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Loving the Heartless	By : FlameWolf666 Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female Views: 5808 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything or anyone from Pirates of the Caribbean. If I did I would have a mansion and 12 cars by now. This is just for fun and I make no profit from this.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note: Apologies for those eagerly waiting for updates. I have been working on ‘Tainted Love’ the most and the other fics have kinda fallen behind. I will update each one as I can.

Chapter Two: The Swirling Vortex
    A gaunt, noble looking man sat on the soft, white sand of the beach, his haunted, stormy blue eyes scanning the uneasy waves of the ocean. The man had high cheekbones and a noble nose. His black hair was slicked back and just long enough to touch his neck. There was almost a sad air around the man as his eyes continued to scan the choppy, open sea. A heavy, black pirate coat with gold trim and gold buttons lay discarded in the soft sand beside him, the heavy lapels fluttered slightly in the strong breeze. On top of said coat lay a large, black pirate hat.
    A young, pale woman with black hair watched the man with curious turquoise eyes. The man, while looking every bit like a high born nobleman, was dressed in normal pirate gear. He wore a heavy, tan shirt, black pants and a heavy belt that held his sword to his waist. The only odd thing about him was an intricately woven, emerald green sash wrapped around his waist.
    Taking her eyes off his attire, the young woman began to make her way towards him. Pirate or no, this man had been sitting alone on the beach since dawn. The longer the day had gone on, the more depressed the man looked and she found herself simply unable to ignore his pain any longer. Stopping a few feet away from the man, who didn’t so much as notice her; the ebony haired woman cleared her throat softly. “E-excuse me sir, are you waiting for someone?” she asked in a timid voice, a nervous smile on her lips.
    The man jerked slightly, looking up at her with pain-filled, blue-grey eyes that were brimming with tears. His haunted, lonely eyes roved up her form as he quirked a dark brow at her attire. The woman before him wore a black, long sleeve shirt and a pair of dark red pants. On her feet were a pair of knee-high, low heeled boots. The mere scrap of a thing only looked sixteen. “Aye, been waitin’ f’r many a year now,” he sighed in a voice so full of pain and longing that it took the woman’s breath away.
    Something about the sheer amount of heartbreak in the man’s voice filled her with sympathy and she lowered herself to the soft, warm sand beside him. “Do you mind if I wait with you? You look like you could use the company,” she offered, looking out towards the open sea. She felt the man beside her shift as he chuckled almost bitterly.
    “Do as ye please. I’ll not be good comp’ny,” he grumbled in a lightly accented voice. The woman only smiled and began to talk of the sea as well as the things she loved about it. Soon the man beside her joined in and they began to talk in earnest. It wasn’t too long after that, that the pair began laughing and joking like old friends.
    As the sun began to set, the man staggered to his feet; a pained look on his face as he gave the ocean a final sweep with his gaze. “She really isn’t comin’. I shouldn’t be surprised, she hasn’ shown up once in all the years I’ve been with her,” he hissed in a broken voice, running a shaky hand through his short, black hair as he bent to pick up his hat and coat.
    “Well, the next time you come to port how bout I come to meet you? You can still wait for this mysterious woman but at least you’d have company,” the oddly dressed woman offered, getting up and brushing the sand off her pants.
    “I’ve heard tha’ one b’fore,” he spat bitterly, placing his large, black hat on his head and flinging his thick coat over his arms.
    “I’ll keep an eye out for you, no matter how long it takes you to come back,” she assured, waving to him before she ran off to her home.
    Davy Jones sat on the edge of his barnacle encrusted bed and held his slightly slimy, pulsing face in his tentacle covered right hand. A low groan of pain left him as the heart within the urn shuddered. “Jus’ bein’ near the accursed thing be makin’ me feel,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his tentacle beard slithering in agitation. With a groan, the monstrous Captain grabbed his twisted, barnacle encrusted cane and got unsteadily to his feet.
    “Tis that whore’s fault. Her and them memories she brings,” he snarled, the valve on his left cheek making a popping noise. His crab claw clicked irritably as he limped toward the door of his cabin. The black, rotted wood of the deck squelched under his crab leg as he stumped along.
    Flinging open his rotting, barnacle and starfish encrusted door, the irritated captain’s dead, cloudy blue eyes scanned the shifting hulks of the monsters cleaning the deck. The tentacles hanging from his upper lip curled in anger as he was unable to spot his quarry for several moments. “Bootstrap!” he hollered, leaning heavily on his cane.
    The old, half rotted looking pirate pulled himself from the hull of the ship with a groan. A starfish along with a number of mussels and barnacles clustered all over the deformed, melted looking left side of his face and his black hair hung around his face in scraggly curls. Pieces of the ship itself stuck out of his sea life encrusted clothing. A black cap sat on the top of his head, offering little protection from the cold gale that constantly followed the ship. “Aye Cap’n,” he croaked in a rusty, ill-used voice.
    “Where be our new crew member,” Jones snarled, his long index tentacle wrapping tightly around the twisted wood of his cane.
