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~*~*~
They land on the island and proceed to haul the giant ship ashore with the tide. Even the Black Pearl, fastest – and according to a biased few, most notorious – ship in the Caribbean is susceptible to the general wear and tear that comes from cannon fire and barnacles.
After stationing two men as look out, and ordering the rest of the crew to hop to, Jack throws a companionable arm around Will’s shoulder, steering them away from the busy crew and into the dense foliage at the edge of the beach.
Will shoots the man a questioning look, “Shouldn’t we help?”
Jack tosses a grin over his shoulder as he bats aside a wayward fern. “What’s the point o’ bein’ Captain if ye have to do the work of any ol’ jack-tar?”
Will splutters and glares at his companion’s back as the fern’s taut branch is released into his face. His exasperation flares as he almost trips over a half buried tree root. “So where are we going then?”
Jack shrugs eloquently. “Don’t know. Figured we’d go… exploring.”
Will stops abruptly. “So, you don’t actually know where we are?”
“That would be one of the points of exploring, now, wouldn’t it?”
Will suddenly realises it is going to be a very long day.
~*~*~
They continue in silence for some time, until the sound of waves hitting the sand is replaced by the raucous calls of exotic birds high overhead. The air is heavy with the moisture of a coming storm, and beneath the shady canopy it is decidedly chilly.
They eagerly power through the brush, when Will stops and turned to look back the way they’d come.
The tropical plants splay leafy arms in every direction, with only a splash of colour here and there to distinguish one plant from another.
“Jack?”
“Hmmm?”
“Please tell me you know how to get back to the ship.”
Jack turns and looks toward the direction Will had been staring. Will watches, anxiously.
Jack blinks slowly, head tilting first to one side, then to the other. He glances up at the canopy, and at the bright silhouette of the sun above them. “Hmm.”
~*~*~
“I can’t believe you’ve gotten us lost!”
“Me?! Why is this my fault?! ‘sides, we’re not lost, we’re just… turned about.”
Will glares at the infuriating man. “We’ve been walking in circles for the last two hours. We’re lost!”
“Are not!”
“Yes we are!”
“Are not!”
“Yes we – dammit Jack! I don’t know why I let you talk me into these ridiculous ideas of yours!”
“Me?!”
“Yes you! You always march up out of the blue and… and…” Will waved his hands in front of him in what Jack belatedly realises is a very poor imitation of himself. “–distract me!”
The pirate grins and leans insouciantly against a nearby tree. “Do I, now?”
“Yes, you do! And you know very well that you’re doing it too!”
Will collapses with a heavy sigh onto a convenient rocky perch and rubs a weary hand over his face. The light tinkling of trinkets warns of Jack’s approach, and Will snaps his eyes open to glare at the maddening man.
“My sincerest apologies, William. It seems I’ve failed to take into account your thoughts in the matter. It was remiss of me.”
Will watches the man suspiciously. “Yes, it was.”
Strong hands land on Will’s shoulders and begin to knead tired muscles, and he sighs appreciatively.
Jack’s breath tickles his ear, “Let me make it up to you, Will.”
Will’s eyes snap open – when did he close them? – and he rises to his feet with a formidable glare. "Jack..." the warning in Will's voice is clear.
Jack sighs noisily, and crosses his arms in front of his chest with casual nonchalance.
The noisy squawking of birds echoes in the tense silence between them.
Will finally turns his back, checking his canteen and fiddling with his baldric, determined to look anywhere but at the man opposite him.
"Why do you do this?"
Will blinked, stunned. "Sorry?"
"You heard me William."
"I heard you. I'm just not sure I understand."
"You’re not sure you want to understand, rather."
Will's lips tightened dangerously. "What's the difference?"
Jack shook his head. "You owe her no loyalty, mate. I don't know whose honour you’re trying to maintain, but –"
"Don't be ridiculous! Of course I do!"
"She left you!" Jack's yell startles the birds from the trees, and they disperse with irritated chirps, leaving it frighteningly silent.
Will's hands are clenched hard at his sides, his chest heaving with angry breaths. "You don't know that."
"Don't, I?" Jack prowls angrily forward, jabbing a finger pointedly at Will's – deliciously formed – chest. "She disappears, in the middle of the night no less, from the house you scraped and saved for, leaves no word, and takes all her possessions with her." The pirate gives an agitated snort. "That's hardly the markings of a lady who’s happy with her home life, now is it?!"
"She'll be back. She's just feeling stifled, that's all."
"Stifled?! Anansi’s balls, use your thrice-bedamned brain you foolish, block-headed lubber! Your precious fairy tale is over! Bloody wake up and realise which way the wind is blowing already!"
As soon as he's said it, Jack wishes he could take it back. Will's face is stony, his body tight with restrained tension, but his eyes... Jack feels suddenly like the unworthiest of cads, and he rubs a tired hand over his brow. "Will… I..."
