A/N: Thank you so much to lady angst, Manwathiel, Starling Rising, queenankhesenamun, and SwordMasterZ for your lovely, sweet reviews! You are wonderful.
A huge thank you to jedipati!
Disclaimer: POTC belongs to Disney.
This can't be happening. We can't be here, again.
Panting, Jack slogged forward until the wavelets crested below his knees. Then he turned as if the world rested on his shoulders. Elizabeth, standing farther up the beach, turned as well. They squinted out to sea.
The Black Pearl was limping off, taking Will, the Interceptor's crew, and the mists with her.
"That's the second time I've had to watch that man sail away with my ship," Jack said, face twisted.
Elizabeth's tore her dry eyes from the Pearl. Listless, she turned and walked down the snowy beach, leaving a wobbling trail.
Jack glanced between her and the Pearl.
Both're leaving us an'we're alone again. P'raps we should just use that pistol now.
"For the seventieth time shut it, y'whiny piece of squid," Jack muttered. "This ain't the first, second, third, fourth, or fifth time your life's fallen to pieces, or that Secret Agendas've been pulverized 'neath Barbossa's booties. This's happened before. You know the drill."
I hate the drill.
"It's better'n trying to shoot yerself when your powder's wet, y'imbecile."
He dragged himself up into the dry, pliant sand and limply picked up two snakelike pieces of driftwood.
Oh how I hate the drill.
"An'yet the devil won't let y'get away wiffout doing it."
He shoved the tips of the sticks into the sand and plopped down beside them. One boot off…gush. He wiggled his bare toes in the air, feeling them dry. He was so glad he had foresworn soggy hose at the age of, of, youngerness.
Water removed, and now to dry. Jack placed the boot upside down on the first stick, where it dismally began to drip. Boot number two, similarly the same. Two dripping boots. Icky and Sticky. Eugene and Walter. Scarlett and Giselle.
Sword wiped dry–OW–reflects the sun so very well. Compass, shaken dry. Still points straight out to sea, at the dot that is the Pearl. Wait. It's turning, back toward that meadow over there…
Ah, yes. That meadow.
But first, the pistol, the focus of every vengeful desire, carrying the bullet that could give him back his soul. Except, whom did he want to kill now? He'd always want to kill Barbossa, but the fanatic had become such stiff competition, he wasn't sure. If only Barbossa had given him two pistols!
But every centimeter of this pistol had to be inspected. And it had a lot of centimeters to it, for such a small item. Soon his eyes would be crossing and his mind mercifully engrossed.
It was when this had come to pass that Elizabeth crunched up and stopped right in front of him. He blinked his eyes straight and looked up.
She was staring ahead, at her own footprints. Jack decided his bullet looked better than the young woman who had just circled the entire island in ten minutes. "It's really not all that big, is it?"
She faced him. "If you're going to shoot me, please do so without delay."
He rested his arms on his knees and looked up at her. "Is there a problem between us, Miss Swann?"
The stringy hair blowing across her face did not diminish her glare. "You were going to tell Barbossa about Will in exchange for a ship."
"We could use a ship," he retorted crossly. "The fact is, I was going to not tell Barbossa about bloody Will in exchange for a ship, because as long as he didn't now about bloody Will, I had something to barter with." He paused, watching the realization enter Elizabeth's eyes. "Which now, no one has, thanks to bloody, stupid Will."
"Oh."
Jack stood, shoving his pistol into his sash. "Oh."
"He still risked his life to save ours."
"Ha!" Jack barked and marched away.
A gorgeous wavelet enveloped Elizabeth's feet as she pursued him. "So, we have to do something to save him!"
Jack wheeled and she almost crashed into him. "Off you go, then!" He shooed at her. "Let me know how that turns out." He turned his back on her and stalked into the meadow, wondering how much more youthful, emotional urging he could take without getting violent.
"But you were marooned on this island before, weren't you?" She was right behind him. "We can escape the same way you did then!"
Again he wheeled; again she almost crashed into him. "To what point and purpose, young missy? The Black Pearl is gone. Unless you have a rudder and a lot of sails hidden in that bodice," he looked her over and she glared, "unlikely…young Mr. Turner will be dead before you can reach him."
He turned, lurched to a tree, and knocked on it.
"But you're Captain Jack Sparrow!" Her face popped out from behind the trunk. A black word rose to his mind but he focused on taking giant steps through the wispy grass. "You vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Company. You sacked Nassau Port without even firing a shot!"
Unaware of the unnatural way the ground gave under his bare feet she scrambled around him as he jumped crazily up and down. "Are you the pirate I've read about or not?" She boldly stepped close. "How did you escape last time?"
Jack was torn and he could hardly bear it. He couldn't believe his own reasoning, and yet he fell prey to it, because he knew the significance of his reputation and knew telling her the truth would lessen the chances of her ever feeling...romantically toward him. Not that he cared, of course, but she was beautiful and she was here alone, with him. Him and her, her and him, and no chances of getting off to someone a bit more willing. He wasn't a eunuch, after all.
