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Promise Me

by Amber K.
February 15, 2004

Part One: Negotiations

A young woman sat stiffly in a chair, her back facing the door of the small cabin. Her long ebony hair hung loose, freed from the hat and bandanna that usually kept it hostage. Her clothing was casual sailor’s garb, sporting stains from the long days of working on the sea. Her dark, creamy skin caught the light of the single candle as it played across the cabin, casting oddly shaped shadows in its wake.

A gentle creak followed by casual gaited footsteps alerted her to the other presence now occupying the cabin.

“Jack, what’re ye doin’ here?” She asked, forcing her tone even. She didn’t even have to turn around to identify the intruder—Jack never knocked.

“Can’t I visit without an interrogation, luv?” From the playful tone of his voice, she could tell he was grinning.

The thought that he could still be cheerful despite all that had transpired as of late vexed Ana. She stood from the chair and crossed her arms over her chest, not bothering to turn and face him before ordering, “Git out.”

Jack’s grin fell instantly, even without seeing it, she knew by the change of his tone of voice.

“An’ why would ye be orderin’ that?”

“What ye did was completely uncalled fer.” She retorted, her voice dripping with malice as she angrily shut her eyes.

“I know luv, but I-”

Jack didn’t get a chance to finish as Ana turned swiftly, her fist connecting solidly with his jaw.

He stepped back, obviously caught off guard by the attack. He raised his hand and began tenderly rubbing his sore lower jaw.

“Was tha’ really necessary?”

“Aye. And don’t try t’ deny it.” Ana replied coldly, turning her back on him once more, her hair flinging about her shoulders by the movement.

Jack shifted his jaw awkwardly to make absolutely sure it was still functional, then slowly dropped his hand to his side. He regarded the stance of the woman before him and determined that talking would probably do no good at this point.

“Now git out.” Ana added, her voice composed of sheer ice.

That statement confirmed Jack’s suspicion that Ana didn’t want to talk. He nodded solemnly, the trinkets in his hair clicking a bit, and stepped out through the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Ana waited until the sound of his footsteps had grown fainter and finally disappeared all together before letting out the breath she hadn’t even noticed she was holding in. She sank to the rough mattress of her cot and rested her face in her hands with a sigh.

Why did this always have to happen? It was the same story EVERY time. Jack would go off, be himself, do something stupid, and end up upsetting her. Then, when he would try to apologize, she would drive him away for a time until they finally made up. The whole process would then just repeat itself. However, this time might be different; he had really crossed the line.

She shook her head in an attempt to banish the thoughts. To her amazement, it worked.

Lifting her head up, she kicked off her boots. After lining her boots up side by side on the floor near the cot, she put her feet up. She then laid back and stared blankly at the ceiling . . .

. . . early morning beams of creamy golden sunlight filtered in though the single cabin window, falling gently on Ana-Maria’s sleeping form. She tried to close her eyes tighter against the light, but to no avail. With a defeated sigh, she sat up, only to have the soft blankets slip away from her shoulders.

Since when had those been there?

Ana shrugged off the thought and dropped her feet to the floor. She rubbed her hands over her face before standing up. After swiftly straightening her clothes, shoving her feet into the boots, tying back her hair, and donning her hat, she turned for the cabin door. She automatically reached for the doorknob, but something intercepted her hand a few inches early.

She looked down at the intruding object in surprise, only to find a delicate bouquet of richly colored deep purple flowers bound with care to the doorknob. She stood staring down at the vibrant blossoms in utter shock before realizing there was a small tag tied around the stems. With deft movements, she freed the card and brought it up to eyelevel in an attempt to read the messy handwriting. Whoever had written it had obviously tried their best to make it as legible as possible.

I’m Sorry. Please forgive me Ana.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes of their own accord and she blinked fiercely to hold them back. This time was different. He was acknowledging how much he had hurt her—something he had never done, save through spoken words. And even then it had always had a sarcastic or playful undertone no matter how hard he tried to hide it. This time, it was actually sincere.

~*~

Ana paused at the door to Jack’s cabin. She had left the bouquet in her own quarters, hanging upside down to dry, but she kept the note clenched in one hand. She brought her fist up with the purpose of knocking, but thought better of it at the last minute. Instead, she silently opened the door and slipped in, shutting it behind her.

