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The Scythe's Song	By : hallowedmaiden Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2815 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own POTC or the characters and I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
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Five minutes was how long she estimated she had been lying there, but five minutes in her state of drifting back and forth over the line between sleep and consciousness could really mean five years, or five seconds, or seven seconds, or twenty minutes. She didn't know, didn't really care to think about it further because she was also in that strange bracket of sleepiness that took away her ability to care about whether she was comfortable or not.
It was hard to breathe correctly when her mouth and nose were pressed up against a very solid chest, smushed really, but the bed was warm and the rest of the lean muscled body under the comforter was warm too, settled against her, and she couldn't gather the motivation to move, taking half-breaths, curling her hand around a trim waist, prepared to stay exactly where she was regardless of how much time passed.
She had woken up this way, pressed tightly against her love, his right arm wrapped around her in a rather possessive manner, not that she minded, but she was wondering when his clothes had come off, and somehow they had switched positions. She swore they had fallen asleep with him nestled into her shoulder with clothes on, rather than him snuggling her into his naked chest. He was still asleep, his even steady breaths making her hair flutter from the way his nose was pressed into it. Her right arm was trapped between them, and...oh, the hard length of his morning erection was nestled against her stomach, and finally, she found a reason to shift a little bit, rubbing herself back and forth across it, pulling her face back enough to pepper small kisses across his skin.
Some of the warmth left her when he shifted onto his back, and the light coming through the windows, soft morning light from the rising sun, just barely illuminated his face, shadows settling on his cheekbones, his full lips just barely on display, his coppery skin darker in the dim, and it warmed her heart to see how peaceful he looked, how content, how unbothered he was laying there next to her, his chest rising and falling.
The lack of anything buzzing on her mind, the lack of swirling anxiousness and thoughts and problems, the absence of haunting memories, the clarity in her senses, allowed her to take everything in, and the perfection of the moment filled her with an indescribable emotion, made her chest constrict and her mouth fall open slightly.
Jack was here with her, and they had their entire lives to look forward to, finally together, no more hiding, no more secrets, no more pain, just them, in the present. It had taken a lot to get here, she knew, a lot of obstacles, and a lot of time, but she wouldn't take it back for the world, because one shift in history, one change, and they might not be here, he might not be stretched out in front of her for her perusal, they might not have years and years to enjoy.
That wasn't to say that there wasn't any peril, anything lurking just outside of this bubble because anything could go wrong at any second, with the lives they led, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate life in the moment.
Taking a deep breath, her attention was suddenly drawn to his right arm moving, disappearing under the blanket, and she understood what he was doing at the same time as realizing that he must be at least partially awake now. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her breath came a little shorter as the excitement flowed through her. She rarely got this show from him, as he preferred for her to pleasure him most of the time, but when he did touch himself for her, it was one of the most beautiful sights she would ever lay eyes on.
She followed the movement as his hand arrived at what it was seeking under the blanket, making stroking motions just a second later as she sat up to watch with more focus. The muscles in his neck tensed as he tilted his head back, a small breath escaping his parted mouth.
It was as she had expected when his dark eyes fluttered open to find her watching him. He immediately stopped once he realized what was happening, what he was doing, and gave her a slow curling smile.
"Getting started without you, darling. Shame on me." His voice was still heavy with sleep, giving it an exquisite rough timbre. Reaching under the blanket, she wrapped her hand around his, leaning up to whisper against his lips. "No, keep going, love."
Even in the dim light, she could see the heat pool in his eyes. "Want to watch, then?" Nodding, she searched the room for where-
"Top drawer of the nightstand," he answered, inclining his head in its direction with a smirk, and she climbed over him to retrieve the bottle of...almond oil, she discovered. Handing it to him, a smile of anticipation curving her mouth, the rest of her body practically trembling with it, when he popped the lid and poured a generous bit into his palm, then stopped, gazing at her. "Hard to watch anything with a blanket in the way."
She rolled her eyes while her heart jumped with more enthusiasm, and curled her fist around the edge of the comforter, pulling it down. When he was completely bare before her, she dragged her eyes over his form in appreciation, feeling the heat prickle at her skin from a tantalizing blush. "Damn, I'll never get tired of you looking at me," but she didn't turn her head to him, only heard his hushed whisper as his hand reappeared in her box of vision, wrapping around his shaft. A memory was sparked within her, one that she had forgotten until just then. The first time she had...examined for lack of a better word, his...well, she hadn't known exactly what to call it then, but that wasn't to say that she didn't know what there was to call it. She just hadn't known what Jack wanted her to call it.
It was rather amazing, she mused, that a man who she had thought would always dance on the edge of passion and furious urgency in bed allowed himself to relax under the weight of her gaze, laying there languidly like a lion after a fresh meal, especially with her current state of undress, as he had told her in no uncertain terms that the sight of her skin under his fingers would make him ignore a thousand soldiers of the Royal Navy bearing down upon him. Not that he didn't possess a near toxic amount of passion and urgency because he employed those two vices so well that she had contemplated just limiting her life to him ravishing her whenever he pleased, and she was positive beyond a reasonable doubt that he would please very often.
But the patience he exercised with her, letting her slow things down to touch him, talking with her if she wanted to talk rather than touch, which never happened after a certain point anyway, he even answered her questions, and she certainly had plenty of questions.
