Chapter 22 – Guest Relations

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"So, what will you do now?" Jack asked Giselle, after she'd finished telling her tale. He handed her the rum they were sharing, in his cabin on the Black Pearl.

Having someone to listen, to be able to talk about the horrors that she'd endured, had acted as a balm. Always resilient, she seemed calmer now, less skittish.

"Not sure. We can't stay on the Griselle forever." Giselle smiled and took another sip, settling more comfortably on Jack's lap." And I'm imaginin' that nice Captain Thomas will be happy to have his cabin back."

"Not so nice if you ask me," Jack groused, rubbing his jaw.

Fine way to be reacquainted with an old friend. Could of just explained things to me, 'stead of hauling off and sluggin' me. Thomas always was a bit irrational, 'specially when women were involved.

"Now, Jack. He didn't mean to, I'm sure." Giselle interrupted his thoughts. "It's just been a long few weeks, that's all. And what with me being there, him not being able to do as he pleased, and him wantin' to, at least with Scarlett…" Her voice trailed off, the sadness creeping back into her eyes.

Jack patted her knee and smiled. "Well, he'll get his wish then. You can stay here tonight."

Giselle started. "Oh. But… I can't, I mean I'm not…" Flustered, she started to stand.

"Shhh. No worries." Jack gently pulled her back onto his lap. "You don't have t' be doing a thing you don't want to."

Giselle turned a worried face to him. "It's not that I don't… it's just that…"

"It's t' be expected, luv. You need time t' heal."

"What if I… can't?" Giselle persisted. "What will I do? Where will I go?" She was close to tears again, her voice quivering.

"You'll be fine." Jack comforted her, lightly rubbing her back. "It's like fallin' off a horse. You just got t' get back up and try again. Give it time."

"You don't mind?" She whispered, her eyes still worried.

"Not t'all. Ol' Jack will help." He grinned, and made a silly face, causing her to giggle through her tears. "I'll just send word to Thomas that you'll be stayin' as a guest on the Pearl, 'no strings attached'. Savvy?"

Giselle giggled again. "Savvy."

****

"Well, it appears we have the evening all to ourselves." Thomas turned to Scarlett after receiving the message regarding Giselle. "Apparently, Jack is going to try and make amends." From a corner niche, he pulled out a bottle of port. Pouring them each a glass, he handed Scarlett one with a small flourish. "I am at your disposal, m'lady."

Scarlett gave him a strained smile. She had been waiting for him to ask for payment, for his hospitality. Seemed only natural, him being a man and her being, well, being a whore. She closed her eyes briefly, not wishing to be reminded. Those past days, she had almost forgotten, playing a little fantasy in her head, that she really WAS a guest, no strings attached. Well, she knew better than to be that foolish.

"Yes. You have been so kind to us." She glanced away and blinked, before squaring to look him in the eye. "I will try… I will find a way to pay you back. Whatever you'd like, whatever pleases you."

"I am not looking for that." Thomas came around the table and pulled up a chair. "You do not have to do anything you don't wish."

Scarlett shook her head in amazed skepticism. "I find that hard to believe. It's what all men want."

"Perhaps those you meet. I must admit; I cannot blame them." Thomas shrugged, then leaned on his knees, and added in an earnest voice, "But that is not what I desire."

"You do not find me desirable?" Scarlett frowned, biting her lip. As much as she didn't want to be treated simply as a whore, she did find Thomas attractive. Too attractive.

"You are lovely." He chuckled, his hand dwarfed hers as he took it, brushing a calloused thumb across her knuckles. "No, it's just that during these weeks, I have done some thinking. And, with Giselle reminding me so much of my sister Nell, I find myself curious as to how someone, such as yourself, ended up here, in Tortuga."

Scarlett sat back, mouth open in astonishment. "Do I remind you of your sisters?"

Thomas let out a loud guffaw. "If you did, I would be most disconcerted," he said, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement. "I cannot say I have ever felt this way about them, thank the gods."

Scarlett sensed that he was teasing her. "So, then why don't you want me?" She sat back and pouted.

"I do want you, very much." Thomas suddenly was serious. "These past weeks have been torture, to have you this close and not being able to… well, anything," he ended awkwardly." He grasped both her hands in his. "But I don't want you as a payment, or a favor. I want you on equal terms."

"I wish I could say I believe you." Scarlett sighed, looking away. Oh, how she wished she could believe him. For once in her life, she'd like to believe that a man could want her for who she was, not what she was.

Thomas seemed to read her mind.

