FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

41—Davy Jones & the Flying Dutchman

DISCLAIMR: Jack'n'Lizzie etc. do not belong to me. I make no money from the writing of this fan-fiction.

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter! Your continued support is very much appreciated.

I'm terribly sorry to reiterate so much dialogue from the movie, but I really wanted to preserve the Davy Jones that the filmmakers created, as he is truly a perfect villain. Sorry if it's boring, but it's gotta be done for this chapter's purposes.

Enjoy!

The showers continued.

It had been like this for nearly two and a half days of travel time. The rain had not been the most intense that Jack had sailed through, nor the least, but it was manageable all the same, if not an ardent pain in his rear-end. Either way, with or without the rain, the journey to the exact spot that Tia Dalma had promised they would cross paths with Davy Jones had not been a pleasant one.

Tia's ominous warning (or was it a warning?—he wasn't entirely sure) hung over him almost constantly, like the thick, black rainclouds above. As if that wasn't enough to fuss over, Elizabeth's excitement over their wedding only served to make him nervous. Not that he didn't want to marry Elizabeth. He did. Very much, in fact.

It was the idea of a wedding that made him uneasy. The idea of a multitude of England's wealthiest (most of which were probably related to his bride-to-be, or at least acquainted with her father) on one side of the aisle, and the pitiful handful of mates he had (who might actually attend) was daunting.

All of those eyes, watching, judging, expecting something out of him… Elizabeth seemed to expect something out of him, but then again, she was his Lizzie. She knew him like no one ever had and likely never would. She recognized something good in him… and just because she did didn't mean he expected anyone else to. After all, half of the king's navy was sent after them, with just the thought that they were on the same ship. What was he supposed to do when her father found out they were getting married?

Not to mention, he would likely have to take a bath. And tie his hair back. And wear a suit.

"We've spotted the site, Capt'n," Gibbs' familiar, weathered voice announced itself beside him.

"Weddings are messy things," Jack declared.

Gibbs furrowed his brow. "Uh, Capt'n?"

"Weddings, Mister Gibbs. Awful and ridiculous affairs, they are."

"Sir?"

"Why any man would subject himself to that sort of torture and humiliation is beyond me."

Gibbs swallowed. He clearly wasn't going to understand any of this, so he simply nodded and smiled. "Of course, Capt'n."

"I knew I was right," Jack muttered. "Bloody weddings. Yer a good man, Mister Gibbs." He slapped the older man heartily on the back. "Now what was that you were mumblin'?"

"The site, sir. It appears we've reached our heading."

"So I see," Jack said, pretending not to be concerned, but the way he worried away at his bottom lip gave him away.

"S'pose you should be wakin' Miss Swann, then?"

Jack grumbled. "Right. Promised I would, didn't I?"

"Aye, Capt'n. And might I suggest you follow through? We'll be dealin' with the wrath of Davy Jones soon enough and that will be right awful on its own without adding a woman's fury to it."

"Aye," Jack agreed, nodding slightly. "Lower the anchor and take charge until I return. And bring up that traitorous wretch, Maxwell, in the brig," he instructed, referencing the man who tried to force himself on Elizabeth what felt like so many nights ago. He'd been rotting away below decks, waiting for Jack's punishment. Not for the first time, Jack was glad he hadn't killed him earlier. "I expect him to be on the wreckage before I return, or else I fear I may not be responsible for what I might do to him. Besides, I don't want Lizzie to lay eyes on him for the slightest of seconds. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Aye, Capt'n. Clear as crystal."

Without another word, Jack had all but disappeared, off to wake his sleeping Lizzie.

The warmth of the bonfire was more than enough to counteract the chill of the night.

She was, however, not in the slightest bit complaining about the warmth from his body, stemming from his taught chest and the strong arm snaked around her waist.

"I always knew you'd bring me back here one day," she sighed, leaning into him fully and resting her head on his shoulder.

"But of course," he nodded, bringing the bottle to his lips before brushing them against her forehead. "This is our island, Lizzie."

"Our own private paradise," she agreed, smiling up at him.

"Precisely."

"Jack?"

"Mm?"

"Why didn't you kiss me the last time we were hear? Why did you wait for me to do it first?"

He laughed a deep, throaty life.

"Oh, Lizzie." He turned his head down to look at her. "Lizzie? Lizzie, wake up, darlin'."

"Elizabeth—Lizzie-Beth…"

"Mmm…" she stretched and popped an eye open.

"That's it, luv. Time to rise an' shine, as the sayin' goes."

"Don't you know better than to raise a lady when she's sleeping?" she asked playfully, yawning and stretching again. She rubbed her eyes and slowly sat up, reaching her hand out and stroking his thigh as he sat beside her on the bed. "What time is it?"

"Late. Or early, as the case may be. But we need to be up, now."

"I was dreaming," she protested.

"I know," he smirked. "You were grinnin' like a feral cat in yer sleep."

"Was I?" she asked, coyly. "I can grin when I'm not asleep, you know." She allowed her fingers to slowly trace their way down his leg until her hand came to rest over his knee. She squeezed lightly. "Given the proper circumstances."

