6. Deny

Pairing: J/W
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Jack and Will, nor the details associated with Pirates of the Caribbean. I am simply borrowing them for a while for creative expression and writing practice (and because the boys are in my head and won't leave me alone).
Originally Posted: 2003-2006
Special Thanks: To the Crow and the Spoon for beta-reading and God knows what all else ... Also, to Eliza, Marquesate, and Threepio for the French help—if you find something incorrect, don't blame them. I took a few liberties, they tried to corral me, and I didn't abide by every suggestion, for the purpose of dramatic license and ease of explanation.
Summary: This is continuation of an AU fic, breaking off from the movie's events immediately after Barbossa's defeat and death in the caves of Isla de Muerta.

"I have to fix that," he told his captain, who stood not too far away at the rail, his attention directed somewhere toward the horizon. They'd been on this ship for three days, and Will was more bored than concerned. After all, the damn thing probably wouldn't sink.

"Hmm? Eh?" Jack Sparrow turned to fix his dark eyes on Will. "What're you on about, now?"

"If I don't fix that, we might sink." He'd amended his opinion upon squinting at the thick green algae slicking the post hosting the iron plating. "Which might be a favor for this tub in the long run, but—"

"Don' say that about a friendly ship," Jack interrupted, shaking his head solemnly. "Never insult a lady."

"I don't have to," Will insisted, grumpy. "Those creaky joists do enough on their own. Listen to her creak, Jack." Now since when did I start sympathizing with ships?

His captain followed the smith's gaze, then turned his dark eyes back to Will. "We need t' find you somethin' to do, or you're gon' get us shot and thrown over before we ever reach th' Pearl. Insulting a host's vessel ain't the way to stay warm an' dry at sea."

The smith sighed; clearly he was bored. "Fine. I'll just go ahead and pull my bunk shift while you think of something to keep me busy. I'll be interested to know what you come up with." Will felt a twinge of guilt at his snapping tone, but pushed it down. This type of voyage was Jack's big idea, let him deal with the consequences of an idle companion; it'd teach him not to be so shortsighted in the future.

"Will." The voice turned the smith back to face his captain, only a few steps toward belowdecks for an early sleep shift—they did not sleep at the same time, for it had been Jack's idea to alternate so one would always be alert for problems. Seemed the man didn't entirely trust any crew that didn't belong to his Black Pearl, though Will couldn't say he blamed Jack. "A word?"

With a sigh, Will took the few strides back to Jack's side and stood looking out to sea as well. "Yes?"

"I said insulting th' captain's ship was no way to get on his good side." The pirate glanced sideways and up, eyeing the joist now himself, voice lowered so as not to carry on the wind behind them. "Volunteerin', on the other hand, earns ye credit here an' there in life. Ye never know when you'll need it ... savvy?" With a slight turn of his head, Jack was giving Will a meaningful look, eyebrows raised, the barest twist of a smile on his lips above the respectable beginnings of a new beard.

"I'll ... ponder that." Feeling foolish for his petulance, yet still a bit unsettled, Will barely stifled a yawn as he considered he'd been up an hour longer than he'd intended. "Be sure to wake me," he told Jack with a nod, then turned to go below again, this time with no interruption.

Tired as he was, Will found nearly half an hour later that he was staring up at the slatted ceiling of the small two-cot room on loan to the both of them for the duration. Jack had arranged for their passage as merchants to the Caribbean to eventually meet up with Anamaria and the Pearl. David remained in London with Jack's ex-wife, Esther, and her husband, where the boy would receive educational instruction alongside Jack's daughter Ivy, on the premise that an eleven-year-old boy belonged in the classroom far more than he belonged at sea.

Normally this wouldn't bother Will. He and the pirate got on well enough, had developed a friendship over the past many months. Will had absolutely no reason to believe anything had changed—except for what his gut told him. Something, in fact, was different, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out. Jack had been acting strangely (and that was saying something) since Elizabeth's and Ivy's rescue in London. Will usually left himself out of the receiving end of that rescue in his own mind, feeling foolish and rather weak for having been captured in the first place—he could allow himself a break for being locked in Pearl's brig by Barbossa, since the man's crew had clearly outnumbered him, but to be taken prisoner by a couple of blokes? Maybe Jack was right, that he was losing his edge from the lack of daily fencing practice.

Will shifted position at that thought, uncomfortable once again with the turn of his thoughts toward Jack. It seemed the man was at least half of everything on his mind these days, especially since that embarrassing little self-pleasuring incident in France. Will was not naive; he understood there were things that went on between men at sea that never happened on land. But those were pirates, not decent folk like him-

"Like myself," he muttered aloud right behind another yawn, realizing how hollow the sentiment truly was. Will Turner was no longer a respectable, decent man. He'd been born a pirate, had taken up the life of a pirate ... so why was it surprising he'd start thinking like a pirate? Pirates were lewd, irresponsible, amoral creatures barely classifiable as human; the thought depressed him.

But if that's the case, how do you explain Jack? Damn Jack again. He refocused, as much as he was able, delayed fatigue stealing over him rapidly. All right—then the rest of the Pearl's crew? They're good people. You live with them, work with them. You've seen how they fight. Yes, they rob and pillage, but they don't take any more than will allow their victims to get back to land alive, and they don't sink ships or kill indiscriminately or unnecessarily. He knew he was rationalizing, trying to make things sound better than they really were, but at the moment, his mind was just trying to cope with thinking and sleeping at the same time.

When the older gentleman raised his head, Will got a good look at his eyes for the first time. One was brown, the other one blue. "Eh?"

Will cleared his throat and tried not to let the eye thing steer him off-course. "I'm so- I apologize for interrupting your meal." Jack had taught him not to use the word "sorry" any more than necessary—"You're not a sorry sort, boy," the pirate had lectured. He must not know me very well yet. When Montgomery Allen didn't seem inclined to put him at any ease, Will knew he had to talk fast. "But I have a proposal for you. Of sorts."

The discolored eyes widened, then narrowed in a frown. "My humors are my own business," the captain snapped. "Didn't you have a mother to teach you manners?"

"No, no," Will hurried to explain, shaking his head. "Not joints. Joists. The ship's supports. They're—" He paused, remembering Jack's words: Never insult a lady. "I've experience working with metal, and not many captains can persuade blacksmiths to leave land and work aboard their ships." He winced inwardly that Allen's expression wasn't changing; it must sound like an insult, that the man wasn't good enough to warrant his own smith when Will had just implied there were some captains who could recruit one. He decided to just make the offer. "Since you're being gracious enough to accommodate me and my business partner so well, I thought I might try to repay your kindness by offering to ... um, check some of your ship's fittings for you."

Oh, where is Elizabeth and her diplomacy when she's needed? "Not what I meant," he began, a bit defensively—then caught himself at his tone. "It's—she's—a beautiful ship." Well, that wasn't too much a lie; Athena's Pride did have graceful lines. And she'd managed to not sink in the five days since they'd embarked; that was always a mark in any vessel's favor. "And very well designed. But you're a leader of men, a sailor—you have better things to do than learn to 'read' metal like a blacksmith can. And a smith can spot problems well before anyone else can, with metal, and repair them. I don't know if you have any problems," he quickly added, "but what I'm saying is, I'd be glad to check your joist fittings for you. It would give me something to do rather than sit around all day, since your crew's much too efficient to allow me the opportunity to do anything else to assist aboard your fine vessel."

"Hmm." The sound was accompanied by a gradual—very gradual—softening of Allen's frown. Will congratulated himself on having checked ahead of time to make certain there wasn't, indeed, a blacksmith on board, though if he'd found one he wasn't sure if he'd have kept his mouth shut or simply have pushed the fellow overboard out of professional disdain for shoddy work. "You'll not be gettin' a discount on your passage," he warned.

"As a sea merchant myself, I'm simply gratified for the opportunity to lend my humble smithing to such a fine ship," Will replied, inclining his head humbly. A pauper's upbringing had its perks. "Were she not worth the trouble, I'd have kept my own counsel." Since when did Jack climb into my head? Will was far from stupid, but his vocabulary had never been anything like this as a boy or in Port Royale. He chanced a conspiratorial smile at Captain Allen. "As I said, I don't know that you have any such problems, but I didn't think my scurrying about in the rigging without your permission would earn your indulgence."

Surprisingly, the man chuckled at that. "Quite right. I'd've probably had you shot for mutiny." He nodded toward Will, picking up his mug of rum. "Well—get on with you, then. Have at; just don't get in my men's way, understand?"

Will's brain automatically substituted Savvy? for the final word, having heard it daily for nigh on a year now. "I get it," he automatically replied. "My thanks."

Hours later, Will yawned as he made a few more notes in the slim, empty log book Allen's first mate had been good enough to supply so he could keep track of his findings. "Engaging in some literature?" he heard from behind.

"Hardly. These joists—" Will lifted his head and glanced around to make sure nobody but Jack was nearby; he didn't want to insult the ship within anyone's hearing. "Jack, these joists are awful! Three-quarters of them should have been replaced long ago, and the others are not tightly fitted as they should be. I'm not even finished cataloguing, and I've already a list for the captain. I really don't know what's holding Athena together, unless it's spit and pitch."

"Prob'ly Poseidon's luck," Jack answered, coming around and briefly patting the wood as he leaned against the rail to face Will. For such a smart man, the smith found his captain as overly superstitious as every other sailor bobbing upon the ocean. "Or maybe it's jus' that th' algae's gotten friendly and hold on t' one another well enough to keep th' boards joinin'."

"Well, it's a miracle," Will muttered, annoyed with his findings out of principle and from being exhausted from genuine work this afternoon. "I need to start replacing these right away." He raised his eyes to Jack. "I could use some help."

"It doesn't exactly look good if I'm working to show my gratitude to the captain for his ferrying us about, and my 'partner' is sunning himself on deck. Besides, you're the one who said how important it is to store up credit for later."

"What, you think he's gon' throw me overboard an' keep you if somethin' happens?"

"All depends who's useful and who's baggage," Will mused, trying to keep a straight face. "Are you saying you'd keep someone who wasn't pulling his weight on board the Pearl?"

"Not if he was payin' me a handsome sum t' traipse here an' about for him," Jack pointed out.

Not for the first time, Will adopted a dry expression and fixed him with something not quite a glare. "Jack."

"Oh, all right," the pirate muttered, throwing his hands out in punctuation, then turning his head slightly in bargaining mode, sliding a sideways glance to Will. "But I get your rum ration."

Will's smirk dropped; each man on Athena only got two small citruses a day, much to the smith's consternation. "Excuse me?"

