Pirate Dreams

Chapter 4

by

Alexfandra

During that first month, Jack occasionally availed himself of the local brothels, though Will never did. But over time, Will noticed Jack's shoretime visits decreased, and his interest in having more "romps" in the cabin increased. By the start of the second month, Jack had stopped his brothel trips entirely, and Will wondered what it portended. Jack didn't act as if their nighttime entertainments were anything more than that, and he certainly would never speak a single word of endearment. Nonetheless, he rather seemed to enjoy the more tender moments, the long kisses, the gentler caresses and he always wrapped his arm round Will's chest afterwards, resting his head on Will's shoulder as they went to sleep.

He didn't have a lot of time to dwell on what this change in their relationship meant, as they were all kept busy on the ship. At times, though, he had fleeting thoughts that came dangerously close to those "romantic notions" Jack warned him against. He took care to watch what he said whenever they were alone together, took care not to voice any hopes of some deeper feeling on Jack's part, for fear of losing what closeness they had.

It doesn't mean that much to him. Just having a bit of fun, no doubt. Still, Will couldn't help but wonder, as they spent more time together, as Jack mutely expressed in bed what he would never utter aloud, if perhaps someday Jack might confess to a romantic notion or two himself. Then Will would snap back to reality, come to his senses, and think, Right. When hell has frozen solid, he might.

Then one day, their lives as privateers took a sudden turn for the worse.

The sky that morning had an ill-favored look, dark clouds on the horizon. They'd been two days out from Tortuga without spying another ship. The Pearl tacked southeast, away from the clouds, but the storm pushed on faster than she could sail. Just as the first pellets of rain hit them, a cry came from the lookout. "Sail ho!"

Jack didn't need his spyglass to see the ship, drawing up fast before the wind. "Not one of ours," he said.

Will stood beside him on the quarterdeck. "Spanish?"

Jack put the glass to his eye. "Oh, yes. Frigate. Her guns will outman us. Get below. Help them run out the guns. And grab your cutlass on the way."

Will hated being below decks, not being able to see what was happening. He rolled with the wild pitch of the stormy sea, banging against the hull as he helped Gibbs and the gunners. The order came to fire, but the first booms he heard weren't their cannon. The frigate had got the first round off.

He heard explosions all round, heard wood cracking overhead, then their own guns fired, deafening him. He helped the men reload, then rushed up to the cabin to grab his sword. Will reached the main deck, reeling from the battering waves, lashed by fierce rains, the sky gone dark as night. Only the smoke from the guns broke up the black clouds of the storm.

The Spaniard's guns had ripped gaping holes in the top deck, and torn through the foresail, but they could survive that. Then another, more punishing broadside hit, raking their starboard guns. He heard screams from below.

He searched frantically for Jack, not seeing him amid the chaos. He lost his footing on the rain-slick deck and fell, and when he struggled upward again, he was startled to see the frigate nearly upon them, coming alongside the ruined starboard side.

"All hands to the main deck!"

Will spun round at the command, and saw Jack shouting down the hatchway, pistol in one hand and sword in the other. The Spanish didn't want to blow them out of the water—they wanted to take them for a prize. He couldn't believe they'd try to board in these heaving swells, but when he looked at the frigate, he could clearly see their intent. Men lined the rails, ropes and grapnels in hand.

He tried to find a firm stance, and waited.

A moment later Jack came up beside him, handing him a pistol. "Mad bastards," he said.

Will kept the gun in his left hand, sword in the right. The frigate now held directly across from them, and with one great rise of the waves it rolled towards them, hull scraping hull, and in that moment their men swung across with rope and hooks. The two ships weaved crazily through the surging water, precariously tied to each other.

Will fired at the man who landed closest to him, hitting him in the leg. Then he slashed wildly at the next man with his sword, barely able to keep his balance. The rest of the Pearl's crew were all up top now, all armed, all battling their enemy one-on-one.

He couldn't keep his footing. Will tried climbing onto the lower end of the rigging near the rail, wrapping an arm through the ropes to hold himself steady while he swung at anyone who came within range of his swordpoint. The thick ropes helped protect him from the onslaught, and his strategy might have won the day against all comers, had a particularly wrenching wave not torn him loose. The momentum and direction of his fall carried him not back to the Pearl's deck, but sideways onto the enemy frigate.

"Will!" He heard Jack's anguished shout. He staggered to his feet, stranded there on the Spanish deck, surrounded by enemy crewmen. He raised his sword, but fell backward on the next wave's roll, felt his head crack on something hard, felt blackness washing over him, carrying him down to oblivion.

