BY : hallowedmaiden
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth
Dragon prints: 566
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Disney, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean and I make no profit off of this story.

The firelight glittered in the air of the room, dazzled her open and bright eyes, the heat from the flames washing across her skin. A burning that sunk into her body, wrapped around her limbs...cindersashes, such a bright light that touched everything she was looking at...she wanted to arch her body, to yell into the open window, to thrash around...had never felt consumption like this before...a fever, dangerous and otherworldly, prickling at her...the sweat had long made her bed sheets damp underneath her...fever, making her skin glow red, a blush that intensified with each labored breath she struggled to force out of her mouth. Yet, they did leave her parted lips, each one decompressing her chest to only drive her to emptiness, and then inhaled back in to remind her of the fire that was in her chest too…

...from the fire in the room, the firelight, the brightness, everything was so bright

So alive.

Beautiful, the bed sheets with their intricate embroidery, beautiful...the way the cloth wrinkled and curved, reminding her of the paintings of deserts she had seen...had always wondered how hot they were, how the sand would feel between her toes, the wind on her face...the sun beating down on the top of her head...the shadows in the room dancing and bouncing around the walls, floor, across the ceiling…

It was the firelight.

The energy from the flames that was making her feel like this, wild, as though her soul might climb out of her body with her breath and dance with the shadows, like her blood might float out of her skin to mingle with the ashes of her corpse as it combusted...her bones were melting, her heart was aching, twisting, trying to find something, some cure for this madness.

But there was none, no cure, no help, nothing. She was confined to this bed, unable to escape the growing blaze, the terror of the...maybe she didn't want a cure...maybe she liked this sickness, this wanting. Wanting of what...of what

She wanted life, she wanted something, everything, a dazzling pile of diamonds, a drink from the freshest stream of water, to smell roses, to throw her hands up to the night sky and collect the stars...she wanted to see, to know, to feel...wanted to step into the high fire and let it carry her over the edge into the black space of damnation and hysteria.

Her chest heaved once more, and then again, sweat prickling there in the valley between her breasts, even with the open window, it was so hot, the cool air felt warm, possessed...her legs ached with the urge to use them, to run through the town not caring if her feet caught on the stones in the street...she wanted to run somewhere, to spin in circles until the entire world around her would never stop spinning...until she spun into another world where none of this mattered and she could have everything she wanted and it was all at her fingertips.

Where the firelight burned so bright that it was brighter than the sun on a summer day, where there were no rules, no standards, no one to tell her she couldn't or that it wasn't proper

A swallow, then another, sticking in her throat as it convulsed...her eyes slammed shut, the impression of the room leaving strange blurry images in the darkness of her eyelids, and she squeezed them tighter until it hurt, but it still wasn't even enough, everything was still so chaotic around her, the entire world was going up in flames.

Then she opened her eyes to let the world back in.

There was no fire, no firelight, no burning, only the soft moonlight from the open window, a blue, the color of a sky in a painting, slashes of blue everywhere, on the edges of the furniture, on the floorboards…

Her bed was an ocean of blue, the sheets were moving, her eyes following the lines and curves of the wrinkles...waves...but they weren't moving…

Everything jumbled a bit when she shook her head to clear it, to...what?

The firelight.


It was coming from inside, from her heart, from her soul, coursing through her blood, binding to her bones…

...she was the firelight, she was glowing with the force of it, ascending into a state of fever that made her feel insane...there was a poltergeist inside of her wreaking havoc, squeezing its ghostly hands around her heart, pumping it frantically, making her skin awash with gooseflesh, turning every thought into a racing bird, streaking across the sky...or a shooting star, falling back to earth in a shower of death and the end times.

The end silly of her to compare this to end times, like it was some kind of apocalypse...the impression left on her skin, on her body, like the feeling of the leather, the cloth...the heat, it had melted onto her in all its glory…

It may very well kill her...end times, more like time for it to end, but it never was, would never end, was as permanent as the color blue looking like blue, as the day and night, as water and fire and ice and ash and light and…

It...what a non-descriptive word, yet...capable of holding so much meaning, hidden meaning, especially when it didn't even mean it, when it was just a substitution for a far more dangerous that was surely responsible for this transformation from woman into something, she wished it was just an it, that it was something, an object, a concept, something she could walk away from…

But it wasn't an was a hurricane, swirling and deadly, destroying her piece by piece...its winds piercing her mind with dangerous force, so sudden, so swift…

A jagged strike of lightning atop her very head, sending the shock all the way down into the ground beneath her, and further to the core of the earth, only to come back up and race around was made of fire, and lovely poison, and unyielding flesh, sun browned…

Poison or potion, poison or alluretoxin, beautiful, damning...elevating...seduction...which one of those things was responsible for the trembling in her hands, the rush of blood through her heart, the metamorphosis…

It was terrifying.

