Pirate Dreams 5

Pairing: J/W
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Originally Posted: 2003
Summary: Will joins the Pearl's crew after Jack becomes a privateer, leading to many adventures, including the most dangerous adventure of all: romance.

But now that he felt fine, Will went with Jack to look further into their new home. They followed the path of the fresh-water stream, finding first where it ran down through the jungle to a rockier area of the beach a mile away, emptying into the sea. Then they tracked it back to the interior, at times hacking through dense foliage. The stream came from a lagoon which lay at the foot of a steep, rocky hill. A waterfall perhaps ten or twelve feet high and three feet wide flowed from the hill's peak into the pool below.

Jack just stared at the lagoon, sweat beading on his brow. He'd been in the lead, whacking great swaths through tall grasses with a machete. He tossed the machete on the lagoon's sandy beach, tore off his bandana, and started shrugging off his shirt.

"Waterfall," Jack replied through the shirt over his head. "Stream." He pulled it all the way off, then went to work on his boots. "It'll clear out soon enough." He gave Will a grin as he yanked down his trousers. "What's a little dirt between mates, anyway?"

Will watched a thoroughly naked Jack splash into the pool up to his waist, then leap forward into deeper water with a sure, swift stroke.

Fine. It was awfully hot out today. Will quickly stripped and joined Jack in the lagoon, catching him up in the center, where Jack stopped swimming and treaded water. "Under the waterfall?" Jack said.

"Race you." Will struck out, Jack right behind him, and they raced to the falls, then swam under, bobbing up on the other side of the spray near the rock wall. Will won by a foot, but then he'd had a head start.

"On three," Jack told him. "To the beach." He counted, and they were off again, back under the waterfall, across the lagoon. Will swam hard, kicking up quite a spray, but Jack swam harder, and won this time, though only by inches.

They raced three more times, Will beating Jack to the other side of the waterfall twice to Jack's once, and Jack beating Will to shore twice to Will's once. They crawled up onto the beach proper, lying flat on their backs.

"Square," Will agreed. He felt good, though tired. It was the first time since his injury that he'd really exerted himself, and he could tell his body was grateful for the exercise.

"Good." Will knew he'd be a bit sore the next day. But he didn't mind. After two weeks of mostly lying down, he craved activity. "And a little hungry."

They dressed and made their way back to the main beach. Jack had been setting traps in the long grass that covered vast areas between the beach and tree-lined stream, where he regularly caught grouse and quail. His fishing lines were not quite so productive, but once in awhile he snared some small fish. He'd also dug up some root vegetables that proved quite edible when cooked and mashed with coconut milk. Will had been impressed with Jack's knowledge of native flora and fauna.

They ate a decent lunch, and then took a rest inside their shelter, as the afternoon sun that day made it too hot to do anything productive. As he lay on a matting made from the long grass, surrounded by the woven palm fronds, Will listened to the gentle roll of the surf, the rustle of a light wind through the trees, and the inevitable terns. "Could be worse places to be marooned."

"Do you think the Pearl could find us?" Will wondered if the ship had even survived the storm, or how far off the winds had driven her.

"So we make a plan for ourselves, as if no one were coming to our aid. We've got the launch. Can we turn it into a sailboat? Chop down a tree and construct a mast? There are pieces of sailcloth in the salvage we could piece together."

"When we met the storm, we were two hundred miles from the nearest land," Jack said.

"Oh. The boat's too small, is that it?" Will refused to be daunted by this fact. He did like their little island, but he wasn't about to grow old there. "Right. Then we'll chop down a whole lot of trees, and build another boat." He smiled at a memory from not so long ago. "A better one."

"Not as long as it will take to get off this island if we don't do anything at all." Will frowned at Jack's lack of enthusiasm. "Thought you hated being land-bound."

Jack opened his eyes and turned his head to favor Will with a warm smile. "Good company."

"I know." Jack turned onto his side, propping himself on one elbow. "Don't need anyone else." He leaned over to give Will a kiss, then calmly lay back down and closed his eyes again.

If I live to be a hundred, Will thought, I'll never understand his moods. "Careful. You wouldn't want to have a romantic notion, now, would you?"

Will, frustrated, turned on to his side and gave Jack a shake. "What you just said, that's what! About not needing anybody else, and the kiss, what does that mean?"

"No!" Will sat up. "I don't want to be good mates. I mean, I do want to be good mates, but I don't want to be just good mates, or to be just having a romp, I don't want it to not mean anything to you. Because it means something to me. I know you care about me a lot more than as 'good company', Jack. I could see it when you thought I might die on you here. Why can't you just say it?"

"I—" Jack sighed again and looked away. "I can't. Not since—" He broke off, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "I... I am fond of you, Will. And no, I don't want to lose you. But that's as far as I can go. I'm sorry."

"Fine. Don't tell me." Will got to his feet. "I'll take what I can get, because I don't want to lose you, either. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." He strode angrily from the hut, heading up the beach into the grass.

He hiked to a small rise and sat down. He could see the shore and the hut below. What the hell had happened there? Why did Jack have to be tender one moment and so casually offhand the next? Obviously something had happened to him in the past, something that made him leery of strong attachments. Someone he had loved, Will supposed, and then lost. In all that long story he'd told about the years he'd spent after losing the Pearl, Will couldn't recall him mentioning a woman at all. But he had clearly been quite fond of Captain Nate Flynn.

