Disclaimer: As I keep informing the telemarketers, I'm not considered legally competent yet to make major decisions, so could I possibly own them . . .?
AN: Sorry about the delay in updating. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. I really think I'm losing my mind here now. I've been holding entire conversations with myself, talking to myself in the third person, falling off my usual perch on the back of the couch onto concrete and thinking as I fell that even with a farther fall water would be softer though I got the arm movements right as I was falling, did this little routine whereby I ran down the stairs, skipping the last six, jumped on the back of the couch, jumped off the back of the couch, attempted to run into the library so I could play with my computer, tripped over a blanket, fell flat on my back, and started cracking up laughing and didn't stop for about five minutes (no one was home so my dad didn't have me instantly committed), took far too much joy in all the necessary yelling for the pep band at the football team, and was literally stalking among the freshman later, definitely not walking like me, though I can't figure out yet who I was imitating (it wasn't Jack . . .I'd fall down and break something if I tried to walk like that . . .I walked into the fireplace once trying to get into the library and broke my nose . . .don't ask me how . . .). If you guys are sure you want to keep reading a story by a nutter, by all means continue to. Writing is a good way to stay fairly grounded in some form of reality, or so I've been informed . . .
AN2: My dad has to go to New York on business for a week, so the boyos are mine again, so update times for this and my LotR fic (which I'm still working on, albeit slowly, as each time I go to look something up in the books like if Saruman talks to Aragorn or when Halbarad comes or how he bites the bullet . . .sword . . .arrow . . .I wind up reading much more than necessary . . .anyone know where an English to Elvish dictionary can be found?) are uncertain . . .
AN3: A couple folks have asked about printing and archiving my work, and I have no problem with either. It's an honor to be asked. However, if you discover a way to make money off said work without going to jail, please inform this poor high school student so she can afford college next year . . .
To Love and Protect
Part 5
"Jesus, Mary and Jospeh!" Ana-Maria scrambled forward, attempting to imitate Jack as he moved rapidly from one part of the boat to the other, using his weight to keep it from capsizing in the waves. Rain poured down in sheets, and she licked it off her lips as she moved, grateful for the moisture.
"Aren't going to help us here, love!"
"Well then who in hell is?"
Jack grinned at her, his eyes closer to normal than they had been before. "You're not enjoying this?"
"I don't find dying enjoyable!"
The grin broadened. "Who said anything about dying? No, love, she's just testing us. If she wanted us in the water and dead we would be." Both pirates threw themselves at the port side of the boat as it tipped alarming, threatening to capsize before falling back with the heavy thud of displaced water.
"Well she can bloody well stop testing us, and if you're on such good terms with her, tell her!"
"She's cryin', love, cryin' for the Pearl, cryin' for the crew . . .We've got some drinkable water, at least, and this is fun!"
"This is not fun! You're mad!"
"You've known me for how long? Have I ever claimed to be sane?" Jack threw himself forward as another wave swept under the boat. "How can you not think this fun?"
Ana-Maria muttered under her breath as she stared at her captain and shook her head. Jack laughed at her expression . . .a laugh that quickly turned into a deep cough that had him doubled over, gasping for air. When he finally drew a full breath, he sat still for a moment, his face upturned and his mouth open to catch the rain as it fell.
Ana-Maria added another note to the list of things that the sea keened for. Jack Sparrow. He had always belonged to her, living the majority of his life on board a ship, venturing onto dry land only when it was necessary . . .or fun. Earlier the sea had held him, caressed him, claimed him, begun filling his lungs with her essence . . .
Ana-Maria would be damned before she gave him back without a fight. She leapt starboard as more waves caught and pitched the small boat, and a moment later Jack again moved his weight to help balance the small craft on the ocean, his movements slower but no less exuberant than before.
"If you're really not having fun, then I suppose you'll feel better if I tell you she says that it'll be over soon."
"That can have a great many meanings, Jack."
Jack just grinned harder and continued to rock with boat, his shouts, laughter, and coughs rising effortlessly above the sound of the storm.
She had been right. Conversations could be much more interesting when Jack was responding.
* * *
"Mr. Turner! Will Turner!" Will decided that it would hopeless to pretend that he hadn't heard and turned towards the voice, quickly assuming a look of pleasure that he certainly didn't feel.
"What a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you made port last night, sir."
The other man just looked at him, a small frown on his face, but for once he said nothing about Will calling him by rank. It had been a point of contention between the two men since Frederick Hallson became a commodore and the commander of the fort two years ago. He hadn't called the previous commander 'commodore', either, but by his first name, as the two had become friends quickly through Brian's intercession.
Others might bear the rank of commodore, but Will knew he would always think of Norrington when he said it, and he wouldn't defile the dead by connecting him in any way, shape or form to the mockery that stood in front of Will.