Will turns on his heel, away from Jack, and disappears with angry strides into the dense foliage.
Jack curses to himself and watches him go, kicking angrily at a nearby rock.
~*~*~
Will isn't sure how long he's been walking for, angrily swiping branches away from his face, as he marches through the greenery.
He stops suddenly, completely at a loss, when the dense undergrowth abruptly gives way to a small clearing and a stream trickling merrily on its meandering path.
He's panting hard, breaths coming in painful gulps, heart beating loudly and painfully in his chest. He brushes agitatedly at a rivulet of sweat and walks towards the water.
Kneeling down on the soft bank, he splashes some water on his heated face. He’s tempted to take a drink, but not knowing the water’s source he decides not to risk it.
There’s a rumble of distant thunder, and he squints up at the sky, judging the distance of the storm. He sits back with a heavy sigh and stares unseeing around the clearing.
Despite how he sometimes acts, Will is no simpleton. He knows what Jack says is the truth. He knew it even before Jack spoke the hurtful words.
He suspected from the minute he woke up in their bed to find the opposite side empty, the house eerily quiet. At first, he didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t.
That everything he’d worked so hard for, everything he’d hoped for and dreamed of, for years on end, could be stripped away by the harsh unforgiving light of a sunny morning. It didn’t seem possible. Didn’t seem real.
Life was cruel, but surely, after everything that had happened, after all the years of yearning and desperation to be better, to make a name for himself – as something more than a blacksmith – and to earn Elizabeth’s love… he’d accomplished it all. But it wasn’t enough.
He had the unshakable feeling when he saw that her possessions were gone. He knew, then. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that something must have happened, that maybe she’d been kidnapped, that she’d been taken hostage somehow, without his knowing.
With shaking hands, he’d found the note. And he’d understood then, for certain, that Elizabeth would not be coming back.
The words were sincere and apologetic, written in a flowing hand that declared words of love and sorrow. Explained how the life he’d worked so hard to achieve for them both was not enough. That life in Port Royale, with him, wasn’t enough.
He had never been enough.
Will knew. And his world and been shattered irrevocably by that knowledge.
Governor Swann had been distraught. He had ordered Commodore Norrington to search for his missing daughter. And Will had sat there silently as they planned the search, knowing that they wouldn’t find her. That even if they did it wouldn’t change anything. He had seen the knowledge in Norrington’s eyes too. Had seen the blame in the short terse sentences that were spoken to him, the subtle body language that indicated that, once again, Will Turner was unwelcome.
So he’d left.
He closed the smithy for the last time, said goodbye, and sold the donkey to the baker the next street over. He packed up his few belongings, headed down the sloping street towards the harbour, and stopped. Standing on the docks, staring out at the bay, Will realised he had nowhere to go.
She was his everything.
And now she was gone, and he had nothing.
He’d bartered passage off a merchant vessel leaving that day. Had sailed aimlessly around the nearby waters, before finally deciding on a course of action.
He’d followed a hunch, and found his feet treading a familiar path up towards a dilapidated tavern, the loud, lewd and rough surrounds of Tortuga offering a relieving sense of anonymity.
He’d found Jack holding court in the familiar tavern, surrounded by scoundrels and scallywags, a painted lady pressed to his side. His dark eyes flashing and hands animatedly flapping and twitching as he spun a wild tale to his captive audience.
Will had stood inside, back pressed to the wall and watched, undecided whether to go through with his plan or to just turn around and disappear.
Jack of course, had made the decision for him.
He’d spotted him in the corner, and waved him over with a gold-flecked grin. Before he’d really known what was happening, he was sitting, a half-empty tankard of awful ale pressed in his hand. Jack’s eyes had flitted in cursory examination and then had met his across the scarred table. And as simple as that, Jack knew.
He remembers dissembling; muttering something about how Elizabeth was missing, and that there was a search for her. Asking Jack if he or the crew had seen any sign of her. When the answer came back negative, he’d felt a peculiar sense of relief. It was then that he asked permission to join Captain Sparrow’s crew – “just until I find her.”
For whatever reason, Jack had accepted.
It’d been six months since that day in Tortuga. Six months, where he and Jack had danced around the truth. Six months of trying to rebuild his life from nothing, yet again.
Will is still trying to regain control of his rampaging emotions when he hears the crunch of footsteps behind him.
"You know," comes that hated and loved voice. "Storming off is a lot easier to do when you know where you're going..."
Will hands clench and he grits his teeth, not quite ready to forgive the man for breaking their unspoken agreement.
It seems his non-verbal cues aren’t strong enough, for Jack steps further into the clearing and sits down next to Will.
“I’m sorry I said it as I did, but I’m not sorry I said it.”
Will snorts. “Course not.”
Jack glances sideways at him through lowered lashes, before clapping the other man on the shoulder. “Come on, I wanna show ye something.”
He springs up from the ground, offering Will a hand up and waits anxiously to see if the boy will take it.
He does, and Jack beams.
