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<CENTER> Penny for Your Thoughts (MA)</CENTER>
Contrary to popular belief, Christine Geddes and Jack Sparrow had been very good friends at one point in time. It had been a long time ago, and there were few now who could remember, when the redheaded harlot with her wide blue eyes would walk arm in arm with a young pirate - not yet a captain, not even a first mate - pointing out all the new things in Tortuga. They would then sit down at a tavern and Jack would regale her with adventures waving his hands wildly about and Christine would gasp and nod at all the right parts.
This, unfortunately, is not about those times.
The first time Christine met Bartleby Jones was, ironically, the same night she and Jack Sparrow had their final proper conversation. They were still young then. Jack was a first mate and he had just found out that he like dread locks. He wasn't yet a pirate lord, but he was certainly in the making. Christine had been on Tortuga four years. It was only a year after the incident that broke them apart when Jack found her lying on the beach after her first encounter with Bartleby.
It was growing dark in Tortuga. The rain was a curtain of chilling, painful needles and from the looks of things it was very unlikely that it would be lifting anytime that night. Down by the docks a solitary form was huddled in the wet sand with her arms around her shaking knees.
Christine stared out in shock at the boat lined up on the docks, most of them were small dingy's used to get the crew over from the large vessels that brought them over as the ships tended to be to large for the shallow water around Tortuga's shores. Not to mention there was a small reef to worry about. She was alone on the sand not even one of the dock harlots prowled about looking to catch sailors right off the gangplank - no one wanted to be out in this weather.
Christine was a mess, but she couldn't find it in her to care. The redhead's hair was in disarray and some of it was plastered to her face. Her eyes were swollen and red to match the bruises forming on her arm. The green dress she was wearing had been shredded at the bottom and only one sleeve remained. She felt as empty as the purse hanging at her belt that had been torn open by the same hands that rendered her unconscious not too long ago. A pale shaking finger touched the darkening spot on her hairline where the butt of a pistol collided against her.
The cold was setting in and her body continued to tremble in a vain attempt to regain heat. Christine wanted to stand but the man who had robbed and - she felt bile rise in her throat - violated her left such a pain in her that she couldn't stand on her feet. The bile rose again as the thought of what happened crossed through her mind and this time she vomited. After losing the contents of her stomach she forced herself up for a few moments just so she could move away from the mess, even if the rain quickly washed it away. She wished that it would do the same for her. She felt disgusting. The girl laid back in the sand her head swimming in pain from the sudden movement and let the rain wash over her with outstretched arms.
At the edge of the docks there could be seen a dark shape, its edges blurred by the downpour. The swaggering gate turned into a jog then a clumsy run. The voice was distinct if a little slurred.
"Chistine!" The voice was right over her (she could hear worry coloring it) and she could feel the rain suddenly absent from her face. She smelled alcohol. She refused to open her eyes though.
"Chrissy..." Jack's voice, she was sure of it, was quieter now and with it she felt a huge jacket settling over her aching, cold limbs which were no doubt as white as a corpse's now. The added clothing warmed her and she opened her eyes, expecting to see a man towering over her with a grin on his face - there was no one though.
Jack coughed into his hand causing the girl to look to her left where he sat solemnly.
"Thank you, Jack," she said. "For the jacket."
"Thought you might be cold," He said while leaning back onto his hands with is legs in front of him. He looked so much older. His hair had grown and she could see lines forming in between his brows, laugh lines at his mouth.
"I was," she responded lamely letting silence fall over them. "How did you know I was here?" She asked finally breaking the silence.
"Heard some talk," he explained.
She snorted derisively. "He's bragging already. You shouldn't be out here. You're drunk. You'll catch your death if you faint." She noted as if his sobriety ever mattered. There was something strange though. He wasn't the same happy, gregarious drunk that he normally was. That's when it registered. Jack wasn't even supposed to be here. He was with a crew going to Jamaica.
"Why are you here Jack? Did something go wrong?" She watched as the man sneered and dug in his pocket to bring out a flask holding it up.
"A toast to the dead," he said dully with a smile that would have chilled marrow. Christine hurt for him. She knew that Jack cared for the captain he sailed under and many of his childhood friends had joined in for a rally of the troops sort of thing. It must have hit him hard.
"I'm sorry Jack. How did you manage to get out?"
"Dumb luck," he retorted coldly. He was angry at himself. Unable to save anyone. Would that he didn't want to save them - it would have been easier.
"The man in there," Jack said looking over at the battered Christine - he couldn't even save the damsel in distress. Always too late. "Described you to a tee," he said scooting over and this time he did something very normal, he wrapped an arm around her. But instead of draping it over her shoulder as he would normally he tugged her closer.
