Fic: "Contradictions 5: Admit" (POTC)
Jun. 1st, 2011 08:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richCONTRADICTIONS 5: ADMIT
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Eventual J/W slash
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Jack and Will, nor the details associated with “Pirates of the Caribbean.” I am simply borrowing them for a while for creative expression and writing practice (and because the boys are in my head and won’t leave me alone).
Special Thanks: To the Crow and the Spoon for beta-reading and God knows what all else.
Summary: This is continuation of an AU fic that began with FLIGHT, FIGHT, LOSE, and WIN, breaking off from the movie’s events immediately after Barbossa’s defeat and death in the caves of Isla de Muerta. The previous parts consist of, in order, FLIGHT and FIGHT.
A/N: This series was on a hosted website for several years, which recently went defunct, so I'm posting it here just for bookkeeping purposes. This series was written long ago, in 2003-06.
“Captain Sparrow.” Jack glanced up from where Elizabeth had threaded her hand through his crooked elbow. “That walk?”
“Hmm. Oh, then – very well, yes.” He blinked at the retreating form of Will Turner, cabin boy David hurrying to keep stride with his mentor toward the docks. Jack Sparrow’s mind fought to forget about Will for five minutes and instead, pay attention to the young woman at his side. Elizabeth Swann was not someone he wanted in on too many of his thought processes. “Lovely weather for sailing, don‘t you think?” he asked, adopting his gentleman’s accent in case anyone was eavesdropping.
“The skies could not be clearer or more free of precipitation,” she agreed, her steps slow and small as she paced alongside, slowing him down. He had a feeling it was deliberate. “And you, I suspect, have rarely been less comfortable than you are presently.”
“Mysteries don’t catch my fancy, Miss Swann. If you’d be so kind?”
“Don’t you mean ‘very kind?’” she quipped, reminding him of their first meeting under less than pleasant mutual first impressions. “I simply wanted to ask that you take good care of Will, and see that he’s as careful as he can be – it’s not a safe life he’s chosen, with you on the Black Pearl.”
“I try to keep all my crewmen safe, much as I can,” Jack replied neutrally, mind flashing back to catching Will as he was almost knocked off the mast during repairs. “Will is quite capable of looking after his own hide, at any rate.”
“True enough. But I would think you’d be more interested than that, seeing as you’ve feelings for him that obviously extend beyond that of a responsible captain.”
With remarkable restraint of expression, Jack reached up and scratched at the side of his chin, feigning nonchalance. It wouldn’t do to give Elizabeth much to work with – she was too intelligent and had too many options. Rather than be defensive, he decided to deal within the confines of what she’d handed him. “You are most probably correct,” he admitted. “I’ve not had many friends I could call close, and the elder William Turner was probably the most loyal.”
“Hmm.” She weighed the non-admission and shook her head. “I don’t think that‘s all of it, Jack. I’m fairly sure your feelings for Will have nothing at all to do with his parentage – unless, of course, that’s what’s holding you in decent check of not taking advantage of him in the first place.” She slid a knowing smile sideways, seeming proud of her perception. “I’m not a little girl, Captain. I know some of the ways of the world. I read, even things my father would prefer I don’t.”
“Bloody awful thing, allowing a woman access to text,” Jack parried.
“In fact,” she continued on as if he hadn’t spoken, “it’s been going on for some time, hasn’t it? Since back before Will broke that curse – I could see it in your face, hear it in your voice when you were railing on about him being stupid.”
“He was stupid,” Jack asserted bluntly. “He’s developed a bit more of a brain since then, I’ll give him that, but he’s still given entirely too much to impulse.”
“Not what I meant,” she trilled, then paused in her walking, dropping her voice and leaning in close, her face only a few inches from his. “You care for him.” She paused, as if gathering up fortitude to venture more. “You want him; you might even love him.”
“You’re treading a dangerous line of conversation,” Jack warned, letting an edge creep into his tone. It was not at all jovial or amused.
But neither was Elizabeth’s expression light or teasing any longer. “A valued friend is treading a dangerous venture,” she shot back. “I think I’ve a right to be concerned for him. You forget who you’re talking with, Jack – I know more about you than the average acquaintance. Or have you forgotten?”
He scoffed. “What you think you know about me is exceedingly little.”
“I know you don’t do things by half measures. I know you’re a survivor, and not a coward, and that you treasure the continued chance for opportunity and freedom higher than anything else,” she guessed, tilting her head so that a couple of curls fell back past her shoulder. “I’m fairly certain how you regard Will is eventually going to catch up with him in some way, and not for the best.”
“Presuming there would be any kernel of truth in what you’re saying, how do you figure he would suffer from it?” Jack demanded. “Seems I’d be the one in the risk, here.”
“Because, Jack.” She hesitated, then leaned even closer and dropped her voice. “Someone besides me is going to figure it out, eventually. Maybe even Will himself. It won’t stay your secret forever, and the next person to catch on might not be as benign as I am. As I said, you‘re running a dangerous life; someone might use that against him.”
“You’re presuming a secret I may not have.” He began walking again, forcing her to move. “You’re not dealing with anything you know anything about.”
“I know you have a tendency to ramble when you’re in your cups.”
Jack paused, mid-step, and looked sideways at her. He knew what she meant – or rather, where and when – but needed some help with the specifics. “Enlighten me, darling,” he asked levelly, none of the affection of the word touching his cool tone, the mood between man and girl dropping several degrees.
Elizabeth tightened her grip through his arm as if anchoring herself, and pressed her lips together in brief worry, but didn’t look away or change the subject. “After you drank yourself into a stupor, you fell asleep, or half-asleep, anyway – you were mumbling and talking, most of it nonsense or things I knew nothing about. But … there were some things you talked about that I understood well enough.”
She looked away. Impatient, Jack reached up and pulled her chin back to face him. “Out with it, then,” he prodded in the same tone.
“You spoke about the Pearl, of course. And about Will.” She lifted her chin. “Well … to him, was more what you did. Rather affectionately, it seemed.” Despite her assertions of worldliness, Elizabeth’s upper cheeks stained a hot pink.
“Affectionately?”
“Downright scandalous,” she clarified, dropping her chin again. He could hear the indignation in her voice, the affront and the anger. “Things I’m fairly sure you don’t want me to repeat.”
She was right; he didn’t want to hear them. He also didn’t want to admit she was most probably telling the truth. And then enlightenment crowded all else out, and he allowed a small grin. “So that’s why you burned the rum.”
“No, we needed fuel for the fire.”
“Not all of it, missy. Not nearly all that you threw on that blaze, eh?”
Her slender nostrils flared elegantly. “I think I have better means of making your life miserable than depriving you of a few bottles of-”
“Barrels, love. Several, in fact.”
She glared. “Which you couldn’t possibly drink in anything less than months, by which time we would have perished from lack of fresh water or food, anyway.”
“Ah, but it eases the passing, my dear.”
She sighed. “I’ll give you this – you’re excellent at trying to change the subject, and I daresay that probably usually serves to keep you from having to deal with unpleasantries.”
Jack felt his face darken. Dropping his voice, he leaned in until he was sure she could feel his hot, damp breath across her lips. “I don’t get t’ escape many unpleasantries, Miss Swann,” he reminded her, patting just below his right clavicle where the ash-packed bullet wounds lined up, invisible beneath cambric shirt and waistcoat. Pulling away, he softened his harsh expression just a fraction. “My thoughts are my own. Should I choose to share them, I doubt you would be my first choice for a confidante.” He smirked. “After all, you’re a smart woman – but I’m not entirely sure you’re to be trusted.”