    “She be below decks sir, cleanin’ the brig,” the mere shadow of a man croaked, swaying slightly as the ship crested over a particularly big wave.
    Without another word to the shell of a pirate, the lovecraftian captain lurched towards the large hatch leading down into the dark bowels of the Dutchman. A furious glare fixed itself on his slightly slimy face as he limped down into the hold of the ship. There, near the cages that held prisoners and uncooperative crewmen was the accursed female. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the rotted, black wood of the deck with an almost fanatic fervor. Her long, black hair hung in her face, obscuring just how pale she looked.
    Flame’s stomach heaved uneasily as she tried desperately to keep from dry heaving. Mornings were always the worst for her and she often had to spend them in bed back on her own ship. Trying to concentrate on cleaning rather than her clenching stomach, the pirate female was completely unaware that Davy Jones was coming up behind her. That is, until she felt a tentacle wrap around her neck to yank her to her booted feet. Then the room spun briefly as she was turned to face the glowering captain, not helping her nausea one bit.
    Too occupied with trying to not puke on the captain’s mismatched feet, she didn’t notice the deep rage burning within his corpse-like eyes. So when his tentacled right hand shot out and again wrapped around her throat, she was taken completely by surprise. Gasping but making no move to claw at the thick, slimy appendage around her throat, Flame could only look at him with confusion. What had she done to bring his wrath down on her?
    A snarl fixed on his octopus-like face, the beastly captain slowly brought her towards him until she was bare inches from him. “Why be ye so eager to be on my ship,” he hissed, suspicion and rage whirling in his milky eyes.
    “To maybe be of service. We were friends once,” she gasped, barely able to drag in breath as he held her a few inches above the rotted planks of the floor.
    “I don’ believe a word outta yer lyin’ mouth! Yer here ta make me remember! Ta make me feel! Well I won’ have it lil girl,” he roared, throwing her as hard as he could.
    Flame slammed into the back wall of the room they were in, the breath getting knocked out of her from the force of the hit. Crumpling into a gasping pile on the floor, the stunned pirate looked up at the monstrous captain. His murky blue eyes glared at her, a steely glint to them as he limped slowly towards her. As he closed in, the female made no move to run; merely making a gagging noise as he wrapped the tentacle around her neck and lifted her.
    The tentacles that made up his upper lip curled and twisted as he sneered up at her slightly blue tinged face. “Give me one good reason ta not spill yer guts on the planks,” he snarled, the valve in his left cheek popping.
    It was all Flame could do to keep breathing as the tentacle squeezed cruelly around her neck. Just as her vision was about to go black she found herself being thrown into an empty cage. Gagging and coughing desperately, all the pirate could do was lay on the ground and watch as the captain shut the door. “I’ll be comin’ back fer ya t’night,” he snarled ominously, whirling around and stumping his way back up.
    Unshed tears filled Flame’s sea-green eyes as she continued to gasp and gag, red sucker marks showing up sharply on her pale skin. Wincing, the ex-captain got to her fee to look around her new home. Despite how outwardly calm she was, on the inside she was nearly panicking. How long was Jones going to keep her in here? Was she even going to survive the night. Stamping on her rising panic with a snarl, the fierce pirate squared her shoulders and stared at the stairs leading to the deck. No matter what happened tonight, she would take it like a pirate.
    The day had crawled by slowly, none of the crew coming down to check on her. Thankfully, due to her condition, she was used to going several days without food. To pass the time, Flame began to count the scratches made in the wall by other prisoners. The marks seemed to mark the passage of time for the occupants, some of them seeming to be here for several years. As the marks went on in one particular set, they got more and more erratic; as if the person making them was slowly going mad. Pulling away from the wall with a grimace, the ex-captain turned to look at the stairs leading up. A chill ran up her side as she started to question if Jones was going to come back as well as just how long she would be kept in this cage.
    As she watched the light pouring down the stairs fade into darkness, a small flower of panic began to bloom in her chest. Was he going to kill her? Was he going to keep her here? Would she die an even slower death than the one her disease doomed her to? Trying to keep a tight grip on her courage, Flame barely kept herself from pacing. If she started pacing, she was certain the panic would overtake her. She would be damned if she showed a scared face to the beastly captain. When he came down, she would meet him with dignity dammit!
    As the darkness grew pervasive and the night wore on, Flame found it harder and harder to keep her composure. The inky shadows surrounding her almost seemed to have faces and she could almost swear she heard voices whispering to her. Voices that spoke of horrifying things happening down in these holds. “Shut up ye bloody horrors!” she hissed quietly, clenching her fingerless gloved hands and gritting her teeth. The only answer she received was the creaking of the ship.
    All of a sudden she found herself snapping awake from a spot on the floor. Her turquoise eyes stared blindly into the darkness as she tried to remember where she was. A dull clumping noise was slowly coming closer as she regained her wits. Slowly getting to her feet, the drowsy female tried to make out where the stairs were in the inky darkness. The chill in the air nearly made her shudder as she faced in the direction she thought the entry was.
