Chapter 1: Fair Wind, or Foul
(Revised, Re-Edited and Re-Written, for my sanity)
She stood at the door to her captain's cabin and stared. Jack sat slumped at his table, his head cradled in his hands. With wet clothes hugging his body, his silhouette trembled as he shook from the cold.
Idiot! She thought angrily. He stands there in the freezing rain steering his precious Pearl in this storm. Stubborn fool! How many times did Gibbs offer to spell him? 'No,' he'd say, 'Ana just gave me a break.' Without knowledge of the previous she'd offered to take over at the wheel, and received much the same answer, 'No need,' he'd shouted above the galling winds, 'I just got back. Gibbs was just here.'
It wasn't until the storm had abated that it came to light. While she was in the galley fixing a hot drink to remove the chill, she and Gibbs got their first opportunity to talk . . .
~*~*~
"How'd she handle for you on those breakers?" Gibbs asked conversationally.
Ana turned slowly from the counter and stood staring at Gibbs. Blinking in confusion, she shook her head and answered, "You should know better than me, you were just at the helm an hour ago…" Her words trailed off as she saw Gibbs's brow furrow in puzzlement.
Between the two of them they managed to piece together the events of the past ten hours. Jack had declined offers to take a break and, true to Jack Sparrow form, he'd done so via the path of least resistance. He'd lied.
It had been ten long hours since that storm blew in. Ten hours that he had spent standing in the freezing cold and rain. Ten hours laboring to keep the Pearl upright against gale-force winds. Ana didn't even want to think about the strain of so many hours, fighting and pulling on the wheel, struggling against the constant fatigue…
Of course, it was so very much like Jack Sparrow to work himself to exhaustion in fear for his ship. Time and time again she had seen it since the day they'd pulled him out of the Caribbean waters following his near-fatal tryst with the noose? How many times had they nearly had to carry him to his cabin, beaten and dead-tired from long hours at the helm?
Sighing in exasperation, Ana spun back to the counter. Grabbing another tankard out of the cupboard, she slammed it down angrily. Next, she brought out a musty, nearly full tin of tea, and a jar of honey. "Bloody idiot … Daft … fool …" she murmured as she worked.
Spinning back around, she'd every intention to continue ranting at the Pearl's quartermaster. Her mouth froze open as she glanced around the room knowingly. At some point, Gibbs had obviously left the room, as quietly as possible. Smart man, she nodded quickly. Unlike some she knew.
With that last thought burning in her mind, she huffed irately to the empty room as she turned again back to her task. "Blathering . . . what does he think he's doing . . . Idiot . . ." her choleric epithets echoed in the ship's galley.
~*~*~
With the storm finally subsided, Cotton ascended the quarterdeck. Casting a glancing look to the helm, the sight of the man behind the wheel caused him to do a strong double take. The sailor stopped cold. Brow scrunched in concern, the older man's aged face scrutinized the condition of the Pearl's captain.
Right off, Cotton noted that even with the storm over some two hours now, water continued to drip in copious amounts from the dark figure's hair and clothing. Next, he noticed how the captain leaned heavily on the wheel, shoulders slouched, and fingers gripped tightly to the spindles of the wheel. That grip, the old sailor saw, was mottled white from the pressure of his hold and tinged blue from the cold. The captain's entire body trembled as he stood, and by all rights he should have collapsed. Cotton suspected, however, that his too-tight grip on the helm was all that kept him upright. And lastly, there was no mistaking the sound of gold-capped teeth as they chattered together uncontrollably.
Shaking his head slowly, Cotton could only imagine the depth of misery the man must be feeling. But Jack Sparrow wasn't the first captain the muted pirate had known who spent numerous shifts at the helm without rest. Unlike most of the others, however, this was the first captain the old man had sailed under in quite some time that he was actually fond of. He was different, this man who was not quite sane, and not quite insane. One could never be sure if the swaggering pirate captain was inebriated or daft, or both, but he treated men fairly, even when the world and friends he'd thought he could trust had turned on him. By all rights, this man should be bitter and every bit as bad as . . . Well, he wasn't though, and for that, Cotton would follow him to the ends of the earth; blindly, if need be. And so would the rest of the crew.
