**Author's note: I just wanted to apologize for the rampant misnaming of Gibbs in the original post of chapter four; the colossal gaffe was made possible courtesy of MS Word AutoCorrect. With the name "Briggs" appearing often in my address database, a little bit of love from Microsoft, and my own inattention upon posting, what you have is a wrongly christened crewman. Thanks to those who pointed it out.**
"Mother o' God," one of the crew whispered, the quiet oath carrying easily through the now-hushed congregation.
"Oh, no," Jack said, holding his hands up on either side of his head, a wicked smile slowly replacing the shock. "That she's not, my lad."
"Passage," Amelia said, repeating the demand she'd originally given Jack. "Away from my own personal hell, if you will."
"I have to say, love, being on my own ship with a gun pointed at me brain might very well be my own personal hell," Jack said, the merriment in his tone making light of his words.
"You're too far away from land to take me back, and you'd surely not dump an innocent woman overboard." Amelia's hand was steady, but her voice was starting to shake just a bit. There wasn't a friendly eye among the crew, and there wasn't a doubt in her mind they would, indeed, walk an innocent straightaway off the plank.
Jack shook his head and dropped his hands, clucking his tongue softly. "What a shame, what a shame," he said loudly, turning a bit from side to side and looking at each member of his crew. Pinning her again with those dark eyes, he took a step toward her. "Such a spirited lass, but… your gun there is not loaded." He shook his head sorrowfully. "As a beautiful and… spirited… dancer once told me—show's over, love."
Amelia's arm started to waver, then to drop, but only for a moment. She stiffened her elbow and re-centered her aim. "If you think for a moment I'd believe you would carry an unloaded gun, then your head is as empty as you claim this gun to be."
Jack's eyes went wide again and he cursed inwardly. There was no winning with this woman. She'd fight until she was dead, he warranted, and then probably fight some more. Taking stock of the situation, he slid one foot forward, keeping his eyes on hers, trapping her with his gaze. He knew she wouldn't look away as long as he kept eye contact.
It was over as quickly as it had begun. His leg swept in a wide arc, catching one of her small boots with his own and bringing her down hard on the deck, her breath leaving her in a sudden gust. Jack plucked his gun from her fingers and, with a single motion, had her scooped up and slung over his shoulder.
"All right, men," he said loudly, cinching his arm tighter around her legs when she started to squirm. "It's off to my cabin to… negotiate that trade I referred to earlier." Listening to the whistles and suggestions around him, he leered. "And take note, Captain Jack Sparrow definitely isn't a man to interrupt during negotiations, lest you have someone… pardon me, something… to add to the table." Whistling under his breath, he headed toward his cabin.
Once out of earshot of the gathered crew, Jack began to curse, first quietly, and then with increasing volume.
"Make ye no mistake, missy," he said through clenched teeth, his anger rising as it rarely did, "'Tis lucky y'are that I've not killed ye already and made my own life easier by a good sight."
Amelia twisted against him, feeling the cords of his arms bunch just a little tighter at her struggles. "'Tis lucky you are I didn't just rid the seas of a nuisance such as yourself."
Jack stopped just outside his cabin and made the mistake of inhaling deeply. She smelled to high heaven like rum, and for the first time in his life he regretted how much he truly loved that smell. The smell of her was making him thirsty, and for more than just the rum. With an annoyed growl, he dumped her inside the cabin.
"Though it pains me greatly to say so," he said, wincing and pacing in front of her, "I must finally admit that Gibbs is right. Women are indeed bad luck." He held up a finger, stopping momentarily to glare at her. "But not only on ships. Oh, no. Women are bad luck in general, I've found, for nothing satisfies them and nothing stops them. You stay, they slap you like great bullying heifers, calling you lazy and worthless. You leave, they bloody find you and slap you like great bullying heifers, calling you a cad and a cur. You leave them about their own business and they hold a bloody gun to your bloody face while bloody emasculating you in front of your whole… bloody… crew." He stopped now, his hands held out, frozen in mid-shrug. "I don't know what the hell a man is supposed to do."
"Emasculating?" Amelia repeated. "That's a terribly big word for one such as yourself."
"I don't like to listen to you," Jack said decisively. "I've quite decided that, thank you."
"It's just like a man," Amelia continued, ignoring him more effectively than anyone ever did, "To blame it on a woman."
"'Twas a woman that started it all in the first place!" Jack said, suddenly pleased that he'd be able to best her in this particular argument. "You know, I'm not a particularly religious bloke, love, but I do know a woman definitely started the whole trouble. Why, just think, had it not been for milady Eve, I might have been an angelic sort."
"You'd not have been angelic in any circumstance," she spat back, standing. She'd not for one second argue if he was looking down on her. "And you know, though 'twas a woman who took the first bite, it's not a bit shocking 'twas a man who was fool enough to eat something without knowing what in heaven's name he was putting in his mouth."
The gleam returned to his eyes, the one she'd started to anticipate and dread simultaneously.
