It always came as a great surprise to anyone who got to know him, but Jack Sparrow had an unsurpassed talent for stillness. For biding his time. For a degree of patience so stubbornly extreme it made the unofficial eighth virtue seem like perversity.

It was this peculiar idiosyncrasy he displayed now, as he perched on the windowseat behind a thick velvet curtain for hours, with something akin to stage fright hovering at the periphery of his awareness. The rest of him was focused, intent; he watched between the tiny gap he had made in the heavy drapes, and waited for the moment, the right moment, that he also had an uncanny knack for. A chill breeze blew in from the window behind him, slightly ajar, and one idle hand played with the coarse rope that descended to the darkened, frosty gardens beneath.

The room revealed by the narrow chink was a library. The kind of library that Jack longed to spend hours, perhaps days in, devouring, digesting, feasting on each word hungrily as it was revealed to him, page by page. The turret room of the huge, sprawling house was fashioned into a pleasing, octagonal shape, and every wall, save two, was covered floor to ceiling with a bookshelf. Only the north and north-eastern walls were bookless, and these contained a carved wooden door which was the main focus of Jack's vigil, and a large fireplace hung about with faded tapestries.

Jack had watched the fire turn from gold, to a deep orange, and finally to a lowering red as only the embers remained, casting their eerie glow across the long, leather-inlaid table in the centre of the room. Predictably enough, this was covered with books as well, but there was also a particularly beautiful brass astrolabe, which made Jack jealous just to look at it as it glinted in the firelight. There were also many less easily identifiable objects. Jack wasn't actually sure if he wanted to identify them. Some were in jars and looked like they should never have existed at all before they had been put into their vitreous prisons. He was sure that one of them moved with a tiny jerk and spasm every time he looked away from it. Whenever his eyes darted back to it though, it sat innocently enough with a sickly, greenish sheen on its oily-looking surface, pressed uncomfortably against the distorting curve of the glass. Jack gave a tiny shudder that had little to do with the draught he was sitting in, and flexed his shoulders back for the umpteenth time, hoping that the door wouldn't open just at the moment his back made a loud crunching sound he was sure the curtains wouldn't muffle.

Will watched the rope intermittently swing to and fro, knowing Jack was at the other end of it, twirling it round. The night was quiet and clear and still, save for the odd rustle and whisper of wind through the black pines and bare oaks that clustered around the dark house like brooding sentinels. The stars overhead shone brilliantly, and he had managed to name all the constellations he could see from where he was standing, only hesitating on one or two now. His considerable knowledge of astronomy was a result of several lengthy 'navigation lessons' out on deck with Jack, which utilised a reward system for naming each constellation correctly that was sure to make a master of the subject out of even the slowest learner. Tonight, after naming them, and plotting several hypothetical courses to much less wintery climes based on their estimated elevations, Will simply leaned his head against the icy stonework of the wall behind him, and contemplated their loveliness for another hour. And then another.

Now he was undeniably bored. And even more undeniably cold.

He reached out and curled his fingers around the tempting length of dancing rope just hanging there jigging rhythmically, hesitated for a few more seconds, then gave it a sharp tug.

Instantly there was a soft squeak, and Jack's head appeared at the window above, the whites of his eyes wide and wild in the starlight.

"Wha'?" Jack whispered urgently, alarmed.

"Just checking to see that you haven't fallen asleep," Will hissed, squinting up at Jack.

"Course I ain't bloody well fallen asleep!" Jack muttered, affronted. "There's a freezin' cold draught blowin' right down my soddin' ear'ole!"

"Really? It's... quite hot down here," Will grumbled sarcastically. "You should come outside... and find out. It's almost exactly... like being... in the Mediterranean... at midday," he continued, each section of the sentence broken up by the percussion of his chattering teeth.

"I'll warm you up soon enough when we're done," Jack said in exasperation, but unable to prevent himself from leering at the thought.

"Is that likely to be any time soon?"

"Will?"

"Aye?"

"Shh."

Will employed a non-verbal method of communication as Jack ducked back inside the window to show him precisely what he thought of being shushed, and playfully gave the rope another firm tweak with his free hand.

Jack pulled back harder. Twice.

- Tug.

-Yank.

- Heave.

Nothing.

Will heaved the rope again. Still nothing.

Instantly he knew that this did not mean that Jack had given up, or was sulking. He knew that up there, something, the thing they had been waiting for, was happening. His whole body tensed and became alert, and he stared up at the open window, waiting and listening intently, and ready to climb the rope faster than any rigging if he heard a sound that might indicate that Jack was in danger.

He was staring as the heavy wooden door of the library finally opened, and through it strode the figure of a man carrying a lit taper. He was tremendously tall, with a hawk-like nose, greying hair drawn back into a long, thick plait, and the fiercest, most formidably cold grey eyes Jack had ever seen.

Jack had looked into the eyes of many men and women who were terrors to their own kind and anything else that happened to be around them. He had stared into the eyes of rapists and murderers and torturers who delighted in being the cause of absolute misery to others. Their eyes were nothing like this man's. Where there was cruelty and hot, human hatred in theirs, this man's eyes told him... nothing. They were terrifying for their very indifference, and for the absolute self-assuredness that Jack could discern there. This man's eyes spoke of power unimaginable.

No, not unimaginable, Jack told himself. Just... unencountered. Yet.

The man circled the room, lighting candles as he went, then drew level with the table, and Jack's pounding heart gave a triumphant surge as he saw, clutched in the man's left hand, a book with a pale, shrivelled binding the colour of raw leather or skin. He had located the object of his search. The next step was to get it.

The man seated himself in a high-backed chair in front of the table, facing away from Jack, and set the book out in front of him. Jack heard the low, sloughing sound as the man opened the book and turned the pages of heavy parchment carefully, reverently, before he found what he was looking for. The man methodically rolled back the sleeves of his gown, then reached out for some of the items strewn over the desk. He stood up again, gathered the objects up along with the book, then went into the centre of the room. Jack watched avidly, the draught in his ear completely forgotten as he concentrated on memorising everything the mage did. With ceremonial slowness, the man bent down and drew a large circle around him in chalk, and sketched a symbol at each of its cardinal points. Seating himself cross-legged in the centre, the book in his lap, he held aloft a long, twisting rod tipped with a crystal that glittered blackly in his right hand, and cupped his left around a skull that looked, ominously, not quite human. Jack leaned forward expectantly, teeth worrying at his lip, trying to keep his breathing steady and as quiet as possible.

Come on, mate. I ain't got all soddin' night. If you turn out to be some amateurish conjuror, instead of this marvellous necromancer accordin' to your reputation, I'll... I'll... steal that bloody astrolabe of yours. Serve you right.

The mage straightened up, cleared his throat, and began to recite from the book in a deep, sonorous voice.

"Ilasa gahé Azaphiel Zodameranu ca-no-quoda olé oanio; asapeta komeselahe azodiazodore olalore od fetahé-are-zodi."

(O Spirit Azaphiel, appear unto His servant in a moment; before the circle in the likeness of a man; and visit me in peace.)

A low, thrumming vibration began, which Jack felt rather than heard at first. The sensation went through his body, growing steadily more violent, as though he had stood beneath a great bell that had been rung in the middle of an earthquake. The fire in the room guttered low, then went out at the moment a deafening, high-pitched whine cut through the air. The room was instantly thrown into darkness. Instinctively, Jack put his hands over his ears, cringing at the noise, then shook himself and more sensibly dropped his hands to rest on his sword and pistol instead, though still wincing at the awful sound. The mage was unconcerned, continuing to chant in the darkness in a commanding tone, shouting over the top of the unearthly screech,

"Darebesa na-e-el, gohola laiada do-viana od do-omepe!"

(Obey my power, speaking the secrets of Truth in voice and in understanding!)

The agonising noise stopped, leaving a lingering stillness, and abruptly the fire sparked into life again. Tongues of flame darted up the flue and filled the room with sudden brightness. The candles too flickered back into life, adding their golden light to the corners of the room, where dark things lurked.

There were two men in the room now, instead of one.

Jack's eyes darted to the other figure standing at the edge of the chalk circle, his pale, shaven head bowed, arms folded across the long, dark robe he wore that swept to the floor, almost covering his bare feet, strangely pearlescent in the reddish firelight. He raised his head and gave the mage a small smile with his white mouth, and addressed him in a mellifluous, soothing tone.

"And what would my master have me perform tonight?"

Jack felt a shudder go through him as he got a good look at the spirit's face. The creature was indeed in the likeness of a man, but not one that had ever walked this earth. The features were so symmetrical, so perfect, and the skin so colourless it was like watching a statue made flesh. But there was no statue made by human hand that had had eyes like this, nor any living man. The entire orb was completely black and had a glossy sheen like polished jet, and even from that distance, Jack had a horrid feeling that those eyes reflected back nothing of their surroundings. They were a window into a vast, merciless void. Now, the mage's eyes seemed mild and friendly by comparison. Looking into the eyes of this creature made him feel like he wanted to do nothing more than turn and run. Jack knew that feeling well, and had acted on it enough times to almost feel familiar with it, but he had never felt this depth of raw, instinctive terror before, not even as he had stood before the Kraken, sword drawn; its vast, lidless eye had still held the world in its terrible mirror, and there was some comfort in that. But now, it was as though there was a frightened animal in his chest trying to claw its way out and run, run anywhere and burrow and hide from the gaze of those terrible, blank eyes that did not belong in this world, and yet were in it.

The mage spoke softly to the creature, who knelt at the edge of the circle in a fluid motion more akin to that of a snake than a man. Try as he might, Jack could not hear what was being said, and frowned in frustration. The creature was nodding its head, wearing an amused grin on its face that Jack considered the very word 'devilish' had been invented for. Mage and demon muttered to one another for a few minutes more, one or the other of them laughing softly, before the demon straightened up again. He smoothed down his robes and gave a deep bow.

"Azaphiel, do not fail me on this," the mage said sternly, also rising to his feet. The demon cocked his head to the side, and said almost flirtatiously,

"How could I, when the prize is so great?"

The mage chuckled, then raised a finger.

"Oh, and no word to our mutual Master."

"No?" The demon said with a smirk.

"No. Let it be... his idea."

"As you wish," Azaphiel said, giving another low bow. The mage nodded, then opened the book again.

Ilasa gahé Azaphiel bajilenu iehe noco gono adana od banilenu iehe totza das dorebesa ohorela das e-ola, ge-kiasi nor-mo-laip, tol-toregi, tofajilo voresa adoranu caosago."

(O thou spirit Azaphiel because thou are the servant of fealty and obedience, and because thou art he that obeyeth, my power and thy creation; therefore I say Descend unto thy dwelling, obey the law which I have made, without terror to the sons of men, creatures, all things upon the surface of the earth.)

The forbidding figure of the spirit flickered, and then was gone in a dazzling flash. The mage snapped the book shut, then strode over to one of the bookcases, hooking a finger into the top of the binding of one of the books. Jack craned forwards, trying to see which of the books the mage reached for, without realising that his sword& had caught on the cuff of his boot. As he peered through the curtains, the sword popped out of the leather rim and hit the wooden settle of the windowseat with a distinctly audible 'clack'. Jack grimaced and froze, holding his breath as the mage cocked his head towards the source of the noise. Jack willed his heart to stop thumping so hard and so loudly. The mage half-turned and narrowed his eyes at the very spot behind the curtains where Jack was hiding. Jack started to feel light-headed, then realised he was still holding his breath. The mage seemed to be looking right through the curtains, right into Jack's widened eyes, and Jack didn't dare blink in case even that movement gave him away. Apparently satisfied, the mage turned away to the bookshelf again, pulling the book towards him. There was a grinding sound of levers and large cogs whirring and clanking, then the entire wall of books swung on a hinge, revealing a dark antechamber behind it. The mage stepped inside and was gone for a few moments, before he returned and pushed the bookcase closed. He no longer held the grimoire in his hands. He paused to blow out the candles in the room, but left the large fire blazing, then walked out of the main door, closing it behind him.

