A Tale of Two Captains – Chapter 2
By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl
Her feet were wet, her hands were freezing, and her stomach was beginning to churn in a nauseating fashion from the motion of the ship. Starships just didn't move the way the Black Pearl was currently pitching, rolling, heaving....she had to stop thinking about it or she was going to be sick. The solitude of the brig gave her a chance to think over her situation, and hopefully come up with a plan to escape it.
Janeway had been languishing in the brig for several hours when a midget came down with a bucket for her-- she shuddered to think of what she was supposed to use it for-- and she realized this might be her only chance to get out of the damp hold and near enough to Sparrow to get her belongings back. She asked the midget if she could speak with the captain. "I have something to say that I think he'll be very interested to hear."
The midget eyed her warily, but nodded before stumping back up the rickety stairs. Janeway busied herself with staring out the jagged hole in the side of the ship, through which she could see nothing but miles and miles of more crystal-blue water, until she heard more bootsteps plunking noisily down into her dungeon.
This time, it was Gibbs. "The captain'll see ye in his cabin," he said, a trifle remote, and she wondered what she'd done to warrant such a cool demeanor on the quartermaster's part. But then he was unlocking her cell and motioning for her to precede him up the steps, and she didn't find she cared much. There were more important things to attend to.
Abovedecks, it was twilight, and though the ship and crew were as if painted blue from the descending night, the sunset in the distance was nothing short of magnificent: a brazen display of russet, lavender, even a smudge of green along the lowest edge of the horizon. Janeway paused to stare in amazement at it. She didn't get to see nearly enough sunsets aboard Voyager.
"Just another reason to sail the seas," commented a voice in her ear at the same moment she smelt something spicy and male, and Janeway turned swiftly to find Sparrow directly behind her, a cocky half-grin on his lips as she glared.
"Why not sail them legally?" she snapped, more sharply than she'd intended.
"Where's the fun in that?" he asked by way of reply. Then he motioned toward the glass-paned door to his cabin and winked at Gibbs.
Gibbs winked back and tugged at his forelock before leaving them, and Janeway was left with the unshakeable feeling that some base form of communication had just flowed between the two men that she was completely sure she didn't want to know the meaning of.
She pushed open the door, mentally rehearsing the plausible lie she'd come up with during her stint in the brig. It sounded feasible, to her way of thinking, except for one, small thing: she still couldn't come up with any way to explain her sudden appearance on deck. The irony of it was, that even if she could disregard the Prime Directive and tell him the truth, she doubted he would believe it any more than he had believed her earlier explanations.
Inside the cabin was cozy, candlelight burnishing the interior of carved wood and brass with a gold-red glow. The table was set for two, and the centre was heaped with a bountiful, delicious-looking meal. Janeway's sharp eyes flicked around the room for possible places her tricorder and phaser could be stashed.
"Have a seat," Sparrow said, motioning toward a chair. "Let's not stand on ceremony; I have a feeling we shall become grand friends."
Janeway took a seat on the proffered chair and forced herself into a relaxed and open pose. "I had expected an audience with you, not a supper companion."
He sat and poured himself a blackjack full of murky brown liquid from the leather-wrapped flagon on the table at his elbow. "I was feeling generous."
"I would like to tell--" Janeway began, but he waved her words away with a languid gesture.
"Later, later. First, we eat." He took a deep sip of the liquid-- from the fumes wafting over the table, Janeway could only surmise it was grog of some sort-- and eyed her over the blackjack's rim. "And then, later, you can tell me every last one of your secrets."
Janeway took a cautious sip of the contents of her own mug. Miraculously, she managed to neither choke nor sputter on the foul-tasting brew, and saw a flicker of respect come into the man's dark eyes. "I doubt," she began with a hoarsened voice, "that you'll find every last one of them very interesting."
He passed her a platter of roasted fish. "You might be surprised at what I find interesting, madam," was his enigmatic reply.
She eyed the fish for a moment, before sliding one of the smaller ones onto her plate. She took a tentative bite, and found it surprisingly palatable.
Her surprise must have been evident, because Sparrow chuckled. "The midget's quite a good cook." A memory seemed to assail him then, because winced and continued, "Damn sight better than Anamaria, at least. But I suspect her of trying to poison us for expecting her, as a woman, to rattle the pots and pans."
Janeway lifted an eyebrow at him, her fork half-way raised to her mouth. "There are many women whose talents do not lie in the kitchen, Captain Sparrow," she said with a wry twist of her lips. "I myself can't cook anything besides a good cup of coffee."
Jack grinned at her dry tone. "I am sure, my dear, that you have other... talents… to recommend you."
She lifted her cup to her lips and took a healthy sip of whatever vile concoction was in the cup. "You'd be surprised," she muttered. "About Anamaria," she ventured, trying transparently to change the subject. "She seems very... proprietary toward you. Are you and she...?"