It had only been a week since he had first taken her on this very bed, her bed rather than his, which had thrown an interesting twist on things, one that he had not failed to comment on, a quip along the lines of "making love on a King's bed is quite an honor, darling", after which she reminded him that it was only a King's bed out of his own machinations. It had earned her a saucy grin.
Within a week, it felt like he had led her around the globe, or at least the equivalent distance, in the world of pleasure. She had known some inkling of what he was silently promising her when trying to convince her that "she would come over to his side", and oh how she had wanted to give into that temptation right then and there...then that first taste of his mouth working against hers, that first dip over the line between shameless flirting and innuendo into something far more dangerous, it had made the hunger for him increase into something uncontrollable within her, culminating into that evening when she had absolutely had enough...racing down to the council room to steal him away like some kind of wanton harlot.
It really was like her world with him was divided into two halves, the first being a world populated by nothing more than fantasies between them, heated images within their heads about what the other might look like underneath the layers of cloth and leather, or what the other's hands might feel like against heated skin, or the words that might be spoken, or not spoken, how his voice might sound, whether it be whispering in her ear, or moaning against her...just the insane wondering, reaching, daydreaming, incessant imagining that she knew had plagued both of them from the moment they laid eyes on each other; that was the first half.
The other half, the one she was currently residing in, was the satisfaction of knowing how his voice sounded in the heat of pleasure, a rich husky growl even deeper than his normal speaking voice, knowing exactly what he looked like beneath his clothing, all coppery skin, tattoos, scars, and lean muscle, knowing precisely what his moans sounded like, a beautiful noise that gave her pleasure all on their own, it all truly felt like a world away from the fantasies, and she had wondered many times how she had managed to survive as long as she had there, in complete ignorance.
Even knowing all she knew now, having felt all that she had felt at his fingertips, and the pleasure from the rest of his body, she still knew that he could guide her into deeper waters, send her into a higher state of frenzy than he already had, and it excited her like nothing else.
But all of that...expanse of possibility, could wait for now, because she had finally gathered the courage to really explore...she found she didn't know...couldn't quite settle on the word for it, even though she had been up close and personal with it several times, she had never taken the time to just look. And looking was exactly what she was doing now, in the soft orange light of her cabin, lit by only a few lanterns and a few candles.
It had been her plan the entire time, even though the plan had been pushed to the brink of being foiled when he had pressed her against the wall, ravaging her mouth with his and nearly pushing her to an orgasm just by rubbing her through her breeches, but she had been resolute in her need to really take her time with him, and he had sussed out what she was intending when she had finally dragged his breeches down his legs only to push him onto her bed.
"While I appreciate the attention, I hope that this mission of yours involves touching at some point?" Frustration was not the tone of voice that he used, not even a little bit of annoyance, only pure contentment, with only a small lilt of teasing. "We'll see, Jack, we'll see. Now hush, the King is ordering you to only speak when spoken to."
"You think you can just order me about, do you?"
"Yes, and if you do want touching to become involved, I suggest you let me."
The look that he gave her informed her that he knew exactly how badly she wanted to touch him, the lengths she would run to do so, and that no amount of his insubordination would crush that desire. "Besides, don't pretend that you don't like me ogling you." His lips twitched in the smallest smirk. "I just said that I appreciate the attention, or is your ogling me taking away your ability to hear?"
Rolling her eyes up at him with a dangerous glare, she reached out and trailed a finger down his left thigh. "Mmm, I hope not, Captain Sparrow, because then how could I possibly enjoy it when I make you moan?" She was using the heaviest voice she could muster, internally snickering at the fact that her light seduction was going to lead to nowhere for him for the moment. "If you don't get on with something, darling, then I will just go to sleep and dream of you making me moan instead."
She knew him well enough by this point to know that there was no way on this green earth that he could go to sleep while still being as hard as he was. He might tease and taunt her, but having her gaze at him with the level of fascination that she did, even now, was something that started a fire within him almost unlike anything else, being inside of her and having her mouth wrapped around him probably the only things above it.
"So," she began with a smirk, still trailing her finger in circles on his thigh, "which do you like best? My mouth around you, my hand stroking you, or being inside of me?"
His eyebrow quirked, and he looked like he was holding his breath for a second, before letting it out on a smooth exhale. "You know, not too long ago I could barely get you to admit to wanting to kiss me, and now you're asking such questions…"
Halfway down her descent to replace her finger with her lips, she glanced up at him. "And with you sprawled out in front of me like...well, I don't know of any comparison that could equal this," she said, motioning to his form. "I guess you're just very convincing." Then her lips did connect with the skin of his thigh, but she got no admittance of pleasure from him yet. "Well?"
Fingers were suddenly playing with her hair, and she smiled. "The answer to that question really depends."
"Oh?"
"Timing is the big one. If we're starting from the beginning, then I prefer all three, not necessarily in the order you said, and not necessarily limited to just one of each. But if you strut around taunting and teasing me like you enjoy doing, then I don't quite have it in me to waste time with the first two."
She raised her other hand to draw figure eights on his right thigh, getting close to his shaft, but never quite closing the distance. "But that doesn't answer the question, Jack. Which do you prefer overall?" He wanted to twist the conversation more, she could tell, wanted to stray even further from the original question just to aggravate her, but then he sighed.
"Would you like explanations of why I choose the one I choose and why I didn't choose the other two?"
"I'll go even further and tell you that I am willing to bet a few doubloons on which one I think you will pick."
