Aftermath
By: L'Morgan
Disclaimer: I guess I really do need to remind you all that anything and everything related to Pirates of the Caribbean, their characters and settings are all the property of Disney - Disney - Disney - nobody - but -Disney ---- I-just-borrowing-to-play-with-and-giving-back. Only Disney can make money on anything to do with Pirates of the Caribbean. NOT ME!
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Summary: Port Royal lies in ruins.. The Black Pearl has battled and won.. But is Jack Sparrow at the bottom of the sea or is he not?
Chapter 15: Obituary for a Pirate
Elizabeth Swan Turner sat in the chair beside the open window, watching the heavens shed an ocean of tears. Almost as many tears as she herself had shed in the time since William had returned home - to deliver the dreadful news that morning. Captain Jack Sparrow, killed during the night's battle and lost with him, First Mate AnaMaria. She swallowed shakily, picking at the already more than saturated handkerchief in her lap, not looking up as Will came in bearing a pot of tea.
She shut her eyes. God no, it just couldn't be true - it couldn't be. All she could see was Jack's smile - hear his voice - the accent, the pauses, the insinuations and tones. He couldn't just be suddenly gone, never to come back! What of his ship the Pearl? Jack adored that ship - he hadn't even had it back all that long! The pain inside made her want to just curl up and die. She looked up at the cup of tea Will offered, wiping quickly at her cheeks, but more tears came unnoticed in their wake.
He made no effort to hide his own emotional reaction as he sat down beside her on the small sofa.
"Elizabeth - he - Jack wouldn't want us to -" he barely managed, quitting when as he voiced the pirate's name said out loud, suddenly she threw herself into his arms, sobbing bitterly.
"It's not fair! Not fair! He was helping us all! He was doing something he didn't even have to do! How could the Commodore have let him - let him- He should have stopped him!" she managed tearfully, then the rest just dissolved into a heavy weeping and he hugged her tightly, his throat completely constricted.
He closed his eyes and instantly saw the pirate before him, close up, eyes bright with some plan or scheme. On the voyage from Port Royal to Tortuga just after they had taken the Interceptor and escaped with her, Jack had been busy for a long while tending to this rope or that sail. It had been hours before everything seemed to suit him. Not being a sailor, it had all mystified Will and he had felt more and more awkward and out of place. Jack had said he couldn't bring the ship into Tortuga all on his 'onesies' - yet that was essentially what he was having to do after all.
Will had risen the next morning, after having had his choice of the many bunks to sleep in, to find the pirate still standing at the whee,l as he had been when Will had finally gone down below deck. Jack had given him a cheerful 'mornin' lad!' and told him there was hot water and plenty to eat in the galley, help himself to whatever he wanted.
It had only been hours later when he was again cleaning his sword, that he had looked over to see Jack stifling a yawn and rubbing at his eyes. Then and only then had it dawned on him that the pirate had been at the wheel all night. Not because Jack Sparrow so desperately wanted to rescue Elizabeth, but because he had promised to help him rescue her. And because there was nobody else who could do it for him if he needed to sleep. So he simply hadn't.
All right - so Will figured Jack had to have something up his sleeve as well at the time. But for him to stay up until - when? Until they finally reached the port? Tortuga was a good 2 days away, sometimes a little more if the winds weren't just right.
At Will's first offer to help, Jack had good naturedly waved him away saying everything was fine for now, thanks anyway lad. So instead he had gone down to the galley and done what he could to prepare a meal. No, he wasn't the most experienced or best cook in the world, but he knew enough to survive. Still he'd been amused at Jack's look of utter astonishment when he had brought him a bowl of the thick and hearty stew.
The pirate had let him actually take the wheel, but had gone no farther away than the railing where he had wolfed down every bite in less than a few minutes, as if he had been starving to death for a considerable time. Will's conscience had prickled when he remembered that nothing in the galley had appeared touched this morning, except for hot water in a pot on the stove - and the day before Jack had spent in the gaol where he wasn't even so certain the man had been given anything to eat at all after being rendered unconscious by Mr. Brown. God only knew when or where or what he had eaten before that.
Even that scene alone had bothered him. Since when do pirates ask you to 'please move'? For any reason? Much less when on the verge of being caught? Any normal pirate would have put the bullet in his head and been out the door and gone, not standing there asking him to please move and then telling him that the bullet wasn't meant for him while the very door was near to being broken down behind him.
But - there had been no subterfuge in the pirate's thankful look or words of appreciation over the food that afternoon on the Interceptor. Just as there had been no missing the lines of exhaustion that showed a little more on his face then. But still Jack hadn't given him one order or demanded he do anything. Will had finally found a length of rope and brought it over and settled himself on a box near the helm, where he knew Jack could not avoid seeing him. He had attempted to copy some of the knots he saw along the railing - with many muffled results. The pirate had seemed amused and finally offered to show him.
Jack had been patient, encouraging him as he fumbled at first. The man had attached the lash to the helm wheel and sat down close beside him, guiding Will's inexperienced hands at tying the knot and then undoing it and then having him try again. For a long first moment of the pirate being so close up, Will had stared at the man himself. The beads in his hair, the waft of rum and exotic spices that seemed to come from his coat, the tanned hands that delicately fluttered around whenever he spoke.
He seemed to be brimming with the ability to handle anything, confident, knowledgeable, and he definitely had a vocabulary that Will had never dreamed a pirate would. Jack Sparrow didn't exactly fit into the mold of 'ordinary pirate'. and it didn't seem to worry him in the least. He had seemed truly as large and impressive as any of the legends and stories about him - and yet he was something more as well. He was human. He had frailties. He got tired and hungry.
"Here lad - you've got a good start, the right idea. Lets' try putting this end through right there - see? Aye! There you've got it - now pull 'er tight!" Jack had told him of his knot, seeming genuinely pleased when Will tugged and the knot held up. The pirate had laughed and pat him on the shoulder and told him his father would be proud. He'd meant it.. And he'd said it with the natural ease of someone who knows they are simply relaying the truth of a situation. Jack had had no idea how those words had struck Will. The man beside him that moment had actually known his father well enough to just so naturally say such a thing without so much as a second thought.