"Man's got t' keep his strength up, scurryin' all over a ship." Jack shrugged lightly. "Take it or leave it."

Will didn't mind working alone, but he'd started this in some misguided entertainment to outwit Jack, and if he gave in now, he'd never hear the end of it. "Fine," he assented with an audible grumble in his tone. Better luck next time, simpleton.

"Who says?" Jack looked maddeningly dense. "Save strength? Mate, we both climb ev'ry day, back on Pearl. 'Sides, you're th' blacksmith; I hardly know what I'm lookin' for up there well as you do."

"You know a rotted fitting when you see it—don't you? Isn't a captain supposed to know—" Will cut himself off, looked about so as not to offend Allen, and dropped his voice. "A good captain knows when he spots bad nautical workmanship," he challenged.

Will suddenly knew where it was headed. "Strictly speaking, we're not anything here except business partners," he rebutted. "Equal partners, I might add. Looks awfully funny if only one of us is doing all the work, Jack."

"I never told anyone I was a smith, lad," the pirate pointed out. "You were th' one who couldn't leave well enough alone."

"That's because it's not well enough!" Will ground his jaw. "And you know it!" he hissed, dropping his voice again.

Jack narrowed his eyes, and not for the first time—though it was rare—Will was reminded of just how the pirate had earned his widespread reputation despite being rather mild-mannered the majority of the time. "I've paid for our passage aboard this vessel," he patiently explained, leaning forward and ticking a forefinger between them. "Me. For both of us, mind you. Now I didn' mind that; I didn't mind that ye 'parently felt guilty about sittin' round and twiddlin' your thumbs for a piece 'til we get back to Pearl. But I will be damned thrice if I join in your self-castigation, Mr. Turner, nor will I be treated as such by your own fine self." He straightened, the flush dissipating from his face.

For a long moment, Will didn't know whether to be angry with Jack or ashamed of himself. Jack had, so far, done far more for him than was expected or required of a gentlemen of polite society, let alone a knave pirate—Will was not his relative nor his responsibility. He realized he'd grown accustomed to Good-Time Jack and had forgotten to take Captain Sparrow's presence seriously enough in the past many months.

He settled on ashamed, but tried not to show it. "You're right," he admitted with a sigh, feeling his brows furrow into a self-directed frown. "And I apologize. Besides, I do know the work better than you do." And then, because he couldn't help himself, he added with a twinkle in his eye, "Quite a lot better, actually."

Jack took the logbook and stylus from Will, tilting his chin down and regarding him levelly. "Don't press th' matter," he warned. "I'm helpin', ain't I?"

Except for the occasional disagreement—"I know how t' write, an' if ye don't leave me alone about it, you'll not get any oranges back on Pearl, either!"—they managed to work fairly well together over the next two weeks. Will was not a naturally sociable person, but being with the garrulous Jack on deck, he couldn't help but end up in conversations about ships and sailing and rum, and eventually he learned several names of the crew.

The more they cooperated, the more Jack seemed to return to acting like his normal sort of eccentricity, rather than the odd fellow with whom Will had sailed out of England nearly a month earlier. It helped that the pirate's moustache was completely filled back in, and his beard was on its way to looking usual for Jack's tastes. Will himself had long since grown in his goatee and moustache, and his hair was almost down to where it could cover half his neck again. This, he appreciated, for any defense against the sun was necessary out on the open water. The waves reflected the light and heat back in such a way that his sunburns were worse than they'd ever been on land. Unlike Jack, who seemed to simply toast nicely as if under gentle warming rays, Will tended to adopt a rosy, painful glow if he wasn't careful.

Daytime work was sufficient to occupy Will's mind. Nighttime watch, however, was a different sort—he'd never needed as much rest as other people and spent many hours that everyone else slept inside his own head, contemplating life of late.

As a boy, Will often dreamt of his father, a little-seen and mysterious figure who put in the obligatory appearance less than yearly and kept he and his mother in coin on a regular basis. Too many coins, he thought wryly these days, by at least one. Siobhan Turner spent her mornings doing laundry and mending for families who could afford it; her afternoons relentlessly schooling her only child in his letters and figures; and her late afternoons and evenings crafting meticulous jewelry from bits of metal supplied by the neighborhood blacksmith. Will recalled watching her slender fingers speed over the creations, pausing, slowing only to add in the most delicate details. She'd tried to teach him, and he'd displayed a talent for the work, but had rejected learning more when he realized it would be ridiculed by the rough boys he wanted so desperately as friends—in the streets, running deliveries for his mother, scrawny little Will needed as few enemies as he could gather.

Two years as a cabin boy following Siobhan's sudden death had further taught Will the harsh realities of life, though, to be fair, he couldn't say it had been all bad. His captain had been a man much like Montgomery Allen—tough on his crew, but not without compassion or humor, however slight. Certainly Will didn't know how his younger self would've dealt with a Captain Sparrow; he wasn't sure how he was doing so now was entirely right. Wonder how Da would've dealt with his moods, he often wondered when Jack was driving him particularly mad with some notion or other.

His years in Port Royale had revolved around finding the magic formula to attain her, first to be accepted in her social circle so they could openly be friends as children, then to win her heart for a lifetime commitment. It wasn't until she'd been back from Europe for several months and had been paid court by higher-class men for that entire time that Will began to understand he had no future at her side. Love was all well and good for the lower classes, so long as they kept the sentiment within their own ranks, but women such as Elizabeth had grander destinies to fulfill, more aristocratic babes to produce than a smith's apprentice could father.

Will shook himself out of his musings when the ship rocked, jarring him from a semi-trance. He was more tired than he'd anticipated, but had pledged to keep watch from the nest while Jack slept tonight. He yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, then reached for the spyglass as he scanned the horizon. Full moonlight made his job easier, but keeping watch in the dark was still not any sailor's first preference.

A few hours later, dawn pierced the sky, and Will's eyes drooped soon thereafter. It was only the rough shake of his shoulder—who knew how much later?—that brought him around, startled senses and cramped muscles briefly defining his world. "My turn," Jonesey prodded. "Out."

Yawning, Will managed to unfold his long limbs enough to carefully climb down to deck, then winced as he stretched and heard joints and bones popping, creaking. Crow's nest was the one job Jack had forbidden him and other tall members of his crew to do on Pearl, explaining the task was better suited to ones who could fit into the tiny space it offered.

Once Will was sufficiently aware not to trip over his boots, Marler appeared at his side and bumped him in the arm with a tray. "Somethin' extra this morn," the cook's helper explained of the two bowls of oatmeal accompanied by... fresh water? Will blinked in surprise as he glanced at Marler. "Cap'n says somethin' extra for all yer work." He nudged the younger man with an elbow, grinning. "An' there's rum spicin' the oats. Go on down an' make your cap'n happy."

Still exhausted, Will nodded and thanked the man, then shambled down the small row of wooden steps along the corridors until he came to their cabin. He balanced the small tray on one hand and loosed the latch with his right, shoving the door open with his elbow. "Jack?" he called once inside, the morning light from two portholes not quite enough to transform the small room from dreary to decent. "You awake?"

Muttering and grumbling and a few choice worlds told Will that Jack was now. He chuckled as he set the tray on the only flat surface in the room, their trunk full of effects. "Come on, Jack," he assuaged, gingerly kicking the door shut with his toe. "Brought some rum."

In almost an instant, Will felt a warmth hovering at his side. "Hmph?" came the just-coherent reply.

Rolling his eyes, Will picked up a bowl, plunked a spoon in it, and pushed it at Jack without even looking. "In the oatmeal. Eat."

Jack was silent a moment, then slurred, "I 'ate it when scalawags go ruinin' a perfec'ly nice vintage by tryin' t' disguise it as nutrition."

Nevertheless, the scrape of spoon on wood told Will that Jack was eating, and the smith picked up his own breakfast, bringing it to his nose and sniffing. His eyelids puckered shut, nearly tearing at the level of rum in the food, and he pushed it around his arm as well. "Here," he explained. "Have mine." Will contented himself with sipping from the cup of water, which he also sniffed first for traces of the vile potion. It was blessedly cool and free from libations or debris of any sort, and put him in the proper mood for his turn at the bunk. He turned and offered some to Jack, who raised an eyebrow as though Will had tried to put him in a frilly dress. The smith shrugged and swallowed down the rest of it.

"Ehh." Will brought his hand up, palm down, to turn in a so-so gesture. "Too small."

Will wasn't listening. He crossed to the bunk and sat just long enough to pull off his boots and stockings and shrug out of his waistcoat. Lying back, he closed his eyes and inhaled deep, briny air wafting in through the nearby porthole, a small smile curving his lips as he gave himself over to actual, uninterrupted slumber. He was only dimly aware several minutes later of the door opening and latching back as Jack crept out to head up on deck.

Well, that didn't sound very commanding. "Lea' me 'lone," he ordered, turning his face into the pillow infused with the scent of Jack's hair.

"Can't sleep anymore," the voice continued, and Will was finally able to identify Sparrow. "Get fucking up, Will..."

After a couple more protests, Will shifted to his back, boneless, and exhaled heavily. "What do you want?" he ground out, eyes still closed. "Why're y' cursin' at me?" His speech was slurred, as though his lips were too lazy to allow the words out.

He felt something heavy press to the inside of his elbow and stay there, and managed to blink awake long enough to look over. Jack, apparently on his knees at the side of the bed, had his head bowed against Will's arm, looking for all the world like he was praying; it was enough to force the smith to hold his eyelids open and shake his head to clear it of slumberous fog. "Jack?" he muttered, then licked his lips. "Jack?" A bit louder this time.

When the pirate lifted his face, Will noticed it was pale and somewhat grayish. Before he could ask, Jack shook his head, eyes closed, in obvious pain. "Been sick," he explained through sighs. "Thrown up three times. Somethin'—think it was somethin' in th' oats."

"Was a lot of rum in it," Will agreed, rubbing at his eyes. He knew misery loved company, but that still didn't explain why Jack was trying to wake him up—unless he needed the bunk. "Thought you lived on rum?"

Even ill, Jack managed a snort. "I 'aven't upchucked this much from rum since I's younger than you," he scoffed. "Weren' it—somethin' else. You 'wake?"

"Few minutes?" Again with the snort. "Lad, ye've been sacked out for th' better part o' th' day." He managed to get his hands up on the bed and shake Will's arm and shoulder again. "C'mon, get up."

