No escape from reality
Jun. 4th, 2004 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fan_eluneAs I said, here's chapter two of FoF. And again, please review? A feedbacked (fedback?) Fan' is a happy Fan'. Many thanks go to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cgwriting again, who considerably helped improve this chapter with helpful, constructive advice. And did I mention she was writing a sequel to No Rest for the Weary called Tempus Fidgets, which is Dawn/Groves? Yes, Groves. Yum, as far as I'm concerned.
A Flight of Fancy
Chapter 2: Heave to
Groves cried out in frustration when he heard the order pass among the pirates to retreat. He was dazed by a bad blow he took to the head from the guard of a pirate's sword and fell to the ground, black stars spotting his vision. By the time he recovered, the Fortune was manoeuvring away. The ship had not taken half as much damage as the Contester. Groves looked at the sails blowing in the wind and the red skeleton mocking him on the flag.
Oh, but leave Groves time to get the Contester back in shape... Low would not get away forever.
Groves spotted his first lieutenant, Ellis, and was glad to see he seemed relatively unharmed, apart from a vicious gash on his brow. The captain headed for the lieutenant when he saw the young Hunt, a thin youth going by the name of William, a hand to a gash running across the skin visible through a slit of the sailor's shirt. Groves stopped short and helped the young topman up, locking eyes.
"Does the doctor know?"
William only replied by nodding once, boyish features distorted by pain, pale blue eyes eerily sparkling with intelligence.
"Go on then, sailor. Get yourself fixed."
Groves pushed concern for the youth to the back of his mind as he came across Ellis at last. The gash on his brow, although it did not bleed anymore, looked far more serious from up close, and the lieutenant's complexion was too livid to comfort Groves. Ellis had tried to wipe most blood out of his face but some had remained, giving his usually attractive features a more primal look by underlining them with crimson lines and cerise traces.
"Just a scratch, sir," Ellis said as he straightened, having no doubt noticed the concern in Groves' eyes. "We've lost about a third of our crew, or so it looks. Men are already working on mending the breeches to the hull."
"Good," Groves approved with a sharp nod. "Other reparations can wait. Mr Ellis, check in with the doctor, see that this nasty gash is tended to. That's an order," he added before the lieutenant could protest.
George Ellis nodded and strode away. Groves compelled himself to keep a tight rein on his emotions. A third of their men... lost, Ellis had said. Dead. He forced his eyes away from the bodies – corpses – his men – to the poop deck, where a lone figure was standing, looking into a spyglass. Yes, this was the matter at hand now – supervising the reparations to the Contester, and assessing what had sent the pirates fleeing. It was the Dauntless, Groves had no doubt about that, but he wondered how she had fared against the Pearl... what exactly Captain Sparrow had had in mind when he had headed for the Dauntless, colourless.
Groves' hands stroked the wood of the railing as he climbed the steps up to the quarter deck. He had grown to love this ship and was glad that she had made it out of this battle. His fingers encountered a sticky substance he could not but identify as blood and he pulled his hand back as he crossed the quarter deck in long strides, wiping it on his already blood-battered uniform coat. A few more steps brought him to the poop deck.
The lone figure happened to be Lieutenant David Kensington, a burly man maybe a few years younger than Groves. Although the state of his uniform proved that he must have been in the thick of things, Kensington seemed to bear no wound, not unlike Groves.
"Sir." The lieutenant extended the spyglass towards him. "You'll want to see this for yourself."
Groves hastily wiped the forming frown from his brow and took the spyglass. However, the frown reclaimed its territory as soon as Groves realised what he was seeing. The Pearl was sailing towards them, immediately followed by the slower Dauntless. Something did not seem quite right with the picture, apart from the glaringly obvious. Then it struck him.
"The Pearl's bearing our flag..."
"Thank you, sir." Groves looked away from the spyglass, wondering what his lieutenant meant by that. The man's hard-lined face was unreadable, brown eyes shining faintly. "Seeing something like that, I was starting to wonder whether I had not turned crazy."
A small grimace twisted Groves' lips. "Clearly, someone has."
***
Low could wait just a while longer, Jack decided good-humouredly, and issued orders that would have them heave to alongside the Contester. He had been made a privateer of the Royal Navy, and one of the perks was that his past offences had been pardoned. Irrevocably so. He intended to enjoy that state before he committed brand new offences... hence, before he caught Low and dealt with him.
Aye, today was a good day to be pardoned. He would need the counter-signature of the governor for said pardon to be water-tight, and he was quite certain bonny Elizabeth would plead his cause to her father, once Jack told her how much of a good subject of the Crown he intended to become. Doubtless she'd be unable to resist him.
