Borderland.

Summary: Where does Jack sleep on the journey back, presuming Kong is held in the cages? The captain has a solution. Jack is feeling resentful on the journey back to NY. Then he's feeling drunk. Englehorn sees things differently. Jimmy sees more than he's supposed to.

Rating: Uh, gee I suck at this game. PG-15? Nothing too explicit anyway.

Pairing: Jack/Englehorn

Warnings: Slash; lime; love/affection/sex between two males. Flaming only makes you look foolish, but go ahead by all means. Bonus points for capslock abuse.

A/N: Because Coolsome fed my ego, and she wanted some Englehorn/Jack. ;-)

Disclaimer: Peter Jackson is not my name. I don't write for anything but fun, and I'm not getting paid for this. I own diddly.

The captain wasn't really surprised to find Jack Driscoll waiting for him when he returned to the bridge after double-checking on Kong in the cargo bay. He remembered, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the writer's 'quarters' had unfortunately been flooded upon approach of the cursed island. Though the Venture was fit to sail after much labour on the crew's part, the bay was by no means fit to sleep in. Not to mention the lack of space, what with the giant ape they were carting back to New York now.

"There isn't anywhere. The ape is there. Miss Darrow's quarters won't do?" Englehorn asked wearily, scrubbing a hand over his face as he pushed past the American. It wasn't true; of course there were rooms now that seventeen men were dead. Neither of them said it.

"Actually I came to thank you." Driscoll responded, ignoring the unwelcoming body language and general anti-social aura coming from the captain. "You saved us back there. Twice."

"Do you know how hard it is to navigate without a fucking navigator?" Englehorn demanded, standing where his first mate would have been. He slammed a map down on the desk with more force than necessary and shuffled through papers, waiting for Driscoll to leave him to brood. What did he want? You're welcome?

"Denham still had a half crate of this stuff. He thought you could probably appreciate it." Driscoll said, stepping forwards to place a bottle on the table before retreating again.

"Yes, a drunken captain always helps matters. What is wrong with you Americans?" The captain grumbled, although he sounded less agitated than before. Jack didn't let the smile creep into his tone as he spoke,

"Do you have glasses somewhere?" he asked, leaning to peer around the corner into the captain's quarters.

"No." Englehorn replied bluntly.

Jack leaned against the wall, making himself as comfortable as he could in the chilly room. Why was he forcing his company on the captain? Maybe it was because he was the only one not pretending the rest of his crew would walk back on board at any moment, the only one who wasn't openly reeling about the loss, who didn't make Jack feel like he was a bastard for surviving when there were others less fortunate.

The captain didn't blame anybody, and Jack wanted that. He didn't want to feel guilty the way he did. Englehorn's composure, it was contagious. Jack couldn't feel defeated while the captain still stood giving orders, like any of it was worth a damn. Like Ann didn't blame Jack for... For what? For saving her from a beast? No, for having it captured, for forcing her to betray it. Ann couldn't look at him in the eye, not yet, and Jack wasn't sure how long he could stand that.

"You sure you don't need this for yourself?" The captain asked, startling Jack from his thoughts. Englehorn didn't have any problem looking at him, so much so in fact that Jack felt a little uncomfortable. He held the bottle out to Jack after taking a swig himself.

"Thanks," Jack replied, taking the proffered liquor and gulping heartily. He swore under his breath and handed it back to the captain, who was smirking just a little at the expression on his face.

"Denham has abysmal taste." He complained light-heartedly.

Englehorn nodded as he swallowed, the bottle clunked on the wooden surface as he put it down and began to pore over the assortment of maps again.

"Do we have a course?" Jack asked him, not because he was interested, rather, because the silence let his thoughts awaken once more. He was trying hard not to sulk, to feel sorry for himself.

"Don't you have Miss Darrow to entertain?" Englehorn quizzed, his voice rough from the whiskey. Hell, his voice just plain rough anyway. "Oh yes, that's right, she's with the ape." Englehorn laughed, a harsh noise but not quite unpleasant. Jack took the bottle again and drank deeply, not caring one whit about the bemused 'that was mine' look that Englehorn shot him.

