(Part 1 of the Truths & Lies series, but can be read as a standalone. See A Reader's Guide to Truths and Lies.)

Perhaps the shackles were a mistake.

Will wanted to make me a present at the forge for our first wedding anniversary. I suppose he was imagining something domestic but, as my father used to explain to the stony disapproval of visiting dignitaries, "I'm afraid Elizabeth remains lamentably undomesticated."

"Shackles?" Poor Will looked quite horrified. "With a long chain and proper locks? Elizabeth, I was thinking perhaps candlesticks, firedogs, a garden bench with our initials worked into the back..."

You see? Domestic.

I tried explaining that shackles would remind me of the day that brought us together, a symbol of what we'd escaped. When James ordered Jack put in irons—and Jack still dripping wet from saving me—that was the moment I understood why Commodore Norrington wasn't a man with whom I could spend the rest of my life.

"You and your forge freed both of us," I told him, feeling rather inspired. "Me as much as Jack. And then you were willing to risk everything for what was right, and you won my heart." I may have laid it on a little thick but, as Jack Sparrow would tell you, nothing blinds a man like the truth.

"So... you want shackles as a symbol of freedom?" Will looks so sweet when he's puzzled. Actually, Will looks sweet most of the time.

"More or less." Considerably more, as a matter of fact. But that could wait until the shackles were finished and we were exploring our freedom in bed.

You could say it was a qualified success. Will was happy enough when I chained him to the headboard, although a bit of struggling would have been nice. And it was fun having him helpless. If not entirely novel.

He wasn't comfortable with the other side of it though. Of course, it was lovely of him to be so considerate, but has the man never heard of playacting? I was screaming before we'd finished, and not in a good way. I think my exact words were, "For goodness sakes, stop apologising!"

The shackles gathered dust under the bed after that until Jack spotted them. Jack and I have an understanding: I love Will, and I suppose Jack loves his Pearl, but there are times when love isn't enough and we both need someone less, well... wooden.

Cruel and utterly unfair, I know, but it made Jack grin.

Mind you, I think he was a little apprehensive about being chained up. Occupational hazard I suppose. And bad memories, of course, although Jack, of all people, understands what I did. We've been through all that, and after all, I went to a great deal of trouble to bring him back: as Jack himself would say, we're square. True, he always kept the key stashed away somewhere safe, usually in his mouth, but I think he'd do that with anyone.

I'd tease him by trying to steal it while we kissed, but he never quite let me take it from him, even when I thought I had him too distracted to notice. It was fun trying though.

On this particular occasion, we were re-enacting one of the times they almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow, only in this version he'd dragged me with him to the forge only to find the fire was out.

"Bugger!" he gasped. "How in hell am I supposed to get this chain hot enough to soften the metal?"

"It might heat up if you were to throw me across the anvil and ravish me without mercy," I suggested helpfully.

"Worth a try, luv..."

Which is what we were doing when Will burst in.

"Oh my God—Will!" I'm ashamed to say I shrieked like a ninny.

"Not just yet, love, my sword's fully occupied. Tell him to make do with the donkey."

"No, Jack! Really Will. Really here."

"Yes," agreed Will. "Sorry," he added, rather unnecessarily I thought.

Jack flicked the shackle chain off me and scooted to the far side of the bed, where he scrabbled to unlock his hands. It's actually quite tricky to open them yourself, even with the key. Especially when your hands are shaking and you're gabbling nonsense.

"Listen, Will, it's me what's sorry. 'S all my fault. Entirely my idea. Should never've happened. In fact, best all round if we agree it didn't, savvy?" He dropped the shackles onto the bed. "I'll be on my way now and leave you two to get along. Really, William, I swear, it's all a terrible misunderstanding." He padded round the room, picking up his clothes, which seemed to be scattered over rather a wide area. "Elizabeth loves only you, as you know. Always has, Will. Always will, Will, quite possibly. Probably, rather. Whereas me and her, her and me, that's frankly just an animal thing. To be honest, we don't even like each other... merely a diverting distraction from the everyday tedium and frustration of..."

