"Contradictions 8 - Claimed" Part 4
Aug. 29th, 2005 10:48 am![[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.
Benjamin finished stripping and drying Jack as Will turned his attention to his coals, going through the ritual of lighting them in a few key spots and getting the flames going to stoke. When Will put away his flint box, he paused by his pallet to watch the older man finish fastening Will’s borrowed breeches to the thin, soaked body, then pull the old wool blanket up over Jack. “Do you a world of good to get changed, too,” Benjamin pointed out. “I’ll ask Maxi to fix up some soup and water and bring it to you later, when the storm calms.”
Will nodded his thanks, for once not inclined to be the hero and go back up on deck. He could hear wind, feel the ship rock, and hear water still pounding the vessel, but his primary job right now was to make sure Jack recovered and woke up. It wasn’t a sure thing, despite the fact he was still breathing.
He poked at the coals a few minutes after Benjamin left, not realizing he was shivering until he finally sneezed and sniffled some of the phlegm back up into his nose. Benjamin had left the tiny bureau drawers open, so Will hunted until he found a suitably old pair of breeches and a shirt worn thin by use. The old man had used his only towel for Jack, so Will shucked his clothes and used a rag to dry off, then dressed, leaving his shirttail outside the breeches. Picking up both his and Jack’s castoffs, he set about hanging and draping each piece around the room to dry in the increasing warmth of the coals, few though they were – he hadn’t made a large fire with much fuel, since they were still in the storm and he didn’t want to tip so far the embers would leap out and set the place afire.
With nothing else to do, he pulled the room’s bench near the pallet and sat, reaching over to feel Jack’s forehead and cheeks as his mother had done for him as a small child when he was ill. The skin was still quite cool to the touch, as was his beard; Will lifted a few locks of hair and found it cold, too. Frowning, he reached for the damp towel and draped it over the side of Jack’s head, reaching over to tuck the other end under the other side on the pillow, patting the material into the hair to soak up the salt water.
“Stupid, stubborn pirate,” he muttered, wiping droplets of water from Jack’s hairline and forehead. A couple of drops also clung to his lashes, and Will pressed the edge of the material to an eyelid, blotting it. He pulled the towel away and draped it over the bench next to him, not wanting to leave the soaked material on Jack to block air-drying.
Left with nothing to do, Will leaned forward with his elbows on the raised pallet’s lumpy mattress, left hand gripping the back of his right. At least Jack was moving a little now, shifting on his side to burrow into the pallet and pillow. He kept doing it, twisting in tiny motions, not waking up. Will watched each movement beneath the blanket, wondering what was wrong for only a few minutes before it permeated his tired brain: Jack was still cold and uncomfortable. Coal heat was fine, but it took a while to soak into an entire room, even one as narrow as the smithy. Even he was chilled, except for his back, which was facing said fire.
Well, sitting between Jack and his heat source wasn’t going to help, nor did it do much for Will himself. He got up carefully so as not to make noise, and briefly stoked the coals hotter before crossing to his jewelry wall to peruse it. For several moments he stared, picking over each piece carefully before extracting a couple of large stones he was forming to fit on brooches. He picked up a small wooden box filled with tools and bits and baubles, and carried all of it back to the bench, but didn’t sit until he’d pulled it parallel to his pallet, to give both he and Jack maximum exposure to the fire.
He straddled the bench, setting everything down, and gathered up small pliers and the dolphin-shaped stone. Once he’d located the curve he wanted to indent further, he set to work, glancing up every so often when Jack exhaled loudly or shifted around, still asleep. It all felt very … homey, to him. Like a night by the hearth, just him working and Jack quiet and calm. He was surprised to consider the idea he could easily be happy with such as this for the rest of his life, interrupted by brief, dazzling bursts of adventure and Jack noise.