Jack waited a few more minutes just to be sure the coast was clear, then, like any good actor, he knew this was his cue, and finally flung the heavy curtain aside to make his entrance. Quick as a cat, he tiptoed over to the bookshelf, and began scanning it. There were dozens of books to choose from, even in the area that he was fairly sure was the right one. There was a thick layer of dust blanketing everything, furring the spines of the books and the dark wood of the shelf. With a self-congratulatory smile at his powers of deduction, Jack reached out for the book that he knew was the right one. It was the only one where the grey layer of dust was absent. He tilted it towards him and felt a lever click somewhere in the heart of the bookshelf, and he stepped back rapidly as the whole shelf, once again, whooshed and turned inwards to reveal the hidden room. Jack glanced around him one more time, and listened hard to check for any sound of returning footsteps, before he took up the nearest candle, thrust it into the fire for a light, and stole silently into the space behind the bookshelf.

Oho, I know you, Baal, Lord of Canaan. An' I know who you became: Baelzebub, Lord of Flies...

Then Jack gave a triumphant grin, because there, settled in the crook of the god's lap, lay the grimoire. He sidled up alongside the huge figure, raising the candle to check if there were any hidden levers or springs that might be triggered when he removed the book. No, it seemed to be just an ordinary statue, if a statue covered in gore could be in any way ordinary. Jack fiddled with the buckle of the haversack slung across his shoulder, which proved to be difficult with only one free hand. Casting his eye around for somewhere to put the candle, in a moment of inspiration he stood it in the god's outstretched hand.

"Ta, mate," he said with a wink, before going for the book. He hesitated for a few seconds more, his hand hovering over the wrinkled binding, then in a sudden rush grabbed it and stuffed it into the bag. He glanced around himself, still expecting some sort of repercussion, but the room remained still and silent.

Well, that was easy.

Jack reached for the candle, which appeared to have melted to the statue's hand, as it refused to come away when Jack tugged at it. On closer inspection, Jack decided that he may have judged the situation a little too quickly. The vast, stone hand had closed silently around the base of the candle, and now the rest of the statue started juddering under his feet, and the enormous, baleful head swung in Jack's direction, its blank, stone eyes looking directly at him. Not only that, but the gap in the wall that lead to the library was rapidly narrowing to a small chink.

Oh. Oh, dear. Bugger, indeed.

Jack leapt backwards as the other stone hand made a swipe at him, and pelted across the room towards the aperture. He felt a hand tug at his hat just as he reached the opening, and turned, furious, to find the giant statue holding it between thumb and forefinger. Jack breathed in sharply, making himself as narrow as possible, before grabbing hold of the other side of his hat brim, and slipped through the gap of the bookshelf, tugging as hard as he could. The statue made a noise like a rockslide, trying to pull Jack back inside. Jack retaliated by straddling his feet either side of the gap, leaning backwards, his hat gripped between both hands, and growled,

"Balls to you, Baal! That's MY hat! Gerroff, you lapidarious bastard!"

The bookcase snapped shut, and Jack landed heavily on his rump, clutching his hat protectively to his chest, and pouting at the corner where the statue had grabbed it, which looked a little worse for wear. Then his head snapped to the side as the library door slammed open, and the mage strode through, roaring with fury.

"Well, I'd love to lie around here all day an' discuss the merits of public libraries with you, an' how beneficial they are to the general populus" Jack said as he jumped to his feet, scrambling backwards towards the window, "but, since this is not that sort of library, and since I'm not the kind of chap to give back anything I've ever borrowed, I'll be bidding you good night."

The mage stopped short in the centre of the circle he had drawn earlier, his eyes fixed on Jack, and clapped his hands together again, bidding the spirit Azaphiel to appear. Once again, the room was filled with the horrendous whining sound. Jack didn't hang around to see what happened next. He clambered onto the windowledge, and saw Will had already climbed halfway up the rope to his aid.

"William! Bloody get down, fer Chrissakes! Yer in the way of my escape route again!"

"Stop him! Both of them!"

Will took a couple of steps backwards, his hand on the hilt of his sword, as the black-eyed thing turned and replied coolly,

"I am no longer under your command," and then simply vanished.

Snarling with exasperation, the mage drew a small knife from his belt, and tried a practical tactic instead, as he started sawing through the rope. Will paced back and forth, trying to see if there was any way he could lob something up at the mage, and not hit Jack in the process.

"Hurry up!"

"Does it look like I'm stoppin' to admire the view?!"

The rope started to make an ominous creaking, pinging sound as each twist snapped, and the mage cackled triumphantly.

"Jack, just let go of it!" Will called up in desperation.

"What?" Jack said, glancing down at Will as if he was mad. Will stretched his arms out, bracing himself.

"Jump!" he urged. Jack shook his head, then closed his eyes and let go, just as the last of the hemp gave way. He tumbled towards Will, who lunged forwards and caught him with a disconcertingly surprised sound.

Jack shook himself, then beamed up into Will's slightly strained face, throwing an arm round him.

"Oh, darlin'!"

Jack noticed the dusting of white glittering coldly on Will's hair and shoulders, and the fat flakes dropping around them.

"It's snowing," Jack said, still huddled in Will's arms. Will gave an incoherent grunt, staggering a little. "You must be cold," Jack said conversationally.

"And winded," Will said, gasping.

"You caught me," Jack said happily, then his face abruptly became terribly solemn.

"You must never tell anyone about that. Promise? 'S not very captainy."

"You're... quite heavy. My shoulder... Ow."

Instantly Jack leapt down, eyeing Will balefully,

"Y'alright?"

"It's fine, just the muscles are still sore," Will said, rotating the joint. He glanced up at the window where the mage still stood, holding something that glowed brightly between his hands. Will took a couple of steps backwards, reaching out for Jack.

"Um, I think we should..."

A sudden explosion cut off the rest of the sentence, as the mage hurled the fireball and it hit the ground where Jack had been standing a second before. Jack resisted the urge to leap into Will's arms again, and instead utilised his tried and tested survival technique.

"Yep, I definitely thing we should," Jack yelled, and started to run. Will drew ahead of him, glancing behind them as another explosion shook the ground.

"Come on, Will! Any bright ideas?" Jack panted, legs pumping.

"How should I know?" Will said, leaping sideways out of the way of a fireball that appeared in front of him.

"You're the blacksmith. Fire's your domain. What do we do?"

"We try not to get hit."

"Ingenious, Will. Truly inspired."

Will looked back over his shoulder to give Jack a glare, then grabbed him by the hand, dragging him out of the way of a sudden shower of nearby sparks.

"How about, 'Shut up and run faster.' You'd prefer that?"

Beating at a small flame that had managed to hitch a ride on his coat with his free hand, this time Jack did as he was told. The boom and heat of the explosions lessened as the fireballs dropped further behind them, yet they kept the pace up as a strange sound followed them along the twists and turns of the overgrown path back to the sleepy town.

Laughter. Not the malicious cackle of an enemy bent on their destruction, but a low, sweet, joyous sound of amusement.

Will shot Jack a look of puzzlement, but Jack merely shrugged and shook his head, sending a dusting of snow flying in all directions, and kept running. Finally, lungs and muscles burning, they tumbled into their lodgings, rousing the drowsy innkeeper with a start.

Jack took a couple of deep, heaving breaths, leaning as nonchalantly as he could on the edge of the desk, giving a fairly convincing show that the pitted wooden surface was not the only thing holding him up at this point, before giving the innkeeper a nod and mumbling,

"Evenin'. 'Parently, it's snowing." He flicked at the white crust frozen onto his coat, sending a scattering of ice crystals across the desk and into the lap of the unimpressed innkeeper, who took in their dishevelled appearance with circumspection. He had not been altogether amenable to providing them with one room instead of two, and now, combined with their sudden snow-encrusted reappearance in the small hours, he regarded them suspiciously.

Will worked his frozen jaw muscles until he managed to say as politely as his freezing lips would allow,

"Please could you send some hot water and extra blankets up to our room?"

"You feelin' magnanimous enough to make some room for yer poor ol' pirate captain?"

Jack unfolded the other blanket, flapping it at Will as he gestured for him to sit up in the chair. He padded across the room and nudged Will's knees open with one of his own. Will looked up at him with a grin, then unwrapped the blanket he had huddled around him as Jack settled into his lap. Will wrapped the warm wool around both of them, and with a contented grunt, Jack let his feet slide between Will's into the bowl of hot water. He couldn't sit still for a moment, though, and shifted sideways, drawing his arms out of the cocoon Will had made to wrap the other blanket around Will's cold, damp hair, rubbing vigorously even as Will made small sounds of protest that Jack was doing it too hard. Suddenly he stopped, and gave Will an amused look, clutching the blanket closed under Will's chin.

"What's funny?" Will asked suspiciously.

Jack cocked his head to one side, his expression impish.

"You look like a Franciscan friar, Brother William,"

Will rolled his eyes, which only seemed to delight Jack more.

"Please, no jokes about hair shirts and vows of chastity and self-flagellation."

"Don' you want to hear my confession?" Jack said suggestively, wriggling back deeper into Will's lap, until they were pressed flush against each other.

"Do we have that many days to waste?" Will replied, deadpan, dark eyes suggesting volumes of sins that should not be available to any monk. Jack glowered at him playfully, then pitched forwards as Will jogged his knee upwards with a splash from the bowl, sending Jack sprawling against him, laughing. Jack grew quiet quickly, and dipped his head as Will tilted his chin upwards in answer. Their kiss was long and slow, tying knots of desire deep in their bellies. Jack pulled back first, resting his hands on Will's shoulders and their foreheads together.

"I'm just gonna get the spoils of the evenin'," he said, fidgeting again. Will grasped him by the waist, not letting him move.

"Four and a half hours in the freezing cold, and one kiss is all I get?"

"Don' you want to see what your extended sojourn in sub-zero temperatures was all for?" Jack protested feebly, unable to resist when Will was in a forceful mood, or any mood, for that matter. Will pulled him down for another kiss, and Jack moaned and shivered as Will ran a cold hand up under his shirt to tweak at a nipple, and slid his warm tongue into his mouth.

"Now you can get up," Will said, momentarily satisfied. Jack leaned in close and flickered his tongue against the rim of Will's ear, then whispered,

"How about I give you eternity as well as kisses?" Then he was up and darting across the room before Will could detain him again. Will watched him, growing a little concerned at the extreme degree of restless energy Jack was displaying, which usually heralded trouble.

Jack swaggered back across the room, undoing the buckles of the haversack with great ceremony. He seated himself back on Will's lap as though settling into a throne, then drew out the contents of the bag with a flourish.

"Behold! King Solomon's greatest treasure..."

"A book?" Will said, puzzled. Jack loved to read, but never normally went to this much trouble to procure his reading material.

"Don't tell me you're after somethin' more shiny," Jack huffed. "This, dear William," he said, brandishing the book aloft, "is worth considerably more than ev'ry jewel an' bauble in the whole wide wicked world put together. Not as pretty as a trinket, though," he mused, nose wrinkling at the binding, which on closer inspection did indeed look like it had once belonged to someone, rather than something.

Will took the proffered book, giving Jack a searching look before he opened it at random. Jack tucked an arm around Will's shoulder, waiting for the inevitable response when Will saw what was inside. The headers had been translated into English in a spidery scrawl, but the printed words looked like gibberish. Will had taken a sharp breath when he saw the contents, and now his eyes were scanning the pages quickly, feverishly.

"It's Enochian," Jack supplied helpfully. "Dictated from the spirits themselves by John Dee, via his, er... special friend Edward Kelley."

Will looked up quickly, eye to eye with Jack.

"It's necromancy, isn't it?"

"Well, sort of. A bit."

Will closed the book quickly, and twisted further in the chair until he could look Jack fully in the face. He held up the volume, a strange, buzzing sensation in his head.

"Jack, I can read this."

Jack's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth dropped open as he looked at Will quizzically. Then his face cracked into a grin.

"That'll save us an awful lot of time, darlin', if you can. Means we can do what wants to be done via a much less circuitous route; practically a straight line, in fact. Vectors, you know. Awfully clever things."

"Why can I read this?"

"How should I know? More to the point, why can't I read it? Seems terribly unfair. Tia was right. There is somethin' weird about you. Can't say I object, though, to you havin' a touch of queerness about you."

"You are so annoying," Will said without any ire, biting the back of Jack's neck gently. Jack pressed against him, hooking his legs over the arm of the chair and burrowing against Will's chest.

"Mmm. I can feel quite how annoyed you are."

Nervous pangs began rolling through Jack's stomach, though, and he wondered if he could persuade Will to see this plan through all the way to the end. He covered up any hint of anxiety, as he leaned back and ran a finger along Will's jawline, then rested it on a still-livid scar at the base of his neck.

"So, darlin'. You still set on stayin' by my side for all time, eh?"

Before Will could answer, Jack lunged forwards, and once again logic was firmly booted out of the nearby window as Jack assaulted him with kisses. As Will drew him deeper into the kiss, Jack ran his thumb very carefully along the scar most recently added to Will's growing collection.

Not again, luv. Never again.

The boarding had been going well, up until the point when Jack had darted away from Will to harangue a group of men closing in on Marty, when the mainmast came crashing down and separated Will from Jack. Jack had whipped round and seen three burly privateers set on Will, and had been clambering back over the wreckage of the mast as Will despatched one of them. Another of them turned to Jack, still straddled across the huge girth of the mast, and had been taken by surprise as Jack swiftly leaned back flat against the bulk of the wood, avoiding the sword thrust of his opponent, and in a sly manoeuvre jabbed his blade out into the man's underbelly. Jack regained his footing just in time to see the largest of the three men bearing down on Will, his sword swinging in a heavy downstroke. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, as the man's sword came down towards Will, the angle just right. Jack thought he roared Will's name, but couldn't hear anything as the blade bit the juncture between Will's shoulder and neck left bare by his shirt, where Jack knew the skin was so soft, so sensitive; where he liked to lay his head after they made love.

And there was blood.

Suddenly everything sped up again. Jack found himself moving, running, his pistol cocked. Yet by some strange miracle, Will had moved too. Will was the faster, and Jack saw him sidestep deftly. Will's sword flashed as he flicked it up and beat the blade away from his neck, then thrust forward to plunge into his opponent's throat in one unbroken movement. There was another split-second out of time as Will caught sight of Jack staring at him wide-eyed, arrested in shock and relief, and he gave Jack a battle-fierce grin before he frowned, yelling,

"Jack! Get by me!"

Jack blinked, hearing Will but not understanding, watching the blood trickling from Will's neck and down his chest. Jack looked dazedly at the reddened deck, still half-expecting to see Will's head roll across it, bringing their world to an end.

"For Christ's sake, Jack! Move!" Will bellowed, sprinting towards him through the whistle of cannon-shot. There was a sickening crack as the crossbar of the mizzenmast came down, sending wood and debris flying.

"Ow," was all Jack managed to say, before sea spun into sky and became painfully black.

"None of you will live if he dies! There will be no quarter!"

Am I in heaven?

Jack lolled his head to the side, dazedly contemplating the perfect curve of Will's thigh as he leaned over and slashed at someone who got too close. Jack shook himself, his fuzzy vision clearing slightly, and it dawned on him that this was not an appropriate time to loll around ogling Will.

"Please tell me that weren't another bloody oar," Jack croaked. He saw Will lunging forwards at what seemed to be the oddest angle, driving off another attacker. Will glanced down through his legs for a split-second between thrust and parry, and gave Jack the merest upside-down hint of a smile, the worry plain on his face.

"Get up," Will said, his voice firm. "You're alright. Get up."

"Well, that's easy for you to say. You already are up," Jack grumbled, each syllable another little shot of pain.

A quick swipe with a finger over the dizzying throb at the back of his head allowed Jack to quickly ascertain that although he was bleeding, there were no alarming squishy spots on his skull.

Oh, good. I ain't dropped me brain.

Will stepped across Jack, and kept his sword en garde, not taking his eyes off any one of their opponents, challenging them to even dare make a move as he bent his knees slightly, reaching down with his free arm to grab at Jack's proffered hand and haul him up. Jack noted with annoyance that his legs still felt terribly weak, but then Will's back was against his, as the circle of malignant faces surrounding them started to close in.

"Are you with me?" he heard Will say in a whisper, low and sure. Jack drew strength from the comforting warmth pressed against him, holding him steady.

"I'd better be, or I'll hit the deck again pretty sharpish." They began to circle back to back, gauging the size and strength of their attackers.

"Plan?" Will hissed.

"Your turn. My head's otherwise occupied with staying attached to the rest of me," Jack slurred, blinking furiously again.

"Alright. Fendente at the first of them, then moulinette for the next, parry low left then thrust up, and sabre chop right. That should finish them off."

"Umm..."

Jack felt Will's back vibrate with a chuckle.

"Or just make it up as you go along."

"That's more like it," Jack muttered out of the corner of his mouth, then raised his sword into a high guard.

"Come on, yer trumped-up bunch of sanctioned mercenaries! Let's see what yer made of!" Jack snarled, eyes glinting murderously at the rabble, who now looked slightly less sure of themselves. He felt Will take a deep breath.

Within the space of fifteen minutes, the ship was theirs.

"I don't need a nursemaid, Jack!" Will groused in frustration, trying to grab the rag and stop Jack from his infernal fiddling.

"Then stop gettin' hurt!" Jack sniped, eyebrows knitted together.

"I'm fine," Will said tersely. "It's not deep. Look, you're hurt too. You'd feel a fool if I was fussing over you like this."

Jack sat down on the bed next to him, keeping the rag pressed over the cut to staunch the blood.

"Might not," he said, giving Will a look out of the corner of his eye.

"You'd rather I fussed over you, instead of fixing you up and being done with it?" Will said sardonically.

"In addition to."

"Anything for my attention, hmm?"

"You think I did this on purpose?"

"Wouldn't put it past you," Will said wryly.

"Oh, so you think I liked you having to cut out a great big chunk of my hair?" Jack declaimed, gesturing dramatically to the casualties that lay forlornly on the nearby table.

"Two locks," Will protested.

"Just so you could get to that stupid little cut and patch it up," Jack continued, his histrionics undeterred. Will turned to look at him, serious again.

"It's a bloody big gash. You'll need a bandage too."

"No sodding way!" Jack said, truly alarmed.

"Why? You can hide it under the bandana," Will said, completely bemused.

"No," Jack huffed. "I'll look ridiculous."

Will remained silent for a couple of seconds, his cheeks hollowing, before sensibly saying,

"You might have concussion."

"An' how exactly will you be able to tell?" Jack retorted, eyeing Will with a slightly unfocused expression. Will gave him a withering look.

"Here, make yourself useful," Jack said, grabbing Will's hand and pressing it to the wound while he leaned over and retrieved the spool of silk and curved needle Will had used on him earlier. Dousing the needle with more rum, along with a healthy measure for himself, he threaded the small hole, then nudged Will's hand out of the way.

"Ready?"

"Just get on with it," Will said with a long-suffering smile, as Jack began to sew up the wound with neat stitches that would rival any tailor. The only indication Will gave that he was feeling any pain was the way his jaw would clench, and the large hand that had ended up on Jack's knee would squeeze a little more tightly. Each time that happened, Jack would pause for a moment until Will relaxed again, giving him a tiny nod to continue. Finally, Jack tied off the thread, secretly rather proud of his handiwork, then got up and padded rather unsteadily over to a dusty collection of plantlife that adorned a space beneath the galley window. He snapped off the serrated stem of a fleshy-looking plant. Seating himself back in front of Will, he squeezed some of the sticky sap onto a fingertip, then daubed it over the stitches on Will's neck.

"Aloe," he said, by way of explanation. Will shot him a glance that was more than a little concerned.

"Er... hullo? Jack, are you sure you feel alright?"

Jack stopped dabbing and pressed the heel of his hand to his already aching head, before giving Will a despairing glance.

"Not 'hello,' you cloth-eared git . Aloe. Helps with the healing an' stops it from itching. Got it in Madagascar, remember? An'I'm the one who's supposed to have concussion..."

Will's face cracked into a grin, and he bumped his shoulder against Jack's.

"Just testing. Now, you said something about a bath?"

Cramped together snugly in the oversized tub, they sluiced away the dirt and blood of battle from each other. But Jack couldn't wash away the feeling gnawing in his belly of how fragile their hard-won happiness was. He dangled his feet out over either side of the tub, the steam rising from his legs, watching as Will wrung out the sponge, then cleaned the grit out of Jack's grazed knees. Will looked up, aware that Jack was staring at him.

"What?"

Jack bit at the bath-wrinkled skin of one of his fingers, and mumbled,

"Thought I'd lost you."

Will dropped the sponge in the water, and placed a hand on Jack's shin, squeezing lightly.

"No. You're still stuck with me, I'm afraid. And in the future, please stay stuck to me when we board."

"You orderin' me about?" Jack said without heat, wriggling a toe against the tattoo on Will's bicep.

"Yes. You know it's safer when you fight next to me. We're less likely to get separated and injured or killed."

This time Jack pouted,

"I taught you that."

"Then you'd do well to remember it, for both our sakes," Will said, looking at Jack for a long time. Jack said nothing, and just continued to stare at him, memorising every angle of Will's face. Then, with a series of squeaks as his skin caught against the polished sides of the tub, Will leaned over, sending little sloshes and rivulets of water over the sides as he moved, and gave Jack a long kiss.

"Don't ever leave my side again," he said into Jack's ear, in a low, fierce whisper.

I won't. I promise.

Aye, I'm here."

"You're not falling asleep, are you? We could turn in for a couple of hours before dawn, if you like."

"No, I'm fine."

Will pulled back to scrutinise Jack properly. Once again his suspicions were aroused, this time by the short, perfunctory answers to his questions. A Jack whose natural verbosity was dampened was a Jack who was out of sorts.

"What's all this about," Will asked, as lightly as possible. "The midnight break-in; the book; the magic; the secrecy? Oh, and let's not forget the fireballs, and that thing at the window. And what were you saying about eternity? Jack, tell me." Will looked at him earnestly, trying not to let his feelings tumble over into frustration. It had been a long night. Jack chewed on his lip and rubbed his beard pensively.

"Well, see, with this book, you can... conjure... spirits."

"What, like ghosts?" Will asked sceptically.

"Er, sort of..." Jack said, fingers fiddling and twitching and weaving together. "You've heard of John Faust?"

Will narrowed his eyes.

"Honestly, Jack! You've read me more than enough Marlowe in the past. This is starting to sound like a very bad idea."

Jack ignored him, and continued in a great, animated rush,

"Then you'll remember that Johannes Faustus made a pact with... spirits. An' they did whatever he wanted."

Will breathed in sharply, eyebrows and hackles raised.

"I also remember he got dragged down to Hell..."

"Ah," Jack said, all smiles and arabesque-dancing hands, "but that's because he didn't think his terms through before he made his pact. 'S all about negotiation, which you well know I am rather brilliant at."

"Like, thirteen years of freedom, in exchange for a hundred of slavery?" Will said, lips pursed. Jack bit back his irritation and continued to weave his spell.

"Precisely. Learnin' from experience, an' all that. See, this Azaphiel bloke can give us anything we want." Jack went very still and stared deeply and intently into Will's eyes, the black centres fathomless and revealing nothing.

"Anything?" Will said dubiously.

"Anything," Jack replied with conviction.

"And for you, that's immortality, is it?" Will asked quietly. Jack gave a tight nod, watching Will's reactions carefully.

