Title: Of the Sea
Rating: PG-13 / R due to description of rape, see warning below
Chapter Title: 12. At Fault
Summary: Miriam tells Jack about what happened aboard the Cain.
Timeline: Wednesday, May 25, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

Warning: There is a slightly graphic description of rape in this chapter. If you don't want to read it, skip over the section in italics.

The pistol was on his desk. He picked it up, turned it over in his hands. It was a beautiful pistol, almost as nice as his, with dark stained and embossed wood and silver inlay. It was a flintlock with a single barrel, potentially German in origin, probably worth six guineas, maybe seven. Matthew needed a pistol anyway. He corrected himself. Miriam.

He wondered if that was her real name, or just another that she offered. Miriam Sharp. Turning his head, he looked at her. She was asleep, and looked much more peaceful than she had earlier. Some of the colour had returned to her face, and Jack thought she almost looked pretty. It had been a shock to him, but now when he looked at her, he wondered how anyone had ever been fooled. Yet the crew was none the wiser; none suspected that Matthew might be a woman. Jack would never had thought it, but now he recognized the delicate nature of her features, the subtle fullness of her lips, the unnatural grace with which she moved.

She seems so familiar, he thought, trying to think where he might have seen her before. If he had, the memories were blurred beyond recognition. She had claimed the story of her past was mostly true, and he had believed her. Perhaps it was. Matthew had not once referred to himself as the son of his parents. She was obviously experienced as a pirate, though she had been brutalized in the recent past.

Pregnant. What was the girl supposed to do with a baby created by such horrible circumstances? It wouldn't surprise him if she opted to try and get rid of the child, and he wouldn't blame her. Among the civilized gentry, abortion was considered sick and wrong, but what did they know?

Miriam awoke several hours later in Jack's bed. Jack himself was slumped over his desk, pistol still in his hand. She might have been worried, but she could see the way his shoulders moved with his breath. His face was obscured by his hair, though for once his hat rested next to him instead of atop his head. She groaned inwardly, remembering what had happened before. Pregnant. What am I supposed to do with a baby? she asked herself. She wanted to gag at the memory.

I was raped, she said to herself experimentally. She felt numb. She had cried until she'd thought her lungs would burst, until she had no tears of self-pity left. The memory had returned now. The defiant screams still rung in her ears, as did the jeers and shouts of her assailants, and the many ways in which she had been repeatedly violated. Yes, she could remember now, and all she wished for was to forget.

Her various attempts to prop herself up with her one arm failed. Her left arm was rigged in a sling across her stomach, and she could feel the bandages which encased her shoulder and chest. The shirt which had previously been draped over her was now twisted around her waist.

She supposed if she were a woman of more dignity she would be ashamed to be shirtless beneath the covers, with Jack Sparrow asleep on his desk across the room. However, she saw very little need to be modest. Once, when she had gone by the name Raven, she had been heralded as one of the most beautiful women in Tortuga. Things were changed now. Men would not desire her battered body, her swollen breasts, bruised hips and thighs. She had become ugly.

Jack stirred. With a groan, he sat up, looked around dazedly. Miriam forced a half smile, staring at the ceiling. Though she did not meet his eyes, she could feel him looking at her. She willed him to come over to where she lay, in hopes that he would help her to sit up. She heard his footsteps, and he sat again in the chair near the bed.

"You're awake," he said helpfully. She nodded up at him, tried again to sit up. Without a single word needed, he slipped an arm under her back and pushed her upwards. She clutched the blanket to her chest while he rearranged the pillows into a form that would support her as she leaned back on them. He was holding a pistol, and she wondered at its origins. He put it in her lap. "Yours," he informed her.

"What?" He could see the surprise written on her face. He didn't smile, just shrugged his shoulders.

"You got shot with it. That makes it yours."

"Oh."

She looked at it, but feared to handle it, lest she lose hold on the cover she covered herself with. Despite being sure of her undesirable nature, she had no intention of uncovering her nakedness for him to see. Understanding her position, he lifted the pistol again, turned it over for her to examine it in its entirety. When she nodded in an indication that her inspection of the weapon was complete, her put it on a table within arm's reach. She looked at him, brows furrowed slightly. Jack looked almost sad, disappointed somehow.

Miriam herself was depressed. She was waiting for him to tell her that they would be going back to Tortuga, where she would be unloaded and left to fend for herself. She tried to remember how long it had been since Jack had announced that she was welcome aboard his ship as a permanent crew member. Three weeks. She had begun to feel almost a friendship with the pirate captain, which now seemed quite likely shattered and beyond repair. He wouldn't trust her anymore, was probably angry at himself for trusting her to begin with.

