"Jack?"
The voice called into the darkness, the soft blue lights surrounding the broken Captain's thoughts. It echoed softly like a fainting song, young and crying, familiar to the man but still a fading mystery. "Jack? Jack, come here!" It was getting stronger, more desperate. His brow folded in his sleep as he turned among the blankets. "Jack!" It was piercing now, scared, shattering enough to make one's blood turn cold. "Jack!"
He jolted upright, the night still surrounding him. Captain Jack Sparrow very slowly surveyed his surroundings; he was still in the bottom bellows of his beloved Black Pearl, the usual supplies he shared a room with swaying softly about him to the waves that were his cradle. He was frozen; eyes rolling very slowly from each dark corner of the room. Nothing. He sighed and collapsed forward, his face falling into his hands. "So goes the night without rum," he muttered to himself, this not being first time he was awoken with a cold sweat. "If you're wanting me to come back, love," he beckoned to know one in the ship's cabin, "why don't you tell me where!" His voice rose loud enough to reverb back and pain his throbbing ears. The dreams were the product of a lack of red wine, he decided, and couldn't wait until they reached a port with a real tavern with a real drink. He winced and pulled his feet to the ground. Very quietly, he scrambled to the door and stepped into the fresh night. Only the sea would cure his insomnia.
The soft violet sky was caped in fog, the kind of heavy mist that pirates shuddered at. He, however, found comfort in the invisible rain; the way the moonlight danced through it was precious to his sore eyes. "Good evening," he called to the foaming depths while leaning over the Pearl's slender side. He often talked to the sea, which would not be out of his already eccentric character, but really only made his deep love for the adventure audible for others who could not sleep as well. "How are you?" The waters answered in their own melodic strain, a song only he could hear. "Beautiful," he whispered, reaching closer to feel the salty clouds drifting near. He waited, just listening again. The beloved Pearl moaned and dipped slowly into the waters. "Who calls me?" he asked the ocean, which sprayed delight from its icy pool. He rubbed at his sore eyes and sighed heavily. "Aye, I think it's the drink, too." He stood, took one last look at the peaceful scene, and turned to walk the barefoot path back to his small cabin. It was a bit cold, even for him. "The sooner we be at land, the better." The snoring of the night watch gave him reason to chuckle as he reached for the old rusted handle. His fingers hesitated before grazing the cool iron as his eye twitched a slight warning.
"JACK!"
She saw the young boy bent over the small rushing creek and thought of what he might be trying to catch. "John Michael!" The bright-eyed child turned with an eager grin, facing his mother with a chubby run. Elizabeth smiled, extending her arms as the small but able toddler giggled and fell into her arms. He reached to pull at her floppy day hat, which sent Elizabeth back sprawling across the green lawn. "John Michael Turner, what mess have you gotten into?" The young boy reached into his fitted coat pocket to pull out a small water stone. Elizabeth's eyes widened in faux surprise as her dainty fingers took the glassy pebble into her palm. "Why, it's beautiful!"
"For you, Mum," he whispered, staring back at her with his honeyed gaze. She placed a kiss into his mess of auburn waves and gathered him into her arms.
"Come on, Jack," she comforted as his fingers curled about the lace lining her collar. "Let's go see how your father is doing." She slowly walked along the small dale before charming estate; her father's wedding gift had quickly become her new heaven. Not only were there sprawling acres and a beautiful manor, but a small shop was adjoined next to the manicured stable. Inside, brass met iron and fused with gold at the hands of the master craftsman William Turner. Elizabeth set the child onto his feet before peering into the musty studio of metal and fire. Will was sitting upon the table and draining a canteen while his new collection of swords sparkled in the morning light before him. "Beautiful," she sighed before lifting her light form onto the table next to him. Young Jack wandered over to the display, eyes glittering over the weapons. Will stroked his chin, lost in thought. "They're beautiful," Elizabeth repeated, trying to catch his eye. He was still deciding.
"The one on the left," he muttered, extending a hand to show. "Jack, no, don't…don't touch that…" The boy stepped back, the dust settling on his petite boots. "The one on the left doesn't seem to…I mean, compared to the…"
"They're beautiful," Elizabeth reassured, pulling her husband from the table and back to his feet while standing herself. They both kept the boy from trying to handle one of the elegant sabers. "You'd sit here and find flaws in them all day if you could."
"There are flaws?" he asked, almost hurt.
"We're going to dinner with my father tonight," Elizabeth continued, ignoring his question. William nodded and pulled the gloves from his hands. Jack found a charred tool from a barrel to inspect its edge.
"Elizabeth," the careful father immediately warned, and she gently took it from his hands. "He's too young to be here..." he muttered. She drew her lip tight before taking the boy's hand. "I'm done."
"Really?" she sighed. Will turned to his products one last time. She could see the glaze moving over his eyes again as he obviously spotted something wrong. She scoffed and pulled at his arm with her free hand. "Yes, you're done. Let's go."