    The clumping noise steadily got closer and closer and Flame realized it was the captain heading her way. Only his odd gait caused that noise. Gathering all the grit and courage she had as a pirate, the ex-captain squared her shoulders and put a neutral mask on her pale face. Yet, despite the brave front she was putting forward, she was petrified. The ghostly voices in the darkness grew scared and silent as the footsteps got closer and closer. It was almost as if the spirits were still afraid of Jones, even in death.
    As the monstrous captain drew closer to the top of the stairs leading down, a ghostly yellow light began to pour down. All the ghosts in the brig slowly faded away, their voices snuffing out for the time being. Their fear was almost a living thing and curled around Flame like a thick snake as the teetering light began to come down the stairs. As the lovecraftian captain came into view, a malicious grin slowly appeared on his face; making Flame’s blood run cold. “Still righ’ where I lef’ ya, like a good lil gel,” he spat, a darkly evil glee shining in his cloudy eyes.
    “And where would I be goin’?” she quipped, raising a brow and gesturing to the bars that surrounded her. Her response wiped the grin off his face and he began to glare.
    “Ye won’t be makin’ jokes after I’m done wi’ ya,” he snarled, placing the lantern on the floor to reach for something on his waist. The tentacles that comprised his upper lip curled and twitched as he sneered at her. Then there was a soft thud, followed by a strange slithery noise as something hit the wooden floor.
    Flame, who had been more focused on Jones’ face than his hands, found her gaze traveling to his semi-normal right hand. There, with the index tentacle wrapped tightly around the black handle, was a long signal whip; it’s long, black body trailing along behind him. Firmly shutting the door on her rising panic, the ‘Wolf of the Sea’ met his gaze steadily. Jones cracked the whip in response, rage filling him at her lack of fear.
    Silence stretched between the two as Flame merely looked at Jones with sad, turquoise eyes. “Do what ye will but I won’t be screamin’ and beggin’ like a child,” she whispered, her hands curled into fists.
    “We’ll see about that,” Jones hissed, his malevolent grin returning.
    The whip came screaming down as it cut through the air, slicing yet another wound open on her blood drenched back. The only sound that left the brave pirate’s lips was a pained whimper. Her arms were stretched over her head, a thick rope tied tightly around each wrist from the bars of the cage she still occupied. The rough ropes cut into her wrists as well as cut off blood supply to her hands but at the moment Flame was far more focused on the agony from her back. Behind her, the monstrous captain swore colorfully as he brought the whip down again.
    Jones glared at the blood marred back in front him, his hate filled eyes narrowed to slits. The fact that she had yet to scream or beg him stop both fanned his rage and made him begin to form a begrudging respect for the meddlesome woman. Now it was only the anger at what she was making him feel that drove his whip. Each pained whimper she made felt like it was ripping a piece of his heart out of his chest and he hated it. He especially hated that he was beginning to feel guilty for beating this female. With a disgusted growl, he brought down the whip once again; a lot harder than any of the blows had been before.
    Despite herself, a scream left her lips as it felt like he had practically ripped a huge chunk of her back off. A low, shuddering moan leaving her lips, Flame fought against unconsciousness. Her entire body shook from the pain of that blow as well as all the others she had received. Panting harshly, she bit her lip hard to bring some color back to her vision. To her dim surprise, she realized all movement behind her had stopped.
    Jones stared at her wound covered, bloody back, a glare mixed with a grimace on his octopus-like face. The hand holding the whip loosened and the instrument fell to the wooden planks with a loud clatter. The heart beating in his quarters lurched in its urn, causing a brief pained expression to cross his face. Then, with a disgusted snarl, he thumped towards her; drawing his sword from its sheath on his left side. Then, with one swift movement, he cut the ropes holding her up.
    Immediately after her binds were cut, she collapsed to the floor. The motion jarred her wounds, drawing a strangled whimper of pain from the injured woman. Her vision faded in and out but she found enough strength to turn her head to look at Jones. To her shock he was now kneeling beside her, his dead eyes glaring down into hers. Something that resembled guilt briefly flashed in his foggy orbs before full on rage returned. In a flash he was gripping her face with his half human hand, the long tentacle that served as his index finger tightening painfully.
    Then, without a word, he was on his feet and tottering towards the stairs leading to the deck. Flame watched him until he was gone, desperately trying to ignore the burning agony in her back as well as the feeling of blood pouring from her. Once the beast had disappeared again, Flame curled into a ball on her side. The pain wracked her body, causing small shudders to run through her beaten frame. The involuntary shudders only caused her more pain which caused more shaking. Taking in a deep breath, the ex-captain desperately tried to still her body.
    As she lay on the floor, trying to stop her body from shaking; she felt herself growing cold and drowsy. Realizing she was about to pass out from blood loss, Flame could only feel some sort of relief. Dying from blood loss would be a kinder death than what awaited her due to her illness. Closing her dilating turquoise eyes, Flame allowed sleep to take her. Feeling as if she was floating on a cloud, the pirate didn’t think this was a bad way to die at all.
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Loving the Heartless