Title: Of the Sea Rating: PG-13
Chapter Title: 16. Invention
Summary: The second day in Tortuga. Jack finds out more about Miriam, but is then confused again. The girl doesn't want to be figured out.
Timeline: Monday, June 6, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

Jack tried to drag himself out of bed. The ground was conspicuously still, meaning he was not on the Pearl. He was lying on his back, his left arm stretched out and feeling of pins and needles. He tried to move, but something pinned him down. Looking around, he was greeted by the sight of short, dark tresses belonging to a feminine form curled up against him, who was using his arm as a pillow.

The girl looked very familiar, but he couldn't immediately place her. Her shoulder was swathed in bandages, the attached arm in a sling. Lips were slightly parted, and she breathed deeply and evenly. She had wrapped her hand in the fabric of his shirt, and he could sense that there was not an inch between their bodies. I usually try to make sure they don't tie me down so I can get away in the morning. She looked awfully peaceful for a prostitute.

It occurred to him suddenly that the woman at his side could not be a prostitute, unless he had been too drunk to perform the previous night, and he didn't remember having that much to drink. But she was dressed, wearing cream-hued bodice, only loosely tied (but still definitely on), and navy men's breeches. He, too, was fully clothed, missing only his boots. After a moment's consideration, he smiled.

The extremely irritated Matthew, who had only accepted him into her bed after he promised to be good, give her money and buy her rum, who had pressed herself as closely to the wall as possible in order to put as much space between them as the small bed would allow, was now practically in his arms. She mumbled meaningless nothings at him. Yes, this was most definitely the same woman who had punched him less than a week ago, and she was now clinging to his shirt and curling up against his body.

Her eyes fluttered slowly open, and he for a moment saw himself reflected in their oceanic depths. She gazed sleepily at him, as if trying to recall who he was and how he had come to be there. It was as recognition settled on her features that Jack quite without warning felt himself shoved onto the floor and found Matthew standing over him. He winced at the kick that had sent him out of bed by landing much too close to parts he preferred to keep in tact. She stared down at him, her face a mask of fury and--he paused--fear?

"What the hell were you doing, Jack?" she seethed. The question sounded terribly familiar. Her lips were now curled back in anger, and her eyes (now fully awake) were filled with lightning.

"Good mornin' love," he greeted her with his most innocent smile, crossing his legs beneath him. He stretched luxuriously, pushing arms skyward until he felt the muscles loosen the familiar inaudible groan. "I was sleeping, if you must know. In the process of waking up, actually," he informed her, "but I'm very much awake now."

She glared at him, resisting the urge to do something she'd most likely regret later. She already felt guilty for the bruise he wore on the right side of his jaw. "I meant," she enunciated slowly, "why were you on my side of my bed?"

He blinked, balefully getting to his feet. How was he supposed to explain to her that it was in fact she who had been on his side of her bed, and that he'd been sleeping peacefully until he had found that she had placed herself, without his prior knowledge or consent, in his arms. He hadn't exactly objected, or done anything to change the situation, but he still didn't see how it was his fault. "Look," he said, "I woke up, you were there. It had nothing to do with me, savvy?"

"It has everything to do with you," she countered, and he wondered abstractly if smoke would start coming out of her ears, "because you were the one in my bed." He attempted to point out that she was also in her bed, and was therefore equally responsible, but she wouldn't have it. "My bed. My bed. Therefore I am supposed to be there, and you are not."

"Yes, but we made a deal, so I had as much right as you to be there!" he insisted, pointed at himself, then at her, and finally at the bed, as if his completely erratic gestures had some meaning.

"I am not a prostitute, Jack," she reminded him curtly, as if he may not yet have realized this.

"Really? I'd no idea!" It was meant sarcastically, but his comment was greeted by an intense pain in the area he had been lucky to protect only minutes earlier. He toppled back to the ground, and curled himself into a protective ball. Damn. I knew I'd so something I'd regret, she chided herself, standing over her victim.

"Parley?" he pleaded.

"You kicked me," he stated the obvious, looking at Matthew, "and it hurt. A lot."

"You tried to take advantage of me in my sleep," she returned, setting a mug on the table in front of him.

"I--" she shot him a warning glare, and he hesitated, "I'm very sorry." She rolled her eyes, a silent 'like hell you are'. He was very sorry; sorry that she had kicked him where you just shouldn't kick a man, and even more sorry that he owed her money and rum for it. He almost hoped the next raid would show very little profit, so he wouldn't have to give her very much. With his luck, they'd make a fortune, and that was what he'd owe her. He looked suspiciously at the mug she had given him.

She had accepted his entreaty for mercy, and had helped him downstairs. Ushering him into a chair, she had set herself about the task of brewing that awful concoction known as "tea". Truthfully, it wasn't all that bad, but it wasn't rum, and it was likely that the girl had poisoned it. She confirmed his fear a few moments later by assuring him that it wasn't poisoned, which meant that it actually was.

