Fic: Crossing the Bar (13/?)
Jun. 13th, 2006 01:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratAuthor: Honorat
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Gibbs, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria if you squint.
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: Now, instead of a battle, it’s a chase. The Black Pearl has a few surprises of her own. She’s not just any ship. Nothing very bad happens. I wonder how I managed that? And the humour is back! Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does? Please excuse any grammatical errors in my French. Translations are at the end. And please excuse Gibbs’ attitude towards Requin’s language; he’s too old a salt to learn any new tricks.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geek_mama_2 for the beta help.
1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
8 Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
9 A Special Providence in the Fall
10 For Where We Are Is Hell
11 To Beat the Surges Under and Ride Upon Their Backs
12 One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts
* * * * *
13 Though the Seas Threaten, They are Merciful
They’d scarce cleared the brig’s bowsprit when Jack was shouting, “Get those thrummed mats onto her hull! Now!”
The ship was sucking in seawater faster than the pumps could spit it back out. They needed to fother the hull without delay or she’d be so water-logged they’d soon lose what ground they’d gained. The Defender skimmed along in their wake, taking shots at the Black Pearl’s stern whenever she drew close enough, while the Dauntless laboured resolutely behind the swifter ships. If they wanted to live the day, they dared not give up a fraction of a knot of speed.
Gibbs set some men to hauling up the heavy spare sails that the Pearl’s wounded crewmembers had sewn back together, then thrummed with wool yarn and oakum, and then greased and tarred. That was the easy part. The hard part was going to be getting the captain to see sense and stop trying to kill himself. Without Anamaria for backup, that was going to be a chore. Gibbs wished he could just knock Jack Sparrow out, but that hadn’t worked for the Royal Navy either.
Nevertheless, he finally succeeded in persuading Jack to let them pry his cramped hands from his ship’s wheel and to allow Kursar to take the helm, in the interests of examining the extent of his ship’s damage himself.
As Captain Sparrow circumnavigated the Black Pearl, encouraging his bone-weary crew, only one man in ten of them really fit for duty, many of them enduring what they insisted were only minor injuries, Gibbs watched him surreptitiously, trying to get used to thinking like the first mate. Jack’s face looked nearly transparent with fatigue, skin stretched over fine bones to the point of gauntness. He needed sleep, needed time to begin healing. But his men would rest before Jack would, and none of them would see their berths for another day at least, possibly longer. Gibbs hadn’t realized how much they’d depended on Anamaria to read the captain’s mind or to lighten his mood with a spirited exchange of insults or arguments. But she wasn’t here to decipher the confusion Gibbs thought he detected in Jack’s eyes, nor could she interpret the way the captain was trailing his hand along the rail at his ship’s waist. The captain was Gibbs’ sole responsibility now, and suddenly he felt even more tired, as though the wind he’d thought had been buffeting him, had in actuality been supporting his back.
Finally, Jack turned to him with a puzzled look. “Something’s wrong with the Pearl.”
It was Gibbs’ turn to comment that the captain might have to be a bit more specific. There were very few things that weren’t wrong with the ship at the moment.
“She doesn’t know,” Jack explained unhelpfully.
“Know what?” Gibbs wasn’t sure this was a conversation that he was going to understand.
“That Anamaria’s gone.”
Oh how Gibbs really wished Anamaria were not gone because the captain was losing it, and he alone had to decide what to do. Anamaria would probably have told Jack that he was bats and threatened him serious bodily harm if he didn’t betake himself to bed. Gibbs wished he had her unmitigated gall.
“She’s a ship, Jack,” he said, feeling his way carefully. Jack had always been just a tad illogical about this bloody boat.
The captain looked at him, one eyebrow flown, as though he’d just said the most stupidly obvious thing in the universe. “I did notice,” he said dryly.
“I mean,” Gibbs fumbled, “she can’t know. Can she?”
Jack looked exasperated. “Of course she knows. Or she should. Anamaria is . . . was,” he stopped for a minute, frowning at the deck, the two lines that had appeared between his brows at the first sight of those Navy ships growing even deeper, “was one of her crew.” He looked up. “She knows Jip is gone.”
Gibbs wondered if it weren’t Jack who couldn’t believe his first mate was dead. After all, the captain had seen Jip shot off the ship. But it did seem as though Anamaria might simply be busy on another part of the Pearl. That any minute now she’d be stalking up to them to peel a strip off their hides for wool-gathering at a time like this.
The captain suddenly seemed to make up his mind about something and reversed course.
“Where are you going?” Gibbs asked.
“To her bow.”
Where Anamaria had died. Perhaps it would be good for Jack—help him see that she was really gone. There were a thousand things Gibbs would rather do than watch Jack go through this. Driving flaming bamboo shoots under his fingernails came to mind. As did a spot of being keelhauled. But a man shouldn’t have to stand alone at such a time. And maybe—well—could be Gibbs himself needed to say good-bye.
“Ye be wantin’ some company?” he asked gruffly.
Jack turned to look at his old friend, relief in his eyes, pressing his fingertips and palms lightly together in a graceful gesture towards Gibbs. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I would.”
When the two of them reached the stem of the ship, they found they’d been preceded. Huddled by one splintered knighthead, suffering the repeated punishment of the boarding seas was the slight form of Requin. Judging from the way the lad’s shoulders were shaking, not all the water on his face was salt or rain. Whether it was the loss of his friend Bjorn or of Anamaria or just this whole wretched bloody day, the kid had lost his grip too soon. Time enough for that later, if they survived. As mate, Gibbs knew his job was to ream the boy out for malingering and send him back to work. Anamaria had been very good at that sort of thing. But all Gibbs wanted to do was to hunker down and join him.
Jack, in his inimitable Sparrow style, did just that. Going down on one knee, he put an arm around Requin, and the lad turned with a small cry and buried his face in the captain’s shoulder. Gibbs couldn’t pick out anything comprehensible other than Anamaria’s name from his thickly accented English, but apparently Jack could.
“It’s not your fault, Requin,” Jack reassured him. “Anamaria does,” he faltered a moment, “did,” he went on deliberately, “what was right by her. You couldn’t have stopped her, lad.”
But the young man wouldn’t be comforted. “And then they broke her,” he sobbed.
“Broke who?” Gibbs asked, confused. “Who did?”
“The Black Pearl,” Requin answered, anger superceding grief. “Those Navy cochons! They shot off her wings.”
“What?” exclaimed Jack, eyes going sharp and calculating.
But not in indignation or in rage as Gibbs would have expected. With disbelief. As though such a thing were not a travesty, but an impossibility.
Abandoning Requin in his puddle of despair as though he had forgotten the boy’s existence, Jack leapt lightly up between the shattered knightheads and stood looking down over the bowsprit that shadowed her figurehead. The Black Pearl chose that moment to dive through the back of a wave, glassy water and white froth washing hard over her captain, but he scarcely seemed to notice it, one hand balancing himself easily on the least damaged of her knightheads, as though he were one of her spars, stepped somewhere deep on her kelson.
Gibbs was knocked over and washed halfway down her forecastle before he caught a lifeline. Scrambling to his feet, swearing and bruised, the quartermaster—first mate—he had to get used to thinking that way—headed forward again to try to talk his mad captain out of joining Anamaria in the drink.
Jack’s voice halted him, not so much by what he said, as by the way he said it.
“Mr. Gibbs,” Jack called, a strange, fey exaltation in his voice. “She’s not damaged.”
The figurehead, Gibbs remembered. Requin had said she’d been shot. Jack was always uncommonly soft in the head about that carving. “Well good, good,” he said, limping up to the bow and trying to see for himself.
But there was something wrong with the figurehead. No delicate dark wings spread amidst the haze of spray. He stared up at the captain, who was grinning gold-bright back at him. This was stretching even Jack’s usual daftness too far.
“Jack?” Gibbs said doubtfully. “Are you all right?” Not that a madman ever knew he was crazy.
“I’m quite well, Mr. Gibbs, aside from a few broken ribs. Thank you for asking,” Jack said, a touch of his usual swagger to his step as he came back down to the forecastle deck.
“Moises! Tearlach! Quartetto! Get your lazy arses over here!” the captain shouted, gesturing wildly with his left arm and rather more circumspectly with his right. “Bring some line with you.”
“Jack Sparrow!” Gibbs demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
Jack turned to him, and Gibbs wished that light in his eyes were normal because it was so good to see it back.
“She’s not damaged, Gibbs,” Jack said softly, and the tone of his voice started a chill at Gibbs heels that ran all the way up to tingle the roots of his hair. “She’s moved.”
