Chapter Seven

The Evils of Gossip

Sofia moaned. She ached from one end to the other and everywhere in between, and it wasn't a pleasant sensation in the least bit.

"Awake, lass?"

Sofia flinched away from the cool hand that touched her forehead. She recognized the voice, but could not connect it to a face in her memory. Unreasoning fear rose in her belly and she thrashed, trying to escape.

"Calm down!" Firm hands grabbed her wrists and Sofia's eyes shot open with a gasp. After a moment she relaxed. She knew the man- it was Finn, the Black Pearl's surgeon. Relief washed through her.

"'ello Finn," said Sofia weakly. "Lovely morning, ain't it?"

Finn released her and shook his head. "Daft woman." He pressed a bottle to her lips. "Drink," he commanded. "It'll make the pain a bit more bearable."

She obeyed unthinkingly, nearly choking as the liquid burnt its way down to her stomach. Normally she wouldn't have cared, but that was with proper warning. Finn corked the bottle as Sofia wiped her lips with a trembling hand.

"What happened?" she croaked. Finn's face crinkled into a weary smile.

"We chased ye down. The Cap'n 'imself hauled off the Blackbird an' stowed ye here. An' at a pretty cost too." He gestured to the other pallets in the dark cabin. Sofia could see four other forms, but could not recognize them in the dim light.

"You shouldn't have," she muttered. "Tweren't none o' yer concern."

Finn's brow puckered. "Beggin' yer pardon miss, but the best part o' the crew were set on it." His eyes sparkled. "Cap'n Jack particularly."

Sofia pulled the thin, itchy blanket over her head. "Cap'n Jack can get stuffed," she said, voice muffled slightly. "An' so can the rest o' ye madmen. I can rescue myself."

Finn shook his head. "Ye were half-dead, lass-"

"GO AWAY!"

Finn jumped, then shook his head again and stood. "All right, Miss Sofia. I'll be checkin' on ye later on." He left the cabin, softly closing the hatch behind him.

Beneath the blanket, Sofia curled up in a ball and sobbed.

* * *

"Sofia?"

Sofia peered cautiously from under the blanket. When she recognized her visitor, she lowered it and sat up.

"Joseph," she said neutrally. She noticed the bandage covered a good half of his head. "What on earth happened to you?"

Joseph smiled wryly. "A bullet," he said. "Good thing I'm so hard-headed, eh?"

Sofia eyed his bandage sorrowfully. "You shouldn't have come for me," she said mournfully. "You all might have been killed." She shot Joseph a questioning glare. "Was anyone killed?"

"No one you'd mourn for," said Joseph, jaw clenched. His eyes flickered with unnamable emotions. "None o' ours, leastways."

"And Jordan?" she pressed. "What of him?"

Joseph tilted his head to one side, screwing up his face. "Don't rightly know," he said finally. "The captain knocked him out, I think, but he dinnae kill 'im."

Sofia blew all the air from her lungs. "Good," she said bitterly. "If anyone kills the miserable cretin, it'll be me."

"Beggin' your pardon miss, but he nearly killed you," said Joseph, eyes full of youthful earnestness. "You're in no state to go chasing him."

"Tosh," Sofia said, but without much conviction. She sighed and leaned against the bulkhead, weary but unwilling to show it. "Why did you chase me, anyway?"

Joseph shrugged, a hint of his familiar cheeky grin creeping up his face. "Nothing better to do, really."

Sofia smacked his arm lightly. Joseph grinned at her in reply. "I don't know what I'll do with you," said Sofia huffily. "Whelp," she added affectionately. She ruffled his hair and Joseph pushed her hand away with a slight sound of protest, but his goofy grin stayed in place. He really was glad she was back, Sofia realized with a melancholy ache. It was something she'd never experienced before, not since Starling had fished her from a sinking Navy ship and been half-hysterical because of it, babbling on about nearly getting herself killed. Sofia turned the memory aside- Starling was linked inexorably to the Blackbird, a ship she did not care to recall just then.

"The captain's been asking after you," said Joseph, taking advantage of Sofia's reverie to insert some of his own words. "How you are an' the like."

Sofia scowled. For some reason the thought of Jack sent a hot ball of rage spinning about in her stomach, and she didn't rightly know why. It would take some time, she decided, before she did.

"I've no interest in speaking to him," Sofia snapped. "I'll be leavin' at next port anyway."

