Fic: "Contradictions 1: Flight" (POTC)
CONTRADICTIONS 1: FLIGHT
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: POTC
Pairing: Eventual J/W slash
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Jack and Will, nor the details associated with “Pirates of the Caribbean.” I am simply borrowing them for a while for creative expression and writing practice (and because the boys are in my head and won’t leave me alone).
Special Thanks: To the Crow and the Spoon for beta-reading and God knows what all else.
Summary: This is an AU fic, breaking off from the movie’s events immediately after Barbossa’s defeat and death in the caves of Isla de Muerta. It’s about eight months later.
A/N: This series was on a hosted website for several years, which recently went defunct, so I'm posting it here just for bookkeeping purposes. This series was written long ago, in 2003-06.
Eight months and two days since they were last joined in battle …
Knowing the authorities in these parts were still hot on his trail wasn’t enough to keep Captain Jack Sparrow from doing as he damn well pleased. Well … almost what he pleased. It did not please him to meander down side alleys in shadows, skulking like some cur unwelcome for a scrap out in front of the local pub, having to go ‘round back for food - at least his tail was not between his legs. But in this case, his momentary desires were less important than setting things right, than squaring up affairs among himself, the incorruptible Will Turner, and the illustrious Elizabeth Swann.
Ah, desires. Momentary and otherwise, Jack had made a career of indulging his, as well as others’ on occasions when it suited him. He couldn’t remember the last time he could call himself innocent - the unbalancing weight of the leather satchel over his right shoulder was enough to remind him, lest he forget. Treasure gained at the expense of some questionable pirates, who’d liberated it, in turn, from folk of less questionable reputation at some point along the way.
Moments later, Jack was approaching what he was certain was the back of Brown’s shop. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard nothing and figured it was safe to enter. With a couple of quick jimmies, he was inside, and resettled the iron bar into place with uncustomary attention, running his fingers lightly along what had to be fairly newly-forged metal for the fixture. It was an intimate gesture, one between him and the lad, since what he’d seen last time gave him no reason to suspect the shop’s master had gone to the trouble of fixing anything around this place.
With nary a breaking of straw, the pirate made a quick circuit of the shop, pleased to find the proprietor nowhere in sight. That made sense; it took much less energy to simply stay home in bed than to struggle up and down the road to pretend to run a business. He had a new respect for Master Brown, though he couldn’t precisely say it wasn’t a dubious honor to bestow.
Quietly, Jack slipped a few cubes of sugar from his pocket and approached the donkey, who backed up a bit as her nostrils no doubt took in the unwelcome visitor. This creature, too, immediately earned both a chuckle and respect from Jack, and it was definitely of a higher order than granted to the ass’s owner. This wasn’t a stupid animal. “Come, now, we’re past all that,” Jack murmured in musical pitch. “Take th’ sugar; peace offerin’.”
Since the donkey had nowhere to go, she eventually stopped, flicked her ears warily, but conceded to butt her nose against the pirate’s palm. A large, velvety-wet tongue looped out and around the sugar, scarfing down the treat in one go, and Jack turned his hand to dry his fingers by petting the creature on the nose. At that, it reared its head back a bit, but didn’t try to escape. “Smart thing ye are, bein’ wary of a scalawag,” Jack softly nodded. “Wouldn’ trus’ me much, either, were you.”
Seeing nothing better to do, Jack slipped the satchel off his arm next to a bare section of wall and slowly lowered himself, back resting against it as he looked around the shop. Still rows of finely crafted swords, daggers, sabers, fences. Pulling one leg into his chest, he leaned back a bit further, resting his forearm on the knee and tilting his head back to look up above. He closed his eyes and pulled his hat down, blocking the sight of a circle of lethal blades that hung suspended above his person.
*****
“An’ do ye really think th’ whelp’s gonna ‘preciate th’ lengths ye’re goin’ to t’ save his skin?” Barbossa taunted, drawing a couple of lazy circles in the air with the tip of his sword. He shifted his weight to his rear foot, awaiting answer.
Jack concentrated on catching his breath without trying to look like that was precisely what he was doing. He didn’t have the indefatigable energy of the undead quite yet, despite palming that cursed coin. Then again, maybe he was just out of practice having to battle for so long, to stall and stall and stall some more for an opportune moment. Not having one’s own ship didn’t give one much opportunity to hone raiding skills. And running up these damn hills - what was this, a cave or the Alps? Briefly, he felt guilty for leaving Will to deal with the many while he took on the one, but reasoned his one could do a hell of a lot more damage to the lad than the other few combined.
“Now see, that’s th’ attitude ‘at got ye into this position,” Jack tossed back, paraphrasing the mutineer’s earlier comment on deck of the Pearl. “Ne’er takin’ the long view of events, mate. Livin’ in th’ moment … as it were,” he gestured toward a moonlit bony elbow.
“Aye, well, least I’m not throwin’ ‘way a perfectly good chance a’ gettin’ back me ship t’ impress someone inta a bunk I don' have.” The mad captain’s jaundiced eyes crinkled in an unholy grin. “Though ‘e is pretty, I’ll give ye that, Jaaaack.” He deliberately drew out the name, and it occurred to Sparrow he was getting damn sick of that, among other things. “Prettier ‘n ‘is da, any rate. Worthless cur.” The mutineer spat at the ground near his opponent’s boots.
The stories were that Jack Sparrow never lost his composure, but he knew Barbossa’s triumph at the moment Jack’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursed in a thin line at both charges. “Talkin’ instead o’ fightin’ ain’ gonna get ye very far,” he pointed out in a reasonable tone, crinkling his own saccharine smile at his former first mate. “Jus’ take longer to lose. But mebbe ye’ know ‘tis your only chance o’ drawin’ out this parody o’ livin’?” He lunged at the older man, gratified when Barbossa leaped back, his coat nearly cut by Jack’s blade. “How 'bout them apples, eh?”
They fought a bit longer, Jack giving precious quarter rarely for a quick search around at Will’s progress. The younger man parried, slashed, stabbed, punched, and kicked as well as any pirate, and Jack felt a slight swell of pride that he was the one to discover him tucked away in that smithy and introduce him into his birthright element. It wasn’t an environ suited for many men - or women - but old William would’ve been proud to see how quickly his son adapted, given precious little time to get used to things.
“Now that’s touchin’,” Barbossa spoke above the clang of their blades several minutes later. He was clearly directing his gaze past Jack’s shoulder, and the shorter man resisted the urge to turn and follow it. He studiously ignored the comment, concentrating on his parrying. “Looks like ye’ve competition o’er there, Jaaack.”
“Tell me, man, are ye incapable of sayin’ me name correctly, or jus’ too stupid t’ know when t’ stop?”
“Seems ‘is bonny lass’ll be th’ one t’ die nex’ to ‘er fair lover,” the older man pressed, his eyes delightedly searching Jack’s face for a reaction. “Or would it be yer fair William, eh?”
He ignored the gibe, sublimated his thoughts and any feelings to the back of his mind as he fought, trying to force Barbossa into a compromising position so he could strike when the blood was hot in the gold chest. It wasn’t until much later, when he was alone in the cave with all the swag and assorted pirates’ cold bodies, that Jack even attempted to think about the whole thing.
When Elizabeth told him his ship had set sail, with what sounded like sincere sympathy in her voice, Jack had elected to stay behind. His reasoning was that if the Black Pearl never returned - but he suspected it would once Anamaria was sure no threat remained on the island; what pirate worth her salt would pass up that much treasure? - he still didn’t want to go back where he knew the noose awaited.
Nor, as he did not add aloud to the young couple, did he wish to watch the eventual gathering of Will’s courage to tell Elizabeth of his feelings for her. In the end, he’d nodded at them both - Elizabeth, unfailingly regal and assessing, and Will, gaze going between the two of them with puzzlement - and turned to head back to the cave to await his fate at the hands of the gods and the pirates, without so much as a goodbye.
*****
Familiar footsteps stopped next to his outstretched foot some time later, but Jack remained beneath his hat, silently taking the easy, deep breaths of sleep. He’d had too many months to avail himself of any attraction toward Will Turner and his heartbeat would not be made to race like some debutante’s at a mere presence. Jack Sparrow would remain the captain of legend, cool and assured and in charge of the conversation, which would start when he wanted it to.
He saw legs hunker before his hat was tipped up, dark eyes peering at him from a square face tilted sideways. “I thought mermaids were supposed to be green, or maybe blue,” the smith broke the silence, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, suddenly aware his pulse had kicked up, his nerves responded where a couple of fingertips lingered inches over his face … and was that sweat on his damn palms? Somewhere, the god Ares was having a good laugh over a mug of grog with Eros. Aphrodite was probably buying. Yes, thank you immensely. Glad I could entertain, all, Jack thought sourly. “What’d I tell ye ‘bout touchin’ me hat?” was all he could properly think to say.
“I don’t see your sword drawn.”
Oh, so much meaning laden into such words. Out of the mouths of babes. Impatiently, Jack reached up and swatted at the hand, and that finally broke the laugh loose from Will’s chest as he stood and extended a hand toward the pirate. Jack studiously ignored it, climbing easily to his feet while straightening his battered tricorn hat. “Where’s your master?” he asked, gesturing about with flicks of his long wrists.
Will stopped chuckling at that, shaking his head, hands on slim hips. “Died, four months ago. Alcohol poisoning, they think.” He cocked his head pointedly at Jack.
“Now, now, ye’ve ne’er seen me passed out on upon a chair th’ likes of that fellow,” Jack defended, holding up a forefinger to ward off the speech. “Though I’m sorry t’ hear ye lost him. I ‘member he meant a lot to ye.” Will’s dark eyes widened, and Jack could tell the smith was surprised he’d been listening to his babbling about his life aboard the Interceptor months ago, on their way to save Elizabeth. “So it’s your shop now, is it?”
“His shingle’s still on the door. His wife owns it, now.” Will’s pinched brow told much about business. He was still so young, and revealed too great a deal about himself, Jack reflected. Not yet twenty. “She’s not wanting to sell to me; got a better offer from a glassblower putting into port in a few weeks.” The young man sighed. “So why’re you here, Jack?”
“Unfinished business, lad.” Jack turned and picked up the satchel, setting it upon the brick hearth of the heatpan and pulling the laces open. He dug in and extracted a sizable skin of gold, one of three. Turning with a flourish he gave a slight bow and presented it to Will. “Mayhaps this’ll change yon widow’s mind?” he teased with a wink. “Go on, take it.”
