Author´s Note: I´m back! Vacation is over for the moment before I leave on August 4th to Paris to visit my grandma there. I am now (allow for a drum roll or a suspense moment) a certified scuba diver! Anyways, continuing with my story, which is what this is about...or should be...I want to tell you that when I came back from vacation I almost had a heart attack because in an entire mouth no one reviewed...well, that is because my loyal reviewers already reviewed before I left...tear, you are great guys:)
Mysterious-muse: Thanks for waiting all this time for this update, which will help relieve some of the tension with the cliff hangers…I hope. Anyways, I am happy that you liked Moonstone; hopefully you will still like her after you read what I have in store for her in the next few chapters. Hehe, just a little foreshadowing! By the way, keep writing your Promised Hearts story, it is really good and I really like where you are going with it!
Vampirehelsing: Great stories, how do you make enough time to write them? You make me feel so slow! lol :) Thanks for reviewing my ninth chapter, that really made me feel very loved…I mean, I didn't ask you to review it…did I:) Keep writing! I really hope that you like this chapter, it took me a few weeks to get it done with, nothing much happens but lot of interior struggle, tell me what you think!
Rose of Shade: Ahh, life…you with your boyfriend and me here, sitting, thinking whether I should open my e-mail for the first time in a month to find at least 10000 e-mails and most propaganda. You know what would be very awkward, if you had broken up with Ricky (though I really highly doubt it; you two make a great couple) and just because I am scared to check my e-mail I didn't find out yet and here I am talking about him…very awkward…I think I'll go check my e-mail now.
Mairi: YAY! NEW REVIEWER! Well, if you are reading this, then I might die of happiness. I really hope you find this and it relieves your tension over the two cliffhangers, sorry about those. Hey, let me guess about those two reviews: you send in the review and the computer did something weird, so you send it again, right? Or it could have been a website mistake. I wasn't proposing the other scenario because I did it but three reviews instead of one!...well…maybe…okay, lets get on with the story:)
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean…but don't you dare copy my insane but magnificent idea of Miriam, André, Chris and the Incas! I highly doubt that you could get away with saying it was yours anyways, such a random thing like that…moving on, I present…tad a da daaaaaa !
Chapter IX: Wounds
Miriam felt numb. Her fingers loosened and her grip on the pail relaxed letting the wooden bucket drift down towards the quarry. Her hair was still in the breeze, her hazel eyes shocked. The soft sun cascaded over her face, casting light on her features. Water lapped at her bare feet, yet she made no move to remove them from the crystal ice that flowed through her toes. The brown wool of her dress whipped lightly around her ankles in the air. Her lips opened slightly, mutely, her only moving surface. Tendrils of brown hair escaped the braid and were lifted delicately in the warm zephyr. Miriam didn't move as André crumpled on the floor, lifting a gust of white dust.
The men patted each other on the back as they left, laughing and turning to look at her still shape beside the river. No one made a move to help the young man up. His body lay on the ground, undisturbed as blood issued from his lips. Moonstone shifted behind her, distributing her weight evenly on her feet as she set a hand deftly on Miriam's shoulder.
"We have to go," she said, her words only slightly fogged by her Mediterranean accent.
Miriam didn't move, her hazel eyes forever resting on André's unconscious form.
"Miriam…" Moonstone began, her voice strained.
"I can't lose anyone else…not after Chris…" came Miriam's voice. She spoke barely above a whisper.
Moonstone turned Miriam around, her intense green eyes worried, "I'll get the bucket and we'll leave."
Miriam nodded, her senses returning. She didn't look back at André's limp body when Moonstone went to acquire the wood pail that had drifted down stream.
Chris had always been a shy boy. The opposite of Miriam. Miriam was a stubborn girl, she had been the one to fight the sturdy boys that called her brother shy and teased him for hiding behind her. Miriam had rolled in the mud, escaped from the Turner mansion many times, and run the streets at night. Elizabeth had not approved, instead begging Miriam to be like her shy brother Chris.
"I do not want you to lead a life you do not want, a life you will regret," Elizabeth had explained after one of Miriam's escapades. Will had barely found her in time; Miriam had been trying to hide in a case and stowaway on her father's ship.
