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Silk	By : JacksMermaid Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 6954 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

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Silk - Chapter 7

Trapped. She was utterly and completely trapped on this ship, out in the middle of the ocean, no way to run from her mistakes or either of the men she had so neatly broken with. She was gasping, trying to catch her breath as she tried to think of a place to hide herself, to be unseen and unheard. The crew was mostly below except for whoever was on watch; she didn't want to see any of them. She looked out across the water to where the sun had sunk below the horizon, the last of the glow wavering before her eyes as the tears continued to fall. I need to think, I need to breathe, I need to... "Oh, God," she moaned, nearly doubling over for a moment from the pain of it.

The shrouds? Crawl into them like a spider and hang there? The crow's nest? She shuddered; no. She looked towards the bowsprit. Cold, likely, and damp, but at this point she didn't care. She deserved nothing better. She made her way forward as the night rapidly closed around the ship, crawling into the space beneath the bowsprit and letting herself cry as hard as she wanted to until she was retching from the effort of letting it out while simultaneously keeping it quiet. And funny enough, she was no longer crying for fear of her ruination, but for the want of him, that damned pirate.

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Will watched her, unseen. So soon, he thought, Jack is done with her already? Part of him was glad of it, glad of her pain. Another part wanted to rush forward and comfort her, tell her that he still loved her. He fought it, knowing it would make him weak. Jack Sparrow will pay for all this. Not sure how, just yet, but he will. He took another swig from the bottle he held, grimacing, but relishing the burn of it in his stomach. A ship full of drunks, all of us. He had to get her back, somehow. She wasn't in her right mind, she was confused. If he could win her back and get her home, everything would be fine. He had a sudden recollection, something Bootstrap had said before he died, "You'll never be able to hold that one, Will, you're always going to have to let her fly. She's not meant to be tethered to land."

"Don't be ridiculous, she'll be fine once we're home and married," he'd answered, and his father had only shaken his head and given him the pitying look that Will hated so much. I miss him, he thought, suddenly, feeling his eyes sting. I could use fatherly advice right about now. Then he laughed at himself for thinking that Bootstrap would have given him any real "fatherly advice," and took another long drink from the bottle. And Jack would have blithely told me just to "woo the strumpet" and "win fair maiden," he thought, bitterly. And he realized how damn hurt he was by the betrayal.

It wasn't as if he and Jack were bosom friends, it wasn't as if there had ever been any real trust there, but there was something about the man that always made you want to trust him, that made you hope that he wouldn't let you down. That damn charm of his. Usually in the end, he really hadn't let them down, though the getting there was always an adventure of deceit and trickery. But this time? Jack had betrayed him completely. And it stung, and it was stupid, but there it was.

Bastard, Will thought again, feeling rage coiling inside again. Elizabeth wouldn't have gone to him on her own, there had to be some trick. And suddenly, the full realization of what Jack had implied, what Jack had admitted, hit him. Oh God, he's had her... he's had the woman I love... Will choked and gasped on the rum, the thought burning him. He could picture her naked before Jack, picture her taking the pirate in her hands just as she'd done to Will on deck, picture their mouths meeting, picture... he groaned, and smashed the bottle against the rail. He cast one more glance forward to where he knew she was, wanting her but not knowing what to say, and then he was making for the hold where he knew there was more liquor to be found.

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Jack was sober. Painfully, awfully sober. The rum wasn't working, and neither was the wine he'd tried to drink on top of it. All he got for his trouble was a sour stomach, a headache and a brain still clear enough to remember every word that was said, every look on her face. Now that she wasn't here, now that he could go over it in detail, he began to feel horribly, sickeningly guilty. I shouldn't have said those things, he thought, my stupid bloody big mouth. He got up, pacing. No, he was absolutely certain he'd gone over the mark.

Of course she was afraid, why wouldn't she be? Her father would be furious, and she had given up her maidenhead. But she'd been willing, he argued, gloriously willing and glad, too. He remembered her face this morning - only this morning? - when they'd woken up, the sweetness of her and the happiness in her eyes. She'd had no regrets then, certainly. Yet... yet she'd come to him after fighting with Will, after Will had turned down her... advances. What if, he, Jack was just a way to soothe her ego? What if she'd just been carried away by the passion she'd been ready to expend on her (former?) fiance and had given herself to Jack accordingly? What if... she'd been imagining he was Will the entire time?

"Bloody, buggering, festering HELL!" he yelled suddenly. Women. Nothing but trouble. He'd have been better off staying in his cabin every night, locking the door and taking himself in hand rather than looking at her and wanting her. He cast about, looking for something to throw, and then made himself take a deep, steadying breath.

