Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this... sorry.
AN (5/12): I have finished all of my AP tests! As a present to you (referring to loyal reviewers, of course) ...I'm going to write this odd little alternate universe thingy in my head at the moment. Maybe. Maybe it isn't an alternate universe. I've yet to decide.
Homeward Bound: Chapter One
The skies were crying. They'd been holding back tears for far too long and the strain was just too much for the clouds to bear any longer. The result was torrential amounts of rain. The cobblestone streets of Port Royal seemed to bleed, at first, and now there was quite a healthy stream running down, towards the ocean to begin the cycle all over again. Everyone who had a place to go to get out of the drenching sheets of water falling from the mourning sky was inside. Those who didn't were crouching underneath under hangs in alleyways, holding their legs to their chests in an attempt to stave off the surprisingly cold wind.
Only one person was walking in these absolutely miserable conditions. The rain didn't seem tofaze him at all, he relished having the water collect on his eyelashes and fall to the ground. A part of him was worried that the dark kohl lining his eyes would run, but he realized he couldn't stop Mother Nature from releasing whatever stress it was she'd been internalizing since the last time it rained. Besides, the kohl never had run, even after spending a lot of time in the ocean. It was one of the few things in the world he could actually depend on.
His destination seemed rather uncertain, mostly because of the way he was walking. He seemed to be either quite drunk or a toddler just learning how to walk that had a curious sort of grace with each uneasy step forward. The man had been walking like that for as long as he could remember. It always amused him when he saw people try to imitate him. While it looked rather easy to swagger so much, it really was quite difficult to swagger and actually reach a destination without running into walls.
The fact that he was the only one wandering around on the cobblestone streets didn't seem to faze him at all. In fact, he almost seemed pleased to be alone. Alone in Port Royal equaled safe, an equation he was very anxious to keep balanced. There were people living here who would love to do nothing more than kill him on sight, or at least capture him, extract any valuable information out of his muddled mind, and then watch him take a short drop and make a sudden stop. As long as he was alone, people probably wouldn't recognize him and he probably wouldn't end up dancing that jig all people in his profession dreaded: the hempen jig.
His dark hair was dripping, along with his eyelashes, in tune with some internal rhythm that just wouldn't go away as he walked. His feet were walking in time with it as well, and the trinkets in his hair chimed their interesting little tunes to add to the overall song. It was quite pleasant, walking in the rain listening to a song that is uniquely yours. Maybe that was why he enjoyed walking in such a curious manner, to continue hearing his song. No one but he knew the reason for all of his excessive hand gestures and unique stride.
He reached wherever it was he was going a short time later. The look in his dark brown eyes was one of discontent mixed with false enthusiasm. Apparently he wasn't excited to be here. Either that, or he didn't want to get out of the rain as he forced himself to knock on the simple wooden door in front of him. As he waited for a response his left hand placed itself on the door frame, as though to steady his shaking mind. The rain now seemed cold and cruel, each drop felt like a sting.
The house he was at seemed to be a house he shouldn't visit. The odd little trinkets in his hair (including a piece of bone, a cord of rope, and various colorful beads) seemed to hiss at the quaint abode he was standing in front of. The home was made out of bricks and the labor used to build the house had quite the history. George Bundle built the home for his blushing bride, Adelaide, nearly a generation before. His sweat and blood was in every corner of the small but sufficient house. He didn't finish, sadly, until after his wife died giving birth to their first child. He'd then lived inside the house as a recluse, refusing to say anything to anyone ever again. The child had died along with the mother. Though the house wasn't the biggest in the world, it was far too sufficient for a man living all by himself. George had eventually killed himself, with one of the loose bricks laying outside. No one in Port Royal had blamed him; no one in Port Royal even remembered he existed, actually. Port Royal had always been a tight knit community and those with "imperfections" generally were just ignored to assure the safety of the majority. The house had adopted a similar idea after several homeless people wandered in and out of its doors. Trust is something very hard to find and easily lost, even if the object in question is inanimate. The current owners, however, knew nothing of George Bundle and his tragic history. They'd found the place quaint (and affordable) enough to move in immediately following their wedding.
The outside of the house, which had been in a serious state of disrepair merely a year ago, now sported all sorts of beautiful flowers and well-manicured lawns. It was probably because of the woman, seeing as the man was quite bad with anything delicate in his hands. The house was wearing a cheerful new coat of paint that seemed happy to be in the rainstorm. It was almost like a patch of blue sky. And it was disgusting to the man waiting for the door to be opened. Living on land was not something he wanted to do ever again. But he was here.
Sighing, he knocked again, the hand shifting to the other side of the door frame as a small scowl graced his generally amused features. Standing out in the rain isn't very fun unless you can move about and splash in the puddles. What was taking so long? It wasn't as though he was here exceptionally late. If the sun wasn't hiding behind the mourning sky, it would only be about one in the afternoon. It was very unlikely that the couple was off visiting others. Judging on the pools of water gathering wherever there were depressions in the ground, this storm had been going on for quite some time now. He reasoned that perhaps the rain was drowning out the sound of his knocks, though, and knocked once more, even louder. Water can be rather annoying at times, when you let it be.
Finally the door opened, revealing a man taller than the drenched wretch staring intently at him. He had brown eyes as well, but they weren't nearly as expressive or enthralling or dark. Just plain brown eyes for a plain hard working individual who'd turned his back on everything the wet man stood for. There was no animosity there, however, because the taller man had a great deal of respect for the wet man and the wet man had a grudging sort of respect for the taller man. At least he stuck to his morals. And he was teachable.
