Title: Foggy Night Serenade 4/?
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own anybody
Summary: After a tender moment in the cabin, it's back to reality
Author's Note: thanks to everybody for great reviews, I'm certainly loving them. Here's the next chapter, I hope ya'll enjoy it!
&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%
It had been two days since he'd held her in the cabin, and he seemed intent on avoiding her until she forgot the incident even occurred, or maybe avoiding her until she left his bloody ship completely. Isabelle found that the crew wasn't nearly so bad as she'd assumed on the first day. Oh, certainly they were a course bunch, but they were friendly enough if she tried to start a conversation, though she wondered if that were because they were genuinely interested or if their captain had threatened them if they weren't civil. Gibbs had already told her, in jest of course, about his misgivings about her being aboard ship with a group of people who were so below her station, but she'd put his mind at ease almost immediately and she intended to keep it that way. She wasn't some prima donna whose needs neither had to be catered to, nor was she a wilting society flower who would fade without the proper attention. If anything she desired to be alone, but it was hard to be completely alone aboard a ship.
Unless of course you were Captain Jack Sparrow.
If he were any other man she'd swear he was sulking, but she had a feeling Jack never sulked. Brooded maybe, but sulking was out of the question. She wondered what exactly had set him off. Was it something that had happened in the cabin? Isabelle fell into a habit she had learned through her father whenever something undesirable happened and immediately began to mentally debate whether or not she herself had done something to set him over the edge. Perhaps she had. She didn't know his moods well enough to truly judge anyway. The only person aboard this cursed ship who seemed to was Gibbs. And even he could only shake his head and sigh.
It'd been two days and Isabelle was finding exactly how short her temper truly was. She'd seen him a few times, but he'd always walked away, not even truly looking at her, giving her the same consideration he gave one of the ship's masts. It was enough to drive any sane person mad. She looked down at the dress she wore, borrowed from a cache of clothes in one of Jack's various trunks. It resembled something she'd wear to an afternoon tea. Vaguely formal, but still an afternoon dress, conservative in the way that should she keep the kerchief around her neck it showed nothing. But lose the kerchief and two swells of feminine flesh flowed over the bodice to sit almost inviting touch. The material was a jade so light it was the border between green and cream, the color actually making her eyes appear a darker shade of startling forest green. She hadn't picked the dress, Jack had. She'd awoken two days ago and found it lying across the bed, complete with new chemise and undergarments. Though the absence of a corset was incredibly conspicuous and she almost asked Anamaria about it.
Anamaria had become her unofficial companion as of late, though whether it was because Gibbs assumed the two women should remain together as much as possible (which Isabelle doubted) or because Jack had asked the other woman to look after her, was anybody's guess. After the first day, when the woman had come to help Isabelle dress, it had become painfully obvious that while she was an attractive thing, Anamaria had neither the time nor the interest in anything remotely feminine. She could if she chose, it was obvious she was intelligent, but she lacked the interest. It was something that intrigued Isabelle to no end. "You really haven't worn a dress since you were thirteen? Not even once?" She asked in disbelief, staring at the woman as though she'd grown an extra head. Anamaria sighed.
"No, I haven't. And I don't intend to any time soon."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not tryin' to attract attention to m'self just because I've got a set of tits."
"That is not-"
"I ne'er said it was, Miss Isabelle, but that is something that most women do." Isabelle stared at the seasoned sailor, her capable hands busy mending the many knots of a fishing net, and she was silent for so long Anamaria continued, almost as though to explain herself. "I earn me keep just like any man, I'm their equal and I've never felt the need to be anything below that."
"So you've never wanted to settle down? Get married? Have children?" The darker woman sighed, setting the net down at her feet.
"Why? Marriage implies a contract, a contract implies equality on the part o'the two parties and most men don't see the women they tup as equal. And who the bloody devil said I had to get married to have children?" Isabelle gasped, appropriately scandalized. "Let me ask you a question, missy, why do you think that I should want all those things?"
"Because… it's… normal." Anamaria arched an eyebrow.
