Author's Note - I don't own all of these characters. All I own is a knack for storytelling and certain scallywag-ish tendencies.
Chapter Three
The time just before dawn were the only blessed few moments when there existed something akin to peace and quiet in Tortuga. Instead of raucous curses and bawls of challenge, there was only the gentle moan of those that had been severely inebriated the previous night. Instead of the clang of sword metal on scrap metal, there was the welcoming crash of breakfast dishes by morning patrons. Instead of the aroma of alcohol claiming the morning air ... well, there was no changing some things.
All of these sounds and smells tiptoed through the open window of Jack's inn room as he lay in bed just prior to morning. The air stirred the atmosphere just slightly and began to hint at the promised heat of the day. Jack slept bare-chested and barefoot, his blankets long kicked to the floor, with his hands folded behind his head. He was murmuring softly.
By no stretch of the imagination may it ever be said that if Jack were to wake up alone in the morning after taking an exquisite bit of company to bed the evening before, that it was due in any way to a lack of skill on his part between the bed sheets. Quite the contrary. Jack often woke to find himself alone in the morning because he constantly spoke in his sleep. It was in such a solitary state that he awoke that morning, though this time, it was because he had gone to bed alone.
Pity, Jack thought.
Well, there were ways to remedy being alone. Jack rose and opened his door without bothering to dress. He padded softly down the dark inn hall to the room where he had said goodnight to Melanie Cash, and cracked open her door. With a gold-tipped smile, he closed it softly and made to inch towards the bed where she lay sleeping with her back to him.
A floorboard creaked, and he found a dagger reverberating in the door beside his ear.
The door, he noted, in keeping with the standards of Tortuga's establishments, was marked with similar holes.
Melanie's eyes glittered from a nest of blankets, her bare, still-poised arm the only part of her that was exposed. "I don't take kindly to morning intrusions," she grumbled.
Jack pulled her knife from the door and dropped it onto her pile of clothes. He stretched out on the blanket beside her. "It's not even mornin', love."
"Then what brings you to my room?" Melanie inquired through a yawn. She settled herself back into her blankets. "You can't seriously have any playful intentions." Jack shook his head with a chuckle.
"Not this time, darling. I know you've got more sharp little surprises where that first one came from."
A smile from Melanie Cash. "I'm glad we still understand one another." When Jack made no move - to leave or otherwise - she sighed loudly. "Why are you here, then?"
Jack wiggled his bare toes. "So that the audience can catch up."
"Audience?"
"You know, love, 'all the world's a stage' and all that. Got to keep'em up to speed."
"Has that quote even been ... quoted yet?"
Beat. "Well, British colonialism came after Shakespeare."
"Ah."
"Ah."
"Has it occurred to you that we may in fact be wasting time, Jack?"
"Mmm."
"Time while Will is waiting for you?"
Jack sat up and looked at her. "Look, lass, just try to understand that it's all a bit much to get through me hat at once. I'aven't seen this boy in years, nor have I received so much as a cordial letter."
"Have you sent him any letters?" Melanie asked. She propped herself up on one elbow.
"I'aven't sent any ladies after'im pleading mysteriously fer'elp, if that's what you mean." Jack paused. "I'm not saying that I'm not going to'elp him, Melanie. I'm just trying to put together what's been happening."
"All Will told me was that he'd received a letter, and that it was about his father."
The captain shook his head and his beads clinked together. "Bill's dead." Melanie shrugged. "I knew Bill, Melanie. He was a decent fellow. One of the most decent that I've known. It makes me sad that'ee died - and I'm sure Will was disappointed to learn about his death after his search for him - but that doesn't change the fact that'ee's gone."
Melanie gave him a hard look. "Listen. I don't understand everything that's going on. Will just hired me to find you and ask you to come back. But after the things that you've been through, after what you've seen, is something like this so difficult to believe?"
Jack didn't answer.
"At least go and talk to the boy. I'm sure he wouldn't have sent for you if it wasn't for a good reason. After all," she winked, "my services don't come cheaply." Jack allowed himself a wry smile.
"Well do I know that, love."
~
Gibbs had ordered a few stiff drinks for himself after meeting Jack and Captain Melanie Cash for breakfast that morning. It was not that she had been frightening or rude, for Gibbs had found Cash to be a very agreeably spirited young woman, and it seemed to him that she and Jack were as close to kindred spirits as two such scallywags could hope to be.
Neither did Gibbs have any objections to her physically - though she had not spoken to him about her past, the years he rightly assumed she had spent at sea had brushed her skin with a dusky russet color that he found very appealing. She was lithe and moved with a grace that Gibbs had never thought possible of a weather-toughened brigand like himself. She had laughed often and musically, and - thankfully - her teeth were even and white, not capped with gold like Jack's. Gibbs had always found such a flashy effect rather unsettling.
No, none of these things about Melanie Cash were what had caused Gibbs so much unrest. He mulled over it as he sipped another ale. No, she had seemed a fine woman. But that was the rub of it - she was a woman, and not only that, she was a captain. A captain whose sails Jack had evidently decided they would be sailing under for a time.
Jack had proved himself to be as mad as they came, and Gibbs ordinarily had no quarrel with Jack's brash decisions. But this was beyond all those.
