Do you understand human emotions and the complexity of a broken heart? Do you see the rationalization behind our otherwise irrational ways of reacting and recovering when we are hurt by someone we love? If you don't, please don't tell me this chapter doesn't make sense. People do stupid things when they've been hurt. Reckless, destructive, confusing, and irrational things. Be nice. Try to empathize. Morgan has been hurt. So has Meryl, though both in different ways. Remember that.
***
It was evening. After a final, successful attempt at building a fire, Morgan and Jack sat side-by-side, leaning back underneath their upturned, partially propped-up rower. Morgan's nervousness concerning Jack's intentions tonight had faded, giving way to something that was a little better in one respect, a little worse in another.
Guilt.
And bitterness.
She felt guilty because of her encounter with Temaeno, and bitter because she knew- knew for a fact- that Jack had made love to Meryl. Many times.
Jack, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease, enjoying himself despite the inherent apprehension that encompassed their situation. The only thing he needed now was rum. Well, not rum particularly, but strong drink of sorts. Though he guessed it would take a bloody lot of rum to get Morgan off her senses, and even more to suit his own needs.
And so, with no inherent alcohol source in sight, Jack resigned himself to make the best of the situation. He draped one arm over Morgan's shoulders, being careful to continue his conversation as he did so.
"...and sailed out of Tortuga just like that, ne'er seen again." He paused, flashing his eyes dramatically. "Good man, that one. Bit of a stiff, but good man."
Morgan forced a smile, though what she really felt was an exotic and irrational mixture of contrition, hostility, and extreme weariness. Each could be cured in it's own way, remorse and hostility by confronting Jack, and weariness by taking her own rest for the night. But she would find no rest under the strain of guilt.
"Jack," She said quietly, "I think we should talk."
"Mmm?" He mumbled. "I've got a better idea." And his hands gently made their way to her hips, moving up slowly, resting themselves on her breasts.
Morgan closed her eyes, her breath coming in heavy gasps. "No." She managed. "No, Jack, I want to talk. Talk." She felt his hands remove themselves reluctantly.
"About?" He prompted.
"Meryl." He groaned. "And... and Temaeno."
Jack frowned. "Who the bloody hell is Temaeno?"
"He works on Liam's ship." Morgan stated. "He's a cabin boy."
"What did you do?" Jack's fiery eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting moment, Morgan felt genuinely afraid of him.
"Nothing!" She said instinctively, then, realizing her unintentional lie, "Well, no, not nothing. Not exactly." Her eyes darted away from his. She sighed. "Look, if I tell you, do you promise to tell me about you and Meryl?"
"There's nothing to tell." Jack said firmly.
"Oh." Morgan's voice lightened. "Well, then I'll keep this to myself."
"Actually," Jack corrected, "There was... maybe... there might have been, well... that is to say..."
"You made love to her?"
He nodded slowly. "Aye."
There was a long pause. Suddenly, Morgan felt she could no longer contain her question. "Why?" He shrugged. "What, just no reason at all?" He nodded again. She rolled her eyes. "Men... you're all such... such..."
"What did Tadeero do?"
"Temaeno." Morgan corrected. "Nothing much. Not... not compared to you." She swallowed. "I just kissed him."
"Why?" Jack shot back bitterly.
"Well, I..." Morgan felt colour rising in her cheeks. "I was hurt. You... you and Meryl. That hurt, Jack. I just... I needed to do something. Needed to even the score." He turned away from her quietly, but she laid a hand on his shoulder submissively. "Please, Jack, I know it was wrong, I just thought... I wasn't even thinking! I just... I just..."
"It's fine." He mumbled. A hint of a smile crept back into his sombre expression. "He wasn't very good, was he?"
Morgan laughed a little. "Too wet. Too childish..." Her fingers strayed to the opening of his weathered white shirt, toying with the flaps, eyes transfixed by his tanned chest. "Too innocent..." She murmured.
Their dark eyes met for a moment, silent understanding coming between them. She knew what he wanted, he knew what she wanted. His arms came up and engulfed her body.
Her hands pried him off slowly. "No." She panted. "No, Jack, too soon"
He rolled over so that he was on his back beside her. Women make no sense, he complained to himself. He felt nauseated, an ailment that he would normally turn to alcohol to cure, but seeing as how there was an inherent lack of said spirit, he simply resorted to grumbling discontentedly. "Wish we had some rum."
"Why?" Morgan asked, herself full recuperated, laughter lacing her voice. "So you can get me intoxicated and amorous so as you get whatever you so desire of me?"
He smiled. "Something like that." There was a brief pause. "Do you remember the last time we got ourselves drunk?"
"Was on this island, wasn't it?"
He nodded. "That was a bloody lot of whisky. Ne'er got ourselves all the way through it, though, did we?"
"I should think not." Morgan mused absently. "Must've left it on the island somewhere..." Suddenly the relevance of her above statement dawned upon her, to surprise, faster than it dawned on Jack. "Jack!"
"Aye?"
"We left the whisky here, didn't we?"