Before that moment the pirate had been a 'figure' - a preconceived image in his mind. He knew all about pirates, yes sir. They were mean, violent, ignorant, greedy men who cared only for their own purse and pleasure, and he would only be too happy to see all of them hung as they deserved. Suddenly the one beside him - was more.
Will tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He felt as if his very heart had shriveled up and died inside him. Unaware, tears ran made slow tracks down his cheeks as the reality of a world where Jack Sparrow would never again utter the word 'savvy' or call him 'lad' occurred to him.
Lord in heaven, he could still hear the man in his head, just last week, reassuring him that he was doing fine despite his injured arm. See the smile with the flash of gold, and the soft chuckle, catch the faint smell of salt and sea and spice and rum that seemed to constantly be around the pirate. Who would tell him 'not to do anything - stupid' in that so meaningful tone? With THAT look? He gently fondled a strand of Elizabeth's hair and she finally looked up at him.
"Oh, you must think something horrid of me Will - I barely knew the man! He - he was just some pirate - he tried to trade you - for - for -" she got out, tears starting again and he hugged her to his chest warmly.
"No, No, Elizabeth - no. Jack was NOT just some pirate. He was much, much more. And we both know now that he never intended to leave me there with Barbossa. It was I who interfered in his plans to get all of us out. He wouldn't have left me there with Barbossa. Not in the end." He said and she nodded in his arms, sobbing softly, but in a more deeply heartbroken way that even before.
Will sighed heavily, gazing out the window at the downpour of rain as he held his grief-stricken wife. Yes, yes the skies should weep for a man like Captain Jack Sparrow. He was no angel, but he was a good man none the less. He sighed shakily and closed his eyes, wondering if it was possible for the soul of Jack Sparrow to sense the sadness and heartbreak of his friends at his loss.
He hoped so - love didn't seem to be much of the pirates' life - but Jack had done good none the less when the need for it came to him, even when he knew his overtures would be taken wrong and viewed with suspicion. No man of that caliber of conscience deserved to die so violently, so unexpectedly, in effort on behalf of others, and then be unmourned.
To them both, the world seemed to have gone greyer and duller, just for them knowing that the spell-weaving pirate was no more a part of it.
William Turner the Second watched miserably as the grey skies grew darker and the rain more intense as if God himself protested the loss of the deedful captain.
~ * * ~
Commodore Norrington sat at the desk in his office dressed in his civilian clothes instead of his uniform. He felt almost naked to be without the formal coat and shirt and wig. Testingly he moved his arm and bit on his lip at the stab of pain that screamed at him from his wound. Yet again he looked at his shoulder. Aside from being an inch lower, his own was identical to the one he had inflicted himself on Sparrow - but not nearly as deep as Sparrow's had been.
Jack Sparrow.
He felt sick. The whole plan had been more befitting a military strategy, not the doings of a civilian, even if that civilian was a pirate. It should have been a military effort, not that of Jack Sparrow alone. Why in the name of heaven hadn't he realized that at the time?
It should have been him and his men who were blown to bits in the explosion of the 'Rover'. It should have been his wig that was found floating among the flaming wreckage. Not Sparrow's red bandana. He stared down at the paper before him. To his side sat 8 attempts already at this. Each torn and crumpled in frustration. He laid down the quill.
For years he had dreamed of this moment: writing his formal account reporting the death of the pirate Jack Sparrow. It had even been something he had dreamed about at times. Many times.
In the past.
Now that the actual task sat before him, he found his mouth tasted as if it were full of ash and brine and his eyes kept misting up when he tried to pen the words and his hand shook uncooperatively.
He pushed back his chair and carefully rose and went to the cabinet and poured a healthy glass of brandy, his hand only trembling slightly. He returned to his chair as he turned to look at the drenched landscape beyond the window. He sipped at the brandy and flinched as he moved his arm just the wrong way.
He closed his eyes and instantly the lost pirate came to his mind's eye. The man seemed to be 'looking at him' almost - as if in understanding? He clenched a fist. Jack Sparrow, even if he had been a pirate, had also been a civilian that had no business being the one to think up and carry out what was a military defense tactic. Much less pay the ultimate price. How many times had he, the great military officer, refused to give the man the title of 'Captain' - yet he'd certainly let Sparrow assume the responsibility - and pay the price of the title.
He put a hand to his eyes and rubbed at them hard. Why on earth wasn't he overjoyed to be relieved once and for all of the pirate? Sparrow had been the one to dream up and insist he was going to carry out the plan. Norrington had told him to be careful even - well he had meant to say it. He had thought it at least. He swallowed past a tightness in his throat. He picked up his glass to find his hand trembling much worse.
God how he wished and prayed that he could undo the last 30 hours of his life. But he couldn't - and now he would have to live with the death of a good man on his conscience for all his life. Not just any good man - the town held many. But the death of the one good man he had utterly refused to admit could be good. Sparrow had thanked him even. But had he been man enough to do the same? He had failed to even be polite when the man had been returning people and goods..
He swallowed hard and stopped thinking. Something was tickling on his cheek. He brushed at the sensation, and looked at his fingers, surprised to find tears.
"And why not?" his mind spoke up softly, "You let a good man go to his grave in your place. A good man you refused to ever even give the slightest recognition to for what he did. He didn't just help the town and save the survivors from the sea, he saved your life, literally, in a very personal manner.. And he went to his death to protect them - and you." His conscience continued.
Norrington put one finger to his lips, and stared out the window and gave a very shaky, deep sigh. Pride. Vanity. Ego. Self Centeredness. They were all his sins. And another man lay in the grave today because of them. Only no, he didn't lie in the grave. He lay in bits and pieces on the bottom of the ocean most likely. A pirate - who also knew when and where generosity and compassion and loyalty were warranted - and gave them fully and without reserve when he was faced with that point.
