A/N: Faster this time, I did make good on my promise! Relatively...and providing reviews keep up, the next chapter is pretty much written and could be up in the next couple of days. So! Let's lead on:) Thanks [as ALWAYS] to royalpinkdogs; I'm sure beta-ing my stories is no easy task.
Chapter Thirteen: Sing for Absolution
Elizabeth stood still in her place for a moment as Jack bellowed loudly across deck. Someone she hadn't seen earlier stepped out of the lightening shadows from the high deck, shouting something in response. Jack began yelling, reprimanding the man for not spotting the ship Elizabeth had so nonchalantly just pointed out. He threw a quick look back at her before striding off, his jaw clenched tightly, and disappearing below deck, his shouts echoing:
"Oy, you scabrous-dogs, up! UP, I say, we've got a battle to win!"
At the word 'battle', Elizabeth's eyebrows drew together and she shook herself out of whatever reverie their nighttime moments had woven. She ran across deck to port side, where the offending ship seemed closer now, and squinting her eyes, examined the flag that had slowly been hoisted as Jack leapt into action. She gathered red and yellow, and immediately concluded Spanish, but on closer look, she found not the usual royal seal between the pillars on the flag but instead a blackened jester's cap that smoked angrily. She turned away from the odd image and found the Pearl alive with activity—shouting, thuds, all sorts of actions that spoke of an impending fight.
She glanced down at her apparel and blinked, turning for Jack's cabin. She didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she went in; threw up the top of her trunk she kept and drew out a pair of rough breeches, slipping them on under her chemise. She tucked the bottom of the dress into the breeches and slid on a green vest, lacing it up tightly, pulling her beloved scuffed pistol from a compartment in the trunk only she knew about. She jammed it into her waistline along with a short knife and stood up, glancing around for a sword of some sort to complete her attire.
She snatched a ribbon from Jack's table, tying her hair back into a long bunch that fell down her back, reaching down then to tighten laces on the boots she eased into. She exited the cabin, eyes alert, and her blood reacting to the excitement. Jack's standard flew to the top of the mast.
"Cannons, OY, RAGETTI, what are you—"
"'EY, SHUT-IT!"
"Cap'n, tactical approach?"
"Wait for them to come to US!"
Elizabeth lifted her eyes to the direction of Jack's voice, pricking her ears up and tilting her head. His order seemed strange, to wait, when the precautions and preparations that were swirling around her made it seem like he was anticipating a bloody battle. Why would they pause and wait for the slaughter, why not attack and have it on their own terms? She came forward, to the bottom of the stairs, and he was coming down, meeting her there. His eyes flew over her and something hardened in his gaze, taking her by the elbow he marched her toward the cabin, going in and slamming the door behind them.
His first act was to get his boots on in record timing, and next his coat and weapon-filled belt. As he tied on his sword and scabbard, he stepped closer to her and lifted his finger to level with her nose.
"You," he said threateningly, "stay."
He could feel the outrage that lashed out from her. She reached up and slapped the hand in her face away forcefully.
"Do not dare give me that chauvinistic white-knight bullshit, Captain Sparrow. Attempt to keep me in this cabin and you will experience hell unleashed as you never have before, in ways you cannot possibly imagine without cringing visibly. Do I make myself clear?"
Jack, if possible, looked highly impressed, but not exactly convinced. He lifted his head up, eyeing her dangerously, carefully.
"The last thing I need is a woman runnin' around under foot during a battle, getting herself in distress."
Elizabeth's lips drew back in a smirk and she stepped closer, putting her hand against his chest and applying pressure, shoving him. The layers in his voice made it sound like he knew she would be a target if she were out there, or at least he suspected she'd throw herself in front of someone's gun. The idea he might be worried about her well-being gave her a head-rush of narcotic proportions.
"You know this could be exactly what I need?" she asked quietly, a little pleadingly.
And oh, was it.
He drew back, eyes icy, and yanked open the door.
"You follow my orders, Lizzie, to the letter, or I will make you sorry." He growled, leaving the door open.
Grinning triumphantly, Elizabeth followed him, stepping out and blinking in the suddenly brighter sky. It was morning, and there was blood on the horizon. Jack's shouts bounced off every corner of the ship, and the click of guns being loaded and cannons tested was deafening.
