Chapter: Ruined

-

"Wha' th' bloody 'ell is she doin' 'ere?" Jack asked for approximately the thirteenth time, still staring incredulously at this ghost of his past. Sophia had spent the past five minutes or so explaining to Will the story of her and Jack's meeting. Due to her husband's profession, not many of the townspeople knew that she had been kidnapped by the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. Commodore Norrington was rather good at keeping things "under wraps," as it were.

As she patiently tolerated Will's disbelieving expression and repeated questions, Sophia snuck glances at Jack, who was now sporting a very irritated look at being ignored so blatantly.

He hadn't changed very much at all since she last saw him swaggering along the streets of Nassau Port. There was still the long, bead-adorned dreadlocks framing a surprisingly artistically formed face, the odd beard with two braids, coppery-tan skin. And those black, black eyes. His eyes had always made her very uncomfortable. She recalled the hazy memory of her first morning on the Pearl, when he had gazed at her for a full minute or so, causing her to squirm awkwardly, her eyes falling to the floor.

Sophia now glanced from Will, who was still trying to comprehend the new information she had shared with him, to find Jack's eyes staring straight into hers, a faint grin plastered upon his lips. It occurred to her dimly that they hadn't really greeted one another yet, aside from her rather snide remark when he first caught sight of her. She must have finally shown some sort of the old recognition from those many years ago, for Jack cocked his head faintly to the side, before speaking, that disconcerting smirk still very much visible upon his features.

"'ello, love. Miss me, did you?"

Sophia's previously tranquil gaze now turned to the cold glare that Jack recognized so well, her arms rising to cross tightly over her chest in defiance. "Not particularly, Captain."

Jack's grin grew still wider. There she was. There was the Sophia he knew.

He had forgotten, however, how unsettlingly gray her eyes were.

He had forgotten a lot of things, he noticed, now that he looked upon her once again. The pale cream of her skin, the sheer volume of her ebony-hued hair, for she didn't wear the cap that he had seen her in so many times and guessed she hadn't worn it at all after their little adventure. She was smaller than he remembered, sitting next to Will, who appeared to be a nearly a full foot taller than her, but graceful and fluid in her movements all the same.

Swallowing, he turned to Will, administering a sharp poke to the man's shoulder to attract his attention. "So, whelp, are you goin' t' answer me question, or no? Wha' the bloody 'ell is she, Miss Cuthburt," Jack cast an exasperated look in Sophia's direction. ". . . doin' 'ere?"

"Norrington," Sophia interrupted, gazing steadily at Jack and waiting for his reaction, which she was sure was going to be fairly comical.

"Wha' about 'im?"

"No, I'm Mrs. Norrington." Sophia smirked faintly as Jack's eyes conveyed a number of emotions, the most prominent of those being disbelief.

"D'you mean t' say tha' you married th' bloody prick tha's tried t' kill me more times than I can count?" Jack glanced once to Will, his question only confirmed by a brief nod of the head by the blacksmith. With a bump and slide of a chair being pushed quickly, Jack stood, glowering at the woman that gazed at him in such an infuriatingly calm manner. "Why?"

At that, the infamous fire in Sophia's eyes resurfaced as it seemed to always do around this man, and she stood as well, stepping towards him with a confidence she never would have known those four years ago.

"Because, Captain, he is a good man, something you would never know about, and I love him. Because he is the only one that respected me after you decided on a whim to drag me onto that pile of lumber that is your ship, while everyone else, including my family, essentially disowned me. They decided I had been tainted or spoiled, because of you! You ruined me, Captain Sparrow."

Both Jack and Will stood, silent and utterly flabbergasted, before this fuming woman. Will, for one, had never seen Sophia Norrington as she was now, fiery and defiant, while Jack was still debating on whether to fire off another angry retort (and in that case, what could he say to such a declaration as that?), or simply stalk out the door.

As if reading his mind, Sophia quickly turned in a swish of starched skirts, arms held stiff at her sides, and moved as fast as possible, which was not terribly fast due to the garment that she was adorned in, towards the door, slamming it harshly behind her.

That abrupt sound echoed around the room long after she had departed. Jack slowly turned towards Will, who was still staring at the place in which he had last seen Sophia and was wearing an expression so amusing that, in any other situation, Jack might have burst out laughing. Instead, he frowned, glancing once more towards the door, and then back at the man beside him.

"She insulted me ship."

-

Sophia groaned as Charlotte opened the curtains as she always did in the morning, causing the bright sunlight to filter into the previously dim room.