“What - is it?” The smith accepted the bag, but arched a quizzical brow at Jack.
“Your share o’ th’ swag, mate. Have one for th’ missy, too.” He caught himself. “Or is it missus, now? Leastways, one for each o’ ye. For helpin’ me recover th’ Pearl an’ the uncursed treasure of Isla de Muerta. Should be squared up, now.” It wasn’t until he stopped talking that he noticed the slight fall in the man’s expression, and he couldn‘t help rolling his eyes. “C’mon now, don’ sniff at it; stuff’s been hoarded there forever, not like ye robbed anyone of it, mate. Neither‘d I. Don’ get all guilty on me.”
“No.” Will shook his head, but Jack noticed he wasn’t trying to shove the skin back at him. He seemed lost in some other kind of thought. “Um … thanks, Jack. I guess.”
“Not th’ most enthusiastic response I’d ‘oped for,” the pirate teased. “Yer not gettin’ a shillin’ more, so don’ think ‘bout tryin’ to negotiate.” He turned and reached in for a second skin of gold as he talked. “Though I s’pose ye might convince th’ lass to turn loose of a few o’ hers, seein’ as she’s already got enough from …” Jack trailed off as he turned back, his side to the smith when he noticed the long face. “Lad, what is it?” he asked, dropping his voice to a concerned hush.
“I- nothing.” Will shook his head, turning to set his bag on a nearby workbench.
Jack didn’t miss the tone of voice, and set the bag on the workbench next to its mate as he crossed the distance to Will’s side. He said nothing at first, watching the smith in profile as he concentrated on something on the opposite wall. Finally, the pirate broke the silence. “Come on, let’s get a bite. Unless ye’ve eaten?” He dropped his eyes, glancing at the man’s thin frame, which seemed more gaunt than last time they’d seen one another. “I need me rum, in any case.”
That earned a small grin, and Jack cuffed him in the arm. “Don’t be so quick t’ smirk. You’re buyin’, Baron Turner.”
*****
In any port, in any city, there are always places where refugees can find succor, or at least some grog and meat. The Red Snapper was no place any respectable military man would spend his time after hours, down just off the docks as it were, especially since the owner paid heftily each year to keep the fuzz off his back. In return, he could charge anything he wanted - and did - for even the simplest of meals.
Jack leaned back across the table from Will, sipping with uncustomary restraint as he watched the younger man fork a few bites from the grouper. He kept his eyes on his fish most of the time, despite the captain’s attempts to draw him into conversation. Jack could tell there was something on his heart as well as his mind, and so he pressed the matter quite gently, for him.
Finally, he set down his tankard and leaned on his elbows. “What is it, Will?” he asked, pitching his voice at an acceptably low level given the general raucousness of the bar. “A blind man can see you’re not yourself. Is it ‘Lizbeth?”
Will looked up, around for several seconds before finally meeting Jack’s eyes. He no longer looked sad, but disgusted. “You could say that,” he finally conceded, with a curt nod.
Jack guessed. “You’re not together.” No response. “Come, did she marry him, or not?”
“Elizabeth’s in France,” Will sighed. “Training as a diplomat for the Crown.”
Jack’s eyebrows crept into his hat, though he couldn’t say he was exactly shocked. Perhaps only at the fact her gender hadn’t been an issue - then again, a governor’s daughter was going to receive more consideration than the average serving wench. “Now how’d that happen?” he mused.
“She wanted a vocation, not a husband. Figured she couldn’t have both at the same time. When the Governor found out how she felt … well, let‘s just say he was relieved it wasn‘t wanting to run off with pirates, at least, and he pulled some strings.”
“Did you at least e’er tell her how ye felt?”
“I told her, for all the good it did. She still went.”
Jack leaned back again, narrowing his black-rimmed eyes at the younger man. Something … rang odd, here. The lad was surely down about something, but not in the way one would expect a rejected lover to act. “You’re not upset you didn’ get her,” he ventured, a half-question. “What is it?”
“Well, yes, I’m a bit upset over that,” Will threw up his hands. “Who likes to be made a fool of? I tell her, like you told me to, and she turns me down flat.”
Jack’s lips quirked. “Mate, ye’re gonna have t’ do better ‘n that for an’ explanation. Pride’s wounded, alright, that I get. But it’s naught a broken ‘eart, I can tell.”
Will scratched at his chin and looked a bit hangdog, as though he’d been caught with his hand somewhere it didn’t belong. For some reason, the analogy brought a smirk to Jack’s lips and saliva into his mouth. Just don’t be thinking about those hands, you scalawag. “Well?” he asked, a suspicion formed in his mind as to the real problem.
“She’s there. You’re out there. I’m … well, stuck here.”
“Ahh!” Jack’s eyes lighted up, and he grinned manically, snapping a finger and pointing at Will, then crossing his arms over his chest. “Wanderlust. Well, hell, boy, why’re ye beatin’ round th’ bush ‘bout it? Not exactly a capital crime, is it?”
“It’s irresponsible and childish, and annoying, is what it is.” Will stole a glance around the room, then petulantly returned his attention to Jack. “I’m an adult; I need to work, I can’t afford to be having silly notions.”
“Nothin’ silly ‘bout followin’ your heart, mate.”
Is that so? For some reason, the voice in his head had taken on Anamaria-like tonal qualities of late. Jack wasn’t entirely sure he liked that, though he did enjoy the woman’s spicy accent. Pot, meet kettle.
“Jus’ means ye’ve the Turner blood, is all,” Jack continued, mentally gagging the voice. Wanderlust was not the same at all as lust, and by Jesu, he should be the one to know. “What’s so wrong wit’ that?”
“I know blacksmithing. What else would I do?”
“Smiths are needed e’erywhere, far as I know, mate. Could travel like that.” He watched closely, gauging.
Sure enough, Will shook his head. “Is that what I’ll be doing the rest of my life then? Sitting in some … shop front, bent over a forge day in and day out?” He sounded bitter.
“Not unless ‘s what ye want.” It was Jack’s turn to shake his head, the beads clacking. Why was the lad trying so hard to deny what was inside him? You are certainly not one to pass judgment on that account, you coward. Even Anamaria herself was never this shrill.
Will’s laugh was sharp, his tone filled with ironic humor. “What, be like you, flitting around from wave to wave?”
For some reason he couldn’t explain, Jack was hurt by that, by the accusatory “you” in there. Then he was indignant; nobody criticized his lifestyle. Blood near to boiling, he leaned forward, pointing, ready to argue, when he heard a scattering of people and chairs that drew his attention toward the front door.
Aw, hell. Bloody Norrington.
The man’s eyes seemed to zero in on him, his mouth quirking. “Well, well.”
Two guards hurried to their table, and Jack stood, pushing the chair back, reaching for his sword. He was thinking of something suitably clever to open with when his view was blocked and another voice spoke instead. “No, Commodore.”
Jack drew back in some surprise; he hadn’t even seen Will move. Tilting his chin up, he looked over the smith’s shoulder, noting the height difference between them with interest. To his credit, the commodore didn’t roll his eyes at the younger man’s antics. “Step aside, Turner,” he calmly intoned, as the guards waited, twitching.
Will’s head moved in a curt shake, and Jack spared a few seconds to ponder what a shame it was his hair was tied back instead of loose for that motion. Unobtrusively, the pirate pushed aside his chair and ducked a little more behind Will, glancing around for the back door. They were going to need it in a couple of minutes, or maybe less, if the smith kept up this attitude of stoic defiance; he hadn’t learned quite yet how to play with his prey.
“Mr. Turner, this man is a dangerous criminal, who has committed numerous offenses against the Crown and the good people of this-”
“What has he done here?” Will interrupted. “In Port Royale. What has he done here to warrant arrest? He saved Elizabeth’s life, more than once. Just because she is no longer here shouldn’t negate those actions.”
Jack winced a bit at that, feeling momentary pity for Norrington. Now was not the best time to remind the man the object of his affection had decided to hightail it out of there rather than become Mrs. Commodore. Still, it had style, he had to admit. Maybe Will was learning a little something, after all.
“As I was saying,” Norrington continued, his long-suffering tone indicating he was less than happy with being interrupted, “this man has committed offenses against the Crown and her citizens. It is my duty as an officer of the Royal Navy to apprehend any suspect, regardless of the locale of the crime.”
“You’re not getting him.”
Aha, there was a back door! Jack had begun to wonder when he couldn’t immediately spot it, but it was cleverly hidden. His mind gauged the distance and shortest dart from here to there, and wondered briefly if Will had ever been here, knew where it was as well. He could make a run for it alone if he had to, but he suspected before it was over, Will would need the escape as well. Besides, he didn’t wish to desert the lad if it could be helped.
“You forget your place, sir.”
“My place, Commodore, is right here. Between you and Jack.”
The pirate’s ears perked at that, as did his entire body, actually. What the hell?
“He is a pirate-”
“And a good man! He risked much to help me get Elizabeth back, and helped you apprehend the crew of the Black Pearl! Surely that means something.”
Unable to say anything directly into his ear without being spotted or heard, Jack settled for speaking into the nape of Will’s neck, patting his fingertips lightly on the man‘s back. “Mate, we gotta go; back door.” He allowed himself the brief wash of lust at Will’s scent, the brush of bound hair against the bridge of his nose, then snapped out of it. “Immediately.”
But Will didn’t move, as Norrington went on. “Stand aside, Mr. Turner, or I shall have to take you into custody as well.”
Thinking quickly, and before Will could get out more than a token syllable, Jack’s hand snaked around Will’s midsection to grab the hilt of his sword, and yanked it out. Pulling it up across the lad’s neck, he forced Will’s chin up as he pressed the flat of the blade to his Adam’s apple, his other hand yanking Will’s left arm up behind him. “Why, thankee, lad,” he muttered sarcastically into Will’s ear, loud enough to be heard by the officers but low enough to seem menacing. “Ye played right into it, real well.”
The two guards made to lunge, but Norrington barked them back. “I don’t take kindly to jokes, Mr. Sparrow.”
“That's 'Captain,' my good Commodore. You forget your titles as soon as you shed them, eh?” He dragged Will backwards, sure to be extra rough to make his point. “Poor boy’s too stupid for ‘is own good, he is. Don’ know when t’ leave well enough alone, lucky me.”
“Jack, what’re you-” Will began.
