Once you go Jack Part 3
Title: "Once you go Jack . . . Part 3"
Author: linaerys
E-mail: linaerys@yahoo.com
Fandom: PotC
Rating/Classification: PG-13, J/E/W, some fun flashbacks.
Disclaimer: Although I work for a Disney subsidiary, I do not own these characters
Summary: This is the final chapter, but I may go and fill some stuff in later. If you don't want to read Part 1 and Part 2 first, this is after a battle. Will has tried to convince Elizabeth that they should leave Jack, but they are both having trouble following through.
Will was slipping in and out of fever dreams. It was a red-tinged and chaotic world of pain—one moment his beloved Elizabeth was wiping his forehead with a cool cloth—and the next he was back five years. Five years ago when he and Elizabeth were on their honeymoon on Jack's ship, when her charms were the only he knew, when, two weeks into their idyllic journey he found himself captured, in the stinking brig of a ship, with a grinning maniac as a cellmate.
Jack played with a small knife, which had proven inadequate to jimmy the lock, but Jack was quite convinced would work for shaving. Shaving. That's what Jack was worried about in this freezing, sodden hellhole that held them captive.
"Come on, there," he drawled, "I can't do this myself without a mirror. Wot if I slip and cut off half me whiskers. Wouldn't the ladies laugh then? You're not doing anything else, matey." Will sighed heavily and ceased examining the hinges for a few moments. He turned to face the captain. How a man could still seem so optimistically drunk after a week without a drop, Will would never know. The erstwhile captain of the Pearl was acting as if it had been his idea to get captured, as if this were just another holiday.
"Fine, I'll shave you. Sit still. And don't talk, unless you do want to lose half your beard." Shutting Jack up for a few minute might just be worth the embarrassment of shaving him, Will considered grimly. Will sat on one of the crates that served as their chairs, and got to work. He was quite intent on the left side of Jack's face, trying carefully not to knick the skin, which was a caramel gold in the lamplight, when he noticed the pirate grinning.
"Stop that," Will snapped, "it's going to come out uneven."
"So glad you're taking such an interest in my beauty," Jack said softly, quelling the grin.
"You should be more polite to a man with a knife at your throat," Will replied, absently, moving to the other side of Jack's face. Before he was finished with the right side, Jack had begun to grin again. Will scowled and tucked the blade into his belt. "Let's see if that's even now," he said, looking carefully at Jack's face.
The next moment Will was very surprised to find a wooly beard against his chin and a rough, sloppy kiss on his mouth. "Thanks for the shave, mate," he said with a leer, "now let's get on out of here. There's a hole in the back and some rotten wood we can kick through. The night watch's probly snoozing on deck, so let's steal a life boat and find the Pearl." Will blinked at him in disbelief. "I had to shave you first?" he asked incredulously.
"Had to do something to pass the time," Jack answered.
Elizabeth thought she saw Will grin a little, before he moaned again in pain. The wound in his upper arm, which had become infected in the days following the battle, was finally starting clean itself out and heal. Anamaria had wanted to amputate, but Elizabeth, knowing how useless a pirate or a blacksmith was without his sword arm, wanted to wait a few more days.
Will tried to remember where he was, why he was lying there. He remembered a shipboard battle; fiery pieces of sail falling all round him, and two ill-kempt pirates with long curved blades coming at him. He remembered moving the battle closer to the edge of the deck, hoping that one would lose his balance and fall. He saw that some of the remaining crew of the other ship had gotten into a lifeboat, and were trying to retake their ship with grappling hooks. He recalled a searing pain as a grappling hook caught his shoulder and tumbled him overboard. He knew no more. Memories caught at him again, fever-bright and insistent . . .
Jack's sensual smile over Elizabeth's shoulder . . . another night when he was between them, Elizabeth's smooth white breasts pressed against him, Jack's chest rasping his back behind, reaching behind him to pull Jack closer . . . huddling with Jack for warmth on a storm tossed sea, then washing up on an island beach.