"Elizabeth's funeral is today, Mrs. Sophia. I should think it's about time you get out of bed," the young maid declared quietly, before turning and shuffling demurely from the room, closing the door silently behind her. Charlotte, Sophia noted, had become quite unlike her usual self since Elizabeth's death.

Sophia had been dreading the funeral. She'd managed to avoid Jack fairly successfully in the past several days, and she was sure he would be at the ceremony today. She had not seen him since that terrible day at the Turner household. Sophia still felt somewhat guilty for what she'd revealed to the captain on that day after fully remembering the day of her kidnapping those years ago. It wasn't as if Jack had really had a choice or not. It had been either an escape or his life.

In fact, Sophia had been frequently thinking back to those days on the Black Pearl, for the sight of Jack Sparrow had spurred many forgotten memories to arise once more, it seemed. Now, as she lay on the soft sheets of the bed her husband shared with her (when he was actually in Port Royal, of course), she allowed her mind to wander back four years. . .

-

She was sleeping in various uncomfortable positions in a bathtub, of all places, only to have Jack walk in on her, intending to relieve himself. An infuriating grin, humiliation.

"By th' way, Miss Cuthburt, people o' the normal sort don' usually sleep in bathtubs, jus' t' let y'know."

Jack hovering over her, unexpected concern blatantly shown within the dark depths of his eyes. Salt water on her skin, so much pain.

"Where does it 'urt, love?"

He was bent in two at the waist, an almost comical grimace upon his features. Anger, betrayal.

"If you ever touch me again, Sparrow, I will slit your throat with your own sword while you sleep."

Jack's arm hard around her waist, his hips pressed against hers as she struggled. She was trapped, helpless. It was happening again.

"Come now, love. Pretty lass like you can't enjoy a bit o' fun?"

She cowered in the corner, hard, splintering wood at her back, eyes glazed and empty as memories and nightmares whirled in her head. Her name, recognition.

"I think you'd better tell me wha's goin' on, lass."

Dark eyes in the night, a black silhouette of his body. Tingling lips, heavy breathing, a question.

"Go home, Sophia."

She had gone.

-

Sophia jerked as Charlotte once again entered the room, bearing a cup of strong tea. The maid furrowed her brow as she handed the steaming mug to her, finally catching sight of Sophia's face. "Mrs. Sophia? Are you alright?"

Sophia looked up, a troubled smile gracing her lips briefly, before she brought the mug to her lips, inhaling the steam that rose from the liquid within before sampling the tea, swirling the scalding liquid in her mouth before swallowing and speaking soon thereafter. "Yes, I'm alright. I think I just need to sit here for a minute or two." Charlotte nodded, and, interpreting that as a signal to leave, did so without delay.

Sophia set the mug down on her dresser with a sharp clatter. She was trembling.

-

Sophia dug in a frustrated flurry through the trunk that held her various dresses, searching for the rather ill-fitting black one that always seemed to smell of mothballs. It had been her mother's, and Lady Cuthburt had given it to her daughter when she was married to James. A funeral dress as a wedding present.

Sophia grasped one handful of silky satin and threw a garment that seemed to be buried beneath all the rest across the room. With a sigh of relief, her fingertips finally came to brush across the rough black cotton of the funeral dress that was crushed against the side of the trunk. Shaking the dress out, she groaned at the sight of it. It was too big and very hindering, for whenever she wore it she always managed to fall flat upon her face at one time or another.

She folded the black dress carefully over the now closed trunk, raising her eyes to catch sight of the mess that was now the bedroom. Petticoats and dresses were strewn about the floor and various articles of furniture. Sophia gasped, a quick, smothered sound, and her hand reached out to touch the corner of her dresser, steadying herself, as her gaze fell upon the bed.

There, spread across the mussed sheets of her bed like some perverse imitation of the human body lay the deep, midnight blue satin of the dress. Memories. . . more memories.

-

Jack stared at the wall, arms crossed over his chest. She couldn't see his eyes. She stood with her hands on her hips. He cleared his throat.

"Wha' did you do, woman?"

"What are you implying, Captain?"

"Nothing. You jus' look different."

-

 She'd forgotten about that dress, but now, as she traced a forefinger around the wide neckline, the folds in the skirt, she remembered. She remembered freedom from her cage.

She would wear the dress. She would wear it for him.

