A/N: Thank you to Starling Rising, meowbooks, and Manwathiel for your time and reviews!
Disclaimer: POTC belongs to Disney
He was just glad he'd gotten free of the burning inn with pickles, dirt, doorknocker, and knitting needles intact. Yes the authorities were on their way, but he didn't care about them; he really just wanted to get away before the latrine started burning. It was so sad about the crocheted curtains, with their pink flamingoes. Burned, every last one, with the cutting board, that nice one covered in spotty fleece. It was a shame, but he had to move on. He always had to move on.
It just smelled so odd now and ye gods what was that confounded light that was growing? Crackers and hair in your eye, he hadn't left in time and now the latrine was burning…wait. That was the sharp scent of alcohol loose on the breeze.
And why was a man with iron-soled boots dancing on his poor brain? Oh aye. His good friend Yampi. Yampi always showed up after a good night of drinking, and sometimes, Yampi told him secrets while he pounded his brain to pulp.
Not now, Yampi, Jack Sparrow regretfully told the little man, and gathered up his salvaged pickles, dirt, doorknocker, and knitting needles just in time for them to melt with the rest of his dream. He opened his eyes.
Above him was a blue, excruciatingly clear sky. There were waves nearby, and smoke rushing over his face. He recognized the roaring behind him from his dream. Yampi continued to pound on his head.
Oh, aye. He was on an island with a decidedly limited number of shading palm trees. The roar meant fire and fire meant burning palm trees, unless, of course, sand could burn. Which isn't likely, liable, or conceivable.
He rolled over, stood up far too quickly, and stared, forgetting to feel overhung.
Fire engulfed the writhing trees about a huge burning pile of all-too-familiar barrels and bottles. As Jack gaped, Elizabeth darted into view with another barrel, which she tossed among the others, then flinched down as it exploded with a cracking boom.
The boom wrenched him out of his paralysis. "No!" He waved his arms and ran unsteadily toward her. "Not good! Stop! What are you doing?" She was retreating from the heat onto the beach and she barely glanced at him as they passed. "You burned all the food, the shade!" He scrambled up behind her. "The rum!"
"Yes, the rum is gone!"
He stared at her honey-streaked brown curls, wondering why he had ever gone to Port Royal, since its citizens clearly were toxic to anyone with creative, less-than-pure ideas: first the fanatic and now this she-devil. Why weren't the shattered pieces of him just blowing away? "Why's th'rum gone?"
That was when Elizabeth Swann tried, for the perhaps third time, to bite his head off. "One," she yapped in his face, "because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men in complete scoundrels!" This she emphasized, and he grimaced. "Two, that signal is over a thousand feet high." She moved closer. "The entire Royal Navy is out looking for me; do you really think there is even the slightest chance they won't see it?"
Jack buried his face in his hands, then lowered them, shaking. "But why's th'rum gone?"
She had the almighty nerve to turn her back to him and sit down. "Just wait, Captain Sparrow. You give it one hour, maybe two, keep a weather eye out, and you will see white sails on that horizon."
Jack pulled out his pistol, then panting, clenched his fist and mentally cursed his single bullet so powerfully his multiple guardian angels probably exploded. He jerkily shoved the weapon back into his sash and, with nothing else to do other than kick her, ran off down the beach.
He didn't get far before his body sent him an urgent walk-or-hurl message so he slowed to an arm-swinging stomp, squawking to himself in a falsetto, "'Must've been terrible for you to be trapped here, Jack; must've been terrible.' Well, it bloody is now!" he shouted back at the pillar of smoke undulating lazily into the atmosphere.
It was here at the height of his massive rage that he turned ahead and saw the H.M.S Dauntless fully anchored just off the shoals. And there, bobbing over the glittering water, was a packed longboat.
Grimly he muttered, "There'll be no living with her after this."
An overjoyed, smug Elizabeth was delicately helped onto the deck. A sullen Jack was manhandled over the rail and jostled into a cage of Marines, where he could watch Governor Swann envelope his evil daughter in a hug that smashed some of the curls of his wig. Shocking.