How fond? Had they been lovers? If they had, Flynn's death would explain a great deal. Jack simply didn't want to take another chance, couldn't bring himself to admit to any deeper feelings, for fear of suffering another loss.

Well, as far as Will was concerned, that was a foolish way to live. Jack could take a hundred risks sailing the seas, yet he couldn't risk giving up his heart to another? Once broken, never mended? Ever?

He stared out at the ocean. He watched the waves break on the shore, and roll back into the sea. He wondered if it were truly so hard to try again. He'd lost loved ones—his father, his mother, and in a way, Elizabeth. Yet he hadn't truly been in love with anyone and then lost them. Not even Elizabeth, for he'd been in love with the idea of loving her, which was an entirely different matter.

Maybe he truly had no idea what Jack had gone through. Maybe all he needed to do was be more patient. He wanted too much, too fast. Give him more time. All the time in the world, perhaps. After all, if he never got a single heartfelt confession from Jack, would he want to leave? Or was it enough, simply being by his side?

Will lay back on the long grass, stretching out his arms. He gazed at the sky, into its infinite blue. What does it matter, so long as I'm here, and Jack's here, and we've all this little patch of the earth to ourselves?

"It's enough," he said. He lay there for another hour or so, trying not to think about anything much, and then he got up to walk back down to his and Jack's beach.

Jack was up and about when he returned, and as usual, acted as if nothing at all had happened. "I've got an idea," he said before Will could say one word. "We should build a shed to store all this salvage. Keep it orderly, out of the elements."

"Fine." Will felt a little sore from their earlier outing and swim, after his fortnight of inactivity, but he could help gather up some of the supplies they'd need. "More palm fronds and branches?"

So they spent the rest of the afternoon getting materials together. By evening Will was exhausted, and called a halt. "Supper," he said. "And rest. Lots of it."

Over the next few days they built a creditable storage shed, and dragged the salvaged goods inside. Tools, nails, matches, wine, rum, hardtack, sailcloth, rope from the ship's rigging. A case of muskets, though very little shot or powder. Three swords, two knives, the hatchets, the machete. One of the washed-up crates had contained wool blankets and a hammock, another had contained a stewpot, iron skillet, utensils, and bowls. They arranged things as best they saw fit.

"Not quite home sweet home," Will observed when they finished. "It's not too shabby, though." He stood on the beach in front of the shed, arms crossed, contemplating. "What next? A privy? We could use one."

"What, you're tired of digging holes in the ground?" Jack smiled. "If we build a privy, we'll need to dig a very deep hole."

"How about that path to the lagoon, then?" Enough pieces of wood from the broken-up ship had washed ashore over those two weeks to construct a simple, foot-wide boardwalk the whole way. That would be a good sight easier than stumbling through the long grass and the jungle foliage every time they needed to refill their water supply.

"Good plan. And after that, what say we make that mast of yours, and try sailing the launch all the way round the island? We've got no idea how big it is, or what's on the other side."

They set to work, and the next few weeks flew by in a flurry of constant activity. Building a walkway to the lagoon, scouring the area for the best, straightest tree trunk, chopping it down, shaping it, making a crossbar for the boat, stitching bits of sail together. And always a good deal of time was spent in finding food, either fish or mollusks, birds and roots and fruit. They went to the lagoon every day, for fresh water one day, or a swim the next.

Then they made their sailing trip round the island, finding its aspect much the same everywhere—a sandy shore, a slight rise to grassland dotted with palms, then further inland the denser jungle of trees began. Occasionally the shoreline was interrupted with rocky cliffs, where the terns liked to roost. They sailed all the way round, estimating it to be three miles long and a mile-and-a-half wide at the midpoint.

Their own partially sheltered cove seemed the best place to be, or at least, they saw none better. During their circumnavigation, they found more wreckage from the Spanish ship along the shore. And so they spent several days sailing back and forth collecting it, and constructing a second shed to house all the salvage. A seaman's chest had washed up with a shaving kit and hand mirror as well as clothing inside, and they were glad to have clean shirts to wear. A lot of wood came ashore, including most of a spar and a yardarm, and several oars. And a box from what was likely the captain's cabin, for it contained writing paper, pens, and ink; the paper and pens were in good shape after a drying-out, and the ink bottle was still intact. It was not a bad haul by any means.

They spent quite a few evenings working out a ship-building plan for something larger than the launch but not so huge they couldn't complete it or sail it. They puzzled over possible construction plans, using both salvaged wood from the wreck and wood from trees on the island. Though they had a lot of tools, wood, and nails, they had no way of sealing the ship until Jack remembered something the natives used that came from tree sap and resin. He wasn't sure what the proportions might be, though, and spent nearly a fortnight experimenting with various amounts cooked over the fire, creating horrid odors. He found a mixture that worked fairly well, yet there was no way to test it over long distances. They would need to trust to luck.

"A year," he told Jack when they had finished their planning stages. "We could build this in one year."

A month had passed since Will had the idea. It was a pleasantly cool evening, and he lay stretched out on a blanket near the fire they'd cooked their supper over. The sun had begun to set while a soft breeze set the flames gently flickering. "That long?"