"Jack?" the taller man asked, completely astounded as he stood there dumbly in the doorway without inviting the wet man called Jack in. "What are you doing here?"
"Something that will be explained," Jack replied with a hint of a smirk. "Just please let me ge' out of the rain, savvy?" He coughed lightly, emphasizing his unspoken point that he would catch cold or pneumonia or would cough up his lungs or something, as he put his free hand to his mouth to keep from coughing on the taller man.
"Oh...sorry. Forgot my manners." The man bowed slightly and stepped backward. "Come in, Captain Sparrow."
"Thank ye," Jack replied, bowing back. He always liked it when people remembered his proper title, after all. He then stepped into the room and stood as still as a frightened gazelle for a moment as he studied the decor of the small front room. It was pleasant, like the outside of the man's house. Not very well furnished, but Jack knew that the man had only just barely started his own blacksmith shop six months ago. New businesses generally don't pay dividends very fast. "Nice house."
"Thanks," the man replied, shutting the door to keep the noisy rain out of the house. It wasn't that he didn't expect everything to get wet now that Jack was in his home, but Jack probably wouldn't be able to drip on top of his head. He didn't like water very much. He looked expectantly at Jack.
Jack sighed softly, shaking his head and watching with a distant interest as little droplets went flying from his dark tangled mess of hair to land on the floor and a small chair near the door. "Can I at leas' get dry first, then?"
"Well..."
"Please, Will?" Jack interrupted, sensing that his companion was about to complain about how Jack had shown up here in the first place, completely drenched. He coughed again, doing the same thing with his left hand as he'd done before, though it was significantly louder this time. "Coming down wiv somethin', I think," he said weakly, upon noticing a look of concern flitting across Will's face.
"Oh," Will replied, looking even more concerned. Jack winced slightly when he saw that. Pirates weren't supposed to have people concerned over their well being. "Well, lets get you out of your wet clothes." Now that he had a certain goal in mind, he seemed to be less ill at ease and more able to handle the situation. "Wait here."
"Wouldn' dream of not," Jack replied with just a small hint of sarcasm in his voice as Will left the room. There was going to be quite the puddle of water on the floor, after he moved. At least Will had a floor. A lot of homes merely had dirt, especially if they were the first home owned by either party of the marriage. Maybe Will's smithy was doing better than Jack imagined it doing. Or maybe the bride had been quite wealthy.
Jack glanced uncomfortably around at his surroundings wondering why people could stand living on solid ground. His feet and his body already missed the gentle swaying of his ship. He already missed his ship. The Black Pearl had left him behind so he could come here. That precious embodiment of everything Jack had ever sought for in life had left him here. On this island. Where he wasn't welcome. Of course, it had been at his order that they'd come here in the first place. The Pearl wasn't where he wanted to be for the next month or so.
Thinking of that was quite bothersome, however, so Jack decided to think about something else. He didn't want to make his spirits gray like the weather outside, nor did he want to break down like the skies had this morning. That would just not be Captain Jack Sparrow, frankly, and he hated not being himself more than even Commodore James Norrington's nefarious plans to capture him. Funny that he was right under the man's nose, wasn't it?
Will soon came back with some fresh (and dry) clothes, much to Jack's relief. He handed them to the sage captain and sat down in one of the horrendously ugly red armchairs decorating the front room. "Why are you here, Jack?"
Jack sighed softly again as he slowly took his vest and shirt off, setting them down near the puddle that was congregating at his feet. "How's Martha?"
Will frowned slightly, but decided to answer anyway. He was under the impression that Jack would tell him eventually and that he wouldn't like it. Knowing Jack, they'd be gallivanting for treasure by tomorrow afternoon. Jack had a way of telling Will what to do that Will didn't realize was just that. "She's doing good, Jack. Only out for a few days, after Rebekah was born."
"Tha's good," Jack replied, smiling slightly as he wrung some water out of his hair. "Sorry abou' all the ah..." He motioned towards the puddle on the hardwood floor.
"Doesn't matter," Will replied nonchalantly, shrugging. "Water does dry, after all." Jack could tell that Will was burning with curiosity. He acted in much the same way Bootstrap used to. Couldn't hardly sit still, couldn't stand without rocking back and forth a bit. It was amusing, leading him on.
Jack nodded slightly. "Tha' it does," he said as he picked up Will's dry shirt and slipped it on over his head. Only slightly too big. At least it was better than being stuck in those wet rags. He finished changing quickly and then took a seat next to Will, looking completely exhausted quite suddenly.
"Are you quite all right?" Will asked, another look of concern on his face as he regarded the older man. That look of concern really was making Jack feel even worse than he did. Funny how that works, isn't it? Seems that people generally have an easier time handling things until someone asks them if they're "all right".
Jack nodded slowly. "Just tired. Been a long day, y' see." He smiled very slightly. "Don' worry, Will...I'll give ye answers. Jus' not yet." He stood up suddenly. "Would ye 'appen t' have that extra bed still?"
"Yes," Will replied, standing up as well. "We do. And you're free to use it, of course."
"Thanks," Jack replied with a yawn. He bowed slightly, pivoted around on just one foot, and left the room. Jack obviously knew his way around the small home, for he soon reached the room with the extra bed, closed the door, and fell asleep on the slightly musty smelling bed that probably hadn't been used since the last time Jack had been there.