![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richSee Part 1 for disclaimers, etc.
“Jack.” Barbossa broke into a wide, disgusting grin. “How ye been? You an’ your little boat?” For emphasis, he lifted his right foot and rat-a-tat-tatted his heel against Pearl’s deck a few times. “Ah, she still answers t’ me,” he taunted.
“Well, I s’pose retching’s an acceptable form of communication, if ye look at it such,” Jack shrugged. “What plane of Hell did you sail in from, anyway?”
“Same as me.”
The voice from the helm made Jack whirl, forgetting his detached mask. This time, it was Will backing toward him, keeping a body between Jack and Elias Francois. He stared hard at the Spanish captain for a moment, then looked back down toward Barbossa. “Oh, mate. You’re that desperate for a fuck, even in th’ afterlife?”
“Least I can find someone for me lust outside th’ same family,” Barbossa retorted, advancing slowly toward the steps. “C’mon down, Jack; you’re no safer there than ye would be right here.”
“Well, that much is probably true,” he heard Will mutter at his left ear, presumably turning to speak over his shoulder. “Wait – does he mean my father? Did you and he-”
“Will!” Jack hissed, noting Barbossa was near the bottom step.
“Mum?”
“Christ on th’ mast! You’re listenin’ to Barbossa?” He added in a mutter, “He’s trying to distract you, ‘s all. And it’s working.” Will said nothing, his typical response when a mistake was called on him. “Just stay put. Let them come at us.”
“An offensive would be better,” Will argued, sotto voce, pressing his back into Jack’s. “One can control things more.”
“Yeah, and you’re using up your energy, too.” Will sighed, and Jack knew what he was going to do; they had different fencing styles, and the pirate couldn’t always order the blacksmith around.
“Why don’t you take the boy?” Francois called to his death-mate. “I’ll handle the little bird.”
“You’re not getting anywhere near him.” Jack was surprised to hear the venom beneath Will’s rejoinder. “I’m the better swordsman, anyway. Afraid?”
“Didn’t do so well the last time we met over blades, as I recall.”
He felt Will’s entire body go rigid, hackles raised. “One way to find out.”
Jack felt the spring before Will actually charged Francois. He’d had his eye on a rope loosely knotted to the rail facing the foredeck, and had sheathed his sword while Will was speaking – when Will moved, Jack took a couple of steps and launched himself at the rope. He leaped, grabbing it just in time to nimbly lift his knees to clear the descending rail. His weight pulled the bare knot loose, and he grinned as he swung within inches of Barbossa mounting the steps, thanking Pearl’s mast for holding so well.
He landed in the center of the foredeck in a crouch, pivoting quickly on his right foot as he straightened, pulling his sword with the movement. Being smaller had advantages that big lugs like Barbossa never quite anticipated. He quickly yanked off the restrictive sword belt and coat, taking a few steps back to give himself time to toss them aside. “Come on, man,” Jack goaded, sword up. “Let’s get this over with. Again.”
It took everything Jack had to keep his concentration on Hector and not let his eyes stray to where he could hear the ring of metal near the helm. “So, what brings ye here?” he asked conversationally, ducking a stab to his throat.
“Shut up.”
“Not much for passin’ the time.” Ducking yet again, Jack used one of Will’s tricks, a sideways roll and quick rebound, putting him a few steps out of Hector’s reach. “You’re supposed t’ be dead. All I wan’ know is why now? I don’t even need the ‘how’ or partic’lars, after all we’ve seen together.”
“Do ye not understand revenge, Jack?” Theatrically, Jack paused, cocked his head, pretended to briefly mull the question, and shrugged. Hector narrowed his jaundiced eyes. “Th’ two of ye saw us to our graves, and now I’m gon’ do the same to you. Poetry, really.”
“Actually,” Jack pointed out, blocking the other man’s blade, “twas Norrington who sent your sweetie to th’ other side, not Will. And I’d think you’d be happy, had been missin’ him anyway.”
Barbossa laughed. “Jaaaack,” he rumbled, “oh, Jack. You’re dead, ‘tis true. But ye really think we’d kill such a pretty piece like that right away?” Jack paused, briefly puzzled, and Hector leered. “Waste not …”
“Your beef’s with me, not him.”
