Title: Of the Sea
Rating: PG-13
Chapter Title: 23. Unexpected
Summary: Matt and Jack enjoy a couple bottles of rum. Jack had a conversation with someone else.
Timeline: Monday, June 13, 1675
Author: Cicatrix (Marin K.)

Alcohol had made their thoughts fuzzy, and the rum settled like warm coals in the pits of their stomachs. Matthew had yet to buy Jack the rum he was owed, but the captain had gone to his own private supply and fetched two bottles. They stood on legs made a little unsteady by drink, and watched the streets in quiet contemplation... almost.

"An' then," Jack said, "they made me their chief!"

"The cannibals made you their chief?"

"Aye!"

"... And this helped you get off the island exactly how?" Matthew asked dubiously, and Jack's grin faltered momentarily.
"That's a different story entirely," he compromised.

"Interesting, but for the record, it doesn't count."

Jack looked confused. "Count for what?" he asked, feigning innocent.

"Your debt. It has to be at least half true, Jack."

"Damn," he said, taking a swig of kill-devil. Matthew mimicked the action, grinning into the bottle's neck. They stood side by side at the starboard rail, and for once there we no doubts between them. Rum made it easy to forget their differences, and what might soon become mutual distrust. Suspicious about the other's intentions were disregarded for the moment, and they remained in quiet companionship, each with a bottle of the sacred drink in hand.

"Matt?" Jack asked suddenly, Matt rewarded him with a cocked eyebrow and a curious expression.

"Yeah?"

"You said you couldn't go home... in Tortuga, I mean. Why is that?" Jack's expression was strangely earnest. The fact was, while on previous occasions the pair had acted perhaps more under the influence than they really were, both of them were now too thoroughly drunk for guile. Matthew smiled vaguely, taking a drink to wet his lips before he spoke.

"They found it... 'fore they came t'the Pearl. I can't risk going back now," he said, sounding almost sad. He shrugged his shoulders, "Not important."

"I'm sorry, mate," Jack offered.

"Don't worry about it," said Matthew, then paused. "By the way, Jack... I wanted t'apologize. When I shot Roger, I coulda killed you. It was a stupid thing to do."

He shook his head. "Son," he said, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," as if this explained everything. He then draped one arm around Matt's shoulders in a friendly manner, and dropped his voice to whisper conspiratorially, "Don' tell anyone, but you're welcome aboard me ship as long as you want to stay."

While Miriam might usually have flinched away from any man's touch, she was too drunk to care, and instead leaned against Jack slightly. "Why shouldn't I tell anyone?" she asked.

"They'll think I'm goin' soft," he said.

She smiled. "Thanks, Jack." He was about to respond, to say something along the lines of 'don't mention it', but the words died in his throat. Rum-moistened lips pressed his cheek gently, pursed and warm they brushed the stubble that grew along the line of his jaw. It was not something he had expected, and with a sort of shock he reflected that Matthew was, in fact, a woman. He took his arm from her shoulders to touch the spot where her mouth had lingered for less than a second, and as he did so, she receded from his side. He stared after her in a haze of bewilderment, barely hearing the distant 'goodnight' she uttered.

With callused fingers he prodded his left cheek. It was the same place that had sported the bruise when she had punched him, and now the flesh felt just as tender, though for vastly different reasons. Woman. He considered the word, his drink-addled brain trying to decipher its meaning, and failing miserably. "I need more rum," he thought out loud, examining the bottle. Leaning heavily on the rail to support himself, he concluded, "Yes, I definitely need more rum," and he took a large draught.

Miriam stumbled in an ungainly manner down the stairs, leaving Jack to his contemplation of questions he could barely comprehend. The bottle was still clutched firmly in her right hand, and she hoped she did not fall; she would be unable to catch herself if she did. With more luck than she could have dreamed for, she made it past the gun deck and to the mess unscathed, and finally to the cabin she called her own. She placed the rum atop the chest which rested in the corner of the closet-sized room, and tumbled haphazardly into the bed. Morgan appraised her with typical feline superiority.