"I like my life here, mother, but I yearn for the sea, for adventure. I know that it doesn't sound like something I will still want to do at the age of 16, but I want to now," a seven year old Miriam had countered.
"Miriam…" Elizabeth had sighed, desperately looking at her husband for help.
"What? You want me to stay in Port Royal forever? To sew and knit the rest of my life? Or is it because Chris is too weak and shy to stand up for himself and I have to stay here and guard him forever?"
The chamber had fallen silent at Miriam's last comment. Elizabeth had hugged Chris tighter than before and Will had simply looked at Miriam, calculating. Chris had turned his hazel eyes to Miriam's. They asked the reason. They told her he had never asked for it. He had told her that he felt ashamed. Gently standing up he had excused himself from his mother and nodded to his father before retiring to his room. Elizabeth had turned on Miriam with a withering stare. But Will had stopped the flow of words by gently kissing his wife before asking Miriam if what she had said was true. When Miriam had reluctantly nodded he had excused her to her room. They had arranged the two month exchange between Port Royal and the sea that night.
Miriam had felt Chris's humiliation, his pain as he got beaten when he had denied Miriam's help. But Chris would not let her defend him, hide him or protect him. One day, he had stood up for her in a triumphant moment. Two young men had been teasing a 13 year old Miriam, and Chris had stood up for her, like she had many times done for him. They beat Chris badly. When finally they had left, Chris was but a limp form on the ground, black and bleeding…so much like André now… Never again had Chris hid behind Miriam, he was an avid learner on his father's boat and was taught hand to hand combat along with the knives.
Miriam felt Moonstone pulling her away from the quarry, Moonstone's grip on her upper arm surprisingly strong.
"I feel like a slave. I have heard the stories and tales of slavery, I have heard the hardships of the human trade, but it never really felt it affected me…until now. What more will they do to him?"
The white haired young woman turned to look at Miriam, her eyes hard, "They need the human labor; they need slaves. André will live; they can't afford to kill him. They will not, however, help him. He will stay on the ground until he comes to himself. He will pick up his chisel and work. When night comes and the labor is done, then will he rest."
"I long for the sea, the waves of freedom," Miriam whispered, her breath disappearing in the air.
Moonstone's eyes filled with longing, "Me too."
o o o
The dyeing was cumbersome and difficult. Madder roots refused to break and disintegrate beneath the pounding. Miriam and Moonstone took turns squeezing out the pulp and mixing the red staining liquid that resulted in the terracotta bowls. They washed and swished the liquid with the soft alpaca wool. It was quickly absorbed and the clear water was whisked out and left in the wood buckets. Grasses where braided together, creating endless piles of grass string, they would later be used to fashion sandals for the Acahuana ayllu.
The sun had set behind the powerful Andes by the time all the wool had been turned from its white cream to red. The clouds subsided above to reveal an orange sky streaked with pastel colors of pink and yellow. Fires rose in the valley, the smoke swirling into the air to vanishing on the face of the mountains. Night descended on Machu Picchu, the stars appearing in the east.
Cuva scrutinized the wool, her black eyes narrowed into slits as she passed her aged hand through the bronze basket. Nodding, the stern woman lifted her head to smile at the young women who towered over her.
"Good. The wool is well dyed with madder. Tomorrow you will go to chicha room and fill two chicha jars. For now, go to slave barracks of Acahuana. You will be assigned a mat and given food. Go," Cuva dismissed them with a wave of her hand.
Miriam gently bowed her head, her braid gliding over her slender shoulder.
"Where are we supposed to go? I can't follow those kinds of orders, never was one for deciphering code…" Moonstone commented, her white hair silver under the moon's light.
Cuva glared, her mouth tightening into a thin line, "I will lead you. But you will have only a half ration tonight for your impertinence."
Miriam gently put a hand on Moonstone's shoulder as the old woman waddled towards the open fence, "It is not worth it."
Moonstone's eyes shone like the ocelot's eyes in the night. "I haven't eaten since yesterday! I deserve a whole ration, regardless if the old lady misunderstands my humor!" she hissed under her breath.
