Conduction: the transfer of heat by molecular action between bodies in contact
Blasted fan doesn't work. Elizabeth pushed the lace on her sleeves further up, letting the air hit more of her skin. The corset seemed to cinch tighter than it did at the house. Breathe, she told herself, the coutil, whale bone, and laces rendering what should have been a simple action into a series of gasps. Staggering around the fort, she sought shade and perhaps a chair.
"May I have a moment?" It was James, although his voice began to sound like an echo. Nodding, she closed her eyes with more force than she'd ever summoned before, wishing for tears, water of any kind. She let a demur movement of her arm sweep over her forehead. No sweat. She bit her lip. Following him out onto the battlements, out into the harsh sun, she flapped her fan more. Breathe. Her hand flew to her waist and clutched the fabric, her other arm bracing her against a turret.
"You look lovely, Elizabeth."
It hurt to smile, her face suddenly tense all over. The blinding sun must have been playing games with her vision, as even the sparkling water started vanishing. Widening her eyes, she was shocked to find out it made no difference whether they were opened or not.
"...a marriage to a fine woman."
Elizabeth willed herself to turn. Concentrate. Find his face. She found a blur, speaking in a gentle, nervous tone, but even that started to fade again. The weight of her body felt like several tons of bricks, with a chain dragging the load forward. A terrifying but incoherent realization hit her.
"I can't breathe," she gasped into oblivion.
Jack inhaled, the sensation of exploding ebbing, only for him to sink back underwater. Gold swirls and floral patterns washed over him. Bloody thing'll kill us both, he decided, lowering himself down to the waist. In seconds she felt thousands of pounds lighter, like the gangly, slight creature she was. Coming to the surface, he took another breath, waiting for the touch of hers into his shoulder. Nothing. Kicking and paddling as much as he could with one arm, the dock couldn't come soon enough.
The redcoats bustled over just as he finished hoisting her over his shoulder. Her limbs and hair and even her head knocked limply into him and he began to worry he was holding a corpse. They took hold of her arms and splayed her out onto the deck.
Will finished his last delivery for the day, his mind still on the embarrassing, disastrous meeting at the mansion. How cold, how traitorous he must have seemed to Elizabeth, who had only wanted him to look back on that day, that fateful, blessed day, with the same fond recognition she had. At least once more, Miss Swann, as always. Good lord, he couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't pulled that sconce off their wall maybe things would have gone differently.
Coming onto the main street, a cold breeze flew by. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow at dark, gargantuan clouds looming overhead. A few discarded cans and crinkled leaves scattered along the ground.
"A change in the air," an old man sitting on a barrel remarked to no one in particular.
Out of nowhere, Will wished he could have added. He wondered if he was beginning to dislike coincidences.
Her hair was matted and smeared across her face like seaweed. Jack didn't have to touch her lips to know how cold they would be. Not breathing still? From the corner of his eye, he could see a gaggle of uniformed men bounding towards the harbor. Enough of this, love. You're going to live for all the trouble you're about to put me through. He'd caught a living, flesh-and-blood human, not some fish meant to lay about on a deck.
"Move!" They made room for him to kneel over her. Positioning himself, he bent over with his sword and split the corset in half, noticing how pale her face had become. Her eyes jolted open and water spilled out of her, instinct telling her to turn onto her side, her arms still limp. Realizing he'd been sitting on her, he brought himself up to a squatting position, knowing all too well how heavy her own legs would still feel to her. Each cough, each desperate search for air he imagined had as much meaning as a voice crying out "I'm here. I'm alive." They grew stronger, a good sign.
"Never would have thought of that," one of the redcoats said in a sheepish sort of tone.
"Clearly you've never been to Singapore," was the first thing that found its way out of his brain to his mouth. Feeling eyes on him, he almost smiled down to speak to her, when a glint of something nearby caught his eye.