Betting with Jack was a dangerous game, like entering a battle with a sorcerer that knew tricks she didn't. "Think you know me that well?" he asked as she trailed her fingers back and forth over the divide between his hip and his leg. "I'd like to think so, Captain."
"Well, go on then, which one is it?"
Truthfully, she wasn't quite as convinced of her answer as she made herself out to be, but based on all of the evidence she had gathered, the other two just didn't seem to quite measure up, or maybe it was because she couldn't allow herself to believe that he would choose the one she wanted him to.
"Actually, I think I'll keep my secrets to myself for the time being," she replied as she finally allowed a finger to travel delicately up and down his length, which was still standing at proud attention. Whether he was surprised or not from her declaration, she didn't know, because the only reaction she got was another raised eyebrow, and a whispered "interesting".
"I'll divert the conversation a bit and tell you specifically why I like each."
"Mmm, divert away," she purred as her fingers danced around his tip, fissures of excitement tickling at her when his hips twitched in response.
"Bloody tease. I enjoy your mouth because of your desire to use it on me. Not many women actually enjoy that task you know, and you take enjoying it to a completely different level. It's not a selfish request when I ask it of you, and it's not a pleasureless endeavor when you seek to do it yourself."
It was not because her mouth was warm and wet, nor the skill she had, but because she wanted to pleasure him, and it made her feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside. "Those women haven't seen Jack Sparrow in the throes of pleasure then." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I do make quite the sight, don't I?" he said, snickering. "I enjoy your hand for similar reasons, except with that I can interact with you more, kiss you and such. But-"
And then he stopped, and she wasn't sure if it was because she had just dragged her tongue in a leisurely stroke all the way up his shaft, or if it was because he was hesitating about whatever it was that he was going to say. "-but," he continued after a little moan sounded in his throat, "being inside of you absolutely lays waste to the other two, and well...you have my answer then, I suppose."
Something fluttered in her, pride, surprise, excitement, she wasn't sure which one it was, or if it was a combination of all three. She did know that she hadn't expected, couldn't expect him to choose that because she hadn't allowed herself the arrogance of expecting him to like that level of intimacy with her above all else. She stayed quiet for a moment and sat up straight, keeping her head down to stare at her lap. "It appears then that I owe you some money."
"That wasn't what you thought I was going to choose?"
"...No, it's not. I thought-" and then she was cut off by his "what did you think?" at the same time.
"...My mouth...you seem to enjoy it thoroughly," and it was his turn to be surprised, as the gaze he leveled at her was more than just...it seemed to penetrate her, as though it was trying to search through her mind.
"Are you telling me that you really thought...Lizzie. I spent hours upon hours...well, more time than I am comfortable admitting thinking about being inside of you. Do you really suppose that I wouldn't hold the privilege in high regard now that I have it?"
The reminder that he had fantasized about her was a comforting one, and yet it was also a reminder that she felt silly for ever questioning whether he did or not, just like she felt silly now for choosing the wrong answer, and rather than giving him an answer to his question, she doubled back to something he had not elaborated on. "What do you like about it?"
"What do I like about...oh." Then a light entered his eyes, or maybe it was just the reflection of the candle in the room. "Put your mouth back where it was and I might tell you."
She didn't even bother pretending to have an issue with his order and bent to place soft kisses on his length again, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Well?" she asked for the second time that night.
"Impatient, are we? Apart from the obvious things, tight, wet, and warm, a lot of it is feeling you respond to me, feeling the pulsating inside, your nails on my back, your legs wrapped around me, and your bloody gorgeous moans, especially when they contain my name."
Every description he gave her made her pulse quicken like a drum being beat with rapidly increasing intensity. "You know, not too long ago, I was only fantasizing about kissing you, and now you're describing why you like making love to me."
"Like you said before, I'm convincing." It was said with a growing need in his voice since she had reintroduced her tongue to her ministrations, her hands gripping his hips tenderly. "And I would wager all of my doubloons that kissing me wasn't the only thing you thought about doing."
"We would be here all day if I described everything I thought about doing to and with you, and correct me if I'm wrong, but your capacity for my teasing only stretches so far."
His head tilted back when she took just the tip into her mouth, but then she realized that he intended on preserving his self-control for the moment because there was no request for more, no pleases or 'oh darlings', only a saucy smirk and a gravelly response. "You would be correct, though I think it stretches farther than you may think."
Bloody pirate, infuriating, gorgeous, complex, inscrutable...she could call him pirate again, but having already thought it, a hundred other names to describe him flashed through. She pushed them all away, deciding that it was not the right moment to be reminded of how deep her feelings went for him. Instead, she pulled back and focused on the task at hand, the one that she had wanted to perform the entire time before she had been distracted by talk of choices and bets.
"So, this here is the secret to all men, hmm?" she asked as she held his shaft as though she was examining a custom made pistol for quality, giggling internally at the comparison.
A laugh, a deep melodic chuckle rumbled from him, and she delighted in her ability to make him laugh since she hadn't been sure at first if he ever would again after the Locker. "That's rather limiting, don't you think?"
She mulled it over, thinking over the last week, counting all the times that he had completely surrendered to her the second any part of her touched his cock. "Based on the evidence I have gathered, I would propose not."
"Evidence?"
"Yes, evidence. You can withstand all of my blows, whether they are kisses, caresses, or anything else, except when they involve this. Then, you melt into a glorious little puddle of quivering need. Do you deny it?"