"What's the matter with you?" The captain asked him, turning around and leaning against the desk.

Being a writer, Jack thought it was his job to be perceptive, to notice things so acutely. It was his job to see the subtleties around him that most overlooked. It was why he didn't worry when his mind would return to details, become preoccupied with nothing. He could feel the tension in his exhausted muscles ebbing away thanks to the pleasant numbing of the alcohol. And the company? He decided he should slow down with the whiskey, if he was getting drunk already. His gaze was slipping, and oh, Englehorn was broad-shouldered wasn't he? Never noticed that...

"Mister Driscoll?"

Jack started, gaze lifting to meet the cold blue stare he was being fixed with.

"You know, I think I'd better be going-"

He thought about sitting in Ann's empty cabin alone waiting for her to come back and knowing that he wouldn't be able to think of a damn thing to say when she did.

Englehorn had turned his back to him again dismissively.

Jack didn't make a move to leave; he couldn't bring himself to gather the energy. Whether the captain was aware he hadn't moved or not, Jack just didn't care.

"Well if you're not going to get drunk," he said decisively after a prolonged stretch of silence. Englehorn cast a glance at him from over his shoulder but didn't grace him with any words. Jack didn't take it personally; from the captain it was a gesture in itself that he hadn't been shoved out of the door and sent on his merry way.

Englehorn smoked passively, barely acknowledging Jack for a good ten minutes until he glanced again and noted the generous amount of alcohol that had been drained from the bottle Jack was cradling. He watched him curiously as he ran a finger across the label, his nail snagging on the corner and beginning to pick at it restlessly. The captain couldn't say he knew what Driscoll was doing there, or why it didn't bother him nearly as much as he would have expected. It wasn't in his nature to ask questions when it came to his passengers, undoubtedly the reason he'd met Driscoll in the first place was because Denham knew this. He'd never felt the want to enquire. All the company he sought was the ocean, though Driscoll haunting him that evening provoked calmness in him that the ocean did not. On the journey towards Skull Island Englehorn had given the man little consideration. Bookish. Harmless. Nothing to hold his interest.

On the Island, searching for Ann, Driscoll had become a different creature entirely. He became the sort of man Englehorn could admire.

Jack looked up in time to notice the approval in Englehorn's lingering gaze and felt sure the expression was mirrored on his own face. He didn't say anything, merely held the captain's eye for a few seconds longer before swigging from the bottle. He didn't flinch at the burning in the back of his throat anymore. He stood, too quickly, and offered the whiskey again. The motion of the ship seemed to double once he was on his feet, and Jack's balance abandoned him. Before he could fall there was an arm around him, pulling him steady. The sea-legs Jack thought he'd developed at least a little over his time spent on the Venture had left him and he leaned heavily against the captain's chest just to stop from falling. He clutched tight as Englehorn fought to keep them both upright, grunting with the effort. Jack let his forehead fall to the captain's shoulder, mumbled apologies and curses spilling from his lips.

"You can't walk without falling when you are sober, Mister Driscoll. I'm not carrying you out of here." Englehorn said, his tone low. His breath was hot on Jack's skin. He turned his head slowly until he could meet the captain's stare,

"So I'll have to stay here, won't I?" he responded with a lazy smirk, satisfied at the flicker of surprise in Englehorn's eyes. There followed a second of near-panic on Jack's part as the surprise turned to something unreadable. He braced himself, not even sure what he was hoping for. Overdue fear seized him and he tried to straighten with the intent of getting himself below deck, out of the door, just away. Before he could get very far the captain's large hand on the back of his neck pulled him close, crushing their mouths together forcefully. Jack's lips were numbed by the whiskey, but it wasn't tenderness or fragility he sought anyway. He just wanted to feel someone there, someone reassuring him all the sacrifice had been worth it, and that someone had to be Englehorn. He didn't know if the captain realised why, he didn't much care as long as he was there, his fingers tugging just a little too hard in Jack's hair, and his taste just a little too sharp on Jack's tongue.

