Disclaimer: This world isn't real, it's just a program, so even if I am stealing them and making money (laughs until nearly passing out from oxygen deprivation) it doesn't matter!
AN: Still all-around grateful. Don't shoot me for this chapter—the muse wouldn't let it go, no matter how hard I tried to skip it or explain that no, this shouldn't happen, it's bad to think like this . . .
A Taste of Misery
Part 19
Will awoke with a gasp, stifling the scream that had been building in his throat, thankful that Elizabeth had rolled away from him sometime during the night so that his sudden awakening hadn't disturbed her rest.
He had been reliving the battle in the caves, fighting for his own life as Jack battled Barbosa. He heard Barbosa telling Jack that he couldn't win, heard the thud as Jack thrust his sword through Barbosa's chest, and turned towards the combatants. He watched with the same fascinated horror that had gripped him in the caves as Barbosa stabbed Jack as well, preparing himself for the transformation from living man to undead skeleton as the curse settled over Jack . . .
A transformation that didn't occur. Jack stumbled backwards into the moonlight, still very much human, and as he struggled to breath blood began to bubble from his nose and mouth. The pirate turned towards Will, a frightened, pleading look on his face that Will had never seen before, reaching out with one hand while the other grasped the hilt of the sword imbedded in his chest. Then he collapsed wordlessly.
Turning towards Barbosa, Will prepared to fight, a dim awareness building in his mind that told him this was not how it was supposed to happen, only it wasn't Barbosa he faced, it was Almorte, and the man was already bearing down on him, an undead assassin that relished in the kill . . .
Will shook the remnants of the dream from his mind, still breathing heavily and covered in sweat. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn't be tossed aside so quickly, though.
He suddenly had to see the pirate, had to see that the man was still breathing, still alive, if not well.
Shaking slightly, he got up as silently as he could and put his pants on before heading towards the door, never hesitating despite the darkness. He knew the house too well for the dark to cause him any problems.
He heard it as he reached his hand out towards the door, the notes soft and melancholy.
It was the pirate song that Elizabeth had taught Jack. Whereas the pirate captain normally sang it raucously, the woman singing now had adopted the slow style that Elizabeth used occasionally, a layer of sadness and sorrow added that wrenched at Will's heart.
"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me." A soft catch in the singer's voice caught his attention. "We pillage and plunder we—" The singer stopped abruptly, and Will realized that Ana-Maria was crying.
He hesitated at the door, considering returning quietly to bed.
"Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry . . .so bloody sorry . . .I wish . . ." The words were spoken softly, but Will could still hear them clearly.
Ana-Maria hadn't allowed him to wallow in his own guilt, and he wasn't about to let her wallow in hers. If she got angry, he had a ready excuse. A small voice in the back of his mind still screamed that he had to ascertain that the pirate still breathed.
Will gently opened the door and stepped through into the dim light of a single candle. He stopped dead, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
Ana-Maria sat at the head of the cot, Jack's head cradled against her shoulder, her arms under his.
What shocked him was the dagger that she held in both hands and the tears that streamed down her face.
"What are you . . ."
The female pirate turned to Will, her eyes flat and lifeless.
"Go back to sleep, William Turner."
"You're going to kill him." Anger was beginning to replace shock. "What do you think you're doing?"
"What has to be done, lad."
"I'm no lad, and this does not have to be done. This is cold-blooded murder."
"My blood's not cold, and this does have to be done. Ye were there, William Turner. Ye saw 'is eyes. 'Twasn't Jack Sparrow that attacked ye."
Will remembered the snarl on the pirate captain's face and the look in his eyes all too well.
"You got through to him, though. He was better."
"I was losing him again at the end, and I can't very well walk in front of him and stare him in the eye for the rest of my life." The female pirate gently disentangled herself from her captain and stood to face Will, returning the dagger to the sheath in her boot. "I canna bring him back to the Pearl like that. It would be unfair t' him and t' the crew. Where would ye have me leave him, Will Turner? He has no family. Even if I brought him on the ship, he'd die in the first raid."
"Here. He can stay here."
"What do you have . . .two months until yer child is born? You would take on a mad pirate and a child at the same time, would you? It doesn't matter anyways, Will. Jack can't stay in one place indefinitely, not even here. No matter what the Commodore and the Governor feel, they answer to the crown, and do ye think there are no ambitious men here who would like to have their places? Exposing corruption can be so helpful to a politicians career." Ana-Maria sneered slightly.
