![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richSee Part 1 for disclaimers, etc.
He didn’t see Elizabeth until he arrived at the Governor’s mansion in the evening, having spent his entire day hashing out the particulars of a temporary letter with both Norrington and Swann. Normally, he might have had Will and his quartermaster present, but once Jack had established they all wouldn’t be shot on sight, Gibbs had stayed with some of the more … unpredictable elements from the Pearl’s crew to make sure they stayed out of too much trouble in town, and Will had spent the time with Elizabeth. Jack had waved the smith away when he’d thought to accompany his captain into negotiations, as soon as Jack heard her voice in the Commodore’s outer offices at the fort – “Go on, see your bonny lass,” he’d gruffed, suggesting Will show Elizabeth the ship since she’d never been on board when Pearl was clean and sleek and shone like her namesake. His suggestion had been twofold, since he figured the strumpet could tell her father favorably about its drastic overhaul before he toured it later to satisfy his fatherly qualms.
The butler answered the door, inviting Jack into the front hall with dry efficiency. He managed both to make no obvious judgment with his expression and to rake in every detail of the pirate with the same cool look, in the manner of all English domestics worth their salt. “Drink, Captain Sparrow?” he asked, leading Jack to the library.
Maybe the fellow’s not bad, if he’s stashing liquor somewhere. Jack allowed himself to relax and loosen his gait. “If ye’ve got it, I’ve prob’ly tasted it,” he answered. “But high quality firewater’s always worth a second opinion.”
“Indeed, sir.” The butler bypassed the crystal decanters set out on a small polished table near the secretary and picked up a slender, smoky bottle. He uncapped it, handing it over to Jack with a small smile and – a twinkle in his eyes? “Finest quality cane in the Caribbean.”
“Hmm. I’ll be th’ judge … indeed.” Jack wrapped his fingers around the lower neck of the bottle and flared his nostrils over the open top. Pure, processed smooth sugar with a hint of coconut. “A tumbler, if you please,” he tried out his best Gentleman MacLeary voice, winking. “I’m not completely uncivilized in highball company.”
The butler’s smile widened, and he produced a small glass from behind the other stock. “I’ll let the others know you’re here, sir.”
“Aye, that’d be fine.” Jack nodded as he poured. “Name’s Jack, old son. Yours?”
“Heyer, Captain.” He paused. “Hawthorne Heyer.”
“Good t’ meet ye, Hath.” Jack raised the glass and swallowed half its contents in a single go once the man bowed slightly and turned to leave. Setting the bottle aside, he moved to one wall of books and cocked his head sideways, studying the spines while he waited.
He didn’t have long. He caught movement in his periphery as he found the Governor’s Italian collection. “Well, they’ve started off on th’ right foot, least,” he murmured conversationally, lifting the glass where Will could see it. “Social lubrication’s of highest importance for somethin’ like this, I’ve a feeling.”
“I didn’t know you were going to change for supper.”
Jack straightened and turned toward Will. “This? Just wanted somethin’ clean, ‘s all.” He sipped his next drink, perfectly aware of how he looked in soft black boots, snug black breeches, scarlet red silk shirt, and dark gold sash. He wore no headscarf, his long raven hair cleaned in uneven waves and held at the sides by dark leather thongs, a couple of braids trailing down his back. He’d begged off after negotiations to head back to the ship and change prior to evening meal, taking a quick sponge bath and reapplying a steady, thick stroke of kohl around each eye.
Jack was insanely pleased at the half-startled, interested expression in Will’s gaze. He nodded toward the other man, who still wore the same plainer – yet clean – clothes he’d carefully put on that morning. “You’ve no need t’ complain; looks fine t’ me.” For once, Will had left off his trademark narrow waistcoat, leaving his good linen shirt, dark fawn breeches, and dove-gray boots. He’d clubbed his hair at the nape of his neck, but a few curly strands had escaped in the windy day to frame his face.
Will arched an eyebrow. “Fine?” he repeated, mocking.
In answer, Jack licked his lower lip and dropped his eyes to the partly-open shirt. “Amazingly edible,” he amended, smirking. “Tasty.”