Jack sat nearer the fire, making notes by its light. "That pitch I cooked up takes a good week to harden completely, and even in the biggest pot we salvaged, I can only make a small amount at one time, not enough to hold together more than one or two pieces of wood of three or four feet. We need a lot more wood than what came from the wreck, and it will take us half a day to chop down one tree, and a week or more to shape a board from the trunk. We've got no way to bend or curve the wood—means we're stuck with making a scow, which takes a lot more wood. We'd be lucky to finish in a year."

Will tried not to feel disheartened. A whole year—well, they'd be here anyway, unless a miracle happened and a ship came past. It was a fine place, considering, supplying all of their needs, and he had Jack to share it with. Still, he felt restless, out-of-sorts. He felt too detached and isolated from the world, and he worried about how the war progressed, how things stood in Port Royal, what the Pearl was doing. It surprised him that Jack never mentioned his ship, never seemed to think about the outside world.

The stars started to shine forth as the sun disappeared down the horizon. A clear, beautiful night, calm and peaceful. Yet somewhere out there, across that vast expanse of sea, battles might be raging unseen. He certainly had no thirst for blood. He simply had a desire to know what was happening. He wanted to rejoin the world.

Jack set down his paper and pen to poke a stick at the dying fire. "You're not happy." It wasn't a question.

"No," Will admitted. "I'm not unhappy, either. I'm not sure what the trouble is."

"Soul sick," Jack said. Will nodded. "Something like that. As if my life doesn't matter, as if nothing has much meaning here. I'm not doing anything worthwhile."

"You mean, if we were still stranded here?" Will tried to imagine what that would be like, the part of the world he knew and cared about at peace, no one and no place needing rescuing from anyone, no heroic deeds to perform. Just peace and quiet on a deserted island, just him and Jack. "No worries, eh?"

"I don't know." Would he be happy? Would he be satisfied to laze about, not fighting for any just cause, nor spending hours a day honing his fencing skills, no adventures greater than catching a fish from time to time? "Could get boring."

"It could." Jack gave up on the fire and came to stretch out beside him on the blanket, hands behind his head.

"Wouldn't it bother you as well? You had everything you wanted on Tortuga, and you were still bored there."

Will ignored this. "Be honest. Another month or two of this enforced exile, and you'll be pacing up and down the beach like a caged beast."

"Oh." Will remembered what Swann had told him, that Jack had spent three years in prison. A much more terrible isolation. "I forgot. I'm sorry."

Now he felt downright inadequate, not up to the task. Jack had been cut off from the world in the worst possible way, for three long years; he'd come through it unscarred. And here he was complaining about being stranded on a lovely island with the best possible company, just because of some boyish need to be off somewhere doing good deeds? Will sighed. "Am I completely hopeless?" he said.

Will laughed. "No doubt." He felt better already. Maybe the war could wait. "Was my father like this?"

"Why did you get along so well, then? Or did you have them too?" After all, Jack had been a lot younger then. Maybe he'd had a few ideals long ago, before he "got over that."

"I might have done," Jack admitted. "Save the world from men like Captain Pritchard, for instance. That didn't work out too well, though, did it?"

A quarter moon rose, a sliver of silver-white. A whole year... well, if most of the nights were as lovely as this one, perhaps he'd get through all right.

"Hang on." Jack got up to wander off to the storage shed, returning a short time later bearing three blankets and a bottle of rum. He folded two blankets into pillows for them, setting the third aside. Then he plopped down beside Will and proffered the bottle.

"Possibly." Jack took a large gulp of the drink. "Possibly not. You see, I've been thinking."

"Ah." Interesting. They'd certainly not crossed that line before. "Without the lash, I hope."

Will sat up to take it, hurriedly downing several large gulps before he was able to say, "I'm game." He felt nervous, yet quite willing to take things further, so far as his meager knowledge and utter lack of experience allowed. He handed back the bottle. "Won't it, um, you know..." He felt a flush creep up his face, and was glad of the concealing darkness. "You know, be rather rough?"

"I thought of that." From beneath the third blanket Jack produced a small cask. "Oil from the palm tree, little offshoot from my recent experimentations." He smiled, a gold tooth catching the last light from the dying fire's embers. "A hundred and one uses, mate."

Will wondered how long Jack had been contemplating a little rum and sodomy. He hadn't produced his magical potion out of thin air just this night. "So you've been working on that, then. You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?"

"Mostly sure. You'll need to take the lead." Will smiled. "What with your vast experience and all."

Will rolled his eyes. He could tell this would not be the most romantic of encounters. "No, I've not buggered anyone," he said a little testily. "Nor have I ever been buggered by anyone. But it doesn't seem all that complicated an endeavor, so if you'd like to bloody well get on with it—"

Jack shut him up with a fierce kiss, warmth then heat then flame blazing into Will until any and every complaint melted away as ice before fire. The thinking part of his mind vanished before this onslaught. When they broke apart, Will frantically yanked at Jack's shirt, tugging it over Jack's head. They pulled at each other's clothes, often hindering more than helping in their haste, until at last they both lay naked on the blankets.

