Thanks to all the lovely reviewers: Anne Herbold, meghan, Malacandra, Anonymous Review leaver, Music is my Muse, PhantomPenguin, Zaerith-Chan, Hope-W, i like vader lots, and Sir Francis Drake's Heir. And a special thank you to Music is my Muse and EE's Skysong for being generous enough to beta this for me! Yay for you. :)
disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney. This is written purely for entertainment, and no copyright infringment is intended. All typos or mistakes are my own, since I haven't put my betas to work yet...
chapter 1
He wasn't quite sure what had happened, if anything had happened at all. But of course something must've happened, for why else would he be clinging to life on a passing piece of flotsam instead of standing on board his Dutchman, feeling the wind muss his hair?
He looked around, but could see nothing; just an endless expanse of ocean, and debris from when the ship had gone down, taking everything with it—his crew, his cargo, his possessions…
His life.
Well, not quite. He was, after all, still alive. Breathing, at least. But death seemed imminent, and he could think of nothing he wanted more than to sink into the open, welcoming arms of the ocean, the mirror image of his ship. After all, every captain worth his salt always went down with his ship.
And Captain David Morgan Jones was definitely worth his salt.
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He let the current take him, not caring where or why or when or how; he couldn't bring himself to care about anything anymore, not when he was dancing as intimately with death as he was.
Death. He'd never thought he'd reach it so soon. He was only in his early-thirties…far too young to die; by his standards, anyway. Then again, he'd always known he'd die young—being a sea captain was not really a stroll in the park, after all.
He heaved a sigh. Captain. Not anymore, not with his ship gone. Now, if he survived this, he'd have to start from scratch. All of his contracts, his commissions, his recommendations…all of his paperwork had gone down with the ship. But that, of course, was only the beginning. Without the paperwork, he'd be unable to get a decent crew.
And a ship.
He felt a pang reverberate in the very depths of what he supposed was his soul. His beautiful ship, his Dutchman…gone. He felt empty.
He floated listlessly with the gentle movements of the water for a while. It would be unbearably easy to just let go of the driftwood, to abandon his weathered body to the mercies of the sea. Infinitely easy, in fact. He'd never been much of a swimmer…it was remarkable that he'd even lasted after the accident as long as he had.
How long had it been? One hour, two? More? The sun was still too high in the sky to gage it properly. The only constants now were the gentle noises and motions of the surrounding, enveloping water. Well, not so "gentle" anymore…and wind was picking up, making it choppy. Confused, he looked up at the sky, his eyebrows furrowing at the sudden proliferation of clouds that marred the previous clear blue.
Cursing his luck, he slid slowly off of the plank until all that joined the two was the firm grasp of his left hand. He stared pensively at the murky water, made even more so by the wind and the obscured sunlight. It really would be remarkably simple to abandon himself to the ocean…
His tranquilly-macabre thoughts were brutally interrupted by the sudden oncoming of a huge wave. Pushed under, he panicked, and he came back up sputtering, flailing around for a few moments until grasping the solid familiarity of the wooden plank. And, in that moment, he realized that he didn't want to die.
His honor, his pride shot to hell with this realization of self-preservation, he began paddling as the clouds opened and released their sudden fury, hoping to hit land.
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His arms and legs felt like they were threatening to fall clean off, he didn't know how much progress he'd made—if any—and…it was still raining.
Gasping, he pulled himself up further on the plank, feeling the slight decrease in buoyancy as he rested the better part of his torso on it. His lungs and throat felt constricted from the salt water, and it was difficult to breathe. He rested his head against the plank, this time seriously contemplating abandonment.
Until he looked to his left.
Oh, sweet Jesus…LAND!
Filled with a sudden new hope, his body coursing with adrenaline, he made for the shore.
Technically, it was nothing more than a small sandbar, one that could, at any moment, be swallowed up once more by the stormy waves that threatened even now as he propelled himself through the water. But, to David, it was the sweetest thing he'd laid eyes on in quite sometime.
A wave finally provided the final boost he needed, and he washed up onshore. Having mind enough to drag himself out of reach of the waves, he did so, then collapsed on the sand, his face to the sky.
He took quick, shallow breaths, his limbs going numb, his trunk rapidly following suit. He was going to die here, he knew that. But at least now he could die in relative peace.
And he closed his eyes for what he thought was the final time as the rain fell, kissing his face with an indescribable softness.