"So what yer sayin' is, I'm not normal. Is that about the short of it?" Isabelle blanched, obviously not wanting to put it quite like that but not finding any other way to put it. "Alright, let me ask you another question. What do you call a woman who exchanges her body for coin?" Isabelle shrugged.
"I'd call her a whore."
"I'd call her a wife." Anamaria stared at her, completely serious and Isabelle found that she couldn't be ask scandalized as she was before. Talk like this would have her father positively murderous. "Think about it, miss. A woman marries and then she's responsible for a man who can do anything he bloody well wants. She's been raised to take care of him, tha means she can't make her own money, and the only money she gets, she gets by keepin' him happy. How does she keep him happy? That'd be obvious, spendin' most of her time on the flat of her back wi her toes to the sky."
"That's a very bleak outlook," Isabelle finally answered.
"Yes, it is. Because I've seen it in action. Why do you want to do all tha things you seem so intent on wantin' me to do? Do ye want to marry a man ye don't know, but yer father's picked out and then go off and live with him until ye give him a passle o brats?" Isabelle winced.
"It's what's expected of me," she answered softly, staring out into the rolling horizon.
"But is it what ye want?"
"I don't know."
"Why do ye think tha's what ye have to do, then?" Isabelle shrugged, it was a very unladylike gesture, but it was one she was picking up being around these… pirates.
"Because it's what I was born to do. I'm the daughter of John Lockwood, it is my duty to marry well and-"
"And ye sound about as thrilled as a termite in a cement box."
"It's who I am, Anamaria. I don't have a choice." The woman gave her a keen look.
"Ah but ye do, lass. I'll wager if ye asked the Captain nice enough and used some o the same wiles on him tha ye planned on usin' on yer future husband he'd let ye stay here. As a laundress mayhap, or," she shrugged, nodding her head up at the sails, "mayhap a seamstress. It'll keep ye locked a goodly amount o time in his cabin. Or at least, more so than now anyway." Isabelle rose, angry now and unable to miss the insinuation in the last comment.
"Is that what he's saying?"
"What would that be, then?"
"That I'm spending all my time in his cabin to… to…"
"Convince him to keep ye happy?"
"That… that… that…"
"Thar's a sentence in there just achin' ta come out, Isabelle," Anamaria found herself trying very hard not to laugh. The woman's pique was so fast and all encompassing that she found Gibbs was right. The girl was really quite taken with the Captain.
"Cad," she finished, "Rogue, ruffian, ill-mannered jack o' nape!" She turned with a swirl of skirts. Anamaria watched the new development with a serious eye. Yes, the lady was headed straight back to the cabin. If Jack left it without at least one bruise on his head, then he'd have either bedded her or knocked her out cold before she'd even started talking. Anamaria picked up the net again, this was her life, she was as good at sailing as any man. And Isabelle had gone to prove she was as good at, well, goading Jack as any other woman. Mayhap better, no other woman had got him hiding out in his own cabin on his own ship like some sort of whipped dog in heat.
&%&%&%&%&%&%&%&%
"Jack Sparrow, you black eyed bastard, you're going to talk to me or you're not leaving this cabin alive!" Jack eyed the other occupant of the cabin coolly and unlaced his fingers, bringing them down from their careless perch behind his head and staring across the desk as though his dog had just sat up and danced a jig.
"Something is troubling you, Mister Gibbs?"
"Damn right, something's troubling me,
what in the bloody hell is the meaning of how ye're treatin' Miss Isabelle?" Jack arched an eyebrow. All that over a woman?
"I'm treating her
a particular way?"
"Oh you know damn well what ye're doin' to her than I do, Cap'n and thar's another thing.
I've never been ashamed to say I'd follow ye to hell
and back if tha's what need be, but this is just
cruel."
"The last time I checked, Mister Gibbs, I was a pirate and therefore, was supposed to be cruel. Did I miss anything?"
"Ye're supposed to be cruel to yer enemies, not yer lovers."
"She's a hostage and who in blue blazes said she was my lover?!?" Jack's legs swept down from the desk and he rose, pacing an angry length of the cabin without his usual sway. Actually, since Gibbs had entered the room he hadn't used the swagger at all. Most assumed it was a side effect of 'demon rum'. Gibbs knew better. Gibbs also knew better than to comment on the marked improvement to the man's speech and vocabulary, but it still baffled him sometimes.
