Contradictions, Chapter 5

Admit

by

Veronica Rich

"Hmm. Oh, then—very well, yes." He blinked at the retreating form of Will Turner, cabin boy David hurrying to keep stride with his mentor toward the docks. Jack Sparrow's mind fought to forget about Will for five minutes and instead, pay attention to the young woman at his side. Elizabeth Swann was not someone he wanted in on too many of his thought processes. "Lovely weather for sailing, don't you think?" he asked, adopting his gentleman's accent in case anyone was eavesdropping.

"The skies could not be clearer or more free of precipitation," she agreed, her steps slow and small as she paced alongside, slowing him down. He had a feeling it was deliberate. "And you, I suspect, have rarely been less comfortable than you are presently."

"Mysteries don't catch my fancy, Miss Swann. If you'd be so kind?"

"Don't you mean 'very kind?'" she quipped, reminding him of their first meeting under less than pleasant mutual first impressions. "I simply wanted to ask that you take good care of Will, and see that he's as careful as he can be—it's not a safe life he's chosen, with you on the Black Pearl."

"I try to keep all my crewmen safe, much as I can," Jack replied neutrally, mind flashing back to catching Will as he was almost knocked off the mast during repairs. "Will is quite capable of looking after his own hide, at any rate."

"True enough. But I would think you'd be more interested than that, seeing as you've feelings for him that obviously extend beyond that of a responsible captain."

With remarkable restraint of expression, Jack reached up and scratched at the side of his chin, feigning nonchalance. It wouldn't do to give Elizabeth much to work with—she was too intelligent and had too many options. Rather than be defensive, he decided to deal within the confines of what she'd handed him. "You are most probably correct," he admitted. "I've not had many friends I could call close, and the elder William Turner was probably the most loyal."

"Hmm." She weighed the non-admission and shook her head. "I don't think that's all of it, Jack. I'm fairly sure your feelings for Will have nothing at all to do with his parentage—unless, of course, that's what's holding you in decent check of not taking advantage of him in the first place." She slid a knowing smile sideways, seeming proud of her perception. "I'm not a little girl, Captain. I know some of the ways of the world. I read, even things my father would prefer I don't."

"Bloody awful thing, allowing a woman access to text," Jack parried.

"In fact," she continued on as if he hadn't spoken, "it's been going on for some time, hasn't it? Since back before Will broke that curse—I could see it in your face, hear it in your voice when you were railing on about him being stupid."

"He was stupid," Jack asserted bluntly. "He's developed a bit more of a brain since then, I'll give him that, but he's still given entirely too much to impulse."

"Not what I meant," she trilled, then paused in her walking, dropping her voice and leaning in close, her face only a few inches from his. "You care for him." She paused, as if gathering up fortitude to venture more. "You want him; you might even love him."

"You're treading a dangerous line of conversation," Jack warned, letting an edge creep into his tone. It was not at all jovial or amused.

But neither was Elizabeth's expression light or teasing any longer. "A valued friend is treading a dangerous venture," she shot back. "I think I've a right to be concerned for him. You forget who you're talking with, Jack—I know more about you than the average acquaintance. Or have you forgotten?"

He scoffed. "What you think you know about me is exceedingly little."

"I know you don't do things by half measures. I know you're a survivor, and not a coward, and that you treasure the continued chance for opportunity and freedom higher than anything else," she guessed, tilting her head so that a couple of curls fell back past her shoulder. "I'm fairly certain how you regard Will is eventually going to catch up with him in some way, and not for the best."

"Presuming there would be any kernel of truth in what you're saying, how do you figure he would suffer from it?" Jack demanded. "Seems I'd be the one in the risk, here."

"Because, Jack." She hesitated, then leaned even closer and dropped her voice. "Someone besides me is going to figure it out, eventually. Maybe even Will himself. It won't stay your secret forever, and the next person to catch on might not be as benign as I am. As I said, you're running a dangerous life; someone might use that against him."

"You're presuming a secret I may not have." He began walking again, forcing her to move. "You're not dealing with anything you know anything about."

"I know you have a tendency to ramble when you're in your cups."

Jack paused, mid-step, and looked sideways at her. He knew what she meant—or rather, where and when—but needed some help with the specifics. "Enlighten me, darling," he asked levelly, none of the affection of the word touching his cool tone, the mood between man and girl dropping several degrees.

Elizabeth tightened her grip through his arm as if anchoring herself, and pressed her lips together in brief worry, but didn't look away or change the subject. "After you drank yourself into a stupor, you fell asleep, or half-asleep, anyway—you were mumbling and talking, most of it nonsense or things I knew nothing about. But... there were some things you talked about that I understood well enough."

She looked away. Impatient, Jack reached up and pulled her chin back to face him. "Out with it, then," he prodded in the same tone.

"You spoke about the Pearl, of course. And about Will." She lifted her chin. "Well... to him, was more what you did. Rather affectionately, it seemed." Despite her assertions of worldliness, Elizabeth's upper cheeks stained a hot pink.

"Affectionately?"

"Downright scandalous," she clarified, dropping her chin again. He could hear the indignation in her voice, the affront and the anger. "Things I'm fairly sure you don't want me to repeat."

She was right; he didn't want to hear them. He also didn't want to admit she was most probably telling the truth. And then enlightenment crowded all else out, and he allowed a small grin. "So that's why you burned the rum."

"No, we needed fuel for the fire."

"Not all of it, missy. Not nearly all that you threw on that blaze, eh?"

Her slender nostrils flared elegantly. "I think I have better means of making your life miserable than depriving you of a few bottles of—"

"Barrels, love. Several, in fact."

She glared. "Which you couldn't possibly drink in anything less than months, by which time we would have perished from lack of fresh water or food, anyway."

"Ah, but it eases the passing, my dear."

She sighed. "I'll give you this—you're excellent at trying to change the subject, and I daresay that probably usually serves to keep you from having to deal with unpleasantries."

Jack felt his face darken. Dropping his voice, he leaned in until he was sure she could feel his hot, damp breath across her lips. "I don't get t' escape many unpleasantries, Miss Swann," he reminded her, patting just below his right clavicle where the ash-packed bullet wounds lined up, invisible beneath cambric shirt and waistcoat. Pulling away, he softened his harsh expression just a fraction. "My thoughts are my own. Should I choose to share them, I doubt you would be my first choice for a confidante." He smirked. "After all, you're a smart woman—but I'm not entirely sure you're to be trusted."

"Only fair, I suppose." Elizabeth eyed him dispassionately. "But we come back to Will—and the truth is, if you really cared about him the way you won't say you do, at least not sober, you'll look out for him."

"And that's all you ask?" Jack's grin was, at least in part, feral despite the grooming of civilization he projected at the moment. "Keep dear William alive?"

"I can't ask much more." Again, she pressed her lips into a thin line, and Jack actually took pity on her this time.

"Methinks you're the one with the feelings."

"At least I won't deny mine." She quirked her lips, hazel eyes regarding his closely before turning to resume their walk, leading him into the gait. "It's not meant to be, right now. I'd be miserable if I settled down right now, and I'm not so sure Will wouldn't feel the same. We're both terribly young to be planning a family."

Jack's chest clenched—she was speaking as though it were a foregone conclusion the two of them, she and Will, could somehow pick up in a few years and carry on with a mutual life. As though they were both willing to place their emotions and sex lives on hold until she caught up with him. "Has he made any promises to you?" Jack wondered.

"You really need to ask Will that," she answered cryptically, not looking at him.

"I'd hardly have to, if you'd answer it," he observed. "Besides... he won't tell me."

She seemed surprised by the admission, enough that she remained quiet for a full half-minute or so. Then: "We've made no promises, though he did ask if he could court me in the future. I don't hold my breath."

"Is he not good enough for you?" Chagrined to hear his own defensiveness, Jack toned it down. "Being a blacksmith and all?"

"I believe it's more an issue of compatibility." Jack heard the grudging admission in her voice and thought Well, of course it is. You two belong together about as much as the English and Spanish navies. "Which isn't to say I've given up—but I realize I can't hold him when I'm not ready to settle down."

"Very mature attitude to have," Jack noted with a lift of his eyebrow.

"I haven't much of a choice, do I? He's with you day in and day out, Jack—not me."

"It's hardly my fault you failed to see the adulation right before your nose while you had it," the pirate captain retorted. "It's not as though the lad's exactly giving me long looks across a crowded deck; whatever you happen to believe of my abilities of obfuscation and seduction, they apparently have no visible effect on Mr. Turner."

"But he is with you," Elizabeth pointed out ruefully. "He's on your ship, taking orders from you, by his own volition. I've known Will enough years to understand he won't do that unless he feels a compelling need to serve, to do something." She grumbled. "What he sees in you, I don't know—but it's something redeeming, apparently."

"Then the boy's a bigger fool than I originally credited him for."

"And yet, you pulled him aboard the Black Pearl," Elizabeth reminded him in a hiss just above her breath. "You encouraged it, and he's bought into the myth, fully baited."

"I'd hardly say he's a damn acolyte," Jack argued, shaking his head, which still felt too naked and quiet without his baubles and dreadlocks. He was annoyed with Elizabeth and with this conversation. "He lives with us, as you said—he sees us every day. Christ on th' Cross, he's seen me throw up over the side of the Pearl. He knows what to believe and what not."

"Yes... and he still stays on board." Jack said nothing. "Don't dismiss that lightly, Captain. With his skills, he could be in a lot of places that don't involve death and thievery. You need to think about why he's there—as does he."

"Adventure, I expect. Chance to prove himself. Can't get much locked in a tiny shop while the town drunk takes credit for all your work."

"Bloody, stupid, stubborn men." Elizabeth grumbled beneath her breath, then stopped and yanked on her companion's arm to make him face her, nearly growling. "For heaven's sakes, you win, Jack!"

They were at the docks now, and Jack looked about, wondering who might've overheard. He didn't mind much making his own scenes, but he was never overly anticipatory to be part of someone else's tantrum. He caught sight of Will's back on deck of what must be Gabriel's Trumpet, their slow boat to London. Boy's either deaf or used to her outbursts by now, he reasoned. "What th' bloody hell're you talkin' about?" Jack slipped into his usual dialect, dropping his voice to a hiss as he turned his attention back to the young woman.

"I mean," she patiently continued, "that you have the chance I no longer have." She didn't explain further, but fixed her eyes on the pirate captain for several seconds, then sighed. A small smile appeared on her face—Jack wasn't certain if it was forced, or if it had just showed up of its own accord. "He doesn't need me worrying about him anymore... he'll be in your charge, now."

Odd choice of words, he thought, though the idea that Will was now somehow his, in some mysterious way, appealed alarmingly—more than it should have. "I seriously doubt he needs either one of us hangin' over his shoulder like a... a guardian angel," he fished for the proper term. "He's in his own charge, I'd think."

Elizabeth actually nodded slowly at that, a contemplative look in her eyes. "Hmm. Maybe that's the difference between us, for him."

Jack was about to ask what that meant, when David shouted to him from the rail. "They're going to cast off, Captain!" he called. Jack narrowed his eyes in reminder, and the boy blinked, realizing his gaffe, then scrunching his face as if struggling to remember. "I mean, um... we're leaving, Mr. MacLeary!"

Elizabeth chuckled, and Jack sighed, pinching his nose. "When did I become a bloody nursemaid?" he wondered aloud, squeezing his eyes shut. "Th' boy's as subtle as explosives in a barrel of oats."

"Think of him as your chance to redeem yourself for all your wicked deeds," she commented dryly, and Jack looked up to see if she was joking. "Make him a decent man, and just maybe you'll get to spend your eternity in purgatory."

"Goodbye, Miss Swann." He withdrew his arm and turned toward the boat, then paused, turned back, and extended his hand, noticing for the first time that Charlie was nearby with the coach, now empty of luggage. "May God have mercy on the French, because I seriously doubt you will."

To her credit, she offered a man's handshake in return, rather than a simpering curtsey or her fingers, though she did so quickly so as not to be noticed by passersby. "I have just as much mercy as I'm shown," she quipped. "Surely you know that."

"Well, I hope they have the good sense to lock up their liquor cabinets, at any rate." He grinned wolfishly, showing his gold teeth, and she had the good grace to blush.

"Off with you, Captain," she spoke quietly. She transferred her attention to the boat's deck, and lifted her hand toward Will, who waved back. Jack approached a crew member standing near the plank and identified himself. After a couple of minutes' conversation, he climbed the short distance to deck and waited, for the first time in years, to not be in charge of shoving off.

*****

"You're not moving, Jack."

"What was your first clue?" His edgy tone belied the neutral words as he continued to not move. Jack perched upon a large crate balanced against one of the lockboxes on deck, leaning with his back to it and his boots up on the rail, arms crossed as he stared out into the night.

"What's wrong?" A bit of a shuffling noise as Will stood against the rail, hands back on it, watching his captain. "You look angry... but nothing's happened. Did Elizabeth say something to you?"

"It's not her. And I'm not angry."

"I'm no fool, Jack, nor am I—"

"Aye, you're not a simpleton," Jack finished for him, lowering his voice and slipping into his regular accent. "I'm well aware."

"So, out with it."

Jack flicked his eyes to Will, wondering when the younger man had begun feeling bold enough to impart his opinions freely to a man that outranked and out-aged him by eighteen years. "Jus' missin' th' Pearl," he finally assented, turning his eyes once again to the night sky.

"I'm sure she's fine, wherever she is," Will reassured him.

"Not th' problem." Jack shook his head slowly. "She's not with me, an' that ain't fine at all."

"Ah." The lad only used that tone when he'd divined something. "You know, I'm surprised you're taking time to go to England at all, waiting to catch up with her from there."

"We've a rendezvous," he answered cryptically. "Can't make her go any faster an' still arrive in one piece."

After a few seconds, Will twisted himself around a bit to look back over the railing out into the sky as well, perhaps trying to figure out if there was something specific drawing Jack's attention. Then, he faced Jack again. "I've been curious about something," he began. "Regarding the Isla."

Neither of them spoke the name any more than they could help doing so, but Jack knew what he meant. "Aye?"

"Why'd you come back for me?"

Jack blinked up at the lad. "Well, now... that's out of th' blue."

"The Pearl was anchored in the bay of the cave—Barbossa left only a skeleton crew to guard it." Will stopped himself and grimaced, apparently catching the pun. "You could've just taken it—gone below and released the crew like Elizabeth did, from the brig. She did it, I know you could've if you'd wanted. Why?"

"Will, let me 'splain something about enemies: Ye never wan' leave an invulnerable one standin' if you can at all help it. If I'd taken the Pearl back and gone on me merry way, sure as Fanny's your aunt, Barbossa would've come after me." Jack set his jaw. "I waited ten years t' find th' bastard, an' I wasn't leavin' him standing."

"But if you'd let him kill me, spill my blood, you could've gotten him then."

"Aye. And I would've had to deal with th' rest o' the buggers, as well. Th' way ye wield a sword, you were more useful t' me alive than dead—that, and it got th' rest of them out of our way, off our backs." He noted the confused, half-guilty expression in Will's eyes, even in the dark, and gentled his tone further. "I wasn' about to hold that oar thing against you t' spite meself. Besides, I've had worse 'n a knock upside th' head with an oversized matchstick in me time, trust me."

The lad's mind was still working, and Jack frowned. "If you'd taken the Pearl," Will sounded out slowly, as if puzzling the words before they exited his mouth, "Barbossa would've broken the curse, and Norrington would've had them; the pirates had nowhere to go, without a ship, and they wouldn't have wanted to stay in that cave indefinitely. And you know for a fact the Commodore would've hanged them—well, he did, even." It was his turn to frown. "You could've saved yourself a lot of trouble and toil if you'd made for the Pearl in the first place."

"Do you think I'm a complete scoundrel?" Jack shook his head with a pronounced sigh. "Lad... I really didn't wan' see you die, 'specially not at th' hands of the likes o' them. Even scalawags are capable of a certain measure of loyalty to th' memories of old friends an' comrades."

"You wanted to keep me safe." Will appeared to think this over, and Jack watched him.

"Is that hard t' believe, son?" Jack wanted more than anything to think of the younger man as a surrogate son, or even a favored nephew, but it just wasn't happening for him. Instead, he spent perfectly good drinking time mulling those dark, innocent eyes or pondering how Will's hair felt between his fingertips. No, Will Turner was about as far from filial as one could get.

"It... was a big risk, is all," the blacksmith finally explained. "Especially since I didn't entirely understand what you were up to."

"Well, least you didn't hit me again, an' that's about all I was really hoping for," Jack dryly noted. He noticed Will shifting from one foot to the other, it finally registering the man was wearing fairly new boots and had been wandering the deck with David most of the afternoon, answering questions or seeking answers from various crewmen. Pulling his feet down from the rail, Jack scooted over, making room on the large crate. "Take a load off," he offered, gesturing at the empty space. "Was just up here waitin' for th' boy to get tired, is all."

Chuckling, Will took the seat, choosing to lean forward slightly instead of back like his companion. He was always a bit tense, as if at the ready to leap up and perform work, Jack thought; right now, he wasn't thinking of much beyond the man's solid thigh pressed warmly against his—the crate wasn't that wide, after all. "If he gets tired," the smith warned, looking back over his shoulder at Jack. "You know how he feels about the helm."

