AN: I don't know what the hell is wrong with ff.net, eating my chapter. I'm trying this again… sorry for the inconvenience.
This is a short chapter, incidentally, and while I thought about stretching it out a bit, I decided against that. This is what felt right. The next chapter's already in the works, though, so stay tuned for updates.
And speaking of updates, I'm more than likely going to be taking my work off of the net archives relatively soon, since both archives are proving extremely unreliable and fruitless. Dearest Nimue (who provided me with excellent critique on this chapter, I might add – cheers for her!) has started up a listing for archiving and update notices, so I will be joining the ranks there. If you would like to be added to this list, you can either email me at Quinntette@yahoo.com, or Nimue at Nymuea@yahoo,com, and we'd be happy to add you. It is very likely that said archive will soon be the only place this fic is available, so if you'd like to continue reading, it would be wise to join.
Prolix: Thanks for the interesting feedback! YOU rock! Thanks *muchly* for separating me from the milk-toast realm, 'tis my ultimate wish. And yes, the point of the story is to give pirate Jack his due, and to explore and discover, once and for all, whether preservation of good or preservation of self is Jack Sparrow's main priority. But wait, I've said too much already… ~Q
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It's all right if I was older,
It's okay to lose your age,
And I want to follow you,
I do, I do.
Pete Yorn, "June"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Fulbright paced anxiously across the forecastle deck of The Dauntless, his hands a knot of white kid gloves tied behind his back. How the pretty captive girl had managed to carve out a little place in his heart after only a moment's introduction, he couldn't say. The notion frightened him, excited him, paralyzed and emboldened him, the whirlwind of emotions spiraling intensely within him, threatening to sweep him up and away and forever out of his senses…
He steadied his breath when he sensed the commodore standing behind him. "Commodore."
Norrington offered no acknowledgement, looking down his patrician nose at the slightly shorter officer. "Thinking about the girl?"
Fulbright exhaled heavily, grateful for a confidant. "I… I am, Commodore. She's intrigued me greatly and I'm… well, I'm concerned for her well-being."
The commodore nodded stiffly. "I must admit, I'm surprised that you would maintain such a strong interest in a lady whose reputation has been compromised."
Frowning, the lieutenant-commander shifted his gaze. "I hadn't given it much thought."
"Jack Sparrow successfully wooed all of Port Royal last year," Norrington began as he drew nearer to Fulbright, intent on securing his full attention. "He's accredited as a good man. But he is, nonetheless, a pirate, as his most recent stunt indubitably demonstrates. And I would not put the atrocities of which other pirates have proven themselves capable, past Jack Sparrow."
"But I… I thought you said this was a game, Commodore. Just a game of cat and mouse, perpetrated by Captain Sparrow. I thought you said Miss Hartwell would be subject to no danger as long as Jack hadn't procured your attention?"
Commodore Norrington sighed; the younger man's optimism was as admirable as it was pitiful, and Norrington inwardly shuddered to realize he was conversing with a shade of his former self. Thinking positively, eyes on the horizon, love a tangible idea…
A year ago, James Norrington had life by the horns.
Life had somehow managed to toss and gut him.
"All I am saying, Lieutenant-Commander, is that you have a promising future ahead of you. Do not allow your chances for success to be quashed by any hopes you may have of marrying for love."
With that, he turned a poised pivot and marched off, leaving Fulbright to his ruminations.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A phoenix risen, Jack stalked angrily through the cabin corridors of the Pearl, en route to his own quarters. Having witnessed his artless act of vengeance, Quartetto had served as a compliant informant, almost incomprehensibly blubbering and blabbering his way through the tale.
The little weed wanted to be viewed as a possession? That could be arranged…She had managed to prick him, drawing a great deal of blood, and he didn't mean to fall prey to her cleverly concealed thorns again. He paused at the cabin door, sharpening the edge of his ire before slicing into the room, intent on severing the little weed's self-satisfaction at the root…
He found her wilted, seated on the floor in front of the mirror, the back of her shrunken form reflected by the glass, with the crown of her bowed head facing him, motionless, as though she hadn't heard him enter. Impossible. She'd loosed her hair completely, the fawn tendrils veiling her face, which she held cradled in the calyx of her palms. Steeling himself against her trickery, Jack crossed the room, noticing that she trembled at the sound of his approaching footsteps and, using the flat of the cutlass he'd not released since he'd unsheathed it, lifted her chin that he could see her eyes.
