Title: The Sparrow and the Starling

Author: Cynic

Rating: R

Warning: Some gore, non-consensual sex/otherwiseknown as rape, murder, character death, sadism, future slash, drunkenness, occasional cursing, loads of references to prostitution and general angstyness. God, I really am wracking up the warnings. Hope Big Brother doesn't kick me off.

Disclaimer: I am just pilfering my weaselly black guts out.

Pairing: Jack/Will (in Seme/Uke correctness. Gotta admit that Jack wears the pants)

Archive: Yes, please! Just inform me at QueenDrgn06@aol.com

Feedback: Anything from flames, fangirlism (don't I wish) to constructive criticism

A/N:  I am so so so sorry for the delay, but my computer went on the spaz and I am a firm believer in the phrase "Quality over Quantity" I just pray that this is long enough for the huge wait. In the meantime, I know so much about these characters, they are taking over my mind. I can tell you anything about them. ((Favorite color? Henry- Doesn't have one. Thinks it's unbearably silly to have one, but knows he looks best in blue and likes to be surrounded by green. Jack- Red, bright red. He likes it 'cause it's a bright, cheery color, and he is smashing in it. Also, being a pirate and spending so much time on sea, he has a fascination with fire. Will-He will shuffle his feet, and mutter brown, and absolutely refuse to tell you why.)) I gave all ya slashers out there a bit of a tidbit in the beginning. They can't leap into each others pants just yet, as much as I want them too. I have been manfully ignoring the plot lately, and it does have one. I promise. If you squint hard. Oh and the pun in the beginning of the third paragraph is fully intentional.  (("wasn't thinking straight"))

=============

            Will woke up with a pounding headache. He naively opened his eyes, only to quickly shut them again when the little bit of light within Jack's cabin seemed to send arrows of pain wracking his skull. He groaned, and ran his tongue over his dry lips. It struck him that he appeared to be in a bed. Or at least a bunk of some sort. He had woken up the last two mornings with a horrible headache, but never in a bed. The first day he passed out where he sat and was shoved outside with the morning cleaning.  And yesterday he woke up sprawling in a forgotten alleyway, smelling of filth and urine.

            But he was remembering now. He remembered drifting off to sleep and he remembered a low chuckle coming from another man. He remembered being eased into the bunk and gentle hands untying his boots and slipping them off. But most of all he remembered Jack's small and coarse hand running softly over his cheek, calloused skin feeling rough against his own.

            That had felt wrong. It wasn't meant to happen. Jack just had a bit too much alcohol and wasn't thinking straight. It did not have the overwhelming rightness that he felt whenever Elizabeth had touched him. It did not drown him with saccharine sweetness. It did not make him want to claw his wrists, searching for the invisible bonds that held him at the boring smithy and his boring life. It was wonderful.

            His memory of the night slowly returned, and he remembered the conversation that occurred before he passed out. How Jack refused to talk about how he knew the Captain, and drunk as if the rum was the only thing holding him on to life. As they both drank away the long hours, his tongue loosened. He remembered mumbled words, but did not remember what they were. All Will remembered was a repetition of two words, "Starling and Wren" over and over. He got the definite impression that they were names, but the emotions that where behind Jack's words where inscrutable.

            He opened his eyes again, his head feeling the slightest bit better, and managed to swing his legs off the bed. He stood up slowly and cautiously, glancing around the room. It was as expected: empty.

            He brought a hand to his temples and tried to rub out the hurt with little success. Groaning, he walked slowly over to the door and poked his head out. There Jack was, gesturing and slurring at some poor merchant, whose plainly baffled face was amusing even in Will's painful condition.

            The Black Pearl was a wonderful ship, by all means, but ten years of neglect and misuse had certainly taken their toll. When Jack told stories of her gleaming hull and polished deck, the incredulous look on most of the crew's faces told tales of their own. The sails had needed to be replaced, the boat careened (a dirty and unpleasant job involving beaching the ship and scraping all the barnacles off the bottom), and countless other odd chores. It was only now, after about three years since he had the Pearl returned to Jack, that the ship was restored to a bit of her former glory.