"Aye," Jack nodded. He could hear faint voices on the night air as David assaulted the night helmsman on duty with questions far behind them. "I jus' hope he knows how t' keep his own mouth shut, when it comes to th' answers."

"Don't worry. I told him our safety and our lives depend on him not saying anything beyond the story we all concocted about being relatives. He can get away with not answering specific questions about the 'business,' being that young." With this, Will did finally lean back, hands folded in his lap; belatedly, he lifted his booted feet to the rail, prompting Jack to resume his former posture as well. "He spent just as much time around Francois as we did; he knows better, now."

"Let's hope." The two men gazed quietly into the night, but Jack was fairly certain he was the only one thinking how easy it would be to lift an arm around his companion's shoulders, to lean over with his other hand and tilt that chin toward him, to plant kisses on Will's mouth until the younger man was breathless, panting to turn and haul himself up over Jack and return the touches. Instead, Jack sighed, shifted a bit.

"Tell me about your family."

"Hmm?"

"Your family, Jack. We're going to see them—tell me who I'll be meeting." Will swiveled his head to face Jack, less than two feet away, and grinned becomingly. "I must say, I'm dying to know from where and whom the infamous Jack Sparrow hails."

"Well, then, mate," Jack began, clearing his throat but keeping his voice low, "you're gon' be mighty disappointed. This ain't me mum an' forebears; it's other family."

"Such as?"

Jack debated a moment, then answered, "My family."

"But you just were—" Will paused a beat, then lowered his voice to an incredulous hush. "Your family—you're married?"

"Nay... no more. Not for many a season." When the other man said nothing, encouraging through his silence, Jack continued with what he hadn't even told Gibbs thus far in all the years he'd known the trustworthy seadog. "Long, long years ago—back when you were but a wee lad yourself—I tried t' settle down, but it didn't work out."

"How so?"

Jack leaned his head back against the box, then rolled it to look up through the ropes into the sky, finding it easier to address the universe than Will's perceptive eyes. "I've been on ships since I was born, one way or th' other—Da owned his own shipping outfit. Quite th' entrepreneur, built up a solid, small business." He paused, considering the wisdom of divulging so much about himself, when he'd not done so in a very long time; but, he trusted Will and considered how good it would be to have someone to talk with. Besides, he hadn't much choice—sooner, rather than later, Will would find out.

"Mum died of th' fever when I was about nine, an' Da followed her shortly after; th' best doctors around couldn't keep them alive. Fact is, th' black bastard cut down me grandmother, too, when I was close on fourteen. What was left of th' company was put in th' trust of me Uncle Maury, an' he drew a salary 'til th' day he died for overseein' it." Jack sighed at the memories. "Good man, Maury—but he had a full house of children, and with Aunt Tessie dead, I had no desire to get pressed into service babysittin' all those whelps... so I took to th' sea."

"Rather young for a pirate," Will mused quietly.

"Oh, I wasn' a pirate." Jack chuckled quietly. "That came much later—well, maybe not that much. Any rate, I chose t' work for me Da's company, signing on t' ship out, startin' with the shorter runs. I prob'ly got some special treatment, since th' men knew who I was, but as you can see, I didn't sleep through me lessons—I worked as hard as any man on those ships.

"Well, I'd been at it 'bout two years when th' ship I was on was attacked by pirates. We didn' stand a chance, bein' smaller an' such—they had a refitted warship with enough cannons t' sink Port Royale. Vicious lot, those—I mean, I'm nothin' for me own mum to brag about, but these whoresons killed, beat, flayed when it weren't needed. I don' even do that when I'd like to."

"Only verbally," Will pointed out with a deceptively even tone.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Turner. Anyway, a few of us signed th' Articles an' agreed to be pressed into service to avoid bein' killed or made examples of—includin' William. Could hardly be much use to his wife an' baby at the bottom of th' sea." As the words rolled out, Jack closed his eyes, realizing the horrid irony of his thoughtless comment. "Apologies."

The younger man said nothing for a moment, then asked, "So he turned pirate to save his life? He was forced into it?"

"Aye, we both were. Just about undid th' poor fellow, havin' to deny havin' a family or a woman back home."

Will sat up a bit and turned toward Jack. "He disowned us, then."

"Didn't have much of a choice." Jack shook his head and glanced toward Will, whose brow was creased with something resembling anger. "Will, most pirate captains require their crew t' be single, uncommitted men—Bill spoke up, signed on at my urging, then lied about you an' your mum to stay alive. Trust me, it weren' his first choice, but as I said, I convinced him he was more useful alive than dead, to ye. That, and I didn' wan' lose one of the few friends I had left in the world. Savvy now?"

Emotions shuffled across the younger man's expression—his jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring. Jack waited carefully to see what the pronouncement would be—Will didn't need to know that Bill had been just a little too eager to turn pirate, that he'd been the first one to volunteer to sign the Articles and convinced Jack more money could be made in piracy than in honest seamanship. The rest of the story was essentially true, especially the part about Bill wanting to do right by his family—the man had gotten it into his head that little Will would have a gentleman's education, and that sort of thing required more money than even the generous late, lamented MacLeary's brother would ever be able to pay him.

Jack hadn't time to consider the path little Will had eventually taken, nor how it might have pained his old friend to see his son engaging in nothing gentlemanly as an adult, for Will's features relaxed from hostile to thoughtful. "What's past is past," the younger man eventually spoke. "Besides, I can hardly condemn him when I'm doing the same thing now."

It occurred to Jack that Will was entirely too responsible for his age, as most men would have followed the statement with the rhetorical, "Can I?" and required some sort of lie to assuage their guilt. Of course, now he has more of a reason to blame me for taking his father away from them, if he really wants to, Jack mused. "Ver' few men ask to take up a life of piracy," he explained aloud, with a loose shrug of the shoulder nearest Will. "And once it's done, th' authorities generally won't let ye give it up, gallows-happy as they are. Men who wan' recant aren't allowed t' do so, unless it's in th' presence of a preacher before slippin' on th' hemp necklace."

Will said nothing, but as Jack watched, he withdrew a small dagger from somewhere inside his new coat and held it up to the moonlight thoughtfully, as if inspecting the blade for nicks or imperfections. When he lowered it and began polishing it with the cuff of his sleeve, Jack withdrew the decorative lace kerchief from his own pocket and wordlessly offered it. Will paused, glanced it over, and took the scrap of cotton with barely-murmured thanks. He polished for a good two minutes before Jack asked, "'S that one of yours, then?"

A few more seconds, and then Will raised the knife a bit, offering it to Jack. The pirate reached for it, noticed it was being held blade out, and withdrew a bit; when he looked up, he was struck by the calculation in Will's dark eyes, the dark-humored set of his jaw. His hand entirely gripped the dagger's handle, but Jack saw no malice—only challenge. He's waiting to see if I'm willing to take it and cut myself if he doesn't let it go in time. He thinks I'm the one who forced his father to choose between preserving the honor of his family name, or survival. Normally, Jack could've gotten the flat of the blade between thumb and finger, but this was too small, and besides, Will had made a show of polishing the metal—Jack now understood—for the sole purpose of keeping Jack's fingerprints off of it.

Do you trust me? the younger man's eyes silently tested. You asked for my trust way too early in this relationship, and really didn't deserve it at that time—turnabout's fair play, Jack. He could almost hear the words aloud.

Slowly, Jack positioned his thumb and forefinger on either sharp edge of the blade, exerted enough pressure to grip it, and pulled. The handle slid forth from Will's fingers, the smith's expression never changing, leading Jack to wonder if he'd get all the way out of that hand without long cuts on the thick pads of his own fingers. When he finally held it free and clear of Will's hand, the younger man spoke. "Was the first blade I ever made that Mr. Brown didn't toss back into the heatbox to reuse." He shrugged. "It's not that good."

Gingerly, Jack turned the dagger, taking it by the simple metal grip, and held it up to the moonlight. As he studied what appeared to his untrained eye quite a nicely-crafted blade, he noted how the light bathed his fingers—fingers that were whole and solid and of flesh. He didn't realize he was bending and flexing two of them on either side of the hilt, studying their movements, until Will said, "You still see it, don't you? The bones... the rotting flesh."

"Aye. Can't really escape it."

"Surely it didn't surprise you, when it happened."

"There's a difference, Will, between knowin' and seein'," Jack rumbled, still waggling his fingers slowly.

"Such as hearing there's a curse, and then knowing it..."

"An' then seein' its effects for yourself," Jack finished. "Over an' over again." He focused on the dagger instead. "If you don' like this, why do you carry it?"

"Never said I don't like it." Will reached over and plucked the small knife from Jack's grip, his fingertips grazing the pirate's skin briefly. "When I look at it, I think of how hard I worked to get to a point where I could make this; every blade I produce, I compare to this one, really. When I look at those, I see this—sort of like you see the bones through your skin, I guess. Maybe you're not supposed to forget it."

Jack was silent a moment, absorbing the import of what Will was trying to tell him—then he glanced up at the man's expression turned toward him, a bit too dry and bland for the philosophy. Jack grinned and remarked, "Least you've learned your lesson about throwin' them at me, eh?"

Will stroked the edge of the glinting blade with his forefinger, oddly mischievous eyes never leaving Jack's. "Says who?"

*****

Except the gift wasn't a brightly-decorated box—it was Will Turner. The object of their juvenile affections sat between the boy and the girl, sacrificing adult conversation to give them equal time, not seeming to resent the assault on his senses as they flung questions and comments at him and each other.

David, who sat on Will's left, was balanced out by Isabella—or Ivy, as the girl preferred—on his right. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a few ringlets, but being thin, several strands escaped the tight binding to float just above her head and around her ears. Jack caught her several times throughout the evening reaching up and trying to pat down the rogue strands, stopping when Will looked at her, smiling and turning her large, dark doe eyes on the man instead. Cute as it was, Jack frowned a bit each time in concern—eleven was entirely too young to be having a crush on someone nine years her senior. But he had to admire her taste. Like father, like daughter.

Only earlier that day had Will and David learned about Ivy and Esther, shortly after they departed the boat and were ensconced in their carriage toward London. Jack had said nothing, knowing he'd have to eventually tell Will the entire story behind how he'd ended up with an ex-wife and a daughter, and that it wouldn't be complimentary to the senior Turner's memory. Bill, you old dog, Jack thought more than once, ruefully, during the trip toward London. You son of a bitch... leaving me to deal with this, with having to tell why you liked the sea and piracy so much. As if I could understand your original motivations that well. But he knew if he didn't tell the story himself, Will could ask Esther, and she'd explain at least part of the truth.

"Do you like horses... Mr. Turner?" Ivy tilted her face up at Will in innocent flirtation.

"I think horses are beautiful animals, but I've not had much experience with them," the blacksmith answered, granting the girl a smile. Jack watched the way his daughter brightened at the way the corners of Will's eyes crinkled agreeably, and felt a bit like sighing himself. You're an infatuated old fool. Leave this one for the young girls and his forge, you.

"I've a horse," Ivy admitted quietly. "White and brown spotted. A mare pony, that I keep at Grandmother's estate."

"I see," Will indulgently nodded, his focus still on the girl, making her blush. "Where'd you get her?"

"Father gave her to me." She flicked her gaze to Jack, and ever too briefly, identical eyes met across the table. "When I turned ten. He said Mum and Da thought I was old enough to ride," she explained, giving her attention back to Will Turner.

"I've ridden horses, too," David piped in, lest he be forgotten. "Big ones—rode a stallion once that'd been broken just two months prior!"

Ivy furrowed her brow, rather Sparrow-like, and leaned forward over her plate to cast a doubtful glance at her rival, who was giving her a So there! look. Jack glanced up at Will, who lifted his eyebrows at the pirate; Jack shrugged a shoulder and rolled his own eyes heavenward, eliciting a small, quirked grin from the smith.

"Isabella, perhaps David would like to ride Alatarial while he's visiting?" Esther Martense interrupted from the far end of the table.

"That's a jolly idea," Joe, her husband, put in. He was at the other end of the table, next to David. "She's tame, and well-behaved. Perfect for children."

Jack covered a laugh at that; David didn't exactly look like he was grateful to be reminded he needed a safe pony, given the story he'd just told—perhaps true, perhaps not, given his age and size—and the fact he was cabin boy on the most-feared pirate ship in the entire Caribbean. This last was not a fact shared among all at the table, since Jack used his real name here, took pains to cover his appearance, and never let on where his non-family money truly came from. Not only did he wish to escape the attention of the authorities, but he didn't want Ivy to find out her natural father—whom she'd only met for the first time a few years earlier—was actually a notorious pirate she'd probably read about for a social studies lesson at some point.

"Jack, where will you and Mr. Turner be staying?" Esther was talking again now. "You're welcome to make use of our hospitality, of course."

Jack glanced toward Joe, who kept his mouth closed, but didn't look any too thrilled about his wife's invitation. He could hardly be blamed—not many men would tolerate the presence of their predecessor, let alone allow them to spend the night under the same roof again. But, Esther always had been polite and extended the same invitation every time—and every time, Jack turned her down. "We'll be at the hotel, as usual," Jack replied. "Though you're very kind—I expect Melody'll be glad to be shut of us," he added, winking to the single maid the Martenses employed as the young woman happened by to bring the diners their soup. Then he caught sight of their young charge and said, "However... if you don't mind, I'd be much obliged if you could make up a room for David? I'm afraid our suite has only two beds, and I'm sure he'd like a proper room for himself, since he's had to share with one of us during our voyage."

"I also imagine he's not had much time around other people his own age, either." Esther nodded thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Jack agreed, remembering the eminent practicality and easygoing nature that had convinced him Esther—no raving beauty—would still be suitable marriage material so many years ago. "Yes, that's it. I'm sure David would appreciate the hospitality, wouldn't you?" He directed this last at the youth, who reverted once again to the polite little man Jack had first come to know on board the Pearl, nodding agreeably.

"There, then that's quite good, young Master... I'm sorry, I don't believe we ever asked your last name?" Joe addressed David directly, patting his lips with the linen napkin as he studied the boy, brows furrowed in query.

"Oh, yes," Jack interrupted, as David's eyes started to go wide. "That would be 'Turner.' I believe I failed to mention earlier that David is Will's half-brother." That earned the pirate a grin of compliance from the boy and subtly uplifted brows from his "brother." Jack widened his eyes briefly in a Shut up! gesture before addressing Joe once again. "But for the sake of confusion, we hardly ever use it; I prefer to stay with first names in our merry little group."

"Hmm," Joe adjudged, glancing at Jack, then shrugging. "Well, quite right. David, we'll be glad to have you around for a while. I know Ivy's going to be glad to get some company her own age, eh, Pumpkin?"

Jack felt his jaw wanting to grind at the fatherly nickname—she was his daughter, his blood, and to hear another man refer to her that familiarly was more than he could momentarily bear. But when Ivy glanced dubiously at David, then grinned with a telling quirk of her lips up at Joe, Jack untensed his fingers below the table. To her, Joseph Martense was her father, having been around daily since she was very little, long before she and Jack had ever known of one another—Jackson MacLeary was some distant favorite uncle who visited every so often and bestowed presents from far, exotic lands a few times a year. Jack was her existence, but Joe was her life—and there was nothing the pirate could do to amend that at this late date.

His reaction, however, didn't go unnoticed.

It was several hours later, as Jack leaned forward with his upper arms on the balcony railing, back bent and forehead down against the cool iron, that he caught sight of a pair of bare feet appearing a foot or so to the side of his. "It pains you to see her refer to someone else as 'Da.'"

"Aye," Jack admitted, nodding a bit, closing his eyes. Will wouldn't make fun of him.

"Here—you can hardly drink in that position." He felt something hard bump his arm, and lifted his head, turning it to catch sight of the slender sealed bottle Will offered. "I don't normally hold with drinking to get through a problem," he explained. "But... well, you look pretty well in need of something strong right about now. Actually, about three hours ago, to be accurate."

Balancing his hands against the rail, Jack pushed himself upright and took the rum, ignoring the blacksmith's knowing smile. With a quick tear of paper and twist of cork made possible by fingers strengthened through twenty-five years of hard work, he opened the libation and tilted it up, drinking deeply before holding the bottle aloft in salute toward his companion—and sighed, finally tasting the smooth burn. "Ah, th' good stuff," he observed.

"Yes, Jack. Legal rum."

"Hmm, 'magine that." He offered it to Will, but the other man shook his head. "What's this all about, then?"

"I believe you've a story to finish telling?" Off Jack's blank expression, Will narrowed his dark eyes and pinned the older man. "Come off it; you never did finish explaining about Ivy."

"I believe th' lass has a bit of a crush on ye, William."

"Being part you, I'm sure it's a tool of distraction of some sort," the smith dryly noted. "Out with it, Jack. You had plenty of time to tell us about her, yet you chose to wait until the very last minute, giving us just enough so we wouldn't make fools of ourselves by not having ever heard of her... but not enough rope to hang you.. Why've you never mentioned her, or Esther, before? I see nothing to be ashamed of."

