Off the Edge of the Map

Desiderata: 6/20ish



Chapter 6

Two more days passed, and Elizabeth was forced to come to the conclusion that their midnight encounter had somehow emboldened Jack’s spirit. He no longer passed his days in the crow’s nest, choosing instead to spend his time inventing new ways to drive her mad.

He would trail in her wake as she moved about the ship, hands in constant motion as he remarked on her every movement; each order she gave was subject to scrutiny and commentary. He had a tale for everything; as she tightened the lines that held the mainsail, he hung from the rigging and regaled her with a story of a time he was forced to limp back to port with his sheets in tatters after a particularly nasty storm; if she was taking stock of their stores of provisions, he ruminated thoughtfully, bottle in hand, on the ratio of rum to men necessary to maintain a contented crew. Even her cabin held no peace, for he seemed to think it entirely unnecessary to announce his presence or knock before he entered.

The third time he came strolling unconcernedly through the door, heedless of both manners and propriety, she’d been about to change her shirt and had to scramble to refasten the buttons across her breasts. Furious, she whirled to face him, the amused smile on his face only serving to deepen her rage.

“Jack Sparrow! For the last bloody time, I’ll not have you-”

“Captain Jack Sparrow, love.” The man in question removed his hat and with a casual flick of his wrist sent it sailing toward the bunk, where it landed with a soft thud on the pillow. “There’s no teaching you lot, is there?”

Stalking over to the bed, Elizabeth snatched up the tricorn and hurled it back across the room, hitting Jack squarely in the chest. “If I might remind you yet again, Captain, this is not your ship and these are most certainly not your quarters. It is both highly improper and decidedly rude for you to keep marching through the door without warning!”

Jack absently brushed off the hat before setting it carefully on the table and turning to walk toward her with quick, light steps. “Why’s that, darling? Afraid I’ll see something I’m not meant to? Think we well enough took care of that already, savvy? Though come to think of it,” he paused, his gaze falling to the open neck of her shirt, “we did miss certain parts of the tour.”

Her hand was in the air before he became aware that she’d moved, the force of the punch making his eyes water. After running his tongue along his teeth to assure himself that they all remained in place, he returned the smile to his face and appraised her with a languid glance, taking a step back so as to avoid future encounters with her angry fist.

“No need to get upset, love. After all, it would be perfectly understandable, what with young William so long at sea and you caged in your ivory tower, awaiting his return. Must get a trifle…lonely up there, all by yer onesies, eh?”

Elizabeth forced her eyes to remain steady, determined not to acknowledge the truth in his words.

“On the contrary, I have a great deal to occupy me. If you spent less time chasing after Spanish gold and more time concerning yourself with the goings on at the Cove, you would see that I’m hardly wanting for companionship.”

“Are you not?” Jack’s head tilted to the side, his eyes growing, impossibly, even blacker as he pierced her with that irritatingly knowing look of his. “You’ve convinced yourself that you’re at home behind those stone walls, surrounded by people who obey your every command, yet there’s nothing to anchor you there. You know it as well as I. You long to sail again; you want nothing more than your freedom, to go after whatever, or whoever, your heart desires.” His penetrating gaze never wavered, and Elizabeth found herself growing increasingly uncomfortable under its scrutiny. “Yet you let yourself remain constrained by your honour and duty, hoping that one day you’ll wake up and find yourself satisfied with the life you’ve been forced to lead. Well, here’s a hint, darling: it’s not going to happen.”

Every word had brought him a step closer to her, his voice becoming barely more than a whisper. When he finished speaking he was but inches away, so close that the scent of him, rum and spices mixed with the smell of the sea, made her dizzy with possibility. The open neck of his shirt gave her a tantalizing glimpse of the golden skin beneath, so close that she could reach out her fingers and skim them along its surface….

With an effort, Elizabeth pulled her gaze upward, back toward his face, and forced herself to meet those unreadable eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“And why’s that, love?” His voice was smooth, calm, unconcerned.

“Because a pirate such as yourself could hardly be expected to comprehend things like duty and commitment and – and –“

Honour. Decency. A moral centre.

“Personal hygiene?” Jack finished with a grin.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Precisely.”