“Only fair, I suppose.” Elizabeth eyed him dispassionately. “But we come back to Will – and the truth is, if you really cared about him the way you won’t say you do, at least not sober, you’ll look out for him.”
“And that’s all you ask?” Jack’s grin was, at least in part, feral despite the grooming of civilization he projected at the moment. “Keep dear William alive?”
“I can’t ask much more.” Again, she pressed her lips into a thin line, and Jack actually took pity on her this time.
“Methinks you’re the one with the feelings.”
“At least I won’t deny mine.” She quirked her lips, hazel eyes regarding his closely before turning to resume their walk, leading him into the gait. “It’s not meant to be, right now. I’d be miserable if I settled down right now, and I’m not so sure Will wouldn’t feel the same. We’re both terribly young to be planning a family.”
Jack’s chest clenched – she was speaking as though it were a foregone conclusion the two of them, she and Will, could somehow pick up in a few years and carry on with a mutual life. As though they were both willing to place their emotions and sex lives on hold until she caught up with him. “Has he made any promises to you?” Jack wondered.
“You really need to ask Will that,” she answered cryptically, not looking at him.
“I’d hardly have to, if you’d answer it,” he observed. “Besides … he won’t tell me.”
She seemed surprised by the admission, enough that she remained quiet for a full half-minute or so. Then: “We’ve made no promises, though he did ask if he could court me in the future. I don’t hold my breath.”
“Is he not good enough for you?” Chagrined to hear his own defensiveness, Jack toned it down. “Being a blacksmith and all?”
“I believe it’s more an issue of compatibility.” Jack heard the grudging admission in her voice and thought Well, of course it is. You two belong together about as much as the English and Spanish navies. “Which isn’t to say I’ve given up – but I realize I can’t hold him when I’m not ready to settle down.”
“Very mature attitude to have,” Jack noted with a lift of his eyebrow.
“I haven’t much of a choice, do I? He’s with you day in and day out, Jack – not me.”
“It’s hardly my fault you failed to see the adulation right before your nose while you had it,” the pirate captain retorted. “It’s not as though the lad’s exactly giving me long looks across a crowded deck; whatever you happen to believe of my abilities of obfuscation and seduction, they apparently have no visible effect on Mr. Turner.”
“But he is with you,” Elizabeth pointed out ruefully. “He’s on your ship, taking orders from you, by his own volition. I’ve known Will enough years to understand he won’t do that unless he feels a compelling need to serve, to do something.” She grumbled. “What he sees in you, I don’t know – but it’s something redeeming, apparently.”
“Then the boy’s a bigger fool than I originally credited him for.”
“And yet, you pulled him aboard the Black Pearl,” Elizabeth reminded him in a hiss just above her breath. “You encouraged it, and he’s bought into the myth, fully baited.”
“I’d hardly say he’s a damn acolyte,” Jack argued, shaking his head, which still felt too naked and quiet without his baubles and dreadlocks. He was annoyed with Elizabeth and with this conversation. “He lives with us, as you said – he sees us every day. Christ on th‘ Cross, he‘s seen me throw up over the side of the Pearl. He knows what to believe and what not.”
“Yes … and he still stays on board.” Jack said nothing. “Don’t dismiss that lightly, Captain. With his skills, he could be in a lot of places that don’t involve death and thievery. You need to think about why he’s there – as does he.”
“Adventure, I expect. Chance to prove himself. Can’t get much locked in a tiny shop while the town drunk takes credit for all your work.”
“Bloody, stupid, stubborn men.“ Elizabeth grumbled beneath her breath, then stopped and yanked on her companion’s arm to make him face her, nearly growling. “For heaven’s sakes, you win, Jack!”
They were at the docks now, and Jack looked about, wondering who might’ve overheard. He didn’t mind much making his own scenes, but he was never overly anticipatory to be part of someone else’s tantrum. He caught sight of Will’s back on deck of what must be Gabriel’s Trumpet, their slow boat to London. Boy’s either deaf or used to her outbursts by now, he reasoned. “What th’ bloody hell’re you talkin’ about?” Jack slipped into his usual dialect, dropping his voice to a hiss as he turned his attention back to the young woman.
“I mean,” she patiently continued, “that you have the chance I no longer have.” She didn’t explain further, but fixed her eyes on the pirate captain for several seconds, then sighed. A small smile appeared on her face – Jack wasn’t certain if it was forced, or if it had just showed up of its own accord. “He doesn’t need me worrying about him anymore … he’ll be in your charge, now.”
Odd choice of words, he thought, though the idea that Will was now somehow his, in some mysterious way, appealed alarmingly – more than it should have. “I seriously doubt he needs either one of us hangin’ over his shoulder like a … a guardian angel,” he fished for the proper term. “He’s in his own charge, I’d think.”
Elizabeth actually nodded slowly at that, a contemplative look in her eyes. “Hmm. Maybe that’s the difference between us, for him.”
Jack was about to ask what that meant, when David shouted to him from the rail. “They’re going to cast off, Captain!” he called. Jack narrowed his eyes in reminder, and the boy blinked, realizing his gaffe, then scrunching his face as if struggling to remember. “I mean, um … we’re leaving, Mr. MacLeary!”
Elizabeth chuckled, and Jack sighed, pinching his nose. “When did I become a bloody nursemaid?” he wondered aloud, squeezing his eyes shut. “Th’ boy’s as subtle as explosives in a barrel of oats.”
“Think of him as your chance to redeem yourself for all your wicked deeds,” she commented dryly, and Jack looked up to see if she was joking. “Make him a decent man, and just maybe you’ll get to spend your eternity in purgatory.”
“Goodbye, Miss Swann.” He withdrew his arm and turned toward the boat, then paused, turned back, and extended his hand, noticing for the first time that Charlie was nearby with the coach, now empty of luggage. “May God have mercy on the French, because I seriously doubt you will.”
To her credit, she offered a man’s handshake in return, rather than a simpering curtsey or her fingers, though she did so quickly so as not to be noticed by passersby. “I have just as much mercy as I’m shown,” she quipped. “Surely you know that.”
“Well, I hope they have the good sense to lock up their liquor cabinets, at any rate.” He grinned wolfishly, showing his gold teeth, and she had the good grace to blush.
“Off with you, Captain,” she spoke quietly. She transferred her attention to the boat’s deck, and lifted her hand toward Will, who waved back. Jack approached a crew member standing near the plank and identified himself. After a couple of minutes’ conversation, he climbed the short distance to deck and waited, for the first time in years, to not be in charge of shoving off.
*****
Jack sighed. Sailing Anamaria’s Jolly Mon, as tiny a slip of splinters as it had been, had at least been more rewarding than this enforced loss of command, this usurping of experience. Captain Folk was reliable enough and adequate at his job – it was only a small boat – but it wasn’t the same at all to a man who’d spent his life on the sea, being the one in charge for so long it was impossible to remember when he had not had his hand on the helm.
“You’re not moving, Jack.”
“What was your first clue?” His edgy tone belied the neutral words as he continued to not move. Jack perched upon a large crate balanced against one of the lockboxes on deck, leaning with his back to it and his boots up on the rail, arms crossed as he stared out into the night.
