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Chapter Text

1889 

   “I did end up taking your advice, y’know” Hob directed toward his dining companion in as casual a manner as he could.

   Around them, the White Horse was alive. People bustling between tables, patrons trying to get the barman's attention for another round, jokes of one variety or another being told in the background from one friend to another. And sat tucked away in the back, was Hob Gadling and his mysterious Stranger.   

   “ And what advice might that have been? ” hummed the Stranger contemplatively.

   Trying to be inconspicuous to avoid attention, Hob casually leaned across the table and quietly replied, “Getting out of the slave trade. I realized, after our last talk, just what a truly horrendous thing it was.” Staring into his glass of wine, Hob couldn’t help but see the red of blood instead. The blood that was and forever would be on his hands. 

   “ And what did you do with yourself after that? ”

   The question drew Hob’s gaze back up to the Stranger sitting across from him. Hob thought he caught the barest hint of approval in his eyes before it was gone and the Strangers expression returned once more to its neutral state. Leaning back into his chair, Hob thought for a moment on how to begin the story of his last one hundred years. 

   “Well,” said Hob, fingering at the golden hoops adorned in one ear, “I became a pirate.”

----

Chapter 1:

1791

   Taking one last look around the cabin he’d been staying in for the last several weeks, Hob Gadling double checked he had all of his belongings with him before shouldering his small bag and making his way on deck. 

   Reaching the top of the companionway, Hob steps out onto the open deck, and watches as the ships’ crew bustles around, tying up the sails of the sloop and preparing to make port in the coming hours. 

   Walking over to the bulwark, Hob watches the waves of the ocean as they race by, and observes that what was just a smudge on the horizon not long ago has taken the form of an island, steadily approaching. Hob had heard that the best place to find work and get away from the East India Trading Company was the island of Tortuga, so that’s where he chose to start over. 

   Arriving at port with the setting sun, Hob disembarked the merchant ship, stopping to pay the captain and to ask where the nearest inn was located. Directions given, Hob sets off into the bustling streets of the port town in search of the tavern known as the Faithful Bride. 

   Wandering the streets, Hob felt his eyes drawn to the rundown yet thriving denizens of the island as they went about their nightly business. Some seemed to be in line with Hob making their way to the tavern while others were more occupied with the pleasure side offered by the girls in the working houses. Thieves were ambushing unsuspecting travellers in alleyways, while children stole from unobservant vendors and stalls that were lining the streets. 

   Everywhere Hob looked he saw the baseness and depravity of human nature. Yet Hob also saw in them hope, and a near desperate fight to survive the harsh realities of this world. Hob couldn’t help but relate and sympathize with each person he saw, having been in each of their positions at some point in his very long life. In fact, it was only about a hundred years ago Hob himself was living on the streets, not a penny to his name and not a scrap of food to eat for weeks on end.

   As Hob walked up the street, the sounds of merriment and raucous roaring got louder, as the Faithful Bride and its patrons began appearing out of the gloom up ahead. 

   Strolling up to the tavern, Hobs’ eye was drawn to the sign above the door depicting a bride-to-be in manacles holding a bouquet. Laughing softly to himself, Hob pushed open the door only for his senses to be immediately assaulted by the strong odour of ale, fish, and unwashed drunken bodies. Not much worse than the London slums , Hob thinks, making his way to the barkeeps counter. 

Waving to the bar man who was tending to another customer, Hob leans against the counter while he waits, completing a cursory glance of the tavern inside.

“What can I get for ye?” the barkeep asks, wiping his hands on a towel as he walks over to Hob.  

“I’d like a room for the night, if you have one, and a tankard of ale and whatever’s on the menu for tonight,” Hob requested.

"Aye, got a room free," the mean remarks as he reaches under the bar. Producing a key he hands it to Hob, "As for food, tonight we got a beef and veggie stew."

"That would be great," Hob inclines his head in thanks, procuring the needed coinage from his bag. 

"Right then, you head on over to a table and Molly'll be right out with the food an' drink."

   While the man walked to the taps and began to pour the ale, Hob turned around to find a table while taking a better look at the buildings' interior.

   A two-story building, the main floor had an open plan crammed full of round tables with chairs that were just beginning to fill with people. A staircase at the back led up to the second floor where a balcony surrounded a rectangular walkway that led to the rooms. 

   Spotting an unoccupied table in a corner Hob headed over, dodging around already tipsy patrons. Settling down in a chair, Hob tucks his bag on the floor, looping a strap around his own leg. This was, after all, a town for pirates and thieves. Settling back, Hob waited for his dinner to arrive.

----

   It wasn’t too hard, finding a ship sailing out of London, though it was slightly harder to find one heading to Tortuga. Since becoming known as a safe haven for thieves, pirates, and the like, few merchants were interested in bringing their wares to the island. Even harder still, was finding a captain willing to take Hob, disgraced as he was by the Royal navy for leaving the trade life behind. After having the sense knocked into Hob at his last centennial meeting with his Stranger, he began to realize the abhorrent work he had become a part of in the name of fortune. 

   But find a willing captain Hob did, leaving his current life, and most of his wealth, in London to try and start over anew in a better life. One that did not profit from the degradation and subjugation of others. 

----

   So here Hob was, sitting at the back of a questionable tavern in the Caribbean, hoping he can one day even begin to start making up for the sins he has committed. 

Looking up, Hob only notes the passage in time by the waitress headed over, a tankard of ale in one hand, and a bowl of steaming stew in the other.

   “Thank you, miss.” Hob says as she places the tankard and bowl on the table before him. “Before you go miss, do you happen to know of any work here around the port, or maybe crews looking to add members to their ship?”

   Straightening up, she ponders a moment before replying, “Hmm, not too much in the way o’ work here on the island,'' the barmaid begins with enough disinterest Hob can only imagine how many times a day she is asked the question, “but if it’s ship work you be looking for, plenty enough o’ ships come to an’ from port here. I’m sure something’ll pop up if you keep an eye and ear out.”

   “Thank you, again,” Hob calls appreciatively as she bustles off to serve the next table who were trying to flag her down. 

   Sighing, Hob settles back and starts on his dinner, observing his fellow visitors as he does so, not looking at any one table for too long so as to avoid drawing attention, and for the simple matter that Hob enjoys seeing how people with much less time than he would spend their nights. There’s a couple of different tables scattered around the pub where groups are singing their own songs, each different tune mixing together in a not entirely unpleasant harmony, creating a boisterous atmosphere. At the table closest to Hob, a young lad, probably no older than 17, was regaling his audience with his apparent run-in with mermaids on his latest voyage. 

   “Pah, there’s no such thing as mermaids, or sirens for that matter,” guffawed an old, weather-worn seaman at the table, “ They’re not but a mothers tale to scare the children off from the sea. ‘Sides if there were such a thing, how is it you’re still here to tell the tale? Way I hear it, they don’t leave no survivors,” the man smirked and raised an eyebrow, challenging the boy.

   “Well, um, y’know,” he stammered, “we had candle wax with us, so I used that.”

   “Candle wax, eh?” boomed the seaman in laughter, “whatchya gonna do with that, give ‘em a little burn?” 

   The other listeners at the table began to laugh along, several getting up and leaving the table to refresh drinks or find another story, one that was more captivating.

“...you block your ears with it so you can’t hear ‘em,” the teen mumbled down to his empty table, a red flush high in his cheeks from becoming the group's laughing stock. 

   “Mhmm. Maybe next time,” the old man slapped the younger one on the back, “you’ll come up with a more believable tale for us old fish, eh?” And with a final laugh, he too, walked away.

   Hob, on the other hand, had heard the entire story and gave it some due consideration. He knew there were many occult and otherworldly things out in the world, himself being immortal, and whatever his Stranger was considered to be, for he certainly wasn’t human despite appearing as one; Of that, Hob was certain. As such, Hob didn’t find it too unrealistic to think there were such things as mermaids and sirens lurking out at sea. 

   Committing the usage of candle wax to memory in the unlikely event Hob ever did run into a siren, he finished his ale and stew, and figured it time to head to his room. Grabbing his bag and leaving the dishes for the waitress to grab, Hob headed up for the stairs.

   Once on the second landing, Hob checks the key the barkeep gave him, and sees the number 3 etched into the metal. Heading down the walkway, the sounds of merriment from below seemed almost louder on the second floor. Reaching room number 3, Hob unlocks the door and steps in, closing and locking it behind him. 

   The room inside was small, but efficient. There was a window on the outer wall, looking out over the sea with a decent view of the port, from what Hob could tell by the lamplight. Along the wall beneath the window was a single bed, with a side table on the wall beside. The opposite wall across from the foot of the bed had a small dresser, atop of which sat a small wash basin filled with luke-warm water, an old chipped mirror, and a washcloth set beside. Next to the dresser was a simple wooden chair. 

   Setting his small travel bag down on the chair, Hob set about getting ready for bed. Pulling out some nightclothes, Hob gave himself a quick wash down with the cloth before changing.

   Pulling back the thin blanket and sheet revealed an almost equally thin mattress. As tired as he was by the long day, Hob barely noticed as he lay down, head hitting the pillow. Rolling to face the window, Hob attempted to get as comfortable as he could, already beginning to sleep into the clutches of sleep. 

   As he slipped deeper, Hob’s mind was filled with a dream of the endless ocean upon which sailed a large ship moving quickly with the wind. A black hull, the likes of which had never been seen before, and three massive masts sat about her deck, and around her main mast flew a sparrow, high and free.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

   A clamouring that steadily grew louder, and the brightening of the day is what finally drew Hob out of sleep. Blinking his eyes open, he felt the last vestiges slip away like grains of sand, taking with it the fading images of a ship and…some kind of bird? Hob couldn’t remember anymore. Rolling over Hob couldn’t help but let out a groan as his back protested the firm mattress on which he’d spent his night. 

   Sighing to himself, Hob began working on a mental list of things to do that day. I’m going to have to find a weapon, first of all, Hob contemplates. Can’t get very far in a town like this without some way to defend oneself. Next, check the docks, see if any ships came in during the night looking for a new deckhand or something.  

   With these goals in mind, Hob drags himself into an upright position, bones popping back into place as he does so. Getting up, Hob walks over to the chair, and begins rifling through his bag, looking for the cleanest pair of clothes. Pulling out a loose shirt and breeches, Hob gives them a quick sniff, deeming them to be clean enough. Changing quickly, Hob began to feel his excitement for the coming day grow. A new country, a new town, and so much to do and see. 

   Checking in the small hand mirror, Hob deems himself to be presentable, and gathers his belongings together. Heading for the door, Hob steps out onto the landing beyond, closing and locking it behind him before heading downstairs to the bar. 

   The bar itself was near silent this morning, with the only sounds coming from cloth on glass as a different barmaid than last night wiped down the freshly cleaned mugs. 

   Striding up to the bar, Hob waited patiently for her to finish with the mug she was working on, before catching her attention.

   “Hey love, I’m all done with the room for the morning. Not sure if I’ll be back tonight so I figured I’d just hand the key in.”

   “Sure, no problem. Room 3, aye?” she asks, grabbing the key from Hob while perusing a large ledger. “Looks like you’re all paid up, so you’re good to go. If ya need the room again tonight, come by earlier in the evening so we can give ya the same one.”

   “Thanks, love,” Hob shoots a wink her way while heading to the door to see what the port town holds in store for him. 

   Stepping outside Hob is immediately blinded by the bright light of the new day. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, Hob takes in the sights around him. Still fairly early in the morning, the market sellers were just finishing up last minute set ups for their stalls, nearly ready to start the day. Fishermen were wheeling carts full of the mornings’ catch up to the market where their wives would sell the fresh fish. Children ran between stalls playing with each other, and dogs were barking at all of the excitement. Down the street towards the port, ships were doing last minute preparations before getting underway, while others saw their crews to be lazing about, enjoying a day on land. Looking up the street beyond the market stalls, Hob spies some more structured shops leading up the street and out of sight. Overall the morning gave off a very different feeling of life than the night time activities. 

   Inhaling the salty but fresh morning air, Hob heads towards the market knowing he’ll need to buy some supplies for his new life. 

   Despite the early hour, there were already people beginning to wander through the stalls alongside Hob, looking at the wares of the new day. Each stall was a blinding array of colours and smells, no two the same despite some overlap in product.

   Fish and shellfish were in abundance at every turn, as were silks and spices, newly imported from the mainlands. Handmade jewellery covered other stalls in dazzling light displays from the rising sun, and Hob can only imagine what the market will look like in another hour, crowded full of people yelling and haggling with each other. 

   Slowly walking through the crowd, a strand of beads hanging from one of the jewellery stalls caught Hob's eye. Feeling an inexplicable draw to it, Hob walked over, gently taking the bead strand in hand to get a better look at it. 

   The strand was dominated by four large, round black beads. Upon closer examination proved them to not be a solid black, but instead they shone with silvery-blue flecks, reminding Hob of the night sky. But what about this strand that most caught the eye, was the fifth bead. Carved from the same stone or gem as the other four, this one was at the end of the strand so it hung pointing downwards, and was carved to look like the skull of some kind of bird, a crow or raven, if Hob had to guess.

   “Aye, lad. That one there’s a special strand.”

   Startled out of his thoughts, Hob looked up to see the stalls merchant lady had come over to where Hob continued to admire the beads.

   “It really is beautiful,” Hob sighed wistfully. “Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know what to do with such a treasure.”

   The woman let out a raucous laugh at that, shocking Hob into a small jolt of surprise.

   “C’mere lad,” the woman beckoned Hob around the table, where he uncertainly moved over to. “With hair the length of yours,” she begins, grabbing the string of beads and a thick lock of hair near Hobs’ left temple, “we just weave it in like…this…and there ya go!” With several deft movements of her fingers, she had securely woven the beads into Hob's hair.

   Handing over a mirror, Hob couldn’t help but admire how the beads looked. The raven's skull, for that's what something in Hob told him it was, hung just below his cheekbone, and the black of the beads was a striking contrast against his pale skin. Even with his dark hair, the beads were still easily visible against the brown locks, the flecks of colour shining like an aurora in the sun. 

   “It’s stunning,” Hob looks up from the mirror into the smiling face of the woman, “How much for it?”

   “No hon,” she looks at him with a thoughtful face, “something’s telling me in the same way you were drawn to that set that you need it something bad. I got the stones from a far sailing merchant who kept going on tangents about some kinda healing property. If ya believe in that sorta thing,” she trails off into a chuckle.

   “Please,” Hob tried again, “these are too precious to be given as a gift, surely you’ll accept something in exchange?”

   “Alright, I’ll tell ya what. You take those stones and anytime you’re here making port, you come tell me of the stories you’ve had and if those stones got any real mojo to them, savvy?”

   “Yes. Yes, thank you. Thank you very much,” Hob stutters out at the generous gift. Realizing as he makes this bargain that it’s the second of its kind he has now made, to exchange something of precious value for stories of his life. Though I expect this one will be much shorter than the other, Hob speculates. 

   With final promises to find her the next time he arrives, Hob leaves the stall, heading towards the actual shops at the end of the street, gemstones lightly bouncing against his cheek with each step. 

   The first of the shops to catch Hob’s attention was a clothing store. Nothing fancy like what you’d see back in London, but simple, sturdy clothes meant for working on land or sea. The sign above the door proclaimed it to be Henry’s Tailoring. 

   Figuring he could do with a couple new sets, Hob entered the small shop, waving hello to the gentleman behind the counter who was busy sewing some fabric Hob couldn’t make out. Not seeing or hearing anyone else in the shop, Hob figures this must be the owner. Instead of interrupting the man's work, Hob figured he may as well start taking a look around.

   Slowly perusing, Hob was impressed with both the material quality and the craftsmanship. It was obvious to the trained eye that each stitch was made with care. Spying a style of breeches that looked comfortable and came in a few simple dyed colours, Hob checked for the sizes and grabbed a couple of pairs before moving onto the shirts. There he found a few in a decent linen material, all in white. The final few items Hob grabbed was a pair of sturdy shoes, and a second vest so he could alternate with the one in his bag.

   Heading up to the counter, the seamster appeared to be finishing up his last stitches. Setting down the bundle of cloth, he nodded to Hob in greeting.

   “Would you like to try them on, sir?

   “Please, if you have a space,” Hob beamed at the man.

   Smiling in turn, the seamster led Hob to a back corner where there was a small partition that Hob could change behind. It took several minutes to try everything on, but the clothes fit perfectly. Pleased with his selection, Hob narrowed the clothing down to two breeches, two shirts, the shoes, and vest.

   Heading back up to the counter, the man jotted down a list of prices before giving Hob the total, who then procured the correct amount from his bag. 

   Carefully folding the clothes, Hob set them inside the bag with the rest of his supplies, before shouldering it again and giving the owner a wave on his way out. 

   Not sure what else he would need, Hob wandered past the other shops, stopping in front of what appeared to be a blacksmith's armoury. Intrigued, Hob stepped up to the front display and was delighted to see several types of swords and knives within. Missing the weight of his own weapons, Hob figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a peak around. Perhaps he’ll find something of the calibre he was looking for.

   The door to the shop was heavy and closed faster than Hob was expecting once he stepped inside, letting out a loud bang that would surely alert the shop-keep that someone had entered. 

   “Be right there!” came the faint holler from the back room.

   Figuring he may as well, Hob began to browse the weapons racks, stopping to admire each blade as he came across it. They were obviously made with skill and each blade had something unique about it. 

   “What can I do ya for there?” came the question from a bear of a man. Tall and well-muscled, it was obvious this was the blacksmith himself, and he seemed to be somebody who enjoyed his work. 

   “Well,” Hob began, “I’m not too sure what I’m looking for exactly. I’ve had past experience with the long sword, broadsword, rapier, and knives, but I haven’t done much, if any, fighting at sea yet so I don’t know what the best choices would be if I needed to defend myself.”

   “Well, that's certainly a range of experience,” chuckled the smith. “Might I recommend to ya one of these cutlasses over here,” he guided Hob to one of the back walls where several rows of cutlasses hung. 

   Taking a quick glance over Hob, eyeing his height and arm length, the smith grabbed one of the swords off the wall and handed it to Hob to get a feel for it.

   The blade was a silvery forged steel, with the guard a beautiful burnished gold and the handle elegantly wrapped in black leather. It was shorter and lighter than most of the swords Hob has used in his lifetime, but he could tell it was perfectly balanced.

  “Not as long as you’re gonna be used to, but when, not if, you’re caught in a fight on deck, you’re gonna want that shorter range to get up close to your foe and avoid hitting your mates.” Demonstrating with another cutlass off the wall, he ran through a short series of motions displaying the reach of the cutlass. “Now, though it’s shorter, with your background of them great big swords, you should have no troubles getting a good hit in.”

   Following the smiths motions, Hob tried out the cutlass he was giving, feeling the weight and balance of the weapon, imagining how it will feel after some practice, as if an extension of his arm like his old weapons eventually did. Satisfied, Hob dropped the sword to his side and nodded with approval to the selection made.

   With an answering smile, the smith led Hob towards a smaller rack in the centre of the room.

   “Now, having a sword is all fine and dandy but if you’re in a bit of a pinch, smaller weapons are always nice.” Pulling a few knives off of the rack, he held them out for Hob to peruse one at a time, again testing the feel of each one in his hands. Already having a few knives hidden on his person, Hob selected a matching set from the smith. Wicked sharp blades, one knife had a blade about 2 inches long and the other about 4, with matching dark brown leather wrapping around the handles. 

   “Alright, I think those should do me nicely for now, thank you,” Hob inclined his head to the smith as they trekked back to the counter. As the man began tallying the total, Hob already knew this would be his most expensive purchase of the day, if not the month, and had already begun pulling out his coin purse.

   With the money exchanged and the weapons put in sheaths and strapped to various parts of his person, Hob felt ready to begin the search for work, fitting in better with the local populace instead of sticking out like a sore thumb.

   With a farewell to the blacksmith, Hob sets back down the street from whence he came, the sun sitting heavy in the mid afternoon sky. 

   Hob now had one goal in his mind, and that was to begin the search for work, and he could just feel that would be down at the port. 

   Passing back through the market, Hob spied a new ship just turning into Tortuga’s cove. Almost seeming to match pace with the ship’s approach, Hob began to get a prickling feeling down his spine as more details became clear. A large, two masted brig who moved faster than most ships Hob has seen. This didn’t look like some pirate or merchant ship. No, this ship looks like she means business.  Just as Hob was walking down the dock length, the brig finally came close enough to read her name, the HMS Interceptor . 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

   Freezing in his tracks, Hob’s heart begins pounding in his chest. That’s a British Royal Navy ship. They can’t find me here. Frantically looking around, Hob spots a small shed back on land. 

   Spying the Interceptor coming into dock, Hob turns back around, moving at a pace just above a walk but not fast enough to draw attention. Reaching the shed, Hob ducks behind only to be slammed in the face by the smell of a pigsty. 