"An' what do you want, luv?" he probed, dark eyes trying to maintain the contact with Will's. Will turned away, picking thoughtfully at the worn fabric on the arm of the chair. After a moment, he glanced up at Jack again, his face solemn, and simply said,

"You."

Jack swallowed hard, and brought one hand up to curl tightly around Will's shoulder.

"Always?"

Will stared at him silently, then rolled his eyes heavenwards and smiled, nodding. That was enough affirmation for Jack, who practically bounced out of the chair, drawing Will along with him, and almost tripped them both over the bowl of now-tepid water.

"Well, then, let's see if this chap will pay us a visit, shall we?"

"Yep. Gotta be in the circle for summoning an' banishing, or else..." In his excitement, Jack had let his mouth run away with him again, and bit down on his tongue to curb the wayward organ.

"Or else what?" Will craned round further to peer behind him. Jack propped himself forwards onto his knees, and pushed Will back round into position by his shoulders.

"Or else," he said sternly into Will's ear, as he placed a hand on either side of Will's head and faced him to the front again. "It won't," he continued, walking his fingers down along Will's arms, relishing the shiver he caused, before grabbing Will by the wrists and raising the book up, emphasising his point with the last syllable,

"Work."

Jack kept his arms wrapped round Will, and squeezed a little tighter when he didn't respond.

"Please," he whispered against Will's neck, and despite himself Will shivered again as Jack's breath ruffled through his hair. "Would be such a pity to let a talent like yours go to waste. An' besides, why would you have it, other than to use it? Destiny, mate. There's no gettin' away from it."

Will wasn't sure if it was Jack's words, or the soft kisses being pressed against his throat while he said them which did the persuading, but he relented, and with a loud, resigned sigh, said, "Fine," and began to read the summoning ritual.

This time, there was no screeching whine. It seemed more as though the only sound in the world was Will's low voice, flowing over the strange syllables as though he was made to utter them.

"ol commennahe ilasa, pa-iotz a puje-ooaona gi-mi-caelaz ta noco gono asapeta komesalehé kakareji gohus 'Vaunilaji pujo-faorejita!'"

(I bind thee, to remain visible to our eyes in power as the servant of fealty before the circle until I say, 'Descend unto thy dwelling!')

The final words of the invocation reverberated in the room, then both Will and Jack looked around expectantly. After an extended pause, Will snapped the book shut.

"It hasn't worked."

"Patience, luv. Can't expect to be an expert your first time, eh? Well, not with everything."

"Perhaps not," Will conceded with a frown, "But it still doesn't explain why I can read this."

A smooth, suave voice from behind them said,

"Because a true necromancer is born, not made."

"Oh! Chapeau, William! You did it, mate!"

"Yes. Yes, I did," Will said without any sense of victory, his eyes wide as he saw the true nature of the thing he had summoned.

"Well, gentlemen, how may I serve you?" The demon said, gliding forwards and staring down at them with a smile. "And please," he said, gesturing at where they sat on the floor in the circle, "now that the formalities are over, wouldn't you care to make yourselves a little less... humble?"

Will got to his feet first, but remained within the circle. Jack sat and studied the creature a little longer.

"I want your guarantee that you won't try to pull a fast one, mate, or we'll send you back to you-know-where."

"Oh yes, you're quite safe. You have bound me in your power," Azaphiel said, fixing his gaze on Will, as something feral flickered across his smooth features. Will merely looked at him, unblinking and unafraid.

"In that case," Jack said, rising to his feet, "we have an accord."

"Name your terms," the demon said, folding his arms and seeming to lean against the air, as though propped up against an invisible column.

"Immortality; invulnerability; eternal youth. Sailin' the seas forever," Jack said, counting off everything on his fingertips. "The whole kit and caboodle, like. Oh, an' rum. Mustn't forget the rum."

"Done," Azaphiel said, extending a hand to Jack.

"And what are your terms?" Will said, stepping in front of Jack and pacing slowly towards the demon.

"My terms? I live but to serve, master," the demon said with an ingratiating smile.

"William, do stop fraternisin' with the help," Jack said hurriedly, popping his head round Will's shoulder to glare between him and Azaphiel. "So, do we have to revert back to the usual formalities at this point?"

"Everything is ready for you both," said the demon, gesturing towards the desk by the window, where a sheet of parchment had somehow appeared, covered in scrawls of black ink, and with a large quill laid on top of it. Azaphiel moved towards the bed and swung himself onto the top of the wooden footboard, where he crouched, chin in his hands and elbows on his knees, looking like a sleek, lost crow as he watched them with his black eyes.

"Jack. I think we should talk about this," Will said firmly, reaching out for Jack's arm, but Jack had already skittered away, palms open in entreaty as he backed towards the table and parchment.

"What's to talk about? Time to live forever, darlin', an' then we'll have time enough to talk about whatever you want." He was too close, now. Too close to let it slip through his fingers again. Jack reached for the white quill and swiped it on his bare forearm, and the tip must have been inordinately sharp, sharper than any normal quill, because it drew blood. Will darted forwards as Jack seated himself at the table, and thumped his fist angrily on the wood.

"Jack! What is all of this?"

"It's a contract," came the honeyed voice from the bed. Will ignored him, gripping Jack's shoulder and giving him a shake,

"And what does it say? What exactly are we agreeing to, here?"

Jack turned his face to the paper, scanning the writing for any untoward clauses, and the demon happily obliged Will with the information he was looking for.

"You get your immortality. In exchange, my master... gets your souls."

"WHAT?" Will drew himself upright and shot a shocked glance at Azaphiel, then looked at Jack, horrified.

"And let me tell you, Mr Turner," Azaphiel said sweetly, "I really am quite delighted at the prospect of getting your soul. We don't often get the opportunity for a taste of something so... honourable."

Jack cleared his throat, but kept his eyes fixed on the paper, the quill suspended above it, the tip stained red, as he used his most persuasive tone on Will.

"Seein' as we'd be immortal, luv, I don't see as how it'd be all that much of a problem."

For a moment everything seemed to freeze, as though there was no sound or motion anywhere in the whole world. Then Will saw a tiny flash of movement and heard a soft plashing sound. A single drop of Jack's blood had fallen onto the parchment, and in the next instant there was a metallic ringing noise, then the end of the quill skittered across the desk as Will's sword flashed close in front of Jack's eyes, making them cross slightly as Will sliced through the pinion, leaving Jack holding what amounted to an abbreviated feather.

"Leave us," Will said in a low growl to Azaphiel. Jack said nothing. He sat very still, his jaw set as he stared fixedly at the blade still hovering between him and the parchment.

Azaphiel quit his perch at the end of the bed, and sauntered over to the table to stand on the other side of Jack, staring Will down.

"I'll be taking this before I go," he said silkily, indicating the crimson drop that stood out starkly against the white parchment, "seeing as he's signed it."

Will felt the fury spill out of him and surge towards the creature in front of him. Both Jack and Azaphiel jumped at the deafening thwack as Will pierced the tip of his sword through the parchment and table both, his fist gripped so tightly around the hilt that it shook with the strain. His voice was steady though, and filled with quiet menace as he levelled his gaze at the demon, eyes fierce.

"Leave us. Now."

Azaphiel tilted his head back a fraction, challenging.

"Do you think to keep me from what is mine, William Turner?"

The tabletop splintered as Will twisted the sword out and brought it up towards Azaphiel's throat.

"Or perhaps, to kill me," the demon laughed mockingly.

There was a long silence, punctuated only by a hoarse sound as Jack let out the breath he had been holding. Will continued to stare at the creature. There was no fear in its eyes, only a deep and terrible malice. But Will remained undaunted.

"While the bans are upon you, you will do as I command," Will said, taking a step forward until the cold metal rested against the creature's neck. "You do not own us yet. Go."

Azaphiel smiled unctuously, and gave an small, obsequious bow.

"As you wish, master. I will go. For now."

He dissipated into a dark mist, and left the two of them alone.

"This is what you want?"

"You don't?" Jack retorted, staring at the wall "Want this? Eternity; us... me?"

Will narrowed his eyes further, seething, shaking his head.

"Oh," Jack said quietly. Will leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, staring down at Jack.

"Did I say that? Refusing this is not refusing you. Though right now I can hardly bear to look at you." Will's voice was gruff. "You failed to mention the part about us giving him our souls."

"Wasn't sure how you'd react..." Jack said, glancing up for a moment then looking away again, twisting awkwardly in the chair.

"How did you expect me to react!" Will thundered at him. "Or did you think I wouldn't notice at all? That I just wouldn't question it and would go along with everything you said, like always? You really take me for a first-class idiot, don't you!"

"No! But you're doin' a bloody good impression of one right now!" Jack said with a sneer, his temper buffeted by Will's anger.

Will crouched down next to him, his hand clutching the edge of the desk, fingers tight.

"Jack, look at me," Will said commandingly. "Does your soul mean so little to you? Does mine?"

"A soul can't keep me warm or feed me or quench my thirst. An' a soul won't save your head an' neck from partin' company in an acrimonious fashion. I say we do this," Jack said, voice barely a growl.

Will shook his head again, trying to understand, trying to convey everything he needed to, his voice low and urgent.

"I would die for you, Jack. You know that. Isn't that enough?"

Jack took in a small, sharp breath.

"I'd very much rather you lived for me, luv," he said quietly, finally looking up to meet Will's eyes, stomach twisting when he saw the anger and hurt in them, and knowing he was the cause.

Will gazed at him a moment longer, then stood up silently, grabbing his coat and one of the blankets from the chair, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He could hear Jack calling for him to wait, to stop being stupid, to think about the opportunity they had, as he pulled on his coat and strode down the stairs to the street below. He breathed in the rush of cool air as he opened the tavern door, yet it did little to dampen the fire in his head. He swung the blanket round him and stepped outside, heavy-hearted.

The town was bathed in the first light of daybreak and a thin dusting of the remaining snow, as a cold clean winter's day dawned. The horizon was a clear, eggshell paleness. Will walked, uncaring about the direction, simply needing the physical motion to ease some of the weight in his chest. Here was a group of fishermen, coming back from the nearby harbour, and there was a little grey cat, slinking between a stack of barrels with a stray herring in its jaws. Everything seemed so normal, so mundane, when only a moment before he was conversing with a creature from another world outside their own. He stopped still and stared at a wall, reaching out one hand to touch the crumbling brickwork glittering with tiny shards of ice. All he could see was the surface of things, and light, light everywhere; shattering, refracting, dazzling.

How much of this is real? How much of any of it is real? My god, Jack. What have you done?

Will remembered the moment God had died for him. It had been a few weeks after the passing of his mother, when he was already on a ship bound away from familiar English shores, and he realised that his prayers did nothing to ease his pain. They did nothing to answer his questions. And so he grieved, both for his mother, and for his faith.

He turned his face upwards to the sky, still a deep, lapis-blue with the white streak of a thumbnail moon above him, and thought of how long ago it was that he had put aside any notion of heaven. Yet now, there had been too many times he had seen strange and supernatural things to so firmly deny that there was a world beyond this one, though he was characteristically circumspect whether God resided there. However, if he had a soul, and it seemed that he most definitely did since it could be used as a commodity, he was suddenly fascinated by what that meant. Amongst the fear and anger welling in his chest, there was the faintest blossoming of hope.

And what was it the demon had said? That he was a 'true necromancer'? Will shuddered at the thought. That was one talent he would rather have been born without, at least if this was where it led him. He wanted none of it. Though, when he thought about it, it would explain the uncanny set of circumstances that made up his chequerboard life, composed of a series of coincidences too well-matched to be mere chance. Perhaps they had all been orchestrated by him without knowing, to lead up to this very point, to this very choice.

And if that's how it is, then I can't let him risk bartering away his soul again. Not like this. Not for me. Not for anything.

