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Ship in a Bottle	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 4205 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 6: High Seas

Commodore James Norrington stood on the highest aft deck of the Dauntless, peering through his spyglass, trying to make sense of what he saw.

He'd caught a glimpse of a ship an hour before, one that seemed vaguely familiar, one that instilled some niggling suspicion in his mind. It was a moderately large ship: a galleon. And unless he missed his guess, it was one he'd seen before. Back when it still belonged to the Royal Navy.

The Queen Elizabeth.

Which had mysteriously disappeared from port more than six months ago, and was thought to have been miraculously commandeered by pirates. But there was only one pirate Norrington knew who could pull off such a feat. And it wasn't Blackbeard.

“Well, is it or isn't it, if you don't mind my asking, Commodore?” said a young midshipman, standing behind him on the deck.

“It's hard to say for certain unless we get closer, which I'd rather not risk just yet. I would venture a guess that it is.” His words were crisply bitten off, laden with determination.

“Well, I guess we came across some pirates after all, then?”

“Quite right.” The Dauntless had been at sea for a month, patrolling the waters for pirates, who would have been no match for its size and strength... fully crewed, she was an impressive vessel, boasting hundreds of crewmen and officers and a full compliment of artillery.

And Commodore Norrington himself was looking forward to a battle. He hadn't had a good one since he was restored to his commission. And there was one pirate, in particular, with whom he would certainly enjoy a confrontation. A chance to haul in the criminal, once and for all. It seemed possible that that chance was right in front of him, at this very moment. Except that the entire situation was rather odd, and something was bothering him.

Rain had begun to fall from the gray afternoon sky, and the Commodore pulled his hat down further to shade his eyes. He had relinquished the wig - never mind the fashion - because it itched and wasn't practical when he was moving, and during his respite from the Navy he'd grown comfortable with his own brown hair, gathered loosely in a knot at the base of his skull. He no longer cared as much for fashion as he did the important things: Career. Skill. Bravery. Strategy.

He supposed it was strategy that was bothering him now, as he realized that the Elizabeth hadn't budged all afternoon. Where was the pirate strategy in that? he wondered. They must have dropped anchor, in the middle of the sea. And despite the wind picking up and the waves continuing to grow in size - a storm approached, unless he missed his guess - they still weren't moving. What on earth were they doing out there? They seemed to be waiting for something.

He closed the spyglass with a snap and handed it to the midshipman. “Don't let them out of your sight. They're not moving at the moment, but they will eventually, and when they do, pursue them. At a safe distance.”

“Aye, Commodore. Yes sir.”

* * *

“Will, me boy, we've got trouble.”

“What is it?” Will drew up next to Gibbs on the high deck, walking carefully, as the waves had gotten stronger and the ship was pitching and rolling, gently.

“Well, ye can't see, just at the moment, 'cause the fog's rolled in, now. But I swear I saw a ship out there. A big 'un. A galleon.”

“Colors?”

“Could only see for a second, lad. But, on me mother's soft grave, I saw a flash o' the Union Jack.”

Will pressed his lips together, frowning out into the increasingly rough sea. “Navy. They've spied us.”

“Aye.”

“What can we do? We can't leave Jack. He could reappear at any time.”

“An' I'd be with you, save for the possibility that he never does come back.”

“Never...” Will swallowed, trying to quell the same swell of fear and sorrow that had washed through him during those two days they all thought Jack was dead.

“I'm only saying, it could 'appen. And we need to be prepared. If this fog lifts, and they set their sights on us, we'll have to run. And come back for Jack later.”

Will thought of the rest of the crew, Elizabeth, all those he'd come to consider his comrades and friends. “You're right, of course. If it comes down to Jack, or us... we'll have to go.”

“Ye're thinking more like a pirate every day, lad,” Gibbs laughed, lifting his flask to his lips for a swig of rum. “Ye'd do Jack proud.”

* * *

Elizabeth Turner stood close to the edge of the fore part of the main deck, staring glumly into the sea. The mists Jack had created had faded and disappeared since the earlier part of the day, and the ship rocked and tossed on the waves. But she grasped the edge of the deck to hold herself upright, and continued to scan the waters for Jack. He had to come back. He would come back soon. After he rowed into the mist, she had refused to leave the spot for almost half an hour, really expecting him to row out again in only a minute. But as the minutes became hours, her mood blackened with the weather, and she couldn't help it - she began to worry. Will had grown tired of trying to soothe her, and had taken off for other parts of the ship before an hour had passed.

Jack can take care of himself, she reminded herself. He's Jack. He'll figure out something.

Only, do it quick, Jack. She closed her eyes tightly as a particularly large swell lifted and dropped the prow, and she wrapped her arms around her middle, praying silently. Where are you, Jack Sparrow? Come back to me...