It wasn't an it.

It was a he.

And he was firelight too.


She didn't dare think or speak his name, his name alone having the power to twist her insides into lethal knots...but his face...and even his face was haunting her more thoroughly than any ghost or demon sinful, so…spellbinding, stupefying...he may be a he, but nothing could convince her he was human in that moment...not when the entire fabric of the world had melted away…

Before, when she had been regurgitating water from her lungs onto the dock, before, when her life had been a series of windows into freedom only for it to be ripped away from her, going years, months, days, hours back...she could only see the staleness, the mundane, her life had held no artist would enjoy painting it only held gray, melancholy, and a mourning black, mourning for a life she would never have…

Then, his face. Above her. As though he had been sent to her, summoned by herself, by how hard she had willed it in her fantasies and wild thoughts during the dead of hard she had willed him to sweep her away...the stories of him…

But the reality...the water dripping from his chin onto her chest, the droplets of water clinging to his tan cheeks, framed by a mane of tangled black as a crow, black as sin...exotic...a blend of spices and far away things she had only dreamed of, a power in his face that was exuded to her...trancelike, her eyes only had time for his, those beautiful sparkling depths that spoke of such a history, such a that she wanted to know all of in that precious space of a few seconds he had looked down upon her. There's time she had wanted to say. We could forget about the soldiers, my father, forget that we are where we are...but the taste, the peek she had gotten into something so peregrine, so surreal, it was enough to change the very essence that she was made of.

It was enough to make her see her life as though it was a different life, as though someone else had been in her body until then, someone sad, lonely, just being, instead of living.

She couldn't go back.

So where could she go?

Go, as though a person could be a destination, a home, a goal...maybe she could shut her eyes again and go anywhere, into the sea, into the sky, into some other life where she wasn't being tormented.

Because she had been tormented the very second his beautiful eyes connected with hers, what had he seen in hers? A soul trying to fly, a scream of see mesee what I am showing, see what I cannot see within myself, know what I am made of, read it, take it….

...take me.

A wise person might tell her she was foolish, she was silly. No man could be worth so much, no man could be so was sorcery, magick, something evil, tainted...then that person was undeserving of being called wise, because all she could feel was the purity of freedom, the sail of herself upward on a sparrow's wing, attached to it for as long as it tolerated her presence.

Forever, hopefully, some small voice inside of her whispered.

Perhaps there was firelight in the room, perhaps she was so far gone that she had flown beyond being able to see it, into a realm where she could only feel.

Sparrow. Just a bird, a creature...small, unthreatening…


Perhaps, perhaps she could permit herself to think of his last gaze upon the images it held, a mighty ship, a depth, power...yet something intimate, something...sultry...a story written in a language that she could barely understand, yet her body and her mind and her soul seemed perfectly fluent in it…

She protested because he had saved her...she protested because he had saved was a nice reason, a safe that she could almost believe if she didn't know herself and the depravity that had evidently been inside her and awoken...she had protested because he saved was not because she couldn't bear the thought of him disappearing, flitting away just when he had only been in her life for so short of a time...not long enough...needed more time with him…

She had protested because...because somehow the color of the water, the smells in the air, the feel of her own body...the distinct thought of so that's what it all means, that is what it all is supposed to feel like...fresh, daunting, the exactness, the rightness of it all...the sudden urge to run through town for an entirely different reason, to gaze upon everything with new eyes, eyes that had now seen freedom in the form of a person.

She had protested...had charged in front of twenty Navy Soldiers, in front of her father, in front of everything she was supposed to stay out of, because nothing, not the taste of delicious food, not the exquisite feel of a good night's sleep, not the soothing of hot water in a bath, not the richness of chocolate, or the delicate charm of a violin...none of it set her heart and mind alight like…

Like him.

Awash with color and something so intoxicating.

And protesting was the least that she had wanted to do to him, for him.

