Birthday!Fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jenthegypsy: 'Fallen Woman' (Jack/OFC - PG-13)
Feb. 24th, 2010 12:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dwgmHard to believe it's been three years since I wrote any Jack/Molly Hatter fic for jenthegypsy, who's always been Molly's biggest fan. Molly appeared first in her very own drabble, written when I first started writing PotC, then as a bit player in The Elusive Norrington, then in Someone Waits, A Bit of a Stick (with Will, too), and last in Home from the Sea, written for Jen's birthday in 2007.
This follows the events of that first 200 word drabble, Molly Hatter, though you probably can get the jist of the story from this one. Both are set pre-CotBP. My thanks, once again, tohereswith for beta reading.
~ Fallen Woman ~
It was well over a year before Molly Hatter finally heard the news: the Chimera had been sighted on the horizon. By morning—perhaps sooner, if the winds picked up—the crew of the infamous ship would once again be at liberty to grace Tortuga with its raucous, scandalous presence, including the most scandalous of all, the ship's brilliant navigator, Jack Sparrow.
Molly found her hands shaking as she unlocked the door of her shop, Hatter's Hattery: Headgear for the Discerning Gentleman, and once she was inside and had shut the door she found she had to sit down, just for a moment, as memories of the single night she'd spent with Jack overwhelmed her.
Her thoughts had often returned to that night in the last year, dwelling always on its later hours, when Jack had been stripped bare, not only of his effects and every stitch of his colorful, well-worn garb, but of much of his profligate façade as well. With skill and care coupled with lust and laughter, he had shown her delights she had never imagined, much less experienced in the bedroom. Ah, she had dreamed of it so many times since he'd sailed with the Chimera! Yet now, memories of the earlier part of the evening welled up and overwhelmed, memories so anxious they made her vaporish to recall.
She had come so very close to disaster. After her arrival on Tortuga, orphaned and widowed both, she'd spent several months in honest toil, working as a seamstress, trying to save every penny with a view to opening her own hat shop. But in spite of her diligence, it seemed she could barely earn enough to buy her bread and pay the rent on a shabby room to keep off the Caribbean rain. Many of her clients were women of pleasure, women who frequented the tiny upper rooms of taverns or bawdy houses, and Molly soon heard what sums could be made in a night or two at such pursuits - more than she could make in a whole month of sewing!
"Always room for one more, dearie. The gents would like you, give you me word!" a kind girl named Eve had told her early on, and offered to give her an introduction at The Queen's Arms, one of the better establishments in town. Molly had thanked her for her generosity, hiding a smile at the absurdity of the thought.
A few months later, however, she was no longer smiling.
Well for her that the night she finally admitted defeat and steeled herself to necessity was one when Jack Sparrow was in port. She recalled the dress she'd worn, of clean but worn red calico, her only brightly colored gown. She had practiced her smile, practiced cutting flirtatious glances before the mirror in the hall of the boarding house, and she had donned her shawl and bonnet and held her head high as she'd walked the few blocks to The Queen's Arms. Eve had shown her in and introduced her to the company. The other women were less than encouraging. The gentlemen present had been uninterested.
Molly had smiled and tried to be friendly, but the bold, painted, garishly dressed women cast her completely into the shade. Moreover, the tone of the company was one to which she was ill-accustomed, and it weighed upon her spirits quite dreadfully.
She had seen Jack as soon as he'd arrived, swaying and flamboyant and so very handsome that she couldn't take her eyes off him, as ever. She'd seen him twice before on the streets of Tortuga. The first time she'd been startled, then fascinated; the second time she'd been mesmerized, peeking from the shadow of an alcove as he'd teased and taunted, then soundly defeated a lesser man at swordplay. That night at The Queen's Arms she watched him from the corner of the parlour, the idea that he might notice her, small and comparitively colorless among the many bright ladybirds present, never occurring to her.
And then, another man had approached, beefy and ill-favored, though finely dressed, with a look in his eye that made her freeze inside.
"What's this, then?" he'd said, sidling up to her, his smile showing a rotten tooth. "Haven't seen you before. Pretty thing." He'd chucked her under the chin with rough fingers.