Norrington closed his eyes and wondered if the spirit of ~ Captain~ Jack Sparrow could see into his heart at that moment. He wanted to believe that the man could. He desperately needed for him to be able to.
"Lord God above, I am so - so - so deeply sorry. With all I hold sacred, I swear, I never meant for you to .. To..." he whispered out loud in a very wavering voice - then left off, shaking his head, unable to even say the word 'die'. He opened his eyes and saw the grey world beyond his window awash not only with the pouring rain, but with the hot tears that clouded his own vision.
"God himself weeps for Sparrow.." His mind whispered - and then was silent.
~ * * ~
Jack stood at the entrance to the cave they had been fortunate enough to find at dawn. It had been a very good thing too - it was now pouring rain outside as if the skies themselves had turned to liquid. Behind him he heard the low snap and crackle of the fire he had managed to get going after half a day of attempts. At least they weren't out in the rain.
He turned and using the wall to lean on and with his other hand out and waving mildly for balance, he made his way back to the fire where he frowned at Ana who was picking at what was left of a papaya on a large banana leaf. Between the naseberries and guineps, bananas and papaya he had managed to find for them to eat, she was more than full. True, she would have liked to have had some fresh fish - her favorite - but that could wait a few days until they got back to Port Royal.
She looked over at the other leaf-plate he had filled. He had nibbled on a few of the green-grap-like guineps, peeled one of the peach-like naseberries, but all he'd really eaten was the bananas. That made her smile. Jack and his fondness for bananas! She looked up at him and saw him frowning as he came back from the entrance of their cave.
'What you makin' faces at Jack?" she asked and he sighed as he sat down a few feet away from her and casually stretched out his legs.
"Nothin' actually." He said and half shrugged as he stared at the small fire pensively.
"The rain will let up." She said with confidence and he gave her a small smile.
"You'd think we'd floated all the way to India and landed in the very heart of monsoon season." He observed with a shake of his head and she considered him for a moment.
"You really been to all those places? Singapore? India?" she asked curiously. She'd heard the same stories as everyone else, but in truth, aside from his dozen or so years in the Caribbean, no one seemed able to tell you much about Captain Jack Sparrow. She wasn't born yesterday. She knew there was some kind of a story behind his sudden appearance in the Caribbean. She'd been born and raised there, grew up in these waters. How and why Jack had come to be there was anyone's guess, and he wasn't telling.
He nodded absently. "Yeah - over the years. Never have missed the monsoon seasons though. They can keep them. Too wet for me. Typhoons are no fun either." He observed with a frown at the rain outside and she followed his gaze and shrugged.
"Maybe when the rain lets up, the Pearl will come along lookin' for us. It would sure be better than walkin' around this whole bay to get there." She said and he gave her a dark look with a deep frown and quickly turned away. He picked up a twig and absently began scratching in the dirt at his side. She watched him for a long moment puzzled by his lack of reaction to her statement.
She took a guess as to maybe why.
"Nobody left us here on purpose Jack - They're lookin' at the rain and fit to be tied that they can't be out there right now lookin' for us." She said quietly, and he just shook his head a little bit and continued scratching slowly and absently in the dirt.
"Doesn't matter if they do or not. I'll do whatever it takes to get 'er back." He murmured as if thinking out loud. She started to get angry at his insinuation that the crew would have taken off with the Black Pearl on purpose, but just as she was about to give him a good piece of her mind, he glanced up and then away. In that brief moment the utter despair and wounded sadness in his eyes struck her speechless.
She had seen Jack Sparrow almost anyway she could think of: happy, ecstatic, drunk, philosophical, sick, tired, annoyed, frustrated, angry, furious.. But she didn't think she could ever say she'd seen him depressed - discouraged. Not Jack. If he ever was he'd cover it up before anyone could know. But he hadn't been fast enough this time.
He stopped scratching to cough heavily and wetly into his fist, bringing his legs up into his chest and his arm across them, resting his forehead on his arm. It progressed into a spasm of coughing that he couldn't stop. He had started doing that last night when he had woken her up in the makeshift cover of leaves they'd managed to scrape together in the brush beside the beach.
Finally he quit only to stay like he was, his eyes. Obviously he still had a lot of sea water in his lungs, which nobody needed to tell her was not good. Lord only knows what was brewing up inside there by now. This was not the best way for him to start the walking they would be doing before long here.
It looked to her like he was close to dozing off right like he was out of sheer exhaustion. She hadn't slept well herself. After only a few hours a nightmare had woken her.
In her dream she had relived the explosion, being in the sea as the fire raged and debris rained around her. She had not gone back for the struggling form - she had reached the shore alone, only to have a very, very pale and still body wash up in the surf beside her. And that time he hadn't opened his eyes when she shook him. Even now just the brief thought of the fear and the sheer horror of the dream made her throat constrict and her mouth dry. It had seemed so real. Her stomach seemed to fall away clear down through the ground.
"Here, shhhh -" she said quietly as she gently pulled him over, needing very much just to touch him at that moment.
"Lay down for a few minutes Jack - just to catch your breath. We can't go anywhere anyway in the rain." She said rather sternly and he looked reluctant, but extended his legs to do so. He squirmed as if trying to get comfortable and had finally stilled.
"Hush now Captain. None 'o your fussin', you hear me?" she reproved with a smile as she leaned forward more to toss more small pieces of wood onto the fire until it was burning hotly and warm, leaning on him with one arm.
"Too many rocks," he mumbled unhappily as he rose up on one elbow and coughed again thickly. She really did not like the sound of that. It sounded like he had water higher up that he was coughing up gradually, but under that, a deeper thicker sound of something that wasn't so easily moved. She also didn't like the way he frowned and rubbed at the center of his chest without realizing it afterwards.
