{Fic} Lost at Sea (PotC, Jack/Will...) 2/2
Lost at Sea
By Clarity Scifiroots
Regular disclaimers apply, I’m dabbling in someone else’s sandbox.
Pairings: Jack/Will unrequited (?), Will/Elizabeth (sidelines)
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: Signs of het (vague moments of J/E and J/Tia... but not really)
Summary: Jack’s time in the Locker is not easily shaken. (AWE)
Series: first story, Of Skin and Bone
~ * ~ * ~
Previous part
Jack is prepared to lay forever on the hard plain of sand and bake under the sun that never sets. After a while, he adjusts and feels warm rather than boiling hot. His eyes are closed as he lets his mind wander and tries to remember. Memories and dreams blur together now and he has long given up the fight to determine reality.
When one is bein’ followed by rocks, he tells himself, one should be doubtful ‘bout one’s ability to suss out what’s real an’ what’s not.
Amidst all the bright heat it becomes immediately apparent that something is awry when the sun fails to reach him. He opens his eyes quickly and glances around without moving. Strange, the shadow over him extends quite a ways... He sits up and blinks at the sight of funny little gray creatures swelling like waves at the bottom of his Pearl. As he continues to watch, it strikes him that Pearl is moving, gliding across the sand due to the creatures crawling over themselves to keep the motion going.
There’s somethin’ you don’t see every day.
It takes him another minute to realize he should be following. Muttering a curse, he jumps to his feet and dashes after his ship.
~ * ~
His blood sings at the sight of the sea and for the first time in days he feels almost alive. Maybe there is still a chance for escape and a way to outrun his latest sin. He also thinks it might be a good sign that he is no longer seeing an innumerable crew of Sparrows.
“A sight for sore eyes! Jack!”
“Mister Gibbs!” he calls, striding towards his first mate. Damn the man. “I thought so. I expect you can account for your actions, then?”
Gibbs blinks at him in surprise, confusion widening his eyes. “Sir?”
“There has been a perpetual an’ virulent lack of discipline aboard my vessel! Why is that, sir?”
After glancing over his shoulder, Gibbs leans in and says quietly, “You’re in Davy Jones’ locker, Cap’n.”
“I know that.” Of course he’s known. “I know where I am.” Didn’t he? “And don’t think that I don’t.” He snorts and turns to check on the rest of his crew.
“Jack Sparrow.”
Well, this is a surprise. Jack pauses and eyes the tall man. “Ah, Hector. It’s been too long,” well, everything seems so long ago, “hasn’t it?”
Barbossa’s eyes narrow and it’s hard to tell if it’s amusement or suspicion. “Aye, Isla de Muerta, remember? You shot me.”
“No I didn’t.” He walks by and bumps into the mambo. Soaked as she is from the sea, Jack can’t dredge up any fear for this usually intimidating woman. “Ah, Tia Dalma, out an’ about, eh? You lend an agreeable sense of the macabre to any delirium.” He smiles and sketches a shallow bow.
He congratulates himself for imagining a more detailed reality but reminds himself not to get caught up in fantasy. They are not here. This is not real-real, like living real.
“He thinks we’re a hallucination.” Ah, the voice of reason.
The voice is nearly as familiar as the hum of his sweet Pearl. Since the first time they crossed blades Jack has been aware of Will and his inaudible tune that Jack finds all too easy to sing to. His chest aches with the need to reach out to a living Will, touch warm skin so as to drive away the horrible memory of death.
He clears his throat and bluffs, “William, tell me somethin’. Have you come because you need my help to rescue a certain distressing damsel?” Being murdered is quite stressful and enough to turn a man from even the prettiest of women. “Or rather, a damsel in distress? Either one.”
Turner arches an eyebrow at him as he answers in the negative. The expression is so familiar of his estranged past that Jack has to reign in the urge to hug the man. Reasonably he continues, “Then you wouldn’t be here. So you can’t be here. Q.E.D. you’re not really here.”
That’s right, let these buggers know where they stand.
“Jack, this is real, we’re here.”
His moustache twitches in annoyance. Why is she back? He eyes Elizabeth warily and side-steps her outstretched hand. No, he will not have her touch him. As he backs away he realizes that the woman standing before him wears an expression of guilt, something always lacking when she has visited before. He glances quickly at the other people gathered on the beach; he wonders who the Orientals are and questions why he would invite Barbossa or Pintel or Ragetti into his world.