Will refused to believe he'd slept for many hours. "Jack, surely there's somewhere else you can catch a few winks for—"

"It ain' that. Will, we're 'bout t' be attacked an' boarded." Try as he could, the man apparently couldn't get his voice to sound terribly excited while this ill. "An' it's th' Versailles."

It took a few more seconds for Will's memory to catch up, and then he sat straight up in bed, ignoring the throbbing pain in his temples. "Francois?" he asked. Jack nodded an affirmation. "How'd—"

"I think he's got a plant on board." Jack shook his head as Will swung his legs over the side of the bunk. Jack got a foot under him, and belatedly, Will helped him push himself up enough to turn and sit next to him. "Somethin' in th' food this mornin'—an' your water, 'parently. Ever'one had oats this mornin' an' nobody else up top's sick like us. Laudanum, mebbe."

"But how—" Struggling against an artificial blanket of exhaustion, Will blinked as he recalled how he'd taken the tray this morning, half-asleep and aching from his night in the crow's nest. "Oh, God," he suddenly mumbled in a frustrated moan, covering his face with a hand. "Marler—he gave me the tray this morning. Said something about how you'd like the rum; he even called you 'Captain.'"

Will felt twelve degrees of stupid for not having caught it earlier, since they'd both assumed false last names and nobody on board was supposed to know Jack was a ship's captain. They'd both been careful to cultivate the merchant seaman image and keep a check on each other to stick only to their first names when referring to or talking to the other man.

"Nothin' to be done for it now," Jack philosophized, and Will heard the strained growling of the man's intestines. He wondered how much pain Jack was in from his double dose of food poisoning. "All we can do 's resist an' fight. Get th' swords."

They'd hidden their weapons among the clothes in their trunk before coming aboard, not wanting to appear suspicious. Will pawed through as Jack watched from his perch on the edge of the bed, pausing every so often to hide a dagger inside some fold of clothing or a boot, which he'd taken precious moments to struggle into first. It'd been weeks since he'd done this on a regular basis, but his mind switched into automatic and Will found he was going through preparations while he mused on other things.

"Marler boarded with us in England." He stopped for a moment, eyes wide. "Same time we did, I mean. I'm sure of it!"

"Least I think we've solved th' mystery o' who tried t' have us killed back there, then." Jack shook his head, eyes closed as he leaned forward a bit to quell his discomfort. "Don' believe in coincidences."

"So... what? He's trying to recapture us?" Will asked, withdrawing Jack's sword and belt from the bottom of the trunk. "Why?"

"Then why not poison us enough to kill us outright?" Will pressed. "Instead of trying to weaken us?"

"I don' know, Will." Jack's voice was tired and exasperated. "All I know is we—" At that, he shook his head and stood, leaping up on the bunk and stumbling to the edge to the porthole.

Will understood when Jack managed to get his chin over the edge and he heard the vomiting, saw the spasms wracking the slender body. He put the sword aside and climbed up on the bunk to come up behind Jack, reaching for his hair and pulling it to the nape of his neck with both hands so it wouldn't fall forward in his face. When Jack sagged against the wall, his forehead pressed to the top of the porthole, Will held the hair with one hand, lowering the other to reflexively rub small circles against the middle of Jack's back; he remembered doing this once for Elizabeth when they were much younger, after a day spent eating too much and playing too hard running back and forth through high tide at the beach. "Better?" he asked, feeling oddly solicitous toward the other man.

After another moment, Jack pulled his head inside, shaking it, and reached up, using his sleeve cuff to scrub at his mouth and chin. He nearly stumbled backwards with the tilt of the ship, but Will caught him, the rubbing hand still on his back, the other going around Jack's side so that the shorter man was briefly pressed against him in a loose embrace. Only then was he able to make out the muffled voices of men shouting up on deck, of cannon being rolled into place at the gunwales, and frowned over the man in his arms. "You're in no condition to fight."

"Aye." For once, Jack wasn't being contrary. He pulled away and lifted his eyes, narrow and calculating, to Will's. "'S why I'm countin' on that sword arm o' yours. Even dead drunk, I can cock a pistol straight; that'll be my job."

"If we surrender right away, maybe he'll spare the crew." Will didn't like giving up so readily, but neither did he want to bring death and destruction to innocents.

"'S what we're gon' try," Jack nodded, climbing down from the bunk and gesturing at the trunk for Will. "I don' think it'll work all that well, but if we hold out, Francois'll find us anyway. Men like him don' enjoy bein' thwarted, Will."

Nor do men like you, Will thought, but kept it to himself as he climbed down and finished outfitting the two of them. He had a feeling Jack's bloodlust knew narrower bounds than did Francois's, and for more specific reasons than wounded pride.

For once, Jack agreed, and used his persuasive skill to keep Allen from mounting a counteroffensive. With a look, he informed Will they'd have to surrender to protect Athena. Will didn't enjoy losing any more than did Jack, but keeping in mind "what a man can do and what a man can't do" forced their hand, and the simple fact was that Will could not comply in the needless slaughter of merchant seamen.

Jack's plan was to signal their joint surrender and, hopefully, keep Francois's men off Athena. The pirate wasn't the only one skeptical of that line of reasoning, but any other way was certain death for everyone on the smaller ship, since it couldn't outrun Francois.

Everyone stood at the rail and watched for a good half-hour as Versailles bore down, closer and closer, pulling alongside to weigh anchor. The men lining the larger ship's rail parted, and the heavy dread in Will's gut quashed the rest of his drug-induced fatigue right before Elias Francois stepped into the gap. For a moment his eyes roamed Athena as an attacker might scope out a solitary prostitute in a back alley with a full purse, but soon enough he deigned to settle on his primary quarry.

"Captain!" he boomed, jovial. "What in Lucifer's great blazes are ye doin' th' hell way o'er there?"

Allen looked puzzled by the familiar tone, but Jack answered. "Rather know what you're doin' here," he calmly called back. "Don't take rejection well, do you?"

Will simmered, but Jack laughed raucously. "Need somethin' t' keep me jolly," he scoffed, tossing Turner a sideways lascivious glance. "Bit o' whelp fluff works as well as any other kind, I s'pose." Will didn't care for the insinuation, but wisely restrained his sharp tongue. "An' I s'pose you're still rogerin' that ugly son of a beast ye had 'pon our last meeting?"

"You think I've so little 'magination as t' limit myself t' one?" Francois grinned unpleasantly, his eyes clear upon Will with this turn of conversation. The smith battled simultaneous urges to slice the man to ribbons and to slide down beneath the rail and take a long, scorching bath to de-grease himself.

A murmur went up among Athena's crew as they looked to one another, then Allen, then to Jack. Allen himself was regarding Jack with disbelief, and the raven-haired man shrugged with a pretense of sheepishness Will knew for a fact he did not possess. "Pirate," he offered in questionable tone.

"Is this why my men are in danger?" Allen demanded, sotto voce. "For a pirate war?"

"No," Jack explained. "Matter o' personal discussion between two men's all, Captain. I'm sure th' good Elias'd be more 'n glad t' let ye go your merry way... s' long as he gets what he wants." Jack arched a thick, dark eyebrow toward Francois, and the Spanish privateer shrugged one massive shoulder.

Francois blinked once in his direction. "You're dictatin' terms t' me?" Then he chuckled at Jack. "Looks like you've your work cut out for ye of a night," he teased. The rest of his crew picked up the dirty laughter, and Will felt a flush of anger and indignation creep up from his collar.

"Will." Jack pressed fingers to his arm to quell his anger, and for the first time, Will remembered Jack was sick. His bravado had given way to a waxy perspiration, and the smith wondered if he could stay upright. He raised his voice again. "We two'll come aboard so long as ye swear not t' hurt th' crew or their ship," he called. "Otherwise, nothin' doing."

"Feelin' in a position to negotiate, are ye?" Francois shook his head. "You mus' be daft, Jack; I'd say you're hardly of a constitution to put up much resistance at th' moment." He smirked, and Will's hands balled into fists at his sides. "I'd say it's th' fever makin' ye talk such, 'cept I 'spect ye'll be yammerin' even from th' grave someday, knowin' you."

"I've me smooth words," Jack philosophized. "You have your tiny tadger. We're all unique in our own special way." Will was surprised to hear a snigger go up among Athena's crew even as Francois's face darkened. "We gon' stand here all day doin' what I do best, or you gon' agree to th' terms?"

There was a noticeable pause while Francois visibly struggled to put his game face back on. "Fair's fair," he finally conceded. "You come 'board, an' I won't hurt th' crew or their ship."

"The Athena, that is." Jack demanded specification, obviously recalling Hector Barbossa's penchant for splitting hairs.

Jack looked to Will, silently assessing his complicity; he was giving the younger man the chance to back out. The smith narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils, indignant, and Jack's dark eyes flashed with the first humor Will had spotted in them since before the poisoning. "Aye, then," he murmured in a low, rumbling tone which sent an inexplicable shiver through Will's shoulders.

Athena's crew backed away enough, with care to show they weren't fleeing, to allow Will and Jack to climb down into a rowboat and paddle their way to the Versailles. Will held the boat until Jack had climbed halfway up the ship, then took hold of the same rope and began his own ascent. Fear of retribution ate at his gut—they'd stolen out from under Francois's nose not so long ago, and robbed the privateer—pirate—of what he'd obviously regarded as a valuable enough prize to chase through western Europe and across half an ocean. There would be some unpleasant payback, on that Will counted.

He hauled himself over the rail with a hand from Jack, who Will could tell was struggling not to drop to his knees and curl over on himself in misery. "We'll get out of this, Jack," he tried to reassure the man, wondering only afterward when he'd become the voice of optimism for the two of them.

"Aye." His captain didn't sound too sure, but turned to face Francois. "I'm curious 'bout somethin', Elias," he began. "Why us?"

Francois held up a finger, dismissing the question and both men for the time being. "Ready?" he called back over his shoulder.

Loud "ayes!" went up from his crew, and Will felt his heart move into his throat. "Jack!" he hissed. "He's—"

"NO!" Will lunged at Francois and was stopped by a strong arm around his midsection. "Goddamn, Jack, let me go!"

"Shut up, Will," Jack commanded, stern. Raising his voice, he challenged Francois: "We had an accord!"

"I said I wouldn' hurt th' crew or th' ship," the Spanish captain rebutted, tone harsh. "Never said I wouldn' kill 'em or sink her."

For a moment, Francois leveled a hateful glare their way, and Will's insides shriveled before blossoming into fresh anger. Fire in his eyes, Francois yelled, "FIRE!"

