Captain Jack Sparrow liked to think of himself as a popular pirate captain; his crew followed him loyally and he found loot for them in return. However they had recently been restless. Loot hadn't really been on Jack's mind though. He was aware that he was running out of time before Davy Jones came for him, but he had plans.
He had heard rumours that there was a way to avoid Davy Jones, and so he followed those to a Turkish gaol. It had been a dank place, filled with screams as men tried to extract information from their prisoners, but Jack had managed to make it in unseen. Remaining invisible had been a challenge, but he had achieved his aim; he had the next piece of information.
He knew what the key looked like, and where it was. How he was expected to find Davy Jones and retrieve the key was currently impossible to say, but he would have to think of something.
With a frown at his empty rum bottle, Jack staggered to his feet, leaving behind the navigational charts to head to the rum cellar. Inside, there was a strange sensation; a peculiar void in the comforting presence of the Black Pearl. He let the door swing shut behind him with the motion of the ship as he moved towards the bottle rack the wall; there were barnacles on it.
That was odd. The whole ship had taken a lot of work to reach a habitable stage again, so that actual human crews could cope with being there, and the rum cellar had not been ignored. So, Jack mused as he debated touching one, what were these things doing here?
Thankfully, a bottle caught his attention and he sauntered over to it, pleased to find there was still rum on board. They hadn't had chance to make port in a while so he had been concerned about a deficit; Mr Gibbs drank far too much rum, after all.
Sand slipped out the bottle, but the void of feeling inside the cellar changed; there was a ripple of a cold negativity, and Jack spun around as the words cut through the still air. The voice was familiar, in a way that certain things are; it pressed against his mind with a hint of nostalgia, as though recalling something from a dream, or a long-distant memory.
"Time's run out, Jack."
Raising the lantern, Jack crept closer to the source of the icy feeling, curious but also a little concerned about what he would find: he didn't have enough rum to act completely brazen, and most of his crew would be sleeping, those not on watch at least so he didn't need to keep up the façade. It was an easy mask to wear, and in so many ways, not really a mask anymore; but that didn't change the fact that Captain Jack Sparrow was a legend, and there were expectations to be upheld.
As this thought crossed his mind, Jack caught sight of the speaker. The face was a man who had known him before the mask had been in place.
"Bootstrap." He whispered, looking at the pale face, trying to see if it truly did resemble Will. "Bill Turner."
For a moment, it was Will he saw; in profile with the serious expression. Then the man turned his head, all the illusion was lost with the sight of the blue eyes that pierced him with a startling jolt, and the sea creatures growing on him; it put him in mind of the bottom of the Pearl, when they had had to shore her to scrape her clean.
"You look good, Jack." The man looked him up and down, a grin flitting across his pale lips.
"Is this a dream?" Jack asked hopefully, wondering where his old friend had come from. It would explain why Jack couldn't sense his emotions, as he could with everyone else.
"No."
"I thought not. If it were, there'd be rum." He must have looked put out, because Bill held up an arm, a bottle in a tight grip at the end.
"You got the Pearl back, I see." Bill said, and with the lantern closer, Jack could finally see some colour in the man, a redness in his eyes and around the… life on his cheek. Was that a starfish?
"I had some help retrieving the Pearl, by the way, from a handy sentinel who was desperate to go sailing." Jack frowned at the bottle, looking inside to see if anything was in there. He broke a solid lump of sand off the spout. "Your son."
"William." Bill's eyes widened as he looked up at Jack, who took a swig. It was actually very palatable, this rum. "He ended up a pirate after all… and a sentinel?"
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your carbuncle?" Jack asked, ignoring the unspoken questions shining in Bill's eyes.
"He sent me. Davy Jones."
"Ah." Breathed Jack, fear splitting through; his mind began to race, thinking of different ways to avoid the fate that was in store. He wanted no position on the Flying Dutchman. It was a ship of dead men, and Jack was not dead… and he had no idea what it would to the bond he shared with a handsome, green-eyed commodore. "So it's you then."
Jack sat heavily down, still trying to think of his options, but it was hard when he couldn't get his thoughts in place. The pirate hadn't been able to think clearly for many months now, since James Norrington had stopped chasing him and apparently headed back to Port Royal. Jack had taken the rejection of his bondmate hard, trying to accept the fact that the Navy wouldn't allow even a commodore to waste time chasing one man.
"He shanghaied you into service, eh?" Jack said lightly, now trying to get rid of the memory of a wry smile on thin lips.
"I chose it." Bill replied, apparently unaware that Jack wasn't terribly interested in what had happened to him, Will had mentioned what had happened to his father after the mutiny and what happened next was obvious anyways, because what undead man wanted to remain at the bottom of the ocean for however long it took Barbossa to fetch back every bit of gold spent. "I'm sorry for the part I played in the mutiny against you, Jack. I stood up for you. Everything went wrong after that. They strapped me to a cannon. I ended up on the bottom of the ocean, the weight of the water crushing down on me. Unable to move; unable to die, Jack. And I thought that even the tiniest hope of escaping this fate, I would take it. I would trade anything for it."
"It's funny what a man will do to forestall his final judgement." Jack said, his voice probably came across as uncaring. No matter, Jack found it very hard to care about the fate of a man who didn't feel real.
"You made a deal with him too, Jack." Bill stepped in front of him, stopping the captain from hunting out more rum. "He raised the Pearl from the depths for you. Thirteen years, you've been her captain."
"Technically…" Jack tried to stop him, but Bill wouldn't halt. He kept stepping closer, causing the pirate to edge back as he tried to hold his head up and act as though this wasn't intimidating.
"Jack. You won't be able to talk yourself out of this. The terms what applied to me apply to you as well." Those blue eyes darkened as the man leaned closer in, the light from the lantern no longer reaching them. "One soul bound to crew one hundred upon his ship."
"Yes, but the Flying Dutchman already has a captain so there's really no-" Jack's heart was thundering in his ears, limbs trembling as he tried to move further back, into the wall.
"Then it's the locker for you!" Shouted Bill as the rum cellar seemed to shrink in size, the walls too close as Bill pressed in. "Jones' terrible leviathan will find you and drag the Pearl back to the depths and you along with it."
"Any idea when you might release said terrible beastie?" Jack asked, and he would have been impressed with how steady his voice was, in it wasn't for the blanket of fright that was settling over him.
