All previous disclaimers and warnings still applied.
Again special thanks to Willow for the betaing. THANX! ^^
And I absolutely love all the wonderful reviews last time. Thank you so much. *bow* I'll do my best and try not to disappoint you all.
A/N: This chapter took place two months after 'upon a painted ocean' and in two different locations: Curacao (where the Black Pearl is) and Port Royal. There will be two separate plots in the beginning, but they will eventually cross and become one. I just want to minimize the confusion.
I've done some research on the Caribbean, privacy and all that, and I've tried to keep it as close to the actual history as possible. But I am no expert (acutally I hate history) and this story is pretty much one giant, massive AU, so if I got the facts wrong, you are more than welcome to correct me.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Will sighed as his captain ran a callused palm across the smooth metal.
It was getting ridiculous even for someone like Will, who had grown quite accustom to the crazy tactics of his companion, and who had a relatively high tolerance when it came to the general weirdness of the world. However, their current predicament was treading dangerously close to the border between sanity and madness.
"Jack," he began exasperatedly, "it's a coffin."
"Of course it's a coffin, Will." Jack answered, eyes twinkled with amusement. "But it's a coffin made of gold."
Trust Jack Sparrow to pierce the heart of matter with such simplicity.
He sighed again and Jack continued to caress the shiny surface with almost lover-like gentleness. Will scowled, resisting the urge to kick the offending casket in a fit of jealousy rage.... and then to kick himself because he did NOT just think that.
He tried again, "it's a coffin with the body most likely still inside of it."
"....I see. You want me to throw away the body first?"
"NO! No.... Ack!" Will was beginning to develop a serious grudge against the universe. "It's not.... not about.... do you have no respect for the dead?"
"They are dead."
Was that supposed to make sense in some sort of warped Jack logic? Will was a fairly open-minded person even though he liked to keep some healthy amount of skepticism regardless of the situation. But this..... this was not about one's individual belief. This was a matter of showing the proper courtesy to those that deserved such. A matter of human decency!
That and the piece of parchment stamped on the side of the coffin, which was clearly labeled in big, red, capital letters: 'CURSED. DO NOT OPEN.'
Hadn't they burnt their hands enough times when it came to the supernatural? Especially seeing as how the supernatural was what cased their current problem in the first place.
After they escaped from Isle de Aves, they had sailed to Tortuga for some post-crisis regrouping. Instead of rum and agreeable company, they were met with hostility and triple-priced merchandises. The residents of Tortuga had taken a great dislike to the Black Pearl due to a little incident involving a certain pyromaniac cook. It was an understandable act of retribution since Zeke, while disguised as the infamous captain of the equally infamous Black Pearl, did start a fire which managed to waste half the town. So for the time being, they had little choice but to seek alternative sources for trading and relaxation, and that brought them to Curacao.
Curacao had a beautifully natural harbor, and according to Jack, it was also the hive for the smugglers and the home to the largest black market in the New World. Never mind the charming little port was located on the other side of the Caribbean, it was far away from Tortuga, from Port Royal, from Elizabeth and from everything that Will was trying to cast behind.
It started out all right at the beginning. The town's authority had a generously tolerated attitude towards piracy, and everything in Curacao was open for bargaining. After they restocked, the crew went on land for some well deserved rest. While the others were spending their hard earned money in taverns and brothels, he and Jack had volunteered to guard the Pearl, alone.... as in just the two of them. It was such a rarity after being stuck with fifty other people on the same ship for months. They had the Pearl all to themselves; they could stay in their cabin all day, or walk around the deck naked, or.... the possibilities were endless.
But as fate would have it, their quality time was interrupted by the ill-timed arrival of a message. His captain was fully ready to toss the letter, along with the messager boy, over the side until Will curiously pointed out the tiny, strange looking mark in the corner of the envelope, an action which he thoroughly regretted.
The mark was dominated by the round curves of an opened eye, one small, triangular line branched out on the left, and another one, longer, to the right, trailed down perpendicular to the eye and ended with a lightening shaped tail.
Jack had frozen upon seeing it, and then he had torn it open with almost brutal force. Will was perplexed as Jack scanned the content of the letter frantically before savagely threw it to the fire place. The fire had flared with a little explosion, danced with an eerily purple light before the paper was completely consumed. Will was worried, but the more he pressed for answers, the more silent Jack became, until this morning.
