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Ship in a Bottle	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 4205 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 14
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Chapter 15: The Pirate Mistress

Will Turner was no fool.

As he lay crouched in the boat, paddling with one oar while Francois paddled with the other, he had plenty of time to think things over. They had spread dark cloth over as much of the white-painted wood as possible, and wore dark clothing so as not to be seen. They moved slowly toward the Black Pearl, not wanting any splashes or movement on the water to give them away. It would take at least an hour to reach the ship, after which Will would be playing the part of someone he barely knew... even if he was identical in appearance.

He knew the mission was dangerous, every bit as perilous as his time on the Flying Dutchman. At every turn, there were huge possibilities for error, for discovery, for betrayal. He could be seen climbing on board. His plan to charm and trick Lady E could backfire and land him with a dagger through the heart for his trouble. Even if he did get her to the island as prescribed, he knew there was always the possibility that Jack and the other crew would be delayed or unable to help him. And once she suspected there wasn't any treasure... he would be as good as dead.

He understood all these things from the moment he'd heard the scheme in the first place. So why on earth had he accepted this task?

In a word: Jack.

Sometimes Will felt entirely comfortable spending all his time in his blacksmith's shop, amidst the hot metal and hiss of steam, where troubled thoughts did not intrude and even Elizabeth was somewhere else in his mind, safe and tucked away in the part of himself - a large part, granted- reserved for love and family. And other times, Will would withdraw a particularly beautiful sword from the forge, weigh it in his hands, and imagine who would use it.

Perhaps someone like James Norrington. Someone who commanded his own ship and men, who sailed out with a purpose, who needed to be prepared for battle. Will would turn the sword over in his hands, slowly, and wonder if he might have had such a life, had he not been abandoned by his father, shipwrecked and rescued on the crossing from England. Will would never admit it to anyone, but as a young man he'd rather admired the slightly older commodore - lieutenant, then - and begged him to play swordfight and chase-the-pirates with him, because there was no one else who paid him the least bit of attention. Except, of course, for Elizabeth.

Then, once he got older it became clear what would happen. He would remain a blacksmith. The lieutenant would become a commodore. And Elizabeth would become his wife. That was the way of the world. And he'd nearly accepted it, nearly resigned himself to love Miss Swann from afar, poured all of his hopes and dreams into his work, only too happy to receive the commission to forge the commodore's sword, devoting countless hours to shaping its perfection, feeling somehow that it would permanently carry his presence close to where he desired it most... to a brave and admirable man, and the woman he loved.

And then he'd met Jack. And all of that had gone straight to hell.

Will had begun to want things. Want them enough to risk everything and go out and take them. Like Elizabeth. And although half the time Jack was calling him bloody stupid, or was trying to trick him, the other half of the time Jack had quite superceded the commodore in Will's esteem. Jack was brilliant. Jack was devious. Jack was older and knew the ways of the world, and had shared them with Will. Everything from boats to Tortuga and beyond. And even though Jack would manipulate him to get what he wanted, Will found, to his surprise, that he didn't even mind. That was Jack. Jack's manipulation was more or less a sign of true affection.

Jack could say what he liked: call him a whelp or a eunuch or whatever, but actions spoke louder than words. He'd written to him. He wanted him on this voyage, this so-important one to claim his ship and restore his freedom. And when it came time to execute the trickiest, most dangerous part, Jack hadn't gone to Gibbs or any of the others. He'd come to him.

He'd nearly jumped at the chance immediately. Then he remembered that Jack was not really to be trusted, and he'd thought through the plan in his mind, looking for ways Jack might be twisting him to his advantage, and saw them, but they didn't seem overwhelming. Jack did need him, after all, to get back the Pearl. And he'd seen Elizabeth and Jack talking at the rail, and he'd looked back and forth between the two of them and he was sure he saw Jack practically devouring her with his eyes. Not surprising, since Elizabeth was quite beautiful. And he told himself that even if he didn't trust Jack - what sane person would? - he could place his faith in his wife, except... except... women always wanted Jack, why should she be any different?

And he knew that Elizabeth loved him, after all, she'd married him. But sometimes he felt like she was somewhere else when they were alone. When they were making love, even, like the previous night. And he'd been raised to think that proper ladies couldn't be expected to enjoy the physical part of marriage, but Elizabeth seemed to, most of the time... but he couldn't shake the thought that she was somehow imagining something different for herself. Something, or someone, more exciting. Like a pirate.

Like Jack.

And he pushed all those doubts out of his mind on a daily basis, but the last few days on the ship they'd been nearly overwhelming. And Will remembered how he'd won Elizabeth's heart in the first place - sailing off to save her, throwing caution to the wind, staging Jack's hanging rescue which had made him the hero. Him, not Jack. Elizabeth wanted a hero... she wanted a pirate.

