Disclaimer: Still not mine. Should anyone tell you otherwise, run from them screaming bloody murder since they must be a raving lunatic.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last Posted:
Someone had gone through her belongings! Right, someone. As if I don't know who did this. Half-way though her fit of pique, she remembered her weapons. Ruffling though her belongs as had been done not too much earlier, she searched for her gun, knives, and sword, but to no avail. They were indeed gone, as was the bottle of her middle brother's rum that she had gotten as a joke for Will and Elizabeth's wedding present. She picked up the empty sheath to her hideout knife which was for some reason still in the chest – the knife itself was down her boot-top. Those . . . That . . . ohh . . .! Bloody pirate! "Bloody, bloody, dirty, self-serving, illiterate, bast –"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Captain Jack Sparrow was glad to be back on his ship again. While bar hopping in places like Tortuga and raiding other ships was all fine and good, there was nothing like being on one's own ship. The Pearl, as Jack had told Elizabeth, was indeed more than sails, and a deck, and a hull. It was more then freedom even. It was a home, a friend. She had moods, a personality that was a part of him yet unaware of him. It was difficult to explain without being drunk, when the explanation became incomprehensible rather than nearly impossible.
However, the feeling that being on his ship was easy for him to explain to himself, if not to others. He felt secure on the Black Pearl. Secure enough to challenge a cursed pirate captain in his den, or to merely riffle through another's personal belongings. Not that he ever had qualms about doing such a thing. He was a pirate after all.
With Winn's sketch book in hand, Jack made his way to his favorite part of the ship. Not to the helm as might be expected, or to his quarters, which were too enclosed (not to mention crowded) at the moment. Instead, he headed towards the prow where he could feel the wind behind him and the spray of the sea in front of him, much in the same way his beloved ship did. Settling down in a position that remarkably resembled the position that he had found Winn in aboard the Kestrel, Jack opened the book.
Picture, upon picture, upon picture met his eyes. Some were simple sketches. Most were dated, while others merely had titles. All were in black and white, yet they somehow conveyed a sense of color.
Most numerous were the sketches of eyes. They ran in a slash across the pages, portraits that were from brow to cheekbone. The eyes of ancient seamen with their permanent squints; of children on the brink of sleep. Firelit eyes, mischievous eyes, eyes with tear tacks. And a single pair of eyes filled with pain and despair, as if the owner had recently lost something of great value.
Then there were other, more complete pictures. Seascapes and landscapes. Of quiet pools, and plants trailing in running water. Pictures of children running and playing, of laughing men and women; of an old woman with wise eyes, and of two people – a child and adolescent. It those last two in particular that caught Jack's attention.
The old woman's eyes, while they held wisdom, they also held a different type of knowledge. It was the knowledge that came from the admission of one's imminent death. Not the shock of someone who had been mortally wounded in a fight, or the glazed look that came from pain and blood loss, but something different. This expression held the secrets of life and death if only one could hear its whispering. Still looking at the page, Jack realized one other thing that made the picture so arresting – he had seen those eyes before. They were Winn's eyes in another's face.
Somewhat unnerved by the expression that had been captured on the paper, and the eyes similarity to those of his perturbed guest, Jack moved his gaze to the second picture – the one of the two girls. The girl in the foreground was young, perhaps ten or so. She was playing croquet with an overly large mallet in a proper English garden. A group of adults wearing daytime finery were gathered nearby talking amongst themselves. The sun shone brightly where the girl stood, glistening in her perfect curls and catching in the beadwork on her dress.
The second girl was some years older than the first, though an age was difficult to pinpoint. Where the younger girl stood out (she almost glowed on the page), this one stayed nearly hidden in the shadowy background. It was only with his remarkable eyesight that Jack picked her out at all. She was of indistinct height, painfully plain (what could be seen of her), and communicated a feeling of awkwardness to all who gazed upon her. She stood behind the group of adults, in the shade of a willow, her head half cocked to one side as if she were trying to catch a sound that was rapidly fading. A stray ray of sunlight caught on the rim of the girl's glasses. Turning the page, Jack found a simple inscription, "Elizabeth, age nine, plays croquet a week before we leave for the Caribbean."
Interesting, Jack thought before continuing on in the book.
