Of Confusion and Caves, a pirates of the caribbean fanfic

Title: Of Confusion and Caves: Part One
Author: Frost AND Kacey
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Set the day after the last on Of Blindness and Vision.
Disclaimer: Don't own Jack or Will, but we do own the witty commentary in the fic. Archive: We'd be flattered.
Authors notes: We never thought that Will would just lay down and take what was suddenly thrust at him (ahah! Pun!) in the last story; even if he did initiate it. So this came into birth. It would probably be best to read Blindness first, else you may be confused. All our fics can be found on Really Bad Eggs
Oh yeah. Jack is played by Frost, and Will by Kacey.
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Memories filtered down as his mind awoke before his body. The perfect instants of last night started to pour, first with a soft, rhythmic patter, like falling rain. Moments of touches and awe. And then more sensations reared, moments of heat and words. Pain. But it had been worth it. Pain forgotten so quickly by someone's compliment over his beauty. Beauty...or flexibility. Words were sometimes drowned into the sound of blood rushing through ears. As it did now, licking a red glow down William Turner's neck as all of last night played before him - every second clear. No question that it was but a dream. Jack. Had not been a dream. There was no dream worthy of last night - and he did not claim to have an imagination enough to conjure up such a fantasy. Jack's fingers were spread open palm across the plane of his chest and lifting his head (dampness still lingering within the strands), he detected digits streaks over olive skin and leading to the tan fingers. It was hard to think - to wonder what had changed. He had not the will power or confidence of experience as a lover to just lay back and let anything happen, not even if he had admitted to wanting Jack. Consequences still existed. His status - first mate? Or Captain's whore? It was hard to think - and so, the boy, the former 'smithy, the new pirate('s bed warmer), had to separate himself and left. As quickly as he could.

There was no telling the amount of time that passed after William had left his cabin. Tem minutes? A few hours? He wasn't sure at all--he only knew that his bed was no longer warm, and the arms that had been around him previously were now gone. This was all figured out in a small amount of consciousness. And with each moment of musing--and awakening further--the truth of Will's departure dawned even further unto him. A frown of sorts crossed over usually full and flamboyant features. "Will..?" There was a long pause--his arms shifted over the bed to see if perhaps he'd just not been paying enough attention. No such luck. All right, that was damned enough of this. So because he had something tied around his eyes people thought they could just come and go as they pleased with out saying a thing to him? Not damned likely. He sat up then--the sheets spilling down his chest with a soft "fwooshing" noise--and noted that it took much less effort than it had the day before. Felt mostly normal, actually. "Don't do anything stupid," he said to himself in a soft tone--but then shook his head and brought his arms up to untie the bandages at his face anyway. It wasn't stupid unless you got caught! And so the bandage came off--falling down to his lap as he covered his eyes with a hand. Everything was bright--but not all -that- bad. Sure, a little blurry, but... He squinted for a long moment, but then decided that he wouldn't die or loose his vision from his latest idea of stupidity.

Washing of clothes was not a luxury on a pirate ship. By the time Will emerged from the crew quarters again (questioned by no one for his late comings-and-goings because they knew he was responsible for taking care of the Captain during the night - oh, and he did that for certain) he could only change his shirt for a new one, vest and breeches remained the same crumpled configurations they had had when being removed by whispering, ocean-like, dark fingers not his own last night. This shirt, thankfully, had a useful collar, and pulling it up enough concealed the mouth-sized welt down his throat and under his left ear. The hair provided aid for this effort too, loosened but still threatening to catch in a fit of breeze and confess his markings for him, the leather thong that usually kept the ponytail secured - was missing. And intuitive Turner deducted that the strip of material must be in his Captain's room, in the bed they had attempted to destroy, and surely right there on the pillow where the mixture of his own scent and Sparrow's still faintly lingered in partnership. Partnership. It held new meaning now -- frankly it was scary, unknown, newly trespassed territory. In the dark, without a lamp and the water rising. He hesitated on the deck, debating whether he should check on Jack right now - the man was his patient after all - but instead stalled for time by volunteering to man the helm while the night-shift navigator finally took rest. Besides, the swordsman needed a moment to himself, here at the wheel, he received morning clarity, open vision, new - oh bloody hell, who was he kidding? SOD the clarity and the vision - no wind or sun or sailing waters now could distract from the tangle of heart and mind and the echoes of last night that clouded his eyes to vacancy and loosened the fingers on the wheel until they were just barely holding it. Remembering how much he had wanted it, felt that it was right, and how much he did not know, and wondering what was wrong.