            Yet even the fastest ship on the Spanish Main needed to restock, and that was precisely what Jack was doing at the moment. The merchant was clearly a little afraid of the famous Jack Sparrow, and Jack was doing nothing to dispel that notion. He clapped the merchant on the back, sending him stumbling forward.

            "There's a chum," he growled and ushered the man off his ship.

            "So ye'll be getting my goods to me by nightfall, eh?" he reaffirmed, and when the merchant nodded nervously, he turned away. He spotted Will and flounced over to him. 

            "Not one to rise with the sun, are ye mate?" he chuckled to himself. Will just groaned, deciding that Jack's luck had to be unnatural. It appeared to extend to hangover free morning afters. Jack's expression suddenly darkened and he looked away from Will, gazing at what little of Tortuga he could see from the dock.

            "There's Gibbs with the rest of the crew," he said slowly and peered at Will, "Tell me lad. Do you want revenge?"

            His diction on the final statement was abnormally precise as if by accuracy he could distract from the sharpness of the memories. Will closed his eyes, and tried to organize his mind to determine what he wanted. But he couldn't and he never could. He opened his eyes, examining Jack's matte and unfathomable brown eyes. They reminded Will of the ocean, leagues deep and always dark, always foreboding.  He had always loved the ocean. Not knowing what he wanted nor knowing what he should want, he slowly nodded, never taking his stare from Jack's abyss-like eyes.

            Jack smiled. It was not the familiar, cocky grin with gold teeth flashing that Will had known for years. It wasn't the drunken leer or the plotting smile that made all allies cringe. It was bitter, empathetic. It was a sad, slow smile that seemed to linger over his lips, as if he was savoring and recognizing the taste of it. But his eyes never changed.

            Will turned away, fearing the depth of emotion that those eyes and that smile and that question and that man inspired in him. His mind reeled and whirled, as if tossed by the storm of fear and the winds of regret.

            "Captain?"  came a hesitant voice from behind him. A mask of drunkenness and joviality snapped into place, and Jack moved to the man calling him.

            "Thank yeh, Gibbs," he said, gesturing to the crew behind him. Some of their faces were sullen and irritated; after all it appeared that they had been disturbed and brought during their off time. However most were worried, and a few of the more intelligent ones held naked fear. They gathered around Jack, as he obviously was going to speak, and Will stood to the side and toward the back.

            "You are released from your Articles," said Jack, with no fanfare or movement. Several shocked voices rose up from the crew.

            "Captain?"

            "Why-"

            "-abandoning us-"

            " You can't-"

            "Silence!" shouted Anna-Maria, her harsh voice tinged with worry, "Let the Captain speak."

            Jack nodded his thanks to his first mate and continued, "Elizabeth and Billy have been killed. By Captain Young of the Hawk." He paused here for the inevitable comments and whispers. All of the crew started in recognition, but only a couple of the old and weathered faces shared the horror that crossed Mr. Gibbs' face. The older man mouthed silently, We are going after him, as if the topic was an old one. Several of the men turned and looked at Will, most with faces lined with sympathy but a select few with accusation.

            "Their will likely be no swag for the offering, and I won't be able to pay yeh. I need only those who volunteer to go. Even if-" he breathed and rushed on, "if it means leaving the Pearl in my first mates most capable hands."

            He left silence in the wake of that. No one could imagine Jack without the Pearl. The time before he got it seemed like a distant memory, a bad nightmare that seemed particularly real. The crew exchanged uncomfortable looks. They felt loyalty to Jack, he was the type of captain that inspired it, but there main liege was themselves. Some had small families to support, and others no savings. If there was to be no treasure and no payment, loyalty wouldn't pay the rent. Young Duncan was worried and looked around to his fellows. He had a wife back in Tortuga, Becky, and he didn't want to go gallivanting off without due reward. No one did.

            Gibbs looked at Jack and nodded, stepping away from the rest of the crew and standing behind his captain.

