Okay...here's the new chapter. Again, any Coldplay fans...the song Yellow is very much an inspiration to be throughout this story, especially this chapter thus far. Things are going to get a little rockier...but don't they always with Jack and Lizzie. Geez, the two are so hard up on not admitting how they feel. It kills me!

Thank you, Sophies-Welt, and my shangri-la, for your lovely comments. So glad you are both enjoying, and that the Portugese was well read :)

Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 12: Yellow

"Tell me something then Belle."

"Anything."

"Is it me andsome' brow? Me, lips ye lust after? Or…do ye love me fer my ship?"

"Oh, that certainly is it Mr. Sparrow. You're grand vessel. What…does she venture beyond the dunes at you're doorway now?" She laughed at him, and for a moment she could remember what it was like to be young again. Not that either of them were aged to the world at seventeen years, but to be a child, mesmerized by the magic of the island, by the curiosity of a certain pirate's only son, and to be sprawled along the warm sands, lost in love with the words of such a son. Freedom would always follow him, and she only wished that she too could find her way about in the adventures he was set to take. Jack would not be an island son much longer, he too would fade into the horizon like so many men before him. But would he take Belle along?

This is something she wished upon on this night, something that only she and the North Star knew. Something only Jack's love could answer in time. For now though, his lips did a fair enough job.

The delicate lace of his tongue danced at the tender flesh behind her ear, nibbling with his teeth as best he could muster through his growing passion. Belle's eyes were wide with mesmerized format, taking in all that he was, and all that she could feel through the heat of his breath. It had been far too long since she felt him upon her, loving her and caring for her as he always had. Nothing could compare to the fire and sweetness of his lips mixed insatiably with the sauntering honey of his rum fragranced breath; it was pirates lure the way he smelled and tasted, and although still young in the ways of his ancestors, Arabella was more than happy to oblige in any way Jack saw fit.He tickled a smile against her skin as he heard her deep whisper of ecstasy, longing for him to move the attention of his lips elsewhere. Belle had been the most bewitching of splendors he had yet seen in his life, her spirit living through the chilly desperation of her cerulean eyes, skin as fair as the day was long, and the ravenous way she tormented him with her smile; Belle herself was named as a beauty, named as an angel among sins.

"Jack…"


"Belle." He sat up, hands remaining steadfast at her waist, holding her tenderly and with much care.

"Jack…am I smiling?" He looked to her confused, and unsure of exactly how to answer. She was in fact smiling, but he doubted she could not feel such an expression upon her own face.

"What?"

"Am I? Am I smiling right now?"

"Aye, from what I can see. A smile as wide as the ocean." He laughed.

"Good." She replied simply, still lacking an explanation. "I wish to know you are the reason for that."

"I wish to know you are the reason for that…" The words echoed in a hollow chamber of his memory, sliding against cells of focus, vision, reminding him of the heat of the fire that night, the tingle of the sand grains between his bare feet, the crashing of the waves not so dissimilar from their lips, their bodies, their hearts. Arabella…at' girl. He smiled to himself, thinking of the smile she so begged to be assured of, the last he had ever seen spun by her so easily. The blue stone, rolling over inside of his palm as he sauntered down the docks, was the remnant of that dream, that fleeting thought of the girl with eyes like the ocean and skin like the sun. There was a time when Jack was certain he would marry Belle, a ceremony of charm aboard his own ship, scuttled away on the lost dunes of the world, sailing into his future. But just as his mother had always warned, first love, that initial fracture of the heart's muscle into feelings never before experienced, would forever be transitory like the tide. It would come in slowly, bringing with it soft grounding, a warm breeze, but when it became absent again, it would be abrupt, sudden, and too difficult to reel back in. This had been Belle, his ephemeral beauty. The girl who had shown him the importance of a sunset, and how every moment in life was meant to be lived as if there would be no second. I know you are the reason for that Belle…he thought quietly as he made his way onto the shore, alone, without Elizabeth. "I know."

