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Conversation with a Dead Man
by Jaekayelle
Pairing: J/N
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Disney and Bruckheimer own the characters. No copyright infringement intended. No profits made from this work of fiction.
Originally Posted: 8/08/05
Summary: Sometimes the impossible is possible.
His hands, long fingers smudged with charcoal, gripped the sketchbook by the edges. The scene he had been drawing had changed abruptly, unexpectedly. The outcropping of rock, worn by the buffeting waves, had been merely that a moment ago. A glance away to tidy a few lines, and then a look back and suddenly there was a figure where there had been none, seated on the outermost point, salted by the sea spray and soaked by the sun. The figure perched elbows to knees and stared out across the waves, an air of melancholy about him. It was a male. That he knew without further thought. He recognized the vivid scarlet and the worn leather, the heavy black dreadlocks, some lifted by the wind but most shifting, writhing almost of their own volition. Things tied into the hair danced gently, the sound they made, if there was any, carried away by the roar of the sea.
James felt the paper crinkle under his fingers and he smoothed it, worrying a tiny rip as if his touch could mend it. He looked again and the bright man in the sunshine was still there. He stood and went to him.
Sparrow did not turn around but he did hear James's approach. He said, "Nice day."
Such a mundane thing for Jack Sparrow to say; it made James laugh in disbelief. Or, perhaps, he laughed because this conversation they were about to have was impossible.
"You're dead," he said finally.
That statement made Jack glance over his shoulder. "A lie. An exaggeration. Something to add to the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow."
Gripping his sketchbook tightly, James clung to the reality of it. "I heard from reliable sources that you went down with the Black Pearl off the Ivory Coast last year. There have been no sightings of her since—or of you."
"Your naval intelligence needs an overhaul, Commodore. The Pearl lives. I live."
James swept his gaze out over the ocean—nothing but whitecaps, gulls and the rocks. There was nowhere for a ship to hide.
"How did you get here then?"
"Or perhaps you should ask how did I get here now?" Sparrow asked somewhat playfully, but James could tell his heart wasn't in it. No games today. "I walked. From over there."
Over there was a slippery smooth boulder.
"Now, don't frown so, Commodore; yer too young to get wrinkles. Surprising, that. The uniform adds years to yer appearance."
James frowned more deeply.
Jack sighed. "Ah well. Y'never did listen to anything I had to say. It was always 'Hang him.' 'Throw him in jail!' We never had a civilized conversation."
Gathering his wits, James intoned, "You are a pirate, Mister Sparrow."
Jack sighed again. "I tried," he muttered. But then he brightened. "So you believe I'm real?"
"A real apparition, perhaps."
"What's that in yer hands, mate?" Jack craned his neck. "Ah, a record of my appearance on this earth?"
James glanced at the page. The drawing was as he had left it, a seascape. The only life in it was of the sea birds circling the area.
"You are not in this picture."
"Sure about that, are ye?"
"Yes."
"Right. Well, if I'm not really here then my not bein' in that picture proves that I am there."
"What?" That was too convoluted even for Sparrow.
"If ye can't see me there, and ye can't see me here, then I must be there."
"But I can see you here. Really, Mister Sparrow. This is insane logic."
"'It's logic, just the same. Nice rendering, by the way. I draw maps and charts and the like."
"Really." James's head was beginning to ache.
Jack nodded. "Trained as a cartographer."
"Uh huh."
Quirking an eyebrow, Jack said, "Y'don't believe me? I am hurt."
James snorted.
"I apprenticed at age eight. Always had a knack for drawin'. See you do, too. It's very good."
"Thank you," James said dryly. Then: "What are you doing here? Where is your ship? What are you planning?"
"So many questions."
"How about some answers?"
"The way I reckon it, I'm a dead man no matter what. If I tell you my plans '" not sayin' I have any, mind ye '" I'm dead because ye'll hunt me down and hang me. Or ye'll just haul me off to the pokey now and hang me later. If y'find you can't catch me now, then I must be dead." Then he winked.
James stared at him. He did not believe in ghosts. But then, he had never believed in the walking dead until he met Barbossa's cursed crew.
"Is it another curse, Jack?" His voice inadvertently softened.
"Jack, is it now? Feeling sorry for me?"
"Should I?"
The dark head tipped to the side as the pirate contemplated the question, or perhaps the sea. Or maybe he was simply stretching his neck.
"No reason to feel sorry for Captain Jack Sparrow. I've always held me own. Still doin' it and always will."
James blew out a sigh. This conversation was going nowhere. He had more questions than answers now.
"Y'gonna let me go?" Jack inquired. He had yet to move from the spot where James found him.
"If you're dead how can I detain you?" James asked, smugly pleased that he could talk nonsense, too, and then frowned when he realized that was not something to be happy about.