Miriam shot Moonstone a warning glance and walked after Cuva, "Your life depends on that old lady's whim. I suggest you watch your tongue and keep your humor for another occasion."
Moonstone threw her hair over her shoulder and thundered after Miriam, her eyes losing their anger and frustration as the breeze wafted through her milky white hair.
Located behind the Acahuana house, the slave barracks where large. Three long mud structures lined the open area, grass and vines climbing shyly up the sides. Light from the orange flames danced through the open door, casting dark orange light outside. Yet the barracks where quiet; the cicadas chirruped from the mountains and grasses covering the sound of the soft whispers from the three mud abodes. Short grass ticked the soles of Miriam's feet as she approached the first barrack, following Cuva's short figure. Out of her peripheral vision, she recognized as Moonstone brushed a spider off her coarse, brown, wool dress. A tall Inca stood at the opening of the barrack, his spear glinting in the firelight. Cuva stepped forth and spoke to him, her rapid Inca sounding like cool water falling through the mountain. The bronze man nodded, his flattened cranium darkened by the veil of darkness. Cuva motioned to the two young women.
"This is your barrack. Come here every day once I dismiss you, understood?"
When Miriam and Moonstone nodded, the Inca woman waddled off into the darkness, heading towards the lights that adorned the large Acahuana house.
The large man looked down on them, "Follow me."
He disappeared into the barrack, bowing his head as he passed through the opening as not to hurt himself on the head. Miriam and Moonstone ducked as well as they passed under the door.
The barrack was simple. A large fire roared in the middle, various slaves adding and stirring to a large cauldron that stood in the center. Hide covered doors lined the sides of the barrack, leading to small chambers. Nothing but the cauldron and the roaring fire was to be seen in the center area, no one stood but the slaves that cared for the food, and but simple mats decked the sandy ground. Pausing for a moment, the guard looked around him at the many hides. Miriam looked at Moonstone and saw the same fear she felt reflected in the white haired woman's eyes. The Inca guard roughly grabbed Miriam by the shoulder and shoved her into a chamber, "You will stay here; this is your sleeping and living quarter. You are not to come out under any circumstances. Working will commence once the permission to emerge from the chambers is given."
"Wait! What about Moonstone…her?" Miriam cried, struggling to keep the hide open. The guard frowned, "She will go to another chamber. This is for you and him."
The hide closed resolutely as Miriam chanced one last smile at Moonstone. The slightly tan hide stared at Miriam in the face, covering the world from sight and dimming the light.
Brushing a fleck of dust off her coarse wool dress, Miriam frowned; the guard had said…him? Miriam felt her hands turn cold at the though of sharing a chamber with an unknown man. Turning slowly, her braid falling over her shoulder, Miriam peered into the depth of the room. No windows where visible on the walls and the only source of light came from the fire that roared at the center of the barrack. A small mat lay on the ground, a hard cushion providing the only comfort. The silhouette on the mat moaned softly as it stirred. Miriam halted, fear registering on her face as the figure moved. He was tall; his feet fell of the edge of the mat. His face was contorted in pain as he shifted his weight. Placing one foot in front of the other, Miriam craned her neck forward, trying to make out the figure in the darkness that invaded the room. A soft gasp escaped her lips as the light caught the face of the young man, "André!"
André lifted his head, his eyes blindly searching for the source of the voice. Miriam rushed over to his side, dropping to the floor beside the mat. Brushing her stray tendrils of hair behind her ears, she gently took André's hand in her own, "André?"
His coal black hair fell on the hard cushion as he shifted his face and turned his crystal blue eyes to Miriam, "Did they hurt you?"
Miriam stared at André in disbelief, "Hurt me? They beat you, they kicked you, they made you bleed! I…I didn't come close…I didn't help you…" Miriam suddenly let go of André's hand and allowed her face to collapse into her hands.
His face worried, André cupped his hand underneath Miriam's chin, lifting her face towards his, "Good."
