Soaring Scarlet : Chapter Three

Bretta slowly opened her already aching eyes to the invasive sunlight, rolled over, and promptly threw up into the bucket that was conveniently placed beside her. "Yuck." She muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of one shaking hand. She rolled over again and stared at the ceiling, feeling fairly awful. Then she realized that the ceiling she was looking at wasn't the ceiling she was used to.

"Oh my God." She breathed, levering herself up slowly onto her elbows and looking around warily, trepidation in her every move. The room was small, completely hardwood, with a desk on one side, right under the window. Sunlight was streaming through the grimy glass, shining brightly onto the small bed that Bretta was sitting on.

"Oh damn." She said loudly, then winced at the loud noise reverberating inside her head like a pot that's been hit with a spoon. She felt hung over, but she knew she couldn't be. When was the last time she'd had a drop to drink? Many months ago, at any rate. Sliding off of the bed, memories of the night before came flooding back to her. She'd almost been strangled to death. She could feel the smooth wood, cool against her bare feet. "Where am I?" She whispered in quiet alarm.

Crossing unsteadily to the door, Bretta recognized she all ready knew where she was. A ship. The Black Pearl, to be specific. That was the only place she could possibly be. Placing a hand on the worn latch for the door, she twisted and pulled the door open. The sun was even brighter in contrast to the relative dim light of the cabin, and she had to squint as her eyes slowly adjusted to it. Her head ached terribly and all she wanted to do was lay down and sleep again for a million years, but she couldn't. Not now that she was on the Pearl. She stepped from the doorway, pulling the wooden door shut behind her, out of habit's sake, although it was probably nothing to be concerned about. It was a ship, after all.

A man walked by her, pretending that he wasn't staring, keeping his eyes on her all the while. He was an older man, grizzled and white-haired, every inch a sea-faring pirate. She was about to stop him, ask him... what? She didn't know, she was feeling a mite dizzy, and still not sure why she was on the ship. But he was muttering to himself something about "Bad luck, bad luck…", so she didn't stop him.

"Sorry 'bout him, love." Bretta heard from behind her. She whirled around unevenly to see the captain of the ship himself leaning against the door she had just exited. He gave her a jaunty grin, the gold of his teeth glinting in the sunlight. She had to admit, his hat was quite dashing. "First Mate Gibbs. He thinks everything is bad luck, but I wouldn't worry. The crew of the Pearl have nothin' but good luck, as I'm sure you know."

Bretta wondered if he thought the whole Isla de Muerta fiasco was a stroke of good luck. Yes, she knew the legend of the Black Pearl, there were few that didn't. She kept the question to herself, however. There were more important things to be discussed. "Captain Sparrow," She began in a voice that she knew simply dripped with malice. She wasn't particularly hopeful that she could intimidate him, but she could at least try. "You seem like a reasonable sort." Well, no, he didn't actually, but it seemed like a good thing to say. "If I turn around, and cannot see land from where I'm standing, you and I are going to be having a serious conflict, do you understand?"

"O'course I understand." He said, acting offended, straightening up from the dorrway indignantly. "I'm not stupid, y'know." He scratched his chin thoughtfully, mussing the hair that resided there and sending the small braids swaying. "All though, I would've said 'savvy'."

Bretta ignored him, and spun around slowly on one heel, staring out into the huge blue sea that was topped by the huge blue sky. "Where's the bloody land, Captain?" She asked through gritted teeth. She hadn't been lying. She was going to have a fit if there wasn't land.

Jack strolled up to the railing beside her with a sway to his walk that kind of reminded her of a prostitute. He squinted, then shaded his eyes with his hand. "Hmmm." There was a long moment of silence. Then he pointed, with the grin of a child that's found something pretty to show his mother. "See that little smudge in th'distance?"

"Yes, I see it." Bretta said, peering hopefully at the blur.

"That's not land." He told her happily. "That's a storm cloud."

Bretta felt her hands clench into fists of their own volition, and she actually had to concentrate to keep from punching the pirate captain where he stood, regardless of the fact that he was bigger than her and could probably kill her with his bare hands. She was absolutely furious with this idiot. And of course, he was still smiling. "Captain Sparrow, you need to return me to Montserrat, now." Bretta told him. All she could think about was the fact that they were in the middle of the ocean, and she didn't know how to swim. Not a good skill to lack when on a ship, she knew, and the thought was beginning to paralyze her.

"Oh, love, sorry about that, no can do." Jack said, shrugging in an apologetic manner. "We're half way to Guadeloupe by now, pretty town, good place to pilfer. You slept a good long while."