~*~*~
Coming to a sudden stop, Will blinks as the trees around him fall away to a rolling, hilly landscape. Nestled at the base of a large mountain range, surveying the tumbling fields surrounding it, stands a large house.
‘House is really too unassuming a word,’ thinks Will. ‘Mansion or palace would be more apt, really.’
The grandiose two-storey white façade was peeling in the humid Caribbean air, and the fields it supervised were overgrown and badly in need of tending.
Will turned to the pirate next to him and levelled a half-hearted glare. “You knew about this, didn’t you? You’d had this all planned out from the beginning.”
“I did not! I suspected.” Jack holds up a finger severely, “that’s vastly different from knowing.” He grins and stalks out into the open. “Now come on, let’s see what pickings are left, eh?’
Will stares after him. “You seriously mean to break in and steal?”
Jack doesn’t even bother to turn around, rolling his eyes dramatically and arms held out wide. “Pirate!”
Will watches him as he walks further and further away before giving a faint sigh and following obediently. “Yes, but this is low even by your standards.”
They creep up through one of the deserted cotton fields, eyeing the abandoned house as its scarred face watches their progress. It’s eerily silent in the field, and Will feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand to attention.
Jack seems somehow immune, or just oblivious to the charged atmosphere, as he leaps lightly up the front steps and strides boldly to the front door.
Grabbing the large brass knocker he raps sharply, and they stand and wait, listening as the echoes fade away.
Will quirks an eyebrow expressively. “Were you expecting someone?”
Jack’s face is serious as he turns and glances at Will. “No. ‘Certainly don’t hurt to check, though.”
Will is left to blink after him as he pushes down the handle and the white oak door swings open noiselessly.
Inside, a spacious and gloomy entrance hall is bathed with dust. Up above the grand staircase a chandelier hangs heavy with crystal and cobwebs. An unsettling foreboding settles heavily in Will’s stomach. Irritated with himself, he shakes the feeling off.
“Right” Jack says, clapping his hands and making Will start. “You take the east wing and I’ll take the west, then we’ll make our way upstairs, savvy?”
Will rolls his eyes, but nods and moves off in the direction Jack had indicated, hearing the retreating sounds of Jack’s boots tapping across the un-polished floor.
The first room he enters appears to be a formal dining room, and he immediately spots the silver and fine china laid out on the long table, ready for use.
Looking around at the small hoard, he glances about, before finally settling on the tablecloth for a make-shift rucksack. Carefully discarding several items, he shifts the others to the centre of the table, before moving to the sideboard to grab a few errant candlesticks. From here he can see the large cupboard, discretely tucked into a corner of the room.
It seems decidedly odd that there is anything left – let alone still in plain sight. Such costly goods are usually the first items to be taken.
He frowns, inspecting an ornate sauceboat, which still sits in easy reach within the cupboard. Whoever had previously owned the house had obviously left in a hurry, else they’d have taken such worthy goods with them. Nothing has been put away for storage or shipping; everything is still in its original place.
‘They must’ve fallen ill and passed away,’ he reassures himself. ‘That would explain it.’
‘But not why everything’s been left here like it has,’ whispers an insidious part of his mind – which sounds disturbingly like a certain pirate captain.
He closes the cupboard door sharply, angry at the foolish direction his thoughts have taken.
Tying off the tablecloth, Will picks up his bundle, taking a minute to admire the portraiture in the room before he leaves.
His eye falls on one portrait predominantly displayed above the mantle of the fireplace. Within an ornate gilded frame, a porcelain-skinned lady, dressed in a beautiful white flowing gown, is seated on a chair, her body angled gracefully and slippered feet tucked to one side. Long-fingered hands are folded demurely on her lap above a silken fan.
Dark wavy hair is pulled back from a bewitching face, a few curls fall artfully to frame it. Red cupids bow lips and dark eyes framed by dark lashes. The figure is young, maybe in her twenties, and Will stands for some minutes staring appreciatively. Whether a kind rendition by a skilled painter, or an accurate reflection of the subject, it is a stunning picture.
The faint tinkling of a harpsichord floats on the air and Will turns to look back the way he’s come, curious and surprised. It seems another hidden talent of Captain Jack Sparrow has decided to reveal itself.
He hefts the bulging tablecloth and makes his way back through the entrance hall, deciding to skip the kitchens in favour of watching Jack play.
The music is louder now, playing a soft gentle melody that would perfectly suit one of the fancy soirees held regularly for the aristocracy of Port Royale. Will has only ever attended one, standing stiff in fancy clothes that despite being specially tailored hadn’t seemed to fit right. He’d hovered awkwardly in a corner, trying not to fidget as he watched the women dance in elegant circles with their partners, whilst others had bandied about veiled barbs, and twisted words to subtly position themselves as dominant. Will had hated every second of it. Give him a sword and a tangible threat any day.