A few more moments were taken to himself--his eyes getting used to the brightness--the back of his mind telling him that it would be easier to see things if he squinted and stared less. Small details that he would never have noticed before were coming to him now. The way the sheets were wrinkled--and the way that the pillow beside his own was still pressed inward as if there had been another head sleeping there. And there had. Jack frowned--nimble fingers picking up a loose strand of leather on that pillow as well. It smelled of William. Another frown came to his face--William, who had so bravely the night before told Jack what he'd wanted to hear for some amount of time--William. Who had left him with the morning. Wasn't that Jack's job? To love and leave? Letting out another sigh, he finally got off the bed and pillaged through a pile of clothes--easily picking out his attire there and throwing it on messily. But everything went on--boots, tricorn hat sword and all. And then, he decided it was time to frequent a visit outside of his cabin. His ship. Under his command. He would no longer be weak, sick or blind. He would be -Captain- Jack Sparrow--immortal mad leader of the Black Pearl. Cabin doors opened and let in far too much light for still weak eyes--but he did not show it. Hardly a squint. Saunter, sway. And then out on the deck he went!

The Turner no longer occupied the boat, his mind so far and deeply consumed his presence could no longer be accounted for. Who are you, Will? What are you? An orphan rat, a criminal, a child, a lover? Another notch in a bedpost for a pirate chief with a svelte tongue? Get a grip, man. You did not complain so much about that svelte tongue a few hours ago. You only whined when it stopped. And surrendered when it returned. But truly, have I been a fool? Jack did not need to know. He did not have to know. I could have kept the secret for all our journeys and remained a loyal first mate, and no mate of any other kind. This wasn't true; the truth would have come out eventually. Over a several rounds of rum, or during the last few moments before a death sentence was carried out - Will was sure that no life of piracy came without a death sentence or two. It was not about the truth now, it was about the next step, and the next fall. To love a pirate was to love the ocean. You cannot deny it's call, but the ocean is always changing its mind. A hollow sadness, deeply ingrained, kept William Turner's expression and while the pirate on the outside held the wheel, the orphan on the inside held on to the grim fact that he has lost everyone he had ever loved before in his life. He didn't know what to do. Hold on, William.

William was at the wheel. Or at least it looked like William--big brown blob that looked nervous. Yeah. Definitely William. A frown crossed his features and then he shrugged. He'd talk to him then. But not right now. Another few swaying steps and then he was forced to stop. Yes, Gibbs. I'm fine. No, Ana Maria, I don't need any water. Rum? Yes. Rum'd be nice. A glance was given in Will's--the ships wheels'--direction. He wasn't nervous--he was... perfect. He had his sight and his health and a lover that would be swayed eventually. He wondered what Will's problem was, though. Where's that rum? It was taken graciously and then he waved the rest of his crew off--barking out orders as if he hadn't been absent from the deck for the last two weeks. He was fine. His eyes were -not- burning. ... He turned away from the sun to drink his rum in peace. He'd go set the course for the Pearl in a moment. When he was done drinking.

