Chapter 16: Sea Legs

Her feet pattered the wet deck from her room to Jack's cabin, where she knew she had seen Barbossa earlier in the day. As much as she despised the man at times, he was a brilliant and avid sailor, a staunch pirate, and if anyone was prepared for what was coming in the following leg of their journey, it would be Hector. Throwing open the door to the room she was met with dozens of burning candles in the low purple light of the windows, a faint smell of tobacco, and eventually, Barbossa settled in at the charting table. He looked up at her grimly when she approached, never having been too fond of the young lass aboard his ship, unless under proper dress and lock. Yet he knew she had proven herself as a decent enough rouge, fought over anything and everything he had in the last five years, and still stood strong at the edge of his table. So he permitted her to be there.

"Miss Turner…"

She was out of breath, but leaning down over the table at the charts, she caught herself with wind enough to speak, "Barbossa, what…part… what coast are we set to land on?"

"Well," he began with a fingers trace over Jack's well charted maps, "Th' wise choice 'twould be the Gulf."

"Safer?"

"Aye…" looking back up at her, he tapped his long, yellowed nails over his still growing beard.

"What about the Indians…are there Creek Indians there?" Elizabeth's voice was hasty, and it was slightly unnerving to Hector as he tried to imagine a prime answer for the young girl, but was interrupted in thought by a third figure entering the cabin doors. When Elizabeth didn't turn at the noise, he realized that Jack's presence had gone half unnoticed, and only faced back to her, "Who told ye of Injuns, bess?"

"Does it matter? Are there or aren't there?"

"I don't quite know…wot' do ye think Sparra?!" As Hector shouted out across the room past her, Elizabeth's brow twitched downward, a wincing eye and short breath to follow her annoyance in his continuing shadow effect on her. She didn't turn back to him; she knew what he looked like now. Instead, she only listened to his voice as it neared.

"Injuns or…Indians? There is a rather grim difference between th' two. Injuns, as ye Hector have preyed upon yerself…are rabid, filthy, eart'less men. Skin red as the soils they walk upon, an' hair black as the coldest death. Those…those are Injuns."

When he concluded his speech with a seething breath down her neck, Elizabeth could feel her knees weaken, his voice sounded so cold, so imminent. But her curiosity presented itself, and without facing him, she stood with her question, "And what of Indians?"

"Indians…Indians can be quite th' opposite if ye allow such a thing t' be seen. They are men of belief, charm, ritual an' above all else peace. They mean only harm t' those who ave' harmed them in return. Indians are not a problem fer us lass, but the Creek…" he whispered as he stepped to her side and gave her a long glance, "…the Creek will send e'ery last one o' us to the grave. Rest assured…"

With a deep inhalation she took a seat in front of the table again, thinking about the facts, eyes scanning the maps set out in front of her. She didn't know what to think of Florida, of its mystery, it's ancient appeal. If the fountain was there, she was willing to do whatever it would take to find it, for her, for Will. She needed immortality, a continuous marriage and promise. It was the right choice.

"The risk is necessary…" she spoke with an eye on Barbossa, and then upwards to Jack. "…to find the fountain."

"Aye."

"The west coast," the two men followed her finger as it covered miles on the map in front of her, "Hector you said the Gulf would be safer. What tribe is there?"

"Calusa, luv." Jack answered quickly, the knowledge of the land unbearable for him.

"Are they dangerous?"

"Can be…they're tricky lot."

"Well, can you out-trick them?" A twisted smirk covered his face at her questioning, "Most assuredly."

"Good, then we'll weigh anchor right here…" her fingertip settled in the rounded bay in the middle of the west coast, circling it gently, "…call to orders?"

"I'll be tendin' t' that duty. My ship, my command." Barbossa growled as he leapt from his chair and bolted straight out of the door to the open deck. Watching him go, both Jack and Elizabeth shook their heads in amusement at his sudden calls to the crew, marking their heading of the Gulf. It was when she rose to leave in Hector's wake, that Jack decided he wasn't going to allow her to simply step off from his sight again, this time he wanted the final word.

"Won't ye stay for a drink?"

She smiled with a peek from the door to him, "What might that entail, I wonder?"

