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The Scythe's Song	By : hallowedmaiden Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2844 -:- 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
- 5
- 6
- 7
She drifted in and out of sleep to the point where she was no longer sure what was actually happening and what was just a conjuration of her brain. Images of fights between her and Jack flitted around, disagreements that they had never resolved, buried in the back of her head just waiting to come out at a time when she felt as though she was in the middle of a brewing crisis. Half-dreams, the kind that exists in that thin membrane between sleep and alertness, the kind that you honestly believe are real until you open your eyes, were torturing her.
The room felt very empty, almost as if she was the only human on the planet, alone to wallow in the result of her nearly three-century span of dutifully trying to ignore everything that bothered her when it came to him.
A figure of speech?
She was too strong, too smart to let little things like that bother her, but that was the way it had always been. They had always danced around what seemed like an elephant in the room, a big pink elephant with 'you two are fucking ridiculous and stupid' painted on it.
Perhaps they were afraid of being wrong, afraid of something changing, or perhaps breaching the subject would open the dam of all of the other shit that they had buried. More reasonable people might just inquire if perhaps the other person wanted a committed relationship, might just ask if they could maybe talk about some things, but those people also wouldn't chain the person they love to a ship mast or get them thrown in jail for four years. Among other things.
Most people couldn't even begin to fathom the complexity of their relationship, but there was a niggling voice in the back of her head, always constant, and most likely always right, that told her time and time again that it was only complex because the two of them were making it so, and if they just opened their eyes, really opened them, it would become really simple, like Romeo and Juliet. They knew instantly that they were in love with each other, and they confessed it as though it was a sure truth along the same lines as the sky being blue.
That voice also reminded her, a bit more bluntly, that she had spent almost three hundred fucking years pussyfooting around something that could be solved with a simple question. She supposed the phrase 'ignorance is bliss' applied here, but she wanted to tell whoever came up with that phrase that it was complete bullshit, because, in fact, ignorance was only letting everything fester in your head until it decides to grow its own consciousness and crawl out, taking some of your brain matter with it.
Being away from him for 44 years had sent what was normally just a constant dull buzz of insecurity and anxiety about their relationship into fucking hyperdrive the moment he walked back into her life, and this fucking waste of time nap that left her feeling more like a zombie with too many emotions than a refreshed well-rested woman ready to seize the rest of the day was not helping.
Why the fuck had it been that long? Nothing fueled the fire of her rumination quite like the man she loved vanishing from her orbit for almost half a century. She had an entire plethora of thoughts, kind of like an inner journal that served as her sounding board lately for what was perhaps going on in Jack's mind.
She had led the cops to him, sure, but she had no idea that he was going to end up in prison for four years, and god help her if she didn't feel a fresh dump of guilt over it. That would account for some of the time that he spent being away, and now she had an inkling of why he hadn't spoken to her for a few years after that, but she would have expected him to at least call her up and say 'hey, I know you got me thrown in the can, and I am still kind of pissed about it, but wanna like...get together or something?'.
But nothing, until the hotel room, which was rather out of the blue, when she was just starting to really accept that he wasn't coming back to her. She knew Jack was perhaps one of the most complex entities on the planet, but even she couldn't piece together clear reasons as to why he would have waited so long. She supposed that it was a more focused version of the 'innocent bystander effect' which suggests that 'someone else will do it'.
She always figured Jack would call, or come by, or something, and instead of picking up the phone and calling him, or looking up his address, she had just assumed that he had finally moved on.
Sometimes she blew things out of proportion, sometimes she let herself get too dramatic about things. Sometimes she couldn't adequately express how frustrated she was with herself. She just wanted him to be hers, and only hers so goddamn badly that she was almost positive that it was never going to happen, that talking about it would only fuck it up, or that it would fuck itself up soon enough if it actually came to be.
Which led her to the decision, right there, in Jack's bed, that she needed to fucking say something to him, otherwise she was going to explode. Nevermind the fucking consequences.
Nevermind if he instantly threw his walls up and refused to even talk about it, or if he had also just kept burying everything about her that bothered him, and her asking to talk opened those floodgates.
Her resolve almost crumbled when his door opened. Pretending to still be asleep, with her face buried in the pillow, she tried to calm her racing heart down, tried to persuade her idiot brain that this was all just an overblown product of her own stubbornness, but when faced with the reality that she was really about to ask Jack if he loved her, it suddenly seemed a lot more difficult.
Lifting her head slightly, she realized that she had been laying there for almost four hours. It was around seven now, and the sun was starting to go down as evidenced by the warm orange glow that filtered in through the room through the window by the sitting area. She could hear him moving around and just waited like a kid that was trying to fake being sick for him to come over and talk to her. But then the shower turned on, and she felt like someone who was going to have to keep holding their breath for longer than they were able.
