Fic: 'Paternity'
Three is such a nice number.
Once again blatantly appropriating artaxastra's post-AWE universe as delineated in her Outlaws and Inlaws series, here's the third Jack-centric gap-filler, the first two being Not Working and Going Home, respectively. Many thanks to hereswith, who no sooner walked in the door from her vacation than I was nagging her to beta read. I also blushingly offer this as a reply to last week's drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails, since there is a 'Pot' in it. *G*
~ Paternity ~
His father had come out to meet him.
"Well, look what the tide's washed in," Teague observed from on high, as Jack shipped the oars and the dinghy drifted against the pilings.
There being nothing for it, Jack clambered to the bow and tossed the painter. Teague caught and secured it, handily. It was only a few steps up a short ladder, but Jack had rarely felt so done in, and staggered a bit in gaining the worn boards of the dock.
Teague noticed, of course. "Damnation, you look like death warmed over!"
Jack refused to be baited. "That's what Will said, more or less. Your powers of perception are as perspicuitous as ever. Got any rum?"
Teague narrowed his eyes, and Jack winced (inwardly). But his father only said in a wry tone, "Maybe some breakfast first?" and led the way.
It was a long time since Jack had trod the path to the kitchen nearest Teague's quarters, but it was still familiar to him. Before the battle with the EITC he'd stayed on the Pearl, mostly, when he wasn't in the Court. His soul itched as they moved through the warren of narrow passages, steps and ladders, though some of the recollections were all right. There'd been a time when he'd belonged here, when he'd been one of the many lads who swarmed, pack-like, over Shipwreck City, learning every nook and cranny 'til he could walk it blind, the lot of them subject only to the very loose restraints that prevailed in this bizarre and secure nest for pirates. He and his father had settled there, after Jack's mother had been killed. Teague had been a changed man, and had wanted nothing more to do with sailing. Unfortunately, his son had been of another mind, even young as he was. Which had led to certain incidents...
Not liking the course of his thoughts, Jack tacked away from those particular waters. Instead, he asked Teague, "Is our illustrious King in residence? I've messages for her."
"From Turner?" His father shot a look over his shoulder.
"Aye."
Teague stopped and turned to face Jack. "Is the Pearl gone?"
Gone. Oh. That gone. "For the moment. She's still extant, to my knowledge." His father raised a brow. Jack sighed. "Hector... borrowed her."
"Again?" Jack said nothing, and Teague shrugged. "You'll get her back. Come and eat."
Well, that had gone better than expected. Jack followed his father up a narrow companionway and they rounded the corner to the kitchen.
There were fresh loaves of bread, and a pot of fish chowder. Jack hadn't realized how hungry he was until he picked up his spoon and had to make an effort to stop his hand shaking at the scent of the soup wafting from the bowl.
Teague just sat, cleaning his nails with the point of his wicked-looking knife, while Jack ate steadily. When he was halfway through, he forced himself to slow up. "It's good. Annie's?"
Teague quirked a smile. "Her daughter's. It's been a long time, son. Life goes on."
"Rosie?" Jack shook his head, remembering Annie's gangly, grubby little girl trailing after the boys in the most annoying way imaginable, alternating between whining and foolhardy intrepidity. "I suppose she's changed some."
"You might say." Teague chuckled.
"But Anne... don't tell me--"
"She's well, but getting on, like most of us. Rosie takes care of her, as well as those little lads of hers--"
But news of Rosie's lads was destined to wait, for there was a sound of footsteps and Teague fell silent. They both turned as the curtain over the door was pushed aside.
The phrase large with child came immediately to mind, quickly followed by: There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.
And she was staring at him with a mixture of joy and horror that seemed an exact reflection of his own feelings on the matter.
“Elizabeth…”
~ .~
Once again blatantly appropriating artaxastra's post-AWE universe as delineated in her Outlaws and Inlaws series, here's the third Jack-centric gap-filler, the first two being Not Working and Going Home, respectively. Many thanks to hereswith, who no sooner walked in the door from her vacation than I was nagging her to beta read. I also blushingly offer this as a reply to last week's drabble challenge at Black Pearl Sails, since there is a 'Pot' in it. *G*
~ Paternity ~
His father had come out to meet him.
"Well, look what the tide's washed in," Teague observed from on high, as Jack shipped the oars and the dinghy drifted against the pilings.
There being nothing for it, Jack clambered to the bow and tossed the painter. Teague caught and secured it, handily. It was only a few steps up a short ladder, but Jack had rarely felt so done in, and staggered a bit in gaining the worn boards of the dock.
Teague noticed, of course. "Damnation, you look like death warmed over!"
Jack refused to be baited. "That's what Will said, more or less. Your powers of perception are as perspicuitous as ever. Got any rum?"
Teague narrowed his eyes, and Jack winced (inwardly). But his father only said in a wry tone, "Maybe some breakfast first?" and led the way.
It was a long time since Jack had trod the path to the kitchen nearest Teague's quarters, but it was still familiar to him. Before the battle with the EITC he'd stayed on the Pearl, mostly, when he wasn't in the Court. His soul itched as they moved through the warren of narrow passages, steps and ladders, though some of the recollections were all right. There'd been a time when he'd belonged here, when he'd been one of the many lads who swarmed, pack-like, over Shipwreck City, learning every nook and cranny 'til he could walk it blind, the lot of them subject only to the very loose restraints that prevailed in this bizarre and secure nest for pirates. He and his father had settled there, after Jack's mother had been killed. Teague had been a changed man, and had wanted nothing more to do with sailing. Unfortunately, his son had been of another mind, even young as he was. Which had led to certain incidents...
Not liking the course of his thoughts, Jack tacked away from those particular waters. Instead, he asked Teague, "Is our illustrious King in residence? I've messages for her."
"From Turner?" His father shot a look over his shoulder.
"Aye."
Teague stopped and turned to face Jack. "Is the Pearl gone?"
Gone. Oh. That gone. "For the moment. She's still extant, to my knowledge." His father raised a brow. Jack sighed. "Hector... borrowed her."
"Again?" Jack said nothing, and Teague shrugged. "You'll get her back. Come and eat."
Well, that had gone better than expected. Jack followed his father up a narrow companionway and they rounded the corner to the kitchen.
There were fresh loaves of bread, and a pot of fish chowder. Jack hadn't realized how hungry he was until he picked up his spoon and had to make an effort to stop his hand shaking at the scent of the soup wafting from the bowl.
Teague just sat, cleaning his nails with the point of his wicked-looking knife, while Jack ate steadily. When he was halfway through, he forced himself to slow up. "It's good. Annie's?"
Teague quirked a smile. "Her daughter's. It's been a long time, son. Life goes on."
"Rosie?" Jack shook his head, remembering Annie's gangly, grubby little girl trailing after the boys in the most annoying way imaginable, alternating between whining and foolhardy intrepidity. "I suppose she's changed some."
"You might say." Teague chuckled.
"But Anne... don't tell me--"
"She's well, but getting on, like most of us. Rosie takes care of her, as well as those little lads of hers--"
But news of Rosie's lads was destined to wait, for there was a sound of footsteps and Teague fell silent. They both turned as the curtain over the door was pushed aside.
The phrase large with child came immediately to mind, quickly followed by: There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.
And she was staring at him with a mixture of joy and horror that seemed an exact reflection of his own feelings on the matter.
“Elizabeth…”
~ .~