He rose up more as if to sit back up and she pulled him over sharply so he landed with his chest across her lap giving a sharp huff and she chuckled softly.
"What are ye doin' - ye daft bugger!" he reacted in protest. She smiled as she pulled him backwards so he was resting more in her arms. He looked surprised and his eyes seemed uncertain.
"Ye really don' need to be-" he started and she put a finger to his lips and he went quiet.
"Shhh - are the rocks still botherin' ye?" she asked, and he hesitated, then shook his head.
"Am I hurtin' ye?" she asked and he shook his head.
"Is anybody watchin' t' say anything?" she asked and he shook his head a little bit.
"Besides, its' warmer with you like this. Do you really feel like fightin' me just so you can sleep on a bunch of rocks and I can be cold?" she asked and he seemed to hesitate long. She sighed, loosening her hold. But instead of sit up and move away when he had the chance, now he shook his head and relaxed. She arched an eyebrow. Not exactly what she had figured he would do really.
"I'm gonna be kinda heavy -" he mumbled doubtfully and she smiled as she situated her one arm under his head and parked the other atop his shoulder and pressed him back against her some. He shifted slowly, already giving a sleepy sounding sigh as she stoked the dark hair off his face. He half looked back as if doubtful of this arrangement and she smiled.
"Just humor me Jack. I promise not to bite ye'" she told him, and now he snuggled in more comfortably with a mumble that sounded suspiciously like 'too bad that is' and she bit on her tongue to keep from laughing.
Now she could feel his heartbeat, feel his breathing, feel the warmth of him. Much better - much, much better this way. He was definitely alive.
She sat to consider him and carefully tossed one big piece of wood on the fire. It crushed some of the smaller pieces down and quickly began to catch fire. Jack gave a shallow sigh as if relieved at the heat. That should help dry him out she thought as she absently stroked the dark locks away from his face and watched the wood catch. She brushed her fingers through his hair along the side and encountered a large bump on the side towards the back of his head.
Jack winced heavily at the touch and gave her a quick look of reproval and she frowned.
"Hush, you - let me see," she told him, turning his head so she could inspect the area. There didn't seem to be an actual wound, but he certainly had a very large lump there. No wonder he'd been foundering and having such a hard time in the water.
"I'm surprised you don't have one doozy of a splittin' headache, Jack," she muttered and he frowned mildly.
"Who says I don't," came the soft reply as he closed his eyes and she smiled to herself as she very gently stroked the hair down into place. Maybe it was a very good thing it was raining so hard today. This way she didn't have to argue with him over taking a day to rest. Very lightly she ran her hand over the rest of his head, checking for any more surprises.
Lord only knew where or how he'd lost his bandana. Probably in the water last night sometime. He'd have a fit over a new one, claiming it just wasn't the same, that she already knew.
He looked up at her as she finished her inspection and smiled mischievously. She quickly put her hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.
"I said hush! Don't you be startin' trouble with me mister. Just be quiet and take deep breaths. Get that warm air inside you and dry your lungs out. I don't want you keepin' me up every night with that hacking and coughin' like you got consumption." She reproved, and he quickly bit on his lower lip with a mildly wounded look and she seemed amused and determined to repress it.
"Oh close your eyes you fool! I swear you talk even more just by lookin' than you do with your mouth! You know I didn't mean that. My turn to give you trouble s'all." She told him and he brought a hand up and looked as if he was about to say something. She captured his hand in her other and parked it atop his chest and kept it there. She felt satisfied and went back to stroking his brow slowly, a little surprised when he stayed quiet.
Her other hand gently rubbed his, turning his fingers some to casually consider the silver and black ring on his finger.
"You've had this one as long as I've known you.' She observed carelessly and he turned his head and nodded. She could tell he was already very drowsy by the way he blinked slowly and heavily.
"M' father gave it to me." He muttered softly, then used that same hand to rub at his eyes sleepily and she smiled.
"You have family somewhere still, Jack?" she asked casually as she feathered a touch across his forehead and his eyes slid closed as he nodded.
"Some - in England.. Some estate." He muttered very drowsily and she smiled mildly.
"You ever go see 'em?" she asked curiously.
"Unh - Been 'while now. Lotsa arguin' las' time. Here's much better. You been t' see yer mama' recently?" he asked, sounding much more asleep than awake now and she shrugged.
She smiled down at him. "Last Christmas.. Af'er you sent all the boys home ta spend the winter months with their families. That was downright decent of ya' Jack. Yah think yer gonna do that 'agin this year?" she asked and he nodded his head and mumbled unintelligibly. She gently stoked his cheek and felt his breathing deepen and slow dramatically, his hand now limp in hers.
She smiled as she sat feeling very content as she watched him drift from barely dozing, into true slumber under her slow, soft touch. Yes he was heavy. But alive and heavy. She sighed deeply and sat back with her eyes closed for a moment, remembering the kiss. Hesitant, uncertain. Almost shy. Unfortunately neither of them had had energy for anything more, and both of them had seemed almost a little shocked that he had done it - and she hadn't even thought to slap him for the action. But in a way that had been almost better.
After her nightmare she had scooted over close by him. Her hand gently against his chest had caused him to unconsciously decide she would be nice to drape his arm over and hug close. She had been on the verge of objecting and most loudly, when she had looked up and realized he was very soundly asleep. She had decided not to argue with fate and instead relaxed into heavy warmth. That had felt nicer than she wanted to admit really.
No wonder he was actin' funny with that giant lump on his head. Goin' and kissin' people - thinkin' maybe the crew of the Pearl had run off on him again - sayin' things he normally wouldn't. Blasted fool probably had a concussion and didn't even know it, she thought.
When she was sure he was asleep, she felt lightly at his forehead and then at his chest and frowned. Not really a fever - just a bit warmer than he should be, but she could feel the bubbly wheezing deep inside him still. Carefully she tossed more wood on the fire and then reclaimed his limp hand. Hopefully this just might work to dry him out - it couldn't rain forever. Could it?
