Fic: Crossing the Bar (19b/?)
Aug. 9th, 2006 09:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratAuthor: Honorat
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Sparrow, Anamaria, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria somewhat. Jack/Pearl most definitely
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: On the Black Pearl Jack Sparrow is on the hunt for a way to get out of an awkward situation with his and Anamaria’s dignity intact. The Muse made me do this! I claim no responsibility. This has nothing to do with the plot, but do you think I could get it out of my head once the question was raised? I mean this had to happen and it had to be a problem, but why couldn’t I have ignored the possibility like ninety-nine percent of fanfic writers? Consider this a deleted scene that is being included because it’s written now and I might as well post it. 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?
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
14 He Jests at Scars Who Never Felt a Wound
15 To Strive, To Seek, To Find, And Not To Yield
16 A Kind of Alacrity in Sinking
17 A Fine-Baited Delay
18 To Watch the Night in Storms
19a The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
* * * * *
19b The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
With the Defender sweeping down upon them, and the attack only hours away, Captain Jack Sparrow seethed with a whirlpool of plans that kept sucking down his ideas and spitting out new difficulties. The fact that his Black Pearl was masts down and leaking like an unstanched wench was gnawing at the back of his neck, but he was getting used to it. In the hour before sunrise, he’d made his peace with her. She would protect him with her broken wings. And he would make her persecutors pay.
At least he had succeeded in the one all-important thing. There was no sign of the Dauntless anywhere on the horizon.
With a trample of boots, the captain clattered down the companionway stairs and barged into his cabin, intent on ship’s business. The grey morning sky was just now beginning to shed enough light through the shattered windows that he could see Anamaria’s eyes were turned on him. Good. She was awake.
“Anamaria,” he said crisply. “I’m making up the boarding party roster, and I’d like your opinion.” Normally this would have been her task, but he hadn’t wanted to burden her with too much just yet. However, he valued her detailed knowledge of the crew. “Bishop, Mkosi, Bartholomeo, Asfar, and Scuttlebutt,” he listed. “They’re able-bodied, but I’m not sure they can handle the swim. Weather’s calmed down considerable, but there’s still a storm swell. What say you? Do I tell ‘em aye or nay?”
His first mate looked like a rag that had seen too many washings, except for a worrisome flush patching her cheekbones. She seemed to be having a hard time concentrating on what he was saying. Not good.
Crossing the room to her side, he laid the back of his hand against her cheek. She flinched away from his touch, but not before he felt the summer day heat where she should have been as chilled as he was. Just as he had feared, her fever had not subsided. In fact, if anything, it was worse.
“I’m fine,” she snapped at him distractedly. “Naught you can do about it anyway.”
He shrugged. She was right. Time enough to worry about inflammations after they’d survived the next few hours. “Can you give me any suggestions on the men?” he repeated.
“Asfar,” she said in a tight voice. “Strong as an ox. He’ll make it well enough, and you’ll need him on the Defender. Scuttlebutt. He’s improved a lot. Give him a chance. The others. No. Leave ‘em here.” Then she closed her eyes.
Jack nodded. Her analysis coincided with his own. But at the level of fatigue he currently found himself, it was reassuring to know he wasn’t making a drastic mull of things. “Thanks, love,” he said. “I’ll be off then. Anything I can get sent to you? Rum? Water?”
“Oh God, no!”
Her vehemence startled him. “No worries!” He held up his hand placatingly. “Didn’t mean to offend. I won’t send you a thing.”
When he received no answer and she didn’t look at him again, Jack turned to go. Likely Anamaria was in too much pain, and it was making her as surly as a spavined mule. He’d just sneak on out while his head was still firmly attached to his neck.
He’d almost made it to the door when her voice stopped him.
“Jack?”
He paused, startled. That was not a tone of voice he’d ever heard from Anamaria—plaintive and miserable.
He turned back. “What is it, love?”
She didn’t respond, and she was studying the bulkhead with fierce fascination although it looked like a perfectly ordinary, boring strip of planking. Well, it was a piece of his Pearl and therefore infinitely lovely, but still.
“Anamaria?” he prompted to the back of her head.
She seemed tense now and unwilling to speak, another unnatural phenomenon. Jack’s concern ratcheted up a notch. He took a step towards her.
“I’ve got to use the head,” she bit off fiercely, still not turning to face him.
Oh hell.
After all that rum and water, she would. He could hear her anger and humiliation at having to ask for help. She was never going to trust him to help her, either. And if she had to let him anyway, she was never going to forgive him. Then he remembered his ribs. He wasn’t going to be able to manage this alone.
Oh hell!
“No problem . . .” he started to say “darling” then thought better of it “. . . we’ll figure out something.” He tried to sound bracing and reassuring and indifferent and it wasn’t working. There she was, looking wretched and vulnerable. And Anamaria did not look vulnerable with four inches of steel driven into her thigh, as he had cause to know.
Oh hell.
If she’d been one of the lightskirts with whom he’d had dealings in any number of ports, he’d have had no difficulties in such a situation. Might even be a bit of fun. Certainly a lot of laughs. Definitely matter-of-fact. But this was Anamaria, proud and dangerous and thin-skinned and chaste as a nun while on board his ship. The men treated her with the utmost circumspection—well, except for him. Which wasn’t making this any easier now, was it?
Jack’s normally agile mind nearly stuttered to a halt trying to picture any way for the two of them to get out of this with dignity intact.
“You know, this would be a whole heap more convenient if you were a man,” he complained. “For one thing, you wouldn’t care if I saw anything I shouldn’t. And for another you’d not need to shed quite so very much. Are you sure we can’t just pretend this don’t matter? I swear if I see anything I’ve not seen before I’ll shoot it and run.”
Anamaria’s glare could have roasted a whole hog. If she’d been armed, she’d have shot him with no running at all. Jack backed up a step.
Wait just one moment. He was having a thought here. Life-threatening situations tended to do that for him. Lightskirts. There was a reason women wore those ridiculous, yardgoods-intensive contraptions other than just easy access for a quick tup in a dark corner.
“Wait right here,” he informed Anamaria. “I have just the thing.”
* * * * *
Wait right here, he’d said. Like she was capable of going anywhere!
Anamaria decided that she was in a state of revolution with her body. Normally she scarcely noticed she had one, but at the moment it was practically all she could think about. Her eyes felt like desert islands, hot and dry and full of sand, while the rats were viciously gnawing away at the backs of her eyeballs. Her mouth tasted of bilgewater. Her injured leg felt thick and stiff, as though she were dragging about one of the Pearl’s topgallant yards when she attempted to move it. But the pain and assorted miseries would have been endurable had not the need to relieve herself already passed from a good idea to a flaming necessity.
It didn’t help that her spirit was smarting. Confiding in the captain had taken an act of will more wrenching than crawling out on that bowsprit. Anamaria despised being helpless with a deep and eternal hatred.
Whatever brilliantly mad plan Jack had gone in pursuit of, it would require that she at least sit up. Therefore, she would sit up. Without his help. Even though she felt as limp as a sail in the doldrums. With teeth-gritted determination, she managed to make it up onto her elbows before Jack reappeared in the cabin doorway looking pleased with himself.
“Oh good,” he said. “You’re almost up. Look what I’ve got!” He waved about a pewter, jug-like container with a wide opening and a handle. “Item: One chamber pot. Every lady with a shard of spritsail yard driven up her leg should have one!” He plunked the object on the table and disappeared out the door again.
By his next entrance, Anamaria was sitting up, braced on shaking arms and slightly nauseous.
Jack was awkwardly kicking in front of him a rather worse-for-wear piece of furniture. “Item: One backless chair, courtesy of Tearlach,” he grunted. “Man don’t know his own strength. Between him an’ Matelot, it’s a wonder there’s anything left o’ the Pearl for the Navy t’ shoot at.” He manuevered the chair to the bedside and placed the chamber pot on the seat.