To Jack’s surprise, Will laughed easily. “Should’ve known better than to wear these breeches.”
“I’d’ve been more concerned if ye’d left them off, spending th’ day with Miss Swann and all.”
Will didn’t have time to answer, for they were joined just then by the lady herself. Jack glanced to her, then back to Will, narrowing his eyes and setting his mouth in a tight, minute line. Will blinked, widened his eyes in what seemed surprise, looking taken aback. He kept his eyes on Jack for several more impolite seconds as Elizabeth waited to be noticed, as if reassessing Sparrow somehow. Just before he turned to Elizabeth, his lips quirked a little at one corner, and Jack could’ve sworn he was amused – and perhaps satisfied – by Jack’s deliberate reaction. This should be interesting later on, he mused, enjoying the tension low in his belly.
She nodded at Will, then crossed to Jack. Being Elizabeth (or rather perhaps, him being Jack), she didn’t bother curtseying, but instead put out her hand. Jack regarded it with brief amusement, then shook it as though she were a man, putting some extra squeeze on her fingers. He could see her clench her teeth behind her closed lips, but she didn’t wince. “Captain,” she offered by way of greeting.
“Milady,” he murmured.
She withdrew her hand politely, cocking her head just so and giving him a searching look. Her expression relaxed. “Jack.”
“Miss Swann.”
She laughed out loud, presumably remembering her haughtiness on the island where they’d been marooned overnight. “Scoundrel.”
He lifted an eyebrow pleasantly. “Peas in a pod, darling.”
“Indeed.” She fixed him once again with her gaze. “Will escorted me around the ship this afternoon. She’s far more pleasing than I remember, especially your cabin – where I was forced to stay for a fortnight.”
So, she’d spotted Will’s things and figured out the way things were between them, then. Jack managed not to smirk as he set his drink on a nearby desk. “She keeps far better comp’ny than Barbossa these days, if I may be so bold.”
Elizabeth nodded, smoothing her skirt. “If you two will excuse me,” she turned sideways and looked at each man in turn, “I need to attend the meal. Supper will be ready shortly, and I’ll be back for you.” She cast one last glance at Jack, then headed for the door, patting Will on the arm on her way.
“So-“ Jack waited until she’d shut the door, then continued. “Gave her that tour, did ye?”
Will shook his head and closed their distance in a few steps. “Shut up,” he answered, pulling Jack’s head between his hands and leaning in to kiss him hard. Jack closed his eyes, losing his bearings and letting go for a few minutes while Will lowered an arm to wrap around his waist. He pressed against the man, licking his tongue, tasting the roof of his mouth, feeling Will’s heart thump madly against both their chests.
Eventually, he pulled off and skimmed up, pressing his mouth to the bridge of Jack’s nose, his goatee brushing Jack’s parted lips. “The last time I was here,” he began, “you’re not the person I’d hoped to be kissing in the library.”
“I can understand that.” Jack licked at Will’s chin, ruffling the hair.
“I’m not complaining,” he explained, holding Jack tighter. “It’s just … even of men, you’re not who I would’ve figured to be here with.”
“You were expectin’ a Navy fellow, mayhaps?” Will’s hands stilled momentarily, and Jack leaned back, intrigued. “Anyone I know?” he prodded.
“No.”
“I’m wrong, then?”
Just as he guessed, Will was too honest even to save himself embarrassment. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “I mean, this isn’t the time.” He paused too long. “Or place.”
Jack felt himself grin widely. “Norrington?”
Oh, that entire face turned red. “Jack-“
But Jack’s laugh cut him off. “Th’ daughter of th’ highest-ranking official on th’ island? A commodore? A captain? Lad, ye don’t dally with peasants, do ye?”
Uttering a strangled noise Jack had learned to equate with frustration, Will released him and stepped back. “Look … if you’ll keep your mouth shut, I’ll explain, all right?”
“I should hope so,” Jack teased.
“I mean it.” He frowned at Jack. “Not a word, no lewd gestures or doublespeak. No indication of anything whatsoever in front of everyone.” He hesitated. “Jack?”
