A/N: Yes, a chapter about Carrick, my new found pirate dude!! Interesting fact: Carrick means rock in Gaelic. Which is a Celtic language!!! Anyhoo, if I haven't said it already, and if I already have I'll say it again, you guys rock and roll!!!
Chapter Twenty-Three: Carrick
Carrick watched as Jack slept on the large bed in the captain's quarters. He had always heard stories about the Black Pearl; since he had been old enough to understand words he was told story after story about the famous ship.
But even as a child those stories hadn't interested him much. They did less so now. Being a pirate was all the same: you went in, you killed, you took what you wanted and spent your riches on whatever your heart desired. He never understood it, its barbaric ways.
He sighed and wished as he so often did that his father had not been a pirate. He had never wanted to become one. He wasn't one. He just lived and worked as one. He had never killed a man, never raped, never looted anything, because none of that mattered to him.
He knew he could never have what his heart truly desired: to be understood and loved. All his life he had been treated as if he were less than human. Constantly being beaten, having harsh words being directed towards him.
He never understood why, even to this day. His brother had never been treated that way; perhaps it was because his brother had wanted to be just like his father, while Carrick himself preferred a more peaceful, honest life.
Ruefully he ran his hand against his jaw, feeling the old scar there, knowing that the pain he felt would never be erased. But he smiled at the remembrance of Alaina gently skimming her fingertips across it.
Her touch had been so caring, so gentle, as if she'd known of his past, of all his struggles. But she didn't, she knew only his name, and that he had saved her.
Sitting back in the chair, he silently pondered why he had jumped off the boat and unlocked the shackles when he could have just as easily stood there and watched her sink down into Davy Jones's locker.
He told himself it was because even if he'd died trying to save her, it would be a cause. But he knew that wasn't the truth. He didn't know what that truth was, but he did know there was something different about her. Something he didn't understand. She was like him: misunderstood, betrayed, having grown up too fast because of the circumstances of her life.
He was nineteen. Still an adolescent, yet he never considered himself one, nor did anyone else. He was considered a man, a wretched pirate, someone who knew a lot about life, and about the world. Too much.
Having read all those books when he was younger—anything he could get his hands on, really—he had educated himself well in the ways of civilizations, their medicines, and their foods. Even now he could be caught idly reading a book instead of sleeping or eating. Books had always fascinated him, unlike the pirate tales of old.
Books had always been a means of escape from his life, even if it was about the strange customs of some culture. They were always telling him something new.
"How long's he been asleep?" a voice asked, sending Carrick jumping from the chair to find Captain Sparrow staring at him, amused.
"About an hour," he replied, shaking his head and sitting back down.
He became increasingly nervous as the captain stood there, looking him over, assessing him. "You're a pirate on the Gray Morning?"
Carrick gave a small laugh. "No, but I do live there."
The captain pulled up a chair and sat down. "You live on a pirate ship and are not pirate."
Carrick nodded and grinned at the confused look on the older man's face. "I don't want to be a pirate, never have, never will. Just the circumstances of my life."
He was silent a few moments. "How old are you?"
Carrick tilted his head and looked at the man, puzzled at why he would ask that question. "Why?"
"How old are you?" the captain repeated again.
Carrick finally gave up. "Nineteen. Now tell me why you ask."
"Nineteen," Carrick heard the man muse to himself. "I was just wondering in case you had any interest in Alaina."
Carrick raised an eyebrow. "We've known one another not even three days, why would you think I would have any interest in her?"
"She's an attractive lass, but I'm sure you already noticed that," the captain explained.
"Looks aren't everything, Captain Sparrow," he reminded.
"But they don't hurt anything," the pirate replied with a sly grin.
"What are you getting at?" Carrick wanted to know.
"Well I was just saying, she's a little young to be involved with anyone. Don't you agree?"
Carrick sighed and shook his head. "Captain Sparrow, I can assure you that I have no intention of going beyond our already established friendship. However, I do not believe that she would prefer you proclaiming whether she's old enough for something or not as I am assuming she was with you when she got drunk the night before last?"
He saw the captain's grin disappear and knew he had struck a chord with him. "When he gets up, tell him to come and see me," the Captain said, pointing to Jack.