Anamaria, feeling as though her head was caught in a high wind, squinted up at Jack. There was something disturbing about him, she decided woozily. “There’s two of you,” she muttered. “No wait, there’s three, no two. Jack Sparrow, one of you is enough for this world. This is just wrong.”
“You’re only a little dizzy, love,” Jack reassured her. “It’ll pass. But if it don’t, there’s many a lass’d like more than one o’ me!”
Anamaria wasn’t dead enough to let that pass. “And more that’d like none,” she snorted.
All the Jacks smirked at her. “I knew you’d be feeling better soon,” they said.
However many of him there were became exceedingly interested in one of the chests across the room. He gingerly lowered himself to sit on a neighbouring trunk and unstrapped the lid. By the time Jack had finished rummaging through the contents which included, among other esoteric items, a carved elephant tusk; a red and yellow feathered mask, slightly tattered; a velvet brocade coat, extremely tattered; a large Chinese lacquered vase; and a dried and stuffed mermaid looking suspiciously like a monkey body attached to a fish tail and smelling vilely of camphor, Anamaria was focusing more clearly, although the ship still seemed to be wavering around her.
“What are you looking for?” she asked impatiently. The need for him to be done with whatever he was doing and assist her was not diminishing.
“This,” Jack exclaimed triumphantly, rising with an amorphous mountain of dark crimson fabric in his arms. “Item: One dress. I thought I remembered there was one in here. You could hide an army under this skirt, love. Possibly with room left over for a fully rigged ship. Or in this case a chair and a chamber pot.”
Moving to the side of the bed, Jack frowned at Anamaria as though she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “Do I need to get someone to help you stand up?” he asked.
“No.” Anamaria said quickly. “Just you. Not one of the crew. I have arms and one working leg.”
“You do remember I’m not much use for lifting, eh lass?” Jack warned, waving a demonstrative hand at his sling.
“Just keep me from falling on my face, that’s all,” she answered grimly. But she quickly discovered that she wasn’t going to be moving her stiffened leg on her own. At least not and remain conscious.
Jack didn’t need to be told that she was in trouble. He swiftly supported her ankle so her leg did not drag on the bed and smoothly followed her movements as she turned herself with her arms and her good leg.
“There,” she said breathlessly when she was sitting on the side of the bed, her good leg propped on the deck, the other still held out straight in front of her. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Of course not,” Jack said dryly. “That’s why we’re both sweatin’ like we just raced t’ the t’gallant yards. Now how are we goin’ to get this,” he nodded at her leg, “down there?” he jerked his chin towards the deck.
“Just let go?” Anamaria shrugged. “It won’t kill me.”
“No it won’t,” said Jack. “But you’ll be killing me shortly after.” He grimaced. “I’m sure this is the lesser evil.” And he sank with determined grace to one knee, keeping his spine unbent, supporting her leg all the way down and then lowering it until her foot rested on the floor. It hurt like bloody blazes, and apparently not just for her. As soon as Jack had removed his hand from her ankle, he told her in great and profane detail just exactly where she could insert her modesty and how far she could shove it, and how long she could leave it there.
Anamaria blinked.
When he’d finally wound down, he sighed. “There. That feels better.”
Anamaria laughed.
Jack glowered at her. “Anything else you need liftin’, up or down or sideways, I’m callin’ for help. Savvy? Tearlach’ll do fine.”
“Jack,” Anamaria protested weakly.
“No,” said Jack mulishly. “I’m pulling rank here. He won’t say a word. I promise.”
“Tearlach never says a word,” Anamaria said.
“Exactly.”
That had been the captain speaking. When matters reached that point, Anamaria knew argument was always futile.
Slowly and painfully, Jack got back to his feet. He grabbed the dress and held it out to her.
“Time to complete your toilette, my dear. It was quite the fashion for the gentlemen to assist the ladies with their gowns in the last generation.” He eyed the garment critically. “And, I would say this is at least a generation out of mode.”
Anamaria scowled at the object he was offering. “I can’t remember ever wearin’ a dress.”
“Not even when you were a little girl?” Jack asked as they sorted out the acres of fabric into sleeves and bodice and skirt.
“I was lucky to get my brothers’ cast-offs, and they were cut down from my father’s clothing when he wore it out. My family had no use for a girl, so I was just another one of the boys.” Anamaria hadn’t thought about that past in a long time. Suddenly she wondered about her family, what they were doing, if any of the boys had families of their own. Perhaps, someday, she would go home and see. If she lived.
“Well then, it’s about time you did wear a dress,” Jack said firmly. “I’m sure you were an adorable little mucky-nosed ragamuffin, but you’ll make a much prettier lady. Now put your arms up so we can slip this over your head.”
Anamaria almost fell over when she tried. In the end she had to hold up one hand at a time as Jack worked the garment awkwardly over her shoulders, consigning all women’s fashions to the devil. However, finally the ordeal was over.
“Hmmm.” Jack eyed her consideringly, one hand full of fabric still resting at her waist. “You’re going to need some sort of easy way out of this.”
Anamaria, ensconced in a huge puddle of crimson about her hips, wriggled uncomfortably. Jack removed his hand as though he’d been burnt.
Frowning, he decided, “We’d better leave the top off. You just need the skirt. Help me lace this bodice up enough to keep it from falling off.”
Since Anamaria needed one hand to prop herself upright, they attempted to cooperate in a tangle of hands and laces. Finally Jack just held her up himself while she secured the skirt with a large, loopy bow.
“Now do you think you can stand up, lass?” Jack asked, looking doubtfully at her.
“Of course I can stand,” Anamaria said defensively.
“Ha!” said Jack skeptically. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. But let’s see you give it a try.”
Anamaria discovered that sheer bloody-minded determination was not going to be sufficient. She was too wobbly to get up enough strength. When her head cleared, she discover Jack’s arm, elbow bent, hovering patiently in front of her nose.
“Get a hold on that, love,” he said. “You’ll pull better than you push.”
With his dogged assistance, Anamaria made it to a swaying upright position, the skirt falling down around her legs in heavy folds. She let go of Jack’s arm—and began to tip. Jack lunged to stop her downward progress.
“Steady as she goes. You’ve lost a bit too much blood and you’re running a fever. I don’t want you collapsing on me.”
“’S there still a storm?” she asked.
“No. The storm’s been over for hours,” Jack assured her.
“Why’s the Pearl swooping then?”
“She’s not, love. The Pearl’s just rocking nicely. You’re the one that’s swooping. Whoops!” He took a firmer grip on her arm. “Almost lost you there! Now lean back against the bed again.”
“I feel very strange,” Anamaria said, when she was once more propped up by the edge of the bed.
“You look very strange, darling,” Jack agreed. “That shirt does not flatter that skirt. I could help you take it off. Dress you up proper,” he volunteered, forgetting himself for a moment.
“Jack Sparrow!”
“I know. I know, love,” Jack said apologetically. “It’s just me. You know I’m perfectly harmless.”
“The only time you were ever harmless,” Anamaria grumbled, “was before you were conceived. I bet you were a holy terror of a baby.”
Jack looked introspective. “I suppose I did break me mum’s ribs what with kickin’ before I was born.” He rubbed a thoughtful hand over the arm that braced his own broken ribs. “She never let me forget that.”
Anamaria held her breath wondering if he would continue. Jack Sparrow never talked about his family or his past. This was her first hint that he hadn’t just sprung from the sea, a captain astride the quarterdeck of his Black Pearl. But the moment passed in silence. Jack shook his head as though to clear it of some unsought picture.
“Now,” he asked, “Can you get out of . . . whatever it is you need to get out of . . . on your own?”
She almost smiled at his primness. It was so very unlike Jack to mince his words. His discomfort perversely made her feel more cheerful.
“I’ll be fine, Jack,” she insisted. The vertigo was decreasing the longer she remained upright.
“You’re sure?” He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Because so far your prophetic talents in that regard have been, shall we say, less than accurate.”
“I’m sure.” Anamaria nodded firmly, then regretted the motion. “I won’t even have to stand up.”
