Contradictions, Chapter 9

Choices

by

Veronica Rich

"There were more of them than us," his fellow inmate answered from several feet behind him. "My arm's only so good against such an unbalanced ratio."

"Why did we think there weren't that many in th' first place?"

"We?" A pause. "We, Jack? It was your own estimation."

Jack Sparrow—Captain—kept his mouth shut for exactly ten seconds, stifling a dozen cutting replies to his ship's inventory officer and blacksmith. "Had you noticed any dif'rently," he patiently, finally answered, "you should've felt more 'n free to speak up and contradict me. I heard nothin' from your quarter, and I know for a fact ye've no problem tellin' me I'm wrong. Take a certain glee in it, 'n fact."

"That's because I couldn't see any better than you," Will Turner replied. "But I never claimed to. You're the one who keeps bringing this up. I've kept my mouth shut all night."

Jack rubbed the corner of one eye. "Point," he conceded in a heavy sigh. "Twas my mistake. I just feel so... I don' know..."

"Stupid?" Will helpfully suggested. "Wrong? In error?"

"I was gon' say, 'chagrined,'" he snapped back. "But, I s'pose yours'll work just as well." He ran his forefinger around the top edge of a worn boot cuff. "Was rhetorical, anyway. Not like I expected you t' come up with a plan; that's my job."

"You know, I was going to offer you some reassurance and comfort," the other voice warned. "Tell you you're only human, that in all your ventures, your mistakes are actually quite few in comparison. But then you had to go be an arse."

"What'd I do?"

"Don't treat me like I'm ten, Jack. I may not say much, compared to you, but that doesn't mean there's less in my head."

This just gets better and better. Jack let his head fall hard back against the cell bars, annoyed and frustrated. Now he had to deal with his own failure, imminent death, and an offended lover. "I've ne'er pegged you stupid, William—"

"And I hate to be patronized even more than I hate being underestimated," the blacksmith cut him off.

"What? I have not."

"Really." The tone was suddenly flat. "I suppose it was someone else telling me to try to resist my 'stupid' impulses when we were saving Elizabeth?"

"Watch it, Will," he warned. "We both remember how that ended."

"I hit you with an oar because you insulted me and kept lying to me, on top of it—"

"I never lied!"

"You omitted the truth! It was foolhardy, especially with us walking into a situation where one or both of us could've died. You left me in the dark and never once told me what I could've realistically expected from Barbossa or his crew, for being who I was. I mean—my God, Jack."

Once again, Jack counted to ten and responded in a remarkably even voice, "Have I not since apologized, hmm?"

Will was silent for a moment. "Yes," he sullenly admitted.

"Then why, man, are we hashin' this out again? As if we don't have enough problems on what might be our las' night on earth?" He stretched out his legs along the stone floor, wiggling his toes inside his boots, barely able to see them in the dim light thrown off by the single lantern hung on the gaol wall.

"You're being too dramatic. Think of all the times you've escaped before."

"It's different. Arrangin' to get yourself out's not so difficult. Hell, even findin' a way to spring out of one cell is not impossible. Haven't had to do two at a time, though."

It had been a simple matter of trying to overpower a few guards standing between the two of them and the back entrance of the colony governor's mansion earlier this morning. "A few" had turned out to be a number requiring both hands and feet to count, and they'd been chained and marched through town down into the gaol (much danker and more cramped than His Fancy Royal Commodore James Norrington's, Jack had noted aloud for all and sundry accompanying them below, earning him some rough handling).

Instead of a few large cells, the gaol was comprised of many tiny ones, presumably to keep prisoners from conspiring to escape—getting past one lock was all well and good, but getting past a few took time. Under normal circumstances, Jack might've taken it merely as a challenge to his talents. But Will was involved, and he knew he had to exercise more caution to get them both out alive.

Will was speaking again. "One of us'll think of something before morning. We can do this, Jack."

"And if we can't?"

Silence. A long silence. "I understood what I was signing onto when I chose this life," the smith answered. "It's not your job to look out for my mortality."

"Is that how you feel toward me?"

"Of course not." He seemed to be thinking. "Look, I know I can't stop you from worrying for me. I'd be... puzzled, if you didn't, I suppose. But it's a moot point. We'll get out of here."

"Well, there's nothin' to do but ponder on it all night," Jack grumbled, unable to get comfortable. "Should come up with somethin'."

"If you want to sleep, we could do it in shifts," Will suggested.

"'M not tired." Truth was, with a cell between them—containing what appeared to be either a drunk or a corpse, as it had barely moved earlier in the day, and not since then—Jack was not finding rest.

"You sound tired," came the accusation.

"Truth is—" He hesitated, then shook his head. After six months, he could give the lad something, surely. "I find meself not able to rest very comfor'bly alone, these days. Gotten too used t' havin' someone beside me most nights."

"You sleep alone at least twice a week," Will pointed out.

"I inhabit a bed by meself two nights a week," Jack corrected. When Will said nothing, he added, "Never said there was much rest takin' place in it."

Will was curiously quiet, though Jack could hear the faint rustling of him shifting position while leaning against his own cold bars. "I understand better than you think," he finally said, voice pitched lower, more intimate. "I don't... sleep so well alone, either, anymore."

"Maybe," Jack suggested, feeling his pulse increase even as he kept his voice neutral, "maybe, if we get out of here, we ought t' consider remedying that." The smith said nothing, and Jack wondered if he'd misread the man's small cues over the months—leaving small unfinished jewelry projects in his cabin to pick up later, or two sets of clothes and a razor in the bureau, effecting little repairs and improvements here and there to the various fixtures in his captain's room. "Will?"

"Just thinking," the man answered. "You're saying we should sleep together every night, then?"

"In a manner of speaking." Will's tone hadn't been adversarial or dismayed, and that was good. "There's plenty of room in th' cabin, after all. Bed's better than your pallet. Could bring your things in there."

"Well, there is more room than I have, yes." His tone was still neutral, and Jack was getting annoyed. No matter what he might be to Will, he was still the captain, and deserved a straight answer to his offer. "I mean, my smithy's warm, Jack. I stoke those embers, and it keeps it toasty in there on cold nights."

"What, and me bed's not as warm?" He sat up straighter, feeling his jaw set.

"Is it?"

And suddenly, in those two words, Jack understood the hemming and hawing and hesitance. They'd treated each other quite casually the past half-year, slipping into one another's bunk when the mood struck with increasing frequency, but still remaining somewhat detached through all of it. They were pirates, after all, and both knew better than to give in to powerful displays of deep emotion beyond ecstasy at pulling off another good heist or defeating Mother Nature yet again, or even keeping the Pearl in one, intact piece through all of it.

"I hope it is," he answered, sincerely. "I do try to be welcoming, Will. 'S not always easy, and I've ne'er shared that bed with any other before you." He paused, pulling at a loose thread at the edge of his sash, thinking of the words he needed even as another part of his brain still filed through possible cell-escape plans. "I like having you there with me, behind me or beside me—the mornings I roll over an' you're not there, leaves me wonderin' rather uncomfor'bly how it'd be if ye never graced me bed again. I'm tired of feelin' that way."

He fell quiet, letting Will digest it all. He certainly didn't expect the smith to ever transfer the full force of his affection for Elizabeth to Jack, but he had sensed a growing undercurrent of closeness between them with every touch, every free moment spent in each other's company. He'd thought about mateloge for some time, knowing such a bond would guarantee both their safety and security since they'd each proven to the other they could be trusted with both work and personal affairs. So, he waited quietly for a yes, figuring they were long past the point where Will would reject such an outright offer. Sort of expected it, in fact—after all, there was the slim chance they might not survive the morning. Better to get these things hashed out before running into each other on the Other Side.

What he didn't expect was the snick of metal twisting against metal, like a shot in the night, followed by creaking metal. He pulled his feet in closer to gain leverage, turning toward the sound until he heard footsteps on the stones. In a matter of seconds, a shadowy, familiar figure stood at his door, more scraping and digging of metal as Jack watched in surprise. When Will picked the lock and swung Jack's cell door open, he could think of only one response:

"You son of a bitch."

To his credit, Will crooked a forefinger and shook his head as Jack got up, brushing off his breeches. "Keep your voice down, Jackiebird."

He stopped moving, glaring at the man. It was the one endearment the smith allowed himself, and an awful one, at that. "Where'd they put our effects?" he demanded softly.

"You know, we could just take the weapons off the guards at the top of the steps we've still got to get past," Will teased as Jack stepped around him, looking for a likely spot.

"I am not leavin' them my bloody Turner blade," Jack growled. "They can damn well buy their own."

He felt something at his back and turned, still on guard. Will quieted him with a kiss, cupping Jack's jaw with one large hand, and the captain nearly melted into that mouth. "Time for that later," he whispered, pulling away, then reached in for one more quick peck before turning his back completely. "Where's our things?"

Upon spotting a narrow door near the staircase, Will handed Jack one of the strong, slender picks of metal from his custom-made kit; he'd forgotten the smith kept one sewn into the lining of any vest or waistcoat he wore (something Jack couldn't get away with, since his reputation usually had him patted thoroughly the few times he was actually caught). While Jack worked at the mechanism to the solid supply door, Will cracked the door of the cell that had been between them—"In case the poor fellow wakes up before morning."

"Remind me t' reward ye properly for those," Jack hummed, handing back the pick and buckling his sword belt back on two minutes later.

"Just don't take back your offer."

Jack glanced up, able to see Will's face better since the lad had taken the lantern off the wall to light their way. "I wouldn't," he reassured the blacksmith. "I mean me word when I give it, 'specially to you."

"I don't want to be an obligation, Jack." He shook his head, longish hair shifting. "Something you promise in a tight spot, then believe you've got to carry through later, when you—"

"Shh." Jack pressed two fingers to Will's lips. "Don't, love. We'll get your things moved in soon as we get back, savvy?" Slowly, the man smiled, and kissed Jack's fingertips. "That's me lad. Now, let's go see how many feet o' metal those guards're prepared to eat for King an' Country."

****

Stretching forward, Jack pressed an impulsive kiss to Will's mouth, gaining entrance before sliding a hand between the man's legs to cup his half-hard shaft. "Jack!" he chastised, pulling back a few inches and pausing in his rowing. "Do you want to get to the ship, or don't you?"

"Oh, I forgot." With a careless air, Jack leaned back again, widening his feet in the bottom of the boat. He slid his hand toward his own groin, eyes on Will, who still hadn't resumed his rowing. Never taking his eyes off Will's face, he licked his lips and unfastened his breeches with a few simple tugs. "You like t' watch." Palming his own cock, he lifted it free of the material and let his head fall back as he stroked it up and down, feeling the burn of those hazel eyes fixed on his ringed fingers.

Will hissed. "Dammit, Jack, this is serious. We might be pursued."

