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The Evil Lady E	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 5995 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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The Evil Lady E

Summary: Post PotC: Dead Man's Chest. Jack mysteriously views the consequences of his death at the hands of Elizabeth. Will he be able to stop her from becoming the evil Lady E? Disclaimer: I'm not stealing these characters, just borrowing them. Borrowing without permission. For personal, not commercial, purposes.

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THESE be

Three silent things:

The falling snow ... the hour

Before the dawn ... the mouth of one

Just dead. ~Adelaide Crapsey, “Triad”

Dead men tell no tales. ~Pirate Proverb

Chapter 1: Kiss of Death

The sea was dark, and cold. Colder than he thought the Caribbean ever could be. But, maybe that was just because he was dying. The only part of him that still felt warm was his mouth, which he'd kept tightly closed in the hopes of preventing the sea water from rushing into his lungs and finishing what Elizabeth had started just a short while ago.

He'd managed to cut his way out of the Kraken, plunging his sword indiscriminately into its scaly hide, finally carving out a triangle in its monstrous neck and pushed through to find the ocean. Which would have been fine, except they were already far beneath the surface. He would never make it. Even as he tried, swimming harder and faster than he'd ever swum before, resisting his own body's desperate urges to inhale, he knew he was doomed.

Funny, he'd always heard that your life flashed before your eyes when you were dying. Instead of images of how'd he'd lived - rum, beaches, the Pearl, Aztec gold, a childhood better left forgotten - what washed over him was, in fact, his death. Emotions warred for dominance, each leaving him weakened and more ready to simply part his lips and let the sea claim him forever.

The first was shock, clean and simple. When Elizabeth had moved closer to him, her tawny hair blowing in the breeze, wearing that ridiculous man's outfit, saying not - as he expected - that she was angry with him for deserting them in the first place, but proud of him for returning, and saving all their lives (for, if he hadn't picked up the gun when he did, and shot the net full of powder, the Kraken would have eaten them all), he was surprised. When she came closer still, and he could smell her clean, light scent - never knew a murderer could smell like that - and raised her pink, parted mouth to his, he was more surprised, but something made him give in, ignore the warnings clamoring in his brain, kiss that sassy, proper mouth for all he was worth. He never even had a second to think, as his tongue swept hers and his hands came around her back to yank her closer, that he was about to die. Then he heard the ominous clink of the shackles.

And he'd open his eyes to see her face, and known he was lost. Terror. Of all the men he'd faced, monsters he'd battled, scrapes and hard places he'd wound up in, terrible, horrible things he'd seen that made his blood curdle, none frightened him truly and deeply as much as Elizabeth's face at that moment.

Her chin was raised in hard defiance, her eyes, usually so warm and sparking with enchantment, or mischief, whichever she was creating at the time, were instead dark beads filled with purpose. And something else. Hatred... he had never seen hatred like that in a woman's eyes, and he smiled then, knowing he was done for, covering the terror with an equally defiant smirk.

When she'd told him she wasn't sorry - she wasn't sorry? - he almost thought she would kiss him again, for real this time, at least to say goodbye. Shame washed over him as he realized this - a real kiss - was his last desire of this world. That and, of course, to live. But she'd taken care of that.

It was not to be, she told him she wasn't sorry (she could at least have pretended not to hate him, if you're sending a man to his grave, why not at last give him that?) and left him there, chained to the mast, to face the Kraken when it came.

Then, of course, followed the inevitable emotion that seemed to constantly permeate his worthless existence: regret.

If he'd only done something to get out of this mess earlier, found another way to appease Davey Jones, fought more valiantly, trusted someone to help him, talked his way out of it... but it was no use. And Elizabeth... the regret of that was deep and clinging and squeezing his lungs from the inside so that he wasn't sure if he would die first of the sea water or the bursting of his own, horrifically broken heart.

Elizabeth, I saved you. I SAVED you from the sea. How could you?

If he'd tried to tell her, tried to make her understand that he loved her, that he'd come back to the Pearl partly because of her... tried to show her that he was a man, and not a coward, maybe if he'd never rowed away...

But truthfully, things had gone wrong with Elizabeth long before that, and she'd made a fool of him before... how could he have ever trusted that smile, those eyes, that too-thin body that still set his blood on fire whenever he was near her? And in a way, he was glad, too, to have finally known the real Elizabeth. Not the proper British girl, the virgin, the soon-to-be faithful wife. The one under all of that.

The murderous bitch.

He could swear he would teach her a lesson, strangle her, drown her, anything to make her pay for the horror and grief that was tearing him apart. But it was too late. And besides, he began to feel strangely at peace with it all as he struggled, seeing the light of the sun far above him in the water. He didn't have to fight any more. He'd been keeping his mouth closed, but he didn't have to any more...he had been trying to preserve that last piece of life, the sweet taste of her on his lips and breath and tongue, but there was no use, now. Let the sea take it. The taste of her was seared permanently on his soul, and it was the taste of death. He welcomed it.

As the water filled his lungs, dragging him downward, he felt no pain. Only the warmth - and torture - of a beautiful lady's soft kiss.
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The Evil Lady E