"I already told you, Jack. Your time is up." Bill clasped his hand, and the horrible chill moved from the feeling in his mind, to a more physical sensation on his hand. "It comes now, drawn with ravenous hunger to the man what bears the black spot."
Said black spot erupted on his hand, like a worm working its way out of his skin. The flooding of the Pearl back into his senses as Bill Turner disappeared did naught to quench the terror that seized Jack.
"On deck, all hands. Make fast the bunt gasket!" He yelled, thoughts of scraps of cloth, mysterious keys and even pretty Navy men, all gone from his mind as he raced up to the main deck, shouting as he went. "On deck! Scurry!"
The extreme alarm that rang through him was likely being pushed out and into the minds of his crew as Jack failed to keep any control over his own abilities. Better that they were startled into action anyway.
"Scurry! I want movement! Movement! I want movement! Lift the skin up! Keep your loof! Haul those sheets!" He needed everyone on deck. The Pearl was the fastest ship in these waters, with the wind. That meant that they had to harness the wind. That meant everyone needed to be working!
The crew reacted appropriately, some not even bothering to tug their boots on as Jack's trepidation sent them up on deck and into the rigging.
"Run them. Run! Keep running! Run as if the devil himself and itself is upon us!"
"Do we have a heading?" Gibbs asked, hurrying over to Jack.
"Run! Land!" Out the way of the Kraken.
"Which port?" The quartermaster asked, apparently not realising how dire the situation was.
"I didn't say 'port', I said 'land'!" snapped Jack, hands gripped the wood of the Pearl as he tried to express himself clearly. "Any land!"
Not even when Monkey-Jack stole his hat would the pirate allow them to stop. Jones' leviathan didn't need daylight to strike. They had to reach safety. He'd take Port Royal and the risk of hanging over this.
They needed to escape.
James stared at the musicians as they played enthusiastically, the drunken grins on their faces never fading, even as the men around them erupted into yet another attempt to sing along. But for all his staring, he didn't see them. It felt like a long time since he had seen anything.
Another swig of rum. He scratched his beard. It itched. He'd never had a beard before.
No one here cared what he looked like, and the rum helped suppress his senses. It didn't help with the guilt though; no amount of alcohol seemed to make a dent in it. He thought of Theodore Groves, only just regaining consciousness the last time that James had seen him. The man had been badly injured, saving James who had apparently zoned out when the Dauntless had lost the battle with the hurricane.
Gillette had not forgiven him. He had not realised his two lieutenants were so close, but Gillette had not spoken a word to him that did not relate to naval business since they had hobbled back to Port Royal.
The pain of having two men in his pack angry with him would have been hard enough to deal with, even if he had had the support of the others; but Weatherby Swann had been disappointed in James' determination to capture the pirate, especially after allowing the pirate to escape in the first place. He had stated clearly that decisive action one way or the other would have allowed James to avoid the deaths that stained his hands now. If he had captured Jack on the Isle du Muerta, or if he had truly let him go and not chased him, then those men would have lived on. Even the memory of the governor speaking those words had power to turn his stomach. He took another drink.
Elizabeth and Turner hadn't been any more understanding of his actions, sure that he was blindingly loyal to the Navy, and as such would hang Jack if he ever caught him. James, struggling with the separation from his guide, had avoided them. Elizabeth radiated a frustrating mixture of joy and sexual desire at all times, and it was so strong that it affected all around her. James hadn't bothered talking to them about his need to capture Jack because he couldn't think around them.
James had had to deal with the struggles of his distant pack with battling illness; his humours had been become unbalanced upon his return to Port Royal and the doctor had given him Hiera Picra to purge his body of the excess. The mixture did its job as a purgative drug.
He had been docile when ill, but only because he had been unable to keep his senses under his own control. Without Groves to bring him back to himself, James had done little voluntarily. By the time his humours had balanced out, he had been in Port Royal for a month and news of his sentinel status had spread around the fort. Mullroy and Murtogg had visited him in his home to inform him that word had been sent to England.
That night, James had chosen to flee. The Navy would hang him if they caught him, for unbonded sentinels were not allowed to serve.
The journey to Tortuga had not been easy, the crew of the merchant ship may have not realised who he was, but they had guessed he was a sentinel. His tendency to zone out, then growl and snarl at those who touched him must have given it away.
Once at the pirate port, his fortunes remained unchanged. He struggled not to zone out, desperate not to lose himself in the authentic feast for his senses that was Tortuga; and people quickly realised he was a half-feral sentinel without a guide present. After James had only just managed to stop short of ripping a man to shreds for pick-pocketing him, he was left alone with a mug of rum in front of him. He didn't know who was buying the rum, but it was effective in keeping him quiet. For the most part, no one bothered him and he didn't bother them; people got to know that this tavern (the name of which James didn't actually know, he had simply staggered in one day and only left when he needed to visit the alley) was to be avoided if you wanted violence.
In his more lucid moments, James supposed it had been a few months since he had settled into his strange existence. Months since he had left Port Royal in the dead of night. He hadn't bothered to resign, hadn't bothered to leave instructions on what to do in his absence, or who to follow while more officers sailed to the Caribbean. They were going to kill him, and Gillette would keep Port Royal safe in the meantime. Instead, he hid in Tortuga. His body stagnating in the same place as his mind wandered into the spirit world, safe from the assault on his senses, and his bond to Jack Sparrow was easier to feel in a place where distance meant nothing.
Rufus, his fox was curled up with him, no matter which world he was in, and occasionally they were joined by a small black cat.
There was a deep need within him at all times, to sail on the seas until he found Jack. It hurt. The pain stabbing through his mind at times, like a knife taken to threadbare clothing. He couldn't bring himself to move though. He caused pain and misfortune everywhere he went. At least here, James kept brawls from occurring; Tortuga had somewhere safe for men to drink, and James could convince himself to remain here, his misery rooting him down.
There had only been four men officially sign on to crew the Black Pearl, but Joshamee Gibbs wasn't overly concerned about numbers just yet. Captain Jack Sparrow was a legend, and after they had left the tavern (oddly restrained though it was) other men had been asking questions. There would be enough men to split the watch into at least three.
Gibbs kept glancing curiously at his captain though; the man was indeed acting in a manner more unexpected than usual. Gibbs was aware that something had changed when they had retrieved him from the Isle du Muerta nearly six months ago; something had happened and now the infamous pirate captain had developed a tendency to look over his shoulder.
