POTC AU fanfic
Sep. 21st, 2009 05:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richA story I've been working on for a LONG time for Alicia, an American Old West AU J/W I started in these two short chapters on a whim one week. It's far from done, but just so she knows I haven't forgotten all about it, here's what I've added so far - for her and anyone else who might like to read it ...
Ch. 3
He found Jack Sparrow in Hollow Gulch’s lesser known saloon and brothel, studiously nuzzling the throat of the same dark-haired whore who’d taken Will’s virginity just a few years ago.
Will set his jaw; he was far too old to be embarrassed by such things, and this was far too serious a matter to worry about his own discomfort, at any rate. Besides, the chances of her remembering him after all her … clients, was highly unlikely.
He sallied forth (Sally, that was her name – Sally, what a time to remember it) until he was standing practically on top of the two. Neither noticed him, and for some reason, it made Will even angrier than the attack had left him. Nevertheless, he tried politely clearing his throat. Nothing. He did it again, only to earn Sally’s hand reaching out blindly and patting the nearest part of him – his stomach, just above his belt – and a mumbled, “Wait your turn, sugar.”
That was it. “Jack Sparrow.” He tried to keep his voice down, but to no avail. “Mr. Sparrow!” he hissed, louder.
The man’s head snapped back, and he gave Will a murderous stare. “What is it, kid?”
“My sister.” He kept it short. “She was kidnapped last night … early this morning. We need your-”
“Jail’s right down the street.” When Will didn’t budge, Sparrow repeated himself, overenunciating as if for the slow-witted. “Jail’s right down the street. The sheriff is there?”
Rather than snap immediately that he’d been cut off before he could explain, Will exhaled heavily, nostrils flaring. “It looks like the man you’re hunting’s work. That’s what Pop said. The Barber.”
Sparrow leaned back, assessing Will with fresh interest. “Thought you said you hadn’t heard of him.”
“As I just said, Pop’s the one who knows more about it than I do. Him and Lizzie – that’s my sister. She’s told him all about it before. They talk more than she and I do.” He cut himself off, figuring nobody wanted to hear his family dynamics.
“Did you witness this abduction?” Will shook his head, ignoring what he could see out of the corner of his eye as Sally examining him. “Then how did you and Sherlock conclude who the culprit might be?”
Will didn’t know what a sherlock was, but he was pretty sure it was an insult, by the tone. Still, Sparrow knew more about tracking criminals than anyone else, if Lizzie were to be believed, and he was determined to hold his temper in check. “He slaughtered our cow and calf – and scalped them both. I figured it was a redskin, but Pop-”
“Just assumed that, did you?” The question was couched lazily, but Will sensed a definite coldness behind the words.
“It makes the most sense. Indians’ll kill any white man that gets in their way, and anything he owns.” A brief flash of memory from the massacre of his family tried to blossom, but he ruthlessly shut it out. “But Pop thought this was different. Said there weren’t any tribes in the area that’d do this.”
“Your father sounds sensible.”
Will snorted. “Whatever. I’m here to find help to get Lizzie back and make the son of a bitch who did this pay for it.”
Sparrow shook his head. “I’m a bounty hunter; I work on payment. I don’t exact the justice. And I don’t hare off on wild goose chases without some proof I’ll get a profit.”
“Come out to the ranch. We’ve not moved a thing – you can see for yourself what we found.”
Sparrow wrinkled his nose. “You’ve not cleaned up the dead critters?”
Will was forced to swallow his words. “Except that.”
“Well, that’s not ‘not moved a thing,’ then, is it?” Will ground his jaw – was that asshole smiling? “How’re you and Pop planning to pay me?”
He’d thought and thought about it, but hadn’t come up with a solution. “We can discuss that once you’ve looked at the scene,” he answered noncommittally. “But we need to get going before night falls.”
Will turned to leave and got halfway across the room before he realized he didn’t hear footsteps behind him. He looked back – Sparrow was once again nuzzling Sally’s throat, and it didn’t look remotely in a “good-bye, see you later, so sorry to cut and run” manner. Fueled by indignation, he stomped back over. “Sparrow!”
“Hmm?” the man murmured, lifting hair away from Sally’s ear and tickling it with his moustache. She giggled and heaved her bosom against him.
“We have to go. NOW.”
“Don’t have to do any such thing,” he muffled into Sally’s skin. “Be out there in the morning.”
“You need to come now, damn you!” He didn’t realize how loud he was yelling until silence descended around him – only then did he feel self-conscious, but he kept Lizzie in the front of his mind.
Pushing Sally off him back into her seat, Sparrow stood and faced Will, nose-to-nose. He was a couple of inches shorter, but his narrow, cold eyes unnerved the younger man. “I said I’d be there in the morning. Nobody tells me to come before I’m ready to come.”
Swallowing, Will only breathed for a moment. The eyes bored into his, and the tone was clearly salacious – as if this man could see into the middle of Will’s private thoughts, and was playing on his embarrassment with the double entendre. He resisted the urge to hit Sparrow, instead keeping his curled fist at his side. “The longer you wait, the further her captors ride from here.”
“Son,” Sparrow sighed, “I’ve been riding for almost a month solid. I’ve stopped to piss and sleep; sometimes I’ve managed both in the saddle instead.” Will wrinkled his nose, wishing he didn’t have to imagine. “Point is, I’m dead tired. I need a night in a real bed and a good fuck – not necessarily in that order.”
