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Firelight	By : hallowedmaiden Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 1686 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Disney, I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean and I make no profit off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Firelight
- 2-A Deathless Death
- 1
- 2
After awhile, the prospect of impending death becomes almost like...an old friend.
A grin spread across his mouth at the thought of trying to explain that to someone. Perhaps he would explain it in their language...paint death as a dancing partner in a ballroom, swinging away for a little while to let you enjoy the rest of the event, and then appearing again to remind you that no matter how many other people you dance with, no matter what you talk about, or how much food you eat...what you're wearing, where you came from, where you are going...your dancing partner will always end up being death.
Death waltzing and strutting around a dance floor in a big black robe and...ha.
Though, it did matter what sort of dress wear death wore when he came to dance with you.
An unsuspected bullet...or a suspected one, depending...not very elegant, but quick. Usually. Sometimes, a bullet will just leave you with two holes in your chest, a lot of pain and blood, and a surge of regretting the entire last five, ten, thirty minutes of your life. Or all of it right at that moment when you think you are going to die.
A blade. Plenty of experience with those. Plenty of scars...a sword fight, with all of the blocks and parries and intricate footwork...they can look elegant...yet the consequences are rarely so, and rarely proceed straight to fatality.
Not that bullets do, but...far more likely.
Sometimes all a blade can do is make you wish you were dead as you stagger around the deck of a ship, clutching a bleeding wound...but when a blade did land a finishing blow...a clean pierce through the gut…
The ephemeral time, when death has been handed to you...those few grim seconds...there is no pain, no regrets, anything and everything stops mattering...life feels sweeter than it ever has...until it all crumbles and the blackness starts to set in...your brain tortures you with what it can…seeing, hearing, feeling...they all become enemies against the dying...
But sometimes death operates on a slow clock...a slow dance around the ballroom...there is no wound, no flash of a blade or scream of a bullet…
The times of waiting, of thinking...they belong to criminals that have finally met their end...that have been sentenced under the word of the law...where the world is against them and they are sitting in a cell, knowing that tomorrow is their last look at the world...that tomorrow is the last time anyone will look at them and see life...see their history, see their presence in the world...knowing that after tomorrow, there won't be any more tomorrows.
Abstract...one day I might feel the noose...one day I might get shot...until that day happens and the dawning conclusion that you never were really prepared to be sentenced to death...thought you were...but the moment it happens...you always want more time...just a little more time…
...knowing that there won't be any more time.
Life and death are the only things that can really take power away from a man, and when it does take it, it takes it far beyond the reach of getting it back.
He liked to think that he had done enough, seen enough...but he had grievances to air...things to finish...and there was never an end to what could be seen and done…
At least he would be remembered...a small consolation, that...remembered as a criminal...as a bad man...as...as a pirate captain…but remembered nonetheless.
Hard to care how you are remembered when you're dead.
Really?
Obviously, because you're...dead.
But you can care about how you're remembered while you're alive…
If I really cared about how I was remembered, I wouldn't be what I am.
And what are you?
A...pirate...where the bloody fuck is this going?
Are you just a pirate?
Soon to be a dead pirate.
You could try and escape.
Right, because my impressive list of talents now includes prying bars apart with my bare hands. I can also walk through stone walls, speak to dogs in their language, and I possess the miraculous power of convincing guards that I'm a completely innocent person who deserves to be set free.
You've done nothing but sit here and think since you were thrown inside.
I do that a lot. Sitting and thinking.
Maybe you should have read more books.
…what a nice thought, reading books. Perfect time to bring up doing anything outside of this cell.
Try and escape.
…we've been over this…
That woman...she could break you out.
...maybe talking to the dog isn't such a bad idea after all…
...but the girl…
Have you completely lost your mind?
Then he realized that he was asking about the mental state of his own mind, and shut down that train of thought.
And the prospect of facing death...of standing there while his list of crimes were read out for everyone to find more reasons to damn him...of watching every precious moment pass…
Before, he had thought of being hanged as a blazing glory...as a fitting end to his debauchery...but now, the stark reality of it was setting in...it was just an end...nothing came after, and nothing that he had done mattered anymore. His boots would join the pile...a pile of vanished names and vanished histories…
As he sat there, counting the bars of the cell, then counting them again...and again...tracing the stonework on the floor...trying to create images in the dirt...he finally understood how fleeting time was...how much it should be appreciated...but regardless of what tomorrow held, or what now held...his death was going to happen.
So why did he feel entirely alive?
Another smile spread across his mouth...though he wasn't sure why because this...dancing partner...this face of death...this one was the most dangerous of all.
The deathless death.
A bend of your road in an entirely different direction...a ripple in the pond, a...newness, the spice of a new adventure, of something that thoroughly set on fire everything that you had told yourself...everything that you built to avoid...it.
It….what was it...he could think of a hundred words to call it...a focus...an...attraction...intrigue...a strange pull towards another person...where he could clearly divide his life into two halves…
...before and after…
You nearly became a hero.