Perhaps an hour passed before Jack decided to go see his guest. When he opened the doors of his cabin, he caught Winn in a rather surprising state of dishabille. Normally, he wouldn't complain about walking in on a woman clothed only in her chemise, corset, and pantalets – however, having knives thrown at his head greatly diminished the experience.
"Bloody, bloody, dirty, self-serving, illiterate, bast –"
"I didn't think ladies used such language. If you're not careful, luv, you'll ruin all my beliefs about women."
Startled, then furious at the pirate's presumption, Winn bent over and jerked her hideout knife out of her boot. Quick as thought, she spun, throwing her knife in the same motion.
Jack watched her out of steady eyes as it embedded itself in the door an inch or so from his head. Not breaking eye contact with Winn, he reached up and removed the blade from the wood of the door. He approached Winn and handed it back to the seething woman. "I'll admit that's a useful trick, but I've seen it done better, Winnie. You need to work on your aim."
"What makes you think that I didn't hit what I was trying to, Captain? If I wanted you dead, you would be."
The heat in her voice startled him. Up 'til now, Winn had been relatively icy. I suppose even ice can burn, thought Jack. He reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. For one moment he thought she would spit in his face for the liberty. Instead, the opposite happened – he watched as she tucked her fury away. Before he could say "Davy Jones," Jack was staring into a human mask. Such control sacred him on some level. What would it look like if that control should ever snap? he idly wondered.
Releasing his grip on her rather abruptly, Jack said in a calm voice, "I believe you. Why didn't you let Leech take a look at your neck?"
The sudden topic change confused Winn, throwing her off balance as it was intended to. She sighed. "Look, I don't want to be here. I neither need nor want your help, and I certainly want nothing that will tie me to this ship. All I want is to reach Port Royal in time for Elizabeth's wedding." If Jack could dance around a topic, then she could rip it open just as easily.
Uncovering the food tray, Jack picked up a banana and started unpeeling it. Winn waited with smothered impatience, just barely containing the urge to start tapping her booted foot, as he finished his task.
Once he was done, Jack said, "Well, you see Winnie, that's my problem. You. What you had with you in yonder trunk, the way you act, the way you don't – it all represents an enigma." Jack, taking a bite from his banana, started to circle to her right. Instead of standing still as he expected, she turned with him, seemingly unaware of her partially clothed state. "Now, normally I try to avoid puzzles, and mysteries, and the like," he told her. "They have a tendency to adversely affect a person's life span. However, when said mystery is wrapped up in an appealing package such as your lovely self . . ."
With an expression of disgust, Winn turned her back on the pirate and stalked towards her chest. Once again throwing the lid open, she started to rip articles of clothing out. Jack watched in amazement as Winn threw on clothes with barely concealed violence. She donned a grey pair of those full legged breeches (they looked like a skirt when she stood still), a white shirt with sleeves that came to mid-forearm, and one of those tunic waistcoats in forest green. Turning from the chest to Jack, she finished pulling on a pair of black leather fingerless gloves. As she did this, Winn asked, "If we can now continue our conversation like mature adults?"
Jack immediately agreed. Winn's eyes narrowed at his instant concurrence as if she guessed he was trying to divert her focus. Jack continued before she could think on that. "The first thing we need to discuss are sleeping arrangements." The frown in Winn's eyes grew darker. "I hate to shock you, but I'm afraid I must insist on you sleeping here, Winnie."
"Now see here, you –" Apparently this had been the last straw for Winn. Before she could really work herself into a temper that promised to be rather entertaining, Jack (regretfully) broke in.
"Sorry to disappoint you, luv, but I won't be here. I'll be on deck all night steering my ship. You'll be free to stay here all night without the benefit of my charming company. Come morning, I'll come in here to get some sleep, and you'll get to spend some time on deck under the watchful eyes of my crew. Savvy?"
Robbed of any real reason to be upset, Winn just stood where she was, silently watching Jack as if she were trying to tell whether or not he was telling the truth. Wretch, she thought. That was your plan from the beginning. I must remember that the man enjoys unsettling me, and stop falling for his lures.
"What's wrong, luv? Trying to decide whether or not 'ole Jack is going to keep his word? Don't you trust me, Winnie?"
