weather_eyes: The Inopportune Moment - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - A Foreign Country

Author:

weather_eyes

Rating: R for sexual situations
Paring: Jack/OC
Disclaimer: Alas, it all belongs to Disney. I am making no profit from this.

Summary: Jack Sparrow is happily sailing around the Caribbean Sea, doing what he does best - raiding, pillaging, plundering and otherwise pilfering his weasely black guts out - when an unexpected and unwelcome visitor 'appears' on the Black Pearl. Much confusion and hilarity ensue as the two antagonists embark on an adventure that will change the course of their lives forever.

Genre: Humour, Action/Adventure, Supernatural, Romance.

Cross-posted to:

pirategasm

,

potc_fic

and jack_sparrow_oc

(Go back to chapter 5.)
 

“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”
Leslie Poles Hartley (1895 – 1972)

---

A Foreign Country

---

After their little spat in Jack’s cabin, Bronwyn had stormed out of the captain’s quarters in search of evidence to disprove her rather unsettling, third theory. She couldn’t believe that she had travelled back in time to the seventeenth century. It just wasn’t possible... was it? Unfortunately, Bronwyn had only found evidence to support her ‘Dr Who theory’, as she now thought of it. Her trip through Jack’s main cabin had been brief, but she had noticed the distinct lack of anything that might be considered modern. No TV's, no PC’s... no light switches, even. However, she had seen a lot of rather old fashioned furniture. And now, she stood on the deck of The Black Pearl with Captain Jack Sparrow at her side in front of about thirty dirty, filthy, mangy-looking men who were staring right at her.

"Crap,” muttered Bronwyn to herself as she turned to face Jack. “You are telling the truth.” She looked around in amazement. He hadn’t lied... had he?

“I do that quite a lot,” replied Jack, with a smug grin. “Yet people are always surprised.”

Bronwyn was unsure as to what to do next. She swivlled around looked at the men again, but decided, after closer inspection, that she preferred looking at Jack. Bronwyn turned her head back in Jack’s direction and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. She just couldn’t think what to say.

“Rum?” asked Jack as he offered her a bottle. Bronwyn didn’t say anything. She simply accepted the drink and brought it to her lips.

“Oh my God!” she said as she spat the vile liquid out of her mouth and across the deck. There was a collective gasp of horror from the sailors before her. “What the bloody hell is that?”

“Rum, love,” replied Jack as he snatched the bottle back from her, glaring. “It’s precious stuff, darlin’. Don’t you be wastin’ it like that.”

“If that’s rum,” Bronwyn wiped her mouth on her sleeve, “then it’s like no rum I’ve ever tasted.”

“Tasted many rums, have you?” asked Jack. He clutched the bottle to his chest like a child who didn't want to share his favourite toy. Bronwyn looked at his pouting face and shrugged her shoulders.

“Actually, yes,” she replied. “I used to work in a pub, seeing as you asked. I’ve tasted all sorts of rum; white rums, gold rums, spiced rums, black rums, flavoured rums and even overproof rums and premium rums.” Bronwyn eyed the bottle that Jack was holding and nodded in its direction. “But, I have never tasted anything like that before. That is... disgusting.” Bronwyn grimaced and wiped her mouth again.

“It is not,” said Jack indignantly. He frowned at Bronwyn and then turned to look at his crew. “What are you lot looking at?” he shouted. “Back to work you scurvy dogs!”

“Aye,” yelled Mister Gibbs who had been watching the exchange between Bronwyn and Jack. “You heard the Cap’n. Back to work!” Bronwyn spun around and looked at Mister Gibbs.

“You!” she said as she pointed at the portly pirate. “You... you were in my room... his room.” she nodded in Jack’s direction. “You had a sword!” Bronwyn took two steps backwards and bumped into Jack.

“Steady on!” said Jack. He put out one hand to steady Bronwyn and held his rum up, out of harms way, with the other.

“Sorry!” yelped Bronwyn. She spun around to look at Jack and then spun back around to look at Gibbs. She was starting to feel very dizzy. “Please don’t hurt me,” she said to Gibbs as she stared at the hefty sword that hung from his belt. “Please.”

Gibbs eyes flickered from Bronwyn to Jack and then back to Bronwyn again. A look of uncertainty passed over his face. “I won’t be hurtin’ ya, miss,” he informed her in a matter-of-fact voice. “I won’t be comin’ anywhere near ya.”