...hero? Because I didn't let a woman die?
You did save her.
...because I didn't want her to die.
Maybe she deserved it.
Doubt it.
Maybe you deserve it.
Well, fuck you too.
Nevermind. Why did you do it?
Truth is, he didn't bloody fucking know. A streak of good, fate, suddenly he had puppet strings and someone was pulling at them...
Are you deaf? I didn't want her to die.
You don't even know her.
So? And neither of the idiots could swim.
So you were forced to save her.
I'm not forced to do anything.
You're still in this cell.
Have I said fuck you yet?
...before he had dove into the water after a woman that he didn't know before he had tugged her dress off, before he had split open her corset like a clamshell…
And the narrative that he had been circling in his head since then was...why is she special, she's just a woman...rather plain, a bit haughty…
Haughty, well that one was certainly true...but the rest…
You told yourself a long time ago that you were never going to get attached.
I know.
But you have.
No, I bloody haven't.
Good, because you only knew her for ten minutes.
Ten glorious minutes.
See?
Oh for hell and damnation...okay, maybe she had something…
What?
If I knew that…
You called her plain a second ago.
I can lie to myself sometimes.
You lie to everyone and yourself all the time.
Fuck you. Again.
Am I wrong?
...I suppose not.
So was not being attached to her a lie?
That depended on the criteria for "attached". If he went with being attached by association, then saving her life made him attached to her, her attached to him. If he chose the more dangerous…
...Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Let's go with perhaps. So you forget about her.
Sure, let's try that.
You have been.
Oh...right.
Maybe 'perhaps not' then.
He had never been very good at forgetting about things that he became attached to.
Just normally, he didn't get attached right before being sentenced to death.
Your fault, that is.
What?
We've been over this. You saved her.
So you want me to just shrug and carry on the next time someone is drowning?
There isn't going to be a next time, thanks to Jack Sparrow the hero.
Captain. Fuck.
You're not Captain of anything right at this moment.
...I'm blaming it on whoever or whatever made her fall.
Yes, deflect the blame onto something else. You're good at that.
If he chose the more dangerous...being attached...attracted to her...then...the gods up in heaven or wherever they were must be having a great laugh looking down at him talking to himself mentally, wondering whether he was or was not...when the whole thing didn't matter anyway because he was bloody going to be dead soon.
He just didn't feel like he was going to die. Instead, it was like something had been flicked on inside of him...some dead and buried part of himself was stirring...he couldn't decide if it was a mercy to feel like that before execution, or a cruelty.
Ten bloody minutes. If he didn't count the time that he had spent dragging her off the ocean floor, ripping her dress off, and hoisting her up onto the dock.
A few seconds to shove the idiot squawking 'not breathing' out of the way, a few seconds to slice through her corset, water spewing out of her mouth immediately, and then only a second more to feel something that he had never felt before...when he looked into her eyes, when he saw that she saw him, her eyes had widened just a little…
He'd forgotten, just for a moment, everything that had happened just before, forgot why he was even in Port Royal, forgot his plan, forgot about his pistol, about Barbossa, forgot to breathe even...the rest of the world could have shriveled up and died for all he cared.
Something happened, something he couldn't explain, or understand...and he was covering it up by squabbling with himself...trying to ignore the ridiculous idea that he had…
It was only ten bloody minutes.
Surely it takes longer than that.
Well, that moment when their eyes connected was only a few seconds too...the way she had looked at him...not like he was a dangerous criminal, not like he was something to be shunned or maligned...but like she had suddenly seen a unicorn burst forth from the water.
Like she was fascinated with him.
As if you hadn't been fascinated with her too.
There had been such...fire in her eyes. She was a wild woman, living in a cage, being forced to drink tea and wear corsets...he saw himself in her eyes, a passion to learn, to know...to be free.
And a wild notion, one that...that what? That frustrated him, excited him...sent something burning inside of his chest...a wild notion that he wanted to be the one to nurture that passion in her, to show her the world...to see the sunset reflected in his eyes as she stood on the-
Hold on a fucking minute.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He loved the sea.
And the Pearl.
...and that was it.
Well, looks like your brain doesn't care about that.
Are you suggesting…
Can't close your heart off forever.
I didn't. I just said-
Can't close it off to a living breathing human forever.
Well…
You haven't let her name in yet...I wonder why that is…
Her name...her stupid name…
I doubt you need reminding that her last name is also a bird…
...No, I didn't.
Elizabeth Swann.
...Lizzie.
He reached up and pulled his tricorne hat further down his face, taking a heavy breath in and shoving it out in a frustrated sigh.
Of all the fucking women, it had to be one that he was absolutely, under no circumstances, ever, going to be allowed near again regardless of whether he was in prison or not.
You could sneak into her bedroom.
Did you not just hear that I'm in fucking prison?
You know, that thing where there are bars, a key somewhere…
The dog has it. Could get the key, and then sneak into her bedroom.
