{Fic} Ocean Soul 7/18 | Will/Jack
“Gibbs said ya were up ‘ere alone, but I din’ believe ‘im.” AnaMaria scowled at the lack of acknowledgement from Jack and moved to stand before him, blocking his view of the horizon. “Yeh know I wouldn’ be up ‘ere carin’ ‘less I s’pect questionin’ migh’ bring some interestin’ answers so, entertain me!”
Jack dragged his gaze to meet hers, lips set in a grumpy frown. His hands rested limply on the wheel.
She crossed her arms and made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. “Ain’t seen yeh like this ‘fore, Cap’n. Wha’s th’ trouble?”
“I like you, lass bu’ no’ enough to unburden me black ‘eart.”
“Horse shit,” she declared. “Who else yeh goin’ t’ tell wha’s makin’ yeh act sober?”
The pirate captain straightened up and indignantly denied, “I am no’ sober!”
“Yeh never can be,” AnaMaria muttered, rolling her eyes. “Yeh ain’ one for gloom, tho’, an’ a very new crew member seems t’ get the dusty cogs in yer ‘ead turnin’. It’s bad fer morale, lettin’ people see yeh like this!”
Jack glared at her in a squinting stare of consideration. Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, nodding to himself and leaning back from the wheel to stretch. “Go’ a bottle of rum?”
A couple hours later, and more than just one bottle of rum, Jack decided he was drunk enough to succumb to AnaMaria’s inquisition. Besides, she had slapped him after only a tiny caress, so it didn’t look like he’d be able to woo the woman into a different plan of action.
For a while he’d rambled some nonsense or another that he didn’t quite remember himself. Finally what he said caught Ana’s attention and she focused intently.
“… ‘n I seen lotta nas’y things ‘n such, but ya ‘ave t’ wonder ‘ow long it wen’ on.” He took a long swallow from his current bottle and eyed the remaining contents as he continued, “They gone ‘n done make th’ lad think pretty’s bad. It’s not bad! No... ‘course no’. Knew ya’d agree. Whoops...” He caught himself on the quarter rail he had just stepped away from. He glared blurrily at his feet, obviously wondering why they wouldn’t cooperate. AnaMaria stood quietly beside him, a frown darkening her features as she considered the midnight sea and sky.
“Do ya wonder ‘ow ‘e made it? A soft ‘eart li’e tha’ ‘n ‘e lived hip-deep in shi’ from uncarin’ pigs.” He snorted, body moving languidly with the motion of the ship. “...they made ‘im curse pretty!”
“You said that already, Jack,” AnaMaria said coolly, gently taking a sip from her (second) bottle of rum.
Jack clutched her forearm, drawing her attention to him. Despite his drunkenness, he looked deadly serious as he half-growled his elaboration. “Tha’ nigh’ ya all wen’ ashore, ‘e come int’ me cabin. ‘N ‘e tells me no’ t’ call ‘im whelp! I asks, ‘why?’ ‘N ‘e chokes on ‘is words. Ain’ been no one...” He frowned, eyelids drooping a bit as he seemed to puzzle over something. “E bloody broke ‘n ‘id ‘is face so’s I can’t see. ‘Don’t look!’ says ‘e, ‘don’t look! I don’ wan’na be pretty!’ ‘N I dun’ say nothin’ - bad ‘un, black ‘eart ‘n all…” He scowled to himself and tossed back another drink.
AnaMaria studied Jack in curiosity during the lapse of silence. This wasn’t the man she knew. He cared about someone’s unpleasant past? He cared that he couldn’t say something comforting? He cared so much that it affected his mood even in the realm of rum when he’d usually pursue her until she beat him black and blue...
So, being as direct as she could, she asked, “Why care?”
Jack sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of rum. He eyed her in that strange, inebriated way of his and scowled in her direction. “Ya don’ care yerself? I though’ ya’d be ‘is bloody guardian angel o’ somethin’ simmerly mushy…” He crossed his eyes in attempt to look at his mouth, which didn’t quite form words in the desired fashion.
“Sure. I care.” She stared hard at him. “Bu’ why you?”
He puffed out his chest proudly and hoisted his bottle like a sword. “Me care? I ‘ave a stone ‘eart, all black ‘n cold like. Savvy? Cap’n Sparrow don’ give a rat’s ass abou’ no’un. Aye. None.” He nodded his head decisively. “Jus’ Bootstrap ain’ goin’ t’ res’ well wit’ a son all messed up.” He thumped the bottle against his chest and looked at AnaMaria in determination. ”Savvy? Ol’ Jack’s go’ no ‘eart. It’s fer Bill, aye...”
