New Fic: "Contradictions 9 - Choices" Part 1 (POTC)
CONTRADICTIONS 9: CHOICES
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Turrow 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 N. Ranken as usual, for beta suggestions and helping write two of the scenes herein, to Julie-Rae for nagging at me to write via Nice Words - and to everyone who’s read this WIP that is now FINISHED AND COMPLETE.
Summary: This is continuation AND FINAL INSTALLMENT of an AU fic, breaking off from the movie’s events immediately after Barbossa’s defeat and death in the caves of Isla de Muerta. The previous parts consist of, in order, FLIGHT, FIGHT, LOSE, WIN, ADMIT, DENY, FREED, and CLAIMED.
“A fine, fucking mess,” he growled, arms wound around his drawn knees. “How’d this happen, anyway?”
“There were more of them than us,” his fellow inmate answered from several feet behind him. “My arm’s only so good against such an unbalanced ratio.”
“Why did we think there weren’t that many in th’ first place?”
“We?” A pause. “We, Jack? It was your own estimation.”
Jack Sparrow - Captain - kept his mouth shut for exactly ten seconds, stifling a dozen cutting replies to his ship’s inventory officer and blacksmith. “Had you noticed any dif’rently,” he patiently, finally answered, “you should’ve felt more ‘n free to speak up and contradict me. I heard nothin’ from your quarter, and I know for a fact ye’ve no problem tellin’ me I’m wrong. Take a certain glee in it, ‘n fact.”
“That’s because I couldn’t see any better than you,” Will Turner replied. “But I never claimed to. You’re the one who keeps bringing this up. I’ve kept my mouth shut all night.”
Jack rubbed the corner of one eye. “Point,” he conceded in a heavy sigh. “Twas my mistake. I just feel so … I don’ know …”
“Stupid?” Will helpfully suggested. “Wrong? In error?”
“I was gon’ say, ‘chagrined,’” he snapped back. “But, I s’pose yours’ll work just as well.” He ran his forefinger around the top edge of a worn boot cuff. “Was rhetorical, anyway. Not like I expected you t’ come up with a plan; that’s my job.”
“You know, I was going to offer you some reassurance and comfort,” the other voice warned. “Tell you you’re only human, that in all your ventures, your mistakes are actually quite few in comparison. But then you had to go be an arse.”
“What’d I do?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m ten, Jack. I may not say much, compared to you, but that doesn’t mean there’s less in my head.”
This just gets better and better. Jack let his head fall hard back against the cell bars, annoyed and frustrated. Now he had to deal with his own failure, imminent death, and an offended lover. “I’ve ne’er pegged you stupid, William-“
“And I hate to be patronized even more than I hate being underestimated,” the blacksmith cut him off.
“What? I have not.”
“Really.” The tone was suddenly flat. “I suppose it was someone else telling me to try to resist my ‘stupid’ impulses when we were saving Elizabeth?”
“Watch it, Will,” he warned. “We both remember how that ended.”
“I hit you with an oar because you insulted me and kept lying to me, on top of it-“
“I never lied!”
“You omitted the truth! It was foolhardy, especially with us walking into a situation where one or both of us could’ve died. You left me in the dark and never once told me what I could’ve realistically expected from Barbossa or his crew, for being who I was. I mean - my God, Jack.”
Once again, Jack counted to ten and responded in a remarkably even voice, “Have I not since apologized, hmm?”
Will was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he sullenly admitted.
“Then why, man, are we hashin’ this out again? As if we don’t have enough problems on what might be our las’ night on earth?” He stretched out his legs along the stone floor, wiggling his toes inside his boots, barely able to see them in the dim light thrown off by the single lantern hung on the gaol wall.
“You’re being too dramatic. Think of all the times you’ve escaped before.”
“It’s different. Arrangin’ to get yourself out’s not so difficult. Hell, even findin’ a way to spring out of one cell is not impossible. Haven’t had to do two at a time, though.”
It had been a simple matter of trying to overpower a few guards standing between the two of them and the back entrance of the colony governor’s mansion earlier this morning. “A few” had turned out to be a number requiring both hands and feet to count, and they’d been chained and marched through town down into the gaol (much danker and more cramped than His Fancy Royal Commodore James Norrington’s, Jack had noted aloud for all and sundry accompanying them below, earning him some rough handling).
Instead of a few large cells, the gaol was comprised of many tiny ones, presumably to keep prisoners from conspiring to escape - getting past one lock was all well and good, but getting past a few took time. Under normal circumstances, Jack might’ve taken it merely as a challenge to his talents. But Will was involved, and he knew he had to exercise more caution to get them both out alive.
