New POTC Fic: "Intersexion"
Title: "Intersexion"
Characters: W/E and J/W and many others (but not a cast of thousands)
Rating: NC-17 for descriptive slash
Disclaimer: Characters property of Buena Vista and Bruckheimer, additions all my own.
Summary: Jack and Elizabeth and Will all figure out their places in each other's lives. Well, sort of. This is the final part of a series, in order: A Debt to be Paid, With Interest, A Tangled Web, A Heart Divided, Supernatural, and Conterminous. Two other standalone stories - The Pirate Boy and Small Comforts - also take place in this timeline, “The Pirate Boy” about a year after this.
A/N: Thanks to betas for this part metalkatt, danglingdingle, mamazano, and a_silver_rose - any mistakes that linger would be my own.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Special Note: I want to give this series a name - something mathematical (that's just how the titles have mostly shaken out) - but somehow I think Not Another JEWish Triangle might be taken offensively by some of the Judeo-religious of fandom. Suggestions? If you have one, shoot me a PM ...
Leaning was not a talent Jack would’ve ever thought the formidable King Turner wouldn’t be possessing.
Nonetheless, when the equally intrepid Queen Turner propped her against the table with an admonition to stand upright, she leaned forward over it, one cheek down (and two more up), with a loud, kingly THWACK. Even Jack winced, as he tried to sit, lifting himself with abdominal muscles more interested in mutinying by pressing inward on a gut full of port … or brandy … or madeira …
He fell back, watching Will bend over her behind to pull her upright. He had to press his groin to her backside to lift, and Jack lifted his eyebrows, wondering if he was about to get an impromptu show; entertainment of this persuasion was always welcome on the Black Pearl, especially in her captain’s private quarters. Instead, Will turned Elizabeth toward him and lifted her hips to sit on the edge of the table, leaning forward to lay her back across it. Jack’s mouth watered at the way he leaned, the strain of fabric across Will’s hip; his palms burned to cup the curve and squeeze and pull and stroke.
“Now, you …” Will hunkered down, reaching for Jack’s arms. Jack lifted them minutely, and put forth just enough effort so that Will didn’t have to do all the lifting - not that it much mattered, since he’d gained enough unearthly strength to hoist Jack like potatoes if he’d wanted. Instead, he stood, patiently letting Jack get his feet under him, and pulled the limp form against his body to get a better hold.
Will tried to lift him over his shoulder, but Jack slid his arms around the man’s shoulders, making it quite impossible. After some obvious momentary surprise, Will stared at him, then hoisted Jack’s hips. The pirate wrapped his legs around Will’s hips and tightened his hold on the man’s shoulders. He closed his eyes as Will carried him to the bed, and opened them as he lowered him to the covers.
“Get some rest, Jack,” he whispered, reaching around to loosen the pirate’s limpet-like grip. Then, Jack could’ve sworn he added, “You’re going to need it,” right before he straightened and walked back to the table to claim his wife and carry her somewhere off the Pearl - leaving Jack to drugged oblivion.
Endless oddball images blurred and roiled, coalescing through his deep sleep at some conscious point later, his face half-buried in the pillow - this was his only conscious awareness of the world, everything else being dedicated to spreading out and floating, suspended, on the goo of his liquor-muddled cranium. Had he been awake, he would’ve surely cursed himself for letting Mrs. Strumpet crack that first bottle open, for letting her turn his brain to viscous plop.
His own snorfling into the nearly-flat pillow nearly woke him, and he scratched his chest, half-waking only long enough to tend the itch just under his left nipple before falling back into stupor.
So it was rather remarkable, as he would recount later, sitting straight up and stabbing the tip of his pistol barrel into the chest of the person who weighed his bed, eyes fully open and narrowed at his would-be assailant. Who, as it turned out … was just William.
Who was looking down at the gun, none too concerned, even as Jack uncocked the safety. “I daresay it wouldn’t have done you much good,” he pointed out, pushing the barrel away with the tip of his finger. “Or me much harm.”
He waited a couple of beats, relaxing, before lowering the pistol. “You doin’ here?” he murmured, leaning forward a bit and reaching behind to shove the gun back under his pillow. “Last I saw, ye were cartin’ your dearly beloved out like a sack o’ sand.”
“She holds her liquor even worse than you, Jack.”
He smacked his lips. “Speakin’ of which …” He gaped a few times, tongue cotton-wrapped in lack of saliva, and scratched his head, trying to remember if the port had been finished. “There a jug on that table?” he nodded in its general direction. Of Will’s skeptical disapproval, Jack frowned. “Hair of th’ dog what bit ye, son.”
He’d barely drawn a breath before Will held up a bulbous, dark bottle. “I think you would hold this better.” Jack eyed it a moment, then reached for it. The last bottle of rum he’d taken from a Turner had earned him the black spot; uncorking this one seemed to promise no more than sweet relief or more of the same head-swimming, at worst.
Besides, free spirits was free spirits. Jack accepted the bottle with a small nod, toasted the other captain with a tilted gesture, and uncorked it to swig. He gulped, greedy for relief, uncaring how low the bottle’s level went. When he lowered it, taking a breath and rubbing his cuff across his lips, he expected to see censure in Will’s eyes - but there was only an odd intensity, watching him, the same Jack had seen a few times before without explanation. On anyone else, he would’ve assumed it was interest … but with Will, it could be interest in any number of things, up to and including Jack’s own imminent demise.
It wasn’t often that while in the man’s presence he remembered that he was Death, and the sudden realization of how close Will was sitting made him uncomfortable. “So, she’s asleep,” he began, searching for conversation.
“I have a hard time believing you want to discuss my wife.”
Jack shrugged. “Germane, idn’ it?”
After a moment, Will dipped his head in acknowledgement. “So it is.” Jack watched his eyelashes briefly fan the top of his cheek and his senses were still laden with enough liquor to count each tiny hair. With sudden embarrassment, he recognized the desire to want to touch each, to pet it with a fingertip, and take the luxury of time that a man who lived so close to the open, violent elements of the world did not have to properly spend with such a thing. The lashes turned into warm, liquid eyes, and he turned away, busying himself with leaning over and setting his mostly-full bottle on the floor. He took his time, trying to think of suitable conversation that would pull his brain back up from his cock.
He had no more settled on a topic and straightened to speak than he had a mouthful of straight white teeth and pushy tongue. Briefly he wondered if he had gained doubles of both, before it settled upon him that he was being kissed, rather aggressively. Unabashedly, he let the feeling flood him, blood long since having left his head for parts southerly. He opened his mouth willingly, inviting, and was rewarded with a tongue-tip stroking his own, dipping below it to lick underneath. Jack groaned softly, eyes closed, and shivered to hear - to feel - an answering, muffled sound from somewhere in the back of Will’s throat.
When he reached up to grip the back of his neck, his palm brushed the fading, softened scarf tying Will’s hair back. He paused to locate the edges and pull it down, off, giving it a toss before threading his fingers into the warm, soft curls. It felt as though Will were breaking the kiss; Jack closed the distance, cradling the base of his skull in his rough palm, and felt an equally eager mouth to his once more. He realized Will was pushing, gently overbearing, and leaned back, accommodating the other body on top of, alongside his, lifting a leg to wrap it around the man’s hip. He rubbed the arch of his foot along the back of Will’s calf, noting absently it was bare skin, and slid his free hand beneath Will’s shirt to similarly rub the dip of his lower back. He felt fingers in his hair, the soft, unbraided locks Will was able to locate, and opened his mouth wider as the man’s broad, large nose mashed against the side of his, rubbing as much as Jack’s hand and foot.
He tugged at Will’s shirt, trying to pull it off, but Will simply sighed into Jack’s mouth, and suddenly the material came away as if he’d passed right through it. Jack’s curiosity overrode his lust, briefly enough to pull back and give Will a surprised look. The other man half-smiled, a wicked expression with those dark coffee eyes. “One of the advantages of the job,” he murmured, kissing Jack again.