“What’s wrong?” A bit of a shuffling noise as Will stood against the rail, hands back on it, watching his captain. “You look angry … but nothing’s happened. Did Elizabeth say something to you?”
“It’s not her. And I’m not angry.”
“I’m no fool, Jack, nor am I-”
“Aye, you’re not a simpleton,” Jack finished for him, lowering his voice and slipping into his regular accent. “I’m well aware.”
“So, out with it.”
Jack flicked his eyes to Will, wondering when the younger man had begun feeling bold enough to impart his opinions freely to a man that outranked and out-aged him by eighteen years. “Jus’ missin’ th’ Pearl,” he finally assented, turning his eyes once again to the night sky.
“I’m sure she’s fine, wherever she is,” Will reassured him.
“Not th’ problem.” Jack shook his head slowly. “She’s not with me, an’ that ain’t fine at all.”
“Ah.” The lad only used that tone when he’d divined something. “You know, I’m surprised you’re taking time to go to England at all, waiting to catch up with her from there.”
“We’ve a rendezvous,” he answered cryptically. “Can’t make her go any faster an’ still arrive in one piece.”
After a few seconds, Will twisted himself around a bit to look back over the railing out into the sky as well, perhaps trying to figure out if there was something specific drawing Jack’s attention. Then, he faced Jack again. “I’ve been curious about something,” he began. “Regarding the Isla.”
Neither of them spoke the name any more than they could help doing so, but Jack knew what he meant. “Aye?”
“Why’d you come back for me?”
Jack blinked up at the lad. “Well, now … that’s out of th’ blue.”
“The Pearl was anchored in the bay of the cave – Barbossa left only a skeleton crew to guard it.” Will stopped himself and grimaced, apparently catching the pun. “You could’ve just taken it – gone below and released the crew like Elizabeth did, from the brig. She did it, I know you could’ve if you’d wanted. Why?”
“Will, let me ‘splain something about enemies: Ye never wan’ leave an invulnerable one standin’ if you can at all help it. If I’d taken the Pearl back and gone on me merry way, sure as Fanny’s your aunt, Barbossa would’ve come after me.” Jack set his jaw. “I waited ten years t’ find th’ bastard, an’ I wasn’t leavin’ him standing.”
“But if you’d let him kill me, spill my blood, you could’ve gotten him then.”
“Aye. And I would’ve had to deal with th’ rest o’ the buggers, as well. Th’ way ye wield a sword, you were more useful t’ me alive than dead – that, and it got th’ rest of them out of our way, off our backs.” He noted the confused, half-guilty expression in Will’s eyes, even in the dark, and gentled his tone further. “I wasn’ about to hold that oar thing against you t’ spite meself. Besides, I’ve had worse ‘n a knock upside th’ head with an oversized matchstick in me time, trust me.”
The lad’s mind was still working, and Jack frowned. “If you’d taken the Pearl,” Will sounded out slowly, as if puzzling the words before they exited his mouth, “Barbossa would’ve broken the curse, and Norrington would’ve had them; the pirates had nowhere to go, without a ship, and they wouldn’t have wanted to stay in that cave indefinitely. And you know for a fact the Commodore would’ve hanged them – well, he did, even.” It was his turn to frown. “You could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble and toil if you’d made for the Pearl in the first place.”
“Do you think I’m a complete scoundrel?” Jack shook his head with a pronounced sigh. “Lad … I really didn’t wan’ see you die, ‘specially not at th’ hands of the likes o’ them. Even scalawags are capable of a certain measure of loyalty to th’ memories of old friends an’ comrades.”
“You wanted to keep me safe.” Will appeared to think this over, and Jack watched him.
“Is that hard t’ believe, son?” Jack wanted more than anything to think of the younger man as a surrogate son, or even a favored nephew, but it just wasn’t happening for him. Instead, he spent perfectly good drinking time mulling those dark, innocent eyes or pondering how Will’s hair felt between his fingertips. No, Will Turner was about as far from filial as one could get.
“It … was a big risk, is all,” the blacksmith finally explained. “Especially since I didn’t entirely understand what you were up to.”
“Well, least you didn’t hit me again, an’ that’s about all I was really hoping for,” Jack dryly noted. He noticed Will shifting from one foot to the other, it finally registering the man was wearing fairly new boots and had been wandering the deck with David most of the afternoon, answering questions or seeking answers from various crewmen. Pulling his feet down from the rail, Jack scooted over, making room on the large crate. “Take a load off,” he offered, gesturing at the empty space. “Was just up here waitin’ for th’ boy to get tired, is all.”
Chuckling, Will took the seat, choosing to lean forward slightly instead of back like his companion. He was always a bit tense, as if at the ready to leap up and perform work, Jack thought; right now, he wasn’t thinking of much beyond the man’s solid thigh pressed warmly against his – the crate wasn’t that wide, after all. “If he gets tired,” the smith warned, looking back over his shoulder at Jack. “You know how he feels about the helm.”
“Aye,” Jack nodded. He could hear faint voices on the night air as David assaulted the night helmsman on duty with questions far behind them. “I jus’ hope he knows how t’ keep his own mouth shut, when it comes to th’ answers.”
“Don’t worry. I told him our safety and our lives depend on him not saying anything beyond the story we all concocted about being relatives. He can get away with not answering specific questions about the ‘business,’ being that young.” With this, Will did finally lean back, hands folded in his lap; belatedly, he lifted his booted feet to the rail, prompting Jack to resume his former posture as well. “He spent just as much time around Francois as we did; he knows better, now.”
“Let’s hope.” The two men gazed quietly into the night, but Jack was fairly certain he was the only one thinking how easy it would be to lift an arm around his companion’s shoulders, to lean over with his other hand and tilt that chin toward him, to plant kisses on Will’s mouth until the younger man was breathless, panting to turn and haul himself up over Jack and return the touches. Instead, Jack sighed, shifted a bit.
“Tell me about your family.”
“Hmm?”
“Your family, Jack. We’re going to see them – tell me who I’ll be meeting.” Will swiveled his head to face Jack, less than two feet away, and grinned becomingly. “I must say, I’m dying to know from where and whom the infamous Jack Sparrow hails.”
“Well, then, mate,” Jack began, clearing his throat but keeping his voice low, “you’re gon’ be mighty disappointed. This ain’t me mum an’ forebears; it’s other family.”
“Such as?”
Jack debated a moment, then answered, “My family.”
“But you just were-” Will paused a beat, then lowered his voice to an incredulous hush. “Your family – you’re married?”
“Nay … no more. Not for many a season.” When the other man said nothing, encouraging through his silence, Jack continued with what he hadn’t even told Gibbs thus far in all the years he’d known the trustworthy seadog. “Long, long years ago – back when you were but a wee lad yourself – I tried t’ settle down, but it didn’t work out.”
“How so?”
Jack leaned his head back against the box, then rolled it to look up through the ropes into the sky, finding it easier to address the universe than Will’s perceptive eyes. “I’ve been on ships since I was born, one way or th’ other – Da owned his own shipping outfit. Quite th’ entrepreneur, built up a solid, small business.” He paused, considering the wisdom of divulging so much about himself, when he’d not done so in a very long time; but, he trusted Will and considered how good it would be to have someone to talk with. Besides, he hadn’t much choice – sooner, rather than later, Will would find out.