“We have an extra bed at the ranch.” Will glanced at Sally, making it clear Sparrow could conclude his more pressing business and then leave town.
The bounty hunter quirked his mouth. “Have a fuck there, as well?”
Will glared.
“I will see you in the morning. First light,” he added. His hard expression softened. “If she’s been kidnapped, she can be ransomed or rescued. If they were going to kill her, they would’ve done it on the premises.”
“It’s what else they could-” Will pressed his teeth together, not finishing the thought.
“If they’re going to do anything else, one day at this point won’t matter,” Sparrow said, dropping his voice. “She’ll live through it, that’s what matters.” To Will, it sounded calculating and harsh, but he could tell Sparrow didn’t intend it as such. “Morning. Go home. Tell Pops to be up bright and early.”
Will could only nod. Saying nothing, he turned away. “Oh, and kid?” He looked back again. “A couple of biscuits wouldn’t go amiss. I negotiate better when I break the fast.”
“Quit calling me kid,” was all he could think to answer.
*******
Ch. 4
Up too late worrying, Will fell asleep in the cabin’s family room, slumped in the big chair with a quilt pulled halfway over him. Sometime during the night the lamp flickered out, but the squeak of deafeningly bright light burned through his eyelids. He blinked his eyes open – it had simply been the door being pushed open, allowing post-dawn rays to burn away his mental fog.
Well, maybe. He wasn’t sure at first what he was even looking at – a man, silhouetted in the doorway, shadowy and mysterious with the brilliant morning at his back. Will sat up, quilt falling away, and caught his breath – the stranger’s coat rustled even though he was perfectly still now, and an odd but recently familiar sound of tinkling tickled at the back of Will’s memory. He narrowed his eyes to shut out some of the light, and tried to focus on the face, openly displaying the pistol he’d hidden beneath the blanket.
“It’s morning,” the stranger intoned, unfazed. “Where’s the scene, and moreover, where’s my biscuits?”
Will exhaled the breath he’d unknowingly held. “The cook’s still asleep,” he explained, getting to his feet and stretching, after making sure the gun’s safety was still on. “And the barn’s down that way.” He gestured out past Sparrow with his free hand.
“Well, we don’t do any good standing here running our mouths, do we?” Sparrow turned and was gone back out the door, clearly anticipating that Will would be along. Still mostly asleep now that any perceived danger was past, Will stumbled out after him and followed – the barn wasn’t difficult to find on their meager ranch.
Unbolting the door, he led the bounty hunter in to the paddock, still caked and congealed with what Will hoped was only cow blood. The relatively cool barn had attracted some flies, but since it was still early, they weren’t as bad as they would be by late morning. As Sparrow took advantage of the open door and sunlight beaming straight in to bend and examine things, Will stepped back, freshly nauseous – he’d worried so hard about Elizabeth that he hadn’t given much thought to the cow and her calf. She’d been a good animal, dependable and friendly and serviceable, and he was surprised to feel a lump in his throat for her and the calf he’d struggled so hard to help bring into the world.
“Where are the carcasses now?” Sparrow wanted to know.
Will swallowed the lump, practicality shoving sorrow aside. “We had to finish slaughtering them, so we could salt the meat. Wouldn’t have lasted long in this heat, otherwise, and we can’t afford spoilage.” Sparrow narrowed his eyes, and Will wondered if he’d just lost the man’s help by giving away their true state of finances. He still hadn’t come up with a way to pay the bounty hunter. “I’m sorry,” he added as an afterthought, though his tone sounded anything but apologetic even to his own ears.
The hunter looked around a bit more. “You didn’t find any evidence of a struggle from the girl? And nothing indicating injury – hair, skin, scalp, anything?”
“No,” Will breathed, glad he hadn’t. “Not even the book she’d been reading.” He hesitated. “Can you tell anything from this?”
“Likely won’t be able to.” Sparrow turned and walked out of the barn, leaving Will to follow and bolt the door, mentally making a note to ask Max to feed Jessy at breakfast. The hunter said nothing more as he headed back toward the farmhouse.
It was only after he’d shoveled in a few biscuits and honey some time later that Sparrow elaborated for Thurb’s benefit at the table. “They left the mule, so it wasn’t Indians. Wouldn’t have left good beef to rot, either,” he observed. “That was either for effect or possibly to shut up the lowing.”
“So it was this Barbossa, then.” Thurb’s voice was shaky, but controlled quiet.
“It’s the best lead right now. I’ve some contacts I could ask further along the trail. If it’s him, there’ll be witnesses somewhere – there’s no sense in taking a ransom if the ransomed can’t be easily located and paid for.” He narrowed his eyes at the older man. “How are you going to pay said ransom?”
“When I know their demand, I have … family, I can beseech for funds,” Thurb answered hesitantly. “Their names are good for a note at any bank along your way, if absolutely necessary for that purpose.”
“And my fee? I require upfront payment.”
Thurb’s mouth parted to speak, hesitated, and Will jumped in to cover before the idea was even fully formed. “Me.”
Sparrow swung his head to look at Will. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll go along. I will help. I know how to ride and shoot and lasso, and use a knife if I have to.” He set his jaw against whatever Sparrow was about to say. “You’ll never find better help than someone who has an interest in recovering the kidnapped, will you?”
“You are not the same as cash,” Sparrow pointed out, “and I’ll be too busy to change diapers.”
“I’m hardly a child,” Will ground out. “We have meager resources. I didn’t tell you because you needed to get here, to see what happened. If Lizzie was taken by this Barber, you want to get him anyway, and … and you’ll collect a reward. There’s your payment.”
Sparrow seemed to ponder on that for a moment. “Then I hardly need you.”
“But,” Will continued, “if it’s not, Pop’ll press charges and you’ll receive a reward anyway, and he might be able to pay you something from the ransom funds … which won’t be needed if you capture whoever did this, for the government.”
“Or, I could just collect my payment along the way from that bank note, and you can stay here and dig postholes.”
Will dug a fist into his thigh, trying to keep from putting it forcefully into Sparrow’s face. “There will be no payment from a bank for anything but a bona fide and examined ransom demand,” Thurb put in, sounding tired. “That’s it.”
“Some family,” Sparrow sniffed.
“I will not go into the dynamics of my relationship with relatives,” Thurb said warningly. “I will, however, arrange for your payment once my daughter is safe. I will find a way. Will, I need you here,” he added in a plea.
“No.” Will shook his head. “I’m going.”
“You planning to walk?” Sparrow arched a brow. “Or walk behind the mule, pushing it?”
“The Logans will loan me a horse.” Will nodded off vaguely west. “They’re a mile or so over. I’ve done plenty of free work around their land for the favor.”
“Then maybe they’ll just as easily loan you coin for my payment-”
“There’s not time for this!” Will shouted, bringing his fist up and down on the table. The entire kitchen went quiet, even Rosa’s bowl-wiping. He lowered his voice. “You’ll be paid, damn you. But we’re wasting time sitting here. We need to get going.” He stood and addressed Sparrow. “I’ll get a sack together and be ready in a few minutes.” He didn’t wait for an answer before heading back toward his bedroom.
When he came back through, everybody was still at the table; when he was in the barn a few minutes later pulling together the last of his tools, however, he heard a door slam, and voices – and then the abatement of voices. Sack in one hand, he grabbed his slender rope off the wall and hurried outside just in time to see Sparrow swinging into his saddle and shaking the reins, as his father and Max walked back toward the front porch of the house.
Sparrow wheeled his horse and started trotting her off. Angry, Will dropped the burlap sack of supplies and broke into a run, his hands automatically separating the lariat into loops. He kept his eyes on the retreating form as he spun the rope. When he was in range, he aimed the lasso and waited for it to settle around the man’s upper arms before giving the rope a good yank.
By the time Sparrow hit the ground and was struggling to get up, Will was beside him, a boot planted in the center of his chest. “What the blazing-”
“I said I would just be a few minutes,” Will interrupted, barely panting. “Are you incapable of hearing? Or seeing?”
“Get your foot off, or you’ll damn well lose it.”
“How? You’re a bit tied up at the moment.” To emphasize, Will yanked on the rope, knowing it wasn’t much of a deterrent just wound once around the man’s upper arms. “Tell me, how’re you going to change diapers like that?”
******
Ch. 5
They’d stopped for one of the Logans’ mares and their well-wishes (not to mention a pilfered bottle of whiskey that Will didn’t find out about until the next night). Though Will knew he wielded a measure of leverage thanks to nearly twenty years of lasso practice and a long enough rope, he still struggled to keep Ginger at a pace with Sparrow’s horse. Loco was sleeker, faster, and used to longer rides than Will’s paint; still, the mare put forth her best effort, even if it meant Will was enough behind that he couldn’t ask questions whatsoever.
Sparrow hadn’t spoken to him in the hours since peeling off the lariat and getting back in his saddle, though Will noted with satisfaction that he had ridden slowly enough, with Will walking somewhat behind, to the Logans’ ranch. He wondered if Lizzie would be quite so quick to make fun of his rope practice after this, and bitterly wished she’d been there to see it.
When it was nearing dusk and they still hadn’t rested, Will shouted at his new boss to stop – after a couple of tries, Sparrow slowed his horse, and Will caught up alongside. “Don’t you ever have to relieve yourself?” he snapped, dismounting; Sparrow said nothing. “You want to keep ignoring me, do it while you wait for a couple of minutes, at least.”
They resumed riding probably three minutes later, and didn’t stop again until the stars were fully visible and the air was colder. After Sparrow drank from his canteen, he ordered Will to sleep the first half of watch; he was so shocked to be addressed that he only responded, “I’m not sure that’s wise for me.”
Sparrow laughed; it wasn’t kind. “So you still need to piss, but you’re going to forego sleep this whole ride?” When Will let his silence be the indictment, Sparrow shook his head, tying his horse to a tree. “I’m not going to strand a kid out in the middle of the plains. Besides, I’ll have to sleep the second half while you’re trying to figure out how to next hobble me. I’m not stupid enough to make you an enemy yet.”
He was about to protest, but let it die. What would he say? He was exhausted, not to mention his backside felt like it was fifty pounds of lead heated over a fire. Will sipped from his canteen, wiped off his hands, ate a couple of the biscuits Rosa had packed, and stretched out with his head on a hastily-folded horse blanket against a rock. Wary of closing his eyes, he figured he would fight sleep – right up until Sparrow was nudging him out of a deep slumber with his foot a few hours later to take the second watch.