Shaken from his musings, the old sea dog realized the captain's dark gaze was fixed solidly on him. With an almost imperceptible nod, Cotton stepped toward the man at his silent request. Time, now, to get his captain out of the elements.
~*~*~
Soaked to the bone, completely and utterly, he felt like his head would explode. God, what was that unbearable clattering? His mind struggled sluggishly to discern its origin. With a wince he drew back slightly, belatedly realizing that it was sound of his own teeth chattering incessantly together. It echoed unmercifully within the chamber of his tired, aching mind. His eyes hurt, his face hurt, God, even his beard hurt. Even the hand touching his arm hurt . . . Wait. . . was that a hand touching his arm? Last he'd checked, he only had two hands and they were both solidly, painfully, inescapably frozen to the wheel.
Transfixed with fascination, Jack's gaze watered as he watched the weathered hand move down toward his. Slowly, the creased hand began prying his fingers loose of the spokes to which he clung for support. Pins and needles began shooting through his arms as the movement renewed blood flow that had long since ceased. All in all, the return of feeling definitely had its drawbacks. Mostly, he decided he much preferred the numbness to this bloody, muscle needling, fire that now trailed up and down his arms.
The pirate captain flinched in pain as the aged fingers brought his now-freed hand up, giving aching shoulder muscles the opportunity to howl in protest. If he had been capable of some kind of speech, Jack would have lent the pain a resounding scream. Instead, he watched in silence as the old sailor pressed his own shoulder underneath Jack's, offering support to the captain's sagging frame. The pirate stared with bleary eyes while the older man reached across to begin working the other hand free of the steerage. Once released, Jack tried to put his weight on his knees, only to have them buckle beneath him instantly. Cotton slipped his arm around the commander's waist and helped him to his feet, seemingly effortlessly.
The pirate captain could feel the old mariner's alarmed gaze on him, but pride held his eyes fixed straight ahead. While he was grateful for Cotton's assistance, he was determined to reclaim his autonomy and exit the deck under his own power in front of his crew. No way Captain Jack Sparrow would be seen being carried off to his cabin, not if he was still conscious. So, first thing's first. One must have feeling in one's legs to walk, even when said 'feeling' burned like the fires of Hades scorching him to the bone. Slowly, he shifted his weight from side to side, striving to return awareness to his numb legs and feet. He much preferred the lack of sensation, but one had to do whatever was necessary.
Finally, his bead-adorned head nodded curtly and the grizzled man carefully stepped away. Though Jack appreciated being afforded the dignity of walking back to his cabin on his own, he couldn't help but notice that his crewman didn't walk too far behind. Just a precaution, he understood, but one for which he was quietly grateful.
~*~*~
Stepping into the large cabin, Ana strode purposefully to the dark mahogany table and slammed a tankard down with a solid thud. Having not heard her enter, the sodden figure jumped, startled to the point that he was nearly unseated.
"Drink!" she said in a commanding voice. Planting her hands on her hips she glared heatedly at him.
Bringing his head up from his hands, he looked balefully from her to the steaming container and grinned. "Ah!" he exclaimed in anticipation.
With trembling hands, he tilted the tankard to his mouth. The moment the warm liquid touched his tongue, Jack sputtered, spraying the contents in various directions. "Bloody… tastes like… bilge water," he choked out between coughs.
"Hm… serves ye right. Now that I've got your attention..." She took the tankard and added a good measure of rum from a flask she had hidden in her belt.
"No wonder," his voice rasped. With tremulous hand he reached for the drink with rekindled fervor.