* * * * *
They found Anamaria where Jack had known she would be, tucked safely in the hollow under his Black Pearl’s folded wings. When she had fallen, his ship had indeed taken care of his first mate, as he had asked her to.
Anamaria was injured. He didn’t know how badly. And she seemed only partially conscious as Tearlach braced against the motion of the ship and the crush of water to fix the rope around her. But she was alive. The Pearl had known it. Jack ran his hand along the twisted shards of her knighthead that echoed the feeling in his chest. So much damage to his beautiful ship. Nevertheless she had saved as many of them as she could. He watched as Quartetto and Requin carefully lifted Anamaria onto the forecastle deck. Tightening his fingers around the raw wood, Jack whispered to the Black Pearl, “Thank you, love.”
In spite of the urgent repairs needed on the ship, in spite of the occasional shot the Navy brig was still driving into her hull, in spite of the increasingly dire amount of seawater filling her holds, a surprising number of Jack’s crew, including those hauling the thrummed sails, had found their way to the bow of the ship to witness the miracle of Anamaria’s return from death.
While his first mate possessed the ability to draw, quarter and flay a man with her tongue, and his crew tended to treat her with the respect due a swift, venomous, and surly adder, every man jack of them knew that Anamaria would take a shot for him when it came right down to it. They cursed her in private, and a few to her face; they fled before her wrath like petrels before a storm; they only challenged her authority once, if that; but now they clustered around her, all overt animosity gone and the hidden caring spilling through in cautious hands that reached to barely brush her arm or her sea-soaked hair, in the babble of jubilant voices, in the hope burning away exhaustion in their eyes as they quietly returned to their tasks. Their captain bided his time and let them have this moment of much needed rejoicing.
In the beginning, Jack had questioned Anamaria’s ability to hold the position of first mate. Once. Very briefly. Followed immediately by a strategic retreat from a belligerent and possibly dangerous Anamaria. In fact, he had agreed that she should remain as first mate from about halfway up the mainmast ratlines: “God’s teeth woman! You can keep the bloody job for cat’s sake! No need to commit any crimes upon my person! Bloody hell! Haven’t you ever heard o’ talkin’ a matter out?”
She’d certainly justified her faith in herself. Been more than tough enough to subdue the hard, sometimes desperate, often violent hellions who crewed a pirate ship. But not only had his turbulent mate the ability to command these rough men, she also had that something extra that made those same men love her—although not a one of them wouldn’t cut off his little finger before admitting it. She actually cared whether they lived or died, a luxury usually not afforded in this brutal life. And so, while aboard the Black Pearl they might grouse about “that bloody bitch,” let any man not of their brotherhood offer her insult and he’d be taking it back or improving his singing voice.
As Marty had once said, “She may be a damn bucko mate, but she’s our damn bucko mate!”
The crowd cleared, returning to their tasks except for the men hoisting the sail over the bow of the Pearl and working it under her bowsprit. As they dragged it back over the worst of the leaks, the momentum of the ship plastered the cloth to the sides of the ship, driving the thrumming into the cracks. Water would still get in, but at a much slower rate, one with which the pumps might have a chance of keeping up. One layer likely wouldn’t do it, and they would need to add more, but they were limited by the necessity of keeping sufficient canvas on the yards to outrun the Defender.
As they worked to give his ship a black canvas hull, Jack was finally able to approach Anamaria where she was now ensconced in Tearlach’s arms, preparatory to moving her to the cabin. Her dark eyes stared up at him foggily, not quite focusing. The wrinkle in her forehead and the ragged pace of her breathing told him she was fighting pain. He took one of her hands, carefully. She’d given them the typical foul weather treatment, and they were bruised and scraped. This one she’d managed to rip a nail out as well. Against the cold of her skin, his own hands felt burning hot.
Grinning at her, Jack said, “Thought I told you not to let go of the ship.”
* * * * *
Following along with the cluster of men returning aft with the first mate, Joshamee Gibbs had never been so happy for a demotion in his entire life—even if it was to Anamaria. Now the captain was somebody else’s problem. Though it had turned out that the captain wasn’t nearly as insane as he’d thought. And what exactly was surprising about that? Gibbs gave a sigh. This was why he followed orders. Sane or mad, Jack Sparrow never left more than his tail feathers in a slammed door.
Whatever she’d been through, Anamaria appeared to be reviving. She lifted her head a little from where it rested on Tearlach’s truly impressive bicep.
“Wha’ ‘appened?” she asked as though her tongue were three times too big.
“La Perle Noire!” Requin answered eagerly, too excited to attempt English. “Elle vous a sauvé!”
Anamaria appeared to understand him. She closed her eyes and laid her head back again. “Tha’s m’ bonny lass,” she murmured. To the ship Gibbs decided. She and Jack were two of a kind. Always treating the Pearl as if she were their skin and they merely her internal organs.
Jack just smiled and stroked the nearest piece of his ship, which at that point happened to be the capstan.
Then the first mate frowned again and lifted her head, her eyes decidedly clearer and fiercer. The unnatural calm was almost over, Gibbs judged. Full Anamaria storms were just ahead.
“The Dauntless?” she asked.
“She’s eatin’ our dust—mud—whatever it is,” Gibbs supplied. “She’s drinkin’ our wake, anyway, lass,” And wasn’t that a beautiful thought? If he never saw that behemoth of a warship again for the rest of his life, Gibbs decided he would die a happy man.
At that moment one of the Defender’s bow chaser shots connected with the Black Pearl’s stern in a splintering crash.
“What’s that?” Anamaria jerked in Tearlach’s grip.
“That would be the Defender,” Jack explained. “Persistent little bugger. We may have trouble shakin’ her off our tail.” He opened the door into his cabin. “There’s better light in here.”
There was indeed, and not just because of the windows. At least two shots had penetrated the room, leaving a carnage of splinters and scattered effects. The captain looked pained but said nothing. Gibbs noticed his quick glance at the hopelessly water-damaged books. Anamaria’s writing supplies were scattered by the port bulkhead, the ink leaving a dark stain. Had it really been this same day that he’d come in to the welcoming warmth of this room to find Jack and Anamaria relaxed and busy, with the Pearl’s crew whole and hale in the forecastle? Gibbs felt an unaccustomed tremor in his bones. So few hours to change everything—forever.
Duncan was still in the captain’s bed, asleep or unconscious. His wound had been stitched up, and he had a splint on the arm he must have broken when the ship rolled down. He didn’t rouse when Jack had Gibbs move him over, and there was a distinct haze of rum about him. Duncan was feeling no pain at the moment.
Tearlach gently deposited Anamaria on the mattress beside him while Jack bustled about, digging in a broken trunk jammed up against the port bulkhead for a slightly less damp woolen blanket to wrap around his shivering first mate’s shoulders.
“Now,” said Jack, “Let’s take a look at that. Somebody get that lantern lit—they’ve got fire in the wardroom. And bring some fresh water and some rum while you’re at it. Oh, and see if Peytoe’s got a spare moment.”
“Aye, sir.” Requin rushed off to do his bidding.
The “that” Jack was looking at was the bloody mess of Anamaria’s right leg.
“I think you’ve been bled enough t’ satisfy any leech,” the captain said wryly. “Time t’ put a stop t’ that.” He turned to his quartermaster. “Gibbs, get me a stick.” His eyes roamed his damaged cabin briefly. “Seems there’s plenty of ‘em now.”
There certainly was. Gibbs didn’t even have to move to be able to bend down and pick out a splinter of the appropriate length and width. Jack ripped a strip of fabric off the sheet on the bed, slipped it carefully under Anamaria’s thigh and tied it loosely. He held out a hand for the stick, slid it under the bandage and twisted it into a tight ligature to slow the bleeding.
“Not too tight, is it?” he asked Anamaria.
She shook her head.
Gently, the captain tried to separate the wreck of her boot and the fabric of her breeches from the torn flesh, but apparently gentle wasn’t going to be enough. Gibbs noticed Anamaria’s fists clench in the soiled coverlet and her eyes close into tight black lines in bruised-looking circles.
“Is it broken?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Can’t tell yet,” Jack said, concentrating. “I don’t think so. But your leg’s opened up from your ankle to above your knee right down to the bone. Looks like a tidy few splinters in there t’ keep it interestin’.”
“Splendid!” Anamaria gasped. “Oww! Damn it, Jack!”
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t think I can make this any easier.”
“Then at least wait for that rum,” she complained breathlessly.
“Good idea,” Jack agreed. “I could use some rum.”
“Wretch!” Anamaria punched at him weakly.
“Souse,” Jack shot back. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your fair share.”