Commodore Norrington added an extra element of sickly sentimentality by standing nearby with a smile on his face. It was almost too much to bear.
"Lizzie," Swann tearfully looked her over, brow wrinkling. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, Father. We must–"
"You." Swann's eyes went to Jack, enraged. "How is it, pirate, that whenever you and my daughter are in the same place she ends up…ends up…" he gestured to Elizabeth's underclothing as if he could explode.
"Wit' her feminine attire on display?" Jack suggested flatly. "Your Highness I've no idea, but I swear on me poundin' hangover I've never unclothed her wit'out the pure intentions of savin' her life." That one should twist his britches nicely…
"Hangover?" Swann exclaimed, angry color blooming on his cheeks.
"Hangover," Jack confirmed innocently.
Swann turned tremulously to Elizabeth. "How long were you alone on the island with this…this drunk rat?"
"I'm the drunk?" Jack was so very offended. "Highness, y'should've seen h–"
Elizabeth gave Jack a fierce look. "We spent one night. I was dressed like this before we were marooned–"
"One night!" Swann's dismay soared to new heights. "And with rum in him I'm sure he never hesitated to take advantage of you, just as before!"
Before? Jack considered. Ah yes. Port Royal. That doesn't count; we barely touched. Why I saved her I'll never know. Shoulda let her drown. He didn't say this because if he did, judging from the dispositions of every person around, surely bruises and splints would follow him all the days of his life.
"Father, please!" Again Elizabeth grabbed Swann's arm before he could pronounce a new doom for Jack. "He didn't touch me. Please, listen to me! Will and Jack rescued me an–"
"Yes, we know," he said sourly. "By methods hardly commendable. We are indebted to them both for your life but–"
Elizabeth's eyes started to crackle. "Will has been captured by the pirates, Father. They're taking him to the Isla de Muerta. He…they're…" She swallowed several words back, glancing once at Jack. "He won't survive!"
Governor Swann blanched. "Elizabeth, did those monsters hurt you?"
"That's beside the point!" she cried, then at the look on his face, added, "All they did was cut my hand–" she pulled it back when he tried to grab it "–and it was Will who made sure I cleaned and bound it. Please, Father, we–"
"Elizabeth, there are more important things to be tended to!" She gaped at him. He squared his shoulders, moving away. "As Norrington said before, one good deed hardly negates blatant defiance of the law. Sparrow deserves justice; Port Royal stands unprotected because I had to use my authority to muster every ship to search for you; and you are standing in the middle of the deck in your underclothing!"
"But we've got to save Will!"
"No. You're safe now." He moved wearily past her to stand by the quiet Commodore. "We return to Port Royal, not go gallivanting after pirates!"
"Then we condemn him to death."
Swann looked into his daughter's wildly anguished eyes, and sighed. "The boy's fate is regrettable, but then so was his decision to engage in piracy."
"To save me! To prevent anything from happening to me!"
Jack noticed that Norrington was frowning and fidgeting. Ah, the complications that ensue when tender sentiments are attached to she-devils. He felt his Secret Agenda quietly poke its head up as he sauntered rapidly over to the tense trio. "If I may be so bold as to inject my professional opinion, the Pearl was listing to the scuppers after the battle; it's very unlikely she'll be able to make good time." Everyone was looking at him like he was a weevil emerging from a roll, but he rallied on, directing his assault on the Commodore. "Think about it. The Black Pearl. The least real pirate threat in the Caribbean, mate. How can you pass that up, right?"
Frigid silence.
"By remembering that I serve others, Mr. Sparrow," Norrington said. "Not only myself." Jack got a good view of his back as he took his insulted self toward the quarterdeck steps.
"Commodore, I beg you, please do this!" Elizabeth shoved between Jack and her father and rushed to the base of the stairs. "For me." She closed her eyes briefly. "As a wedding gift."
Norrington wheeled to stare at her. She met his gaze steadily.
"Elizabeth!" Swann stepped up beside her, shocked. "Are you accepting the Commodore's proposal?"
"I am," she said slowly, to Norrington, who simply stood where he was with a stunned expression.
