Disclaimer: Do I have to? Isn't 19 times enough? Ok, fine. I own nothing, for gods' sake. NOTHING. Happy now?
Note: Most of Hispaniola was under Spanish rule during the hand-wavy era of this story. I have no idea if Port Liberte was called Puerto de la Libertad at that time, or even if a Spanish garrison of any kind actually existed there. I made it up. If anybody knows anything about 17th century settlements in Haiti/Dominica, please let me know. I normally hate history, but I have to admit I've learned quite a bit of interesting scraps writing this story and am developing a taste for it...
As always, endless gratitude to Erin, Rebecca, and Miss Shadow. You guys are wonderful and I love you to pieces. Hopefully not literally.
XVIII.
The Return of the Black Pearl
I met her in the morning;
Won't you go my way?
In the morning bright and early;
Won't you go my way?
--"Won't You Go My Way"
"I ain't tellin' him, and neither should you, Joshamee Gibbs," Anamaria says, with a finality that brooks no argument.
Though haunted by grave misgivings, Gibbs ploughs on, gathering his courage in the face of mortal peril. "I was only thinkin'...the Captain's awful fond of the lad, Miss Ana, on account of old Bootstrap and all, and Miss Elizabeth, too. He might like to know what's gone on while he was away."
Her scowl deepens alarmingly. "And that's exactly why he shouldn't be told. The last thing I want to do just now is go sailin' smack into the middle of another nest of law and order, Gibbs. And you know as well as I that's just what we'll be doin' if Captain Sparrow finds out what young Turner's up and done, that bloody great fool." It's uncertain whether this last epithet refers to Turner or to the Captain; Gibbs decides she likely means both.
He shifts from one foot to the other, uneasily. "Think of poor Miss Elizabeth, now. I remember her when she was but a wee lass...she's doted on Will Turner since the moment she saw him. Dunno how she'll take losin' him. Such a high-spirited lady, too, be a shame to see that spirit broken..."
"Bit fond of that pair yourself, ain't you?" She shakes her head. "You and the Captain make a fine pair. Sorry excuses for pirates, the both of you. Tell him what you will, then. Just don't go blamin' our bad luck on me when half the Armada comes after us to send us all to Davy Jones."
She strides away, fetching up for a moment to scold two idle young tars, who hasten to sort out a snarled bit of rigging. Gibbs glances leeward at the small dark blot against the early morning sky. They're but a few turns of the glass out from good old Tortuga. He takes a fortifying swallow from the flask in his hand.
The good Lord must've had womenfolk like Ana in mind when He invented liquor.
He does hope Miss Elizabeth is all right, though. He didn't see much of that villain Morena, but 'twas quite enough to figure the man for a snake of the worst breed. Enough to make a man's skin crawl, the things the Spaniard said about the lass. As for the poor Turner boy...always has been the noble type, risking his own hide for the sake of his ladylove. You had to admire him for it, really. And if you'd seen the lad's face when he heard Missus Turner was in danger, you couldn't help but feel for him, either.
Having a bit of sympathy for a man in trouble like that doesn't mean he's going soft, even though he knows that's what old Ana thinks, from the look she gave him.
He gulps down another swig of rum.
Elizabeth hasn't slept well. Again.
She's spent most of the night arguing with Jack Sparrow.
She's taken another room, as she'd intended to do the previous evening, before...things happened. But Jack's accusatory words have stayed with her, though he himself is safely distant at the other end of the hall. And every so often throughout the night she finds herself rolling over, half-dreaming, to snap out a reply to the lazy, supercilious drawl that she cannot push out of her mind:
You have no idea what makes you happy...
"Will," she whispers. "Will made me happy."
You need to decide just what it is that you want.
She turns again. The sheets are irredeemably twisted by now, and it's stifling in the cramped chamber. She wonders why she hasn't noticed just how close and rank these bloody rooms were, before, when she was one of two people sharing the tight quarters.
"There are some things I ought not to want in the first place."
Only two rules matter, love. What one can do, and what one can't.
"If only it were that simple..."
But it had felt that simple a scant twenty-four hours ago, when she was in his arms. So easy to forget "should" and "shouldn't", "right" and "wrong", "do" or "don't." So easy to give in, to let the storm of their desire sweep over her and through her and remind her that she was alive.