“Shut up, whelp!” Jack ground out the words, nearly spitting, pulling instinctively into Pillaging Pirate Mode. “Unless ye’d like a second smile, ‘at is?” Will tensed and Jack could tell he was prepared to dig in his heels. With a swift knee to the back of his thigh, Jack disavowed that notion, and heard a soft oath escape the younger man as he nearly stumbled backwards. He grinned, as much for inspiring such language from such a pretty mouth as from his own thespianship. “Now ye’ll be escortin’ me to th’ back door of this fine establishment,” he growled, “or your friend the Commodore will be back t’ wearin’ a redcoat - or least one drenched in red. Savvy?”
Will nodded, still tense, and Jack could feel very real fear and anger behind that. He was basically an honest boy and didn’t like to be used, even in a setup; Jack nearly sighed. He was simply going to have to rid the kid of such adherence to the absolute truth. “Good evening, Commodore. Gentlemen,” he looked around as he dragged back to the door. Passing a frozen serving wench, he nodded at her as well. “Milady.”
With a lunge, Jack threw himself against the back door, pulling the sword down and yanking Will along by the back of his vest. The rotting wood crashed through, and Jack pushed the smith in front of him. “Run, boy!” he hissed. “Get us outta ‘ere!”
They’d gotten a couple of blocks when Will ducked into an alleyway, and Jack nearly tripped over his own boots to double back and keep up. Halfway down, they tucked into shadows, hidden by a jutting of one wall over its adjoining wall. “You son of a bitch!” Will hissed, elbowing him. “What the hell-”
“Language!” Jack shushed back. “What would your mum say?”
“Like you care!” They immediately became quiet, hearing running feet and voices. “I almost had us out of that!” Will continued, sotto voce.
“Lad, ye almost had us both in th’ pokey,” the pirate retorted forcefully. “No ‘fense, but when it comes t’ gettin’ out o’ tight spots in the future, lemme do the talkin’, right?”
“In the future?”
Jack sighed. “Do ye really think you’ll be allowed to jus’ go back an’ work in your shop as usual, havin’ been spotted with a notorious cad like me?”
“But you kidnapped me.”
“And a convincin’ performance it was, aye,” Jack replied in a whisper dripping with gravel and sarcasm. “Bein’ it was right after ye were ‘bout to give me th’ key to th’ city, and all.”
“What makes you think I’d want to go anywhere with you?”
Jack shushed him, peeked out, and saw nothing. He gestured with his head toward the other end of the alley questioningly, and Will nodded; they both hurried along, pausing only to let Will in the lead. Once Will determined that nobody was coming, he and Jack ran pell-mell through a few more back alleys until they reached the rear of the smithy, both drenched in sweat and struggling to take breaths. Will turned and reached to lift the latch, but Jack slapped a hand over his, pressing his ear to the door and scrunching his eyebrows to explain his hesitation.
They stood like that for a couple of minutes as Jack heard scraping inside that could be either the donkey or people. He strained for voices, unaware his fingers had curled around Will’s hand, holding it in place but gentling their grip. Will, too, frowned and pressed his ear to the door, casting his eyes down to concentrate.
Jack swallowed dryly, noting their faces were only a couple of inches apart. It would be entirely too convenient to bridge the short distance and touch his lips to Will’s, find out how they tasted, if they were as soft as his were chapped from the constant sea spray and sun. Instead, he dropped his eyes to the lad’s chin and waited for some pronouncement that it was safe to go inside, after all.
“I think it’s just Jessy,” Will finally spoke quietly, adding, “the donkey.” Pulling away from the door, he extracted his hand from Jack’s, which the pirate pulled back quickly, as if burned, holding it against his chest, flexing the fingers a bit, waiting for the smith to open the door.
In just a couple of minutes, they were inside; nothing seemed to have been disturbed. “They’ll be here,” Jack warned, crossing the room and sacking up the gold once again into the satchel. “Get some belongin’s and let’s get out.”
“Again, what makes you think I’d go with you?”
Jack spun on the smith, poking him in the chest with a couple of forefingers. “Do you wan’ hang at dawn? Be questioned ‘til Doomsday?” He withdrew a bit, showing Will his slyest smile. “Or would ye rather jus’ be left alone while everyone else ‘eads out an’ lives their lives, mate?” He hated to play on the loneliness he saw in the dark eyes, but knew it was his best weapon. Will’s silence answered him. “Now c’mon, hop to, sailor!”
A pause. Then, “I have to take care of Jessy. She’ll starve without me.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Norrington’s an ass, but he’ll see one of his own kind is taken care of, least.” Will’s eyes narrowed, and Jack sighed. “Fine. You get your stuff, we’ll stop by one place-” He paused to hold up a finger in emphasis, “one place so ye can tell someone t’ feed her. Accord?”
Will nodded quickly and headed off to one side of the shop. He opened a couple of drawers, pulled out things while Jack waited, senses on alert for approaching footsteps. Glancing about the shop, he set the satchel down briefly to reach for a couple of daggers, which he immediately hid upon his person, and a newer sword, which he tucked into his belt to complement the one in his holster. “Come on, boy!”
Within moments, they were approaching the dock, Will having stopped to make a hasty detour to tack a briefly-scrawled note about Jessy to Mrs. Brown’s door, with no explanation as to his own whereabouts. “Where’s the Pearl?” Will asked his companion, scanning the harbor.
“Tucked behind th’ rocks, right ‘ere.” Jack pointed off in the distance. “We’ll have to row out to her.”
“Is that wise?”
“Not really, no,” Jack admitted. “Which is why we gotta wait ‘til nightfall to go. Just a couple hours ‘way.”
“But you made us leave the shop now!”
“I’ve a hidin’ spot, don’t ye worry.” Jack flashed his most winsome gold grin.
Ten minutes later, the two men were standing below the dock, knee-deep in shady, cold seawater. “Tell me again this was a good thing?” Will gave the pirate his dirtiest look, shifting his own satchel.
“Now see, boy, that’s th’ kind of attitude that’ll get ye t’ be a pirate yet.”
*****
Two hours later, true to his word, Jack was paddling a small rowboat while Will held onto their bags of cargo in case the rickety thing tipped. It had been luck to get to shore and take a boat when the guard was changing, and drag it back under the docks, but now the dark provided a bit of cover, at least. “Now, we jus’ get to th’ cave ‘round th’ jetty, there, an’ situate ourselves ‘til th’ Pearl returns.”
Will must’ve been woolgathering, because it took nearly a full minute for him to respond. “Huh? What? What do you mean, until it returns? I thought it was waiting around the cliff for us.” Jack kept his face carefully neutral, sure to put more effort into his rowing to make himself appear harder-working. “Jack? Jack, answer me!”
“Now use your common sense, lad; ‘s not as easy as tucking away behind a few rocks,” the captain began. “After all, Norrington had th’ whole Navy out circling th’ island soon as we ran out.”
“YOU SAID IT WAS JUS-”
Jack nearly lost his oar as he dropped it and reached across to hurriedly slap a palm to Will’s shouts. “Pipe down!” he hissed. “Ye wan’ us to be caught? Christ on th’ cross was quieter ‘n you.”
Will reached up and smacked Jack’s hand away by grabbing it tightly and holding it rigid. “Look, Pontius Pirate … you’d better not be lying about us being able to get out of here. If I find out you’ve lost the Pearl to someone else, again …”
“Ye’ll what, Will?” Jack hadn’t meant to sound defeated or tired, but the thought of anyone else taking his ship from him again was enough to drain him, at least temporarily. “Make me feel worse about it?”
Surprisingly, Will’s manner softened out a bit and he loosened his grip on the older man’s hand. “Sorry,” he offered, quietly. “But this is just idiocy!”
“Not that apologetic, I see,” Jack mused with dark humor, pulling his hand back and taking up the neglected oar. “I did tell her to sail it back ‘pon midnight for us; not completely addled, yet.”
Will was silent again. Then: “Her? Anamaria?”
“Aye.”
Silence. “The woman whose boat you stole? That Anamaria?”
“Ye’ve a point?” But Jack could already see it and admitted it would be easy to feel rather foolish for taking the pirate at her word. Still, she’d handed over the Pearl upon returning to the Isla de Muerta and had served him faithfully as a hand for the past eight months. “Well?” he continued, his tone between cross and amusedly inquiring.
“Her boat, Jack! You stole her-”
“Commandeered.”
“Whatever.” Will’s eyes were hard in the dark, but not unkind. “You took her boat, sank it; she could easily consider the Pearl retribution.”
“I already gave me word - she got th’ Interceptor.”
“Which is fish housing right now.”
“She came back to the Isla.”
“For treasure, Jack!”
“She turned over command,” he pressed on, rowing still and showing no exertion; he was rather proud of that, at his age. “Could’ve just left me there to die.”
“She still might, here.”
Jack glanced back behind him, seeing they were near the jetty. “Ye’ve no faith in human nature, lad.”
“What, and you do? After everything that happened last year?”
“I never said I was stupid, lad.” He paused briefly to nod at his satchel, clutched in Will’s lap. “There’s enough incentive in there to bring her back. Even if she left me high ‘n dry, her share of th’ loot wouldn’ be near as much without those three bags o’ gold.”
Will thought that over, then narrowed his gaze, leaning forward a bit in interrogation. “Those were for me and Elizabeth,” he pointed out.
“Aye, but your bonny lass has done gone, hasn’ she?” Jack grinned and in the dark, one of his gold teeth caught the moon and flashed. “She’ll ne’er miss what she didn’t have,” he observed, his eyes briefly raking the young man before him in double meaning. He wasn’t obvious about it, however, and Will didn’t look as though he’d noticed. “How’d she pick France, anyway?”
“Quit trying to change the subject.” Will was relentless once he got hold of an idea or notion, and though it could annoy Jack to no end, fact was it was a trait that he found endearing in the blacksmith. No simpleton, this - he was quick of mind and unwilling to be used, and Jack’s feelings for the man were tempered only by the respect he commanded. “Either you’re lying about the ship and Anamaria, or about this gold being for us.”
“You ever stop to consider th’ third option?” Jack glanced over; a few more powerful strokes and they’d be at the rocks.
“There is no third option, Jack.”
“M’boy, there’s always a third option.” Pulling up alongside, Jack yanked the oars in and grabbed for a rocky outcropping. “Avast, matey.” Will stifled an apparent urge to press the conversation and did as commanded, stepping out before turning to reach back in for two of the bags. Jack then stood; the small boat rocked, threatened to capsize, and he threw out both arms for balance, surprised when Will caught hold of one. Bending, Jack hauled up the satchel and alighted from the boat, still with the other man’s help. Tossing off a jaunty salute, Jack nodded toward the top and led the way, nimbly stepping around the sharpest rocks until he’d reached the small, narrow ledge about twenty feet up.