"Now that you've worn me out," Will managed to say, "you can have your way with me."

"Right then. So I shall." And he did. Will tried to respond in kind as Jack expertly stroked and caressed his chest, his abdomen, his thighs. But the sensation of those strong yet supple fingers loving his entire body overwhelmed him until he simply lay there, shivers of anticipation coursing through him.

He felt Jack's lips against the hollow of his throat, then Jack trailed kisses all down the center of his body, reaching Will's ready cock and taking its hardness inside.

"Ahh...." Jack's talented mouth and tongue did wonders in easing Will's nervousness. He arched upward, thrusting into the moist warmth, all the heat of his arousal centered there. Then, at the very moment Will thought he might die from sheer pleasure, Jack released him, leaving him on the edge. "no... more...."

He felt Jack shifting about, then suddenly a warm, smooth hand glided along his back, and he felt the oil on Jack's fingers as he reached Will's buttocks. Will arched again as a finger slid inside, then out, then in again, probing, widening, withdrawing once more. Then two fingers pushed into him and Will gasped at the unfamiliar pressure.

The fingers pulled out and Jack snaked his arm between the crook of Will's thigh and around his waist, his hand seeking out Will's still-hard cock. The merest touch sent a quivering tingle through him, and then Jack wrapped his hand round the shaft. At the instant his hand began to move, Will felt Jack's cock enter him, thrusting in hard and fast. He moaned as the dual sensations swept over and through him. Jack pumped Will's cock with the same furious intensity that he thrust inside him with, producing a rolling torrent of clenching vibrations, wave after wave. Jack shoved into him, thrusting harder, faster, never letting go his grip on Will's cock, one movement counterpointing the other, ever building in tempo to the point of no return. Will cried out as he came, at the same time Jack came inside him—merging, complete—rising on a tide of release. Then slowly he fell, slowly ebbing back to the here and now, where he dimly grew aware of the rough-edged wool blanket, the crisp touch of the night air. Will had flung his right arm above his head at the height of his climax, digging deep into the sand, and now he relaxed, feeling the grains of sand drift idly between his fingers.

Cool air hit his skin as Jack withdrew and rolled away from him, panting softly beside him. Will stayed where he was on his side, slightly curled, still tingling all over. He felt sated and emptied at one and the same time, drowsily drifting on a smooth sea. Anticipation and excitement trailed in the wake, simple joy sailed with his every thought, while the horizon ahead promised him glorious dreams.

He vaguely heard Jack moving, then felt a blanket wrap round him. Jack slid beneath it as well, stretched alongside him, arm around him, breath warm in his ear. "All right, then?"

After a while Will found he was capable of thinking again. "Oh, yes." He was conscious now of being a little sore... and he didn't mind one bit.

"I would like." He thought he'd like trying it the other way round as well. In fact, his mind had got terribly busy thinking of all sorts of ways to engage in further explorations. "I'm getting ideas."

"Ah. Well, we can change that next time. Doesn't matter to me what goes in where or who does the buggering, as long as I'm enjoying it. And I did. And I will, any old way you please, mate."

"Ta." Will didn't expect romantic endearments, Jack could call what they did together whatever he liked. He knew he loved the bastard anyway. One of these days Jack would let go the reins on his emotions, it was just a question of time. Now that they'd gone further in bed than ever before, with the promise of much more, Will knew things would change between them, grow deeper, grow stronger. He loved Jack, and someday the distance between them would close completely, and Jack would someday admit that what they were doing was making love to each other, that it could be nothing else.

Will nestled into his embrace. "Dream well," he replied. Then he let the night wash over him, quietly listening for a long time to the rhythms of the sea.

Jack had finished his plans for a rather odd hybrid boat, necessitated by their limited tools. It was partly a scow with its flat bottom, partly a cutter with a sharp-nosed wedge-shaped bow, and part sailboat. He thought they might patch together just enough sailcloth to make it all work, though he was worried about how little rope they'd salvaged. And so whenever they weren't chopping trees, he experimented with fibers from various plants, twining them together and testing their strength until he found a combination that was nearly as strong.

They spent another month shaping the trunks into planks of wood, a tedious process of manual chipping, splitting, smoothing with tools not designed for the task. The results were rough and hard to work with, but they persisted with the boat-building plans, as it kept their spirits up.

And so the weeks passed quickly, working hard for days at a time, then taking much-needed rests at the lagoon. Often they spent their nights exploring many different paths to pleasure, though there were days when they were so exhausted from their labors that they could barely crawl into their hut before collapsing in sleep.

Another month passed, and the boat gradually began to take on shape. Making the pitch to seal the wood was a tedious endeavor, though Will felt confident they could finish in six months instead of a year. Jack, however, didn't seem quite so optimistic.

"We might finish sooner," he said. "If there aren't any setbacks. You never know when something might go wrong."

The fateful day started out calmly, with clear skies and no wind. Will greeted the day cheerfully, ready to make good progress on the boat. Jack, however, seemed uneasy. They spent the morning cooking up a new batch of pitch, but Jack kept staring off at the horizon with a concerned expression.

"You're not paying attention to the pot," Will complained, tired of being the only one doing any stirring.

