Disclaimer: She was last seen in the pirate port of Tortuga, leaving in the company of one Jack Sparrow, and other fugitives from justice…
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The Pearl bobbed gently in the waves. On deck, the crew hefted bags, boxes and barrels aboard, refilling the depleted hold. In the rigging, Squirrel lay back, staring at the stars, in a roughly-tied hammock made from the Pearl's black sails. Though precariously positioned, she was drifting in and out of wakefulness, humming a soft tune under her breath.
Strange, she thought, as she was rocked by the ship in her cradle, I don't know this song. But whatever it is and wherever it's come from, it's beautiful. Words for the song floated in and out of her mind like cirrus clouds in the wind; nothing definite, nothing sure. It was a beautiful tune, like a lullaby. Squirrel stifled a yawn, and looked down over the docks. Her eyes picked out a swaggering figure, and her mind slowly roused itself. None had a swagger like Jack Sparrow. She rose carefully, pulling on one rope to right herself and another to lift her feet up to the spar. Balanced on the wooden beam, she retied the sail and made to leap down to the deck.
The song died in her mind as she remembered: she'd broken into Jack's cabin. If she went down to greet the captain, he'd know. Her face was an open book to him. Flushing, Squirrel remained where she was, leaning on the rope and looking earth-wards.
After watching Jack for a moment, Squirrel's eye was caught by another figure - this figure was no pirate or sailor seeking to sneak aboard a ship, clearly. They were moving with sure purpose… following after Jack. Squirrel tensed, frowning, and her fingers strayed to the shanghai tucked in her belt. She'd stopped a bullet for Jack; she'd do it again if she had to. There was something not right about this sailor. Something not right at all.
"Captain Jack Sparrow!"
Jack barely looked over his shoulder. "Come to join me crew, lad? Welcome aboard!"
The figure did not look impressed. "I've come looking for the man I love."
Squirrel's eyes widened - she suddenly knew what had been bothering her about the newcomer. They could dress like a sailor, they could tie their hair in a club, they could adopt a stronger way of walking and talking, but no woman could ever hide feelings of true love. Especially not from another woman. And especially not from a woman who knew what true love was, and what one would risk for it.
Squirrel quickly scrambled across the ropes, nimble and sure, her mind as quick as her movements. She wanted to be closer, catch a glimpse of this woman who would risk reputation and safety in order to follow her love. Squirrel found herself smiling, and thought, She might very well be my reflection in a mirror! Squirrel reached the edge of the Pearl's rigging, and was still not close enough to see the woman's face. But she certainly saw Jack's.
"I'm deeply flattered, son," he said, looking alarmed and almost sickened, "But my first and only love is the sea." He made a 'drop him' motion to Gibbs, who nodded and swigged nervously from a bottle.
Shaking her head in exasperation and amusement, Squirrel caught sight of someone else. A figure, hiding the shadows, arms crossed and watching, silently. Squirrel felt fear course through her - she recognised a cold-blooded killer when she saw one. They visited her uncle's tavern all the time; a lot of them even worked for him. But this man… this man was well-dressed, well-off. No merchant's lackey, this. This one was someone with power, influence… and, doubtless, so was the man this killer worked for.
"Meaning William Turner, Captain Sparrow."
Squirrel's head snapped back, focusing on the woman. William Turner? But that would mean…
"Elizabeth?"
Squirrel looked at the woman, feeling sick. You've come looking for your love… and we've sent him to his grave. She shook herself, then reasserted, Jack did. Not 'we'. He did. Not us. She bit her lip, wondering… panicking…
Jack shooed Gibbs away - the sailor clutched at his bottle of rum possessively - before sauntering over to Elizabeth Swann. "You know," he said, grinning boyishly, "These clothes do not suit you at all. It should be a dress or nothing." His grin widened, "And I happen to have no dress in my cabin."
Squirrel, made an indignant noise, and would have thrown something at him were her hands not full of rope. Instead, she coloured silently, both hurt and angry.
Elizabeth evidently did not think much of the pirate's frivolous manner either. "I know Will came to find you. Where is he?"
Squirrel bit her lip harder. Oh no, oh no… Her hands twisted the ropes that held her up.
Jack sighed, looking weary. "Darling, I am truly unhappy to have to tell you this, but through a series of unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances that had nothing whatsoever to do with me… poor Will has been press-ganged into Davy Jones' crew."
Squirrel gaped at Jack's bare-faced lie. But she wasn't the only one disbelieving.