“Well, I hate to be the one to correct you, Your Majesty, but I’m hardly a stranger to duty. And I take a bath once a month.”
Elizabeth threw him a skeptical look. “Duty to what? Last I checked, Jack, the only thing you ever showed any loyalty to was your ship, which keeps getting stolen out from under you.”

“Not stolen.” Jack looked affronted. “Borrowed, more like, and I do always get her back, don’t I? In fact,” a smile spread slowly across his face, as though he’d just thought of something terribly clever, “that’s the way it always works, isn’t it? I’m forever getting things…..borrowed from me, but they always make their way back, somehow.” Midnight eyes, their cool depths aflame, fixed on her, and Elizabeth fought to hold his gaze. “Interesting, don’t you think, that I’m never long without that which is mine?”

Unable to keep still under the weight of his stare, Elizabeth tore her eyes away and walked unsteadily over to peruse the contents of the table, restless fingers searching its surface for something to occupy them. In desperation, she snatched up a map of their current position and began studying it intently, though she comprehended little of what she saw there. For a moment, silence reigned, and the Fuerza’s captain let herself be calmed by the familiar sounds of her ship as it creaked and rolled at the behest of the ocean beneath.

She could feel Jack watching her, and wanted nothing more than for him to stop, to leave her alone, give her a moment’s rest from this wearying battle. Thoughts swirled with hurricane force in her brain, but she couldn’t seem to properly grasp hold of any of them.

What the bloody hell does he mean, ‘that which is mine’? The ship, must be the ship, what else? Things stolen, things borrowed, lost then found again. Always coming back to him. Of course they do, he’s Jack Sparrow. Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow. Heaven forbid any of us forget it. ‘That which is mine’, ‘that which is mine’....the compass? Gave that up himself, didn’t he? Wasn’t stolen, hardly counts. The only other thing he could mean....but no. Couldn’t be that. Too much at stake, too much involved. Will this headache ever go away? Three years of aching, need it to stop....

Suddenly there was a warmth at her side, a breath in her ear.

“I believe you’ll find that to be much more informative if you hold it right way up, savvy?” Long, tanned fingers grasped the paper’s edge, gently extricating it from her grip. Turning the map around, Jack handed it back to her. “There. That’s better, eh?” He spoke softly, soothingly, as if to a child. “Don’t want our fearless captain to be sailin’ us into trouble due to an improperly-oriented drawing, do we? Now, then. If my considerable navigational instincts are correct, we are…here.” A golden fingertip came to rest on the map’s surface. “And my ill-mannered sister, when last I had the misfortune of beholding her disagreeable countenance, was headed in a general…that way direction.” The finger trailed along the map, in a course slightly different from their own. “So it would seem to me that we need to turn a bit towards the southeast, and we should be right on her tail. So to speak.” Elizabeth gave no reply, continuing to stare numbly at the page in front of her. Jack cast her a nervous glance. “So I’ll just go out on deck and give that order, shall I?”

At her faint nod, he turned away. She heard his footsteps head toward the door, and his hand turn the knob. That which is mine...

“Gibbs said you’d seen Will.”

She heard her voice as a whisper against the roaring of her pounding heart, yet it must have been loud enough. The door closed again with a soft click, and when Elizabeth turned, eyes shining with tears that she refused to let fall, she saw that for the first time in days, Jack was no longer watching her. Gaze directed carefully at the floor, his shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh before he spoke.

“Bloody pirates can’t ever keep anything to themselves, can they?”

“I asked. He came to see me at the castle. He was being....he was being my friend.” Jack raised his head sharply at that. Their eyes locked for a moment before he turned away, smiling sadly as he looked out the window to the open sea beyond.

“Been visiting you, has he? Well, I suppose I was wrong, then.” Her eyes raised in a questioning look. “Seems you do have a friend in this world, Lizzie.”

She smiled slightly. “It seems that I do.” Rubbing a weary hand across her face, she continued, “One friend, whom I never see as he is so rarely in port, and a husband who sails the seas between this world and the next. Hardly a lived life.”

“That can change, you know.” Jack took a tentative step toward her. “It needn’t be this way, Elizabeth. Will....he’s a good man, love. But he’d hardly expect you to deny yourself all the pleasures of life and stay chained to a rock day and night, awaiting his return. He’d not want you to be lonely. I know that much.”