But that reminded him that yams almighty was she the most snarly, prickly, exasperating female he'd met in a long time and yes, he would forgo having her flutter her eyelashes at him if only to get her to bleeding leave him alone. However, this did not make the telling any easier.
He shoved her lightly back and gestured helplessly. "Last time...I was here a grand total of three days, all right?"
She was frowning at him, confused, so he bent over to grasp the wood hidden by the sand.
"Last time…" he pulled the wood up and a square of the ground lifted to reveal a large hole six feet deep. Cool air swirled up and Jack felt minutely better as he stiffly shoved the lid back and descended the neat little stairs. "…the rumrunners used this island as a cache, came by, and I was able to barter passage off." He surveyed the dusty shelves. They should have been groaning under the weight of glittering bottles, but boasted only a few bottles that looked about three hundred years old, thanks to sand and cobwebs. "From the looks a' things, they've been long out of business."
He grabbed two bottles, mouth watering as their contents swirled deliciously. "Probably have your bloody friend Norrington to thank for that." He held one bottle up as he ascended, just in case she might want to take it, but he found her gaping at him with crushed disbelief that made his ego writhe.
"So that's it, then." Her voice trembled. "That's the secret, grand adventure of the infamous Jack Sparrow." She stepped near to him, tearfully furious. "You spent three days, lying on a beach, drinking rum?"
Just don't look at her. He shrugged, leaning back. "Welcome to the Caribbean, love." Pushing past her, he marched determinedly for the beach.
When he reached his effects she was in front of him, eyes burning. "So. Is there any truth to the other stories?"
"Truth?" He dropped the bottles in the sand and lifted his left sleeve to reveal his pirate brand and tattoo. Then he bared his forearm and the scar that branched its gruesome, pink-brown length over the inside of it. She stepped back. Aye, missy, and just you look at this. He pulled back his loose neckline and she stared wordlessly at the two red bullet scars graced his chest like evil eyes.
"No truth at all," he said bitterly, and sat down. He looked out to sea. "Still have a month or more. Keep a weather eye out for passing ships and our chances are fair." He grabbed the taller of the two bottles, uncorked it, and, dizzy with the pleasure the rum's burn gave him, drank deeply.
"And what about Will?" Elizabeth's voice was mournfully small. "We have to do something."
Doesn't she ever stop? Jack marveled angrily at her for a moment, then lifted a finger. "You're absolutely right." He corked his bottle and tossed to her feet, where it was covered by an incoming wave. He lifted the second, squat bottle, uncorked it, and held it up. "Here's luck to you, Will Turner." He tilted it back to his mouth and gulped.
She slowly picked up her bottle from the soft water, then walked up. She thudded heavily down beside him and uncorked her bottle.
She gazed at it. "Drink up me hearties, yo ho."
"What was that, Elizabeth?"
Grimacing around a mouthful of rum, she snapped, "It's Miss Swann."
Jack turned away, holding up a defensive hand.
She began to look a little guilty. "It's nothing."
Jack just gazed out to the horizon, wiping the side of his nose.
"It's a song I learned as a child," she finally said, "when I actually thought it would be exciting to meet a pirate."
Ah ha. Me hopes may not be as dashed as I thought. "Let's hear it."
"No."
He shrugged impatiently. "Cam'on, we've got the time. Let's have it."
"No." She looked away, her hair blocking her profile from view. "I'd have to have a lot more to drink."
Jack lifted his bottle then hesitated. "How much more?"
She scowled. He smiled wickedly, and drank deep.
The drunkest person Elizabeth had seen before Jack Sparrow had been Mr. Farrel, an old soldier who had tried to hold her hand three times in one evening, for no apparent reason. Jack showed her that that Mr. Farrel had merely been strongly inebriated. She herself knew what it was to be slightly inebriated and she was determined not to go beyond this, so as the evening wore on she poured out as much rum as she could when Jack wasn't looking.
Still, the few times he'd almost caught her, giving her choice but to swallow, were having more impact than she'd expected. As the sun set in a wash of pink and orange, they'd both set to building a bonfire and when they been rubbed sticks to light it, every wisp of smoke that rose from Elizabeth's sticks was the most comical thing she had ever seen. Jack's sentiments had matched hers exactly. She howled with him until her middle hurt, tears running from her eyes. And then, when the bonfire finally blazed, she'd felt the need to caper with him and shout with pride.
In that surreal despair that wasn't despair, she let herself forget Elizabeth Swann, Governor's daughter, and realized she could be much more.
Sometimes she thought of Will. Then the tears streaming from her eyes were not ones of mirth; her shouting was no longer proud. But then she'd forget Will in the warm haze in her belly. She had the presence of mind to recognize the rum was numbing her and did it ever feel good. So she became more bold in what she let slosh to the ground. Hearing alcohol's siren call was frightening, for though her world felt shattered, and she had helped create fire and felt like a demigod, it wouldn't help her get off the island. She had to be lucid for her plan to succeed.
