As man hath caused a blemish...

Cassiopea - what a coincedence so do I ^_^ Growly Davy's GOOD!

Capt_Davy_Jones_lover - lol Glad you like it

A/N: - SMUT NEXT CHAPTER PEOPLE!

After that the Captain seemed to want to keep a closer eye on me. Any excuse to keep me in his cabin or at his side was taken, even for little things. And if it wasn’t Jones then Wiggs or his friend Rawlings were ghosting my steps everywhere, *especially* if I was heading to the kitchen. Even though Pritchett wasn’t there anymore. He wouldn’t be there for a good few months. He’d been demoted to deck hand. I was tidying up the Captains cabin, finding a couple of supper trays I decided to take them back to the kitchen. Tucking them under my arm I headed across and down the decks. It was whilst I was walking down the ladder that I realised I wasn’t alone. I should have know. I weaved my way through the galley – comparatively empty considering it wasn’t meal time – and in to the kitchen, closing the door behind me. I flattened myself as much as possible on the wall beside the door…waiting…raising one of the trays high in my hand…and - there was a creak and the door opened ever so slightly, my tray headed downwards at a rate of knots and hit something with a satisfying clunk,

“Will you quit following me?” I snapped, holding the tray up, ready to strike again if needs be. Rawlings looked up at me as Wiggs helped him back to his feet. Fortunately I hadn’t hit him very hard, just annoyed him really,

“Don’t take it out on us, Captain’s orders” Rawlings snapped, rubbing the back of his head and flapping Wiggs away as he tried to help. The tray lowered slowly,

“Really?” I asked curiously,

“You think we *want* to be attacked by a mad woman with a tray?” Wiggs asked, the sullen tone dulled by the hint of laughter in his eyes. I rather think he appreciated me cracking Rawlings up the side of the head,

“Sorry” I said a little bashfully before I rallied, “But you two have no concept of privacy!” I flailed. They looked like naughty schoolchildren being told off by the teacher. It was hard not to laugh,

“You think Pritchett will care for privacy?” Rawlings said despite the sharp elbow that Wiggs planted in his side. The words were jarring and wiped the humour from my mind. Wiggs grabbed his friend by the back of his shirt, dragging him out, “if you’re not happy with it talk to the Captain”

“Fine” I snapped, stuffing the tray where it belonged before pushing past them. I glanced back in time to see them shrug at each other and follow along. I headed up onto the deck and hunted around for Davy Jones. He was surrounded by a group of men, navigators, helmsmen, the bosun, quartermaster and first mate, all huddled over a map talking in low voices,

“-can’t get there in time. Do we need to-”

“We can’t afford to miss this” The Captain cut through Collins’ with firm confidence,

“But we won’t get there unless we-”

“Sir?” I called forward, tugging at his sleeve, trying to get his attention,

“Not now, Spyce!” He snapped eventually, his patience obviously thin, as he waved me away,

“We’d get there quicker the other way, sir” Scholey – the ships navigator, I’ve introduced him before haven’t I? – said, regaining the Captains attention,

“Is it time then, Cap’n?” Collins asked, looking at me. *Everyone* turned to look at me. Jones’ gaze as ever was heaviest as he turned towards me, face straight but a dark humour lurking in his eyes that made me inexplicably nervous. I flinched when Collins reached out, taking hold of my chin and forcing it back so my throat was exposed,

“From the looks of things I’d say so lads” The Captain replied, shoving Collins’ hand away from my chin, leaving a scrape from the barnacles on Collins’ fingers, “So…take us down, Master Collins. To the helm, Scholey, keep us straight and true”

“Aye, aye, sir. DOWN!”

“DOWN!” The roar went up around the crew, a gradual staccato that ended soon after it began. I shot the Captain a questioning look but he merely looked at me questioningly. Turning back at the sound of an extra large wave against the hull I squeaked as the water rushed up over the deck. Turning to run I slammed into a solid wall of muscle. Davy Jones looked down at me with something of an amused smile, turning me round to face the rapidly rising water once more,

“What the hell-”

“Easy” He murmured. I whimpered, kicked, yelled, scratched, anything to try and get away. Drowning is one of my major fears, I’d rather shoot myself than drown. A mad thought hit me and I reached for the little knife I now habitually carried in my pocket as it rose quicker, up past the main mast and towards where we were stood. I pressed the blade against my throat only to have the Captain knock it from my grip, his hand tight around my wrist. I was in full panic, my breathing uneven as I struggled to get away and then the water was up to my knees and I turned my face as much as I could to bury it in the Captains shoulder. The water hit me full on with the force of nothing I’d ever felt before, I slammed back against Jones who seemed as immovable as a rock, feeling his arms around my waist steadying me. I’d taken a huge breath before going under out of instinct and I opened my eyes. The crew were unflustered, some of them grinning at me but most of them getting on with their usual duties just a little slower, half swimming and half walking and every movement graceful.

