A Pirate's Heart for Me

- Padlock of a Soul-

Ch 1

Gibbs stood, numb, on the softly rocking deck of the Black Pearl. Fear and disbelief lay heavy in the pit of his stomach, leaving a lump in his throat that made it impossible for him to swallow the rum he so desperately needed. Cascading waterfalls of crystal clear water sent a thin mist into the air, almost hiding the island they had sailed so hard to find from sight. Gibb's lip curled in a sneer at the lush green spit of land, happily resting in this private wonderland. It had no right to look so damn pleased, so very peaceful.

Not an hour ago, his Captain and friend, Jack Sparrow, had been devoured by a great sea leviathan and he could not do a thing to stop it. It had taken the beautiful pirate King Elizabeth Swann along with it, the two clasping in what was no less than a lovers embrace. The sight of the two facing the unknown and certain death had brought Gibbs to tears, even as he struggled to rise against the incessant screeches of the devil spawn beast. In the end, all he could do was watch.

He cast his eyes over to the man that had boarded a moment ago, a man who he scarcely knew anymore yet was once a great ally. The atmosphere about William Turner's presence as he hovered about the deck was heavy with simmering anger and, more prominently, distress. Gibbs had been against letting the man aboard, previous attempts at his Captain and his own life a warning bell. But a murmured word laden with tear filled eyes gave him hope that, perhaps, the old William was breaking through to the world again. Gibbs just wished such grave circumstances hadn't been the cause to draw him back.

"Where do ye think they have been taken?" Gibbs asked, timidly, afraid to know the answer.

Will's face was grave, eyes dark and devoid of hope or happiness. "I don't know."

Gibbs scowled. Was this not the man who was to ferry souls who died at sea to the other side? Shouldn't he, of all people, know where Elizabeth and Jack were headed? Before he could open his mouth to speak, Will started up again. "I can't sense their souls…"

Those five words made Gibb's blood run even colder, so frigid he feared it may lay solid in his veins. "What do ye mean, you can't sense their souls?"

Will's eyes snapped to his and anger brimmed on the edge of combustion. "It is as if they are not dead. They must lie somewhere between life and death."

Gibbs shuttered. "Could it be that the demon snake did not finish them off in one bite? Did the thing swallow them whole? Do they now lay in the bottom of its belly, dark and stench filled…"

"No." Will's voice was sharp and sure. "I saw the flicker, the last burst of energy before a soul departs but there was nothing after, no summoning call. They are gone from the land of the living, Mr. Gibbs and they have not yet died."

Gibbs cast his eyes back out to the sea, oblivious to the second ship that had come to anchor beside the Flying Dutchman; Bloody Shane's crew. Only one thought sprung to his mind, the one and only place he had ever heard of souls being sent to in such a state; Davey Jones Locker.

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Pain. Blinding, white hot, searing pain. He could feel it in every limb, to parts he thought could not have felt pain. To parts he knew very well capable of feeling pain and screaming now with the agony of it. His head throbbed with it. His heart beat sluggishly against it. When he finally found the courage and the strength to open his eyes, to climb back to consciousness and away from the dark abyss, he was greeted by the sound of his own screams, tearing from his throat and leaving even that raw and sore.

He screwed his eyes shut tightly, clamping his mouth shut and reducing the pain induced sound to a very unmanly whimper. The pain, he thought, should have ended. Surely he was dead. He opened one eye timidly, satisfied to feel the pain in his head recede a bit with his waking and the pain in his limbs reduced to a mere tolerable torturous throbbing.

What met his eyes was grey. There was no other word for it. As he opened his other eye, Jack Sparrow was greeted with an endless stretch of grey… something above his head. No clouds. No stars. No sun. No nothing.

He groaned, rolling over onto his side. The movement brought on a wave of nausea and he paused, breathing deeply to chase it away. He thanked God for his past dealings with less than kind hangovers. It made the feeling pass away quickly.

He brought his hands underneath him as he rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up on limbs that shook under his weight. Funny, he could never remember being so weak. The only time he had ever felt so terrible, the only time he could feel such agonizing pain upon wake was when he was sent to and trapped in Davey Jones Locker.