Will was speaking again. “One of us’ll think of something before morning. We can do this, Jack.”
“And if we can’t?”
Silence. A long silence. “I understood what I was signing onto when I chose this life,” the smith answered. “It’s not your job to look out for my mortality.”
“Is that how you feel toward me?”
“Of course not.” He seemed to be thinking. “Look, I know I can’t stop you from worrying for me. I’d be … puzzled, if you didn’t, I suppose. But it’s a moot point. We’ll get out of here.”
“Well, there’s nothin’ to do but ponder on it all night,” Jack grumbled, unable to get comfortable. “Should come up with somethin’.”
“If you want to sleep, we could do it in shifts,” Will suggested.
“’M not tired.” Truth was, with a cell between them - containing what appeared to be either a drunk or a corpse, as it had barely moved earlier in the day, and not since then - Jack was not finding rest.
“You sound tired,” came the accusation.
“Truth is-“ He hesitated, then shook his head. After six months, he could give the lad something, surely. “I find meself not able to rest very comfor’bly alone, these days. Gotten too used t’ havin’ someone beside me most nights.”
“You sleep alone at least twice a week,” Will pointed out.
“I inhabit a bed by meself two nights a week,” Jack corrected. When Will said nothing, he added, “Never said there was much rest takin’ place in it.”
Will was curiously quiet, though Jack could hear the faint rustling of him shifting position while leaning against his own cold bars. “I understand better than you think,” he finally said, voice pitched lower, more intimate. “I don’t … sleep so well alone, either, anymore.”
“Maybe,” Jack suggested, feeling his pulse increase even as he kept his voice neutral, “maybe, if we get out of here, we ought t’ consider remedying that.” The smith said nothing, and Jack wondered if he’d misread the man’s small cues over the months - leaving small unfinished jewelry projects in his cabin to pick up later, or two sets of clothes and a razor in the bureau, effecting little repairs and improvements here and there to the various fixtures in his captain’s room. “Will?”
“Just thinking,” the man answered. “You’re saying we should sleep together every night, then?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Will’s tone hadn’t been adversarial or dismayed, and that was good. “There’s plenty of room in th’ cabin, after all. Bed’s better than your pallet. Could bring your things in there.”
“Well, there is more room than I have, yes.” His tone was still neutral, and Jack was getting annoyed. No matter what he might be to Will, he was still the captain, and deserved a straight answer to his offer. “I mean, my smithy’s warm, Jack. I stoke those embers, and it keeps it toasty in there on cold nights.”
“What, and me bed’s not as warm?” He sat up straighter, feeling his jaw set.
“Is it?”
And suddenly, in those two words, Jack understood the hemming and hawing and hesitance. They’d treated each other quite casually the past half-year, slipping into one another’s bunk when the mood struck with increasing frequency, but still remaining somewhat detached through all of it. They were pirates, after all, and both knew better than to give in to powerful displays of deep emotion beyond ecstasy at pulling off another good heist or defeating Mother Nature yet again, or even keeping the Pearl in one, intact piece through all of it.
“I hope it is,” he answered, sincerely. “I do try to be welcoming, Will. ‘S not always easy, and I’ve ne’er shared that bed with any other before you.” He paused, pulling at a loose thread at the edge of his sash, thinking of the words he needed even as another part of his brain still filed through possible cell-escape plans. “I like having you there with me, behind me or beside me - the mornings I roll over an’ you’re not there, leaves me wonderin’ rather uncomfor’bly how it’d be if ye never graced me bed again. I’m tired of feelin’ that way.”
He fell quiet, letting Will digest it all. He certainly didn’t expect the smith to ever transfer the full force of his affection for Elizabeth to Jack, but he had sensed a growing undercurrent of closeness between them with every touch, every free moment spent in each other’s company. He’d thought about mateloge for some time, knowing such a bond would guarantee both their safety and security since they’d each proven to the other they could be trusted with both work and personal affairs. So, he waited quietly for a yes, figuring they were long past the point where Will would reject such an outright offer. Sort of expected it, in fact - after all, there was the slim chance they might not survive the morning. Better to get these things hashed out before running into each other on the Other Side.
What he didn’t expect was the snick of metal twisting against metal, like a shot in the night, followed by creaking metal. He pulled his feet in closer to gain leverage, turning toward the sound until he heard footsteps on the stones. In a matter of seconds, a shadowy, familiar figure stood at his door, more scraping and digging of metal as Jack watched in surprise. When Will picked the lock and swung Jack’s cell door open, he could think of only one response:
“You son of a bitch.”
