* * * * * * * * * * * *
"I mean, the nerve of that man," Ana-Maria muttered. "Eyeliner. Could you be any more damn feminine? I don't even own eyeliner. Bloody pirates, he gives us a bad name." She padded bare foot down the corridor, feeling the roughness of the wood scratching at her feet. She didn't need to steady herself on the wall as she went along, born to navigate to the rise and fall of the waves as the sea pitched the ship this way and that.
She exchanged a curt, but downcast look with that unbelievably short pirate, what was his name? God, could Gibbs have pulled together a stranger crew.
She paused, checking no one was in the corridor, then pushed open the heavy door that lead to Jack's cabin. Well, really Barbossa's cabin, as Jack actually hadn't spent more then about three hours in there last night. Sure, the crew had cleaned it out while Jack had been in Port Royal's prison, and christened it Jack's cabin again. Still, Jack hadn't had long enough on the Pearl to reacquaint himself with the room. Long enough for him to find a place for his eyeliner apparently, Ana-Maria thought grumblingly.
The door creaked as it opened, and Ana-Maria put the light carefully in first, following almost nervously. Well, it had been the bedroom of an undead creature for ten years. And they still hadn't found that wretched monkey. It might have somehow managed to get its way in here.
She tiptoed into the room, and then stopped dead. Whatever she'd been expecting, some evil resurrection of Barbossa or an undead monkey fling at her face, it hadn't been this.
Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner lay under the blankets on the bed, coiled around each other in an extremely naked sleep. Elizabeth lay on her back, one of Will's arm's strewn across her, thankfully hiding the small assets she had from view. Will lay on his front, his face turned to the left so his breath tickled Elizabeth's ear. Ana-Maria was embarrassed to notice how tussled the pair's hair was, and patted her own hair nervously.
She was even more embarrassed when Elizabeth's eyes slowly fluttered open, a content sigh escaping her lips. Ana-Maria froze again, having no idea what to do. She could see Jack's eyeliner, along with his guns and rings, sitting on the bedside table. But she getting at them would require moving.
Elizabeth looked up, seeing the pirate girl standing there, and her breath stopping. Her eyes passed from her sleeping lover to the frozen girl and back again. Surprisingly, she didn't bolt out of bed. She simply made a little sheepish face, like a girl court with cookie crumbs all over her.
"What are you doing here?" She mouthed at Ana-Maria. Ana-Maria opened her mouth a few times, cursing Jack.
"Jack. He want's his eyeliner." Was all she could manage. Elizabeth made a tiny nod, careful not to move and wake Will beside her.
"Sounds like Jack. Did you two make up then?" Elizabeth whispered as Ana- Maria slid forward, claiming her prize. Ana-Maria blushed, and Elizabeth smiled secretly. She glanced at Will again, her smile growing deeper and more content.
"Ah, sorta." Ana-Maria replied, now it was her turn to be sheepish.
"For all faults, Jack's got his heart in the right place." Elizabeth said in a hushed voice. Ana-Maria nodded, and bolted. The blonde girl smiled softly to herself, marvelling at the turn of events that had brought her here. Will shifted in his sleep beside her and she closed her eyes, content just to listen to the sound of his breath.
Ana-Maria was careful not to slam the door, but once on the other side, she made a silent scream. She shuddered violently. That has got to be the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her. She looked down at the eyeliner in her hand, and clenched her fist around it.
* * * * * * * * * * * It was cold, on deck. Ana-Maria stood silent on the Portella, not daring to break the mood by humming.
She wondered where he was spending his nights, and she hated herself for wondering. She wanted to know where he slept, whether he had a bunk by the window so he could watch the surging waves, or whether he sat each night with a ball of guilt in his stomach that rotted away inside him like bad rum. She wanted to know if he was sorry, whether he knew he was a dog, a snake in the manger, that should be beaten and cussed and have pointy bits of wood thrown at it.