A disturbing suspicion creeps into his thoughts and he goes to Gibbs to check on it. “The locker, you say?” He strokes his beard in thought, staring blankly at the sand underfoot. It would make sense, right?
He still hasn’t come up with a satisfactory answer when Elizabeth insists, “We’ve come to rescue you!”
And the statement sounds utterly ridiculous when he casts an eye around the crowd. Everywhere he looks he can see evidence that rescue plays very little part in this venture. Gibbs, bless him, and his few remaining crew members seem to be without ulterior motives, but he knows that can change in time.
He rakes his gaze over Turner, noting the fading bruises on the man’s face and recently healed cut on his hand. It takes a moment to find, but Jack’s eyes settle on the knife at Will’s belt. His heart skips a beat and for a moment he feels it in his hand again, sees the blood welling up from the depths of a cooling body.
“Cut ou’ him heart.” He spins toward Tia Dalma with an accusation ready on his lips and stops just in time when he realizes that she is exchanging a concerned glance with Gibbs.
You’re lost, Jacky. He tells the voice to shut up and launches into a classic Captain Sparrow display practiced long enough that he doesn’t have to worry about the performance being perfect. Dazzle ‘em ‘til they can’t see straight.
~ * ~
The voices in his head haven’t stopped. Jack hears them taunting him when he tries to block them out and pay attention to the real people around him. At night when he’s alone with the voices he wonders how no one knows. Then again, he considers, who would see fit to call him on it? Barbossa needs him at the moment, Elizabeth has been absent more than not, same with Turner - who is not the Will of his fantasies - and Gibbs hesitates to question his captain too deeply.
Alrigh’, then. By your onesies.
‘Cepting for us, a’course. Bugger. Nice of you to vote our murderess into kinghood.
Weren’t no better way, he argues. He narrows his eyes at the noisy Court, as if he needed a reminder of why he hates meeting with so many fellow pirate captains. Self-important lot without a sense of humor, all of them. He snorts and turns away, only to come face-to-face with a captain he’s less inclined to see than the others.
His lips twitch, attempting a smile. Well... “How’s it, then?” Noticing the dissatisfaction in eyes dark as his own, Jack says, “What? You’ve seen it all, done it all.” He waves his hands in a grand gesture. “You survived. An’ that’s the trick, innit? To survive.”
Captain Teague’s eyebrow arches at his tone. When he replies, it’s with something Jack does not expect of the man he’d watched grow hard and cynical. “It’s not just about livin’ forever, Jacky. The trick,” he makes a familiar hand gesture, “is living with yourself, forever.”
Gettin’ a bad feelin’ ‘ere, one of the voices complains.
Don’t pay attention to ‘im. Dads’re apt to frighten the kiddies.
The first voice reminds, Not been a kid for a while, Jack. An’ you know ‘e knows it.
Shut up, all of you!
“So...” he grabs for something completely different. “How’s mum?”
Oh. Not so lovely these days. Vaguely he wonders what happened, but it’s been a couple decades since he’d been near either parent. “She looks great.” He sees a real grin reflected back at him and some of his fear dims.
Might’ve visited sooner, Jacky.
He sighs, wishing he had a moment’s peace. He dreads the night ahead, knowing it will be all the worse after having abandoned Turner for Beckett to find. But it’s part of the plan, he tries to console himself.
“The trick is living with yourself.” Jack looks up quickly but is unable to tell if Teague repeated himself. Either way, the words weigh heavily on his shoulders like an accusation. He really wishes he didn’t have to be involved.
~ * ~
He abandons the distracting voices back in the Dutchman’s brig and pursues his original purpose of being on the ship. The chest is heavier than he remembers and the beat of the heart vibrates throughout his body even as he dodges Jones’ blows and quips with the squid-faced captain.
Then he’s flying through the air and catching hold of a rope by pure luck. His body moves fluidly, instinctively keeping him from revisiting death’s door. His only goal is uniting chest and key and stabbing that heart to claim his immortality and leave behind all mortals’ fear.
~ * ~
Jack laughs aloud when the key clicks into place. Eagerly he opens the lid but amidst the elation he feels a sudden stab of fear as he looks down at the bloody heart. For a moment the image of a lifeless Will laying in his bed overwhelms him.