His reflections were short-lived though, having only to straddle the banks of the town before every female body was aware of his presence. They had awaited Jack's return with haste, each pair of lips, each heated palette of skin. There was to be little contention on the island this evening with his company, men would solemnly wait to be a tasteless second choice, and women would hold their breath that the opportunity to be chosen, needing only to find themselves warm enough, wet enough to be the night's scandal. He grinned only slightly enough for them to catch a glint of teeth before he had turned into the north hanger of the town, the dark corner he preferred, the place only experienced mouths and legs fed. A few torches covered its path, a whistling in the palms and ferns, heavy, distant and hidden breathing, grunting, begging, all of it mounting his own need for release as he continuously swing back a half empty bottle of rum. Although it had been Lizzie's form he had so wished to take to the linen of his bed, the taste of her wet lips still lingering over the inside of his mouth as he licked his teeth grossly, he would have to settle as ever was his raw necessity. Settle for a brunette, a blonde, the flame torched excursion of a certain red haired jezebel, it didn't matter to him. His money was worth no more or less anymore, so he continued on in exile, knowing his venture would not take him too far before he was as captured just as the shadowed figures he heard.

A few more steps indeed, and he was right. For stepping out in front of the glowing light of Kao's, a local opium binge, he saw the doe fashioned eyes ablaze at the parallel corner and smiled favorably at the sight. "Jack…" it was a whisper, elegant but rancid as well, nearly a punishment for him since his last visit. From out of the black cast of the building he watched the form of addiction crawl towards him, Scarlett, green eyes and billows of red curls shaping her supple face. "You've come back."

"Couldn't stay gone fer long, lass." Finding her hands woven into the confines of his coat, he leaned down to purr in her ear, "Miss me?"

"Ye know we did, Jack."

"We?" While he pulled back from Scarlett's cheek to question her further, he felt a hand snake around his waist from behind, pulling his back against the softness of another well rounded chest. "Forget me, Captain Sparrow…?" the waifish blonde whispered against his neck, leaving him spinning in conviction, "Giselle. Course not, luv." He tried to give worthy attention to both pair of lips instantly, finding his tongue wandering the space of one mouth, and then clearly being pulled back to another. It was a spectacle he would have relished in allowing the street lurkers to witness, the vain of his wit, his craftiness in the female species, but he thought it only better suited for a room at the stretch of his own weary mind. Wavering in his boots as they each tugged at his coat, belt, hair and mouth, he eventually broke away winded but in stance enough to propose another location.

"A room ladies? Wot' say you?"

They agreed quickly, each woman taking him strongly at his upper arms and dragging him into the empty alleyway behind the den, very little light to speak of, but just enough to find the rattling doorknob of the room they had kept well and warm in hopes of his return. Jack had spent many a night in this same room, panting for life beneath legs and breasts, skin molten to his, all of it the proud ownership of Tortuga's finest. And here he was again, pressed quickly to the wall without the effort to control his situation, the buttons and hooks, belts and sashes of his wardrobe being ripped from him and tossed out into the open room. Glossed lips danced circles around his cheeks, jaw, neck, and further until he could no longer breathe, and frankly was glad for it, he needed to know that Elizabeth wasn't the only woman capable of this feat. They left him one after the other to slowly unlace their bodices, helping one another in a way Jack couldn't have imagined better, sharing lips, tongues, taste buds while he stood helplessly nearby, the aching spirit of his groin digging into the cotton of his breeches as he tried to rub it away. Left in only the tightly bound silk and bone of their corsets and garters, he made his way towards them again, arms outstretched for the enveloping of their bodies, and a slump onto the padded warmth of the bed. He was ready to take each of them as they so had wished, give over more than what they could offer, pleasure his way into the heart of the town tonight. But before he could bring his lips far enough over skin to begin the routine caress of his tongue, the two beauties stopped him with keen smiles, "Wait Jack, we ave' a surprise for you."

"Surprise? Sorry, not quite a fan o' surprises, loves."