"Oh please," a mud-splattered man lifted his head from the dock's railing, from where he'd been throwing up, "Davy Jones? The captain of the Flying Dutchman?" His tone was officious and mocking, and Squirrel felt that she knew him from somewhere, but couldn't quite place him. As Jack and the deep-voiced drunkard exchanged words, Squirrel decided to move closer. Letting go of one of the ropes, she swung out into space, then let go.
She'd sworn never to set foot on Tortuga ever again. But ships weren't Tortuga, now, were they? And as long as she wasn't caught, she would be fine. She reached out and caught the loose and unwatched line of rigging from the ship opposite, and, breaking every law of ships, seas and sailors, swung over and clambered up in the rigging of the other ship.
She looked back at the Pearl but once. "I'll come back," she promised with a whisper. She would not be trespassing on this strange ship for long. Cloaked and swift as silver, she climbed through the rigging across and down as close as she could; as she dared. She hung, unseen, over the heads of Elizabeth and Jack, listening, a length of rope twisted in her hands.
"All I want is to find Will." The heartache in Elizabeth's voice was palpable.
Jack nodded, sighing, understanding. "I know…" Then he seemed to be struck by an idea. "Are you certain? Are you sure? Is that what you really want most?"
Elizabeth tilted her head, frowning in puzzlement. Squirrel mirrored her, wondering what Jack could possibly be thinking.
"Course," Elizabeth said.
Jack raised a knowing eyebrow, wearing his most charming gold-toothed smirk. "Because I would think you would want to find a way to save Will most."
Elizabeth's frown both lightened and deepened. "And you have a way of doing that?"
"Well," Jack said, pulling at his beaded beard. "There is a chest…"
"Oh dear," the drunkard muttered, rolling his eyes. He staggered back to the rail to throw up again; Squirrel winced in disgust.
"A chest of unknown size and origin…" Jack continued.
Pintel and Ragetti, carrying a cask of bottle between them, contributed to the conversation as they passed. "… what contains the still-beatin' heart of Davy Jones." Ragetti mimed ripping his heart out, and made his hand beat, as though he were holding the organ itself.
Before Elizabeth could speak a question, Jack picked up where the conversation was left off. "And whoever possesses that chest possesses the leverage to command Jones to do whatever he or she wants… including saving brave William from his grave fate."
The drunkard chose to reappear. "You don't actually believe him, do you?" He asked Elizabeth. Jack looked at Elizabeth, frankly and plainly.
There was a significant pause. Squirrel squirmed slightly. Jack's both lying and telling the truth at the same time. That's one of the reasons why I can never read him. Because I can never really know…
"How do we find it?"
Jack grinned while, up in the rigging, Squirrel felt her heart sink. "With this," the pirate said, holding something out to Elizabeth. "My compass," he clicked it open and closed like a clam, "Is unique."
"'Unique' here having the meaning of 'broken'," the drunkard muttered disparagingly, returning to the railing again.
"True enough," Jack looked annoyed, then resumed, "My compass doesn't point north."
"Where does it point?"
"It points to whatever you want the most."
"Jack…" Elizabeth half-laughed, then looked at him with all seriousness. "Are you telling the truth?"
Jack held the woman's gaze and nodded. "Every word, luv."
Squirrel had heard enough. She climbed back up the rigging, found a spare rope, and swung back to the Pearl. It felt good to have solid timbers beneath her feet again, but she still felt uneasy.
Elizabeth Swann. The dancer in Squirrel's dream now had a face. And it was beautiful. Will was a very lucky man to have a woman of such quality who loved him… Elizabeth was an incredibly lucky woman to have a man of Will's quality loving her.
But everything was tangled up in a skein of lies. Eventually, no-one would be blameless. And everyone would be hurt.
Squirrel clicked her tongue, a bitter taste in her mouth.
Gibbs approached her, the inventory lists in his hand. He looked glad, appreciative. "Looks like everything we need is here, Miss. A full hold'll be good for all of us."
Squirrel nodded, distracted. "I thought as much."
Gibbs looked down at the lists again, grinning, then back across the dock. "Well, looks like we'll be leavin' soon."
Squirrel looked out over the dark sea, and sighed heavily. "Do we have everything we need, Mister Gibbs?"
Gibbs consulted the list. "Well, aside from the food, livestock, extra ropes, powder…" Gibbs' face darkened. "I think you'll find we've not met your recommendation for powder, Miss. The price for powder's gone up, not to mention that it's in short supply, what with the East India Trading Company coming down hard on pirates and all." He shrugged. "Still, Cotton and the boys did their best, considering."
