Dusk

BonnyBlondeLass - Thanks so much. I go fuzzy at your kind words! Glad you like it.

This chapter is terrible but bear with me. Something interesting should happen shortly. t_t Also, if anyone could tell me how to write in italics it would be much appreciated.

--

The storm had died down somewhat.

Elizabeth sat demurely in her room at a small desk, rubbing her eyes from exhaustion. Upon her bed was Captain Barbossa whom was snoring loud enough to block out the distant rolls of thunder, his hat covering his face. She watched the sleeping man for a moment, still not quite believing he was there. For five years she had not been in contact with any of her old friends. It was far too dangerous, and her leaving this town even for a short while was impossible. Her son was schooled here for a start. She had a job, a house, a new life, and one day Will would sail to its shores to visit her. And now, when things were just about running smoothly in this new life, one of them had to turn up.

This did not frustrate or anger her. Captain Barbossa within her home was nothing short of pleasing. It would be nice having a friend stay for a while. She was the only one here for him now.

The quill in her hand stopped unsurely when she finished the date. She had taken up writing a diary about a year back, keeping track of the days so she could perhaps show it to Will upon his arrival. But over time, her entries became nought but a couple of sentences long, and mostly described how well William was doing at school or how stressful work had been. What to write now? That a pirate captain was currently in her bed? That wouldn't look good at all.

Instead, after a thoughtful smile, she wrote simply; An old friend has come to visit. Here's hoping he does not request a bushel of apples when feeling better.

Elizabeth closed the leather-bound book and stood to hover by Barbossa's side briefly. She dabbed at his fevered brow with a wet rag the pirate woman had fetched before leaving. The man grunted and sleepily tried to push her attentions away.

"Bugg'roff," he mumbled, attempting to focus on her hand. It seemed he wasn't quite sure where he was, which was understandable, but had he forgotten she was here already? No doubt the rum Angelica had given him to ease the pain was fogging up his memory. It was fairly amusing for Elizabeth to see him in this state, because for once his face was not lined with anger or deep thought. It was totally relaxed, aside from the occasional sneer or grimace as pain took hold. Maybe he did know she was here after all.

"How do you feel?" Elizabeth asked, pushing the candle on the bedside table closer to his head. His dull gaze met her own.

"Din't I tell yeh to take the wheel, Mrs Turner," Barbossa mumbled. He winced, then groaned as his bad leg twitched. " ... Coulda done with ye out there ... bloomin' sea witch couldn't keep 'er claws to 'erself. Gonna kill tha' bastard Blackbeard ... sunk us ... sunk the Pearl, missy, we coulda done with ye ..."

Elizabeth lowered her face to his to inspect him more closely. Was he even awake? Or was he dreaming the same dream that had filled her own night with fire and despair?

"Barbossa? Do you know where you are?" she asked clearly, dabbing his head again. "Can you hear me?"

"Dun' let 'er burn. It's sinkin', Turner, the Pearl ... It can't - she can't ... I lost 'er, 'Zabeth, I lost 'er ..."

Barbossa's hands were clenched. He was seeing things she couldn't see, his eyes roving wildly around the room. Worried now, Elizabeth gave one of his cheeks a firm slap and held his head still. However, this only seemed to anger him further. The captain grabbed her wrists and pushed her away to the floor with surprising strength, growling with outrage. Despite his half-drunken, exhausted state, he dragged himself upright and stood over her body.

Elizabeth panicked. The look on his face bore murderous intent. He was not in his right mind, but she would not have her son walking in on a terrible brawl between her and a stranger. Before Barbossa could act, she kicked his peg leg backwards, causing him to crash onto his knee with a pained hiss, grasping the bed sheets to hold himself steady. Again, she held his face between her hands with all the strength she could muster.

"Look, you idiot man, it's me! Elizabeth! You're not on the Pearl - you're in my home. Now settle down before you wake the entire street!" She slapped him again. There was silence for a few moments, wherein the only sound was the light pattering of dying rain against the window. Outside, the sun was steadily rising from behind a bleak, grey cloud, filling the town with a light it had not seen for many days. This warm glow slowly entered Elizabeth's bedroom.