She followed him purposely up to the deck, stood beside him, to the right, next to steering, following his loaded gaze to the closer-than-ever ship.
"Those colors," she said quietly, "who is it?" she asked. Jack didn't answer; his gaze shifted to survey his people, and his hand moved to rest on the wheel in front of him. After a moment, he replied softly:
"El Petimetre,"
His Spanish was perfectly accented and fluid, and Elizabeth glanced back again at the other ship's standard, the jester's cap fitting now. She looked at him again, her eyes boring into the back of his turned head. He looked over his crew like a judging God; his facial features set tightly, his muscles rigid and tightly coiled.
"You have any further questions, Miss Swann?" he asked, surprising her with how perceptive he was about her glaring at his head. As a matter of fact…
"You prepared for battle. You were sure he would fight. Why?" she asked, voicing her opinions on how odd it was for him to immediately be up for a battle. She was not one of those who considered Jack Sparrow a coward, no, but she did know he avoided violent confrontation simply because she saw beyond the pirate skin and knew he was a good man. He didn't kill unnecessarily.
Jack turned slightly to look at her and she saw penance and hate, anger and sadness, the oddest couples of emotions mixing in his onyx orbs. He just seemed to look at her for an eternity, before a sudden squealing echoed in the air and a crash sounded; a cannon ball had ripped through the wood on top of the ship, all the way at the other end.
"I took everything from him," Jack answered darkly, and whipped back to face his waiting crew.
"FIRE," he bellowed, as Elizabeth moved away to the edge, looking at the ship.
She saw the movement there as it got ever closer, saw the crewman preparing a plank to board, and she felt her heart begin to skip beats. To think, fifteen small minutes ago she'd been wrapped in a surprisingly gentle embrace of Jack's, kissing him like there was no tomorrow, and now she was about to engage alongside him in what seemed to be a blood-feud. She squinted more at the embossed name on the ship, which proved to read Venganza de Beretta.
Smoke puffed out of the sides of their ship, and the shouts escalated. Elizabeth turned to look at Jack and found him with his hand inside his coat at his neck, touching his skin, where a tattoo was, she knew, right below his collar. She narrowed her eyes at him, sensing secrets, a personal grudge, a history that went way back. She started to say something when gunfire ripped through the air next to her, bullets, whistling past her skin and he was next to her, shoving her downstairs in front of him before she knew what was happening, his face tight and furious.
"Board them, BOARD THEM!" he ordered, screaming over the din of the escalating battle. He jerked her away from the side of the boat and shoved his heavy gun into her hand, his eyes meeting hers harshly. She couldn't move her mouth to tell him she had a weapon; something in her had gone numb at the bullets that nearly took her life. She just glared back at him stonily, and acknowledged his small nod. He turned and ran screeching orders, and suddenly half of his crew was gone and strange men were all around, swords clashing and glinting silver in the air.
Elizabeth left the corner and shadows Jack had dragged her into, her head held high, and slipped through the battle for the other ship, ignoring the people around her, searching for the plank.
Someone slammed into her side and she stumbled, reacting instantly to the body that had fallen against her. He continued to fall, fell at her feet, a dirty and unkempt man who was now clearly dead. Elizabeth swallowed, time coming in flashes.
You like pain? Try wearing a corset!
We should get you back to the ship. Your fiancé will want to know you're safe.
Another battle, years back, when youth and innocence had covered ignorance and stupidity. Elizabeth's brow furrowed, her mood darkened. She looked around at all these men, the midst of the fight reminding her of the skeletal men who had set everything in motion to destroy her, and she snapped, needing the release. She leapt lightly across the plank to the Venganza de Beretta, her jaw set, her eye determined.
Jack was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. Gibbs was there, locked in combat, as well as Bo'sun, Pintel, Cotton, and several more of the crew members she had never bothered to learn. She was accosted straight away by two men with swords, and she couldn't help but let a smile over-spread her features as she lashed out at one of them, the fear of death giving her the thrill of her life. It wasn't like she hadn't mixed among the dangerous in Tortuga; but still, she was not the swordfighter Jack was, even if Will had taught her how to handle one.