“Aye,” said Jack from behind Bronwyn. He slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Mister Gibbs is a bit of a softie. He won’t be hurtin’ you. He likes nothin’ more than havin’ a woman at sea. Ain’t that right, mate?”

Gibbs just glared at his captain and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “So,” he said to Jack with what looked like a fake smile, “Have you figured out ‘ow she got here yet?” He completely ignored the fact that Bronwyn was standing right next to him. Bronwyn didn’t mind though. She was quite happy to be ignored by the big, burly man with the sword.

“Not yet,” said Jack. “But, we will won’t we, eh?”

Bronwyn nodded. She would like nothing more that to figure out how she had ended up in on a pirate ship, in the middle of the Caribbean Sea in the seventeenth century. She still couldn’t believe it, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. Jack might be bonkers, but what about the rest of his crew? Could they all be completely nuts? And what about the ship that she was standing on? It certainly looked authentic and where would a madman get his hands on a ship like The Black Pearl? Sure, a TV company could probably have a replica made, but if that was the case then where were all the cameras and microphones? She looked out at the ocean. There were no other ships in sight. Time travel was the only theory that held any water. Bronwyn shook her head. She was crazy, there were no two ways about it. That was the only theory that made any sense. She had gone to sleep perfectly sane, and had woken up the next day as mad as a march hare. Oh crap!

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Jack looked down at Bronwyn who was still tucked under his arm. What is it with women and rum? he thought to himself as he studied her features. They just don’t appreciate its fine qualities. Speaking of fine qualities, Bronwyn had two of them tucked inside the shirt he had lent her.

“What are you looking at?” shrieked Bronwyn. She had looked up at Jack’s face at the very moment that he had looked down at her chest.

“Nothin’!” exclaimed Jack. He tried to look as innocent as possible, but he could tell that she didn’t believe him. Deciding that the wisest course of action would be to change the subject, Jack released Bronwyn from his friendly embrace and waved his arm in the direction of his crew. “So, what do you think of me men and me ship then, Bronwyn love?” Bronwyn didn’t answer, she simply frowned at Jack. “Rum?” asked Jack in defeat as he held up the bottle again.

“No thank you.” Bronwyn replied, “Can I ask you a stupid question?” For some reason, Jack had been expecting her to say something like that. He thought that her question had actually been a stupid question. Everything that came out of her mouth was stupid. What was one more stupid question?”

“I suppose so.”

“What year is it?”

Now that was a stupid question. “What year is it?” repeated Jack. He took a step back and examined Bronwyn closely. It’s a crying shame, really. Such a pretty girl, too. What a waste. Jack shook his head.

“Yes,” said Bronwyn. “What year is it?”

“Well, I don’t rightly know.” Jack said after he had taken another long draft of rum.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t rightly know’?” Bronwyn scowled at Jack. He wasn’t sure that he liked the way she was looking at him. It seemed as though she thought he was the one who had just escaped from Bedlam.

“Gibbs!” shouted Jack as he turned his back on Bronwyn and scanned the deck for his quartermaster, “Gibbs!”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Jack saw Gibbs emerge from behind the Mainmast.

“What year is it, man?” Jack bellowed across the deck.

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“What year is it?” Gibbs replied, Bronwyn rolled her eyes. If she hadn’t had such an impending sense of doom hanging over her, she thought she probably would have laughed.

“Aye,” hollered Jack with a dramatic wave of his arms. “What year is it?”

“Not sure... I’ll ask Mister Cotton.” Gibbs bustled off across the deck in search of the man.

Jack turned back towards her and shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll have an answer for you in a minute, darlin.”

“How can you not know what year it is?” asked Bronwyn. Panic was beginning to set in, now. She could feel the effect of adrenaline on her body. Her heart was racing within her chest and her breath was coming in short ragged gasps. She was dreading the answer to her stupid, stupid question.

“We’re pirates, love,” replied Jack in a tone that told Bronwyn that he thought she was one a penny short of a pound. “We don’t really pay much attention to that sort of thing.” Bronwyn felt sick. “Are you alright, love?” asked Jack. He peered at her with a look of puzzlement on his face. Bronwyn realised that she must look a little odd as she felt herself begin to sway. It must be the heat, she thought, or the lack of breakfast, or the rum. Darkness was beginning to encroach on Bronwyn’s vision. She reached out for Jack just as she started to fall.

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“Here we go again,” muttered Jack as he caught Bronwyn just before she hit the deck. He reached down and hauled her up into his arms. Muttering under his breath about mad wenches, he carried her back into his cabin and lay her down on the mattress. What was he supposed to do with her now? Here she was, supine on his bed and dead to the world. It was the second time she had fainted since Jack had found her.