Gibbs knew that Jack was a guide, had known since Captain Teague had introduced his small child to a young Navy man with an unfortunate fondness for rum, so many years ago. It sometimes struck him as a little bizarre when he thought of the young lad Jack had been, and the man he had grown up to be. Some men did indeed resemble their fathers, for all that Gibbs' father had wanted to be a fanciful buck; after all, Jack was a pirate, like Teague. Both well-known on the seas, albeit for slightly different reasons, both guides and both of them reacted to the world in a way that could, at times, be a little difficult to follow.
"Captain Sparrow." The voice of a young man called out behind them, but Jack didn't stop as he sauntered along.
"Come to join me crew, lad?"
"I'm looking for the man I love."
"I'm deeply flattered, son. But my- Elizabeth?" Jack turned, apparently recognising the lad.
"I know Will came looking for you." Up close, Gibbs could see the woman underneath the guise, but her attention was focussed on Jack.
"Hide the rum." Jack instructed, before turning to talk to her. Gibbs hid his bottle and scurried on board, recalling Jack's most recent tale of being marooned.
They had taken on a fair number of supplies, and the Pearl was heavy in the water. Gibbs supposed that their hunt for the heart of Davy Jones might take a while, and they may not have chance to return to a friendly port for a while… things would have been simpler if the mystic, Tia Dalma, had simply told them where they had to go. And how Jack was planning to find Will Turner to get the key off him, Gibbs didn't know.
He set about regaining some order on the ship, ordering supplies to be taken to the lower decks and packed away securely. A new pump had been installed before they had even started hunting for new crew, so thankfully there wasn't too much to be done just yet.
"Mr Gibbs!" the captain yelled from the dock, and the quartermaster hurried back down.
"Aye, cap'n?"
"Dear Miss Swann has told me that we have, in fact, missed a rather vital member of our crew, whom I shall be heading off to collect now. We were nearly out of rum on the way back. Check we've got enough."
"We forgot…? More rum, aye." Gibbs decided to focus on the important part, accepting the coinage off Jack and heading back into Tortuga.
It was the Greasy Barnacle he went to, a tavern that was off the main streets; it was as quiet a place as you could find in Tortuga and the girl who ran it always gave him a good deal. Gibbs had saved her life more than ten years ago and helped her disappear from under the noses of the Navy men he had worked for.
"Alice, my love." He grinned at her as he came in.
"Josh." She was one of the few people who knew his first name, and the only one to use it. "You 'ere for rum?"
"Aye. We've a long trip ahead of us." He approached the bar, where two men were passed out against it. "We'll need something to keep the spirits up and the humours balanced."
"No doubt, my luv." She smirked at him, holding out her hand. Gibbs kissed it, then turned it over and placed the coins into her palm. "Oi! 'Arry! Get yer arse down 'ere!"
"I'll out some bottle it too for ya." She told him, having pocketed the money. "You'll 'ave to come back for it though. I won't let Harry head through town with no arms free and no protection."
Her brother lumbered into the room, took one look at Gibbs and headed back out again. Moments later, he returned with two large kegs. Gibbs obediently placed a hand on the pistol in his belt and they set off to the docks.
By the Pearl, there was something of a commotion going on. Gibbs sent Harry off to load the rum before pushing his way through the crowd.
"What's going on?" he shouted, trying to get order back. A bit of revelry was all well and good on leave, but not when they had to be off with the tide.
"Mr Gibbs." The captain's face was smiling up at him, innocently.
"Cap'n." He supposed he shouldn't be surprised to see Jack here, but he had thought the man wanted to be off. There was an unconscious body at his feet. "Who's this?"
"Our new passenger." Jack hauled the man's arm over his shoulder. Elizabeth slipped around the other side to support him. "I'll just be taking him to me cabin."
"Aye." He wasn't going to ask. "One last trip to make, then we'll be set."
"Excellent." With that, the two began to haul the man up the gang plank.
Nodding his head, Gibbs turned and left with Harry. He'd find out who the man was later, he was sure.
Jack sat at the table, staring over at his bed; thoughts of Davy Jones and terrible beasties were far off as he watched every rises and fall of the thin body before him. Not that he had any place to complain about someone being skinny; Elizabeth had punched him for even mentioning it. She had gone to work off her energy on board, and now that they had set sail, Jack had given her his compass and settled into his cabin.
James Norrington. Ex-commodore, apparently. Elizabeth had told him how they had woken up one day to find James had disappeared and that everyone in Port Royal seemed to have their own theory of what had happened.
She hadn't gotten around to explaining her own theories, but Jack didn't really care. The man was here now, and Jack would get some bloody answers from him when he woke up. Thoughts of fever and sickness danced before him, but James had moved into a sleep for now. It had been a surprise to be hauled through Tortuga to the tavern where they had actually been, even more so to be led to a table at the back. He'd seen his spirit guide first, brushing herself up against a pair of worn boots. The boots had belonged to the last person he had expected to see: James Norrington.
Now that he had the time to think about it, he knew that their bond needed strengthening; the fact that he'd been in the same room as his sentinel without realising it only proved that. For now though, he kept his distance. It wasn't easy, his own body longing for a connection, but he would wait. He was a patient man, and Jamie was a gentleman; he wouldn't want to wake up with Jack adhered to him.
Gibbs had been surprised when Jack had mentioned who their guest was, but he had simply said that at least the man was a good sailor. Once the man had realised that James Norrington was aboard and to be placed in Jack's cabin, he'd stated 'Th' commodore's yer sentinel then, aye?' and had headed off to make sure the ship was ready to make sail.
Surely he could check the lad over for injuries though; who knew how long he'd been in Tortuga all on his onesies. The idea of a zoning sentinel living by himself in that particular port was a concern and Jack scooted quietly over to the bed. James didn't even stir as he pushed the thick, grimy hair back.
The dirt on his face didn't bother Jack, who was more than used to the build-up of filth that sailors, those outside the Navy in particular, gathered. It didn't detract from his attractiveness at all, though the sunken skin was admittedly less pleasing view than he remembered… and sill dreamt of; the pale skin flushed red by arousal and the scratching of Jack's beard as James cried out beneath him…
Jack shook his head to displace the memory as he tugged the ratty remains of the wig off; pinching it between index finger and thumb, Jack curled a lip in distaste. Jamie had done well in the Navy, and he seemed to have suffered for leaving it. However, the sentinel was aboard the Black Pearl now, things would be even better here for him than they had been in Port Royal; the captain was confident of his ability to be better than those who would take the idea of freedom and weigh her down with rules.
