Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them. If I did, I'd be rich. And a pirate's wench.
Their swords met, and it was like the first time they had ever fought. As far as William was concerned, the two pirates were no longer friendly sparring partners. He was fighting to win; but what exactly? To win Elizabeth back? To prove to both Jack and Elizabeth that he could wield a sword? Or to satisfy some silly, self-righteous idea that had lodged itself in his own mind? At that moment, Will Turner didn't care. He was overcome by testosterone, adrenaline, and, most powerful of all, jealousy.
Their swords clashed again and again; Will fighting with the sort of strategic grace that can only be learned through instruction; Jack fighting like the pirate he was: lunging, leaning, honing in on his opponent's weaknesses.
In strength and skill the two were fairly evenly matched, however, Jack's surprise at being so suddenly threatened soon gave Will the upper hand.
Suddenly, William lunged forward, slashing open the Captain's grubby white shirt, which was soon soaked through in two patches across his abdomen with large black stains. Blood. The pirate, however, did not seem to feel physical pain from his injury - after all, what was another battle scar? He'd had worse; though never from the man he considered to be his friend; nay; his brother. Jack felt a sudden, familiar rush of anger and adrenaline. He smirked at his opponent, and clashed his sword against the blacksmith's with a renewed vigour, taking a step forward with every lunge. Will was on the defence now - with every step forward that Jack took, he moved back that little bit further, eventually tripping on the rope that, until moments before, Elizabeth had been untying, and falling on his back.
Helpless, he looked up at the Pirate captain, who raised the tip of his sword to the blacksmith's throat. Jack held the shining blade there for just a moment, keeping his steely gaze on Will's eyes, and then, without a word, turned and walked away, towards his cabin; resheathing the sword as he swaggered across the deck. Elizabeth could hear his door slam from far away.
Elizabeth shot a disgusted look at Will, still lying on the deck, looking dazed.
"What in hell was that?" She demanded.
Will was speechless. He looked at her, reproachfully, trying to form the words; trying to tell her how much he loved her and how he knew she was slipping away from him.
"I -" he began, then stopped. He couldn't. He just shook his head.
Elizabeth shot one last, disappointed look at him, and turned on her heel to follow the Captain.
Tentatively, she knocked on Jack's cabin door.
"Jack?" she ventured. "Can I….?"
Her request was met by a gruff reply. "No".
Slowly, she pushed open the door.
The Captain of the Black Pearl was sitting on his bed, half-clothed, with a bottle of rum in one hand and his torn shirt in the other, attempting to clean his wound. Looking up, he snarled at her. "Get out of here."
Without a word, Elizabeth took the bottle and shirt from his hand. He didn't resist. She took a swig from the bottle, then poured some of the rum onto the cloth.
"I don't need your help," he protested, more weakly this time, but when she moved towards him to press the wet cloth to his long, angry-looking, yet relatively shallow wound, he meekly moved his arm and offered himself to her; hissing quietly when he felt the sting of the alcohol.
Their faces were a mere six inches apart, and looking into his eyes, Elizabeth suddenly felt uncomfortable and felt an overwhelming urge to just run, far away. She tried to break the silence. "Jack, I'm - I'm sorry. I don't know why… what…" She trailed off. She knew why Will had acted the way he did. And she knew that Jack knew, too.
He flexed his left hand, the one he wasn't using to support his weight on the bed, and raised it to touch her sun-streaked hair. A smile played about his lips as he heard her hitch in her breath as he touched her. This was the most physical contact they'd had since that kiss. That kiss…. "Come on now, love."
Warning bells sounded in Elizabeth's brain, but she couldn't move back; couldn't run; couldn't tear her eyes away from the piercing gaze of his chocolate-brown eyes. In the candlelight, they seemed almost black. They were mesmerising. She wanted to shout, to scream and swear at him like she used to be able to, but she just sat there, still as a statue, hand still holding the rum-soaked cloth pressed to his abdomen. Meanwhile, Will wiped the tear from his eye, and trudged below deck. He had finally lost her.
Well, what do you think? One-shot? Or should I continue?