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Disclaimer: I guess I really do need to remind you all that anything and everything related to Pirates of the Caribbean, their characters and settings are all the property of Disney - Disney - Disney - nobody - but -Disney ---- I-just-borrowing-to-play-with-and-giving-back. Only Disney can make money on anything to do with Pirates of the Caribbean. NOT ME!
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Summary: Port Royal lies in ruins.. The Black Pearl has battled and won.. But is Jack Sparrow at the bottom of the sea or is he not?
Chapter 15: Obituary for a Pirate
Elizabeth Swan Turner sat in the chair beside the open window, watching the heavens shed an ocean of tears. Almost as many tears as she herself had shed in the time since William had returned home - to deliver the dreadful news that morning. Captain Jack Sparrow, killed during the night's battle and lost with him, First Mate AnaMaria. She swallowed shakily, picking at the already more than saturated handkerchief in her lap, not looking up as Will came in bearing a pot of tea.
She shut her eyes. God no, it just couldn't be true - it couldn't be. All she could see was Jack's smile - hear his voice - the accent, the pauses, the insinuations and tones. He couldn't just be suddenly gone, never to come back! What of his ship the Pearl? Jack adored that ship - he hadn't even had it back all that long! The pain inside made her want to just curl up and die. She looked up at the cup of tea Will offered, wiping quickly at her cheeks, but more tears came unnoticed in their wake.
He made no effort to hide his own emotional reaction as he sat down beside her on the small sofa.
"Elizabeth - he - Jack wouldn't want us to -" he barely managed, quitting when as he voiced the pirate's name said out loud, suddenly she threw herself into his arms, sobbing bitterly.
"It's not fair! Not fair! He was helping us all! He was doing something he didn't even have to do! How could the Commodore have let him - let him- He should have stopped him!" she managed tearfully, then the rest just dissolved into a heavy weeping and he hugged her tightly, his throat completely constricted.
He closed his eyes and instantly saw the pirate before him, close up, eyes bright with some plan or scheme. On the voyage from Port Royal to Tortuga just after they had taken the Interceptor and escaped with her, Jack had been busy for a long while tending to this rope or that sail. It had been hours before everything seemed to suit him. Not being a sailor, it had all mystified Will and he had felt more and more awkward and out of place. Jack had said he couldn't bring the ship into Tortuga all on his 'onesies' - yet that was essentially what he was having to do after all.
Will had risen the next morning, after having had his choice of the many bunks to sleep in, to find the pirate still standing at the whee,l as he had been when Will had finally gone down below deck. Jack had given him a cheerful 'mornin' lad!' and told him there was hot water and plenty to eat in the galley, help himself to whatever he wanted.
It had only been hours later when he was again cleaning his sword, that he had looked over to see Jack stifling a yawn and rubbing at his eyes. Then and only then had it dawned on him that the pirate had been at the wheel all night. Not because Jack Sparrow so desperately wanted to rescue Elizabeth, but because he had promised to help him rescue her. And because there was nobody else who could do it for him if he needed to sleep. So he simply hadn't.
All right - so Will figured Jack had to have something up his sleeve as well at the time. But for him to stay up until - when? Until they finally reached the port? Tortuga was a good 2 days away, sometimes a little more if the winds weren't just right.
At Will's first offer to help, Jack had good naturedly waved him away saying everything was fine for now, thanks anyway lad. So instead he had gone down to the galley and done what he could to prepare a meal. No, he wasn't the most experienced or best cook in the world, but he knew enough to survive. Still he'd been amused at Jack's look of utter astonishment when he had brought him a bowl of the thick and hearty stew.
The pirate had let him actually take the wheel, but had gone no farther away than the railing where he had wolfed down every bite in less than a few minutes, as if he had been starving to death for a considerable time. Will's conscience had prickled when he remembered that nothing in the galley had appeared touched this morning, except for hot water in a pot on the stove - and the day before Jack had spent in the gaol where he wasn't even so certain the man had been given anything to eat at all after being rendered unconscious by Mr. Brown. God only knew when or where or what he had eaten before that.
Even that scene alone had bothered him. Since when do pirates ask you to 'please move'? For any reason? Much less when on the verge of being caught? Any normal pirate would have put the bullet in his head and been out the door and gone, not standing there asking him to please move and then telling him that the bullet wasn't meant for him while the very door was near to being broken down behind him.
But - there had been no subterfuge in the pirate's thankful look or words of appreciation over the food that afternoon on the Interceptor. Just as there had been no missing the lines of exhaustion that showed a little more on his face then. But still Jack hadn't given him one order or demanded he do anything. Will had finally found a length of rope and brought it over and settled himself on a box near the helm, where he knew Jack could not avoid seeing him. He had attempted to copy some of the knots he saw along the railing - with many muffled results. The pirate had seemed amused and finally offered to show him.
Jack had been patient, encouraging him as he fumbled at first. The man had attached the lash to the helm wheel and sat down close beside him, guiding Will's inexperienced hands at tying the knot and then undoing it and then having him try again. For a long first moment of the pirate being so close up, Will had stared at the man himself. The beads in his hair, the waft of rum and exotic spices that seemed to come from his coat, the tanned hands that delicately fluttered around whenever he spoke.
He seemed to be brimming with the ability to handle anything, confident, knowledgeable, and he definitely had a vocabulary that Will had never dreamed a pirate would. Jack Sparrow didn't exactly fit into the mold of 'ordinary pirate'. and it didn't seem to worry him in the least. He had seemed truly as large and impressive as any of the legends and stories about him - and yet he was something more as well. He was human. He had frailties. He got tired and hungry.
"Here lad - you've got a good start, the right idea. Lets' try putting this end through right there - see? Aye! There you've got it - now pull 'er tight!" Jack had told him of his knot, seeming genuinely pleased when Will tugged and the knot held up. The pirate had laughed and pat him on the shoulder and told him his father would be proud. He'd meant it.. And he'd said it with the natural ease of someone who knows they are simply relaying the truth of a situation. Jack had had no idea how those words had struck Will. The man beside him that moment had actually known his father well enough to just so naturally say such a thing without so much as a second thought.
