Chapter: The Passing of Time
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- Four Years Later -
Forgetting had never been easy for Jack Sparrow. First there had been Barbossa, whom he had kept in his mind for the ten years after he was marooned, never forgetting the malicious glint that appeared within the traitorous man's eyes as he forced Jack overboard, nor his words. . . Jack, haven't ye learned by now? No? Well, this'll give ye the time t' think about it, aye?
But Barbossa was dead now. Jack had other memories on his mind, memories of a beautifully icy woman who had shared one of her deepest secrets with him. Him, of all people!
He didn't think of her often, and when he did it was not as a lovesick man would about his long parted sweetheart. No, he had not come even close to loving her. He remembered her more as a unique force, a woman of many layers and many different truths. It was times like these, rare times when Jack was alone, sitting in some long abandoned pub or late nights on the deck of the Pearl, steering the ship whilst all others were asleep, when the memories of her would come to him. A brief flash of a condescending expression, a mass of black hair, a swishing movement of navy skirts.
Jack had not returned to Port Royal after that fated day four years before, when he had reluctantly taken a hostage.
And so Captain Jack Sparrow curled his silver-decked fingers around the handle of a half finished mug of rum, lifting a hand to tilt his hat low over his face. He did not want to be recognized - for now. Soon, he knew, he would be seen in this shady corner of lesser known bar in a town called Tortuga, and would be urged to tell a story or two.
No one ever asked him what became of a woman named Sophia Cuthburt who he had once known, for that particular tale was just a minor adventure amidst a lifetime of stories to be told.
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Mrs. Sophia Norrington awoke to a vacant bed, groaning as a beam of sunlight shone directly into her closed eyes, illuminating the previous darkness into an eerie reddish hue. Rolling over, she squinted one eye open, beating the empty space beside her with a closed fist. Her husband had left already, off to the sea on his Dauntless. Off to his life.
With a muted sigh, she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, padding with bare feet to the window that overlooked the harbor. There was a sickly slick at the apex of her thighs, and Sophia, lifting her skirts, found a stain of brownish-red on the pale skin of her inner-thighs. Her courses had come as they always did, every month, disgustingly punctual. Sophia felt a burning prickle at the back of her eyes, and pressed the back of her hand against her forehead.
Sophia was barren. Sterile. For the near three years of her marriage, never had her breasts and belly swelled with the coming of a babe. There was no childish laughter in the Norrington household.
James had accepted this in his own quiet and impassive way, just as he had accepted that on their wedding night there was no vermilion bloodstain to mar the white sheets. Sophia had been frightened that night after their marriage and had even come close to letting her memories escape again. But James had been gentle and patient, sensing her fear, and after becoming used to the duties of a wife, she found sex to be mildly pleasant and tolerable. Her husband was a good man.
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Some days Sophia would catch herself staring fixedly out to sea. James would ask her with an amused smile on his face, "What are you waiting for, my darling?" and of course, she would laugh and shake her head. "Why would I possibly be waiting for something? I have everything I need here," she would say.
But she knew what she was waiting for.
Sophia rarely thought of the Captain who she had met so many years ago. But she dreamed. She dreamed of dark eyes in the shadows and silhouettes of a body in a dark alleyway. She dreamed of rash kisses.
She'd never worn her cap again after those days on the Pearl. It was now crushed at the bottom of her trunk buried beneath the dresses she wore for funerals and weddings.
Tha' was one man. One. Not everyone's like 'im.
Sophia was waiting for something to take her away from this place. Take her from this routine that was Port Royal.
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"Mrs. Norrington! Oh, Sophia, where are you? I have terrible news!" Charlotte flew through the open door, her tear streaked face and desperate yelling throwing Sophia off guard. Charlotte, her faithful maid, was her sole companion in the periods in which her husband was absent, and to see her so distressed when she was usually so calm and unaffected worried Sophia greatly. She took the crying woman by the shoulders.
"Charlotte, what's wrong? What's happened?"
"It's Mrs. Turner! She's dead!" Sophia blanched, standing motionless in stunned silence.
Due to James' connection with Elizabeth, for she was whom he had been courting before he'd met Sophia, she had become great friends with the wife of William Turner. They would sit for hours in the Turner's parlor and talk of their adventures on the sea. The two women never spoke of Jack Sparrow, but instead focused mainly on skeletal pirates and rowdy Nassau Port. Elizabeth had been pregnant with her third child. Sophia had been jealous of her.
