Title: There's Always a First Time
Rating: M (suggestive situations)
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with him

There's Always a First Time

--

"Ow!" Scarlett frowned at her thumb, a small droplet of blood forming where the needle had pricked it.

"Don't know why yer botherin' with that." The languid voice commented from across the narrow room. "Ain't like none of the gents are inspectin' 'em. Too eager to get at what's underneath."

Scarlett glared at her roommate from where she sat hunched over her sewing straining her eyes in the fitful light that seeped through the dingy window. Giselle was sprawled, most unladylike, across the room's only bed, her threadbare chemise clinging to her too-thin frame in the sultry heat.

"My mum always said you could tell a lady by the state of her petticoats," Scarlett answered. She frowned and straightened the item in question with a sharp tug, sucking on her injured thumb to stop the bleeding.

"That's rich!" Giselle laughed, rolling over onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow. "Since when did you consider yerself a lady?"

Scarlett didn't answer, just straightened her back and. went back to her sewing. There had been a time, once. Seemed a lifetime ago.

As the lazy afternoon wore on, Scarlett continued with her mending, while Giselle prattled on about this and that. The two women had pooled their resources and found a small room for let above the haberdashery. It was their private place, off limits to their customers, a place to retreat to, a place of solace, a place of…

"So where're you from, I mean before you came here?" Giselle was always a curious one.

Scarlett set her sewing down and sighed. "I grew up on a farm."

"You, a farm girl?" Giselle sputtered.

"Yes…for a time, at any rate. Until my father died suddenly one spring, and left my mother and us five girls penniless."

"What about the farm?"

"A woman can't own property! You know that!" Scarlett scolded, patiently. "A distant cousin took it—the bastard! Showed up on the doorstep one day and promptly turned us all out. We were destitute. Mum, she was forced to find work, ended up taking a position at the local manor house. Scullery maid. It was horrid." Scarlett fell silent for a moment then added quietly, "It was either that or the workhouse." Seeing the inquisitive look on Giselle's face, she hastily added, "After mum died I came out here. Anyways, it was a long time ago. I'd rather not talk about it." She turned back to her sewing. Some things were best left forgotten. If only she could.

Scarlett had been the eldest of the five, and had watched her mother die slowly from heartbreak and abuse, for it had not taken the lord of the manor long to seek out the comely widow for his own perverse pleasures. Her mother had endured it all without complaint, thankful to be able to give her daughters a roof over their head and food in their bellies.

But when the gentleman turned his wandering eye towards her eldest, then barely thirteen, her mother had mustered a spark of her former spirit and adamantly opposed her employer. For her indiscretion, she was dismissed from her position and sent to a workhouse along with her girls.

Her mother had succumbed to a fever that winter and the girls had been sent away, along with scores of other orphaned youths, to provide labor for Britain's struggling colonies in the New World. Scarlett had found herself in a strange land, and an even stranger climate. However, she had soon become accustomed to the heat and humidity of North Carolina, preferring it to the miserable cold and damp that was her last remembrance of home.

"You remember yer first time?" The sleepy voice brought Scarlett back to the present with a jolt.

Giselle didn't wait for an answer. She was lying on her stomach, chin resting on her hands, one leg lazily circling above her back. "I was just fifteen, working in the kitchen up at the big house. Jimmy, he was one of the stable hands. Dark haired, dark eyes, I'd only seen 'im from a distance. Us girls would watch them lads while we were out working in the garden. They'd be pitchin' hay, their shirts off. Made us all wet with excitement."

Giselle rolled onto her back and gazed at the ceiling. "Mrs. Trotts had sent me down to the stable that night with the evening meal, and well…one thing led to another. Before I knew it, he had me in the hay right there next to the horses. 'Bout near got stepped on!"

Scarlett frowned at her. "Did you enjoy it?"

Giselle laughed. "Didn't know I were supposed to. Mrs. Trotts whipped me good when she found out."

Scarlett sighed and rummaged around in her sewing box. "Seen my blue threads?" she asked, changing the subject. "I know I put them in here last week."

Giselle shrugged her shoulders. "Haven't touched yer bloomin' threads. The way you go on about them, I swear…" She sat up on the edge of the bed, girlishly swinging her long legs back and forth.. "So, come on, tell me. Who was yer first?" Giselle could be rather persistent when she wanted.

Scarlett stared out the window for a long moment before speaking. "No one. I don't remember." She stood up; the subject was closed. Sharing a room was one thing, sharing her secrets… well, she'd only spoken about it to one soul, and even then she hadn't meant to.

--

"So his name was Edmund. Good strong name. Did you love him?"

Jack had been lounging next to her, twirling a lock of her hair absentmindedly around his finger. He laid half in shadow, the candlelight creating a soft sheen on his face and chest, still damp with sweat from their earlier exertions. Even without all his trappings, stripped down and bare, he had a touch of the exotic about him.

"What makes you say a thing like that?"

"It was his name on your lips."

Scarlett had glanced away, biting her lip at her slip of the tongue. She hadn't meant to mention Edmund; she thought his memory was safely tucked away, far from prying minds. Bloody Giselle's prodding had brought it all out again, too close to the surface, especially under Jack's watchful eye. Other men—other customers—would have never noticed.

