A Tale of Two Captains – Chapter 4
By Khylaren and CinnamonGrrl
Janeway watched as Jack popped another olive into his mouth. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, as if each mouthful brought him closer to solving a mystery to which he very much wanted to know the answer. Throughout the meal, he had been quiet, almost subdued. His lazy posture did not fool her; she knew he was preoccupied with thoughts of the pursuing Dauntless, for the air fairly jangled with tension in spite of his languid movements and occasional saucy glances in her direction. It was a side of him she had not seen before, and the first time she'd seen him truly behaving as a captain might, no matter the century or quadrant of the galaxy, and it intrigued her almost against her will.
Janeway lifted her cup and swirled the murky contents for a moment, before glancing up at him. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked finally, breaking the silence that had grown between them. She sat back, arms crossed over her chest, and fixed him with a look that said plainly, You're fooling no one.
A soft chuckle escaped him as he reached for another olive. "You're used to having your way about things, aren't you." He smiled slowly. "One might almost believe that fabulous tale of you being a captain." His smile faded just as slowly. "But we both know that can't be true, hm? A captain-- any captain-- would know about a cross-arm, and the Dauntless."
She nodded faintly, struggling briefly with the prideful urge to just tell him the truth. "Yes, you're right," she agreed faintly. "I'm no captain. But that doesn't mean that I can't tell when something is wrong. It's good to talk things over, sometimes."
He arched an eyebrow. "Truth from your lips, madam? Finally?" He smirked, lifting his cup of grog in salute. "How refreshing. I try to avoid it, meself."
Janeway frowned. "You're avoiding the subject as well, Captain," she told him dryly.
He shook his head. "Just like a woman," he said sadly. "Never lets a bloke have any peace."
She shook her head. "Nope," she replied. "Not going to let you insult your way out of it, either."
"Give over, woman," Jack said, exasperated. "If I wanted to talk to you about it, I would do so. But, as I have quite obviously used every method I know to keep from doing just that, might it be possible for you to accommodate me and shut your bloody mouth?" But there was no heat to his tone; he wasn't trying to be rude, just to get her to leave him alone, and Janeway decided she should respect that. She wouldn't have enjoyed Chakotay's bothering her, either.
"Fine," she agreed. "I'll just say good night then."
She stood to leave, and was only half-surprised to find him standing as well. Somewhere along the way, Jack Sparrow had learned proper manners, though he strove mightily to hide them. He was still distracted, however, and did not seem inclined to escort her to Anamaria's cabin. The grooves around his eyes and bracketing his mouth seemed deeper that night, as if etched more deeply by care and concern.
Not really thinking about what she was doing, Janeway stood on tiptoes and brushed her mouth over his. It was the briefest of kisses, and she had only a fleeting impression of smooth lips and the prickle of mustache and beard before drawing away, but the surprise on his face was priceless. It was a kiss of comfort, utterly without passion, and the smile he flashed her was genuine and appreciative of that fact.
"Good night, Jack," she murmured, and left his cabin, making her way to the one she shared with Anamaria.
~ * ~
Anamaria was already gone when Janeway rolled out of the bed - literally. The Black Pearl pitched at such an angle that she found herself in a heap of blankets on the floor of the cabin and a bruise forming on her hip.
It was most definitely not the way she was used to waking.
Rising gingerly to her feet, she clutched at the table as another rolling wave caused the wooden floor beneath her feet to tilt, and she closed her eyes. "I'll never get used to this," she muttered grumpily. She expected the door to be locked, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was not. They had either forgotten to lock her in, or they were beginning to trust her just a little. Or, more likely, Janeway thought as she climbed the stairs to the deck, they figured I don't have anywhere to run to and realized it was pointless.
The tension on deck was nearly tangible as the crew moved about their duties, an urgency to their movements that wasn't there the day before. They worked feverishly to speed the Black Pearl on its way as quickly as possible. Jack stood firmly at the wheel, his shoulders back as he kept his eyes on horizon. He did not take his eyes from the sea, even when Janeway finally reached him.
"Where are we?" Janeway asked, following his gaze in hopes of seeing something besides endless rolling waves.
"A few leagues off the western coast of Hispaniola, and but an hour from our destination." His gaze flicked her way, then back toward the horizon. "Hope we get there before Norrington knows what we're about."
She nodded, having played this game herself more than a time or two with an enemy bent on destroying Voyager. "Or else what?" she asked, suddenly a little nervous at the prospect of actually being in a sea battle between a pirate ship and the pride of the English Navy.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a familiar smile. "You don't want to know, luv," he said finally.
The purposefully vague answer did not please her. "Jack," she replied, her voice more urgent, "I don't like going into battle unprepared. I need to know what we're up against. Don't try to shelter me like a feeble woman." Her eyes slitted with annoyance, she took a step closer to emphasize her point. "I am not feeble."
He cocked his head to one side, his puzzlement clear. "If I didn't know you were a consummate liar, I'd think that you just might be a captain, after that speech." He matched her smirk. "Fortunately, I know that you *are*, in fact, a consummate liar."
It was difficult not to throttle him. Janeway reminded herself that it was not an acceptable response, no matter how aggravating the man was. She gritted her teeth and silently counted to ten. "Jack…"
"We're outgunned and outmanned, savez?" Jack said shortly, turning his gaze to the horizon once more. "Our only hope is in outrunning them, which, it appears, isn't going to be easy. If Norrington turns his long nines on the Pearl, we're done for." He glanced down at her with a grim look. "Simple as that."