Bossy Will was not Jack’s favorite incarnation every night, but he went along with it. “A’right, a’right,” he nodded. “I’ll keep me mouth shut. What would I’ve said, anyhow? Not like I’m gon’ shove you off on someone else or invite them t’ turn your head.” He studied Will a moment. “Is this a current thing, or simply a boyhood crush, then?”
“Long ago.” Will glanced away, looking guilty. “Elizabeth was gone, he took some pity on me. He was always kind to me when he’d come into the smithy, or if he saw me at the fort.” Will rubbed his hands as if cold. “I did what any child does if he doesn’t know many people – I clung to the ideal version of someone who acknowledged I was alive.”
There was no sigh in his tone, only explanation, but Jack stepped forward, moved by the thought of a boy so obviously in need of friendship. The doors rattled, and Will put distance between himself and Jack. The pirate wasn’t sure if he’d been about hug Will or simply grip his shoulder, but he assumed an indolent pose for their social masquerade.
It was Hawthorne. “The Miss asked me to fetch you gentlemen, since she’s taken with kitchen duties.” He glanced to Jack, then at the glass he’d left on the desk. “More rum, sir?”
“Only if you address me properly.”
The butler stood more at attention and regarded him dryly. “Jack it is, then?”
“Aye, that’s more like it.”
Hawthorne refilled Jack’s tumbler, gave Will another with three fingers of expensive brandy, and ushered them into the dining room, where their host and the Commodore were presumably making small talk. Jack glanced sideways to Will, who was taking a rather long sip of his brandy as he kept his eyes forward, perhaps to mask the flush of his face. He recognized the pose as Will’s Don’t-You-Dare stance.
Since they were standing quite close, Jack touched Will’s elbow and murmured just loud enough for his companion to hear, “C’mon, love. Trust, eh?”
“Trust a pirate?” was Will’s equally soft, somewhat arch, response.
“Nay – jus’ me.” He was glad to feel the man relaxing, see a small smile touching his lips. Aloud, he lifted his glass in the two men’s direction and raised his voice to dispel Will’s tension. “Governor! As I live an’ breathe.”
“For the time, anyway.” This from Norrington, whose tone was the only indication of humor, his expression a careful mask of military indifference. His attitude was much improved from their meeting near the docks nearly eighteen months earlier, thanks in large part to the Pearl’s compliance in netting the Royal Navy Francois’s body, crew, and large Spanish prize.
“Commodore.” Weatherby Swann’s chastisement was less than earnest, as he tightly smiled between the two men. “Captain, I believe this is your first visit to my home?” Jack nodded, and Swann turned a more indulgent smile on the blacksmith. “Mr. Turner, I must admit, I wasn’t quite sure I’d see you here again after you were ‘kidnapped.’”
“A merry chase that was, eh?” Jack winked at James, who now glared.
For once, Will was the most diplomatic of the four. “It was a strange time,” he summarized, taking another sip from his glass. “It looks like things are finally back in order, here, sir.”
“Dear me, yes. Thanks be for structural integrity.” Swann sighed. Barbossa and his miscreants had not only looted the mansion, they’d shot cannon through the outer walls, resulting in a partial fire of the kitchen. Only the diligence of a few servants who hadn’t yet escaped to the fort had kept the whole thing from going up in flames. “Let’s hope that’s the most exciting thing to happen to Port Royale in some years.”
Supper was the social nicety Jack had expected, neither too comfortable nor too long. He answered questions from both Swann and Norrington about the planned excursion, setting aside a captain’s traditional annoyance at having his route scrutinized by a landlubber in favor of his own empathetic concerns as a father of girls.
As the conversation turned to specific travel near dessert, he felt something against his ankle. Jack was once again offering bland reassurances about Elizabeth’s safety on the high seas – after all, she’d survived perfectly fine under his and Will’s care twice before, and, after all, who would dare challenge the dreaded Black Pearl? – when something rubbed his lower leg. He took a drink of wine to disguise his frown, since he couldn’t very well dive beneath the table to investigate, and glanced sideways at Will.
The smith was sipping at his own goblet, eyes innocent and level on Jack’s own when the captain felt another nudge. A clumsy bump to the side of his knee completed contact all the way down Jack’s lower leg to his foot, and he barely managed not to cough in surprise.