"Shut up, Jack!" we said at once.

"See? You're thinking the same thing! Good sign that. And yes, very good idea—agree entirely. Don't mind me—I'll get dressed on the way out." He tried to leave, but Will blocked the doorway.

My father brought quite a collection of roses with him from England. Most of them died, of course, but one of the survivors, a variety rejoicing in the name of Rambling Rector, grew to monstrous size in the Jamaican climate. It smothers one whole side of the house in fragrant white blossom and wicked, inch-long, scarlet thorns

Halfway over the windowsill, Jack squawked and flopped back into the room, hopping on one leg. "On second thoughts, I'll get me clothes on first. You two just chat amongst yourselves."

"Jack, what part of 'shut up' did you not understand?"

I didn't like the way Will's voice sounded, as if something was about to tear loose. He moved towards Jack, who finished buttoning his breeches, put his hands together and bowed 'sorry' in that foreign way he has.

It should have looked cringing, but there was a glint in his eyes as he sidled towards the now empty doorway. They started to circle each other, Jack looking very innocent, which is always a warning sign to those who know him, including Will.

I'm not sure who moved first, only that Will lunged for Jack, and Jack made a dash for freedom that ended with him pinned against the diamond-patterned wallpaper with both his wrists over his head, exuding all the tragic innocence of a third-rate Desdemona. "Awright. Hit me. Do what you need to, but I still say you've got this all arse over tip, mate."

Being now reasonably decent in my bed-gown and ready to intervene, I put my arms around Will and kissed the back of his neck. "Please, darling, can we avoid this becoming a French farce? Stop frightening poor Jack and let me do the apologising. I'm really, really sorry and I promise we'll never do it again."

Jack grinned and nodded encouragement. The man has no dignity whatsoever.

"No! You don't understand!" Hardly what I'd expected from Will, under the circumstances, but at least he was talking to me now. "I don't want you to apologise." Still pinning Jack's arms against the wall, he twisted towards me. "And I don't want you to stop!

"I was watching you," Will whispered. "Before you noticed me, I was watching, waiting for the opportune bloody moment. Only I always seem to miss it, don't I?" He let go of Jack and slumped against the wall himself. "I'm not blind, you know, and I'm not stupid—not as stupid as you think, anyhow. I know about the two of you. I know I'm not... Look, I thought perhaps I could learn how to... I thought..." He slid down the wall and put his head in his hands.

Jack caught my eye for a second, and I could see the blackguard was already recovering his swagger. Then he slid to the ground too and put an arm round Will.

"Listen, son, you're just young is all. It'll pass." He patted Will on the shoulder. "The two of you'll be just fine. Lizzie here knows what she wants, and now you know what you want too. It's plain sailing. You just gotta listen to each other. And loosen up a bit, y'know—it's supposed to be fun, savvy?"

He glanced up and motioned me towards Will with his eyes. The rogue was enjoying this far too much, but I knelt down anyway and snuggled up against my husband. Who looked so hopeful and unsure of himself that I'd leaned in and kissed him before I knew what I was doing.

Jack's chuckle brought me back to earth. "That's the way!" He beamed, one arm paternally draped around Will's shoulders. "Take what you can!"

Will broke off the kiss, staring wildly. "Right!" He nodded. "Give nothing back!" Then he pulled us both towards him and crushed our mouths together in a kiss.

Two different arms pulled me close as our three tongues slid into a wonderful, tangled knot. I put one arm around Will, feeling the heat of him through his shirt as my other hand stroked Jack's bare back. I drew both of them closer to me and to each other, my lips hot and tingling... Suddenly it was over. We all lurched off balance.

Jack was on his feet, backing away, and I realised he was the one who'd broken it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not good!" His hands fluttered palms out, fending us off.

"Jack! What's the matter? What's wrong?" Both of us again. Perhaps we really are alike.

