Honest and Dishonest Men Chapter 9: And We'll Sing It All the Time, a pirates of the caribbean fanfic

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Chapter 9: ...'And We'll Sing It All the Time!'

Jack opened his eyes and immediately closed them again. As expected, he had slept in by several long hours. The harsh light that assaulted his eyes belonged to a midday sun, far from the soft gray light he was accustomed to awaking to in earlier hours. Even after shutting out the abrasive light, his head still thrummed. He lay silently for several long moments, concentrating very hard on trying to concentrate on nothing. Finally, he decided he must force himself to get up and eat something and walk about a bit, try to help the alcohol's less pleasant after-shocks to wear off. He must have had quite a lot more to drink than usual for him to feel so terrible, though.

Step one, by his estimation, was to peel his eyes open and not balk at the too-brilliant light. He dragged his eyelids up slowly, then squinted and blinked rather a lot before finally focusing across his cabin.

It was only then that he became aware of a warm, light weight pressing down on his chest. Not because he hadn't noticed it there before, but because it hadn't occurred to him until now that it shouldn't be there.

Uh-oh.

He turned his head to look down his own body. But his view of his toes was obstructed by a great mass of dark brown ringlets of hair. He recognized the features of Gwen's face, calm and peaceful in slumber, pillowed on his chest. Her right arm was slung diagonally across his body, her wrist crossing just below his left hip.

He hadn't. Had he? Would she have... Well, would he have given her a choice?

Within the next few seconds his concerns were both assuaged and rekindled. He realized as his senses awoke more fully, that, blessedly, he still wore his trousers, and that Gwen was still fully clothed. But then he also realized that an intermittent soft stream of air, when she exhaled, was lightly grazing across right nipple. And he could just feel the curve of her breasts against his side.

Bloody... He couldn't let himself get worked up over an innocent. By rites and necessity, she belonged to a purer class of people. One where affairs and dealings with whores were frowned upon and discussed in whispers, and wedding vows (or at least affection) were prerequisites for little romps and bonbons in the bedroom. He frowned, remembering how Elizabeth had abruptly chastised him once, on that blasted island, for his not-so-subtle suggestions on how to pass the time.

Suddenly remembering that he'd been too enamored of his mug last night to get one of the tavern wenches off his lap and into a bed, he made a mental note to do so later. It was no good for a man to knock about without enjoying a woman's... company from time to time. It made him want things when he wasn't allowed to get them, like now.

He began to move to slip out from beneath the covers, but his pounding skull reminded him he still didn't feel quite up to jumping out of bed, effectively quashing the good mood other parts of his body had started to feel. He grimaced and silently asked the fates, not why he had drunk so much, but why it had to cost him so much. Moving much more slowly and deliberately, he gently pushed Gwen off of him and tried to sit up.

His grimace deepened to a disgruntled scowl when he noticed that his movement had awakened her.

Gwen awoke and found herself staring directly at the unclothed, lightly furred torso of a man. Jack. Then she immediately became aware of how closely her body was pressed against his. She tried to move away, pushing herself up with a hand planted midway between his navel and the bottom of his ribcage.

"Oof!" Jack said eloquently, one hand catching at Gwen's offending arm, the other reaching to his head. "Good morning to you too, luv," he grumbled. This was the last thing he needed. A confused woman, in his bed with him unwillingly. An odd situation in itself. And he'd probably get slapped. He groaned in dread anticipation of it.

"What are you...?" Gwen didn't finish her question. Jack's facial expressions were ranging from frowning to wincing to grimacing and all other such contortions of displeasure. And he smelled strongly of what she identified to be the scent of rum. "Were you that drunk when you came back last night?" she asked, her eyes narrowed analytically.

Jack frowned at her. He wasn't sure whether he'd rather be treated like an errant adolescent or slapped. "It was dark," he said grumpily. "What are ye doing here?"

She didn't answer immediately, slightly embarrassed at her situation.

Jack wasn't much interested in knowing why she was there, though. He just knew he needed to get space between himself and her- and quick! "Get off me, luv," Jack requested rather bluntly, pushing her to the side.