Bloody Will Turner was flirting with him under the Governor’s own roof.
It was confirmed a few seconds later with a lingering brush against his knee, and Jack kept the goblet to his lips, trying not to laugh aloud. His mirth was that spontaneous burst of joy from simply being in love with the right person. Jack lowered his eyes into his wine, watching the light play off the dark liquid’s surface, and actually felt heat trail up behind his ears.
“… of course you’ll make port at Bermuda,” Swann was saying. It penetrated Jack’s lust-heavy brain, as it must’ve Will’s, for the smith stopped nudging. “I should very much like news from the colony; I haven’t heard from Samuel in some time.” The older man gestured at Elizabeth. “You remember his son, my dear. Foster, was his name?”
“Depends if we need supplies by that point,” Will pointed out, much to Jack’s surprise.
“Hmm?” Swann gave the pirates his attention. “Oh, but you couldn’t possibly carry enough supplies to England without stopping off for more.”
Jack was about to answer, but Will cut him off. “Governor, we may sail around San Juan toward Africa,” the smith explained. Oh, might we? Jack wondered, turning away from the others to give him a stern look. “It avoids the longer water route and gets us close to land faster.”
“I assure you, my dear boy, I have come through by way of Bermuda more than once, and its officials will welcome you upon a letter from me. You needn’t worry about being detained for past crimes,” Swann reassured them.
Will’s lips set into a thin line, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. The eyes he flicked at Jack were pleading, worried, and while the Captain had a hard time figuring what exactly was going on, he realized Will was disturbed and trying to hide it. “Mr. Turner makes a good point,” he finally answered, turning his attention back to the Governor. “Can make a fair run scoutin’ some Spanish an’ Dutch along the Barb’ry. Enough to please even your avaricious monarch.” To change the conversation, he lifted his glass and cast his eyes about theatrically. “Where’s th’ fine Hawthorne? Methinks I could use another refill, if th’ lady’ll allow me instead of settin’ fire to it.”
On to Part 5 ...
He didn’t see Elizabeth until he arrived at the Governor’s mansion in the evening, having spent his entire day hashing out the particulars of a temporary letter with both Norrington and Swann. Normally, he might have had Will and his quartermaster present, but once Jack had established they all wouldn’t be shot on sight, Gibbs had stayed with some of the more … unpredictable elements from the Pearl’s crew to make sure they stayed out of too much trouble in town, and Will had spent the time with Elizabeth. Jack had waved the smith away when he’d thought to accompany his captain into negotiations, as soon as Jack heard her voice in the Commodore’s outer offices at the fort – “Go on, see your bonny lass,” he’d gruffed, suggesting Will show Elizabeth the ship since she’d never been on board when Pearl was clean and sleek and shone like her namesake. His suggestion had been twofold, since he figured the strumpet could tell her father favorably about its drastic overhaul before he toured it later to satisfy his fatherly qualms.
The butler answered the door, inviting Jack into the front hall with dry efficiency. He managed both to make no obvious judgment with his expression and to rake in every detail of the pirate with the same cool look, in the manner of all English domestics worth their salt. “Drink, Captain Sparrow?” he asked, leading Jack to the library.
Maybe the fellow’s not bad, if he’s stashing liquor somewhere. Jack allowed himself to relax and loosen his gait. “If ye’ve got it, I’ve prob’ly tasted it,” he answered. “But high quality firewater’s always worth a second opinion.”
“Indeed, sir.” The butler bypassed the crystal decanters set out on a small polished table near the secretary and picked up a slender, smoky bottle. He uncapped it, handing it over to Jack with a small smile and – a twinkle in his eyes? “Finest quality cane in the Caribbean.”
“Hmm. I’ll be th’ judge … indeed.” Jack wrapped his fingers around the lower neck of the bottle and flared his nostrils over the open top. Pure, processed smooth sugar with a hint of coconut. “A tumbler, if you please,” he tried out his best Gentleman MacLeary voice, winking. “I’m not completely uncivilized in highball company.”