Will's jaws ground as he lunged again, but Jack still held him back. Cannonfire impacted the Athena, strafing her port side with long, evil rips. Another volley let loose, and Will heard the screams of men even as their smaller ship retaliated with a counter pitiful in comparison. The deck shook beneath Will, and he struggled away from Jack. This time, when he went for Francois, it was two burly pirates who clamped his arms behind him, dragging him back.

Though he shook and bucked and kicked, neither let go. In fact, the more he struggled, the more amused the two seemed to be. He was about to yell something more when a dreadful boom snapped his head around; the Athena's powder magazine had been hit, and the stern half of the ship was simply... gone.

Gone was the ship that had kept him and Jack safe for three weeks, carrying them toward home. Gone were the joists and other fittings Will had begun replacing. Gone were the men he'd worked alongside for nearly a month, drinking with, joking with, learning their names and about their families. Gone soon—if not already—was Captain Allen, rigid but fair, with his reserved sense of humor and the love of his ship. Will closed his eyes, feeling two very unmanly tears brim from the inner corners as he bowed his head, not fighting his captors. "No," he whispered, shaking his head, feeling the rage that had temporarily fled slowly pooling back at his center, balling in his belly as he raised his voice a little. "No."

Snapping his eyes open, he jerked his head up, snarling at Francois. He twisted against the two sailors. "They surrendered! THEY FUCKING SURRENDERED!"

He heard Jack barking his name, and then he heard nothing as a sharp pain bludgeoned behind his ear, crunching his vision and thoughts to black and blank.

Other than he did seem to still be alive. And in one relatively unmolested piece.

Will put his fingers to the spot behind his ear, which was throbbing again gently, and jerked them away before pressing the pads more slowly to the spot, working beneath layers of fine hair to caress a tender lump. It was warm from swelling—only after he'd pinpointed that pain did he realize his shoulders ached something fierce. He rolled them, experimenting, figuring he'd been dragged into his prison while being held underneath his arms. "Bastard," he muttered, nostrils flaring as he tested his surrounds. "Who's in here?"

No answer. He sat up, realizing he seemed to be on a bed. Body inventory continued as he swung his legs sideways and mentally tested his knees, moving up to flanks and hips. Nothing there hurt; on to abdomen, sucked in a bit to test whether he'd been sucker-punched in the gut (he hadn't), and a deep few breaths into his lungs reassured him his chest was also in good shape. But his shoulders... "Dammit to hell," Will spoke out loud, surprised Jack had allowed this to happen.

He froze, mid-motion. "Jack?" The pirate hadn't even entered his head until now and he was more than a little abashed. "You here, Jack?" Silence greeted him, and fear began eating at his gut. "Um... Jack? If you're awake, just say so."

Figuring he would learn nothing by staying rooted to the cot... bed, whatever it was, Will stood, taking his time, testing his legs. Aside from being a bit wobbly from not having eaten in hours, they seemed in working order. He took baby steps, shuffling his feet to avoid tripping, bending with hands out to test for waist-high obstacles; luckily, the room was small and he didn't have to do it for long.

He found his cot, of course; a washstand, a low bureau with nothing on it, a small nightstand by the cot, and an empty wooden trunk. What he didn't find was a pirate captain, nor any other signs of habitation or human life, save the muffled voices and sounds of work filtering in from the deck. Judging the angle of the sounds, Will deduced he was just below deck, perhaps even near an entryway leading up top—but, of course, his door was bolted from the outside. "Great news in case of fire," he muttered, feeling his way back to the cot to sit and evaluate his situation.

In a tight spot, both life and Jack had taught Will valuable things to consider:

Is there an escape route? He glanced back at the two portholes facing the ocean, barely large enough for him to stick his head out if he wished. Scratch that.

Do you have access to water to stay alive? In Jack's case, he'd likely subsist on rummy dregs if need be, but Will knew most humans needed the water; clean, preferably. There didn't seem to be any, though the blacksmith prayed it would be forthcoming.

What is your probability of danger? Fairly high, Will calculated. Not like I'm here for the spring social.

Can you charm your way past the guard to get out? Will was reasonably certain he could sweet-talk the doorknob and brass bolt the livelong day and they still wouldn't magically turn and click open for him.

Finally, What can you use at hand for weapons? Whoever put him in this place was smart enough not to leave any small, concealable objects lying about; the drawers were even empty. What was there was largely nailed or bolted down, and short of a chair, Will wasn't sure how furniture would play to his favor should ten people storm in to attack him at once.

"Think," he muttered, sitting on the lid of the trunk. "Come up with something... even if it's not very inspired, it just has to do the job." Such had been young Will's thinking all those years ago after his mum died and he wondered how he would make ends meet. He had to hammer out some sort of plan, even if it wasn't brilliant.

A heavy creaking at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Will tensed as it swung open. He recognized Francois's silhouette even in the dark of night, but not the two lieutenants coming in behind to set a tray on the nightstand and fit a large bowl on the washstand. They didn't leave, but took up position behind their captain as he stepped closer to where Will stood. "Some victuals to keep ye alive," he said. "Not enough t' do ye much good in escapin'; ye'll find I'm not so stupid as t' make the same mistake twice."

Will debated keeping his mouth shut, but worry won out over pride. "Where is Captain Sparrow?"

"He's not been shoved off in th' briny drink, that's what ye wan' know." He paused, humor touching his voice when he spoke further. "Apparently I'm not so smart, either, as to hoist th' source of my troubles over the rail once I track 'im down again."

"You're awful curious 'bout someone else, to be in as much shite as you're facin'," Francois countered.

"I just want to know he's safe." Recalling what happened earlier when he lost his temper, Will modulated his speech and kept his fists at his sides, hidden in the short folds of his vest. "It's my job to look out for my captain and shipmates; surely you can appreciate that."

"Right now, ye'd best look out for yourself." The captain nodded toward the tray and pitcher. "Nobody's gon' rescue ye, and I'll not be lettin' ye go 'til I'm satisfied some other way."

Will almost let him out the door before raising his voice again. "What are you seeking satisfaction for?" he asked. "Surely not our earlier skirmish; you won, and the Pearl retreated. There's no further vindication needed with victory, I'd think."

Francois paused, not turning around. "Common misconception of th' loser, I'm sure."

A low chuckle. "Least you're not as stupid as ye are comely, I'll give ye that. Bit simple, maybe." Still chortling in that deep rumble, Francois ushered the two helpers out before him, pulling the door shut in his wake.

Will panicked. "How long before someone'll be back?" he called, running for the door. Nobody answered, and he pounded it a couple of times. "Hey! When will someone be back?"

They ignored him, and he stepped backward. He wasn't sure from where the blind anxiety had come; since his first adventure with Jack, being scolded as a stupid child, he'd tried conscientiously to curb his temper and think things through before acting. He was better prepared to handle problems now, but he doubted he'd ever fully be rid of his impulsive streak.

Rubbing his face, Will went to the washstand and tested his fingertips in the water, sniffing them before washing off his hands. He wasn't certain what they could put in it or what effect it could possibly have, but he put nothing past the Spaniard. Same with the food; he sniffed and nibbled the dried fruits and meats a little at a time to test his reactions before daring to tear off bites with his teeth. There wasn't much, admittedly, with which to poison him had it been laced, and Will guessed this was what Francois meant by not giving him help to escape again. Last time they were prisoners, he, Jack, and David had gotten away partially thanks to being able to put back part of their meals over a period of time.

After his meager repast, Will peeled off stockings and shoes to walk about slowly barefoot, to test the floor for loose boards or strange indentations that might spell an escape route. He felt somewhat foolish—had Jack been here, this is something he'd probably be doing, and Will would be sitting in the shadows rolling his eyes. The one good part to being by himself was never having to admit to such as this.

Eventually, Will paused by a porthole and closed his eyes, letting the slight breeze that hit it every so often caress his face. He yawned twice, sighing as he realized he'd have to give up for the night—at least for a few hours—to get some rest. Being clubbed unconscious for the afternoon wasn't his idea of decent sleep, and his head still pounded fiercely.

Will's next day was much like his first evening in solitary confinement—lonely, boring, and maddening. He was given no more to eat than the night before, and only two instead of the three meals he usually devoured on a daily basis. He spent a good deal of time keeping very quiet and listening at the wall closest to deck, hoping to glean information about their bearing, the ship's construction, shift changes, possible weapons—anything.

Late in the night, unable to sleep, he took stock of his cabin more carefully. Anything could be a weapon; he had to be open to passive suggestion. Picking a corner, he reached up, just able to brush the ceiling with his fingertips, and started feeling, creeping along the wall until he reached the opposite end of the small cabin. He kept on this way until he'd made a complete circuit, then dropped his hand and reversed course, patting the wall, running his fingers beneath crossboards, muttering to himself. At one point, he paused, noticing he'd started responding heatedly to his own vague accusations, and wondered if this was what it was like to be Jack Sparrow.

No fixtures on the walls. No hooks in the boards, not so much as an oversized splinter to break off. This was Will's inventory when he made it back to his original corner on his knees a long time later. He was dripping with sweat, breathing heavily from concentration and the slow, maddening pace he'd adopted so as not to miss anything. And yet, miss he had; he was no closer to an idea than before he'd started this filthy, exhaustive expedition.

Leaning back on his heels, Will spat into one hand and rubbed it into the other, working off some of the grime. He wiped his palms and fingers along his breeches as he closed his eyes and let his tired mind wander. For all the good it did, he was trying to let his brain dictate the answer, rather than the other way around. If God only helped those who helped themselves, He at least offered some inspiration from time to time to those willing to listen for it.

After another few minutes on his knees, he stood to stretch, pulling his shirt off—too hot for bed. He'd turned his back to the wall, and his knuckles scraped the wood as he arched back with the motion. One scratched over something sharp and metallic, and Will yanked his hand away, tangling the shirt around his head as he yelped. Hastily, he peeled the linen off, tossing it at the bed and lifting his knuckle to his lips reflexively, sucking at the coppery wound.

He turned, squinting at the wall, and reached up to carefully trace it again, the bit of shine catching in the moonlight. "Nail," he muttered around the wound, sucking thoughtfully. His pain—for the moment—was forgotten.

If he'd been less hungry, perhaps he would've waited longer to attempt his plan. He'd spent his alone hours scouring the room's meager furniture and rough baseboard for lengths and bits of wood from which he could twist and coax nails. These he secreted on his person because he didn't want them found and because if he needed one of the spur of the moment, he'd have it. The idea was to save many and eventually figure out what he'd do with them once he'd amassed enough, whatever "enough" was—as many as he could find, he supposed.