He made her lose control, and it felt like freedom. Like getting away with breaking every rule she's ever been taught to obey, like taking everything she's ever been forbidden. And she'd wanted that almost more than she wanted him. Almost.
An unbidden image invades her mind: his face just above hers, unfathomable eyes deep enough to drown in, his lips a little parted. His hands at her hips, his naked, lean-muscled body tense and gleaming with sweat. Waiting.
She had moved upwards against him, said, "Please."
"Damn you, Jack," she mutters. "Why can't you just leave me alone."
But she knows that it is her own mind that will not let her rest, her own traitorous body wishing that she were not alone this night. Aching to feel him all over again. And more than that, to conquer him as he has her, even out the score a bit, discover just where and how to touch him so that he begs for her as he made her beg for him. For one frightening instant, she imagines it, creeping down the hall in the early morning darkness, waking him with a finger over his lips to silence him...
Like some common whore.
She cuts herself off violently, and struggles to erase the fantasy from her consciousness. Flings the coverlet off and sits up, cursing under her quickened breath. This can't go on. She has to get away. Suddenly she remembers Nichole D'Bouvoire, and a hazy idea forms itself from the chaos of her thoughts...Nichole, who thinks what she likes, does what she likes, and goes where she likes, who is probably departing Tortuga this very day.
She hurriedly pulls on her trousers. Perhaps if she makes it down to the docks before the tide turns, she'll catch Captain D'Bouvoire preparing to weigh anchor. Perhaps she can plead with the woman to take her on, volunteer to help crew the Gyrfalcon, just sail away from Tortuga, from Jack, from anyone who knows her as Elizabeth Swann. Leave everything behind. Start a new life, at least for awhile. Perhaps find her way back to Port Royale when Will is due back home.
Or perhaps she will not go back. She does have a choice, after all.
She picks up the binding cloth she's been using to hide her figure, stares at it. Then she drops it to the floor without a second glance.
Her battered cap follows it a few moments later.
She stops short at the top of the quay, choking back a cry of disappointment.
The space at the pier occupied yesterday by the Gyrfalcon is already empty.
She closes her eyes. For the small space of time it had taken to walk down to the wharf from the Faithful Bride, through the quiet streets--amazingly deserted save the numerous vagrants curled in corners and doorways, sleeping off the previous evening's debauchery--she has been happy. The air, if anything, smells worse than ever, but she didn't notice until now; she was too busy savoring the anticipatory taste of freedom...
Opening her eyes again, she gazes out at the sunrise-pale, sharp-edged horizon, and then stiffens. There's something out there, a small black speck topped by a cloud-white smudge; as she stands unmoving at the pier, ignoring the bustle of the fishers and longshoremen around her on the awakening docks, the speck grows gradually and becomes a ship, still far off but on fast approach to the harbor.
She has a premonition as to what ship it is, but she watches it until she's sure, until she sees the figurehead and the distinctive shape of the hull.
"Beautiful, i'n she?"
The soft voice behind her startles her, familiar and yet not, no mockery, no lechery, no pretence; she turns, and sees something in Jack's face she's never seen before. A small, private smile tugs at his mouth, and an extraordinary expression of reverence, of love, fills the dark eyes, now fixed intently on the Black Pearl.
"You followed me?" she demands.
"No." His answer is abstracted, focus still distant. "Didn't know you were out here 'til I came upon you, love."
She looks out at the Pearl, then back at him; he's almost posed, feet a bit spread, arms crossed over his chest, tangled locks stirred by the morning breeze. With his cutlass lashed to his belt and his precious hat atilt on his head, he appears every inch the proud, wild buccaneer of the Jack Sparrow Legend.
"Jack. You couldn't possibly have known..." She peers at him. "How did you know?"
He trains that Sphinx-like, golden smile on her. "Sometimes, lass," he says, as if initiating her into some great mystery, "a man just gets a feelin' about certain things. Savvy?"
She shakes her head, and gives up, unable to repress an answering smile.
"So, m'lady." He favors her with a lingering once-over, and she knows he's noticing the differences in her appearance: her bare head, the dagger in plain sight at her side, and the one daring top button at the collar of her blouse that, because it chafed the still-painful cut on her neck, she's left unfastened. "Have you sussed out what it is you want?"