He interrupted her thoughts by saying her name. Not her name, she corrected herself in her thoughts. He had said 'Matthew'.

"Why do you still call me that?" she asked with a sharp edge to her voice.

"Need to believe you're him, I guess. I have to admit, I admire a person who's willing to do whatever's necessary, but I trusted you, and now..."

"Now you don't," she finished for him.

"No, I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that now I'm not sure."

"Oh."

"I trusted you, and now I've found out that you were lying to me... except, you had a reason. It's hard to hold it against you, much as I'd like to." Jack was unusually sober. His dark eyes were averted, and he wouldn't look at her directly. He seemed confused, as if he were trying to sort out his own thoughts. He was. He couldn't decide what to think. All he knew was that he needed to know what had happened to her, and he hoped that knowing might help him figure his course of action.

"Would you rather I called you Miriam? Or perhaps by another name?"

"No. I... I prefer Matthew."

"That's what I was expecting." There was a slight pause. "Matthew," Jack said, looking directly at the young woman before him, "I need you to tell me what happened, aboard the Cain." She stared at him. Why? Why does he need to know? It wasn't his business what had happened to her aboard that ship, what they had done to her. "Please. I know it's hard for you."

"I fail to see why it's your business."

"I'll explain, but first you need to tell me."

"No."

"Matthew, please."

"Why, Jack?" she said, forcing a chill into her voice, "So you can revel in the details of my assault, so you can see how weak I am under the bandages?"

"That's not it at all," he countered.

"Then why is it, Jack? Why do you even care? Either you trust me, or you don't. What happened to me has nothing to do with you."

He shook his head, "It doesn't have anything to do with me, you're right. But can you honestly tell me you want to carry it alone?" She opened her mouth, but he held up her hand. "Don't tell me you do, because you'll be lying. Nobody can carry that alone. Everyone has to tell someone, because if they don't, it will eat them alive. Now you can tell me, or you can't. But if you don't, you can't tell anyone else; there isn't anyone else to try."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. As much as she wanted not to, she trusted him, and as much as Bootstrap had told her not to, it couldn't be helped now. She heaved a heavy sigh. "You'll not repeat this to anyone?"

"You have my word that I won't."

"Fine."

I joined the Cain, it would have been two months ago now. I was using the name Anthony Felton at the time. I've had a different name for every ship I've been on, and I've lost count by now. Thomas Williams aboard the Vicious Melissa, my first pirate ship, Charles Griffin aboard Satan's Hangman, Michael Blaine on another, and Richard Scott. Some of the names have reasons behind them, others I chose on a whim. Thomas Williams was for my father, Thomas Sharp, and another man by the name of William that I looked up to. Yes, this is a tangent. Pardon me for not wanting to think of those unpleasant memories.

I'd been with the ship over two months when we stopped in Vera Cruz. I was disgusted with them. They had to pick up a new helmsman, to replace the one they'd relieved of his hand and fed to the sharks. I was ready to leave then and their, but opted to wait until we got to Tortuga, our next destination. Then I could spend some time at home until I found a good ship. It was a bad idea.

The new helmsman soon caught on to the nature of the Cain's crew, and figured the best way to get in to them would be to prove his strength, probably by getting in to a fight with one of the current crewmembers and winning. Being a coward, he picked the smallest and therefore, by his estimation, weakest: me.

He insulted my manhood. Funny, in retrospect. Seeing his purpose, I pretended to be outraged. I knew what as coming, and figured it best to get it over with as soon as possible. It was another bad idea. A space was cleared for us to fight on the deck. Most ships will only allow a duel to take place on land, but the crew of the Cain was never noted for its intelligence. We fought. It was supposed to be an unarmed duel, but he pulled a knife, cried to cut me with it. I avoided it, for the most part, but it cut down the front of my shirt, and severed the bandages I use to hide my feminine attributes. The cut wasn't too deep, but you can still see it. I'm not going to show it to you, but it runs right between my breasts, from my sternum to my last rib.

I was revealed. The captain, upon seeing me uncovered, rushed forward. He grabbed my wrist, held me tightly. It hurt, I told him to let me go. He said, "Here's a pretty little thing, boys. Looks like Anthony has some benefits we have yet to take advantage of. The sight of female flesh just set them off. They threw insults at me. I threatened them right back, but it was no use.