She couldn't stop shivering, or even her teeth from chattering, as her senses of hearing and touch returned to her. There was a dark sky and a man, a man she'd never seen before, eyes as black as two pieces of obsidian a governess once showed her. Soaked, the water on his face dripped down onto her, but she couldn't dodge it. She'd anchored herself on his eyes, letting the rest of life come back to her.
"Elizabeth!" came a familiar voice after a chorus of sharp, metallic notes of swords being unsheathed. Father, she remembered, lifting up her head. He pulled her to her feet, his eyes and face more haggard than she'd seen in years. "Are you all right?"
The medallion, he'd asked where she'd gotten it. Thanking a Creator for giving her her mind back, she gazed down at her chest to see it still dangling there, adding an absent "yes, I'm fine" to the question as she tucked it back under her bodice.
Feeling the warmth of a coat being wrapped around her shoulders and the warmth of her father pulling her close, she at last looked around, secure in her ability to do so. Her jaw dropped a fraction at the sight of that horrid, ill-fitting corset in the hands of Murtogg, of all people, held out like he was reading it to a group of children. Dropping it, he blushed and pointed at the man. Elizabeth again thanked some Creator that a virgin hadn't found her, and then blushed herself.
"Shoot him!" her father ordered.
"Father!" she cried. "Commodore." James would see reason. "Do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"
People were racing to the bridge overlooking the harbor. They ought to be getting indoors, Will thought, still wondering about a great many things.
"Coo! Won't they put some clothes on her?" A middle-aged woman grabbed her two young boys and waddled with them out of sight.
"Always thought she'd look good," a man with several missing teeth said, ribbing another one.
"Governors' daughters always do."
Will set his jaw and marched forward, wishing for his sword. His nostrils flared as his ears burned with the same intensity if they had been talking about him.
"It's all right, Will," one of the shopkeepers said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It looks like they've got him."
"Got who?" The sight below made him wonder if destiny had seized him harder than he'd planned.
They always left out "captain," Jack winced.
"He said he'd come to commandeer one," that beady-eyed smaller redcoat said, trying not to be the same soft-spoken idiot from before, Jack thought, suddenly feeling betrayed. He'd remember that.
"I told you he was telling the truth," the fatter one said. "These are his, sir!" Mindless sheep surrounded him! Only the girl, Elizabeth, looked at him the same way as mere moments ago, like she knew it all along.
Norrington rummaged through his effects, making light of each one, paying no heed to the common courtesy of treating another's possessions with respect, he'd noticed, still debating in his mind if this dapper, wry fellow with quite a rich baritone was the same feared man cleaning the oceans with one noose at a time or not. It didn't make sense, but, in a way, it did. Pirates spoke of James Norrington, Commodore, as often as actors spoke the name Macbeth, and that sort of thing had to feed a man better than any meal.
"You are without a doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of," he said, and with a smile.
"But you have heard of me." And what you have heard would please me very much to know, Jack thought, suddenly feeling like inviting the man to have a drink and learning what all they might have in common. But the Commodore had other plans, as it were, and led him toward the shackles.
"Commodore, I really must protest," the girl, Elizabeth...he never liked that name...said with an authority that rivaled her coughing. Throwing her father's cloak off, she hurried over to them. Warrior women in nothing but their undergarments, Jack mused. At least the day had given him some interesting...gorgeous...imagery.
"Pirate or not, this man saved my life." She inserted herself between them, more fire in her tone than he'd expected.
"One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness."
Ah, noble to a fault, although Norrington did look just a bit flustered. Jack's trained eye caught tells and facial movements the way hunters caught prey. It was almost amusing, watching the scourge of piracy deciding whether to follow his principles and impress his young love interest or to placate her and hope the decision touched her heart. Jack hoped for the latter.
"Though it seems enough to condemn him," he said, checking the distance between himself and Elizabeth. Close. Tantalizingly tempting, he thought, wickedly hoping he could enact a Plan B.