She drew the weapon horizontally across one man's stomach and sent him doubling over; the other suddenly let go of his weapon and dragged her back against him, locking an arm around her neck too tightly. His hand reached down for her thigh and squeezed, Elizabeth turned slightly and elbowed him below the waist—his grip loosened her grip, but before she could get the gun positioned a shot fired and she looked around as her attacker fell at her feet, blood pouring from the back of his head. Jack's eyes met hers from a far distance, and she saw a murderous gleam there.
Someone grabbed her wrist tightly and she swiveled, kicking out at the man who had her. She swung her leg out and knocked him against the side of the ship, feeling her ankle strain in the process. He was dead a second later, though not by her gun, and Mr. Gibbs was dragging her to the side, coughing in the smoke that was going up, looking wary.
"Ye shouldn't be here, Miss 'Lizbeth," he said ominously, looking over his shoulder, shouting as quietly as he could while the men fought behind him. "This bloodbath won't end well, and yer a prime target."
Elizabeth laughed scornfully, pulling out of his grip. Her hair fell frazzled around her face now, the ribbon no doubt gone. She knew she had sprays of blood on her face and neck, and she looked at him defiantly.
"Because I am a woman? What can he do to me, Gibbs, which will hurt me any worse?" she faltered, having not meant to say that to him. He didn't seem to miss a beat, even though she knew she'd just confirmed that something was irrevocably wrong with her.
"He has no feud with me," she said quietly. Gibbs started to answer, but instead yanked her to the floor of the Venganza. Wood exploded around them and fire erupted; Elizabeth sucked in her breath as a shard of wood slammed against her shoulder and sent a fire through her muscles.
Gibbs shoved her head down as he started to get up, leaning close to her ear so she wouldn't fail to hear what he said next,
"Jack destroyed what this man held dear, and Petimetre will stop at nothing to repay that favor. Go, Miss Swann!"
Elizabeth stayed put, stunned for a moment, before grasping for the sword that had been knocked from her hand. The battle raged on all around her, there seemed to be so many men. She finally wrapped her hand around the sword, blinking pain out of her eyes and pulled herself up on her knees, ignoring the agony in her shoulder.
Suddenly, a rough hand took hold of her bare elbow and jerked her up effortlessly, spinning her body tightly against its chest. She found herself forced to stare into the blackest eyes she'd ever seen, filled completely with hatred, surrounded by blood-shot white, complete with a ghastly scar down the center of the nose.
"You'll do nicely," he snarled in thickly accented English, a slow and sadistic smile creeping over his thick lips.
"I suppose you're El Petimetre," she said in response, bringing her knee up into his groin. The man winced, but did not let go; he twisted her arm behind her back and she sucked in her breath.
Petimetre pulled her head back by the tips of her curls and drew his palm across her cheek violently, viciously enough to smash her nose, and yet she let herself come up from the abuse smiling.
"That all you've got?" she asked, though her voice was slightly impeded by the blood spurting over her face. He snarled at her, and pulled a knife from his belt and held it at her shoulder, putting the tip into her skin. Elizabeth jerked violently to one side, and his grip slipped slightly, but not before he drew the blade down to her elbow, splitting skin. She bit back the scream of pain and instead strained harder, taking the injured arm and dragging her nails down his face, impeding his eye sight. He roared in anger, and threw her back against the side of the ship; she winced as her elbow hit hard.
"I'll put an end to you when we find Sparrow, bitch," he growled, his English miraculously a little clearer on that last word.
"Found him," came Jack's voice from behind El Petimetre. Elizabeth struggled to straighten up against the side of the ship, her head a little dizzy from the loss of blood, her memories seeming to overwhelm her. Jack on the island, Will giving himself up for her. Will, teaching her to sword fight when they were children, Will letting her down, everything. Will's innocent and angelic face, and the way everything had fallen apart. Somewhere, more gunfire and cannon fire erupted, and screams reached her through the mist.
Elizabeth looked up, blinking, and saw them in front of her, El Petimetre turned slightly so his back faced her, his vicious glare turned on Jack. Jack held out a weapon; he yelled something violently in perfect Spanish and Petimetre retaliated. The ship shifted next to Elizabeth, and someone was there, shaking her undamaged shoulder. She turned; saw the big, brown eyes of a young boy looking into hers, his face concerned, his outfit a call-back to the everyday outfits of her William, the innocence and drive to help on his face maddening.