Oh. It had been a while since Will had paid any attention to the calendar, as they hadn't kept good track, but he realized that it must be September by now. Hurricane season. "You think there's a storm coming?"

Will had been through half a dozen bad storms and three hurricanes in Port Royal, and he knew the massive destruction they could wreak. Everything they needed, their shelter, the storage sheds, the launch and the boat they were building were all exposed here on the beach. Even as he wondered how on earth they could keep it all safe, he felt the first stir of wind on the air.

He gazed out at the horizon. Were those clouds? Dark clouds? Quite far off. Surely they'd have hours of time to prepare. "We've got to save the boat." They'd worked too hard for too long to lose it now.

Jack ignored the outburst. "We'll move the supplies inland, through the brush. There's a low rise about a quarter-mile north with a sharp drop beneath, makes a natural shelter."

"Fine." Jack waved idly at their shoreline home. "And after both the boat and the supplies are smashed to pieces on this beach, what are you going to use to build another one?"

"But—" Will faltered, his flare of anger fading rapidly to despair. Dammit, Jack was right. They couldn't risk losing their supplies. "Maybe we have time to do both."

"Let's stop talking about it then." Jack turned to stride purposefully towards the nearest storage shed.

They spent several precious hours hauling the supplies up the beach, through the grassy brushland to the hillock Jack had mentioned, and arranging everything under the dropoff. Every minute mattered, so they moved only the most essential items, and even Jack admitted the rum didn't count in that category. Will was amazed he left it in the shed, but glad of the expedience. As they worked, the wind picked up, and the dark clouds moved steadily in. By the time they finished emptying the most vital supplies from the sheds, the wind was strong enough to break branches from the surrounding palms.

Next, Jack insisted on dragging the launch as far up the beach as possible and turning it upside down in the hopes it would survive, another delay that Will protested to no avail. He desperately wanted to save the new boat, and the storm clouds were nearly upon them. But he let Jack have his way, knowing it was the practical thing to do, fighting down his impatience.

Finally they gathered all the salvaged rope along with the plant fiber rope Jack had made, and set to work on the partially-constructed scow. It perched high up on the beach near a stand of palms. As the storm began to sweep in, they worked to tie the boat down, using the trees to anchor the ropes. Yet if the trees couldn't stand up to these winds, Will thought, it would all be for naught.

Dark clouds swirled in, turning the afternoon sky gray-black, blotting out the sun. Fierce wind whipped them, and the rope Will was trying to secure was violently wrenched from his hands. Rain began to lash down as he frantically searched for the rope end.

He heard Jack shouting as if from far away, then suddenly Jack was right beside him, pulling on his arm. "Come on! Leave it!"

But Will had found the rope end, and he pushed Jack hard, knocking him aside. Then he struggled to the tree, slung the rope round, and started to tie the knot, but his hands and the rope were soaked from the rain, and he couldn't get a good grip.

He looked up as he heard a loud crack overhead. A large branch broke off, he saw it falling as if in a dream, slow and sure, straight for him.

And then he felt a great push from behind and he fell forward, out of the branch's path, flat on the sand, the breath knocked out of him.

Will gasped with pain as he got his breath back, then rolled over. Jack lay on the ground nearby on his back, arms and legs splayed, eyes closed, the branch close to his head. Will crawled to him, and saw a patch of darker red through Jack's bandana. no. He quickly felt for a pulse, found it. "You idiot, what did you do that for?"

The wind and rain pummeled the beach so fiercely now that he could barely stand. But he had to get Jack out of here. Will got his arms under Jack's shoulders and dragged as hard as he could, pulling him up the shore to the grassland. He couldn't see more than a foot ahead, the great clouds shrouding the island in darkness. Through the driving storm Will dragged Jack, through the long grass, more branches flying around them. He had to get away from the trees, but he couldn't tell which way to go as the rain poured down his face, blinding him. He groped his way along, cursing his own rashness. If he hadn't insisted on staying to tie that last rope... if only Jack hadn't shoved him out of the way of the falling branch.

He stopped to rest, and gently checked the wound on Jack's head. The bandana had helped to stanch the bleeding, though he could already feel a lump forming. He took a few deep breaths, tried to gather what little strength he had left. The roar of the wind deafened him as he lifted Jack once more, dragging him, stumbling along, seeking some kind of shelter, anything, a hole, a shallow spot in the grass, something to hide them from this killing wind.

Twenty agonizing feet he moved, stopped, then another twenty, a longer rest, then ten... he couldn't go on much further. They'd die out here, unprotected. Then, just when he'd nearly given up hope, Will's foot slipped, and he fell several feet down a gulch. The roar lessened here, the winds passing overhead. He quickly scrambled back up the short hillside, reaching for Jack, pulling him down to safety.

Will lay Jack face upward on the bottom of the gulch, and draped himself over him, covering him from the rains as the storm roared over, tearing their world apart.

Blessed silence, the winds gone, the rain finished, leaving the island in utter stillness. And in darkness, for by the time the storm left them behind, night had fallen.

Jack groaned a few times, but didn't regain consciousness. Will stayed in the gulch, resting, until he had enough energy to carry Jack back to the beach, where destruction awaited. Even in the dark, he could tell that nothing had been left standing, not their hut, nor the storage sheds, not one shred remained. The trees lay uprooted, their precious scow shattered. He couldn't even see their launch, and dreaded the morning light, when he'd find out if anything at all could be saved.

