Barbossa?
"Well Jack, it looks like it's just you and me."
Barbossa.
Jack cringed. Nightmare or not, the prospect of having to spend one waking minute with the scoundrel who had personally saw him to what they'd thought would be his demise was not a promising one. Especially not when they were both marooned on that godforsaken spit of land-both without a pistol.
"How about a story, Jack?"
"Splendid idea, Hector! I've just the tale. It's about apples and the men who can't eat th-"
Barbossa had a pistol afterall.
"Not exactly a rave review." Jack stared down the barrel of the thing, cocking a brow. "I suppose that's nefarious villain for 'two thumbs down'?"
"Shut up. It's me who'll be tellin the tales and you who'll be listenin. This one starts on the second best night-"
"Wait, hold it. Just wait a moment, mate." Jack shook his head. "Second best? What of the first best?"
"Jack, you surprise me. You've always known the first best night of me career was the night I was named Captain of your ship." Barbossa's yellow eyes narrowed on the pistol and then on him. "Don't interrupt."
Jack pressed his lips together.
"As I were saying, Jack Sparrow, this story starts on the second best night of me infamous career. Twas a fine night on the sea the night we dumped Bill Turner-"
The man may have said he couldn't interrupt, but he hadn't said that Jack had to stay to listen to the story. So Jack didn't. He jumped up and stalked across the sand away from the story he'd rather not hear.
A low, vicious chuckle came from Barbossa's throat after him.
Jack walked right into the man. He fell back, eyes wide. Then he turned on his heel.
"You can run, Jack, but you can't hide." Barbossa followed him. "You know the stories. You know what you heard. You know it's the truth, Jack Sparrow, that your friend's guilt was what ended him up at the bottom of the sea. Your friend Bill Turner, it's your fault he's dead and your fault the lad's without his father."
Jack grit his teeth.
"What's troubling you, Jack Sparrow?" Barbossa sneered. "Is it not enough y've taken Will's father? Would you have his family as well? Yer sad bit of family that ain't even yer own blood's off in London havin the time of his life without ye so y'need to fill his void."
Jack bit back the spit behind his teeth.
"As for the lady-if ye can call her that, niece of the famous Onry Witter to boot, I have to hand it to ye, Jack Sparrow, ye keep mighty fine company-" the man's yellow teeth were nearly as vicious as his chuckle, "well, she's not yer own either, and ne'er will she be. What of the lady Elizabeth, Jack? As I've heard it was you and she on this island once and it was ye who put his arm around her and tried to sway her delicate emotions in yer favor."
"The rum, the rum," Jack spun, fists clenched. "It was the rum talking!"
"Ahh but it wasn't the rum, it was yer own mouth spittin the vile filth from yer rotten heart."
"Both of us were left to die. Will was set to die. By your hand no less. And you had the Pearl."
"Will Turner wasn't one foot in his grave when you drew the lass near."
"But Jack had no way of knowing that," interjected a new voice. William Turner stood on the sand some distance away, arms crossed over his chest. He'd aged a bit, and looked worn, but he seemed as strong and stubborn as he always was. "All he knew was that the girl was lovely and that the rum made her seem even lovelier."
"How would you know?" Barbossa glared at him. "You're dead."
"That's how." William smirked. "You'd be surprised, Barbossa, what it is you know when you're dead and not limited to a hell whose only escape is the torture of the weakened souls of your living enemies."
"Weakened?!" Jack gaped at William but promptly pressed his lips together when the man glared at him.
"That may be so, Bill Turner." Barbossa shrugged. "But I'd hardly call this torture and I'd hardly call it hell when it puts such a thrill in me spirit to see Jack Sparrow broken. It ain't no fault of mine he's ruined your boy's life. It ain't no fault of mine he's tried to take the lad's family. It ain't no fault of mine he hates himself for it."
"That's not true." William turned to Jack. "You know that's not true, Jack."
Jack shrugged. "It is. Only a little, mate. But it's enough."
"No, Jack," he insisted, reaching for his arm to turn him around. "You're wrong."
The freezing cold touch of the older Turner's hands was jarring-a far cry from the warmth that the man used to exude. Jack closed his eyes against it. It was the chill of death, and his blood ran cold with it.
"You have never tried to take my son's family from him. You're a part of his family, Jack. You know that, you do." The older man's death grip tightened on Jack's arms. "Don't listen to what he says. He doesn't know you."
"Is it me you're talking about?"
Jack swallowed, staring up at William Turner's brown eyes.
Will Turner stood behind his father, his own brown eyes full of fire. "Is it me you're discussing, father? With the man who is responsible for your not being at my side-"
"You know nothing of it, boy!"
Barbossa roared with laughter.
Jack wished suddenly for the man's pistol.
"I know enough!" Will Turner drew his sword. "I know he's not the good man I thought him to be."
"You're confused, son." William Turner pushed the sword away and shook his head. "Go on."
Scowling, Will disappeared.
Barbossa's laughter ceased.
Jack's brows snapped together.
"How the blazes did you do that?" Barbossa demanded.
"With authority you could never hope to possess."
Jack left the two to argue superphysical limitations and strolled along the water's edge to the other side of the island. It was dark. He sat down in the sand to watch the waves roll in. Glancing to the left, he frowned. Where there wasn't one before, there was now a fire going. A big one. The one that was blazing the night that Elizabeth had taught him that song.
"Jack?"
Elizabeth. He sighed. "What?"
"You seem troubled."
"Go away." He pointed at the bottle she held in her hand. "And take your rum with you, missy!"
When the island disappeared and his quarters upon the Black Pearl replaced it, Jack wasn't about to complain. Well, not about that, he wouldn't.
"Utterly ridiculous," Jack fumed. "The lad's gone mad!"
Sitting in the high-backed chair, William Turner smoked his pipe in silence, his brown eyes following the younger man's pacing across the planked floor. For several moments, silence reined and he considered speaking. After great deliberation, he exhaled.
"Do you know what he said about me?" Jack spun around, furious. "Do you know what your son said? Guess, bloody guess. Guess! Just guess!"
William put the pipe back in his mouth.
"Is that it? Is that the response I get?" He glared at the older Turner. "You're supposed to bestow upon me your divine guidance and that's all you can afford to give?"
He exhaled.
Jack grit his teeth.
William closed his eyes. "The both of you are giving me a headache."