   Biting his fist to muffle a gag, Hob looks around. Out of view of the main street, the sty was just big enough to house what looked to be a few sows, sleeping in a pile in the muck. 

   Peering back around the side of the building, Hob cautiously watches the ship come into port. 

   Jolting in surprise, Hob looks closer at the ship, wishing he had a spy glass for it appeared as if the ship was manned by only two figures. 

   Watching them move about on deck, neither of the two looked to have any semblance of relation to the British Royal Navy, though one could never be too careful. 

   As they begin to disembark and head up the dock towards town, Hob caught a better view of the two, framed by the twilight sky. 

   Two men, though both were similar in height. The slightly taller one was younger and had dark hair that was tied back, with short trimmed facial hair. A white linen shirt not dissimilar to Hob’s own adorned the man, along with a patterned brown vest and dark breeches. 

   The other, though, was dressed rather differently. A tricorn hat perched atop a head of dark dreadlocks covered by a red bandana. Glinting in the light from the torches and lanterns lining the docks, Hob could make out a large assortment of beads and trinkets woven into the hair, including what appeared to be a marlinspike. The man was dressed in several layers, though it was hard to tell with the long overcoat, accompanied by a similar pair of dark breeches. Both men carried swords with them, not dissimilar to other visitors of the island that Hob had seen. 

   Curiosity piqued, Hob watched them approach, making sure to stay out of sight of any prying eyes. 

   “What we need,” tricorn hat is telling his partner who was sporting a rather constipated look, “is a crew. We can manage the ship between islands, but the open sea, that's another matter.”

   “And we just had to get our crew here?” the other asks while looking around skeptically as the two make their way closer to the Faithful Bride.

   As they moved farther away from Hob, he saw a woman take note of the two and quickly stride up to them, oblivious though they were, lost in conversation.

   “Aye, lad, this here’s the best port to find ourselves–” tricorn hat was interrupted by a loud smack right across the face from the woman who had approached them. 

   Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she turned around without a word and strode off into the gloom.

   Rubbing his jaw, he looked at his companion with a ‘what can you do’ kind of gesture before the two carried on, out of earshot.

   Hob was intrigued by these two men who sailed in on a brand-new ship which should have been in the hands of the Navy, and who appeared to be looking for a crew. Figuring he’d give them a few minutes, Hob decided he’d follow them up to the tavern and see what they were about. 

   Before Hob could head off however, he saw the silhouettes of the men come back out from the pub, but this time they each appeared to be carrying a bucket.

   Noticing their trajectory was headed towards the sty Hob was hiding behind, Hob slowly backed into one of the empty stalls at the far end of the building, outside of the lamp light. 

   Muffled talking died off as the two men neared. Appearing to take a glance at several of the pigs laying together, tricorn hat hefts up his bucket and tosses the contents, what Hob thinks might be water, at one of the pigs. 

   With a squeal of surprise reminiscent of the pigs themselves, a man bolts upright from where he was sleeping among the sows. Looking older than the other two, this man had salt and pepper hair with thick, bushy mutton chops.

   “Curse you for breathing, you slack-jawed idiot.” the man shouts before appearing to recognize tricorne hat. “Mother’s love, Jack, you know better than to wake a man when he’s sleeping. It’s bad luck!”

   “Well, fortunately, I know how to counter it.” Tricorn hat, now identified as Jack, begins. “The man who did the waking buys the man who was sleeping a drink, and the man who was sleeping it drinks it while listening to a proposition.”

   “Aye, that’ll about do it.” the man says after thinking over the sentence for a minute.

   With a grin, Jack helps the man up, but before they can head out of the sty, Jack’s younger companion hoists his own bucket at the new man, drenching him in another wave of water.

   “Blast it, I’m already awake!” shouts the man, now sopping wet.

   “I know. That was for the smell.” the young man states with a cocky smirk.

   Shrugging in resignation, the man follows the other two out of the sty, back up towards the tavern.

   Smirking to himself over the interaction, Hob gives the men a few minutes to make it up the street before emerging from the pig pen. With a desire to interact with these men, Hob figures he’ll head back up to the Faithful Bride himself, grab a bite to eat, and then see if he can find conversation with them.

----

   Entering the tavern, the crowd was already a rowdy one, with people dancing and singing and sloshing drinks all over the place. With a brief scan of the first floor, Hob spies the two older men seated at a corner table, talking quietly, and sipping their ale while the younger of their company keeps watch from a distance. 

   Ordering himself a tankard of ale and that night’s stew, Hob weaves his way through the crowd to a table not too far from the other two, but unfortunately not close enough to overhear anything over the din of the establishment. 

   After a short time, a waitress brings over the bowl of stew and tankard of ale to Hob’s table.

   With a nod in thanks, Hob tucks into his stew, goat tonight, while his eyes rove about the place, occasionally darting between the two at the table, and their younger companion who appeared to be uncomfortable in this type of setting. 

   Chuckling into his ale, Hob spies the other two bringing their tankards together, then slamming back their ale before standing up and parting ways in the crowd.

   Content to remain where he is for now, Hob works on finishing his meal, before spotting the man from the sty talking to the waitress from the night before. 

   Nodding, she points over in Hob’s direction before they say a few final words and the man begins to make his way over. 

   “Why hello there,” the man extends a hand out to shake “The name’s Joshamee Gibbs, but you can call me Gibbs or Mr. Gibbs, and AnaMaria over there tells me you’re looking for work.” Gibbs says, nodding back towards the waitress.

   Following his line of sight, Hob can make AnaMaria out by the bar, glaring in the direction of where Jack is, appearing to be getting cozy with some of the women. 

   “Randy Gadling, but you can call me Hob.” Hob says, looking back at Gibbs and giving the proffered hand a shake. “And you’d be right, I am in search of employment.”

   Gibbs gives a nod of appreciation when Hob gestures to the chair across from him, easily sliding into it. 

   “So, what kind of work have you done in the past?” 

   Taking a moment, Hob has to mull over his answer as there have been many jobs he’s held over the years.

   “Well,” he begins, “I did a bit of soldering in my younger years, before moving on to the printing business. Things went well in that regard before I left for the shipping trade, of which I’ve recently left due to a…disagreement with how business was conducted.”

   “Well, you certainly have some experience in a few areas there, aye? I’m gettin’ together a crew you see, and you seem like the kind of man to fit right in.”

   “And what kind of work would this crew of yours be doing?” Hob questioned thoughtfully. Despite what he told Gibbs, he’s no stranger to being on the other side of the law if that’s what kind of business was being alluded to, having spent enough time as a bandit in the past.

   “Well, you see, my young friend over there,” Gibbs indicates to the young man that was with him and Jack, “his girl’s been taken by some pirates and we’re going to get her back. A Governor’s daughter and all that. Also, it’s not my crew per se, but Jack’s over there. Cap’n Jack Sparrow he is.”

   The name ringing a bell from his time in the navy, Hob takes a closer look at Gibbs.

   “Mr. Gibbs, is this a pirate crew?”

   “Ah, so you’ve heard of him, aye? Aye, we’re considered to be a pirate crew, is that a problem?”

   “Not at all.” Hob says as a wide grin begins to stretch across his face.

   “Well then, would you like to come aboard? We’re sailing out on the HMS Interceptor tomorrow morning once she’s been loaded up with fresh supplies and I’ve finished gathering a crew.”

   “Why not,” Hob says, feeling the excitement of a new adventure begin to light up his eyes, “I haven’t been a pirate before.”

   “Well then, welcome aboard! Enjoy the night to yourself, and I’ll see you down at the docks tomorrow morn.”

   And with that, Gibbs gives Hob one final shake of the hand before heading off to try and find other recruits.

   Having already spent the day gathering any items he may wish to have, and pleasantly full of food and drink, Hob decides to call it a night. Getting up, he heads over to the bar to see if there’s any rooms left. 

   Once he has her attention, AnaMaria heads over to his side of the bar, grabbing the ledger from beneath the bar on her way and flips through, checking the availability. 

   “Well,” she begins, “we ain’t got much left but what’s essentially a closet with a bed, it bein’ so late in the evening now, all the good rooms are well booked up.”

   “That’s fine, I only need a place for the night before I’m out of here.”

   Looking up at him, AnaMaria seems to take Hob in for a minute before she leans over, voice low “you be careful there, if you plan on going in with Jack’s crew. He’s been known to leave people high and dry.”

   “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have much to lose then, aye?” Hob says with a friendly smile and a shrug.

   With a shrug of her own, AnaMaria pulls a key out from the bar and hands it over, the number 13 glinting dully off the head. 

   “Upstairs, last room at the very end of the walkway.” She says, closing the book and putting it away.

   “Thank you,” Hob says, leaving a few coins on the bar to pay for the room and food.

   Turning away, Hob heads up the stairs and to the end, reaching a small door set deep into the wall. Inserting the key into the lock, he has to apply a bit of force to get it to turn in the keyhole but turn it does. Opening the door reveals what amounts to a broom closet with a thin bedroll on the floor and a narrow window. 

   Sighing, Hob turned in the cramped space to close and lock the door before setting his bag down beside the mat, and slowly begins unstrapping his sword and knives. Laying these within easy reach, Hob lays down, and promptly falls asleep.

----

   Up with the first light, Hob was out the tavern and heading down to the docks before most of the port town had even begun to stir.

   Making his way over towards where the Interceptor was berthed, Hob could see Gibbs was already waiting, but no one else seemed to have arrived yet.

   “Mornin’ there Hob, nice an’ punctual, that’s what we like to see,” Gibbs greets Hob with a nod.

   “Good morning Mr. Gibbs. Am I the last one to arrive then?”

   “Nay, you’re the first here lad. The others are still asleep, same with Cap’n Jack, but they should be up and about soon enough. Just hang out around here until the others get here, aye?”

   With a shrug, Hob walks over to the edge of the dock where no ships were moored and sits, dangling his legs over the side. Staring into the water Hob watches as little fish swim by, scales glinting silver in the morning sun not unlike Hob’s beads.

   Eventually a small crowd has started to gather near the Interceptor, so Hob heads back over, in time to see Captain Jack making his way down the dock towards the group. 

   Gibbs has them all line up while Jack walks up and down, inspecting each man, seeming happy with Hob and several others, but not as such with the rest, before he stops in front of one individual. Intrigued, Hob looks over. 

   “You owe me a boat,” states AnaMaria, looking decidedly unhappy with Jack.

   "Ah. But you have a boat, she's docked at Port Royal, love."

   "And is she in sail-able condition?" 

   "Ah. Well. We'll get you a boat. That one, in fact," Jack indicates the Interceptor, “just as soon as we get back the Pearl, and this young man's girl, savvy?"

   Hob watches this exchange with both amusement and confusion, as AnaMaria bickers with Jack. Having warned him against joining the crew just last night, she seemed the kind of woman that would heed her own advice, yet here she was lined up with the rest of them. 

   While Hob had been lost in thought, AnaMaria and Jack must have come to some form of agreement as Jack had moved on, stopping in front of a man with a parrot on his shoulder. 

   “Mr. Cotton.” Jack addresses the man, “Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true, in the face of danger, and almost certain death?”

   “He’s mute, Cap’n,” Gibbs cuts in, “he’s trained the parrot to talk in his stead.”

   Taking this in stride, Jack turns to the parrot and asks it the same question, receiving a squawked “Wind in your sails! Wind in your sails!” in reply. 

   “That seems to mostly mean yes,” explains Gibbs at Jack’s confused look, while Mr. Cotton nods his head in agreement. 

   Satisfied, Jack turns to the rest of the crew, making eye contact with each person, seeming to linger a moment longer on Hob, before addressing all those gathered. 

   “That goes for the rest of you! Danger and near certain death are to be expected on this adventure,” Jack says, turning to look at the Interceptor before continuing, “For we are to sail for the Isla de Muerta, to rescue the daughter of Governor Swann.  An equal share of the reward shall be-” Hob watches Jack pause mid-sentence as he seems to clue in that some of the men are fleeing back towards town, leaving only a few behind still standing with Hob. 

   “Stop talking, before you scare them all off!” scowls the young man from before.

   “Ah,” says Jack gesturing to Hob and the remaining crew, “but these are the members worth having, savvy?”

  Looking to the sky as if he can divine the coming weather, Jack mumbles something to himself which sounds suspiciously to Hob like “And we’re going to need them.”

   “Alright!” Turning back to the now much smaller crew, Jack gives them all one final scan before nodding his head. “Get ready to make way, we’re heading to Isla de Muerta!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

   The Interceptor was careening heavily from side to side as waves breached over her hull, and rain came thrashing down from the heavens above. The storm that had them in its clutches was relentless, and Hob feared that at any moment the water would throw someone overboard, lost to sea forever.

   Struggling to maintain his hold on the rigging where he was stationed, Hob, through a flash of lighting cracking against the sky, caught sight of Captain Jack. The man was standing at the helm consulting his compass and, despite the storm raging and shaking the world around them, couldn’t have appeared to be in higher spirits. 

   With another massive lurch of the ship, Hob returned his eyes to the task at hand, in time for another massive wave to come crashing across the deck, this time taking Hob and several others with it. They slammed into the bulwark in a tangle of limbs as salty water poured into their eyes and mouths.

   Coughing the water out of his lungs, Hob tries to wrest control of the panic as memories fill his mind, the not soon forgotten fear of choking, sinking, drowning, filling his moutheyesearsnoselungs, there’s no more air noairnoairnoair- two strong pairs of hands grab onto each of Hob’s arms in an anchoring grip, hauling him to his feet and out of the blinding panic his thoughts were spiralling into. Blinking blindly up, Hob recognizes Mr. Gibbs and the boy, William, as he’d been introduced at the start of the voyage. 

   Pushing the panic as far back as he can for the moment to be dealt with at a later time, Hob nods his thanks at the two men before joining them in rushing over to the now slackened rigging, belaying the lines as best they could with the wind threatening to rip the rope from their hands with every gust. 

   The line as secured as it can be for the time being, the trio look around to see where they’re needed next, though it seems there's little to do at the moment without further orders.

   “We’d best drop canvas, cap’n!” Gibbs bellowed out, turning towards where Captain Jack stands, smiling smugly between his compass and the horizon. 

   “She can hold a bit longer,” comes the confident reply. “We’re getting close.”

   Looking between the other two, Hob can see his confusion mirrored on William’s face, although Gibbs seemed to have accepted the cryptic answer.

   “How can he know that for sure with a compass that doesn’t work?” William called to Gibbs as the three set off to help the rest of the crew where they could.

   “Well, the compass doesn’t point north,” Gibbs pulls taut on a line that was slipping from its bitts. Satisfied with the re-knotting, Gibbs looked back over to the two who were struggling to get their own line back under control, “But we’re not tryna find north, are we?” With the cryptic answer of his own delivered, Gibbs left the two men to it, moving elsewhere on the deck that needed tending to.

   With a glance towards William, Hob shrugged, continuing on after Gibbs to finish tying off the last of the rigging. 

----

   In the very early hours of the morning, the storm finally broke to the relief of the drenched and exhausted crew. 

   With the captain's permission and under the direction of Mr. Gibbs, the crew divided themselves into groups to rotate between sleeping and keeping watch above deck. By Captain Jack’s approximation, they were still another day or two out, but they had covered a vast distance thanks to the storm's relentless winds. 

   Assigned to the first sleep rotation, hob gratefully made his way below deck to the berth and finally to his designated hammock. Grabbing his bag that was nestled within the hammock and somehow miraculously stayed somewhat dry, Hob quickly changed into drier clothes before dragging his exhausted body into the swaying hammock where he promptly passed out.

****

   Bruising grips creating a secure hold on his bound arms, Hob was being dragged, kicking and screaming towards the edge. He tried calling out to people in the crowd, faces he’d known for the last 40 years. But instead of being met with once friends and neighbours, he saw faces reflecting hate and disgust. The closer he looked, however, the more the faces looked wrong. Eyes too wide and dark, bottomless as the depths of the sea, teeth too sharp and long, like the claws adorning their hands. The closer to the rushing river’s edge Hob was dragged, the harder he fought and the more the people changed until he was amongst a crowd of demons, screaming and yelling in anticipation of what was to come. The closer the water got, the closer the crowds drew, until Hob was being crushed in a writhing force of bodies. Bare, bound feet hitting the icy waters gave way to the feeling of intense vertigo before the water levels began to rise, filling the small hull of the ship where the bodies compressed tighter and tighter, suffocating in the stifling heat and stale air of the room, and the compacting of bodies until not even the arms could be moved. And still the water rose, quickly now, it had already reached Hob’s knees. Feeling as though he could panic no more but somehow still ensnared, Hob tried to move, tried to find a way out but the wooden walls of the hold were steadily growing closer and closer. Heaving in what meagre oxygen he could as the water rushed past his shoulders, Hob knew there was no way out. The shadowed features of those around him remained still: silent and accepting of their inevitable fates. With bound hands and feet, Hob knew he had little chance of swimming anywhere as the water closed over his head, and the currents dragged him down, down, down through the dark ocean depths until he settled in a lazy plume of detritus on the oceans’ floor. Blind and deaf, Hob could do nothing but struggle feebly against the bonds as he began to feel legs and claws grasping at his flesh, pullingtearingbitingriping-

   With a gasp, Hob shot up and scrambled out of his hammock as fast as his legs could carry him, paying no mind if he woke any of the crew up. He raced up the companionway to the deck, running for the closest stretch of bulwark before leaning over the rails and heaving, losing all of the contents of his stomach from the meagre dinner Hob had gotten down before the storm appeared. 

   Stomach cramping and rejecting everything until only bile was the last thing to come up, Hob finally collapsed down onto the deck, chest heaving, and body soaked in sweat. 

   With his head nestled in the crook of an elbow propped up by a knee, trying to get his breathing back under control, a water skin appeared in Hob’s limited line of sight.

   Without looking up, Hob grabbed the skin, washing the last of the taste from his mouth.

****

   Breathing finally under control, Hob chanced a look up only to see Captain Jack leaning against the bulwark beside Hob, staring off to the horizon in order to give Hob both company and a sense of privacy while he got himself back under control. 

   “Y’know mate, typically when folks get seasick it’s during the storm, not after,” Jack offhandedly mentions once he senses Hob’s as collected as he’s going to be.

   “Mmm, if it were only that,” Hob sighs heavily, looking up to the sky where light blue is bleeding at the edges as dawn begins to break. 

   They settled into silence, as Hob thought back over his nightmare, all-consuming guilt eating away at his insides as he remembered all he was at fault for, both directly and indirectly. Resting his head back into the crook of his arm, Hob entertained the thought of simply hiding away from the world but knew that was the coward's way out and he could never begin to atone while acting such.

   With a world-weary sigh, Hob heaved himself to his feet, legs still a little wobbly both from the aftereffects of the nightmare, and from remaining sitting for so long. 

   Turning to face Captain Jack, Hob held out the water skin to return it, but the man simply shook his head. 

   “You keep it mate, looks like it might do better for you than me. ‘Sides, I’ve got my rum when I need it,” Jack said, pulling a bottle out from somewhere that Hob wasn’t aware of. 

   “Well, thank you. For the water and the company.”

   Dismissing his thanks with a wave, Captain Jack stood up straighter before pulling out his compass. After studying it for a long few second, a large grin broke out onto his face before facing the bow.

   Looking around himself, Hob realized he’d been facing the stern during his time on deck, and turned now to look forwards, taking note of the thick fog that had begun to roll in, partially obscuring the graveyard of broken ships they were coming up on.

   “We’re almost there,” Jack said, closing the compass with a snap of its case as something danced behind his eyes. 

----

   With the crews’ shift changed to allow the others to get some rest, Jack began to direct the Interceptor through the ship graveyard, while AnaMaria manned the helm. The crew watched from the ship’s sides with bated breath as they slowly made their way through the treacherous waters, flotsam and jetsam bumping off the Interceptor’s hull. 

   “So,” Hob inquires to Mr. Gibbs by his side, “where does one get a compass that doesn’t point north but, presumably, where one desires?”

   “Well, I’m not too sure myself, ye see. Not much is known about Jack before he popped up in Tortuga, Black Pearl in tow and talking ‘bout a treasure on Isla de Muerta.”

   “Jack captained the Pearl?” William queried, cutting into the conversation.

   “Aye, he did. All before I met him, o’ course.”

   Hob watches as William looks towards where Jack is standing by the helm, still directing AnaMaria. A look of poorly concealed displeasure crossed the boy's face.

   “He failed to mention that.”

   “Good. Means he’s started to learn, keep things closer to the vest, savvy? Ye see, before Jack was the Pearls captain, he was a cartographer, back in England. Made himself a pretty penny and had the Pearl commissioned. 

   “He hired a crew, promising them all an equal share of the treasure, and they set sail. Now, they’re some days out, an’ the First Mate goes up to Jack, arguing that if everything’s an equal share, which should include the treasure's location.”

