FOR YOUR EYES ONLY
43—Standstill
DISCLAIMER: Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan-fiction.
A/N: Hello everyone… first and foremost I would like to thank you, the readers, for faithfully staying with this story. Your reviews and encouragement mean more than I can adequately express. I promised I would not abandon this story and I fully intend to keep that promise.
Second of all, I would like to apologize for not updating sooner. Truth be told, I needed to take a break from writing for awhile, as my inspiration ran away from me and writing stopped being fun, and felt more like a chore. After several deep breaths and a nice glass (or two) of wine, I've gotten to a place where I feel that I can successfully start writing again.
Third of all, I contemplated re-watching this particular scene of DMC to make sure I pinpointed every detail with great dexterity, but eventually chose not to, so that I wasn't' rehashing the same dialogue over and over. So if something isn't quite right, bear with me. Just call it creative license. ;)
Fourth (and last), I've had a bit of feedback concerning the direction of this story. Some people have commented in reviews and PMs that this is too much of a "what-if" story of the trilogy if Jack and Elizabeth had been together. While I'm aware that this might not be the most original concept, that is, in fact, the type of story I intended to write from the very beginning. So at the risk of losing readers, if you want a story that has a more original concept, this story might not be for you.
So. With that being said… to those of you who have eagerly been awaiting the next chapter, the ones who've added this story (or me as an author) to your favorites and/or alerts list, those who have loyally reviewed every chapter upon reading it… the rest of this story is whole-heartedly dedicated to you, without whom I would not have the courage to continue writing. Cheers!
Enjoy!
Tortuga—Saturday morning
The sun had only been fresh in the sky for just shy of three hours, and it was already hot to an almost unbearable extent. The humidity wasn't helping matters much either. The majority of the town was already still asleep—most of whom were still hung over from the night before or already nursing a new mug of ale.
James Norrington did not fit into either category. On this particular morning, that was.
On this Saturday, he found himself on his beach, his own patch of sand and dirt and canopy that had been home since he lost his post. His failure to capture Jack Sparrow was all Lord Beckett needed to relieve him from his duties and his consequent failure to safely bring Elizabeth home left the governor unsympathetic and uninspired to show him mercy and find a position for him elsewhere.
His once good name now stood tarnished, creating an embarrassment for himself that left him feeling so ashamed that he refused his father's invitation to return to the family estate in England. Without a job or a title, he was left unable to afford a living in Port Royal. He disappeared to Tortuga, a place he still despised, where he picked up drinking and sliding into a downward spiral that left him volatile, bitter and cynical.
He rented a room for awhile at one of Tortuga's many seedy inns, but when money started to become tighter and tighter, his penchant for booze and his newer inclination towards the company of questionable ladies forced him to make a choice. He ultimately decided that the Caribbean provided decent enough weather to live out of doors, allowing him to seek comfort in alcohol and the type of individual he once would have had authority to take into custody.
He woke up this particular morning without the usual throb in his temples, chiefly because he'd been so hung over the previous day that he passed out earlier than he typically did and slept through most of the afternoon and all night. He also woke up, much to his chagrin, with his face in the sand and a growl in his stomach that he had little money to satisfy.
With a groan and a grunt, he pushed himself up and rolled over onto his back, sputtering and spitting to get the grit out of his mouth. He stretched, then instantly recoiled, at a sharp pain in his side. He was certain that he'd broken a rib or two in his latest bar fight, and his most recent tryst with the tawny blonde he favored did little to help things. He favored her, though, because when he closed his eyes halfway and ignored the sound of her voice, he could pretend she was a very different someone who he dreamt about almost nightly.
But she was gone. Warming someone else's bed. Loving him. Doing God-knows-what with him. That Elizabeth was so far from the Elizabeth he'd dreamt of making his wife, the one he had hoped to love and cherish and the one who he had hoped would love and cherish him. She was no longer the sweet and pious governor's daughter. She was a pirate. And it was all his fault.
"Jack Sparrow," he found himself muttering, to no one at all, for there was no one to hear him. He had never hated anyone or anything quite as much as he hated that man.
It would have been very easy to hate him on the basis that the one woman who had ever meant anything to him was now, in fact, his, but it was a hatred that seared much deeper than that. He truly believed right down to the very basis of his soul that it was Jack Sparrow's influence that changed Elizabeth from what she was then into what she was now.
There was also the consideration that Jack epitomized everything that James found to be wrong with the world. He had absolutely no regard for the law, no sense of what was right and wrong, no sense of justice. He saw himself as the very scourge of piracy in the eastern Caribbean and saw Jack as the very heartbeat of piracy itself.
It was Jack who manipulated and warped Elizabeth's mind.
It was Jack who evaded arrest time and again, causing not only himself but the entire Royal Navy undue embarrassment.
It was Jack who made him the wretch, the shell of a man that he currently was.
It was Jack who made a mockery of everything that James stood for.