Jack had waken him before the crack of dawn and declared that they were going for a little stroll around the town. The little stroll led them to a half rundown warehouse, which he was quite certain was Jack's intended destination. After a few well placed punches here and there, they took care of the guards and let themselves in.
The house was full of treasures.
There were stacks of chests, filled with gold, silver, and gems in all shapes and sizes. Its worth probably rivaled those in the cave of Isle de Muerta. Will had gawked at their discovery while Jack explained that they had found the headquarter of a band of smugglers. Then the pirate captain had proceeded to snuffle through the content of the room in search of something.
The coffin.
A gold coffin, decorated with sparkling and exotic jewels. It wasn't made in any conventional European style, or in any style that Will recognized. Its bottom was curved like a flower petal, while the top half looked almost like a statue, it was in the form of a human. The craftsmanship was unbelievably detailed, and the face on the lid was almost life like. Vaguely, Will realized that it must had been the face of the deceased. How.... interesting it was to carve one's face into the casket of one's eternal rest.
Interesting and very creepy.
Will rubbed his eyes tiredly, his head was beginning to hurt.
"You are being paranoid." Jack commented, eyes followed his to the parchment.
"I am being cautious, thanks to all my prior experiences, or have you forgotten them already? It's better to be safe than sorry. The warnings might be real and that... that thing could very dangerous!"
"It's not."
"How would you know?"
"I just do. It's hard to explain. It's like.... an intuition, a gut feeling."
"Wonderful. Just wonderful." Will rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Relax, luv. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to you."
"Well, I--"
His retort was cut abruptly by the sudden appearance of Jack's face a few inches in front of his. Their noses were almost touching and black eyes peered at him under lowered lashes. How had Jack managed to sneak up so close to him unnoticed.... again?!
"You trust me, don't you?" Jack purred beside his ear, "I would never let anything happen to you."
The voice was seductive, but their meanings rang true. Will's heart clenched at their intensity and conviction.
Jack continued, ".....and as for this situation, I am sure we can come to..... some kind of agreement."
A finger tip skated across his cheek before that hand cycled behind him. Strong arms half embraced his body in their engrossing cage, touching yet not touching. The knuckles of one hand scratched a path from the base of his neck to the small of his back, feathery light yet scorching his skin through the layer of thin fabric.
He shivered, swallowed hard, and not so subtly edged away. Jack frowned half-heartedly, then narrowed his eyes before advancing and matching Will's backward pace. Something hard soon hit the back of his legs and halted his retreat. Jack leaned closer, nudged Will's legs apart a little until he was pressing fully between them.
Damnit. This was no honorable negotiation; it couldn't even be count as eloquence. This was bribery!
A light tug on his waist, and he found himself shoved on top of some solid surface. Jack's head dipped down further, that bow-shaped mouth hitched up into a smirk, and hovered directly above Will's. Their breath mingled and unconsciously Will's tongue darted out slowly to wet his suddenly dry lips. He looked up at Jack shyly, senses overwhelmed, and heart enthralled by that hypnotic gaze. Then Jack turned his head, gently bit Will's jaw, and nursed the small bruise with his tongue. Will jumped, breathing sped up, flailed his arms around, nervous and somewhat panicked, until they were caught and locked behind his back
Now that was just plain unfair!
Gathered up what was left of his grip, he slurred out groggily, "you are.... you are not kissing me, not on top of a coffin."
"You don't like the scenery? A change of location then, that can be arranged." Jack moved off of him slightly, and supporting himself on both elbows, "but first, we need to find some means of transportation."
"What?" His brain was not the one doing the thinking, and was showing no sign of resuming its duty any time soon.
"The coffin, luv." Jack reminded him, "We are taking it to the Pearl."
"WHAT!" Will yelled, sat up in a flash, subsequently pushed and dumped Jack onto the floor.
Jack winced, pouting unhappily at him. He offered a weak little smile in apology, and reached out a hand to help the other up.
"Can't... can't you take something else?" He reasoned in a calmer voice, then gestured his hands around them, "I mean.... look at all the other.... gold!"
"This is important. I'll explain it later. .....although..... I image the smugglers are not going to be happy with the disappearance of their precious cargo."
"Stealing from thieves. It would certainly be novel, wouldn't it?"