Stumbling awake, Will yawned and used much effort to climb to his feet. He worked hard, regularly, but wasn’t used to sitting a horse for so many hours or so vigorously. He moved off into the dark to empty some of the water he’d drank earlier, and frowned when he came back to find Sparrow stretched out where he’d just been. Even in the dark, the older man must’ve seen the annoyance in Will’s eyes, because he jerked a thumb toward the other side of the rock. “Less comfortable you are, better you’ll stay awake,” was all he said.
“Be better if there was a fire.”
“And draw attention to where we are?” Sparrow hissed. “Genius, kid. Good one.”
Will eased himself on the flat seat of the tiny boulder a few feet from Sparrow’s head. He wasn’t given to complaints, but life had turned upside down in the past twenty-four hours, and he didn’t know how to put it back to rights – he was doing as much as he figured possible, and it didn’t seem enough, fast enough. It wasn’t long before the other man’s deep breathing mingled with the occasional nickering from the two horses, a light wind and distant, occasional howling the only other sounds of the clear night.
Soon enough, he was reminded why he preferred to work until late and get tired listening to Lizzie or occasionally reading by lamplight before bed – it gave him absolutely no time to dwell on the past, to think of his parents and infant brother who’d all been massacred while he’d hidden beneath the wagon. Even now he nearly trembled with shame; he’d wanted to fight with Papa or at least keep an eye over Mama and little Ben. But the baby had let out a howl when the wagons were attacked, and Papa had pushed things into Will’s small coat and shoved him down through the small door in the bottom of the wagon, telling him to stay beneath, hurriedly pointing out if he took the noisy baby, they would both be found.
He kept watch as promised, watching the horizon, wondering how the hell he’d see anyone or anything coming their way, and tried to imagine his ears were as open and sensitive as a wolf’s. Anytime he felt himself nodding off, he dug what little fingernail he had into his palms or slapped his own thigh. Finally, a little after dawn, he felt safe enough standing to stretch – until he heard a telltale click and froze, still bent halfway. Turning his head, he saw Sparrow sitting straight up, gun trained on him.
Under normal circumstances, Will would’ve tread carefully – but this was untenable. “You can lower the gun,” he whispered evenly, not moving. “I’m not robbing you, of course.”
Sparrow kept it cocked, studying him. “You’re damn noisy,” he complained.
“Trust me, there’s nobody but maybe a snake and a couple of underfed prairie dogs to know.”
“How do you know?”
“Jack!” he hissed. Will had stuck so far to titles, but he hadn’t had to piss as badly, or faced the wrong side of a barrel before now.
To his surprise, Sparrow lowered the pistol and uncocked it, actually grinning. “Just checking your reflexes, son,” he drawled. “Not too shabby. How many times you fall asleep during the night?”
Will stood up straight and rolled his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness. “None,” he muttered, crabby from the weather, the hardness of the ground and rock, the situation.
“Ahhh.” The older man folded his long legs beneath him and stood, swaying a little as he gained his balance. “A few naps aren’t so bad for you.”
“You were sleeping on watch?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Sparrow frowned. “I hold my gun up and when I feel the ground under the back of my hand, I wake up. It’s what Mr. Thomas Edison does to refresh himself during long hours in his lab.”
“He doesn’t nap with a gun,” Will argued, twisting his neck to get out the crick between his shoulder blades.
“Boy’s never heard of Arthur Conan Doyle, but mention Edison and suddenly he’s a biographer,” Sparrow noted with obvious amusement in his voice, even through a yawn.
“Quit calling me boy. And I’m not stupid.” He sighed, rubbing the crust out of the corners of his eyes. “Need water for coffee. There a creek around here?”
“No coffee. Saddle up.”
“What?” He paused, mid-stretch, and glared at Sparrow.
“I wasn’t aware I’d slipped into Choctaw or Sanskrit, Mr. Swann. I said, make ready to leave. We have a fair piece to ride before coffee, or anything else.”
“How do you expect-”
“There’s a town a couple of hours’ hard ride from here,” Sparrow interrupted, obviously impatient. “You’ll live. Besides, they’ve got better coffee than you’ll get on the trail, and pleasurable views to accompany it.”
Will groaned in frustration and bent to pick up his pack to cover the sound. He was so tired of these delays and was seriously questioning from whence the stories about Sparrow the nearly infallible bounty tracker had sprang – obviously the man himself was as batty as a Midwest cave and just as mysterious. It seemed all this one wanted to do was whore and drink, and demand his coin before he’d even earned it.
Hey, nobody said it was the most exciting thing ever; it's just in progress. I need to post something every so often for my own ego, I guess. *G*
Ch. 3
He found Jack Sparrow in Hollow Gulch’s lesser known saloon and brothel, studiously nuzzling the throat of the same dark-haired whore who’d taken Will’s virginity just a few years ago.
Will set his jaw; he was far too old to be embarrassed by such things, and this was far too serious a matter to worry about his own discomfort, at any rate. Besides, the chances of her remembering him after all her … clients, was highly unlikely.