Christine immediately understood and she embraced him. The man needed to be comforted too. He just lost his friends - people he considered family even. But as a pirate he couldn't mourn properly. Tears would be met with accosting sneers. He couldn't even rage at the man who had betrayed them - in the end he hung too, but that wasn't even satisfying.
The two of them sat there for a long time with Christine's head on his shoulder with his ringed finger tapping softly in time to a tune in his head against her shoulder. He looked at the girl whose eyes were lost in the tossing waves in front of them a look of inextricable sadness set in them though her mouth didn't frown and her brows didn't pucker. He dug in his pocket and pulled out a copper coin and he reached under the impromptu blanket that was his coat and pressed it into her hand.
"Charity?" She asked, and he could tell she wanted to be angry.
"'m not charitable. Pirate, remember? That there, Chrissy," he quickly said before she could take it the wrong way. "Is a shiny for those thoughts of yours."
The girls head lifted from his shoulder and onyx eyes met demanding blue ones. They searched for any sign of joking or insincerity, and when they found none the harlot spoke.
"I'm afraid Jack," she said finally.
"Of Bartlebly?"
"Of life. Will we always be like this? Miserable, alone? Stuck in a world we really shouldn't be in?"
"Speak for yourself. 'm meant to be a pirate."
"Yes, but you are also meant to be decent. Can you do both? You'll lose other friends, Jack," she said more sharply than she wanted. The man burst at that he grabbed her arms and twisted her so that she'd face him. He wore a snarl and she could see a gold tooth flash in the darkness.
"No, no I won't. See, I won't be making anymore of these mistakes. People are going to try and use you all your life. So..." he looked down at his hands and loosened his grip on the girl which would no doubt leave bruises. He smirked at the shocked look on her face and sniffed. "So," his manner was more cavalier...more like the old Jack than before, "'ll just beat them to it. Savvy?"
Christine nodded, but in reality she didn't understand. All she wanted were friends she could trust. People besides herself to count on. She didn't understand that Jack could give it all up so easily. A heavy sigh escaped her lips and she decided it might be best to leave the man in peace. She handed him his jacket - already soaked through. He gave her a questioning look. Clearly he didn't expect his little outburst to make her leave. She stumbled away without a word and he could see in the limping, pathetic steps she took that it would be impossible for her to get home.
He was going to let her walk back - she chose to after all. Why should he care? He frowned as his drunken limbs had already picked him up. His body clearly had a mind of its own when alcohol was involved. He hurried after her and caught her around the waist. He didn't pick her up off her feet or sweep her away, he simply helped her stagger down the street as he himself fought to stay balanced. It took them twice as long to get to the room she shared with two other girls.
Christine fumbled with the lock and opened the door to a room filled with gaudy furniture that the girls thought made the place look nice. Jack didn't even bother to turn about when she stripped out of the filthy rags that had been a decent dress and tugged on pants and a shirt to sleep in. He watched as she wrung out her red locks in the lamplight - that wasn't safe he'd have to tell her not to leave those on. It was strange, the way he could see for a flash a different life, one more mundane filled with things like telling Christine to watch how long she left a lamp on and telling her not to stay out in the cold rain. It was gone quickly as the redhead in question stood in front of him holding a coin to his hand.
"Shiny for your thoughts?"
"Will we always be like this?" He asked with a smile and the girl chuckled hollowly - there was nothing in it but the action to fill the silence while she planned her answer.
"No. In the morning you won't be drunk and I won't be cold," she said with smile.
"Insightful," he deadpanned.
She frowned but nodded. "Yes, Jack. I'm afraid we don't have much hope at changing. We've done enough of that for a life time haven't we?" Jack looked down at her tired and bruised face and pictured the smiling, teasing thing he used to know.
"I suppose you're right, Chrissy luv. It's about time we got set in our ways. But we were never ones for listening, were we?"
"I guess not," she said with a shrug.
"Be sure of it," he responded and he reached out and stroked her hair. Christine gave a ghost of a smile and because she couldn't reach his forehead she hugged him tight and placed a small kiss on the space in between his neck and jaw.
"Night Jack," she said and for some reason she felt like it was a good bye of sorts. The Jack in front of her wouldn't be there in the morning, she was sure of it. The last remnants of the man she held dear would be swept away with the rainclouds.
"G'night, Chrissy. Make sure you don't leave the lamp on, next time," he returned making the girl laugh merrily as she shut the door.
What Chrissy never knew and what Jack never would tell was that he only made it to the end of the staircase that lead to her rooms. Something in him made him stay, pistol drawn, thinking of the girl that had been destroyed and what could have been. It was lucky for Bartleby that he didn't try for a second round because - although Jack was far from a knight with armour - he wouldn't be late to save the damsel this time around.
_________________ Heavens no. Hell Yeah.  Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me
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