Chapter Eighteen

Because I belong with you.

Although Miranda had had no idea what reaction her bold statement might have elicited from the pirate, this was certainly not one of them. This was worse than being locked in the brig, worse than the protectiveness of her parents, worse than the pain of being devoured by hungry flames. She still remembered his face as she's said those words. His lidless eyes, boring into hers, the remaining muscles of his face, still. Nothing. Besides shaking his hand from her grasp, he had given no clear reaction. Only turned, and walked away.

Typical. Typical of a pirate to to show all the emotion in the world, all the rotten, heathen expressions and words that have been invented when the situation is within their control. Now it was all Miranda could do to convince herself he'd even heard her words. She wasn't sure which was worse: the embarrassing, prideless vulnerability of her words falling on deaf ears, or simply being ignored.

Miranda crumpled to the ground as she watched him go. Her heart felt as it were ripped with a frozen dagger as hot tears rose in her eyes. Abandoning all sense of shame, she forced herself to stand and pursue him. She knew he must have heard her footsteps, but he made no move to acknowledge her; he only continued on his path towards the ocean.

Her life suddenly seemed as if it had all once been a fine tapestry that was now only threads, and she didn't know how it had unraveled. Her thoughts were equally broken as she tried to piece together how she had reached this critical moment. She couldn't understand her feelings for this man; she often felt intrigued and drawn to his unpredictable behavior, other times she felt only a great desire to save him from the misery with which the curse overwhelmed him. And then there were the completely inappropriate thoughts she had when his lips had touched hers. She wondered how this man could ruin her wedding rehearsal by shooting her fiance, kidnap her, and then ignore her, and what he could possibly be thinking as she followed his silent form across the field.

"Damnit, Barbossa," Miranda swore, "it's about time one of us swallowed our pride and figured this mess out. I'm doing the best I can, but I need your help."

Nothing. The sound of the crashing waves grew louder, and Miranda caught sight of the ocean, black as it reflected the hazy heavens above. The familiar comfort of the briny wind caught in her throat, and part of her almost thought to smile. She could see the yellow light of the Black Pearl as it waited in the harbor, bobbing placidly atop the gentle waves.

As she followed him to the beach, she saw a dark shape by the water's edge that turned out to be the long-legged pirate sitting on the edge of a small skiff dragged onto the sand. His dark form rose as Barbossa neared him, and Miranda could hear the confusion in his voice as he spoke.

"Uh, cap'n, is she comin' wif us?"

It was some consolation to Miranda that she wasn't the only one he ignored. Without a sound, Barbossa slipped easily into the small boat, and Ragetti squinted his eyes to see better in the dark to look at her.

"Miss?"

Miranda too ignored him, and also jumped into the boat. "Row," was the only word she heard herself say.

Ragetti scratched his head before rushing the boat into the waves and hopping aboard. The sound of the oars crashing into the water set a rhythm to the painful silence that hung over the three as they left the shore. Perhaps oblivious or disinterested in the situation, Ragetti began humming a few off-key notes before sensing his musical abilities were unwelcome. A quavering note slipped back to silence, and he focused on rowing.

Barbossa was out of the boat before Ragetti could tie it off, and Miranda was right behind him. Decency be damned, the lanky pirate could peer up her skirts for all she cared, she needed to resolve this silence. She gave one glance down at the water before looking back up the jacob's ladder, and controlled herself. The moon had once again slipped from its thick shrouds, and the man above her was once again a rotting, tattered silhouette. She bit her lip, and quickened her climb up the wet and swollen rope ladder.

The skeletal crew watched their arrival with curious eyes, but silence followed in Barbossa's wake. He went to the door of his private quarters, turned the key he had withdrawn from his tattered coat pocket, and opened the door. The eyes within his rotten sockets swiveled toward Miranda, and one decayed hand gestured her inside.

The room felt cold to her, its clammy fingers pressing over her face and throat. She shivered once and twisted the wick of the oil lamp to brighten the room. She didn't turn as she heard the door slam behind her, or even as she noted the grinding of the key locking her in.

"M'randa." The unfamiliar title caught her off guard, and she spun around. Barbossa was flesh again. He glanced at his hand carelessly, but Miranda knew he was checking that he was human again. He looked at her, his blue eyes boring into her own as she met them.

Miranda felt she'd said her piece already; it was his turn. Planting her hands on her hips, she cocked her head and waited for him to speak.

"Ye just can' let me be the monster, can ye, Miss Farthin'." It wasn't a question. Confused, Miranda let her hands fall to her side as she took a step away from him. His eyes had grown bright with anger, and she had learned to be wary of his strike.

"You're not wholly-" she began, but the crack of his fist connecting to the dark-paneled wall silenced her.

"I am, Miss Farthin', an' I never met a livin' soul who could convince me otherwi-"

"Let me-" Whether it was her interruption or her words, she didn't know, but Miranda cowered at his raised palm. Instead he struck the window behind her, and shards of glass rained down on her head as she yanked his arm down with both hands.

"Stop." She felt his muscles in his arm allow her to bring his arm to his side. His eyes still blazed.

"You are foul," Miranda began, knowing she had his attention. "You are twisted and corrupt. There have been times I've cursed your name and hated the thought of you." His wrist was still held in both her hands, and she now brought his hand to her face.

"But I know somewhere in your heart is good, I've seen it. That's the part I love, and I'll tolerate the rest of you for that small piece, if you'll give it to me."

Barbossa freed his hand easily from her grasp and traced it past her jawline, over her ear, and through her hair to rest powerfully but gently around the back of her neck. His other arm slid from her shoulder to rest on the small of her back, and he pulled her close. Miranda smiled as he bent forward to kiss the curve of her neck, his breath was warm on her skin as he spoke.

"Miss Farthin', ye'll keep that piece to yerself."

"Forever," she assured him with a whisper, and bent her head to meet her lips with his.