It’s not ’im, you fool! he scolds himself. He glances up, sees Davy Jones mocking Turner as he removes the sword from his body. Now! Or it could bloody well be. Jack grabs the heart and pulls it out with both hands.
Scrambling to his feet, he withdraws his broken sword and waits for the opportune-
“Do you?” He can feel the grin lighting his face and resists the urge to laugh at Jones’ stunned expression. “Heady tonic, holdin’ life an’ death in the palm of one’s ‘and.” He ignores the slimy feel of the heart as blood trickles between his fingers. Part of him remembers Will’s blood blossoming red beneath the knife.
Jack pulls his blade up, preparing for a grand performance to sever Jones’ ties from the world when the other captain accuses, “You’re a cruel man, Jack Sparrow.”
“All a matter of perspective, mate!” he returns.
“Is it, now?”
Jack is sure he didn’t blink. Swears it, but he did not see anything until the sword is protruding from the whelp’s chest. Again he is forced to watch dark crimson well to the surface at an alarming rate, spilling over the edges of the wound and trailing down skin to soak into cloth. Jack isn’t sure he can breathe, frozen in shock.
He doesn’t realize he’d gone deaf until a fury of sound crashes in on him and he’s moving. More than moving, he’s practically flying across the deck to reach Will’s side. Elizabeth is sobbing as she uselessly runs her hands over the dying man’s body. Jack watches in wide-eyed silence and wishes he could see Will’s eyes. He wants someone else to tell him what to do; his recent choices have led to such disaster.
“Please!” Elizabeth is begging, but not of Jack.
Will’s eyes are losing focus, and Jack can see now that the man has turned his head. In his mind he can hear echoes from the wasteland and that strange period of bliss he doubts he will ever regain.
“Cut ou’ him heart.” “You don’t belong here, Jack.” “You have the opportunity.” “Whad do you wan’ most?” “Do it, Jack.” “You’ve got to do it yourself.”
The hand in his is chilly but not yet waxen. He guides the weak fingers around the hilt of his sword and raises their joined hands. He looks away from the heart and stares at Will as the broken blade descends and sinks into flesh. As the light fades in Will’s eyes, Jack fancies he sees a tiny smile. He glances away, not wanting to watch the final moment when breath escapes for the last time.
Jones freezes above Bill Turner, Calypso’s name escaping his lips before the Dutchman’s captain falls over the rail and into the eye of the whirlpool. Elizabeth screams behind him and Jack closes his eyes, praying to whatever gods will listen that he hasn’t made another mistake.
Gradually he becomes aware of the murmured chant sweeping over the ship as the misshapen crew draw closer. “Part of the ship, part of the crew. Part of the ship, part of the crew.”
Goosebumps creep up Jack’s arm at the repetition. He knows it’s time to go, suddenly realizing how deep the Dutchman is swirling into the whirlpool. Elizabeth fights to get away when he grabs her, but he is the stronger and by the time he miraculously gets them airborne, she is clinging to him and sobbing into his chest. She doesn’t see what he does. Jack watches with sick fascination as Bootstrap employs his knife in the task of ripping into his son’s chest. And oh, there is so much more blood...
The Dutchman continues its downward spiral as Jack and Elizabeth float through the air towards the Pearl. He foolishly wonders how any of this is possible. He’s been acting on instinct and now he feels lost in the absence of action and adrenaline. As they near the ocean’s surface he can hear Pearl’s call and smiles a little to himself, knowing now that she called them back - probably with a little help. He gives Elizabeth a boost before climbing up the ship behind her. He glances up at the clearing sky and spares a thought to Calypso, acknowledging the part of the goddess that will always be Tia Dalma.
Can’t escape bein’ human, he thinks. He feels amazingly calm as he steps on deck. Calm and confident.
Gibbs nervously tries to give a report and none too subtly suggests fleeing. Barbossa calls out orders that Jack quickly belays. Gibbs tries again to encourage retreat. “Kindly shut up!” Jack snaps at the crew as he strides towards the helm. He waits, watching the waves, knowing that soon- And he’s not sure how he knows, though he’s aware that Pearl in humming and he seems to hear the faint thump of a heartbeat...
The Flying Dutchman breaks the surface. He grins and calls, “Full canvas!” Elizabeth looks ready to faint for a moment; she quickly regains herself and competes with her fellow captains for attention as they each shout orders to the crew.
