"Contradictions 6: A Fifth of Denial"
Nov. 29th, 2004 10:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richThis is a continuation of a fic. See Part 1 for disclaimers, description, etc.
Will Turner had little patience for his own foibles and even less for the telling of them. Yet, by dint of having nothing better to do – still – he was forced to recount them over and over in his mind as he rested on his side on the brig’s hard cot, trying to ignore the dank seawater sweating off the wood directly above him.
If he’d been less hungry, perhaps he would’ve waited longer to attempt his plan. He’d spent his alone hours scouring the room’s meager furniture and rough baseboard for lengths and bits of wood from which he could twist and coax nails. These he secreted on his person because he didn’t want them found and because if he needed one of the spur of the moment, he’d have it. The idea was to save many and eventually figure out what he’d do with them once he’d amassed enough, whatever “enough” was – as many as he could find, he supposed.
Will was docile until his visitors dwindled to one; still, he learned nothing of Jack or his whereabouts. He’d rather not leave the ship unless he had the pirate with him, but Jack had taught him to be an opportunist, not sentimental.
So, Will struck, fist out, nails extended, spurting blood telling him in the darkness he’d found pay dirt. He knocked the pirate over and barreled out of the cabin to make for the nearest hidey-hole …
… Except three sailors coming by had intercepted and nabbed him.
In retrospect, Will ground his teeth. He’d not been eating much and the hunger must have addled his mind to make him think the plan’d had any merit. Then again, if the small portions hadn’t whittled him down, the dark of the cabin would have eventually driven him mad.
And so, he found himself in the relative dimness of the mildewed brig instead. “Real step up, idiot,” he sighed aloud, shifting to his back.
Since Francois hadn’t even delivered punishment in person, all Will really had were his thoughts. After a few hours he decided he was annoyed with berating himself, so his brain searched for something else to ponder and analyze – something pleasant that would distract him.
Elizabeth.
To his surprise, that rarely worked these days. There was a time when the thought of Miss Swann had made his heart skip and his stomach lurch. The sight of her struck him dumb with infatuation, and her pretty voice was music to ears that suffered much from the constant clang and sizzle of his trade.
David.
He missed the lad, even his constant questions and begging for information. David was much better off with Esther, who would see strictly to his education, and Ivy, who would likely educate him on more painful matters such as horseback riding and verbal sparring. Somehow, Will guessed David’s days at sea weren’t finished, but much as he still respected himself and Jack, he hoped fervently those days would not be engaged in piracy. The boy was smart and could do well legally, given the opportunity.
Jack.
Altogether too complicated under Will’s old, simpler standards. It wasn’t so long ago that people fell into broader categories of “good” and “bad” for the smith; life was simpler then, if less exciting or rewarding.
“You know, you’ve a grand way of gettin’ yourself into more trouble than even I can manage on me own,” a voice interrupted his musings.
Will sat up and spun at the same time, hunger momentarily forgotten as his captain set about mildly chastising him. He was at the cell door, arms hooked through the iron bars, crossed casually at the wrists, staring Will down with a neutral expression. “How’d you get in without me hearing you?” he snapped, the relief in the pit of his stomach lending him familiar annoyance with the man.
“Better question’s why didn’t ye hear me?” The tone was stern, but Jack’s face split in a sudden, wild grin. “That door’s noisy enough t’ wake th’ bloody dead.”
By far, Will believed he’d not found that proper third category between “good” and “bad” for Jack Sparrow. He had to admit, Jack surprised him for his decency and fairness both as a sea captain and a raider. He wasn’t sure it was ever “fair” to take something that wasn’t his, but there were worse ways to go about it than Jack usually chose to employ, of that Will was reasonably certain.
“Is doublespeak all you’re good at?” Will blinked in the dimness, and rubbed at his eyes. “When are we getting out of here?”
“What, ye’ve no plan?”
“Why should I? You always have one at the ready, remember?” the smith tossed back in irritation. Jack had become far too much in his thoughts down here in the brig … and over the past several months, especially alone at night when he had nothing more to do than keep watch or lay awake in his hammock.
Back on Pearl, Will had tried some minor smithing when he couldn’t sleep, but the complaints of the crew became such that he’d had to leave off the noisy pursuit in the wee hours. He could occasionally work on crafting smaller pieces, such as jewelry, but that was not as calming as wearing himself out whanging away at a larger piece of metal.