Bretta's dizziness began to overwhelm her, a combination of the splitting headache she had, and the realization that she would probably die on this ship, whether from the pirates themselves, or the water that threatening to swallow the ship herself, and all of her contents. There was clanging in her ears that was growing steadily louder, and her vision was beginning to blur. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, and grabbed the rail to steady herself, leaning heavily on it. "Help..." She managed to mumble from numb lips before she succumbed to the darkness that was encroaching on the space around her, and unceremoniously tumbled over the side.

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Jack leaned as far over the edge as he could, watching Bretta as her limp body hit the water with a splash and sank under. Since he'd already had a considerable amount to drink that day, he wondered if maybe she meant to swim home. That didn't really seem feasible to him even in his drunken state, and after a few moments when she didn't surface, he whipped off his beloved hat and tossed it backwards, diving over the side after her in a graceful arc. The water was cool and refreshing on the brilliantly sunny day, but he ignored that, swimming deep enough to hook one arm around the girl's slender waist. Rising quickly to the top, Jack gave himself a moment to ponder the girl's tendency to pass out, and whether or not it was a regular occurrence. He didn't want to keep saving her every time he turned around, it would become tiresome.

As he broke the surface and took a deep breath, using his free hand to push the girl's head against his shoulder so she wouldn't drown, he heard one of his crew members yell "Man over board!" at the top of their lungs. Jack winced at the screechy quality, and figured the speaker to be Cotton's parrot.

The pirate captain treaded water patiently for a few minutes, with Bretta's head still resting against his shoulder, clasping her tightly to his torso. There was no flurried activity on the ship, and Jack got bored with the whole affair. Actually, he got bored quite often, so this wasn't terribly uncommon. He sidestroked over to the ship, and readjusted his grip on the girl. Taking hold of a thick rope, he hauled himself and Bretta upwards, let go and quickly grabbed the rope again higher up. Climbing the rigging of a ship one-handed wasn't exactly easy, but he eventually made it to the top.

When he had made it over the railing (hauling the girl with him like a rag doll), he stared murderously around for a member of his crew, but none were within eye range, either a testament to their brains or their work ethic. He would go with the former. He had somehow managed to put together the only pirate crew in the world without a work ethic. The saying "no prey, no pay" hadn't penetrated their thick skulls yet. Lazy pirates aside, he laid Bretta gently down on the ship's abandoned floorboards making sure that her head didn't hit the deck too hard (the complete opposite as she had originally treated him, unbeknownst to Jack), and whacked her somewhat forcefully with the side of his hand, right between her breasts. She started coughing and gasping, and rolled over onto her side, spitting up water.

Convinced that she would make a full recovery from her death wish, Jack flopped wearily onto his back beside her, arms and legs stretched out to accept the warmth of the Caribbean sunlight. His father had once saved his life in that exact manner, when Jack was about eight years old. Jack was now glad for that experience, because it now meant that he had saved Bretta's life. She was… something. He didn't know what she was. He felt a certain affection for the lass already, but he didn't know why. She had finished coughing by now, and rolled over onto her back, lying there in much the same position as Jack. "Thanks." She said breathlessly with a bit of a rasp from the saltwater burn, pushing her wet hair out of her face.

"Not a problem, Bretta, m'lass. Happens quite frequently." Jack said airily, propping himself up on one elbow so he could see her, not sure if 'lass' was better than 'love' or not. He could never tell with women, each one had a preference. He frowned suddenly, noticing the angry purple bruises on her throat for the first time. Reaching out a tanned hand, he splayed it lightly across her throat, barely touching her, but in the outline of the finger shaped marks. Such ugly marks marring her skin. For an unknown reason, looking at them made him furious at the man who caused them. He should've shot him dead when he had the chance. Actually, he found that he regretted not killing people more than he really should (Hector Barbossa being a prime example, among others).

She flinched slightly and tensed, but held still for him nonetheless, her eyebrows knitting together slightly. Her stormy gray eyes locked with his, for what couldn't have been more than a second, but what felt like hours. He was pulled into her identity through her eyes, and he garnered more about her in that moment than he had since he'd met her. She was a passionate woman, he saw that much at least. Her lips parted slightly, and he finally wrenched his gaze away from hers, shifting back to the bruises. He pulled his hand away from her throat, sitting up as he did so.

"Fancy set of bruises you have there." He said, trying to lighten the mood a bit, trying to forget the moment of synchronization they had shared.