Jack kissed back fervently, pushing himself against Englehorn forcefully. He didn't have to worry about breaking him, he wasn't delicate like Ann. Nothing about him was comparable to her; another reason for Jack to crave this.

"You're very drunk," Englehorn breathed into his lips a moment later as Jack tried to blink his dizziness away. "to be mistaking me for Miss Darrow."

Jack thought trying to explain to the captain that the opposite of Ann's softness and vulnerability was what he needed just then would be futile. He searched the man's face for any sign of discomfort - though he hadn't taken the captain for anything less than blunt in the past - and saw only restrained desire. He knew this was his last chance to back out, but with the taste of the captain in his mouth he couldn't even visualise himself sitting in Ann's room, waiting for her. Grasping for words that just wouldn't come.

"You're not Ann." That's the point. Jack told him, rocking back on the balls of his feet to give himself room to fumble over the buttons on the captain's shirt.

"I'm glad we both realised." Englehorn responded, his tone nowhere near as mocking as his words. Jack would have smiled a little, if the buttons hadn't been outwitting him. He breathed in deeply, knowing that tomorrow he'd be glad to have the whiskey to blame it on, because that was so much easier than the truth.

Jimmy didn't protest when Preston told him he was going back to his cabin, that he needed rest and Jimmy did too. He watched the man shuffle the playing cards back into a pile while biting his thumbnail absently, considering sneaking down into the belly of the ship, to the cages where it was safe and quiet. Kong was there now though, and Jimmy knew he wouldn't be able to bear looking at the beast without seeing Mister Hayes. For the first time in his life the Venture seemed claustrophobic, so many places Jimmy didn't feel strong enough to tread just yet because of the memories that would follow.

He took a book out of his pocket, one he'd borrowed from Miss Darrow - proper borrowed, with her knowing and everything - and flipped to the page he'd read up to earlier in the day while he was up in the crow's nest. Mister Driscoll had written it, which impressed Jimmy endlessly. He couldn't concentrate on it though and the words just stuck in his head in strings, without meaning anything. He thought of talking to Jack, the man had said to him anytime at all Jimmy felt like it he could find him and chat to him. Jimmy thought that was real nice of him and all now, though at the time all he'd been able to think was but you're not Mister Hayes.

He remembered walking past Jack earlier that evening, while he was skulking through the corridors. He'd pulled the book out of his pocket and showed it to Jack with a proud smile. Jack had nodded, though his smile in return had seemed strained and he looked troubled. On his way to the bridge. The captain was awake all hours anyhow, so Jimmy figured he'd go up and ask him where Mister Driscoll's quarters were now. Maybe Jack would want to talk to him about what he was finding bothersome; Jimmy liked that thought.

Up on deck, the first thing that struck Jimmy as odd was how dim the lamp was burning in the little room. Maybe the captain had fallen asleep without realising he hadn't turned it off? He strode around to the door, having to press his cheek up to the glass so's he could see anything in all the shadows the lamp was making. He strained his ears, listening for snores. What he heard didn't sound anything like snoring and his heart-beat sped up, his hand tightening on the door-handle. After pausing to think on it a few seconds longer, Jimmy opened the door and slid into the room silently, curious and worried. He'd just check to make sure the skipper was okay; maybe he was having a nightmare. He took a deep breath and smelled cigarette smoke and spilt liquor.

He wasn't real certain on what he should be making out of the scene before him. He froze, pulling back into the shadows when he realised he hadn't been spotted by either of the preoccupied men. It wasn't any nightmare; Jack was the one letting out those soft, desperate noises. At first Jimmy had thought they were fighting, the way they were pushing against each other like that. Besides, the captain was never all too polite toward Jack - not that he had manners spare for anyone, mind - so Jimmy had to stare in shock a little longer while he tried to puzzle it out. Dimly, he realised he'd found Jack like he'd wanted, though talking to him was the last thing on his mind now. Still, it didn't occur to him to skitter on away and go about some other business, or just what captain Englehorn would do to him if he caught him.