AnaMaria sighed softly and shook her head. She didn’t have to wait long for Jack to finish his mumblings to himself and nursing the bottle of rum. She gazed down impassively at him when he collapsed to the deck. With the same indifference she dragged him to a spot where he could be in some realm of comfort on a sail folded and set aside to be mended. Before she went down to the hold to assign someone for watch, she glanced back one last time at the sleeping man and considered his confessions. She didn’t like him much, no, but she could recognize that he had a good soul. All the talk about no heart, black heart, stone heart, or whatever, was an outright lie.
“Bu’ jus’ wha’ is yer ‘eart hintin’ at?” she muttered. As she descended the stairs into the hold, she found herself toying with the idea of a little... matchmaking. It wasn’t nearly as startling of an idea as it should have been.
-----
The next day AnaMaria watched Will from the corner of her eye as the crew worked. The sun rose high and hot, not a cloud in the sky to block the searing rays. Most of the men had discarded their shirts or, in the very least, rolled the sleeves high and unbuttoned the front. Sweat rolled off the many backs and slicked already filthy hair. Tanned skin turned a bronzed brown as the day wore on. It took a while for her to realize that Will didn’t take any of the liberties that the other man had. Truth be told, she was about to resort to discarding her shirt in favor of a securely tied cloth around her chest; she already had her shirt unbuttoned as much as reasonably modest and she had rolled her sleeves up as far as she could.
Yet Will made no motion to do any such thing. Pondering this mystery, she stopped her work and studied him critically, trailing her eyes over his bent form as he scrubbed the main deck. His hair, damp from sweat, curled close to his skin and stuck, restricting his neck movement. His face had turned red from sunburn, as had his hands and even his feet. His pale skin didn’t fare well under the Caribbean sun and its passionate kiss. His shirt stuck to his body, damp and dirtied from sweat. Despite all of that, the only indication that he was aware of his condition were his parted lips and the occasional back of a hand dragged over his forehead.
She remembered Jack’s words and added his observations to her own from when she had helped take care of the boy’s brand mark that first day he had turned up. She also considered how he had insisted on treating himself since and the fact that his clothes covered him at all times.
I’m beginnin’ t’ see wha’s go’ Jack in a huff, she thought uneasily. She decided the immediate concern would be getting the blacksmith to take a break and cool off before he passed out from heat exhaustion. She frowned when the thought entered her mind that she could let him pass out and then have Jack- No. She mentally shook her head; she wouldn’t risk the boy’s health just to try and get Jack to realize his potential of a moral heart.
She strode over to Will and rested a booted foot lightly over his red hand clenching the scrubbing brush. “Take a break.”
Will looked up with a decidedly endearing expression of mixed confusion and frustration. However she could see weariness behind the expression and frowned as she found signs of little sleep when she looked closer. “Looks like yeh need some sleep. Go on below an’ res’ a bi’. Ain’ goin’ t’ bother nobody.”
He shook his head. “I said I’d work my way for passage. Let me do it.”
With a sigh of exasperation, AnaMaria pressed, “Yeh’re dead tired, burned blazin’ red, an’ sweatin’ worse’n a pig! Now I say, up!”
Will stood and glared at her, forced to look up slightly at her inch of greater height. “You’re not the captain.”
“Bu’ I am. ‘N I agree with ‘er, mate.”
Both crew members turned with a start of surprise. Jack seemed to have a knack for turning up when least expected. The rest of the crew subtly snuck glances at the scene, none so dumb that they had missed the strange atmosphere forming since the stowaway’s appearance in their midst.
“Go on, you ‘eard the lass. To bed with you. I don’ need a collapsed body takin’ up room on me deck.”
Frowning in irritation, Will turned toward the hold without a word.
“Wai’.” He paused. Jack considered the back of his newest crew member and appeared to come to a quick decision under AnaMaria’s attentive gaze. “Take me cabin, lad, you’ll be more comfortable.”
That turned Will around in a hurry. His expression closed off with suspicion lurking in his eyes. He couldn’t very well find an excuse to say no, however, and the closer proximity of the captain’s cabin seemed to make the decision for him. As if defeated, he dropped his chin to his chest and shuffled towards the door.
With the sound of the closing door, everyone exhaled a breath of relief. Jack looked around, looking slightly amused by the situation. AnaMaria caught his eye and smiled clandestinely. That threw him off. She walked away with an exaggerated casualness in her step; she felt quite satisfied with her earlier conclusions.