Will turned abruptly to double-back down to the harbour, where he knew the jollyboat would be waiting for them, and nearly plowed straight into Jack, who had been following him remarkably silently, another trait that didn't seem to fit with the rest of him. Will jumped and suppressed a yell, giving Jack a scowl.

"Will, listen," Jack said imploringly. "I did it for you. For us."

Will walked past him down the harbour road, and could tell that Jack was following him from the muttered curses and imprecations behind his back.

"William! I will not be ignored!"

"I'm not ignoring you," Will said blandly. "I just want to get back home."

They reached the harbour and found the boat tucked away just around the cove. Will got into the boat in marked silence, not looking at Jack, and gave Gibbs and Marty a curt nod and tight smile each, before taking up an oar as usual. Will could feel Jack's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, and Gibbs and Marty looked at each of them, then one another in concern. Gibbs, demonstrating his usual courage, was the one to finally break the silence.

"It's a fine mornin'. We ought to make good headway, don' you think, Captain?"

Jack grunted.

Gibbs tried a different tack, hoping for a somewhat more expansive communication.

"Will, is there anythin'... amiss?"

Will stopped rowing and looked Gibbs square in the face, which made the poor man shrink back like he'd found a spider in his boot.

"You could say that. Jack decided to do something incredibly stupid, and decided once again not to tell me what he was doing it for."

The boat rocked alarmingly as Jack sat up swiftly to address Gibbs, his voice hard-edged.

"Kindly tell Mr Turner that Captain Sparrow was only thinkin' about ways to preserve said Mr Turner's obstreperous arse from all manner of terrible fates."

Will started rowing again, pulling so hard that Gibbs and Marty both had trouble keeping up with him, and struggled to prevent the boat from merely turning in a tight circle. Then Will snapped back,

"Please inform Captain Sparrow that it's not my obstreperous arse that would've needed saving if he had his way with his stupid idea."

Gibbs leaned in to Marty and said in a hushed tone,

"This is even worse than the time Turner nearly set Cap'n Jack's hair on fire."

Marty nodded, his face pinched with unease, and chimed in,

"Or when the Captain forgot Will's birthday."

Gibbs crossed himself at the memory.

"Oh, aye, that was bad."

The little vessel lurched again as Jack bellowed,

"Silence in the boat!" Then he added moodily, "I did try to make it up to him."

Will furrowed his brow and rowed harder still.

"You still cold?" he asked, creeping an arm tentatively around Will's shoulder. Will shrugged him off.

"Bloody hell, Will!"

"What?" Will said, rolling his socks into a ball and lobbing them at the open sea chest across the room, aiming them inside perfectly, then turning to look at Jack. Jack's eyes widened beseechingly.

"You tellin' me I can't just kiss you and make it better?"

"Don't," Will said sharply, his face serious. "Look, I just want to get some sleep."

Jack watched, lips pursed, as Will lay down on the bed in silence, still fully-clothed, and turned onto his side to face the bulkhead.

"Really?" He snarled, standing up and putting his hands on his hips. "You want to sleep, do you? Looks more to me like you want to keep makin' an argument out of this."

Will remained motionless, not even breathing for a moment.

"Jack. Please be quiet. All I want to do is go to sleep."

"No, you don't. You want to make me feel guilty so I'll apologise. Well, I won't. The way I see it, you should be the one apologisin' to me."

Will sat up, twisting round to face Jack, who dodged behind the table, thinking it sensible to put at least one solid object between him and his enraged mate in this instance.

"I should... Why?" Will thundered, trembling with fury, his eyes hard and distant. In a fit of temper, Jack flung out a hand and shoved the haversack across the polished wood, and it fell to the floor with a thud, the book tumbling out and the chalk skittering across the boards towards the bed.

"'Cause you'll be bloody sorry when you go an' get yerself killed, that's why!"

"This is not about you saving me from death!" Will yelled, halfway off the bed by now. "This is about you and your damned immortality, the same as always!"

"Fine! Then next time you decide to go an' die, see if I care!"

Jack stormed out, slamming the door and striding up onto the deck, where he gave the order to weigh anchor, and barked instructions at all of the crew, and generally made a nuisance of himself for the better part of an hour. He quickly became insufferable, and Anamaria took him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that if he didn't get back below deck and make it up with Will, that the newest trinkets in his hair would be distinctly bollock-shaped.

"Why do I have to be the one to make it up to him?!"

"Because you're the one being an ass!" She said, flapping her hat at him in an attempt to corral him back to the cabin.

"How would you know that, eh? Bloody insubordination, is what this is!"

Ana gave him one of those looks that usually only women with young children have perfected – the kind that would make a puppy put its tail between its legs and run away whimpering – and Jack decided that, all things considered, he would prefer to keep his balls where they belonged.

"Oh."

Will was sitting up on the bed looking even more tired. He had the grimoire open on his lap, and was frowning down at the pages. As Jack advanced further into the room, Will glanced up at him, all accusation and aggression gone from his expression, but replaced with a deep exhaustion. His face was drawn, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" Jack asked quietly, shutting the door behind him.

Will shook his head slowly, scrutinising the floorboards and his bare feet.

"No. The... the bed's not very comfortable."

They looked at each other for a long moment, before Jack darted forwards and snatched the book from Will's hands, tossing it to the ground. Will raised an eyebrow, which gave Jack all the hope he needed.

"We should throw it overboard, eh?"

Will let out a long breath, and much of the tension seemed to drain from his body, and he gave Jack the ghost of a smile.

"Or we could burn it in my forge."

"No. There's no telling what a fire might release out of it. Better to drown it. We can burn the contract, though."

"You've got it with you?"

"Aye," Jack said, fishing it out of his coat pocket and lobbing the screwed-up parchment onto the floor along with the book. He paused and gave the book a rueful look, poking at it with his foot.

"It's priceless, you know, an' unique," he said with a sigh. "Only one in the world like it."

"So are souls," Will said softly, "and it's not worth the price of any one of them."

Jack gave him a melancholy smile, then shook himself and started toeing off his boots. Will settled back on the bed, watching him.

"I don't think Aziphael will be too happy about us refusing his offer," he mused out loud, as Jack left a trail of socks and belts and sashes and gewgaws around the room. Jack turned to him with a shrug, brandishing a sock that still dangled between his fingers.

"That's too bad. Anyway, I don't like the way he looked at you. Only I'm allowed to look at you like that."

"Like what?" Will said, propping himself up on one elbow, curious.

"Like I want to eat you," Jack said, matter-of-factly. Will felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth again, but it was too soon for open arms and warm kisses.

"Jack, you're not jealous, are you?"

"Course not," Jack scoffed, swaying over to the bed and flicking his hands at Will. "Now, shove over. I want to get some kip as well. We've got at least five or six hours before they'll need us up top."

Will turned to the bulkhead again, feeling the knot in his shoulders relax as Jack settled next to him.

"Comfier?" Jack asked, almost succeeding in sounding guileless, as he tucked the sheet and blankets over them.

"Aye," Will mumbled. They lay together silently for a few minutes, before Will felt Jack's foot nudge against his own. Will's feet were always cold, and he couldn't help but smile properly this time, as Jack fitted the hollow of his warm instep against the curve of Will's heel. In a tiny motion, Will brushed his big toe against the ridges of Jack's tendons, acquiescing to the touch.

Jack wriggled a little closer, not yet thinking it wise to put an arm round Will, but getting close enough so that he could curl against him better, knee to thigh just touching and feet entwined. Will grunted and rolled away quickly when he felt something poke at him from behind, and Jack made a small sound of frustration.

"Bone," Will grumbled.

Jack frowned.

"Wha'?"

Will half-turned to look at Jack over his shoulder, but snapped his head back quickly as the offending object almost jabbed him in the eye.

"BONE," Will repeated, glaring at Jack.

"Ohh, right," Jack said, drawing the offending object out of his bandana and rolling to the side to tuck it safely under the bed (this looked nothing like throwing it on the floor, of course). As he rolled back again, Will reached behind without turning round, and took hold of Jack's fingers. He drew Jack's arm across his waist and tucked their hands together into the centre of his chest.

More long, silent minutes followed, and Jack must have almost been asleep, because he jumped when Will said softly,

"I really thought you were going to do it. I really did. I couldn't just stand there and watch you."

Jack blinked back into consciousness, nudging his nose against the back of Will's neck.

I knew you didn't want to just go to sleep.

"You're quite frightenin' when yer angry."

Will eased onto his back, turning his head to the side to look at Jack accusingly.

"And you're quite frightening when you've got your heart set on getting something and don't think about the consequences. I thought I'd lost you."

"Not yet, you ain't."

Jack turned onto his back as well, finding it easier to address the familiar wood above their heads, each knot an old friend, rather than look at Will's dark eyes as he spoke, his voice tense and barely above a whisper.

"Don't expect me to gladly have you die in my arms. Or worse, not in them. Too far away from me to catch you when you fall."

Taking Jack's cue, Will also spoke to the ceiling, only glancing over at Jack when he was certain Jack was not looking at him.

"That's the risk we take though, isn't it, with the life we lead," he said with resignation. "Death is... normal. And I might not die first. Did you think of that?"

"Coincidentally enough, I have," Jack said with a sarcastic snort. "Speakin' as the one of the two of us who has died, I regret to inform you that there was nothin' normal about it."

"But that was because of the curse you were under," Will said, voice rising as he tried to hammer home his logic. "I'm talking about ordinary death. Accident; misfortune; illness; age."

Jack shuddered so hard the bed shook.

"Is that what you want?" he said incredulously, unable to hold back any longer and turning to look at Will's profile, each curve and angle of nose and cheekbone and mouth setting off a little jolt of pain and longing. "Because I don't want this to end. Any of it. The sea an' the ship an' sunlight an' the stars to guide us. An' you an' me."

Will turned his head towards Jack, but kept his eyes lowered, eyelashes shielding his eyes from Jack's searching gaze.

"Yes, I do want to be with you, in this life and the next." Will picked at a hole in the blanket, little bits of wool fuzz clinging to his fingers. "It won't end with death. It'll just change, won't it? I mean, he... it... whatever that thing is... he's proof of that, surely?"

"Yer referrin' to the afterlife?" Jack said, a little surprised.

"I suppose so, yes," Will's eyes flicked upwards to look at Jack, and for a moment there was hope in them. Jack's mouth twitched and he shook his head.

"An' what makes you think we'd be together? You'd be whisked off in one direction to the sound of trumpets an' fanfares an' heavenly hosts an' be lauded by all sorts of frolickin' cherubs, an' I'll be... there," he said vehemently, jabbing a finger in the direction of the floor, "stuck downstairs for eternity with a pitchfork rammed up me arse."

Will pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes in exasperation,

"I wish you'd leave off this idea you have that I'm such an angel. I've committed murder, and theft, and arson... and piracy, obviously. And then there's all those times I've been with you and impersonated an officer, and an aristocrat, and a member of the clergy..."

"Benedictine, that time, weren't it, Brother William?"

"Aye," Will said with a small snort. "So, that's lying. Then there's blasphemy, heresy, apostasy..."

"Don't forget sodomy," Jack said with a wag of his finger.

"As if I could," Will said, peering at Jack with amusement from between his fingers. "So I hardly think I'll be welcomed into heaven, if there is one."

"They wouldn't deserve you, anyway."

Will drew his hands down his face, scratching the stubble at his jaw meditatively, before laying his hands on his chest, drumming his breastbone lightly as he ruminated.

"Jack, do you believe in God?" he said suddenly. Jack raised his eyebrows. In all the years they had been together, this was not a conversation he had ever envisaged them having.

"Gods. Plural," Jack said with emphasis. "Just so long as they believe in me. Don't you?"

"I don't know," Will said quietly with a shake of his head. "I really don't know anymore." Then in a rush he burst out,

"I can't do it, Jack. I won't. I can't sell my soul. I..." Will pursed his lips for a moment, as though somehow annoyed by the admission. "My soul. It's what loves you. Without it, what do I have that means anything?"