"It's a drink Elizabeth, the point of which is merely t' calm yer nerves."

"I'm not nervous." She shot back, almost insulted that he would think such a thing of her. "I can handle anything you can."

"M' well aware. The drink is fer the nerves you acquire…when yer round' me, darling."

"I don't know what you're talking about…" he laughed at this, but poured her a glass of rum from the nearby table. "I'm perfectly capable of sharing your company."

"Good." Handing it to her, he watched as she tossed back the entirety of its contents before he was allowed one sip of his own. A gulp and wipe of rum with her sleeve followed as she relaxed back into the chair, a pout on her face. Jack said nothing, but instead drank wandering the perimeter of the room, as so often he did. Elizabeth was lying, his being near her was frightening, a tense situation for any married girl to be in, especially one who had been there a dozen times before. But he prided her in the attempts she made to brush past the panic of their lone company, her ability to best him if only in the defense of a man she loved half as much as being stuck with Jack. William Turner was far from intimidating, though he tried his best to be so, it never suited. And because Elizabeth was a woman who was finest, most beautiful under the pressure of uneasiness or fear, the marriage also did not suit. Will was too probable, too definite in calm and care. Jack on the other hand, was the least predictable notion she had ever dreamed up, or ever run into. Elizabeth needed Jack Sparrow like the sands of Tortuga needed the constant flurry of unheeded island storms. For it was in the most steady of squalls, that the hazard of her sparrow was most tame.

Standing back up with an anxious lean against the table's edge, Jack stopped walking to note her silhouette in the light. It was different now than it had been the evening of the rain; it was shallow, quieter, almost ghostly. Her shoulders were lax with much depth or power as she so often fashioned, her waist was dipped towards the table's ledge gracefully, but sad all the same. And her hair, the yellow of which was fading with each passing day of sorrow, only bristled down into thick strawberry locks, entwined with her blue ribbon. He imagined his face buried in her hair, the scent it would provide, the curiosity, the warmth. All of which was too difficult an action for him to admit to, but the thought, remained still and wearied him with the passing seconds of silence. When he saw her arm move, her hand and finger as it circled the fallen wax on the wood; he took one last swig of the bottle in his hand, sat it down on the chest to his right, and made his move.

Elizabeth wasn't a child anymore, she knew of the imminent detail that Jack's wanting her to stay provided. And when the moments floated by, and she felt an air of assurance covering her neck, her shoulders and back through the faint cotton of her tunic, she knew he come to her aid again, she knew he could still read her as well as she wished him to. Jack did not touch her at first, only stood with his chin nestled a hair's length away from the top of her head, his hands solemn and droning at each ledge of the table beside her, holding his weight less than an inch behind, and she swore she felt the ocean, just in the way his breath swayed in the air. It was her turn to speak from what she was registering in his silent remorse, and with a last flick of her finger over the worn spot on the table; she breathed deep enough to bring her spine running lightly against his chest, and began.

"I always wanted to be happy, Jack. I…I always dreamed of being free, and independent of my father's wealth, I wanted to see the world on a sailor's pay, not a daughter's inheritance. And I got that chance years ago, when you came back to me."

He could taste berries from the few strands of golden hair that were falling against his nose and forehead as he leaned in closer to her, not bothering to worry about formalities or barriers of touch and sense. Jack wanted to drink her like the finest of wines, go without rum for eternity if it meant he could sip at her instead. And the words she was forming were only making matters worse.

"That day in London, I never thought I'd see you again, I mean I hoped I would of course, but…you were a legend even then, no girl could match that infamy."

"Yer wrong, luv…" he whispered back to her, his lips grazing over the lobe of her ear as she inhaled deeply and exhaled even richer.

"You…believe so?"

"I ave' the pleasure o' knowing so," when she saw his hands gently sliding across the table top towards where her own laid, she tensed slightly against him, her shoulder blades tagging his high chest as he carefully let his fingertips dance up her hands until they landed at her wrists. He enclosed each of them with delicate finger chains, mimicking that which she had left him with the year before, to die. But Jack wasn't going to let her die, or reprimand her choices; he was going to remind her of why she needn't think they were her only options in life.

