Playlist: 'Sorrow' from Gladiator.
This song should naturally end when you're reading the sentence that begins 'Elizabeth looked as though she was about to...' so when the song ends, don't let it carry on into another one by accident. Let's not spoil the atmosphere!
'The Park on Piano' from Finding Neverland.
And lastly, 'The Kite' from Finding Neverland.
12
It was a Friday morn' when we set sail
And we were not so far from the land
When our captain, he spied a mermaid so fair
With a comb and glass in her hand.
'Sorrow'.
Finally, when he thought his legs could carry him no further and he would surely drown, Jack's toes touched the soft sea bed. His body began gradually to rise to meet the wretched island, with the sloping wet sands that were stirred up by his boots.
He followed Elizabeth's wading path, feeling the ropes around his wrists slowly slackening.
He kept pulling on them. Shook them off, as he found himself waist deep, knee deep, ankle deep.
It didn't feel real.
She was waiting for him ashore, gazing at the Pearl as it disappeared swiftly on the horizon.
So swiftly. So opposite to the way everything was here. Timeless, soft, gradual, slow.
They too, in their painfully gradual ascent to the island, had become slow motion beings, stuck in the endless waves of this outcast universe.
It wasn't only the ship that had left them behind.
The whole world had deserted them.
Jack followed her eyes. Spotted the tiny smudge that was his whole life's work and dreams, slipping away once again, dashing his every hope, after coming so close.
So very close.
"That's the second time I've had to watch that man sail away with my ship."
Elizabeth looked as though she was about to touch his arm as he stalked past her, but drew her hand back, when she saw the dismal look on his face. His eyes were overshadowed - and not just by the dark kohl that always rimmed them. There was something terrible in his stare that she didn't want to provoke.
Music Stops.
She followed him quickly up the sands, as he headed directly towards his first and possibly only hope of comfort.
"So what do we do now?" she asked, tentatively but expectantly.
"Nothing." he spat.
A slightly taken aback silence.
"But - but you were marooned on this island before, weren't you? So we can escape in the same way." she chased after him, her voice hardening a little, the only-child syndrome beginning to show through her concerned exterior.
"To what point and purpose, young missy?" he retorted glumly, stopping to take her in properly.
Her sea-soaked hair washed in waves down her shoulders, her delicate jaw was set in unladylike determination. But her wide eyes told him that she was really scared.
He discovered that he didn't care at present.
"The Black Pearl is gone, and unless you have a rudder and a lot of sails hidden in that bodice -" he glanced furtively at her undergarments, making her blush furiously, "- unlikely - we are never going to catch them up in time. Savvy?"
He checked the tree trunk nearest him, then took four large steps to the spot he was hoping the rum would still be.
He never thought, in a hundred years, that he would have to perform this location ritual again.
It cut him to the core, that thought.
Here we are again.
After swearing vengeance, after all that ruddy effort, after all those bleeding years of tracking, hoping, scraping by, he had finally had the traitor first mate in his grasp and the ship in his sights.
And now he was back at square one. In a hopeless cycle.
How long would it take to find Barbossa and a good enough deal to barter with this time?
Months? Years? Aeons?
How old would he be when he could finally clutch those gorgeous dark spokes in his hands again, as his own?
When would he see a crew bow down to his every whim again?
Mind you, Hector's being very mortal again would come in useful, when he finally got off this island and found the blaggard.
If he ever got away from this hellish place again...
He'd sold his soul for that ship.
And he missed her.
The girl would never understand that. She had never owned a thing so beautiful.
Elizabeth gazed blankly at him, flummoxed, as he jumped up and down a few times, feeling the springy boards that told him he was in the right place.
"But you're Captain Jack Sparrow! You vanished from under the eyes of seven agents of the East India Company, you sacked Nassau Port without even firing a shot!"
He ignored her. Her belief in him was very flattering, and the slightly romantic tone in her voice even more so, but it wasn't going to help him at this present time.