* * *

Jack Sparrow felt as though he'd been tossed from the frying pan into the fire.

Elizabeth Sparrow - or whatever her name turned out to be - was lifting her head from the pillow to regard him, calmly, curiously, while she waited for an answer to her question.

“Jack, did you hear me? I asked you who 'Elizabeth' is. If you're saying her name while sharing my bed, I believe you owe me some sort of explanation.”

“Did I say 'Elizabeth'? How odd. Remember how I told you something was funny with my memory? When I hit my head, you know, I-“

“Oh, rubbish.” She shoved him off of her and swung her legs out of the bunk, leaping to her feet. She snatched her chemise off the floor and dropped it over her head, wriggling until it fell into place. As Jack watched, fascinated, he tried to think of how to explain his way out. But he found himself unwilling to create more lies, to make the web more tangled. He liked this Lizzy - whatever he name was - and he rather thought, no matter what he said, he wouldn't be able to fool her forever.

She sat down again, and reached for his face, lifting hair away from his neck as she ran her eyes over him. “Tell me you're not imagining someone else. Please tell me that.” She was trying hard to keep her voice even, he could hear, but even so there was a catch in it, one that spoke of fear. And pain.

“Of course not,” he said with a slight smile, meeting her eyes.

“Then who is she? Why did you say her name, 'Elizabeth', just like that?”

Jack sighed, and gathered both of her hands in his. “Elizabeth is you, all right? You're Elizabeth.”

“I most definitely am not.”

“What I mean to say is, you're her... as far as I know. Although apparently it's not your name. What is your name, notwithstanding that I probably should have asked before?”

She stared blankly at him, confusion making her brown eyes wide. “My name? You don't know my name? I'm your wife. I'm Mary.” She pressed a palm to his forehead. “You don't feel feverish, but I'm beginning to think you're delirious.”

“Mary,” he repeated, turning the delicate, round word over on his tongue. He liked it, he decided.

“Jack, you're frightening me.” He could hardly read her expression in the dark, but she was turning away toward the night table. The room was soon lit in a soft glow, and she was holding the oil lamp over near his face. The light was reflected onto hers as well. He studied her, noting all her fine features, the wide, almond-shaped eyes, the bow mouth that seemed to constantly beg him to be kissed. Above her eyes, he noted something of interest, and ran a thumb across her brow, examining something there. A scar, he concluded. A tiny one, in the middle of her left eyebrow. He was almost certain he hadn't seen it before.

“You're not my husband, are you?” she said finally, still holding the lamp up to his face and turning his chin to the side with her fingertips.

“No, love,” he admitted, and she set the lamp down and stood up, turning her back to him. “But I can be, if the position's open, as it were,” he added, trying to keep his voice light.

He heard a muffled sob, and saw her hands go up to her face. Then more sobs, in earnest. She looked ready to crumple to the floor, and one hand reached out to hold on to the table. He'd done it, now... he'd hammered the last nail in the coffin of the other Jack Sparrow. And it was more than she could take.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” He rose from the bunk, then, and spun her around to wrap her in his arms, whispering Shhhh against her hair. He pushed aside his bewilderment at the irony of the situation... he was, in fact, comforting his wife, who was grieving over the loss of... him.

“He's dead, I knew it... I knew he was dead. But I didn't want to believe it, and when I saw you I... everything seemed like it could be right again, and I... I just wanted to be with you again. With him...” and she broke into a fresh round of sobbing.

He bent down to place an arm under her knees, and scooped her up, sitting down in a chair and setting her down on his lap, pressing kisses against her cheeks which were wet with tears, and he held on to her as tightly as his strength would allow. In a moment she seemed to swallow her grief, tucking it away someplace secret inside of her, and she turned her face up to him again, her eyes red.

“Who are you, then? And if you're not my Jack, where'd you come from?”

He couldn't resist a smile. “I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, love.”

“Captain?” she echoed, with a note of disbelief.

He gritted his teeth. “Yes, that's right, Captain. And you'd better remember that, if you know what's good for you.”

“Captain of what, is what I'd like to know.”

“Well, that remains to be seen. In fact, that's part of why I ended up here.”

“Do tell.”

“Well...” He thought about how best to explain, in the simplest way possible. Leaving out anything that wasn't strictly need-to-know. “I rowed through a mist. From another place.”

“Another place?”

“The same place, sort of, except different. Some things are different. That is... different... events have unfolded.”

“You're not dead, for example,” she sniffed.

“Yes... precisely.” His brows rose marginally, as he wondered if he should be offended at the tone of her comment, but elected to continue. “And other things. How many, I've yet to discover, but perhaps you can help me with that.”