“That’s good. Because you can’t stand up. Bloody independent female!” Jack said under his breath as he turned to go.
After the captain had betaken himself off, Anamaria simply hitched the skirt back up to her waist, one-handed, and fumbled the ties of her breeches undone. When she let the dress fall, she could keep holding her breeches up through the layers of cloth and let them drop when she was ready. With some trepidation she called for Jack, knowing Tearlach would be accompanying him.
However, Tearlach was too good-natured and dependable to leave her uneasy for long. He picked her up like she was a poppet with hands that nearly spanned her waist, and as Jack arranged her skirt around the chair, the big man set her on her feet, or rather foot, again.
Gripping the edge of the table, Anamaria discovered with a sense of achievement, that she could stand on her own.
“There you are!” Jack said triumphantly. “It’s as good as a tent. No one will know what you’re up to under there. Tearlach if you would seat the lady?”
Anamaria let go of her breeches and felt them pool above the bandage on her leg. Then she was being lowered to perch precariously on what felt like the far too inadequately-sized chamber pot. Her knuckles went white on the table as she balanced.
“That’s going t’ be a really tough angle to hold yourself at, love. You sure you want us to go?” Jack asked dubiously.
“I’ll manage,” she told him. “Go away.”
She felt the heavy clumsiness of her body returned to her own control as the two men stepped back from her.
“Just call when you’re ready for a lift,” Jack said as he and Tearlach headed for the door.
Unfortunately Jack was right about the angle. She could feel the muscles in her good leg quivering and threatening to give out. And the chamber pot was not making a sturdy base at all. She could picture herself falling and everything else falling and the whole embarrassing mess becoming intolerable.
She must have made some sort of sound, for Jack was back at her side in an instant. “Go on, Tearlach,” he ordered. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
And then his arm was around her, taking the brunt of her weight even though she knew it had to be killing him.
“Anamaria,” he entreated through clenched teeth. “This isn’t going to work. You can’t do this by yourself. I wish you could bring yourself to trust me.”
She shook her head in fierce denial, but he did not release her.
“In the past twenty-four hours,” he argued, “I’ve had your vomit spattered on my knuckles, I’ve finger-painted with your blood, and, on a much happier note, we shared a kiss that really qualifies as the highlight of an otherwise hellish day. So what’s one more body fluid among mates, eh?”
A small laugh escaped her. When he put it that way . . .
“I’d do this for Gibbs,” Jack continued earnestly. “Hell, I’d even do this for Pintel. You’re one of my crew, love. Let me help you.”
Anamaria began to cave in, not the least because she really needed him.
“Please,” he said softly.
She couldn’t bring herself to answer, but she nodded against his coat.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “I swear I’ll close my eyes and ears and anything else you wish. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Somehow she doubted that. But somehow, he’d made it all right.
* * * * *
Anamaria decided that she could be going to her own hanging, but if she had an empty bladder it would be all she asked of life. For the first time in hours, she could relax.
Jack, on the other hand, was breathing harshly in her ear. “Are you done, darlin’?” he said with teeth-gritting control.
“Yes,” she told him. “Thank . . .”
But Jack didn’t let her get the words out. “Tearlach!” he bellowed. “Get your arse in here and lend a hand, man! Now!”
As the big man’s arm took her weight off of Jack, the captain almost succeeded in squelching a relieved moan. She shouldn’t have been such a prude and put him through that, but she was so very grateful to him.
Carefully, the two men got her to her feet again without disturbing anything. Jack whisked the hem of her skirt over the chair and chamber pot while Tearlach kept her from wavering. Then the captain handed the pot to his crewman with the orders, “Remove this before someone knocks it over.”
Tearlach unquestioningly did as he was bid and emptied the contents out one of the cannon shot holes in the hull.
“Well,” Jack shrugged. “I knew there had to be a good use for those.”
* * * * *
Leaving Anamaria, hanging on to the table with one hand, to shed her skirt, clean up, and reassume her ordinary clothing Jack followed Tearlach out the door. He’d have been delighted to assist, but he supposed, that was the problem.
Jack let himself relax against the bulkhead and concentrated on ignoring the swordfight going on in his ribcage. Could one concentrate on ignoring with any degree of possibility? For a few minutes the philosophical conundrum conjured up in his brain distracted him from the fact that all the combatants were losing.
It was good not to move, not to lift, scarcely to breathe for a brief moment—even if any decrease in momentum seemed to be threatening to tip him over into sleep. He fervently hoped the men on the Defender were not much more rested than his own battered crew, or a four to one advantage might still not be enough.
Tearlach lounged with tireless stoicism on the other side of the door, as silent and massive and unflappable as a mountain. Somehow the presence of his giant crewmember always had a calming effect on Jack.
The big man met his captain’s eyes and a smile crinkled the weather lines on his placid, pleasant face. Sometimes Jack had to remind himself that this wordless colossus who took such care of his smaller mates was by no means a simpleton. The wry good humour in that grin was as clear as speech.
Jack nodded and smiled back. “Women,” he agreed. “Bless ‘em, they are complicated creatures. But I think we’re going to make it out of this alive, Mr. Tearlach. I thank you for your assistance.”
At Anamaria’s summons, Jack peeked in the door to check for the clearness of the coast.
“Just you,” she mouthed at him.
So he gestured for Tearlach to await further orders.
Anamaria was standing in a sea of crimson fabric, with her weight supported on her good leg and one arm, her grimy, bloody breeches clasped tightly to her waist with her other hand. Jack spotted the difficulty immediately. It was not possible for a person to both hold up a pair of breeches and lace them with one hand.
However, the look in her eyes warned him that retribution would be severe if he should make any comments of an off-colour nature. Biting his tongue, Jack also refrained from saying he was happy to oblige as he began with really quite admirable insouciance to truss his first mate back into her garments. He had to admit that he’d gotten his hands on more of Anamaria today than he’d ever hoped to. His agile fingers handled the ties while the rest of his attention was busily admiring the curve of her hip and the feel of hard muscle under worn fabric. Which was probably why she was so reluctant to accept his help. He could sense unborn slaps seething about inside of her.
The sentiment that he’d rather be removing these than putting them on her nearly made it past his lips before his instinct for self-preservation caught up to his impulse for wagging his tongue and ran that by his conscious mind. Not good. Those kinds of things were better said to Anamaria from a distance with a day’s head start.
But overall the day had been so very rotten that he allowed himself the indulgence of enjoying what pleasures he could in it. He just wished he could remove, erase, annul, or in some way expunge everything that had assured Anamaria of nothing but misery. Unfortunately, he was not the man whose touch could sweep away pain for her. He could only cause her more discomfort.
Against his personal inclinations, he hurriedly finished the task and pulled his hands away. Then he called in Tearlach.
“Time to tuck you back in bed, love,” he said. “You’re looking about done in, quite awful actually.” She did. Hollow-eyed and grey-skinned and haggard.
“You’re such a flatterer, Jack Sparrow,” Anamaria managed to retort, but she was clearly wilting.
“The word you’re looking for is toad-eater,” Jack suggested helpfully. “I’m feeling the need to ingratiate myself with your royal person.” He turned to the patiently waiting giant. “Tearlach, my man. Scoop the lady up and put her back where we got her before she falls over.”
Tearlach did just that, whisking Anamaria efficiently back to the captain’s wreck of a bed and laying her down as if she were a puff of thistledown.
“Now, love,” Jack said to his first mate, eyeing his crewman admiringly, “you really must admit that I could never have done that for you with even half the finesse. Not even if I were perfectly hale and sound.”
Anamaria nodded exhausted acknowledgment that Jack had been right to ask for help. “Thank you, Tearlach,” she said.
The crewman grinned at her, then tossed a salute at the captain as Jack waved him a dismissal. “Get along with you now, Mister. I’m sure the boarding party can use your help.”
When he was alone with Anamaria, Jack wasted a little more time, lingering to make sure she had sufficient covers pulled up to her chin. She looked up at him through half-mast eyelids. “Thank you, Jack,” she murmured. “I . . . just, thank you.”
