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Nocturne
BY: Sparrowhawk*** Jack He hears her whispers most clearly at night, when the Caribbean sky is deepest indigo and the ever-changing sea as black as her hull. She is a creature of the dark, he thinks, like a stingray or shark, beautiful but deadly, and he loves her for her lethal grace though she is fickle and he knows it. He is most often alone with her then, sharing the stillness of the midnight watch under distant glittering stars. His crew says he favors the darkness because his brains have been fried by the sun, and he laughs because they may be right. It's her beguiling voice that beckons him out of his empty cabin and onto her cool deserted deck, to stand at the helm and pleasure her with gentle fingers skimming lightly over her well-worn wheel. The sigh of the sails in the shifting breeze says she's happy with him this night, and he smiles. He hears sweet endearments in the slap of rope on canvas, the creak of mast and boom. The weathered planking under his bare feet is familiar and comforting, her caress. But although she holds his heart, his body aches for the touch of a loving hand. If the Black Pearl were a lass, he imagines, she'd have sable curls and deep blue eyes like the ocean at twilight. Her face would be fair and smooth as freshly polished brightwork, her limbs lithe and supple as new rope. She would be known far and wide for her beauty, her high spirits, and her faithless ways, for no one truly owned her and she would do as she pleased. Any man strong enough to tame her could hold her -- for a while. When the time came she would move on to the next port, the next sailor. Cheating wench, he thinks wryly, and when the sails snap in a sudden gust he wonders if he spoke aloud. His fingers stroke a graceful ebony rail, satiny as a lover's skin, and she calms and whispers to him invitingly once more. Aye, she knows what he needs tonight. If he could, he'd kiss her languidly like the waves lapping at her sides, caress her like the rising wind, ride her hard like the pitching of heavy seas. When her hull shudders, throwing him off-balance into the wheel, he grins. If she had hands, they would be all over him. Any other evening it might have been enough, stroking himself to completion by her swaying rhythm, but his mind, changeable as hers, drifts to his other love, one of warm flesh rather than windswept wood. A young man, hardly more than a boy, the only real competition the Pearl has ever had for his affections. A boy--no, *man*, he reminds himself--left behind in a good-intentioned moment of bad judgment. 'Twas foolish to let such treasure slip away, he thinks. One word and the lad would have followed him. No one since has warmed his bed, nor his heart. Vivid memories rush him, sudden and forceful as a summer squall. Kisses as fiery sweet as the best aged rum, gentle hands, trusting eyes he sees even now in restless dreams. He misses the boy as keenly as he missed the Black Pearl in those long years apart, maybe more so. He hopes she will forgive him for it, hopes she will understand. But for all her fickleness, the Pearl is not a jealous mistress and so she does not complain or even seem surprised when he changes course with a determined spin of her wheel, bound for Port Royal. * * * Pearl The first time he set foot on her decks again, she quickened, though his long absence had nearly silenced her forever. Pining for him had dulled her, but thankful she was for that small mercy, given the indignities she'd suffered after he left. Neglect. Ugliness. Filth. Worst of all, those hateful creatures devoid of kindness or respect. They couldn't hear her whispers and wouldn't have cared if they had. Not like him. In all her years no one had loved her like he did, listened like he did, and she'd thought him lost beyond hope. How she had missed him! She is awake now, and they are together at last. Beneath the golden sun he belongs to others of his kind, who scurry about her decks tending her under his watchful eye. But by the enchanted light of moon and stars he belongs to her and she to him. He listens for her voice, but words are unneeded between them. His graceful hands make love to her; there is music in his steps, in his laughter. She rocks him gently, high above the waves, singing to him with canvas, rope and wood. Her whispers and songs soothe his restless heart. There will be no one else for her. Never again. She is his and only his, now that he has returned. She will send him to the depths before she allows him to leave, and join him there before she allows another to own her. But though he loves her well, she knows he desires more