Winn snorted. "First of all, I believe I asked you to stop calling me that. Secondly, I trust you about as far as I can throw you. You're a pirate, so not only are you dishonest, but you are most likely dishonestly clever. And thirdly, I'm on to you, so you can stop trying to upset me every time you don't like the way a conversation is going. Savvy?" Winn imitated his use of the word.
Eyes wide, Jack put a hand to his heart as if her words had mortally wounded him. "Lass, I'm hurt! Why ever would I want to distract the bulldoggish tenacity of your mind? I'm sure that nothing less than a herd of wild elephants could pry you from your set purpose."
"Don't get cute with me. All it takes to 'pry me from my set purpose' is a boatload of pirates." Winn was getting more irritated by the moment.
"You think I'm cute?" Jack leaned into her personal space, trying to intimidate her. "Maybe there's hope for us after all."
"Would you please stop this nonsense?" Winn snapped as she took a step back. She hated standing so close to strangers.
"What wrong, Winnie? Am I getting under your skin?" Jack's voice was low and rough as he came near her, his eyes dark and intense on hers.
This is ridiculous, thought Winn. The situation and the conversation have totally deteriorated to the point of outlandishness. If he thinks that throwing innuendos around like water is really going to cow me . . . well, two can play that game. This stops now.
She took a step towards Jack. Going up on her toes, she placed her hands on his shoulders for balance. "Aye, you're gettin' under my skin, Jack," she whispered in his ear, "but so did the poison ivy I got when I was seven." Setting her feet firmly on the ground and backing away from him once more, she looked him in the eye. "The next time you try to distract me, Captain, I suggest you try something a bit more believable than trying to convince me that you're attracted to me."
Jack couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. It was a rare occasion indeed when he couldn't sweet talk a woman into doing what he wanted. (Well, there was Elizabeth, but she was so taken with Will that Jack wasn't sure she recognized anything else as being male.) What just happened here, he wondered. I had her on the run, I was in control for a moment, then she pulled herself back together. What does it take to truly upset this female?
While Jack stood still in a serious case of stupefaction, Winn turned her back, tucking away her uneasiness. She had never really liked being touched, or touching others. Yes, her family was one thing, and she adored her nieces and nephews. The occasional hug from a friend was nice, and she could handle shaking hands with acquaintances. But being touched, or even having her space invaded by strangers made her positively jumpy. I can't let Sparrow know that, she thought, or I'll never get a moment's peace. Having successfully composed herself, she turned back to the still silent pirate. Raising an eyebrow Winn asked tartly, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
Jack, remaining silent, just looked at her steadily before allowing his eyes to roam over her body slowly. She endured this as another one of Sparrow's intimidation tactics. Once his eyes met hers again, he said, "No, but I think I just felt her claws."
Closing her eyes and deciding that this was going nowhere fast, Winn walked back to her chest and pulled out a book. Going to the window, she sat down once again and started to read. After the silence in the room had gone on for several minutes she looked back up. "Did you have something else to say, Captain? If you don't I would appreciate it if you would leave. The sun is down, and for most people that means that it's night. I believe you said something about steering your ship?"
"I believe that means we have an accord?"
"Aye, Captain, for now we are in agreement that I will be doing nothing that even faintly resembles sharing your bed." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Winn realized her mistake. She cut Jack off before he could say anything. "And I believe that will be the agreement for some time to come. Good night, Captain Sparrow. Please knock before entering this room again." And with that she looked back down at her book.
Jack still stood where she had left him. "Am I to understand," he said, "that you are kicking me out of my own cabin?"
"No, just reminding you of the terms of our agreement. The terms you yourself set down. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave?" Winn, once again was ignoring him for the company of her book.
Surprised and somehow pleased by her audacity, Jack did indeed leave the cabin, but not before Winn could ask, "Oh, and Captain, could you please tell me exactly why the rum is gone?"
Winn sat in the dark for several moments after Jack left. Resting her head on her knees she waited for the nervous shivers to leave her body. How I hate talking to people I don't know. I hate being here, I hate this tiny little cabin, and I hate not having any options whatsoever. I hate being helpless. And helpless was what she was. Normally, being on a pirate ship really didn't faze her at all. But now she was alone on a pirate ship, one not manned by men chosen by her relatives, and she didn't dare reveal who she was for fear of her grandfather's reputation. Yes, Jack Sparrow seemed to be a decent sort of pirate, but he was a pirate none the less, and pirates had the tendency to lie.