Honestly, women!

After a moment’s thought, he decided that she needed to develop a bit more fortitude. Jack was roused from his musings by a noise at the door. He turned to see what was going on. It was Gibbs.

“Beg yer pardon, Jack,” he said with a cough, as his cheeks turned a bright shade of red beneath his whiskers, “I didn’t know you were... um... busy.”

“I’m not busy,” replied Jack. More’s the pity. “She fainted... again.”

“Oh, well in that case,” said Gibbs as he stepped into the room, “I just came to tell ye that I’ve found out what year it is.”

“Good man,” Jack smiled. “You can tell her when she comes around.”

“Me?” Gibbs looked startled. He wrung his hands together. Jack could see the sweat begin to break out on his forehead.

“Aye, you.” confirmed Jack as his smile turned into a wicked grin. “After you’ve tested out your theory, that is.”

“My theory?” Gibbs obviously had no idea what Jack was talking about, as usual.

“Aye, your mermaid theory. I thought you might like to wake her up by chuckin’ a bucket of water o’er her. You can kill two birds with one stone, as it were.”

“Eh?” Gibbs was apparently becoming more confused.

“Firstly, it’ll toughen her up a bit, give her a bit o’ backbone,” explained Jack, rolling his eyes. “We can’t have her faintin’ all the time, now can we.”

“No,” agreed Gibbs with a nod of his head.

“Secondly, you can see if her feet turn into flippers!”

“Ah!” smiled Gibbs, as realisation finally dawned on him. All of a sudden, his smile disappeared only to be replaced by a grimace. “Why me?”

“Because I’m not bloody doin’ it,” replied Jack as he walked away from the bed and towards the door. “What do you think I am? Bleedin’ stupid?”

---

Jack smiled as he sat at his desk and listened to the screams that were coming from his side cabin. At least it wasn’t him that Bronwyn was yelling at. Deciding it was time, however, to rescue his first mate, he placed his hands on the top of the desk and pushed himself to his feet. He was glad to note that the morning’s aches and pains had disappeared. Perhaps he wasn’t getting old after all. Jack swayed a little before striding off across the cabin. He paused in the doorway of his side cabin and watched the scene in front of him. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. Bronwyn was stood in one corner of the room. She was dripping wet and, much to Jack’s disappointment, she had her arms folded across her chest. Gibbs stood in the opposite corner of the room. He was rubbing his head. Jack looked down at his feet. A number of Jack’s possessions lay scattered about the floor in Gibbs' immediate vicinity.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Jack, as he tried to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“He threw a bucket of water over me,” whimpered Bronwyn. She pointed to Mister Gibbs, but as soon as she noticed the direction of Jack’s gaze, she folded her arms again and frowned.

“I was just followin’ orders,” insisted Gibbs with a pained expression. “I did as you asked Jack, and then she started throwin’ all your possessions at me.” Jack placed his hands on his hips and tried to look as stern as he could.

“You asked him to do this?” asked Bronwyn incredulously. She glared at Jack. Suddenly he didn’t feel quite so sure of himself. “Couldn’t you have used some smelling salts or something? Isn’t that what you people use in the seventeenth century.” Bronwyn’s tone became mocking.

“Eh?” Now she was talking gibberish again. What the hell are smelling salts? wondered Jack.

“The seventeenth century?” enquired Gibbs as he looked at Bronwyn and then at Jack.

“Aye.” said Jack.

“Yes.” agreed Bronwyn.

“‘Tis not the seventeenth century, Jack,” Gibbs replied. He shook his head and looked at them as if they were both mad.

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“Thank God for that!” exclaimed Bronwyn with a sigh of relief. She wasn’t mad after all. It was Jack that was mad.

“Mister Cotton’s parrot says its 1701,” continued Gibbs.

“1701?” spluttered Jack and Bronwyn together. Now Gibbs was mad. They were all bloody mad!

“Aye, 1701. ‘Tis the eighteenth century now, and it has been for a while.”

“Oh.” said Jack. “I stand corrected.” He looked at Bronwyn. She felt her heart sink. “Any more stupid questions?”

“There is just one more thing,” Bronwyn said with a weak smile. She had to know. She couldn’t wait any longer.

“Yes?” Bronwyn could tell that Jack was not looking forward to hearing her query, but she decided to ask anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Where’s the little girl’s room?”