He sallied forth (Sally, that was her name – Sally, what a time to remember it) until he was standing practically on top of the two. Neither noticed him, and for some reason, it made Will even angrier than the attack had left him. Nevertheless, he tried politely clearing his throat. Nothing. He did it again, only to earn Sally’s hand reaching out blindly and patting the nearest part of him – his stomach, just above his belt – and a mumbled, “Wait your turn, sugar.”
That was it. “Jack Sparrow.” He tried to keep his voice down, but to no avail. “Mr. Sparrow!” he hissed, louder.
The man’s head snapped back, and he gave Will a murderous stare. “What is it, kid?”
“My sister.” He kept it short. “She was kidnapped last night … early this morning. We need your-”
“Jail’s right down the street.” When Will didn’t budge, Sparrow repeated himself, overenunciating as if for the slow-witted. “Jail’s right down the street. The sheriff is there?”
Rather than snap immediately that he’d been cut off before he could explain, Will exhaled heavily, nostrils flaring. “It looks like the man you’re hunting’s work. That’s what Pop said. The Barber.”
Sparrow leaned back, assessing Will with fresh interest. “Thought you said you hadn’t heard of him.”
“As I just said, Pop’s the one who knows more about it than I do. Him and Lizzie – that’s my sister. She’s told him all about it before. They talk more than she and I do.” He cut himself off, figuring nobody wanted to hear his family dynamics.
“Did you witness this abduction?” Will shook his head, ignoring what he could see out of the corner of his eye as Sally examining him. “Then how did you and Sherlock conclude who the culprit might be?”
Will didn’t know what a sherlock was, but he was pretty sure it was an insult, by the tone. Still, Sparrow knew more about tracking criminals than anyone else, if Lizzie were to be believed, and he was determined to hold his temper in check. “He slaughtered our cow and calf – and scalped them both. I figured it was a redskin, but Pop-”
“Just assumed that, did you?” The question was couched lazily, but Will sensed a definite coldness behind the words.
“It makes the most sense. Indians’ll kill any white man that gets in their way, and anything he owns.” A brief flash of memory from the massacre of his family tried to blossom, but he ruthlessly shut it out. “But Pop thought this was different. Said there weren’t any tribes in the area that’d do this.”
“Your father sounds sensible.”
Will snorted. “Whatever. I’m here to find help to get Lizzie back and make the son of a bitch who did this pay for it.”
Sparrow shook his head. “I’m a bounty hunter; I work on payment. I don’t exact the justice. And I don’t hare off on wild goose chases without some proof I’ll get a profit.”
“Come out to the ranch. We’ve not moved a thing – you can see for yourself what we found.”
Sparrow wrinkled his nose. “You’ve not cleaned up the dead critters?”
Will was forced to swallow his words. “Except that.”
“Well, that’s not ‘not moved a thing,’ then, is it?” Will ground his jaw – was that asshole smiling? “How’re you and Pop planning to pay me?”
He’d thought and thought about it, but hadn’t come up with a solution. “We can discuss that once you’ve looked at the scene,” he answered noncommittally. “But we need to get going before night falls.”
Will turned to leave and got halfway across the room before he realized he didn’t hear footsteps behind him. He looked back – Sparrow was once again nuzzling Sally’s throat, and it didn’t look remotely in a “good-bye, see you later, so sorry to cut and run” manner. Fueled by indignation, he stomped back over. “Sparrow!”
“Hmm?” the man murmured, lifting hair away from Sally’s ear and tickling it with his moustache. She giggled and heaved her bosom against him.
“We have to go. NOW.”
“Don’t have to do any such thing,” he muffled into Sally’s skin. “Be out there in the morning.”
“You need to come now, damn you!” He didn’t realize how loud he was yelling until silence descended around him – only then did he feel self-conscious, but he kept Lizzie in the front of his mind.
Pushing Sally off him back into her seat, Sparrow stood and faced Will, nose-to-nose. He was a couple of inches shorter, but his narrow, cold eyes unnerved the younger man. “I said I’d be there in the morning. Nobody tells me to come before I’m ready to come.”
Swallowing, Will only breathed for a moment. The eyes bored into his, and the tone was clearly salacious – as if this man could see into the middle of Will’s private thoughts, and was playing on his embarrassment with the double entendre. He resisted the urge to hit Sparrow, instead keeping his curled fist at his side. “The longer you wait, the further her captors ride from here.”
“Son,” Sparrow sighed, “I’ve been riding for almost a month solid. I’ve stopped to piss and sleep; sometimes I’ve managed both in the saddle instead.” Will wrinkled his nose, wishing he didn’t have to imagine. “Point is, I’m dead tired. I need a night in a real bed and a good fuck – not necessarily in that order.”
“We have an extra bed at the ranch.” Will glanced at Sally, making it clear Sparrow could conclude his more pressing business and then leave town.
The bounty hunter quirked his mouth. “Have a fuck there, as well?”
Will glared.
“I will see you in the morning. First light,” he added. His hard expression softened. “If she’s been kidnapped, she can be ransomed or rescued. If they were going to kill her, they would’ve done it on the premises.”
“It’s what else they could-” Will pressed his teeth together, not finishing the thought.
“If they’re going to do anything else, one day at this point won’t matter,” Sparrow said, dropping his voice. “She’ll live through it, that’s what matters.” To Will, it sounded calculating and harsh, but he could tell Sparrow didn’t intend it as such. “Morning. Go home. Tell Pops to be up bright and early.”