Her eyes. Bloodshot and puffy, brimming with fearful tears.
God's teeth…
"Please," she pleaded, her tone stronger than he would have expected. "Don't kill me."
Swallowing his hesitation, Jack channeled his rage once more, sliding the blade's edge along the underside of her jaw, gently as not to cut her, but with a firm hand. "Why shouldn't I?" he asked gruffly. "You're a traitor, and you broke your word."
"I didn't!" she gasped. "It was an accident, I didn't-"
"Our agreement was that you weren't to open your mouth," he interjected, the volume of his voice climbing in fury. "You've broken said agreement, and now I'm left with no choice but to take some sort of corrective action, and seeing as I didn't see fit to spare the life of a man I once called 'friend,' why the devil should I spare yours?"
Aveline lurched forward, mindless of the blade as it nipped her throat, and clutched Jack's britches in desperation. She stared up at him, a few loose strands of hair still obscuring her tearful gaze. "Please, Captain Sparrow, I am begging you. Begging you. A man needs to die for his crimes before I can die for mine. If you will just let me take care of this, this one little task, I swear, once I have cut him loose the mortal coil, you may most certainly send me to follow."
Jack lowered his cutlass at last, regarding her with narrow suspicion. "So this is why you carry a dagger."
She nodded furiously, not wanting to incur his wrath by lying. "Yes."
Considering this, Jack heaved a sigh before a second burst of vehement energy had him hoisting her up to her feet. As intriguing as this new information was, he wasn't quite finished with her yet. Besides, he couldn't conceive of such a frail thing actually killing a man, no matter how fanatical she tended to be. "All right, lass. I'll spare you today. On my terms. Move." He raised the cutlass again, pressing its tip against her lower back, and she jumped at the pinching sensation.
He forced her out of his cabin and onto the main deck, where he whistled for his crew to assemble. He held her close until a circle had been formed around them, then released her in order to address his men. Night had fallen quickly after Kursar had lost his life, and a full moon lit the scene, giving Jack's eyes a knife-glint shimmer. Trapped and terrified, Aveline fought to keep her legs from quaking beneath the black satin skirts of the oversized mourning dress.
"It has come to my attention, thanks to our dearly departed friend Mr. Kursar, that some of you are displeased with the manner in which I've conducted business as of late. Those in agreement, 'aye.'"
It seemed as though no one was in disagreement with his captain; at least, no one was willing to voice it.
"I see I've assembled a lot of scurvy bilge rats to man my sails. Can't even speak your own minds."
A throat cleared; Ladbroc stepped forward. "In honesty, Cap'n, some o' th' boys was put off by you leavin' Anamaria like that. Me… well, I just worry what kind o' danger ye be puttin' us in, keepin' that nasty little bachelor's wife o' yours aboard."
Jack nodded his understanding, gesturing to Aveline as he offered his explanation. "Miss Hartwell and I have reached an accord, gentlemen, one I cannot break at this time, and one that I don't particularly wish to break. She stays." He turned to her, his eyes piercing, and stared at her intently as he continued speaking to his crew. "However, she is, as you said, the wife to my bachelor, and any further mischief on her part will not be tolerated."
She lowered her eyes in acknowledgement, and he smiled complacently. Aye, he had the little strumpet under 'is thumb now. Keeping sharp eyes trained on her, he circled her slowly, steadily, a wolf on the prowl…
"Since I have opted to keep the lass for myself, I will compensate by paying each of you one hundred pieces of eight. You'd get the same if ye lost an eye in battle for me, and so I'd like, accordingly, for you lads to lose your eye for Miss Hartwell. Laying so much as a finger on her will constitute an act of mutiny, and we all know how I dispose of mutineers."
A moment of eerie silence passed as the crew reflected upon his haunting words, and the loss of Kursar.
"Well," Jack's cheerful voice shattered the dark moment. "If that's all settled, I'll be returning to my duties as captain." Seizing Aveline about the waist, he bent her backward in a most elaborate manner, crushing his mouth to hers in a fierce, dry kiss that would leave her lips bruised and marked as his physical property in the eyes of the crew. He was deliberately rough, offering no softness, no sweetness, only pressure, pain, possession. When he retreated and returned her to an upright stance, swaggering away from her to assess his performance, he grinned haughtily at the bloody shame coloring her pale cheeks. The animal in him roared, the thinker tipped his hat, and Jack turned his back to her, satisfied that he wouldn't have to endure further disobedience.