"Anamaria and Elizabeth may kill each other, mate, but they'll keep the Pearl safe, that I'm sure of," Jack said, while knelt to start a fire on the twilit beach. The lifeboat on which they had escaped was, after a thorough battering by the last storm, good for little more than firewood, but Will was still trying to repair it, since Jack wasn't sure if this was Antigua or a nameless strip of sand and palms, and they might need it yet.
"If this here island is Antigua, we'll just find a ship bound for Tortuga and work for our passage. You'll see your lady again."
Will felt drunk in the heat of the fire, the first heat he had felt in days, other than the heat from Jack's body. You think its warm in the Caribbean, he thought, until you're rain-soaked and wind-blown, until you're shivering from fear and sunburn and hunger. No, it's not always warm. He knew they were dangerously dehydrated, so he picked himself up from the beach, and saw Jack lying insensible next to the fire. He tore a rag from his shirt to make a torch, and marched into the palm forest. Only three weeks at sea, and already he felt his feet doing the drunken sailor's dance, balancing against waves that would not be there on dry land. He thought he must look ridiculous and unbalanced, so he marched into the forest stiffly as a British soldier.
Will was patiently dripping the dew from some broad-leaved plants into his flask when he stepped in a puddle up to his knee. He bent down to taste it, and could hardly contain his jubilation when he found it contained fresh water. He drank, water dripping down his chin, and felt his shrunken stomach absorb the water greedily. Filling his flask with water he made his way back to the fire.
Will found Jack curled up on his side and starting to shake. Will knelt down next to him and gently moved the neck of the flask between his lips. Will poured some water slowly into Jack's mouth. It seemed to revive Jack a bit, and he smiled tightly through his tremors. He tried to sit up with a look of intense concentration on his face, but then fell back on the sand dispiritedly. Jack clearly hated to feel so weak, and tried to pull himself up again, and wouldn't rest until Will settled Jack against him, so Jack could sit up and still feed himself the water slowly.
Will sighed. This was not how he envisioned his honeymoon, clasping a smelly pirate to his chest, instead of his fragrant Elizabeth, but he had to admit that there was no one he would rather have at his side, shipwrecked and marooned on a deserted island (or an island that was possibly Antigua). Of course, Will had not expected to honeymoon aboard a pirate ship at all. Elizabeth was insistent though, and only a few days into their journey, had started wishing she would never go back. "I married a pirate," she whispered possessively against his neck, as the rhythm of the ocean rocked their bodies together. The attack during which he and Jack had been taken prisoner was her idea.
Will turned his attention back to Jack who was slipping once more toward unconsciousness. This time, though, it seemed to be a peaceful sleep and Will felt confident that he would be swaggering in the morning, ready to bargain, swindle, or intimidate them onto another ship.
The glow of the fire felt awfully hot, and Will flailed, and felt a feather bed beneath him rather than sand, and heard Elizabeth's soothing voice, but the flames were still hot, and he fell back into the tide of memories . . .
Jack found it much more convenient to steal a ship than to work for passage on one, and Will, sun burnt and tired, was inclined to agree. He indulged in a brief bout of self-recrimination, but quashed it quickly. He had stolen, and destroyed, an English ship to save Elizabeth, and this was a French ship, a much less sticky moral problem. Will was unsure, in the shifting political winds, whether England was currently at war with the French or not, but if they weren't now, it was a safe bet they would be soon.
The ship, which could have a slim younger sister to the Interceptor, was named The Demoiselle, and guarded only by a young black freedman, who scowled at Jack and Will when they approached. He seemed more annoyed to be forced stand up, than any worry about what Jack and Will intended with the ship. Jack spoke a few words of fluent French (or at least it sounded that way to Will), and the man's face split in a sudden grin, a splash of white teeth against the dark skin. Jack threw an arm around the lad, and announced to Will, "this fellow took very little convincing to turn pirate. His name's Francois, but he's no more French than you are. And good thing, too." He aimed a strong smack at Will's rear, which Will was barely able to dodge, "of course, you took little enough convincing, yourself," he added.