So he'd decided to become those things again, by undertaking this fool's errand to Lady E's ship. Part of him wanted to be a brave, brilliant, devious pirate. For Elizabeth. For himself. For Jack, although he didn't expect much in the way of gratitude. It would be gratifying enough to see him happy at the helm of the Pearl. Perhaps then Jack would have less time to spend staring longingly at Elizabeth when he thought Will wasn't looking... and Will wouldn't have to skewer him on the sharpest rapier he could find if he ever did actually touch her.

Will chanced a glance back at the Queen Elizabeth, fading into the distant dark. There's pirate in your blood, boy... Jack had once said to him. He looked ahead and saw the vague outline of the Black Pearl. His mouth tightened in a determined line.

The pirate in his blood was ready.

* * *

Will quietly approached the man at the helm. Briggs, he'd heard the other crewmen call him. He was the first mate on board the Pearl.

“Mr. Briggs... I have some information for our captain.”

The man regarded him as though he'd never expected him to capable of speaking. Will grew slightly more nervous as the seconds passed, silently. Things had gone well so far. He'd slipped aboard with no one the wiser, assisted in scrubbing the deck and a few other tasks while he listened to the crew's conversations for an hour or so. He'd gleaned enough to be able to set things in motion. But he needed to get past this particular short, burly man.

“Aye? What kind of information?” Briggs asked with a sneer.

“That's between me and her.” Will swallowed. “After that she can share it with whomever she wishes.”

Briggs' scowl deepened, and he seemed to look at Will with disgust from head to toe. Finally he yelled to another crewman to take the wheel, and he indicated with a violent thrust of his head that Will should follow him toward the entrance to the captain's cabin.

“N-now?” Will stammered, falling into step behind Briggs. “Don't you think we should wait until the morning? Won't she be angry if we wake her?”

Briggs snorted. “Oh, don't ye worry. She's awake. Never sleeps, this one. Ye should know that by now. In ye go,” and he held open the door to the cabin.

It was very much the same Pearl Will remembered, down to the rich red curtains in the captain's cabin and the row of windows that wrapped around the stern of the ship. The room was dim, lit only by a few candles burning on the table, and Will blinked rapidly, trying to tell shapes in the darkness. Briggs cleared his throat quietly.

“Captain, this crewman 'ere says 'e's got information for ye. Any trouble, I'll be at the wheel.” And Briggs brushed past him, disappearing back onto the deck.

Will's eyes slowly adjusted to the light after the slightly brighter glow of the lanterns on deck. He could see a pair of boots, crossed over one another on the table, gleaming and black, the leather well-creased but polished, even the part that folded down from the thigh to the knee. A figure reclined in a chair, and a black hat was tipped forward over the figure's face, obscuring it from view. As though from far away he heard a voice. It was soft, and smooth, and sounded rum-warmed. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up.

“What be your name, boy?” the voice purred.

And the figure lifted its feet from the table and swung them gracefully downward, extending a hand to light another candle from the ones burning already. The room grew marginally brighter. Will stared, taking in the black hat, the white sleeve, the pale hand at the candle. Then the hand lifted to remove the hat, placing it next to the candle, and the figure rose, and began to walk - or perhaps glide was a better term - around the table to stand in front of it.

Will's mouth went completely dry.

The figure was very much Elizabeth. Same height. Same form, same features. Same tawny hair, except Elizabeth often gathered hers or pinned it up, and this woman's hair cascaded down around her shoulders, wantonly loose, catching the candlelight in its depth.

But she was also not Elizabeth. He surveyed her from bottom to top, noticing that the boots were not oversized, and seemed to fit her, as though they'd been made for her. She wore man's black breeches, but very little of them showed between her boots, and the hem of her white shirt, which hung down, untucked, almost to the middle of her thighs. A black tunic was layered over the shirt, unbuttoned. As Will's eyes rose, his eyebrows rose, too, for her shirt was buttoned only to the middle of her chest, beneath her breasts, and he could see the round edges of the mounds curving out on either side between the open edges of the shirt. Between her breasts lay a number of thin gold chains, beaded necklaces of assorted kinds, decorated with black stones.

His gaze lifted to her face - and he felt all the breath leave his lungs in a rush, so striking was the likeness to Elizabeth. His gut seemed to clench under the powerful allure of her eyes, which he was surprised to see were lined in kohl, giving them a dark, exotic look. He couldn't help himself, and his eyes fell back down to her chest, as he helplessly, desperately searched for whatever was fastening her clothing to her body, other than a few buttons of the shirt. Then he saw she wore a wide black belt cinched around her trim waist, with a gold buckle in the center. The way it was closed, how the prongs on either side and the one in the middle seemed to swell out and in an a curve, almost like a script letter E.

“Lady E,” Will whispered.

She smiled, then, and took a few more steps toward him. Will reminded himself to breathe. She was close, now, so close he could smell her, a heady combination of sea salt and candle smoke. He could not move as she fixed her almond-shaped eyes upon his face. He was enthralled.

“No, boy,” she murmured. “That's my name. What be yours, was the question?”
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Ship in a Bottle