Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Afraid

The click of the latch falling into place sounded as loud as a gunshot.

Roxanne remained frozen in place, her clenched fists resting on her hips.
Then she tossed her head defiantly.

"Well fuck you too!" she called in the direction of the door before poking angrily at the embers in the fireplace, stirring the flames back into life.

Hands still trembling with anger, she made herself tea before sitting at the table, covered in the usual mess of parchment, books and other assorted items.

She lifted a book.
It was an old diary of her husband's, dated four years ago.

Roxanne tipped her head curiously. She knew he kept diaries but had never read them.
He actually usually kept two.
His Captain's Log- a plain, fairly large book that permanently resided in the desk drawer in the captain's cabin of the Troubadour and a smaller, normally green book kept in an aclove behind the headboard of the bed while at sea.

The small one was his own diary, for his personal writing.
The Captain's Log was where he wrote as a captain, recording things that happened on the ship during voyages.

Roxanne flipped the diary open.
The first page bore nothing but his signature, an untidy, distinctive scrawl in black ink and the date.

She turned the page.
It was dated January 12.
Then underneath, Home in Madagascar. 2 am.

The entry was nothing exciting, simply detailing his activities during the day.

Was up by twelve-very unusual.
Checked ships, gave Sahara lists for both. Started to look for new crew as suffered heavy losses in battle in early Dec.

Still rereading Code. Roxy hinting at next meeting at end of month.

Roxanne ran her thumb over the word "Roxy."
His nickname for her, which only he was ever allowed to use.

She closed the diary and set it aside, still too angry to concentrate.

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Teague entered a tavern.
Not the one he went to with Roxanne but another one called "The King's Jewel."
It was ten minutes from their house, in the opposite direction to their usual haunt, and stood across from a brothel.

Weaving through the crowd of wenches and men, he got himself a whiskey and a seat.

Sipping the whiskey, Teague relished the burn it left as it slid down his throat.

He glared at an approaching wench, waving his left hand so the ring on his wedding finger flashed.

"I'm married," he snapped.

She didn't seem to hear him as her hand snaked around his neck, lips pressing against his jaw.

Teague shuddered.
Her lips were smooth and the hand on his neck was soft, a stark contrast to Roxanne's chapped lips and calloused fingers.

He slipped from her grasp, glaring at her again.
"I told ye I'm fucking married!"

"But you look so lonely," she murmured, her hazel eyes very wide.
"We could have fun. Your wife doesn't need to know."

"Piss off."
Teague's voice was calm but, as he looked at her, his dark eyes were almost black, a sign he was dangerously close to loosing his temper.

The wench leaned close again and his fingers caressed the handle of his pistol.

She smirked, pressed another sly kiss on his jaw and slipped away.