-

Beautiful day for a funeral, Jack thought wryly as he trekked up the hill towards the cemetery, maintaining his distance from the other attendants, who, it seemed, had nothing better to do than throw him disapproving glances as they walked. He always felt out of place in the company of those sorts of people.

It was, in fact, a very beautiful day. The sky was impossibly clear, the sea a rare shade of turquoise, and the grass that was crushed beneath his boots was a bright, vibrant green. Not that he noticed, mind you. The famous captain was caught up in his thoughts.

Thoughts of her.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he felt vaguely guilty about Sophia. He hadn't really thought much about what the effects of his little escapade those four years ago would have on her life, and her fury-fueled statement that she had spit into his face several days before had drawn that realization into sharp focus. She hated him.

Jack rubbed a rough palm over his face, sighing faintly. He didn't need this. Abruptly, he decided that he and his crew would be leaving as soon as the service was ended.

Will strode over to walk beside his longtime friend. Jack lifted his gaze to the man's face, wincing slightly. The blacksmith's countenance was stony as rock, his eyes dead. Jack turned away, vaguely wishing for a thought, words, something that could help the poor lad. Nothing.

So, instead, Jack reluctantly searched the gathering crowd for Sophia. She wasn't there.

-

Jack stared blankly at the hole in the ground, the upturned earth, and the group of black-clothed people that stood around it. He stood to the side, alone, arms crossed tightly across his chest, legs spread as if stationing himself at the helm of his Pearl. 

Will stood much as Jack did, gazing in a disturbing, vacant manner into the rectangle-shaped opening in the earth where the body of his wife, entombed in a coffin, was soon to be laid. No tears were shed on his part.

This 's for Elizabeth, Jack, he reminded himself, being highly uncomfortable in this unfamiliar situation. Jack had never been to a funeral before. Well, not one on land. For some odd reason, sending a body indefinitely into the ground was much worse than watching it, wrapped in white linen, sink slowly into the waves.

The service was about to begin.  

And so Jack squirmed slightly, casting his eyes back towards the center of Port Royal. His breath hitched, and he ignored his various braids and dreadlocks as they whipped across his face in the wind.

She was walking up the green slopes of the hill, her hand grasping the skirts of the dress in a vain attempt to keep them from flying every which way, her hair drifting in wispy locks around the softness of her features. Unconsciously, Jack noticed the stark contrast between the shimmer of the dark blue fabric and the almost neon green of the grass beneath her feet.

It was that damn dress. It floated delicately in the wind, and made it seem that she was gliding, gliding across the grass. Jack wouldn't have been surprised if her feet were, in fact, not touching the ground.

Sophia carefully avoided glancing at Jack, who she was sure would be staring, completely dumbstruck, at her. She bent her head as she joined the outskirts of the group of people, flushing slightly crimson at the realization that she was terribly late, for the pastor was just about to begin the sermon. She could feel the heat of Jack's eyes on her.

-

After many tears shed, Sophia stepped quietly over to Will once the ceremony was finished. He was still staring fixedly at the now filled gap in the earth. She gently touched his hand, still slightly soiled from the earth he had thrown down to mar the shiny surface of Elizabeth's coffin, and he jolted, his hand instinctively drawing away from her fingers.

She frowned faintly in response to his reaction. "Will, are you going to be alright?"

"I expect so. After a bit," he murmured, his gaze never faltering from the ground, his mouth set at a thin line.

At a loss, Sophia hesitated, before patting his arm reassuringly and turning to make her way once more down the hill. All she wanted was to curl up in her bed and sleep the day away. Yet all was in vain, for when she was just halfway down the hill a hand reached out to firmly grab her elbow, jerking her from her path of travel. It was all she could do to keep her balance and no go tumbling down the hill. She let out a muted squeak of surprise, before glaring furiously into the eyes of her captor. "What are you - . . . Jack?" She nearly cursed as she slipped with his name. Captain, Sophia, Captain.

Jack released her arm, shoving her from him as he did so. She had rarely seen him so angry. His eyes had turned a dark, dark black and she could see the muscles in his jaw tight with fury. "Wha' th' bloody 'ell is this, Sophia?" He said quietly, in a voice so dangerous it caused her to shiver involuntarily.

"What do you mean, Captain?" Thankfully, her tone was strong and didn't waver in the least. He motioned indistinctly towards her, towards the dress.

"That! Th' dress!"

"Oh, that? I hadn't noticed." She smiled coolly at him, her hands placed strategically upon her hips.

