Hey guys! Okay, so thank you so much to everyone that reviewed, I was just wondering, people that haven't, and I know you're out there, could you pretty pretty pretty please review? Next chapter is ANGELICA, and probably a teensy tiny bit of romance on the Jack/Anna end, some fighting. If you want that before this time next week, I want six reviews. Not too many. But please, please? –sniffles-
-Han
The Captain's Daughter was not the nicest establishment to have been graced by Jack Sparrow's presence. It was dirty, covered in a layer of grime reminiscent of Tortuga and the sound was overpowering, pressing down on his eardrums like thunder on the sea. Men and women were falling over each other, hoarse laughter floating through the dank tavern at a volume and mirth their stories probably deserved. Jack wondered how they could stand to subject themselves to this prison of dirt and decay.
His father was still supporting Anna, and the younger man had to force himself not to reach out and gather the woman up in his arms. That was crossing an invisible line his father had drawn in the sand when Jack was still young enough to be impressionable. But Anna's body was slumped over, looking drunk and easy to passing men and he felt a growl rising in his throat as men walked to close, brushed their bodies against hers, and subtly allowed their hands to graze her skin.
Jack shifted, the light from the open doorway behind him casting shadows across his face as he glared dangerously and let his fingers twitch over his sword. His father gave him an almost proud look and carried her to a table, setting the woman down gently. She nodded, something like a thank you in her listless eyes as she moved, unwrapping one of many sashes around her waist and set about applying pressure to her wounds. Jack rolled his eyes and took it from her with nimble fingers, brushing hair away from her temple with soft touches and applying pressure to the slowly bleeding gash. She winced softly, the only indication she was really there, and glanced significantly at Teauge.
The silent Captain nodded softly, turning around and catching a wench's attention. "Three mugs of rum," he requested, his voice like gravel, slow and rough and tumbled all together and she distantly wondered if Jack would sound that way when he was older.
"Four," she corrected, intent on cleaning the many scratches she carried. Her breath caught, a painful tug on her ribs and she wondered how badly they were damaged this time, resigning herself to more pain later. "Jack, next time, it's going to be you who deals with the consequences of your schemes," she said dryly, trying to shift slightly. He pressed slightly harder against her temple, holding the cloth carefully but firmly.
The tips of his fingers brushed against her skin, forcing shivers down her spine and she wondered how he was able to affect her so completely, like she couldn't function without a connection to him. She felt complete. That was dangerous.
She didn't care.
She shifted her chair closer, jolting her injuries and not caring. Jack fixed her with a disapproving look, and she could hear Teague's low chuckle as she looked down and fiddled with her fingers. Their rum arrived and she took a long drink, allowing room temperature amber liquid to glide down her throat and soften the pain her mind with the haze of alcohol. Jack had been sure to boost her tolerance, proud of her when she no longer winced or swayed after a drink.
Before he took a draw of his own, he dipped the rag into the extra cup, setting it down gently on her temple, using his other hand to rub soothing circles on her wrist. She refused to follow her instincts and jerk away, and held sure in the presence of Teague. Her eyes flicked to him as he watched them stoically.
"Thank you," she said, finally coming back to herself under the influence of rum's soft touches. He inclined his head, seeming to think nothing of it, as she leaned almost imperceptibly into his son's touch. Jack was trying to hide the worrying look in his eyes, burying it under a coy, sarcastic look aimed at Anna.
She rolled her eyes, as if he'd said something to her. He hadn't. Teague smiled, watching the unspoken dialogue between the two as she shifted, pushing her hands against his chest as he grinned, shifting closer to her without jolting her injuries. He could almost see them joking with each other, pushing the other childishly to the edge of their patience, and then smiling softly to convey some sort of sincerity.
Jack was subtly pushing her towards a smile, any real communication that she was alright. She swallowed, the playful look her eyes dying as she winched again.
"I think something's wrong with my ribs," she said softly, seeming unwilling to say anything. Jack knew she was understating. Anna hated being hurt, and hated admitting it even more. She could bleed without a second glance, could look death in the face and not flinch, but the painful, wincing aftermath made her on edge. She didn't want Jack to have to go through it with her.
"Coughing blood constitutes wrong," Teague agreed as lightly as he could when so enraptured by their behavior. They moved around each other like pirates needed the sea, that inexplicable tie at the heart and you had to follow the pull. Jack played off Anna in a way that differed from the coy wit he used on everyone else. This was genuine at the core, a true companionship Teague hadn't seen in his son since his mother died. This was new, different, real. He wondered if that changed when they were alone, if their friendship deepened into something else.