Hallson was shorter than Will by about three inches, even standing stiff and proper in his blue naval uniform, and he always seemed conscious of the fact. Where Norrington was a man who cared for the law, his men, and what was right, Hallson cared for himself and the praise and glory that he could earn through his work. Nobody in the garrison liked him, and even Brian, who usually refrained from criticizing superior officers, had few kind things to say about him.
Then again, if Brian had been older and more experienced, he might have been the commodore now instead of just a captain. Norrington had trained the young man well, and the men who served under him adored him to the point of dying for him, though if it ever came to a firefight Brian was always right in the thick of it. He had risen quickly through the ranks, and he now had a ship of his own, the Intrepid, and his own style of captaining that seemed to Will to mix the strict military discipline he had learned from Norrington with the rough yet relaxed form of a certain pirate captain that he had kept in touch with. Whatever he was doing, it was working, and Will couldn't wait until Hallson was gone and Brian got a second chance at becoming leader of the garrison.
Not that Hallson was incompetent. That would almost have been better, as then he would have either gotten himself killed or shipped somewhere else. There was just something distasteful, some even whispered dishonorable, about the way he conducted his captures and executions. Will had as little to do with the man as was possible, preferring Brian's company or the company of the sailors coming into port with tales to tell of the Pearl.
The last time Jack had shown up, almost a year ago, he had left after barely two days, and left running, Hallson hot on his trail. Will and Elizabeth hadn't heard anything from him since then, and had been forced to content themselves with sifting through the tales in an attempt to find out what, exactly, Jack had been up to. Once Will learned to ignore the ones where Jack died, was cursed, or did something completely impossible like sprout horns and a tail, he had determined that the pirate was simply doing what he had always done.
Will forced himself to listen to the man as he continued his walk towards the forge, where he had quickly been taken on as an assistant four years ago, again thanks to Brian, and was now a full partner.
" . . .rather interesting time. I know that you are familiar with Jack Sparrow and his crew of brigands, so I felt it would be kinder to tell you in person than to let you hear from tales or drunken soldiers."
Will stopped dead, turning to lock his brown eyes on the shorter man's blue ones, his breathing quickening as he saw the faint smile and the hard glint that he recognized all too well from the man's other victories.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to speak softly and with as little emotion as possible. "What happened?"
"We gave them a chance to surrender, but Sparrow would have none of it. Opened fire on my ship, and we returned it. She made quite a show when she went, that ship did. No survivors were recovered."
The world seemed to tilt slightly around Will. Jack couldn't be dead. Jack didn't just die, like an ordinary person, didn't just disappear without getting to say goodbye and then die without ever sending word.
Will had seen Jack die twice before . . .surely there was loophole here, as well.
"Mr. Turner, are you feeling well?"
Will snapped his gaze back to Hallson's, resisting the urge to kill the man who came to him with a smile as he said that Jack Sparrow was dead at his hands. "You gave them a chance to surrender?"
"Yes. A public hanging is the fate that the Crown wished for him, and that's what I was hoping to get. I suppose they'll simply be pleased to hear that he isn't a threat anymore, though. I already sent a ship to inform them of the events that transpired."
A sickening thought struck Will. Ever since spending over a week on board the Pearl with Jack Sparrow and company, his son had been enamored with ships and the ocean. When Brian, Jack's godfather, had offered to take him on the Intrepid as a gift for his tenth birthday, Will and Elizabeth had hesitantly agreed after much pleading on Jack's part. Under normal circumstances Brian would have simply ignored the Pearl, and the Pearl would have ignored the Intrepid, but if Hallson was there calling the shots . . .
He wasn't sure what, exactly, it would do to his son to watch his namesake and hero die, but he was certain that it wouldn't be anything good. "Was Captain Lanebridges involved in this?"
The faint smile on the man's face faded, replaced by a look of annoyance. "No, Lanebridges wasn't involved. The Intrepid was guarding the harbor. The kill was all mine."
Will again restrained himself from beating the other man to a bloody pulp. "Have they made port, as well?"
"No, they've gone further out for the time being. The captain took your son on as a cabin boy for a bit, didn't he?"
"Aye. If you'll be willing to excuse me, sir, I have to get to the shop."
"Oh, by all means, go to your work and I shall go to mine. I just thought you would wish to know what has transpired." The shorter man turned and left, that same faint, satisfied smile again on his face, and Will quickened his pace towards the forge.
He would tell Robert that something had come up at home and that he wouldn't be able to work until later. Then he would go home, tell Elizabeth what he had heard, and somehow find a way to explain to Ana that Uncle Jack (Will smiled, the action threatening to bring tears, at the memory of Jack fervently insisting that he not, under any circumstances, ever be called Uncle Jacky again) wouldn't ever be dropping by again.