"It will take time to investigate what happened at the fort, time to send a ship to Britain and receive a response. Time for him to heal. Time to ask for amnesty." Will reached over to place his hand on Ana-Maria's shoulder, willing her to understand.
The pirate dodged his hand. "They won't grant him amnesty. And he won't heal, Will. He's had over a month to heal, and he hasn't."
Will pulled back. "What do you mean?"
"He killed a child, Will."
Don't ye e'er name a child after me, William Turner.
"What?"
"Ye should ne'er have taught him to throw his sword like that."
"I only showed him a few times, two years ago, and he managed to cut his hand open at that."
"You showed him how helpful it could be three years ago, and he practiced. He got to the point where he could draw, turn, and toss it at the spot where a sound had come from in two seconds. The Pearl's crew won quite a few bets that way." The pirate paused, smiling slightly. "He had never used the trick in a fight."
"What happened?"
"We had taken the Deadlock by surprise—the sentry had a bit too much rum that night, I think. Jack had made it to the captain's cabin and had a sword at the man's throat before he even knew they had been boarded. The lad was barefoot; any sound he made entering must have been covered up by us. When he saw that Jack was there, he panicked, and he turned to run."
"He made noise." Will closed his eyes, envisioning it happening.
"Aye. Jack thought he had banged into the doorframe as he turned to run. Jack was tired of being attacked from behind—even pirates expect a little decency from people. He turned and he threw at the sound before he saw who it was."
"How old was the boy?"
"Six, almost seven. It was his first voyage." Ana-Maria paused. "It wasn't a clean kill, Will. A sword that was meant to go through a grown man's heart went through the boy's neck."
Will could see it clearly, hear the thud as the sword settled into the boy's flesh, see the spray of blood that would steadily grow weaker, the twitching of the boy's limbs as his life bled away . . .
"How did Jack react?"
"Then? He couldn't. He herded the captain upstairs at gunpoint and we tied him up with the rest of the crew. Jack was captain of the Pearl; he had to stay calm, stay in control. We looted the ship and we left her."
"That's it? He killed a child, even unintentionally, and proceeded to loot the ship?"
"Does it make ye feel better to know he tried to drink himself to death the next day? Does that suit your sense of justice?"
Will paused, running his hands through his hair and staring between Ana-Maria and Jack, who still lay unmoving on the cot.
"He was falling apart, Will Turner. You remember I said the seventh killing on Jack's conscience was the reason we made port in Jackson? He was sending a letter of apology and money to the bloody family of the boy. They got more out of his death than they probably ever did out of his life."
"How do you know that?"
"I saw him writing it in his cabin. He had gotten the name and home of the boy from the captain before we left the Deadlock. I asked him if I could go with him. He said he was going to send the letter and the money, get drunk, and put it behind him, but that he needed to do it alone."
"Only Silverfirth and Almorte caught him."
"Aye."
"I was beginning to wonder if he even could write. He never sent messages here."
"He can't write very well, but well enough to get the point across if he tries. He hadn't written here because he didn't know what to say . . .and he was rather embarrassed because you and Elizabeth are both so . . .literate. Then, after the Deadlock, he didn't know what you had heard, and he wanted to tell you himself so that you'd understand."
Will stared at Ana-Maria, uncertain what to say.
"Go back to bed, Will Turner. I have to return to the Pearl tomorrow, and by the time your child is born this whole mess will seem like a bad dream. Your world will never be troubled with pirates again."
"I won't let you kill him."
"He's going to die anyway, Will. Look at him. This is mercy."
"So what do you want? A miracle? Him to suddenly be fine?"
"What I want, with all my heart and soul, is for him to jump up and tell me that I'm wrong, that he's Captain Jack Sparrow and nothing in this god's-cursed bloody world can hurt him, savvy! What I want is to have my captain back, my friend back, but that's not going to happen. Open your eyes, Will Turner! You saw."
Will forced himself to relax, dropping his eyes from Ana-Maria's. "Leave him here. Please. Just until my child is born—two months, Ana-Maria. Please."
The pirate looked at him sadly, and he could still see the glint of tear-tracks down her face.
Finally she nodded. "Aye, Will Turner. Ye have two months. Don't say I didn't warn ye, though, lad. Now return to your wife. She needs you."
Will nodded and slowly returned to bed, leaving the door open between the two rooms, wondering what he had just gotten himself into.