Jack smirked again and closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Yes, well, as much as I'd like to make you grin—amongst other things—we've arrived."

Elizabeth suddenly felt nervous. "Is he here?"

"Not yet. But he will be soon. So get up, luv, and get dressed." He leaned forward and very quickly pecked her lips before vanishing from the room. Elizabeth clutched the sheets to her body, wishing he had taken the pit in her stomach with him.

It took a few moments for Elizabeth's eyes to adjust to the moonlight (or rather, lack thereof) as she stepped outside, on deck. She adjusted her vest and very quickly found Rosalind, waiting for her near the stairs to the quarterdeck.

"Everyone's waiting," Rosalind said, upon Elizabeth's approach. She was nervously wringing her hands together. "Oh, Elizabeth, I'm so frightened…"

"Don't be," Elizabeth said, reaching out and tenderly grazing her friend's arm. "Jack will handle this, I trust him completely."

"Yes," Rosalind said, nodding absentmindedly. "Jack will handle this… either that, Davy Jones will kill us all before eating us."

Elizabeth laughed. "Davy Jones doesn't eat people…" She paused and frowned. "…I don't think."

Rosalind scowled. "Well, Jack better handle this because Will still needs our help."

"I know, and so does he. Everything will be fine," she reassured her. Together, they walked in silence to where Jack was gazing out with his spyglass. The rest of the crew was huddled together, whispering nervously, around various parts of the ship. The rain had stopped, at least for the moment, and Elizabeth chose to take that as a good sign.

"Anything?" Elizabeth asked, trying to hide any traces of trepidation in her voice, as she stepped up beside Jack. Rosalind stood next to Gibbs, who was on Jack's other side.

"I can't tell," Jack sighed, clearly irritated. "There's too much sodding fog." True enough, Elizabeth could only see the very edges of what appeared to be a shipwreck. The rest of the ship, or what was left, anyways, was mired in thick, heavy fog.

"Is that the Flying Dutchman?" Rosalind asked nervously.

"No," Jack shook his head. "When you see the Flying Dutchman—if we see the Flying Dutchman—you'll know." He placed a hand on the small of Elizabeth's back, guiding her away. "Best not stand so close, darling." He motioned to Gibbs, who escorted the two away towards the center of the ship. Elizabeth didn't argue… she could tell Jack was troubled by all of this and didn't want to add to it by making a fuss.

"I wish he would let us help," Elizabeth said quietly, as Gibbs ushered them to stand beside the mast.

"There's nothin' to do, yet," Gibbs sighed. "An' besides. You know how he is."

"I know," Elizabeth replied, crossing her arms. "Has Maxwell been sent?" she asked, pretending not to be bothered by the mere mention of the man's name.

"Aye," Gibbs confirmed.

"Who's Maxwell?" Rosalind asked, her large eyes growing even larger with curiosity.

"A stowaway," Elizabeth answered quickly. She and Gibbs briefly locked eyes before falling silent.

"Jack's using him to coax Jones out of hiding, so to speak," Gibbs continued, casting a knowing glance at Elizabeth before returning his attentions to Jack.

Several tense moments passed—moments that stretched on, feeling like hours.

Without another moment's notice, however, a ship appeared, shooting out of the ocean depths as if propelled out of a cannon. It's size was massive and it looked like it had been beneath the sea's surface for hundreds of years. The sails were tattered and torn, much more so than the identifiable sails of the Pearl. It was one of the most terrifying and ominous ships Elizabeth had ever seen. Jack was right. They'd seen the Flying Dutchman and she instantly knew it.

She wanted to go to Jack, wanted to stand beside him and wait patiently for Jones' appearance, but at the same time didn't want to distract him. She fought against every instinct in her body and waited for his instruction, something she wasn't entirely used to or even liked doing. But Jack's seriousness earlier only served to highlight the severity of the situation, and so she stayed put.

After about fifteen agonizing minutes or so, Jack snapped his fingers, and without saying a word, Gibbs flocked to his side. Elizabeth and Rosalind were left alone. Another minute had yet to pass before Gibbs returned and Elizabeth could tell by his posture and the way he kept rubbing his chin, as if extremely agitated, that something was happening. Or about to.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"He's spotted Jones," Gibbs reported, his voice tense and nervous.

Elizabeth's chest suddenly felt tight and she squeezed her eyes shut, muttering a prayer. Before she could finish, however, she heard Rosalind scream. Her eyes flew open to see men—creatures, really—appearing out of nowhere… they came out of the ship's woodwork, literally, swords and other weapons drawn.

They were almost indescribable… like men that had been taken over by the sea. Some resembled fish, others algae or rocks with barnacles. One looked like a shark, another had the face of a blowfish, spiny and sharp. A large brute of a man, with seaweed for hair and cold, blue skin, stepped out from the very center of the mast. He was massive and it didn't take much for him to grab Rosalind and Elizabeth and hold them completely still. A series of gasps and moans erupted from amongst the crew members.