Hadn't the foggiest idea what she meant by that, knew nothing that she wanted to know, and knew not how to understand, to know what he was thinking when he had looked down at her, with a strange wonder in his eyes, like he was looking at a rare creature that he didn't know how to deal with, or that he was seeing his own intoxication…

Then...a sound, the most...powerful thing she had ever heard, chocolate if chocolate had a sound...a storm, smoke, the growl and huskiness of a sleeping dragon, a sound laced with a million different shades of stories, experiences, a million different shades of him, that she could see

His voice.

'Where did you get that?'

Only five words, five common simple words...yet his voice transformed them into a spell designed to make her chest tighten, make her mouth go dry, and send her heart into a panic all its own, simultaneously trying to speak to him and escape her body to jump into the ocean and swim with the fish.

To say what?

Maybe to answer his question, or maybe to ask a hundred of her own...where did you come from, who are you, why, when…

Even as they had both risen from the dock, her with a comforting blanket around her and him with a sword being brandished at him, her eyes had been fixed on his form, undeciding about where to look...every spot dangerous, yet every spot equally attractive.

'AhJack Sparrow is it?'

That lightning again...being summoned forth just from his spoken, couldn't think about his name, because if she thought about his name...she would think about things beyond his name…

The sea could have disappeared, the sky could have turned into fire, Jesus Christ himself could have walked onto the dock, and she would have had absolutely no idea that any of it was happening at that moment. She had barely paid attention to James, the Navy, her father, the fact that she had just survived almost drowning, all of it had been about as important as her morning tea.

In the space of two minutes that she had been graciously given to fit in nineteen years of near-manic obsession with pirates...actually seeing a pirate before her...looking at him, she had gone through questions faster than she could remember them...trinkets, where did you get them? Where is your ship? What about your stories? Why are you a pirate? Is Jack Sparrow your real name? I've had fantasies-

Well, maybe not that. That was kept locked away.

It ended there anyway because her father had proclaimed that he was to be hanged as soon as James revealed him to be a pirate. And some wild notion that it was her job to save his life entered her head, and she had abandoned the blanket to charge after the men about to shackle him.

Good deeds, good deeds...bad deeds, semi-good deeds, semi-bad deeds...what did it all mean in the end anyway? He had saved her life, if it hadn't been for him, she would be a corpse on the bottom of the ocean. Did that mean nothing to anyone?

'This man saved my life!'

Except that she struggled with the word man to describe him. Sorcerer, inhuman, otherworldly, any of those seemed more appropriate…

And she had thought that maybe her challenge to her father and to James would actually sway them to not hang a notorious most-wanted pirate. Her protest.

The event, the which she was manhandled...her father had made a rather large deal out of it…"you could have been killed"..."pirates are dangerous!"...

Any sane woman...not that she wasn't sane...would have probably been terrified...would have thought to herself first that it was a dangerous notorious pirate, rather than being told after the fact...the notion that she could have been harmed should have been her main concern...rather than being reminded of it later…


Perhaps she ought to try her hand at stage acting, she figured. Maybe she could be Persephone, or maybe a Shakespeare story...because surely pretending to act scared while being throttled by a pirate would be impressive to most anyone.

Pretending...pretending, it had started the moment he had jerked her back with the chain around her neck...a thrill of excitement...some kind of madness no doubt...finally, something exciting, finally I have met a pirate.

Not just any pirate, but Jack Sparrow.

She really was sane. Mostly.

The fact, the notion, that he was holding his pistol to her head had been entirely lost on her...for reasons that she had tried to not think about...tried and failed.

Don't let them see, don't let them see that you want nothing more than to turn around and beg him to take you with him...act scared, act angry, act offended, for god's sake act like you were just accosted by a dangerous pirate…

None of it had worked.

Especially when he had spun her around to face him.

Most men, she thought, looked like men, like normal men, like people...they had a face that you might glance at, maybe remember bits and pieces...and forget the next day.

But Jack.

Not Jack.

It really wasn't fair for him to have a face like that.

How dare you hold a gun to my head, take me hostage, and yet, make me think of nothing else besides you?

But she hadn't said that to him...perhaps the lightning strike that didn't exist...the one that had hit her square on the top of her head when...perhaps it had fried her brains.

