WINNER! WINNER! WINNER!

Announcement: Yes, ladies and gents, my twentieth reviewer has arrived and has won the role in the final two chapters! Congratulations to Shallow Waters for thoroughly kicking ass. You need to either accept this role and get a profile to me (via review) or decline it. If the latter is chosen, the runner-up will be Maya Bebop for being my very first reviewer and long-time fan. Congrats to you, Maya.

Author's Note: I was planning on going one direction with this story, but due to some excellent feedback by you lovely reviewers, I've decided to...hmm...rearrange some "plot progressions." Oh, there shall be tragedy, my dears--but maybe, just maybe I'll give you all a happy ending.

Disclaimer: cries I own nothing...

THE VIOLINIST

Chapter Five - Shadow Man

It had been six weeks since Mariana had stepped foot onto the Black Pearl. One couldn't count the number of compliments Baby and Venice received for the find of her. All the men of the ship seemed entranced with her.

All but one.

Jack chewed on the remnants of a chicken bone as he prowled about the deck. He snapped orders to men every now and then, but it didn't really matter. He had no idea as to where they were going. He had announced he wanted to go about without coordinates to free his mind. In truth, he really had no mind to free.

Jack was a man caged by his own insanity. He was dark and menacing and often what most would call 'maroon-worthy.' Jack paid them no attention--he thought he was perfectly sane and a damn good captain. He had finally fitted the role of a pirate; that is, he was a merciless fiend.

And though Jack was not proud of the things he so often did, he was not ashamed, either.

Jack leaned over the side of the rail, spitting the bone into the deep, restless aquamarine abyss that was the sea he sailed upon. His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white. This girl--this Mariana of Spain--was driving him absolutely mad.

She was to blame for the sour mood he had been in lately.

Though most men would say Jack Sparrow was always in a sour mood, the captain himself would beg to differ. He saw himself as perfectly composed. It was a miracle if he admitted he might be being a tad homicidal.

Jack saw Mariana as nothing but a whore of a distraction. She was beautiful, he would not doubt it, as would none of the men. But although she was warm to nearly everyone on board, she thoroughly detested Jack. Though she could not curse him with her lips, she could stab him with her eyes. Those eyes that were so astoundingly familiar…

She still refused to play her violin for him. The crew roared about her genius, but so far Jack had heard none of it. And try as he might to act nonchalant and not give a damn, Mariana was not someone who was easily ignored. She was always there, sending him icy glares--on deck, down below, wherever he was at the time.

Jack twisted the rail in his hands. Why did she refuse him the pleasure of hearing her music? For the love of the gods, who was she to come in and drive him mad, like a leak that won't stop drip-dropping in the god-awful hours of the night?

Who was she to become an obsession?

Jack immediately released the handle as he thought about what he had just considered. Was he obsessed with her? True, she did plague his thoughts, but that surely wasn't out of obsession. It was out of pure annoyance and distaste.

Wasn't it?

"I need to consult someone," Jack said aloud to no one in particular. He scanned the ship, his eyes squinted into tiny slits. "Gibbs!" he called loudly, swaying out of habit. When no answer came from the crowd upon the deck, he roared out the name.

"Where is that little bugger of an old man?" Jack muttered to himself. He saw a figure dashing past him and grasped the youth's shoulder. Venice looked at him in surprise.

"Captain?" he said automatically.

Jack blinked at the boy. "Where be Gibbs, lad?" he questioned rather loudly. Venice blinked.

"I beg your pardon, Captain?" he said.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to beg, boy!" Jack roared, shoving Venice a bit. The teenage pirate regained his footing and nodded.

"Of course, Captain," he apologized. "It shan't happen again."

"It had better not, boy," Jack snarled, "or it's your hide. Now, what I asked you is, where be Gibbs?"

Venice blinked, his eyes wide with a shock and a pain veiled behind it. "Captain, surely you would not ask me that," he said quietly, gulping down hard so that his Adam's apple bobbed obviously up and down his throat. Jack's brow furled.

"Aye, indeed I would," Jack said, his eyes darting around suspiciously. Something was wrong…something was terribly wrong…

"Sir…" Venice answered with a sigh and another gulp, "Mister Gibbs is now five years dead."

At the mere suggestion Jack stopped moving, thinking, and breathing. His hands gripped again the railing as the color drained from his cheeks. "You must be jesting with me, boy," he said through clenched teeth. Venice shook his head solemnly.

"No, Captain," he insisted. "Surely you remember?"

Jack squeezed his eyes shut. His Shadow Man laughed at him from inside his head.

It seems I've taken one of your precious little memories and caged it up, doesn't it? the Shadow Man chortled. Oh, well. I suppose I can let you in…if only I can find that damn key…

Jack faded from the world as he entered his own mind and searched for a memory which should never have been lost.

