Disclaimer: PotC isn't mine.
A/N: Thank you Thank you Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews. Now, as promised . . . more Jack!
Chapter Twenty Six:
Sleep. All he wanted was to lock himself inside of his cabin, and sleep straight through the days sailing back to Kingston. His muscles ached. His head throbbed. The brand beneath the simple white bandage still burned every time he moved his arm. Physical pain, however, Prescott could handle. As Captain of a King's ship, many times he had worked through pain as an example to his men. But, this was different. His body was tired, but his soul was worn out. His whole life, Prescott had known who he was and what he believed. In the space of three days, everything he had believed about pirates, about Chris, about Annie, and about himself had changed. Two years ago, Prescott knew that pirates were the enemy and Chris Laffley was a friend. Today, he had saved the life of a pirate and threatened to kill Laffley. Today, he found himself worrying about Jack Sparrow and not sparing a second thought for his sister's husband. Sleep. All he wanted was sleep. Instead, he had been summoned to Captain Norrington's cabin, and he was very much awake. At least, he was dry.
"Ah, Prescott," James' voice greeted, much more cordially than any of their recent conversations. "Please, sit," he said gesturing to the pair of leather chairs sitting in front of his desk. "You must be exhausted."
Urging his tired body to make the few more steps to the chair, Prescott sat down and hoped that James didn't hear the sigh of relief breathed by each of his muscles. Exhausted was an understatement. At the end of his rope, on the verge of collapse, and completely done in would have been closer to the truth.
James crossed the room and picked up a pair of crystal glasses. "Scotch?"
"Please," Prescott's mouth began to water. Maybe he could just drink enough to pass out, then he would be allowed to sleep in his cabin all the way home. Better yet, maybe he could drink enough to still be drunk when they reached port. Then, someone would have to carry him all the way home to his own bed.
No, when he arrived home, his real life would be waiting for him. Bridget would be waiting for him. Bridget would never allow him the sleep he craved. Drunk or otherwise, she would demand that Prescott explain himself the second he reached Kingston. He had been absent far longer than he had told her. Who know what kind of state she would be in. She'd probably storm down to the docks the moment she heard of his arrival. She would make a scene, of that there was no doubt. So much for sleep.
"Do you want ice?"
"You have ice on board?" Prescott wondered aloud.
James nodded. "Do you want any?"
"I want the bottle," he answered.
"Straight up, then," James said, handing the other officer a rather full glass.
"What's the occasion?" Prescott asked. "What're we drinking to?"
"You, of course," Norrington answered. Usually, James would have sat at his desk. He was the Captain. This was his ship. Instead, he sat in the other leather chair next to Prescott. Perhaps, he and James were still friends, even after all that had transpired. "After all, you're the hero of the hour. Leaping into the sea to save a Royal from almost certain death."
Prescott's lips curled into a smile as he raised his glass. "Heard about that, did you?"
James returned the smile. "I think I shall leave that bit out of my official report."
"I'll drink to that," Prescott gulped down another mouthful of the delicious liquid. Definitely better than rum, Sparrow, however, would have given him the bottle.
"Are you going to offer some sort of explanation? Or will you make me guess?"
"You won't like it."
"Jack Sparrow is involved, so, that I won't like it, goes without saying."
"He came along to free the prisoners. One of them asked who he was," Prescott paused. "I had already told them that the East India agents were, in reality, pirates. I didn't think they'd understand if I told them that Sparrow was a 'good' pirate."
"So, royalty was what you came up with?"
Prescott grinned. "Brilliant, aren't I?" He continued speaking before James could offer an opinion. "So, who've you got sailing your new fleet back to Kingston?"
"Lieutenant Billings is on Nefarious. I haven't got anyone on the other ship yet."
"James, all I want is a nap. Please, tell me you didn't ask me to your cabin to take command of her," Prescott sighed, covering his eyes with his hand.
"Don't worry, my friend. If I gave you charge of her, I may never see her again."
"Captain Norrington, are you implying that I would abscond with a prize of the King's Navy?" Prescott winked as he swallowed the last mouthful of scotch.
"After the past few days, I have no idea what you might try to do. So, for the mean time, I prefer to keep you where I can see you," James smiled. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."
"And which am I, James?"
"Can I get back to you?"
Prescott laughed.
"In all seriousness, Prescott," James started, his face echoing his tone. "Why did you do it? Why save Sparrow's life?"
Not answering right away, Prescott thought off the numerous reasons that he had for saving the pirate. He did not know if James would understand any of them, but he was through lying . . . at least for now. "I gave him my word," he answered simply.
"That you'd save him if he ever fell into the ocean?"
"That I would get him out of any trouble I caused him."
James' brows came together. "Does being captive aboard one of His Majesty's ships constitute trouble."
"It does," Prescott answered, his face remaining impassive.
"When we get to Kingston, I will take Sparrow to the fort. He will be their prisoner until his execution."
"I know you will take him to the fort," Prescott regarded James sternly. "But, Jack Sparrow will not hang."