Will's eyes widened. Did he just say that? He did. Damn. Jack was such a bad influence. It would seem that his sensible reasoning had decided to embark on a vacation while taking his common sense along for the ride. He could only hope it was not permanent.
Jack grinned, then slapped him on the back. "You are finally learning. That's my boy!"
Will's shoulders slumped, sighed for the hundredth time that day, and resigned himself once again to Jack's eccentricity.
~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~
Norrington dismissed the soldier at the door before entering. The cells were empty except for one lone prisoner, who was propped half against the wall and snoring quietly.
It had been almost two months since they returned to Port Royal and the redhead had squandered away each day by sleeping. Although every time he came to check on the pirate, the boy would wake up, make some sarcastic comments before close his eyes and proceed to studiously ignore him. So far, no escape had been attempted. It was almost as if the redhead was waiting for something.
He had considered the situation carefully, and secretly admitted that the lack of reaction unnerved him. Shouldn't the pirate be frightened or at the very least show some signs of concern or self-preservation. Or perhaps the boy was confident that his comrades would come and rescue him. Unlikely, since no sighting of the Black Pearl had been reported.
He had devoted most of the navy resources to the reconstruction of Port Royal. As a result, the patrolling of the surrounding water and the defense of the fort had been slack of late. Fortunately or unfortunately, Port Royal was still something of a taboo among the seamen. Only a few merchant vessels had dared to treaded near the bay.
He walked closer until his body almost touched the steel bars. His boots pattered loudly against the stone floor, yet the boy remained in slumber. The sound of hammer pounding against nails could be heard from outside. Each metallic clapping echoed through the air and attuned to his heartbeat. He rested his forehead against the bars, the coolness of the steel sank into his troubled mind.
He realized soon after they returned to shore, that his life had adopted a new routine. He would go to bed every night, pretend to sleep, get up the next morning, supervise the rebuilding, flounder through the paper works, eat as little as he could get away with, go back to bed, and start the whole cycle again the following day. And no matter how distorted and tedious his schedule got, he always managed to fit in one or two visits to the dungeon.
Just.... just to make sure that Ezekiel was still there.
Dear God! Could he be any more obsessed? For the life of him, he could not figure out why the pirate's presence evoked such ineffable feelings in him. It was like a slow burn, nagging in the back of his mind, filed away but never forgotten.
//I am going mad.//
There weren't enough adjectives to describe the intricate weaving that is his current state of mind. The few hours of sleep that he got each night, were constantly plagued by nightmares. Or at least he assumed them to be nightmares. He would wake up to sheet soaked with sweat, but could never recall any details other than the overwhelming sense of lost, regret and heartache.
The lack of proper nutrition and rest were beginning to take their tows, and many others have noticed his vertigo and roving concentration. As a result, Gillette and Groves had both given new meanings to the word 'meddlesome'. They had taken upon themselves to accompany him during meal times and even went as far as ordering him to bed.
He was not pleased with the new arrangement, but inwardly admitted that their interference was mostly justified, since his performances and judgments have been seriously effected by his mood swings. It also brought an unexpected warmth, he was glad that there were people who really cared.
"Where are your lapdogs?"
He jumped at the sudden sound. Grey eyes blinked sheepishly before Ezekiel yawned and stretched out his legs lazily. Silently Norrington rebuked himself for not paying attention.
"They both have some errands to run..... and kindly refrain from insulting my subordinates."
As much as he disapproved of the fleering nickname, he couldn't help but sigh at the somewhat suitable denomination. Nowadays he simply couldn't go anywhere without at least one of his lieutenants tagging behind him faithfully.
Ezekiel shrugged, and pulled at the irons around his wrists. The chains were long enough to allow free movement within the cell, but the other ends were fixed firmly to the wall. The boy looked annoyed before leaned back and draped on arm over a bent knee. Norrington knew that the extra confinement was a bit overboard, but one could never be too cautious. Ezekiel was one of Jack Sparrow's crew, and who knows what tricks he had picked up from the devious pirate captain.
Their gazes interlocked, and his back straightened, determined not to look away first. He wasn't a man to be easily perturbed, but the boy's grey eyes have bewildered him from the first time they met. They were a most uncommon color, unnatural, inanimate, like glasses shards, clear and transient, but also fake and lifeless at the same time.
Ezekiel spoke first. "You are not here to just stare at me all day, are you?"