She had swallowed hard, strongly tempted to turn and run like a frightened rabbit. "Please, sir--" she began, starting to back away, but he caught her and pulled her toward him, his heavy arm going round her shoulders, his horrid breath in her nostrils, stinking of spirits and garlic. She felt oddly light-headed and wondered if she was going to faint...
"Excuse me, mate, but that lady's promised to me."
Molly gasped, straightened and ducked away, and found herself face to face with Jack Sparrow, who blocked her escape most effectively, his hands at her shoulders.
"Little wretch!" Jack scolded. "What the devil're you doing, leadin' this good gent into temptation?" He shook her a bit, his eyes flashing mirth, and she gaped and felt her cheeks flame.
"She's yours, Jack?" the beefy man had asked. "I didn't know. Never seen 'er before."
" 'S all right, Ned. I keep her close, in the ordinary way. Make your apology, lass, it's time we took our leave."
Jack turned her about to face Ned once more, and she curtsied mechanically, and managed to stammer, "Indeed, I am sorry for the misunderstanding, sir."
"No worries," Ned assured her, and he winked at Jack, saying, "Don't be too hard on her, eh Sparrow?" before staggering off in search of new diversions.
"Come on, out the back," Jack said, and taking her hand he led Molly out a side door and through the kitchen.
"Wait! I’ve left my shawl!" Molly protested, suddenly remembering.
"Later."
"And my hat!"
Jack paused. "Hat? Well... Eve can send 'em round tomorrow."
He pulled her out the back door, then, and moved down the steps and into the shadow of the house where he finally released her.
"Sorry, but I thought you were better out of there," Jack said.
"Mr. Sparrow!" Molly gasped. "How did you know? How can I ever thank you?"
He shrugged. "I've seen you about, you're that seamstress Scarlett told me of. What the devil were you doing in there? Things aren't that desperate with you. Are they?"
Molly was in a horrid muddle at this, wishing with all her heart she could tell him no. "I... I..."
"I see."
She bit her lip.
Jack said, warily, "You're not going to cry, are you?"
Molly shook her head, and said in a voice that shook only a very little, "That would be a dreadful way to repay your kindness."
"It would. Put me right off kissing you, which would be a shame," he said, voice low and husky.
Molly's eyes had widened as he took her in his arms, her lips parting slightly on another gasp as his own descended, but with such tender seduction that she could only marvel... and enjoy. "Oh!" she breathed when he paused a moment, paused but did not let her go.
"Oh, indeed. You've done this before. Widow?"
"Y-yes."
Jack's smile had flashed white in the shadows. "In that case, tell me what you want. I've gold, love, if you're willing, or we can part company and no harm done. Which will it be?"
Molly had hesitated, unwilling that he should think her a light woman. But in these circumstances... and it might be her one chance. She replied, then, "Your arm."
"My arm?"
"Your arm. To escort me home."
"As far as your door?"
"You might... come in for a while."
And he had kissed her again.
*
With these memories roiling in her head, Molly slept very little the night after the Chimera had been sighted, nonsensically expecting a knock on the door at any moment. She dozed at three, but by five she gave it up and threw a shawl over her chemise – the same shawl she'd worn to The Queen's Arms – and went downstairs to work.
What if Jack had forgotten her? He'd had many women, and she felt herself an unimpressive specimen – though he'd certainly made her feel like a queen on their one night together! But even if he'd forgotten the delights they'd experienced in the bedroom, surely he would remember that he had left her all that gold, enough to open her shop. She had enjoyed success from the first, and would be able to repay him in another year or two. He'd no doubt be please with that, and for her part, she couldn't thank him enough.
Therefore, when there came a rap on the door, in the cool light of dawn, Molly tightened the belt on her dressing gown, put a nervous smile on her face, and went to open it.
It was he, looking tired yet happy. "Hullo, lass. I see my investment’s paid off."
Her lips trembled, and she held out her hands. "Jack! How can I thank you?" she asked.