"What I want--?" Her thoughts slide unavoidably back to its early-morning wanderings, and she feels a slow flush creeping upwards from her throat. And how does he always manage to do that to her?
"Aye. We can sail you home to Port Royal, if you like. Or..." He slips an arm around her waist, gestures widely. "You could stay on with us. See the world...and me and Anamaria'll make you into the handsomest little pirate lass ever to terrorize the seven seas. What say you to that, m'dear?" He cocks his head sideways at her, considering. "'Course, old Gibbs will need some time to adjust to having another female aboard, but he'll warm up to you soon enough, I'm sure. He always liked you, y'know."
His words echo in her mind, blending with her memories.
She hears an earnest, joyful tenor murmur:
We'll do whatever we want, my love. We'll sail the world, if you wish. And we'll share everything...
And then, overlaying it, Jack's own rum-drenched slur in her ear from that long night years ago, when they had lain close together on the white beach of a small, uncharted island, and watched sparks from the heart of their fire fly upward to disappear among the stars.
Wherever we want to go, we'll go...the entire ocean, the entire wo'ld...that's what a ship is, you know.
Freedom.
"Well, darling? What shall it be?"
She bows her head, letting the memories fade out of her heart and leave it empty.
"I should return to Port Royal, though I dread the thought of it."
He snorts. "Then don't do it. It's that simple."
Of course. It's always that simple for you, Jack Sparrow.
"I fear I'd be not but a burden to you and your crew on the high seas, Jack," she says lightly.
"What was that you were tellin' me last night, then, about how you lashed a mizzen-sail in the middle of a hurricane, all by your onesies?"
She gives a small laugh. "Perhaps I neglected to add the part where said jib came loose in the night and was torn to rags."
He waves this away. "Details, love," he replies easily. "Everyone makes mistakes."
"You're truly serious about this, aren't you," she says, surprised.
"And you are not?" He raises an eyebrow. "You speak as if I habitually make offers upon which I have no intention of following through."
At this statement, she can't help but laugh outright; he contrives to look hurt.
"What?" he says, then shakes an admonishing finger at her. "Mock me all you like, Madam, but I'm no fool. You're avoiding the question."
She sighs, and leans her head, briefly, on his shoulder.
"That's because I still don't know the answer, Jack."
Anamaria meets him at the bottom of the Pearl's gangway, grinning crookedly.
"Reckon you thought we'd let you fall behind this time, did you?"
"That's Captain to you, swabbie," he says, in mock remonstrance, and sweeps her into a quick embrace. "Won't deny it, though, I was feelin' a bit land-weary." Releasing her with a comradely slap on the back, he adds, "So, what took you so long? Not taking too many gross liberties with my darling Pearl, here, I hope..."
Her smile vanishes, replaced by a curious, closed expression. "Ran into a bit of trouble that I wasn't expectin', is all." Her gaze slides past him, and she says, before he can ask her to elaborate, "You found yourself a new friend while you were waitin', I see..."
Jack glances over his shoulder at the tall, slender girl hanging back at the end of the dock. Elizabeth's head is bent, so that he cannot see her face, and crowned by smooth braids that gleam like burnished gold in the early morning sun; she's apparently lost in thought, her hands twisting together nervously. He notices how the gesture makes her seem suddenly very young, and very vulnerable, and wonders, absently, what made her drop her lad's guise today. At the same time he's aware that Anamaria's comment was meant to distract him, and that there's obviously something his first mate wants to avoid telling him.
Ana is watching him, arms folded, eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you don't mean to take her on board, Captain," she says, low. "You know it'll only lead to no good, and we don't need any new problems, just now..."
"Give me a bit more credit, love. 'S not what you think."
Mostly not, that is.
He raises his voice. "Surely you remember Miss Elizabeth Swann, don't you, Ana? Lass who helped me win the Pearl back, some years ago? Had a hand in saving me from the noose, too, if I rightly recall..."
His words, as intended, provoke reactions from both women. Elizabeth's head jerks up at the sound of her name; Ana, meanwhile, gapes at her, and then at Jack, in undisguised shock and confusion. He beams at both of them. Nothing he does surprises Ana much, these days, and he feels immensely pleased with himself for getting such a rise out of her.
But it quickly dawns on him that his quartermaster is more than just astonished; indeed, she appears uncharacteristically distressed.