The captain and the first mate were trading insults again. Part of the world started to return to normal for Gibbs. The Anamaria storm was almost back in force.
As Jack sat back on the edge of the bed, Anamaria relaxed a little and stared over at Duncan. Particularly at his stitches. They were a workman-like affair. Did the job. Closed the wound like they were supposed to. Well, all right, Gibbs admitted. They were ragged and unsightly and wandered about like a duck’s tracks. Duncan was going to have an interesting scar.
Anamaria’s eyes widened a little. “Oh no,” she said firmly. “No and no and no.”
Jack followed her gaze and raised a brow. “That’s . . . a mighty . . . ‘creative’ piece of needlework there, ain’t it, love?”
Anamaria glared at him. “There is no way in nine hells I’m lettin’ that butcher near my leg! You up to stitchin’ a sampler, Captain?”
Gibbs didn’t blame her. The captain was known for having a deft hand with the needle. Claimed Bootstrap had taught him well.
“Oh, aye,” Jack grinned at her. He peered at her leg, hands hovering in mock measurement over the wound. He tilted his head consideringly. “Looks like I’ll be able t’ fit in the entire alphabet and a Lord’s Prayer.”
Anamaria huffed a small laugh. “And a little ship. Don’t forget the little ship.”
“With the Jolly Roger flyin’, love,” Jack agreed accommodatingly, “Might have t’ leave off the ‘Amen’, though.”
“Ain’t that some kind o’ blasphemy?” Gibbs asked.
Jack still had his eyes on his restored first mate. He shook his head with a soft chime of ornaments. “I’m not feelin’ blasphemous at the moment, Mr. Gibbs,” he said, and his voice was uncommonly serious.
Aye, they had some gratitude to be spending somewhere, Gibbs reflected. He himself was inordinately thankful to be delivered, not from evil, he smirked, but from good. As the Pearl shuddered under another impact, he amended that to “almost” delivered.
A commotion in the doorway heralded the return of Requin with the lantern and the ship’s cook, Peytoe. Behind them, Pintel and Ragetti hauled a barrel of rum.
Jack looked startled. “I admit, I’m fair dry,” he said. “But ain’t that a bit much?”
“I could not find a mug,” Requin explained, hanging the lantern up over the bed. “Or even a bottle. Everything loose, il a été enlevé.” He made motions to indicate the water washing through the ship. “Or it is broken. And we have trop peu of water that is not, how do you say, full of the salt?”
Jack sighed. “Thank you, Requin. That will do fine. Now you and Tearlach see to rigging any spare canvas we have left to collect rain water.”
“Aye, sir.” And Requin rushed off again, followed by the more slowly moving Tearlach.
Gibbs reflected that Tearlach said less than Cotton and Cotton couldn’t talk.
Dismissing Peytoe as well, Jack beckoned to the rum-bearers. Pintel and Ragetti lurched into the room and thumped the barrel onto the tabletop, blocking it up to keep it from rolling with the ship.
“This is looking more like a party every minute,” Jack said. “Gibbs, have you still got your flask?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Gibbs said, pulling it out and handing it to him. “But it’s bloody empty. I must’ve drunk it.”
For a moment Jack turned the familiar object in his hands and a shadow shivered across his face. Anamaria reached out, her fingertips barely brushing his knee. The two of them exchanged looks. Anamaria reading the captain’s mind again, Gibbs supposed. Whatever was behind that momentary chill, Anamaria knew. Squaring his shoulders, Jack leaned forward and opened the spigot on the barrel to fill the flask for the first of many purely medicinal drinks.
“Jack Sparrow,” said Anamaria warningly, “if you get so drunk you mess up my leg, I swear I will stitch your fingers to your arse.”
“If I were you,” Jack said in a tone of longsuffering kindly advice, handing her the flask first. “ I wouldn’t be in such a hurry t’ rile up the man that was goin’ t’ be stickin’ steel in my flesh.”
“I, on the other hand, am plannin’ t’ get as drunk as a lord,” Anamaria proclaimed, downing the contents of the flask in one gulp.
Gibbs knew what that was like. That overwhelming desire to be numb. A few flasks later and Anamaria was beginning to look normal. She was also beginning to notice things. Like the captain, for instance.
“Why isn’t your arm in that sling, Jack Sparrow?” Anamaria’s tone was menacing enough to make Pintel and Ragetti, who were hovering in the hope that eventually that flask might move their way, edge for the door.
“What?” Jack looked down, startled, at his free right arm and the cloth dangling around his neck. He started ineffectually trying to stuff his arm back in the sling. “Oh, this. Well, I couldn’t very well take the helm with only one arm in these seas, could I?” he explained reasonably, giving up the attempt to return to an acceptable state of invalidism so that Anamaria might forget that she’d caught him out.
It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Anamaria sat up with battle lights in her eyes. “What the bloody blue blazes were you tryin’ t’ do that for, you addlepated ninnyhammer? Were you tryin’ t’ kill yourself?”
Jack gazed admiringly at her. “I have three words for you, madam,” he said succinctly.
”Pot. Kettle. Black.”
Then he dodged as her hand came up. “Gentlemen,” said Jack happily, bouncing to his feet. “I do believe I’m about t’ get slapped again. So if you’ll excuse me . . .” he whisked out the door, then stuck his head back in. “I’ll just be gettin’ me embroidery floss.”
They heard him wandering away muttering, “Pink. Definitely pink.”
Anamaria sagged back against the mattress. “Just how did we get away from that ship?” she asked Gibbs.
Gibbs shrugged. “Cap’n went a little nuts when they gave him the news you was gone. Insisted on takin’ the helm himself. Had a little talk with his ship. Told her she could fly without canvas and sail without a hull,” he shook his head, baffled, “and she believed him and did it.”
Anamaria stared at him.
“She did it for a curse, once,” Pintel offered.
Ragetti ducked his head. “Reckon she did it for love, this time,” he mumbled shyly.
The room was silent for a long time, except for the ceaseless lament of the injured ship around them as the sea surged against her.
Then Jack returned, popping his head in and asking daftly, “Is the coast clear?”
“I won’t be knockin’ your head off if that’s what y’ mean,” Anamaria growled.
“That’ll do,” the captain said, swishing into the room. He leaned forward looking earnest and wide-eyed. “Now I’ve got an extensive selection of colours for the well-stitched pirate,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, flourishing his hand. “First we have black. Fine colour for the first mate of the Black Pearl. Then we have black again. What a coincidence! Goes very well with black sails. Finally we have—black. Just like your lovely hair, my lady. Which will it be?”
“I’ll take the black that goes with my hair, you loon,” Anamaria grinned.
“Sorry I couldn’t find a thread o’ pink on th’ whole ship,” Jack apologized, coming to sit at the foot of the bed again.
“I’ll forgive you this time, but don’t let it happen again,” Anamaria said generously.
“Now,” said Jack. “This is the fun part. No water, so I’m goin’ t’ have t’ clean this out with rum.”
Anamaria nodded grimly. “I know.”
Jack looked up and noticed Pintel and Ragetti still there. “Haven’t I given you somethin’ t’ do?” he asked.
They shook their heads in unison.
“Well, I’m doin’ it now, mates,” Jack flapped his hands at them. “Get, scoot, scat, go splice some lines.”
The two of them vanished as though conjured away.
“You want me t’ go, too, Cap’n?” Gibbs asked.
“What d’ y’ say, love?” Jack asked Anamaria. “Do we need him t’ stay? This ain’t goin’ t’ feel like a pat on the back, is it?”
Anamaria swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine.”
“You heard the lady,” Jack waved at Gibbs. “Tough as boot leather. Don’t need anyone t’ hold her hand.”
“I’d take another drink, though,” Anamaria said.
“We’ll give this back t’ you later,” Jack held up the flask. “After we’ve got the lass thoroughly on the lee lurch, and I’ve had my dastardly way with her!” He leered at Anamaria and ducked the inevitable left hook.
Gibbs laughed out loud. He hadn’t thought he’d ever laugh again, but suddenly Jack and Anamaria were laughing with him, although it made Jack wince. It was just so good to be alive and together.
Gibbs met the eyes of that infuriating woman he’d missed so much when he’d thought she was gone forever. “It’s bad weather, and we got the Navy shootin’ at our arse,” he said gruffly. “I guess that means it’s my watch.” And he headed for the door.
Anamaria’s lips curled up in an amused smile as she watched him go. “Let me know,” she called after him, “when it clears.”
* * * * *
TBC
14 He Jests at Scars Who Never Felt a Wound
Translations:
Cochons—pigs
La Perle Noire!—The Black Pearl!