As he sat sipping the hot beverage, Ana reached a hand over and slipped her fingers under the soaked bandana. Damn it, she thought irritably, much too damned hot. Gently, she grabbed his upper arm and hauled him to his feet. Without taking the time to meet his eyes, she took the tankard from his slightly trembling fingers and set it back on the table alongside his hat. "Let's get this off you," she murmured, sliding the heavily sopping wet jacket off his shoulders.
"Remember… when you gave this t' me, luv?"
"Aye, I do, ye fool," she said, helping him peel his saturated shirtsleeves out of the fully drenched coat. 'Captain Sparrow,' she had said, thrilling inwardly at the gratitude she saw in his eyes when she used his proper title, 'the Black Pearl is yours.'
With a squelch, the coat landed on the floor by the cabin door. Ana's nimble fingers moved to the sash around his waist and Jack pulled the corner of his mouth into a crooked smile.
"As much as I'd like to, luv…" he tried to jest, but it was weak, strained.
"Shut up, ye damned halfwit." Get him taken care of, she preached to herself, then ye can tell him what's what. With a glance at his face, she realized it was taking far too much concentration for her pirate to stay upright, and Anamaria unconsciously sped up her movements. Deftly, she opened his waistcoat, and slid the hardened fabric over his shoulders. After sending it to meet the overcoat by the door, she tangled her fingers in his shirt and gave a sharp tug, freeing it from the confines of his breeches.
Jack's eyebrows arched in mild surprise when her fingers met the searing heat of his body. She skimmed her hands over his chest, lifting the sopping shirt over his head. With a less than convincing smile, he raised his arms to help her unclothe him. With a loud splat, the wet cloth smacked to the floor.
Ana cast a furtive glance at Jack. He stood quietly, his chin resting on the hard muscle of his chest, not seeming to stir at all. Bending at the waist, Ana leaned down, straining to look under the veil of black, trinket-ridden hair. His stillness unnerved her, and she desperately sought to find his eyes, to see that unique Sparrowness that would tell her he would be all right.
"Jack?"
He inhaled suddenly and lifted his head, slowly opening his eyes. A weak gold-toothed grin tipped one side of his face, but he couldn't hold it long and he began to sway more than what was normal for him.
"I think I should like very much t' lie down, luv."
Every angry word she'd been planning to say died instantly at the simple utterance of that admission. He looked so very tired and he was still shivering; she simply didn't have the heart to yell at him…yet.
Quickly grabbing an extra blanket off the nearby bed, she wrapped it around his shoulders and gently sat him back down in the chair.
"Not just yet, capn'," she soothed. "Finish the drink first." Grabbing the tankard, she thrust it back at him.
He was thinking of refusing her. She could tell just by the way his brow pinched together, so she was ready when he sat back from the proffered drink. She arched an eyebrow in silent dare for him to argue, no quarter in her determined gaze.
Unable to deny that look, Jack capitulated, rolling his eyes and taking the tankard as she'd ordered.
"Foot." Jack lifted one leg as she proceeded to remove his boot. "You know Jack," she said struggling with his footwear, "Gibbs and I are plenty good at navigating a ship through a storm."
The words slowly took hold in his weary mind and the pirate captain looked blearily at the woman kneeling before him. "Aye, but she's m' Pearl, luv. She's m' home."
"And you don't trust me, or Gibbs, t' handle 'er, that it?" she demanded as she finished removing the other boot.
Silence permeated the room and Ana sat on her heels staring down at her hands. Wordlessly, Jack slid off the chair to come to his knees facing her. Placing his hand underneath her chin, he gently tilted her face up to meet his eyes, his expression of genuine concern and surprise.
"Ana, luv, I trust ye with far more than this ship. She may be m' home, luv, but you . . . you're m' heart, m' living soul, m' very breath—"
Two of her fingers gently placed on his lips silenced him. Smiling softly, she began gently caressing his cheek, ebbing the flow of emotion before it could become too much for her fevered captain.