Half of what she saw surprised her, the other half didn’t. The part that didn’t shock her in the least was that Jack was still lying sound asleep in the bed, wearing only his breeches. The sheets were entwined around his body in a tight knot. The morning light didn’t seem to bother him in the least, and she soon discovered why; that was what surprised her. True, Jack was known to have a bottle of rum before bed . . . he claimed it helped him sleep easier. But this, this was downright wrong. A grand total of perhaps seven empty bottles littered the cabin floor near the bed.

Something had to be wrong for Jack to drink like this the night before they left port.

Ana slowly and quietly made her way towards the bed, artfully avoiding the discarded bottles so as not to startle the drunken man.

When she was halfway across the room, an indecipherable mumble caused her to stop dead in her tracks. Jack rolled onto his right side in his sleep so he was facing her and repeated the phrase in a drunken slur.

“’M so sorry ‘na. Shouldn’ o’ said tha’ . . .”

Ana couldn’t help but smile lightly despite her confused feelings. How should one react in this situation? Jack was obviously upset that he had upset her and that she was so upset she couldn’t get her feelings straight. The battle between anger and love caused a severe case of inner turmoil.

Ana fought to ignore her warring feelings and slowly meandered over to the bed. After a slight moment of hesitation, she sat lightly on the edge of the bed.

“Jack?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

A small groan was all she received in response.

Ana gently placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder—incidentally it was the same one holding the note. She gently shook him, trying to wake him as nicely as possible. “Jack, wake up. We need t’ talk.”

Much to her surprise, the pirate captain opened his eyes ever so slightly. “Ana?”

“Aye,” she replied, not removing her fist from his shoulder.

“’M so sorry, Ana. I shouldn-”

“I know Jack. You were murmuring that in yer sleep.”

Jacks eyes widened in surprise, but quickly narrowed back to slits as he realized just how bright it actually was in the cabin. It was then that she noticed the kohl was smudged. From what, she didn’t know. “Can ye e’er fergive me?”

“Aye. But can you forgive me?”

Jack’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Fer wha’?”

“Fer always pushin’ ye away. I don’t know why I do it . . . I love you, Jack Sparrow.” Ana replied, looking down at the sheets.

“I s’pose, but there’s conditions, luv.”

Ana looked up at the hint of playfulness in his voice and saw it was reflected in his still rum-hazed eyes. “An’ what would those be?”

“When I die, I want ye t’ do two things fer me,” Jack began.

“Jack, just how drunk are you that yer contemplatin’ death?”

“Ne’er ye mind tha’, luv.” Jack scolded quickly, clumsily wagging a finger at her. “Firstly, I want ye t’ give up piracy-”

“WHAT?!” she said, her voice nearly shrieking into the confines of the cabin.

In a hiss of pain, Jack’s hands shot up to clutch the sides of his head. “’Eadache, luv.”

“Yer own fault.” Ana replied firmly. Unconsciously, she lowered her voice as she continued. “Now, why in thunder would ye want me t’ give up the only thing I've come t’ be good at?” A small grin tipped one side of her mouth. “’Fraid I’ll be a better cap’n than ye?”

Shaking his head, the beads collided in various sounds and pitches. All playfulness and light dropped from his face, leaving a shadow of concern in it’s wake. “Nay, luv. I say ‘t ‘cause I wouldn’t be there t’ watch yer back.”

“And since when has that e’er been a problem?” Ana replied playfully. “I’m normally the one who watches yer back.” Desperately, she tried to lighten the tone of this conversation as it spoke to a future she’d never once contemplated. Most pirates she’d known didn’t think in terms of the future. Then again, when was Jack ever like ‘most pirates’?

“Ana, please, jus’ promise me?” Jack pleaded, his voice more serious than she had ever heard before.

Ana sighed in defeat, realizing just how much this must mean to him. “Aye.”

“An’ secondly, I got ye tha’ bouquet fer this reason . . .”

“Which is?”

“Save a flower petal in remembrance o’ me?”

“What kinda request is tha’?!”

“Ana, please. Do tha’ and I promise I’ll come back fer ye no matter wha’.”

Ana was silent for a moment, contemplating how sound in the mind her captain really was at this point. She reluctantly agreed, “Aye, but ye best come back fer me.”

“I promise, luv.”

A smile tugged at Ana’s lips as she leaned down and placed a kiss on Jack’s cheek. “Git some rest, Cap’n. I’ll cover fer ye.”

Jack smiled up at her gratefully and nodded once before closing his eyes and rolling away from the sunlight.