Jack moved around her as if she was something fragile and strong all at the same time, treating her like glass and like she could handle it all at once. She moved like he was the sun and the moon, changing phases but always constant, always there and she could rely on him. Jack was like that, Teague decided.
"You what?" Jack asked, mouth dry and heart racing, because that wasn't good. But his voice stayed calm, soft in the boisterous and grimy room as if speaking too loud would shatter the illusion of 'okay.' The illusion that he'd cast over his mind that said she would always be there, that she was unbreakable. She had survived enough to put her on a diamond rock in his mind, something that would never change and stay strong and be there for him.
"It may or may not have cracked against the metal barrier on the coal cart when we were running from my former estate being chased by British soldiers trying to kill us for not going after the Fountain of Youth," she said dryly, the layers upon layers of sarcasm in her voice making Jack double over with a rough chuckle.
She would be okay.
He wasn't sure how he knew, but he was sure something was about to happen, something big enough to garner his father's arrival in the middle of London, and Anna would never allow herself to miss it. That was a bond they shared at the soul, the lust for an adventure was synonymous to the need for freedom. They wouldn't survive without it.
"Love, you must learn to be more careful," Jack teased, moving the cloth away from her temple and dipping it back into the alcohol and pressing it another wound. She flexed into it, hoping it would take the edge off and prevent an infection.
"That would mean never seeing your lovely face again," she reminded him with an attempt at a grin tinged with the pain radiating off of her body. Jack could feel it in the air between them, a frenzied attempt to shy away from the ache beginning to form deep in her muscles, making her movements stiff and uncomfortable. He resolved to be more careful with her from then on, a promise he'd made exactly thirteen times. He swallowed, hoping the number meant nothing.
"And we would never want that," he said softly, the teasing glint in his brown eyes dying out as she struggled to retain her calm, her mask of untouchable strength. She felt like she did after her father beat her for the first time, laying his anger onto her skin and creating patterns she would wear for weeks to come.
"Never," she agreed, her eyes finding the ground at the memory rising in her system. Her past seemed to stick to her soul here, in the oppressive fog of London. It invaded her thoughts and weighed them down, crushing her wings with sensory images from a past she would rather forget, would rather leave behind in the dust of the busy streets.
She leaned back in her chair, readjusting her body within the confines of her leather corset until the wound felt settled. She reached behind her, tightening the strings until it served as a support, keeping her ribs in place. Jack pressed his fingers against her side, feeling gently for an irregularity in the soft curve of her torso. If his father wasn't there, he might find this erotic.
He gave an approving nod, and moved away, unwillingly retracting his hand and settling back. He looked at his father for the first time since he was supporting Anna, keeping her from falling back to the hard cobblestone and saving his life at the same time.
Edward Teague was the man Jack had always wanted to be; a pirate with a respect for humanity at its core. He moved around death with easy grace, avoiding it when logic said it should have claimed him, the hand crushing out the sound of the sea and the grip on his sword. But Edward held on. So would Jack.
"I heard you were putting together a crew," Teague said finally, taking the silent invitation to speak. His eyes were trained on his son, but flitted to Anna more than once, a way of letting her know she was included in the conversation. Trying not to push her away under the shadow of his son's infamy. She smiled softly, reminding the old pirate of the woman who became Pirate King and wasn't too proud to show her nerves, who ducked away from any mention of her loving his son the way he could see she did, who he saw a spark in from the very moment she met his eyes.
It had grown into a flame now, a bright fire taking hold in her bloodstream and burning its way to her heart, where her lust for the sea and adventure was realized, was accomplished. She was complete in a dangerous way, hanging on to happiness by a thread as she let herself take the brunt of their journeys. Jack must be dizzy with misplaced self-loathing by now. Teague didn't think his son understood fully, but he knew that look. The glimmer in her blue eyes was the look of someone who needs the pain to know she's alive. A part of her loved it. He should have realized that when he saw her brazen courage in the face of the Pirate Lords, and the frantic energy she wore on her sleeve. She thrived on all aspects of piracy, even the ones that could kill her.
"If enough people keep saying it, then it must be true," Jack muttered darkly, toying with the lip of his mug. Anna shot him a glance, one that must held more impact for Jack than it did for Teague, as his son shifted subtly, gnawing on his lower lip.
"We're in London to save Mr. Gibbs and gather information," Anna said, her eyes staying locked on Jack's. The pirate nodded, his eyes betraying his excitement at only the mention of the rumors. Jack's fingers trembling with the overwhelming need to know the world, to map out every cave and sea and mythical object. He wanted Atlas to bow down to him after he was done, having seen everything there was to see. He wanted to know.