#

Pain. Too bright a light. Something cold and wet, uncomfortably hard... Will blinked and opened his eyes. His head hurt. The bright light gradually faded, replaced by a dim grayness. He rubbed his eyes.

"Good to see you're alive," came a familiar voice.

"Jack!" Will instantly regretted speaking so loudly. He moaned as he felt the back of his head. There was an egg-sized lump there. "Where are we?"

"Brig."

Will tried looking round, gingerly turning his head. He could see iron bars. "The Spanish?"

"Who else? How do you feel?"

"Like Lazarus." He felt the cold floor on which he lay, then turned his head slowly to the other side. Jack sat right beside him on the floor, looking cold, wet, and thoroughly bedraggled. "I know how I got here," Will said. "Where did you come from?"

"I jumped across."

Will closed his eyes and groaned. Not possible. "Why?"

"Figured I could take 'em."

A lie, out and out. "One against a hundred? Even you aren't that optimistic." He knew why, and while it warmed Will's heart to know Jack cared enough about him to risk everything on a crazed attempt to save him, he rather wished he hadn't. There was no reason they both had to die.

He also knew there was little point in pressing the matter. He sighed and tried opening his eyes again. His head felt a little better. "Where's the Pearl? The crew?"

"Don't know. Broke loose from the frigate right after my little leap over here. The storm got worse, drove between the ships, tore us miles apart as far as I can tell."

"Then she might be safe."

"Aye. Gibbs and Anamaria can bring her home all right."

"We'll never know, will we?"

"Unlikely," Jack admitted. "Storm's calmed down, so I reckon they'll rest a while, and then I reckon they'll get around to hanging us from the yardarm."

"Maybe not." Will's brain was starting to work again. "They could have killed us on deck, but they didn't. Maybe they're thinking of ransom. Do they know you're the Pearl's captain?"

"I'll be sure to inform them. I'll tell them Commodore Norrington will pay handsomely for our release."

Will smiled. Might not be so hopeless a situation after all.

And in fact, an hour later they were not only still alive, they'd been given some food, though the gruel and bread were barely edible. Will's head no longer hurt, more of an ache, and he was able to sit up, leaning against the wall. He got some of the broth down, and a few bites of bread.

Not long after, though, the smooth roll of the ship turned choppier, and they heard the rolling boom of thunder. "Storm's back," Jack observed. "Or a new one's come in."

"Rather be up top," Will said. He felt too closed in, trapped in this cage.

The swells grew larger, they could tell by the way the hull moved, pitching steeply upwards, then sharply downwards, followed by a lunging roll to the port, then to starboard, then the pattern repeated until Will wished he hadn't eaten anything at all.

The thunder claps drew nearer, and he thought he heard the crackle of lightning. If only they had a view. "Did you hear that?"

Jack sat calmly on the floor, head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed. "I heard it. Not good."

Lightning was a grave danger at sea, one touch to a mast and a fire could spread too quickly to be put out. "Hope they've dropped canvas."

"Oh, they have," Jack said confidently. "Else we'd already be resting in Davy's locker."

Might be an improvement, Will thought. His head began to hurt again. "I think I'm dying."

The ship heaved violently, throwing him against the bars. Jack sprang to his feet to help him back to the wall. "Lie down, then." Jack sat down, legs stretched out, and made Will lie flat, head resting against his thighs like a pillow.

"Oh, God." Will moaned, not just from the pain, but from the fear of drowning down here like rats in a trap. The hull creaked from the strain of the storm surge, and the cracks of lightning drew closer, ever louder. If he had to die, he wanted to go out fighting. And Jack—this had to be a seaman's worst nightmare, and it was all his fault. "I'm sorry."

"Stow it. You're always sorry about something, mate."

Will managed a small smile. "I am, aren't I?" Maybe he should have stayed in Port Royal, not gone gallivanting off on his grand adventure, all full of boyish dreams of derring-do. Harsh reality had caught up with him, and worse, it had dragged Jack down too. "It's just... I don't want... it's all gone wrong." Dread stole over his heart. How could he have been so foolish? He wanted the good parts—he loved sailing the open seas, loved being with Jack, loved the thrill of the hunt and the chase. Jack had warned him that his freedom came at a price. He'd told him about the dull days, the bad days, the wrack and ruin that went hand-in-glove with the joy and triumph. The heroes always win in those tales you read... He thought he'd understood. But it was only now, when Will had something, or rather someone, he cared more about than anyone else in the world, that he knew what Jack meant. Sometimes you failed to save them, and no ocean nor ship nor any amount of freedom on earth could bring them back.