He pushes down on the handle, just as the music stops. Will grins as he pushes open the door, “Please, don’t stop on –“
He blinks at the empty room. Will gives a huff and shifts the sack over his shoulder. “Haven’t you had enough games for one day, Jack?”
There is no answer, and Will shakes his head, deciding to head upstairs and leave the other man to it.
~*~*~
Jack had made his way quickly through the rooms, finding a trinket here and there that he pocketed quickly and skilfully, but otherwise there was precious little that he could actually take from the large drawing room.
He is just considering if he could somehow transport the ornate harpsichord back to the Pearl – the answer is an obvious no, but it seems a shame to let such a fine instrument go to waste – when he hears the slam of a door from upstairs.
Jack frowns, looking up at the ceiling and listening. Will should still have two other rooms to scour – at least, he should if he’s actually doing his job and hasn’t suffered a sudden bout of morality.
Jack sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, counting tiredly to ten. ‘I’m gettin’ too old for this.’ He frowns, again questioning whether he’d made the right choice in taking the lad on board.
Will has all the makings of a great pirate, if only he weren’t such a bull-headed pillock!
‘Doesn’t help none that he’s an awfully fair sight on old eyes, eh?’
Jack has a weakness for beautiful things – whether for a bejeweled ornament gracing a patrician's coffers, or the sleek line of a ship as it sails into a setting sun, or the graceful curve of a woman's thigh, it doesn't matter. Beautiful things call to Jack like a siren song; caressing and beckoning, teasing and flirting.
It makes Jack’s job as a pirate much easier, really.
But Will – Will is both infuriating, and disturbingly endearing. There’s something in his honest brown eyes that gives Jack’s cynical and bitter heart hope.
And yet, right now, Jack is about ready to clout the boy around the head with an oar – a very telling action, as Jack knows first-hand just how much that hurts.
Such thoughts shouldn’t be held against him, he thinks, as he grabs a bottle of amber not-rum and takes a good swig before starting for the door and the stairs. After all, it’s been several months now since Will unexpectedly appeared in Tortuga, and so far all Jack has managed is a LOT of frustration and a quick grope of a lovely firm arse.
And oh, what an arse.
Jack takes another swig from the bottle as he starts up the steps, trying to bring his thoughts back to the original point.
The point.
Right.
The point was…
What was the point?
He stops, mid step, and frowns down at the carpeted stair, mentally backtracking. ‘The point is Will, upstairs, not doing his job. Right.’
Jack continues on his way, looking first left down the long hallway, and then to the right, consideringly.
The point is, unless Will shapes up, Jack is going to kick him out, beautiful arse or not!
The soft creak of floorboards directs him to the left, and he goes down that way briskly. He throws open the door and steps into the room, a sharp reprimand on the tip of his tongue, ready to be dispatched when he realises the room is empty.
A large window casts the light gently into the musty smelling room. A great canopied bed stands proudly against the far wall, hangings tied neatly to their posts.
Beside the bed, and within easy reach on a low cabinet, sits an ornate oil lamp. Freshly lit.
Jack frowns, entering the room.
With quick steps he makes his way over to the lamp and stands staring at it for several moments. He will have to remind Will not to be so careless as to leave untended lamps in abandoned rooms. He shakes his head, feeling the reassuring weight of his beads swing with him as he does, before reaching out and extinguishing the lamp.
‘It’s light enough in the room without it, anyway, so why bother lighting it? And where in the blazes did the boy find fresh fuel to light it in the first place?’
With an exasperated mutter about lubbers (and former smiths in particular), Jack turns to survey the room.
A table with curled feet stands not far away, a padded stool placed precisely underneath. A large piece of mirrored glass before the table reflects the contents, and Jack makes his way over curiously. He skims his hand along the assorted combs and bottles that sit there, picking up one or two to sniff curiously, opening jars and peering inside.
A drawer with a key dangling from its locked front winks at him tantalisingly and Jack grins. He isn’t sure why people always leave the key to a locked container handily within reach of the thing that was to be locked, but he’s never stopped being thankful for other people’s stupidity.
Turning it with a click, he pulls out the deep drawer and peers inside. Papers, a pen, a jar of ink and a copy of the bible. Hardly the kind of thing one should be locking away. Not discouraged, he pulls the whole drawer out, tapping the base and dumping the contents onto the table top. A hollow thunk sounds as something within shifts and Jack smiles in self-satisfaction. With his fingers skimming the base, he finds what he’s looking for, and pushes. The wood slides to one side with a ‘pop’, and the hidden door reveals itself. He pulls it open eagerly and reaches in to free the velvet box trapped within.
He eyes the case briefly, savouring the ache of anticipation, before opening the lid. Jack waggles his fingers in delight. “Why hello, darlings.”
Inside, the jeweled brooches, earring and necklaces wink and blink lovingly at him and he runs his hand appreciatively over their contoured faces. Snapping the case shut, he tucks it in between layers of clothes, close to his heart, and continues searching.