"Don't talk, I'll get some water and wipe your wounds…it is the least I can do for you," Miriam whispered, resting his hand on the mat. André smiled, followed quickly by pain as the cut on his lip opened again, allowing the blood to flow. Miriam's brow contorted with sympathy as she stood, her dress lightly brushing the coarse ground.
André's blue eyes followed her as she strode over to the lit entrance and hesitantly removed the hide with her long fingers. Looking back once at him, the smile foreign on her lips, she disappeared into the fire lit barrack center. André turned over on the mat, his body aching all over. The blood had stopped flowing from his lips, but the bruises of black and blue which covered his chest and back were enough to make him wince as he moved. He couldn't bear to see Miriam so sad. The reason, however, was not a mystery to him; Miriam believed her brother dead, and seeing André bruised and aching must have reminded her of Chris. André sighed and closed his eyes briefly as voices drifted through the covered doorway.
Light flowed into the small room momentarily as Miriam removed the hide. She carried a pail full of water in one hand and a cloth in the other. Her eyes were clouded as she hurried over to the small, hard mat, her bare feet lifting small clouds of dust off the ground. Absentmindedly tucking a tendril of her chocolate brown hair behind her ear, she set down the bucket and ducked the cloth into the cold water as she kneeled beside André.
"Don't move; this might hurt a bit. The water won't help much to disinfect the wounds but it is the most that I can do in these circumstances…" babbled Miriam as she wrung the cloth.
"How did you get a bucket of water and that cloth?" asked André, frowning. He really didn't remember the last time the Incas had cared enough about their slaves to give them a bucket full of precious water and a cloth.
Miriam avoided André's eyes as she muttered her answer, "Um…well…were does it hurt? Is your lip still bleeding?"
"Don't change the subject. You took the bucket without permission, didn't you?"
Still Miriam evaded his eyes, "Your lip is bleeding again, let me…"
"Miriam…"
"Alright! Yes, I did take it without asking, but I hardly doubt someone will miss it; it was off to a side, in a darkened corner of the chamber! Now, will you let wipe that blood off your face, or do you enjoy it there?"
André grinned, "Actually, amazingly I do not enjoy blood on my face, it happens very rarely, usually it the others who have the blood on their face."
"So you admit to frequently beating people to a state similar to your right now, pirate?" Miriam muttered darkly as she dabbed the wet cloth over André's lip.
"I never beat anyone that didn't deserve it. What about the cloth, was it lying around conveniently as well?" André changed the subject, wincing at the pain caused by his lip.
"No," retorted Miriam, dropping the cloth back in the bucket before wringing it once again.
André lifted himself lightly from the bed, his body aching as his muscles stretched, "Miriam! You ripped the cloth from your dress!"
Miriam glanced briefly at the bottom side of her dress, where a small chunk was missing; the fabric bordering the missing part was frayed and tattered. Shrugging it off, she pushed André back onto the mat and began wiping a cut on his forearm.
André grinned, his smile so like his father's breaking the darkness, "I'm touched by your devotion."
Miriam snorted, "Devotion to what? Keeping a human alive? I'm doing what I would have done for anyone."
"That hurt Miriam. Here I was, thinking that you had finally accepted that I'm your friend and not an unwanted…OUCH!" André attempted to squirm away from Miriam as she scrubbed the cut forcefully.
"Moving will just make it worse, as well as aggravate your bruises. I suspect that you might have broken a rib, but I'm not sure…it really doesn't seem like it; maybe it is just a bigger bruise than the rest of them. Stop it, André! I have to make sure the wounds are clean, we don't want them to get infected!"
André stopped moving and closed his eyes as Miriam finished cleaning his many injuries.
Miriam looked up from where she was softly wiping a rough cut on André's side, her braid, now mostly undone, tumbling over her shoulder. André laid peacefully, his handsome face still and his eyelids hiding his lagoon blue eyes. Miriam felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as her eyes strayed over his face. He had called her from the quarry. André had protected her since Chris had left her…before Chris had left her. He had defended her from the dark skinned slave master, twice and from Acahuana and Urcon's intentions. In the jungle, in the Amazon he had fed her in her shock, yet all she had ever had for this young man lying in the mat in front of her were glares and angry replies. Miriam lowered her head once more and moved to another cut.