The old man didn't look well, Jack decided as he looked at the bed. The overgrown bag of skin that was Gibbs had been sick for two weeks straight now. Jack could not recall when Gibbs had looked worse.

The older man's eyes opened and his bushy eyebrows lifted in greeting. "Well, if it isn't my dear Captain Jack," Gibbs said with a weak grin. Jack blinked.

"Don't be daft, man," he ordered. "I haven't been dear old Captain Jack in a while."

Gibbs gave a sort of nod, but it was smothered by the weakness in his body. "Why am I in bed here, Jack? Surely I can't have been so drunk I don't remember?"

Despite Gibbs's mischievous grin, the expression that rested upon Jack's face remained solemn. "Would you like me to tell you the truth, man?" he asked with a sigh as he removed his hat.

Gibbs nodded. "Jack, you'd better damn well tell me why I can't move," he grumbled, pathetically shaking a plump finger.

Jack looked down and started fiddling with his hat. The insides were worn and dirty, and the leather was beginning to have an extremely tarnished look about it.

"Jack," Gibbs breathed and the captain looked up. "Tell me, lad. Tell me what's wrong with me."

Jack's brow furled. "What's wrong with you is that you're a pirate," he snarled, making Gibbs draw back in surprise. "You're a damned pirate, Gibbs. The worst of all criminals. A sea rat. For God's sakes, you're older than I myself am! You should be married, with some kids, and grandchildren on the way. You should be reclining on a damn beach. What's wrong with you is that you're bloody scum." He looked back down at his hat and grimaced. "Just like me," he said softly. "Alone you are, Gibbs. Alone we are together."

Gibbs stared at his captain for a very long time. He finally drew in a deep breath and spoke. "Jack, I feel as though I am dying," he confided.

Jack jerked his head upwards. "Do you, really?" he whispered breathily, running a hand through his dirty hair as his eyes scanned the older man's weakening form.

Gibbs gave a weak nod. "Aye, my boy," he assured.

Jack blinked his deep brown eyes before twirling the braids in his beard with his thumb and forefinger. Dying. He knew that was what Gibbs was doing. He didn't even need a doctor to diagnose it. For Jack had seen much death in his time, and knew that the grasp of eternal sleep had finally caught a hold of his old friend--his only friend, really.

"What does it feel like, Gibbs?" Jack asked quietly after a sudden silenece. Gibbs looked straight into his captain's eyes and pursed his lips thoughtfully before answering.

"Like…" he paused. Gibbs was but a humble pirate, and had but a humble vocabulary. He sighed. "It's like the night, Jack. It's dark, unknown--it makes the strongest man fearful. Takes a hold of you by the throat and presses against your breath slowly, so as the pain is carried out. The darkness doesn't come all at once, you see. It slowly comes, making you dread its arrival." He stared at Jack. "Why do you ask, Captain?"

Jack sighed and placed his hat back up onto his head. "Because I have felt I was dying for the last twelve years," Jack said quietly. His eyes lost their vacant, glazed cover and sorrow painted itself across his brow. "It is a burden no one should ever be forced to bear. I am sorry you must endure it now."

Gibbs's eyes went wider with a fright. "I don't want to endure it no more, Jack," he whispered. Jack stared at him for a long time, not quite understanding what he meant. "I want it to end NOW," Gibbs said after a long while, and Jack's eyes flew wider.

"You cannot ask me to do this," he whispered, his eyes brimming with a strange, unfamiliar sensation of salty wetness. "No. I can't--"

"Please, Jack," Gibbs pleaded. "For the love of God. I don't want Death to grab me. I want to jump into its arms. I choose my own damn fate."

Jack wiped his eyes frantically, occasionally giving little whispers of how he couldn't do it, no, don't ask it of him, please Gibbs…

And yet he reached for the pistol.

Jack blinked away his tears as he clicked off his safety. "I wish you could have been with me, my friend," he confessed. "When it comes to be the end of all things."

Gibbs gave a weak little grin. "Oh, Jack," he whispered. "It is the end." He nodded and closed his eyes. "Goodbye, Jack."

Jack blinked away a tear and pulled the trigger, not looking to see where it had hit. It seemed to have made contact, though, because the old man's breathing slowed and finally came to a complete stop. Jack stood up, shoved his pistol into his belt, and turned about.

"Godspeed, old man," he said in monotone. "May flights of angels take thee to thy rest."

Closing Notes: Ahaha, oooh, I love it. I feel awfully evil...but I hope I've given Jack an underlying tone of sympathy. Success? Failure? What do you lovely reviewers think?