"Alive again?" She looked tired when she took the last bowl he'd brought for washing up.
"My imminent second death has been averted, which once again proves that I have an uncommon amount of luck." As though two little words were an optimal occasion for countless more to follow. "And it means the world to me that your cooking saved me. Do you remember? It also did back then …"
Words. Words, words, words. But he'd always talk a lot. And his mention truly made her mind wander to the day they'd met.
"Come on!" He had put on his most audacious smile. "Just a tiny one, a little one. One you can't sell anyway. Ma'am, I swear on my honourable name that I'll leave you alone at once."
The old market vendor didn't bat an eye even during his third attempt to negotiate for a free apple.
"I'm certain you're that kind," he added, casually confident. "A good deed is never lost, savvy?"
The old hag remained stoic. "I couldn't care less about good deeds!"
"Madame, I assure you, I'll –"
"Away with you!" she sneered. "Nothing in life is ever for free!"
"Well, you see, sometimes –"
"Get outta here!" the old woman shouted.
Tortuga's weekend market was bustling as usual, yet Tara kept watching that strange scenario as spellbound as everyone else in line. Directly behind the supposed master of manipulation, she had no choice but to overhear it all, and it was fairly difficult for her to hold back laughter.
He was older than her, no doubt about that. And he obviously had no money, but he surely knew well that his face, just as tanned as mischievous, could be of some advantage when required. Despite his handsome features, however, no magic seemed to work on the old saleswoman.
It was indeed bizarre, and the majority of people she knew would have been embarrassed by now, yet in him, there was no trace of shame whatsoever.
Tara couldn't help but acknowledge how oddly fascinating that whole situation was. His persistence – and he himself …
"What are you waiting for?" the old woman groaned. "Get lost!"
"But maybe if –" he was about to start again, only to get interrupted right back.
"At once!"
"All right, all right!" he mumbled with his hands up, his grin clearly too amused for his own good. "A heartfelt thank you for nothing, ma'am!"
He made room for the next customers in line, about to stroll on.
It came as a bit of a surprise after all his persuasion efforts …
Before asking for a few more groceries, Tara heard herself say, "An apple, please."
The stranger promptly turned around, like a fox on the scent of prey.
He was visibly wondering if her order was a mere coincidence, but glancing at her – and what a sight she was – he immediately decided for himself that the apple had just gotten exponentially less interesting …
Tara felt her heart pound a bit faster as he gave her a ready smirk. Quite the shame. Mere minutes had been enough for a man she didn't know at all, a man she had never spoken to, to turn her head.
She hated it already.
He unquestionably meant trouble. And chaos.
Yet his aura, maybe it'd make up for it … She couldn't resist trying to find that out.
With utmost suspicion, the stall owner complied with Tara's request. If the old lady had her way, the stranger might as well have starved. Apparently she didn't think too much of pirates – and this man was clearly one.
After impolite hesitation, the woman put a shiny green apple as well as other fruit and vegetables into her basket. Tara eventually grabbed it, left a couple of coins for her and made way.
Then, walking straight on, she held out the apple to the stranger.
He made no efforts to hide his disproportionate joy caused by such a twist of fate.
"Really for me?"
"It seemed you wanted one during those minutes you stole from my lifetime."
He took the apple and gave her a wink. "The end justifies the means. Forbidden fruits are to die for."
"And you really have nothing to pay them with but your honorable name? Quite ironic."
"You'd be surprised how much a name or soul can buy," he said, immediately waving it off. "Been out and about lately, and people only want my best."
"Most people look only for money, yes."
"Except me," he replied, a bit like a saint. "All I wanted was one apple."
"Well, frugality is a very laudable virtue."
And she couldn't help it. When he chuckled, she simply smiled at him, way to naive for her own liking and with a much too open heart.
This man was a bit insane, Tara just knew. But she had a thing for insanity now and then …
Still it felt wise to get away now.
Now or never.
"Enjoy the forbidden fruit," she hence said, already walking ahead.
"But this was such a fruitful conversation," she heard him claim as he caught up to her again. "Are you not going to tell me your name, love?" Supposedly perplexed, he glanced at her. "Without a name, how am I to woo the angel sent my way so I wouldn't starve?"
