Jack had come to Port Royal hoping to steal a ship. He had never expected to find the long lost son of his dearly departed William.
But there was no doubt that was who the young man in the blacksmith's shop was. After all, he had been a bit occupied with trying to escape and the workshop had been rather dark. But in the course of the swordfight, Jack caught a decent look at the face of his opponent; the boy was an exact copy of his father. It was as though the younger man had been plucked right out of Jack's past and placed before him. True, the boy was dressed like a respectable citizen rather than a pirate, but that flawless face and body were virtually identical to his father's. Jack wondered idly what Bootstrap's wife looked like, and if her son had inherited any of her features at all.
During their duel, Jack had only been momentarily distracted by the boy's appearance. In life or death situations, instinct took over, and Jack knew that while the young man might not kill him, Commodore Norrington most certainly would. So he engaged in some admittedly foul play to defeat the boy and in the end lost only because the blacksmith had knocked him out from behind.
Now, sitting in the dirty little cell alone, Jack found himself obsessing about the boy, unable to get him out of his mind. It wasn't as though he could break through solid steal anyway. It gave him time to think on those eyes and the predicament he faced.
Jack knew he could never have shot the boy. Yes, he wanted to save his last shot for Barbossa, but he wouldn't have been able to pull the trigger if he'd had a thousand shots. From a purely philosophical perspective, it seemed it would be a crime to destroy something that lovely if nothing else.
Jack's William had done everything for that boy; he had left his home and become a pirate to give the child a better life. And here Jack had found the boy, reduced to common labor that he knew carried no prestige, slaving away in that dark little hole for a filthy man who clearly loved rum even more than Jack did at his thirstiest.
Jack's eyes narrowed at the thought of the blacksmith. It took a lot of drink to reduce a man to sleeping through all the noise Jack had made freeing himself from his chains. The man had been covered in filth from more than just the blacksmith's fires; the smell had been not unlike an unswept stable. Jack knew drunks; he was frequently a drunk himself. Drunks came in different kinds. Jack was unreserved and giddy when the drink took hold of him. Others reacted differently and in his mind far less endearingly. Some were downright vicious.
If that dirty bastard touched William's son, I'll gut him like the pig he is. Jack meant it too. His William had loved that boy, and whether or not the boy had gotten him caught, he had impressed Jack of his own accord. The boy had been talented in both forging weapons and in wielding them, which was even more impressive given the lack of guidance the child had probably suffered. Despite Jack's disastrous choice for First Mate, he considered himself a good judge of character, and he could see that William's boy was a decent lad with an honorable soul. The fact that he complained about Jack's lack of fairness in a fight showed he had certainly inherited some of William's spirit in addition to his looks.
Jack never really dealt with the full implications of that night he spent with Boostrap, back on the Black Pearl. Could a man really love another man, the way he loved a woman? Was it natural? Was it sane? And since when did Jack care if he was natural or sane about anything? Should he be more disturbed that he had noticed the boy's beauty because the boy was William's son, or because he had found another male beautiful to begin with, never mind that he looked just like his father? Was he just trying to see Bootstrap when he looked at his son?
Jack didn't know the answers to any of these questions. What he did know is that he missed William terribly, especially at night, even if they had only shared one illicit evening. He knew William had remained loyal to his captain, and it had cost him a horrible death.
Perhaps most importantly, he knew that Williams' son was still alive, and that Barbossa would no doubt be looking for the boy. If Barbossa found him, the boy was as good as dead, and Barbossa's penance under the curse would be ended.
Jack would not allow that to happen. He wasn't really ready to examine his motives yet, but he knew he had to keep William's son alive and well, whatever the reason. His conscience chided him for pondering more about his dear William's son than his current predicament, but he couldn't tear his mind away from the unexpected meeting. "Time to get back to it, me lad," he muttered to himself. "How do we get out of this stinking cell?"
Author's notes:
Thanks to my good buddy Cliia for the improved ending. ^_^ You rock.
I also want to thank emeraldwolf for the continued support. I promise to do my best to keep writing and to actually write something where Jack and Will are in the same room during the story, rather than just in memory.
