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The Scythe's Song	By : hallowedmaiden Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2816 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Music, some kind of light techno, filtered through the door of Jack's bedroom from somewhere in the house. She was stuck in between thinking that it was still part of her dream, and her cue to get out of bed.
She stuck her hand out to the other side of the bed before she opened her eyes, and felt nothing but sheets. Sighing into her pillow, she lifted her head when her phone buzzed. The phone's clock read 9:30.
It was a text from Ringa.
'Are you awake yet, amiga?'
'I am now. What's up?'
'Are you at Jack's place?'
'No the plane crashed and I am currently laying on a floating piece of wood in the ocean.'
'Muy gracioso, Liz. Have you and Jack gotten anywhere with the evidence situation?'
'Not yet, he isn't here right now, as I just discovered.'
'Is his bed comfortable?'
'Quite, yes.'
'Excelente. Text me when you find anything else out.'
'Ok. Ttyl.'
She closed the message and then saw that there was also a message from Jack.
'Morning darling. I'll be back later, had to take care of something. Feel free to explore the house, eat, whatever you want. I left a set of keys out on the nightstand if you need to go somewhere. Just don't crash my car. ;)'
She might do it anyway out of spite.
Everything had happened so fast. One moment she had been living her life alone, in isolation, only talking to Ringa, expecting it to be that way for a very long time, and then Jack changed everything. She had forgotten how life felt with him in it, had forgotten the light and the excitement that came with him. It was as though she had been living in a dark cave, and Jack had led her outside into the sunlight.
The first couple of years after they had parted, she figured he would turn up, maybe call her, or show up at her front door one day with a smirk on his face and a job for them to do together, and then a couple more years went by, and she started to worry, started to question everything, started to analyze everything about their relationship. After the ten year mark, she had accepted that he was gone, that he had never valued her much to begin with, and after the fifteen year mark, she had begun torturing herself with images of him with all of the new women he must have been meeting, all of the fun that he was having without her.
Had she really hurt him that much by turning him in? Or was it something else she had done? Was she really that expendable to him? How much did she know about him really? Was she just assuming that he truly cared for her? Was it just a facade that he put on?
It could be that he had a real reason for being away from her for so long, but that seemed too easy, too convenient for her insecure brain to imagine.
She wasn't a person that depended on a man for her happiness, but life without Jack just hadn't been happy. And of course, she was too terrified to ask him about it, so the only alternative was to either try and figure it out herself or bury it and hope the worry over it just faded on its own.
Unlikely.
Sighing heavily, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and realized that she still didn't have anything of her own to wear. Padding over to the dresser on the opposite wall, she opened the drawers until she found a pair of loose fitting gray track pants with a drawstring and a pair of light gray boxers. Slipping them on, she crossed the room to the walk-in closet to the right of the bed.
Jesus Christ, he had a lot of t-shirts. The majority of them appeared to be concert tees. Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath, Judas Priest, Motley Crue, and Deep Purple were all present, along with a lot more. She selected a plain black one that looked a little on the small side and pulled it over her head.
Now that she was dressed, she could have a proper look around the room. Standing just in front of the closet, there was a flat screen TV above the two couches to her left in the hexagonal shaped sitting area, the bed was to her right sitting on a raised portion of the floor, the bathroom was a bit further down behind a pair of black-tinted glass doors, there was a black marble fireplace a bit diagonal from the bed, with the black wood dresser sitting to the left of it, and the black hardwood floors were just gorgeous.
Suddenly something caught her eye in the sitting area.
Oh. What she found on the coffee table next to the couch almost brought tears to her eyes. It was a small-scale model of the Pearl, about a foot long and a foot tall at its highest point. She trailed her finger along the mini sail, a soft smile on her face.
The wall behind the bed was a mural painting of a reaper standing on a barren hill, with a murder of crows circling above it in the sky. It was beautiful if a bit ominous.