He tightened his grip, stroking harder, then loosened it to allow his cock to bounce a little, reaching down to cup and withdraw his bollocks as well. A moment later, he heard the clatter of wood on wood, and his hand was being pushed aside amid the noise. When he opened his eyes and tilted his head up, it was just in time to see Will, on his knees, swallowing him halfway down. "Oh, yeah," Jack encouraged, reaching up to stroke that loose, soft hair. "Suck me, love. H-Harder, now. We might be... pursued."

Will growled low in the back of his throat, and Jack felt the vibration. He fell back on both elbows braced on the sides of the rowboat, trying to leverage so he could thrust. Will, however, anticipated and forcefully held Jack's thighs to the seat with strong hands, tonguing the underside of his cock even as he tightened the back of his throat around the crown, squeezing, coaxing. Jack let a loud, ragged groan escape his throat, then another, half-hoping to be discovered. He didn't want to share Will with anyone, but at the same time, the occasional urge for the world to see what the gorgeous young man could do to him was overpowering.

The smith grasped his balls, squeezing, stroking, rubbing, and it was too much. Jack pulsed into Will's throat, hips pumping, buttocks clenched, sounds desperate and high. He heard the short, sucking sounds of swallowing, and released a heavy, tense sigh. "Really hits th' spot," he murmured, relaxing as he felt Will draw off.

"Maybe now you'll shut up," the younger man groused, picking up his oars again. "We're almost there, Your Highness; you might want to rethink your entrance." Jack looked up in time to see Will nodding toward his groin, amusement in his tone.

A few minutes later, tucked away, he waited for Will to start climbing aboard before he followed, crawling over the rail with some help from Will. He strode toward the poop deck, glad to see Gibbs at the helm. "Bit of speed, if ye please," he commanded. "In th' opposite direction of this fine country?"

"Aye, and 's good to see ye again, Captain." Gibbs nodded curtly at both him and Will, then raised his voice toward the two lookouts near the front. "You gobs get some men! Weigh anchor, an' let's get some rowers below!"

"We'll get th' anchor," Jack volunteered, nodding back at Will, then addressing the two crewmen. "Get those sweeps on double-time, least for the next hour."

Dawn hadn't even touched the sky when the two men made it to Jack's cabin, exhausted and finally relieved they were far enough out to have a head start. Jack yawned as he pulled off his armaments and belts, and managed to unknot and shed his sash while kicking off his boots. He was glad he'd had the presence of mind to order three of the crew, once they were far enough out, to have the tub filled and heated; he wasn't a fastidious bather, but he wanted the stench of that gaol gone. "Wasn' sure we'd see th' inside of this old girl again," he admitted aloud.

"Jack."

When he turned, Will drew him near and lowered his forehead to touch Jack's. Remembering his promise from earlier, Jack shook his head. "I don' feel like movin' stuff tonight," he begged off. "Let's just get it later today, aye?"

Will met his eyes, smoothing hair back from Jack's temples, and the pirate was quiet. They kissed lazily, nothing too insistent. He reached for the bottom of Will's shirt, the vest already on the floor. They took their time pulling each other's clothes off, stroking sooted, clammy skin, finally climbing into the tub, Will sitting and Jack on his knees before him. It was a simple few moves to shift around and impale himself on the lad's hard, soapy prick. They sighed almost in unison, Will sinking further down into the warm water, eyes half-closed, boneless in relief as Jack braced his hands on the sides of the tub, balancing. Fairly soon, hands came up to hold his waist, helping; Jack let his head fall back, riding smoothly as his partner's hips jerked in rhythm, the man's knees bracing Jack's backside as he moved.

"That was... too close," Will gritted out, hands tighter.

"Fuck, yeah," Jack breathed, sucking air sharply through his front teeth. He leaned forward to better leverage his own cock between their abdomens, letting his head hang down close to Will's. "Closer, love—get me closer, c'mon."

"No," Will whispered, hands sliding up Jack's back. "I mean, getting caught... dying."

"I know." Jack nodded, the change in angle making him dizzy and hot. "Hell of a rush, idn' it?"

"The last time I was locked up—" Will stifled himself, head back, eyes closed, body arching, and Jack lengthened his reverse thrusts, drawing it out, leaning over to lick Will's exposed throat, still sweaty. "Jack, yeah... oh yes... fuck..." That last part slipped out as Jack sucked at his chin, clenching his muscles around the man's deeply-buried shaft. Will's hips froze, and he cried out, clutching tighter to the body above his, nearly sliding underwater in his bliss. Jack braced his knees to hold him in place, but jerked his own hips to continue abrading his erection, thrusting several more times before exploding underwater across the other man's flat belly.

Eventually, Will scooted back up, but kept his arms around Jack. The captain was used to this open affection the man displayed; truth was, he'd grown quite fond of the way Will held him, wanting to feel him close after a coupling such as this. "Jack," he whispered near the man's ear, and he sank a bit more into that embrace, loving how Will's breath rolled around his tongue to produce the sound, intimate and slightly harsh. "You there?"

Jack chuckled roughly, suddenly exhausted. "'M here," he nodded, sliding his own arms around Will's wet, muscular torso. "What's on your mind?"

The smith was quiet a moment, fingers stroking along Jack's spine. "The last time I was locked up," he began, "we were on—"

"I remember." Jack did not want to discuss Elias Francois.

"It's just that you've never told me what happened." The fingers stopped, tightened. "What you did."

"You're not stupid." His tone sounded harsh to himself, short. "You can figure it out."

"I'm not trying to judge you, Jack," soothed the voice, and the fingers resumed, a palm with it now. "It's just—you're so distant, sometimes. Like maybe I'm using you, or something. And I know that was the last time you... you know, did anything with—"

"I don't want to talk about this." He stiffened, tried to pull away.

"Jack, I do. Please." His embrace loosened, as if unsure. "There's times when you look at me, and I catch you, and you look away. When I want you to look at me, at my eyes, and you break that connection." He paused. "It's happened often since then."

If pressed, Jack would admit one of the things working in Will's favor in this relationship was his absolute refusal to let Jack bullshit him. Rarely did he have to wonder where he stood with the smith; the man might refuse to speak if he were truly in a snit, but he didn't play games. "Why?"

"Because you need to say it." Will released him as Jack sat back on his heels. "You can turn around, if you want—need to get your hair clean before the water goes cold, anyway. I mean, you don't have to tell me every detail... I don't think I'd want to know, anyway." Will was stubborn—not out of pride, but out of principle—and Jack knew the conversation had been coming, delayed long enough. Feeling heavier than he actually was, he stood and turned, sitting between Will's long, outstretched legs, allowing most of himself to be drawn down beneath the surface, his ears still above when Will prompted, "Jack."

"Where do I begin." He hummed to himself, feeling the vibration of his own voice in his ears. "It's not that difficult a choice, Will—imagine that he basically threatened to do all manner of things to 'Lizabeth while you stood by, kept immobile. But," he lifted a hand to gesture, feeling large fingers massaging his scalp, working water through the loose parts of his hair, "s'pose, then, you were given th' choice to take his mind off her. To distract him, as it were." He sat up, watching Will's hand reach past him for the cake of soap. "'S all I did, really. Distraction."

"But, it wasn't just distraction, was it? There's something else that's been bothering you about it."

"You askin' if I enjoyed it?" Jack tilted his head back, letting Will work the soap in, and shrugged, eyes closed. "Depends how ye look at it. I wasn' about to let him 'force' me into anything. A lot of coping in life is mindset; you know that."

"You're not refuse, you know," Will massaged the scalp and strands. "You're not some scrap of iron in the street that blocks a lost diamond. You are a treasure in your own right, no matter what he told you. You know that, right?"

"It doesn't matter much as you think it does." Jack reached for the wet cake of soap and lathered his hands, working at his nails. "My opinion of me own self doesn't hinge on what a right bastard like that thinks o' me."

"I know. But I needed to say it." There was a pause as they cleaned themselves in silence, and then Will spoke again. "You're just so angry about everything ... What are you trying to tell yourself you could have done differently?"

Rather than deny it, as that would inevitably lead to more questioning, Jack admitted ignorance. "I don't know. Maybe that I didn't kill th' son of a bitch when I had a chance earlier. Or that he had cause t' look for me in th' first place." He rinsed his hands, watching the soap further cloud the water, and added quietly, "All comes back to bad choices, doesn' it? Th' fact I trusted Hector has been singularly responsible for leading to much of th' tragedy in me life over th' past dozen years."

A small pause. "Though—if you think about it... well, that one mistake maybe brought you something good, too."

"Look at all th' people who died from it." He was silent a moment. "Including Bill."

"If you hadn't made that mistake, we wouldn't be here, you and me. I'd be making swords somewhere on land. Da might be dead of his own choices—and so might you. But, we are here. And we'll probably still make stupid mistakes. We're still human, no matter what people say about us." There was a small, self-deprecating laugh from the smith as he unknotted some of Jack's tangles.

He hesitated. "I know you say you don't think less of me ..."

"But, you think I actually do?"

"There are grand differences between us."

"Unless you find some magic way to not get older for a few years, that's not going to change," Will pointed out.

"I don't just mean our ages, William."

He could sense Will shaking his head. "I'm too tired for tact. Jack, I really couldn't care any less about the number of people you've lied to, stolen from, paid, or bent over a barrel. You've protected me when I didn't know I needed saving, and you've let me do the same for you. I'm not insisting on roses and romance and that kind of thing. Your respect, regard, and loyalty are all I need."

Jack laughed softly. "You've had th' first two since th' day we met."

"Only because I was better at the sword. Sometimes, if I'd had it to do all over again, I wonder if I would hide you rather than let Norrington get his hands on you."

"I don't think so. You wouldn' be Will Turner if ye did that."

The smile was audible in Will's tone. "Well, that all depends on whether I could know then what I know now."

"What, jump ahead two years?" Jack slid down again as Will guided, letting the man submerge his head.

"Something like that." He held Jack's head so his face was above the water, using one hand to rinse the soap from the thick mane. "I'm sure if he weren't already dead, we could come up with something to make that bastard pay."

Waiting until the rinse was complete, Jack sat up, rubbing water from his eyes. "I'd really rather jus' not devote any more thought to th' puta 'tall," he mumbled.

"Then maybe you should tell me what's really eating at your core."

He wasn't sure what to say. Admit of all the times in his life he'd felt cheap, maybe that was the highest point, because he'd been protecting someone worth shielding? There'd been so many such moments in his life—none of which had bothered him until he knew Will better and realized how pure of motive and character someone could be. What did the average pirate see when they looked at the two of them together, after all? Depravity and innocence, he answered himself. You protected him because you're the one who got him into that mess. Outwardly, Jack was quiet, rinsing his arms and chest.

Will took the moment to wrap his arms about Jack's body, resting his cheek on Jack's wet mane. "Don't think you're not good enough for me, all right? I've heard you talking to Pearl sometimes. You're no worse than I am. Just different." A pause, and Will reached for more soap.