He pulled himself to a sitting position and dropped to his feet on the floor as she shifted to the side. He groaned again as his body fought his every action, and grabbed his shirt from where it had caught on the corner of his desk. Slowly, grumbling and mumbling, he gathered up his clothing and reassembled himself. When he turned back, he found Gwen studiously staring at the wall beside the bed. He grinned slightly at the thought of a woman who was embarrassed by a man without a shirt, also remembering his need to find a woman who wasn't bashful, then left his cabin, rubbing his forehead through his bandana with two fingers and thumb.

Gwen slipped off the bed as soon as the door shut. Once he was gone, she felt much safer and she paused to consider things.

Gwen sighed. She supposed there wasn't really any harm done. No sense in causing a scene. He wouldn't care anyway. She sighed and glanced around the room. The sun streaming in from the small window was far too bright and far too warm to be very early in the morning at all. She must have been much more tired than she'd thought; she'd slept in.

They had slept in. She lingered for a moment on the thought of "they," the word eliciting considerations of her future prospects. Perhaps Elizabeth would be willing to help her somehow to find a place in society. She could only hope to meet a man willing to marry her; if not, she could possibly find herself working as a governess or some other such old-maid job to support herself.

With a silent complaint on her limits as a woman, Gwen straightened the bed-covers, twitching the blankets out with a few jerks and smoothing them flat again. She looked once more around the room in feminine solicitousness to make sure it was in order before she left. Ah. The captain had left his hat.

The door swung open. Jack strode in and snatched his dingy old tricorne from his desk. "Forgot me hat," he said simply as he settled it on his head, sounding already much less like the disgruntled grump and more like the carefree scoundrel she was used to, though he still frowned deeply.

Gwen checked her reproof on his lack of knocking before it could fall from her lips. It was his cabin, after all. Why knock at your own door?

The door clicked shut behind him. She crossed to it, opened it again, and left the cabin herself, in search of Elizabeth and some breakfast. Well, lunch.

The fourth morning in Tortuga dawned bright and clear. For some. For many of the Pearl's crew, those who had made the last night their heaviest night of drinking rather than their lightest, it didn't quite dawn at all, but came bursting in on their dreams, unwelcome, when Smithy came hollering through all of the crew quarters trying to roust enough warm bodies to get the ship out to sea.

For Jack, the morning came with a tickle of long brown curls and a soft voice as Gwen knelt over him.

"Captain... Captain."

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, then couldn't quite help the devilish grin that spread when the first thing he saw was a rather nice view of her cleavage. "Well, good morning, luv," he drawled as he raked his gaze up to meet her eyes.

"You black sheep," she scolded, raising one hand to her chest to block his view.

"Take what ye can," he mumbled at her as she stood. If a glimpse was offered, he would most certainly take it.

Ignoring his vague comment, she stood and went to the door, which was slightly cracked, since she'd just stepped inside for a moment, just to wake him.

"The Black Pearl is nearly ready to make way, Captain," she informed him simply before she left.

He lay silent and still for a moment after she left, considering the dull familiar thrum of a headache and allowing himself to take pleasure in her choice of words- "Black Pearl," not "the ship," and "Captain."

Then, in a low voice, he sang to himself, "Devils and black sheep... we're really bad eggs."

He reached up with one hand to grab the edge of his desk and pulled himself to his feet. He slid his vest up his arms and tugged it down to straighten it over his shirt.

"Drink up me 'earties, yo ho." His rich baritone lifted the strain a little louder than before as he belted his sash in place and jammed his sword and pistol into the belt. He clapped his hat on his still-aching head a bit harder than he had intended, but his golden grin didn't waver as he flung his door open and stepped out onto the deck of his ship.

"'Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!' Hoist the mainsail! Weigh anchor! Get the rest of that cargo stored, ye scurvy villains!"

Jack exchanged curt nods with Gibbs as he climbed the steps toward the helm. "Tie off those lines! Man the crow's nest!" he yelled up to a couple of men climbing through the rigging.

"We pillage, plunder, we rifle and loot," he sang loudly as he threw the holding line off the wheel and savored the familiar feel of the smooth wood. "Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!"

Many of the straggling crew, forcing their protesting bodies to carry out their ordered tasks, smiled at the captain's song, all the same grin which told tales of sea and salt and not giving a damn. A few joined in on the next stanza, a couple of tenors and a small fellow with an unlikely bass which rumbled from his chest.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack.