Jack Turner snuck past the cot on which his parents and sister lay in sleep and crept up the stairs to the quiet decks of the Pearl. Careful to evade the attention of the stragglers that comprised his Uncle's moonlight crew, the boy skulked with the shadows toward the bowsprit. He cast a glance over his shoulder. Finding no pirates looking his way, he shot forward and climbed up, hooking a foot in the railing, to look out over the open ocean.
At night, the sea washed below the ship like ink. Black waves and silver swells broke against the hull as the Black Pearl cut through, slicing toward its destination. Stars sparkled in both water and sky and moonbeams licked at the darkness, casting a chill glow o'er all they touched. In the velvety heat of the midsummer Caribbean, the rustling breeze was cool and the sting of the seaspray cooler.
In all of his nine years, Jack decided he had never experienced anything better.
Thinking of sailing always left him thinking about Uncle Jack. Gazing out at the sea always reminded him of the pirate whom he'd known since he could remember and whom loved his family as if it were his own. Only a year ago had Jack found that his beloved Uncle wasn't. After a rather frightful scuffle, his father had clarified that the pirate was not relation by blood. The revelation had been many things, but most of all it had been disappointing. He had, since he could remember, simply accepted his Uncle as brother to his father though they were as differenced as night and day. And he had thoroughly enjoyed the idea of sharing a bloodline with an infamous pirate.
After the initial letdown, however, he began to wonder why it was that such a man who did not share their heritage would care so much for them, even if they did care in return. Afterall, pirates were not known for their hearts of gold, and, for all their care of the other, Uncle Jack and his father clashed something terrible. They rarely saw eye-to-eye and bickered or fought more than they laughed. Later the two always reconciled, laughs were had and words were forgotten, but Jack remembered every bit as clearly as he remembered the skirmish that had darkened spirits only hours ago.
He stepped back into the shadows and followed them, heeding the crewmen, toward the door he knew led to his Uncle. Darting the few paces left, he knocked quietly. His golden gaze flicked about the deck to make certain he hadn't been heard, and when he received no answer, he knocked again.
"Unless the King's demanding answers," drawled a lilting voice through the wood, "mine is 'go away'."
Jack's brows knit in consternation as he decided to attempt a whisper. "Uncle, it's me!"
"In that case, get ye below!" The scowl on his face as evident in his voice, Jack Sparrow growled. "Fore your father gets even more sour than the lemonface he already is."
Sighing, the boy ducked into the shadows once more. After establishing that he had yet to be spotted he hurried below. Down the steps he went—right past the level where he knew his own quarters, the quarters of his parents, to be and onto the third. Quickly he padded past the kitchen and through the great hall and past the stores. His eyes narrowed in the darkness as his fingertips searched the wood. All along the wall he felt, until at long last, he found what it was he sought. Grinning, he dug his fingernails into the seam and pulled.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
The moonlight that filtered down through the porthole was not enough to read by, and so, with barely a look up from his text, Jack Sparrow lit a match and brought flame to a candle. The warm light flickered over the pages. Satisfied, he pinched the match out between his fingers and laid it on the base of the brass lantern. Back to his book, his gaze filled with it, and he flipped the page to move onto the next.
Reading was something of a comfort to him. Even though it did naught to soothe his soul it did prove to be a compelling distraction enough to slightly improve his mood. And so when he had finally driven himself near to madness with the soul searching—"Have I really given him that much reason not to trust me?"—and the pacing—table, windows, table, chinoiserie, table—and the drinking—"yo ho, yo—oh! I'm none too happy with her either!"—and the fear that William Turner II— the only lemonface he'd ever really liked except for the lad's father himself—really did deem him despicable after all of the adventures and the arguments-turned-laughter and the… he had set about finding a book to read.
Normally the process was something of a snap but being that the day hadn't been snappy in any sort of way, he had only grumbled a bit when he could not find a book he had not read before. The problem, he figured, was that if he set to reading a book he'd read before it would not be much distraction and distraction was what he needed. After a poke through a cabinet and a dig through a chest, he had finally found and snagged a suitable thick tome. Grabbing a bottle of wine from a crate and plopping himself down on the chair under the porthole and next to the desk, he had cracked open the book and attempted to rid himself of at least some of the hurt that gnawed his insides.
Half a book, two bottles of wine, and moon shining in the window later, he had heard the familiar patter of Jack Turner's feet outside his cabin. At first he'd ignored the knocking, wanting not to see the boy who looked as a cross between his father and—of all people—the pirate captain himself and who had the uncanny ability to amuse the devil out of him. But then the lad had knocked again and he had hoped his surly, wine-drenched reply would send him back down to sleep. He should have known that it would not, but he had not known that young Jack would announce himself. Then he had been forced to sound angry enough to send the scamp running and he had felt, somewhere in the sloshing wine in his head, quite a bit worse for it.
It had been then, when he'd returned to his book so as not to dwell on anything else that might bother him, that he had realized that if he were going to continue to read, he would need more light. As he continued reading, the candlelight much improving the task, he thought of the shock that would reign on Commodore Norrington's face if the Navyman caught sight of such a thing, and he smiled. Shock reigned on his own face, however, as he realized that thinking about the stodgy fellow whose proper name was James, though he'd found out the hard way he was never to address the man as such, had cheered him up.
The realization not being a kind one, he quickly abandoned his text and sought the answer as to why such an anomaly had occurred. After much deliberation, he came to the startling conclusion that one of the reasons that the Commodore amused him so was that the bloke, in his bright shiny uniform, somehow reminded him of fine frozen custard. Of course, being that Jack fancied fine frozen custard, it was not a welcome conclusion. Tossing both the smug, smartly dressed Commodore and the delicious dessert out of his thoughts, he returned to, as quickly as he'd abandoned, his book.
So enthralled, he was, in the story that he thought nothing of the flash of color in the corner of his eye. So spellbound he was by the stirring speech of the dying damsel that he thought nothing of the patter of feet that met his ears. So rapt with the remorseful poetry, woeful words lingering on words, that he thought nothing of anything but it.
When the damsel had died away, he sighed. Lifting his gaze from the page to consider the meaning of it all, he found Jack Turner standing an arm's length in front of him. Heart skipping, he jumped, tossing the book in the air. It landed—thud!—on his head. He thwacked it onto the desk and reached gingerly for the sore spot. Scowling, he rubbed it. "Between you and your father, lad, I've more headaches than I ever bargained for."
"I'm sorry, sir."
The lad rushed forward, reaching his own little fingers to soothe the pirate's scalp. Jack frowned up at the boy so intent on his injury. The formal address wouldn't do, and he gave a slight shake of his head. When the young Turner met his gaze, he smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"That's Uncle Jack to you, my boy," he warned. Accepting an unanticipated hug, he patted the lad on the back. When he pulled away, his eyes narrowed. "Thought I told you to get below, Jack Turner."
"But I did," the boy said, eyes widening innocently.
Jack arched a brow.
"You never said what I was to do after going below so I found the hidden door and came to visit you," his counterpart explained, quirking a smile.
The pirate laughed.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
When Will woke, he was not surprised by the absence of his son. He was, however, surprised to find Lucy gone missing with Elizabeth still asleep. Their little girl was not fond of going anywhere without her mother and to see that she had, so early in the morning on a pirate ship upon the sea she dreaded no less, meant trouble. He was not worried, though, for he had a good idea that the trouble was with him.
Upset as they were with him, he still felt that he should find his children. Running a hand through his untied hair, he left Elizabeth sleeping and headed above. When he emerged into the sunshine he felt the heat, already stifling, and he was glad to have left off his vest. Grateful, he felt, for the whipping wind as it tamed the overwhelming warmth.
"Are ya going to stand there admiring the weather all day, William Turner?"
Startled, he moved aside for Anamaria, who shook her head and stalked past him to the helm. His gaze followed her, and it was there that he found an even more astonishing sight. A hatless, coatless, vestless, barefoot Jack Sparrow was tossing a laughing little Lucy into the air, her giggles turning to shrieks and dissolving into giggles again when he caught her. His son stood off to the side, laughing at his laughing sister, and the pirate looked and sounded just as happy as the children.
Any other day such a sight would have warmed his heart. Any other day he would have been happy to see three of the four people he cared for most in the world so blissfully enjoying each other. But it wasn't any other day. It was today, and today he felt as if he were the enemy.
Seeing his children happier with Jack Sparrow than they had ever seemed with him, especially little Lucy who had until this moment clung to her mother like glue, wrenched his heart in a way that he did not enjoy and fanned the flames of the anger that he had thought to have gone away. Wasn't it enough that his son idolized the pirate, or loved the sea enough as to swear on one day acquiring his own boat to captain, or adopted some of Jack's most irritating traits? Wasn't it even enough that Jack looked like Jack—slender and with grace Will had never had, and with high cheekbones and that cunning smile? Did the pirate have to have his daughter too?
Though odd that his son resembled the pirate that they were not related to, it had never been a concern of his. For there was enough of Will and of Elizabeth in the boy to see that he was of their making. But little Lucy was every bit her mother, save for her dark eyes, eyes that were definitely as dark and as lovely as Jack's. Will had no doubt that she was every bit Turner, but for a reason he couldn't quite figure, it bothered him a great deal to see the resemblance in his daughter. And today, it bothered him a great deal to see the pirate in his son, and it bothered him a great deal to see all three of them so happy together while he looked on, knowing that their laughter would fade away as soon as they saw him.
"Scuse me, lad," Gibbs growled, bowling past him to check on what looked like loose lines.
Not wanting to be the rain on their sunny day, Will turned on his heel to return to his sleeping wife.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"Up she goes!" Jack grinned, tossing the light little girl in the air and catching her in the downswing, and delighted in, laughing at, her giggles.
Little Lucy had come tiptoeing up the steps as he was shouting morning's orders, and he had kept an eye on her as she crept cautiously toward him through the swarms of working men. When she had stood at his feet, he had stared down at her, debating whether or not she would try splitting his ear if he picked her up. She had stared back. Then she had reached her arms up, squeezed her little hands and asked, "Up please?"—and he had picked her up.
At first the little girl had thrown her arms around his neck and buried her face in the space between his throat and his shoulder. Then, as he chatted with her as much as he normally chatted with himself in the morning, she had gradually lifted her chin and eventually, she had brightened much as the day had. When she looked up towards the sails, her brother, who had been spending the morning eating his breakfast and the rest of Jack's, had mentioned how Elizabeth tossed her to the air for a game of sorts. And then he had started playing it with her.
Now all three of them were laughing—little Lucy giggling, the boy pealing, Jack chuckling—happily.
"Captain Sparrow," Anamaria addressed him, leaning on the wheel that Cotton was manning. "Crew's watchin."
"Is that so?" With a glance at the woman, he grinned and tossed the little girl higher into the air. "Up ye go, love!"
"So's Turner."
Squealing little girl landing heavily in his arms, he reeled, eyes wide and staggering backwards. Jack whirled in a circle, catching sight of only the back of a retreating Will Turner. Little Lucy mistook his misstep for a new game and clapped her hands excitedly. A look down into her bright, happy eyes eased a smile back onto his face. The picture of delight she was. Chubby cheeks rosy and hands clasped together, the little girl grinned up at him. For a moment he was taken back in time to a hazy place—Elizabeth the one grinning, he turning her in circles around a fire, and both of them laughing like the devil—but then it was gone.
"Anamaria."
"Jack?"
"Captain," he corrected her, fixing her with a stern look as he and the child whirled close, "Captain Jack. Make sure breakfast is sent to Mrs. Turner. Well-balanced. Eggs, biscuits. Cheese. Fruit. Molasses. Honey. Tea." He smiled. "And have Cook arrange some of those flowers no one's supposed to know about."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Staring at Elizabeth, Will discovered that not even she was exempt from his contempt. The way that her mouth moved as she dreamt usually made him happy. The way that she smiled as she dreamt usually made him smile. The way that she snuggled close to him as she dreamt usually made him snuggle closer to her. But, as much as he told himself otherwise, finding the Jack Sparrow in his daughter as much as he'd found it in his son had stirred feelings that he did not know existed—feelings that shook him to his very core. Unsettled as he was, he found himself suddenly angry with her.
He wondered if she, like their children, would be happier with the pirate. He wondered if she, like their children, had more fun with Jack. He wondered if she, like their children, had grown to love the man.
A knock on the door jostled his thoughts.
Will was surprised to find Cook on the other side. He frowned down at the tray laden with what he was certain was finery aboard a pirate ship. The smell alone was enough to rumble his stomach, but his eyes narrowed on the flowers.
"For the Missus," Cook said. "From the Captain." Then he was gone.
Will glared down at the tray in his hands, unable to move from the doorway. Behind him, he heard sheets rustle as Elizabeth stretched beneath them. He closed his eyes in an effort to calm his self.
"Will?" She yawned. "What is that delightful smell?" When he turned, her eyes bulged. She jumped up out of bed and rushed forward, grabbing a grape and popping it into her mouth. Then, eyeing the flowers, she smiled. "They're lovely." Leaning forward, she brushed a kiss on his lips. "Thank you."
"Perhaps you should have saved that kiss for Jack," Will said. He pushed past her and set the tray on the cot. "That is who your thanks belongs to."
"Jack? Why would he…?"
"Perhaps he wishes to woo you." Will smiled. "Perhaps he wants a kiss, Elizabeth. Perhaps the fact that my children adore him is not enough. Perhaps he has decided that you, too, must adore him!"
Elizabeth grabbed his hand before he could flee the room. Her honey brown eyes sought his and finding the anger in them, she shook her head. "What's gotten into you?"
"Sense!" And with that, he yanked his hand back and hurried from the room.
Elizabeth thought about his abrupt departure as shepolished off the last of the eggs and stared down at the empty tray. Since the upheaval she had not thought at all of food but once she had smelled it, she had instantly felt her stomach begging for it. It had been sweet of Jack to send such a fine spread, she thought. It had been too sweet, she decided, her gaze falling upon the beautiful flowers. Still, she knew that her husband was far off the mark if he thought Jack Sparrow was attempting to win her heart.
In all of the years that she had known the pirate, he had always had a soft spot for women. To his crew, the many ladies that had graced the Pearl in earlier years had been little more than a wink, a nudge, and a whistle. To Elizabeth—who had spent the better part of a bad spot with the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow and who had come to the startling conclusion that the scoundrel, for as much as he was slapped, had no trouble seeing women as equally formidable as himself—they had been a knowing smile or taunt to draw the captain out of carefree character long enough to share a real moment with him. The reality was that Captain Jack Sparrow, infamous pirate captain who left a long list of women lusting after him, only did so because he was forever fascinated, intrigued, and interested in what he called the feminine mystique.
Even though the man rarely met a woman he didn't want to know better, Elizabeth knew better than to think the pirate was sweet on and attempting to charm William Turner's wife. Captain Jack Sparrow was no saint by any stretch of the imagination, but he would never do such a thing to his closest friend. He wouldn't seriously pursue such nonsense, she knew. However, she also knew as well as Jack knew that it was an easy needle to twist in Will's heart while they were at odds.
I know what you're up to Jack Sparrow, she thought, eyes narrowing on the flowers.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Jack was adjusting a sail that didn't want to cooperate when the crew hushed below. He cast a wary glance down between his feet braced on the yard. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, save for the quiet crew and a scantily clad strumpet strutting across the deck, he went back to fighting with the topsail. In mid yank, he froze. Slowly, cautiously, he let his gaze fall below once again.
Elizabeth Turner, wearing little more than her underthings, stood smiling up at him.
Stupefied, he stared down at her with an open mouth.
"Morning Jack," she said in her sweetest voice, tilting her head and tossing her long hair over a shoulder. She pursed her lips and winked up at him. "Beautiful day isn't it?"
Recovering from his surprise, Jack frowned and studied the woman acting so unlike herself. From his experience it was never a good thing when Elizabeth packed on the charm. Both of them knew how to play that game particularly well. "Aye, that it is." Remembering the flowers, he paused. "Most lovely, Mrs. Turner." Smirking, he turned back to the sail in front of him. "Got the flowers, did you?"
"Get down here, Jack Sparrow!"
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow to you. And as you can see," he called down, finally manipulating the sail to his liking and tying a knot around the clew line tight, "I've my hands full. And, as you've your hands free, I would prefer staying exactly where I am."
"Well then I suppose it is a good thing that I can climb as well as you can."
Before he could tell her she had better not do any such thing, Elizabeth Turner was climbing up the mast. She pulled herself onto the yard he stood on and sprang up. Facing him with a fierce glare, she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him close. With no other option available, he glared back at her.
"Jack Sparrow, " she spat between her teeth, "that was a dirty ploy you tried to pull."
"And if you pull that hair any harder, missy, I'll not hesitate—" he broke off, wincing as she gave a vicious tug. Then he growled and grabbed her hand and twisted, ignoring the pain twisting her lip. "This is my ship, Elizabeth. My ship! I am the captain of this ship. I answer to no one here. If you were anyone else I'd have simply pushed you from this perch to the unreceptive deck below. But you are who you are and I am who I am and I'm not about to treat you as harshly as you and your husband, the people I hold dear to me heart, have treated the likes of myself so recently."
She grabbed her hand away and glared at him. When she turned away to look out at the sea her expression softened, and when she turned back to him tears wet her eyes. "And I would have apologized—"
"Apologized?" He scoffed and leaned closer to her contrite gaze. "That would be the day. Missus Elizabeth Turner, daughter of the Governor of Port Royal and wife to the most stubborn, thick-headed, self-righteous bloody stupidest—"
"That's not—"
"—blacksmith and dullest son of a pirate I have ever had the displeasure of concerning myself with, apologizing to the likes of a Pirate? Pardon me, darling, when I say I doubt it. Besides, as is well known, the apologies that should not need uttered in the first place are usually the ones we don't ever accept."
And with that, he left Elizabeth standing in the rigging. When his feet hit the deck he whirled around and glared at the staring, unmoving crew. "Sail's fixed! All of you best get back to doing what it is you're supposed to be doing! Less of course you want to test my patience but I don't recommend it! Mister Cotton!" He paused by the helm and nodded at the mute man behind it. "Take us where it is we're going."
Gibbs and Anamaria stared after him as he stalked to his cabin. Then Gibbs glanced toward the mast where Elizabeth was finally making her way to the deck. "What do you make of it, Marie?"
She scowled. "I'll tell ya after I find out." Glaring at the sailor and then at Elizabeth and then at Will Turner who was storming toward the Captain's cabin, she stormed toward it herself. Gibbs watched, wide-eyed, as the woman wrestled Turner away and slipped through the door, slamming it behind her.
"Is it always this chaotic," Elizabeth asked him, "or is it only when we're aboard?"
Gibbs was going to answer her, but the glare of the approaching blacksmith sent him scurrying away from the woman. "When I said women were bad luck," he muttered, "I meant it!"
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"Jack!" Anamaria stalked after the captain through his cabin and toward the spiraling steps that led down into his private quarters. "What's goin on? Your crew's afraid to talk to you!"
"Good!"
She scowled and hauled him around by his shirt to face her. "Ya listen to me, ya pirate! I ain't got no time for this! I got me own ship I could be on right now, ordering around and intimidatin me own crew." Her dark eyes searched his weary gaze. "People fight, ya know. Specially when they care for each other."
He sighed.
"So Turner's insulted ya. So? Who hasn't? Now ya know ya brought the boy aboard for a reason and that reason much as ya wish isn't to go get some damned foolish sword!" She shook her head. "Ya wanted to spend the bloody fool's birthday with him 'cause you be carin for him and that family of his. I told ya the plan was a bad one but ya didn't listen and now there's a mess ya made and it's as much your fault as his! Now stop bein such a bloody baby and ya go apologize and make nice with them Turners or I'll be forced to take over this ship till ya do."
He opened his mouth to protest.
"Don't ya tell me I won't, 'cause I will!" She shoved him the other way. "Now get on with it!"
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Elizabeth had only just spotted Will before he stormed up to her. The rough hand that caught her arm caught her by surprise and she shrieked when he drug her toward the stairs. Having never been handled by Will in such a manner, terror rose in her chest and she gasped for breath, tears burning her eyes. "Will!" She was shouting, choking on her husband's name as he hauled her down the steps. At the second landing, she pushed him hard into the railing and away from her. "Stop it!"
"If you're going to dress like a wench, I'm going to treat you like one!" His brown eyes were hot with tears and he glared at her. "I want to know something, Elizabeth."
"Perhaps you would get an answer if you asked nicely!" Furious, she stalked toward the door to their cabin. She gasped when his fingers clenched around her wrist and dragged her back, pressing her to the wall. "Let go of me," she grit out at him. "You are hurting me, Will."
He softened and reached up to brush the tear from her cheek. "Elizabeth…"
She pushed his hand away and shook her head. "What is wrong with you? It had better be something that's some sort of explanation for your behavior lately, or I'm afraid that we won't be talking much for the duration of this. This… whatever this excursion is!"
Will dropped his gaze and ducked his head.
Seeing her husband so vulnerable, so hurt and weary, pricked her heart. But the memory of her own pain that she'd suffered only seconds ago was still seared there. "Will!"
"Why do our children resemble Jack more than they resemble me?"
Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "What?"
"Why do they seem more like him everyday, Elizabeth?"
"Will…" She shook her head. "Have you gone mad?"
"Is it because I have been blinded by my love for you that I haven't noticed before?" Will's eyes burned into hers. "Are you sure, Elizabeth, that our children do not have another father?"
She slapped him. There was simply no other way for her to respond to such a horrible accusation from a husband that was supposed to trust her. There was simply no other way for her to respond to the man she loved accusing her of such a horrible thing. There was simply no way that she could continue to look at him, and so she pushed him away and rushed to their cabin, slamming the door behind her to shut him out.
Will stared dully after Elizabeth. It wasn't that he did not want to go after her and plead for her forgiveness. That urge he'd found particularly strong. It was that he knew that after all he'd said and done his apologies and tears would fall on deaf ears. Heaving a great sigh, he turned to head back up the stairs. It was then that he came face to face with the man he wanted to speak to.
Jack Sparrow stood in his way.
The pirate's face was unreadable, but his eyes gave him away. Dark, they were, and brimming with danger—anger, disgust, and a deep pool of hurt. Jack had no doubt witnessed the entire exchange from the regrettably violent scuffle to the regrettably vile words.
Will sucked in a breath, readying himself for another blow.
But it didn't come. Jack Sparrow didn't hit him. He didn't move. He stood there, unblinking, staring hard at the man in front of him. His jaw twitched, but he didn't open his mouth. Silently, he stared hard into Will's eyes.
Frightened, Will took a step back.
Jack followed, planting one boot ahead of the other.
Will stumbled over his own feet and fell hard onto his backside. He gasped. Fear gripped his heart when he looked up to see Jack standing over him looking down at him with the same silent searing stare. After what seemed like an eternity, the pirate leant down to him.
Jack stared at him.
Will bit down hard on his lip to keep from letting loosehis growing anxiety.
"That," Jack growled, hauling him up by his shirt, "was the stupidest thing you have ever done accompanied by the stupidest thing you have ever said. I'll give you a moment." He let go of his shirt and gave him a shove. "Go hide."
Will turned to do just that, but then he stopped. When he turned back, he shook his head. "No."
Jack sighed and looked to the ceiling.
"I won't hide from you, Jack. I deserve—" He was cut off by a fist to his jaw that sent him in a circle and to his knees. Pain seared his face and tears stung his eyes. He spat the blood out of his mouth and nodded. "That."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Anamaria jumped when Jack stormed into the room. The pirate's dark eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them. Fighting the immediate gasp that threatened to escape, she swallowed. She followed his gaze to the boy sleeping on the curvy davenport and then frowned up at him. "Jack—"
He tsked and went toward the stairs.
She followed him down them and watched as he flung himself face down onto the bed.
"What happened?"
He sighed.
"Jack?" She sat down next to him and patted his back. "What happened, ya old salt?"
"I punched him."
"What?" The answer had been muffled in the pillows but she had heard it. She smacked the back of his head. "Jack Sparrow! That's no way to be makin nice and ya know—"
"Enough!"
Anamaria glared at his back. "Fine. I hope the both of ya are happy!" She jumped up and strode to the stairs. "I'm taking us to my ship! When we get to there ya can ask the other one to come aboard and deal with this mess 'cause I ain't gonna do it!" Not wanting to hear his argument, she didn't wait for it.
In the light, she stomped her foot on deck. "Alright ya searats! Captain's not himself so you'll have to deal with me! I want this ship turned back and on its way to Tortuga and I wanna get there fast as she can take us!"
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"Uncle Jack why's Anamaria the captain?"
Jack sighed and stared into his pillow. He'd been staring into his pillow since the woman left. He'd stared into his pillow when he felt his ship change tack and he'd stared into his pillow when he heard the lad's little feet on the stairs. He turned his head and closed his eyes. "She's not. Just acting like it for awhile."
"And you let her?"
"Aye."
"Why?"
"Why not?" Jack sighed. "Listen, lad. I think you should go find your father."
"I did find him." The boy's voice shook. "He told me to go away."
"That so, Jack Turner?" Jack looked at the boy over his shoulder. "And you thought now was a good time to start listening to him?" He turned back into his pillow. "Go find your father. Uncle Jack has a headache."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
The adults were all mad, Jack Turner decided. Uncle Jack didn't fool him. He knew that the pirate had another reason for wanting him to go away. Mister Gibbs and Anamaria didn't fool him. He knew that they knew more than they answered him with because they had stopped talking when he had walked up to them. His mother didn't fool him. He knew she was not okay like she said that she was because her face was red and puffy from having cried too many tears. His father didn't fool him—the second time. He knew by the waver in his voice when he told him to go away that he hadn't meant it. So he hadn't listened.
Jack stayed. He sat down on the cot next to his father. After a few moments of silence the man grabbed him and threw his arms around him. For some reason, Jack didn't complain like he always did. He let his father hug him close. The tears that seeped through his shirt to warm his shoulder surprised him and he tried to think of something to say like his mother said whenever he or his sister cried. "Da…" He frowned and patted his father's back. "It's gonna be okay, Da."
The older Turner shook his head and hugged the boy tighter.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
When Jack rolled onto his side, he came face to face with a small, wide-eyed little girl. Through all of his muttering he'd not heard little Lucy on the steps. He sighed and studied the girl. Something, there had to be something to make sense of Will Turner's claims. He studied her face. Just as he'd thought earlier, the girl was a miniature Elizabeth. Sunstreaked hair, bow-shaped mouth, long suntipped lashes, deep dark eyes… Jack found them, the exotic black eyes so much like his own. And then he sighed.
Little Lucy cocked her head at him, puzzled.
"Ah, little love," he sighed, reaching out and drawing her close to the side of the bed. He smiled at the girl and brushed a curl back from her soft face. "Your father forgot those eyes didn't he?"
The little girl shook her head.
"Yes," he agreed, knowing the girl had no idea what he was talking about. He smiled at her. "Where's your mother?"
"Mama…" she shook her head.
"Your father?"
"Da." Little Lucy's eyes welled up with tears. "No."
"Your brother?"
"Da." She nodded. "Cry."
Jack nodded. "Sad, aye?"
Little Lucy nodded fast.
"Your mother too?"
"Mama's sad." Her lip wavered. "The sea?"
"No," he shook his head. "No, no little love. The sea can't hurt anyone on the Black Pearl."
"Promise?"
"Aye, promise." He smiled. "Yes you remember, don't you, little love? I promise."
"Untle Jat promise."
"Well," he arched a brow at the pronunciation of his name, "something like that."
"Yes okay." Little Lucy folded her little hands and laid them on the bed. "Sleep?"
Jack glanced up at the porthole and was surprised to find the glow of the moon against the darkness. More time had passed than he'd thought since he'd thrown himself down onto the bed. He'd been muttering to himself for longer than he'd imagined, and hadn't realized how tired he was all the while. "Aye," he agreed, sitting up. He yawned and stretched and was surprised when he saw the little girl still standing there. "Well off to your cabin then."
"Sleep?" Her lip quivered. "Here please?"
"Ah so that's what you're after is it, little love? A safe place to sleep?" Sighing, he forced himself up and dragged himself to the chest of drawers he kept, yanking one out and sorting through it for a shirt that wasn't shredded. Finally finding one, he took it to her and laid it on the bed. "There you are. That lace is no good for sleep is it?" He went back across the room to fix everything he'd messed and when he turned back he was surprised to find the girl eyeing the garment suspiciously. "Well I know it's not the best of togs, love, but it's not too shabby."
Little Lucy looked puzzled.
"Go on. Out of your dress and into the shirt, love."
"Dress." The girl pointed at the dress she wore and shook her head. "Help?"
"What are you going to do with Uncle Jack, little Lucy?" Jack sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for her to turn around. When she did, he loosed the bow at the back and worked the little buttons open. "He doesn't know the first thing about little girls. Fortunately he knows enough about dresses." He frowned. "That's not a good story for your lil ears, is it? Alright, arms up, love."
The girl waited while he pulled the dress over her head.
"Oh good. None of those stifling stockings your father's so fond of," he noted. The shirt he dropped easily over her head. "Arm in that hole. And that one. Good, now turn around." He rolled the sleeves up.
She stared at them as they fell back down.
He sighed and rolled them back up.
They both watched as they fell down again.
Jack nodded. "I've just the thing for that. Hold still." Taking the dagger from his boot, he pulled the sleeve to its length and drew the blade up it. He did the same to the other side. The dagger he tucked away. Then he ripped both sleeves up to her elbows and tore off the strips of fabric. One of them he tied—tight enough to keep the shirt from slipping down her tiny shoulders and loose enough so that it wasn't restrictive—around each arm and tossed the extra onto the floor. He admired his handiwork. "That's better."
"Better, yes." Little Lucy smiled up at him. "Sleep?"
"Aye, sleep." He helped her up. After tucking the soft covers around her he walked around to the other side of the bed. The hat, boots, and belts clunked to the floor. He blew the candle out. With a sigh, he plucked a blanket from a nearby chair and crawled into the bed himself, yanking a pillow under his head and the blanket over his shoulders and closing his eyes.
"Untle Jat."
"Little Lucy."
"Fraid..."
"Nothing to be scared of," he said, allowing the girl to snuggle against him. He sighed and wrapped a protective arm around her. "Uncle Jack's here, little love." The tugging on his hair forced his eyes open and he frowned down at the tiny fingers toying with the silver trinket. That thing had always been her favorite. He'd guessed it was because it made the most noise out of any of the things he'd tied into his hair.
Little Lucy wagged the thing and smiled at the tiny tinkling of silver jostling silver. She gave a little girl's tiny sigh of delight and buried her face in his neck. "Love you Untle Jat."
Captain Jack Sparrow felt the wind knocked out of his lungs and before he knew what was happening, the hot tears stung his eyes. He blinked them away. Sucking the lump down in his throat, he turned his head and kissed the little girl's head. "Yes, little Lucy Turner," he agreed, "Uncle Jack loves you too."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"My own son has more optimism than I." Will sighed and let go of the boy, quite shamed that he'd made such a mess of himself in front of his child. "Even now, you think things will turn right in the end."
"It will, Da." Jack nodded. "I know it will."
"How do you know that when you don't know why your father's gone to pieces?"
"Because my father is William Turner," Jack explained. "It's like Uncle Jack said. 'I trust that William Turner. He's got a lil bit of Ol Jack in him, Gibbs, a lil bit. Goes and does something stupid. Knows it. Hates himself for it. But he'll always fix it in the end. That's why I trust in that lad, that William Turner.'"
"Jack said that?"
Jack winced, realizing he'd repeated a conversation that had not been meant for his ears. He forced a smile on his face when his father pulled back to frown at him. "Aye, Da. He did."
Will's eyes narrowed at him. "You were eavesdropping, weren't you?"
"Only a little, Da." Jack grinned. "But he was right. You'll fix whatever's wrong. I trust you, too."