He took her hands, but looked absurdly, adorably crestfallen. "What? No kisses, then?"
She threw herself upon him, and he caught her, laughing.
~.~
jenthegypsy, who's always been Molly's biggest fan. Molly appeared first in her very own drabble, written when I first started writing PotC, then as a bit player in The Elusive Norrington, then in Someone Waits, A Bit of a Stick (with Will, too), and last in Home from the Sea, written for Jen's birthday in 2007.This follows the events of that first 200 word drabble, Molly Hatter, though you probably can get the jist of the story from this one. Both are set pre-CotBP. My thanks, once again, to
hereswith for beta reading. ~ Fallen Woman ~
It was well over a year before Molly Hatter finally heard the news: the Chimera had been sighted on the horizon. By morning—perhaps sooner, if the winds picked up—the crew of the infamous ship would once again be at liberty to grace Tortuga with its raucous, scandalous presence, including the most scandalous of all, the ship's brilliant navigator, Jack Sparrow.
Molly found her hands shaking as she unlocked the door of her shop, Hatter's Hattery: Headgear for the Discerning Gentleman, and once she was inside and had shut the door she found she had to sit down, just for a moment, as memories of the single night she'd spent with Jack overwhelmed her.
Her thoughts had often returned to that night in the last year, dwelling always on its later hours, when Jack had been stripped bare, not only of his effects and every stitch of his colorful, well-worn garb, but of much of his profligate façade as well. With skill and care coupled with lust and laughter, he had shown her delights she had never imagined, much less experienced in the bedroom. Ah, she had dreamed of it so many times since he'd sailed with the Chimera! Yet now, memories of the earlier part of the evening welled up and overwhelmed, memories so anxious they made her vaporish to recall.
She had come so very close to disaster. After her arrival on Tortuga, orphaned and widowed both, she'd spent several months in honest toil, working as a seamstress, trying to save every penny with a view to opening her own hat shop. But in spite of her diligence, it seemed she could barely earn enough to buy her bread and pay the rent on a shabby room to keep off the Caribbean rain. Many of her clients were women of pleasure, women who frequented the tiny upper rooms of taverns or bawdy houses, and Molly soon heard what sums could be made in a night or two at such pursuits - more than she could make in a whole month of sewing!
"Always room for one more, dearie. The gents would like you, give you me word!" a kind girl named Eve had told her early on, and offered to give her an introduction at The Queen's Arms, one of the better establishments in town. Molly had thanked her for her generosity, hiding a smile at the absurdity of the thought.
A few months later, however, she was no longer smiling.
Well for her that the night she finally admitted defeat and steeled herself to necessity was one when Jack Sparrow was in port. She recalled the dress she'd worn, of clean but worn red calico, her only brightly colored gown. She had practiced her smile, practiced cutting flirtatious glances before the mirror in the hall of the boarding house, and she had donned her shawl and bonnet and held her head high as she'd walked the few blocks to The Queen's Arms. Eve had shown her in and introduced her to the company. The other women were less than encouraging. The gentlemen present had been uninterested.
Molly had smiled and tried to be friendly, but the bold, painted, garishly dressed women cast her completely into the shade. Moreover, the tone of the company was one to which she was ill-accustomed, and it weighed upon her spirits quite dreadfully.
She had seen Jack as soon as he'd arrived, swaying and flamboyant and so very handsome that she couldn't take her eyes off him, as ever. She'd seen him twice before on the streets of Tortuga. The first time she'd been startled, then fascinated; the second time she'd been mesmerized, peeking from the shadow of an alcove as he'd teased and taunted, then soundly defeated a lesser man at swordplay. That night at The Queen's Arms she watched him from the corner of the parlour, the idea that he might notice her, small and comparitively colorless among the many bright ladybirds present, never occurring to her.
And then, another man had approached, beefy and ill-favored, though finely dressed, with a look in his eye that made her freeze inside.
"What's this, then?" he'd said, sidling up to her, his smile showing a rotten tooth. "Haven't seen you before. Pretty thing." He'd chucked her under the chin with rough fingers.
