Secrets

By Lindsay R. Honosky

Chapter Three: Two is Company

Sorry for the long wait, I just couldn't get this chapter to go the way I wanted it. I'm still not that happy with it; I think I make Reaver a bit to out of character. Oh well, I'll let you all be the judge of that. Please enjoy and leave a review, critical or otherwise (I love feedback)!

"I can't do it!" Sparrow shouted, crossing her arms. She could feel the sting of tears brimming her eyes, but she was to stubborn to let them fall.

Thereasa reached down to retrieve the stick that now lay at her feet, "You can and you will, Sparrow. Now, again."

Before she could react, Thereasa threw the stick at her, barely making it in time to catch it. Her mouth shot open to protest, but before a word left she was parrying a blow from the red-cloaked woman, their weapons clashing with a resounding clack. Sparrow leapt back, positioned her weapon to a more comfortable position, and charged, anger now fueling her tiny body. As she brought her stick down to strike at Thereasa's leg, the woman glided to her left, her own weapon stopping Sparrow's before it made contact. Heat rose in her cheeks as she could hear Thereasa clicking her tongue at her, and in a blind fury Sparrow brought her stick down over her head, hoping to knock the older woman unconscious.

Sparrow hit something, but before a triumphant smile could appear she felt her stick fly from her hand, watching as it bounced and finally landed in the sand by the shore. Thereasa held her own stick at Sparrow's throat, her disturbing white gaze piercing through Sparrow's heart. Then a smile appeared on that haunting face, and she lowered her weapon, "Remember, little Sparrow, once you lose yourself in blind hatred, so to do you lose your ability to fight clearly."

A loud russling noise woke her, a moan escaping her as Sparrow tried to wake. Everything felt weak, from her head down to her big toes. The rain outside hammered against the sides of the house, each drop a nail driving into her head. The pressure behind her eyes was almost unbearable, and as she tilted her head to look around the room an emmense feeling of nausea threatened to take hold of her. She heard the noise once more, and her eyes shot to her left. A man was crouched in front of her dresser, fishing through her belongings as if a long lost treasure were hidden away between its contents. Confused, Sparrow watched as he would pick up one item, give it a critical eye, then toss it to a pile that had seemed to grow by the minute. She tried to sit up, only to find her arms were still to weak, and fell back against the pillow.

This must have drawn the attention of the man, because he turned his head slightly and sighed, "Sparrow dear, you really need to find better clothing. It's a shame to let a beautiful figure such as yours go to waste." Something woke in her, and Sparrow's eyes shot open once more to meet Reaver's. He looked just the same as he always did, smiling at her in contemptment, acting as if nothing had happened. So many questions popped into her head, but the only one that she spoke was his name.

He laughed mockingly, holding an old blouse of her she'd bought at the Gypsy Camp, "Really? Sparrow, this is inexcusable! This may be alright for those gypsy women while they travel the roads, but you're a hero." He turned his back to her again, continuing his search, "Surely you have something more fitting for your status. Whatever happened to that lovely corset you used to wear with those wonderfly tiny shorts of yours?"

"H-how did you-?"

"Get free? Really Sparrow, you were far to careless. Leaving me all to my lonesome tied up while you decided to fall asleep next to your bathtub; and here I thought you were a sensible woman."

"Next to my-!" Sparrow stared at herself in shock, realizing why Reaver was fishing through her closet. Heat rose in her face as she held the blankets as close to her person without causing the fabric to fuse with her skin, "What did you do to me?" The dizziness returned to her then, and Sparrow closed her eyes, to weak to keep them open, "I swear, Reaver, I'll-"

"My dear, in your current condition, I doubt there's much you could do to a harmless beatle, let alone me. Ah!" He stood, holding in his hand a shimmering silk nightgown, one that had been a gift to her from the tailor in Westcliff. Reaver looked it over critically, "I guess this will have to do, though white is such a boring color." He folded it in his hand, almost gently, then sat at the edge of Sparrow's bed, "Now, I need you to sit up."

Her hand swipped at him weakly, only earning her a mocking laugh, "Now now, none of that. You'll catch cold if you don't dress yourself." He flashed her an impish grin, "Unless you'd like me to keep you warm; in fact, I believe I prefer that option. Dressing another person seems somewhat boring."

"You're not dressing me, Reaver!"

"If it's because of some sense of modesty, forget your worried," he looked her up and down, as if he could see her through the blanket, "you have nothing I haven't seen before. Although few had such appealing assets as you, dear."

Sparrow looked away, to embarrassed to meet his eyes, "Please, Reaver, just let me do it...!" A warm hand gently carressed her neck, and before she knew what was happening Reaver had lifted her body into a sitting position, holding her there as if she weighed no more than a doll. She could feel a blush burning her cheeks, and cursed herself for being so weak. If I wasn't so sick, she kept repeating, over and over in her head as Reaver's deep green eyes smiled at her.