"Get back to the cabin, girl," Jack ordered her, and she parted her slightly swollen lips to mutter a soft, "Yes, sir," before excusing herself from the pirates' presence and carrying out his command to a chorus of catcalls and snickers.
Smugly folding his arms across his chest, Jack enjoyed a moment of personal exaltation before becoming keen to Gibbs' critical gaze piercing him from the helm. He chose to ignore it, for he was far too pleased with himself to be willingly subjected to his first mate's frowning disapproval, and so he moved instead to the main mast and began climbing up, up to the highest point on the ship. He felt like howling at the moon…
When he reached the crow's nest, he breathed in the salty, smoky scent of the evening and marveled at the magnificent glowing orb that bathed an otherwise dark night in soft, ethereal light. It rather resembled a pearl, he mused, the way it caught his eye against the inky half shell of the night sky. Utterly intoxicated by its beauty, he dazedly lowered himself to sit, shifting to get comfortable before something decidedly uncomfortable bit into his rump.
Rubbing his offended backside with one hand and pushing the white flag aside with the other, Jack grunted as what remained of his ecstasy was swallowed whole by that clever, patient oyster. He cast the moon a sour look. Luring me with your gleam… Blighter. Returning his gaze downward, Jack scowled as the dagger reflected a taunting, lunar wink.
The dagger. Aveline's stupid, pitiful little dagger.
Her words attacked him then, as he'd known they would. A man must die for his crimes before I can die for mine…
He fought the urge to simply cast the pathetic knife into the sea's crystal abyss…
The next haunts were the small sounds she'd made as she'd wept in slumber the previous eve. Aye, that seemed an appropriate weapon of guilt for his conscience to wield. While there were very few things in life on which Captain Jack Sparrow was not an expert, crying girls was unfortunately one of them.
He heaved a taxing sigh as he found his footing and stood, throwing one leg and then the other over the edge of the crow's nest before beginning his descent with the miserable excuse for a weapon clenched tightly between gold and ivory teeth. He stalked across the deck, gesturing to Gibbs that he'd received all the necessary chastising and he needn't administer his own. His first mate nodded and smiled, his jubilant blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Ahh, so you're conspirators this eve. I might have guessed.
Grasping the dagger in one hand and the doorknob in the other, Jack entered the cabin, taking care to do so as though he owned it.
As though you own it. You do own it, fool.
Shut up, you…She was standing at the window, peering out at the Godforsaken moon, and she whirled around to face him when she heard the door slam. He approached confidently, holding the blade loosely yet fixedly, aimed at her. She held his gaze for a few moments, but it eventually dropped. And when she caught a glimpse of the fierce silver, she lowered herself into a chair, instantly at his mercy.
Jack paced the floor in front of her a bit, waggling the dagger in his hand. Each time he'd turn to reassess her, however, he would point its tip at her breast, sharp and unwavering. And each time, her breath would hitch, her pallor indicating that she could imagine no worse fate than being gored with her own knife.
Jack hid a humorless laugh. He could imagine a million worse fates…
When at last he spoke, Aveline jumped in her chair, taken aback by the calm in his voice.
"What leads a lady to insinuate, to a man of ill virtue no less, that she ought to be viewed as a possession?"
Scarlet mortification conquered her pallor, and Jack watched somewhat uneasily as she wrung her trembling hands. "I have, my entire life, been treated and traded as a form of legal tender. I suppose I do tend to think of myself as such."
The tortured look in her eyes confused him, for he could not discern whether she believed what she spoke. At the very least, the words had upset her a great deal, and he imagined that the humiliation of being assigned a value in pieces of eight by a rogue pirate was still fresh in her mind.
He couldn't hold himself responsible for that, however; she'd brought that humiliation upon herself.
"And this," he asked huskily, dangling the dagger between two fingertips.
Aveline licked her lips, and he wondered what they might have tasted like had he half a mind to notice earlier.
"My unfinished business in Le Havre," she explained, "is killing a man."
He nodded slowly. "A man who has committed some sort of crime."
"Not in a lawful sense," she admitted. "In a moral sense."
