Jack stepped out on deck in the early morning hours, leaving an angel asleep in his bed. Sometimes he wondered if she'd plummeted straight from heaven to the sea at their first encounter. It had been several days now since their rendezvous at port. Their trysts were left to her fiery passion. The previous night was resultant to an argument about the course he'd charted. The girl was skilled at tongue lashing, in all manners of the word. In fact, he thought she quite liked it. Though telling her so would be the death of him. The Pearl was running like clockwork under the new crew. Things were going well. Which often meant, in the world of Captain Jack Sparrow, that they were not.
He'd assumed the roiling in his stomach to be the hidden nature of their affair, or the fact that she was still technically married (albeit to the eunuch). Or how she somehow felt unattainable, even as he thrust in to her eager body. He pressed a hand to the soreness at his side. Aye, that must be the roiling. This was something Elizabeth had not seen, for their affairs had remained quick and clothed. Often they slept in separate quarters to avoid the gossip. He lifted his shirt slightly to admire the strange ink-like tendrils spreading from a wound that should have healed. They now reached to his rib cage, like fingers stretched towards his heart.
"What are you doing?" Elizabeth spoke behind him.
He quickly righted his shirt, dusting it off as an afterthought. "Stain!" he crowed as he turned swiftly, "T'was a stain." He cleared his throat.
"A… stain?" Elizabeth squinted.
"Nothing to worry about," he smiled.
"Oh, no?" she circled him, "Then, why are you so pale?"
"So, this" he gestured between them, "is about appearance, then?" He tutted. "Elizabeth, how could you be so shallow?"
"Hah!" Elizabeth laughed, "Shallow, says the man who'd approach any pretty-little-thing at port."
"Not when I've got such a pretty-little-thing aboard," Jack wrapped his arms around her waist, examining her softly, "haven't I?"
She gave him a pained expression. "Jack, I have to ask you…"
"Cap'n!" Joshamee exclaimed as he ascended the stairs.
"Mister Gibbs!" The two stepped apart to examine the interloper.
Joshamee paused and nodded, "Right. I was meanin' to ask you about our change in plans."
"Go on, then."
"Let me get this straight... 'Was in a bit of a haze last night... We're going to an island- one you briefly saw on a scrap of paper- which you don't know the name of, but contains unmeasurable wealth?"
"Precisely," Jack nodded.
Joshamee's expression flattened. "Sounds like one of your plans. And here I thought we were sticking to the course Miss Elizabeth had charted with her extensive knowledge on trade routes. Seems like that would be the option with more, shall we say, certainty?"
"Save your words, Mr. Gibbs," Elizabeth crossed her arms and reviewed her choice in lover, "this man is deaf."
"Come now, you two!" Jack walked towards the helm as they strolled at his heels. "Haven't I always steered us in the right direction?"
"No." They answered in unison.
"But," he held a finger aloft, "haven't I always managed to deliver said booty?"
The two turned to each other, then shook their heads, "No."
"Such a supportive crew…"
"Jack," Elizabeth halted the wheel with her hand atop his, "we are your crew. That's why we need to know where we're headed, exactly what we're getting ourselves into. That's why I was trying to ask you earlier…"
"No!" Jack interrupted as the blood rushed in his ears. Elizabeth retracted her hand. "As my crew, you are meant to follow the Captain's orders. Savvy?"
Elizabeth's eyes grew cold. "Aye, Captain." She looked him over spitefully. "What other use would you have of us?" With that, she turned on her heel and was gone.
"Elizabeth!" Jack took a step forward, then stopped himself.
"Go after her!" Joshamee encouraged. "Lest you want the deck to freeze over."
"No, Mister Gibbs," Jack sighed. "I'm a bloody bilge rat. Not at all like the man in her head. High time she realized that."
Joshamee shook his head in dissension. "Aye, yer a bilge rat. But, only if you allow yerself to be."
Elizabeth returned to her quarters, slamming the door behind her. "Arsehole!" She exhaled before sliding down the wood paneling behind her. She sunk her hands into her hair. Maybe she was wrong to establish this parley. Maybe she should have never slept with that heinous man. She sighed as her hands played with her tangles. No, that was the only thing that had felt right in a long while. But, he was hiding something. She could see it in the corner of his crinkled eyes: he was hurting. She hadn't been able to look at that wound on his stomach, but she doubted very much it to be a bruise. Catching him the morning confirmed it. Just what did it look like? Where were they headed? She knew in her heart these things were connected. He was scared. That was it. But his fear was self-motivated. Once again Jack Sparrow was only out for himself. She felt a hot tear land on her thigh at that thought. Why was she crying? Why should she care? It wasn't like she loved the man. It was mutual attraction and consensual satisfaction at best. These were perfectly logical feelings to have. Where did love fit into all of this? She wiped her face on her sleeve and steeled herself. Decidedly, it did not.