Will paused after about half an hour, craning his neck this way and that to work out a crick, resting his eyes on Jack as he did so. Drying raven hair was beginning to fluff up around the side of his face, the majority of it still clumped in sodden locks behind Jack’s head on the pillow and towel. As for his face – well, nobody would mistake Jack Sparrow for twenty, but his expression softened and some of the lines smoothed out, giving him at least a less severe appearance. Or maybe it was just the past few weeks he’d looked so humorless. Even having been drinking, Will remembered very well how youthful those eyes had looked so close, so dark and exotic, tempting him even as he acquiesced to the pirate’s kiss.
He flared his nostrils and breathed out on a sigh. What did it say, that he’d nearly leaped into the sea before a more rational part of his brain took over and demanded he figure out the rope and barrel? Was it a simple infatuation – something new and enticing he needed to get out of his system by experimenting with it? Did Jack represent something more permanent for Will, after all, a companionship he’d sought for so long with Elizabeth? It was foolishness, he thought, bending back to his work. Pearl had Jack’s heart, and Will believed in monogamy.
Though his eyelids threatened mutiny a couple of times, he kept working, yawning every so often and rolling his shoulders as he bent and shaped and etched. So lost was he, in fact, he didn’t notice the passage of time until he glanced up at one point and caught Jack’s head tilted down slightly on the pillow, dark semi-glassy eyes fixed on Will’s hands.
The smith paused, lowering the stone. “Jack?” he asked quietly.
“Mm-hmm?” Black eyes flicked up to Will’s.
“Feeling better, are you?” The captain nodded, a small movement. “You remember anything?”
He sighed and spoke slowly, as if taking time to re-gather his wits and form words. “I remember bein’ in the water,” he answered. “And it hurt like hell t’ hit it. And your splinter, an’ Gibbs throwin’ such a hissy over th’ flour …” He blinked, his expression clearing up somewhat. “And you sayin’ you’d stay on and be th’ inventory officer.” He frowned. “When was that?”
“Yesterday, Jack.”
“Such a loss of time, there.” He seemed to look inward, frowning, the whiskers of his moustache twitching minutely. "So I s'pose this means you're not lookin' to shove off at th' next sizable village, after all."
“Well … no.” Not anymore. “Besides, Pearl has charms enough to entrance even the mightiest of men."
Jack closed his eyes briefly and smiled at that. "She certainly does, even when th' weather turns her into a bitch," he sighed, nodding into his pillow.
Will put down his work and toolbox on the floor, and scooted closer to place the back of his hand on Jack's forehead. "How're you feeling?"
Jack followed the hand with large, unfocused eyes, then turned them back on Will himself. "Not as bad as I should, I 'spect." He cleared his throat, aborting a cough. “Seems I remember bein' in the water with you.”
"I jumped in to pull you out." His frowned. "What on earth possessed you to go without a rope like that? Pearl doesn't have hands, you know."
"Wasn't any time t' find another." He swallowed and managed to croak out, "Somethin' to drink, if ye don't mind?"
Will got up and went over to a small supply bureau and pulled out his hoard of clean water. It was a decent use for the old rum bottles, once they'd been boiled to get rid of the taste, and it kept them handy for when he was in need of a quick gulp while working. He flicked the cork out of one and carried it to Jack. "Don't drink too fast, or you'll get sick."
The pirate sat up and took a tentative sip. He made a face and shook his head. "Water," he muttered, glancing sideways at Will; the smith couldn't help a grin, knowing it was the expected put-on from Jack Sparrow, lover of even the worst rum. He took another sip, then a drink, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, swallowing deeply.
"Yes, water; now, don't drink too fast. It'll hit your stomach like an anvil, and try to come back up." He clucked like a mother hen; it was easier than staring at that throat, the bobbing Adam’s apple, the thin stream of water that dripped from the corner of Jack’s mouth and down along the slope of his neck.
