Disclaimer: Jack, Elizabeth, William Turners I, II and III and all other original PotC characters do NOT belong to me. All of their offspring and other original characters, as well as the storyline and plot, are (c) Lady Asvin - me.
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The clock in the center of Port Royal was chiming seven in the evening when an anonymous figure in breeches and a floppy hat stole onto the docks. The figure paced up and down, slinking from place to place, never settling until – there she was. The Pearl. A stray breeze toppled the figure's hat, releasing a mass of thin, golden-brown waves tied back with an unbleached linen kerchief. Although she didn't think anyone had seen her, Elizabeth hurried to pick up the hat and hide behind a cargo of barrels just waiting to be loaded onto the ship. Her ship. She waited until the watchman turned his head away from her hiding place; creeping along behind cargo of all kinds, including a giant cage stocked with bright yellow canaries, she finally steeled herself and fled up the gangplank of the Pearl.
She stopped short at the first cannon, tipping back her hat and breathing in the sea. If anyone saw the woman dressed like a man, with streaming hair and refined features, clinging onto a rope like a sailor, they made no mention of it.
Breathing out, Elizabeth opened her eyes and observed the salty deck, rusting metal and weathered wood that made up the Pearl.
I'm finally home.
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For a moment, Jackson Turner thought he saw his mother – clad in men's clothing, no less – clambering up the gangplank of a ship. He shook his head to clear his vision; deciding the setting sun must have been playing tricks with his mind, he told himself that his straight-laced mother was probably sitting in her parlor, worrying over tea and fretting about Madeleine.
Stupid girl. Stupid fascination with the sea. Making a quick about-face, Jackson turned back toward his father's smithy. Madeleine, as far as he knew, was nowhere to be found.
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The straight-laced mother in question was poking her head out from behind the door of the captain's quarters when the captain himself literally slammed into her at full speed. Her face was rammed into the pirate's compass, making her squeak and stopping Jack short. The hat had skittered off her head, and she was clutching at her cheekbone with a pained expression. Another person collided into the mess, not having seen the sudden stop of her new mate.
"Elizabeth?" Jack seemed surprised. Madeleine poked her head around him, narrowly avoiding his elbow.
"Mum?" Confusion erupted among the three, sparing none in its intensity.
"Maddie? Jack?" Elizabeth's head swiveled wildly, meeting both dark expressions for a moment, and then swinging on to the next. This is my worst nightmare incarnate, she realized, and met Jack's eyes again. His expression became hard.
"Lizzie, I believe we need to talk -" She nodded furiously, but cut him off.
"In a moment." She stuck her chin out at Madeleine. "Maddie, go play on the upper deck." The girl would have protested, but something in her mother's wild eyes made her reconsider. Instead, she turned tail and ran for the deck; Jack helped Elizabeth up until they faced each other squarely. It was a most uncomfortable situation. Jack took control, opening the cabin door and leading the woman in breeches toward the only chair. He elected to stand by a porthole, dark eyes brooding as he waited for an explanation. His anger was barely repressed, seeping into Elizabeth stealthily – a burglar in her own mind.
"It… It's been a long time," she offered, voice trailing off. He turned to her, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together in a mask of fury.
"No letter," he began, barely audible. "No message. She's mine," he said, trapping Elizabeth between his arms as he grabbed the back of her chair. His eyes burned into hers. "I know she is." Elizabeth was silent, unable to defend herself. It was all true, a web of her own making.
"She looks just like me…" Elizabeth almost smiled at that; as she grew older, Madeleine took on traits and mannerisms that, combined with her dark coloring and sharp tongue, produced the image of a miniature, female version of a certain visibly enraged pirate. His wrath was palpable; tension seeped into the room quickly, unbearable in its concentration. Elizabeth looked down at her hands.
"Jack… I wanted to keep her. I didn't…" She faltered. "I couldn't have you take her from me." The pirate tightened his grip on the chair, causing Elizabeth to turn her head up. His eyes, wide with disbelief, met hers.
"'S that what you believed?" he asked incredulously. "That I'd take her? Is that it, then, you didn't trust old Jack? Even with the rather important secret of his own child?" His betrayed tone forced tears from Elizabeth's captive eyes. She implored him silently to see her decision on her own terms.
"You have to understand," she whispered brokenly. "She was all I had of you!" Her voice rising, Elizabeth trembled with the weight of a long-kept secret. "She is still all I have of you!" Crying openly, Elizabeth raised a shaking hand to trace the pirate's jaw. Jack's intensity subsided; he was always wary of a woman's tears.
"Love-" he began, but was stopped cold.
"Don't." Elizabeth's voice had changed. It was flat and vicious, ready to cut him open. "Don't call me love." Jack opened his mouth to protest, but thought the better of it as he observed the abrupt movements of his hostage.