“Mum died of th’ fever when I was about nine, an’ Da followed her shortly after; th’ best doctors around couldn’t keep them alive. Fact is, th’ black bastard cut down me grandmother, too, when I was close on fourteen. What was left of th’ company was put in th’ trust of me Uncle Maury, an’ he drew a salary ‘til th’ day he died for overseein’ it.” Jack sighed at the memories. “Good man, Maury – but he had a full house of children, and with Aunt Tessie dead, I had no desire to get pressed into service babysittin’ all those whelps … so I took to th’ sea.”
“Rather young for a pirate,” Will mused quietly.
“Oh, I wasn’ a pirate.” Jack chuckled quietly. “That came much later – well, maybe not that much. Any rate, I chose t’ work for me Da’s company, signing on t’ ship out, startin’ with the shorter runs. I prob’ly got some special treatment, since th’ men knew who I was, but as you can see, I didn’t sleep through me lessons – I worked as hard as any man on those ships.
“Well, I’d been at it ‘bout two years when th’ ship I was on was attacked by pirates. We didn’ stand a chance, bein’ smaller an’ such – they had a refitted warship with enough cannons t’ sink Port Royale. Vicious lot, those – I mean, I’m nothin’ for me own mum to brag about, but these whoresons killed, beat, flayed when it weren’t needed. I don’ even do that when I’d like to.”
“Only verbally,” Will pointed out with a deceptively even tone.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Turner. Anyway, a few of us signed th’ Articles an’ agreed to be pressed into service to avoid bein’ killed or made examples of – includin’ William. Could hardly be much use to his wife an’ baby at the bottom of th’ sea.” As the words rolled out, Jack closed his eyes, realizing the horrid irony of his thoughtless comment. “Apologies.”
The younger man said nothing for a moment, then asked, “So he turned pirate to save his life? He was forced into it?”
“Aye, we both were. Just about undid th’ poor fellow, havin’ to deny havin’ a family or a woman back home.”
Will sat up a bit and turned toward Jack. “He disowned us, then.”
“Didn’t have much of a choice.” Jack shook his head and glanced toward Will, whose brow was creased with something resembling anger. “Will, most pirate captains require their crew t’ be single, uncommitted men – Bill spoke up, signed on at my urging, then lied about you an’ your mum to stay alive. Trust me, it weren’ his first choice, but as I said, I convinced him he was more useful alive than dead, to ye. That, and I didn’ wan’ lose one of the few friends I had left in the world. Savvy now?”
Emotions shuffled across the younger man’s expression – his jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. Jack waited carefully to see what the pronouncement would be – Will didn’t need to know that Bill had been just a little too eager to turn pirate, that he’d been the first one to volunteer to sign the Articles and convinced Jack more money could be made in piracy than in honest seamanship. The rest of the story was essentially true, especially the part about Bill wanting to do right by his family – the man had gotten it into his head that little Will would have a gentleman’s education, and that sort of thing required more money than even the generous late, lamented MacLeary’s brother would ever be able to pay him.
Jack hadn’t time to consider the path little Will had eventually taken, nor how it might have pained his old friend to see his son engaging in nothing gentlemanly as an adult, for Will’s features relaxed from hostile to thoughtful. “What’s past is past,” the younger man eventually spoke. “Besides, I can hardly condemn him when I’m doing the same thing now.”
It occurred to Jack that Will was entirely too responsible for his age, as most men would have followed the statement with the rhetorical, “Can I?” and required some sort of lie to assuage their guilt. Of course, now he has more of a reason to blame me for taking his father away from them, if he really wants to, Jack mused. “Ver’ few men ask to take up a life of piracy,” he explained aloud, with a loose shrug of the shoulder nearest Will. “And once it’s done, th’ authorities generally won’t let ye give it up, gallows-happy as they are. Men who wan’ recant aren’t allowed t’ do so, unless it’s in th’ presence of a preacher before slippin’ on th’ hemp necklace.”
Will said nothing, but as Jack watched, he withdrew a small dagger from somewhere inside his new coat and held it up to the moonlight thoughtfully, as if inspecting the blade for nicks or imperfections. When he lowered it and began polishing it with the cuff of his sleeve, Jack withdrew the decorative lace kerchief from his own pocket and wordlessly offered it. Will paused, glanced it over, and took the scrap of cotton with barely-murmured thanks. He polished for a good two minutes before Jack asked, “’S that one of yours, then?”
A few more seconds, and then Will raised the knife a bit, offering it to Jack. The pirate reached for it, noticed it was being held blade out, and withdrew a bit; when he looked up, he was struck by the calculation in Will’s dark eyes, the dark-humored set of his jaw. His hand entirely gripped the dagger’s handle, but Jack saw no malice – only challenge. He’s waiting to see if I’m willing to take it and cut myself if he doesn’t let it go in time. He thinks I‘m the one who forced his father to choose between preserving the honor of his family name, or survival. Normally, Jack could’ve gotten the flat of the blade between thumb and finger, but this was too small, and besides, Will had made a show of polishing the metal – Jack now understood – for the sole purpose of keeping Jack’s fingerprints off of it.
Do you trust me? the younger man’s eyes silently tested. You asked for my trust way too early in this relationship, and really didn’t deserve it at that time – turnabout’s fair play, Jack. He could almost hear the words aloud.
Slowly, Jack positioned his thumb and forefinger on either sharp edge of the blade, exerted enough pressure to grip it, and pulled. The handle slid forth from Will’s fingers, the smith’s expression never changing, leading Jack to wonder if he’d get all the way out of that hand without long cuts on the thick pads of his own fingers. When he finally held it free and clear of Will’s hand, the younger man spoke. “Was the first blade I ever made that Mr. Brown didn’t toss back into the heatbox to reuse.” He shrugged. “It’s not that good.”
Gingerly, Jack turned the dagger, taking it by the simple metal grip, and held it up to the moonlight. As he studied what appeared to his untrained eye quite a nicely-crafted blade, he noted how the light bathed his fingers – fingers that were whole and solid and of flesh. He didn’t realize he was bending and flexing two of them on either side of the hilt, studying their movements, until Will said, “You still see it, don’t you? The bones … the rotting flesh.”
“Aye. Can’t really escape it.”
“Surely it didn’t surprise you, when it happened.”
“There’s a difference, Will, between knowin’ and seein’,” Jack rumbled, still waggling his fingers slowly.
“Such as hearing there’s a curse, and then knowing it …”
“An’ then seein’ its effects for yourself,” Jack finished. “Over an’ over again.” He focused on the dagger instead. “If you don’ like this, why do you carry it?”
“Never said I don‘t like it.” Will reached over and plucked the small knife from Jack’s grip, his fingertips grazing the pirate’s skin briefly. “When I look at it, I think of how hard I worked to get to a point where I could make this; every blade I produce, I compare to this one, really. When I look at those, I see this – sort of like you see the bones through your skin, I guess. Maybe you’re not supposed to forget it.”
Jack was silent a moment, absorbing the import of what Will was trying to tell him – then he glanced up at the man’s expression turned toward him, a bit too dry and bland for the philosophy. Jack grinned and remarked, “Least you‘ve learned your lesson about throwin‘ them at me, eh?”
Will stroked the edge of the glinting blade with his forefinger, oddly mischievous eyes never leaving Jack’s. “Says who?”