"Don't want to lose you," he said. "It's not fair."

Jack draped an arm around him. "Way of the world, son."

An enormous lightning crack hit hard, so close that Will couldn't imagine it hadn't struck one of the masts. Sure enough, they heard wild shouts from above, and frantic movement. And not long after, Will smelled the distinct, acrid odor of burning wood. Oh God.

Jack stirred, shifting Will gently off his legs. He stood and grabbed the cell's bars. "Ahoy! Down here!"

Will managed to push himself to a seated position. "We're on fire."

"Let us out!" Jack yelled. "You can't leave us to burn!"

Wafts of gray smoke trailed into the brig. No one came to free them. Will crawled over to the bars, tried shouting as well, hoping their joined voices would rouse someone's notice. But it was hopeless; they'd never be heard over the shouts and commotion above, over the continuing thunderclaps, over the roar of the waves.

More smoke flooded in, thick and choking. They both backed away, up against the hull. Will struggled to stand upright, not wanting to die on his knees, grasping on to Jack with all his might.

Jack grinned madly at him. "No worries," he said. "Smoke will kill you before you can burn."

"Oh, ta." Will laughed at the insanity of it. "Do you always have to face death with a smile?"

"No better way."

"Bloody hell." Will kissed Jack fiercely. "If we live, you can toss me in the bilge, because I love you, you bastard." He choked on the rising fumes, and turned his face into the crook of Jack's neck, away from the smoke.

Suddenly he heard a wrenching explosion, and the entire ship shook violently.

"Hang on," Jack said. "Fire's hit the powder room."

A second blast followed quickly on the first, and a third, and then Will was thrown headlong through the air, flying through blackness and smoke with the sound of cracking timbers and gushing water all round, and he was pulled through a gaping hole into the sea. No air, no breath... he fought to swim upwards, desperate for the air, but debris swirled wildly around him, a board caught the side of his head, and he knew nothing more than darkness, falling, falling fast to the darker depths below.

#

Sunshine. Heat. Pain. Terns. Interminable, yawping, shrieking terns.

"Help." Will opened one eye halfway. Sand. Palms. Blue sky... full of the bloody terns. He closed the eye and tried to put his hands over his ears. His arms felt like lead. "Help?"

"Can't," came a wonderfully welcome voice.

Will opened the other eye. Jack lay stretched on the beach right alongside him, breathing in long, deep gasps, clothes and hair thoroughly soaked through, eyes shut, looking as if he'd just reeled in a blue whale. Will smiled. "Didn't know I weighed that much."

"Don't." Jack raised an arm and waved a lazy hand behind him. "That does, though."

Will craned his neck, instantly sorry he had. Pain lanced through his head. He saw the boat behind them, solidly entrenched up the beach. Looked like a launch, big enough to carry ten men. He carefully repositioned his head to where he felt vaguely better. "You dragged that up there?"

"Aye. With you in it."

"Ah. You have all the luck." Will decided the shrill cries of the sea birds no longer bothered him quite so much. He was alive, Jack was alive, the world hadn't come to an end. Life was good. "So, are we it?"

"Far as I know. Pulled you out, grabbed hold of the nearest bit of wreckage I could, turned out to be that boat. My luck is still holding, mate."

"Mmm. But, um, where are we?"

"Ah. Don't know."

Will sighed. Likely as not, they were marooned, or someone would have found them by now. If this isle were inhabited, someone would surely make regular use of such a fine shore. "At least we're alive."

"More or less. How's your pate?"

"Not good," Will admitted. One bump on the head shouldn't have caused this much pain. He didn't care for it at all, but there was little he could do about the matter. Not here, anyway. "Hurts too much."

"Right. I'll just be doing all the moving for both of us, then." There came a pause. "Sooner or later."

"No rush. Get your breath back."

"And you get your rest. No more talking."

"I'm trying. Don't suppose you could shoot a few of those terns first."

"Lost me pistol."

"Damn."

"No worries," Jack said. "I'll toss a few rocks at 'em."

In a little while, he did just that, and the birds merely increased their cries in anger at first, but after a concerted effort, they eventually took off.

Will appreciated the ensuing quiet, with only the slow rolling of the surf to lull him into sleep.