Elizabeth sighed. “And what would you have me do, Jack? Go sailing off around the world, getting into swordfights and gun battles over piles of gold?”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you want. Say what you will about me honour, Lizzie, but I’ve always felt I had a duty to do right by meself, and no one is more committed to me than I am.” He caught her sudden smile and returned it. “You’ve the same obligation, you know.” Picking up his hat from the table, he walked over to the cabin door and opened it, looking out at the sunlight sparkling on the waves and then back at her, eyes full of something she didn’t dare name. “Someone has to look after the interests of Elizabeth Swann. Might as well be you, eh?”

For a long time after he’d left, Elizabeth stood at the window, watching the purple night creep slowly into the sky. The wind did not grow calm; the sails still flapped crisply as darkness descended, and there was a hint of storm on the horizon. She wondered if it could possibly match the tempest that was raging in her lonesome, duty-bound heart.

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On the sixth day, it rained. The course correction that Jack had made the previous afternoon seemed to have steered them right into one of the worst squalls anyone aboard had ever seen.

“Mother and child, Jack!” Gibbs came sloshing across the deck as his captain was attempting to further secure the sails against the gusting winds. “That sister of yours is going to have a bloody lot of explaining to do when we catch up with her!”

“That she is, Mr. Gibbs,” Jack shouted back over the roar of the waves pounding the Fuerza’s hull. “A more infuriating woman you’ll never meet in your life. Wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow managed to conjure up this storm herself, just to....” His voice trailed off, and Gibbs followed his gaze as it reached through the sea spray toward the quarterdeck. Captain Swann had just stepped out of her cabin and into the maelstrom. The wind carried the sound of her curses to their ears and Jack smiled despite the torrents of water dripping off the brim of his hat and soaking his shirt. Gibbs shot him a curious look.

“Captain?”

“Eh?” With a frown, Jack pulled his attention back to his first mate.

“Your sister?” prompted Gibbs patiently.

“Oh, aye. You know what this means, don’t you?” Jack gestured wildly at the unfortunate conditions around them.

“No, sir, can’t rightly say that I do,” Gibbs bellowed.

“Means we’re getting close, man. Means we’re getting bloody close.”

He clapped a hand on Gibbs’ shoulder and strode off across the sopping deck, slipping and sliding in boots soaked clear through with rainwater. The first mate sighed.

“Just when you think you’ve got him figured,” he muttered to himself. “We’re out here in the middle of a bloody hurricane, chasing after our own sodding ship, and I’ve never seen him so happy in me life.”

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“-And one of you useless buggers had better move your arse and secure the bloody foresail before it gets torn clean off and I tie you up there instead!”

Jack climbed up the quarterdeck steps just as Elizabeth finished shouting a rather colourful string of orders to the crew at the top of her voice.

“Don’t think that’d do you much good, love; half the blighters are bloody terrified of heights. Scream like babies, they would, bound up there.”

“Guess I’ll have to gag them as well, then, won’t I?”

Elizabeth gave the wheel another firm tug before turning to look at him. Jack caught her eye and his heart seemed to stutter. She’d not been out in the downpour for ten minutes but she was already soaked to the skin, rain dripping from her eyelashes and wet clothes plastered to her slender frame. The sopping strands of her hair hung loose about her shoulders, and in her face Jack saw a flash of the true Elizabeth, Captain Swann the Pirate King, out on the open sea with the world spread out before her and the rush of freedom and adventure raging in her blood.

Firmly putting aside the ridiculously buoyant feeling welling up in his chest, Jack leaned close and spoke above the roaring wind. “Having fun, love?”

Elizabeth shot him an annoyed look, though he could tell she was struggling to keep a smile from her face. “Fun? Captain Sparrow, need I remind you that we are chasing after a ship of uncertain heading and speed, commanded by a woman with unknown motives who may well mean us harm, in the middle of the worst storm these waters have seen in years? Would you call that fun?”

Jack grinned. “Absolutely, darling.” He took in her bright, excited eyes and the pink colour of her cheeks. “And so would you.”

She gave no reply, but as she stepped forward to wrestle with the wheel once more, she threw over her shoulder a look full of such warmth and happiness that Jack felt as though the storm had ended and the sun was shining once again.