It felt ... good. Jack grabbed Will's arm, stopped him, pulled it back where it had been. He hated admitting he needed something, especially another person, but Will had initiated this and he was going to take advantage of it. Will resumed his position, holding onto the man. "You're safe with me, you know." Jack nodded, wrapping his arms around Will's, leaning back into his chest. When did I earn this?

They spent the next several minutes in silence, the water cooling around them as Will rocked them both, humming a tuneless melody under his breath. Finally, Jack patted his lover's arms and freed himself from the embrace, pushing to his feet. "Better finish up your own hair," he nodded, water sluicing off his skin. "Be cold before too long."

Over the next few minutes, Jack dried off and Will finished his bathing; once out of the water, Will tossed several buckets of the water out the porthole to lighten the tub, then he and Jack carried it into the corridor to be collected and emptied by the last of the night watch. While Jack finished drying his hair, Will discarded his towel and climbed into the bed, not bothering to dress for sleep.

As soon as Jack slid between the covers, Will scooted closer and wrapped his arm around Jack's waist, pressing a hand to the center of his naked back. They kissed, Jack easing against that warm, lithe body, reaching up to play with Will's damp hair. "I'm gon' sleep like the dead," he murmured, exhausted.

"Makes two of us." Will yawned, and sank listlessly into his pillow. "Don't you dare wake me at the first hint of sunlight..."

****

"I'd say mornin's on her way out," Jack guessed, rubbing the crust from his eyes, "judging from the rumblin' in me stomach."

"Hmm. We didn't have much to eat yesterday, did we?"

"To say the least." Jack reached up and combed his fingers through his messy, mostly-clean hair, working the tangles from the locks not tied up in braids or baubles, most hand-bored by Will. They consisted of little bits of minerals and gems left over from his smithing projects, as well as a few intensely personal items, such as a chunk of the gold decoration pried off the pommel of one of the swords Jack purloined from Francois's ship. There was also a small, tough shell which had gotten caught in Jack's shirt during the hurricane that had led to his rescue and first night spent on Will's pallet; occasionally during lovemaking, the smith would pause and finger it, an odd expression interrupting his flushed features, always followed with a long, deep kiss for Jack.

He must've sat there ruminating too long, for he felt a small tug on one of his locks and fingers trailing down his back. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Just dwelling." He wasn't sure how else to explain staring at nothing for two minutes while stroking something in his hair.

"Oh?" The fingers curled about his opposite hip and applied pressure to lay back. "What've you figured out?"

Turning to face Will, he rested into his pillow, close to the man. "That I need some more o' these," he answered, twirling a beaded lock between his knobby fingers.

The smith cast a critical eye at Jack's unruly hair. "Well... yes, it is longer now. I suppose you've got room for a few more these days." He reached up to touch one, and Jack could tell from the corner of his eye it was a piece of glassy obsidian, polished to a high shine and painstakingly bored without fractures. The night he'd given it to Jack, he'd shyly explained it reminded him of the pirate's eyes the first time he'd looked into them—and Jack remembered there'd been a delay in getting the stone into his hair, while he properly thanked the craftsman. "And?"

"Last night." He searched large hazel eyes; it wasn't impossible to lie to Will, but it was damned difficult, especially since they'd started sleeping together. The man had a positive talent for sussing out Jack. "I haven't been worried in a long time 'bout not gettin' out of a tight spot. Least not since I was twenty."

"Because of me." Jack nodded.

To his surprise, Will furrowed his brow, frowned, and rolled away, pulling his arm out from under Jack. Speechless for a moment, Jack finally recovered his wits and sat up as the other man stood, the sheets falling away from his body. "What?"

"Captain Sparrow, do you think I'm incompetent?" Despite being naked, Will's height and shoulder breadth lent his scowl an imposing air. Despite the scowl, he was naked, and Jack was momentarily transfixed. "Jack?"

"Huh?" Automatically, he shook his head. "No. What th' hell?"

"You certain about that?" Will narrowed his eyes and scrunched the bridge of his nose. Not the nose scrunch!

Jack held up his hands, fingers splayed, to halt the conversation. "William, so help me- Look, you're a lot of things, but I don' think 'incapable' is any of them."

"Is it my age, then? Is it this because you think of me as some sort of boy, still?"

His satisfaction of having an intelligent partner was rapidly diminishing at the inconvenience it introduced into his life. "For th' life of me, I cannot figure where this is comin' from." Shoving aside the covers, he got to his knees and reached for Will's wrist to drag him back in, but the blacksmith stood firm. "Come on, mate; now how could me worryin' for your fine bottom be anythin' other than a compliment?" He tried a grin.

Will shook his head, jaw set. "I'm not some woman who needs protecting."

"Now who's the one bein' insulting?" Jack pointed out. "Bet if 'Lizabeth heard that, she'd knock ye over; I know Ana would."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, you should bloody well know what I mean by now, too."

"Enlighten me, Jack."

"Because I worry about you, goddammit!" Jack didn't even blink; the words didn't surprise him, but the tone sure did. It wasn't quite the way he wanted to declare his feelings. "Because it wouldn't matter if you were th' best fighter in th' world; the fact is, ye share me bed. Because I don't wan' see you in pain and suffering, especially not because of some bloodfool thing I've done to put ye there."

Will's expression was unreadable, and while intellectually Jack didn't worry about the reception of his words, part of him nervously waited for some sort of return sentiment. "You worry."

"Yeah."

"And... you asked last night for me to move in."

"That's about the size of it."

Giving him a long, searching look, Will finally rolled his eyes and clamored onto the bed. Jack hooked him around the waist and scooted closer. "There we go," he cooed, inching a hand up Will's back. "Right where ye belong."

In the middle of their involved, deep kiss, Will murmured, "Jack?"

"Mmhm?"

The smith chuckled. "I love you, too."

A lovely shiver coursed through Jack's belly even as realization of Will's little performance rang in his brain. I've been damn well had.

****

"Because I'm asking." Will leaned forward to meet Jack's level gaze. "I'm asking you to. Is that not good enough?"

"I have a crew t' think about," the captain pointed out. "I can't go gallivantin' off across an entire ocean on th' whim of one of that crew without ever'one else gettin' themselves up in arms over it." He spread his hands. "This may be my ship, Will, but I've got t' take into account th' hands aboard her."

"All right." Will leaned back. "I'll talk to the crew, then."

"Come again?"

"I'll talk to the crew myself. Every single one individually, if I have to. I do a lot of extra work around here, and that ought to count for something."

"Will." Jack closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Ye don't get it—they're lookin' for profit. Income. Swag. Spoils. Your extra weight up on deck or fixin' their swords is nice, but it doesn't translate to booty. If we start ferrying delicate passengers such as—"

"She's hardly delicate."

"Oh? Would you face her in a real swordfight, like ye have me? And others in this crew?" Jack stared hard at his smith. "Would ye hit her? I know for a fact ye've no problem decking me."

"That's what this is about." Will got up and paced for the door. "That great bloody oar. Here we go again—"

"What're you on about?"

Will turned and came up behind his chair, leaning over it just enough to make his point. "I have apologized for hitting you with that oar I don't know how many times—"

"Twice," Jack helped, holding up two fingers.

"And you won't let it die."

"No, Will. You won't. I didn't bring it up for the hell of it, as you know damn well." Jack inclined his head and regarded the other man from beneath dark lashes. "Elizabeth Swann is a politician's daughter, and a fairly important one a' that. We cannot go ferryin' her across the Atlantic without taking on substantial increased risk to ourselves and our chances of transacting business."

"Mounting raids, you mean."

"Don't say that like you're not part of it," Jack snapped, a flare of annoyance in his chest.

Will opened his mouth to retort, probably something volatile, then closed it, as well as his eyes. He hesitated, drumming his fingers on the back of the chair. Jack elected to keep quiet, letting the smith break the tense silence.

"What if—" he finally began, eyes still closed, obviously working something out in his mind. "What if we make it so the crew gets something out of it?" He looked at Jack again. "We could charge the Governor a fee, just as any captain would. Even if it's not much to split among everybody, it's something. And I know some of them wouldn't mind visiting England, family and such there."

"It's still dangerous." He calmed his tone to match Will's conciliatory manner. "We may get a special dispensation from th' Commodore to get near Port Royale, true enough, but what about when we get to British waters up north, aye? We're pirates, Will; fair game for Norrington's grim, colder brothers."

"A letter of marque."

"Oh, hell no."

"Temporary letter of marque. Of course the Governor would authorize that, as would Norrington. They'd want to see Elizabeth reach her aunt's safely. And, it gives us a temporary reprieve while we're there." Will spread his hands. "All we have to do is stay away from English ships on the way."

Jack frowned. He didn't like the idea of being under anyone's control, especially not some king. "But I don't wan' be a bloody... privateer," he spat. "None of th' crew does."

Will shrugged, not looking nearly enough defeated by the reasoning for Jack's liking. "The crew are practical, Jack. If they can get some gold and a temporary pass to see their loved ones and have the Navy off their necks for a while, you don't think they'll take it?"

Sometimes, Jack reflected, being the one in charge of everyone else sucked dirty bog water. He didn't get to be totalitarian for anything except the ship herself, and even then, Will could override on a repair decision, being better versed in the metalwork and some of the carpentry. Damn floating democracy, he thought, silently cursing the Greeks. "She's th' one who wrote to you," he pointed out. "How do ye even know she can assure th' Pearl's safety coasting into harbor t' so much as pick her up?"

"If I write back giving reply and notice, you don't think she'll guarantee our welcome?"

Reflexively, Jack put a hand to his throat. When Will didn't change expression, he wrapped his fingers around his Adam's apple, yanked up gently, and stuck out his tongue in gagging motion. "Yes, I know that's a risk," the smith conceded. "But she did help keep us away from the gallows," he pointed out referring to Elizabeth telling her father and Norrington at the Isla de Muerta she didn't know where Jack had gotten to. "And he let us go the last time we saw him, and we haven't tangled with the Navy since. We helped get Francois for them, and his ship; surely we merit some sort of favor."

Jack realized Will had a point. James Norrington was honest to a fault most of the time Jack was around him, and would probably view honoring Elizabeth's request as some sort of damn test of his affections. He wondered if the lass had managed to make the officer fall back in love with her since her return home from France a few months ago. Jack hadn't read her letter to Will; for all he knew, it could be begging the smith to come back to England six months hence to pick her up and sail her away somewhere to start up a sword shop in Singapore together.

Jack's gut tightened and he felt a blind, hot few seconds of piercing jealousy. She'd better fucking not! He wasn't sure where this came from, but it was swift and visceral, and nearly stole his breath. He was jolted out of his tangential thought process by Will's voice—"Jack? You all right?"

Blinking, he looked up. Will was watching him closely, his brow creased. "Do you disagree with me that much?"

Shaking his head, Jack cleared his throat. "No," he answered, not ready to explain that particular private thought. "No, I was just wonderin' about her prospects with our man Jim after all this time, 's all."