No, he needed to consider this carefully. She did break it off with the lad just now, she had been coming to his cabin with every intention of continuing their... liaison. She's just angry because you couldn't keep quiet. He didn't dare consider just how angry she was or how badly he'd hurt her with what he'd said, the thought was too much to bear. And then another thought struck him. The entire time she'd been talking about her father, everything she'd said had been referring to leaving Port Royal, of being afraid her father would detain her. Which meant she wasn't planning on staying. So where was she planning on...? He stopped, considering, not daring to finish that thought.

Find her. I need to find her and find out how bad the damage is. But instead, he slumped back into his chair. "I am too bloody old for this," he said aloud, to the empty chamber.

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Cold. Wet. Hungry. And so damn tired. Her eyes burned, her chest ached and she was tired of it all. I... love him, came the sudden and distinct thought. Stupid, foolish, unreasoning. But there it is. I want nothing more than to sail with him to the ends of the earth. Again. He's mad and dangerous and can't keep anything straight, but I'm in love with him. She'd dreamt of him her whole life, though she was guilty as Will. She had built both Will and Jack into fantasies. She'd dreamt Will was wilder and bolder than he was and Jack gentler and better. He is a good man, and Will is bold and brave, but neither are as I've made them. She stopped, forcing herself to think of Will, of how much he'd built his life around her and how much she'd hurt him. Yet there was no way they could wed. Better to break it now than later. She would not be confined by him, and she could not submit meekly to being a tame wife. She sincerely wanted his happiness, but not at the cost of her own.

And Jack, what of him? He wasn't the settling type. While he'd said that there weren't women in every port, could she believe him? Would he want her enough to stay true to her, and if not, could she pay that price, let him go? She was afraid she might not be able to, just as she knew she wouldn't submit to being the woman left behind. So here it was. Ask him his intentions. Be prepared either way. If he wanted her, she'd stay and damn the cost of her old life, her old ways. Adventures with him would be worth it. If he didn't want her... she'd go back to Port Royal, live with her father and try to forget the last two years of her life, and spend the rest of it missing him. So here she sat, too afraid to go to him and dying for want of him. Get up, go, do it, just go... the 'Pearl ducked into a wave and the spray came up and over her, soaking her. And then she was up, crawling back onto the deck and moving towards his cabin. It was the only thing to do.

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He'd given up drinking - at least seriously - some time ago. He'd let the lamps go out and now sat in the darkness, slowly sipping at rum and thinking. What did he want, really want? Her, yes. But in what way? Forsaking the company of all other women would be easy, none compared to her. Taking her with him was no hardship; she'd proven her worth as a sailor and a good mate. Double meaning, that. She'd be hell and a handful and she'd drive him bloody mad; he'd worry about her in storms and battle, but it'd be worth it to have her by his side. Wouldn't it? He thought of all the times she'd worked alongside him, the times she'd been fearless in the face of ruin and danger, the light in her eyes when they rode under a fast wind and plunged into the waves. The thought of leaving her in Port Royal made him angry. And the thought of losing her to another man - any man - made him sick. He was the first man who'd had her, and he wanted to be the last. So how do I keep her and what do I do with her and oh, damn, how badly have I smashed this?

There was a faint sound, a creak. The cabin door opened and a darker shadow appeared in the blue shadows of the night around it. He smelled her skin before he heard her voice, "Jack?"

He was on his feet before he even thought about it, walking steadily and directly to where she stood in the doorway. His fingertips reached her, his hands curled around her and drew her in, bringing her to his chest, arms wrapping around her, wordless and warm. He didn't want to speak, didn't want her to, didn't know what would be said if they did. He just held her to him, marveling in the feel of her, the warmth, the...

"You are absolutely, positively drenched," he said clearly, against her hair, and she let out a laugh that was almost a sob. He pulled her forward a little, closing the door behind her. "I need to light a lamp," he began.

"Don't," she answered, and began to remove her wet clothing.

He heard her, knew what she was doing, and smiled to himself. Not so angry, after all, perhaps Still, things would need to be said, eventually. But for now... he reached out, feeling her skin slick with saltwater, helping her remove the last of her wet clothing. "You'll be wearing all my clothes at this rate, love," he chuckled, softly.

"Shhh..." she answered, and reached for him, all the things she'd intended to say falling aside in this moment.

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In the darkness, he saw her go to Jack's cabin. He watched as she padded quickly to the door, hearing the soft slap of wet footsteps. He watched her open the door and saw the outline of Jack come forward, putting his arms around her and drawing her in. And then the door shut. And Will was alone again in the darkness with his thoughts of grief and anger and revenge.

He crept down into the hold, curling himself into some small place like a creature burrowing into its den, like some small thing spiraling into a protective shell. And he began to plot it out, the revenge he wanted to exact, drunk and lost in the darkness.