Ravenously curious, he dropped the shirt and reached down to slide fingers inside the waist of Will’s breeches. After a few seconds, they easily came away, and Jack wasted no time wondering again. He rubbed down the slope of that firm, tight buttock, marveling at the warmth of skin that he imagined stayed below the surface of the chilly sea almost continuously. His foot rubbed higher, brushing the skin of the back of Will’s knee, his thigh, and he finally thought to bring his hand around to slide between them.
Will purred as Jack caressed the length of his hardening cock and stroked fingertips through thick, wiry hair. Will’s tongue plunged deeper down past Jack’s as the pirate gripped and fisted, then reached further to roll soft, satiny bollocks in his palm. He didn’t resist as Jack pushed him over, rotating him to his back, their kiss breaking as Jack leaned on one elbow and used his other hand to pull his shirt out of his sash. Will took over, pulling the shirt out and toward him, up over Jack’s head and shoulders and letting it fall to the bed. “Can’t do that trick on other people yet,” he murmured, and Jack chuckled briefly in return.
Keeping his eyes locked to Will’s, Jack leaned in and licked Will’s lower lip, then mouthed it gently, worrying it lightly with his teeth. Lust flashed through Will’s expression, and eagerness, and Jack licked his chin. Still, Will watched him through hooded lids, all lashes and deep amber flecking his dark eyes. Jack worked as low on his neck as he could before he had to break eye contact and concentrate on wrapping his lips around Will’s Adam’s apple. He eased back on his knees, arms on the bed bracketing Will’s body as his hands cradled his sides, licking and kissing down the middle of his torso, moving off-course every so often to suck at a nipple or drag the flat of his tongue across part of the long white knife-scar.
“Jack,” he breathed, arms above his head, and while he couldn’t feel the thump of a heartbeat or pulse, Jack did feel Will’s breathing quicken as his naked stomach rubbed the man’s penis. He moved lower, still tasting skin, arranging so the tip of the erection brushed his left nipple. Jack closed his eyes, groaning against Will’s skin, and he felt the man’s hips thrust a couple of times up against him. He covered the rest of the considerable distance of torso quickly, until the tip of his nose was buried in Will’s navel and he was kissing, lightly sucking at the soft skin just above his pelvis. As he was about to move down, a thought occurred to him, practicality uniting with possessiveness, and he raised his head. “Did you-” he started to ask, looking between Will’s curious eyes and the blood-flushed raison d’ềtre for his journey south.
He expected to be put off by a positive answer, but Will’s slow, matter-of-fact nod only enflamed Jack’s passion. “Cleaned up, though,” Will explained, as he propped himself on his elbows, perhaps to watch.
“Ah,” Jack murmured, moving lower and brushing his cheek against the side of the prodigious column of flesh, lifted and curved on its own. “Bless foreskin.”
“Don’t you mean foresight?” Will asked in that same low voice they’d both unconsciously adopted in their few words since his kiss.
“’S what I said.” Jack grinned and stifled the protest by turning just enough to kiss the side of the penis while keeping his eyes on Will’s. He kissed again, then licked, then licked up to the top and back down, then up again, closing his eyes and establishing a rhythm for a while before raising up and closing his mouth around the head. He relaxed his throat and eased down around the thick, hard member, marveling at the silk of flesh and the taste that was a combination of faint soap and, he belatedly realized, Will himself. He drew up and off, flicking his tongue at the tip, then widened his mouth and did it again.
As he worked, he gripped Will’s hips, having tucked his fingers beneath the upper swell of his ass to hold him in place. Every few strokes he would draw off and lick down the underside of the man’s yard, then drag the tip of his nose across and through the bristly curls covering his balls. He dipped his head to brush the bridge of his nose underneath, butting against them as his hair fell around him, beads clacking together across Will’s thighs. He felt Will quivering, his fingers on Jack’s shoulders, digging into the flesh, groaning soft, throaty cries each time Jack touched his skin. He rewarded the responsiveness with more sucking, and nearly came in his own breeches when Will breathlessly begged for relief, hips fetching, hands now cupping the back of Jack’s head in desperation.
He increased his pressure until he felt Will was on the edge, and slacked off, leaving him teetering as he removed his mouth and instead tapped the tip of Will’s cock with the flat of his tongue. “Goddamn you, Jack,” he gritted out in anything but a true curse, hips squirming, hands tightening. He waited until Will calmed a bit before resuming his sucking, repeating the trick a couple more times before applying himself to the task of swallowing both the thick, satiny cock and its thick, salty ejaculation, as Will arched up off the bed, nearly yelling Jack’s name.
Jack only took enough time to unfasten and slide off his breeches before crawling back up Will’s body and kissing his chin again, waiting until his breathing had calmed to move up and claim his mouth. They kissed hotly, desperately, and Jack lowered himself between those thighs, rubbing without inhibition, Will’s foot now on the back of his leg, his arms around Jack’s body, drawing him closer. “D’you want me to suck you?” Will whispered, in what might have been the sweetest words Jack had ever heard.
He shook his head. “Need t’ fuck you,” he mumbled into Will’s mouth, and he felt an answering nod. He ached to plunge inside Will, take him irrevocably. “You ever done this before?” He lifted up, and Will shook his head, eyes hot and eager and beautiful. He brushed loose curls back from Will’s forehead. “I’ll go easy on you.”
He smiled, blinking a couple of times, slowly. “Not too easy, I hope.”
God, was it any wonder he loved the other captain? Jack grinned, shifting to lean over and open the old, scarred nightstand’s drawer, fishing around for his pot of oil. “Only as easy as you need, darlin’.”
Several minutes later, after copious quantities of oil and patient preparation that stood Will’s member on end for what Jack knew had to be at least the third time that night, he braced Will’s thighs on his knees and slid his own yard inside. Up it went, sinking in, as Will closed his eyes and arched his back and swore softly, undulating almost imperceptibly to help Jack ease his way inside. “Oh, God,” he mumbled, his voice low and husky and music to Jack’s ears. “Oh, dear God, Jack …”
“I know … I know, William.” He rolled the name off the end of his tongue, breathlessly. “I haven’t felt this kind of tight in forever.”
“Jack, I-” He gasped, then groaned as bollocks met his backside, gently slapping as Jack eased the last little distance with tiny in-and-out thrusts. He ran his hands up Will’s sides as the man threw his arms over his eyes, chest heaving, and cupped Will’s skin, stopping just short of swirling his thumbs in the dark patches of hair beneath his arms, mindful of tickling. He wanted to touch everything, rub and feel and drown in Will and his skin and smell.
After a few test thrusts to open the channel a little more, a deep, satisfied rumble started somewhere in the center of Will’s body and worked itself out as a purr each time Jack pushed. Dizzy with wanting to own that sound, he paused and leaned forward, reaching for Will’s hands. He pulled each arm from over his eyes and put them up over the man’s head, leaning on an elbow after each. As Will regarded him silently, Jack put a palm against each of Will’s and curled his fingers between the others, trapping them against the pillow. Without a word, Will squeezed his fingers in return, and Jack started moving. Will lifted his feet and wrapped his knees around Jack’s hips, bracing his feet on the backs of the pirate’s thighs “You’re ridiculously flexible,” Jack noted, voice slurred with lust.
“Not as much as I’ve seen you be,” Will replied, eyes half-lidded and voice thick with heavy breathing.
He moved a few more times, testing as he gradually lowered himself until he could touch his nose to Will’s. Their eyes were still locked, searching each other’s, sussing out weaknesses to reassure silently. “You are gorgeous,” Jack breathed, undone by Will’s completely vulnerable expression.
“You’re … pretty … yourself, Jack.” He was panting and he bore much of Jack’s weight. “Beautiful eyes.”
“Not like you.”
“Deep and dark, and rich.” Will kissed him, tilting his chin, moaning into his mouth and squeezing his hands as Jack felt his trapped cock roll between their bellies.