"I hate myself for having done that to you." He said nothing and counted her heartbeats between statements. "I tried in vain to prove myself to you, Jack…that's all I ever wanted. And you never let me, until…then. I took the opportunity greedily, I know, but I walked away satisfied. It's…it's so wicked a thing to admit." There were no sobs, but there was strained breathing as he leaned his body in closer to hers, to feel the pain, he wanted to feel her ache and remind himself it was possible even as a pirate to hurt with knowledge of it. Emotion could be had at all levels of felony in this world; Elizabeth Swann was his proof time and again.

"Wicked, yes. But fair nonetheless."

She loosened her tension enough to slide around in his arms, her bottom pressing atop the table's edge, and Jack's head falling down closer to her face in the motion. His eyes lit up instantly, wide to her expression, to her openness with him. His hands kept her pinned to the wood, their fingers tangled unknowingly between them, waists pressing nearer to one another, the heat from their mouths warming the other's necks.

"You must know I care for Will."

"I know that well enough by now, Lizzie."

"I don't want to hurt him…"

"Nothing can arm' the walking dead."

"Except kissing the wrong mortal."

"Should…ye…" he tried, bringing his mouth down into hers closer, his eyes never leaving hers, and the grip from his hands tightening, "…want to."

Of all the churning, random hearts under the sun

Eventually fading into night...

These two are opening now,

As we lie...I touch you wonderful alive girl.

Elizabeth shuddered at his words, more than prepared to let him take her as she was, across the table, the floor, the bed, anywhere he felt the need to re-prove his legend's existence to her. Not caring if she woke up beside him, or was ever treated fairly again on the ship, if but to have one kiss from him this time. Not from her selfish will to save lives or from her anxious flirting in the middle of a storm, but just by his demand, his own desire. Jack was coming closer when she snapped into the reality, when she felt the raw petals of his lips brush at her, the villainous black abyss of his eyes washing in and out of her, like the waves to an islet. There was a thunderous crash of energy when the sliver of a wet tongue met the boiling of her mouth entrance, the invitation for further tasting given, and her own soon matched his, with rum, salt, sweat, and the jewels of lust. This was still new to her, the passion he could deliver, since it had always been her that had initiated any intimacy. But as his tongue discovered uncharted corners of sweetness within her mouth, his fingers digging into her palms at the table, his desire grinding against her thigh, Elizabeth wished it would never end and that marriage was an imaginary form of bondage now. Every bit of her was on fire, every inch of her brought to a life, a height that Will had never managed, even in their one intimate day together. There had been no stars dancing at her feet, no sea breezes in her hair, and especially no burning sensations on her tongue where Will's was settled on that lone evening ashore. Jack was something else entirely to behold, and though she'd been informed of this from a distance for decades, it was only under the pressure of his longing for her, beneath his mouths' ruse that she finally comprehended the heat.

And when he pulled away from her, she barely recognized it being over. Her lips were parched but numb in the air, her eyes closed tight to omit the sight of him walking away as she pictured from within, and her hands were lonely and cold without his touch. At the sound of a belt hitting the wood at their feet though, she opened her eyes downward, saw his few effects and tensed again at the meaning of it.

"Jack…are we…well I mean--"

"No." He replied simply in clear interruption. And at the surprise of his answer, she bolted up to see him smiling. "What could e'er make you think I'd want t' engage in such activity with the likes of…ye?" Again a glint of gold was revealed as he narrowed his eyes upon her, humoring her mind for a moment. "Yer the one whose married, my dear…the call must be o' yer own accord."

"Me?"

"Aye, no exceptions."

"None?"

Propping himself against her body again, he shied down to her ear and sighed, "Never."

He'd made his point well, and given her every reason to believe him a good man once more. He would not take any advantage of her, unless by witty remarks and side-long glances. Jack was a decent human, and as it was necessary, could control any feeling he had for a woman, especially this one. He had trained his mind, his heart, and most importantly his body to manipulate itself against Elizabeth Swann. Fighting her voice, her hair, her legs, her touch, smell, sense of innate piracy, her every being on his ship. It took very little to put a wall up, and just the same, it took even less to tear it down.

