As man hath caused a blemish...

Cassiopeia - Lol I always though Davy would have NO concenpt of personal space (what with probably growin up on a ship and all). And *pokes* you're soooo not a dumb ass :P Oooh the asshole in the kitchen has a...er...reappearance in later chapters. Don't worry ;) He gets his.

Capt_Davy_Jones_Lover - Buwahahahaar oh the suspense ;) Yeah, methinks perhaps Capt. Jones needs a wee bit of a challenge heh?

gambit_gurl_isis - well thank you ^_^ I wanted to keep it comparatively realistic and though Jones is a gentleman in a couple of ways I couldn't see him treating a girl any different to a guy. As for updates - are you kidding?! This is the slowest I've ever updated! ;)

A/N: - Er, bit of graphic violence in this one. Not a lot, just some.

Chapter Three
Falling out with the Captain.

It was winter. I know that much because it was snowing when the cargo ship went down. It was huge and it was in the middle of the Antarctic ocean and – check this for cliché – it was struck by an iceberg. Half stuck on an ice sheet that must have been the size of France, she was going down torturously slowly, the metal groaning against the ice in its death throws. I was hauled away from the railings where myself and the rest of the crew had gathered. Collins, the first mate, grabbed hold of my upper arm, the poisonous spines sticking out of his own arm brushing dangerously against my side,

“Cap’n wants you in his cabin” He growled, shoving me away as if I weighed no more than a feather. I span, staggered and half ran towards the captains door as Collins proceeded to bellow orders and chaos broke out on deck. I pushed my way through the panic that ensued and shoved into the cabin in time to see Davy Jones shrugging on his coat. I tried to ignore the slow curl of tingliness that curled into my lower stomach at the sight...my mind was chanting at me lookatthepowerinthatbodybodybody - shut up brain -

“Captain?” I asked, proud when my voice didn't tremble,

“We’re boarding the ship” He said, turning round, a sword encrusted with things that I didn’t even know existed, rammed home into his belt. I noticed something that bugged the living daylights out of me,

“Give me that” I ordered, holding out a hand before realising who I was talking too and sighed, re-phrasing it, “can I have your coat please, sir?” He shrugged it off, frowning at me questioningly - yes I was surprised I didn't end up with a slap for that but well...maybe I'd caught him on a good day?

“Why?” He asked, looking totally baffled…it would have been cute had I thought that he wouldn’t cut me into little, bite sized pieces for the sharks even for thinking it,
“You caught the edge of your sword” I said, surprised at the weight of it as he handed it too me. I had to hang it over my arm and hunt for the torn edge with my free hand to avoid dropping it. When I located the problem, I reached into my back pocket for something I’d habitually carried round with me for three years,

“You can *sew*?” He asked, as if it was the most unusual thing on the planet for me to be able to do,

“I was studying to be a tailor before you came along” I murmured, forgetting my place before quickly adding, “sir” onto the end. A few moments later the tear was fixed and I held it up for him to slip into, praying he did it quickly as I really wasn’t strong enough to hold the weight of it up for long. I smoothed it out over his nicely broad shoulders as best as I could when he turned round, ignoring the barnacles. The sword wasn’t hanging right either, it’d catch on his coat again if he wasn’t careful. It was whilst I was re-adjusting it for him that I realised what I was doing. My hand was still in his belt, the other steadying his shoulder (have I meantioned his shoulders yet? Broad and strong right? With me on that?) as I tugged at it. I froze and looked up into his face and felt myself blushing bright red as I thought about where else my hand could be. He raised an eyebrow at me as I untangled myself from him with lightening speed,

“You will stay by my side, girl, I don’t need you blunderin’ around making this any more difficult” He spoke sternly. I nodded, not bothering to argue and reached up awkwardly to tighten the rag keeping my hair back. My elbow was caught in his crab claw – ow! Ever whacked your funny bone off the edge of a table? Imagine that but constantly - and walked towards the wall. I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell was happening but it came out as a shriek as he walked through it…dragging me with him. I couldn’t breathe, it was like…nothing I could possibly describe. It was…it was awful. I was still yelling when cold air hit my face on the other side.

We were on the deck of the cargo ship, the crew of the Flying Dutchman were already there, stripping the ship bare of essentials and dragging frightened men to the deck. Collins, the first mate, slid up to the Captains side as I was released. I rubbed frantically at my elbow, watching events as Collins spoke,

“Seven men alive, twelve diein’…the rest have moved on” He growled. The Captain nodded, glancing over to where twelve men lay bleeding on the deck. It was strange, after all this time, seeing people in jeans and sweaters rather than rags and barnacles. One man even had a mobile phone stuck in his top pocket,

“Show them the way, men” Davy Jones said coldly, turning to limp away. I watched, not knowing what to expect as the crewmen hauled the dieing onto their knees, hands mutated with the amount of ocean running through their veins, cruel fingers grasping the hair of frightened, dieing men. I looked right into one mans eyes – they were blue, like the Captains, but so full of fear and resignation that I couldn’t look away. Axes, swords, knives were raised in unison…blood splattered all up the front of me but I watched the light leave his eyes before turning away to wretch over the side. I was shaking from head to toe with the effort of not crying and not being sick any more,

“Here” Someone handed me a rag and I looked up as I took it. He, one of our crewmen…obviously due to the anemone growing off the end of his chin and the starfish plastered to his neck,

“Is everyone in the crew a sea monster? Or is it a privilege?” I asked thickly, wiping my mouth clean