Jack, however, was delighted. He jumped to his feet, lithe as a cat, and clapped his hands. Dancing away from James he did a little spin, the cloth at his waist flying outward, and remarkably did not stumble on the rough ground.
"Now yer getting' it!"
James was all too aware that there was one way to settle the question of Sparrow's corporeal form. All he had to do was reach out and touch him, but something held him back. If his hand passed through the slim body' A shiver raced up his spine. Now he was just being silly, but he could not make himself find out for certain.
"Please leave before I clap you in irons and haul you off to jail." He was bluffing, of course. He had no weapon, whereas Sparrow had his sword and his pistol. He doubted that the pirate would simply allow him to arrest him without putting up a fight—or taking flight, which was more his style.
Sparrow leaned backwards and pouted. "Y'tryin' to get rid of me? I thought we were havin' a grand time conversin' here."
James looked down his nose. "While your company is as scintillating as ever, I was enjoying a day away from my duties. Your presence is distracting."
"Ah! Y'mean you find me attractive and yer afraid you'll want to jump me bones?"
Swallowing hard at the creepy image that brought to mind, James replied mildly, "Certainly not. I get little time to myself and I would simply like to continue to spend my day in solitude."
"And not even the company of Jack Sparrow can persuade you otherwise?"
"Alas, but no."
"Must be losin' me touch." Jack started to wander off, but turned back and leaned in close to James. "Sure you don't want to touch?" Then he leered.
James leaned back because he never did like people getting too close to him unless invited to do so. Then he realized he had not smelled the foul breath he associated with Sparrow from that day on the fort wall, nor could he feel heat from the man's proximity. There were explanations, of course. Sparrow had actually cleaned his teeth and the strong breeze blowing off the water had cooled his body temperature. James's hand lifted and hovered inches from Sparrow's shoulder. All sailors were superstitious and he was no exception, though less so than most. He preferred to use his wits and reason, but after the events with the zombies' He let his hand drop back to his side.
Jack grinned knowingly.
"Please leave."
"A'right, but you'll be missing out on some fascinating conversation."
"I"ve already had all the conversation with you that I can stomach for one day."
Jack shrugged and then picked his way across the rocks and James watched him leave, half hoping, half concerned that he would vanish into thin air if he took his eyes off him for even a second.
Then he mustered all of his normal self-confidence and called after him, "I will see you in irons the next time we meet, Sparrow."
The pirate turned and waved. "What makes you think I'll be any more alive then than I am now?"
James had no answer to that.
Sparrow stepped carefully until he descended the rocks and was out of sight.
Biting his lip, James swore softly. "Dammit. I should have tried to touch him." It really was the only way to make his conscience would rest easy. He walked as quickly as he could across the top of the rocks and made his way down the path Sparrow had gone. And then he stopped.
Sparrow was gone; vanished from sight. There was no way he could have travelled the rough ground that quickly and there was really nowhere for him to have gone if he had.
James scanned the area by sight but could come up with no explanations. There weren't any caves or hidden pathways. No coves for ships or longboats. Nowhere for him to have dived into the water '" the rocks were far too treacherous here. He bit his lip. It was impossible. He clutched his sketchbook tighter and shivered in the biting wind.
#
Far below in a cramped and damp cave, Jack clapped his hands over his mouth and held in the howls of laughter that threatened to spill out. Beside him Gibbs nudged him with his elbow, and shifted his grip on the boulder that just happened to pivot easily in and out as cover to the mouth of the cave. From the outside it was difficult to tell that there even was a cave there.
"Shush, Cap'n! You'll give it away!" Gibbs uttered in a harsh whisper. "Bad enough ye likely gave the poor man nightmares for the next month."
Jack rolled back and kicked his heels in the air, holding back the giggles. When he lowered his hands he said, "I think the month after that I'll do a visitation in his bedchamber."
"Aw, you just want to get into his breeches." Gibbs shook his head, exasperated with his captain's one-track mind.
"Of course! But half the fun of getting in there is throwin' him off balance. Get him all riled up and emotional. Bring out the tiger in him. I just know there's a passionate soul under that rigid Naval training."
#
While Jack was enjoying the reward for his little charade, James allowed a smirk to grace his lips. Then he slowly backed away from the cave from which he heard muffled voices, careful not to make noise. He had known there had to be some kind of hidey-hole. There was no way that if there was a spirit world the forces that ruled it would let a man like Jack Sparrow get away with wreaking havoc on its province. Even ghosts had to have some semblance of order.
He picked up his sketchbook from under the rock that kept it from blowing away in the wind. As he gained level ground he strode away.
A visit to his bedchamber, was it? Then that night he would surely find out once and for all just how real and firm was Jack Sparrow's flesh.
# end
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