Will was docile until his visitors dwindled to one; still, he learned nothing of Jack or his whereabouts. He'd rather not leave the ship unless he had the pirate with him, but Jack had taught him to be an opportunist, not sentimental.

So, Will struck, fist out, nails extended, spurting blood telling him in the darkness he'd found pay dirt. He knocked the pirate over and barreled out of the cabin to make for the nearest hidey-hole...

In retrospect, Will ground his teeth. He'd not been eating much and the hunger must have addled his mind to make him think the plan'd had any merit. Then again, if the small portions hadn't whittled him down, the dark of the cabin would have eventually driven him mad.

And so, he found himself in the relative dimness of the mildewed brig instead. "Real step up, idiot," he sighed aloud, shifting to his back.

Since Francois hadn't delivered punishment in person, all Will really had were his thoughts. After a few hours he decided he was annoyed with berating himself, so his brain searched for something else to ponder and analyze—something pleasant that would distract him.

To his surprise, that rarely worked these days. There was a time when the thought of Miss Swann had made his heart skip and his stomach lurch. The sight of her struck him dumb with infatuation, and her pretty voice was music to ears that suffered much from the constant clang and sizzle of his trade.

He missed the lad, even his constant questions and begging for information. David was much better off with Esther, who would see strictly to his education, and Ivy, who would likely educate him on more painful matters such as horseback riding and verbal sparring. Somehow, Will guessed David's days at sea weren't finished, but much as he still respected himself and Jack, he hoped fervently those days would not be engaged in piracy. The boy was smart and could do well legally, given the opportunity.

Altogether too complicated under Will's old, simpler standards. It wasn't so long ago that people fell into broader categories of "good" and "bad" for the smith; life was simpler then, if less exciting or rewarding.

"You know, you've a grand way of gettin' yourself into more trouble than even I can manage on me own," a voice interrupted his musings.

Will sat up and spun at the same time, hunger momentarily forgotten as his captain set about mildly chastising him. He was at the cell door, arms hooked through the iron bars, crossed casually at the wrists, staring Will down with a neutral expression. "How'd you get in without me hearing you?" he snapped, the relief in the pit of his stomach lending him familiar annoyance with the man.

"Better question's why didn't ye hear me?" The tone was stern, but Jack's face split in a sudden, wild grin. "That door's noisy enough t' wake th' bloody dead."

By far, Will believed he'd not found that proper third category between "good" and "bad" for Jack Sparrow. He had to admit, Jack surprised him for his decency and fairness both as a sea captain and a raider. He wasn't sure it was ever "fair" to take something that wasn't his, but there were worse ways to go about it than Jack usually chose to employ, of that Will was reasonably certain.

"Is doublespeak all you're good at?" Will blinked in the dimness, and rubbed at his eyes. "When are we getting out of here?"

"Why should I? You always have one at the ready, remember?" the smith tossed back in irritation. Jack had become far too much in his thoughts down here in the brig... and over the past several months, especially alone at night when he had nothing more to do than keep watch or lay awake in his hammock.

Back on Pearl, Will had tried some minor smithing when he couldn't sleep, but the complaints of the crew became such that he'd had to leave off the noisy pursuit in the wee hours. He could occasionally work on crafting smaller pieces, such as jewelry, but that was not as calming as wearing himself out whanging away at a larger piece of metal.

The one thing all these intruding thoughts had in common was their maddening intensity to swirl about Jack. Will still remembered far too well the dream he'd had during one of his last nights at Elizabeth's in France—it was far too erotic and bizarre to be pushed to the back of his mind. "Embarrassing" was more like it; the memory flushed his face and warmed his cheeks, and blood rushed madly through his torso, down and back, making Will blink. Lightheaded, he recalled how hot he'd felt, how absolutely perspiring he'd been, at the moment the Jack of his imagination swallowed him whole and pumped him forcefully with rolling tongue and throat-

It was a sin to think such things, let alone want to do them! Will rolled all his fingers into fists, keeping his mind on what he'd always known. Men and women should be together. Men and women only, in that combination, one of each. Married. Sanctified. Evenly matched in breeding and temperament, for the comfort and nurture of children to grow into useful citizens serving God and society.

Jack grinned, jolting him out of his pious thoughts. "Lad, are ye more angry with me, or with yourself, I wonder?"

"How did you manage to get away from Francois to come here?" Will wanted to know, avoiding an answer.

Shrugging, Jack slid his dark eyes away to study his upraised fingernails. "I have me ways of making a convincin' case for what I want," he responded vaguely.

A swift mental image of Jack on his knees, or his back, or some similarly submissive position with the bastard captain lighted a fire Will didn't know he still had after Elizabeth's rejection. Truthfully, it flared hotter now than it ever had with her—nearly as brightly as when he was sixteen and stumbled upon Martha Simons liplocked with James behind her family's wellhouse-

Not this again. Will ground his teeth. He'd tried to forget for the past few years his boyhood fascination with Commodore Norrington—his title and position, the respect he commanded, the restraint he exercised and the controlled, mannerly deference he showed others, women and men alike. He'd really tried to forget his own brief, unwholesome attraction to the man, which had blossomed while Elizabeth was gone to England. To this day he wasn't sure if it was James himself who'd inspired his furtive lust, or the idea of another male body against his, matched to his own, equally hard and much easier to navigate than a woman's mysterious form.

Or perhaps it was simply those green eyes, reflecting the sea and concealing a storm of emotions held at bay for the sake of his uniform. Will never ducked meeting another man's eyes, for it would be taken as a sign of cowardice or lying, but he'd not gone out of his way to look into James's longer than absolutely necessary. But where the Commodore's were cool and distant and proper on even the friendliest terms, Jack's almond-shaped eyes were dark and wide and altogether too warm for Will's comfort.

And they were studying him right now with a mixture of speculation and confusion.. "Why're ye growling at me?" he was asking, brows drawn together. "I'm not th' one who landed ye in the brig with a cocked-up stunt."

Alarmed, Will realized anger wasn't the only strong emotion surging within toward Jack. "Nothing," he fell back on a safe answer, shaking his head. "But I did try something, at least. What've you done to get us out of here?"

"Patience, Billy boy." The syllables rolled so easily that Jack was well into his next hushed sentence before Will could protest the nickname. "Th' trick with these blokes is t' make them think you're their best pal, then stiff them on th' bill. We've no real escape 'til we see some other craft nearby, or land, or somethin', and judging by their direction, we're bound to come across one soon, be it th' Pearl or otherwise."

"And would your better suggestion be that we throw ourselves overboard for th' sharks?" Jack asked, with great impatience. "Now, listen; I can't be here long, so here's how it's to be."

Quickly, Jack outlined his proposal. They would argue anytime they were in front of Francois or his men, making it appear for all the world as though they couldn't stand one another. This would hopefully continue keeping Francois sympathetic with a fellow captain long enough to spare them both for whatever later action Jack had yet to work out.

When he was finished, Jack regarded Will with an intensity that made Will itch, uncomfortable. In light of recent thoughts, it was particularly galling. "You know," Jack finally spoke, cutting the tension, "if I had a bench out here, maybe I could apply some of that leverage an' spring ye from the cell. 'M at least as strong as you."

Will didn't manage to muffle an involuntary guffaw, and Jack's moustache, fully grown back in, twitched. "My apologies," Will coughed, tickled by the assertion.

"So glad I can entertain." Heavy footsteps and the wet squeak of a swollen wooden door transmuted Jack's annoyance into flashing anger. "Least 'm not so fucking simple as t' think I could escape with a few splinters and nails."

He'd certainly chosen the right word; even knowing it was an act, Will's fingers tightened. "I'm not a simpleton," he muttered.

"And that's sayin' something," added Francois, stepping up to settle a meaty hand on Jack's shoulder. He fixed Will with a speculative eye. "So what is your use, boy? Or are ye just a bit o' pretty for th' sailors?"

He was reasonably certain he was more angry with the man's crude suggestion toward his own self than with his blunt assessment of Jack's relative intelligence. "If you really thought that, I wouldn't be locked up for the crew's safety, would I?" Will snapped, ignoring Jack completely now.

"Even a kitten has claws," was Francois's shrugging reply. To Jack: "What're ye doin' down here, anyhow? Thought you were done with 'im."

"Had to see for meself him all locked up," Jack muttered indifferently, stepping away from the bars. "Damn crew liked him too much for me t' be able to do it back on me Pearl."

For a moment, Will thought he'd heard incorrectly, but Jack forced a tight grin at their captor. "Semantics, Commodore."

"Wordplay like that can get a man th' hemp necklace, 'e's not careful," the Spanish captain warned, and Will realized what was going on. He pressed a large hand to the middle of Jack's back and swept him toward the door, eyeing Will down and up openly this time. "Shame 'bout the boy, really; I like a bit o' variety."

"Aye, but not th' eunuch kind, now," Jack tossed back, and Francois chuckled indecorously as he followed the shorter man out of the hold.

Will held his breath until they were gone, then exhaled, tightening his fists. What the hell just happened? Jack had said they were to quarrel, but not why; even so, Will had surmised from context that it was to be of a personal nature. What bothered him was the familiarity Francois used in literally handling Jack—what had the mad captain gotten himself into now? And why was he giving up Pearl to the man?

A fresh headache blossomed behind Will's eyes, fed by lack of nutrition, sleep, and indignity. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and turned to stumble the short distance back to his cot, sitting heavily. He didn't want to think anymore, at least not right now.

It didn't work. He was far past any claim to innocence of thought with regard to the way some men at sea looked at one another, and while "oblique" didn't usually describe Jack Sparrow, he had managed to keep Will ignorant of his leanings for several months. Will berated himself for not figuring out much earlier in their acquaintance that Jack easily swung both ways.

Still... Francois? Their loud, nasty, vile, ugly captor? Will figured it was all an act of Jack's, but he didn't know how his captain could stand to play the part. Not when it involved having to touch or be touched by the filth—not unless on some level, Jack actually liked it.

The thought crossed his mind as he leaned into the bars of the cell door, arms looped through, head bowed and the top of it pressed into them. He immediately shivered, repulsed by the idea of Jack being... mauled, by those dirty, death-laden Spanish hands. He didn't want to think of Jack responding to them, seeking them, stretching his lithe body to clumsily fit the blocky angles of Francois's, kissing him with hard desire and abandon-

In reflexive response, Will lifted his head a little and banged it against the bars, surprised to feel his jaw grinding. His fists tightened. Why should he care? Chances were, Jack was trying to plan some sort of escape for them, but even if he had miraculously changed his mind about Francois, why did it matter? Obviously, Will was worried Jack might betray their friendship and leave him to rot down here, or go along with whatever horrible thing Francois might want to do to him. The man had indicated he wouldn't be averse to having a taste of Will; what if Jack encouraged it, or at least didn't try to discourage it again? What if Francois demanded some sort of sick little threesome, or even a twosome with Will and Jack as the entertainment?

