Title: Of the Sea
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Title: 18. Confrontations
Summary: Miriam makes a new friend, and meets a few old ones.
Timeline: Friday, June 10, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Maris K.)

The adrenaline was rushing through her veins, and she was tired. She slumped against the wall of the nameless alley, sitting heavily on the chest she'd already dragged a full half-mile from her home. There was a long way to go before she would reach her destination, and she was exhausted and terrified. She didn't even know where she was going, only that it was far away and she had no idea how she would ever be able to get there. She knew she could not go back to the Pearl, they would find her there. She wanted desperately to go home, crawl into bed, and pretend it was all a bad dream.

Her right hand ventured experimentally to her pocket, fondled the pistol's grip for a brief moment. She was reassured by the cool touch of the wood, and by the fact that she had at least one weapon on her person she could use, even if her sword-arm had been crippled by the very weapon she was now depending on.

A sudden, unidentified noise, a sort of long squeak or plaintive whine alarmed her. She jerked the pistol from her pocket, cocked it, and looked from one side to the other, searching for the source. The sound repeated itself, and she identified its direction as the earth itself. Looking at her feet, she saw a sight she had not expected.

It was a kitten; a rather disheveled, lost and hungry kitten, with a coat as black as the darkest midnight, and eyes as round and bright as a pair of newly minted gold coins. The pair looked at each other for a long moment, until Miriam awkwardly placed the pistol back in her pocket, and bent down to scoop up the tiny animal. It meowed pathetically at her, and she put it to rest on her lap, where the little beast curled up, hiding its face under its tail.

"I'm Miriam," she informed the kitten. The creature looked at her curiously, and she smiled. "Who're you?" she asked, and was answered by a small squeak, and what she was sure was a very gentle purr. "Well, Squeak... I have to go." The cat looked at her pleadingly, and Miriam furrowed her brows. Gently, she lifted the animal, which fit easily in the palm of her hand, and placed it carefully into the pocket with her journal. "I guess you can come too. I hope you like water."

With a sigh, she stood again, grabbing the handle of the heavy chest and wincing as she heard the awful sound it made as she dragged it over the brick of the alley-way. She knew where she had to go, because there was no other place to go, and she had promises to keep, as dangerous as they seemed.

Jack offered his 'guests' his most charming smile. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" he inquired, spreading his arms in welcome.

"We're lookin' fer Mir'm," came the gruff response of the man who held the pistol aimed at his head. Jack recognized him: he was a vile creature, with graying hair and a nose both flat and swollen. It was evidently broken, a fact that was endlessly amusing to the Black Pearl's captain, especially considering that he'd inflected the wound. He hoped, in fact, that it would be permanently deformed when it healed.

Jack allowed self-deprecation to enter his expression, giving a helpless shrug. "A lass? Sorry, mate. Can't help you there, don't know any lasses by that name."

"I thinks you do," another man, from behind the first, informed him. The tone of his voice was threatening, and Jack idly supposed it was meant to be intimidating. He did not feel intimidated in the least. This was his ship they stood on.

"Really now," he said reasonably, "you can't expect a man such as meself to remember every wench 'e's bedded, can you?"

Roger wouldn't have it. "Where's the boy y'saved on Sunday?" he remanded impatiently.

Jack's eyes lit with recognition. "Oh! Him!" he said brightly.

"Aye. Him. Where is 'e?"

"Don't rightly know." He sighed emphatically, "I found 'e was hiding certain things from me," the knot of men behind Roger exchanged knowing glances, "so I had t'send her... uh... him on 'is way." He slipped purposefully on the gender, hoping to give them a hint they would think was unintentional.

What Jack had not anticipated was the familiar 'click' of another pistol being cocked not too far off, but separate from the group of men who were gathered in a semi-circle around him. None of them seemed to notice it, but he swiftly identified its source. Standing only yards off, with his pistol aimed, was Matthew.

Only, it wasn't Matthew, it was Miriam. She was standing there by the stairs, and her coat was open so he could see her useless arm and the cream corset, and the subtle curves of the feminine figure she so often hid. Her pale eyes were full of fury, expression grim with determination. She was beautiful, Jack realized with a sudden shock, beautiful in a wild way that he'd noticed eleven years ago when he'd watched a barmaid by the name of Raven from across the room, and forgotten when she'd disappeared. Her untamed elegance was different now, matured and perfected, enhanced by the fire in her eyes, and the danger he saw in her lithe movements as she slinked closer.