Joseph's face crumpled inward at the words, disappointment practically oozing out of the teenager. Sofia felt a brief stab of guilt—the whelp was like the younger brother she'd never had—but smothered it. She had bigger things to attend to than a crippled teenager, no matter how endearing he was.

"Well," said Joseph delicately, "I 'spose I'll take my leave now. There's supper waitin' to be prepared, an' all." He gave Sofia a half-hearted smile and left, but not without pausing hesitantly at the door. Then he vanished into the passage beyond.

Sofia slumped back onto her straw-filled pallet, rage and guilt warring for supremacy in her belly. It was a familiar feeling.

Jack had no right to run after her like a wanton child. Save her hide or not, she was tired of having her fate controlled by men. She'd traded death for a quieter exile, withering away aboard the Black Pearl while the focus of her entire existence—the twin deaths of Jeremiah Jordan and Lydia Avery—washed away like a child's sandcastle. Soon she would have no hope of finding Jordan again, and forces beyond her power would end his life long before she could. The idea scorched her mind.

Jack would not get away with it, Sofia decided grimly. He'd get a hot earful, and hopefully as many bruises as she could inflict before he slapped her down. Reasonable or not, she and Captain Jack Sparrow were going to have words.

Very nasty ones.

* * *

It was a week before Sofia was allowed out of the makeshift surgery and another four days after that before she was allowed to return to her usually shipboard duties. She avoided speaking to the other crew as much as possible, but it was hard when she was being pressed for details of her imprisonment every five minutes. The interrogation finally stopped when, in the middle of breakfast one day, she threw a bowl of porridge at Gibbs' head and screamed that everyone had better bloody well shut up about her capture, and if there were anyone else who wanted details she would personally see them boiled alive in Joseph's giant gruel pot. No one dared approach her about anything for the next day and a half. Maybe this was because they all knew Joseph would do anything Sofia asked, even if it meant serving Jack Sparrow for supper with a side of Tuck and Miguel.

Jack, for his part, steered clear of his oddly irate crew-woman. It made no sense why she was so upset all the time, but he chalked it up to the fact that she was, after all, a woman. He also needed to sort out why he found it so irritating that she treated him like her captain, rather than the nascent confidante he'd been to her when they first met. The cool deference was strangely irritating.

All in all, the Pearl was rather chaotic at the moment.

A few days after the porridge incident, Gibbs sat on one of the deck-guns, a cup of grog in his hand. It was a fair day, and a merchant ship had been sighted off in the distance. Until they caught up with it, there was nothing to do except get good and drunk in preparation for the battle ahead. Life was good, he decided.

Tuck sat on the deck near Gibbs, his own drink rather stronger- a bottle of rum filched from the hold. Gibbs cast Tuck an amused glance, but said nothing about the pilfering. There wasn't a man jack among them that hadn't done the same.

"Sofia's been a bit of a stick lately," Tuck observed neutrally. He swirled the bottle's contents and cast Gibbs a questioning look. "What do ye make o' it, Gibbs?"

Gibbs shrugged and took another swallow of his drink. "Nothing o' consequence. Woman's prerogative."

Tuck squinted. "Wot?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Bloody female can get away with bein' ornery if she ruddy well pleases, that's what," Gibbs replied. "She'll get o'er it."

"I hope so. She's been interminable."

Gibbs cast Tuck an amused glance. "Who's using big words now, eh?"

Tuck waved off Gibbs' words, using the half-full bottle as a prop. "Ne'er mind tha'. But if ye ask me, an' I know yer not so don' say nothin', lass needs to bedded."

Gibbs snorted, nearly choking on his drink. "She what?"

Now it was Tuck's turn to be amused. "Come now," said Tuck, a grin uncurling wolfishly on his face. "Dinnae say yeh don' think so too."

"Ain't none o' yer business, nor mine, Earnest Tucker," Gibbs grunted. "Leastways not whether or not she's bedded."

"Who?"

Gibbs waved absently at Finn, who had overheard the conversation as he passed and couldn't resist the temptation to gossip. "Sofia. Tuck thinks she's a bit wound up, if yeh get me meanin'."

Finn sat on the gun opposite Gibbs and nodded. "Well, she is," he opined. "Bit o' fun would do the lass good."

"Come to think of it," said Gibbs, warming to the topic, "she ain't been with a man for nigh on five years."

"There, you see?" said Tuck triumphantly. He nodded at Finn. "It's the truth, mate. Lass needs a good bit o' unwinding." He leered slightly. "Who d'ye think she'd spring for?"

