Chapter Five
Ellie had been in a fitful sleep for a long while, before she accidentally tossed herself from the hammock she was resting in and landed heavily on the floor.
What little breath remained in her body was forced out immediately on contact with the wooden slats, and instead replaced by a sharp pain in the abdomen. Whimpering slightly, she lay panting on the floor, trying to regulate her inhalation as best as possible. She'd had the wind knocked out of her before, but it had not been a pleasant experience then, and it definitely wasn't now. All that she could really do was wait for her lungs to regain power.
With a louder squeal, she pushed her hand against the floor and turned herself onto her back, still gasping. Ellie was concentrating as much as possible on breathing in and out, but snippets of her dream were worming into her conscious mind, and at that point in time, it was truly unfeasible that she could ignore this occurrence. The nightmare had been about her late mother.
She couldn't quite remember what it had been about, but felt cold and clammy, and minimally considered being in Celia's arms before being plucked out and cast into darkness. She was still frightened, even when she recognized it as nothing more than a dream. She was currently surrounded by dimness, being tossed about by the boat and the waves, and sensed that she was more alone than ever after getting aboard her father's ship. Earlier that day, when he had attempted to talk to her in his quarters, he had grabbed her arm and led her back up to the deck, not making any effort to converse with her from that point on.
Back in the open, she squinted from the sun reflecting off the water all around the ship as Jack suddenly stopped, shielding his own kohl-lined eyes. His head swiveled about slowly, surveying the crewmembers as they toiled. A few of them had decelerated their labor, studying their captain and the little girl with interest, but had pretended to work once more when he faced them. Ellie barely noticed the long, lanky man climbing about in the riggings – she found any sort of action that required such physical precision interesting, perhaps because her twisted leg prevented her from these endeavors – because she knew that the tone for her future would be set when Jack found what he was looking for.
A moment later, it appeared as though he had located whatever it was. With a slight tug, he motioned for her to begin walking beside him, and they moved towards the head of the ship. There, the man he had referred to as Gibbs was operating the wheel, frowning slightly in the bright light. The father and daughter headed in his direction, and when they reached him, Jack finally let go of Ellie's arm.
"Gibbs," he said, sounding a bit weaker than he usually did around his crew, "take this girl-" he swept a bejeweled hand over at her – "and give 'er...hm... somethin' to eat, I s'pose." He looked down at her. "Yeh need teh eat...yes, that's righ'."
Jack looked to be in his own world, merely speaking his thoughts. That his private thoughts were orders for his crew did not seem to surprise Gibbs. Ellie, after spending some time with the pirate captain, didn't find herself shocked either.
The man he had ordered, rather than ask any questions regarding the girl's appearance on the boat, simply responding with a "Yes, Jack," and beckoning towards her. The captain took control of the wheel, most definitely relieved, and Ellie, without protest, followed Gibbs.
He didn't talk to her either – at least, not until he had led her downstairs.
"What's your name?" he asked her, stopping as he waited for her to catch up. Ellie chanced a glance upwards, into his heavily bearded face, before replying.
"Eleanor," she muttered quietly. He considered this for a moment, before nodding.
"Eleanor. Right then." They were standing in front of a door, and he opened it for her, gesturing for her to enter it. "Come along, Eleanor."
They had entered what appeared to be a storeroom, for inside there was enough provisions to last the crew a good amount of time. No grand feast could be created from what was in there, but it would keep the crew alive and well, and that was important. Gibbs was scowling in concentration as he looked around. Though Ellie didn't know it, he was trying to get her something to eat that was small enough so that no one would notice its absence. His face suddenly brightened as he got an idea, and he walked over to the far side of the room, digging around in the containers. Finally, he lifted something out of one of the boxes, and, with a look of triumph, placed it in her small hand.
It was an apple.
Ellie had not seen her father for the rest of the day. Gibbs had managed to pull an extra hammock out for her to use, but after he had set it up a distance away from the other resting areas of the crew, he had to return back to the deck to continue working. She hadn't minded his leaving terribly, but had to admit that she had liked him. He hadn't spoken to her very much, but had occasionally given her a smile. She hadn't, of course, returned the gesture, but had warmed slightly to the ship. At least there was one person who acted kindly towards her.
It was on this that she mused for the rest of the day. She was extremely aggravated that Jack had taken her mother's letter. It was her only link to her deceased mother now, and besides that, it had given her something to do while spending time in the cargo hold. She was a child, and however strange she might be, no child is capable of simply sitting still doing nothing for hours on end. So rather than do just that, she lay inside of the hammock and thought about her father, trying to ignore the protests of her stomach. She still felt queasy aboard the vessel, and although she had been hungry, the apple wasn't doing much for her other than quelling the rumblings of her belly.