Barbossa blinked blearily, his hands crawling to her wrists again. He did not push her, though. Instead, he held her hands to his face, as if seeking comfort.

"I thought you were somethin' else," he admitted, allowing himself to focus upon her properly for the first time. "Oh, damn the gods," he added lowly, releasing her wrists to fall defeatedly against the bed. "What's become o' me, Elizabeth? I've lost the Pearl good n' proper to that wheezin' cockroach Blackbeard. Where in blazes am I? The crew?"

Elizabeth quickly reached for a water jug and glass she always kept in her room. She poured a hefty load into the glass and put it to Barbossa's parched lips.

"Drink and I will tell you," she ordered softly. The captain drained the glass within seconds, allowing droplets of water to steadily drip down his chin to his chest where they lingered on the sun-kissed skin. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. The woman stood and rubbed her chin. She'd hit it in the fall. "You're in England, Barbossa. Dover. The crew of the ship that attacked you brought you here due to their captain's bad judgement. They thought Jack was captain of the Pearl. That woman mentioned they were looking for charts, so they must know he's in possession of the ones leading to the Fountain. Must've thought it would have been easier taking them from him dead. She said they knew the pirate king was living here and she found me. Clearly our work together has become known all across the oceans." Elizabeth smiled shortly. "So now you're here, with me. As for your crew ..." she paused, thinking back to her terrible dream that had proved to be true. "I don't think many of them made it."

Barbossa was a man of few irregularities. He was either calm and collected or in a fearsome rage. Now, as he sat on the floor before her, his pallid eyes bespoke a reluctant sadness. The Pearl sinking was a great misfortune. The ship was as much a part of him as he was of it - the only true pirate vessel in the Caribbean. It had achieved legendary status whilst under his command. It had brought down the mightiest of navy and pirate ships alike, and destroyed the toughest of coastal developments. It had sailed with the Flying Dutchman through maelstroms and had escaped the wretched shores of Davy Jones' Locker. It had explored the darkest, most haunted seas that most men feared to traverse. It had bore a goddess on her wretched journey to be joined with the sea once again. And now, it had been destroyed on a whim in a matter of minutes, most of it's crew slaughtered for nothing.

"I suppose the crew of the Revenge were kind enough to give me this, on top of everythin' else," Barbossa growled, his lips twitching in anger. He was looking at his peg leg as if it had done him great harm. "I'll find 'im, Elizabeth. 'E's nothin' but a wretched coward, hidin' low for years 'n then destroyin' the Pearl with foul tricks. 'Im n' Jack. The Black Pearl may be gone but it don't mean I can't live up to me name still."

Elizabeth nodded and helped the man back onto the bed. He kept to one side this time, now aware that she too needed sleep. "I've no doubt you'll find them, Barbossa," she said, dabbing his heated forehead once again. "Now you rest. Don't think upon what happened too much."

Before she joined him in sleep, she thoughtfully opened her diary to the latest page. Under the last entry, she added; Unfortunately, another old friend died some nights ago.

--

Barbossa was no more himself after gaining rational thought.

Under Elizabeth's cautious yet fascinated care, it had taken him a mere few days to burn through a raging fever that devoured whatever remaining energy he had left after Blackbeard's attack. The illness had temporarily rendered him unresponsive and barely conscious through the worst night, though it wasn't long before he was sat up and shouting insults towards his peg leg and the mysterious Blackbeard. It was safe to say that he was not himself. Though the fact he could shout and swear after his physical turmoil was not a surprise, Elizabeth was seriously struggling to get him to eat or drink despite the captain being a man of luxury whatever situation he was in before this one. If she tried to talk him into eating a forkful of whatever meal she had prepared, he would sneer at it and force her hand away. If she put a goblet to his lips he would shoot her the nastiest glare he could muster.

He was impossible, aggravating and imposing, even when ill. But the thought of him wasting away terrified a part of Elizabeth. Nothing could happen to him now. Not after what had happened. With this thought constantly in mind, the young woman did everything she could to make him comfortable and secure.