His eyes narrowed, but nothing else surfaced that could even approach being called indignation. "Not quite denial, but I like to think that I retain some modicum of awareness. Care to test the theory?"
"In due time, I'm not done."
"Teasing a captain is a most grievous offense." His voice lowered several octaves at the word 'grievous'.
"We just discussed that you enjoy my teasing."
"It'll earn you a punishment of a good ravishing right on this bed-"
"Good thing we're both captains, isn't it? Are there any rules for captain against captain?"
He went silent for a moment, but his eyes held a ridiculous amount of mischief. "Well, it starts normally with one of the captains climbing on top of the other captain, or pushing them against the wall, or bending them over a desk, anything works really."
"...as I said, I'm not done. And several of those scenarios require a particular arrangement of captains, if you will."
"That they do, Lizzie darling, that they do."
"This is the secret to men," she said, squeezing him gently for emphasis, "but I will concede that it is only one of the secrets to you. And before I'm through, I will discover all of them."
"Don't sound so threatening, love, or you might scare me away."
"We'll see how far you get before you're running back begging me to make you come."
A heavy breath was exhaled from his lungs like he was a frustrated predator hunting a particularly frustrating target. "I don't beg."
She briefly thought about arguing that declaration, and then decided against it, far too interested in what she held in her hand. During her internal musings about Jack's body, which was during her internal battle to near death with lust and giving into selfishness on the way to Isla Cruces, she had entertained thoughts about this part of him far more often than not, refusing to stop even when a blush heated her skin every time. It was the defining part of his masculinity, and it had fascinated her more than she should care to admit. But she didn't mind admitting it, had liked the wondering, the imagining, the wantonness of thinking about a man's cock.
And he was beautiful, she had discovered when she had finally revealed what lay beneath his clothing, especially in that moment, when he had been so hard, so eager for her touch. The second his breeches had hit the floor, he had almost sagged against the wall with both relief and the overwhelming feeling of having her eyes on him. That second part he had told her when they had laid in bed cocooned in a delirious state of unyielding euphoria.
Not that she had anything to really compare it to, discounting the glimpses she had gotten aboard the Edinburgh Trader, but she knew he was large nonetheless, larger than average, and she had discovered some of the reason for his arrogance then.
But arrogance was something that he kept at bay for her, especially when she had tentatively touched him that first time, stroked her fingers up the vein on the underside, flitted them across the swollen tip, marveling at the velvety softness, he had even stayed still through the first flicks of her tongue. His patience at allowing her to explore him at her leisure had...she couldn't really describe the feelings it had stirred within her. But her exploration then hadn't been thorough enough for her, stunted by the rush, the hurricane within her body at finally putting to death the fantasies and the wondering, and the reaching.
"I think you do beg at least once in awhile, Jack."
"Well, you take any longer, and you might just prove yourself right."
"Don't tempt me, hearing you beg is one of life's finest gifts in my opinion."
But she finally conceded, pressing kisses to every inch of his shaft, tracing the ridge at the top, learning his shape, memorizing it to her mind, learning the sensations that differed depending on where she touched him, tentatively exploring and experimenting with the soft weight at its base too, still marveling that something so hard could be so soft, throbbing with life. And when she got her fill, or rather when the wetness between her thighs told her that enough was enough, she swung a leg over his body, writhing upon his cock for a moment before lifting and lowering herself on him all in one fluid motion, cherishing the way his mouth fell open with a gentle exhale of breath.
Sometime later, she was re-dressing, intending on seeing to some of the things she had been neglecting as the King, since she had barely left Jack's side since that day, but then as he came up behind her, still entirely naked, pressing kisses to her neck under her hair, she had the clarity of mind to remember something.
"Tomorrow night, then?"
"If I can wait that long," she whispered back as she reached into her coat pocket, and turned to press two doubloons into his palm, closing his fingers around them. "Good night, Captain Sparrow," and with one more tender kiss, she was slipping out of the cabin and down to her office, catching his pleased smirk at the last second.
"I'll never get tired of looking at this, at you, Jack."
And she wouldn't, could never grow bored of watching his masculine form ready to perform for her, his muscles taut, his eyes glittering, a hint of urgency swimming just below the surface. But it wasn't even watching the physicality of it, but rather the supreme expression of vulnerability that he was showing her, the trust he was placing in her allowing her to be an audience to something that was normally only done without an audience, that was absolutely intoxicating to her.
His first stroke was a lazy one, a slow adventure from the base to the tip of his length, then back down again, but it still made a small moan escape him as he tilted his head back, and even though the next stroke and the one after that mirrored the first, the sight made her pulse quicken furiously, and she immediately decided that she wanted to be a participant, rather than just a bystander. Taking his free hand within her own, she raised it to her lips and sank one of his fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, winning her a deep throaty groan, and an appreciative grin. "Should've known you couldn't last just watching for long."
"I didn't think you'd mind," she replied, a smirk in her voice as she abandoned his finger to kiss her way down his wrist, sucking on his pulse point, searching the rest of his body for what she could move onto next. "...would never mind…" he managed to breathe as his hand quickened, settling into a rhythm of smooth even strokes. When his head tilted just enough to the left, she swooped down on his neck, spreading wet kisses along the tightening muscles there, then pausing to watch his movements down below, fascinated, the evidence of her fascination making itself known between her legs.