“Why did ye come in tonight?” Jack wondered between kisses, hips on instinct now.
“Couldn’t not,” was Will’s only answer, and somehow, it thrust deeper into Jack than any florid declaration of devotion or want.
“I need you,” he mumbled, unafraid to voice it as they moved. Will undulated beneath him, rubbing against the sheets, squeezing his hands. “Jesus Christ … hardest thing in me life, watchin’ you die.”
“’M glad you were with me,” Will mumbled back. “Both of you … ‘m glad it wasn’t you got stabbed.”
They rocked in a tangle, Jack’s own cry when he came much softer than he expected of himself and much less loud than Will’s own brief keening when Jack leaned back on his heels right after and finished him off by hand, spattering onto both their stomachs. They rolled into facing each other, cleaning forgotten as they kissed, Will’s arms around Jack, everything but the obvious endearment whispered between them, sweetness and dirty thoughts and tumbling articulation of plans for further rendezvous. They touched and stroked and laughed, and it wasn’t long before Jack’s nose was tucked beneath Will’s as they half-dozed, hands still brushing skin in predatory claims.
Just before he fell asleep, Jack felt Will swipe a finger gently beneath his eye and blinked it open to see greasy kohl on the side of the fingertip. “Who’re you calling ‘Queen?’” Will asked softly, and Jack shut the eye, snorfling his laugh into his lover’s skin.
*****
Jack was not surprised to wake up alone. He might’ve thought the whole of last night a vivid dream, if not for Will’s distinctive scent on his pillow and the thin coating of oil still on his skin - not to mention the lingering headache. In spite of the pain, his yawn turned into a large grin as he stretched and rolled, remembering the feel of that body beneath him, around him. That his chest tightened more than his balls didn’t surprise him - after all, it hadn’t been his groin deciding to hand immortality over to Will all those years ago.
He’d never expected anything in return except for perhaps cooperation to sink Beckett, but to be fair, even Will had his own reasons for taking revenge. He certainly hadn’t expected that first non-combative touch, the kisses … that Will would come to his bed, actively seeking him at any point.
He alighted from bed, cleaned himself, and dressed, all in a fine mood - which lasted until he trotted up on deck and saw Elizabeth and Will at the rail with their boy, pointing to the Dutchman, Will doing most of the talking. He watched how Will’s muscular hand draped over his son’s shoulder, simply resting as he explained whatever; how Elizabeth looked between her two men with wary fondness; and wondered why the hell he had ever let himself get involved with this whole setup. It wasn’t like Will was miserable with his family or tired of his wife, or that she didn’t love him. Some days surprised him with a conscience.
“The captains want to talk with you.” The voice at his shoulder stirred him to attention, and Bill cracked only a small smile. “Well, actually, Will wants to talk to you two - I’m not sure if th’ lass is so keen on it.”
Truth told, Jack understood Elizabeth far more than he did Will. “Some things can have th’ guts talked right out of ‘em,” he observed in a murmur. “Your son doesn’t understand that.”
“Maybe not,” Bill conceded. “But there’s a lot more he does savvy that you’d do well to recognize.” He cleared his throat, drawing attention to Jack, then ambled over to put a hand on Liam’s shoulder and steer the boy toward the helm to occupy him while his parents handled business. Liam followed, but paused once to look back at the three of them. Jack wondered how much the kid was capable of understanding at this point, and how his parents would explain all this as he got older.
As the young couple approached, Jack put his fingertips together and briefly laced his fingers. “I understand there’s somethin’ of a conference needs to happen in my cabin?”
“I think the wardroom would be a better locale,” Elizabeth pointed out. Jack noticed she looked a bit pained, but he didn’t automatically assume it was his presence - the madeira had been quite potent, coming as it did on top of the rum. And the falling on the floor.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Will agreed. Jack marked that he was in full dress, greatcoat and weapons. In fact, both Turners were armed, and he had no sword or pistol.
Unable to think of a way to gracefully slip away to pull on his own baldric, Jack only swiveled sideways and headed for the scene of their last failed three-way conversation. Pulling the doors open, he motioned both of them inside, then backed in to close the doors. He caught sight of Gibbs, arching an eyebrow at him, and paused to wave his quartermaster closer.
“Stand guard,” he whispered. “Nobody gets in or out unless I say so.”
“Aye, but what if one of th’ younguns wants out?” Gibbs nodded toward the interior of the room.
“Mr. Gibbs, on my ship, I outrank any king,” Jack harrumphed.
“What about the Dutchman’s captain, sir? ‘Tis a bad idea to stand in th’ way of Death himself.”
“Oh, well, him.” Jack flicked a wrist, rolling his eyes. “I can handle him, mate.”
A noise off port caught their attention. As they watched, on cue, the Flying Dutchman slowly sank out of sight, and Jack and Gibbs watched until Will’s blood-red flag with black swords crossed had disappeared beneath churning waves.
And then a distinctive voice came not far behind Jack: “My hearing certainly isn’t any worse than it was at The Faithful Bride, gentlemen.”
“Aye, Captain,” Gibbs finally said, briefly slapping Jack’s arm. “You handle him, all right. I’ll just be over here.” His hurry toward the opposite rail showed his loyalties lay, as almost always, with the supernatural. As Jack took his usual seat a moment later, he was still muttering about the bloody superstitious lot peopling his grand vessel.
Will remained standing in the center of the room on one side of the table. “It appears we have a situation, the three of us,” he opened.
Jack barely kept from wincing as Elizabeth fixed a hard stare at her husband. “A situation?” she repeated. “More of a problem, Will.”
“Problems have to be solved, Elizabeth.” To his credit, Will didn’t look away from her. “This isn’t something that can be fixed. It just … it is. It exists.” Now he looked worried. About damn time, Jack thought.
She looked away, angrily, not even at Jack. “I married you, not … this. Not him. Dammit.”
Will sat near her, facing toward her. Jack leaned back in his chair, still watching, still wisely saying nothing. “Elizabeth,” he began, quietly, “I don’t think Jack sees-”
She cut him off. “Do you know, I really don’t care what Jack, anything. That pirate has made my life as miserable as he can, and this is just one more insult to injury.”
He didn’t want to stop his laugh. “By all means, feel free to forget all Jack has done for Your High And Mighty,” Jack snorted. “Let’s consider the fact you wouldn’t even be here if not for th’ aquatic skills of that pirate, nor would you have ever escaped Barbossa’s crew alive if you’d had to depend solely upon some earnest child with more bravery than common sense.” Will swiveled and shot him a dirty look. “Oh, come William, be fair. You wouldn’t have thought how t’ get the Interceptor out from under her commodore’s patrician nose.”
“See?” she told Will. “You think he has any respect for you? You want that?”
“I didn’t say boo about respect.” Jack’s enunciation was clipped. “Even as an impetuous boy, Master Turner was dangerous, with a certain … juvenile, sense of cunning. Nothing like what it is now, of course, but that’s to be expected of age.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why, even you’ve managed to grow up an’ mostly out of your narrow notions of names and categories, and definitions.”
“Jack.” Will sighed in that please-stop-trying-to-falsely-make-things-better tone.
But Elizabeth cut him off again. “What about love?” Her lips curved up at the edges. “Go ahead, Jack. Answer me.”
“I have always found you beautiful and properly vexing, my dear, but never have I harbored that particular emotion for your corpus.” Jack showed his teeth, even two of the gold ones, with that. Elizabeth kept her eyes on his, unblinking dark amber.
To his surprise, Will shifted to look his way. “I think you should answer the question,” he opined.
Between Elizabeth’s tiger-ferocious glare and Will’s assessing cow eyes, he was sorry he’d ever awakened this morning, let alone slithered out of bed. “I’m not opposed to pursuing that particular option,” he finally answered, drumming his fingers.
“Can’t you provide a straight answer for once?” Will snapped.
