Disclaimer:  An unknown person has murdered all the real creators and/or owners of these play-toys and a mysterious new will has turned up in which they present them as a gift to EstelWolfe . . .If anyone believes that, they should get professional help . . .

AN:  Grateful.  Grateful.  *Bows to almighty reviewers*  If you're still reading after that last chapter, I'm ecstatic.  *Glares evilly at muse, who is blissfully unaware*  Okay, continuing onward . . .

A Taste of Misery

Part 20

Will rested his head in his hands, fighting the urge to sleep.  The last two weeks had probably been the worst of his life.  If Dante were still alive, Will could tell him of an even deeper level of hell than anything he had dreamed of before.

Ana-Maria had left as soon as he and Elizabeth had awoken, but not before pressing the small pouch with Jack's rings and beads into his hand.

"Keep it close, Will.  In case of a miracle."  He had tied the drawstring to his belt, carrying it as she had.

Will had decided not to tell Elizabeth about what had happened—it would only anger her and cause more stress, which couldn't be good for the child.

Stress.  That was something he had thought he mastered three years ago.  He understood now how wrong he was.

Each day had seemed the same, a blurred track of fear and frustration and misery.  He would work in the blacksmith shop as long as he could stand it, forcing himself to finish the projects that he already had, reluctantly accepting more orders.  His blades had become well known since Jack had last seen him, and the business was flourishing.

When he couldn't stand to be away from home any longer, he would return, and take his turn at the vigil.  Over the past two weeks the pirate had oscillated between complete unconsciousness and hallucinations.

More often than not his words were unintelligible, but what Will could understand froze his blood in his veins.

The man had probably alternately cursed and blessed every person and place he had ever known.

The one thing that the pirate always cursed and never blessed was Jack Sparrow.

When he and Elizabeth could take no more, they would go to bed for a few hours, leaving the pirate in the care of a maid who had come down from the governor's house to help.

There had been a few incidents that broke the pattern.

The doctor had come twice, each time saying that he could do no more and didn't even understand how the pirate captain was still alive.

Norrington had made regular appearances every other day, looking ragged and worn.  He had managed to keep the garrison in control despite all that had happened, but the work required to do so told on his face.

He also brought updates on Brian for Elizabeth.  The young redcoat had regained consciousness and was healing.  He would always bear a scar on his right cheek, and his nose would always have a slight bend in it where it had been broken.  There was a possibility that he would be permanently blind in his right eye.

Yet the lad lived, and was proud of what he had done.  Will admired him even as he envied Norrington.

Norrington's man was alive and on the way to recovery.

Jack still hung somewhere between life and death, sanity and insanity.

Silverfirth had hung himself two days after the showdown with Almorte.  Will was furious with the man for robbing him of the satisfaction of at least a little revenge and justice through a trial, but he also pitied the man who had lived with the guilt for the deaths of his family and other innocents day in and day out because he hadn't used his head and had believed a professional con-artist.

The governor had sent word of what had transpired to England, asking for information on the assassin as well as for instructions as to how to proceed now. 

It was a bid to buy time, and so far it was working.

Then today the pattern had disintegrated entirely.  The fever that had raged inside the pirate captain had finally given up, and he had fallen into what seemed to be a normal sleep.

Will sat now at his bedside, waiting for the pirate to wake, hoping and fearing what he would see when the man did.

Ye were there, William Turner.  Ye saw 'is eyes.  'Twasn't Jack Sparrow that attacked ye.

He couldn't count the number of times those words had played through his mind over the last two weeks.

Jack was strong.  Will knew that.  To be a pirate—and a good one—for so long you had to be strong.  To have come virtually unscathed through the incident with Barbosa he had to be strong.  To stand on the gallows and complain about them not adding 'Captain' to his name and laugh at the memories of impersonating a clergyman he had to be strong.

Yet even strong men had a breaking point, and he feared this might be Jack's.

Raising his eyes, he started in surprise to see that the pirate's eyes were open and staring, not through him, as they always had for the past two weeks, but at him.

Hope leaped inside his heart despite his best efforts to contain it.

"Jack.  It's Will.  It's good to have you back with us."

The pirate captain didn't utter a sound as he continued to stare at Will, his eyes displaying no emotion.

"Jack . . ."  Will reached out uncertainly and clasped the other man's hand, no longer hot but cool to the touch.

The pirate pulled his hand away and turned towards the wall before closing his eyes and apparently falling back into a deep sleep.

Will sat for what seemed like a minor eternity before getting up and going to tell Elizabeth what had happened.