Disclaimer: Do I really have to write these anymore?
A/N: Shall I thank you now or later for being such awesome reviewers?
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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye
Sunsets
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"Yer cousin?"
"Aye."
"That bonny lass is yer cousin?"
The captain nodded.
"That's bloody terrible for ye, cap'n. Can't nearly have as much fun with 'er, then, can ye?"
There was an uproar of hearty laughter in the mess hall of the Adventure Galley. Captain Kidd smiled at his crew who was vigorously drinking their whiskey and rum, content with the prospect of heading toward Port Royal. It had been many long, tiresome months since they had been safe enough to set foot on land, and Kidd still wasn't sure if it was safe yet. But, being the daredevil he was, Kidd simply didn't care. He had seen enough of the sea, and longed to step on land again, even if it meant in stuffy, self-sufficient Port Royal.
"Now, now, gentlemen, she is still my cousin. Besides, you're not to be pirates on land, remember?" Kidd chided while still wearing his smile, taking another swig of his Italian wine.
The crew grumbled and rolled their eyes, quite aware of their required behavior on soil. They had stolen quite a few nicely-made knickers and overcoats a while back from a trade ship south of the coast of England, and they now made it a habit to disguise themselves as gentlemen – or, as "respectable landlubbers", as the crew liked to declare it.
"Cap'n," called Smithe, the ship's physician, from the corner. "I still ain't sure as to why we is a-goin' to Port Royal in the first place, if you don' mind me askin'."
Kidd looked at the young blonde-haired recruit, and smiled. Something about that boy reminded Kidd of how he was ten years ago… "We are going there to say hello to my cousin Elizabeth, of whom, as far as I can tell, you all are quite fond of already." Snickers and grins filled the mess hall, and Kidd drank deeply from his wine, smiling inwardly himself. "However, I am also interested in seeing a trial of a certain famous pirate captain and his apparent accomplice."
"AYE! That be Jack Sparrow, cap'n."
Kidd nodded. "That's the one, yes."
"Read about 'im, the blighter," Smithe piped up again, nodding wisely. "Says he murdered ol' Norrington."
"Yes," Kidd answered thoughtfully, rotating his mug in his hands. Finally, he said, "But something about this whole situation doesn't seem to be right."
"Aye. Sparrow's not that kind o' pirate, sir," his first mate, McAdams, said. "Met 'im a couple a years back, celebratin' in Tortuga. Weird chap, bloody crazy…but not a murderin' bone in 'im."
"Sparrow's a pirate, McAdams, o' course he got murderin' bones! Jus' not murderin' in cold blood," concluded Smithe.
McAdams rolled his eyes at the young man. "Murder is in cold blood, ye dolt."
"Who is you calling a dolt?" Smithe asked, standing up, his eyes wide and offended.
McAdams merely laughed, along with the rest of the crew. "You is young, boy, best sit yerself down now and save ye a beatin'."
Smithe ignored him and pushed aside his chair, making his way towards the first mate. McAdams stood up and narrowed his eyes as Smithe lunged at the other man, like a determined wolf ready to take on prey that was obviously too big for him. Kidd saw what was happening faster than it happened. He jumped up, vaulted over the table, and planted himself in between McAdams and Smithe, his hand at his sword.
"Alright, alright, that's enough. Enough!" Kidd emphasized, pushing Smithe away with his free hand. "Smithe, to your quarters, now. The rest of you, get a good night's sleep. We land in Port Royal tomorrow in the early evening. I don't want you to look like a bunch of rusty pirates when we get there…you should look like respectable gentlemen."
"Respectable landlubbers!" someone shouted from the corner. There was good-hearted laughter as the crew made their way past Kidd and to bed. The captain eyed Smithe's back as he walked away and paused a few moments before shouting, "Smithe! A word, please."
Smithe froze in the doorway, but eventually moved aside to let the rest of the crew exit the mess hall. Kidd sighed and rubbed his neck, using his other hand to motion to a wooden chair next to the one he was sitting in himself. "Care for a seat?" he asked as Smithe turned around to face him.
"No, sir." The response was distant, if not hurt.
Kidd glanced up at Smithe whose face had flushed a slight red. His hands were clenched at his sides, and he stared directly beyond Kidd, apparently refusing to look at him in the eye. His breathing was heavy and loud as his blue eyes shone with embarrassment and contempt. The captain automatically felt guilty for the boy's unhappiness.