“He doesn’t do straight answers.” Elizabeth smirked.
“And all three of us know what a fabulous history you have of honesty.” It was Jack’s turn to look predatory. “Peas in a pod, Missus. ‘Twould seem William has a soft place for our particular brand of straightforwardness, wouldn’t it?”
It took a moment to sink in, but then Elizabeth looked horrified. “Will?” she turned toward him. “I am nothing like him.” She watched him. “You don’t … think that, do you?”
“Denial’s an industrious undertaking,” Jack observed. “Oh, certainly you have prettier dresses than I do, and a certain … soft charm, in other areas, that I lack.” He glanced briefly at her chest. “We are less unalike than you’ve ever cared to admit, Lizzie.” He nodded toward Will, who looked thoughtful. “It wasn’t her position as the governor’s daughter you wanted, any more than you relish my practice of piracy.” Back to Elizabeth. “It’s us he loves, and he can’t control the assignment of his heart any more than we can help ours.” It was as close as he would admit anything aloud, especially in front of her.
Elizabeth laced her fingers in front of her on the table and looked down at them, and Jack watched the emotions play over her features as she refused to look up at him - at either of them. Finally, she spoke. “I realize this is an unusual situation in which we find ourselves,” she began. “I’m not insensible to that. And I have kept to my vows - and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m mad as hell that you haven’t.”
Will didn’t look away, but his shoulders stiffened noticeably. “I can imagine all too well,” he replied.
This caused her to look up at him quickly, nostrils flaring and anger clouding her dark eyes. Apparently whatever she saw in his expression abated some of that, for it softened a bit into resignation, and she flicked her eyes toward Jack before answering. “I know what I did; I know what you thought I did, and I let you think it. But that is far different from what actually happened, Will.”
“Elizabeth - I am sorry. I could tell you it’s loneliness, that it’s the job itself, being tied to a life that wasn’t what I worked for-” Will stood and paced toward Jack, then turned and headed back toward his wife. “Those are all excuses. The fact is, I’m no better than I accused you of being in my heart all those years ago after Jack died. But even as I believed you loved him - I still loved you. I wanted to help you find him.” He looked back at Jack. “I just didn’t know I needed to, as well.”
She sat up straight, hands flat on the table. “Will. I know you’re different now; you have been since this happened. Since you were killed.” She licked her lips. “This won’t end for you; I understand that. I … know, from Calypso, that you can’t come back to me and William and be a regular family. You never could.”
Jack certainly hadn’t known. “Why not?” he demanded, forgetting his place.
“I can only be replaced upon my extermination,” Will quietly explained, eyes on Elizabeth again. “Just like Jones. The rules don’t change for the person involved.”
As he watched the young couple facing the reality of their lives, Jack tried to ignore the ache somewhere dead center in his gut. Had he been half his age, he would’ve wondered why the thought that Will couldn’t be with his family ought to bother him, of all people. There was also the knowledge he always carried, that he’d been the one to put Will in this situation - if he’d acted faster, or let the man die peacefully and stabbed the heart himself …
That way lay madness, or at least too many more nights spent staring out his cabin’s porthole with his compass tightly clutched in one hand. He thought of Will cold, dead, sinking beneath the ocean’s surface, becoming part of the silt and coral below, and swallowed suddenly, clearing his throat to cover the lump.
“Elizabeth.” Will was talking again. “I proposed to you. I married you. I … had a lapse. I can-”
She was shaking her head. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” she insisted, raising her voice a bit. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m wouldn’t lie.”
“I know.” She sighed and stood, facing him. “I know you’d stop. I know you’d shove down that half of yourself and ignore it, and let it go to fish scales if I wanted you to. And I have to admit, most of me wants you to never look at him again.” She pointed at Jack. “But - you’re not like us, anymore, Will. You never will be. Your days are filled with death and destruction and pain. I can’t imagine. I don’t know what you need to get through those days … but I realize I can’t give it to you all the time. Not by myself.” She blew out a long stream of air. “God damn this.”
Will stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, and she didn’t resist. In fact, she threw her arms around his shoulders and held on tightly, from what Jack could tell, right before he looked away, feeling like an intruder. He heard Will tell her, “I don’t expect you to-”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” She pulled back, hands on his upper arms. “Just … shut up, Will Turner.” When she kissed him to punctuate it, Jack stood, moving toward the door, intent on giving them their privacy. His hand was on the latch when he heard Will’s voice saying his name. He looked back over his shoulder, and Will gestured him closer.
He took Jack’s left hand and pressed it to Elizabeth’s, shushing their aborted protests. He covered both with his, warm and rough and comforting. “There’s a saying,” he began, “among more than one people, that once you preserve a life, save someone, you’re forever responsible for that life.” He looked at Elizabeth, then over into Jack’s eyes. “We are all accountable for one another.” He turned their hands palms up, then slid his left one out so that all their long-healed white scars clearly showed.
After a long moment, Jack finally broke the silence. “He’s going to do this anytime one of us raises a stink ‘bout the other,” he said to Elizabeth.
“I’m aware of that,” she finally said, after a hesitation. “Price to pay for everything.”
For the first time that morning, Will visibly relaxed.
*****
He left them in the wardroom shortly after, intending to give Cotton orders to ready the helm for when everybody had gone back to their own ships, but realized halfway across the deck that he’d forgotten his compass. Heading to his cabin, he found Liam sitting on the floor near his door; the boy scrambled to his feet as Jack approached, straightening his small coat. The gesture was so reminiscent of Will that Jack blinked, shaking his head. You need to quit being so sentimental, he admonished himself. You’re worse than some blushing maid, for Chrissake.
“What can I do for you, young Mr. Turner?”
“I was just waiting for Mum and Daddy,” he answered in a high voice. “Sir. Captain.”
“They should be done shortly.” He wasn’t going to take the kid to the wardroom; heaven knew what those two were up to in the absence of company, with a large flat surface at their disposal. He was surprised not to feel more jealousy at the thought; he accepted that Elizabeth would always come first for Will. “Wait here for a moment. Don’t move.”
He let himself into his cabin and cast about for his compass, patting his pockets as he went to make sure he hadn’t already slipped it in one earlier without thinking. After checking the obvious places - under his bunk, in a bedside drawer, hanging from the bedpost, tossed to a random corner under a shirt for safekeeping - he found it smack in the center of the table, cord lassoed out beside it. He scooped it to attach to his belt, but paused as something clinked against the black wood.
Lifting it into the shaft of sunlight to better see, he realized he was looking at the key of Davy Jones - or more accurately, now, the key of Will Turner. It had been double-knotted on the cord, presumably as he’d slept that morning, before Will slipped out to go back to his wife.
Who had the chest.
And now Jack had the key.
“I’ll be damned,” he murmured, cupping compass and key as he considered the import of what he’d been granted. Then, he chuckled, lifting it in the air once again, watching the light glint off the metal, which had been polished to a high finish. “Guess I don’t need t’ go through Lizzie’s box to get to William’s heart after all.”
Feeling suddenly more cheerful and expansive, Jack pulled the leather cord under his belt and looped it over the compass, tucking the key into the inside of the belt - it wouldn’t do to let too many people know he was now one of three people who could be used to get to the captain of the Flying Dutchman. It was dangerous and a risk to be loved by Will Turner … and Jack wouldn’t have traded the damned key for all the lost treasure in the Atlantic Trench.
When he stepped back into the corridor, Liam was still there, shifting from one foot to the other, restless. Jack slapped a hand lightly across the lad’s thin shoulders. “Has your mum taught you t’ hold a sword at all?”
“Once. And Daddy let me help him make one,” he answered, then dropped his voice into a pout as they mounted the steps to the deck. “But Mum says I’m just too young, I hold it all wrong.”
“Well, then - what say we see if you can learn the right way, aye?” Off Liam’s hopeful look, Jack chuckled. “Never saw a Turner yet who couldn’ handle a sword like it was his own arm.”