Turning, he offered a hand and gave his newest crewman a pull up onto the ledge, having to put his back into it; he hadn’t realized Will was that much heavier than himself. The smith looked slight, but he was a bit taller than Jack and broader in the shoulders and chest. With a toss of his dreadlocks, Jack turned and led the way along the ledge for a good thirty yards, until he reached the cave he’d scouted early that morning.
“Make bunk!” he announced, lowering his satchel to the ground and straightening to stretch out his arms and back. He was in excellent shape for thirty-seven, but the occasional ache had started creeping in if he didn’t focus on keeping himself limber. As Will moved past him and set down his burdens, Jack couldn’t stifle a grin at the thought of more pleasant exercises intended to stretch one’s muscles, and his stomach performed a little somersault at the notion. Said stomach and his imagination had developed quite a good rapport over the past eight months. “Hungry, lad?”
Will lithely lowered himself to the outcropping and crossed his legs. “What time did you say the Pearl would return?”
Jack squinted into the west. “About three, four hours. ‘S why I asked if you’re hungry. Have some tack in th’ pack,” he gestured at his satchel, grinning wryly at his own poetry.
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Jack crossed one ankle over the other and lowered himself into a seated position like Will’s, with very little of a thud as his backside made contact with the rock. With some satisfaction, he noted Will’s raised eyebrow, apparently impressed with the maneuver. “Ye can take a nap, or we can count th’ constellations, mayhaps,” he suggested, brushing rogue dreadlocks back off his shoulders with curved fingertips.
“I have a third option,” Will retorted, and Jack chuckled silently, feeling the corners of his mouth lift into a genuine smile at the man’s wit. “Tell me why you’re here. Why you’re really here.”
“Are you implying maybe I wasn’ telling th’ truth?”
“I’m outright saying it. I’m not stupid, Jack, contrary to your protestations to otherwise when I do something you don’t like.” He was quiet a moment. “Did you plan this?”
“Plan what? Me gettin’ chased ‘round your lovely isle by Commodore Stick-in-the-Arse an’ his dour-faced poppets?” Jack sniffed, lifting his chin a bit. “Hardly. To check on you?” The pirate shrugged in honesty. “Mostly. Thought your Da might wan’ me t’ keep an eye on ye ever so often, see how you’re doin’.”
“That’s actually kind of thoughtful, Jack.” Will was nodding, his eyes still intent, and Jack suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Confound it all, why couldn’t the lad look a little less bright? “Doesn’t explain the gold, though. Not to mention three bags doesn’t make a dent in what I saw stockpiled in that cave of Barbossa’s.”
“My cave, lad. Spoils for goin’ without th’ Pearl and a proper seafarin’ life for so long. Ne’er forget that; twas never his, th’ scurrilous knave.” Jack spat at the ground to his side, then turned to nod back inside the cave in front of which they were sitting. “Stashed a bit of it in here ‘fore she crawled out of her bunk this morning, besides. Told ‘er she had to come back if she wanted me t’ tell her where I hid it.”
Will furrowed his brow skeptically and craned forward to peer into the cave, which was rather small and shallow. Jack grinned as he watched the man recognize several burlap bags stacked at the back. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, before returning to his normal position and laughing. “Anything you don’t come prepared for, Captain?”
“Nay, ‘tis me motto; be prepared.” Jack held aloft his right hand in an oath, then folded all fingers down, extending his two forefingers upwards in a “V” as he counted, “With me sword an’ me gun.” He waved a hand airily at the sky. “Now tell me, sailor, which one is the Northern Star?”
“Um … that’s west, Jack.”
“An’ you say you don‘t have any pirate blood in ye.”
*****
After nearly two hours of chasing constellations and obscure stars, Jack could tell Will was ready to commit mutiny on his new captain, and he hadn’t even set foot on deck of the ship. “All right, study break,” he announced, clamoring to his feet to stretch a bit, yawning and lifting his arms over his head. “Well, what d’ ye think of a pirate’s life so far?” he teased.
“Considering I’m not even properly a half-mile from my home yet, I’d have to say the boat I’m on is lousy and the captain’s sense of urgency for booty is questionable, at the very least,” Will quipped, and at least there was humor in his voice now.
“Hmm.” Jack squinted into the darkness, trying to make out any ships on the horizon, but it was bloody hard to do in the light of only a half-moon. Turning back to face his companion, he was seized by a sudden curiosity that had first been piqued that afternoon. “Ye never did tell me why ‘Lizbeth is in France.”
Was that a quirk in the lad’s lips? “Parlez,” he explained with a chuckle. “She wanted to learn the language from the natives. Well, that and see Paris and, I suspect, the rest of Europe.”
“How culturally enlightened of her.” Jack resumed his seat and pressed the issue. “But I guess what I really mean’ was, why’d she leave here an’ go all th’ way there?”
Will said nothing at first; he stared straight ahead, out to sea, leaning forward slightly on his elbows where they rested upon his knees. Jack studied his profile, only a few feet away, and had to resist the urge to reach over and pat his back in a brotherly gesture.
“Once was the time we weren’t so different,” he finally answered. “We’re the same age; when we were ten, we were both smart, curious children. We even had tutoring together, up at the Governor’s mansion. We got a little older, but we remained friends, telling each other secrets and trying to best one another at our lessons.
“When Elizabeth turned fourteen, her aunt and uncle from England visited, and took her back with them for a more proper education. I didn’t see her for three years.” Here, Will sighed. “I only had a couple of other friends, and it was decided I’d gained as much formal education here on the island as could be offered, so I was apprenticed to Mr. Brown. They tested me, see, and that’s what I showed the most promise for, was blacksmithing. I spent a lot of my time working, learning … and eventually taking over when the bottle became more important to Brown than his forge or his charge.”
Again, Will slid Jack that odd look, and the captain fancied the lad was worried he would succumb to the same fate as his former master. Well, in spite of the fact he drank far less than was visible, Jack couldn’t reassure him; life didn’t work that predictably. Instead, he nodded, encouraging more story.
“I was seventeen when Elizabeth returned, a couple of years ago. She’d grown up, matured, been educated - she no longer seemed ‘Elizabeth’ so much as ‘Miss Swann.’ For all that, she endeavored to treat me much the same she always had, and … well, I felt much differently about her than I had previously.” He paused, scrubbing at something on his knee, head bowed briefly to study whatever imaginary stain he’d found. “I quite loved her, actually. As you know, already.”
“How long did ye wait ‘til ye told her?”
The smith sighed, raising his gaze back to the stars. “Too long, obviously. I should’ve told her in the cave that night, but … I figured my attentions would be unwelcome. It’s as I’ve thought for a good while - what would a cultured, refined lady want with a relatively uneducated laborer?”
“Craftsman,” Jack automatically corrected, and Will looked at him then, a slight smile punctuating his silent gratitude at the acknowledgement. “She seem t’ take to ye well enough, though, from what I could see.”
“She justified it as a childhood infatuation only. Said if she’d never tasted the world outside Port Royale again before she finally settled down to marry and have children, she’d regret it the rest of her life.”
“Sounds promising; nothin’ in there t’ make ye think she’d not want ye later on,” Jack pushed, not wanting to. “Maybe it’s just wanderlust she needs t’ get out of her system.”
“Perhaps.” Will shrugged. “So what’m I supposed to do, then? Wait around and buy Brown’s shop, and see how many years she wants to travel before she comes back and settles for me? And what if she never does, Jack?” Will turned his attention to the pirate captain once more. This time, he spoke with a much softer voice. “And what if she does?”
“An’ finds you lacking? Is that it?”
“More likely to happen than not, I’d say. No woman of her station wants a husband whose experiences, whose education, is less than her own.” Will sighed. “A married couple ought to be able to converse with one another, at the very least, and on the same level. It’s the same principle as men who marry women below their own intelligence; I don’t see how they do it.”
“Aye, but some men don’ put much stock in conversation, ‘specially with what they consider a bit o’ fluff, mate.” Jack held up a hand and levered himself back to reach into his satchel, fishing a bit and finally producing a small bottle. “Rum?” he offered Will; when the boy shook his head, Jack uncorked it and took his own long pull at the neck, letting the liquid fire cascade down his long throat. Tilting it away, he took a moment to appreciate the quench, then continued. “To your average ’fine’ gen’leman, a wife ain’t nothin’ more than a wench with a pedigree, fit for spreadin’ her legs for one man instead of several, and raisin’ whelps.” He waved an airy hand in Will’s direction. “Is th’ lower classes such as yourself, which happen to put more store in havin’ a partnership of equals.”
“Such as myself?” Will repeated back, sounding half-amused. “What are you, Jack? An earl, or a baron? A deposed king, perhaps?”
“Righter ‘n you know,” he mumbled incomprehensibly into the neck of the bottle, before taking another swig. It came out sounding more like, “Rierrr n’o,” aloud. “You’re not a stupid lad. What’s got ye so twisted up?”
“I need to see the world too, Jack. Only I can’t afford-”
“-To pay the fare for fancy ships and carriages, and fine carriage houses and inns, yes, yes,” Jack finished for him. “An’ so, I come in.”
A pause. “You make it sound like I’m the one who hunted you down. You came here, remember? You almost had Norrington slapping me in irons.”
“No, lad, ye were doin’ well ‘nough with that by yourself, from th’ looks of things,” Jack corrected, lifting an elegant forefinger for emphasis. “Ye put yourself ‘tween us of your own free will.”
“If we hadn’t been at the Red Snapper, none of them would’ve come looking for you,” Will accused. “Especially when you refused to travel the back alleys and insisted walking through the middle of the streets like you owned Port Royale.”
“I’ll be damned I act like a common criminal, mate.”
“No, there’s certainly nothing common about you, Jack.” The pirate rewarded the apt assessment with a glint of gold grin. “And I still say it was your fault.”
“I see. And how many times did we have a conversation ‘bout doin’ stupid shite, eh?”
“Stupid?” Will’s eyes glinted in the moonlight, and he seemed about ready to haul up and pull his sword. “I saved your-”
“Hmm.“ Jack put a forefinger to the corner of his lips, tapping. “Well, let’s call it a draw, eh, mate? Point is, we both got somethin’ out o’ it. Ye get to see the world, least as much as I can show ye in whate’er time ye’ve allowed yourself to catch up with ‘Lizbeth.”
“And what do you get out of this, then?”
Jack grinned fully at his newest crew member. “’S not every pirate can say he’s got his own arms manufacturer ‘board ship. Savvy?”