On the wall that stretched from the edge of the bathroom to the door was an inlaid set of shelves that housed his collection of CD's and records. He also had a guitar and an amp sitting there. In the middle of the room between the bed and the door was a soft velvet hexagonal rug.
He apparently had as good of a taste in luxury homes as he did in ships.
She crossed the room and grabbed her phone, sending a message to Jack in reply.
'Morning :). I found your dresser. Until I get around to buying some clothes (later today, probably), I have taken the liberty of wearing yours again. See you when you get back.'
'I don't mind. Chris is there somewhere, I'm sure he will come up to talk to you at some point. He is most likely monkeying around in the basement.'
'Any idea when you will be back?'
'Not sure, why, miss me?'
'No. (Maybe).'
'Haha. Probably around 2 or 3.'
'Ok, see you then. I found the Pearl, by the way.'
'Funnily enough, that wasn't built for me. I found it in an antique store. It's pretty close though, isn't it?'
'It is.'
Sliding the phone into her pocket, she swung open the door to the rest of the house. It opened into another hexagonal space that had another set of double doors off to the right, a longer hallway to the left, and a set of stairs in the middle, presumably going to the basement. She took the right path and ended up in the front area of the house.
The kitchen was to the right of the room and occupied the entire side. Handsome black marble counters, a glass and steel kitchen table, and top of the line appliances. It also had a high ceiling, much like the rest of the house. The black hardwood covered the entire floor as well, along with black brick walls around the kitchen table. The kitchen itself had a mural painting of various gods and goddesses from different mythologies, all done in muted colors.
To the left was the living room, a fancy space with black leather couches and a silver stainless steel coffee table. A projector was evidently Jack's TV there.
"Not sure why Jack has such a fancy kitchen. The guy can't cook worth a shit," came a voice from behind her.
She spun around to find herself staring at what looked like a young Clint Eastwood with light blonde curly hair pulled back into a low short ponytail.
"...You must be Chris," she said slowly, pointing an awkward finger at him.
"And you're Elizabeth, or Lizzie, as you're more commonly referred to."
"Jack talked about me?"
"Yeah, once in awhile, but we never saw a picture of you. I only knew who you were because of the way he talked about you."
"...What do you mean?"
"Well, you are the only person that we know of that would be allowed into his bedroom, let alone staying the night, and being left alone without him in there."
"...Oh…"
"Yeah...Jack doesn't trust easily," he said, taking a sip of the drink that he was holding. "You probably already know that. I actually can't remember the last time he brought a girl home. Generally...well, his car is good enough."
She tried very hard to not mentally turn her nose up at any girls that had been in Jack's car but failed miserably.
"So you already knew I was going to be here?"
"I suspected. Shawn was too drunk last night to put two and two together. Shawn is-"
"Jack's mechanic. He told me."
"Yeah. Jack told both of us that we were not allowed to come to the house until this morning. My suspicions about you were confirmed when I caught Jack gathering a pile of clothes in front of the door, and were further confirmed when I saw him quietly shutting the door of his bedroom after that."
She made a face of embarrassment, turning around to occupy herself with finding something to eat.
"What...exactly did he tell you about me?" she asked over her shoulder.
"That you were a bit of a spitfire, you really like knives, you were the only person that he knew that had a skill level to equal his, and you really know how to break a man's heart."
She almost dropped the bowl she was holding.
"He said what?"
He had a look of regret on his face as though he had said too much already, but continued on anyway.
"...He told us about '73 when you put him in jail. He spent four years there, ya know. Not sure he ever fully recovered from it. Not jail, he can handle jail. Its just...I'm not sure he expected that from you."
Four years?
She ripped the French Toast Crunch off of the shelf in annoyance, pouring it in the bowl.
"I was never sure if I was more than a fuck buddy or a partner in crime anyway, so I wasn't aware that I had the power to do that."
"What, break his heart? Oh, I'm not even sure if he really meant that anyway. It's hard to tell with Jack whether he is being real or not."
