Chapter Six
A/N: This one took me ages, but... finally! Yes! Jack finally got up the nerve! Well he didn't really, it just sort of happened, but...
The storm The Black Pearl was currently trying to weather was unlike any she, her current master, or any of the ones before him had ever witnessed. The rain lashed down in sheets, quite literally, it was like trying to see through a waterfall. The night was not, as in the literary axiom, as black as pitch, but rather a deep, deep blue like the depths of the sea that none but the ghosts of dead ships have ever seen. The waves towered over the ship, making her seem like a flimsy child's boat, rather than the sleekly impressive hulk she was. Though the crew was all but blind from the stinging saltwater and the sheets of rain, they scrambled and flopped over the deck and up in the rigging, trying desperately to get anything not locked in place that way or tie up the sails to prevent damage from the gale force wind. Lightning forked its blazing way through the sky, the sporadic, strobe-like light making visible for any who would see; the ship and its crew, waging what seemed a losing war against the wrath of the elements.
Jack Sparrow was barely visible at the helm, wrestling with the wheel. There was a veil of water in front of his face, as his beloved tri-corn hat kept filling up with water, which would splash out to cascade down his face, which was contorted into a scowl of concentration. Even through all this, his mouth was twisted into a mad smile. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, and he was riding the storm. He took great pride in this fact- he was one of the only pirates in the Caribbean to have braved such storms as the Indian monsoons, and the infamous El Niño, and he knew he could conquer this one. Atticus the coxswain jostled his way over to Jack, a worried look on his face
"Ehh... Ye think we shid drop saiw, Cap'n?" Jack looked at him, but in reality he hardly noticed him
"No- she can hold up- she's met worse, 'en't ye, Pearl?" Actually she never had met worse, but that didn't matter, Jack was higher than many a potent weed, or even than the best of Caribbean rum could have gotten him. "Aye... Jack Sparrow an' 'is Pearl 'en't been bested yet, we 'en't star'in' now, savvy?"
"Aye, Cap'n, as ye say..." Atticus said doubtfully, before being thrown to the sodden planking by the wave, which could have been deservingly compared to a tidal wave, which crashed into the ship. Suddenly a cry reached Jacks ears through the tumult,
"Man overboard!"
Jack rushed over to the man who'd shouted
"Who?"
"Th' new fella- Finnbarr something."
A fey look lit Jacks features, and suddenly his eyes, instead of being filled with a lunatic joy, looked stricken.
"Oh hell... bloody, fucking, hell..." he breathed from between clenched teeth. He snarled then, with a sudden ferocity that startled even those who had known him longest. "Somebody gimme a line- pull me up once I've go' 'im."
"But-"
"Shuddup fool, gimme the rope!" With time-honed speed and a fury at his fumbling hands, he knotted the rope around his waist and dove into the churning waters.
As he surfaced in an explosion of foam and spray, he was struck by a sudden attack of déjà vu- his dream, a younger him, desperately trying to save Finn, in a storm almost as furious as this one. Icy waves broke over him, but he didn't notice, he didn't care. A fire of panic and desperation was consuming his body, driving him.
"Blast it all," he muttered, "FINNBARR GODDAMN ROBESON, WHERE ARE YE?" A sob choked out unbidden, as he fought, swimming with all his considerable skill, though compared with the fury of the water, that seemed like hardly anything. He gagged, spluttering as seawater filled his mouth. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse, ever so briefly, of a man, also struggling, borne on top of a wave as tall as a house. "Finn!" He thrashed his way through the waves that pounded incessantly at him, yelling all the while, "Finn, hold on, I'm comin'! Finn! Finn!"
He swam, gagging and choking and urgently shouting for what seemed like ages, until he collided with a limp and sodden form. He instinctively latched onto him, and looking, saw with a rush of relief that it was Finnbarr Robeson.
"I'VE GOT 'IM!" He roared, yanking on the lifeline that tied him to the ship. Whether they heard his shout, felt him tugging on the rope, or just felt that if he hadn't found Finn by now he must be dead himself nobody knows, but either way, Jack fought towards his ship with one hand, clinging to Finn with the other, helped by the rope dragging him through the water.