Elizabeth's head though was still spinning on the subject, and as he tore away to take a seat at his charting table, she turned with further questioning. "But what if I don't know what to--"

"Elizabeth, stop. Sit." He motioned with his compasses point towards the chair across from him, and with a nod of relief, she followed instruction and sat quietly before him. "Ave' you ever played chess?"

"Chess, of course."

"Alright, then think o' this as such. I'm calling a check mate…and now the turn is yours. We're simply playing a game, savvy?"

"Yes. But what am I--"

"That's up t' ye. Be mindful though Lizzie…" he grinned with a finger lifted in notation, "…creativity is prized in this sport."

"Creativity?"

"Indeed, I'm quite an easy mark for ingenuity."

At this she smiled with semi-knowledge of what he was expecting, and tried to wipe off all existing thoughts of fidelity, of love and promises, of William S. Turner. Fantasy and fairytales were in her head now, the idea of sport, catch and release, enchanted foreplay. The word alone jolted her in place, the actions that were required for such pursuit, swimming in her head with laughter and interest. It was what caused her to rise from her chair when Jack eventually turned his face down to concentrate on the map. He thought she was leaving, and so did she, until her feet brought her around to the other side of the table, dancing beside him, towards him, behind his chair. Sensing her near again, he focused on the blackened paths lined out on the parchment, the green islands, the mountains, the lakes, the coasts of places left un-trenched. It took everything in him not to look up, or acknowledge her there, and when he finally felt her hand reach out for his tightened shoulder, he knew it was well worth it. Elizabeth was awkward in her touch, but let her hand fall and wander where it may, down his shoulder, over the ruffled linen of his shirt where his heart laid beneath, pressing firmly there as it then caved further towards his stomach and her body bent into where he was sitting.

His head was unwavering in all of this, and after another moment or two of lifting her hand up the fluffed edge of his shirt, caressing the warm skin, the smooth and overwrought muscles of his chest, she had convinced herself it was doing very little to please him as he continued to ignore her. She wasn't happy by this, and bringing her other hand to his face, she pressed it against his forehead and pulled back until his eyes were focused towards the ceiling and away from the map that fascinated him so much more than she. His head relaxed against the high back of the chair, a smile at the corner of his mouth when he spoke, "Fast learner I see."

Shaking her head she returned with grief, "You are an eager tease, do you know that?"

"Prove my technique wrong then, pet." And she did, cupping his chin upwards with one hand while her other still wandered far and wide down below his neckline, and then brought her lips into a gentle collision with his. The strange entanglement was something new, and for Jack something fairly creative in her own right. His hands fell from the table to hold her cheeks, wanting and needing her mouth as close to his as could be persuaded. Every time he kissed her, she tasted differently to him. One moment it was honey, the next it was spiced peach, and in the rawness her tongue was engulfing him in now, it was the richest of all possible liquors. He favored it most, and so invited it more, his head pulling itself back down with hers, his closest arm snaking around her waist until he had settled her against the table in front of him, fingers at the waist of her pants, desperate with plea. Elizabeth felt this and pulled her mouth away in angst of what was coming next, still unsure if the tables had turned back for his move or not.

"Jack…I--"

"Tell me now." He replied, standing up from his chair to hold himself between her gripping thighs. "Warn me t' stop, you ave' to be the one t' do it Lizzie."

"It's not that I don't…yes. Yes I want to," she concluded forcefully, her hands holding the ties of his shirt with fervor, "I want to, but I'm afraid…I know…I lack the same experience as you, Jack. I can't be good at this, Will and I--"

He didn't want to hear such things, about experience and Will, and with a hand over her lips he stopped her from continuing with the speech. He'd lost track of how many times a woman had given such implication of bedroom knowledge to him, and it had never been worth it. All it took was the right teacher in most cases, and he prided himself in being just such a coach. And because it was Elizabeth, he wanted to be sure that her lessons were given by no one but him, and practiced thoroughly from then out.

"Do ye think I was born an exhibitionist?"

She shook her head against his palm.

"Such skills are acquired, by others who know. Hate t' say it, darling…but dear William, s' not such an instructor as I." His grin was ever wicked, ever sinful, and it brought the fire back to Elizabeth's head as she smiled against his fingers and pulled them away.

"Then educate me."

Girl if you're a seascape, I'm a listing boat

For the thing carries every hope...