"Anything else?" Squirrel said, turning her eyes back to the town.
Gibbs checked the lists again. "Oh, aye, the extra rum." He grinned. "That were a fine idea of yours, Miss Grey, and mark me, a fine idea!"
Squirrel looked at the sailor frankly, unable to avoid his gaze any longer. "That wasn't what I was talking about, Gibbs," she said, her voice taut and pained. "Do we have the ninety-nine men we need, or not?"
Gibbs looked taken aback at her frankness. "I…" He shook his head. "I suppose so." He turned and walked back down to the dock. Squirrel sighed, pained, and leant on the railing. The water and sky were as black as ink, and matched her mood.
Jack was lying, Will was trapped aboard the Flying Dutchman, and now Elizabeth was being dragged into this. Not to mention these new crewmen, who did not know what they had signed themselves up for. No-one was getting out of this easily. Least of all herself. Because I'm more tangled up in this than I like to think.
Voices from the dock rose up to her. "We have our heading!"
The spirits in Gibbs' voice rose. "Cast off those lines, weigh anchor, and cloud that canvas!" He barked orders and the sailors and pirates lingering around the dock sprang to obey. The crew - new and old - grabbed what supplies remained and brought them aboard, readying to be on-deck for when the ship would leave Tortuga harbour.
Squirrel looked back through the crowd, her eyes seeking that cold and frightening man - that well-dressed killer - her eye had lit on earlier, but there was no sign of him. Shaking off a sense of foreboding, Squirrel mustered a smile and turned to greet the doomed men who were part of this crew now.
Elizabeth was the first one she saw. And Squirrel's smile was wasted on her; Miss Swann's focus was entirely on Jack's compass. Squirrel felt both relieved and panicked - if Elizabeth was showing the way to Davy Jones' heart, then there was no need for Squirrel to share that she knew of Isla Cruces. But Jack had left his most trusted possession with Elizabeth? Why? Why hadn't he trusted it with Squirrel?
Because you told him to shove it where the sun don't shine, a voice scorned. Squirrel scowled momentarily, feeling foolish that she let a chance like that slip by. A chance for Jack's trust and admiration. At the time, her reason had been valid… but now…
"Welcome to the crew, former Commodore," Pintel laughed from the dock. Squirrel was jolted into alertness on hearing this. Commodore? As in, Commodore Norrington? He was here? How?
The mud-splattered drunkard staggered up the gangplank, a goat in his arms. Under the mud and the tattered uniform, Squirrel thought she recognised the man who had chased them around the Atlantic, but barely. Barely. What had happened to him?
"Commodore?" She asked, moving out from the shadows, her cloak swishing around her ankles.
Norrington turned unsteadily on his feet, and squinted at her. "What?" His eyes widened slightly when he noticed Squirrel was a woman.
Squirrel blushed at his stare, but fought for control of her face. "Follow me," she said softly. "I'll show you where to tether the goat."
She turned, making for the stairs that lead below. She looked up once, and caught sight of Jack returning to his cabin. He was whistling to himself as he swung the doors open, stepped inside, and slammed them closed. Squirrel sighed, and continued on. Whether Jack knows or not I've been in there, she thought sadly, it doesn't matter. What I know, what I've learned, doesn't matter. Not anymore. Elizabeth's the one Jack will consult now. And she knows what she wants, whereas I… I don't even know for sure.
It was a simple enough step in logic, but still, Squirrel felt betrayed. And useless. It was a foolish thought - Elizabeth wasn't replacing her. Squirrel still had duties aboard the ship, and it wasn't like Jack had marooned her on Tortuga or anything. But somehow, Squirrel's mood was plummeting, and naught could revive it.
The ship was alive with the sound of footsteps and voices; laughter and cursing and companionable shouting. Squirrel felt cold as she imagined the silence that would fill the ship in three more days; the silence that she once found peaceable but she now imagined would become bitter and accusing.
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As Norrington tethered the goat with the rest of the livestock, Squirrel examined him from under her hood. He was a pitiable figure, for certain. His uniform was in tatters, the brocade torn off; he smelt of rum and sweat and hopelessness. Covered in mud and grime, he didn't seem at all like the dedicated naval hero who had doggedly chased them across oceans, through sunshine and rain and storms and who knows what else.
As Squirrel watched, the tattered wig Norrington still wore slid off the side of his head and plopped to the deck. The former commodore made a half-hearted reach for it, but the goat was faster. It snatched the wig up in its mouth and started chewing. Norrington swore at the goat, but didn't bother trying to get his wig back. He merely leant on the wooden post of the animal's stall and sighed wearily.