   Gibbs gives a sad shake of his head, and Hob has a distinct feeling he knows where such a tale will lead yet hoping to see a better outcome despite the evidence seen in the ship they were on, and the ship they were pursuing. 

   “See, there was a mutiny that night,” Gibbs continues morosely, “Jack gave himself up to spare the crew loyal to him, and they marooned him on an island, with not but a pistol, and a single shot.

   “Now, one shot won’t do much good for huntin’, mind, even if there was food to be hunted. But, after three weeks alone, with only the company of your hunger and thirst? That pistol starts to look real friendly.”

   Hob hurt a little, hearing this part of the tale. Knowing just how excruciating hunger can be when there’s nothing to fill your belly, yet the drive to live always kept him from seeking more, even as times got bleak. 

   Looking towards Jack, Hob makes silent eye contact with the man as he walks towards their small group, approaching from behind Gibbs and William. Electing to not say anything to reveal the man's presence, Hob returns his attention back to Gibbs.

   “However, Jack made it off that island, and he’s still got that one shot, kept safe for his traitorous First Mate.”

   “Barbossa.” William guessed, as Gibbs nodded in confirmation. “But how’d he get off the island?”

   “I didn’t!” Jack proclaimed from directly behind the two, loud enough to cause them to jump in fright, whipping around as they caught sight of the man himself. “My body’s still there to this day, rotting and decaying. I am but a ghost!”

   Intrigued despite himself at this turn in the tale to the fantastical, Hob couldn’t help but ask, “If that’s the case then, Captain, why’re you haunting this sorry lot and ship, and not your own prized vessel in vengeance?”

   At Hob’s question, Jack let out an uproarious laugh, before giving Hob a wink and walking away without another word. Smiling after the man, Hob caught sight of Gibbs and William exchanging an uncertain look between themselves.  

   “Well,” Gibbs continues gruffly, “there you two are. Now, ye best be getting’ yourselves down to the galley before the rest o’ the crew eats your portions. I expect we’ll arrive soon enough.”

----

   Below deck, William walks with Hob towards the galley, the sounds of chatter echoing down the passageway as the crew members not on duty fill themselves with food and drink.

   “So, “Hob begins, with a side glance to William, “what’s a young man like you doing on a pirate ship, William? You seem on good terms with the captain, you two long friends?”

    “Hardly,” William snorts, “and please, just call me Will, everyone else on board does. And no, not exactly friends with Jack, but I sprang him from jail, and in exchange he's going to help me get Elizabeth back from Barbossa.”

   “Well Will, that seems like a pretty noble thing, rescuing a young woman from pirates.”

   “I can only hope Commodore Norrington sees it that way. We did steal his ship.” Will sighs. 

   “Ah, and there it is. I was wondering how you and the captain got a hold of this ship. I couldn’t believe it, the sight of her coming to berth in Tortuga, with a two-man crew, neither of whom belong to the navy.”

   “Yes, well,” Will stammers a little with a faint blush high in his cheeks, “I’d do anything for Elizabeth.”

   “Ahh,” Hob lets out a knowing hum, with a pointed look at the young man. “Well, c’mon,” Hob slings an arm around Will’s shoulders, “as Gibbs said, we’d best get some food before it's all gone.”

  ----

   As the sun began its descent in the sky, Cotton’s parrot let out the declaration: “Land HO! Land HO!”

   The crew, having finished their meals and getting ready for their night duties, gathered mid-ship to await Captain Jack and his orders. Hob once again found himself beside Will, the boy seeming keen on sticking near Hob. 

   Emerging from the captain’s quarters came Jack himself, with Gibbs not far behind. With AnaMaria still manning the helm, the captain observed the men lined up before him, before nodding to himself.

   “Alright you lot, it’s going to be just a small group of us going in after the young Miss Swann. Gadling, Turner, you two will be coming with me. The rest of you will stay and defend the ship.”

   “Aye, Captain!” the crew answered in a jumble of voices.

   “We’ll work on that,” Jack winces, before beckoning Hob and Will with a devilish smile. “Come along lads, we’ve got a damsel to rescue.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

   “Cap’n.”

   Mr. Gibbs catches up to Hob, Will, and Jack as they’re preparing to board one of the ship's jolly boats.

   “Aye, Mr. Gibbs.”

   “What if the worst should happen while you three are off trying to save Miss Swann?” Mr. Gibbs leans in close to Jack’s ear, trying to prevent the rest of the crew from overhearing. 

   Jack gives a quick start before shooting a glance over to Gibbs, “Keep to The Code.”

   “Aye, Cap’n. We’ll keep to The Code then.” Gibbs nods.

   Hob catches Will’s eye from where the two of them are coiling up the rowboats' ropes. 

   ‘The Code?’ Hob mouths to Will, who gives a shrug, making a confused face in return.

   When they both look back, it’s to Gibbs walking away and Jack staring off towards Isla de Muerta, seemingly lost in thought.

   “She’s ready to go, Jack,” Will breaks the silence.

   “Right,” Jack gives a start, turning towards Hob and Will. “We’d best be off then.”

   With the help of Marty, a man of short stature but big spirit, and  Mr. Cotton, Jack, Will, and Hob were settled inside the jolly boat and lowered down to the water. With a final wave to the crew from the Captain, Will and Hob began rowing towards the island, where a cave could be seen gaping dark and wide like the maw of an ancient and hungry beast.

   It was quiet for a while, as Will and Hob manned the oars. The only sound penetrating the fog surrounding them was the gentle slap of water against the sides of the boat. 

   “So, Captain,” Hob quietly breaks the silence surrounding the trio after more than an hour of rowing. “I’m honoured to have been selected to go on this mission, but if you don’t mind my asking sir, why me? I’d think it’s rather obvious I’m still a bit new to this whole… pirate… business.”

Jack was silent a moment, before turning to peer at Hob with a look that seemed to reach down into the very depths of his soul. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you begin to see certain characteristics and traits in people. Now, you may be telling the truth about not having been a pirate before, no, let me continue,” Jack stops Hob before he could begin to voice his protests. “Now, as I was sayin’, you may not have been a pirate before, but you’ve got the look to ya of someone who’s done similar business, and you have an air about ya that if it comes down to it, you can handle yerself in a fight. And right now, that’s the kind of experience I need. The rest of the crew, minus Gibbs who I need to run the ship in my stead, don’t look like they’ve been in many fights yet, and I need someone I can rely on in a fight, savvy?”

   “Aye, Captain,” Hob swallows down the words clamouring at the back of his throat, not wanting to reveal just yet how much fighting experience Hob actually has under his belt.

   The silence fell again as they neared the cave entrance, a darkness to it that reminded Hob of the nights before the cities began expanding to the sizes they are now, when homes had but a candle or hearth to stave off the dark night of winter. 

   As they entered the cave but before they fully left the light of day behind, Jack pulled up a lantern from the bottom of the boat that Hob hadn’t noticed earlier. Lighting the lantern, Jack sets it up in a position to easily light their way through the dark tunnel leading deeper into the island.

   It wasn’t long before the silence was once again broken, this time by Will. “Say Jack, we were wondering,” Will flicks a quick glance over to Hob before returning his attention to Jack. “We heard you and Gibbs earlier, before we left the Interceptor, and wanted to know what this ‘Code’ you were talking about is. What’s the crew to do if “the worst should happen”?” 

   Not exactly how Hob would have phrased it, but he was admittedly curious about the answer.

   “Ah, yes, I suppose neither of you would know about that yet,” Jack quietly murmurs. “Tis the Pirate’s Code, lads, set in place to help us pirates govern ourselves. In this case, any man who falls behind, is left behind.” 

   Hob takes a moment to process these words, slightly taken aback by the disregard for it all that Jack seems to exude. Despite having only known the other crew members for a few days, it seemed a bit difficult to wrap the idea of potentially leaving anyone behind, let alone the captain of the ship. But, Hob muses to himself, I suppose that’s the life of a pirate.

   Taking stock of their location, Hob sees that the rocky walls have narrowed around them, creating small banks on either side of the passageway they now rowed down, towards the heart of the island. The lantern light picks up something white that glints dully in the dark. Squinting his eyes, Hob makes out a skull, resting upon the rocks beside him, the cavernous eye sockets dancing with shadows that seemed to follow him long after they’d moved past. The further in they went, the more bones Hob began to see appear, soon accompanied by quick glints of gold in the low light that quickly began to grow in abundance. 

   “...and completely obsessed with treasure.” 

   “I’m not obsessed with treasure,” Will protests, a little too quickly.

   Hob jolts a little as he realizes he’d tuned out the rest of the conversation between Will and Jack while he looked around them. Looking over to the two, Hob notices them both gazing into the water. Glancing down himself, Hob notices for the first time how the gold isn’t only on the rocks beside them but littering the rocky crags in the water below. 

   Letting the boat drift for a moment as he stops rowing as Will has done, Hob carefully leans over the side of the boat to get a better look. Feeling the string of beads in his hair lightly come to rest against his upper cheekbone, Hob looks at it from the corner of his eye, noticing how the light from the lantern and the reflection of the gold below has created a mesmerizing pattern of silver and gold flecks across his hair, tunic and face. 

   The colours remind Hob of something familiar. It tickles the back of his mind, and he feels it’s something he should know but can’t quite place. The raven skull bead dangles down in front, the eyes seem to meet Hobs, daring him to recall that which he can’t remember. 

   Looking up again, Hob notices Captain Jack watching him, eyes trained on Hob’s beads before locking with his own eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.

   With a gentle bump, the keel of the boat runs aground against a small beach of black sand, the gold and even some jewels more plentiful here than what was in the water. 

   Breaking the eye contact, Jack looks back over to Will, “Not all treasure is silver and gold, mate.” he replies before disembarking, leaving Hob and Will to scramble after him as they finally catch on that they’ve arrived. 

   Unnoticed through their own quiet conversation, Hob can now catch the murmurings of what sounds to be a large crowd coming from close by.

   Following Jack with Will behind him, they round a corner and come across a large mound of sand scattered with gold coins, nearly scraping the stalactites of this newest cavern. Carefully crawling up the back of the pile, the three peer over the top of the sand into a massive cavern.

   Illuminated by the moon that must have risen while they rowed, Hob got a good look at this new cavern. Every surface as far as the eye could see was covered in treasure. From mountains of gold coins and jewels to overflowing chests and large scatterings of chalices and crowns, silks and fabrics. And in the middle of it all raised upon a large stand overlooking the large assembly of pirates, was a man Hob could only assume to be the traitorous Captain Barbossa. And behind him, standing by a large chest in an ankle length red dress was-

   “Elizabeth.” Will breathed.

   Barbossa was preaching to the men gathered before him, speaking of hardships that only those before him would be able to comprehend, the pirates below cheering their Captain on. 

   “Punished we were, the lot of us,” Barbossa gestures across the crowd in front of him, “disproportionate to our crime, and here it is!” Turning away from the anticipating crowd, Barbossa approaches the chest located in front of Miss Swann.

   Straining his eyes, Hob can make out in the flickering torch light intricate patterns artfully carved into all sides of the chest, most likely Mayan or Aztec in origin, if he wasn’t mistaken. 

   With a strong shove of his boot, Barbossa kicks the lid off the chest, Miss Swann flinching away from the falling lid, revealing a mountain of oddly shaped gold coins within.

   “Behold! Here we stand, before the cursed treasure of Cortez himself. Each piece taken, carefully returned. Save this one!” At this, Barbossa turns back around to Miss Swann, pointing at something glinting and dangling about her neckline.

   Will jerks as if struck, preparing to leap out of their hiding place and head towards the young lady, but Hob reaches out and grabs one of his arms, Jack grabbing the other before they pull him back behind the dune together.

   “Not yet!” “Do you want to get us killed?!”

   Jack and Hob harshly whisper at the same time in near identical scolding tones. Looking at each other in some surprise, Hob slightly inclines his head, indicating for the captain to continue.

   “We must wait for the right opportunity,” Jack hisses before releasing Will’s arm and leaving the sand pile, heading towards a different corner of the rock wall. 

   Giving the boy a stern look, Hob gently tugs on his arm before following Jack around the corner. 

   Quickly glancing back, Hob sees Will following, anger seeming to pour off the younger in waves before he catches up to Captain Jack.

   “And when will that opportunity be, hmm?” Will questions, “When it will give you the most profit possible?” he spits at the captain, crowding him against a wall.

   “Come now,” Hob gently but firmly grabs each of Will’s arms, pulling him back a few steps, “This isn’t the place for this, and for God’s sake, keep your voices down or we’ll be of no use to Miss Swann if we’re dead or captured ourselves.” never mind the fact that Hob himself can’t die, but that doesn’t say much for the other two. 

   “No, let the boy talk,” Captain Jack returns the favour by getting up into Will’s face, “tell me, boy, have I given you a reason not to trust me?” 

   When there was no immediate response, the captain continued, “Then do us this favour. I know it’s difficult for you, but please stay here, and try not to do anything stupid while we,” here Jack gestures between Hob and himself, “Go rescue your Miss Swann, savvy?” With a beckon to Hob and a smirk on his face, Jack turns around and begins walking off. 

   Hob looks apologetically at Will, “Please, just wait here and trust us. We’ll get your lass back for you.” And with that, Hob turns and follows after the captain. 

Weaving through the maze of stone, Hob sees the captain slow as he pulls up to a new opening in the rocks. Quietly joining him, Hob peers out from behind the rock wall in time to see Barbossa bend Miss Swann’s head over the chest and gather up a knife.

   With a panicked look at Captain Jack, Hob opens his mouth to tell the man they need to do something before the poor girl is killed, but the captain merely shakes his head with a knowing look and indicates for Hob to wait. Having followed orders for most of his life, even if he didn’t agree with them, Hob knew how to do as he was told, and so he waited. 

   The pirates around Barbossa and Miss Swann were cheering at near deafening levels with the echoing around the cavern. Barbossa raised the knife into the air, and then everything went black. 

---- 

   A pounding pain in the back of his head was the first thing Hob was aware of before he even opened his eyes. There was a hand none too gently shaking his shoulder, which Hob batted away as he opened his eyes and sat up with a small groan.

   “Ah, good, you’re awake. C’mon, we must hurry.”

   “Wah? Cap’n? What’s going on?” Hob mumbled as the man in question hauled Hob to his feet, the pain fading by the second as Hob’s healing began to take over.

   “Just call me Jack if ye want. And, well. We asked the boy not to do anything stupid, so, he did something stupid. Now come on, Barbossa’s crew are on the move, and we have to get to their boats before they do.”

   Ignoring the sting of betrayal over Will knocking him out, Hob quickly followed after the captain.

   “Do you have a plan?” Hob whispered as the sounds of men running around echoed through the passages towards them. 

   “Just follow my lead.” 

   They made it to where Barbossa’s men had docked their boats, and as Jack began gathering the paddles, Hob caught on to at least a part of the plan and began helping. Once they were all gathered, Hob was led up another passageway where they deposited all but a single oar each into an out of the way alcove.

   With a wink that didn’t instill much confidence, the two began trekking back the way they’d come, towards where the other pirates had now gathered and were desperately trying to find their oars. 

   Pretending to be minding his own business, and in Hobs opinion probably hoping to blend in, Jack clutched his oar and merely began to stroll right in as if he belonged with the other crew. Hob, not seeing any other option, took to follow Jack’s lead.

   However, they didn’t get two steps in before there was a cry of “You! You should be dead!”

   Looking around, Hob spotted a man with a bald spot and stringy hair pointing an accusatory finger at Jack. Before he knew it, the two were surrounded on all sides by angry pirates wielding all manner of weapons. 

   Jack mutters to himself for a moment before, “Pearlie. No. Peerlie. No. Perky” he turns to Hob, “Portly? Purloin?”

   “Parley?” Hob asks, raising a sardonic eyebrow at the man.

   “Yes! That one! Parley! I wish to parley!” Jack spreads his arms wide in victory, nearly hitting a man with his oar, looking at the assembled pirates with a broad grin on his face.

   With a scoff, the assembled pirates cursed the concept of parley, but sheath their weapons and roughly grab the two men, dragging them back towards the main cavern. 

   As they’re hauled in with the large group, Barbossa takes immediate notice from across the cavern, quickly walking towards them, anger written clearly on his face. 

   “Jack,” the displeasure is crystal clear in his tone, “I’ve half a mind to shoot you right here and now. How in the blazes did you make it off that damned island?”

   “Well, you see,” Jack smirks at Barbossa, “you forgot mate. I’m Captain Jack Sparrow.” 

   “Hmm. Yes. Well, I won’t make that mistake again.” Eyes briefly flick over to Hob before Barbossa turns and begins to walk away. “Kill them both.”

   “The girls’ blood didn’t work, did it Hector?” 

   The look Barbossa gives Jack as he whips around is so venomous Hob is sure Jack should be dead thrice over from it alone. 

   “Hold your fire.” Slowly walking back to them, Barbossa leans right into Jack’s face. “And what would you know about matters such as this? You know nothing of our curse.”

   “I know whose blood you need.”

   Barbossa is still for a long moment after that, eyes scanning over every inch of Jack’s face, and Hob is uncertain where this is going to go, or to whose benefit. 

   ‘Very well. Kill the companion, we only need Jack.” Barbossa orders his crew.

   Crapcrapcrap Hob thinks. He doesn’t know what kind of curse these pirates have, but he can’t let them find out about his gift. Subtly, Hob begins shifting into a fighting stance. They haven’t bound him in rope, only two of the pirates are holding his arms which will be nothing for him to break out of their holds. He has his cutlass, and knives on him, and he may be able to steal a pistol or two from the men around him. 

   As he’s sorting out what weapons are at his disposal, Hob is also thinking of the best ways to incapacitate the men. Not knowing what they can do is a severe disadvantage, but they don’t know what he can do either, and Hob can work with that. Having lived for so long, Hob knows how to disable a body at its tendons, so even if the owner doesn’t feel pain or heals quickly like himself, the body is still incapacitated for a time. He knows it’s unlikely he’ll get through this many people without some lucky shots getting in and can only hope none hit him in the head. Those take longer to recover from though it may give him a bit of a surprise advantage. 

   Settled on his crude game plan, Hob gets ready to break the grips on his arms, but before he can, Jack speaks up again, this time in his defence.

   “Now wait just a moment, Hector, this is one of my men. If you want the name I have for you, you’ll keep him alive and well. Otherwise, I can just hold on to this name and leave you lot cursed forever.”

   “Fine, fine.” Barbossa drags a hand down his face before giving a long-suffering sigh. “You two, grab Sparrow over here and take him to my ship. I’ll see him in my quarters. You two,” here Barbossa points to the two holding Hob, “take this one and throw him in the brig”.

----

   Hob and Jack are marched back out to the area where the Pearl’s crew has docked their jolly boats, and Jack, though somewhat reluctantly, tells them where to find the oars. 

   Once the oars are retrieved, Jack and Hob are manhandled into one of the boats and they begin their journey out of the labyrinthine passages of Isla de Muerta and towards the infamous Black Pearl. 

   Rounding a bend in the island opposite from where the Interceptor was anchored, Hob catches sight of the Black Pearl for the first time. A three-masted galleon, Hob’s attention is immediately caught on the almost charred looking black hull of the ship, with torn, black sails flying from her masts. It was a bit of a visual shock, seeing such a black ship, but Hob could understand better now where her name came from, and understand the appeal of her, carrying a haunting allure that was difficult to tear the gaze from. 

   As they got closer, Hob also noticed the Pearl carried a multitude of cannons that he doesn’t doubt has seen plenty of action in the ship's time. 

   Once they reach the Black Pearl, Hob is dragged below deck towards the brig while Jack is taken in another direction, presumably Barbossa’s quarters. Trying not to panic at being separated from his only crew mate, Hob goes along as complacently as he can at the moment. 

   His two guards toss him into a cell containing only a couple of crates to sit on and some sparse straw to cover the cold floor. There was also a porthole set into the wall of the cell looking out the starboard side of the ship. 

   With a sigh, Hob flops down onto the straw, back leaning against a crate and settles in to wait. 

   After a while Hob feels a lurch run through the ship, and a quick glance out the window tells him they’ve gotten underway. To where, he’s uncertain but knows he’ll need to trust Jack to get them out of this without blowing his most guarded secret. 

   By Hob’s estimation, about an hour after the ship first begins moving a crew member comes down and tosses an apple and water skin into the cell before stomping back up the companionway. 

   Logically knowing that even if the food and drink were poisoned it wouldn’t do much to him, Hob was still cautious in smelling each before tucking in. The apple was surprisingly crisp and was heaven to Hob’s taste buds. The water meanwhile easily quenched his thirst he hadn’t been aware of until then.

   Still hungry yet knowing that was all he’d be getting for the time being, Hob leans back further against the crate and prepares to settle in for a nap, before voices coming his way jolt him back up.

