Chapter XV

A Song for the Captain

Bree sat beside Bootstrap at the railing of the Dutchman, her back stinging in the air. Jones had gone rather light on her. Only four dozen. Not so bad.

Bootstrap looked at Bree. She looked troubled. And didn't she have a right to be so?

"Bree…I'm sorry."

Bree heaved a sigh, trying to hold back the tears, feeling like she had swallowed a large quantity of foul air. She scrubbed at her eyes in frustration, at last speaking her thoughts, "I can't do it, Bootstrap! I just can't! I don't…don't know what's wrong wi' me! I can't go on every day like this! I've been on this ship fer almost a year. I can't go for one hundred, only to become…become somethin' like ol' Wyvern!" She was referring to the former crewmember who was now part of the ship itself.

Bootstrap patted Bree's shoulder. He knew how she felt, "Maybe ye were meant to be on this ship, mate. Jones, believe it or not, actually believes in fate. An' in heaven. An'…an' in hell."

Bree laughed harshly, "We're in hell, Bootstrap. An' every time I see Jones, I see the devil."

Bootstrap bit back something he wanted to say.

The devil is in pain because of ye.

And the devil was aching at this moment, more than ever before.

Jones sat in his cabin, head in claws as he tried to sort out his thoughts and feelings. He had never felt so…so angry! So bitter and frustrated! He couldn't get the image of Jack kissing Bree from his mind. It made him seethe with fury and poisonous envy. Why does she have to be so…

Jones thought back to the day he had stabbed his own heart out. Doing so was supposed to take the feelings away. Supposed to take the love away. Supposed to take the pain away. Supposed to remove the memories of the love and then the betrayal. But simply removing his heart did only one thing; dulled it all until he was completely unfazed by all.

Until Bree came and upset the balance of his feelings. His usual cruel nature reared up, higher than usual as it fought to contain the other feelings that Bree had uncovered.

I should know better than to start feelin' this way! Jones tried explaining to himself again, even though he knew it was useless. Jealousy…it hurts too much! Why does it have to be her? Why!

He was going insane. Pangs of devastation were making his mind numb. He knew it now. He was crazed with thoughts for Bree. And he couldn't stop it.

But Bree loved Sparrow! Jones was certain of it. She had kissed him! Jones bit his lip as he remembered seeing their lips touch. Angst caused Jones to begin thinking of darker, more sadistic ways to deal with these feelings.

Why not kill them both?

No…no, he couldn't, and wouldn't kill Bree. Besides, she was doomed to serve on this ship.

Doomed.

Those had been Bree's very own words.

She doesn't want to be on this ship with me.

Well, could he blame her? He had, after all, destroyed her ship, killed her mates and captain, and caused her to become an undead monster. Her back was raw from the many beatings, and he was sure she would never forgive him for flogging her with that chain. He growled softly. Why should he care anyway?

Ye fell in love once before, he told himself, an' all I received was…was betrayal. He remembered the feelings that had come from that betrayal. His Calypso…he had loved her so much. Enough to die for her. Enough to do anything for her! Why hadn't she seen that and returned the affection?

Why couldn't Bree see? But how could she see? Jones wasn't being honest with her…or himself. But he kept lying to himself, no matter how unconvincing his reason was.

Bree sat down in the hold, slightly amused. The moment she had been pushed down the stairs after her beating, Maccus had thrust the satchel containing her fiddle at her.

Bree took the fiddle out and stroked the neck tenderly. Her only true link to humanity, when she thought about it. Bree looped the satchel straps around her shoulders temporarily to hold it and keep it from folding.

As Bree tuned the fiddle, she heard someone coming down the stairs. She could tell by the footsteps that it was Twins. He had three legs, so it was easy to identify the strange sound.

The two headed crewmember poked his heads down and called, "Oi, Bree! Cap'n wants ye in 'is cabin, sharpish!"

Bree felt her blood run cold. Jones hadn't spoken to her since her bold attempt. What would he say to her now? She dreaded what would happen. But she had no choice.