"What- you? Stop…" slurred the deep voice of the former commodore, as Jack's fingers slid to the buckle on his chest.
"Jamie? Shh…" Jack hushed in a soothing voice as he stood up and went to get his rum from the table.
"Jack?" James whispered, one hand going up to his head and pressing heavily against it, before dropping to the side with a thump. It was too dark in the cabin to see the colour of the eyes that looked up at him, but Jack could easily recall the green essence of the ocean that they bore.
"Aye. Yer safe aboard me Pearl."
"I can hear her." James mumbled, eyes sliding shut. As Jack momentarily thrilled that James could apparently feel the enchanted nature of the Black Pearl, the man's nose wrinkled in disgust. "It smells like death and apples in here."
"Death and- … an odd combination that I shall blame on the previous occupant." The thought of Barbossa haunting his cabin in such a way was a truly unsettling notion. "I'll have the place aired out."
"Jack?" James swung his legs to the floor, head hanging as his skin tinged green under the dirt. "Where are we? Why aren't we out at sea?"
"We are at sea, luv."
"We're in the shallows." James raised his head, a frown marring his features.
"I…" Jack hesitated. Should he tell the man the truth? Out of everyone, this was someone he wanted to tell fantastical stories to, he wanted James to look at him with awe; out of everyone, this was someone he wanted to tell the truth to, he wanted the man to look at him and know who Jack Sparrow actually was.
"Jack?"
"What do you know of Davy Jones?"
"The captain of the Flying Dutchman? That he crews a plague ship and cannot make port." James gave him a puzzled look.
"And what of the Kraken?"
"The Kraken? It's a myth."
"Not quite." He looked over at the man, still looking bizarrely pitiful. "Maybe this can wait. You've just woken up. Are you ill, luv?"
"Not anymore." James replied, and Jack wondered if his thin body could be attributed to an earlier illness rather than a lack of ability to take care of himself while in Tortuga. "What's this about Davy Jones?"
"I have a debt to settle with him." Jack stood up and sat next to James on the bed, pressing an arm against the man and feeling him relax slightly in response.
"Money?"
"Souls." Jack grimaced, feeling the disgust lance through his sentinel. "I'm after a way to avoid paying up."
A jolty of amusement went through James at first, but it faded quickly away as the serious look on Jack's face must have informed him that the captain wasn't joking.
"Souls?"
"Aye. People. I was supposed to have one hundred souls collected for him by the end of my thirteen years as captain."
"What?" James' puzzled look reminded Jack that the former commodore didn't actually know the whole story…. And that Jack had resolved to tell him the truth, no matter how difficult.
"I… It's been just over thirteen years since I turned pirate. Did you know that?"
"You weren't always pirate?" James shifted on the bed, moving to the top so he could lean against the headboard. He seemed to become more alert as time went on.
"I was born pirate, luv. But, I had me rebellious years and worked as a merchant sailor for a spell. Even got me own ship, The Wicked Wench, she was called back then." Jack shook his head at his naivety, but Beckett had been a persuasive man.
"Not the Pearl?" James' voice was teasing, and there was a light smile on his handsome face; Jack's eyes dropped though and he looked at the rum bottle in his lax hand.
"I worked for the East India Trading Company and what they had me doing… well, I went back to the old ways, stealing a hundred slaves away from them." He managed to raise his dark eyes to James' soft ones as the man listened, but didn't interrupt. "They branded me a pirate, burnt me ship and sank her."
"Jack." James clearly heard the pain in Jack's voice. Taking a swig of rum, Jack decided he was allowed to take comfort where he could find it and got up to sit himself beside James.
"It was me ship." He whispered, still recalling the horror as Beckett's men captured him. "But I got her back."
"Davy Jones. He got your ship back." James had obviously been listening and his sharp mind had settled on the right conclusion. "The Black Pearl."
"Aye. Burnt the paper with her name on and the box she was in, tossed the ashes overboard then christened her The Black Pearl." He grinned tightly, but leaned into the other man when a hand squeezed his leg. "His price was one hundred souls."
"For the hundred slaves that you freed."
"Aye." There was silence for a moment as James processed what he had been told; but Jack couldn't stand it. Remembering the helplessness had made him restless, so he turned to the sentinel. "Your turn to tell a story, luv."
"About me?"
"Something interesting." It was kind of sweet how perplexed James looked, like he couldn't possibly perceive anything he did as worthy of interest.
"You're as bad as the marines when they meet in the taverns. I don't really have any stories, and Gillette-" James cut off, a harrowed look flitting across his face.
"Gillette? Your lieutenant."
"Not anymore. He was so angry with me, the last time we spoke."
"Why?" Jack reached out and took James' face, the distress still sharp, even though he had apparently left Port Royal a fair while ago.
"Did you know I wanted to be a shantyman when I was younger?"
"A shantyman?" James' attempt to steer the conversation was successful.
"Yes. I started to work for the Navy when I was ten, but before that my uncle used to take me with him." James smiled, the light expression suited him well. "He was captain of a merchant ship."
"Enjoyed that?"
"Yes. I would have happily worked for him, but father is an admiral and two of my brothers are in the Navy too. It was expected." James looked directly at him, a wry smile on his lips. "My other brother works for a bank."
"Urgh." Jack wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, making the other laugh. "You didn't want to be a Navy man then, luv?"
"I wanted to sail, but I also wanted to sing. A whistle doesn't have quite the same feel to it." The man sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment. "There is nothing like it, and I used to go sailing with my uncle every time I had leave with the Navy."
"You could always be shantyman here." Jack smiled gently, the thought of James' deep, strong voice calling out shanties filled him with warmth; a sense of home. It was a shame he only had two more days to get rid of the Flying Dutchman.
"There aren't enough men, and we are running. I'll not sit on the knightheads and sing when I could be helping."
"A shantyman is a help, luv." It was actually as effective at motivating men to work as the promise of an extra portion of rum.
"Perhaps I can do both… I'll think about it."
Jack grinned and pressed his lips to James' temple before he could help himself. He'd had a few decent shantymen in his time, but not for years now. The Pearl loved the rhythm that shanties inspired, and with a good singer, the sea and the wind would join in; naval ships sucked the joy out of sailing.