   “Now, I really don’t think this is necessary, you see. If Barbossa will just listen to me I’m sure I can get him the blood and the medallion in no time.”

   Into view steps Jack being guided by 2 burly men who, despite Jack’s needling, refuse to even respond. One opens the door to Hob’s cell while the other thrusts Jack inside, causing the other man to stumble.

   “Well then. It’s your loss.” Jack coolly looks between the two with all the dignity he can muster at the moment despite having just been tossed into a cell. 

   With a low grunt from the one who opened the cell, the two men turn and leave, allowing Hob and Jack to settle into a moment of silence. 

   “Thank you, Jack.” Hob looks over at the other man who is focusing on something outside the porthole.

   “Hmm? For what?”

   “For keeping me alive, and not leaving me abandoned on that island.”

   “Ah, yer crew, mate. Wasn’t gonna leave you behind.”

   “Even with The Code?” Hob asks curiously.

   “Eh. y’know it’s sometimes more like a guideline anyways.” Jack says dismissively. 

   “Hmm, alright then. So, what’d Barbossa want with you for so long?”

   “We were negotiating the best way for me to give him the name he needs with me still going free and trying to take back my ship.” At this Jack bangs a fist gently, almost lovingly, against the hull.

   “It’s the boy, isn't it?”

   “Eh?”

   “The blood they need. It’s the boys, isn't it. I’m not quite a fool Jack, I can piece things together, y’know.”

   Jack mulls things over in his head for a minute, before finally “Aye. It is.”

   “Do you have a plan then?” Hob cuts a glance towards Jack. After receiving a nod of confirmation, Hob nods himself. “Alright then. I’ll follow your lead, Captain. Kept me alive so far.” Hob's grin has a bit of a deranged quality to it, but Jack matches it right back. “So then, why’d they send you down here if you were making negotiations. Did you come to an accord?”

   “No,” Jack pauses, looking back out the porthole. “We caught up to the Interceptor.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

   Scrambling up, Hob squishes himself beside Jack to look out the port hole and sure enough, he can make out the stern of the Interceptor up ahead. 

   “What is that?” Hob questions, steering Jack’s attention to objects that could just barely be made out in the water.

   Peering closely out the small opening for a moment, Jack hummed in contemplation. “It appears they’re tryin’ to lighten the ship's load.”

   “Lighten the load? Surely they don’t intend to outpace the Pearl. They won’t make it far.”

   “No,” Jack agreed, “However, if they can make it to that reef they might just stand a chance.”

   Looking in the direction Jack was pointing Hob could just make out the crashing waves that indicated shallow waters. 

   “And do you think they’ll make it?” Hob asks Jack, moving to sit back down on a crate.

   “No.”

   Hob raises a surprised eyebrow at the man but refrains from commenting. After all, Jack used to be the Pearl’s captain. If anyone knew her capabilities, it’d be him. 

   Hob returns to sitting on his crate, allowing Jack the unobstructed view from the port hole.

   A sudden rumbling begins to shake the deck beneath their feet and Hob looks up to Jack in concern. “So uh, what’s that supposed to be?”

   “Well. If I’m not mistaken, and I do tend to not be, I’d say those’re the guns being readied. Ah, and that’ll be the steers.” Jack comments as another jolt shakes their shared cell. 

   “So, the Pearl’s preparing for a fight?”

   “Aye, lad. That would seem to be the case.”

   “Alright. Think they’re gonna let us out of here before then?” Refusing to acknowledge being called a lad at his considerable age, not that Jack would know it, Hob leans back on the crate, resting against the hull of the ship.

   Not deigning to answer Hob’s, admittedly foolish question, Jack turns back to look out at the sea, leaning against the hull where he stood.

   Settling in to wait before the fighting starts, Hob brings a hand up to his hair, beginning to play with the beads out of boredom. Each bead was only about an inch in length, with small dips and wells on their smooth surfaces. The main four were difficult for him to see, but the raven skull easily swung into view as Hob tilted his head forward. Staring into the eye sockets that seemed to swirl with stars unknown, Hob was struck by the memory of blue, no black, no blue, they were blue eyes, staring back at him from across a table.

   “Those are some nice ones ye got there.”

   Jack’s comment interrupts Hob’s train of thought, allowing it to slip from his mind like a gentle breeze. 

   Looking up, Hob returns the half smile Jack is sending his way as the other man plays with a string of his own beads.

   “Thanks. I was actually given them the day you and Will sailed into port at Tortuga.”

   Whatever comment Jack was about to respond with was interrupted as he stumbled away from the hull, the ship giving a massive lurch to the port side. 

   Cursing, Hob struggled up from where the turn had sent him sprawling, clasping onto Jack’s proffered arm. 

   Hauling him up, Jack and Hob both stumble to the porthole, trying to see what was happening only to be met with the sight of the Interceptor’s starboard anchor line quickly followed by an open gun deck, canons pointed right at the Pearl, and subsequently, at Hob and Jack. 

   Shouts of ‘Fire!’ came raining down from the upper decks, and Hob and Jack threw themselves to the deck just as a cannon ball came tearing through the hull where they’d been standing.

   “Stop blowing holes in my ship! No, shoot the lying dog! Wait, no.” Turning to look down at Hob where he landed beneath him, Jack looks pained as he wars with himself. “I’m sorry, this is terribly confusing. I don’t know where I stand in this. Ah!” Jack seems to notice something and scrambles off Hob, accidentally elbowing Hob in the stomach and knocking the air from his body.

   Curling into the fetal position, Hob wheezes as he looks up at Jack, reflexive tears briefly clouding his eyes before he notices the other man standing outside of the cell, looking smugly down at Hob. 

   “Aren’t ye comin’, mate?”

   Grumbling under his breath about bloody pirates, and bloody boney arms, and was that really necessary, Hob hauls himself back up from the deck for the second time in as many minutes. 

   Walking out the cell door, Jack claps Hob on the shoulder before taking off, presumably to the upper deck.

   From above, the sound of cannon fire continues to rain, mixed in with the sounds of gunfire and the yelling as battle between the two ships commences. 

   Stumbling up on deck, Hob’s senses were assaulted by the chaos of a raging sea battle. It’s been many years since Hob last saw a battlefield, and for a moment the sights and sounds of men dying took him back to the battlefields of the past, Agincourt, Bosworth, Flodden with the canon fire roaring in his ears, men screaming as they were torn to bits, the iron smell of blood heavy in the air- 

   Jack grabbed onto Hob’s arm, dragging him behind some barrels for the measly cover it may offer.

   “You good, mate? I’m gonna need you here so we can get off the Pearl.”

   Hob closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to try and ground himself in the present and not a battlefield almost 300 years ago. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Opening his eyes, Hob meets Jack’s eyes, clenching his shaky hands into fists.

   Taking a moment to search Hob’s face, Jack must find what he’s looking for as he gives a sharp nod before peering around the barrel.

   “Alright, Let’s go.”

   Heading back out into the chaos, Hob was able to take a good look this time at the battle that was raging. The Interceptor’s main mast was down, laying across the Pearl almost in mockery of a white-clothed maiden taking a rest. Crew from each ship was swinging from the rigging to cross to their opponent’s ship. Guns were firing and cutlasses were swinging, and above it all the cannons continued in a deafening roar that Hob felt would surely wake even the dead. 

   Still armed as for some reason Barbossa hadn’t deemed it prudent to remove their weapons, Hob drew his cutlass and prepared to rush into the fight. With his initial panic beginning to fade, Hob could feel the adrenaline start kicking in. He’d always enjoyed swinging a sword and, after 400 years, Hob was pretty decent at it, if he did say so himself. 

   Before he could duck out of their hiding spot, Jack grabbed Hob’s arm once more. “Wait, before ye go out there mate, you ought to know. These men? They can’t die, at least not now. So don’t bother going for killing blows, just focus on getting to the Interceptor, aye?”

    Hob’s thoughts grind to a halt. They…. can’t die? Hob looks for the joke on Jack’s face, and not finding one, gathers his thoughts together, and fortifies his mind. Alright, he can do this. It’s about as easy to disable an opponent as it is to kill them. He would know. With that thought settled, Hob gives Jack a final nod before finally joining the fray, Jack hot on his heels. 

   Spotting a member from the Pearl’s crew, Hob dashes forward, bringing the cutlass low and slicing across the backs of the ankles, cutting his Achilles tendons before the pirate can even turn around. Stumbling without the support, the pirate falls to the deck, struggling to get back up. 

   Movement out of the corner of his eye catches Hob’s attention, only to see its Jack, making for the bulwark just in time for a line to swing back into his hand from where someone else had crossed ships not a moment ago. 

   Looking back at Hob, Jack beckons him over, catching another rope on its back swing, holding it out to Hob as he joins the other.

   With a nod, Jack swings towards the Interceptor, Hob following close behind. Stumbling a little on the landing, Hob hits the Interceptor’s deck and looks back to see Jack miss the first swing, knocking another pirate off the Interceptor before swinging back over again, this time making the landing. 

   “Jack?”

   Hob and Jack look down in sync to see that the dirty man lying on the deck was none other than Mr. Gibbs.

   “Ah!” Jack exclaims, rooting around in his coat pocket before hauling out an object and shoving it into Gibbs’ hands. “‘s bloody empty!”

   Upon closer inspection, Hob determined it to be a flask. Uncertain as to when Jack would have picked it up, he figured that was a mystery for later.

   With a laugh, Hob turns back into the fray, just in time to block the blow from a cutlass that was coming for his head. Trading blows with the pirate, Hob was looking for a way to take this opponent out quickly and decisively when the pirate inexplicably stumbled. Without thinking, Hob lunged forward, aiming for the pirate's sword arm where he was fairly certain another tendon lay. With a deft slice, the pirate's arm fell limply to his side, the man looking at it in shock before looking at Hob just in time for Hob to surge up under him, tossing the man off the ship and into the water. 

   Turning around, Hob looked to see who he’d be fighting next, only to feel a searing pain in his thigh as a bullet hit home. 

   Gasping in surprise and pain, his leg buckles under him and Hob, for the third time that day, crashes to the deck of a ship. Before he can orient himself to get up and fight through the pain, Hob is grabbed by two of Barbossa’s men, ropes quickly tied around his wrists to restrain him. 

   Looking around him, Hob watches in fear as Barbossa’s crew overwhelm and round up the rest of Jack’s crew.

   “Gents! Our hope is restored!”

   Hearing the triumphant shout followed by cheering from the other crew, Hob whips his head over to see Barbossa, a monkey on his shoulder, holding aloft the gold medallion from the cavern. Jack was on the fallen mast looking at his former mate with a look of resignation on his face before he was hauled off and away, arms restrained. 

----

   The Interceptor’s crew was rounded up and tied to the Pearl’s main mast, except for Jack standing amongst Barbossa’s men, and Hob, who was playing up his injury. The bullet wound would continue to bleed until he took the bullet out, where it would then heal in almost no time, but Barbossa’s men didn’t need to know that. Instead, they were graciously allowing Hob to rest on top of a crate while he, despite still being bound, attempted to bind his wound.

   Keeping a careful eye on the men guarding him, Hob very slowly began to work his finger into the bullet wound. Clenching his teeth, Hob was no stranger to this kind of pain, having done similar procedures on himself many times in the past. Feeling the bullet, Hob bit his tongue to keep any sound from escaping as he slowly pulled it out. 

   Panting slightly, Hob tucked the bullet between his legs on the barrel to prevent a loud clatter if it were to hit the deck. Carefully, Hob began tying the wound, the bleeding already beginning to slow down as his healing took effect.

   Tying one final knot with a grimace for show, Hob looks up to see the Pearl has drifted away from the dilapidated carcass that was once the Interceptor.

   Looking over to his crew, Hob saw one of the pirates circling the bound group. A balding man with scraggly hair on the sides, he wasn’t the most intimidating man Hob had laid eyes on. 

   “Any of you so much as thinks the words ‘parley’, I’ll have your guts fer garters.” he sneered at the crew. 

   Hob noticed Barbossa was staring out to the abandoned ship. Following his gaze, Hob turned just in time to catch the ship erupt into an explosion, caving in on herself before slowly sinking beneath the waves. 

   Miss Swann, who had ducked under the ropes the moment before this happened stopped and stared at the wreck, before breathing out a quiet “Will.”

   It was only then that Hob noticed the young man wasn’t tied up with the rest of the crew. Looking back towards the sea, Hob felt his heart sink. He hadn’t known the boy long, and despite the betrayal, Hob could understand that, in his own way, the boy had thought he was doing what was best. 

   Rushing forward, Miss Swann ran to Barbossa and began hitting him in the chest in anger.

   Catching her hands in his, Barbossa leered down at the young woman, “Well hello again Miss Swann. You took advantage of our hospitality last time; it holds fair now to return the favour.” and with that he threw the girl into the crowd of pirates where they began to tear at her dress.

   Tensing, Hob prepared to leap to her defence, consequences be damned, when a shout catches everyone's attention. 

   Looking over, Hob feels something aching in his chest slowly release as Will appears over the bulwark, before clenching again as the boy draws a pistol and aims it at Barbossa. 

   “She goes free.”

   Barbossa walks closer to Will, confusion clear on his face, “what’re you playing at boy. You’ve only got one shot,” Barbossa spreads his arm wide, encompassing his crew behind him, “and we can’t die.”

   Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it Hob repeats the mantra in his head as he sees the calculating look on Will’s face as his eyes flicker to the side before returning to Barbossa.

   Spinning around, Will runs and leaps back onto the bulwark, placing the pistol under his chin.

   “You can’t, but I can.”

   Aaaand he did it, Hob thinks to himself. 

   “Who are you?” Barbossa asks, looking to his crew who all respond with the same confusion.

   Breaking free of the crowd, Jack inserts himself in front of Barbossa, trying to block Will from sight.

   “He’s no one, just a distant cousin-” Jack tries to placate before being interrupted by Will.

   “My name is Will Turner, son of Bootstrap Bill Turner. His blood runs in my veins, and it’s my blood you need.”

   A commotion starts amongst Barbossa’s crew as they begin to notice similarities Hob can only imagine.

   “Do as I say,” Will continues, “or I pull this trigger and be lost to Davy Jones’s locker, trapping you in your curse.” 

   “Name your terms, Mr. Turner.”

   “Elizabeth goes free.”

   “Yes, yes, we know that one. Is there anything else?” Hob could tell that Barbossa’s patience was running thin.

   Looking around the deck, Will takes note of who’s present. “Jack. And the crew. They’re not to be harmed.”

   “Aye, those be your terms?”

   “Aye.”

   “Then we’re agreed.” Barbossa smirks as Will steps down, only to be grabbed by two men. “Crew, secure the prisoners.” Looking around, Barbossa catches sight of Hob trying fruitlessly to blend in with the crates and escape detection. “Keep this one separate. Miss Swann and Jack too.”

   Bollocks.

----

   The pirates secured Hob, Jack, and Miss Swann, keeping them separate from each other, as they set sail to an unknown destination.

   After a relatively short time, Hob watches as the crew gets to work laying the anchor. 

   Looking out to sea, Hob spies an island not too far off, bright white beaches with swaying palms, and looking utterly abandoned. 

   A commotion starts up around a plank of wood that had been set up stretching off the deck and over open water. One of the pirates grabs Miss Swann and begins walking her over. Oh. Oh no. They were going to make her walk the plank.

   The pirates were leering and jeering her on, thrusting their swords towards her, slowly backing the girl to the edge of the plank where she wobbled precariously. 

   “Barbossa!” Will shouts as he tries to break free of the crowd, “You swore Elizabeth would go free!”

 “Quiet, boy. I’m stickin’ to your terms. It was you who failed to specify the when and where of her release.” The assembled pirates laugh as they gag Will and haul him back. 

   “‘Though, it is a shame to lose something so pretty, aye lads?” He looks at the crew before turning back to Miss Swann. “So, I’ll be takin’ that dress back before you go.”

   With a huff of frustration and disgust, Miss Swann begins to undo the dress, Hob avoiding looking the best he can while still attempting to keep an eye on everything going on, in the allusion to give the young lady some bit of privacy despite the hungry stares from the other men. 

   Hair whipping in the wind as she was left in her petticoat dress, Miss Swann glared at Barbossa in hatred, “Goes with your black heart.”

she spat, refusing to back down before the pirate captain.

   Throwing the dress at Barbossa, the captain catches it before bringing it to his face “Hmm, still warm. Have at it lads.” before tossing the dress into the throng who immediately begin fighting over it. 

   Miss Swann turns back to look at the crew, making eye contact with Will before someone in the crowd gets impatient, jostling the plank and making the girl fall into the water. 

      “Your turn now, Jack. And if I’m not mistaken, I do believe this is the same island we left you on last time!” The assembled roar with laughter as Barbossa slings an arm around Jack’s shoulders, the man not able to evade with his hands bound.

   “I did notice, and to be quite frank, I don’t exactly wish to do it again.”

   “Oh, Jack. Don’t worry, maybe you’ll be able to miracle up another escape, eh?” Barbossa laughs as he shoves Jack towards the plank. “Now off you go.”

   “Ah but wait, last time you left me with a pistol with one shot.”

   “By the powers you’re right,” Barbossa exclaims, “Men! Where be Jack’s pistol?” Said pistol was brought forth from the crowd, along with Jack’s other effects. 

   “Now, see, since there’s to be two of us, a gentleman would give us a pair of pistols.” Jack tried to reason, to no avail as Barbossa laughed right in his face. 

   “It’ll be one pistol as before. You can be the gentleman and shoot the lady while you starve to death.” With that, Barbossa throws Jack’s belongings into the water. 

   Turning to stare after it, Jack leaps off the plank in a perfect swan dive, heading into the deep after the items.

   “And now for you.”

   Hob starts as he tears his eyes away from the water where Jack disappeared, to see Barbossa approaching him. 

   Pulling out his pistol, the man looks down at Hob, sitting on the crate with a “potentially” life-threatening injury.

   “I won’t be havin’ injured men on my ship if they’re just going to kick it, so I’ll put you out of your misery now, savvy?”

   “Hey! You agreed the crew wouldn’t be harmed!” Hob protests, raising his hands at the gun aimed at his chest.

   “Aye, so I did. However, they left you behind at Isle de Muerta, did they not? I’d say that means you’re not really apart o’ the crew.”

   Hob knows the man has him by that logic. Subtly, he flexes his thigh to see how it’s healing, feeling only the barest twinges of pain. As Barbossa takes aim, Hob leaps forward, under the gun just as it goes off, the bullet flying past his ear. 

   In a mad dash, Hob ducks under a reaching arm, and hits the plank, running to the end before launching himself off, a bang and a sharp pain in his shoulder accompanying Hob down into the water below.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

   Hob’s left shoulder instantly felt on fire as the salty ocean water entered the new wound, a plume of blood blossoming in the water around him. A reflexive gasp in as the air was driven from his body had Hob inhaling nothing but water. 

   Thrashing with wrists still bound and lungs filling with water Hob looked towards the receding surface in horror nonono please no not again, I can’t do this again. Kicking his legs Hob tries to fight against sinking, the burn in his chest from the already present liquid increasing with every second.

   Panic slowly faded into resignation as Hob’s vision began going black around the edges, small bubbles escaping his lips despite the effort to hang on to consciousness and not slip into the half-aware state that serves as the closest to death Hob can get at the moment. Maybe on the next round of consciousness I’ll be able to get myself closer to the island before losing it again, Hob thinks.

   Just as the darkness begins to overwhelm him, Hob feels a sharp tug and release as his wrists are cut free, followed by a strong arm looping around his waist, hauling him towards the surface. 

   Breaking through the surface Hob coughs and splutters as he tries desperately to remove the water from his lungs, looking to his right and spies Jack through eyes stinging from the salt. 

   Dragging him along, Hob stumbles when they suddenly come across shallow water, the sand jarring Hob’s body and sending him to shaky knees as his body begins expelling the rest of the water, injured arm clutching tightly to his stomach. 

   “That’s right mate, get it out, get it all out,” Jack says, giving Hob a few thumps on the back to help clear his lungs. 

   At last, the water was gone, and Hob was left with shuddering coughs as his lungs remained irritated. Looking up at Jack, Hob sees the man looking back the way they’d come, an unreadable expression on his face.

   “You know, that’s the second time I’ve had to watch that man sail away with my ship.”

   Looking back over his non-injured shoulder, Hob sees that the Pearl has indeed begun sailing away, already having travelled a fair distance from the shoals of the island the two men rested among.

   Catching Jack’s eye, Hob stumbles to his feet, slowly getting his breathing under control. “Where. Is Miss. Swann?” Hob gasps out in a rough voice.

   “Ah, the good lady has made it to land, see?” Here Jack points to the white beach of the island where Hob can indeed, make out the shape of Miss Swann fighting free of the waters edge before sitting down in the sand, presumably to catch her own breath.