"You do not love me any more than you love living on land or walking to the gallows." Her gaze turned to steel, and he swallowed the sharp remark he'd been planning concerning his prior walks to the gallows.
"You gave me freedom for one night," she continued coldly, standing so quickly Jack was forced to step back. Her face was almost touching his. "One night! The next morning, Captain Sparrow, I was back in the iron shackles of life on land." She spat the words at him, twisting his name into mocking curse.
"How do you think it feels, love, to fly back into a gilded birdcage, after you've had a taste of paradise?" Her lips were so close to his, slicing him deep with each sharp word. Her shaking hands found their place on her hips.
"But if I had known…" he said, unable to string together a coherent thought, waiting for inspiration. It was the wrong thing to say.
"You did know!" she screeched, throwing her hands up. "You left me wanting you, tasting the sea on your skin and the salt on your lips. You knew how I felt!" Coloring, Elizabeth shoved Jack out of the way, pacing the room as she formulated her next thought. Finally, she fixed him with an unforgiving glare.
"You are just an abuser," she enunciated, giving full emphasis to every word. "Just like every other wobbly-legged, rum-soaked-" Jack crossed the room and placed a finger over her lips.
"Pirate," he supplied, and tilted her head up to his. Her eyes were hurt and defiant, but behind the obvious lay a vulnerability that had never been more appealing to Jack Sparrow than at that moment.
"This isn't about us," Elizabeth said, sighing. Jack lowered her chin with his finger.
"You're quite right," he murmured congenially. "This is about my daughter." Raising an eyebrow, Elizabeth yanked at one of the pirate's dreadlocks.
"Our daughter," she clarified. Jack's eyes softened, and he surprised Elizabeth by pulling her up and carrying her, holding her as close as he had been holding his daughter mere hours before.
"You'll have to tell me all about her, you know," he said softly. "What is she like? Who does she take after?" He dropped Elizabeth unceremoniously in his hammock. "Is Will suspicious?" The mention of her husband threw a sudden cloud over Elizabeth's thoughts, but she shook it off and crooked a finger at Jack.
The meaning was clearer than a calm sea.
As he joined her on the hammock, Elizabeth smiled and traced his jaw with her index finger. He sighed, and she replaced her finger with her lip; Jack, however, would not be deterred.
"Our daughter?" he insisted, and soft laughter burbled up from Elizabeth's throat.
"Oh, Jack," she said quietly. "She's so like you."
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Madeleine was hanging onto a ladder when a rich laugh interrupted her thoughts. She swung around to meet the friendly gaze of a boy, dark as she, with a few spidery wrinkles around his smiling eyes. He dropped from the rigging to the deck, and bowed lightly.
"Can I request your company, señorita?" Smiling back, Madeleine nodded and followed his murmured orders – climb here, watch that rope, a bit farther now – panting as the two finally reached the crow's nest.
"I can understand why they call it the crow's nest," declared Madeleine. "Unless you've got wings, it's near impossible to get up!" The girl rummaged in her bodice for a moment, finally fishing out a handkerchief with which to wipe her dewy forehead.
"You grow accustomed," drawled the boy. He smiled at the fine handkerchief and offered her one made of rough linen. "Works better for the sweat," he explained, as she looked at him strangely. When she had finally caught her breath, Madeleine stood, arms around the mast, taking in the view.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, amazed. She watched the crystal waves dance into her very own hometown harbor, sparkling as they hit the sand and docks, and then foaming back until the next push. A whoosh of air escaped her lips, corners tugging up in a serene smile. The boy watched her intently, his dark eyes taking in her field of vision in one sweep. He turned to observe her again. Her dress swirled around her ankles; although evidently not her finest one, the delicately spun linen was still finer than any he'd ever known. Her feet were bare; he remembered her leaving her thin slippers at the bottom of the rope ladder.
"I'm happy you like it," was all he managed for a moment, as he caught sight of her shining hair caught in a stray breeze. For the first time, Madeleine turned to face the boy directly.
"I hadn't noticed your accent until now," she said shyly. He was suddenly disoriented by the girl's long lashes, framing dark brown eyes with a slight slant to them. She tried again.
"Do you at least have a name, so I can thank you for bringing me here?" The boy snapped out of it and bowed, as far as the tiny space would allow.
"I am Joaquin," he said slowly, straightening. Madeleine smiled softly; his name was different, one not often heard around Port Royal.
"Well then," she said. "Thank you, Joaquin, for showing me this view." The formal thanks hung in the air, making it heavy, until curiosity got the best of Madeleine.
"How old are you?" she blurted, blushing scarlet as the impolite question hit its mark. The boy looked surprised, but not offended.
"Almost sixteen," he replied, and seemed to think about something. "I am Spanish," he added then. "You asked about my accent before. Although to me, everyone else has an accent, and I am in the right." He smiled tentatively, and Madeleine grinned back.