"I don't blame you, it must be difficult to trust anyone, especially a man with needs and desires. But believe me, when I say that I see you as a woman, not as what you have become, but who you could have been." His eyes stared intently into hers, trying to convince her. "I want to know that woman, to understand her. I cannot promise you anything, it would not be fair and I do not know when I'll ever return." He gave her a smile. "I can only hope you'll allow me a bit of time to know you, before I sail again."

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Giselle ended up spending several days on the Pearl. With most of the crew ashore in Tortuga, spending their share of plunder, the ship was a quiet respite, a familiar place for Giselle to regain her confidence, and prepare to reenter her world.

Jack kept assuring her she would be fine, and did his best to amuse her, with numerous tales of misfortune and mayhem involving Thomas and him.

Towards the end of the week, Jack returned from a trip into town, with several large parcels, one of which contained their evening meal. Like a magician, Jack pulled from one of the sacks two freshly plucked squabs; from another, a loaf of bread and an assortment of fruits; from a third, several bottles of a fine vintage of red wine. The squabs was relegated to Mr. Kirkland, who beamed with delight as he hurried down the gangway to the galley, assuring them both they would eat like a duke and duchess that evening.

Jack insisted that, if Giselle was going to dine as a duchess, she should look the part. From another parcel, he unveiled a lovely new gown, a pale yellow of the finest silk, along with a beautiful chemise.

"You remembered!" Giselle squealed with delight, holding the dress up, pirouetting around the room.

As she ooohed and ahhed, Jack settled back on his heels, a smug smile on his face.

"Thought I forgot me promise, I wager. Genuine French, they are." He looked up at the ceiling and grimaced. "Or, at least, the ship I pinched them from, was French. I know enough of the language, to know I most certainly do NOT resemble any of the creatures they mentioned."

Giselle giggled.

Jack waved a shooing hand at her. "Well, go on. Try it on." He smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. When she made no move to undress, in an awkward a moment, he paused; and then nodded his head toward the door. "I'll just go check on dinner, shall I?"

Giselle smiled with relief. It wasn't as if Jack hadn't seen her undress before. Heavens, he saw her more out of her clothes, than in. But he hadn't seen the ugly greenish purple welts that still marred her abdomen, nor the glaring red marks left by her assailants, constant reminders of a nightmare best forgotten.

The gown fit like a glove; its silkiness caressing her skin, making her forget for the moment the past horrors. Giselle's heart beat in anticipation of what Jack might say when he returned. He had been nothing but a gentleman, since her arrival at the Pearl, giving her his full attention, while demanding nothing in return.

Truth be told, Giselle felt a bit guilty, knowing how much Jack loved a good time. He'd normally be spending his evenings, in the taverns along the waterfront, telling his tales, and drinking with his crew. Dicing and card games, and a working girl's company would be the norm, not sitting in the cabin telling her stories. Giselle made up her mind, that she would find some way to return the favor.

But, the thought of anyone touching her, even Jack, sent shudders down her spine. Frustrated, she balled an angry fist. It wouldn't do, she needed to be able to earn a living, and there weren't that many opportunities available for a girl of meager means.

Feeling worthless and confused again, she slumped in a chair, the lovely gown that had so recently excited her, forgotten. She glanced up as Jack returned, carrying a platter of food. Mr. Kirkland followed close behind and began to set out their meal.

Jack's smile faded when he saw her damp cheeks. Frowning, he waved Mr. Kirkland away, before coming over, his finger catching a stray tear trickling down her cheek. Tilting her face up, to see her eyes, he told her simply, "I would like to help."

****

Scarlett was being treated as a queen. Once he had convinced her that he was being sincere, Thomas had wasted no effort in making sure that she remembered it. From an assortment of lovely gifts, to long conversations into the night, the week passed in a golden haze.

Thomas turned out to be a generous and imaginative lover. Not accustomed to having someone attend to her needs, Scarlett found herself looking forward to their lovemaking, clinging to those moments, knowing they were fleeting.

Arrangements had been made with, Pierre, for both Scarlett and Giselle to be in his employ – Scarlett as a seamstress, and Giselle to tend the shop. Until all the final details were settled, Thomas chose to keep Scarlett on board the Griselle, explaining, with a sly grin, that he didn't like to share.

They didn't see Jack or Giselle that week, but did receive several messages, the first to notify them where Giselle was, the next when she had sent for some of her belongings, as she was extending her stay on the Black Pearl. Scarlett was torn between concern for her friend, and guilty relief that she could spend the time alone with Thomas. Thomas assured her that Giselle would be fine; despite all she might think, Jack would take good care of her.

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Mr. Kirkland had created a dinner fit for a king. After the last of the plates were removed, and they were alone once again, Jack entertained Giselle with a few more stories. Finally, he yawned widely, rising as if to go out on deck, where he'd been sleeping, since Giselle had come aboard.