Elle vous a sauvé!—She saved you!
il a été enlevé—it was washed away
trop peu—too little
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Gibbs, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria if you squint.
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: Now, instead of a battle, it’s a chase. The Black Pearl has a few surprises of her own. She’s not just any ship. Nothing very bad happens. I wonder how I managed that? And the humour is back! Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does? Please excuse any grammatical errors in my French. Translations are at the end. And please excuse Gibbs’ attitude towards Requin’s language; he’s too old a salt to learn any new tricks.
Thanks to
geek_mama_2 for the beta help.1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
8 Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
9 A Special Providence in the Fall
10 For Where We Are Is Hell
11 To Beat the Surges Under and Ride Upon Their Backs
12 One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts
* * * * *
13 Though the Seas Threaten, They are Merciful
They’d scarce cleared the brig’s bowsprit when Jack was shouting, “Get those thrummed mats onto her hull! Now!”
The ship was sucking in seawater faster than the pumps could spit it back out. They needed to fother the hull without delay or she’d be so water-logged they’d soon lose what ground they’d gained. The Defender skimmed along in their wake, taking shots at the Black Pearl’s stern whenever she drew close enough, while the Dauntless laboured resolutely behind the swifter ships. If they wanted to live the day, they dared not give up a fraction of a knot of speed.
Gibbs set some men to hauling up the heavy spare sails that the Pearl’s wounded crewmembers had sewn back together, then thrummed with wool yarn and oakum, and then greased and tarred. That was the easy part. The hard part was going to be getting the captain to see sense and stop trying to kill himself. Without Anamaria for backup, that was going to be a chore. Gibbs wished he could just knock Jack Sparrow out, but that hadn’t worked for the Royal Navy either.
Nevertheless, he finally succeeded in persuading Jack to let them pry his cramped hands from his ship’s wheel and to allow Kursar to take the helm, in the interests of examining the extent of his ship’s damage himself.
As Captain Sparrow circumnavigated the Black Pearl, encouraging his bone-weary crew, only one man in ten of them really fit for duty, many of them enduring what they insisted were only minor injuries, Gibbs watched him surreptitiously, trying to get used to thinking like the first mate. Jack’s face looked nearly transparent with fatigue, skin stretched over fine bones to the point of gauntness. He needed sleep, needed time to begin healing. But his men would rest before Jack would, and none of them would see their berths for another day at least, possibly longer. Gibbs hadn’t realized how much they’d depended on Anamaria to read the captain’s mind or to lighten his mood with a spirited exchange of insults or arguments. But she wasn’t here to decipher the confusion Gibbs thought he detected in Jack’s eyes, nor could she interpret the way the captain was trailing his hand along the rail at his ship’s waist. The captain was Gibbs’ sole responsibility now, and suddenly he felt even more tired, as though the wind he’d thought had been buffeting him, had in actuality been supporting his back.
Finally, Jack turned to him with a puzzled look. “Something’s wrong with the Pearl.”
It was Gibbs’ turn to comment that the captain might have to be a bit more specific. There were very few things that weren’t wrong with the ship at the moment.
“She doesn’t know,” Jack explained unhelpfully.
“Know what?” Gibbs wasn’t sure this was a conversation that he was going to understand.
“That Anamaria’s gone.”
Oh how Gibbs really wished Anamaria were not gone because the captain was losing it, and he alone had to decide what to do. Anamaria would probably have told Jack that he was bats and threatened him serious bodily harm if he didn’t betake himself to bed. Gibbs wished he had her unmitigated gall.
“She’s a ship, Jack,” he said, feeling his way carefully. Jack had always been just a tad illogical about this bloody boat.
The captain looked at him, one eyebrow flown, as though he’d just said the most stupidly obvious thing in the universe. “I did notice,” he said dryly.
“I mean,” Gibbs fumbled, “she can’t know. Can she?”
Jack looked exasperated. “Of course she knows. Or she should. Anamaria is . . . was,” he stopped for a minute, frowning at the deck, the two lines that had appeared between his brows at the first sight of those Navy ships growing even deeper, “was one of her crew.” He looked up. “She knows Jip is gone.”
Gibbs wondered if it weren’t Jack who couldn’t believe his first mate was dead. After all, the captain had seen Jip shot off the ship. But it did seem as though Anamaria might simply be busy on another part of the Pearl. That any minute now she’d be stalking up to them to peel a strip off their hides for wool-gathering at a time like this.
The captain suddenly seemed to make up his mind about something and reversed course.
“Where are you going?” Gibbs asked.
“To her bow.”
Where Anamaria had died. Perhaps it would be good for Jack—help him see that she was really gone. There were a thousand things Gibbs would rather do than watch Jack go through this. Driving flaming bamboo shoots under his fingernails came to mind. As did a spot of being keelhauled. But a man shouldn’t have to stand alone at such a time. And maybe—well—could be Gibbs himself needed to say good-bye.
“Ye be wantin’ some company?” he asked gruffly.
Jack turned to look at his old friend, relief in his eyes, pressing his fingertips and palms lightly together in a graceful gesture towards Gibbs. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I would.”
When the two of them reached the stem of the ship, they found they’d been preceded. Huddled by one splintered knighthead, suffering the repeated punishment of the boarding seas was the slight form of Requin. Judging from the way the lad’s shoulders were shaking, not all the water on his face was salt or rain. Whether it was the loss of his friend Bjorn or of Anamaria or just this whole wretched bloody day, the kid had lost his grip too soon. Time enough for that later, if they survived. As mate, Gibbs knew his job was to ream the boy out for malingering and send him back to work. Anamaria had been very good at that sort of thing. But all Gibbs wanted to do was to hunker down and join him.
Jack, in his inimitable Sparrow style, did just that. Going down on one knee, he put an arm around Requin, and the lad turned with a small cry and buried his face in the captain’s shoulder. Gibbs couldn’t pick out anything comprehensible other than Anamaria’s name from his thickly accented English, but apparently Jack could.
“It’s not your fault, Requin,” Jack reassured him. “Anamaria does,” he faltered a moment, “did,” he went on deliberately, “what was right by her. You couldn’t have stopped her, lad.”
But the young man wouldn’t be comforted. “And then they broke her,” he sobbed.
“Broke who?” Gibbs asked, confused. “Who did?”
“The Black Pearl,” Requin answered, anger superceding grief. “Those Navy cochons! They shot off her wings.”
“What?” exclaimed Jack, eyes going sharp and calculating.
But not in indignation or in rage as Gibbs would have expected. With disbelief. As though such a thing were not a travesty, but an impossibility.
Abandoning Requin in his puddle of despair as though he had forgotten the boy’s existence, Jack leapt lightly up between the shattered knightheads and stood looking down over the bowsprit that shadowed her figurehead. The Black Pearl chose that moment to dive through the back of a wave, glassy water and white froth washing hard over her captain, but he scarcely seemed to notice it, one hand balancing himself easily on the least damaged of her knightheads, as though he were one of her spars, stepped somewhere deep on her kelson.
Gibbs was knocked over and washed halfway down her forecastle before he caught a lifeline. Scrambling to his feet, swearing and bruised, the quartermaster—first mate—he had to get used to thinking that way—headed forward again to try to talk his mad captain out of joining Anamaria in the drink.
Jack’s voice halted him, not so much by what he said, as by the way he said it.
“Mr. Gibbs,” Jack called, a strange, fey exaltation in his voice. “She’s not damaged.”
The figurehead, Gibbs remembered. Requin had said she’d been shot. Jack was always uncommonly soft in the head about that carving. “Well good, good,” he said, limping up to the bow and trying to see for himself.
But there was something wrong with the figurehead. No delicate dark wings spread amidst the haze of spray. He stared up at the captain, who was grinning gold-bright back at him. This was stretching even Jack’s usual daftness too far.
“Jack?” Gibbs said doubtfully. “Are you all right?” Not that a madman ever knew he was crazy.
“I’m quite well, Mr. Gibbs, aside from a few broken ribs. Thank you for asking,” Jack said, a touch of his usual swagger to his step as he came back down to the forecastle deck.
“Moises! Tearlach! Quartetto! Get your lazy arses over here!” the captain shouted, gesturing wildly with his left arm and rather more circumspectly with his right. “Bring some line with you.”
“Jack Sparrow!” Gibbs demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
Jack turned to him, and Gibbs wished that light in his eyes were normal because it was so good to see it back.
“She’s not damaged, Gibbs,” Jack said softly, and the tone of his voice started a chill at Gibbs heels that ran all the way up to tingle the roots of his hair. “She’s moved.”