Sparrow looked up from his plate, startled. "Me? And Anamaria?" He went pale under his healthy tan. "Er, no. And no again. The woman's proprietary toward the Pearl, is all. Never met a more ambitious creature in my life, nor a more angry one." He stabbed a slice of pork from another platter. "And I've sailed with pirates the likes of which would curdle your blood, mind." He finished off his pork with relish, then leant back in his chair. "Life's too short to be so out-of-sorts all the time, don't you agree?"
"I agree that one needs to have one's priorities in order," Janeway allowed, wondering where he was going with this.
"Indeed," was his reply. "And one also needs to indulge in the myriad vagaries of the flesh, would one not agree? After all, there's no point in denying one a bit of pleasure now and then."
Ah, there was his point. "Indeed," she agreed, her tone arid. "But there are things besides pleasure that are important, too." He looked baffled at that, so she elaborated. "There are things like duty and responsibility, also."
"Yes, I've heard of them," he said dismissively, waving his hand. "Dreary things."
"Hm, yes, dreary," Janeway murmured agreeably, her mouth quirking in a half-smile. "Though I'm sure you're one of those sailors who has a sweetheart in every port, to enliven the dreariness." She grinned challengingly at him. "Am I right?"
Sparrow frowned and rubbed his jaw. "The use of the word 'sweetheart' usually indicates some tender feeling, would it not?" At her slow nod, he continued. "Then I'd have to say no... most of the women at my various ports of call are distinctly... untender toward me."
"Imagine that," Janeway said dryly, lifting her cup to her lips. "Would that be because you're somewhat of a rake and a scoundrel, Captain?" she asked.
He grinned lazily at her. "Only somewhat?"
Janeway laughed at that, surprising herself at how she was genuinely enjoying his company. It was refreshing to be with someone who didn't feel the need to proclaim his steadfastness at every turn. She was actually finding his company pleasant and-- how much of this grog had she drunk?-- attractive. Peering down into her blackjack, she realized with a start that it was nearly empty. "Ah, that explains it," she muttered.
He refilled her mug and his own. "What explains it?" She peered suspiciously at him, and then made a point of pushing the mug away. He had the nerve to grin at her, not at all bothered that she was aware of his ploy.
"If the meal is done, I really must insist that we discuss terms for you to release me," she said, and reached for the pitcher of water in the centre of the table. She filled a cut-glass goblet and took a deep draught, welcoming the clearing of her head as she swallowed.
He slouched back in his chair, mug held loosely in one hand, and regarded her through half-closed eyes. "So," he said slowly. "What fairy tale do you wish to tell me this time, captain?" The way he drawled the last word set her teeth on edge but she only displayed a determinedly polite smile.
"No fairy tale," she replied evenly, playing idly with edge of her napkin. "Just the truth. I will tell you as much of it as I can," she told him softly, and the sincerity in her voice seemed to reach him, because he leant forward again, elbows on the table, and surveyed her with eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
"I am the captain of the ship Voyager. I was about to leave my ship when something went wrong. I don't know what, exactly, but one moment I was on my ship, and the next I was on yours." She wrapped her fingers around the water goblet and focused her attention on it rather than him. "I can't explain to you how it happened, because I don't honestly know myself." The last part, at least, was the truth. She didn't know how she'd wound up on his ship without the rest of the away team.
She wrapped her fingers around the water goblet and focused her attention on it rather than him. "Any more than that, I cannot say." She looked up at him, feeling slightly unnerved by his unwavering black stare. "I have to ask you to trust me, after that."
He laughed right in her face. "Trust is a commodity of which I fear I am in short supply, madam," he replied at last, still smiling as if she'd made the funniest joke in years. "Try again."
She stiffened. "I am telling you the truth," she insisted, unused to having anyone doubt her in such a manner.
"Of course you are," Sparrow said gently, and she thought for just a moment that he believed her. Then he kept talking, and spoilt the impression. "And I'm the queen of Portugal."
"You're wearing enough eye makeup to be," she snapped, letting her temper get away with her for a moment.
He stared at her in astonishment for a long moment, then burst out laughing again. "You've the tongue of an adder," he said with admiration. "Have you no fear of insulting a pirate?"
"I've faced down much worse than you, Captain Jack Sparrow," she shot back, her eyes flashing in ire. "Much worse."
Rather than being offended by her flippant disregard of his dangerousness, he appeared intrigued. "Have you, now?" he murmured, the low cadence of his voice bringing another shiver to her spine. "But there are all kinds of danger, aren't there?"
Janeway wondered idly how a man with beads in his hair and gold teeth and entirely too much kohl around his eyes could possibly be even remotely attractive to her, but the sound of his laughter ringing off the walls of the cabin was seductive to her. It had been far too long since she'd enjoyed the pleasure of male company besides that of her crew. Far, far too long. The thought made her irritable, and she frowned with more fierceness.
That seemed to amuse him even more, sending him into another peal of laughter.
Janeway reached for her recently abandoned cup of grog and took a healthy sip. "I'm glad I amuse you," she growled, although it became clear to her that she had no shield against his merriment. Against her will, she found her own lips twitching as she fought to keep from joining him in his laughter. "So, Captain Sparrow," she said at last. "Tell me about your Black Pearl."