The cereal nearly sloshed out of the bowl as she crossed the room to the kitchen table.
"Though, like I said," he continued following her to the chair next to her, "you are the first girl that has slept in his bed. That has to count for something, yeah?"
"Yeah...I guess. Just...being involved with Jack turns my emotions into a clusterfuck sometimes," she mumbled after she had finished chewing.
"I can imagine," he replied, laughing. "I can promise you that he sees you as more than a fuck buddy though at least."
"And how can you promise that?"
"Elizabeth, Jack wouldn't slaughter a prison full of Russians for just anyone."
She stared at him, really stared at him, and realized that he knew more than he should know.
He sighed. "Yes, just to get the awkwardness out of the way right now, Jack told me and Shawn about his real history. We heard snippets about you, but he kept you out of any stories he told, mostly."
Ringa knew too, she supposed. It would be hard to explain the lack of aging to anyone that stuck around for more than a few years.
"Ah." She paused, desperate to steer the conversation away from whether or not Jack had feelings for her. "How did you meet him?"
He got up to pull a box of blueberry waffles out of the freezer. "He...rescued me when I was 15, in '97. I was involved in some pretty heavy drug use, and he was on a job in Minneapolis when he stumbled upon the drug den where I was staying at the time."
"He rescued a random teenager?"
"No, not exactly. I threatened to kill him just because he was invading on my coke-induced psychosis."
"Sorry, I still don't follow. Threatening Jack doesn't end in someone being rescued."
"You don't have to tell me that, and he probably would have killed me, but instead he took pity on me."
"Yeah, once again, not following."
He hesitated, as though whatever he was going to say next was supposed to be a secret.
"If he finds out that I told you this, you had better protect me from him."
She twitched her head in agreement, though she wondered if she could. She had never actually seriously engaged Jack in any kind of physical fight.
"Between '77 and '78, Jack was a...well, he was a bit of an addict himself."
Stopping mid-chew, her eyes widened.
"Mostly heroin and coke. Never did get him to tell me why," he added quickly, extracting his waffles from the toaster and throwing them on a plate. "I guess he had remembered how fucked up he had been, and through some miracle, decided that it was his duty to save at least one person from the same fate."
The cereal was hard to swallow as she forced it down her throat. Jack had been addicted to drugs? And only a few years after they had lost contact…
"So he got you into recovery, and then hired you?"
The plate clattered when it hit the table as he sat down, nearly sending one of the waffles onto the floor.
"Oh, fuck no, it wasn't that quick. I helped him on a few jobs once I sobered up. He was impressed by how well I did. Then he sent me on a few solos, and once again, he was impressed that I didn't fuck them up. Then he hired me."
"And you have been with him since?"
"Yep. So you need to get some clothes and things, right?"
He was obviously trying to change the subject, most likely so he didn't accidentally reveal anything else to her.
"Yes, clothes and some...things."
"I'll take you if you want. There is a shopping mall about five-ish minutes from here. I can show you the basement too since we have to go down there to get to the garage."
She swallowed the last bite of her cereal, and got up to pour the milk down the drain and put the bowl in the sink, his plate following right after. There was still a waffle clutched in his hand as he led her down the stairs after she made a quick detour to grab the keys that Jack had left on the nightstand.
"Generally, if Jack isn't sleeping or gone, he's down here."
They emerged into a room that immediately explained why. There was another set of couches to the left, with several video game consoles hooked up to the TV on the wall, and there was an elaborate computer setup behind them in the right corner.
The floor was covered in black linoleum, and the walls were a plain gray color, with a handful of posters scattered about. He also had a big shelf next to the TV that housed all of his video games and movies. To the right was a collection of guitars and amps, along with a drum set in the back corner. There was also a door just behind them. Another bedroom, she guessed.
"What sort of games does he play?"
"Depends on his mood. If he's pissy, he'll slaughter a bunch of people in CoD, if he's more mellow, he goes for something like Skyrim or the Witcher."