Charlotte rambled on, while Sophia stared blankly at the wall. "It was such a difficult birth, and you know how much trouble she'd had with the last. The babe came out and she just kept bleeding. Oh, Sophia! Mr. Turner is heartbroken. He won't eat, and he has to care for the children all by himself, even the newborn baby girl! He –"
Sophia snapped from her vacant state, her eyes focusing once more on the oval-shaped face of Charlotte. "I'm going to see him. I can't bear sitting here and doing nothing, while he suffers." She was surprised by the steady tone of her voice. Her insides were crying, but her eyes remained dry.
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Jack swaggered into the Faithful Bride, accompanied by a woman on each arm, successfully ignoring their constant babbling. He had more important subjects on his mind, such as how their twin thighs were brushing casually against his as they walked, and the way the breast of the woman on his right persisted on every so often touching his arm.
"Oh, Jackie! I would like a wee bit o' rum. Will ye get me some? Please?"
"Yes! Me as well! Quite thirsty."
"Captain. . . 's Captain Jackie." Jack muttered incoherently, steering the women towards the bar.
The barmaid behind the counter peered at him closely, before literally growling, and reaching over to administer a sharp slap to Jack's already sore cheek.
"Bloody 'ell, woman! Wha' did I do t' deserve tha'?" He roared, once again ignoring the women who fussed over the red mark that was beginning to form just under his cheekbone.
The barmaid shrugged, before reaching between her hefty bosoms to retrieve a slightly crumpled letter. "Jack Sparrow, aye? Well, this be for you, then. From a Mr. William Turner."
Jack's hand snaked out to snatch the letter from her, brushing off his company's curious fingers as he broke the wax seal and unfolded the worn piece of parchment to read the message within written in a scratchy and messy manner uncharacteristic to Will.
Jack,
Elizabeth is gone. The birth was too difficult for her. A ceremony will be held in a fortnight, if you wish to come.
William Turner
Jack stood still for a long while.
"Jack, whoss wrong?" One of the women was speaking to him in a voice that seemed very far away. He jerked as she slid a forefinger smoothly down his bicep, before glancing up and flashing her a suave grin that didn't touch the sadness in his eyes.
"I'm terribly sorry, darlings, but th' sea calls. Ta." Jack didn't look back to see the disappointed expressions on his previous company's faces as he strode quickly out the door.
-
Gibbs stared at Jack, brows knitted in confusion, as the captain climbed with lithe quickness onto the ship. "What's all th' rush, Cap'n?"
Jack turned abruptly toward his longtime friend, the matted dreadlocks of his hair whipping against his shoulders in the sudden movement. "'Lizabeth's dead. We'll be sailing to Port Royal as soon as I can round up th' crew."
It took a moment for Gibbs to decipher the emotion in Jack's eyes, for he had never before seen nor associated it with this man. It was grief.
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The door swung open quickly to reveal a portly maid whose expression, hardened with sorrow, softened slightly as she caught sight of Sophia.
"Thank goodness you're here, Mrs. Norrington. Master Turner is in terrible shape, I'm afraid." Her voice was but a whisper. Sophia could hear a baby crying in the next room. "He won't let anyone touch that poor child."
Sophia nodded faintly, before hitching up her skirts and stepping into the house. Will was in the sitting room, hunched in a chair with clumps of dark brown hair framing his face, his handsome features void of everything and all emotions. He held a swaddled baby in his arms, rocking mechanically as the child cried. Sophia hesitated briefly at the expression on his face. His eyes were empty, and he seemed not to see her as she stood in the entrance of the room.
"Will? It's Sophia. . . I've come to help you." Will's eyes focused on her at last.
"Who said I needed help?" His voice was rusty as if it had not been used for days. He looked at her with distrust and misery in his eyes.
"Well I assumed. . ." Sophia began, silently noticing the two children that stood at the bottom of the stairwell behind Will, a boy, Jonathon, or Jack, as he liked to be called, and a girl, Arabella, gazing at their father fearfully. Sophia smiled briefly in their direction.
"Well don't assume, then," he said, in a strange sort of tone that echoed around the bare walls of the room. She wanted him to be angry, sad, anything but this disturbing vacancy. With a sigh, Sophia slowly shuffled to his side, dropping to her knees and reaching across his lap to part the edge of the blanket that held the child to reveal a beautiful but squalling newborn face. Will tensed as she came close to him.
"Will. . . may I take her for a bit? You need to rest. Please. . ." She could see the hard shell that he had erected to numb the pain begin to melt at the sweetness in her voice, and her heart broke as he raised his gaze to the ceiling and inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes closed to stop the tears. He didn't protest when she lifted the baby from his arms, holding it firmly against her breast. The tiny infant was clawing at her chest, searching for a nipple to suck, searching for food, and she nearly wept herself because she couldn't give it to her.
"What's her name, Will?"
His eyes were staring over her shoulder, avoiding her face. She could see his fists clench, knuckles white with the pressure. "Elizabeth. Her name is Elizabeth." Sophia nodded.