"Oh, no, love, that'd never be me," he said slowly, reaching for her. She ducked back, her shoulder barely missing his grasp. "I always know what it is I'm putting in my mouth."
She considered a particularly unladylike suggestion about what, precisely, he could put in his mouth, then thought it better to stay silent on that specific matter. "Surely," she said sweetly, trying to fall back on reason, "It can't hurt you a bit to just keep me until next stop. I'll be quiet as a mouse, and 'tisn't as though I eat much—"
"You already cost me a barrel of rum, love, and that's more than anyone else has ever gotten away with. I said it before, 'tis lucky y'are I've not killed you… yet." Truth be told, he was starting to want to wrap his hands around that pretty white throat and squeeze.
"Thought it may come as a shock to you, Captain, I've as much fright of you as I have for the moon in the sky."
Apt, he thought, for there were times when the moonlight scared even him. He said nothing, though, as she crossed the space back to him.
Amelia stood in front of him, face uptilted to his. "Look," she commanded, jerking back the too-tight sleeve of her dress, splitting a seam as she did so. "And see why nothing you've to say scares me."
A long, puckered scar ran the length of her arm, laddering its way up the inside of her wrist and disappearing under the cloth that still laid at the crook of her elbow.
"I've seen enough knife scars to recognize one," he said honestly, turning his back to her. It made him sick to see such a thing, and sicker still to know it bothered him. "You really ought to stay out of those drunken brawls and the like."
"'Tisn't from a brawl, and well it is you know it." Suddenly weary, Amelia sat down again. "That one was for trying to snatch my wages back from him. He's stupid, and he's big, but he's quick when he's being mean."
There was no winning against such a woman.
"I wasn't lying when I said I wanted a trade," he finally said.
Amelia tensed at his words, her eyes suddenly hooded. No matter what the sinister attraction, she wasn't a common strumpet, and she wouldn't be. Not even to get away from Philip.
"I'd sooner swim in the wake of this monstrosity than do what you're suggesting," she said icily, turning her face away.
He laughed then, glad to see something had unnerved her. It seemed to take much to do so. "Then I suppose it's a good thing, indeed, that I wasn't suggesting what you're suggesting I'm suggesting." Clasping his hands behind his back, he rocked back on his heels. "But bein' as I'm a demanding sort, and you're limiting what I can and cannot demand, I've several demands to make of you."
"Surely you don't think that surprises me." She tried to keep her dignity about her, but it was relief Amelia felt most clearly.
"You're my laundress now, Miss Hamilton." Jack glanced down at his shirt, plucking a bit of it away from his skin theatrically. "It's amazing how filthy a man can get."
"Not when said man is filthy throughout," she retorted, then immediately regretted it. She was completely unable to stop the running of her mouth around the man. The more he talked, the more she wished to put him in his place… now, if only she could discern what sort of a place that would be.
She knew she was being disagreeable; she caught herself wincing after nearly every hateful thing she said to him. But Taletha Hamilton's daughter, by sheer chance, was no fool. Amelia knew there would be no greater crime of foolishness than to get close to this man. She'd rather be a shrew than be burned for touching that which should be untouchable.
Smirking, Jack recalled a stage show he'd seen recently, an amateur group of thespians spouting the words of an Englishman. A bloody tale, it had been, just to Jack's liking. He later found the written version had been much, much better. "'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'"
Amelia merely sat where she was, gaping for a few moments. "You—Shakespeare?" She couldn't form a complete sentence even on threat of death.
"Are we a snob, then, Miss Hamilton? A blue-stocking snob, eh?" Judging by the burning riot of color on her cheeks, she was, indeed, a bit of a snob. Ashamed to have the fact pointed out. Filing away that particular fact for future reference, he continued on as though he hadn't stopped. "Since you seem to believe so strongly in education—God save the King's English and all that rot—you can teach a member of my crew to read."
She gasped; she couldn't help it. The idea of teaching a black-toothed, branded ruffian how to read—well, it seemed nigh to impossible, not to mention undesirable.
Nothing her hesitation, he flapped a hand in dismissal. "Unless, of course, you think it beyond your capabilities, in which case I can just perish the thought and double your load of soiled wash, which is a possibility, and now that I think of it, has its merits. You know, forget the reading and I'll—"
"I'll do it," she said, her voice low and certain. "Once I've completed that task, I'll thank you to remember you doubted me. Perhaps it would do a bit for your humility." She'd be damned if he would underestimate her. He'd done it far too often already.
Biting the insides of his already hollowed cheeks to keep from grinning, Jack nodded soberly. His hubris hadn't been nearly as prominently displayed as hers was. Leaning down, bracing a hand on either side of her, he looked into her eyes, then let his gaze travel to her lips.
"One more thing, Amelia." He shifted and nearly groaned when he saw her bosom rise and fall with the acceleration of her breathing. Flicking his eyes back up to hers, he licked his lips and smiled saucily. "You'll have to get out of that dress."
