Disclaimer - I don't own the characters.
Chapter Five - Fickle
Will awoke to the sounds of creaking ropes and the cries of gulls overhead. He opened his eyes but lay still, staring at the ceiling and rocking along with the gentle motion of the ship. Late morning sunlight filtered in through a porthole, warming his face and suffusing the filthy cabin in a forgiving glow. The boards beside him, however, had long since cooled. They served as a melancholy reminder that he had been left to greet the morning alone.
The preceding night had not been a comfortable one. Too weary to properly tuck Jack into bed, he'd simply thrown some bedclothes onto the floor and collapsed on top of them. At least, in the dark they had looked like bedclothes; by daylight they bore a suspicious resemblance to dirty old sails. Will found himself wondering what exactly Jack slept on, most nights - whatever he happened to land on as he fell?
The captain was quite possibly more rambunctious in slumber than he was while awake. He had thrashed and grumbled, tossed and turned the whole night through. After receiving several painful kicks to the shins, Will had been obliged to remove Jack's boots, placing them safely beside the door. Now, it appeared, both captain and boots had vanished. Nothing to worry about, Will surmised, as he sat up and began to untangle himself from the sail. Once free, he pulled his own boots gingerly over his bruised ankles. Jack did have a ship to run, he reminded himself. It wasn't as if he could give the entire morning over to this. . . dalliance.
As Will walked out onto the deck, he noticed a few crew members. They seemed to be going placidly about their business. Then one of them caught sight of him and stopped dead, staring. "Ahoy, mate, what the devil happened to you?" he called. At the sound of his voice, the other pirates turned. One by one, they looked him up and down and began to snicker.
"Aye, Turner, ye look like Jack himself this mornin'," crowed another man, cackling.
Will looked down at himself, noting for the first time his disheveled appearance. "Yes, well. Have you seen the captain as of late?"
"The whole harbor's seein' 'im, mate! Take a look," said the first man, passing over a spyglass and pointing towards the island. Will put the glass to his eye. Scanning the shoreline, he caught sight of a familiar figure. This figure was facing away from the ship, clearly preoccupied with something in front of him, something he had pinned against a wall. Then, to Will's horror, he saw a dainty white hand snaking around the figure's waist. Attached to a plump arm, the hand was now squeezing the unmistakable backside of Captain Jack Sparrow.
Will quickly lowered the glass - but not before he saw a pair of blue eyes peep over Jack's shoulder to honor the voyeuristic pirates with a saucy wink. With shaking hands, Will passed the spyglass back to its owner.
"Quite an eyeful, eh, mate?" the man leered.
"Oh yes," Will replied through clenched teeth. Were they making a fool of him? How much did they know about the previous night's activities? He scrutinized the faces around him, but saw only innocent, bawdy fun. So they suspected nothing of the captain's more deviant affections. "I think I will row ashore myself," he said stiffly. "I find myself in need of exercise."
. . . .
With cold, furious concentration, Will practiced his thrusts and parries. Shuffling to and fro over the sand, he drove his imaginary opponent back into the water, over and over again. He had been at it for over two hours - surely Jack should have come looking for him by now. What could the man be doing? Did he require no rest?
At long last, Will heard a telltale clattering of beads. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack swaggering down the beach. Ignoring him, Will brandished his sword with renewed ferocity, veering further away from the water line as he fought.
"Listen, mate, I - " Will whirled around, halting his blade mere inches from the captain's cheek. Jack backed away, placing one hand instinctively on the hilt of his own sword. "Don't know if I deserved that." Will lowered the weapon, but continued to glare at Jack, who dropped unceremoniously down on the sand, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, I don't recall signing any sort of contract with you, savvy?" he began. "I am still a free man, Turner, am I not?"
Sheathing his sword, Will shot Jack a bitter look. "It was `William,' last night, Jack. `Fair William,' in fact.
Jack sighed dramatically, lay back on the sand, and pulled his hat over his eyes. "Drink up, me `earties," he muttered. "Yo bloody ho. Do you honestly imagine that I remember what all I've said after pouring half the rum in Tortuga down my throat?"
This was too much for Will. He turned and began to walk down the beach, towards the jungle on the other side of the island. He would lose himself, he would live on bananas and dress in leaves, what did it matter? He had miscalculated, it seemed. Gravely so. He had almost reached the trees when he heard running footsteps behind him, and felt a hand tugging at his elbow. "Wait," Jack panted. "Just, bloody. . . wait." Will turned, resisting the impulse to wrench his arm away.
The two men stood frozen, staring at the ground. "I am waiting," said Will flatly.
Jack let go of Will's elbow and took hold of his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines there with one calloused finger. When he began to speak again, it was in the soft tone he generally reserved for mad ramblings to himself. "You are a mess, aren't you. Bruised and muddled. Just like your father." He looked up then, and Will shivered to see the raw emotion in his eyes.
"I don't understand you, Sparrow," he whispered.
"You don't have to understand me, Turner. William. But understand this: you are in grave danger as long as you remain in Tortuga. As your captain, I forbid you to leave the ship unescorted again."
