AN: Because Barbossa is like GOD in the third movie. God. I don't know how well this turned out, but I'm hoping for the best? Ahaha…
Usual stuff, please review so I may love you forever and if you spot any mistakes be them grammar, spelling, factual, characterization wise or whatnot, please inform me so I can fix it!
Disclaimer: I do not in any legal way own PoTC I, II, or III
Like Gold
Barbossa thought that Jack was like gold. He gave off the same allure that gold does, the same attraction that has people around him – the so called sensible blacksmith included – eating out of his hands when he felt like it. A younger Barbossa (one before his death or perhaps before the mutiny) might have thought that Jack was a raving fool like the rest of them and that he didn't know himself the power he could hold over someone.
Then again, being tricked and killed firmly took away any foolhardy notion that Jack was an idiot. An idiot was someone who trusted their first mate enough to tell him everything. An idiot was someone who glared at him with hatred when he stole their ship. The person who had looked at him – looked with kohl rimmed eyes filled with satisfaction – as the coldness started to spread from his chest was not an idiot.
Jack was nobody's fool and it amused Barbossa endlessly to think that none of the crew realized it. They all thought themselves so clever saving Jack to further their own agendas, but the reality was that Jack was the one that benefited the most. The Governor's daughter had the right idea, killing Jack like that. You can't ever get the man to do anything that doesn't benefit himself if you don't chain him down first.
Even so, she'd been charmed. She had, the blacksmith had, the voodoo priestess who brought him back had, the crew (old and new) had, and Barbossa would not be surprised at all if Jack left them one day and charmed the living daylights out of Cutler Becket himself.
But Barbossa was no fool and that charm, warm and soft and golden, had led to something far less than pleasant and once was enough thank-ye-very-much-Jack-Sparrow.
Speak of the devil, there he was. Head tilted back, trinkets dangling from his hair, paying no attention at all to the crew around him (and yet he still managed to sway precisely along with the ship's rocking movement), and drinking from the bottle of rum he had in his hand as if it was worth more than all the lives on this ship.
He really would, Barbossa had no doubt, sell them out in a heartbeat for rum. The nice thing about Jack, slippery and devious creature that he was, was that you always knew where his priorities were.
And there was the Governor's daughter, giving Jack a quick and exasperated glance that spoke volumes of the trust and almost-but-not-quite love she had for him. Bootstrap's poor, poor son – wedding vows mean nothing with Captain Jack Sparrow near.
A drop of rum trickles down Jack's throat and to his collarbone, leaving a crimson stain against his dark skin, reminding Barbossa of blood on Aztec gold.
He turned over to look at Barbossa and his grin widened. "Want some?" he asked good naturedly, holding up the bottle. It was empty.
Barbossa gave him a thin lipped smile and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll be stickin' to me apples, Jack."
A shrug and his grin turned sharp. "Your loss."
"Aye," Barbossa agreed.