"How--" For once, Ana seems at a loss for words. "Bloody crazy, what this is," she mutters, and stalks past Jack to confront Elizabeth.
He follows her. "It's quite the interesting story, really--"
But Ana cuts him off. "What are ye doin' here, lass?" she demands of Elizabeth. "Ye escaped Morena?"
Jack blinks. "What are you on about, Ana? Honestly, sometimes I think you're as daft as I--"
"You be quiet," she snaps, with such force that he deems it safer to comply, despite her shameful disrespect for his title and his authority. Ana's never quite learned the meaning of "insubordination," or if she has, she's never quite understood that it's an undesirable behavior for a ship's officer to engage in. Or perhaps, and on a moment's reflection, most likely, she just doesn't give a damn.
"Morena?" Elizabeth is saying, in bewildered tones. "I'm afraid I don't understand what--"
"I heard you were captured, girl! By the Spanish...And that man of yours, he--"
"Captured?" Elizabeth says blankly. "No! I've been here, in Tortuga, I--" She stops. "That man of--Will? What happened to Will, Ana? Tell me--"
Ana stands back from her, grim. "Will Turner's on his way to Hispaniola in the firm belief that he'll be exchangin' his freedom for yours."
"What? But...how? Why?" Elizabeth falters, turns toward him, questioning. "Jack--I don't understand."
"I can't say I do either, love." He looks at her, and finds himself shaken by the stark fear and helplessness written plainly on her delicate features. "Look here, Ana," he says urgently. "You'd best tell this tale from the beginning."
In a few terse sentences, then, Ana outlines their escape from the Spanish in Tortuga harbor three nights ago, and the Black Pearl's meeting with the Dauntless. "I wasn't there at the time, y'know. Gibbs'll tell you the whole story of what happened aboard that Redcoat ship," she concludes. "He says the Spanish Captain--Morena--brought 'em to believe you were aboard the Lady Swann when she were taken, Mistress Liz."
"Of course," Elizabeth whispers. "Will didn't know--couldn't have known--" She bites her lip. "But why--?"
"Seems Morena wouldn't accept nought in ransom for you nor for the rest of the crew, save Mr. Turner himself. Got some grudge against the lad, don't rightly know why." Ana shakes her head. "They'll be on the way to the Spanish garrison at Puerto de la Libertad to make the exchange, now. I'm real sorry, lass."
"But he's still alive," Elizabeth cries. "There's still a chance--!" She lays a hand on Jack's arm, beseechingly. "We can save him, Jack! If we sail now--"
"I don't know, love," he says slowly. "It's likely we won't catch up to them much before they reach Port Liberty, and I can't say I fancy the odds we'll face, considering the fact that half the Hispaniola fleet makes berth in that particular harbor."
"We'll think of something. You'll think of something," she implores him. "Come on, when have odds ever fazed you? You're Captain Jack Sparrow, remember?" Her grip tightens. "Please, Jack..."
Opening his mouth to say no, he makes the mistake of meeting her eyes; they are huge and desperate, and bright with something that bears an alarming resemblance to tears.
He sighs, heavily. "I'll do what I can," he promises, loosening her clutching fingers from his sleeve as gently as he can. And grunts in pain when she immediately throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly with utter disregard for the still-healing cut on his side, as well as for his reputation.
"Thank you, Jack," she murmurs into his shirt.
"Don't mention it," he says. "Now would you--ow--care to ease up a bit? Something to be said for showing consideration to a wounded man, savvy?"
"Sorry," she says breathlessly, releasing him. But the brilliant smile she gives him is full of hope, and he thinks, inconsequentially, that she has absolutely no right to walk about being so bloody beautiful. He experiences an illogical twinge of disappointment. Ten minutes ago, he almost had her talked into turning pirate. There'll be no more of that. He knows her mind is fixed irrevocably on her precious William, now.
His next thought runs something along the lines of Oh, hell. She honestly trusts that I'll be able to pull this one off.
Beside him, Ana makes a disgusted noise. "I knew it."
"What's that, love?"
"I knew you'd want to go after that young fool soon as you heard." She scowls at him. "One of these times that honest streak of yours is goin' to get you killed, Jack Sparrow, and probably the lot of us, too."
"Ana, please. You heard the lass." His cheerful tone belies a creeping sense of anxiety. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. What could possibly go wrong, eh?"