Before that moment the pirate had been a 'figure' - a preconceived image in his mind. He knew all about pirates, yes sir. They were mean, violent, ignorant, greedy men who cared only for their own purse and pleasure, and he would only be too happy to see all of them hung as they deserved. Suddenly the one beside him - was more.
Will tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He felt as if his very heart had shriveled up and died inside him. Unaware, tears ran made slow tracks down his cheeks as the reality of a world where Jack Sparrow would never again utter the word 'savvy' or call him 'lad' occurred to him.
Lord in heaven, he could still hear the man in his head, just last week, reassuring him that he was doing fine despite his injured arm. See the smile with the flash of gold, and the soft chuckle, catch the faint smell of salt and sea and spice and rum that seemed to constantly be around the pirate. Who would tell him 'not to do anything - stupid' in that so meaningful tone? With THAT look? He gently fondled a strand of Elizabeth's hair and she finally looked up at him.
"Oh, you must think something horrid of me Will - I barely knew the man! He - he was just some pirate - he tried to trade you - for - for -" she got out, tears starting again and he hugged her to his chest warmly.
"No, No, Elizabeth - no. Jack was NOT just some pirate. He was much, much more. And we both know now that he never intended to leave me there with Barbossa. It was I who interfered in his plans to get all of us out. He wouldn't have left me there with Barbossa. Not in the end." He said and she nodded in his arms, sobbing softly, but in a more deeply heartbroken way that even before.
Will sighed heavily, gazing out the window at the downpour of rain as he held his grief-stricken wife. Yes, yes the skies should weep for a man like Captain Jack Sparrow. He was no angel, but he was a good man none the less. He sighed shakily and closed his eyes, wondering if it was possible for the soul of Jack Sparrow to sense the sadness and heartbreak of his friends at his loss.
He hoped so - love didn't seem to be much of the pirates' life - but Jack had done good none the less when the need for it came to him, even when he knew his overtures would be taken wrong and viewed with suspicion. No man of that caliber of conscience deserved to die so violently, so unexpectedly, in effort on behalf of others, and then be unmourned.
To them both, the world seemed to have gone greyer and duller, just for them knowing that the spell-weaving pirate was no more a part of it.
William Turner the Second watched miserably as the grey skies grew darker and the rain more intense as if God himself protested the loss of the deedful captain.
~ * * ~
Commodore Norrington sat at the desk in his office dressed in his civilian clothes instead of his uniform. He felt almost naked to be without the formal coat and shirt and wig. Testingly he moved his arm and bit on his lip at the stab of pain that screamed at him from his wound. Yet again he looked at his shoulder. Aside from being an inch lower, his own was identical to the one he had inflicted himself on Sparrow - but not nearly as deep as Sparrow's had been.
Jack Sparrow.
He felt sick. The whole plan had been more befitting a military strategy, not the doings of a civilian, even if that civilian was a pirate. It should have been a military effort, not that of Jack Sparrow alone. Why in the name of heaven hadn't he realized that at the time?
It should have been him and his men who were blown to bits in the explosion of the 'Rover'. It should have been his wig that was found floating among the flaming wreckage. Not Sparrow's red bandana. He stared down at the paper before him. To his side sat 8 attempts already at this. Each torn and crumpled in frustration. He laid down the quill.
For years he had dreamed of this moment: writing his formal account reporting the death of the pirate Jack Sparrow. It had even been something he had dreamed about at times. Many times.
In the past.
Now that the actual task sat before him, he found his mouth tasted as if it were full of ash and brine and his eyes kept misting up when he tried to pen the words and his hand shook uncooperatively.
He pushed back his chair and carefully rose and went to the cabinet and poured a healthy glass of brandy, his hand only trembling slightly. He returned to his chair as he turned to look at the drenched landscape beyond the window. He sipped at the brandy and flinched as he moved his arm just the wrong way.
He closed his eyes and instantly the lost pirate came to his mind's eye. The man seemed to be 'looking at him' almost - as if in understanding? He clenched a fist. Jack Sparrow, even if he had been a pirate, had also been a civilian that had no business being the one to think up and carry out what was a military defense tactic. Much less pay the ultimate price. How many times had he, the great military officer, refused to give the man the title of 'Captain' - yet he'd certainly let Sparrow assume the responsibility - and pay the price of the title.
He put a hand to his eyes and rubbed at them hard. Why on earth wasn't he overjoyed to be relieved once and for all of the pirate? Sparrow had been the one to dream up and insist he was going to carry out the plan. Norrington had told him to be careful even - well he had meant to say it. He had thought it at least. He swallowed past a tightness in his throat. He picked up his glass to find his hand trembling much worse.
God how he wished and prayed that he could undo the last 30 hours of his life. But he couldn't - and now he would have to live with the death of a good man on his conscience for all his life. Not just any good man - the town held many. But the death of the one good man he had utterly refused to admit could be good. Sparrow had thanked him even. But had he been man enough to do the same? He had failed to even be polite when the man had been returning people and goods..
He swallowed hard and stopped thinking. Something was tickling on his cheek. He brushed at the sensation, and looked at his fingers, surprised to find tears.
"And why not?" his mind spoke up softly, "You let a good man go to his grave in your place. A good man you refused to ever even give the slightest recognition to for what he did. He didn't just help the town and save the survivors from the sea, he saved your life, literally, in a very personal manner.. And he went to his death to protect them - and you." His conscience continued.
Norrington put one finger to his lips, and stared out the window and gave a very shaky, deep sigh. Pride. Vanity. Ego. Self Centeredness. They were all his sins. And another man lay in the grave today because of them. Only no, he didn't lie in the grave. He lay in bits and pieces on the bottom of the ocean most likely. A pirate - who also knew when and where generosity and compassion and loyalty were warranted - and gave them fully and without reserve when he was faced with that point.