Chris's death had left her hollow inside. They had been too close. The death too sudden and quick. Miriam hadn't even seen it coming until it was too late; managi rarely killed anyone. But André had been there as well. She hadn't drowned in her misery because of him. André was a pirate, son of Jack Sparrow, who was probably one of the most feared and roguish pirate to ever sail Caribbean waters, and Miriam owned him possibly her life. Yet there were many differences from the Captain Sparrow she had been told about and the pirate breathing softly on the Inca mat. Sparrow was said to be a disloyal, cheating, drunk man. Never once had she seen André drink a drop of rum, wine or whisky, nor did he appear to be a cheater. Miriam looked up at André's face once more, and felt something she hadn't felt before. André kept his promises. He was polite, not crude, and refrained from behavior his father would be accredited for. There was a world of a difference between Jack Sparrow and André Sparrow. Their only point in common was the last name they both shared.
André's quiet breathing lifted a stray tendril of his coal black hair. Gently, hesitantly, Miriam reached out, carefully brushing the tendril onto the hard cushion André used as a pillow. Before she could react, André's hand reached out, holding hers tightly. Miriam sensed fear take over her as she acknowledged that she had known André for little over three weeks and he could easily be exactly like his father but a very god actor. André opened his eyes immediately and Miriam saw a glimmer of something that looked like fear pass through his bright blue eyes. Focusing, his eyes came to rest on Miriam, and he immediately released her hand.
"I'm sorry, Miriam, I thought you were my father," said André concerned, sinking back into the mat.
Miriam looked up at him, and noticed that his soft blue eyes never left her face, "Me too."
André's face was pained for a moment, "I am not my father," he looked at her once more, "why? I thought that you never met him…you didn't know him…"
Miriam stood up, leaving the bucket and cloth in a corner of the room before sitting down once more, but this time farther from André, "I don't know him. I met him once, when I was five, I think I already told you. Yet…your father is famous, André. I have heard many things about him."
"What? Why did you think I was him?" André asked softly.
Miriam's eyes never left the hide door directly in front of her, "Your father is a pirate. He is the most feared pirate that has ever sailed. They naturally say many things about him. They say things about his talent at evading the navy, but they also talk of his obvious preference of rum…" Miriam's voice faded to a whisper, "and many other things."
"Miriam…he's not my father. He might have created me, but I cannot be his son if his only wish is to kill me and see me dead. I lived with him five short years, nothing more."
André gazed over at Miriam's silent form, but she didn't move.
"I am André, Miriam. The person who is talking to you right now is not Jack Sparrow, but André! Why must I always be treated ill and prosecuted for my father's crimes? Why! Tell me Miriam!" André had risen from the bed and looked down at Miriam, his blue eyes flashing with anger and pain. Miriam's eyes left the door to stray on André's face, her features turning to stone as his voice rose. She stood as well, so his height would not overwhelm her. They said nothing for a minute, André's anger vibrating in his brilliant blue eyes while Miriam's face reflected nothing.
"Don't scream at me, André. I am not at fault that you wish to differ from your father," said Miriam, her eyes impassive.
André's eyes lost their anger and faced the mat, his back to her, "I'm sorry, Miriam. I just…I am very different from my father…very different," turning slowly he gently wrapped his arms around Miriam and brought her towards him, softly settling her head on his shoulder. Miriam didn't protest, instead she hesitantly settled her arms around his neck. "Miriam, I will never harm you. Until the day I die I will protect you. I owe it to your father, my Captain, and Chris…but most of all, I owe it to you."
André tensed, waiting for Miriam's outburst at his actions. But it didn't come. He waited for what seemed like an hour and yet it didn't come. Miriam rested, her head on his shoulder, her breathing slow and calm.
Miriam's instinct told her to slap André across the face and yell at him that he was just like his father…but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She felt protected and safe in his strong, but bruised arms. Chris was now gone, no one could be a brother to her anymore, but André wouldn't be a brother even if someone could take that spot. He was the friend she needed and she felt more comfort than she ever had wrapped in his arms. Lazily, Miriam opened her eyes; her mind was peaceful and content. Until she saw her arms around André's shoulders. Giving a start, Miriam let go immediately and pulled out of André's arms, shaking her head and not daring to meet André's eyes.