"She didn't really say." Will came around the chair and sat again, scooting minutely closer to Jack. "She mentioned dancing with him at a couple of functions, but nothing descriptive." He smiled. "Her father was always so insistent she be proper, and that she was too forward even asking me to call her by her Christian name, or using mine to me."

"Class differences," Jack murmured.

"But she didn't hold to that," Will pointed out. "Anyway, she did report James isn't yet engaged or married, so there may be hope for them after all."

"You'd not mind her marryin' that naval stick?" Jack arched his brows lightly.

Will laughed. "Not quite the way I would've said it, but... I mean, if that's what she wants. He's a good man. She was never too keen on marriage that I can remember, but I can see a long-term match there, so long as he knows to leave well enough alone and not try to change her." He looked pointedly at Jack's head, presumably at the tangles and braids therein. "Something to which I can personally testify."

Jack shook his head, reaching for his tankard, disguising a grin behind a drink. He tried not to overbear the other man or speculate on the permanency of their living situation, but he was human; he liked these little subtle assurances by a lover as much as anyone else. "She be ready t' leave whenever we get there?" he questioned, lowering the mug.

Will tipped his head. "You haven't talked to the crew yet."

He patiently set the tankard aside and laced his fingers across his stomach. "She be ready t' leave when we get there?"

The other man rewarded Jack with a broad smile. "I'll write her right away, drop it off when we're in Tortuga so it'll get there ahead of us."

****

The butler answered the door, inviting Jack into the front hall with dry efficiency. He managed both to make no obvious judgment with his expression and to rake in every detail of the pirate with the same cool look, in the manner of all English domestics worth their salt. "Drink, Captain Sparrow?" he asked, leading Jack to the library.

Maybe the fellow's not bad, if he's stashing liquor somewhere. Jack allowed himself to relax and loosen his gait. "If ye've got it, I've prob'ly tasted it," he answered. "But high quality firewater's always worth a second opinion."

"Indeed, sir." The butler bypassed the crystal decanters set out on a small polished table near the secretary and picked up a slender, smoky bottle. He uncapped it, handing it over to Jack with a small smile and—a twinkle in his eyes? "Finest quality cane in the Caribbean."

"Hmm. I'll be th' judge... indeed." Jack wrapped his fingers around the lower neck of the bottle and flared his nostrils over the open top. Pure, processed smooth sugar with a hint of coconut. "A tumbler, if you please," he tried out his best Gentleman MacLeary voice, winking. "I'm not completely uncivilized in highball company."

The butler's smile widened, and he produced a small glass from behind the other stock. "I'll let the others know you're here, sir."

"Aye, that'd be fine." Jack nodded as he poured. "Name's Jack, old son. Yours?"

"Heyer, Captain." He paused. "Hawthorne Heyer."

"Good t' meet ye, Hath." Jack raised the glass and swallowed half its contents in a single go once the man bowed slightly and turned to leave. Setting the bottle aside, he moved to one wall of books and cocked his head sideways, studying the spines while he waited.

He didn't have long. He caught movement in his periphery as he found the Governor's Italian collection. "Well, they've started off on th' right foot, least," he murmured conversationally, lifting the glass where Will could see it. "Social lubrication's of highest importance for somethin' like this, I've a feeling."

"I didn't know you were going to change for supper."

Jack straightened and turned toward Will. "This? Just wanted somethin' clean, 's all." He sipped his next drink, perfectly aware of how he looked in soft black boots, snug black breeches, scarlet red silk shirt, and dark gold sash. He wore no headscarf, his long raven hair cleaned in uneven waves and held at the sides by dark leather thongs, a couple of braids trailing down his back. He'd begged off after negotiations to head back to the ship and change prior to evening meal, taking a quick sponge bath and reapplying a steady, thick stroke of kohl around each eye.

Jack was insanely pleased at the half-startled, interested expression in Will's gaze. He nodded toward the other man, who still wore the same plainer—yet clean—clothes he'd carefully put on that morning. "You've no need t' complain; looks fine t' me." For once, Will had left off his trademark narrow waistcoat, leaving his good linen shirt, dark fawn breeches, and dove-gray boots. He'd clubbed his hair at the nape of his neck, but a few curly strands had escaped in the windy day to frame his face.

Will arched an eyebrow. "Fine?" he repeated, mocking.

In answer, Jack licked his lower lip and dropped his eyes to the partly-open shirt. "Amazingly edible," he amended, smirking. "Tasty."

To Jack's surprise, Will laughed easily. "Should've known better than to wear these breeches."

"I'd've been more concerned if ye'd left them off, spending th' day with Miss Swann and all."

Will didn't have time to answer, for they were joined just then by the lady herself. Jack glanced to her, then back to Will, narrowing his eyes and setting his mouth in a tight, minute line. Will blinked, widened his eyes in what seemed surprise, looking taken aback. He kept his eyes on Jack for several more impolite seconds as Elizabeth waited to be noticed, as if reassessing Sparrow somehow. Just before he turned to Elizabeth, his lips quirked a little at one corner, and Jack could've sworn he was amused—and perhaps satisfied—by Jack's deliberate reaction. This should be interesting later on, he mused, enjoying the tension low in his belly.

She nodded at Will, then crossed to Jack. Being Elizabeth (or rather perhaps, him being Jack), she didn't bother curtseying, but instead put out her hand. Jack regarded it with brief amusement, then shook it as though she were a man, putting some extra squeeze on her fingers. He could see her clench her teeth behind her closed lips, but she didn't wince. "Captain," she offered by way of greeting.

"Milady," he murmured.

She withdrew her hand politely, cocking her head just so and giving him a searching look. Her expression relaxed. "Jack."

"Miss Swann."

She laughed out loud, presumably remembering her haughtiness on the island where they'd been marooned overnight. "Scoundrel."

He lifted an eyebrow pleasantly. "Peas in a pod, darling."

"Indeed." She fixed him once again with her gaze. "Will escorted me around the ship this afternoon. She's far more pleasing than I remember, especially your cabin—where I was forced to stay for a fortnight."

So, she'd spotted Will's things and figured out the way things were between them, then. Jack managed not to smirk as he set his drink on a nearby desk. "She keeps far better comp'ny than Barbossa these days, if I may be so bold."

Elizabeth nodded, smoothing her skirt. "If you two will excuse me," she turned sideways and looked at each man in turn, "I need to attend the meal. Supper will be ready shortly, and I'll be back for you." She cast one last glance at Jack, then headed for the door, patting Will on the arm on her way.

"So—" Jack waited until she'd shut the door, then continued. "Gave her that tour, did ye?"

Will shook his head and closed their distance in a few steps. "Shut up," he answered, pulling Jack's head between his hands and leaning in to kiss him hard. Jack closed his eyes, losing his bearings and letting go for a few minutes while Will lowered an arm to wrap around his waist. He pressed against the man, licking his tongue, tasting the roof of his mouth, feeling Will's heart thump madly against both their chests.

Eventually, he pulled off and skimmed up, pressing his mouth to the bridge of Jack's nose, his goatee brushing Jack's parted lips. "The last time I was here," he began, "you're not the person I'd hoped to be kissing in the library."

"I can understand that." Jack licked at Will's chin, ruffling the hair.

"I'm not complaining," he explained, holding Jack tighter. "It's just... even of men, you're not who I would've figured to be here with."

"You were expectin' a Navy fellow, mayhaps?" Will's hands stilled momentarily, and Jack leaned back, intrigued. "Anyone I know?" he prodded.

"No."

"I'm wrong, then?"

Just as he guessed, Will was too honest even to save himself embarrassment. He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. "I mean, this isn't the time." He paused too long. "Or place."

Jack felt himself grin widely. "Norrington?"

Oh, that entire face turned red. "Jack—"

But Jack's laugh cut him off. "Th' daughter of th' highest-ranking official on th' island? A commodore? A captain? Lad, ye don't dally with peasants, do ye?"

Uttering a strangled noise Jack had learned to equate with frustration, Will released him and stepped back. "Look... if you'll keep your mouth shut, I'll explain, all right?"

"I should hope so," Jack teased.

"I mean it." He frowned at Jack. "Not a word, no lewd gestures or doublespeak. No indication of anything whatsoever in front of everyone." He hesitated. "Jack?"

Bossy Will was not Jack's favorite incarnation every night, but he went along with it. "A'right, a'right," he nodded. "I'll keep me mouth shut. What would I've said, anyhow? Not like I'm gon' shove you off on someone else or invite them t' turn your head." He studied Will a moment. "Is this a current thing, or simply a boyhood crush, then?"

"Long ago." Will glanced away, looking guilty. "Elizabeth was gone, he took some pity on me. He was always kind to me when he'd come into the smithy, or if he saw me at the fort." Will rubbed his hands as if cold. "I did what any child does if he doesn't know many people—I clung to the ideal version of someone who acknowledged I was alive."

There was no sigh in his tone, only explanation, but Jack stepped forward, moved by the thought of a boy so obviously in need of friendship. The doors rattled, and Will put distance between himself and Jack. The pirate wasn't sure if he'd been about hug Will or simply grip his shoulder, but he assumed an indolent pose for their social masquerade.

It was Hawthorne. "The Miss asked me to fetch you gentlemen, since she's taken with kitchen duties." He glanced to Jack, then at the glass he'd left on the desk. "More rum, sir?"

"Only if you address me properly."

The butler stood more at attention and regarded him dryly. "Jack it is, then?"

"Aye, that's more like it."

Hawthorne refilled Jack's tumbler, gave Will another with three fingers of expensive brandy, and ushered them into the dining room, where their host and the Commodore were presumably making small talk. Jack glanced sideways to Will, who was taking a rather long sip of his brandy as he kept his eyes forward, perhaps to mask the flush of his face. He recognized the pose as Will's Don't-You-Dare stance.

Since they were standing quite close, Jack touched Will's elbow and murmured just loud enough for his companion to hear, "C'mon, love. Trust, eh?"

"Trust a pirate?" was Will's equally soft, somewhat arch, response.

"Nay—jus' me." He was glad to feel the man relaxing, see a small smile touching his lips. Aloud, he lifted his glass in the two men's direction and raised his voice to dispel Will's tension. "Governor! As I live an' breathe."

"For the time, anyway." This from Norrington, whose tone was the only indication of humor, his expression a careful mask of military indifference. His attitude was much improved from their meeting near the docks nearly eighteen months earlier, thanks in large part to the Pearl's compliance in netting the Royal Navy Francois's body, crew, and large Spanish prize.

"Commodore." Weatherby Swann's chastisement was less than earnest, as he tightly smiled between the two men. "Captain, I believe this is your first visit to my home?" Jack nodded, and Swann turned a more indulgent smile on the blacksmith. "Mr. Turner, I must admit, I wasn't quite sure I'd see you here again after you were 'kidnapped.'"

"A merry chase that was, eh?" Jack winked at James, who now glared.

For once, Will was the most diplomatic of the four. "It was a strange time," he summarized, taking another sip from his glass. "It looks like things are finally back in order, here, sir."