Giselle followed, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "Don't go," she said simply. "Please? I don't want to be alone tonight." Suddenly, she burst into tears and buried her face in his shirt, needing to be held.

Jack did that, stroking her hair, kissing it softly. After several minutes, he eased away and went to the door. Summoning Gibbs, who had the watch, he discretely gave instructions not to be disturbed. Then came back to Giselle.

Brushing the hair away from her face, his eyes searching, he said again with a quiet compassion, "Will you let me help?"

She nodded. No other words were necessary; she understood what he meant. His smile and his eyes told Giselle all she needed to know, that for this one time, at least, he wanted her to be happy.

He kissed her lips, her face, her chin, her neck and beyond, murmuring soft nothings. With delicate fingers, her gown was unfastened, button by button, each button punctuated with a kiss.

Giselle stood stock still, unsure of how to respond. She was quivering both in excitement and apprehension. Jack was patiently tender. Loosening her dress, he slipped it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor, then led her to his bunk and lowered her down. She looked at him; she wanted to please him and yet was so afraid.

"Shhh," he whispered, as she started to tear up. "I won't hurt you, I promise." He kissed her again, first her forehead, then her eyes and mouth, slowing retracing his path, edging away her shift to kiss each of her breasts.

Giselle gasped, rigid and recoiling at the same time. She started to cry, curling in a ball away from him. He stroked her arm, then gently pulled her back to face him.

"It's all right, shhh, it fine," he said soothingly, smoothing her hair and squeezing her hand. "It's to be expected." He gazed into her eyes and she to started melt again beneath his gaze. He smiled and made a silly face. She couldn't help but smile back through her tears. He continued his play acting, until she was giggling and once again comfortable.

"See, you are taking this way too seriously," he said solemnly, though his eyes were smiling. "I am not going to do anything you do not want me to do."

Touching his cheek, Giselle smiled back "I do want you to, Jack. That is the problem."

He looked at her puzzled for a moment then sat up and crossed his arms. "I do not see where there is a problem then, luv. You say you want me to, I know I want me to….so what say you… we say… you know …do what we both want me to?" He cocked his head to one side, with a lopsided grin to match.

Giselle couldn't resist. He had managed, in his charming, Jack way, to blot out all her bad memories. She put an arm around his neck and pulled him down a bit too eagerly, bumping his head on the bulkhead.

"Oiy!" he said. "Watch it there!"

She started to apologize, but he put a finger to her lips. Slipping onto the bunk, he gathered her up and kissed her, long and passionately. She responded, and they took their time, savoring each other and releasing pent up emotion.

Tenacious, Jack began again, to overcome her anxieties of being touched. He removed her shift, very deftly she thought, with one arm. A wave of awkward self-consciousness overtook her at the realization that she was lying on the bed, quite naked, and Jack was still quite clothed. Giselle pointed this out, but he shushed her. "This is for you, luv. Jack is going to make you all better, savvy?"

He traced a finger along one of the fading welts on her breast. "First, I will kiss this one better," he said. "And then this one…." He tenderly kissed each bruise, each welt. As he progressed downward, his hand brushed her thigh and she twitched, and started to jerk away. Jack paused for the moment and laid down beside her. He stoked her cheek and gazed deeply into her eyes, patiently waiting until she yielded under his touch.

No words were said, but she understood. This was the only way she would ever heal, like falling off a horse, he'd said, she had to get back on and try again. She cupped his face in her palm, pulled him to her, and allowed her kiss to tell him what she couldn't say, commending herself to his care.

With a master's skill, Jack methodically drew her out of the dark shell of protection she had built and clung to, and brought her into the light of desire and need, waking feelings that she hadn't felt in a very long time, one's that she had thought long ago killed, both by year's of a passionless profession, and one night in a seedy alley. Slow and patient, coaxing and wheedling, he wedged his way into her trust, then held her safe, coddling and nurturing, while rousing sensations long extinguished.

Intriguing fingers and mouth sought her ravaged flesh, healing in more ways than one. With a driving need of that very flesh, she guided him, allowed him to work his magic. With fingers and mouth, patience—and yes, a touch of love—he brought her pleasure that she thought was gone forever from her life.

Afterwards, as she rested her head on his chest, she realized that he was still clothed. She pulled back enough to see his face. "What about you, Jack? This doesn't seem fair."

He smiled and pulled her back. "I am fine," he said complacently. "I have learned something tonight."

"What's that?"

Jack laughed and rolled her on her back, rising on one elbow above her. "It was quite delightful, just being able to make you well." He seemed smug about it. "Who would have thought it would feel this good to give what you can and take nothing back."

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