The fire came back into his dark eyes. "Aye." He grabbed her hand and scrambled to his feet. "Come on, luv."
"What?" Morgan protested, allowing herself to be dragged down the beach by the forearm. "Where are we going?"
"Where do you think?" And when she did not appear to understand, "To find the whisky!"
"This late at night?"
"Why not?"
***
Jack's legs ached. How long had they been trekking along the shore now? An hour? It seemed more. He couldn't quite remember where he'd stashed the old barrels of whisky, and his vision was fading with fatigue.
His foot snagged on something. "Bloody-" He hurtled forward, just catching himself before hitting the ground. Morgan turned around to see what he'd tripped over. A horrible, sinking feeling began to consume her.
"Are we going in circles?"
Jack bent down and studied the nose of the rower that he had just tripped over. "Nay, luv, this isn't our boat..." He examined it closely. "Though it is from my ship."
Something stirred from over in the sand dunes, and Jack distinctly saw the figure of a man struggle to a seated position. "Sparrow?" A deep voice called out.
Jack recognized it instantly. He smiled. "Bloody stupid eunuch!" He crooned happily, as if it had been someone's nickname.
"Shut the hell up." A female voice this time.
"Meryl?"
"You got it." The pair moved off of the dunes towards Jack and Morgan. Meryl glanced at the latter with a fiery stare before turning her attentions to Jack. "What are you doing roaming around this late?"
"His idea." Morgan said. "Looking for our old cache."
"You have supplies, then?" Liam demanded.
"Supplies of sorts." Jack replied, fully aware of the dark, angry tension that hung like a storm cloud between Meryl and Morgan. "What say we all float your little rowboat over to our camp and get the fire going again, aye?"
Liam nodded, and sooner than anticipated, the four of them were back at Jack and Morgan's camp, booze-less, but satisfied that the venture had not been a waste. The fire had been reduced to a few smouldering coals in the sand, though Liam immediately set to the task of rekindling it to its former glory.
Morgan slumped down under the rower and found sleep almost instantaneously. Liam, after saving the dying fare, tried to follow suit, but after a sleepless two minutes, he gave in to impatience and went to join Jack and Meryl where they sat on the beach. He glanced at Meryl, a concerned look on his face.
"You okay, Meryl?" She nodded slowly.
"Of course she's okay." Jack said, clapping her on the back affectionately. "Why wouldn't she be?" His eyes suddenly fixed themselves on a cut that adorned her left forearm. "Now how did you get that?"
Liam shot Jack a warning look. "An accident." He said over-articulately.
"Meryl, darling?" She didn't look at him. "What happened?" Silence. "Meryl?"
She closed her eyes and replayed the incident in her head. Liam had grabbed the sword away from her just in time, though her forearm had still managed to be sliced shallowly in the process. She winced slightly at the memory. "I'm fine, Jack. Really. Liam's taken good care of me." She stood up and headed over to the fire, laying herself down wearily.
Jack turned to Liam. "What was that all about?"
"Sparrow," Liam turned towards the bemused captain. "Miss Volleys's life is getting rough. Maybe- for her own good- maybe you should give her some breathing space. She needs time to heal."
Jack looked dumbstruck. He didn't really want Meryl all that badly anymore, but to have Liam say that he couldn't have her made her somehow... desirable. "More importantly than you having no power over me, I'll have who I damn well please, savvy?"
"You cant have her!" Liam shouted in a stage whisper so as not to wake the sleeping girls.
"She's not property." Jack said flatly. And idea dawned upon him. "Unless, of course, you mean to say that you've had her yourself."
"Look, Sparrow, just lay off of Meryl for a while." Liam picked up a stick and tossed it into the ocean. "She's too unstable to be betrayed."
Jack tuned his eyes to her (supposedly) sleeping form. "She's beautiful, aye?"
Liam nodded. "Please don't hurt her."
"What's this all about?" He cried. "She's fine! She's always been fine! What's changed?"
"She's lost Roberts."
"So?"
"She's lost her spirit." Liam said. "Her fire's gone out."
"What?"
"You give her a chance and she'll do herself in."
Jack stared dumbly. "Lies."
"Watch her." Liam challenged. "You'll see." He stumbled down the sand dunes and made his bed far away from the other three.
Jack shrugged and tottered over to Morgan, plunking himself down beside her.
Meryl opened her eyes, glancing at the tired couple and the far-off privateer. Something shiny glinted at the edge of her peripheral vision. She glanced at it.
Jack's dagger was lying buried in the sand.
Unguarded.
She stood up and strode over to it, almost as if in a trance. Her hands found the hilt and directed the weapon so it was angled up to her chest. She closed her eyes and thrust the blade up towards her heart...
***
Review Replies:
Sorry, I only have time to do a few crucial review tonight:
Okay, Jack is not capable of love in my opinion, but I'm writing a romance centred around him because I think that it makes everything that much more fun. And there is more to Bart's death than making Meryl suicidal, swoon, or otherwise- it's purpose was to set up the internal conflict that I want to thresh out for her.
Please review,
-SQ