Spots of red and white were dancing in front of my eyes as my body demanded air and I felt myself starting to black out…right up until the point Jones’ fingers flexed against my side and I let out the breath in one huge bubble. Panic took over – with him holding onto my arms – until I realised I could breath. I finally calmed down enough to analyse that. The rush of water was cold, like a damp cloth pressed against my throat…inside and out. I shrugged off the Captains hands and turned to look at him incredulously,

“How?” It sounded like I was speaking through a mattress or something,

“Mythology’s a wonderful thing Miss Spyce” He replied, “haven’t you got duties to attend too?” He asked, voice muffled and movements slow and graceful thanks to the press of water as he turned away. I did the same, turning to see Wiggs and Rawlings in paroxysms of mirth, practically leaning on each other. I headed towards them – slow thanks to the weight of the water – and they, much more used to this than I, turned to swim away in a flurry of bubbles…bastards. With the shock of the water and trying to find Wiggs and Rawlings I forgot about my question for the Captain.

It was starting to get late, the sun kissing the edge of the sea, when we re-surfaced. As disturbing as going down was it was nothing compared to coming up. I’d gone back to my former duties, needles and threads, cloth and scraps floated gracefully around me, swirled by the currents and little fishes that floated through the ship. It was quite like a dance really, sewing underwater, everything had a rhythm…yes alright so I bloody liked it so what?

Coming up meant everything had to drain out…including the water I was currently breathing. I ended up retching out salt water on my hands and knees, my needles all over the floor around me, clothes in chaotic, soaking heaps everywhere. It had doubled my workload. By the time I’d dragged myself up to the top deck the raid on what looked like a fishing boat – one of the massive trawlers I’d seen moving in and out of the harbour – wrecked thanks to an exploded engine was nearly over. Someone bumped into the back of me and I turned to snarl only to see Wiggs grinning at me hugely,

“Best haul *ever*” He commented before ambling off,

“Miss Spyce!” I span round at the sound of Jones’ voice. He stood on the railings of the Dutchman, his clawed hand holding on to the rigging, the wind caught his coat just right with that smirk on his face and that twinkle in his eyes… ok so my knees might have melted just a little bit at that but damn…just damn…Wiggs shoved me again, this time prompting me into speaking,

“Yes, sir?”

“Run a message to the cook, tell him to get the fires started” There was a general happy growl from the crew and – unfortunately – he stepped onto the deck, limping a little but still one hell of a striking figure,

“Aye sir!” I yelped, staggering away to do as he asked. There were *several* cooks squeezed into the small kitchen and a real feast was cooked up. The Galley fairly *heaved* with crewmen, some of them had found instruments that *weren’t* wrecked by the water, a penny whistle and what sounded like a violin but couldn’t have possibly been thanks to the damage the water would have done to such a delicate instrument. Mainly it was singing, bawdy songs that made even me blush (someone who knows all the words to the ‘Friggin’ in the riggin’ song…if you don’t know then I suggest you don’t ask). It seemed that a full fledged party was underway in just a few short hours. I’d never seen the crew so carefree. I found myself sat in a hammock (the galley doubled up as sleeping quarters for most of the crew) that had been hauled up close to the ceiling, watching the merriment. The last catch from the Trawler was being slowly cooked and consumed, the crew were riotously happy and I was full and content for the first time in what felt like forever…though something was missing. A fork tapped off my boot and I looked down at Wiggs,

“Captains meal” He reminded me around a mouthful,

“Damn, thanks Wiggs” I launched myself off the hammock, grabbed a bit of everything, put it on a tray, stole a bottle of whiskey, flicked the v’s at Wiggs who was giggling madly at my efforts and bolted from the galley.

It was a beautifully calm night outside, though a bit of a breeze nipped the air. I shouldered the door open as usual and stopped. The sight that greeted my eyes was…ludicrously homely. The Captain of the Flying Dutchman was sat at his desk, rather than the pipe organ, pouring over maps and books that had obviously been stolen from the modern trawler. He held up a scrap of paper in two of his tentacles, alternating between looking at it and down at the book he was making notes in. When on earth did he start wearing glasses for reading? And how did they stay on without a human nose? I neither knew nor cared. It was then, right then. Watching him learning about the world that had grown up around him whilst his crew cajoled decks below, that I knew I really lo-

“You’re letting in a draft” He said without looking at me. I started a little, quickly closing the door behind me. I think his tone was irritable out of habit rather than any real emotion. I padded over, surprised at the lack of noise my feet made against the boards and placed the tray beside him,

“You really should try to eat something, sir…it’s been a long day after all” I said softly, not wanting to disturb him too much. Well, anymore than I probably had. He grunted, reaching over, taking a bite of bread and putting it back on the tray, his eyes never leaving the map in his han-tentacles. I stood, waiting for the evenings orders, fiddling with a little tear in my sleeve, I must have caught it earlier,

“Why do you have Wiggs and Rawlings following me around?” He sighed at the question, slapping down the map and taking off the glasses, looking at me as if highly exasperated,

“You’re in need of protection. And they seem to like you for some reason”

“I can take care of myself” I replied, blustering a little and quite probably lying. He raised an eyebrow, standing up in front of me, watching with his head on one side as I flinched back – hate, hate HATED myself for doing that,

“Is that so?” He growled softly. I took a step forward, fisting my hands for extra back up…damn it he was about a foot and a half taller than me,

“I’m not a delicate flower you know! I won’t break!” I yelled in frustration. A little fear crept in beside the anger as he reached out, clasping that crab claw round my wrist and drawing me closer until I was pressed against him,

“Is that a fact, Miss Spyce?” He all but whispered, his voice little above a dangerous growl, “prove it” I looked up into his eyes and knew that night I would prove it, any way I could.