Not bothering to take her satchel off, Bree climbed up onto the deck, biting at her claw as she walked towards the captain's cabin. She turned and saw Bootstrap standing a little ways off. She gave him a worried look, and he nodded, trying to encourage her, even though he knew what Jones had to say to her would be less than pleasant.

Bree raised her fist, and then, after a few moments' hesitation, she knocked timidly on the barnacle crusted door.

"Enter!"

Bree felt her spine prickle at the sound of Jones' voice. Just from that one word, she could tell he was seething with anger. It sounded harsher and sharper.

Bree pushed open the door, creeping in. She positioned her satchel over her shoulders. Well, if Jones began to physically hurt her, she could fend him off with it.

Jones watched Bree like a hawk as she snuck into the room, staying to the shadows. Impatience and bottled rage were making Jones fidgety. He snarled out, "Come 'ere, whelp!"

Bree felt slightly hurt by his harsh tones, but came forward, slowly and uncertainly. Jones didn't have time for this. He went forward and grabbed Bree's arm, pulling her forward. Bree gasped, and Jones could see the fear in her face. Part of him was glad to see it, but the other kept crying out She's afraid of me!

Bree refused to meet Jones' eyes, and the captain noticed that she was trembling. He stepped back, speaking in a harsh voice, "I like to see bravery in a young one. Somethin' to be admired. But your courage is nothin' short o' foolery!"

Bree winced, and Jones continued, "Did ye think ye could escape that easily? I am Davy Jones! I am the sea! I control yer fate! Even yer precious friend, Sparrow," here he spat the word out bitterly, "couldn't help ye! Give it up, girl! Ye're destined to one hundred years on this ship! An' git used to it!"

Bree turned her face away, too tired to try to recognize the emotions in her. But she now said the wrong thing.

"Jack is a good man. He can outdo ye! But I wouldn't let ye have the satisfaction o' takin' the Pearl from 'im! He's worked hard for that ship! He's a good man!"

Jones felt like he was going to burst from hatred and anger. Jack, Jack, Jack! Was that all she had to say to him? He spoke before thinking, "I suppose ye would've sailed with him had ye escaped, aye?"

Bree nodded, wondering where this was all going.

Jones clenched his claw, growling, "I should 'ave killed ye when I took the Goresail!"

Bree sniffed, speaking, "Why don't ye kill me now? Ye've separated me from my friends! My life is nothin' to ye! Why don't ye kill me?" Let it be over.

Jones actually yelled at her, "I don't want to!"

Bree stood, unsure. Jones was furious, his eyes blazing with wrath. He went forward and grabbed her around the neck with his claw again, and Bree didn't know if she had ever been gripped tighter before.

Jones had his face fractions from hers as he roared, "I won't tolerate any more o' this from ye, ye hear me! Yer soul belongs to me! D'ye hear that? Me! Nobody else! Especially not Sparrow!"

Bree had her face sprayed with spittle as he ranted at her. Jones released her, and she fell hard, watching as he retreated to the back of the cabin. After she had recovered, Bree said in a thin voice, "I don't belong to Sparrow. An' I never did!"

Jones slammed his claw down on the keys of the organ, and Bree's ears nearly ruptured at the sound. Jones made a snarling noise, sounding very much like an angry beast. He roared back at the girl, his voice mixed with undisguised hurt, "Ye don't want to belong to me!"

Bree felt her voice desert her. Why would that matter to Jones?

"Does anybody?"

Jones shut his eyes, exhaling sharply, and Bree thought she could see something slide down his cheek. Oh, to have Bree say this to him! Jones felt like his heart was being ripped out anew. He quivered, and then thrust his claw in the direction of the door, grating out harshly, "Go…now!" And then, not bothering to see if she left, he turned, sat down and started playing at the organ.

Bree wasn't sure she had ever heard the organs sound so haunting, so sad, or so strong. It was like the sound of a dying man's scream set to music. She had no idea how close she was.
Bree didn't know what to do. All she could hear was the overpowering music. Suddenly remembering, she pulled the fiddle from her satchel. Fitting it to her chin, she readied the bow, a little shaky. Then she began to play.