Jack sighed. Will wouldn't leave this alone until he was satisfied he'd heard answers, and the right answers, at that. The man had removed his boots, stockings, and waistcoat, and looked perfectly comfortable to settle in to listening for a matter of hours, if need be. "I didn't wan' tell ye because it's not 'zactly what you'll wan' hear," he finally explained. "Involves your own da, a bit, and not favorably."

"I'd imagined as much, somehow." Off Jack's surprised look, Will shook his head indulgently. "I never thought the man was a saint. An honest marine and merchant, yes—but hardly worth canonizing. He was never around enough to give me that high an opinion of him."

"Your father was a good man," Jack insisted, frowning.

"But not necessarily a good father." Will crossed his arms, and in the slight breeze of the night, Jack noticed for the first time the younger man's hair blew around a bit. It'd been two weeks since they'd both had their hair trimmed, and Will's was already growing out noticeably. Amazing. Then again, Jack's own mane tended to get unruly pretty quickly, too. "Or husband. So go on, Jack—I'm listening."

For once, Sparrow kept his storytelling fairly short and to the point—for him, anyway. "Already told ye that we both turned pirate t' keep from bein' shot or marooned," he began, using his free hand to gesture about as he spoke. "But twas William's idea we do so. We argued, and he won, not me. So th' Plucky Marlin became our new home."

"Ah... the Pearl," Will nodded.

"Glad t' see you remember some o' th' things I told ye." Jack took another drink. "For the next four years, though, twere th' Marlin, white sails an' bastard captain, and all. 'Til we took her over, of course. Hmm... that were about fifteen years ago. Bein' older an' more experienced by a bit, William took over as her captain, an—"

"Wait." Will shook his head. "You're telling me my father was the Pearl's captain?"

Jack froze, then nodded. "Aye?"

"You said both of you led the mutiny, that..." Will trailed off, frowning, obviously trying to remember exactly what Jack had told him so many months ago after they'd defeated Negre in that beach duel.

"And you said ye remembered your father tellin' you about his new ship. Twas before we renamed her, actually; hadn't thought of anythin' suitable yet."

"But—he visited me. You were in charge while he was gone..."

"First mate's job, usually," Jack nodded. "An' when he came back from his visit with you an' your mum, I shoved off an' came back t' England t' take up a respectable life again. Tried to be a cartographer, settled down an' married—th' whole bit."

"Esther," Will said. "Is it my imagination—or is she older than you?"

"Sharp eyes. She were an ol' maid, still livin' with her folks. They owned th' business I worked for." Jack reached around and rubbed at the nape of his neck. "You've got t' understand, Will, I was lookin' to separate meself from me old life quick as I could. I figured a job, marriage, maybe a couple whelps'd do it; I was tryin' to ignore th' call o' th' sea... of th' Pearl herself." He swigged another generous portion of rum. "Was a lot dif'rent back then, mate. I doubt you'd've recognized me.

"Can't say Esther was a mistake, though—bit on th' plain side, but she were a good woman, an' practical herself. She knew th' score, but she still married me. We got along well enough, which is more 'n you can say for some marriages. But, like a lot of other men, I didn't stay faithful. 'Specially not with such a shrill mistress as th' sea." Jack felt his eyes glaze over as he stared out into the night, remembering how he would spend some Sundays taking a carriage to the Channel, watching water lap the undersides of the docking vessels, listen to the waves caress the worn wood out to sea. "She called me, Will—called me sure as th' gold called Barbossa's crew to 'Lizabeth an' Port Royale. And I managed to ignore her as long as me heart possibly could."

When Will said nothing, Jack blinked his eyes back into focus and turned them on the other man. The smith watched him levelly, unblinking. Finally, he asked, "What happened?"

"That damn compass." Jack passed a hand over his face and shook his head. "Came 'cross it when Esther's father died, an' we had t' sort through his estate—what of it there was. Mostly t' see what could be sold t' pay off some debts and help support her mother." His free hand automatically came up, curving to the shape of holding the small black box though it was in the bedroom bureau at the moment. "We thought it might be an historical curiosity or somethin' antique, but it didn't work. Esther was gon' throw it out... but somethin' about it drew me attention. So I kept it for many months, takin' it out t' look at every so often, tryin' to see if I could fix it, make it useful.

"Well, o' course, th' cursed thing didn't work—ne'er has, far as I know—at least not in th' sense someone could use it for anything practical." He chuckled, remembering Norrington's droll commentary on the suitability of Jack's piratical nature, given a compass that didn't even point properly.

"How'd you find out it led to the Isla de Muerta?" Will wondered.

Jack's lips quirked mysteriously. "Pearl told me."

"Ships don't talk."

"And men don' walk underwater, either, nor do they come back after bein' stabbed an' shot," Jack countered dryly. When Will tightened his lips but said nothing contradictory, Jack continued. "You ever looked closely at that compass, mate?" Stepping past Will, he went inside and crossed to the bedroom, coming out two minutes later palming the object in question. "Here," he offered it to Turner. "Have a look-see."

The smith narrowed his eyes suspiciously—a trait that never failed to both annoy and arouse Jack simultaneously, for it bespoke an alluring intelligence behind those dark orbs—but he took the compass. Turned it in his hands, flipped it over, opened and waved it around to watch the needle remain stationery no matter which way it was held. "I already know it doesn't work, except to point to that island," he finally muttered.

"Look at th' casing, Will." He waited for the man to flip the box over and stroke the bottom lightly with a forefinger. "The wood."

Will looked blank a moment, then frowned. "It's like- It feels like..." He glanced back up at Jack, eyes wider.

"Aye. Made of th' same wood as Pearl herself." He shook his head. "They're both older than you can imagine wood lastin', mate. Close on two centuries, in fact. The same gods that cursed that treasure put their touch upon that ship and this compass." He reached forth and tapped his forefinger on the small box. "Twas Pearl built t' carry th' treasure to th' Isla originally, in an attempt to isolate it from the mainland."

"How'd you learn all—" Will sighed, still skeptical. "Right. Pearl told you. So how'd you 'hear' her, anyway? You were in England—she was in the Caribbean, right?"

"Distance doesn't make that much dif'rence in this sort of thing, though William did keep more south of this coast, hirin' himself out as a mercenary. How he got his nickname—twas said he was a poor man hauled himself up by his bootstraps t' make money. Came to visit, when I'd been married about a year and a half—happened he was actually around for a visit t' you an' your mum, who didn' live all tha' far away, I s'pose, and he stopped off t' see me. Oh, he'd visited the year before, asked if I'd be wantin' to come back to join his crew. I'd be first mate 'gain, but I turned him down, told him I was perfectly happy with me lot in life.

"Soon as he saw th' compass, you should've seen his eyes—green they were, an' wide as th' ocean herself. He said, 'Jack, come now, you've got to come 'long—'tis a sign!' Turned out he'd seen a couple drawings on board th' Pearl, stashed 'way in th' main cabin, a map that ended without a clear destination and passin' reference to a compass that only pointed one way all th' time, that weren't north."

Will furrowed his brow, then relaxed. "My father's the one who recognized the compass?"

"Aye, and convinced me t' come back to harbor, on board, see th' maps for meself. He figured bein' a cartographer, I'd know what I was lookin' at, maybe." Another drink of rum. "So I went, an' we figured out twas some sort o' treasure. Well... I mean, how can a man pass up that much free gold, mate?" Jack shrugged one shoulder. "I agreed to go, with every intention of comin' right back to settle again with Esther an' make life easy for us."

"What about the curse, though?"

"Aye, you don't miss much. Since it was only a couple hundred years old, once we made it to th' Caribbee, we heard all kinds o' stories about cursed treasure an' heathen gods—even found a fellow who could translate th' gibberish on th' maps and engravings in th' Pearl's hull. Gave all th' details, right down to th' last bone. I was only marginally superstitious, an' William was a lot like you—didn't believe in such nonsense. Eminently practical man, he was, which explains why he stayed pirate—wanted enough money to ensure your upbringing, education. Or tried to, anyway." Jack lapsed into a melancholy silence as the memories overtook him once again.

"Anyway, with all th' superstitions and stories sailors overheard when we'd make our inquiries in ports, could ne'er find anyone willin' to sign on to go. When we finally came across Barbossa an' his scroungy lot—" Here, Jack paused to make a face and spit off the side of the balcony—"we were pretty desperate men, us an' the meager crew we'd managed t' cobble together. I wasn' real keen on them, but William said we couldn't afford to be choosy, since we'd stirred up interest by makin' our intentions clear in enough places."

"Thought you said nobody wanted to join your crew to go?"

"True enough—but that doesn't mean those same blokes wouldn't've murdered us in our sleep an' taken th' compass and Pearl to make a try for themselves. After all, that much gold is temptin', and so much th' better if you don' have to share with ever'one else, savvy?"

"All this doesn't explain how you ended up captain of the ship, though," Will pointed out. "Gibbs said it was you who showed up in Tortuga with a mind to go after the treasure, the way he told it."

Jack yawned, the drink, the night, and all its exhaustive events finally catching up with him. "I'll be blunt with ye, lad—Pearl didn't want William at her helm. She wanted me. She liked him well enough... but for whate'er reason, she responded better under me hands. Plus, I was th' talker—I was th' one who convinced Hector and th' others to up an' join us, so naturally they had to believe I was captain. William didn' seem all that upset by it, though I suspect that's because he figured he'd be rid of me after we recovered th' treasure, an' he'd somehow coax Pearl to take him back as her chief consort. Truth be told, I didn' expect for me life t' become so intertwined with th' old girl's, either."

Here, Jack's expression darkened; he'd get through this part as quickly as he could. "Barbossa committed mutiny three nights out. I stupidly gave up th' bearings because I had little leadership experience—I didn't know how t' keep me mouth shut, or that I could've jus' told him to go to hell an' he couldn't have done a damn thing for it. I didn't have William there tellin' me to shut up—he was belowdecks somewhere, checkin' th' cannons or somethin'." Jack exhaled shakily. "When I was marooned—I was so angry, you can't even begin to believe how so. I truly felt I could've killed Hector then an' there, given the chance. I laid on that beach an' drank and plotted and schemed for if I ever got off th' island—I swore to meself if I made it off alive, I'd make that bastard pay for what happened t' me. Wasn't until later I learned what happened to William, an' decided to include vengeance for him, as well. No honor at all... bastards."

"They were pirates; you expected honor from them?"

Jack glared darkly at Will, watching as the younger man resisted flinching from it. "I'm not completely without a moral code. Neither are you, pirate," he reminded the smith. "There's nothin' more odious in this world than a traitor, Will. A man who'll turn on those he swears to be loyal to, he'll turn on anythin' and anyone. Remember that. Man like that has absolutely no conscience, no soul."

After a few beats, Will put his hand out, and Jack grinned, passing the bottle. "What about your daughter? And Esther—didn't you want to see her again?" the smith asked, before taking a conservative sip from the bottle and after wiping the mouth with his shirtsleeve.

"First of all, I had no inklin' she was with child when I left London, mate." Jack ticked off his reasons on extended fingers. "Second, as I said, I was furious with Hector. Third, Pearl called t' me... she was miserable as I was, an' watchin' that man sail off with my ship made me feel like some bastard had just violated th' woman I loved." He shook his head ruefully. "Hell hath no fury, indeed."

Will was holding the bottle out, regarding it curiously, after his sip—probably wondering why it was so smooth compared to the moonshine they normally had to drink, Jack mused. Eventually, the younger man raised his eyes. "You said you found out about Isabella when she was five?"

"Aye. Finally made it back home, only to find I had no home. Th' tale had gotten out that Jackson MacLeary had been gutted and tossed overboard by pirates while in th' Caribbee on some sort o' business trade... and, in a way, I s'pose it's true. I'd been declared legally dead, Esther gave birth and married Joe a year or so later so Ivy'd have a father, and I bartered my way off that island and went after Barbossa. I eventually went back a few years ago, feelin' about two inches tall, figuring I'd a lot of explainin' to do to Esther and her mother—turned out my biggest explanation was to a bunch o' solicitors, how I ought t' be able to come back from th' dead and still remain as such so Esther wouldn' be a bigamist." He chuckled at the memory—humorous now, but much more painful at the time it had taken place.

Will murmured something resembling understanding, but didn't speak for a couple of moments, assimilating everything. "There's just more one thing—your name?"

"No choice, mate. Esther would've had me head if I'd told her I was off to loot with a bunch o' pirates. So I told everyone here I was off to check into investment options, an' by the time we made it to th' Caribbee, I was a MacLeary no more. Haven't really been, since.

"I used to ride out to th' Channel Sunday mornings, sometimes, an' just sit there starin' at th' water and thinkin'. I'd try to nap at th' park at intermittent points, and there was this annoying little bird tha' kept wakin' me up before I was ready—noisy as hell, th' winged bastard. Chitter and chatter and chirp constantly, he did," he grinned.

"It must've been a sparrow," Will guessed.

"Nay. Was a tern, actually. But I figured 'Sparrow' sounded more poetic—and the Caribbee hardly needed another Terner," he quipped.

****

Jack rolled his head to the side and watched the blacksmith readjust his long limbs, his head coming to rest so his countenance faced the pirate. Unfettered and relaxed, Will's features were easily studied, and Jack shifted quietly on his side to do just that. He'd removed everything but his breeches and shirt, which gaped at the neck, exposing his left shoulder and clavicle, smooth, taut skin almost pearlescent in the bathing moonlight.

Will's lids fluttered, the eyeballs shifting beneath them as he presumably dreamed. Plump lips were slightly parted, twitching with his breathing and soft, barely audible mumbling. Tight curls graced the ends of his chestnut hair, brushing the stark white pillow. A knee fell to one side as he shifted on his back, getting ever more comfortable, and one elbow was crooked inward, the long, graceful fingers curled in toward the palm as his loosened shirtcuff slid up his slender arm. His covers were relegated to the foot of the bed, covering nothing above the knees, and his chest rose and fell shallowly with regular, soft breath.

Sleeping only a few feet away, Jack felt something sure as magnetic pull trying to drag him across the distance, to slide off his bed and crawl in with the man so near to him. He extended one hand outward, his long fingers curling, reaching, knowing he couldn't possibly touch Will from this distance, but feeling the ghost of that fabric anyway. Sensing the heat of the skin trapped within.

Moments like this gave Jack opportunities to consider his affection for his young crewman, to try to reason out what he could possibly see in Will. He'd never been particularly partial to men, but neither had he discounted their companionship in his bed entirely—he theorized the person who caught his attention and stirred his blood could come in any packaging, including a deck and a keel and a hull and sails. In that sense, Will had just as much a chance as any buxom beauty of catching his eye.

Was it his father? Jack knew there'd been those who'd served with them who'd wondered at the two men's relationship, but the truth was that William really had been partial to women, and spoke of his small family constantly. Oddly, the senior Turner hadn't been his type, anyway, since he'd still held to liking exclusively women at that time. Will himself resembled his father enough to attract Jack's attention upon their first meeting, but in a curiously familiar way, only.

No, what puzzled Jack was the quality of his attraction to Will Turner. He didn't want a fast fuck in a grungy inn room, nor one forgettable night of slaking his lust—either of which could easily fit his modus operandi on the odd occasion he desired a warm body against his own. He wanted clean, soft sheets, a comfortable feather bed, and the luxury of exploring that body at his leisure. He wanted Will not merely to call his name in a moment of climax on his knees, gripping the headboard; he wanted Will's body flush against his own, the two moving as one, the younger man gasping his pleasure and rendering the pirate too dazed to speak.

Yawning, Jack shook his head slightly and let his eyes slide shut. He hovered somewhere between awake and dreaming when he heard her. You told him nearly everything.

He asked.

So you just drop your life story to anyone who's curious, now, my love? Such trust from one so cynical.

Deserves to know about his own father.

So do you.

What does that mean?

Because he was not the one I chose.

I know-

Quiet, Jack. A soft, sexy chuckle in that seawater-roughened voice. I am probably the only one who can say that to you with impunity. Jack furrowed his brows. He was not the one I chose; not like I chose you. A pause. Not like I choose him.

Jack was confused until he understood she was referring to the younger Turner. Then, a hesitant fear gripped him as he recalled being forced off the side into that chilly, clammy ocean so many years ago. You .... you're turning me over for him?

You surprise me by thinking so narrowly, my love. I would never abandon you.

Then why're you installing him at the helm?

Were you not listening? I did not choose his father, because he was not right. Not at all; his heart was elsewhere. But this one ... I believe he would be correct for you.

So you're not replacing me?

That soothing laugh again, a variation on the groans and rocking that had put him to sleep many a night. My captain—I am helping you. Supplementing you, if you choose to look at it that way. Recommending a mate.

Ana's going to be rather put out at-

Not a first mate, Jack. A mate.

That stunned Jack into opening his eyes and jerking his head off the pillow, looking around. The curtains at the partly-opened window fluttered, lapping at the bedroom's still, moonlit air; it was the only noise aside from the even, deep breathing coming from the room's other occupant.

