Hi, angst chapter here, you know you love it. Um, the song Jack sings (yes,
you may have noticed I'm obsessed with putting songs in my fiction, I'm
SORRY, but this one is REALLY appropriate) is called The Token. And to my
worried reviewers, OF COURSE there's a happy ending. What am I, insane? I
love Jack, I just like seeing him jump hoops for me.. Hmmmmmm...That gives
me an idea. Hehe. Cookies for all reviewers. Cookies are important. (Pretty
good incentive huh!)
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Time does not heal all wounds. It's a myth. The scars of battles remain; the emotional wars fought each day grind down the soul. If your strong, you can rebuild after each storm, you remember those cherished good times and they drive you.
And sometimes, no matter how strong you are, things cannot be rebuilt and the pain lingers, tainting everything it can with its black shadowed fingers so that no happy moment is as bright and clear as it once was.
Ana-Maria kicked her feet against the stones of the battlement, starring down at the town with a vague disappointment. She'd thought it would be prettier, more orderly. But it was not. There was gambling and brothels hidden in Port Royal like anywhere.
Her mind wandered, watching the small figures make there way out of a bar and down onto the beach. Even from the distance and in the growing gloom, she could tell one of them was Jack by the way he walked. She could see the faintest smudge of red, which was his bandana, and the glint of glass in his hand. The other, a giant hat on his head, was obviously Will by the stiff way he walked in the sand, as though fighting against the very texture of the shifting sand.
"Ah, Jack." She whispered, letting the wind catch her words and toss them out to the ocean. She pushed a strand of hair of her face, and allowed herself to smile.
She thought of what Jack meant to her, of how pitifully the words I love you really described the extent of her emotion. And yet she felt herself drawing away from him. He was her captain, her lover, the man who watched her back in battle, someone who could draw her out of some of her darkest moods, her consoler, her comedian, and he'd never failed her. Never truly.
Maybe, she mused, now was the only time he'd ever really failed her.
Because he couldn't understand. Because it was not in his nature to worry about the sands of time, of the future. Her Jack, the man she loved with all her heart, had the gift for happiness. She knew that; and it was one of the things that drew her to him.
He'd never once told her he loved her. Not once.
For the longest time, she'd wondered why. She thought maybe it was because he was afraid of commitment, of obligation, or of what those words might mean for him.
In her darker moments, she thought that maybe he never said it because he didn't love her, that she was just a good fuck for when they'd been too long at sea and there was no other pleasurable company available.
Now, she thought, maybe he'd been wise in not saying it. Not simply because it left him too vulnerable, but because maybe she wouldn't have been able to deal with it.
And maybe he knew that.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"I have.." Jack Sparrow started, swaying slightly under Will's weight. He raised a hand, the dappled light falling from the front door way on to it, while the rest of him remained in shadow. Elizabeth stood with her arms folded across her chest, her white nightdress with small pink roses on it looking pure and clean next to Jack's wavering hand. "Bought you husband home little Lizzie." Jack Sparrow said proudly.
He was surprised when Elizabeth's hand connected with his face, and his head spun around with an expression of shock. He rubbed his hand on his jaw, and maybe not so wisely asked.
"Did I deserve that?" He said blearily. Elizabeth was rubbing her hand, a red mark forming on her skin where it had connected with Jack's face. She'd never known slapping people hurt your hand. She'd never slapped anyone before.
"Jack Sparrow," She started sharply.
"Captain, they always forget the Captain," Jack Sparrow mumbled guilty gazing at Elizabeth's bare feet. They looked cold and blue on the wooden floorboards.
"You've filled Will with liquor and go knows what else. He's hours late, and I was so worried. I had to send Martin with the coach to tell my father Will couldn't come for dinner, and, and." She paused, and then shook her finger at Jack. Jack looked at it suspiciously like it was a loaded gun. "You're a bad influence on him Jack. You, you, Pirate." She finished. Jack Sparrow shrugged.
"I've been called worse love." He leered, nearly causing Will to fall over. "But it wasn't exactly like I forced the alcohol down his throat," Elizabeth raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
"For some reason, I wouldn't put that past you." She said with a shake of the head. Jack winced and tried again.
"Now really what is it you have against the finer drinks? Wasn't it you my lovely, who gave me that fine shot of vodka earlier?" He said sneakily. Elizabeth blushed, and her iron resolve broke. Jack continued. "Now, do you want to let us in, or do you want half the neighbour to see you with a devilishly good looking pirate at two in the morning?"