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The squall raged all that day and into the night, pouring what must have been the contents of an entire ocean down upon the Fuerza and her crew, but Elizabeth was proud to see that her ship came through on the other side of Calypso’s wrath unscathed, with all her sails and lines intact. She stayed out on deck to see that all the extra ropes were coiled and stowed away and the jib properly tied down, then headed on weary feet up the quarterdeck steps to her cabin.

She was writing out the details of the encounter in the log when there was a light knock at the door. Without looking up from the book, she bade the visitor to enter. Soft footsteps crossed the room and stopped in front of her; when she raised her eyes from the page, Jack Sparrow stood before her, dripping wet and holding a lantern containing a bright, flickering flame. For a moment neither of them spoke. The candle’s light danced over the golden skin of Jack’s face; the sleeves of his soaked shirt were rolled to the elbow, revealing all manner of tattoos inked across firm muscles. Water dripped from his braids and made the trinkets woven into them sparkle and dance in the brightness from the lamp.

The look in his eyes was not to be borne; she turned back to her writing so he would not see the heat in her cheeks, and pressed her lips together to hide the smile that threatened to show itself.

“Captain Sparrow, you’re soaking wet. Kindly remove yourself from my cabin before you rain on my charts.”

Jack made no reply, but pulled over another chair and set it next to hers. Placing the lantern on the table, he lowered himself into the seat with a sigh. They sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the shimmering warmth of the light and the sound of the gentle, misting rain outside as the storm spent the last of its energy.

“She’s a good ship,” Jack said at last, breaking the companionable silence.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied softly, looking across at him as he sat with his arms folded over his chest, regarding her seriously.

“Half expected her mast to snap in that wind.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “She’s been through worse.” She paused, then continued hesitantly. “As have I.” Jack’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, eyes narrowing as he took in her meaning.

“The battle aboard the Dutchman.” She nodded. “Which ended with you married to young William.” Another nod, more slowly. “I suppose that was worse for all concerned, wasn’t it?”

Elizabeth shot him a disdainful look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

One black eyebrow lifted in the air. “Was it not?”

Elizabeth sighed, reluctant to get into another discussion on the subject. “I don’t regret any choices I made that day, Jack. Will’s my husband and I love him, no matter what you might believe.”

“And yet love does not necessarily go hand in hand with marriage, darling.”

Elizabeth’s chin lifted, her eyes flashing defiantly. “It does for me.”

Jack shook his head so hard the trinkets in his hair clattered against each other violently. “So you would damn yourself to a life of loneliness while your beloved sails the very seas you are so desperate to feel beneath your feet? Shut yourself off from any who might give you a bit of companionship and comfort during the long months between those few hours you are allowed together? There is no honour in such an existence, Lizzie, no nobility in such sad solitude. Can you not see how unfair it is?”

“Can you not see that I would wait a hundred years to spend a single night with my husband? What Will and I have is deeper than anything you could ever understand, Jack!”

“And why is that, love?” Jack sneered. “Because I’m a vile, soulless pirate who cares only for himself? Because I’m incapable of any feeling stronger than greed or lust?”

Elizabeth shot up out of her chair and it fell over with a bang. “For starters, yes. But worse than that, you are completely and totally devoid of the capacity for empathy and forgiveness. To the ends of the earth we sailed, Jack, looking for you! We risked our lives, we risked everything to bring you back, and because of that Will is bound to sail with the Dutchman for eternity. You go on about how I’ve condemned myself to a life of misery at the Cove, but what you don’t see is that if we hadn’t gone to rescue you, my husband would still be by my side!”

Jack rose quickly from his own seat, his tone a counterpoint to hers, low and soft, but no less dangerous. “And what you don’t see, love, is that had you not left me trapped and chained aboard me own ship to be eaten by that terrible beastie, none of said rescue efforts would have been necessary and you and young William would have been free to sail off into the sunset, happy as clams, never to worry your pretty heads about Captain Jack again.”

Elizabeth shook her head, too exhausted suddenly to sustain her anger any longer. “It was you the monster wanted, Jack. Not the rest of us, not the Pearl. Just you. I made a choice that no one else was willing to make. Perhaps I chose poorly. I’m sorry for the pain it caused you, but it was the decision that I made at the time, and I can’t go back and change it. I’m not even sure I would if I could. The past is the past, and cannot be altered. All that remains to be done is to fix things for the future.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped, the acid gone from his voice. “And what of your future, Lizzie?”