            "It is bad luck to desert a man when he is needin'."

            Anna-Maria followed and grinned at Jack, "Yeh must mean some other capable first mate. I am goin' with yeh."

            "Pieces of Eight!" squawked Cotton's parrot, and the man himself joined the other too. The pirates filed over, one by one, some more reluctantly than others. Duncan kept his eyes fixed on his feet and shuffled, but he went.

            "Wait!" Jacks voice cut through the movement and the crew stopped moving at once out of habit.

            "You cross that line, you're no longer a pirate. You no longer have a say in the running of this ship. No booty or nothing. Your Articles go both ways, and they no longer apply. Savvy?" he said flatly.

            Jack smiled the new smile again, his eyes bleak. He peered into the eyes of each of his men in turn, and repeated again,

"Savvy?"

They slowly continue, all looking reluctant and wary. This was not a Jack they knew. Though he was fickle, and often would go from buoyant joy to crushing depression and every possible variation of the two, they had never seen him so utterly blank. Duncan's brow furrowed, but he followed the rest of the crew. Jack only prayed they didn't regret placing so much trust in him. With a wave of the hand he dismissed the crew.

            "Now, lads. Yeh be going back to Tortuga and finding a bit of pleasant company. We're leaving at dawn. Anna, Gibbs n' Will. Yer going to stay with me."

            Will nodded along with the other two, and the rest of the men hurry down the ramp, anxious to leave Jack's penetrating stare. Whispers spread among them, and Will figured that they would not immediately part company.

            Jack moved wordlessly into the cabin and the other three followed him. He sprawled back on the cot that Will had only recently vacated, putting his feet up on the nearby chair. Anna-Maria sat stiffly on the edge of another chair, resting one hand loosely on the round table and the other one hovering around her sword in pure instinct. Gibbs hunched over on his chair, leaning against his forearms and looked around at the others as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. Will lounged against the wall, the very picture of relaxation and indifference, but coiled and tense inside.

             "So?" asked Anna-Maria with a question in her voice.

            Jack smiled slightly, "Have any of ye heard of the Benediction?"

            Gibbs nodded and spoke, "Aye, 'twas all the talk of Tortuga, it was. They said it is laden with gold and other swag, but none have a ship fast enough to waylay it"

            Jack moved swiftly, rising from the cot and snapping, "Wrong. Two captains have fast enough boats."

            Will, catching on, said quietly, "The Pearl and the Hawk"

            Jack nodded and took out the map he was searching for. Spreading it on the table, he gestured for the others to gather round and they did. With his dagger he pointed to a thing gap between islands.

            "See that, mates? The Benediction needs to be a'passing through there. Ol' Cappy Young has to try for it, its far too easy for a ship with the Hawks turn of speed. That's where we'll get 'em."

            "But what of the Benediction?" asked Anna-Maria.

            "Aye, that's the tricky part. We going to be using them as bait, as it stands. We confront them with a offer to protect them from the inevitable attempt for a good word in regards to a Letter of Marquee from the king- I have no plans to use it, mind you, and we probably won't get the good word anyway. We're bloody pirates, not some toadies of the king" he said quickly, to forestall the objections on all three tongues.

            "As I was saying, we following in their wake, a bit back so we are not spotted right away. Young attacks the ship, then Uncle Fanny's your aunt, we step in while they are previously occupied. Savvy?"

            "You're either insane or a genius, Jack." Gibbs said.

            "It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide," Will spoke quietly, shooting a look at Jack. The other man raised his eyebrows but his smile grew a little less sharp.

            "Right then lads-" Anna-Maria growled, "-and the illustrious and lovely lass, we sail at daybreak tomorrow to cut our little merchant boat off here. We'll run up the white cloth, and I'll pass our little proposition by them, and if we do not have an accord, we'll just follow anyway. So run off with ye now. I'll wait on me boat for the sutler."