88888
Anamaria hesitated at the entrance to the sick berth. Jack was in a hammock on the far side of the dimly lit room. A young man that Ana recognized as the same Mr. Daniels who was supposedly Prescott's sailing master was seated on a small stool next to the pirate. His elbows were on his knees and his chin was resting on top of his folded hands. He was staring intently at Jack, as though the pirate would disappear if he were to look away. The pirate Captain's eyes were closed, the dark kohl forming thick lines across his all to pale face. Paler still, however, was the young man sitting next to Sparrow's hammock.
The man did not turn around as Ana crossed the room. He only noticed her presence when she put her hand reassuringly on his shoulder, and even then, he did not look at her. The only indication that he knew Ana stood beside him, was the tensing of his shoulder muscles beneath her hand.
"You were a member of his crew," Ana said, her voice soft, "not my brother's." Ana took in the scar that encircled his neck and the bandages covering the bullet wound on his shoulder. The man was lacking in years, but not, apparently, in experience. Ana's eyes drifted to the bandages wrapped tightly around Jack's midsection. Both of these men and fought and suffered on her account.
Finally the young pirate cast a glance at Ana. He nodded, indicating that his loyalties ultimately lie with Sparrow, then returned his eyes to his fallen Captain. "You're Anamaria, then," he said quietly.
She thought she heard an accusation in the young man's voice. As if her were blaming her for the injuries Jack sustained. Biting her lip, Ana realized that he was not wrong. Jack never would have been shot, if he had not have come after her. He would have been miles from this spot, probably happily drinking rum. Instead, he was in the sick berth of Captain Norrington's ship. Prescott may have saved him from drowning, but for what? Jack would be delivered to the hangman the moment they reached port. The brand on Jack's arm had been re-bandaged, but the white strips could not hide the crimes he had committed from Norrington's watchful eyes. Looking at the pirate, struggling to heal, Ana wondered if death in battle would be preferable to death at the hangman's noose.
"He'll be okay," Ana offered, weakly.
"Your 'usband better 'ope so," Daniels shot back, his anger evident in his tone.
"What?" Expecting him to be without hope or depressed, Ana was caught completely off guard by the young pirate's rage.
"E's the one who shot the Capt'n."
Ana's throat went dry, and her heart started to hammer inside of her chest. Christopher? Chris shot Jack? The dark room began to lurch from side to side. Her ears rang and her vision blurred. Chris shot Jack? Ana shook her head in an effort to regain some sense of equilibrium, but the room only spun faster and faster. Chris shot Jack?
"Are ye alright?" the man was asking her, but his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.
He wasn't trying to die in peace. He wasn't trying to make up for past sins. He was completing unfinished business. He was still lying, and he was still trying to hurt her. Chris shot Jack? . . . Chris shot Jack. Of course he did.
"Miss?" The young man was standing beside her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Ye didn't know, did ye?"
"No," Ana's voice cracked and tears flooded her eyes. She was more responsible for Jack's injuries than she knew. Her own husband was the one wielding the gun, but she was responsible. Jack came after her. He would have steered clear of Lucky Laffley if not for her. If Jack Sparrow died, his blood would be on her hands. She had caused this.
"Sit down, Miss," the young pirate helped Ana to the stool he had recently vacated. "Let me go find ye some water?"
Looking through unseeing eyes, Ana nodded weakly.
"Chris did this," she said out loud, as soon as she was alone in the sick berth. Closing her eyes, Ana brought her fingers to her temples. Hearing the words only fueled her contempt, for herself as well as her husband. To think, she had been blinded by his charm, by his half-hearted explanations and pitiful apologies. She was such a fool. She had let that son of a . . . She had let him come between her and all that she really cared about.
Prescott. Her heart ached as she recalled the pain she had seen in his face. A decorated officer in the Royal Navy had been beaten, battered and branded a pirate . . . for his little sister. Prescott had tried to warn her. He had tried to tell her about Chris' lies, about who Chris truly was. She had refused to listen. Not just that, she had called Prescott the liar. She had been wary of his motivations. She had questioned the one person in her life who had always done what was right by her . . . Her own brother!
Jack. Ana remembered his eyes only hours earlier when he had appeared on deck and confronted Christopher.
"You're mad, Sparrow," Chris countered. "I was captive, not Captain, aboard that ship."
For the first time, the pirate's eyes caught Anamaria's stare. "Really?" he said.
Jack had asked her for assistance. He had looked to her. He knew Chris for who he really was and asked her to corroborated his claim. She had said nothing. She had not spoken up for him, and by her silence she betrayed him. He had given her a chance and she had failed him.
Tears dropped on to the wooden floor boards. "Can you ever forgive me?" she whispered. She reached out to take Jack's hand, and was utterly shocked when the ailing pirate pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed her.
Gazing up, Ana met Jack's dark eyes. The eyes that had been so cold up on deck now burned warm and bright. The walls that kept the world from getting to close were still standing, just beneath the surface of those dark pools, but he was no longer shutting her out completely.