Honestly, he’ll have to teach the boy a thing or two about searching a room. One can not go through life missing such obvious prizes as this!
A tall dresser of dark carved wood stands near the window, doors shut, and Jack makes his way over to it, doubtful that there’ll be anything of real value, but willing to be proved wrong.
He opens the doors, which creak slightly, and pushes aside the layers of silk and brocade he finds within, intermittently tugging one garment out consideringly, before tossing it either back in the dresser or at his feet in a small, but steadily growing, pile.
"Jack."
The pirate whirls, dress held up in front of his face like a silken shield as his startling – and undeniably high pitched – yelp has both men flinching in shock.
"Good lord, Will! Don't ever, EVER sneak up on a man in an abandoned house, ye hear?!"
Will smile is apologetic and slightly sheepish, "Sorry."
Arms crossed defensively in front of him, Jack hugs the dress to his chest with a huff. "What did ye want, anyway?"
Will shrugs. "Found some silver. Thought you'd be interested."
"Oh."
They stand, watching one another in silence while time seems to stretch.
Will turns to leave the room, breaking the spell. He stops in the doorway and nods back at the still-open armoire. "The purple would suit you better."
Jack blinks at the spot Will had just occupied before looking down at the cream-coloured gown in his arm. He then turns pensively to the hanging purple dress and shamelessly adds it to the pile at his feet.
He grabs the cover from the bed – a nicely embroidered piece that should sell quite well on its own – and half kicks, half scoops the gowns onto it. Bundling it up he leaves the room, making his way back towards the staircase.
He calls out to Will, who is emerging from another suite of rooms further down the hall. “The kitchen?”
Will shakes his head before disappearing through another door. “Didn’t check.”
Jack feels the urge to rolls his eyes in a ‘thought as much’ gesture as he makes his way down the stairs. He dumps his bundle of goods down next to where Will has deposited a nicely-sized pile of silverware. He nods approvingly. At least the lad has swept the downstairs rooms properly!
He hums a little ditty absentmindedly as he makes his way down the stark corridor towards the back of the house and the kitchen. Small and bare, there is a gloomy atmosphere to this abandoned room, and there are no windows to light the way. Jack blinks and waits for his eyes to adjust before grabbing a nearby candle and lighting it quickly.
The flame flares and then wavers in some unfelt current of air, and Jack quickly navigates his way over to the pantry.
A lot of the food is spoiled, but after some careful checking he finds several tins of tea and a canister of sugar that are still in good shape. He eagerly checks the flour, but weevils have discovered a way into the jar, and frankly, they have enough of those to deal with on board the Pearl.
He is searching at the very back of the pantry, rummaging through gnawed-on sacks of grain, when the candle blows out.
Jack glares at it in the dark, muttering a curse and trying to locate the small piece of flint he keeps stowed on his personage. He bends his head forward, searching the pouch sewn into the inside of his jacket when he feels cool fingers tickle the back of his neck.
He whirls on the spot and peers vainly into the dark towards the entrance of the pantry door.
There is no one there.
Carefully drawing his pistol, he takes deep breaths, trying to slow the pounding sound of his heart. “Who’s there?”
When there is no response, he carefully presses his back to the wall, eyes sliding into the dark recesses of the room as he sidles his way towards the door.
His foot hits a loose can and he stumbles slightly, ankle rolling. His pistol wavers as he tries to regain his balance and he grimaces and curses. A tinkling feminine laugh echoes eerily in the confined space and Jack whirls to face the door of the pantry, breathing hard. Icy fingers run down his cheek in a parody of a caress and Jack feels his heart jump in his chest.
Unashamedly, Captain Jack Sparrow bolts from that confined space, mocking laughter ringing in his ears.
~*~*~
Will descends the stairs and makes his way towards the ever-growing pile, placing down the last few items he’s found. He wipes a dirty hand on his breeches, and tries not to sneeze as the dust curls and floats around him.
A noise from the kitchen makes him turn and he frowns as he sees Jack all but running towards him.
“Jack? What is it?”
“We’re leaving. Now.”
Will blinks, confused. “What? Why? We’ve still got rooms to search.”
Jack shakes his head quickly crossing the foyer and grabbing Will by the arm, heading for the door. “No, no we don’t.”
Will stumbles slightly at the insistent tugging, and he pulls back, digging his heels in. He waves his other arm back at the pile of goods sitting innocently at the base of the stairs. “Wait, what about the –”
“LEAVE IT.”
Will jumps, and has no choice but to follow as Jack throws open the door and pulls him outside. They hurry down the front stairs and are halfway down the drive, making their way back towards one of the fields when Will tugs his arm free and rubs his sore wrist. “Jack–?”
The wind whips their clothing as the storm front approaches, and Jack shakes his head and makes a frantic hushing gesture. “Not now. Let’s get away from here first.”
Will’s brow furrows but he nods and follows the other man as he recklessly plunges into the tangle of brush that marks the boundary between the fields and the jungle.