"Indeed," Norrington snapped. Well, that's it then, Jack thought. Freedom without jeopardizing the Commodore's precious scruples. One, two, three.
"Finally." He threw his chains over Elizabeth's neck and pulled her to him, a short gasp and a few heaves still nice to hear after wondering if she was dead moments earlier. Wet undergarments didn't feel as pleasant as dry ones, and her drenched hair was beginning to stick to his hands. This would have to be quick.
"Don't shoot!" her father cried.
"I knew you'd warm up to me," he growled. "Commodore Norrington, my effects, please...and my hat." He'd done it before, seen horror-stricken family members look to someone for guidance, said designated hero then weigh the dilemma. "Commodore!" At this rate, it was as if they wanted him to take her with him. She'd stopped heaving, her heartbeat steady...perhaps someone so nonplussed would be an asset.
"Elizabeth, it is Elizabeth, isn't..."
"It's Miss Swann," she snarled, chin pointed out.
"Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind." Those large, chocolate eyes widened, understanding the meaning as his effects were brought closer to him. "Come, come, dear, we don't have all day." With unanticipated gruffness, Norrington dumped everything into her arms, sending her backward. This would take some choreography, he thought, squinting at just how to turn her...there we go. He could bring his pistol up now, gripping it tighter at the fire in her eyes, the combative, resolute fire he'd seen in seasoned killers. Even more reason to hurry things along, he thought, fighting off a twinge of something akin to fear. He'd chained a phoenix in the guise of a delicate beauty, cunning thing.
She started with his hat, and he learned she was also a delicate beauty who looked absolutely marvelous when angry. He couldn't help but grin as she strapped his sword to him, really a hug under friendlier circumstances. Her father and the Commodore looked scandalized. Not telling either of you gents to do it, he thought, directing his grin at them for a split second. Then he flinched as her hands went a few inches lower.
"Easy on the goods, darling," he grunted, suddenly hoping she wouldn't feel what had formed there for some reason.
"You're despicable."
"Sticks and stones, love. I saved your life. You've saved mine. We're square." He turned her back around before she could argue, her mouth open just enough that he knew she would have. "Gentlemen, milady, you will always remember this day as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" He hurled Elizabeth to them and soon flew, oh to really fly, and landed onto the busy streets with screams and shots heralding his descent.
Herded into the carriage, Elizabeth shivered, finally feeling the damp undergarments letting every molecule of cold air hit her skin. She'd felt so warm just seconds ago, a heat starting in her abdomen and climbing ever upward until it made her head spin. She held her head in her hands and let her fingers nestle in the tangles of her hair. Father murmured indecipherable words to her, the medallion knocked against her flesh with every bump of the carriage, and a man once safely limited to stories and reports suddenly broke out of the pages and lassoed her to him with his own chains as if laying claim to her.
Nothing more than a scoundrel, probably no more unique or honorable than the rest of them, she sniffed, sneering at nothing. The unenlightened, overly cautious, heartless...it didn't matter what she had thought of them in the past because every inhumane notion she'd ever heard regarding pirates suddenly sounded incredibly logical. Bringing a pistol to her head. Demanding she dress him, her eyes widened at the amount of seething rage she felt. Placing her hand up to her forehead, she closed her eyes and inhaled.
He rescued you, you know, she told herself. Jack Sp...Captain Jack Sparrow rescued you, and you wouldn't be in here now able to complain about anything without that fact. Elizabeth didn't know yet if that made things better or worse, but she did know she was alive, and felt more alive than she ever had before. Glancing down at the medallion one more time and letting it dance between her fingers, she knew without a doubt there had been a change in the wind and she would welcome it, be it fair weather or storm, with opened arms.
THE BEGINNING
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I hope you liked my little prequel of sorts. I realized I hadn't done this scene in a serious story and was super-excited to take it on and watch it over and over again. Well, again, I don't own the franchise, wish I did, and thanks again to all the reviewers.