Chapter: Poseidon's Wrath
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The ship was rocking so terribly that Sophia fully expected it to capsize at any moment. Wind was howling; she could hear it even through the thick wooden walls of Jack's cabin. The air had turned thick and wet and heavy with energy, and Sophia felt as if each breath was bringing her further to suffocation.
Jack had forbidden her to step foot outside and into the storm. Sophia had argued, albeit halfheartedly, against that in the minutes of calm they had before the salty spray of the squall hit them. She didn't fancy being washed into the swirl of ebony and indigo that was the ocean with the roaring of the wind in her ears.
For Sophia, drowning would be a painful death.
So she braced herself against a wall and tried to fight the rising bile in her throat, waiting for the tempest to grow bored with her play.
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Jack was well known for his skill in holding the course during a storm, but this particular gale was proving to be a challenge.
His knuckles were growing white and his arm beginning to shake from the force it took to hold the wheel stationary. The hale had melted into a full-blown rainstorm, and the wind was whipping water into his eyes. He didn't bother to shout orders to his crew; they wouldn't have been able to hear him even if he did, and he trusted their ability fully.
Jack stood with his legs spread apart, steadying him amidst the roiling of the ship, shoulders drawn forward against the wind. Water was streaming off the brim of his hat in bleary sheets.
And still, he held the ship onto its course. Strangely, Jack's mind often wandered at times like these, the times in which his life was most in danger, when the risk was great and standing before him like an endless vortex of black. He thought of the fortune that awaited him on the familiar island of Tortuga. He thought of Will, caring for his child and suffering the loss of Elizabeth. He thought of his complete isolation on that bloody island, and the unexpected lonesomeness that had crept into his being.
And then he remembered Sophia and her touch.
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Sophia curled into a tight ball on Jack's bed, breathing in deep, somewhat shaky sighs and trying to ignore the sound of saturated boots slapping against the equally saturated deck just outside the door. She closed her eyes and the rocking of the ship became somehow safe, as if she was being held by a mother in the sea of nothing behind her eyelids.
She could smell him as she rested her head against the pillow, a heady scent full of spice and sea and sensual ecstasy that encompassed her mind and the black before her eyes completely, taking over all other thoughts without mercy. Sophia shifted, drawing her arms closer around herself as a chill of gooseflesh and sex washed through her body.
Her eyes snapped open, a crimson flush coloring her cheeks as she realized that the now familiar clenching sensation in her gut had arrived, bringing with it a hot dampness between her legs. Desire. Lust. Sophia pushed the thoughts from her mind and sat up, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for only a moment in a sudden onslaught of exhaustion.
The storm was subsiding; she could feel the rocking of the ship beginning to decrease in intensity. How long had it been? Three hours, four? The closeness of the room overshadowed all perspective of time.
Sophia lay down on the bed once more, bringing her knees up to her chest to combat the shivers of cold that had begun to wash over her body. It was not long before she was asleep.
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The storm was finally over. Jack left the helm only after he was sure that Anamaria could handle any minor squalls that might surface. He was swaying with exhaustion and soaked through.
Jack blinked as he sighted the body that was curled up on his bed, clearing his vision of the bleary film of fatigue. It was Sophia, huddled into the far corner of the mattress, her back facing him. He could see the delicate curve of her spine beneath the fabric of her shirt. Jack sighed in frustration.
Would he ever be rid of this temptation?
Quietly, he discarded his wet clothes in exchange for drier ones, simply not caring if Sophia awoke to find him half naked. He was far too tired to worry about such matters.
Jack considered waking her then with a snide comment about finally sleeping in his bed, and guiding her back to her cabin like a virtuous man. Then again, Jack had never been virtuous, and one look at her slumbering face – cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, hair coming loose from its bun and draping in curling tendrils across her closed eyes, lips parted, pink like carefully sculpted rose-petals – convinced him yet further.
So he clambered into bed next to her, watching for a moment before reaching upwards to brush a strand of that black, black hair from her eyes. Lightly, his fingertips lowered to trace the outline of her lips and then down lower, spanning the column of her neck. She heaved a breathy sigh in her sleep. Jack decided he'd better stop there lest he loose control, and so, hesitantly, he rolled over and fell asleep.
Even in his dreams he was aware of Sophia's presence beside him.
She was always there.
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Sophia awoke warm, encased in a comfort that was unfamiliar to her. She had grown accustomed to waking up to damp, clammy air and chills. This was good, what she felt now. Right.