   “Alright. Alright.” Hob breathes, before slowly making his own way to shore, Jack following closely. 

   As they wade through the shallows, Hob chances a look at his left shoulder and sees an exit wound out the front, already beginning to close over. At Least I won’t be digging out another bullet today, Hob wryly thinks to himself. 

   Movement in his peripheral catches Hob’s attention and he looks over to see Jack handing him a bundle. Grasping it with his right hand, Hob sees the handle of his cutlass shining in the afternoon sun, and feels his daggers rolled up in the cloth. With a nod of thanks, Hob stops briefly to re-sheath the weapons on his person, before taking the bundle of cloth and covering the new bullet wound to keep it out of sight of his fellow island prisoners. 

   Watching Hob struggling to tie off the cloth single-handed, Jack walks over with a huff and quickly finishes tying the knot before once more heading for the beach. 

   Finally reaching the sand, Hob collapses onto his back near where Miss Swann sits. Closing his eyes, Hob groans at how nice the warm sand feels on his aching body and burrows himself in a little deeper, despite knowing it will end up everywhere inside his clothing. Alas, such was life on the seas. 

   Sensing a shadow passing over him by the way the light shining through his eyelids momentarily darkened, Hob cracks open an eye to watch Jack sit down on his other side. Undoing the scarf from his waist, Hob watches as Jack lays it carefully on top of the sand before beginning to dismantle his pistol, setting all the pieces and the powder out to dry in the sun. 

   Glancing over to Miss Swann, Hob watches as the young woman stares out to sea, a thunderous expression on her face. Not willing to disturb the tentative yet strained peace that has settled over the small group, Hob relaxes back and allows his body a moment to rest as it finishes healing and recovers from nearly drowning again. 

   “Has it changed at all, since you were last here?”

   Miss Swann’s voice startles Hob out of the light doze he was falling into. Blinking his eyes open, he first sees Miss Swann, still staring out towards sea but now with her legs drawn up, hugging her knees. 

   “Hmmm, the trees are taller.” Jack answers from where he’s reassembling his pistol which must have dried in the interim. 

   Turning, Miss Swann looks around Hob and towards Jack, eyeing the pistol uneasily. “You aren’t planning to use that, are you?” It was barely there, yet Hob could still detect the slight tremble to her voice at the question. 

   “Not yet but ask me again in a couple weeks.” And with that, Jack got up and began walking inland. 

   With a groan, Hob began to haul himself up out of the sand nest he’d made while Miss Swann stuttered and stammered, staring after where Jack had disappeared behind some palm trees. 

   “Well luv,” Hob spoke to the woman for the first time, “I suppose we’d best get going after him. Probably wouldn’t do us much good sittin’ on the beach all day anyway, even if it is a rather nice one.” With a final wistful look back to the lovely sand, Hob turns back to begin following after Jack, only to have a seething young woman appear in front of him, stopping Hob in his tracks. 

   “That is Miss Swann to you, not ‘luv’. I don’t know who you are other than that man’s,” she spits the word as if it’s a poisoned thing, “crew, and if that’s the case you’re no better than the rest of the men on those boats.” she flings an arm out towards sea, where the Pearl disappeared over the horizon. “So, we’ll find Captain Sparrow, and when we do you’ll keep away from me if you know what’s good for you.” She says it in a manner that Hob is sure is supposed to be intimidating but truthfully wasn’t. However, knowing when to give a lady her space, Hob acquiesces with a nod of his head and a gesture to begin walking. 

   With-holding a chuckle, Hob watches as she begins to stalk away with a loud huff. Following at a bit of a distance, Hob spies Jack searching for something in a specific area around a clump of palm trees. 

   “Is this it then, is this our way off the island?” Hob hears Miss Swann asking as Jack bends down to pull at something buried within the sand. “Do you have a boat stashed here?”

   “No, but it’s something that’ll make our time here much more tolerable.” And with that cryptic answer Jack lifts what Hob sees now is a trap door leading into a pit in the sand. Looking over Jack’s shoulder, Hob can’t help but grin at the sight of rows upon rows of dusty bottles lining the hole in the ground. More enjoyable, indeed. 

   Jack, however, lets out a few curses under his breath at the state of the rum cellar.

   “What, what is it?” Miss Swann questions, now also peering in. “Rum? Is that all there is?” She demands, turning on Jack, “What happened to the great Jack Sparrow who could get out of any situation he found himself in? What happened to having escaped this island before? How did you do it?”

   With a sigh, Jack hops into the cellar and begins handing bottles up to Hob who began setting them on the sand. “Last time, this island was used by rum runners who I brokered a deal with to get off this wretched island. However, based on the state of these bottles,” Jack blows a great plume of dust off of one of the bottles before handing it to Hob, “I’d say the runners went out of business, and have been for quite some time. Probably have your Commodore Norrington to thank for that.” At this, Jack raises a bottle in salute before popping the cork and taking a swig. 

   “So that’s all there is to it then, huh? The great Captain Jack Sparrow spent his time drinking rum on a beach, waiting to be rescued.” she sneered at Jack in disgust.

   “Welcome to the Caribbean, luv.” Thrusting a bottle into her hands, Jack crawls out of the hole and heads over to Hob, gathering up a few of the bottles, indicating to Hob to grab the others before setting off down the beach. With a last look to the fuming young woman, Hob follows after Jack. 

   “So, Jack,” Hob walks up to the man with a sly grin on his face, “whereabouts on this island is that ghost of yours eh? I’d like to meet ‘im.”

   Barking out a laugh, Jack makes a show of looking around, shading his eyes from the sun and peering behind trees before shrugging his shoulders. “He probably got bored and fed ‘imself to the fishes if you ask me. Not much to do on this island but drink.” As if to showcase his point Hob watches as Jack takes a long swig from his open bottle. “Now, let’s make a fire shall we? Maybe scrounge up a bit of grub?”

   With a laugh of his own, Hob follows Jack as he sets off down the beach towards a more open stretch near the water.

----

   It didn’t take long for Jack and Hob to drag old palm branches into a mound and begin building the base for a fire.

   Hob watches as with a careful eye, Jack pours out a small amount of his gunpowder and sets it upon a shallow stone set into the middle of the fronds. Grabbing two other stones, Jack stands a careful distance away and strikes the stones together, hard and fast enough to generate a spark that sets the powder off in such a way that a small flame is generated, quickly catching onto the sun-dried fronds. Soon enough the two have a decent sized fire going, and Hob can see Miss Swann hovering at the edge of the tree line, bottle still in hand and staring at the two men. 

   Despite her earlier aggression, Hob still sends her a friendly smile as he heads out to collect something for the trio to eat. Walking along the beach, Hob is able to find some coconuts and a few almost-ripe bananas fallen from the trees that he gathers up and brings back to the fire. 

   Upon his arrival, Hob sees that Miss Swann has at last taken a seat near the flames, her bottle now partially drunk beside her.

   “Alright, here we are, island fresh dinner for your pleasure my good sir and lady.” Hob jests as he sets the fruits down in the sand with a flourish ending in a low bow. 

   Jack, already a half bottle in, falls back into the sand with a laugh before grabbing one of the bananas and raising it in a toast “And to you, our good sir Hob the Gatherer for collecting this decadent meal.” Jack says with a toothy grin.

   “Did you say ‘Hob’?” Miss Swann suddenly looks over to Hob as if looking at him in a new light.

   “Aye, miss, that’s my name. Richard Gadling, but most just call me Hob.” Jack gives him a bit of an odd look from his introduction, but Hob elects to ignore it for now. If it’s important, he’s sure Jack will say something later.

   “Will mentioned a ‘Hob’ who went with him and Jack to help rescue me. Was that you?”

   “It was,” Hob confirms, “But unfortunately all it seems to have gotten me was a bump on the head.” He says with a huff.

   “Oh, I um-”

   “Don’t worry about it,” Hob interrupts her stammering, “the boy was just trying to do what he thought best, which was to save the girl,” Hob shoots her a small smile, “Reminds me a bit of my boy to be honest.” 

   “You have a son?” Jack asks, looking at Hob with interest. 

   “Had.” was his short reply.

   “Ah. What was his name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

   Hob grabs for a bottle, uncorking it and pulling a long draught from it before tilting his head back to see the first of the stars emerging in the sky above. “Robyn. His name was Robyn.”

   “To Robyn then.” Jack holds up his bottle before taking a drink himself, Miss Swann echoing after him. 

   “What happened to him, if I may ask?” Miss Swann asks, moving a bit closer to Hob and Jack, joining their half circle around the fire.

   “A bar fight. He was defending a lass and things got out of control. He was twenty.” Looking to change the subject to something less dreary, Hob glances towards Miss Swann and notices the bandaging around her hand. “May I?” he gestures to the bandages.

   When she does nothing more than raise an inquiring eyebrow, Hob explains, “I would just like to take a look at your cut, if you’ll allow me. Don’t want it to fester if left unattended.”

   Without answering, she carefully holds her hand out towards Hob, who takes it with gentle fingers, broadcasting each movement as he slowly begins to unwind the bound linen. The cut underneath was still rather fresh, but had stopped bleeding at least, although it was beginning to look red around the edges. 

   “Jack.” Hob makes a grabbing motion behind his back towards the other man, rewarded with a fresh bottle of rum placed into the outstretched hand. Nodding his thanks, Hob turns back to Miss Swann, “Now, this will sting a little.” He warns her. Receiving a nod in confirmation, Hob pours some of the rum over her hand, tightening his hold ever so slightly as the she flinches, sucking in a sharp gasp of breath. 

   “There. Should be clean now. Drink from this and I’ll be right back.” Hob says, handing the rest of the bottle over before grabbing the linen piece and heading to the water to give it a quick cleaning. Returning, Hob re-wraps the wound before tying it off and giving her another reassuring smile. 

   “Thank you. And. I am sorry about how I behaved earlier. You’ve done so much for me already even before this despite us never having met.”

   “Now I was there too, y’know.”

   “Think nothing of it.” Hob speaks over Jack, earning himself a quelling look from the other. 

   “Let me at least return the favour, Mr. Gadling.” Miss Swann says with a pointed look at Hob’s wrapped leg and shoulder.

   And damn, he’d forgotten that they were still wrapped, both having finished healing hours ago.

   “Oh no, it’s fine, they’re not but small grazes.”

   “Please, I insist. With how you were seated on Barbossa’s ship you must’ve been in a lot of pain, not to mention having to get all the way to the island and all the work you’ve done today.” And with that she closed the distance between the two, already beginning to unwind the bandage on Hob’s thigh first.

   As the cloth fell away to reveal a hole in his breeches and unblemished skin beneath, Miss Swann’s hands stilled.

   “I don’t understand. I saw you get shot here. You were bleeding aboard the Pearl. How can this be?” 

   Damn, bloody hell Hob swore to himself, trying to think fast as Jack has also come closer to see the complete absence of a bullet wound. “Well, you see, the sea must’ve washed it away.”

   At the two bewildered looks he receives, Hob figures he has to lean into this for all he’s worth. “I mean, surely you at least Jack must’ve heard the stories. No? Well, you see, it is said that the great goddess Calypso once ruled the seas alongside Poseidon. Her temperament, like the sea, flows unpredictably between moods of violence and calm. However, it is said that if one prays to her and happens to catch her in one of her more peaceful moods, she may take pity on thee, granting a blessing if she finds them to be worthy. And so, as I fell into her clutches today I prayed. And lo, Jack grasped me from the depths and saved me just in time from drowning. The ever-benevolent goddess must have also washed my wounds away in her kindness. Ah that reminds me, one must always thank their benefactor however they can.” And with that Hob tosses several of the gathered fruits and some of the rum into the fire as a tribute to the goddess. 

   She may not have been the force that healed him but having invoked her name and using her as the reasoning in his story, Hob knew a tribute was still in order. Even after all these years, it’s difficult to forget the worshipping practices of old. As the rum hits the flames the resulting fireball has them all swiftly moving back a few feet before the fire consumes the alcohol burning back down to a smaller size, a faint breeze blowing towards Hob smelling of tropical rain. 

   Chancing a look over towards his companions, Jack seems to believe Hob’s story for the most part, but there was still some suspicion lingering behind his eyes as he met Hob’s gaze before shrugging his shoulders and having another drink.

   Miss Swann, Hob could tell however, was much more skeptical, “Goddesses, really? Do you really believe in that sort of thing?”

   “Aye,” Hob answered truthfully, “There’s much out there we don’t know, and I have a feeling we never will, but how else would ye explain such a miracle as two fresh bullet wounds, miraculously healed?” Or immortality claimed in a tavern.

   “I have seen stranger things, indeed.” Jack quietly comments as he contemplates the flames flickering before them, the golden glow dancing across his face. “But whatever it may be, here’s to our continued good health, and perhaps a ship on the ‘morrow!” Jack toasts before getting up and pulling Hob to his feet. 

   Laughing Hob lifts his own bottle in a salute, “Aye! And to many more years to come!” The two men link their arm holding their bottle with the others before taking a long drink and turning to Miss Swann in expectation.

   “Alright.” she says in resignation, standing up and brushing the sand off her clothing. Holding aloft her bottle she pauses a moment before, “To rescuing Will…and the crew.”

   “Here here!” Hob and Jack both cheers to that, this time with all three of them taking a drink. 

   Starting to really feel the rum now, Hob lolls his head and gives his companions a lazy grin before starting to chuckle. 

   Jack makes direct eye contact with Hob and is pulled into the laughing as well. Soon both men are bent over at the knees laughing. At what, they couldn’t say but the longer he laughs and as his stomach begins to cramp, Hob can feel a weight begin to lift off his shoulders.

   From where she stood watching the two men making fools of themselves, Hob catches a murmured “Drink up me hearties, yo ho…” as Miss Swann takes another, larger drink from her bottle. 

   “Eh, what was that?” Jack pauses in his own laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes to look more closely at Miss Swann. 

   “Ah, it’s nothing, simply a song about pirates I learned in my childhood.”

   “Well do share!” Hob butts in, “As a freshly minted pirate myself I could stand to learn a few shanties.”

   “Well…” Miss Swann clears her throat before taking another pull from the bottle before singing, “We kidnap and ravage and we don't give a hoot, Drink up me hearties, yo ho…”

   Jack and Hob repeated the lines, swinging each other around the fire. As they made it back around, Hob gently links Miss Swann’s arm with his and, with a wink, leads the three of them around the fire in a merry dance, singing all the while. 

   It wasn’t long before the three were roaring drunk, sharing songs and dancing like maniacs in the glow of the fire. 

   “If we were stranded,” Hob slurs to the other two in a lull in the dancing, “On a deserted island, I think I’d want it to be with you two.”

   “Mate,” Jack gasps out through a laugh, “We are stranded on a deserted island!”

   Unable to restrain himself at that, Hob collapses down into the sand laughing, before shielding his eyes from flying sand as Jack and Elizabeth join him. 

   “Well, if we’re truly stranded here, I’ll fondly remember you both in the years to come.” Hob morosely responds, taking another drink.

   “Planning to outlive us both, are ya Hob?” Elizabeth teases from where she was leaning heavily against Jack’s side.

   “Aye, I will.” Hob murmurs as his eyes drift closed, slipping into the darkness of the night.

----

   Hob slowly comes back to himself, noticing first and foremost the taste of something that had surely crawled into his mouth and died, and secondly the burning in his throat and the thick stench of smoke in the air.

   Jolting upwards and opening his eyes, Hob looks around to see Jack, still sleeping in the sand beside him, and Miss Swann behind them, throwing wooden kegs and bottles of rum onto a blazing fire, flames lapping at the trees around her and sending massive plumes of black smoke into the air.

   Reaching over, Hob begins frantically slapping Jack awake before scrambling up and running over to the woman who continued to throw more fuel onto the inferno.

   “What are you doing? You’re going to set the whole island ablaze!” Hob yells as he reaches her.

   “Not only that, she’s gone and burned all the rum!” Jack staggers up to them, glaring at Miss Swann.

   “Yes, the rum is gone.”

   “But why? Why is the rum gone?”

   She returns Jack’s glare with one of her own, “One, because it is a vile drink that turns even the most honourable of men into scoundrels,” And Hob, well he can’t really argue that point considering all of his own drunken escapades in the past.  “And two, to answer Mr. Gadling,” Miss Swann continues, “That smoke signal is almost a thousand feet high, meaning it can be seen from two hundred leagues in any direction. The entire Royal Navy is out looking for me. You give it one, maybe two hours with a weather eye out and you’ll see white sails on that horizon, just you wait!” 

   Jack stands there speechless as Hob watches Miss Swann sit in the stand, staring off to the horizon with a set look on her face. Watching Jack throw what essentially amounted to a temper tantrum behind her before all of what Miss Swann had said fully registered with him.

   “Wait, do you mean the British Royal Navy?” Hob turns to Miss Swann, fighting down a slowly mounting panic. 

   “Of course, Mr. Gadling. I’m a governor’s daughter.” Miss Swann doesn’t even turn away from the sea as she answers Hob. 

   “Ah. I see.” He says before slowly turning around and beginning to walk away, Jack following in a huff of frustration. 

   They were almost to the opposite point of the island before Jack finally breaks the silence between the two. “Not much of a fan of her majesty’s navy I presume?” Jack inquires of Hob.

   “No, not so much. You could say I left on not the… best …of terms.”

   “Aye, I can understand that, pirate, remember?”

   With a wry grin and a huff of laughter, Hob and Jack crest the next dune, only to stop dead in their tracks at the sight of a ship with white sails anchored just before the shoals, and a jolly boat heading right for the beach.

   “Bollocks.” Hob sighs as Jack murmurs agreement next to him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 

   Grabbing a hold of Jack’s shoulders, Hob stutters out “I’ll uh, I’ll go get Miss Swann. Let her know the boats here. You can go be the welcoming committee.” and with that Hob pushes Jack forwards while he himself begins scrambling back down the dune, away from the newcomers.

   “Oh no, oh no you don’t.” Jack regains his balance from where he almost toppled into the sand and charges after Hob, tackling him down and onto the beach. “You can be the welcoming committee and I will retrieve the lovely Miss Swann.”

   Spitting sand out of his mouth, Hob shoots a glare over his shoulder to Jack. “I think not.” Faster than Jack can blink, Hob digs his elbows and toes into the sand and twists his hip up, sending Jack sprawling.

   Scrambling to his feet, Hob moves to stand over Jack, feet planted on either side of the other man's stomach. Hands on his hips and a slight smirk on his face, Hob looks down at Jack who seems to have given up on their fight and has started making an angel figure in the sand with his arms.  

   Laughing, Hob steps back from Jack, shaking sand out of his hair as he does so. “Well, if that’s settled, I’ll go collect Miss Swann while you-”

   “Ah, gentlemen. How good of you to welcome us ashore.” 

   Hob whirls around while Jack picks himself up as both men move to confront the voice that spoke.

   The man standing before them was dressed formally in the attire of one of high rank in the British navy, with pristine clothes and a perfectly coiffed white powdered wig, tied at the nape. Standing behind him were several members of his crew, all of whom were armed and aiming muskets at the two pirates. 

   “Ah. Mr. Sparrow. Always a…pleasure.” The officer spoke with a look of disdain clear upon his face. “If you’re here, and from what I gathered during your squabbling, it can be assumed that Miss Swann can also be found around here somewhere.” 

   “Commodore! Fancy seeing you on our cozy little island.” Jack steps forward with a smile on his face, arms spread wide to encompass their surroundings. “And might I just say you’re looking quite dashing today.”

   “Secure them.” The commodore speaks in a bored voice to the men behind them who hurry forward and grab Hob and Jack, restraining their arms behind their backs.  

   Walking up to Jack the commodore stares hard at him. “Where. Is Miss Swann.” 

   Wishing not to draw too much attention to himself, Hob remains quiet while Jack talks with the commodore, telling him where exactly to find the young woman.

   With a decisive nod, the commodore turns back to his men, “Take them aboard, I shall be back shortly with Miss Swann.”

----

   The jolly boat quickly carried them closer to the anchored warship which Hob saw was named the H.M.S. Dauntless. Reaching the ship, Hob and Jack were both pulled up on deck where they were immediately surrounded by a set of guards each.

   The two men were positioned against the bulwark with their guards stationed on either side of them. Around them the Dauntless’ crew bustled to and fro, while an older man in a long grey wig stared back at the island with a troubled expression on his face. 

   It didn’t take long until the jolly boat returned with Miss Swann and the commodore aboard, and shortly they too were on deck. 

   Hob watches as Miss Swann immediately walks over to the man with the grey wig who envelops her into a tight embrace before holding her at arm's length to look her over. The man's smile is warm and he opens his mouth to speak before Miss Swann interrupts him.

   “Father, we must go after Will.” she pleads. 