"This is Tortuga," she replied, no longer able to suppress a laugh. "And you want to woo me believing I'm an angel?"
A few golden teeth flashed. "Might depend on the name."
"Too bad. A woman is never to give that away to a stranger."
He abruptly stopped, causing her to pause as well. "Anyone is a stranger at some point, but you and I, we were right about to get to know each other, weren't we …"
"Tara Sullivan," she eventually said. "And you are?"
"Oh, surely you've heard of me." He took a bite of his apple, then spread his arms. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
A captain, of course. So awfully sure of himself.
"So, since we know each other that well now," he went on, pointing to her basket, "why won't you let me assist you in return for your noble salvation?"
She examined his daring expression. "If you think I'm going to be coy about you carrying some weight, I must disappoint you –"
"I know talk is cheap," he agreed, already taking the basket from her. "See, I'll give you a hand. Now … Where must we go?"
"My late father – may the Lord bless his soul – also used to urge me never to tell strange men where to find me."
"Oh, Tara, please," he replied in mock-indignation, "I'm no stranger anymore. Call me Jack … Or Captain, if you like, but I'll admit it'd be a bit – what? Why are you laughing?"
He knew exactly why, and now at the latest they were both well aware how much of an odd bird he was.
"Madness runs in the blood of the best of us, I guess."
"In my case it practically gallops, but thank goodness for that," he affirmed, "'cause if it didn't we probably would never have met."
"This way", she all but answered, gesturing for him to follow her along Tortuga's pier. They kept chatting, and immediately after he'd eaten his apple – everything but the stem – he put his free arm around her shoulders as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
His touch was more gentle than she'd expected. And more determined than she'd seen coming. Basically, she had always tried to avoid pirates. But her prejudice, preceding reputations regarding bad manners and general ruthlessness, were being disproved that day …
"Oh, and for the record – this whole situation back there must've left an utterly wrong impression on you," he soon hummed. "I usually get what I want …" Not exactly with enough self-deprecation he gave her a wink, and still the ambiguity of this very statement made her grin.
"What is it you usually want, besides apples?" she asked. "I'm sure you're hungry …"
"Oh indeed – frankly I'm unrestrained, love."
As if on impulse, she said, "I need to cook these vegetables before they go to waste."
"So you'd cook for me?" he translated with a dash of wishful thinking. "You'd do that?"
"Well, you're carrying the basket to my door …"
"Nothing but good times ahead," he said as though they were about to conspire. "I usually don't have all day – but one should definitely make time for the finer things in life, aye?"
Tara couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not worried you don't do that rather frequently."
"My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are being cynical."
"No, no, Mr Sparrow", she tried to deny, "I truly appreciate people in their mid-thirties, a decade ahead of me, sharing life experience."
"You weren't lying, Sully. You're really not coy at all."
"Once I know someone, I rarely ever am. And we've been over this, you're no stranger. Or are you?"
"Not at all." He grinned. "Now we're talking …"
From that day on, they would do much more than talk, and it was perfect for a while. He'd come right back to her whenever he made port in Tortuga, and she'd not even look for any other to console her after the painful loss of her father.
But soon expectation, according to Shakespeare the root of all heartache, made things all too complicated.
Whatever rules she thought of, he'd merely looked at them as guidelines, and despite his words, his actions made her question her sanity and his character much too frequently. She hated him for it, he knew. And he'd sail away.
And even though their Goodbye hurt as hell, it was for the better.
Jack had a debt to pay to Jones, after all, and Tara wouldn't see him again until the Locker spat him out once more.
Reminiscing about just that she kept cleaning the residues of the Fosforera in the bowls. And yet, despite this active dissipating of emotion, she soon couldn't help but interrupt him in his excessive speech about his last months and adventures with something entirely different.
"Teague and you." She waited until he'd look at her, a bit perplexed. "Do you always talk to each other like that? Even when you have dinner with others?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're both terribly rude to one another …"
He was visibly confused. "That was the politest conversation I had with him in … ten years?"
He was dead serious, and that finally made Tara sigh in resignation. "Oh well …" She tried not to, but she just had to say it. "All I know is that my evenings are usually a little quieter. And the only anomaly today is you."