But then, Jack wasn't like all those others. Scarlett had a rule about becoming too familiar with any of her regulars, but Jack had a way of getting around most rules, . And while he was not adverse to taking his pleasure quickly, as he was often prone to do (there'd been numerous times where a quick two minutes against the wall sufficed), Jack also seemed to enjoy a more leisurely encounter, at least when he could afford it—and many times when he couldn't.

Jack had showed up earlier that evening with money in his pockets – a rare event indeed. Even rarer, he seemed genuinely intent that she derived as much pleasure from their coupling as he did.

"So he was your first love… or lover… or both?"

Jack could be as persistent as Giselle when he wanted. He grinned and ran a tar-stained finger down her milky white skin, seeking and exploring, nimble fingers finding favorite places.

Scarlett moaned softly at Jack's touch, distracted enough to answer his question. "Both."

She arched her back as his clever fingers found what they were seeking, hot and moist and ready for him again. He deftly maneuvered himself upon her, giving her time to adjust before entering. Having paid for the entire night, Jack seemed determined on seeing that his money was well spent. He teased her, pacing himself, a wicked grin on his face. Obviously enjoying being the one giving the pleasure, he made sure she was totally satisfied before achieving his own .

Rolling off to one side he gave her a sideways glance.

"So, tell me about Edmund. He was your very first, aye? Seems odd."

Scarlett frowned. "What seems odd?"

"That you still remember him. Not sure if I could put a name to me first… or second for that matter. Ah! But I do remember me third. Bonny lass she was. Charlene. No, Charlotte. No that's not it. Chastity! Bugger, that couldn't be it."

Jack was laying flat on his back, spread-eagle and sweaty, his brow furrowed in an attempt to recollect. He gave Scarlett one of his sideways grins and added, "This Edmund fellow must have been mighty special."

Scarlett sat up impatiently and crossed her arms. "Why do you even care, Jack Sparrow? Never had any man care what my name was, let alone about my past. Why should you?"

Scarlett was no stranger to having men confess their innermost thoughts to her. It came with the profession, and those men who came seeking something more than physical gratification. Some men visited a whore out of loneliness, other out of anger or heartbreak. After months at sea, on a ship full of men, a woman's touch seemed to bring out all their fears, and frustrations and longings. And she had listened and comforted, and given them the solace they needed. Not one of them had ever asked about her – her life, her dreams…. until Jack.

Jack shrugged and said offhandedly, "Everyone has a past, darling. Most would rather forget theirs. But hiding it away won't make it disappear."

Scarlett sighed. "And what is your past, Jack? What are you hiding away?"

He raised one finger and said flippantly. "A man can't tell all his secrets." He hitched up on his elbows and went on in a more philosophical tone. "I can tell you this: there comes a time in your life, when you've got to come to terms with the fact that no matter what you do, or where you go, or who you're with, nothing really ever changes. You are who you are, and that is who you are going to be for the rest of your bloody life."

Scarlett wiped a tear away angrily. He was right of course. Nothing would bloody ever change.

Jack seemed to sense she was troubled and reached over and pulled her back down next to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Tell me about this Edmund," he said gently.

So, curled up next to him, in the soft shadows of that narrow room, Scarlett told her tale, one she'd vowed never to tell a soul.

"He was the son of the overseer at the plantation I was sent to. I'd seen him around, riding out with his father or walking with a young lady. Never paid him much mind, actually."

Scarlett's mind drifted back in time, to those long lonely nights she'd cried herself to sleep, alone in a strange, wild country. Her younger sisters had been sent to a family up in Boston; Scarlett never saw them again. Isolated, with no family or friends and starving for affection, it was only natural that she had fallen hard for the first bit of kindness shown to her.

"We met by accident. I had gone to fetch water for the day. It was early enough the grass was still wet from the dew and I fell, twisted my ankle something fierce." She swallowed, her throat tightening with the same tears she had shed that day. "I was terrified I'd be reprimanded for returning late. Stumbled along as best I could, crying the whole way."

She smiled into the darkness. "Edmund came riding up on his horse, took pity and offered me a ride back to the house.

Jack rolled over to her, peering at her face, his eyes intent with understanding. "Like a knight in shining armor, eh?" He drew her close, settling her head against the crook of his neck.

"How old were you and Edmund?" he asked softly.

Scarlett's voice caught in her throat. "I had just turned fourteen. Edmund was, I guess at that time he were around twenty." She sat up once again and wiped away a tear, angry both at her own foolishness, and at Jack for reminding her.

Jack didn't comment, instead he reached out and did something odd. He took her hand and balled it into a fist. "Makes you want to hit something, aye?"

Scarlett turned to him, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I thought I loved him. He took me, used me and discarded me when I didn't amuse him any more." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I made myself a vow, a promise on my mum's grave. I'd never, ever allow another man to hurt me in that way again," she finished in a voice hardened with resolve.

She jutted out her chin, waving a hand around at her present life. "I'll never be a fool for a man again. Not even for you, Jack Sparrow."

He smiled and pulled her gently down next to him. Stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, he had cupped her face in his palm and kissed her tenderly. "No worries, luv. Your secret's safe with me."