She sighed, and swung her hips around on his lap in an attempt to get up. The soft curve of her bottom rubbed against him, and his breath caught in his throat. She stood, and faced him again, her hands on her hips.

“So... this place, this world where you came from... it's just like this?”

“Seems to be.” His eyes glided down her figure in the dim light. “The important things, anyway. Except, I've got to ask you. Don't you have any rum?”

“Any what?”

“Rum. You know, good ol' booze. Let me guess, that's got a different name, too.”

“You mean, like ale?”

“No, ale is... ale. Rum is rum.”

“I've never heard of... rum,” she said, sounding out the strange word on her lips. “But perhaps that's just me. Wait a moment.” She ran to the cabin door and poked her head out, yelling for a passing crewman. “Briggs!”

“Yes, Cap'n?” Jack heard the young man reply.

“What do you know about rum?”

“Rum?” the young man echoed. “Is 't a person or a place, Rum?”

“Never mind, thank you!” She drew back inside and shut the door. “No, sorry. What's it like? A drink?”

Jack heaved a deep sigh. “Jus' when I was starting to think this was paradise... although, I suppose nothing comes without a price. Not even Elizabeth. I mean, you. I mean... well... it's all very confusing. I'm sorry.”

“This Elizabeth... she's... me? Your wife?” Her tone was gentle, cajoling, with just a hint of breathy curiosity.

Jack smiled, leaning his chin on his hands. “No, I'm not married.”

“Your mistress, then? Your lover?” She was walking slowly back to him, now, her eyes fixed on his face.

“Hmmm... not exactly, no.” She had reached him, and placed a hand on either shoulder, sliding a knee onto the chair, hitching up her shift and sliding her other ankle around the legs of the chair, until she was sitting on him, in a straddle.

“Not your wife, not your mistress, not your lover... hmmm, I can't imagine a world where I know you and yet don't...ah.. know you. Why on earth not?”

His hands came up to splay across her back, and he regarded her quietly, his face only inches from hers, which was as familiar and dear to him as the decks of the Pearl. Her lids lowered, and he knew she wanted him to kiss her, but he had one burning question that he simply had to ask.

“My darling Mary... does the name 'Will Turner' mean anything to you?”

She yanked back as if slapped, and her eyes shot open. “Of course.”

He read some pain in her eyes, and guided some strands of hair out of her face. “Well, who is he... to you? Here?”

She abruptly climbed off his lap, and Jack felt the absence of her warmth like a physical pain. But he patiently watched her pace the floor, stopping in front of the item he'd noticed earlier - the ship in the bottle.

“He's dead,” she said, with a crack in her voice.

“Sorry,” Jack lied, following her eyes to the bottled ship. “When... how?”

She glanced over at Jack, her eyes filling with tears. “Years ago. We were childhood sweethearts... nearly grew up together in Port Royal. Everyone thought we'd be married, except my parents, who wanted me to marry someone wealthier. He asked me to marry him, and then when I accepted, he went to sea to make his fortune. Only... he never came back. One of his shipmates brought this back-“ she trailed a finger over the bottle- “and said Will had made it in his spare time, as a wedding gift for me. Had seen them in Italy, or somewhere. And told me there'd been a battle on the merchant ship, with pirates. Will was killed, defending the captain, if you believe the story.”

“Sounds like Will,” Jack murmured. Very brave. Very stupid. He thought over the rest of what she'd said. “Did you say... your parents, both of them, didn't approve of Will?”

“Oh, they liked him. But my father had his eye on a proper society marriage. To a Navy lieutenant.”

“And your mother... she named you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. The birth was difficult, almost claimed her life. She prayed to the Madonna to save her and her child. She always credited the blessed Virgin with surviving the ordeal. And so she named me Mary, although I've heard my father say he would have preferred-” She stopped, lips parted, registering a memory that clicked into place.

“Elizabeth?” Jack prompted. Her nod confirmed his theory. “My wife, named after the Virgin... now that's what I'd call ironic,” Jack said, smiling and leaning back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. His gaze caught hers and held, and she walked toward him again, as though enthralled. He'd have her again, he thought, watching her cross the small space. No matter what her name was. And he would have, too, except for just then, both of them heard a ringing from the deck. The alarm bell.

“All hands on deck!” cried a voice. “Storm's a-coming!”

Elizabeth - Mary, he reminded himself, began to dress hurriedly. “Jack, you get dressed, too. We may need everyone.” He watched as she lifted a rosary from the nightstand and looped it through the waistband of her breeches.

And when the ship was tossed again, rolling to port so hard that the chair slid along the floor, Jack leapt up. A storm, indeed. He rushed to find his clothing and obey the captain's orders.
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Ship in a Bottle