To his credit, Will crooked a forefinger and shook his head as Jack got up, brushing off his breeches. “Keep your voice down, Jackiebird.”
He stopped moving, glaring at the man. It was the one endearment the smith allowed himself, and an awful one, at that. “Where’d they put our effects?” he demanded softly.
“You know, we could just take the weapons off the guards at the top of the steps we’ve still got to get past,” Will teased as Jack stepped around him, looking for a likely spot.
“I am not leavin’ them my bloody Turner blade,” Jack growled. “They can damn well buy their own.”
He felt something at his back and turned, still on guard. Will quieted him with a kiss, cupping Jack’s jaw with one large hand, and the captain nearly melted into that mouth. “Time for that later,” he whispered, pulling away, then reached in for one more quick peck before turning his back completely. “Where’s our things?”
Upon spotting a narrow door near the staircase, Will handed Jack one of the strong, slender picks of metal from his custom-made kit; he’d forgotten the smith kept one sewn into the lining of any vest or waistcoat he wore (something Jack couldn’t get away with, since his reputation usually had him patted thoroughly the few times he was actually caught). While Jack worked at the mechanism to the solid supply door, Will cracked the door of the cell that had been between them - “In case the poor fellow wakes up before morning.”
“Remind me t’ reward ye properly for those,” Jack hummed, handing back the pick and buckling his sword belt back on two minutes later.
“Just don’t take back your offer.”
Jack glanced up, able to see Will’s face better since the lad had taken the lantern off the wall to light their way. “I wouldn’t,” he reassured the blacksmith. “I mean me word when I give it, ‘specially to you.”
“I don’t want to be an obligation, Jack.” He shook his head, longish hair shifting. “Something you promise in a tight spot, then believe you’ve got to carry through later, when you-“
“Shh.” Jack pressed two fingers to Will’s lips. “Don’t, love. We’ll get your things moved in soon as we get back, savvy?” Slowly, the man smiled, and kissed Jack’s fingertips. “That’s me lad. Now, let’s go see how many feet o’ metal those guards’re prepared to eat for King an’ Country.”
On to Part 2
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Turrow 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 N. Ranken as usual, for beta suggestions and helping write two of the scenes herein, to Julie-Rae for nagging at me to write via Nice Words - and to everyone who’s read this WIP that is now FINISHED AND COMPLETE.
Summary: This is continuation AND FINAL INSTALLMENT of an AU fic, breaking off from the movie’s events immediately after Barbossa’s defeat and death in the caves of Isla de Muerta. The previous parts consist of, in order, FLIGHT, FIGHT, LOSE, WIN, ADMIT, DENY, FREED, and CLAIMED.
“A fine, fucking mess,” he growled, arms wound around his drawn knees. “How’d this happen, anyway?”
“There were more of them than us,” his fellow inmate answered from several feet behind him. “My arm’s only so good against such an unbalanced ratio.”
“Why did we think there weren’t that many in th’ first place?”
“We?” A pause. “We, Jack? It was your own estimation.”
Jack Sparrow - Captain - kept his mouth shut for exactly ten seconds, stifling a dozen cutting replies to his ship’s inventory officer and blacksmith. “Had you noticed any dif’rently,” he patiently, finally answered, “you should’ve felt more ‘n free to speak up and contradict me. I heard nothin’ from your quarter, and I know for a fact ye’ve no problem tellin’ me I’m wrong. Take a certain glee in it, ‘n fact.”
“That’s because I couldn’t see any better than you,” Will Turner replied. “But I never claimed to. You’re the one who keeps bringing this up. I’ve kept my mouth shut all night.”
Jack rubbed the corner of one eye. “Point,” he conceded in a heavy sigh. “Twas my mistake. I just feel so … I don’ know …”
“Stupid?” Will helpfully suggested. “Wrong? In error?”
“I was gon’ say, ‘chagrined,’” he snapped back. “But, I s’pose yours’ll work just as well.” He ran his forefinger around the top edge of a worn boot cuff. “Was rhetorical, anyway. Not like I expected you t’ come up with a plan; that’s my job.”
“You know, I was going to offer you some reassurance and comfort,” the other voice warned. “Tell you you’re only human, that in all your ventures, your mistakes are actually quite few in comparison. But then you had to go be an arse.”
“What’d I do?”