Norrington closed his eyes and wondered if the spirit of ~ Captain~ Jack Sparrow could see into his heart at that moment. He wanted to believe that the man could. He desperately needed for him to be able to.
"Lord God above, I am so - so - so deeply sorry. With all I hold sacred, I swear, I never meant for you to .. To..." he whispered out loud in a very wavering voice - then left off, shaking his head, unable to even say the word 'die'. He opened his eyes and saw the grey world beyond his window awash not only with the pouring rain, but with the hot tears that clouded his own vision.
"God himself weeps for Sparrow.." His mind whispered - and then was silent.
~ * * ~
Jack stood at the entrance to the cave they had been fortunate enough to find at dawn. It had been a very good thing too - it was now pouring rain outside as if the skies themselves had turned to liquid. Behind him he heard the low snap and crackle of the fire he had managed to get going after half a day of attempts. At least they weren't out in the rain.
He turned and using the wall to lean on and with his other hand out and waving mildly for balance, he made his way back to the fire where he frowned at Ana who was picking at what was left of a papaya on a large banana leaf. Between the naseberries and guineps, bananas and papaya he had managed to find for them to eat, she was more than full. True, she would have liked to have had some fresh fish - her favorite - but that could wait a few days until they got back to Port Royal.
She looked over at the other leaf-plate he had filled. He had nibbled on a few of the green-grap-like guineps, peeled one of the peach-like naseberries, but all he'd really eaten was the bananas. That made her smile. Jack and his fondness for bananas! She looked up at him and saw him frowning as he came back from the entrance of their cave.
'What you makin' faces at Jack?" she asked and he sighed as he sat down a few feet away from her and casually stretched out his legs.
"Nothin' actually." He said and half shrugged as he stared at the small fire pensively.
"The rain will let up." She said with confidence and he gave her a small smile.
"You'd think we'd floated all the way to India and landed in the very heart of monsoon season." He observed with a shake of his head and she considered him for a moment.
"You really been to all those places? Singapore? India?" she asked curiously. She'd heard the same stories as everyone else, but in truth, aside from his dozen or so years in the Caribbean, no one seemed able to tell you much about Captain Jack Sparrow. She wasn't born yesterday. She knew there was some kind of a story behind his sudden appearance in the Caribbean. She'd been born and raised there, grew up in these waters. How and why Jack had come to be there was anyone's guess, and he wasn't telling.
He nodded absently. "Yeah - over the years. Never have missed the monsoon seasons though. They can keep them. Too wet for me. Typhoons are no fun either." He observed with a frown at the rain outside and she followed his gaze and shrugged.
"Maybe when the rain lets up, the Pearl will come along lookin' for us. It would sure be better than walkin' around this whole bay to get there." She said and he gave her a dark look with a deep frown and quickly turned away. He picked up a twig and absently began scratching in the dirt at his side. She watched him for a long moment puzzled by his lack of reaction to her statement.
She took a guess as to maybe why.
"Nobody left us here on purpose Jack - They're lookin' at the rain and fit to be tied that they can't be out there right now lookin' for us." She said quietly, and he just shook his head a little bit and continued scratching slowly and absently in the dirt.
"Doesn't matter if they do or not. I'll do whatever it takes to get 'er back." He murmured as if thinking out loud. She started to get angry at his insinuation that the crew would have taken off with the Black Pearl on purpose, but just as she was about to give him a good piece of her mind, he glanced up and then away. In that brief moment the utter despair and wounded sadness in his eyes struck her speechless.
She had seen Jack Sparrow almost anyway she could think of: happy, ecstatic, drunk, philosophical, sick, tired, annoyed, frustrated, angry, furious.. But she didn't think she could ever say she'd seen him depressed - discouraged. Not Jack. If he ever was he'd cover it up before anyone could know. But he hadn't been fast enough this time.
He stopped scratching to cough heavily and wetly into his fist, bringing his legs up into his chest and his arm across them, resting his forehead on his arm. It progressed into a spasm of coughing that he couldn't stop. He had started doing that last night when he had woken her up in the makeshift cover of leaves they'd managed to scrape together in the brush beside the beach.
Finally he quit only to stay like he was, his eyes. Obviously he still had a lot of sea water in his lungs, which nobody needed to tell her was not good. Lord only knows what was brewing up inside there by now. This was not the best way for him to start the walking they would be doing before long here.
It looked to her like he was close to dozing off right like he was out of sheer exhaustion. She hadn't slept well herself. After only a few hours a nightmare had woken her.
In her dream she had relived the explosion, being in the sea as the fire raged and debris rained around her. She had not gone back for the struggling form - she had reached the shore alone, only to have a very, very pale and still body wash up in the surf beside her. And that time he hadn't opened his eyes when she shook him. Even now just the brief thought of the fear and the sheer horror of the dream made her throat constrict and her mouth dry. It had seemed so real. Her stomach seemed to fall away clear down through the ground.
"Here, shhhh -" she said quietly as she gently pulled him over, needing very much just to touch him at that moment.
"Lay down for a few minutes Jack - just to catch your breath. We can't go anywhere anyway in the rain." She said rather sternly and he looked reluctant, but extended his legs to do so. He squirmed as if trying to get comfortable and had finally stilled.
"Hush now Captain. None 'o your fussin', you hear me?" she reproved with a smile as she leaned forward more to toss more small pieces of wood onto the fire until it was burning hotly and warm, leaning on him with one arm.
"Too many rocks," he mumbled unhappily as he rose up on one elbow and coughed again thickly. She really did not like the sound of that. It sounded like he had water higher up that he was coughing up gradually, but under that, a deeper thicker sound of something that wasn't so easily moved. She also didn't like the way he frowned and rubbed at the center of his chest without realizing it afterwards.
