CHAPTER 16 - The Dare

You lay, half awake, listening to the fluid sounds of French, gliding across your form. One of the parties speaking is Jack, you know it's him because he has a palpable presence. The other is a voice you don't recognise; it's young, and heavily accented in provincial French. The language brings back memories of home, memories of French class, and your friends in school. There is a pause in the conversation and you feel as though it is your turn to contribute.

"Est-ce que je peux aller aux toilettes?" You murmur and roll over.

The hammock tilts and you feel yourself falling. Your eyes flash open and you come fully awake as adrenaline kicks in, bracing yourself for the fall. To your right you hear the young voice raise in exclamations of French, but you are only able to pick out the words "Sacre-bleu!" and "Madame!".

The impact you've prepared yourself for never arrives as Jack catches you and pulls you upright to sit on his lap. You turn to your right and face a small boy, who could be no older than 15 at most, and smile.

"C'est mademoiselle, pas madame, s'il vous plaît."

"Mais oui! Je suis désolé, mademoiselle." he replies, bowing to you and putting a heavy inflection on your proper title.

"Ça suffit, Hugo, merci pour l'information."

"Mais oui, Capitaine Sparrow…" The rest of his statement is indistinguishable to your limited base in French, and you shift on Jack's lap, trying to find a comfortable position.

The corner of Jack's mouth curves into a smirk and you immediately stop your fussing, a blush tingeing your cheeks bright red. As the boy continues to bow and scrape out the door, Jack politely nods to him. When he finally leaves, Jack looks down at you, grinning madly.

"I didna know ye spoke French, luv." He says, shifting both of you into a more comfortable position. "Or that ye liked being in me lap so much."

"I…" You sigh and shake your head. "I learned it a long time ago, I'm a tad rusty, if it wasn't already obvious."

"Well, I'm sure ol' Jack can help ye with it luv, it'll come back mighty fast once I get started."

"The French, Jack, not your lap." You say, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Oh." He says simply, looking crestfallen. "Aye, well, I can help ye wif that too, if ye'd like. But fer now, how d'ye feel?"

"Like I was run over by a heard of cattle, trampled and dragged fifty feet. Yourself?" You grin sassily and pull yourself form his embrace, sitting next to him.

"Well, I was better a few moments ago, but my heart will recover." He says forlornly. "But onto brighter things! Hugo…"

"The boy that you were speaking with?"

"Aye, one in tha same, ye see, 'e knows how yer family came ter be in possession of that ring." He points at your chest where the ring rests and you follow his finger and look back to his face.

"How? And why does it matter?" You ask rapidly.

"Well, even if ye put the ring back, luv, one o' yer ancestors may steal it again, aye? An' so, I called me crew together and asked them gently if any o' 'em knew anythin'. An' Hugo, me brave cabin boy, stepped forward. 'Twas a dare."

"A dare? This whole bloody mess was caused by a dare?" Your voice escalates with your anger.

"Easy, luv, it's alright." Jack soothes, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"It's not okay and you know it." You spit at him angrily. "Bloody spoiled children, my God! They didn't even think! It's all a fucking game to them!"

He is taken aback by your vehemence and pulls away from you a bit. You sigh and put your head in your hands.

"I'm sorry, it's not your fault, I know. It's just so unfair that their fun turned out to be my burden. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

He pulls you close and rests your head upon his chest. The two of you sit in silence, rocking back and forth with the ship, deep in thought.

"He promised me he would not take the ring, upon pain of death."

You sit up at the sudden statement, nearly knocking into him.

"You'd kill him?" You squeak eyes wide.

"Nay, luv. But it certainly will make him think twice, aye?" Jack says, smoothing some hair back from your face as he looks into your eyes.

You let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding and nod. He smiles at you and then releases your face to stretch against the hull.

"Now all we have to do, is complete your task. You still feelin' up to it?"

"I guess so. I know it's going to make a huge difference, and it means saving you, your entire crew, and myself among countless others, but I…" You shake your head and look to your hands in shame. "I'm so scared." Your voice trembles.

"We all get scared, darlin'. Why even I remember being afraid on occasion."

"Oh really? The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, afraid? Tell me, was it a fearsome crew, or a large rat?"

"Oi!" He says, offended. "'Twas neither, actually, and I don't think I'm inclined to share wif ye if ye insist on mocking me."

You bite back laughter and shake your head.