"Are you alright?" Squirrel asked, setting down the bowl she had been carrying on a barrel.
Norrington looked annoyed, but he didn't open his eyes. "Does it look like it?" His voice was baritone and still carried an air of command, though tinged with disappointment and despair. "I used to be a commodore. Respected, feared… and now look at me." He wiped his hand over his face, disgusted and tired.
Squirrel sighed, and tried again. "Here," she said gently, holding out a damp cloth. Norrington finally opened his eyes, and frowned suspiciously.
"What's that for?"
"To clean yourself up," Squirrel said. She indicated to the bowl she'd set down - it was full of water. Norrington grunted slightly, but accepted the cloth and slumped over to the bowl of water and started washing his face. Squirrel waited patiently, watching him. It seemed fitting that she should be in the hold with Norrington - after all, their moods matched. They were both in dark pits of despair, though for different reasons.
"You almost h-had us off Tripoli," Squirrel said softly. "It was very close."
Norrington snorted, throwing down the now-dirtied cloth. "Of course it was." He splashed water onto his face, rubbing at the grime and the mud caught in the stubble of his beard. "And if I'd caught you, I wouldn't be here." His anger was half-hearted.
"Commodore…"
This time, his anger was raw. "I'm not a commodore anymore!" He shouted. This reflection in the bowl rippled like waves before a storm. The animals behind them bleated and bawled, alarmed by the sudden noise. Squirrel herself was taken aback as well. Norrington saw the alarm in her eyes, and fell back with a heavy sigh. He cuffed at the water unenthusiastically, then mumbled an apology.
"How did it happen?" Squirrel asked, gently, so as not to offend.
Norrington sighed, then straightened and turned to face her, though his eyes he kept low. "It doesn't matter anymore." He pulled at his hair, trying to straighten out the mess that had been hidden under that wig of his. "I'm here now. A member of a pirate crew." He eyeballed her suspiciously. "Outranked by a woman, of all things."
Squirrel raised an eyebrow. She'd never considered the possibility that she could outrank anyone - she'd always been 'Miss Squirrel Grey'. She'd never had an official placement aboard the Black Pearl. But, considering how she was now one of the senior members of the crew… The thought was both uplifting and sobering - she had a place, she had somewhere she belonged, but it was only because of ninety-nine men who were going to die.
Squirrel looked at Norrington, pityingly. Surely, there were men aboard who did not deserve this fate. Especially not a fate which would justify Jack Sparrow's carefree - careless - life. Surely, there were some men who deserved a second chance.
All that can be solved when you get your hands on Davy Jones' heart, she reminded herself. She carefully smoothed down her face so as not to betray her thoughts.
"What's a woman doing aboard a ship anyway?" Norrington continued, wiping at his now-cleaner face with the reverse side of the cloth. "With someone like Gibbs here, I would have thought that you'd be thrown overboard."
"What?" Squirrel frowned, drawn back out of her musings. "Why? Because women are b-bad luck?"
Norrington tilted his head, suddenly interested. "I would have thought so, yes."
Squirrel stared Norrington down with an innocent smile, but inside she was cringing. There was something strange about Norrington. A subtle something - very subtle - about him which reminded her of a cat sighting its prey. There was suddenly something in the way he stood and held himself that reminded Squirrel of a cat resettling itself from rest to alertness, unsheathing its claws.
"Well," Squirrel said, not letting her unease show, "I think you'll find I'm far too useful for that."
"Useful," Norrington scoffed, though his eyes held hers. "Really?" There was something sardonic, almost suggestive, in his tone.
Squirrel flushed hotly, and was glad for the near-darkness in which she stood. "Yes. I've like as much the sharpest eyes aboard, and none can climb the rigging faster than I." Without realising it, she'd slipped into a pirate's vernacular, a pirate's grammar. So be it. If I have to prove myself a pirate, then that's how I'll act.
The former commodore inclined his head. "Of course. I don't doubt it." The cat sheathed its claws… for now. But he still considered her curiously.
Squirrel gave him a small frown before turning her back to him. "Follow me," she said, leading him back out of the hold, "We'll see to your duties." Norrington snorted, but followed her; she did, after all, outrank him.
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A/N: Oodles of canon details here, and I apologise. It's for the best, trust me. For the next chapter... all in favour of Squirrel and Jack having some alone time say 'AYE'!