William was positively petrified of Barbossa. There had been much alarm when he had entered his mother's room the morning Angelica had left to find a tall man dressed as a pirate in place of Elizabeth. It had taken much effort to calm him and get him used to the captain's presence, though Barbossa's awful temper did nothing to sate the boy. The poor thing often cried to his mother when the man was in a rage. She had told him carefully that the captain was not a pirate - rather, an old friend who had been taken hostage at sea and needed her help to get better. Most of the story was true, anyhow, and it did ensure William would not go telling teachers at his school that the afeared Captain Barbossa was taking residence in his home.

Elizabeth had been forced to lie to work in order to remain at home. Being a rather unimportant assistant to Dover's dockmaster she was easily replaceable by a young sailor for a while, at least while she was healing from a fictitious bout of flu. She did somewhat deserve a small break, anyway. She had worked day in, day out for the snooty navy men, doing useless and repetitive chores for the sake of money, forced to stare out at sea all these years without once setting sail. It was surely a crime to be surrounded by beautiful boats and a glowing horizon only to remain firmly on the clean, orderly docks, but her direction was always homeward now, and by foot.

Barbossa was a bit of the unreachable within her own home.

Sharing a bed with him did not falter Elizabeth in the slightest. After all, she had often shared squalid and cramped conditions aboard pirate ships surrounded by grubby and odd-smelling male crew members. It was what occurred at night which disturbed her somewhat. Frustratingly, her morbid, often violent dreams had not dispersed upon realising the Pearl's fate. They were only getting worse and the woman would often wake with a shout, covered in sweat with horrible images replaying over within her head. Her lack of sleep was weakening her own temper, and it was a job holding her tongue towards young William whom would often vent his annoyance at the stranger's presence. Upon waking from a nightmare - which was an all to frequent occurrence for her liking - she would glance at the body of Barbossa and feel comforted. Too often he was burning along with his ship in her mind's warped visions. Sometimes he would be resting on the headboard, his eyebrows lowered as he watched her with interest. Once, he had smiled.

"Mrs Turner, ye are far too good to me," he had rumbled upon the Saturday. Elizabeth and William had gone to the market in town, and whilst there the young woman had bought several green apples for him alone. She entered her room and held one aloft. "Ye din't have to go to all that trouble, missy."

"Apples aren't as expensive here as they are at the Caribbean, Barbossa. There's an orchard by a village not ten minutes away by carriage - your twisted view of heaven, no doubt." Elizabeth tossed the apple to him with a smug smirk. His hand darted greedily out for it, though he missed and the fruit bounced heavily off his chest into his lap. "Are you feeling better?"

Barbossa thoughtfully inspected the apple. "Aye. 'Tis better bein' here than at the bottom o' the ocean," the captain said, his gaze drifting to hers. "Ye were like a god-send when I saw yer face, Turner. Yeh've been slavin' away for me ever since. A man can do nothin' but feel better." He bit into the apple. His face relaxed in pleasure as the sweet juices of the fruit melted onto his tongue. "I'll be makin' all this worth yer while, mind."

Elizabeth sat on the edge of her double bed and felt his brow. "You've been appalling, captain. My son thinks you're the devil on Earth. In what way could you possibly make this worth my while?"

"Ye be right. I got nothin' but me clothes n' weapons now, miss. But ye do know I can quite easily pay ye for yer kind hospitality once I get me 'ands on a ship. Let yer mind think back to the horde o' treasure on Isla de Muerta - 'tis all mine seein' as the old crew are dead. Plus more buried elsewhere. I'm a believer o' sharin', missy, n' a portion o' that - though small, ye understand - rightfully belongs to ye now."

His offer was very tempting indeed. Ten years of loot was stored on that cursed island. It was positively overflowing with gold and jewels, more than Barbossa would ever need for himself. She was surprised he would dangle such a prize before her, for all she had done was give him a bed for a few nights. Perhaps the fever had not completely left his mind. Whatever the case, any treasure she owned would be earned by her own actions.