Part Two: I Promised, Luv

~*Several Years Later*~

The mid-afternoon sunlight shone down on a small cabin set higher up on the hillside than most other lodgings. The small cabin was made chiefly of old wooden planks, held together with tar and nails, and a stone foundation. Two stone slabs were laid out before the door, the smaller resting on top of the larger, creating a short stair. Moss had been growing on the foundation stones and stairs for quite some time, turning the once-gray stones a gentle hue of green.

The rickety wooden door slowly opened, the bottom of the doorframe scraping against the stones laid before it. Behind the door followed a woman. She was aged quite a bit more than others of the time, probably around 60 years. Her graying hair—once black—fell down around her shoulders and reached the small of her back at it’s longest point. It was somewhat thick and had small waves in it, shaping itself around her face. Her creamy coffee-brown skin, smooth in her youth was now forming wrinkles both from constant exposure to the sun and from age. She had long since traded in her sailor’s clothing for a simple, earth-toned dress.

Her posture was somewhat slumped and her walk shaky as she slowly descended the few short stairs to the packed dirt ground in front of the hut. She slowly made her way across the ground, turning around the side of the house, and continuing towards the large field of indigenous wildflowers and undergrowth of leafy plants that grew there. She picked out a path that was non-existent to any other, as it was hidden from common view by the thick, wild growths. Only one who had traveled it constantly for many years would know it to be there; and travel it the woman had. She followed the invisible path out to the far reaches . . . to where the field met the exotic jungle.

Upon reaching a specific bush, she stopped. On the bush sat hundreds of large, deep purple blossoms. The elderly woman kneeled down beside the growth and examined each flower closely. After a few minutes of decisive looking, she found her prize—the largest blossom with the richest royal purple color ever seen. She nodded as if in agreement with herself and reached out to the flower with slightly trembling hands.

‘Every once in awhile, our lost come back to us, ye know . . .’

A familiar voice seemed to carry that statement on the non-existent wind to the woman’s ears only. Her hands froze in place as the voice and a specific memory clicked together, then smiled tightly to herself. She cupped the flower in one hand, carefully removing a single petal. She slowly stood, cradling the petal in her hands as if it were the most precious item in the world and proceeded to follow the path back to the hut . . .

. . . upon reaching the edge of the clearing nearest her home, she glanced up at the sun, as if following a schedule. She gasped a bit to herself and, with a slightly hastened pace, headed towards the stairs of the cabin. She made her way up the stairs and through the door as quickly as her old body could go, still cupping the petal in her hands protectively.

She entered the two-roomed lodging and scurried across the kitchen floor, leaving the front door wide open in her wake. She continued on into the next room—the bedroom. She crossed the room and walked at a more respectful pace up to the small shrine sitting in the corner.

Inside the shrine sat several small trinkets . . . strings of beads; a compass, the lid shut tightly; a few balls of shot; a scrap of well-worn paper with a messy note written on one side; and lastly, a box, the lid ornately jeweled. The gems formed the image of a small bird swooping before a setting sun over the lapping waves of the sea in a vibrant display of color.

The woman gingerly opened the jeweled box, small tears forming at the corners of her eyes. As the lid rose, it revealed that the fair-sized box was filled almost to the brim with dry or still-drying flower petals. She gently placed the freshly-picked petal atop the others, her hands lingering above the fragile pieces.

‘Save a flower petal in remembrance o’ me?’

The same, familiar voice echoed through her mind, bringing the phrase beck from the long-dead past. Her gaze snuck its way over to the bouquet of flowers hanging on the wall above one of the beds. Even though the flowers had long since been drained of their color and life, they were easily known to be the same type from which the woman had extracted the effervescent petal.

The tears grew larger, coating her eyes in gleaming remembrance. She closed her eyes tightly, causing the extra water to silently glide down her cheeks as she lowered her head.

“Why th’ sad face, luv?” An overly familiar voice that hadn’t spoken, save for memories and dreams in years, inquired.

The woman’s head shot up, her hair flinging about her head and the tears leaving glistening trails down her face. She shook her head, thinking the voice was all in her head—it had to be. It had been for the last twenty-odd years, why would anything change now?

“Sorry t’ disappoint, but ‘m’not leavin’ . . . not yet, ‘nyways.” The familiar voice drawled casually, as if reading her thoughts.