On to Part 2 ...
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Eventual J/W slash
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Jack and Will, nor the details associated with “Pirates of the Caribbean.” I am simply borrowing them for a while for creative expression and writing practice (and because the boys are in my head and won’t leave me alone).
Special Thanks: To the Crow and the Spoon for beta-reading and God knows what all else.
Summary: This is continuation of an AU fic that began with FLIGHT, FIGHT, LOSE, and WIN, breaking off from the movie’s events immediately after Barbossa’s defeat and death in the caves of Isla de Muerta. The previous parts consist of, in order, FLIGHT and FIGHT.
A/N: This series was on a hosted website for several years, which recently went defunct, so I'm posting it here just for bookkeeping purposes. This series was written long ago, in 2003-06.
“Captain Sparrow.” Jack glanced up from where Elizabeth had threaded her hand through his crooked elbow. “That walk?”
“Hmm. Oh, then – very well, yes.” He blinked at the retreating form of Will Turner, cabin boy David hurrying to keep stride with his mentor toward the docks. Jack Sparrow’s mind fought to forget about Will for five minutes and instead, pay attention to the young woman at his side. Elizabeth Swann was not someone he wanted in on too many of his thought processes. “Lovely weather for sailing, don‘t you think?” he asked, adopting his gentleman’s accent in case anyone was eavesdropping.
“The skies could not be clearer or more free of precipitation,” she agreed, her steps slow and small as she paced alongside, slowing him down. He had a feeling it was deliberate. “And you, I suspect, have rarely been less comfortable than you are presently.”
“Mysteries don’t catch my fancy, Miss Swann. If you’d be so kind?”
“Don’t you mean ‘very kind?’” she quipped, reminding him of their first meeting under less than pleasant mutual first impressions. “I simply wanted to ask that you take good care of Will, and see that he’s as careful as he can be – it’s not a safe life he’s chosen, with you on the Black Pearl.”
“I try to keep all my crewmen safe, much as I can,” Jack replied neutrally, mind flashing back to catching Will as he was almost knocked off the mast during repairs. “Will is quite capable of looking after his own hide, at any rate.”
“True enough. But I would think you’d be more interested than that, seeing as you’ve feelings for him that obviously extend beyond that of a responsible captain.”
With remarkable restraint of expression, Jack reached up and scratched at the side of his chin, feigning nonchalance. It wouldn’t do to give Elizabeth much to work with – she was too intelligent and had too many options. Rather than be defensive, he decided to deal within the confines of what she’d handed him. “You are most probably correct,” he admitted. “I’ve not had many friends I could call close, and the elder William Turner was probably the most loyal.”
“Hmm.” She weighed the non-admission and shook her head. “I don’t think that‘s all of it, Jack. I’m fairly sure your feelings for Will have nothing at all to do with his parentage – unless, of course, that’s what’s holding you in decent check of not taking advantage of him in the first place.” She slid a knowing smile sideways, seeming proud of her perception. “I’m not a little girl, Captain. I know some of the ways of the world. I read, even things my father would prefer I don’t.”
“Bloody awful thing, allowing a woman access to text,” Jack parried.
“In fact,” she continued on as if he hadn’t spoken, “it’s been going on for some time, hasn’t it? Since back before Will broke that curse – I could see it in your face, hear it in your voice when you were railing on about him being stupid.”
“He was stupid,” Jack asserted bluntly. “He’s developed a bit more of a brain since then, I’ll give him that, but he’s still given entirely too much to impulse.”
“Not what I meant,” she trilled, then paused in her walking, dropping her voice and leaning in close, her face only a few inches from his. “You care for him.” She paused, as if gathering up fortitude to venture more. “You want him; you might even love him.”
“You’re treading a dangerous line of conversation,” Jack warned, letting an edge creep into his tone. It was not at all jovial or amused.
But neither was Elizabeth’s expression light or teasing any longer. “A valued friend is treading a dangerous venture,” she shot back. “I think I’ve a right to be concerned for him. You forget who you’re talking with, Jack – I know more about you than the average acquaintance. Or have you forgotten?”
He scoffed. “What you think you know about me is exceedingly little.”
“I know you don’t do things by half measures. I know you’re a survivor, and not a coward, and that you treasure the continued chance for opportunity and freedom higher than anything else,” she guessed, tilting her head so that a couple of curls fell back past her shoulder. “I’m fairly certain how you regard Will is eventually going to catch up with him in some way, and not for the best.”
“Presuming there would be any kernel of truth in what you’re saying, how do you figure he would suffer from it?” Jack demanded. “Seems I’d be the one in the risk, here.”
“Because, Jack.” She hesitated, then leaned even closer and dropped her voice. “Someone besides me is going to figure it out, eventually. Maybe even Will himself. It won’t stay your secret forever, and the next person to catch on might not be as benign as I am. As I said, you‘re running a dangerous life; someone might use that against him.”
“You’re presuming a secret I may not have.” He began walking again, forcing her to move. “You’re not dealing with anything you know anything about.”
“I know you have a tendency to ramble when you’re in your cups.”
Jack paused, mid-step, and looked sideways at her. He knew what she meant – or rather, where and when – but needed some help with the specifics. “Enlighten me, darling,” he asked levelly, none of the affection of the word touching his cool tone, the mood between man and girl dropping several degrees.
Elizabeth tightened her grip through his arm as if anchoring herself, and pressed her lips together in brief worry, but didn’t look away or change the subject. “After you drank yourself into a stupor, you fell asleep, or half-asleep, anyway – you were mumbling and talking, most of it nonsense or things I knew nothing about. But … there were some things you talked about that I understood well enough.”
She looked away. Impatient, Jack reached up and pulled her chin back to face him. “Out with it, then,” he prodded in the same tone.
“You spoke about the Pearl, of course. And about Will.” She lifted her chin. “Well … to him, was more what you did. Rather affectionately, it seemed.” Despite her assertions of worldliness, Elizabeth’s upper cheeks stained a hot pink.
“Affectionately?”
“Downright scandalous,” she clarified, dropping her chin again. He could hear the indignation in her voice, the affront and the anger. “Things I’m fairly sure you don’t want me to repeat.”
She was right; he didn’t want to hear them. He also didn’t want to admit she was most probably telling the truth. And then enlightenment crowded all else out, and he allowed a small grin. “So that’s why you burned the rum.”
“No, we needed fuel for the fire.”
“Not all of it, missy. Not nearly all that you threw on that blaze, eh?”
Her slender nostrils flared elegantly. “I think I have better means of making your life miserable than depriving you of a few bottles of-”
“Barrels, love. Several, in fact.”
She glared. “Which you couldn’t possibly drink in anything less than months, by which time we would have perished from lack of fresh water or food, anyway.”
“Ah, but it eases the passing, my dear.”
She sighed. “I’ll give you this – you’re excellent at trying to change the subject, and I daresay that probably usually serves to keep you from having to deal with unpleasantries.”
Jack felt his face darken. Dropping his voice, he leaned in until he was sure she could feel his hot, damp breath across her lips. “I don’t get t’ escape many unpleasantries, Miss Swann,” he reminded her, patting just below his right clavicle where the ash-packed bullet wounds lined up, invisible beneath cambric shirt and waistcoat. Pulling away, he softened his harsh expression just a fraction. “My thoughts are my own. Should I choose to share them, I doubt you would be my first choice for a confidante.” He smirked. “After all, you’re a smart woman – but I’m not entirely sure you’re to be trusted.”
