* * * * * * * * * * *
It would be easy to say that what happened because of what Jack did, one warm night in Port Royal. Or maybe it would be easy to blame the lure of the Cortez gold. Or blame Ana-Maria for restarting the curse.
But really, it began further back then that.
Three months before Ana-Maria kindly relieved Jack of his duties as Captain, things were very different.
* * * * * * * * * *
Jack lay in his berth on the Pearl six months before that day in the bar with Will, his eyes watching the silhouette of Ana-Maria against the candlelight. She was wearing a white slip, her feet bare, with gold bangles dripping from her wrist. She picked up the treasures that lay strewn around Jack's room, trying on his crowns, his rings and sigils, his necklaces with ornate pendants.
He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her hand moved up to stroke the side of his face. Her other finger ran a trail along the row of books, beautiful old-fashioned books with golden written titles.
"My little pirate wench," He said lowly in her ear. "Who gave you permission to touch Captain Jack Sparrow's things?" She smiled. Jack was the king of dirty talk; his brain seemed to link everyone and every subject to sex somehow. It was actually quiet remarkable. "Well, actually I did give you permission to touch on of my things."
He continued, his hands working up her thighs, pushing the white silk up, it crumpling around his hand. His hands slid further, resting on the thin slice of puckering scar there that stretched from one side of her back to the other, just at the base of the spine.
Her hands wiped behind her, grabbing Jack's hands.
"Don't." She said quickly. Jack grabbed her hands, removing them from her back in one fluid gesture, and with one hand pinning hers behind her back.
"Don't what?" He growled. His other hand was drawn to the white oleander tattoo her left shoulder, trailing the pattern white petals, his attention drawn by the contrast of the white next to the cocoa brown. His finger continued, trailing the blue vine down that connected to the flower, to the edge of her slip. He kissed her there, her hands still behind her back.
"Come on luv," He said, his tongue on her neck "I want to see it all. Have a good look." She spun around, her smile intact but seeming a bit forced.
"Come back to bed," She whispered enticingly.
"No," He said, grabbing her hands again in one hand, his other moving to rest just above her breast, feeling the rise and fall of her breathe. "Here, in the light." He ordered. She gave him a funny look, and then tried to brush him off, trying to push past him. He held her hands tight.
"Stop playing around Jack." She snapped, shaking her hand free. He released her with a flourish.
"Ana-Maria." He said sternly. "I want to see the tattoo I paid for." She scowled.
"You've seen it." She said quickly, brushing past him, reaching for the bottle on the table. He listened to her breathing, the hostility radiating off her. He tried again, coming up behind her, resting his hand on the small of her back again.
"This is about this," He said, running his ringed knuckles on the thin material over the scar. "You used to be beg to get naked for me before, I remember those cool nights at the beginning of spring," He crooned in her ear, pulling her hair away from her neck with a predator's skill. "Were we'd swim in the cool lagoon near our hoard, only water touching us, and we'd fuck on the cool stones, and I'd drip water down your spine like this.." He said, running his hand down her spine. She flinched like an animal cornered.
"And now," He spun her round so she was facing him. "What is this? You don't think I'd like you, because of a scar? I'm covered in them. Show me yours and I'll show you mine?" He said persuasively. She placed her hands on his chest, on the gap where his shirt buttons had come undone. She nipped the skin there playfully with her teeth.
"I don't want to talk about it, Captain Jack Sparrow," She said lingeringly. Jack let her continue kissing his chest for a moment, frowning down at her, his kohl eyes troubled. Then he grabbed her round her waist, lifting her up and forcing her back onto the table. She gasped.
"Ana, take this damn slip off." He said, his hands pushing the fabric up again. She struggled, slapping his hands away, pushing him off.
"God, Jack. I said no." She said, darting off. Jack stood there, short of breathe for a moment, obviously angry. He pointed a finger at her.
"We got you that god damn tattoo so you'd get over this." She shivered, and Jack softened, taking her in his arms, her forehead resting against his collarbone. "Ana-Maria, don't you know how terrified I was when that Red Coat sliced you? I thought you'd die on the boat; I thought that our botched job of sowing up the wound would surely kill you. I thought you'd never walk again, or worse."
"I know you did." She whispered. She touched his face.
"Why don't you want me to see it? Don't you trust me?" He whispered.
"I trust you with my life Jack." She said seriously, closing her eyes.
"Then what's wrong? Why won't you show me your back? Why are you ashamed?" He asked hotly. She answered by stroking his face, wishing that he could understand what even she couldn't. How that near death experience had changed everything.
"Jack, drop it." She said quietly. Jack's face was passive, but Ana-Maria could feel the stress and the anger through his shallow breathing, through the slightly too tight grip on her hip. She removed his hand from her hip, taking it in her own, and lead him wordlessly back to bed, with no questions answered.
It was though a chasm had formed between them.
Ana-Maria slipped out of his grip some time early in the morning, a terrible sadness evident in her face. She groped around on the floor for her shoes and for her clothes, getting dressed quickly and almost vulnerably. Once dressed, she gave Jack a long affectionate gaze, but he did not wake. She took the empty bottle out of Jack's hand and setting it on the table.
She opened the door, and left the cabin, revelling in the coolness of the night air, and to away from Jack's questioning gaze. She sat on deck till the sun rose two hours later, polishing her sword, her eyes resting on the sea but curiously vacant.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
It would be easy to say that what happened because of what Jack did, one warm night in Port Royal. Or maybe it would be easy to blame the lure of the Cortez gold. Or blame Ana-Maria for restarting the curse.