   “No Elizabeth. I’ve just gotten you back and you’re safe now. We’re to head to Port Royal where we will try to forget this all happened, and these two will be dealt with.” Governor Swann, Hob assumes, gestures to him and Jack. 

   Sparing only a quick glance to the two, Miss Swann turns back towards her father. “If we do not rescue him, we condemn him to death. Please, father.”

   Governor Swann looks towards the commodore before heaving a weary sigh and turning back to his daughter, “The boy’s fate is truly regrettable, but it was his decision to set out and consort with pirates.”

   “But he did it to save me, to ensure nothing would happen to me!” she argued vehemently. 

   “Now, if I might interject here.” Hob watches as Jack strides forward towards the trio, hands free of bindings. Which, Hob shouldn’t be too surprised about as he’d slipped his own about 30 seconds after they’d boarded the Dauntless. Whoever tied them was truly terrible at it. “The Pearl was listing after our battle.” Jack addresses Norrington with a knowing smile, “Even for a ship of her speed I don’t see her getting too far. Think about it, Norrington. The Black Pearl. Her captain. Her crew. The last true pirate threat in the Caribbean, served on a silver platter. How could you pass up an opportunity like that?” 

   Norrington looks to Jack in distaste, raising an eyebrow as he answers, “By remembering that I serve others and not only myself.” Finished, Norrington turns around and begins making his way up a set of stairs towards the helm.

   “Commodore, please I beg of you,” Miss Swann rushes after the man, “Do this for me. As a wedding gift.” 

   Hob’s mouth drops open in surprise, not anticipating this turn of events. After all, the way Will and Miss Swann had behaved in regards to the other he’d thought…well. It doesn’t seem to matter what he’d thought if Miss Swann was accepting what appears to be a prior proposal.

   Norrington, having stopped his ascent at these words, turns to regard Miss Swann, something akin to resignation in the man's expression.

   “Elizabeth?” Governor Swann approaches his daughter, “Am I to take it you are accepting the commodore’s proposal?” 

   “I am.” She says, and Hob almost believes her, if only her posture didn’t resemble one heading to the gallows. 

   “Oh, a wedding! I do love weddings!” Jack interrupts, leaning heavily into the men on either side of him, “drinks all around, am I right mates?” The guards and Norrington stare at Jack in annoyance. “I know, I know. Clap him in irons, aye?”

   Hands clasped behind his back and taking one stair at a time, Norrington slowly descends until he stops before Jack. “Mr. Sparrow, these men will accompany you to the helm. From there you will chart a course and take us to Isla de Muerta. After that you will contemplate the many meanings to the phrase “silent as the grave”. Do I make myself clear?”

   “Inescapably clear. And ah, it should be Captain Sparrow, not Mr. Sparrow. That was my father.” Jack says with a knowing grin, simply to annoy the commodore, Hob can tell.

   With a huff, Norrington turns away as his men drag Jack to the helm and turns back to Miss Swann. “Elizabeth, I hereby withdraw my proposal.”

   “What?” Miss Swann blinks in astonishment.

   “I know where your heart truly lies.”

   Considering the man before her, Miss Swann pauses for a moment. “And now I know where yours lies.”

   With a nod of acknowledgement, Norrington calls to one of his men to find Miss Swann something clean and slightly more appropriate to wear before he  turns his attention towards Hob who, in his professional opinion, was doing a very good impression of merging with the bulwark.

   Norrington looked at him with a decidedly unimpressed expression, observing Hob’s features for a moment before catching on the string of beads glinting in the sun amongst the locks of Hob’s hair. 

   “Bring him to my quarters. We’ll talk there.” Norrington addresses Hob’s two guards before turning around to lead the way.

   Grabbing his arms roughly, the guards march Hob forward and into the cabin. Lit by the sunlight streaming in through the stern windows, the room is illuminated enough to see a large desk and a wall covered in maps and other papers that Hob can’t fully make out from his position from just inside the doorway. Another door across the room leads to what Hob assumes to be the commodore's sleeping quarters.

   “Truly what an interesting place and interesting company you find yourself in, Mr. Gadling.” Norrington strides out from a corner of the room that Hob hadn’t noticed him occupying. Struck speechless that the man knows his name, Hob can only stare as Norrington comes to a stop before the wall of papers. Rifling through a few layers he pulls one free, bringing it over and showing it to Hob. 

“This is your wanted poster is it not, Rodney Gadling?” Norrington asks with a knowing smirk. 

   “Truly I have never seen that man in my life. One hell of a look alike though, wouldn’t you say?”

   “So, you mean to tell me that the Mr. Gadling that Miss Swann was just stranded with alongside Jack Sparrow is not, in fact, you.”

   “Ah, well my last name may be Gadling but I’m Randal Gadling, you see. Very common surname in some of the smaller villages just outside of London.” The ‘300 years ago’ remains unsaid. 

   Pursing his lips, Norrington looks down to the poster. “Mr. Gadling, you are wanted for the desertion of your post upon The Atlas, the release of her cargo, and the burning of no less than 5 ships. And,” Norrington looks up from the list and focuses on Hob’s state of appearance, “it looks like we can add piracy to the list. Hold him still.” Norrington commands the guards, striding back over to the corner he previously emerged from.

   “Wha- now hold on for just a moment, surely there’s been some kind of mistake here.”

   “Mr. Gadling please. This is unbecoming behaviour.” Hob can see Norrington move around a small iron box before pulling out a long object from its center. Eyes widening in recognition, Hob begins pulling a little harder against the guards, but they’ve got him in a firm grip. “Now, I’d say this won’t be as bad as it seems, but you did bring it upon yourself.”

****

   Hob watches in trepidation as Norrington walks back over. “Come now, this is surely something we can talk about eh?” Hob desperately tries one last time to get the commodore to talk things out but to no avail.

   Grasping Hob’s wrist in one hand, he twists it until the arm is laying palm up and the branding iron is lowered down onto Hob’s left inner wrist, burning the letter P into the thin skin.

   Clenching his teeth Hob’s entire body goes rigid at the sudden and intense burning pain. Tears spring reflexively to his eyes and begin to stream uncontrollably down his cheeks. A sudden gasp brings only meagre amounts of air in, and his body automatically tries to jerk away from the iron in a futile effort. He was held fast. After an eternity and yet no time at all, Norrington lifts the iron away and returns it to the small firebox in the corner. 

****

   “I’m sorry it had to come to this Mr. Gadling, but you made your choice. Take him to the brig until we arrive.” With that Norrington turns back to the maps as the guards haul Hob down several levels before throwing him into an iron cell and leaving.

   Hob clutches his injured arm carefully to his stomach. Burns were one of the more painful wounds to heal he’d found. Sure, a bullet hurt like hell, but they healed quickly. Burns, however, cauterize and blister in equal amounts as they go and take much longer to heal even with his accelerated healing rate. This one was probably going to take several weeks to  properly heal from the scarring that would occur. 

   Gingerly rotating his wrist, Hob takes a good look at this newest addition. The burn was raw and red, the iron having gone through several layers of skin, but the pain was already beginning to dull as the area became deadened. 

   Gently, Hob tears a thick strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, lamenting the further ruining of the clothing article, before slowly beginning to wrap the wound. With a sigh, Hob slowly settles onto the floor and makes himself as comfortable as possible. 

   Letting the rocking of the ship lull him into an almost meditative state, the events of the past few days quickly catch up to Hob and before he knows it, he’s out cold as the ship continues on, bringing them back to Isla de Muerta and the treasures and curses laying within.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

   Blinking his eyes blearily at his surroundings, Hob casts a look around the cell to see what might have aroused him from his almost-sleep. Eyes catching on the sight of two small bowls just on the inside of the door to the cell, Hob braces his hands against the deck to push himself up from his reclined position, only to let out a gasp of pain as the wound on his wrist flared, reminding Hob of his newest bodily addition. 

  Injured arm held protectively to his chest; Hob uses his free arm to levy himself up into a sitting position. Catching sight of blue sky through a small porthole he hadn’t noticed before, Hob surmises he hasn’t been asleep for too long as it was aways from the desert island to Isla de Muerta, and with the fact it was still light out means they couldn’t have travelled far. Turning back to more immediate matters, Hob slowly shuffles over to inspect the new additions to his cell. One of the two bowls contains a small ration of salted beef and fish, while the other holds water. 

   Not realising quite how hungry he’d grown until his eyes alighted upon the food, Hob’s stomach suddenly spasms in hunger, prompting him to reach over and immediately begin devouring the food. Barely stopping for air, the food was gone all too soon. Turning to the water Hob gives it a tentative smell to check if it’s fresh before bringing it to his lips and greedily drinking half the water in one go. 

   Stopping there, Hob grimaces as the pain in how wrist flares again, reminding him it could use a tending to. Carefully setting the bowl down, Hob turns his attention to the poor bandaging. Slowly he begins unwrapping the cloth, exposing the red and inflamed brand to the air. Wincing at the fresh onslaught of pain, Hob looks at the wound with a critical eye, noting how it has already begun scabbing over in most areas despite the inflammation and lingering pain.

   With a sigh at the loss of the last of the freshwater, Hob pulls the bowl close and slowly lowers his wrist in until it is fully submerged in the water, breathing out a short sigh of relief as some of the pain is instantly alleviated due to the cooler liquid. 

   Hob keeps his wrist in the water until his body temperature has warmed it to the point relief is no longer provided before removing it. Upon another inspection Hob notes how the red inflammation has already decreased despite the pain still radiating from the area. Carefully, he cuts off another strip of cloth, dunking it into the water in an attempt to make it a bit cleaner before rewrapping the brand. 

   Leaning back against a crate, Hob settles back to wait out the rest of the journey and wherever it may lead. Hob’s mind strays to Jack and he hopes the other man is faring better. Although, seeing as he isn’t in a neighbouring cell Hob can only surmise his friend must be better off, at least for the time being. 

   Letting his mind stray even further, Hob can’t help but let his thoughts wander back to the last time he was truly happy. 

   It had been a sunny day and Hob and Eleanor had decided one of the Crown’s parks would be a delightful place for the new knight and his family to spend an afternoon. They had packed a small lunch and off the couple had gone, young Robyn in tow. They had found a lovely clearing shaded by trees to sit down and eat a light meal, Hob and Eleanor watching and laughing as Robyn ran around the area, chasing birds and insects alike until the young 3-year-old had tired himself out, coming to collapse in his mothers lap. 

   Though many of the exact details have faded with time, like how Robyn had looked when he was so young, or what Eleanor had worn to the park, Hob can still recall her laugh clear as day, and he only hopes it will be a sound that sticks with him through however many more years he is lucky to have. 

   With a rueful smile, Hob tilts his head back, blinks his eyes repeatedly to push back the tears building behind his eyelids. Noticing the slight change in colour of the sky, Hob gives in and allows the tears to fall before closing his eyes again, determined to spend at least the next few hours entrenched in happy memories of the past before he has to face the pain of the future.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

   The next time Hob rouses himself, the last bit of colour can be seen vanishing from the sky, leaving behind a moon peaking in and out of the clouds and sea fog that has begun to roll in. stretching out from his cramped position against the crate, Hob notices that the pain in his wrist had been reduced to a dull pain, easily ignored. Placing his palm against the floor, Hob gently places some of his weight on it, testing to see if it will hold up. When the wrist doesn't immediately buckle, Hob uses both hands to push himself up into a standing position.

   Stretching, he lets out a sigh of relief as his joints pop and muscles relax. Glancing towards the cell door, Hob notices that the bowls must have been switched out with fresh ones at some point during his rest. Grabbing up the bowls Hob sits down on one of the crates, quickly eating the food before drinking all of the water. 

   Just as he’s setting the bowls back down, Hob hears footsteps quickly approaching along with the jangling of keys. Looking up, Hob watches as one of Norrington’s men approaches the door. 

   “Alright, you’re gonna come with me up to the deck where the commodore and your…friend…are waiting.”

   With a nod Hob steps back and allows the man to open the door before being shepherded up to the deck. Glancing around Hob notes that Isla de Muerta was in the distance, reaching up to the night sky with the Black Pearl anchored not far off. 

   From his position beside Jack up at the helm, Norrington spares a cool glance in Hob’s direction before turning back to his men assembled in front of him. 

   “Prepare to board the jolly boats. We’ll bring Sparrow and Gadling with us as we take the Pearl.” With a final nod to his men, Norrington dismisses them as he begins leading Jack over to where Hob is standing with his guard.

   “You two will travel with me.” Norrington says in a voice that brooks no argument. And with the way he’d treated Hob the last time they were together, Hob felt rather disinclined to protest. 

   Shooting a crooked grin Hob’s way, Jack seems concerned when all Hob can muster is a weak half-smile. 

   Before Jack can do more than open his mouth to begin questioning Hob, Norrington turns around and strides towards the nearest boat, prompting the guards around the two pirates to haul their prisoners after the commodore. 

----

   Sitting next to Jack and surrounded by soldiers, Hob watches as Norrington observes the Pearl through a spyglass. Finally, Norrington collapses the glass before turning to Jack. “I don’t like this Mr. Sparrow. Any part of this plan of yours could easily lead my men into a trap and I do not want to risk their lives for the life of a single man who was willing to consort with pirates.”

   “Aye, firstly, it’s Captain, and secondly commodore, that’s where you’re mistaken. You won't be walking into the trap, your lot will be making your own trap, savvy?” 

   Hob watches as Norrington simply stares at Jack with a flat, yet unimpressed expression.

   “No, no, you see, you let Hobbsy and I go in there, we talk to Barbossa, make them think they’re going to ambush you, but instead when they come out on their own boats, you’ll have already made it back to the Dauntless and can begin firing with your cannons.”

   Norrington looks less than pleased at Jack’s idea, “And why should I let you leave with Mr. Gadling instead of keeping him with me as collateral damage to assure you won’t get away?”

   “Ah, but for that very reason. If I go in there alone and talk Barbossa into going after you, he’ll wonder where my man is, after all I did talk an admittedly pretty tune to stop Barbossa from killing him in the first place. So, if I go in without Hob, Hector will know something is up. Hence, the two of us go in there together and no one will suspect a thing!” Jack finishes with a grin and a little hand flourish.

   The men gathered around in their boat nod slightly at the rather sound reasoning from the usually insane man, while Norrington frowns in thought.

   Sensing the man was about to crack, Hob watches as Jack swoops in for the kill, “Besides mate, what’a’ve ya got to lose?”

   Looking back and forth between them, Hob sees the moment Norrington acquiesces, “Not much I won’t be glad to be rid of in the first place,” the man mutters. 

   “Splendid!” Jack crows, clapping his hands together in enthusiasm before immediately sobering. “Now, I should warn you that despite this plan, there is still some danger to those aboard the Dauntless. Especially the future Mrs., hmm?”

   And Hob just knows, looking at Jack’s face, that this is his way of getting back at Elizabeth for burning all the rum back on the island. And the idea itself is just so absurd at a time like this that Hob has to physically pinch his thigh hard to not let out the laughter that is trying to force its way out. 

   Fighting to keep his face under control and in some semblance of boredom, Hob turns his attention back to Norrington in time to watch the man's face flicker to concern before smoothing over.

   “And how do I know the two of you won't just walk in there and turn against me?”

   “Mate, the man has stranded me on a desert island. Twice. And now he’s stranded ol’ Hobby over here as well.” Jack indicates to Hob.

   “Hmm, I suppose. The two of you will take the smallest boat we currently have out and you can make your way to the main cave as we return to the Dauntless.” With that, Norrington signalled one of the boats to approach theirs and, turning to his men, ordered the binds to be cut from Hob and Jack while another soldier handed their weapons back. 

   Soon enough Jack and Hob were in a boat by themselves and slowly rowing towards the cave entrance, watching as the other boats disappeared back towards the Dauntless.

   “Y’know Jack, if you’re trying to endear Elizabeth towards you, I don’t think that was the way to go about it,” Hob looks over at his friend, mirth clear in his eyes.

   Barking out a quiet laugh Jack casts a sly look towards Hob before resuming rowing on his side. “Well maybe the lass shouldn’t have burnt all the rum, then I wouldn't have to be so concerned about her well being. Speaking of well being,” Jack’s eyes cut back to Hob before staring off into the fog at the approaching cave, “You alright mate? Did the commodore do something to spook you off? You’ve been rather quiet since we last saw one another.”

   With a sigh, Hob stops his own rowing, allowing his still aching wrist a moment to rest before staring off into the fog himself. “We…had a bit of a chat, below deck.” Hob hesitantly starts. He’s not sure if he wants to tell Jack about what happened just yet. “Seems my reputation from my last life has…preceded me and the commodore caught on rather quickly to who I used to be.” 

   “Did he…” Hob turns back to look at Jack as the other man trails off, only to see Jack staring at Hob’s wrist where he was unconsciously rubbing at his wrapped wrist. 

   With a heavy sigh, Hob nods. “Aye. I’m a pirate for real now, it would seem.”

   Pausing in his rowing for a moment, Hob watches as Jack seems to think for a moment before coming to some conclusion. “Well mate, you’re not alone that’s for sure”, Jack offers a weak smile before pulling up his own sleeve to show a similar, if not far older brand, matching the one on Hob’s arm. “And, for what it’s worth, you don’t need to be marked to be a pirate. As soon as you joined my crew you were one of us, and I’m glad to have someone loyal like you along.”

   Staring for a minute, Hob looks back up at Jack, giving the other man a grateful smile. 

   “Right, well, that’s enough of that for now,” Jack says, flicking his sleeve back in place. “I do believe we have ourselves a young William to save.”

   “Of course. And what is our plan exactly? Because at this point I sure feel like it is not the plan you told Norrington.”

   Jack looks over to Hob with what almost appears to be pride before breaking into a wolfish grin. “Aye, you’d be right on that.”

   As Jack tells Hob his plan, Hob can’t help his own smile from breaking out. 

   Finally, with their plan all laid out, the two pick their oars back up and head quickly towards the cave entrance, and the men waiting within.

----

   Once inside the cave systems, Hob and Jack quickly make their way to the main cavern they were at last time, the sound of pirates chanting getting louder the closer they get. 

   Just as they turn the corner that opens into the main cave, Hob sees Barbossa grab Will’s hand and drag the boy over to where the giant chest still stands.

   Following Jack’s lead, the two hurry forward, forcing themselves through the assembled pirates right to the front of the crowd. 

   Hob watches in horror as Barbossa brings a knife up to the boy's neck. Just as he starts to cut, Jack makes their presence known.

   “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Jack calls out to Barbossa, tone neutral as if he didn’t care too much one way or the other how this turns out.

   The chanting immediately stops as Jack’s voice carries, Barbossa immediately freezing his action. Hob watches in no small amount of glee as Barbossa slowly looks up, first catching sight of Hob with a disbelieving stare before his eyes flick to Hobs left where they land on Jack, widening further in surprise if it were possible. 

   “Jack. Wha- how. There was no way for you to get off that island, especially not with your friend there.” Barbossa quickly schools his expression, turning a sneer to the two of them. “No matter. You’re here now, we’ll just kill you ourselves after young Mr. Turner here.”

   At that, Will fights the hands holding him, looking between Jack and Hob, “Where’s Elizabeth?” he asks, worry clear in his voice.

   “Ah, don’t worry, she’s safe, I promise.” Jack tries to placate the boy.

   Hob thinks he’s fairly successful about hiding his snort at that, until one of the men near him looks at him oddly. 

   The men holding Will force him back down, where Barbossa turns back towards Will. Seeing Barbossa is about to continue the ritual, Hob steps forward. “Jack said, you don’t want to be doing that.” 

   Stopping again, Barbossa narrows his eyes at Hob in unfiltered irritation. “I know what the fool said, but believe me, I really do.” With that, he turns back to Will.

   “On your head it be then,” Hob shrugs, stepping back beside Jack.

   With a growl, Barbossa slams the knife down before whirling on the two, eyes flicking between both. “And why. Exactly. Do I not want to be doing this?” Barbossa growls.

   “Because,” Jack steps forward this time, “Once you leave here all nice and mortal again, the H.M.S. Dauntless, which is waiting right outside I might add, will pick you off one by one like fish in a barrel.”

   “Jack, what are you doing!” Will struggles more against the hands binding him, and Hob wishes he could reassure the lad but now was not the time. 

   “Now see,” Jack continues, slowly approaching and climbing up the mound of gold Barbossa is atop. “They don’t know about your little…curse.” Jack gestures in front of him in a somewhat flailing motion. “So if you hold off on killing the boy, row out there and instead kill the soldiers first, your crew won’t have to suffer any losses, and viola! Two ships for your newly mortal crew. And,  if you take the Dauntless, the finest ship in the entire British Navy I might add, you might realize you have the problem of a second ship on your hands but no captain.” Jack shoots Barbossa what is probably his most winning smile, “You can name me captain of the Pearl. I’ll sail with your colours flying from her mast, and you get a percentage of each haul we bring in, savvy?”