"You must understand, Smithe, why I did that."
"Aye, sir."
"No. Don't give me another uncomprehending "aye, sir". That will not do in my company, is that understood?"
Smithe glanced quickly at Kidd, but nodded nonetheless. "Yes, it is understood, sir."
Kidd sighed. "Good. Now, Mr. Smithe, tell me what you're really thinking."
Smithe looked hesitant at first, as if he had just been asked to attack a sleeping lion. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, fairly docile at first, but seemingly growing uncomfortable as time went on. His eyes shifted from the wall in front of him to Kidd's face, down to the floor, back to the wall again. He seemed lost.
"Smithe, you do realize that we're on a timed schedule, yes? Now please, if you're going to tell me, do it. Else, I shall make myself scarce and go to bed where I –"
"It ain't fair!" Smithe suddenly cried aloud. "It ain't fair, cap'n! Just 'cause I is the young'n on board this here ship, don' mean I don' know nothin'." He paused, wiping the sweat off of his face. "I mean, sir, I is eighteen! I isn' ignorant, sir, I've seen my share o' blood and battle. I jus' – I jus' – "
"You just don't feel like you belong here."
Smithe turned to look at Kidd incredulously for a few moments before nodding slowly. "Aye, sir…like I don' belong here," he repeated.
Kidd gazed across the room for a few moments, silently reveling in what he had just said. He knew Smithe didn't belong there; it was obvious. The boy was as sharp as an executor's axe…he knew more about medicine, both herbal and practical, than anyone Kidd had ever known. He had picked Smithe up in a port off Madagascar one year, eyeing him and deeming him fit to become the doctor aboard the Adventure Galley. The boy was delighted – barely fourteen at the time – and willingly came aboard to help Kidd out.
But Smithe never fit in. He knew too much about what prospects lay ahead in that vast sea of opportunity. Deep down inside, Kidd knew the boy was yearning to be elsewhere. Smithe knew he was too good for the likes of a pirate crew with a pirate ship, but out of his deep admiration for Kidd, the young lad had decided to stick it out, healing anything from a bad case of sunburn to a nearly fatal case of pneumonia. Whatever it was, Smithe was brilliant.
The only problem was, he was never formally educated. And to make it in the world of pompous, tea-drinking idiots, you needed schooling. Schooling, in Kidd's perspective was a complete waste of time, money, and effort. Unfortunately, there was a stark truth to it: even if you had the brain capacity of a plank of wood, if you were formally educated, you could do anything you wanted.
Formal education, Kidd thought to himself, slightly shaking his head. What a bloody joke. I was formally educated, and I turned out to be a pirate. How charming.
"Sir?"
Kidd looked up into the young face.
"Sir…we is a lot alike, you an' me," he began, somewhat uncomfortably. "I…I just wan' to thank ye, sir, fer bein' so kind and the like."
Kidd eyed him and forced a smile. "My pleasure. Now, off to bed, Smithe. We arrive in Port Royal tomorrow. And if McAdams gives you trouble, tell him there's a rope waiting to participate in a keelhaul session whenever I fancy, yes?"
Smithe smiled juvenilely and nodded. "Aye, sir. G'nite, sir."
"Goodnight, Smithe."
~*~
As she stepped into the seemingly stoic foyer in the darkness of the night, she heard her breathing echo around her. It was an eerie sensation, one that made her spine tingle, regardless of the familiar Caribbean heat. She absentmindedly closed the ornately carved door behind her, the clicking resonating off of the unnaturally clean marble floors.
"Miss?"
Jumping at the delicate voice behind her, Elizabeth turned to see Estrella, her maid, standing in her night-garments with a single candle lit. The flickering flames illuminated her face so she looked almost ethereal as she stared uncertainly at Elizabeth.
"Yes, Estrella, it's me."
"Oh, miss, you're back!" A genuine smile crossed her face. It was almost enough to make Elizabeth smile back.
Almost.
"Where's Mr. Turner, miss?"
Will…
A pain like nothing she had ever experienced before sliced open her heart. She gasped slightly, realizing what she was doing back at her old house in the first place. She needed her father…and fast.
"Estrella, where's my father?"
"He's in England, miss, but he shall be returning shortly, I'm informed."
