Chapter ten: The scars of your love they leave me breathless

It had been almost three weeks.

Jack was gone (dead).

And Bill knew he was never to see the other man again, and the thought brought a cold deep into his bones that he hadn't known he could (or ever would) feel. And Barbossa (Hector had died, Bill realized, the day that Barbossa had marooned Jack on that islet), was as cruel a captain as ever sailed the seas.

The men, should they not comply with an order fast enough, were lashed, until they were in such intense pain, that they begged forgiveness. And Bill, in all of his years on the sea, had never seen a man reduced to begging the way they did before Barbossa (so full of hate, and rage, for which he had only himself to blame).

Bill, who had been the last man to stand at the railing watching Jack grow smaller and smaller with each passing second, until the islet had been nothing but a white line on the horizon, felt nothing. Not the whip of the cat, not the sharp words of the captain, and not the hollow threats of the other men.

All Bill could think about, as he went about his work in a mindless stupor, was the cold, cold look in Jacks eyes as he'd looked back over his shoulder. And now, Bill realized as he saw Hector standing at the helm looking out over the sea, it was all he could think about.

Hector had a haunted look about him, and Bill realized that Hector must not have expected Jack to go so willingly either. Maybe, Bill wondered as Hector tightened his grip suddenly on the wheel, it was all the he could think about too.

Bill turned away as one of the men approached him, he seemed nervous, and Bill supposed that meant he needed to talk to Barbossa, "Aye?" Bill asked, wondering why the man seemed so surprised,

"The captain, he..." the man paused and motioned, "There's a ship approaching." he finally said, and Bill glanced back at the ship and nodded slowly,

"I'll tell 'im." Bill said as the man nodded and rushed away to get back to work. Bill raised a hand to lightly rub his eyes before turning and walking upper deck to pause at the helm, where he stood staring at Barbossa, until the other man finally looked at him.

"What?" Barbossa snapped, and Bill wasn't sure why but he felt the sudden urge to launch himself at the other man, but for whatever reason Barbossa seemed to notice, for he stiffened and folded his arms across his chest and stood glowering at Bill.

Bill stood silently for a moment, though he could tell Barbossa was becoming agitated. "There's a ship approachin', Captain." Bill finally said. Barbossa scowled before turning around to look back at the ship on the horizon, scowling even harder Barbossa raised a hand to stroke his beard thoughtfully.

"Drop anchor." Barbossa said at length, and Bill who had stepped up to the railing to try'n get a better look at the ship whirled around to face him, obviously surprised,

"Sir?" Bill said, in a tone of voice that let Barbossa hear the disapproval, he ought to have been hiding. Barbossa seemed less then pleased with his response, for he quickly stepped forward and caught hold of Bill's collar, pushing him back against the railing Barbossa leaned forward, causing Bill to slightly recoil from the strike he knew was coming, but Barbossa didn't lift a hand to him, rather raised one and pointed to the men on deck, and Bill had to wonder just what was keeping Barbossa from striking him, when the other man seemed to have a heavy hand with the other men,

"Drop anchor." he hissed before giving Bill a rough shove toward the deck, and a startled, and slightly confused, Bill went to comply with the order he thought ignorant, and only thought of Jack.

Barbossa hadn't been reacting much to the ship approaching, but as it got close enough for them to read the name on the hull Barbossa seemed almost nervous as he looked his looking glass, and stood staring at the ship. "What is it captain?" Bill asked after a moments hesitation.

"Teague." Barbossa said at length, and Bill felt his stomach drop. Teague would surely punish them (if not kill them) for abandoning Jack. Wouldn't he? "Weigh anchor. We have to move. Make for the nearest port." Barbossa said after a moment and Bill nodded as he rushed down to the other men, and began bellowing orders.

Barbossa stood watching the ship as it cut through the waters before turning on his heel and marching down the stairs, heading to his cabin, he knew Bill would take care of things, and though he was sure the other man would want his attentions on deck, he didn't care. He needed to think. Needed to figure out how the hell this had happened?

How had he been so careless?