"Dear me, yes. Thanks be for structural integrity." Swann sighed. Barbossa and his miscreants had not only looted the mansion, they'd shot cannon through the outer walls, resulting in a partial fire of the kitchen. Only the diligence of a few servants who hadn't yet escaped to the fort had kept the whole thing from going up in flames. "Let's hope that's the most exciting thing to happen to Port Royale in some years."

Supper was the social nicety Jack had expected, neither too comfortable nor too long. He answered questions from both Swann and Norrington about the planned excursion, setting aside a captain's traditional annoyance at having his route scrutinized by a landlubber in favor of his own empathetic concerns as a father of girls.

As the conversation turned to specific travel near dessert, he felt something against his ankle. Jack was once again offering bland reassurances about Elizabeth's safety on the high seas—after all, she'd survived perfectly fine under his and Will's care twice before, and, after all, who would dare challenge the dreaded Black Pearl?—when something rubbed his lower leg. He took a drink of wine to disguise his frown, since he couldn't very well dive beneath the table to investigate, and glanced sideways at Will.

The smith was sipping at his own goblet, eyes innocent and level on Jack's own when the captain felt another nudge. A clumsy bump to the side of his knee completed contact all the way down Jack's lower leg to his foot, and he barely managed not to cough in surprise.

Bloody Will Turner was flirting with him under the Governor's own roof.

It was confirmed a few seconds later with a lingering brush against his knee, and Jack kept the goblet to his lips, trying not to laugh aloud. His mirth was that spontaneous burst of joy from simply being in love with the right person. Jack lowered his eyes into his wine, watching the light play off the dark liquid's surface, and actually felt heat trail up behind his ears.

"...of course you'll make port at Bermuda," Swann was saying. It penetrated Jack's lust-heavy brain, as it must've Will's, for the smith stopped nudging. "I should very much like news from the colony; I haven't heard from Samuel in some time." The older man gestured at Elizabeth. "You remember his son, my dear. Foster, was his name?"

"Depends if we need supplies by that point," Will pointed out, much to Jack's surprise.

"Hmm?" Swann gave the pirates his attention. "Oh, but you couldn't possibly carry enough supplies to England without stopping off for more."

Jack was about to answer, but Will cut him off. "Governor, we may sail around San Juan toward Africa," the smith explained. Oh, might we? Jack wondered, turning away from the others to give him a stern look. "It avoids the longer water route and gets us close to land faster."

"I assure you, my dear boy, I have come through by way of Bermuda more than once, and its officials will welcome you upon a letter from me. You needn't worry about being detained for past crimes," Swann reassured them.

Will's lips set into a thin line, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. The eyes he flicked at Jack were pleading, worried, and while the Captain had a hard time figuring what exactly was going on, he realized Will was disturbed and trying to hide it. "Mr. Turner makes a good point," he finally answered, turning his attention back to the Governor. "Can make a fair run scoutin' some Spanish an' Dutch along the Barb'ry. Enough to please even your avaricious monarch." To change the conversation, he lifted his glass and cast his eyes about theatrically. "Where's th' fine Hawthorne? Methinks I could use another refill, if th' lady'll allow me instead of settin' fire to it."

****

The man who was never fidgety closed his eyes and seemed to be stuttering before finding his first words, shaking his head. "I just don't like the Bermuda route, Jack."

Here's a first. "Has Gibbs been fillin' your ear with that superstitious rot?"

"It isn't him." Will looked out the carriage window, offering nothing else.

Jack studied him, then leaned forward, cupping a hand over Will's knee. "Mate, you do realize you're gon' have to do better than that," he prodded. "I mean—I didn' know better, I'd say you're givin' in to superstition and stories about th' Triangle, and even after some of th' stuff ye've seen, that's just not your style."

Will gritted his teeth, then chewed at his upper lip, clearly consternated. He still didn't meet Jack's eyes. "'S not... it's not stories, Jack," he said, barely over the rumbling wheels along the rocks. "Stories imply fiction." He glanced at Jack, who nodded once, squeezing the knee he held. Will looked back out the carriage window.

"It was the crossing from England," he began. "Couple of years after Mum died. Captain Hinkley ran the ship hard to make good time, since he was ferrying some official, and he chose the shortest direct route, pushing hard." It was clearly an effort for Will to keep his voice even, let alone remember not to repeat himself. "One day there was this horrible storm, a squall turned loose fit to come from hell itself. I was helping secure some lower rigging, and we were batted around and nearly capsized." He looked at Jack now. "And then it was just... quiet."

"Eye of th' storm?" he guessed.

"I thought so, too. I mean, the sun was shining again, and the ship was calm, and the air was so still." He frowned. "So I climb down from the rigging and stand on deck to look around, grateful for how peaceful and quiet it all is, you know. And it was very quiet." He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out; he quickly snapped it closed.

Jack felt Will's knee begin to rock, and sat up, realizing the man was at a fine tremble all over. Switching seats to be next to Will, he slid one arm around his shoulders and the other around his midsection, rubbing at his far upper arm. "Go on, then," he coaxed, cheek pressed to Will's temple. "Finish it."

"Was so quiet 'cause nobody was there but me." The words came out small and scared, and Jack briefly believed he was cradling a boy of ten rather than a grown man more than twice that. "Nobody. Not a soul. I ran below, checked that entire ship. I—I thought they'd all washed overboard, and I was going to just drift until I ran out of food or water, or was attacked, or killed by another storm." Jack held him as the carriage rocked and bumped, rare fear gripping his own chest as the story was spun out.

"I—I don't know how much time passed while I was in there. Never saw a soul. Never heard a noise, not even waves lapping the ship. No breeze, no clouds—no birdcalls, even." He lifted his head to look at Jack, his eyes large and worried, as he swallowed. "When the storm hit again, out of nowhere... well, I don't think I've ever been so happy for rain, and lightning, and people yelling around me."

"Why didn' you tell me this before?" Jack moved his hand from Will's waist to touch his cheek.

"We haven't been through there, or very near it. I thought I could get out of saying something for a while yet." His jaw tightened and he glanced away just long enough that when he looked back, the fear in his eyes had abated somewhat. Jack knew how Will hated cowards or being perceived as one. "I just- I guess I said something in front of the Governor because I didn't want to lie and tell him to expect something he shouldn't. Look, I apologize if it looked like I was undermining you; I wasn't trying—"

"'S all right." Jack shook his head. "Fear's a powerful motivator."

Will nodded. "There's a little more." He took a couple of deep breaths. "That was early on, maybe mid-morning; a few hours later, Barbossa attacked the ship. He burned it to the water, killed everybody on board. Everybody." He closed his eyes. "Except for me, Jack. I'm the only one who lived through that massacre. Because I hid down below, managed to swim out through a hole in the hull as the ship was sinking. I crawled up on a piece of it... I must've passed out. The medallion was hidden in my shirt until Elizabeth found it, after the Dauntless picked me up."

"Will—"

"I'm the only one who was on that ship when the storm went over, Jack, and I'm the only one who survived the same day. That- I can't imagine it's a coincidence. I think I... that I got all those people killed, Jack."

Jack pressed his forehead to Will's. "I doubt that," he conceded. "Ocean's got a lot o' mysteries; Cortes's treasure's only one, and it was around a hell of a time before either you or I. No small boy could've caused any of that- Shh, now, listen to me." He brushed his nose against the side of Will's, who was about to protest, and shook his head slowly. "No, Will. Really listen. Would you believe any other small boy capable of such a thing?" Will hesitated. "C'mon now, mate. A boy?"

"No," came the quiet reply.

"Then quit it, Will. I'll sail around th' Triangle, steer clear o' Bermuda, because I believe ye. But I'll not sit here an' listen to you take blame for that rotten bastard's avarice. If th' two events are related, you can wager he was somehow responsible—not you. Savvy?" He nuzzled Will's nose a bit more, pushing until he got his nod. "Hmm?"

When he kissed Will, the man returned it almost shyly, then deepened it, hands wound in Jack's shirt to hold them together. Something felt odd, but Jack didn't place what it was until many seconds later. He broke the kiss, pulling back. "Carriage stopped," he murmured, cocking his head toward the front.

"Oh." Will's eyes were on his mouth, his own lips flushed and plump, sandy moustache ruffled. His voice was husky and low. "We have to row back to the ship tonight, Jack?"

His thick, muddled brain was trying to send his mouth a reply when the driver knocked at the door behind him. Jack released Will and whirled, and spoke as the fellow opened the carriage. "Any good taverns by th' docks?" he asked. Producing a crown from his wrist pouch in impressive legerdemain, he pressed it into the man's fingers and shooed him back to his horses.

For the next few minutes it took to travel, Jack and Will touched one another as thoroughly as two people can when trying not to muss the other's appearance. He sucked at Will's upper lip as the smith caressed his thigh, then bit gently at his earlobe while Will kneaded what he could reach of Jack's backside. They panted, and Jack was intensely glad he'd thought to tuck a small vial of lubricant in the pouch beneath his sash, done in a fit of mad impulse hoping to get Will alone in some part of the Governor's mansion for fifteen minutes.

They tumbled out of the carriage soon enough, Jack going first and resisting the urge to offer Will a solicitous hand down. They moved casually enough through the street traffic, each knowing their role upon entering the tavern—Will would wander not too far and look about for a seat while Jack negotiated a room upstairs. On his way, he'd pause long enough to tell his lover where to find him, and several minutes later, Will would wander upstairs.

Except, there were no rooms, at least none unoccupied, which was not surprising given the number of people in the tavern itself. The bartender assured Jack one would open up for the rest of the evening if Sir wished to wait a while. Jack ordered rum and ale and held the tankards in against his body, weaving through the press of people until he found Will perched on one ledge of the huge double-sided stone fireplace toward the center of the room. He'd taken his seat on the side facing the more intimate, darker section of the room, since there were no available chairs, and scooted over to give Jack room. "Says it'll be a bit," Jack raised his voice over the din, handing Will the ale. "Mind?"

"No." Jack sat just far enough away to look conversational, his back terribly warm where the fire blazed. "Feels sort of like the smithy right here," Will pointed out, as if reading Jack's thoughts. "Except, no work to get done."

They talked like this for a while, falling into an easy conversation about their impending voyage and the route they would take toward the African coast. Jack turned toward the other man, pulling his knee up to rest more comfortably, while explaining this part. Then Will mentioned some of the things he might like to stop and show Elizabeth, if they had time and means, and Jack watched him speak, animated and eager. Firelight reflected from the deep brown pools of Will's eyes, and streaks of sun-lightened hair shone in the fire's glow. Jack sipped his rum.

Bill, my god in heaven, he's perfect. Gorgeous and mannered, and strong and vulnerable all at once, and apparently amenable to dissolute old buccaneers staring 'til the world looks level at all of it, with the most unsavory thoughts in mind. I never thought to be in love with your only boy, and I can even forgive that he's got her eyes, because they're so lovely when they look at me that way. Yes, that way-

"What're you looking at?" The question was fond, as Will certainly knew damn well what Jack was absorbing with his languid, dark gaze.