Will pushed it to the back of his mind as he jerked away from the bars, darting his gaze to every corner once again to seek a means of escape. He wouldn't think about this, he wouldn't, he wouldn't! "Disgusting," he muttered, shaking his head. "Goddamn, Will, what's your problem? There's sin, and there's sin—piracy isn't going to get you closer to heaven, but... NO. Don't even think it." Climbing up on his cot to get a closer squint once again at the wooden-slat ceiling, he frowned hard, thinking of Elizabeth.

Oh, but she was beautiful; he sighed in relief, because she was easy to adore and muse upon and it brought pleasure to his captivity. He thought of the last time he'd seen her, the beautiful sea-green dress she'd worn, the way she'd waved at him and smiled, and sort of indicated to perhaps wait a few years for him. It hadn't seemed long—he'd spent that much time nursing a hopeful heart in the first place. Will was used to waiting for things to happen.

Except... ever since he'd helped Jack get his ship back and rescue Elizabeth from Barbossa, he'd become more restless with the passage of time. He no longer felt like waiting for people or credit, or anything else, to come his way when Fate was ready to hand them over. Jack only waited for such things as long as was practical, and Will quite admired this quality in him. He, too, wanted to continue being a man of action, who took matters into his own hands and didn't wait for circumstance to drop fortune in his lap.

After several minutes, he gave up and stepped down, admitting his distraction. He was worried about Jack—and himself—and it wasn't going away. Instead, his fear and trepidation balled in the pit of his stomach, threatening to drive him to the hated slop pail in the corner. Will closed his eyes and sat on the cot, hunched forward over his knees, taking slow, deep breaths to clear his mind. Pleasant images, pleasant images...

Why did this matter so much? Maybe he was just concerned for a friend. For all he knew, Jack could be dead by now, gutted and thrown over for the fish. He didn't think Jack was that careless, but then again, his charm would have to run out sometime.

The scraping squeak of swollen wood alerted him to a visitor (intruder) and Will finally swallowed the small stream of bile that had begun to recede from his throat. Standing, he straightened despite the fluttering in the bottom of his abdomen that was like tiny nails; he would not meet any enemy on his arse.

When he saw it was only Jack, Will exhaled sharply and allowed his shoulders to sag a bit. "How safe is it for you to be down here?" was his first question, couched in a hiss.

Jack lifted a brow at that. "'M twice your age and engineering this li'l break-out," he rejoined. "Who're you to be askin' me questions like that?"

Will rolled his eyes until Jack's words sunk in past the mild headache he'd sported during his imprisonment, which he put down to lack of food—even when it was offered, he avoided the mold and, it followed, much of the food. "An escape? Good... when? How so?"

"Prob'ly in the next day or two." He cleared his throat. "We're nearin' the Caribbean, and Francois's intelligence tells him there's a ship that close; he's gon' try to attack."

Shaking his head, Jack grinned broadly, and Will was surprised by how much he'd missed it. "Royal Navy, near as I can figure."

Will blinked, then furrowed his brows. "That's suicide. Unless it's a small gunner, he'll likely not take it."

"So... what? We're going to throw ourselves on the mercy of the British navy?" When Jack didn't contradict him, Will reminded him, "You do realize there's a price on your head? By that selfsame navy? Hanging's better than here?"

For a moment, Jack's eyes narrowed in a flash of anger. "You'll learn, young Will, there're things to trump even the Grim Reaper." Then the slight smirk was back. "And you're forgettin' something very important, mate."

He was jolted by Jack's willingness to face his own government as a criminal than to stay here, and wondered anew at what was happening far above, away from his dank cocoon. "That you're Captain Jack Sparrow?" he intoned with more respect in his voice.

He would have much rather been digging his way out of this prison. As he lay on his cot the next day after some self-imposed exercise to burn off nervous energy, Will seethed again at his own ineffectiveness—he was a fighter; moreover, he was a pirate now. Wasn't he supposed to be able to figure his way out of these impossible situations? Jack certainly would have gotten out of the cell by now, by tool or by charm. In his more self-forgiving moments, he realized even in that case, there was nowhere Jack could reasonably go other than to jump into the ocean and trust to impossible luck—and that he, Will Turner, could do no more.

Will was sleeping when Versailles shot her first cannons, and he was on his feet in the space of a breath. Jack hadn't been specific about his plan, but Will guessed any escape would have to wait until a battle ensued, since confusion was the best cover the two of them could expect.

He counted his paces to nearly five hundred in each direction before the brig door's pained squeal and some metallic rattling alerted him to someone's presence. Again, he held his breath, stock-still, until Jack came within his line of vision. "Is this it, then?" he asked, eager.

Will couldn't rustle up enough indignation to be a wiseacre. He shook his head with the first real vigor he'd felt in weeks, feeling the ends of his lengthening greasy curls brush the nape of his filthy neck. "Perish the thought." He watched Jack produce some small picks and begin working at the cell-door lock, a thought he'd incubated leaping again to the fore. "Why didn't you just leave the picks with me yesterday?" he wondered. "You wouldn't have had to come back down for me; I could've just left when the cannons started."

Jack shook his bent head, and Will noted his wasn't the only hair growing longer, as raven locks shook with the movement. "Too risky," he explained, biting his bottom lip as he poked at the large tumblers inside the mechanism. "We might not've run into each other up top, and believe me, we're gon' have to work together to get off here, even in th' middle of this rabble."

Half a minute later, the lock gave up, and Jack tugged the door open, allowing Will his first freedom in—well, he wasn't exactly sure how long. Gratitude raced giddily through his bloodstream; when Jack retreated a few steps and picked something up, his heart leapt higher to spot a sword being offered his way, hilt first. As he wrapped his fingers around the grip, Will thought for one of the rare times in his life he might cry; heat pooled behind his eyes, and he blinked, trying to slow his breathing and gain some control over himself. He hadn't held a sword since coming aboard, and he regarded the purloined length of (clearly inferior) metal as a piece of soul being returned to him.

Jack must have noticed, for he was grinning as he tucked a pistol into his waistband. "You two can make up later in th' privacy of your own navy-issue cell," he quipped, earning a dirty look and an automatic raise of the sword at him from Will. "Ah, there's th' Turner charm," Jack chuckled, hefting his own stolen sword. He thwapped his blade against Will's in decisive gesture. "Stay close, eh?"

They ascended the corridor to the next deck, and stayed to the shadows as they wound their way to open air. Sounds of fighting and firing exploded on all sides, sometimes muffled, but Will kept his eyes on Jack and the area immediately around them. He'd learned long ago to ignore distractions; he was back in his element, and he tightened his hold on the grip of his new sword every so often to reassure himself.

Such was his mindset when the first man blocked their way not too far below the upper deck. Jack was in front, but as soon as Will ascertained it was not a soldier, he drove forward, impaling the bastard through the gut and yanking up viciously, pulling the bloody metal back and stepping aside for the body to fall.

Jack turned his head and glanced sideways at him. "Damn, that felt good," was all Will could think to answer, and the older pirate smirked. "If you say one word about my father..." the smith warned, waving his sword.

Instead, Jack moved forward, and they encountered only two more people before finally emerging to fresh air; Jack stabbed one and tripped the other down the steps. Will wanted to inhale deep lungsful of briny, warm air, but delayed it in favor of taking stock of the scene before them.

Chaos reigned; everywhere one looked was fierce battle, swiping and slashing and stabbing and shooting. He had to crane his head around to spot the other ship, and gasped. "Jack!" He poked his captain in the arm.

Will didn't know whether to celebrate or fear the presence of Dauntless. He knew Norrington wouldn't think twice about imprisoning them in her brig, but—as he looked around at the battle, an idea came to him. "Jack," he leaned in closer to the pirate, noting only briefly that the man smelled much better than he did, "I think I know how we can get out of this. After getting to Dauntless, I mean."

"What?" Jack hissed, anxiously glancing around. It was a matter of moments or seconds that the battle raging around them would intrude on their space, and he didn't have time for much conferring.

Will nodded around him. "Protect as many soldiers as you can," he explained quickly. "Instead of going straight for the railing and the ship, we stick around and fight. Help them out." Off Jack's frown, he shook his head. "The Commodore's an honorable man, Jack; if we help him out, he'll put in a good word for us, not see us hanged."

"That, he is." The third voice jolted them, and Will wondered how Andrew Gillette had gotten so close without his notice. "I see you two got yourselves in with this band of bastards, now."

"We're prisoners!" Will exclaimed, not giving Jack the chance to antagonize the lieutenant. "We were abducted from the Athena's Pride. The captain of this ship blew it up; we've been held here against our will since then. We tried to negotiate for her release, the crew's freedom, but the Spanish bastard wouldn't listen to us!" He spoke rapidly, hoping to sway the Navy popinjay. "I was hit in the head, and Jack's been—" he faltered a moment, not knowing really what Jack had been doing. He had an idea, but wanted to protect his compatriot as he suspected the pirate had been protecting him all this time. "We've both been kept prisoner."

Gillette looked between them, obviously not convinced, assessing the two men. "Boy's right," Jack confirmed with a nod. "We're certainly not here of our own free will. Me crew an' Pearl attacked this ship a few months back, seein' she was taken by Spaniards, and her crew and captain's had it in for us since." Will didn't correct the lie, since it seemed to soften Gillette's skepticism by a fraction.

"That doesn't change what you are," the officer directed at Jack, then lifted his eyes to Will, "nor you."

"I made peace long 'go with what I am," Jack rejoined. "And seein' as that makes me better at fightin' others like me, I'd say you'd profit from hearin' me mate's proposition, here." He dug an elbow back into Will's abdomen.

"Look, we'll help you take the ship." Will thought quickly. "In exchange, you give us amnesty. Just this once." Jack frowned, obviously thinking he could've negotiated better, but Will ignored him. He knew Jack had left this to him because Gillette was more likely to trust the blacksmith's word, and he didn't want to push their demands to impossible lengths and lose this chance at escape.

"His Majesty's navy does not negotiate with criminals," Gillette stubbornly replied.

"Aye, but His Majesty's good navy's smart enough t' take advantage of selfsame 'criminal's' tactical knowledge, aye?" Jack reminded the officer. "Or, perhaps given enough time, your commodore could've sniffed his way to th' Isla de Muerta on his own to satisfy his governor's daughter?"