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: POTC
Pairing: Eventual J/W slash
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Jack and Will, nor the details associated with “Pirates of the Caribbean.” I am simply borrowing them for a while for creative expression and writing practice (and because the boys are in my head and won’t leave me alone).
Special Thanks: To the Crow and the Spoon for beta-reading and God knows what all else.
Summary: This is an AU fic, breaking off from the movie’s events immediately after Barbossa’s defeat and death in the caves of Isla de Muerta. It’s about eight months later.
A/N: This series was on a hosted website for several years, which recently went defunct, so I'm posting it here just for bookkeeping purposes. This series was written long ago, in 2003-06.
Eight months and two days since they were last joined in battle …
Knowing the authorities in these parts were still hot on his trail wasn’t enough to keep Captain Jack Sparrow from doing as he damn well pleased. Well … almost what he pleased. It did not please him to meander down side alleys in shadows, skulking like some cur unwelcome for a scrap out in front of the local pub, having to go ‘round back for food - at least his tail was not between his legs. But in this case, his momentary desires were less important than setting things right, than squaring up affairs among himself, the incorruptible Will Turner, and the illustrious Elizabeth Swann.
Ah, desires. Momentary and otherwise, Jack had made a career of indulging his, as well as others’ on occasions when it suited him. He couldn’t remember the last time he could call himself innocent - the unbalancing weight of the leather satchel over his right shoulder was enough to remind him, lest he forget. Treasure gained at the expense of some questionable pirates, who’d liberated it, in turn, from folk of less questionable reputation at some point along the way.
Moments later, Jack was approaching what he was certain was the back of Brown’s shop. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard nothing and figured it was safe to enter. With a couple of quick jimmies, he was inside, and resettled the iron bar into place with uncustomary attention, running his fingers lightly along what had to be fairly newly-forged metal for the fixture. It was an intimate gesture, one between him and the lad, since what he’d seen last time gave him no reason to suspect the shop’s master had gone to the trouble of fixing anything around this place.
With nary a breaking of straw, the pirate made a quick circuit of the shop, pleased to find the proprietor nowhere in sight. That made sense; it took much less energy to simply stay home in bed than to struggle up and down the road to pretend to run a business. He had a new respect for Master Brown, though he couldn’t precisely say it wasn’t a dubious honor to bestow.
Quietly, Jack slipped a few cubes of sugar from his pocket and approached the donkey, who backed up a bit as her nostrils no doubt took in the unwelcome visitor. This creature, too, immediately earned both a chuckle and respect from Jack, and it was definitely of a higher order than granted to the ass’s owner. This wasn’t a stupid animal. “Come, now, we’re past all that,” Jack murmured in musical pitch. “Take th’ sugar; peace offerin’.”
Since the donkey had nowhere to go, she eventually stopped, flicked her ears warily, but conceded to butt her nose against the pirate’s palm. A large, velvety-wet tongue looped out and around the sugar, scarfing down the treat in one go, and Jack turned his hand to dry his fingers by petting the creature on the nose. At that, it reared its head back a bit, but didn’t try to escape. “Smart thing ye are, bein’ wary of a scalawag,” Jack softly nodded. “Wouldn’ trus’ me much, either, were you.”
Seeing nothing better to do, Jack slipped the satchel off his arm next to a bare section of wall and slowly lowered himself, back resting against it as he looked around the shop. Still rows of finely crafted swords, daggers, sabers, fences. Pulling one leg into his chest, he leaned back a bit further, resting his forearm on the knee and tilting his head back to look up above. He closed his eyes and pulled his hat down, blocking the sight of a circle of lethal blades that hung suspended above his person.
*****
“An’ do ye really think th’ whelp’s gonna ‘preciate th’ lengths ye’re goin’ to t’ save his skin?” Barbossa taunted, drawing a couple of lazy circles in the air with the tip of his sword. He shifted his weight to his rear foot, awaiting answer.
Jack concentrated on catching his breath without trying to look like that was precisely what he was doing. He didn’t have the indefatigable energy of the undead quite yet, despite palming that cursed coin. Then again, maybe he was just out of practice having to battle for so long, to stall and stall and stall some more for an opportune moment. Not having one’s own ship didn’t give one much opportunity to hone raiding skills. And running up these damn hills - what was this, a cave or the Alps? Briefly, he felt guilty for leaving Will to deal with the many while he took on the one, but reasoned his one could do a hell of a lot more damage to the lad than the other few combined.
“Now see, that’s th’ attitude ‘at got ye into this position,” Jack tossed back, paraphrasing the mutineer’s earlier comment on deck of the Pearl. “Ne’er takin’ the long view of events, mate. Livin’ in th’ moment … as it were,” he gestured toward a moonlit bony elbow.
“Aye, well, least I’m not throwin’ ‘way a perfectly good chance a’ gettin’ back me ship t’ impress someone inta a bunk I don' have.” The mad captain’s jaundiced eyes crinkled in an unholy grin. “Though ‘e is pretty, I’ll give ye that, Jaaaack.” He deliberately drew out the name, and it occurred to Sparrow he was getting damn sick of that, among other things. “Prettier ‘n ‘is da, any rate. Worthless cur.” The mutineer spat at the ground near his opponent’s boots.
The stories were that Jack Sparrow never lost his composure, but he knew Barbossa’s triumph at the moment Jack’s eyes narrowed, his lips pursed in a thin line at both charges. “Talkin’ instead o’ fightin’ ain’ gonna get ye very far,” he pointed out in a reasonable tone, crinkling his own saccharine smile at his former first mate. “Jus’ take longer to lose. But mebbe ye’ know ‘tis your only chance o’ drawin’ out this parody o’ livin’?” He lunged at the older man, gratified when Barbossa leaped back, his coat nearly cut by Jack’s blade. “How 'bout them apples, eh?”
They fought a bit longer, Jack giving precious quarter rarely for a quick search around at Will’s progress. The younger man parried, slashed, stabbed, punched, and kicked as well as any pirate, and Jack felt a slight swell of pride that he was the one to discover him tucked away in that smithy and introduce him into his birthright element. It wasn’t an environ suited for many men - or women - but old William would’ve been proud to see how quickly his son adapted, given precious little time to get used to things.
“Now that’s touchin’,” Barbossa spoke above the clang of their blades several minutes later. He was clearly directing his gaze past Jack’s shoulder, and the shorter man resisted the urge to turn and follow it. He studiously ignored the comment, concentrating on his parrying. “Looks like ye’ve competition o’er there, Jaaack.”
“Tell me, man, are ye incapable of sayin’ me name correctly, or jus’ too stupid t’ know when t’ stop?”
“Seems ‘is bonny lass’ll be th’ one t’ die nex’ to ‘er fair lover,” the older man pressed, his eyes delightedly searching Jack’s face for a reaction. “Or would it be yer fair William, eh?”
He ignored the gibe, sublimated his thoughts and any feelings to the back of his mind as he fought, trying to force Barbossa into a compromising position so he could strike when the blood was hot in the gold chest. It wasn’t until much later, when he was alone in the cave with all the swag and assorted pirates’ cold bodies, that Jack even attempted to think about the whole thing.
When Elizabeth told him his ship had set sail, with what sounded like sincere sympathy in her voice, Jack had elected to stay behind. His reasoning was that if the Black Pearl never returned - but he suspected it would once Anamaria was sure no threat remained on the island; what pirate worth her salt would pass up that much treasure? - he still didn’t want to go back where he knew the noose awaited.
Nor, as he did not add aloud to the young couple, did he wish to watch the eventual gathering of Will’s courage to tell Elizabeth of his feelings for her. In the end, he’d nodded at them both - Elizabeth, unfailingly regal and assessing, and Will, gaze going between the two of them with puzzlement - and turned to head back to the cave to await his fate at the hands of the gods and the pirates, without so much as a goodbye.
*****
Familiar footsteps stopped next to his outstretched foot some time later, but Jack remained beneath his hat, silently taking the easy, deep breaths of sleep. He’d had too many months to avail himself of any attraction toward Will Turner and his heartbeat would not be made to race like some debutante’s at a mere presence. Jack Sparrow would remain the captain of legend, cool and assured and in charge of the conversation, which would start when he wanted it to.
He saw legs hunker before his hat was tipped up, dark eyes peering at him from a square face tilted sideways. “I thought mermaids were supposed to be green, or maybe blue,” the smith broke the silence, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, suddenly aware his pulse had kicked up, his nerves responded where a couple of fingertips lingered inches over his face … and was that sweat on his damn palms? Somewhere, the god Ares was having a good laugh over a mug of grog with Eros. Aphrodite was probably buying. Yes, thank you immensely. Glad I could entertain, all, Jack thought sourly. “What’d I tell ye ‘bout touchin’ me hat?” was all he could properly think to say.
“I don’t see your sword drawn.”
Oh, so much meaning laden into such words. Out of the mouths of babes. Impatiently, Jack reached up and swatted at the hand, and that finally broke the laugh loose from Will’s chest as he stood and extended a hand toward the pirate. Jack studiously ignored it, climbing easily to his feet while straightening his battered tricorn hat. “Where’s your master?” he asked, gesturing about with flicks of his long wrists.
Will stopped chuckling at that, shaking his head, hands on slim hips. “Died, four months ago. Alcohol poisoning, they think.” He cocked his head pointedly at Jack.
“Now, now, ye’ve ne’er seen me passed out on upon a chair th’ likes of that fellow,” Jack defended, holding up a forefinger to ward off the speech. “Though I’m sorry t’ hear ye lost him. I ‘member he meant a lot to ye.” Will’s dark eyes widened, and Jack could tell the smith was surprised he’d been listening to his babbling about his life aboard the Interceptor months ago, on their way to save Elizabeth. “So it’s your shop now, is it?”
“His shingle’s still on the door. His wife owns it, now.” Will’s pinched brow told much about business. He was still so young, and revealed too great a deal about himself, Jack reflected. Not yet twenty. “She’s not wanting to sell to me; got a better offer from a glassblower putting into port in a few weeks.” The young man sighed. “So why’re you here, Jack?”
“Unfinished business, lad.” Jack turned and picked up the satchel, setting it upon the brick hearth of the heatpan and pulling the laces open. He dug in and extracted a sizable skin of gold, one of three. Turning with a flourish he gave a slight bow and presented it to Will. “Mayhaps this’ll change yon widow’s mind?” he teased with a wink. “Go on, take it.”
“What - is it?” The smith accepted the bag, but arched a quizzical brow at Jack.