She wanted him back in her arms again.
She hated waking up, in the wide bed that her father had slept in when he was captain, all alone. She lay awake during the nights, thinking she could hear someone breathing behind the lull of the waves. She imagined that she could feel the hot breath on the back of her neck.
Sometimes she thought it was Jacks, and took comfort in her waking dream.
Most of the time though, she thought of her father. Thought of him lying there, as he had in those final days, his eyes bloodshot, staring unseeingly at the roof above. She had liked to pretend that he was staring through the roof, up at the stars or the sun behind it. But she knew he hadn't been. He'd been waiting, while death's cold grip grew stronger on him.
The entire ship reeked of him to her. She saw his presence everywhere, imagined his strong black hand guiding the ship, or him climbing up to the birds nest, a knife nestled between his teeth. It seemed to her that she could hear his laughter everywhere. She missed him.
And she missed Jack. She missed his laughter, and his kisses on her shoulders in the morning. She missed the way he looked at her, the longing in his eyes. She missed the way he made her feel.
Mainly she missed talking to him, she missed the little conversations that they'd had.
She hated seeing him everyday, right there, so damn close but so far away. It made it worse somehow, missing him when he was right there in front of her.
Mainly she was just sick of being angry with him. She hated him, hated what he'd done, but..... she couldn't change that she still wanted him.
Maybe this was why, when on that night after Turner had asked to go back to London, that she stayed on deck all night. Too many memories in that room down there, her cabin.
She cradled the wheel in one hand, loving that she was taller then it now. She remembered being seven, her head barely reaching the middle of it.
She stood thinking, her head on a slight angle as though she was listening to the advice of the ocean. Her had dipped slightly on her head, stay hairs tugged by the wind. If felt so much like that other night, that first night with Jack, when they'd dropped her father into the ocean.
Maybe this parrel was why she wasn't surprised to see Jack come on deck, walking away from her towards the other end of the ship. She didn't call out to him, just watching him.
He was walking different, she noticed. There was a slight sway in the hips, a slight swagger. When and where in the hell had he picked that up from? She supposed that it was from not being a natural sailor, a way to balance himself from the rock of the boat. And he was still wearing that damn crown, though now it sat more firmly on his head.
He stood there silently for a long time. His white shirt, a few sizes to large for him, rippled softly in the wind, and he had something in his hands. Something he slid back and forth, frowning slightly. A green gem glinted in the darkness. It was the dagger, Ana-Maria thought guiltily.
Damn him, she thought. Interrupting her own thinking session, having one of his own.
As though he heard her, his head swung around and he squinted up at her. It must have been the first time their eyes met for, well, since they left Tortugua. It seemed like she spent so much of her time politely avoiding his eye, politely avoiding going into a conversation when he was there. She spent more time avoiding talking to him then doing bloody much else recently.
She was surprised when he didn't head back, well, politely below deck. It was what she would have done. Instead he practically bounded up the stairs to her. She shifted her weight to one leg, uncomfortable.
"Hi." He said, and then frowned, as though he'd forgotten what he was going to say.
"Hi," She said with a sneer. Bugger off, bugger off, I'm still mad at you, she thought grumpily. Instead, he lowered himself down to sitting cross- legged on the deck, and started to inspect his hands. He didn't say another thing.
Ana-Maria waited. Waited for him to start some big apology speech so that she could walk off in a huff, or for him to get angry and piss her off so she could punch and beat his sorry arse black and blue. But he said nothing.
So they say there in silence beneath the black sails, and Ana-Maria felt slightly less alone.
"Oh, damn you." She muttered. His head snapped up, and he grinned contagiously. She grinned back at him ruefully. And then she shook her head, and stared rigidly at the ocean before her. But the smile stayed on both their lips, and things felt a little easier.
She leant forward, and snatched the crown of his head.
"I get to wear the crown." She said mulishly.
"Aye, Captain."
"Dickhead." She added.