“Don’t treat me like I’m ten, Jack. I may not say much, compared to you, but that doesn’t mean there’s less in my head.”
This just gets better and better. Jack let his head fall hard back against the cell bars, annoyed and frustrated. Now he had to deal with his own failure, imminent death, and an offended lover. “I’ve ne’er pegged you stupid, William-“
“And I hate to be patronized even more than I hate being underestimated,” the blacksmith cut him off.
“What? I have not.”
“Really.” The tone was suddenly flat. “I suppose it was someone else telling me to try to resist my ‘stupid’ impulses when we were saving Elizabeth?”
“Watch it, Will,” he warned. “We both remember how that ended.”
“I hit you with an oar because you insulted me and kept lying to me, on top of it-“
“I never lied!”
“You omitted the truth! It was foolhardy, especially with us walking into a situation where one or both of us could’ve died. You left me in the dark and never once told me what I could’ve realistically expected from Barbossa or his crew, for being who I was. I mean - my God, Jack.”
Once again, Jack counted to ten and responded in a remarkably even voice, “Have I not since apologized, hmm?”
Will was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he sullenly admitted.
“Then why, man, are we hashin’ this out again? As if we don’t have enough problems on what might be our las’ night on earth?” He stretched out his legs along the stone floor, wiggling his toes inside his boots, barely able to see them in the dim light thrown off by the single lantern hung on the gaol wall.
“You’re being too dramatic. Think of all the times you’ve escaped before.”
“It’s different. Arrangin’ to get yourself out’s not so difficult. Hell, even findin’ a way to spring out of one cell is not impossible. Haven’t had to do two at a time, though.”
It had been a simple matter of trying to overpower a few guards standing between the two of them and the back entrance of the colony governor’s mansion earlier this morning. “A few” had turned out to be a number requiring both hands and feet to count, and they’d been chained and marched through town down into the gaol (much danker and more cramped than His Fancy Royal Commodore James Norrington’s, Jack had noted aloud for all and sundry accompanying them below, earning him some rough handling).
Instead of a few large cells, the gaol was comprised of many tiny ones, presumably to keep prisoners from conspiring to escape - getting past one lock was all well and good, but getting past a few took time. Under normal circumstances, Jack might’ve taken it merely as a challenge to his talents. But Will was involved, and he knew he had to exercise more caution to get them both out alive.
Will was speaking again. “One of us’ll think of something before morning. We can do this, Jack.”
“And if we can’t?”
Silence. A long silence. “I understood what I was signing onto when I chose this life,” the smith answered. “It’s not your job to look out for my mortality.”
“Is that how you feel toward me?”
“Of course not.” He seemed to be thinking. “Look, I know I can’t stop you from worrying for me. I’d be … puzzled, if you didn’t, I suppose. But it’s a moot point. We’ll get out of here.”
“Well, there’s nothin’ to do but ponder on it all night,” Jack grumbled, unable to get comfortable. “Should come up with somethin’.”
“If you want to sleep, we could do it in shifts,” Will suggested.
“’M not tired.” Truth was, with a cell between them - containing what appeared to be either a drunk or a corpse, as it had barely moved earlier in the day, and not since then - Jack was not finding rest.
“You sound tired,” came the accusation.
“Truth is-“ He hesitated, then shook his head. After six months, he could give the lad something, surely. “I find meself not able to rest very comfor’bly alone, these days. Gotten too used t’ havin’ someone beside me most nights.”
“You sleep alone at least twice a week,” Will pointed out.
“I inhabit a bed by meself two nights a week,” Jack corrected. When Will said nothing, he added, “Never said there was much rest takin’ place in it.”
Will was curiously quiet, though Jack could hear the faint rustling of him shifting position while leaning against his own cold bars. “I understand better than you think,” he finally said, voice pitched lower, more intimate. “I don’t … sleep so well alone, either, anymore.”
“Maybe,” Jack suggested, feeling his pulse increase even as he kept his voice neutral, “maybe, if we get out of here, we ought t’ consider remedying that.” The smith said nothing, and Jack wondered if he’d misread the man’s small cues over the months - leaving small unfinished jewelry projects in his cabin to pick up later, or two sets of clothes and a razor in the bureau, effecting little repairs and improvements here and there to the various fixtures in his captain’s room. “Will?”
“Just thinking,” the man answered. “You’re saying we should sleep together every night, then?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Will’s tone hadn’t been adversarial or dismayed, and that was good. “There’s plenty of room in th’ cabin, after all. Bed’s better than your pallet. Could bring your things in there.”