Despite being somewhat taken aback, Jack still managed to retort with a lascivious grin,

"Your body? I'd settle for that."

Will gave him an affectionate smack on the chest with the back of his hand.

"I'd be an empty shell, and so would you. I don't want to spend eternity with you if I can't feel anything like I do now."

Jack turned towards Will and regarded him steadily, then he rolled his eyes and gave a protracted sigh, and grudgingly conceded defeat.

"I don't think I can do it either. I've had my soul under contract before, an' it does have its downsides."

"Like damnation?" Will said mockingly.

Jack gave a peremptory sniff.

"As I said before, that would be moot if we were immortal. But the whole soul-loss happenstance... it's becoming progressively more unappealing. Besides, it's debatable whether my soul is my own to sell anyway," Jack said, prodding gently up and down Will's arm. The sensation was both thrilling and annoying, and Will was amused at how even this small gesture was so expressive of Jack's mercurial nature, and felt torn between wanting to bat Jack's hand away and wishing he'd grab hold of him properly.

Instead, Jack used his cryptic hand to bolster himself up, and contemplated Will with a somewhat reproachful, if fond expression.

"He's right about you bein' a necromancer, though," Jack observed, the curve and dip of his cheekbone accentuated as he gave Will a lopsided grin. "I couldn't stay dead with the prospect of you waitin' back in this world for me, remember?"

Will smiled, his eyebrows raised with surprise.

Oh, so I suppose it does have its advantages.

Jack dropped his head a little lower, until his forehead almost touched Will's, and when he spoke his voice was rough, though sincere.

"I was only doin' what I thought was best for us."

Will shifted onto his side to face Jack properly, and looked at him intently.

"I know," he said softly. "But next time you try to decide what's best, I'd appreciate it if you let the 'us' part feature more prominently."

Will brought a hand up to Jack's face, and ran his thumb along the edge of Jack's moustache, making the corner of his mouth quirk into a grin.

"Tickles," Jack said, kissing the tip of Will' thumb lightly.

Will threaded his fingers through Jack's hair, finding the sparser patch and running a fingertip along the bare curve of scar-tissue at the back of Jack's head very gently. Jack trembled slightly, eyelashes fluttering as want and need collided in a rush. Then Will pressed their foreheads together and looked at him, and the raw emotion expressed in their eyes cut through every grievance they had ever had with one another, or ever would. Will lunged upwards in the same instant that Jack bore down against him, and their mouths crushed together, anger and passion and the longing for absolution igniting a fierceness in their kiss. It was animalistic and savage and perfect. Their tongues and mouths slid against one another, hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises, and the heavy throb-throb of their hearts set up an echo between their legs.

Jack clambered on top of Will, pressing bites and kisses to every bare inch of his skin that he could find, in between a fervent recitation.

"Sweet William, make me immortal with a kiss.
His lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies!"

Jack spoke against Will's mouth, nipping at his lips, even as Will tried not to laugh; he had succeeded in yanking Will's shirt out of his breeches, and was running his hands along Will's sides, squeezing and tickling. Jack reared up slightly to watch the flush spread up Will's chest and into his cheeks, feeling a perverse sense of pride, before he dipped his head again to Will's mouth.

"Come, William, come, give me my soul again," Jack whispered, licking the edge of Will's moustache, and Will slid the tip of his tongue out to flicker it against Jack's, breath quickening. By now, Will had got his hands under Jack's shirt as well, and was scratching his nails up and down Jack's spine. Jack pulled back again, and reached up to run a finger across Will's wet mouth, before Will parted his lips and let Jack slip it inside.

"Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips," Jack purred, grinding against him, "And all is dross that is not William."

Will shut his eyes tight, and bit down on Jack's finger, half-embarrassed and half-delighted. Jack hastily withdrew his abused digit, and Will opened his eyes and snapped his teeth playfully.

"I wondered when you'd bring out the Marlowe. I suppose I ought to applaud your restraint, considering the circumstances," Will said with a soft laugh.

"Never did it in bed before."

"If you had, that might be all you were ever doing."

They tumbled together in another kiss, this one wanton and joyous and punctuated with giggling. This time Will drew away first, settling his head back on the pillow as he looked up at Jack. He brought both hands up, stroking at the wisps of hair escaping out from under Jack's bandana, before wordlessly slipping his fingers under the sun-bleached fabric, and sliding it off Jack's head. Jack's hair came tumbling down around them with a jingle and swish, filling the air with the faintest scent of jasmine oil. Jack gave Will one of those rare, candid looks, and said,

"Does this mean you forgive me?"

Will clasped his hands either side of Jack's face, expression droll.

"Does it mean you're sorry?"

Jack began to crow with laughter, but was cut off short by the warm press of Will's mouth, and then their hands were everywhere, pulling hungrily at shirts and breeches to get to the skin underneath. In the desperate race to get undressed, Jack lost a shirt button somewhere in the tangle of sheets and blankets, and Will narrowly avoided knocking himself out on the bulkhead, saved only by Jack inadvertently though fortuitously getting his hand tangled in Will's hair, and skinning his knuckles on the wood in the process.

"Christ, it's cold in here," Will said with a shiver, his nipples hardening in the cool air of the cabin as Jack tugged him free of his breeches.

"What did I tell you earlier, eh?" Jack said, twisting sideways to shimmy out of his own breeches and kick them to the floor. "I told you I'd warm you up, didn't I?"

"Then stop talking and do it," Will said ardently, reaching out for Jack and pulling him down by the waist. There was that first sweet, feverish thrill that shot through them as they pressed the full length of skin against skin, and their bodies sang with heat and need, mouths locked and eyes squeezed shut in rapture, hips grinding. Then Jack began working his way down Will's body, fingers feathering everywhere, licking a stripe along his collarbone, teeth grazing a nipple then leaving a burning trail of kisses along the edge of his ribcage, tongue pressed flat over the dip of his navel, beard rasping the skin of his hip, before he gave a contented grunt and settled between Will's legs, hooking a thigh over each shoulder.

"Hnh. You're all wet," Jack gloated, lapping at the silvery, viscous thread strung between Will's belly and the tip of his cock. Will shuddered and groaned, tilting his hips up to slide into Jack's hot, waiting mouth. Jack wrapped his arms round Will's legs and started sucking, eyes closed happily, lost in the sensation of Will's cock pressing against the back of his throat. He soon became aware, though, of Will squeezing his hand gently to get his attention, and saying his name urgently. He looked up and Will awarded him a sultry half-smile.

"Turn round."

The words went straight to Jack's cock, which jumped in eager agreement. Jack wasted no time in shuffling round on his knees until he'd straddled Will's head. Dextrous as ever, he kept Will in his mouth the whole time. Will reached for him, spread him open, and lifted his head to lick at Jack's balls. Jack moaned around Will's cock, then let out a strangled cry as he felt the tip of Will's tongue flickering against his hole. He pulled away from Will's swollen, shiny prick to take a couple of deep gulps of air, before squeezing his eyes shut and gasping,

"Christ, Will! That's so... ah, fuck! Divine..."

Will hummed happily, wriggling his tongue deeper into Jack, fastening his mouth around Jack's entrance to apply suction. He loved how it made Jack quiver and writhe, and the musky taste of him here. Jack's head fell forwards, and he swallowed Will's shaft to the root with a rumbling groan at the back of his throat that made Will twitch upwards towards the vibration.

Several years before, when Jack had done this very thing to Will for the first time, Will had almost shot halfway up the bulkhead, trembling and wide-eyed at how filthy and delicious it was. Mind you, Jack had had a similar reaction when Will had reciprocated the next morning, but in a diametrically opposite direction, nearly shoving Will off the end of the bed in an attempt to bear down on his mouth harder and faster.

"Hang on," Jack said, momentarily diving off the bed in the direction his breeches had gone. He pressed the small bottle he retrieved from his pocket into Will's hand, and a sticky kiss to Will's lips, before grinning and straddling across him again. He peered between his legs, grinning at Will upside down.

"Please, continue," he said, with a cheeky wave of his hand, but Will already had. He rested his arms across Jack's hips, and pulled out the stopper of the bottle with his head still between Jack's legs, tongue thrusting inside him, and poured some of the oil onto his fingers. As the oil warmed up, Will frowned and pulled back, struck by the odd familiarity of the scent. Jack squirmed distractedly. Will lifted his head and peered across the curve of Jack's wriggling arse at the bottle still dangling from his fingers.

"Jack... is this... it's not... holy oil?"

"Mmmhmm," Jack said, temporarily relinquishing his mouthful. "Thought it might come in handy."

"You really are quite set on being damned, aren't you," Will said, letting a stream of oil trickle out of the bottle and down the seam between Jack's buttocks, watching the ring of muscle pulse involuntarily as the cool drops reached Jack's warm entrance. The oil splattered onto Will's chest, and he pulled Jack's hips down and arched upwards, encouraging Jack to slide his cock through the pool of oil, biting at his thighs as he slipped a slick finger inside him. Jack whimpered and thrashed, then felt Will roll the bottle of oil against his shoulder, encouraging him to return the favour. Soon he had Will grinding down on his fingers as well, and thrusting up into his mouth, helpless with pleasure.

"Got to... got to, now," Will gasped with an edge of desperation to his voice. Instantly Jack was all motion, whirling like a dervish until he was splayed over Will's hips, his hair spilling over his shoulders, grin orgiastic and sinful. Will's length slid up between Jack's spread thighs, bumping their shafts together, hard and needy, then both their hands reached through and grasped Will's cock. There was a gasp and a noise too dark and full of desire to be called a whimper, and then the pressure, the burn, the tight, hot thrumming feeling of being filled, and Jack let his head drop back with a moan.

"Oh God, Will, yesss," Jack cried out as Will clutched hold of his narrow waist, shuddering with the intensity of each sensation as Will angled his cock inside him, pressing in all the right places. "See, this is what I don't want to lose. This... oh yeah... there... mmm, that... Closest damned thing to heaven I've ever known. What other reason is there to invoke the Almighty so often?"

"Prayer?" Will managed to gasp. "You're already on your knees..."

Jack shot Will a look, then they both chuckled as Jack leaned forwards, pressing them chest to chest, wrapping their arms round each other. They breathed quietly, raggedly, in time with the motion of Jack's hips, then Will spoke softly against Jack's ear.

"Besides... I... don't think there are feelings... sensations, uh... in heaven. Not like this."

"Mmm," Jack agreed, kissing Will slowly, sensually as he rocked against him, sliding through the oil covering them both, rubbing their nipples together in the slickness. "Definitely don't want to go there then. Sounds terribly dull."

Will gripped hold of Jack tightly, trying to keep some semblance of control, and growled,

"Fuck me."

Jack sat back sharply and tossed his head, his dark locks hitting Will's knees with a soft, musical sound as he arched backwards and rode him hard. Will nearly bit through his own lip, and grasped hold of Jack's hips, trying to slow him down.

"Jack. Fuck me."

I bloody well am!" Jack said, tipping his head back upright and shooting Will an annoyed look.

Will shook his head and grinned impishly, eyes half-closed. He pressed his thumb under the wet tip of Jack's cock, rocking up against him, and spread his thighs wide apart under Jack, before opening his eyes and looking up at him meaningfully.

"Aahh," Jack said, the noise low and lascivious, as he squeezed his muscles around Will's cock. "Not until you come first." Then he tilted backwards again, keeping his eyes locked on Will. Will's hand slid down Jack's achingly hard tarse, but Jack pushed him away with a gruff, "No," and moved Will's big hand onto his hip instead, bringing the other one up as well. Will gripped him with each thrust, the bronze skin turning white under the pressure of his fingers, before flushing red as he moved his thumbs in circles. With Jack's lust-black eyes fixed on him, Will felt wave after wave of electric pinpricks run up and down his body and began panting as the pleasure started to spike through him. Jack bit back a cry and rotated his hips as Will bucked into him wildly, coming with a rush, sweet and hot and impossibly hard. He sat up with loud gasp and wrapped his arms round Jack, biting his shoulder. Jack held onto him, squeezing tightly until the aftershocks died away. Then Jack tilted Will's chin up and kissed him roughly, before pushing him back down on the bed. He reached forwards with a chuckle and ran a finger through the sweat on Will's cheek, trailing his finger all the way down to Will's heaving chest and pinching a nipple. Will grinned up at him and rubbed the flat of his palms soothingly over Jack's bruised hips.