"I promise, I was trying to make light of the situation, not trying to offend you. Now, please, with my most sincere apologies, will you elaborate on your comment?"

"I still say you're mocking me." He grumbles but settles in to tell you the tale of his occasion of fear. "Well now, let me see. Naturally, the incident with Barbossa cause me the most discomfort."

"Oh, so not fear, but discomfort?" You prod.

"Alright, alright! Bein' woken up by me first mate at gun point, wif me entire crew around me bed wif murder in their eyes, that luv, scared the wits out of me. Course, I didna let on that I was upset in anyway…"

"Naturally…" You murmur, and smile sweetly when he shoots you a look.

"An' bein' grabbed about the neck by a skeleton wasna so pleasant either. Nor was being undead. In fact, darling, there's been many a time when this very man was scairt. But ye mustna let it get in yet way. There were many times when I coulda jest said 'Ter hell wif this!' and retired in Tortuga with my women…"

You shoot him a look of shock and he growls.

"What?!?" He exclaims in exasperation.

"You actually…thought of that and then didn't do it? I find it so odd that you wouldn't."

"Well, I love me ship more than rum, and women, and even Tortuga. When Captain Jack Sparrow wants something, he gets it, and nothing stands in his way. Certainly, he is distracted at times, but he never truly forgets the task at hand."

"Oh, surely, liquor and port towns certainly can be persuasive." You snort.

"Aye, an' so can pretty ladies." He grins at you suggestively and you narrow your eyes.

"Has there ever been a time when you didn't hit on a woman?"

"I… well… I don't suppose so, no." He rubs the plaited ends of his beard between his fingertips. "Yer jest such enchanting creatures."

"Even when we attack you, burn your rum, and try to kill you?"

He flinches and then shrugs.

"Take the good wif the bad, luv, tha best advice me father e're gave. That an' drink all yer rum afore anyone else can."

You grin widely and nod in agreement.

"Sounds like wonderful advice. My father always…" The words die in your throat as the last moments of your father's life flash before you eyes.

"S'ok, luv, it'll get easier wif time. S'not easy ter lose yer family, mark me words, but pretty soon you'll ferget the bad, and suddenly, ye remember moments that you thought were forgotten. Happy times that meant a lot to ye and yer loved ones. They'll warm yer heart and remind ye that they're not truly gone, jest waitin' fer ye."

You look up at him and give him watery smile and few tears leaking down your cheeks.

"Thank you, Jack." You whisper and give him a heartfelt hug.

You feel his body tense in surprise for a few moments and then feel his arms wrap around you squeezing you tightly before relaxing, but not letting go.

"Ye know, luv, yer tha first ter ever give ol' Jack a hug, eh?"

"Really? Can't imagine why, with all that harsh exterior and all." You tease him and pull back to look up at him. "But I promise I won't tell them there's a big softy under all that nasty pirate stuff." You poke a finger into his chest, above his heart.

He grasps your finger and looks at you sincerely, not rising to your bait. You open your mouth to speak, but he shushes you with an intense look. His face is quite close to yours at the moment, his breath catching a few of your stray hairs, making them swirl. You will yourself to keep your eyes open, and swallow harshly, as your breath comes faster.

If you had blinked, you would have missed him moving in and pressing his time worn lips against yours. You gasp in surprise and then accept the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. You fingers wind themselves in his matted locks, holding him fast to you. His hands travel up the plane of your back, one wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, the other twining into your hair and holding you fast to him.

The familiar taste of him, of rum and salt, floods your senses as his tongue dances along your own, your teeth, and across the roof of your mouth, causing you to shudder heavily in his arms. You feel yourself becoming short of breath and regretfully scraping your teeth along his tongue as you part, gulping air greedily. Feeling rather shy, you don't make eye contact with him, yet you don't remove your hands from his hair.

You can hear his own breath, faster than normal, and take a little satisfaction in the fact that you weren't the only one who had come undone. His breathing returns to normal and you look up to see him lick his lips.

"Well, luv. Hate to part wif ye, but as the Captain, I 'ave certain obligations."

"Right… of course." You nod, and relish the feel of his lips as he leans in and kisses you above your right eyebrow.

"Have a good day, Passero." He says and disentangles himself from your embrace.

He's halfway out of your cell before you cry out his name, on instinct. He turns to you, and you blush deeply, unsure of what to say, or even why you called his name.

"Uhm, do you think I could have… a hairbrush?"