"Oh you." Elizabeth said, quite flustered, helping Jack drag Will into the house.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ana-Maria vaulted herself over the fence of the Turner's house and stumbled slightly on the cobbled courtyard floor. She walked towards the windows, noticing the darkness of the house. No one awake.
She shivered slightly.
"Come on Jack, where are you?" She muttered. After losing sight of him at the beach, she'd looked, discretely, all over town for him. And he'd not been on his ship. She couldn't remember the last time he hadn't stumbled to home before dawn.
"The breeze was fresh, the ship was in stays, Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze," She heard Jack Sparrow sing. She spun around, seeing him seated with his back against the brick fence, surround by three empty rum bottles. Ana-Maria watched him warily. He beckoned her over. She slumped down next to him, his arm wrapping around her shoulder possessively. He continued to croon, his voice very close to her ear so she could feel each word blow strands of her hair from her ears.
"When Jack, no more on duty call'd, his true love's tokens over haul'd; The broken gold, the braided hair, The tender motto, writ so fair, Upon his 'bacco box he views, Upon his 'bacco box he views," Jack broke off to sip his vodka, and then court up the song again. "If you loves I...." He kissed her neck affectionately. Ana-Maria could feel a trace rum spilling down her neck. "No pair so happy as we two." He murmured, finishing the song.
"Jack," She started. Jack looked at her, as if seeing her truly for the first time. He grimaced, and shook his head. He stood up wearily, and made to walk into the house. "Jack." Ana-Maria repeated angrily, raising herself to her feet.
"What?" He said, spinning around, a doubtful look on his face.
"Come on," She said, tilting her head enticingly. "Come back to the ship with me." Her fingers, resting on her stomach, curled slightly. Jack watched the sight of her with a pleasurable sigh for a moment. Then he shook his head, his drunken movements causing him to nearly fall over as he reached for the door.
"Not tonight, Ana-Maria. Fucking you only makes me feel lonely these days." He said, and stumbled dejectedly into the house, collapsing on the floor in front of the fireplace.
She knew he was drunk, and that's why he said these things.
But it still hurt.
It didn't make it hurt any less knowing that it was true.
She stepped cautiously into the house, covering Jack's sleeping form with the throw from couch. She leant over his face, kissing his forehead tenderly. He shifted, and then his hand snaked out, clasping her wrist. His eyes fluttered open.
"Ana-love." He murmured, and then closed his eyes, releasing her hand as quickly as he snatched it.
The pirate wench stood up, resisting the urge to tidy the stray dreadlocks from his face, and turned to make her weary way back to a ship that would never truly be hers, alone.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Time does not heal all wounds. It's a myth. The scars of battles remain; the emotional wars fought each day grind down the soul. If your strong, you can rebuild after each storm, you remember those cherished good times and they drive you.
And sometimes, no matter how strong you are, things cannot be rebuilt and the pain lingers, tainting everything it can with its black shadowed fingers so that no happy moment is as bright and clear as it once was.
Ana-Maria kicked her feet against the stones of the battlement, starring down at the town with a vague disappointment. She'd thought it would be prettier, more orderly. But it was not. There was gambling and brothels hidden in Port Royal like anywhere.
Her mind wandered, watching the small figures make there way out of a bar and down onto the beach. Even from the distance and in the growing gloom, she could tell one of them was Jack by the way he walked. She could see the faintest smudge of red, which was his bandana, and the glint of glass in his hand. The other, a giant hat on his head, was obviously Will by the stiff way he walked in the sand, as though fighting against the very texture of the shifting sand.
"Ah, Jack." She whispered, letting the wind catch her words and toss them out to the ocean. She pushed a strand of hair of her face, and allowed herself to smile.
She thought of what Jack meant to her, of how pitifully the words I love you really described the extent of her emotion. And yet she felt herself drawing away from him. He was her captain, her lover, the man who watched her back in battle, someone who could draw her out of some of her darkest moods, her consoler, her comedian, and he'd never failed her. Never truly.
Maybe, she mused, now was the only time he'd ever really failed her.
Because he couldn't understand. Because it was not in his nature to worry about the sands of time, of the future. Her Jack, the man she loved with all her heart, had the gift for happiness. She knew that; and it was one of the things that drew her to him.
He'd never once told her he loved her. Not once.
For the longest time, she'd wondered why. She thought maybe it was because he was afraid of commitment, of obligation, or of what those words might mean for him.
In her darker moments, she thought that maybe he never said it because he didn't love her, that she was just a good fuck for when they'd been too long at sea and there was no other pleasurable company available.
Now, she thought, maybe he'd been wise in not saying it. Not simply because it left him too vulnerable, but because maybe she wouldn't have been able to deal with it.
