Penance
by Luvvycat
Author's Note: This is a sequel to my two previous stories "Rum and Persuasion" and "A Means to an End." As I did with "A Means to an End", this current installment recreates existing scenes from PotC:AWE, either expanding them or telling them from a specific character's point of view, and also includes additional "new" scenes set in-between the canonical ones, which continue plot threads from the previous stories. Since this tale is set in the PotC movie universe (and not AU), expect the plot to adhere pretty closely to that of AWE.
Please note that Disney owns all things PotC, and this story is not meant in infringe on any rights held by the all-powerful Mouse and its minions. I am merely borrowing the characters, playing with them, and letting them have a bit of fun ...
Please also take note of this story's "M" rating, mostly based on later chapters. I will give fair warning when those chapters are coming up, so anyone who finds adult-oriented sexual content objectionable can avoid them.
Please, please feel free to leave reviews (either good or bad).
'Ta, and enjoy ...
-- Cat
- Prologue -
Purgatory
Captain Jack Sparrow drew his pistol and shot the scurvy, thieving blackguard who had just pilfered his precious peanut ...
Who just so happened to be ... Jack Sparrow.
As his doppelganger fell over backward, to sprawl flat on his back on the deck of the Black Pearl, Jack blew the smoke from the barrel of his pistol, and stuck it back into his belt, then swaggered forward to claim the coveted legume.
"My peanut," he said, possessively, casting a hard look down at his other self, who just lay there pitifully moaning "Help!", before popping it into his mouth.
He turned and started shouting orders to the crew—all of whom were also Jack Sparrow—who jumped up to respond to their Captain's commands with a resounding chorus of identically-voiced "Aye-Aye!"s.
In fact, the Pearl appeared to be overrun with a veritable flock of Sparrows. There were spirited, shirtless, tattooed Jack Sparrows, hanging from the riggings and swarming up the rat-lines and standing astride the yards; subservient Jack Sparrows on their knees, industriously swabbing the deck; while yet more fleet-footed Jack Sparrows pranced across that deck in the swift execution of various and sundry duties.
Through the flurry of activity, something drew Jack's eye ... something that clearly incurred his displeasure.
"Mister Sparrow!"
The Jack-double paused in his current task. "Aye, Cap'n."
Jack pointed down toward the deck. "What say you about the condition of this tack line?"
Mister Sparrow regarded the rope to which his Captain was pointing, a hint of confusion in his kohled black eyes. "It be proper to my eyes, sir," he said, with humble deference.
"Proper?" Jack sauntered forward, casting a disapproving eye at Mister Sparrow's work, plucking at the loosely wound rope with his brown fingers, then drawing a length of it athwart his hands. "It is neither proper nor suitable, sir. It is not acceptable, nor adequate. It is, in obvious fact, an abomination!" He flung the rope at Mister Sparrow, with disgust.
Mister Sparrow's face reflected mild defiance as he sullenly turned to tend to the offending line. "Beggin' your pardon, sir. But, perhaps if you gave a man another chance ..."
Jack drew himself up, affronted. "Shall I?" he sneered, his dark eyes blazing cold fire as he drew his sword and plunged it, with a vengeance, through Mister Sparrow's midsection. Jack stared, unmoved, into eyes identical to his own, now wide and filled with shock and pain and knowledge of certain death at the rather unpleasant reality of his guts having been skewered by a tempered steel blade. Leaning in closely, his cheek pressed to his double's in a strangely intimate gesture, Jack murmured into his ear, sardonically, "That sort of thinkin' got us into this mess!"
Jack pulled his sword free, and Mister Sparrow dropped lifelessly to the deck. Watching the light fade from those disturbingly familiar eyes as yet another part of him died at his feet in a spreading pool of blood, Jack casually wiped the blade clean on the ship's rail.
"We have lost speed, and therefore time ... precious time ... which cannot be recovered, once lost ..." he continued, speaking to nothing but the phantoms of his own mind ...
Jack had had more than ample time to reflect on his failings as a pirate, during his time marooned on the endless white wasteland that was Davy Jones' Locker. There was little else to do, besides shout orders to imaginary crewmen, talk to himself, and slowly go mad …
… -der.
He had come to the conclusion, too late, that gentler emotions such as sentiment and mercy had no place in piracy ... not if one was to survive with his skin—and his life—intact. Why was that a lesson that he had repeatedly failed to learn over the years, to his everlasting regret? After all, no amount of treasure, nor rum, nor hours pleasantly spent in the arms of any number of comely wenches was worth a man's life. Yet, he had, of his own accord, left himself vulnerable, disarmed, susceptible to the cruellest treachery—for what?
All for the sake of a kiss—and the promise of much more—from a fair and fiery lass who had come to occupy his thoughts and dreams, as well as the long-empty reaches of his pirate heart.
One soul-searing, blood-firing, mind-blowing, body-arousing kiss that had lured him willingly, like the irresistible strains of a siren's song, to his doom …
Now, in the lonely isolation of the Locker, he was haunted by visions of her... a woman whose name he couldn't bear to think of without unspeakable pain, but whose image blazed in his tortured brain with the searing brilliance of the desert sun overhead. The memory of that face engendered feelings of both deep longing and towering rage, the two emotions hopelessly entangled with one another, strange bedfellows, desperately intertwined like the sinewy limbs of passionate lovers locked in an ardent embrace.
He pushed the memories of her away, along with the emotions he counted amongst the many personal weaknesses he had resolved to eliminate, as he had just eliminated Leniency in the form of Mister Sparrow …
Mercy …
Compassion …
Forgiveness ...
Love …
He determined not to repeat his previous mistakes—forgetting, for the moment, that the point was moot, as he had already been killed—swallowed by the Kraken and transported to the desert of desolation that was Davy Jones' Locker, stranded in eternal doldrums, trapped in a permanent purgatory, alone with naught but his thoughts, his regrets ... and, most hellishly, with himself.
In fact, dozens of himselves ... delusional archetypes representing different facets of his personality, conjured up by an active, clever, gregarious mind unhinged by an unending parade of days spent in forced solitude, beached on a parched, blinding-white plain stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see, baking under a harsh white-hot sun ...
His body deprived of rum …
His soul bereft of companionship …
His heart devoid of hope …