Characters: W/E and J/W and many others (but not a cast of thousands)
Rating: NC-17 for descriptive slash
Disclaimer: Characters property of Buena Vista and Bruckheimer, additions all my own.
Summary: Jack and Elizabeth and Will all figure out their places in each other's lives. Well, sort of. This is the final part of a series, in order: A Debt to be Paid, With Interest, A Tangled Web, A Heart Divided, Supernatural, and Conterminous. Two other standalone stories - The Pirate Boy and Small Comforts - also take place in this timeline, “The Pirate Boy” about a year after this.
A/N: Thanks to betas for this part metalkatt, danglingdingle, mamazano, and a_silver_rose - any mistakes that linger would be my own.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Special Note: I want to give this series a name - something mathematical (that's just how the titles have mostly shaken out) - but somehow I think Not Another JEWish Triangle might be taken offensively by some of the Judeo-religious of fandom. Suggestions? If you have one, shoot me a PM ...
Leaning was not a talent Jack would’ve ever thought the formidable King Turner wouldn’t be possessing.
Nonetheless, when the equally intrepid Queen Turner propped her against the table with an admonition to stand upright, she leaned forward over it, one cheek down (and two more up), with a loud, kingly THWACK. Even Jack winced, as he tried to sit, lifting himself with abdominal muscles more interested in mutinying by pressing inward on a gut full of port … or brandy … or madeira …
He fell back, watching Will bend over her behind to pull her upright. He had to press his groin to her backside to lift, and Jack lifted his eyebrows, wondering if he was about to get an impromptu show; entertainment of this persuasion was always welcome on the Black Pearl, especially in her captain’s private quarters. Instead, Will turned Elizabeth toward him and lifted her hips to sit on the edge of the table, leaning forward to lay her back across it. Jack’s mouth watered at the way he leaned, the strain of fabric across Will’s hip; his palms burned to cup the curve and squeeze and pull and stroke.
“Now, you …” Will hunkered down, reaching for Jack’s arms. Jack lifted them minutely, and put forth just enough effort so that Will didn’t have to do all the lifting - not that it much mattered, since he’d gained enough unearthly strength to hoist Jack like potatoes if he’d wanted. Instead, he stood, patiently letting Jack get his feet under him, and pulled the limp form against his body to get a better hold.
Will tried to lift him over his shoulder, but Jack slid his arms around the man’s shoulders, making it quite impossible. After some obvious momentary surprise, Will stared at him, then hoisted Jack’s hips. The pirate wrapped his legs around Will’s hips and tightened his hold on the man’s shoulders. He closed his eyes as Will carried him to the bed, and opened them as he lowered him to the covers.
“Get some rest, Jack,” he whispered, reaching around to loosen the pirate’s limpet-like grip. Then, Jack could’ve sworn he added, “You’re going to need it,” right before he straightened and walked back to the table to claim his wife and carry her somewhere off the Pearl - leaving Jack to drugged oblivion.
Endless oddball images blurred and roiled, coalescing through his deep sleep at some conscious point later, his face half-buried in the pillow - this was his only conscious awareness of the world, everything else being dedicated to spreading out and floating, suspended, on the goo of his liquor-muddled cranium. Had he been awake, he would’ve surely cursed himself for letting Mrs. Strumpet crack that first bottle open, for letting her turn his brain to viscous plop.
His own snorfling into the nearly-flat pillow nearly woke him, and he scratched his chest, half-waking only long enough to tend the itch just under his left nipple before falling back into stupor.
So it was rather remarkable, as he would recount later, sitting straight up and stabbing the tip of his pistol barrel into the chest of the person who weighed his bed, eyes fully open and narrowed at his would-be assailant. Who, as it turned out … was just William.
Who was looking down at the gun, none too concerned, even as Jack uncocked the safety. “I daresay it wouldn’t have done you much good,” he pointed out, pushing the barrel away with the tip of his finger. “Or me much harm.”
He waited a couple of beats, relaxing, before lowering the pistol. “You doin’ here?” he murmured, leaning forward a bit and reaching behind to shove the gun back under his pillow. “Last I saw, ye were cartin’ your dearly beloved out like a sack o’ sand.”
“She holds her liquor even worse than you, Jack.”
He smacked his lips. “Speakin’ of which …” He gaped a few times, tongue cotton-wrapped in lack of saliva, and scratched his head, trying to remember if the port had been finished. “There a jug on that table?” he nodded in its general direction. Of Will’s skeptical disapproval, Jack frowned. “Hair of th’ dog what bit ye, son.”
He’d barely drawn a breath before Will held up a bulbous, dark bottle. “I think you would hold this better.” Jack eyed it a moment, then reached for it. The last bottle of rum he’d taken from a Turner had earned him the black spot; uncorking this one seemed to promise no more than sweet relief or more of the same head-swimming, at worst.
Besides, free spirits was free spirits. Jack accepted the bottle with a small nod, toasted the other captain with a tilted gesture, and uncorked it to swig. He gulped, greedy for relief, uncaring how low the bottle’s level went. When he lowered it, taking a breath and rubbing his cuff across his lips, he expected to see censure in Will’s eyes - but there was only an odd intensity, watching him, the same Jack had seen a few times before without explanation. On anyone else, he would’ve assumed it was interest … but with Will, it could be interest in any number of things, up to and including Jack’s own imminent demise.
It wasn’t often that while in the man’s presence he remembered that he was Death, and the sudden realization of how close Will was sitting made him uncomfortable. “So, she’s asleep,” he began, searching for conversation.
“I have a hard time believing you want to discuss my wife.”
Jack shrugged. “Germane, idn’ it?”
After a moment, Will dipped his head in acknowledgement. “So it is.” Jack watched his eyelashes briefly fan the top of his cheek and his senses were still laden with enough liquor to count each tiny hair. With sudden embarrassment, he recognized the desire to want to touch each, to pet it with a fingertip, and take the luxury of time that a man who lived so close to the open, violent elements of the world did not have to properly spend with such a thing. The lashes turned into warm, liquid eyes, and he turned away, busying himself with leaning over and setting his mostly-full bottle on the floor. He took his time, trying to think of suitable conversation that would pull his brain back up from his cock.
He had no more settled on a topic and straightened to speak than he had a mouthful of straight white teeth and pushy tongue. Briefly he wondered if he had gained doubles of both, before it settled upon him that he was being kissed, rather aggressively. Unabashedly, he let the feeling flood him, blood long since having left his head for parts southerly. He opened his mouth willingly, inviting, and was rewarded with a tongue-tip stroking his own, dipping below it to lick underneath. Jack groaned softly, eyes closed, and shivered to hear - to feel - an answering, muffled sound from somewhere in the back of Will’s throat.
When he reached up to grip the back of his neck, his palm brushed the fading, softened scarf tying Will’s hair back. He paused to locate the edges and pull it down, off, giving it a toss before threading his fingers into the warm, soft curls. It felt as though Will were breaking the kiss; Jack closed the distance, cradling the base of his skull in his rough palm, and felt an equally eager mouth to his once more. He realized Will was pushing, gently overbearing, and leaned back, accommodating the other body on top of, alongside his, lifting a leg to wrap it around the man’s hip. He rubbed the arch of his foot along the back of Will’s calf, noting absently it was bare skin, and slid his free hand beneath Will’s shirt to similarly rub the dip of his lower back. He felt fingers in his hair, the soft, unbraided locks Will was able to locate, and opened his mouth wider as the man’s broad, large nose mashed against the side of his, rubbing as much as Jack’s hand and foot.
He tugged at Will’s shirt, trying to pull it off, but Will simply sighed into Jack’s mouth, and suddenly the material came away as if he’d passed right through it. Jack’s curiosity overrode his lust, briefly enough to pull back and give Will a surprised look. The other man half-smiled, a wicked expression with those dark coffee eyes. “One of the advantages of the job,” he murmured, kissing Jack again.