The beach lay covered with broken bits of wood and branches, and he had to go on quite a ways further from their former encampment just to find a clear place to spend the night. He laid Jack down on the sand. Jack seemed to be breathing normally, no sign of fever or distress. Will loosened the bandana. There was a gash on the left side of Jack's forehead, perhaps two or three inches long, sticky with dried blood, and a swollen lump underneath.

Please let him be all right. He no longer cared about the stupid boat. Nothing mattered as much as Jack's life. Nothing.

He had a restless night, sleeping under the stars, waking frequently. And every time he woke, he saw Jack sleeping quite peacefully beside him. Will tried not to worry, and utterly failed.

He was terrified that he'd have to go through the same thing Jack had gone through when he'd been so ill. It was therefore with great surprise that when dawn broke, and he roused himself from his fitful rest, Will found Jack sitting bolt upright beside him. "Hey, you shouldn't do that." He sat up himself, and tried to push Jack down again.

Jack blinked, staring blankly at his surroundings. "Well, there is one small problem."

"You what?" Will gawped at him, utterly confused. "What do you mean, you can't remember anything? You mean about what happened? About the storm?"

"No, no." Jack looked oddly at Will, staring hard. "I mean, everything. Who are you?"

Oh God. He'd lost his memory? All of it? "I'm Will," he managed to stammer. "Will Turner."

"Ah. Well, you seem like a kind enough fellow. Tell me, where am I? Oh, and what's my name?"

Will buried his face in his hands. His relief at Jack being awake and apparently healthy was tempered by this bizarre development. Of the many things that could go wrong with a knock on the head, this was the last one he'd imagined. In fact, he'd not thought of it at all. "You can't have lost your memories. It's not possible."

Jack studied his hands. "Interesting ring." Then he pushed up the right sleeve of his shirt. "Interesting tattoo."

This was going to take some explaining. "Yes, it's a brand. It stands for 'pirate.'"

"Hm. Interesting." Jack examined the rest of his clothing, then gazed out quite calmly at the beach. "Nice place."

Will shook his head. Typical. One of the things he liked about Jack was his ability to sail through life's travails with such a casual confidence that all would be well, that somehow he'd come through the worst calamities life could throw at him unscathed. After all, he'd had to weather some very rough seas when he'd been younger, losing good friends, losing his ship, being imprisoned. He'd survived, he'd grown stronger. Perhaps a bit too closed off from people, but Will supposed that was the only way he could keep on surviving, by keeping his wounds firmly buried while showing this well-honed nonchalance to the world at large.

"Yes," he said at length. "It's a very nice island. It's also uninhabited, except for us. We're marooned."

"A few months. We were constructing this rather big boat when the storm hit. Might have even been a hurricane, it was that strong. Tore the boat to pieces, along with our shelters. And it dropped a tree branch on your head."

At least he hadn't forgotten how to speak, or what to call things. Most likely he hadn't really lost his memories, they were simply lodged deep in the shadows somewhere like a fogbound ship. "I'm the one who was daft enough to stand by the tree," Will admitted. "I was trying to save the boat. The branch would have hit me, but you pushed me out of the way. Now that was the daft part."

"No, no. I just meant that I didn't want you going around getting yourself hurt on my account—" Will broke off, horrified by a sudden thought. Jack didn't know who he was. He didn't even know they were good mates, let alone anything more. Oh God.

"You all right?" Jack peered closely at him. "Look like you're about to be sick."

"Sure you are." Jack rubbed at the lump. "It's a bit sore. And I'm hungry. What do we eat on this paradise of ours?"

"And birds from the brush. Lots of fruit. And some roots you dug up that we've cooked fifty different ways and are heartily sick of."

"And you just called me 'mate.'" This was more promising by the minute. "You remember we're good mates now, right?"

"Maybe." Jack tried to stand up, and Will helped him as he wobbled about. "Where's the rum?"

"The bottles were in the shed." Will guided him to the area of the beach where the remains of the main storage shed lay scattered. They poked about through the broken boards and branches, sifting through the pieces until Jack triumphantly produced a bottle filled with a dark golden liquid.

Jack pointed at him. "That would be it." He took a swig, then wiped his mouth. "Might need to test it extensively."

"Give me that." Will snatched the bottle from him and drank a shot's worth, then handed it back. "One more shot, and then we get some food, and then some rest. I don't want you getting ill on me."

"Aye aye." Jack downed a big gulp, and stoppered the bottle. "Hold up. That's not right. I don't say 'aye aye.' People say that to me. I'm the captain of something or other. Captain Jack Sparrow."

"I hope it's in Tortuga. Come on, you need food. A good meal, a good rest, and you'll be fine." Will dearly hoped this wouldn't last more than a day or two. He had no idea how to deal with it.

"Say, here's something." Jack had been picking at the rubbish. He held up a silver box.

Will recognized it as the container they'd found the paper, pens, and ink in. "That's from the shipwreck that put us here."

Jack turned it this way and that, holding it in front of his face. Will realized the shine of its surface made a decent mirror. He was trying to see what he looked like.