“Feelin’ better, eh?” he squeezed her shoulder. “No trouble at all. You just rest now. I’ve got to run check on things, but I’ll drop by to look in on you in a bit.”
“I wish I could help,” she said wistfully.
“I wish you could too,” Jack agreed truthfully. “We could use you out there. But we’ll contrive, love.”
Anamaria smiled, her eyes closed now. “You always do.”
* * * * *
TBC
20 To Disguise Fair Nature with Hard-Favour'd Rage
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Sparrow, Anamaria, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria somewhat. Jack/Pearl most definitely
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: On the Black Pearl Jack Sparrow is on the hunt for a way to get out of an awkward situation with his and Anamaria’s dignity intact. The Muse made me do this! I claim no responsibility. This has nothing to do with the plot, but do you think I could get it out of my head once the question was raised? I mean this had to happen and it had to be a problem, but why couldn’t I have ignored the possibility like ninety-nine percent of fanfic writers? Consider this a deleted scene that is being included because it’s written now and I might as well post it. 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?
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
14 He Jests at Scars Who Never Felt a Wound
15 To Strive, To Seek, To Find, And Not To Yield
16 A Kind of Alacrity in Sinking
17 A Fine-Baited Delay
18 To Watch the Night in Storms
19a The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
* * * * *
19b The Natural Shocks That Flesh is Heir To
With the Defender sweeping down upon them, and the attack only hours away, Captain Jack Sparrow seethed with a whirlpool of plans that kept sucking down his ideas and spitting out new difficulties. The fact that his Black Pearl was masts down and leaking like an unstanched wench was gnawing at the back of his neck, but he was getting used to it. In the hour before sunrise, he’d made his peace with her. She would protect him with her broken wings. And he would make her persecutors pay.
At least he had succeeded in the one all-important thing. There was no sign of the Dauntless anywhere on the horizon.
With a trample of boots, the captain clattered down the companionway stairs and barged into his cabin, intent on ship’s business. The grey morning sky was just now beginning to shed enough light through the shattered windows that he could see Anamaria’s eyes were turned on him. Good. She was awake.
“Anamaria,” he said crisply. “I’m making up the boarding party roster, and I’d like your opinion.” Normally this would have been her task, but he hadn’t wanted to burden her with too much just yet. However, he valued her detailed knowledge of the crew. “Bishop, Mkosi, Bartholomeo, Asfar, and Scuttlebutt,” he listed. “They’re able-bodied, but I’m not sure they can handle the swim. Weather’s calmed down considerable, but there’s still a storm swell. What say you? Do I tell ‘em aye or nay?”
His first mate looked like a rag that had seen too many washings, except for a worrisome flush patching her cheekbones. She seemed to be having a hard time concentrating on what he was saying. Not good.
Crossing the room to her side, he laid the back of his hand against her cheek. She flinched away from his touch, but not before he felt the summer day heat where she should have been as chilled as he was. Just as he had feared, her fever had not subsided. In fact, if anything, it was worse.
“I’m fine,” she snapped at him distractedly. “Naught you can do about it anyway.”
He shrugged. She was right. Time enough to worry about inflammations after they’d survived the next few hours. “Can you give me any suggestions on the men?” he repeated.
“Asfar,” she said in a tight voice. “Strong as an ox. He’ll make it well enough, and you’ll need him on the Defender. Scuttlebutt. He’s improved a lot. Give him a chance. The others. No. Leave ‘em here.” Then she closed her eyes.
Jack nodded. Her analysis coincided with his own. But at the level of fatigue he currently found himself, it was reassuring to know he wasn’t making a drastic mull of things. “Thanks, love,” he said. “I’ll be off then. Anything I can get sent to you? Rum? Water?”
“Oh God, no!”
Her vehemence startled him. “No worries!” He held up his hand placatingly. “Didn’t mean to offend. I won’t send you a thing.”
When he received no answer and she didn’t look at him again, Jack turned to go. Likely Anamaria was in too much pain, and it was making her as surly as a spavined mule. He’d just sneak on out while his head was still firmly attached to his neck.
He’d almost made it to the door when her voice stopped him.
“Jack?”
He paused, startled. That was not a tone of voice he’d ever heard from Anamaria—plaintive and miserable.
He turned back. “What is it, love?”
She didn’t respond, and she was studying the bulkhead with fierce fascination although it looked like a perfectly ordinary, boring strip of planking. Well, it was a piece of his Pearl and therefore infinitely lovely, but still.
“Anamaria?” he prompted to the back of her head.
She seemed tense now and unwilling to speak, another unnatural phenomenon. Jack’s concern ratcheted up a notch. He took a step towards her.
“I’ve got to use the head,” she bit off fiercely, still not turning to face him.
Oh hell.
After all that rum and water, she would. He could hear her anger and humiliation at having to ask for help. She was never going to trust him to help her, either. And if she had to let him anyway, she was never going to forgive him. Then he remembered his ribs. He wasn’t going to be able to manage this alone.
Oh hell!
“No problem . . .” he started to say “darling” then thought better of it “. . . we’ll figure out something.” He tried to sound bracing and reassuring and indifferent and it wasn’t working. There she was, looking wretched and vulnerable. And Anamaria did not look vulnerable with four inches of steel driven into her thigh, as he had cause to know.
Oh hell.
If she’d been one of the lightskirts with whom he’d had dealings in any number of ports, he’d have had no difficulties in such a situation. Might even be a bit of fun. Certainly a lot of laughs. Definitely matter-of-fact. But this was Anamaria, proud and dangerous and thin-skinned and chaste as a nun while on board his ship. The men treated her with the utmost circumspection—well, except for him. Which wasn’t making this any easier now, was it?
Jack’s normally agile mind nearly stuttered to a halt trying to picture any way for the two of them to get out of this with dignity intact.
“You know, this would be a whole heap more convenient if you were a man,” he complained. “For one thing, you wouldn’t care if I saw anything I shouldn’t. And for another you’d not need to shed quite so very much. Are you sure we can’t just pretend this don’t matter? I swear if I see anything I’ve not seen before I’ll shoot it and run.”
Anamaria’s glare could have roasted a whole hog. If she’d been armed, she’d have shot him with no running at all. Jack backed up a step.
Wait just one moment. He was having a thought here. Life-threatening situations tended to do that for him. Lightskirts. There was a reason women wore those ridiculous, yardgoods-intensive contraptions other than just easy access for a quick tup in a dark corner.
“Wait right here,” he informed Anamaria. “I have just the thing.”
* * * * *
Wait right here, he’d said. Like she was capable of going anywhere!
Anamaria decided that she was in a state of revolution with her body. Normally she scarcely noticed she had one, but at the moment it was practically all she could think about. Her eyes felt like desert islands, hot and dry and full of sand, while the rats were viciously gnawing away at the backs of her eyeballs. Her mouth tasted of bilgewater. Her injured leg felt thick and stiff, as though she were dragging about one of the Pearl’s topgallant yards when she attempted to move it. But the pain and assorted miseries would have been endurable had not the need to relieve herself already passed from a good idea to a flaming necessity.
It didn’t help that her spirit was smarting. Confiding in the captain had taken an act of will more wrenching than crawling out on that bowsprit. Anamaria despised being helpless with a deep and eternal hatred.
Whatever brilliantly mad plan Jack had gone in pursuit of, it would require that she at least sit up. Therefore, she would sit up. Without his help. Even though she felt as limp as a sail in the doldrums. With teeth-gritted determination, she managed to make it up onto her elbows before Jack reappeared in the cabin doorway looking pleased with himself.
“Oh good,” he said. “You’re almost up. Look what I’ve got!” He waved about a pewter, jug-like container with a wide opening and a handle. “Item: One chamber pot. Every lady with a shard of spritsail yard driven up her leg should have one!” He plunked the object on the table and disappeared out the door again.
By his next entrance, Anamaria was sitting up, braced on shaking arms and slightly nauseous.
