~~~Baby Grace – By Aurelie Belle~~~
Ten reviews? Am I dreaming? That's amazing! I am absolutely thrilled, and my mouth nearly dropped open when I saw that some reviews were very long! Long reviews are so much fun to read. Thank you to the reviewers! You all are my heroes!
Once again, Thank Ye's are at the bottom. You really think I would be all cocky and not personally thank the reviewers? Please, I'm not that mean...even if I do love to leave you all in suspense. :)
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Chapter Three
Now, in all honesty, I don't very often dream. Usually, I'm too drunk for my mind to even consider dreaming, so consequently, it is once in a blue moon that I get to experience one. Thanks to the crying babe that was dropped in my care, against my wishes, I didn't acquire the inebriated feeling of which I love so much that fine evening. Now, God must not hate me entirely, or he must have felt bad for inflicting such a stressful night upon my wee soul, because he blessed me with a dream that I enjoyed very greatly. For the first part of it, anyways.
The picture I was seeing was nigh on perfect. There I was, lying upon the white sands of a beach that was unmistakably the most beautiful one in the Caribbean. Yes, all Caribbean beaches look very much alike, but this was my dream, and therefore the most beautiful, savvy? Now, where was I...
Oh, yes. So I was lying upon the beautiful white beach, and that's not even the best part neither. Swooning all around me from every God-given angle were tens upon twenties of the most beautiful wenches of any I have ever seen in reality. Rather than those too-tight to even attempt to breathe dresses that wenches are often seen wearing, they were sporting large seashells that covered—well, almost covered—their breasts and on the lower half of them was nothing but a flowing grass skirt. It was most definitely a dream come true.
And, to my surprise and sheer happiness, Giselle the dead wench appeared amongst the many whores surrounding me. She looked strikingly wonderful in her seashells, and I remember licking my lips hungrily. I also remember saying, "Giselle! Yer alive!" – but Giselle didn't answer, she only smiled that smile in which I still think about to this day...that radiant beam of hers. Her bright red lips were growing very close to mine, and I closed my eyes waiting for her to lay a big one on my anxious mouth. But, this is where the dream turned very strange indeed. Rather than kissing me and having her filthy way with me, as I was hoping she would do, her lips surpassed mine, and the next thing I knew, I could sense that her mouth was very near my ear. Before I could question the doings of the ghost of Giselle, I heard a very odd noise that made me jump.
"Wah!"
"What's that all about, Giselle?" I turned my head to stare at Giselle, but she only continued to make that wretched sound over and over again; extremely annoying, may I point out.
"Wah!"
It didn't stop! I tried putting my hand over her mouth to stop that aggravating nuisance of a wail, but I felt nothing. This was when I began to draw conclusions in my mind, questioning silently whether or not I was really on a white beach with a thousand whores and the ghost of Giselle.
Instead of allowing me to put my hand over her mouth, Giselle cupped a hand over my mouth. Her hand was much bigger than I remembered, because it enveloped the entirety of my face.
At this point, the dream had turned into a nightmare; one in which I was determined to escape from. I couldn't see, breathe, or speak. And the noise didn't stop...
And then, I woke up...
...and took quite a large gasp of air when I turned to my side. I realized at that moment that the object that had been preventing my inhalation was not, in fact, Giselle's over-sized hand. The inflictor was no other than my trusty feather pillow that I had rolled into during the happenings of my nighttime drama.
All right, I think to myself. So, I'm back to reality. No more beaches, no more Giselle, no more whores.
But, why didn't the wailing stop?
As I have come to be sure of, I am most definitely not the most intelligent man on the face of the planet, and my mind had a tendency to not function properly in the wee hours of the morning, so the continued noise of the "Wah" ing racked my brain and brought me to my knees. God! If yer gonna take the dream away, at least take the nightmare part with it!
I shook my head and covered my ears, but nothing would drown the sound out. It was growing louder by the minute. If I didn't do something, it'd wake up me entire crew, and that wouldn't be pretty, 'specially after a wild evening in Tortuga, let me tell you.
A single glance at the rum crate on the opposite side of the room brought my thoughts and suspicions to rest for a moment only.
"Oh." I muttered, "It's only the baby."
I glanced out the porthole window above my bed. It was not yet fully light outside, but the sun peaked over the horizon, turning the once-navy blue sky into a gorgeous light blue. I didn't care for the beauty. It was still night, and I deserved some shut-eye.
Disgruntled, I lay back down and curled up with my blankets and the pillow that had made an attempt to suffocate me. I shoved the pillow over my head to drown the baby out. Once again, realization hit.
The baby?!
At that moment, every memory from the previous night rushed back into my brain like an ocean tide coming onto the beach during high-tide. I remembered everything, which doesn't happen often after a night in Tortuga, I assure you. I remembered Scarlet, I remembered the evil man at the bar, and I remembered distinctly the expression of that Gibbs look-alike when I waltzed up to him and proceeded to talk like a baby. I admit, it's a hard expression to forget. But, in the time I took to think things over from the evening before, Grace's cries had amplified at least a hundred times.