Despite his complaint, Jack reluctantly lowered the bottle, licking a few drops from his lips and corking it again. "Least it still has some flavoring to it," he murmured, handing it back to Will and reaching up to flick at the water on his chin. "Now – how did you jump in? Thought ye didn't like diving from that high up."
"Fear wasn't an option. It was go over or let you drown." He took a sip of the water and set it on the floor. "I took a rope and jumped after ordering Benjamin to tie himself back up." He reached back and picked up the stone he’d been crafting, going back to etching. When he was at a loss and had work close at hand, he’d realized long ago it was the best filler of silence.
Jack watched him for a few minutes, quiet, perhaps entranced by the movements of Will's fingers. "I s'pose I should thank you," he finally spoke, voice quiet and even. "When I was under th' waves – I figured Davey was finally comin' to pull me down, that I'd lived as full a life as I was likely t' get." He chuckled. "I remember thinkin' how full of piss Norrington was gon' be, bein' deprived of th' chance to fit me for a hemp collar after all."
"Oh, now, Jack," Will chuckled, not daring to look up into those dark eyes. "Any time that man tries to string you up, I'll be there to sever the noose before it severs your neck."
"Was a time I think you'd have happily strung it up your own self," Jack pointed out, not incorrectly.
"There was a time. But given our positions now, I can hardly say I would." His rebuttal was firm without being harsh, and he did look up.
Jack yawned, then blinked. "'Tis counterproductive to th' gathering of plunder to execute th' planner of said ventures," he reasoned.
"It's also counterproductive to one's conscience to execute one's best friend."
As with the rest of his reactions, Jack's response seemed a bit delayed. He eventually tilted his head, his eyes widening a fraction. "I have a hard time believin' I'm that, to you," he answered. "'Specially since I've met 'Lizbeth, watched you two together."
"You two are a lot alike, actually. Many of the traits I admire in her I admire in you. That doesn't mean you're a substitute for her."
Jack let the moment of silence drag on, as he seemed to be thinking. "Will," he finally ventured, "just how much damage did I do to bein' your best friend, with that kiss?”
On to Part 5 ...
Benjamin finished stripping and drying Jack as Will turned his attention to his coals, going through the ritual of lighting them in a few key spots and getting the flames going to stoke. When Will put away his flint box, he paused by his pallet to watch the older man finish fastening Will’s borrowed breeches to the thin, soaked body, then pull the old wool blanket up over Jack. “Do you a world of good to get changed, too,” Benjamin pointed out. “I’ll ask Maxi to fix up some soup and water and bring it to you later, when the storm calms.”
Will nodded his thanks, for once not inclined to be the hero and go back up on deck. He could hear wind, feel the ship rock, and hear water still pounding the vessel, but his primary job right now was to make sure Jack recovered and woke up. It wasn’t a sure thing, despite the fact he was still breathing.
He poked at the coals a few minutes after Benjamin left, not realizing he was shivering until he finally sneezed and sniffled some of the phlegm back up into his nose. Benjamin had left the tiny bureau drawers open, so Will hunted until he found a suitably old pair of breeches and a shirt worn thin by use. The old man had used his only towel for Jack, so Will shucked his clothes and used a rag to dry off, then dressed, leaving his shirttail outside the breeches. Picking up both his and Jack’s castoffs, he set about hanging and draping each piece around the room to dry in the increasing warmth of the coals, few though they were – he hadn’t made a large fire with much fuel, since they were still in the storm and he didn’t want to tip so far the embers would leap out and set the place afire.
With nothing else to do, he pulled the room’s bench near the pallet and sat, reaching over to feel Jack’s forehead and cheeks as his mother had done for him as a small child when he was ill. The skin was still quite cool to the touch, as was his beard; Will lifted a few locks of hair and found it cold, too. Frowning, he reached for the damp towel and draped it over the side of Jack’s head, reaching over to tuck the other end under the other side on the pillow, patting the material into the hair to soak up the salt water.