She felt at that moment how people stuck in caves must feel, with a ton of rock on top of them and no guarantee of escape from the weight that hung over them. She took several deep breaths and rehearsed what she wanted to say to him, and then gave up because there was literally nothing she could do to think of something reasonable to say. Sitting up, dragging her hand through her hair, trying to rub a growing headache away, she tensed when the bathroom door opened.
She sat there like a statue, unable to turn around.
"'Lo, Lizzie. Good nap?" he asked, walking past her in a very loose towel, which he slid off in the very next moment, making her forget how her voice worked for a second.
When she didn't answer, he glanced over his shoulder.
"Still sleeping?"
She shrugged, the kind of shrug that people do when they don't want to say anything, but they want the other person to keep asking them to talk.
"Something bothering you?"
Yes. Everything.
It was always terrible knowing that you are going to ruin the mood, ruin the lightness of the moment, especially when she had just gotten him back. She had enjoyed the last couple of days immensely, and she wished she would have reminded herself to enjoy them while they lasted.
"...Just, um...something Chris said…" she mumbled, staring down into her lap.
She could see his guard going up, could see the second he became wary. He pulled on a pair of black gym shorts and a black tank top, ruffling his hand through his hair, and she swore that she detected a bit of nervousness from him.
"Fuck," he muttered into his hand, so quietly that she barely heard him. "Well?"
"...Four years, Jack?"
"Four years what?"
"Prison. '73 to '77."
A look of remembrance passed over his face, his eyes went far away for a moment, and then he snapped back, and glared at her.
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Were you ever going to tell me?"
"I don't know, maybe. Do we have to talk about it right now? We have this case and-"
"We do have to talk about it now. We have to talk about a lot of things."
He snatched his cigarettes off of the top of the dresser, lighting one up.
"Lizzie, it's been two days. Think we could enjoy each other's company a little bit longer before dredging up the past?"
"No, because we never actually talk about anything. We just ignore it and hope it goes away."
"You led the cops to me, I got arrested, I spent four years in the can, not for lack of trying to get out mind you, and then I was released. What else is there to talk about?"
"I didn't know...didn't intend on that happening."
"Yeah, well it did. No use feeling sorry for it."
She could tell that he wanted to end the conversation there.
"Why didn't you hunt me down after you got out?"
"Dammit, love-"
"Answer the question."
"Because I was fucking pissed at you, alright? So pissed, in fact, that I drowned myself in heroin for a year afterward."
"...I know."
A beat went by where the room went silent, the only sound being Jack's angered breathing.
"For fuck's sake, so he told you that too?"
"Well, you were never going to."
"I didn't think it was something that you needed to know."
She couldn't imagine how many things he didn't think she needed to know, but might, in fact, help a lot of things if she did know.
"So this is a trust thing now? You don't trust me?"
"Lizzie, you know that isn't true."
"Then why did you stay away for 39 years?" she shouted at him, surprised by the volume of her own voice.
"You literally got me thrown in jail. For four years. I spent the year after that so fucking high that I barely knew my own name. What did you suppose I expected when I got sober again?"
He waited for her to answer, and when she said nothing, he rolled his eyes.
"...maybe an apology? Maybe just a quick phone call? 'Hey, sorry for making you waste four years of your life'."
"I didn't even know that you were in jail that long! I thought you wanted me out of your life. When you didn't try to contact me with some smart-ass story about how you escaped, I assumed that it was on purpose. That you wanted me gone."
He pushed a heavy breath out of his nose in frustration.
"Why do you think I got addicted to heroin? Hm?"
"You just told me-"
"No, I didn't. So why?"
"I don't know," she said, flinging her hands up in exasperation.
"Because I hated being angry with you, and I was angry when I got released. I had half a mind to torch your house or crash one of your cars, but I didn't want to be angry with you, so I stopped feeling, well, everything, for awhile."
"You could have tried talking to me instead of turning to drugs."
"I just said that I was pissed, Lizzie. I am not exactly a nice reasonable person when I am pissed. Besides, like I already said, you gave me no indication that you wanted me back around. I'm not a mind reader, love."
She buried her face in her hands, starting to feel the anger seep into her forehead, making her skin feel hot.
"Are we just going to forget the fact that you tried to steal my car?"
His shoulders dropped in frustration as he mimicked her, hiding his face in his hands in frustration.
"Did you want to fight? Is that what this is about?"
"No. I just want to stop this...this fantasy that we both live in all the time where we have no problems between the two of us."
"So you do want to argue with me. Bringing all of that shit up is just going to piss us both off."
"It wouldn't if we just talked about it when it happened!" she countered, glancing up.