Surely it wasn't the deprivation of oxygen to her brain, nor the frantic pace of her heart, that betraying organ...because the frantic pace wasn't fear or worry, or was…

...the same thing she might feel when looking upon molten gold, or the finest chocolate, or the most dazzling diamond…


Desire was the poison he filled her with...that was his spell, his sorcery...her ailment...and it hadn't ever been stronger than when she had gazed into his face as he held a gun to her head and forced her to arm him with his effects.

To arm him.

With his effects.

Putting her very close and very personal with the rest of his body.

It was a wonder that she hadn't dropped his effects all over the bloody dock.

Desire to see what he was hiding underneath the white shirt, the vest, the...everything she had felt, every hard plane of lean muscle pressed against her curves...only melded to her for a precious few moments...before she was placing his hat on his head...his grin, of course she remembered his grin...almost like he knew the carnival taking place inside of her body.

Over, done, stopped, finished...spun around again...then pushed forwards, and he was gone. But his escape was not to be. Nearly. He had nearly managed to avoid capture. But now he was sitting in a cell awaiting the gallows.

And she was sitting on a bed wanting nothing more than to have him in the bed with her.


Jack Sparrow.

Jack Sparrow.

Captain Jack Sparrow.

What was that about not permitting herself to think his full name?

Firelight...maybe firelight was too paltry, too tame...because the warmth in her chest now, the heat in her she was dying inside and coming to life at the same time…

…and she had only been in his presence for a total of ten bloody minutes. His list of crimes against her was long already, making her wring her hands like a madwoman...making her struggle to breathe properly, setting her skin on fire...and...something she hadn't yet experienced before this night...something that she hadn't dared to name, for it was the worst crime of all of them…

She felt...aroused.

Maybe he deserved to be hanged for that. But then she might as well be hanged with him because, in a dazzling and soaring moment of terrifying clarity, she understood that she would die anyway without having more of him, without another adventure into the dark forest of his presence, where anything could jump out and accost her… was more pain than pleasure...a possession...she was shivering, but not from the cold...there was no cold...trembling…

Sweeping her wide gaze around the dark room, noticing the angular lines, the spots of shadow and light, it was all so sharp, so clear...a magical land of secrets and truths...but that wasn't the room...perhaps she hadn't even been looking at the room...maybe the blue sheets and the blue light, the darkness, the light…

It was a strange balance between her mind and the netherworld, the chaotic energy coming from somewhere…

Her body felt like it was rising to meet it, rising to some kind of peak, a combustion, shattering…

A puff of air left her mouth when her gaze swung to the door...memorizing the lines in it, the elegant stretch of white from floor to near the ceiling, but it wasn't white, it was bathed in blue, just like her mind was surely bathed in red and gold, black, and colors that didn't exist yet, ones without names…

Madness, she told herself. The ones with names, with places...they were far more sinister. The soft red of a worn bandana, the smoky black of kohl, of a neat mustache, the seashell white shirt that covered skin so perfectly caramel...the bursts of color throughout his raven hair...beads, trinkets...his entire being was a story, a different land…

And it was all going to die tomorrow in the gallows.


It took her a moment to realize that it was her voice protesting...that the involuntary noise held so much

Her feet hit the floor before her brain caught up with them, a force that she had no control over carrying her to the door, the cool metal of the doorknob enclosed within her fingers before she even knew she had reached for it.

Madness...but at that moment she didn't care.

In that moment of insanity, a twinkling thought of yes raced through her, and throwing everything to the wind...her rationality, her caution…


She needed to see him again.

He needed to see her again.

They needed to see each other, to fix and understand and make sense of this storm that surely was permeating the sky above her, rocking the sea, startling the forest animals and making the birds flutter in their trees nervously...making her ache in places that startled and excited her…

And if she ended up dying down there by his cell, a death of body, mind...a death of fulfillment, then it would be a happy death, a deserved one...this depravity had to have some kind of consequence...because if both of them had to die, at least one death could have some kind of damn meaning.

Quietly swinging the door open, a draft of cold air made her shake, but there was a smile on her face, a smile of of finally doing what she wanted because she wanted it.

Wanted it, him, this, with him, wanted him with her…

And if this all-encompassing ache followed her into the afterlife when his black smokey gaze and full smirking lips were attacking her to kill, she would give herself up to it without a second of protest.

And through the door she went to her salvation and damnation, to a man that she had known for the space of ten minutes, yet with whom she felt like she had spent twelve past lifetimes with, seeing all of the firelight in the world.

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