Whether it was Jack's mystical compass, or some sixth sense the pirate captain himself possessed, The Demoiselle's new crew soon found themselves gaining on the Pearl. Jack ran up the white flag, and under a turquoise sky, Will was re-united with his ladylove.
Proud as strutting rooster, Jack presented The Demoiselle to Anamaria. Eyes wide, and face ingenuous, he presented the ship to her, said, "Didn't I promise you a ship, now, love. And I've even started a crew for you. The lad is a natural pirate." Jack could not seem to resist another jab a Will, and continued, "He was almost as eager for plunder and treasure as our Will here." Will rolled his eyes, but inwardly swelled with pride. If Elizabeth wanted a pirate, at least he had all the right makings of one.
Anamaria's face shone with an unaccustomed smile, and for the moment, she forgot the shrewish temper and constant curses she directed toward her captain. She threw her arms around Jack, gave him a thorough kiss, which Jack returned with vigor; then, with a wordless victory shout, she leapt onto the deck of the Demoiselle. It was in that moment, when Anamaria leapt into the air, black hair flying behind her, that Will decided to stay. Time and tide, and the ambitious British captain of a patrol ship would lead to Anamaria's capture, and the loss of The Demoiselle, but Will still remembered her jubilance, prizing freedom above all else, and her fierce determination as she clasped the wheel of her prize . . .
Now Will felt a cool breeze wafting over him, and the sway of the ship cradling him, and saw Elizabeth's lovely face above him. His fevered memories retreated, and he blinked and sat up slowly. A vibrant smile creased the corners of Elizabeth's eyes. Will looked intently at her, trying to divine her feelings about still being on a pirate ship. He looked down at her hands absently clasping a damp rag. He took them in his own and clasped them as firmly as his diminished strength would allow.
"Please forgive me, Elizabeth," he said earnestly. He put all his love for her and the ocean into his face, "I should never have tried to take you away from our home."
Title: "Once you go Jack . . . Part 3"
Author: linaerys
E-mail: linaerys@yahoo.com
Fandom: PotC
Rating/Classification: PG-13, J/E/W, some fun flashbacks.
Disclaimer: Although I work for a Disney subsidiary, I do not own these characters
Summary: This is the final chapter, but I may go and fill some stuff in later. If you don't want to read Part 1 and Part 2 first, this is after a battle. Will has tried to convince Elizabeth that they should leave Jack, but they are both having trouble following through.
Will was slipping in and out of fever dreams. It was a red-tinged and chaotic world of pain—one moment his beloved Elizabeth was wiping his forehead with a cool cloth—and the next he was back five years. Five years ago when he and Elizabeth were on their honeymoon on Jack's ship, when her charms were the only he knew, when, two weeks into their idyllic journey he found himself captured, in the stinking brig of a ship, with a grinning maniac as a cellmate.
Jack played with a small knife, which had proven inadequate to jimmy the lock, but Jack was quite convinced would work for shaving. Shaving. That's what Jack was worried about in this freezing, sodden hellhole that held them captive.
"Come on, there," he drawled, "I can't do this myself without a mirror. Wot if I slip and cut off half me whiskers. Wouldn't the ladies laugh then? You're not doing anything else, matey." Will sighed heavily and ceased examining the hinges for a few moments. He turned to face the captain. How a man could still seem so optimistically drunk after a week without a drop, Will would never know. The erstwhile captain of the Pearl was acting as if it had been his idea to get captured, as if this were just another holiday.
"Fine, I'll shave you. Sit still. And don't talk, unless you do want to lose half your beard." Shutting Jack up for a few minute might just be worth the embarrassment of shaving him, Will considered grimly. Will sat on one of the crates that served as their chairs, and got to work. He was quite intent on the left side of Jack's face, trying carefully not to knick the skin, which was a caramel gold in the lamplight, when he noticed the pirate grinning.