"That's right," Will put in. "If Eliza- Miss Swann were to find out you captured us—" He winced, on the receiving end of the elbow again, this time much harder.

"Sometimes, sir, 'tis better to deal with th' devil ye know and let him help ye drive the coffin nails into th' devil ye don't, savvy?" Jack interrupted, offering a sage nod at Gillette. "Surely th' Commodore's instilled that bit o' practicality in his fine officers."

"You're a glib-tongued devil, all right," the lieutenant agreed grimly, voice dropping and brow creasing as he looked around them and sighed heavily. "I don't like this. But more than I despise you, I hate these arrogant Spanish marauders impinging on England's trade routes."

Before Gillette could find another way to disagree, Will pointed toward a few advancing pirates with his sword and interrupted the discussion. "We've been spotted!" he warned them in a low hiss. "We don't have time to dicker." He was well aware both men outranked him, but he didn't care; he was not going back to the goddamn brig. "I'm sure the Commodore can see his way clear to spare a couple of lives in exchange for a capture as fine as the Versailles."

Not waiting for further argument, Will charged the closest pirate, cutting him off with a preemptive blow. They fought for several seconds before Will ducked and sliced at the man's thigh. He went down with a howl, and Will whacked him in the back of the head with the flat of his blade. "Two for me," he muttered, kicking the fallen Spaniard's side and gripping his sword to face the next opponent.

Separated from a blade for so long, Will made up for lost time by lunging at anything not wearing the colors of the Royal Navy. He spotted Jack every so often, similarly engaged, and occasionally met the all-too-brief gaze of one soldier or other that he recognized from his years in Port Royale. Will realized he wasn't fighting only to save himself and Jack, but that he wished to see as little bloodshed as possible inflicted on men he knew, for the most part, to be good and decent citizens.

So caught up in dispatching as many pirates he could reach was he, Will didn't see Elias Francois until he spun at the slight breeze crossing his back, sword up in case it was an enemy. Their blades slammed together; Will didn't lower his, managed to keep from swallowing in nervousness, but the truth was that he didn't exactly relish fighting the Spanish pirate captain. He was much larger and broader than Will, and knew how to wield a sword.

"I see Sparrow's little bird slipped 'is cage," Francois rumbled, raising an eyebrow. "Would've been safer t' stay put; things're gon' go much worse on ye when this is o'er with, whelp."

Oh, how he hated that term. "Don't really see how that's so," Will managed through gritted teeth. "Especially when your crew's the one dying left and right."

"To these soft-fed limeys?" Francois grinned. "Obviously ye've not seen what we're doin' over on their own deck."

Will struggled to hold his opponent's sword in place until he thought of a way around it, his muscles braced in the stance. "You could save a lot of your men by surrendering," he breathed hard, ignoring the sweat sliding down the side of his nose.

"Is that what your own lovely captain would do?" Will didn't care for the drop in the man's voice, the sly tone he was taking. "Ye'll find 'm not the woman Jack Sparrow is; my crew're men, and fight like men."

Unaccountably angry, Will took a step back and released Francois's sword. He realized it was foolish to engage the man, but his pride—as well as his captain's and friend's—stood challenged. "No, all your crew knows how to do is kill and hack, since they're not smart enough to think of any other way to get things done," he snapped. "But then again... look at their captain."

Francois narrowed his eyes. "You may bring plenty o' fire to Sparrow's bunk, but I plan t' put that out first thing," he growled.

He didn't have time to argue the point. "All talk and no sparring makes me wonder how good you really can be with your own blade," Will scoffed, rather proud of himself for his first impromptu double insult. It was, he decided, worthy of a real pirate.

This was confirmed by Francois's first lunge, from which Will stepped away. The second was equally lazy, and Will felt a moment of smug before the analytic part of his brain forced him to consider perhaps this was a means of wearing him out for the kill. "If you stall with me long enough, that should give Jack and the Navy plenty of time to finish off your crew," he panted, eyes never leaving his opponent's.

Instead of being angry, Francois smiled. "There's only one way Jack Sparrow's any good at finishin' off me crew," he sneered. "Or me."

Will's abdomen clenched in ire, and he was momentarily baited. "Jack wouldn't touch you if you were the last man on the ocean," he snapped. "Not on his own, anyway."

"Didn't say he did it willingly." The third lunge was more pointed, but Will anticipated and blocked it. "Would ye like to know how 't happened?" he grinned.

"Why?" Will forced himself to lead Francois elsewhere, hoping to find some weakness to exploit. "What do you have against Jack, anyway? Is it his ship? Do you want it that badly?"

But Francois, older and obviously wise to tactics, would not be put off. "All I had t' tell Sparrow was I found you a right pretty one," he chuckled. "Crawled right in me bunk, he did, no questions asked." He squinted at Will. "Not sure I see what makes ye so special, though."

Again, Will ignored the clawing anger inside his gut and forced himself to focus. "Did Jack take someone from you?" he pressed. "Lured someone away?"

He paused; he always watched his opponent's eyes for clues to their moves, since it was more reliable than keeping an eye on the sword itself, and Francois's had just widened, momentarily surprised. He'd finally hit a nerve worth striking! "That's it, isn't it?" Will gleefully began, allowing his own lips to turn up in an evil grin. "Someone preferred him to you—quick and clever over slow and stupid, as it were." That earned him a series of quick stabs, but he didn't mind, since speed and aim were where he excelled as a swordsman. "That must rankle," he pushed, having learned from Jack that audaciousness could be as much a weapon as any dagger. "I mean, to be thrown over for a man half your size..." he trailed off in a pitying tone.

Will danced, barely avoiding being stabbed in the side. In response, he hunkered down and drove forward; unfortunately, Francois fended the blow, but Will held his ground. He thought of more to heckle the pirate, but he was attacking now, engaging Will's full senses, his parries demanding rapid blocks and ducks. He kept it up, feeling in his muscles the lack of doing this for so long, tiring under the barrage, but refused to give up or run away. He knew if he could defeat Francois it would make the rest of his crew careless in their rage—and demonstrate to Gillette and Norrington the value of keeping him and Jack alive.

Sweat leaked into Will's eyes, but he blinked it away to concentrate on battle. A rather large splash, however, coupled with his foot striking something immovable, momentarily unsettled his balance and he ended up sprawled on his back. Francois sliced his sword down and held it at his chin, then lower, to his throat. Will allowed a visible swallow, but raised his eyes to the mad pirate captain's wrathful gaze. "You're about to die," Francois informed him, leaning down a few inches to hiss the words. "I'm gon' take you 'way from him the same way he took mine."

And that was it; the threat was imminent, and he was going to be killed. Will felt strangely calm, his pulse slowing. He didn't want to die on his back, but what saddened him was the idea that Francois would win, after all, and the hell he would make his friend's life. I tried, Jack, he thought, feeling the tip of the blade travel down to just above his heart, his youthful cockiness replaced by stoic acceptance. Maybe I did take on more than I could handle.

"If ye miss Hector so much," Jack's voice calmly spoke somewhere behind Will to the cock of a gun's hammer, "I'll gladly oblige ye to go to hell and see him again."

The shot was so quick that in the space of a blink, it seemed a hole appeared just above the vee of Francois's open shirt, a thin stream of blood pouring forth. He looked surprised, his mouth gaping... but the sword pressed to Will's chest didn't move off. It pressed a bit more, and the smith regained his senses, suddenly realizing he didn't have to die, but likely would if he couldn't get out from under this.

He felt his own sword still in his grip; steeling it, he sliced over himself in an arc, dislodging Francois's blade. The pirate flicked his eyes to Will. They were beginning to glaze, but still had enough spark to denote he was just short of dead.

Will scrambled backward as Francois's nostrils flared and he narrowed his eyes, clearly intending to go for the smith again. Mid-stroke, another two shots slammed into the pirate's heart, and he clutched his chest with his free hand, stumbling to a knee. It wasn't until he dropped his sword that Will glanced around wildly; these hadn't come from directly behind him as Jack's had. Sure enough, several paces away stood Francois's killer, powdered wig askew and white stockings flecked with blood.

Will blinked at Norrington, who was frowning at the fallen pirate captain, before tilting his head back at an extreme angle to peer behind him up at Jack. Will wasn't sure what to say—it had all seemed so drawn out, but he knew the whole thing, from tripping to now, couldn't have taken more than a few seconds. "Hector?" was all he could think to ask Jack.

"Barbossa," the pirate confirmed, stepping around to the side and offering a hand up. He glanced toward Francois as Will climbed to his feet, using the proffered hand and its forearm as leverage. "Seems he was rather attached t' the mutinying prick."

Even when Jack shot Barbossa, Will had not seen such venom in his captain's dark eyes. He released Jack's arm reluctantly, overcome with the need to say something comforting, but his mind refused to latch onto any one thing. He was saved by Norrington, who stepped close enough to nudge a foot at the corpse's side. "Gillette!" he called sharply, waiting for the officer to hurry over from somewhere Will wasn't even looking. "Have our marines round up the Spaniards. Tell them their captain's dead, and unless they'd like to join him immediately, they'll surrender."

"Doubtful that by itself'll work," Jack opined. "This crew innit into military rules, Commodore."

Familiar annoyance curved Norrington's eyes as he glanced to Jack. "When I want your opinion, Mr. Sparrow—and that doesn't seem likely anytime soon—I will solicit it."

Jack grinned, flashing a gold tooth even where Will could see it sideways. "Aww, I missed ye too, mate." Predictably, Norrington rolled his eyes, then strode after Gillette, pistol still in one hand, sword in the other.

Will watched him go and started to follow, but Jack stopped him with a hand around his forearm. "Stand down," he half-ordered, causing Will to turn his way. His captain's dark, unreadable eyes bored into his. "He get you anywhere?"

It took a moment to understand, but then Will shook his head. "I held him off fairly well." He glanced at the fallen body, feeling a shudder pinch up his spine. "When you said he was attached to Barbossa..." He let it trail off, looking sideways over at Jack again.

"They were lovers." Gone was any trace of levity or sway in Jack's voice; it was even. "'Twas a fair number of years ago, before the curse." His lips twitched, as did his now-bushy moustache. "Fact is, seems Barbossa was off t' secure the treasure of the Isla for the two of them, 's well as a ship to be their retirement home, of sorts."

"So that's why he wanted the Pearl." Jack nodded gravely, his eyes fixed on the corpse, thoughtful, as his fingers tightened on Will's arm. "Are you all right, Jack?"