"Well certainly ye'll like this one…" They sat up together from his hands, nodding over his shoulder towards the doorway he had so neglected in his actions. When finally he had brought his eyes to scan the distance from mattress to door, he saw the surprise they so willfully spoke of, gracefully walking in his direction. Indeed they had not exaggerated, a wonder of dark tranquility, a harnessed will to succumb to him as always she had, and always he had her. Anna Maria. Seeing her again like this after too many a day to count, he smiled inwardly at his mother's story, and the small crème stone locked somewhere inside his coat pocket on the floor. "This is your heart's desire, the one who will tempt you always. This flame will never die, my son. Only fade in time." He had become attached to her when she had first attempted to sneak aboard the Pearl, at least a decade or more past now. She was no more than a girl of sixteen, and Jack, grown to please at nearly twenty eight. Or maybe he was younger, older, he could never be sure of his age; it didn't matter much for graces' sake anyhow. Anna Maria though, pirate still or not, had found a new avenue into his veins, tempting him all the same. Sliding onto the bed behind him, her fingers danced at the gentle place on his lower back, warm, drunken almost, and she grinned wickedly at the corner slide of her lips, waiting for him to respond.

"Anna…"

"Sparrow. Ave' any room for added company?"

"Tis' only fair to distribute t' all willing participants, I suppose?"

Without sharing another word, Jack wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into the already warm spot beneath him on the sheets, Giselle and Scarlett finding their way into the heated entanglement as well. It appeared that despite his earlier loneliness given Elizabeth's rejection of his company, that Jack would leave the port town at some point in the night, satisfied, contented, and thoroughly pleasured after all.

Kicking the heel of her boot into the planks of wood in her cabin, Elizabeth tugged at her newly shaped braid as it rested against her chest, flinging it back harshly from her cheek, digging into the floor further, grunting. "Damnit Jack…argh!" The sense of her own roughish ways was coming about, the frustrations, the timid anger and fierceness, the pirate in her. She wanted to go and find him, force him to bed her, kill him with her love and then leave him weak in the knees and unable to get back up. But she had already done that…almost. And he came back. "Bastard!" She shouted, knocking over the delicate jar of gems and jewelry from the dressing table to the floor, breaking it. With an angered pout she fell down to her knees and began swiping up the few rolling pearls, rubies, even a necklace or two. All trivial things to a stay aboard the Black Pearl, but trinkets she enjoyed having with her, memories in every piece. When finally most of the bits had been collected she looked over beneath a chair to see a flickering glow, and pulling the piece out in her palm, realized it to be the sequined comb that had belonged to Jack's mother. He had told her to take, to pirate proudly, all of this somewhere in her head. He didn't really tell me to take it, he wasn't really there.

Despite the fact, she stood up and replaced the jar in its spot on the table, and then took a seat before the mirror, dusty but still reflective of her swollen eyes and wet hair. Untying her makeshift braid, she let the strings of yellow curls fall against her shoulders and back, reaching up with the comb to pull the hair midway. She couldn't see its purpose clearly in the mirror, but knew it to be fashioned well enough. Jack's mother…she contemplated what she had heard about the woman of Teague's life, she was dark, native to another land, somewhere far…where was it? Brazil, maybe? She was known to be a witch…right? No, that can't be right…" Looking up into the mirror again she wiped away the existing tears at the corners of her eyes, the tears she knew were for him and his ways, that kiss, that taste she had let wander away into the wench crowded streets. He's probably with another girl already…maybe more. Maybe all of them…damn.

And in an instant she felt something come over her, a fearful pride in her step as she rose from the table, a skip in her waltz as she grabbed her worn coat and hat, something new. Elizabeth felt every need to rise above the tears and the battle inside of her; she needed to somehow forget its nature entirely, drink to the night at hand, lose herself all over again. And this time, she didn't want Jack Sparrow to come and rescue her.

After countless hours of satisfying himself, releasing himself, drowning himself in the beauties of his past and present, Jack managed to drop the required amount of coin with added interest onto the bedside table. Scarlett and Giselle had drifted off into sleep for the night and with a kiss on each of their cheeks, he sauntered off into the dark alleyway, Anna Maria in tow. She'd always been that way with him, unable to let go until it was absolutely necessary, always wanting to keep his company no matter the use for it.

As he shuffled under the light of a low torch she made her way out to him, smiling but only so much as to bring him to one as well. With a grin, he tucked his shirt beneath his belts accordingly, shaking off the sleep that had confined his leg while doting on her presence, "Didn't expect t' see ye again."

"You know me Jack, always too far to catch but never out of arms reach for you."