"Everything—nothing!" He pulled his shirt over his head back to front, shuffled it round the other way, finally shoving his arms through the sleeves. "Was wonderful, truly wonderful! William, my congratulations!" He was still backing away, trying to pull his boots on and flap his hands at the same time. "However, there are times when three is incontrovertibly a crowd, and please believe me when I say that this is one of... Ow! Bugger!" He clutched the back of his head where it had hit the doorframe.

I was still giggling as Will reached past Jack, slammed the door shut, turned the key and slipped it into his pocket. "Sorry, Jack," he said, not sounding it in the slightest, "but you're not leaving until you give me an honest answer."

"Was bein' honest, Will, I swear!" Jack rattled the door, but the lock held.

"Could be a long wait. I'll fetch my embroidery." Unhelpful, I know, but I couldn't resist.

Will shook his head. "What's wrong with me, Jack? I'm not enough for Elizabeth, and you don't want me at all. Why not? You must have slept with half of Port Royal by now, including a few who'd as soon hang you as kiss you, so we've established you're not fussy. What's the matter with me? I saved your bloody life, remember?"

Jack's mouth opened and shut. "Ah!" he said at last. "Could be I don't feel right, being in your debt an' all"

"Bollocks!" Will grabbed both his arms. "I'll give you five seconds, Jack Sparrow, and then I'm going to kiss you. Unless you can give me an honest reason why not."

Jack squirmed. He twisted and wriggled. He tried to knee Will in the groin, bite his arm, kick him in the shins, and stamp on his toes. None of it worked, because Will had three big advantages: he was taller, heavier, and he knew Jack's methods. Plus, of course, he'd put the pirate in a double arm lock to begin with.

It took considerably more than five seconds—during which embroidery was the last thing on my mind—for Will to trap Jack against the locked door and kiss him on the neck.

Actually, kiss is a poor word for it. He devoured Jack's neck. I could see his tongue tickling moisture trails down into the hollow of Jack's collar bone, his teeth incising white dents that flushed pink as they smoothed. The thought of that mouth and Will's warm breath on Jack's skin raised gooseflesh on mine.

Jack groaned. "Will, don't—just don't."

"Why not? You seem to be enjoying it."

Jack's face was towards me. His lips were parted and his eyes had gone wide and dark as a moonless midnight. Oh yes, he was enjoying it.

I'm not sure Will could see his face, but with their bodies pressed together like that I think it's safe to say he also had what we might call firm evidence. So why was Jack begging him to stop?

Curiosity piqued, I went over and put my hand on his face. "Jack, this is really most unlike you. Unless you explain, I may be forced to assist Will in reducing you to a quivering wreck."

"Truth!" He spat the word. "You want truth?" He tried to shake Will off, failed again, and slumped against the wall, glaring at us. "The honest truth, my loves, is that there are a few things in this world too strange, even for Captain Jack Sparrow. And attempting to steal a few extra moments of passion with the cursed and undead love of my weaselly damn life by fucking his bloody son—who just happens to look and feel exactly like him—is very definitely one of them. Now let me out of here!"

This time, Will allowed Jack to push him aside. He looked so confused. So sweet. But I wouldn't be distracted.

"Jack..." I picked his hat off the floor, knowing he'd be reluctant to leave without it. "What did you just call Will's father?"

"Oh that, aye." He blinked. "Well, I admit, technically, since we lifted the curse and Davy Jones is finished with him..."

He's good; I'll give him that. Teeth glinting, hands darting, everything about him screaming, Watch me now, listen to me now! Now! Not then!

"...he's not so much cursed and undead as un-cursed but dead. However, while the change was no doubt an improvement from his point of view, from mine it makes him, from an amorous perspective, as it were, possibly even less appealing, if anything..." He looked hopefully at Will. "Key?"

There was a definite look of desperation about Jack. Was it possible he'd tripped up at last, or was I walking into a particularly cunning diversion? Either way, it had to be worth exploring.

"No, Jack," I said, "The part after 'cursed and undead'."

The hands stilled.

"Ah," he whispered. "Was really rather hoping you'd missed that."


The End