Yeah, I am just going to waltz right into the governor's mansion, say "cheerio" to the doorman, sweep my hat off in a greeting, salute her father when he figures out a notorious pirate has just escaped jail and is now in his house, and then skip right up the stairs to his daughter's room.
...could just climb into her window.
From fucking where? I can't fly.
...Pity.
Besides, sneak into her bedroom for what?
...what?
We're assuming here that she wouldn't scream, or have me arrested again, or…
The woman put herself between twelve men with guns and her father, and stuffy Norrington to challenge your arrest the first time.
A fat lot of good that did.
You're the one that tried to strangle her.
Strangle her? I was in control of that chain the entire time.
So now you're attached to her, attracted, and you care for her.
I'm sorry?
You care for her.
It was ten bloody fucking minutes.
And yet you're spending your last hours obsessing over her.
I'm not obsessing.
He wasn't thinking about what her curves looked like under her nearly see-through shift, he absolutely did not care about the honey color of her hair...how soft her lips looked...or the depth of her eyes...he didn't care about any of that.
Fuck.
You're also never going to see her again.
I'm sorry, do you hate me or something?
So you do admit that you are attracted to her?
Look out the window, watch the sea, listen to the sea, listen to the birds outside, to the noises of the town, look around the cell again, listen to the irritating snoring coming from the cell next to his...anything...
Elizabeth. Lizzie. Bess. Lizbeth...love...darling…he could call her any of those…
Call her them when? In the afterlife? Did he miss where she was sentenced to be hanged too?
Some door opened off in the distance just then…
Maybe it's someone to come and rescue you…
Please don't try and be funny.
Well…
What if she didn't immediately reject him appearing in her bedroom?
Another wild notion...he wanted to tell her stories, wanted to watch her eyes twinkle with fascination...watch her smile and laugh when he told her about…
Tell her stories?
Stories…
You would be sneaking into a beautiful woman's bedroom and the first thing you think of is telling her fucking stories?
May I ask what you're implying?
I don't think you have ever told a woman a fucking story in your life.
First of all…
Maybe it is a good thing that you're going to hang. Might as well, because a pirate in the beginning stages of falling in love will eventually get killed one way or another.
What the fuck did you say?
Which part?
I'm not in love.
You want to tell her stories.
I'm. Not. In. Love. With. Her.
Obsessing, in love, attached, care, attracted...whichever…you're done for is the point.
When did his own mind become so goddamn infuriating?
Women lusted after him. He did not lust after them.
He did not think about how their lips would feel against his, how soft their skin would feel under his hands, how their body would…
Who are you kidding?
...fine. How her body would move against him, the kind of sounds she would make...everything he could teach her…
In conclusion, he decided just then, he was ill. Sick, deranged, delusional, probably had a fever, was slowly turning into a maniac...there was a headache forming...his fingers were itching to...blood kept heading-yes, something was definitely terribly wrong with him.
Some sound...it was getting closer...had been getting closer for about a minute now…
Footsteps.
Then they stopped.
And he realized that his heart was racing. Or maybe it had been doing that the entire time. Fuck all if he knew.
Yes, this kind of death was the worst kind, deathless, because it didn't kill you at all, it just made you feel out of your goddamn mind...nothing made sense anymore, the sky was purple, water was solid, shit tasted good, fire was cold, rum tasted like poison...birds swam, fish flew, humans had eight legs...and his mind had lost the ability to function properly.
"You're despicable."
Except...her insult had sounded strangely like...like an invitation, like she wanted him to retort back, wanted to turn it, them, into a game, into something...and then when he had slowly walked her away from stuffy Norrington, she had been...pressing closer to him, like she was silently telling him she was perfectly willing to be kidnapped.
Damn her.
She was a siren, that had to be it...she had magical powers.
And he had to resist the silly urge to snap his fingers as though he had just arrived at an epiphany.
That, or you're just an incredibly hopeless man with terrible timing.
Then he actually snorted out loud.
Hilarious, this whole thing. His grand quest to commandeer a ship to take his ship back had turned into him diving into the ocean after some silly woman who was driving him insane without even being here...then subsequently getting arrested because of saving said woman...getting sentenced to death...escaping...getting caught...and now he was here. Thinking about her.
Wait...the footsteps, they had started again. Soft, light against the stone…
"Well, lookie here, she's come to talk to us criminals…"
...She?
She.
...What the hell?
"Not to you, actually. But a criminal, yes."
"Ahh, surely you be here to talk to Sparra over there then? Don't know if you'll get much out of him. Silent as the grave, that one."
"He hasn't said anything?"
"Well, 'e said somethin' about the dog earlier...sounded like 'e had no hope left...then again, he ought not to...don't see him escapin' anytime soon."
"And you see yourself escaping do you?"
A scattered bit of grunting, and the other voices petered off.
Which left silence for his brain to scream into…
...because there was absolutely no way for her to be standing anywhere in his vicinity. Hallucination, she was. Had to be. There was no way…
"...Captain...excuse me, Captain Sparrow?"
The voice in his head suddenly had nothing to say.
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Firelight