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Midnight Ride	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2747 -:- 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
- 1-Blazing Saddles
- 2-Pursuit
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 6
- 7
7. One Worth Keeping

Jack swore so viciously that Elizabeth thought her ear would blister, before she lost her ability to breathe entirely, and her arms slipped weakly down as her fingernails dug into Jack's chest. “And her captain?” she whispered without air.

“Her captain?” Jack called toward the door in a gruff, strained shout.

A pause. Elizabeth's hands shook. Jack held himself within her, avoiding her eyes.

“The ship and captain in one piece, we seen 'em both!”

Elizabeth drew a sudden, great breath, as though saved from drowning, and to her utter surprise, she burst into tears. She had barely begun to weep when she realized Jack was gathering her close, saying “Shhh, don't cry. It's all right. It's all right.”

“I'm sorry, I - “ she hiccupped, her trembling hands dancing aimlessly over his shoulders, his back, as though searching for something to hold fast to. “- just so afraid that something had - “

He silenced her with a long, deep kiss that robbed her of breath again, and then pulled away. “Shall I let you up?” he asked quietly.

She lay there, gasping for breath, for a long moment. Jack was deliciously heavy upon her, full and throbbing inside of her. He expected her to push him off, to end their rendezvous in media res, to leap up and hurl insults while dressing before bounding out the door. That was, in fact, exactly what she ought to do.

“'Lizabeth?” he said, and it was almost a plea, as his hips moved of their own accord. She knew his need, felt the tension in his limbs and heard the tremor in his voice. She drew in a shaky breath.

“If he is well now, he shall still be well in a quarter of an hour,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

A rueful chuckle from Jack. “A quarter hour? I'm touched. And flattered,” he said dryly. But he had already found a pace, and she was meeting him, urgently, completely. She could only see parts of his face; his lip as it drew back, exposing a gold tooth or two, a single bead of sweat suspended from his brow, swaying back and forth endlessly before it finally fell.

Two hours later, he found her a pair of breeches in a trunk that were so small that they must have belonged to a much younger man - or older boy - but Elizabeth didn't ask about that, and took them and put them on along with a different shirt and tunic.

He dressed, too. Everything. Bandanna. Hat. Pistol. Sword.

“Think you'll be needing that?” she said, indicating the sword with a lift of her chin.

“Not sure. Our good friend Paolo probably could have used it, eh?”

“The hour for Will to have burst in upon us is, thankfully, past.”

“Would have liked to see his face,” Jack mused, buckling a strap. “Especially when you were - “

“Jack! Don't jest about such things.”

“Sorry, force of habit.” He finished, and strode up to her, sliding his hands around her waist from behind. “Would you have sprung to my defense, I wonder? Thrust yourself between his sword and my heart?”

She scoffed. “Don't be silly. Of course not.”

“Well, at least I've learned where I stand,” he grumbled, nuzzling her ear playfully. “And that loving you's a dangerous endeavor,” he added, without thinking, it seemed to Elizabeth.

Her hands froze on the brass button she was shoving through its hole, only for a moment, her fingers suddenly trembling.

“I meant - “ he began.

She whirled to lay a finger on his lips. “But the latter, you knew already, didn't you, Jack?”

He nipped at the finger she had placed there until she snatched it away, so he could speak. “Right. So try not to need rescuing any time soon, Mrs. Elizabeth-Iscariot-Turner.”

“Try not to get sentenced to hang, Almighty Captain Jack Sparrow.”

He suddenly leaned in and kissed her, once more, earnestly, hungrily. Just as abruptly he stopped and turned away, yanking open the door to the cabin.

“Promise me,” she said, catching her breath. “If you pass by Port Royal... or you see us in port... you'll send word.”

He lifted his palm in a mock swear, and she nodded. She pretended to believe his promise, and he pretended not to notice. She preceded him out the door, and he followed and shut it behind them.

She never told Will where she spent the time he was delayed by a bad storm and a fallen mast. She simply said she'd managed, and was so delighted to see him that she didn't wish to waste a moment discussing the time they were apart.

It was a three-day lie she couldn't tell. The truth would haunt her much longer than that.

Spanish Town, Jamaica

Elizabeth Turner lifted an orange from a street vendor's table, held it in the palm of her hand. Most of her English friends wouldn't even eat uncooked fruit - they were afraid of indigestion. Only Elizabeth had picked up the custom from being aboard ship, and she'd retained it long after her sailing days were over.

Things changed. She and Will sold the Pegasus five years before. Competition was fierce and they got an excellent price, and besides, they need to live a different life. A good life, but a different one. They settled in Spanish Town and he returned to metalworking, proprietor now of a vast shop with a number of apprentices. His work was known all over Jamaica.

They had enough money. Not an overabundance, but enough for a servant or two and a modest house on the slope of a hill. Palms framed their garden. She loved the palms. She and Nellie cared for the house. She was happy. Mostly.