Jack blinked, looking around carefully. There was no mistake it'd been Pearl doing the speaking, nor was it the first time she'd graced his head with a "voice," but rarely had she been so enigmatic. A practical lass, the great ship expressed herself with great clarity and precision, because to pretend otherwise at sea could be fatal. She wasn't into games, and yet ... well, she'd eventually revealed her point, though she'd taken her sweet time getting around to it.

Settling back into the pillow, Jack flicked his gaze to Will. The younger man was still curved into the position he'd settled into before Jack fell asleep, his lips slightly parted, exhaling softly on the back side of each breath. As the pirate visually drank, Will's hips shifted a bit, his shoulders rolled, and the whisper of expensive linen scraped freshly-pressed sheets as he murmured quiet nonsense and settled back into the breathing.

Jack closed his eyes and sighed, the forced air ruffling his bangs as he tried to recapture the dropped mental conversation. But it was no good; Pearl spoke her piece as much as she apparently wanted—for now—and the pirate had learned early that force of information didn't work with his lady. She'd tell him more when she damn well wanted to, and probably more that he didn't particularly want to hear along with what he wanted terribly much to believe.

****

Will's mouth crinkled into his eyes as he offered his most charming smile to the girl. "Yes, I believe I do ... though it's been a long time since I attended one."

"Mum's cucumber salad's the best," Ivy bobbed her head. "You'll be wanting the recipe for your ship's cook after just a bite."

Jack paused in his step momentarily, glancing at Will, who appeared equally confused as to how Ivy would know about their life aboard ship. "Who told you about a ship?" Jack wondered aloud.

"David said you were to sail on a ship bound for the New World and the West Indies," she answered with no trace of apology. "After you leave here?" She seemed unsure of her information, off Jack's inquiring expression, and stopped to turn to David. "That's what you told me, isn't it?"

"Um ... yes." The boy nodded, clearly caught between trying to outdo a peer with his stories and facing down his captain, who'd sworn him to secrecy. "I was saying how their business"—he gestured at his two older escorts—"is to take them there after we leave."

"Yes," Jack murmured mildly, never taking dark, somewhat admonishing eyes from David. "For business."

"What kind of proposal?" This from Ivy, curious as ever. If she caught the tension between man and boy, she was hiding it well. Jack never put anything past his daughter; in the few years he'd known her, she'd proven herself more than capable of figuring out what went on around her—which is why he worried about giving her too much to ponder and think upon when it came to his life.

Jack cocked his head at her, then flicked his eyes to David. "Go on and tell her about it," he encouraged, wanting to see how the boy performed on demand. He'd dug them this near-hole; he could bloody well savvy their way out of it under his captain's tutorial eye.

"Ah ... well.." David cleared his throat and twitched his lips as Ivy strolled alongside, holding her skirts up a bit so as not to trip. "See, Mr. MacLeary and Mr. Turner are"—off the girl's odd expression, the boy amended, "Will, that is—they're going to the Caribbean to see ... about buying a .... a plantation!" David grinned, apparently quite proud of himself, and Jack refrained from interrupting. "They're going to see about a plantation."

Ivy didn't look any too certain that was the best idea she'd heard. "You mean with slaves?"

"Aye," David replied automatically, bobbing his head a few times before faltering. "I mean—I think so?" He shrugged and looked to his superiors for help; Jack almost had a mind to help, since he knew how easy it was to let a woman verbally paint one into a corner.

"I don't believe the property's all that large," Will finally chimed in authoritatively. "And we wouldn't deny a man a fair day's wages, would we, Jack?"

"Oh, no." Jack swung his head quite gravely, crooking his arm against his body to get a better hold on the horse blanket he'd been co-opted into carrying. "Always give anyone who works for me an equal share," he observed dryly. "Except David, of course—he's not yet old enough to receive wages. I believe it's well enough that we feed him and make certain his lashes are kept to a maximum of four a day—sometimes less."

"He doesn't really lash me," David explained as they approached the park's waterside picnic area, already populating for the afternoon.

"We don't really own that plantation yet, either," Jack pointed out. "Both shall come in good time."

Ivy was quiet for a moment as David blinked over and up at his captain, mild alarm plain on his face until she tugged at his sleeve. "We have ships of our own," she bragged. "Fine ones, right here in this park."

"Really?" The boy's head swung from father to daughter at such a rate Jack swore he actually heard the crack of vertebrae. "Ships?"

"Well ... a bit shrunk down," she admitted with a lift of her shoulder. "Toy racing ships. But lovely! I'll show you them." She took for the water's edge, then, hiking her skirts and running through the grass and zigzagging among the picnickers already setting out their victuals for the noon meal. David started, then hesitated to glance back at both men in entreaty. Jack sighed and pointed after his daughter, sending the boy pell-mell on his way scrabbling through the sea of eaters to water's edge.

"She's not stupid," Jack finally said once the children were out of earshot; Esther had suggested the four of them limit their party size for this afternoon, while she and Joe took in some shopping and the club, respectively. He unfolded the blanket and shook it out.

"Figured not," Will bandied. "Takes after her mother, I'll wager."

"She's goin' to figure out what we do eventually, rat." Will's grin signaled he understood the demotion to the Pearl's bilges, but didn't accept it. "That boy needs t' learn to keep his mouth shut."

"Give him some room," the blacksmith countered. "He's just trying to impress a girl by showing off what he knows."

"Speakin' o' which," Jack turned on his younger crew member and took a few stalking steps toward him, crossing his arms belligerently, "what're your intentions with me daughter?"

A brief expression of confusion, then consternation and amusement graced Will's features. "My intentions? Jack, she's a natural flirt, just like you; weave and manipulate, and tug at those marionette strings a bit harder, the both of you."

"And you seem quite willin' to dance." The captain kept on just this side of not smiling outright.

"I refuse to admonish an eleven-year-old girl for believing I'm the greatest thing since the printing press was invented."

Nonsense; since Creation was touched by God's finger, more like it. Jack frowned at his flight of fancy; whimsy didn't suit him, and were Bill still among the living and this were a lass, he'd be laughing his arse off. As it is, you'll just beat the shit out of me when you see me next, if you don't start haunting me, first. "You'd better not dis'point her," Jack warned menacingly, arching an eyebrow. "And you'd better be prepared t' support her in th' manner to which she's become accustomed."

"That shouldn't be difficult. You can easily burn through more coin in Tortuga in one evening than that little girl could spend in a month," Will parried, hands firmly on his hips. "If the crew and I can keep you that well supplied, I think I could handle her pecuniary needs by myself."

Jack grinned, both at the banter and Will's expanding vocabulary, which was coming along nicely in his captain's tutelage. "Aye, but she'll grow up someday, and then where will ye be?"

"Believe me, Jack—when that day comes, your prospective son-in-law'll have his work cut out for him." Will lowered himself to one knee, then both, opening the lid of the food basket to check out its contents. "I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of some supposed affront to her." He withdrew a paper-wrapped baguette and held it up, tilting his head back to look up at Jack as he rocked back on his heels. "Did someone pack a knife for this, I hope?"

Tilting his head, Jack regarded the smith on his knees, large eyes turned up toward his captain, lips slightly parted on the question. His pulse kicked up, and Jack experienced a slight chill just before the warmth of an instant sweat broke out on his forehead, clamming his cheeks as well. "Well, mate, be hard t' say, seein' as I'm not th' one who packed said basket," he replied, waving his hands airily to distract from his slightly-glazed lustful expression. "Look an' see."

"You're just a whole shipful of help," Will dryly noted, lowering his head to go back to work. Jack followed the slight shake of shallow brown curls as the man reached for and placed food, keeping his eyes affixed on the crown of Will's head as he sank to his knees, one at a time, on his side of the small horse blanket. What if he were to reach out and cup that chin, force it up so Will had to look at him and couldn't look away—was made to face what his prolonged presence in Jack's life had wrought upon him?

"Will?" He spoke the word softly, a slightly rough edge to his voice that eroded its usual confidence.

He'd cocked his head, and drew it back a bit as the other man looked up, blinking, deep-set eyes wide and inquisitive. "Hmm?" Jack said nothing as he studied the deep brow, those heavily-curved eyes, the broad flare to a long nose. "What, Jack?" His voice was a bit annoyed, now, but indulgent.

I wouldn't mind to kiss you and find out how it feels, instead of simply wondering it all the time flitted across his mind. Jack parted his lips to say it. "I ... just wondered if you'd found tha' knife yet, is all." Same ginger tone, approaching without blindly trampling.

"No, not yet." The corner of Will's lips quirked up, and he glanced down to remove a couple more items from the basket, but then returned his eyes to Jack's. "Hungry already? It's just now twelve."

"Bit starved." Tis true, though not in the way you might understand from me.

"You're in luck; looks like Melody packed a lot." Will dug a bit more, then paused. "Hey!" Dropping the cheese, he put his hand to his vest, felt around a bit, and withdrew a dagger from an inside pocket. "Almost forgot; keep these on me at all times."

"For baked-goods emergencies?" Jack felt his lips quirk.

"Don't criticize; you'll be eating, too." Will waved the blade at him before rubbing it with the corner of a linen napkin to clean it. "Brain's dulled from not being at sea for awhile," he explained, shaking his head. "Don't have to react quite as fast on land, I don't think."

"I said, we need our daily practice back." With that, Jack pulled both lapels of his coat wide open, displaying a short sword hooked into either of the breast panels. "Care t' pass th' time while the wee ones are chasin' boats?"

Will's eyes widened and his jaw hung open a bit in surprise. "You brought cutlasses to a picnic?"

Jack closed his coat. "You sound like I brought fire on a stick to a christenin'."

"It is strange, even knowing how you are."

Jack let that pass, deciding that ignorance was the better part of friendship in this case. "There's nothing untoward 'bout two gentlemen fencing socially," he pointed out, getting to his feet again. "Perfectly valid way to spend a Sunday afternoon, ye ask me."

Will leaned back on his heels again and Jack was certain he was about to be damned for all the dirty thoughts the pose aroused. "'Socially acceptable' is using epées," he pointed out. "Not curved blades you hack off limbs with."

"I've never done that," Jack rebutted. "A couple of fingers here and there, but no heads or limbs. I prefer a simple run-through ... then again, I don't even like th' cutlass."

"Well, it begs the question why you brought them, then."

"Protection, actually." Will lifted an eyebrow. "Come on, then—you didn't really think I was proposin' we duel with these stunted little pieces o' cutlery, did ye?"

"With you, I expect anything's likely."

The pirate shook his head and leaned over to peer into the basket for something to drink. He didn't hope for rum, but anything alcoholic wouldn't go amiss this fine afternoon. Taking in a deep breath, he inhaled the soap Will used for shaving that morning, as well as the indefinable warmth that comprised the blacksmith's usual personal scent. Despite being away from his customized, cramped forge in the Pearl's hold for nigh on two months, a metallic tang and woodsmoke still clung to his skin and hair; Jack imagined the taste would overlay the hint of nutmeg he'd lapped off the man's wrist while stranded in the rowboat at sea. "What're you on about, anyway?" Will suddenly spoke. "There's no rum in there."

"Wine, then."

"Sure there's plenty of that." He gestured at the blanket. "And would you mind sitting and not hovering? You're blocking my light, and I've no desire to soak the bread with blood in a misplaced prick."

Indeed, thought Jack. Bill'd probably think I'm already about as big a prick as you need. Finding the small jug, Jack backed off and crossed his ankles before lowering himself fluidly to the blanket in a cross-legged position. "I'll jus' sit over here an' stay out of your way then, eh? Hate to get between a man an' his bread."

"Hmm, I wouldn't have thought as much," Will mused, slicing through hard crust, head down to concentrate. "You've no problem coming between plenty of men and their dough. One might even say you've gotten us into many a jam."

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "William ye might be, but no Shakespeare, lad." He took a pull of the warm wine, swished it about a bit, and swallowed. A sigh, then; surely, it wasn't the Caribbean's finest sugar. "You'd better save your literary skills for better pursuits, mate; understand Esther's got her eye on a bit o' skirt for ye."

"What?" That got the fellow's attention, and he jerked his head up, eyes narrowed in a southerly change of mood.

"One of her lady friend's daughters. 'Bout 'Lizabeth's age, I believe; maybe younger. Wanted to try to make a match, as I understand." Jack tossed this off almost believably, he surmised—ever since the morning, when Esther had bespoke her intentions to him in a private aside, he'd mused and fumed about it. He had no right to Will all for himself, given the lad's parentage and natural inclinations, but still ...

"I wish she wouldn't do that." Jack was surprised at Will's frown as he put the knife aside and simply twisted the sundered loaf apart. Usually, the blacksmith was more gracious than this. "I'm not going to be here any length of time to be courting."

"It's meant well."

"Esther's hospitality is not at issue—"

"An' I understand she's an attractive lass."

"As I was saying, that's not really the—"

"You really ought to give her a chance—"

"Good Christ!" His raised voice and sharp tone cut Jack off more than the words themselves, shocking as they were from Will. "Can I talk?" The pirate nodded once, slowly, uncertain. "Listen to me, Jack: I'm not interested. I don't want to meet her, whoever she is. I don't care if it's a princess."

"Why?"

"I just don't."

Jack emitted a sharp guffaw. "Come on, now. That's not nearly a good reason."

Will stared at him hard, jaw set. "Since when did you appoint yourself in my father's stead? What is she to you, anyway? Why would it matter?" Jack's mouth worked, but he couldn't very well answer, so no sound escaped. "Do you want me off the Pearl?"

This last was asked in a less belligerent tone; quieter, but steadily. "I'm not trying to get you off anywhere." As soon as the words were out, the part of Jack's brain that kept track of the few gaffes with which it concerned itself leapt up. You'd get him off at the first bat of an eyelid, if he'd just give you the right encouragement. Keeping a perfectly straight face, he added, "Pearl likes you; so do the crew and I. But you're a young man, Will, an' decently skilled; looks like you'd be wantin' to meet a wench, settle down pretty soon into a respectable business."

The smith's jaw shifted beneath his skin as he pursed his lips, clearly trying to decide how to respond. "I ... did meet one. It didn't work out." He turned his attention back to the abused loaf of bread, which still bore the brunt of his earlier vehemence, as though apportioning pieces of it was the most necessary job of the moment.

Chastened, Jack sighed. It had been too many months—he shouldn't still be longing for Elizabeth this way. "I didn't realize you were still carryin' that partic'lar torch."

"Well, Jack—I mean, it wasn't my decision to leave for Europe and put as much distance between me and her as I could, now was it?" He stopped, shook his head. "It's not your—"

"Why didn't you say anything to her last week? You had more chance to speak up an' change your course than most blokes get; you had a second chance."

"It's not the right time, all right?" Will tore the last bit in half and dropped them into the basket. "It'd not work out now, any more than it would've a year ago. Besides, I have a vocation at sea. I'm—"

Jack cut him off with a loud, sudden laugh that, by Will's expression, was none too appreciated. "Mate, if you think piracy's a profession, then you must think whorin's some kind o' higher education."

Will set icy eyes on Jack. "As I was about to say," he continued tightly, "I'm a blacksmith and swordsmith, and an apprentice carpenter, refitting a warship. That is my valid 'profession.'"

Jack chose to ignore his tone. Without batting an eye, he breezily informed the smith, "She wants you too, mate. Practically said so herself."

"I know." Then, his expression softened into the barest hint of a smile. "Least I know what you two had your heads together about on the dock, now."

Close enough, Jack contemplated. "An' there's still a problem?"

"We talked it over. It's not the right time ... if ever." Will shifted to his backside, sitting cross-legged in imitation of Jack, elbows propped on his knees. "I don't want to be rude to Esther, Jack. I just ..." He gestured briefly, then gave up, gazing off to the side, presumably toward the pond as his hands absently kneaded one another. "It's not right, now. My heart's just not in it, to consider someone new."

"Buoyant" was how Jack figured he would've felt about Will remaining unattached to any other human being. He hadn't figured on the wistful look in his dark eyes, though, nor on the trace of vulnerable need in his voice. Will was not a man who should be alone—he had too much of a soul, uneroded by years of cynicism and hard living despite his rough start in life, and needed to share that with someone. Jack knew Will had been absolutely earnest in his dogged pursuit to save Elizabeth from the undead pirates, to even "die for her" by his own admission. Hell of a thing to have a conscience, isn't it, Jack Sparrow?

Kiss my arse, he thought. "I'll have a bit of a chat with Esther, tell her t' lay off."

Will glanced back quickly. "Look, I can handle it—I really don't want her looking at me like—"

Jack held up his hands to ward off further explanation. "She'll never know th' real reason. I'll say there's another woman commandeering your attentions." Off Will's puzzled expression, he grinned. "Much as I love her, Pearl can be a demanding girl."

Regarding him closely, Will finally nodded, visibly relaxing his posture. "Thanks." It was sincere, spoken uncertainly, and it made Jack want to go drop down over beside him and offer an arm around his shoulders, a comforting touch that, in time, this too would pass.

Instead, he gestured toward the basket with a significant look to his bushy eyebrows, lifted into his hairline. "Now—were you gon' share that bread, or just mutilate it beyond all recognition so you could hog all th' peach preserves for yourself?"

