A Line In The Sand
Chapter Ten

Jack lounged in the doorway and watched her go, striding down the deck, calling to Mister Gibbs for orders. Barbossa glowered malevolently at Jack.

"Mind telling me what you're up to?"

"It's nothing to do with the ship, mate. I'm just being a brother," Barbossa stared at him, confused, and Jack took advantage of Barbossa's stunned silence to wave at James. "Ah, Mister Norrington. Please join me in my office. Hector will finish that."

James looked up from the rope he was tying off and glanced at Barbossa who was studying Jack. Barbossa cast a look down the deck, from James Norrington to Victoria Turner, who was studiously ignoring the man at whose side she had fought barely an hour before.

"Master Ragetti!" Barbossa yelled. "Get and tie that rope off, you lousy cur!"

Ragetti snatched the rope from James and reluctantly, James followed Jack into the cabin.

"I feel obliged to tell you that I have offered Miss Turner a place on my crew," Jack said, as he shut the door.

"Why?" James's answer was sudden, his expression wide and horrified.

"Do you really have to ask, mate? Girl's a fine sailor – a fine swordswoman. And she has no one in the world."

"Did she say that?" James asked tightly.

"She didn't contradict me when I said it."

"I see. Why are you telling me?"

"Thought I'd warn you that if you were after talking to her, now is the opportune moment."

Jack was leaning against the table, arms folded, looking vaguely annoyed, though James couldn't fathom why.

"She's agreed then?"

"She'll give me her answer when we dock in Tortuga."

"But you think she will agree?"

"No idea, mate. I'd love to have her," he shot James a wicked grin. "But, Elizabeth asked me to look after her and I figure I ought to give you a fair chance or I'll have her moping about and I can't be doing with that. I'm in with a shot though. The blood that runs in her veins is pirate – it's as salty as you or I's."

"Then it hardly seems worth your while to warn me, if you believe yourself so certain of success," James retorted, feeling suddenly as though he had lost his sea-legs.

"All depends what you offer her, mate," Jack shrugged. "And whether you're capable of offering it."

When James left Jack's cabin he saw Victoria leaning over the rail, staring at the horizon and he could barely contain or understand the emotions he felt as he looked at her. There was an uncomfortable, fidgeting anger in him, a desperate need to reach out and grab her tight, shake her and hold her 'til she was crushed. A violent reaction that he both longed to indulge and wished to quell, for he had certainly never felt it before.

And then there was the other feeling. A warm feeling. Like butter dripped into a warm pan, melting and warming slowly, spreading throughout his body. It gushed up inside him in a way that was by now familiar and yet still surprising.

"Are you all right?" he asked suddenly, thinking of the silent final exchange he had witnessed between her and her brother.

"As well as can be expected."

"Victoria, as we have finished fighting -"

"Have we?" she glanced at him and he remembered that there had been no point between taking the heart and now for him to explain himself. And she was still angry at him.

"I meant the Armada, but since you bring it up, can we not call a truce? We must talk. There is so much that you deserve to know – that I deserve to have you hear."

She gave him a hard look and nodded. To his surprise, she sat down on the deck, pulling out the compass to have something to occupy her hands with. He sat at her side and leaned back against the rails.

"As we are being honest with one another, might I ask a question first?"

"Of course. Ask me anything."

"Why did you do it, James?" as she said his name, she met his eyes. "Why did you take the heart?"

"Why do you think?" it wasn't sarcastic, otherwise she would have walked away. He was asking softly and there was a note of trepidation in his voice.

"Elizabeth said it was to get your place back, become Commodore again," Victoria looked away, at Shipwreck shrinking behind them. "But that was after she realised her father was dead."

"Is that what you thought?"

"It seemed the only explanation. And yet I had trouble reconciling that selfish act with the man who served others before himself. I found it hard to believe you could have changed so much."

She was eager for his answer, though she kept the eagerness out of her voice. She wanted nothing in the world so much as to hear him tell her it wasn't a selfish impulse. Or, at least, not entirely so.