He and his waterlogged companion tumbled over the gunwale, dropping in a sodden heap onto the deck. Jack sat, coughing up water, spitting and breathing gratefully. He bent over to examine Finnbarr. He wasn't breathing. Jack slapped him experimentally, but receiving no response, remembered his dream, and said
"S'pose I'm gonna 'ave t' give 'im mouth t' mouth." He stopped Finns nose, and lowered his head to the unconscious one of his comrade. As Jacks lips touched his, a fire raced through his body, and suddenly he forgot about the freezing rain and wind, all there was was him and Finn. He exhaled, breathing all his burning life-force into the still body of the man he loved.
As Finn's mind slowly regained consciousness, the first thing he registered was a feeling of absolute bliss- something longed for, finally gained. His eyes fluttered open, and above him he saw Jack's kohl-rimmed lids, his hair dangling, and his mouth pressed upon his. He melted. The deck suddenly seemed a luscious silken pillow; he was in utter ecstasy.
Jack saw, as in his dream, Finnbarr's cheeks pinking up, and his chest starting to move as he took breath from Jacks mouth. This feeling of symbiosis tugged at Jacks heart, never before had he experienced this. Captain Jack Sparrow, worldly as he was, was in awe of this sudden, innocent feeling of giving and receiving in equal share, ungrudgingly. Under his own lips, in what was no longer mouth to mouth, but a tender, unassuming kiss, Finn's moved in a mimic of his, molding more perfectly than, it seemed, any others his had ever touched.
Suddenly Jack was aware that the whole of his crew was watching them, and he abruptly broke the kiss, hauling Finn to his feet, and clapping him on the back, and asking him if he was alright.
"Ye a'right there mate? Thought ye were 'most gone fer a minute, I did."
"Whassat? Oh, thank ye, Jack, I'm... fine, ne'er fel' better... 'n fact."
"Right glad, I am- dunno what I'd 'a done, if'n ye weren'."
"Aye."
"Well- what're ye all stan'in' 'round fer, aye? The bleedin' storm en't over, ye mizzible sons o' cockroaches! Get a move on!" The crew quickly scuttled away to get back to securing The Pearl. The storm was lessening, almost on cue, as Finn stood, dripping and coughing.
"Anamaria, take the helm!"
"Aye, Cap'n."
"C'mon mate-le's get ye back t' me cabin, savvy?"
Jack threw an arm around Finns shoulders in a comradely manner, and led him to his cabin.
A/N: This one took me ages, but... finally! Yes! Jack finally got up the nerve! Well he didn't really, it just sort of happened, but...
The storm The Black Pearl was currently trying to weather was unlike any she, her current master, or any of the ones before him had ever witnessed. The rain lashed down in sheets, quite literally, it was like trying to see through a waterfall. The night was not, as in the literary axiom, as black as pitch, but rather a deep, deep blue like the depths of the sea that none but the ghosts of dead ships have ever seen. The waves towered over the ship, making her seem like a flimsy child's boat, rather than the sleekly impressive hulk she was. Though the crew was all but blind from the stinging saltwater and the sheets of rain, they scrambled and flopped over the deck and up in the rigging, trying desperately to get anything not locked in place that way or tie up the sails to prevent damage from the gale force wind. Lightning forked its blazing way through the sky, the sporadic, strobe-like light making visible for any who would see; the ship and its crew, waging what seemed a losing war against the wrath of the elements.
Jack Sparrow was barely visible at the helm, wrestling with the wheel. There was a veil of water in front of his face, as his beloved tri-corn hat kept filling up with water, which would splash out to cascade down his face, which was contorted into a scowl of concentration. Even through all this, his mouth was twisted into a mad smile. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, and he was riding the storm. He took great pride in this fact- he was one of the only pirates in the Caribbean to have braved such storms as the Indian monsoons, and the infamous El Niño, and he knew he could conquer this one. Atticus the coxswain jostled his way over to Jack, a worried look on his face
"Ehh... Ye think we shid drop saiw, Cap'n?" Jack looked at him, but in reality he hardly noticed him
"No- she can hold up- she's met worse, 'en't ye, Pearl?" Actually she never had met worse, but that didn't matter, Jack was higher than many a potent weed, or even than the best of Caribbean rum could have gotten him. "Aye... Jack Sparrow an' 'is Pearl 'en't been bested yet, we 'en't star'in' now, savvy?"
"Aye, Cap'n, as ye say..." Atticus said doubtfully, before being thrown to the sodden planking by the wave, which could have been deservingly compared to a tidal wave, which crashed into the ship. Suddenly a cry reached Jacks ears through the tumult,
"Man overboard!"