Will rolled his eyes. "I'd say your fingers aren't broken, except I'm not sure how clean your nails are, and if I really want them anywhere near my food," he retorted, reaching in for the jar of fruit spread.

"Look, I've brought you something t' nibble on more than once when we're on the deck an—" Jack flicked his eyes up at the familiar noise, and noticed David and Ivy running up behind Will, both carrying their shoes and stockings, grass sticking to their wet ankles. "Urchins at th' starboard," he interjected.

The children were a mess of tumbling voices and verbs as they hastened to beat each other into telling about the small boats and the various characters who stood in the shallow pond, pants and skirts hiked to their knees, to race them. David plopped cross-legged on the blanket near Will, and Ivy paused to glare briefly at him before settling herself next to Jack. He watched in some amusement as the miniature woman tucked her skinny legs to the side and patted her voluminous light skirt over them, marveling as always that she'd somehow come about as a result of his own existence; certainly her hair and eyes hearkened to the MacLeary look. "Were you deep-sea diving?" he finally asked, reverting to proper English.

"Nay." She shook her head, and Jack was a bit surprised to hear the particular variation on "no" from her. Certainly he'd taken care not to say it in her presence; or had he? "Was helping an old man who wanted to sail a ship, but couldn't get in the water."

"You mean you were sailing it out from under him," David interrupted before flicking his attention to Jack. "He was sitting on a bench to the side, and she talked him into letting her sail it around the pond."

"You make it sound like I stole it!" she protested.

"Not stole," David shook his head. "Commandeered."

Ivy frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Ah," Jack put in, raising a forefinger. "Makes all the difference, love. The latter's a nautical term." He set down the wine jug and shrugged off his coat in the rising warmth of the day. It wasn't until he noticed Ivy furrowing her brow down at his side that he realized she'd noticed one of the blades hooked inside the garment. "Collector's piece," he explained smoothly.

"You collect cutlasses?" She continued to eye the small sword. "Have you ever used one?"

Jack glanced sideways over at Will, who was working on spreading a piece of bread. He looked up from beneath lowered eyelids, flicking his glance meaningfully to Ivy, then back to Jack, the raise to his brows indicating he'd caught her tone that belied more than casual interest. "No," he lied to his daughter, feeling like a heel as he usually did on such occasions. She was one of the few he wished he didn't have to deceive with this guise of respectability. "I don't like the handling of them very much." That, at least, was true, and eased his conscience a bit. "Would you like to see it?"

"Can I?"

"Jack." Will's tone was quiet warning. It spoke of uncertainty about what her mother might think when hearing the tale later on.

"She's responsible. She'll not hurt herself." To Ivy, he winked as he unhooked the blade from his coat. "Will's a bit overcautious with his own swords."

"Does he—" She turned her attention on the blacksmith. "Do you collect them, too?"

"Actually, I make most of the ones I, ah, collect," Will answered, prompting Jack to think Bloody coward—sure, he doesn't have to lie all that much about what he does.

"You make swords?" The adoration was back in her voice, her eyes, as she all but forgot about her father right then. Again, Jack found himself in the curious position of admiring the girl's taste even as he pondered if it were too early for her to be flirting with men many years her senior. At least she's not wanting to bed one too many years younger than herself.

"It's what I grew up doing, apprenticing a blacksmith." Jack watched her eyes widen with appreciation as Will spun a verbal tapestry of fact and fiction, and inwardly sighed. He really wondered if he envied Joe the task of raising a girl, after all, and nearly chuckled as he noticed David looking a bit put out at the attention Will was giving her. Then again, mate, he told himself, you have your own challenges with the coarser sex.

****

One evening, Jack noticed a distinct lack of Will at the pub where they were supposed to meet for supper. Normally, they ate with the Martenses, but they'd decided the night before to give the family a break for at least one evening and leave only David in their company. He took a table, ordered an ale, and waited a good hour before giving up and heading by the house on his way back to his and Will's suite.

Ivy answered the door. "Where's Melody?" Jack asked, stepping into the foyer, reaching up to remove his hat before the maid could show up and take him to task for it.

"She's washing." The girl noticed something was amiss, for she cocked her head. "What is it, Father?"

"Is Will here?"

She shook her head. "No ... you said you two were eating elsewhere tonight."

"I know, but I thought he might have come by. He didn't show up at the pub."

Ivy lowered her eyes, concentration written on her features. "No," she said after a moment. "I've not heard from him. You could ask Da or Mum; maybe they've seen him today, while I was in lessons."

"Isabella?" Esther appeared in the hallway. "Who's at- Oh, hello, Jack. Would you like to come in?"

"No, that's all right. I'm looking for Will. Has he been by here today?"

Esther shook her head. "Can't say he has. Wasn't he going to run some errands today? He said something about that last night, if I recall."

Jack scratched at his chin. "It is possible he's still detained somewhere." Will had gone off on his own today, wanting to visit a smithy to negotiate time to work at his craft; his fingers positively itched to work with metal again, and he'd finally admitted as much last night. "But he's usually so bloody polite, on time for everything."

"Well, I suppose one of you has to be." Esther granted him a small smile. "Really, why don't you come on in? There's some tea, and Joe has—"

Jack shook his head. "No thanks, love. Got to be going. Besides, if something's wrong and he's sick or some such thing, he'd be at the inn and might need some help." He patted Ivy's slender shoulder. "We'll see you tomorrow, eh?"

"In the afternoon," she nodded briskly. "David and I are riding horses in the morning, I think." She looked up at her mother for confirmation, and the auburn-haired woman nodded. "Around teatime?"

Four o'clock the following afternoon found Jack in a worse mood than he'd felt for quite some time, certainly more unbearable than he'd ever displayed to Esther or Joe. He showed up at their house distracted, irritable, and worried because Will never showed up. With any other man, Jack would've figured he'd disappeared to sow some wild oats—but this was Will, who'd probably possessed more responsibility at age six than most men did in their entire lives. He fidgeted and scowled as he waited for the children to return from the park, where Joe had let them off by carriage earlier in the afternoon to work off the excess energy not spent galloping around Grandmother's estate.

Just as he'd made up his mind to take leave as soon as they showed up, to hunt for Will, a shouting out in the street caught his attention. He came forward to the edge of his chair, ears perked; by that time, Joe and Esther had heard it as well. "What in the world—" Esther began, but was cut off by louder shouts.

"Mr. Martense! Melody!" David crashed through the front door, barely getting it open to slam against the wall as he bounded through the foyer and down the short hallway toward the sitting room. "Mr. Mart- Jack!" The boy halted a few feet short of his captain and drew himself up forcibly, breathing hard and sweating, beet red. "Jack, it's Ivy! She was taken!"

"Taken?" Esther stepped almost around Jack to face David. "What do you mean?"

"She was taken." David gasped a few more times and shook his head frantically. "We were at the park, and when it was her turn to be 'it,' I ran off to hide. But I heard her yell out, so I came out from behind the statue, and she was being pushed into this big gray carriage by two men!" The words tripped out almost too fast for his tongue, and he visibly swallowed, trying to calm himself.

"Did you recognize the men? At all?" Joe questioned. Jack glanced over to see him standing on the other side of Esther, brow hunched, his alarm mirroring his wife's. David shook his head. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I- While I've been here I've never seen 'em! And she was trying to get away, kicking them in the stomach; I don't think she must've known them, either." He turned his attention back to Jack. "I ran after it, but they were too far away! But I know what the carriage looks like."

"Socked in the gut" accurately described how Jack felt. He'd momentarily forgotten Will's absence, but now was more alarmed.. For some maddening, illogical reason, his mind began to pick at both disappearances, and his stomach roiled. Jack didn't believe in coincidences—fate, kismet, divine intervention, self-determination were all rolled into his philosophy of life. But never had he believed two seemingly unrelated things happened identically to the same person at the same time for no good, unplanned reason.

"We're goin' looking." Without further explanation, Jack stalked through the foyer, out the front door, and off to the park to search for clues—any clues, no matter how unlikely.

****

He'd had to give up at midnight, conclude he had no idea where his girl could be, nor Will—for he had no doubt their disappearances were somehow connected. What the two had in common was Jack himself, and he could only wonder who had it in for him to drag an innocent child and a well-meaning tradesman into the middle of a revenge.

The loss of Ivy tore at him, for he'd always felt an odd dissociation with her; she was of him, but not him so much, despite some of Will's more humorous observations comparing father and daughter. Since he'd learned of her existence, met her, Jack had suffered a sense of guilt compounded by the fact he most definitely did have another daughter, a Caribbean girl a shade younger than Ivy, with whom he'd made regular visits a priority since learning her mother had given birth—a few months after said birth. He regarded neither daughter as more lovable or worthy than the other, but saw Ivy far less than Liana. Granted, Liana was closer in proximity, being in the bloody warm waters Jack sailed and skipped most of the year, but should that matter?

"I'll get ye back, baby," Jack promised in soft slur to himself, shaking his head, which felt woefully naked without its long dreadlocks and ornaments long lost to the sea. "Promise Da will find ye, make it right." It wasn't like him to be this languid, but he'd slept minimally the night before waiting for a roommate who never showed up, then the better part of the day preceding this dark, early morning covering streets on foot, weaving through shadowed alleys and into less-than-respectable establishments where someone—anyone—might have a shilling's knowledge as to the whereabouts of a young girl or of a price on the head of one Captain Jack Sparrow. He'd not identified himself as the scurrilous knave in question, and under any other circumstance would have been gratified to see the wide-eyed surprise the appellation provoked; some spat, some swooned, and some simply shrugged.

Rather than drop the bottle, Jack straightened and pulled it along, clanging it rather loudly across the top of the iron railing as he backed into his suite and padded toward the bed. Sloshing it heavily upon the heavy wooden stand separating the two beds, he unbuttoned his wrinkled cambric shirt, yawning as he shrugged it to the floor and reaching up to rub at two days' worth of unshaven bristle ringing his lips and the underside of his jaw. He discarded his breeches in fairly short order and turned slightly right to crawl into his proper bed—then stopped.

Slowly, he swung his head toward the other bed—Will's bed, still pulled up by the maid from two mornings prior. Unslept in. Unnecessary in a suite for one.

Swallowing thickly, Jack peeled the covers back and eased his body between the sheets, resting the side of his head on a pillow. He tensed, turned his nose into the linens, and inhaled, one relieved thought only filling his exhausted, overworked brain: They didn't change his sheets yet. Closing his eyes, he scooted more into the center of the bed, relaxing, letting Will's scent weave through his senses and fill his nose and throat. He could very nearly palpably taste the man's skin, hear his light snore and deep and steady breathing.

Jack slid an arm up under the pillow, another over its top, and turned his face into the softness. What if he never saw Will alive again? What if this was the last physical connection he would ever have with the man? He'd starved himself, kept his desires in check, all out of a sense of odd propriety to an old friend—a dead old friend—all to get the ghost of William Turner off his back. The specter had clung there far too many years, a sacrifice offered up to heathen gods to keep Jack alive and unspoiled, and a damnable crew of ruffians just as damned as the day they'd decided to betray their captain. Jack wanted so badly to just goddamn be rid of Turner's ghost and, instead, it seemed he'd have the father-son team to follow him around the rest of his days.

He didn't realize he was crying until he drew in a long breath for his first sob, then tightened everything, trying to stop the flow of emotions. It wasn't the idea William could never forgive him—the pure and simple truth was he was missing Will. The blacksmith had become so very important to Jack, and the idea he could never see him again clawed at his heart in a way Ivy never could. He shared a soul with Will, whether the other man ever came to see or feel that, which had little to do with sexual desire or physical bonding. The loss of his other half was what forced the second sob out of Jack's throat, and instead of fighting it, he squeezed his eyes shut, turned into the bed, and let it out for God knew how much longer in a muffle of broken heart and bothered dreams.

****

He'd worry about revenge later.

Dearest Jack, the note had stated, We have company you are undoubtedly interested in entertaining. Meet us tomorrow night an hour before midnight at the furriers' warehouse. Arrive alone, or suffer the consequences of your foolish notions. The slip of parchment was unsigned, unremarkable except for the few menacing words it bore. It arrived for him with the delivery of dinner to his suite the night before, effectively keeping him from the food; even now, his stomach grumbled its misery, but Jack paid no heed, so far removed from hunger that he doubted he'd ever taste morsel again.

Quietly he slipped inside the darkness, keeping to a wall until he'd blinked several times, trying to adjust to the lack of illumination. Nary a flame or lantern was in sight, and he sighed, slowing his harsh breathing and trying to calm down; nothing could be gained by panicking, by letting emotion get the better of him now. With a sharp indrawn breath, he put one boot forward, seeking clear ground in this visual mire. It was slow going for a good long while, since he had to feel around him so he wouldn't run into walls or obstacles such as people and long swords ready to run him through. This worry lasted for only two minutes, since he reasoned if he couldn't see them, they—whoever "they" were—likely wouldn't be able to see or attack him, either.

Nevertheless, Jack moved slowly, winding his way inward, memorizing each successful turn until he rounded a corner and spotted a dim glow. Walking quietly toward it, he flicked his eyes here and there, searching for a hidden shadowy form or trap poised to spring at any moment.

"If I wanted you dead, believe me, you'd be in Davey Jones's locker," a smooth baritone voice informed him. "And I sincerely hope you're not trying to actually be quiet; we know you're here, after all."

"We?" Jack parroted back. The distinctive click-back of a pistol hammer brought him to a stop, and he thought rapidly before settling on what he hoped was the right mix of flippant and respectful. "Where are 'we?' Can't see a damn thing; surely you don't mean to threaten me where I can't see the threat. Hardly conducive to getting what you want."

A quick scuffle, followed by a stubborn, young "Ow!" was enough to command Jack's seriousness. "Leave her alone!" he barked sharply. "I get your point; but I'd still rather see who I'm dealing with. Makes negotiation a mite smoother for you, too."

"It's touching, how you're concerned with our well-being," the oily voice noted.

"Just the kind of generous man I am," Jack replied cautiously, still straining his eyes as he moved slowly again toward the light source. "My hands are up; I'm not pulling any weapons. Show yourselves, let me know they're safe."

An angry hiss, followed by a muffled, affronted male growl pulled Jack's heart right solidly up into his throat. He barely restrained himself from crying out involuntarily, instead swallowing his own hatred. "Hardly a satisfactory answer," he ground out, treading the line between tolerating and snarling.

The quick scrape of a match and the acrid odor of sulfur preceded first one lamp being lighted, then two, hanging from tarnished brass fixtures built into the cold stone walls on either side of Jack. The twin beacons were a good thirty feet away, and he advanced slowly, keeping his hands up, flicking his eyes carefully here and there to search out what danger might be so careless as to present itself openly. He stopped when a figure roughly his size was shoved out into his path, roughly ten feet before him.

Jack blinked, squinted through the dimness. "Elizabeth?" Mutely she answered with annoyed eyes, unable to speak through the gag in her mouth. Her wrists were held fast with irons and an extremely short chain, and her dress was soiled and shabby from several days' wear, he guessed. Her long hair hung limply curling down past her shoulders, but still, she seemed ready to hit someone.

Stopping short of asking why she was there, Jack lifted his voice and looked past her shoulders and off to his sides around the stone pillars. "Why is she here?" he wanted to know. "She's an acquaintance; nothing more. You can let her go, gentlemen."

To his surprise, a tall, nearly emaciated man stepped from the shadows and spun the young woman to face him. Withdrawing something from his pocket, he sliced her gag, dropping it to the floor, but kept the dagger out and used it to flick toward Jack. "Go stand by him," the captor quietly commanded Elizabeth. "Try to leave, and the others'll die."

Elizabeth tensed her jaw haughtily, but said nothing, moving off in a stumble across the floor toward Jack. Before he could ask anything, two other figures were pushed out slowly before him in much the same manner Elizabeth had been presented, but each was forced to their knees. "Look up," the thin man ordered them, as the slightly shorter one behind them patted Will's shoulder and stepped between them and Jack, facing the pirate. "Hello, Jack."

"Do I know you?" Jack asked.

"No." Very little of this man stood out as descriptive, save light gray eyes. "And you're not required to; that's rather the point of these things."

"Don't think so." Jack shook his head. "I like knowing who's putting me and my friends at risk; only honorable thing to do."

"Honor?" The fellow guffawed. "Strange concept for a pirate, don't you think?"

"Not as foreign as to a kidnapper." Jack forced himself not to look down at Will or Ivy on either side of their abductor. "Name your terms, Mr. ....?" he fished, cocking his chin down and to the side thoughtfully. "You've a name?"

"I'm Lloyd." Jack knew he wasn't, by the tone of his voice—still, it beat "Hey You" all to hell. "You're not negotiating, Captain Sparrow." The man smirked at Jack's obvious discomfiture as the pirate wondered who would know he was here, as well as his true identity. "I hold all the cards; I wonder, how will you get out of this?"

Jack gestured conservatively, keeping his hands in plain view to allay suspicion and rash action. "Not really sure yet exactly what 'this' entails," he explained, carefully keeping his speech pattern neutral. He knew he was caught, but wasn't quite ready to concede.

