Chapter Twenty-Four

The Heartbeat of the Ocean

Miranda felt the small boat bob with the waves as Pintel rowed to shore. She looked across at Barbossa and smiled. He didn't return the smile, but his face was pleasantly relaxed. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and closed her eyes as she breathed in deeply.

Tonight was a celebration. 879 of the coins had been accounted before, and all evidence pointed to Tortuga as the resting place of the final coins. Spirits were high as the men rowed to the town, and she could sense that something important was soon to come. When the curse was broken, Miranda wondered absently how Barbossa would change. She knew that with his senses returned, she could finally return the affections he had given to her without any frustrations on either side. It would be a beautiful harmony.

The boat scraped over the sand and she lifted her skirts as she hopped onto the shore. The sand slid beneath her feet as she darted away from the waves. The other boats were dragged from the water and the men leapt out. They stood fidgeting, awaiting their captain's orders.

"Let us break this curse once an' fer all, boys!" Barbossa cried with a half smile curling his lip. Rallied by his words, the men gave whoops of agreement and made for the town. Barbossa seized Miranda's wrist as she tried to follow. "Not you, Miss Farthin'." His voice was soft. "You'll be comin' with me."

They walked side by side along the surf, the gentle waves and occasional gull's cry creating a lovely symphony to their silence. At long length, Barbossa paused to stare out at the ocean. Miranda halted and returned to his side.

"What?" She asked, seeing a smile tug his mouth. He slowly tore his eyes from the horizon to look at her.

"It's been years an' years since the curse began," he almost whispered. "An' I'd forgotten what joy feels like." His fingers slipped behind Miranda's ear and twined slowly through her hair to caress her neck. She felt goosebumps raise on her arms at his touch. After a moment he drew his hand back to look at it. "An' soon I will feel your warmth." He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

"It won't be much longer," Miranda said, smiling up at him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a green apple from his pocket. He turned it slowly in his hand.

"I won't be havin' you in the cave when the curse be broken." His voice was firm enough she knew not to argue. "The ritual," he continued, "is not suitable for a lady to be seein'."

Miranda felt a cold sliver of dread slip down her back. She cocked her head to the side and waited for an explanation. It didn't come. She heaved a sigh of resignation and looked back to the ocean. Barbossa continued to stare at the apple intently and finally concluded, "An apple will have to do until I return to you."

"I hope you won't be too sated by it." She forced her voice to sound joking and tried to smile. Barbossa barked a laugh this time.

"M'randa," he growled, "there be nothing in this wide world good enough t'let me forget you for even a moment." He pulled her close and dipped her into a a light kiss. "No'teven an apple." Miranda seized his jacket and pulled herself toward him into a deeper kiss.

"I don't care what you say, Captain." Miranda grinned. "There's a romantic streak in you yet." Barbossa smiled ruefully in return, and dropped his arms so she fell the short distance to the sand.

"Not a'tall, Miss Farthin'. I merely be bidin' my time until I can ravish you properly."

Miranda laughed, rolling on her back and looking up at the sky. Barbossa joined her on the sand, propping himself up with his elbows.

"This ritual," Miranda began, "what is it?"

Barbossa was silent for several minutes. Miranda closed her eyes tightly, feeling the cold slip of suspicious dread return from its brief absence.

"Never mind." The words came out more sharply than she'd intended them. As she felt the unexpected anger in her tone, she realized that an old fury was welling up in her chest. "Bloodshed? Sacrifice? Disembowelment?" She felt her cheeks flush. "What must be done to end this wretched curse?"

"The second one." His voice was low and flat.

Miranda struggled to feet, swearing. "Damn it, Barbossa, I knew that this would never be easy, but I don't know where the line is drawn. I can't wait patiently on the ship while you and your men kill. I can't. But truly, how many people have to die to justify ending this curse?" She felt hot tears spring to her eyes, but she looked up, willing them not to fall.

"I love you," she said shakily, "but I can't handle any more death." She turned to walk away and heard him rise to his feet.

"This has been troublin' you all along, Miss Farthin'." It wasn't a question. Miranda stopped mid-stride but didn't turn around.

"Of course it has." After a long pause she finally glanced over her shoulder, but Barbossa's gaze seemed locked on the sea. She bit her lip and walked away.

