Title: Guitar Strings
Rating: K
Characters Featured: Jack Sparrow and his Father
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Disney does.
Author's Note: I may make a sequel to this, when Jack's an adult. For now… enjoy. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it, but I do ask that there be no flaming.
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Jack was sitting near his father's feet, divinely comfortable. He had his head resting back against the wall, the hat half over his face, when the first strains of a guitar could be heard. With a start, he sat up, pushing the hat back, large eyes looking up at his father's face. The elder Sparrow had his eyes half-closed, seeming to shield him from the world, eyes focused totally on the strings of the instrument he held in his hands. The melody was soft, strange, and almost haunting in its intensity, but the gaze never moved, save for when those dark eyes slid closed in a strange sort of contentment. This was a song of loss, of mourning… of the sea…
"Dad…" Jack's voice, sounding softer than usual (though no less confident) called to him. The fingers on the strings faltered, then steadied as he brushed his fingers over to form a major chord.
"Yes, Jack?" He smiled down, the gesture meant to be comforting. It also bade Jack welcome, and he turned now, facing his father to look up into that familiar face. The hand on the strings left, gently brushing a hand against his son's cheek. That loving touch made Jack scuttle closer, resting his cheek against his father's knees. The hand moved upwards, stroking the boy's shoulders and upper back awkwardly.
"Mum's not coming back, is she, Dad?" Tearful eyes looked up at his father, and it broke the elder Sparrow's heart to see it. There were few things in this world that could honestly hurt tehe salty old dog; tears in his son's eyes, however, ranked at the top. He put the guitar aside and opened his arms.
Half a heartbeat later, he had his arms full of his son, who buried his face in his father's neck. "Hussshhh…" he whispered softly. "I'm here. I'm here." And he began to rock the boy. At seven years of age, Jack should have been too old to be coddled in such a manner, but the elder was willing to make an exception today. When Jack seemed calmer, he loosened his grip, and the boy reclaimed his place on the floor, resting his back against his father's legs.
The gentle, soothing strumming of the guitar returned.
It didn't take long for Jack to fall asleep, head lolling back against his father's knees. Glancing down, the man smiled slightly before he picked the boy up and carried him to bed, tucked him in, and brushed some hair off his forehead. Hopefully, someday, the boy would understand.
He headed down the stairs, the guitar over his shoulder, a small bag of clothes in the other hand. The innkeeper was bewildered, but he smiled reassuringly, and handed over a large wad of money.
"See to it that my son is cared for," he spoke softly, but sternly. He meant business.
And then he walked out the door, and back to the sea which had always called him.