            Gibbs and Anna-Maria rose and filed out, sympathy evident as the passed Will. The man clapped him hard on the shoulder and muttered a gruff condolence, but Will shrugged his hand off and did not reply. Anna-Maria brushed her hand gently on his harm and did not say a word, but her apology was equally as unwelcome. Will stayed.

            He methodically studied the grain of the wood in the wall, and Jack seemed to be thinking of other things. Neither said anything or looked at each other until Will broke the silence.

            "Thank you." Jack's head snapped around to look at Will, and he shrugged the apology off. He studied the younger man's desolate face, and in an effort to comfort him, he spoke.

            "Elizabeth was a great mother" he said quietly, "And you were an excellent father, lad. Don't be beating yourself up over things you can't change."

            "But she's gone!" he rasped, unable to deal with the guilt and the regret.

            "But she was there. And you were there for lil' Billy. You can't ask for naught more. He had a father, Will. A good father. You can't ask for much more," he repeated, infusing his words with his own experiences.

            Will sighed. He knew how it was growing up without a father, but Billy would never grow up. Never have the chance at life he deserved. And Elizabeth! Jack broke him out of his reverie,

            "But enough of that, aye? Want to have another pint or three 'fore the chandler gets back with me goods?"

            Will nodded and the both gathered up some rum, heading out of the cabin. Jack sat, leaning against part of the ship, gesturing at the other man to sit as well. He swigged his drink, and following his lead, Will drank also.

            "I never knew my father," Jack began, in an uncharacteristic burst of candidness. Maybe he thought he could distract Will with his own life.

            "But me mum was there for a while. She used to sing to me, chanties and the like. Always loved them, 'specially if they were about pirates. Got sick though. When I was about twelve. I hada work to get some grub on the table," he paused, if unsure if to go on or not, but he was spared the need to continue.

            "I don't think my mother ever sang to me. Didn't smile much, or laugh either. I think she stop laughing when father left. I think she said that was when I was about four. But I know she laughed, once. "

            Both men did not seem to be talking to each other. As Will spoke, he stared at some distant spot on the horizon, and his voice faded into a whisper. Jack closed his eyes and heard an older man in the back of his mind say, Aye, lad. He might grow up to look like you, but he's only about seven now. Left him when he was about four, but we needed the money.

            Both men seemed shocked by their admissions, and decided the best course of action was to stare into the sea, pondering it's mysteries while drowning their sorrow in drink. It did cheer Will up a little, he was always curious about where Jack came from and every tidbit of information was welcome.

            Their musings where interrupted by the arrival of the chandler and his men. In the activity that followed, they managed to reduce some of the unbearable tension between them.  

            The boat stocked, they bade goodnight the man and watched him leave. Will wondered were he was going to sleep tonight, but followed Jack when he entered the cabin. His stomach fluttered strangely, but he decided to ignore it. Not all decisions can be heeded, however, and Will found himself examining every inch of Jacks face. Tearing his heated gaze away, he hunched his shoulders, ashamed of the whirlwind of feelings consuming him. To try and distract from the all consuming guilt, he spoke.

            "I'll sleep on the chair tonight Jack. You have the bed."

            Jack nodded, and moved his hands to his waist. Will felt a sudden strange fear that he would unbutton his pants, but in a swift movement he removed the brace of primed pistols. Sitting on the bunk, he kicked off his boots and took off the cutlass and various knives he carried. All for one, of course. That one he placed sheathed under his pillow, as he always did. Will also removed his sword, and set it on the ground. He sighed, moved the lantern and putting it out. He sat in the chair, settling himself on the hard wooden back, and tried to make himself comfortable, but it was futile. 

            "Good night, Jack."

            " 'Night Will."

            But Will did not sleep just yet. He stared at the dark ceiling, trying to make patterns in the darkness as he tried to make patterns in his life. He worried and bothered the wound in his mind and the wound in his heart, as if trying to prevent it from healing. He gloried in the pain that remembering brought him because that was an accepted emotion, it wasn't so wrong. He finally drifted off, the sea of sleep lapping at his tired body, but his dreams were fevered and he got no rest.