She could feel his thumb trace the outline of her spine, and for a moment Sparrow saw something in Reaver's eyes that made her stomach flip. Then the pirate lifted the dress he'd been holding over her head, "Lift your arms, if you can." Reluctantly Sparrow did as she was told, feeling like a child. The silk was mercifully cool against her flushed skin, and as the fabric past her throbbing forehead she sighed a bit in relief, regretting it had fallen over her body so quickly.

Reaver then leaned her back against the pillow, removing his hand just as gently as he had placed it there. Standing, he then reached towards her and grabbed the end of her skirt, dragging it slowly down until it covered her stomach and upper thighs. He stood back, a hand resting under his chin as he studied his work critically, "Yes, that will do nicely. Now," Reaver turned his back to her, creating more ruffling noises but what he was doing was hidden behind his form. Sparrow quickly saw him sling his cloak around his shoulders in one fluid motion, fastening the chain around its star-shaped fastener. Without more than a smile, Reaver then turned towards the door, steeping into the candle-light.

Sparrow's heart stopped for a moment, and before she could control herself she shouted, "Reaver-!"

His laughed echoed from the hallway, "Don't fret, my dear! I shall be back momentarily; we have business to discuss."

Sparrow had the sinking feeling that he meant the business end of a pistol.

The rain did horrors to his hair, a with his hair his mood. The streets were always filthy, but it seemed the rain only made it worse; like a brown river of garbage cascading down to pollute his prestine seas. She didn't seem to like the rain that much either, as he watched the tumoltulous waters toss and turn in an angry tempest, white waves crashing against dock and cliffside respectively. A sinking feeling began forming in his stomach, and as if on que a heartwrenching crash came from the docks below. As he turned the corner between the brothel Reaver witnessed the death of his newly aquired ship. The poor thing never had a chance in this storm, being docked and tied down while it raged around it.

A mornful sigh passed his lips, "All that hard work for naught." The world flashed around him, and for a moment he was transfixed on the celestial display that played out before him. The storm followed its grand entrance with an ear-shattering thunderclap, so loud it shook the ground beneath his feet. He could hear the brothel patron's wooping or cursing the raging tempest, only to all change into a breathless awe as a second bolt graced the sea's surface, the light shining so brightly it burned the eyes. Reaver wished he would have stayed out to sea just a day or two longer, to battle this monster head on. But now it seemed it would be a while before he could rejoin his love once more, least he grew gills and fins. Turning on his heel, Reaver began the lone walk back to the mansion, the storm giving him a grand blast of thunder as a farewell.

As he walked past the gate the dog began to whine again, and Reaver shot him a distasteful glance. Once he had put Sparrow to bed he decided to tie the mutt up outside, not wanting to deal with the dog further. However, now as the beast stared at him with those big brown eyes, he couldn't help but feel a painge of guilt. Perhaps it wouldn't be to terrible to keep him in the basement, since the dog couldn't get into to much mischief with his rear passage safely sealed. As he walked closer the smell of wet dog assulted his nostrils like barrage of armed men. The dog simply barked, wagging his tail happily as someone came close to him. Reaver held his nose, reaching to untie the rope that held the dog to the gate. It gave way with a simple tug (thankfully), and with little coaxing the dog followed him up the stairs, happy to be out of the storm.

He was slightly surprised to see the door to his study already open, though there had yet to be a fire lit in its fireplace. Reaver felt the rope in his hand grow taut, the dog whining and jumping in a desperate attempt to reach the room before him. Not wanting his study to be anihilated by muddy paws, but also not wishing to dislocate his shoulder, Reaver let the dog loose, praying he would only go as far as his target was. Grabbing an extra candle from the hallway, Reaver followed to mutt into the darkness of the room, hoping he was correct in who was sitting within.

Based on the happy whimpers and whispered praises his assumsions had been correct, for sitting in the corner where he used to read was Sparrow, her face visibly pale even in the dimness of the candlelight. Even though he could see the lines of pain in her face, she still smiled warmly as the dripping animal layed kisses all over her bar arms and hands. Reaver watched this for a moment, quickly growing bored of the affectionate display and went to the fireplace, leaning down to inspect the pit. The logs looked as though they could be reused, and sure enough with a simple torn piece of paper the room was filled with a warm glow.

The storm outside still raged, and by the look on her face the one inside little Sparrow's head was much the same. Denied his regular chair, Reaver simply pulled one of the extras from the table near the right of the room, sitting down contently while watching the lightening flash from beyond his windows. The world seemed to go on in a calming silence, until the dog had finished with his happy hellos and decided it was time to warm himself by the fire. Reaver watched him roll up onto the floor rug next to the flames, annoyed at the amount of muddy pawprints that were left behind. Upon further inspection, he found his study had stayed much the way he had left it. The grandfather clock still chimmed away grimly as the gentle glow of the fireplace reflected upon the red and gold furnishings that rest around it. Some of his books were missing, though his shelves still looked the same, if not a little worn for wear. He had a feeling that those missing volumes would be found upstairs, but that was for later. He turned to look at his companion, curiosity sparkling in his eyes, "Why did you leave my study the same?"