Sitting up to his desk slowly, he stroked his beard as he began to think, trying, in vain, to think of a way to explain Jack's absence should Teague catch up with them.

Teague wouldn't do anything short of killing him, Barbossa realized as he raised his eyes to the window, and observed The Sea Malfica, it was an ominous sight indeed, and he felt an involuntary shudder go through him.

Though the Sea Malfica was an ominous figure in his near future, there was only one figure on Barbossa's mind at that instant; Jack Sparrow.

No matter how he tried to think of something, someone else, all he could think of at that time was Jack. Jack and the mutiny. The looks Jack had given him, on that day and the day before. Such hate. Such intense, fiery hate.

Barbossa leaned back in his chair, as he stroked his beard again, thoughtfully, and continued to look out the window, watching the clouds darken overheard, perhaps it would storm today, he wasn't sure, but it did look that way.

He wouldn't care, as long as he was at port by then.

Barbossa thought of the islet he'd left Jack on. If it stormed long and hard that'd raise the tide, and undoubtedly wash the body, nearly decayed, out into the sea.

Maybe it'd carry his soul out across the waves, and give the sparrow a chance to spread his wings and fly away.

And maybe, just maybe, if that happened, it would remove his memory from Barbossa's mind.

Barbossa, despite himself, found that he was praying (actually praying!He couldn't believe he was letting himself buy into such stupid superstitions) that it would be a terrible storm, and that it would help Jack.

At that moment he saw a rain drop hit the window, and grinned.

He had no idea how fateful that prayer would turn out to be.

When it started to rain most of the men went below deck to get away from it, but not Bill. He stayed at the helm, and steered the ship, squinting to see through the rain as they went along, and to him, though the wind had picked up, the pearl seemed to be slowing down (maybe she knew they'd thrown her true master off).

Barbossa came out onto the deck slowly, and Bill could see that he could feel the ship balking as well, of maybe he felt something the Bill himself couldn't feel.

Barbossa pulled his spy glass out and aimed it out across the sea, to the south, where Teague would be, should he be following them, Bill assumed he wouldn't be able to see anything through the rain, and he would be right, though Barbossa would never tell him.

Barbossa seemed to be very displeased with what he was seeing for he came upper deck, and took the helm, sending Bill to the deck to help the men with the sails. Bill scowled as he made his way down the stairs, carefully. Maybe there was a storm coming, he thought as he reached Ragetti, and began to help him.

Barbossa scowled as he narrowed his eyes, wondering what possible motive Teague could have for following them. There could be no possible way of knowing he'd marooned Jack, and there would be no other reason for Teague to approach the ship. And just what, Barbossa wondered, was Teague doing outside of Ship Wreck Cove?

It was all very curious.

They were sailing straight into the storm, Bill noticed as he squinted against the rain, the men seemed to notice too, for they began to talk of albatross, and angels. And Jack. ('We shouldn't 'ave done 'im tha' way!' 'It's payback, from them Gods Jack always spoke of' 'Jack Sparrow didn't worship no Gods' 'No, but 'e spoke o' em!') Bill wasn't sure who was speaking, but they were right, and though he agreed with them wholeheartedly, he remained silent.

He wanted to join in their words, wanted to curse Barbossa, cry to the heavens. Throw himself overboard. But most of all he just wanted to know that Jack (could, would) had forgiven him.

The men stood with him, on the deck in the pouring rain, all of them looking straight into the hurricane they were sailing into. All of the men spoke to him, spoke of Barbossa's madness, spoke of the mutiny, spoke of Jack, spoke of death.

The men were whispering of mutiny, the traitorous scum they were.

But not a word did ever utter, Bill.

For he had discovered that there were worst fates then death.

A/N: This is SO much shorter then I'd intended, but I like it this way, and hopefully, so will you guys. (Doubtful).

So, I already know what I'm going to write for chapter 11, but no idea how long it will take. Hopefully not long (as you probably already noticed, this chapter is very Bill centric).

Also, dun dun, next chapter is the chapter I think'll make people hate it :D