“Cheer up. Th’ whelp’s good as dead, once we’re through.” Hector stabbed toward Jack viciously, and he barely danced aside. “He’ll wish he was, anyway.” Jack lunged, angry, managing to nick the other man’s hand, but Barbossa seemed impervious to it. “Now, Jack – could be worse,” he taunted. “I mean, ‘s not like it’ll hurt as much as it could. You’ve already broken him in, right?”
The idea of Will forced to service either of them was a physical impediment to Jack’s fighting. Think. Think clearly. Distract, get him off this subject, and you can concentrate. He forced calm though he felt homicidal. “It doesn’t surprise me you two’d be takin’ up residence in th’ Devil’s Triangle,” he pointed out, “but how th’ hell’d we get here?”
“We called th’ two of ye here.” If Barbossa knew Jack was distracting him – and he probably did – he didn’t show it. “Well – just wanted you, really. But he sort of comes with th’ territory.”
As he fought, Jack kept up his flagging energy trying to reason that out. He supposed whatever power animated a corpse or a solid apparition could easily summon the living with some spell. Had Will been dragged in with Jack because of their emotional bond? It would explain why none of Pearl’s other crew were around.
He happened to catch sight out of the corner of his eye of Will stumbling backwards down the steps from the upper deck, falling the last few. Jack started for him, thinking he’d moved fast enough until he felt hot pain on his forearm. Whipping around, he barely avoided a more serious slice of Barbossa’s sword. When Hector got closer, Jack aimed a hard kick at his shin, then ran.
Will was on one knee and Francois barreled down the steps toward him. Jack managed to get his sword between them, halting the Spanish pirate enough to let Will get to his feet. “Jack, look-“ Will never finished the imperative, instead plowing into him and sending them both rolling to deck. The smith scrambled up, helping Jack, so that the two of them faced the two dead men.
“Aw, hell,” Jack swore, his sword at the ready. “Captain Jack Sparrow – killed by ghosts. This really isn’t gon’ help me image at all.”
“And killing ghosts won’t do it much good, either,” Will quipped. “But I’m telling you, it’s the better choice.”
In unspoken agreement, they both lunged, attacking with renewed vigor. Jack was careful not to stab Will – beyond that, he didn’t care what he hacked at. The four men went round and round for several moments, until Jack left his side vulnerable and Francois took advantage, stabbing not deeply in, but glancing enough to open a gash. Jack swore liberally, and Will made to set at the man, who now had his blade at the smith’s throat. “Drop it,” he ordered.
“No,” Will reflexively denied.
Jack was prepared to launch himself sideways and knock Will over to prevent him being stabbed, but the odds promptly turned in his favor. Barbossa and Francois both stumbled forward as Jack saw something behind them; he and Will stumbled back out of the way. “What the devil-“
“You’re dead.” Elizabeth glared at Barbossa with frank shock and annoyance. “How the hell did you get back here?”
“Elizabeth!” This, from Will, probably more surprised at her language than her presence.
She kept her attention on the two dead men rubbing the backs of their heads. Clutched in her small hands was a great, long harpoon; neither had received the hooked end, but she looked willing to use it. “So, it does hurt!” she crowed. “You can be killed here!”
Nobody was moving, and it occurred to Jack that he, at least, ought to see the advantage. Swiftly, he plunged his sword into Barbossa’s gut, and with uncharacteristic barbarity, yanked up into his sternum. “Back to hell,” he whispered at the shocked expression on the man’s face, before the body crumpled, taking Jack’s blade as it was lodged in bone.
Francois, livid, screamed a Spanish epithet and made to lunge at Jack, but Elizabeth swung her harpoon at the same moment Will raised his sword, the two of them blocking him from his target. Holding his sword defensively, Elias breathed heavily, glancing at them all, but narrowing his eyes at Jack in a way that actually embarrassed him. He remembered all too well the things he’d done to this man – and let him do – several months ago.
“Elizabeth, move.” Will gave the level order.
“No.” She shook her head, wisps of hair in her face.
“It’s my fight.”
“Actually, it’s mine,” Jack interjected, wanting to take control of the situation. He hated feeling at anyone’s mercy. “If you’ll just hand me your-“
“No.” Will kept his eyes on Elias, his blade not wavering. “It’s my turn to defend us, now. Not yours again.”
Jack didn’t want any more said, especially with the strumpet there. “Look-“
“Maybe he liked me fucking him.” Francois grinned cockily, sliding his eyes to Will. “Like you’re enough for him.”