* * * * *
They found Anamaria where Jack had known she would be, tucked safely in the hollow under his Black Pearl’s folded wings. When she had fallen, his ship had indeed taken care of his first mate, as he had asked her to.
Anamaria was injured. He didn’t know how badly. And she seemed only partially conscious as Tearlach braced against the motion of the ship and the crush of water to fix the rope around her. But she was alive. The Pearl had known it. Jack ran his hand along the twisted shards of her knighthead that echoed the feeling in his chest. So much damage to his beautiful ship. Nevertheless she had saved as many of them as she could. He watched as Quartetto and Requin carefully lifted Anamaria onto the forecastle deck. Tightening his fingers around the raw wood, Jack whispered to the Black Pearl, “Thank you, love.”
In spite of the urgent repairs needed on the ship, in spite of the occasional shot the Navy brig was still driving into her hull, in spite of the increasingly dire amount of seawater filling her holds, a surprising number of Jack’s crew, including those hauling the thrummed sails, had found their way to the bow of the ship to witness the miracle of Anamaria’s return from death.
While his first mate possessed the ability to draw, quarter and flay a man with her tongue, and his crew tended to treat her with the respect due a swift, venomous, and surly adder, every man jack of them knew that Anamaria would take a shot for him when it came right down to it. They cursed her in private, and a few to her face; they fled before her wrath like petrels before a storm; they only challenged her authority once, if that; but now they clustered around her, all overt animosity gone and the hidden caring spilling through in cautious hands that reached to barely brush her arm or her sea-soaked hair, in the babble of jubilant voices, in the hope burning away exhaustion in their eyes as they quietly returned to their tasks. Their captain bided his time and let them have this moment of much needed rejoicing.
In the beginning, Jack had questioned Anamaria’s ability to hold the position of first mate. Once. Very briefly. Followed immediately by a strategic retreat from a belligerent and possibly dangerous Anamaria. In fact, he had agreed that she should remain as first mate from about halfway up the mainmast ratlines: “God’s teeth woman! You can keep the bloody job for cat’s sake! No need to commit any crimes upon my person! Bloody hell! Haven’t you ever heard o’ talkin’ a matter out?”
She’d certainly justified her faith in herself. Been more than tough enough to subdue the hard, sometimes desperate, often violent hellions who crewed a pirate ship. But not only had his turbulent mate the ability to command these rough men, she also had that something extra that made those same men love her—although not a one of them wouldn’t cut off his little finger before admitting it. She actually cared whether they lived or died, a luxury usually not afforded in this brutal life. And so, while aboard the Black Pearl they might grouse about “that bloody bitch,” let any man not of their brotherhood offer her insult and he’d be taking it back or improving his singing voice.
As Marty had once said, “She may be a damn bucko mate, but she’s our damn bucko mate!”
The crowd cleared, returning to their tasks except for the men hoisting the sail over the bow of the Pearl and working it under her bowsprit. As they dragged it back over the worst of the leaks, the momentum of the ship plastered the cloth to the sides of the ship, driving the thrumming into the cracks. Water would still get in, but at a much slower rate, one with which the pumps might have a chance of keeping up. One layer likely wouldn’t do it, and they would need to add more, but they were limited by the necessity of keeping sufficient canvas on the yards to outrun the Defender.
As they worked to give his ship a black canvas hull, Jack was finally able to approach Anamaria where she was now ensconced in Tearlach’s arms, preparatory to moving her to the cabin. Her dark eyes stared up at him foggily, not quite focusing. The wrinkle in her forehead and the ragged pace of her breathing told him she was fighting pain. He took one of her hands, carefully. She’d given them the typical foul weather treatment, and they were bruised and scraped. This one she’d managed to rip a nail out as well. Against the cold of her skin, his own hands felt burning hot.
Grinning at her, Jack said, “Thought I told you not to let go of the ship.”
* * * * *
Following along with the cluster of men returning aft with the first mate, Joshamee Gibbs had never been so happy for a demotion in his entire life—even if it was to Anamaria. Now the captain was somebody else’s problem. Though it had turned out that the captain wasn’t nearly as insane as he’d thought. And what exactly was surprising about that? Gibbs gave a sigh. This was why he followed orders. Sane or mad, Jack Sparrow never left more than his tail feathers in a slammed door.
Whatever she’d been through, Anamaria appeared to be reviving. She lifted her head a little from where it rested on Tearlach’s truly impressive bicep.
“Wha’ ‘appened?” she asked as though her tongue were three times too big.
“La Perle Noire!” Requin answered eagerly, too excited to attempt English. “Elle vous a sauvé!”
Anamaria appeared to understand him. She closed her eyes and laid her head back again. “Tha’s m’ bonny lass,” she murmured. To the ship Gibbs decided. She and Jack were two of a kind. Always treating the Pearl as if she were their skin and they merely her internal organs.
Jack just smiled and stroked the nearest piece of his ship, which at that point happened to be the capstan.
Then the first mate frowned again and lifted her head, her eyes decidedly clearer and fiercer. The unnatural calm was almost over, Gibbs judged. Full Anamaria storms were just ahead.
“The Dauntless?” she asked.
“She’s eatin’ our dust—mud—whatever it is,” Gibbs supplied. “She’s drinkin’ our wake, anyway, lass,” And wasn’t that a beautiful thought? If he never saw that behemoth of a warship again for the rest of his life, Gibbs decided he would die a happy man.
At that moment one of the Defender’s bow chaser shots connected with the Black Pearl’s stern in a splintering crash.
“What’s that?” Anamaria jerked in Tearlach’s grip.
“That would be the Defender,” Jack explained. “Persistent little bugger. We may have trouble shakin’ her off our tail.” He opened the door into his cabin. “There’s better light in here.”
There was indeed, and not just because of the windows. At least two shots had penetrated the room, leaving a carnage of splinters and scattered effects. The captain looked pained but said nothing. Gibbs noticed his quick glance at the hopelessly water-damaged books. Anamaria’s writing supplies were scattered by the port bulkhead, the ink leaving a dark stain. Had it really been this same day that he’d come in to the welcoming warmth of this room to find Jack and Anamaria relaxed and busy, with the Pearl’s crew whole and hale in the forecastle? Gibbs felt an unaccustomed tremor in his bones. So few hours to change everything—forever.
Duncan was still in the captain’s bed, asleep or unconscious. His wound had been stitched up, and he had a splint on the arm he must have broken when the ship rolled down. He didn’t rouse when Jack had Gibbs move him over, and there was a distinct haze of rum about him. Duncan was feeling no pain at the moment.
Tearlach gently deposited Anamaria on the mattress beside him while Jack bustled about, digging in a broken trunk jammed up against the port bulkhead for a slightly less damp woolen blanket to wrap around his shivering first mate’s shoulders.
“Now,” said Jack, “Let’s take a look at that. Somebody get that lantern lit—they’ve got fire in the wardroom. And bring some fresh water and some rum while you’re at it. Oh, and see if Peytoe’s got a spare moment.”
“Aye, sir.” Requin rushed off to do his bidding.
The “that” Jack was looking at was the bloody mess of Anamaria’s right leg.
“I think you’ve been bled enough t’ satisfy any leech,” the captain said wryly. “Time t’ put a stop t’ that.” He turned to his quartermaster. “Gibbs, get me a stick.” His eyes roamed his damaged cabin briefly. “Seems there’s plenty of ‘em now.”
There certainly was. Gibbs didn’t even have to move to be able to bend down and pick out a splinter of the appropriate length and width. Jack ripped a strip of fabric off the sheet on the bed, slipped it carefully under Anamaria’s thigh and tied it loosely. He held out a hand for the stick, slid it under the bandage and twisted it into a tight ligature to slow the bleeding.
“Not too tight, is it?” he asked Anamaria.
She shook her head.
Gently, the captain tried to separate the wreck of her boot and the fabric of her breeches from the torn flesh, but apparently gentle wasn’t going to be enough. Gibbs noticed Anamaria’s fists clench in the soiled coverlet and her eyes close into tight black lines in bruised-looking circles.
“Is it broken?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Can’t tell yet,” Jack said, concentrating. “I don’t think so. But your leg’s opened up from your ankle to above your knee right down to the bone. Looks like a tidy few splinters in there t’ keep it interestin’.”
“Splendid!” Anamaria gasped. “Oww! Damn it, Jack!”
“Sorry,” he said. “Don’t think I can make this any easier.”
“Then at least wait for that rum,” she complained breathlessly.
“Good idea,” Jack agreed. “I could use some rum.”
“Wretch!” Anamaria punched at him weakly.