Jack was delighted. We've the impetuous, manipulative single female, the enthralled, vulnerable do-gooder, an' the wheezy father what thinks he's getting 'is way. Now all w'need is the court fool. Happy to oblige. "A wedding. I love weddings!" He shoved lightly off Mullroy, who had surreptitiously crept up with his puckery friend. "Drinks all 'round!"
Everyone looked at him.
He wasn't a weevil in bread any more. He was a slimy worm in the middle of a chocolate silk pie. He shrugged it off and, pitifully cheerful, lifted his hands toward the Commodore. "I know. 'Clap him in irons', right?"
Commodore Norrington began down the steps, noble brow furrowed. "Mr. Sparrow. You will accompany these fine gentlemen to the helm and provide us with a bearing to Isla de Muerta." He looked loftily toward the horizon to avoid the pirate's smugness. "You will then spend the remainder of the voyage contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase 'silent as the grave'. Do I make myself clear?"
"Inescapably clear," Jack replied, his soft voice as insolent as he could make it. He didn't have time for anything else before Murtogg and Mullroy forcefully escorted him up the steps.
Governor Swann crossed their wake. "Commodore, I must question the wisdom of this–"
"With all due respect, Governor," Norrington said sharply, then paused as the older man's chin went up. "Mr. Turner is a subject of the British crown and therefore under my protection." He lowered his eyes, his face a barely maintained mask of determined severity.
Swann considered him for a long moment then nodded. "Rightly so."
Norrington risked a glance up and immediately felt transparent under the Governor's gaze. The wan smile on the older man's lips was further indication of his understanding of the situation.
Swann looked to his daughter. She met his eyes, one hand anxiously grasping the newel post of the stair railing, looking no better than a poor beggar in her filthy white undergown, her long hair tangled and her face smudged.
When Swann finally met Norrington's eyes, it was with a mixture of sadness, resignation, and respect. "Take care of her," he managed, then quickly retreated up the stairs, leaving Norrington alone with his daughter.
The Commodore's reassuring smile faded as he felt Elizabeth's eyes on his profile. He turned toward her. She looked away, then hesitantly glanced at him. He did the only thing he knew: he offered her his arm. "Elizabeth?"
She moved close and slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. As he led her toward the rail he forced himself to speak, because what lay between them could not go untouched. "I'm–concerned that your answer was, perhaps…" he struggled with the ugly words, "less than sincere."
For a moment Elizabeth could only stare at him. This conversation brought every bit of thirst, hunger, exhaustion, grief, and guilt down on her shoulders with a terrific bang. Yet she knew that if she did not pull through this, she would lose more than she could bear.
"I would not give my word lightly," she said, as carefully as she could.
He nodded once, brushing her words aside, "Yes, I understand." He gazed outward and took a deep, deep breath. "But is it so wrong that I should want it given unconditionally?"
"It is not a condition, it is a request." She heard him exhale softly and knew her words were falling excruciatingly short. "Your answer would not change mine."
She believed those words were true for two seconds. Then she doubted.
He was looking at her and she could feel the hope in his gaze like a prickle on her cheek. It made her want to shudder, made her want to crumple down into a tiny pile and cry until she blew away. But a desperate, insane need to preserve both his heart and Will's life placed a slightly smile on her chapped lips and sweet words on her tongue. "You are a…fine man, James."
His Christian name felt alien in her mouth but she smiled up at him. The sun rise in his green eyes. His firm mouth softened, curved, parted, and then he smiled so genuinely her own smile died on the spot and suddenly she was so close to truly breaking down she had to look away.
"Well." His voice was unsteadily rejuvenated. "Very well."
Sobs were climbing up her throat, squeezing it closed. Never in her life had she felt so torn and low. She had had such a good opinion of herself but the truth was you've been given the soul of the most finicky, discontented, manipulative coquette in the world. In that moment she cursed her wayward heart and her feelings with such rage her knees went weak. She viciously held her breath until the tears faded for lack of air and motion.
"Excellent," Norrington breathed.
She gave the best smile she could, and it felt like dying.
Thank you for reading!