Elizabeth walked over to the window, looking out over the calming sea. “We will have clear skies tonight,” she said softly, almost to herself. “And sun again tomorrow. I will be glad of it, after such a storm.” Turning back to face Jack, she saw him standing with eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer to his question. She sighed, knowing she had none to give.

Jack cleared his throat. “I ought to be getting below, make sure the crew have rung themselves out. Wouldn’t do to have them half dead of pneumonia by morning.”

Elizabeth took a careful breath, looking him over from top to toe. “You could do with something dry to put on, yourself.”

Jack glanced down at his sodden shirt and breeches, the water seeping from his boots. “That I could.”

“There are clothes in the trunk.” With a hesitant hand, she indicated the far corner of the cabin.

He cast her a wary glance. “Elizabeth....”

“Wouldn’t do to have you dead of pneumonia, either,” she said firmly. “Besides, I can hardly command two ships by myself; without you, the Pearl would be in want of a captain.” She paused, considering. “Unless I let your sister have her.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. “That’s not funny.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Is it not?”

With a frustrated growl, Jack stalked over to the corner and wrenched open the trunk. Combing through it, he found a clean shirt and breeches and spun round again to face her. Holding the clothes aloft for her to see, he started toward the door. “Will this be sufficient, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Elizabeth was startled to hear herself say firmly. Jack froze. “How do I know that you won’t take them below and use them to polish your sword?” He turned to face her, shock and amusement fighting for control of his features. With an extreme effort, Elizabeth kept a straight face, determined to seem innocent of the meaning of her own words.

After a moment, Jack regained his powers of speech. “You don’t,” he said smoothly, though his eyes burned with a fire so bright it near eclipsed the flickering lantern behind him.

“Well, then,” Elizabeth gestured toward his current attire. “I suppose I’ll have to supervise, won’t I?”

His eyes grew darker. “I’m not a child, Elizabeth.”

“I never said you were.” Giving him a firm, defiant look, she held out her hand. “Your shirt, please.”

Jack hesitated, and she could see the feelings at war in his eyes. Then he suddenly locked his gaze with hers, the heat there making the blush rise in her cheeks. Calmly, slowly, deliberately, his golden fingers untucked the shirt from his breeches. Never breaking eye contact, he peeled the damp cloth from his back and slid it over his head. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest. In the dancing light of the single flame, his skin shone like Spanish gold, run across with all manner of tattoos and scars. The powder burns on his shoulder, wounds long healed, caught her eye, and she fought hard against the urge to reach out and run her fingers over the marks.

Their eyes met again, a smile twitching at Jack’s lips as he shrugged into the clean shirt. A single, questioning eyebrow rose. Elizabeth took a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Get on with it, then.”

Jack shook his head. “Turn around.”

“No.”

“Elizabeth...”

“It’s been a long day, Jack, and I’m not letting you leave here until you are entirely dry. So do finish changing so we can both get some rest.”

He seemed about to protest further, then abandoned the effort with a shrug. Eyes once again locked with hers, he moved more quickly this time as he stepped out of his soaking wet breeches. He paused for a long moment, gaze never leaving her face, and in those seconds Elizabeth felt as though she might fall deep into the black pools of his eyes and be lost forever, overtaken by the pull of his soul on her own. Never before had she felt such desire. She was suddenly conscious of the small size of the room, and of her bunk only a few yards away. How easy it would be to take, and let herself be taken. The shame of her traitorous thoughts overwhelmed her, and she turned away, closing her eyes against the sudden pain.

She heard him finish dressing and start quietly toward the door. The knob twisted, the cool night breeze came rushing in.

“Jack?” But the doorway was empty, save for the patter of rain upon the threshold, and her parting words to him went unsaid.

Elizabeth had walked over to push the door closed and shut out the night when her eyes alighted on Jack’s shirt, balled up in a little puddle on the floor. Picking it up, she pressed the white linen to her face, breathing in the now-familiar smell. Salt and wind, rum and sunshine, possibility and hope. Draping it over the back of a chair to dry, she let her weary feet take her to her bunk, where she collapsed upon the pillow and allowed herself, at last, to cry.