Parlait

If she were an innocent woman, or even a sane woman, Elizabeth would have been repulsed, would have run from him. She’d pushed him. He’d meant to scare her, she had no doubt, but instead she felt a sudden rush of intimacy between them, something that only the each could understand about the other. She had needed a moment to steady herself though, for the sudden image of smoke surrounded her, closed her off by herself, and she was back inside Jack’s cabin aboard The Pearl, racing in, overwhelmed by the most acrid, sweet haze. He sat there in his bunk, smoking his hookah, eyes opening so slowly it was like they were being peeled up, lids rimmed red within the kohl lines. “Lizzie,” he smiled lethargically and beckoned her over, holding the stem of the pipe out to her.

She coughed. What was wrong with him? How could he be smoking rum? “Jack, a navy ship! We think it’s a navy ship’s been spotted!”

Jack groaned, his eyes drooped closed again and he took another deep, hissing draw on the hookah, waving his hand towards her as if some insect annoyed him.

“Jack! We need to make sail!” But he didn’t stir, only exhaled a hefty amount of the smoke, the billows of the sugary, tarry fog choking her again as Elizabeth fought not to inhale it. Usually it was rum that she was rousing him from, the smoke, whatever it was, was something new, though no less welcomed. Her anger rose, one day they’d face capture and the noose, and it would all be due to Jack’s indulgences. “Captain Sparrow! Your crew and ship are in need of you!”

Jack’s eyes snapped open, but he squinted, seemed to wait for them to focus, and when they did he looked directly at her, seemingly surprised to see her there, and he smiled. “Lizzie! Why yeh look so worried, love?”

Oh she’d had it! Enough of these silly, rum or whatever he was smoking, induced loops! She hadn’t remembered crossing the cabin floor to get over to him, she only knew her anger lit her face up red, and she stood over Jack, yanking the pipe out of his hands. “Get out on deck, and get us out of here! Jack Sparrow, sometimes I swear I could kill you again!” She turned on her heel, ready to stride out, when to her back, Jack muttered something that would stay with her.

“I ‘ad a first mate like you, once!”

Barbossa; Elizabeth looked up at him now with so much understanding in her eyes. In only a few seconds she learned so much about the man she loved! He’d been married, he’d had a child, he was a widower, he was a murderer and he was sorry. Remorse, she knew the feeling well, no matter the outcome of things, it had dug such deep tracks upon her soul that she’d always feel it. She’d wanted something to bind she and Barbossa together, to bring them back to that alcove they’d started to settle so peacefully into, but she’d never guessed the bridge to that happiness would be this. She’d killed Jack once, the man that she’d said she loved, and she’d felt that way about him even when she’d killed him, but those feelings hadn’t stopped her.

The dawn was suddenly so very cold, who and what she was hurtling back to her, a tear nearly slipping down her cheek, but she wasn’t sure for who; Jack, Barbossa, or herself. “Why do we do these things?”

Her eyes held his with such forlornness; she obviously understood what it was like to feel what he felt. He’d forgotten what she’d done to Jack, that had seemed such a little thing at the time, and besides, he’d been dead himself when she’d shackled Jack to the mast of his own ship, the news hadn’t reached him. But Barbossa began to think now how Elizabeth had condemned Sparrow to death without knowing at the time that it was possible to go and retrieve him, erase her deeds against him, and expunge her soul. And from the look in her eyes, there had yet to be any abstraction of that guilt, a coldness still remaining and setting forth over her again any time she and Jack were face to face. How could two souls meld together as one in any union, legal or not, with that much guilt embedded in one of their hearts?

And that’s when it made sense. He’d found her in Tortuga, alone! She’d said that she just wanted to show Jack that she could still get on by herself, but what she’d truly done was run, terrified that her shame would consume her. She suffered the same curse as he; their footing was even, their paths having lead to the places they now stood; tainted, but kindred souls.

“Tis a most grievous thing,” Barbossa spoke lowly, breaking their stare to draw her against him, turning her so that her back was to his chest, giving her the sea to look out upon as the sun rose above it. Did she tremble, or did he? “That of all the men you’ve come to know, love, or hate, that I be the one yer most like.”