Jack rushed over to the man who'd shouted
"Who?"
"Th' new fella- Finnbarr something."
A fey look lit Jacks features, and suddenly his eyes, instead of being filled with a lunatic joy, looked stricken.
"Oh hell... bloody, fucking, hell..." he breathed from between clenched teeth. He snarled then, with a sudden ferocity that startled even those who had known him longest. "Somebody gimme a line- pull me up once I've go' 'im."
"But-"
"Shuddup fool, gimme the rope!" With time-honed speed and a fury at his fumbling hands, he knotted the rope around his waist and dove into the churning waters.
As he surfaced in an explosion of foam and spray, he was struck by a sudden attack of déjà vu- his dream, a younger him, desperately trying to save Finn, in a storm almost as furious as this one. Icy waves broke over him, but he didn't notice, he didn't care. A fire of panic and desperation was consuming his body, driving him.
"Blast it all," he muttered, "FINNBARR GODDAMN ROBESON, WHERE ARE YE?" A sob choked out unbidden, as he fought, swimming with all his considerable skill, though compared with the fury of the water, that seemed like hardly anything. He gagged, spluttering as seawater filled his mouth. Suddenly, he caught a glimpse, ever so briefly, of a man, also struggling, borne on top of a wave as tall as a house. "Finn!" He thrashed his way through the waves that pounded incessantly at him, yelling all the while, "Finn, hold on, I'm comin'! Finn! Finn!"
He swam, gagging and choking and urgently shouting for what seemed like ages, until he collided with a limp and sodden form. He instinctively latched onto him, and looking, saw with a rush of relief that it was Finnbarr Robeson.
"I'VE GOT 'IM!" He roared, yanking on the lifeline that tied him to the ship. Whether they heard his shout, felt him tugging on the rope, or just felt that if he hadn't found Finn by now he must be dead himself nobody knows, but either way, Jack fought towards his ship with one hand, clinging to Finn with the other, helped by the rope dragging him through the water.
He and his waterlogged companion tumbled over the gunwale, dropping in a sodden heap onto the deck. Jack sat, coughing up water, spitting and breathing gratefully. He bent over to examine Finnbarr. He wasn't breathing. Jack slapped him experimentally, but receiving no response, remembered his dream, and said
"S'pose I'm gonna 'ave t' give 'im mouth t' mouth." He stopped Finns nose, and lowered his head to the unconscious one of his comrade. As Jacks lips touched his, a fire raced through his body, and suddenly he forgot about the freezing rain and wind, all there was was him and Finn. He exhaled, breathing all his burning life-force into the still body of the man he loved.
As Finn's mind slowly regained consciousness, the first thing he registered was a feeling of absolute bliss- something longed for, finally gained. His eyes fluttered open, and above him he saw Jack's kohl-rimmed lids, his hair dangling, and his mouth pressed upon his. He melted. The deck suddenly seemed a luscious silken pillow; he was in utter ecstasy.
Jack saw, as in his dream, Finnbarr's cheeks pinking up, and his chest starting to move as he took breath from Jacks mouth. This feeling of symbiosis tugged at Jacks heart, never before had he experienced this. Captain Jack Sparrow, worldly as he was, was in awe of this sudden, innocent feeling of giving and receiving in equal share, ungrudgingly. Under his own lips, in what was no longer mouth to mouth, but a tender, unassuming kiss, Finn's moved in a mimic of his, molding more perfectly than, it seemed, any others his had ever touched.
Suddenly Jack was aware that the whole of his crew was watching them, and he abruptly broke the kiss, hauling Finn to his feet, and clapping him on the back, and asking him if he was alright.
"Ye a'right there mate? Thought ye were 'most gone fer a minute, I did."
"Whassat? Oh, thank ye, Jack, I'm... fine, ne'er fel' better... 'n fact."
"Right glad, I am- dunno what I'd 'a done, if'n ye weren'."
"Aye."
"Well- what're ye all stan'in' 'round fer, aye? The bleedin' storm en't over, ye mizzible sons o' cockroaches! Get a move on!" The crew quickly scuttled away to get back to securing The Pearl. The storm was lessening, almost on cue, as Finn stood, dripping and coughing.
"Anamaria, take the helm!"
"Aye, Cap'n."
"C'mon mate-le's get ye back t' me cabin, savvy?"
Jack threw an arm around Finns shoulders in a comradely manner, and led him to his cabin.