"André…I…I am so sorry, I didn't mean to…what I mean is that…" she stuttered, wrapping her arms around herself. How could she have been so stupid! André? He was…Why had she wrapped her arms around him? He was André Sparrow, and how could it have ever occurred to her? Miriam felt like committing suicide, she had never felt more embarrassed in her life.
André's voice cut across her thoughts, "I'm sorry…um…"
Miriam immediately changed the subject, "It is getting late, isn't? Shouldn't we go to sleep? We might have to wake up early tomorrow and…"
"Oh, and you have to eat, don't you?" asked André, lying down on the mat.
Miriam nodded eagerly, "Yes, that too. What is there for dinner?" Miriam asked on a calmer note, curious.
André made a grimace, "Not exactly what you call the greatest meal. I think it was supposed to be a fruit stew, probably the weirdest thing I ever tasted."
Miriam looked taken back, "Fruit stew?"
André grinned at the expression on her face, "Not the most appetizing thing after a day of starvation, isn't it?"
"No, not exactly…wait a minute," Miriam murmured, squinting around the room, "Is there only one bed?"
André sat up and scanned the room as well, but there where no shadows or shapes apart from the pail of water that indicated any mat or bed. Miriam felt the heat rising into her cheeks as thought over her options of sleeping on a mat. Behind her, André shifted uncomfortably.
"I'll sleep on the floor," he voiced, his tone careless.
Miriam didn't dare look at him.
"I think they are turning the fire out, you better eat before it is too late. You are already way too slender to lose more weight," André commented, as the firelight on the other side of the hide diminished progressively.
Throwing her undone braid over her shoulder, Miriam glanced at the door briefly and nodded, "I'll eat and then come and sleep, on the floor."
"What?"
Miriam turned around and looked at André. He was sitting on the side of the mat, his loose white blouse tied fallen around his waist, his black pants holding it in place. André's visage wore an unfathomable expression, his blue eyes fogged as he looked over Miriam, his usual roguish grin replaced by a serious air.
"You can't sleep on the floor. If your rib is broken, a hard surface on your back will worsen your state. Not to mention the bruises, and the dust will contaminate and possibly infect your cuts, an infection in these conditions can very easily led to death and I hardly think that sleeping on the floor because you believe that I am a prissy lady of high society that cannot even think of spending a night on the floor is a good reason to kill yourself. I am a pirate just like you; I have raided cities and assaulted ships, I can very well sleep on the floor."
André held up his hands in defense, but his eyes tinkled in amusement, "I never said that you were a noble or that you couldn't sleep on the floor because you would break like porcelain. I was just being a considerate being."
Miriam rolled her eyes, "For once."
André grinned, "You're a very harsh pirate."
"I must have learned it from you," Miriam smiled back sweetly.
André laughed as he lay back down on the mat and closed his eyes. Taking the conversation for finished, Miriam left the room quietly.
When she was laying on the floor and beginning to nod off into sleep she recognized that André had been right about one thing.
The fruit stew was absolutely repulsing.
o o o
Thunder boomed in the distance and dark clouds covered the Swann mansion. Rain tittered on the large windows, creating an ever present background to the silence that reigned. The antechamber to Elizabeth Turner's chamber was dimly light by two oil lamps. Will paced the small chamber, his hands behind his back and his handsome face drawn from lack of sleep. The dim lights cast shadows and yellow light on him as he regained his sleep, his chocolate eyes never leaving the large oak door in front of him. Whispers and murmurs came from within, but the noise was muted by the door and dense humid air.
"Still no news?" asked a voice from behind.
Will turned around quickly in his seat to find himself faced by Jack Sparrow. Glancing over the pirate briefly, Will turned his attention back to the double doors that hid Elizabeth from him, "Oh, it's just you."
Jack looked over Will worriedly, "Mate, have you eaten anything since yesterday?"
Will didn't answer, his eyes hypnotized.
"Will," Jack said a little louder, "Will, answer me."
