Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13
Chapter Title: 10. Salt in a Wound
Summary: The Black Pearl raids another merchant ship. Extraneous circumstances lead to Matthew being compromised.
Timeline: Wednesday, May 25, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

Jack sighed dramatically. Why can't they just make this easier on themselves, on my crew, and on me? he thought. But no, they have to throw their little temper-tantrum and try to sink my ship. Idiots. He shook his head. They would simply have to learn the hard way.

Another merchant ship had tempted the Black Pearl and her crew. Unfortunately, this one would not be had so easily. The Jolly Roger had not even been raised yet, and already they had started firing upon her. Perhaps such asinine behaviour was intended to discourage the pirates, but it had the opposite effect. He smiled.

He was only slight nervous. He preferred such encounters to be as free from violence as possible, because violence often led to being forced to kill someone, which was often unpleasant, however necessary. It wasn't just that the act of killing was distasteful, it was really messy all around. You kill someone, and then someone else wants to kill you as an act of revenge for the death of whoever it was that you killed, and then maybe someone else wants to get revenge for your death, and so on and so forth.

Jack knew what it was like to lose someone. He'd been through it before, nearly eleven years ago, when he had learned that Barbossa had murdered Bootstrap. The same spiral of death has played out them. Barbossa had left him to die on that island. In retaliation, Bootstrap sentenced the entire crew to eternal damnation by sending a piece of the treasure to his son. In anger, Barbossa tied Bootstrap to a cannon and drowned him. As a result, Jack had been forced to avenge both himself and his own best friend. He would prefer not to be the target of ten years of dreams and plans of hatred and murder, as Barbossa had been to him.

Of course, Jack wasn't a lying bastard. Sure, he twisted the truth, withheld information, took advantage of loopholes... but then, wasn't that what Barbossa did? When had the man outright lied? He hadn't. This is too frustrating! I keep comparing myself to him. I'm not him. I didn't leave anybody on an island to die of starvation. I didn't incite anybody's crew to mutiny and leave their captain to die of starvation on some god forsaken island in the middle of nowhere, and I didn't kill Bootstrap... I only... wait.

Jack shook his head. Stop thinking about it, you're the captain of this ship, you're currently under attack or attacking, whichever, and you can't afford to be arguing the cause of his death with yourself, he commanded himself, not entirely convinced. With great effort, he reverted to the here and now, to the snap and flash of battle, to the roar of cannons and muskets and the unruly threats and screams of his crew. He grinned.

Yes, death was messy, but the utter chaos and confusion of the fray was unbeatable. The determined snarls of his crew, the shouting and the shrieking of curses and threats, and the glinting of cutlasses beneath the afternoon sun: all these reminded him why he had chosen this life. "Grapnels, ready!" he shouted, drawing his own sword.

Matt, on the quarterdeck below, looked up at him. Sparrow was quite the sight: his hat was perched atop his head, the slight rim of his bandanna visible on his brow and his wild hair wind-tossed while he held his cutlass above his head. The grin he wore was positively dangerous, and his dark eyes seemed almost joyful. Matthew held the rope in one hand, his cutlass in the other. A peaceful boarding was always pleasant, but there was something about the flash and bang of battle that could not be matched, and prizes well-earned.

"Get over there, y'scurvy dogs!" came the order at last, and Matthew was only too glad to obey. There was a slight knot in his gut as he swung over, in the brief moments when he dangled over the ocean between. However, his feet swiftly found the opposite deck, and his sword soon met another. Steel clashed against steel, and Matthew beamed savagely at his opponent.

"Arr!" he growled, parrying his opponent's thrust. He feinted with the cutlass, and made a quick kick at the other man's feet. His boot connected with the man's kneecap, and Matt smiled with satisfaction as the man tumbled over the nearby railing and into the sea. They'd fish him out later. He raised his sword to block another attack, inordinately pleased with himself when his assailant's weapon flew out of his hand.

It was a long fight. The other crew was not willing to give up, but neither were the pirates, outnumbered as they were. Jack's crew aimed mainly to disarm their opponents, and possibly render them unconscious or otherwise incapable of defense. Bloodshed was typically avoided by the crew of the Pearl, unless absolutely necessary. However, they did a good job at convincing the honest sailors that they were savage and cruel, out for the blood of their victims.

After nearly three hours of fighting, the crew of Sheila's Heart surrendered. They were disarmed and bound to the mast, while the crew of the Pearl went about their business of lifting whatever valuables could be found. Captain Jack Sparrow stood near the captain of the other ship, idly fondling the handle of his cutlass. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, and nothing could erase the feral grin he wore upon his lips. He watched with satisfaction as most of his crew carried various crates, boxes and barrels from this ship to his own. I think I saw one labeled 'rum' a little while ago. I wonder if it's a good vintage.