#

In the evening, Jack built a fire. Wreckage from the Spanish ship floated up on shore all day long, and once he recovered his strength, he went traipsing up and down the beach gathering up crates and boxes and bits of wood, some torn rigging and part of a sail. Will lay right where Jack had left him, watching as Jack laid things out on the sand to dry. Jack came to check on him regularly, and once forced him to drink some milk from a coconut, bloody awful stuff. Later he found one of the crates was filled with hardtack, but Will would have none of that. He had little appetite.

A few bodies washed up, but no survivors. Jack couldn't bury them for lack of a shovel, so he rowed them out in the launch, weighted down with rocks, and dropped them into the sea. He had a sick, pale look when he returned.

"You had no choice," Will told him. "It's what sailors normally get, anyway—burial at sea."

Jack nodded. "I know. Perilous fate, though, to be eaten by fish. Not a way I'd want to go."

"No?" Will was surprised. "No death at sea? It's your home."

"The ship is my home. Can't bloody well be buried in a ship."

"Oh. Hadn't thought of that."

"'Course not, your head's not working proper. Stop moving it about."

"I can't help it," Will snapped. "I can't lie here forever—my whole body aches, and I need to relieve myself, and I'm not going to do it lying down."

"Great." Jack propped an arm under Will's to help him up. "Dumping men in the drink, helping you take a piss—that's a right fine living."

"Ow." Will held a hand to his head as Jack got him to his feet. "I'm sor—" He broke off. "No, no, I'm not saying that again."

"Well, I'm feeling sorry." Jack got himself under Will's left arm, wrapping his right arm around Will's waist to guide him towards the nearest brush. "For meself, that is."

When they finished, Jack guided Will over to the shade of a palm tree and got him propped up beneath it. "There. You can sit for a while. No moving the head, though, got it?"

"Got it." He had no intention of doing so, since every time he did, the pain was unbearable.

"I'm going to look for fresh water. Inland. I might be awhile, so please, do us a favor and don't do anything stupid."

Will saluted him. "Aye, aye, sir."

"Like that," Jack said. And off he strode.

He returned hours later bearing water in a small cask he'd rescued from the wreck's flotsam. "Here. Drink. I'm going to work on a fire next."

Will drank a little water, and watched Jack gather up the wood. He found some slowmatches in one of the dried-out crates, and nursed it to life. Jack took off down the beach once more, this time returning with his hands full of mollusks. By dusk the fire flamed up handsomely, and he cooked the shellfish on top of a large flat rock.

Will's appetite had come back by then, and he took some food. "Can we survive here, you think?"

"I've not been through all the crates yet," Jack replied. "But I've found tools, and nails, and a case of muskets. There's a fresh water creek a mile inland, must have a source somewhere, maybe a lagoon. We've got the coconuts, oysters and clams, and we can set lines for fish. Thought I spied some date palms, and there are native roots here that are edible. It's a far sight better than the one Barbossa left me on. Bigger, more plants, fresh water. We'll be all right."

"No rum?"

Jack stared at him, eyes wide. "God, I forgot."

"Well, you've been busy."

"No rum...." Jack looked glumly into the fire. "We won't survive."

"You haven't looked in all the crates, yet."

Jack leapt to his feet. "I can fix that."

"It's getting dark."

"Not a problem." He dashed off down the beach, returning a short while later dragging a crate behind him. He dropped it in front of the fire and set to the wood with his knife with great energy.

Will leaned back on the sand on his elbows, enjoying the entertaining sight as Jack dragged one crate after another up the sand to the firelight and pried them open. On the fifth one, he hit wine bottles. He collapsed beside the crate, grinning. "We're saved."

"It's not rum," Will pointed out.

"True enough." Jack went back to work. By the time the sun had completely set and the stars came out, he'd managed to open every crate that had washed ashore, some two dozen, the last one as the fire burned down to smoky embers. And as fate would have it, that very last one contained ten bottles of rum.

"Virtue rewarded," Will said. He lay down flat, his head still aching. He closed his eyes.

He felt Jack stretch out alongside him, felt his hand touch his forehead. "Will?"

"Mmm?"

"You're not going to leave me here on me own, are you?"

Will let out a long, slow sigh. If only he didn't feel so very poorly. "Way of the world, mate," he whispered.

"Not fair," Jack replied. Then he leaned over to kiss Will's forehead, then his lips brushed Will's eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his mouth. "Don't go. Don't ever go."