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She woke, stretching and feeling his warm body curled around hers from behind, feeling his arm draped across her hip, seeing the warm glow of sunlight through the windows. She smiled lazily, considering. In these first twenty-four hours since she had cheerfully, gladly, joyously given him her maidenhead, she had already learned several things, not the least of which was that it did not hurt her anymore, for which she was very glad. And she learned that everything he showed her, everything new thing he taught her, was more wonderful than the last. And that she was entirely, gladly willing to let him show her anything he wanted to.

As for Jack... He loved to bite, though he was gentle. He loved to pull her hair, and have his pulled in return. He went wild when she sucked at his nipples; the harder, the better. He would gasp and writhe if she stroked his buttocks, dipping ever so slightly into the crevice between. He loved to deliberately spread her hair out across his thighs when she took him in her mouth. And he had the tendency to chant her name under his breath when he thrust into her. Even more interesting was the fact that it was her full name he chose to call out, that he breathed into her mouth, not the pet name he so casually gave her when conversation was light.

There had been no words last night; they had simply explored each others bodies further, knowing that the time for discussion would come with the morning light. She stretched again and his fingers instantly curled to grip her hip, his body pushing forward to curve even more tightly against hers. He made a soft purring noise, his mouth brushing against the back of her neck and she sighed with pleasure. Was it always going to be like this, would every movement he ever made be so delicious to her? His hand trailed down her thigh and back up, slowly, lazily. "Jack?" she asked, and got no reply. He was still asleep, then, hands wandering across her even as he was still under. The thought was somehow powerfully sweet, powerfully... beloved, she thought. Unbidden, tears came to her eyes at the wonder of it all. If this is really, truly love... then I've never before loved anyone or anything in my entire life until now. The thought was terrifying. Beautiful.

"Sweetness," she heard him distinctly say against her neck. And then, "Likes you."

"Jack?" she asked again, feeling herself smile, "who likes me? Are you awake?"

He breathed softly again for a moment, his breath catching in a soft snore, and then, "'Pearl... likes you..." A pause. A grunt. "D'd'you put the map back i' the chest?"

"She's a ship... love." She tested the endearment, letting it roll off her tongue, knowing she'd be blushing if he were looking at her face and trying not to giggle at his random, slurring sleep-talk.

Another soft snore, a quiet gasp, then a louder one, "'Liz'beth... look out!" He jerked, nails digging into her hip, letting out a soft cry as his body instantly tensed, awakening. "The blood, oh, God, no..." he keened, sounding so lost and so afraid, something she had never heard from him, and every hair on her body stood up.

She rapidly spun, rolling over to take him in her arms, "You're awake. You're fine, come back to me."

His eyes were wide, still dazed with sleep, and he ran his hands down her side frantically, "Are you hit?"

"Jack. You're awake, it's fine, I'm all right," she soothed him, taking his face in her hands. At her touch, he blinked, and his eyes were finally clear again.

He frowned, looked uncomfortably at her, clearing his throat, "Sorry. Bad dream." His hand skated up to her face, stroking one cheek, fingering a lock of hair as if making sure it was real.

"What was it?" she asked, as he pulled her against him, huddling into the thin blanket. She wanted to hear what had frightened him so, wanted to know so that she could stop it and never, ever hear him sound like that again. Jack Sparrow should never sound like that.

"Don't remember," he lied, knowing she knew it to be a lie and not caring; there was no way he was going to recount the dream, didn't want to relive seeing the musket shot tear into her breast or the way she reached for him as she fell, the light dying from her eyes.

"You said the 'Pearl liked me," she told him, trying to make him smile, and he let it work.

"Did I?" he chuckled. "She does, I'm sure of it."

"She's a ship, Jack," she couldn't bring herself to use the endearment again now that he was awake, though she sorely wanted to, wanted to know how he'd react.

"Not just a ship," he answered, and then twisted a little so that he could have her beneath him, giving her a long, langorous kiss. She drew him into her arms, beneath the waves of her hair and skin and he willingly went, allowing himself to be distracted, wanting nothing more than to feel her and to know that she was real and safe and his. But will she always be, he wondered, and in thinking it, clutched frantically at her for a moment.

She felt it, knew he was remembering something, and gently took his hands, kissing them, holding them before her in the... sunlight... oh, no. "Jack! We should... I shouldn't... it's morning!" She made to move out of the bed, but he held her firmly.

"Will already knows," he reminded her, stroking her breasts, "and no one else gives a damn." He brushed his mouth down her neck, feeling her arch, hearing her sigh.

"Don't you... have things you should be... doing," she murmured, abandoning herself to the feel of him, "Captain things..." She could barely form coherent words when he did that...

"Oh, I'm doing 'Captain things' right now," he teased, "I'm exactly where I need to be."

And then he kissed her senseless and she gave up and let him do exactly what he wanted.

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AU: Thanks to NellieDances, as always. The story continues soon.

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