Jack was awkwardly kicking in front of him a rather worse-for-wear piece of furniture. “Item: One backless chair, courtesy of Tearlach,” he grunted. “Man don’t know his own strength. Between him an’ Matelot, it’s a wonder there’s anything left o’ the Pearl for the Navy t’ shoot at.” He manuevered the chair to the bedside and placed the chamber pot on the seat.
Anamaria, feeling as though her head was caught in a high wind, squinted up at Jack. There was something disturbing about him, she decided woozily. “There’s two of you,” she muttered. “No wait, there’s three, no two. Jack Sparrow, one of you is enough for this world. This is just wrong.”
“You’re only a little dizzy, love,” Jack reassured her. “It’ll pass. But if it don’t, there’s many a lass’d like more than one o’ me!”
Anamaria wasn’t dead enough to let that pass. “And more that’d like none,” she snorted.
All the Jacks smirked at her. “I knew you’d be feeling better soon,” they said.
However many of him there were became exceedingly interested in one of the chests across the room. He gingerly lowered himself to sit on a neighbouring trunk and unstrapped the lid. By the time Jack had finished rummaging through the contents which included, among other esoteric items, a carved elephant tusk; a red and yellow feathered mask, slightly tattered; a velvet brocade coat, extremely tattered; a large Chinese lacquered vase; and a dried and stuffed mermaid looking suspiciously like a monkey body attached to a fish tail and smelling vilely of camphor, Anamaria was focusing more clearly, although the ship still seemed to be wavering around her.
“What are you looking for?” she asked impatiently. The need for him to be done with whatever he was doing and assist her was not diminishing.
“This,” Jack exclaimed triumphantly, rising with an amorphous mountain of dark crimson fabric in his arms. “Item: One dress. I thought I remembered there was one in here. You could hide an army under this skirt, love. Possibly with room left over for a fully rigged ship. Or in this case a chair and a chamber pot.”
Moving to the side of the bed, Jack frowned at Anamaria as though she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “Do I need to get someone to help you stand up?” he asked.
“No.” Anamaria said quickly. “Just you. Not one of the crew. I have arms and one working leg.”
“You do remember I’m not much use for lifting, eh lass?” Jack warned, waving a demonstrative hand at his sling.
“Just keep me from falling on my face, that’s all,” she answered grimly. But she quickly discovered that she wasn’t going to be moving her stiffened leg on her own. At least not and remain conscious.
Jack didn’t need to be told that she was in trouble. He swiftly supported her ankle so her leg did not drag on the bed and smoothly followed her movements as she turned herself with her arms and her good leg.
“There,” she said breathlessly when she was sitting on the side of the bed, her good leg propped on the deck, the other still held out straight in front of her. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“Of course not,” Jack said dryly. “That’s why we’re both sweatin’ like we just raced t’ the t’gallant yards. Now how are we goin’ to get this,” he nodded at her leg, “down there?” he jerked his chin towards the deck.
“Just let go?” Anamaria shrugged. “It won’t kill me.”
“No it won’t,” said Jack. “But you’ll be killing me shortly after.” He grimaced. “I’m sure this is the lesser evil.” And he sank with determined grace to one knee, keeping his spine unbent, supporting her leg all the way down and then lowering it until her foot rested on the floor. It hurt like bloody blazes, and apparently not just for her. As soon as Jack had removed his hand from her ankle, he told her in great and profane detail just exactly where she could insert her modesty and how far she could shove it, and how long she could leave it there.
Anamaria blinked.
When he’d finally wound down, he sighed. “There. That feels better.”
Anamaria laughed.
Jack glowered at her. “Anything else you need liftin’, up or down or sideways, I’m callin’ for help. Savvy? Tearlach’ll do fine.”
“Jack,” Anamaria protested weakly.
“No,” said Jack mulishly. “I’m pulling rank here. He won’t say a word. I promise.”
“Tearlach never says a word,” Anamaria said.
“Exactly.”
That had been the captain speaking. When matters reached that point, Anamaria knew argument was always futile.
Slowly and painfully, Jack got back to his feet. He grabbed the dress and held it out to her.
“Time to complete your toilette, my dear. It was quite the fashion for the gentlemen to assist the ladies with their gowns in the last generation.” He eyed the garment critically. “And, I would say this is at least a generation out of mode.”
Anamaria scowled at the object he was offering. “I can’t remember ever wearin’ a dress.”
“Not even when you were a little girl?” Jack asked as they sorted out the acres of fabric into sleeves and bodice and skirt.
“I was lucky to get my brothers’ cast-offs, and they were cut down from my father’s clothing when he wore it out. My family had no use for a girl, so I was just another one of the boys.” Anamaria hadn’t thought about that past in a long time. Suddenly she wondered about her family, what they were doing, if any of the boys had families of their own. Perhaps, someday, she would go home and see. If she lived.
“Well then, it’s about time you did wear a dress,” Jack said firmly. “I’m sure you were an adorable little mucky-nosed ragamuffin, but you’ll make a much prettier lady. Now put your arms up so we can slip this over your head.”
Anamaria almost fell over when she tried. In the end she had to hold up one hand at a time as Jack worked the garment awkwardly over her shoulders, consigning all women’s fashions to the devil. However, finally the ordeal was over.
“Hmmm.” Jack eyed her consideringly, one hand full of fabric still resting at her waist. “You’re going to need some sort of easy way out of this.”
Anamaria, ensconced in a huge puddle of crimson about her hips, wriggled uncomfortably. Jack removed his hand as though he’d been burnt.
Frowning, he decided, “We’d better leave the top off. You just need the skirt. Help me lace this bodice up enough to keep it from falling off.”
Since Anamaria needed one hand to prop herself upright, they attempted to cooperate in a tangle of hands and laces. Finally Jack just held her up himself while she secured the skirt with a large, loopy bow.
“Now do you think you can stand up, lass?” Jack asked, looking doubtfully at her.
“Of course I can stand,” Anamaria said defensively.
“Ha!” said Jack skeptically. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. But let’s see you give it a try.”
Anamaria discovered that sheer bloody-minded determination was not going to be sufficient. She was too wobbly to get up enough strength. When her head cleared, she discover Jack’s arm, elbow bent, hovering patiently in front of her nose.
“Get a hold on that, love,” he said. “You’ll pull better than you push.”
With his dogged assistance, Anamaria made it to a swaying upright position, the skirt falling down around her legs in heavy folds. She let go of Jack’s arm—and began to tip. Jack lunged to stop her downward progress.
“Steady as she goes. You’ve lost a bit too much blood and you’re running a fever. I don’t want you collapsing on me.”
“’S there still a storm?” she asked.
“No. The storm’s been over for hours,” Jack assured her.
“Why’s the Pearl swooping then?”
“She’s not, love. The Pearl’s just rocking nicely. You’re the one that’s swooping. Whoops!” He took a firmer grip on her arm. “Almost lost you there! Now lean back against the bed again.”
“I feel very strange,” Anamaria said, when she was once more propped up by the edge of the bed.
“You look very strange, darling,” Jack agreed. “That shirt does not flatter that skirt. I could help you take it off. Dress you up proper,” he volunteered, forgetting himself for a moment.
“Jack Sparrow!”
“I know. I know, love,” Jack said apologetically. “It’s just me. You know I’m perfectly harmless.”
“The only time you were ever harmless,” Anamaria grumbled, “was before you were conceived. I bet you were a holy terror of a baby.”
Jack looked introspective. “I suppose I did break me mum’s ribs what with kickin’ before I was born.” He rubbed a thoughtful hand over the arm that braced his own broken ribs. “She never let me forget that.”
Anamaria held her breath wondering if he would continue. Jack Sparrow never talked about his family or his past. This was her first hint that he hadn’t just sprung from the sea, a captain astride the quarterdeck of his Black Pearl. But the moment passed in silence. Jack shook his head as though to clear it of some unsought picture.
“Now,” he asked, “Can you get out of . . . whatever it is you need to get out of . . . on your own?”