Had it not been for the murmurs that rose from the astonished crew scattering the planks of the deck - Will would not have known of Jack's surfacing. Grief had drawn an expressive crease over his sheened brow, lines smoothing out with relief. Jack was walking straight. Jack was chanting orders. Jack... looked at him. It would not be the first time that Will's emotions, no matter how turmoil, were countered by relief at the sight of a Sparrow declaring the living world his own. The absent stare of a puppy narrowed with focus, targeting, searching - a gentle thrill when his mind pinpointed all the inches of scarred, inked and tanned flesh that no one else could see under the Captain's clothes right now. But Will could, that naked sight would forever push to be seen every time he looked at the man again. He did not know yet, but maybe the next time he found the dark depths of Jack's eyes close to his - that same taunting mind might push to imagine the swirling fire that he had not been able to see during their night. William felt a horrible airlessness, wanting to see the eyes again, not so far away, the eyes, with sight, with knowing what they had done. But when Jack swiveled his back to the sun and the first mate, brown eyes moved aside to ask the elusive ocean for an answer.

A few moments more were taken for himself--and though Jack Sparrow made it look like he was drinking, he was really just taking his time to reorient himself with being on deck--with the sun being so bright. With everything, mostly--it was odd to be on his feet for so long a time. A little tiring. Seemed he would be taking a lot of time for himself the next few days or so. That was fine. And then, a drink later, he turned on his heel (too fancy a move for one in his condition, but the stumbling sway that caught his balance looked more than natural. It's just what Jack -did-.) and made his way to his wheel--to William. Bottle of rum in hand, he--with no words on the matter--relieved Will of his navigating job. A smile (and an attempt not to squint) later, he was leaned happily against the wheel--still managing to steer it. "Talk to me, William," he said finally--his tone far away and his eyes closing for a moment-his kohl had never been replaced, and so Jack honestly looked a bit off--a little less pirate-y and threatening--for the moment.

Shouldn't a 'doctor' (or at least a figure who had been appointed care taker) interrogate his patient right away? Shouldn't he inspect, shouldn't he be spewing cautions and distributing warnings about over exerting into a relapse? Yes. But he hadn't been doing things right recently - so why start now? And yet...one would catch the flicker of wince darkening Will's eyes. He did care? Shoulders didn't stiffen at the sound of the voice - the purr of it, even if it's tone was so distant, relaxed muscles. "How do you feel?" It was all the 'smith could manage between the effort not to look at Jack and not to make it obvious that he was glancing around to assure that no one could over hear them. There was also the matter of trying not to touch or think about how great his sore arms felt and now dangerously fun it was to have to sometimes grab the edge of his collar to keep it against his neck with secrets hidden away.

Jack gave something of a winsome smile--eyes drifting open--slowly, of course--to glitter meaningfully at the boy beside him. "Better than ever. No need to worry." Wheel was turned slightly to the left before he resumed leaning on it. It was bright out--why hadn't he replaced the kohl? It'd be doing him wonders just now. Eyes trailed down to Will's collar--which was raised up peculiarly high for the day (he smirked inwardly knowing the reason--knowing he was the cause--and never having even seen it in the first place). Voice was a few octaves lower when he spoke next. Official first mate and captain business going on? ..Something like that--very secret. Hush-hush. "I woke up cold, this morning." A lie--he'd woken up cold this afternoon--it was nearing evening, actually--despite the Captain's claims, bed rest was still something needed. And his body was making sure he was getting it. Not the point though--Jack was looking for an explanation.

With nothing like a ship's direction to take his focus, the English youth, trained to unconsciously revert into a constant, patient posture attention, parted his boots somewhat and his long arms met into a fold behind his back - the motion lifting chin and inflating chest. It wasn't comfortable, and maybe that was the message he was trying to convey. No one's hands had ever touched him that way Jack Sparrow's had, and if he had seethed bright red at the realization this morning, now the glow was dim, leaving only a lower of pained eyes to reveal how Jack's reminder affected him. Sparrow had woken up cold because his first mate had been too skittish to face it. Toughening up, jaw drawn tight (emphasizing that elfishly angular curve of it), Will turned his eyes to the burn victim without moving his head or disturbing the hair that adhered to his wet temples. "Do not lie to me. You are seeing well? No spells?" Aye, he had ignored the intimate reference.