He stood, pacing the room in a way some might think was nervous. Instead, he examined what few possessions she left in the open of the small parlor. Most everything was covered in a thin layer of dust, making it obvious that she wasn't home very often. The room was dark and the air stale, probably due to the fact that the windows were boarded shut. The only thing not touched by musty atmosphere was a plain book resting on the top of a wood cupboard.

It was small, bound in brown leather, "Sharp 1675" embossed on its cover. It was fairly battered, but the pages were not yet yellowed or curled. It would make sense, since the book could be no more than a year old, considering the current year was 1675. Looking over his shoulder to take care that the woman was not watching him, he opened it to the last page. Blank. He flipped backwards several pages, until he opened to writing

Sunday, May 29th, 1675. The Black Pearl, between Tortuga and Nassau

The past months have been hell. The Cain was a disaster, although my memory is unreliable and I don't remember how the months of hatred finally ended. I'm not sure I want to remember. Something awful happened aboard that ship, and I dread to know what it was. I'm terrified.

For now though, I've found a place aboard the Black Pearl. My luck is unbelievable. None seem to know who I am, which is good. As I've stated several times, the captain is insane, but he's charming, almost irresistible in his insanity. He's a drunken fool, but I admire him. He's a good man. Bootstrap was right, and I do believe this Sparrow will get me into a great deal of trouble.

I miss that old rascal. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him. The ship, as much as I've come to love it, only makes it worse. She's a constant reminder. What became of him? It's strange, you know. For ten long years, I thought it was Jack's fault that he was dead, but now I'm not so sure. Barbossa. If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself.

--Miriam/Matthew

He flipped back another page.

Saturday, May 28, 1675. The Black Pearl between Tortuga and Nassau

i will find you here
where her lips touch the sky
and where my fingers once
could brush those distant sails
before you disappeared from me
over the curve of the world

you and i are monuments now
to the sorrow and futility
of tears i've shed to salt
and her jealous ways

there are clouds on the horizon
another storm to tempt her,
and lead her astray.

Oh, this is awful. Never mind. I don't even know why I continue writing this blasted stuff. Poetry, it's disgusting stuff. I'm wasting my time, and I should be sleeping. This is ridiculous. Put the pen down, you idiot. Yes.

--Miriam/Matthew

Hearing something behind him, Jack swiftly replaced the book and looked his back to it. A moment later, Matthew turned and looked at him, a plate in her hands. He returned to his seat, and she put the plate next to the untouched cup. It had a fried egg and a strangely round biscuit with tiny holes in it.

He pointed at the plate. "What's that?"

"Breakfast."

"No, the round thing," he pointed more specifically at the offending piece of food.

"A crumpet, you idiot," she said tersely, sitting down with her own plate and cup of tea. He picked it up, sniffing it experimentally, before taking small bite out of it.

"Mmf... Good!" he said around his second, much larger, mouthful, and she smirked.

"Where the hell were you?" Anamaria demanded, and Jack decided that he was getting very tired of people asking him what the hell he was doing or where the hell he was. It was a very dull question to keep repeating. In any case, he wasn't required to reply right away, for the woman kept talking, "I went away for a second, an' when I came back, the pair of ye were gone! Some said something about a fight."

"Sorry, love," Jack said, sidling up next to her with a furtive grin, "some nut decided t'attack our Matthew, so I had to convince him that to do so was... unwise. Then we thought it best t'get out 'fore any of his friends might show up." Tentatively, Jack reached around her waist. Anamaria shoved him away, and he sighed.

"Hands off, Cap'n."

"But I thought you were worried about me!" he protested in vain, "I thought you cared! I was jus' showing my appreciation!"

"I rather got the impression she was hoping you'd drowned, so she could take the Pearl," Matthew offered, and Anamaria grinned while Jack pouted. Matthew was back in character.

Anamaria didn't doubt Jack's story, but lately something was strange about her captain. A week prior, he'd somehow earned a bruise on the right side of his jaw, and though he insisted a wall was to blame, she doubted it: it would be trial to hit the hinge of his jaw on a wall by complete accident. On this day, he walked with his legs spread just that little bit more than usual, like a man who'd been in a saddle for hours.

She shook her head, looking curiously at the young man who stood so innocently nearby. There was something strange about Matthew, a grace no man should have, a softness of features and a delicacy that she'd never seen in one such as him. He should be awkward, perhaps gawky, but instead he was lithe and smooth, feminine in a way not at all unbecoming for a male. He smiled at her winningly, and she shrugged, content to forget about it for the moment.

It was night when Jack and Matthew found themselves again the Horse and Groom. Jack preferred the Faithful Bride, but it was Matt's choice this time. He sat alone at their table, watching as the extremely drunk young man hit shamelessly on the beautiful Emma half-way across the room. Amused, he watched as the bar-wench blushed in response to something the other said, and found himself again forgetting that beneath the heavy coat there lingered a woman.