   “And I suppose in return I don’t kill the boy?” Barbossa evaluates Jack.

   “Oh no, by all means do what you want with him, it's of no consequence to me. I just ask you not to kill my good friend Hobby over there.” Jack finishes this with an enthusiastic wave at Hob. 

   Trying to stay casual about the whole deal that was about to go down, Hob gives Jack a short wave and a slight nod in return. 

   “So kill the boy if you want,” Jack angles back to face Barbossa and Will, “Just wait for the opportune moment to lift your curse.” Jack finishes, making direct eye contact with Will, and Hob can see the moment he catches on to the meaning behind the words. 

   Then, Jack deviates from their plan. Bending forward, Jack grabs a handful of the cursed coins before making direct eye contact with Barbossa. “Wait until you’ve killed every. Last. Man.” With each word, Jack drops a coin back into the chest, punctuating his statement. “And then, when there are none left, lift the curse and be free.” Jack flourishes his hands in a sign meant for victorious celebration before stepping back. “So, do we have an accord?”

   Barbossa looks at Jack in consideration, mulling over all the points that were made. “I want 50%”

   “!5.”

   “40.”

   “25% and I’ll buy you a very big hat to go with your new position, Commodore.” Jack grins, emphasizing the last word. 

   Slowly Barbossa grins back. “Aye, we have an accord.” Grabbing Jack’s hand, the two shake before turning to the men assembled. “Mr. Pintel, select five men to stay here and watch our…guests. Take the rest with you to meet the Dauntless’ crew. Don’t use the caves.” Barbossa gives the men a knowing smirk.

   Reading the panic that flashes across Jack’s face as it must mirror his own, Hob can only stare as Jack turns to Barbossa, attempting to hide his nerves at this unexpected development. “There’s another exit?”

   With a smile that sends ice cascading down Hob’s spine, Barbossa looks back over to Jack. “Aye, for us there is.” 

   With that, the first of the men begin heading towards the water lapping at the small beach at the opening of the cave. Before they make it halfway across the cavern, Hob learns why they consider their immortality a curse. 

   Just as the first few steps under the large hole in the cavern roof, the moon breaks through from behind the cloud cover and Hob watches in horror as the men before him are turned into living skeletons.

   While some were more…intact…than others, all had rotting flesh that was missing entirely from some places. Their clothes were dirty and ragged, falling off their bodies. Truthfully, the whole lot looked as though they had just left a cemetery in a gruesome danse macabre. They looked much worse than even Hob did in the some 50 years he had starved on the streets, and if Jack was to be believed, it had only been 10 years since this crew was given their curse. 

   Hob was unable to look away as the men began leaving the cave, walking directly into the water and continuing on, not even a stop for breath on the way in and just watching them Hob can feel the water closing in around him, covering his head, filling his eyesearsnosemouth- before Hob can get too swept away in his thoughts, his eyes catch on two of the men who were singled out from the others and pulled aside. 

   One of them was a tall, skinny man with dirty blond hair while the other was thicker and built more sturdy with a bald spot. The two were familiar from Hob’s previous interactions with Barbossa’s crew. Watching them, Hob noticed it was helping to calm his thoughts until he notices what, exactly they’re doing. 

   Fumbling through a trunk of garments, the two were donning women’s dresses that Hob knows hasn’t been in style since long before being locked into a chest for another decade. 

   “What is it they’re doing?” Hob asks when he feels a presence come up to his side.

   “Well, every good ambush needs a distraction, eh?” Barbossa gives Hob a cruel grin before roughly grabbing his arm and dragging him away. “C’mon, now, you’ll be waiting with Jack. Devil knows why but the fool seems to have taken a liking to you.”

   As both men turn to where Jack was standing, they see him crouched down some few yards away, picking through piles of treasure at his leisure. 

   “Really, Jack?” Barbossa looks at the other in exasperation.

   Jack merely looks up for a brief moment before shrugging his shoulders. “Pirate, mate.” Before returning to his rummaging. 

   With a snort, Barbossa pushes Hob towards Jack and sits down on a chest a bit aways, lounging back like a king on his throne. Meanwhile, his men form a perimeter around their area, one keeping a firm hold on Will while the other 4 either stand or crouch around the area, doing their own activities but still keeping an eye on Hob and Jack.

   Interested despite himself, Hob walks over to where Jack is examining a statue and begins looking through some of the piles himself to see if anything might catch the eye. 

   Simply trying to comprehend the amount of gold here was mind boggling to the 14th century mercenary in Hob. If he’d had even a small fraction of this amount of gold just over a century ago Hob never would have gone starving in the streets. 

   After a bit of letting them peruse to their heart's content, Barbossa finally breaks the uneasy silence. “So, Jack. I thought I had ye all figured out, yet yer still surprising me.”

   Looking up from the treasure in his hands he was studying, Jack pauses for a moment, flicking his eyes towards Hob before straightening up and turning his body towards Barbossa. 

   “Me? That’s because I’m a dishonest man.” Jack starts, moving towards where Barbossa was seated. “And a dishonest man is a man you can trust to be dishonest.”

   As Jack slowly saunters forward, Hob carefully follows behind before casually breaking off from behind Jack to stand by the nearest guard, pretending to be interested in a gold and ruby necklace laying in a trunk beside the man.

   “Honestly, it’s the honest one’s you’ve got to watch out for,” Jack continues, “Else they might do something incredibly...stupid.” Hob watches as Jack stops walking just as he reaches one of the other guards. 

   Jack gives a quick flick of his wrist that Hob takes as his signal, and draws his cutlass before lunging at the pirate in front of him, dealing a quick and heavy blow that separates head from shoulders, sending the other toppling forward into the water. At the same time, Jack kicks the pirate in front of him into the water, stealing the man's sword in the process before throwing it to Will and drawing his own.

   With one of the guards at least temporarily disabled, and the other still flailing in the water, Hob makes a break for the guard not holding Will, seeing as the boy was already engaged in a fight with his guard. As Hob’s blade clashes with his opponent’s he spots Jack out of the corner of his eye trading blows with Barbossa, the two engaged in a graceful yet deadly dance. 

   Confident the other two can hold their own, Hob returns his attention to his own fight. Having lost the advantage of surprise this pirate was easily able to block Hob’s attacks and land a few of his own, earning Hob a small collection of cuts on his arms and shallow one along his ribs.

   As the two parried and thrust Hob notices the pirate slowly trying to back Hob towards the edge of the small stretch of rock they were on. With a block of the next attack Hob executes a spin that might have had a touch of unnecessary flair to it, but still served its purpose of reversing their positions, leading the pirate back closer towards the other fighting pairs. 

   With a sudden lunge Hob gets his cutlass under the guard of the pirate, cleanly slicing through the triceps of his sword arm. Quickly stepping back, Hob hopes to catch a quick reprieve but the pirate doesn’t even seem phased by the wound that would put most swordsmen out of commission, the wound hardly seeming to bother the other immortal. 

   “Shit.” Hob mutters under his breath as he blocks another thrust the other pirate sends his way. Panting hard, Hob stumbles back to try and catch his breath before lunging forward again, feinting high before going low this time to slice the Achilles tendon. 

   With a quick glance at Will and Jack, Hob spies Jack leading Barbossa on a merry chase around the treasure piles, while Will seems to be having a bit of a harder time with his opponent. 

   With one eye still on his own opponent, Hob continues backing up, moving towards Will’s position. Movement in the shadows behind Will draws Hob’s attention while movement in front of Hob warns him in time to duck under the next swipe from his own opponent's sword. From his crouch Hob is able to  sweep the feet out from the pirate while grabbing the dagger sheathed at his hip in one fluid motion before standing and spinning around, launching the dagger into the eye of the pirate who was attempting to sneak up behind Will. 

   Sprinting over towards Will, Hob feels as though the air has been punched from his chest as he stumbles to a halt watching helplessly as Barbossa gets under Jack’s guard and stabs him through the chest. 

   The force of the blow sends Jack stumbling into a pool of moon light, revealing his transformation into a living skeleton. 

   Catching himself, Jack regains his balance and examines his hands, gold coin flashing between skeletal fingers. “Sorry, mate. Couldn’t help myself.” Jack gives Barbossa a skeletal grin before pulling the sword from his chest and reengaging Barbossa, the two of them dancing in and out of the moonlight. 

   Regaining his breath, Hob turns back to where Will is just slamming the pommel of his sword into the head of the pirate he’s fighting, knocking the man down. 

   Locking eyes, Hob gives Will what must surely be a feral smile and laughs at the younger man before sprinting past him and engaging the pirate who was reattempting to sneak up behind the boy. 

   Trading blows Hob can feel his limbs finally loosening up, the cutlass settling more firmly in his grasp and beginning to feel more like an extension of himself than a separate entity. 

   Hob was really starting to enjoy the fight now, his opponent landing no more than a few shallow cuts on his arms, when an explosion suddenly rocked the cavern, raining stone down onto Hob.

   Shielding his head with his arms, Hob backs away and looks around, noticing the man he was fighting wasn’t so lucky and was currently pinned under the rubble. 

   Leaving him there, Hob looks around the cave, trying to figure out who to take on next when he spies Elizabeth of all people clubbing one of Barbossa’s men over the head with a heavy pole. 

   With a laugh he jogs over, catching the blade of a pirate who was coming up behind her. “Here I thought you were supposed to remain safe on the Dauntless?” Hob teases the young lady with a smirk.

   “Safe?! You call being locked up in a cabin with undead pirates invading every part of the ship safe?!” Elizabeth snarks at him, wielding the pole around to smack another pirate in the head, stopping just short of hitting Will as well. 

   “Alright, fair enough.” Hob is slightly too slow to parry the next blow, earning a deeper cut on his thigh for his misstep. Hob winces before delivering a quick stab of his own, catching the pirate on his flank. “But how’d you get out?” he fires off back to Elizabeth.

   Elizabeth takes a moment to respond, engaged as she is by Will’s side, the two of them taking on the other three pirates. “I tied the linens together and escaped out the window.” Elizabeth shoots Hob a quick smirk before she and Will spear the three pirates together and push them out of the moonlight with another bomb placed in the ribs of the pirate in the middle of the spear. 

   Jumping away from the resulting explosion, Hob, Will, and Elizabeth look up to watch as Jack and Barbossa fight their way closer to the chest. Seeing his chance, Will dashes up the mound of gold, catching the bloody coin that Jack throws towards him. 

   Watching the coin fly, Barbossa draws his gun and levels it at Elizabeth. Without thinking, Hob leaps forward, pushing her out of the way just as the loud crack of a gun goes off. 

   The air is once again punched out of Hob’s lungs as pain sears into Hob’s left side, followed quickly by a spreading warmth. 

   Warm hands on his shoulders prompts Hob to look up into the worried eyes of Elizabeth. 

   “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He assures her with a pained smile. “Just hit my knee in the fall,” he lies, “Are you alright?” 

   “Yes, yes I am. They did it, look.”

   Looking over his shoulder, Hob watches as Barbossa stumbles back from Jack’s own smoking gun. 

   “All these years you held onto that single shot and you waste it here?” Barbossa mocks Jack

   “He didn’t waste it.” 

   The glint of falling gold draws Hob’s attention towards Will as two red stained coins fall from his grasp into the waiting chest below.

   As the coins fall with a weight heavier than they should have, the lid of the chest slams into place, covering the Aztec coins while Barbossa lets out a gasp as red blooms out from the bullet wound, staring at Jack in disbelief.

   “I feel…cold.” Barbossa gasps quietly before falling back into the piles of gold, blood spilling like rubies across the precious metal. 

   With an unreadable expression, Jack looks at the pistol in his hand before tossing it away into the shadows.

   Gritting his teeth, Hob pushes himself up, being careful not to let on to the fact that Barbossa did manage to get a shot off in the end. Spotting a chest full of clothing not far from him, Hob brushes off Elizabeth's help and casually walks over, grabbing a jacket and shrugging it on before closing the lid and sitting down with a sigh. 

   Looking over, Hob watches as Will slowly makes his way over to Elizabeth, stopping right in front of her. Smiling at the moment that Hob can sense is about to occur, he looks away to give the young couple privacy before the clattering of metal draws his attention away.

   Jack, continuing to look through treasure before tossing it to the side, breaks up the moment between the two. 

   Hob notices as Elizabeth looks between Will and himself, “We should return to the Dauntless.” She says before walking off towards the boats.

   Hob pushes himself off the chest, walking over to where Jack has joined Will, the older man pointing after Elizabeth. “Y’know, if you were looking for the opportune moment, mate, that was it.”

   Huffing a laugh, Hob walks up behind Jack and swipes the crown from his head, placing it on his own instead. “C’mon Jack, give the lad a break. It’s obvious that was the boy's first time trying to put the moves on a woman.” Hob smirks at Will’s indignant look before looping an arm over both their shoulders, steering them after Elizabeth.

   Reaching the boats, Will takes up position at the oars while Elizabeth sits beside him at the stern. Looking at Jack, Hob can feel a sense of resignation and understanding pass between the two before they move to sit at the bow. 

   The group is silent until they leave the caves, when Elizabeth speaks up. “I am sorry. Truly, Jack and Hob.”

   “We do what we must to survive.” Jack answers her quietly, neither he nor Hob looking back at her. 

   Reaching the Dauntless, they are greeted by a familiar voice from above. “Ah, Mr. Sparrow. Mr. Gadling. How kind of you to join us once again. Miss Swann, it brings me joy to see you unharmed.” Norrington pauses for a moment, “Mr. Turner.” he says with a small nod. “Bring them up.” Norrington orders, turning to some of his men aboard.

   Once aboard, Hob and Jack are quickly stripped of their personal effects before being chained. 

   “Take them below deck to the brig, and chart a course for Port Royal.” Norrington indicates Hob and Jack.

   Grabbed roughly by several guards, they’re led below deck and back into the cell Hob originally occupied before arriving at Isla de Muerta. None too gently they’re pushed inside the cell, Hob stumbling a bit as a wave of dizziness overcomes him. 

   Sitting heavily on the floor, Hob leans against a crate and just breaths for a moment. 

   “So, how bad is it?” Jack questions as he sits down beside Hob with a sigh.

   “Hmm?” Is Hob’s eloquent response.

   “I saw Barbossa’s gun go off, and Miss Swann didn’t have a pretty hair on her head harmed, so the bullet must’ve gone somewhere, and that coat doesn’t much seem to be your style.” Jack gives Hob a pointed look.

   “I haven’t actually had a chance to look yet,” Hob sighs resignedly before slowly beginning to struggle out of the jacket, Jack leaning over to gently help.

   With the jacket off the damage was immediately noticeable. “Shit,” Hob quietly mutters. “At least this one went all the way through.” He chuckles mirthlessly. 

   Jack simply frowns at Hob before beginning to tear the jacket into strips with his hands. 

   “Hey, I’ll be fine, Jack. Trust me, alright?”

   “Aye, Hobbsy. I trust ye.” Jack looks at him with a serious expression before a sparkle of mischief comes into his eyes. “Now hold still and try not to be too loud.” With that short warning Jack lifts Hob’s shirt and takes the remaining jacket material and presses it to the wound in Hob’s side.

   Clenching his teeth at the pain, Hob shoots Jack a scathing glare that only gets a cheeky smile in return. 

   Slowly, Jack begins wrapping the fabric strips around Hob’s stomach, binding the wadded fabric tightly to his side to hold it in place.

   Once that was done, Hob lowers his shirt, covering the bandaging. 

   “Well. I guess we have some time to settle in and really get to know each other now that this craziness is over, eh?” Hob tries to lighten the mood.

   “Aye, s'pose we can, but I think after a nice sleep, eh?” Jack muses with a smile. 

   ‘I’ll take that.” Hob says, carefully settling back against his crate before letting his eyes fall shut.

----

   When Hob awoke the bullet wound was long healed. Jack didn’t comment or ask any questions as Hob unwound the makeshift bandage and hid it behind a crate, out of sight of anyone who might come and check on them. 

   During the voyage they talked about anything and everything, growing closer in their friendship, though Hob took care to never mention anything outside of the last 30-odd years, other than some reminiscing about his Robyn and Eleanor. 

   It was a calm and clear morning on the last day of their voyage. Looking out the small window in their cell, Hob nods his head down at Jack, signalling that Port Royal was in sight.

   ----

****

   The morning of the execution is much like the morning they arrived at the colony, bright and clear with only a smattering of white clouds across the sky.

   Hob looks out at the crowd from where he waits atop the gallows stand. Men and women alike have gathered in the crowd below for the execution of the famous Captain Jack Sparrow and the disgraced ship captain from the Royal Navy’s trading company who turned pirate.

   A small cluster of people at the back of the crowd catches Hob’s attention, where he spies Elizabeth standing with her father and Norrington, although young Will was nowhere in sight. 

   Hob frowns, wondering where the lad could be while he tunes out the list of charges being laid against him and Jack, only tuning back in with a smirk of his own when Jack chuckles beside him, seemingly to fondly remember some of his past crimes, specifically the impersonation of a clergyman.

   Idly, Hob wonders if he’ll have to fake dying or if the hanging will actually kill him long enough for him to be moved away from the crowds before his brain is operational again. 

   Movement in the crowd draws Hob’s attention back away from the list of charges and towards a man wearing a hat with a rather large feather sticking out, who was making his way through the crowd. 

   A flash of colour at the edges of the square and Hob can’t help but keep his smirk in place, catching Jack’s attention with his eyes, flicking them over to the side and earning him a matching smirk. 

   “...may God have mercy on your soul.” Hob catches the last bit and can’t contain his snort at that. 

   The nooses are fit around Hob and Jack’s heads as the drummers start up, the rope rough and constricting already as it is tightened around Hob’s throat. This will be much different than burning, Hob thinks, and he just knows that if a rescue is coming, it’s going to be damn close. 

   A commotion in the crowd occurs just as the lever is pulled. As Hob and Jack fall there is a quick thunk thunk and suddenly Hob’s feet scrabble to stay on a thin strip of metal, allowing for a precarious balance.

   Hob watches as Will runs up on the stand, for who else would have such a ridiculous hat at an execution, and begins fighting the executioner. 

   Watching them, Hob would laugh if he had breath to spare as the two dance around where Jack is hanging, the man himself bending and contorting his body the best he can to avoid being swiped with a blade. 

   Suddenly Jack falls to the ground in a heap as the executioner's axe cuts through his rope. Hob looks below him to where Jack quickly stands and cuts his bound hands on the sword he was balanced on, before pulling the sword out and with a quick, and Hob hopes careful, aim, Jack throws the sword and severs Hob’s own rope. 

****

   Following his friend into a heap on the ground, Hob groans before he is pulled quickly to his feet, a sword pressed into newly freed hands. 

   Running out from underneath, they’re met with Will who performs a dramatic flip off the top of the stand that he could have only learned from Jack. With a laugh, Hob flanks Jack as he and Will each grab an end of rope, bowling down guards as they go while Hob protects their side and rearing, clearing off anyone who gets too close. 

   Before they can get very far though, the three are surrounded with bayonets levelled at them from every direction. Hob watches warily as Norrington and Governor Swann approach them. 

   “You know,” Norrington looks at Will, “I expected some sort of escape attempt by those two, but not with you involved.”

   “I granted you clemency,” Governor Swann inputs, “and this is how you thank me?”

   “They’re good men!” Will defends.

   In gratitude and because he wasn’t sure how long they might have, Hob reaches behind him and squeezes Will’s arm in thanks, a smile on his face at the younger's words. 

   “They’re pirates.” Norrington states. His contempt for the men before him is clear.

   “Aye, that they may be but I will still defend them. And if that has earned me a spot on the gallows beside them, then so be it. But I will remain here, in my place between you and them.” Will raises his chin in defiance to Norrington, not budging an inch despite the commodores sword resting against his throat.

   “And that shall be my place, too.” Elizabeth barges through the crowd, pushing in beside Will, and between Norrington and Hob and Jack. 

   At her interference, Governor Swann immediately orders the guards to lower their weapons while Norrington simply looks on in thinly masked heartbreak.

   If the man hadn’t had such a vendetta against him, Hob would almost be tempted to feel sorry for Norrington. 

   “So. this is where your heart truly lies then.” Norrington asks Elizabeth.

   At her firm nod, he sighs.

   Once again, a flash of colour has caught Hob’s attention and with a quick elbow he subtly points the parrot out to Jack. 

   With a quick glance, Jack walks towards the Governor and Norrington with a smile on his face, making a distraction that allows Hob to slowly back up towards the edge of the wall while the guards are more focused on Jack. 

   “Y’know, I was rooting for you.” Jack comments to Norrington before bopping the man on the nose, causing him to recoil from Jack. 

   With a laugh, Jack turns back around. “Elizabeth.” he stops. “It never would've worked between us, love. I am sorry. Truly.” he echoes her words from before, but this time with a smile on his face. 