"Warmer now, eh?" Jack said smugly.

"Just a bit," Will said, blowing out a breath, heart still hammering.

"See, told you I'd warm you up," Jack said, easing himself off Will's cock with a wince. He was still desperately hard, and didn't want to accidentally waste a perfectly good erection, not now, when he had Will spread out under him, cheeks flushed and begging for more. Jack swiped a palmful of jism from between his legs, unable to resist taking a lick before he flopped down half-on-top of Will, kissing him deeply as he worked a sticky finger into him, loosening the muscles again, tight after orgasm.

"Yes," Will said, wrapping one long leg around Jack and fisting the blankets. "Please, now, yes."

Will's pupils were dilated wide, the deep brown lost at the edge of the black centre. Jack watched them contract for an instant, revealing the golden flecks lost in the dark pools as Will's brows drew up and his mouth fell open, echoing the ripple that went through his body as he pulsed around Jack's fingers. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to Will's, who kissed him hungrily, his heat addictive. Jack pushed forwards slightly, and let the blunt head of his cock replace his fingers inside Will. Will hissed and brought his other leg around Jack, and they both shuddered as Will's thighs bracketed Jack's waist, the movement intimate, perfect.

Jack closed his eyes and tilted his head, lowered it, and pressed his cheekbone to the top of Will's, brushing their eyelids together, their eyelashes fluttering against one another, the fine hairs tangling together in a ticklish dance. Will took a sharp intake of breath as Jack pressed deeper into him, and grabbed Jack's head, pulling him up to watch him. Eyes still closed, one corner of Jack's mouth twitched upwards in wanton delight as he gradually buried himself fully inside Will, who gave a low, rumbling purr and arched up to press a soft kiss to each sooty lid. Lips smudged with black from where he had kissed Jack's eyelids, he looked like an angel that had fallen a very long way. There was a touch of the demonic about Jack, too, in moments like this, eyes half-closed and teeth flashing as his lips drew back in a snarl of pleasure.

"Gorgeous. How'd you get to be so gorgeous?" Jack rumbled as he bent to nip at the hot, damp skin of Will's neck. Will merely growled.

"An' so tight. My little virgin blacksmith..."

"Shut up!" Will said with exasperation, fingers digging into Jack's shoulders.

Jack hid his grin against Will's throat, and moved his hips faster, working his hand between their straining bodies to grasp Will's cock, bringing him to full hardness again and keeping him on the edge.

"Which bit d'you object to so vehemently? 'Virgin', or 'blacksmith'?"

"Little," Will said with a grunt, crushing Jack closer to him with his thighs, bucking up against him. "Although the other two hardly apply any more."

"Hmm. How about, 'My gorgeous, strapping, depraved mate,' then?"

"That's marginally more accurate... Ohh God, Jack, harder."

"Like that, yeah?"

"Mmhmm. Fuck me."

"Will... Will... I can't hold back for long... 'S too good, darlin'."

Will twisted, ducking his head against Jack's chest, and bit at a nipple, pulling it between his teeth, as he felt the pulse of a long, slow orgasm start to ripple from deep within him, different entirely to the bright, sudden peak of ejaculation. Jack growled and thrust harder, cupping his hand under Will's head and pulling him back up to kiss him. There was a strand of hair caught in the sweat of Will's cheek, stuck in the crease of his eyelid, and Jack nudged it away with his nose, beard rasping against Will's temple. Will started to shake and writhe as the waves of pleasure intensified. He arched his back up, moaning loudly and grasped hold of Jack's buttocks, pulling him in deeper. Jack's rising cries went up a pitch as Will's fingers found their way between the cleft of his arse, and slid inside the still-slippery warmth, working in circles and thrusting in and out. That was more than enough to undo them both.

"Jesus! Fuck, yes!"

"Jack.! God, Jack, gnnaah!"

With their eyes wide open, they smashed the gates of heaven and lay panting in a heap, the rush of blood pounding in their ears louder than the slap of water against the hull. Jack basked in the afterglow, drifting on the rise and fall of Will's chest, still smug that after all this time that he was one of only two things that could make Will yell at the top of his voice – the other being battle. Fighting and fucking was, after all, a combination they had perfected over the years. Will wrapped his arms and legs tightly round Jack, and hissed urgently through the tangle of hair into his ear,

"There has to be another way to live forever. Find it."

Jack gave a little snort into Will's neck in response, and Will squeezed him closer.

"Just not this way, Jack," he said, biting at Jack's shoulder. Jack shuffled to the side to get more comfortable, so that their hipbones weren't digging into each other, and nuzzled into Will's neck.;

"I am rather reluctant to relinquish your soul too."

Will pulled back to look at him askance with one, sex-sleepy eye.

"Do you presume to have it, old man?"

"See, it's talk like that that makes me entertain these mad notions of immortality," Jack grumbled back, licking at a bead of sweat under Will's jaw. "I am merely applyin' my indefatigable logic to the matter. Consider," Jack said, holding up a finger demonstratively. He pressed it to Will's mouth. "This is mine," he said with conviction. The finger travelled down to brush over a nipple. "An' this." From there, it meandered across to the centre of Will's chest, where Jack pressed his whole palm flat. An' that in there is mine." Then the finger hopped down to poke Will in the navel, making him snort. "An' here." Then Will shook his head with amusement as Jack's finger predictably made its final claim between his legs. "An' this is definitely mine." Jack looked up at him with a confident grin. "See, you're mine; all of you. I won't let him have you."

Will moved Jack's hand away from his still-sensitive cock, and threaded their fingers together, laughing.

"You are jealous of him."

"A little, perhaps," Jack said, snuggling closer and throwing a leg possessively over Will. "Pre-emptively. I ain't willin' to share you, not one bit of you, with anyone or anythin'. Not your soul, an' definitely not your spectacular body neither."

"You don't doubt it for a minute, do you, that you have me."

"I know I do. Never had reason to doubt it."

"I've never given you reason to," Will said innocently. Then his mouth creased into a grin as Jack lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at him scornfully. "Well, not anymore," he said, drawing out and emphasising the last syllable. Jack rolled his eyes and let his head drop back to the pillow.

"An' yet you still doubt me, even now," he said accusingly.

"Not doubt, exactly," Will said with a thoughtful frown.

"Aye, you do. Am I not more than less than untrustworthy?" Jack stopped and squinted, not sure that had come out quite right. He blamed the prolonged lack of blood to his brain, and tried again.

"That is to say, less deserving of more mistrust?"

"Not anymore," Will acceded, giving Jack's thigh a squeeze.

"Precisely," Jack said with a huff, absently wrapping a few of Will's stray curls around a finger, and feeling the pulse of Will's heartbeat under his cheek. "And how many times," he continued, sulkily addressing Will's nipple, "have I given up the chance of immortality for you now, eh?"

"I've lost count," Will mused, then made a face and pulled a strand of Jack's hair out of his mouth. Jack sat up on his elbow sharply, expression triumphant.

"So you agree, then, your soul is mine, too? As much as all the other lovely parts of you?"

Will blinked, unsure how Jack had made that particular leap of logic, but not really in the mood to argue over the non sequitur.

"Aye," he said fondly, rubbing the tip of his nose against Jack's, then chuckled. "How did I get from being furious with you to pledging my soul to you?"

"Magic," Jack said with a wink. He stroked his hand across the smooth, heated skin of Will's buttocks, and then his mouth quirked as he encountered something small and round embedded in the curve of one cheek.

"Actually, that is mine," he said, picking his shirt button off Will, and holding it up to roll it between thumb and forefinger. "Whoever finds the button gets the kiss," he said, smirking coquettishly.

"Huh. That's not how I remember the game."

"My version is much more better because it has kissing."

Will pretended to consider this deeply.

"Well, I had the button..."

"Yeah, but I found it," Jack said, pursing his lips into a kissing pout. Will leaned in close and nudged Jack's cheek, edging out of the way of Jack's mouth and burrowing in between jaw and neck instead to nibble at his earlobe. Jack made a pleased 'Hmm,' noise, and rolled onto his back to deposit the button onto the table, freeing his hands up for more interesting activities. As Jack turned his head to the side, Will felt him go rigid, and say, 'Oh,' very softly. Will frowned, and raised himself up to see over the top of Jack's chest. Then he, too, became suddenly tense.

"Tsk, tsk. tsk.," came a voice from the other side of the cabin. "You'll be going straight to hell for that anyway, you know."

"Better to be damned that we did, than damned if we didn't. Isn't that right, Jack?"

"That'd about be the truth of it, aye," Jack said, nodding proudly. "Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb."

Azaphiel gave them a supercilious smile, and inclined his head towards Will.

"It is at least reassuring to see that you are already familiar with the Osculum Infame. It's good for you to get some practise in, considering where you're going."

"Potes meam mentulam sugare," Jack spat at him. "It might not be Enochian, but I'm sure you can understand it well enough, irrumator!"

Aziphael glided forward menacingly, but then stopped suddenly and sniffed the air, shrinking back angrily.

"Told you that oil would come in handy," Jack said to Will with a grin as he grabbed the nearby stick of chalk from the floor, and hastily drew a less-than-perfect circle around the two of them and the grimoire. The parchment had rolled further away when Jack had tossed it on the floor, outside the confines of the circle. Will looked up as Azaphiel gave a deep, vicious growl. He was shaking his head, trying to clear it as he took a couple more paces towards them.

"Hurry," Will urged as Jack sketched out the symbols at the corner, glancing between Jack's progress and the ever-advancing demon, face twisted with malice. Jack finished just in time and threw down the chalk, retreating into the middle of the circle next to Will, who drew the sheet around them again protectively. Azaphiel slithered to the very edge of the circle, his toes just touching the chalk outline, then hissed, narrowing his eyes at them. He shuddered then turned away, shoulders straightening up, and glided across to the other side of the room, swiping the balled-up parchment from the floor as he went. He turned back to them, once again urbane and businesslike, as he leapt upwards and backwards to sit, feet dangling, on the top of their armoire. The movement was wholly unnatural, yet done with an eerie grace. The creature afforded them a cold smile, as he began tossing the crumpled parchment up into the air and catching it again.

"So, have the two of you made ready for the long journey with me?"

Will looked straight into the creature's face, and Jack could feel him shake with anger as they stared each other down.

"He is mine, and I am his. Body and heart and soul. And you shall not have us."

"Ah, but I already do have him," Azaphiel said smugly, grasping the balled-up parchment between both hands and smoothing it out. He pointed at the rust-coloured spot next to Jack's name.

"Or had you conveniently forgotten?"

Jack's eyes widened.

"That ain't a signature, mate. I hardly think that constitutes a bindin' contract."

Azaphiel pressed a finger to his pale lips meditatively,

"Hmm. How is it you might phrase it, Sparrow? Ah, yes, 'Technicalities, mate.' You were willing. I was waiting. That constitutes a contract in my book, so your soul will be accompanying me. The... other parts of you can stay here, he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. For eternity."

"No!" Will shouted, darting forwards, his fists raised.

"Will, don't!" Jack yelled, grabbing Will by the waist and bundling him to the floor. "You mustn't leave the circle!"

"I can't let him have your soul!"

Jack put his lips to Will's ear and whispered urgently,

"He ain't got it, luv. Trust me." Jack lifted his head and spoke to the demon.