"Yes, I realize that, Captain." Bretta said dryly as she sat up. Jack figured she might be defensive for the same reason he was uncomfortable. That sort of moment didn't happen every day, and it made him nervous. "That's what happens when you almost get choked to death by a madman."

"Well, it certainly seems that you're feeling absolute loads better." Jack replied, levering himself to his feet. He held out a hand to help her up. Bretta placed her hand in his, and he hauled her to her feet, ignoring the feel of her skin against his. What was wrong with him? Not that Bretta wasn't a beautiful woman (that alone would usually be enough for him to attempt to seduce her), she was just… different, and different wasn't always good. He turned and went back to the helm of the Pearl, pondering the dilemma of where to drop the girl. She apparently had a way of getting to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"So are you going to take me home now?" Bretta asked, and he looked down at her, her eyes hopeful. After a moment of hesitation he decided against taking the helm as he originally intended. He dropped down to her level again with a catlike motion, and angled his lean body back against the wooden doors of the main cabin, his dark hair once again shading his equally dark eyes.

"No love, I already told you that." Jack said patiently, having reached a decision. He was a busy man. "It'll have t'wait until the next time we stop in Montserrat." He shrugged with one shoulder. "I would've left you there, but that group of bloody stupid soldiers were after me (us, rather) for pulling that stunt in the tavern, and if I'd left you in the tavern… well, I'm sure you understand."

"I can't stay here." Bretta sank down onto her haunches, wrapping her arms around her knees, looking particularly forlorn. Or scared. Jack couldn't figure out which. But he immediately felt sorry for her, an odd trait for a pirate, he knew, but what about him wasn't odd? He knew full well that he was an anomaly, and preferred it to stay that way. The less people knew of the true Jack Sparrow, the better.

In light of that, he took a step forward and knelt in front of her. "What's wrong Bretta? Tell Jack. He'll make it better." Jack said with a wink and a grin. He couldn't pretend to be serious. She looked almost comical sitting there with a sad puppy dog look on her face. It was quite endearing.

"You can't make this better, Captain Sparrow." Bretta told him, staring at the floorboards.

"Why?" Jack asked softly, suddenly understanding that the girl was truly troubled. "You have a man back home looking for you now?" That was all he could come up with. He'd see the place she called home, and it wasn't much.

Bretta smiled at that one, looking up at him. It struck Jack that this was the first time he had seen her smile to the fullest extent. "No." She told him. "That's ridiculous." Jack didn't think it was ridiculous. He thought it was a damn good question. but he let it go when her smile faded. "I'm not joking, Captain. I can't stay on this ship. When we reach Guadeloupe, I'm staying there."

Jack opened his mouth to ask why, but he caught a slight movement in his peripheral vision and turned his head so quick that his neck made a cracking noise.Most of his crew standing conspicuously off to one side shuffling their feet, trying their hardest to eavesdrop and probably doing a fine job of it. The captain rose to his feet quickly, dark eyes flashing with ire at their laziness. "What're you scaberous bilgerats think you're doin'? This ain't a holiday cruise, mates, best get back to work and I mean now."

A small black woman stepped forward and threw her hair over her shoulder defiantly. "We're just wonderin' about th'girl." Anamaria said. Jack raised an eyebrow haughtily, waiting for the respect that was deserved to him by his crew. "Captain." She added a little sullenly after a moment.

"Her name is Bretta, and I'm afraid we've kidnapped her." Jack announced, spreading his hands wide with merriment and rocking back on his heels. He heard a small squeak of indignation from behind himself. Glancing back, he saw Bretta standing there with a furious look on her face and her hands on her hips.

"You stupid son of a pirate, good for nothing, bloody bastard." She said, loud and clear. Apparently kidnapping wasn't a good choice of words.

"Oh, come off it, love." He told her, while secretly impressed by her ability to string insults together. "You're hardly a prisoner." He turned to Anamaria again. "Darlin' would you mind finding the lass a set of clothes that she can actually put t'use on a pirate ship? The dress style went out when Mary Read began to sail." The female pirate nodded, her curiosity about the newcomer satisfied. This was the way of her captain, mad as it may be.

"Excellent." Jack said and clapped his hands, and strode off immediately, leaving Bretta in the capable hands of his longtime friend Ana, scooping up his hat as he went. He would see the girl later, he thought as he closed the door to his cabin. He chuckled as he pulled his wet shirt over his head, thinking of the look on her face when he'd used the word 'kidnapped'. Priceless.

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Thanks for much for all the reviews, they're wonderful! Like I said, I'm replying to them individually. :-D Hope this suits everyone's fancy.

Abby