All he needed right now was a stiff drink.
She bit her lower lip. Chewed on it hesitantly.
"How did you escape last time?" she asked, eventually, in a soft, pleading voice.
He sighed, and finally turned to look at her.
He hardly knew why he was acting so aloof. If anything it was her right to.
Classy wench.
And yet here she was, looking rather like a child just informed of the non-existence of fairies.
Still hoping for a smile of reassurance, and the knowledge that the magic was still true, that she had been wickedly deceived, just for a moment there.
He didn't want to disappoint her faith.
But then again, he didn't want to be stuck on this godforsaken prison.
Who cared, really?
"Last time... Well, I was here a grand total of three days, 'Lizabeth, alright?" he heaved the cellar door open and ducked down into the underground haven, "The rumrunners used this island as a cache. Came by, and I was able to barter a passage off. From the looks of things, they've long been out of business. Probably have your friend Norrington to thank for that."
There was a silence so long and painful that he didn't dare look up from the two bottles in his hands as he ascended the steps back onto the grassy sand.
Then... she did something he had never heard her do before.
She laughed.
He glanced at her, indignant.
"What?"
She just looked at him hopelessly, and the sound came out again. A genuine, warm, fond laugh, at the same time genuine and disbelieving.
"That's your story?" she choked, "That's the secret - grand adventure - of the infamous Jack Sparrow?"
She put a hand over her mouth, and then did something very different.
He didn't know quite what to make of this new hiccuping, involuntary noise either.
Her eyes closed tight shut as her shoulders jerked, and thick tears beaded slowly from her eyes, one by one, rolling and falling gently to bless the ground.
Women. Complete mysteries.
She moved her hand from her mouth to her forehead, leaning into it, eyes crumpling in delighted sorrow.
The hysterics got worse, and Jack began to wonder if he was supposed to offer any form of comfort to stem this ridiculousness.
He took a very tentative step towards her, eyes fixated on her face warily.
She seemed to lean towards him, expectant, and again, childish.
One arm awkwardly around her shoulder. Success.
One of her arms gracefully around his neck. Good.
His other arm - very warily - around her waist.
'Park on Piano'.
Her free arm, in sudden relief of his warmth, flung itself gratefully around his chest.
The good ol' one-arm-under, one-arm-over embrace.
Friendly. Comforting. Yes.
Comforting, and warm, and...
He tried to push more suggestive thoughts out of his mind.
They would only be flattened later, so best he flattened them himself, now.
He was snapped out of his brief reverie by the muffled sound of her voice against his shoulder.
"You spent three days - lying on a beach - drinking rum?" she asked, the wholeness of a smile in her voice, but her petite frame still racked with shivers.
"Afraid so, darling." he murmured.
Her damp hair was strewn down his front, separating the materials of their clothing.
He lifted the arm that was around her shoulder - hardly believing what he was daring, but daring anyway - and very, very softly drew his fingers through her long locks, all the way down to the tips, and then back up again to gently caress stray strands from her face.
She stared straight ahead over his back, at the endless blue horizon separating them from the rest of life.
"So that's it." she said in a blank, serious, hoarse tone, all the false joy suddenly gone from her body, "This is where we starve, and die."
"Luv." he tried to console her, pressing the back of her head with his palm. But he had nothing more to say.
He had to say something more. She was shaking in his arms, and he disliked sensing her so disturbed. It was nothing like the strong, strict, blazing soul he had seen, triumphantly gleaming out from those hazel orbs in his Port Royal cell.
She just needed something to set her alight again.
"Ye can't insult me like that." he continued with effort, "Who am I?"
"You're Captain Jack Sparrow." she stated again, this time with less aggressiveness, but still with a flicker of that romantic hope she had so boldly shown him just before.
Always with the Captain. How very fond he was of her for that.
"An' what am I famous for, luv?"
"Escaping seven agents... Nassau Port, not even a single shot. And - I heard you traded Chinese silks for sword lessons, from an Italian master." she mumbled, resting her cheek slightly more comfortably against his collar, "Is that true?"