He noticed the young man, Matthew, standing not too far from him. He was watching the prisoners, his own cutlass in hand. Good lord, that's a beautiful sword, Jack thought, eyeing the handiwork. The whelp really outdid himself on that one. True pirate's cutlass, it is. Worth a fortune in gold, and he gave it to Matt as a gift. 'Cos he liked him. He always wondered what made non-pirates do such stupid things, like give things away for nothing. When this old thing of mine gets worn out, I know where I'm going for my next one.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden bolt of thunder which split his eardrums, the faint scent of smoke and gunpowder. He felt every muscle in his body tense as he searched for the source of the bullet and its destination. A man was standing on the rail, clasping a rope in one hand. He was soaked, evidently having fallen overboard earlier. We missed him, Jack realized. Shit. A smoking pistol was in his other hand.

Matthew was staring at him, slack-jawed. The young man closed his mouth, blinking in shock. The cutlass in his left hand clattered to the ground. He fell backwards. Jack stared at him for what seemed forever. There was red seeping on the planks beneath him. Yet those moments that seemed eternal lasted less than seconds.

Jack didn't have time to react: his crew was already on it. The sailor was quickly knocked off the rail, disarmed, and hauled over with the rest of the prisoners. Not a word was said. The captain rushed over, and kneeled on the ground next to his fallen crewmember, who seemed to be out cold. He wasted no time on turning the man's body over, looking for the source of the blood. He found it in a matter of moments: his left shoulder, in the back.

Why isn't anybody saying anything? he wondered, looking around. But lips were moving. He couldn't hear them. He shook his head. Too strange, he thought. He stood, lifting the body at the same time. "I'm putting him in my cabin," he announced, but his own voice was distant, as if were coming to him from a great distance. More distant voices answered him, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He shook his head.

"Who here is a doctor?" the Captain of the Black Pearl asked in a surprisingly even tone, looking at each member of the captured crew exactly. His hearing had returned moments later, but he had been temporarily deafened by the gunshot. His eyes trailed lazily from one person to the next. Nobody else moved, but Jack Sparrow strolled casually back and forth. "Well?"

Jack sighed. These men did not believe in making anything easy. Instead, they delighted in complicating things. "I see," he said. "Gibbs?"

"Yessir?" was the obedient reply.

"Choose two of these men, and shoot them."

"Aye, sir."

"What?!" demanded a voice. Jack spun to find its source; it was the same man who had shot Matthew.

"Well," he replied, "you won't tell me who here is the doctor. You leave me no choice but to shoot two of you. That way, the doctor among you will be forced to reveal himself or let two of you fine men bleed to death." There was a pause. "Gibbs, who's it going to be?"

Gibbs opened his mouth to reply, but instead a soft, defeated tone was heard from nearby. "I am, sir."

"Ah! Good." A pause. "Release him." When the doctor's bonds were cut, Jack motioned. "Follow me, my good sir."

Dr. Gregory Haddon was rather amused. He could hear footsteps outside of the room, back and forth. The pirate captain, one Jack Sparrow, had been pacing outside of the door for over an hour, trying not to seem concerned. He might have succeeded, if the doctor, now an old man who had been practicing medicine for forty years, were not so used to the products of nervousness: a tapping foot, tendency to look about aimlessly, the tendency to pace. Yes, Jack Sparrow was a nervous man, though Dr. Haddon doubted that his crew would be smart enough to recognize the signs, and probably thought him merely concerned, or having nothing better to do with his time than wander aimlessly outside of the kid's door. He had wanted to be in the room for surgery, but he had forbidden it. It was probably a good thing. Nervousness might have become shock.

The bullet had gone in the shoulder blade and out the other side with ease. Matthew, then, was fortunate. The bullet otherwise would probably have remained lodged, an uncomfortable proposition. It had broken his collarbone. Fortunately, despite the fact that the shock had knocked him unconscious, he would probably live. If you could call 'him' that.

Standing, he went across the door and opened the door. Jack looked at the doctor expectantly, his expression serious despite a slight smile which curved the corner of his lip. "So," he said, "how's the kid, doc?"

The elderly man looked at him, adjusting his glasses. "Well, he'll be fine. Keep the arm in the sling and bandages I rigged for six weeks, maybe eight to be safe, don't try to movie it, and it should heal fine. However, Mr. Sparrow..."

"Captain," he corrected the doctor, then arched a brow curiously. "However?"

"She's pregnant."

"What?" Confusion was clearly written on the pirate's face. Pregnant? It wasn't possible. In fact, it was physically impossible for Matthew to be pregnant.

"'He' is a woman. And she is pregnant." There was a very long pause.

"...That's interesting," Jack said at last.

Author's note: Poor Matthew, revealed at last. This chapter felt a little rushed, but I really want to write the next one. Matt is left handed. I may go back and add that into the chapter where he gets his sword earlier. I dunno. I'm going to go work on chapter eleven now, since I'm probably going to post them at the same time. Chapter eleven is already half done, I wrote it a week or so ago. :P

Review Responses:

Reese Sparrow: grin I'm glad you like it. And yes, she is definitely pregnant.

heather321: Caroline will be explained later. I'm glad you liked it otherwise though.