"Shortly? How long?" she choked, panic rising in her chest.
Estrella bowed her head slightly. "I do not know for certain, miss, I'm sorry."
Elizabeth shook her head, forcing back the tears yearning to break free from her eyes. She sighed expressively and wrung her hands, her eyes dashing from one side of the intricately designed foyer to the other, as if she would visually find an answer to the grave dangers that lay ahead for her husband. Shaking her head in silent contempt, she struggled to look as if she had at least an ounce of control over her feelings. But, being the good maid she was, Estrella knew better.
"Miss, something's wrong?"
Elizabeth didn't say or do anything. Instead, her whole body trembling, she crossed the marble floor and sat down upon one of the steps. She dropped her head into her hands, a deep wave of regret consuming her body so forcefully she felt as if she would be ripped apart. Listening to the vague sounds of the ocean mixed in with the howling wind, she wished she was with Will now, when he needed her the most. She longed to be in his arms, to smell the familiar scent of metal and fire on his tanned skin, to laugh with him over dinner, to kiss him in the moonlight, to just go with him…
"Let's go, Will! Go with me!"
He looked at her uncertainly, eyeing the governor's house with slight disdain. "Miss Swann, do you think this is…er…a good idea?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Will! Stop worrying about everything and start to have fun!" she shouted over the gusty winds, giggling as she released her hair from its elegant up-do to let it flow freely in the surrounding air.
Will still didn't seem too pleased, his eyes darting back towards her house. "But Miss Swann…"
"William Turner," Elizabeth began, placing her hands on her hips. "If you are going to call me Miss Swann, I shall have to tell my father that you have been dragging me out of the house against my own will each night."
He gaped at her. "Miss – er, I beg to differ. You're the one who has been dragging me to the shore each dusk to watch the sunset with you. I am completely innocent."
Elizabeth laughed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the rocky cliff. "Come on, stop being a baby."
He scoffed resentfully. "I am not a baby, I'm fourteen."
"Then start acting like it."
Will remained silent as he was being dragged along by his sleeve. She grinned mischievously to herself as the wind caressed her face, spraying her with the occasional cooling seawater that surrounded them. Down the hills they strode, Elizabeth still pulling Will, until they reached a smooth plateau. From there, one could look straight down and see they were standing upon a cliff made of sharp, jutting rocks. And straight ahead of them, in all its magnificence and splendor, was the sunset.
Like a mysteriously illuminated orb, the sun shone brilliantly straight ahead of them, its tropical orange color teasing the eye. The light blues, pinks, reds, and golds that enfolded themselves around the sun sparked even the dullest imagination. The dark silhouettes of clouds passed ahead of them, only temporarily blocking the sun's warm and inviting rays. Elizabeth smiled, realizing that this place, standing here with Will, was the only place she ever truly was happy.
"Aren't you glad you came?" she asked, still staring at the sunset. Will didn't answer. She turned to ask him again when her words caught in her throat, unable to formulate themselves into a logical pattern.
He was staring at her with an intensity she had never known. At her young age she couldn't comprehend it, and found herself unreasonably flushed. Why was he looking at her so? And why did that strange look make her feel so…good?
It was immediately after Elizabeth thought this that Will looked away. His face turned red, even in the sinking sunlight, and the wonderful yet mysterious sensation in her chest eased a bit. She wished it wouldn't…she had enjoyed it so much.
"I'm sorry, Miss Swann," she heard him murmur, gazing out into the horizon. "That wasn't appropriate."
Elizabeth snorted, drawing the surprised look from Will. She smirked. "Don't be so polite. It's so annoying."
"Your father, along with society, looks up to proper gentlemen. Isn't it one of those gentlemen who you intend to marry?"
The question caught her off-guard. It had seemed forced, almost pained, and yet so out of character for Will to say. She glanced at him uneasily and then back at the descending sun. "No."
A shocked pause filled the air. "No?"
"No."
Pause.
"Then who?"
Elizabeth thought for a minute, wondering what had prompted her reply. She knew she was destined to be matched smartly with a well-to-do man. But another part of her, perhaps her intuition, screamed at her that she would not become a diplomat's wife, smiling incoherently, acting as nothing more than an object of pleasure. It wasn't her, it had never been her…and it hadn't been her mother, either.
"A pirate." The response came coolly, smoothly.