“Souse,” Jack shot back. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your fair share.”
The captain and the first mate were trading insults again. Part of the world started to return to normal for Gibbs. The Anamaria storm was almost back in force.
As Jack sat back on the edge of the bed, Anamaria relaxed a little and stared over at Duncan. Particularly at his stitches. They were a workman-like affair. Did the job. Closed the wound like they were supposed to. Well, all right, Gibbs admitted. They were ragged and unsightly and wandered about like a duck’s tracks. Duncan was going to have an interesting scar.
Anamaria’s eyes widened a little. “Oh no,” she said firmly. “No and no and no.”
Jack followed her gaze and raised a brow. “That’s . . . a mighty . . . ‘creative’ piece of needlework there, ain’t it, love?”
Anamaria glared at him. “There is no way in nine hells I’m lettin’ that butcher near my leg! You up to stitchin’ a sampler, Captain?”
Gibbs didn’t blame her. The captain was known for having a deft hand with the needle. Claimed Bootstrap had taught him well.
“Oh, aye,” Jack grinned at her. He peered at her leg, hands hovering in mock measurement over the wound. He tilted his head consideringly. “Looks like I’ll be able t’ fit in the entire alphabet and a Lord’s Prayer.”
Anamaria huffed a small laugh. “And a little ship. Don’t forget the little ship.”
“With the Jolly Roger flyin’, love,” Jack agreed accommodatingly, “Might have t’ leave off the ‘Amen’, though.”
“Ain’t that some kind o’ blasphemy?” Gibbs asked.
Jack still had his eyes on his restored first mate. He shook his head with a soft chime of ornaments. “I’m not feelin’ blasphemous at the moment, Mr. Gibbs,” he said, and his voice was uncommonly serious.
Aye, they had some gratitude to be spending somewhere, Gibbs reflected. He himself was inordinately thankful to be delivered, not from evil, he smirked, but from good. As the Pearl shuddered under another impact, he amended that to “almost” delivered.
A commotion in the doorway heralded the return of Requin with the lantern and the ship’s cook, Peytoe. Behind them, Pintel and Ragetti hauled a barrel of rum.
Jack looked startled. “I admit, I’m fair dry,” he said. “But ain’t that a bit much?”
“I could not find a mug,” Requin explained, hanging the lantern up over the bed. “Or even a bottle. Everything loose, il a été enlevé.” He made motions to indicate the water washing through the ship. “Or it is broken. And we have trop peu of water that is not, how do you say, full of the salt?”
Jack sighed. “Thank you, Requin. That will do fine. Now you and Tearlach see to rigging any spare canvas we have left to collect rain water.”
“Aye, sir.” And Requin rushed off again, followed by the more slowly moving Tearlach.
Gibbs reflected that Tearlach said less than Cotton and Cotton couldn’t talk.
Dismissing Peytoe as well, Jack beckoned to the rum-bearers. Pintel and Ragetti lurched into the room and thumped the barrel onto the tabletop, blocking it up to keep it from rolling with the ship.
“This is looking more like a party every minute,” Jack said. “Gibbs, have you still got your flask?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Gibbs said, pulling it out and handing it to him. “But it’s bloody empty. I must’ve drunk it.”
For a moment Jack turned the familiar object in his hands and a shadow shivered across his face. Anamaria reached out, her fingertips barely brushing his knee. The two of them exchanged looks. Anamaria reading the captain’s mind again, Gibbs supposed. Whatever was behind that momentary chill, Anamaria knew. Squaring his shoulders, Jack leaned forward and opened the spigot on the barrel to fill the flask for the first of many purely medicinal drinks.
“Jack Sparrow,” said Anamaria warningly, “if you get so drunk you mess up my leg, I swear I will stitch your fingers to your arse.”
“If I were you,” Jack said in a tone of longsuffering kindly advice, handing her the flask first. “ I wouldn’t be in such a hurry t’ rile up the man that was goin’ t’ be stickin’ steel in my flesh.”
“I, on the other hand, am plannin’ t’ get as drunk as a lord,” Anamaria proclaimed, downing the contents of the flask in one gulp.
Gibbs knew what that was like. That overwhelming desire to be numb. A few flasks later and Anamaria was beginning to look normal. She was also beginning to notice things. Like the captain, for instance.
“Why isn’t your arm in that sling, Jack Sparrow?” Anamaria’s tone was menacing enough to make Pintel and Ragetti, who were hovering in the hope that eventually that flask might move their way, edge for the door.
“What?” Jack looked down, startled, at his free right arm and the cloth dangling around his neck. He started ineffectually trying to stuff his arm back in the sling. “Oh, this. Well, I couldn’t very well take the helm with only one arm in these seas, could I?” he explained reasonably, giving up the attempt to return to an acceptable state of invalidism so that Anamaria might forget that she’d caught him out.
It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Anamaria sat up with battle lights in her eyes. “What the bloody blue blazes were you tryin’ t’ do that for, you addlepated ninnyhammer? Were you tryin’ t’ kill yourself?”
Jack gazed admiringly at her. “I have three words for you, madam,” he said succinctly.
”Pot. Kettle. Black.”
Then he dodged as her hand came up. “Gentlemen,” said Jack happily, bouncing to his feet. “I do believe I’m about t’ get slapped again. So if you’ll excuse me . . .” he whisked out the door, then stuck his head back in. “I’ll just be gettin’ me embroidery floss.”
They heard him wandering away muttering, “Pink. Definitely pink.”
Anamaria sagged back against the mattress. “Just how did we get away from that ship?” she asked Gibbs.
Gibbs shrugged. “Cap’n went a little nuts when they gave him the news you was gone. Insisted on takin’ the helm himself. Had a little talk with his ship. Told her she could fly without canvas and sail without a hull,” he shook his head, baffled, “and she believed him and did it.”
Anamaria stared at him.
“She did it for a curse, once,” Pintel offered.
Ragetti ducked his head. “Reckon she did it for love, this time,” he mumbled shyly.
The room was silent for a long time, except for the ceaseless lament of the injured ship around them as the sea surged against her.
Then Jack returned, popping his head in and asking daftly, “Is the coast clear?”
“I won’t be knockin’ your head off if that’s what y’ mean,” Anamaria growled.
“That’ll do,” the captain said, swishing into the room. He leaned forward looking earnest and wide-eyed. “Now I’ve got an extensive selection of colours for the well-stitched pirate,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, flourishing his hand. “First we have black. Fine colour for the first mate of the Black Pearl. Then we have black again. What a coincidence! Goes very well with black sails. Finally we have—black. Just like your lovely hair, my lady. Which will it be?”
“I’ll take the black that goes with my hair, you loon,” Anamaria grinned.
“Sorry I couldn’t find a thread o’ pink on th’ whole ship,” Jack apologized, coming to sit at the foot of the bed again.
“I’ll forgive you this time, but don’t let it happen again,” Anamaria said generously.
“Now,” said Jack. “This is the fun part. No water, so I’m goin’ t’ have t’ clean this out with rum.”
Anamaria nodded grimly. “I know.”
Jack looked up and noticed Pintel and Ragetti still there. “Haven’t I given you somethin’ t’ do?” he asked.
They shook their heads in unison.
“Well, I’m doin’ it now, mates,” Jack flapped his hands at them. “Get, scoot, scat, go splice some lines.”
The two of them vanished as though conjured away.
“You want me t’ go, too, Cap’n?” Gibbs asked.
“What d’ y’ say, love?” Jack asked Anamaria. “Do we need him t’ stay? This ain’t goin’ t’ feel like a pat on the back, is it?”
Anamaria swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine.”
“You heard the lady,” Jack waved at Gibbs. “Tough as boot leather. Don’t need anyone t’ hold her hand.”
“I’d take another drink, though,” Anamaria said.
“We’ll give this back t’ you later,” Jack held up the flask. “After we’ve got the lass thoroughly on the lee lurch, and I’ve had my dastardly way with her!” He leered at Anamaria and ducked the inevitable left hook.
Gibbs laughed out loud. He hadn’t thought he’d ever laugh again, but suddenly Jack and Anamaria were laughing with him, although it made Jack wince. It was just so good to be alive and together.
Gibbs met the eyes of that infuriating woman he’d missed so much when he’d thought she was gone forever. “It’s bad weather, and we got the Navy shootin’ at our arse,” he said gruffly. “I guess that means it’s my watch.” And he headed for the door.
Anamaria’s lips curled up in an amused smile as she watched him go. “Let me know,” she called after him, “when it clears.”
* * * * *
TBC
14 He Jests at Scars Who Never Felt a Wound
Translations:
Cochons—pigs
La Perle Noire!—The Black Pearl!