Chuckling softly she said, "I only asked why you didn't trust me or Gibbs with the ship." She blinked back the tears, knowing that they would tear at Jack as nothing else could.
* * *
Jack looked at her earnestly as an even more serious emotion played on his face. Tilting his head to one side, he measured her tone, trying to decide if she really sought an answer. Did he trust her? It was more complicated than that. But he wouldn't placate her, he had to much respect for her abilities to do that.
Taking hold of the hand that caressed his face, he turned it over and placed a gentle kiss on the pulse point of her wrist, then his coffee colored eyes met hers in a plea for understanding.
"How many times, Ana, have you sailed in a storm with cresting waves of twelve feet at their peak? How many times have you sailed the Pearl nearly blind, only able to tell where to go by the way her bones creaked underneath you? Luv, have you ever listened to her talk to ya? Listened as she tells you through her hull that the shoals you couldn't see were far too near when she gently scraped the bottom?" He said, hoping his tone was as gentle as he'd intended it to be.
She dipped her head down, but he gently lifted it again, begging with his own eyes for her to understand, for her to be able to accept what he had said as the simple truth, not a negative assessment of her skills. To his relief, she nodded slowly. He was right and she knew it.
"Well, Captain, I think it's time for you to get some rest." She helped him to stand and, with an arm around his waist, they moved toward the bed. With only the smallest amount of chagrin, he realized that his body was still trembling, and that Ana was supporting far more of his weight than he would have liked.
* ~*~ *
Her exhausted captain sighed in contentment as he hit the soft mattress; even his breath seemed to tremble. Covering him with extra blankets didn't help either; the mountain of covers just moved with him.
Laying a hand on his cheek, she felt the fire burning his skin and concern etched her features. He needs more warm liquids, she decided quietly and moved to leave.
"Luv?"
She felt quivering, callused fingers curl around her hand and turned back to him with a smile. Though his pull was weak, she allowed herself to be guided down to her knees beside his bed. Brushing a beaded lock from his eyes, she shook her head gently. "Ya need sleep, Jack Sparrow," she scolded quietly.
Despite the fact that his eyes were barely open at all, and that he looked ready to doze off at any second, he forced his words through still-chattering teeth. "Y' goin' t' come back, luv? Res' w' me?"
Idly playing with a trinket in his hair, Ana smiled at his slurred question. Bending down, she placed a tender kiss on his warm cheek.
"Aye, just need t' check on the ship, make sure we get done what needs doin' before weighing anchor. When I come back I'll rest with you on one condition."
"Condition?" he sighed. "Luv, I don' think I'm in any condition for conditions," he said through a stifled yawn.
Silence.
Opening one eye, he peered up at her. She fought a smile and remained unresponsively stoic.
Heaving a great, long-suffering sigh he finally asked, "A'right what condition?"
"When I get back, I'll bring another one of those Toddies and you'll drink it, all of it, before I crawl into tha' bed. Understood?" The last of her words Jack acknowledged with a weary nod as his eyes drifted shut again.
"We've an accord…." he paused, interrupted by another yawn " … luv…. Jus' don' . . . take t' long. . . a' right?"
So quietly had he spoken that Anamaria had had to lean in to hear. Then, rearranging the covers higher on his now slumbering form, she sat back on her heels and observed him a moment.
She recalled the words, "… you're m' heart, m' living soul, m' very breath…" That was the closest to an admission of love as she'd ever heard wrung from the pirate's lips. Her mouth curled into a wry smile as she rose to her feet. Lowering the lamp light to a dim amber glow, she moved quietly to the door, taking the mostly empty tankard with her. Pausing, Anamaria looked back and whispered softly into the stillness, "I love you too, Jack Sparrow."
***End***
Second Note: This chapter was beta read and edited by Rat and Yakkorat. My heart-felt thanks to you both. You lift me up.