Pearl was rocking angrily under his feet, the heat that her black wood radiated speaking of fury today. Jack walked to the edge and stroked the bulkward lovingly. She was not any happier with the ensign than most of the crew. "It's only temporary, sweets. Only temporary."
Jack's attention was caught by the Contester then. They were coming up alongside her. A pretty boat she was, too; nothing to rival with the Pearl, of course, but an elegant sloop-of-war who was as quick as she looked sleek. Quick enough that Jack could make them believe they were catching up on the Pearl on their own, instead of because he wanted them to.
He spotted the captain right away, pleased to see a man younger than himself, probably the same age as dear Commodore James, wearing a bloodied uniform. The state of his coat said that he had been in the middle of the battle, his lack of injuries that he was either a good fighter, a very smart man, or a lucky devil. Probably all three.
"Captain Sparrow," the man greeted him with a wary nod. "I'm Captain Groves, and rather puzzled to see you flying this ensign."
Jack smirked. "Captain Groves. I'll wager you're not the most surprised of us all."
A quick flash of something lighter crossed the man's face. Jack would have put his money on amusement, or approval, or acknowledgement maybe; the distance made it impossible to know for sure. "But, perhaps, the most curious. Would you care to step aboard and share a cup of tea?"
Share a cup of tea, was that what bloodied captains of the Royal Navy did after a battle? The idea of stepping aboard the Contester, among men who had just lost crewmates to pirates, with nothing but a slip of paper and a few scribbled words to assure his safety, was enough to make Jack hesitate.
"No harm will come to you," the other captain added loud enough for his men to hear. "You have my word of honour."
"Now, what would I care about yer word of honour, Captain?" Sparrow replied with a hint of a smile. "Gimme a second, 'ey?" He motioned Gibbs over. "I'll be goin' over for a nice lil chat with the cap'n, shall I?"
"Bloody madness." A spit to the deck, and Jack raised his eyes to face an infuriated Anamaria striding up to them, her angry features concealed in the shadow of a wide-rimmed hat. He remained serene in front of her, knowing full well that nothing would be able to calm her down. "And that flag's a disgrace to us all!"
"The flag's stayin' where it is, Anamaria." Jack took a step towards her, his serene façade dissolving into his dangerous, stalking look. "I'm captain of the Pearl, savvy? She answers to no soul like to me, and I don't think you'll be wantin' to break up my deal with Norrington just while we're surrounded by Navy ships. Now hurry back below deck before any one of them sees ye, if ye wanna keep serving on this ship. Savvy?" he added for good measure, tugging her hat down on her face.
He could feel her glare even without seeing it. After a few silent seconds, heavy with unvoiced recriminations, she turned around and stalked off towards her cabin.
"I told ye, Jack, frightful bad luck," Gibbs muttered.
Jack tutted sharply. "No such thing as bad luck in takin' 'er in. She'd raise hell if we didn't, you know her as well as I."
"Not quite," Gibbs smartly remarked.
"Not quite." Jack could not help a brief, lascivious grin. "Back ter to the point, Pearl's yours while I go off to have a chat with Cap'n Groves."
Jack turned to go, but Gibbs called him back. "Cap'n?" He did not speak up until Jack was looking at him expectantly. "Anamaria's right. That plan's bloody madness." A pregnant pause, a pit of bitterness rising in Jack's guts. "Daft like you always served me right."
Jack flashed him a grin, wondering at the pull at his heart. Could it be that these last years had led him up to caring about the old man? No. Most likely, the strange sensation was due to his lack of rum for the past few hours. There was something not quite right about being sober.
Captain Groves had already gone to his cabin by the time Jack stepped aboard the Contester. He spent a few seconds oblivious to the rest of the world, simply feeling the way she rolled under his feet. He could already tell she liked him, unlike the Dauntless. This one had a way to whisper to him, she was eager for battle and a chance to prove herself, and this despite the beating she'd taken today. Despite, or because of.
"Sir."
It took Jack a second to realise it was him the kid had addressed. Sir? He was simply not called sir. And hell, that one was even younger than young William Turner. No stubble on his cheeks, yet a hardness in the pale blue eyes that said without a doubt that he had seen far more than young Will. His features were almost feminine, but he made a far more handsome lad than he would have a lass. His brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, his clothes those of a sailor. There was a slit in his shirt that let Jack see the edge of a binding. He stood at ease on the deck, with all the effortlessness of someone in whose blood sailing ran. Jack took a liking to him, for some reason that rather escaped him, much quicker even than he had taken to Will. Hopefully he wouldn't have to threaten to kill this one.
"Well, lad?"
"I'm to take you to the captain's cabin, sir."