"We had a real mirror around here somewhere," Will said. "Might be with the stuff we moved inland."

"This works." Jack held it at various lengths from himself. "I'm older than you."

"Yet I still have quite a handsome aspect." He poked at one of his gold teeth. "That's impressive."

Will had a fleeting moment of doubt that Jack had really forgotten everything, followed by a wretched suspicion that he was perpetrating a huge joke at his expense. He crossed his arms sternly. "You had better not be having me on, Jack."

"No, I didn't mean that." Will felt exasperated. "We are good mates." "But I annoy you."

Will gave up. He no longer thought Jack was faking it. "Food," he insisted. "I'm not talking to you anymore until you've eaten."

"Fine, have it your way." Jack tossed the box aside. "You're a bit odd, though, mate. Maybe you've been standing about in the heat of the midday sun too long."

"You're probably right." Will stomped off to see about scrounging up some supper.

A meal and an afternoon's sleep did nothing to restore Jack to his former self. Will was now resigned to the idea of a slow recovery. He had pondered over the problem while Jack rested, of how best to help him remember. He could try to trigger the return of Jack's memories by providing him with hints, since he now knew a good deal about his history. He could relate some of that history and try to get Jack to fill in the blank areas. Or perhaps a flanking maneuver might work. He could talk about one topic for awhile, then suddenly throw a question at Jack about something else entirely, an abrupt shift which might jar a memory loose. He could try any and every method he could concoct until one worked.

Will thought this over while poking through the wreckage, salvaging what he could. They found that the supplies they'd sheltered inland were in good shape, without much damage. He collected everything together again, bringing them back to the shore. The greatest damage had been to their handmade buildings—their personal hut and the two storage sheds. And of course, the boat lay in ruins. Worse, the launch had been smashed up. They would have to begin all over.

Jack woke from his sleep in the late afternoon, groggy, yet claiming he felt well enough to help out. So Will agreed he could help put together a new shelter, though he took on the hardest labor himself. They got a lean-to put up by evening, and a new fire pit in place.

"We can tackle building a bigger hut tomorrow," Will said over a meager meal of mollusks and boiled roots.

"We rebuild the storage sheds, and the path to the lagoon." He noticed Jack's puzzled look. "We found a fresh-water lagoon inland. We had a wooden path leading to it."

"I haven't looked at it yet, so I don't know how badly damaged it is. But I imagine it must be, since the storm tore down so many trees, and our path led right through a jungle of trees."

"Ah, but that's good, isn't it? The fallen trees, I mean. We won't need to chop them down for the next boat we build."

He was right. Will hadn't thought of that, and it drove some of his gloom away. "That is good." They'd lost at least two months' worth of work, but a large amount of that first month had been spent chopping trees. So it shouldn't take two months to recover. "Maybe things aren't so bad."

"Mm." Jack suddenly waved a hand about in one of his quirky gestures. "Boats. I've remembered something about boats. It wasn't only the Black Pearl. I've been on other boats." He frowned. "Ships."

"That's right." Will thought over what Jack had told him about his past. "The Rosinante. The Intrepid. The Nighthawk. And the Royal something."

"That's wonderful!" Will was encouraged. "This might work. I'll talk about some of the things I know about you, and it might get you to remember."

"I've got pieces here and there already," Jack said. "They don't fit together right, though, not much sense to 'em. And it's all full of holes in and between. My brain feels like a giant sieve."

"Ta." Will cleared away their dishes, then added a few more sticks to the fire. "Let's get started, then, shall we?"

"Right." Will realized he knew nothing of Jack's origins, except for that one brief mention he'd made about having been on ships since the early age of ten. "I don't actually know where you grew up. I assume it was in England. All I know is that you left when you were ten, and became a cabin boy on a merchant ship."

Jack lay back on the sand, hands behind his head, eyes closed. "Ships. It was somewhere with a lot of ships. That's what I can see, anyway—a harbor, sailors, ships coming and going."

Will didn't feel he was making any progress in freeing the earliest memories, so he moved on. "I don't know what you did as a lad at sea, except for sailing on merchant ships. But when you were twenty or twenty-one, you met up with my father, Bill Turner."

"That was his nickname. I think you mostly called him Bill. You sailed with him on the Rosinante, bound for Macao."

Jack shook his head, closed his eyes, and tapped a finger to his forehead. "It's all a jumble up here. Mostly I remember ships. Being on ships. Hands to the braces. Reef the topsail. Run out the guns... out tompions... lots and lots of sailing." He waved his hand about, making idle gestures. "Grapnels to the ready. Pistols and cutlasses. Prepare to board." He dropped the hand, opened his eyes, and sat up a bit, leaning on his elbows. "Did you say pirate?"

Will nodded. "I did. Piracy, smuggling, trickery, you name it, you've probably done it."

"Well, you and Bill were on merchant ships for a few years, until you sailed on the Intrepid under Captain Henry Pritchard, an extraordinarily cruel master. Both you and Bill ran afoul of him."

Silence came from Jack's direction. Will moved closer to him in the darkness, watching him closely.

"Pritchard," Jack repeated. "I'm not sure... there's something... it's not quite right, though. What did he look like?"

