"One Day" Chapter 4
Title: Chasing Shadows -- "One Day" Chapter 4
Author: lady_di75
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: J/E, W/E (canon)
Characters (this chapter): Will, Bootstrap, Barbossa
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. None of them. Not even Pintel and Ragetti. They belong to Disney, who can't possibly love Jack as much as I do. *sniff*
Summary: Despite his lack of a heart, Will can get jealous, too, and he still doesn't completely trust Jack; the Flying Dutchman runs unexpectedly into some old friends.
A/N: I owe a wealth of gratitude to
artaxastra, whose post-AWE Shipwreck Cove pirateverse seems to have been the model for my own and who is endlessly generous with her ideas -- thanks, love -- and to
djarum99, who always lets me borrow without permission ;) And as always, I am indebted to my immortal goddess-of-beta
piratemistress. XOXO for never being too busy to bounce ideas around with me! Hope you enjoy it :)
Links: And because it's been a while...
Chapter 3 -- Disinclined
Chapter 2 -- Birthright
Chapter 1 -- Dark Sails
Prologue III (Elizabeth)
Prologues I & II (Jack, Will)
Chapter 4 - Chasing Shadows
Death was an inevitable fact of life - of this, Will had always been certain.
Therefore, having had his current occupation thrust upon him had not preserved his life, but simply postponed his demise indefinitely, leaving him suspended in a peculiar state of undeath. But it could not truly be called life, either.
Some days he found himself resigned to this rather bitter estimation of what his existence had become; others, he remembered with reluctant gratitude the sacrifice Jack had made to allow him his painfully brief union with Elizabeth.
Elizabeth.
There were still other days when Will’s general benevolence toward Jack evaporated entirely. Those days he was haunted not by the weary souls placed in his charge, but by wraiths of jealousy and suspicion. He even went so far as to imagine that Jack might have planned all along to somehow install him upon the Flying Dutchman, conveniently banished to the open sea for ten years at a time, far away from Elizabeth.
And he was no fool - he knew that Jack Sparrow was drawn to Elizabeth. Few men of her acquaintance weren’t, in truth; it had certainly been little secret to James Norrington, who, without having given so much as a thought to Jack, had once taken Will to task for presuming he was alone in caring for her. In the end, he had given his own life in defense of his former fiancee.
Yet what tormented Will in his most desolate and dark hours aboard the ship he had grudgingly inherited were two chillingly vivid memories. The first was the image of Elizabeth and Jack upon the deck of the doomed Pearl, eyes closed, their lips touching, sliding, searing, caressing in a way that bespoke an intimate connection the likes of which he had believed Elizabeth shared only with him. The second was his confrontation with her on their way to rescue Jack. He had laid his heart bare, revealing what he had witnessed that day - she had bristled at his lack of trust, insisting she had done it only to save him and the others, accusing him of believing she loved Jack.
But she never denied it.
And then, when the blackness of these thoughts threatened to crush him like the silent oblivion of Calypso’s embrace, he would run his fingertips along the jagged pink scar on his chest, remembering her tearful vow to keep his heart safe until he could return to her, remembering the sweetness of her cries in his ear when she gave herself to him, body and soul, and thought that he actually might be a fool, after all, for even entertaining such poisonous ideas. Then, somehow, all the demons of doubt were vanquished by the dawn, and he would ascend to the helm to relieve his father.
The sun was already high, obscured by a tropical haze, on one such morning when the Flying Dutchman was drawn to the wreckage of a ship off the coast of Brazil, and as Will walked its lonely decks in search of lost souls and survivors, he caught sight of a hulking shadow parting the mists that shrouded the ruined vessel. Grasping Bootstrap’s forearm, he nodded over the port bow, knowing that if any man could confirm his growing suspicion, it would be his own father.
“Well, bugger me,” Bootstrap muttered, not taking his eyes from the emerging form, “it’s the Black Pearl.”
With a creased brow belying his confusion, Will leapt to the rail, one hand holding fast to a stray line, to get a better view through the gloom. The elder Turner was right, of course - it was just that Will had not expected to cross paths with Jack again so soon. Yet something about the scene did not sit right with him. The utter destruction of the ship upon which he stood seemed somehow contrary to what he knew to be true of Jack. Any man who held such love for his own ship would be rather unlikely to inflict such certain death upon another; besides, Jack Sparrow never resorted to actual canon fire and carnage when empty threats and dizzying doubletalk could do the job just as well. Smoke and mirrors were Jack’s weapons of choice.
Will looked back at his father, indicating the wasted vessel beneath their feet. “So then - Jack did this?”