Jack waited expectantly for a few seconds, then nodded and made a small inviting gesture with his hand. The lad nodded back and led the way to the quarter deck. His body was lean, not overly tall, he had likely not signed up long ago. The white shirt clung to his back where sweat had permeated it, probably during the battle, and Jack focused on it as they crossed the deck on which the dead were being readied for their funerals.
"What's your name, lad?"
"William Hunt, sir."
Jack could not but smile. Another William, eh? "Well, Will, 'm not incredibly partial to that 'sir' business. Y'might wanna call me Jack."
William stopped in front of a door, face carefully devoid of any emotion. Jack knew that face quite well, he'd seen Commodore James and other officers pull it off a few times already. The Navy face. "Here's the captain's cabin, sir."
Jack rolled his eyes as he opened the door and strode in without a care for that annoying habit he had never indulged in, knocking. Captain Groves looked up halfway through buttoning a clean shirt up. He did not appear embarrassed in the least, and Jack raised a speculative eyebrow. Groves simply ignored it, gesturing at a small table and some chairs. "Captain Sparrow, if you please? I'll be with you in a minute."
"I'd rather you called me Jack," the pirate immediately answered, taking a step toward the table but keeping his eyes locked on Groves. He made a vague gesture indicating the space between the two of them. "Gettin' rather tired of such formalities."
"Already? I'm afraid you've badly considered this new career choice." Captain Groves stepped towards him, eyes shining with something like good humour. Jack was feeling increasingly comforted in his first assessment of the man. He wondered why this captain of the Royal Navy would welcome him so. The man seemed... friendly. Not something he was familiar with in Navy men. "I hope you won't mind my not being in full uniform. It's rather warm and those wigs are a bore."
Jack smirked as he took off his hat and hung it on a peg. "Not at all, Cap'n." He took his first good look at the cabin, finding it exactly what he expected from the cabin of a Navy officer. Simple, unadorned, bare... impersonal. "Not that I complain, but... what's with the warm welcome? I'm not exactly in the habit o' seeing your kind so laid back around the likes of me." He paused, frowned, relented. "Not exactly in the habit o' seeing your kind, either."
Head bent slightly forward, Groves allowed himself a brief smile before washing all signs of amusement from his face. His eyes were quite serious when he spoke. "I believe there are different kinds of pirates, Cap - Jack," he amended himself. "Mr Turner named you a good man. I will make you a compromise. You are a good pirate. Do not mistake this welcome for trust." Jack raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, rocking on his heels and looking at the unwavering face from beneath half-closed lids. The steel in Groves' eyes seemed to melt all of a sudden, leaving the usual warm expression in place as a hand was thrust forward at him. "Theodore Sinclair Groves. Call me Ted."
Jack looked at the hand with distrust, an echo of the day he had rescued the lovely Elizabeth from the sea, unknowingly sealing her fate, Will's, and his own, bringing the Black Pearl back to him. He did not quite know what to make of Groves after this small heart-to-heart, so to speak; but no matter what the captain said, he still seemed much more malleable material than the commodore. Jack would have to bear this in mind for future use.
The pirate shook the hand before it was completely retracted. "Jack Sparrow." He smirked wickedly. "But I reckon my reputation got here far before meself."
The handshake was firm and steady, the smile back to full force in the eyes. "Not so much your reputation as first-hand experience. I was there when you commandeered the Interceptor. Brilliant work."
Jack pulled his hand back almost reluctantly, watching with amusement the glint in the other man's eyes. "Glad you approve... Sin. I'll be callin' ye Sin if you don't mind." Without leaving the man time to protest, Jack turned toward the table. "Now, as for that tea, I don't s'pose a prime Navy man as you are would have some rum to offer a fellow instead." He frowned as he noticed for the first time the three cups and saucers on the table. "Three?"
As if on cue, the door opened to reveal Commodore James himself. The gaze the man levelled at Sinclair Groves was evaluating, but a cursory glance around the room seemed to assure the commodore that nothing was amiss. His eyes came back to Sin firmer, as if reassured, but also merciless. "I suggest you dress yourself properly, Captain."
"Sir."
The relaxed man Jack had observed so far had turned into a true officer of the Royal Navy, back ramrod-straight and ready to follow any orders given by his superior. Jack thought he saw Sin's cheeks begin to heat up before the man turned away to put on the rest of his uniform.
It was a shame, Jack lamented. Especially the bloody wig.
"Was your welcome everything you hoped, Sparrow?"
"Much better than I coulda hoped for, Commodore, and that's Captain Sparrow for ye," Jack replied offhandedly, the better to irate the man.
"For me?" Norrington levelled another merciless gaze towards Sin, who had the common sense not to turn around from the mirror he was looking in to adjust his wig. Norrington's tone was probably warning enough.
"Aye," Jack simply replied.