"That's exactly how I felt when I went to the colonies with my brother William to pick up his wife," Madeleine confided. Joaquin laughed, and the tension was suddenly lifted.
"How did you come to be on this ship?" asked Madeleine. Joaquin winced, and Madeleine opened her mouth to apologize for the sore spot she had evidently touched. He spoke before she could arrange the words.
"I could ask you the same question," said Joaquin slowly. "But to answer you, my mother used to be friends with the captain. Or something of the sort," he amended, blushing crimson. "She died when I was twelve, but not before sending a message to the good capitán. She was barely underground when he told me to board or be left behind." Madeleine could hear wistful longing in the boy's voice when he spoke of his mother. As if reading her thoughts, Joaquin shook his head.
"There was nothing for me in Spain," he said. "Over there, Anamaria Calle was nothing but an abandoned wife and hired servant, and her boy a nuisance." He stuck out his chin. "I'm proud to be serving aboard the Pearl." He leaned on the railing, and Madeleine couldn't help but notice his strong, tanned arms under the loose, shift-like shirt he wore. His hair, black and stiff with salt, was yanked back into a tail at the nape of his neck. She sighed, and he eyed her questioningly.
"Perhaps this is why mother spends her every waking moment warning me about the sea, and pirates, and the docks," she murmured quietly. She took another look at the harbor; the sun was sinking now, casting the western sky in a swirl of oranges, pinks, and grays.
"Why do you say that, querida?" Joaquin's deep voice startled her as it came from directly next to her ear. She faced him squarely.
"It's enough to make a lass fall in love," she replied, and was surprised to have her serious answer met with a rich laugh.
"She warns you with good reason," said the boy, and it was only now that Madeleine remembered that he was not much older than she. "The sea is a tempting mistress, and pirates aren't the friendliest lot – or the safest, or the cleanest," he added, laughing again. Madeleine frowned, sticking out her lower lip.
"But she seems to know the captain," she protested, and saw Joaquin's brows shoot together over his eyes.
"Perhaps she never intended you to," he said pointedly. Against all sense of maturity, Madeleine stuck her tongue out at Joaquin.
"At least one good thing came of this," she said, putting a tan hand over his darker one on the railing.
"Oh?" he asked, aware that his heart was, absurdly, reacting to the girl's touch with a massive stampede of beats. Their eyes met.
"I made a new friend," she said lightly, and removed her hand. "Come on. I want to see the rest of the ship." Faintly aware that he had just thrown in his lot with the minx, Joaquin helped her descend the rope ladder, always two rungs below.
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In the captain's cabin, a pressing heat barely allowed for breathing. Between stolen kisses, sweet caresses, and fifteen years' worth of conversation, the hammock's sheets were in disarray and its inhabitants wore nothing more than a thin sheen of sweat. A lapse in the dialogue was an adequate excuse for the roguish Jack to pull Elizabeth's head to his and thoroughly explore her lips and mouth with his own. The woman – if she hadn't told him herself, he'd never believe she had five children – smiled into his lips and matched his intensity with her own.
Somewhere above them, a bell rang – once, twice – and stopped. Those occupied in the cabin didn't even notice until the bell began to clang again, furiously, a constant sound that jarred Elizabeth's ears. Jack stood up so fast, she could have sworn he'd been branded.
"Hurricane bell," he said, throwing her a sidelong glance as he wrangled with his clothing. "Storm's afoot." Elizabeth herself stood, roughly pulling up her breeches and fixing her shirt. Jack saw her preparing and frowned.
"Can't have that," he muttered. Elizabeth glared at him. "Stay here," he said slowly. "Or 't least… don't go out there," he emphasized, and pointed dramatically with both hands.
"Don't be ridiculous Jack. I need to get Madeleine, anyway." Jack was already walking out of the cabin.
"I'll send her down," he said, and slammed the door. Elizabeth heard him shouting orders as he went. Not one to follow directions, Elizabeth yanked on her sturdy boots and wrapped the kerchief tighter around her head. She abandoned her hat to the hammock and strode out of the cabin.
When the warning bell had sounded, Madeleine and Joaquin had been rummaging through the galley. Finding nothing to their liking, and noting that the bell's clang grew ever more urgent, they emerged from the galley and headed for the main deck. A frenzy of activity alerted them that something was grievously wrong, but they had no chance to explore before Elizabeth clapped a gentle hand on Madeleine's shoulder. Meeting her eyes, Madeleine was suddenly afraid – her mother was never shaken, and her gaze was nervous now.
"Look out," she said softly, and both Madeleine and Joaquin followed orders. Their eyes met with a large expanse of water. It took them moments to see the problem.
The mooring lines were trailing loose behind the ship; the hurricane bell was clanging.
"Oh, my God."
"Madre del amor hermoso."
There was a storm afoot, and the Pearl was heading out to open sea.
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