"Come on, luv. Let's get some grog." He stood up, and turned to watch James stagger to his feet. He ran a hand through his unclean hair, scowled at his stained clothing and then marched out. Jack smirked fondly and followed; the novelty of having his sentinel back enough to drive the fear of Davy Jones from his mind, at least temporarily.
The bond between James and Jack still needed strengthening, James was perfectly aware of that; he could feel the strain of it when he was up in the rigging and Jack in the wine cellar, as had happened a few hours ago. However, James mused as he worked on crowning the ends of a rope, he was going to make no move to lie with the man when he could not stop flirting with Elizabeth.
Instead of looking over at the captain, he watched he kept glancing over at the men turning the capstan; they weren't singing. It had taken James years to unlearn the behaviour, for his uncle had had him singing shanties whenever they did labour, without fail; therefore, when James had joined the Navy, not singing when he walked around the capstan, or when he hauled roped was nearly impossible.
For the first few years, James had had to sing under his breath to keep the rhythm, along with a few other sailors; shanties were not permitted aboard naval ships as there was a chance that orders would be drowned out by them. As a man, he understood the importance because it was, at times, hard enough to be heard over the roar of the sea; as a boy, however, it had seriously dented his enthusiasm for the Navy. He had even considered leaving it and becoming a merchant sailor instead, if only he had not feared his father's disappointment.
It was the name that pulled James' attention over to the trio as they conversed on the main deck.
"Lord Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company." Elizabeth's voice indicated that she didn't know Beckett; there was no real malice in it.
"Urgh!" Jack's face was a picture of true disrelish.
"Will was working for Beckett and never said a word." Gibbs had the right amount as revulsion as he spoke.
As Jack grimaced and rubbed his brand, James finished his knotting and settled down near the Pearl's officers to swab the deck. He wanted to be near Jack, but without any of them noticing him; there was something to being a nobody aboard a ship; he got to leave the decision making to someone else, he got to spend time aloft, he did not have to uphold naval standards every time a sailor could see him.
As they discussed Beckett wanting a chest, which he planned to find using Jack's compass, James considered the man. Cutler Beckett was someone James had only met twice, but that had been two times too many.
As children, some people had their souls split in two, and the other half would reside in another; then when they were older, that person would have a soul mate. There were rumours that Cutler Beckett's soul had been unable to split in two, so the whole thing went to another person, leaving him with a void where his spirit was supposed to reside; an anti-guide, men called him. He had no concept of emotions, beyond how to use them to manipulate people; no conscience, no guilt, no understanding of people as anything other than pawns in a game he was playing.
As Gibbs headed off, desperate to get more speed out of the sails, James watched Jack press close to Elizabeth, asking how she had acquired letters of marque. Their flirting went up a notch as Elizabeth tried to get the letters back from the captain,
"As I said." Whispered Jack, his voice smooth in a way that James would usually appreciate. "Persuade me."
The former commodore let out a snarl, which distracted them both. They were both guides with a soul bond to a sentinel, and here they were mocking those bonds by leaning so close to each other. Still kneeling on the deck, he clenched his hands in his coat.
He had resolved not to lie with Jack, nor would he drag the man back to his cabin and force him to notice James properly. The man was a pirate, and if he had no honour then James would have nothing to do with him. It helped that the guides had taken a step back from each other, but apparently the half-feral look in James' eyes was of interest to the captain.
"Jamie, luv?" The man wasn't looking at her anymore, James realised with a triumphant smirk. "I think we need to have a word, savvy?"
Standing tall, James headed into Jack's cabin. The pirate followed him in, then shut the door behind them.
"Luv?" Stepping close, Jack reached out a hand to touch James' face.
Need flooded James, and he pressed his lips to Jack's, connecting them as he had desired to do since he had woken in the man's bed a day earlier. The pirate grunted in surprise, then wrapped his arms around James' shoulders to pull him close, sliding a leg up around the taller man's hip as he was pushed against the wall.
The taste of rum and spice flooded his mind as Jack's mouth opened under his assault, though the fingers that tangled into his hair prevented him from getting lost in the flavour. Abruptly, James pushed the pirate away to strip off his clothing, hands deftly pulling the belt over his head and dropping it to the floor. Jack smirked as the man undressed him, quietly assisting with laces and then stepping out of his boots when lust fogged James' mind beyond the task.
James could hear his heartbeat though, was in fact tuned into every noise the other man made; he could tell that arousal was burning through his guide's veins as rapidly as it surged through his own. There was a light sheen of sweat on Jack's tanned skin, and James swept across the gap to taste: salt, dirt, and something that was just Jack. He tasted like the ocean, and James was a sailor; he was already addicted.
Pausing only at Jack's insistence that he remove his own clothing, James blanketed the handsome body with his own, for once unselfconscious about his own form, skinnier but more tanned than the last time they had lain together.
As hot limbs encircled his body, James thrilled at the press of naked flesh and endeavoured to feel as much of Jack as he possibly could; his hands groped his lover, roaming down the muscled back to firm buttocks as they writhed together.
"M-May I borrow a piratical term and say: Prepare to be boarded?" Moaned the sentinel, before licking along Jack's neck and feeling the pulse beneath his tongue.
"No self-r… respected pirate would say that, luv." Jack replied, eyes glassy as anticipation blazed through him. "I've oil in a chest; one me cat's sat on."
James ripped himself away, the need to couple putting haste into his movements. The cat stepped off the chest, her eyes focussed even as her charge panted into the rough sheets, looking like a delectable treat for his lover.
"Beckett is in Port Royal." James plunged into a conversation that Jack had no interest in at the moment.
"That is not a name I want to hear when I'm lying against you without a stitch on me, Jamie." Jack's voice was dry in response. He was sure James had a reason for considering the man, but there was such thing as an opportune moment; there were two actions appropriate in this moment, sleeping or rolling over and having another round.
"If he's in control of the Navy in Port Royal, then he is in charge of Groves and Gillette... and possibly even the governor."
"More men I don't want to consider in bed." Grumbled Jack, but he rubbed his eyes and forced himself awake. "What about them, luv?"
"Jack… Groves in an unbonded guide, and Beckett has no soul." The man's green eyes were wide as considered the situation. "And Gillette, he wears his emotions out in the open. Neither of them are fond of me now, but I cannot leave them in his care."
"Jamie…" He thought for a moment, glancing at the cat that was staring at him, and the fox beside her, pacing nervously.