"I shall assume you did not explain to Captain Groves the circumstances of your hiring as a privateer."
Jack hid away a frown. "Not enough time as it was. You came in too early."
Norrington's eyes would have frozen the Vesuvius up. He left it unsaid that he thought he had come in at precisely the right moment, but the statement was made nonetheless. Captain Theodore Sinclair Groves, complete with his white overcoat and cravat, blue frock coat, white wig and hat, joined them and invited them to take a seat.
It was William who came in to pour the tea, watching all three men with the same controlled gaze. The most crookedly friendly grins of Jack's did nothing to change the youth's expression and it troubled the pirate more than it should have. He was simply a kid who'd likely just seen his first battle, seen his mates killed by bloody pirates, what would he do with Jack's familiarity?
Still, Jack's irrational anger had to find a way out, and it did as soon as the door closed on young William Hunt. "Now what, we sit back and sip tea? Would that be what ye people do whenever you lose men?"
It was a mistake, Jack knew it as soon as the words left his lips; but worse than that, it was unfair. Sin's face hardened, anger flashed in his eyes, his fists closed on the table. Norrington laid a hand on the captain's arm and, after a quick glance at his superior's eerily calm face, Sin spread his hands flat on the table, keeping his gaze fixed on his cup of tea.
"I believe it time to instruct Captain Groves of the circumstances of your hiring, Captain Sparrow." The last two words were uttered disdainfully and for some reason the tone hurt Jack this time, although he did not let it show. He did not reply, simply held the commodore's taunting gaze unwaveringly. James was staring right back at him as he explained calmly. "He ransomed you and your men, Ted." Finally, the merciless eyes strayed away, but it was no admission of defeat as they settled, suddenly warmer, on "Ted." Jack followed the eyes and found that Theodore Sinclair Groves was looking straight at him, unchallengingly, taking stock. "He would have delayed us, leaving you to the mercy of Low, if I did not sign him in."
"Aye, mate, 'tis all true," Jack confirmed steadily, before looking back at James. "Only I knew you'd do the right thing, Commodore. D'ye really think I would have let you blow holes in me ship when I could have sailed away just as easily?"
"Jack." Jack lost all signs of amusement as he turned from the irate commodore to the grave captain. Brown eyes showed absolutely nothing in this instant, just as guarded as young William's had been, but his voice had been ringing with barely controlled anger when he had spoken Jack's name. Something in the set of the mouth suggested that something of dire importance was about to be said. "Stay aboard for the funerals." It sounded awkwardly close to a plea, a plea with a sharp, unmistakable undercurrent of fury and demand. "Some of those men you could have saved if you had not dallied, if you had given aid. They were good men, good sailors and soldiers, but good men first and foremost. My men." The captain rose abruptly, turning towards Norrington. "With your permission, sir, I'd like to go and check where the reparations are at."
"By all means, this is your ship, Captain."
Jack stirred the unfamiliar brown beverage with a spoon, watching it swirl about as he listened to Sin's fading footsteps. After a moment, he decided to try it and tentatively brought the cup to his lips, pinkie raised in a parody of good manners. It tasted off and was no help at all. The commodore's silence was unsettling. Jack put the cup back down and met the man's gaze. "Still won't forswear rum. Nothin' worth it."
The sea-green eyes were relentless, the face around them a mask of nothingness, but them... They were studying him, probing him as if they expected something from him. The itch of uneasiness grew between Jack's shoulder blades, a feeling he was altogether unfamiliar with, and he'd been quite happy that way, thanks very much. He stood up and strode a few steps away, looking out the window at the rolling sea. She did not offer him the same sense of comfort she usually did. He spread his hands on the base of the window, feeling the ship's wood, touching her as he would have a lover.
Jack was almost surprised – almost – when Norrington stepped by his side, staring ahead of him at the sea. The man's expression was almost serene – almost – and it was somehow even more unsettling than what had come before.
"If I did not know you for the heartless pirate that you are, Captain, I'd think you were feeling some guilt." A flicker of the eyes, the shadow of a smile, before Norrington's face became grave again, graver than it had been. "Will you stay for the funerals?"
It was only a whisper. "Aye."
To his credit, Norrington showed no reaction whatsoever. Side by side, the two men watched the heaving sea outside. Jack wondered whether Norrington could feel the Contester as he did, the agility of her quality and the nervousness of her youth, much more impetuous than the Interceptor had been. Probably not. He was a man of the Navy.
Norrington turned away from the sea at last and made for the door. He stopped a few feet short of it. "Come up on deck, Captain."
Jack could not find enough energy to make himself believe that the few words were a request disguised as an order. From the phrasing to the inflexion, Norrington had left no room to such speculation. It was nothing but an order, and yet there was more to it.