Winking, he spread his arms. "You're welcome, love."
"No, no, you misunderstand – I like quiet evenings."
"Then let me fundamentally change your mind about that again." It sounded like an invitation.
"When things are at their best, that's when one should stop, right? So thanks for your visit, Sparrow." She pushed him aside to get to more of the Fosforera bowls. "You can schedule our next reunion in about seven years from now. We'll stay in our rhythm then."
"Tomorrow, Pabellón Criollo would be a dream," he thoroughly ignored her statement, and it made her put the bowl away in disbelief. "Don't look at me like that, darling, I'll get you all the ingredients if you cook for me."
"The ingredients would be the very least. But no need to hurry anyway, I'm sure you mean tomorrow in seven years from now."
"Tara …" He held her gaze, downright weary. "Look, I know –"
"No, no," she promptly talked over him, putting an index finger on his lips. "No. You don't know a thing. Don't pretend otherwise."
"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you and that's why you had to come here." Never did he apologise, never did he admit mistakes. She was downright overwhelmed – because here he was, doing just that. As if time had taught him a lesson after all. "I'm sorry you had to go through … all of this … on your own and that I didn't come to look for you sooner. I shouldn't have left you in the first place. But believe me, I've regretted it constantly over the last few years."
For a couple of heartbeats, it got quiet. As quiet as it could get, given the children were scuffling with the dog next door, and the usual sounds of guitar play came from outside.
It didn't take anything away from the moment, though.
Tara lowered her head just when she feared that the pattern might repeat itself. She clearly hadn't learned her lesson. His paradoxically sincere glance from black eyes confused her more than years of cold rage, as it did every time …
"Words are smoke and mirrors," she replied nonetheless. "And you've always been loud, Jack. But talk is cheap." The more she said, the quieter she spoke. Almost as though she intuitively matched her vocal pitch to the very intimacy in the air he initiated – something that immediately annoyed her.
Then she made her next mistake. She sought his gaze again and it was like a silent challenge. Her head knew it was only playing into his hands right now, but she wasn't getting her quiet evening back anyway …
And he wasted no time. Brazen as she knew him, he took her hands in his, non-verbally now, of course – and so ridiculously obliging and honest and thoughtful …
Yet she kept her skin against his. She didn't even want him to let go, and he could literally smell it. Having him that near felt far too familiar. As if he hadn't been gone for too long. Still a lifetime had passed.
"My admittedly rare moments of silence always depended on the situation," he then claimed.
She could sense it. She gave him too much opportunity to compose their interaction, Tara knew how good and manipulative he could be at it – she'd been there before. But just as ever, she stupidly wanted to see where it led …
"I don't mean to argue with you." Though she told him so now, it was still too tempting to have the last word. "But … there was hardly a situation in which you ever shut up." She tried hard to be as dismissive as possible, but he didn't even flinch.
No, on the surface, he much rather radiated uncharacteristic poise. But she knew him better than that – restraint and patience were naturally difficult for him.
"You of all people know best when I did."
Her heartbeat increased at those words because yes – she did indeed. She knew how to make him speechless, and once he was, they used to be at their best. Without words, they'd always been maddeningly concordant.
Merely remembering that, however, made her also recall how his touch had burned her every time so far.
So why did she even want him closer now?
As if he suspected it, he turned her in his arms as he would often do, only now for the first time after all these years. His warm body against her back was highly confusing, but even worse was how gently he embraced her.
The children alone connected them forever, Tara had known that for years. Sparrow hadn't. The realisation hit him all the harder now, and he rejoiced in it more sincerely than he ever thought possible.
He'd missed far too much. Her laughter, the way her body was changing. The possibility of supporting her at least by getting his hand broken from her grip when his children were born … But after all, wasn't he here now, right where he was obviously supposed to be?
Out of force of old habit, he reverently raked his fingers through her dark hair, brushing his lips against her neck to breathe a kiss onto her skin. Then a second one, a third one …
He held her so close, and the maelstrom of all the old contradictions – absolute trust because she knew him better than he knew himself, and purest scepticism, for the very same reason – gave way to a stifled moan of hers.
