Story Title: The Smirk
Author: Hawk Martin
Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow isn't mine. As if you didn't know.
Dedication: To Quat, who thinks I'm like the famous Cap'ain m'self. If I am, where the hell is the rum?
A/N: It's pretty angsty. If you didn't know, this is Jack's conscience speaking to him. You could say…his smirk. It's kind of…twisted.
Summary: "A million have fallen for that smirk, mate. Why haven't you?"
Notes: It's one-shot, and Jack Sparrow POV. If you didn't get it.
Italics—Sarcastic emphasis; think mocking.
Rating: PG-13, just because I feel like it.
Warning: I have none for you. Sorry for all those that wanted a good warning.
~A constant smirk upon the face, and a whiffling activity of the body, are strong indications of futility.~
--Philip Dormer Stanhope, the Letters of the Earl of Chesterfield to His Son, vol. 1, no. 190, ed. Charles Strachey (1901) letter, Aug. 30, 1749 (1774).
A great many have fallen for that smirk, mate.
Not surprising, of course. It's the perfect bait: a devious, lopsided grin that just reaches your eyes, that just hints an air of open sexuality. They look at you and they're drawn in instantly, fully taken into a world of romanticized pain and hidden motives. They want what they can't have, and understanding you is one of them.
They don't see what I see, Captain.
To them, you're the stereotypical pirate—drunk even without the proper amount of alcohol, swaying in a comedic way; downright black to the soul. You are what they want, because you are what they fear. It's all in that easy grin, that simple mask of superiority wrapped up in blackened eyes and lithe fingers. And yet, when you're alone…can you stand tall against the winds of your demons? Without a ship to hide inside, without a young boy to hopelessly mislead, who are you? Who are you without me?
Nothing.
You're quaking in the corner of this cavernous mind. You're alone and sweating, wishing to cry but knowing it futile. The famous Jack Sparrow, not so famous when no one knows the real him. The real you, ironically enough. You need me, even if you can't admit it. Standing before that dishonest mirror, you see the bloodshot eyes that you thought you had blinded. In the presence of only my audience, you are not the drunken fool I wish to be entertained by.
Do they even know you, old friend? The pirate inside, begging to get out…have they ever seen you kill? Has anyone wondered why you became a reckless scallywag to begin with? It's not the lovely life you'd like—full of treasure and women. Though, you'd call them one and the same on most nights. Good conversation and good sex, as the saying goes. That's what Miss Scarlet wanted; Anna Maria needed. They didn't need you, Captain. They needed me.
Stuffing me away into a closet won't help you either, Jack. I was the one that truly got you off that island, the one that rescued precious Elizabeth Swann. It's a wonderful tale of horror. No two sides of the story are exactly alike; no heart and mind justly echo one another's purpose. I am everywhere you look—in the bitter rum that saturates your coal of a heart, in the wooden planks aboard the Pearl that you love so much.
Yet, love and romance hold nothing with you. They are merely far-off dreams, tales few have enjoyed and all have heard time and time again. The story you wish to listen to, however, is not one of eternal bliss. You want freedom, more than any gold piece you've lusted over all these years. Freedom is wanted, but not from the iron shackles that now cool your wrists. Freedom, but not from this stony cell that has imprisoned you. Freedom, but not from this town, this world, this life—freedom, not from everyone else, but yourself.
You want freedom…from me.
How would you achieve that, I wonder? With the Black Pearl, your beloved ship of beauty? You can sail away a thousand leagues, and still there I will be, perched upon your shoulder. There I will be waiting…for my chance to shine in your smirk. You need me; you know that.
Through the doors of another welcoming village, and I walk behind you. The air is cold, but you don't notice. The warmth of a hangover keeps you at bay.
You stand in the doorway of another tavern, the smell of intoxicating alcohol greeting your rugged sight. A girl catches your eye, and you hesitate. Dare you risk it again? Of course you do. It takes seconds…and time slows down. Your eyes flash in a mesmerizing way, and she's caught in your trap. The smirk, the idle grin, reaches your mouth and the date is sealed. You'll have warm bed tonight, and I'll have a taunting for later.
But, she's not looking for you, and you know that. She's not coming for you. No one is.
Everyone isn't waiting for you, Captain Jack Sparrow. They're waiting for me.