“Your share o’ th’ swag, mate. Have one for th’ missy, too.” He caught himself. “Or is it missus, now? Leastways, one for each o’ ye. For helpin’ me recover th’ Pearl an’ the uncursed treasure of Isla de Muerta. Should be squared up, now.” It wasn’t until he stopped talking that he noticed the slight fall in the man’s expression, and he couldn‘t help rolling his eyes. “C’mon now, don’ sniff at it; stuff’s been hoarded there forever, not like ye robbed anyone of it, mate. Neither‘d I. Don’ get all guilty on me.”
“No.” Will shook his head, but Jack noticed he wasn’t trying to shove the skin back at him. He seemed lost in some other kind of thought. “Um … thanks, Jack. I guess.”
“Not th’ most enthusiastic response I’d ‘oped for,” the pirate teased. “Yer not gettin’ a shillin’ more, so don’ think ‘bout tryin’ to negotiate.” He turned and reached in for a second skin of gold as he talked. “Though I s’pose ye might convince th’ lass to turn loose of a few o’ hers, seein’ as she’s already got enough from …” Jack trailed off as he turned back, his side to the smith when he noticed the long face. “Lad, what is it?” he asked, dropping his voice to a concerned hush.
“I- nothing.” Will shook his head, turning to set his bag on a nearby workbench.
Jack didn’t miss the tone of voice, and set the bag on the workbench next to its mate as he crossed the distance to Will’s side. He said nothing at first, watching the smith in profile as he concentrated on something on the opposite wall. Finally, the pirate broke the silence. “Come on, let’s get a bite. Unless ye’ve eaten?” He dropped his eyes, glancing at the man’s thin frame, which seemed more gaunt than last time they’d seen one another. “I need me rum, in any case.”
That earned a small grin, and Jack cuffed him in the arm. “Don’t be so quick t’ smirk. You’re buyin’, Baron Turner.”
*****
In any port, in any city, there are always places where refugees can find succor, or at least some grog and meat. The Red Snapper was no place any respectable military man would spend his time after hours, down just off the docks as it were, especially since the owner paid heftily each year to keep the fuzz off his back. In return, he could charge anything he wanted - and did - for even the simplest of meals.
Jack leaned back across the table from Will, sipping with uncustomary restraint as he watched the younger man fork a few bites from the grouper. He kept his eyes on his fish most of the time, despite the captain’s attempts to draw him into conversation. Jack could tell there was something on his heart as well as his mind, and so he pressed the matter quite gently, for him.
Finally, he set down his tankard and leaned on his elbows. “What is it, Will?” he asked, pitching his voice at an acceptably low level given the general raucousness of the bar. “A blind man can see you’re not yourself. Is it ‘Lizbeth?”
Will looked up, around for several seconds before finally meeting Jack’s eyes. He no longer looked sad, but disgusted. “You could say that,” he finally conceded, with a curt nod.
Jack guessed. “You’re not together.” No response. “Come, did she marry him, or not?”
“Elizabeth’s in France,” Will sighed. “Training as a diplomat for the Crown.”
Jack’s eyebrows crept into his hat, though he couldn’t say he was exactly shocked. Perhaps only at the fact her gender hadn’t been an issue - then again, a governor’s daughter was going to receive more consideration than the average serving wench. “Now how’d that happen?” he mused.
“She wanted a vocation, not a husband. Figured she couldn’t have both at the same time. When the Governor found out how she felt … well, let‘s just say he was relieved it wasn‘t wanting to run off with pirates, at least, and he pulled some strings.”
“Did you at least e’er tell her how ye felt?”
“I told her, for all the good it did. She still went.”
Jack leaned back again, narrowing his black-rimmed eyes at the younger man. Something … rang odd, here. The lad was surely down about something, but not in the way one would expect a rejected lover to act. “You’re not upset you didn’ get her,” he ventured, a half-question. “What is it?”
“Well, yes, I’m a bit upset over that,” Will threw up his hands. “Who likes to be made a fool of? I tell her, like you told me to, and she turns me down flat.”
Jack’s lips quirked. “Mate, ye’re gonna have t’ do better ‘n that for an’ explanation. Pride’s wounded, alright, that I get. But it’s naught a broken ‘eart, I can tell.”
Will scratched at his chin and looked a bit hangdog, as though he’d been caught with his hand somewhere it didn’t belong. For some reason, the analogy brought a smirk to Jack’s lips and saliva into his mouth. Just don’t be thinking about those hands, you scalawag. “Well?” he asked, a suspicion formed in his mind as to the real problem.
“She’s there. You’re out there. I’m … well, stuck here.”
“Ahh!” Jack’s eyes lighted up, and he grinned manically, snapping a finger and pointing at Will, then crossing his arms over his chest. “Wanderlust. Well, hell, boy, why’re ye beatin’ round th’ bush ‘bout it? Not exactly a capital crime, is it?”
“It’s irresponsible and childish, and annoying, is what it is.” Will stole a glance around the room, then petulantly returned his attention to Jack. “I’m an adult; I need to work, I can’t afford to be having silly notions.”
“Nothin’ silly ‘bout followin’ your heart, mate.”
Is that so? For some reason, the voice in his head had taken on Anamaria-like tonal qualities of late. Jack wasn’t entirely sure he liked that, though he did enjoy the woman’s spicy accent. Pot, meet kettle.
“Jus’ means ye’ve the Turner blood, is all,” Jack continued, mentally gagging the voice. Wanderlust was not the same at all as lust, and by Jesu, he should be the one to know. “What’s so wrong wit’ that?”
“I know blacksmithing. What else would I do?”
“Smiths are needed e’erywhere, far as I know, mate. Could travel like that.” He watched closely, gauging.
Sure enough, Will shook his head. “Is that what I’ll be doing the rest of my life then? Sitting in some … shop front, bent over a forge day in and day out?” He sounded bitter.
“Not unless ‘s what ye want.” It was Jack’s turn to shake his head, the beads clacking. Why was the lad trying so hard to deny what was inside him? You are certainly not one to pass judgment on that account, you coward. Even Anamaria herself was never this shrill.
Will’s laugh was sharp, his tone filled with ironic humor. “What, be like you, flitting around from wave to wave?”
For some reason he couldn’t explain, Jack was hurt by that, by the accusatory “you” in there. Then he was indignant; nobody criticized his lifestyle. Blood near to boiling, he leaned forward, pointing, ready to argue, when he heard a scattering of people and chairs that drew his attention toward the front door.
Aw, hell. Bloody Norrington.
The man’s eyes seemed to zero in on him, his mouth quirking. “Well, well.”
Two guards hurried to their table, and Jack stood, pushing the chair back, reaching for his sword. He was thinking of something suitably clever to open with when his view was blocked and another voice spoke instead. “No, Commodore.”
Jack drew back in some surprise; he hadn’t even seen Will move. Tilting his chin up, he looked over the smith’s shoulder, noting the height difference between them with interest. To his credit, the commodore didn’t roll his eyes at the younger man’s antics. “Step aside, Turner,” he calmly intoned, as the guards waited, twitching.
Will’s head moved in a curt shake, and Jack spared a few seconds to ponder what a shame it was his hair was tied back instead of loose for that motion. Unobtrusively, the pirate pushed aside his chair and ducked a little more behind Will, glancing around for the back door. They were going to need it in a couple of minutes, or maybe less, if the smith kept up this attitude of stoic defiance; he hadn’t learned quite yet how to play with his prey.
“Mr. Turner, this man is a dangerous criminal, who has committed numerous offenses against the Crown and the good people of this-”
“What has he done here?” Will interrupted. “In Port Royale. What has he done here to warrant arrest? He saved Elizabeth’s life, more than once. Just because she is no longer here shouldn’t negate those actions.”
Jack winced a bit at that, feeling momentary pity for Norrington. Now was not the best time to remind the man the object of his affection had decided to hightail it out of there rather than become Mrs. Commodore. Still, it had style, he had to admit. Maybe Will was learning a little something, after all.
“As I was saying,” Norrington continued, his long-suffering tone indicating he was less than happy with being interrupted, “this man has committed offenses against the Crown and her citizens. It is my duty as an officer of the Royal Navy to apprehend any suspect, regardless of the locale of the crime.”
“You’re not getting him.”
Aha, there was a back door! Jack had begun to wonder when he couldn’t immediately spot it, but it was cleverly hidden. His mind gauged the distance and shortest dart from here to there, and wondered briefly if Will had ever been here, knew where it was as well. He could make a run for it alone if he had to, but he suspected before it was over, Will would need the escape as well. Besides, he didn’t wish to desert the lad if it could be helped.
“You forget your place, sir.”
“My place, Commodore, is right here. Between you and Jack.”
The pirate’s ears perked at that, as did his entire body, actually. What the hell?
“He is a pirate-”
“And a good man! He risked much to help me get Elizabeth back, and helped you apprehend the crew of the Black Pearl! Surely that means something.”
Unable to say anything directly into his ear without being spotted or heard, Jack settled for speaking into the nape of Will’s neck, patting his fingertips lightly on the man‘s back. “Mate, we gotta go; back door.” He allowed himself the brief wash of lust at Will’s scent, the brush of bound hair against the bridge of his nose, then snapped out of it. “Immediately.”
But Will didn’t move, as Norrington went on. “Stand aside, Mr. Turner, or I shall have to take you into custody as well.”
Thinking quickly, and before Will could get out more than a token syllable, Jack’s hand snaked around Will’s midsection to grab the hilt of his sword, and yanked it out. Pulling it up across the lad’s neck, he forced Will’s chin up as he pressed the flat of the blade to his Adam’s apple, his other hand yanking Will’s left arm up behind him. “Why, thankee, lad,” he muttered sarcastically into Will’s ear, loud enough to be heard by the officers but low enough to seem menacing. “Ye played right into it, real well.”
The two guards made to lunge, but Norrington barked them back. “I don’t take kindly to jokes, Mr. Sparrow.”
“That's 'Captain,' my good Commodore. You forget your titles as soon as you shed them, eh?” He dragged Will backwards, sure to be extra rough to make his point. “Poor boy’s too stupid for ‘is own good, he is. Don’ know when t’ leave well enough alone, lucky me.”
“Jack, what’re you-” Will began.