Will wondered, deep within his pain, whether that counted as a romantic notion. "I'll try not to."

Jack rested his head on Will's shoulder, holding him tightly. "Sleep," he ordered.

"And you," Will added, before letting the dark, cool night capture him completely.

#

He woke near dawn, feeling sweat-soaked and nauseated. Will carefully disentangled himself from Jack's embrace and crawled off into the grass to be sick.

But he couldn't get back before Jack woke up. Jack bounded cross the hot sand to lift Will up beneath his shoulders, and pulled him under the trees. Then he brought fresh water over, some for Will to drink, the rest to bathe his forehead. He gently felt the back of Will's head.

"Hurts," Will murmured. "Feel like death."

"You do look gray, mate. You're worrying me."

"Sorry."

"Can you eat?"

"No."

Jack sighed and went off into the long grass, presumably to deal with the necessities. Will lay there under the shade, feeling weak and shivery. His mind wandered, confused images flitted through uncontrolled—of rough seas, dark clouds, smoke and fire. He tried to shove them aside, to think of more pleasant things... Port Royal, the Pearl, even Tortuga... and Jack, and lying in bed together, sailing together, playing drafts, drinking, doing just about anything except battling rough waters.

Then he truly did smell smoke. Jack had started up the fire again. "I'm not that cold," Will said feebly.

He heard Jack talking from what seemed like miles away, and he couldn't make out the words. Was his hearing going now? He couldn't see Jack, everything looked blurred. Was he dying? Oh no, not quite... the heat from the fire simply made the air shimmer.

"Drink up." Jack suddenly hove into view, knelt down holding a bowl salvaged from the crates.

"What is it?" Will took a tentative sip. Sweet, a little like honeyed melon with a touch of lemon, and warmed.

"Juice of a native fruit. The Caribes use it for a tonic."

"Tastes good." Will drank more, enjoying the warmth and the sweetness. It seemed to settle well on his stomach, too. Jack brushed his forehead again with cool water. "No more going off into the grass by yourself, all right?"

"It wasn't that far."

"Listen to me."

Will started at the insistent tone. "Jack?"

"Do not move without my help." Jack gazed intently at him. "Do you understand?"

He'd not ever seen Jack look that intense, not even when he'd shot Barbossa. He'd never seen him that concerned. "I'm not dying," Will said. "Am I?"

Jack dropped his gaze and took Will's hands between both of his. "Just do what I tell you to." He brought Will's hands to his lips to kiss them. "Please?"

Frightened, Will gave the briefest nod. "I promise."

"Good." Jack released his hands and stood. "Rest. And don't move a muscle without my say-so."

"I won't." He closed his eyes, leaning against the tree. He rested all day, while Jack occasionally brought him something to drink, often the same warmed juice as before, sometimes water mixed with the smallest amount of rum, and once a thin broth made from a fish he'd caught on a line run out that morning. Will kept as still as possible, needing up just once in the early evening to relieve himself. Jack practically carried him into the long grass and back.

By nightfall Will felt the persistent ache in his head ease off, and his appetite slowly returned. By then Jack had reeled in two more small fish, which he cooked up for supper. It was the first solid food Will kept down since first hitting his head.

After the fire burned down, Jack came to stretch out beside him as Will lay down for the night. "I think I'm going to live," Will told him.

"Are you now?" Jack curled an arm around him. "Shouldn't worry me like that, mate."

"Fair's fair. You worried me, back in Port Royal."

"Ah. I still don't remember much about that, being fevered and all."

"I told you not to leave me," Will admitted. "Like you did to me last night."

"Did I? Must have been the rum. I got into it a bit."

"Of course you did." Will gazed up at the stars. "'cause you don't hold with romantic notions."

"Warned you about the bilge," Jack said.

"We haven't got any bilges here," Will pointed out.

"Pity."

"Have it your way." Will wrapped an arm around him. "I don't care. I know how I feel." He remembered telling Jack how he felt in the ship's brig, when he thought they were going to die there together. And he knew Jack remembered it, too. If he didn't care to respond to Will's declarations, that was fine. Jack spoke to him in other ways than mere words, and Will could do the same. He found Jack's hand in the dark, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

"Go to sleep," Jack said. But he didn't draw his hand away.

"Aye—"

"And don't say 'aye, aye, Captain'."

Will kept hold of his hand, resting it in his over his heart. "Aye, aye, Jack," he said, and then he closed his eyes to sleep.

Leave a Comment
(If you're commenting about a specific chapter, please mention that.)