And maybe he knew that.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"I have.." Jack Sparrow started, swaying slightly under Will's weight. He raised a hand, the dappled light falling from the front door way on to it, while the rest of him remained in shadow. Elizabeth stood with her arms folded across her chest, her white nightdress with small pink roses on it looking pure and clean next to Jack's wavering hand. "Bought you husband home little Lizzie." Jack Sparrow said proudly.
He was surprised when Elizabeth's hand connected with his face, and his head spun around with an expression of shock. He rubbed his hand on his jaw, and maybe not so wisely asked.
"Did I deserve that?" He said blearily. Elizabeth was rubbing her hand, a red mark forming on her skin where it had connected with Jack's face. She'd never known slapping people hurt your hand. She'd never slapped anyone before.
"Jack Sparrow," She started sharply.
"Captain, they always forget the Captain," Jack Sparrow mumbled guilty gazing at Elizabeth's bare feet. They looked cold and blue on the wooden floorboards.
"You've filled Will with liquor and go knows what else. He's hours late, and I was so worried. I had to send Martin with the coach to tell my father Will couldn't come for dinner, and, and." She paused, and then shook her finger at Jack. Jack looked at it suspiciously like it was a loaded gun. "You're a bad influence on him Jack. You, you, Pirate." She finished. Jack Sparrow shrugged.
"I've been called worse love." He leered, nearly causing Will to fall over. "But it wasn't exactly like I forced the alcohol down his throat," Elizabeth raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
"For some reason, I wouldn't put that past you." She said with a shake of the head. Jack winced and tried again.
"Now really what is it you have against the finer drinks? Wasn't it you my lovely, who gave me that fine shot of vodka earlier?" He said sneakily. Elizabeth blushed, and her iron resolve broke. Jack continued. "Now, do you want to let us in, or do you want half the neighbour to see you with a devilishly good looking pirate at two in the morning?"
"Oh you." Elizabeth said, quite flustered, helping Jack drag Will into the house.
* * * * * * * * * *
Ana-Maria vaulted herself over the fence of the Turner's house and stumbled slightly on the cobbled courtyard floor. She walked towards the windows, noticing the darkness of the house. No one awake.
She shivered slightly.
"Come on Jack, where are you?" She muttered. After losing sight of him at the beach, she'd looked, discretely, all over town for him. And he'd not been on his ship. She couldn't remember the last time he hadn't stumbled to home before dawn.
"The breeze was fresh, the ship was in stays, Each breaker hush'd, the shore a haze," She heard Jack Sparrow sing. She spun around, seeing him seated with his back against the brick fence, surround by three empty rum bottles. Ana-Maria watched him warily. He beckoned her over. She slumped down next to him, his arm wrapping around her shoulder possessively. He continued to croon, his voice very close to her ear so she could feel each word blow strands of her hair from her ears.
"When Jack, no more on duty call'd, his true love's tokens over haul'd; The broken gold, the braided hair, The tender motto, writ so fair, Upon his 'bacco box he views, Upon his 'bacco box he views," Jack broke off to sip his vodka, and then court up the song again. "If you loves I...." He kissed her neck affectionately. Ana-Maria could feel a trace rum spilling down her neck. "No pair so happy as we two." He murmured, finishing the song.
"Jack," She started. Jack looked at her, as if seeing her truly for the first time. He grimaced, and shook his head. He stood up wearily, and made to walk into the house. "Jack." Ana-Maria repeated angrily, raising herself to her feet.
"What?" He said, spinning around, a doubtful look on his face.
"Come on," She said, tilting her head enticingly. "Come back to the ship with me." Her fingers, resting on her stomach, curled slightly. Jack watched the sight of her with a pleasurable sigh for a moment. Then he shook his head, his drunken movements causing him to nearly fall over as he reached for the door.
"Not tonight, Ana-Maria. Fucking you only makes me feel lonely these days." He said, and stumbled dejectedly into the house, collapsing on the floor in front of the fireplace.
She knew he was drunk, and that's why he said these things.
But it still hurt.
It didn't make it hurt any less knowing that it was true.
She stepped cautiously into the house, covering Jack's sleeping form with the throw from couch. She leant over his face, kissing his forehead tenderly. He shifted, and then his hand snaked out, clasping her wrist. His eyes fluttered open.
"Ana-love." He murmured, and then closed his eyes, releasing her hand as quickly as he snatched it.
The pirate wench stood up, resisting the urge to tidy the stray dreadlocks from his face, and turned to make her weary way back to a ship that would never truly be hers, alone.
* * * * * * * * * * *