But there was no doubt that was who the young man in the blacksmith's shop was. After all, he had been a bit occupied with trying to escape and the workshop had been rather dark. But in the course of the swordfight, Jack caught a decent look at the face of his opponent; the boy was an exact copy of his father. It was as though the younger man had been plucked right out of Jack's past and placed before him. True, the boy was dressed like a respectable citizen rather than a pirate, but that flawless face and body were virtually identical to his father's. Jack wondered idly what Bootstrap's wife looked like, and if her son had inherited any of her features at all.
During their duel, Jack had only been momentarily distracted by the boy's appearance. In life or death situations, instinct took over, and Jack knew that while the young man might not kill him, Commodore Norrington most certainly would. So he engaged in some admittedly foul play to defeat the boy and in the end lost only because the blacksmith had knocked him out from behind.
Now, sitting in the dirty little cell alone, Jack found himself obsessing about the boy, unable to get him out of his mind. It wasn't as though he could break through solid steal anyway. It gave him time to think on those eyes and the predicament he faced.
Jack knew he could never have shot the boy. Yes, he wanted to save his last shot for Barbossa, but he wouldn't have been able to pull the trigger if he'd had a thousand shots. From a purely philosophical perspective, it seemed it would be a crime to destroy something that lovely if nothing else.
Jack's William had done everything for that boy; he had left his home and become a pirate to give the child a better life. And here Jack had found the boy, reduced to common labor that he knew carried no prestige, slaving away in that dark little hole for a filthy man who clearly loved rum even more than Jack did at his thirstiest.
Jack's eyes narrowed at the thought of the blacksmith. It took a lot of drink to reduce a man to sleeping through all the noise Jack had made freeing himself from his chains. The man had been covered in filth from more than just the blacksmith's fires; the smell had been not unlike an unswept stable. Jack knew drunks; he was frequently a drunk himself. Drunks came in different kinds. Jack was unreserved and giddy when the drink took hold of him. Others reacted differently and in his mind far less endearingly. Some were downright vicious.
If that dirty bastard touched William's son, I'll gut him like the pig he is. Jack meant it too. His William had loved that boy, and whether or not the boy had gotten him caught, he had impressed Jack of his own accord. The boy had been talented in both forging weapons and in wielding them, which was even more impressive given the lack of guidance the child had probably suffered. Despite Jack's disastrous choice for First Mate, he considered himself a good judge of character, and he could see that William's boy was a decent lad with an honorable soul. The fact that he complained about Jack's lack of fairness in a fight showed he had certainly inherited some of William's spirit in addition to his looks.
Jack never really dealt with the full implications of that night he spent with Boostrap, back on the Black Pearl. Could a man really love another man, the way he loved a woman? Was it natural? Was it sane? And since when did Jack care if he was natural or sane about anything? Should he be more disturbed that he had noticed the boy's beauty because the boy was William's son, or because he had found another male beautiful to begin with, never mind that he looked just like his father? Was he just trying to see Bootstrap when he looked at his son?
Jack didn't know the answers to any of these questions. What he did know is that he missed William terribly, especially at night, even if they had only shared one illicit evening. He knew William had remained loyal to his captain, and it had cost him a horrible death.
Perhaps most importantly, he knew that Williams' son was still alive, and that Barbossa would no doubt be looking for the boy. If Barbossa found him, the boy was as good as dead, and Barbossa's penance under the curse would be ended.
Jack would not allow that to happen. He wasn't really ready to examine his motives yet, but he knew he had to keep William's son alive and well, whatever the reason. His conscience chided him for pondering more about his dear William's son than his current predicament, but he couldn't tear his mind away from the unexpected meeting. "Time to get back to it, me lad," he muttered to himself. "How do we get out of this stinking cell?"
Author's notes:
Thanks to my good buddy Cliia for the improved ending. ^_^ You rock.
I also want to thank emeraldwolf for the continued support. I promise to do my best to keep writing and to actually write something where Jack and Will are in the same room during the story, rather than just in memory.