He would make him pay. If it took a lifetime, he would make him pay. Capturing the great Captain Jack Sparrow was the surest way to getting his life back. It would not win him Elizabeth's affections, but surely earn him her hatred. But it would be worth it. It would be entirely worth it to see Sparrow's boots dangling in the breeze.
He wiped the corner of his mouth with his dirtied coat sleeve and turned around, grabbing his discarded wig and hat and placing them—despite their tatterdness—back upon his head. For now, it was time to start another day.
He heard the jingling of the few schillings he had left as he stood up. They'd get him through the day, at least. If he made it through the night… he'd worry about tomorrow then.
Tortuga—late Saturday afternoon
Will Turner stepped off the dock, pausing to look to the left and then to the right. His back ached and his neck was pinched from his drastically cramped bunk aboard The Seaman's Folly, the seedy (if not convenient) fishing vessel he was able to acquire a passage on from Port Royal to Tortuga.
As for Tortuga itself, it felt eerily quiet, hardly the vivacious, lively place it had been on his last visit. Then again, the sun had yet to hide its face, and he suspected that once it nestled itself beneath the horizon, the atmosphere would change.
With the Letters of Marque safely tucked inside his jacket, he made his way towards town. He would find an inn where he could rest until nightfall, a place where at the very least, he could stay hidden. He had no doubt that Lord Beckett would have the full force of the navy looking for him, complete with a "dead-or-alive" bounty on his head. He sighed, watching his boots as he walked, keeping his head down.
His life had been so simple once. A little blacksmith in a little shop in Port Royal. He festered his love for an unattainable woman from afar. And then the Black Pearl sailed into his life and things hadn't quite been the same since, nor would they ever be again, he assumed. He half-smiled to himself, almost unsure as to which life he preferred.
There once was a time when he thought he would die without ever having told Elizabeth how he truly felt. She would marry some dignitary or a lord or a commodore, and he would hammer away at his anvil and pine for her for the rest of his days. It was almost humorous to him how much that didn't even matter anymore. True, a part of his heart would always belong to Elizabeth—she had been his first friend in the world and the one who helped him start over again after that fateful day so many years ago. But he never would have imagined that his heart would one day cease to swell at the mere mention of her name, or a distant glance from across the room.
Will had long since accepted the fact that Elizabeth was never going to be his, and astonishingly, was alright with it.
It wasn't that there was someone else… well, he wasn't entirely sure. Rosalind had come into his life at the most unexpected of times and his budding feelings for her (were they feelings? He wasn't entirely sure…) were constantly at the top of his thoughts.
And while he wasn't entirely sure whether or not he had romantic feelings for the girl, one thing was absolutely certain. He thought about her constantly. He wondered where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. He wanted to know if she was safe or in danger, cold or hungry, alone, frightened? He cared deeply about what happened to her.
There was something in her that he recognized, something that he saw in himself. He had yet to determine what that something was, or even if these budding thoughts were worth sharing with her. Time would tell.
He reached what appeared to be the center of town and found only bars… and more bars. He looked over his shoulder. Surely there had to be an inn around here somewhere. At the very least, he would need to find the darkest of areas in which to lay low until nightfall. It would take him away from the harbor, where he preferred to be in the event that he could spot the Black Pearl, should she arrive. But for the time being, he had to consider his own safety.
There were so many things he was uncertain of. He didn't know if he was at all in the right place to find Jack and Elizabeth, and hopefully Rosalind. He prayed that she was with them. He'd heard so many rumors about the Pearl from the crew of The Seaman's Folly, most of which he didn't believe, but couldn't help but worry over. Despite these uncertainties, he knew that at the very least, Tortuga was a start. If Jack Sparrow wasn't nearby, he would hopefully find someone who knew of his whereabouts.
There was one thing he was entirely certain of, however. Beckett's reign of terror was nowhere close to being over. At the very pit of his stomach he had the uneasiest of feelings… a feeling that the end was quite near.
Tortuga—Saturday night
"I don't like this place," Rosalind whispered loudly. She was sitting so close that Elizabeth wondered how long it would be before she crawled into her lap. Elizabeth herself was sulking. She would much rather be where Jack was, doing all that she could to recruit the necessary souls to save his life. Instead she found herself pocketed away, cradling a mug of ale that she didn't even want, watching her lover intently from across the room.
"It does leave very little to be desired," she agreed. "But Jack's right. This is the best place to satisfy Jones' demands."
"I understand," Rosalind said. "However, I'm beginning to wish I hadn't refused the drink he offered."
"Take mine," Elizabeth replied, sliding it across the table towards her friend. "I'm far too tense to find any relief in it." She glanced to Rosalind as she tentatively picked up the mug, raised it to her lips and with a slight gulp, slugged down her first sip. The face she made was priceless and Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at the sounds of repulsion that followed.