They press on, the rumble of thunder echoing loudly above the tree tops. The chattering of birds and creatures echoes loudly as they warn each other of the approaching storm.
The trees sway and creak in the wind, and Will shivers as the cold cuts straight through the linen of his shirt, wishing he’d brought his coat. Jack seems unaffected by the weather and pushes determinedly through the foliage, as Will slips and stumbles his way after the other man.
In contrast to their earlier jaunt, Jack seems to know exactly where he is going, angling his way westward. Will feels a small spark of irritation, realising Jack had known all along the way back to the Pearl. His irritation with Jack, however, was negligible next to the irritation he felt with himself for being so easily fooled.
The crashing of the surf on the sand up ahead confirms their return to the beach, and finally Jack seems to slow slightly. Will breathes a sigh of relief, striding forward to catch up.
They burst through the brush and back onto the sandy soil. The sight of the Pearl’s silhouette against a dark sky seems to renew the pirate captain with purpose, and he strides briskly towards her.
The crew are running here and there, hurriedly lashing down the Pearl from the heavy waves that approached with the coming storm.
Jack strides right up into the middle of the activity, bypassing Gibbs who has stepped forward to hail their return, and bellows loudly above the winds. “ALL HANDS ON DECK!!!”
The crew seems to freeze collectively, and they look at each other in a mixture of confusion and frustration.
Gibbs shares a look with Will, silently inquiring, and Will can do nothing but shrug and shake his head in confusion before the old salt hastily runs after his captain.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Captain, but the ship’s not ready! She ain’t seaworthy yet!” Gibbs motions with one hand to the still-wet pitch that covers the Black Pearl’s battle-scarred hull.
A muscle seems to twitch behind Jack’s moustache, and both Will and Gibbs watch as he looks nervously back the way they’ve just come. “Right,” he whispers, apparently to himself, before something seems to resolve and he straightens. “Right!” He orders, “I want three men to a watch, and ye’ll keep your weapons ready if ye know what’s good for ye, do ye hear me ye slimy bilge rats?”
The men straighten and there is a quick round of “Aye Capt’n!”
Jack storms his way towards the Pearl, his movements sharp and jerky. “And build up those watch fires!”
Will shares another meaningful look with Gibbs before hurrying after the agitated captain. “Jack.”
Jack has reached one of the great towlines and, as nimble as his monkey namesake, hoists himself up the rope and onto the deck. Will curses to himself and decides to go help the crew while awaiting the other man’s return.
After a seemingly interminable wait, Will glances up and spots Jack returning, dragging a large wooden trunk behind him, and making his way towards the tent set aside for him. Will excuses himself from setting up camp and goes to follow the other man, ignorant of the crew’s exchange of knowing looks.
Will lifts the flap of the tent and ducks inside, watching as Jack curses and grumbles as he struggles to shove the large, heavy trunk into a corner of the tent.
“Jack?”
The man yelps and whirls, his expression turning fierce as he focuses on Will. “Bloody hell, Will, I told ye not to do that!”
Will levels him with a look. “Call your name?”
“What?” Jack glares, “No! That sneaking, creeping thing ye do!” He holds up a finger threateningly. “Next time, I won’t be held accountable if I run ye through!”
Will simply observes the other man quietly for several minutes as Jack throws open the trunk, and begins to rummage inside.
“What happened back at the house, Jack?”
Jack sighs, and Will is shocked to see a slight shiver run down the pirate’s back. He looks up and fixes Will with a speculative look before shaking his head and turning back to the trunk. “Ye wouldn’t believe me even if I told ye.”
Will frowns. “Try me.”
Jack sits back, his legs crossing in front of him. One hand remains hidden in the trunk, while the other falls onto the pistol at his side. Will sits down opposite him and tries to keep his expression open and blank.
Jack sighs and runs a hand over his face. “That place.” The pirate shook his head quickly, as if to rid himself of some thought. “We shouldn’t have gone there. We weren’t to know, but ‘tis haunted.”
Will feels a slight quiver at the corner of his lip and he can’t suppress the slightly incredulous tone in his voice. “Haunted? You mean to say, haunted by ghosts?’
Jack throws his hands in the air and turns his back on the younger man. “Told ye you wouldn’t believe me.”
“No, no. I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to say... that. Besides, I mean, really… ghosts, Jack?”
The wind howls outside and shakes the canvas tent. Jack twists to look at Will seriously. “You of all people, William, should know better than to discount supernatural tales… especially considering your dealings with cursed gold and dead men who walk under the guise of the living. Ringing any bells?”
“True…” Will considers, “but that was different somehow. It was physical, something tangible.” he shrugs self-consciously. “Ghost and ghouls… they’re just superstitious nonsense.”
Jack snorts. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that there could be more to this world than you or I will ever know, hmm?”
Will shifts, distinctly uncomfortable. “Alright. Suppose I believe you. What actually happened back at the house?”