"I'd put me money on the whelp," Finn said immediately. Gibbs hooted with laughter and Finn glared at him. "Who'd you pick?" he asked defensively.

"Not the kid," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "She's close to ten years his senior, man! He's naught but a scrawny runt. Nah, I'd say our very own Cap'n Jack."

Tuck frowned. "Ye sure?"

"Weren't he the one what started the chase to begin with?" said Gibbs. He gestured with his cup, accidentally sloshing some of the grog onto the deck. "It's one o' them things, mate."

"An' what o' you?"

Gibbs laughed uproariously. "Ye're bloody daft!" he choked through laughs. "Me? Mother's love, mate, I ain't no bleedin' cradle-robber."

"She's near to thirty," Tuck insisted. "An' a prettier thirty I ne'er did see."

"Ye've been sailin' too long, Tuck," Gibbs said confidently. "If anyone needs to get laid, it's you."

Finn hooted with laughter. Tuck grinned, but a flush hovered under the grime on his face. "Aye, perhaps," he agreed. "But not wi' Sofia. She's liable to kill me sooner!"

"What's so entertaining, gentlemen?"

The laughter and camaraderie vanished instantly. All three men turned, horrified, to see Sofia standing there with her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes. Tuck swallowed loudly.

"Naught o' concern, lass," Gibbs said with forced joviality. The attempt at cheerfulness felt flat. "Jes' gossip," he added.

Sofia glared at each of them in turn. They were tough old salts, having sailed for a good deal of their lives, and had faced dangers both natural and manmade, but they withered under that stare like delicate flowers in a drought. Once they were sufficiently cowed, Sofia spoke.

"Never," she said softly, "discuss me like that. Am I clear?"

The men nodded furiously. Sofia's eyes narrowed.

"Good." She turned on one heel and climbed up into the shrouds, disappearing into the rigging. Not one of the three men doubted that she could hear every word they said from her lofty perch.

"Well," said Finn abruptly, rising from his seat, "I've bandages to change."

The other two glanced at each other, and then silently followed.

* * *

The raid was a highly successful one. The merchant had been carrying goods for none other than the governor of Jamaica, a point that Jack found amusing. The hold was stuffed with cloth, dishes, and other goods that would fetch a high price in any market. Combined with Jack's announcement that they were off to Tortuga, the crew was in high spirits.

Sofia was, for once, in a good mood. There was whiskey flowing freely, Joseph's concoctions were beyond reproach, and the three gossips of earlier were avoiding her stringently. She clapped along with Duncan's fiddle, laughing as Ana Maria and Moses spun madly along with the music. The setting sun was a glorious backdrop to the festivities, casting a light like molten gold on the lithe, tanned forms of the pirates.

Jack came swaggering through the crew, singing along exuberantly, if a bit off-key. He stood before Sofia, a rum bottle in his hand. He made quite a roguish figure, his tangled hair with its trinkets drifting in the wind, his dark eyes laughing under his hat. Sofia was drunk enough to not be angry with him, having forgotten everything but the glorious present.

"What d'ye say," Jack said, "to a bit of a dance, love?"

Sofia squinted up at him. She had a vague notion that she ought to refuse, but didn't rightly know why. She was inebriated enough to dismiss the half-formed, nebulous idea. She stood up, staggering slightly, and Jack steadied her with a low chuckle.

"I say it sounds good," Sofia slurred. "Lead the way, good sir."

Jack grinned impishly, grasped her by the wrists, and off they went like a pair of whirling dervishes. Unheeding of the crew's whoops and catcalls, they spun to the music, lost in the moment. Sofia laughed at the sheer madness of it all.

Eventually the song came to an end and they crashed to the deck, laughing madly. Sofia could barely breathe for glee. She hadn't been this happy since-

The past came crashing down on her. She was supposed to be royally pissed at this man. The conflicting notions warred in her head for a moment, but the anger won out and she stood up and stalked away.

Jack watched her go, bemused. "What crawled up her rear an' died?" he mused. Gibbs laughed at the turn of phrase.

"Haven't a clue, Jack." He gestured with his glass. "Perhaps ye'd do well to have a wee bit of a chat with the lass?"

Jack considered his first mate's words for a moment, then stood up and nodded. "Perhaps so." He swaggered off.

Gibbs and Tuck exchanged gleeful glances. Finn glowered at the two of them. "I'm not concedin' yet," he said grumpily.

Tuck only grinned.