She creaked an eye open, glancing at her surroundings through her eyelashes. She was in Jack's cabin, that she remembered. Sophia shifted slightly, surprised to find a body pressed against her, his chest, for the person was a man, to her back and her behind resting, quite comfortably, against his hips. A rough, warm hand had slipped up her shirt sometime during the night and was now resting on her ribcage, just below her left breast, a firm reminder of his possession over her in this stance. Sophia stiffened slightly as a delayed revelation hit her
It was Jack. She was in his bed, after all. Sophia assured herself fervently that nothing had occurred last night that should not have. She remained motionless, silently debating her options. She could completely explode in a fit of rage and risk many more days or even weeks of uncomfortable silences and disjointed conversations, or she could quietly ease out from Jack's embrace and sneak from the room, enduring none of said awkward situations. Sophia decided that the latter choice would suit her much better.
But she didn't want to move. It was so nice, such a change from the isolation she had been suffering from on the ship. She felt contented, satiated.
Nevertheless, Sophia slid towards the wall, sighing as she felt Jack's grip around her waist tighten. She carefully plucked his hand from her skin, letting it drop on the bed. Jack grunted quietly and rolled over.
Sophia padded out of the cabin and into the cold.
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Jack joined Sophia on the deck not soon after she had left his bed. The sun was just beginning to rise, silhouetting her against the red of the horizon. Jack noticed with troubled eyes that there was not a breath of wind; the sea looked like rosy glass.
She was leaning against the railing at the bow, her elbows supporting her weight, her face possessing an eerily beautiful crimson glow due to the sunrise. Jack walked up from behind, mimicking her stance beside her. It was a comfortable silence.
Jack could guess what she'd woken to, for he was accustomed to the company of the fairer sex, specifically in bed, and usually managed to have an arm or leg thrown across them in the morning after their "games". He was grateful that she had not woken him to a temper and screams, but instead had quietly slipped out.
She understood his ways at the strangest of times, and at others seemed to have no sympathy at all. He was still, after all this time, only beginning to understand her.
Sophia knew it was Jack without ever having to turn her head to look at him. Slowly, she reached down to touch his hand, her white fingertips only brushing his brown knuckles. And yet, she knew he would understand that she would not hold their waking arrangement against him.
Jack smiled faintly. They had been coexisting in an uneasy truce since their last kiss, but it seemed, however strange and backward it was, that spending the night in one another's arms had resolved their problem.
Sophia broke the silence after several more moments, her voice barely a whisper. "Rhododaktulos Eos."
Jack's smile grew to a grin, and, finally, he turned to face her, only to find her gazing wistfully out to sea, the red horizon reflected in the steel of her eyes. "You've been reading Homer, Sophie."
"Yes."
Jack was silent for a moment. "D'you miss him?"
Sophia sighed. "I miss my home. I miss trees and being able to run. I miss. . . God help me, I miss the dog that digs up my flowers. Do I miss James?" She dropped her head. Jack could see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, tiny crystals of mindless gleam. Tears meant nothing on this ship, and nothing could be done to dry them. One would find no solace at sea. Jack waited for her to speak.
"I don't know, Jack. Sometimes I miss him so much my heart aches, but sometimes," When I'm around you, "I don't even think of him." Sophia trailed off, growing silent in her confusion, before suddenly turning to him. "Do you think that is wrong?"
Jack grinned, a flash of gold against the red of the sky. "I don't 'ave much experience, love, but I think tha' 's alright t' forget for a time. . . else you'd go mad, wouldn't you?"
Sophia nodded, smiling. "Yes. I think you would."
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They were becalmed. Not a ripple of wind could be found across the glassy surface of the water, and the Black Pearl's sails were limp and dragging. The crew was antsy.
After Sophia had finished her work she took a walk, reacquainting herself with the Pearl. She was just going down the stairs that led to the crew's barracks when she overheard a conversation between several men around the corner.
"It's been a couple o' weeks now. . ."
"I know, mate, an' the storm las' night was th' worst we seen in a while. Now we's becalmed, who knows how long this's goin' t' last."
A third voice. "Wha' proof does Jack even 'ave that Ektibar's fortune even exists?"
"None, that's what."
"I'm waitin' a day or two for th' wind t' pick up, and if it doesn't. . . well, I hate t' do it t' Jack, but there's only so much a man can take, an' I think most o' the others would agree with me."
Sophia had heard enough.
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Sophia burst through Jack's cabin door in a flurry of movement and frustration. Jack glanced at her mildly. "Wha's wrong, Sophie?"
Sophia was breathless from unrest. "They're turning against you, Jack."
Jack shot her a calculating look from his seat at this desk where he was carefully mapping their route. "Who is?"
"The bloody crew, Jack! They're talking about mutiny, for Christ's sake!"