"Just wishin' to be closer to you."

Will glanced around; over time, the place had gotten quieter, and there were only a handful of people in their sight now, absorbed in conversations of their own or becoming champion drinkers. He took Jack's closest hand and rubbed the knuckles with a thumb. "Like this?"

"Sort of."

When he lifted Jack's palm and kissed it, Jack held his breath, even as Will raised his eyes. "I don't tell you enough how beautiful you are," he murmured. "How much I'd like to spend some days doing nothing but touching you, and let work go hang itself."

Jack blinked, surprised, so focused on Will that the serving girl had to shake him by the shoulder to hand him his room key and stick her hand out for coin. He overpaid in a daze, leaving his mug as he stood, not bothering to pretend he wasn't following as Will led the way up the long stairs and down to the end room on the left.

Hair was loosed, boots pulled free, shirts and breeches shed before Jack backed Will against the room's hip-high table. "Sit up here," he directed, moving in as Will scooted onto its scarred top and opened his legs. "You want me?"

Will let his head fall back and offered his throat to his captain. He was so ready; Jack nibbled at that Adam's apple as he wrapped a hand around the man's cock, smearing sticky discharge around its shiny, slitted head. For some reason, Will trying to lift one leg and balance his large bare foot against Jack's hip was the sweetest thing ever, and he moved up to claim the man in a hot, hard kiss as he reached down and cupped his tight balls. They were hard and softly silky, full and substantial in Jack's calloused grip. As he massaged, Will leaned back, bracing one hand flat on the tabletop and the other on Jack's shoulder, scrabbling for balance.

It wasn't right; Jack pulled him up and circled them both toward the bed, getting Will beneath him in a collapse of arms and legs and tongues. He didn't wait long to slick his fingers with oil and coax them into Will's eager, relaxed arse, following quickly with his flushed prick. Will arched off the bed as Jack wriggled in. "Like me deep in you?" He rotated his hips. "This?"

He made a strangled noise. "Like that, Jack." He opened his eyes, fiery and unfocused. "Fuck me."

Jack leaned over, still rammed up inside the man, and licked a stripe from the bottom of his chin to just beneath his nose. "Rather make love t' you," he whispered.

"Oh." Will's arms looped around his shoulders, and he drew a knee high to accommodate Jack. "Oh. Didn't think you liked—"

Jack ducked his head. "Will, this is you. And me. Alone. We can admit a lot, like this."

In the twinkle of an eye, Will had Jack rolled to his side, ankle still hooked around the back of his thigh. "Then, admit to me how long you've wanted this," he pressed. "Tell me again."

"Long time," Jack answered.

Will shook his head. "Tell me how many whores you had after I came on board to be one of your crew."

"None." Jack blushed; the oddest reaction.

"Because you wanted me." He stroked Jack's hair back. "Why? You could imagine their warm flesh was mine, the noises your rentboy made was me..."

"Nobody else is you." He was utterly honest. "You're... like nobody I know."

Will eased more into Jack's arms. "Keep talking, you'll have me forever," he grinned, kissing Jack's chin. "Don't stop now."

He thrust a few times, then forced Will to his back, tasting his neck. Jack's hips were a slow, careful rhythm, pausing only to shift as he propped himself higher to look down on the other man. Will smiled faintly, dark amber eyes locked on Jack's. His head jerked along the pillow, sliding back and forth with each of Jack's thrusts, curls brushing his bare shoulders in erratic rhythm. He pumped faster, loving the muscular ring of Will's sheath on his cock. "You have no shame," he managed, panting. "Thank God."

"Corruptor... of innocents." This, Will moaned back at him. "Dissolute, sex-mad scoundrel."

"Ah... you noticed." They both laughed shallowly, breathlessly. He leaned closer. "Wonder who was in this bed 'fore us?"

"Hope they stripped th' sheets."

"Oh, no, no, love," Jack purred, his long, lean body a smooth piston now. "No... can't ye smell th' sex? Hear 'em like us, so needy with heat an' frustration?" Will shook his head as if in distaste, but his eyes were huge, pupils blown with desire, lips parted to suck and push out breath. "Wonder if whoever 'twas got fucked hard as you, right down into th' goddamn mattress."

Will's hands curved up behind his shoulders, gripping tightly. "Arsehole," he hissed accusingly.

"An' quite a nice one you have there, pet."

"Jack—" He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. "Jack, oh FUCK, harder."

Will was clutching Jack, and Jack was fucking Will, and nothing would've convinced the captain to be anywhere else at that very moment, no matter how much swag or years of deserved revenge was involved. All the times he'd watched Will from a distance, all the times he'd tried not to be obvious about staring, all the times he had to force himself to speak to Will the same as he'd talk to any other crew member, boiled down to moments like this.

Impatiently, Will growled, stopped them, and rolled Jack to his back. "Said harder!" he groaned, on his knees.

Jack used Will to pull himself up, then pulled at each of the man's long legs until they were unfolded, practically wrapped around Jack. Gripping Will's thighs tightly, he tugged as he thrust, neither particularly easy to do in this position. Will rearranged his feet flat on the bed, knees bent, to help.

They rocked somewhat awkwardly, Jack ignoring the smith's extra weight on him. He was stronger than he appeared, and besides, it was worth a lot to be able to wrap his arms around Will while they fucked, to lick his neck or the corner of his gritted jaw while using one hand to fist the man's prick. "Feels grand, doesn' it?" Jack gasped.

"Mmmmmm," Will agreed, breathing ragged.

Jack was always careful to keep as much bodily contact with Will during lovemaking as possible. The smith had explained one night, nearly asleep and too exhausted to be anything but honest, that after Siobhan took ill, she'd refused her son's hugs for fear of infecting him. Nobody else, save Elizabeth, had shown him the least physical affection for several years after, not until Jack's fleeting, occasional invasions of his personal space. He knew Will was starved for touch, and Jack himself hadn't known a gentle one for quite a long time before Will took him to bed—or pallet, as the case may be.

Working his clean hand into Will's wavy hair after they both spent and tumbled to the pillows, Jack angled his head for what turned out to be a long, desperate kiss. Eyes still closed, he murmured against his lips, "I love you." Will nodded quickly, arms wrapped around Jack. "Ye miss it around here?"

"No." He kissed Jack again, up on his nose, then moved higher, between his eyes. "Not like I'd miss Pearl... and you..." He kissed Jack's right eyelid. "And this." Left eyelid next.

When he pulled back, Jack opened his eyes; Will was watching him fondly, brown gaze soft with emotions Jack had once upon a time associated with Elizabeth. He knew, then, that he'd managed to cross that rocky barrier. Will would now steal ships and die for him... and it was as heady as it was frightening.

But then again, Jack had been ready to do that for Will anytime.

****

He finished tying his headscarf back under the fall of thick, long hair, grinning at the discomfiture that skipped across her face. "Why, Miss Swann," he fairly purred, shaking his head to distribute the hair evenly above the knot, then straightening his sleeves, "what brings ye by on this fine mornin'?"

She stuttered for a few seconds, then snapped her mouth shut, giving him a frosty look. "Is Will around?"

"Will's not up, yet." Pause, with a thoughtful finger to his bottom lip. "That is, he's not awake."

"Oh, for the love of Zeus." To his surprise, she started laughing. "Yes, I get it. He's with you, he's yours, you share a bunk. I resigned myself to that some time ago."

"Because of me winnin' charm."

"No, because of Will." He must've looked confused, as she sallied forth. "I saw the way you two reacted to each other back in London, and after he killed Chavaille. Will's not a toucher. But the way he worried over you, let you fuss over him..." She shrugged, a mysterious smile on her lips. "Well."

Jack raised his eyebrows and headed for the galley. "I assure you, he was still most interested in your fine self a' that time."

"I don't doubt." Elizabeth followed. "But I could see his attention wandering, dividing. You're with him every day; I'm not. And, despite your fondness for that vile liquor, I'm sure you've charms to offer that I simply do not." She waited until he'd greeted Maxi and let the cook put out two cups of strong tea, heavily sugared and creamed. "Besides, didn't I tell you I expected you to look after him? I knew you would, as much in love as you are." She lifted her cup and regarded Jack over its rim with savvy eyes.

He frowned. "Girl like you's far too knowledgeable of improprieties for her station in life."

"You are not the first to tell me that." She balanced the mug in both hands, turning toward the door. "But I am two months older than Will."

Her humming and delight at his reaction stuck with him most of the morning at the helm. He wondered anew whether he ought to be ashamed for taking up with a man just over half his age, then spent the rest of the time silently counting the ways Will outdid him in maturity, if not rationality. By the time the man himself put in an appearance, it was nearly noon and Jack had worked things out once again to justify their odd relationship. "Mornin', love. Looks like you're already puttin' in a day."

Will nodded, still rolling up a sleeve. He was without his vest, shirt half-open, hair tied back, face streaked with soot. "Had a few repairs I was able to get done before lunch." He looked out over the lower deck. "Have you seen Elizabeth?"

"She was up here 'til just a little while ago." He beckoned Will closer and used the corner of his sash tail to wipe some black from the man's cheek. "Think she must be in th' cabin reading. Twas all Cotton could do to keep her out o' th' rigging."

"I told her to wait on me for that." Will shook his head before bussing Jack's cheek with a kiss. "Hungry?"

"You know, always."

"I mean actual food, Jack."

"Got t' be more specific-like, then." Mischievously, Jack grabbed the front of Will's shirt and brought him in for a proper kiss, lips and tongues and noses. "Much better," he breathed, pulling away a full minute later, pleased to note Will stumbled from it. "Wonder what's for lunch?"

The first gray clouds blocked the sun while everyone ate. By two o'clock, the temperature had dropped by several degrees and the wind had picked up. Jack ducked into his cabin long enough to pull on his old coat, still shrugging into it when he passed Will and Elizabeth on their way up to the deck. Will eyed him skeptically. "Cold?"

"You two've been stuck below for th' past hour." Jack clomped up on deck with them in tow, satisfied to see both shiver in the cool air. "Just a squall, I'd wager; blow over in nothin' flat."

As well as Jack knew the sea, he was shocked two hours later to be holding to the helm for dear life, struggling to get Pearl under control as she heaved and squealed against the course he was trying to maintain. Her prow twisted to port; he cursed. She bucked; he groused. His only comfort was he didn't have to worry about the strumpet, as both he and Will had sent her to the cabin with strict instructions to stay put until one of them fetched her forth.

He didn't know how much time passed during his and the crew's struggle to keep Pearl upright, nor did he have much time to wonder why she kept listing to port, struggling beneath him in the pounding rain. Instead of working in his head, keeping him informed as usual (or, at least as he suspected she did—Jack wasn't completely daft), it seemed the ship was concentrating as hard as her human boarders on staying to the straight path her captain had set for her.

