Fourth in my Island Fic plus deleted scenes.
Rating: T
Pairing: Canon
Cast: Jack and Elizabeth
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even this computer.
No Truth at All
By Honorat Selonnet
Elizabeth watched the pirate roll off towards the beach, already looking drunk although he hadn't even opened a bottle yet. She fought back angry tears and set out after the annoying man. Somehow, she had to convince him to help her do something to help Will. Even if they could not get off this island the way he had before, Captain Jack Sparrow was synonymous with fantastic escapes. All of the stories couldn't be false. He was certainly adept at escaping her. For a man who looked like he couldn't quite remember how to walk, Jack made amazing speed. Elizabeth had to run to get ahead of him. She didn't manage to cut him off until she was standing in the tide-washed sand with foaming curls of salt water tugging at her hem.
Almost desperately, she asked. "So is there any truth to the other stories?"
Jack halted, looking bleakly at Elizabeth. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft with irony. "Truth?" he asked.
So the bonnie lass was still looking for a pirate from the romances, was she? Treasure and triumph. Daring escapades costing nothing. Well, now was not the time for pretty fictions. If it was truth the lass wanted, then she should have it. Slowly he drew up his right sleeve revealing the pirate brand of the East India Trading Company, seared indelibly into his forearm. The sizzle, the stench of red hot iron meeting shivering flesh still haunted his nightmares occasionally. He would never completely escape the East India Company.
Wordlessly he pulled up his left sleeve. Elizabeth shrank back, her face crumpled in shock. The underside of his arm was a tracery of old scars, branching like angry lightning over his skin. That is the record of real blood and real pain, my lady. That is where the truth lies.
Elizabeth looked on, horrified, as Jack dragged aside the neck of his shirt to show two powder-burnt scars high on his chest—either shot could have killed him. Almost had in fact. If it hadn't been for old William Turner. He shied away from thoughts of Bill. Bill who had paid the final price. Those crimson pages of legend were dyed in blood. Someone always paid the price. And the price of gold was most often paid in blood. Sometimes a man paid it himself. Sometimes another paid it. Often the price was too high. But no one escaped the devil's bargain. And now young William was on his way to pay the price for the treasure he had coveted. And now his lady fair hoped that she was in a story where there was no real cost.
So, Miss Elizabeth Swann, pampered child of luxury whose gold has been paid for so far away from you that you do not even know its cost nor who paid, is there any truth in the lovely stories of old Captain Jack? Any truth that can give you any hope? His voice was bitter as he answered her question. "No truth at all."
He let the silence drag out. Then he folded himself down in the sand, brushed his tangled hair back from his face, and looked past Elizabeth out to sea. He didn't want to see the hopelessness in her eyes, didn't want her to see the same look in his own.
When he spoke again, changing the topic, he gave her the brightest picture he could muster, but his voice was dull, lacking conviction. "We can stay about a month, maybe more. Keep a weather eye open for passing ships and our chances are fair." Then, at last, he was able to uncork the bottle he was holding and gulp down a blessedly numbing swig of rum.
Elizabeth stared silently at all that was left of one of her childhood heroes. An ordinary man on a beach drinking rum in order to forget. A man whom death had obviously stalked for a long time. Who seemed already in debt to Fate for his life. He had denied the truth of the stories, but his scars told of a different, far darker truth. A truth as bitter as death.
She wondered if he really believed what he had just told her. Could a person survive for a month on rum? And even if they could, that meant no one would be left to rescue Will. Although she no longer believed Jack Sparrow would be able to help her, she had to ask one last time, "And what about Will? We have to do something."
Jack heard the despair in her voice. There was only one thing to do in a hopeless situation. Raising a finger, he pointed at her agreeably. "You're absolutely right." He recorked the bottle and rolled it down the beach in a gentle arc to where it rocked lazily in the water at Elizabeth's feet. She watched it, her eyes empty. Unstoppering his second bottle, Jack held it up towards the path of the Pearl's departure. "Here's luck to you, Will Turner," he saluted. He took a deep pull of rum. Young William would need all the luck they could wish him where he was going.
TBC