Reflecting on Jack Sparrow provided welcome relief from her growing nausea, but honestly, all she could really remember about him at that time in her life was his drunkenness and unwillingness to touch her - hardly the stuff precious memories were formed from. Even so, she had spent a good amount of her time thinking about him, everything from his golden teeth to his intense passion for rum.
One hour melted into the next, and before Ellie knew it, she had fallen into the deep slumber of a child. She had been sick very late the night before, causing her to already be exhausted. In addition to this, it had been a stressful day. These factors resulted in her fatigue, but even when unconscious, she had no respite from the twists and turns her life was taking. Almost immediately, she had been plagued with nightmares.
When she had finally woken up, only to be greeted with the wooden floor, Ellie didn't believe that she had yet gotten out of her bad dream.
-xXx-
Captain Jack Sparrow was, and not for the first time in his life by a long shot, incredibly drunk.
It had been, in his opinion, a very long, taxing day. Had it not been for the girl, it would have been quite ordinary – the usual sailing, the usual argument with a crewmembers, all leading to at least some time for rum at night. It was a lovely way to spend every day, as long as they were not on land. When it did happen that they sailed into a nearby port, Jack (and most of his shipmates) would immediately immerse themselves in the pleasures not available to them when they were on sea – namely, local whores, and, of course, a plentiful quantity of alcohol.
But he wasn't on land, and that day had brought upon him one of the greatest shocks of his life. That surprise had come in the form of a young child, one who bore the face of a previous lover and his own eyes.
However, thinking about this was not in his nature. He was accustomed to being obeyed by his crew, living on his own most of the time, and, whenever the chance presented itself, getting inebriated and satiated in whatever other area he might crave. Jack Sparrow was many things – a pirate, a picaresque gentleman, the captain of the best damn ship on the ocean (as he thought this, he grinned smugly while taking yet another hearty swig of rum and spilling a good amount of it on himself)...many wonderful, stupendous, under appreciated things.
Even so, he was certainly not a father.
So when life presented him with a ten-year-old daughter with no other relatives, friends, or even acquaintances to watch over her, Jack could not exactly summon the will to change himself and give the girl a good home and loving family, thereby surrendering his own manner of operating. Instead, he dumped her off on Gibbs and proceeded to down a drink or two. Or possibly more. Who was counting?
As it had been the night before, his thoughts were becoming a bit hard to get a grasp on, slipping away more quickly than when he was sober. That was, after all, the point of getting drunk – forgetting the troubles, worries, and various aggravations he encountered during the day. Unfortunately, he also did not remember where exactly on the ship he was, and how to get to his quarters.
Jack was sitting on the deck besides the capstan, that he knew, but nothing else besides that. It was extremely late at night, so not only had all of his crew gone to sleep in their quarters, but he was unable to see very far because it was so dim. He was alone, with no way to get to his bed besides feeling around his environment and hoping he made it to his room without too much hassle. He expected that he would eventually be able to do so, but if not, he could always rest in the kitchen or, should the opportunity present itself, beneath the table. He had done it before, when he had been in a similarly intoxicated state. It was surprisingly comfortable, although he had woken up with a fork's imprint on his cheek.
Yawning loudly, he poured the final swill of rum into his mouth, before letting it fall to the deck with a heavy 'clunk.' Then, stumbling, he managed to stand himself up after a few failed attempts, and holding his hands in front of him, he began to move across the wooden boards.
-xXx-
Jack didn't know how long it took for him to appear before a door, but it was enough time to frustrate him into believing that he had finally reached his own quarters. He was exhausted and drunk, and wanted nothing more than to lie down. He had been wandering about for quite a while; surely he had been able to arrive at where he wished to be. Nodding wisely as he deduced this, he groped about for the door handle on the right side for a moment before recalling that it was actually on the left. With a snort of triumph, he twisted it open, letting it swing into the deeper darkness, followed it, and promptly tripped over his own feet. He fell onto the floor with a pained grunt, and remained there, letting his head lie on the ground.
It took Jack a bit to realize that he was not alone.
There was a mixture of quiet whimpering and scratching, about a foot or so away from him. It could have been a rat, which were abundant aboard the ship, but it sounded far too human. He was no fan of the rodent, but it was worth it to investigate. If it turned out to be a member of his crew, perhaps they would be able to direct him towards his quarters. Grunting from the exertion, he pulled his arm out from beneath his body and motioned in the area of the noise, trying to locate its producer. His bejeweled hand landed upon a mess of hair.
"'lo?" he inquired, looking up. There was no response, but the moaning ended with a sharp inhalation. He moved his hand further down, feeling about for a face to go with the tresses. His fingers were met with a sunken cheek.
"'ello?" he asked again, poking the face a bit sharply. "Who're you?"
The owner of the head did not move away, as would be expected, but instead was breathing heavily, quite frightened. This was an unusual reaction, for being prodded would not have scared most people. Jack squinted, struggling to see the features of the person he was touching.