“Only fair, I suppose.” Elizabeth eyed him dispassionately. “But we come back to Will – and the truth is, if you really cared about him the way you won’t say you do, at least not sober, you’ll look out for him.”
“And that’s all you ask?” Jack’s grin was, at least in part, feral despite the grooming of civilization he projected at the moment. “Keep dear William alive?”
“I can’t ask much more.” Again, she pressed her lips into a thin line, and Jack actually took pity on her this time.
“Methinks you’re the one with the feelings.”
“At least I won’t deny mine.” She quirked her lips, hazel eyes regarding his closely before turning to resume their walk, leading him into the gait. “It’s not meant to be, right now. I’d be miserable if I settled down right now, and I’m not so sure Will wouldn’t feel the same. We’re both terribly young to be planning a family.”
Jack’s chest clenched – she was speaking as though it were a foregone conclusion the two of them, she and Will, could somehow pick up in a few years and carry on with a mutual life. As though they were both willing to place their emotions and sex lives on hold until she caught up with him. “Has he made any promises to you?” Jack wondered.
“You really need to ask Will that,” she answered cryptically, not looking at him.
“I’d hardly have to, if you’d answer it,” he observed. “Besides … he won’t tell me.”
She seemed surprised by the admission, enough that she remained quiet for a full half-minute or so. Then: “We’ve made no promises, though he did ask if he could court me in the future. I don’t hold my breath.”
“Is he not good enough for you?” Chagrined to hear his own defensiveness, Jack toned it down. “Being a blacksmith and all?”
“I believe it’s more an issue of compatibility.” Jack heard the grudging admission in her voice and thought Well, of course it is. You two belong together about as much as the English and Spanish navies. “Which isn’t to say I’ve given up – but I realize I can’t hold him when I’m not ready to settle down.”
“Very mature attitude to have,” Jack noted with a lift of his eyebrow.
“I haven’t much of a choice, do I? He’s with you day in and day out, Jack – not me.”
“It’s hardly my fault you failed to see the adulation right before your nose while you had it,” the pirate captain retorted. “It’s not as though the lad’s exactly giving me long looks across a crowded deck; whatever you happen to believe of my abilities of obfuscation and seduction, they apparently have no visible effect on Mr. Turner.”
“But he is with you,” Elizabeth pointed out ruefully. “He’s on your ship, taking orders from you, by his own volition. I’ve known Will enough years to understand he won’t do that unless he feels a compelling need to serve, to do something.” She grumbled. “What he sees in you, I don’t know – but it’s something redeeming, apparently.”
“Then the boy’s a bigger fool than I originally credited him for.”
“And yet, you pulled him aboard the Black Pearl,” Elizabeth reminded him in a hiss just above her breath. “You encouraged it, and he’s bought into the myth, fully baited.”
“I’d hardly say he’s a damn acolyte,” Jack argued, shaking his head, which still felt too naked and quiet without his baubles and dreadlocks. He was annoyed with Elizabeth and with this conversation. “He lives with us, as you said – he sees us every day. Christ on th‘ Cross, he‘s seen me throw up over the side of the Pearl. He knows what to believe and what not.”
“Yes … and he still stays on board.” Jack said nothing. “Don’t dismiss that lightly, Captain. With his skills, he could be in a lot of places that don’t involve death and thievery. You need to think about why he’s there – as does he.”
“Adventure, I expect. Chance to prove himself. Can’t get much locked in a tiny shop while the town drunk takes credit for all your work.”
“Bloody, stupid, stubborn men.“ Elizabeth grumbled beneath her breath, then stopped and yanked on her companion’s arm to make him face her, nearly growling. “For heaven’s sakes, you win, Jack!”
They were at the docks now, and Jack looked about, wondering who might’ve overheard. He didn’t mind much making his own scenes, but he was never overly anticipatory to be part of someone else’s tantrum. He caught sight of Will’s back on deck of what must be Gabriel’s Trumpet, their slow boat to London. Boy’s either deaf or used to her outbursts by now, he reasoned. “What th’ bloody hell’re you talkin’ about?” Jack slipped into his usual dialect, dropping his voice to a hiss as he turned his attention back to the young woman.
“I mean,” she patiently continued, “that you have the chance I no longer have.” She didn’t explain further, but fixed her eyes on the pirate captain for several seconds, then sighed. A small smile appeared on her face – Jack wasn’t certain if it was forced, or if it had just showed up of its own accord. “He doesn’t need me worrying about him anymore … he’ll be in your charge, now.”
Odd choice of words, he thought, though the idea that Will was now somehow his, in some mysterious way, appealed alarmingly – more than it should have. “I seriously doubt he needs either one of us hangin’ over his shoulder like a … a guardian angel,” he fished for the proper term. “He’s in his own charge, I’d think.”
Elizabeth actually nodded slowly at that, a contemplative look in her eyes. “Hmm. Maybe that’s the difference between us, for him.”
Jack was about to ask what that meant, when David shouted to him from the rail. “They’re going to cast off, Captain!” he called. Jack narrowed his eyes in reminder, and the boy blinked, realizing his gaffe, then scrunching his face as if struggling to remember. “I mean, um … we’re leaving, Mr. MacLeary!”
Elizabeth chuckled, and Jack sighed, pinching his nose. “When did I become a bloody nursemaid?” he wondered aloud, squeezing his eyes shut. “Th’ boy’s as subtle as explosives in a barrel of oats.”
“Think of him as your chance to redeem yourself for all your wicked deeds,” she commented dryly, and Jack looked up to see if she was joking. “Make him a decent man, and just maybe you’ll get to spend your eternity in purgatory.”
“Goodbye, Miss Swann.” He withdrew his arm and turned toward the boat, then paused, turned back, and extended his hand, noticing for the first time that Charlie was nearby with the coach, now empty of luggage. “May God have mercy on the French, because I seriously doubt you will.”
To her credit, she offered a man’s handshake in return, rather than a simpering curtsey or her fingers, though she did so quickly so as not to be noticed by passersby. “I have just as much mercy as I’m shown,” she quipped. “Surely you know that.”
“Well, I hope they have the good sense to lock up their liquor cabinets, at any rate.” He grinned wolfishly, showing his gold teeth, and she had the good grace to blush.
“Off with you, Captain,” she spoke quietly. She transferred her attention to the boat’s deck, and lifted her hand toward Will, who waved back. Jack approached a crew member standing near the plank and identified himself. After a couple of minutes’ conversation, he climbed the short distance to deck and waited, for the first time in years, to not be in charge of shoving off.
*****
Jack sighed. Sailing Anamaria’s Jolly Mon, as tiny a slip of splinters as it had been, had at least been more rewarding than this enforced loss of command, this usurping of experience. Captain Folk was reliable enough and adequate at his job – it was only a small boat – but it wasn’t the same at all to a man who’d spent his life on the sea, being the one in charge for so long it was impossible to remember when he had not had his hand on the helm.
“You’re not moving, Jack.”
“What was your first clue?” His edgy tone belied the neutral words as he continued to not move. Jack perched upon a large crate balanced against one of the lockboxes on deck, leaning with his back to it and his boots up on the rail, arms crossed as he stared out into the night.