One of the maids was standing quietly at the doorway with a bottle of warm cow's milk in her hand, waiting expectantly as Sophia handed the child over. Little Elizabeth took the bottle eagerly.
She turned back towards Will. He was standing now, his shoulders shaking with suppressed grief. Sophia's heart was shattered for him.
As she took him in her arms he fell against her as water would upon rock, and she could feel long buried sobs wreak havoc upon his body. She sank to the floor with this brokenhearted man, her skirts pooling about her legs, simply holding him and letting him cry. He was shaking, his calloused fingers grasping the loose pile of hair that still flowed to waist length down her back as if it she were the only thing keeping him from falling into nothingness.
And she ignored the flutter of fear in her stomach that was too long practiced to ever disappear.
"She's gone. Oh god. . . she's gone!" he cried hoarsely, as if only just realizing the fact that had been true for several days. "Elizabeth. . ." Sophia could feel him pressing his mouth against her shoulder to quell the heart-wrenching groan that she was sure was threatening to escape.
It was only then that she allowed herself to cry, her tears falling onto his hair like rain drops.
-
Will spent the remainder of the day telling Sophia about Elizabeth. Her smile, her eyes and how they changed color with her moods and at different times of the day, the skin of the underside of her wrist, the fine hair that grew on her calves and thighs. He told her of one day when she and Will had taken a walk on the beach and for no apparent reason Elizabeth had charged like a bull into the current, later explaining to him that the waves had been "too perfect." He told Sophia of the births of their children.
And she listened.
It was only after several hours that Will grew silent, lifting his eyes from his linked hands within his lap to Sophia's face. She was pleased to see a trace of humanity in his features to replace the raw oblivion that they had previously held. "I almost wish. . . I almost wish that she had been like you." His voice was but a whisper.
Sophia stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Elizabeth told me. . . how you're. . . how you can't have children. I almost wish that she had been like that."
Now it was Sophia's turn to direct her attention wholly to her lap, her face carefully neutral. "I would not wish that upon any woman, Will." She said this so quietly that she was not sure he could have heard her.
He glanced up at her as he heard her sorrowful tone, his face apologetic. "I. . . I'm sorry, Sophia. I shouldn't have said that."
She raised her gaze to meet his, casting him a brief but occupied smile. "Don't be sorry."
-
Will started as a sharp knock sounded through the house, but, to Sophia's surprise, he rose to answer door. She could hear his footsteps echo as he left the room, the door creak open, and silence.
"Jack. . ." Will said, quietly.
Sophia froze.
Jack? No no no no no. . . Not after you've almost forgotten. Not now.
Her fears were confirmed as she recognized the swaggering gait of the captain as he stepped into the house. She heard the faint clap of a hand being placed upon a shoulder.
"Alrigh', mate?"
Sophia sank more deeply into the cushions into her back. There it was, that smooth slur that she remembered so clearly.
"Yes, I'm alright, now. . ." Will trailed off.
"Had some 'elp? Good." Jack hesitated. "Listen. . . Elizabeth was. . ." He sounded acutely uncomfortable.
"You don't have to talk about it, Jack."
"Thank th' bloody Christ."
Will lapsed into silence.
"Well, I guess I'll let meself in, then," Jack stated, and soon Sophia could hear the clomping of heavy boots as he strode towards the sitting room.
"Sorry, Jack. . . Of course you can come in." Will's voice was rushed and faintly guilty at having forgotten his manners.
"Don' worry 'bout it, mate. As I always say. . ." Jack stopped talking (not to mention moving) as he caught sight of Sophia sitting, rather composedly for the situation, on a cushioned chair in the center of the room. She was just as he remembered her, fragile and stunning all at once, sending his mind into a rare whirl of surprise. "Jesus. . ."
Sophia smiled unaffectedly at him. She'd had a good several minutes to regain her poise after she'd known of Jack's presence, and was immensely enjoying the look of utter disjointedness on his face. "Good day, Captain Sparrow. I see you've come to join the party."
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A/N: Oooohhh! Poor Will! I hope all you Orlando Bloom fans like his intro. I figured I had to bring at least one other of the original main characters in. Actually, I realized that that bit when Sophia's comforting him is a good lead in to a sort of kissy scene, so if anyone would like that version just email me at moonmartian88@hotmail.com . Obviously, there's not going to be anything really heavy because Jack would walk straight into them, but. . yeah.
Writing a grieving Jack was really very difficult, because they really don't show any of that in the movie, but I figured that he would at least feel a little sadness when he heard of Elizabeth's passing. Let me know what you think!
Anyway, this was by far the most interesting chapter to write, and I hope it shows when you guys read it. Have fun!