"Why ... us holding your little girl and your friend hostage," Lloyd answered disingenuously, as if announcing the soup of the day. He frowned. "I've heard tell you're not a stupid man, Captain—daft, but not stupid. Was that wrong?"

Jack was getting mad. Not angry; mad. Anger with a dash of insanity salted in. "What is it you'd be wanting, 'Lloyd?'" he pronounced with exaggerated care to let the fellow know he didn't believe his story. "You've got me; you let them go, I'll stick around. Won't even need irons."

"No good." Lloyd shook his head. "No enjoyment in that."

"Well, then what would you enjoy?"

The instant, reflexive leer told Jack much more than he'd suspected, but he wasn't shocked. Instead, he felt weary, annoyed that using him for their own pleasure was the only thing these masterminds could come up with. How many times had he suffered this sort of attention? Jack Sparrow might look like a half-shilling whore, but he wasn't nearly as easy as his demeanor led the casual observer to believe.

On the other hand, it did lend a certain liberation to his response. Shifting his stance to open his feet and cock one knee slightly outward, Jack propped his hands on both hips and lifted his chin, narrowing his eyes down his nose at Lloyd, appraising him with insouciance. "Are you sure you wan' be messin' with Captain Jack Sparrow, mate?"

To Jack's surprise, Lloyd stepped aside, and the thin, quiet man behind Will and Ivy smiled cruelly. "I think the better question would be why you'd believe you're in a superior position to talk that way." The same quiet, droll voice that had released Elizabeth. "I'm the one standing behind these two with God knows what weapon pointed at their heads." To prove his point, another pistol hammer cocked out of Jack's sight, and for the first time, the thin man showed discernible emotion in the form of displaying oddly even teeth in a half-sneer. "Savvy?"

Jack barely resisted grinding his own teeth, but maintained his facade even while being mocked. "State your terms."

"How far would you go to protect them?" The thin man waved a visible gun now in Elizabeth's general direction. "I know she's not much to you; why I let her loose. But these two ... they mean something to you."

Briefly, Jack allowed himself to glance at the two captives. Ivy's brow was furrowed, but she seemed to be holding up well, judging by the expression in her own brown eyes. Will kept his eyes on the floor, jaw set, expression furious, reminiscent of how he'd looked stretched out over Hector's chest of Aztec gold with a flint knife to his throat. "I'm a father," Jack finally stated, simply. "I would protect my daughter 't all costs. An' I don't take kindly t' one of me crew being threatened." He said nothing about Elizabeth, since she didn't seem part of the immediate crisis.

"Hmm." Thin Man—who still didn't have a name—dropped his eyes to the kneeling captives and shifted until he was directly between their bodies, still behind them. Jack held his breath as he lifted his pistol slowly toward the back of Ivy's head, forgetting to breathe as he watched his daughter keep her eyes forward, maintaining her posture with the slightest of trembles. She couldn't see what was happening, so Jack judged she must at least sense something was happening behind her.

Without preamble, their captor swung his pistol to the right, deliberately cracking the barrel against Will's temple. The blacksmith jerked his head sideways, but it was his only reaction, his expression remaining fixed somewhere in front of him on the ground. The man lifted the pistol and skimmed the end across Will's crown, nudging his dark curls, cocking and uncocking the hammer as he went. The parody of sensuality drew Jack's fingers up into fists at his sides, pressed his teeth together painfully as he resisted sprinting forward into the bastard.

"Which one, Captain Sparrow?"

"Excuse me?"

"Which one would you save? You had to realize the question was coming." He continued rifling Will's hair with the pistol barrel.

"I can't make that kind of choice." Jack's response was automatic and without guile, evenly spoken in defiance of his emotional turmoil.

To his surprise, Thin Man chuckled. "A fair enough answer. I suppose I'll have to make the choice for you." The hammer clicked again and Jack was unable to tell if it was cocking or not. Keeping his gun on Will, the captor lifted his head and nodded at Lloyd. "Take the girl and Miss Swann outside; keep them quiet. I'll be along shortly."

"Just remember, we've got to deliver Spar—"

"Take them outside." The thin man spoke tightly, then glanced cozily toward Jack. "It doesn't matter if we take the good Captain dead or alive—he'll be pleased either way. Now go."

Lloyd crossed in front of the kneeling pair and hoisted Ivy to her feet. As he led her past Jack, the pirate held up a hand, palm out, in appeal. "Let me say somethin' to her. What happens t' me happens ... but I don' want to miss what might be me last chance t' speak with me own girl, eh?"

The boss frowned, then shook his head. "You have thirty seconds. Right there where you are; talk."

Jack nodded, then quickly gestured Ivy over. As she approached, he lowered himself to one knee; it meant looking up a few inches at her, but it was a position of humility he wanted to affect. "I'm gon' do what I can t' get out of this," he explained, taking her slender forearms in his callused hands and frowning over the small irons binding her wrists, "but I may not be walkin' out of here. Do what you can—" Here, he glanced up at Elizabeth, a couple of feet away, with an expression that clearly stated he was depending on her to protect the younger girl- "what you have to, understand? Listen to Miss Swann."

Ivy regarded him with a few blinks, then nodded. "Are you really Jack Sparrow?" she asked quietly.

He couldn't help laughing. "I am. An' this is th' fearless Will Turner, swordsmith to the Black Pearl." He gestured sideways at Will, who'd raised his eyes at some point and was watching the two of them with an unreadable expression. "Don't tell your mother, savvy?"

The girl glanced back at her captors, then Will, then Jack again. Swiftly, she lifted her bound hands and looped them over Jack's head as she leaned down to hug him. Closing his eyes, Jack pressed back rare tears and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I love you," he whispered into her ear. "As though I'd known ye your whole life, I do."

She said nothing at first. Then, he heard her whisper, "That man's name is Chavaille. He said they want to take you alive to their boss; I heard him. Twice."

It wasn't the tearful declaration of love he'd expected from an eleven-year-old girl bidding her father goodbye for the final time, but she did give him a tight squeeze of affection before Lloyd pulled her away. If their circumstances hadn't been so dire, Jack would have probably laughed aloud at the way she'd seized the opportune moment to impart critical information and how she'd done it—it seemed the acorn hadn't dropped terribly far from the tree. Perhaps, he mused as he compared his two children, she's more like Liana than I thought..

He stood as Ivy and Elizabeth were pushed ahead of Lloyd back down the passage from which Jack had come. Turning, he faced Chavaille again, deciding to keep the man's identity secret a bit longer—at least enough to let Ivy get far enough away that the man couldn't figure out she'd been recounting his plan, and hurt her for it. He and Will locked expressions for the first time in this whole thing; the younger man was still clearly furious with his captors, but it was controlled, sublimated to the clear question in those dark eyes: How are we getting out of this one?

With an effort, Jack tore his gaze away and looked at Chavaille. "You've somethin' in mind, I take it."

"I was warned we couldn't put much past you, Captain." The man stepped to the pillar on his right, a brief metallic clatter in the dark before approaching Jack. Several feet away, he tossed something long at him, which Jack caught; it was a sword. Nothing fancy, but serviceable enough. "I know you have your own, but I like mine better."

Jack shrugged. "Sword's a sword," he lied, flicking his eyes briefly to Will. The smith lifted an eyebrow in silent disagreement, and Jack repressed the urge to grin -Will's professional pride would out at the oddest moments. "This a gift o' some sort?"

"Defense. Offense; however you want to play it." Chavaille wandered behind Will again, reaching down to apparently grab him by his wrists bound behind his back and lifting, forcing Will to get to his feet. He was without stockings, and Jack noticed a long cut on his left shin, jaggedly crossing from ankle to just below the suit breeches he'd been wearing when last seen a few days ago. "It's entertainment to me either way."

Jack said nothing, and his patience was answered when Chavaille unlocked Will's hands, taking two broad steps backward and lifting his pistol level with Will's head. Jack did allow a small grin this time as he noticed the posture of fear; so that's where Will's gash had come from! Chavaille was obviously not willing to fight the smith again, though he'd come out the victor last time. Jack was guessing it was either sheer numbers, or they'd finally had to cut Will to get him down enough to throw him in chains.

"Pick it up." Chavaille tossed Will's sword to the floor a foot or so from the smith's feet, again keeping his distance as Will slowly stepped forward and bent to pluck the blade from the ground.

"Scared ye good, did he?" Jack couldn't resist the jab at Chavaille, who up to now had cockily insinuated his control over Will. "Our best fighter on th' Pearl, Mr. Turner is, and a reputation well-earned, wouldn' you say?"

"Shut up." Chavaille took a couple of sideways steps and leaned against one of the lighted pillars, just beneath the lamp and to its side. "If that be the case, Captain, why I suppose we will be carting you out of here on a pallet, won't we?"

"Why is tha', mate?"

"Well, both of you, really," Chavaille amended. "I mean, after he makes ribbons of your intestines, I'll be shooting him, so neither of you's walking away." He hefted his gun. "Or will you? Give me a good enough fight, and whichever of you survives might well get to walk out under his own power after all."

Jack glanced at Will, who appeared equally confused, and shook his head at Chavaille. "You've lost us, sir; what, precisely, are we t' be doin'?"

"Swordfight. To the death. You two parry and fence, or just stab straight at each other—up to you. But one of you has to die, and by the other one's hand." He grinned maliciously at their discomfiture. "Of course, as I've already said, if you draw it out, make it dramatic enough, I might be persuaded to spare the survivor. It's truly your call, gentlemen."

"You're mad." Will spoke for the first time, his voice scratchy and raw.

"I'm not the one who's about to stab my captain to death just to save my own arse, am I?"

"What if we don' play your lil' game?" Jack wondered, stalling.

"Not the smartest move. I'll simply kill both of you, save myself a lot of trouble. I have plenty of bullets, and I'm a crack shot." He examined his pistol briefly. "And I guarantee I can hit both of you before either one of you can get to me."

Jack gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. "A drill," he finally said, looking to Will. "Like practice. We've done this plenty o' times on deck. No worries."

"Except this time one of you has to kill the other," Chavaille reminded them.

"Aye ... but there's no time limit," Jack pointed out.

"I never said that; it's an arbitrary limit, which I think I'll keep in my own mind for now. You go past it, I'll just shoot you both anyway."

"If we're sufficiently entertaining, though," Will spoke up again, interrupting himself with a dry-sounding cough. "If we're entertaining, you wouldn't have incentive to shoot us. That'd ruin it."

"Might persuade me to delay it, sure." Chavaille looked to Jack. "Picked a smart one, I see."

Jack ignored the bait, uncomfortable with the insinuation the man seemed to be making about their relationship—while it might be a fantasy Jack nursed in his own mind, he had no desire for some homicidal stranger to be the one to point out to Will that his captain was in love with him.

I knew it!

That damn ship, Jack thought uncharitably. Of all the times ....

I told you so, Jack. Remember what I said?

Which part?

Admit he is not some passing fancy to you!

Pearlie, I'm busy here. Got a fight to fake. Jack set his lips in a thin line. "Very well." He turned to face his opponent, who regarded him oddly. "Raise your sword, Mr. Turner."

"Jack, we're not really doing—"

"Mr. Turner." Jack put himself en garde and narrowed his eyes. "Your sword."

Will glared at him, but backed off a step and assumed a defensive posture. "Captain," he nodded tightly.

And initiated the first lunge.

Jack concentrated on mainly defensive moves, leaving the attacks and feints to Will. Thankfully, the younger man was sharp enough to figure Jack's plan and allowed the two of them to keep parrying and staging the fight as they circled. Every so often, Jack would duck in with his own stab, then retract to dance away just out of Will's reach. This is not going to work forever came out of nowhere.

Just has to work long enough, Jack thought back. Don't break my concentration, love.

I hardly think I am to blame for that. You are too busy being worried for him for me or anyone else to throw you off.

He spun away from a feint that was too close for comfort, and stood, tense. Both of them were panting, beginning to sweat. Jack wasn't sure which was harder work—actually trying to win a fight, or staging one convincingly. His focus had narrowed to Will as they faced off, and he noticed for the first time that the injured leg was developing a limp. I hope he can stay on his feet.

Catch him if he falls ...

Of course! Jack frowned. I mean-

Jack .... please ... She sounded so mournful. None here will think less of you for the way you feel. You have been alone far too long.

There's no guarantee it would ever be reciprocated, that's it. And I'd still be alone. It was the first time he'd admitted Pearl might not be enough for him, but that she might be all he'd ever have.

My love, I am asking you only to admit it to yourself.

"Gentlemen, I'm not nearly as patient as you give me credit for." Chavaille interrupted Jack's conversation. "I have some leeway, but not all night, of course."

As they circled, once Will's back was to Chavaille, he spoke enough to be heard, but obviously not at a volume to share the conversation with their captor. "You have to do it," he hissed. "Stab me." Jack, no! his lady cried.

"What?" Jack blinked. I'm not going to kill him!

"Attack! You have to at least wound me, make it look like I'm dead. I can do the rest."

I can't let him out of my sight again. No telling what'll happen. "Now who's mad?"

"He wants you alive."

And I want you alive. "Aye. Ivy said so." He feinted, but slow enough so Will could dance aside believably.

"Which means he'll kill me if you don't at least make it look like you have!" Will hissed. "Please, Jack—if you do it, you can control the wound's severity."

He gritted his teeth as they began again. "Only a las' resort," he shook his head.

Jack!

You'd rather see him dead? He sighed. I'm not doing anything I don't have to, Pearlie. Trust me. But I may not have a choice.

There is always a third option. Remember?

But sometimes it's not a very good one. Better than nothing, for now. "Are you gon' stand around, or fight?" Jack demanded of Will, harshly. "Told ye bein' out of practice made ye weak, out o' shape."

"I haven't eaten in three days, and my leg hurts!" Will fired back. By the look on his face, it was an automatic response. Good, Jack thought. He hoped his expression told Will to keep up the patter.

"That's an excuse? You're a pirate!"

"It's a damn reason! And I am not!"

Three days and no food makes Will a very crabby boy, Jack considered. He grinned when Will lunged and avoided Jack's return attack; the smith's self-sacrificing streak could get them both in trouble if allowed to continue. No matter how much I love it ... He could almost feel Pearl smiling. Oh, shut up. "You're slow," he prodded more.

"Kiss my arse," Will muttered between breaths. "Won't do what I ask ... think you know more than me—"

"'Cause I do—"

"You won't listen to any idea that's not yours!"

"Seein' as I have plenty of me own, be pretty stupid to be takin' on everyone else's, now wouldn't it?" Jack retorted, turning sideways to avoid the stab. That's it, Will—keep pretending it's the smithy all over again. You attack, I'll duck. And maybe I'll figure something out in the meantime .... This was all so damn surreal; Jack felt like a mouse between cat's paws. And not even a particularly smart cat.

"As entertaining as this admittedly is, I want blood shed in the next five minutes," Chavaille languidly ordered.

"Come ... bit closer," Jack panted, glancing his way. "Sure I can arrange it for ye." A draft of air was his only warning something struck, before a sharp, bright pain drew his full attention. "Son of a bitch!" Jack swore, lifting his right arm and looking down at the splotch of red blooming from his side. Glancing up, he saw Will regarding him wide-eyed, lips parted, face drained of blood. "Will?"

"You looked away," the smith mumbled. "You weren't supposed to be looking away."

Jack gritted his teeth and pressed his hand to his side. "It's not ver' deep," he judged. "Jus' hurts like a bitch."

"Jack ... I'm sorry ...." Will still gripped his sword, upraised..

For the first time, Jack noticed the tip of the other blade coated in slick red fluid. "I can still fight," he reassured the man, pressing his hand harder to stem the flow, trying not to wince.

The pistol cocked audibly. "No need; that's long enough. Since he's already started it—"

"Bastard!" Chavaille never finished his sentence, nor did Jack ever have the chance to use the man's name to his face. Will uttered the single epithet as his only warning, but the last consonant resonated with the wet plop of steel ramming through flesh. His torso was still turning when he released the sword at Chavaille, and the swift violence of the act caught both him and Jack off guard, though the consequences for the pirate were much less fatal.

Jack gaped; he couldn't help it. He'd seen plenty of killing, but few things compared to Will's power arm and uncanny aim. Please, let me never be on the receiving end of him being that angry, he silently prayed.

He was still staring at the dying man when he felt something else at his injured side. Blinking, Jack turned his attention back to it, finding Will shrugging out of his smudged, torn waistcoat to rip in half. Half he wound around Jack's waist; the other half, he folded into a makeshift bandage and held to the wound. "Keep that there," the smith instructed, arranging the impromptu sash to hold it in place.

Happening to glance down as Will took a few steps back after tying a tight knot, he noticed the younger man's injured shin was running with blood. "Is that mine?" he pointed.

Will looked down and swore softly. "I think it's mine."

As he bent to examine the wound, he stumbled. Jack moved in and caught him, moving faster than his mind could process, arms around his waist. Will's knee hit the ground, but not as hard as it could've, and Jack went with him. "Got you," he affirmed.

A small, strangled chuckle as Will sighed, very nearly going limp against Jack. "I'd wager we look like quite a pair," he finally managed.