The butler’s smile widened, and he produced a small glass from behind the other stock. “I’ll let the others know you’re here, sir.”
“Aye, that’d be fine.” Jack nodded as he poured. “Name’s Jack, old son. Yours?”
“Heyer, Captain.” He paused. “Hawthorne Heyer.”
“Good t’ meet ye, Hath.” Jack raised the glass and swallowed half its contents in a single go once the man bowed slightly and turned to leave. Setting the bottle aside, he moved to one wall of books and cocked his head sideways, studying the spines while he waited.
He didn’t have long. He caught movement in his periphery as he found the Governor’s Italian collection. “Well, they’ve started off on th’ right foot, least,” he murmured conversationally, lifting the glass where Will could see it. “Social lubrication’s of highest importance for somethin’ like this, I’ve a feeling.”
“I didn’t know you were going to change for supper.”
Jack straightened and turned toward Will. “This? Just wanted somethin’ clean, ‘s all.” He sipped his next drink, perfectly aware of how he looked in soft black boots, snug black breeches, scarlet red silk shirt, and dark gold sash. He wore no headscarf, his long raven hair cleaned in uneven waves and held at the sides by dark leather thongs, a couple of braids trailing down his back. He’d begged off after negotiations to head back to the ship and change prior to evening meal, taking a quick sponge bath and reapplying a steady, thick stroke of kohl around each eye.
Jack was insanely pleased at the half-startled, interested expression in Will’s gaze. He nodded toward the other man, who still wore the same plainer – yet clean – clothes he’d carefully put on that morning. “You’ve no need t’ complain; looks fine t’ me.” For once, Will had left off his trademark narrow waistcoat, leaving his good linen shirt, dark fawn breeches, and dove-gray boots. He’d clubbed his hair at the nape of his neck, but a few curly strands had escaped in the windy day to frame his face.
Will arched an eyebrow. “Fine?” he repeated, mocking.
In answer, Jack licked his lower lip and dropped his eyes to the partly-open shirt. “Amazingly edible,” he amended, smirking. “Tasty.”
To Jack’s surprise, Will laughed easily. “Should’ve known better than to wear these breeches.”
“I’d’ve been more concerned if ye’d left them off, spending th’ day with Miss Swann and all.”
Will didn’t have time to answer, for they were joined just then by the lady herself. Jack glanced to her, then back to Will, narrowing his eyes and setting his mouth in a tight, minute line. Will blinked, widened his eyes in what seemed surprise, looking taken aback. He kept his eyes on Jack for several more impolite seconds as Elizabeth waited to be noticed, as if reassessing Sparrow somehow. Just before he turned to Elizabeth, his lips quirked a little at one corner, and Jack could’ve sworn he was amused – and perhaps satisfied – by Jack’s deliberate reaction. This should be interesting later on, he mused, enjoying the tension low in his belly.
She nodded at Will, then crossed to Jack. Being Elizabeth (or rather perhaps, him being Jack), she didn’t bother curtseying, but instead put out her hand. Jack regarded it with brief amusement, then shook it as though she were a man, putting some extra squeeze on her fingers. He could see her clench her teeth behind her closed lips, but she didn’t wince. “Captain,” she offered by way of greeting.
“Milady,” he murmured.
She withdrew her hand politely, cocking her head just so and giving him a searching look. Her expression relaxed. “Jack.”
“Miss Swann.”
She laughed out loud, presumably remembering her haughtiness on the island where they’d been marooned overnight. “Scoundrel.”
He lifted an eyebrow pleasantly. “Peas in a pod, darling.”
“Indeed.” She fixed him once again with her gaze. “Will escorted me around the ship this afternoon. She’s far more pleasing than I remember, especially your cabin – where I was forced to stay for a fortnight.”
So, she’d spotted Will’s things and figured out the way things were between them, then. Jack managed not to smirk as he set his drink on a nearby desk. “She keeps far better comp’ny than Barbossa these days, if I may be so bold.”
Elizabeth nodded, smoothing her skirt. “If you two will excuse me,” she turned sideways and looked at each man in turn, “I need to attend the meal. Supper will be ready shortly, and I’ll be back for you.” She cast one last glance at Jack, then headed for the door, patting Will on the arm on her way.