When she had finally calmed down enough to focus on her book, she picked it back up. Unfortunately, it was unable to catch or hold her interest. Laying it back down on the surface below her, she recognized that she was in the mood to draw, not to read.
Getting up once more, she went to her chest and started looking for her sketch book, visions of a severely injured Jack Sparrow coming to mind. The thing was . . . well, she couldn't find her book. Realization hit her, and hit her hard. No, he wouldn't. He can't have. Those sketches were more than just lines on paper, more than perspective and shading – they were a part of her. The only portrait she had of her father, the look in her mother's eyes when word came of his death, the picture of her grandmother on her deathbed. All of them were precious and revealed more of her soul than she ever wanted to reveal to anyone. Surely she had missed it in her first search.
When a second search revealed her other two books, her journal, and her lack of sketches, Winn stood back up, anger erasing any thoughts of caution or control from her mind. Jack Sparrow had just done something to ignite the temper she tried so hard to conceal, and nothing would quiet it until it had run its course.
She quickly walked across the room to the cabin's double doors. When a quiet investigation revealed that Captain Sparrow had forgotten to secure the doors behind him, she took a deep breath. Letting it out, she slammed the doors wide open, and marched out onto the deck, an aura of frigid air enveloping her and a dangerous look in her eye. Quickly locating the helm she saw the object of her fury. Sure enough, there he was, sketchings in hand, with an innocent look on his face. Her face was empty of any emotion as she walked up to the man and slapped him. Hard.
"How dare you," she hissed. She slapped him again, harder than she had the first time. With the sound of her flesh stroking his, the barrier of ice that was the last check against her temper shattered completely She had just enough time to grab her property out of his slack hands before several members of his crew came up to restrain her. She managed to wrench one arm free of their grip, and with it she pulled her knife back out of her boot. Winn threw it down at his feet before his crew once more restrained her. Her eyes spat flames as she continued to talk.
"You had no right," she accused with the breathlessness of anger. "One of the rules of the sea is that you don't delve into a man's past unwanted – the past is all a man really has out here. Just because you're a pirate doesn't mean that you can go around uncovering people's lives. I tend to like mine being hidden, and I like to keep it that way. The next time I catch you doing anything like this, you'd better be prepared to kill me with that, because I'll try to kill you without it."
Pulling her knife from the wood, Jack observed her, his eyes more focused than many of his crew had ever seen them. Winn was a mess, her coat of ice and dignity in shards around her feet, her hair falling out of its knot and tumbling around her face and shoulders. Her glasses lay on the deck, and for the first time Jack saw her eyes clearly. They were green with rage and pain, the blue all but consumed by her anger. At the moment she reminded him of nothing so much as a wounded cat.
Looking to his crew, Jack said quietly, "Let her go." As soon as they did, she advanced on him again, ready to strike him for a third time. Before she got the chance, Jack grabbed both her arms in the iron grip he usually reserved for guiding the Pearl through tropical storms. "Now see here, lass. I understand you're vexed at what I did, but that's no excuse for challenging the captain on the deck of his ship, because now I have to deal with this the way I would deal with any other uprising." Jack voice was low, quick, and deadly serious in her ears. "I don't know about you, but –"
"I know what the penalty is, Captain. Dueling with swords to the first blood. You know I carry a sword with me. Do you think I'm so foolish as to carry one when I don't know how to use it?" While her words sounded brave, Winn was thinking that she'd never manage to beat Sparrow in a duel. While she was excellent at defense, her offense, as her grandfather had once said, was as weak as a two day old kitten.
Examining her as if he could make her back down from what she had started, Jack said, "Fine." Calling to his crew, Jack ordered, "Clear the main deck. Gibbs! Retrieve Mistress Winifred's sword from its storage place. Cotton, take the helm." Once again Jack looked to Winn – she was stone faced, her eyes still smoldering with temper and resentment. Knowing he had no other choice, Jack declared before the whole crew, "Mistress Winn and I duel in twenty minutes."