The bar was rowdy, but Miranda hid herself away on the second floor away from the brawl. She'd never indulged in rum before, but thought the occasion required some outside help. It tasted revolting. With her head bent low at her small table in the dark corner, she didn't even draw attention from the group of four men gambling across the room.

She had told Barbossa she'd forgiven him for Quentin's death, but the truth was not so simple. Every time she learned of a new victim she felt a little angrier towards him. A man cannot be truly sorry if he continually repeats the same actions, and that's where it hurt Miranda the most. Perhaps he regretted Quentin's death, but only because it served as an inconvenience to his own gain. She hated herself for thinking such things and tried not to, but the simple explanation seemed all too possible.

He loved her, but he was unwilling to change. She had given her life over to him. The unfairness ate away at her heart. She took a sip from her mug, shuddered, and quickly let the liquid fall out of her mouth back into the cup. She held her head in her hands as she stared blankly at the table.

There was nothing to do about it, she realized heavily. She was trapped with a man she should not love. The romanticism had been so appealing away from him, so forbidden and tempting. The day-to-day reality of her decision seemed to be eating away at her heart as she dealt with the constant reminder that the man she loved was an unrepentant, unreformed killer.

"'Aven't go' a pound or two on you for a poor gambler, do you, missy?"

Miranda gave a small shriek of surprise at the voice by her side, and looked alarmed at the man kneeling by her side. He was unusually well-kept for the tavern's standard, but liquor was heavy on his breath.

"I- no," Miranda stammered, gaining her own breath back.

"Aw, c'mon, missy, sure you can spare a few." He pawed at her sleeve shamelessly and Miranda leapt to her feet, causing her chair to tumble over backwards. She felt her lip curl back as she looked down at him.

"Easy now, Captain," one of the other gamblers called from the table. "We don't want no trouble from the locals." The man still kneeling by her glanced back at his table, his head wobbling slightly.

"I'm no' foldin'," he insisted thickly. "I go' a two and a seven in me hand and I'll be servin' you dogs wif a royal flush at the end." He looked back up at Miranda and pulled half-heartedly at her skirts. "Just a few pounds, missy."

Miranda pushed his shoulder away with one hand. The man swayed for a moment and then buckled to the floor. Another man at the table rose to his feet and only then Miranda realized he was wore a red coat. He had unbuttoned it in the casual atmosphere but Miranda recognized the gold epaulettes on his shoulders as confirming evidence of his command in the British navy.

He moved from behind the table and to his fallen senior officer. He bowed sheepishly to Miranda.

"Beg pardon, miss. He's had a bit much to drink this evening."

"Quite," Miranda agreed curtly. The man looked up at her and met her eyes. His ashamed expression changed to recognition.

"You're Col. Everett Farthing's daughter."

Miranda felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over her head and she fumbled for her chair. Not able to reach it since she'd already knocked it sideways, she slid into the next closest chair at her table and put both her hands flat on the table.

"Yes." She didn't look back at the man.

"Commander Rupert Hastings, at your service, miss." He leaned down to where his head was level with hers and smiled up at her.

"How do you know who I am?" Her voice was timid, and she felt very self-conscious all of a sudden.

"I was at your wedding rehearsal. I saw the entire thing." He reached across the table and laid his hand on hers for a moment, then withdrew. "I can't imagine what you must have been through."

Miranda his her face behind her hands, feeling her cheeks flush. She felt like a child caught after trying to run away from home. Misinterpreting this gesture as anguish rather than shame, Rupert patted her shoulder comfortingly.

"There, there. It's all over, now. We'll take you back to Port Royal. Can you tell me what happened?" Miranda knew he was trying to be helpful, but she could hear the trace of pure curiosity in his question.

"No," she replied bluntly. He looked surprised, but nodded thoughtfully at her answer. "What are you naval men doing in Tortuga?" she asked in attempt to change the subject.

"Captain's orders," Rupert answered,. "Lying low and learning the faces and habits of pirates that cause us trouble. Although the captain seems to be enjoying the 'lying low' part better than anything else." He gave a weak laugh at his joke to show he was trying to lighten the conversation.

"How is Antony?" Miranda recalled the bullet Barbossa had given him in the shoulder. The scene felt as if it had come from another person's memories.

"Fully recovered and active," Rupert said with reassurance. "The wound was deep, but nothing old Dr. Potter couldn't fix. Antony will be delighted to know that you're safe and well," he added after a moment's pause.

