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Hurt
A flashback from Chapter 6 of 'Reflections in Dirty Water'

by Sylvia
April 4, 2004

The small cottage she had purchased sat in a tiny garden in the better part of the town, not too close and yet not far enough away that her new role as seamstress was inaccessible to those wishing to make use of her nimble fingers.

As a woman alone, and with her reputation clinging tenaciously to her skirts, she had taken every precaution to keep herself safe. There were those in the town who thought her ripe for plucking, but the loaded pistol she had not thought twice about using had earned her a grudging respect. And if she sometimes longed for the days when her slightest whim was acceded to, she didn't let it interfere with her life now. She was, and ever had been, pragmatic about her life.

It was her new-found role as seamstress that brought Jack back into her life. An unsavoury character, a pirate from the ship now docked in the harbour, had approached her; their latest haul had included bolts of fine material and they were looking to make a profit on something they had no use for. The price was fair, and Genevieve knew her clientele would not ask any questions, she had paid down half with the rest to come on delivery.

Dusk had fallen when the knock came on her door. Taking the pistol with her she'd called out 'who's there' and was answered with the given signal. Opening the door wide she found herself facing a man she had not thought to see again. He had tried to hide his youthful features beneath an unruly tangle of hair and a beard and moustache, but she would have known him anywhere. And he still had her beads in his hair.

She was about to address him when she caught the subtle shake of his head, then he waved a hand to the two stalwarts behind him, and oversaw the bolts of material safely into her small living room. She placed the bag of coins into his dirty hand, watched as he hefted it experimentally then nod with satisfaction.

"I thank you, miss. Maybe we can do business again?" His voice was just as jaunty as ever, and she thought she saw a flash of promise in his quick grin. The men had disappeared back out into the night, and she could hear the creak of the cart being turned in the lane. As Jack strode down the lane behind them she thought she saw the wave of his hand in the dim light.

Two hours later he was back on her doorstep, a little worse for wear but beaming from ear to ear. That night they had traded histories, she telling him of her fall from grace, he his rise within the pirate ranks. Quartermaster now, a rapid rise for one so young and he knew it. Confidence radiated from him like a beacon; he thought himself invincible. The spark that had been lit between them so long ago was still there, but it was far into the night before they tumbled into her bed.

It had become a pattern in her life. Whenever Jack's ship docked at Tortuga he would come and find her if he could. They would share a supper or a drink and she would listen to his wild tales long into the night. They didn't always make love, but even when they did it seemed friendly somehow. There was much giving on either side. Some trips that just wasn't possible, for it seemed Jack had wanted his friendship with Genny to remain secret. But she was always there for him; it was reassuring that there was someone out there for her, if things ever got unbearable.

There had been one night when Jack had arrived on her door at three in the morning, reeking of rum and cheap perfume. She didn't need to hear the words to see that he was hurting deep inside. He was brash and verbal, his grin very much in evidence, but his eyes held a wealth of pain. That he had tried to drown it with booze and sex and failed was obvious. She let him ramble, waiting for the high to drain from him and for the Jacque she knew to emerge. He had been in alt the day he had become captain of the Black Pearl, the pinnacle of all his dreams, she remembered it fondly and now he had lost her. He wouldn't tell Genny how, and it didn't matter, she was only interested in getting him out of the pit of despair he was slowly digging himself. She took him to bed, and let him lose himself in her warmth, then held him through to dawn, her hand gentle on his skin, soothing the dreams that trembled through him.

All through the next day she talked to him, not sure if she were getting through at all. His armour of bravado was back in place, but his eyes still would not meet hers. As the day went on, she thought the tense nervous energy that filled him was beginning to ease. Jack was all for finding a ship that very day to sail after Barbossa. Unprepared as he was, anger red hot as it was, he would lose any battle they fought. Revenge was best served cold, she told him. Prepare yourself well; don't let him goad you into anything rash. If you want the Pearl back you need to wait for the right moment. All day she battered at him in her gentle tones, letting the words work their way into his soul. When he finally raised his eyes to meet hers the anger was gone; determination had taken its place. He took her hand in his for a moment, and in a courtly gesture bent to kiss it. "What would I do without you, Genny?"

Two years had gone by, Genny had heard nothing from him in that time, but tales of the Pearl were beginning to filter through to Tortuga. They said the ship was crewed by the damned. She could only be glad Jack had lost her when he had. She never spoke about her fears for him, she didn't want him to feel tied to her for she knew his love of freedom and would not try to take that from him in any way.

And then he was back.

He stood in her doorway, battered and bruised, blood staining his clothes and utterly exhausted. "Hello, luv," he said quietly. The subdued tone as alarming as the blood dripping on the floor.

He was asleep before his head hit her pillow; undressing had taking the last of his strength. As he lay, naked and vulnerable, she bathed his wounds with care and wondered how and why, and knowing that in all likelihood he would never tell her the full tale.

There would be new scars now to add to the old, on his body and in her heart, but she would mention neither.

Genny had long ago come to the conclusion that theirs was a strange friendship. As the years went by, and Jack's reputation grew, she saw less of him but she knew that wherever he was, he kept a spot in his heart for her. And when he did turn up, full of tall tales and the occasional pocket of gold they would talk and love and laugh together until the dawn. After all, what are friends for?

~.~

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