"I don't want treasure, Barbossa," Elizabeth said, watching the man bite a chunk out of the apple and hungrily suck the juice from the wound. "Let your mind think back to when I was your hostage all those years ago. You never treated me as such."

"Aye," the captain retorted, wiping his mouth. "You were jus' in fear o' yer life n' virtue for weeks on end." He gave a dirty laugh. Obviously he was harbouring a memory of her in that wretched red dress, terrified out of her wits. "Yer far too noble, Turner. Best be a scallywag n' allow yerself some form o' reward. If not for ye I'd probably be dead, n' I'd rather not be goin' through all that again if it pleases ye."

"I'm sure I'll think of something," she replied, not intending to think of anything at all. "You should try standing again now, otherwise your good leg could get sore. Come on."

Elizabeth offered her hand, though the captain refused it. He carefully swung his legs over the side of the side of the bed and stood. Even though he was only dressed in his shirt and trousers, the crude prosthetic leg was rather befitting to him. Naturally it would be strange for him to get used to it as evidenced by the shaking of his right knee. Elizabeth quickly grasped one of his arms.

"This is gonna be a sour bitch on wet wood," Barbossa announced loudly, sliding the peg leg on the floor in experimentation.

"I would rather my son did not hear such expressions, captain."

Indeed, the house was small enough for harshly spoken words to be heard from opposite sides. It was composed of a large sitting area and fireplace, with a small kitchen attached, and a small flight of stairs to a landing that overlooked the ground floor and led to two small bedrooms. It was a dark house, lacking in windows, though rather cosy. It had been an excellent roost to raise a young lad.

"Aye, no doubt he inherited yer unfortunate disposition o' bein' in places yeh should not," Barbossa grumbled. He wearily lowered himself back onto the bed and rubbed his right knee. "I need a few more days. It feels like they hacked it off with a blunt butter knife."

Elizabeth stared at his leg. Only the gods knew how the crew of the Revenge had made such a clean job of it. Whilst he was asleep at one time, she had unbuckled the peg leg and checked the wound for signs of infection or severe bleeding, but there had been none. In fact, the skin had already healed over somewhat. She suspected that Blackbeard had access to medical supplies unfortunately unknown to most men.

"So what happened?" she said. The question had been itching on her tongue ever since he had arrived, but only now did he seem to be in the right state of mind to answer. The captain looked at her grimly.

"To me leg or me ship?" He didn't wait for her to reply. Instead, he grunted and moved to lean against his pillow. "A foul mermaid flopped up from the depths in order to distract me n' the crew. She -"

"A what?!"

"Don't be so surprised, missy. Yeh've been in the presence o' a goddess once. I should be a rotted corpse with a hole in me chest, but I'm not. They be nothin' but demons, Turner, not the blonde-haired beauties ye know 'em as. Calypso uses 'em as messengers, or assassins when she be too tired to be killin' people herself. This one were working' for Blackbeard. She lit a bomb on deck n' took me down with her as far as I can remember, n' that were after Blackbeard crept on up to pulverise me ship."

Elizabeth tried to picture Barbossa battling a mermaid, though couldn't quite manage it. Despite his words, she saw a romanticised, beautiful version of the creature, and imagined it throwing itself over the captain in an attempt to seduce him. They were branches of the passionate Calypso, after all.

"It's awful," she said lowly.

"Aye. Nothin' good comes from dwellin, though. Best move on and forget it." He silenced and looked morosely towards the window. After a moment, he squinted, then did a double-take. Elizabeth followed his gaze and was shocked to see Jack the monkey sat on the stone windowsill, watching them with greedy brown eyes. He was shivering.

"I thought he were dead," Barbossa croaked as Elizabeth opened the window. Jack leapt onto her bed and scampered onto the captain to sit on his chest, eyeing the half-eaten apple and licking his lips. He was immediately given it along with a fond scratch on the head. "Must've stowed away on their ship n' got lost. Good lad …"

The monkey was a conniving beast. Nobody but Barbossa seemed to like him. Although his fur was soft and his eyes large, he had the same greedy love for treasure as his master. Elizabeth could not help but feel relieved at the thing's arrival, however, as it was sure to cheer up her guest, and he would look more himself with it sat upon his shoulder. She quickly fetched a dry towel from the shelf of her wardrobe and allowed Barbossa to wrap the soaking Jack inside it.