Jack didn’t have time to be mortified. Will shoved the man several steps, and Elizabeth yanked back her pole quickly to keep from accidentally stabbing her friend. “Stop,” he told Francois, voice low.
“He seemed to like getting it-“
“You don’t speak to him!” It was the angriest Jack had ever seen the blacksmith. “Just shut the fuck up! Don’t touch him again! He’s mine, and I’ll be damned if I let you within ten knots!” With a growl, Will savagely backhanded the Spaniard with his left hand, then drove past Francois’s lowered sword and stabbed him from low up through the chest at an angle. He yanked his sword free and elbowed the lifeless man to the deck.
The only noise in the still air for the next several seconds was Will’s harsh panting as he stood over his kill. Finally, Elizabeth spoke. “Oh … my.”
“Will?” Jack stepped closer, slowly. “Will?” He touched his elbow. “You there, mate?”
Something in what he said seemed to get through. He turned toward Jack, regarding him blankly for a few seconds, then blinked and focused, his eyes going wide. “Jack, you’re bleeding,” he said, his voice oddly quiet.
“Yeah.” Jack nodded, keeping his voice modulated, neutral. “Are you?”
“No.” Will shook his head. “No.”
His sword clattered to deck less than a heartbeat before his arms swept Jack against him, holding tightly. He whispered Jack’s name against his ear, and the pirate closed his eyes, turning his face into Will’s neck. His entire five senses and tight chest narrowed to this moment, this person, and he wanted more than anything to press him into a wall and kiss him stupid. There was a faraway voice, but Jack ignored it, concentrating on Will’s hand stroking his hair, their bodies cradling each other. He never wanted to move, to abandon this touch and sensation.
It was the sudden shift of Pearl beneath their feet, throwing them both into a stumble, that pulled the two men apart to each regain their equilibrium. Jack was about to speak when something wet splashed the bridge of his nose, spattering briefly into his eyes. He blinked, then squinted up as another drop fell. And fell. More fell. It took a few seconds to spot the darker clouds, and he’d never been so relieved in his life to feel the approach of a storm.
On to the final part ...
“Jack.” Barbossa broke into a wide, disgusting grin. “How ye been? You an’ your little boat?” For emphasis, he lifted his right foot and rat-a-tat-tatted his heel against Pearl’s deck a few times. “Ah, she still answers t’ me,” he taunted.
“Well, I s’pose retching’s an acceptable form of communication, if ye look at it such,” Jack shrugged. “What plane of Hell did you sail in from, anyway?”
“Same as me.”
The voice from the helm made Jack whirl, forgetting his detached mask. This time, it was Will backing toward him, keeping a body between Jack and Elias Francois. He stared hard at the Spanish captain for a moment, then looked back down toward Barbossa. “Oh, mate. You’re that desperate for a fuck, even in th’ afterlife?”
“Least I can find someone for me lust outside th’ same family,” Barbossa retorted, advancing slowly toward the steps. “C’mon down, Jack; you’re no safer there than ye would be right here.”
“Well, that much is probably true,” he heard Will mutter at his left ear, presumably turning to speak over his shoulder. “Wait – does he mean my father? Did you and he-”
“Will!” Jack hissed, noting Barbossa was near the bottom step.
“Mum?”
“Christ on th’ mast! You’re listenin’ to Barbossa?” He added in a mutter, “He’s trying to distract you, ‘s all. And it’s working.” Will said nothing, his typical response when a mistake was called on him. “Just stay put. Let them come at us.”
“An offensive would be better,” Will argued, sotto voce, pressing his back into Jack’s. “One can control things more.”
“Yeah, and you’re using up your energy, too.” Will sighed, and Jack knew what he was going to do; they had different fencing styles, and the pirate couldn’t always order the blacksmith around.
“Why don’t you take the boy?” Francois called to his death-mate. “I’ll handle the little bird.”
“You’re not getting anywhere near him.” Jack was surprised to hear the venom beneath Will’s rejoinder. “I’m the better swordsman, anyway. Afraid?”
“Didn’t do so well the last time we met over blades, as I recall.”
He felt Will’s entire body go rigid, hackles raised. “One way to find out.”