A slow, sweet melody came from the little fiddle. The same tune that the organ was playing. A duet began, melancholy and beautiful. The organ faltered, and then stopped. Jones turned to Bree, his eyes wide and confused. Bree looked straight back at him, never stopping. Jones' face was unreadable, and his eyes never left Bree's. But Bree kept playing.

Jones at last turned again, starting up his part again, and the two instruments harmonized, playing a beautiful, sad song. The organ was far louder than the fiddle, and yet the fiddle was just as clear, easy to hear. It echoed through the room, out into the air, audible in all areas of the ship. The crew stopped, listening. They knew who was playing the fiddle. Bree.

Bree never took her eyes from her captain, the bow moving over the strings as the music swelled louder, like a long, continuous wail with the roar of the organ accompanying it. Bree felt moisture building in her eyes. She blinked, banishing the threatening dew from her eyelashes as she continued to play.

Why was she doing this?

Remember yer mates, killed by the crew!

Remember the Goresail, smashed against the rocks!

Remember the brand on yer arm!

Remember the fins on yer back!

Remember the scars on yer body!

Remember…

Remember this song…

Bree closed her eyes, forgetting everything as she concentrated on the song. She couldn't keep the pity and sorrow from clouding her.

Ye've been through a lot of pain, mate.

So has yer captain.

Bree suddenly realized that the organ had finished its part. Only the fiddle kept its sweet wail. Bree brought it to a graceful, slow halt. The last note hung on the air hauntingly, fading away. At last, Bree removed the fiddle from her chin. Horror was in her eyes. What had she done? Jones was looking at her, but she didn't know what he was thinking.

Suddenly, a very familiar tinkling noise started up. Bree and Jones both snapped their heads around. The music box! Jones had put it back in its usual place by his organ. It was the ending of their song.

As the music box played, Bree slowly began moving back. Still shocked and horrified, she dropped the fiddle and the bow with a clatter and bolted for the door, not looking back. Jones turned, standing as if to stop her, but he couldn't find his voice.

Bree didn't even bother to close the door behind her. She went straight to the hold. She would be safest there.

Bootstrap hadn't seen Bree all day. He went down to the hold, concerned for his friend. And there she was, huddled in her hammock, curled up and the blankets thrown over her head. Bootstrap shook her gently, speaking, "Come now, Bree, ye've got to git up!"

Bree's muffled voice sobbed back, "No! G-go away!"
Bootstrap tried several times to pull Bree out, but she hung on like a limpet, refusing to leave the hold. At last, Bootstrap gave up, saying irritably, "Cap'n'll have yer guts, missy!"

"I don't care!" was Bree's reply. Bootstrap shrugged, leaving Bree to lie there, still feeling a pang for the girl. She was confused.

Jones stood watching his crew. His eyes roved over all of them, counting them off. He made mental notes. There was Jimmylegs, flogging one of the unfortunate slackers. There was Clanker, there was Greenbeard, and there was Maccus. He counted off the rest of the crew.

Where was Bree?

Bree hadn't shown her face all day. Jones was aching to see her. To speak to her. But would she let him speak? He had seen the look on her face when he had ranted at her. She had been confused and frightened.

Jones called Maccus to his side, speaking in a low voice, "Where's Miss Bree?"

Maccus shrugged, and Jones growled. He then saw Bootstrap, and beckoned him over. He was Bree's best friend. He would know.

When asked, Bootstrap answered, "She ain't feelin' too chipper today, Cap'n. She asked to be left alone."

Bootstrap was surprised to see disappointment in Jones' pale blue eyes. He looked troubled. He waved his claw absently, "Carry on."

As Bootstrap left, Jones retreated to his cabin, looking over the charts. He bit at his lip, thinking hard. Where would he go now?

As he tried to think, unwanted voices began speaking in the dark corners of his mind.

Bootstrap said Bree was ill.

She's not ill, she's heartsick.

She knows your song.

She shared something with you.

You spoke.

You understood her.

She understood you.

You can't hide it anymore.

She can't belong to you.

But you want her to.

The next voice that spoke in Jones' mind made his stomach twist into a knot of pain and anguish.

She's a free spirit. You'll destroy her.

Jones made up his mind. He heaved a great sigh and rose, leaving the cabin and going to Quittance, who was at the wheel. He spoke in a heavy voice, "Alter course."