Will could only nod. Saying nothing, he turned away. “Oh, and kid?” He looked back again. “A couple of biscuits wouldn’t go amiss. I negotiate better when I break the fast.”
“Quit calling me kid,” was all he could think to answer.
*******
Ch. 4
Up too late worrying, Will fell asleep in the cabin’s family room, slumped in the big chair with a quilt pulled halfway over him. Sometime during the night the lamp flickered out, but the squeak of deafeningly bright light burned through his eyelids. He blinked his eyes open – it had simply been the door being pushed open, allowing post-dawn rays to burn away his mental fog.
Well, maybe. He wasn’t sure at first what he was even looking at – a man, silhouetted in the doorway, shadowy and mysterious with the brilliant morning at his back. Will sat up, quilt falling away, and caught his breath – the stranger’s coat rustled even though he was perfectly still now, and an odd but recently familiar sound of tinkling tickled at the back of Will’s memory. He narrowed his eyes to shut out some of the light, and tried to focus on the face, openly displaying the pistol he’d hidden beneath the blanket.
“It’s morning,” the stranger intoned, unfazed. “Where’s the scene, and moreover, where’s my biscuits?”
Will exhaled the breath he’d unknowingly held. “The cook’s still asleep,” he explained, getting to his feet and stretching, after making sure the gun’s safety was still on. “And the barn’s down that way.” He gestured out past Sparrow with his free hand.
“Well, we don’t do any good standing here running our mouths, do we?” Sparrow turned and was gone back out the door, clearly anticipating that Will would be along. Still mostly asleep now that any perceived danger was past, Will stumbled out after him and followed – the barn wasn’t difficult to find on their meager ranch.
Unbolting the door, he led the bounty hunter in to the paddock, still caked and congealed with what Will hoped was only cow blood. The relatively cool barn had attracted some flies, but since it was still early, they weren’t as bad as they would be by late morning. As Sparrow took advantage of the open door and sunlight beaming straight in to bend and examine things, Will stepped back, freshly nauseous – he’d worried so hard about Elizabeth that he hadn’t given much thought to the cow and her calf. She’d been a good animal, dependable and friendly and serviceable, and he was surprised to feel a lump in his throat for her and the calf he’d struggled so hard to help bring into the world.
“Where are the carcasses now?” Sparrow wanted to know.
Will swallowed the lump, practicality shoving sorrow aside. “We had to finish slaughtering them, so we could salt the meat. Wouldn’t have lasted long in this heat, otherwise, and we can’t afford spoilage.” Sparrow narrowed his eyes, and Will wondered if he’d just lost the man’s help by giving away their true state of finances. He still hadn’t come up with a way to pay the bounty hunter. “I’m sorry,” he added as an afterthought, though his tone sounded anything but apologetic even to his own ears.
The hunter looked around a bit more. “You didn’t find any evidence of a struggle from the girl? And nothing indicating injury – hair, skin, scalp, anything?”
“No,” Will breathed, glad he hadn’t. “Not even the book she’d been reading.” He hesitated. “Can you tell anything from this?”
“Likely won’t be able to.” Sparrow turned and walked out of the barn, leaving Will to follow and bolt the door, mentally making a note to ask Max to feed Jessy at breakfast. The hunter said nothing more as he headed back toward the farmhouse.
It was only after he’d shoveled in a few biscuits and honey some time later that Sparrow elaborated for Thurb’s benefit at the table. “They left the mule, so it wasn’t Indians. Wouldn’t have left good beef to rot, either,” he observed. “That was either for effect or possibly to shut up the lowing.”
“So it was this Barbossa, then.” Thurb’s voice was shaky, but controlled quiet.
“It’s the best lead right now. I’ve some contacts I could ask further along the trail. If it’s him, there’ll be witnesses somewhere – there’s no sense in taking a ransom if the ransomed can’t be easily located and paid for.” He narrowed his eyes at the older man. “How are you going to pay said ransom?”
“When I know their demand, I have … family, I can beseech for funds,” Thurb answered hesitantly. “Their names are good for a note at any bank along your way, if absolutely necessary for that purpose.”
“And my fee? I require upfront payment.”
Thurb’s mouth parted to speak, hesitated, and Will jumped in to cover before the idea was even fully formed. “Me.”
Sparrow swung his head to look at Will. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll go along. I will help. I know how to ride and shoot and lasso, and use a knife if I have to.” He set his jaw against whatever Sparrow was about to say. “You’ll never find better help than someone who has an interest in recovering the kidnapped, will you?”
“You are not the same as cash,” Sparrow pointed out, “and I’ll be too busy to change diapers.”
“I’m hardly a child,” Will ground out. “We have meager resources. I didn’t tell you because you needed to get here, to see what happened. If Lizzie was taken by this Barber, you want to get him anyway, and … and you’ll collect a reward. There’s your payment.”
Sparrow seemed to ponder on that for a moment. “Then I hardly need you.”
“But,” Will continued, “if it’s not, Pop’ll press charges and you’ll receive a reward anyway, and he might be able to pay you something from the ransom funds … which won’t be needed if you capture whoever did this, for the government.”
“Or, I could just collect my payment along the way from that bank note, and you can stay here and dig postholes.”