The image of Jack cursing at the TV during an intense deathmatch got a laugh out of her. After letting her look through Jack's movie collection for a second, he pointed at the door beyond the two couches.
"The garage is through here, come on."
Following him through, she stopped and just stared at what sat before her.
Seven cars were all parked neatly into spaces. Seven cars that she was immediately itching to steal, but knew that Jack would probably poison his own breakfast before he let her do that.
The first two were a Shelby Cobra and a 1973 red Corvette Stingray. Just behind those, and these were particularly beautiful, were a deep bronze Saleen S7 and a black 1970 Dodge Challenger. He also had a black custom Chevy Silverado, a dark green 1998 Dodge Viper, and a deep red 2017 Maserati GranTurismo.
"Once that beautiful McLaren arrives, it will be taking the eighth spot."
"That was a beautiful car," she responded, mashing the button on the keys to see which one Jack had borrowed to her. The lights on the Maserati lit up.
"Well, I guess we are driving Italian today," he said, heading over to the car. "This is his newest, besides the McLaren. Not sure if he likes it though."
"Why?"
"He always complains about how 'the fucking seat has a stupid fucking angle'."
When she raised her eyebrow at him slowly, Chris laughed, shrugging his shoulders.
"I don't know, he is real picky about cars. He walked in a few months ago babbling about a silver Roadrunner that he really wanted, probably to replace this."
Her face grew red with annoyance.
"Yeah, I'm sure he did. I'm sure he also forgot to mention that it was my Roadrunner in my fucking garage that he fucking broke into."
"...Oh. Yeah...he left that detail out," he said as they both sat down. The car roared to life when he turned the key, the headlights refracting off of the Silverado in front of them. "What all do you need again?"
"A handful of outfits, some sleepwear, some...undergarments, perhaps some makeup, and the bathroom necessities."
"Cool, I will just park in the general mall parking, and we can walk from there."
They pulled out of the garage, and she tried to get as much of a look at the outside of the house as possible. There was a roundabout piece of driveway in front of the door, with a statue of…
"Is that Poseidon?"
"Yeah, he bought that at an auction in London, actually. One of the few things he has bought on this property, with the exception of the house and furnishings, one car, and his media collection."
She guessed that by 'bought' she meant that he sent Chris to go buy it for him with a big wad of cash and instructions to not bother coming back if it got chipped or cracked.
There was a stretch of forest to the right of the house. The pool was in the back, she supposed. Once they turned onto the main road, she switched on the radio and found that it was set to play the music on the little USB stick that was plugged into the slot in the console.
Iron Maiden's Number of the Beast started with the incredibly recognizable opening speech by Bruce Dickinson.
'Woe to you, oh earth and sea
For the Devil sends the beast with wrath
Because he knows the time is short
Let him who hath understanding
Reckon the number of the beast
For it is a human number
Its number is six hundred and sixty-six'
"This is one of his favorite bands. He plays them non-stop when he is in the garage."
"He told me that too."
They sat in silence for the ten minutes that it took to get to the mall. Chris dutifully walked around with her as she flitted in and out of stores as quickly as possible, with bags of clothes that contained a nice casual women's suit, nine outfits, sets of socks and knickers to go with them, a few sets of sleepwear, and all of the hygiene products she would need. Just before they got back in the car, she spied a specialty lingerie shop, and it took about thirty seconds to decide that she wanted to go in, with Chris snickering at her in the background.
"What?" she snapped, the rare British sun shining in her eyes.
She was constantly reminding herself that she had just met him, but they got on well enough to let her feel at ease with him anyway.
"I'm surprised. Jack has never been one for a showgirl. He hates strip clubs."
"You just have to do it the right way for him," she snapped again, and then realized what she had said, blushing furiously.
It wasn't about how much skin you could show, or how many times your tits bounced, or how much you wiggled your ass. It was about engaging the person's mind, entrancing them in the curve of your body, having power over them with over every movement you made. Jack liked a striptease to be more of a sensual intellectual battle over a raunchy thing.