"So I've eard' once or twice…" His wicked glare proved to be too much even for a pirate like her, and Anna dipped out further until she held his lips in hers, slowly taking with her all of the remainders of the night at hand. Left breathless by nature rather than desire this time, he laughed it off and moved his mouth over her forehead and cheeks, kissing each lightly. "Don't e'er change on me."

"Tell yerself that Captain Sparrow." She retorted, dropping her hand into his one last time and feeling the coolness of a stone. "Take it, it's yours." He smiled, leaving it to rest in her palm for good as he brushed back the hair in her eyes and walked off into town. Anna Maria glared down to the small brown pebble, then up to Jack's backside wandering through the night, thinking on a distant memory, a story of another day, one he had told her long ago.

Jack on the other hand found himself recoiling everything about the final moments at sea this time, the bout, the kiss, her leave shortly after, and everything between that and now being the forgotten message. He was back to thinking about her lips, her skin's touch, the way her eyes turned a fiery green when she yelled at him, they always had. But what he found most contemplative was her hair, a fine billow of golden clouds, shoveling out over her shoulders, cheeks, breasts, everywhere it needed to fall. It was the color of his infinite curiosity, the color of the last stone rolling around in his pocket. It was yellow. It was Elizabeth Swann. Not Turner. Swann.

Trudging out into the open street finally, he saw a few by passers, last minute whores, and some drunken sailors resisting a purge against sidewalks and doorways. There was a breeze in the air that signified some sort of winter coming, the wind that arrives to take away the life of a place, especially Tortuga. It felt good, almost necessary, as if the wind was calling him onto a new place, a fresh venture still left to be discovered. The fountain…he thought, sneaking down a vine covered alleyway, down below someplace…down in hell? That's wot' Lizzie said, hell. Damn. He wasn't ready to return to a place like that, he needed to have both feet on proper, mortal ground for now. But if going to hell once more, meant never having to see it again, not that it made much sense, he was surely prepared for it. To drink t' eternity…with Elizabeth. As soon as the thought entered his mind he halted at the corner street, rubbing his temple roughly and pondering the tap of his boots with hesitation. With Elizabeth? Forever with er'…can't be. I didn't think that. "No," he exclaimed finally, being immediately drowned out by the force of a steel guitar and the hungry shouts of a thousand rowdy patrons of the night. It sounded like joy, like effervescent fun to him, and that's exactly what he needed now.

Walking along to where the lights shown in the marketed tavern, he smiled once and walked twice, smiled and walked until he made it to the open archway, the sounds driving him mad with pleasure, the laughter, the yelling, breaking of glassware, stomps and cheers, and then a sound he didn't expect, a sweetness to the shouting now, a distant memory of rum and the burning of it, the raised voice of a woman. "And I just glared at him crudely…" The she yelled out over the humming chuckles as he walked inside to reveal the scene to himself. His mind had been right instantly, but only so much. Between the crowded shoulders and swooping bodies Jack could make out a table at the center, wobbling but fair enough for her induced weight, where she stood with arms spread out in the fashion of a great tale, much as he had done on many an occasion, the laughter in her voice carried out prettily with the drunken hiccups that followed each sentence. He tried not to smile, because he feared what she was telling of, he feared the story itself, and with good reason.

"His breath was as rotten as…as…well a pirate's! It covered my face like spoilt milk, if you can believe it!"

"Aye, we can lass!" A close observer shouted, to which Elizabeth continued heartily. "Well good…because a moment later, I tugged at his belt being sure to nearly injure the fruit of his livelihood…" A few winces from men and hollers from the wenches occupying the space between them, while Jack's brow twisted down with nerves, in a way of expectance for what was coming next.

"And he just looked down at what I had done to him and said, in that oh so very 'Jack' way, 'Easy on the goods, luv!'" Laughter was too coy a word for the sounds that emitted from the building, a shunning, colorful cheer is what came as he lowered his face slightly for safety, until he once again rose it high to meet her turning body on the table. The violent chuckling of her small form enraging him and driving him mad with the urge to bring her body to the hilt of pleasure, all at the same time. He couldn't be mad; she was a pirate, and a damned good one at that. But as her body slowly came to face in his general direction, he saw the blood rushing out of her face, pale skin, weary eyes and legs, and then he caught her glare.