Will dug a fist into his thigh, trying to keep from putting it forcefully into Sparrow’s face. “There will be no payment from a bank for anything but a bona fide and examined ransom demand,” Thurb put in, sounding tired. “That’s it.”
“Some family,” Sparrow sniffed.
“I will not go into the dynamics of my relationship with relatives,” Thurb said warningly. “I will, however, arrange for your payment once my daughter is safe. I will find a way. Will, I need you here,” he added in a plea.
“No.” Will shook his head. “I’m going.”
“You planning to walk?” Sparrow arched a brow. “Or walk behind the mule, pushing it?”
“The Logans will loan me a horse.” Will nodded off vaguely west. “They’re a mile or so over. I’ve done plenty of free work around their land for the favor.”
“Then maybe they’ll just as easily loan you coin for my payment-”
“There’s not time for this!” Will shouted, bringing his fist up and down on the table. The entire kitchen went quiet, even Rosa’s bowl-wiping. He lowered his voice. “You’ll be paid, damn you. But we’re wasting time sitting here. We need to get going.” He stood and addressed Sparrow. “I’ll get a sack together and be ready in a few minutes.” He didn’t wait for an answer before heading back toward his bedroom.
When he came back through, everybody was still at the table; when he was in the barn a few minutes later pulling together the last of his tools, however, he heard a door slam, and voices – and then the abatement of voices. Sack in one hand, he grabbed his slender rope off the wall and hurried outside just in time to see Sparrow swinging into his saddle and shaking the reins, as his father and Max walked back toward the front porch of the house.
Sparrow wheeled his horse and started trotting her off. Angry, Will dropped the burlap sack of supplies and broke into a run, his hands automatically separating the lariat into loops. He kept his eyes on the retreating form as he spun the rope. When he was in range, he aimed the lasso and waited for it to settle around the man’s upper arms before giving the rope a good yank.
By the time Sparrow hit the ground and was struggling to get up, Will was beside him, a boot planted in the center of his chest. “What the blazing-”
“I said I would just be a few minutes,” Will interrupted, barely panting. “Are you incapable of hearing? Or seeing?”
“Get your foot off, or you’ll damn well lose it.”
“How? You’re a bit tied up at the moment.” To emphasize, Will yanked on the rope, knowing it wasn’t much of a deterrent just wound once around the man’s upper arms. “Tell me, how’re you going to change diapers like that?”
******
Ch. 5
They’d stopped for one of the Logans’ mares and their well-wishes (not to mention a pilfered bottle of whiskey that Will didn’t find out about until the next night). Though Will knew he wielded a measure of leverage thanks to nearly twenty years of lasso practice and a long enough rope, he still struggled to keep Ginger at a pace with Sparrow’s horse. Loco was sleeker, faster, and used to longer rides than Will’s paint; still, the mare put forth her best effort, even if it meant Will was enough behind that he couldn’t ask questions whatsoever.
Sparrow hadn’t spoken to him in the hours since peeling off the lariat and getting back in his saddle, though Will noted with satisfaction that he had ridden slowly enough, with Will walking somewhat behind, to the Logans’ ranch. He wondered if Lizzie would be quite so quick to make fun of his rope practice after this, and bitterly wished she’d been there to see it.
When it was nearing dusk and they still hadn’t rested, Will shouted at his new boss to stop – after a couple of tries, Sparrow slowed his horse, and Will caught up alongside. “Don’t you ever have to relieve yourself?” he snapped, dismounting; Sparrow said nothing. “You want to keep ignoring me, do it while you wait for a couple of minutes, at least.”
They resumed riding probably three minutes later, and didn’t stop again until the stars were fully visible and the air was colder. After Sparrow drank from his canteen, he ordered Will to sleep the first half of watch; he was so shocked to be addressed that he only responded, “I’m not sure that’s wise for me.”
Sparrow laughed; it wasn’t kind. “So you still need to piss, but you’re going to forego sleep this whole ride?” When Will let his silence be the indictment, Sparrow shook his head, tying his horse to a tree. “I’m not going to strand a kid out in the middle of the plains. Besides, I’ll have to sleep the second half while you’re trying to figure out how to next hobble me. I’m not stupid enough to make you an enemy yet.”
He was about to protest, but let it die. What would he say? He was exhausted, not to mention his backside felt like it was fifty pounds of lead heated over a fire. Will sipped from his canteen, wiped off his hands, ate a couple of the biscuits Rosa had packed, and stretched out with his head on a hastily-folded horse blanket against a rock. Wary of closing his eyes, he figured he would fight sleep – right up until Sparrow was nudging him out of a deep slumber with his foot a few hours later to take the second watch.
Stumbling awake, Will yawned and used much effort to climb to his feet. He worked hard, regularly, but wasn’t used to sitting a horse for so many hours or so vigorously. He moved off into the dark to empty some of the water he’d drank earlier, and frowned when he came back to find Sparrow stretched out where he’d just been. Even in the dark, the older man must’ve seen the annoyance in Will’s eyes, because he jerked a thumb toward the other side of the rock. “Less comfortable you are, better you’ll stay awake,” was all he said.
“Be better if there was a fire.”
“And draw attention to where we are?” Sparrow hissed. “Genius, kid. Good one.”