"Don't insult the intelligence of the men, Jack. The way she's been acting? The way ye've been acting? Anyone with eyes can tell something happened that night in yer cabin, ever since then when she's in here you're out there and when she's out there yer in here. This ship is a marvel, we all know tha, but let's be honest mate, it's not tha big. Pretty soon one o ye's gonna have to start swimmin' if yer that intent on avoidin' the other."
"I did not," Jack suddenly found himself floundering for the appropriate word, "take advantage," he finally began, hissing out the sentence with vehemence to make his point, "Of Mistress Lockwood. Truth to tell I could have and she would have welcomed it, but I refrained. If for no other reason than I didn't feel the urge, her father is my enemy, and she certainly doesn't deserve to be dragged any more into this than necessary, now does she?"
"What are ye sayin, she wouldn't ha said no, Jack? Was she askin' for it then? A fine bred woman beggin' a pirate for a night o pleasure isn't exactly tha unheard of in certain circles," Gibbs was right, some of the ladies in society wanted a taste of danger, they found it in buccaneers, not pirates. The difference was slim, but never the less grating. Jack found himself talking through clenched teeth, his anger apparent from the way his fists were clenched at his sides to the deepening frown on his face, his jaw rock hard.
"She was in pain, I comforted her, truthfully I held her until she'd cried herself out and then went on watch. I spent the night in the crow's nest, Gibbs and Max'll vouch for that." Gibbs sighed, he'd known it, but part of him had hoped that by poking the viper that was Jack's past through his unfortunate present, he'd find a way to help the man through his hell.
"I know, Cap'n. But I had to let ye know what they're sayin, she walks among them every day. Sooner or later a rumor's gonna get back to her, and how will she react?"
"Are you assuming that I care what the lady thinks of me, Mister Gibbs? Assuming I thought it prudent to-"
"You dirty liar!" The door to the cabin slammed open, cutting Jack off mid-sentence. Isabelle strode inside, not realizing that in that second Jack's face had been wiped clean of emotion, going from almost aristocratic in his kohl lined eyes and beaded hair, to pirate captain with a swagger without even missing a beat.
"Ah, what's the problem now, love? Have ye finally realized tha' I'm not ta be trusted, then?" Isabelle didn't even look at Gibbs, just walked purposely to stand in front of Jack, her hands on her hips.
"How dare you insinuate to anyone aboard this rat ridden vessel that I'm your… your…"
"Companion?" he supplied sweetly and she reared back, slapping him without thinking. Jack's head was thrown to the side, his hair flying around him and his tricorned hat knocked askew. The sound of the slap had run through the cabin like a gun shot and Gibbs winced, wisely deciding to leave the two alone to work it out by themselves.
Isabelle's hand throbbed and she realized exactly what she'd done. She'd just physically assaulted a dangerous criminal, a man she'd watched both threaten her and her father at gun point and then nearly kill her father all within the span of twenty minutes. The seconds ticked by and she watched Jack breathe deeply through his nose, his jaw clenched. He straightened slowly, tossing his hair out of his face finally and staring down at her with anger riding his shoulders like wings. The imprint of her palm was clearly visible on his cheek and she bit her lip, scared of what would happen next. "There had better be a damned good reason why ye've come into me own cabin and taken yer temper out on me, lass," he said quietly, his voice grating down her spine like ground glass.
She opened her mouth to apologize but found that it was to late, he'd made her angry, she'd reacted. She shouldn't be surprised she supposed. Perhaps she truly was her father's daughter. "You made me angry," she answered softly, the only thing close to an apology she could say without loosing all ground completely.
"So I gathered," he answered dryly and she shivered. "Now out wi it, love, I'm a very impatient man," he finished, a practiced leer going down the bodice of the dress and suddenly she was just as mad as she had been minutes before.
"You've got the crew thinking there's something between us that isn't!"
"And how would ye be knowin' that, love?"