From the table he'd been sitting at one of the men called, "Oy! Hastings, you'd better be getting more money from that little-"

"It's the colonel's missing daughter, Pratt," Rupert snapped before the man could finish. The remaining two men at the table scrambled over, and the one ducked his head. "'Pologies, ma'am. I thought you were a local bar pros-"

"Enough, Pratt," Rupert said through clenched teeth. Pratt squared his shoulders defensively.

"Well, there's a lot of them in this town. I'd say almost every other woman here is either a-"

"That's enough, Lieutenant." The other man giggled and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"What'll we do about the captain?" Pratt asked, looking amusedly at the prone form.

"You and O'Connell carry him back to the ship. I'll escort Miss Farthing, and we'll call it a job well done." Rupert smiled at Miranda, but she was too busy reeling at the name with which he'd chosen to address her.

She hated how much she loved to hear Barbossa call her Miss Farthin'. She owed him a goodbye.

"You should accompany them," she said to Rupert. "There are a few loose ends I need to tie up, but I will meet you . . . ?" She trailed off and listened to his directions of how to get to the ship. Not being a pirate ship, they had had to lay anchor several miles from the town.

"But you really mustn't go alone," Rupert finished solidly. "This town is savage; a lady like you alone would attract-"

"I assure you, Commander, I can manage. You don't know what I've dealt with."

Rupert shook his head warily, but to Miranda's astonishment, finally said, "We leave in the morning."

She watched the three men leave carrying the unconscious captain between them. She rose shakily, wondering vaguely if she had been dreaming for the past hour. Or the past few months, for that matter. Nothing seemed real anymore.

She followed the path out of town to the bay where the Pearl bobbed gently on the waves, and sat in the sand, waiting.

Miranda thought about what she was about to do. In her mind it seemed like the sanest decision she had ever made. Her heart ached. She closed her eyes breathed deeply the scent of the ocean. It would always be there, and perhaps that's all she needed. Perhaps the sea was her true love and Barbossa was just a vessel to it. Perhaps all she needed was the sea.

She stood slowly and walked towards the wet, wave-licked sand. The tide pulled at her ankles and loosened the sand beneath her feet. Perhaps this was all she could ever hope for.

"You'll be glad t'hear we had no luck findin' the coins, so no bloodshed."

Miranda didn't turn around at the sound of his voice behind her.

The tide washed in and out. In and out. The heartbeat of the ocean.

"I'm leaving."

In and out. In and out. In and out.

"I knew it could never last."

In and out.

"I don't belong here."

In and out. A cool breeze lifted the hair from her shoulders and Miranda turned to look at Barbossa. He stood as he always had, one hand at his belt and the other to his side. His eyes were hidden in the dark.

"Yer too good fer the likes of a pirate." He took a step forward and stopped, his head tilted to one side. "I knew this day would come." The moon slipped from the clouds and Barbossa shed his human appearance for several seconds. As he took another step towards her, a rustle in the tall grass hemming the strand caused both Miranda and Barbossa to jump.

"You stay away fr-" the familiar voice caused Miranda to inhale sharply as the form of Rupert Hastings emerged from the high grass. The crack of the pistol cut his words short and he faltered, landing heavily to his hands and knees.

The clouds again enveloped the moon and Miranda saw Barbossa's form, pistol still raised and smoking slightly from the barrel. She ran to Rupert's fallen form and caught him up. Darkness bloomed against his bright white shirt beneath his red coat. It was too much and flowing too freely.

"I'm sorry," Miranda gasped, her hands now slippery with his blood as she tried to staunch the wound with her palms. "I'm so sorry." Rupert's eyelids fluttered and he gave a rasping exhale. Then he was still.

In and out. In and out.

Miranda slowly rose to her feet. She marched up to Barbossa and slapped his face hard, leaving a long streak of Rupert's blood across his temple to chin.

"You monster!" She screamed, feeling hot tears wet her cheeks. "I gave my life away for you, and the one thing I beg you not to do, you do again and again and again. You horrid, cruel, heartless coward."

Miranda stopped to catch her breath, and shoved the tears off her cheek with her palm. "I was a fool for thinking you could love."

She walked away balling her fists, her mind blank with fury and grief. It was all she could do to just breathe.

In and out. In and out.

In and out.