He grinned slightly at the small victory, and immediately chided himself for the slip. The boy's brows arched, somewhat amused. His smile turned to a scowl, and in return, Ezekiel cracked out a toothy smirk.
//Blasted, cheeky little... I'll--//
He caught himself before he could finish that thought, paused for a moment to compose himself, and then said curtly, "I am here to inform you of your trial."
"Finally got around to that one? And here I am beginning to doubt my importance."
"Do so. You are, by no mean, important."
Ezekiel tried, unsuccessfully, to squeeze out a wounded frown. "Never let it be said that you are a man of tact, commodore."
"I show the same amount of tact as I was given."
"Yes, yes, we've already established the fact that I am a uneducated brute. Can we get on with it?"
The boy waved his hand with a dismissive air. He sighed inwardly. Half the time he wanted to just hang the redhead and be done with it. The other half was usually spent questioning himself why he hadn't done the aforementioned hanging.
By law, the trailing of pirates was open to the common masses, and history had proven that public execution was generally good for morality boosting. Then, as he had asked himself over and over, why had the repairing of the port square, or more specifically, the gallows ended up on the bottom of the priority list. Granted, there were other, far more urgent things to consider than bothering with a mere pirate, but that did not quench the uneasiness elicited by the fact that he was infinitely relieved by the delay. He was having little success at deciding one course of action or another, and Ezekiel's fate was out of his hands now.
"The new governor arrives this afternoon, he will be conducting your trial. Tomorrow or the day after that, as soon as he settles in and reviews your case."
They both knew that the trail was nothing more than a facade and would be followed immediately by execution. Such was the immutable punishment of piracy. For a split second, he had the unpleasant flashbacks of the skeletons dangling by the cliff. It was what they used to warn off pirates. He couldn't picture the redhead among their ranks. The image was sickening and just felt.... wrong.
Norrington suppressed down the shiver. He couldn't understand what had brought up that moral dilemma. And..... did Ezekiel even care?
//He's probably as crazy as Jack Sparrow, if not more so.//
The redhead yawned again and he glared, trying to channel as much enmity into his gaze as possible. He had the sudden urge to smack the boy over the head, and perhaps that would knock some sense into that thick skull. Execution was not something to be brushed over. It was suppose to be horrifying and he had seen man crying over lesser things.
"I take it that governor Swann will be leaving soon?"
"Yes." Norrington replied gruffly, still annoyed.
"With Miss. Elizabeth?"
He tensed. Ezekiel had scooted away from the wall and was watching him carefully.
"I am not aware of her decision."
He really didn't want to think about Elizabeth right now. .....and why was Ezekiel worrying about her?
"What is it to you? And even if I do know, I am under no obligation to tell you anything...... pirate!" He added on a second thought, emphasizing his point.
Ezekiel stared, unfazed and asked softly, "then why are you here?"
"I...." He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Ezekiel tipped his head back further, arms crossing behind his head. Suddenly angry with himself, Norrington turned to leave.
A few loud clatters, then followed by a hard tug at his left hand. He swirled around. Ezekiel had crossed from the other side of the cell, and was now inspecting the white bandages around his wrist attentively. Norrington stared down on the mop of red hair, mesmerized by the oddly gentle gesture and a little stunned by the warmth radiated from the body before him.
A moment of silence passed. He waited for pain or.... something. None came. He relaxed; he didn't have the key on him, or any weapons that could be used against him.
As stealthily as it was captured, his arm was released. He pulled his hand back toward his chest as if burnt.
They regarded each other wordlessly for a moment, before the boy turned and walked back to his usual spot. With a dramatic sigh, Ezekiel slumped down on the ground and closed his eyes.
He peered at the other under the brim of his hat for a few more seconds, then silently left the room.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Me: You are still stuck in this cell? This is getting pathetic.
Zeke: Silent, you insect! I am a demon, not some kind of master in escaping.
Me: Then do your thing, suck the guard's soul or something.
Zeke: *thinking* The guards don't come in here other than bring in food, which by the way, sucked. They never make eye contact, much less talk. *clapping happily* They are afraid of me!
Me: *rolls eyes* Err.... the dog?
Zeke: I am not that desperate.
@__@
Note: I use Ezekiel instead of Zeke because it was in Norrington's POV, and we can't have them being too informal. : )