“What’s wrong?” A bit of a shuffling noise as Will stood against the rail, hands back on it, watching his captain. “You look angry … but nothing’s happened. Did Elizabeth say something to you?”
“It’s not her. And I’m not angry.”
“I’m no fool, Jack, nor am I-”
“Aye, you’re not a simpleton,” Jack finished for him, lowering his voice and slipping into his regular accent. “I’m well aware.”
“So, out with it.”
Jack flicked his eyes to Will, wondering when the younger man had begun feeling bold enough to impart his opinions freely to a man that outranked and out-aged him by eighteen years. “Jus’ missin’ th’ Pearl,” he finally assented, turning his eyes once again to the night sky.
“I’m sure she’s fine, wherever she is,” Will reassured him.
“Not th’ problem.” Jack shook his head slowly. “She’s not with me, an’ that ain’t fine at all.”
“Ah.” The lad only used that tone when he’d divined something. “You know, I’m surprised you’re taking time to go to England at all, waiting to catch up with her from there.”
“We’ve a rendezvous,” he answered cryptically. “Can’t make her go any faster an’ still arrive in one piece.”
After a few seconds, Will twisted himself around a bit to look back over the railing out into the sky as well, perhaps trying to figure out if there was something specific drawing Jack’s attention. Then, he faced Jack again. “I’ve been curious about something,” he began. “Regarding the Isla.”
Neither of them spoke the name any more than they could help doing so, but Jack knew what he meant. “Aye?”
“Why’d you come back for me?”
Jack blinked up at the lad. “Well, now … that’s out of th’ blue.”
“The Pearl was anchored in the bay of the cave – Barbossa left only a skeleton crew to guard it.” Will stopped himself and grimaced, apparently catching the pun. “You could’ve just taken it – gone below and released the crew like Elizabeth did, from the brig. She did it, I know you could’ve if you’d wanted. Why?”
“Will, let me ‘splain something about enemies: Ye never wan’ leave an invulnerable one standin’ if you can at all help it. If I’d taken the Pearl back and gone on me merry way, sure as Fanny’s your aunt, Barbossa would’ve come after me.” Jack set his jaw. “I waited ten years t’ find th’ bastard, an’ I wasn’t leavin’ him standing.”
“But if you’d let him kill me, spill my blood, you could’ve gotten him then.”
“Aye. And I would’ve had to deal with th’ rest o’ the buggers, as well. Th’ way ye wield a sword, you were more useful t’ me alive than dead – that, and it got th’ rest of them out of our way, off our backs.” He noted the confused, half-guilty expression in Will’s eyes, even in the dark, and gentled his tone further. “I wasn’ about to hold that oar thing against you t’ spite meself. Besides, I’ve had worse ‘n a knock upside th’ head with an oversized matchstick in me time, trust me.”
The lad’s mind was still working, and Jack frowned. “If you’d taken the Pearl,” Will sounded out slowly, as if puzzling the words before they exited his mouth, “Barbossa would’ve broken the curse, and Norrington would’ve had them; the pirates had nowhere to go, without a ship, and they wouldn’t have wanted to stay in that cave indefinitely. And you know for a fact the Commodore would’ve hanged them – well, he did, even.” It was his turn to frown. “You could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble and toil if you’d made for the Pearl in the first place.”
“Do you think I’m a complete scoundrel?” Jack shook his head with a pronounced sigh. “Lad … I really didn’t wan’ see you die, ‘specially not at th’ hands of the likes o’ them. Even scalawags are capable of a certain measure of loyalty to th’ memories of old friends an’ comrades.”
“You wanted to keep me safe.” Will appeared to think this over, and Jack watched him.
“Is that hard t’ believe, son?” Jack wanted more than anything to think of the younger man as a surrogate son, or even a favored nephew, but it just wasn’t happening for him. Instead, he spent perfectly good drinking time mulling those dark, innocent eyes or pondering how Will’s hair felt between his fingertips. No, Will Turner was about as far from filial as one could get.
“It … was a big risk, is all,” the blacksmith finally explained. “Especially since I didn’t entirely understand what you were up to.”
“Well, least you didn’t hit me again, an’ that’s about all I was really hoping for,” Jack dryly noted. He noticed Will shifting from one foot to the other, it finally registering the man was wearing fairly new boots and had been wandering the deck with David most of the afternoon, answering questions or seeking answers from various crewmen. Pulling his feet down from the rail, Jack scooted over, making room on the large crate. “Take a load off,” he offered, gesturing at the empty space. “Was just up here waitin’ for th’ boy to get tired, is all.”
Chuckling, Will took the seat, choosing to lean forward slightly instead of back like his companion. He was always a bit tense, as if at the ready to leap up and perform work, Jack thought; right now, he wasn’t thinking of much beyond the man’s solid thigh pressed warmly against his – the crate wasn’t that wide, after all. “If he gets tired,” the smith warned, looking back over his shoulder at Jack. “You know how he feels about the helm.”
“Aye,” Jack nodded. He could hear faint voices on the night air as David assaulted the night helmsman on duty with questions far behind them. “I jus’ hope he knows how t’ keep his own mouth shut, when it comes to th’ answers.”
“Don’t worry. I told him our safety and our lives depend on him not saying anything beyond the story we all concocted about being relatives. He can get away with not answering specific questions about the ‘business,’ being that young.” With this, Will did finally lean back, hands folded in his lap; belatedly, he lifted his booted feet to the rail, prompting Jack to resume his former posture as well. “He spent just as much time around Francois as we did; he knows better, now.”
“Let’s hope.” The two men gazed quietly into the night, but Jack was fairly certain he was the only one thinking how easy it would be to lift an arm around his companion’s shoulders, to lean over with his other hand and tilt that chin toward him, to plant kisses on Will’s mouth until the younger man was breathless, panting to turn and haul himself up over Jack and return the touches. Instead, Jack sighed, shifted a bit.
“Tell me about your family.”
“Hmm?”
“Your family, Jack. We’re going to see them – tell me who I’ll be meeting.” Will swiveled his head to face Jack, less than two feet away, and grinned becomingly. “I must say, I’m dying to know from where and whom the infamous Jack Sparrow hails.”
“Well, then, mate,” Jack began, clearing his throat but keeping his voice low, “you’re gon’ be mighty disappointed. This ain’t me mum an’ forebears; it’s other family.”
“Such as?”
Jack debated a moment, then answered, “My family.”
“But you just were-” Will paused a beat, then lowered his voice to an incredulous hush. “Your family – you’re married?”
“Nay … no more. Not for many a season.” When the other man said nothing, encouraging through his silence, Jack continued with what he hadn’t even told Gibbs thus far in all the years he’d known the trustworthy seadog. “Long, long years ago – back when you were but a wee lad yourself – I tried t’ settle down, but it didn’t work out.”
“How so?”
Jack leaned his head back against the box, then rolled it to look up through the ropes into the sky, finding it easier to address the universe than Will’s perceptive eyes. “I’ve been on ships since I was born, one way or th’ other – Da owned his own shipping outfit. Quite th’ entrepreneur, built up a solid, small business.” He paused, considering the wisdom of divulging so much about himself, when he’d not done so in a very long time; but, he trusted Will and considered how good it would be to have someone to talk with. Besides, he hadn’t much choice – sooner, rather than later, Will would find out.