"Stop that," Will snapped, "it's going to come out uneven."
"So glad you're taking such an interest in my beauty," Jack said softly, quelling the grin.
"You should be more polite to a man with a knife at your throat," Will replied, absently, moving to the other side of Jack's face. Before he was finished with the right side, Jack had begun to grin again. Will scowled and tucked the blade into his belt. "Let's see if that's even now," he said, looking carefully at Jack's face.
The next moment Will was very surprised to find a wooly beard against his chin and a rough, sloppy kiss on his mouth. "Thanks for the shave, mate," he said with a leer, "now let's get on out of here. There's a hole in the back and some rotten wood we can kick through. The night watch's probly snoozing on deck, so let's steal a life boat and find the Pearl." Will blinked at him in disbelief. "I had to shave you first?" he asked incredulously.
"Had to do something to pass the time," Jack answered.
Elizabeth thought she saw Will grin a little, before he moaned again in pain. The wound in his upper arm, which had become infected in the days following the battle, was finally starting clean itself out and heal. Anamaria had wanted to amputate, but Elizabeth, knowing how useless a pirate or a blacksmith was without his sword arm, wanted to wait a few more days.
Will tried to remember where he was, why he was lying there. He remembered a shipboard battle; fiery pieces of sail falling all round him, and two ill-kempt pirates with long curved blades coming at him. He remembered moving the battle closer to the edge of the deck, hoping that one would lose his balance and fall. He saw that some of the remaining crew of the other ship had gotten into a lifeboat, and were trying to retake their ship with grappling hooks. He recalled a searing pain as a grappling hook caught his shoulder and tumbled him overboard. He knew no more. Memories caught at him again, fever-bright and insistent . . .
Jack's sensual smile over Elizabeth's shoulder . . . another night when he was between them, Elizabeth's smooth white breasts pressed against him, Jack's chest rasping his back behind, reaching behind him to pull Jack closer . . . huddling with Jack for warmth on a storm tossed sea, then washing up on an island beach.
"Anamaria and Elizabeth may kill each other, mate, but they'll keep the Pearl safe, that I'm sure of," Jack said, while knelt to start a fire on the twilit beach. The lifeboat on which they had escaped was, after a thorough battering by the last storm, good for little more than firewood, but Will was still trying to repair it, since Jack wasn't sure if this was Antigua or a nameless strip of sand and palms, and they might need it yet.
"If this here island is Antigua, we'll just find a ship bound for Tortuga and work for our passage. You'll see your lady again."
Will felt drunk in the heat of the fire, the first heat he had felt in days, other than the heat from Jack's body. You think its warm in the Caribbean, he thought, until you're rain-soaked and wind-blown, until you're shivering from fear and sunburn and hunger. No, it's not always warm. He knew they were dangerously dehydrated, so he picked himself up from the beach, and saw Jack lying insensible next to the fire. He tore a rag from his shirt to make a torch, and marched into the palm forest. Only three weeks at sea, and already he felt his feet doing the drunken sailor's dance, balancing against waves that would not be there on dry land. He thought he must look ridiculous and unbalanced, so he marched into the forest stiffly as a British soldier.
Will was patiently dripping the dew from some broad-leaved plants into his flask when he stepped in a puddle up to his knee. He bent down to taste it, and could hardly contain his jubilation when he found it contained fresh water. He drank, water dripping down his chin, and felt his shrunken stomach absorb the water greedily. Filling his flask with water he made his way back to the fire.
Will found Jack curled up on his side and starting to shake. Will knelt down next to him and gently moved the neck of the flask between his lips. Will poured some water slowly into Jack's mouth. It seemed to revive Jack a bit, and he smiled tightly through his tremors. He tried to sit up with a look of intense concentration on his face, but then fell back on the sand dispiritedly. Jack clearly hated to feel so weak, and tried to pull himself up again, and wouldn't rest until Will settled Jack against him, so Jack could sit up and still feed himself the water slowly.