She almost smiled at his primness. It was so very unlike Jack to mince his words. His discomfort perversely made her feel more cheerful.
“I’ll be fine, Jack,” she insisted. The vertigo was decreasing the longer she remained upright.
“You’re sure?” He raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Because so far your prophetic talents in that regard have been, shall we say, less than accurate.”
“I’m sure.” Anamaria nodded firmly, then regretted the motion. “I won’t even have to stand up.”
“That’s good. Because you can’t stand up. Bloody independent female!” Jack said under his breath as he turned to go.
After the captain had betaken himself off, Anamaria simply hitched the skirt back up to her waist, one-handed, and fumbled the ties of her breeches undone. When she let the dress fall, she could keep holding her breeches up through the layers of cloth and let them drop when she was ready. With some trepidation she called for Jack, knowing Tearlach would be accompanying him.
However, Tearlach was too good-natured and dependable to leave her uneasy for long. He picked her up like she was a poppet with hands that nearly spanned her waist, and as Jack arranged her skirt around the chair, the big man set her on her feet, or rather foot, again.
Gripping the edge of the table, Anamaria discovered with a sense of achievement, that she could stand on her own.
“There you are!” Jack said triumphantly. “It’s as good as a tent. No one will know what you’re up to under there. Tearlach if you would seat the lady?”
Anamaria let go of her breeches and felt them pool above the bandage on her leg. Then she was being lowered to perch precariously on what felt like the far too inadequately-sized chamber pot. Her knuckles went white on the table as she balanced.
“That’s going t’ be a really tough angle to hold yourself at, love. You sure you want us to go?” Jack asked dubiously.
“I’ll manage,” she told him. “Go away.”
She felt the heavy clumsiness of her body returned to her own control as the two men stepped back from her.
“Just call when you’re ready for a lift,” Jack said as he and Tearlach headed for the door.
Unfortunately Jack was right about the angle. She could feel the muscles in her good leg quivering and threatening to give out. And the chamber pot was not making a sturdy base at all. She could picture herself falling and everything else falling and the whole embarrassing mess becoming intolerable.
She must have made some sort of sound, for Jack was back at her side in an instant. “Go on, Tearlach,” he ordered. “I’ll join you in a moment.”
And then his arm was around her, taking the brunt of her weight even though she knew it had to be killing him.
“Anamaria,” he entreated through clenched teeth. “This isn’t going to work. You can’t do this by yourself. I wish you could bring yourself to trust me.”
She shook her head in fierce denial, but he did not release her.
“In the past twenty-four hours,” he argued, “I’ve had your vomit spattered on my knuckles, I’ve finger-painted with your blood, and, on a much happier note, we shared a kiss that really qualifies as the highlight of an otherwise hellish day. So what’s one more body fluid among mates, eh?”
A small laugh escaped her. When he put it that way . . .
“I’d do this for Gibbs,” Jack continued earnestly. “Hell, I’d even do this for Pintel. You’re one of my crew, love. Let me help you.”
Anamaria began to cave in, not the least because she really needed him.
“Please,” he said softly.
She couldn’t bring herself to answer, but she nodded against his coat.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “I swear I’ll close my eyes and ears and anything else you wish. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Somehow she doubted that. But somehow, he’d made it all right.
* * * * *
Anamaria decided that she could be going to her own hanging, but if she had an empty bladder it would be all she asked of life. For the first time in hours, she could relax.
Jack, on the other hand, was breathing harshly in her ear. “Are you done, darlin’?” he said with teeth-gritting control.
“Yes,” she told him. “Thank . . .”
But Jack didn’t let her get the words out. “Tearlach!” he bellowed. “Get your arse in here and lend a hand, man! Now!”
As the big man’s arm took her weight off of Jack, the captain almost succeeded in squelching a relieved moan. She shouldn’t have been such a prude and put him through that, but she was so very grateful to him.
Carefully, the two men got her to her feet again without disturbing anything. Jack whisked the hem of her skirt over the chair and chamber pot while Tearlach kept her from wavering. Then the captain handed the pot to his crewman with the orders, “Remove this before someone knocks it over.”
Tearlach unquestioningly did as he was bid and emptied the contents out one of the cannon shot holes in the hull.
“Well,” Jack shrugged. “I knew there had to be a good use for those.”
* * * * *
Leaving Anamaria, hanging on to the table with one hand, to shed her skirt, clean up, and reassume her ordinary clothing Jack followed Tearlach out the door. He’d have been delighted to assist, but he supposed, that was the problem.
Jack let himself relax against the bulkhead and concentrated on ignoring the swordfight going on in his ribcage. Could one concentrate on ignoring with any degree of possibility? For a few minutes the philosophical conundrum conjured up in his brain distracted him from the fact that all the combatants were losing.
It was good not to move, not to lift, scarcely to breathe for a brief moment—even if any decrease in momentum seemed to be threatening to tip him over into sleep. He fervently hoped the men on the Defender were not much more rested than his own battered crew, or a four to one advantage might still not be enough.
Tearlach lounged with tireless stoicism on the other side of the door, as silent and massive and unflappable as a mountain. Somehow the presence of his giant crewmember always had a calming effect on Jack.
The big man met his captain’s eyes and a smile crinkled the weather lines on his placid, pleasant face. Sometimes Jack had to remind himself that this wordless colossus who took such care of his smaller mates was by no means a simpleton. The wry good humour in that grin was as clear as speech.
Jack nodded and smiled back. “Women,” he agreed. “Bless ‘em, they are complicated creatures. But I think we’re going to make it out of this alive, Mr. Tearlach. I thank you for your assistance.”
At Anamaria’s summons, Jack peeked in the door to check for the clearness of the coast.
“Just you,” she mouthed at him.
So he gestured for Tearlach to await further orders.
Anamaria was standing in a sea of crimson fabric, with her weight supported on her good leg and one arm, her grimy, bloody breeches clasped tightly to her waist with her other hand. Jack spotted the difficulty immediately. It was not possible for a person to both hold up a pair of breeches and lace them with one hand.
However, the look in her eyes warned him that retribution would be severe if he should make any comments of an off-colour nature. Biting his tongue, Jack also refrained from saying he was happy to oblige as he began with really quite admirable insouciance to truss his first mate back into her garments. He had to admit that he’d gotten his hands on more of Anamaria today than he’d ever hoped to. His agile fingers handled the ties while the rest of his attention was busily admiring the curve of her hip and the feel of hard muscle under worn fabric. Which was probably why she was so reluctant to accept his help. He could sense unborn slaps seething about inside of her.
The sentiment that he’d rather be removing these than putting them on her nearly made it past his lips before his instinct for self-preservation caught up to his impulse for wagging his tongue and ran that by his conscious mind. Not good. Those kinds of things were better said to Anamaria from a distance with a day’s head start.
But overall the day had been so very rotten that he allowed himself the indulgence of enjoying what pleasures he could in it. He just wished he could remove, erase, annul, or in some way expunge everything that had assured Anamaria of nothing but misery. Unfortunately, he was not the man whose touch could sweep away pain for her. He could only cause her more discomfort.
Against his personal inclinations, he hurriedly finished the task and pulled his hands away. Then he called in Tearlach.
“Time to tuck you back in bed, love,” he said. “You’re looking about done in, quite awful actually.” She did. Hollow-eyed and grey-skinned and haggard.
“You’re such a flatterer, Jack Sparrow,” Anamaria managed to retort, but she was clearly wilting.
“The word you’re looking for is toad-eater,” Jack suggested helpfully. “I’m feeling the need to ingratiate myself with your royal person.” He turned to the patiently waiting giant. “Tearlach, my man. Scoop the lady up and put her back where we got her before she falls over.”
Tearlach did just that, whisking Anamaria efficiently back to the captain’s wreck of a bed and laying her down as if she were a puff of thistledown.
“Now, love,” Jack said to his first mate, eyeing his crewman admiringly, “you really must admit that I could never have done that for you with even half the finesse. Not even if I were perfectly hale and sound.”