"I see." He flipped the dagger up in the air, catching it in its tumbling descent with ease. "And who is this criminal chap?"
Aveline bit her lip. "Captain Sparrow, I would really rather we didn't discuss—"
"We're discussing it," he demanded, pointing the blade at her once more. The rate of her breathing increased and her eyes grew large. "I wasn't kidding when I said no more horseshit."
She balked at his profanity but surrendered the information nonetheless. "My father. He… sold me… when I was very little."
"Sold you to whom?" Jack pressed, though he already knew the answer.
Aveline looked away, but he grabbed her by the chin and snapped her gaze back to his. She stared up at him in mixed fear and anger, powerless to do anything else. "A pirate. Captain Edward Savage of the Unforgiven."
Jack squatted down before her, seeking the eyes that had once again managed to break their contact with his. "What did he want ye for, lass?"
Tears sprung into her eyes, and she fought against his hold on her. "Please," she begged, squeezing her lids shut in an effort to avoid his penetrating glare. "Can't you see that I am terrified? I will cause no further trouble, I swear it."
Grumbling in frustration, Jack relented, unable to push the broken lass any further. He released her face and took her hand instead. She kept her eyes closed to him as he opened her palm. Stroking the soft flesh with his calloused thumb, he told her in a voice barely audible that things would be all right, watching as the tension eased from her shoulders before pressing the dagger's silver handle into her hand and closing her fingers around it. One lovely green eye opened, then the other, both narrowed in confusion yet glittering with hope. Jack made sure she was watching his face before he continued.
"I intend to protect ye, lass," he informed her gruffly. "It is a priority. But after tonight, I realize that protecting you also means giving you the means to protect yourself." He stood then, looking down into her disbelieving eyes with intensity. "But heed my word, love. You'll not cause any more trouble for me or my crew, lest you be forced to use that dagger to protect yourself against me. Savvy?"
She barely nodded, her voice a whisper. "Savvy."
Accepting the fragile echo as word enough, Jack decided to leave her alone, let his actions sink in. With no parting words, he exited the cabin, bumping right into Matelote as he shut the door behind him.
"Someone t' see ye, Cap'n…"
The door was closed and the captain gone before Aveline could make any sense of what had just transpired. The cold silver calmed her flesh where the gentle chafe of his touch had excited it, and Aveline wondered what had inspired such kind forgiveness in the man.
But he had forgiven nothing, she reminded herself, sobering to the reality of Jack's actions. It was a bribe, a trick, a tool meant to keep her at bay. Fingering the feathery engravings on the dagger's hilt, she supposed she could accept that. And yet, she couldn't help but wonder if what her gut told her was correct – there was a kindness, a caring, hidden beneath the captain's threatening veneer.
And what if there is? He's given you plenty of reasons to be afraid of him.
He had. She was. But her guilt at having caused him such strife – "a man I called friend" – now overrode her fear. Does he see good in me? Excitement bubbled within her. Perhaps if she could just thank him, he would see that what he'd done for her meant a lot, and she intended to do right by him from here on out.
First placing her dagger on Jack's nightstand, she rushed to the door and out onto the main deck…
The sight of dark skin laced into a snug, white cotton dress stopped her dead in her tracks.
The flush of excitement in Aveline's cheeks faded, leaving her bone white as she gazed upon the tender exchange between Captain Sparrow and an exotic beauty, no doubt the cause of his partial undress earlier that evening. She drew this conclusion as the island woman handed him his coat and hat, followed by a scroll of paper wrapped in twine.
She knew not why, but she fell victim to a stab of envy then.
One hundred pieces of eight.
Of course. How had she managed to forget about that? Kind words, that's how.
Aveline backed slowly toward Jack's cabin, her eyes glued to her captain as he escorted the raven-haired beauty to the gangplank, his hand placed intimately at the small of her back.
Of course.
Why the sight so wounded her, she couldn't say. Nor was the soft ache in her chest something she wished to address.
A secret part of her crushed, she retreated to the cabin and undressed, slipping into the oversized tunic Jack had given her as a nightrail. She crawled into bed, though she was hardly tired. Her face found a safe hiding place in the deep curve of the feather pillow, for she could no longer bear the burning disappointment in Jack's eyes, especially if she couldn't bring herself to apologize.
He doesn't need you to apologize. He needs you to keep your distance…Of course.
One hundred pieces of eight.