She fingered coins in her purse, mentally tallying the correct amount for the three oranges she'd chosen. She was gathering coins for the the fruit seller in her hand when she heard a small voice say, “Mama! That man's a pirate!”

A sudden chill went through her despite the warm morning, and she forgot her count. She did it again. She gave the man his coins - too many, probably, in her haste - and turned around, scanning the crowd nearby.

She was suddenly alone. Dreadfully alone, where she ought not be. “Jane!” she called at the top of her lungs. “Jane!”

The oranges fell to roll on the ground as Elizabeth took off at a run through the marketplace.

She dodged servants with baskets and vendors carrying armfuls of fish and produce, trying desperately to keep sight of a small, dark head bobbing amidst skirts and legs yards ahead. “Jane Frances Turner, you come back here!” she yelled, to no avail.

A large wheeled cart full of bananas suddenly rolled into her way, and she caught the edge in her gut. The wind was knocked out of her. She stared, dazed, as her daughter toddled out of sight down the street. “Jane!” she cried when she could breathe again.

She stumbled around the cart, opting for the street instead of the sidewalk. She moved as quickly as she could in her skirt and walking shoes. Not for the first time in the last five years, she wished for breeches and boots.

She scanned the entire street, repeatedly, noticing nothing amid the horses, soldiers, vendors and people milling about. Her chest felt tight. It was so fast, she'd only turned to pay the man, taken her eyes off for a second...

Up ahead, she suddenly saw a coach barreling down the street at a great rate of speed. She stared, dumbfounded, at it, before she saw a flash of light blue dress in the street. In the middle of the street.

Directly in the path of the coach.

She hoisted her skirts with both hands and ran, ran as fast as she could, taking great gasping breaths and mentally cursing the Caribbean heat, yelling “Stop!” between gasps, and then suddenly she struck a large Negro woman's body and was stuck behind her, powerless as the coach hurtled toward her child.

“Jane!” she screamed, certain she was to watch her daughter be crushed before her very eyes. The coach was upon her.

Suddenly Jane was being swept up by two arms, snatched from the street, and out of sight behind the coach zooming past, and Elizabeth gaped as she shoved the blockading woman aside and dashed across the road, unmindful of any traffic either way. A horse reared up to avoid her.

She reached the other side, breathless from exertion and terror and relief, barely able to walk. She spied Jane's face over the shoulder of a man with his back to her, a gray shirt and simple breeches, a navy scarf over his head and tied at the side, above a thick black ponytail tied with a leather cord.

“Mama!” she cried.

“There, now, love, no harm done,” the man was saying to Jane as Elizabeth approached at a near-run, her heart beating faster than ever before, as the man turned around with Jane in his arms. “Here's your - “

Elizabeth's heart stopped.

“-mother,” finished Jack, eyes grown wide as he appeared rooted to the spot.

“Mama, he's a pirate man, I saw his face on the wall,” Jane said merrily, with her chubby arms looped comfortably around Jack's neck. One of Elizabeth's hands flew to her chest, and she struggled to breathe. Just breathe, she told herself. In, then out. Can't have forgotten how.

He was older, she noted. He'd always been older, but now he looked it. Silver streaked his black hair at his temples before disappearing beneath a worn blue scarf. Gray dotted his beard, too, which was wider and thicker than before. But his eyes were the same, she saw, feeling her stomach lurch at the deep darkness of them, the expression in the cocoa irises as he looked back at her.

“W-what happened to the red one?” was all she could stammer out, feeling like a complete idiot.

A salt-and-pepper brow sailed north, as his eyes roamed her from bottom to top. “'Twas time for a change. And your sailor's weeds?”

“I'd say the same. Things change.”

“So I see,” he said, glancing at Jane's pink cheek and back to Elizabeth. “Congratulations are in order? Though a bit late... what's it been... oh, five years, say?”

Elizabeth swallowed, painfully. “Why, yes. And thank you.” She held out her arms for Jane, who only clung tighter to Jack. Her arms fell, empty, to her sides.

“Something cured what ailed you, then, all those years ago?” Jack spoke to Elizabeth, but he watched his ringed finger trail over Jane's nose and forehead, her tiny ear. She giggled.

“Perhaps that shipboard bath held mystical properties,” Elizabeth suggested, her heart pounding loud enough to drown out all the sounds around them.

Jack's gaze fixed upon her with a mixture of heat and amusement. “Or something got shaken loose during that... ride.” There was a pause before he added, “Suppose her father's gracious about it, considering?”

“He doesn't know about that,” she whispered, feeling as though she might actually faint, right there in the street. “He believes Jane Frances is our own small miracle.”

“'Course he does,” Jack replied with a grin, tickling Jane so she giggled again. Then he looked at Elizabeth soberly, almost wistfully. “You could have found a way to write.”

“So could you,” she answered.

He regarded her for a moment more and then nodded, looking up to catch sight of a few soldiers strolling their way. “I've got to go,” he said calmly, unwrapping Jane's arms and handing her over to Elizabeth. “Now. I'll find you later, promise.”