Bootstrap shook his head. “Not Jack. Be surprised if Jack is on the Pearl at all - an’ if he is, likely as not he’s in the brig. No, this has Hector’s stench about it.”
“Barbossa?” Will took in the sight of Jack’s ship, closing fast upon them, and suddenly realized the significance of what his father had said: Jack was not in command of the Pearl, had presumably not surrendered her of his own volition, and yet it was certain that he had not perished in the transfer of power, either, for Will himself would be the first to know if he had. Wherever Jack was, something was very wrong.
In an instant, he was upon the deck of the Pearl, stalking towards the helm where Barbossa’s ludicrously plumed hat was plainly visible. He scarcely noticed the trembling crewmen falling over themselves to clear a path, or the hoarse whispers that followed in his wake:
“The Ferryman, come to collect his due...”
“Heard tell that the cap’n has an accord w’ the Master o’ the Dutchman... married ‘im to the Pirate King, ‘e did...”
“A lass, the Pirate King - first one in our lifetime - an’ a right fierce piece she is, too, they say... all long legs and wild hair... knows ‘ow to ‘andle a sword, from wot I ‘eard...”
The lascivious note of the last comment, however, rang in Will’s ears clear as a bell. In one motion he spun on his heel and drew his sword, leveling it at the throat of the offending man, an awkward, gangling youth with stringy hair and a sallow complexion. Will thought immediately of Ragetti with two good eyes and ten fewer years.
“Those legs and that hair belong to my wife and your king.” His voice was low, but the threat that flashed in his dark eyes was unmistakable. “You would do well to speak of her with the respect and gratitude that is due her, lest you and I - or you and she, for that matter - should meet again under very different circumstances.” The terrified young pirate nodded silently, the pallor of his skin not improved by this exchange. Will sheathed his sword, but held the other man’s petrified gaze. “I trust your captain would agree with me - Captain Swann is not to be underestimated.”
“A fact of which I believe I became aware before you ever knew you had a pirate on your hands, young Turner,” Barbossa sneered archly, now directly behind him. “Let alone the once and future king of the Brethren Court.”
Will wheeled around to face the enigma that was Hector Barbossa... onetime nemesis, onetime ally... and found him to be wearing the same maddeningly unreadable smirk as always. “You seem to have made yourself rather comfortable - where’s Jack?” Will demanded.
Barbossa’s unpleasant grin widened. “Captain Jack Sparrow... fell behind."
Author: lady_di75
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: J/E, W/E (canon)
Characters (this chapter): Will, Bootstrap, Barbossa
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. None of them. Not even Pintel and Ragetti. They belong to Disney, who can't possibly love Jack as much as I do. *sniff*
Summary: Despite his lack of a heart, Will can get jealous, too, and he still doesn't completely trust Jack; the Flying Dutchman runs unexpectedly into some old friends.
A/N: I owe a wealth of gratitude to
artaxastra, whose post-AWE Shipwreck Cove pirateverse seems to have been the model for my own and who is endlessly generous with her ideas -- thanks, love -- and to
djarum99, who always lets me borrow without permission ;) And as always, I am indebted to my immortal goddess-of-beta
piratemistress. XOXO for never being too busy to bounce ideas around with me! Hope you enjoy it :)
Links: And because it's been a while...
Chapter 3 -- Disinclined
Chapter 2 -- Birthright
Chapter 1 -- Dark Sails
Prologue III (Elizabeth)
Prologues I & II (Jack, Will)
Chapter 4 - Chasing Shadows
Death was an inevitable fact of life - of this, Will had always been certain.
Therefore, having had his current occupation thrust upon him had not preserved his life, but simply postponed his demise indefinitely, leaving him suspended in a peculiar state of undeath. But it could not truly be called life, either.
Some days he found himself resigned to this rather bitter estimation of what his existence had become; others, he remembered with reluctant gratitude the sacrifice Jack had made to allow him his painfully brief union with Elizabeth.
Elizabeth.
There were still other days when Will’s general benevolence toward Jack evaporated entirely. Those days he was haunted not by the weary souls placed in his charge, but by wraiths of jealousy and suspicion. He even went so far as to imagine that Jack might have planned all along to somehow install him upon the Flying Dutchman, conveniently banished to the open sea for ten years at a time, far away from Elizabeth.
And he was no fool - he knew that Jack Sparrow was drawn to Elizabeth. Few men of her acquaintance weren’t, in truth; it had certainly been little secret to James Norrington, who, without having given so much as a thought to Jack, had once taken Will to task for presuming he was alone in caring for her. In the end, he had given his own life in defense of his former fiancee.