He took a deep breath himself, when his eyes finally focused on her. It was the girl.
She too was lying on the floor, with a combination of great fear and curiosity on her face. He couldn't see the color of her peculiar blue eyes at that time, but could make out what direction they were focusing on: him. She was still sucking in air in terror, but appeared resigned now that he had found her. He had briefly wondered where she was staying during the day, but put it out of his mind. Gibbs would have known what to do with her, and taken care of it. However, Jack still didn't know where he was, as it was too dark to determine. Perhaps he would get lucky if he asked her, and she would tell him.
"This me room?" he questioned, waving his free hand about.
Her lips formed an O, but no response came forth from them. To her credit, it did appear as though she were trying to answer him. Even so, this did not help him in the slightest. He frowned, but before he could ask her again, she summoned the courage to shake her head no.
"Bugger. D'yeh know where it is?"
The girl once again indicated a negative reply, but this time used more emphasis, looking braver. Had Jack been of sober mind, he would have noted how much she looked like Celia at that moment, but he wasn't concentrating on anything but getting to his quarters.
"Tha's not good..." he muttered, then began to chuckle loudly. "Heh...we're both on th' floor...wait, why are yeh on th' floor?" He stopped laughing, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Have yeh been drinkin' me rum as well?"
For the third time, she shook her head, and accompanied this motion with a quiet "No."
Jack grimaced for a second longer, before relaxing his features. "All righ'. I b'lieve yeh, Gertrude."
"Eleanor," she whispered. "I'm Eleanor."
"Are yeh sure?" he asked, scratching his mane of dreadlocks in puzzlement. She nodded. "Eleanor, then..." Then suddenly, without any warning, he grinned at her pleasantly, a complete contrast to how he had treated her during the day. Her pale face was crossed by surprise, but became emotionless again. Jack had possibly only done this because he was so inebriated; even so, it had to be a nice change for the girl. "Eleanor, do yeh have any idea wha'soever about how teh get to me quarters?"
"No."
"This's a problem..." he mumbled, thinking hard about his surroundings and trying with all his power to recall exactly where he was, to no avail. "Well, I s'pose we best be rightin' ourselves and figgering ou' exactly where we oughta be, hm?" The girl gave her assent. "Up we go, then." Grunting, he pushed the upper half of his body into the air, and then stood shakily on his legs. Then, grinning victoriously, he pointed down at the girl. "Now yeh get up," he instructed.
She obeyed this command, but slowly, as was heavily hampered by her twisted limb. Jack scowled down at it.
"Wha's wrong with tha' leg?" he asked her, motioning towards it. She remained as passive as ever, though, and did not reply. Even though he was as drunk as he was, he sensed that inquiring about it would not provoke any sort of reaction, and using his breath to do so would be a waste.
"Fine..." he said, but more to himself than the child. "Well, I bes' be takin' off righ' 'bout now, I b'lieve."
She stood before him, simply staring him down as he made this statement.
"Wha', you wan' teh gimme a send-off? Very well." He aligned his body as straight as he could manage, pressing his feet together and holding his arms at his sides briefly. Then, with his right, he saluted her in what he considered to be a crisp manner. "Permission to leave, an' all tha'."
The girl suddenly had an expression that even the most oblivious man could have interpreted: extremely perplexed. Her little brow had furrowed, and she looked as though she might speak. The moment passed, however, and she returned to her natural unreceptive state. Jack let his arm down. Attempting to interact with her only proved fruitless, and so he wheeled about, facing the still opened door.
"G'bye," he muttered, waving his hand over his shoulder in her direction, before stepping back out of the room.
-xXx-
Ellie Brodruck had to admit, as she hopped back into the hammock, that her hope for anything resembling a normal life after her mother's death had been considerably diminished ever since she had gotten onto the Black Pearl. She hated the sea, yet there she was, trying to ignore how terribly her stomach was acting. She had desired nothing more than a father, but at that point in time had seen him drunk more than sober. It seemed that no matter how she felt about anything in her existence, the opposite of what she wanted to occur would happen. No house, no family. Even so...
For a brief second, she had caught a glimpse of benevolence in the man who had helped create her. Albeit, he had been incredibly intoxicated during that period, and they had both been lying on the floor due to their own handicaps – her bad leg and his drunkenness. But still, he had talked to her civilly. Right then, Ellie would seize any occasion or moment that would give her any amount of optimism and hold onto it for her life. And so, as she climbed back into her sleeping area, she let the slightest hint of a smile flit across her thin face, her aching heart warming the tiniest bit as she lowered herself down. Perhaps there would be no nightmare when she fell asleep again.
Abruptly, as her eyelids were beginning to drop, a shout came from outside the crew's quarters, accompanied by a crash. She jumped out of her peaceful reverie, frightened when she heard her father's voice once more.
"Where the bloody hell am I?" he howled.