“So-“ Jack waited until she’d shut the door, then continued. “Gave her that tour, did ye?”
Will shook his head and closed their distance in a few steps. “Shut up,” he answered, pulling Jack’s head between his hands and leaning in to kiss him hard. Jack closed his eyes, losing his bearings and letting go for a few minutes while Will lowered an arm to wrap around his waist. He pressed against the man, licking his tongue, tasting the roof of his mouth, feeling Will’s heart thump madly against both their chests.
Eventually, he pulled off and skimmed up, pressing his mouth to the bridge of Jack’s nose, his goatee brushing Jack’s parted lips. “The last time I was here,” he began, “you’re not the person I’d hoped to be kissing in the library.”
“I can understand that.” Jack licked at Will’s chin, ruffling the hair.
“I’m not complaining,” he explained, holding Jack tighter. “It’s just … even of men, you’re not who I would’ve figured to be here with.”
“You were expectin’ a Navy fellow, mayhaps?” Will’s hands stilled momentarily, and Jack leaned back, intrigued. “Anyone I know?” he prodded.
“No.”
“I’m wrong, then?”
Just as he guessed, Will was too honest even to save himself embarrassment. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “I mean, this isn’t the time.” He paused too long. “Or place.”
Jack felt himself grin widely. “Norrington?”
Oh, that entire face turned red. “Jack-“
But Jack’s laugh cut him off. “Th’ daughter of th’ highest-ranking official on th’ island? A commodore? A captain? Lad, ye don’t dally with peasants, do ye?”
Uttering a strangled noise Jack had learned to equate with frustration, Will released him and stepped back. “Look … if you’ll keep your mouth shut, I’ll explain, all right?”
“I should hope so,” Jack teased.
“I mean it.” He frowned at Jack. “Not a word, no lewd gestures or doublespeak. No indication of anything whatsoever in front of everyone.” He hesitated. “Jack?”
Bossy Will was not Jack’s favorite incarnation every night, but he went along with it. “A’right, a’right,” he nodded. “I’ll keep me mouth shut. What would I’ve said, anyhow? Not like I’m gon’ shove you off on someone else or invite them t’ turn your head.” He studied Will a moment. “Is this a current thing, or simply a boyhood crush, then?”
“Long ago.” Will glanced away, looking guilty. “Elizabeth was gone, he took some pity on me. He was always kind to me when he’d come into the smithy, or if he saw me at the fort.” Will rubbed his hands as if cold. “I did what any child does if he doesn’t know many people – I clung to the ideal version of someone who acknowledged I was alive.”
There was no sigh in his tone, only explanation, but Jack stepped forward, moved by the thought of a boy so obviously in need of friendship. The doors rattled, and Will put distance between himself and Jack. The pirate wasn’t sure if he’d been about hug Will or simply grip his shoulder, but he assumed an indolent pose for their social masquerade.
It was Hawthorne. “The Miss asked me to fetch you gentlemen, since she’s taken with kitchen duties.” He glanced to Jack, then at the glass he’d left on the desk. “More rum, sir?”
“Only if you address me properly.”
The butler stood more at attention and regarded him dryly. “Jack it is, then?”
“Aye, that’s more like it.”
Hawthorne refilled Jack’s tumbler, gave Will another with three fingers of expensive brandy, and ushered them into the dining room, where their host and the Commodore were presumably making small talk. Jack glanced sideways to Will, who was taking a rather long sip of his brandy as he kept his eyes forward, perhaps to mask the flush of his face. He recognized the pose as Will’s Don’t-You-Dare stance.
Since they were standing quite close, Jack touched Will’s elbow and murmured just loud enough for his companion to hear, “C’mon, love. Trust, eh?”
“Trust a pirate?” was Will’s equally soft, somewhat arch, response.
“Nay – jus’ me.” He was glad to feel the man relaxing, see a small smile touching his lips. Aloud, he lifted his glass in the two men’s direction and raised his voice to dispel Will’s tension. “Governor! As I live an’ breathe.”