"I'm glad you find this funny," Jack responded. "Because I ..." He paused, lost for words. "Oh, fuck it." With that, he, too, started laughing—not because he found any of this remotely humorous, but because it was better than sobbing, and he couldn't think of any good excuse to stop, even when his side started throbbing again. "Ow," he muttered between guffaws.

"You all right?"

"Not dead, at least." And neither are you. Thank God for small distractions. Jack shifted so his cheek rubbed Will's temple, a natural enough movement given their relative positions; another small shift put those curls into his nose, and he closed his eyes. Oh, Lord ... I don't need this; I really don't need this now in my life. Just ... make me stop feeling for him. Will's body was warm and solid in his arms, alive and whole, and Jack wanted nothing so much as to stretch out along him on his bed once they got back to the hotel, after they'd dropped off Ivy and-

"Isabella!" Jack stopped cold, stiffening. "She's still out there!"

"What?" Will followed Jack to his feet, hobbling, resting pressure on his good leg. His laughter subsided, and his expression sobered. "Elizabeth! We've got to get to—"

"Already beat you to it." The familiar voice drew both men's attention, and they looked sideways to see Elizabeth approaching with one arm around Ivy's shoulders, the other hand holding a key, dangling it. "We've been over there the last few minutes; caught the last of the show," she tilted her head backwards, indicating the corridor they'd been led down. "Still have a good arm, Will."

"How'd you get free?" the smith wanted to know, turning gingerly on his good foot to face her.

"I had some help." She looked to Ivy. "Quite the little schemer you have here, Jack. Good distraction, too."

"I stomped on his foot, and she broke his nose by punching him," the girl piped up. "And took the key for the irons; put them on him, then hit him on the head!"

Both men gave Elizabeth incredulous looks. "Oh, come on," she insisted. "It was two against one, for heaven's sakes! And I daresay one of us is smarter than the two of them put together."

"They don't seem—" Jack glanced over at the dead Chavaille and corrected himself. "They didn't seem very bright, no," he mused, eyes landing on his daughter. "Did they hurt you?" he put to her. The girl shook her head, eyes still merry from her escape. Jack looked among her and the two adults. "Did any of you happen t' find out who they worked for?"

"Just their names." This from Will. "They were pretty careful about keeping whatever else their own secret."

"I don't see how you could hear much of anything, the way they were taking turns at you," Elizabeth gestured toward her friend.

"What do you mean?"

Her head automatically turned toward the protective, sharp rise in Jack's voice. "They were hitting him, beating him up! I'm certain he has bruises." She kept her hand out toward Will as if pointing. "They even kicked you a couple of times; maybe more, that's only what I saw ... are you all right, Will?"

"I'm fine." The smith shook his head in dismissal. "My leg, is all."

Jack didn't believe him, but was glad for the admission, since it gave him opportunity to slide an arm behind Will's shoulders and pull the man's arm up around his own. "Let's get out o' here," he advised everyone. "We'll sort out th' pieces once we—"

He halted, then muttered "shite" as he ducked away from Will, releasing the smith and executing a turn to head over to the fallen Chavaille. Dropping to one knee at the man's side, he quickly patted down the corpse, expertly sliding his fingers into pockets and folds of clothes. A few coins were his only reward; no paper, nothing to identify him or his employer. He leaned back on his heel and sighed. "Fine kettle o' fish."

"Nothing?" called Elizabeth.

Shaking his head, Jack stood and turned to rejoin the group. "Not a damn thing 't all," he muttered, taking Will's arm once again around his own. "We'll check th' other one, he's still out there." The thought occurred Lloyd might have regained consciousness and be laying in wait. "Elizabeth, th' pistol—" He cocked his head backwards toward Chavaille.

"Right." They waited for her to return, and Jack held out his hand for the piece. "You have your own hands full," she shook her head. "I'll keep it." Off his expression, she frowned. "Jack, I know how to shoot a gun, and how to handle one. I did grow up practically in a military fort. Besides, I already have Lloyd's, too."

He glanced between her and Will. "Let me posit a guess; childhood bottle-shootin' contests, I gather?"

"And jugs," Will admitted, shifting to unwittingly lean more against his captain. "She was better."

"I'd expect nothin' else." Jack dropped his hand to Will's opposite waist and nodded toward the passageway. "Very well; Elizabeth, you in front, we'll be in back. Ivy, love, stay close in front o' me, savvy? On we go, then."

****

"And you say he was tied?"

"In irons, actually," Elizabeth put in. "After we disabled him, Isabella grabbed his keys and we freed ourselves from our irons, then I put mine on him."

"You left him lying in the corridor, correct? Near the entrance?"

"We did."

Constable Budan glanced back up between Jack and Elizabeth; he'd already questioned the other two captives, who were being treated in one of the Martense home's bedrooms by the family physician. "I'm still not clear on the connection between you two ..." he prompted.

Jack sighed. This was the tricky part. "As I said, my business takes me around the world, especially the West Indies and His Majesty's provinces there. I know Miss Swann because I have transacted business with her father, the governor of Jamaica, a handful of times. Mr. Turner is a business associate of mine, who also happens to be a childhood friend of Miss Swann."

Here, Elizabeth took up the thread. "I was told I was taken in order to get Will—Mr. Turner—to cooperate, so our captors could have leverage on Mr. MacLeary." She hesitated a bit as she conjured up the correct surname. "And Isabella, for the same reason—ransom."

"So they wanted your money."

Jack shrugged and nodded a bit. "I am a man of some means, sir. My father left me a respectable inheritance." He knew damn well it wasn't the reason, but it neatly fit the story they were feeding the cops.

"How did you find them in that warehouse?"

"I was delivered a ransom note."

The constable's eyebrows perked. "Note? Where?"

"I no longer have it." Jack affected his most regretful expression. "It upset me so; I crumpled it and threw it on the street when I stormed out of the hotel."

"I see." Clearly the man didn't. "What did it say?"

"Told me where to meet them, and to come alone—you can see why I didn't report it to the authorities," he smoothly explained. "I didn't want anyone hurt. They were going to negotiate, said. And, then ... well, things just went from there. I'm not a man who suffers what's mine being taken well, Constable."

"Yes ... it would appear so." Jack wondered if the man was swallowing any of this, truly, but had no intention of changing his story; once he was gone, the danger would hopefully leave Ivy alone and follow him. And Will, his conscience reminded him. "Thank you, both. You'll excuse me; I need to speak with Mr. Turner once more before I take my leave."

Elizabeth nodded and steered him to find the mistress of the house, while Jack took the opportunity to escape into the small garden out the side veranda doors. He stalked around a bit in dawn's light as he pondered again who might have a vendetta and the means to chase him inland and around the eastern part of a continent. Well, who doesn't want me gone? he mused, finally dropping into one side of a bench. And how the hell do I keep Will out of it? I can leave Ivy here—and maybe David, with her—but Will wouldn't stay.

Nor would you want him to, the back, other part of his mind pointed out.

He didn't acknowledge her when she sat beside him a few minutes later, but he didn't need to. She remained silent. "I don't suppose he'd stay, even if I ordered him to." He growled back in his throat, frustrated. "Why is somethin' that is supposed to be th' greatest comfort in the world, so ... painful, instead?" he drew out slowly, seeking the correct words.

"Love's a hard thing, Jack." Elizabeth shifted. "I'm not sure it's really supposed to be easy. I was always taught that something dear comes with a price proportionate to its value." She chuckled. "I always thought Father said that to get me to stop pestering him for new hats when I was little, but he said it at other times, too." She sighed. "So is he worth it to you?"

"Hmm? Eh?" Jack blinked and looked over at her. "Let's have it."

"What?"

"This is th' part where you tell me your intentions to win him back. Not like you lost him in th' first place." He kept his gaze on her, level and a touch cold; Jack was used to having things pulled away, but he never enjoyed it.

She surprised him. "I'm not saying any such thing. I'm sure that's Will's decision. You know as well as I how angry he gets when he thinks someone's trying to make his mind up for him." She squinted at Jack. "Didn't we already have this conversation some time ago?"

"Aye." The pirate turned his attention once again to the street beyond the small yard, with its early-morning carriages and foot traffic muffled only slightly by the trees planted along the iron fence.

"And still, you haven't answered me."

Jack lowered his gaze to the flagstones leading a narrow path toward Esther's flowerbeds. He recalled how she'd filled their flat with potted flowers and wispy plants, how she'd warn him to keep his black thumb away from her projects on an almost-daily basis, but in a playful tone.

Their gardening abilities aside, there was never really much that had ever tied or held them together—still wasn't, save for Isabella. Even for his daughter's sake, Jack wasn't sure he could have remained married to Esther these many years. He and Will had much more in common than had he and any other person—even the lad's father—and Jack reflected not for the first time that perhaps Hector Barbossa had actually given him a gift of immeasurable value, depriving him of his ship and marooning him to die. Oddly, he'd found more reasons to live since, than he'd ever had before then.

"He's worth it," he finally said, almost so quietly as not to be heard even by his own ears.

"You mean that? You'd do anything for him?"

Jack's long sigh turned into a rumbling chuckle deep in his chest as he rubbed at his chin. "If you're askin' if I'd cheerfully brave th' bowels of hell for th' lad ... well, why not? I'm sure it'll get to that point somewhere along th' way; this isn't the safest life he could've chosen, as you've been gracious enough to point out t' both him an' me many a time."

Again, she surprised him. "I don't like it." Well, that wasn't the surprise, but then she continued, sotto voce. "If he has to be with someone besides me, though, I can think of a lot worse than you."

"Oh, you're too kind. Really," Jack drawled sarcastically.

"You'll watch out for him, I know. You'll keep him as safe as you can without smothering him." The implied tone was that she wouldn't be able to resist as much, herself. "Will's always told me he never expected to live beyond that day we plucked him out of the ocean, so he's fairly grateful for each new day he does have."

"I'm not gon' let him get killed, if that's what you're gettin' at," Jack noised, looking over at Elizabeth again. "I look out for th' whole crew that way; I've told ye this before."

"When the time comes," she sallied forth, "I believe you'll make him happy. As I've told you before, he wouldn't be with you unless he saw something you offer that's worth pursuing. And I think it's more than the ship."

"My wit an' sparklin' personality?" He grinned, showing gold canines. "I do have both, ye know." She regarded him dryly. "The boy likes girls, lassie. Nothin' much can be done to change that."

"What about you?" she pointed out. "Esther and all that—and now Will?"

"I'm a bit more flexible about such things, I've learned in me old age. But I'm diff'rent." He rubbed his hands together, resting his forearms on his knees. "To be blunt, I'm not sure I ever really loved Esther. Marriage o' convenience, really."

"Aren't most of them?"

"Aye, you would know," Jack agreed. "Th' main difference is the good Commodore does seem t' foster warm feelings for ye, whereas neither Esther nor I deluded ourselves about the nature of our union. We were companions, nothin' more."

"We'll see." Off Jack's furrowed brow, Elizabeth added, "We'll see where his preferences lie. Somebody's bound to be surprised, either way; I'm wagering it'll—" Off her pause, Jack looked up to spot Isabella several yards away, watching the two of them talk. She didn't appear to be eavesdropping, and Jack knew they'd been talking softly enough not to be heard. "I think you've a visitor," Elizabeth noted, getting to her feet and smoothing her skirt. The gesture made Jack chuckle, since it was already torn and stained in a few places; she only threw him a droll glance and flounced off past the girl.

He and Ivy regarded one another silently for a time, before Jack told her, "No need t' stand all th' way over there. Come an' sit; you've obviously things on your mind."

Ivy approached, but stopped two feet away, still appraising him. "Who are you?"

"I'm your father." That clearly wasn't the answer she sought, by the frown she gave him. "Let's just say I'm a merchant seaman with a bit o' style, who plays a bit loose with international trade agreements."

"A pirate?"

He couldn't tell anything by the neutrality in her voice. "Navy'd prob'ly call it that." With a sigh, he unfastened his right cuff and slid it up just enough to show her the puckered "P" scar near his wrist. "As would the East India Trading Comp'ny."

She'd obviously spied a wing tip. "What's that?" she pointed, leaning forward a bit.

Scooting to his left, Jack made room by that arm; she took the hint and sat, brow furrowed as she watched his arm like a little hawk. Pushing the sleeve up a bit more, he revealed the bird in flight tattooed into his skin. "I've seen this sketch in the journals!" Ivy exclaimed. She prodded his arm lightly with a fingertip and looked up. "You are Jack Sparrow, aren't you?" He nodded. "And your ship—the Black Pearl?"

"How do ye know all this?" Jack kept his voice normal, without the proper accent he affected for these trips.

She pressed for more. "Did you really chase cursed pirates who couldn't die? And break the curse for—" Her eyes widened; she was practically thrumming with excitement by this point. "And that's Will Turner with you—his father was the one who betrayed the mutineers, and he helped you! David's not really his brother, is he?"

"Shh," Jack warned her, gesturing for her to lower her voice. "Again, how d' you learn this stuff?"

"I read, Father." She paused, then giggled briefly at that before smothering her mouth with her hand. "Does that mean my name's really Isabella Sparrow?"

"No, it means my name really is MacLeary. Savvy?" Jack drew his brows together as he leaned in to secure the confidence. "Remember what I said earlier, not tellin' your mother?" Ivy nodded. "Or Joe?" She nodded again, quizzically. "Neither of them know anything about Captain Sparrow, and I'd prefer it remain that way. I wouldn't've told you, 'cept for you learnin' about it on your own."

She looked hurt, as only a child treated like a child can. "I'm good at keeping secrets," she reassured him. "Really! I can tell you one I know about someone else to prove it ... except it's a secret ... and I can't." She frowned over the circular logic. "But I can keep one."

"I trust you." He had no choice, after all. "It'd be far better for ye if you forgot everythin' about this, but I s'pose that's askin' a bit much of just about anyone."

She watched him in perfect concentration for a moment, blinking a couple of times as she apparently thought something over. "I've read articles about you," she finally told him. "The things you've done, that the King says you've done." He said nothing. "I never have read that you're accused of murder or ... you know, the bad things they say pirates sometimes to do women." She dropped her voice near the end, nearly at a hush, her face coloring. "Is that true?"

"That I've never done those things?" Jack nodded. "Aye—I mean, it's true. I haven't." He didn't mention he had killed in self-defense a time or three. "I never hurt anyone intentionally. I'm not sure how to explain it to ye, an' I'll be honest when I say I think you'll understand a lot better when you're grown up more. I hope ye do, anyway."

"A pirate," she mused aloud. "My father, the pirate captain." Her small hand still rested on his bird tattoo, absently patting it as though stroking real feathers. "Is there anything else I ought to know so I can keep it a secret?"

Jack thought it might be too soon to tell her about her Caribbean half-sister; plus, to be honest, he needed to be sure he could trust her with one secret at a time. "Not right now," he deflected. "Wait a bit, 'til you're older; I promise I'll tell ye more. Jus' trust me for now, eh?"

"I'd like to see the Black Pearl someday."

He noted the light in her eyes and couldn't help a grin—apparently, the MacLeary genes didn't discriminate on the basis of sex. "When you're older, I promise I'll bring ye t' see her." He felt the tickle in the back of his mind from the ship—Pearl had "questioned" him since winning her back about the other, newer girls in his life, and Jack wondered if she felt threatened somehow. Easy—I'm not giving up any of you three.

"I've read a lot about it. The ship, I mean." Ivy spoke earnestly. "A warship, right? With black sails and sweeps?"

Impressed, Jack nodded. "What else d' ye know about ships?"

They talked for a good half-hour longer, until Esther called for her to take a bath and eat. Jack bade her farewell, promising to come by that evening or the next day, after she'd had time to sleep and recover from the doctor's poking and prodding. Surprising him, she hugged his neck before running off. "Good morning ... Captain," she chuckled, kissing his cheek as she pulled away.

He decided that might even sound better than "Da" after all.

****

"What makes ye ask that?"

Will paused buttering his biscuit, raising skeptical eyes to Jack. "Being perceptive, for one. I saw the way you were watching David back there; I also heard what those bastards said back at the warehouse. They work for someone, and one of them got away. They're not going to just forget about you."

"I highly doubt it." Jack took a healthy swig of his tea, to the apparent amusement of Will. "What?"

The smith shook his head, chuckling. "It's not a bottle, Jack."

"Aye, and it's not fine port, either, else I wouldn' be usin' th' bag thrice." He set down his cup. "What would you suggest we do with Davey, then?"

"Oh, I don't disagree with you. I don't think we need to put him in danger. Unnecessary danger, I mean," Will added. "I know a cabin boy's life isn't necessarily safe, but if there's someone out there deliberately after you ..." He let the thought linger.

"You sure you wan' head back out there too?" Jack took another drink of tea as Will regarded him, first with confusion, then with annoyance. "Just askin'."

"Well, don't. You make it sound like I need my mum to twist her skirts in my hands and hide behind," the smith snapped.

"Never let it be said I'm not th' pirate captain who cares, mate." Jack winked; Will scowled, then relaxed his expression by degrees. "Was a fair question, but we'll not speak of it anymore. Good?"

Will twisted his lips and parted them in apparent answer, but then closed his mouth again, keeping his thoughts to himself—at least on that. "Who do you think it is?"