Still Will said nothing.
Jack grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back, looking deeply into his eyes, "Good God, mate, you're killing yourself! Come and eat dinner, your cook has the best meals I have had in a long time…"
Will interrupted Jack by eagerly pointing to the door, "Jack! Did you hear that?"
Jack frowned, "What?"
Will stood up and kept on pointing agitatedly towards Elizabeth's chamber, "Elizabeth! Did you just hear…Again! She just said it again! She's telling us that she's fine and that the baby is born and well! Come on Jack! We need to go tell her how much we've missed her…"
Jack's eyes widened and he shook his head slowly, his beads clicking together. Taking Will's arm in his he steered them towards the other door, "Okay, Will, mate, I think we've been in this room long enough. It is time to eat and sleep a little."
Will struggled to escape from Jack's grip, "No! I need to go see her, I need to…"
"Yes, I am aware that you need to sleep, now, if you would stop struggling, we might get to the kitchen sooner and stuff something down your throat in the next three minutes."
Will didn't seem to have heard in his fight to regain Elizabeth's side, but he was weak, and before they had reached the stairs, Will collapsed.
"I'm losing it Jack," he murmured.
Jack looked back at Will and nodded, "I always told you that you loved that lass too much for your own good."
"I don't think I'll live if she…"
"Dies? Have an optimistic view of things, don't you?"
"Jack, it is not funny, I…I don't feel very well," Will croaked, his face pale.
Jack stopped immediately and looked back at his friend, "Will, you can't get sick, you haven't eaten anything since she went into labor, yesterday."
"I…I…oh god, I feel something…" Will bent over, promptly vomiting on the flowing Arabic carpet under his feet.
"Oh, Will…oh. That was a really nice carpet, I was even thinking of taking it along with me as a souvenir. Will, why not on the tiles? When you're done, you're going to have to get me another one of those," moaned Jack, looking at the damage done to the finely adorned red and black carpet.
Once in the kitchen, the maid served a large dinner for both men, including a large bottle of rum at Sparrow's protests. Will ate quickly and furtively, finishing his meal half an hour before Jack. When Jack had gulped down the last drip of rum from the bottle, Will was already fast asleep in his chair. Jack smiled; he knew that Will would fall asleep if left long enough in his seat after a full meal. Nodding at the maid to pick up the plates he carried Will up to the guest chamber, his chambers, being the same as Elizabeth's now occupied. Upon laying down on the bed, Will grabbed Jack's hand.
"Jack, promise me that you will find Chris and Miriam if Elizabeth was to die."
"Will, I hardly think she will die…I mean, well, the doctors haven't left the room since they went in, isn't that a good sign?" attempted Jack.
"Promise me Jack, tell them that mother and father loved them, very much, and that we are proud of whatever they will become."
"Mate, don't say things like that. You aren't going to die, and neither is Elizabeth!" pushed Jack, alarmed by Will's wish.
"Promise me, Jack!"
Jack looked at Will. The man's face was pale and the bags under his eyes were deep with lack of sleep. Yet there was so much love in those dark eyes as he spoke of his wife and children. Somewhere deep inside of him, Jack knew that Will wouldn't survive if his wife was taken from him. For a second Jack felt a pang of jealousy. He had never known what it felt like to be loved beyond everything; he had never felt the confidence Will had that his children loved him… André didn't love him. André had escaped from him, had accused him of murder, and now, looking at Will's face, he realized that this was the reason that he chased his only son all over the world; he wanted André to love him like a father, look at him the same way that Chris might look at Will.
"I promise you Will."
Will smiled as he collapsed back into slumber, his drawn face relaxing from its deep wound. As Jack closed the door to the chamber behind him he halted as he understood why he had never felt the love of a wife nor a son. He hadn't shown them how it felt to be loved.
A/N: There you go. Long chapter and I have the next one ready to post! But…I need some reviews to complete the first Author's note…so…REVIEW:) Remember those famous 3Rs : Review, Review and REVIEW! What do you think of the biased view André holds of his father? What about the hated image Miriam holds of him? No flames for it; Jack is the best, but I want there to be tension:) What do you think?