The one thing all these intruding thoughts had in common was their maddening intensity to swirl about Jack Sparrow. Will still remembered far too well the dream he’d had during one of his last nights at Elizabeth’s in France – it was far too erotic and bizarre to be pushed to the back of his mind. “Embarrassing” was more like it; the memory flushed his face and warmed his cheeks, and blood rushed madly through his torso, down and back, making Will blink. Lightheaded, he recalled how hot he’d felt, how absolutely perspiring he’d been, at the moment the Jack of his imagination swallowed him whole and pumped him forcefully with rolling tongue and throat-
It was a sin to think such things, let alone want to do them! Will rolled all his fingers into fists, keeping his mind on what he’d always known. Men and women should be together. Men and women only, in that combination, one of each. Married. Sanctified. Evenly matched in breeding and temperament, for the comfort and nurture of children to grow into useful citizens serving God and society.
Jack grinned, jolting him out of his pious thoughts. “Lad, are ye more angry with me, or with yourself, I wonder?”
“How did you manage to get away from Francois to come here?” Will wanted to know, avoiding an answer.
Shrugging, Jack slid his dark eyes away to study his upraised fingernails. “I have me ways of making a convincin’ case for what I want,” he responded vaguely.
A swift mental image of Jack on his knees, or his back, or some similarly submissive position with the bastard captain lighted a fire Will didn’t know he still had after Elizabeth’s rejection. Truthfully, it flared hotter now than it ever had with her – nearly as brightly as when he was sixteen and stumbled upon Martha Simons liplocked with James behind her family’s wellhouse-
Not this again. Will ground his teeth. He’d tried to forget for the past few years his boyhood fascination with Commodore Norrington – his title and position, the respect he commanded, the restraint he exercised and the controlled, mannerly deference he showed others, women and men alike. He’d really tried to forget his own brief, unwholesome attraction to the man, which had blossomed while Elizabeth was gone to England. To this day he wasn’t sure if it was James himself who’d inspired his furtive lust, or the idea of another male body against his, matched to his own, equally hard and much easier to navigate than a woman’s mysterious form.
Or perhaps it was simply those green eyes, reflecting the sea and concealing a storm of emotions held at bay for the sake of his uniform. Will never ducked meeting another man’s eyes, for it would be taken as a sign of cowardice or lying, but he’d not gone out of his way to look into James’s longer than absolutely necessary. But where the Commodore’s were cool and distant and proper on even the friendliest terms, Jack’s almond-shaped eyes were dark and wide and altogether too warm for Will’s comfort.
And they were studying him right now with a mixture of speculation and confusion. “Why’re ye growling at me?” he was asking, brows drawn together. “I’m not th’ one who landed ye in the brig with a cocked-up stunt.”
Alarmed, Will realized anger wasn’t the only strong emotion surging within toward Jack. “Nothing,” he fell back on a safe answer, shaking his head. “But I did try something, at least. What’ve you done to get us out of here?”
“Patience, Billy boy.” The syllables rolled so easily that Jack was well into his next hushed sentence before Will could protest the nickname. “Th’ trick with these blokes is t’ make them think you’re their best pal, then stiff them on th’ bill. We’ve no real escape ‘til we see some other craft nearby, or land, or somethin’, and judging by their direction, we’re bound t’ come across one soon, be it th’ Pearl or otherwise.”
“So … what? You keep stalling?”
“An’ would your better suggestion be that we throw ourselves overboard for th’ sharks?” Jack asked, with great impatience. “Now, listen; I can’t be here long, so here’s how it’s to be.”
Quickly, Jack outlined his proposal. They would argue anytime they were in front of Francois or his men, making it appear for all the world as though they couldn’t stand one another. This would hopefully continue keeping Francois sympathetic with a fellow captain long enough to spare them both for whatever later action Jack had yet to work out.
When he was finished, Jack regarded Will with an intensity that made Will itch, uncomfortable. In light of recent thoughts, it was particularly galling. “You know,” Jack finally spoke, cutting the tension, “if I had a bench out ‘ere, maybe I could apply some o’ that leverage an’ spring ye from the cell. ‘M at least as strong as you.”
Will didn’t manage to muffle an involuntary guffaw, and Jack’s moustache, fully grown back in, twitched. “My apologies,” Will coughed, tickled by the assertion.
“So glad I can entertain.” Heavy footsteps and the wet squeak of a swollen wooden door transmuted Jack’s annoyance into flashing anger. “Least ‘m not so fucking simple as t’ think I could escape with a few splinters an’ nails.”
