Disclaimer: Jack isn't mine. *sobs brokenheartedly* "She" may or may not be mine, depending on your interpretation.
Genre: het romance, Jack/female character of your choice, vignette
Rating: Either PG or PG-13--I'm saying PG-13 to be on the safe side.
Summary: Their love isn't the love of fairy tales, but if Jack's lover makes the right choice, it might work out anyways.
Author's Note: Funny little fic written because I read a (rather bad) fragment of a Mary Sue story in which Jack romantically proposed to Miss Sue, and my brain started screaming, "NO! NO! BAD CHARACTERIZATION!" I generally don't think I'm very good at characterizations, but that was just blatantly wrong. So then I started wondering how Jack would feel about love and marriage and all that stuff, and after a great deal thought, this emerged from the primordial ooze of my mind. ;)
As was the norm in relationships with Captain Jack Sparrow, it began sexually. There were no ardent declarations of love, no violins playing sweet melodies, no echoes of bells heralding marriage. It was, in all, entirely unlike the fairy tales.
They had been sitting at the table as the night wore on, chatting over rum and gin. Inebriation crept up quietly, and their hands had strayed slightly, touching cloth and skin, trading caress for caress. And then their lips had touched and they'd been lost in a sea of desire, only coming to the surface when she cried out his name into his bare chest.
They lay there, in the aftermath, completely silent. In a fairy tale, he would have kissed her and told her softly that he loved her. In a fairy tale, she would have smiled and told him that she loved him too.
It wasn't a fairy tale.
Nothing even really changed after that. The days remained the same--fighting, drinking, laughing, attacking, insulting, joking. They treated each other as they always had--with mocking insults to hide the respect they held for each other. Only the nights were different, nights spent with skin pressed against sweating skin, a haze of tanned flesh and bodies entangled and pleasure in the dim light of the lanterns.
Always before they had slept together, entwined and peaceful. But now, the routine changed. Tonight, after their usual passion, he quietly disentangled himself, pulled on his trousers and shirt, and left, walking up to the deck.
Something was in the air, she could feel it. It was a night of decisions, a night that could change the course of the future. A night that could be either an ending or a beginning.
She pulled on a robe and followed him.
He walked up onto the deck with a swaying walk that seemed to match the gentle swaying of the ship in the waves. One of the crew stood near the tiller, watching the decks to make sure that nothing untoward happened. She couldn't hear the words Jack said, but the watchman went back inside with a speculative glance at her. She ignored him and watched Jack.
He stepped up to the tiller, bottle of rum in one hand. Lovingly, gently, his other hand reached out and caressed the dark wood of the tiller, stroked it like a lover with those hands that had so recently been roaming her body. A chill night breeze blew, sending his hair dancing backwards, making his clothes flutter, caressing his skin. He was a vision in blue moonlight, human and yet somehow ethereal at the same time.
He was beautiful. And she loved him.
It wasn't love at first sight, like the stories--two pairs of eyes meet across a crowded room, the world comes to a halt, the masses part between them, and they meet with breathless adoration. It was nothing of the sort. They had started off at odds, and still were. And yet, in a strange way she had always loved him, although she realized it only now.
I love you.
She closed her eyes and let her lips try out the syllables soundlessly. She imagined approaching Jack, wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering those holy syllables. She imagined him returning the sentiment, planting a sound kiss on her lips and declaring his love for her, his eternal love.
But then his singing brought her back to reality. As usual, he was singing one of those ditties about life as a pirate, the open seas, and the booty that was his for the taking. She couldn't hear the words, but she didn't need to--the tune itself was piracy incarnate, bringing up memories of rum and wine and cannons and sword fights and gold and jewels.
This was Jack. This wasn't a fairy tale knight in shining armor who would go down on one knee and ask for her hand in marriage as birds sang and bells rang. This was Jack, Captain Jack Sparrow, a pirate forever.
She almost laughed at herself, and this time she saw that future as it would be--she would go up to him, declare her love, and just for a moment the fear would be visible in his eyes--the fear of commitments, the fear of being tied down, the fear of being tamed--and then he would smile and joke and draw her attention away from the words he'd never say. And then, as she pined for those words, he would slowly slip away from her, and all the love, all the friendship, all the times they'd shared would be lost.
He was Captain Jack Sparrow, wild man, swaying drunkenly along the edge of insanity, free as the air that he breathed and the sea that he sailed. She couldn't tame him with love and marriage and a diamond ring. She didn't even want to try. He would continue being Jack Sparrow, try or not. He would flirt with other women, he would caress his lovely Pearl, he would drink that bloody rum, and he would never be truly hers, never all her own.
She blinked back tears.
"You'll catch cold if you stand there much longer," Jack remarked idly as he stood near the tiller, bottle of rum in hand. She faked a smile as she walked over to join him.
"And what would you suggest that I do to stay warm, hmm?" she purred. "Perhaps a little rum?" She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a long pull. The rum burned on its way down her throat and she found herself coughing. Jack slapped her heartily on the back and relieved her of the rum.
"Not so fast, love. 's not much of that left."
She laughed. "All about the rum, eh?" she asked. It came out more bitterly than she'd expected, so she planted a rummy kiss on his lips in apology.
"Aye, love," he replied with a grin. He draped a companionable arm over her shoulder, and she wrapped an arm around his waist. Lulled by the rocking sea and his warm arm, she thought of telling him she loved him, to hell with the consequences, to hell with freedom and wildness and untamable sparrows, but she remained silent. It wasn't worth it, despite her sorrow. She'd made her choice, no matter how bleak and sad it might be.
For a while, she could hear only the crashing of the waves and the creaking of timbers and the beating of their hearts. But then, Jack spoke. "Look at that."
"At what?" she asked, wondering what he'd seen out on the deeps.
"The sea, love. The sea."
She looked. The sea was beautiful, with moonlight and starlight turning the dark waters to a shimmering silver. But beyond the physical beauty was the essence of adventure, the distillation of piracy, the embodiment of freedom. His adventures, his piracy, his freedom.
And he was sharing it with her.
Suddenly, her choice didn't seem so bleak after all.
Please review. Pretty please? I know I probably messed up Jack's character, but I've only seen Pirates of the Caribbean twice. *whimpers* And he's frelling hard to write!