Chapter Five - Fickle
Will awoke to the sounds of creaking ropes and the cries of gulls overhead. He opened his eyes but lay still, staring at the ceiling and rocking along with the gentle motion of the ship. Late morning sunlight filtered in through a porthole, warming his face and suffusing the filthy cabin in a forgiving glow. The boards beside him, however, had long since cooled. They served as a melancholy reminder that he had been left to greet the morning alone.
The preceding night had not been a comfortable one. Too weary to properly tuck Jack into bed, he'd simply thrown some bedclothes onto the floor and collapsed on top of them. At least, in the dark they had looked like bedclothes; by daylight they bore a suspicious resemblance to dirty old sails. Will found himself wondering what exactly Jack slept on, most nights - whatever he happened to land on as he fell?
The captain was quite possibly more rambunctious in slumber than he was while awake. He had thrashed and grumbled, tossed and turned the whole night through. After receiving several painful kicks to the shins, Will had been obliged to remove Jack's boots, placing them safely beside the door. Now, it appeared, both captain and boots had vanished. Nothing to worry about, Will surmised, as he sat up and began to untangle himself from the sail. Once free, he pulled his own boots gingerly over his bruised ankles. Jack did have a ship to run, he reminded himself. It wasn't as if he could give the entire morning over to this. . . dalliance.
As Will walked out onto the deck, he noticed a few crew members. They seemed to be going placidly about their business. Then one of them caught sight of him and stopped dead, staring. "Ahoy, mate, what the devil happened to you?" he called. At the sound of his voice, the other pirates turned. One by one, they looked him up and down and began to snicker.
"Aye, Turner, ye look like Jack himself this mornin'," crowed another man, cackling.
Will looked down at himself, noting for the first time his disheveled appearance. "Yes, well. Have you seen the captain as of late?"
"The whole harbor's seein' 'im, mate! Take a look," said the first man, passing over a spyglass and pointing towards the island. Will put the glass to his eye. Scanning the shoreline, he caught sight of a familiar figure. This figure was facing away from the ship, clearly preoccupied with something in front of him, something he had pinned against a wall. Then, to Will's horror, he saw a dainty white hand snaking around the figure's waist. Attached to a plump arm, the hand was now squeezing the unmistakable backside of Captain Jack Sparrow.
Will quickly lowered the glass - but not before he saw a pair of blue eyes peep over Jack's shoulder to honor the voyeuristic pirates with a saucy wink. With shaking hands, Will passed the spyglass back to its owner.
"Quite an eyeful, eh, mate?" the man leered.
"Oh yes," Will replied through clenched teeth. Were they making a fool of him? How much did they know about the previous night's activities? He scrutinized the faces around him, but saw only innocent, bawdy fun. So they suspected nothing of the captain's more deviant affections. "I think I will row ashore myself," he said stiffly. "I find myself in need of exercise."
. . . .
With cold, furious concentration, Will practiced his thrusts and parries. Shuffling to and fro over the sand, he drove his imaginary opponent back into the water, over and over again. He had been at it for over two hours - surely Jack should have come looking for him by now. What could the man be doing? Did he require no rest?
At long last, Will heard a telltale clattering of beads. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack swaggering down the beach. Ignoring him, Will brandished his sword with renewed ferocity, veering further away from the water line as he fought.
"Listen, mate, I - " Will whirled around, halting his blade mere inches from the captain's cheek. Jack backed away, placing one hand instinctively on the hilt of his own sword. "Don't know if I deserved that." Will lowered the weapon, but continued to glare at Jack, who dropped unceremoniously down on the sand, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, I don't recall signing any sort of contract with you, savvy?" he began. "I am still a free man, Turner, am I not?"
Sheathing his sword, Will shot Jack a bitter look. "It was `William,' last night, Jack. `Fair William,' in fact.
Jack sighed dramatically, lay back on the sand, and pulled his hat over his eyes. "Drink up, me `earties," he muttered. "Yo bloody ho. Do you honestly imagine that I remember what all I've said after pouring half the rum in Tortuga down my throat?"
This was too much for Will. He turned and began to walk down the beach, towards the jungle on the other side of the island. He would lose himself, he would live on bananas and dress in leaves, what did it matter? He had miscalculated, it seemed. Gravely so. He had almost reached the trees when he heard running footsteps behind him, and felt a hand tugging at his elbow. "Wait," Jack panted. "Just, bloody. . . wait." Will turned, resisting the impulse to wrench his arm away.
The two men stood frozen, staring at the ground. "I am waiting," said Will flatly.
Jack let go of Will's elbow and took hold of his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines there with one calloused finger. When he began to speak again, it was in the soft tone he generally reserved for mad ramblings to himself. "You are a mess, aren't you. Bruised and muddled. Just like your father." He looked up then, and Will shivered to see the raw emotion in his eyes.
"I don't understand you, Sparrow," he whispered.
"You don't have to understand me, Turner. William. But understand this: you are in grave danger as long as you remain in Tortuga. As your captain, I forbid you to leave the ship unescorted again."