"Kind of hard to do when you are staring at bars in a jail cell, Lizzie."
"I'm sorry, okay? Fuck…"
She could feel the prickling in her eyes, the pounding in her head, and then her vision got blurry because she just couldn't stop the tears from flooding her eyes. But she would be damned if she let him see them.
Had she been looking at him, she would have seen the anger vanish from his eyes a moment later.
A rush of air whooshed past her when he knelt down in front of her, taking her hands in his.
"Lizzie-"
She shook her head like a petulant child.
"Lizzie, look at me," he said softly as he gently pried her hands away from her face. She let him, but she still directed her gaze elsewhere.
"I was stupid to be as angry as I was, but sometimes I don't act the way I should. My pride, I'll admit, can be a piece of shit."
"That doesn't excuse the fact that you left me for so long…" she said, her voice quivering despite her attempts to control it.
"I know," he whispered back, wiping the tears off of her cheeks. Climbing into bed with her, he scooted back against the headboard, tugging her, gathering her into his arms so that she was sitting on his lap facing him. She pushed her face into the crook of his neck, winding her left arm around him, the feel of his heartbeat against her soothing her nerves.
Her tears were like kryptonite to him, the moment he knew of their existence, there was nothing he could do about it; any anger he felt wilted like a dying flower.
"We can get better Lizzie," he muttered, playing with her hair.
"Never leave me like that again, ever. For any reason."
They stayed like that for awhile, and she had half a mind to go back to sleep there, with her face nestled into his shoulder.
She hadn't asked him what she wanted to ask him, but she no longer carried the guilt around from lying to him about the things that Chris had told her.
She wasn't even sure why she needed to hear him confirm it so bad. It just felt like a milestone to her, some kind of next step. Something to ease the doubting, the questioning that her mind tortured her with.
Whenever he was being calm and...almost tender like this, it always made her think of her first time with him, so long ago.
It had been one night in Shipwreck Cove, after Will had made off with the Dutchman, accepting his new duty. Jack had been staying there for a week to stock the Pearl up with supplies, and she had generously offered lodging in her quarters.
The burning, the longing that she had felt for him had crystallized, turned into something so sharp that she couldn't hold out any longer. She had needed to see him, feel him, surround herself with him. The only course of action that she had been able to think of at the time was to march down to the council room where he had just been talking to his father, and practically drag him back to her bed. Once he caught onto what she was doing, he had gone very willingly.
Once they had made it there, they had taken their time to explore each other, quite unlike how she thought it would have gone. He had treated her like the king she was, had given her control of everything, and she had relished it, having Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, at her tender mercy.
She had discovered exactly how beautiful he was with his bronze skin and his myriad of tattoos and scars, and he had told her over and over again how beautiful he found her to be.
For some ungodly reason, before that, she had harbored a fear in the back of her mind that despite all evidence pointing otherwise, he wouldn't know how to handle a virgin. The panic-centric part of her had worried that he would be too rough, or too interested in his own pleasure.
But every single fear had been blown out of the water, never to come back. He had taken her so carefully, so wonderfully, that she had actually felt her heart leave her body to ascend into some other realm. Just the feeling of him inside her, finally, after so much longing, had made it all worth it. And after that, she had nursed a nearly insatiable hunger for him, one that only burned brighter each time. He had expanded her world, had shown her things that had her revisiting her definition of pleasure, and she had learned how to pleasure him, too.
He liked pain, but not a lot of it, and only once in awhile. A little nibble here and there, a little bit too much pressure with her nails. He refused to be tied up in any kind of manner, but he didn't mind a blindfold. And her mouth, when it was wrapped around his cock, his beautiful hands bunched in her hair, guiding her rhythm, whispering curses at her that made her blush, made him absolutely wild. She reveled in the ability to give him that, to carry him to those heights.
They had an intimate natural understanding of each other's bodies, perhaps more than anyone else in the world.
She tugged on his tank top.
"Hm?"
Lifting her head to look at him, she marveled at the softness in his eyes.
"I need you."
It only took a second for her meaning to register with him.
"I'm yours, love." he answered, giving her a crooked smile.
She pulled his shirt off, appreciating the way his hair fell around his shoulders in messy uneven waves, still slightly damp from the shower, and kissed him with both hands cradling his head. It was a different kiss than they normally engaged in, slow and sensual, with the objective to just enjoy the other's presence, rather than fuel the raging fire.
Rocking against him, feeling his growing erection underneath her, she pulled her own shirt off, standing up on the bed for a second to pull the track pants down, tossing them over the edge somewhere. He lifted his hips so she could relieve him of the gym shorts, and smiled softly when she climbed back on top of him, straddling him.