Anamaria nodded exhausted acknowledgment that Jack had been right to ask for help. “Thank you, Tearlach,” she said.
The crewman grinned at her, then tossed a salute at the captain as Jack waved him a dismissal. “Get along with you now, Mister. I’m sure the boarding party can use your help.”
When he was alone with Anamaria, Jack wasted a little more time, lingering to make sure she had sufficient covers pulled up to her chin. She looked up at him through half-mast eyelids. “Thank you, Jack,” she murmured. “I . . . just, thank you.”
“Feelin’ better, eh?” he squeezed her shoulder. “No trouble at all. You just rest now. I’ve got to run check on things, but I’ll drop by to look in on you in a bit.”
“I wish I could help,” she said wistfully.
“I wish you could too,” Jack agreed truthfully. “We could use you out there. But we’ll contrive, love.”
Anamaria smiled, her eyes closed now. “You always do.”
* * * * *
TBC
20 To Disguise Fair Nature with Hard-Favour'd Rage
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 04:04 am (UTC)That being said, get a move on and tell us what happens to Jip and the comeuppance Captain Walton is about to receive.
Please? I really should remember to be polite in situations like this. My nails have recovered from the last chewing you were responsible for so they are all ready for the next round.
Rennie the Impatient (and yes, I know I'm slower than molasses at updates but I'm begging anyway)
no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 05:42 pm (UTC)Jack even gets to get his hands over a good deal of Anamaria
Trust Jack, even when he's being the good guy, to be a brat! He's the master of the opportune moment and he can't keep his hands off anything! Anamaria will have to save up the death and dismemberment for when they are both in better shape.
I haven't quite figured Tearlach out. He's just there in my story, being the muscle and not the mouth--Jack's got enough mouth for everybody. I wonder if I can make it obvious what he's thinking, eventually?
After all the drama, death, fear and heartwrenching, you give us a light moment
I am incapable of unmitigated gloom. I'm glad you liked the comedy, although it was rather stressful for the characters.
The updates are creeping along, although I will be skipping a week in order to teach a summer school class. Save up those nails. And thank you so much for dropping by.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 02:03 am (UTC)I get the impression of Tearlach kind of like Lurch in the Addams Family. He's way up above everyone else and observes all the goings on without having to say very much. Doesn't mean the lights are out in the attic and the others running around him tend to forget to look up, waaaay up (now I sound like the Friendly Giant).
You're a menace to my nails but, unlike Wanda (who appears to have found a partner in crime), I don't threaten with the artillery, not being an Army brat. I'm just waiting to hear that she's bringing up bigger guns to aim at your muse.
Hope your course goes well. What are you teaching, by the way? Inquiring (read "nosy") minds want to know.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-13 11:08 am (UTC)The opposite strategy of Jack who tries to get noticed and dismissed.
You're a menace to my nails but, unlike Wanda (who appears to have found a partner in crime), I don't threaten with the artillery, not being an Army brat. I'm just waiting to hear that she's bringing up bigger guns to aim at your muse.
Wanda has her sights on my Muse when it threatens to be too mean to my characters. LOL! Which hasn't stopped the Muse yet.
What are you teaching, by the way?
It's a Study Tour to the Shakespeare Festival at Ashland, OR. I get to take a bunch of college students down to watch six plays in one week. Four Shakespeare, "The Importance of Being Earnest", and "Cyrano de Bergerac". I do it every year. It's a great way to get paid :D
no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 04:47 am (UTC)Great line, and I can see Jack thinking that!
This is such a well-developed story - the characters, the action, and the setting. And I could just picture Jack pulling the Fiji mermaid out of that trunk! :D
no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 05:32 pm (UTC)I can see Jack thinking that
He must be getting enough practice that he can anticipate a few slaps now.
And I could just picture Jack pulling the Fiji mermaid out of that trunk!
That's what I love about fandom. No matter how obscure the reference, someone always gets it! I think Jack is the type to have MADE the Fiji mermaid :D
no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 02:23 pm (UTC)And then, of course, just your general, amazing talent for writing - every update I read becomes the highlight of the day, no matter the tone. I just admire your skills. Thank you so much for providing us with such a facsinating read!
--Ahi
P.S. A few chappys back, when Jack dismasted the Pearl...I started crying. It was that powerful. Kudos!
no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 05:35 pm (UTC)I do love Shakespeare and he has a way of infiltrating my text along with several other authors. I have such fun hunting for titles, too.
I'm so glad you are liking this eclectic story. I do appreciate you taking the time to comment.
When Jack dismasted the Pearl, I cried too. It's good to know the writing had the intended effect.
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Date: 2006-08-11 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 06:41 pm (UTC)“In the past twenty-four hours,” he argued, “I’ve had your vomit spattered on my knuckles, I’ve finger-painted with your blood, and, on a much happier note, we shared a kiss that really qualifies as the highlight of an otherwise hellish day. So what’s one more body fluid among mates, eh?”
I have absolutely fallen in love with your Jack and his attempts to get her to trust him (especially all of the asides that kept popping into his head that he wisely decided to keep to himself).
Great work and I can't wait to see what is going on with Norrington and Jip.
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Date: 2006-08-22 11:14 pm (UTC)I have absolutely fallen in love with your Jack and his attempts to get her to trust him (especially all of the asides that kept popping into his head that he wisely decided to keep to himself).
Then my work here is a success! :D I love Jack, too. He's such a fun combination of bad intentions and good behaviour.
Thank you for such a kind comment. I do appreciate it.
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Date: 2006-08-10 11:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-22 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 02:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-22 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-12 07:04 am (UTC)I have to tell you I've been in a lot of fandoms since the age of 14 and I've read some good fanfics as well as some not so good fanfics. I've simply got to tell you that this is one of the best POTC fanfic I have yet to come across for reason that I shall try and explain outside my own skull.
I love the way you describe everything in this story. Your amazingly eloquent and you carry your extensive vocabulary well and I've admittedly learned a few new words in the course of devouring this story thus far. Sometimes I find stories sometimes get bogged down under the wight of over descriptiveness but i've never once experince that hear. Your story is addictive and easily readable while at the same time having something beautifully poetic about the way your string words together. So Bravo for that!
I also love the treasure trove of sailing knowledge you've been able to breath into this story it adds a gritty realism that is extremely unique in this fandom and I give you endless kudos for all the research that must have gone into tracking down all that mostless forgotten knowledge.
i adore what you've done with some of my chracters here. You've sucessfully molded OCs and canon charcetr together without making it seem awkward your chracters fit into the world liek they should. I also love how you've seem to burrow yourself into the heads of these characters and as such have been able to flesh out a lot more aspects to these character that fit in with how cannon shows them to be. For this you've captured my endless love! Whether you want it or not!!!
You've easily have me as a fan and in the past days I've devoured the parts of the story you have up and I'm eagerly on my knees waiting for more. I have to tell you you've had me cry a few times during the course of this story and i'm already eagerly awaiting any scraps your muse deems necessary to toss us poor souls.
Phew! I've gotten though the comment. Enjoy and be proud I don't think I've EVER had so much to say about any fic I've read before. rest assured I will be recommending this piece to all my POTC minded friends.
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Date: 2006-08-22 11:49 pm (UTC)I'm honoured that you rate "Crossing" so high on your list of fanfics. I try to write what I enjoy reading and am always glad when others seem to enjoy it as well.
Since I'm an artist first and a writer second, description is something I'm addicted to, followed closely by words, so I do tend to lovingly detail every minutiae of the scenes I write. I'm relieved that this is not clogging up the story and that you enjoy the way I've written it. Thank you for your kind words.
The research has been one of the things I've loved about this fandom. I find rooting out the past to be very intriguing. I now have several shelves of sailing books and historical accounts and journals. It's good to know that people are managing to navigate through all that technical jargon.