* * * * *

CHAPTER 17

The time is now. There is no time but now. And yet you yearn for any other time in the world. The sun has risen, the day has come. There is no time for crying, for stalling, for lying. No more lying in wait in the bowls of the Pearl.

“And if tomorrow comes, no more Barbossa.” You say softly to yourself.

You’ve been up since the first light seeped down to you from the cannon doors one deck above. All manner of thought has streamed through your mind as you mechanically detangled your mass of hair. It now lays across your shoulders in over a hundred perfectly measured braids.

The sun is now bright and the ship, alive with activity. He’ll show up at any moment, that characteristic grin on his face and tell you…

“Yer hair looks fantastic, luv.”

You jump to your feet and place a hand over your pounding heart.

“Cripe’s sake Jack, you scared the bloody hell out of me!”

That crooked grin greets you yet again, and you return it for a moment. Only a moment.

“Let’s get ye some food.” He says and hooks an arm through yours, effectively leading you to the galley.

After devouring some bannock-like biscuits and a pathetic attempt at porridge you turn to Jack and raise an eyebrow. He has been uncharacteristically silent during your breakfast, and for once you’d actually appreciate his meandering babble. Babble about anything, everything, and something to get your mind to stop repeating itself.

And if tomorrow never comes…

What if tomorrow doesn’t come? What if Jack kills you? Or what if Barbossa kills you? The pain he inflicts upon you is pretty severe, it probably wouldn’t be very taxing to exert a little more pressure, and give you a stroke or the like.

Or what if it all works? What if you are able to control Barbossa and secure the ring upon his finger, freeing yourself of him? Will you go back to that place? What if you are stuck there? You shudder deeply and clench your teeth, trying to force that possibility from your mind. A warm hand on your shoulder makes your eyes flash up to Jack’s face. His lips are moving, but you’re not hearing what he’s saying.

You try and shake yourself back to reality, and he takes the movement as a negative response to whatever he’s speaking about.

“Oh, so the brush I brought ye wasna useful?” He narrows his eyes in playful suspicion.

“No, no!” You stammer. “I thought… it’s just… oh fuck.” You sigh and place your face in your hands.

“About that…” He says, fingers flowing and accentuating his words. “I’ve been meaning ter ask ye. What, precisely, does this ‘fuck’ word mean?”

You slowly raise your eyes until they’re level with his, your face growing scarlet as you do. You clear you throat and open your mouth a few times in attempt to begin, and curse again in frustration. Mirth dances in his eyes.

“Ye canna use the word in yer definition, luv.”

“You’d make a very good English teacher.” You mutter darkly. “Now, let’s see, fuck…” You swallow and then decide just to get it over with. “…is a vulgar word referring to the act of sex.”

A slow, lewd grin tugs at the left side of his mouth, causing a few of his gold teeth to glint in the filtered light. If possible, you’ve grown redder in the face.

His eyes widen and he chuckles deeply. When you demand to know what is so amusing, he waves his hand in dismissal and shakes his head. It’s your turn to narrow your eyes.

Suddenly, however, as though someone dropped a curtain, his face becomes serious. “Is there anything ye need afore we set off, luv?”

You try to inhale deeply, but your throat has clenched, causing you to choke. You grab your mug of grog and force your throat to work.

“Not really.” You say hoarsely. “Just roses at me funeral.” You say cynically into the mug before taking another sip.

“What shade.” He asks impishly and you smack his arm before you realise what you’re doing.

“Jack, aren’t you supposed to be supportive here?” You raise your voice. A few crewmembers turn to face you, smug looks on their faces. Your eyes fall to your hands sheepishly.

He grasps your chin and draws your face upwards.

“Ye need not be so skittish, darlin’. No harm shall come to ye this day.”

“But, Jack…”

A finger presses against your lips and you pause.

“So long as I draw breath, no harm shall come to ye.”

He pulls back, but your mouth still hangs open, mid-sentence.

“D’ye believe me? I dinna make a promise I dinna intend te keep.”

You nod, still speechless, and bask in the glows of his answering smile. He stands and motions for you to follow him. The crewmembers you pass on your way to the main deck are all silent, and some even tip their hats to you. You smile at them weakly in return.

The main deck is just as silent; a crowd gathered a respectful distance from a waiting rowboat. Bootstrap, Gibbs, Will, Eddie and a reluctant Elizabeth stand waiting, holding your effects. When you see the two swords and pistol you glance at Jack in surprise.