"See, mate, when William said, 'he is mine, an' I am his', he had the right of it. He is the custodian of my soul, an' vice versa. We agreed. Ergo, sod off."

"A verbal contract is not binding!" Azaphiel scoffed.

"Oh, I think you'll find it is. It was words what brought you here in the first place, weren't it? And I can assure you this contract was sealed in... well... not blood, an' not on paper, but I think it counts just as well," Jack said haughtily, pulling the bedsheet closer around him and Will.

Azaphiel growled, pacing back and forth a few feet away from the circle's edge. Jack smirked.

"Technicalities. Annoyin', ain't they? So that 'signature' there next to my name ain't for my soul, savvy?"

Azaphiel stopped pacing.

Will stared at Jack in disbelief. Jack frowned, then his mouth dropped into a tiny 'o'.

Azaphiel raised his eyebrows, and his gaze flicked from Jack to Will, and his lips drew back in a gloating grin.

"Wonderful. So I get you, instead? How delightful," he said to Will with a leer.

Will glared back, then disentangled himself from the sheet and punched Jack soundly in the jaw, but he reached out and grabbed Jack by the scruff of his neck before he could topple out of the chalk circle.

"Ow! Bloody hell, hang on a minute!"

"You've signed away MY soul, Jack!" Will said, trembling with shock and fury.

Jack put his hands up to fend off the angry piratesmith, shaking his head vigorously.

"No, no, no! Can't sign away another man's soul, only yer own. Look," he said, hunkering down and grabbing the grimoire from the floor. He thumbed through it quickly.

"Er... Incantation 3... drawrin' up a contract, blah blah blah... in the absence of a chicken a virgin may be substituted etc etc... Aha! Here we go. Do us the honour of readin' directly from the Enochian, eh, luv?"

Will gave him a frosty glare.

"Give it here, he muttered."

Azaphiel drew closer, the hem of his robes swishing against the wood of the cabin floor, and stood at the very edge of the circle.

"You can't save him, you know," he hissed at Jack, blinking his black eyes. Jack merely lifted his free hand for a brief moment as the only acknowledgment of Azaphiel's presence, mouthed, 'verbal contract', and continued to look at the manuscript. The creature turned his attention to Will, and glared at him with outright hatred.

"Your beloved values you so much he'd sell your soul to save his own. How can you be such a fool to love him?" he spat.

Will drew a sharp, pained breath, and felt Jack stiffen beside him. Jack turned his head slowly and looked at Will, his eyes calm and clear and full of intent, and gave him the tiniest smile. He held up the manuscript in front of them so the pages were hidden from Azaphiel's view.

"See? Right here," Jack said, tapping the page he had open in front of him. It was titled with the same, spidery handwriting, and spelled out, 'For the Banishement of Spirites'.

"Says how a soulmate cannot be bound in any contract, other than to its twin. Why don' you read it aloud for the education of our thwarted infernal friend, here?"

           Soulmate?

Will could hear the other old, familiar words Jack conveyed with his eyes, with every pore of his being, as though they thrummed aloud through the cabin.

Trust me.

Trying not to let any of the sudden rush of emotions show on his face, Will took a breath and began to read.

 "Ilasa gahé Azaphiel bajilenu iehe noco gono adana od banilenu iehe totza das dorebesa ohorela das e-ola, ge-kiasi nor-mo-laip, tol-toregi, tofajilo voresa adoranu caosago."

(O thou spirit Azaphiel because thou are the servant of fealty and obedience, and because thou art he that obeyeth, my power and thy creation; therefore I say Descend unto thy dwelling, obey the law which I have made, without terror to the sons of men, creatures, all things upon the surface of the earth.)

As Will uttered the first few syllables of the banishment rite, Azaphiel began to roar. A strange light started to glow from under the surface of the demon's skin, and the book grew hot under Will's hand, but he kept reading. Jack looked on in horror as the veins in Azaphiel's face started to pulsate with a red incandescence, and fire began to flicker under the surface of his skin. His black eyes burst and became holes filled with flame, and the scream issuing from his mouth suddenly stopped as his body began to dissapate. A bright flash filled the cabin and there was a deafening boom as the demon's form split apart. They both put their hands up to their faces to shield their eyes, but in the split-second between one eyeblink and the next, they saw the spirit in his true state, vast and dazzling and glorious. The heat under Will's hands became unbearable, and then he dropped the book as it burst into flames. The contract too became a tiny pile of ash. Then the cabin became still and quiet, the only sounds the rasp of their breathing, and the soothing, gloriously normal splash of water against the Pearl's hull.

"How did you know that the contract we made would be enough to keep him from either of our souls?"

Jack gave him a dazzling smile.

"Stands to reason, don't it, that if you can sell yer soul, you can give it away as well? Or at least, bestow it on someone for safekeepin'. An' I weren't about to just give him yours. Took me long enough to win it. You've had mine since... well, let's just say for a while. Only seems fair that I have yours as well. Officially, like. Matelots share everythin', after all."

"Hmm. So you own my soul, now, do you?" Will said, sounding rather dubious about the prospect.

"Yep. Richest man in the world, me," Jack said, sprawling back on the floorboards with a satisfied yawn. "I promise I'll look after it, he added hurriedly when he saw Will's expression."

"And I have your soul?"

"All an' every part of me," Jack said, spreading his arms wide in an expansive gesture. Will grimaced and began to laugh.

"I'm not sure if that's the most wonderful, or the most disturbing thing ever."

Suddenly there was urgent knocking on the cabin door, and the concerned voice of Mr Gibbs from outside.

"Cap'n? Will? You alright? We heard some... er... unusual... that is to say... er... loud... um... a commotion."

Jack and Will exchanged glances.

"Really?" Jack said coolly.

"Ah, saints be praised! Yer alright!" Gibbs said, relieved.

"Of course we're alright," Jack snorted. "What sort of noises did you think you heard?"

"Um, sort of... exploding noises."

"Oh, that was just Will, Mr Gibbs. Not to worry."

Will screwed up his face in disbelief, and mouthed 'WHAT?!' Jack gestured at him urgently to continue with the ruse. Will threw up his hands in desparation. At that moment, Jack was doing a worse job than Lucifer himself might have done with looking innocent.

"I... was just experimenting with some gunpowder," Will improvised. "It went a bit... wrong."

There was a pause while Gibbs apparently mulled this piece of information over, then he said,

"Ah... well, provided you're both in one piece, then I'll leave yer be."

Gibbs' footsteps moved away from the door, then he could be heard muttering to someone, before there was a hoot of laughter and Anamaria's voice crowing,

"Damned pair! What will they think of next? I wonder if they still have eyebrows!"

Will turned to Jack and fixed him with a glare.

"I hate you so much right now."

"Don't worry, luv. It'll pass."

Still annoyed, but perfectly aware that Jack was right, Will lay down next to him on the floor in a huff.

"When will you learn to tell me what you're planning?"

"Why would I do that an' spoil the surprise?" Jack said, waving away the very notion.

"Jack," Will said, turning towards him and giving him a suspicious frown, "do you actually know what the plan is? Before you do it, I mean? Is there even a plan at all?"

"There's never a plan, Will," Jack said, holding up a finger didactically. "There's always at least half a dozen, maybe more. Gotta be prepared for the impossible eventualities as well as the possible ones. See, it's the impossible ones that are more likely to take you unawares, an' then where are you? Stuck up shit creek with an unexpected but perfectly functionin' paddle, an' no soddin' boat to row it with."

"You really are mad," Will said despairingly.

"Mad only for you, my paramour," Jack declaimed, laying a hand melodramatically on his chest.

Will made a gagging sound. Jack laughed, wrapping the sheet tightly around them, and drew Will in close to his warmth.

"You are a fool, though, to love me," he whispered against the scar on Will's neck.

"No," Will said with a resigned sigh, tucking his cheek against the top of Jack's head. "I'm a fool to trust you. So we're both mad, by the sound of it."

"Aye. Mad, and mortal still. An' you're as much a fool not to trust me, which has been so amply an' belligerently demonstrated this morning," said Jack, pouting and rubbing the spot on his jaw where Will had thumped him.

"Hmm. Does it hurt?" Will said with an apologetic look, reaching up to stroke the skin gently with the back of his knuckle, before leaning in to give Jack a soft, contrite kiss.

"No, actually it don't hurt at all," Jack said thoughtfully. "Don't mean I don't expect you to make it up to me, though... How about another kiss, eh? Buttons be damned. Better make sure you've got my soul good an' proper-like..."

******

"How does our latest project please you, my love?"

"Well, indeed. I have news from our messenger," said the one with the starry brow.

"So I've heard. Look," said the one that shone, dipping a hand into the pool in front of him. The surface rippled then lay still, showing the image of two men shrouded in a sheet, and wound in each other's arms.

"They will make for an... interesting study, no?"

The other knelt also, gazing into the pool with an amused shake of his glittering head.

"When do you suppose they'll find out?"

"Most probably when one or the other of them gets shot or run through, or more likely when Turner ends up with a cut when he tests the edge of one of their swords, and within seconds has nary a scratch."

"I always said you were the crueller of the two of us."

"Cruel? To give them what they want? Make no mistake, beloved. I have not cursed them with true immortality."

"Nay, I know that. But extreme longevity will seem like forever to a mortal."

"They will adapt. It is what they do."

"Did you see him threaten Azaphiel? With a sword of all things?" The Star said, pointing at the younger of the two men with a chuckle.

"Indeed I did."

"Remind you of anyone?"

"Ah. You warranted it that time."

"No, El. Mikael is ever the jealous one."

"Protective."

"Jealous."

"Shai, enough. Watch," the Sun said with a laugh, pointing at the other man, who was whispering something in the younger's ear, eliciting a lip-biting grin.

"See, the Sparrow is almost as honey-tongued as you."

"Since I'm feeling uncharacteristically benevolent, I'll take that as a compliment. You know I hate it when you compare me to any of them."

"Flattery was my intention."

"Then you learned that from me."

"Pretty, aren't they, Little Horn?"

"They'll do. They'll do well; they'll last. None so fair as you though, El. Except me, of course," he added mockingly, playfully preening himself. "Will you come to the Pantheon? Gautama thinks he may have finally solved the riddle of the irresistible force and the immovable object."

"I think, perhaps, so have we," the Sun said with a laugh, pointing as the image in the pool showed the men wrestle for a moment, pushing each over and over on the floor, before their grappling turned into a tight hug, their expressions rapt, happy.

"As above; so below," the starry-browed one whispered as he continued to gaze across the surface of the pool, though now he was no longer watching the two men, but all mankind.

"El? How long do you think it will take them, all of them, to understand?"

"We have eternity to find out, my love, don't we. But us? How long do you think it will it take us to understand?"

"Patience, love. You invented that particular cousin of the virtues. We both have to live by it, unfortunately. Though oddly enough, I seem more adept at it than you."

"Shai?"

"Yes?"

"Don't make me smite you. Again."

Laughing, they rose and ascended a crystalline pathway latticed with silver, arm in arm. The pool grew dark again, its surface shifting with potentialities.

1. The story title is adapted from the title of the William Blake poem, 'The Marriage of Heaven and Hell', which describes the juxtaposition of Hell, ever in a state of flux, with Heaven, which is stable. One interpretation is that it alludes to alchemy. I like to think it also works rather well for our pair here.

2. The Enochian text and translation of the Goetia, the Key of Solomon is taken from here.

3. Azaphiel is a name I adapted from archangel Zaphiel/Zophiel, an avenging angel who presides over storms and metes out judgement to the wicked.

4. I've substituted the name 'Helen' with 'William', in the Marlowe quotes from 'Dr Faustus' ;)

5. Jack's Latin swearing translates as "You can suck my cock," and "Bastard." *g*

6. 'El' is short for Eli, the Hebrew and Aramaic for 'My God'. 'Shai' is short for Shaitan, which translates as 'adversary' or 'opponent' from Arabic.