Sophia watched as Jack remained perfectly collected, but only someone who knew him as well as she did would notice the hint of fear that flashed in his eyes. He didn't speak, so Sophia continued.
"What did you expect? That they would accept this tale of yours? Half of them don't even believe the Fortunes exist. And with all the bad luck we've been having. . . they're talking about days, Jack. Why won't you at least tell them that we're going to Tortuga?"
Jack furrowed his brow, rising from his chair to stalk stiffly towards her. He didn't like admitting a weakness. The knowledge of their destination was his leverage, his defense against mutiny. "You know why, Sophia."
"This is becoming ridiculous, Jack. If I didn't know better, I would say you were paranoid. If you would only tell them something so that they wouldn't be sailing blind this could be solved."
"No. They won't mutiny as long as I'm th' only man on this ship tha' knows were their treasure is."
"They don't care about finding treasure anymore, Jack. They just want to get home and walk on land again."
Jack turned and walked back to his desk. "I'm th' captain o' this ship, Sophia."
Sophia stared at him, before muttering quietly to herself, "Honestly, if you acted like this the first time I think you may have deserved it."
It was a near whisper and Sophia had only really meant it in jest, but she could tell Jack heard it. He stopped moving, and she saw anger move in waves across the muscles of his shoulders and arms. She had finally gone to far.
Jack swiveled on his heel, and Sophia nearly cowered at the rage and betrayal in his eyes, flashing like amber fire in black. He strode quickly towards her, and –
CRACK.
Sophia stumbled sideways from the force of his blow and brought a hand up to her right cheek, her eyes stinging with pain.
"No one. . . no one deserves that," Jack hissed. He stood, chest heaving, the back of his right hand smarting. The little snake. Her comment had struck him deep, piercing a nerve deep in his heart that sent anger writhing through his limbs like a poison. But then, then he looked at her, his anger dissipating immediately as he spied the hurt and mistrust in her eyes. Jack had never struck a woman before. "Sophie. . ." He stepped towards her.
"You bastard," Sophia spat, rising to her full height and arching her arm through the air to connect soundly with his cheek in return for his blow. The resulting smack was nearly as loud as his had been.
Jack nodded slightly as his cheek quickly reddened to match the hue of hers, wholly accepting her reaction. He deserved much worse. Jack dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sophie." Carefully, he raised his hand to trace a finger across the angry red mark on her cheek. She winced, but did not stop him.
Sophia was still reeling from what had just happened. She could feel his fingers, light and cautious as butterfly wings, on her cheekbone. "If you ever do that again, so help me God, I will cut off what makes you a man while you sleep, Jack."
Jack smiled faintly at that. "Aye."
Sophia stepped closer to him, resting a palm on his shoulder as she inspected the soon-to-be-forming bruise on his cheek. "I should congratulate myself on a job well done, I think."
"Tha' was a good one, love. You've put Anamaria t' shame," Jack admitted, grinning.
Sophia was amazed to find herself lost in his eyes, yet again. He was searching her, looking for a hint about her reaction. She knew she should be feeling repulsed. This was a man who had struck her, who had hurt her. . . but she also knew he was a good person.
"I'm not sorry for that," Sophia placed the pad of her index finger against his inflamed cheek. "but I am sorry for what I said. It was. . . cruel," she breathed.
Jack trembled as her breath washed over his neck. How he wanted her. . . wanted to be inside her. Her close proximity was torture.
Sophia watched as a muscle worked in Jack's jaw. He had such a beautiful face, full of angles and perfect curves and black eyes. She was ready. Home was a distant memory now, meaningless hope. This man, he was reality.
Very slowly, Sophia tilted her head to kiss him.
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A/N: It's a little eerie how similar those sections from The Odyssey reflect Jack's life, huh?
Oh. . . If Sophia's cruel, I'm downright evil for leaving you guys like this. Sorry, but its late and I want to get this out before I fall asleep. Sorry it's taken so long, again. I'm trying, I promise! I really like this chapter, actually. There's really no dialogue in the first half, but I think it suits the mood.
Thanks to my reviewers. I love you all.
Educational Note: "Rhododaktulos Eos" means "rosy-fingered Dawn" in Greek. As many of you might know, this adjective saying is one often used in Homer's poetry, as is "clear-headed Telemakhos" or "grey-eyed Athena." Dawn is capitalized because it refers to the goddess of the dawn, and not dawn itself. "Rosy-fingered Dawn" is often used in other contexts, such as "When Dawn spread out her finger tips of rose. . ."
Now, everyone go read The Odyssey! Kidding, kidding. (You should, though. . . hehe.)