Too smoothly for Will. "A…a what?"
"Pirate, Will, pirate. You know, with ships, and swords – "
"Yes, Miss Swann, I know."
"I thought I told you not to call me that."
"So you did."
As she looked back at him, she saw a twinkle in his eyes. Although he was no longer looking at her, she could feel a growing sense of security surround her. Not realizing herself, she suddenly found that she had reached out for the boy's hand. Will turned his head toward her, a curious and foreign look on his face. Yet from the intensity now reaching his eyes for the second time, Elizabeth knew he didn't object in the slightest.
Holding Will's hand while watching the sunset over the tropical waters was a memory she knew she would never forget…
"Miss?"
Elizabeth turned her head to see Estrella staring at her worriedly. "Miss, you're awful tired. Come, let me help you to your bed."
Dragging her feet lethargically up the stairs, Elizabeth found herself almost too tired to move when they reached her room. Estrella helped her put on a freshly cleaned nightgown, turned down the covers and helped Elizabeth into bed. With a quiet "goodnight, miss" she had left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
The soft breeze entering through her open window intertwined with the soft rustling of the leaves outside, Elizabeth felt a stream of tears descend her face as she hugged her pillow tight. She resolved to speak with her father as soon as he arrived in Port Royal. She was determined to describe Ratherford's cruelties, Will and Jack's innocence, and her own terrifying experience amongst Barbossa and his crew.
Closing her eyes, Elizabeth forced herself to think of something else besides the past months of horror. She saw Will's face, smiling brightly…she could feel his hands caress her face, his soft kisses covering her lips, his comforting voice speaking lovingly to her…
She could see sunsets over rocky cliffs…she could smell the tropical scent all around her…she remembered Will's intense gaze that day as they watched the sun descend…she remembered the touch of his rough yet gentle hands on hers…and she realized that at that exact moment, she had fallen in love with him.
Oh, Will…
~*~
"Oh, hell."
Annoyed, especially tired, and in no mood for confrontation, Gibbs grumbled to himself under his breath. Bastards, all of 'em, he thought threateningly as a soldier handcuffed him and removed him from Ratherford's ship. Roughly lead down the disembarking plank to the firmness of land, he felt himself teeter, not used to the immobile earth. He eyed Port Royal and felt himself recoil; a bloody haven of those sick folk known as politicians. God, he hated them. Made everything worse, to be sure.
"Onward, you!" He felt a sharp bayonet threaten his lower back, and with an insubordinate growl, Gibbs complied. Ratherford leading the way, they were marched up to the holding cells of the port town, three of them per cell. He was shoved into a cell with a sadistic-looking Dolan. He eyed the rum runner and thought best of it not to ask what the matter was. Next to him they placed Ingrid and Anamaria, who was carried in on a makeshift stretcher. The soldiers placed the stretcher down inside the cell as Ingrid eyed them maliciously. Next they carried in Will who lay perfectly lifeless just like Anamaria had, his ghostly white face glistening in the soft rays of the moon, which entered from the barred windows. He was placed in a cell with Ingrid and the limp form of Anamaria, and the guard turned the key in the lock, securing all three of them in place.
"Woman," came a sharp call from the door.
Ingrid turned to look at Ratherford, but remained silent.
"You shall tend to both that pirate-lady and Turner, is that clear?"
She didn't respond, but Ratherford didn't seem to care. Instead, he turned around and gazed behind him, a sick curl appearing on his lips. Gibbs craned his neck to see two soldiers carrying a third body in on a stretcher. Only this form was not limp; rather, it was shivering, writhing, moaning and groaning incoherently.
"Jack?"
Gibbs's mouth fell open as the two soldiers placed him and the stretcher down inside his own cell. He looked down upon the prostrate form of Jack, lying there, his face covered in a cold sweat, shivering, groaning, and shaking. His hands wandered from his chest to his neck as if he were dreaming. His eyes were partially open, but Gibbs knew Jack couldn't see a thing.
He knew the whipping had been bad, but to see him like this…
"Holy mother of mercy…"
A door slammed somewhere in the distance, but Gibbs took no notice; he was too busy absorbed in the horrors he saw. He knelt down beside Jack and looked at the once-fearless pirate captain of The Black Pearl. He couldn't believe he was staring at the same man. Unfortunately, by the look of things, Gibbs realized what a dire situation he was in. Convulsions, delusions, cold sweats…all signs of a usually fatal fever: Fools' Fever. The fever a pirate gets when he's been unruly. The fever a pirate gets when he has been punished. The fever a pirate gets before he falls unconscious…
…and never wakes up.
