Hi!
A massive thank you to all who have reviewed these five one shots. It is always welcome, and very much appreciated! This is the final in this group of five; and by far the trickiest to write. Still not convinced it's right, but then I always find Jack hard to write. Bon apetite!
Jack's POV. Set at the end of DMC. Spoilers.
Disclaimer: Don't look at me. I'm just a hopeful J/E shipper...
Thoughts
He had always wondered. What would he be thinking about, now? Moments from inevitable death, what would he, the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, be thinking?
Regrets? No. Never time for regrets. Wrong profession.
His crew? No. What was left was rowing away, terrified out of their wits, acting on impulse. He didn't blame them.
His ship? No. Yes. A pang of horror, there. His ship. His freedom. Ah yes. He remembered that conversation. More than just a ship…the only thing he really cared about. Well, nearly the only thing.
But she was so much like his ship in so many ways. He had shared his ship and his understanding of what that meant with her, and he knew it had affected her. Even in her belligerent, rum-burning frame of mind, he knew it had hit home like a cannonball fired into wet sand.
And now, just like his ship, she showed her true colours in time of trouble. The day after they'd left Port Royal, Jack had ordered Gibbs to replace the white canvas with the black sails.Now Elizabeth was flying her true colours. He felt the click of the manacle. Saw her look. He'd taught her well.
Peas in a pod darlin'.
Will wouldn't have done it. Will would have rather put the Kraken on hold and fought Jack face to face, sword with sword. Elizabeth, though, as Jack had once eloquently pointed out, was a woman. A bonny lass. His 'darlin''.
His undoing.
He watched her leave. He'd never have expected his final thoughts to be those of something on the dangerous, affectionate side of admiration. But then, it occurred to him, that he might yet have a while until his true final thoughts.
The grease worked unlike nearly all the charms he owned; in that it worked. He turned and saw the bewilderingly wide, toothy mouth of the thing, filling his sky with slimy skin and ivory coloured death. With a sudden spurt, the slime and spit covered him.
The hat hit the deck. If the Kraken had been a man, Jack would have called that a sporting gesture. He felt almost confident. He had his sword. He had his hat.
He had his lady's favour. Or as close to one as he was likely to get; a kiss was a kiss.
Oh, yes. There was one regret, fluttering in the background. More of an aspiration, for when he would rise phoenix-like from his current predicament, (after all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow.) Yes, he had an objective. A goal. A certain… he smirked…desire.
Wait, he told himself, wait for the opportune moment. When she's not ready and Will's not looking.
Then pounce.