"...oh god, Lizzie," had her head snapping back to his face, her breath turning rapid at the need in his voice, and she leaned back up to his neck to whisper in his ear. "What're you thinking about, love?" At the same time, her hand settled on his chest to play with his nipple.
"...'M thinking about burying myself inside of you until you beg me to finish," was his response, tumbling out on an exhale of breath, his back arching, his strokes speeding up. It made an uneven moan escape her, the fact that he was thinking about being inside of her while touching himself making wetness pool at her entrance. "What else?" she purred, knowing she was playing with fire.
"...fuck, the way you feel around me, so tight and wet and warm…" and then she descended onto his nipple with her mouth on the edge of his last word, sucking then dancing her tongue around it, watching his hand quicken out of the corner of her eye, reaching out her other hand to steady herself on his shoulder, as her heart was racing at such a pace now that she was feeling a wave of dizzying arousal, swirling inside of her like a storm.
"I love the way you make love to me, the way you feel inside of me," but she had a hard time speaking, her voice thick with desire. Just then, his free hand fisted in the sheets and she raised her head to watch his face once more. His brows were knitted together, eyes squeezed shut, his jaw was clenching rhythmically even as his mouth hung parted, low growls falling from it as his other hand moved.
Even in the dim, she could see a flush on his skin, and it felt hot under her fingers when she splayed her hand across his stomach to feel the muscles there coiling, her other hand stroking his face. She leaned up again, kissing up his jawline. "Are you close, love?" she whispered, even though she could tell that he was. "...yes...fuck...touch me…" and her hand immediately dove down to cup his sac, massaging it, fighting the urge to touch herself as he started to chant her name under his breath.
Just when she knew he was nearly there, she wrapped her hand around his, stroking him too until his body went rigid, a deep groan mixed with a hissed 'fuck' spilling from him as he came into her palm in hot bursts, trembling, and then finally dropped back onto the bed, his chest heaving. Where his face had transformed into the perfect cross between ecstasy and agony as he orgasmed, it was now serene, a lazy smile stretching across, his eyes half-open.
Quickly getting up to wash her hand off, she joined him again, stretching her body out next to his, turning his face towards hers to cover his lips in a tender kiss.
"Enjoy the show, darling?" he asked when he broke away, his voice gravelly. All she could do was nod, her breath coming out in puffs. He seemed to realize how high he had made her climb, and immediately pushed her onto her back, leaning over her to recapture her lips as his hand went south, disappearing under her PJ trousers to drag them down enough to gain access to her.
A breathy "oh god please" came from her just as he nudged her thighs apart and slid two fingers inside, his thumb already working her swollen clit. His other hand lifted her tank top and then cupped her breast while his mouth met her nipple, sucking on it. "You're so close already, aren't you? Just from watching me…" Even through the pleasure she could hear the wonder in his voice and smiled just before her lips opened again to push another moan out. "Yes...oh god please don't stop…"
He was kissing her neck now, then her jaw, before finally nibbling on her ear, his fingers switching from stroking her inside to sliding in and out in smooth thrusts. "Wouldn't dream of it...almost there love…" Her head was thrashing as the rush of heat traveled up her spine, her hair standing on end, her skin prickling, and she could barely register his mouth at her nipple again as her world broke, wave after wave of euphoria lifting her away, until she collapsed into his arms, barely able to catch her breath.
"Mmm, I could get used to waking up next to you," she heard him say through the blood still rushing in her ears as if he hadn't already woken up next to her a million times before. Just as she was ready to fling a sarcastic retort at him, a soft "I love you" was whispered at her, and she melted against him like a piece of chocolate under the sun, burying her face into his shoulder with a cross between a sigh and a quiet giggle.
The sun was shining into the window, that soft morning sun that should bring with it happiness and joy and...but all it did was remind her that she hadn't even slept last night, her mind too alive with theories and connections and digging.
It was difficult to convince herself that being here this early to examine case files was really necessary, but the rational part of her brain kept telling her that her career was hanging in the balance because of this goddamn case, so getting up early to do her job currently should be treated as a luxury that could disappear in the blink of an eye. Besides, a manhunt, and that is really what this was at the moment, was rather exhilarating if she were being honest with herself.
Something about him was alluring, like he was the challenge that she had become a detective for. Most of her night had been dedicated to pouring over all of her expertise, all of her training, to try and make connections, to try and figure out who he was. She felt like all she needed was a few puzzle pieces that were missing, both with him and with the case.
"...Did you sleep at all?"
"Yes," she snapped, glaring at the coffee mug on her desk, but clearly Cyril didn't believe her if his eye roll and disapproving sigh was any evidence. "I still don't understand why you don't understand that not sleeping just slows you down."
"Maybe for someone like you, who doesn't let a case turn into an obsession, but as I have explained before, I like the chase, the mystery."
He sank into the chair opposite her and glared at her for a moment, before shaking his head. "Did you at least come up with something...a theory? Information? What color hair dye he uses?"
Fixing him with her own glare, she rifled through everything she had extracted for this conversation. "I...I think he lives here."
"Lives where?"
"In the U.K. Not in London, too populated and too close to airports, police, and other areas of interest. Probably somewhere not too isolated, but also not too busy. Make a list of cities that fit that description."
Her coffee slid from her end of the desk to his as he snatched it. "First of all, I thought I was your boss. Second, care to share the supporting evidence for your theory?"
"The cases we have picked out to examine, the cell phone, the interception of a weapon shipment from the IRA, and the theft of a Russian sports car, a few Russians mysteriously vanished if I recall correctly, they are all high-profile high-risk crimes, right?"