Jack felt the spring before Will actually charged Francois. He’d had his eye on a rope loosely knotted to the rail facing the foredeck, and had sheathed his sword while Will was speaking – when Will moved, Jack took a couple of steps and launched himself at the rope. He leaped, grabbing it just in time to nimbly lift his knees to clear the descending rail. His weight pulled the bare knot loose, and he grinned as he swung within inches of Barbossa mounting the steps, thanking Pearl’s mast for holding so well.
He landed in the center of the foredeck in a crouch, pivoting quickly on his right foot as he straightened, pulling his sword with the movement. Being smaller had advantages that big lugs like Barbossa never quite anticipated. He quickly yanked off the restrictive sword belt and coat, taking a few steps back to give himself time to toss them aside. “Come on, man,” Jack goaded, sword up. “Let’s get this over with. Again.”
It took everything Jack had to keep his concentration on Hector and not let his eyes stray to where he could hear the ring of metal near the helm. “So, what brings ye here?” he asked conversationally, ducking a stab to his throat.
“Shut up.”
“Not much for passin’ the time.” Ducking yet again, Jack used one of Will’s tricks, a sideways roll and quick rebound, putting him a few steps out of Hector’s reach. “You’re supposed t’ be dead. All I wan’ know is why now? I don’t even need the ‘how’ or partic’lars, after all we’ve seen together.”
“Do ye not understand revenge, Jack?” Theatrically, Jack paused, cocked his head, pretended to briefly mull the question, and shrugged. Hector narrowed his jaundiced eyes. “Th’ two of ye saw us to our graves, and now I’m gon’ do the same to you. Poetry, really.”
“Actually,” Jack pointed out, blocking the other man’s blade, “twas Norrington who sent your sweetie to th’ other side, not Will. And I’d think you’d be happy, had been missin’ him anyway.”
Barbossa laughed. “Jaaaack,” he rumbled, “oh, Jack. You’re dead, ‘tis true. But ye really think we’d kill such a pretty piece like that right away?” Jack paused, briefly puzzled, and Hector leered. “Waste not …”
“Your beef’s with me, not him.”
“Cheer up. Th’ whelp’s good as dead, once we’re through.” Hector stabbed toward Jack viciously, and he barely danced aside. “He’ll wish he was, anyway.” Jack lunged, angry, managing to nick the other man’s hand, but Barbossa seemed impervious to it. “Now, Jack – could be worse,” he taunted. “I mean, ‘s not like it’ll hurt as much as it could. You’ve already broken him in, right?”
The idea of Will forced to service either of them was a physical impediment to Jack’s fighting. Think. Think clearly. Distract, get him off this subject, and you can concentrate. He forced calm though he felt homicidal. “It doesn’t surprise me you two’d be takin’ up residence in th’ Devil’s Triangle,” he pointed out, “but how th’ hell’d we get here?”
“We called th’ two of ye here.” If Barbossa knew Jack was distracting him – and he probably did – he didn’t show it. “Well – just wanted you, really. But he sort of comes with th’ territory.”
As he fought, Jack kept up his flagging energy trying to reason that out. He supposed whatever power animated a corpse or a solid apparition could easily summon the living with some spell. Had Will been dragged in with Jack because of their emotional bond? It would explain why none of Pearl’s other crew were around.
He happened to catch sight out of the corner of his eye of Will stumbling backwards down the steps from the upper deck, falling the last few. Jack started for him, thinking he’d moved fast enough until he felt hot pain on his forearm. Whipping around, he barely avoided a more serious slice of Barbossa’s sword. When Hector got closer, Jack aimed a hard kick at his shin, then ran.
Will was on one knee and Francois barreled down the steps toward him. Jack managed to get his sword between them, halting the Spanish pirate enough to let Will get to his feet. “Jack, look-“ Will never finished the imperative, instead plowing into him and sending them both rolling to deck. The smith scrambled up, helping Jack, so that the two of them faced the two dead men.
“Aw, hell,” Jack swore, his sword at the ready. “Captain Jack Sparrow – killed by ghosts. This really isn’t gon’ help me image at all.”
“And killing ghosts won’t do it much good, either,” Will quipped. “But I’m telling you, it’s the better choice.”