"And then there are others to consider. Weatherby Swann, for example. How can I help him from here? Or Mullroy and Murtogg, they're foolish, but they were my men." James sat cross legged, but his distress diverted Jack's attention from his form. The younger man was getting more and more worked up. Jack could feel the Pearl's concern, and he echoed the sentiment for her, taking the man into his arms and holding him.
"Once I've sorted out Davy Jones, I'll look to what Beckett is doing. We need priorities, luv."
"You say the Kraken is after you? Get to land and you'll be safe. I need to be in Port Royal, the people there need me."
"You don't know that. For all you know, foolish Gillette may have discovered a wise streak and developed a heroic plan to save your bonnie town." He made no comment on making port himself, memories of the Pelegostos still too fresh in his mind. Land was no more a safe haven than the sea was; at least here he had the Pearl.
"I doubt it." James grimaced, as though remembering something that called the unlikelihood of Jack's claim.
"After I get the chest and call off the beastie, luv."
"How will the chest help with that?" Ah, Jack realised, they never did finish that conversation.
"It's what's in the chest that's gonna help us, luv."
"And what is that?" James raised his brow.
"The heart of Davy Jones."
"Oh please." The man rolled his eyes. "The heart of Davy Jones?"
"Aye." His cat swatted at the fox, making him stop his pacing and settle down beside her.
"I'm listening." Clearly sceptical, but James was at least prepared to put aside his own, Navy-bred doubt.
"You see, 'e was in love with a goddess." James scoffed, but lay back down beside Jack and turned to face him. "Bonded to her."
"He was a guide? Or a sentinel?"
"Sentinel." His mind went to Will, wondering if the man really was resourceful enough to get the key out from someone will keen hearing… Jones had once had a strengthened sense of smell, but Tia Dalma claimed that was now diminished; probably the lack of a nose.
"His guide was a goddess then?"
"The deities that deign to drift about this good world are all guides. They can…" he waggled his hands above his head, trying to find the right world, "take the place of yer one true guide, if they want."
"So she displaced his actual guide?" James rolled onto his belly, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked so much like an eager young boy, discussing secrets that he ought not be privy to, despite the beard, the bare skin and the dirt that still clung to him; Jack shifted to press a hand to the man's shoulder blade, feeling the bone underneath rough, scarred skin.
"Depends on who's telling the story." He didn't actually know the answer to that. Some say she fell in love and killed Jones' guide, others say that Jones killed his guide, and she was drawn to his repentant soul. "But, she was his guide and she promised to meet him once every ten years, which was the only time he could make port."
"It was horrible spending months separated from you." James sighed and the burst of sympathy from him surprised Jack; he'd never really considered Jones as anything other than a criminal, even when he had bartered for the raising of the Wicked Wench.
"Well, she betrayed him." The sentinel startled at the idea, his breath catching in horror. "Aye. She was the sea; changing, harsh, untameable."
"I can't imagine! To be his guide, to make that promise…"
"She was the sea, luv." To sail the sea was freedom, but trying to control it always ended badly; ruin, disaster, misery, bad luck… It was never a good idea. "And he fixed this by cutting out his heart."
James pulled a face at that. "And lived?"
"I don't know how it works." And he didn't particularly want to ask, he mused with a wave of his hand. " 'e just didn't want to feel that pain anymore."
"Understandable, but you know feelings come from the soul, not the heart, right?"
"Didn't say 'e was successful, did I?" James settled on the pillows again, and Jack pressed up against him.
"So, it's his heart you're after? Is that what is in the chest?"
"Aye."
"Will it really help?" James asked, his voice starting to become drowsy as Morpheus pulled him in.
"Leverage, Jamie." That would be why Beckett wanted the chest, of course; to have some control over the untameable sea, but he didn't mention it to James; the man was asleep, his body tired after their activities, his mind tired after their discussion and his own distress.
They could probably go to Port Royal and usurp Beckett once they had gotten rid of the Kraken; the governor wouldn't arrest him if he brought Elizabeth and William back with him. He dozed against James for a while, thinking up different plans for how to save Port Royal, preferably in some way that made James a hero; he'd like that. If the lieutenants he had left behind really thought so little of him, then having James come to their rescue from Beckett would surely help.
Thoughts of James challenging Beckett to a duel, complete with a daring fight that Jamie won filled occupied him for a while, but a coldness spreading across his palm startled him away. In horror, he stared as the black spot reappeared.
He'd ran out of time.
Seconds later, a cry of 'Land ho!' cut through his tension, and Jack jumped out of bed, racing to redress. He was heading out the cabin, jar of dirt in his hand as Jamie began to hunt for his clothing.
Standing on deck, he stared at the spit of white land sat in the turquoise water. He hated small islands like this, the memory of being marooned always came rushing back when he stood on them, looking at the Pearl. He much preferred to only leave her in dock. Quelling the fear, he collected the two fools that had once been part of Barbossa's crew and sent them to prepare a longboat. Next, he fetched Elizabeth.
"We're going over there?"
"You…trust this crew, right?" Apparently she hadn't forgotten the experience of being marooned either.
"We're good."
"Are we heading over now?" James' voice interrupted their conversation.
"You can stay here, luv." Jack assured him, but James gave him a flat look and headed over to the longboat. "Or you can come with."
They headed over glossy water to the picturesque white beaches, then over sand dunes until Elizabeth started moving back and forth.
"It doesn't work!" She snapped, frustration colouring her tone. "And it certainly doesn't show you want you want most."
Jack crept over to look at the compass where it lay on the sand. He was careful not to touch it, as the arrow would only point to the good ex-commodore, but he saw it pointing to dear Elizabeth's arse.
He grinned.
"Yes it does." It was easy enough to work out the location, using the three points that had been provided. "You're sitting on it."
Shooing her away, Jack got his lover whistled to his lover and pointed at the spot. A flat stare told him the rudeness was not appreciated, but James made himself useful nonetheless and began to dig. Watching the man as he worked the ground, Jack rather wished that he hadn't dressed so fully; the chance to see the movement of Norrington's muscles would truly make the trip worthwhile, even if the chest was empty.
And there it was.
They pulled a sea chest from the hole and, by way of a shovel, opened it. Inside, there were many letters, but Jack paid these no mind; he wasn't after the letters between Davy Jones and his lady love. He wanted the smaller chest that lay nestled amongst them.