"What?" She seemed to wake from her own little world, startled for a moment that someone else was in the room with her. Then clarity, however small, seeped into her eyes and Sparrow shrugged, "I don't know. I guess I liked it the way it was." She leaned down, cradling her forehead between her hands, breathing deeply.

"Are you alright, love?" She shook her head, her body visibly shaking. Reaver sighed, "Why did you come downstairs if you knew you were only going to make yourself sick?"

A weak laugh came from her, "Well, I thought you were going to kill me, so I guess I'd rather meet my fate head on instead of asleep in a bed upstairs."

"Such a grim disposition on life for one so young," Reaver leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head, "besides, I can't kill you yet. You owe me to much money to kill you now."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you are the cause of my ship being destroyed, and it seems your intent on denying me my home, so until we come up with some sort of argreement I've decided you're more useful to me breathing."

"I can only assume you're not going to leave me alone until I help you?"

"You assume correctly."

"I could always just kill you myself."

He laughed gaily, "You could try, dear Sparrow." He gave her a taunting look, "You'd fail, but you could try."

She giggled, a reaction he wasn't expecting. Reading his expression, Sparrow pointed towards him, "You're not that threatening when your soaking wet, you know?"

For the first time since he'd gotten home Reaver realised how cold he was. Strands of dark-brown hair streaked against his forehead, and his image must have been truely ridiculous. He looked up to return her teasing, only to find she had disappeared. There was a soft russling outside the door, but before he could investigate Sparrow returned, tossing a towel his way. He snatched it out of the air, quickly taking it to his head, then wrapped it around his shoulders. Sparrow returned to her seat, her legs gratefully giving way as she sank into the chair, "You should sit closer to the fire; you'll be warmer."

"I believe your dog has already taken that position," he raised an eyebrow, "kindness? From you, Sparrow?"

"Thank the migraine, Reaver." She sighed heavily, "Don't look to far into it; I just couldn't imagine how annoying you'd be with a cold, based on how you are presently."

Reaver laughed, crossing his legs, "You know, most would find my charming and witty."

"Most also haven't had the pleasure of meeting your little shadow friends in Wraithmarsh."

"True, and those that have shortly died anyway."

"At least they didn't have to live long after...," her eyes grew darker, "Reaver, how on earth could you do something so terrible?"

So many reasons popped into his head at that moment, but he didn't give voice to them. Instead, he felt his face grow cold, and his voice held a note he had almost forgotten he was capable of producing, "After three-hundred years, you grow numb to such trivities."

"Reaver?"

"Enough of such dreary subjects!" His face sprang back into its usual form, his voice merry once more. Reaver stood then, placing the towel on the chair and began unfastening his cloack. It fell to the floor in a wet heap, the dog jumping at the sudden noise. He then began to remove the bow-tie that was around his neck, followed by unfastening the buttons that held his shirt together.

For a moment Sparrow watched him, not realising what he was doing. Then it hit her like a brick wall, and she stood quickly, though a bit to quickly for her system to catch up with her. Dizziness consumed her, and she felt her body tilting forward. Just as she thought she was about to meet the ground, strong arms held her up, lifting her back to her feet as quickly as she had fallen off of them. Her forehead leaned against the cool fabric of whoever had saved her, and when she realized who it was she didn't seem to care; it felt to good to care. The throbbing seemed to lessen, and she sighed in relief as the pain subsided momentarily. She could hear his deep laughter echoing in his chest, "Yes, I'm sure this looks funny, but my forehead is thanking you right now."

"If I knew you were so affectionate when sick, I'd keep you like this all the time."

"You're confusing 'affection' for...for something else."

"Lose our train of thought, did we?"

"I think I need to go lay down."

He laughed again, "Shall I join you?" Reluctantly, Sparrow pushed herself from his body, wobbling on unsure feet. She rocked dangerously to the side, but before she tilted to far Reaver grabbed her arm, gently, "Perhaps I'll just escort you back to your room; you'd be no fun in this state."

"In any other I'd have probably scratched your face off by now." Sparrow couldn't help herself; she leaned most of her weight on the pirate's shoulder, allowing herself to be led through the house. She could faintly hear Jack following closely behind.

Reaver only sighed, "Of all the things on my body to scratch, why my face?"

"It seemed to be the target that would most affect you."

"Such a cold woman; I wonder what it was to make you so."

"A-another time," her eyelids were growing heavier by the second, and she almost tripped while taking the stairs. Sparrow never realized that her body had been lifted into his arms, already asleep by the time they'd reached the bedroom.