Bree heard a soft voice calling her name. She opened her eyes slightly, raising her head. She rubbed at her eyes to clear them and made a sweep of the room.

Jones was standing near the stairs, calling to her. Bree felt confused and afraid. Was he going to punish her for her audacity the other day?

Jones beckoned to the girl, and Bree obediently slipped from her hammock, pulling on her jerkin and walking over to him. She trembled, afraid of what would come. Jones, not even bothering to explain, took Bree firmly by the arm and led her up the stairs. Bree, bewildered and still sleepy, stumbled after him, but whenever she tried to say something she was shushed.

Bree was once more led into Jones' cabin. Jones forced her gently onto the bench before the great organ, her back to the keys. Then Jones stepped back, beginning to pace nervously.

Bree was unsure of what to do, her heart pounding in her ears so hard that the clunk of Jones' footsteps was dulled. She simply sat there as Jones paced back and forth. At last, the captain stopped, turning to face Bree.

He spoke in an almost unsteady voice, "I've…I've decided to alter course. We're goin'…" Here he took a shuddering breath, "…we're goin' after th' Pearl."

Bree didn't understand. Jones saw the puzzled look she wore and clarified, "I'm goin' to take ye back, Bree…back to the…the Pearl." His voice made him sound as if he was fighting back something.

Bree was speechless. He was going to release her? But…why?

Does he not want me?

Bree swallowed and said in a soft voice, "Why the change o' heart?"

Jones surprised Bree, moving closer to her and kneeling down in front of her so he was at eye level. He tipped her chin softly, "Today…when ye played the fiddle for me…I knew ye didn't belong here. I ain't the master o' yer soul. Ye're an independent girl, Bree." He spoke with admiration in his voice, "Ye're a true pirate…free, brave an' a true fighter. Ye need to be free." He knew that if he still had his heart, it would be breaking again. But Bree didn't…she couldn't…

Bree was battling down a feeling that was growing larger and more intense.

I don't want to go!

She didn't want to leave! But why? She stood, as if to leave the cabin, but simply moved off to the side. Jones stood as well, waiting. Bree nibbled at her claws. Why don't I want to go?

Because of him.

Bree felt it all hit her. And it broke her heart. She felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, and she began to weep softly.

Jones moved around Bree until he was facing her. She was crying. Jones didn't want her to cry. And for once, he spoke his thoughts to her, "Bree…please…please don't cry." But part of him felt hope rising in him.

Bree looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. Jones felt his inner voice speak in the lowest tones…She's beautiful.

Jones wished he had normal hands. He could wipe away her tears. He could hold her hands to comfort her. He wished he was a normal man. A normal man with a heart!

"What have ye done to me, Bree?"

Bree continued to weep, answering in a halting voice, "I…I don't know!"

Then she asked a question of her own, one that made Jones' heart, wherever it was, leap, "What have ye done to me?"

Jones made a strange noise, halfway between a sob and a sigh. He tipped Bree's chin softly, once again wishing he was a normal man. If he was a normal man, he could kiss her.

Bree looked up at him, pain shining in her eyes. Inside she felt her heart hammering away at her chest. She was afraid it would burst from her body at any moment.

Jones then did something he had never done after he had lost his heart. He placed his remaining hand on Bree's cheek and gently pressed his claw to the back of her neck. And to his delight, Bree raised her head. Jones bent down slowly, timidly. He kissed her mouth softly, thinking, When was the last time I kissed a girl?

Bree felt her heart catch fire. She closed her eyes, her heart thrumming in her ears. Oh, if only! She placed her hand on his arm, softly clutching onto him. Jones drew away, looking to see Bree's response. He had half expected her to draw back in horror and repulsion, but she simply leaned forward again and pressed her mouth to his again. And Jones felt his soul soaring. He felt his tentacles threading around her waist, pulling her closer to him, and she stepped easily into his embrace.

The two stood there, silent, clinging to one another. There was no need for words. They didn't have to say their feelings. They just knew. They knew one another's hearts. They both understood.

And they also both knew that this would be their only chance to show it.