I invest in a single line.

The choice is yours, to be loved

Come away from it empty of...

No repeat appeal was needed, for in only a matter of heartbeats, Jack had pressed his entire weight upon hers at the table, caring not if someone were to walk in at that very moment. The show would be one to pay for, he was certain of it. His hands swiped charts and maps to the floor as she gasped in shock and pressed her back into the table below. He came down to her lips, blowing lightly on them before creating a stir with his tongue again, a taste and lick here, there, everywhere he carried to indulge the need for it. And Elizabeth's soft moans did little to stop him from there, as he kicked the chair from behind his knees, and took delicate thighs under his grasp, pushing her body higher onto the table. She felt heat surrounding her from the inside out as he came closer in, planting the his tightness between her legs, knowing that he wanted her to realize the size of what she'd agreed to. And with a pant of shock and praise, she understood.

As he continued to ravish her from mouth to neck, neck to ear and back to lips, his hands were fixated on both the cool buttons of her breeches, as well as the knotted ties of her shirt. One coming undone right after the other, until he could feel the warm skin of her stomach and smaller breasts, heaving at his own chest. The sensation delighted him, the hardened peaks digging into his skin with demand for attention, and he was well prepared for it as his mouth ran down from her neck, crossing the boundaries between her breasts and eventually moving up on curvature to kiss and suckle, and then darting back to the other. Elizabeth's entire body arched against the papers and waxed covered table, her thighs tightening at his waist, her hands holding the back of his head to her chest. She had never known it could feel this way, it certainly hadn't with Will, it was a required feat with him.

Jack noticed the strain in his pants grow with every wave of agony that came over her center as it throbbed against him, her lips as they grew wet with her tongue and teeth, and as he drew back from his work thus far, he took advantage of the picture before him. Not in his wildest, most erotic and altogether unfortunate dreams would he have imagined it to be possible. The Governor's daughter, revealed to the burning light of candles, on his table, in his room and floating aboard his ship. He began to think that the only added detail which could make it more satisfying, would be to know that the whelp was aboard the ship as well, unknowledgeable as to a pirate's advances on his all together willing spouse. He could pretend though, and relished further upon Elizabeth's body as his whimsical imagination spun ideas of such. Wet kisses were treated sportingly to the miles of skin between her breasts and navel, licking hard when he arrived at the waistband of her pants, the feathered opening of the buttons, the few short curls revealing themselves to him, and that's when he stopped and stood high above her, looking off.

Figuring he was uninterested, much to his insistence on lessons being taught, Elizabeth sat up slowly on her elbows, "I did something wrong, didn't I?"

Her innocence was plastered from cheek to cheek when he tore his eyes away from the window and back at her. In his mind, she couldn't have been more right, more utterly delightful to have in his room. But there was a clock ticking in his mind, one of uncertainty, one of necessary truth. If he took Elizabeth to bed, the pleasure would be the greatest he had ever known, and he was sure of this. Yet the way the tides turned with her, the constant need to satisfy her husband's heart, locked away and kept safe by only her, was strangulating for everyone involved, especially him. There had never been any chance of Jack wanting to be settled into place with a woman, to be tied down or kept from freedom. With Lizzie, there had been no worry in that sense, for she was after freedom the same as he was. Until she became the blacksmith's wife. Now, she was someone else's property by law, and should be tamper with that in any sense of the word, not only would he be tiptoeing with fate as always was his position, but he'd eventually lose her anyway. He was sure of it.

"I'm sorry; this was stupid of me…" Elizabeth brought her shirt to her chest, hiding herself as she leaped from the table and pushed past him for the door. "…I'll leave."

"Elizabeth!" He shouted as her second ankle slipped through the doorway and its force closed in behind her. Gone, again. And this time, the chances of having her back in any sense the same would be nothing short of a miracle. Jack had gotten the last word, but at such a cost to his head and her confidence, that it was more trouble than it had been worth.

And we got sea legs

And we're off tonight.

They can't have that to which they've no right.

You belong to a simpler time...

I'm a victim to the impact of these words,

And this rhyme.

"Ye didn't do anything wrong…" he whispered to himself, frowning in the doorway of his cabin, "…yer too bloody perfect."

Song by The Shins