"Uh huh. I will be out here I guess."
She glared at him and headed inside the shop. It was a quaint little space with black cloth hanging like a circus tent from the ceiling, and the walls were covered in random painted art. She immediately spotted an area with lacy black lingerie and searched through the collection when a sales associate surprised her.
"Looking for something special?"
"Oh! Um, yeah, I guess. I just...got back together with my ex, and I wanted to give him a little surprise."
Good lord.
"Ah, black, yes. Black is the best color for seduction. I would recommend this set."
She pointed at a pair of intricate lace knickers. "If I may ask-I ask all customers this-can I see a picture of him?"
"...Why?"
"Seeing a person helps me get a better idea of them."
"...Um, alright, I guess."
She pulled out her phone and scrolled to a picture of Jack that she had taken just as they had finished their sandwiches at Subway. Passing the phone over, she watched as the woman's eyes widened.
"You left this man?" the woman asked, glancing at her incredulously.
"Um, no, we sort of left each other. At the same time."
"Well, if I could give you advice, don't do that again. It isn't often that I come across a man that looks like that. Dark hair, dark eyes, lovely skin, and he has a dark aura too. Sexy."
"Yes, he is," she replied without thinking. Well, it certainly wasn't a lie. Far from it.
"I am sure that he will be very...pleased with your purchase."
She brought it to the register and paid, thanking her, and left with the bag clutched in her hand. Chris was eyeing it when she closed the car door.
"Don't you dare say a word about it. Especially not to Jack."
"I wouldn't dare ruin your surprise, don't worry."
They pulled back into the garage at 1:45.
She hauled all of her bags upstairs and found an empty shelf in the closet to put all of her clothes in. She wrapped the lingerie in one of the outfits and prayed that Jack wouldn't find it. Crossing the room to the bathroom, she shoved all of her accouterments into one of the cupboards. Once she was satisfied with where everything was, she headed back downstairs and crashed right into something as soon as she reached the kitchen.
"Fucking watch where you're going!" she shouted.
Her head spun for a moment until she righted herself, her eyes landing on what it was that she had collided with. Another guy, apparently.
"Chris, since when do you bring home girls?" he shouted across the room. "You wouldn't mind having a go with me would you?" he asked, looking back at her suggestively.
What the fuck?
"Excuse me?"
"Ah, nevermind, you are a one-guy-at-a-time kind of slag."
"I'm sorry," she started, barely reigning in her sudden burst of anger, "are you suggesting that I am a prostitute?"
Chris made it over to them just in time to hear that, and he froze, staring at the newcomer like he had lost his mind.
"...Shawn…"
"What? What's the big deal? Why are you two…"
He stopped talking, his words tittering out like a dying engine. A slow look of horror passed over his face, as though he was putting it together, the gears finally turning in his head.
"Shawn," Chris said again, "this is Elizabeth. She's Jack's, and you had better hope to god that he doesn't find out that you just accused her of being a-"
That hope died when Jack walked through the door just in time to hear the tail end of the sentence. The look on Shawn's face screamed 'oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck', and Chris looked like he was debating whether he wanted to sign Shawn's death sentence or not. She watched Jack look between the two of them, and then he briefly made eye contact with her, before narrowing his eyes at Shawn, who was shaking, trembling, looking very much like he might just sprint out of the house.
"Is someone going to tell me what is going on?"
"Ah...well-"
She cut Chris off, not caring about how pissed Jack was going to be.
"Your friend called me a whore and asked if I wanted to fuck him."
A second passed, and that was all Jack evidently needed to process exactly what had transpired. His face turned dark with anger when he crossed the room to look Shawn directly in the eyes, making sure he was paying attention. Every single syllable was as clear as breaking glass.
"Jack-" Chris tried to interject, but the poisonous glance that Jack shot him silenced him.