There was more to it, or else Jack wouldn't have obeyed, snatching his hat on the way out.
-- End chapter Two
cgwriting again, who considerably helped improve this chapter with helpful, constructive advice. And did I mention she was writing a sequel to No Rest for the Weary called Tempus Fidgets, which is Dawn/Groves? Yes, Groves. Yum, as far as I'm concerned.A Flight of Fancy
Chapter 2: Heave to
Groves cried out in frustration when he heard the order pass among the pirates to retreat. He was dazed by a bad blow he took to the head from the guard of a pirate's sword and fell to the ground, black stars spotting his vision. By the time he recovered, the Fortune was manoeuvring away. The ship had not taken half as much damage as the Contester. Groves looked at the sails blowing in the wind and the red skeleton mocking him on the flag.
Oh, but leave Groves time to get the Contester back in shape... Low would not get away forever.
Groves spotted his first lieutenant, Ellis, and was glad to see he seemed relatively unharmed, apart from a vicious gash on his brow. The captain headed for the lieutenant when he saw the young Hunt, a thin youth going by the name of William, a hand to a gash running across the skin visible through a slit of the sailor's shirt. Groves stopped short and helped the young topman up, locking eyes.
"Does the doctor know?"
William only replied by nodding once, boyish features distorted by pain, pale blue eyes eerily sparkling with intelligence.
"Go on then, sailor. Get yourself fixed."
Groves pushed concern for the youth to the back of his mind as he came across Ellis at last. The gash on his brow, although it did not bleed anymore, looked far more serious from up close, and the lieutenant's complexion was too livid to comfort Groves. Ellis had tried to wipe most blood out of his face but some had remained, giving his usually attractive features a more primal look by underlining them with crimson lines and cerise traces.
"Just a scratch, sir," Ellis said as he straightened, having no doubt noticed the concern in Groves' eyes. "We've lost about a third of our crew, or so it looks. Men are already working on mending the breeches to the hull."
"Good," Groves approved with a sharp nod. "Other reparations can wait. Mr Ellis, check in with the doctor, see that this nasty gash is tended to. That's an order," he added before the lieutenant could protest.
George Ellis nodded and strode away. Groves compelled himself to keep a tight rein on his emotions. A third of their men... lost, Ellis had said. Dead. He forced his eyes away from the bodies – corpses – his men – to the poop deck, where a lone figure was standing, looking into a spyglass. Yes, this was the matter at hand now – supervising the reparations to the Contester, and assessing what had sent the pirates fleeing. It was the Dauntless, Groves had no doubt about that, but he wondered how she had fared against the Pearl... what exactly Captain Sparrow had had in mind when he had headed for the Dauntless, colourless.
Groves' hands stroked the wood of the railing as he climbed the steps up to the quarter deck. He had grown to love this ship and was glad that she had made it out of this battle. His fingers encountered a sticky substance he could not but identify as blood and he pulled his hand back as he crossed the quarter deck in long strides, wiping it on his already blood-battered uniform coat. A few more steps brought him to the poop deck.
The lone figure happened to be Lieutenant David Kensington, a burly man maybe a few years younger than Groves. Although the state of his uniform proved that he must have been in the thick of things, Kensington seemed to bear no wound, not unlike Groves.
"Sir." The lieutenant extended the spyglass towards him. "You'll want to see this for yourself."
Groves hastily wiped the forming frown from his brow and took the spyglass. However, the frown reclaimed its territory as soon as Groves realised what he was seeing. The Pearl was sailing towards them, immediately followed by the slower Dauntless. Something did not seem quite right with the picture, apart from the glaringly obvious. Then it struck him.
"The Pearl's bearing our flag..."
"Thank you, sir." Groves looked away from the spyglass, wondering what his lieutenant meant by that. The man's hard-lined face was unreadable, brown eyes shining faintly. "Seeing something like that, I was starting to wonder whether I had not turned crazy."
A small grimace twisted Groves' lips. "Clearly, someone has."
***
Low could wait just a while longer, Jack decided good-humouredly, and issued orders that would have them heave to alongside the Contester. He had been made a privateer of the Royal Navy, and one of the perks was that his past offences had been pardoned. Irrevocably so. He intended to enjoy that state before he committed brand new offences... hence, before he caught Low and dealt with him.
Aye, today was a good day to be pardoned. He would need the counter-signature of the governor for said pardon to be water-tight, and he was quite certain bonny Elizabeth would plead his cause to her father, once Jack told her how much of a good subject of the Crown he intended to become. Doubtless she'd be unable to resist him.
Pearl was rocking angrily under his feet, the heat that her black wood radiated speaking of fury today. Jack walked to the edge and stroked the bulkward lovingly. She was not any happier with the ensign than most of the crew. "It's only temporary, sweets. Only temporary."