They threw me down right there. Two or three of them held me down while the other tore off my clothes. It hurt, they were holding my wrists and my ankles so tightly. I remember, the captain, he said... he said it was his turn, first. He pulled down his breeches, and I shut my eyes. I felt cold hands between my thighs, pushing them apart--do I have to go on? They all got their turn, some more than once. Those who weren't directly on top of me would fondle my breasts or trail knives through my flesh. I screamed, and kept screaming. Other men might have covered my mouth, but they enjoyed it.

When I finally dared to open my eyes, I was in the brig. They'd thrown my clothes in there with me. They only set one man to guard me. They were fools. Still naked, I encouraged him to rape me again. I asked him if he'd even had a turn at all, implied that he was too weak to deserve my battered flesh. He took the bait, hook line and sinker. He came in. Against twenty, I had no chance. Against one, I knew I would win. I easily knocked him unconscious and stole his shirt. I managed to salvage some of the bandages I'd used before, and used torn lengths of my own shirt to rig new bandages. After tying myself in, I put on his boots, breeches and hat.

When I went up on deck, none were there. They were all in the mess, probably sleeping off the drunken stupor they'd gotten themselves into after they'd raped me. I didn't want to live anymore. I'd been ravished, violated. My head was pounding, and I could feel a huge lump on the back of it. I stood on the rail, and then I just let myself fall. At first I thought I was drowning, and I wanted to drown. But I surfaced. There was some driftwood, I don't know where from. I grabbed hold of it, and I must have fallen asleep or lapsed into unconsciousness.

"There you have it," she said, staring at the wall in front of her. When she dared to look back to him, he was staring at the ground.

"I'm sorry for making you say all that," he said.

"You're not."

"Alright, then I'm sorry for what happened to you."

"Don't be. It was my fault."

"It wasn't." She was surprised by the forcefulness of his tone. She looked at him, eyes wide. "Don't you dare blame it on yourself. What they did to you was not your fault. They did it because they were sick, perverted, twisted men, not because of anything you did."

She paused. "Thanks," she said, "I needed to hear that."

Jack didn't know what to say in response, or at all anymore. Words have been coming to him before, things he knew he should say, things that needed to be said. And though it surprised him, he had not said them because he felt he should, but because he believed every word. But then he ran out of words.

He knew he should probably go to Tortuga, and drop her off, and pick up a new crewmember. But Matthew had more than proved himself, although now that she was pregnant and with a broken shoulder and collarbone, he would be unable to help out, he'd earned his place. Her place. Whichever. In any case, she deserved better than to be unceremoniously dumped in Tortuga, alone.

"... I guess my days aboard the Pearl are numbered, aren't they, Captain?" she asked at last, a fearful tone in her voice.

"Why?"

"Because... because I lied to you... and if not because of that, because I pregnant and useless to you without my left arm."

"You said you'd stay as long as I'd have you, didn't you?" Jack asked her, and she nodded. "Well, I haven't given you your walking papers, so you're here to stay."

"... Why?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I'm not just leaving you in Tortuga, or anyplace else for that matter."

"Are you going to tell the crew?"

"No."

"Thank you."

"It's a captain's job to look out for his crew," he informed her. He was going back into 'captain' mode. "I'm going to go look for some clothes you can wear over your arm that'll hide you. Take some more rest, it'll do you good." He stood, turned and went to the door. He left, locking it behind him. To keep the crew out, or me in, I don't know which.

"You're a good man, Jack. Bootstrap was right about that, among other things," Miriam said to the door, letting her head relax and closing her eyes.

Author's note: So that's what happened. Don't think Miriam's done facing it yet though: the road to recovery will probably be a long one. Don't know what else to say about it.

Update: I edited this chapter a bit. I'll probably be editing some of the ones after this one, too, because I've thought of some new ideas. However, I probably will not edit the rape description, because when I read it over, I found that it seriously creeped (crept?) me out. I can't go through and "fix" things.

Review Responses:

pingpong5: I know. This chapter depressed me, too. I reread it once, and I was seriously disturbed. I wish I knew what was going to happen next!

Lady Laffs-a-Lot: Ah, yes, the infamous plot hole. However, I have yet to decide if Bootstrap will be dead or alive in this story. Even if he didn't drown, it's possible that someone killed him after the curse ended. Remember, this story takes place a year after PotC: the Curse of the Black Pearl, so he may really be dead. And whether or not he is dead or alive, neither Matthew nor Jack have any idea, or they do. Their idea is that he's dead.