Waki 63
Jack was tired.
He wanted to go to sleep so badly, just close his eyes and drift off with his beautiful lover wrapped in his arms. As if nothing was wrong.
But he only had a short time left, and be damned if he was going to squander even a moment of it.
He'd considered running. Davy Jones couldn't get him on land, not if he went in deep enough. But he couldn't do it. The sea was his home, and he couldn't just give it up. He'd be as much a prisoner as on the Dutchman. A prisoner of his own fear.
He was too proud for that.
And so he stayed, waited. Waited for Davy Jones to take his soul.
He had tried to get out of it. He'd dragged the crew all over the Caribbean, talking to holy men and witches and shamans and priests. No-one could help him. Most of them thought Davy Jones was a myth, a legend. Those that did believe advised him to accept his fate as best he could. There was no escaping the Dutchman's reach.
He suddenly found himself regretting every decision he'd ever made.
Will didn't deserve this. Will deserved happiness, forever and ever. He deserved a beautiful, loving wife, a nice house, and six lovely children. Not six months with a drunken pirate who'd sold his soul to the devil to be rid of him.
He should have pushed Will away, let him deal with the heartbreak early instead of ripping him apart later. He should have waited for him, for just a little longer. Just a few more days, and it would have been fine, would have been perfect.
He never should have told Will about his feelings to begin with.
He could have been happy. He had Elizabeth. He had his shop. He had everything he'd ever wanted. And then Jack had to go and ruin it for him, all because of a stupid crush.
More than a crush, really. Because Will was Bill's son, and he'd never… They never…
Over and over again, he brought the Turner family heartache.
It was his fault. It was all his fault. Every bad thing that'd ever happened to Will had been his fault. Bill's death. The cursed coin. Elizabeth's capture, the Pearl's rampage.
He deserved this. He deserved to be carted off, forced into servitude for the next hundred years. He deserved to suffer.
Carefully, carefully, he slid out of the warm bed. He placed one last, gentle kiss upon Will's forehead, remembering that day so long ago when he had brought Will's happy little world crashing down around his ears.
"Well, young Mr. Turner, that was a kiss. You see, it is something people do when-"
He'd meant to say, 'when they luv each other,' but Will had cut him off. He had gone on to make a complete fool of himself, pouring out his heart and probably creeping Will out just a little with the bit about his father. He thanked his lucky stars Will had forgotten about it, as he really wasn't looking forward to trying to explain exactly what happened.
But in the year since that day, things had changed. He had changed. He knew that a kiss was so much more than just an expression of love or lust.
It was a promise. A promise of tomorrows, of quiet mornings and gentle evenings. Of gentleness and kindness and love, and more kisses, lots and lots of kisses.
It was a promise of devotion, true, unflinching devotion, for the rest of your days.
Jack wished he didn't have to break it.
He turned his back on his lover, turned his back on happiness and hope and love, and walked out into the dark, bleak future, alone.