She turned in his arms, the sound of his heartbeat against her ear more comfort than the sea, more comfort than anything had been for so very long. She wrapped one arm around his waist, the other with hand flat against his chest and closed her eyes, realizing what a bloody closeness this was; something only they could share. The tear in her eye escaped, rolled down towards her ear, but was absorbed his shirt. Barbossa’s embrace grew tighter, just when she needed it to, his strength alone such a forgiving, sympathetic security. The day was brighter now, but the winds picked up, chilled her naked body within the bulky coat. “How did it happen?”

“No,” his arms stayed around her, but he pulled away just a little. “I won’t relive that with ye.” His reasons were selfish, he should tell her, at this point, he owed her that, but he just couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. Elizabeth however didn’t protest, just leaned against him shivering.

“The first time I kissed Jack,” her trembling hand clutched at his shirt, twisting at the fabric, tried to hide against the Captain’s chest as her body shook with an all too familiar terror of what she was. “I felt that he loved me, truly loved me and needed me, not just wanted me…but I used it to my advantage, clipped a shackle to his hand—“

“Shh, girl,” She quaked horribly against him, Barbossa stepped into her once more, held her even tighter, leaning down to kiss her forehead, wanting to protect her from her memory as much as he wished to protect himself from his. “This not be a confessional and I not be yer priest.”

“But,”

“Me cabin,” he whispered, the footsteps of the waking crew echoing up the stairs and onto the deck. He had duties to attend to now, and he wouldn’t have her seen wearing just his coat by men who would look upon her with sharp lechery in their eyes. “Go now, get yerself a shirt from the wardrobe, try to sleep. I’ll be at yer side as soon as I be able.”

“You will?” Elizabeth straightened, taking her head from his chest and catching her own tear as it made a break for her cheek; the tremors ceasing as soon as he’d said he’d be with her. “Do you promise, Captain?”

He held only her hands now, looking down into her eyes, a jumble of relief, sadness, hope and grief combining to chip away at the loneliness he’d felt for so many years. At last, he was not the only one. The crew were quickly overtaking the ship, damn them! This sudden bond, this sudden warmth between them made Barbossa long for another session against he gunwale. “I give y’me word, Elizabeth,” he raised her hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers slowly, it was so easy to feel less like a monster with her near him, “as a man.”

Elizabeth felt the tip of her little finger caressed briefly between his lips, thought she’d even felt him begin to lightly suck it, but he moved her hands away from his mouth before the sensation grew. A smile crossed her lips, there was so much more between them now, though dark. She’d never shared a connection like this with anyone else, her emptiness combined with his, only serving to create more space for the other to fill. She wanted him, his body taking hers, her body holding his, the bleakness smothered between their ravishment. She stood up on her toes, angled her neck to kiss him, but he pulled away, distracted by the noise of the crew, however leaned a bit closer to shield her body from their view with his broad shoulders. There was certainly an unexpected and startling sense of decorum about him, and it made Elizabeth feel precious. He did love her. He had to! Yes, she would have him again, as soon as he returned to her in the cabin. She made to turn away, pull her hands from his, and walk off, but he held tighter.

“Y’ll have me as yer escort?” But it wasn’t a question; in no way, shape or form would he allow her to walk all the way back to his cabin, alone, dressed only in his coat. He offered her his arm, a gesture he hadn’t practiced in quite sometime.

Elizabeth stared down at his forearm, for a moment forgetting how to wrap her arm and hand around a gentleman’s chivalrous proffer. This was something a lady did, and she hadn’t felt herself a lady in so long. “It’s been years since I’ve walked as such with a gentleman.” She intertwined her arm with his, the belly of her forearm against his, their fingers lacing together.

“No ‘gentleman’ be had here,” Barbossa lifted his arm upward, raising her hand up in some proud manner, as though he carried a falcon. “but my hope is that y’ll walk at any accord.”

The muscles of his arm flexed against hers, Elizabeth sighed, wanted to lay her head against his strong shoulder, but didn’t, figuring he wouldn’t appreciate such a display before the eyes of his men. And they did look and leer the nearer she got to them, making her unconsciously draw nearer against the Captain as they walked.