Elizabeth saw the soldiers, too. She smiled sadly at Jack, taking Jane into her embrace. “Sure you will.”

“I will, too,” he said, touching his temple and giving a sweeping bow for Jane's benefit. “Take care of her,” he said to Elizabeth, and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

“Not a word about the pirate, all right, darling?” Elizabeth whispered sternly to her daughter, who nodded solemnly.

“Was it bad to chase after him, Mama?”

“Yes, most certainly,” Elizabeth chided her, moving into the path of the soldiers. “But we'll talk about that in a little while, all right?”

She spread her still-supple lips into a broad smile and sauntered up to the tallest soldier in the group of four. “Excuse me, sir, do you know the way to Swamp Road? We're visiting relatives, from Kingston. Oh, forgive me - where are my manners? This is Jane, and I'm Mrs. Turner. Oh - “ she laid a hand on the hilt of another soldier's sword. “-what a fine sword! Who made it? My husband's in the trade, didn't you know?”

The four men hovered clustered around her, moths in awe, while she prattled on long enough for any man, even one who ambled as leisurely as Jack Sparrow, to be long gone down the road.

It was a week later, after seven sleepless, brutally hot nights during which Elizabeth used the excessive heat as an excuse to sleep alone, that she woke in her chamber to a strange sound: the neighing of a horse.

Will had been at the smithy since dawn, so there was no reason for there to be a horse in the yard. She was about to go peer out the window, when Nellie burst into the room.

“Missus Turner,” she said. “Oh, bless ye, you're awake already. Dress and come down straightaway. It's the oddest thing.”

Elizabeth frowned but threw back the sheet. “Is Jane awake?”

“Oh, mercy, yes,” said Nellie, and then she disappeared from the bedroom.

Minutes later, Elizabeth emerged from the front door at Nellie's insistence to where Nellie's husband Alex, their jack-of-all-trades, was trying to catch hold of the reins on a small, very animated horse.

A Paso Fino. Dark brown.

Alex saw Elizabeth and smiled, finally succeeding in grasping the reins and guiding the horse round in a narrow circle, till she calmed. “Seems our Jane's got an admirer,” he called to Elizabeth.

“Oh?”

“This horse is for her. Leastways, that's what the man said.”

Elizabeth felt a nervous flutter in her chest. “What man was this?”

“Don't rightly know, miss. Truth be told, I didn't care for the looks of 'im. But he met me in the road, just ahead here, and handed me the reins to this one. 'For little Jane Francesca,' said he. 'It's no divine comedy, but I found at least one worth keeping.'”

“Why... one horse?” Elizabeth said, daring to hope and remember, staring dumbly at the gorgeous animal before her, as she switched her tail and flicked her ears expectantly.

“That's what I said to 'im, miss. And he says, 'No - a promise,' just like that. And then he was gone. Can you imagine?”

“Yes, Alex,” she replied, her throat feeling tight. “Yes, I can.” She approached the horse, who bent her head politely, eager for Elizabeth touch on her nose. She thought back over the years, the things Jack given her that she thought motivated by selfishness on his part... the rescue, shelter, the bath, and comfort, knowledge... and now the Paso Fino. He wasn't really selfish, not terribly... it only seemed Jack's generosity was as erratic and spontaneous as his theft. But it was his gift, nonetheless. Elizabeth's breath hitched in her throat, and she might have begun weeping had she not been nearly bowled over by the collision of Jane with her legs.

“Mama! Did we get a new pony?” came the small voice. Elizabeth laughed and scooped her up, watching as the child reached to scratch the horse gently between the eyes.

“Yes, love,” Elizabeth whispered, not quite trusting herself to speak. “Isn't she pretty? Don't you like her?”

“Can she be my pony? I love her,” said the impetuous Jane, reaching out a stubby hand to twist in the horse's long, thick, black mane. “Her hair feels like mine.”

“Alex, fetch the other saddle,” Elizabeth said over her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead, hoisting her higher with her arms so she could pet the horse's head. To Jane, she whispered, “Let's go for a ride.”

--------------------------

A/N: Thanks to everyone for sticking with this one to the (bitter?) end. Truman Capote said, “Finishing a book is like taking a child out into the back yard and shooting it.”

It can be true. Waving goodbye to a work dear to your heart is depressing. I do have one more (short) tale in mind before AWE comes out - inspired by djarum99’s prompt of ‘an acquired taste’ - and I thank her profusely for helping me develop and put in Jack and Elizabeth’s exchange about the inferno in the beginning of 6. I didn’t know there was going to be that much smut in 6. They just wouldn’t shut up and stop having sex. 7 was the ending I had in mind from the beginning (Jane and erinya’s Jamie, coincidentally both logical derivations of Jack) and I knew I wanted the horse to be Jack’s parting gift.

Comments are all I have! Feedback much, much appreciated.
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Midnight Ride