He’d certainly chosen the right word; even knowing it was an act, Will’s fingers tightened. “I’m not a simpleton,” he muttered.
Jack smirked. “Too stupid for my bunk,” he countered foxily.
“And that’s sayin’ something,” added in Francois, stepping up to settle a meaty hand on Jack’s shoulder. He fixed Will with a speculative eye. “So what is your use, boy? Or are ye just a bit o’ pretty for th’ sailors?”
He was reasonably certain he was more angry with the man’s crude suggestion toward his own self than with his blunt assessment of Jack’s relative intelligence. “If you really thought that, I wouldn’t be locked up for the crew’s safety, would I?” Will snapped, ignoring Jack completely now.
“Even a kitten has claws,” was Francois’s shrugging reply. To Jack: “What’re ye doin’ down here, anyhow? Thought you were done with ‘im.”
“Had to see for meself him all locked up,” Jack muttered indifferently, stepping away from the bars. “Damn crew liked him too much for me t’ be able to do it back on me Pearl.”
“Ah, but ye mean my Black Pearl, right?”
For a moment, Will thought he’d heard incorrectly, but Jack forced a tight grin at their captor. “Semantics, Commodore.”
“Wordplay like that can get a man th’ hemp necklace, ‘e’s not careful,” the Spanish captain warned, and Will realized what was going on. He pressed a large hand to the middle of Jack’s back and swept him toward the door, eyeing Will down and up openly this time. “Shame ‘bout the boy, really; I like a bit o’ variety.”
“Aye, but not th’ wet noodle kind, now,” Jack tossed back, and Francois chuckled indecorously as he followed the shorter man out of the hold.
Will held his breath until they were gone, then exhaled, tightening his fists. What the hell just happened? Jack had said they were to quarrel, but not why; even so, Will had surmised from context that it was to be of a personal nature. What bothered him was the familiarity Francois used in literally handling Jack – what had the mad captain gotten himself into now? And why was he giving up Pearl to the man?
A fresh headache blossomed behind Will’s eyes, fed by lack of nutrition, sleep, and indignity. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and turned to stumble the short distance back to his cot, sitting heavily. He didn’t want to think anymore, at least not right now.
On to Part 6 ...
Will Turner had little patience for his own foibles and even less for the telling of them. Yet, by dint of having nothing better to do – still – he was forced to recount them over and over in his mind as he rested on his side on the brig’s hard cot, trying to ignore the dank seawater sweating off the wood directly above him.
If he’d been less hungry, perhaps he would’ve waited longer to attempt his plan. He’d spent his alone hours scouring the room’s meager furniture and rough baseboard for lengths and bits of wood from which he could twist and coax nails. These he secreted on his person because he didn’t want them found and because if he needed one of the spur of the moment, he’d have it. The idea was to save many and eventually figure out what he’d do with them once he’d amassed enough, whatever “enough” was – as many as he could find, he supposed.
Will was docile until his visitors dwindled to one; still, he learned nothing of Jack or his whereabouts. He’d rather not leave the ship unless he had the pirate with him, but Jack had taught him to be an opportunist, not sentimental.
So, Will struck, fist out, nails extended, spurting blood telling him in the darkness he’d found pay dirt. He knocked the pirate over and barreled out of the cabin to make for the nearest hidey-hole …
… Except three sailors coming by had intercepted and nabbed him.
In retrospect, Will ground his teeth. He’d not been eating much and the hunger must have addled his mind to make him think the plan’d had any merit. Then again, if the small portions hadn’t whittled him down, the dark of the cabin would have eventually driven him mad.
And so, he found himself in the relative dimness of the mildewed brig instead. “Real step up, idiot,” he sighed aloud, shifting to his back.
Since Francois hadn’t even delivered punishment in person, all Will really had were his thoughts. After a few hours he decided he was annoyed with berating himself, so his brain searched for something else to ponder and analyze – something pleasant that would distract him.
Elizabeth.
To his surprise, that rarely worked these days. There was a time when the thought of Miss Swann had made his heart skip and his stomach lurch. The sight of her struck him dumb with infatuation, and her pretty voice was music to ears that suffered much from the constant clang and sizzle of his trade.
David.