"He's certainly audacious. You'll have to keep him under your gaze though, otherwise people will start asking questions."

"I suppose yeh'll get into a bit o' trouble if I'm found here. Figures, don't it? Ye do a good deed worthy o' wholesome praise only to get hung." The captain chuckled darkly and let Jack nibble lightly on his finger. "I'll do me best to keep him outta sight. Jus' make sure ye keep yerself off the gallows until I can walk." He grinned, though it was void of the usual malice. "Per'aps ye should go back to workin'. It don't take a young lady this long to throw off a cold, missy, 'specially a pirate king."

Elizabeth shrugged and smiled. "They won't miss me for a few more days yet. I'm rather enjoying doing bugger all."

Indeed, for the next few days she continued to feign illness. Aside from taking her son to school, she did nothing at all. It felt glorious having all this free time to herself. Under normal circumstances, she'd have read books or gone shopping in town for jewellery or clothes. Instead, she remained shut in her bedroom with Barbossa every hour she could.

It was an unconvincing lie that she was merely keeping an eye on him. It was a lie she told herself often. Perhaps the real reason as to her attachment to him was because he had fascinated her all over again. He would tell her stories of his past, or mermaids and gods in strong, eloquent and bewitching tones. He would listen to her recount of the past five years living in England. He did it all with that small smile and strangely soft gaze that rarely graced his features.

On the Wednesday night, Elizabeth was awoken by the savage beating of rain and gales against her window. She couldn't see it, however, as Barbossa's shadowed form blocked the glass. As if sensing her consciousness, he slowly turned, his face unreadable in the darkness.

"'Nother storm, missy. No doubt the docks will be closed tomorrow."

"Why are you awake?" the woman asked, rubbing her eyes to see him more clearly.

"Ye were dreamin' again."

Jack chittered dozily from Barbossa's pillow. It was true, she had been experiencing dreams again, though fortunately they were not as violent or terrifying as the ones before. They consisted of endless seas and dark islands. Once, she had seen a lonely Black Pearl bobbing quietly on angry waves, lost in its direction entirely with nobody to guide it. Another time she had seen a golden sloop travelling a neat, straight course into the setting sun, leaving the ferocious yet enticing ocean behind it. She was undeniably missing her adventures and the various characters she had met during those times. The times of strength and achievement. Courage and honour.

The sloop disappeared, though. It's small but proud sails were not to be seen again.

"I don't mean to wake you," Elizabeth said. She snuggled deeper into the warm crevasse her body had created and continued staring at Barbossa's back. His posture was straighter than it had been since he'd arrived. That impressive, robust stance was beginning to return.

"I know that."

"We can walk to the sea tomorrow if you want, even if the storm is still battering the town. Nobody will be out. I'm sure you're burning to feel the wind in your face again." The woman smiled to herself at the fleeting nostalgia.

"'N the spray o' the sea," Barbossa mumbled idly. He looked at her again as if expecting her to complete the quotation, though seemingly decided they had gone far enough. "Aye. This room be a tad small after all this time."

Elizabeth watched him limp back to the bed. He had not slept under the quilts thus far, though the nights were getting a lot chillier now. He carefully pulled back the sheets.

"Do ye mind?" he asked. Now he was closer, Elizabeth could just see his blue eyes examining her face. Did he think she didn't trust him? She knew him well enough to ascertain he would not try and impose a sneaky feel under the safety of bedsheets. At least, not anymore. Granted, being in such intimate proximity would be strange, though nothing she wouldn't get used to.

"I wouldn't have you freeze to death now," she smirked. Barbossa gently nudged Jack from the pillow and clambered onto the bed. It was when he finally settled down comfortably Elizabeth realised that he was much bigger and warmer than she. The heat under the bedsheets rose considerably.

"Aye. A walk it is."