Thanks for the reviews! Not twenty, seven off... and this is the longest fic
I've ever written... I've got thirty for one with five chapters *sniffs*. Oh
well, here is the chapter.
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Tara was confused. For the first time in her life she was in love... and she had mucked it all up by kissing someone else.
She walked aimlessly around deck. It was near midday, and the sun was high in the sky, burning her face. She was parched, but who was there to ask for a drink? Will and Jack, the only people she trusted on this ship, were currently in the brig, most likely arguing.
She walked to the very front of the ship, and leaned over the railings, staring at the water as the ship moved quickly through it. Some splashed onto her face.
There came a thunderous crash from the brig. Tara jerked, shocked. The crew seemed to disregard this, but Tara realised that Will and Jack's 'conference' could have taken a more violent turn.
She ran down, her legs moving quickly, her hair flying behind her, her heart beating extraordinarily rapidly. Down the stairs she ran, thinking how many stairs there were. She finally arrived in the brig, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Jack.
He was lying on the floor, still, motionless, unconscious. His face, his neck, the top of his shirt, and some of his hair were covered in sickeningly bright red blood.
Will was staring at him, apparently in a state of shock.
"Oh, Jack!"
Tara ran to his side, collapsing on her knees. She saw with a rush of joy that he was still breathing. Will looked at her, saw her eyes filled with care for Jack, and realised it was true. He snorted and stomped upstairs.
Tara shook Jack's arm, willing him to come around. He was clearly out cold, and she decided the best thing for him was to take him to his room. Of course, she was only one person, and she had never lifted anyone before in her life. She heaved him off the floor and somehow or other managed to sling him over her shoulder. Then she struggled up the stairs, almost fainting with the effort. She staggered across deck, and went into Jack's cabin, closing the door with her foot.
She dumped Jack on the bed, still out for the count. She had planned to just leave him, but then, how could she do that? He needed a good wash, so that she could see how exactly he was wounded.
She found a big bowl in his bathroom, and filled it with cold water. She hunted for a rag, a cloth, an old shirt, anything to wash his face with, but found none. Sighing and thinking quickly, she slipped off her own shirt, revealing the tight camisole-type thing she wore under it.
Normally she wouldn't have dared do this, but she figured that only Jack would see her like this, and he was out cold, so what did it matter? She carried the bowl through, and knelt beside the bed. She dipped the shirt in the bowl, wrung it with her hands, and wiped delicately at his face.
The blood came off, revealing a badly broken nose and two black eyes. So Will had punched Jack at least three times. Tara muttered about the injustice of it all as she began on his neck, gently dabbing the blood away. It was right down his chest, on his shirt, and probably on his stomach too. She unfastened his shirt with trembling fingers, realising that he hated having his scars on show. It didn't matter, did it? She had seen them before. She wiped the blood away carefully, pausing a moment to examine the scars closely. Then she started on his hair; a nightmare of a task- it seemed as though Jack hadn't brushed his hair in ten years.
"Tara?"
Jack spoke in a croaky voice, his eyes still shut.
"Yes, it is Tara," she said. "Don't you dare open your eyes!"
She blushed as she remembered that she was still only wearing her camisole on her top half. Jack gave her a weak grin, though he didn't open his eyes.
"Why?"
She gave up on his hair, deciding that it was pretty blood-free and probably cleaner than it had been in a decade. "Because I took my shirt off to wash you, that's why."
He chuckled feebly. "That keen, eh?"
She laughed sarcastically, and stood up, her bare arm brushing his cheek. She saw his arms go goosepimply. He noticed too.
"I've not got my shirt on," he said.
"I had to wash your stomach."
"My scars-"
Tara cut across him, picking up the bowl. "Don't worry. I know you don't like people seeing them, and I won't go tattling it everywhere."
She went into the bathroom, and emptied the bowl. She hung up her shirt to dry, and filled a small cup with water. She took it through to Jack, after carefully checking that his eyes were still tightly shut.
"Here, drink this," she said, tipping the cup to his lips.
He sipped it. "Got anything stronger?"
Tara saw a bottle of rum, or rather, several, on his table. She emptied the water, and filled the cup with rum instead. Jack drank the whole cup gratefully.
"Ta," he said in a low voice.
"Go to sleep," said Tara, her eyes fixed on his sweet, almost angelic face. How misleading!
"Only... if you tuck me in," he said.
She sighed, then pulled the duvet over him so that he was tucked up to his chin. She smoothed the duvet absent-mindedly with her hand.
She moved to the door.
"Don't go without your shirt."
She turned quickly, blushing as she realised that he must have peeked at her. She said nothing, but went into the bathroom and pulled on her shirt, which was still damp. She quickly left, and walked to the door of Jack's cabin.
"Tara," said Jack.
She turned to him. His eyes were closed. She moved across to the bed and saw that his hand was on top of the duvet, open as though waiting for her to take it. How could she resist that temptation? She held his hot fingers with her own cool ones, her heart beating like a giant drum.
Jack appeared to be struggling to find something to say. "I just... I mean... well, you... um... I mean..."
Tara rolled her eyes. Jack had never been lost for words before. "Just say it, you daft thing."
His eyes were still shut, a fact which made Tara a little sad.
"I mean... just... thank you, Tara."
She smiled, then left, casting a lingering look at him.