Her ire fled just as quickly as it had come, leaving her feeling somewhat weak. "What will happen if he does?"
The swagger was back. "He'll probably throw a rope over the mast and hang me on the spot."
"That's barbaric!" Janeway sputtered.
Jack lifted an eyebrow at her. "Fancy words, from a supposed French captain. The French are as barbaric as they come."
She folded her arms across her chest. "Indeed," she said dryly. "What about the rest of us?"
"The rest of us?" He pounced on her words like a cat after prey. "If you're not French, what are ye?"
"Scottish and English," she admitted grudgingly.
"Really?" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Now, do I believe you this time? Or do I not?" He paused, and grinned. "I've a Scot in the woodpile, or so me dad told me once. But me mum... ah, she was a Spanish lass he met during a raid on the Canaries." Then he blinked. "And I have no idea why I just told you that." He turned away then, busying himself with a tattered map.
But Janeway was interested. "He just 'met' her during a raid?" she prodded. "I assume he, too, was a pirate... how does a pirate go about meeting women?"
He looked up from the map and gave her a slow, deliberate look. "Sometimes, they just appear on the deck of his ship," he said, his voice lowered to that silken cadence he adopted when he was trying to be seductive. It was to her great chagrin that he was so damned good at it. "But always, it is simply a matter of seeing what you want." He paused, leaning toward her meaningfully. "And taking it."
"I... see," she replied, striving to infuse her tone with a dryness she did not, in all honesty, feel.
He cocked his head slightly. "Do you, now?" he drawled softly, closing the distance between them. His mouth settled, warm and firm, on her own, and Janeway was uncomfortably aware that her sense of wrongness was completely overridden by her sense of rightness... she shifted closer to him, parting her lips, inviting him closer, and swatted away her negative thoughts like a pesky fly.
But before she could raise her arms to encircle his neck, Gibbs stomped up to them then, abruptly shattering the private little world they'd created. "Sorry to be botherin' you, cap'n, but I thought it'd bear remindin' that the soddin' Dauntless is bearing down on us."
She felt her face flame with embarrassment and tried to pull away, but somewhere during the kiss, Jack's arms had come around her and held her fast against him. The steady, slow thump of his heart against hers made her doubt he'd been as affected by it as she was, for her heart was racing like a frightened rabbit's. It was only when he gazed down at her with his ink-dark eyes, saw the fire just barely banked within them, that she realized he had been just as invested in it as she.
"Sorry for the interruption, love," he murmured into her ear. "Perhaps we can continue our... conversation... at a time when death doesn't loom over the horizon." His hands lingered at her waist a moment longer, before releasing their hold.
Then he ruined the distinctly favourable feelings she'd been having for him by giving her a hearty slap on the rump. "Now, begone with ye, lass. I've work to do if we're to stay alive. Find Cotton and see if there's something you can do to stay busy." He paused, a glint of humour in his eye. "Since you're useless at navigating."
Janeway scowled, inciting him to chuckle at her, and took herself and what was left of her dignity off to find Cotton. It took a while, but eventually she discerned that his parrot's shrieks of "Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!" meant that she was to do an inventory of the aft hold
In the murky bowels of the Black Pearl, time lost meaning as she wandered through heaps of plunder; barrels, crates, sacks, and untidy piles of the most extraordinary things caught her attention and imagination as she wondered who they'd belonged to before coming into the possession of the pirate crew.
But as she restacked the fallen crates, it occurred to her that the perfect opportunity had just presented itself. Everyone was distracted with the Dauntless, even Jack.
Leaving his cabin unguarded.
Leaving her able to search it.
Her mind made up instantly, Janeway replaced the last crate on the floor and made her way to the storeroom's door. Creeping stealthily, she made her way down the warrenlike corridor to the other end of the ship. The captain's cabin was only reached from the deck, but if everyone was sufficiently distracted, perhaps they wouldn't notice her. It was just a few steps from the top of the stairs to the door of the cabin.
It occurred to her, as she crouched beneath the stairs, that the door just might be locked. After all, with a ship full of pirates, even if they were his crew, Jack might not be that trusting. Still, she would never know unless she tried.
Leaving the relative safety of her hiding place, she climbed the stairs quickly; her shoulders tense in expectation of being caught. When no alarm was raised, she crossed the last few feet to Jack's cabin, and tried the door. It opened easily, much to her relief, and she stepped inside, shutting it behind her.
She leaned against the door a moment, her eyes sweeping the cabin as she tried to picture where Jack might have hidden her phaser and tricorder. "Think like a pirate," she muttered, crossing the room and heading for the chest at the foot of the bed. Her eyes strayed to the bed of their own accord, and the image of Jack, lying there with nothing but a sheet and a welcoming smile, momentarily flashed before her. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she opened the chest, and began to sift through the contents.
Old clothes-- some little more than rags-- bits of shiny metal that could be mistaken for jewellery in the wrong hands, something that looked suspiciously like an eye patch, and a stack of mouldy books: all fell through her fingers as she searched fruitlessly. Dusting her hands together, she closed the trunk and stood, wondering where to look next.
And that was when she heard the first of the cannon-fire.