He saw her pull the trigger in slow motion, ages before the sudden thunder of the shot fired, before the gasp as the gun flew from Roger's hand. His pistol went off as disembodied fingers clutched the trigger on impulse, and the bullet missed Jack by mere inches. But he knew the opportune moment when he heard it, and as the man stared at where he'd just lost two fingers, he drew his own pistol, and pushed the cold metal of the barrel's end into Roger's forehead.

"I suggest you leave, gents, as you're no longer welcome aboard my ship," Jack said compassionately. They all stood as if glued in place, except for Roger, who indeed seemed keen to back off. Roughly, Miriam grabbed his arm. She had stepped up, and held him firmly in place.

"Order your men to leave, or you won't," she warned him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The pirates turned on heel and ran. Miriam knew them for what they were: cowards. The only one that remained was her captive, with Jack's pistol still aimed point-blank. She released his arm, but he still didn't move, so she leaned forward and took his cutlass from the belt at his waist. She tossed it overboard. "Run, Roger," she encouraged, and he turned around and ran.

Jack looked at her in shock. For a moment, he had expected her to retrieve her pistol and shoot him where it would kill. It would be what he deserved, but she didn't. She let him run, to crawl back to his ship and nurse his wounds. He was about to comment, when she turned around and descended the steps without saying a single word to him. He stared after her, until he heard her voice.

"Some help, please?" she insisted, as if he should have known.

"What's in the chest?" he asked, appraising the heavy wooden chest he had helped her drag up the gangway onto the ship. Together, they'd hauled the blasted thing into the mess, and she'd stowed it in one of the empty cabins. She sat on the bed, and he sat in the chair in the corner of the room, which was really a glamorized closet.

"Mother's belongings, some old dresses, journals, things like that. Sentimental crap, really," she said, shrugging.

"Uh, Matthew, I was wondering," Jack said carefully, not looking at her.

"What?"

"D'you want to just make this cabin yours, since you're keeping your stuff in here now anyway?"

She shrugged again. "Don't you think the men would find it odd that one of their mess-mates suddenly got a cabin for no reason? Only Anamaria, Gibbs and Quartetto have cabins, since Anamaria's a woman, Gibbs is quartermaster, and Quartetto is first mate."

He grinned. "Well then, Second Mate Matthew, welcome to your new cabin!" Jack announced. Miriam smiled. Their conversation was interruption by a quiet 'meow' that emitted from her pocket. Jack looked at her, confused. With her good hand, she reached into her, and withdrew from it the fuzzy black kitten.

"I picked this thing up on my way over here," she said, holding it out for inspection.

"Oh," Jack said, and paused. "What's its name?"

"Doesn't have one, really. I've been calling it Squeak."

Jack stared at her, aghast. "You are not," he insisted forcefully, "keeping a cat named Squeak on my ship!"

"I couldn't think of a better one," she replied with a shrug, "and I can't tell its gender."

He took it from her in callused hands and inspected it. Turning it around, he lifted the cat's tail, nodded thoughtfully, and then gave it back. "Girl," he announced.

"Alright," she said, scratching behind the kitten's ears affectionately, "how about Morgan?"

"That's a boy's name."

"Not Morgan as in Henry Morgan," she told him, "Morgan as in Morgan le Fey."

"Morgan le Fey?" he echoed, dubious.

"It's a good name for a pirate's cat."

"Morgan it is," he agreed.

Author's note: I wanted to give Miriam a cat because I figured she needed a friend that was rather unconditional, and a cat seemed to fit the bill. The cat is also the closest thing to self-insertion in the story, because my "official" nickname (long story, don't ask) is Morgan. I like Morgaine/Morgan le Fey in The Mists of Avalon, so that's the cat's namesake. Although Henry Morgan is to a point as well, since my "full" "official" nickname is Henry Morgan. Again, long story, don't ask. So Henry Morgan le Fey the cat. :P Expect a bit of a wait before chapter eighteen, though there may be an interlude to keep you occupied. I'm not entirely sure what I want to do for chapter eighteen, but I have at least three ideas for interludes, which you can expect to see sometime in the near future.

Review responses:

heather321: I will! Promise! In fact, I'm about to upload chapter eighteen right now.

DaydreamBeliever14: I didn't want her to be lonely, and Morgan is going to be useful to give you information about the plot. You'll see. Very, very soon.