Her wail was no longer a wail anymore, but was growing very close to a shriek. Afraid that my crew might maroon me if I woke them from their slumber, I decided that my first duty as Daddy Jack Sparrow would be to feed the thing and put it back to sleep. Quite an important thought occurred to me just then...
What do babies eat?
Now, if you're thinking that I am a brainless dimwit right now, stop and think for a moment. Do you remember what your mum fed you when you were a tyke? Her breast milk, of course! But, a glance down at my chest convinced me that that plan would almost certainly be a failure.
All right, think, Sparrow, think. You were a baby yourself once. What would YOU like for breakfast if YOU were a bald, toothless brat?
Then, it came to me – my mind never lets me down.
I have a little saying, you see: When in doubt, rum is always the answer. No matter the circumstances. Always rum. Drink yer heart out.
If rum is the answer to everything, why wouldn't it be the solution to this dilemma?
Pulling myself out of bed was a surprisingly easier task without a hangover. I got down on my hands and knees and shoved a hand underneath my bed, feeling an assortment of objects I didn't care to further examine. My hand finally hit a bottle of the Caribbean's finest rum, and I smiled as I pulled it out and realized that it was half full.
Task two. Ah, once again, I am no idiot. I was, and still am, well aware that babies do not eat with forks and knives. Though neither do I, so we're not on completely different wavelengths, right? The small problem is that babies' mouths are so bloody small, smaller than the opening of the bottle, that any attempt to make it drink like a regular human being would result in severe pointless wastage of the Caribbean's nectar! The question was: how do I feed the baby without watching a whole slew of rum trickle down its little chin?
For such a little tyke, Grace certainly did have a pair of lungs. The cry that was once only approaching a shriek had become one of the loudest shrieks I had ever heard. I had to get the kid to shut up somehow. My ears were beginning to ring.
So, I walked over to little Grace, (Mother of God, how I hate that name!) and when she saw me, she gave a little hiccup, but she didn't stop crying. With a little smile, I held up the bottle of rum and swished it around in front of her tiny little pea-sized nose. She looked at her dear old daddy like he was an insanely crazed loon.
Not such a dumb kid after all!
"Yer hungry, aren't ye, little love?"
She didn't answer, well not with words, but her cries were slowly subsiding when she realized that she had, in fact, gotten my attention.
"Shh! Do ye want to wake me whole crew up?" I flailed my arms about and held a finger to my lips.
She was beginning to look a bit frustrated, and her once pink face was now turning a deep shade of purple. Fearing she may explode, I searched for ways to feed the child without drowning her in the substance.
And then, another light bulb went off in that smart head of mine. I popped open the rum bottle and peered down into the beautiful golden liquor. After taking a large sip, (I couldn't resist) I tilted the bottle so the luscious liquid was very near the mouth of it. Dipping my finger into the rum, I managed to wet my entire forefinger, and I stared hungrily at it as I pulled it out of the bottle and watched it ooze down my finger. I licked my lips.
The once frustrated expression on my daughter's face was now a look of almost fear as she eyed my finger and silently questioned how in God's name I was going to attempt to feed her.
"Now," I began, "I am not sure how clean this finger is. But it will have to do, as I for some reason don't seem to have any baby bottles lying about."
I put my rum-drenched finger to her miniature pink lips, and she wrinkled her tiny nose at the smell of it.
"Don't be picky! Eat it!"
As if obeying me, she finally opened her mouth and allowed the rum to settle into her mouth. I have to tell you, I was half-expecting her to throw up, or cry and push my finger out of her mouth. Rum's not friendly the first time you drink it, even I'll admit it.
But, Grace sucked thoughtfully on the finger, looking up at me with tear-stained cheeks and puffy little brown eyes. I couldn't help feeling a surge of pride in myself: I was actually feeding a baby! And as a bonus, I had gotten it to stop crying.
At that moment, I was very nearly sure that she had to be my flesh and blood, because any rum drinker at ten months old must be related to me in some sense; whether it was genetically or not was besides the point entirely. The child was drinking rum! Bloody hell!
When she was finished, I dipped my finger into the rum again and repeated the process until she looked rather full; or maybe it was drunk. Anyway, I thought for a moment she was going to fall asleep or pass out or something, but her eyes filled up with tears again and she opened her mouth very, very wide indeed, and I shut me ears preparing for the worst.
My preparation wasn't good enough, however, because the thing screamed so loudly, I'm convinced that natives in South Africa and Southeast Asia were perfectly capable of hearing her cries.
"SHH!" I tried shushing her, but since when did women pay me any mind?
"What do you want now?" I yelled, "I fed you! What more do you bloody want from me?" This kid was beginning to break me. When suddenly, an angel walked in the room, and a sleepy angel at that. It was Gibbs.
"Cap'n." Gibbs nodded, one eye closed, "What's all that racket?"
I pointed at the screaming kid, and Gibbs opened his other eye and produced an expression that was hovering somewhere between confusion and exhaustion. He winced as Grace's sounds hit his ears, and I smiled sympathetically. No doubt this was a lot harder with a hangover.
"What's that?" Gibbs walked over to where I was standing and stared at the crying tyke in the rum crate.
"It's a baby."
"I know it's a baby. Whose baby?"
