Not a Love Letter

by Hedge Labyrinth

Note: You should assume this takes place in an alternate universe. One-shot.

I must warn you now, from the beginning. Or rather before we begin. In any case, I ought to say: this is not a love letter.

I have not written a love letter since I was sixteen and considering that was almost twenty years ago I do not intend to start today.

In any case I am writing because you, stubborn, troublesome you, have pressed and huffed and demanded that I explain myself and here I am, doing the explaining.

If you wanted to be a prim and proper lady with prim and proper suitors you ought to have stayed home and played that game with them. You ought to have accepted Norrington's very earnest proposal, or made goat-eyes at bloody William Turner, and left me very well and alone. So I am telling you plain and clear as day: Norrington can stuff his hat up his arse and Will can go to hell because I am not, in case you haven't noticed, either of them.

Because I was not, I recall it very clearly, the one who ran off, rowed her way to my boat and demanded to be made part of the crew.

“Oh, Mr. Sparrow. I want to be a pirate and have adventures!”

There. A direct quote. In falsetto. Or, a very good approximation of what you said and I would have shipped you back to your island except you got me drunk, and drunk I left port and did not realize I had you aboard and then it was too late. I could have drowned you, of course, but I'm sure the sea would spit you out.

And then, I want to make this perfectly clear, I was the utter gentleman. I kept my hands to myself and off you. Perhaps, there was that one time ... but after that slapping, I never, ever tried it again! Ha. After all, there are plenty of fish in the sea and plenty of women. No need to trouble oneself with a snickering weasel of a girl who thumbs her nose at you and behaves like she's the damn Queen of Sheba.

If I ever looked at you it was not out of desire. Bah! There's always enough ports to quench a man's fire.

And if perhaps I told you that you were pretty it was to be polite, which is a trait you might want to learn.

No, it was you who seduced me and I'm not afraid to yell it. It was Elizabeth Swann! Proper Miss Swann, mind you, sneaking into my bed like a cat and there before you know it I've got naked Lizzie under the sheets.

I said I was gentleman, not a saint.

So, yes, maybe I had a bit to do with that and the game of cards got a little out of hand and we were wagering more than gold. Wagering clothes and kisses. Don't you know, it becomes a very serious game all of a sudden.

But you could have run off.

But I did stop for a minute. Make it five seconds. I did stop to raise a question and you didn't let me ask it.

And after that kiss I didn't really want to be a gentleman any longer.

So that's that. Bit of harmless fun and us curled together. Very pleasant stuff. A very pleasant week I must say.

And then you have to wreck it all by asking that.

What's a fellow to answer? How? Tell me.

“I don't know” is a good answer! It's a good, honest, clean answer. Christ sake, you'd have me bumble my way through a lie? I can't lie to you. At least, not very well. Maybe I do sometimes. But only on small stuff and you find out anyway, so what's the point? So I'm an honest man. As honest as a person of my condition can be. Anyhow, I am honest and I tell you “I don't know.”

Might as well have told you your father was a mule and your mother a hog and maybe then I would have deserved that slap.

In the aftermath you spend the days throwing daggers at me, grumbling with a voice that cuts like blades and I'm tip-toeing around the storm, wishing for it to blow away.

Only it doesn't.

You say you're leaving. You want to get off at the next port. Who's stopping you? Not me. One would think I treated you badly but no. You just want to go because you're being stubborn. Well, then go. I'm sick and tired of sharing my cabin and I can get along perfectly fine without you.

Only ... remember that time when I showed you the Belt of Orion? Sailors know that when those stars rise at sunset in autumn you should steer your ship safe to port. It's a warning.

Stars are very important.

An officer should always be able to tell his position by looking at the stars.

The most crucial star is Polaris, that's what you use to navigate. Polaris stays in the same place in the sky. You can always find your way with Polaris. Remember? I showed her to you and we traced constellations with our fingers and whispered in the dark.

Polaris is the compass in the sky.

So if your compass is every lost or broken you can find your way with the star.

I navigate using Polaris.

The compass doesn't work anymore.

But I'm not sure if, even with the star, I can find my way without you.

Jack.