Will eased himself on the flat seat of the tiny boulder a few feet from Sparrow’s head. He wasn’t given to complaints, but life had turned upside down in the past twenty-four hours, and he didn’t know how to put it back to rights – he was doing as much as he figured possible, and it didn’t seem enough, fast enough. It wasn’t long before the other man’s deep breathing mingled with the occasional nickering from the two horses, a light wind and distant, occasional howling the only other sounds of the clear night.
Soon enough, he was reminded why he preferred to work until late and get tired listening to Lizzie or occasionally reading by lamplight before bed – it gave him absolutely no time to dwell on the past, to think of his parents and infant brother who’d all been massacred while he’d hidden beneath the wagon. Even now he nearly trembled with shame; he’d wanted to fight with Papa or at least keep an eye over Mama and little Ben. But the baby had let out a howl when the wagons were attacked, and Papa had pushed things into Will’s small coat and shoved him down through the small door in the bottom of the wagon, telling him to stay beneath, hurriedly pointing out if he took the noisy baby, they would both be found.
He kept watch as promised, watching the horizon, wondering how the hell he’d see anyone or anything coming their way, and tried to imagine his ears were as open and sensitive as a wolf’s. Anytime he felt himself nodding off, he dug what little fingernail he had into his palms or slapped his own thigh. Finally, a little after dawn, he felt safe enough standing to stretch – until he heard a telltale click and froze, still bent halfway. Turning his head, he saw Sparrow sitting straight up, gun trained on him.
Under normal circumstances, Will would’ve tread carefully – but this was untenable. “You can lower the gun,” he whispered evenly, not moving. “I’m not robbing you, of course.”
Sparrow kept it cocked, studying him. “You’re damn noisy,” he complained.
“Trust me, there’s nobody but maybe a snake and a couple of underfed prairie dogs to know.”
“How do you know?”
“Jack!” he hissed. Will had stuck so far to titles, but he hadn’t had to piss as badly, or faced the wrong side of a barrel before now.
To his surprise, Sparrow lowered the pistol and uncocked it, actually grinning. “Just checking your reflexes, son,” he drawled. “Not too shabby. How many times you fall asleep during the night?”
Will stood up straight and rolled his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness. “None,” he muttered, crabby from the weather, the hardness of the ground and rock, the situation.
“Ahhh.” The older man folded his long legs beneath him and stood, swaying a little as he gained his balance. “A few naps aren’t so bad for you.”
“You were sleeping on watch?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Sparrow frowned. “I hold my gun up and when I feel the ground under the back of my hand, I wake up. It’s what Mr. Thomas Edison does to refresh himself during long hours in his lab.”
“He doesn’t nap with a gun,” Will argued, twisting his neck to get out the crick between his shoulder blades.
“Boy’s never heard of Arthur Conan Doyle, but mention Edison and suddenly he’s a biographer,” Sparrow noted with obvious amusement in his voice, even through a yawn.
“Quit calling me boy. And I’m not stupid.” He sighed, rubbing the crust out of the corners of his eyes. “Need water for coffee. There a creek around here?”
“No coffee. Saddle up.”
“What?” He paused, mid-stretch, and glared at Sparrow.
“I wasn’t aware I’d slipped into Choctaw or Sanskrit, Mr. Swann. I said, make ready to leave. We have a fair piece to ride before coffee, or anything else.”
“How do you expect-”
“There’s a town a couple of hours’ hard ride from here,” Sparrow interrupted, obviously impatient. “You’ll live. Besides, they’ve got better coffee than you’ll get on the trail, and pleasurable views to accompany it.”
Will groaned in frustration and bent to pick up his pack to cover the sound. He was so tired of these delays and was seriously questioning from whence the stories about Sparrow the nearly infallible bounty tracker had sprang – obviously the man himself was as batty as a Midwest cave and just as mysterious. It seemed all this one wanted to do was whore and drink, and demand his coin before he’d even earned it.
Hey, nobody said it was the most exciting thing ever; it's just in progress. I need to post something every so often for my own ego, I guess. *G*
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Date: 2009-09-22 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-23 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-22 06:13 am (UTC)Happy birthday! Hope it's a good one.
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Date: 2009-09-23 03:12 am (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2009-09-22 08:47 pm (UTC)Also, yes, before I forget, felicitations for your birthday and all that. Have a damned good one and to hell with everyone else, my dear :)
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Date: 2009-09-23 01:59 am (UTC)I first of all wanted to ponder how I possibly could have missed such an amazing fic premise, and then to say that I absolutely adored reading all 5 chapters at once. I absolutely gobbled them down. I will forever love the way you write. So much about it appeals to me.
And then I wanted to comment on the great dialogue, but it appears like ainsoph already appreciated the antagonism and snark, so I'll just say "ditto". :)
I hope your birthday was marvelous, just like you!
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Date: 2009-09-23 03:00 am (UTC)Thanks for the well wishes, the day has been good so far! :-)
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Date: 2009-09-23 03:11 am (UTC)Glad you're liking so far - and thanks for the well wishes. ;-)
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Date: 2009-09-23 12:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-23 02:58 am (UTC)This is moving at a snail's pace. But it's going!
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Date: 2009-09-24 06:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-03 04:28 am (UTC)Not sure "impressive" describes it - "desperate" to recover the enthusiasm I once had for this pairing and this fandom, may be more like. I keep beating my head against it every so often, though.