Nature, however, was still stronger than any charmed vessel. Jack cupped his proper compass in both hands at one point, sacrificing them from the helm for only a matter of seconds as he tried to determine their course. It seemed they were heading on a northwesterly direction, which wasn't surprising—what did shock him was the degree to which they'd been diverted off-course, if the blasted object were to be believed.

A particularly harsh scream of wind yanked the prow again, and Jack grabbed the helm to pull in the opposite direction, wondering when it would simply snap off its base and leave him no controllable rudder. He took a deep breath, nose angled down from the rain pouring off his hat, and pushed his entire body into holding the helm, resisting, fighting, swearing he could hear a crack deep somewhere in the massive black-wood wheel, the rush of the storm in his ears-

When Jack blinked, he realized the side of his nose was pressed into wet, warm wood. He contracted his fingers, feeling more timber beneath the blunt nails, and breathed out heavily, trying to get his bearings. The corner of his temple hurt like a bitch; what was that?

He moved his right leg to get his knee beneath him, only then realizing he was prostrate. It was at that point, too, that he registered the pressure on his shoulders, beneath his armpits, tugging. "Come on, get up," a familiar voice encouraged. "You hit your head hard?"

Between his own scrabbling and large hands helping, Jack managed to get to his knees and halfway to his feet before nausea swept through his light head. "Ergh..." he muttered, swaying, automatically taking the small shuffle step that would keep him upright. "What?" The hands turned into arms around his sides, and he leaned into their body, finally discerning the voice's owner. "Hit me head, I think."

"Yes, I believe so." The voice was comforting, softly chiding, and Jack sighed, closing his eyes against the brightness of the sun by pressing into Will's wet shoulder. "Can you stand?"

Jack gave a short chuff of muffled laughter. "Think I'll live." He lifted his head and looked around, backing away a little. Something was odd. "When'd I fall?" He didn't remember.

"Think it was when the storm stopped."

That's what's different! Jack blinked, more alert. "It just—stopped?" For the first time, he looked directly at Will, who appeared as though he'd just swallowed a dram of unwatered rum. "Will?"

"Not exactly." He swallowed, and Jack watched, fascinated by how the foreign emotion of fear played across the smith's features. "You remember what I told you in that carriage? About when I was crossing from England?"

"Of course." Will said nothing further, and Jack raised his eyebrows. "Oh, now, Will—"

"We blew off-course," the smith interrupted, strident. "To the north?"

Jack scoffed without thinking, but tried to ignore the mixed hurt and annoyance in Will's expression. "We didn' blow that far to port."

"You know that?" Will gritted his teeth and backed away from Jack. "We weren't that far from the Bermuda course, Jack. And, everything's the same way it was before." He ticked off on his fingers. "There was a storm. The storm stopped once the ship was sucked into the area of the Triangle. There was no breeze, no wind at all... and no people." He slapped a hand to his chest. "Except me! Again! And you, now."

Rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes carefully to avoid blacking his thick fingertips, Jack counted a few breaths in silence. "Say you're right," he countered carefully. "Say Neptune's got it in for ye in this partic'lar part of the ocean. I've never experienced such a thing. So why am I here talking to ye, then?"

"I don't pretend to know. But nobody else is around. Everyone disappeared from deck the moment the storm stopped, just like before!"

"Calm... calm down." Jack blinked, his headache receding as he attempted logical thought. "Maybe they all left and went below?"

"Jack, they disappeared." Will spoke in the tone reserved for the hard-of-hearing. "Vanished; they were there, then they weren't. I'd think nearly twenty men yelling in a storm would make a little more noise if they all scrambled for the same two exits at once, don't you?"

Jack didn't point out Will was the only witness to such a thing. Besides, the fact was, it was eerily quiet. The air was temperate enough, but the lack of breeze was conspicuous by its absence in the non-humidity. Too, it was the middle of the day, and there was no way that many grown men wouldn't be making some sort of noise, even below-

"Where ye at, Jack? Hidin', I'll wager."

He and Will exchanged a horrified glance. "You hear it too?" he whispered. Will nodded, apparently too surprised to answer, but Jack was glad to see his right hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. Normally, they wouldn't have been wearing their blades with no visible foe on the horizon, but during a storm it was a good idea to keep something large and sharp handy for wet, thick ropes.

"Where ye at, ye little peacock?"

His and Will's heads swiveled almost in unison toward the foredeck, and Jack struggled to paste a nonchalant look on his features. Nothing about this was normal so far, and Jack Sparrow had faced so much abnormality that it disturbed him how easily he now accepted the impossible. "Hector!" he boomed in return, sliding in front of Will toward the small flight of steps. "As I live an' breathe! And you no longer do."

"Jack." Barbossa broke into a wide, disgusting grin. "How ye been? You an' your little boat?" For emphasis, he lifted his right foot and rat-a-tat-tatted his heel against Pearl's deck a few times. "Ah, she still answers t' me," he taunted.

"Well, I s'pose retching's an acceptable form of communication, if ye look at it such," Jack shrugged. "What plane of Hell did you sail in from, anyway?"

"Same as me."

The voice from the helm made Jack whirl, forgetting his detached mask. This time, it was Will backing toward him, keeping a body between Jack and Elias Francois. He stared hard at the Spanish captain for a moment, then looked back down toward Barbossa. "Oh, mate. You're that desperate for a fuck, even in th' afterlife?"

"Least I can find someone for me lust outside th' same family," Barbossa retorted, advancing slowly toward the steps. "C'mon down, Jack; you're no safer there than ye would be right here."

"Well, that much is probably true," he heard Will mutter at his left ear, presumably turning to speak over his shoulder. "Wait—does he mean my father? Did you and he—"

"Will!" Jack hissed, noting Barbossa was near the bottom step.

"Mum?"

"Christ on th' mast! You're listenin' to Barbossa?" He added in a mutter, "He's trying to distract you, 's all. And it's working." Will said nothing, his typical response when a mistake was called on him. "Just stay put. Let them come at us."

"An offensive would be better," Will argued, sotto voce, pressing his back into Jack's. "One can control things more."

"Yeah, and you're using up your energy, too." Will sighed, and Jack knew what he was going to do; they had different fencing styles, and the pirate couldn't always order the blacksmith around.

"Why don't you take the boy?" Francois called to his death-mate. "I'll handle the little bird."

"You're not getting anywhere near him." Jack was surprised to hear the venom beneath Will's rejoinder. "I'm the better swordsman, anyway. Afraid?"

"Didn't do so well the last time we met over blades, as I recall."

He felt Will's entire body go rigid, hackles raised. "One way to find out."

Jack felt the spring before Will actually charged Francois. He'd had his eye on a rope loosely knotted to the rail facing the foredeck, and had sheathed his sword while Will was speaking—when Will moved, Jack took a couple of steps and launched himself at the rope. He leaped, grabbing it just in time to nimbly lift his knees to clear the descending rail. His weight pulled the bare knot loose, and he grinned as he swung within inches of Barbossa mounting the steps, thanking Pearl's mast for holding so well.

He landed in the center of the foredeck in a crouch, pivoting quickly on his right foot as he straightened, pulling his sword with the movement. Being smaller had advantages that big lugs like Barbossa never quite anticipated. He quickly yanked off the restrictive sword belt and coat, taking a few steps back to give himself time to toss them aside. "Come on, man," Jack goaded, sword up. "Let's get this over with. Again."

It took everything Jack had to keep his concentration on Hector and not let his eyes stray to where he could hear the ring of metal near the helm. "So, what brings ye here?" he asked conversationally, ducking a stab to his throat.

"Shut up."

"Not much for passin' the time." Ducking yet again, Jack used one of Will's tricks, a sideways roll and quick rebound, putting him a few steps out of Hector's reach. "You're supposed t' be dead. All I wan' know is why now? I don't even need the 'how' or partic'lars, after all we've seen together."

"Do ye not understand revenge, Jack?" Theatrically, Jack paused, cocked his head, pretended to briefly mull the question, and shrugged. Hector narrowed his jaundiced eyes. "Th' two of ye saw us to our graves, and now I'm gon' do the same to you. Poetry, really."

"Actually," Jack pointed out, blocking the other man's blade, "twas Norrington who sent your sweetie to th' other side, not Will. And I'd think you'd be happy, had been missin' him anyway."

Barbossa laughed. "Jaaaack," he rumbled, "oh, Jack. You're dead, 'tis true. But ye really think we'd kill such a pretty piece like that right away?" Jack paused, briefly puzzled, and Hector leered. "Waste not..."

"Your beef's with me, not him."

"Cheer up. Th' whelp's good as dead, once we're through." Hector stabbed toward Jack viciously, and he barely danced aside. "He'll wish he was, anyway." Jack lunged, angry, managing to nick the other man's hand, but Barbossa seemed impervious to it. "Now, Jack—could be worse," he taunted. "I mean, 's not like it'll hurt as much as it could. You've already broken him in, right?"

The idea of Will forced to service either of them was a physical impediment to Jack's fighting. Think. Think clearly. Distract, get him off this subject, and you can concentrate. He forced calm though he felt homicidal. "It doesn't surprise me you two'd be takin' up residence in th' Devil's Triangle," he pointed out, "but how th' hell'd we get here?"

"We called th' two of ye here." If Barbossa knew Jack was distracting him—and he probably did—he didn't show it. "Well—just wanted you, really. But he sort of comes with th' territory."

As he fought, Jack kept up his flagging energy trying to reason that out. He supposed whatever power animated a corpse or a solid apparition could easily summon the living with some spell. Had Will been dragged in with Jack because of their emotional bond? It would explain why none of Pearl's other crew were around.

He happened to catch sight out of the corner of his eye of Will stumbling backwards down the steps from the upper deck, falling the last few. Jack started for him, thinking he'd moved fast enough until he felt hot pain on his forearm. Whipping around, he barely avoided a more serious slice of Barbossa's sword. When Hector got closer, Jack aimed a hard kick at his shin, then ran.

Will was on one knee and Francois barreled down the steps toward him. Jack managed to get his sword between them, halting the Spanish pirate enough to let Will get to his feet. "Jack, look—" Will never finished the imperative, instead plowing into him and sending them both rolling to deck. The smith scrambled up, helping Jack, so that the two of them faced the two dead men.

"Aw, hell," Jack swore, his sword at the ready. "Captain Jack Sparrow—killed by ghosts. This really isn't gon' help me image at all."

"And killing ghosts won't do it much good, either," Will quipped. "But I'm telling you, it's the better choice."

In unspoken agreement, they both lunged, attacking with renewed vigor. Jack was careful not to stab Will—beyond that, he didn't care what he hacked at. The four men went round and round for several moments, until Jack left his side vulnerable and Francois took advantage, stabbing not deeply in, but glancing enough to open a gash. Jack swore liberally, and Will made to set at the man, who now had his blade at the smith's throat. "Drop it," he ordered.

"No," Will reflexively denied.