"You didn't notice. Alrigh'. . ." Jack passed the back of his hand over his forehead. Sophia could see his body tense beneath the worn clothes he seemed so fond of wearing. "I suppose you're mockin' me, then? 'S this meant t' be a punishment?"

"Why would it be a punishment, Captain Sparrow? It's just a silly dress."

"Because. . . Oh, bloody 'ell." Unable to face her anymore, Jack spun on his heel and began striding quickly down the hill, his usual swagger forgotten for the time being.

Sophia frowned, watching him as he retreated. She hadn't meant to sound so patronizing. With a faint groan, she hitched up her skirts and ran after him, reaching out a hand to grasp his forearm. He reluctantly stopped, his eyes still focused deliberately away from her. "Oh. . . wait, Captain. I. . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. . . Well, what I mean is. . .  Of course I noticed. I found this dress buried in my trunk and thought. . . it's silly, but I thought that perhaps we could declare a truce, if you will. I don't really want to be angry at you. And. . . I don't hold it against you that you took me all those years ago. I really don't."

Jack stared at her, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes veiled. He didn't know how to respond, the words wouldn't come, and instead lifted his gaze to search slowly around their surroundings. Apart from Will, who still stood at the grave, oblivious to all that was around him, there was no one else on the grassy hill. "Where's your husband, then, love?"

Sophia relaxed minutely as she registered his familiar nickname. He'd forgiven her. "James? He's out to sea."

"Ah. . . he's not 'ere often, is he?" Jack was grinning his trademark grin at her, his ordinary sway and swagger returning along with those unique gestures. Sophia smiled faintly in return.

"Well, he is the Commodore. Important business to attend to, you see. But I love him all the same," she stated, somewhat playfully. Jack's smile quirked slightly in response to that, perplexity showing briefly in his eyes. She had changed in subtle but somehow still deeply noticeable ways in the four years since their parting. Never would she have carried such a light tone and sported the good-natured twinkle in her eyes that she did now before on those days aboard the Pearl.

"Do you?" Jack asked, somewhat roughly. Sophia shifted under his scrutiny. His eyes were intense as they soaked in her face, looking for a reaction.

Did she? Did she love her husband?

Their courting and engagement had been brief. Sophia could scarcely remember their events. James had been kind and yet in some ways distant.

"Y-Yes. Of course I do." Her voice was quiet, and Jack lifted her hand within his, patting his significantly larger one over it.

"Tha's good, then."

With that, he turned, calling back as he, once more, started swaggering in a slightly comical fashion down the slope. "I'll be leavin' in th' afternoon, love. I 'xpect this'll be goodbye."

Sophia followed, only to stand brazenly in his path, smiling. "Well then, Captain, I wish you luck and many years more of rum, whoring, looting, and whatever else you pirate sorts do." Before she could advise herself against it, she had stood up on her tiptoes to brush her lips briefly against his cheek. She could feel the muscles of his shoulders beneath her hands tense a bit. "Despite what you and many of the. . . er. . . not so virtuous ladies in the Caribbean may say, you are a good man, Captain Sparrow. Just don't loose your way."

She had made it nearly to the bottom of the hill before Jack moved, placing one coarse fingertip against his cheek and beginning to stride towards the docks. He'd never been kissed in such a chaste manner before.

He thought that, perhaps, he might actually miss her.

Well, maybe for a couple days, at least.

-

A/N: Grrr. . . Jack is emotionally stunted.

-Jack growls- No I'm not!

Of course you're not, dear. Now go back to your closet. –Jack stalks off, grumbling-

ANYWAYS, back to the point. Despite what it may seem, this is not, I repeat, NOT, over. If it was, how could I explain the title of this perdy little fic? Mwhaha. That comes later. 

Arg, I hate my computer. The italics that had been working perfectly have suddenly decided to go an eensie bit haywire again. So, I think they cut out right in the middle of Sophia's first memories of Jack. Go figure.

Okay, It's time to thank the wonderful, beautiful, praise-worthy reviewers. Which I haven't done before this! Bad. Bad. Shame. Wicklowe and piratex, you guys are awesome, and so very wonderfully faithful! Everyone else, thank you so so so so much. I really appreciate it. Makes those long hours at the computer worth it!

Thanks to all my readers, too. I truly hope you are enjoying reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

What's in the next Chapter, you ask? Hmm. . . more sadness, more funniness, and stupid royal navy peoples! Not to mention more of our favorite people, Jack and Sophia.

-Jack peeks from his closet- She's not my favorite person!

Shut up, you!