"Here."
Gibbs turned to see Dolan take off a blanket that he had wrapped around his arms and place it on Jack's body. The captain didn't notice.
"What now?" he asked, shaking his head. "What now?"
Dolan remained silent, and Gibbs could tell the rum runner was trying to keep his rage in check. "Now, we wait."
"For what?"
"For a bloody miracle, how the hell do I know?" Dolan retorted, standing up and turning his back. It was silent for a long while before he spoke again. "I can't stand to see him like this."
Gibbs silently nodded. Rubbing his beard and staring at the turned back of his cellmate, Gibbs tried to think of something…anything…that could get them out of this godforsaken mess. Unfortunately, he wasn't as swift (nor as daft) as Jack was…
Jack…
"Damn it all to hell, we can't just bloody sit here!" Dolan screamed in a fit of rage, kicking the cell and abruptly growing restless. "We've got to do something."
"Then…do…it."
Gibbs looked to Dolan, who in turn looked at Gibbs. Neither of them had spoken those weak, raspy words. Only one person remained who could have. It can't be, he's delirious…
"Jack?"
But the captain didn't respond. He merely shook his head, groaning in protest. He shivered with cold again, and was now breathing heavily.
"Here…turn him on his front, reckon. It's his back that's a bother."
Gibbs gently reached out for Jack's arms, trying not to touch his back. Yet it was unavoidable, and when Gibbs lay a delicate hand on the pirate's back, he gave a yelp of pain, shaking his head again, grumbling incessantly. They eased him slowly onto his stomach, and Gibbs forced himself not to look at Jack's back, which was dried with crusty blood, yet still wet with new blood. His flesh wounds stood gaping at him, taunting him…
Those scars will be with him for the rest of his life…
"…not…dead…"
It was almost too soft for Gibbs to hear. "Wait…what? Of course you ain't dead," he responded soothingly, his eyes lingering on Jack's bleeding wounds. "You ain't gonna die, Jack."
Are you so sure?
"Not…me…them."
Dolan shot Gibbs a confused glance, but Gibbs paid no attention to him. Instead, he focused intently on Jack. For some strange reason, he figured that his incessant protests were not meaningless at all. "Who, Jack? Who be 'them'?"
Jack breathed deeply, but did not reply.
"Who in bloody hell is he talking about?" Dolan asked gruffly, eyeing Jack's wounds with a mingled look of disgust and sympathy. "Is he jus' sayin' those things?"
"Nay, he ain't just sayin' 'em. He's smarter than that…he knows what he's saying."
Dolan made a sound of objection. "He's delusional! He's feverish, he's sick and infected – "
"Them." Jack had repeated himself, only mustering the strength to say one word. It cost the man a lot of energy to speak, and he was now breathing heavily once more. He was obviously trying to say something important. Gibbs shook his head in frustration: what was it that Jack was trying to tell them?
'Them' who?
"Bleedin' river…"
Dolan peered curiously at Gibbs. "What?"
Gibbs remained silent. It couldn't be…after all of that, anyone would be dead…Norrington had it before it caved in…they have to be dead…there's no explanation…
"What is it, damn it?" Dolan replied anxiously.
Gibbs looked at him. "Barbossa. Jack's saying he's not dead."
"You're jestin' with me."
"I ain't. It's the only explanation…"
"So, Barbossa's alive?" Dolan paused, laughed angrily, and threw up his hands. "Then what do we do now?"
"We wait," Gibbs retorted angrily, throwing back Dolan's words. He was busy enough trying to figure out how Barbossa could be alive, how to get out of the dangerous situation they were in, and how to keep Jack alive without this young ex-lucrative rum runner distracting him. He turned back to Jack and studied his wounds pensively. They were still openly bleeding…
Why weren't they closing? He'll bleed to death…
Damn it, Jack…
"Oh, we wait, aye? For what, reckon?" Dolan responded angrily, mimicking Gibbs's same statement only minutes before.
Gibbs looked up at him gravely, without a trace of mockery in his words. "For a miracle."
~*~
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