to drink. Jack turned his head towards the door, pulling a face at ragged breathing he heard behind it. He waved her on.
Elizabeth let out a shocked sound and afterwards performed girlish giggles tumbled out of her throat. Soon after, she moaned once again followed by a string of his name, rushed and panted, the longing quality in the name increasing with each utterance. Jack paused from drinking, the rim of the bottle resting at his lips as he watched Elizabeth's part over and over to exhale his name, all contrived worship punctuated by a faltering moan and catch of breath in the back of her throat. Jack blinked, returning back into himself. He shifted in his seat then pressed his ear against the door. His mouth pulled up into a knowing smile at the shuffling of feet down the hall. Rotten, disgusting men. Jack knew them well, being one. The man had his fill, at least, well prepared to fumble over himself, as Elizabeth put it.
Now Jack could get on with chatting with his newfound friend in misery.
"Good show," he complimented then stood, offering her the bottle.
Elizabeth looked at it skeptically but took it. She took a proper swig then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Jack removed his hat and sprawled back onto the bed and shut his eyes. He really did need a good sleep but that would come later.
"But you'll tire of performing." Jack turned his head to the side and blinked his eyes open. "Elizabeth, leave this place with me. Please," he added, an afterthought.
"What?"
Jack turned on his side, leaning forward to avoid raising his voice. "Don't make me say it again in case old boy comes back for more show."
Elizabeth neared Jack, kneeling at the edge of the bed, and Jack found himself with a woman kneeling before him for an entirely different reason than expected when he sought out the brothel.
"Do something good with it." Jack heard Anamaria's voice echo in the back of his mind, and the tightness in his chest lightened further. Jack turned over the thought in his mind that perhaps the softness he needed was a returned softness within himself.
"I'm with a right honest crew now. Nearly all women. Ruthless women." Jack smiled some. "You don't sound too fond of pirates, but you might come around when you meet the right ones. It could be good for you. A new life."
Elizabeth eyes shone with unshed tears at Jack's last few words.
She swallowed down her hopefulness. "I'm not quite sure I can trust such pretty words."
"Look, I don't blame you for not trusting me, but I don't exactly think this lot you're tied up with now are so trustworthy either." Jack sat upright and returned his tricorn hat to his head. "I lived a life as a man no woman should ever trust. But I fought tooth and nail to evade the Locker for it and lived to tell the tale. Life hasn't been kind, but you lived it, Miss..." He looked to her expectantly.
"Swann."
"Miss Swann," he concluded, a tender smile pulling at his lips. "You're living it." He stared into her for the next few words but he felt as if they were more for his own ears if he was honest with himself. "You ought to keep that up. Living."
Jack stood and offered his hand to Elizabeth. She studied the offer for a moment, the dirt under his nails and the assortment of stolen rings before taking it, pulled to her feet in one fluid motion. Elizabeth brushed hair from her eyes and bore into Jack's for a moment, nodding once she found whatever she was looking for.
"You're well on your way to becoming the kind of man a woman should trust," Elizabeth said, an unconcealed fondness in her voice.
"On my way," Jack agreed with a quick nod of his own. "Let's save the compliments until I manage to get you out of here safely, aye?"
Elizabeth smiled at Jack, an honest smile, and she moved their joined hands in a gentle sway at their sides. There was that return of softness in his chest again. Jack thought maybe life would be sweet to him again sooner than he thought.