Dreadful bad luck this was, he thought, and emptied his mug.
Chapter Three
The time just before dawn were the only blessed few moments when there existed something akin to peace and quiet in Tortuga. Instead of raucous curses and bawls of challenge, there was only the gentle moan of those that had been severely inebriated the previous night. Instead of the clang of sword metal on scrap metal, there was the welcoming crash of breakfast dishes by morning patrons. Instead of the aroma of alcohol claiming the morning air ... well, there was no changing some things.
All of these sounds and smells tiptoed through the open window of Jack's inn room as he lay in bed just prior to morning. The air stirred the atmosphere just slightly and began to hint at the promised heat of the day. Jack slept bare-chested and barefoot, his blankets long kicked to the floor, with his hands folded behind his head. He was murmuring softly.
By no stretch of the imagination may it ever be said that if Jack were to wake up alone in the morning after taking an exquisite bit of company to bed the evening before, that it was due in any way to a lack of skill on his part between the bed sheets. Quite the contrary. Jack often woke to find himself alone in the morning because he constantly spoke in his sleep. It was in such a solitary state that he awoke that morning, though this time, it was because he had gone to bed alone.
Pity, Jack thought.
Well, there were ways to remedy being alone. Jack rose and opened his door without bothering to dress. He padded softly down the dark inn hall to the room where he had said goodnight to Melanie Cash, and cracked open her door. With a gold-tipped smile, he closed it softly and made to inch towards the bed where she lay sleeping with her back to him.
A floorboard creaked, and he found a dagger reverberating in the door beside his ear.
The door, he noted, in keeping with the standards of Tortuga's establishments, was marked with similar holes.
Melanie's eyes glittered from a nest of blankets, her bare, still-poised arm the only part of her that was exposed. "I don't take kindly to morning intrusions," she grumbled.
Jack pulled her knife from the door and dropped it onto her pile of clothes. He stretched out on the blanket beside her. "It's not even mornin', love."
"Then what brings you to my room?" Melanie inquired through a yawn. She settled herself back into her blankets. "You can't seriously have any playful intentions." Jack shook his head with a chuckle.
"Not this time, darling. I know you've got more sharp little surprises where that first one came from."
A smile from Melanie Cash. "I'm glad we still understand one another." When Jack made no move - to leave or otherwise - she sighed loudly. "Why are you here, then?"
Jack wiggled his bare toes. "So that the audience can catch up."
"Audience?"
"You know, love, 'all the world's a stage' and all that. Got to keep'em up to speed."
"Has that quote even been ... quoted yet?"
Beat. "Well, British colonialism came after Shakespeare."
"Ah."
"Ah."
"Has it occurred to you that we may in fact be wasting time, Jack?"
"Mmm."
"Time while Will is waiting for you?"
Jack sat up and looked at her. "Look, lass, just try to understand that it's all a bit much to get through me hat at once. I'aven't seen this boy in years, nor have I received so much as a cordial letter."
"Have you sent him any letters?" Melanie asked. She propped herself up on one elbow.
"I'aven't sent any ladies after'im pleading mysteriously fer'elp, if that's what you mean." Jack paused. "I'm not saying that I'm not going to'elp him, Melanie. I'm just trying to put together what's been happening."
"All Will told me was that he'd received a letter, and that it was about his father."
The captain shook his head and his beads clinked together. "Bill's dead." Melanie shrugged. "I knew Bill, Melanie. He was a decent fellow. One of the most decent that I've known. It makes me sad that'ee died - and I'm sure Will was disappointed to learn about his death after his search for him - but that doesn't change the fact that'ee's gone."
Melanie gave him a hard look. "Listen. I don't understand everything that's going on. Will just hired me to find you and ask you to come back. But after the things that you've been through, after what you've seen, is something like this so difficult to believe?"
Jack didn't answer.
"At least go and talk to the boy. I'm sure he wouldn't have sent for you if it wasn't for a good reason. After all," she winked, "my services don't come cheaply." Jack allowed himself a wry smile.
"Well do I know that, love."
~
Gibbs had ordered a few stiff drinks for himself after meeting Jack and Captain Melanie Cash for breakfast that morning. It was not that she had been frightening or rude, for Gibbs had found Cash to be a very agreeably spirited young woman, and it seemed to him that she and Jack were as close to kindred spirits as two such scallywags could hope to be.
Neither did Gibbs have any objections to her physically - though she had not spoken to him about her past, the years he rightly assumed she had spent at sea had brushed her skin with a dusky russet color that he found very appealing. She was lithe and moved with a grace that Gibbs had never thought possible of a weather-toughened brigand like himself. She had laughed often and musically, and - thankfully - her teeth were even and white, not capped with gold like Jack's. Gibbs had always found such a flashy effect rather unsettling.
No, none of these things about Melanie Cash were what had caused Gibbs so much unrest. He mulled over it as he sipped another ale. No, she had seemed a fine woman. But that was the rub of it - she was a woman, and not only that, she was a captain. A captain whose sails Jack had evidently decided they would be sailing under for a time.
Jack had proved himself to be as mad as they came, and Gibbs ordinarily had no quarrel with Jack's brash decisions. But this was beyond all those.
Dreadful bad luck this was, he thought, and emptied his mug.