Jack rested a fisted hand on his hip and raised the other to rub his sweat-soaked bandanna and readjust his hat. “Jus’ wha’ is she smirkin’ ‘bout?” he muttered to himself.
-----
Within moments of entering the empty cabin Will gave in to temptation and collapsed on the captain’s bed, which was far more comfortable than where he slept - which, compared to what most of the crew got, was a hundred times better. Still, he didn’t feel particularly comfortable wearing sweat-soaked clothes. After a long deliberation, he sat up and hesitantly glanced around the room as he raised his fingers to the fastenings of his shirt.
He slipped his shirt over his head in a rush, afraid that if he went too slowly that he wouldn’t follow through. Immediately his skin prickled at the strange feel of unfiltered air caressing his torso and arms. It took a few deep breaths to keep himself from shuddering as he moved to undo his pants. Will closed his eyes as he peeled the damp cloth from his legs and let it drop to the floor to lay like the shedding of an animal’s old skin.
He quickly returned to the bed. Even while the acknowledgement that it was someone else’s bed lingered in his mind, he pulled the blanket’s edge to cover his abdomen before letting his body completely relax. His eyes closed, exhaustion wearing on his mind and body as secrets continued to ferment behind his guarded silence.
It was the first time since his initial stowaway that he let himself so completely relax; this time, there was not nearly as much physical pain as then, his scars no longer so fresh. In a battle that he willingly lost, Will accepted defeat in the arms of sleep and allowed his mind to slip into unconsciousness.
-----
“Cap’n, why don’ yeh take some food an’ drink for th’ boy an’ yerself? Maybe some talk could clear up both yer moods,” AnaMaria suggested. She held out prepared food and drink to the pirate captain and waited for his response.
Jack eyed her suspiciously. “I don’ know wha’s in yer mind, luv, bu’ the offer’s been taken under consideration.” He took the proffered items and turned towards his cabin. He turned around halfway to his destination to see AnaMaria’s wide smirk. His kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed at her, but she just tilted her head up and an arrogant expression replaced the smirk.
Muttering about secret plots and unsavory characters, Jack entered his cabin and set his burdens down on his desk to light the candles and lamps around the room. Between the lamplight and the setting sun, a warm glow cast itself over the room as he took the time to seek out the whereabouts of Will.
His gaze snagged momentarily on the crumpled clothes on the floor in surprise. Then his eyes shifted to the bed and he inhaled sharply.
-----
TBC...
-----
Jack dragged his gaze to meet hers, lips set in a grumpy frown. His hands rested limply on the wheel.
She crossed her arms and made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. “Ain’t seen yeh like this ‘fore, Cap’n. Wha’s th’ trouble?”
“I like you, lass bu’ no’ enough to unburden me black ‘eart.”
“Horse shit,” she declared. “Who else yeh goin’ t’ tell wha’s makin’ yeh act sober?”
The pirate captain straightened up and indignantly denied, “I am no’ sober!”
“Yeh never can be,” AnaMaria muttered, rolling her eyes. “Yeh ain’ one for gloom, tho’, an’ a very new crew member seems t’ get the dusty cogs in yer ‘ead turnin’. It’s bad fer morale, lettin’ people see yeh like this!”
Jack glared at her in a squinting stare of consideration. Eventually he seemed to come to a decision, nodding to himself and leaning back from the wheel to stretch. “Go’ a bottle of rum?”
A couple hours later, and more than just one bottle of rum, Jack decided he was drunk enough to succumb to AnaMaria’s inquisition. Besides, she had slapped him after only a tiny caress, so it didn’t look like he’d be able to woo the woman into a different plan of action.
For a while he’d rambled some nonsense or another that he didn’t quite remember himself. Finally what he said caught Ana’s attention and she focused intently.
“… ‘n I seen lotta nas’y things ‘n such, but ya ‘ave t’ wonder ‘ow long it wen’ on.” He took a long swallow from his current bottle and eyed the remaining contents as he continued, “They gone ‘n done make th’ lad think pretty’s bad. It’s not bad! No... ‘course no’. Knew ya’d agree. Whoops...” He caught himself on the quarter rail he had just stepped away from. He glared blurrily at his feet, obviously wondering why they wouldn’t cooperate. AnaMaria stood quietly beside him, a frown darkening her features as she considered the midnight sea and sky.
“Do ya wonder ‘ow ‘e made it? A soft ‘eart li’e tha’ ‘n ‘e lived hip-deep in shi’ from uncarin’ pigs.” He snorted, body moving languidly with the motion of the ship. “...they made ‘im curse pretty!”