In unspoken agreement, they both lunged, attacking with renewed vigor. Jack was careful not to stab Will – beyond that, he didn’t care what he hacked at. The four men went round and round for several moments, until Jack left his side vulnerable and Francois took advantage, stabbing not deeply in, but glancing enough to open a gash. Jack swore liberally, and Will made to set at the man, who now had his blade at the smith’s throat. “Drop it,” he ordered.
“No,” Will reflexively denied.
Jack was prepared to launch himself sideways and knock Will over to prevent him being stabbed, but the odds promptly turned in his favor. Barbossa and Francois both stumbled forward as Jack saw something behind them; he and Will stumbled back out of the way. “What the devil-“
“You’re dead.” Elizabeth glared at Barbossa with frank shock and annoyance. “How the hell did you get back here?”
“Elizabeth!” This, from Will, probably more surprised at her language than her presence.
She kept her attention on the two dead men rubbing the backs of their heads. Clutched in her small hands was a great, long harpoon; neither had received the hooked end, but she looked willing to use it. “So, it does hurt!” she crowed. “You can be killed here!”
Nobody was moving, and it occurred to Jack that he, at least, ought to see the advantage. Swiftly, he plunged his sword into Barbossa’s gut, and with uncharacteristic barbarity, yanked up into his sternum. “Back to hell,” he whispered at the shocked expression on the man’s face, before the body crumpled, taking Jack’s blade as it was lodged in bone.
Francois, livid, screamed a Spanish epithet and made to lunge at Jack, but Elizabeth swung her harpoon at the same moment Will raised his sword, the two of them blocking him from his target. Holding his sword defensively, Elias breathed heavily, glancing at them all, but narrowing his eyes at Jack in a way that actually embarrassed him. He remembered all too well the things he’d done to this man – and let him do – several months ago.
“Elizabeth, move.” Will gave the level order.
“No.” She shook her head, wisps of hair in her face.
“It’s my fight.”
“Actually, it’s mine,” Jack interjected, wanting to take control of the situation. He hated feeling at anyone’s mercy. “If you’ll just hand me your-“
“No.” Will kept his eyes on Elias, his blade not wavering. “It’s my turn to defend us, now. Not yours again.”
Jack didn’t want any more said, especially with the strumpet there. “Look-“
“Maybe he liked me fucking him.” Francois grinned cockily, sliding his eyes to Will. “Like you’re enough for him.”
Jack didn’t have time to be mortified. Will shoved the man several steps, and Elizabeth yanked back her pole quickly to keep from accidentally stabbing her friend. “Stop,” he told Francois, voice low.
“He seemed to like getting it-“
“You don’t speak to him!” It was the angriest Jack had ever seen the blacksmith. “Just shut the fuck up! Don’t touch him again! He’s mine, and I’ll be damned if I let you within ten knots!” With a growl, Will savagely backhanded the Spaniard with his left hand, then drove past Francois’s lowered sword and stabbed him from low up through the chest at an angle. He yanked his sword free and elbowed the lifeless man to the deck.
The only noise in the still air for the next several seconds was Will’s harsh panting as he stood over his kill. Finally, Elizabeth spoke. “Oh … my.”
“Will?” Jack stepped closer, slowly. “Will?” He touched his elbow. “You there, mate?”
Something in what he said seemed to get through. He turned toward Jack, regarding him blankly for a few seconds, then blinked and focused, his eyes going wide. “Jack, you’re bleeding,” he said, his voice oddly quiet.
“Yeah.” Jack nodded, keeping his voice modulated, neutral. “Are you?”
“No.” Will shook his head. “No.”
His sword clattered to deck less than a heartbeat before his arms swept Jack against him, holding tightly. He whispered Jack’s name against his ear, and the pirate closed his eyes, turning his face into Will’s neck. His entire five senses and tight chest narrowed to this moment, this person, and he wanted more than anything to press him into a wall and kiss him stupid. There was a faraway voice, but Jack ignored it, concentrating on Will’s hand stroking his hair, their bodies cradling each other. He never wanted to move, to abandon this touch and sensation.
It was the sudden shift of Pearl beneath their feet, throwing them both into a stumble, that pulled the two men apart to each regain their equilibrium. Jack was about to speak when something wet splashed the bridge of his nose, spattering briefly into his eyes. He blinked, then squinted up as another drop fell. And fell. More fell. It took a few seconds to spot the darker clouds, and he’d never been so relieved in his life to feel the approach of a storm.
On to the final part ...