Will didn't know how to help him, having no idea what Pritchard looked like. Then the visit from Norrington came into mind, with his vivid description of Pritchard's first mate, Ned Hardcastle. "I can't say about the Captain, but there was another fellow under him, just as bad. Ned Hardcastle." He tried to recall the details Norrington had given. "He had a scar on his face, and red hair, and some of his fingers were missing, bitten off by a shark."

Jack stared off into the distance. Will couldn't tell if he were looking at the ocean or somewhere else far away, into the past. He didn't want to interrupt, didn't want to risk breaking the spell. So he waited, quietly hoping for a breakthrough.

"He was worse," Jack said softly. "I can see him. Always with a whip to hand. Big man, towering. Bullying, beating anyone he took a dislike to. Except... there's something else." He sat up straighter, cross-legged, still staring out at the star-lighted sea and not at Will. "William hated him."

A ripple of trepidation flowed through Will. What had Hardcastle done to his father to make it so much worse between them than for other members of the crew? Did he want to know? And had it led to his father's rebellion against the man? "There was a young lad aboard, name of Jim Norrington. Hardcastle was set to flog him to death, and you and Bill stepped in to stop him."

"Ah. I know now." Jack broke his gaze outward to turn to face Will. "He took a fancy to him, that was it."

"What?" Will was still thinking about Norrington. He knew older, or stronger seamen sometimes forced the younger sailors to pleasure them, but this was more horrifying, knowing what kind of brutal man Hardcastle was. "You mean he hurt the lad?" Even though it wasn't an act he considered unpleasant anymore, he had trouble saying the word when thinking about a fourteen-year-old boy and a massive brute. "Sodomy?"

The world suddenly seemed to spin out from under him. Will clutched at the sand, trying to steady himself. "no. That can't be true!" He couldn't—he wouldn't believe it. Not his own father. Not with that bastard. "You're wrong, dammit! Your memories are all wrong!"

"Well, you made a mistake. My father was not brutalized by that sonofabitch..." He somehow scrambled to his feet. "I won't believe it. It's not true." Anger boiled over, he couldn't control it. "Your past is half invention anyway—how can I know what's real and what you made up to suit yourself, for the sake of your 'legend'?"

"I don't know!" Will couldn't speak. His mind raced with wretched images he didn't want to see. He strode off, away from Jack, away from his memories. This was wrong, this was not what he'd wanted to hear. He half-walked, half-ran along the sand, anywhere, not caring where he went, just escaping. He had no idea how long he walked. At last he slowed, becoming aware of his surroundings, confused out here in the dark. He was still on the beach, at least, so he could hardly get lost. He had no idea how far he was from the hut, though. When he looked back down along the shore he couldn't see the fire.

He sighed, sitting down beneath one of the few palms not torn up by the storm, a huge older tree. What had he said to Jack? His own words were hazy, blurred by his rage. His flash of anger had died away, replaced by a grim resignation. What Jack had remembered was true, he knew that. It made sense now, it was the reason Jack hadn't wanted to tell him everything about his father before. He'd kept this buried, Jack hadn't want to hurt him. But tonight, he hadn't remembered that he wanted to keep some things secret, that there were things best kept hidden. The anger had been directed at Jack, when it should have been aimed at Hardcastle. If the man were still alive, Will vowed to track him down, to make him pay for all his transgressions. Yet another reason to find a way off this island. He had a purpose beyond merely doing good deeds.

He dimly became aware that the autumn night had turned quite cool, and he had a light shirt on that hardly kept him warm. Will rose and walked back the way he'd come, picking his way around the broken tree limbs scattered along the sand, idly wondering how he'd missed tripping over them in his earlier haste.

Jack wasn't by the fire. Will found him inside their makeshift lean-to, curled up on his side beneath a blanket. "Hey." Will found another blanket and stretched out beside him, close, but not touching. "Are you awake?"

"No, you don't." It was kind of him to say it, though. "You don't remember me, don't know who I am, so how could you know?"

They lay quietly in the dark for a spell, side by side, a cool breeze drifting into the lean-to. Will thought about getting up to find another blanket. But then he felt Jack shifting, and suddenly he was under Will's blanket, with his own thrown over them both on top of it. Jack nestled alongside him, wrapping his arm around Will's waist.

Probably not. He was simply getting in out of the cold. Maybe a solid night's sleep would cure Jack of his strange malady. Will didn't know how many nights he could take like this otherwise.

A chilling thought hit him. What if Jack never regained all his memory? What if he never knew what they'd been to each other these past months? He shivered involuntarily.

"No, no, I'm all right." Will made an effort to calm his thoughts. It would be fine. Even if Jack didn't remember everything, he'd still be Jack, and surely he'd feel the same way about his best mate. It might take some work to get back to where they had been before, but they'd get there. For once, it was a good thing they were marooned—he had Jack all to himself, no distractions.

Yes, it might take a little time, but Will wouldn't let Jack forget that he was loved.

He tried to settle down then, listening to Jack's slow, steady breaths. As he drifted off, Will wondered what else he would learn, what other secrets Jack might unwittingly reveal... and he wondered if they would be as painful.

This could hardly be the stuff of pleasant dreams, and he had an uneasy night, one he was glad to see the end of when the dawn finally broke.

Pirate Dreams

Chapter 5