Title: Petals of Time
Author: June
Rating: M
Summary: It's the ultimate cliché in MandC (or rather, Aubrey-Maturin series) fan fiction: a twentieth century girl, aged nineteen, miraculously ends up in 1805 and sails off to the East Indies posing as a fifteen year old Ship's Boy on H.M.S. Surprise. Along the way she encounters war in all its gruesome reality, copious amounts of weevils, and a certain blue-eyed Captain who upon the discovery of her secret shows more than a little interest. So, yes, it's the ultimate cliché. Why write it anyway? Because I've been wanting to indulge myself in this story, and I hope to be able to write it well.
Chapter: 1?
Pairings: eventually Jack/OFC
Disclaimer: don't own any of Patrick O'Brian marvelous characters, do own Joanne I suppose.
Author's Notes: There's no need to tell me the OFC in this story could well be named Mary Sue instead of Joanne. I actually considered naming her Mary Sue in order to forego any comments pointing out the obvious. I'm also sure I could come up with something more original than this eternally rehashed and not to mention implausible plot, and in fact I have under another pen name, but I just wanted to have some fun writing this. As for the technicalities – this is mixed bookverse and movieverse. Some of it is H.M.S. Surprise (the book), but a lot of it also isn't, and there will probably be some movieverse seeping in here and there, as well as possible mix-ups of timelines and chronology.
Chapter 1: A long night
The terminal at Luton airport was never a very joyful place to be, but with the prospect of an unspecified amount of time to while away there it seemed gloomier than ever. With a sigh that sounded almost like a curse, Joanne dropped her bag on the floor next to the lunch room table and flopped down on the seat. Brushing a strand of dark blond hair out of her eyes, she lifted the carton cup to her lips. The coffee tasted bitter, like the delay due to weather conditions she and a few hundred other passengers were experiencing at the moment. The lunch room was bustling with activity, unwilling customers taking up all the tables around her and the din of voices creating an endless murmur that seemed to echo off the terminal walls.
She wasn't surprised when one of the many voices addressed her. "Mind if I sit here?"
Looking up she met the gaze of a bespectacled elderly man. Grey suit, blue tie, carton cup of coffee in one hand and a briefcase in the other, he was the prototype businessman.
"Not at all," she replied.
The man sat down at her table and grimaced as he took his first sip of coffee. Despite her mood, Joanne couldn't help but grin. "Not the best coffee, eh?"
The man smiled back. "I'd like to say I've had worse, but I'm not sure I have, actually."
It was the beginning of small talk. Anything to pass some of the many minutes of Luton gloom that lay ahead of her, Joanne thought. Besides, the man seemed nice and, after small talk turned into bigger talk, proved to be rather interesting. He had traveled a lot and knew how to tell a story.
Another coffee and a diet coke later the attention had focused on her. "That's a lovely necklace," Mr. Wooding complimented.
"Thanks," Joanne said, and then added for no reason, "I was given it a long time ago."
A very long time ago, yes, but she remembered it so well. The moonlight on the water outside the stern windows, the creaks and squeeks of the nightly ship, its wake lit up with green fluorescence trailing off into the dark distance. Most of all the, the look of delight in his blue eyes as she'd unwrapped the wonderful gift.
Involuntarily, her hand reached up to touch the small pendant. The delicate garnet flower petals, carefully arranged and set in rose gold and dangling off a matching chain meant the world to her. It was all she had left now, the necklace, and her memories.
"It looks very old," Mr. Wooding said.
"Yes. It's Georgian. From 1805." Two hundred years ago. It was still hard to fathom, Joanne thought, even now.
"An heirloom?"
Joanne shook her head. "No, it's... it's a long story." She offered an apologetic smile.
"We've got a lot of time," Mr. Wooding replied.
That was true. The wind still howling around the building incessantly and the crash and thunder of lightning could be heard in the distance. At this rate it would be hours before they would be able to fly. Joanne considered this. She had not told her story to anyone, sure as she was that no one would ever bother to believe it. She was sure that Mr. Wooding would not believe it, either, but did that matter? She would probably never see him again after flights would resume. And it would be nice, she thought, to reminiscence. To remember. To him it would simply be a good story, told on a long night of stormy weather in an airport terminal that felt empty despite the vast crowd of stranded travelers like herself filling it.
"All right," she said at last. "I'll tell you the story. It's going to be a bit fantastic, though."
"Fantastic sounds good," he said, smiling. "I'm all ears."
Closing her eyes briefly, Joanne remembered the feeling off those first moments, both 14 and 214 years ago now. She remembered the precise second realization hit her, so painfully at the time, and the fear and confusion that came with, and she began to tell her story.
