(AN: Thank you for the reviews! Um. . .do you all have plenty of tissues at hand?)
***
Part Two: Dreams
*
I dream of many things,
But most of all,
I dream of you.
*
Dawn was coming.
In the East, the blackness of night was starting to fade into shades of blue. Threads of sunlight stretched out from the horizon and streaked the sky, while the glowing ball itself gradually emerged.
A weathered, little rowboat drifted slowly towards the light, pushed only by the waves lapping with seeming affection at its hull.
Darkness still covered the small boat. High above the moon and the stars lingered still, the morning not get close enough to send them on their way. The light was the boat's destination, and it trusted that it would make it, though quite what lay beyond was unclear.
The rowboat contained one passenger, noticed only by the few seabirds soaring quietly across the sky. He lay on his back, his shirt saturated with blood. The paleness of approaching death clung to his clammy skin and his eyelids half covered his glazed dark-brown eyes. Water soaked his grey-blue breeches and his tangled dark hair that was missing its red bandanna. He made no perceptible movements, the irregular rise and fall of his chest too shallow to be visible.
The rhythmic rocking of the little boat lulled him. He felt weary to his very soul and a feeling of peace was descending over him, pushing away Earthly sensation. Death's icy touch further numbed him, dimming the pain that reverberated from every part of his battered and bleeding body.
Some part of his mind knew that the hull's shrunken wood and dissolved tar was allowing water to seep in, and his bare feet and lower legs were submerged in a slowly deepening puddle. But he didn't worry about it.
It wouldn't be long now, he knew. As dawn brought the end of night, it would bring the end of Captain Jack Sparrow's life.
A notion suggested to him that perhaps he should be afraid and fighting this ending with all his might, yet he wasn't. The gentle splashes of the sea against the hull spoke words of comfort and he listened and didn't struggle.
He wasn't sure how or why he had survived so long. He should have drowned when the sinking Hell's Talon pulled him under. As he stared up at the hues of blue weaving between the fading stars, he knew that the last thing he should have seen was the face of the woman he loved.
Anamaria.
The thought of her drew Jack back to the world that held her and a faint groan passed through his bluish lips.
His eyes ached to see her pretty face again; his skin yearned to feel her gentle touch; his chest longed to breathe in her salty scent; his ears craved the sound of her soft voice; his mouth hungered for the taste of her sweet lips.
Anamaria. . .Ana, my love. . .
A sob choked his throat and he rolled onto his side, coughing water from his lungs and cradling his right wrist against his stomach.
He wondered where she was and what she was doing. The thought of her crying with grief because of him brought tears to his own eyes. If only he could tell her it was alright.
If only he wasn't going to die. . .
Jack rolled onto his back again and his vision dimmed, his mind retreating into dreams of what might have been.
Marriage may have been a possibility; Anamaria dressed in flowing cream silk, lilies in her soft waves of hair and pale sands under her bare bronzed feet. He in dark breeches and a clean shirt, holding her hand, as a priest declared them husband and wife. Simple gold bands on their fingers more valuable to them than any of the fancier gem-encrusted rings in the Pearl's hold.
Perhaps even a son or daughter, if their adventuring days passed; Anamaria's belly swollen with child - his child, their child. Her hand reaching for his and placing it against her flesh to feel the kicking life they had created. Later, a babe in his arms that would grow up into a brave, resourceful lad or a beautiful, wilful girl.
Or just years of freedom on waves together; the Peal's wheel in his hands and Anamaria at his side, passing him the spyglass to sight their latest prey - a Spanish merchant vessel with a hold full of expensive spices.
Passing the nights in each other's arms; a dim lantern swinging with the movement of the ship, the whites of her eyes bright in the darkness as she regarded him with love. His arm around her shoulders, holding her close.
His thoughts thinned and the deathly coldness sunk deeper into him. Though his pupils dilated, the sky was blurred beyond recognition. The cries of the gulls soaring through the sunrise and the lapping of the waves against the little boat's hull no longer reached his ears.
Captain Jack Sparrow was fading from the mortal world.
TBC. . .