"Lad, if I had to guess who might have a big enough grudge against me or me crew t' try doin' me harm, we'd both be sittin' here 'til we're old men needin' nursemaids." He rubbed at his chin. "I must admit, though, I dispatched most o' those with th' help of that curse and our good friend the Commodore's noose."

"Are you certain?"

"They all hanged, Will. Th' ones who survived the battle. An' I did qualify it by saying 'most' of those."

"I meant, could someone have a grudge on their behalf?" Will waited for an answer before sighing. "Some of those men had families, Jack—children, wives, brothers, lovers. Someone might want to do you harm for what we did to them."

It irritated the hell out of Jack that he hadn't considered that very thing. It also raised a niggle in the back of his mind—something he couldn't name or put a finger upon at moment, but would likely eat at his brain until he figured it out, perhaps not for weeks yet.. "You make a point," he conceded in a mutter. "Doesn't help th' story's spread everywhere 'bout the Isla. Ivy's even heard about it." He proceeded to offer a brief sketch of that morning's conversation with his daughter.

The corner of Will's mouth twitched in response as Jack finished his story. "Sounds like someone has a case of hero worship," he observed.

"You know," Jack frowned, "not at all sure I approve of her bein' that enthralled by me bein' a pirate."

"You thought it was just fine for David."

"He's not my little girl. Concerned as I am for his safety, he's led a dif'rent life than Ivy." He rubbed at his lower lip. "Could have a similar one now, though ..."

"An education, a home—good things for a boy his age," Will agreed.

"Aye, and a mother an' father who cares about his welfare." As soon as the words were out, he glanced to Will, who merely nodded agreement, expression betraying no emotion regarding his own orphaned upbringing. "And I've plenty of money t' contribute to his care."

Will brushed crumbs from his fingers. "Sounds like you've made your choice."

Jack nodded. "I'll see about passage on th' morrow; we'll leave a couple days out. Sooner we're gone, sooner whoever's got this grudge'll leave them alone an' tip their hand to us." Again, the feeling that brushed the back of his mind, that he was forgetting something important—it had nothing to do with either of the children and everything to do with someone he knew ...

"We should make sure people know we're departing, too," Will pointed out. "The hotel, shopkeepers we've dealt with here regularly, and such. However this person, whoever it is, found out about your whereabouts had to hear of it through someone like that, since we didn't exactly plan this sojourn."

"Was just thinkin' that very thing." That decided it for him; Jack lightly slapped his hands on the table, a surge of energy taking him. "Come 'long, then; let's not wait." He knew if he couldn't sit still or sleep for a few hours, Will would likely balk at being ordered to do it. "We'll see what we can get done today right around this neighborhood—don't want ye strainin' your bandages—and have a talk with Esther an' Joe in th' morning."

****

He looks so thin. Jack's frown etched in deeper as he noted how the covers hugged Will's legs and hips. His captors hadn't fed him, in addition to tenderizing some internal organs and ribs—when Jack saw the bruises, he resisted the urge to try to pull Will close. He wouldn't have appreciated it, and he doesn't need protecting, Jack reminded himself. Do you know how ridiculous that would make him feel if he knew?

But I do want to protect him. I know he's a grown man; I know he's capable of taking care of himself. But if I'd been there to fight with him, I'd have never let this happen to him; never let him be taken. Him or Ivy. Jack dropped his head, shaking it.

Leave her out of this, just this once.

What's that supposed to mean? It wasn't Pearl reprimanding him this time; it was some renegade part of his own mind.

You always pull her into this, try to pretend you see them both the same way, as children. Guess what? You haven't seen Will as a child in, oh ... never. From the moment you met, he was giving you a rough time, and certainly not in the way a little boy can.

All I was thinking is how they both worried me because they were kidnapped. They didn't do anything to deserve it.

And Elizabeth did? The Mind smirked at Jack's hypocrisy. She just keeps getting in your way, between the two of you, doesn't she?

He sighed. Nothing to get between. Be nice if there were. Surprisingly, The Mind kept its counsel this time. Good God ... I love him. Worse than that, I'm in love with him. I shouldn't do this ...

There's a reason for everything.

... But I want it. I want him more than I could ever express; I admit that. Jack straightened his neck to crack the vertebrae, pausing his head in a tilt as he took in Will's appearance for once without the burden of having to remember he was a friend's son. One hand rested on his stomach, fingers curled in; the other, the one closest to Jack, on the bed itself. He snored softly, almost inaudibly, his lips parted beneath his broad nose, his head turned the barest few degrees toward Jack, pillowed in a cap of short mahogany curls. Beneath the blanket, his injured leg was crooked up at the knee; Jack had doubled a large pillow to slide beneath it for support before pulling the covers up around the man's waist. "Thanks," he'd whispered.

"No problem, mate. Get some sleep, and we'll be back at th' swords once you've gotten rid o' these bandages." He'd kept his tone light despite worry about the blood still seeping lightly into his leg bandage from the gash; walking around today hadn't helped. The doctor had explained as long as it remained free of discoloration from pus, it would eventually scab completely and heal.

"Need to get back in practice, I guess." Will had licked his dry lips, prompting Jack to pour a glass of water at the nightstand and slide a hand beneath his back to help him sit up. Once he was finished, he'd settled back into his pillow, a steadying hand gripping Jack's arm. "Thank you ... again." He'd fallen asleep then, very shortly after, obviously exhausted and weakened.

Jack felt his eyelids wavering, heavy for sleep, so he gave in to the urge to lean over on his side into his own pillow and stretch out his body, daydreaming and still watching Will. Will ... my Will ...

He blinked as he shifted and felt another warm body against his; breathing drew in a familiar scent, that of smoke and wood and leather. Jack blew out briefly and inhaled deeper, taking in the same, this time overlaid with the tangy salt of Will's perspiration. Again; the same scent.

He opened his eyes into another pair of dark, warm orbs. "Good morning," Will murmured. This one wasn't wearing a bandage, and his hair had grown back out to its normal length.

"Is it?"

Will grinned, and Jack noticed the moustache and goatee framing his broad lips as he shifted on his side to face the pirate. "Well, only in the strictest sense of the word; it is after midnight."

Jack's eyes searched his face for signs of remaining injury or trauma. "You look better."

"Better than what?" Jack chuckled, as did Will, at that. "Sore ribs and blood don't belong in this kind of experience, really," the smith added.

"What kind?"

Will covered the few inches separating them and slid his nose along Jack's, pressing his lips to the pirate's. Jack blinked and waited for the momentary shock to pass, until feeling returned to his face so he could part his lips and deepen the kiss. It seemed his own bushy moustache had grown back, as well as his hair, which Will was clutching, stroking in the midst of this caress..

"Will ... love." Jack murmured to him as they stopped for breath. He pressed his palm to the small of Will's bare back, just at the swell of his backside, rubbing in tiny circles.

Will's teeth gently worried at Jack's lower lip. "Fuck me, Jack," he commanded in a low moan, tilting his hips forward.

"The bruises ...." No surprise in dreams at such requests, Jack noted.

"Don't have any." Will smiled into Jack's ruddy lips. "Yet."

Their bodies pressed together as Jack instigated the next kiss, more involved and warmer than the last, and Will gasped as Jack's cock brushed his. "You like that," the pirate accused softly.

"Do it again," was all the smith could manage, breath hot on Jack's damp lips.

Jack deliberately lifted his hips into Will's, rocking against him. They continued kissing, each moaning as their pricks caressed, slid together, finding little purchase. Will clutched at Jack's shoulder as he moved, small, helpless noises pressed into Jack's tongue as their mouths collided. "More," he encouraged the pirate.

At that, Jack used his lower knee to brace himself and turn Will to his back, pushing up on his hands to hover over the smith. Will gazed up at him, eyes dark and delicately lined in shadows, his fingers stroking at the subtle curves in Jack's hard chest and stomach. Jack silently answered the tilt of his chin with another kiss, this one airy and slow and unlike in nature either of them individually. He ruffled Will's moustache with the tip of his tongue and felt his partner nip at the small braids in his beard, laving the beads threaded through. "What're you doing t' me?" Jack finally managed to whisper.

"I could ask the same of you." Will angled his head back into the pillow again, and Jack traced the line of his jaw to the bristly skin of the man's long, warm, fragrant throat, where he licked at the pulse, up to Will's earlobe and around it. "Oh, God." Will trembled and nearly sobbed.

"Sensitive ears?"

"You don't know ... the half of it," Will panted.

"Hmm ... really?" Jack snaked his tongue out and traced the shell once, twice, three times before plunging into the canal itself, fucking it. The man arched hard into him and wrapped his arms tightly about Jack's torso, pulling him down as they undulated against each other. Jack withdrew, wanting to savor more of the body beneath him, and slid lower in Will's embrace, licking into the pool of his clavicle. He trailed kisses across the center of that chest, breathing hotly and peaking each nipple, Will's cock trapped against his stomach and leaking on it the entire time. Reaching down, Jack took hold of the stiff shaft, squeezing gingerly as he stroked, while laving the line of light hair that led through the man's navel straight to his pelvis.

"Jack, yes ... ah .... there, that, ohhhh." Will's hips lifted, twisted, his weeping prick gliding effortlessly through the grip of Jack's dark fingers, slick with himself. "Oh, please?"

Beginning at the root of the scrotum, Jack licked the delicate vein on the underside of the shaft to its head, and swirled the tip of his tongue in the tiny slit on top. This drew an agonized groan from its owner, whose hands were balling into the sheets. Jack grinned and swallowed half the cock rapidly, then patiently released it. "Want more?" he rumbled.

"Uh-huh," came the rapid-fire, pained answer.

Poising himself for work, Jack descended again and began massaging the organ with his tongue and roof of his mouth. Eventually, he felt fingers in his thick hair, stroking, messing, tugging in short, gentle bursts; when he got a hand beneath the scrotum and began squeezing in time, Will came halfway off the bed and shot quickly, unexpectedly, down his throat, a strangled moan Jack's only warning as he choked it down.

He was leaning back on his knees, licking his lips and swiping at his mouth with a nearby sheet when he felt the hands on his face, pulling it up. "I'm sorry," Will apologized, looking truly upset. "I'm so sorry, Jack; I ... had no idea I'd—"

"It's all right," Jack reassured him, shaking his head and pushing Will back into the bed. "I should've known m'self and seen it comin'." He grinned around the deliberate pun, earning a relieved expression and eye-roll from his partner. "Mind if I kiss you?"

Will glanced at Jack's mouth. "Does it ...?"

"Yes. But I don' think it'll matter." With that, the pirate leaned in and brushed once, twice at Will's lips, rewarded with a firmer kiss in return and a tongue tentatively seeking to part his mouth. They kissed deeply, hotly, Will sliding each foot down the back of Jack's thighs as he straddled his hips.

"Inside me," he whispered between kisses. "I want to feel you, now."

"This soon?" Jack murmured.

"Uh-huh." This time, it was said slowly, certainly. Jack blinked his eyes open to find the younger man watching him, deep, dark eyes framed by thick eyelashes of smoky honey. "I want you."

Jack couldn't speak at first. Then, all he could say was, "Oh."

"I want you, Jack. Is that hard to believe?" Now it was Will's hands on his back, bearing him down again. "I want you to fuck me, possess me. I want a claim on you that can't be taken back, Captain."

Every time Will gave his head that little shake, his curls tossed; Jack's eyes were drawn to them.. He reached up and ran his fingertips through the fine, sweaty hair, hypnotized by the steady, even rhythm of Will's breathing. "Wanted you since—"

"If you say 'the first time you saw me,' I'll know you're lying." Jack frowned; Will smiled. "Even I'm not that naive; I annoyed the hell out of you, our first meeting, mainly because I beat you."

"I wasn' gon' say that." Jack shook his head, beads tinkling, to soft laughter from Will. "I was going to say, since we first parted ways. I saw you goin' off with 'Lizbeth, and I couldn' help thinkin' she jus' wasn't for you."

"And now?"

Jack answered with his kisses, passionate and earnest and filled with lots of tongue and spice. Hearing Will eventually moan, he smiled against the man's lips and spoke. "That's what I think."

A chuckle. "You're an astute man, Jack." He lifted his hips, writhing. "Get that?"

"Well, mate, I think you're 'bout to, least." He hadn't even gotten off once, and already, Will was hard for the second time; Jack silently lamented his lost youth. Through another long, languid kiss, he murmured, "You didn' beat me, y' know."

Will shifted as Jack insinuated a hand down between their bodies, leading a kiss south to nip sharply at a beard braid at that. "Yes, I did."

"Un-unh." Jack licked the underside of Will's nose, up around the broad-edged tip. Ginger squeezes around both their swollen lances produced copious fluid used to stroke the perimeter of Will's tight back entrance. He loved the way the smith kept one heel stubbornly pressed against the back of Jack's leg, even as he'd had to set the other foot flat on the bed, knee up and wide to allow the man access to his arse. Finally, Jack eased his middle finger into the tight hole, tongue tracing the rim of Will's lips. "Relax," he whispered, eyes open to witness Will's expression of discomfort. "Just let me ...."

Will nodded quickly, eyes still screwed shut, and Jack rocked his hand, pressing deeper and searching. He knew he'd found the proper spot when Will's eyes flew open and he went perfectly still. "Jack." He gripped the pirate's arm and clenched, then. "There—oh, there."

"Aye, 'tis." He kept touching, stroking, gently ramming with the tip of his finger, pausing only long enough to add another on a downstroke. They glided back and forth, their owner lost in amber eyes of deep pleasure that blinked every so often out of time with Will's erratic panting. They were speechless, but not quiet. When Jack dipped his head to kiss Will, the smith parted his lips and snaked his tongue between Jack's, flicking at first, then thrusting in and out, much like he was being fucked. His hand clutched Jack's bicep, fingers digging in, his other hand splayed on the curve of Jack's arse.

Jack withdrew his fingers, milked more fluid, and caressed himself firmly with it as he put an end to Will's tongue with a powerful kiss that drew the young man's head up off the pillow. Dazed by Will's moan, Jack abandoned his mouth to breathe up along the side of his face and lave at his temple as he shifted his hips and poked the head of his shaft into Will. Muscle resisted, Will twisted a bit in initial discomfort, but Jack sallied forth, easing the rest of it inside, hand pressed firmly to the man's smooth inner thigh to hold him in place.

Once buried, Jack trailed his fingertips past the edge of the entrance and up over the base of his cock, joined, catching Will's wide eyes with his own lustful gaze. He stroked his own sac and rolled it side to side across Will's arse, stroking the taut, sensitive skin with the fuzzed looseness, making his hips twitch. They inhaled each other's breath, both trembling as Jack's fingers slowly worked. "You .... do that too well," Will muttered thickly, licking at visibly dry lips. "Practice?"

"All instinct with you," Jack shook his head lazily. "Never spent this much time before chasin' someone."

"Why?" As Jack withdrew a few inches and eased back in equally slowly, Will's eyes drew closed and he cried out, softly. "Why, Jack? Others would've been easier ..."

"Others are not you." Jack withdrew again, hesitated, and buried himself once more. And again. And again, and again, until he was withdrawing and thrusting instead of easing. "I wanted you, m' Will, an' no one else here." He paused on a thrust and ran his fingertips once again along their joined, sheathed skin. "This is th' way we ought t' be."

"Yes." Will nodded, lifting his hips on the next thrust to meet Jack. "Oh, yeah ...."

Several thrusts later, Jack reached up to wrap his fingers around the base of Will's staff and hold for a moment as their bodies continued to move. His fist slid up, then down, establishing the same rhythm as his thrusts, until Will was jerking up on his own, ragged grunts revealing his pleasure. Warm ribbons of moisture exploded over Jack's wrist and abdomen, and he increased his pressure, rocking hard up into Will as he unclenched, releasing deep inside his lover with only a few loud gasps.

Neither spoke for two minutes, and Will broke it with, "I did beat you." His voice was raspy and cracked, the humorous intent of his speech at odds with the emotion in the tone.

"Not possible." Jack lifted up and kissed his sweaty forehead.

"Wasn't the one who ended up on the floor 'tween my feet." Will's hands didn't leave Jack's arm or back, still clutching, still needy.

"Hmm. Guess I'll jus' have t' shoot you next time." Jack tilted his forehead against Will's, and their eyes caught ... held.

Will studied him for an endless time, then swallowed and licked his lips. "I love you."

Jack's eyes snapped open and he shivered violently. The outside temperature had taken a dip at some point, and the night was chilly. He sat up and looked around, noticed Will was shivering somewhat, too. Landing silently on his feet, he padded to the window and pulled it shut, tugging the curtains in place as if they could help keep out the draft. He paused by Will's bed and lifted his covers, tugging them higher and settling them against his collarbone. The smith shifted a bit, actually snuggling into the warm blanket, an unconscious smile Jack's reward.

Able to watch only a moment before feeling cold himself, Jack turned and slid back into his own bed, this time beneath the covers and on his side facing away from Will. He couldn't afford to be in love, let alone with Will Turner, who would likely regard the entire matter with disgust.

And yet, he didn't have much choice but to admit as much after all this time—and deal with the consequences.

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