Jack fiddles with one of his beard braids. “First a question.”
Will nods his acceptance.
“Did you light the lamp in the bedroom?”
Will stares, perplexed. “What? What lamp?”
Jack leans forward and peers at him intently. “In the bedroom. There was a lamp on a drawer. It’d been lit.”
Will feels a slight tingling of apprehension and he shakes it off irritably with a snort. “No. I didn’t go into that bedroom. I’d been downstairs the whole time; I only just came upstairs to tell you about the silver.”
Jack takes a slow heavy breath and nods.
The pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the tent has them both glancing up as the clouds finally break.
Will turns the day’s events over in his head and suddenly lands upon a question of his own. “Do you... play?”
Jack blinks. “What?”
Will shrugs. “A musical instrument, do you play?”
“Why?”
Will shrugs again, aware of the deflection. “I heard music, so I went to the drawing room where I heard it coming from. I thought it was you, but when I opened the door you weren’t there.”
A rumble of thunder provides ominous punctuation to the story, and Jack’s eyes glitter severely. “Hmm.”
Will watches him carefully. “So, do you?”
Jack tilts his head to one side. “I know how to, yes. But I didn’t touch that harpsichord. Admired it, certainly. But touched it? No.”
Will searches his face for any trace of guile, not sure whether to believe him. It would be simple for Jack to lie to add credibility to his story.
“In the kitchen,” Jack starts, turning back to the large trunk. “I went into the pantry to see what I could find. I’d gone down the back with a candle, and as I was digging around, the candle blew out. I was searching for a piece o’ flint –” Will’s eyebrows rise and he looks pointedly at the flint-lock pistol at Jack’s side. Jack nods, “– I know, I forgot about that ‘til after! Anyway. I was searching for some flint when I felt a cold hand on the back o’ me neck.” Will notes the rough change in Jack’s speech, but refrains from comment. “I drew the pistol, but there was no one there. I made me way back towards the door o’ the pantry, but I tripped. I heard a woman laugh, and then the hand was back, but it stroked me face.”
Jack finally seems to find what he’s been searching for and tugs a small case out from the trunk. Will watches him curiously.
“What are you doing?”
Jack doesn’t even glance up as he opens it, but pulls out a small pouch. From this, he draws a small green oval stone with a peculiar streak of lighter green down its centre. He fastens the gem around his neck. “You can believe, or you can disbelieve, either is fine by me, but I’ll be doin’ everythin’ I can to ward off even a hint o’ anything unnatural.”
Will sits silently and watches curiously as the rain blankets the night.
~*~*~
A week had passed on the island since that first fateful day.
The storm had hampered their efforts to get the Pearl fixed, the overcast sky and the rain keeping the pitch from drying and the men from being able to do more repairs.
Gibbs had been the next to discover the source of Jack’s unease, and, much to Will’s consternation, he seemed to believe Jack’s tale and took immediately to surreptitious signs and amulets.
Of course, after Gibbs, the rest of the crew had been quick to hear about the supposedly haunted house. For nights now, the crew had been huddling fearfully behind canvas walls, protective circles and talismans adorning every spare space as they watched the tree line fearfully.
Reports came in of missing items. At first they were easy to brush off as having been misplaced, but soon enough it had become too much of a regular occurrence. Will privately asked Jack to consider whether one of the crew was taking liberties. Jack had looked at him seriously and promised to look into it.
On the third night, the whole crew had been awoken by the panicked exclamations of those on watch. They’d run out, weapons drawn and ready to attack, only to see a light floating eerily between the trees, flickering in one spot and then disappearing quickly, before appearing once again somewhere else.
Needless to say, no one had slept that night.
It was then that Will had started to believe.
On the fourth day a man had come running into the camp, yelling and screaming hysterically. After finally prying the information from his fear-tightened lips, they’d learned that the man had been motivated by greed and sneaked into the mansion.
Figuring he’d be safe enough in the daytime, he’d ventured out to collect some of the silver and trinkets that Jack and Will had left behind. He had been on his way back, cutting through one of the large fields when he’d stumbled upon half buried human remains, a pile of bones bleached shiny white by the unforgiving Caribbean sun.
After that, there hadn’t been a man left among them who dared venture from the sandy beach.
On the positive side, once the rain had cleared, repairs to the Pearl had been made in record time, with the crew working furiously to patch up the ship so that she was at least seaworthy – enough to limp her way to safer shores.
Jack had begrudgingly given up the velvet box filled with jewels and ordered them to be returned – hoping that would compel the spirit to stay at the house, but it was not enough.
That night, the sounds of screams and tortured moans had been carried on the wind, and the crew huddled miserably in their bunks, praying to their various gods.
Will had steadfastly remained in his tent, refusing to be budged by the fearful mutterings of the crew. He no longer doubted that the island was haunted, though he was still coming to terms with the concept.