He missed the lad, even his constant questions and begging for information. David was much better off with Esther, who would see strictly to his education, and Ivy, who would likely educate him on more painful matters such as horseback riding and verbal sparring. Somehow, Will guessed David’s days at sea weren’t finished, but much as he still respected himself and Jack, he hoped fervently those days would not be engaged in piracy. The boy was smart and could do well legally, given the opportunity.
Jack.
Altogether too complicated under Will’s old, simpler standards. It wasn’t so long ago that people fell into broader categories of “good” and “bad” for the smith; life was simpler then, if less exciting or rewarding.
“You know, you’ve a grand way of gettin’ yourself into more trouble than even I can manage on me own,” a voice interrupted his musings.
Will sat up and spun at the same time, hunger momentarily forgotten as his captain set about mildly chastising him. He was at the cell door, arms hooked through the iron bars, crossed casually at the wrists, staring Will down with a neutral expression. “How’d you get in without me hearing you?” he snapped, the relief in the pit of his stomach lending him familiar annoyance with the man.
“Better question’s why didn’t ye hear me?” The tone was stern, but Jack’s face split in a sudden, wild grin. “That door’s noisy enough t’ wake th’ bloody dead.”
By far, Will believed he’d not found that proper third category between “good” and “bad” for Jack Sparrow. He had to admit, Jack surprised him for his decency and fairness both as a sea captain and a raider. He wasn’t sure it was ever “fair” to take something that wasn’t his, but there were worse ways to go about it than Jack usually chose to employ, of that Will was reasonably certain.
“Is doublespeak all you’re good at?” Will blinked in the dimness, and rubbed at his eyes. “When are we getting out of here?”
“What, ye’ve no plan?”
“Why should I? You always have one at the ready, remember?” the smith tossed back in irritation. Jack had become far too much in his thoughts down here in the brig … and over the past several months, especially alone at night when he had nothing more to do than keep watch or lay awake in his hammock.
Back on Pearl, Will had tried some minor smithing when he couldn’t sleep, but the complaints of the crew became such that he’d had to leave off the noisy pursuit in the wee hours. He could occasionally work on crafting smaller pieces, such as jewelry, but that was not as calming as wearing himself out whanging away at a larger piece of metal.
The one thing all these intruding thoughts had in common was their maddening intensity to swirl about Jack Sparrow. Will still remembered far too well the dream he’d had during one of his last nights at Elizabeth’s in France – it was far too erotic and bizarre to be pushed to the back of his mind. “Embarrassing” was more like it; the memory flushed his face and warmed his cheeks, and blood rushed madly through his torso, down and back, making Will blink. Lightheaded, he recalled how hot he’d felt, how absolutely perspiring he’d been, at the moment the Jack of his imagination swallowed him whole and pumped him forcefully with rolling tongue and throat-
It was a sin to think such things, let alone want to do them! Will rolled all his fingers into fists, keeping his mind on what he’d always known. Men and women should be together. Men and women only, in that combination, one of each. Married. Sanctified. Evenly matched in breeding and temperament, for the comfort and nurture of children to grow into useful citizens serving God and society.
Jack grinned, jolting him out of his pious thoughts. “Lad, are ye more angry with me, or with yourself, I wonder?”
“How did you manage to get away from Francois to come here?” Will wanted to know, avoiding an answer.
Shrugging, Jack slid his dark eyes away to study his upraised fingernails. “I have me ways of making a convincin’ case for what I want,” he responded vaguely.
A swift mental image of Jack on his knees, or his back, or some similarly submissive position with the bastard captain lighted a fire Will didn’t know he still had after Elizabeth’s rejection. Truthfully, it flared hotter now than it ever had with her – nearly as brightly as when he was sixteen and stumbled upon Martha Simons liplocked with James behind her family’s wellhouse-
Not this again. Will ground his teeth. He’d tried to forget for the past few years his boyhood fascination with Commodore Norrington – his title and position, the respect he commanded, the restraint he exercised and the controlled, mannerly deference he showed others, women and men alike. He’d really tried to forget his own brief, unwholesome attraction to the man, which had blossomed while Elizabeth was gone to England. To this day he wasn’t sure if it was James himself who’d inspired his furtive lust, or the idea of another male body against his, matched to his own, equally hard and much easier to navigate than a woman’s mysterious form.
Or perhaps it was simply those green eyes, reflecting the sea and concealing a storm of emotions held at bay for the sake of his uniform. Will never ducked meeting another man’s eyes, for it would be taken as a sign of cowardice or lying, but he’d not gone out of his way to look into James’s longer than absolutely necessary. But where the Commodore’s were cool and distant and proper on even the friendliest terms, Jack’s almond-shaped eyes were dark and wide and altogether too warm for Will’s comfort.