She had swallowed hard, strongly tempted to turn and run like a frightened rabbit. "Please, sir--" she began, starting to back away, but he caught her and pulled her toward him, his heavy arm going round her shoulders, his horrid breath in her nostrils, stinking of spirits and garlic. She felt oddly light-headed and wondered if she was going to faint...
"Excuse me, mate, but that lady's promised to me."
Molly gasped, straightened and ducked away, and found herself face to face with Jack Sparrow, who blocked her escape most effectively, his hands at her shoulders.
"Little wretch!" Jack scolded. "What the devil're you doing, leadin' this good gent into temptation?" He shook her a bit, his eyes flashing mirth, and she gaped and felt her cheeks flame.
"She's yours, Jack?" the beefy man had asked. "I didn't know. Never seen 'er before."
" 'S all right, Ned. I keep her close, in the ordinary way. Make your apology, lass, it's time we took our leave."
Jack turned her about to face Ned once more, and she curtsied mechanically, and managed to stammer, "Indeed, I am sorry for the misunderstanding, sir."
"No worries," Ned assured her, and he winked at Jack, saying, "Don't be too hard on her, eh Sparrow?" before staggering off in search of new diversions.
"Come on, out the back," Jack said, and taking her hand he led Molly out a side door and through the kitchen.
"Wait! I’ve left my shawl!" Molly protested, suddenly remembering.
"Later."
"And my hat!"
Jack paused. "Hat? Well... Eve can send 'em round tomorrow."
He pulled her out the back door, then, and moved down the steps and into the shadow of the house where he finally released her.
"Sorry, but I thought you were better out of there," Jack said.
"Mr. Sparrow!" Molly gasped. "How did you know? How can I ever thank you?"
He shrugged. "I've seen you about, you're that seamstress Scarlett told me of. What the devil were you doing in there? Things aren't that desperate with you. Are they?"
Molly was in a horrid muddle at this, wishing with all her heart she could tell him no. "I... I..."
"I see."
She bit her lip.
Jack said, warily, "You're not going to cry, are you?"
Molly shook her head, and said in a voice that shook only a very little, "That would be a dreadful way to repay your kindness."
"It would. Put me right off kissing you, which would be a shame," he said, voice low and husky.
Molly's eyes had widened as he took her in his arms, her lips parting slightly on another gasp as his own descended, but with such tender seduction that she could only marvel... and enjoy. "Oh!" she breathed when he paused a moment, paused but did not let her go.
"Oh, indeed. You've done this before. Widow?"
"Y-yes."
Jack's smile had flashed white in the shadows. "In that case, tell me what you want. I've gold, love, if you're willing, or we can part company and no harm done. Which will it be?"
Molly had hesitated, unwilling that he should think her a light woman. But in these circumstances... and it might be her one chance. She replied, then, "Your arm."
"My arm?"
"Your arm. To escort me home."
"As far as your door?"
"You might... come in for a while."
And he had kissed her again.
*
With these memories roiling in her head, Molly slept very little the night after the Chimera had been sighted, nonsensically expecting a knock on the door at any moment. She dozed at three, but by five she gave it up and threw a shawl over her chemise – the same shawl she'd worn to The Queen's Arms – and went downstairs to work.
What if Jack had forgotten her? He'd had many women, and she felt herself an unimpressive specimen – though he'd certainly made her feel like a queen on their one night together! But even if he'd forgotten the delights they'd experienced in the bedroom, surely he would remember that he had left her all that gold, enough to open her shop. She had enjoyed success from the first, and would be able to repay him in another year or two. He'd no doubt be please with that, and for her part, she couldn't thank him enough.
Therefore, when there came a rap on the door, in the cool light of dawn, Molly tightened the belt on her dressing gown, put a nervous smile on her face, and went to open it.
It was he, looking tired yet happy. "Hullo, lass. I see my investment’s paid off."
Her lips trembled, and she held out her hands. "Jack! How can I thank you?" she asked.
He took her hands, but looked absurdly, adorably crestfallen. "What? No kisses, then?"
She threw herself upon him, and he caught her, laughing.
~.~