He was so focussed on his goal that he failed to notice several details: the fear that flickered through the minds of Ragetti and Pintell as true owner of the chest surged into the waves just off shore, the desire that emanated from James as he saw the chest and remembered the dire situation that several of his pack members were in, the appearance of another mind in the area as William Turner finally staggered over to them, his own focus for saving his father torn as he welcomed back into his arms the guide he had missed so terribly.
"Will!" gasped Elizabeth, before she pelted across the sand to her love.
"How did you get here?" Jack wondered, tearing his gaze away from his lifeline.
"Sea turtles, mate. A pair of them strapped to my feet." Will replied, evading the truth for reasons Jack didn't yet know.
"Not so easy, is it?" He smirked, standing up and moving beside his sentinel. James' expression was blank, as though he was just observing, but Jack could feel concern bubbling inside him as his mind likely sped through different possibilities.
"But I do owe you thanks, Jack. After you tricked me on that ship to square your debt with Jones…" the whelp waited for Elizabeth's anticipated cry before continuing, "I was reunited with my father."
"Oh well… you're welcome then." He grinned at James, but it turned to a grimace as his lover failed to react.
"Everything you said to me, every word was a lie?" snarled Elizabeth, who apparently didn't possess the ability as a guide to tell how truthful someone was being.
"Pretty much. Time and tide, savvy?" he smirked apologetically at her, but didn't actually verbalise it. She wasn't far off pirate herself, she would understand.
"Jack." She hissed angrily, stalking over to him, but the pirate was distracted by the whelp.
"Oi! What are you doing?"
"I'm going to kill Jones." The boy replied, without a care for Jack's own need.
"I can't let you do that, William. Cos if Jones is dead, who's to call his terrible beastie off the hunt, ey?" Jack drew his sword. Threatening a sentinel was always disastrous, but he was desperate. Will rose to his feet, eyes rapidly taking in the situation as he tightened his grip on the key. "Now, if you please… the key."
"I keep the promises I make, Jack." Will replied, taking Elizabeth's sword from her belt. "I intend to free my father, I hope you're here to see it."
With a snarl, yet another sword was drawn. James pointed his own blade at the one threatening his guide.
"You're going to side with him?" Asked Will as Jack smirked confidently.
"Lord Beckett is a threat, hanging over the heads of half my pack. This chest is the way to free them."
"Jamie!" Jack yelped, throwing his lover a scowl as he stepped towards him. James' blade changed position to aim at Jack. "You only need stay on land to remain safe, and your father has survived this long. I plan to aid the people of Port Royal first."
"James, I won't stay on land." He warned his sentinel, but William made the first strike and James pushed Jack out the way.
Jack jumped up, his eyes on the key in Will's- no, now in James' hand. He ran after them, looking for an in, but the two men moved too quickly for him; by the time he spotted an opening, it was gone again. James shoved him back into the sand.
"Don't bother!" he snarled, and Jack rather wondered if he had a point; Jack stood no chance against two sentinels with, amongst other advantages, an increased sense of sight. They saw movements and had reacted to them before the pirate had even seen them; he needed another plan.
Leaving Elizabeth to throw rocks at the two men, Jack debated making use of her; surely any threat to her would be sufficient to distract Will… but then, he didn't actually want an enraged sentinel after him.
Maybe the two idiots could help? While they had the advantage of being a bonded pair, they weren't exactly quick-witted. But how could he use them? They were busy gaping at the fighting sentinels. No. He needed something else.
He headed back over to the chest, looking down at the letters inside. Some of them were pretty racy, but Jack recognised something in the writing. Sitting down, he stared hard at the page. There were still emotions tidied into the letters, as though the one had written them had been a powerful guide.
Still, with some of the plans for Jones' next visit to port, it was no wonder the captain had been heartbroken to find his woman… this woman like the sea… Losing himself in the pages, Jack's mouth dropped; the feelings left behind, the essence of who she was… the phrasing.
Tia Dalma?
No wonder she had known the truth about what had happened with him. But she called herself the sea? What did that even mean? But it wasn't important for the moment, Jack looked up to see that the chest had gone, and the pelagic men were trooping up the beach.
Reaching down, he grasped his sword and stood slowly.
"Captain Sparrow." One of them drawled. "You have an appointment aboard the Flying Dutchman."
"Ah, but you need to ask yourself this: What does my captain want more?" Jack grinned at them, the expression false as he mentally disputed the numerous options open to him; the most agreeable for the moment being talking his way of out this particular problem. "Me… or the chest?"
"Where is it?" the spikes on his cheek puffed out as the crewman snarled, a prickle of fear surging through him.
"On the island still, mate." He replied. "But not here."
They looked amongst themselves, and Jack encouraged the fear.
"You'd best get a move on, unless you want to end up fish food." He gave them a blatant stare up and down, suppressing a smirk as the murmuring started and Jones' crew turned their backs on him.
As he picked off the ones near the back, keeping the focus on the others on the chest, Jack mused on his guide abilities. It'd be useful if he could generate new emotions in people that had not been there before, but Jack's abilities lack in recognising how many mind were around him. He had the general ability to influence emotions, but he needed them to already be present.
Thumbing the pommel of his sword on the back of a head, he remembered Gibbs once telling him of a Navy guide: a man with the ability to put people to sleep without even speaking a word. He thought of his father, with the ability to project an image of himself into the minds of others, so that they could not tell which Teague was the real one. He thought of the many other guide abilities he had encountered in his time, and the various ones that would be useful in this situation.
Mainly though, he thought of James; the sentinel to whom he had just sent a crew of monstrous pirates.
Running, he headed into the trees, his whole mind centred on James. He'd give up the freedom of the ocean if it meant the man got to live. As he followed the scenes of a mindless rampage that Jones' crew had left behind, Jack came across something curious: the chest, key still inserted. And so he knelt down and turned it. The locks clicked, and the lid opened. Inside lay the heart, beating of its own accord.
Freedom.
He could practically taste it; the chance to sail once more on the Black Pearl, the chance to roam the seas… James would agree to join him in the end; he surely ranked above the members of his pack that had been left behind in Port Royal, those who had rejected him for chasing his mate. The younger man wouldn't be happy about it; pack was, after all, central to a sentinel's life. However, with time, the man would continue living.
They would be happy!
Closing a hand around the organ, Jack pulled it out. He resisted the urge to retch at the bizarre feel, placing it in a pocket.
