She had not spoken a word to him since the graveyard. Nearly a day had passed in silence; the only sounds that reached them were the creak of the hull, and the rumblings of feet and voices from the upper decks. Stowaways, tucked behind barrels of salted fish, the smell overpowering their own. It was Jack who spoke first, unable to tolerate the quiet, and thus the reminder of an absence of his own heartbeat, any longer.
"Try to look on the bright side." he said, and pantomimed rapping the nearest barrel with his bejeweled knuckles. "We could be in the barrels." Elizabeth looked at him, but didn't smile. "Look, love, you're going to have to speak eventually. You're cursed, not dead."
She gave him a thoughtful glance; and he thought he saw a glimmer of humor, sparkling at the edge of her hooded eyes.
"Not much call for salted pirate, I suppose."
"That's a girl."
The obvious course was Tortuga- from there, they could quietly gather the whereabouts of the Pearl; and ascertain how much the crew, and the general scoundrel population, really knew about Jack's death in the noose. Or rather, how much they thought they knew. The merchant ship they'd stolen passage on was due to land there by nightfall, and the voyaging had been smooth. Once the crew was on shore carousing, the pair could easily slip past the few guards remaining in the cabins, and head for the taverns Gibbs preferred. There remained, however, one hitch in the plan.
"They're going to run screaming from us." Elizabeth pointed out. "We're walking corpses."
"Pretty ones." he yawned, itching the back of his neck.
"Jack !"
"Here, to the rescue." he swept up a length of abandoned canvas and hacked through it with his knife. "Enough for two of us. Wrap it around your head like so- no, you daft woman. Not a turban. A hood. Draw your sleeves down." She did as she was told. It was a passable disguise, if awkward and unfashionable. Jack stuffed a mass of unruly hair and scarf into his hood, and in doing so gave himself the appearance of a tired and disgusted bear, forced into man's clothes. Elizabeth tried not to laugh, and failed miserably, chuckling like a schoolgirl.
"You look quite stupid." she sputtered out. His eyes, always dark and often unreadable, turned a murky, depthless black. Hood and all, he leaned in, arms at her side, his body three inches, two inches, one inch from hers. She became uncomfortably aware that the heat from his body, unlike the heartbeat, was still extremely present; and he filled her nostrils with the smell of the sea.
"I'm sure, Miss Swann," he enunciated perfectly, taking the name between his teeth like a dagger; "that on most days of your life, someone has told you how beautiful you are." Coral-colored lips hovered above her cheek as he inclined his head, to speak directly into her earlobe. It was the most exciting thing her earlobe had ever experienced. "You are, indeed, one of the loveliest roses to ever bloom in the Caribbean." Her own body, in a betrayal worse than the one she had inflicted upon it, unconsciously raised itself, desperately mimicking the curve of his body. "However," he added, his breath warm in her hair, "that decreases somewhat when you are acting like a pain in the ass."
He stood up, leaving her on the floor, face red and as helplessly open as a child's. "Time to go." was all he said, not unkindly; and after a moment, she rose and followed him.
Their path through the town was a swift one, since neither wished to stop and engage in any conversation that might lead to the removal of the sack hoods, and the exposure of the less-than-fresh persons beneath. At a sign bearing a horse's shoe and a sail, Jack stopped abruptly. "Possibility." he said, and pushed the door open. Noise and light spilled out into the street; a mixture of women's laughter and men's growls.
At a table in the corner, when her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Gibbs, hunched over a tankard nearly the size of his head. And was he- no. Impossible. He raised his head then, forever banishing any doubt that those were tears running down his craggy face.
"It weren't fair !" he bawled. "Not fair at all." he hiccupped twice and took another pull at the mug. "'E weren't a bad soul." Ana, on the bench beside him, gave her own glass dark looks. The rest of the crew seemed to be moping on a scattering of table. It was obvious what version of the tale they'd been told.
"To Jack." someone said, and a chorus of voices answered. "Who weren't a bad soul."
"Just misguided." sighed a familiar voice. It belonged, in fact, to the man in question; who had seated himself at the far side of the table, to better hear any further words about himself.
"Jack !"
"Jack !"
"It's impossible !"
"And to think," he grinned, pulling the hood back, "I nearly missed my own wake." he noticed Elizabeth, at the edges of the group, and pulled her forward by the wrist. "Yours too, I suppose." he gave her a lopsided smile that made her both forgive him; and think dangerous, regrettable things. They gathered around her in surprise, patting her on the shoulder and giving respectful nods that were rusty with disuse. Jack watched everything, and smiled, and did not let go of her hand for a long minute. "Get the greetings out. Done ? Then back to business." he commanded. "Now, where's the Pearl ?"