“Stupid, stubborn pirate,” he muttered, wiping droplets of water from Jack’s hairline and forehead. A couple of drops also clung to his lashes, and Will pressed the edge of the material to an eyelid, blotting it. He pulled the towel away and draped it over the bench next to him, not wanting to leave the soaked material on Jack to block air-drying.
Left with nothing to do, Will leaned forward with his elbows on the raised pallet’s lumpy mattress, left hand gripping the back of his right. At least Jack was moving a little now, shifting on his side to burrow into the pallet and pillow. He kept doing it, twisting in tiny motions, not waking up. Will watched each movement beneath the blanket, wondering what was wrong for only a few minutes before it permeated his tired brain: Jack was still cold and uncomfortable. Coal heat was fine, but it took a while to soak into an entire room, even one as narrow as the smithy. Even he was chilled, except for his back, which was facing said fire.
Well, sitting between Jack and his heat source wasn’t going to help, nor did it do much for Will himself. He got up carefully so as not to make noise, and briefly stoked the coals hotter before crossing to his jewelry wall to peruse it. For several moments he stared, picking over each piece carefully before extracting a couple of large stones he was forming to fit on brooches. He picked up a small wooden box filled with tools and bits and baubles, and carried all of it back to the bench, but didn’t sit until he’d pulled it parallel to his pallet, to give both he and Jack maximum exposure to the fire.
He straddled the bench, setting everything down, and gathered up small pliers and the dolphin-shaped stone. Once he’d located the curve he wanted to indent further, he set to work, glancing up every so often when Jack exhaled loudly or shifted around, still asleep. It all felt very … homey, to him. Like a night by the hearth, just him working and Jack quiet and calm. He was surprised to consider the idea he could easily be happy with such as this for the rest of his life, interrupted by brief, dazzling bursts of adventure and Jack noise.
Will paused after about half an hour, craning his neck this way and that to work out a crick, resting his eyes on Jack as he did so. Drying raven hair was beginning to fluff up around the side of his face, the majority of it still clumped in sodden locks behind Jack’s head on the pillow and towel. As for his face – well, nobody would mistake Jack Sparrow for twenty, but his expression softened and some of the lines smoothed out, giving him at least a less severe appearance. Or maybe it was just the past few weeks he’d looked so humorless. Even having been drinking, Will remembered very well how youthful those eyes had looked so close, so dark and exotic, tempting him even as he acquiesced to the pirate’s kiss.
He flared his nostrils and breathed out on a sigh. What did it say, that he’d nearly leaped into the sea before a more rational part of his brain took over and demanded he figure out the rope and barrel? Was it a simple infatuation – something new and enticing he needed to get out of his system by experimenting with it? Did Jack represent something more permanent for Will, after all, a companionship he’d sought for so long with Elizabeth? It was foolishness, he thought, bending back to his work. Pearl had Jack’s heart, and Will believed in monogamy.
Though his eyelids threatened mutiny a couple of times, he kept working, yawning every so often and rolling his shoulders as he bent and shaped and etched. So lost was he, in fact, he didn’t notice the passage of time until he glanced up at one point and caught Jack’s head tilted down slightly on the pillow, dark semi-glassy eyes fixed on Will’s hands.
The smith paused, lowering the stone. “Jack?” he asked quietly.
“Mm-hmm?” Black eyes flicked up to Will’s.
“Feeling better, are you?” The captain nodded, a small movement. “You remember anything?”
He sighed and spoke slowly, as if taking time to re-gather his wits and form words. “I remember bein’ in the water,” he answered. “And it hurt like hell t’ hit it. And your splinter, an’ Gibbs throwin’ such a hissy over th’ flour …” He blinked, his expression clearing up somewhat. “And you sayin’ you’d stay on and be th’ inventory officer.” He frowned. “When was that?”
“Yesterday, Jack.”