Jack didn't seem to care. He just kept drinking, swallow after swallow, his velvety slurred speech becoming more so, his muscled body moving like it was made from the liquid that he drank. He stared at her so often it became not only uncomfortable, but difficult to throw rum away.
One such time she stared back at him, disarmed. He was standing on the other side of the bonfire, oddly still and awkward. Shoulders tight, brow slightly furrowed, black eyes glazed and softly piercing, he looked, just for that moment, like a little boy dreading waking up from a dream he didn't even want.
So she took a sip and, in that deep blue twilight with the flames of their bonfire writhing behind them in the breeze, she taught him her song.
He did not sing very well, the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow. But he only had to hear the whole song once before he had it completely memorized, despite the rum he'd consumed. He jumped to his feet, shouting it to the stars and she watched in amazement, flattered despite herself. Then he grabbed her hand, "Sing it wit' me lass!" and she was again flying around the fire, hollering the words with him, warmed merely by the way another voice was joining hers.
"We're devils, we're black sheep, we're really bad eggs, drink up me hearties, yo ho!"
"Ouch!" Jack yelped as they passed each other and she stepped on his foot. Her high voice led them, wobbling into the chorus. "Yo, ho; Yo, ho, a pirate's life for me!"
Jack stopped and threw his arms wide. "I love this song!" Elizabeth, coming around, locked arms with him and they spun around, around, around, around, laughing raucously.
Then Jack lurched free. "Really–bad eggs! Ooh." He fell on his back. Bemused, Elizabeth watched him sit up until he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him; she giggled.
"When I get the Pearl back, I'm gonna teach it to th'whole crew!" he waved his hands excitedly. "An' we'll sing it all th'time!"
Elizabeth pulled herself up proudly and leaned toward him. "And you will be positively the most fearsome pirate in the Spanish Main!"
Jack's eyes were wild; he swayed back, forward. "Not jus' the Spanish Main, love. The entire ocean. The entire world!
"Wherever we want to go, we go." He gazed over the moonlit waters, his face turning wistful. "That's what a ship is, you know. It's not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, that's what a ship needs." He glanced at Elizabeth, and she smiled. "But what a ship is...what the Black Pearl, really is," his voice softened, "is freedom."
His hand, extended toward the water, curled miserably in on itself, and Elizabeth moved closer. "Jack..." she murmured, "it must be really terrible for you to be trapped on this island." She nestled her head near his neck.
"Oh, yes." His voice had gone strangely flat. "But the company is infinitely better than last time, I think..."
Something brushed her back; she turned and saw his dirty fingers curling stealthily around her upper arm. Alarmed yet unable to quite move, she stared at those fingers as he carefully continued, "The scenery has definitely improved–"
"Mr. Sparrow!" She finally moved away, feeling his hand slide over her shoulder blades and off.
"Mm-hmm?" He looked at her, innocently vague.
"I'm not sure I've had enough rum to allow that kind of talk," she said lightly, leaning back.
Jack leaned forward. Then he lifted a finger. "I know 'xactly what y'mean, love." Looking her warmly in the eye, he slowly curled up the tips of his mustache with a fop's solemn grace, and she giggled again, unsure of what she could do other than jump up and run away.
Fleeing became quite enticing when he reached for her again, not to be stopped from sliding a hand behind her neck. She saw his fathomless eyes descend to her mouth and quickly held out her bottle. "To freedom."
His gaze shifted to the glowing amber stuff, and held.
"To the Black Pearl." He clumsily clinked his bottle to hers then they both lifted their bottles to their mouths. Elizabeth's rum, however, never passed her lips. She lowered her bottle and watched Jack, disgusted, as he gulped and gulped. And gulped, his hand sliding away from her. He leaned further and further back until he slumped to the sand, where he didn't stir.
That, Elizabeth told herself, is what stone drunk looks like. Then she stuck her bottle in the sand and stared out to sea.
The palm trees hissed; the water shushed; the fire crackled, and Elizabeth trembled as she realized how utterly alone she was. It was like the coldest breeze slowly snaking in a crack; mind numbing, shocking. She rose to her feet in desperation, searching for the lanterns of any ship, but there was only vast blackness. So vast. Heart in her throat, she marched quickly down the beach, determined to circle the island again and search every horizon. The shadowed sand felt cooler as she left the glow of the fire behind, and a shell she hadn't seen cracked beneath her foot.
Thirty paces out she halted, unable to step further into the quiet night. It was too empty, too alien, too frightening. She hastened back to the fire, tried to sit, then stalked around the blaze and wished for the sun so hard she forgot where she was going and almost stumbled over Jack.
In seconds her thoughts turned to recent events and that was when she sank to the sand near the unconscious pirate legend of the Caribbean and cried harder than she ever had in her entire life.
Thank you for reading!