warmth than sun-baked wood can offer. She doesn't begrudge him that; he is only a man, after all. His flesh needs release, his heart needs a companion. She feels it strongly in him, yearning that runs deep as the ocean, relentless as the tide. Regret is mingled with the longing she senses from him. He is craving someone he lost. She reaches out to him, questioning, and he shows her a tall young man with chestnut hair and dark amber eyes. She remembers that one, though she knew him only briefly. The evil ones had locked him in her brig, though of all those aboard he had deserved it the least. She'd been angry with them for that, and for their many other vile deeds. Bloody pirates! If ever she crossed their wake again, her cannons would blast them to hell where they belonged. He strokes her wheel absently, his thoughts far away. She nudges him, just enough to get his attention. What is he waiting for? She knows what he wants, but it is unlike him to hesitate. Does *he* know what he wants? She nudges him again, harder, feels him smile in the darkness. Aye, he hears her more plainly now, and she whispers to him of love and longing. Suddenly he changes heading, pointing her bow to the west, and she begins whispering softly to the boy, wherever he may be, so he will be ready when they come for him. * * * Will He hears the whispers most strongly at night, after the ringing of hammered steel has faded from his ears. It tickles at the back of his mind like seaweed adrift on the waves. He laughs at himself for his overactive imagination, born of restless nights and half-remembered dreams. In his mind's eye he sees them, the mad pirate captain and his ship dark as midnight. He's pleased they're together again, though with a pang of regret he realizes he wishes... no, don't think of it. Don't think of him. But it's an easier thing to tell the tides to still. He misses him, and at last he can admit it to himself. Misses his wicked eyes, his cocky smirk, his irrepressible spirit. He misses lying cradled in his arms, rocked upon the starlit sea. The few nights they shared--steeped in rum, slicked with sweat, feverish with want--still haunt him, memories that awaken him and leave him aching, bereft. He lost his chance to follow the pirate, a chance he should have taken and didn't, a misguided choice he will forever regret. And now he wishes he too was aboard that sleek black ship, sailing for a distant horizon. The whispering reminds him of who he lost and what he longs for. It has grown louder, these past few days, and he realizes that it's her, the Black Pearl. Although it sounds mad, he accepts it as truth because he's seen and heard far stranger things. He doesn't quite understand why she's whispering to *him*, though. He doesn't know her like Jack does, barely knows her at all. Must be because of Jack then, he tells himself. He indulges a fancy; perhaps Jack has told her about him. That would mean Jack still thinks of him. He hopes so. Tonight the whispers draw him out of his lonely bed and down to the harbor. Standing barefoot in the shallows he can hear the Pearl more clearly, can think more clearly. Now there is nothing holding him back. Elizabeth, forced by her father to honor her promise, had married Norrington and departed on their honeymoon weeks ago. Will no longer cares. His heart did not truly lie with her, though he'd hoped it did, even wished it did. Better a governor's daughter than a roguish pirate captain, he'd told himself at the time. Now he knows differently. Now he waits. At this hour the harbor is quiet, the docks deserted. The dank scent of fish and seaweed rises around him as the tide begins to roll in and the sea, warm as bathwater, inches higher. A quickening breeze stirs his hair. Gentle currents tug at his knees, beckoning him out into open water. He holds his breath and sways with the pull of the waves as the whispering floods his mind again, stronger than before. "Wait for me," she tells him. "We are coming for you." When a dark ship crowned by dark sails glides silently into view, he smiles. * * * Moonlight illumines two bodies lying blissfully entwined in the captain's bunk. The cabin smells of rum and sweat and home. Drowsily the captain tangles one hand in damp chestnut curls and rests the other against the polished paneling of the cabin wall. He holds them both in that moment, so close, so dear. The ship sways serenely under his touch, whispering of love and contentment, and the man next to him murmurs softly and snuggles closer. Onward through the night the Black Pearl sails, watching over them as they fall into slumber and reach for each other in their dreams. -end- 24 September 2003 |