   “Will,” Hob speaks up from his position casually leaning against the wall overlooking the sea. “Nice hat.” he compliments with a fond smirk. Will’s face lights up in delight at Hob’s words, giving a nod of acknowledgement. 

   Not to be upstaged, Jack hops up beside Hob before turning to the crowd. “Friends,” he starts, “You will always remember this day as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow and his Second Mate, Hob Gadling.” Hob looks over to Jack with a startled smile on his face. 

   Jack shoots a wink at him before giving a grand bow to the crowd and pretends to stumble back, grabbing onto Hob’s arm and thereby dragging Hob with him as they tumble off the wall, and into the water below. 

   Swimming to the surface the two smirk at each other before sending a wave to the gathered crowd looking over the edge.

   Looking behind them, Hob sees her the moment the Pearl clears the edge of the island, sailing straight towards them. Hob quickly follows Jack as they begin swimming, eager to reach the Pearl and be underway. 

   Halfway to the Pearl, Hob happens to chance a glance back and see who he can only assume to be Will and Elizabeth, finally embraced atop the wall, and he can’t help but let out a whoop of congratulations to the young man, Jack joining in once he sees what Hob is cheering over. 

   Laughing they reach the Pearl, where a line is tossed down to them and they’re hauled out of the water. Landing on the deck, Hob and Jack look up at the crew gathering around them.

   “Weren’t you supposed to keep to the Code?” Jack questions Mr. Gibbs.

   “Aye, well, we figured the Code’s more like a guideline.” he answers with a wink before reaching out a hand to haul Jack to his feet while another crew member hauls Hob to his. 

   When he turns back to Jack, Hob notices he has his tricorn hat back firmly on his head and has turned towards where Anamaria is manning the helm. 

   “Captain Sparrow,” she greets Jack, walking over and wrapping a dry coat around his shoulders. “The Pearl is yours.” she smiles at him. 

   Strolling over to the helm Jack takes a moment, caressing the wheel with what Hob would almost call a lovers touch.  

   Noticing the crew still standing around, Jack barks at them to get back to work and to get the Pearl ready to set sail. 

   With a quiet laugh, Hob watches as Jack stares out to the horizon with a look of adventure and longing on his face. 

   Deciding he’s had enough adventure for today himself after all that Jack has put him through, Hob sits and reclines back on the steps near the helm, closing his eyes and letting the sun’s rays start to dry him off.

   “Oi, Second Mate, don’t you have tasks to see to?” Jack berates Hob, but he can hear the amusement in his voice, and doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the mirth in Jack’s eyes.

   “Aye, I could be, but you dragged my sorry ass into ghost stories and near hangings. I am on vacation.” Hob declares, not moving from his spot and still not opening his eyes.

   “Vacation. Right here on the deck?” Jack asks skeptically. 

   Finally cracking open an eye, Hob looks up and meets Jack’s. “Aye. There ain't no other place I’d rather be.”

   With a laugh Jack pulls out a bottle of rum from Hob doesn’t even know where and takes a big swig before handing it down to Hob. 

   Locking eyes, they sing together “Drink up me hearties yo ho!”

----

End Act 1

Chapter Text

Act 2

Chapter 11

“You’re not getting away with it this time,” the man cross from Hob pierces him with a scalding glare.

Offering a non-committal hum, Hob returns the stare with an amused expression.

With a huff, Gibbs lays his cards down on the barrel between them, smirking at his winning hand.

With a smirk of his own Hob lays down an even better hand than Gibbs.

“Ah, blast!” Gibbs slaps the rim of the barrel, “How? How? Ever blasted round ye’ve won!” Gibbs drags a hand down his face, leaning back in his seat in exasperated defeat.

“What can I say,” Hob smirks as he gathers up the money that was being wagered between the two, “the cards just like me.” And I’ve been cheating at this game for longer than you’ve been alive. But Gibbs didn’t need to know that.

Gibbs looks up at the sky and tracks how far the sun has descended from when the two first sat down to play some hours ago. “Ach, well we should get back to work I s’ppose, daylight's awasting.”

Hob stood, groaning as he stretches out stiff muscles and cracks joints. “I’ll see ya later then.” Hob smirks at Gibbs, giving his coin purse a small jingle to show its heavier weight.

Gibbs huffs a laugh and waves to Hob as he turns and walks away, headed towards the galley below deck.

Since Hob had ended his “vacation” (it only lasted about a day and a half before he grew too bored on the ship and needed something to do), he had taken up the cooking for the crew as the food they had been scraping together beforehand was…barely palatable to say the least.

Once reaching the modest galley, Hob pours some previously collected salt water onto the wooden counter top, wiping it clean of any residue. Hob then begins pulling out some vegetables from the storage, along with some salted meat.

As he begins the repetitive motion of chopping, Hob begins to feel his mind drift.

After the Pearl had…not fled…but swiftly retreated from Port Royal, the crew had sailed for Tortuga, stopping only long enough to resupply for a couple months worth of rations before hitting the high seas once again.

Before they had set sail, Jack had pulled Hob aside and handed him a closed box. Hob looked to Jack in confusion, but the man had simply nodded at him to open it, that enigmatic smile dancing across his lips.

With a bit of trepidation, Hob slowly opened the lid, to see what appeared to be a compass resting inside the base. As Hob watched, the needle began to move, but it didn’t rest at north. Instead, it spun around and around, never stopping at any point.

After about a minute of endless spinning, Jack had simply hummed before gently removing the compass from Hob’s hands and replacing it in his pocket.

“Well mate, seems you need to figure out what it is you want to do next,” Jack had said cryptically before he turned and walked up the gangplank onto the Pearl.

The smell of boiling meat and vegetables mixed with spices brings Hob back into the present, alerting him to the fact that the soup was done and ready to be served to the rest of the crew.

With a final taste test to make sure all of the seasoning was good; Hob takes a few steps over to the galley entrance. Picking up a short metal rod, Hob bangs it against a metal triangle by the doorway, alerting the ship that dinner was ready.

Within minutes the stairs leading into the gallery are packed pirates, all clamouring to get a hot bowl of soup.

After ladling bowls for the crew, Hob finally fills his own bowl and a second, before grabbing both and heading back on deck.

With a quick scan of the ship, Hob spies Jack at the helm, staring off towards the horizon.

“What’s got your mind so far from here, eh?” Hob lightly bumps shoulders with Jack, careful to avoid both startling the man and spilling the soup.

Blinking back into the present, Hob watches as a look of delight spreads across Jack’s face at the bowl of soup he was presented with.

With a hum of appreciation, Jack turns back towards the horizon, keeping Hob in his peripheral vision. “Ya see those skies out there mate?”

Taking a look himself, Hob takes in the sight of clear skies that appear to go on for eternity. The creeping twilight giving way to a still night with little wind, the Pearl gently rocking along with the tide.

“Aye, it's a calm one tonight cap’n” Hob muses in between spoons of soup, savouring it as the warmth curls in his belly, spreading outwards.

With another quiet hum, Jack casts a critical eye over the crew as they mill about on the ship, enjoying their own supper, talking and laughing with each other. Marty, up in the crow’s nest with his own bowl, was keeping an eye out for any approaching ships while still yelling jokes and insults down to the crew below.

“Aye, it looks like it’s the perfect night tonight.” with a grin Jack sets his empty bowl on the balustrade before leaning over.

“Alright, listen up you sorry lot, soon as yer done eating, I want those dishes clean and the decks spick an’ span. If ye get ‘em done right quick we’ll unfurl the sail and have ourselves a night o’ fun, savvy?”

Jack’s words are met with a hearty cry from the crew, as all down below begin to scramble around to complete the nightly chores.

“A night of fun, eh? What’s that all about?” Hob sends a questioning look to Jack.

“Something to liven up the monotony of long travel. Does no one good if the crew get stir crazy.” Turning around and leaning with his back to the balustrade, Jack continues “So, every now an’ then I let the crew put do some shows or stories.”

He shoots Hob a grin, “think you’ll want to join in?”

Looking back over at the crew, busily swabbing the deck, an air of excitement nearly tangible. “Aye, I think I could be persuaded,” Hob shoots a playful grin at Jack before he hardens his face into a more serious look. “But if there’s any bloody Shakespeare I’m throwing myself overboard, savvy?”

Jack lets out an uproarious laugh, doubling over with hands wrapped around his stomach.

Hob watches on, bemusement playing at the edges of his mouth nut holding his ground. After nearly a minute Jack finally straightens, wiping an errant tear from his eye and grinning widely at Hob. “Aye lad, you’ve got yerself a deal.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

Hob’s pretty sure that, despite being a crew of pirates with no care for manners, he’s never seen dinner disappear as fast as he did that night. Hob had barely taken a bite of his own soup before half the crew seemed to rush below deck to get the galley cleaned while the other half swabbed the deck with a fervour.

Chuckling to himself, Hob continues to watch the set up. Due to the clear skies and lack of breeze, the mainsail is dropped, the off-white canvas creating what Hob is sure will be a backdrop for the night's proceedings. A pounding of footsteps alert Hob to some of the crew coming up from below deck. Nearly tripping over themselves, each other, and the mass of rope bundled in their arms, Hob watches as a group of three get started stringing up their hammocks. The hammocks, clearly taken from the berth, are attached to the rigging on the sides of the Pearl in such a way as to form seating for the audience.

Watching what is quickly becoming a tangle of ropes upon ropes, Hob hears a despairing sigh from behind him as Jack mutters under his breath about a nightmare to untangle in the morning when the crew will be hungover.

With a snort, Hob scoops the last dregs of soup onto his spoon. After scraping the bowl clean to get the last of the broth, Hob pushes himself away from the balustrade in front of the helm. Turning around, Hob sees Jack lounging across the ship's wheel, idly finishing his own soup while watching the chaos unfold on deck. As Jack takes his last spoonful, Hob plucks the wooden bowl out from the other man's fingers.

Hob deftly stacks the bowls together in one hand before looking up. “Well, Cap’n, I suppose I’d best head below deck and rescue my poor galley from the clutches of pirates.” Lips quirked in a teasing smirk and throwing a mocking salute with his free hand, Hob ducks down the stairs just as Jack’s spoon narrowly misses his head. With a bark of laughter, Hob stoops to pick it up before heading below deck.

Still chuckling to himself, Hob steps into the doorway of the galley and freezes, grin slowly falling from his lips. There’s a clamouring din that makes anything being said impossible to make out. There are seven men crammed into an area that can barely fit three, soap is somehow on the ceiling, and dubiously cleaned dishes are stacked precariously on any accessible surface rather than in their proper cupboards. The more Hob looked, the more his centuries-old heart stuttered in fear as not once, not twice, but three separate times did one of the crowded pirates almost knock over a burning lamp.

With a desperation Hob hasn’t felt in a long time, he blindly fumbles for the wall beside him, unable to take an eye off the carnage occurring in his galley. Finally finding what he was searching for, Hob gives a few sharp tugs, harshly clanging the dinner bell, causing some of the men to clasp their hands over their ears but effectively getting the attention of all crammed into the small space.

“Out! All of you God’s forsaken men get out of my poor galley!” Several of the men jump in place at the volume of Hob’s shout before swiftly heading towards the exit, Hob stepping to the side so they can leave. A shiver down his spine, and Hob just knows Jack is laughing at him from wherever he is on the ship.

As the men stumble through the doorway to escape the confines of the galley, Hob catches sight of the stooped form of two figures at the back of the group. “Pintel and Ragetti, you two stay.” The two named men stop their trek to the door and remain standing to the side until the other four have cleared out.

Hob drags a hand down his tired face and with a sigh, walks over and slumps onto his stool by the counter in the centre of the galley. Hob watches as the other two men look at each other before shifting where they stand, uncertain if they should break the silence that has fallen over the room.

After a long minute, Hob stands back up, clapping his hands together. “Alright. You two have worked down here with me before, so you know how I like to organise things. We’re going to get this place spick and span in the next ten minutes then head above deck, savvy?”

“Yeah, alright.” Ragetti gives a scoff but turns around to the small water basin to continue the washing. Pintel, looking for a moment like he was about to say something, seemed to think better of it and instead turned to the stack of dishes nearest him and began putting things away properly. Hob, meanwhile, rolled up his shirt sleeves and, grabbing a spare cloth, began to wipe down all the surfaces.

Between the three of them, the cleanup went quickly. From the corner of his eye, Hob had to stifle a laugh as Ragetti and Pintel, having just turned back towards him after finishing the dishes, stood their gaping at him. Now, Hob can adamant that the gaping was well warranted. He was, after all, precariously standing on the centre counter with one leg braced part way up the wall, and an arm braced along the ceiling as Hob stretched out as far as he could to reach the last of the soap from the ceiling.

With a nervous clearing of his throat, Pintel gave Hob a fleeting glance “We’ve all finished here sir, if we may head up?”

Still in his braced position, Hob stops stretching for the soap for a minute and glances around the now clean galley. “Aye lads, thanks for yer help. I’ll seeya up deck in just a few here." Turning back to his job, Hob is aware as the two leave, but is determined to get this last spot before he follows. With a final stretch, Hob is able to reach the soap and he finally retracts from his cramped position, feet hitting the floorboards once more. Finally satisfied, Hob blows out the lamps and heads above deck.

----

As he gets above deck, Hob sees the night's events have already begun. As the sun has fully set by now, there are lanterns scattered around the deck out of the way but there are enough to give the perfect ambience to see the activities going on in front of the mainsail. Currently, it appears as though Marty, newly relieved from the crow’s nest, Cotton, and Cotton’s parrot are doing a three? Two and a half? man skit.

Making his way to where the hammocks are strung up in the rigging near the prow, Hob finds an empty hammock next to Jack’s that he climbs up into. As he gets situated, the skit has come to an end with a round of applause by those in attendance. Once he’s settled, Hob sees a shadow in his periphery. Turning, he comes face to face with a mostly full bottle of rum being handed to him by Jack.

“So, is this what the night is then, rum and plays put on by the crew?” Hob chuckles lowly, taking a long pull from the bottle before handing it back to Jack.

“Hmmm, the rum, yes,” Jack musses as he himself takes another drink. “The rest of the evening? Up to the crew. They often practise tricks or shows to put on for the rest of the crew in their spare time in between these nights. As they don’t happen too frequently, they tend to have a fair bit of practice.”

Hob watches as Gibbs gets up next and begins to regale the crew with a story from his time in the Royal Navy. Interested, Hob listens as Gibbs talks about his voyage from England to the Caribbean, coincidentally where he first met the young Miss Swann, and of how they rescued Will from the wrecks of what they all now knew to be a pirate ship.

Wistfully, Hob thinks of the young lad and wonders what he might be up to now in Port Royal with Elizabeth. So lost in his thoughts, it takes Hob a moment to notice that Gibbs has now traded places with Pintel.

The man shuffles in place for a minute while the crew quiets down. With fleeting looks around, Pintel makes brief eye contact with Ragetti who gives him a nod of encouragement. Hob watches as that seems to do the trick, for Pintel takes a deep breath and stands straighter, squaring his shoulders.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question,” Pintel begins, and Hob immediately groans under his breath. Being one of the more famous soliloquies, Hob has unfortunately heard this one many times over the years and as such, has become well acquainted with the blasted work. Sticking his hand out towards Jack, Hob opens and closes his hand in a give me motion and is rewarded with the smooth glass of the bottle being pressed into his palm.

Taking several long drinks from the bottle, Hob’s attention is brought back to Pintel as the man continues reciting from memory. “The Heartache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there’s the rub, For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.”

As Pintel gets further into the lines, Hob is stricken by the sheer amount of passion and reverence in the man’s voice. Never before has he heard the words spoken in such tones, and suddenly, Hob is hearing the words in a new light. The bottle of rum now hangs slack from his fist as Hob becomes entranced in the sheer emotion being poured into each and every word. He can feel them singing in his bones, the struggles of Hamlet echoed back to Hob through his own history. The pain and heartbreak, wondering if there was even a point of continuing on when he was left dirty and starving in the streets of England all those years ago.

And just like that, after hearing these same words recited over and over and over again for the last some two-hundred years, does Hob finally, here and now, understand. He understands why his Stranger would take the time to speak with the man who created such resonant words. Distantly, Hob wonders if Pintel may have been blessed by his Stranger in order to be able to speak these words in such a captivating way, for surely Hob has never and will never hear them as they are now.

When Pintel finishes, the entire crew is silent for the span of a heartbeat before they burst into thundering applause and hollers. Hob watches as Pintel slouches in embarrassment, a slight blush dusting his face while Ragetti meets him on the designated area for their stage, slapping Pintel on the back before dragging the other man back to their hammocks.

With a sigh, Hob leans back into his hammock as he realises he was leaning precariously far, threatening to spill out. “So, still gonna throw yerself overboard?” Jack smirks to Hob as he makes a gesture to get the bottle back.

Looking over at the captain, Hob takes another long drink before handing the now half-empty bottle back. “Mmm, maybe not overboard but I may just drown it out with more rum until I can’t remember,” Hob chuckles. While he may have gained a new appreciation for this piece of work, Hob is fairly certain the majority of his appreciation is to Pintel himself and his recitation. Besides which, Shakespeare, despite his pretty words, was still a Stranger-stealing ponce.
Jack takes a drink from the bottle before handing it down to Gibbs in the hammock below him. In a move Hob isn’t expecting, Jack grabs his sleeve and yanks him out of the hammock, stumbling as both their feet hit the deck. Looking up in a bit of a daze, Hob realises that no one else has gone up to the set-up stage yet. With a questioning look at Jack, Hob doesn't get an answer as he is dragged stumbling along to the stage.

At this point the crew begin murmuring in excitement, anxious to see what their captain and second mate will do.

Taking a moment to steady himself both from the alcohol and the sudden location change, Hob watches Jack as he walks over to one of the barrels on the side of the deck and snatches up two cutlasses. With reactions honed from years of battle, Hob is able to quickly catch the cutlass tossed to him. With a flourish, Jack gives Hob a dramatic bowl, a coy smile playing on his lips. Responding in turn, Hob gives a low sweeping bow to his captain before readying himself for the match about to take place. Behind him, Hob can hear the crew scrambling around, placing and taking bets on who was going to win.

Keeping a careful eye on Jack’s body language, Hob sees the slight shift in body weight a moment before Jack lunges forward. Bringing his own blade up, they meet with a clash of metal and bared grins. Disengaging, the two slowly circle each other, looking for openings in the other's defence.

Not giving himself away, Hob suddenly lunges, feinting straight ahead before twisting his cutlass to the left. Jack, matching Hob’s speed, blocks the attack and they trade a few blows back and forth before once again stepping back.

As Hob makes eye contact with Jack, they both lunge at the same time, trading lunges and blocks, their feet dancing across the deck with a fast tempo. As their swords once again lock together, Hob barks out a laugh and Jack responds with a viscous smile. Hob hasn’t had a good spar in awhile and this was exactly what he was needing.

Although it couldn't have been more than a few minutes since they first began, with the speed and strength the two were fighting with was beginning to wear on them. Hob could feel himself starting to flag, though years of swinging a broadsword made his stamina better than most. Jack, he could see, was beginning to fare a bit worse, breath coming in pants. Deciding to end this quickly, Hob lunges forward again, Jack’s blade rising up as expected, allowing Hob to lock the two swords together once more. With a quick move, Hob hooks his leg around Jack’s ankle and pulls, toppling the other to the deck with Hob’s blade resting near Jack’s throat.

Jack and the crew are both shocked for a moment before Jack throws his head back and laughs, and the crew break into applause intermingled with the sounds of coins changing hands. Pulling his blade back, Hob offers his hand to Jack.

Grabbing a hold of Hob’s forearm, Jack allows himself to be pulled up before slinging his arm around Hob’s shoulders and turning to the crew, cutlass raised above his head. “And that, my dear pirates, concludes tonight's fun. Off ta bed, the lot o’ ya, unless yer on the night watch then to yer posts the rest o’ ya.” Jack drags Hob into a bow and then the two separate, Jack taking the cutlass back and Hob going to grab the rum bottle back from Gibbs.

“Aye, now that was a good show there,” the other pirate slurs to Hob.

Taking a sip from the almost empty bottle now, Hob smiles, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “Aye, been awhile since I’ve had that kind of fun, that’s for sure.”

“Good lad,” Gibbs Hob a slap on the back, “Well I’m done fer the night. See you in the morning” and with that turns and heads towards the berth, seeming to forget all of the hammocks were strung up in the rigging.

Humming to himself, Hob goes back to the hammock he was sitting in and begins the arduous process of untangling the ropes. After several minutes he finally has it free and heads below deck to string it back up in his sleeping space.

As Hob settles down for the night, he relishes in the glow that has settled in his body, both from the rum and the exhilaration of the night. With a contented sigh as he drifts off, Hob wishes things will remain as they were now, but this of course, could only ever be wishful thinking.

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