“Shut up, whelp!” Jack ground out the words, nearly spitting, pulling instinctively into Pillaging Pirate Mode. “Unless ye’d like a second smile, ‘at is?” Will tensed and Jack could tell he was prepared to dig in his heels. With a swift knee to the back of his thigh, Jack disavowed that notion, and heard a soft oath escape the younger man as he nearly stumbled backwards. He grinned, as much for inspiring such language from such a pretty mouth as from his own thespianship. “Now ye’ll be escortin’ me to th’ back door of this fine establishment,” he growled, “or your friend the Commodore will be back t’ wearin’ a redcoat - or least one drenched in red. Savvy?”
Will nodded, still tense, and Jack could feel very real fear and anger behind that. He was basically an honest boy and didn’t like to be used, even in a setup; Jack nearly sighed. He was simply going to have to rid the kid of such adherence to the absolute truth. “Good evening, Commodore. Gentlemen,” he looked around as he dragged back to the door. Passing a frozen serving wench, he nodded at her as well. “Milady.”
With a lunge, Jack threw himself against the back door, pulling the sword down and yanking Will along by the back of his vest. The rotting wood crashed through, and Jack pushed the smith in front of him. “Run, boy!” he hissed. “Get us outta ‘ere!”
They’d gotten a couple of blocks when Will ducked into an alleyway, and Jack nearly tripped over his own boots to double back and keep up. Halfway down, they tucked into shadows, hidden by a jutting of one wall over its adjoining wall. “You son of a bitch!” Will hissed, elbowing him. “What the hell-”
“Language!” Jack shushed back. “What would your mum say?”
“Like you care!” They immediately became quiet, hearing running feet and voices. “I almost had us out of that!” Will continued, sotto voce.
“Lad, ye almost had us both in th’ pokey,” the pirate retorted forcefully. “No ‘fense, but when it comes t’ gettin’ out o’ tight spots in the future, lemme do the talkin’, right?”
“In the future?”
Jack sighed. “Do ye really think you’ll be allowed to jus’ go back an’ work in your shop as usual, havin’ been spotted with a notorious cad like me?”
“But you kidnapped me.”
“And a convincin’ performance it was, aye,” Jack replied in a whisper dripping with gravel and sarcasm. “Bein’ it was right after ye were ‘bout to give me th’ key to th’ city, and all.”
“What makes you think I’d want to go anywhere with you?”
Jack shushed him, peeked out, and saw nothing. He gestured with his head toward the other end of the alley questioningly, and Will nodded; they both hurried along, pausing only to let Will in the lead. Once Will determined that nobody was coming, he and Jack ran pell-mell through a few more back alleys until they reached the rear of the smithy, both drenched in sweat and struggling to take breaths. Will turned and reached to lift the latch, but Jack slapped a hand over his, pressing his ear to the door and scrunching his eyebrows to explain his hesitation.
They stood like that for a couple of minutes as Jack heard scraping inside that could be either the donkey or people. He strained for voices, unaware his fingers had curled around Will’s hand, holding it in place but gentling their grip. Will, too, frowned and pressed his ear to the door, casting his eyes down to concentrate.
Jack swallowed dryly, noting their faces were only a couple of inches apart. It would be entirely too convenient to bridge the short distance and touch his lips to Will’s, find out how they tasted, if they were as soft as his were chapped from the constant sea spray and sun. Instead, he dropped his eyes to the lad’s chin and waited for some pronouncement that it was safe to go inside, after all.
“I think it’s just Jessy,” Will finally spoke quietly, adding, “the donkey.” Pulling away from the door, he extracted his hand from Jack’s, which the pirate pulled back quickly, as if burned, holding it against his chest, flexing the fingers a bit, waiting for the smith to open the door.
In just a couple of minutes, they were inside; nothing seemed to have been disturbed. “They’ll be here,” Jack warned, crossing the room and sacking up the gold once again into the satchel. “Get some belongin’s and let’s get out.”
“Again, what makes you think I’d go with you?”
Jack spun on the smith, poking him in the chest with a couple of forefingers. “Do you wan’ hang at dawn? Be questioned ‘til Doomsday?” He withdrew a bit, showing Will his slyest smile. “Or would ye rather jus’ be left alone while everyone else ‘eads out an’ lives their lives, mate?” He hated to play on the loneliness he saw in the dark eyes, but knew it was his best weapon. Will’s silence answered him. “Now c’mon, hop to, sailor!”
A pause. Then, “I have to take care of Jessy. She’ll starve without me.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Norrington’s an ass, but he’ll see one of his own kind is taken care of, least.” Will’s eyes narrowed, and Jack sighed. “Fine. You get your stuff, we’ll stop by one place-” He paused to hold up a finger in emphasis, “one place so ye can tell someone t’ feed her. Accord?”
Will nodded quickly and headed off to one side of the shop. He opened a couple of drawers, pulled out things while Jack waited, senses on alert for approaching footsteps. Glancing about the shop, he set the satchel down briefly to reach for a couple of daggers, which he immediately hid upon his person, and a newer sword, which he tucked into his belt to complement the one in his holster. “Come on, boy!”
Within moments, they were approaching the dock, Will having stopped to make a hasty detour to tack a briefly-scrawled note about Jessy to Mrs. Brown’s door, with no explanation as to his own whereabouts. “Where’s the Pearl?” Will asked his companion, scanning the harbor.
“Tucked behind th’ rocks, right ‘ere.” Jack pointed off in the distance. “We’ll have to row out to her.”
“Is that wise?”
“Not really, no,” Jack admitted. “Which is why we gotta wait ‘til nightfall to go. Just a couple hours ‘way.”
“But you made us leave the shop now!”
“I’ve a hidin’ spot, don’t ye worry.” Jack flashed his most winsome gold grin.
Ten minutes later, the two men were standing below the dock, knee-deep in shady, cold seawater. “Tell me again this was a good thing?” Will gave the pirate his dirtiest look, shifting his own satchel.
“Now see, boy, that’s th’ kind of attitude that’ll get ye t’ be a pirate yet.”
*****
Two hours later, true to his word, Jack was paddling a small rowboat while Will held onto their bags of cargo in case the rickety thing tipped. It had been luck to get to shore and take a boat when the guard was changing, and drag it back under the docks, but now the dark provided a bit of cover, at least. “Now, we jus’ get to th’ cave ‘round th’ jetty, there, an’ situate ourselves ‘til th’ Pearl returns.”
Will must’ve been woolgathering, because it took nearly a full minute for him to respond. “Huh? What? What do you mean, until it returns? I thought it was waiting around the cliff for us.” Jack kept his face carefully neutral, sure to put more effort into his rowing to make himself appear harder-working. “Jack? Jack, answer me!”
“Now use your common sense, lad; ‘s not as easy as tucking away behind a few rocks,” the captain began. “After all, Norrington had th’ whole Navy out circling th’ island soon as we ran out.”
“YOU SAID IT WAS JUS-”
Jack nearly lost his oar as he dropped it and reached across to hurriedly slap a palm to Will’s shouts. “Pipe down!” he hissed. “Ye wan’ us to be caught? Christ on th’ cross was quieter ‘n you.”
Will reached up and smacked Jack’s hand away by grabbing it tightly and holding it rigid. “Look, Pontius Pirate … you’d better not be lying about us being able to get out of here. If I find out you’ve lost the Pearl to someone else, again …”
“Ye’ll what, Will?” Jack hadn’t meant to sound defeated or tired, but the thought of anyone else taking his ship from him again was enough to drain him, at least temporarily. “Make me feel worse about it?”
Surprisingly, Will’s manner softened out a bit and he loosened his grip on the older man’s hand. “Sorry,” he offered, quietly. “But this is just idiocy!”
“Not that apologetic, I see,” Jack mused with dark humor, pulling his hand back and taking up the neglected oar. “I did tell her to sail it back ‘pon midnight for us; not completely addled, yet.”
Will was silent again. Then: “Her? Anamaria?”
“Aye.”
Silence. “The woman whose boat you stole? That Anamaria?”
“Ye’ve a point?” But Jack could already see it and admitted it would be easy to feel rather foolish for taking the pirate at her word. Still, she’d handed over the Pearl upon returning to the Isla de Muerta and had served him faithfully as a hand for the past eight months. “Well?” he continued, his tone between cross and amusedly inquiring.
“Her boat, Jack! You stole her-”
“Commandeered.”
“Whatever.” Will’s eyes were hard in the dark, but not unkind. “You took her boat, sank it; she could easily consider the Pearl retribution.”
“I already gave me word - she got th’ Interceptor.”
“Which is fish housing right now.”
“She came back to the Isla.”
“For treasure, Jack!”
“She turned over command,” he pressed on, rowing still and showing no exertion; he was rather proud of that, at his age. “Could’ve just left me there to die.”
“She still might, here.”
Jack glanced back behind him, seeing they were near the jetty. “Ye’ve no faith in human nature, lad.”
“What, and you do? After everything that happened last year?”
“I never said I was stupid, lad.” He paused briefly to nod at his satchel, clutched in Will’s lap. “There’s enough incentive in there to bring her back. Even if she left me high ‘n dry, her share of th’ loot wouldn’ be near as much without those three bags o’ gold.”
Will thought that over, then narrowed his gaze, leaning forward a bit in interrogation. “Those were for me and Elizabeth,” he pointed out.
“Aye, but your bonny lass has done gone, hasn’ she?” Jack grinned and in the dark, one of his gold teeth caught the moon and flashed. “She’ll ne’er miss what she didn’t have,” he observed, his eyes briefly raking the young man before him in double meaning. He wasn’t obvious about it, however, and Will didn’t look as though he’d noticed. “How’d she pick France, anyway?”
“Quit trying to change the subject.” Will was relentless once he got hold of an idea or notion, and though it could annoy Jack to no end, fact was it was a trait that he found endearing in the blacksmith. No simpleton, this - he was quick of mind and unwilling to be used, and Jack’s feelings for the man were tempered only by the respect he commanded. “Either you’re lying about the ship and Anamaria, or about this gold being for us.”
“You ever stop to consider th’ third option?” Jack glanced over; a few more powerful strokes and they’d be at the rocks.
“There is no third option, Jack.”
“M’boy, there’s always a third option.” Pulling up alongside, Jack yanked the oars in and grabbed for a rocky outcropping. “Avast, matey.” Will stifled an apparent urge to press the conversation and did as commanded, stepping out before turning to reach back in for two of the bags. Jack then stood; the small boat rocked, threatened to capsize, and he threw out both arms for balance, surprised when Will caught hold of one. Bending, Jack hauled up the satchel and alighted from the boat, still with the other man’s help. Tossing off a jaunty salute, Jack nodded toward the top and led the way, nimbly stepping around the sharpest rocks until he’d reached the small, narrow ledge about twenty feet up.