"Oh look everyone, it's Jack!" She pointed towards him as he pushed his way through the crowd in her direction, fearing what was to come next. "He's come to pleasure one of you fine ladies…" The laughing continued without the slightest indication of her state, but Jack knew all too well, and shoving himself past a few more close onlookers and chucklers, he reached his body out just in time to catch her falling form. His arms locked with her thighs as she dropped roughly over his shoulder, hair falling down in a mess across his back, and her bare feet dirty with the stench of a rum soaked table. The cheering didn't stop, for the simple fact that it was the crowd's belief that their favorite mate and sailor was in spirits to take his pleasure with the young Miss Swann, a woman scorned and delightful all the same, one who had become the new pet of Tortuga men and women alike. As she should be…he noted, passing through the tight audience with a close hold on her body as he felt her wake from unconsciousness again and squirm to get free.

"Put me down, I want to stay!"

He ignored her.

"Jack, let me go…I can take care of myself."

Funny way o' showing it. Finally making headway through the arch again and onto the dirt covered square of the town, he held her tighter until he was able to throw her back down to rest on her own two feet. "God, you…" She began, finger pointed towards him angrily but still adorable in his eyes. "You are so…so…"

"So wot', luv?"

"So…infuriating!" Her entire body shook as she stammered the word, a hiss between her lips and a stomp against the ground he stood at, trying to break free of his glare and move past him towards the bar again. But before she managed to even cross over his boot line, he had taken her wrist into his palm and pulled her back away. "Stop, I'm going back in."

"No."

"What do you mean no? You don't own me; I can do as I please."

"Yer a part of me crew, an' being Captain, I say no."

Her jaw dropped with emphasis on his unfair ruling, but she managed to backfire as usual, "We're not on a ship. So you can't order me about." He grinned tiredly, then with a scuff of her bare foot on the dirt path, she tried once more to head back into the tavern, ignoring every bit of him. But this time she wasn't so lucky and once she had swung past him enough, he had gained a stronghold on her knees again and taken her back over his shoulder, huffing with the pressure and stomping away. "Ye don't listen too well, Bess. Shame…"

"Jack, put me down!" The golden waves of her dirty hair covered his back, and although he couldn't feel it, he could imagine it the way he wanted. "I'm serious."

"Don't I know it."

"You're not funny," She exclaimed, slapping his back a little further than she would have liked as her head bobbed in embarrassment. "Shouldn't touch a pirate there, luv. Could send im' the wrong message."

"Well…" A hiccup preceding her point, "I guess it's a good thing…" another gulp, "I have no message to send you." After this was spoken, she let her body fall comfortably against him as he continued walking, and reeling over her voiced opinion in his head. He didn't know if she had meant it, or if she was just mad from expressing herself so vividly before, but it crawled under his skin with the remaining distance before him, the Black Pearl docked at the end of the harbor where he was headed. If she'll only listen t' me on a ship…then on a ship she shall find erself'. Completely oblivious to where he was taking her, she went along with it, watching the stones shuffle under his boots with each step, the lull of his pacing heart beating against her inner thigh, a sensation she couldn't have possibly dreamed up. After a few more moments she noticed a light tapping of his fingers at the back of her knees, as if he was strumming to a song, but what? She wondered, but never had her answer clearly enough by the time she saw his boots hit the wood dock.

"Where are you taking me? Back to the Pearl!?"

He didn't answer, only made his way steadily down to where the sheer black of the sails met the grey of the skies above. It wasn't long after that he took the planked ramp upwards and onto the open deck of the ship, open and empty as it were. The only soul around was Ragetti, high up in the crow's nest someplace, looking over the ship with shut eyes, he was sure of it. So with one last step inward, he dropped her down to her bare feet once more, lifted his head back to clear air and felt the sting of a clammy palm as she met with forced contact to his cheek. His head flew slightly to the side, casting a glance and a chuckle to the deck below before returning to look down into her eyes again. Damn, she's even better at that than Anna…his wicked smile taunted her, and without having any good reason, except that she didn't like his notion of pleasure at her slap, she did it again. He laughed it off with little pain, "Been practicing, eh?"