Ravenously curious, he dropped the shirt and reached down to slide fingers inside the waist of Will’s breeches. After a few seconds, they easily came away, and Jack wasted no time wondering again. He rubbed down the slope of that firm, tight buttock, marveling at the warmth of skin that he imagined stayed below the surface of the chilly sea almost continuously. His foot rubbed higher, brushing the skin of the back of Will’s knee, his thigh, and he finally thought to bring his hand around to slide between them.
Will purred as Jack caressed the length of his hardening cock and stroked fingertips through thick, wiry hair. Will’s tongue plunged deeper down past Jack’s as the pirate gripped and fisted, then reached further to roll soft, satiny bollocks in his palm. He didn’t resist as Jack pushed him over, rotating him to his back, their kiss breaking as Jack leaned on one elbow and used his other hand to pull his shirt out of his sash. Will took over, pulling the shirt out and toward him, up over Jack’s head and shoulders and letting it fall to the bed. “Can’t do that trick on other people yet,” he murmured, and Jack chuckled briefly in return.
Keeping his eyes locked to Will’s, Jack leaned in and licked Will’s lower lip, then mouthed it gently, worrying it lightly with his teeth. Lust flashed through Will’s expression, and eagerness, and Jack licked his chin. Still, Will watched him through hooded lids, all lashes and deep amber flecking his dark eyes. Jack worked as low on his neck as he could before he had to break eye contact and concentrate on wrapping his lips around Will’s Adam’s apple. He eased back on his knees, arms on the bed bracketing Will’s body as his hands cradled his sides, licking and kissing down the middle of his torso, moving off-course every so often to suck at a nipple or drag the flat of his tongue across part of the long white knife-scar.
“Jack,” he breathed, arms above his head, and while he couldn’t feel the thump of a heartbeat or pulse, Jack did feel Will’s breathing quicken as his naked stomach rubbed the man’s penis. He moved lower, still tasting skin, arranging so the tip of the erection brushed his left nipple. Jack closed his eyes, groaning against Will’s skin, and he felt the man’s hips thrust a couple of times up against him. He covered the rest of the considerable distance of torso quickly, until the tip of his nose was buried in Will’s navel and he was kissing, lightly sucking at the soft skin just above his pelvis. As he was about to move down, a thought occurred to him, practicality uniting with possessiveness, and he raised his head. “Did you-” he started to ask, looking between Will’s curious eyes and the blood-flushed raison d’ềtre for his journey south.
He expected to be put off by a positive answer, but Will’s slow, matter-of-fact nod only enflamed Jack’s passion. “Cleaned up, though,” Will explained, as he propped himself on his elbows, perhaps to watch.
“Ah,” Jack murmured, moving lower and brushing his cheek against the side of the prodigious column of flesh, lifted and curved on its own. “Bless foreskin.”
“Don’t you mean foresight?” Will asked in that same low voice they’d both unconsciously adopted in their few words since his kiss.
“’S what I said.” Jack grinned and stifled the protest by turning just enough to kiss the side of the penis while keeping his eyes on Will’s. He kissed again, then licked, then licked up to the top and back down, then up again, closing his eyes and establishing a rhythm for a while before raising up and closing his mouth around the head. He relaxed his throat and eased down around the thick, hard member, marveling at the silk of flesh and the taste that was a combination of faint soap and, he belatedly realized, Will himself. He drew up and off, flicking his tongue at the tip, then widened his mouth and did it again.
As he worked, he gripped Will’s hips, having tucked his fingers beneath the upper swell of his ass to hold him in place. Every few strokes he would draw off and lick down the underside of the man’s yard, then drag the tip of his nose across and through the bristly curls covering his balls. He dipped his head to brush the bridge of his nose underneath, butting against them as his hair fell around him, beads clacking together across Will’s thighs. He felt Will quivering, his fingers on Jack’s shoulders, digging into the flesh, groaning soft, throaty cries each time Jack touched his skin. He rewarded the responsiveness with more sucking, and nearly came in his own breeches when Will breathlessly begged for relief, hips fetching, hands now cupping the back of Jack’s head in desperation.
He increased his pressure until he felt Will was on the edge, and slacked off, leaving him teetering as he removed his mouth and instead tapped the tip of Will’s cock with the flat of his tongue. “Goddamn you, Jack,” he gritted out in anything but a true curse, hips squirming, hands tightening. He waited until Will calmed a bit before resuming his sucking, repeating the trick a couple more times before applying himself to the task of swallowing both the thick, satiny cock and its thick, salty ejaculation, as Will arched up off the bed, nearly yelling Jack’s name.
Jack only took enough time to unfasten and slide off his breeches before crawling back up Will’s body and kissing his chin again, waiting until his breathing had calmed to move up and claim his mouth. They kissed hotly, desperately, and Jack lowered himself between those thighs, rubbing without inhibition, Will’s foot now on the back of his leg, his arms around Jack’s body, drawing him closer. “D’you want me to suck you?” Will whispered, in what might have been the sweetest words Jack had ever heard.
He shook his head. “Need t’ fuck you,” he mumbled into Will’s mouth, and he felt an answering nod. He ached to plunge inside Will, take him irrevocably. “You ever done this before?” He lifted up, and Will shook his head, eyes hot and eager and beautiful. He brushed loose curls back from Will’s forehead. “I’ll go easy on you.”
He smiled, blinking a couple of times, slowly. “Not too easy, I hope.”
God, was it any wonder he loved the other captain? Jack grinned, shifting to lean over and open the old, scarred nightstand’s drawer, fishing around for his pot of oil. “Only as easy as you need, darlin’.”
Several minutes later, after copious quantities of oil and patient preparation that stood Will’s member on end for what Jack knew had to be at least the third time that night, he braced Will’s thighs on his knees and slid his own yard inside. Up it went, sinking in, as Will closed his eyes and arched his back and swore softly, undulating almost imperceptibly to help Jack ease his way inside. “Oh, God,” he mumbled, his voice low and husky and music to Jack’s ears. “Oh, dear God, Jack …”
“I know … I know, William.” He rolled the name off the end of his tongue, breathlessly. “I haven’t felt this kind of tight in forever.”
“Jack, I-” He gasped, then groaned as bollocks met his backside, gently slapping as Jack eased the last little distance with tiny in-and-out thrusts. He ran his hands up Will’s sides as the man threw his arms over his eyes, chest heaving, and cupped Will’s skin, stopping just short of swirling his thumbs in the dark patches of hair beneath his arms, mindful of tickling. He wanted to touch everything, rub and feel and drown in Will and his skin and smell.
After a few test thrusts to open the channel a little more, a deep, satisfied rumble started somewhere in the center of Will’s body and worked itself out as a purr each time Jack pushed. Dizzy with wanting to own that sound, he paused and leaned forward, reaching for Will’s hands. He pulled each arm from over his eyes and put them up over the man’s head, leaning on an elbow after each. As Will regarded him silently, Jack put a palm against each of Will’s and curled his fingers between the others, trapping them against the pillow. Without a word, Will squeezed his fingers in return, and Jack started moving. Will lifted his feet and wrapped his knees around Jack’s hips, bracing his feet on the backs of the pirate’s thighs “You’re ridiculously flexible,” Jack noted, voice slurred with lust.
“Not as much as I’ve seen you be,” Will replied, eyes half-lidded and voice thick with heavy breathing.
He moved a few more times, testing as he gradually lowered himself until he could touch his nose to Will’s. Their eyes were still locked, searching each other’s, sussing out weaknesses to reassure silently. “You are gorgeous,” Jack breathed, undone by Will’s completely vulnerable expression.
“You’re … pretty … yourself, Jack.” He was panting and he bore much of Jack’s weight. “Beautiful eyes.”
“Not like you.”
“Deep and dark, and rich.” Will kissed him, tilting his chin, moaning into his mouth and squeezing his hands as Jack felt his trapped cock roll between their bellies.