"On what?" Teague asked, taking a long gulp of his own rum, the warmth spreading to his mind until things were comfortable and familiar. He'd grown almost too accustomed to the drink.
"My mother," Anna said bluntly, wincing as she shifted unconsciously, used to talking in time with movement, her hands as animated as Jack's often were. She contented herself with fiddling with a ring, a simple silver band with an intricate carving on the side. She'd stolen it from a Duchess two months ago, a rare thing to find something so simply beautiful beneath all the glitzy gold and jewels. She liked it. So she fiddled. "And of course, other exploits. Immortality is still the cards."
"I heard where you're headed. The Fountain," he said cryptically, passing the comment on her heritage with only a side long glance. Piracy in the bloodline usually ended with more blood spilt than left in the veins.
"Have you been there?" Jack asked, leaning forward.
"Does this face look like it's been to the Fountain of Youth?" Teague asked with a look flicking between sarcasm and serious, emotions hard to read on a face etched with the lines of wind and rain and the force of the sea. Anna wondered what he'd sailed through to make it to this point. His stories must draw crowds.
"Depends on the light," she said amiably, taking another drink and smiling when both men chuckled softly. She'd found home, a place where she fit. It was something foreign and something awe-inspiring and something beautiful. Like the sunrise, when you can still see the north star shining, and the light sparkles off the water and blinds your eyes. It was like that. Where you're wondering when you'll be able to see things clearly, and appreciate the beauty of it all, the way you fit so perfectly into the chaos.
The way she belonged.
"Son, the Fountain. There be items required, for the Profane Ritual. Two Chalices," Teague said, his eyes more earnest than Anna had ever seen when he flicked between the two of them, his right hand still wrapped around his mug.
"From Ponce De Leon's ship," Jack supplied, nodding along. Teague showed only mild surprise, an expression that seemed almost unnatural on his stoic and learned face.
"We had a brief visit to the Amazon," Anna supplied, hoping to eradicate that look. "We managed to extract knowledge of the ritual, thereby losing interest in gaining eternal youth through the Fountain."
"Neither of us appreciates the cost," Jack picked up, as if it were natural to finish her sentences. His eyes were more serious than Teague could ever remember a kind of dark that reflected the turmoil on a soul. Jack was deeper than his status let on. Anna was reflected in it, and in the way he moved around her, treated her, seemed to breathe and think in time with her. They were in sync with each other and the tides, something most pirates didn't find possible. But they were doing it.
"Pirates are supposed to cheat their way into no price," Anna added, twisting her ring again and preventing herself from reaching through the distance and the smell of rum and the cacophony of sound, and linking her fingers through Jack's.
"Sound point she makes, eh?" Jack said, pointing at her and taking a swig of rum in succession. Teague looked slightly impressed, almost proud as the two rough-on-the-edges pirates staved off their desires in favor of human life. It was moments like that that made life worth living, the world worth exploring.
"But it seems to me that the crowns of Spain and England wish to capture the key to eternal life," Teague said softly, watching the two of them. Anna's eyes darkened, the blue seeming clouded out by a venom even Jack found foreign. It reminded him of how she looked when fighting Jones, that frantic, desperate, hatred and rage.
"I would sooner die than see my father gain immortality," she hissed, a sound so low only Jack could hear the pain behind it, the raw fear. He nodded, an anger rising in his chest at the thought, and gripped his glass with nearly enough force to break it.
"Then what we need…is a mode of transport," Jack said coyly, that hunger back in his chest and in his heart. A need to protect the woman beside him, his own interests, piracy, and quite possibly the world. But, mostly the woman beside him.
He would never admit, not even to her, the sheer impact she had had on his life. From the very moment he saw her on the edge of the docks in Port Royal, he was fascinated by the enigma that rolled behind her eyes. Captivated by the voice that wove in and out of her soul on a deserted island. Drawn to the wild elegance of her movements, the control of her sword. She was something different. And Jack craved different.
And she continued to surprise him.
She kept him interested, in line with his own moral compass, ready and willing to jump into another adventure, and soothed with the soft touches only a lover could accomplish. Like she was tracing patterns on her soul.
He could return the favor by eradicating the plague on her heart, the fear in her soul that ran rampant and suffocated the fire he had come to crave. The snarky comments, her ability to keep up with him, the light in her eyes when she smiled, her stubborn attempts to push away injury, the way she loved him without changing him.
He could save her from this darkness..