Reaching down to grasp him, she let her hips fall until he was fully sheathed and then stayed still, resting her forehead against his.
Could she just tell him? Could she just throw all caution to the wind and just tell him that she loved him, had always loved him, would never love anyone but him? Feeling him inside her, warm and perfect, really did a number on her reservations.
"What are you thinking about, Lizzie?"
She compared the idea of it to flinging herself off a cliff without knowing whether there was water for her to fall into or not.
"Nothing important," she whispered.
He ran his hands down to splay them across her hips, gently squeezing.
"Come on, 'fess up."
You have no idea, Jack.
"...Um…" She paused, swallowing. "After," she finally said.
Yes, procrastinate it more. What're a few more minutes when it's already been more than two and a half centuries?
She rose and fell above him, languidly, not in any hurry to get anywhere, just letting her mind drift away, letting the physical take over. Another squeeze of her hip and she stopped, letting him roll them over, capturing her mouth again when he resumed their rhythm, brushing one hand down her hip, over her leg, caressing her.
After what seemed like an eternity, they both came together, falling into pleasure like a wave gently rolling onto the shore.
He withdrew from her, rolling onto his back, gathering her into his arms again.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he asked into the dim room. She nodded against his chest.
"So what's bothering you now then?"
The light needed to be on, she realized. Getting up and walking around the other side of the bed, she flipped the switch and found that he had sat up, giving her a lovely view of his back. That's when she saw it.
It was a new tattoo, sitting just to the left of his right shoulder blade, and just under the line of his neck. She stepped closer to examine it, letting her fingers run over it, feeling him shudder slightly under her touch.
It was a small bird, with its wings expanded, a small splash of water under it.
Not just a bird, she realized a second later, her heart jumping into her throat.
A swan.
When she stood there without saying anything for a second too long, he twisted to look at her and found her expression to be one of stunned realization, as though she had just been told the true meaning of life.
"What's that?"
"What's what?"
"That tattoo. The new one."
She wasn't sure what she expected his reaction to be. She thought maybe he would throw his guard back up, or try to lie to her, or some other thing that would throw them off course again.
"It's a swan, love. I got it...I think in like…'83?"
"'83," she echoed. "What's it for?"
"Tell me what's bothering you first," he said, turning to face her.
"You...you um, you don't have to answer if you don't want, or if…"
He got off the bed, coming to stand in front of her, and planted another tender kiss on her lips.
"What are you nervous about? My fierce, independent Lizzie, you're never nervous."
"I don't know, just terrified of the answer to what I am about to ask, I guess…"
"Lizzie…"
She had to ask now, had to get it over with, regardless of how she would almost rather drag her own skeleton out of her body through her throat.
"Are...are you in love with me?"
It was as though a great weight had been lifted from her. At first, he didn't quite register what she had said, didn't quite realize the gravity of what she had asked.
But the second time she said it, a new emotion washed over his face, one that she hadn't seen in quite some time. An almost child-like vulnerability.
"I said, are you in love with me?"
She could see all of the pieces fall together in his eyes, the serenity of a lot of demons being banished by her simple question, and she immediately felt incredibly silly for not asking sooner.
"That's what you were worried about?"
The awe and wonder and complete and utter lack of any kind of wall in his voice was beautiful. She had stripped off all of his layers, anything he could possibly hide under with one question.
"Have been worried about, for a long time…"
"You...you thought I wasn't?"
"You never said it, never told me. I wanted it so bad, that I convinced myself it wasn't true…"
"How long?"
"I don't know, since our first time probably, before that even…"
He really stared at her as though he had never seen her before.
"Oh Christ," he whispered, pulling her into his arms once again. He held her there, silently, for several minutes, just making sure she knew that he was there.
"Look at me."
She drew back, daring to do as he asked.
"Yes. Do you really suppose I would threaten to murder anyone who even looks at you the wrong way if I wasn't? Do you think I would put myself on Russia's most wanted list as a serial killer if I wasn't? Do you think I would literally get you tattooed on my skin if I wasn't?"
She shook her head, unable to find her voice since her throat felt like it was trying to strangle itself.
"Hell, I never even so much as touched another woman until after I got out of jail. It had only been you before that. And it was only a few times when I was high, and then another couple of times after that, and I hated it each time."
It was the same for her. She had never had any other men before '73 either, just Jack. She wasn't able to fathom having anyone else before that, and she had also only had a couple of very dissatisfying experiences since then.
"You must think I am pretty silly, huh," she asked, playing with his chest.
"Immensely. But in all seriousness, never be afraid to tell me anything."
She nodded once, letting his words sink in.
"So...are we…"
"I'm yours, Lizzie, and only yours, if you'll have me."
- 5
- 6
- 7
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The Scythe's Song