Elle vous a sauvé!—She saved you!
il a été enlevé—it was washed away
trop peu—too little
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 02:21 pm (UTC)Oh, I'm so glad Anamaria's not dead!
YAY again!
God, Jack and the Pearl really are supernatural, aren't they? I love the tailfeathers in a slammed door image, very true to Jack, and very Gibbs to think of it that way.
Yet more YAY!
no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 12:07 am (UTC)Ted and Terry said the Pearl was more than an ordinary ship even when she wasn't cursed, and since the supernatural is quite a part of this universe, I figured one little miracle would be forgiven me. And Jack is just connected a little differently to the universe and that ship. I'm glad you liked the sparrow catching his tailfeathers :D It is definitely Jack.
Thank you so much for such an enthusiastic comment.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 12:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 12:02 am (UTC)The captain looked at him, one eyebrow flown, as though he’d just said the most stupidly obvious thing in the universe. “I did notice,” he said dryly.
This made me giggle like a loon.
Oh, I needed this. A happy chapter after all the darkness of the last few. Wonderful. The way you write the relationship between Ana (yay! Ana!!) and Jack is just beautiful and realistic. And I love the reaction of the crew when they find out Ana is alive.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 12:12 am (UTC)I'm so glad you like the relationship or lack thereof between Jack and Anamaria. The two of them are such fun together, and I'm enjoying writing unrequited, almost-but-not-quite feelings between them. Anamaria's relationship with her boys on the crew was another thing she surprised me with, but that I love about her too.
Thank you so much for commenting.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 04:16 am (UTC)And I would pay handsomely to see Anamaria sew Jack's fingers to his arse. I spit my water all over my computer screen when I read that. That was awesome.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 04:27 am (UTC)And I would pay handsomely to see Anamaria sew Jack's fingers to his arse. I spit my water all over my computer screen when I read that.
Ha! I'd have to sell tickets. Alas, Jack is very good at stitching, so she won't have to this time, but he's also very good at getting into trouble, so perhaps another occasion will arise. I guess I should have provided a beverage alert with this. I'm glad it gave you a laugh.
Thank you so much for commenting.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 06:04 am (UTC)Love the Jack/Ana interaction, and Gibbs' reluctance to be the one unofficially in charge of the captain.
Pearl's moving sent shivers down my spine, by the way. Happy shivers, mind, but they set my hair on end. Fantasic image.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-14 09:21 am (UTC)I'm delighted that you're happy to see Anamaria back on board and that you're enjoying her relationships with Jack and Gibbs. Poor Gibbs loves his captain, but he's never been one to rein him in before.
This has been a highly realistic story except for the Pearl, and here she really outdoes herself in the supernatural interference. I'm glad she gave you shivers. That's what I wanted her to do.
Thank you so much for commenting.
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Date: 2006-06-15 03:15 pm (UTC)Boy, it did do me a world of good to read about the rescue of Ana :o) In fact it did me a world of good to read your entire chapter, because there's something relaxing with reading something good when you're sick. Plus, reading of cold and sea water and wind makes almost bearable the temperature (33°C in the shade, which I think is 90°F - and there are a lot of computers in this room!!).
I like Requin. I admit, in the very beginning I had him mixed a little bit with Jip (I'm a bit slow on the uptake) because of the way they came to the Pearl - Jack taking them under his wing, bad pun intended - and because of their age. But afterwards, no problem :o)
If the Terrible Trio's back on the deck of the Black Pearl (in a manner of speaking, Anamaria not being fully able at the moment), then things are far from hopeless yet!! Plus the Pearl is a magc ship. No need for curses to make her strange. Maybe there's some voodoo involved, or more simply the magic involved is the bizarre connection that links two hearts to one another and nobody can explain how nor why... Wow, I get lyrical. Hear me roar :D
Thanks a bunch for this happy chapter, no doubt that the next one shall bring us back into the reality of the chase - but hey, it's the Pearl ;)
Much of love,
Bel :o]
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Date: 2006-06-16 02:57 am (UTC)I'm sorry to hear that you are sick and having to endure 33°C temperatures (we do use Celsius in Canada:-), but I'm glad this far happier chapter could make life a little better for you. I was also very happy the muse did not insist that Anamaria had to die. She and Jack are just too much fun together.
Requin is a lad to older men like Jack and Gibbs, but he's really around 18 years old. Jip is just a child of about 8 years of age. And of course Requin got stolen from a merchant ship, whereas Jip got picked up in Brazil under mysterious circumstances which have not been explained. At least now you have them sorted out! :D I'm glad you like Requin. He's gradually starting to take shape in my imagination so that I pull him out for more action in the story.
The Terrible Trio! Ha! Yes, things are looking up on the Black Pearl. Anamaria may be incapacitated, but she's still got a lot of fight left in her. The PotC writers in their commentary on the DVD talk about how the Pearl is enchanted even when she isn't cursed, so I figured that gave me license. I've always thought of that figurehead as existing in more than one dimension. I love the lyricism!
You're welcome for the happy chapter, and thank you so much for the delightful review. I hope you're feeling well soon.
Love,
Honorat
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Date: 2006-06-19 01:36 pm (UTC)I really liked that you had Gibbs's pov for most of this too, and his observation when Ana starts to wake: The unnatural calm was almost over, Gibbs judged. Full Anamaria storms were just ahead. But ouch, that's a bad wound, poor, poor Ana. I quite understand why she'd want Jack to do the stitching, and the interaction between her and Jack (and Gibbs) in that whole scene adds a welcome touch of humour after all the darkness :-) Ana's a great character, I wonder if they are going to mention where she's gone, in the sequel, or if they'll just ignore her (I'm still miffed that she isn't in it).
Some other things I enjoyed here:
“She’s a ship, Jack,” he said, feeling his way carefully. Jack had always been just a tad illogical about this bloody boat.
The captain looked at him, one eyebrow flown, as though he’d just said the most stupidly obvious thing in the universe. “I did notice,” he said dryly. Lol!
“She did it for a curse, once,” Pintel offered.
Ragetti ducked his head. “Reckon she did it for love, this time,” he mumbled shyly. This is touching, and so sweet, with Ragetti saying it shyly :-)
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Date: 2006-06-19 06:45 pm (UTC)Gibbs' POV is fun to write because it allows me to watch a scene without knowing what is going on in the other characters' heads. I tend to enjoy playing with POV rather than sticking to just one for the entire story. Each character sees things so differently. I'm glad you enjoyed the bits of light in all the shadow here.
I definitely join you in being peeved at Anamaria's absence from the sequels. For some reason the movie industry does not seem to be able to manage strong female support roles in action/adventures. It's like their quota is two, so if they have Tia Dalma, Anamaria has to go. What? Elizabeth can't stand the competition? Why do excess men not pose threats to the leading men? *goes off grumbling at sexism*
Thank you for letting me know the lines that stood out for you. Jack's incomprehension that his loopy world-view is not shared by everybody is such a hoot to write. And Ragetti, who always struck me as socially inept and trying so hard to participate anyway with his comments on Pintel's comments, seemed the ideal person to tentatively volunteer the truth.
I do so much appreciate your comments on this. Much thanks!
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Date: 2006-06-22 01:18 pm (UTC)Yes, it was perfect to have Ragetti do that!
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Date: 2006-06-22 01:45 pm (UTC)SPOILER COMMENT: And have you seen the TV spot where Jack says "Pirate!" to Elizabeth? *dies of love* BTW I now possess the junior novelization and that line "I don't care" is definitely not there, so I'm betting it is definitely a scrapped line from an early script if anything.
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Date: 2006-06-22 02:55 pm (UTC)And yes, that bothers me too. It's like the men can do anything and that's perfectly ok, they even get loved all the more for it, but if a woman does the exact same thing, it's unforgivable, and she gets bashed for it. And a character trait like determination, is somehow a bad thing when a woman possesses it (like Elizabeth), but admirable in a man (like Jack). It isn't just in PotC, I've seen the same thing in other fandoms. I'm not betting against you, I think Elizabeth will be ripped to shreds by a whole lot of people in fandom after the sequel, sadly enough. *heavy sigh*
No, I haven't seen it yet, though I wanted to :-) I've been trying to avoid more spoilers until I've finished my story, since I ended up getting so freaked out by them. It's good that particular line isn't in the novelisation, though! Hopefully that means it isn't in the movie.
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Date: 2006-06-22 03:31 pm (UTC)Shakespeare was very amazing in that he managed to write strong female characters that everyone loves, but he did it by often making them leagues more intriguing and vivid than the male leads. Perhaps someday, we'll be evolved enough to appreciate equally strong male and female characters in more equal numbers.