“You ain’t exactly human to look at any more either. The name’s Wiggs, ships carpenter” He said with a laugh that almost sounded friendly, offering me a hand up. Too distracted by what I’d just seen to realise what I had just heard, I took it, ignoring the barnacles that cut into the soft skin of my palm as he helped me to my feet, “first rescue?” He asked,

“This is a rescue?” I asked, looking down at the floor where the sea water was now running red with blood,

“Will be when we find anyone worth saving” He shrugged, his voice flat and emotionless. He glanced over to where the Captain was talking with the seven survivors,

“A ship this big and only seven survivors?” I asked, watching Davy Jones walking amongst the ranks. The Captain really was the sea…and any ship he set foot on was his own. You could tell that just from his body language,

“Have you seen the damage that berg’s done?” Wiggs asked, quirking what should have been an eyebrow (but was in fact a jagged outcrop of vivid blue coral) at me, “look over the side, there’s only a deck and a half left, the ice has sliced the rest clean off…even the propeller’s are gone” I glanced to one side but was too far away from the railings to really see. I was too busy watching the Captain. He’d flicked out a knife from one of his pockets, just a little three inch long thing, I’d seen other crewmen with the same kind of knife on deck, used for cutting rope and – I gasped as he drew the blade swiftly across one of their throats. He, a Captain, strong and healthy (probably I don’t know much about how to tell) slit the throat of a frightened, probably dieing man on his knees. He turned as I ran, still speaking,

“Anyone else want to – Spyce?” There was a rather satisfying sound as my fist – small, depressingly small, always hated my hands – connected with his face. I managed to hit him twice before I was mobbed by the crew. I went down, hitting the metal of the deck hard, my lip split before there was suddenly enough room to be dragged back to my feet. There was a fist in my hair and my head was yanked back,

“Assultin’ the Captain that’s-”

“Thirteen” Jones interrupted his own bosun,

“But-”

“Thirteen strokes of the lash, Mr Clarke” He snapped as he limped over, his tentacled hand fisting in the front of the other mans shirt, shaking him roughly, “Or do you wish to add mutiny to the list of today’s offences?” Clarke remained silent until he was let go. There was sullenness in his face but not quite enough to hide the fear underneath. I was dragged through the wall again by a number of crewmen. I gasped as we re-appeared on the other ship. I was frightened, so my mouth took over,

“Monster!” I was practically screaming, spitting out the blood the poured into my mouth from my lip, “you’re a monster Davy Jones!” I yelled as my sweater was torn open on the back, redoubling my efforts to get free but hands, claws, tentacles were pinning me in place. I was shoved roughly against the mainmast,

“It’s been said time and again, Spyce, what makes you saying it any different?” The Captain asked. I heard the dark bass of his clawed foot before the gentle touch of his tentacled hand on my back. I tried to force my way through the solid wood of the main mast, this wasn’t happening, it just couldn't be. The whisper that reached my ears – amongst the catcalling of the crew – stopped my struggles instantly, “flawless” The hand left my shoulder blade cold and I looked back in time to see Clarke hefting the whip and grumbling something about thirteen.

The whip cracked.

There was no pain for a few seconds and then it felt as if someone had dragged a knife across my back, from the top of my shoulder to the underside of my shoulder blade. I screamed. I wanted to be all heroic and brave and noble but I screamed myself hoarse. The jeering of the crew didn’t matter, the wood digging in to my arms and hands didn’t matter, neither did the cold or the weight of the Captains gaze. I couldn’t even count the strokes but they seemed to go on forever and once they were done I was just…let go. I wasn’t even thrown down just released as if I didn’t mean very much to anyone. I didn’t dare move. Pain can be pushed back, into a fiery little ball if you’ve got something else to concentrate on. I suddenly found the texture of the wood of the mainmast fascinating.

A rough hand resting on my shoulder caused me to wince and then for the pain to flare up. I whimpered as I turned my head, every little movement seemed to hurt. Just turning my head pulled at the skin that had been torn and dragged my hair through it…even blinking seemed to hurt. Strong hands lifted me, ignoring my pathetic noises…amidst the pain I can remember hoping that my armpits wouldn’t sweat on whoever it was’s hands. Ew, bad grammar. Anyway. I was hauled across and below deck, into someone’s cabin. It was only when I spotted the bed that I started struggling, despite the pain. I didn’t want rape added to the list of traumas for today thank you very much,

“Easy now, you’ll make it worse” A familiar voice said softly, close by. I looked up, blinking away the blurriness from my eyes and looking up at Wiggs,

“Found a spare shirt, Wiggsy” We – Wiggs and I – glanced at the door as another crewman walked in, a scrap of white cloth clenched in a spider like hand, “But its about three size too big for her”

“She’s got a belt, ain’t she?” Wiggs said behind me. I was sat down on a wooden chair, facing the wrong way so my cheek rested against the back of it, practically propped up against it,

“*She’s* got a name” I mumbled, feeling weirdly sleepy. A new face – one that was covered in a mottled orange and blue, round and far too cheerful looking – appeared in front of me, brushing my hair away from my face,

“Well you’ve got spirit if nothin’ else” He murmured. A hand that felt like warm jelly wrapped around my own, “brace yourself” There was the sharp, spicy scent of rum before it splashed across my back and I yelped, biting into the wood of the chair to try and muffle the stupid noise. Whoever the new person was he was making soothing sounds as Wiggs tended to my back, pulling the sewing kit out of my back pocket and using the slim needles to patch up my skin, “she’s startin’ to black out”

“Let her go down, Rawlings” Wiggs said from behind me as the world started to grey out, “it isn’t like she hasn’t deserved it after all. Let her sleep a bit