~ * ~
He stares for a long time at the pristine beach in the light of the setting sun. He tries to imagine what it would be like to watch the land from afar for years on end, knowing that he could only set foot on land for one day every ten years. The ocean is his home and a closer companion than any lover, but even Jack needs his time ashore, if only to remember how much he belongs to the sea.
The wind picks up and Jack’s eye catches on the ghostly flag flying above the Dutchman. The otherworldly ship waits with the Pearl for the morning to come. She’s changed a little having shed much of her sea creature accoutrements like the crew. Despite the change of captains, she’ll continue to be a terrifying sight as she comes to guide her souls, but Jack will never fear her tattered sails again.
A lone figure leans against the rail on the other ship and after squinting a bit, Jack can tell it’s Bootstrap; (he looks much better without the starfish and the barnacle-encrusted coat). For a moment Jack feels a little uncomfortable realizing that the only other person watching the shore so intently is the father of the recent groom. Bootstrap has a justifiable claim on concern for his newlywed son; Jack isn’t sure he could defend his own spying if asked. His interest has little to do with concern for the newlyweds and more to do with an emotional investment Jack is reluctant to admit.
“Cap’n.” Gibbs steps up to the rail. Jack motions him to speak but doesn’t turn to face his first mate. “Be there a plan for mornin’?”
Gaze again turned to shore, Jack considers what the new Mrs. Turner is apt to request upon return. “To Shipwreck Cove, I think. Her majesty needs ‘er own ship.” He caresses Pearl’s rail affectionately. “Already ‘ave me ‘ands full with bloody what’s-‘is-face.” Gibbs snorts quietly, making Jack grin.
“Aye, an’ what ye be plannin’ about that?”
Jack glances sidelong at his friend and smirks. “A secret, Mister Gibbs. All in due time.” Truthfully he hasn’t thought very far ahead given the recent overwhelming events, but he’ll be damned if he lets Barbossa take away his Pearl again. Maybe he should enlist Elizabeth’s help before seeing her off. After all, she seems to feel indebted to him at the moment, and he isn’t sure how long that will last.
Lass seems to’ve made quite the impression with ol’ Hector. That, along with her craftiness will prove a good asset in retaining his beloved ship. Yes, he decides, he’ll set her to work. Maybe they’ll even avoid some bloodshed if Elizabeth can convince Barbossa to take on a different ship. Never would’ve figured ‘im to be fascinated by anyone but ‘isself.
“Jack?” Gibbs looks like he’s been waiting to catch his attention. “The crew’ll be wantin’ some... rewardin’ venture after all this.”
Ah. That he has thought of, though he’ll not admit to why. “I know just the thing, mate.” He grins and meets his friend’s curious gaze. “E’er ‘eard of the Fountain of Youth?” Gibbs opens his mouth but doesn’t say a word, a strange expression crossing his face - a dawning realization that Jack is not particularly fond of. “Bit of shiny ‘long the way, to be sure,” he adds. This proves enough of a distraction.
Jack’s eyes wander back to the Dutchman where Bootstrap has begun to pace. Eternity would be more’n a might lonely. Wonder if your girl understands it yet.
“I’m to take watch if ye want, Cap’n,” Gibbs says expectantly.
Shaking his head, Jack leans against the rail and waves the first mate away. “I’ll be ‘ere, Mister Gibbs. Get your rest ‘fore our travels, savvy?” He’s already refocused on the shore when Gibbs responds. The sun has set but already a full moon bathes the sand in silvery light.
For a moment he imagines he can feel the sand beneath his feet and the surf lapping at his ankles. He turns toward the gentle touch at his shoulder and finds Will standing beside him, a small smile on his face. They stare at one another in peaceable silence. Jack moves his gaze to Will’s open shirt and eyes the long jagged scar across an otherwise unblemished chest. His heart aches at the sight but before he can say anything gentle fingers press against his lips. He looks up, expecting to fall into the other man’s mahogany gaze, and instead can only see the Flying Dutchman bobbing gently in the waves.
With a sigh, Jack slumps against the rail and wonders if he has the energy to find a bottle of rum. Come morning, he’ll be needing it.
~ * ~ * ~
Notes: I solemnly swear that I am working on a sequel. ^_^
Muchos gracias to
veronica_rich for taking a couple early looks at this and persisting the quest to keep Turrow alive! *g* This is also dedicated to all of you who kept with me during Ocean Soul =)