Jack's attention was caught by the Contester then. They were coming up alongside her. A pretty boat she was, too; nothing to rival with the Pearl, of course, but an elegant sloop-of-war who was as quick as she looked sleek. Quick enough that Jack could make them believe they were catching up on the Pearl on their own, instead of because he wanted them to.
He spotted the captain right away, pleased to see a man younger than himself, probably the same age as dear Commodore James, wearing a bloodied uniform. The state of his coat said that he had been in the middle of the battle, his lack of injuries that he was either a good fighter, a very smart man, or a lucky devil. Probably all three.
"Captain Sparrow," the man greeted him with a wary nod. "I'm Captain Groves, and rather puzzled to see you flying this ensign."
Jack smirked. "Captain Groves. I'll wager you're not the most surprised of us all."
A quick flash of something lighter crossed the man's face. Jack would have put his money on amusement, or approval, or acknowledgement maybe; the distance made it impossible to know for sure. "But, perhaps, the most curious. Would you care to step aboard and share a cup of tea?"
Share a cup of tea, was that what bloodied captains of the Royal Navy did after a battle? The idea of stepping aboard the Contester, among men who had just lost crewmates to pirates, with nothing but a slip of paper and a few scribbled words to assure his safety, was enough to make Jack hesitate.
"No harm will come to you," the other captain added loud enough for his men to hear. "You have my word of honour."
"Now, what would I care about yer word of honour, Captain?" Sparrow replied with a hint of a smile. "Gimme a second, 'ey?" He motioned Gibbs over. "I'll be goin' over for a nice lil chat with the cap'n, shall I?"
"Bloody madness." A spit to the deck, and Jack raised his eyes to face an infuriated Anamaria striding up to them, her angry features concealed in the shadow of a wide-rimmed hat. He remained serene in front of her, knowing full well that nothing would be able to calm her down. "And that flag's a disgrace to us all!"
"The flag's stayin' where it is, Anamaria." Jack took a step towards her, his serene façade dissolving into his dangerous, stalking look. "I'm captain of the Pearl, savvy? She answers to no soul like to me, and I don't think you'll be wantin' to break up my deal with Norrington just while we're surrounded by Navy ships. Now hurry back below deck before any one of them sees ye, if ye wanna keep serving on this ship. Savvy?" he added for good measure, tugging her hat down on her face.
He could feel her glare even without seeing it. After a few silent seconds, heavy with unvoiced recriminations, she turned around and stalked off towards her cabin.
"I told ye, Jack, frightful bad luck," Gibbs muttered.
Jack tutted sharply. "No such thing as bad luck in takin' 'er in. She'd raise hell if we didn't, you know her as well as I."
"Not quite," Gibbs smartly remarked.
"Not quite." Jack could not help a brief, lascivious grin. "Back ter to the point, Pearl's yours while I go off to have a chat with Cap'n Groves."
Jack turned to go, but Gibbs called him back. "Cap'n?" He did not speak up until Jack was looking at him expectantly. "Anamaria's right. That plan's bloody madness." A pregnant pause, a pit of bitterness rising in Jack's guts. "Daft like you always served me right."
Jack flashed him a grin, wondering at the pull at his heart. Could it be that these last years had led him up to caring about the old man? No. Most likely, the strange sensation was due to his lack of rum for the past few hours. There was something not quite right about being sober.
Captain Groves had already gone to his cabin by the time Jack stepped aboard the Contester. He spent a few seconds oblivious to the rest of the world, simply feeling the way she rolled under his feet. He could already tell she liked him, unlike the Dauntless. This one had a way to whisper to him, she was eager for battle and a chance to prove herself, and this despite the beating she'd taken today. Despite, or because of.
"Sir."
It took Jack a second to realise it was him the kid had addressed. Sir? He was simply not called sir. And hell, that one was even younger than young William Turner. No stubble on his cheeks, yet a hardness in the pale blue eyes that said without a doubt that he had seen far more than young Will. His features were almost feminine, but he made a far more handsome lad than he would have a lass. His brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, his clothes those of a sailor. There was a slit in his shirt that let Jack see the edge of a binding. He stood at ease on the deck, with all the effortlessness of someone in whose blood sailing ran. Jack took a liking to him, for some reason that rather escaped him, much quicker even than he had taken to Will. Hopefully he wouldn't have to threaten to kill this one.
"Well, lad?"
"I'm to take you to the captain's cabin, sir."
Jack waited expectantly for a few seconds, then nodded and made a small inviting gesture with his hand. The lad nodded back and led the way to the quarter deck. His body was lean, not overly tall, he had likely not signed up long ago. The white shirt clung to his back where sweat had permeated it, probably during the battle, and Jack focused on it as they crossed the deck on which the dead were being readied for their funerals.