Surely his eyes must still be red around the rims--but nothing horrible to look at. He hoped. Aah, that was the reason as to the lack of kohl. It'd have hurt too much to apply. "No spells." Agreed the captain in a bit of a lie-even though his finger was raising to liquidly cross against his heart in a childish manner. Promise I won't collapse and die on you, really. Now he'd avoid a question of his own. Are you seeing well? Bloody no, Will. You're a very large--very handsome--blob of color in front of me unless I concentrate enough to make it work differently. Another short smile before his gaze moved out to the sea. He hadn't been able to look at that in a while, and he'd honestly missed it--and she wouldn't mind that Jack was only seeing her in a blur. That's all she was sometimes, anyway. "Missed this," came his comment--changing the whole subject with just those two words.

Everyone believed that they were adept enough to recognize when they detected confusion in another's gaze. And Will thought that with the charcoal shadow gone from the brown eyes he studied now, it was more evident that the trouble in them spurned from not seeing clearly at all. But Jack would get his way and Turner prodded at himself - would he let the pain go by unnoticed because he wanted to be there to catch Jack when he did stumble or because Will didn't want to spark an argument right now from prying. If nothing had happened between them, there would have been a fist around Captain's elbow and a free finger very carefully inspecting the rest of the fading burns marks standing out in streaks over lids and over bridge of Jack's boyishly sloped nose. But since he was playing the separation game, William regarded the sea, and the ropes that led to the sails, the grey wings of cloth, billowing and tossing in the current of air. "We're all glad that you are back, Captain." This was tightly stated, but not without emotion. It was honest, and as first mate, it was spoken for the crew, as well as for the Pearl herself and the ocean too, who had both longed for Jack Sparrow's love. But it was not spoken as a lover.

Jack sniffed absently at William's tone, but instead of calling it to attention, a short nod was given. "Glad to be back, then." A pause was given, and the captain's eyes closed again. He wasn't tired, but his eyes could only take so much--pass it off as laziness and he was fine. "As interesting as the last few days have been, I missed being up here. And her." Chin was directed toward the blue green beauty that (so far) did not seem a jealous lover. Rum bottle was raised to still semi-bruised lips and he took another drink. At least then his vision would be blurry for a reason, eh? Dark tendrils of hair dripped over his shoulders and into his face--hiding the closed eyes there for the moment. Will, Will...what am I going to do with you?

The weight of his low spirit brought a mostly cheerless smile to the lips skirted with fine bristle (mostly unkempt from how busy he had been recently). He spoke before he thought of the words, they bubbled up from his true self, the true bit of him that remained as a boy in wonderment to Jack and every woven intricacy that created the character of his leader. "First love, eh?" Why had he said that? Foolish, and pointless. And yet, not so meaningless. Jack's first love might have been Her. Will's first was doomed to remain with the recovering creature swaying at the helm. Immature, misguided baby-love for a girl did not count. Not in truth. Not to the 'smith. It was the first love carved in stone that counted. But he would have to settle for the first love that had carved fingers nails into Will's back last night. No shirtless workings on the boat today, why risk if the marks of the passion hadn't faded? The crew could not know of this. They could not. Keep your voice low and your eyes put away.

Eyes drifted back open to gaze upon William, small smile playing over his features--hardly marred at all by the pink and healing marks. "Jealous already, love?" Although his question was teasing, his voice was very low. For Will only. No use in embarrassing the boy, after all. But he shrugged then, and readjusted the wheel a little bit. Seemed the captain had a course plotted out in his mind already. How was it that the dark haired pirate of a man knew where they even were at the moment--especially after having been locked in his cabin for the last two weeks? That was a secret even he wasn't aware of the answer to. He just -knew-. "But aye," he responded then, his tone light. "First love, along with me Pearl." A hand was raised and suspended in the air for a moment--fingers wiggling only a little at both the water and the ship. Surely that had been the answer that Will was expecting though? He'd be lying if he said anything different.