"Aye, luv. I can forgive ye," his voice was weary, but his smile was genuine.
"Jack," Ana said the pirate's name. "My God, Jack. I was so . . . I mean . . . I thought you were –"
"Me too," Sparrow interrupted before Ana was able to give words to all of her fears. "What happened?"
Ana exhaled a shaky breath. "You were shot," she said.
"Aye. Remember tha' bit," Jack's eyes traveled to his bandaged torso. Haltingly, he brought his hand to his stomach and seemed to assess the damage. Ana's eyes clamped shut when he winced at the pain the small action caused.
"You fell overboard," she continued. "Prescott went in after you."
The pirate ceased his action. A strange smile passed over his lips, as though he'd been the only one to hear a joke. "He did." His words were not a question, and Ana got the feeling Jack had known the answer before he'd asked.
"Jack?" she said. "Can I ask you something?"
The pirate nodded.
"What happened on Intrepid? What happened between you and Chris?"
A shadow seemed to descend over Jack's eyes. If he was struggling between the desire to tell her or not, the struggle was not reflected in his face, but for a further darkening of his eyes and a slight twitching of the muscles in his jaw.
Sliding to the edge of the stool so that her face was close to the pirate's. She tightened her grip on his hand, she hoped, reassuringly. "Jack, I need to know," she said, her voice low.
"The counterattack against the pirates was Laffley's idea, but he was worried that the senior officer would take all of the credit," the pirate did not look at her as he spoke. His voice was calm and steady, but Ana knew from past experience that Jack Sparrow did not talk about his past. The calm façade was hiding an inner turmoil, a chaotic mix of memories and pain. Each word seemed to be a separate battle fought. "So, Laffley made certain that his senior officer would never get the chance to steal his glory."
"He left you for dead," Ana finished softly.
The pirate's dark eyes flashed. Sitting up, Sparrow snarled, "Lieutenant Laffley shot his senior officer, knocked him unconscious and left him lying on the deck of a sinking ship!" His voice hitched and he hissed against the pain of the movement. Falling back on the hammock, he closed his eyes and sighed. Obviously he was not asleep, but just as obvious was the fact that this conversation was over.
Noiselessly, Ana rose from the stool. Making her way to the door, Ana could barely see through the tears welling up in her eyes. What kind of a monster had she married? His whole life, their whole life, had been built on lies. And she, such a naive fool, believed every word that the dashing Captain Laffley said. She would gaze, starry eyed, into his face and buy into each one of his tales of deception.
"Annie?" Prescott's voice stopped her in the hall.
Bowing her head, Ana could not meet her brother's eyes.
"Are you alright?" he asked. "Mr. Daniels said you were acting strangely."
"He did?" she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her words.
"He did."
"I'm fine," she lied. "Just tired."
88888
She was lying. Something was wrong, and she was not fine.
"I'm going to get some fresh air, then I think I'll take a nap," Ana finished, before hurrying away down the corridor.
A nap. All he wanted was a nap. Instead, he continued down the hall to the sick berth. Sparrow was laying in a hammock strung in the far corner of the small room. His eyes were closed, but, somehow, Prescott knew the pirate was awake. Crossing the room, he sat down beside Sparrow. Sighing, he ran his hands over his face.
"You look awful," the pirate's haggard voice broke the silence.
"An impromptu swim will do that," Prescott replied.
Sparrow's face remained stern, "I owe you one, for that," he said.
Mirroring the pirate's expression, Prescott said, "I'll consider the debt repaid if you will kindly refrain from doubting my word again . . . ever."
Jack smiled and raised an eyebrow. "I suppose we have an accord," he said, extending his hand.
Shaking the pirate's hand, Prescott was about to reply but his words were cut off by a bone chilling scream. A woman's scream.
"Anamaria," Jack said immediately.
Prescott, off and running from the sick berth, hardly heard Sparrow's words. Forgetting his protesting muscles and his longing for sleep, the officer raced up the stairs and through the narrow halls of the ship towards the direction of his sister's cries. As he approached her cabin, he was met with a small crowd of marines.
"What's going on here?" he demanded.
The redcoats parted to reveal Captain Norrington standing outside of the cabin Annie had shared with Chris. She was in his arms, and he was trying to prevent her from entering the open cabin. James' eyes locked onto Prescott's. His face was grim, he gestured with one hand for Prescott to look in the cabin.
Moving to the door, Prescott stared into the small room. Chris Laffley was on the bed, a vacant expression in his light brown eyes. The hilt of his cutlass protruded from his chest and blood spilled out from numerous wounds and fell to the floor slowly creeping towards the door.
"Your luck's finally run out," Prescott said under his breath.
TBC
Well, what do you think of all that? Please, leave me a review and let me know.
YumaFlowering: You were right about Prescott's age, I have him at 33 during this story. He's about the same age as Norry, eight years older than Ana and probably a few years older than Jack. Prescott is one of those guys who always wanted to sail. So, I would say he entered the Navy as early as possible, which I believe is about twelve years old. As for Bridget, well, I'll get to her in the next few chappys!