He wasn't sure how to phrase it, now that he'd started. "It's just that—the things he said about you. Like you were... going along with something—" He cut off, uncomfortable. "Giving in to certain demands that I don't think you wanted—"

"What part of my orders don't you understand, Mr. Turner?" The tone was snappish, brisk, and automatically, Will straightened his spine and stiffened his posture in quasi-military bearing. "I said, there's nothing to speak of. Savvy?"

Will felt strangely rejected as he nodded, but more annoyed than upset by Jack's dismissal. "All right, Captain."

"Don't really see where ye have any claim on it, mate," Jack rebutted evenly, studying his grime-caked fingernails. "Fact is, Mr. Turner an' I were the ones t' liberate her from th' likes of those Spanish whoreson."

Will felt his gut clench, watching the two men face off across the long, scarred table. "Face" might not have been the most accurate term—Norrington was on his feet, pacing evenly at one end, while Jack sat at the other, boots up on the table, crossed at the ankles, the very picture of the calm his naval nemesis eschewed. In fact, it seemed perhaps the pirate captain had bled every bit of equanimity from the commodore for himself.

Which was probably the case, Will reflected; Jack was not an easy man to bear. It brought him back to the gut-clenching, since he was certain one of them was bound to attack the other, given enough time. He didn't want to have to pick one to defend, though he knew his lot was in with Jack.

"YOU?" Norrington's voice rose on the end of the incredulous syllable as he paused and executed a sharp turn on his heel to look at Jack.

Jack flicked his dark eyes up and cocked his head. "Must I remind you of th' gun at your back?" The anger in the commodore's eyes subsided, replaced by a different, greater annoyance. No, Will wagered he wouldn't forget how Jack had shot Francois's quartermaster, who'd sneaked up on Norrington upon the surviving Spanish pirates' surrender. "Now, you don't think th' King'd find a ship for th' life of his best pirate-hunter a fair trade? Shame you're held in such low regard, sir." Jack tsked, glancing over at Will with a brief, feral grin before turning his attention back to Norrington.

Jack held up a hand, long fingers splayed. "Methinks I've earned th' right to me fair title after today," he interrupted sternly. "If you please."

Will was surprised that Norrington dipped his chin in agreement. "All right, Captain. As I was about to say, I do not think Governor Swann or His Majesty would find it an acceptable trade. I am but one commander; good warships that can weather the Caribbean, however, are in short supply and badly needed to protect English trade routes... as you are perfectly well aware." He frowned. "Besides, I'm already granting you amnesty by not hauling the two of you in, as is my right and my duty. I'd not push the matter, were I you, Captain."

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose as if pained, for a few seconds. "Ye seem to be forgettin', Commodore, that you've no grounds on which t' run me in anyhow. We were being held captive on this ship—hardly welcome guests—and we helped your men take her from th' Spanish. Neither Mr. Turner nor I were engaged in piracy of any sort—at least not any more than yourself and th' fine sailors ye command."

"Fair enough." Norrington smirked. "You have your amnesty as a result, and I'll instruct my men not to fire upon the Black Pearl should she come within range. This time," he added, holding up a forefinger. "Next time, there may be no such consideration."

Jack looked ready to rebut yet again, but Will had had enough; if the pirate pushed too hard, it was likely Norrington would simply have them both thrown overboard to the mercies of the briny deep this time. "What if Governor Swann issued Jack and the Pearl a letter of marque?" he interrupted.

Both heads turned his way, varying levels of annoyance in their expressions. Norrington looked mildly chagrined, but Jack was visibly glowering. "Come on, you both haven't thought of it?" Will posited.

In this deep, Will didn't quit, nor was he apologetic. One thing Jack had taught him was not to back off if he thought his way was meritorious. "Really, it's the best solution," he insisted. "Jack, that's one less enemy you have, and you don't have to give up the life you want—and, Commodore, you've got another ship to help patrol the trade routes and capture enemies."

"If I had any such desire—which I don't—it's not up to me who receives such a letter," Norrington pointed out. "That's a royal commission."

"Doesn't matter." Jack swung his feet down and leaned forward on the edge of his chair. "I'd not take it, anyway."

"Jack, don't be a fool!" The words were out before Will could consider them, but Jack's only visible reaction was a turn of his head and a lift of one eyebrow. "We could do with one less enemy."

"Lad, the day the Pearl's crew turns privateer is th' day I sprout angel wings an' ascend t' heaven." Will recognized mild rebuke in the tone. "And you heard th' Commodore, anyhow."

"Elizabeth could help." Will nodded as both men looked his way, glad he'd thought of the solution. "She could talk to her father. I'm sure he'd take her advice."

Jack narrowed his eyes, and Will could swear he saw deep anger flash in them. "I hardly need th' help of a lass half me age."

"So it was good enough once, but not again?" Will held firm, almost able to see his own bull-headedness outside himself. "Jack, I'm one of your crew, too. I'm telling you, it wouldn't be that hard to sell it to the others."

Closing his eyes and exhaling deliberately, Jack asked, "Commodore, would ye mind excusin' us for a moment?"

"I need to have a couple of sailors check the rudder anyway." Will could've sworn it was the one time Norrington looked empathetically at the pirate before turning and striding out of the cabin.

Before Jack spoke, Will held up both hands, talking rapidly. "Be mad at me, Jack, but you know I'm telling the truth—this makes three times he's caught you in the past year and a half. No other navy's gotten that close, at least not from what I've seen in my time in your crew! It'd be one less reason to watch your back, and you'd not have to worry about being sunk by English ships."

"I do not like bein' told what to do," Jack countered. "Not by you, an' certainly not by His Majesty's bloody damn navy!"

"I would've thought that fairly obvious by now." Sarcasm dripped from the pirate's voice.

"So why do you insist everyone signs Articles when they join the crew, then?" Will demanded.

"Because," Jack explained, "I'm not trying to regulate their moral behavior, or limit how much they can win in a fair fight. It's just tryin' to keep order on th' ship, where there's a lot of competing interests, so everyone don' kill each other." He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood to address the younger man. "Marque means ye have t' share your swag with those who issued it. It's not like we take in that much t' begin with, and we're already splittin' it thirty-three ways; thirty-five, ye count mine an' Gibbs's two shares each."

"We could live on less," Will pointed out. "And take more, without worrying about the Navy on our backs. It's not like we're having to dig ditches to earn what we take."

"The point of what we do isn' to dig ditches, now is it?" Jack fairly hissed. "Let me tell ye somethin', lad—pirates do more work in a day than most honest men, if they're doin' their jobs proper, and are all th' leaner for it. We owe allegiance t' no men but one another, especially not the fucking Royal Navy."

He lowered his voice and leaned toward Will, eyes narrowed and focused on the younger man's. "And as long as we're on th' subject of signing Articles and obeyin' a captain, I'd be most appreciative in th' future if ye'd keep your large mouth shut, Mr. Turner. It always seems t' get ye into far more trouble than just sittin' aside and tryin' to look intelligent while learning a thing or three, savvy?"

"I'm tired of sitting aside while everyone decides my future!" Something shifted deep in Will's gut, and he straightened his spine, trying not to convey the hurt he felt, the anger Jack had stirred. "The only thing I've ever done that I decided was to go looking for Da. Since then, I've been shot at, put to work doing things I certainly didn't choose, kidnapped, and constantly, constantly used for someone else's end gains. Hell, I didn't even choose to leave Port Royale when I wanted to!" He was breathing hard, about to boil over if he hadn't already. "And you—what a hypocrite. You wouldn't sit aside and let others bargain over you the way you do me," he snapped.

"Aye, that's right," Jack nodded, and Will was certain that was the spark of true anger in his black eyes. "I also wouldn't be so bloody stupid as to offer things without thinkin' it through." He straightened, calming himself visibly, and waited a few seconds for that to sink in. "'S the difference between age and youth, lad. Ye'd best get used to it."

Will exhaled a ragged breath as if punched in the chest. The words left him hollow, instantly wondering if any of Jack's previous overtures of friendship were sincere. The pirate watched him closely with a frown, hands on his hips, as if waiting for a fight, but Will literally couldn't find the air to cull together even two words. The fact was, he was not Jack's equal, in age or experience, and he'd deluded himself into thinking it didn't matter.

A sharp series of raps on the cabin door sliced the tension, and an unfamiliar soldier leaned inside to assess the situation before withdrawing to hold the door for his commodore. Norrington waved the redcoat away and stepped further into the room, hands behind his back. "Captain Sparrow. I understand from my helmsman we'll be passing within range of Turtle Island in a matter of days. I understand it may be of some interest to the two of you." He flicked his eyes to Will, then back to Jack. "I have no intention of detouring to draw closer to it than my route takes us, but there might be an extra rowboat on board the Versailles for a couple of enterprising souls."

Norrington looked to Will, but the blacksmith said nothing, only dipping his chin once in acknowledgement. He stung with rebuke, even as he realized it was his own fault—no soldier in the Royal Navy would dare to question his superior, especially before an enemy, and as free and easy as Jack was with his own civilian command, he was still the captain. Still... being a pirate had to mean something, that rank didn't matter so much as it did within the confines of an organized military. The thought made Will's blood simmer more.

"I'll not order you restrained during our voyage," the commodore was telling them. "That is, unless you give me a reason to do so. Do understand if that happens, I will lock you both in irons and hang you over the yardarm the rest of the journey to Port Royale, with no chance for 'escape' of any sort."

"I never claimed to be your friend," Norrington pointed out. With that, he dismissed them, tilting his head toward the cabin door. Will, closer, preceded Jack out onto deck.

He curled his fingertips into loose fists and cut to the left. He wanted to get as far from Jack as possible; how dare that scurrilous bastard use that condescending tone with him! And call him stupid! Will had saved his precious pirate hide on more than one occasion, just as the smith knew Jack had protected him. He'd thought they were equals, especially after the past few months, but it seemed Jack wanted to control everything in their relationship, not even allow the free flow of ideas.

If I'd wanted to bow down to rank, I would've signed up at the fort, he thought, disgusted. I didn't even want to board that damn ship; he practically forced me into it. After all the trouble it's caused me, I'd've done well to stay far, far from the Pearl.

Resentment, denied and hidden for many months, bubbled from the depths of his gut, slinking up to curl into his chest in bitter wisps. Barbossa had made him this angry, for presuming too much and trying to hold him to his father's sins, for trying to decide his fate and his ultimate end. From Barbossa, however, Will had never expected anything more... from Jack Sparrow, he apparently expected too much.

Contradictions, Chapter 6

Deny