“I’m a fair man.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“A little too fair.” You hear Mrs. Turner sneer.

You take you coat form Eddie and hug him quickly, planting a kiss on his weathered cheek.

“Save a story for when I come back, aye?”

He nods fervently, his cheeks red with excitement.

Will hands you your katana and kodachi, which you strap on over the trench coat, and pistol, which you tuck into your belt.

“Thank you for all the help.” You merely shake his hand, fearful of incurring the wrath of his wife.

“It was my pleasure. Upon your return, will you teach me the use of your swords?”

“Absolutely.” You say and then turn to Elizabeth.

“I apologise for any of my actions that have upset you in any way, and request that you consider a fresh start with me when I return.”

She blinks at you, completely caught off guard by the pretence and you eloquent language. After a few moments hesitation, she nods and smiles faintly. From her reaction, you can tell how grave the situation appears to not only you, but also everyone involved in this twisted set of circumstances.

From Gibbs you receive your bandanna, and tie up your breaded hair. “‘Twas a pleasure sailin’ with ye ma’am.” He says sincerely, and presses a rabbit’s foot into your palm. “Fer luck.” He winks and you nod your thanks.

You turn to Bootstrap and your eyes cloud with tears.

“Easy lass, I’m comin’ wif ye.”

A glance at Jack confirms his statement.

You swallow roughly, and then let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He hands you your hat and kohl. You smudge the kohl onto your eyelids, but throw the hat overboard.

“I always hated that hat.”

You hear the clink of shackles and after securing your ensemble, you offer you wrists to him. He claps on the irons and you turn to the waiting boat.

Jack squeezes your shoulder before helping you over the railing and into place. He gets in one bench to the fore of you, and Bootstrap sits beside him, both with an oar. As the crew lowers you into the water, you note that both men are armed to the teeth.

The fog swirls into the boat as you splash into the water. Bootstrap and Jack pick up the oars and turn the boat, directing it towards an eerie cave.

“The island of death, Passero. Naught but yer destruction awaits ye there.” Barbossa. You hadn’t even noticed him awakening. “Yer right te fear me lass. If ye dinna kill tha Bastard today, I’ll see to it ye ne’er see tha light o’ day again.”

As he speaks, the boat glides into the shadow of the Isla, and you look away swiftly, trying to distract yourself from your morbid thoughts. In the growing distance you can see another ship approaching the Pearl. Your heart drops to your feet when the sun cuts through the fog like a knife and highlights her silver trim. The Anastasius.

“Jesus Christ on a piece of toast!” You yelp in surprise. “What the hells is Gabe doing?”

Both men have ceased rowing and are squinting at the ship. Jack pulls out a looking glass and traces the ship.

“She’s heading into battle positions.” He growls. “Who the hell is this Gabe?”

“A pipsqueak of a sailor who still can’t lace up his breeches on his own.” Bootstrap replied, just as bewildered as Jack.

“Captain of the Anastasius.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “He’s the only one who didn’t want to rape me.”

It’s obvious the pair is very good friends since they both turn to you, frown, and then look back to the Anastasius. In any other context you would have laughed, but not this time.

“They’ve come fer ‘er.” Bootstrap said suddenly.

You look at him in shock, but he ignores it and continues.

“Gabe was pretty sweet on ye, ‘specially when ye wore the late captain’s gown.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Jack clench the telescope tighter until his knuckles turn white.

“Well,” You cough uncomfortably, “regardless, he’s no match for Gibbs, and he’s going to die for nothing.”

There is silence, and then Jack sighs heavily, closing the telescope with the palm of his hand. “Bootstrap, ‘e knows ye, d’ye think ye can stop ‘im?”

He rubs his hands over his face wearily, and after a moments consideration, nods slowly. “Aye, if we hurry the two of ye into tha’ cave I reckon I could have the preceedin’s.”

You bite your lip as the Pearl springs to life in light of the Anastasius’s arrival. “We haven’t much time.” You say nervously, but halfway through the statement they have the small boat nearly flying across the water.

Gliding to a stop, Jack hops out gracefully and swings you out as well, with no obvious signs of effort whatsoever. You turn to Bootstrap and he tips his head in farewell before rowing away as quickly as he can.

With a gulp of air you turn to face Jack, and the cave before you with as much courage as you can muster.

TBC...

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