Yet what tormented Will in his most desolate and dark hours aboard the ship he had grudgingly inherited were two chillingly vivid memories. The first was the image of Elizabeth and Jack upon the deck of the doomed Pearl, eyes closed, their lips touching, sliding, searing, caressing in a way that bespoke an intimate connection the likes of which he had believed Elizabeth shared only with him. The second was his confrontation with her on their way to rescue Jack. He had laid his heart bare, revealing what he had witnessed that day - she had bristled at his lack of trust, insisting she had done it only to save him and the others, accusing him of believing she loved Jack.
But she never denied it.
And then, when the blackness of these thoughts threatened to crush him like the silent oblivion of Calypso’s embrace, he would run his fingertips along the jagged pink scar on his chest, remembering her tearful vow to keep his heart safe until he could return to her, remembering the sweetness of her cries in his ear when she gave herself to him, body and soul, and thought that he actually might be a fool, after all, for even entertaining such poisonous ideas. Then, somehow, all the demons of doubt were vanquished by the dawn, and he would ascend to the helm to relieve his father.
The sun was already high, obscured by a tropical haze, on one such morning when the Flying Dutchman was drawn to the wreckage of a ship off the coast of Brazil, and as Will walked its lonely decks in search of lost souls and survivors, he caught sight of a hulking shadow parting the mists that shrouded the ruined vessel. Grasping Bootstrap’s forearm, he nodded over the port bow, knowing that if any man could confirm his growing suspicion, it would be his own father.
“Well, bugger me,” Bootstrap muttered, not taking his eyes from the emerging form, “it’s the Black Pearl.”
With a creased brow belying his confusion, Will leapt to the rail, one hand holding fast to a stray line, to get a better view through the gloom. The elder Turner was right, of course - it was just that Will had not expected to cross paths with Jack again so soon. Yet something about the scene did not sit right with him. The utter destruction of the ship upon which he stood seemed somehow contrary to what he knew to be true of Jack. Any man who held such love for his own ship would be rather unlikely to inflict such certain death upon another; besides, Jack Sparrow never resorted to actual canon fire and carnage when empty threats and dizzying doubletalk could do the job just as well. Smoke and mirrors were Jack’s weapons of choice.
Will looked back at his father, indicating the wasted vessel beneath their feet. “So then - Jack did this?”
Bootstrap shook his head. “Not Jack. Be surprised if Jack is on the Pearl at all - an’ if he is, likely as not he’s in the brig. No, this has Hector’s stench about it.”
“Barbossa?” Will took in the sight of Jack’s ship, closing fast upon them, and suddenly realized the significance of what his father had said: Jack was not in command of the Pearl, had presumably not surrendered her of his own volition, and yet it was certain that he had not perished in the transfer of power, either, for Will himself would be the first to know if he had. Wherever Jack was, something was very wrong.
In an instant, he was upon the deck of the Pearl, stalking towards the helm where Barbossa’s ludicrously plumed hat was plainly visible. He scarcely noticed the trembling crewmen falling over themselves to clear a path, or the hoarse whispers that followed in his wake:
“The Ferryman, come to collect his due...”
“Heard tell that the cap’n has an accord w’ the Master o’ the Dutchman... married ‘im to the Pirate King, ‘e did...”
“A lass, the Pirate King - first one in our lifetime - an’ a right fierce piece she is, too, they say... all long legs and wild hair... knows ‘ow to ‘andle a sword, from wot I ‘eard...”
The lascivious note of the last comment, however, rang in Will’s ears clear as a bell. In one motion he spun on his heel and drew his sword, leveling it at the throat of the offending man, an awkward, gangling youth with stringy hair and a sallow complexion. Will thought immediately of Ragetti with two good eyes and ten fewer years.
“Those legs and that hair belong to my wife and your king.” His voice was low, but the threat that flashed in his dark eyes was unmistakable. “You would do well to speak of her with the respect and gratitude that is due her, lest you and I - or you and she, for that matter - should meet again under very different circumstances.” The terrified young pirate nodded silently, the pallor of his skin not improved by this exchange. Will sheathed his sword, but held the other man’s petrified gaze. “I trust your captain would agree with me - Captain Swann is not to be underestimated.”
“A fact of which I believe I became aware before you ever knew you had a pirate on your hands, young Turner,” Barbossa sneered archly, now directly behind him. “Let alone the once and future king of the Brethren Court.”
Will wheeled around to face the enigma that was Hector Barbossa... onetime nemesis, onetime ally... and found him to be wearing the same maddeningly unreadable smirk as always. “You seem to have made yourself rather comfortable - where’s Jack?” Will demanded.
Barbossa’s unpleasant grin widened. “Captain Jack Sparrow... fell behind."