Turning, he offered a hand and gave his newest crewman a pull up onto the ledge, having to put his back into it; he hadn’t realized Will was that much heavier than himself. The smith looked slight, but he was a bit taller than Jack and broader in the shoulders and chest. With a toss of his dreadlocks, Jack turned and led the way along the ledge for a good thirty yards, until he reached the cave he’d scouted early that morning.
“Make bunk!” he announced, lowering his satchel to the ground and straightening to stretch out his arms and back. He was in excellent shape for thirty-seven, but the occasional ache had started creeping in if he didn’t focus on keeping himself limber. As Will moved past him and set down his burdens, Jack couldn’t stifle a grin at the thought of more pleasant exercises intended to stretch one’s muscles, and his stomach performed a little somersault at the notion. Said stomach and his imagination had developed quite a good rapport over the past eight months. “Hungry, lad?”
Will lithely lowered himself to the outcropping and crossed his legs. “What time did you say the Pearl would return?”
Jack squinted into the west. “About three, four hours. ‘S why I asked if you’re hungry. Have some tack in th’ pack,” he gestured at his satchel, grinning wryly at his own poetry.
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Jack crossed one ankle over the other and lowered himself into a seated position like Will’s, with very little of a thud as his backside made contact with the rock. With some satisfaction, he noted Will’s raised eyebrow, apparently impressed with the maneuver. “Ye can take a nap, or we can count th’ constellations, mayhaps,” he suggested, brushing rogue dreadlocks back off his shoulders with curved fingertips.
“I have a third option,” Will retorted, and Jack chuckled silently, feeling the corners of his mouth lift into a genuine smile at the man’s wit. “Tell me why you’re here. Why you’re really here.”
“Are you implying maybe I wasn’ telling th’ truth?”
“I’m outright saying it. I’m not stupid, Jack, contrary to your protestations to otherwise when I do something you don’t like.” He was quiet a moment. “Did you plan this?”
“Plan what? Me gettin’ chased ‘round your lovely isle by Commodore Stick-in-the-Arse an’ his dour-faced poppets?” Jack sniffed, lifting his chin a bit. “Hardly. To check on you?” The pirate shrugged in honesty. “Mostly. Thought your Da might wan’ me t’ keep an eye on ye ever so often, see how you’re doin’.”
“That’s actually kind of thoughtful, Jack.” Will was nodding, his eyes still intent, and Jack suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Confound it all, why couldn’t the lad look a little less bright? “Doesn’t explain the gold, though. Not to mention three bags doesn’t make a dent in what I saw stockpiled in that cave of Barbossa’s.”
“My cave, lad. Spoils for goin’ without th’ Pearl and a proper seafarin’ life for so long. Ne’er forget that; twas never his, th’ scurrilous knave.” Jack spat at the ground to his side, then turned to nod back inside the cave in front of which they were sitting. “Stashed a bit of it in here ‘fore she crawled out of her bunk this morning, besides. Told ‘er she had to come back if she wanted me t’ tell her where I hid it.”
Will furrowed his brow skeptically and craned forward to peer into the cave, which was rather small and shallow. Jack grinned as he watched the man recognize several burlap bags stacked at the back. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, before returning to his normal position and laughing. “Anything you don’t come prepared for, Captain?”
“Nay, ‘tis me motto; be prepared.” Jack held aloft his right hand in an oath, then folded all fingers down, extending his two forefingers upwards in a “V” as he counted, “With me sword an’ me gun.” He waved a hand airily at the sky. “Now tell me, sailor, which one is the Northern Star?”
“Um … that’s west, Jack.”
“An’ you say you don‘t have any pirate blood in ye.”
*****
After nearly two hours of chasing constellations and obscure stars, Jack could tell Will was ready to commit mutiny on his new captain, and he hadn’t even set foot on deck of the ship. “All right, study break,” he announced, clamoring to his feet to stretch a bit, yawning and lifting his arms over his head. “Well, what d’ ye think of a pirate’s life so far?” he teased.
“Considering I’m not even properly a half-mile from my home yet, I’d have to say the boat I’m on is lousy and the captain’s sense of urgency for booty is questionable, at the very least,” Will quipped, and at least there was humor in his voice now.
“Hmm.” Jack squinted into the darkness, trying to make out any ships on the horizon, but it was bloody hard to do in the light of only a half-moon. Turning back to face his companion, he was seized by a sudden curiosity that had first been piqued that afternoon. “Ye never did tell me why ‘Lizbeth is in France.”
Was that a quirk in the lad’s lips? “Parlez,” he explained with a chuckle. “She wanted to learn the language from the natives. Well, that and see Paris and, I suspect, the rest of Europe.”
“How culturally enlightened of her.” Jack resumed his seat and pressed the issue. “But I guess what I really mean’ was, why’d she leave here an’ go all th’ way there?”
Will said nothing at first; he stared straight ahead, out to sea, leaning forward slightly on his elbows where they rested upon his knees. Jack studied his profile, only a few feet away, and had to resist the urge to reach over and pat his back in a brotherly gesture.
“Once was the time we weren’t so different,” he finally answered. “We’re the same age; when we were ten, we were both smart, curious children. We even had tutoring together, up at the Governor’s mansion. We got a little older, but we remained friends, telling each other secrets and trying to best one another at our lessons.
“When Elizabeth turned fourteen, her aunt and uncle from England visited, and took her back with them for a more proper education. I didn’t see her for three years.” Here, Will sighed. “I only had a couple of other friends, and it was decided I’d gained as much formal education here on the island as could be offered, so I was apprenticed to Mr. Brown. They tested me, see, and that’s what I showed the most promise for, was blacksmithing. I spent a lot of my time working, learning … and eventually taking over when the bottle became more important to Brown than his forge or his charge.”
Again, Will slid Jack that odd look, and the captain fancied the lad was worried he would succumb to the same fate as his former master. Well, in spite of the fact he drank far less than was visible, Jack couldn’t reassure him; life didn’t work that predictably. Instead, he nodded, encouraging more story.
“I was seventeen when Elizabeth returned, a couple of years ago. She’d grown up, matured, been educated - she no longer seemed ‘Elizabeth’ so much as ‘Miss Swann.’ For all that, she endeavored to treat me much the same she always had, and … well, I felt much differently about her than I had previously.” He paused, scrubbing at something on his knee, head bowed briefly to study whatever imaginary stain he’d found. “I quite loved her, actually. As you know, already.”
“How long did ye wait ‘til ye told her?”
The smith sighed, raising his gaze back to the stars. “Too long, obviously. I should’ve told her in the cave that night, but … I figured my attentions would be unwelcome. It’s as I’ve thought for a good while - what would a cultured, refined lady want with a relatively uneducated laborer?”
“Craftsman,” Jack automatically corrected, and Will looked at him then, a slight smile punctuating his silent gratitude at the acknowledgement. “She seem t’ take to ye well enough, though, from what I could see.”
“She justified it as a childhood infatuation only. Said if she’d never tasted the world outside Port Royale again before she finally settled down to marry and have children, she’d regret it the rest of her life.”
“Sounds promising; nothin’ in there t’ make ye think she’d not want ye later on,” Jack pushed, not wanting to. “Maybe it’s just wanderlust she needs t’ get out of her system.”
“Perhaps.” Will shrugged. “So what’m I supposed to do, then? Wait around and buy Brown’s shop, and see how many years she wants to travel before she comes back and settles for me? And what if she never does, Jack?” Will turned his attention to the pirate captain once more. This time, he spoke with a much softer voice. “And what if she does?”
“An’ finds you lacking? Is that it?”
“More likely to happen than not, I’d say. No woman of her station wants a husband whose experiences, whose education, is less than her own.” Will sighed. “A married couple ought to be able to converse with one another, at the very least, and on the same level. It’s the same principle as men who marry women below their own intelligence; I don’t see how they do it.”
“Aye, but some men don’ put much stock in conversation, ‘specially with what they consider a bit o’ fluff, mate.” Jack held up a hand and levered himself back to reach into his satchel, fishing a bit and finally producing a small bottle. “Rum?” he offered Will; when the boy shook his head, Jack uncorked it and took his own long pull at the neck, letting the liquid fire cascade down his long throat. Tilting it away, he took a moment to appreciate the quench, then continued. “To your average ’fine’ gen’leman, a wife ain’t nothin’ more than a wench with a pedigree, fit for spreadin’ her legs for one man instead of several, and raisin’ whelps.” He waved an airy hand in Will’s direction. “Is th’ lower classes such as yourself, which happen to put more store in havin’ a partnership of equals.”
“Such as myself?” Will repeated back, sounding half-amused. “What are you, Jack? An earl, or a baron? A deposed king, perhaps?”
“Righter ‘n you know,” he mumbled incomprehensibly into the neck of the bottle, before taking another swig. It came out sounding more like, “Rierrr n’o,” aloud. “You’re not a stupid lad. What’s got ye so twisted up?”
“I need to see the world too, Jack. Only I can’t afford-”
“-To pay the fare for fancy ships and carriages, and fine carriage houses and inns, yes, yes,” Jack finished for him. “An’ so, I come in.”
A pause. “You make it sound like I’m the one who hunted you down. You came here, remember? You almost had Norrington slapping me in irons.”
“No, lad, ye were doin’ well ‘nough with that by yourself, from th’ looks of things,” Jack corrected, lifting an elegant forefinger for emphasis. “Ye put yourself ‘tween us of your own free will.”
“If we hadn’t been at the Red Snapper, none of them would’ve come looking for you,” Will accused. “Especially when you refused to travel the back alleys and insisted walking through the middle of the streets like you owned Port Royale.”
“I’ll be damned I act like a common criminal, mate.”
“No, there’s certainly nothing common about you, Jack.” The pirate rewarded the apt assessment with a glint of gold grin. “And I still say it was your fault.”
“I see. And how many times did we have a conversation ‘bout doin’ stupid shite, eh?”
“Stupid?” Will’s eyes glinted in the moonlight, and he seemed about ready to haul up and pull his sword. “I saved your-”
“Hmm.“ Jack put a forefinger to the corner of his lips, tapping. “Well, let’s call it a draw, eh, mate? Point is, we both got somethin’ out o’ it. Ye get to see the world, least as much as I can show ye in whate’er time ye’ve allowed yourself to catch up with ‘Lizbeth.”
“And what do you get out of this, then?”
Jack grinned fully at his newest crew member. “’S not every pirate can say he’s got his own arms manufacturer ‘board ship. Savvy?”