Will sighed. This was not how he envisioned his honeymoon, clasping a smelly pirate to his chest, instead of his fragrant Elizabeth, but he had to admit that there was no one he would rather have at his side, shipwrecked and marooned on a deserted island (or an island that was possibly Antigua). Of course, Will had not expected to honeymoon aboard a pirate ship at all. Elizabeth was insistent though, and only a few days into their journey, had started wishing she would never go back. "I married a pirate," she whispered possessively against his neck, as the rhythm of the ocean rocked their bodies together. The attack during which he and Jack had been taken prisoner was her idea.
Will turned his attention back to Jack who was slipping once more toward unconsciousness. This time, though, it seemed to be a peaceful sleep and Will felt confident that he would be swaggering in the morning, ready to bargain, swindle, or intimidate them onto another ship.
The glow of the fire felt awfully hot, and Will flailed, and felt a feather bed beneath him rather than sand, and heard Elizabeth's soothing voice, but the flames were still hot, and he fell back into the tide of memories . . .
Jack found it much more convenient to steal a ship than to work for passage on one, and Will, sun burnt and tired, was inclined to agree. He indulged in a brief bout of self-recrimination, but quashed it quickly. He had stolen, and destroyed, an English ship to save Elizabeth, and this was a French ship, a much less sticky moral problem. Will was unsure, in the shifting political winds, whether England was currently at war with the French or not, but if they weren't now, it was a safe bet they would be soon.
The ship, which could have a slim younger sister to the Interceptor, was named The Demoiselle, and guarded only by a young black freedman, who scowled at Jack and Will when they approached. He seemed more annoyed to be forced stand up, than any worry about what Jack and Will intended with the ship. Jack spoke a few words of fluent French (or at least it sounded that way to Will), and the man's face split in a sudden grin, a splash of white teeth against the dark skin. Jack threw an arm around the lad, and announced to Will, "this fellow took very little convincing to turn pirate. His name's Francois, but he's no more French than you are. And good thing, too." He aimed a strong smack at Will's rear, which Will was barely able to dodge, "of course, you took little enough convincing, yourself," he added.
Whether it was Jack's mystical compass, or some sixth sense the pirate captain himself possessed, The Demoiselle's new crew soon found themselves gaining on the Pearl. Jack ran up the white flag, and under a turquoise sky, Will was re-united with his ladylove.
Proud as strutting rooster, Jack presented The Demoiselle to Anamaria. Eyes wide, and face ingenuous, he presented the ship to her, said, "Didn't I promise you a ship, now, love. And I've even started a crew for you. The lad is a natural pirate." Jack could not seem to resist another jab a Will, and continued, "He was almost as eager for plunder and treasure as our Will here." Will rolled his eyes, but inwardly swelled with pride. If Elizabeth wanted a pirate, at least he had all the right makings of one.
Anamaria's face shone with an unaccustomed smile, and for the moment, she forgot the shrewish temper and constant curses she directed toward her captain. She threw her arms around Jack, gave him a thorough kiss, which Jack returned with vigor; then, with a wordless victory shout, she leapt onto the deck of the Demoiselle. It was in that moment, when Anamaria leapt into the air, black hair flying behind her, that Will decided to stay. Time and tide, and the ambitious British captain of a patrol ship would lead to Anamaria's capture, and the loss of The Demoiselle, but Will still remembered her jubilance, prizing freedom above all else, and her fierce determination as she clasped the wheel of her prize . . .
Now Will felt a cool breeze wafting over him, and the sway of the ship cradling him, and saw Elizabeth's lovely face above him. His fevered memories retreated, and he blinked and sat up slowly. A vibrant smile creased the corners of Elizabeth's eyes. Will looked intently at her, trying to divine her feelings about still being on a pirate ship. He looked down at her hands absently clasping a damp rag. He took them in his own and clasped them as firmly as his diminished strength would allow.
"Please forgive me, Elizabeth," he said earnestly. He put all his love for her and the ocean into his face, "I should never have tried to take you away from our home."