But really, it began further back then that.
Three months before Ana-Maria kindly relieved Jack of his duties as Captain, things were very different.
* * * * * * * * * *
Jack lay in his berth on the Pearl six months before that day in the bar with Will, his eyes watching the silhouette of Ana-Maria against the candlelight. She was wearing a white slip, her feet bare, with gold bangles dripping from her wrist. She picked up the treasures that lay strewn around Jack's room, trying on his crowns, his rings and sigils, his necklaces with ornate pendants.
He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her hand moved up to stroke the side of his face. Her other finger ran a trail along the row of books, beautiful old-fashioned books with golden written titles.
"My little pirate wench," He said lowly in her ear. "Who gave you permission to touch Captain Jack Sparrow's things?" She smiled. Jack was the king of dirty talk; his brain seemed to link everyone and every subject to sex somehow. It was actually quiet remarkable. "Well, actually I did give you permission to touch on of my things."
He continued, his hands working up her thighs, pushing the white silk up, it crumpling around his hand. His hands slid further, resting on the thin slice of puckering scar there that stretched from one side of her back to the other, just at the base of the spine.
Her hands wiped behind her, grabbing Jack's hands.
"Don't." She said quickly. Jack grabbed her hands, removing them from her back in one fluid gesture, and with one hand pinning hers behind her back.
"Don't what?" He growled. His other hand was drawn to the white oleander tattoo her left shoulder, trailing the pattern white petals, his attention drawn by the contrast of the white next to the cocoa brown. His finger continued, trailing the blue vine down that connected to the flower, to the edge of her slip. He kissed her there, her hands still behind her back.
"Come on luv," He said, his tongue on her neck "I want to see it all. Have a good look." She spun around, her smile intact but seeming a bit forced.
"Come back to bed," She whispered enticingly.
"No," He said, grabbing her hands again in one hand, his other moving to rest just above her breast, feeling the rise and fall of her breathe. "Here, in the light." He ordered. She gave him a funny look, and then tried to brush him off, trying to push past him. He held her hands tight.
"Stop playing around Jack." She snapped, shaking her hand free. He released her with a flourish.
"Ana-Maria." He said sternly. "I want to see the tattoo I paid for." She scowled.
"You've seen it." She said quickly, brushing past him, reaching for the bottle on the table. He listened to her breathing, the hostility radiating off her. He tried again, coming up behind her, resting his hand on the small of her back again.
"This is about this," He said, running his ringed knuckles on the thin material over the scar. "You used to be beg to get naked for me before, I remember those cool nights at the beginning of spring," He crooned in her ear, pulling her hair away from her neck with a predator's skill. "Were we'd swim in the cool lagoon near our hoard, only water touching us, and we'd fuck on the cool stones, and I'd drip water down your spine like this.." He said, running his hand down her spine. She flinched like an animal cornered.
"And now," He spun her round so she was facing him. "What is this? You don't think I'd like you, because of a scar? I'm covered in them. Show me yours and I'll show you mine?" He said persuasively. She placed her hands on his chest, on the gap where his shirt buttons had come undone. She nipped the skin there playfully with her teeth.
"I don't want to talk about it, Captain Jack Sparrow," She said lingeringly. Jack let her continue kissing his chest for a moment, frowning down at her, his kohl eyes troubled. Then he grabbed her round her waist, lifting her up and forcing her back onto the table. She gasped.
"Ana, take this damn slip off." He said, his hands pushing the fabric up again. She struggled, slapping his hands away, pushing him off.
"God, Jack. I said no." She said, darting off. Jack stood there, short of breathe for a moment, obviously angry. He pointed a finger at her.
"We got you that god damn tattoo so you'd get over this." She shivered, and Jack softened, taking her in his arms, her forehead resting against his collarbone. "Ana-Maria, don't you know how terrified I was when that Red Coat sliced you? I thought you'd die on the boat; I thought that our botched job of sowing up the wound would surely kill you. I thought you'd never walk again, or worse."
"I know you did." She whispered. She touched his face.
"Why don't you want me to see it? Don't you trust me?" He whispered.
"I trust you with my life Jack." She said seriously, closing her eyes.
"Then what's wrong? Why won't you show me your back? Why are you ashamed?" He asked hotly. She answered by stroking his face, wishing that he could understand what even she couldn't. How that near death experience had changed everything.
"Jack, drop it." She said quietly. Jack's face was passive, but Ana-Maria could feel the stress and the anger through his shallow breathing, through the slightly too tight grip on her hip. She removed his hand from her hip, taking it in her own, and lead him wordlessly back to bed, with no questions answered.
It was though a chasm had formed between them.
Ana-Maria slipped out of his grip some time early in the morning, a terrible sadness evident in her face. She groped around on the floor for her shoes and for her clothes, getting dressed quickly and almost vulnerably. Once dressed, she gave Jack a long affectionate gaze, but he did not wake. She took the empty bottle out of Jack's hand and setting it on the table.
She opened the door, and left the cabin, revelling in the coolness of the night air, and to away from Jack's questioning gaze. She sat on deck till the sun rose two hours later, polishing her sword, her eyes resting on the sea but curiously vacant.
* * * * * * * * * * * *