“Why did ye come in tonight?” Jack wondered between kisses, hips on instinct now.
“Couldn’t not,” was Will’s only answer, and somehow, it thrust deeper into Jack than any florid declaration of devotion or want.
“I need you,” he mumbled, unafraid to voice it as they moved. Will undulated beneath him, rubbing against the sheets, squeezing his hands. “Jesus Christ … hardest thing in me life, watchin’ you die.”
“’M glad you were with me,” Will mumbled back. “Both of you … ‘m glad it wasn’t you got stabbed.”
They rocked in a tangle, Jack’s own cry when he came much softer than he expected of himself and much less loud than Will’s own brief keening when Jack leaned back on his heels right after and finished him off by hand, spattering onto both their stomachs. They rolled into facing each other, cleaning forgotten as they kissed, Will’s arms around Jack, everything but the obvious endearment whispered between them, sweetness and dirty thoughts and tumbling articulation of plans for further rendezvous. They touched and stroked and laughed, and it wasn’t long before Jack’s nose was tucked beneath Will’s as they half-dozed, hands still brushing skin in predatory claims.
Just before he fell asleep, Jack felt Will swipe a finger gently beneath his eye and blinked it open to see greasy kohl on the side of the fingertip. “Who’re you calling ‘Queen?’” Will asked softly, and Jack shut the eye, snorfling his laugh into his lover’s skin.
*****
Jack was not surprised to wake up alone. He might’ve thought the whole of last night a vivid dream, if not for Will’s distinctive scent on his pillow and the thin coating of oil still on his skin - not to mention the lingering headache. In spite of the pain, his yawn turned into a large grin as he stretched and rolled, remembering the feel of that body beneath him, around him. That his chest tightened more than his balls didn’t surprise him - after all, it hadn’t been his groin deciding to hand immortality over to Will all those years ago.
He’d never expected anything in return except for perhaps cooperation to sink Beckett, but to be fair, even Will had his own reasons for taking revenge. He certainly hadn’t expected that first non-combative touch, the kisses … that Will would come to his bed, actively seeking him at any point.
He alighted from bed, cleaned himself, and dressed, all in a fine mood - which lasted until he trotted up on deck and saw Elizabeth and Will at the rail with their boy, pointing to the Dutchman, Will doing most of the talking. He watched how Will’s muscular hand draped over his son’s shoulder, simply resting as he explained whatever; how Elizabeth looked between her two men with wary fondness; and wondered why the hell he had ever let himself get involved with this whole setup. It wasn’t like Will was miserable with his family or tired of his wife, or that she didn’t love him. Some days surprised him with a conscience.
“The captains want to talk with you.” The voice at his shoulder stirred him to attention, and Bill cracked only a small smile. “Well, actually, Will wants to talk to you two - I’m not sure if th’ lass is so keen on it.”
Truth told, Jack understood Elizabeth far more than he did Will. “Some things can have th’ guts talked right out of ‘em,” he observed in a murmur. “Your son doesn’t understand that.”
“Maybe not,” Bill conceded. “But there’s a lot more he does savvy that you’d do well to recognize.” He cleared his throat, drawing attention to Jack, then ambled over to put a hand on Liam’s shoulder and steer the boy toward the helm to occupy him while his parents handled business. Liam followed, but paused once to look back at the three of them. Jack wondered how much the kid was capable of understanding at this point, and how his parents would explain all this as he got older.
As the young couple approached, Jack put his fingertips together and briefly laced his fingers. “I understand there’s somethin’ of a conference needs to happen in my cabin?”
“I think the wardroom would be a better locale,” Elizabeth pointed out. Jack noticed she looked a bit pained, but he didn’t automatically assume it was his presence - the madeira had been quite potent, coming as it did on top of the rum. And the falling on the floor.
“That’s probably a good idea,” Will agreed. Jack marked that he was in full dress, greatcoat and weapons. In fact, both Turners were armed, and he had no sword or pistol.
Unable to think of a way to gracefully slip away to pull on his own baldric, Jack only swiveled sideways and headed for the scene of their last failed three-way conversation. Pulling the doors open, he motioned both of them inside, then backed in to close the doors. He caught sight of Gibbs, arching an eyebrow at him, and paused to wave his quartermaster closer.
“Stand guard,” he whispered. “Nobody gets in or out unless I say so.”
“Aye, but what if one of th’ younguns wants out?” Gibbs nodded toward the interior of the room.
“Mr. Gibbs, on my ship, I outrank any king,” Jack harrumphed.
“What about the Dutchman’s captain, sir? ‘Tis a bad idea to stand in th’ way of Death himself.”
“Oh, well, him.” Jack flicked a wrist, rolling his eyes. “I can handle him, mate.”
A noise off port caught their attention. As they watched, on cue, the Flying Dutchman slowly sank out of sight, and Jack and Gibbs watched until Will’s blood-red flag with black swords crossed had disappeared beneath churning waves.
And then a distinctive voice came not far behind Jack: “My hearing certainly isn’t any worse than it was at The Faithful Bride, gentlemen.”
“Aye, Captain,” Gibbs finally said, briefly slapping Jack’s arm. “You handle him, all right. I’ll just be over here.” His hurry toward the opposite rail showed his loyalties lay, as almost always, with the supernatural. As Jack took his usual seat a moment later, he was still muttering about the bloody superstitious lot peopling his grand vessel.
Will remained standing in the center of the room on one side of the table. “It appears we have a situation, the three of us,” he opened.
Jack barely kept from wincing as Elizabeth fixed a hard stare at her husband. “A situation?” she repeated. “More of a problem, Will.”
“Problems have to be solved, Elizabeth.” To his credit, Will didn’t look away from her. “This isn’t something that can be fixed. It just … it is. It exists.” Now he looked worried. About damn time, Jack thought.
She looked away, angrily, not even at Jack. “I married you, not … this. Not him. Dammit.”
Will sat near her, facing toward her. Jack leaned back in his chair, still watching, still wisely saying nothing. “Elizabeth,” he began, quietly, “I don’t think Jack sees-”
She cut him off. “Do you know, I really don’t care what Jack, anything. That pirate has made my life as miserable as he can, and this is just one more insult to injury.”
He didn’t want to stop his laugh. “By all means, feel free to forget all Jack has done for Your High And Mighty,” Jack snorted. “Let’s consider the fact you wouldn’t even be here if not for th’ aquatic skills of that pirate, nor would you have ever escaped Barbossa’s crew alive if you’d had to depend solely upon some earnest child with more bravery than common sense.” Will swiveled and shot him a dirty look. “Oh, come William, be fair. You wouldn’t have thought how t’ get the Interceptor out from under her commodore’s patrician nose.”
“See?” she told Will. “You think he has any respect for you? You want that?”
“I didn’t say boo about respect.” Jack’s enunciation was clipped. “Even as an impetuous boy, Master Turner was dangerous, with a certain … juvenile, sense of cunning. Nothing like what it is now, of course, but that’s to be expected of age.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why, even you’ve managed to grow up an’ mostly out of your narrow notions of names and categories, and definitions.”
“Jack.” Will sighed in that please-stop-trying-to-falsely-make-things-better tone.
But Elizabeth cut him off again. “What about love?” Her lips curved up at the edges. “Go ahead, Jack. Answer me.”
“I have always found you beautiful and properly vexing, my dear, but never have I harbored that particular emotion for your corpus.” Jack showed his teeth, even two of the gold ones, with that. Elizabeth kept her eyes on his, unblinking dark amber.
To his surprise, Will shifted to look his way. “I think you should answer the question,” he opined.
Between Elizabeth’s tiger-ferocious glare and Will’s assessing cow eyes, he was sorry he’d ever awakened this morning, let alone slithered out of bed. “I’m not opposed to pursuing that particular option,” he finally answered, drumming his fingers.
“Can’t you provide a straight answer for once?” Will snapped.