"...Yes…"
"Well, the other part of this theory is...I think he operates outside of London as well. I was looking through some records of other theft cases in other big cities, and I found a bunch. Mumbai, plenty of big U.S. cities, Moscow, places like that. Going back at least 15 years."
"And this ties into your theory about why he lives here how?
"All of the high-profile cases are limited to the U.K., mostly to London, in fact. The rest of them outside of the U.K. with the exception of a few, are lower-risk jobs. Why would he only take high-risk cases here? Because he knows the area. He's more in control here than he would be in a foreign city."
Cyril sat there for a moment, scratching his face, running his hand through his salt and pepper hair, before giving her a little grunt. "That...actually makes sense. Do we have a profile of him yet? Physicality, finances, day-to-day patterns?"
"I thought about those too. Each of the three cases were done with extreme efficiency, skill, and most importantly, lack of consequence. He's good."
"...Ok?"
"I...think he has a smaller build, not like a skinny guy, but he isn't Rambo, so that allows him maneuverability. Obviously very comfortable around weapons, and cars, clearly he has money, and...like you said before, he isn't a psychopath."
"Care to elaborate on why you agree with me?"
"He stays isolated and does these jobs because they are something that he can do while staying anonymous. A psychopath wouldn't care about being hidden, generally. Probably wouldn't care for theft jobs to begin with. I...also think he owns more than one property."
"Why?"
"Because, all of these crimes, the ones here and elsewhere, have similar time gaps. He goes on vacation."
She watched him reject a call on his phone, muttering something about "every damn morning, this bitch"...his ex-wife, probably. "This...is all very interesting, Monica, but I'm still...having a hard time completely taking this professional thief theory seriously."
This was something she had prepared for, his continued denial about the plausibility of it all, and she had the perfect defense for it. "Cyril, the three cases, IRA guns, the phone, and Russian car, they have quite a bit in common."
He watched her for a moment, sizing her up, and then leaned back in his chair and waved his hand at her. "...Fine, like what?"
"All three were done at night, between 1 and 5 A.M. That means he prefers the cover that doing it then provides him. All three cases had no evidence of any weapons being used. That means that he doesn't have the need to use weapons, or he cleans up well enough to hide the evidence of using weapons. And, we already knew this, but all three names that we found in connection with these crimes don't exist. I think he creates different identities when doing high-risk jobs. Furthermore, and this is just a wild conjecture of mine, but I think one of the people in the evidence job acts as his face in meetings with his clients."
"...So, he does the jobs themselves, but has someone else arrange and cut ties with the job?"
"Yeah, the different identity and lack of a consistent face make him almost impossible to track for everyone involved. Also, in every car theft I can track that I believe to be connected to him, including the Russian car, the car just vanishes, never to be seen again. Most of the time, when cars are exchanged from one hand to another, something about the car turns up. Not these. He keeps them."
Both of Cyril's hands drummed on the desk, a scowl set on his face. "So, your mystery man so far likes fast cars, likes guns, likes stealing things, isn't crazy, is very smart, keeps himself very hidden and secretive, has a fuckton of money, and likes a little danger with his breakfast?"
"...Sounds about right."
"...Ok, now let's compare all of this information to the evidence job. He did this one during the day. Why?"
"Easy, the bomb threat. He needed to make sure it was going to be effective. Hard to make a threat when there is no one here."
"And he didn't give any kind of identity on the phone."
"No, he didn't."
It was only a moment later that she knew she had finally convinced him.
"I...he did seem too smart to be a common criminal, and all of the...information you just gave me does point to one person being behind...all of it."
She didn't even realize how enthusiastically she was nodding until he quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Let's build the rest of his profile. We need something to announce, can't just pretend like nothing is happening here."
"I...know. I just don't want to scare him into complete hiding."
A drawer opened and a piece of paper and a pen were pulled out in quick succession, and she rolled her eyes at him, annoyed that he was now gung-ho about the whole thing, when before he had seemed like he would have less trouble believing that Barack Obama really was half-lizard.
"I realize that. My first question is, is he romantically involved?"
"...Why?"
"Because. The answer to that question could explain why he does certain things, and why he doesn't do certain things. A married man behaves very differently from a single man, Monica. Believe me."
Of course he would know that, having just cut ties from his third wife in fifteen years.
"...No, I do not believe he is romantically involved. The thefts are too consistent, too...well performed for him to have the distraction of a significant other."
"Ok...no girlfriend or wife then. I think we have enough to make a press statement tomorrow. I'll get that list together of the cities he could possibly live in, and continue to monitor everything else. Constables in London and surrounding big cities are still on alert for any related activity. What about the Cartel?"
"What about them?"
"Think they are going to come here?"
Yes, she did.
"I doubt they are going to sit in Mexico and wait for everything to blow over. No, they are going to collect the evidence themselves, rather than let it be transported. We should station constables at all major and minor airports, and alert all airport staff. Perhaps we can intercept the evidence, figure out who actually killed Ishii, or at the very least, see this mystery man's face, or whoever he is involved in this whole mess with. Something has to go our way."
She flicked her long black hair over to her other shoulder as she relaxed on Jack's couch with a glass of tequila.
Jack. The man that had Lizzie's heart all wrapped up, since day one.
