Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, and since my AP teacher informed us that all plots can be boiled down to five basic themes/theories, by some definitions I don't even own that . . .
AN: I'm grateful for all the well wishes for my family. Everyone seems to want the longer version of the ending, so here it is. You all had fair warning and a chance to get a lighter ending. =)
A Taste of Misery
Part 17
Will gently cut and pried the blood-soaked and tattered remnants of the pirate's shirt from his body, carefully keeping his mind devoid of emotion as the full extent of the injuries became evident.
Jack didn't need him breaking down now.
What the pirate needed was a doctor . . .and a small miracle. Will could feel the heat emanating from the unconscious man's skin. He hadn't moved since his collapse in the old forge well over a half hour ago.
Will and Ana-Maria had carried the man up to the infirmary, where Elizabeth had been waiting impatiently. Brian Lanebridges still clung to life, but it was touch-and-go, and the doctor had just arrived moments before.
Norrington had provided a litter and a personal escort from the fort to the Turner's house, promising to send the doctor over as soon as was possible.
Elizabeth had protested indignantly until the commodore had explained, his voice rigid and tight, that he could not guarantee Jack Sparrow's safety in the fort.
Two members of the garrison were dead and a third badly injured. The rest would want retribution, and the only object available at the moment, thanks to Ana-Maria, was Jack Sparrow.
The hard set to Norrington's face had told Elizabeth that he couldn't even guarantee his own safety in the fort, but was too proud to admit it.
Will had merely nodded numbly, following orders.
You said my father was a good man. You also said he was your friend. You're obviously lying about one of those, because he couldn't have been both.
He had misjudged, badly, and Jack had been the one to pay the price. It was just so hard, so bloody hard, to believe one thing for eighteen years of your life and have it all turned upside down . . .
Even when he liked the pirate, he didn't. He had been willing to hang in an attempt to save Jack's life, but even as he was, some portion of his mind still whispered that he was mad, that a pirate was always a pirate . . .
When Jack had shown up two years earlier, Will had relished in the company, taken pleasure in flouting Norrington's law, in resisting authority without causing harm . . .and felt guilt, guilt that he had buried and drowned in rum and laughter and singing and good company.
When Jack or Ana-Maria or any of the Pearl's crew were nearby, it was easy to call them friends, to enjoy their company and their rather unique outlook on life, but when two years had gone by and the only word you had was that from sailor's who feared the pirate's flag as sharply as the plague . . .
He wondered belatedly if Jack could even write. It had been the assumption of a rich man, something Will had never been and had always rather disdained, to think that all men could read and write as well as he could.
"Will, go sit with Ana-Maria." Will started at the sound of his name, realizing that he had finished and now stood holding the scissors in one hand and a last bloody shred of cloth in the other.
"Are you sure . . .?"
"I'm sure I can handle it, Will." She swirled the bloody cloth she was using to clean the pirate captain's injuries in the water at her side; once clear and clean, it was now approaching a bloody red itself. "She's part of his crew; you're one of his best friends. He'd die of embarrassment if you two were taking care of him."
"As though he won't when he finds out it was you . . ." Will moved away gratefully anyway.
"Will, pull the curtain, please."
For a moment he didn't understand what she meant. Then he remembered the old curtains that Jack and he had strung from one end of the room to the other, dividing the long, rectangular room into two roughly square parts—one a kitchen area, the other a place to greet guests or to use as a family room when he and Elizabeth had children.
At the moment, Jack occupied a cot close to the fireplace, while the tables and chairs had been displaced to nearer the door. Ana-Maria sat there, watching everything that happened but making no move, either to help or to hinder.
He and Elizabeth had had little need to draw the curtains during their occupancy of the house, and he had almost forgotten that they existed.
A small thrill of fear writhed in the pit of his stomach as he pulled them now, closing off the view of his wife and Jack, the act somehow reminding him of pulling a funeral shroud over the dead.
He realized belatedly that he had also just closed off the door to his bedroom, leaving him trapped with the female pirate. Though a flimsy defense, the curtain suddenly seemed a stronger barrier than any fort Will had ever seen.
He settled slowly into a chair across from Ana-Maria, who gazed over at him.
"I'm sorry."
"So am I, Will Turner, so am I."
"This shouldn't have happened."
"No, it shouldn't have, but it did, so ye have t' accept it, as do I."
"I should have spoken up yesterday, done something . . ."
"Ye're here for him now. Ye can't change the past, Will."
"Aren't you angry? Frustrated? Furious?" Will suddenly envied Ana-Maria the kill.
"Aye, all of the above. He was my captain . . .m' friend." Her voice slowed.
Will looked over at her sharply. He knew Jack's reputation. "Were you . . .?" The pirate smirked at him, quirking one eyebrow. "I mean, did he . . .do you love him?"
The smirk disappeared and Ana-Maria smiled tiredly. "As my captain, aye. I couldn't ask for a better one. As a friend, aye. He's a good man, Will Turner, no matter what else you want to believe. As a man, though . . .taking it that far, Will, it would wreck the magic of the others, don' ye think?"
Will blushed. "I don't know. Elizabeth and I are friends as well as lovers."
"Aye, lad, and lucky to be. You hold her tight, Will Turner, her and whatever children ye're blessed with." She paused. "Just not too tight, though, Will. Not so tight that they can't be themselves, who they need to be. Ye'll only drive them away by doin' that."
A heavy silence fell as both turned to their own thoughts, a silence that was broken by a tentative knock at the door.