Jack froze, crouched on hands and knees that shook as if he had never used them. "Davey Jones Locker…" he whispered.

Panic seized him and his arms would hold him no longer. He collapsed in an undignified heap on the cold, grey ground. Davey Jones Locker all over again, his thoughts started. Not again. Never again. Never wish it on anyone. Immortality would have prevented such a fate. Immortality had been just within my reach. She had kissed me… no. She had not. That was last time. Now I am dead. Couldn't be the locker, not anymore.

His thoughts chased themselves in a dizzying and confusing circle of dazed memories.

Betrayal… no, not this time. Forgiven and forgotten, that. Aye, I had forgiven her of that. Who is this she? Who is… who? Who is she? Who am I?! Captain of a ship. Aye, I am Captain Jack Sparrow. Can't forget that. But she… she…

"Elizabeth." The word was spoken softly, muffled as his face was pressed firmly to the ground. With the name, all the memories came flooding back. The snake, slithering onto his beautiful ship, eyes fixed on Elizabeth, his Lizzie… its sacrifice. The sacrifice given willingly for his immortality. His head spun and for a moment, he feared he might retch. But the nausea once again passed as quickly as it had come and, with fear pumping through his veins, he pushed himself up again.

The pain had receded to a mere dull ache all over his body and he found his arms could support him easier. The thought that Elizabeth suffered such a fate as he had, to think she had to endure the same bone crunching, searing pain made him angry and more fearful than he had been in… since their death. How long ago that had been, he could not tell. Adrenalin pumped in his veins at the thought that she could be here, that she could be somewhere nearby and in a state of torment.

With this newfound strength he stood, legs supporting him better than he thought they could have after such an ordeal. At one point in the agony, he could have sworn his legs were snapped clean off…

He shook his head, chasing away the thoughts. The trinkets in his hair tinkled softly with the movement and he fingered one in thought. The snake had been moving, lightning quick yet sluggishly slow at the same time, for Elizabeth's motionless body. He had jumped forward then, knowing her death was imminent, knowing there was nothing he could do to save her. He knew that the death of her would be the death of him as well, more so if he was to stay in the land of the living without her. So he had grabbed her, wrapping her in his arms and turning her to face him. He could recall the moment so vividly he swore he could feel her tremble in his arms now. He had not wanted her to see the teeth rushing for them, the dark pit leading down the beasties gullet. So he had held her tight to his chest, offering what comfort he could in her, in his, in their last moments. He hoped his presence had been a comfort while at the same time he knew his presence could not have been comfort enough.

His eyes scanned the wasteland where he stood. The world was grey, all of it, and devoid of color or warmth. It stretched out, not far, before the grayness sloped upwards into the grey, cold sky. The illusion was mind boggling and Jack scowled at the perplexity of it. The sight was so strange, yet he could not figure out what it was that made it so. The answer jumped to him then and his heart sank. No horizon. This wasteland had no horizon but a sudden stop and incline into the sky. It was a hellish enclosure. The air was freezing cold yet not a breeze blew through. "Never any bloody wind," Jack griped, hands nervously toying, now, with the trinkets hanging from his belt.

This place was a hell in and of itself, exactly like Davey Jones Locker yet nothing like it at all. His other hell had been bright and unbearably hot, filled with other sides of himself, sides he hid from the world, sides he never explored, sides that had both cursed and blessed him. Jack after Jack after Jack. This place was the same and as different as Davey's Locker had been. He whirled around, half expecting to see a copy of himself standing there but was greeted with nothing but more cursed grey. He shook his head softly again, knowing that he had killed Davey. More accurately, Will had killed Jones, stabbed his heart. Surely the locker could exist no more. At least, Davey's locker couldn't exist anymore…

Suddenly a scream split the air. It was a shriek of pure terror and pain, torn from the throat of someone he knew too well. The sound startled him out of his dark thoughts and plunged him into even deeper darkness, the heart gripping fear of reality. She was here and enduring the same torment as he had. He prayed that it was less so, prayed that the sound would end soon.

But it didn't. It increased. It trailed off to a whimper at times, only to be taken up again in full a breath later filled with more pain than before. The sound left Jack numb, all ache concentrated on the beat of his heart, the rhythm set to her screams. He could hear it everywhere, making it seem even more that he was caged in to a horizon-less terrain. The sound was everywhere, a direction impossible to pinpoint. All he knew was that she was there, somewhere. She was in torment, and there was nothing he could do to help her.