Her skin against his lips was one of the scenarios he could hardly wait for during his search for her. And here she was at last, still making him fall silent as she used to.
Tara's pulse soared to her own annoyance, and surrendering, she allowed herself to just enjoy the moment. She closed her eyes as his warm breath on her body released all the tension specifically he had caused.
That thought, however, immediately made her mad again. No, he was not curing her! He'd caused all her problems in the first place! Why did he always bring chaos with him? And why, against her better judgement, would she still be tempted to engage in most unholy practises with him at once?
No. Abruptly she turned around, pulling herself together to push him away.
It obviously startled him out of all his concentration on her body, subsequently drawing his attention back to her angry face. The look on his was the same as that of the dog next door. He, too, was cooperative and well-behaved whenever he was hungry …
She forced herself to cross her arms.
In front of her stood the personified impudence, the literal lack of commitment – so how dared he now pretend to be remorseful, calm and loving?
And why did dealing with his children come so easy to him? He'd only known them for a few hours and actually he was supposed to be the last person on earth fit to be a father. Why did everything always fall into his lap, including herself, once he happened to be around? Damn you, Sparrow, she thought.
While he only repeated, "Pabellón Criollo?" Stoic as Zeno of Citium himself. At that, his son made the same wide eyes as he did when he wanted something. "Tomorrow. Not in seven years from now."
She massaged her temples in exasperation. Of course the headache hadn't gone away, it was just about to intensify … "Fine … But you do get the meat, and you get it from Hazel – I trust the others even less – and you pay for it!"
"And if I had to sell my soul for it!" The genuine smile almost didn't suit him. But it did distract her for a heartbeat long enough to let him breathe another kiss onto her cheek.
It just came over him as he told her, "I really missed you like hell, Tara, with all your young blood and that same old rage, believe it or not …"
"You'd better go and look after your children, they've waited long enough for you," was all she could think of to say. "Play hide and seek with them, or read to them, sing –"
"Shall I teach them a song?"
Her lethargy seemed to make his thirst for action come to life. They often felt completely the opposite way.
"That …" She hesitated. "You'd do that?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know, I just always thought you would … not sing." No sooner had she said it than it seemed ridiculous. Why had she believed that? Shaking off her doubts about her judgements, she added, "Tia found a song book on the pier the other day, she wanted to show it to you, once you'd meet her …" She waved it off, outright tired of the explanation. "Just tell her you want to see it. However … while you're here, you'd better teach them something useful, yes? They'll be happy with that, too."
"What would make you happy?" He tilted his head.
"The most?"
He just nodded.
"I think if you could get out of my sight and do just that, I'd be quite content."
"Excuse me then," he replied, still far too cheerful. "Thank you for your Fosforera. I missed that, too."
You're welcome. It was on the tip of her tongue. But really, he didn't deserve those words. So Tara swallowed them, preferring to watch him leave, torn as ever. Next door the kids and him were soon busy with Teague's nautical charts on the floor, at least after it was settling with the dog that they weren't meant for him.
She regularly had trouble getting her way with the old prison guard, but Jack was basically a stray dog himself. That seemed to make dealing with one a lot easier.
Soon the children were calculating courses to distant destinations with him while Teague played the guitar outside with the dog snoozing next to him.
Everything was as usual, except that Sparrow suddenly sat in the middle of the scenery of their supposedly perfect world and grinned at her children.
And all of a sudden her heart was aching. She could no longer talk herself out of it, it was pointless.
She had missed him. The children had …
Like hell, because he could be better than he most of the time believed himself to be …
"Go sit with them," she suddenly heard Teague say beside her.
"Didn't even notice you coming in." She held onto one of the bowls even tighter. "Edward, I can't, I have to –"
He took the dishes from her – he'd never done that before, ever – and gently pushed her towards the old door frame.
"Go to your children and … their father." He smirked at her as she now didn't know what to do with her hands. "Odd, isn't it? He's here." When she gave him no answer, completely in thought, Teague put a hand on her shoulders. "The crescent moon brought him here, there's bound to be some reason. You know, I don't think he's doing too badly with those two."
"I know. They're so in love …"
"Can you blame them?"
She wanted to answer in the affirmative.
But bearing false witness was and remained to be a sin.