The Map

Ruined and Completely Undone.

Nell knew they were there again, watching her, but this time they had faces. Not the faces she'd seen on the island; this time it was Beaumont and De Mornay who were standing at the bottom of the bunk in monks robes. They were laughing at her, telling her how stupid she was, that all she was good for was to be used. She listened, crying bitterly, as they taunted her with how they'd killed her parents, how her father had begged for mercy for his wife and how they'd merely laughed.

"Nell, ssh!" Jack was shaking her gently as she cried, weeping into his chest as she slept, her body racked with sobs as she dreamed. His touch broke through her tortured visions and she woke with a start, her face wet with tears and her body still shaking.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed and tried to pull away from him, but he held her tightly against him.

"You don't have to be sorry, Nell," Jack whispered into her hair; he'd woken hearing her sobs and it had torn at him. He stroked his hands over her back, trying to sooth her, feeling a margin of relief when her breathing evened out and she fell back to sleep again.

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The next time Nell woke Jack was trying to ease himself away from her. She mumbled and gripped his shirt tightly in her hand. 

"Don't go," she muttered. "You're too comfortable."

He snorted with laughter. "Aye, well perhaps when I'm too old to raid and pillage I'll take up being a professional pillow." He settled back slightly and peered down at the top of her head. "It's almost dawn; I have to be up soon."

"Later," she sighed, content to snuggle into him and go back to sleep. But her brain was beginning to function past the sleep and she remembered what he'd told her last night.

"What's he called?" she asked softly.

Jack didn't need to ask who she meant. "Stephen Wearing."

"Wearing? So my last name is Wearing, not Montilice?" she spoke quietly and calmly. Jack had been right; the sleep had taken the edges of shock from her and it no longer seemed monumentally frightening or overwhelming as it had last night. In fact, she found she was more curious than anything; after all, the knowledge she had brother didn't change who she was now or what she had experienced up to this point.

"I would imagine Wearing would be your birth name, I don't know where Montilice comes from. I expect we can find out if you want to know." His voice was tight; he was finding it increasingly difficult to hold her so close, to be able to smell the cleanness of her hair and skin and not be able to touch her.

Nell flexed her fingers on his stomach and felt him jerk against her touch. 

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" She lifted her head and looked at him, but even though she was innocent, she knew it wasn't pain reflected on his face. Something stirred deep inside her, making her want to reach out and kiss him. So she did; she lifted herself slightly and pressed her lips against his, her eyes open and looking directly into his. She saw his eyes widened and heard his breathing catch in his throat.

"Make love with me," she whispered against his lips.

Jack's heart sped up and his body reacted immediately to her touch and words, but for once his head overruled his body. 

"Nell, I'm not sure it's a good idea," he could hear himself talking and mentally he kicked himself – why, oh why, was he saying that? Why wasn't he stripping her of her clothes and kissing the hell out of her? But then he knew why; he loved her. Somewhere along the line, his own needs, feelings and gratification had taken a back place to her needs and feelings. She came first to him now and always would and he knew that Norrington was right. He would have to let her go if that was what she wanted; and until he knew what she wanted he couldn't take advantage of her.