Waki 8

This chapter was a bitch and a half to write, I tell you. I started it at least five times before I figured out how to get Mr. Jones into the plot. And yes! Davy makes his apperance! In this fic, Jack has never met the octoman before. The Pearl is a normal ship. He didn't get Davy to drag her from the bottom or anything. And yes, I do believe Mr. Turner will make an apperance as well, before too long.

Thank you all for the reviews! I love you all. And yes, I am a sadistic bitch. I know it too. Ha ha ha. Every chapter up till the end is gonna be a cliffhanger, so... read only if you dare.

Jack… was back. She watched him slip his hand up a whore's skirt, laughing drunkenly for the two point seven seconds that passed before she slapped him. He had once again become her strange, dashing captain, intent upon indulging in all the finer things a pirate was allowed. He drank without brooding, whored without a second thought, stood at the helm of his ship and sang. He was acting just like Captain Jack Sparrow should.

So why was she worrying more than ever?

He didn't want her around anymore, that much was clear. He'd been trying to get rid of her all night, going in with whores only to come out mere minutes later and find her waiting next to the door. He snuck around corners, paused at open doors, wandered purposefully into crowds. He wanted to get rid of her. Of all of them. Of everything familiar and everything that knew him.

Oblivion in anonymity.

Maybe she should let him go, just this once. Let him have his space. He seemed to need it.

She was gone. The bitch was gone.

He signed with relief, allowing his smiling charade to drop as suddenly as a storm at sea as soon as the door shut behind her. The whore at his side squealed in anger as he dumped her off his lap. He tossed a few coins on the table for his drinks and sauntered out. He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't really matter. Everywhere was the same.

Logically, he knew what Anamaria was trying to do. Logically, he knew full well that what he was doing to himself wasn't healthy. Logically, he knew it was foolish to pine away for a blacksmith who may as well have been on the other side of the world.

But he couldn't help it. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. He defied all logic.

He felt his hands begin to shake and shoved them under his belt.

He hated this. Hated it more than he had ever hated anything in his whole life. Hated it more that Barbossa, hated it more than Norrington. He hated it more than loosing his freedom.

Because it was like being stuck in a cage, with the door wide open. There was nothing stopping him from leaving. There was absolutely nothing stopping him from just flying away. He didn't even have a watchful owner keeping an eye on him. He had been set free. But he stayed anyway. No matter how much he wanted to fly, he stayed locked inside. Because, when he really thought about it, he didn't want to fly. He wanted his owner to come back and shut the door again. He wanted to be a pet, beloved and cared for, not some wild bird always flying alone.

But Will was never coming back. His owner was dead and gone. The cage was wide open, and he had to go out eventually.

But not now. Later.

When he felt like it.

The tiny pub was no more than a pit stop. He needed to wet himself down before he dried up too badly.

Walking on land always took it's toll.

Jones sat at his table, guzzling whatever it was the shaking bar-tender shoved in front of him. It wasn't like he'd actually get drunk. It would take a whole ocean to do that.

The door opened, startling the nervous patrons of the tiny pub. A man walked in, looking about cautiously. To Jones' surprise, he didn't seem all that shocked at the sight of him and his grizzly crew. His eyebrows shot up, his khol-lined eyes widened. Nothing more.

He walked in cautiously, almost tiptoeing, his stance betraying the natural grace of a warrior. He appeared to be a bumbling, sea-mad sailor, as much of a threat as a puddle. But puddles, when stepped upon at precisely the wrong moment, could be deadly.

Jones called him over.

The man blinked, pointing to himself and repeating the raised eyebrow expression. He shrugged and sauntered over, seemingly not nervous in the least. He flopped down in the chair opposite the man of the sea, snatching the glass the bartender brought before the poor man could even put it down. He brought it to his lips, but paused.

"You're paying, right?"

Jones just nodded.

The man drained the glass all in one, long gulp. Davy watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, like it was jumping up to meet the tip of his thin, dual braided beard.

Perhaps here, he thought, is another who is in need of an ocean.

"So, mate." He leant forward, the tentacles of his beard absently stroking the rough table top. "What's yer name?"

Next chapter... William makes a choice! OH MY GOD! WILL THE MIRACLES NEVER CEASE!?!?!?

Will: Oh, shut up. I'm pertectly self sufficient. I can make desicions on my own.

Jiia: No you can't.

Will: You're right, I can't! I'm a horrible person!! Bawl

Sigh... See you next time!