The woman took a fortifying breath, then slowly turned her head to the right, where the source of the voice supposedly resided. “Jack?” She asked before she saw who—if anyone—was actually in the room with her. When she was facing the voice’s owner, her face broke into a loving smile, tears falling anew. “Jack!” She cried happily, her voice breaking as she jumped to engulf the man in a hug.

As she attempted to wrap her arms around his neck, she unexpectedly passed right through his seemingly solid body. She stopped in confusion, looking at her hands with him standing back-to-back with her.

“Wha-what happened?” She questioned, sadness entering her voice. “Jack?” She asked again, the sadness and confusion mixing.

“Didn’t ye know? ‘ve been gone fer nigh twenty years, luv.” Jack replied, amusement playing through his voice and across his features, though the woman couldn’t see.

“S’not funny, Jack Sparrow.” She said somewhat coldly, reading the tone of his voice. “Ye come ‘ere t’ taunt me. Leave a poor woman ‘lone.” She snapped, her voice growing colder with each word and finally breaking in silent sobs at the end of the statement.

“CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow.” Jack corrected automatically with a sigh.

“Can’t exactly captain a ship when ye’re dead.” She said bluntly, her voice a half-growl as anger joined the growing mix of emotions.

Jack’s shameless grin disappeared instantly and he frowned, realizing how badly he had unintentionally hurt her. He slowly turned to face her back, his expression solemn. “Thought ye’d like a visit from me . . .”

“Why? So ye coul’ drag ba’ painful memories?!” She snapped, her tone as hard as ice. “Then the answer’s nay.”

“No luv . . . why would I want t’ be doin’ that?” Jack asked, stepping up closer behind her without her knowledge. “Ana, look at me,” he commanded gently.

As hard as she struggled against the urge to obey him, she found herself facing him not a moment later and gazing into his dark eyes longingly.

“I didn’t come ‘ere t’ hurt ye . . .” He started smoothly, his voice almost a whisper. “I came t’ bring ye with me.”

Ana’s eyes widened in silent question, not sure she’d heard right.

“Aye. Ye can join me now . . . but only if ye want t’.” Jack repeated, giving her one of his characteristic grins.

It was then that all the emotions she had been holding back flooded into her. How she had missed him over the last twenty-four years . . . his roughish handsomeness; his drunken behavior; his gold-toothed grins that made her want to melt; his companionship; and, most importantly: his spirit. It was the memory of him and his indomitable spirit that had kept her going in this world . . . that, and the promises he had asked her to keep.

“What say you t’ that?” Jack asked, still grinning—he knew her answer and so he extended his hand to her.

Ana’s eyes were glistening with more tears, this time of immeasurable happiness. But there was another emotion in her eyes . . . was it . . . doubt?

“Ana, somethin’ wrong?” Jack asked, reading the emotion for what it really was.

“What about her?” Ana asked, nodding towards the other bed in the room.

“She’ll be fine—if anything, better off. Think about it, she’ll get t’ go live out ‘er life with no strings attached. She’s strong; she’ll be fine.” Jack replied openly, moving his fingers to draw her attention back to his proffered hand. “’Sides, she’s our daughter. Wha’ could go wrong?” He asked with another grin.

Ana noticed the movement and glanced down, a shadow of uncertainty passing over her face.

“Please Ana. Take my hand.”

Ana glanced up and her gaze locked with his. It was that same, pleading tone with which he had gotten her to acquiesce to his wishes all those years ago. She tried to pull away, but his warm, pleading face was too strong a draw. She deftly nodded and placed her right hand into his outstretched one and took her last breath from the human world.

The transformation from human to spirit was a brief instant of time, where the pains and frailties of old age disappeared in a splash of energy; clean, revitalizing energy.

Jack gently tugged on her hand and she stepped forward, leaving the now-empty shell of her old body to slump to the floor.

“Ah yes . . . as lovely as ever.” Jack muttered, admiring her.

His words confused her and she glanced down at herself, only to find that she was back to the age she had been when Jack had given her the bouquet. She was also back in her pirate garb; cutlass, pistol, and all.

For the first time she realized that Jack too had his weapons, as well as all the beads that she had thought were left in the shrine. She also noticed that he hadn’t aged from that fateful morning, either.

Ana looked back up and smiled widely, then leapt forward and wrapped her arms around his neck as she had wanted to do before. “Thanks for comin’ back fer me, Jack.” She whispered into his hair.

Jack wrapped his arms carefully around her waist and returned the embrace. “I promised, luv. I promised I’d never leave ye.”

~.~

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