But he sure as hell was going to try.

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Barbossa chuckled to himself, satisfied as he watched the scene before him. Given, the serpent had not been part of his plan and was, frustratingly enough, seeming to snap young William out of the deep anger he had worked hard to plunge him into. But the Dutchman's captain was distressed and at a loss just the same. Somewhere deep in his cold, hard heart, Hector Barbossa felt a sting of pity. There was a time not too long ago the pretty lad and his newly deceased lass had been allies of his. But as the devil drives, needs must and so, he did what he had to do to remain on the winning side, to remain ahead and in control.

He was curious as to why he had not been targeted by the leviathan. They were headed on the same course as the PearlWhat did the snake know of their intent? They could have very well intended to drink from the immortal water. They very well did intend to drink from said fountain. Yet the Pearl was the only ship approached by the snake. It seemed that it was only hungry and, with a belly full of Jack Sparrow and previous King Elizabeth Swann, had swam off happy.

Curse Jack Sparrow even in his current state, Barbossa thought angrily. If I had the charts than I could have foreseen the serpent, could have known what was to come. He absentmindedly pet the head of Jack the monkey on his shoulder. Ah, no matter. Jack Sparrow has been sent to his well deserved fate and has, at it happens, taken out a possible threat to me and me immortality. It all works out in the end.

"You are a cunning man Barbossa." The voice was cold and Barbossa's smile grew.

"It is that cunning that finds ye owing me some gratitude, no doubt the only reason ye be staying around." He turned to face Bloody Shane, a pointed look in his eye. "With Jack Sparrow dead, yer revenge is complete."

Bloody Shane's lips curved into a vicious smile that made Barbossa look most pleasant. "Death is no revenge. It is the place his soul rests or, rather, cannot rest, that interests me." He took a step closer to Barbossa and Jack the monkey jumped from one of his shoulders to the next. Bloody Shane paid it no attention. "Where, exactly, is that wretch headed after being promptly devoured? That did not fit into my plans, not at all. Having the pleasure denied me of plunging my blade into his heart is not satisfying." Barbossa spotted the flash of a blade peeking out with malicious intent from the once dead man's sleeve. "I am hoping he is somewhere most unpleasant."

Hector dragged his eyes away from the blade, unconcerned. "Aye. Ye know the great deal of scurrying about I had to do to get your Captain into such a rage filled state?" Bloody Shane's eyes flashed with anger at the reminder that he was no longer a captain but a deckhand to the dead. Barbossa leaned forward despite his anger, as if to kiss the man towering before him. "Davey Jones may be dead, and with him Davey Jones's locker but I tell ye, any Dutchman captain's hate can form a new hell… and form one Mr. Turner did. Mark me words."

Bloody Shane drew back, the smile returning. The blade withdrew back into the sleeve. "That is good news."

Barbossa returned the smile. "Aye. Good news indeed."

Shane turned, as if to leave but thought better of it. "When William Turner drinks of the Aqua de Vida he will be free of his duties?"

Barbossa hesitated. "Not exactly. See, I may have lied about one or two things, pulled some strings, as it were, to get us where we are."

Shane's back went rigid but he did not turn around. "If Turner is not free from his duty as captain of the Flying Dutchman, who is to free me from this eternal servitude, the likes of which I have no desire to remain in?"

Barbossa's eyes shifted to the chest on the deck of the Dutchman from the Sea Lass, Bloody Shane's vessel where they now stood. "His reign can end if someone were to… stab the heart." Barbossa felt a creeping, bad feeling as he spoke, as if this man should not be given such information but he dismissed the feeling quickly. What cared he of Will Turner's fate?

Bloody Shane's shoulders shook slightly in a silent laugh. "Ah, I have heard as much. Perhaps, then, that is the course that need be taken."

Barbossa took a step forward, against his better judgment. "If ye stab the heart, yours must take its place, Shane."

"It will be good old Davey all over again. Control of the seas… suits me well." He looked at Barbossa over his shoulder. "Suits me very well indeed."