"So you've read about me." he beamed, tightening his grip subtly around her small waist.
"Oh yes, I have."
"And you liked what you read?"
"Very much so."
"And what would you say if you read that I'd spend three days - how did you put it? - lying on a beach, drinking rum - back in your boring old Governor's house?"
"I would say... that you were a ludicrous man, as well as an extraordinary one."
"And would you say, luv, that I have never gotten out of a situation safe and soundly?"
"Well... no. Because you're here."
"Indeed I am here. And so are you."
"So what are we really going to do, Jack?"
She gently squeezed the back of his neck with her soft, thin hand.
He liked that. Very much.
"We're going to do what I always do. Wait for Fate to drop us a line, darling. And use a dash of cunning while we're at it."
"You're trying to talk yourself out of this. It can't all be like that, you know. All talk."
"Of course it can! I'll talk us right off this spit of land and across the ocean, if I have to. But I won't have to, Lizzie, luv. We'll think of something."
Music Stops.
He led her to the other side of the island, where there was more shade beneath the trees, and directed her to sit down with her rum bottle.
He kept a safe distance, in case she decided to draw him back in with that delicious, feminine touch she had on her hands.
He didn't know why, though. If they were going to be here indefinitely, there was bound to be some advantage-taking sooner or later. At least, that was what his gut and his manhood were telling him.
His head and his heart, however...
She was a good lass. She was a refined, sprightly, beautiful, sophisticated girl.
He wanted to steer clear. Or at least, until she asked him to come closer.
Then, he didn't think he would be able to resist for any given amount of time.
Except that she would never ask.
Why would she?
"I'm hungry, Jack." she muttered as he took the cork off his own bottle and spat it out, in the most pirately manner possible.
Why was he acting like such a vagabond? Showing off his ruddy filthiness.
Because he was one. Because he was filthy, and low.
To draw the line between them. To make sure he didn't build himself up for a mighty fall.
Vulnerability. The very word, not even formed properly in his mind - just the vague sense of it - sent him shuddering.
If he was going to die here, he was going to die with the dignity of a man rejecting, not rejected. Jack Sparrow didn't have feelings.
Captain Jack Sparrow had only riches and power on his mind.
So why did he feel flushed and exposed when she looked up at him so dependently?
It made him angry, but he hid even that.
Anger would only suggest that he cared. And he didn't.
So why was he using silly pet names like Luv and Darling at the end of every sentence?
Foolish blighter.
"Well, we'll soon see to that." he winked, taking a deep swig and immediately feeling a thousand times better.
Though he had managed to talk Elizabeth out of panic, it certainly hadn't worked its charms on himself.
The plan was now only to drink himself into oblivion, and either die overnight, or deal with everything else once he had a comfortably blurry headache.
"I can't just drink this." she protested as he motioned for her to do the same, "Isn't there any fruit around here?"
They both looked up, and noticed the inevitable bunch of coconuts hanging a good twenty feet above their heads.
Jack gave Elizabeth a grudging look, then sighed in resignation.
"Out of the way, Lizzie. An' take the rum, I don't want it smashed."
Elizabeth paused before shifting.
What had he just called her?
It was such a degradation, such a step below her real name. Had no elegance, no refinement.
It was such a common-sounding name.
But she liked it.
Pirate Lizzie.
First Mate, Lizzie Swann.
It suited her new swashbuckling life a good sight more than Elizabeth.
Jack fluttered his hands at her, and she realised she'd been looking distantly at his left shoulder for the past few seconds, motionless.
"Move." he reiterated helpfully, just in case she hadn't gotten it the first time.
Five minutes later, he was still gripping the tree's trunk between his hands, trying to disturb it enough to bring some of its precious food down.
"Harder!" Elizabeth cheered from a safe distance, her bonny face lit up with temporary amusement.
He had better succeed, and soon, before the look transformed back into a grumpy scowl again.
