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{fic} Lost at Sea 1/4 | Pirates

Lost at Sea

By Clarity Scifiroots

Regular disclaimers apply, I’m dabbling in someone else’s sandbox.

Pairings: Jack/Will unrequited (?), Will/Elizabeth (sidelines)

Rating: Mature, bordering on Adults Only

Warnings: Signs of het (vague moments of J/E and J/Tia... but not really)

Summary: Jack’s time in the Locker is not easily shaken. (AWE)

Recent edit: April 11, 2009

 

~ * ~ * ~

 

Solitude does more than drive a man to tears. The monotony of being truly alone eats away at the brain until reality vanishes entirely. Not that there has ever been much logic in the domain into which he’s been cast. In moments growing ever fewer and farther between, Captain Jack Sparrow recognizes that his questionable sanity has taken flight across the wasteland. He doesn’t particularly care to attempt chasing it; he can’t remember which way it went. Even with the perfectly clear, pale blue sky, he cannot see a speck out of place that might indicate its direction.

 

Jack occupies himself most days – and yes, he has come to formulate his own sense of time in this unchanging place – with the tasks of caring for his ship. A crew of Sparrow duplicates scurries about under his orders, though they vary in disposition as much as any crew he’s had the opportunity to command. He raises an eyebrow at the nervous man scooting towards the lone goat on board. There’s another who swings about and drops down out of nowhere to screech like that damnable undead monkey formerly belonging to his traitorous first mate. There’s even a Sparrow who busies himself more often than not telling tall tales with wild gesticulations and a disconcerting accent akin to Mister Gibbs’. At the helm he has placed the Sparrow with rather feminine curves; he snarks at the Captain with spirit true to AnaMaria. How she – he – came to be on board, Jack will never know.

 

With all of these disturbing mirror-images aboard, one would think that he would be terrified. But they are merely disorienting at worst and quite chummy at best. The companions that scare him witless are the ones that remind him of the reality he’d been ripped from, these visitors do not wear his face.

 

The rogue governor’s daughter is the first non-Sparrow he sees. He dodges her for as long as he can until one day he enters his cabin to find Miss Swann lounging in her cream-colored shift on his bunk. Jack swallows uncomfortably but can’t make himself turn away. She looks at him casually and tilts her head in question.

 

“What is it, Jack? Aren’t you tired? Come lay down.” She sits up, swinging her legs off the side and pats the bedding. At his wary look she laughs and stands up. “Really, Jack. Your lack of virtue is safe from me. I am a respectable lady trying to reunite with my fiancé, remember?” She looks like she believes that.

 

Jack edges toward the bed without coming within three feet of her, eyes locked on the wily female. “In case you’ve forgotten, luv,” he says, “you’re the one that put me in this fine state.”

 

Elizabeth blinks at him, expression charmingly confused. “Whatever do you mean?”

 

Gritting his teeth, Jack draws his sword and waves it at her. “Don’t try it, luv. You’re a right snake, leavin’ your capt’n to die!”

 

“You made the decision.” Her words are plain and she shows no reaction to his threat. “Didn’t you come back to save us?” Jack’s sword wavers and he sits down on the bed, trembling with anger and something else he cannot name. “Alright, so maybe you could have made the choice on your own, but it would take you too long to see reason. I just saw a different means to an end.”

 

“Go away,” Jack mutters, throwing his sword at her feet. “Go ‘way or kill me properly.”

 

He waits in silence for long minutes, eyes closed, waiting for damning words or a physical blow. None comes and when he opens his eyes she is gone. He curses her and spits on the floor where she stood. Girl doesn’t know a thing. She doesn’t know any more than he does if something else could have been done. Damned vixen hadn’t given him the opportunity.

 

“I was takin’ a chance!” he shouts angrily, flopping back on the bed. There is no one to hear his protest.