It's always good to know my OCs fit into this universe and that the canon characters are staying in character. I love designing new characters and exploring their relationships with the familiar ones. Thank you for letting me know that is working and that the emotional intensity of this story moves you. I'm all kinds of thrilled to meet a fan.:D
I'm bouncing up and down at receiving such a wonderful comment! Thank you so much for your effort and for the recommendation.
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Date: 2006-08-15 06:55 pm (UTC)Firstly, I must mention that I have never come across a piece of fanfiction that boasts such historical accuracy as your own. You write as if you have been sailing all your life; your story alone has taught me as much as I might have learned reading any given textbook about the AoS. Yey research! And many kudos to you!
After that, there's the storyline you have crafted; the one that keeps me on my toes; as soon as I think the worst has abated and the end is drawing near, something ELSE happens and the characters are thrown back into yet another worst-case scenario. The crew of the Black Pearl is, both literally and figuratively, riding waves. And in addition, you've still got that merciful comical element going on there, which keeps my eyes dry, thank goodness!
Oh! And I still haven't mentioned that I think Jip is the cutest thing ever to grace the deck of a ship. His loyalty to Jack makes me all warm and fuzzy inside and I really, really, REALLy hope his amputation goes well. Poor thing...
Also adore the dynamic between Gibbs, Anamaria, and Jack. I think you've captured all of those characters quite well, and therefore it's soooo interesting to see the way they react to the trying circumstances, as well as each other. Especially enjoyed reading what was going on inside Jack's mind during this last chapter, heheh. ....Annnnd Norrie. I can't forget your Norrie! He's far too brilliant! The way he's torn between his duty and his personal feelings is so heart-wrenching. Although I don't see how things could possibly work out well for him, I hope they do. He deserves it.
Thanks for a great read. Am desperately awating the next chapter.
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Date: 2006-08-23 12:00 am (UTC)I'm glad you like the historical detail in this story. I've sailed a little but only on a very tiny boat. Most of the information comes from reading first-person accounts of sailing square-riggers. I love doing that kind of research and I'm glad it is interesting and useful to you.
As for this roller-coaster ride the story seems to be on, I blame the muse. Every time I think I've solved all the problems, my brain presents me with another and Whoops! there it goes again. I'm glad the humour is making the anxiety bearable.
Yay! Jip has another fan! I do feel all warm and fuzzy when people love my little OC. He is a favourite of mine. He's pretty much hijacked my story.
I'm also glad that you like what I've done with the canon characters. They're such fun to write. And I'm thrilled that you like Norrington here. He's the antagonist in this story but I try to keep him from being a villain. I'm not a fan of villains.
Thank you so much for the wonderful comment. I do appreciate you taking the time.
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Date: 2006-08-28 12:16 am (UTC)Gaaaahh. (You've upped your stock holdings in Kleenex again, haven't you? You must have, for you're hitting hard in the very first paragraph. *sniffle*)
although it looked like a perfectly ordinary, boring strip of planking. Well, it was a piece of his Pearl and therefore infinitely lovely, but still.
"Infinitely lovely" hee! Such wonderful Jackness in the midst of all the awfulness.
yardgoods-intensive contraptions
Oh, my. What a delightful, inventive description of a skirt.
There was something disturbing about him, she decided woozily. "There's two of you," she muttered. "No wait, there's three, no two. Jack Sparrow, one of you is enough for this world. This is just wrong."
Marvelous. The entire exchange about multiple Jacks is delightful, and the inventory of the chest (mermaid!!) is a wonderful touch.
an adorable little mucky-nosed ragamuffin
Sort of like the one on his shoulders in another story? *g*
"Of course I can stand," Anamaria said defensively.
Uh oh. Have known people to say that and then pass out trying. *covers eyes with hands but continues reading through fingers*
"I know. I know, love," Jack said apologetically. "It's just me. You know I'm perfectly harmless."
"The only time you were ever harmless," Anamaria grumbled, "was before you were conceived.
*snort!*
All the required little steps to get to relief for Ana, and each and every twinge, both for her and for Jack - incredible scene, and so very realistic. Poor Anamaria, hating the fact that she cannot do for herself, and surely hating that this is one time she cannot overlook her gender! And hooray for Tearlach! (and as usual, you have exactly the right feel for an injury - having had one leg in a cast that went far too high, can say with certainly that you've captured just the right unwieldiness)
He could sense unborn slaps seething about inside of her.
Hee! A different type of wee beastie. *wonders what an unborn slap looks like*
"Feelin' better, eh?" he squeezed her shoulder. "No trouble at all..."
Dear Jack. Knows just when to apply a kind lie.
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Date: 2006-08-31 03:50 am (UTC)She would protect him with her broken wings.
Gaaaahh. (You've upped your stock holdings in Kleenex again, haven't you? You must have, for you're hitting hard in the very first paragraph. *sniffle*)
*g* I am thoroughly unethical. Insider trading is my middle name.
"Infinitely lovely" hee! Such wonderful Jackness in the midst of all the awfulness.
He always has a moment to spare to gloat over his Pearl.
What a delightful, inventive description of a skirt.
Thank you. Those full skirts are an extreme waste of fabric although they do swirl so nicely.
The entire exchange about multiple Jacks is delightful, and the inventory of the chest (mermaid!!) is a wonderful touch.
Jack seems like the sort that would be a packrat of all sorts of strange curios. I’m delighted you liked this particular collection.
”an adorable little mucky-nosed ragamuffin”
Sort of like the one on his shoulders in another story? *g*
He did say he wanted Aemelia to meet his first mate :D
"Of course I can stand," Anamaria said defensively.
Uh oh. Have known people to say that and then pass out trying. *covers eyes with hands but continues reading through fingers*
Fortunately for Anamaria, Jack doesn’t believe her.
All the required little steps to get to relief for Ana, and each and every twinge, both for her and for Jack - incredible scene, and so very realistic.
This turned out to be a very complicated process to imagine! I’m glad it seems logical.
Poor Anamaria, hating the fact that she cannot do for herself, and surely hating that this is one time she cannot overlook her gender!
She’s not too fond of asking for help and she’d probably like to have a few more centuries of liberation behind her.
And hooray for Tearlach! (and as usual, you have exactly the right feel for an injury - having had one leg in a cast that went far too high, can say with certainly that you've captured just the right unwieldiness)
I’ve only had a cracked foot and a bad charley horse, but I’m glad to know the imagination is working just fine. That cast sounds like a miserable torture device.
*wonders what an unborn slap looks like*
I have no idea. I think they’re invisible.
Dear Jack. Knows just when to apply a kind lie.
You can always count on him to be dishonest *g*
*throws roses* Thank you for the lovely comment!
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Date: 2006-09-17 04:54 pm (UTC)Another favourite moment was Jack's communion with the Pearl: ...he’d made his peace with her. She would protect him with her broken wings.
And Anamaria did not look vulnerable with four inches of steel driven into her thigh, as he had cause to know. That's Ana, and this is so very her, in my mind, as well: Whatever brilliantly mad plan Jack had gone in pursuit of, it would require that she at least sit up. Therefore, she would sit up. Without his help. Even though she felt as limp as a sail in the doldrums.
All the Jacks smirked at her. This whole bit of the conversation, with the two of them discussion how many of him there are, made me smile :-)
“The only time you were ever harmless,” Anamaria grumbled, “was before you were conceived. Lol! Probably.
But we’ll contrive, love.” Anamaria smiled, her eyes closed now. “You always do.” A rather hopeful ending, that's nice ;-)
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Date: 2008-08-05 10:24 pm (UTC)In spite of the fact that Ana is in such pain and discomfort here, it still comes across as a peaceful chapter,
Alas, this must mean I've been writing some dreadful mayhem! LOL.
I'm glad you enjoyed this combination of intimacy and wariness between Jack and Ana. And Jack always manages to wriggle out of difficult situations, doesn't he. I figured he'd survive this one.
Ana's character is always fun to explore. I'm glad you enjoyed that part of this chapter.
Between the two of them, they'll contrive. Every once in awhile I perch on a ledge on the cliff :D
Thank you so much for your comments and insights.