Jack was prepared to launch himself sideways and knock Will over to prevent him being stabbed, but the odds promptly turned in his favor. Barbossa and Francois both stumbled forward as Jack saw something behind them; he and Will stumbled back out of the way. "What the devil—"

"You're dead." Elizabeth glared at Barbossa with frank shock and annoyance. "How the hell did you get back here?"

"Elizabeth!" This, from Will, probably more surprised at her language than her presence.

She kept her attention on the two dead men rubbing the backs of their heads. Clutched in her small hands was a great, long harpoon; neither had received the hooked end, but she looked willing to use it. "So, it does hurt!" she crowed. "You can be killed here!"

Nobody was moving, and it occurred to Jack that he, at least, ought to see the advantage. Swiftly, he plunged his sword into Barbossa's gut, and with uncharacteristic barbarity, yanked up into his sternum. "Back to hell," he whispered at the shocked expression on the man's face, before the body crumpled, taking Jack's blade as it was lodged in bone.

Francois, livid, screamed a Spanish epithet and made to lunge at Jack, but Elizabeth swung her harpoon at the same moment Will raised his sword, the two of them blocking him from his target. Holding his sword defensively, Elias breathed heavily, glancing at them all, but narrowing his eyes at Jack in a way that actually embarrassed him. He remembered all too well the things he'd done to this man—and let him do—several months ago.

"Elizabeth, move." Will gave the level order.

"No." She shook her head, wisps of hair in her face.

"It's my fight."

"Actually, it's mine," Jack interjected, wanting to take control of the situation. He hated feeling at anyone's mercy. "If you'll just hand me your—"

"No." Will kept his eyes on Elias, his blade not wavering. "It's my turn to defend us, now. Not yours again."

Jack didn't want any more said, especially with the strumpet there. "Look—"

"Maybe he liked me fucking him." Francois grinned cockily, sliding his eyes to Will. "Like you're enough for him."

Jack didn't have time to be mortified. Will shoved the man several steps, and Elizabeth yanked back her pole quickly to keep from accidentally stabbing her friend. "Stop," he told Francois, voice low.

"He seemed to like getting it—"

"You don't speak to him!" It was the angriest Jack had ever seen the blacksmith. "Just shut the fuck up! Don't touch him again! He's mine, and I'll be damned if I let you within ten knots!" With a growl, Will savagely backhanded the Spaniard with his left hand, then drove past Francois's lowered sword and stabbed him from low up through the chest at an angle. He yanked his sword free and elbowed the lifeless man to the deck.

The only noise in the still air for the next several seconds was Will's harsh panting as he stood over his kill. Finally, Elizabeth spoke. "Oh... my."

"Will?" Jack stepped closer, slowly. "Will?" He touched his elbow. "You there, mate?"

Something in what he said seemed to get through. He turned toward Jack, regarding him blankly for a few seconds, then blinked and focused, his eyes going wide. "Jack, you're bleeding," he said, his voice oddly quiet.

"Yeah." Jack nodded, keeping his voice modulated, neutral. "Are you?"

"No." Will shook his head. "No."

His sword clattered to deck less than a heartbeat before his arms swept Jack against him, holding tightly. He whispered Jack's name against his ear, and the pirate closed his eyes, turning his face into Will's neck. His entire five senses and tight chest narrowed to this moment, this person, and he wanted more than anything to press him into a wall and kiss him stupid. There was a faraway voice, but Jack ignored it, concentrating on Will's hand stroking his hair, their bodies cradling each other. He never wanted to move, to abandon this touch and sensation.

It was the sudden shift of Pearl beneath their feet, throwing them both into a stumble, that pulled the two men apart to each regain their equilibrium. Jack was about to speak when something wet splashed the bridge of his nose, spattering briefly into his eyes. He blinked, then squinted up as another drop fell. And fell. More fell. It took a few seconds to spot the darker clouds, and he'd never been so relieved in his life to feel the approach of a storm.

****

"Can't believe nobody knew we were gone." Elizabeth shook her head.

"Because we weren't," Jack explained. He looked over his blunt nails as he spoke, instead of sideways at her. "Time skip. It's in all the tales about the Triangle." He glanced up at Will, seated on the edge of his pallet to face them both.

Elizabeth straightened. "The Bermuda Triangle? No—that wasn't—" She looked to Will to back her up, but he said nothing, wisely keeping his eyes trained between the two of them. "That's not possible."

"Lots of things aren't possible," Jack noted with the blithe knowledge of age, "and they keep happenin' every day."

"Will?"

"Hmm?" Jack suspected he was faking being jarred out of a trance. It was obvious he'd never shared his boyhood ship story with his best friend. "What's that, now?"

"Do you believe this Bermuda Triangle hypothesis?"

He said nothing for a moment, scratching at stubble on his jaw. "I don't know," he finally conceded. "There're things I would never have believed that we've all lived through. You were there." Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, seemed to think better, and closed it. "How is this any more fanciful than undead pirates?"

Jack picked at one tattered nail. "Maybe th' lady's simply uncomfortable with believin' in anything crazy, unbalanced Sparrow says is possible," he posited mildly.

He could have set a clock by her sigh. "Jack..."

Disconcertingly, at the same moment, Will glanced at him. "Jack..."

He arched a brow at each of them. "Now that we've established me name for th' rats on board..." He trailed off, and the three of them lapsed into contemplative silence.

"Well, then how'd just the three of us get there?" Elizabeth wanted to know.

It was a fair question, and one Jack had been trying to answer all afternoon. Until her appearance, he'd believed the situation unique to something between himself and Will. The fact she'd been dragged into things by some supposed higher force shook some of his confidence in whether Will's heart had really loosed its hold to her after all.

"This." Will held out his smudged left hand, still bearing beneath the dirt the three-inch scar he'd cut into his own palm more than two years earlier. "Nobody else on Pearl has this."

It was brilliant in its simplicity—something easy to put a curse upon as a "call." And Jack had no doubt whatever could raise the dead or an apparition could tie a simple spell to the touch of one stone blade, to blood itself.

"But why?" Elizabeth wanted to know. "I can understand Barbossa—but who was the Spaniard?"

This time, it was Jack who spoke. "His matelot." Will's expression was neither scolding nor encouraging him to explain out loud; after all, open secrets were open for a reason. "Th' two of us were responsible for their deaths, for ultimately takin' the two of them from one another. And so—" He looked sideways at Elizabeth. "They were tryin' to repay the favor on Will and myself."

Understanding dawned, and she lifted her head in a half-nod. "I see."

Again, silence took over. Jack kept his eyes unfocused on Elizabeth, simply not moving his head, while she looked to Will. The sad distance he recognized in her expression was explained when he followed her eyes and found Will's gaze settled on him. He blinked, but was too tired to pretend for Elizabeth's sake that he couldn't spend the night staring into those warm, amber-brown eyes.

Presently, she stood, yawning and stretching. "I'm exhausted," she explained, shooing Will down when he rose out of gentlemanly habit. "I'm going to turn in, maybe get through that novel I started earlier this afternoon."

Jack turned on the bench to watch her leave, wondering how difficult it was for her to simply walk away. He was brought back around by a touch to his knee, and once again faced Will, who was reaching on either side of him to pull the bench closer. The move put Will's knees between his, until he had Jack close enough to get hands behind his lower back and pull him onto his lap, straddling his hips. "Think you ran her off," Jack pointed out, balancing his hands on Will's shoulders.

"I know." He looked a little reflective, but his eyes cleared as he tilted his mouth up to catch Jack's, nipping it briefly before pulling back. Jack blinked, then grinned. That seemed to be Will's cue to do it again. The third time, Jack followed before he could get away, keeping their lips in contact. Their kiss was punctuated by small chuckles and sighs, even as Will rubbed the tip of his nose against the side of Jack's.

Even tired, Jack wouldn't have been averse to a little slap-and-tickle; as it was, Will did no more than to turn sideways and roll Jack to the pallet, still kissing him. He slid one knee between Jack's thighs and held him close, one hand low on his hip, and Jack drowned in the possessive touch. "You are mine," Will whispered low in the back of his throat.

"Maybe I'd just rather be me own," he teased.

Will shook his head, curls brushing Jack's forehead. "Tough luck, that."

****

Setting the blacksmith's cup on the little table by his side of the bed, Jack climbed carefully onto the mattress and crossed his legs, blowing steam off his own cup of brandy-kissed tea. He could've brought biscuits and jam as well, but since the ship was mostly empty, he figured Will would want to clean up and head to the galley rather than eating in here when he awoke.

He glanced to the sleeping man, who'd rolled to his side away from Jack when the captain sat down. Despite the response, Jack had no doubt Will was actually asleep—given his druthers, the fellow preferred late mornings, whereas Jack had been conditioned to rise early and still only broke tradition now and again to laze with Will. He wondered if Will missed Elizabeth, who'd gone ashore the previous afternoon with a small rowing party from Pearl that Jack had designated to escort her to the inn where she could bathe and rest before riding into London today.

Though the two young people had never been affianced, Jack held no illusions about their regard for one another. They'd spent many free hours together on the remainder of Pearl's voyage to England talking, or with Will giving her fencing lessons or her (in a memorable, beautifully awkward moment Jack had walked in on and would not be letting Will forget anytime soon) showing a good-natured Will how to make a small embroidery while they sat in the captain's cabin. As soon as she'd gone yesterday, Jack had taken rare initiative to change his bedding and inspect the cabin by himself for any traces of the girl before he and Will retired for the night. Though he knew he'd "won," Jack sometimes wondered exactly what that meant, which in turn would surprise him that he was considering the long-term with Will—and hoping the blacksmith was doing the same with his captain.

Some'd say jealousy serves me right, wouldn't they? he thought at the long-dead Bill Turner. Perhaps including you. But remember, sir, you're in no position to judge, seeing as you lived right in the middle of this life yourself long before Will was a spark in your eye. Jack took a quick drink of tea despite its heat, chastising himself for remembering how much older he was than his partner. They'd discussed it, Will said he didn't care, and that should be it. Lord knew society encouraged the mating of barely-developed girls to men old enough to rival their grandfathers; in that sort of company, Jack reasoned he shouldn't feel awkward for swiving a man of twenty-one no matter how closely he was looking at forty.

Thoughts of girls put him in mind of Ivy, and he smiled, feeling a sudden restlessness. His temporary letter meant he could visit her as early as tomorrow, in his own boots, with impunity, and check up on David's progress in the meantime.

He recalled the room he and Will had rented all those months ago, how he'd slept in a separate bed wanting to close the space between himself and the blacksmith. That gulf was no more; the rest, like any ocean Captain Sparrow had ever encountered, was possible to cross, as certainly as Jack was needle to Will's north.

With a burst of cheer, the pirate transferred his mug to his left hand and rested the other on Will's hip. "C'mon, mate," he said aloud, hearing the man stir to consciousness.

"Mhmh?" Will yawned noisily and shifted enough to look back over his shoulder, pushing hair out of his eyes. "Where?"

Jack's hand caught the man's curls at his temple, and Will's fingers still tangled in them. "Things to do, people to find. Time's wastin', love." FINIS

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