All of the times that Lizzie had talked about Jack, one trait had come out as consistent. The man had always known her when no one else could. He knew her worries, her pleasures, her frustrations, her hopes and dreams, her failures, everything. It was no wonder she had fallen in love with him, since most men couldn't even hope to figure out what their women liked to eat.
And the woman's face would like up like a Christmas tree whenever she talked about him, would go on and on, and then it was like she always fell off some kind of cliff, going very quiet, very...solemn.
Just by seeing them interact, seeing the bond between them, the love, she knew that regardless of what had ever happened between them, the two of them had something bigger than all of that, something that would survive anything. It was like they were two halves of one whole, and if one died, the other would follow.
When she had learned that Jack was in Mumbai, and that Lizzie was going to be there too, she had prayed to God that they would find each other, because fate could be cruel to them for only so long. Now they were together, a long-neglected error in the world finally corrected.
And besides all of that, Jack was sure a damn catch.
Suddenly the couch sank down next to her, and she turned to find Chris sitting at the other end.
"Hey," he said, raising his mug of coffee in greeting. "Morning tequila, huh?"
"Desayuno de campeones. Breakfast of champions."
"Not a huge fan of the taste myself," he said, jerking his face towards Jack and Lizzie's bedroom. "Think they are ever going to come out of there?"
"You act like they've been in there for a week."
He snickered. "I mean...they pretty much have."
"...Chris, they just got back together after 44 years. Not only that, but they're now together together. I'm surprised they've left the bedroom at all. They're borracho el uno del otro, absolutely drunk on each other."
"Yeah, I suppose."
They sat there for a good five minutes in silence, thinking and sipping.
"So...do you enjoy working for Jack?"
He looked around at her at first like he was about to just say 'yes', then his face transformed into an 'are you kidding me' expression. "Ringa, I work for a nearly 300-year-old man who was at one point King of the Brethren Court...well, one of them anyways. He was also Captain of one of the most fearsome pirate ships in the Caribbean. Trust me, being employed by Jack Sparrow isn't exactly something to complain about."
"I mean, he can sometimes be a little bit of an asshole, but that's whatever," came a tired voice from in the kitchen. They both craned their necks to see Shawn standing there, struggling with a bottle of beer.
"I mean," Chris mimicked, "maybe if you didn't provoke him all the time, you would change your opinion."
"Provoke him? I didn't provoke him into sending me to rendezvous with that big Russian guy about that car. You know, the one that ended up with four dead bodies here. I'm also pretty sure that the guy was totally gay, because he kept trying to convince me to go upstairs to poigrat' nemnogo, and I googled that, it means 'have a bit of fun'."
"Right, but-"
"And I am 105% sure that Jack knew he was gay, and just wanted to torture me."
"Right, except you're leaving the part out about how just a few days before that, Jack caught you buttfucking on his couch. Seems to me that he had kind of a reason to want to torture you."
Shawn glared at them over the top of his beer bottle for a second, before rolling his eyes and shaking his head, accepting defeat. "Whatever."
"Are you telling me that you don't enjoy working for the Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow?"
It was a few more seconds until Shawn responded. "I mean...I guess I have a pretty cool job."
"That's what I thought."
All through it, she was sitting there alternatively laughing outright and snickering. "How did that conversation go, by the way?" she asked both of them. "When Jack told you about his history?"
Shawn joined them, sitting on the other couch. "He told both of us at the same time in 2002, since he met us a year apart, not a huge time gap there. We were sitting in," he stopped to chuckle for a second, "the basement of a strip club, actually. Don't ask, I hardly remember what led to being there."
"He explained that he trusted the both us enough to tell us a really big secret," Chris cut in. "We thought that he was like...a serial killer, or actually a woman, or something like that. There was nothing in the world that could prepare us for what he said next. Well, actually, the first thing he said was, 'I'm not actually 30'."
"Then," Shawn continued, "he proceeded to produce a piece of paper and a black ink pen, and literally drew the Black Pearl in near minute detail for us in under like...an hour, punctuated by the story of how he became immortal."
The strip club smelled awful, or rather, the basement did, but they were able to ignore that for the time being because they had just found out that their employer was most probably insane.
"You're...I'm sorry, but you're not almost 300 years old. Arctic whales only live to like, 200, don't ask how I know that. You're definitely 30-"
"Nope," Jack cut in, trying not to laugh and failing, still drawing on the piece of paper. "To be exact, I'm 254."
They both got the impression that he had been waiting to tell someone this for a very long time.
"Here's the real kicker, and sorry if you knock your heads on the chair by fainting, but there is another person as well, another immortal person. Elizabeth Swann, she's the same age. Well, technically, I'm 294, and she's 279, but we decided to ignore the years that we had already lived, and just start over at 0. I mean, when you're immortal, does it really matter how old you are anyway?"
"...What in the fuck...what in the fuck kind of drugs are you taking?"
"Plenty, not at the moment, but I've had my fair share. Opium was really popular back in my pirating days."
"Your...your what?" he spluttered.
"He said pirating days," Shawn chimed in, staring at Jack like he was some kind of magical dragon.
"I know what he said. He's crazy...we were hired by a crazy person...he is gonna be on one of those TV shows...like Dr. Phil, eventually."
Jack had to stop drawing for a second to get his laughter under control. "Sorry, that image is hilarious. But I promise I'm not crazy. My name with my previous titles is Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea, Half-King of the Brethren Court."