It was a step.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"I mean, the nerve of that man," Ana-Maria muttered. "Eyeliner. Could you be any more damn feminine? I don't even own eyeliner. Bloody pirates, he gives us a bad name." She padded bare foot down the corridor, feeling the roughness of the wood scratching at her feet. She didn't need to steady herself on the wall as she went along, born to navigate to the rise and fall of the waves as the sea pitched the ship this way and that.
She exchanged a curt, but downcast look with that unbelievably short pirate, what was his name? God, could Gibbs have pulled together a stranger crew.
She paused, checking no one was in the corridor, then pushed open the heavy door that lead to Jack's cabin. Well, really Barbossa's cabin, as Jack actually hadn't spent more then about three hours in there last night. Sure, the crew had cleaned it out while Jack had been in Port Royal's prison, and christened it Jack's cabin again. Still, Jack hadn't had long enough on the Pearl to reacquaint himself with the room. Long enough for him to find a place for his eyeliner apparently, Ana-Maria thought grumblingly.
The door creaked as it opened, and Ana-Maria put the light carefully in first, following almost nervously. Well, it had been the bedroom of an undead creature for ten years. And they still hadn't found that wretched monkey. It might have somehow managed to get its way in here.
She tiptoed into the room, and then stopped dead. Whatever she'd been expecting, some evil resurrection of Barbossa or an undead monkey fling at her face, it hadn't been this.
Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner lay under the blankets on the bed, coiled around each other in an extremely naked sleep. Elizabeth lay on her back, one of Will's arm's strewn across her, thankfully hiding the small assets she had from view. Will lay on his front, his face turned to the left so his breath tickled Elizabeth's ear. Ana-Maria was embarrassed to notice how tussled the pair's hair was, and patted her own hair nervously.
She was even more embarrassed when Elizabeth's eyes slowly fluttered open, a content sigh escaping her lips. Ana-Maria froze again, having no idea what to do. She could see Jack's eyeliner, along with his guns and rings, sitting on the bedside table. But she getting at them would require moving.
Elizabeth looked up, seeing the pirate girl standing there, and her breath stopping. Her eyes passed from her sleeping lover to the frozen girl and back again. Surprisingly, she didn't bolt out of bed. She simply made a little sheepish face, like a girl court with cookie crumbs all over her.
"What are you doing here?" She mouthed at Ana-Maria. Ana-Maria opened her mouth a few times, cursing Jack.
"Jack. He want's his eyeliner." Was all she could manage. Elizabeth made a tiny nod, careful not to move and wake Will beside her.
"Sounds like Jack. Did you two make up then?" Elizabeth whispered as Ana- Maria slid forward, claiming her prize. Ana-Maria blushed, and Elizabeth smiled secretly. She glanced at Will again, her smile growing deeper and more content.
"Ah, sorta." Ana-Maria replied, now it was her turn to be sheepish.
"For all faults, Jack's got his heart in the right place." Elizabeth said in a hushed voice. Ana-Maria nodded, and bolted. The blonde girl smiled softly to herself, marvelling at the turn of events that had brought her here. Will shifted in his sleep beside her and she closed her eyes, content just to listen to the sound of his breath.
Ana-Maria was careful not to slam the door, but once on the other side, she made a silent scream. She shuddered violently. That has got to be the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her. She looked down at the eyeliner in her hand, and clenched her fist around it.
* * * * * * * * * * * It was cold, on deck. Ana-Maria stood silent on the Portella, not daring to break the mood by humming.
She wondered where he was spending his nights, and she hated herself for wondering. She wanted to know where he slept, whether he had a bunk by the window so he could watch the surging waves, or whether he sat each night with a ball of guilt in his stomach that rotted away inside him like bad rum. She wanted to know if he was sorry, whether he knew he was a dog, a snake in the manger, that should be beaten and cussed and have pointy bits of wood thrown at it.
She wanted him back in her arms again.
