Disclaimer: The characters, situations, and trademarks featured in this story are the property of Ted Elliot, Terry Rossio, and Gore Verbinski, various studios including First Mate Productions, Jerry Bruckheimer Pictures, and Walt Disney Studios. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The din of the battle was deafening. The air was filled to the brim with the metal clash of swords meeting and parting, bullets whistling over both decks, screams of agony, and quickly whispered prayers of desperation.
But that was not what Jack Sparrow heard. The only sounds that reached his ears were those of the sea lapping against the Pearl, kissing every inch of her that could be reached by the gentle waves, the creaking of the rigging, the groan of her wood. Jack's warm, brown hand was wrapped around the ship's wheel as he steered her towards her destiny. Their destiny.
A bottle of rum, three quarters of the way empty, was in his free hand. He raised it to his lips and let the liquid burn down his throat and linger on his tongue. The taste reminded him of a long forgotten night on the beach, beneath the stars, surrounded by the sea, and a half smile was brought to his face. Snatches of song, rum, and fire. The warmth of her body next to his.
It's not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails. That's what a ship needs, but what a ship is, what the Black Pearl really is, is freedom.
An explosion of pain ripped through his chest and he gripped the wheel tightly to keep himself from staggering backwards. Again and again it happened, and each time he felt more pain than the last, but he was still somehow able to endure it. No doubt the rum was mercifully lessening the searing tribulation.
The sea was singing the song to him, as the seductive Sirens once did many years ago, beckoning him towards the ever evasive horizon, which was shooting bloodshot rays into the sky, admiring its own reflection in the great expanse of glassy ocean.
Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me!
"We'll sing it all the time!" Jack mused to himself, chuckling at his own words.
Before he even noticed the blood running down his body, he saw the sails of his ship, full and billowing in the wind, Tortuga, treasure, and ocean. Everything had begun to haze over, but it was just the Caribbean heat. Just the heat . . .
As the wind blew past Jack, rattling the jewels and the fine white bone tied in his hair, making a shanty of their own, it picked up flecks of blood from his wound and carried them dutifully into the sea, where she received them with all the grace and tenderness of a lover.
The empty rum bottle slipped from his fingers and smashed onto the deck.. Jack whirled round and came to rest belly down on his beloved ship, caressing her, ignoring the blood soaking into her planks what sealed the two of them together.
Because they weren't just a man and a ship. They were one soul, bound together by all manner of fate and luck and desire.
As he began to slip from consciousness, Jack's dark, dark eyes were blinded by the magnificence of the sea, the promise of the horizon. He could have sworn they were almost there.
A sandy rum bottle was raised into the air of memory. To freedom.
No.
To the Black Pearl.