 

~ * ~

 

Next to appear is the bewitching Tia Dalma. She sits at a makeshift crate table with one of the food-obsessed Sparrows and plays a game of shells with a peanut hidden below the clams. Sparrow eagerly watches and tries to guess where the peanut is, a crazed lust in his eyes. Jack clenches his jaw and ignores them in favor of ordering about his crew. A particularly inept sailor entertains his attention for most of the day until Jack finally has enough and shoots the bastard. As the crew nervously gathers around their fallen companion, he sees Tia stand up at her table and smile at him with her all-knowing grin. Moustache twitching, he walks toward her.

 

“An’ what are you doin’ here?” he asks, sitting down on a barrel. He wishes for a bottle of rum, anything to further the distance between him and the mambo.

 

Tia sits across from him and tucks the shells into the folds of her skirts. “Whad do you t’ink?”

 

Annoyance makes him twitch again. Bloody women and their many ways of making him out to be the fool. “I think you’re here to gloat. Make a man a promise of safety an’ what becomes of ‘im? Well, look ‘round, darlin’.” He spreads his arms wide, encompassing his beautiful ship, somehow undamaged in this strange realm of un-reality.

 

The obeah woman shrugs her shoulders, unconcerned. She reaches into her skirt and withdraws something that she hides with both hands. Her yellowed eyes stare at Jack unwaveringly and he squirms under the intense gaze.

 

“Mebbe I be here to help,” she says, tone undulating slightly as power fills the air. “You wan’ to live, Jack Sparrow. Your life’s no’ done.” She grins devilishly and Jack shivers at the sight of dark-stained teeth. Without knowing how it happens, he finds himself holding onto a sheathed fishing knife that Tia offers him. “Cut ou’ him heart ‘n I ken bring you back.” She moves to stand beside him. He does not look up from the knife when her hand settles on his shoulder. “Bu’ ken you do id, fair Jack?”

 

~ * ~

 

He doesn’t understand what Tia Dalma means. Whose heart? He thinks for a time that she means Davy Jones, though the blackguard’s heart has long been locked in a chest, separated from body. But if not Jones, then who? Perhaps she meant his own, but that doesn’t make sense either, given that he would probably need the heart in his body to be brought back.

 

He entertains for a day that she used the male pronoun as a generic form, a sort of “mankind” as it were. If that is the case, he thinks, perhaps she means Elizabeth. The thought of cutting out the girl’s heart excites him for only a moment before his stomach lurches. He takes out his frustration on the crew of Sparrows and ends up spearing the Cotton-Sparrow for failing to answer a simple question; he threatens the man who protests such treatment.

 

~ * ~

 

He awakens from a dreamless sleep one “night” – though the sky never darkens – when feminine curves press his side and a soft fall of hair caresses his cheek. His killer’s voice whispers in his ear false promises of faith and trust and endearments, calling him a good man. Jack can’t shut her out, although he keeps his eyes closed so as not to see her innocent face that masks the truth. He tenses when her lips travel to his face, breathing lies over his skin and then searing words on his chapped lips. Her soft body lightly descends on him and even though her actions seem to convey sensuality, he does not respond nor does he believe sex is on this phantom’s mind.

 

~ * ~

 

Tia Dalma entertains the crew from time to time. Her laughter makes Jack’s teeth ache. He can hear the mockery underlying her every tone. Even though he wants to shout at her to go away, he avoids confronting her and makes sure he finds something better to do when she’s around.

 

~ * ~

 

He is visited in bed by his charming murderess frequently in the coming days. On one occasion Tia Dalma stares back at him as she holds his hand to her naked breast. Jack tries to shut out both of them. He attempts more than once to imagine better company. Although very much not feeling the urge to knock about with the women making their presence known, he’s feeling jumpy and fervently clings to the idea that sexual release may loosen him up. The many women who come to mind fail to appear – Giselle or Scarlett, those twins in Singapore, headstrong Ana. Nor do any men come to mind.

 

~ * ~

Continued in next post