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Time and Tide

"William! Fancy running into you in this unsavory locale. Does your bonny lass know you're here?" Jack dropped himself into a chair across the table from Will, not bothering to wait for an invitation. He winked at a passing waitress and swiped two frothy mugs from her less than spotless tray as she erupted in a fit of giggles. Clunk. A large quantity of the rum sloshed over the rim to form a slowly spreading puddle on the grimy table. Jack winced and deposited his own mug more carefully.

After a short silence which Jack passed by staring mournfully at the wasted rum and Will by staring at nothing at all, Jack reclaimed his fair mood and downed half his mug with one gulp. He picked up the conversation as though there had been no interlude. "Will, you're a disappointment," he admonished. "I recall having a livelier discussion with a grave. Even a eunuch should be able to hold a decent conversation with a gentleman such as meself." His jabs went unheeded and Will's rum remained untouched. Jack's face quickly advertised the same confusion a man might feel when confronted with a talking fish. The bewilderment soon disappeared, however, giving way to a smug, tight smile. "Ah. Woman trouble."

He sat back and called for more rum. Two more brimming mugs were presented by a flirtatious blonde, but Jack waved her away impatiently. "Bottles, girl, we need bottles! Full ones, mind you!" He demanded sternly, waving a finger in warning. The girl started off, only to have her tray relieved of its contents. "We'll have these all the same," he informed her cheerfully.

The mugs were distributed, and Jack settled into his chair, one elbow on the table, his palm supporting his cheek. Will had not moved.

"Care to tell ol' Jack what the cause might be of this solitary and bleak contemplation?" Jack began, the candlelight gleaming on his golden teeth when he smiled. "I'd wager-" he paused, considered what he might be willing to wager, faltered, and determined to wager nothing whatsoever,"-quite a bit that your distress may be attributed to a certain Miss Swann of Port Royal." He paused. "Or is it Mrs. Turner now?"

Will finally spoke, albeit without so much as lifting his head. "Miss Swann," he murmured. "We weren't married."

"Decided to call it a day, eh? Well-"

"She's dead, Jack."

Will uttered the words quietly and tonelessly. Jack's smile faded.

"What was that?" he asked carefully.

"She's dead." Will's voice hitched noticeably as he raised his head for the first time. Jack might have noticed his raw eyes, unshaved jaw, and tear-stained skin if he had not been so busy trying to convince himself to wake up.

The captain of the Black Pearl found himself speechless.He could not have felt more ill and off-balance had he been standing on the deck of a ship caught in a whirlpool. Will's eyes were fixed on him, but he seemed to be staring at something else entirely which merely occupied the same space.

Jack needed a drink. More than that, he needed to drink himself into a stupor so complete that he would fall into blackness and never wake up...

His eyes fell to his half-empty mug. Try as he might, it would not budge. The distance between it and his lips seemed insurmountable, and his arm seemed to be made of lead.

It had been so very long since anyone Jack cared about had died. Members of his crew had fallen here and there, some quite recently, and he mourned for them all. But this - this sort of grief was far different than he had ever felt before. Elizabeth was dead. He would never see her again. Never speak to her, tease her, touch her, or be marooned with her again. The thought made it diificult to inhale. His eyes burned and he realized he was getting dangerously close to tears.

He slowly dragged the mug from the table and gulped as long a draught as he could stand. The rum forced the ache in his throat to subside. He drank again, and again, emptying his mug.

Will had dropped his head onto his forearms. His shoulders heaved in silent sobs. "Have a bit, Will," Jack said hoarsely. He nudged the untouched mug toward Will and watched until his hand grasped the handle and brought it to his lips. He looked terrible. And no wonder - Elizabeth, beautiful, firy, conniving, infuriating Elizabeth, was gone. That one so young should face death was beyond Jack's Sparrow's power of understanding.

He looked at his hands and realized that his second mug was quite empty. He discarded it, putting in its place one of the bottles the waitress had brought. He hadn't even noticed her.

"It was a week before our wedding when she -" Will swallowed, unable to finish. He passed his left hand over his forehead, still gripping his mug with his right. "She," he began again in a very detached voice, as though he were drifting ever further away and his voice was the only tether holding him to the tavern and to Jack,"She walked through the rain to the smithy to see me. The next day she fell ill. She died. She died," he repeated quietly. Tears flowed continuously on his flushed cheeks.

Jack took another drink. Clasping his mug with both hands, Will stared at his rippling reflection in the dark liquid. "It was my fault," he said, the first trace of anger appearing in his tone. "She was coming to see me."

"Now don't go blaming yourself, lad," Jack quietly rebuked him. Will buried his head in his hands and lapsed into silence.

Jack absently fingered the compass strapped to his belt. His fingers traced the smooth object, playing over its hinges and seams. For a moment he found respite from the crushing grief in the mindless study of its shape and texture. Loosening the strap, he brought the compass to the table.

Staring at the table's lone candle, he flipped open the lid. A moment or two passed before he dared to look at it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. Yet his eyes slid from the flickering flame to the compass.

The needle was frozen in place. Pointing in whatever direction he turned the compass, it did not so much as quiver even when he shifted it right, then left. He snapped it shut and returned it to his belt slowly.

It was broken. Really and truly broken. He supposed it was due to the fact that the compass' owner had nothing to want. He briefly wondered if it would ever work again, then dismissed the thought, deciding he didn't care. Funny how a death could do that.

Jack sighed heavily and hefted his bottle to his lips. His head was beginning to ring and the floor no longer felt stable beneath his feet. The rum was doing its work.

Glancing at Will, he felt a stir of pity and hoped fervently that the rum would lull them both into blissful oblivion very soon. He lifted his bottle a few inches from the table's surface and held it there. "To Elizabeth," he slurred reverently.

Will lifted his eyes and clinked his mug against Jack's bottle. "To Elizabeth," he repeated hoarsely, and both men drank.