The woman laughed quietly at her small companion, reaching out a hand to rub behind its ears. "Oh, Morgan," she whispered as the youthful grimalkin descended cautiously from the curve of the window onto the mattress next to her mistress, "you'll never guess what a stupid thing I just did." The warmth of the spirit was still fresh in her veins, and she could feel its fire in her throat and the depths of her belly. The heat in her lips was fueled by another source, but on this she preferred not to reflect.

It had been meaningless. She was drunk and thankful, and a kiss on the cheek was about as scandalous as a pious nun. It had been an innocent gesture of gratitude, and anyone who read further into it than that would be a fool. She did not need to assure herself these facts, for she did not doubt them, and so she was content to roll over and close her eyes. Still fully clothed, she slipped into the deep sleep that was commonly induced by alcohol, and Morgan curled up contentedly at her side,

She awoke a couple hours later, when the sound of glass breaking roused her from her slumber. With a groan, she first saw the shattered glass of what had been a half-filled bottle of rum, and then the form of Morgan standing on the chest. The kitten's fur was on end, probably frightened by the crash. Her thoughts fogged by sleep and the first pangs of an oncoming headache, Miriam dragged herself into an upright position. She hauled herself from the bed, wincing as the glass cracked beneath her boots.

"But she's so... untrustworthy!" Jack argued, still standing at the rail where she had left him. The bottle of rum was damn near empty now, and he was alone. There was a pause as the ship creaked beneath his feet. Miriam stood unseen at the top of the stairs, watching his exaggerated hand motions as he talked to the air.

"I'm a pirate!" he said, and was silent another moment before responding to some unheard voice, "Precisely." The ship groaned again, rocking gently with the tame waves of the dock.

"Because she's a woman, and women can't be pirates," was his patient explanation, followed quickly by the declaration, "That's different.... It just is. Matt hasn't got a reason to be here. She's got a home, money, no reason in the world to be out here playing pirate."

She'd heard enough only after a minute of standing there, and snuck silently down the stairs once again. Jack continued his argument. "Of course not," he said. "Piracy is about freedom, desire... It's about chasing the horizon. The riches are just a side benefit."

The Pearl groaned loudly at his lack of comprehension. He was never entirely sure if she was actually speaking or if he was just drunk and imagining things. However, she seemed to do it on a regular occasion, and because she became angry if he ignored her, he thought it best to respond. My point, she informed him in her silent voice.

"But she's got her own ship, the Aurora," he complained, "she doesn't need us, doesn't need you." She seemed to sigh. And how do you know that?

"That's a ridiculous question. And why do you keep asking me--"

Because, she interrupted him, otherwise you're an idiot. But how well do you know her? Do you know what she wants, what she needs to have the freedom you so prize? There's more to freedom than just a ship, Jack. If you're chained to your past, how free can you really be?

"I hate it when you make sense," he said. "And why do I feel like you know plenty that you're not telling me?"

Because I do.

"Then tell me!"

No. Because if I do, you'll lose interest, and that interest is what I'm counting on.

"Counting on? What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, but there was no response. "Hello?" he called into the darkness of the night, until he concluded with a heavy sigh, "Damn, she's gone."

Author's note: Ahh... sorry, took way too long to post this. I was going to write more, but I want to put something up before I go to bed tonight, so this is it. I suppose it's a decent length. Enjoy. Cuteness.... And it occurs to me that it would probably be physically impossible to drink this much rum; they would both be dead.

Review Responses:

PuckNofaeI'm glad you love it! I thought this chapter was cute. The idea of Jack talking to his ship was actually suggested to me by a friend of mine, and I must say it worked quite well.

pingpong5: Thank you. Again, it was suggested to me by a friend of mine. As soon as I figure out what to write about in chapter 24, I assure you, I will write it.

DaydreamBeliever14: Jack's a goofball. He's funny. You can expect future arguments with the Pearl Miriam may even hear her later.

heather321: Sorry!

ChocolateEclarAll your questions will be answered in the next chapter.... I think. I think I said that once about Caroline, and you guys still don't know what happened to her. Next update will be very soon!