Elizabeth screamed and shouted and struggled, but to no avail. Nothing she nor Rosalind did was going to free her from this monstrosity's grasp. She looked around her. Every man on deck was being held by one of these creatures, Gibbs included. Quickly, she looked to Jack. Standing in front of him was what she feared, a creature like the others that she could only assume was the one-and-only Davy Jones.

He was truly a fearsome thing to behold. Like the others, undoubtedly his crew, he was a composite of man and sea-beast. He had a lively, wriggling beard of tentacles and one arm and a leg had been replaces by giant crab claws. His clothes were representative of the tattered sails of the Dutchman. The hat he wore was large and pointed, appearing as horns one might expect to see on the Devil himself.

Elizabeth wanted to scream for Jack, but didn't. More so, however, she wanted him to look at her. But he didn't. He barely moved. His sole attention was on Jones.

"Oh," he finally uttered, taking a feeble step backwards. Elizabeth had always thought of him as such a strong, brave man, but beneath Jones he seemed to shrink away. She had never been more afraid for him and she wanted to cry.

"You have a debt to pay," Jones finally spoke, his voice as frightening and deep as she imagined it to be. "You've been captain of the Black Pearl for thirteen years. That was our agreement."

Elizabeth looked on as Jack paused. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Despite how afraid she was, she still had absolute faith in him.

"Technically, I was only captain for two years and then I was viciously mutinied upon."

"Then you were a poor captain, but a captain nonetheless!" Elizabeth jumped when Jones shouted. He was hunched forward, clearly furious, towering over Jack who could only step backwards in self-defense. "Have ye not introduced yourself all these years as CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow!"

Jack's eyes averted Jones and Elizabeth could tell he was thinking quickly, something he was undeniably good at. Jack was definitely a good man to have on your side in a sticky situation. A quick grin formed on his face and she knew he had something.

"You already have my payment. One soul to serve on your ship is already over there," he said, thumbing over his back in the direction of the Flying Dutchman.

"One soul is not equal to another," Jones protested. Smoke billowed from his mouth, the source of which was an intricately carved pipe he held in his hand—or rather, claw.

"Aha!" Jack grinned and snapped his fingers. "So we've established my proposal is sound in principle, now we're just haggling over price." Elizabeth smiled, despite the dull pain that was forming in her arm from where her captor held her. She'd never been so proud of Jack's deviousness.

Suddenly, and to her great relief, Jones seemed intrigued, his interest piqued. "Price?"

Jack leaned forward slightly, which she wished he wouldn't do. She didn't like him being so close to Jones. "Just how many souls do you think my soul is worth, eh?"

Jones stood silent, his dark black eyes averting Jack's. After a moment (a much-to-long moment, for Elizabeth's taste) he looked back at Jack. "One hundred souls. Three days. And I suppose you'd be wantin' me to send back your mate?"

"Of course not, keep the poor bastard for all I care," Jack said, waving his hand nonchalantly. "A good faith payment an' all that."

"That leaves you only ninety-nine souls to go," Jones snarled, a sinister grin on his malformed lips.

Jack squirmed and an uneasy look spread across his face. "Aye… ninety… nine." Suddenly, he seemed to perk up, grinning again. "Shall we seal it in blood—I mean… ink?"

Without much of a warning, Jones suddenly listed forward and grabbed Jack by the arm, enveloping his entire hand with his tentacles. An uncomfortable, strangled moan escaped from somewhere in the back of Jack's throat. Elizabeth good hear the amused, sickening laughter of Jones' crew erupting from all around her as the tight grip on her arm disappeared.

"Three days," Jones' voice echoed throughout the ship and suddenly, he and his men were gone. There was absolutely no evidence that the Flying Dutchman had ever been there at all.

"Jack!" Elizabeth ran to Jack and flung her arms around his neck, relieved beyond recognition that he hadn't been killed or instantly taken into Jones' captivity. She planted a firm kiss on his lips before stepping down and standing beside him. She grimaced when she noticed the slime left in Jones' wake, dripping from Jack's hand and landing in gooey drops on the deck of the Pearl.

"It's gone!" Jack squealed, exhibiting an excitement that more resembled a child on Christmas than a pirate. He shook his hand in her direction and splayed his palm. She studied it and, sure enough, the black spot was gone.

"Thank God," Elizabeth said excitedly, squeezing his arm.

Suddenly, Gibbs appeared at Jack's other side, Rosalind not far behind him. Her eyes were wide and she looked slightly wobbly—still clearly reeling from the whole experience.

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, a dazed look glassing over his eyes.

"I hate to interrupt, but just how are we expected to harvest one-hundred souls in three days??" Rosalind asked.

Jack smirked. "Fortunately, His Fishness was mum as the condition in which said-souls need be."

Gibbs smiled. "Ah… Tortuga!"

"Tortuga," Jack concurred.

A squishy noise was heard as Jack wiped his dirtied hand on Gibbs' vest.

A/N: That's it for this chapter!

I know people are busy and whatnot, but I haven't been getting a lot of reviews, so I'm not sure exactly when I'll be updating next. Now that I've gotten Jones out of the way, I'm hoping its within a month, but I'm not making any promises.

Thanks for reading, now (PLEASE!!) go review! See you next time!