“Don’t look at them!” Barbossa told her between gritted teeth, his sinister glare greeting each man who cast his eyes upon Elizabeth’s precariously dressed form. How dare they look, how dare they try to steal some glimpse of breast within the garment that drowned her, how dare they dream of some flash of thigh or rump through the slits in the coat tails! “Bosun, make ready the cat for any man derelict of alert performance in his duties!” The growl was such that he’d even felt Elizabeth flinch beside him. He patted her hand. “And set a course for the trade routes; we be after silks!”

The gloominess faded further. They were now to intercept ships on their way from the Orient? “We have a new heading?” He wasn’t taking her back to Jack?

“Y’be needin’ clothes, Elizabeth.” He said, quickening their pace as they neared the shelter of the above quarterdeck, away from the eyes of the crew. Having her aboard was both cause for glee and concern, particularly if she’d nothing to wear but his shirts and occasionally his coat.

“Oh,” she tried to sound like she hadn’t realized he was keeping her, that she was to remain his prisoner, happily so. A sigh of relief and joy escaped her, but she did her best to temper it into a yawn, so afraid that if Barbossa knew she’d figured out that they were forgoing the hunt for Jack and The Pearl, that it would cause that insecurity she’d seen in him earlier to arise, and make him change his mind, and their new course. No, she wouldn’t let on at all, she’d pretend not to notice, wait for him to tell her. And then he did, opening the door to his cabin, pulling her threw it and into his strong arms as he slammed the door shut.

Kissing her was not best use of his time, for it would be too easy to get lost in her and end up lingering with her in his cabin while he had the ship and crew to see to. But Barbossa couldn’t resist the urge for the taste of her, tipping her head upwards, persuading her jaw to drop with a stroke his finger on her cheek while his lips pressed to hers, and he pulled her tight against him. They each kept terrible secrets that darkened their worlds, but now they could each feel the other when they reached out into that darkness.

Just hold on, Elizabeth thought, willing him to keep her in his arms, the kiss out growing her or his control, a sudden need to hold the others lips or tongue within the others mouth. She’d began to feel something within him so ravenous, so unattainably vacant that drew upon her, tried to swallow her, but there was an abyss deep within her that attempted the same of him. She lashed herself to his big body, arms and leg wrapping around him, feeling herself lifted up, his hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her head back, deepening the kiss to his own satisfaction, pleasuring her by what he took from her.

He could feel the heat radiating from between her legs; it would have been easy to smooth his hand beneath the coat and squeeze her breast, make her more ready even as she was still likely slick with the remnants of his previous pleasure. If he pressed closer to her he’d harden, and then it would be only fabric keeping her from relying on his strength to hold her as he took her. He’d had her nearly all night, and this morning, and yet his desire for her only grew in magnitude. Was this some other trick of Calypso’s refurbishing of him, or was it the shadowy bond that was forming between he and Elizabeth? Whatever it was, it threatened to consume both of them, bury each of them so far within the other that their pasts couldn’t find them.

But the ship, he was her Captain, as disagreeable a position as it suddenly was. He’d tried to step back, let his arms drop from around her so many times, but his body wouldn’t obey, wished to be one with Elizabeth. It would take more than simple will to break this wanton spell. With an irritable growl, Barbossa wrenched himself away from Elizabeth, only to have her move against him again and try to resume the way they’d clung to each other. He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her, saw how glazed her eyes were, wondered if his looked the same, and shook his head. “We’ll hafta wait a bit, I fear.”

Elizabeth shook her head, drew in a deep breath, coming back again, but wishing it weren’t so. Standing apart from now the cold memory of killing Jack filled her where Barabossa’s body had once warmed her. Had she the same effect on him? “We should probably talk first, too.”

Talk? “Fine,” the very thought sent a chill up his spine; he remembered that night when all things spun out of control so well, there was no need to talk. “But not about that.” He moved across the cabin to his wardrobe, opening it and rifling through it until he found a clean, never worn, white shirt. The upper drawer; he wouldn’t talk about that night with her, but he did owe her some knowledge of it. He reached up, opened the drawer, moved aside some loose pearls, a few quarters of eight with his fingers, until he found the broach, closing his hand around it, hiding it not only from Elizabeth’s view, but his own as well.