The captain was talking, saying stuff Jimmy couldn't hear as the two men stumbled further into Englehorn's quarters and out of view. He kept still for a few minutes, his grip on Jack's book so tight his knuckles were white. There captain's bunk jarred noisily as the two men fell on it, and Jimmy jumped. His heart was pounding so noisily in his ears, almost drowning out the muted cry Jack made, but not quite. Jimmy's fingers ached, but he gripped the book tighter still as he strained his ears,

"You're alright?" it sounded like the skipper, his voice strained yet warm. Jack replied, something in the affirmative, but Jimmy couldn't be sure on just what. Jimmy could have just ducked out of there and left, but he was fascinated. He listened, hearing Jack bite back a moan, punctuated by a low gasp. The desire to know just what was happening threatened to drive Jimmy wild. Barely making a sound, he crept across the floor, crouching at the threshold and peering through the inky darkness. It didn't matter about making a noise, he supposed, as the two looked more than a little caught up in one another, doing... Well, Jimmy didn't know what to call it. He didn't even notice his legs cramping because of the awkward way he was positioned, he was so enrapt.

Their bare skin looked blue in the dim light, marred in places with a patchwork of bruising courtesy of Skull Island. The skipper's broad back obscured the other man momentarily and then Jimmy caught sight of him again, pressing his mouth to the captain's shoulder, still with the same powerful moving against one another that Jimmy didn't rightly understand. It didn't go on much longer, and Jimmy blushed when Jack collapsed on the skipper, his face all pressed into his neck and the captain's fingers weaving through his hair absently; the way Jimmy would pet the tigers through the bars when they were still out from the chloroform.

The feeling that he'd seen something he really shouldn't have welled up inside of him and he edged towards the door, thinking he'd better go to his own bunk and forget all about what he'd just seen, and ignore the dozens more questions it'd evoked. He shouldn't have watched something that, now, seemed deeply personal between them both.

"You should take your hat off more often, captain," Jimmy could hear the smirk, and the slur, in Jack's voice. He could hear a rare softness in the skipper's;

"You should shut up."

The drunken, contented voices chased Jimmy from the bridge, echoing with him as he ran to his bunk, and lingering until long after both men had drifted into slumber.

Englehorn woke much earlier than he supposed Jack would awaken usually, but he didn't find it within himself to endure the discomfort of his bunk just so he wouldn't disturb the man. He climbed gracelessly over the body beside him, grinning slightly at the groggy, disgruntled sound Jack made.

"Get out before someone catches you here," Englehorn instructed as he dressed.

Jack sat up slowly, wincing as he opened his eyes. After rubbing his face tiredly he set about searching for his clothes from where it was warm, his arm sliding out from beneath the blanket to grasp for his shirt on the drafty floor. Englehorn batted his hand away,

"Not yet."

Jack forced himself to meet the stare he'd been avoiding since he woke and inwardly sighed with relief. Englehorn was looking at him the same as he always had, though with perhaps a glint of mirth in his eye.

"What time is it?" Jack asked, still feeling the effects of the alcohol he'd drank, though nowhere near as badly as the night before. He remembered snatches of dialogue; mostly his own voice, he remembered that every word he managed to draw from the captain was a feat in itself. He recalled, and touching his face affirmed it for him, the captain's stubble rough against his skin. Kissing, he'd kissed him, and thinking on it, Jack wasn't sure if that wasn't his intention all along.

"It isn't dawn yet. Go back to sleep, it's fine." the captain responded, scooping his cap from the floor and putting it on,

He considered that he was still drunk, for he did believe he was in love with Ann, and yet he felt more comfortable here than with her below deck - with her anywhere. He contemplated it was his own cowardice: too inept to say the words that counted he hid here instead, with a man whose aptitude for speaking about his feelings made Jack appear the poet he was meant to be. Fragmented, drunken thoughts, that's all, he told himself. He didn't know what came next, what Englehorn was to him now, and there was a throbbing in his head that was steadily increasing as he tried to think. Going back to sleep was ever the more appealing notion.

"It's colder here, compared to below." he commented, for the sake of speaking, perhaps hearing that voice again in reply, settling into the space the captain had vacated and left warm with body heat. The captain smiled lazily, tugging the peak of his hat until it faced the right way,

"In a few nights, you won't notice a thing."