If he was worthy of it, a good crew followed their captain to the death. And Sparrow was worthy, and his good crew would follow their blind (whoever knew it or didn't) captain. Will was among them. Let Sparrow fling them past the ocean's edge - they all would go. Turner had not asked the question in jealousy, he had not asked the question like a whiny woman fishing for a lie about being Jack's first love. He had said it like a child told of a pirate's stories and adventures, and now, upon meeting the pirate himself, he asked simply to gain more knowledge of him, to know him better, to know who he wanted to be, who he respected. But Jack so frequently could turn seriousness from another into a joke, so Will did not anger, he only showed his temper for reasons. Though something about Jack assuming he wanted attention and had not actually cared about honesty in an answer, deepened his detachment and William found footing on the railing, handle on a rope and levered himself aloft into the webbing of ropes that served as ladder up to the mast, he did not climb it, he only sat and rubbed his left shoulder, working the fingers into his muscle, the skin still smelled like Jack, through the cloth. He was not far away, a few steps to the left and behind the helm. So if he said anything, it wouldn't be heard. Therefore, his silence was no ear's mistake. He wanted Jack, the man fulfilled him to strange and unspoken degrees. But Jack did not see him as anything but another pathetic creature who had fallen in love with him, as Turner was sure, many people had. The Sparrow had that quality about him, to steal the treasure of the heart, from anyone not blind enough to see him.

Jack made a show of tying the wheel off with a bit of rope--he would not admit how much he depended on the feel of the rope to tie it, as opposed to his blurring eyes--and then wobbled (this was normal) his way over to the side of ship--to where Will was sitting. He perched there--leaning precariously close to being over the edge---to falling into the depths of the green blue lover of his. "First love, yes." He repeated. For himself or for William? Maybe both. "But not the one I've been pursuing lately." Head was tilted to the side in a nonchalant manner, as if he were discussing the weather. Tone was conspiritual when he spoke up again. "Haven't had so much trouble getting something since the 'Pearl." Eyes were squinted into focus so that he could honestly look at William for the moment. Beautiful boy, honestly. Too bad it'd taken wrong circumstances to get things going Jack's way. He honestly would have done things differently...

It was almost humorous. Jack had had trouble getting something? If memory did serve him, Will had been the one who had thrown himself onto the thief in a bathtub a few days ago, water and clothes be damned. Its was almost humorous and almost exciting, only a flicker of bent brow rewarded the comment and the brief parting of lips that fell open to the flavor of the salt water world they lived on. But William couldn't look at Jack and realized he was rubbing the pleasurable bruises of fingerprints down his arms - he stopped and waited for insecurity to pass. He was a man, dammit. He'd faced hell and some of its demons. He'd taken wounds, he'd delivered kills. Had nothing prepared him for being a lover? Could none of his skills or control or balance or strength help him when he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being used and why, bloody why, didn't he just let Jack use him? But maybe it was better to not say much and to hide from the one who excited you and was the reason you woke in the morning - than be a toy for having a pretty face and flexible spine (as Jack might be aware of now). "The Pearl came to you, didn't it?" Dryly spoken, his eyes on the ocean, and he pretended not to pay attention at all and care even less.

There was a long pause, in which Jack put his bottle of rum down--it rested now, at his feet, just a small ways away from the ship's wheel. Hands were busied then by running through disordered locks of hair--he was not particularly worried with getting it into order though--just out of his face--away from the still slightly tingling (healing) flesh around his eyes. "She did," Jack agreed then. "After quite a fight. I hope I things won't be the same with you, William." Straight forward--no beating around the bush this time. Jack had made himself clear, and was not ashamed of it in the least. He stood then, and stretched (a nearly cat like movement), then glanced--or pretended to--at the sky. Barely evening. He'd been out of his cabin for maybe an hour. "I'm tired," he said then--and his tone spoke the truth. "By late tonight we'll be at a small island with rocky terrain. Wake me when we get there, please? Unless ye have other plans for the time spent until then, that is." But Jack was already turning and walking back toward his cabin, then. Swaying steps taking him briskly to those doors. He didn't look tired. But he wouldn't--not in front of the crew. And since when did he use the word please? When he wanted something, it seemed. Jack had a lot of surprises--perhaps one day Will would know most of them.