"It wasn't what Elizabeth thought. I took the heart thinking that it would buy me a commission as a privateer," she shot him a look of amazement and this time, she did not look away, but kept her eyes on him as she waited for him to go on. "That is what I asked Beckett for. He returned my sword to me and I intended to stab the heart, I believed that is what he wanted it for. I thought he wanted to stop Jones, to ensure safe passage for his ships. I did not know he wanted to control Jones. I certainly did not know the fate that awaited he who stabbed the heart."

"Why did you want to be a privateer?" she asked, mystified. "The heart of Davy Jones – surely you thought that to be worth more?"

"It didn't matter to me. All that mattered was that I would have a commission, a ship of my own. I couldn't be a pirate and I thought perhaps the Navy would be a hindrance. All I wanted was to have my freedom and to have something to offer."

"Offer?" her face scrunched up in puzzlement and he wanted to trail his finger down her furrowed nose.

"You," he reached over and touched her hand, stilling the fingers fidgeting over the compass. "I wanted to offer you a life. I wanted to show you I could provide for us."

"And why would you want to offer me a life?" her voice was shaking.

"Because that is what one does when one proposes marriage."

She jerked her fingers away so sharply that the compass rolled off her lap and bounced onto the deck where it sprung open. She picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand.

She remembered peering over Elizabeth's shoulder, watching the needle waver before settling on Jack. The needle did no such thing in her hand, the moment it touched her, it swung to her right.

"I have nothing in the world," she said quietly. "My father and brother are aboard the Dutchman. Elizabeth will be staying on Shipwreck. She at least has my brother's word that he will come back for her. What is it about Elizabeth Swann that makes men want her so much?"

"I don't know," he answered, frowning slightly as he stared at the compass point that was pointing, inexplicably, at him, keeping his arms rigidly at his side.

"When you looked at her, something inside me ached."

"I never meant to cause you pain."

"But you did," there was an odd edge to her voice now, bordering on shrill. "Over and over again. And yet, when I hold this bloody compass, it still points to you. And that isn't fair."

She gave a sob of laughter, a wild, hysterical sort of sound and she pressed her wrist to her mouth in a bid to quiet it.

"No, it's not. It's more than I deserve."

She snapped the compass shut, struggled up and clutched at the rail, leaning far out and gulping at the cool salty air. He stayed on the deck, his head close enough that he could rest his forehead on her thighs.

"Jack offered me a place on the Pearl," she said after a moment.

"He told me. Will you take it?"

"I don't know," she glanced down at him. "What would you say if I took it? Would you stand by me then?"

"If you wanted me to. It's your choice, you know what I want. I am at your command."

"You could never serve under Jack – you couldn't bear it."

"I would bear it for you."

"You shouldn't say things like that," she muttered, turning away from him, to her relentless gazing. "I – I have done things that do not deserve such… rewards."

She sighed and it was not one of exhaustion or irritation, but one of longing. He stood up then, scrambling to his feet. He took her shoulders and pulled her to him to study her face. She looked lost, her mouth trembling and tears swimming in her eyes. His hopeful grin melted away and he loosened his death grip on her arms.

"All depends on what you offer her, mate. And whether you're capable of offering it."

Looking at her, that frantic look in her eyes, James realised he had no idea of what to offer her, much less whether he was capable of offering it. There had been a time when he had known precisely where they stood with one another. She was his friend, he had spent years ignoring how important she was, how empty his evening walks were if she were unable to join him. After his idiotic, drunken attempt to kiss her, he had been so thankful she had pushed him away and had acted the next day as though nothing had happened. He had pretended the rush of disappointment was a hangover and leaned over the bucket she left by the chair.

They were friends. They had only ever been friends. And suddenly he wasn't sure if they were even that anymore. He had no idea what to say to her, having been so selfish as to ask her to choose, when he was unable to voice his gratitude for the thing she had had to do to save his life.

"I just wanted you to know," he said, starting to back away. "Perhaps you can tell me in Tortuga."