“You said that already, Jack,” AnaMaria said coolly, gently taking a sip from her (second) bottle of rum.
Jack clutched her forearm, drawing her attention to him. Despite his drunkenness, he looked deadly serious as he half-growled his elaboration. “Tha’ nigh’ ya all wen’ ashore, ‘e come int’ me cabin. ‘N ‘e tells me no’ t’ call ‘im whelp! I asks, ‘why?’ ‘N ‘e chokes on ‘is words. Ain’ been no one...” He frowned, eyelids drooping a bit as he seemed to puzzle over something. “E bloody broke ‘n ‘id ‘is face so’s I can’t see. ‘Don’t look!’ says ‘e, ‘don’t look! I don’ wan’na be pretty!’ ‘N I dun’ say nothin’ - bad ‘un, black ‘eart ‘n all…” He scowled to himself and tossed back another drink.
AnaMaria studied Jack in curiosity during the lapse of silence. This wasn’t the man she knew. He cared about someone’s unpleasant past? He cared that he couldn’t say something comforting? He cared so much that it affected his mood even in the realm of rum when he’d usually pursue her until she beat him black and blue...
So, being as direct as she could, she asked, “Why care?”
Jack sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of rum. He eyed her in that strange, inebriated way of his and scowled in her direction. “Ya don’ care yerself? I though’ ya’d be ‘is bloody guardian angel o’ somethin’ simmerly mushy…” He crossed his eyes in attempt to look at his mouth, which didn’t quite form words in the desired fashion.
“Sure. I care.” She stared hard at him. “Bu’ why you?”
He puffed out his chest proudly and hoisted his bottle like a sword. “Me care? I ‘ave a stone ‘eart, all black ‘n cold like. Savvy? Cap’n Sparrow don’ give a rat’s ass abou’ no’un. Aye. None.” He nodded his head decisively. “Jus’ Bootstrap ain’ goin’ t’ res’ well wit’ a son all messed up.” He thumped the bottle against his chest and looked at AnaMaria in determination. ”Savvy? Ol’ Jack’s go’ no ‘eart. It’s fer Bill, aye...”
AnaMaria sighed softly and shook her head. She didn’t have to wait long for Jack to finish his mumblings to himself and nursing the bottle of rum. She gazed down impassively at him when he collapsed to the deck. With the same indifference she dragged him to a spot where he could be in some realm of comfort on a sail folded and set aside to be mended. Before she went down to the hold to assign someone for watch, she glanced back one last time at the sleeping man and considered his confessions. She didn’t like him much, no, but she could recognize that he had a good soul. All the talk about no heart, black heart, stone heart, or whatever, was an outright lie.
“Bu’ jus’ wha’ is yer ‘eart hintin’ at?” she muttered. As she descended the stairs into the hold, she found herself toying with the idea of a little... matchmaking. It wasn’t nearly as startling of an idea as it should have been.
-----
The next day AnaMaria watched Will from the corner of her eye as the crew worked. The sun rose high and hot, not a cloud in the sky to block the searing rays. Most of the men had discarded their shirts or, in the very least, rolled the sleeves high and unbuttoned the front. Sweat rolled off the many backs and slicked already filthy hair. Tanned skin turned a bronzed brown as the day wore on. It took a while for her to realize that Will didn’t take any of the liberties that the other man had. Truth be told, she was about to resort to discarding her shirt in favor of a securely tied cloth around her chest; she already had her shirt unbuttoned as much as reasonably modest and she had rolled her sleeves up as far as she could.
Yet Will made no motion to do any such thing. Pondering this mystery, she stopped her work and studied him critically, trailing her eyes over his bent form as he scrubbed the main deck. His hair, damp from sweat, curled close to his skin and stuck, restricting his neck movement. His face had turned red from sunburn, as had his hands and even his feet. His pale skin didn’t fare well under the Caribbean sun and its passionate kiss. His shirt stuck to his body, damp and dirtied from sweat. Despite all of that, the only indication that he was aware of his condition were his parted lips and the occasional back of a hand dragged over his forehead.
She remembered Jack’s words and added his observations to her own from when she had helped take care of the boy’s brand mark that first day he had turned up. She also considered how he had insisted on treating himself since and the fact that his clothes covered him at all times.
I’m beginnin’ t’ see wha’s go’ Jack in a huff, she thought uneasily. She decided the immediate concern would be getting the blacksmith to take a break and cool off before he passed out from heat exhaustion. She frowned when the thought entered her mind that she could let him pass out and then have Jack- No. She mentally shook her head; she wouldn’t risk the boy’s health just to try and get Jack to realize his potential of a moral heart.