“Well, there is more room than I have, yes.” His tone was still neutral, and Jack was getting annoyed. No matter what he might be to Will, he was still the captain, and deserved a straight answer to his offer. “I mean, my smithy’s warm, Jack. I stoke those embers, and it keeps it toasty in there on cold nights.”
“What, and me bed’s not as warm?” He sat up straighter, feeling his jaw set.
“Is it?”
And suddenly, in those two words, Jack understood the hemming and hawing and hesitance. They’d treated each other quite casually the past half-year, slipping into one another’s bunk when the mood struck with increasing frequency, but still remaining somewhat detached through all of it. They were pirates, after all, and both knew better than to give in to powerful displays of deep emotion beyond ecstasy at pulling off another good heist or defeating Mother Nature yet again, or even keeping the Pearl in one, intact piece through all of it.
“I hope it is,” he answered, sincerely. “I do try to be welcoming, Will. ‘S not always easy, and I’ve ne’er shared that bed with any other before you.” He paused, pulling at a loose thread at the edge of his sash, thinking of the words he needed even as another part of his brain still filed through possible cell-escape plans. “I like having you there with me, behind me or beside me - the mornings I roll over an’ you’re not there, leaves me wonderin’ rather uncomfor’bly how it’d be if ye never graced me bed again. I’m tired of feelin’ that way.”
He fell quiet, letting Will digest it all. He certainly didn’t expect the smith to ever transfer the full force of his affection for Elizabeth to Jack, but he had sensed a growing undercurrent of closeness between them with every touch, every free moment spent in each other’s company. He’d thought about mateloge for some time, knowing such a bond would guarantee both their safety and security since they’d each proven to the other they could be trusted with both work and personal affairs. So, he waited quietly for a yes, figuring they were long past the point where Will would reject such an outright offer. Sort of expected it, in fact - after all, there was the slim chance they might not survive the morning. Better to get these things hashed out before running into each other on the Other Side.
What he didn’t expect was the snick of metal twisting against metal, like a shot in the night, followed by creaking metal. He pulled his feet in closer to gain leverage, turning toward the sound until he heard footsteps on the stones. In a matter of seconds, a shadowy, familiar figure stood at his door, more scraping and digging of metal as Jack watched in surprise. When Will picked the lock and swung Jack’s cell door open, he could think of only one response:
“You son of a bitch.”
To his credit, Will crooked a forefinger and shook his head as Jack got up, brushing off his breeches. “Keep your voice down, Jackiebird.”
He stopped moving, glaring at the man. It was the one endearment the smith allowed himself, and an awful one, at that. “Where’d they put our effects?” he demanded softly.
“You know, we could just take the weapons off the guards at the top of the steps we’ve still got to get past,” Will teased as Jack stepped around him, looking for a likely spot.
“I am not leavin’ them my bloody Turner blade,” Jack growled. “They can damn well buy their own.”
He felt something at his back and turned, still on guard. Will quieted him with a kiss, cupping Jack’s jaw with one large hand, and the captain nearly melted into that mouth. “Time for that later,” he whispered, pulling away, then reached in for one more quick peck before turning his back completely. “Where’s our things?”
Upon spotting a narrow door near the staircase, Will handed Jack one of the strong, slender picks of metal from his custom-made kit; he’d forgotten the smith kept one sewn into the lining of any vest or waistcoat he wore (something Jack couldn’t get away with, since his reputation usually had him patted thoroughly the few times he was actually caught). While Jack worked at the mechanism to the solid supply door, Will cracked the door of the cell that had been between them - “In case the poor fellow wakes up before morning.”
“Remind me t’ reward ye properly for those,” Jack hummed, handing back the pick and buckling his sword belt back on two minutes later.
“Just don’t take back your offer.”
Jack glanced up, able to see Will’s face better since the lad had taken the lantern off the wall to light their way. “I wouldn’t,” he reassured the blacksmith. “I mean me word when I give it, ‘specially to you.”
“I don’t want to be an obligation, Jack.” He shook his head, longish hair shifting. “Something you promise in a tight spot, then believe you’ve got to carry through later, when you-“
“Shh.” Jack pressed two fingers to Will’s lips. “Don’t, love. We’ll get your things moved in soon as we get back, savvy?” Slowly, the man smiled, and kissed Jack’s fingertips. “That’s me lad. Now, let’s go see how many feet o’ metal those guards’re prepared to eat for King an’ Country.”
On to Part 2