Chapter Text
drowning in sunlight
Jack dives into the water with a second thought, perhaps even a third one. His only means of protecting himself are clutched by men who would get a medal for shooting him, but that honest streak his father used to curse is beating loud and full of pride in his heart. He can’t just let a woman drown. He’s learned what he can and can’t live with, and he knows that if he watched the water until the ripples left and she was in the embrace of Davy Jones, he would see her corpse in his dreams.
His dreams already ring enough of hell.
She hits the sand and he grabs her up, praying to the God he frequently offends and curses, wondering if He’ll spare a thought for an unrepentant sinner trying to bring one of his poor creatures back.
Jack was raised on the water - he can’t remember learning how to swim, as far as he knows, he was born in the water and taught in its stifling embrace. The sea loves and loves until it seeps through all your cracks and pushes out all the air like an angry lover, eradicating anything but itself. He remembers when he was fifteen, staying under for too long in her embrace and coughing, his face alight with the betrayal that his only real love was intent on wringing the life from him.
People don’t look peaceful when they’re dying, but he’s seen few look as angry as the woman in his arms.
He breaks the surface of the water with a gasp, his fingers working quickly to release her from her finery as the weight of it drags them both down. There is no wicked gleam in his eyes today, no half lidded lingering stare begging for something stronger than rum. He kicks the dress away, letting it slide down to the depths, feeling the frantic beating of her heart against him through her shift as his own lungs scream for air while he pulls them both upwards.
Death is not romantic, he has learned that over the years. There is nothing beautiful about dying with water in your lungs, nothing sacred about another breathing life into them - the stories never mention how you have to break their ribs and force air down their throat. It is painful and feels cruel, and yet it is how you save a life. His hard hands know the motions, but he still winces at the thought of hearing her bones crack to give way for air under his ringed fingers.
There is nothing soft or kind in the way he tosses her over his shoulder and climbs up the dock, letting her fall into the waiting arms of the guards. He can feel their panic, hear their fear through his water-clogged ears. He pushes them aside when they announce that there is no breath in her lungs, pulling a knife and cutting through the corset, tossing it away. He can hear their shocked gasps and he rolls his eyes.
There is no time for modesty in death, no time for anything but the pulsing flame of fear and rage against fate and Davy Jones. His teeth flash golden when she coughs out water, and the adrenaline thudding in his veins keeps the grin there even when more uniforms come and he hears the telltale click of a revolver.
Music to his ears when he’s the one holding it, a death sentence in another man’s hands.
He feels the familiar rough metal burning cold against his wrists and he wonders how many more times will another man see fit to toss him in a hole before he ends up in the Locker.
Elizabeth stands up, placing herself between him and his captors, vouching for his good heart when he knows for a fact that it’s as dark as the kohl smudged around his coal black eyes. He wants to laugh, thinking of the way she’s built him into some good man in her mind, a misunderstood nature instead of a thief with a wicked gleam and a more wicked heart. When he catches her eyes, he is surprised to find ruthlessness there, as harsh as the treasure hidden against her chest - the medallion that winked up in his fingers before they dragged him off of her.
His teeth glint gold in the sunlight as he realizes that she knows exactly what kind of man he is - she is no soft governor’s daughter, she is something harsh and untameable.
He feels the weight of the chains in his hands and wraps them around her neck the moment she gets close enough, hissing in her ear. “I knew you’d warm up to me.”
She trembles like the wind before a storm, angry and just out of reach - she would skin him alive if she only had a knife. They both know this, even when her father’s eyes are wide with fear and hers only narrow, her words coming out through clenched teeth. His lips brush against her ear as he makes his demands, locking eyes with the young man across from him until he looks away - a beau perhaps? I hope he knows what he’s marrying.
“Lizzie, is it?” The nickname fits right on his tongue, it feels like coming home and his heart burns, he has no time to think about that before she bites out a response, making her words as vicious as she can manage.
“Ms. Swann to you.” She snarls, and he can feel the weight behind the threat - if only her father knew the rage beating in her breast - would he really be worried about a pirate?
“Ms. Swann. My effects, please. We don’t have all day.” His mouth curls up in a smile that Elizabeth thought only sharks had, able to look that happy and that dangerous as they ascended from the depths. He winks at her like Death himself congratulating her for thwarting him. With the kohl rimming his haunted eyes and the scars streaming with sea water, he makes a good candidate for Death. She wonders if she kissed him, if it’d kill them both.
Her touch is barely there, focused and intent on being as short as possible, intent on finding small ways to make him lose his own game. He has set the rules and she follows them, obeying the letter and not the spirit. He stares at her eyes - those cold glints of sunlight, there is nothing warm in this woman and he finds himself grinning at those eyes, more full of life than anything he’s ever seen in years.
She throws an insult at him and he whispers a response against her mouth, knowing that the commodore is glaring. “Sticks and stones, love.” And in a moment of generosity, because he respects her in a way that he hasn’t been moved to in a long time, he gives her an answer for his behavior.
“I saved your life. You saved mine. We’re square.” Jack grins, removing the chains quickly and pushing her into the waiting arms of the men who have no idea that they are harboring something as terrifying as the sirens that used to lure sailors to their death.