"You were shitfaced last night, I realize that, so I am going to let this slide. But I am also only going to tell you this one fucking time. You disrespect her again, you even think of doing that shit again...I will shove you in the trunk of my Maserati and set it on fire. Is that clear?"
Shawn made a strangled noise in his throat that sounded like some kind of agreement, accompanied by a frantic jerking of his head. After watching him for a second longer, Jack appeared satisfied, some of the anger leaving his eyes.
An awkward silence grew between the three of them as they watched Jack rummage through the kitchen.
"...Just go find something to do in the basement, let him cool off for a second." Shawn nodded at Chris, sending one more wary glance at Jack, before practically throwing himself down the stairs.
The anger was rapidly leaving her, being replaced by something that bordered on amusement. "Well, I didn't expect that meeting to play out like that," she said, fidgeting with the strings on her track pants.
"It's partially my fault, I should have told him again this morning about you when he didn't have several bottles of Jack Daniels in him," Jack said around the hot dog that he was currently chewing. "But he won't fuck up again."
"Yes, being told that you'll be burned alive will do that," she muttered, smirking at Jack.
"So, you took my girl out for a joyride, huh? You sure you didn't try to make a pass at her too?"
His girl?
Chris looked around at Jack like he was crazy. "Yeah, I totally ripped all of her clothes off and showed her how a real man fucks. You might want to clean off the seat of the Maserati."
Jack nearly choked on his food, though whether it was from shock or laughter, neither of them could tell.
"Do you wanna get shoved in the trunk too?" but instead of anger, there was a connection between them, a kind of brotherly love-hate thing.
"I dunno, luxury car trunks are probably pretty comfortable-"
"Go fuckin' monkey with your computer or something."
Chris disappeared down the stairs, cackling.
She leaned against the counter as Jack scrolled through his phone.
"What all did you guys do?" he asked without looking up.
A pang of guilt shot through her when she realized that she had to hide things from him.
"I just bought clothes and some other things."
"Didn't talk about anything interesting?"
Fuck.
"...Um, no, not really. Just about how you apparently complain about your quarter-of-a-million-dollars Italian luxury car, how you can't cook, and how you like to cool off by playing deathmatches."
"I hate the angle of the seat. Don't ask me why, because I don't know."
"It reminds me of when you complained about the headlights and taillights on that Lamborghini you had in...what was it, '64?"
"Yeah, the Miura. The headlights made it look like a bug that was always staring at me. And it was yellow."
"What's wrong with yellow?"
"...It's ugly," he said as though it was a fact that everyone knew.
"You're ugly," she shot back, giggling, getting a look of playful annoyance in return. "So, Chris said you actually bought one of the cars in your garage?"
"Yeah, the Silverado, and I only bought it because I wanted to customize it myself."
Only then did he look up fully, taking in how his black shirt hugged her curves as she leaned back against the black marble. She watched his face, pinpointing the exact moment when his phone was effectively abandoned, sliding onto the counter, as he stepped up to press his body to hers, winding his arms around her.
"My clothes look good on you," he said, kissing her neck.
"Jack, Chris and Shawn are right downst-"
"The bedroom, then?"
"We should probably look into the case that we were hired for-"
"Later."
When he pressed his mouth to hers all of her excuses, not that she had any more, vanished. He pulled away after a few moments. "I missed you, darling."
God, why did he have to do that? Act like he loved her, act like this was all more than a very close friends-with-benefits thing, but refuse to actually say that it was more?
"Your girl?" she questioned, a pointed look on her face.
"...Figure of speech, love."
Really?
"I'm going to take a nap," she announced, giving him a light kiss, trying to bury the guilt she felt from lying to him and the frustration she felt from him...well, just being him. Brushing past him, she missed when he rubbed his hand across his forehead in frustration. But it was gone a second later, and he smirked in the direction of the bedroom, snatching his phone back up to order pizza.
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The Scythe's Song