"What's your name, lad?"
"William Hunt, sir."
Jack could not but smile. Another William, eh? "Well, Will, 'm not incredibly partial to that 'sir' business. Y'might wanna call me Jack."
William stopped in front of a door, face carefully devoid of any emotion. Jack knew that face quite well, he'd seen Commodore James and other officers pull it off a few times already. The Navy face. "Here's the captain's cabin, sir."
Jack rolled his eyes as he opened the door and strode in without a care for that annoying habit he had never indulged in, knocking. Captain Groves looked up halfway through buttoning a clean shirt up. He did not appear embarrassed in the least, and Jack raised a speculative eyebrow. Groves simply ignored it, gesturing at a small table and some chairs. "Captain Sparrow, if you please? I'll be with you in a minute."
"I'd rather you called me Jack," the pirate immediately answered, taking a step toward the table but keeping his eyes locked on Groves. He made a vague gesture indicating the space between the two of them. "Gettin' rather tired of such formalities."
"Already? I'm afraid you've badly considered this new career choice." Captain Groves stepped towards him, eyes shining with something like good humour. Jack was feeling increasingly comforted in his first assessment of the man. He wondered why this captain of the Royal Navy would welcome him so. The man seemed... friendly. Not something he was familiar with in Navy men. "I hope you won't mind my not being in full uniform. It's rather warm and those wigs are a bore."
Jack smirked as he took off his hat and hung it on a peg. "Not at all, Cap'n." He took his first good look at the cabin, finding it exactly what he expected from the cabin of a Navy officer. Simple, unadorned, bare... impersonal. "Not that I complain, but... what's with the warm welcome? I'm not exactly in the habit o' seeing your kind so laid back around the likes of me." He paused, frowned, relented. "Not exactly in the habit o' seeing your kind, either."
Head bent slightly forward, Groves allowed himself a brief smile before washing all signs of amusement from his face. His eyes were quite serious when he spoke. "I believe there are different kinds of pirates, Cap - Jack," he amended himself. "Mr Turner named you a good man. I will make you a compromise. You are a good pirate. Do not mistake this welcome for trust." Jack raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, rocking on his heels and looking at the unwavering face from beneath half-closed lids. The steel in Groves' eyes seemed to melt all of a sudden, leaving the usual warm expression in place as a hand was thrust forward at him. "Theodore Sinclair Groves. Call me Ted."
Jack looked at the hand with distrust, an echo of the day he had rescued the lovely Elizabeth from the sea, unknowingly sealing her fate, Will's, and his own, bringing the Black Pearl back to him. He did not quite know what to make of Groves after this small heart-to-heart, so to speak; but no matter what the captain said, he still seemed much more malleable material than the commodore. Jack would have to bear this in mind for future use.
The pirate shook the hand before it was completely retracted. "Jack Sparrow." He smirked wickedly. "But I reckon my reputation got here far before meself."
The handshake was firm and steady, the smile back to full force in the eyes. "Not so much your reputation as first-hand experience. I was there when you commandeered the Interceptor. Brilliant work."
Jack pulled his hand back almost reluctantly, watching with amusement the glint in the other man's eyes. "Glad you approve... Sin. I'll be callin' ye Sin if you don't mind." Without leaving the man time to protest, Jack turned toward the table. "Now, as for that tea, I don't s'pose a prime Navy man as you are would have some rum to offer a fellow instead." He frowned as he noticed for the first time the three cups and saucers on the table. "Three?"
As if on cue, the door opened to reveal Commodore James himself. The gaze the man levelled at Sinclair Groves was evaluating, but a cursory glance around the room seemed to assure the commodore that nothing was amiss. His eyes came back to Sin firmer, as if reassured, but also merciless. "I suggest you dress yourself properly, Captain."
"Sir."
The relaxed man Jack had observed so far had turned into a true officer of the Royal Navy, back ramrod-straight and ready to follow any orders given by his superior. Jack thought he saw Sin's cheeks begin to heat up before the man turned away to put on the rest of his uniform.
It was a shame, Jack lamented. Especially the bloody wig.
"Was your welcome everything you hoped, Sparrow?"
"Much better than I coulda hoped for, Commodore, and that's Captain Sparrow for ye," Jack replied offhandedly, the better to irate the man.
"For me?" Norrington levelled another merciless gaze towards Sin, who had the common sense not to turn around from the mirror he was looking in to adjust his wig. Norrington's tone was probably warning enough.
"Aye," Jack simply replied.
"I shall assume you did not explain to Captain Groves the circumstances of your hiring as a privateer."
Jack hid away a frown. "Not enough time as it was. You came in too early."
