POTC Ficlet: "Up and Down As Tide"
Title: "Up and Down As Tide"
Rating: PG
Jack and Will or J/W - your choice
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or turn a profit off their portrayal
Summary: How does an upright citizen like Captain Turner solve a problem like Captain Sparrow? Written for the "changing tides" prompt at jackwill.
A/N: Unbetaed. Written on a feverish brain. Feedback welcomed.
Christ, how he’d hated this man! First, he’d lulled Will into a false trust, forcing him through his own conscience to offer up his own life to protect Jack’s against the commodore and the Crown; then he’d hurled that life against the sharp edges of Davy Jones’s self-hatred and immolation.
Finally, he’d turned against Will in the basest way he could: Trying to seduce away the one person who would willingly become the orphan's new family.
This wasn’t even dwelling overmuch on the dramatic pause that had given Jones the chance to kill him. And against his better judgment Will had tried to forget the glimpse he’d gotten of Jack’s face, the absolute horror, shock, and pain in his expression as the life dribbled out of Will into wet, algae-slicked planks the day he was born into captaincy for the Ship of Death.
But dying upon those same planks now was a drowned, battered shell of the pirate Will had been forced to recognize as a good man despite Jack’s constant streak of self-service. The kneeling captain slid large hands into the half-corpse’s matted black hair, cupping the sides of his head, and closed his eyes. Energy flowed from skin to skin as he tightened and flexed his fingers, willed from beneath the mingled admiration/repulsiveness he’d always harbored for Jack, until he felt the head lifting, moving on its own.
He opened his eyes and stood, offering his fellow captain a hand up. Jack eyed it, then took it, his dark eyes never leaving Will’s as he followed. There was no disappointment, no mocking this time - rather, Jack’s own brand of admiration and respect.
And perhaps something else … a thing that matched the shift in Will’s own perception of the maddening personality that had perplexed him since the night Jack had waved off his crew’s betrayal with a “They done what’s right by them.” Something that had kept him from taking off Jack’s head on a couple of occasions since, when he would’ve been quite justified in doing so.
Something that made him pull back Death’s hounds this very night and not force a decision between service and demise upon the strange, sparkling fellow. Something in the blood that now flowed and pooled under the guidance of tides and moon and sun rather than of a heart.
“Some rum, pirate?” he finally asked, letting the smile touch his overwise eyes.
After a few beats, Jack nodded almost imperceptibly. “Aye,” he assented, still gripping Will’s hand in a prolonged clasp. “That’ll work, blacksmith.”
Rating: PG
Jack and Will or J/W - your choice
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or turn a profit off their portrayal
Summary: How does an upright citizen like Captain Turner solve a problem like Captain Sparrow? Written for the "changing tides" prompt at jackwill.
A/N: Unbetaed. Written on a feverish brain. Feedback welcomed.
Christ, how he’d hated this man! First, he’d lulled Will into a false trust, forcing him through his own conscience to offer up his own life to protect Jack’s against the commodore and the Crown; then he’d hurled that life against the sharp edges of Davy Jones’s self-hatred and immolation.
Finally, he’d turned against Will in the basest way he could: Trying to seduce away the one person who would willingly become the orphan's new family.
This wasn’t even dwelling overmuch on the dramatic pause that had given Jones the chance to kill him. And against his better judgment Will had tried to forget the glimpse he’d gotten of Jack’s face, the absolute horror, shock, and pain in his expression as the life dribbled out of Will into wet, algae-slicked planks the day he was born into captaincy for the Ship of Death.
But dying upon those same planks now was a drowned, battered shell of the pirate Will had been forced to recognize as a good man despite Jack’s constant streak of self-service. The kneeling captain slid large hands into the half-corpse’s matted black hair, cupping the sides of his head, and closed his eyes. Energy flowed from skin to skin as he tightened and flexed his fingers, willed from beneath the mingled admiration/repulsiveness he’d always harbored for Jack, until he felt the head lifting, moving on its own.
He opened his eyes and stood, offering his fellow captain a hand up. Jack eyed it, then took it, his dark eyes never leaving Will’s as he followed. There was no disappointment, no mocking this time - rather, Jack’s own brand of admiration and respect.
And perhaps something else … a thing that matched the shift in Will’s own perception of the maddening personality that had perplexed him since the night Jack had waved off his crew’s betrayal with a “They done what’s right by them.” Something that had kept him from taking off Jack’s head on a couple of occasions since, when he would’ve been quite justified in doing so.
Something that made him pull back Death’s hounds this very night and not force a decision between service and demise upon the strange, sparkling fellow. Something in the blood that now flowed and pooled under the guidance of tides and moon and sun rather than of a heart.
“Some rum, pirate?” he finally asked, letting the smile touch his overwise eyes.
After a few beats, Jack nodded almost imperceptibly. “Aye,” he assented, still gripping Will’s hand in a prolonged clasp. “That’ll work, blacksmith.”