Carrick nodded and watched as the man got up and went out the door, leaving him again to think.
***
Chapter Twenty-Three: Carrick
Carrick watched as Jack slept on the large bed in the captain's quarters. He had always heard stories about the Black Pearl; since he had been old enough to understand words he was told story after story about the famous ship.
But even as a child those stories hadn't interested him much. They did less so now. Being a pirate was all the same: you went in, you killed, you took what you wanted and spent your riches on whatever your heart desired. He never understood it, its barbaric ways.
He sighed and wished as he so often did that his father had not been a pirate. He had never wanted to become one. He wasn't one. He just lived and worked as one. He had never killed a man, never raped, never looted anything, because none of that mattered to him.
He knew he could never have what his heart truly desired: to be understood and loved. All his life he had been treated as if he were less than human. Constantly being beaten, having harsh words being directed towards him.
He never understood why, even to this day. His brother had never been treated that way; perhaps it was because his brother had wanted to be just like his father, while Carrick himself preferred a more peaceful, honest life.
Ruefully he ran his hand against his jaw, feeling the old scar there, knowing that the pain he felt would never be erased. But he smiled at the remembrance of Alaina gently skimming her fingertips across it.
Her touch had been so caring, so gentle, as if she'd known of his past, of all his struggles. But she didn't, she knew only his name, and that he had saved her.
Sitting back in the chair, he silently pondered why he had jumped off the boat and unlocked the shackles when he could have just as easily stood there and watched her sink down into Davy Jones's locker.
He told himself it was because even if he'd died trying to save her, it would be a cause. But he knew that wasn't the truth. He didn't know what that truth was, but he did know there was something different about her. Something he didn't understand. She was like him: misunderstood, betrayed, having grown up too fast because of the circumstances of her life.
He was nineteen. Still an adolescent, yet he never considered himself one, nor did anyone else. He was considered a man, a wretched pirate, someone who knew a lot about life, and about the world. Too much.
Having read all those books when he was younger—anything he could get his hands on, really—he had educated himself well in the ways of civilizations, their medicines, and their foods. Even now he could be caught idly reading a book instead of sleeping or eating. Books had always fascinated him, unlike the pirate tales of old.
Books had always been a means of escape from his life, even if it was about the strange customs of some culture. They were always telling him something new.
"How long's he been asleep?" a voice asked, sending Carrick jumping from the chair to find Captain Sparrow staring at him, amused.
"About an hour," he replied, shaking his head and sitting back down.
He became increasingly nervous as the captain stood there, looking him over, assessing him. "You're a pirate on the Gray Morning?"
Carrick gave a small laugh. "No, but I do live there."
The captain pulled up a chair and sat down. "You live on a pirate ship and are not pirate."
Carrick nodded and grinned at the confused look on the older man's face. "I don't want to be a pirate, never have, never will. Just the circumstances of my life."
He was silent a few moments. "How old are you?"
Carrick tilted his head and looked at the man, puzzled at why he would ask that question. "Why?"
"How old are you?" the captain repeated again.
Carrick finally gave up. "Nineteen. Now tell me why you ask."
"Nineteen," Carrick heard the man muse to himself. "I was just wondering in case you had any interest in Alaina."
Carrick raised an eyebrow. "We've known one another not even three days, why would you think I would have any interest in her?"
"She's an attractive lass, but I'm sure you already noticed that," the captain explained.
"Looks aren't everything, Captain Sparrow," he reminded.
"But they don't hurt anything," the pirate replied with a sly grin.
"What are you getting at?" Carrick wanted to know.
"Well I was just saying, she's a little young to be involved with anyone. Don't you agree?"
Carrick sighed and shook his head. "Captain Sparrow, I can assure you that I have no intention of going beyond our already established friendship. However, I do not believe that she would prefer you proclaiming whether she's old enough for something or not as I am assuming she was with you when she got drunk the night before last?"
He saw the captain's grin disappear and knew he had struck a chord with him. "When he gets up, tell him to come and see me," the Captain said, pointing to Jack.
Carrick nodded and watched as the man got up and went out the door, leaving him again to think.
***