“Such a loss of time, there.” He seemed to look inward, frowning, the whiskers of his moustache twitching minutely. "So I s'pose this means you're not lookin' to shove off at th' next sizable village, after all."
“Well … no.” Not anymore. “Besides, Pearl has charms enough to entrance even the mightiest of men."
Jack closed his eyes briefly and smiled at that. "She certainly does, even when th' weather turns her into a bitch," he sighed, nodding into his pillow.
Will put down his work and toolbox on the floor, and scooted closer to place the back of his hand on Jack's forehead. "How're you feeling?"
Jack followed the hand with large, unfocused eyes, then turned them back on Will himself. "Not as bad as I should, I 'spect." He cleared his throat, aborting a cough. “Seems I remember bein' in the water with you.”
"I jumped in to pull you out." His frowned. "What on earth possessed you to go without a rope like that? Pearl doesn't have hands, you know."
"Wasn't any time t' find another." He swallowed and managed to croak out, "Somethin' to drink, if ye don't mind?"
Will got up and went over to a small supply bureau and pulled out his hoard of clean water. It was a decent use for the old rum bottles, once they'd been boiled to get rid of the taste, and it kept them handy for when he was in need of a quick gulp while working. He flicked the cork out of one and carried it to Jack. "Don't drink too fast, or you'll get sick."
The pirate sat up and took a tentative sip. He made a face and shook his head. "Water," he muttered, glancing sideways at Will; the smith couldn't help a grin, knowing it was the expected put-on from Jack Sparrow, lover of even the worst rum. He took another sip, then a drink, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, swallowing deeply.
"Yes, water; now, don't drink too fast. It'll hit your stomach like an anvil, and try to come back up." He clucked like a mother hen; it was easier than staring at that throat, the bobbing Adam’s apple, the thin stream of water that dripped from the corner of Jack’s mouth and down along the slope of his neck.
Despite his complaint, Jack reluctantly lowered the bottle, licking a few drops from his lips and corking it again. "Least it still has some flavoring to it," he murmured, handing it back to Will and reaching up to flick at the water on his chin. "Now – how did you jump in? Thought ye didn't like diving from that high up."
"Fear wasn't an option. It was go over or let you drown." He took a sip of the water and set it on the floor. "I took a rope and jumped after ordering Benjamin to tie himself back up." He reached back and picked up the stone he’d been crafting, going back to etching. When he was at a loss and had work close at hand, he’d realized long ago it was the best filler of silence.
Jack watched him for a few minutes, quiet, perhaps entranced by the movements of Will's fingers. "I s'pose I should thank you," he finally spoke, voice quiet and even. "When I was under th' waves – I figured Davey was finally comin' to pull me down, that I'd lived as full a life as I was likely t' get." He chuckled. "I remember thinkin' how full of piss Norrington was gon' be, bein' deprived of th' chance to fit me for a hemp collar after all."
"Oh, now, Jack," Will chuckled, not daring to look up into those dark eyes. "Any time that man tries to string you up, I'll be there to sever the noose before it severs your neck."
"Was a time I think you'd have happily strung it up your own self," Jack pointed out, not incorrectly.
"There was a time. But given our positions now, I can hardly say I would." His rebuttal was firm without being harsh, and he did look up.
Jack yawned, then blinked. "'Tis counterproductive to th' gathering of plunder to execute th' planner of said ventures," he reasoned.
"It's also counterproductive to one's conscience to execute one's best friend."
As with the rest of his reactions, Jack's response seemed a bit delayed. He eventually tilted his head, his eyes widening a fraction. "I have a hard time believin' I'm that, to you," he answered. "'Specially since I've met 'Lizbeth, watched you two together."
"You two are a lot alike, actually. Many of the traits I admire in her I admire in you. That doesn't mean you're a substitute for her."
Jack let the moment of silence drag on, as he seemed to be thinking. "Will," he finally ventured, "just how much damage did I do to bein' your best friend, with that kiss?”
On to Part 5 ...
