A Pirate Looks at Forty, a pirates of the caribbean fanfic

A/N A more serious fic I wrote some time ago, and another deviation from my normal genre. This will not become a custom, but I really liked the idea. It had to happen sometime.

Also, the title of the song is "A Pirate Looks at Forty," by Jimmy Buffett, but I changed Jack's age to fifty for dramatic effect and illustration of my point.

AU, depending on your idea of PotC Canon.

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Mother mother ocean

I have heard you call

Wanted to sail upon your waters

Since I was three feet tall

You've seen it all

Gibbs took a deep swig of his rum and smacked his lips, pleased. He glanced over the rim of his tankard at his captain and friend, grinning and expecting a similar gesture to be splitting the features of the tanned pirate before him. But Jack did not look suavely pleased with himself or pleasantly drunk – the exact opposite, in fact.

Watch the men who road you

Switch from sail to steam

In your belly you can hold the treasures

Few have ever seen

Most of 'em dream

"What's wrong with you, mate?" Gibbs asked.

Jack didn't answer immediately. He continued to frown into his rum – an incredibly bizarre thing to see – ignoring the gentle rumble of Tortuga's bustle moving around them. The pirate haven had become far less tumultuous in the recent years, probably due to the dwindling pirate activity. This had never bothered Gibbs before because it had never bothered Jack before.

"Nothin'," he growled, and lifted his tankard to his mouth.

Yes, I am a pirate

Two hundred years too late

Cannons don't thunder

There's nothin' to plunder

I'm an over-forty victim of fate

Arriving too late

"Ye've hardly touched yer rum, Jack. Don't you tell me nothin'," Gibbs pried, now frowning himself.

Jack's frown deepened, and he sighed, swirling his drink in the mug vaguely. "Just tired," he mumbled.

Gibbs did not like this excuse. His captain had been using it far too often lately, and completely out of the blue. In previous years, Jack would not have admitted fatigue if he had been at gun point.

"Yes, well," he began uncomfortably, "we've 'ad a… a good bit o' plunderin', lately, 'aven't we?"

For the first time that night, Jack's black eyes rose to his, the look accusing, almost angry.

"A good bit o' plunderin', Gibbs?" he repeated in a soft, scornful voice.

I've done a bit of smugglin'

I've run my share o' graft

I made enough money to buy Miami

But I kissed it away so fast

Never meant to last

Gibbs blinked at this sudden harshness. "Er, yes sir, I've thought so, sir," he stumbled, automatically addressing Jack as 'sir.' In the past few weeks, it had somehow seemed much more appropriate than it had before. Perhaps it was because Captain Sparrow had managed to survive the longest, out of all of his colleagues.

Jack held his gaze for several minutes, then lowered it back to his rum with another, deeper sigh. "You think this has been a good plunder?" he clarified darkly.

"Um, yessir, I suppose so."

Jack snorted. "Ignorin' the fact that there's nothin' worth plunderin', without stretchin' one's scrawny neck out in front o' them bloody British blades." He drank deeply, tilting his head back to get the last of the dregs.

"Ain't… ain't that part o' the fun, though, cap'n?" Gibbs asked shyly.

"Fun?" Jack snarled, head snapping forward again. "Fun?"

I have been drunk now for over two weeks

I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks

But I gotta stop wishin'

I gotta go fishin'

I'm down to rock-bottom again

With just a few friends

"Er…"
"Gibbs, look at us!" Jack rumbled, his voice unusually serious. "We're the last ones left! How can we even bloody call ourselves pirates anymore? Tortuga's bein' turned into a regular society, can't plunder a proper ship without gettin' yer teeth skinned, and the Jolly Roger's in Their Majesties' historical library! I'm turning fifty next week, Gibbs!"

Jack's voice had risen to a shout near the end, and Gibbs stared. This was the last thing he had expected from his life-long friend, the infamously carefree Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Jack, what're ye-"

"Forget it," he grumbled, slamming his tankard down and reaching for his coat.

"Jack, I don't know what yer talkin' about. Ye can't be thinkin'-"

"Gibbs," Jack began more quietly with the air of addressing a foolish child, "do what I told you. Look at us. Look at me. There's gray in me hair, 'aven't you seen it? Climbin' the riggin' takes an effort. I'm tired at the end of the day. Swashbucklin' takes all the devil outta me. I'm old, Gibbs, old and tired. Too old to be a pirate."

"Yer never too old to be a pirate."

Jack chuckled humorlessly. "I remember when I thought that," he said, almost to himself. "Those were the good days, aye?" He sighed softly, gazing out the window across the room. Gibbs knew he was watching the surf. "Come on, mate, be realistic," he said, turning back. "There's no such thing as a pirate anymore. Jolly ol' England's taken care o' that, 'long with some o' them other countries. There's nothin' to pirate. The others are gone. We're an extinct species, Gibbs."

Well, I go for younger women

Lived with several awhile

Though I ran 'em away

Hell, they come back one day

And they still could manage a smile

Just takes a while

Gibbs had no answer to this. Jack continued.

"Maybe…" he was whispering now, "maybe it's time… time to settle down. Piracy's not gonna get me anywhere now. Somethin' new's comin' in with the high tide, and we went out with the low. 'S not worth fightin' anymore. Too old."

"C'mon, Jack, let's go back to the ship. Yer drunk. Ye can sleep this one off," Gibbs babbled mindlessly. Jack's words alarmed him.

The pirate looked at him with completely clear eyes, vague amusement flickering behind them, like a grandfather smiling upon a favored grandson. "If ye'd like, Gibbs," he murmured.

Jack stood with a creak of muscles and a sigh. He grinned once at Gibbs in a half-apology as they made for the door, but stopped in his tracks.

"Not without my hat," he mumbled to himself, reaching back to the table to snatch it. "Memory's not what it was," he added to Gibbs with a wink, and they strode back to the Pearl together, Jack humming an old sea tune as he gazed out to sea, a warm smile on his face.

Mother mother ocean

I throw my years out bound

My occupational hazard bein'

My occupation's just not around

I feel like I've drowned

But I won't wear a frown

I feel like I've drowned

Gonna get drunk up-town