He rose up more as if to sit back up and she pulled him over sharply so he landed with his chest across her lap giving a sharp huff and she chuckled softly.
"What are ye doin' - ye daft bugger!" he reacted in protest. She smiled as she pulled him backwards so he was resting more in her arms. He looked surprised and his eyes seemed uncertain.
"Ye really don' need to be-" he started and she put a finger to his lips and he went quiet.
"Shhh - are the rocks still botherin' ye?" she asked, and he hesitated, then shook his head.
"Am I hurtin' ye?" she asked and he shook his head.
"Is anybody watchin' t' say anything?" she asked and he shook his head a little bit.
"Besides, its' warmer with you like this. Do you really feel like fightin' me just so you can sleep on a bunch of rocks and I can be cold?" she asked and he seemed to hesitate long. She sighed, loosening her hold. But instead of sit up and move away when he had the chance, now he shook his head and relaxed. She arched an eyebrow. Not exactly what she had figured he would do really.
"I'm gonna be kinda heavy -" he mumbled doubtfully and she smiled as she situated her one arm under his head and parked the other atop his shoulder and pressed him back against her some. He shifted slowly, already giving a sleepy sounding sigh as she stoked the dark hair off his face. He half looked back as if doubtful of this arrangement and she smiled.
"Just humor me Jack. I promise not to bite ye'" she told him, and now he snuggled in more comfortably with a mumble that sounded suspiciously like 'too bad that is' and she bit on her tongue to keep from laughing.
Now she could feel his heartbeat, feel his breathing, feel the warmth of him. Much better - much, much better this way. He was definitely alive.
She sat to consider him and carefully tossed one big piece of wood on the fire. It crushed some of the smaller pieces down and quickly began to catch fire. Jack gave a shallow sigh as if relieved at the heat. That should help dry him out she thought as she absently stroked the dark locks away from his face and watched the wood catch. She brushed her fingers through his hair along the side and encountered a large bump on the side towards the back of his head.
Jack winced heavily at the touch and gave her a quick look of reproval and she frowned.
"Hush, you - let me see," she told him, turning his head so she could inspect the area. There didn't seem to be an actual wound, but he certainly had a very large lump there. No wonder he'd been foundering and having such a hard time in the water.
"I'm surprised you don't have one doozy of a splittin' headache, Jack," she muttered and he frowned mildly.
"Who says I don't," came the soft reply as he closed his eyes and she smiled to herself as she very gently stroked the hair down into place. Maybe it was a very good thing it was raining so hard today. This way she didn't have to argue with him over taking a day to rest. Very lightly she ran her hand over the rest of his head, checking for any more surprises.
Lord only knew where or how he'd lost his bandana. Probably in the water last night sometime. He'd have a fit over a new one, claiming it just wasn't the same, that she already knew.
He looked up at her as she finished her inspection and smiled mischievously. She quickly put her hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.
"I said hush! Don't you be startin' trouble with me mister. Just be quiet and take deep breaths. Get that warm air inside you and dry your lungs out. I don't want you keepin' me up every night with that hacking and coughin' like you got consumption." She reproved, and he quickly bit on his lower lip with a mildly wounded look and she seemed amused and determined to repress it.
"Oh close your eyes you fool! I swear you talk even more just by lookin' than you do with your mouth! You know I didn't mean that. My turn to give you trouble s'all." She told him and he brought a hand up and looked as if he was about to say something. She captured his hand in her other and parked it atop his chest and kept it there. She felt satisfied and went back to stroking his brow slowly, a little surprised when he stayed quiet.
Her other hand gently rubbed his, turning his fingers some to casually consider the silver and black ring on his finger.
"You've had this one as long as I've known you.' She observed carelessly and he turned his head and nodded. She could tell he was already very drowsy by the way he blinked slowly and heavily.
"M' father gave it to me." He muttered softly, then used that same hand to rub at his eyes sleepily and she smiled.
"You have family somewhere still, Jack?" she asked casually as she feathered a touch across his forehead and his eyes slid closed as he nodded.
"Some - in England.. Some estate." He muttered very drowsily and she smiled mildly.
"You ever go see 'em?" she asked curiously.
"Unh - Been 'while now. Lotsa arguin' las' time. Here's much better. You been t' see yer mama' recently?" he asked, sounding much more asleep than awake now and she shrugged.
She smiled down at him. "Last Christmas.. Af'er you sent all the boys home ta spend the winter months with their families. That was downright decent of ya' Jack. Yah think yer gonna do that 'agin this year?" she asked and he nodded his head and mumbled unintelligibly. She gently stoked his cheek and felt his breathing deepen and slow dramatically, his hand now limp in hers.
She smiled as she sat feeling very content as she watched him drift from barely dozing, into true slumber under her slow, soft touch. Yes he was heavy. But alive and heavy. She sighed deeply and sat back with her eyes closed for a moment, remembering the kiss. Hesitant, uncertain. Almost shy. Unfortunately neither of them had had energy for anything more, and both of them had seemed almost a little shocked that he had done it - and she hadn't even thought to slap him for the action. But in a way that had been almost better.
After her nightmare she had scooted over close by him. Her hand gently against his chest had caused him to unconsciously decide she would be nice to drape his arm over and hug close. She had been on the verge of objecting and most loudly, when she had looked up and realized he was very soundly asleep. She had decided not to argue with fate and instead relaxed into heavy warmth. That had felt nicer than she wanted to admit really.
No wonder he was actin' funny with that giant lump on his head. Goin' and kissin' people - thinkin' maybe the crew of the Pearl had run off on him again - sayin' things he normally wouldn't. Blasted fool probably had a concussion and didn't even know it, she thought.
When she was sure he was asleep, she felt lightly at his forehead and then at his chest and frowned. Not really a fever - just a bit warmer than he should be, but she could feel the bubbly wheezing deep inside him still. Carefully she tossed more wood on the fire and then reclaimed his limp hand. Hopefully this just might work to dry him out - it couldn't rain forever. Could it?
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