"A wretched substance," Rosalind coughed, sticking her tongue out.
"Your first taste of alcohol, I presume?" Elizabeth asked.
"Aside from the wine my parents would serve," she confirmed. "Still…" she closed her eyes as she took another swig. "…better than nothing."
"Some might argue otherwise," Elizabeth said, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand as her elbow met the table.
"Oh, cheer up, Lizzie. If there's anyone who can wrangle himself out of a mess of this caliber, its Jack. You and I both know it."
"He does have a way of rescuing himself. But I fear that Jones is unlike any adversary he's faced, whether he's willing to reconcile with it or not."
Rosalind chuckled. "I do believe Jones is unlike any adversary that any man has ever come up against. Besides, I'm choosing to focus on the positive. As soon as your captain has solved his problem, we can set to work on rescuing Will."
"I'll drink to that." Elizabeth smiled softly, lifting the mug from Rosalind's hand and tilting her head back.
"Here, here!"
James' head shot up at the sound of a fist slamming down mere inches from his ear. When had he passed out?
"This establishment is fer payin' customers. If ye wish to sleep, ye'll do it elsewhere."
James scowled and sat up. He wrapped his fingers around the bottle in front of him and raised it to his lips only to find… nothing. It was empty.
"Your bloody establishment is quickly losing its appeal," he slurred, spinning around on his stool and nearly tumbling onto the floor in the process. He regained his balance before cursing at said stool and telling it to watch itself if it wanted to remain upright.
He was headed for the front door when he noticed a line of men in the center of the overly-crowded bar. He grabbed a passing bar wench by the elbow.
"What's here?" he asked, blinking hard as his vision refocused.
"Recruitment opportunity," she replied. "For the Black Pearl." She paused. "Doubt they'd take you." She cackled as she yanked her arm loose and walked away.
He didn't hear her though. His ears were ringing.
"For the Black Pearl."
The…
Black…
Pearl…
He felt his blood begin to boil, his cheeks flushing with hot warmth.
The time had come. His moment had finally come.
The night was still relatively young and already Will had a headache. He'd been to two bars with no sign of Jack Sparrow and no one who either knew where he was and wasn't willing to tell him, or honestly had no idea of his or Elizabeth's whereabouts. He'd been by the harbor several times to search for those famous black sails with no luck. If Jack was in Tortuga, which he doubted, he'd hidden the Pearl in a lagoon or a sheltered cove and out of sight.
He didn't even bother to register the name of the third bar he entered, taking a deep breath as the familiar odor of rum and vomit filled his nostrils. The place, much like the others, was noisy and crowded. It was hard to get a good lay of the room with the number of bodies in it. There was a sea of heads so thick that concealed the majority of the space.
He turned to his left and was ready to head to the bar to press whoever he could for information when an overtly loud commotion in the center of the room startled him. It sounded as though a table had been thrust over and a brawl was getting ready to ensue. He briskly turned to the right at what his first instinct told him was a remarkably familiar voice—with an even more familiar name attached to it.
"So am I worthy to sail under the command of Captain Jack Sparrow?"
Will furrowed his brow and quickly pushed his way to the center of the bar, pushing several individuals out of the way as he went.
Elizabeth returned to the table, two full mugs of ale in her hands.
"Thank god you've returned," Rosalind exclaimed, eagerly accepting one of the mugs as Elizabeth slid back into her seat.
"Why, has some lowlife attached himself to you?" she asked, taking a sip of her drink.
"No, no, nothing like that. I thought it would be an eternity before I had my own drink."
Elizabeth laughed. "My, my. What have I done to you?"
"Bound to happen," Rosalind said, listlessly shrugging her shoulders.
"Have I missed anything?" Elizabeth asked, motioning her head towards Gibbs and Jack. A gentleman stood at the table, his back to them. Though his face remained hidden, his disheveled appearance suggested that he could easily be one of the lost-soul recruits Jack was looking for.
"Not too much, no. Four have signed and this one's the fifth."
"Only… four," Elizabeth sighed. She took a deep breath and tried her hardest to swallow down her disappointment. She raised her mug towards Rosalind's. "Well, here's to the other 96."
"96 it is!"
They clinked their beverages together and Elizabeth had just raised the rim of the mug to her lips when a great crash broke—the result of the table being flipped onto its side, Gibbs thrown onto his back. She was on her feet in less than a minute, her drink forgotten and tumbled to the ground, one hand on her pistol and the other on her sword. She had just reached Jack's side, who instinctively took a step in front of her, when the face of the assailant became known to her, and she felt her heart break.
"James," his name had barely escaped her lips when she heard a hefty, "move!" and the crowd parted to reveal another familiar face which made her breath catch in astonished relief.
And there stood three parties, reunited at the standstill that had become their lives.
A/N: That's it for this chapter… expect the next to start off with a bang, as memory serves! ;)
Please review!
Many thanks,
Princess of the Pearl