“Mum died of th’ fever when I was about nine, an’ Da followed her shortly after; th’ best doctors around couldn’t keep them alive. Fact is, th’ black bastard cut down me grandmother, too, when I was close on fourteen. What was left of th’ company was put in th’ trust of me Uncle Maury, an’ he drew a salary ‘til th’ day he died for overseein’ it.” Jack sighed at the memories. “Good man, Maury – but he had a full house of children, and with Aunt Tessie dead, I had no desire to get pressed into service babysittin’ all those whelps … so I took to th’ sea.”
“Rather young for a pirate,” Will mused quietly.
“Oh, I wasn’ a pirate.” Jack chuckled quietly. “That came much later – well, maybe not that much. Any rate, I chose t’ work for me Da’s company, signing on t’ ship out, startin’ with the shorter runs. I prob’ly got some special treatment, since th’ men knew who I was, but as you can see, I didn’t sleep through me lessons – I worked as hard as any man on those ships.
“Well, I’d been at it ‘bout two years when th’ ship I was on was attacked by pirates. We didn’ stand a chance, bein’ smaller an’ such – they had a refitted warship with enough cannons t’ sink Port Royale. Vicious lot, those – I mean, I’m nothin’ for me own mum to brag about, but these whoresons killed, beat, flayed when it weren’t needed. I don’ even do that when I’d like to.”
“Only verbally,” Will pointed out with a deceptively even tone.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Turner. Anyway, a few of us signed th’ Articles an’ agreed to be pressed into service to avoid bein’ killed or made examples of – includin’ William. Could hardly be much use to his wife an’ baby at the bottom of th’ sea.” As the words rolled out, Jack closed his eyes, realizing the horrid irony of his thoughtless comment. “Apologies.”
The younger man said nothing for a moment, then asked, “So he turned pirate to save his life? He was forced into it?”
“Aye, we both were. Just about undid th’ poor fellow, havin’ to deny havin’ a family or a woman back home.”
Will sat up a bit and turned toward Jack. “He disowned us, then.”
“Didn’t have much of a choice.” Jack shook his head and glanced toward Will, whose brow was creased with something resembling anger. “Will, most pirate captains require their crew t’ be single, uncommitted men – Bill spoke up, signed on at my urging, then lied about you an’ your mum to stay alive. Trust me, it weren’ his first choice, but as I said, I convinced him he was more useful alive than dead, to ye. That, and I didn’ wan’ lose one of the few friends I had left in the world. Savvy now?”
Emotions shuffled across the younger man’s expression – his jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. Jack waited carefully to see what the pronouncement would be – Will didn’t need to know that Bill had been just a little too eager to turn pirate, that he’d been the first one to volunteer to sign the Articles and convinced Jack more money could be made in piracy than in honest seamanship. The rest of the story was essentially true, especially the part about Bill wanting to do right by his family – the man had gotten it into his head that little Will would have a gentleman’s education, and that sort of thing required more money than even the generous late, lamented MacLeary’s brother would ever be able to pay him.
Jack hadn’t time to consider the path little Will had eventually taken, nor how it might have pained his old friend to see his son engaging in nothing gentlemanly as an adult, for Will’s features relaxed from hostile to thoughtful. “What’s past is past,” the younger man eventually spoke. “Besides, I can hardly condemn him when I’m doing the same thing now.”
It occurred to Jack that Will was entirely too responsible for his age, as most men would have followed the statement with the rhetorical, “Can I?” and required some sort of lie to assuage their guilt. Of course, now he has more of a reason to blame me for taking his father away from them, if he really wants to, Jack mused. “Ver’ few men ask to take up a life of piracy,” he explained aloud, with a loose shrug of the shoulder nearest Will. “And once it’s done, th’ authorities generally won’t let ye give it up, gallows-happy as they are. Men who wan’ recant aren’t allowed t’ do so, unless it’s in th’ presence of a preacher before slippin’ on th’ hemp necklace.”
Will said nothing, but as Jack watched, he withdrew a small dagger from somewhere inside his new coat and held it up to the moonlight thoughtfully, as if inspecting the blade for nicks or imperfections. When he lowered it and began polishing it with the cuff of his sleeve, Jack withdrew the decorative lace kerchief from his own pocket and wordlessly offered it. Will paused, glanced it over, and took the scrap of cotton with barely-murmured thanks. He polished for a good two minutes before Jack asked, “’S that one of yours, then?”
A few more seconds, and then Will raised the knife a bit, offering it to Jack. The pirate reached for it, noticed it was being held blade out, and withdrew a bit; when he looked up, he was struck by the calculation in Will’s dark eyes, the dark-humored set of his jaw. His hand entirely gripped the dagger’s handle, but Jack saw no malice – only challenge. He’s waiting to see if I’m willing to take it and cut myself if he doesn’t let it go in time. He thinks I‘m the one who forced his father to choose between preserving the honor of his family name, or survival. Normally, Jack could’ve gotten the flat of the blade between thumb and finger, but this was too small, and besides, Will had made a show of polishing the metal – Jack now understood – for the sole purpose of keeping Jack’s fingerprints off of it.
Do you trust me? the younger man’s eyes silently tested. You asked for my trust way too early in this relationship, and really didn’t deserve it at that time – turnabout’s fair play, Jack. He could almost hear the words aloud.
Slowly, Jack positioned his thumb and forefinger on either sharp edge of the blade, exerted enough pressure to grip it, and pulled. The handle slid forth from Will’s fingers, the smith’s expression never changing, leading Jack to wonder if he’d get all the way out of that hand without long cuts on the thick pads of his own fingers. When he finally held it free and clear of Will’s hand, the younger man spoke. “Was the first blade I ever made that Mr. Brown didn’t toss back into the heatbox to reuse.” He shrugged. “It’s not that good.”
Gingerly, Jack turned the dagger, taking it by the simple metal grip, and held it up to the moonlight. As he studied what appeared to his untrained eye quite a nicely-crafted blade, he noted how the light bathed his fingers – fingers that were whole and solid and of flesh. He didn’t realize he was bending and flexing two of them on either side of the hilt, studying their movements, until Will said, “You still see it, don’t you? The bones … the rotting flesh.”
“Aye. Can’t really escape it.”
“Surely it didn’t surprise you, when it happened.”
“There’s a difference, Will, between knowin’ and seein’,” Jack rumbled, still waggling his fingers slowly.
“Such as hearing there’s a curse, and then knowing it …”
“An’ then seein’ its effects for yourself,” Jack finished. “Over an’ over again.” He focused on the dagger instead. “If you don’ like this, why do you carry it?”
“Never said I don‘t like it.” Will reached over and plucked the small knife from Jack’s grip, his fingertips grazing the pirate’s skin briefly. “When I look at it, I think of how hard I worked to get to a point where I could make this; every blade I produce, I compare to this one, really. When I look at those, I see this – sort of like you see the bones through your skin, I guess. Maybe you’re not supposed to forget it.”
Jack was silent a moment, absorbing the import of what Will was trying to tell him – then he glanced up at the man’s expression turned toward him, a bit too dry and bland for the philosophy. Jack grinned and remarked, “Least you‘ve learned your lesson about throwin‘ them at me, eh?”
Will stroked the edge of the glinting blade with his forefinger, oddly mischievous eyes never leaving Jack’s. “Says who?”
On to Part 2 ...