Norrington's eyes would have frozen the Vesuvius up. He left it unsaid that he thought he had come in at precisely the right moment, but the statement was made nonetheless. Captain Theodore Sinclair Groves, complete with his white overcoat and cravat, blue frock coat, white wig and hat, joined them and invited them to take a seat.
It was William who came in to pour the tea, watching all three men with the same controlled gaze. The most crookedly friendly grins of Jack's did nothing to change the youth's expression and it troubled the pirate more than it should have. He was simply a kid who'd likely just seen his first battle, seen his mates killed by bloody pirates, what would he do with Jack's familiarity?
Still, Jack's irrational anger had to find a way out, and it did as soon as the door closed on young William Hunt. "Now what, we sit back and sip tea? Would that be what ye people do whenever you lose men?"
It was a mistake, Jack knew it as soon as the words left his lips; but worse than that, it was unfair. Sin's face hardened, anger flashed in his eyes, his fists closed on the table. Norrington laid a hand on the captain's arm and, after a quick glance at his superior's eerily calm face, Sin spread his hands flat on the table, keeping his gaze fixed on his cup of tea.
"I believe it time to instruct Captain Groves of the circumstances of your hiring, Captain Sparrow." The last two words were uttered disdainfully and for some reason the tone hurt Jack this time, although he did not let it show. He did not reply, simply held the commodore's taunting gaze unwaveringly. James was staring right back at him as he explained calmly. "He ransomed you and your men, Ted." Finally, the merciless eyes strayed away, but it was no admission of defeat as they settled, suddenly warmer, on "Ted." Jack followed the eyes and found that Theodore Sinclair Groves was looking straight at him, unchallengingly, taking stock. "He would have delayed us, leaving you to the mercy of Low, if I did not sign him in."
"Aye, mate, 'tis all true," Jack confirmed steadily, before looking back at James. "Only I knew you'd do the right thing, Commodore. D'ye really think I would have let you blow holes in me ship when I could have sailed away just as easily?"
"Jack." Jack lost all signs of amusement as he turned from the irate commodore to the grave captain. Brown eyes showed absolutely nothing in this instant, just as guarded as young William's had been, but his voice had been ringing with barely controlled anger when he had spoken Jack's name. Something in the set of the mouth suggested that something of dire importance was about to be said. "Stay aboard for the funerals." It sounded awkwardly close to a plea, a plea with a sharp, unmistakable undercurrent of fury and demand. "Some of those men you could have saved if you had not dallied, if you had given aid. They were good men, good sailors and soldiers, but good men first and foremost. My men." The captain rose abruptly, turning towards Norrington. "With your permission, sir, I'd like to go and check where the reparations are at."
"By all means, this is your ship, Captain."
Jack stirred the unfamiliar brown beverage with a spoon, watching it swirl about as he listened to Sin's fading footsteps. After a moment, he decided to try it and tentatively brought the cup to his lips, pinkie raised in a parody of good manners. It tasted off and was no help at all. The commodore's silence was unsettling. Jack put the cup back down and met the man's gaze. "Still won't forswear rum. Nothin' worth it."
The sea-green eyes were relentless, the face around them a mask of nothingness, but them... They were studying him, probing him as if they expected something from him. The itch of uneasiness grew between Jack's shoulder blades, a feeling he was altogether unfamiliar with, and he'd been quite happy that way, thanks very much. He stood up and strode a few steps away, looking out the window at the rolling sea. She did not offer him the same sense of comfort she usually did. He spread his hands on the base of the window, feeling the ship's wood, touching her as he would have a lover.
Jack was almost surprised – almost – when Norrington stepped by his side, staring ahead of him at the sea. The man's expression was almost serene – almost – and it was somehow even more unsettling than what had come before.
"If I did not know you for the heartless pirate that you are, Captain, I'd think you were feeling some guilt." A flicker of the eyes, the shadow of a smile, before Norrington's face became grave again, graver than it had been. "Will you stay for the funerals?"
It was only a whisper. "Aye."
To his credit, Norrington showed no reaction whatsoever. Side by side, the two men watched the heaving sea outside. Jack wondered whether Norrington could feel the Contester as he did, the agility of her quality and the nervousness of her youth, much more impetuous than the Interceptor had been. Probably not. He was a man of the Navy.
Norrington turned away from the sea at last and made for the door. He stopped a few feet short of it. "Come up on deck, Captain."
Jack could not find enough energy to make himself believe that the few words were a request disguised as an order. From the phrasing to the inflexion, Norrington had left no room to such speculation. It was nothing but an order, and yet there was more to it.
There was more to it, or else Jack wouldn't have obeyed, snatching his hat on the way out.
-- End chapter Two