"Hang in there, luv." he called back as an idea pounced on him.
He ran straight through the sparse trees to their original landing spot, and picked up the coil of blasted rope.
It was just as he was beginning to ascend the trunk, using the rope in an outstandingly traditional Chinese fashion (for those readers who get the Mulan reference), when three fat coconuts finally decided to drop from their precarious places.
The first missed Jack by inches, the second fell clear - but the third hit him square on the forehead. Lucky he was only a few feet off the ground, because he immediately let go and fell flat on his back, emitting a resounding "Bugger."
Elizabeth, at first shrieking slightly with shock, and now breathless for laughter, rushed to his side and knelt over him.
'The Kite'.
"Jack? Are you alright?"
"Uurrgghh." he grunted, hands waving slightly at his sides.
He looked like an overturned tortoise. Elizabeth snickered despite herself.
He squinted up at her infinitely concerned expression; lips softly pouting in expectation of a more definitive answer, eyebrows slanting (for once) away from one another, above her sweet titillating eyes.
Her feather-soft strands of hair were tickling his rugged cheek in a very sensory manner.
He snorted to himself in mischievous amusement, then let his eyelids slide shut, moaning slightly in mock agony.
"Ouch." he whined.
"Does it hurt much? Are you concussed?"
"I don't know." he said - very bravely - wincing with exaggeration as she touched his head with her fingertips.
Those fingertips... he had warned himself about that delicious feminine touch.
"I'm sorry. It's all my fault." she tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't, rocking with silent giggles.
"My comfort matters not." he asserted dramatically, still with his eyes shut, basking in the glory of her lingering caress across his brow, "For the sake of fair lady's stomach."
"Your stomach, too." she bantered, poking him playfully in the torso.
"Ouuuwwww."
"Does it actually hurt that badly, or are you trying to convince me to fawn all over you?"
"Uuuhhhhh."
"Jack. Answer the question. Are you just trying to sap some sympathy?"
"Is it working?" he asked, reopening his eyes to smile at her mockingly.
Her hand snatched away from his face as quick as you could say 'bugger'.
She sighed: one of her sighs that came with a tut, that said 'I knew it', and 'You charming man, I want you to grab me by my scanty clothing and kiss me to death', all in one instant.
At least, he thought that was what her sigh meant.
And if he thought so, it was probably right.
Teasing himself was so much more enjoyable than it should be...
Music Fades Out.
"So now we need to get these open." she mused softly, picking up a coconut, and handling it in much the same way Jack would like his head to be handled on her lap.
Instead of receiving such treatment, he had sand nearly kicked in his face as she rose to her feet, and set off along the shore looking for something to bash the fruit against.
They sat around the sharp, protruding rock that had become their food-opening tool, and ate in silence. Elizabeth held up the brown shell above her face, and let its translucent white milk trickle into her mouth, with the pleasure of luxury so plain on her face, it was becoming hard for Jack not to see the sexual metaphor that he wanted so much to observe.
He chuckled to himself quietly, chewing on a piece, and feeling rather glad about her clever idea to find food. He would feel much better on a full stomach.
Except there wasn't all that much to eat.
Elizabeth's belly growled in agreement. She looked down at her empty husk, and then gazed at him sadly.
Secretly, they both knew that they were having the same idea.
And that he was probably the one who would have to carry it out.
He tried to convince himself that he was going to attempt this potential travesty for his sake, as much as for her's.
It could all go awfully pear-shaped and embarrassing if he failed.
"Look." he murmured, touching her knee briefly, "You go collect some wood for a fire, luv. I'll be in the shallows. With me blade. If I don't come back with anything good... you can't hate me. Agreed?"
"Oh, Jack. You would?" her dark eyes sparkled in the orange light of the gathering dusk.
"Don't be getting all sentimental on me, just do it." he heaved himself to his feet, and strode off in search of his sword and pistol.
Neither of them turned to look back at one other, but both had wide smirks fixed on their faces.