"...What...in the actual fuck...right, ok," he started, fully prepared to find a different career, "I'll just be over here looking in the...job section of the imaginary newspaper that I'm holding...fuck me…"
"Oh, calm down, don't worry. I have plenty of proof."
"Proof? What in the fuck kind of p-"
The piece of paper was shoved at him then, cutting his sentence off with a garble. On the paper was a fully drawn, very detailed ship.
"...What...what the fuck is that?"
"It's a ship, Chris," Shawn said like he was stupid.
"No shit, I see that. But what is it?"
Jack leaned back in his chair, twitching the pen back and forth in his hand. "That was mine. My ship, that is. The Black Pearl. She sunk in 1749. Royal Navy attack."
"...1749...Royal...ok, I'll admit that I'm impressed that you can draw a ship like that from memory, but I still don't believe you."
"And what will it take, exactly?"
"What will it...I can't even believe I am having this conversation right now," he said, looking at Shawn to see if he was equally against the idea. He wasn't. "I need real proof, like...pictures, items from then, facts that you would only know if you were there, real shit. Not drawings."
"I can provide all of those things. For example, I know that Commodore James Norrington didn't really die in a shipwreck caused by a hurricane. He was killed by Bootstrap Bill Turner. The Flying Dutchman was a real-nevermind, that would probably make you believe me less. The Brethren Court 'pieces of eight' were in fact just random junk, not gold coins. Last, I'm not a huge scruffy man like some history books would have you believe."
"You're in...history books?"
"Yeah, lots. Like I said, most of them get everything about me completely wrong besides my ship and strangely enough, my red bandanna. I think one book even had me with hair like He-Man. Disgusting."
"And just to humor you, how did you become immortal, you and this Elizabeth Swann person?"
"Lizzie and I sailed to Florida on the Pearl," he said, motioning to the piece of paper, "and found the Fountain of Youth."
...He couldn't decide if that topped everything he had heard so far as the most ridiculous thing or not. "You're telling me that you are immortal because you drank some magical water?"
"Actually," Shawn chimed in again, "a lot of historians and scientists are starting to believe that it might be a real thing."
"For fuck's sake, stop watching the History Channel. Those same scientists believe that aliens built the Pyramids."
"The Fountain is probably the best proof I can give you because I could take you there and show it to you, but it's also the only proof that I'm not going to provide. I show one person, or two rather, and suddenly flocks of people are coming to drink from it."
"You don't trust us?"
"No, I do. I wouldn't be telling you this if I didn't. But that is something I just can't risk."
A silence stretched between the three of them, before he broke it, muttering. "Now I know how Harry Potter must have felt at first when he was told that he was a wizard. How about this, you bring this Elizabeth Swann to us and have her corroborate your story. I would have a harder time believing that there is someone equally as crazy as you over disbelieving everything you just told me."
As he talked, Jack's face fell, like a rain cloud had passed over it. "I...no. Sorry, can't do that."
"Can't bring her here?"
"No, don't even know where she is."
"Well, I'm sure she isn't that hard to find-"
"Fucking drop it," Jack suddenly said, with all of the seriousness of a seasoned soldier talking to a terrorist. "She isn't coming here. Probably wouldn't want to, even if I could find her. Pretty positive that she hates me, and in the future, do not mention her name unless I bring her up first. Please."
"Fine, fine, alright...then bring some of those books to us, or something else."
"You're starting to believe me?"
"I don't know, maybe. We'll see."
"Needless to say, we didn't believe him at first. Eventually, I gave in once I saw enough books with pictures that looked mostly like him. There was only a few, but it was enough. Then I turned into an over-excited third grader and bombarded him with questions, about everything from World War II, to-"
"What about World War II?"
All three of them looked around and found Jack leaning against the wall just before the hallway to the bedroom.
"I was just telling them about the time when you casually told us you were immortal in the basement of a strip club."
"...Oh, yeah, then after you finally believed me, I got interrogated for...oh, like three hours about history. Felt like I had taken a temporary job as a professor. By the way, Ringa, Lizzie and I completely avoided anything having to do with World War II. So don't bother."
"What about World War II?" was said again from behind Jack. Lizzie was standing there rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Chris was telling Ringa about when I told Chris and Shawn about me, and you, I guess, being immortal."
A grin spread across her face. "Let me guess, you grilled him about history just like Ringa grilled me?"
"I definitely did. Learned some interesting stuff."
"I'll have to tell you guys sometime about when Lizzie told me. I wasn't quite as annoyed with her as you were with Jack, but I didn't believe her at first either."
It was true. Only when she had produced, of all things, Jack's effects, had she allowed it to be a possibility that the woman really had been a pirate and a Pirate King on top of it.
Jack and Lizzie joined them on the couch, and of course, they were snuggled together shamelessly. "So, Lizzie and I were thinking that we could all get out of the house. Find something to do for the day. Should probably stick around Bath though. We can take two cars, I think Lizzie and I will stay out longer than you guys. Might go to dinner again, we'll see."
"Yeah, that sounds good."
"Ringa, Shawn?"
"I wouldn't mind doing some Bath sightseeing. While I love your casa, Jack, I need some fresh air."
"I don't care either," Shawn said, finishing off his beer.
"Cool, we'll leave in like a half hour then. We'll be in the truck, you three can take the Maserati. It's the least exotic car I have besides my truck, so you should go unnoticed. Be ready at 11:30?"
They all nodded. She really did need some fresh air.
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The Scythe's Song