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Date: 2006-06-28 10:17 pm (UTC)Sorry about the late reply, RL got in the way.
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Date: 2006-06-28 10:57 pm (UTC)I've looked in every once in awhile on some excellent writers in this area, because I enjoy good writing, but I can't get past the totally unrealistic skewing of the universe where every single male is paired up with another male except sometimes for Bill Turner who has a very tense, unhappy het relationship. Granted, the life of a sailor would lend itself to shipboard liasons, but historically the tendency was rather relentless, overboard reaffirmation of manhood with women on shore!
But that would be my analysis of the trend to hate Elizabeth. It is fairly vindictive, because I don't even recognize the Elizabeth they describe in the movie. She gets the men they want. What's worse, she rejects the men they want! I can't, for the life of me, figure out what kind of woman they want Elizabeth to be! As far as I can tell, she should have been comatose. That would have about done it.
In the next movie, Elizabeth is not a damsel in distress at all, and I don't know if the "princess in a tower/sleeping beauty" generations can handle that. But I, for one, say it is about time. And I hope millions of little girls see that a woman can be as vivid and fascinating and underhanded and basically good as Jack.
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Date: 2006-07-03 10:31 pm (UTC)I will get to commenting on the new chapters, too. I will.
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Date: 2006-06-19 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-19 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-29 02:28 am (UTC)This is such a marvelous paragraph - tells so much about the Pearl and her crew, as well as Jack and Gibbs and just a bit of what's going on in their heads.
"Know what?" Gibbs wasn't sure this was a conversation that he was going to understand.
"That Anamaria's gone."
!!! Love the entire exchange between Jack and Gibbs, can see Jack completely serious and Gibbs, uncomprehending, probably slightly agape.
But a man shouldn't have to stand alone at such a time. And maybe-well-could be Gibbs himself needed to say good-bye.
Gibbs is my second favorite POTC character, and you've just made me love him more.
The Black Pearl chose that moment to dive through the back of a wave, glassy water and white froth washing hard over her captain, but he scarcely seemed to notice it
One with his ship, one with the sea. And such a marvelous contrast with poor Gibbs being washed partway down the deck.
"She's not damaged, Gibbs," Jack said softly, and the tone of his voice started a chill at Gibbs heels that ran all the way up to tingle the roots of his hair. "She's moved."
Oh my. *gapes in amazement at the brilliance* Chill ran up my back and goosebumps have popped out all over my arms (considers naming a few of them and introducing them to
In fact, he had agreed that she should remain as first mate from about halfway up the mainmast ratlines
Isn't it wonderful that Jack's completely afraid of her under certain circumstances?
Always treating the Pearl as if she were their skin and they merely her internal organs.
Ooooh, I like that one!
Gibbs noticed his quick glance at the hopelessly water-damaged books.
Spares a moment to be sad for the loss of Jack's treasured volumes.
"... But your leg's opened up from your ankle to above your knee right down to the bone. Looks like a tidy few splinters in there t' keep it interestin'."
Glurb, bergle ... oh ouch, that is ugly! *
Who stitched Duncan back together, the cook?
Gibbs reflected that Tearlach said less than Cotton and Cotton couldn’t talk.
I love this. What a delightful little tidbit.
"I have three words for you, madam," he said succinctly.
"Pot. Kettle. Black."
Am just going to have a little squee-fest here. I adore this, 'tis fabulous! And it doesn't hurt my adoration that you've put one of my own favorite phrases in Jack's mouth.
Had a little talk with his ship. Told her she could fly without canvas and sail without a hull
Perhaps I should just give up and quote the whole thing back to you, there's so much I'm loving in this chapter - it's full of gems.
Ragetti ducked his head. "Reckon she did it for love, this time," he mumbled shyly.
Chills, goosebumps, squees and giggles – and now you've got me all teared up. You are such a darling for giving that line to Ragetti (that's why there was nothing smaller than a rum barrel, to get both of them in there, yes?). *hugs you*
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Date: 2006-06-29 07:54 pm (UTC)tells so much about the Pearl and her crew, as well as Jack and Gibbs and just a bit of what's going on in their heads.
It's funny how these atmosphere paragraphs are usually just problem solving or getting from a to b bits while I'm writing them, but so many people enjoy them. I try to put in enough information that the characters are not just voices in space, but people in a setting that is also going on around them.
can see Jack completely serious and Gibbs, uncomprehending, probably slightly agape.
I think that must be a familiar feeling for Gibbs. Sort of like the hen who's been given a duckling to raise--some things are completely incomprehensible. No self-respecting chicken would swim! And Jack just thinks he's normal.
Gibbs is my second favorite POTC character, and you've just made me love him more.
I love Gibbs too, and I'm so glad this works for his character. I like to write him and Anamaria as friendly adversaries. They drive each other insane at times. They bite each other's heads off at times. But under it all they'd really miss each other. So Gibbs is realizing that here. That he, also, has lost something precious.
One with his ship, one with the sea. And such a marvelous contrast with poor Gibbs being washed partway down the deck.
I've always seen Jack this way, ever since the storm on the Interceptor when the rest of the crew is being slammed all over the deck and Jack has one hand on the wheel and is scarcely moving.
Chill ran up my back and goosebumps have popped out all over my arms
*bouncey, bouncey* I so wanted this to be everyone's reaction to this sudden swoop in of the supernatural, so I'm thrilled to hear the goosebump count going up. I'm sure Tim and Co. would be happy to invite your goosebumps to the luau!
Isn't it wonderful that Jack's completely afraid of her under certain circumstances?
Yes! LOL! The female of the species is more dangerous than the male, and Ana really is far more dangerous than Jack--and he knows it.
Spares a moment to be sad for the loss of Jack's treasured volumes.
As a bibliophile, I suffered when I wrote that! I think some of them were still stored away in oiled leather and will survive, but the ones out when the whole adventure started are going to be in rough shape.
oh ouch, that is ugly!
Part of the price for the distance the storm forced those ships to keep. The longer shots create more splinters which were far worse than the shot for creating horrible wounds.
Who stitched Duncan back together, the cook?
Yes, that's Peytoe's work. Nice guy, but not an artist!
you've put one of my own favorite phrases in Jack's mouth.
Credit where it's due--that's a line from PotC2. I decided that was a saying of Jack's!
there's so much I'm loving in this chapter - it's full of gems
Awwww! Thank you. You've made me all warm and fuzzy and happy!
You are such a darling for giving that line to Ragetti (that's why there was nothing smaller than a rum barrel, to get both of them in there, yes?). *hugs you*
I'm trying to remember the sequence here. I actually got them there for Pintel to talk about the curse--although the curse line had several owners before it settled on Pintel. And the love line had no owner yet, so Ragetti, who always echoes Pintel with his little insightful commentary, seemed the ideal person to say it. I'm so glad you thought he was the right person to do so. *hugs you back*
Thank you for such a wonderful, detailed comment. You made my day!
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Date: 2006-06-30 10:25 pm (UTC)Oh yes, that's it exactly! Though Gibbs might take just a bit of offense at being likened to a mother hen. *g* (And now I'm hearing mama hen giving all sorts of warnings and direction to her strange child!)
Credit where it's due--that's a line from PotC2. I decided that was a saying of Jack's!
!!! *bounce* Will now look forward to hearing him say it, 'specially since it seems like it *should* be one of his sayings!
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Date: 2006-09-24 08:09 pm (UTC)I can't believe how brilliant this story is, really! So glad someone recommended this to me. ^_^
If you need someone to help you with the French, I'll gladly try to translate a sentence here and there. (By the way, if I'm not very much mistaken, it's "elle vous a sauvée", with a double e, since the sentence is about Anamaria, a woman, being saved, and the thing with the direct object and stuff. I'm not good at explaining grammar. But that's just me being nitpicky, and it's pronounced the same anyway.)
Mia
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Date: 2008-08-05 09:30 pm (UTC)I didn't know French main verbs had gender as well as nouns and participles.
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Date: 2008-08-11 05:55 pm (UTC)Well, "sauvé/e" is a participle, though. As far as I know, the ending is changed when you have a direct object (before a verb that requires accusative, (such as "sauver quelqu'un"), but it's not changed when you have an indirect object (before a verb that requires dative, such as "poser une question à quelqu'un", where I would say "il m'a posé une question" and the verb wouldn't have to be "posée" even though I'm female).
... uh, I'm rambling. I had no idea how difficult it is to explain grammar of a language that is not your own, in a language that is not your own either :D