“But, Captain—“ She wanted to tell him, she wanted to know what his story was, felt that it should be out in the open, no matter how terrible. How else were they to become as close as she hoped they would be? For the first time in her life Elizabeth felt that she’d found a man who would truly take her as she was.

“Be needin’ me coat, girl.” He told her, not allowing her to finish, not wanting to hear it. The broach, it would do for now, be enough answers to her questions. What good could possibly come from discussing that night with her? How could he tell her of how he’d loved Graciella and Juliana so very much, how they were his world, and despite that, he’d killed them? How was he ever to look at Elizabeth and tell her that he loved her, if she knew the tale of his family? His sentiment would mean nothing, if not worse. It would be like a death warrant. He killed those he loved. The broach in his fist, the names on his chest, all felt lit with fire; all of a sudden Barbossa realized he could never say to Elizabeth, “I love you.” That revelation opened a new pit within him, and as he handed her the shirt to put on, it was all he could do not to pull her to him, strip her, and fuck her, filling that emptiness with passion.

“Captain? What is it?” He seemed to be staring off, his expression suddenly blank. What had come upon him? How could she rid him of it?

Barbossa turned his back to her, waiting for the latest of curses to clear. “The coat,” he said, for a moment squeezing the broach tightly in his hand as if to crush it, as if doing so would remove the memory. “Hand it over, don’t be makin’ me watch y’remove it, tis not a test I can stand presently.”

Could that truly have been it? Her nudity would have disturbed his sense of duty that much? Elizabeth doubted it, but felt a smile spread across her mouth as she undid the buttons he’d done up for her and then slid out of his coat, wishing she could have somehow caught a glimpse of what it had looked like on her fey form. She draped it over one arm, shaking loose the folded white shirt with her other hand, and then pulling it over her head. “Here,” she held the coat in her outstretched arm, smoothing the shirt down her body with the arm that had unfurled it. The crisp white garment hung to her knees, the sleeves ending several inches below her fingertips, and the V-neck collar dipped between her breasts, held closed by laces which would have been so enticing to undo had Barbossa worn it. “You can turn around now.”

He did, looking at an Elizabeth who appeared to be on her way to bed in a short nightdress, the sight reawakening dreams of intruding himself upon her chambers when she was just a girl back in Port Royal. There was no cause for any forced intrusions any longer, and Elizabeth was not a mere girl any longer. Dare he allow himself to think it, she was his, in a way she would never belong to her father, Norrington, Will Turner, or Jack Sparrow. “Sleep until I return,” he slid his arm back into the coat, the broach still clasped in his fist, “but don’t be expectin’ much talkin’ when y’see me next.”

“Will we ever talk?” Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked that, but she’d already asked so many things that would have been better left unsaid. Besides, now Elizabeth was testing the new boundaries of their relationship, anxious to know what she could get away with doing that others would not.

His coat was on, the crew’s stirring onboard deck was louder now, the day had officially begun, Barbossa knew he should have just pushed passed her and left without a word. But no, she already felt that there was something between them, something that he wouldn’t discuss, nor deny. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, the words leaving a sudden burn in his throat as he took her hand and pressed the broach, pin side up, into her palm, then quickly strode out the door.

His departure was so sudden Elizabeth was more distracted by it than by the item he’d pressed into her hand, but now she looked down, turning it over. The broach was more of a small frame surrounding a porcelain canvas, on which was painted the portrait of a beautiful woman, with long, almost black hair. On her lap was a little girl, perhaps four or five years old, her hair not quite blond, not quite red, and she held a pretty doll with long golden hair in a red silk dress. There were no inscriptions, no names, but Elizabeth knew immediately what it was the Captain had decided to share with her. She smiled, but felt a sudden tug of sorrow for his loss, he’d obviously loved them, he’d kept the broach all this time, despite how their fates came to pass. But again she wondered what had happened. She doubted no one else had ever been shown this piece of jewelry, and it had seemed as though even Barbossa had put where he wasn’t likely to see it as well. What a powerful trinket from his past this was. And then Elizabeth realized something. The broach; being shown the portraits was their conversation, they’d talked.