“He doesn’t do straight answers.” Elizabeth smirked.
“And all three of us know what a fabulous history you have of honesty.” It was Jack’s turn to look predatory. “Peas in a pod, Missus. ‘Twould seem William has a soft place for our particular brand of straightforwardness, wouldn’t it?”
It took a moment to sink in, but then Elizabeth looked horrified. “Will?” she turned toward him. “I am nothing like him.” She watched him. “You don’t … think that, do you?”
“Denial’s an industrious undertaking,” Jack observed. “Oh, certainly you have prettier dresses than I do, and a certain … soft charm, in other areas, that I lack.” He glanced briefly at her chest. “We are less unalike than you’ve ever cared to admit, Lizzie.” He nodded toward Will, who looked thoughtful. “It wasn’t her position as the governor’s daughter you wanted, any more than you relish my practice of piracy.” Back to Elizabeth. “It’s us he loves, and he can’t control the assignment of his heart any more than we can help ours.” It was as close as he would admit anything aloud, especially in front of her.
Elizabeth laced her fingers in front of her on the table and looked down at them, and Jack watched the emotions play over her features as she refused to look up at him - at either of them. Finally, she spoke. “I realize this is an unusual situation in which we find ourselves,” she began. “I’m not insensible to that. And I have kept to my vows - and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m mad as hell that you haven’t.”
Will didn’t look away, but his shoulders stiffened noticeably. “I can imagine all too well,” he replied.
This caused her to look up at him quickly, nostrils flaring and anger clouding her dark eyes. Apparently whatever she saw in his expression abated some of that, for it softened a bit into resignation, and she flicked her eyes toward Jack before answering. “I know what I did; I know what you thought I did, and I let you think it. But that is far different from what actually happened, Will.”
“Elizabeth - I am sorry. I could tell you it’s loneliness, that it’s the job itself, being tied to a life that wasn’t what I worked for-” Will stood and paced toward Jack, then turned and headed back toward his wife. “Those are all excuses. The fact is, I’m no better than I accused you of being in my heart all those years ago after Jack died. But even as I believed you loved him - I still loved you. I wanted to help you find him.” He looked back at Jack. “I just didn’t know I needed to, as well.”
She sat up straight, hands flat on the table. “Will. I know you’re different now; you have been since this happened. Since you were killed.” She licked her lips. “This won’t end for you; I understand that. I … know, from Calypso, that you can’t come back to me and William and be a regular family. You never could.”
Jack certainly hadn’t known. “Why not?” he demanded, forgetting his place.
“I can only be replaced upon my extermination,” Will quietly explained, eyes on Elizabeth again. “Just like Jones. The rules don’t change for the person involved.”
As he watched the young couple facing the reality of their lives, Jack tried to ignore the ache somewhere dead center in his gut. Had he been half his age, he would’ve wondered why the thought that Will couldn’t be with his family ought to bother him, of all people. There was also the knowledge he always carried, that he’d been the one to put Will in this situation - if he’d acted faster, or let the man die peacefully and stabbed the heart himself …
That way lay madness, or at least too many more nights spent staring out his cabin’s porthole with his compass tightly clutched in one hand. He thought of Will cold, dead, sinking beneath the ocean’s surface, becoming part of the silt and coral below, and swallowed suddenly, clearing his throat to cover the lump.
“Elizabeth.” Will was talking again. “I proposed to you. I married you. I … had a lapse. I can-”
She was shaking her head. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” she insisted, raising her voice a bit. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m wouldn’t lie.”
“I know.” She sighed and stood, facing him. “I know you’d stop. I know you’d shove down that half of yourself and ignore it, and let it go to fish scales if I wanted you to. And I have to admit, most of me wants you to never look at him again.” She pointed at Jack. “But - you’re not like us, anymore, Will. You never will be. Your days are filled with death and destruction and pain. I can’t imagine. I don’t know what you need to get through those days … but I realize I can’t give it to you all the time. Not by myself.” She blew out a long stream of air. “God damn this.”
Will stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, and she didn’t resist. In fact, she threw her arms around his shoulders and held on tightly, from what Jack could tell, right before he looked away, feeling like an intruder. He heard Will tell her, “I don’t expect you to-”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” She pulled back, hands on his upper arms. “Just … shut up, Will Turner.” When she kissed him to punctuate it, Jack stood, moving toward the door, intent on giving them their privacy. His hand was on the latch when he heard Will’s voice saying his name. He looked back over his shoulder, and Will gestured him closer.
He took Jack’s left hand and pressed it to Elizabeth’s, shushing their aborted protests. He covered both with his, warm and rough and comforting. “There’s a saying,” he began, “among more than one people, that once you preserve a life, save someone, you’re forever responsible for that life.” He looked at Elizabeth, then over into Jack’s eyes. “We are all accountable for one another.” He turned their hands palms up, then slid his left one out so that all their long-healed white scars clearly showed.
After a long moment, Jack finally broke the silence. “He’s going to do this anytime one of us raises a stink ‘bout the other,” he said to Elizabeth.
“I’m aware of that,” she finally said, after a hesitation. “Price to pay for everything.”
For the first time that morning, Will visibly relaxed.
*****
He left them in the wardroom shortly after, intending to give Cotton orders to ready the helm for when everybody had gone back to their own ships, but realized halfway across the deck that he’d forgotten his compass. Heading to his cabin, he found Liam sitting on the floor near his door; the boy scrambled to his feet as Jack approached, straightening his small coat. The gesture was so reminiscent of Will that Jack blinked, shaking his head. You need to quit being so sentimental, he admonished himself. You’re worse than some blushing maid, for Chrissake.
“What can I do for you, young Mr. Turner?”
“I was just waiting for Mum and Daddy,” he answered in a high voice. “Sir. Captain.”
“They should be done shortly.” He wasn’t going to take the kid to the wardroom; heaven knew what those two were up to in the absence of company, with a large flat surface at their disposal. He was surprised not to feel more jealousy at the thought; he accepted that Elizabeth would always come first for Will. “Wait here for a moment. Don’t move.”
He let himself into his cabin and cast about for his compass, patting his pockets as he went to make sure he hadn’t already slipped it in one earlier without thinking. After checking the obvious places - under his bunk, in a bedside drawer, hanging from the bedpost, tossed to a random corner under a shirt for safekeeping - he found it smack in the center of the table, cord lassoed out beside it. He scooped it to attach to his belt, but paused as something clinked against the black wood.
Lifting it into the shaft of sunlight to better see, he realized he was looking at the key of Davy Jones - or more accurately, now, the key of Will Turner. It had been double-knotted on the cord, presumably as he’d slept that morning, before Will slipped out to go back to his wife.
Who had the chest.
And now Jack had the key.
“I’ll be damned,” he murmured, cupping compass and key as he considered the import of what he’d been granted. Then, he chuckled, lifting it in the air once again, watching the light glint off the metal, which had been polished to a high finish. “Guess I don’t need t’ go through Lizzie’s box to get to William’s heart after all.”
Feeling suddenly more cheerful and expansive, Jack pulled the leather cord under his belt and looped it over the compass, tucking the key into the inside of the belt - it wouldn’t do to let too many people know he was now one of three people who could be used to get to the captain of the Flying Dutchman. It was dangerous and a risk to be loved by Will Turner … and Jack wouldn’t have traded the damned key for all the lost treasure in the Atlantic Trench.
When he stepped back into the corridor, Liam was still there, shifting from one foot to the other, restless. Jack slapped a hand lightly across the lad’s thin shoulders. “Has your mum taught you t’ hold a sword at all?”
“Once. And Daddy let me help him make one,” he answered, then dropped his voice into a pout as they mounted the steps to the deck. “But Mum says I’m just too young, I hold it all wrong.”
“Well, then - what say we see if you can learn the right way, aye?” Off Liam’s hopeful look, Jack chuckled. “Never saw a Turner yet who couldn’ handle a sword like it was his own arm.”