She strode over to Will and rested a booted foot lightly over his red hand clenching the scrubbing brush. “Take a break.”
Will looked up with a decidedly endearing expression of mixed confusion and frustration. However she could see weariness behind the expression and frowned as she found signs of little sleep when she looked closer. “Looks like yeh need some sleep. Go on below an’ res’ a bi’. Ain’ goin’ t’ bother nobody.”
He shook his head. “I said I’d work my way for passage. Let me do it.”
With a sigh of exasperation, AnaMaria pressed, “Yeh’re dead tired, burned blazin’ red, an’ sweatin’ worse’n a pig! Now I say, up!”
Will stood and glared at her, forced to look up slightly at her inch of greater height. “You’re not the captain.”
“Bu’ I am. ‘N I agree with ‘er, mate.”
Both crew members turned with a start of surprise. Jack seemed to have a knack for turning up when least expected. The rest of the crew subtly snuck glances at the scene, none so dumb that they had missed the strange atmosphere forming since the stowaway’s appearance in their midst.
“Go on, you ‘eard the lass. To bed with you. I don’ need a collapsed body takin’ up room on me deck.”
Frowning in irritation, Will turned toward the hold without a word.
“Wai’.” He paused. Jack considered the back of his newest crew member and appeared to come to a quick decision under AnaMaria’s attentive gaze. “Take me cabin, lad, you’ll be more comfortable.”
That turned Will around in a hurry. His expression closed off with suspicion lurking in his eyes. He couldn’t very well find an excuse to say no, however, and the closer proximity of the captain’s cabin seemed to make the decision for him. As if defeated, he dropped his chin to his chest and shuffled towards the door.
With the sound of the closing door, everyone exhaled a breath of relief. Jack looked around, looking slightly amused by the situation. AnaMaria caught his eye and smiled clandestinely. That threw him off. She walked away with an exaggerated casualness in her step; she felt quite satisfied with her earlier conclusions.
Jack rested a fisted hand on his hip and raised the other to rub his sweat-soaked bandanna and readjust his hat. “Jus’ wha’ is she smirkin’ ‘bout?” he muttered to himself.
-----
Within moments of entering the empty cabin Will gave in to temptation and collapsed on the captain’s bed, which was far more comfortable than where he slept - which, compared to what most of the crew got, was a hundred times better. Still, he didn’t feel particularly comfortable wearing sweat-soaked clothes. After a long deliberation, he sat up and hesitantly glanced around the room as he raised his fingers to the fastenings of his shirt.
He slipped his shirt over his head in a rush, afraid that if he went too slowly that he wouldn’t follow through. Immediately his skin prickled at the strange feel of unfiltered air caressing his torso and arms. It took a few deep breaths to keep himself from shuddering as he moved to undo his pants. Will closed his eyes as he peeled the damp cloth from his legs and let it drop to the floor to lay like the shedding of an animal’s old skin.
He quickly returned to the bed. Even while the acknowledgement that it was someone else’s bed lingered in his mind, he pulled the blanket’s edge to cover his abdomen before letting his body completely relax. His eyes closed, exhaustion wearing on his mind and body as secrets continued to ferment behind his guarded silence.
It was the first time since his initial stowaway that he let himself so completely relax; this time, there was not nearly as much physical pain as then, his scars no longer so fresh. In a battle that he willingly lost, Will accepted defeat in the arms of sleep and allowed his mind to slip into unconsciousness.
-----
“Cap’n, why don’ yeh take some food an’ drink for th’ boy an’ yerself? Maybe some talk could clear up both yer moods,” AnaMaria suggested. She held out prepared food and drink to the pirate captain and waited for his response.
Jack eyed her suspiciously. “I don’ know wha’s in yer mind, luv, bu’ the offer’s been taken under consideration.” He took the proffered items and turned towards his cabin. He turned around halfway to his destination to see AnaMaria’s wide smirk. His kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed at her, but she just tilted her head up and an arrogant expression replaced the smirk.
Muttering about secret plots and unsavory characters, Jack entered his cabin and set his burdens down on his desk to light the candles and lamps around the room. Between the lamplight and the setting sun, a warm glow cast itself over the room as he took the time to seek out the whereabouts of Will.
His gaze snagged momentarily on the crumpled clothes on the floor in surprise. Then his eyes shifted to the bed and he inhaled sharply.
-----
TBC...
-----