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Aw, I think she loves him (readers: You're the authoress! You know exactly how she feels!). But does he love her? And where is Muse? And will it all go to plan? R&R, and I'll add more asap!
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Tara was confused. For the first time in her life she was in love... and she had mucked it all up by kissing someone else.
She walked aimlessly around deck. It was near midday, and the sun was high in the sky, burning her face. She was parched, but who was there to ask for a drink? Will and Jack, the only people she trusted on this ship, were currently in the brig, most likely arguing.
She walked to the very front of the ship, and leaned over the railings, staring at the water as the ship moved quickly through it. Some splashed onto her face.
There came a thunderous crash from the brig. Tara jerked, shocked. The crew seemed to disregard this, but Tara realised that Will and Jack's 'conference' could have taken a more violent turn.
She ran down, her legs moving quickly, her hair flying behind her, her heart beating extraordinarily rapidly. Down the stairs she ran, thinking how many stairs there were. She finally arrived in the brig, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw Jack.
He was lying on the floor, still, motionless, unconscious. His face, his neck, the top of his shirt, and some of his hair were covered in sickeningly bright red blood.
Will was staring at him, apparently in a state of shock.
"Oh, Jack!"
Tara ran to his side, collapsing on her knees. She saw with a rush of joy that he was still breathing. Will looked at her, saw her eyes filled with care for Jack, and realised it was true. He snorted and stomped upstairs.
Tara shook Jack's arm, willing him to come around. He was clearly out cold, and she decided the best thing for him was to take him to his room. Of course, she was only one person, and she had never lifted anyone before in her life. She heaved him off the floor and somehow or other managed to sling him over her shoulder. Then she struggled up the stairs, almost fainting with the effort. She staggered across deck, and went into Jack's cabin, closing the door with her foot.
She dumped Jack on the bed, still out for the count. She had planned to just leave him, but then, how could she do that? He needed a good wash, so that she could see how exactly he was wounded.
She found a big bowl in his bathroom, and filled it with cold water. She hunted for a rag, a cloth, an old shirt, anything to wash his face with, but found none. Sighing and thinking quickly, she slipped off her own shirt, revealing the tight camisole-type thing she wore under it.
Normally she wouldn't have dared do this, but she figured that only Jack would see her like this, and he was out cold, so what did it matter? She carried the bowl through, and knelt beside the bed. She dipped the shirt in the bowl, wrung it with her hands, and wiped delicately at his face.
The blood came off, revealing a badly broken nose and two black eyes. So Will had punched Jack at least three times. Tara muttered about the injustice of it all as she began on his neck, gently dabbing the blood away. It was right down his chest, on his shirt, and probably on his stomach too. She unfastened his shirt with trembling fingers, realising that he hated having his scars on show. It didn't matter, did it? She had seen them before. She wiped the blood away carefully, pausing a moment to examine the scars closely. Then she started on his hair; a nightmare of a task- it seemed as though Jack hadn't brushed his hair in ten years.
"Tara?"
Jack spoke in a croaky voice, his eyes still shut.
"Yes, it is Tara," she said. "Don't you dare open your eyes!"
She blushed as she remembered that she was still only wearing her camisole on her top half. Jack gave her a weak grin, though he didn't open his eyes.
"Why?"
She gave up on his hair, deciding that it was pretty blood-free and probably cleaner than it had been in a decade. "Because I took my shirt off to wash you, that's why."
He chuckled feebly. "That keen, eh?"
She laughed sarcastically, and stood up, her bare arm brushing his cheek. She saw his arms go goosepimply. He noticed too.
"I've not got my shirt on," he said.
"I had to wash your stomach."
"My scars-"
Tara cut across him, picking up the bowl. "Don't worry. I know you don't like people seeing them, and I won't go tattling it everywhere."
She went into the bathroom, and emptied the bowl. She hung up her shirt to dry, and filled a small cup with water. She took it through to Jack, after carefully checking that his eyes were still tightly shut.
"Here, drink this," she said, tipping the cup to his lips.
He sipped it. "Got anything stronger?"
Tara saw a bottle of rum, or rather, several, on his table. She emptied the water, and filled the cup with rum instead. Jack drank the whole cup gratefully.
"Ta," he said in a low voice.
"Go to sleep," said Tara, her eyes fixed on his sweet, almost angelic face. How misleading!
"Only... if you tuck me in," he said.
She sighed, then pulled the duvet over him so that he was tucked up to his chin. She smoothed the duvet absent-mindedly with her hand.
She moved to the door.
"Don't go without your shirt."
She turned quickly, blushing as she realised that he must have peeked at her. She said nothing, but went into the bathroom and pulled on her shirt, which was still damp. She quickly left, and walked to the door of Jack's cabin.
"Tara," said Jack.
She turned to him. His eyes were closed. She moved across to the bed and saw that his hand was on top of the duvet, open as though waiting for her to take it. How could she resist that temptation? She held his hot fingers with her own cool ones, her heart beating like a giant drum.
Jack appeared to be struggling to find something to say. "I just... I mean... well, you... um... I mean..."
Tara rolled her eyes. Jack had never been lost for words before. "Just say it, you daft thing."
His eyes were still shut, a fact which made Tara a little sad.
"I mean... just... thank you, Tara."
She smiled, then left, casting a lingering look at him.
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Aw, I think she loves him (readers: You're the authoress! You know exactly how she feels!). But does he love her? And where is Muse? And will it all go to plan? R&R, and I'll add more asap!