His position was very confusing. He didn't know what to make of Matthew anymore. At first, he'd seemed a fairly carefree young man, who loved nothing more than a pint or more of rum, a good time to go with it, and the deck of a ship beneath his feet. Yet things were much more complicated now. Now he was several yards away, as drunk as could be, one arm wrapped around the waist of an individual who was technically of the same gender.

Matthew passed an empty tankard (Jack thought it might be his second) to the barmaid, who shook her head with a smile, and he staggered back to the table and slipped haphazardly into the seat across from his captain. His cheeks were ruddy from drink, and he had a permanent grin plastered on his face. He beamed at Emma as she placed yet another mug of rum in front of him, which he quickly took up.

"This's the life, ain't it, Jack?" he slurred, and Jack nodded. He was about to respond, when Matthew went on, "I've got... all the rum a man or woman could want, an' I don't even have t'pay for it! ... Not only that, but I may be owed a great deal of money, depend'n, all because I'm a very skilled manipulatrice."

"Hmm?" Jack asked, absently, though the last word had caught his attention. "How's that?"

"Well," the other responded, "I made a big deal 'bout you shouldn't walk me 'ome, so you insisted, knowin' once y'got there, y'wouldn't wanna turn back. I then convinced y'that I didn' know if I wanted y't'stay, so y'did, an I must say it paid off. Doncha think?" Matthew was obviously too drunk to have any idea what he was saying, but it sounded to Jack as if he were saying he'd orchestrated the entire events of the previous night. Not knowing what to respond, he simply nodded in a non-committal fashion.

"Mm-hmm... Well, I ought to get back to the ship. I'll see you Saturday morning, Matthew," he said abruptly, standing and steadying himself against the wall. Matthew shrugged and waved idly, before slumping over on the table.

Matt wondered if it was enough. Jack left so suddenly, I didn't have a chance to further explain my manipulation, he lamented, but decided that perhaps Jack's unexpected departure was due to his discomfort with Matt's dialogue. He certainly hoped so.

The truth was that he had in no way 'orchestrated' the events of Friday evening as he claimed, but it was the only thing he had been able to think of to compromise Jack's trust in him. It wasn't that he wanted Jack to mistrust him, but he wanted him to doubt the truth of anything he'd been told so far. He knows me too well, and it must be fixed. Jack had probably thought him too drunk to lie, since he'd had eight pints of rum that evening. The truth was that Emma had only given him weak ale, and he'd often passed it to her only half drunk. Surely, Jack wouldn't know that he'd been fooled.

Why do I feel like he's lying about something, and that it's not what I think it is? Jack wondered, staring at the ceiling of his cabin. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept well the previous night, staring at Matthew's back. The few pages he'd read of the journal had given him some insight. They'd been written slightly over two weeks ago. Irresistible, he thought, hmm... He smiled, shaking his head. Yet, whatever insight he'd thought he had was now unsure. Was she so talented that she had managed to manipulate him into her bed for money? And he hadn't even gotten anything out of it! He didn't know what to think, nor what he sure how he was being played.

He'd said he'd see Matthew next on Saturday morning. It was nearly a week away, and he wondered if she would get the message: I don't want to see you again until Saturday. Jack needed time now, to sort through his thoughts The woman was unforgivably enigmatic, a mystery he was having difficulty unraveling.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, resigned to go if she insisted. He didn't know why, but he wanted to stay, to protect her. It was foolish, and he knew it, but he couldn't help but feel that he shouldn't leave her alone. It was as if something about her was crying for him to stay, though he could not put his finger on it. She was so angry and so vulnerable all at once.

A sudden, helpless expression crossed her face, her brows furrowing slightly. Perplexed, she said weakly, "I don't know," and paused. "Not really." She seemed so sincere, so pleading, though she didn't intend it. How could she pretend that? Yet, that was what she'd claimed she'd done, wasn't it? He didn't know.

Author's note: I know, I know. It's taken me FOREVER to get this up. But it's here. At last. Enjoy! I need to study for my biology test. I decided on 1675 for the year the tale takes place because a) it's before Port Royal sunk and b) it's before Tortuga stopped being a big pirate hang out in the 1680s. Thank you all for your reviews and for reading my little story! I don't know if crumpets existed in the 17th century, but I really like them, so there. :P Excuse me for the large amount of typos in this chapter.

Review Responses:

heather321: Thank you, and I'll try! I'm not sure what I'm planning for chapter 16 yet.

ChocolateEclar: Yes, poor Jack indeed. Miriam and Jack "sleeping together" was amusing. She must have been awfully cute, before she woke up. x.x I'm not sure what I'm planning for the next chapter. I may make it the first chapter that doesn't have Matthew in it (or at least, doesn't have very much Matthew), and just focus on Jack. Or I might do the opposite and have it be just about Matthew. May be a while until the next update because I have TONS of homework this weekend which I can't put off.