She hated waking up, in the wide bed that her father had slept in when he was captain, all alone. She lay awake during the nights, thinking she could hear someone breathing behind the lull of the waves. She imagined that she could feel the hot breath on the back of her neck.
Sometimes she thought it was Jacks, and took comfort in her waking dream.
Most of the time though, she thought of her father. Thought of him lying there, as he had in those final days, his eyes bloodshot, staring unseeingly at the roof above. She had liked to pretend that he was staring through the roof, up at the stars or the sun behind it. But she knew he hadn't been. He'd been waiting, while death's cold grip grew stronger on him.
The entire ship reeked of him to her. She saw his presence everywhere, imagined his strong black hand guiding the ship, or him climbing up to the birds nest, a knife nestled between his teeth. It seemed to her that she could hear his laughter everywhere. She missed him.
And she missed Jack. She missed his laughter, and his kisses on her shoulders in the morning. She missed the way he looked at her, the longing in his eyes. She missed the way he made her feel.
Mainly she missed talking to him, she missed the little conversations that they'd had.
She hated seeing him everyday, right there, so damn close but so far away. It made it worse somehow, missing him when he was right there in front of her.
Mainly she was just sick of being angry with him. She hated him, hated what he'd done, but..... she couldn't change that she still wanted him.
Maybe this was why, when on that night after Turner had asked to go back to London, that she stayed on deck all night. Too many memories in that room down there, her cabin.
She cradled the wheel in one hand, loving that she was taller then it now. She remembered being seven, her head barely reaching the middle of it.
She stood thinking, her head on a slight angle as though she was listening to the advice of the ocean. Her had dipped slightly on her head, stay hairs tugged by the wind. If felt so much like that other night, that first night with Jack, when they'd dropped her father into the ocean.
Maybe this parrel was why she wasn't surprised to see Jack come on deck, walking away from her towards the other end of the ship. She didn't call out to him, just watching him.
He was walking different, she noticed. There was a slight sway in the hips, a slight swagger. When and where in the hell had he picked that up from? She supposed that it was from not being a natural sailor, a way to balance himself from the rock of the boat. And he was still wearing that damn crown, though now it sat more firmly on his head.
He stood there silently for a long time. His white shirt, a few sizes to large for him, rippled softly in the wind, and he had something in his hands. Something he slid back and forth, frowning slightly. A green gem glinted in the darkness. It was the dagger, Ana-Maria thought guiltily.
Damn him, she thought. Interrupting her own thinking session, having one of his own.
As though he heard her, his head swung around and he squinted up at her. It must have been the first time their eyes met for, well, since they left Tortugua. It seemed like she spent so much of her time politely avoiding his eye, politely avoiding going into a conversation when he was there. She spent more time avoiding talking to him then doing bloody much else recently.
She was surprised when he didn't head back, well, politely below deck. It was what she would have done. Instead he practically bounded up the stairs to her. She shifted her weight to one leg, uncomfortable.
"Hi." He said, and then frowned, as though he'd forgotten what he was going to say.
"Hi," She said with a sneer. Bugger off, bugger off, I'm still mad at you, she thought grumpily. Instead, he lowered himself down to sitting cross- legged on the deck, and started to inspect his hands. He didn't say another thing.
Ana-Maria waited. Waited for him to start some big apology speech so that she could walk off in a huff, or for him to get angry and piss her off so she could punch and beat his sorry arse black and blue. But he said nothing.
So they say there in silence beneath the black sails, and Ana-Maria felt slightly less alone.
"Oh, damn you." She muttered. His head snapped up, and he grinned contagiously. She grinned back at him ruefully. And then she shook her head, and stared rigidly at the ocean before her. But the smile stayed on both their lips, and things felt a little easier.
She leant forward, and snatched the crown of his head.
"I get to wear the crown." She said mulishly.
"Aye, Captain."
"Dickhead." She added.
It was a step.
* * * * * * * * * * *