"Anamaria told me," she answered, not realizing that perhaps names wouldn't be a good thing at this point. Jack arched an eyebrow.
"Oh she did, did she? Well she won't be tellin' ye anything else by this evenin' then, will she?" He swept passed her, going to the cabin door with the full intent of wrestling up some ail and getting good and properly drunk.
"What are you going to do to her?!" She asked, desperation in her voice. Jack stopped mid-swagger, his hand on the knob. Oh, this had possibilities. He turned, his voice suddenly silky as he walked back to stand in front of her.
"What do ye think I should do to a member of me crew that talks out of turn, love? She took an oath, not to reveal any of the secrets learned on this vessel when she joined. There are consequences."
"It wasn't her fault! We were having an argument-"
"An argument?" By his tone Jack knew that Isabelle thought he didn't believe her, the incredulity in it was to baiting, to obvious, but it didn't matter.
"Yes! I said something she didn't' agree with and she insinuated and I guessed the rest. It wasn't her fault!" He reached up, his hand cupping the side of her face. This loyalty to a friend she'd known less than two days surprised Jack, made him want to explore it further. And Gibbs was right as well, he was taken with the girl. He hadn't wanted to admit it, he'd sworn to never go down that road again anyway, but this was different. He was the captain, after all and there were certain expectations. If Lockwood thought his daughter would be returned to him as pure as she was taken, then he was mad. Besides, no one said whether or not the plucking of the virginal fruit had to be done violently. If she enjoyed it (and he'd be sure that she did) then it'd form a bond. She'd feel it meant something, she'd become devoted to him, and that had it's definite advantages. It was this line of thinking and not the wilder one in the back of his mind (the one that said this line of thinking was complete smoke and mirrors) that had him begin speaking to her, his voice silky.
"And what would ye do, love, to ensure that she wasn't punished?" Isabelle stared up into his eyes, seeing the savagery in them and something darker underneath, something that didn't frighten her but set her blood pumping through her body none the less.
"Anything," she answered finally. His fingers stroked down her neck and she closed her eyes against the sensation, her breath coming in a sigh.
"Anything, ye say?" his lips were so close to hers she felt the brush of them, but not the way she wanted to feel them.
"Anything." Her confirmation left his blood pumping to places that he usually kept tight control of. But her reactions overwhelmed him. This wasn't good. He wanted to stop, but her eyes were making him think of the solitude of the forest, that green dark where the leaves are so thick that a man could get lost in the cool shadows and never be found again. Her heart beat against his palm, the vein in her neck going so fast under his hand that it was like a trapped thing. His other hand went to the tie of the kerchief. With a deft yank it came undone, the material falling to two sides. He grabbed an end and yanked, pulling it free of her body and letting it fall to the ground. The two half moons of her breasts stood out from the bodice, the neckline was so low that he wondered how she managed to move at all without spilling her nipples from it. Actually, it was what he wanted to do now.
His hands caressed the air just above her breasts, her skin tingled with such heightened sensation that she could feel the heat of him scant millimeters above her skin, yet he wasn't touching. Not yet. She opened her eyes, staring up into his and the feeling that she was caught in a spider's web returned. This had been a way to keep Anamaria from being harmed, to stop the immediate guilt that someone else would have to suffer for something that was her fault (though her rational mind was screaming that Anamaria was member of his crew and never really would have come to harm) and it was hard to think past her breath sawing through her lungs. She heard a sound like the wind rushing through trees during the angry splashes of a storm and realized it was his breathing.
Jack's fingers finally touched the rounded fullness of her left breast and she gasped. His eyes searched hers, the darkness filling them. A savage maleness seemed to shine through his eyes and it made her body sway toward his. "How much…?" He asked softly. She forced herself to think straight for a moment.
"What…?" His fingers trailed a path over her breasts, creating patterns, making her skin break into gooseflesh at a touch.
"How much are you willing to give up," his lips just barely touched the skin of her jaw where it met her ear, "for a woman you barely know?" His breath tickled her skin and she felt tears well in her eyes. A need for something she barely understood swelled through her and she swallowed her fear of this.
"Anything…"