A one-chappie kinda thing... just a short little story about a lost soul who needs a home, and finds one with Jack. (Takes place afterCurse of the BlackPearl.) Enjoy! XD
Disclaimer: I own nothing... nothing! (runs awayyy)
He heaved a deep, heavy sigh, and sat down on the hard, wooden floor. He was tired, dirty, and hungry. All he wanted was to curl up on some sweet bed made of feathers and silk in some loving friend's home, with caring fingers stroking his hair and a kind voice whispering comforting words in his ear. He wanted a home.
But it could not be. He would never have a real home. He was stuck here, working for the Navy, guarding this damp, unkempt brig, watching endless faces of framed men and guilty men alike pass in and out of the various cells, begging him for help. Begging him for freedom. But he could not give it to them, not if he wanted to live just a little longer.
He glanced over as one of his fellow guardsmen dragged an unconscious form into the cell across from where he was sitting, taking time only to lock the door and spit before leaving him alone again, the only guard.
This was the first customer of the day; all the other cells were empty. Mostly out of boredom (and a small spark of curiosity), he crept over to the bars of the cell to get a closer look at the prisoner.
It was a pirate.
Not just any pirate, mind you – a pirate he'd seen before many a time. The last time he'd come, the brig had just about been blown to smithereens by others of his profession – not a good omen for this day.
The man had raven black hair decorated with an assortment of beads, dreadlocks, braids, and other miscellany, a double-braided beard, and tanned skin. What was his name? Ah, yes: Jack Sparrow. Well, Captain Jack Sparrow, if you paid any heed to his words… which he didn't.
It didn't take long for the pirate to wake up. When he did, he looked over at his guard and gave him a familiar nod. They'd met many a time before. "Hello again," the man said.
The guard blinked at him, but did not speak or move. Not that he was expected to speak; after all, he was mute. He gazed placidly at the pirate, unmoved until the man reached out to him. No, no, no, he thought, backing away from the pirate's touch. It was one of many things he was afraid of: touch. Because, to him, touch only meant one thing: hurt. He'd been beaten, kicked, shoved, and generally abused ever since he'd been dragged into this horrible job when he was still only a youth. He was older now, but the methods of punishment his masters inflicted upon him still hadn't changed.
A strange look came into the man's face, one that was so unlike anything the guard had ever seen on a pirate's face before he forgot for a moment what it was. Pity. The pirate actually felt pity. What was going on here? He backed away again, into the wall, confused. Pirates were bad, criminals were bad. So why then could he see kindness in this man's deep dark eyes?
"Shhh, it's all right," the man murmured, holding his hand out calmly to the guard. "I won't hurt you."
Ha, that's what they all said. But if he gave this man his freedom, his kindness would be forgotten, and all he would get as reward would be even more bruises on his already worn-out body. No. He would not help this man.
Yet… even the innocent men who had come and gone through this brig had not had the look on their faces that this man had on his face now. They had not cared about him or his pitiful state; they had simply wanted out. This man wanted freedom, too… but the difference between him and the others was, he cared.
"Come on," the man – Jack Sparrow, the guard remembered – "It's only me… just ol' Jack again. Come here." When he still would not come, Jack sighed. "Let's make a deal, aye? You get me out of here, and I'll give you food and a home. How's that sound?"
The guard blinked. What? What had Jack said? That he'd give him a home? A home? The food was nice too, but… home? Could it really be true?
He took a tentative step toward the pirate, and Jack's eyes brightened, hope suddenly in his face. "That's right, come on, just a little closer. Please?"
Shaking with every step, knowing he could trust this man but still being afraid to, the guard slowly made his way over to the man's cell. Gently, reluctantly, fearfully, he handed over the keys. Jack smiled for the first time that day as he quietly unlocked the door to his own cell. He pocketed the keys, then looked down at the lone, scared guard.
"Thanks very much, mate. I was afraid I'd have to wait for Will to help me out again." He reached down and scratched the guard behind the ears gently. "Come on, mate. Let's go home."
He swaggered out of the brig, the keys in his pocket (along with some coins) jangling merrily. With a light and happy heart for the first time in years, the key dog trotted after him, glad to finally have found a home.