And they were studying him right now with a mixture of speculation and confusion. “Why’re ye growling at me?” he was asking, brows drawn together. “I’m not th’ one who landed ye in the brig with a cocked-up stunt.”
Alarmed, Will realized anger wasn’t the only strong emotion surging within toward Jack. “Nothing,” he fell back on a safe answer, shaking his head. “But I did try something, at least. What’ve you done to get us out of here?”
“Patience, Billy boy.” The syllables rolled so easily that Jack was well into his next hushed sentence before Will could protest the nickname. “Th’ trick with these blokes is t’ make them think you’re their best pal, then stiff them on th’ bill. We’ve no real escape ‘til we see some other craft nearby, or land, or somethin’, and judging by their direction, we’re bound t’ come across one soon, be it th’ Pearl or otherwise.”
“So … what? You keep stalling?”
“An’ would your better suggestion be that we throw ourselves overboard for th’ sharks?” Jack asked, with great impatience. “Now, listen; I can’t be here long, so here’s how it’s to be.”
Quickly, Jack outlined his proposal. They would argue anytime they were in front of Francois or his men, making it appear for all the world as though they couldn’t stand one another. This would hopefully continue keeping Francois sympathetic with a fellow captain long enough to spare them both for whatever later action Jack had yet to work out.
When he was finished, Jack regarded Will with an intensity that made Will itch, uncomfortable. In light of recent thoughts, it was particularly galling. “You know,” Jack finally spoke, cutting the tension, “if I had a bench out ‘ere, maybe I could apply some o’ that leverage an’ spring ye from the cell. ‘M at least as strong as you.”
Will didn’t manage to muffle an involuntary guffaw, and Jack’s moustache, fully grown back in, twitched. “My apologies,” Will coughed, tickled by the assertion.
“So glad I can entertain.” Heavy footsteps and the wet squeak of a swollen wooden door transmuted Jack’s annoyance into flashing anger. “Least ‘m not so fucking simple as t’ think I could escape with a few splinters an’ nails.”
He’d certainly chosen the right word; even knowing it was an act, Will’s fingers tightened. “I’m not a simpleton,” he muttered.
Jack smirked. “Too stupid for my bunk,” he countered foxily.
“And that’s sayin’ something,” added in Francois, stepping up to settle a meaty hand on Jack’s shoulder. He fixed Will with a speculative eye. “So what is your use, boy? Or are ye just a bit o’ pretty for th’ sailors?”
He was reasonably certain he was more angry with the man’s crude suggestion toward his own self than with his blunt assessment of Jack’s relative intelligence. “If you really thought that, I wouldn’t be locked up for the crew’s safety, would I?” Will snapped, ignoring Jack completely now.
“Even a kitten has claws,” was Francois’s shrugging reply. To Jack: “What’re ye doin’ down here, anyhow? Thought you were done with ‘im.”
“Had to see for meself him all locked up,” Jack muttered indifferently, stepping away from the bars. “Damn crew liked him too much for me t’ be able to do it back on me Pearl.”
“Ah, but ye mean my Black Pearl, right?”
For a moment, Will thought he’d heard incorrectly, but Jack forced a tight grin at their captor. “Semantics, Commodore.”
“Wordplay like that can get a man th’ hemp necklace, ‘e’s not careful,” the Spanish captain warned, and Will realized what was going on. He pressed a large hand to the middle of Jack’s back and swept him toward the door, eyeing Will down and up openly this time. “Shame ‘bout the boy, really; I like a bit o’ variety.”
“Aye, but not th’ wet noodle kind, now,” Jack tossed back, and Francois chuckled indecorously as he followed the shorter man out of the hold.
Will held his breath until they were gone, then exhaled, tightening his fists. What the hell just happened? Jack had said they were to quarrel, but not why; even so, Will had surmised from context that it was to be of a personal nature. What bothered him was the familiarity Francois used in literally handling Jack – what had the mad captain gotten himself into now? And why was he giving up Pearl to the man?
A fresh headache blossomed behind Will’s eyes, fed by lack of nutrition, sleep, and indignity. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and turned to stumble the short distance back to his cot, sitting heavily. He didn’t want to think anymore, at least not right now.
On to Part 6 ...