He’d conceded to a nightly prayer before bed, but still refused to partake of the symbols of protection that every crew member had dug up from seemingly nowhere.
Saying a quick prayer he crawled into his bunk, his sword and pistol within easy reach. Within minutes, he was asleep, and then, he dreamed…
He follows her into the large house, proudly walking through the front doors and the main hall and up the stairs to the master bedroom.
She closes the door behind him, giving a coy glance from beneath lowered lashes as she twists the key in the lock. He grins as he pulls her towards himself, his hot palm feeling the curve of her hips underneath soft fabric.
They fall onto the bed, laughing, and his excitement builds.
Cold delicate fingers caress his face lovingly, and he leans into the touch, with eager anticipation. He leans in for a kiss from rosy red lips. A dark curl falls from her pinned hair, framing her face artfully as she shifts towards him.
All of a sudden, sharp nails dig into his cheeks, drawing blood. He cries out in shock and pain. His hands are quickly restrained in cruelly tight bonds to the bedhead and he feels both a thrill of desire and of terror as a long whip is uncoiled before his eyes and brought up close, first stroking his chest gently, before biting deep into the vulnerable skin.
He cries out after the fifth lash, begging his mistress shamelessly for forgiveness and for release. His cries are rewarded with a cruel slap across his cheek, and the demon laughs mockingly at his pleas...
Will jerks awake, gasping deep lungfuls of air, his sword grasped tightly in his hand. He can feel the cool trickle of sweat run down his brow, and with shock he notices his limbs are trembling.
It is only when he raises his hand to his abnormally heated – and tender – cheek that Will flees the confines of his tent and runs shamelessly the short distance towards Jack's.
He bursts through the canvas, and Jack levels a pistol at his stumbling entrance, before cautiously inviting him in. “At least that was a slightly louder entrance.”
Will stands there, panting, trying to overcome the trembling in his hands and find the right words.
Jack stands opposite, observing silently, before he shakes his head. “You have to ask, Will.”
Will blinks and looks at Jack, feeling the air between them hum, and, suddenly forgetting the disturbing dream that’d sent him running here, he realises they are discussing something completely different, though no less important.
Will swallows, his throat constricted and dry, and he flicks his eyes away from Jack’s darkened gaze. “I can’t.” His voice is barely audible.
Jack sits back down, sprawling on a cushion. “Yes, you can.”
Will shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand. It’s wrong. It would go against everything I’ve ever known… everything I’ve ever been taught.”
Jack gives an elegant shrug, “Life can’t be so easily dictated by others. It’ll follow its own course, regardless o’ whether you want it to or not. The trick is to go with it.” He looks at Will, standing shaken by the entrance of the tent, and he knows that the possibility is closer now than it has ever been. “There’s no point in fighting the tide, Will. It’ll get ye nowhere, and all it’ll do is make you tired.”
Will stands, staring at the carpet beneath him for what seems an eternity, thoughts and feelings reeling as he teeters on the edge of yet another precipice, frantically trying to find his feet.
Jack watches quietly, then releases his parting shot. “What a man can do, and what a man can’t do, remember?” With that, Jack waits patiently. He knows he’s pushed as far as he can, and the next move belongs to Will.
Slowly, Will nods to himself and with a trembling breath, he looks up to meet kohl-rimmed eyes. “May I stay with you?”
Jack’s lazy and self-satisfied grin is answer enough.
They hunker down on the small makeshift pallet, pressed firmly back-to-back, and Will listens to his heart race. Desperately he tries to relax into sleep, but it’s of no use.
Deciding to try to distract himself – both from the vivid dream and the presence of the man next to him, Will finds himself babbling inanely. “What’s that smell?” Jack sits up with a hurt expression and Will rolls his eyes. “That smoky smell. I noticed it when I came in, like you’ve been burning something.”
“That is a trick I learned from a voodoo priestess to ward off spirits.” Will quirks a disbelieving eyebrow, “It’s true! We’re very well acquainted, her and I. Quite useful in a tight spot, too. I’ll introduce ye some day.”
Will shifts with a sigh, reaching under the pillow to smooth out a lump and finding his hand closing around an earth coloured gem. Will frowns. “Garnet?”
Jack rolls over and grins. “Mmm. Is a useful stone. When ye place it under yer pillow it’s said to ward off bad dreams and evil spirits.”
Will rotates the stone carefully between his fingers, before placing it back beneath the pillow.
He lies back down, breathing in the smoke-scented air and listening to the soothing crash of waves on the shore.
Slowly, his breathing starts to even out and his heart slows its frantic pace. He can feel a reassuring warmth radiating from the other side of the bed, and suddenly bold, he reaches out and twines his fingers with Jack’s ring bejeweled hand.
“Goodnight Jack.”
There’s a soft sigh, and in the faint light he can see Jack smiling, dark brown eyes regarding him warmly. And then the hand squeezes his gently back.
“Goodnight William. Pleasant dreams.”
~*~
The End.