“For the time, anyway.” This from Norrington, whose tone was the only indication of humor, his expression a careful mask of military indifference. His attitude was much improved from their meeting near the docks nearly eighteen months earlier, thanks in large part to the Pearl’s compliance in netting the Royal Navy Francois’s body, crew, and large Spanish prize.
“Commodore.” Weatherby Swann’s chastisement was less than earnest, as he tightly smiled between the two men. “Captain, I believe this is your first visit to my home?” Jack nodded, and Swann turned a more indulgent smile on the blacksmith. “Mr. Turner, I must admit, I wasn’t quite sure I’d see you here again after you were ‘kidnapped.’”
“A merry chase that was, eh?” Jack winked at James, who now glared.
For once, Will was the most diplomatic of the four. “It was a strange time,” he summarized, taking another sip from his glass. “It looks like things are finally back in order, here, sir.”
“Dear me, yes. Thanks be for structural integrity.” Swann sighed. Barbossa and his miscreants had not only looted the mansion, they’d shot cannon through the outer walls, resulting in a partial fire of the kitchen. Only the diligence of a few servants who hadn’t yet escaped to the fort had kept the whole thing from going up in flames. “Let’s hope that’s the most exciting thing to happen to Port Royale in some years.”
Supper was the social nicety Jack had expected, neither too comfortable nor too long. He answered questions from both Swann and Norrington about the planned excursion, setting aside a captain’s traditional annoyance at having his route scrutinized by a landlubber in favor of his own empathetic concerns as a father of girls.
As the conversation turned to specific travel near dessert, he felt something against his ankle. Jack was once again offering bland reassurances about Elizabeth’s safety on the high seas – after all, she’d survived perfectly fine under his and Will’s care twice before, and, after all, who would dare challenge the dreaded Black Pearl? – when something rubbed his lower leg. He took a drink of wine to disguise his frown, since he couldn’t very well dive beneath the table to investigate, and glanced sideways at Will.
The smith was sipping at his own goblet, eyes innocent and level on Jack’s own when the captain felt another nudge. A clumsy bump to the side of his knee completed contact all the way down Jack’s lower leg to his foot, and he barely managed not to cough in surprise.
Bloody Will Turner was flirting with him under the Governor’s own roof.
It was confirmed a few seconds later with a lingering brush against his knee, and Jack kept the goblet to his lips, trying not to laugh aloud. His mirth was that spontaneous burst of joy from simply being in love with the right person. Jack lowered his eyes into his wine, watching the light play off the dark liquid’s surface, and actually felt heat trail up behind his ears.
“… of course you’ll make port at Bermuda,” Swann was saying. It penetrated Jack’s lust-heavy brain, as it must’ve Will’s, for the smith stopped nudging. “I should very much like news from the colony; I haven’t heard from Samuel in some time.” The older man gestured at Elizabeth. “You remember his son, my dear. Foster, was his name?”
“Depends if we need supplies by that point,” Will pointed out, much to Jack’s surprise.
“Hmm?” Swann gave the pirates his attention. “Oh, but you couldn’t possibly carry enough supplies to England without stopping off for more.”
Jack was about to answer, but Will cut him off. “Governor, we may sail around San Juan toward Africa,” the smith explained. Oh, might we? Jack wondered, turning away from the others to give him a stern look. “It avoids the longer water route and gets us close to land faster.”
“I assure you, my dear boy, I have come through by way of Bermuda more than once, and its officials will welcome you upon a letter from me. You needn’t worry about being detained for past crimes,” Swann reassured them.
Will’s lips set into a thin line, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. The eyes he flicked at Jack were pleading, worried, and while the Captain had a hard time figuring what exactly was going on, he realized Will was disturbed and trying to hide it. “Mr. Turner makes a good point,” he finally answered, turning his attention back to the Governor. “Can make a fair run scoutin’ some Spanish an’ Dutch along the Barb’ry. Enough to please even your avaricious monarch.” To change the conversation, he lifted his glass and cast his eyes about theatrically. “Where’s th’ fine Hawthorne? Methinks I could use another refill, if th’ lady’ll allow me instead of settin’ fire to it.”
On to Part 5 ...