"Miss, are you alright? What are you doing in the fight? Miss, may I help you?" he was asking, offering her his hand. So young, so innocent.
His eyes were suddenly Will's, his gallantry Will's, and all she saw was the life he would ruin, the agony he would endure at the hands of the world and maybe a woman, as Will had, the torture the young girl he found would suffer, and she saw blood in her eyes as she shoved him away from her, screaming something. Her peripheral vision caught El Petimetre turning, roaring in Spanish, as she pulled her silver pistol from her waistband and fired between the boy's eyes, adding another two bullets to his chest above the heart, her adrenaline running through her veins, spinning her head, burning in her eyes.
Petimetre descended on her, his gun against her throat, cold, and she thought in that moment she was dead when she heard the three shots that were so loud in her ears; but instead Petimetre collapsed against her and took her down with him, stunned, blinded, lost. She dug her gun into the dead captain's side and used her remaining strength to push him off of her; his blood stained her clothing. She rolled over, blinking tears and sweat away from her cheeks, and her eyes were drawn straight to the dead and bleeding body of the young boy she'd ruthlessly killed.
Jack bent beside her and was picking her up, saying something in Spanish, before he thought better and changed to English mid-sentence. She didn't hear a word, she looked dazedly on the dead boy, his face blurring between Will and who he really was, and she realized what she'd done—he had tried to help her, had wanted to be there for her, and she had murdered him.
"Murder," she mumbled shakily, holding the gun up to her mouth in her hand, the metal and her hot palm touching her lips to steady them. She looked down at the weapon, covered in dark red, and dropped it, her breath shuddering, a small and hoarse scream escaping her lips. "I murdered him," she said again, louder, leaning forward.
Jack tightened his grip, not allowing her to get near the body. He pulled her away, taking her cheek in his hand, smearing blood and sweat on her face.
"Look at me," he was saying, "Lizzie, Lizzie, focus on me…"
His words were nothing to her as he made her look at him, moving them away from the smoke and fire that was Venganza de Beretta, his own eyes so full of everything in him that she could easily get lost in his emotions if she let herself.
"I killed him," she breathed, when he stopped at the plank to steady her. Her eyes searched his frantically; she tightened a small hand on his arm, digging her nails into his torn coat, almost screaming now, "I killed him! He…innocent boy, he tried to help me…I murdered—"
"Elizabeth!" he bellowed, taking the arm she had raised against him, subconsciously trying to escape his tight grip. He glared at her with solid eyes and shook his head. He pulled her in close to his side and stepped on the plank in front of her, getting them back to his less-damaged ship safely and expertly.
"Report, Mr. Gibbs!" he snapped loudly enough to be heard over the din. Gibbs responding, shouting something, how many men they'd lost. Elizabeth's head swirled; she leaned forward in Jack's grips and vomited, her stomach lurching violently. She shook, her knife wound burning in the back of her mind. A sob escaped her split lip and she tasted blood as she squeezed her eyes shut, sinking down to the deck on her knees, her mind playing tricks on her, the boy's face and Will's, then Jack's, and every hurtful word that had ever been said. Her stomach lurched again and she retched, the taste in her mouth sour and unpleasant.
Jack placed his hand on her head and ran it back down over her hair, his orders issuing loudly overhead, just another sound in the mix of the chaotic and blurry world around her that was slowly getting harder to hold onto. A shadow fell over her and he swept her up into his arms, her sore shoulder pressed against his blood-soaked shirt. Her head fell against his shoulder and she opened her eyes; he was carrying her through the muddle of people towards his cabin. Her vision was a haze of red, her mind a whirl of too much, and the clearest thing to her was his steadily fast heartbeat beneath her ear.
She wasn't hurt fatally; she just wasn't held together anymore. Elizabeth moaned and a fresh cry issued from her. Jack's arms were firm and safe, and he said something to her in Spanish, in a harsh and strained tone, and she heard it clearly—though she didn't understand it—even through the daze, the nightmare she was in:
"Usted ahora teine su absolucion, Lizzie."
*You have your absolution now, Lizzie." (Forgive the Spanish, I used an online translator)
Last time, I believe the servers were down, as I couldn't reveiw any of the stories I were reading. So slack is cut. Reveiw, please, readers. It's nice.
--Sing for Absolution, Muse