"My baby."
"When'd ye have a baby?" Gibbs scratched his furry little balding head.
"When I impregnated Giselle." I said simply.
"When'd ye impregnate Giselle?"
"Well, how'm I 'sposed to know?" I answered truthfully. Quite honestly, it was hard to keep track.
Gibbs looked lost in thought for a moment, but he turned back to me a moment later, still in a daze.
"Well, yer not gonna keep it, are ye?"
"Seems I don't have much of a choice, dear Gibbs. Scarlet won't take it fer herself."
Gibbs didn't look in a state to argue with me, and so he let it go for the time being. Seems to me, his only interest was getting it to shut up so he could go back to bed.
"Well, why's it cryin'?"
I shrugged, "I fed it."
"What'd ye feed it?"
"Rum."
"Rum?" Gibbs growled in a surprised question, "Ye can't feed a baby rum!"
"Well, why not? She ate it. Or drank it, rather."
"Well, of course she ate it, she was hungry! Now ye have to burp 'er."
"Burp her?" I exclaimed, "How—why can't she do it herself?"
Exasperated, Gibbs rolled his eyes and trudged over to where Grace was laying. He picked her up gently and laid her over his large shoulder. Instantly, Grace's sobs settled and became nothing louder than a whimper. Gibbs patted her on the back and made a little jumpy-motion with his knees so the baby and him were bouncing up and down. It was really a sight to see.
Then, Grace let out a little belch that was quite a funny sound coming from such a little person, and Gibbs set her back down in her makeshift bed. He then looked at me, and I looked at my feet, feeling rather bashful and stupid. Burp her. Why didn't I think of that?
"Where'd ye learn so much about babies?" I questioned Gibbs.
"My sister had a kid when I was 'bout twenty or so. Taught me a lot 'bout kids. They really aren't so bad."
Hm. Fancy that. Gibbs likes kids.
"Thanks, dear Gibbsy. You can go back to sleeping." I glanced at Grace, then back at Gibbs, who thanked me with his eyes.
Gibbs yawned and, looking sleepily thrilled, turned and plodded heavily out of my quarters. I looked back at Grace. She was wide-awake now, and I silently prayed that she wouldn't attempt to scream again. But she only stared back at my with wide-eyed wonder, and I decided to talk to it.
"Yer a hassle, ye know that?"
No response, obviously. But, assuming she had a clue what I was going on about, I went on...
"So. Yer a baby, are ye? How's that goin?"
More staring.
"Well...It's been a while since I was a baby myself, so I can't relate much."
I couldn't believe it! I was talking to a baby who didn't understand a word I was saying!
Grace's eyes suddenly went from wide-eyed to rather tired, and I silently praised myself. Whatever I was doing, it was working! So, I kept talking...
"Yes, well. I'm the Captain of the Black Pearl. 'Spose you'll be seein' a lot of it, seein' as though yer goin' to be growin' up round here."
I got up and began to move around. I have a tendency to get lost in thought when I'm talking about my beloved ship. She's my pride and joy, and I fought long and hard for her. I told Grace this.
"I'm never givin' her up." Said I, "No chance at all. If Captain Barbossa decides to come back from the dead and take me Pearl away, so be it. Because he won't get it, ye hear?"
I walked back over to Grace, and I almost choked.
She was asleep.
I had put that baby to sleep. I could have cried. Her little hands were curled in little loose fists beside her face. Her tiny eyelids were closed, and she was motionless except for the steady breathing of her chest as it moved up and down at a constant pace.
I reached for the rum. This was a time to celebrate! But, I thought better of it. I was a father now, and I felt extraordinarily responsible for her life at that moment in time.
I corked the bottle of rum and set it down on the table beside the rum crate.
"Goodnight, love."
I climbed back into bed and, after nuzzling with my blankets, closed my eyes.
Whatever I dreamt after that, I don't remember. But, it didn't matter. Reality at that moment was better than my dreams.
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A bit mushy, yes. But, what did you think? Please review this :)
Thank ye's!
pandagrrl – I don't know if I've said this before, but one of my main goals is to get Jack's character down in my writing, so that compliment was among the greatest you could have given me! Thank you so very much for that. Sorry again about the confusing summary. I'm glad it wasn't rushed, though this chapter may be. Apologies for that also. Thanks for reviewing, you're wonderful!
Erica Dawn – We all know Cotton won't have much to say about this situation, though if he still had his tongue, I believe he'd still be at a loss for words! Thanks bunches :)
Breezy – You make good points, and you've got a sharp eye. But, don't worry. I won't let you down. Maybe I do have something up my sleeve. You'll just have to find out...
pendragginink – Thank you for reviewing. I do have something that will happen later, so don't worry about all that. Another thing, the ten-month baby is able to sit up, but so far the baby hasn't sat up at all in the story, so I apologize if that misled you. And, I've never been a mother before, so bear with me on the age thing. Gracias :)
Fewer Brain Cells Than a Garden Hose – Thank you so much for the compliments! And sorry it took so long for me to finish this chapter. You made my day!
And that's all for now. Hope you liked it...read and review! Love ya!
Aurelie Belle