"Need my jar of dirt." He muttered, turning back to the beach.
William Turner was a difficult opponent, however James was fairly confident he could win. He had nine years on the boy, and far more practical experience of fighting actual people as opposed to sparring thin air in the smithy.
The only disadvantage he had was his own body; he hadn't eaten anywhere near enough in Tortuga and his body had suffered for it.
In all, they seemed to be evenly matched. Until the fact that James needed to win came to light. He had a plan to aid both himself and Jack, and he had the determination to do just that. As the men sparred, they nimbly kept balance upon the turning wheel, both their senses able to keep them moving in the right direction at the opportune moments. The key had been left in the sand and no doubt one of the guides had picked it up.
Hopefully neither would leave without their sentinels though. James knew he could convince Jack to see things his way, he just needed the chance to do so.
If Davy Jones truly had put his heart in a box, then the leverage would surely cover more than one point. There was no reason why he couldn't get Jones to call of the kraken and then have him threaten Beckett with it instead.
The wheel began to pick up speed, and despite James' ability to react quickly, his body couldn't keep up. He braced himself on the inside, one hand curled around a metal bar, the other flat against the outer slats. He shut his eyes as the world revolved, trying not to vomit even as he heard Turner yelling unhappily.
Even once they had splashed into the cool water on the beach, the world kept turning. Standing unsteadily, James looked about.
Jack was fighting by the longboat, but seemed to be in no immediate danger. Elizabeth was confidently holding her ground, and Turner was stumbling over to her. He didn't bother looking for Pintell and Ragetti; they would have to manage on their own.
He headed towards the boat, but the short distance was made infinitely more difficult by the voracious nature of the sand, which pulled him down every moment that he remained still.
The jar of dirt in the longboat was missing some of its dirt; instead of aiding Jack, James treaded over to have a look. There was a thumping noise coming from the glass jar, and so James removed the heart.
Let Jack keep the jar. Let Turner keep the chest that also lay in the longboat.
He would take the heart, return to the Pearl, find a quiet spot and summon the Dutchman's captain. He would call the kraken off and then head to Port Royal.
Plan finally coming together, James turned to see Jones' crew advancing on them.
"We're not getting out of this." The quiver in Elizabeth's voice made James realise how dire their situation actually was.
They weren't going to get back to the Pearl at this rate.
Fine. He'd just have to amend his plan. He could find a quiet spot in the shallows and summon Jones.
"Not with the chest." He picked it up. "Don't wait for me."
He didn't imagine Jones' crew would stop to check where exactly the heart was. They probably weren't aware the chest had been opened.
As he ran, he heard the other's coaxing Jack into the boat. Quietly, he cursed his guide. Of all the times for the man to decide he cared about James' health…
Running through the trees, James tripped over a root and hit his head. Dazed, he lay still as the crew took the chest from the lax hands. Body both weak and exhausted, he could muster up no more than a whimper as it was taken from him.
He needed to give Jack more time.
Struggling to his knees, he watched as the crew left, chortling as they went. The adrenaline that had coursed through was now seeping away; the ache left as great as the one left by his guide, who was steadily returning to the Pearl.
And then James noticed a small bug, sat on a leaf.
It commanded his attention; that small, green thing with its tiny body slowly moving as it digested the leaf it was eating.
Small and sort of slimy…
Green…
…
The terror that shot along the soulbond brought James back to himself, and he charged through the greenery towards the water. He had to get to his guide.
Standing knee-deep in the water and sinking as the sand slowly pulled him down, James stared in horror as he watched the Black Pearl. She was a fair distance away, and while there was a longboat leaving her, James knew one thing; Jack had not left his ship.
"No." he whispered, watching the tentacles rise, pulling the body up the side of the ship.
Guilt flooded him almost as painfully as the fear. Jack was going to die and it was his fault. He had taken Jack's leverage.
He was to blame.
The pain that ripped through him as the other half of his soul was taken to the locker was crippling, and he would have fallen to the ground if he had been able. As it was, he froze, face going black as his portion of their shared soul attempted to follow, and its host stopped moving.
It was his spirit guide that drew his attention to the small island they were sailing past, flitting about in front of him then landing on a spyglass. Mullroy had never ignored her before, and so he picked it up and followed her.
He stopped on a small, dark figure in the distance and when she calmed, he knew this is what she was showing him. Handing the spyglass to Murtogg, he looked closely over at the figure, his friend's hand on his arm keeping him grounded as he extended his sight.
"What is it?" Murtogg asked, curiously.
"A man." He frowned, something about him was familiar. "I'll tell the captain."
"Come on, then."
They headed over to the officer, doing their best not to wince as lieutenant Gillette scowled at them from the captain's side. He had been in a foul mood since falling out with Groves; Murtogg claimed the argument had been over Commodore Norrington, and Mullroy was inclined to believe him.
"Well?" The captain gave them a small smile. "You two spotted him, don't you want to go help? Into the longboat."
Captain Harris was a good man. He liked to keep as many of his man happy as he possibly could, and he seemed to have a good sense in terms of how to do that. The chance to go and stand on the land, even if only for a few moments was all too tempting, and Mullroy just managed to make himself walk as he hurried over to the boat.
He gasped as they approached the man though. Waist-deep in the water, green eyes staring blankly ahead out of a scruffy face and set upon a skinny body; even so changed, he recognised him.
"Commodore Norrington." He whispered, then saw the other men in the boat startle as they heard him.
"Not commodore anymore. He left, remember?" Murtogg corrected, absent-mindedly.
"He didn't resign though. He just left, so I think he still counts as a commodore."
"No." Murtogg got out the boat, followed by the others and they began to pull. "Commodore is a post more than a rank, and now that Beckett is around, he would probably only be captain."
At Beckett's name, Norrington's head turned towards him. Mullroy shuddered at the blank eyes and continued to pull. Not only was he half under water, but he was stuck deep into the sand as well.
"The governor will be pleased." Murtogg mused as they finally pulled Norrington into the boat. "They were friends, I think."
"What do you suppose happened?"
"Maybe his guide died? I'm keep myself away from his mind. It hurts." Murtogg allowed his sentinel to feel the pain that the former commodore was unintentionally projecting, and the man pulled a face.
"Least he isn't going to drown, I suppose. Maybe returning to Port Royal will help."
"Maybe." But Murtogg's face was doubtful as the marines began to row back to the ship.