A/N: Prompt Deception and Lies. Posted in original form 4/2/08. A dodecadrabble =) One way of explaining a certain absence from the sequels; title borrowed from HRH the Prince of Wales.
Silly errors now fixed!
She had planned to stop visiting Jack before it began to show; what she ought to have foreseen was that Jack—manipulator, twister and complete downfall of so many previous plans—would send this one, also, to its doom. What she should have realised was that Jack held would prove as damnably irresistible as Jack unattainable.
It was almost the changing of the watch, but she continue to sprawl diagonally across the great bed in the captain's quarters that was one of the hitherto unappreciated—by Ana-Maria, at least—treasures of the Pearl. Jack, curled neatly at her side, pressed his lips idly against her stomach, then ran his fingers teasingly across it. Even before she could respond, however, they stopped abruptly; after a few seconds' silent hesitation his hand moved again, this time in a distinctly exploratory fashion, fingers running firmly from ribs to abdomen and no doubt discovering an unexpected but undeniable contour.
His face lost all expression and after a moment's pause, during which she watched him intently, Jack said only, "Well, this is rather more unanticipated than it should have been, given our activities of the past few months. How long do you think—?"
She shrugged, never taking her eyes from his face, which was thoughtful now.
"Four months, might be."
Kohl-smudged eyes widened slightly, but he made no comment on the length of time she had waited before he found out; the deeper question of whether she, given the choice, would ever have told him, remained unspoken by both.
Propping himself on one elbow, his gaze shifted to her stomach, brown fingers still caressing it almost absently.
"What do you mean to do?"
"What can I do, 'part from grow bigger?" she retorted sharply.
"There are...ways...of avoiding such a development," he offered.
Ana sat up, throwing off his hand. "No! I don' hold with killing, Jack Sparrow!"
One dark eyebrow lifted. "The crew of the Donna Dolorosa, among others, might disagree with you there."
She dismissed this remark with the impatience it warranted. "That's different. This baby, he never tried to keep rich men's gold from me, nor hurt me! Would...would you rather I kill him, then?"
Still she watched Jack's face, unaccountably anxious to hear his answer, following the play of emotions across his features: surprise, speculation, nervous tension, fascination.
"No," he said at length. "I really think, all matters considered, reflected upon and taken into account, I would rather you did not get rid of said infant. I've never had a child before-at least," he corrected swiftly, "not one of whose existence I have been made aware. The experience might prove to be...interesting."
Interesting, Ana-Maria thought, half-hysterically. A shipboard birth with no help 'part from a crew of crazy men, me not able to fight or do duties for weeks, a baby keeping every watch awake, a child running loose around the Pearl-and he says interesting? Does he not understand what a difference this would make...or will he leave us when it suits him, careless as he is of those other children who could be somewhere? What kind of man is he? And what kind of father would he have made?
This last thought, she quickly squashed, finding that she could no longer meet Jack's bright, curiously eager eyes.
"Not for you," she said harshly. "Baby isn't yours."
She felt him still, and did not dare to look up, not knowing whether she feared that he would display disappointment—or that he would not.
"Whose, then?" he asked, tonelessly.
Again, Ana shrugged. "Who knows?"
Silence.
At last she risked a glance across at the dark, vivid face so close to her own. It told her absolutely nothing; she could see in that single instant that the chinks she had worked so hard to open in Jack's armour had snapped shut once more, that the man she had managed to glimpse was again carefully concealed behind the persona, that some tenuous thing between them had been hacked apart. And it was only now that—whatever it had been—was gone, that she realised how important it had become to her. No use regretting it; she knew instinctively that, with Jack, the loss was irredeemable.
Continue as you started, girl!
"To be perfectly honest with you," Jack was saying airily, "I find it difficult to see what anyone could see in any one of my crew. Cotton's parrot's about the most attractive of the lot...child's not got feathers on, has it?"
She managed a smile, though she would rather have wept at this return of his brittle flippancy.
Nothin' to cry about; only the baby moods.
"Don't think it will," she returned in kind. "Who would settle for the crew when they could have the captain?"
Jack, who had rolled away from her and was scuffling about on the floor for his breeches, looked sharply over one bare, golden shoulder. "You, apparently."
Damn. Too far.
"Unless," he went on, unintentionally rescuing her from her slip, "Four months; not one of those bloody—that is to say, is it possible that your child was fathered by one of our esteemed colleagues on the other side of the Atlantic?"
"May be."
Aye, may be!
"So, since you aren't going to get rid of it, but neither do you seem to be planning on lingering aboard my ship—since I imagine the brat's presence would bother us just as much, whosoever got it, and you so generously informed me that its existence will not prove of any interest to me—what are you going to do? Return to your village?"
Jack was babbling now, filling the emptiness with words, and they both knew it; he had done it so often before, but never with her. Not until tonight.
"No. Tortuga, mos' likely. I know it, and there's plenty of women like me there."
"Not that I've met," Jack said quietly, hastily adding, "And how will you keep yourself and the chick?"
"That won't be your concern, Jack," Ana reminded him, but the words came out more tenderly than any self-respecting rebuke should. Defensively, she began in turn to gather her clothes from the bed and floor, stealing a glance at Jack as she did so. His back was toward her, graceful lines somehow stiffened, even the tattoos seeming to mock her.
"As you say," he returned lightly. "We'll put you ashore on the next occasion we manage to give the bloody Commodore the slip. You will take your share of the plunder, of course."
Knotting the laces of her shirt, Ana nodded, then reached out impulsively to touch Jack's arm. He did not respond, simply looked at her fingers resting there, a shade darker than his own. Awkwardly, she withdrew them, the memory of his skin against hers already growing distant.
Quite suddenly she wanted nothing more than to leave the cabin...strange, when for six months she had wanted nothing more than to remain there.
Hand on the door, she hesitated briefly. "I'm sorry, Jack," she murmured, quietly enough that she thought he could not have heard. Perhaps he did, however; a ghost of a smile crossed his face and his hand moved in a deprecating gesture.
"Pirate."