"You're not funny, Jack." And again she rose her hand to return for another blow, but he caught it midway, bringing her eyes to shift unknowingly as he brought it slowly to his mouth, rubbing her palm to his lips with a sinister plead in his eyes. "Stop it!" She pulled away, stepping backwards and then turning off towards the other end of the ship, with no real plan in mind to ignore him. Just wandering until she could settle the burn in her throat, and the tipsy rock of her head. Too much alcohol had been consumed on her part again, and as she made it to the rail of the stern she leaned down with a gaze at the soft water below, trying to convince herself of why it was Jack was able to drink rum so greedily with little heartache. This though, the thought of him, was met with the actual warmth of his body settled just behind her. It made her uneasy to have him so close, so silent, so perfectly at will to her. She had guessed he would be a man about town far into the night, and that her storytelling would pass the time away without her having to wonder which inn he was holed away at, which whore he was placing coins upon. I don't even want to know who it was. Jack stood watching her back, the loose tremble of his still worn shirt against her back, the hair falling all over it, dusting it with sweetness he longed to inhale, and at the center of it a sparkling gem, a comb. He thought he recognized it but couldn't be certain, it had come somewhere from his past though, he was sure of that much. He noted it for later observation, later use on her mind. With a shake of her head though in the moonlight he came to settle against the railing beside her, still saying not a word, only watching her carefully, the movements she made so naturally, the rough red color of her fingertips from stress, the twitch in her knee from consumption. It was Elizabeth, all of it.

"Don't stare at me."

"As Captain of this ship Miss Swann…I ave' a right t' the goods stored upon it."

"Jack."

"It's me every wish to consume the view and if--"

"Jack." She interrupted with a cough of a fading high.

"Wot'?"

"It's Turner….Elizabeth Turner." It had dug a hole in the skin at his chest and buried itself next to his heart, to hear her say this now. Without thinking on his actions, he took hold of her close right wrist and yanked it from the railing, then spun her body around until her back was pressed into the ship, both wrists tied tightly beneath his palms against the wood bar. With a quick gasp of shock she allowed her breathing to deepen huskily, unsure of how to react, only wanting to admit to herself that the feeling of his stiff center against her thigh was too satisfying even for her. He pressed himself down into her as best he could manage without being struggled at, the nip of his loose and haggardly saccharine breath against her collar bone, leaving her without air of her own. She didn't blink once when his mouth dropped down towards hers, but shut before she felt his lips, she never felt his lips, only heard twinge of his words between her own.

"Elizabeth Turner is as good as a widow…she knows this. An' hopefully one day, she'll accept it…"

Elizabeth hesitated under his statement, not wanting to offend, but not wanting him to get the best of her yet either. "A-And what if she doesn't?" By this he was shocked, he thought he surely had her, but it seemed as always, Lizzie needed the added input of a threat far greater than her own.

"Then she can stay ere' in Tortuga. An' finish telling er' stories bout' me…" It struck her like a flash of lightening over a dark sea, her eyes widening as she felt his hands push back on her arms, thrusting away from the rail, and away from her with a grunt of distaste. If the feat was at all possible, she had hurt Jack Sparrow's feelings, she had done damage to his soul, his confidence, his spirit with her stories. She hadn't meant to, it was the rum talking for most of the fact, or so she thought. As she watched him swagger off jaggedly towards his cabin, she thought about calling out his name, stopping him dead in his tracks, explaining herself, her actions. But it never came out, and he instead slammed the door of his room a moment later, leaving her in the familiar cloud of dust she had him earlier in the night.

Why can't I hate him, she thought as she kicked back from the rail and headed away towards her own room, Why won't he just let me hate him like he hates me.

From inside of his cabin, head pounding against the door, boots banging at the wood beneath them with a stomp, Jack mumbled every word in his vocabulary manageable of insulting himself. Damn coward. He didn't want to do that, he had it planned out so very differently, the whole walk, the arrival, the kiss…

But because it didn't happen that way, and because all he could think about were the sting of her still lingering words over the last half hour, he was a lost cause. Soon drink would consume his gut and memories would fill his head, and he would be no use to the beginning of their journey in the morning. All because of how he felt, how he couldn't express himself, how he couldn't turn his nose up at Elizabeth anymore. Why can't I just hate er'…why? She hates me…why can't I be the same?